On Grapefruits And Graveyards

The only way to make sense out of change is to plunge into it, move with it, and join the dance. - Alan Watts

On a sunny Tuesday morning in early May of the plague year, I finally offered to cut the grapefruit that my four year old daughter had been coveting since last week. The heavens rejoiced in her mind as she bound around the kitchen yelling, “YES!” On a whim, I purchased a grapefruit at the supermarket the week prior. As the world as we know it breaks down in fundamental ways, buying something as unessential as a grapefruit seemed almost transgressive. In the previous time, what would be as outdated and blasé as eating a grapefruit for breakfast? What is this? Some 1980s fad diet? Now, eating a grapefruit for/with breakfast has taken on some luxurious undertone in my mind. 

Since unpacking the groceries, this fruit took on great significance for her. La niña appeared, mainly to see if I had brought home some sort of “prize” from the supermarket, and then transitioned into interrogation mode regarding this purchase- what's this? What does it taste like? Can I have 'a piece'? Why does a GRAPEfruit have an orange rind? Since the moment it was shelved in the refrigerator, she's argued with me to cut up this fruit for her at every meal. She needed a grapefruit right NOW for a variety of reasons.

Finally, this morning the grapefruit was cut open. I segmented a half for her to try and placed it before her. Digging in, she ate two segments and then pushed it aside, to “save for later.” When I asked if she liked it, she gave a resounding yes, but that the real trouble was she was so full, there was no more she could eat. I offered her an out, “...but it's ok if you also don't like it.” Of course, the Iron Lady refused to recant her previous statements on the tastiness of grapefruits.

If you have never bargained with a small child, you've never truly experienced the unrelenting psychic stamina of another person. It's almost as though a pre-pubescent child's ability to physically stand in a freezing pool, teeth chattering and lips blue, can transfer to their mental state when required. Young children have “endurance.” This may sound like a cold assessment, but I'm awed by their skill. If only I had the endurance for endless small talk, bad arguments, or unrelenting pleas to cut random citrus fruits.

Since work has been minimized due to the new virtual format and constant worry about how much stress we can and should be putting on academic work during a pandemic, la niña and I have been walking quite a bit. We have a usual loop, in which I vary the path slightly, but typically head up a long, unbroken stretch of sidewalk that connects our town to a much cuter and prettier one which has a real downtown and a harbor to walk through. Tired of the usual the other day, I brought up going on a new adventure. We took a leisurely walk around a local cemetery. It's on a hilltop cleaning surrounded by a wooded area about 2 miles from our house, nestled inside one of the typical housing developments in this area. We took a Polaroid camera and a snack to visit tombs (her word) and learn more about them.

While walking through the back end of the cemetery, I saw a name on a gravestone that I recognized. Someone I had gone to school with since first grade (maybe kindergarten, even) was buried there. In fact, she'd died in 2014. The obituary revealed little when checked. This woman was not someone I was close to, although we'd gone to school together for 12 years. She was born in November and was likely one of the older students in my graduating year; I, on the other hand, with a late summer birthday, was always one of the youngest. While everyone matures at their own rate, sometimes the gap of nearly a year does create noticeable developmental differences. At some point in upper elementary school, she stood up for me to some other kids who were being a nuisance. That's pretty much the only memory I have of her besides thinking that in high school, she likely smoked cigarettes, which was what most suburban teenagers seemed to be into in the late 90s.

This "find" didn't necessarily provide pause for the contemplation of my own mortality – that's a nearly daily meditation anyhow. Instead, it led me down a line of thinking about the degree of anonymity our lives take on when removed from a daily routine. After a month of not being at work, I realized I hadn't thought of someone I see on a near-daily basis usually in the entire time we'd been away until that very moment. It was startling in a sense. And not necessarily because I'm a uniquely selfish asshole, but because removed from the daily grind, everyone's vision narrows to what's right in front of them. When people are imprisoned or held captive for a long time, sometimes they relay their time in that experience with a degree of calm more fit for a Buddhist monk. One of the reasons why is likely because they learned to accept their reality, to not struggle against it or to pin hopes on wishing it away. Maybe the suggestion for our quarantine time now should be to keep calm and meme on? Jokes aside, accepting that this is what the near entirety of the world is experiencing now would be a step toward allowing ourselves the space to breathe and be without having to answer to all of the demands we typically put on ourselves. 

When you consider the transitions we consistently face in our lives – graduations, promotions, moves, relationships, births, deaths, et al – it's no wonder internally we face such a degree of turmoil despite the mundanity of those events. Everyone goes through changes all of the time; change is the constant, not anything else about life is a constant as much as we would love that to be the case. Some of the changes we face, like aging, are much more gradual (and possibly) less abrasive to our psyches. But it is worth sharing our feelings about those tumultuous events with those we trust and/or love because, as it turns out, empathy is a great healer. It provides us the room to accept the situation and ourselves (physically, emotionally and spiritually). 

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recommended reading/listening:

interview - https://thedewdrop.org/2019/12/06/deneen-fendig-duncan-trussell/

music-  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7zikXou8vDc 

Physics, the Universe and God

This is a part II to the previous post, which I felt was incomplete, but that I posted anyway because I couldn't quite figure out how to reconcile what I was really relaying. 

I have been reading a lot of science-based non-fiction lately. It started by watching Cosmos which re-ignited a piece of my brain that had laid dormant for a while - scientific inquiry. I always really liked science in high school. Science AND math actually. They provide answers to problems in a tidy way that just makes you feel accomplished. I have been waaaay out of that scene for a while though, so my skills of actually completing any sort of mathematical equations would be very compromised at this point without some serious remediation.

