Never Say Never
10/22/2015
I don't believe in finites: that is, the use of words we use to profess an emotion or opinion we believe will never change.
I have a little trouble with the words "best" and "worst" because in reality our perspective and experience in life is always changing. It's always possible that something can be better or worse in the future than whatever's happening right now. Something I think is the best or worst ever, is really just the best or worst so far. But possibly my least favorite finite is "never." How can you, in all seriousness, say you'll never do this or never try that? Are you channeling a psychic that suddenly enables you to predict the future? Are you so rigid that you know even in 30 years time you'll never change your mind, your tastes won't evolve, your world won't expand. Whatever you think you'd never do is merely a product of where you are now, and the only way that now is the be all/end all, is if you die right this second... ... ... But you didn't die did you? You're still here, living another now. It's just a few seconds after the last now, but it's still a new now. You're a few seconds older and a few seconds wiser, and in any given second - in any given situation, conversation, or experience - your mind could change on any number of things. I don't pretend to know what I'll be like 30 years from now. I'll be me, of course, but I'll have 30 more years of life to draw on. 30 more years of trying new things. 30 more years of getting out of my comfort zone. 30 more years to change my mind. Today I could say I will never skydive. I'll never climb Mount Everest. I'll never eat durian fruit. I'll never visit Antarctica. All possible "nevers" for me. But what if somewhere down the line I change my mind? What if I hike Mount Whitney here in California and love it? So then I take on Denali in Alaska and really catch the climbing bug. Then, despite just watching the harrowing movie Everest where (spoiler alert) pretty much everyone dies, I decide my life goal is to stand at the highest peak on planet earth. What if a series of decisions I make alters my mind on this or any number of opinions I have about things I'd "never" do? Honestly, right now I can't see myself ever having a desire to climb Everest (take a deep breath, mom). I love hiking and I've already put together a list of mountains I want to climb, but I'm also risk averse and exceptionally uninterested in dying at a young age. Despite that, I still can't use the word "never" here, just like I can't ever use it anywhere. My thoughts on Everest are just my current opinion. I am well aware that many of my opinions will change over time, and this could be one of them. Rather than make bold statements of certainty, I choose to mindfully live in the present and fully acknowledge that each moment is another experience that alters my future. I can never know if anything really is a "never," so I choose to never say never again. I love to make plans and I'm a bit of perfectionist. Sometimes these are great attributes, like when I need to plan a big trip with a hundred moving parts (and do so expertly, I might add). Sometimes though, my perfectionist streak drives me crazy, like when one or more of those hundred moving parts starts to move in the wrong direction.
Recently, I was lucky enough to go to New Zealand. I went to sojourn with my man who was there for work, which means I was there to keep him company during his off time but I also had free time to do my favorite thing in the world... explore. I was going to learn about kiwi and Maori culture, hike over green hillsides and through rainforests, visit one of the oldest national parks in the world, see volcanoes and glaciers, get new perspectives, write lots of blog posts, and hopefully meet a few hobbits. Boy did I have a ton of plans for this trip, but boy did life have other plans for me. And bare with me here, but boy am I glad life changed all my plans. Not because I enjoy it when all my efforts fly out the window and those plans suddenly change, and not because (spoiler alert) I enjoy being sick on the other side of the international date line, but because of the lesson in mindfulness the whole crazy experience gave me. As soon as I arrived in New Zealand I got sick. For those of you who know me, you know I was also just sick for 2 weeks in early September. Sick sick sicky sick. Being sick is always struggle to some degree, but being sick abroad was a struggle on a whole new level. Side note: I've been debating just how much I want to divulge on this. I don't make it a point to whine, at least publicly. I don't like to worry anyone or act needy, so I largely kept this under wraps. Aside from one semi-vague Instagram post, and texts with close friends, very few people knew I was sick out there. But I'm trying to use this all as a lesson, one I can learn from and then one I'll tell you about so you can hopefully learn from as well. If I'm going to do that I need to let down my guard and take down the walls of privacy and vanity. As you can imagine, I spent a lot of this time feeling frustrated - all my well thought out plans dashed, my normally active self tied to a hotel bed, my love of exploring new territories and cultures stymied, hopes of a "perfect trip" lost. But that frustration, like any difficult time, was also an opportunity. Difficulty presents us with a personal mindfulness challenge. It always boils down to a choice: let the disappointment of an international exploration opportunity lost overtake me with anger and regret, OR use it as an excuse to reconnect to mindfulness and then use/enjoy every moment I do have for all its worth. Through painstaking effort, I chose the later. When I felt well enough to go exploring for a bit, I made sure to soak in every last second of the experience. When my throat was calm enough to allow a proper dinner, I savored every bite, and let myself have a glass of wine or a beer because I was on vacation goshdarnit. When I was awake and aware I made myself ever present and shook the chains of distraction loose. Because of the illness, I knew I'd have fewer moments of enjoyment on my trip, so I mindfully dove into any moment in had with gusto. Suddenly my time became less about the limitations of being sick, and more about the joy to be found in the random moments. I can have a memorable time whether or not everything goes exactly the way I expect. I can make good use of my time even if plans fall through. I can have a totally new and unexpected adventure even when things don't line up as I'd hoped. I can be frustrated and angry that this trip didn't go the way I hoped it would go, or I can accept that it changed and make the most of it... roll with the punches, go with the flow. My attitude about it, about anything, is entirely up to me. So make plans, set expectations, and do your best work to make sure everything goes your way - lord knows I'll never stop doing that - but make sure one of your expectations is that it's possible none of your expectations will actually come true. Life will take you where it wants, you can fight and lament and whine and cry but the change in your path will often happen whether you like it or not. It's way better for your sanity to just accept it and go with the flow. What's Your Adventure?
