A Reflection on Clocks and Time

“Being looked at with great attention changes you. Being looked at with attention takes time, and time changes all things.” - Elif Batuman

Lately I’ve been missing the digital clock on my cable box. We got an upgraded box about a month ago and “clockless” was the only option moving forward. In the living room, there is not other timepiece, so now I have to acquire one for the wall. Ofcourse, I’m going analog. The reasons being twofold: stylistically, the analog clock is more pleasing to me - it’s a face, round, reassuringly familiar; functionally, being able to tell time on an analog clock is a skill I want my child to learn. Reflecting on the second rationale, the clock-face, routinely ticking away second after second in an infinite revolution, represents a relatively new experience (relative to humankind’s existence on this planet). Clocks have existed in one form or another for millennia, but the proliferation of a standard, reliable timepiece arises from the mass production of such items in Europe in the early modern era. Although initially a way to distinguish those who could afford to keep time from those who had time kept for them, clocks became a staple of providing consistency and routine to everyday life.

The ideological shift in a conception of time thanks to the ever-ticking hands of a timepiece is so ingrained in us now, that we seem to be lost without knowing what time it is. And it is often in this obsession with start and end times, length of activities and scheduling that I truly wonder what it was like to live in a time period in which there were no “counters” on my experience. Was there a degree of freedom that we cannot conceive of now when living according to the rhythm of the day? I am a hopeless planner of time - I have intentions, but deadlines are never set in stone. I will often do things (like paying bills or writing papers) early to ensure they get done “on time” because more often than not, days and time itself slips by without me being as aware. Most people would likely not describe me as someone whose head is in the clouds, but often I feel like I might actually (secretly) be one of those people who could spend way too much time thinking about nonsense like clocks rather than being super-productive according to modern American standards. The super-scheduled astound me - they have planned out times for everything from working out to their children’s activities to sex. Where’s the spontaneity? The mystery? Is it even missed? Is this all about a form of control?

Clocks have undoubtedly made us more productive as a species - we can measurably ensure we’re not wasting time for one, but bringing awareness to time has provided us freedom to conduct reliable experiments, travel more easily and to avoid mass confusion more readily. And yet, I feel as though our experience loses something with this technological advancement because it becomes the focus of so much of our thoughts.

How would it be to go back and experience time as a child might, completely unaware that time was something we could scrutinize and control? To live a life that was less marred by the constant nagging thoughts of, “it’s 11:55 AM, I have to be at x in fifteen minutes,” or the thousandfold thoughts we have daily that are akin to such? We look to the face of the clock to guide our movements throughout our days; as a teacher, I am ruled by the bell and it makes me want to rebel against it - leave my class brazenly alone so I can get a cup of coffee or use the bathroom before my “time” is up. And more importantly, I want to free myself and my students of that ever-present desire to know what time it is and what’s next. There’s no “in the moment” when you’re wondering what time it is - there’s only looking forward or worrying about what’s passed.

Recently, I read the opening scene of Discipline and Punish by Michel Foucault to students, as it details the execution of a French criminal during the height of absolutist power in France. In the second half of the opening scene, Foucault contrasts the brutal state-mandated execution that controls its subjects through fear of punishment with a different form of control - scheduling. His example details a strictly-enforced clock in a penitentiary for young boys. There is no time for self-reflection or spontaneity - idleness leads to trouble. As he reflects, the second manifestation of control, although not representative of physical torture, also infringes on the personal liberties of those subjected to it. So we have traded being fearful of our leaders to being fearful of time and all of the issues that arise from not being a timely person in our society - being seen as lazy, unproductive, unreliable, a failure, etc.

 But, as the opening quote of this essay revealed to me, it is only through time (not necessarily measured time), that we are able to understand and appreciate the world around us. Worrying about time as a measurable unit portends an anxiety-ridden end for all of us because the end of worrying about time is an end to ourselves in a sense; we have a particularity that makes each of us run along a certain schedule. When we experience time in a more fluid sense of “accomplishing something,” for example,  we free ourselves of a burden of constantly running out of an allotted resource.  And thusly, such a basic element of our day, something most of us regard without even a thought, the clock itself, reveals so much about our relationship with grappling with our existence as corporeal beings. Are we free to be who and what we are? Or are we bound to be enslaved to the endless revolution of the hands of the clock?

