Minimalist Thoughts

A few days ago, someone asked me about minimalism. I had done a few local podcasts with a friend about minimalism and as a consequence I am sometimes viewed as a “minimalist.” Hopefully this website URL nixes that idea.

That said, this person asked me if I thought folding phones would be good for minimalism. “After all,” he said, “they take up less space.”

This very question underscores a deep flaw in a lot of minimalists: that ironically, they are still obsessed with things. The obsession with possessions has just switched to a preference for things with a “minimalist aesthetic.” The inner materialist is not destroyed, but rather transferred to new yearnings. Thoughts are still dominated by acquisition, but isn’t the purpose of minimalism supposed to be free oneself of consumerism?

I replied that if you want a phone that helps you to not give a damn about “things,” your best bet would be to have a phone that you don’t give a damn about. Get a cheap Motorola (if you actually need a new phone) or something that that is so low on the status totem pole, it’s unlikely to encompass any amount of time or thought at all. Don’t get a thousand dollar “folding phone.” After all, the whole idea of “minimalism” is to not place one’s focus on material possessions. I don’t think Seneca or any stoic would care about how big or small his phone was. Seeking more compact models that take up less space has the same end result as seeking iPhone upgrades: you’re still constantly looking for the next best thing.

This flaw in minimalism can also be seen in the pursuit of clothes. I know minimalists who are constantly seeking “more minimalist pants.” In most cases these are pants that serve multiple functions: pants you can bike, hike, travel, or go to the office in. They are pricier and tend to be made of more premium materials. And therein lies the issue: the pursuit of minimalist pants is a materialist pursuit. Whatever space you save in “wardrobe space” is negated by the time you lose thinking about pants.

If one was really seeking minimalist clothes, I think a more effective approach would be to shop for basic and affordable things and then forget about “how many things are in a wardrobe.” The whole idea is to not think about your wardrobe at all.

Live with imperfection. That’s the only way to really free yourself of consumerism.

I state this to emphasize the obvious: there is a maximalist lurking inside most minimalists.

Conversion to Machine

I enter age 37 with a desire to take a trip and get lost on a random adventure. In a banal daily work routine, which can feel like a constant slideshow of indistinguishable and bland virtual meetings, interactions seem progressively colder and more detached. Work hours pass in purgatorial fashion. All smiling is off-camera. All laughter is on mute. There is an agenda and we must tackle it. We must perform. There is no time for small talk. No time for warmth.

The conversion to machine is gradual and is predicated on the need for comfort.

I try to counter these dark feelings, which I write about freely here, with cycling. Cycling is purely for me, the most selfish of hobbies. Adults generally don’t give a damn that I can ride a bike really far. There’s no one to impress. It’s not like my old days as a swimmer, when I won to gain the adulation of everyone around me. I just find cycling fun. Adults are often too consumed with their own consumption to be concerned with activities involving movement. Cycling is my antidote to the soul sucking virus that is careerism.

Is there still a ghost in the adults of today, or has the spirit left the shell?

Virtual work means that jokes are followed by silence and emails are followed by a false sense of urgency.

“This is the new trend!” I’m told, but I note that the general population has gained misery, weight, and anxiety since the pandemic. There is always a trade-off for convenience. Faust doesn’t grant wishes without taking something in return.

Years ago, I was lost somewhere in Russia. It was a random trip I took while living in China. It’s a coastal city with a relatively friendly atmosphere.

Getting lost is actually pretty fun; cycling reminds me of that when I take a wrong turn. Trips remind me of that when I meander aimlessly through the foreign city streets. Adults hate being lost, but kids generally love it. Adults prefer predictability and assurance. A destination is the ultimate form of salvation for the worker. They want a linear path without bumps. Point A to Point B, and not a minute to waste.

Yet the white rabbit is always a slave to the queen, as Alice in Wonderland showed. But the modern adults wants pavement, an air conditioned environment, and a to-do list that forever grows, forever demanding haste. I cannot relate: I find solace in the rocky terrain of a faraway trail, where haste is revealed to be arbitrary.

I remember hiking Eagle’s Nest Hill in Vladivostok and quickly getting lost, somewhere off the trail due to a lack of focus, and not really caring. Time ceases to matter when there is no agenda. Can adults abandon agendas for awhile? Who cares if the paved route is far away? I remember being somewhere high, on a bluff, overlooking the city. So I still arrived at some interesting destination. It’s the randomness and unpredictability that I prefer. I was on the opposite side of the world, which is both thrilling and terrifying.

The computer, and its primary appendage the phone, is placed at the altar of the modern posh careerist. It demands of its flock a new form of faith and a false set of promises. Mortality can be avoided, it says, with the swipe of a credit card, the pop of a pill bottle, or the adherence to a politician. Swiping requires money, which requires work, which requires sitting and staring and hurrying.

May we all be lost somewhere, in a strange city we’ve never been to, and wander aimlessly, without an agenda, in search of new adventures. Maybe somewhere, in the midst of that wandering, we’ll reencounter our long lost inner child.

Visiting Cousins

My younger brother and I spent the weekend in Ohio to attend my cousin Michael’s wedding. I hadn’t seen Michael in well over a decade and was humbled to have received an invitation. There have been a confluence of recent events that have led me to want to visit family more often. My uncle’s passing and my cousin’s wedding invitation were two important markers.