9/29/2015
"What is your adventure?" My former boss and current mentor, the wildly astute Gigi Johnson, recently posed this question on Facebook. She's says that when she meets people now, she asks them about their adventure instead of asking "what do you do?" or "where are you from?" as her opening salvo. "How do you present your path when you meet people? Are you a name, job title, and city? Are you a noun, verb, or journey?" I love everything about this. For years I've held disdain for the requisite "what do you do?" interrogation, as if somehow your whole life story, everything that you are, can be boiled down to a job title. Maybe for some, what you do as a profession really is your whole life. But for most of us, I think it's only one small part of a much larger 3D puzzle that makes up each of our personal worlds. For me lately, the "what I do?" question has required a complicated response. As far as the basic question goes, what I "do" is nothing because I don't have a full-time job. I make some mind-numbing side money driving for Lyft, but that's not what I "do." What I do is my adventure. I write this blog. I travel as much as I can afford. I hike as often as my body will allow. I do yoga and meditate for my sanity. I volunteer for TreePeople in forest care and the Sierra Club in political advocacy. I’m looking into becoming a volunteer naturalist, leading nature walks for school children. I’ve even found some paid environmental educator training programs that would let me go live in the the Santa Monica Mountains and Channel Islands National Park for a time. In the grand scheme, my goal is to spend my time bettering my soul, so that when I do find something to "do" again (you know, a job), it will be the right thing to do -- something that allows me to follow my passion and enriches my mind. So another thing I do is apply to real and meaningful jobs with environmental organizations that should help me to find a real and meaningful life. Or rather, continue the real and meaningful life I'm attempting to lead. Hopefully what you do is something amazing, but hopefully your adventure means even more than that. What’s your adventure? Need vs. Want
9/17/2015
Most of the things we purchase in life can be categorized as either a "need" or a "want."
I need water. I need food. I need sleep. I need a roof over my head. Compared to, say... I want to drink wine. I want to eat cheeseburgers. I want a Tempurpedic sleep number bed. I want a Spanish style or mid-century in Silverlake with a pool, Jacuzzi, Meyer lemon trees, space for a sizable vegetable garden, and views of the Hollywood sign. But you can't always get what you want, or so they say. We live in a consumer wasteland of a civilization. The line between what we want and what is actually needed is more blurred than ever. Like Veruca Salt, we want the goose that lays the golden egg and a bean feast. Don't care how, we want it now. And that said, there's absolutely nothing wrong with buying things that make you happy, even if you don't really need them. Life's short and most of us aren’t living on a hippie commune. There's nothing wrong with a good "treat yo self" once in a while. You're worth it. For the last few years I've tried, and sometimes succeeded, in pausing for a moment to differentiate a need vs. a want when I'm deciding whether to buy something. To think about my motivation for buying something. It's never easy. I'm an Amazon Prime member, and the free two-day shipping along with generally cut rate prices leads to many temptations. Do I need the new sleeveless navy running shirt, or is that a want? Do I want the California flag luggage tag, or is that a need? Is it even worth my time considering the question or should I just get them both because they’ll make me happy? Those are both actual items I did and didn't purchase, and I still can't totally answer the need vs want question for them. Life isn’t black and white - it’s gray that way. One reason I enjoy camping so much is to test the limits of my internal need vs. want debate. When you strip off many of your daily comforts and live simply, plainly, unambiguously, need starts to hold a lot more weight than want. Storage space is limited, and you have to carry things back and forth from car to campsite, so you start to prioritize. The things you don’t need become clutter. Other items become requirements. Each time I’ve camped I’ve whittled my pack down, getting rid of the silly camping toys in order to save space and energy for the tools I actually need. I’m about ready to dabble in actual backpacking, carrying everything you need on your back, so this thought process will become that much more important. The difference between camping and our everyday life is, of course, quite stark. There’s a lot more room for wanted, but not needed, items in the modern world. But the lessons of simplicity you gain out in nature are still just as relevant. The task of thinking about what I need vs what I want helps me prioritize my life. It gives me a better appreciation for the things I already have, the things most of us have that make life easy, comfy, and fun. Beyond “things,” it helps me to better appreciate life, a lesson I hope to remember the next time I think my charmed existence is going so terribly that I literally can't even. When you’re about to buy something, think about it… is it a “need” or a “want?” Notice how that simple activity makes you see your world in a new light. Searching... for Mindfulness
9/9/2015
