Paths

What is it about experience that creates cynicism? Why is it that as I get older and (theoretically) wiser, I also become more hesitant to bare my soul via this public journal we call a blog? Why is it that as a 17 year-old I could write earnestly and sincerely, but as a 22 year-old when I sit down to write I am instantly struck by the silliness of my generation's musings? I feel as though I am joining an army of uninformed "attempted thinkers" as they spout their opinions about life and the nature of things.

And that, dear reader, is the reason why it has been so long. A rather angsty excuse, perhaps, but still an excuse. Maybe I should have cited school, and my kids, and said "my, but doesn't life just get so busy?!" But I digress. I sat down to write, and I suppose I should write.

I like to think of myself as a traveler in this life - and not one simply making the trek from the "cradle to the grave." Rather, I want to be a student of those who have gone before - to analyze the tracks of those rushing past on different paths and strain ahead with binoculars to see where they end up before I throw my lot in as well. Perhaps Longfellow said it best: "lives of great men all remind us that we can make our lives sublime/and, departing, leave behind us footprints on the sands of time."

From my perch overlooking these paths, (also known as the corner of a tall building with a window seat where I go to contemplate life) I see a lot. I see old businessmen with ill-colored trench-coats heading toward their black coffee at Strongfields; middle-aged businessmen rushing past each other and into tall buildings which swallow them up; young businessmen striding past each other with expensive car key-rings carefully situated logo-out on the finger of the hand holding the latte.

I see restaurant employees sneaking cigarettes on garbage-runs; panhandlers emptying the larger coins from their caps when no one is looking; cab-drivers spying out the best illegal parking spots.

I see many others - too many to count.

Some of these paths look interesting - like they'd be interesting to tread for a few days, or even weeks. But do I want to spend my life on any of them, or any combination of them? No. Even the thought is boring. Surely there must be a more interesting path?

Now, this post could end cutely here with a Robert Frost reference about "Roads Less Traveled," or segue into a discussion of how there's something more to live for (there is, but if you know me we've probably already talked about it), but I think we'll stick with Longfellow for today: 

In the world's broad field of battle,
        In the bivouac of Life,
    Be not like dumb, driven cattle !
        Be a hero in the strife !     

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant !
        Let the dead Past bury its dead !
    Act,— act in the living Present !
        Heart within, and God o'erhead

Let us, then, be up and doing,
        With a heart for any fate ;
    Still achieving, still pursuing,
        Learn to labor and to wait.

TD

Ten Years

From a journal entry - September 11, 2011

I didn't feel it coming. But as the stewardess proffering snacks made her way down the aisle and I put my earbuds in - hearing the last few lines of the Brooklyn Children's Chorus: "O! say does that star-spangled banner yet wave / O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave?" my chest heaved and hot tears were suddenly running down my cheeks. Aware that there was no Kleenex box nearby, I tried to contain myself. What does this mean to me anyway? My 11 year-old self was asleep under my favorite plaid comforter at 8:46am on September 11, 2001, not in New York or even the United States. I was waked by my sister shaking me with the news, and spent the next few days following the dumbstruck lead of adults around me. Now, my 21 year-old self sits on a plane watching a line of people several hundred long waiting to read the names of the dead. Is it for them that I cry? Or am I still just following the cues of adults around me? I glance at the man next to me who is watching the proceedings casually (he looks like he wants some popcorn) - no, it's not that.

I mute the sound and put on music; stare out the window and try to collect my thoughts. I feel mixed-up and muddled; I glance back at the lips of the woman reading a loved one's name and the tears come again. I realize suddenly that I am not weeping for the dead ones, but for the living ones. The ones left to ask "why?" every day; to fight against hatred; to spend a lifetime mourning. They look so lost...they are so lost.

"Know Thyself?" Try Starting With "Look at Thyself"

Self-examination has gone out of style. It seems that my peers and I have been told "don't conform to anything; don't seek to change yourself, we all have our own path to follow." In the stead of self-betterment, we all now claim we're searching for self-actualization - our "place in the world." rather than changing ourselves to get somewhere desirable, we now look for a place where we can fit in without changing anything. (Wow, that sounds pretty lamentable - don't worry, it's not all this depressing.)

