Quotes IV ~ John Muir
5/27/2016
Sometimes what you receive is good, sometimes bad, but it's always exactly what you needed. Get mindful outside as often as you can. I guarantee you won't regret it.
"It’s easy to get mindful when you’re in an actual jungle, but how do you get mindful in the urban jungle?" Check out this new piece I wrote for Elephant Journal.
It's called "Mindfulness Anywhere" and it seeks to explore how we go from the relative ease of finding mindfulness in nature, to the real struggle of minding that same mindfulness in the chaos of the city. We can choose to wallow in the struggle, or we can lean on our friends to lift us out of the muck. I choose friends. Enjoy! Oh, the wretched relief of change. It's a certain struggle (the wretched), but also one of most important facets of our existence (the relief). Just when you start to get used to a different and exciting experience--a fresh new way of living--it inevitably and abruptly ends, and the winds of the change push you in a new direction. This constant shift is a central element of life. We need both beauty and brawn. We need both the amazing and the awful. But it goes far beyond those two basic and diametrically opposed emotions. Within both the amazing and the awful--even within the mundane that comes between--we require variety. You might take the same path to work, go to the same class at the gym, or wake up every morning at the same time... but still each day there are different people on that commute, there's a new exercise routine at the gym, and the song on your alarm clock is the new big hit. It's that balance of variety, no matter how subtle, that keeps life fresh, keeps us going, and keeps us growing. There's been a lot of change in my life this past year. If you've ever read this blogl, that's no secret. But the shifting winds have been gale force of late. Through it all there's one major thing I've learned: no matter what happens in life there's always a yin and a yang--a balance. Over the course of one recent week I went from a very definitive yin to a whole other extreme yang. One day I was meticulously gussied up at the Academy Awards, and then just a few days later I was antithetically grubbied down in a dusty tent at Death Valley National Park. This situation of contrasts was an accident of sorts. First of all, I don't work in the entertainment industry, so it was of no effort on my part that I ended up attending the Oscars. My partner, Jonathan Herman, was deservedly nominated for writing Straight Outta Compton. I'm proud of my man and grateful I got to tag along for the ride. And what a crazy, magical, amazing ride it was--from hob-nobbing celebrities, to red carpets, to Chris Rock’s daughters' Girl Scout cookies, it was the apex of glitz and glamour. And even though I'm more of a down-to-earth-hippie-granola-kinda-guy, I loved every minute of it. Second of all, it wasn't particularly my intention to visit Death Valley again. I had just traveled there a few months prior, but Mother Nature, El Niño, and the superbloom she kindled had other intentions. I wanted to see that naked and desolate landscape spring to life. I wanted to marvel in yet another beautifully twisted contradiction of nature. So, while still hungover and starstruck from the decadent Vanity Fair Oscar party, I packed my tuxedo away on the closet, readied my camping gear, and dusted off my tattered national parks passport. I was ready to follow the prevailing winds that were yet again guiding my life. Eagerly adaptable and willing to shift from one apex of life to a completely opposite, yet still resoundingly amazing apex. You see, balance in life isn't just about ups and downs. Sometimes balance is about both regular ups, and other, totally dissimilar, but still completely awesome ups. It’s also about both terrible downs, and other dissimilar, but equally debilitating downs. It's also about a variety of discernible dimensions in between. I've been through periods in life when downs compounded upon downs, and I thought there would be nothing left for me in life but more of them, in perpetuity, ad nauseam. But alas, as usual, the ups eventually returned. They all repeat and cycle, each time in new, profound, and inexplicable ways. That's life. Assorted ups, miscellaneous downs, and a whole slew of gray areas in the middle. Routine feels safe, but rarely is it real. You can fight the prevailing winds all you'd like, but eventually they will knock you down, lift you up, and shove you from side to side. That bluster of variety is what makes us unique. It’s what life is all about. It's kind of magnificent. The Crutch of Convenience
3/10/2016
We rest on crutches far too much in life.
