One More Reason I love the Japanese

Among all the Asian cultures I know of, the Japanese have a much deeper appreciation for the arts as we understand them in the West. Is that because we bombed their country flat and rebuilt it for them? Might have something to do with it… Military directed cultural meddling aside, the do have, as a people, a deep appreciation for art, design and the manner in which we interact with it.

Recently I ran across a story in Wired about Japanese photographer/web entrepreneur Hideki Ohmori who finally made it selling cheap plastic cameras that evoked the old, grainy, light-leaked photos of Cold War era Holga cameras prized by artsy-fartsy types the world over. The camera, named the “Blackbird,fly” (obvious Beatles reference intended) reeks with the approachable friendliness of Japanese pop culture paraphernalia, yet operates on a design dating back to the 1920s.

Wired asked Ohmori why he (and thus, by extension, his customers) is fascinated by film.

His response: (italics mine)

“We now hear the richness of vinyl records because we can compare them to CDs. In the same way, the digital camera’s crisp, clean images help us recognize the complexity and warmth of film.  It’s exacerbated when you shoot through a plastic lens like the one on our [camera].  We do not always want a faithful representation of reality.  Sometimes we yearn for a dream.”

That may not be an original concept,(I believe we have discussed similar themes before.) but I thought it was absolutely amazing way of putting it.  Especially as a designer, that is a fabulous statement to consider when every day is spent finding new ways to show people the world they occupy so they will actually notice it.

Growing Pains

A commonly heard complaint brought against the universe at large by those who have suffered pain in the course of life is that “no one understands.”

For some, this wailing chorus of isolating lament is based, in my opinion, in the deeply held belief that we are stronger than others, and a mere mortal would have been crushed under the Atlantean burden life or circumstance has forced us to bear. Or perhaps we doubt our skills as a communicator, feeling that if we only had the words, we could reduce all who come in contact with us to weeping piles of mush, whom we could, in turn, comfort from our limitless pity built up from our long, silent suffering.

There have been times when I have attempted to impress upon my companions the true weight of some horrendous bit of fate that has befallen me.  When my little tempest has blown itself out, they offer their few words of consolation or advice. I often recieve their words with gratitude, only to settle deeper into my discomfort, sighing inside at the sadness that—no one understands.

In these moments I used to think I was at fault for not enlightening my would-be-comforters (patient listeners, at the very least) to the great and aweful truths of the universe to which my experience had enlightened me. I would lament that they could not be brought to see this transcendent truth that was so obvious, so powerful. Here I was laying bare the very undergirdings of life, and they just couldn’t see what my pain had helped me realize.

Recently, I have begun to think differently of the matter. It is entirely possible that there are two kinds of inaccesable pain in the world; those too big for some to grasp fully, and those to small for anyone else to even see. (I suppose I am stealing this largely from Lewis; The Great Divorce in particular.)

To be sure, those who have experienced death, debilitating disease, violent crime, etc. at close proximity, or in great and horrific magnatude  are likely to have accessed thoughts and feelings that the remainder of humanity has not yet been party to. These thoughts and feelings will not be easy, or even possible to communicate to those who have not experienced traumatic loss or pain. Trying to do so will often end in black looks or uncomprehending pity.  It can be an isolating feeling.

There is another kind of pain; one less noble, less full of pathos.  It is a pain so small, so shrunken on itself that there is no room for any joy to fit inside.  It is not some brooding, mushrooming, oily darkness swallowing up the universe, but a shrunken, airless casket of self-pity.  It is not a vast, barren emptiness where joy has been driven away or hidden, but such a shriveled place that no joy could fit inside at all.

In this latter case, there is no realistic way for others to understand what we are feeling, in that we are not transcending their plane of existence, but failing to reach it in the first place.  Living in this pain is a reluctance or refusal to engage with life as it should be lived.  As such, when others fail to understand or empathize, it is because they are incapable due to a fullness of understanding, rather than a lack of it.

I must admit that I have been guilty of holding a grudge against the world over this smaller kind of pain. It is a point of much reflection for me now, as I consider what this means for me in the future; a future that does not ask me to educate others to the perspective I have gained, but to instead humble myself and be educated in how to live fully and freely, as others do.

Lesson Learned…

If there is any coherent lesson for me in this economic crisis, it is that morality is more central to the function of a democracy than I had previously assumed.

In this country, we do not let felons vote; the presumption being that they have demonstrated sufficiently poor (or damagingly self-interested) decision making that they cannot be trusted to participate in the process of governance.  The argument here is that there is a minimum standard of conduct (determined by a shared morality) that all members of a society must demonstrate.

Perhaps we should take this logic a step further.

The unique challenge of democracy is that no member of a democratic society can hold another member of that society to a moral and ethical standard that he himself is not willing to maintain.