This is precisely why living by the Bible is so unpopular: it of all belief systems requires the most change in us. Unlike other philosophies, to truly live it requires real self-examination which is at best uncomfortable and at worst a total rebuilding of our character. It is also why there are so many watered-down versions of Christianity: most churches peddle affirmation like salesmen peddle insurance. "You don't want to dig into the parts that require change? No problem, let's just look at these ideas that make you feel good about the fish on the back of your car."

This blog isn't here to be preachy - it's not just religion that's guilty of ignorant bliss, but education, finances, and nearly every skill or task that requires dedication: "You don't want to actually save money? Okay, just delude yourself into thinking it'll all work out." "Don't feel like getting up early to work out? Meh, just walk vigorously from your parking spot to work."

My point is that as you seek to truly "know thyself," as one of the Greek philosophers suggested, you start to dig up larger, harder to face things about yourself. Some of them make you feel great; things like how much you care about people, how honest you are, etc. But other things are so annoying and hard to face that when the spade of self-examination clanks against them, the prospect of excavating something that large brings dread. We see it, know it, and then, considering the unpleasant task ahead, pretend that we want to leave that particular piece of debris right where it is. We've all done it - in fact I'm doing it right now in some areas. The problem is that once an honest, inquisitive mind sees the changes that need to be made, or the "what could be" picture, it will forever be plagued by that ideal. I'm writing of physical things, financial things, and spiritual things alike. 

So we're hooped, fellow honest human beings. We may as well stop deceiving ourselves and simply dig. It will be better afterward. Pick one thing and really look at it - you'll find that "knowing thyself" is really just examining thyself, done over and over again.

t

On Richard III & Manipulation

Oh, hello. It's been awhile, hasn't it? So long, in fact, that you may not even visit this old relic of a blog much anymore. I ran into an old friend yesterday whose dad writes a column in Saskatoon's "Star Phoenix" three times a week. I mentioned that I saluted his father for being so consistent. He mentioned that it's a little easier to be motivated to write when one's paycheque depends on it--and then said something I've found to be true: "anyone can write for 30 days. After that though, 95% of people run out of steam and quit. That's why blogs always fail. Those 5% that can keep it up for years are the ones who are dedicated and focused." So maybe I'm not very focused. Either way, you didn't come here to read a journal, so let us go quickly to the point.

First, a word of background. I've begun my final year of university (Incidentally, if you or anyone you know is looking for a bright young Finance graduate, feel free to consider me...) and, since I took all but two of my school's available Finance classes in my 3rd year, my 4th year is a little more enjoyable: I've cashed in my "free senior electives" and am taking a two-term Shakespeare class from a wonderful, insane, red-headed, cat-eye-glasses-wearing professor who shouts at us while she describes the dramatic irony in Twelfth Night. It's the highlight of my school week--I feel like I'm actually learning, instead of merely regurgitating. This week we're discussing Richard III.

Now, you really should read Richard III, even if you're not normally a "Shakespeare person." It's delightful. I won't ruin it for you, but here's a synopsis so that the rest of this post isn't boring: Richard, Duke of Gloucester, is the King's brother. He is, in a word, a villain. He opens the play with these famous words:

Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York;

But, you see, Richard is miserable. He is ugly, evil, cruel, and manipulative, and wants nothing more than to put an end to the peace that has just settled over England. He tells us, the audience:

And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover,
To entertain these fair well-spoken days,
I am determined to prove a villain
And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,
By drunken prophecies, libels and dreams,
To set my brother Clarence and the king
In deadly hate the one against the other:

What makes the play so delicious is that although Richard is horrible, he bewitches the audience into being his cheering squad. While he usurps the throne, kills his rivals, and marries the wife of one of his victims, he is all the while allowing us to be in on his sick little joke. He often answers questions truthfully, but his quick wit prevents the hearer from understanding the true meaning behind his words. A beautiful example of this is seen in Act 3, where Richard is traveling with the two princes who are in line for the throne. In theory he is their "guardian" since their father's death, but in reality he will kill them just a few scenes later. During their trip, the prince looks at the dagger on Richard's belt:

Prince: "I pray you, uncle, give me this dagger."