Down In It.

I've read some writers that breathe a degree of humanness like no other. No sweeping descriptions of crinoline skirts or horses or tempestuous storms - there's just subconscious nitty-gritty laid bare on the page. Even if you don't empathize with their characters, you somehow do because you're also a human. Psychological horror may be one way to describe it, and if we're being honest, we've all done that to ourselves at some point - gripped by a very real sense of fear for the irrational reason of we decided to freak ourselves out. But every author doesn't have to be Kafka to expose their audience to what it feels like to be human and, additionally, being such doesn't have to be so frightening (though it can be).

Karl Ove Knausgaard's series of books, My Struggle, as all six are titled, have reawakened my need to acknowledge that those feelings of humanness exist. We all feel uncontrollable desires and nasty thoughts - some of us choose not only to admit that to ourselves, but to others. In the second volume, Knausgaard has an entire passage analyzing Dostoevsky in which he states he feels "uncomfortable" in Dostoevsky's world. Perhaps, as an author, he views this analysis somewhat ironically, since his prose likely makes many readers uncomfortable. But he's right - in both writers' worlds, there's an "uncanny valley" aspect. A very human text describes someone's inner thoughts in a non-polished, non-John Greene sort of way. This is not a milieu where two teens, dying of cancer,  engage in repartee that conveys they have all the time in the world. This is not the type of stylized speak of Joss Whedon's worlds (Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Firefly) or of most television dramas.

In contrast, Knausgaard fleshes out the inner monologue you have running through your mind all day - the impassive thought you have on the check-out line at the supermarket, "Oh man, is that person ugly/fat/lazy/old." Thoughts your very well-mannered superego filter would never let you say aloud, but that still exist inside. And these thoughts aren't necessarily judgments, most are simple observations, categorizational attempts at making sense of the world around you. Though somehow, they can seem so taboo when revealed. Writers who touch on something uncomfortably human through their words are difficult to get through - think Nabokov's Lolita. Many have speculated that Nabokov himself had a predilection for underage girls to be able to get into the mind of his narrator, Humbert Humbert though, perhaps, his fictional explication reveals more about the interpreter than the author.

There's a rawness, a plainness, to a text that's not heavily stylized (or at least one comes off as such). It's not that other writers don't hit on very human emotions or empathetic experiences- the key is that the style of the text is pertinent. Yet, some people find this sort of writing overwhelming and more neurosis-inducing than anything else. Or as being as much of a distraction as any other form of art - clouding the mind from focusing on letting go or transcending to a higher plane of consciousness.

While I can see these opinions holding some weight, personally, I find such works cathartic. I am reminded that my own "flaws" tie me back into the one-ness of everything. There is no perfection to be attained because there is no standard. We all experience ups and downs, loves and losses, and ultimately, the same end -death. Yet in the interim, we're consumed by our thoughts, most of which signify nothing. They're exercises of our consciousness and even if we are master meditators who can make our thoughts sail away like clouds, new ones always form, and must be pushed aside again and again. The only clarity that we'll ever achieve is trying to understand ourselves, acknowledge what we find excitable, deplorable, indispensable, etc.

And thusly, a truly human text may just drag you down into the muck of being alive, and that, to me, is something we should never avoid facing.

Stop "Leaning In" and Fight for Real Change

Did you ever stop and think about the amount of time, energy and personal freedoms women give up to rear children? While I know there are men who do the same or play more egalitarian roles in their households, the trend still overwhelmingly leans toward women to bear the overall burden of this task (this is also not to say that some women don't choose to pursue this life path, and very happily at that). This essay is dedicated to unpacking the myth that there could be any true sort of egalitarian division of labor based on gender, in particular when it comes to the invisible work of what goes on in the home (shopping, cooking, cleaning, scheduling, childcare, et al) in a patriarchal society. As a feminist, my end goal would not be to replace patriarchy with matriarchy and any false dichotomies raised by opponents of feminist theory can go educate themselves further before they object. No, this is an entreaty to effect change that is much more inter-sectional in nature.