And, why not? The modern world affords us a million conveniences that mankind developed over centuries to make life a little bit easier. But in our efforts to simplify our everyday tasks, haven't we lost something? Our ancestors had to fight to survive and thrive. Every day was a gift because every day you had to overcome any number of natural obstacles in order to continue your existence. With the properly planning and knowledge, you might starve to death, or get eaten by a bear, or run out of water, or end up murdered in your sleep due to a particularly violent neighboring tribe. Without those life and death complexities of survival to deal with, we end up resting on our laurels. Without struggle and resistance, we fail to gain strength. Without loss, we forget to appreciate our blessings. Now of course, this is undoubtedly a first-world problem. There are lot of people on this earth that do have to struggle to survive, and that’s not a good thing. We should all do everything we can to bring comfort and kindness to everyone on this planet. But for the rest of us, by not having to deal with the types of struggle that were once ubiquitous in our corner of society, we've missed out on some vitally important life lessons. I was camping recently and it suddenly seemed so obvious--out in the semi-developed wilderness of Death Valley everyone takes liberal advantage headlamps, gas stoves, air mattresses, running water, smartphones, and the nearby market for supplies. All things that make life easy, all things that we want, but nothing that we particularly need. I'm not saying you aren't allowed to hold on to some comforts in life, we fought long and hard to achieve them. I'm just saying there’s a lot to be gained from giving up a few of them, at least once in awhile. It's when you to give up a little, that you start to gain a lot. Giving up the headlamp and depending on the moon teaches you just how much you can already see. Packing away the stove and cooking over your fire teaches you the importance of the simplest things. Storing and rationing water teaches you to use what you need--and only what you need--instead of living life as a free flow of excess. Putting the phone in airplane mode strips away the digital distractions and let's you enjoy real life again. The lessons from a campsite are no different in our modern life. Our everyday reliance on crutches is a choice we make with everything we do. Our over-reliance on comforts leads to ungratefulness and juvenile quibbles. Our over-reliance on comforts has led to water scarcity, oil dependence, and global warming. Our over-reliance on comforts and this finite amount of resources is slowly squeezing out our attempted dominion over this earth. Get off the crutch and stand up. Take a few steps forward. Real life is the grit of the hard ground, Not a delicately cushioned pillow. See how real life can feel. The Contradiction of the Waterfall
2/19/2016
"I was mesmerized, as I always am, by the contradiction of a [waterfall]: an always-moving flow whose shape is ever-constant. A thing at once speeding and still." In nature as in life, we often appear static. At any given moment our jobs, our friends, our finances, our homes, our entire existence can seem to others, and feel to us, as immovable. But that's never really the case--underneath the shell we are a roaring rapid of constant change. Every friendly conversation, every new idea gleaned, every experienced moment, an opportunity for growth.
In nature as in life, nothing and no one is as simple as they seem... thankfully, because it would be pretty boring otherwise. Slow Down, to Move Forward
1/28/2016
New motto: you need to slow down in order to move forward
We live in a frantic, fast-paced, eat-or-be-eaten, shit-or-get-off-the-pot kind of world. And it’s counterproductive. In the modern age, people expect instant everything: instant social media updates to show everything you're doing, instant gratification/likes to validate everything you're doing, instant answers to every possible question, instant responses to every text, instant and incessant every-speck-of-news channels, instant traffic updates with expectations of every green light, instant political poll results to show every mood swing, and even instant ramen that's ever so basic. But what does instantaneousness get us? The instant answer is usually thoughtless. An instant update takes you out of the moment. Instant gratification is typically insincere. Instant ramen never tastes as good as the real stuff. In short, the instant world gets us nowhere fast. I propose we slooooow doooooown. I've had to learn to slow down the hard way. I’m a fairly active guy and I try to stay at least somewhat fit, but for years my exercise routine was crafted for expediency, particularly around jogging. Going for a run can be a great way to burn calories and I've written on the mindfulness benefits I gained from it in the past. But I also often used it as a way to absently power through an exercise just to get it over with. If I didn't stressfully rush through traffic to my typical spot at