There’s that moment when you switch off airplane mode on your phone and the only message you see in the upper-corner, coverage indicator area is “Searching…” It’s the moment when you're about to reconnect from whatever escape you were just on. The moment you return from whatever forced you to disconnect in the first place, be it from going to a movie, hiking or camping in the mountains, or maybe actually being on an airplane. For me, it’s the moment I switch from the relative calm of searching for myself in the real world, back to the unending search for signals and distractions in digital world. I write a lot about distraction and disconnection here, not because I’ve got it all figured out, but because it’s an issue I struggle with, especially with finding a balance between the two. It’s way too easy for me to get on my phone and spend hours on mindless tasks, and when I say hours it's no exaggeration. One Google search easily turns into ten, twenty, thirty. One article turns into a clickhole of largely meaningless and depressing news information gathering. A momentary check of Facebook quickly turns into an hour of “just scroll a little bit more!” Most days, being on my phone is the first thing I do in the morning, the last thing I do at night, and the thing I do many times in between to pass the time. All of this is just a way I trick my mind into thinking it’s being productive, when in reality most of what I’m doing is entirely inconsequential. Worse, these are all things that take away from the time I could be doing something real, like writing this blog, or hiking, or connecting with friends, or applying for jobs, or calling my mother. So when I disconnect, it’s for a purpose. When I disconnect, I do it so I can go searching instead.… Searching for mindfulness. Searching for my thoughts. Searching for meaning. Searching for me. Not long ago I came back down the mountain from an excellent camping trip with a group of some of my closest friends. When we got close to the valley floor I switched off airplane mode and immediately began staring at that “Searching…” message in the upper corner, intently waiting for all those bars and signals to escort me back to the modern world. But after a 10 second attempt, it gave me the “No Service” message instead of bars. I was disappointed, of course. I was eager to post to Instagram and Facebook to share with you all the majesty of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, John Muir’s Range of Light. But then I remembered “Searching…” When my phone was in airplane mode that weekend, instead of searching for a signal the whole time, I was doing the searching instead. It allowed me to read and spend quiet time with my own thoughts. It allowed me to share my love of camping with friends who hadn’t been in ages. It allowed me to watch as those friends’ eyes opened to the lessons of comfort, distraction, and expectation that come from the remote camping experience. It allowed us all to be present with each other in a way we’ve never been before, to bond in ways you can’t predict or replicate. When I let my device do the searching, that means I’m searching for a way out. An excuse to be somewhere else. To add yet another method of distraction to my over-complicated world. When I do the searching myself, that means I’m finally living. I switched my phone back into airplane mode. This was the last moment of disconnection I would have for a while. It was our last moments together without all those distractions. Our last moments in the real world. And besides, I didn’t have a signal anyway. Phone coverage will come and go, but what are you really searching for? Are you searching for a constant digital connection using a combination of letters and pictures, or a perhaps more intermittent but deeper and more direct connection with those you actually care about? Are you searching for a following of 1,000 on Instagram, or a following of 10 real friends who actually mean something to you? Are you searching for more “likes,” or real love? I don't know what next year will bring, let alone next month, next week, tomorrow, or even the next hour. Any second now things could go in a million different directions. This is a central truth.
But truth or not, this can be frightening, making us spend inordinate amounts of time worrying about the uncertainty that's just around the corner. We distract ourselves with scenarios of the future that rarely, if ever, happen the way we imagine. We waste time predicting a conversation, when we can never really know how anyone else will react. We spin our wheels with supposedly strategic (but usually stupid) decisions in a futile attempt to control the future. Recently, I went on a desolate sunrise hike in Joshua Tree National Park and found myself being extra cautious, something I’m sure my mom will be happy to hear. The primary physical threat in the desert is the rattlesnake, but there are also scorpions, spiders, coyotes, and I have this theory about angry big horn sheep. Another threat is the nature of the trail itself, rocky, steep, and arduous, with dangerous cliffs that demand thoughtfulness with each step. But more than any of those threats was the fact that I was totally alone - during the 3 hours I spent on this mountain (2 hiking and 1 writing this blog) I saw not a single soul, not on the trail or on the park road below. Coming from my usually crowded stomping grounds of Griffith Park, in the middle of urban Los Angeles, this was unnerving. I have never felt that alone on a trail anywhere in all my hundreds of hiking miles. I had a choice, I could give away any of the benefits I might reap from the hike to the fear of a rattlesnake ambush or a cliff diving misstep, both scenarios leaving me to die alone on this desert island. Or I could be as prepared as possible, like carrying a snake bite kit and staying aware of my footing, and then choose to accept the uncertainty, stay present, and enjoy the stunning desert sunrise happening all around me. Make no mistake, the future will do what it wants to. Sure, you have a hand in it - everything you do in the present is part of what makes up your future. But no matter how much you plan and scheme, the future will bring you to shockingly unexpected places. Even the brawniest boulder can be cracked over time. Even the most imposing tree can be decimated by a single lightening strike. Even the best laid path can be washed out by a freak monsoon. I'm starting to feel like all this uncertainty that I worry about, that you probably worry about too, isn’t something to fear, but something to celebrate. You can and should prepare yourself to your best ability - shoot for the stars, make plans, improve your life, seriously go for it - but in the end you have to just let the future be, because it will actually be what it will be no matter how much fretting you do