As a millennial (*vom*), I find the argument of "leaning in" (thanks, Sheryl Sandberg!), to be weak. Maybe it represents a type of feminism I am not in touch with, or maybe I am too socialistic to see it as doing anything but encouraging women to act like men, rather than respecting them for representing something unique. If, in fact, women will ever be truly equal to men in our society, and I mean, not simply legally having the right to pursue the same path as men, unfettered, we need a radically different socioeconomic structure in place. To support and encourage and, most importantly, empower, an entire class of people who have chosen to dedicate themselves to the domestic sphere, a basic universal income would be necessary. Caregivers, in their own right, would be paid and would not be dependent on a partner for subsistence. In addition to a basic universal income, which would ensure that everyone, inclusive of those who perform the "invisible work" of domesticity, is compensated, a truly egalitarian society would also include: paid maternity and paternity leave, universal health care, childcare and well-funded, "free" public schools (through college). Statistically, children of single mothers, first-generation college students and students of color are at a great disadvantage when it comes to student debt. To equalize playing fields based on family structure, race, and class, making public colleges more affordable or even - *gasp* - free.

It is no wonder that the United States lags begin other developed nations in measurements as diverse as infant mortality rates and student test scores in math and reading. In our mixed economic system, we've falsely equated cost with value. If a government or even a coalition of governments shared services to provide health care, educational opportunities and childcare services, there would be an increase in the average quality of life in addition to cost-savings for the providers of said services. For women who chose not to bear children, and/or take time out of their educations or careers to rear them, the benefits of a more egalitarian society would translate to less harassment and discrimination in the workplace and wider society. How? In a culture in which a successful life style is heavily tied to earning a sizable income, length of service as well as dedication to said service is the name of the game. Men are set up to be better at the length of service at least by not having to make the decision to take time off to care for young dependents. This dedication is "perceived" to be inherent to men, which means women, by the mere fact of being one, will be perceived differently regardless of their desire to be mothers. This represents an implicit bias against women in the workplace. It also robs men of the ability to be "ok" with taking time off of work for paternity leave and sharing parenting duties more equally with the mothers of their children.

If we, as a society, truly value the next generation, anti-abortion laws are the least effective method of achieving great results. The fact that women can choose to have an abortion is not providing much in the way of ensuring the success of failure of children already in existence. To allow for a thriving youth culture that can effectively participate in the next generation of democratic engagement, in a meaningful and educated way, we need bssic social safety nets that teach people how to be resilient and self-sufficient. If the objection to welfare programs is that it breeds reliance on others, then I ask two questions: 1. what is the point of a society if it isn't to band together to help others )might as well promote an anarchist state if you disagree)? 2. Instead of scrapping the idea of helping others through various programs entirely, why not encourage measures that foster real growth and understanding in their participants?

The tired phrase, "Women can't have it all," needs to go. We as a society can have more, at least, for everyone.

Maybe It's OK to be Neurotic...?

“The agnostic, the skeptic, is neurotic, but this does not imply a false philosophy; it implies the discovery of facts to which he does not know how to adapt himself. The intellectual who tries to escape from neurosis by escaping from the facts is merely acting on the principle that “where ignorance is bliss, ‘tis folly to be wise.” - Alan Watts, The Wisdom of Insecurity

Recently, I revisited Alan Watts through a series of Youtube videos and his book, The Wisdom of Insecurity. A point he makes and often circles back to is that we came from nothing- non-consciousness - before we were born, as we will return to such a state when we die. We had no anxiety about the nonconsciousness of pre-birth, so we should, logically, consider a similar state of calmness when broaching the subject of our death as well. There's nothing to "fear" as you didn't fear "being" into existence. How perfect an idea; though I am still filled with trepidation when I contemplate my own death, as I worry what others will experience. Therein lies the real rub for me - I get death. I don't want to die right now, but I also don't fear dying. The fear and anxiety I feel is more related to thinking about what those close to me would experience. Lack. 