My brother and I lounged on a patio upon arrival at the venue and eventually met my aunt (Michael’s mom). Honestly it was nice to see faces and personalities whom I had been estranged from, yet share a genetic line with. As I get older and see the similarities we share in mannerisms and behavioral patterns, I find genetics to be more profound. It’s odd because reuniting with friends can be awkward and conversations can be forced. With my cousins, however, dialogue was an effortlessly flowing river.

In the wedding speeches to celebrate Michael I heard life events that easily could have been mine or my brother’s (loving sports, practicing pro wrestling moves for fun, drawing from an endless source of energy as a kid). It stokes the nature vs nurture debate. How can two people growing up in different states and different circumstances exhibit the same life patterns and struggles? Genetics and chance. Which also begs the question: how much of me is me?

The weather was perfectly conducive to an outdoor wedding (sunny and 75 degrees Fahrenheit) and I was glad the ceremony went off without a hitch. I was also humbled that my extended family was happy to see me. All the credit for the visitation goes to Michael, who was always the best of all of us at making an effort to remain in touch. It was a lesson for me to take the time and visit; the emotional rewards are well worth the effort.

I was caught in a flurry of flight cancellations on the flight back to Saint Louis and am currently sitting in the Charlotte airport (my layover) hoping I don’t have to stay overnight. So far my flight is delayed almost three hours. Eric’s flight was canceled and he’s off to a nearby hotel. We’ll see.

I spent Sunday afternoon drinking coffee with my brother Eric and cousin Katie (Michael’s older sister). We had an interesting conversation about human nature. It was one of those coffee talks that veered a hundred directions and someone landed on human nature.

“We’re basically chimpanzees, so of course we’re inherently violent. Especially men.”

“We’re savages with brains.”

“But with our brains comes the opportunity for self-reflection, and therefore self-restraint.”

“So we create laws and rules to tame ourselves. And therefore many of us are either at war with ourselves or with each other.”

I also had a pleasant conversation with two people whom I would term my “cousin in-laws.” That is, their father is my aunt’s partner. And through our conversation I was reminded of the struggles so many of us are forced to assume, against our own choice, but somehow, incredibly, persevere through. The oldest child died of brain cancer. There is a genetic health condition passed down in their family line. The next youngest is legally deaf. Both parents are legally blind.

And through stories such as these I’m reminded that, point blank, I’m basically just really freakin’ lucky. And I should be humble to be so lucky. I should be grateful that, in spite of some health issues of my own, I’ve had a good run up to this point in time.

I’m also grateful that, though I reunited with my cousins far too late, I learned that I need to take initiative to invest and be curious in their lives, because they’re pretty incredible people and well worth it. Better late than never.

Montana Hiking: Day 3

We began our final day in Montana with a breakfast at Feed Cafe on Main Street, where I had two of the best slabs of bacon I’ve ever tasted. The food helped erase the effects of the Montana-made Bourbon that I imbibed the night before.

After breakfast and a short nap we ventured to a different mountain range for the final hike of the trip. This was arguably the most challenging hike; it took us several hours to complete. The trek took us several thousand feet up in elevation and the temperature dropped more than twenty degrees from the start to the trail’s apex. The views were breathtaking. We almost didn’t make it to the trail due to ice and snow covering the ground near the trail’s entrance, which our rental car’s tires struggled to grip.

Though I entered Montana in the best physical condition of my life, the high altitude still taxed my lungs and the steep inclines strained my glutes. I was plenty sore and fatigued by trip’s end.

I was told to bring bear spray with me on each hike, but I forgot to buy any. Luckily we did not encounter any bears. It’s my understanding that the region has a mixture of black bears and grizzlies. You obviously don’t want to cross paths with either, but you really don’t want to cross paths with a grizzly. A male grizzly will eat its own child without remorse; it therefore would have no qualms having a human for dinner.

We finished our final day with a walk through downtown. We ventured through a few apparel stores (I just window shopped) and ate one final meal. Each of us had an “elk burger” and for each of us it was the first time eating elk meat. When in Montana, you just gotta try Elk. It’s a very lean meat and frankly I find it almost indistinguishable from bison. Maybe my tastebuds just aren’t refined enough.

I’ll miss Bozeman. The people are friendly and welcoming, and the pace of life is objectively much slower than big city life. I prefer that. My time spent in cities has convinced me that despite their conveniences, they are not natural for people to inhabit. In fact they may be detrimental to the human psyche. Murder exists almost everywhere, but it’s most prevalent in cities and extremely rare in many rural areas. Many people in cities, especially these days, have a certain angst and anxiety about them that troubles me.

I’ve read before (but cannot cite the source) that growing up in the city doubles your risk of developing schizophrenia when compared to growing up in the countryside. This does not surprise me. Nor does the detrimental mental effect that being amassed by tall buildings must have. I enjoy the conveniences of city life and have good friends that live in cities prosperously, but every convenience has its set of consequences.

I’ll conclude this blog with a dream I recently had. I don’t know what it means, but I think it’s loosely linked to my mountain trip and a cynical feeling that suffused me upon returning to the city.

