The Secret Meaning of Life

John asked yesterday, what do I think about, instead of a walking trip, a biking trip? My answer, immediately, was "a walking trip." I suppose in my say-yes-to-life efforts, I ought to jump at the idea of something like a biking trip, something far enough outside of my thinking that I never, ever would have considered. But the thing is, I have for so long wanted to go on an incredibly long walk. If we walked to Nashville, I would never say, now let us do this on bicycles, whereas if we rode bicycles to Juno, Alaska, I would (after a year of recovery at least) say, Now I would like to walk as far. (Because, apparently, I speak like A.A. Milne.) John pointed out that a biking trip would be much faster than a walking trip. I countered that a flying trip would be faster still (John thinks that flying is the worst form of travel, since you pass the journey by.) And that got me thinking of the book of traveling stories I want to compile. I always think about the journeys I would like to take, and about how I will one day have enough stories to compile. But really, I do. I just always feel like there should be something more. As if I will finally find do the thing that makes everything and myself feel completely different. But even though I am already a completely different person from the Court who hit the road in 2007, I have never felt like anything other than myself. Life just feels like living. I can put myself in the weirdest situations, can chase high adventure on the seas, or in the city, or on a farm, or even (if I get around to making my hot-air balloon) in the air. But once I have, and I come home, waking up in a bed will still feel like waking up in a bed. And though that may be magical after living on a bicycle for a year, eventually the magic will wear off. Because it does not matter what you do with you life. If you are a musician, a veterinarian, a hobo, a housewife, a film director, a banker, or something else entirely, the only thing that matters is how you feel about being that thing. I once had a job that required me to vacuum a department store from 7-9am. I enjoyed it quite a lot. Jeremy hated it, and quit after two weeks. There is no miracle path to happiness. (There is just the regular path to happiness. And you walk it every day.) It does not matter what it is you want to do with your life. It only matters that you do what you want to do with your life. If you do not want to do something, do not do it. Now of course there is such things as concessions and sacrifice. If you have children, you must provide for them. If you want a house, there are things to be done in order to obtain one. So it is true what we have heard: sometimes you have to do things you don't want to do. But you don't always or forever have to do things you don't want to do. If you make your bed once, you do not have to sleep in it a thousand times.

The Return of Court Anonymous, pt 1

Last night, John, Oshin and I went into Nashville to watch the Music City Roller Girls defeat the Boardwalk Bombshells of Santa Cruz. We met up with Scott there, and he returned to the house on Fleet Town with us. Today, rather than staying here and working with them, I am going into Nashville with Jason and Violet to see The Avengers. Lately, I have been feeling down about not getting more done at Rosewater. But I do not feel bad about going into town today, nor about leaving my friends behind to work without me. I am not shirking responsibility, and I am not seeking entertainment. My reason for why I am going can be explained by an examination of the Fifth and Sixth Secondary Downfalls of the Bodhisattva Vow (which I will do in the near future; after this blog, I am going to begin anew my exploration of these "downfalls," which is something I first began in 2006). But this post is actually about something else. Why I, Court Anonymous, Am Not A Leader: Because I do not care to be. I do not have the answers and reasons to tell people what they ought to do. Nor do I aspire to. The thinking described up to this point has led me to return to Geshe Kelsang Gyatso's book, The Bodhisattva Vow. Reading less than a page made me realize how undisciplined my mind has become. It was my mental- and self-discipline that revealed to me what I believe is "my path." It is the greatest talent I have. If I have anything to offer The World, it is this. If I feel comfortable to lead in any way, it is by example rather than edict. Rosewater is not a thing we are all working toward (that, I feel, would be a commune). Rather, what we are all working toward is what will make Rosewater. We each want something more in life, and this property is a place where we can work towards these things we want. I personally feel like I have more to offer than what our current system allows for. I feel that within this system I have to make compromises and allowances that leave me feeling like my offerings become weak and distilled. I believe that the world we live in is what we make of it, rather than we being what we can make of ourselves within this world. I believe we each have something to offer, in that we each have some thing (or things) about which we are passionate, and that we can find a way to follow and develop this spirit (as opposed to limit or extinguish it in the name of the status quo). I am not excited about building cabins. That is not what I have to offer, though I can help in their building--and I will be glad to. The idea of accomplishing this interests me, but it is not where my spirit leads me. I do not care if no cabin is ever built (which I am afraid is why no cabin is being built). Where, then, does my spirit lead me? Well at the present moment, I want to rediscipline my mind. This may require a cessation of drinking, and reinstituting my quasi-vegan diet (both of which I might discuss in my discourse on the Second Secondary Downfall). But certainly it will require re-reading The Bodhisattva Vow, and Shantideva. It will also surely involve non-Buddhist actions (since, you know, I'm not actually a Buddhist), such as applying myself to the tasks at hand with Rosewater. Doing things I don't want to do, when all I want to do is sit at home reading or playing video games. This being-myself is what I care to do, and the only example worth setting. A subtle leadership: do not do as I do, studying Buddhism; do as I do, making every effort to be yourself as well. Find (as Sir Ken Robinson calls it) your Element. Self-discipline is mine.