the reservoir to stomp out a lap, I would opt to run on the streets near my house, exacerbating my shin splits on the unyielding pavement. I never quite stretched or warmed up as much as I really should have and I started wearing those hip new minimalist shoes that provide very little support, without giving my legs time to get used to them. I did all this while training for a half marathon in an expedited schedule. It was a risky recipe. By the end of that marathon, my shins, my ankles, arches, heels, toes, and hips were all quite angry with me. They all pleaded with me to slooooooow dooooooown. So I did. Following the half marathon I went on a long solo camping trip I called "Journeyman." Instead of running quickly through all the beautiful natural environments I visited, I hiked and did so thoughtfully, deliberately, soaking it all in. By slowing down not only did I get the benefits that exercise brings to your body, I got the benefit of spiritual renewal that's always available when you commune with nature. I was able to find mindfulness with each step, and to this day hiking inspires most of what I write on these pages. My personal parable is applicable to all sorts of situations in our modern world: when we take a moment to gather our thoughts before responding, our reaction is more authentic. When we stay in the moment instead of jumping to Facebook to post a photo of every event, we get to relish in it. When we don’t expect a digital thumb up for every social media post, we feel more confident in our self worth. When we're patient on the road, we're able to chill and let road rage shift to road relaxation. When we wait in line for 30 minutes for the good ramen place, our tongue is happy and we’re more satisfied, and that's just fact. Patience is a virtue, in all things. Don’t fall for the immediacy trap our modern technology has set out for us. Slow down, so you can move forward. Light
12/21/2015
Today is the darkest day of the year, astronomically speaking.
Most people eschew the physical darkness, that's why we invented torches, lamps, and flashing strings of Christmas lights. Most people eschew emotional darkness too, that's why we invented self-help books, Zoloft, and maybe even this blog. But I'm here to tell you that the darkest day isn't so bad. Whether it's physical or emotional, the darkness is the best way to make room for the light. Darkness strikes fear in the hearts of most. The dark of night makes it difficult to see what lies on the road ahead, eliciting the dread of uncertainty. The dark of night is the hour of the nefarious, spurring the worry of danger. The darkness of emotions are some of our most depressing moments, reminding us of the worst that life has to offer. And according to science, the dark of the Winter Solstice creates a negative physical reaction in our body leading to SAD -- seasonal affective disorder -- which unironically makes you feel actual sadness. But there’s always a glimmer of hope. Despite the well documented problems associated with darkness, I’m a glass-half-full kind of guy. I think the best way to get out of any dark period is to look for the light of the silver lining -- and there’s almost always a silver lining. As the adage goes, it’s "darkest before the dawn.” That’s true in both the real world of the sun and the metaphorical world of our heart. The impending dawn is the silver lining. So if today is the darkest day, that means it can’t possibly get any darker. If today is the darkest day that means it will only get brighter from here on out [silver lining]. You could see your darkest moment as the saddest time of your life, or you could see it as the moment things changed for the better [silver lining]. It’s all about your perspective. The darkness also teaches us a lesson in appreciation. Imagine you live in a world that is bright and sunny all the time. In this world you have no concept of darkness because you never get to see or feel it. Imagine how difficult it would be to truly enjoy the cozy warmth of the sun when you’ve never felt a bone-chillingly cold night. Darkness makes us grateful for the light. Sadness makes us grateful for joy. And once you realize this you start to appreciate any kind of darkness for the perspective it awards you [another silver lining]. Nothing, not our personal world or the big picture, exists in a vacuum. What each of us knows is made up of our experiences and our perception of the great big universe swirling around us -- the sun and the moon, engagements and breakups, friendship and fights, birthdays and funerals, ups and downs, light and darkness. How you react to any part of life is up to you. You get to decide if you let the darkness get you down or use it to make the light that much more powerful. Choose to bask in the light, even on the darkest day of the year... especially on the darkest day of the year. Mindfulness Anywhere
12/9/2015
It's easy to find mindfulness in the natural world, that's no secret--getting outside in the wilderness helps you discover peace, discover the world, and discover yourself. I know this first hand.