In the dream, I made one last return to my old high school swimming pool. Somehow, inexplicably, there was a swimming competition being held and I was competing in it. My coach announced to a packed crowd via microphone: “We’ve managed to bring Matt back for one final race! This is your last chance to support the guy who broke every record we ever had.” I nervously prepared for a race behind the starting blocks and broke my goggles from my nervousness. Someone gave me a spare pair and I quickly broke those as well. When I finally adjusted my third pair of goggles, I realized that the pool, which was supposed to be indoors, had the opposite wall removed. The pool seemed to extend to eternity. Behind the normal length of the pool, I saw obstacle courses such as climbing ropes and white water rapids. “Obstacles courses!?” I yelled at one of my brothers. “Yeah, you didn’t know?” He said. “That’s what you have to compete with now.” I woke from the dream as I frantically tried to prep myself for a new challenge.

San Francisco: City and Coast

I drove a few miles north of San Francisco to absorb the breathtaking views of the Northern California coast. I had been far removed from the ocean for a long period of time, which can cause a rebound of relief upon returning to the coast. The Pacific breeze was steady and harsh.

I enjoyed clambering down the rocky cliffs edging the beach and walking along the sand; in spite of the freezing water, there were a number of surfers in wetsuits.

I do believe that Northern California has some of the most incredible geography on the planet; it’s rare to have the ocean, mountains, and a bustling city within such close proximity to each other.

After returning to San Francisco I walked along the pier near Union Square and ate a good dinner.

It can feel like pandemonium for someone not used to a city of its magnitude; traffic is a constant assemblage of skateboarders, cyclists, and car drivers. Still, I was constantly impressed by the cycling community in the city and the cyclists’ ability to mount some very steep hills.

San Francisco and Mission Workshop

I followed my Sonoma County visit with two days in San Francisco. I stayed at Union Square downtown, which is considered one of the must-see areas of the city.

I started the morning with breakfast at Honey Honey Cafe & Crepery, where I had some excellent breakfast crepes and coffee. I then took a two-mile walk through the city en route to visit my favorite company, Mission Workshop. They’re based in San Francisco, but I had been ordering products online from them for a long time.

Mission Workshop specializes in bags and technical apparel. I find their craftsmanship to be top-notch and it’s an added bonus that their weatherproof bags are made in America. That’s a pretty rare thing these days. Their technical apparel tailors toward an active lifestyle, with a strong emphasis on cycling.

I had the pleasure of meeting Darius, who is managing the shop. We had an awesome conversation in which we talked about how cycling can be a way of life and a means to connect people. One of the several things that drew me to San Francisco, after all, is its strong cycling community. I also enjoyed hearing about how the Mission Workshop crew vigorously tested a lot of their cycling apparel through a wide array of weather conditions.

While I was at the store I picked up the Mission Workshop long sleeve cycling jersey. It has a cool and soft next-to-skin feel and seems capable of handling a wide range of temperatures. The jersey’s aesthetic and materials are both of the highest quality. I’m stoked to see Mission Workshop putting out some fun new colors as well.

Hopefully I can return to the Mission Workshop store before too long; it’s awesome to see a small company that’s willing to put so much emphasize on quality with their products, especially in an Amazon-driven world.

After visiting the Mission Workshop store I ate lunch at Tacolicious on Valencia street. Their housemade chorizo tacos were especially awesome.

If you ever visit San Francisco I highly recommend checking out the Mission Workshop store. There’s truly nothing comparable in the apparel industry that I’ve found!

Armstrong State Park and the Redwoods

After driving south from Healdsburg and through the Russian River Valley, my route was towards a mountain pass near the pacific coast. The route was vertiginous, topsy-turvy, and I occasionally caught glimpses of the Russian river at the nadir of the valley to my left.

We made a stop at the Armstrong State Park and hiked there to see the famous Redwood trees. Many of them are over a thousand years old, having lived through fallen empires and regimes, famines and diseases, and who knows how many extinctions of species. They can tower over 300 feet and require the Pacific’s wet and temperate climate to survive.

Walking through this forest is an ethereal experience. The forest is also known for its “banana slugs,” but sadly I didn’t find any.

Sonoma Wineries - Windsor and Russian River Valley

Notre Vue Vineyards

Notre Vue sits on a bluff overlooking Windsor. The afternoon sun was bright but mild; it left a light sunburn on my nose.

This vineyard made me realize that I’m not exactly a wine connoisseur, though I love the taste. Upon tasting the first Chardonnay I stated, “I’m definitely registering a certain buttery flavor.” I then overheard the hostess say to a nearby table that their Chardonnay lacked the signature buttery taste known for the wine. Okay, so I’m not an expert.

Their Pinot Noirs were excellent and the view overlooking Sonoma was breathtaking. The wine drinking, coupled with a tasty charcuterie board, left me feeling lethargic but content.

The pizza I had afterwards made me feel even more lethargic, and consequently even more content.