While we may be outraged at what has become of our economy and, in some sense, our government, we have no call to be surprised at what has transpired.

We have publicly castigated the executives who are walking away from this economic collapse with millions in their pockets, but we privately idolize them.  Whether we admit it or not, “get rich quick” is still not as offensive a term as it ought to be.  These people were capable of getting away with rampant corruption because we, the willing masses, were complicit in their schemes Taken as a whole, we Americans refused to check our facts; refused to take a few minutes to seek sound financial advise or even apply raw logic and common sense to the pie-in-the-sky investment opportunities we were offered.

To believe that only the most vile and corrupt among us would have acted in radical self-interest when the possibility of incredible gain was presented while the threat of consequence removed, is lunacy.  In a society where social standing is based almost solely on the quantity and quality of luxuries accrued, the chance and limitless material gain without consequences is the ultimate forbidden fruit.

We should also not expect that things in Washington and Wall Street will change any time soon.  The damaging effects of amoral governance and business will continue to be felt until we realize that the only things that preserve our democracy are sacrificial restraint on the part of those who run our companies, selfless service on the part of our elected officials and vigilant attentiveness on the part of the electorate.

We cannot expect our executive, our officials or even our neighbors to start living to a higher standard than what we are willing to live up to.  To ask a superior sacrifice of others is to ask them to shoulder a larger share of the burden of governance and civic responsibility than we are willing to take on.  That is a worldview appropriate only in childhood.
As we look ahead at a confusing road out of this mess, we would do well to begin calling things for what they are. We need to begin calling this avalanche of self-interested government for what it is; functional oligarchy. We need to understand that complex or confusing economic or political climates do not necessitate complex or confusing ethical standards.

We would also do well to remember that there really has been only one “get rich quick” scheme throughout history.  It is called “stealing.”

Fear

Outside it is snowing like mad.  I woke to sunshine and puffy clouds around the Peak this morning, and returned from work in the early afternoon dodging traffic accidents and budding snow drifts.

This is the first real snow for Terryll and I in our house, and I can hear it creaking and flexing with the wind.  We spent most of the day here, working from home, lounging around and cooking dinner together. We have been busying ourselves with little chores that would have been drudgery on a warm spring day, but now feel comforting and pleasantly industrious.

I just got back from taking the dog for a walk; an act that I am sure puzzled some neighbors.  No doubt those whose homes border the greenway wondered why their dogs were going berzerk at their back doors. What could they be barking at out there?

This has been a cozy day where the world around me had to give in and accept that nature will have its way, deadlines and schedules be damned. Everyone on the Frontrange was sent scuttling for cover as the storm rolled in, clearning the field of us and moving on victoriously.  There is a comforting silence around the house, and the sometimes alarming events of the world seem very far away.  Terryll is playing the piano downstairs, and the dog is alseep next to my chair on my cast-off, too-warm-for-indoors socks.

As we were cooking dinner, a poem came to mind. (It was another reminder of the regret that I could not have seen this time of life coming and memorized more poetry when I was a child; storing it away for a day when it would be meaningful… ) It is a short verse, now nearly a hundred years old.

Storm Fear
By Robert Frost • From A Boy’s Will, 1915

When the wind works against us in the dark,
And pelts with snow
The lowest chamber window on the east,
And whispers with a sort of stifled bark,
The beast,
‘Come out! Come out!’—
It costs no inward struggle not to go,
Ah, no!
I count our strength,
Two and a child,
Those of us not asleep subdued to mark
How the cold creeps as the fire dies at length,—
How drifts are piled,
Dooryard and road ungraded,
Till even the comforting barn grows far away
And my heart owns a doubt
Whether ’tis in us to arise with day
And save ourselves unaided.

The first time I read this poem I thought it was depressing.  After a couple times through, however, I realized that Frost is not talking about the irrational panic that creeps into us from evil things; that senseless dread that causes our will and our intellect to fly before it.

If it is really a fear he  is talking about, I think it is the honest, curious questioning a man sometimes has when the weight of reality strikes him as being intimidating.  Do I have what it takes to see this through? I think this is the only true fear, and the only one (save that of God) that is sanctioned by the Almighty.  It is not a fear that makes us shrink back, but one that makes us keenly aware of what is at stake in our decisions.  It is a fear that does not end in “I can’t.” but in “I must.”

Frost may have been inspired by a storm swirling over his New England farm, but his final question seems particularly salient to me today.  Economic woes mount, truth and objectivity in our government and media seem embattled  and trust in our institutions and our fellow man sometimes seem like a foolish hope.  As a country, a century of curious, mounting apprehension that our lives, freedom, environment, values or prosperity are in danger (from within or without) seems to be swelling up into a great wave of fear in so many hearts. Many in America feel increasingly isolated, exposed and vulnerable. It is a fear that says “no one is coming to help us.”  A sentiment you would likely feel in a cold farm house watching yourself get slowly snowed in.