Although I've never considered myself a neurotic person, I definitely have gravitated and empathized, and, in cases, even been enamored with neurotics (it began with Woody Allen in my teens, yes, I know...THAT Woody Allen...and continued through to pretty much every character Michael Cera has embodied on the screen). Someone so filled with self-loathing from being a flawed human that even though they comprehend the "big picture," they're often so focused on the micro-perspective that they become wrapped up in the inanity of the mundane. Pretty much every episode of "Curb Your Enthusiasm" portrays this perspective. Larry is everyone's superego, but he's such a fundamentally flawed specimen, that the audience nearly always roots against him, whether or not they agree with him on principle. I'm sure the real Larry David isn't as abrasively awful, but his insights into our psychology as humans yields such levity and catharsis that, to me, it must be a sign of acceptance with himself and his own humanity. 

Constantly, I strive for that degree of acceptance with the world around me, those who inhabit it, and most importantly, my own self. But since expectations, desires and reality seldom coincide, I am thrown into the camp of the neurotic more often than I'd like. My thoughts are numerous and hectic - new worries bubble up constantly. However, I can't live in that place of constant fear, so I consider myself a visitor to neurosis and definitely feel a connection to those who do live there. I've experienced anxiety about grades, weight, relationships, job performance - anything evaluative or comparative, so you know, everything (ha!). Then I had a child and dropped out of the normal rat race for a while. No performative measures because, gladly, I could largely avoid them and also chose not to engage or pursue them. Competitiveness dropped away, Liberation from the bullshit, even if only for a short window of time, totally wiped away years of furrows. 

Sure, I'd had breakthrough moments previously, but carrying life and doing something so commonplace, and yet unique, was transformative to my worldview. After years of judging myself for performative acts, there was room to breathe and "be." Abject sadness that life was a simple as it possibly was when breastfeeding a child I had just birthed flooded me. How complicated our modern lives are! And complicated doesn't mean better. That was the real rub. That's what provoked the tears. We did this to ourselves - built layers atop layers. Nothing that we have added to the biological drives really amounted to anything more than just that -complexity. It's like bureaucracy - there's a sense to the system, sure, but the complicatedness of such a system serves nothing more than its own interests. If that system didn't exist, life might be more inconvenient in some sense, but life is life. Inconvenience is a part of life. Knowing such feelings as waiting, boredom, and even ennui, can in themselves be transformative for the human mind. Creativity flows 

The entirety of the human condition is one that provokes neurosis in all of us if we dwell on it for too long. So we sort of have to shed a tear for what we will ultimately lose and what we've already left behind, and own our feelings, good and bad. 

An Atheist Laments the Loss of Spirituality

I write a lot about influences on my personal philosophy and worldview. 2 undergraduate history courses had a great impact on who I am today.The first was "19th Century Europe," and the second, "The History of Modern Japan." Time-wise, there was overlap, obviously, with both classes focusing on the "long century" that was the 19th. Chronologically, the 19th century was clearly as long as any other. However, certain historians designate the ideological underpinnings and mindset that came to signify the 19th century as beginning in 1789 (first French Revolution) and ending with the outbreak of WW1 in 1914. There is a dialectical forking that persists through this long century - one marked by the ideological optimism of Enlightenment thought that brought sweeping reforms as well as medical, social and technological advancements which ultimately made life more easily lived by most; the other prong characterized by a cynical secularism that arose from the waning power of religious ideology - a disregard for most of human history by training the eye always forward.

These two paths, I'd argue, didn't really coalesce into a new formation until after the devastation of the first truly "world" war. There is something absolutely beautifully breathtaking in the scope of the existential crises that WW1 inflicted upon humanity. Nietzsche was right about the men of his time - the scientists, the secularists, the non-believers in anything spiritual- so sure of themselves that the only thing that mattered was the material. If or when their "spirit" of life sought solace, the only choice became destruction - death. Such a man is capable of committing suicide to alleviate his angst, but only through mass homicide. And thus, the very long 19th century, one marked by practices in  restraint and propriety and logic, led to a bungle so heinous that the world was forever transformed, but scarred, in the process. Thus, for all of the measured control exerted by the Victorians, they succumbed to the same crushing defeat (through mass carnage) as any other historical era.