Richard: "My dagger, little cousin? with all my heart."

The irony is sickening, and yet morbidly humorous: Richard will soon "give him the dagger" alright--him and everyone else standing in the way of Richard becoming king.

So what's the point? This post is not really about Richard III, it is about manipulation in general, using Richard as a study. If you read the play, you will notice that not only does he successfully evade blame for everything evil he does, he actually manages to pin his crimes on his enemies. He is good at it because he knows himself. He can recognize his own evil, and dances perfectly around discovery with his smooth words. In fact, he thinks of it as a game: how far can I get without being discovered? Just how blatantly can I murder without repercussions?

How is this relevant to your life or mine? While we may not know anyone who will murder to get what they want, we see this play acted out in our lives every day. We all have that friend who just happens to know something that someone else said when we weren't around...the friend who enjoys the game. In fact, we might even enjoy the game; since playing it is inherent in humans. This is why you should watch out for anyone who is always trying to make someone else look bad; this rule extends to politics, religion, and life in general, and is also why I think if someone would go into politics on the platform of "construction, not destruction" they would probably get a lot of votes.

A Generation with an Addiction to Inspiration

5 minutes ago, I was re-reading my last post (How arrogant of me, I know. I'm sure some famous author somewhere--probably Oscar Wilde or someone like him--has said that a writer should never read their own material; it's bad form: “My dear Mr. Wilde, do you remember that piece you wrote last year on the English parliament? It struck me as so delightful at the time!” Oscar takes a sip of his sherry before replying “Alas Madam, I cannot consume my own work. It sets the bar too high and sours the enjoyment of any subsequent reading.” But I digress...where was I? Oh yes, breaking the rule...) and came across this sentence: "We humans need inspiration like we need respiration."

Think about that for a minute. Separate the words from their context and ignore the rhyme: "We humans need inspiration like we need respiration." Is that really true? That last essay extolled the necessity of being inspired. This one tries to decide if my generation's need for novelty is healthy or hurtful (and, as a secondary goal, tries to use fewer semi-colons—it’s a bad habit).

I was in Ontario last month for "MySummit 2010," the youth-focused portion of the G8/G20 Country Summits. (How I happened to be there is a longer story we’ll leave alone for now.) During the final day of the G8 Summit in Muskoka, we met with the Governor-General of Canada, Michaelle Jean. I won’t bother you with the details leading up to the event—they consist of hitch-hiking from Montreal to Toronto, sleeping 12 hours in 6 days, hearing the Queen of Jordan (whom I have a slight crush on) speak, and meeting a hundred amazing people from all over the world—but instead picture with me a square room which....well never mind, just look at the photos.

Keeping in mind the fact that this post now has 4 paragraphs and very little content, let us leave off from literary devices for a moment—I only have 10 minutes left.

Her Excellency Michaelle Jean came into the room after 15 minutes of waiting expectantly (and sweating—it was a sauna in there!). As she followed Minister Tony Clement through the entrance, the room rose with a roar of applause and relief—like I said, it was hot. Once at the podium, she waited for silence before beginning: “How are you?” I won’t relay the whole speech (if you’d like to read it you can find it here), but it was simplistic and sincere, and impressed everyone present. What’s interesting, though, is that she didn’t speak for long. She finished by saying “I am very interested in hearing your perspectives on the ways we can all work together to tackle key global challenges.

I would like to hear some of the solutions you have identified."

Well, what could we do? We “young professionals” are frightfully proficient at complaining that no one ever listens to our opinions. “We want to change the world!” we whine, while we waste our weeks on Facebook and wonder why our opinion holds no weight. Here was someone—someone important!—offering to spend hours doing just that: listening to the opinions and complaints of young world citizens.
So we talked. A microphone was produced, and 60 young people from Russia, Canada, Germany, Japan, Italy, France, the U.K., and the U.S.A. took turns sharing their thoughts on the world’s strengths & shortcomings; problems & potential; woes & wonders. We made ourselves frightfully vulnerable to criticism, but there were no critics—only curious, open minds with few preconceptions. In short, it was fantastic. We fed off each others’ enthusiasm and left the session with our day’s appetite for inspiration fulfilled.

