A Problem to Solve

Today I would like to share an experience from earlier this week for which I am grateful. Perhaps the more I recognize moments like these, the more I will find myself enjoying them. We've had an unusual snowstorm in Portland this week. For over two days it remained cold and white flakes sprinkled from above. I've been enamored with this phenomenon since I was a kid. Because we receive this type of weather so rarely in the Willamette Valley, it is a novelty that lends itself toward feeling like a holiday.

I didn't attempt to use my car once the ground became blanketed. The parameters of my world changed. It became both more limited, yet revealed a new richness. Walking ten blocks to the local market, and carrying groceries home in my backpack was an adventure to mobilize for. Later, in the afternoon, I took myself to the neighborhood bar. This was the third day of being "snowbound," and I desired to maintain some exchange of energy with other people.

I took a seat at the bar, one seat from the end. The television was set to a soccer game in front of me. On the other end of the bar, there was a second television tuned to the Winter Olympics. The bartender asked me what I wanted. She struck me as fast paced, but friendly. I asked to sample a spiced pilsner before ordering a pint of the kolsch. A gentleman of about my age, early thirties, took a seat on my side of the bar. He wore a beige winter hat with flaps that covered his ears. He asked me if I was watching soccer game closely, and whether I would mind if he asked the bartender to put something else on. I replied that it was okay with me.

It was late afternoon on a Saturday, and the bar was gradually becoming more full with people. The bartender told the man sitting adjacent to me that she didn't know how to switch the television from DirecTV to Comcast, but provided him with a remote. I became aware that he was attempting to put the Blazers basketball game on, and expressed my approval. He searched the channels, but to no avail. I commented that I was glad it was he who carried the remote; that it was a hefty responsibility. He laughed and the bartender gave affirmation to this sentiment.

Meanwhile, this fellow patron and I continued brainstorming together. I'd say, "have you tried this?" He'd try, unsuccessfully, and we'd sit for another minute or two. I soon realized that the two other TVs in the bar were also being pursued by interested customers. They wanted to watch the game too. This reinforced the worthiness of our cause. We glanced around to see if they were making any faster progress than us. From here on, I will refer to the patron to my left as my friend, for we had developed some rapport. I commented that in order to solve this problem, we might need everyone in the bar to stop ordering booze, a strike of sorts.

He mentioned that he thought the cook might be of particular help. I agreed, that likely he was the keeper of the establishment's secrets. The other two televisions showed evidence that our predicament was shared. The screens showed users attempting to access the game via DirecTV. This was not a channel that had been paid for however. We needed to switch the televisions to input data from Comcast, instead. I became convinced that there was a remote control missing from the equation. My friend approached the bartender, who was more busy than before pouring drinks. She still could not help, but now understood the importance of the situation. She summoned the cook, who retrieved the missing remote, along with a card containing written instructions.

We knew we were getting close to achieving our goal. It was now a matter of when, not if. The television boxes stood stacked atop each other in the cook's corridor, within our view. With some patience, I observed the cook attempting to resolve the situation. Seeing that he was still holding the original remote, I inquired. "Is it time for the comcast remote?" He did not take offense and explained that he was attempting to follow the instructions. By now, however, my friend had the advantage of over a half hour of trial and error, brainstorming. I saw that he was the most qualified person to complete the job. I gained the attention of the cook earnestly and explained that my friend thought he knew what needed to be done. Fortunately, this cook was not overly prideful, and provided my friend with the necessary tools. Two remotes, and one card with handwritten instructions. Several moments later, the basketball game appeared on all three screens. The hero stood and raised his arms. The bartender left her post and summoned him, "give me a hug." When he returned to his stool, I said, "that's democracy in action." I took pleasure in seeing the whole scenario unfold, in participating, and seeing my role as part of the larger puzzle.