in the meantime. Hold on to the uncertainty. Revel in the mystery and astonishment of life. Take calculated risks. Go with the unfamiliar. Move forward with each step confidently, and remember that around every corner there may or may not be a something to fear, but there will most definitely be new view that coud be even more beautiful than the last. I’m so grateful for uncertainty, life would be totally boring otherwise. I'll be honest...as much as I make an effort to bring a mindfulness practice into my daily life, there's one central tenet of it that I totally suck at: meditation. More often than not I have about 20 things on my mind. If I'm having a conversation with you, don't worry I'm totally listening, but I'm also multitasking - deciding on dinner, adding kale to my grocery list, thinking of a new blog post, remembering it's time to feed the dog, wondering what the weather will be like tomorrow - and oh yeah, back to the conversation. When I try to meditate it's hard for me to shut all that down. Of course, that's the point of meditation, to take some time out of our hectic lives to shut that all down, even if it's just for a few minutes. I try to meditate, and I always struggle. In meditation you're not supposed to stress about the fact that all those thoughts have decided to interrupt your quiet time. Instead you observe them and watch them float by like passing clouds. It's kind of a fun exercise to think of them that way. But still, most of the time when I meditate it quickly becomes a full-on overcast, on-shore flow, gathering storm, kind of sky. My solution to all this is BUDDHIFY. It's one of the few apps I've ever paid for, and it's worth way more than they charge. The app provides a series of short, guided meditations, that are tailored to fit in where ever you are and with whatever you're doing. It helps turn any moment into a mindfulness moment. Some of my favorites are the "Flight" meditation for air travel and the "Thanks" meditation to help me sleep. Meditation for me can be a challenging task, stopping everything in my mind to be totally quiet. This app helps me get there by using my thoughts as a guide rather than trying to stop them altogether. I can't recommend it enough. (and no, they didn't pay me to say this) There really is a lot of beauty in the world. But there's also a lot of shit.
It seems like they both come at us in waves - we find ourselves in periods of beauty that make us feel sky high, only to be dragged back down to earth, landing in a pile of shit. These ups and down are natural and inevitable, and I know that without the darkness we'd never, really, truly be able to appreciate the happy glow of the light. But while we're there, in the beauty or the shit or some place in-between, we often struggle to see the big picture. When we're in the shit it's so easy to feel overwhelmed and make rash decisions. We’re angry, emotional, and unsettled, so we forget that there is still beauty. When we're in the beauty we too often take it for granted. We enjoy the moment, but tend to forget that our future will hold even more beautiful moments, or that the shit will inevitably return. Lately, I've confronted an internal battle between the mindfulness of now and the big picture that can be so unknown. I appreciate the fact that it's best to stay present, to accept my emotions as they are and for whatever they are, instead of allowing them to overtake me. It's always best to live in the moment rather than constantly wonder and worry about the future. But I also think there is some value in taking a broad look forward, and even backward, from time to time. Imagine you're fully within the shit. Difficult changes, bad decisions, work stress, struggling with people coming and going in your life. You might actually be somewhere in there right now so you don’t have to even imagine it. I'm there from time to time myself, we all are, more than most of us choose to admit. Being present in that shit is a terrible place to be. As we try to mindfully accept and process our feelings rather than let them overtake us, that acceptance can make us feel even more shitty. Like it’s the new norm - this is it, learn to live with it. On the other hand, imagine you're fully within the beauty. You're surrounded by good friends, smiling faces, beautiful vistas, and experiencing life altering inspirational events. You might actually be there right now so you don't even have to imagine it. I've been here a lot lately. But even while we're there we don't always appreciate it. Acknowledging the fact that the shit is still out there and will inevitably return, doesn't have to take you out your moment of beauty, instead it gives you the gift of gratefulness. Acknowledging that there are more unimaginable moments of beauty yet to come in your life, encourages you to chase that beauty in all your decisions, to find your better life. The idea of not being present in these types of moments actually gives me solace, and not in some escapist way. I look back at all the shit I've experienced in life and realize that this terrible thing, like all things, will eventually pass. I look back at all the beauty I've experienced and realize that this beautiful thing, like all things, will come around again. I look at the big picture - the entirety of both beauty and shit in my life - past, present, and future - and I feel grateful for having gone on the ride. I realize this idea contradicts some of what I've said about being "present" on this blog, but I'm not one to stand still. Just as we move forward in life, through both beauty and shit, our mind and our heart and our spirit moves forward as well, learning from it all. There's something wonderful about thinking of the big picture like this and using it to your advantage. It makes your present moment a bit more...chill. If it’s a beautiful moment, seeing the big picture helps you avoid that nostalgic melancholy feeling you get when it’s over. If it’s a shitty moment, the big picture makes your problems seem a little smaller, a little more manageable. From either position in life, the big picture helps you learn how to better appreciate both the beauty and the shit