The next day, (Saturday) we boarded our coaches at 6:00am in anticipation of terrible traffic on the trip to Toronto. Some of the wiser Delegates among us slept for the entire 3-hour ride. Having just gulped down a hasty cup of Earl Grey in the hotel, and with another one steeped perfectly for the road (obtained while being shouted at by various people to “hurry up, we’re leaving without you!”), I suddenly realized that all of my books were packed, and that my laptop battery was dead. Not one to be put off, I pestered the rows around me until a life-saver from North Carolina produced the latest copy of the Economist. Alas, It wasn’t as interesting as I had hoped, and I soon wandered up to the front of the bus to talk to Kimberly Mosher (Whose wonderful blog you can find here), an old friend and fellow ‘attempted thinker’ who can always be depended on for a good conversation. We talked about the amazing time we were having, the great people we were meeting, the sleep we weren't getting, and the wonderful things we were hearing. Something was bothering me though: during the past three days we had heard somewhere in the neighborhood of 10 speeches, all of them inspiring and well-thought out, given by various leaders, politicians, and public figures. In almost every single speech, the person lecturing told us emphatically to "Remember this: you aren't just the leaders of tomorrow, you're the leaders of today!"

"Now, that sounds really nice to say," I told Kim as we crawled through traffic toward the outskirts of Toronto "but let's be honest. Are we REALLY the leaders of today? We don't do nearly the amazing things that our parents' generation did--we TALK. We're a generation of pithy quotes and cute thoughts, but do we have anything to back it up? We watch TED talks every day and carry funky notebooks to write down our deepest musings, but do we DO anything?

"Looking at all of our resumes, you would think we were God's gift to Generation-Y, but how many of us still live with our parents?"

I realized I was ranting, and decided to cut it short--especially since we were pulling into the University of Toronto campus: "Our parents' hard work and drive has bred in us an addiction to the clever, the temporary, and the meaningless. Not one of the things that we've talked so eloquently about during the last two days will actually change unless we all go home and can be driven....but most of us won't."

And with that upbeat comment, our conversation ended. But not in my mind. In my mind I kept turning it over and over and over, adding to it the experiences of the next few days--meeting young people from 20 different countries, hearing more speeches, watching young people flirt with each other and with the ecstasy of being one of the chosen few to represent the youth of the world at this Summit--and the summation of all of that can be expressed with this:

"But I still haven't found
What I'm looking for."

Just a humble opinion.
-TD

The Death of Idealism

It is “a truth universally acknowledged” (to borrow the words of a better writer than myself) that young people are too naïve for our own good. We come into this world wide-eyed and wonder-full, ready to solve its problems by the sheer power of our own sincerity. We make ourselves vulnerable on purpose, innocent enough to think that our authenticity will protect us. Faces unmasked, emotions unhidden, our innocence showing through our attempts to be grown-up: "Do you want to be my best friend?"

Somewhere along the line, though, we start to suffer from that blessing & curse we call 'experience.' We learn about war, cruelty, manipulation, and conflicts of interest. We suffer from diseases like selfishness, lethargy, and desensitization. We 'grow up.' Our dreams of Astronautism, Firefighterism, and Cowboyism slowly move down the line of idealism: Poet, Pilot, Policeman, Painter; Lover, Linguist, Lawyer, Land Titles Agent....and it invariably happens as we get older. You won't find a 12 year-old dreaming about Accounting, and then deciding at 18 that he really wants to be an acrobat. Somewhere in the dozen or so years between dreaming and 'settling,' a transformation takes place--The Death of Idealism.

What is the reason for this slow erosion of our passion? Can it be true, like some cynics say, that humans are simply awful, and that we can only cut our losses and join in the materialistic madness that defines our society? Or is it perhaps the truth that the collective jadedness of our society has a ‘critical mass’—relentlessly dragging us down like gravity from our would-be flights of fancy? And, like gravity, this grimness permeates our lives, gradually squishing us down to the level of everyone else. We begin to see it as a simple truth, an unfortunate reality that we’ll never overcome. We stop drawing sketches of birds' wings and trying to find a garbage bag big enough to use as a parachute, and instead start watching reality TV shows. In short, our idealism dies.