But I realize most people don't have access to the wild like I do. I'm lucky enough to live in an area (southern California) and to live a certain lifestyle (not fully employed) that affords me with regular access to some exceedingly zen natural environments. I’m truly grateful for that. But most of us live in cities that are situated great distances from the world's natural wonders. We have jobs and families and lives that keep us endlessly busy. We're surrounded by suburbs where the wild landmarks are all landscaped. One day I’ll likely have to get a real world desk job again, so one day I’ll need to figure out a way to be mindful while surrounded by the noise of the city. You know, like most everyone else. It's easy to get mindful when you're in the actual jungle, but how do you get mindful in the urban jungle? The typical lifestyle magazine answer is: just be mindful, it's always up to you. But I hate that answer, it’s trite. We all know that within the chaos of a city, it's never that simple. In our real, everyday, complex lives, we get by with a little help from our friends. Now don’t get me wrong, I really do love cities, I live in fairly large one myself after all. But then there’s New York City--the Big Apple and I haven’t always had the most stable relationship. The “wild” there has much more to do with the latest preposterous fashion trend or the hottest new club, than the mountain hikes to waterfalls I’m more accustomed to. The last time I visited NYC, it gave me a brief, but extremely unmindful panic attack. It was last summer, and in the months leading up to it I had spent the majority of my time alone in the wilderness and multiple national parks--camping, hiking, traveling, taking pictures, living free--what I like to call being a journeyman. When I arrived in New York after all that, the buzz and excitement I normally felt for the city was completely absent. Instead I felt petulance--looking out over the skyline I was irritated by the cement and glass, indignant every time I heard a car horn or police siren, irked as I imagined the uniquely wild Hudson Bay that once surrounded lower Manhattan. I felt a little like Charlton Heston at the end of the Planet of the Apes... “You finally really did it. You Maniacs! You blew it up! Ah, damn you! God damn you all to hell!” I had traveled to New York with my husband and and we soon met up with a few old friends, so I wasn’t alone. After a good hour of quietly freaking out to myself, it dawned on me that I was surrounded by a safety net, ready to stop my freefall and set me back up on my own two mindful feet. I opened up to my man and my friends and told them about my fluster. As soon as I did so, without them even saying a word, I started to see the folly of my thinking. They rightly did their best to convince me of my foolishness, through both support and a little ribbing, just as any good friend should do. Lack of wild nature or not, I had people who love me who want to help keep me sane. Taking a moment to be appreciative of my support network immediately cleared my head. Mindfulness was always there, I just had to open my heart a little wider to see it. Since we had spent most of the afternoon in my friend’s lofty condo tower, we decided to go on a walk, and soon found ourselves in a nearby park. It wasn’t a desolate mountain landscape like Griffith Park that I’m used to back in Los Angeles, a John Muir-esq canyon trail of wonderment like I’d visited in our national parks, and it wasn’t even the truly special and somewhat-wild Central Park--it was a small block-long strip of land with some foliage, benches, and a playground. “Hey look Jason! We’re in the wilderness!” they joked. But behind the laugh was an important truth. Lack of wild nature or not, there were still trees, and dirt, and people enjoying the simplicity of the outdoors. Taking a moment to be appreciative of even the smallest drop of wilderness brought me joy. Mindfulness was always there, I just had to open my eyes a little wider to see it. Back when I first arrived in New York, I carried with me a sense of entitlement over my newfound success finding mindfulness in the wild, and it drove me a bit crazy. But after that struggle, the city quickly taught me that I could keep my head on straight anywhere, just by opening my eyes and looking around me, and by falling back a little on my friends for support. Lack of wilderness or not, grieving at the site of a paved street is, quite frankly, ridiculous. Lack of wilderness or not, mindfulness isn't determined by an external force or environment, it's an internal choice that is always available to us. Lack of wilderness or not, we can always look to our loved ones to help keep us in check and remind us how to find joy and mindfulness anywhere. Beauty Will Always Win
12/2/2015
I'm never in a great mood after mass shooting, but when it happens in such a large scale as it did in San Bernardino, and so near to where I live, it makes things particularly difficult. Silly old emotional me also had a powerful yoga session this morning, so to come out of it to find that terrible people were actively shooting up developmentally disabled facility nearby, it was a little rough.
