Slow Travel

The writer, in the parlor, with the leaky pen. I'm finally allowing the intense quiet of the back woods to feel comforting. I'm about an hour's drive north of Santa Fe, New Mexico, in the Pecos Wilderness, in a cabin, surrounded with snow-footed trees (mostly juniper and piños pine, along with some spruce and elm, our hosts tell us). Deer that are heavier than they appear munch on exposed grasses in the yard, and the ever-charismatic blue jays compete for the bird feeder all day long. Yesterday, upon our first morning waking up in this, the second largest wilderness area in the state, everything seemed a little off. The quiet seemed to boom in my ears, creating a vacuum of sound I've become accustomed to in Los Angeles. I never thought I'd say this, but the constant urban hum can become a part of a person, symbolizing activity that leads to productivity, and a level of security that there is someone out there, even if the occasional loneliness of anonymity hits.

Here, there is no one, except my travel companion and the inn keepers. When the inn keepers leave for an hour, I push away panicked thoughts of potential disastrous emergencies that might occur in their absence. And me without a cell phone signal! Have I become so dependent on the immediacy  of living in a city? In these woods, even nearby cabins that are filled with fishermen and campers in the summer have been deserted now, left to stand covered in inches of fallen snow. Their porches are often insurmountable after a storm's hefty deposit that glistens in the sun. In the spring, these flakes will melt and become the drip on the corner of a deck, a drop in the creek, a roar of a river, a molecule in the cell of a tree's xylem pumping water through the trunk to the sky.  I walk with a companion, having little to say, our feet crunching on slushy snow along a lane large enough for one car to pass. These seem like the forgotten places for now.

Except, here I am, learning to listen again, learning to hear soft things the way babies do after emerging from a womb that pulsates with the sounds blood rushing around. I am again learning to travel slowly along the path, to see that in the end, this place is more real than our concrete and lifeless structures. In this forest, life springs and falls to a quiet dormancy, and then springs again when the time is right.

After a time, we are surprised to see two men as we round a bend. They are holding cross-country skis. It seems natural to stop and chat, since it may be some time before we see anyone else. Indeed, it seems absurd - rude, even - to not stop and chat. "Any trails you recommend?" One well-groomed  gentleman on the verge of old age asks, with a hint of a northern Eurpoean accent that I cannot place. "No, we're just visiting." I reply. "Are you staying around here?" He wonders. "Yup - we are staying down the road, in a bed and breakfast." We wish each other a good trip and move on in silence again.

Somewhere along the path, I am reminded of something I have read many times. Underneath the din of noise, lies the most vital source of life. "Be still and know that I am God."  And suddenly, I am...and I do.

Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Ever-Increasing Productivity

A few months ago, I quit my day job as a jack-of-all-trades office worker at a fast-paced internet company in the heart of Los Angeles culture. This was a strategic move on my part. After encountering several enlightening situations,  I began to rethink my commitment to a bi-weekly paycheck over my commitment to doing something truly meaningful with my life. I'm not saying working in an office, helping a company run its day-to-day business is not meaningful. In fact, I have come to truly appreciate the very crucial hours people put in to make a small business run (it's a labor of love!), and for some people, this type of work fulfills them. I'm just saying that this type of work is not ultimately meaningful for me, and I finally decided to take a risky jump to fulfill my life purpose. So, with a heart thankful for the opportunity to experience two years in my supporting role, I said a tearful goodbye to my peeps at the office, and have since explored the next step.

So what is the next step?

Report is as follows: I Don't know. Exactly.

Am I allowed to say that? Is an almost-30, educated, smart woman in the prime of life (without children, even!) allowed to say that in our society, which tends to stress 'doing' above 'being'? I know my next step will have something to do with writing, and probably something to do with my interest in environmental issues and urban planning, but those are pretty wide swaths of 'I-don't-know' territory. This is a territory that our American culture has deemed 'A nice place to visit, but wouldn't want to live there,' on par with a hut in the desert, or camping with a dog. According to conventional wisdom, this territory spells disaster if you overstay your visit. Only losers hang out in this no-mans land, people who can't get it together to 'be somebody', those who sacrifice their careers for others, are lazy, homeless, or in jail. It doesn't take long in this position to get the feeling your friends and family are nudging you towards 'official' productivity, demonstrated with carefully-placed comments of "When you get a job..." For normal, nice, hard-working people, the 'I-don't-know' territory should be relegated to one's two weeks of vacation once a year, when God-fearing folks are allowed to wake up in their hotel room and not have an agenda until after they've had their coffee.