for what they are - just another one of the many moments that together make up you. In this way, looking at the big picture rather than always shrinking everything down to the right now, is just another form of mindfulness. It helps you to accept and observe and process your emotions, instead of wallowing in them until they make you feel worse. Mindfulness isn't just about being present and leaving it at that, it's also about seeing the big picture and understanding that this present right here, it too shall pass. I want to blend both the mindfulness and the big picture together. In a way that helps me stay chill during the angry moments and feel appreciation during the amazing moments. In a way that helps me drop the things that hold me back like worry, doubt, and regret. In a way that helps me accept both the beauty and the shit. In a way that, in the end, makes me a better person. One Year In ~ We Are All Journeymen
7/1/2015
"A journey isn't about expectation, it's about discovery." ~mindfulness now A year ago today I launched Mindfulness Now. Boy does it make me happy to type that. When I started this blog I had no idea where I’d be in life at this point. That’s always the case though. No matter how much we love to speculate, life just changes. Did I know that in one year I would write 80 individual posts, collect over 35,000 pageviews, and get published in a pretty major online mindfulness website? I only dreamed of it. When I started this I wasn’t even sure if my close friends would pay attention, let alone 14,000 unique visitors (/humblebrag). Did I know a year ago that this experience would lead me to quit my job so I could write and explore full-time? It wasn’t even on my radar. A funny thing happens when you get out of your comfort zone and follow your passion, instead of just going through the motions of life. A year ago there were a number of things I hoped to get out of writing this blog. I wasn't exactly sure what I would find, but I'm trying not to fear the unknown so much these days. Now a year later, I’d like to believe all of these hopes came to fruition, or are at least in the process of growing their fruit. Hope #1: Learn about myself by sharing a piece of myselfI had written in some form of a journal for years prior to this blog. Some of my first posts on this page were actual retreads of journal entries I'd written privately over the last few years. It’s one thing though to write to yourself -- to take an idea that the world uncovers, filter it through your own mind, and put it on paper. It’s something entirely different to take those words a step further and put them out there on a website for all to see. My introspective musings did help me to a degree, but it wasn’t until I started posting them here that I really began to really listen to them. Now that I was stating my ideas publicly, I felt pressure to stick to them. The blog kept me honest, grounded, and in touch with those around me. Most of the feedback I heard was inspiring, and by inspiring others it inspired me to write more. The ideas I posted here suddenly held more weight in my own mind, and I was finally sticking to them. HOPE #2 - Explore a new idea and see if it becomes a passionThe change in my mind was potent. I didn’t have to be restricted to one place, one thought, one group, or one desk. Writing made me feel free from the chains that society had put on me, and that I myself continued to wear. This new found passion around writing spurred other related passions as well. Most notably, a passion for nature and outdoor activity. It spurred a renewal in old passions too, for things like music and dogs. I have found a new and renewed set of joys, instruments that take me beyond my normal sphere. I found the start of a new path forward. I found my voice. Quite frankly, I found myself. HOPE #3 - Gain confidenceFinding that voice was a big deal. I tend to prefer things easy in life -- I search for comfort and routine and avoid conflict if I can. I like to think of myself as a peacemaker, but too often my peacefulness would morph into passivity. I would allow my life to pass by without really making an effort. Writing this blog became the effort that I needed. It pushed me out of my comfort zone and into a public eye where confidence was required. The process hasn't always been easy. Sometimes I feel like I'm overstepping. Some of my ideas have been questioned. Sometimes a friend would worry that a post was about them, even though I can assure you I would never single anyone out. But finally, despite it all, I pushed forward with confidence. I pushed forward in life. I stopped listening to the negative. The sympathetic voices who got it, externally and internally, became louder than the voices of dissent. I’m still working on this one and I figure I always will. But I'm so appreciative to have found an outlet that is taking me in the right direction. HOPE #4 - Improve as a writerAs much as I always enjoyed writing to myself, even way back when, I hesitated in publishing this blog. I spent months fretting over it. Fear held me back. I’ve found though that posting your words in a public space is a whole new motivation to write better. My private journal entries were free-flowing, riddled with inconsistencies, and lacking in structure. This blog required me to start looking at my writing with an increasingly keen eye. There’s something about putting your feet to fire that forces you to learn more about fires and feet. I’ve learned as much about my own style and how to set myself up for a good writing session, as I’ve learned what people are drawn to, what they like to hear, and especially what they need hear. I am certain the English majors of the bunch will find all sorts of errors in my writing, and that's OK. When I look back at blogs I wrote last summer, I definitely see an improvement, and for now that’s enough for me -- to keep improving. HOPE #5 - Become more mindfulThis is clearly the biggest hope I had from creating this blog -- it's in the title afterall. Mindfulness is the blood flowing through the veins of this space. Mindfulness now weaves it’s way into all my thoughts...and thank god, because I needed it.