But I soldiered through. I went about my day. Took over a table at Starbucks. Got some writing done -- powerful yoga sessions tend to inspire that. When I was leaving, still feeling melancholic from the day, I discovered a monarch butterfly garden. Now I walk through this area almost weekly and have never noticed it, but it was today that I finally paid attention. Today was the day I was meant to notice it. Today as the day I needed to notice it. The monarch story is a sad one as well -- too many Monsanto insecticides and not enough milkweed is leading to their demise in California. But right there off the sidewalk, a good person planted the vital milkweed they need to survive. Low and behold, a small family of them moved in. I watched as the regal butterflies danced in the autumn afternoon sun, and silly old emotional me teared up yet again, but this time it wasn't for sadness, it was for happiness. And hope. And love. No matter what, no matter how much shit bubbles up in the world, there is always beauty. And beauty will always win. Out of the Loop, For Your Sanity
11/17/2015
What a strange weekend it was to be in a remote wilderness and mostly away from all the terrible news from Paris. At first I felt out of the loop, not able to follow all that was going on. Sticking my head in the desert sand instead of reacting with everyone else. But then I saw some people tearing each other down instead of uniting in solidarity, and people responding to the vitriol with even more anger...petty arguments about profile pics or which deadly attack is worse.
Suddenly I preferred my place outside the loop. I took a deep breath, turned my phone off, and returned to the freedom of disconnection. Staying away from the news/opinion/anger on FB/NPR/CNN didn't mean I was ignorant, it just meant I was giving myself the space to have a solemnly personal response instead of the knee-jerk public reaction our social media demands. Though I highly recommend it, you don't have to go to Joshua Tree to have a moment of peace amongst all the negativity. What if we each turned down the noise a bit? What if we all shut up for ten seconds to respond instead of react? What if it gets so quiet we start to actually hear ourselves again? This is mindfulness, and I think the world needs it now more than ever. My Love/Hate Relationship with my Phone
11/12/2015
I'm changing my Facebook phone- relationship status to "it's complicated."
I both love and hate my this little pocket machine. On the one hand, it’s a fantastic tool for connecting with friends and family, educating ourselves, being prepared for the weather or traffic, becoming budding artists/photographers/writers, and overall allowing us to be more interested and aware people. On the other hand though, it distracts from the real world around us, encourages FOMO and jealousy, thrusts douchebaggery to the forefront, hides us behind an avatar curtain so we sometimes end up acting extra douchey ourselves, and the list goes on. One reason I love hiking and camping is that, more often than not, there is no phone reception. It’s a trick I use to escape, decompress, and reconnect with myself and the world around me. Recently though, I visited Death Valley National Park, and while the vast majority of the park is cell-phone-free, the small town where I camped still had a few bars of service. Cue the complicated mix of love/hate emotions: I loved that I could text my mom and my man that I arrived safe. I loved the ability to text friends when I got bored. I loved that I could post to Instagram because photography gives me joy. I loved that I could Google lists of Death Valley hikes and sites instead of flying solo. But... I hated that I wouldn’t be able to feel the freedom of disconnection. I hated that I wasn’t forced to be bored, and forced to be OK with it. I hated that after I had a little whisky I started checking Facebook to pass the time, instead of reading, writing, or just being. I hated that it all made me feel less mindful. I’ve written before about how the distraction of our smartphone is a distraction of our own making. Quite simply, we can log off any apps that bother us or just put the phone down. But you you know as well as I, that’s way easier said than done. We all have a complicated relationship with our smartphones. Sometimes we laugh the afternoon away texting with a friend and sometimes we thumb-type seriously stupid things in anger. Sometimes we snuggle with our phone in bed and sometimes we want to throw it across the room. The trick for me, and with most things in life, is to find a balance. In order to be mindful we shouldn’t have to give up on all modern conveniences to live in a shack in the woods. I should be able to use all the great and worthy features of my smartphone but also be OK with setting it down for periods of time. There’s room in this life for both mindlessness and mindfulness. I'm about to head to Joshua Tree National Park with a small group of friends for a stargazing weekend. I stayed at this very campground last August so I know for sure that my phone won’t work. I’m looking forward to it, and getting out in nature is a great way for any of us to get a little more mindful. But in two days I’ll be back in the city. The phone and my love/hate relationship with it will still exist. You can’t just run away from your problems, you have to face them head on. So I’m going to make an effort to learn from my complicated relationship -- let the things I love about my smartphone help me use it more wisely, while letting the things I hate about it remind me to take a break once in awhile. It’s a worthy endeavor, for all of us. Make a list of all the things you both love and hate about our modern technologies. Then use both the negative and the positive to inspire you toward balance. On Mindfulness & Dogfulness
10/29/2015
This article is cross-posted with Elephant Journal: www.elephantjournal.com/2016/02/on-mindfulness-dogfulness Finding mindfulness isn't like flipping a switch.