The burgeoning world power that was Japan at the end of the 19th century (fin de siecle) shared Western Europe's ideological, future-oriented optimism. However, the reasons I gravitated toward Japanese literature were grounded in their philosophical outlook - the first being that "Japanese existential essence." The canonical works (and even entire forms of expression like haiku) reflect Buddhism steeped in fatalistic waters. Japan lies on fault lines, hosts volcanoes, experiences real catastrophes based on sea level changes and is at the forefront of tsunami activity in the Pacific.  Secondly, in many works from the fin de siecle through WW2, the meteoric rise of a culture so divorced from real spirituality is evident. Rituals and relationships begin to ring hollow, and yet leaders push them to mean more and more. After the fall of the Japanese Empire in 1945 through such a brutal explosion of force (re: the atomic bomb) a new interface between existentialism and nihilism opened up. The collective consciousness of an entire nation became one of post traumatic stress disorder.

Personally, that type of existential crises intrigues me. How does someone (or in this case, an entire people) overcome such trauma? Not that my culture has ever experienced anywhere near that level of devastation (maybe some of the more recent hurricanes would fit the bill, but even those were not colored by the same gravity of being a choice made by humans to inflict directly on other humans), but for many empathetic people, one can imagine how quickly everything you know could change. We all know people whose lives were going one way....until they weren't anymore. On the other hand, American culture likes to promote only the successful stories - the rags-to-riches (and even the riches-to-riches) tales. As a species, we tend to learn more from the oppositely-oriented ones.

Subsequently, the development of Japan in the post-WW2 era is also fascinating. Fast-forwarding to today, the country's embrace of technological advancements and capitalism created a society of commodification. No time for a relationship? Go to a host club. No time for a pet of your own? Visit a cat cafe for the afternoon. Is the spiritual edge that once stirred me still there? According to various news reports in the past few years, old ways are indeed dying out. Less and less people are identifying as a member of any particular religion, and without patrons, historic temples are shuttering. Beyond the rise of secularism, Japan also faces a crisis of being at zero population growth. Is this a natural ebbing which will be followed by a flowing of fertility? Or has intense commodification wrought these changes? Much like in the Western world, many people of childbearing age delay having children due to extended educational careers, economic instability and generalized anxiety over bringing a child into a seemingly tumultuous world.

Would things be different if there was some degree of spiritual grounding? Populations that identify as religious have a been studied to have higher birth rates. Is there less anxiety about the future (and your children's futures) if a god/gods is/are involved? Personally, the idea of having children never scared me, nor did I think of "the right time" as being any other time than the present. Perhaps that's a stupid, short-sighted way of approaching the big responsibility of bringing another life into this world, but it's also a biological impulse for many that doesn't really warrant that much thought. People successfully had children when they were mucking around as serfs on some lord's lands. Children were brought into this world in the middle of wars, under enslavement, in concentration camps, during diasporas - in other words, the absolute worst conditions humans could endure. So the middle class professional who's "just waiting for the right time to bear children" might be overthinking things a bit. An industry of child-rearing books, products and experts has stripped away what humans have been able to do naturally, even under duress, for millennia.

Thus, the restrictions we face are often put upon us by ourselves. This fact is evident from about day 3 of being a parent or ever being in charge of anyone (even for a short period of time). Why the fuck do we care to continue to restrict human potential? Are we carrying on in ways we know are unsustainable, illusory, etc? What could possibly end some, even if not all, of the destructive behaviors we engage in? Literally wading through consistently flooded streets? And what can replace the desires that are not acted upon? Distractions...material accumulation? Virtual realities? I would constantly ask myself these questions while studying the 19th century, as I do regarding our society now. Surely we do not live in such a buttoned-up era as the Victorians, but there is some overlap ideologically. The confusing social milieu of now leads to personal censorship akin to the propriety of our predecessors. Say the wrong thing, share the wrong meme, and *poof* "cancelled." The fear of being shunned has dampened personal expression and experimentation. There is little room for mistakes. So people don't even try, as not to fail.