So, for me the question is, am I giving in to that weakening dread, or asking myself an emboldening question. Do I go to bed tonight wondering if tomorrow will be the day that some unthinkable evil will finally break forth upon us or do I harbor a different sentiment…

And my heart owns a doubt
Whether ’tis in us to arise with day
And save ourselves unaided.

Status Quo

I once heard someone say that the problem with the world today is that people are running around trying to make the world fit their passions, rather than trying to understand reality for what it is and find their place in it. The progress of western civilization has allowed us to surmount countless obstacles that used to stand in the way of people achieving dreams, and now we believe that anything can be changed with enough time, effort and science thrown at it.  We are very nearly right in this assumption.

This isn’t a bad thing, of course.  It is just this worldview that has consequences, as all worldviews do.  For us today, one of the consequences is a reluctance, or an inability in some cases, to see the things in our world that cannot be changed and must be accepted for what they are.  Things like aging, tornadoes, seasons and idiots on the other end of the political spectrum (no matter which side of the aisle you happen to start from).

To me, this is about finding out a little more of how life really works, and conforming my expectations to it.  Growing up in America, there are plenty of people who will tell you that losers take what life gives them and winners are the people who go out there and make it happen.  I think I am finally ready to move on from that lie.  The way I see it, losers are the people who don’t recognize limitations and opportunities for what they are, and winners are people who have acquired a more nuanced understanding of what is and what isn’t in life.

One of the more common mistakes I make in trying to understand the world around me is that I believe things can and should stay constant.  Rather than allowing various rhythms of life to do what it is they do, I go about fretting and stewing, expending ridiculous amounts of energy and time trying to do the one thing I will never properly accomplish; prevent change.

Perhaps this belief in constancy comes to me courtesy of American society as a legacy of the industrial revolution. When people started filling their lives with machines that never stopped, never needed rest, could be fixed with a spare part, doused in oil and fired up again to produce unlimited quantities of identical products, they started identifying with the machines instead of using more agrarian or pastoral or even astronomical cues to properly order our lives and determine what is a healthy outlook on and pace of life for a human.

Not that I am a Luddite or anything; machines are wonderful, just not good things to emulate when trying to determine a healthy rhythm of life. After all, they were created to do things that we either could not do or found it difficult or damaging to attempt. (Repetitive stress injuries, anyone?)  If you think I am off base in saying we idolize machines, just remember that when complimenting people on their work or athletic performance, we often compare then to … a machine.

There is also a theory out there floating around that blames America’s aversion to ebb and flow on the Greatest Generation; charging WWII vets with retreating into their work to escape the emotional challenges of re-entering civilian life and those that stayed home with working fanatically hard to prove they were still worth something even though they didn’t don a uniform.
This illusion of mine could also be partly the fault of existentialism run amok.  With our seemingly limitless capacity to reorder the world around us to suit our tastes and goals, my generation seems particularly plagued with a notion that we can and should remake the world to suit our tastes, and when we find that sweet spot – that “arrival ” – we should make every attempt to stay there.

Infuriatingly, my desire for constancy is in direct contravention of reality on many levels.  Don’t get me wrong, seeking stability is perfectly rational and good.  It is just that life is not static, experiences are not permanent and some preferences of mine exist at the mercy of larger realities like aging, the seasons and the general progress of time.

This brings me to a realization could be framed as follows:  Things now are not as they will always be.

I know this isn’t rocket science, but going deeper than a simple factual analysis of these words has profound implications for me. Sitting and meditating on them as a reality, and not merely a logical proposition, is beginning to really mess with my chi.

First off, if I believe that things are really going to change no matter what I do, I might be a little more inclined to relax and enjoy the moment a little because, well, it won’t always be this way.

My dog is a perfect example.  All things being equal, I have every intention of outliving that little furball, which will mean that many years from now, there is a day coming when I call her in from the back yard and nothing happens because she isn’t among the living anymore. The outworking, then, is that I don’t write blog posts very often because I am down in the living room playing “tug” or “chase around the couch until someone slips and falls over” while I still can.

On a much greater scale, the same is true of my wife.  Terryll and I will not always have the time to spend together that we do now.  Someday we hope to have kids, which means I won’t write blog posts, play “chase around the couch until someone slips and falls over” or have the time to take my wife out on dates or just snuggle up in bed and watch a movie together. We will be spending most of our time and energy taking care of other people; little people; people that we brought into the world and now must make into responsible citizens so they don’t end up on daytime TV.  So, if there are memories my wife and I intend on making, we better get to making them now, because this may not last very long.  Time to pack the car and start exploring, I say…

You can see where this is leading me. The more I stop and realize that the world I wake up to tomorrow will not be the same each day until I die means I must take hold of what it gives me today, enjoy it for what it is and stop putting off enjoying it because I am busy trying to make it permanent because … this isn’t going to last. What is more, the world isn’t out there waiting on me to catch up.  It is changing whether I like it or not.

