Now I Am Here

“The world is material. We are always in a certain place. Now I am here.” - Autumn, Karl Ove Knausgaard

As a Social Studies teacher, a wide variety of courses get thrown your way - geography, sociology, law, psychology, history, economics - it depends on the school and course offerings, but most of the 'soft sciences' end up being something one might encounter along a career in the profession. In my 6th year of teaching, I took on human geography; the intersection of human culture and development with geography. The course itself is a distillation of social studies in a way - covering everything from linguistic development to demographics to agricultural systems.The cultural landscape is something I had never really considered deeply, but the more I thought about it, the more it made sense and ultimately became one of my favorite classes to teach. Something that struck me most when beginning to study the subject in order to teach it was the influence of place on linguistic development. The native peoples of the Arctic Circle civilizations have many words for winter conditions that speak to not only what's coming out of the sky, but the conditions on the ground and whether or not said conditions are conducive to walking about. The perceptive abilities of humans will never be fully translate-able into verbal expression, but necessity can lead to amazing feats of human creation. 

Thinking about the interplay of humans and their environments, I hold an affinity toward extreme landscapes and often, those who come from them (or at least, the art they produce while in them). When the land itself is not welcoming to person or a people, it does something to their understanding of the world. So many Americans live in prefabricated neighborhoods and are entirely engulfed by the man-made as to never have to encounter the frightening vastness Earth has to offer. Since high school, I've personally wanted to see the Mojave Desert. The starkness of the desert biome has been likened to an extraterrestrial one many times; perhaps that's a deeply anthropocentric view. We did not create such vacancy; in fact, such traits are anathema to a social primate's instinctual desire for proximity and comfort, but that does not mean such landscapes do not belong here. Standing alone in a desert (hot or cold) surrounded for miles by emptiness would send anyone into an existential crisis after a while. Hell, it'd even make people want to live in Las Vegas just to avoid the uncomfortable nothingness. Humans are not so different from the  rhesus monkeys in Harlow's infamous psychology experiments. Primates, and likely many other animals, would give up actual nourishment for psychological comfort and security. Of course this might be a stretch of an analogy, but there is a degree of truth to why so many of us choose to live in less than ideal surroundings in exchange for the access to convenience of modern living, for the comfort of conformity with other members of our species.

For those who know me and have heard me fangirl over the epigraph's author, Karl Ove Knausgaard, you may also be aware that Norway is one of those places that calls to me. The extreme landscape has not only produced one of my all-time favorite writers, but also some of my favorite musicians. There is a conservative, Lutheran culture in Norway that I would venture to guess all of these artists have chafed against to produce their craft, a point that could be dissected in and of itself at length. What links the expressions that come from this environment is their reverence for the physical world that surrounds them. Even within the intense focus on his own mind for Knausgaard's six volume "autobiographical" novel,his writing has an expansiveness to it. Here we are, mining the depths of the mind of a middle aged man, and somehow we're faced with the unity of all of our own consciousnesses. Whether we want to admit it or not, we've all secretly scowled through meetings or cursed our friends or resented the existence of our most cherished. That internal struggle to be outwardly compassionate and inwardly curmudgeonly is not reserved for his experience. And although his work is not some sort of revelation in the sense that it's exactly saying something new, it does break through the confines of what we are supposed to publicly admit and feel about those whom with we share our lives.  

I've also been reading David Wojnarowicz's In the Shadow of the American Dream, which is a collection of his diaries from his teens through his fame and ultimate death from AIDS. There's something about the America he describes that reminds me of now; a brokenness or failure of culture that marginalizes those who do not fit in. The definition of who doesn't fit in is always shifting -that's the game. Sometimes marginalized groups are brought into the fold and a new "other" appears. Whomever the other is, however, within that marginalization there is a sort of freedom to create and be who you are. Although, on the other side, being persecuted for the exact same reasons comes along with those spaces. In final diaries, he's dying of AIDS-related complications, feeling as though his body has betrayed him but also that others have as well by continuing to live their mundane lives while he's thrust into the existential crisis of death. Living through a virus-caused pandemic right now, it's chilling to think about all of the parallels to the continued horrors of not knowing what the virus will do to a human host - Kaposi's sarcoma in young men? Blood clots that kill? We've lived this before. But death remains the ultimate "othering" - we shunt the dead and dying off into margins of our minds, even when they're the ones we love. The vastness of death is that existential desert we just can't bear to look at. 