The book I am currently reading on this subject, "You Are Here: A Portable History of the Universe," by Christopher Potter, is more of a history of science, specifically science dedicated to understanding the universe. The author was in a related field, but personally had some issues with understanding his "place in it all" and the point of what he was doing. And I think that philosophical inquiry regarding our understanding of, well, our understanding of everything, is key to actually being able to understand! Haha. Confusing. But Socrates was able to formulate this idea over 2,000 years ago too - All I know that I know nothing. We've come further into our knowing, but we still don't know anything. It's like we have gathered more puzzle pieces but we still don't know what the puzzle will look like once we snap them all together. Hell, we have like half a face and 3/4 of the border and we're still squinting at it like a damn magic eye picture, trying to figure out what the fuck we're looking at (also, for the record, I can't see ANYTHING in those magic eye pics, so I might be useless when it comes to figuring out what the universe IS or ISN'T). And I am not saying we shouldn't be collecting those puzzle pieces. We just can't get bogged down that the puzzle will solve ANY earthly concern for us in the grand scheme of things.

Potter discusses the "standard theory" of the universe and how messy it is. How it can almost be nothing in the end since it's so nebulous and seemingly disjointed. I haven't finished the book  yet, but even so far throughout, he has been pointing out how little we really know. Or how un-definitive our attempts have been to make sense of the universe. We have the atom, we break it open. We have the smallest particles we think we can find, we find smaller ones. We have anti-particles, theorized particles, and a slew of unanswered questions cropping up for each question we do happen to answer.  The physicists looking for a "unifying theory" are looking for "god" in numbers. And it strikes me as funny because I doubt they'd believe that to be true, but it's why someone like Sam Harris is so laughable to me. I can't take this genius of neuroscience seriously when he talks, and especially when he criticizes religion and spiritual leaders, because he's so full of shit. He's positing a new vision of god - just one that he can back up with numbers.

Math is the "universal" language, but it's not something that exists out in the wilds of nature. It's a recognizable pattern that HUMANS imposed on something that has existed without explanation since before our appearance on this planet. So what if the Fibonnaci sequence makes sense with this series of numbers? We figured that out after the fact of its existence. Nature is the ultimate existence precedes essence.

Once you stop looking for god in math and science, in spiritual realms, in others, even in yourself, that's when everything starts making sense because you realize that nothing does. The unity is the experience of living more than anything else. From person to person, those experiences aren't ever the same, and will never be- so the endless judgments we cast only makes our shared interactions painful. But we can overcome these tendencies somehow. I have a hard time knowing exactly how. I keep trying to express love and understanding, only to find myself getting stuck in the rut of a hate-fest and cycles of frustration and despair. What I keep coming back to is that ultimately, the goal is to live and not simply to avoid death, which is a scary thought because living entails risks and potentially death. But if I cozy up in my home eternally, or even just never extend myself to try and break down walls both physically and mentally between myself and others, well, then what good am I? Any suggestions are welcome.

Personal identifiers and control. ..

The question of why I do not like labels has been something that I have not been able to entirely resolve for a while now. When I say I am an atheist or feminist, but that I don't want to have that label attached to my being, I get weird reactions. People WANT me to pick a side, a label, an identifier. And I resist. But why? Last night, it struck me, finally, as to why. An identifier is another form of control.

A few other elements and experiences have gone into this revelation. My partner waxed poetically about knowing me for so long (22 years....) and how he never imagined being with me. The idea of "me" as a continuity, as something that could be pinned down to represent my very essence, well, that just upset "me." Because even though I have, mentally, experienced "myself" this entire time, I don't even know exactly if there IS continuity of any sort internally. There's a narrative that I can create. Or that others can, to achieve some sort of "Huntress-ness" but is that really real?

Does this mean that my "authentic" self isn't...authentic? Well, no. Because even with authenticity, I don't believe that there is a one-true-self that anyone can achieve. Authenticity refers to the experience of being human, not the experience of being human AS Huntress S. Jackson, esq. Ha! Just kiddin...but seriously, what is more true than existence precedes essence when it really comes down to bare bones? We exist. Just like animals. Just like a tree. No better, no different in the grand scheme of things. Just as mortal and expendable.  Which is what drives so many humans to madness. We'd rather do anything than admit to ourselves that we're "just talking meat" -quelle horreur! We're posting pictures of our sandwiches online to foster a connection to someone, anyone who might be listening. What the....?

At the end of Joseph Conrad's "The Heart of Darkness," the narrator Marlow lies to Kurtz's fiancée,  telling her his last words were about her. In truth,  his last words were ambiguous...perhaps lamenting what he'd become, perhaps about what he'd miss out on, or maybe more broadly, about the disturbing depths all of us are capable of reaching. Kurtz's labels as a successful captain, a well educated and civilized man were temporary,  as temporary as we all are. Kurtz's authenticity was real in either chaper of his life - only his circumstances had changed so much that he appeared to be a completely different person to those who had not been with him as he made his transformation.

Is it dangerous to label one's self?  Not necessarily.  Is it naive? Potentially. As circumstances in your life progress, holding on to labels can keep you from being open to change. The easiest way to think about the trouble with labels is by using an example of a nrgative one. Think about negative self talk you might engage in on a daily basis - your nose is too big, you're overweight,  your freckles are ugly...blah, blah. These labels might prevent you from being confident in your abilities.  Or you might avoid talking to someone that you might really like. Using your labels to control your experience of the world is an easy trap to fall into, but in the end, it's not worth the effort it takes to constantly compartmentalize everything around you, including yourself because you're also cutting off possible new worlds.