Somehow though, it needs to be reborn. It can happen; perhaps it is via a TED talk about doing what you love, or the painting you just noticed on the coffee-shop wall, or the way the sky is lit up by 1 million colors during tonight's sunset, or the poem you read this morning. We humans need inspiration like we need respiration.

So let us not belittle our dreamers--the ones who proudly enroll in Sociology even though their supervisor at Starbucks has a masters in English. Let us boldly say "that's really awesome, you should go for it" when honored with another person's dreams. For it is not the amount of cash and the couches and cars that make our world a good place to live, it is the prevalence of those wide-eyed and wonder-full innocents; the endangered species of idealists. Let us instead "go forward together," striding past the all-too-tempting scent of apathy that distracts us from our ideals.

Acting in public, like we think in private: is it possible?

"All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,"
-WS

I was at a bookstore tonight, doing what any good bibliophile usually does in a bookstore--looking hungrily at books and feeling rather inferior. It used to be that I could go into a room full of books and, looking around, recognize a high percentage that I'd read over the years (this 'room' may or may have been the children's department of the public library), but alas, no more. In the battle of Thomas vs. all the books in the world, the books are currently winning handily, although Thomas is giving it his best shot.

In this epic battle, I occasionally feel somewhat curious as to how the enemy is progressing, so I stop by one of its stores. During tonight's reconnaissance, the sights were grim: books have been multiplying like rabbits recently, and hordes of terrible ones camouflage many of the good ones, making it hard to know which are worth reading and which are merely decoys produced as fodder for the illiterate masses (OK, perhaps that's a bit harsh, but it sounds good). Tonight though, as I ran my eyes past "U is for Uh-Oh," "Please read about my life," and "The planet is injured--Let's all compost" (I'm not sure if those are real titles, but if so, it's no surprise) I noticed, on the very top shelf, what looked a book with potential. I strained up and pulled it down curiously; "The Birth (And Death) of the Cool." Piqued, I opened it and read a few pages (don't worry, McNally Robinson staff, I didn't break the spine). What it said resounded with me. You may disagree; in fact, I'm not even sure if I agree, but it's making me think.

The book asserts that 'the cool' came into existence in the 50s with the emergence of jazz and funk music. The 30s and 40s were still pretty conformist (think 'grey suit & bowler hat guy'), but in the 50s and 60s, 'cool' became a characteristic; something you could put on. This concept of 'the cool' though, has been taken to such extremes and used so much, that it has become worn and tired. The author writes:

"A postcool society? You may think that strange, but here is something stranger: the people who are leading the way are those who, a few years ago, would have stood out as the coolest of the cool. The cool is crumbling from the inside. The trendsetters are now the most vehement in moving beyond the cool. And for that very reason, the retrenching of the cool is one trend that will not be reversed any time soon. This postcool attitude is not just another style, but a rejection of the stylized. It is not just another trend, but a distaste for trendiness. It is not just another pose, but a dismissal of the poseurs."

"Wow," I thought, "This guy really has something here." All of us, from the coolest to the uncoolest, can see validity in that paragraph. We've taken it as far as it can go, to the point where 'cool' has become a stereotype. Every year has had its own specimen of cool--in '03 'the cool' wore a faux-hawk and Puma runners. In '07 the cool girl bought a matt & nat bag and a bunch of leggings...But it's too predictable now. Cool has been done too much, and people are slowly beginning a return to something else; something more real:

"Postcool, in contrast, is built on a new earnestness and directness, a celebration of simplicity and authenticity. Irony is out; plainspokenness is in. The natural and down-to-earth are preferred to the glitzy and fashionable. The real is valued above the contrived, honesty above artifice."

When I read these quoted paragraphs, I flipped to the notes section of my phone and read something I had written months earlier: "Write about acting in public, like you think in private. Most of us are sincere with ourselves--but put on a mask when we go out." I realized that this is what I was trying to get at. Our collective obsession with cool and constant positioning to be seen as hip and trendy is really quite fake--we base our judgments on it; our likes and dislikes; even our hobbies and conversations!

Resolution #3: don't be a slave to the cool in 2010.

*interesting thought: by writing this, am I jumping on the "the new cool is un-cool" bandwagon to try and be cool?* Hmmmmm...