Most of us can’t simply will ourselves into a state of zen like a Tibetan monk—the modern age and our overactive minds simply won’t allow it. So I look to the outside world for help. Be it through nature, exercise, apps, travel, everyday choices, or habits, we can use all sorts of methods to nudge ourselves to a more present state. One significant piece of my own personal outside world is my dog, Rocco. To put it bluntly, I love him to death. He always makes me smile and helps me forget whatever worry has been overwhelming my mind on a given day. I was thinking about him, and the larger infatuation many of us have with our pets, and suddenly it dawned on me—my dog is another one of the ways I nudge myself, often subconsciously, to get out of my head and live in the present. My dog teaches me mindfulness. The connection we have to our pets is multi-layered. No doubt, they provide us with companionship, unconditional love, snuggles and a great way to connect to other similarly passionate pet people. But there’s a deeper attachment that goes beyond the obvious. I propose a new theory—that we’re fanatically attached to our pets because they constantly teach us an important lesson about ourselves. Our pets take us out of our complicated adult lives for a moment, and back to a more mindful time—a time of youthful exuberance, a time before we were corrupted by the modern distracted world. They remind us of how we were then, and as such, remind us to try and a be little more like that again—right now. My dog Rocco is possibly the most zen being I know. He doesn’t worry about the future, except perhaps starting around four o’clock in the afternoon, when he knows dinner is imminent. He doesn’t stress over the decisions he makes, for instance—choosing which sunbeam to sleep in. He doesn’t regret his mistakes, even after tearing apart one of his favorite toys. He’s always enthusiastic when I take him on his morning walk, even if he had to wait while I procrastinated on Facebook. He jumps for joy at every treat, even if he’d always rather have bacon. He accepts all the snuggles and love I give, not worried about what other thing he might be missing out on. He’s also a big part of my favorite trick to get more mindful—nature. I hike a few times a week. The trails provide me with a level of exercise that keeps me physically fit and a level of peace and beauty that keeps me mentally fit. I often take Rocco on these hikes, and rather than take away from the moment of zen the wild gives me, he adds a whole new layer of zen that only enhances the experience. The exuberance he displays when I untether his leash adds to the exuberance I feel when I untether from the stress of city life. His curiosity to explore a new landscape—the trees, shrubs, vistas, wildlife and of course smells—brings me to a more mindfully aware state that bleeds into the rest of my day, on the trail and off. His consistent desire to stay close to me as we hike brings me an understanding of uncorrupted loyalty that I can carry with me into the human relationships of my everyday life. As a hiking partner, not only is he good at keeping up with my pace, he’s good at setting the pace for a mindful existence. I could go on and on, but you get the point. Rocco is my little yogi zen master. He doesn’t tell me how to live my life, but instead, he provides an example of a simpler way to live. Obviously, not all dogs are the same, and maybe I’m just lucky to have such an interested and present pooch. But I do think most dogs, most cats (I grew up with many) and most pets in general, have all these qualities to some degree. And it’s for those reasons we’re so drawn to them. When I’m feeling down, angry, stressed or worried about the future, I can look at Rocco and see a better way—a more simple, honest, mindful way. Maybe this is one of the reasons I love him so much. We’re all complicated humans, so it’s unrealistic to expect to live our lives with the same sincerity as our pets. It’s the cross of self-awareness we have to bear as a species. But that doesn’t mean we can’t learn from our furry companions—that we can’t take a moment to be with them in the moment, or that we can’t take the smile they give us and carry it with us as we go about our convoluted day. In that way, our pets are giving us the gift of mindfulness all the time. It’s up to us if we choose to accept it. 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? The Power of Nature
8/20/2015
There is a force greater than all others.