I hadn't watched a Blazers game in over a year, and many of the players were unfamiliar. Still, I have some understanding of the game, which allows an appreciation. Their opponents were the Timberwolves, now coached by Rick Adelman, who coached the Trailblazers when I was a kid, and whose summer camp I attended at about age ten. The first quarter was nearly over, and I stayed to watch until half-time. I declined a second beer, instead requesting water. By the time I stood to leave, my friend had moved one seat further away to make room for two more folks who filled in between. I put on my hat, my large puffy Miami Dolphins jacket, and approached my friend. "Hey nice to meet you. It was a pleasure working with you," I said, half joking. He smiled, and slapped me on the chest. I stepped to the door and pressed it open, exiting into the night.

The Grass Is Always Greener...

I've arrived back in Portland after about ten weeks of traveling in California. I essentially toured the circumference of the state, from the northeast corner south to the Mohave Desert, then west to Los Angeles, then north along the coast to Crescent City before returning to Portland via Interstate 5. There were aspects of the trip that became tiring, like not being able to shower regularly, but the sense of independence and self reliance were empowering. In my small station wagon, I had everything I needed to sleep and eat comfortably. I began to think less about the trivial things that often distract me in my everyday life.

Today I would like to write about the phenomenon of choice, and its relation to happiness. We live in a culture, in the US anyway, where we are bombarded by choices. Or at least the illusion of choice. If you watch television, you are likely to have over a hundred channels to pick from. Grocery stores offer more than we could ever consume. How much of this privilege to choose is empowering, and at what point does it cease to bring us more enjoyment in our lives? What does it mean to be free?

I recently watched Dan Gilbert's TED talk about happiness. He presented evidence that choice may actually become a source of unhappiness, particularly if we are left to wonder whether we have made the "right" choice. I can relate to this. I sometimes feel unable to make a choice about what product to buy, or which party to go to. Often times, either choice is likely to be a possible avenue of enjoyment, but I find myself in limbo. One question to ask is; Where do my desires come from? Are they organically derived, as for example, true hunger or thirst? Are they the result of an idea, coming from my mind or an advertisement?

One choice, often omitted or overlooked, is the possibility to abstain. To choose to have neither a latte or mocha. To choose to turn off the television. In fact, particularly in regard to advertisements, television is often a source of stimulation that robs me of choice. The freedom to choose what to think about. The freedom to have feelings apart from the emotional responses that advertisements and programs are designed to provoke. Having an awareness of the process is some defense against the manipulation of consumerism, but not very much.

A strategy I sometimes use when eating out or having a drink, is to order the same thing as whatever my friend is having, if it sounds pretty good. Then at least I won't wind up in the situation of having "order envy." This may sound a bit neurotic, and it probably is, but I grew up in this crazy culture. This brings me back to Dan Gilbert's research. One of the ways, he says, that people happily accept the choices they make, is by focusing on the positive qualities of that choice afterwards. For example, say my friend orders an IPA, and I am unsure what I want to drink. I think I may want to try the Brown Ale, but I just don't know. So I order the IPA, and say to myself "who cares"? Whatever my initial impression of the taste, I am likely to develop an affinity for the taste as I drink it, deciding that the IPA was indeed my preference all along. It all hinges on the ability to not continue thinking about the choice after it has been made. 

Channel Islands

I spent two nights on Santa Cruz Island, part of the Channel Islands offshore from Santa Barbara. It cost about eighty dollars for a round trip boat ride through Island Packers, the only company offering service to the Channel Islands. The islands have become a national park, and host a variety of unique wildlife. Though nearly extinct twenty years ago, the Island Fox has made a resurgence on Santa Cruz Island. During my forty-eight hours on the island, I saw at least ten. They are not particularly fearful of people, and will attempt to gain food from visitors to the island.

The boat ride takes about an hour to travel the eighteen miles from Ventura to the island, and the captain made brief stops to observe dolphins and provide us with quick education on these impressive mammals. We arrived first at the southern harbor, released most of the passengers, and continued to Prisoner's Harbor further north. The park ranger boarded the vessel, and introduced himself, knowing that I was camping. I enjoyed speaking to him, and he provided me with useful information, such as the importance of keeping foxes out of the tent, for they will search your belongings and likely pee.