I had read about mindfulness and attempted to integrate it into my life for years. But like most great ideas in life, it's easier said than done. I would tell myself to live in the present moment, to let go of the drama, worry, and anxiety, but when I inevitably failed I would scream at myself on the inside. I knew better, yet I still made mistakes. I couldn’t follow my own advice. But here I am one year later, and light-years down my path. I am far from perfect, lord knows. I still struggle with these issues every day. But I believe I have indeed become more mindful in the last year. I’m more in-tune with myself, better able to handle life’s ups and downs, to reduce my distractions (digital or otherwise), to be more patient with my response, to disconnect more often, be smarter about my decisions, and braver when it comes to the difficult ones. Starting Mindfulness Now was possibly the best thing I’ve ever done for myself, and I can’t totally take credit for it because the idea came from Leo Babauta on his bellwether mindfulness blog Zen Habits. Also, gratitude goes to those friends and family who I discussed it with beforehand, for their support and especially the title suggestions. All of that, all of them, all of you, all of the last year, all of my life, have led me to where I am now...someone who is learning, growing, passionate, confident, and just a little bit more mindful in the process. This is why I call myself a journeyman (and not just for the solo camping journey hashtag). A journeyman is someone who is educated but not yet a master. I know a good deal about the tool of mindfulness, but I’m still learning how to use it every day. I might argue that we are all journeymen. I might argue that no one is ever a true master, because we’re all always learning. I might argue that this is one of my favorite things about life. I now have a few years of mindfulness experience under my belt, one year that you’ve been privy to. Thinking about how far I’ve come in the last year with this blog gives me joy. Thinking of how far I’ll go throughout the journey of my life kind of blows my mind. And I can't wait to tell you all about it. The path is made by walking. Anyone with the smallest of fingers on the mindfulness pulse has heard some version of that statement before. It's ubiquitous, and for good reason – mindfulness is about living in the present rather than focusing on the path ahead or behind us. But like most sayings, ideas, and other poignant things, hearing is only one level of understanding. In order to truly get it, something has to happen in one's life to make it finally click. I've already written a lot on this topic. I thought I was using it in my daily life. I thought I really got it, until I realized there is actually nothing to get. When I set off on my 3-week, 8-state, 4,000-mile, solo-camping, journeyman trip, the "path is made by walking" was a launching off point. The past was behind me and the future yet unknown, so I would walk forward on a path – a literal path in the form of trails across 13 national parks and forests and an intellectual path that would hopefully mark my next steps in life. Some part of me expected the trip to uncover all the answers in my life like some sort of hallucinatory, native american vision quest. I wasn’t alone in that expectation – when I returned, numerous friends wanted to know what I'd discovered about life and if I’d figured out what I wanted to do next with mine. But sadly, I didn't return with all the answers. I certainly came back with a number of important lessons from the journey - confidence, humility, escaping nostalgia, the folly of multitasking, the true meaning of consequences, a renewed passion for the environment, and the freedom of disconnecting from the digital world - but no one lesson told me exactly what to do with myself now that I was home. The lessons I learned were more like suggestions – they gave me an idea of how to move along the path but no real indication of which direction to travel. So when I first got home, I struggled. I searched in vain for that one big vision from my vision quest, but I had no more clarity on how to move forward than I did before the trip, and I was left confused and crestfallen. Then, after two weeks back home, and feeling as though I was blindly crawling down my path instead of confidently striding forward, I finally got around to finishing the amazingly poignant "Wild" by Cheryl Strad. The closing passage: "It was all unknown to me then, as I sat on that white bench on the day I finished my hike. Everything except the fact that I didn't have to know. That it was enough to trust that what I'd done was true. To understand its meaning without yet being able to say precisely what it was... to believe that I didn't need to reach with my bare hands anymore. To know that seeing the fish beneath the surface of the water was enough. That it was everything. It was my life – like all lives, mysterious and irrevocable and sacred. So very close, so very present, so very belonging to me. How wild it was, to let it be." It was the answer I had been looking for... and the answer was that there is no answer.
You don't go out into the woods, close your eyes, and see the whole path laid out in front of you. You go out into the woods, close your eyes, and you hear the wind whispering through the pine trees, you feel the mist from a 600 foot waterfall brush against your face, you smell a perfume of ferns and soil and wild flowers. You go out into the woods, close your eyes, and you don’t see a vision...you see the powerful simplicity of right now. That is why the path is made by walking. Each step you take is this very moment. Each step is all that you can control, all that you know, all that you do. And with each step your path grows. It doesn't necessarily show you what's ahead, but by making each step count in the present you build up the path of your future. Your current step is reading this blog post. Your next step, what you do with your next moment, is up to you. My current step is sharing these blog posts with all of you. My next step, what I do with my next moment, is up to me. But no matter what, I’m going to charge forward with confidence and joy to see where it takes me. It was all unknown to me then, as I sat in my Prius on the day I finished my journey. Everything except the fact that I didn't have to know. The Freedom of Disconnection
6/11/2015
This article is cross-posted with Elephant Journal: www.elephantjournal.com/2015/09/the-freedom-of-disconnection Damn it felt good to be disconnected.