It's not an emotion that yanks your heartstrings leading to a rash decision. It's not a movement of physics, scientifically and systematically pushing an object along a plane. It's not a river slicing through a landscape or a glacier carving a canyon. It's not mankind itself, razing and paving every hill in the name of progress. The force of which I speak is not one of these individual things, because it is all of these things. The force of which I speak is the earth itself, from which all life springs and all hope is gained or lost. The force that graciously allows us to explore and alter her grounds. The earth is timeless. My perception of this planet is narrow. I am only able to know what has been preserved and passed down, or what I am able to see and learn through my own experience. But the earth, she knows no bounds. I am but one speck of trillions on her surface, lingering long enough to create an inch of impact. Even all of the collective impacts of every person throughout human history is still but one minuscule piece in the billion-year puzzle of our universe. The earth is formidable. I can do a lot as one individual here on earth, at least within the sphere of influence I create. And as a society we've made grand attempts to tame the earth through invention and progress. On the surface we all look pretty darn tough. But all that we’ve accomplished still pales in comparison to the preeminence of our world. We can cover the earth in cement, suck out every drop of oil, and burn every tree, and all we'll do is kill ourselves. This planet, severely altered or not, will live on despite our worst efforts. The earth is awesome. I know wonderful and caring people - artists and engineers, musicians and magicians, do-gooders and creators - all who help me and others to see life anew. But to truly be awesome, one must actually create awe. Never has anything awed me as much as the earth itself. No stately structure of glass and steel can ever match the natural nobility of the Yosemite Falls. No single loquacious character can speak with as much thunder as the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone River. No feat of engineering or advancement can ever compete with the scientific wonder that is the indisputable interconnectedness of every living and stationary thing on this planet. Mankind has its moments. We’ve produced stirring speeches, mesmerizing melodies, and multitudes of individually important moments that change us as a society and change us individually. But when you step into nature and step out of your comfort zone, I guarantee you will see everything you thought was so big begin to look ever so small. None of us, myself included, spend enough time in the natural world, but it's critically important that we do - that we take time out of our lives to feel the power as often as possible. Not just for personal gratification, but to realize that personal gratification is entirely insignificant. To understand that our goals and aspirations and moments are but one small part of a much larger, much more important scheme. And by doing so, help us to appreciate our goals and aspirations and moments that much more. You start with a small plant, one other living thing. Easy, patient, and innocent. A simple piece of the natural earth. You begin to see animals, domestic and wild. The dogs and cats, our chosen companions. The critters that live off our societal leftovers. The beasts that roam our mountains and backcountry. All a part of the vast network of life. You peer deeper and find trees, big trees, the live oak and hardwood and redwood that are hundreds if not thousands of years old. That hold the land together with their deep roots. That provide the shade for our refuge. That provide the oxygen for life. That organically regulate themselves through a natural order of death and regeneration. That make us feel young, and small, and insignificant by comparison. You look up to see the mountains that bend our landscape at their will. Untameable by our machinery and concrete. Incorruptible except from the most dastardly of our mining, fracking, and damming inventions. That provide a refuge for all animals, wild and tame alike - tame animals like us. And then, if you're lucky enough, you discover the gems that line the crown of our earth. Spaces not created through specific effort of man. Spaces that all living creatures call sacred. Sometimes we call them national parks, monuments, or forests.. .or sometimes we call them sanctuary, because their significance is refuge to our soul. Sometimes we don’t take the time to notice them. Sometimes we believe we’re too busy. Sometimes we’re too numb to feel the power even when we do take the time. But when you pause in their presence and relinquish control, you realize you always knew them, they were always a part of you. When you open your mind to really see them, they inspire you to something bigger, greater, more. In every level of of the natural, especially in those gems of earth, you feel the power. It's a power that's always all around us, but if it's the right moment and place, it becomes unavoidable. When you seek it out and visit its majesty, it's inescapably wonderful. It’s the power that makes the world turn. It's the power that cannot be stopped. It's the power that gets us out of our heads. It’s the power that inspires us to do great things. It is the power. |
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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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