The Object of Success

I have long been convinced that one of the biggest differences between people is the perception of the object of success. Now, reading Malcolm Gladwell's Outliers, the subject is once again on my mind. In 2008, I moved to Seattle. I was in my early thirties at that point, and had lived in four states in the previous year. Washington was my fifth, and I planned to stay for four months before making California my sixth. I was going to be a monk. By comparison, Jenny was in her early twenties and, except for trips to Disneyland, she had never been far from Washington, and did not plan on that changing. She looked forward to being married and having children in the not-too-soon-but-not-too-distant future. We were an unlikely couple. Travel is not my passion. If it were, I would be writing from the road. But I love to travel. I like to see new places, meet new people, and do unusual things. Actually, what I love is gaining new perspectives. New people, places, and things provide them. Hiking up a mountain in a rainforest is a cool thing to say you've done, but slipping and falling, sliding downhill, and emerging from the canopy covered in mud and sweat is an experience that cannot be conveyed. It is the awe of life that I care to maintain. For that, discomfort is an acceptable concession. Travel is not Jenny's passion either. When she deplaned with me in Texas in June 2009, the instant sweat offended her. My father picked us up in a car with no AC, and when we stopped at the nearest air conditioned bar for a pitcher of beer, I half expected her to tell me she would just stay there for the week. But she was impressed by the attitudes of corner-shop cashiers ("They're so nice!"), surprised by political rhetoric ("that nigger..."), and when she saw a firefly for the first time... The look on her face was the revelation of magic in the world. She returned to Seattle with new perspectives. But she loathed the airport hassle on the way home. This is the significance of the object of success. It doesn't just impact what we choose to do. It determines how we feel about it. My Seattle days are behind me, but Jenny and I are still in touch. Yesterday, over the phone, she told me she is happiest when she is gardening. I told her she should quit her job. "I can't do that," she replied. "I have a 401K." She clearly has a model for success different from mine. I do not understand the motivation she gets from a retirement plan, but I do understand the way that life appears to chase after success like an apple chases the ground. Why would we go any other direction? How can we not? You can catch an apple mid-fall, but you cannot stop its inherent motivation in that direction. Success does not have actual physical properties. We each have a different object of success, and yet we take it largely for granted that we are all moving in the same direction. Sure, we understand that we have various goals; however, we are all moving toward The Future, and our concept of success is the very description of the future we are each moving toward, whether we make it or not. I have been told by Jenny and by many others that I am mistaken in my trajectory, that I will eventually get my head out of the clouds and accept the inevitable Future. I have said the same thing to those people and others. . .. ... .... ... .. . .. ... .... ... .. . .. ... .... ... .. . Another example: Occupy Wall Street vs Occupy Nashville. Six months after the official start of the movement, Occupy Nashville is limping. I am encouraged by a point made at the last general assembly: the real work being done is not by the people coming by twice a week to talk about what we are doing; it is by the people who come by once a month to talk about what they've done. The Nashville movement is not dead. But when compared to the general assemblies of October and November, the current meetings are underwhelming, both in attendance and potency. On the other hand, Occupy Wall Street, the spark that lit so many short fuses last September, is still flourishing. (I started compiling a list to support this, but really you should just check out What the Fuck Has Occupy Done?) The significant factor is solidarity. What is solidarity but a shared object of success? We, as individuals, still have our own independent ideas for the future, but on the plaza, on the streets, we meet as Occupy Nashville with a shared intention. Well, we did. The power of the people is an incredible thing to witness, especially from within. Occupy Nashville was a great source of empowerment. In fact, people felt so empowered as to believe that their hopes and dreams were nearer than previously believed. Personal and organizational interests brought Occupy Nashville to its current, splintered state.* *This is not a bad thing. The successes that past and present ON contributors are working toward are simply outside of the scope of Occupy. Most of the people I have met through Occupy Nashville are working with great motivation toward both subtle and dramatic change.