Matrix Vineyards

We drove north through Healdsburg (a beautiful little town between Russian River Valley and Dry Creek Valley, rife with tasty restaurants and shops), then rounded south into the Russian River Valley to Matrix Vineyards. They have some award winning Pinot Noirs; let me just say that I hadn’t really tasted Pinots until I visited Sonoma. The winery sits adjacent to a resplendent little pond. Green rolling hills follow in the distance. I watched various birds while I drank, including hummingbirds and cranes.

I found it interesting listening to our host tell us about why vineyards (at least for these grapes) must sit on a slanted hill. I don’t recall the reason; I was a little tipsy by this point if I’m being honest. I also enjoyed listening to why the best Pinots were grown in the Russian River valley. It has to do with the region’s diverse climate; steady fogs, cool Pacific winds, cold nights, and hot summers. Pinot is difficult to grow.

Most wineries in Sonoma require a reservation before visiting. While this may seem like an annoyance, it adds an added layer of space and intimacy with your environs.

At night we ate in Healdsburg and walked around the downtown center.

I could spend a year in this region without getting bored!

Northern California: Wine and Fog

Two days in Sonoma County have done wonders to revitalize me from an excess of screen staring and arbitrary work. Tomorrow I’ll watch whales swim through the Pacific Ocean and hike through the famous redwood trees at the Armstrong State Park.

I landed in San Francisco and greeted my girlfriend on Saturday afternoon (she arrived two days earlier). For a city of its size I was impressed by its architectural cleanliness. The weather was chilly and a light fog sifted through the downtown buildings. An intermittent rain tapped my windshield as I drove through downtown. Even when rainy I find Northern California to be beautiful.

Driving up to Sonoma County and tasting the wines made in the region is an experience I’d like to freeze in time. I’d never been exposed to wines of this quality before. Northern California is the best wine region in the world.

My body can’t metabolize alcohol like it used to and that’s okay. Two tastings is more than enough these days. I’ll enjoy what I can.

I find it interesting just how much has to go right to properly ferment grapes, particularly Pinot Noirs, which are popular in the Russian River valley. Even fog plays a vital role in these grapes.

A fog creeps over the valley from the Pacific Ocean and simultaneously cools the grapes and maintains their proper acidity. It prolongs their growth thanks to an added protection from the sun. Pinot Noirs only grow under conditions that are particularly difficult to maintain.

One of my favorite movies, Sideways, has a famous monologue about Pinot Noirs that I’ve been thinking about. The film’s protagonist is an especially conflicted and wounded human being and shares a soul connection with the grape and the extreme demands that it requires to blossom.

Like the movie’s protagonist, I share a soul connection with Pinot Noir. We are who we are. We should embrace it. Quoted in the film:

“It’s a hard grape to grow, as you know. It’s thin-skinned, temperamental. It’s not a survivor like Cabernet that can grow anywhere and thrive even when neglected. Pinot needs constant care and attention, you know? And in fact it can only grow in these really specific, little, tucked away corners of the world. And, and only the most patient and nurturing of growers can do it, really. Only somebody who really takes the time… to understand Pinot’s potential… can then coax it into its fullest expression.”

Maybe I’m a pinot noir. Or maybe I’ll find out tomorrow that I have more in common with Zinfandel. Still, the pinot noirs out here are the best I’ve tasted. It will be difficult to downgrade my palate; tasting wine in Northern California feels like home.

Here’s to my favorite grape.

Weekly Plunder: Week 21 - Romanticizing Nature

That which you romanticize will eat you alive. In the case of nature it often happens quite literally. I am thinking specifically of the documentary Grizzly Man, in which a man sets out to live with Alaskan grizzly bears only to eventually be devoured by one. In the epic battle of nature and civilization there isn’t necessarily a salvation in one or the other; there are merely consequences that one must be aware of when choosing to settle in either.

This thought brings back a memory from 2020. My first sight of the Atlantic Ocean in the Bahamas (Exhuma) enraptured me. The water was a sapphire and translucent blue that one cannot fathom from the polluted shorelines of a heavily populated nation.

I hurried to the nearest docks, threw my shirt off, and jumped into the ocean. A powerful ocean current pushed me sideways, as if attempting to sweep me along the coast. I swam against it, enjoying the challenge. This must be heaven, I thought.

Then I felt a stabbing pain in my stomach. At first I thought that I had been stabbed by a sharp end of barnacle clinging to the dock. I looked into the water, though, which was nearly transparent, and saw what must have been the king of the island’s jellyfish, floating inches from my body.

The skin around my stomach quickly reddened and my bowels weakened. I climbed out of the ocean, knowing that this injury would linger for a few weeks. It did. It scabbed, it caused giant red welts to form over my entire midsection, and it felt like a second degree burn that lasted for days. It was a freakin’ doozy I tell ya.

It’s estimated that up to 100 people die per year of jellyfish stings. I wasn’t close to death, or at least I assume that I wasn’t, but I can attest that the sting hurt a hell of a lot more than a wasp sting. It hurt a hell of a lot more than any sting I’ve experienced, for that matter.

I quickly returned to the ocean—fun always has risk, after all—but that is a story for another blog.

Nature is lovely, but the lumberjacks and hunters of the world have a far more intimate relationship with it than the urban poets who venture to the woods for a respite.

What I’m watching: All of us are Dead, a new Korean zombie series on Netflix. This is supposed to be bonkers. Anything labeled as “bonkers” has my attention.