Perhaps with God being dead (and we, and our forebears in Western society, having killed him), the only way out of endless material accumulation IS (self) destruction.And not mass suicide or suicide through homicide, but the tearing down of a system that has failed. For the sake of all of us, and especially for the sake of the generations recently or even yet to be born, fuck this society. Let's band together to build a new, communal one.

Where Has the American Spirit Gone?

“Strange memories on this nervous night in Las Vegas. Five years later? Six? It seems like a lifetime, or at least a Main Era—the kind of peak that never comes again. San Francisco in the middle sixties was a very special time and place to be a part of. Maybe it meant something. Maybe not, in the long run . . . but no explanation, no mix of words or music or memories can touch that sense of knowing that you were there and alive in that corner of time and the world. Whatever it meant. . . .

History is hard to know, because of all the hired bullshit, but even without being sure of “history” it seems entirely reasonable to think that every now and then the energy of a whole generation comes to a head in a long fine flash, for reasons that nobody really understands at the time—and which never explain, in retrospect, what actually happened...

There was madness in any direction, at any hour. If not across the Bay, then up the Golden Gate or down 101 to Los Altos or La Honda. . . . You could strike sparks anywhere. There was a fantastic universal sense that whatever we were doing was right, that we were winning. . . .

And that, I think, was the handle—that sense of inevitable victory over the forces of Old and Evil. Not in any mean or military sense; we didn’t need that. Our energy would simply prevail. There was no point in fighting—on our side or theirs. We had all the momentum; we were riding the crest of a high and beautiful wave. . . .So now, less than five years later, you can go up on a steep hill in Las Vegas and look West, and with the right kind of eyes you can almost see the high-water mark—that place where the wave finally broke and rolled back.” - HST, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

          This is what "American" is- non-entrenchment. It's what I see in truly American artwork - as in the product of a wholly AMERICAN upbringing. There's some danger, some mystery, a sense of wonder that can only appear in a place where the boundaries, both materially and culturally are nebulous. The American point of view stands apart from the Eurocentric perspective that has dominated most of the modern world. Perhaps as a former colony, the US benefits from the post-colonial freedom of ideology and thought (bracketing out American colonial attitudes, obviously).

The American perspective is an attempt to encapsulate the "wild frontier"; to somehow relay the hopes that only looking over new horizons can bring through artistic expression. Of course these lofty feelings are tethered to the crushing pain of remembering that even with such hopes of the undiscovered within, all of us will one day die.

The Japanese concept of mono no aware is the most similar, non-American aesthetic I can relate this feeling to. The beauty in that "hope" of new life that is soured slightly by knowing the ending to all our stories. That bittersweet feeling of burgeoning possibilities and impending doom wrapped into one experience. How can such sorrow be the truth? And yet, who has come back to tell us otherwise? Jesus is a parable - his return is only to confirm the obvious - that the pain and suffering is worth it in the end. You are consciously experiencing reality for a brief moment in the span of this universe's life. Even the Judaic concept of waiting on the messiah is a metaphor for how to live our own lives. We can pray on the coming of a savior - to settle back and look for someone to guide us through, bu tin the meantime, why not do it ourselves?

American culture has lost the sacred cord back to mortality. The obsessions with youth, the now, "winning" are all part of the veil we willingly draw over our own eyes. Compliance, complacence, convenience and conformity has taken over our landscapes - again, both materially and culturally. When everything is easily answerable and "at hand," the mind tends to wonder, "Is this all?" We're ALL the 'kept' housewives of the post-war era. Some of us have started to chafe a little, but no
one is willing to risk the big push toward change. In this case, what would be a desirable outcome of 'revolution'? How can we successfully integrate technological advancements into our lives in more productive ways? Will a profit motive always incentivize playing to/preying on basic human weaknesses? 