For me, every day feels like vacation, for now. Some days are super productive and there are 2000 words on my computer screen and three job applications to show for it, and others are a flop. And I'm not sure how I feel about that, except to say that I made a commitment to myself to not waste another second of my life doing something that isn't contributing to my purpose. For now, this means listening, and looking, and waiting. Is this a little self-serving? Maybe, yes.

On the other hand, if I find the thing - the very important thing that I believe is out there for me to do with my time on earth - it's a very good thing for the rest of the world, because I know it's something that will serve others tremendously. Ultimately, that's what 'finding your purpose' is all about. Not just for me, but for everyone.

Let Them Discuss Politics

Living in a large urban city means there are many little interactions that could easily be passed over without much thought. My job as a writer is to be observant of these moments, and to think deeper about them than the average person; I want to bring things that are hidden to the surface in order to see what value they might hold.

One such moment occurred this morning. Waiting in line at Starbucks, I overheard  conversation between two Starbucks employees. One woman, busy at the espresso bar making drinks had a sharp (and forced polite) tone in her voice. "You really think that's a correct course of action?" She did not look at the recipient of this comment, but the man next to her, working on an adjacent espresso bar, responded. "Well, sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do. The rioters are just trying to make themselves heard, and now the government is finally listening!" It's clear these two were discussing the riots that are ongoing in London, England. For several days, rioters have been wreaking havoc in this city - one of the main stages of Western civilization.

Their conversation continued. A third employee - a very tall, deep-voiced man, chimed in, "You really think rioting is a good thing? Rioting means no electricity, no gasoline, no food for people!" He shook his head while pouring the drink he was mixing into a cup. He was flabbergasted, and holding back his anger. Outnumbered, the riot sympathizer did not respond. Later, he brought up the topic again, and the woman said with irritation, "I don't want to talk about this anymore. This conversation is going nowhere." The man spoke with disappointment as if to the space between the two employees, "This is the problem - nobody wants to talk about these things, and we need to."

I kept thinking about this last comment. My instinct, and one that many people have when overhearing this type of conversation, is an initial red alert. I have been brought up with the value of politeness (Don't they say to never discuss religion or politics in a social situation?). Furthermore, arguing in front of customers is considered bad service. I could imagine the manager coming over and reminding the three employees that people just want their coffee, not to walk into a cafe full of employees debating an uncomfortable social issue. This idea of customer service - of putting up a pretty face for people even if this means you let go of your personal dignity, is much a product of our post-industrial commercial economy, with an emphasis on providing a 'product' for the public rather than really seeing the business as a part of the real fabric of the community, where real conversations happen. In this economy, even the employee becomes part of the product itself, an objectification of a human.

And yet, isn't this part of the reason that our society is in so much trouble? We have learned, collectively, to turn off the conversation when things get uncomfortable, when things get real. We trade authenticity for productivity. In my travels, I have time and again noticed our unique cultural aversion to discussing 'uncomfortable' topics like politics or religion, whether talking with strangers or close relatives and friends. I've been in considerably less 'open' societies in places like Burma, Latin America, and Samoa, where people are shockingly open to conversations about topics that would make most Americans cringe to discuss openly.  I mean, these people are not ashamed of having opinions and they really want to hear mine! And yet, it seems taboo to have these same conversations at a block party in my neighborhood. We seem to relegate these conversations to the personally distant and formal forums of the media. Why?

I don't know why, but lately I've been wishing more people would leave the expectation of mere 'politeness' behind, and start discussing the real stuff. It would be refreshing to talk about that which goes beyond small talk, traffic and weather, and gets down to the core of what makes us human - both individually and collectively. In the end, I agree with the employee this morning. "Nobody wants to talk about these things - and we need to."

Perfection.