What I’m reading: Four Thousand Weeks. It’s a book about time. Four thousand weeks is how long it’s estimated that you will live, and even that is not a guarantee. The human lifespan is short: spend your time wisely.

What I’m listening to: “Call Me Little Sunshine” by Ghost. I’m seeing Ghost live next month and I believe they’ve mastered the art of the double entendre. Songs can be both tongue-in-cheek and cerebral, which is a difficult duality to pull off.

What I’m doing: Each week I’m running a little longer. This week I mixed a few random sprints into my routine. The “bad” foot typically feels raw and sore after a run, but the feeling dissipates over the course of two days. My physical therapist told me this feeling happens because the foot’s muscles are still stiff and severely inflamed. The muscle tears are repaired, but the foot still has some work to do before it gets “back to 100%”. However, it’s getting there, bit by bit.

Who Walks Behind - Memoro Menti

Memoro menti is Latin for “you have to die” according to Wikipedia.

Thousands of years ago, Roman generals appointed slaves the task of constantly whispering to them something along the lines of, “you too will die,” as they rode via horseback. This is arguably the origin of the phrase “memoro menti”.

This is also, I suspect, the subject matter of the Ghost song “Pro Memoria.” The chorus of this song is, “Don’t you forget about dying, don’t you forget about your friend death, don’t you forget that you will die.” The song is therefore the slave’s constant whisper to the general: “you are mortal, and your time will end.”

I find myself more acutely aware of an inevitable end these days (hopefully not soon, but inevitable nonetheless). The following have helped present this truth to me: a current injury, a surgically removed tumor from my 20s, and the realization that time accelerates with age.

I do not delude myself into thinking that this present life is a gateway to some sort of eternity. Such a notion strikes me as vain (what other biological creature is bestowed such an honor, and worse, a self-appointed one?), and also potentially lazy. An assumption of eternity is often an excuse to do nothing with the present moment, under the false assumption that there will always be a tomorrow. One could argue that religion convinces its followers to limit themselves, to go “sinless,” with promises of eternity as well.

Such an epiphany, the realization of finiteness, renders the concept of “sacrifice” a difficult one to grasp. The justification of sacrifice, after all, is for the sake of a better tomorrow. But tomorrow is not a guarantee and therefore sacrifice is a gamble.

Conversely, to neglect tomorrow, to indulge in full-blown hedonism in this present moment, runs a very real risk of creating a hellish future. So, one has no choice but to assume that a tomorrow will exist, that some preparation for it is warranted, and that some sacrifice today could potentially render tomorrow “better.”

Past and present. Sacrifice and indulgence. It is a balancing act. To accept the “hell” of today for the sake “heaven” tomorrow, to sacrifice, runs the very real risk of dying having only experienced hell. I think of a father I knew who died of cancer in his 40s having only known a life of “saving aggressively for an early retirement.” His son, determined not to repeat the same mistake, indulged in a life of extreme hedonism and wound up in deep poverty by the same age.

Tomorrow is not a guarantee and neither is good health. There is a yin/yang sort of walk on a tightrope in regards to handling the present and future. And there are no answers to how far one should stray towards either side.

So we work, but we are wary of working “too much” (to die in a cubicle is to never have lived!). And we conserve, but we are wary of conserving “too much” (to live for “saving” is to forsake life completely!). And we are tasked with meditating and soul search for what exactly “too much” is in our lives. In doing so, do we “die in a happy medium?”

I prepare for running and retirement and cycling and skateboarding and travel and hiking up mountains and swimming in seas and reading new books!

And while I plan I also must whisper to myself, “Don’t you forget about dying, don’t you forget about your friend death, don’t you forget that you will die.”

2021, Goodbye Forever

It’s time to pull the curtains on 2021. As Seneca is credited as saying, “Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.”

I spent the afternoon lounging outside Mike’s Bike Shop in Central West End with some pals who work the store. We shared a beer together; the weather was cool and yet bracing enough to wear just a tee. The atmosphere was jovial, a festive ambience in the air. Randoms sauntered by the shop, hopefully on walks without destinations, and wished us well.

For a change it seemed the world was content to pause. How nice to spend the last afternoon of the year outside, with random conversation about celebrity deaths (Betty White died shortly before her 100th birthday), crappy Hollywood sequels (common consensus is the new Matrix movie sucks), bike tire upgrades, and aging.

The store owner’s dog was adopted; I was told its previous owners brutally beat and starved it, nearly to death. It was nearly dead when found, reduced to being a skeleton wrapped in torn-up skin and containing a host of internal issues.

The dog cannot keep the owner out of his peripheral version. He constantly rested his head on the owner’s lap and gazed into the owner’s eyes, as if thinking, “my love for you will never end, and I’ll show you this devotion for every moment of my being.” The dog has a gentle demeanor. It’s as though because he realizes the full extent of pain’s possibilities and the horrors accompanying true suffering, he aims to make everything and everyone around him as comfortable as possible.

As the owner told me, “I had to build the dog from the bottom up, from a starved heap of bones to a living thing. Now he knows what the alternative feels like, and he loves what he has with every ounce of himself.”