Most passengers were going to the island just for the day, and I felt privileged to have the freedom to call the island home for a short time. The campsite was just shy of four miles from the harbor, and the hike was difficult with my heavy gear. Photo opportunities were continuous and I took over a hundred pictures while I was there. I expected that perhaps I would see no one else after I embarked on the trail, but shared the campground with a young couple from the U.K.

As I fell asleep my first night on the island, I realized that the following day would be five years since my father had died. It seemed a very fitting commemoration, for my father had an intimate connection with boats and the ocean. In fact, I still own the small sailboat I inherited from my dad, though I have not used it since his death.

I had been tempted to stay on the island longer than two nights, but was unsure I could properly prepare and bring enough food and water. As it turned out, I brought just enough water for two days, about six quarts. During my free day I hiked pack-free and sat above Chinese Harbor, and impressive U-shaped cove. Several surfers engaged the waves, using their boat as a port.

When I arrived back at Prisoner's Harbor the third day, I felt very comfortable on the small world that is twenty-two miles long. The boat ride home was peaceful in spite of the heavier surf, compared with the glass-like water of the morning we'd left. There was a stunning sunset from the beach in Ventura when I returned to the mainland. Driving a car was slightly foreign. Though I'd be gone a relatively short time, I had re-calibrated. I spent a disconcerting amount of time trying to decide what type of beer to buy before returning to wine country in Los Olivos. The world of buying things becomes strange to the hermit.

The wind picked up as I left the coast and ascended Chumash Highway. I was glad to have a house to return to. Though the weather had been idyllic on the island, it is December and warmth and sun are no guarantee.

Chinese Harbor, Santa Cruz Island

Existential Fart

I left Portland, Oregon exactly two months ago to embark on a road trip with no exact itinerary. My motivations were partly subjective and internal, yet contained at least a thread of practicality. To be perfectly honest, I was bored. I was also spending money beyond my means. It was frightening to leave comforts behind, but I knew I had to challenge myself.

If you will indulge me, I had a feeling of being a caterpillar stuck in my cocoon, which wouldn't be so bad, if I hadn't been aware that I was supposed to be becoming something new. For all of my belief in the power of the individual, I am accepting more that environment is extremely influential as well. So as a person assuming responsibility for my life, I need to actively choose an environment that will assist in the type of growth I would like for myself.

If you will follow me further into the abstract, I am interested in becoming free of my conditioned way of being. My intention in expressing this is not to criticize myself, for certainly I possess many good qualities. However, I suspect that in order to release myself of my negativity and self-limiting patterns, I need to let go. If my life were a rug that I'd spent thirty years weaving, and I became aware of an error in it's construction, what could I do? I could simply ignore the error and pretend it was perfect. I could attempt to disassemble and repair it, perhaps investing ten, twenty, or thirty more years in doing so. Or I could hang it on the wall, admire it for the imperfect work of art it is, and embark on the construction of a new one. This may be a crude metaphor, but my goal is to demonstrate the principle that the healthy and unhealthy ways of being inside us are often interwoven.

This post may be too ethereal to be of interest for many readers, but I include it because it provides a backdrop for my recent adventures that I would like to write about.
 

Patterned clouds, Nevada County, CA

Southern California

Well, this is my first blog post. What a historic event! I've spent the last month, approximately, in Southern California. I spent several years of my early childhood in Los Angeles, but have returned infrequently. During this tour, I have visited several new places, including Death Valley and the Mohave Desert. I've spent time with family in Palm Desert and Los Angeles, and am now writing from Los Olivos, north of Santa Barbara, where I've spent Thanksgiving week with old family friends on their vineyard. My pace of travel has been relatively slow, allowing me time to write, meditate, cook, and really connect with those I've visited.

Cholla Cactus, Mohave National Preserve

Coyote on roadside, Death Valley

Vineyard, Los Olivos