Crushing artistic expression under the weight of commercial success has had a deleterious effect not only on expression, but on the collective consciousness. Art for consumption has supplanted art for art's sake. So what is lost when we take individual expression out of the equation? Hasn't there always been pulp/pop art? Sure. There's no question that art for consumption isn't a new development. The difference is that in its current iteration, everything is stylized, from 99 cent mascara tubes to high-end Teslas. Eye fatigue sets in. The brain becomes accustomed to the beautiful, forever pushing our standards for acceptability higher. But we need a break. We need something weird, ugly, frustrating to reset our minds.

Consider how we learn, from day one. Children are little explorers - they need challenges, stumbling blocks, to learn how to think and act independently from their caregivers. And yet, many adults go through life minimizing any and all frustrations - searching for something online? no way! lines at the bank? ew. Going to the supermarket? ugh. Crow's feet around the eyes? blech. Ultimately, this isn't a snowflake problem - it's an everyone problem. No one can wait - and god forbid we feel not-convenienced, let alone inconvenienced! A Bad Yelp! review to follow....For all of our time-saving and age-defying innovations, are we spending our "freed up" time engaged in amazingly humanitarian acts? To be honest, its our time and we can whatever the fuck we want with it, but let's not lie to ourselves that scrolling through social media feeds and liking/sharing memes is saving the world. And to boot, most of us seem to be bored by what's presented as the norm.

How do we recapture the American spirit? Of course, there are those on the fringes of or entirely outside of popular culture that have never lost it. If you're not looking hard enough, they may be tough to spot. And if you are yourself living there, it's a lonely road sometimes. But without struggle, we don't learn, grow and evolve. At this point, we need to. Our country is at a crossroads - our entire species is, really - we either adapt or we destroy the planet for the sake of out own convenience.

Craft Your Life In Ways It Will Be Shown

"Craft:  a form of knowledge, but not just knowledge of making, but a knowledge of being."*

Reading a book review of a history of crafts - in the sense of handicrafts or practical arts as well as time-worn, but increasingly rare practices, like sheep-herding - I was reminded of my obsession with the idea that teaching falls under this umbrella. For people who always felt teaching was the job that made sense to them, despite lower salaries or life in the panopticon (in which bureaucrats and your neighbors alike could have an opinion about YOUR job!), the common refrain that 'it's a calling' likely resonated with you, even if you rolled your eyes to the sentimental cheesiness so many would imbue such a statement with.

As I've expressed beliefs about the craft of teaching previously, the focus of this post is the concept of "craft" itself. In an era of instant gratification, the thought of putting time into such mundane tasks as weaving a basket or even chopping vegetables becomes ludicrous in the face of time savers like purchasing "pre-made," "pre-packaged," "pre-cut," etc. Yet, in light of all of our innovative ways to save a few minutes her and there, major consequences arise: the impact of the "use and toss" culture on our environment, the fact that no one seems to have achieved any long-term contentment, and the effect not engaging has on our minds.

Did our ancestors have more fulfilling material and spiritual lives? In some respects, yes....(?!). There was more likely to be a purpose to life, especially when it came to work. Crafting was life for a weaver, a shepherd, a potter. Of course, infant mortality rates were through the roof and a drink of water might lead to death. It's dangerous to romanticize the old and remove these practices from the societies in which they existed. That doesn't mean we can't find something to take away from them either.

In a post-industrialized world, where most hold service jobs, and even those who still work in manufacturing now have an idea their jobs come with an expiration date after which their positions will be automated, humans have to be cognizant of the limitations of the all-tech, all-the-time milieu. Our biological evolution has not caught up with our social. Human bodies have remained relatively unchanged as far as composition since 300,000 years ago. We tend to forget such realities when our species has woven a wonderfully progress-oriented narrative for ourselves in the form of a collective consciousness. And with a focus on the future (and a "now is better than then" attitude) we've lost sight of what it means to experience our humanness in many ways.

Must we, as individuals, craft to survive as a species? We're made to believe so many aspects of our society are "bedrocks" of civilization as we know it when likely they're not. Beliefs that take away our desires to "do," as in experience, the world around us. Instead we sit in inertia, rather than endure hard feelings. The fear of change and anxiety associated with non-conformity to a "normal" way of life keep us in jobs, homes, relationships, behavior patterns that rob us of our (admittedly, very little) agency to effect change in our own lives.