Perfection (n) : freedom from fault or defect

Lately, the issue of perfection has been popping up quite a bit.  Every day I struggle with thoughts of guilt that arise from a belief that I am not perfect, and this weighs me down. I wonder sometimes if living in a society where the emphasis is on perfection contributes to this struggle. All around me, images of perfect-looking people abound. Businesses are constantly trying to be more efficient. Industry is always trying to produce more, to make the perfect product, and we all swallow those products in our efforts to achieve our own ultimate perfections. And yet, somehow we never reach the pinnacle. Each time we round the next bend in the road, the top of the mountain gets higher. There are many ways of dealing with the guilt I feel over never being perfect. I trade off self-medicating with these strategies, sometimes using one in high doses and sometimes combining them in a coping cocktail. 

a) Ignore it. I tell myself, why think about it? Thinking about it cannot change it. Only doing something to change myself can change the fact that I'm not perfect. I can be more perfect by trying, but only to the extent that i just do it without thinking about it. Don't think about the fact that I don't like not being perfect, just think about the goals, i.e., waking up at 6am every day and jump out of bed without hitting the snooze button. If I did this, I would be more perfect. But if I am not successful, it's ok. Don't think about this missed perfection opportunity. Just do it. Without thinking about it. I feel dizzy.

b) Acknowledge and Try Harder. So what if I'm not perfect? I'm on a journey. At least I'm trying to become perfect, which is more than I can say for that slob over there who doesn't care whether they end up a sad failure and an alcoholic. 'What? No, not you. I'm sure you'll stop being a horrible human being in about a week and a half.' (to myself: yes, you)

c) Accept and Give In. Duh, I'm not perfect. What? Did you not get enough hugs as a kid? Being imperfect is human. Come ooooonnnnn live a little! Don't you dare judge me, you don't know me. I don't judge you. As long as you can keep your mouth shut about how much I suck at this, we can hang out, ok? How dare you try to make me a better person!

So on a day when my mind is clear, something crystalizes: coping methods a, b, and c are completely unhealthy. Coping method a is basically leading nowhere given that I'm not allowed to think or enforce my own goals upon myself. Coping method b makes me a judgemental, hoity-toity b*tch by creating a world in which I constantly use others' downfalls to make myself feel better, and over time I lose many, many friendships. Coping method c breeds a breakdown of relationship with others who might actually have good intentions and see what is good for me in a way that I cannot. These people might actually be wiser than I (gasp!). 

Enter spiritual canonball. The other day, all this surfaced as I was reading a passage of scripture. I was reading the New Testament and came across the words of Jesus, reiterated by Paul the Apostle. Paul is speaking to a bunch of non-Jews in Galatia (the area that is now present-day Turkey), who had become Christian, and were trying to become more Jewish - following Jewish laws and customs and observing Jewish holy days, for example. This was something that many of the early gentile churches in fact struggled with, wondering whether they needed to be Jewish to be Christian. In his letter, he is pleading with these people to let go of their efforts in following the letter of Jewish law, which he equates with slavery. I mean, he was really pleading - begging. 

Finally, after going on an on about how Jesus is about freedom bla bla bla, in a moment that I consider the stunning climax of the letter, he says this: 

"The only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love." [italics mine]

The new Christians, in their search for perfection, were about to miss the whole point.  For Paul, the whole arrow of Jewish religion had been pointing towards freeing us from the bonds of rules and regulations to a life of exuberant love and relationship with each other. Jesus' fulfillment of Jewish law also broke the boundaries between people and a God who until this point had only limited contact with humans. This church had been trying to go backwards - they wanted the bonds of rules! They wanted perfection instead of freedom. Imagine a 40-year old man abiding by a curfew set for him while he was still a teenager, or a battered woman following the rules of her abusive husband after he has died - that is the level of absurdity we are talking about. And yet, in my own pursuit of perfection, I often go backwards. Perfection can be a goal, but it's a stupid one. The real goal should be becoming a more loving person. A more compassionate person, a person more invested in the lives of others.

At that moment I realized that being perfect focuses attention on ones self, while loving obliterates the self, over time. It is a chipping away at that wall between my heart and the world. It lets the world's beauty and pain come flooding in, while letting my own life force out into the world. That's why loving is a terror. And yet - those who can do it well are the most accomplished. 

So today, I will turn off the perfection channel. If wandering thoughts focus on being more perfect, I will ask myself - is this my faith expressing itself through love? Has my whole-hearted belief that God has given us true freedom transformed me so much that I am  in fact free to love, without boundaries, as I was created?