The connection addiction is endemic in our society. It’s one thing to catch up with friends, share a piece of your life, make plans, and discuss things you find important - that’s all well and good. But the ability to do those things at any hour of the day, and the expectation that everyone you know should be available to do so as well, it's just unhealthy. Social media is the drug and smartphones are the enabler. Together they give us a false sense of community, making us believe everyone is waiting with bated breath for our next update or text, when in fact everyone is just going about their own lives. And on the other side of the screen, our devices sit on our laps and in our pockets distracting us with deliciously tempting notifications, making us believe we should be waiting with bated breath for all your updates. One of the main reasons I took off into the woods for three weeks was to put all my mindfulness overtures about turning off notifications and reducing distractions into practice. But it's 2015, so I expected I would have some basic level of phone service available to me for most of the trip. I knew I could stop at Starbucks or McDonald's to use WiFi. If nothing else, I hoped I'd at least have a smidgen of phone coverage for texts and calls in an emergency. Out on the road I quickly realized that I'd seriously overestimated the strength of my network. Dead zones were vast and numerous. I drove for hours on small highways with no coverage whatsoever. Many campgrounds would show a few bars, but when push-came-to-upload, nothing would work. A few campgrounds had no service at all, forcing me to make a call in a real live phone booth so at least someone knew I was alive. When you spend most of your time in cities, it's not something you're used to. If you believe the Verizon commercials, it's not something you'd expect. At first it was frightening. My phone is an extension of me. It’s how I communicate with my friends and family. How I map my route and stream my music. It's how I write and update this blog. I’m so used to it always being there for me, whether I’m bored or in an emergency. In a way, spending hours or sometimes days without phone service felt like I'd lost an arm. Despite all my pronouncements to the contrary, connectivity had become that important to me. To some degree, connectivity is important to all of us. It’s unavoidable in our modern society. But as time rolled on I accepted my new reality. As Cheryl Strayed said in Wild, “This is what I came for, this is what I got.” So I got used to it. A constant connection became the exception rather than the rule. When it was available, it became a treat. By the end of the journey, I loved it. I actually preferred it. At my last destination I had three straight days of no phone service. I felt free, clear, calm, unrestricted, undisturbed, undistracted. I felt present. I don't believe I’m a selfish person, but gleefully reveling in the fact that you all couldn't get in touch with me almost felt egotistical. I knew I was missing out on all your updates and the important news of the day. It’s not as though I lost all interest in sharing things with you either. But I realized that being disconnected for a few days or weeks wasn't the end of the world. I would eventually be back on Facebook to catch up on life. Or better yet, I would eventually see you all in-person so you could fill me in on everything. Rather than being the end of the world, disconnection was the beginning of a new world. One where FOMO was replaced by YOLO, distraction was replaced by presence, and anxiety still existed but it was related to the threat of bears rather than the stresses of multitasking. There were times in the waning days of my trip when my phone did start working...notification bubbles popped up, my pocket buzzed, and a wave of texts crashed in. But at that point I had broken the addiction. The temptation was gone and rather than check those notifications I switched my phone into airplane mode. It was my time to disconnect. It was my time to enjoy the break. It was my time. I’m back in LA now where phones always work, pretty much everywhere. I've caught up with friends and even caught up a little with Facebook (though after being away from it for so long I’m finding it mildly tedious). But truth be told, I miss the freedom of disconnection I found in my journey. I miss the mindfulness it practically forces upon you. I miss what it feels like to realize that you and you alone are in charge or your own entertainment, there is no depending on others or apps. This may change as the days and weeks pass here in the real world. I’ll fall back into old habits, because that’s what people do. But I’m going to do my best to hold on to as much of this lesson as possible. Phones always work here, except when you hike a little further out in the mountains. Phones always work, except when you switch it to airplane mode as a choice, just to take a break. Phones always work except when you choose to be present and ignore the temptation to post every detail of your life on Facebook. We are only as connected as we choose to be. When you have the opportunity, choose real life over digital life. Spring Forward
6/3/2015
"Spring is nature's way of saying, 'Let's party!'" ~Robin Williams As a Southern Californian, the season of spring isn't something for which I'm intensely familiar.
It's not that California doesn't have seasons, it certainly does. Cooler, rainy winters give way to warmer, wildflower-filled springs. But the degree to which you really feel the seasons are not as pronounced as they are in other areas of the world. On my journey I got a chance to really feel it. I encountered both freezing snow and blazing sun and watched as the landscape came to life in the transition. Snowy mountain peaks gave way to bright green hillsides and baby buffalo. Frosty nights made room for pudgy waterfalls and wildflower meadows. The desolation of winter melts away and life springs forward, literally. It’s a natural manifestation of the restart button. All that was old and dead and cold and depressing is full of life and light again. New life grows from the earth, and if we allow it, new life can grow in our heart as well. Of course us humans can grow, renew, and make big life changes any time we want. We just have to decide to make it so. But the season of spring provides us with an example of how to do it. Watching the natural world grow can inspire us to grow in return. As nature sweeps out the old and the cold to make way for life, it can trigger a change in each of our spirits, bring in a sense of renewal and drive. Watching all the beauty that nature brings each spring can remind us of what we could be doing and changing. Or what we should be doing and changing. So let’s use that trigger. Draw on the power of nature and the power of spring to renew yourself. New growth, new life, new you. It's time to spring forward. I never spilled my water while I was on my journey.