Early into this pandemic, there was a moment where Americans really did seem to be at the precipice of an awakening to being more accepting of the unknown. People were spending more time outside, driving less, consuming less. As the pandemic has worn on and become more and more a politicized weapon, whatever desire for change has faded not because people care less but because they are made to suppress their desire for revolution. The pull of modern life plays on our desire for comfort and provides emotional shelter from mortality. Constant talk about returning to life as we knew it forms a sort of nostalgia for the old (even if it only mere months ago). Covid deaths continue to climb; we tend to understand the threat less and less, as the numbers become more and more abstract the higher they go. Similarly, the environmental crisis that looms in our near future has also kept us from dealing directly with the problem. The problem is our way of life. We must change, not the environment. We are part of the environment and must remember all of the times it has humbled us - even if one hasn't ever seen a town laid to waste by a tornado or hurricane, maybe a beautiful sunset gave pause, or a giant clap of thunder rattled one's brain. 

Sojourning through a desert for years on end in search of answers isn't a reasonable expectation for most to have. However, opening one's self to accept the existential expanse that is all around us is feasible even within the confines of a suburban hellscape. 

Musical Epilogue:
 
Although they're not Norwegian, American greats Mastodon have encapsulated this vastness perfectly in the song below....

On Play

“Play is often talked about as if it were a relief from serious learning. But for children play is serious learning. Play is really the work of childhood.”
― Fred Rogers

For nearly four months, playgrounds have been closed. My four year old daughter cried for a half hour straight the day her favorite playground had caution tape over the gated entry. After reality set in that this might be for the long haul, she became accustomed to waving to "Gazebo Park" from afar and wondering aloud whether or not the birds and squirrels were appreciating the slides and swings while children took a break from it all. My in-laws immediately offered to buy her a play set for the backyard. I had one as a kid and have fond memories of playing on it - but my adult backyard is an awkward shape without as much open space for the set. Plus, once quarantining is over, the idea of being confined to our own property with our own things....? It's safe to say everyone's had enough of that.

So what's a kid to do in this environment? Well, we began to make new explorations part of our daily routine. Instead of the trip to a designated park where we generally knew what to expect, we would set off on our walks with a different goal in mind; these goals varied from taking pictures to observing insects (and especially ladybugs) to finding sea glass. The attempt has been to find the extraordinary in the ordinary - to focus on what we usually walk right by. When I walked with her, on a whim, to a hundred-plus year old stone bridge in the neighboring town, it awakened an obsession with travelling there a few times a week. Zillow gave us an excuse to walk by interesting homes that we'd already viewed the insides of online. The mini-polaroid camera also provided a new way of looking at things - framing pictures just right to capture the shot she wanted to bring home to "show Dad." 

This week we walked along a fishing pier in the neighboring town, paying close attention to a group of teenage fishermen who had successfully caught a fluke (though were unsuccessfully relieving it of the hook in its mouth without serious damage to the poor thing). On the expanse of beach below the pier that continues to stretch down the bay to the ocean, I watched her scramble up large cement slabs covered in algae without concern for her hands or clothing. She slipped a few times as I looked on. not asking me for help but becoming more insistent that I let her climb even deeper into the rubble so she could "explore." Watching without intervening is hard sometimes, because I worry she will hurt herself, but I also think to the types of risks I took as a child - riding my bike where I was expressly told not to go, taken the shady old trail down through the woods with my all female crew - and know making these sorts of decisions is important for her to experience too. While the playground is missed, I do wonder what is missed when we make that our sole destination. A few years ago, I read about British risk playgrounds that have been designed with these choices in mind -to push small children into making choices about what risks are manageable and which aren't for their ability level. 