The flip side of this hippie-tastic “rhythm of life, dude” thing is that whatever sufferings I currently experience will not be permanent either.  I can take a breath every now and then, because the things that are weighing me down will not always be this way.  That is what we mean when we tell people that it “isn’t the end of the world” when something unpleasant happens.

I have found few things that can really take the punch out of a good panic like realizing things will probably get better someday. I can get myself all worked up in a frenzy about something, largely based on the fear that “things will always be this bad.”  The fact is, they won’t.  True, things might get worse, but they also might not, and, in either case, the current miseries I may think I am experiencing are not going to exist for all of eternity.

I would also do well to accept that the majority of changes in life are evolutionary in nature, rather than revolutionary.  There are notable exceptions, of course, but by and large, change happens slowly; almost imperceptibly.  Even then, many of the sudden changes are actually just ones I did not perceive until they were well advanced.

Most change I have experienced is like sitting on your living room floor watching the sun creep across the carpet.  It takes a certain amount of time and concentration to perceive that the sun is actually moving.  On the other hand, if I should get engrossed in a good book or hilarious string of YouTube videos, the sun could disappear entirely without my notice.  When I then reach the end of the chapter or run out of battery power in my laptop, I find the day has slipped by me in what seems a very abrupt and disheartening manner.

This is significant to me because it means that my fears of the sudden loss of good things, and the search for the magic cure for pain, are both irrational and damaging.  The things I cherish will not (again, there are exceptions) likely disappear from me overnight.  What ails me will not often be cured by a moments work or a few carefully selected words.  In the case of loss, I am missing what good there is by worrying about its disappearance and robbing myself of the opportunity to come to terms with what eventual loss there will be.  In trying to find a cure instantly for my troubles, I am only delaying or hampering the slow process of working through problems that will lead to their solution.

In the end, coming to a zen-like peace about the unavoidable changes in life is not something I am very good at yet.  Then again, maybe coming to grips with realizations like this are evolutionary processes in the soul; slowly transforming from one state of mind to another.

Sort of like life itself.

Welcome to the new digs…

Sorry about the mess… I still haven’t unpacked yet.

After all, it has been a busy morning.

Taking advantage of my employer’s gracious offer of time-off to celebrate our past and present Presidents, I have taken the time to move my soon-to-expire TypePad blog here to WordPress because, well, it is free here. Besides, given the frequency of posts I put up, the nominal charges TypePad was levying for their services were becoming murderous when examined on a dollar-per-post basis.

Despite the best plans of getting this little project off the ground, it is just past noon and I have but a few words put to paper.

I woke up late this morning, still groggy from yesterday’s long day of snowbiking in Summit County. (For the curious, it is what you may imagine it to be; a bike with skis for wheels.)

I had slept in as late as I could before I had to get up to let the dog out. That was followed by a furtive effort at convincing Sierra that sleeping later was a brilliant idea.  Failing that, I took her for a run behind my bike. I get strange looks from the neighbors for this practice, as though I were a lazy person or someone who is torturing a cute, little puppy. From my perspective, I am just keeping things fair. After all, mechanical advantage exists for a reason. She has too much energy, and I have gears.  A match made in heaven.

At any rate, after the ride/run, I put Sierra outside while I cook beakfast. A tasty egg-cheese and ham sandwich later, I let her back in as she is whining outside the back door.  Sierra makes one lap around the living room, sniffs the kitchen floor and goes back to whine at the inside of the back door. Out she goes.

Half an hour later, I come to my senses and stop surfing aimlessly around on Google News.  Having become sufficiently depressed at the state of our world, I am resolved to do something about it. I pick up my brain which has dribbled out onto the table as a result of the pointless web surfing. Time to let people know what I think about stuff.

I set up the laptop in the office and get everything situated.  This is going to be a great day of blogging, writing and generally solving the problems of the world from my desk as I look out at the mountains. The dog is whining at the back door.

I go downstairs to let her back in.  Sierra races up to the office, sniffs around the baseboards and gets a strange look on her face. The ears go down and the tail goes up. She runs out of the room past my grasp and throws up on the stairs. I yell angry words and grab for her collar to lead her out the back door again.  She slips the hold, darts down the stairs, ducks under the piano and repeats the whole performance. More angry words. Out she goes.

After cleaning up the mess, letting the dog back in, logging back in to the computer, waiting for system updates to load, restarting the computer again and getting some water, I am ready to start writing.

Man, I am hungry…

Time for lunch.