The only answer that satiates any desire for a solution (though it is paltry in comparison to the size of the problems facing our species) is to live , in the face of oppressive bourgeois norms, blasphemously. Whatever that word conjures up in your mind - try it out. The repression of our selves in learned from myriad sources and from an early age. Parental examples, religion, schooling, media and popular culture all send messages to continue the narrative, to preserve it for future generations. And sure, the levels of oppressive social messaging today are less restrictive and more open to new possibilities, but always it's a new amendment added to a list of many others versus. Rather, those new iterations can be intertwined into a wider web of human possibilities, furthering chances of a new configuration.

Thus, our nature calls us to craft - and not solely in the sense of gluing popsicle sticks together to make a frame. "Craft" in the older sense of the word - to know how to "be" whatever it is you're doing. Enrich your experience and life with full engagement in an activity.



*the review of the book, "Craeft" in the NYT Book Review

Buy the Ticket, Take the Ride

Over the past two months, I've been plagued by a sense of writer's block. Not that I amount to any great or prolific "auteur" but energy flows through me when I write in a way it doesn't necessarily do so in public speaking or even one-on-one conversations. So with an inability to find that as an outlet, two months of observations on the world around me became bilious and much in need of expression - sex scandals, harassment accusations, "45", the Republican "anti-American Dream" tax bill, social media overload, work-related stressors, day-to-day worries - woof. Much as I tried to avoid it, I was stuck in the 24 hour news cycle hell that dominates our modern media paradigm.

This was destined to continue - a  kingdom of bullshit around us, evident, yet impossible to break away from. At least that is what I had resigned myself to...until this week, anyhow.

Today I spent a portion of the afternoon reading the NYT magazine section from Dec 31, 2017 - dedicated to the obituaries of various influential people who passed on this year. Coupled with the last few days' "best of 2017" lists, I began to reflect more deeply on the year and why so many people wait until the changing of the calendar page to make any actual changes in their lives. As someone who doesn't often make resolutions at year's end, what ultimately resonated with me was the fascination of what we, as individuals, do give significance to in our lives. Whether live performances of the music we love or really great conversations with friends, so much of what enriches our experiences as living beings are our interactions....with other living beings.

Painful as that admission may be for a person who wears "Hell is other people" socks on a regular basis, the evidence proves otherwise. And within this admission of the necessity for other people, the end-of-year recaps and hopeful resolutions also speak to the fullness of our lives. We don't acknowledge this often enough in the day to day, but as beings with an unknown expiration date, the constant flow of negativity and misery we subject ourselves to through media consumption and constant distraction from what's right in front of us is ludicrous given our short time here.

Losing sight of the forest for the endless trees can provoke existential distress in anyone. But of course, when we zoom out, even the healthiest forests harbor rot and decay as much as they are burgeoning with new life. On top of that, there are many paths through each of our lives, yet when we find a walkable one, we tend not to veer too far off of it. I've faced this personally and professionally many times and up to this point, most of the choices I have made have been to stay on a particular path.

 But to what end? Robert Frost's "The Road Less Traveled" comes to mind as I can sit and regret things I didn't choose to engage in. Though, the idea that two roads could never intersect or hold twists unseen puts a lot of faith in the idea that our choices have totally foreseeable outcomes and everything will go the way we intend. Unfortunately, our lives do not unfold in that way, and as someone who is now in her mid-30s, any such philosophy that sets the individual up as a creator of her own destiny has no appeal. Much of what we experience is by chance, including what sort of environment we're born into or skin we're in. Thus, the emphasis on the individual working hard for something or willing it to become reality sets so many people up for not necessarily failure in execution, but with a belief that existentially, they are failures themselves.

Ultimately, we know how to get by. We know what sort of resolutions we'll make year after year, but what would really make our lives better? How could we open ourselves up to more experiences? See the forest for what it is - in all its cycles of growth, death and rebirth? If you have suggestions, let me know.