Beyond physical endurance and spatial cognizance, the beach-as-playground also allowed for organic discussion about what we were experiencing in the here and now. There were questions about tides, clouds and boats. She inquired why we shouldn't walk into the dune grass and even got to see the birds hopping in and out of the tall blades. She opined that an old tire didn't belong on said beach and wondered how/why someone would dump it there. We examined shells and and dead blue crabs and investigated whether or not two beached horseshoe crabs were indeed alive (one was, one was decidedly not). Seeing life or the remains of life taught her in real time about the cycle we're all in through a much gentler way than a relative or pet dying. These creatures showed her that death was natural and observable at all times, something most Americans avoid acknowledging at all costs. 

The real world is a scary place as we all know. We do our best to manage the risks it presents as adults. When we expose our children to environments outside of the means-tested, well-cultivated ones, we help them to be more prepared for what the real world can throw at them. As a teacher of young adults, I find their exasperation at the myriad current situations understandable - the padded table corners and exclusive playgroups do not translate to these times. They don't buy that everything will go back to normal and be "as it was" because the "as it was" was...well, bullshit. There were always risks, whether or not the adults in their world wanted to expose their children to them or even basically acknowledge their existence. And of course, certain populations have had to grapple with this all along - parents of black and brown teenagers have to have these talks, parents of girls and LGBTQ+ teens as well. To not mention that there might be a bias against your child simply because of their skin color, sexuality or gender would do those children a disservice that could lead to their death (and even with those warnings, it could happen anyhow). 

To resist Fear-based parenting not only recognizes are child are people independent of ourselves, it also allows them the ability to begin to see the world outside the ones we've provided for them as safe spaces to be themselves. It encourages them to 

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.

Never Fear Love

When I wake up, especially for work, my exact sentiment is a Peter-Steele-Type-O-Negative bass utterance of, "I hate the morning (4:46)."But then I get out of bed, get into the rhythm of the day and think, "Fuck, I'm alive," and just start living the day. I'm frightened by the prospect of death sometimes, but then I realize that I'm living right now - it's the same sort of message as in the first scenario. I don't exactly know when I reached metaphysical awareness of this, although, I suppose it really began to click when I stopped caring if I died in the big picture sense of it.

And I think we get caught in trying to capture or understand the purpose/meaning to life and what we do, but then we can't. The entire journey is just that - one epic journey. It's been said so many times and is such a cliche in and of itself now. That's fine too. We gave meaning meaning in the first place - with the development of symbols (language, concepts, reason). Some people try to apply that to everything to reduce the jagged edges of life from appearing (and there's a time and place for ripping a paper along the perforation but fringies on a damn paper shouldn't bother anyone that much). But everything isn't smooth all of the time, which we have to remember (otherwise we go crazy).

The post-structuralists were all about this. Humans have tried to explain everything - so many of us are insistent on this point. We are seeking a level of perfectionism and understanding over everything.  What a clever gilding! But it, too, is only a gilding - it doesn't last and can be peeled away.

Even the best meaning breaks down in the presence of pure fear, pain or love. So we, as a species, end up controlling our environment so much as to avoid: fearing an unknown, feeling an unabated pain, or experiencing true love for anyone or anything, including life. Here's an example from our society of all three rolled into one - American social norms make women feel as though not being married by 30 is somehow terrible, causing fear and anxiety to rise up. Once a woman is with someone, even someone who treats them poorly, they stay, to avoid pain of being alone and heartbroken. In the end, even for those truly in love, their intense feelings of affection are tamped down by a ritual devoid of any actual experience of individuality and spirituality.

There's a pattern throughout all of these posts - go out and live. Experience. Stop thinking sometimes. It's good for you. Cheesy as this is, once again, never fear love.