And with that, my last relevant lesson of 2021: the darkest depths of fear and suffering give us the fullest appreciation for love and life. Further, we can’t fully appreciate health unless we’ve fully experienced a lack of it.

I couldn’t help but think of my foot when I think of the dog. “Building from the bottom up” describes what I’ve been doing with an injured foot for the final months of 2021. A new appreciation for walking is what I’m ending the year with.

Every walk is a gift. I was given a glimpse of the alternative to being bipedal. Therefore, I finished 2021 with a blessing: every painless step now feels like magic.

My friend told me, “God realized He couldn’t give you COVID this year, so he decided to hit you with a freakin’ car instead. Because that’s the equivalent challenge for the Manimal.”

And as I think about the reconstruction of my foot, I also think about the countless adventures from this year. Adventures are great, and if you are lucky enough to experience them with someone else, all the better.

A few highlights (many photos captures in Sights section):

• Lots of important weddings, one of them (my brother’s wedding) giving me a trip to Puerto Rico. And what a lovely week that was!

• A bikepacking trip through the Blue Ridge mountains!

• Key West, Florida, and the Hemingway house cats!

• Hiking Turkey Run in Indiana!

• Megadeth show!

• Hiking Elephant Rock and the forest and bluffs around it, and reaching the highest point of elevation in the state of Missouri!

• Trips to Missouri/Illinois wine country and the imbibing that ensued (Hermann, Augusta, St. Genevieve, Grafton, among others)

• Hiking through Shawnee National Forest (and drinking wine along the Shawnee Wine Trail on top of it).

• A trip down memory lane in North Carolina to see places, people, and things that were a relevant part of my life before my China days.

• Befriending Grant’s Farm goats and camels!

• Incredible Christmas light shows in Saint Louis

And now, on to the next adventure. Don’t spend too much time waxing nostalgic, my constant reader, or you’ll miss your next great opportunity. After all, the only constant is change…

Weekly Plunder: Week 16 - The Devil Rages On

I’ve had two vivid dreams this week that I can remember.

In the first dream I found myself competing again; the old athlete whom I thought had died years ago was seemingly resurrected. There is a genuine shock from the witnesses of my sudden comeback; physically, it doesn’t seem natural that a 36-year-old can still compete like a 22-year-old. It was a relatively triumphant dream.

The second dream was a night terror that I hope to forget.

What I’m watching: The Witcher season 2. Difficult for me to understand a lot of the dialogue and register the names of places and characters, but overall I enjoyed season 2 more than season 1. More fun, more kinetic, more brutal, and more narratively streamlined.

What I’m reading: The Ruthless Elimination of Hurry by John Ortberg. This has been useful in unhinging my reliance on satisfying people’s expectations (and society’s expectations). Expectations are the source of so much modern stress, and so many of these expectations are either unrealistic or downright asinine.

What I’m listening to: “The Devil Rages On” by Volbeat. Not a song that immediately draws the ear in, but I find myself listening to it a lot. I find it interesting both lyrically and melodically. Melodically it’s a catchy rockabilly song, whereas lyrically it’s a song about someone praising hell and Beelzebub as a savior. I enjoy dichotomy. Rockabilly songs often detail a lost lover or betrayal, and it’s during heartbreak or loss that hell and its inhabitants can seem more like saviors or harbingers of hope. The song is therefore sinister and uplifting at the same time.

What I’m thinking: I’ve enjoyed a few festive days. You can overwork, but you can’t oversmile.

My final thought: it’s said that the Diné Navajos have nothing and are spiritually the happiest inhabitants in North America. Their spiritual health, in fact, is directly proportional to how little they have.

China Memories - BBQ with Friends

Through my final months spent in China, one of my best friends was someone who’s name I never fully learned. I guess that’s not entirely shocking when living in a country that speaks a language you don’t understand.

His name existed only as a series of symbols in my “WeChat” application (the main social media app in the country) that at one point I vaguely understood, though I could never remember it. And of course, I’ve since forgotten his name.

He owned a dumpling shop that I often stopped by after work. “Jiaozi” is the Chinese word for dumplings, and “zhū ròu” (if you don’t understand pinyin this might not mean anything) is the word for pork.

I ordered the pork dumplings (with soured vegetables) from him on an almost daily basis, to the point that he started to deem my predictability laughable. “My dumplings seduce you so thoroughly, or is it me?” He’d often joke through our phone apps.

“Zhū ròu jiaozi, suancai? (Pork dumplings with sauerkraut?)

“Yǒu.” (I’ll have)

I typically ate alone at his dumpling store during my final winter months in China. The store was essentially a food stand, amidst a maze of food stands, within the first-floor supermarket of a tall and decrepit business building.

If the customer line wasn’t too long, we’d have an extended conversation. He couldn’t speak a word of English and my Chinese was shaky at best, so we communicated almost entirely through our phone apps.

We talked about life, work, the daily grind, and the daily pressure of putting food on a family’s table. He asked me about culture in America, and I asked him about culture in China.

We made jokes about how easily the Russians in the area were mistaken by Chinese locals to be American.