Packages and Blue Whales

Today I received a package. It lay unassuming on the doorstep, a joyful little surprise when I arrived home, exhausted from battling hours of traffic. I knew what it was immediately, and I couldn't wait to open it up. Inside, a Betsy Higgins yellow-colored binder measuring 12 inches by 12 inches (and about 5 inches thick) sat ready to be filled up with scrapbooking-style photo collages. This purchase is part of a collection of items I ordered from Amazon.com, which include this binder, twenty four clear plastic slip covers where I could insert my photos and other memorabilia, and some cut-to-size cards on which to write notes. These will go next to my photos, so I can remember what was going on in my life when the photos were taken.

I brought the package inside and lay the two-foot square brown box on the table. With a small knife, I cut through the clear tape. I pulled away the bubble wrap. Inside, there was...oh! Another box. Ok. A white box with a simple logo printed on it, saying "Becky Higgins". The appealing, alabaster box opened upward, and I expected to see the yellow binder cover. But, nope. Another box. Another white, simple box, with no logo this time. Generic, like the outer brown box that enveloped the whole thing. I sighed. Fine. I pulled this smaller white box out of the other white box. My table was now full of empty boxes, bubble wrap, and I paused to put some of this on the floor to accommodate this third box, and (hopefully - although I am losing hope now) the binder, hidden inside. I felt exhausted, I needed a break. I wanted a snack - some crackers, maybe. I wryly smiled to myself as I imagined opening the box containing the crackers. More boxes! The whole world is boxes and boxes containing things that require infinite opening. 'Life is a series of opening packages', my inner narrator began, forever poised to write an essay. I let my mind wander as I fill my tea kettle with water instead of reaching for the crackers. I'd stick with a non-packaged refreshment for now.

Oh wait. I was talking about the binder, right?  Back at the table now. I made the last leap, and opened the generic, thin white box's skinny end. I peered inside. I see it!! Something yellow! It slides out! I have reached the goal. It is beautiful! Perfect! No dents, no smudges. I have made the touchdown! I picked up the prize, and a layer of styrofoam fell out of the middle of the binder, where it had been filling the space that would eventually hold all my clear plastic pages filled with pictures. The crowd roared. The cats watching me release their breath, and look away, now bored.

*

Am I assuming the role of drama queen here? Maybe. Am I making a statement about my conundrum with packaging practices? Definitely. Some may think packaging problems fall low on the list of priorities. To those people I say: 72 Million Tons.  That is how much packaging waste Americans end up with in one year, according to the Environmental Protection Agency. Packaging and container waste makes up about one-third of our total national waste (total waste is about 243 Million Tons, or 4.34 pounds per person, per day). How much is 72 Million Tons? That is the total Brazilian soy bean production in 2010/2011. It is the weight of 480,000 of the largest known blue whales, which are themselves the largest known mammals to ever have existed on the earth.

Clearly, packaging is no small thing in this country. Currently, about about half of the packaging we create each year is recycled...this means that about 36 million tons of packaging and containers are thrown into landfills or incinerated. So now we're down to the weight of 240,000 blue whales, which actually represent trees being cut and oil being burned to process and transport the material, along with climate change being exacerbated. 

It's times like these when I realize that the system we live, a matrix of industrial processes meant to increase certain efficiencies (in this case, the production and distribution of a product as simple as a yellow-colored scrapbook binder) is in fact a strange paradox of irrational outcomes driven by rational choices along the way. Each actor along the way is acting in good faith, but they are looking at a mere sliver of the process. The manufacturer passes off their product to the buyer while protecting the product's quality with a thin box. The buyer brands their product, adding a layer of packaging that looks appealing for the consumer in order to maintain their reputation and their business. The third party seller adds bubble wrap and an additional box that ensures the presentation is delivered flawlessly, so that the relationship with the client is reinforced and the recipient gives good reviews. 

The problem is the lack of connection among actors, not the lack of good faith.

I propose that in order to put those blue whales of waste to bed, we need to reintegrate the packaging process, and get everyone working together. Each party along the production life cycle should not only maintain good faith for the next actor in line, but should think of the larger goal of creating as little waste as possible. This probably requires talking to each other, creating more sustainable industry standards and having industry-wide 'best practices'.  This is important - the long-term survival of our civilization depends on it.