Camping, especially camping alone, gives you a different perspective. Regular world comforts provide us a cushy freedom to make mistakes - an oversize pillow to land on when we fall. But when you're in the woods there is no cushion - you land with a thud. This new reality causes a shift - it creates focus. When it came to water, every wasted drop meant more effort to collect it again later. Every wasted drop meant I might run out of water somewhere down the line. So I focused on collecting my water efficiently. I only focused on collecting that water and nothing else, because nothing else actually mattered. Thinking about other tasks was a distraction, and distractions can lead to mistakes. Now I’m home and I immediately fall back into old patterns. At the water dispenser I fill my cup so high that it splashes out. I do this routinely. I don't focus, I multitask, I'm thinking down the line. Multitasking is trendy, but dare I say multitasking is wasteful. Instead of putting all your effort into one important task you spread it out over many. Instead of doing one thing well, you half-ass a bunch of things. My to-do list perpetuates the distraction, making me think I have multiple things to get done so I should work on as many things as possible. But they don’t help me get more done. My mind is spread out and unfocused. My effort is diluted. The lesson of the forest is to be present in your current state. The lesson is mindfulness. I choose to heed the call. I choose to fill, not spill, my water. I choose to engage the task at hand - successfully complete it or fail and learn from it - and only then do I move on. I will make mistakes - I’ll overfill my water from time to time because that’s my habit. But now every time I do that it will serve as a reminder. Each drop of water that falls to the ground is a tap on the shoulder telling me to be present. Mindfulness isn't merely about observing your feelings and leaving it at that, mindfulness is how we choose to engage the world through our everyday actions. Next time you fill up your water cup, next time you're doing anything really, remember to be present. In every task there is mindfulness. One Moment In Time
5/28/2015
The first three National Parks I visited on my #journeyman trek all liberally used a "one moment in time" theme (cue the Whitney Houston).
Each park - Zion, Grand Canyon, and Arches - sit on the Colorado Plateau. Each park was made of ancient layers of sediment that was pressed down into sandstone and then elevated by plate tectonics. Millions of years later a river rolled through or the rain and wind raged, and the landscape changed. They are all still changing today in fact, as rocks fall and sands move. I know all of this because I diligently watched the visitors center movie at each park. It's like the 1970's "be here now" movement. These parks are here right now, but in a hundred or a thousand years, mere seconds in their history, they'll be completely different. Like the parks, we are also find ourselves in a unique one moment in time. Unique to each of us. Unique to our pressed down layers of experience. Unique to the storms of tumult that weather our mountains of knowledge. Unique to the winding river of life that cuts through our personal landscape. We will all change. We will grow taller, delve deeper, shift in one direction or the other, and lose things along the way. But through it all we gain experience, uniqueness, and beauty. We really aren't so different from the Grand Canyon, the Balanced Rock, or the Virgin River Narrows. We are unique. All we really have and all we can control is this one moment in time. Your past layers of experience got you here and future erosion cannot be predicted, so all that really matters is... now. Now we have a choice: lament the past and stress about the future, or be here now to marvel in the beauty of this one moment in time. I say we choose to be here now, because like these national parks your unique moment in time is a pretty magnificent place to be. Smile Because It Happened
5/26/2015
"Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened." ~Dr. Suess In case you didn't already get this from the sad, lament of a poem I posted few weeks back, I'm not good with goodbyes.
It can be anything from the end of a long vacation to the end of a dinner, and my heart sinks a little. I'd like to think it's because I love people so much and want to hold on to the good times as long as possible. I definitely know part of me is anticipating the melancholy I'll feel as I look back on it. Alas, I've already written on the topic. Either way, I‘m acutely aware that this mournful pre-nostalgia isn't very mindful. As I sat in my tent at Yosemite on the penultimate day of my journeyman trip, I was waiting for it. I always get bowled over in the waning days. I'm so aware of it at this point that my brain now sends out an early emotional-tsunami warning. Time to prepare for the coming tidal wave of nostalgia. But the wave never came. Out of all 7 national parks I visited, Yosemite is the only one for which I was already familiar. I've been there more than a few times. Growing up and now, it’s always been close to my heart. For most of the rest of the trip though, each park, forest, trail and camp felt foreign and unfamiliar. Some literally felt otherworldly - Arches is like Mars, Zion is Venus, Yellowstone a wooded Neptune, Mount Hood like Pandora from Avatar, and Redwood is definitely Endor. But as I arrived at Yosemite I was welcomed home with familiarity. The trees, the mountains, the view of valley itself, the smell of the woods, even the freeways and truck stops on the way, all familiar. Yosemite, to me, isn't another world, it's California. It's home. So I knew the end of my journey was nigh - I could feel it. I should have been upset by this. I waited to turn the corner on a trail and have it suddenly jump out and attack me, like the bears they warn you about. But the bear never growled. Maybe my journey was just long enough to make me home sick. Maybe I subconsciously planned it so I felt more comfortable as I got close to home. Maybe absence really did make the heart grow fonder and I missed the loved ones I'd left behind. Maybe, just maybe, I finally learned to be present and stop giving a shit about the past and the future, which was one of the intentions of the journey in the first place. I don't have an answer to this, my new reality. I was on this journey, primarily alone, for 19 days...it was the most time I've spent with only myself, ever...it was profoundly different than every other trip I've been on...it taught me a million things and it continues to teach me now that I’m home...I'm still sorting through it in my mind and will for god knows how long. But there are already two glaringly apparent lessons:
Right now is the only time that matters. Your right now could be the beginning of an amazing adventure or a the end of a difficult road, but no matter what, living in it with gusto is empowering. Somehow, someway, on these pages I will attempt to explain this and all the other millions of thoughts this journey inspired. My new assignment is to contort my mind around the profound rather than the trivial. This journey has changed me for the better. Hopefully by writing this all down, my journey can help change you for the better too, at least a little bit. |
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blog searchauthorMy name is Jason Wise. Life's all about the journey, man. Find me on Instagram and Facebook. archives
May 2020
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