After a few weeks of pleasant lunch conversations, we started having dinner and drinks together. “You have to experience Chinese food beyond my dumplings, after all!” He’d joke. His wife worked with him and she often joined us in our gluttony (and we truly feasted). Chinese bbq was typically our favorite meal.

This was one of our favorite bbq spots. These photos were taken three years ago to this day. It brought back a smile to see my old friend again.

I’d since deleted my WeChat profile, and I often regret it. There is a pang of nostalgia and a wish to send him a message to catch up on life; I can only guess that his store is doing well (they were excellent dumplings after all!).

The Weekly Plunder: Week 11 - Off Road

The beauty of the gravel bike is in its lack of limitations. While a road bike has the advantage of speed, it’s also bound to pavement, and therefore subjected to most of the rules of the road.

A gravel bike can handle roads and much more. You can ride through forest, desert, and mountains. You can venture where most dare not walk. You set your own rules when you leave pavement. This gives gravel bike riders a true sense that the world is at their fingertips. Cycling across a country suddenly becomes possible.

Needless to say I’m really enjoying my gravel bike.

What I’m reading: Crossroads by Jonathan Franzen. As far as I can tell it’s a book about shame. There’s a passage in the beginning that I found particularly interesting, about a widow whose husband recently died. A pastor who has romantic interest in her suspects that she will only stay alone for a short period of time out of emotional loyalty, but that what she primarily misses is simply the feeling of companionship. After all, the pastor reasons, we tell ourselves that we will never replace our dead pets, but in due time we find justification for a new cat or dog.

This brought to mind a story I heard of a man whose wife died of cancer. He was back in the dating scene within a short period of time. What a dark epiphany about human nature.

What I’m watching: The Circle on Netflix, season 3. It’s just trashy reality television that kills time. I shouldn’t watch it… but then we shouldn’t do a lot of things that we do anyways.

What I’m listening to: “The Scarecrow” by Avantasia. What a dark, nostalgic, and poignant song. Jorn’s vocals are among his best on this one. As far as I can tell it’s a song about a lonely person who sets out on his or her own strange and twisted journey. Along this person’s journey, there is someone else trying to destroy the person’s belief system. I find it interesting; it brings to mind the transition out of school.

What I’m doing: I’m planning some pretty epic bike rides. I’ve also been searching for a physical therapist for my ankle in hopes of getting it healthy enough to run again. I’d like to run before 2021 ends and am faintly optimistic that I can get there. You don’t expect an injury to take you out of the game for so long, but you have to play the cards you’re dealt.

I also finally bought a skateboard. Why? Because I believe there is incredible value in constantly leaving my comfort zone, in seeing new places, in learning new skills, and in trying new things. I’d rather embrace being a beginner and enjoy being awkward while braving the unknown than remain in predictable territory.

I aim to disrupt my own routines when I can. It’s not about “cycling really far every day” or “running really far”. It’s about moving with a smile. That’s why I got the skateboard.

The Weekly Plunder: Week 10 - Tiny Moments

Late on Friday I ventured to a small bicycle shop in Central West End in search of a solid gravel bike (I’m glad to say I found what I was looking for). The shop was small and the staff’s vibe was laid back and personable. In other words, it was my kind of shop.

As the sun set and the outside winds howled, I found myself talking for awhile with one of the employees, a 48-year-old former bike messenger, about life in general, about our injuries, our triumphs, and our failures. We shared a beer as the store neared closing. It was a moment I greatly appreciated.

“One thing I love about cycling is that you see the world differently,” he said at one point. I was about 3/4 through my Urban Chestnut brew.

“Yeah, you see the worst of humanity.”

”People, yes. You see the ugliness in people. But also, beauty. Not always beauty in people, but beauty in nature. You see nature.”

I thought about bikepacking on Skyline Drive, thousands of feet up in the Blue Ridge Mountains. I remembered the sun cresting along the horizon to my left and a view of the country, vast and green and endless, thousands of feet below. Deer grazing in a patch of grass to my right. An owl swooping overhead as the trees cast their long shadows over me and my friend pedaled ahead. Time slowing down, every mile feeling like a year. In that moment of utter exhaustion, I was truly free.

In that moment I understood time and my relationship to it.

And I thought of the cars that whirred by, and of the drivers that only saw a tiny fraction of this at most, trapped within a steel cage and likely distracted. They were there, but they were not truly there.

”Yeah,” I said. “You see the beauty of it all. And once you realize you can see beauty anywhere, just by hopping on a bike, it’s tough to get in a car.”

“And then you really get it, that it’s not about getting a really expensive bike. It’s about being part of everything.”

What I’m reading: The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People. I’m reading this because I know of one concept in the book: the idea of focusing on one’s immediate circle of control. The basic argument is that one should focus almost fully on the things that one can immediately influence: loved ones, peers, and one’s immediate environment. The further removed from this immediate circle something is, the less likely it is to be worth thinking about (the news and federal politics). The more you think about things outside of your immediate circle, the more stressed you become.

What I’m watching: Squid Game. Might be the most powerful show I’ve ever watched. The final two episodes are haunting. I’m still thinking about the old man’s quote near the end: “What do people who don’t have enough money and people who have too much money have in common? Misery.” Followed by another, on his deathbed, when asked why he played such a despicable game with the show’s protagonist. “I think about when I was a kid, playing outside with friends, and how we lost track of time. I wanted to get that feeling back.” Wow, what a show.

What I’m listening to: “Shadowminds” by The Halo Effect. It’s what I expect from catchy melodic death metal.

What I’m doing: I’m breathing. I’m pausing and appreciating that I’m here, that I’m writing passages that you may or may not relate to (though if you’ve made it to this sentence, maybe something has struck a chord).

My foot is healing. I’m planning the next adventure… off-road cycling awaits. Let’s see where tomorrow takes me.

All Life is Electric

We are all essentially masses of electromagnetic energy. It has been proven that all life is essentially electric, and death is a short circuit to our operating systems. This is often overlooked, but the idea was posed long ago (the great Nikola Tesla and the fraud on the other side of the Atlantic, Edison, among others).

Devices we hold in our pockets, on our wrists, and in our ears (Bluetooth) are radioactive. They essentially act to decelerate and weaken our electric currents. They debilitate us over time. They decay us and aid in our diseases. They erode our minds and hearts. Yet we carry them for the sake of convenience and social acceptance.

What am I getting at? If all life is electric, that electricity must go somewhere when we die. It is entirely plausible, therefore, that many ghost stories have some validity. A strong enough electromagnetic power must have a transference of some sort if the organism’s death is sudden and brutal.

Yet if ghosts exist, the invisible frequencies they ride would inevitably be muted by the very radioactive devices and 5G signals that permeate the air and kill everything else.

So, ghostly occurrences in the modern civilized world, I would think, would be more rare.

There you have it, some food for thought on Halloween.

Today I had coffee at Sump (one cup of an Ethiopian blend and another Peruvian). The Sump black coffee tends to be light and tinged with fruity flavor. No milk or cream crap needed. Black coffee is plenty fulfilling. I like it.

After coffee I rode my bike approximately twenty miles (32 km) on a route through Carondelet Park, across the River Des Peres greenway to Jefferson Barracks Park, and back downtown via Broadway street. My foot felt nearly painless. It was the first day since just before my 36th birthday that riding my bicycle felt like it did before the car crash. That, plus a few hours of sunshine, improved my mood considerably.

The fall sun is relatively pale and tolerable, and today’s chilly weather required a jacket. My chest was warm while the wind lashed an icy air at my hands and ears. I loved it. I felt like my old self. The journeyman is returning. He is not dead yet.

Adventure will resume soon…

Onebag Travel with Mission Workshop Rhake VX

I recently had a 3.5 day work trip to North Carolina. I decided to only pack my everyday backpack for the trip (I’ve used it as my onebag for several trips already), my Mission Workshop Rhake VX.

Our things weigh us down and the physical/mental weight of our possessions is especially apparent when traveling. The extra heft taxes your body and slows you down. It’s incredible to pass through an airport with just a comfortable backpack while everyone else rolls their heavy luggage and congregates at baggage claim.

If you are into apparel, I wore the Outlier Injected Linen Pants (amazingly cool in summer heat), Outlier Ramielust Cut One Shirt (also breezy and very cool in humid weather), the Outlier Ramienorth Short Sleeve (a business casual shirt in natural ramie fabric that’s great for summer weather), and the Xero Shoes Z-Trail sandals (my go-to all-purpose sandals)

Along Mountain Roads: Bikepacking Trip 1

First bikepacking trip complete! It was grueling, but worth it. The only lingering injury was a pinched nerve in my left hand, which I got on day 1 from gripping the handlebars too tight while riding uphill for long periods of time.

Mimetic Desires and the Art of Being Scrappy

For most of my life, I have been what I consider “scrappy.” I did have one relatively brief flirtation with the pursuit of material things. It lasted about a year and a half, and was born from a number of events that are another story entirely. For the most part, however, I have not followed the normal trajectory of pursuing “stuff”. Stuff does not usually interest me unless it enhances the things I can do. Experiences therefore reign supreme.

“We move from a teeming college dorm to an apartment to a house, and if we’re really wealthy, to an estate. We think we’re moving up, but really we’re walling ourselves off.” - Eric Weiner

The chase for more is born from mimetic desires. We form our desires by studying the desires of other people. It is only natural because we are social creatures. It is what salesmen and influencers prey on.

On a materialistic level, we pursue the homes, cars, clothes, shoes, gadgets, devices, and screens that everyone is in a chase to own. The race makes us frenzied dogs foaming at the mouth for more. We believe we need “it”, whatever “it” is. A model flaunts it in a chic location, under a perfect lighting scheme. It sheens on a corporate VP’s wrist, and the diamonds tantalize! It is everywhere, omnipresent, hovering around us like God, whispering to us that we lack it, but that perhaps if we swipe our credit cards it will bring us salvation. Salvation, of course, is constantly just out of our grasp.

I try to remember: there are some races that are impossible to win.

I have never felt much mimetic desire for things. Only when mistakenly engaging myself in a social competition do they arise. Only for one brief period did I give in to the race. For the most part, however, I was never even on the track.

I lived in a garage during my last year in Los Angeles. I followed that with three years of living with my parents, in my old bedroom, while I worked full time.

For my first major foray into work, I bought one pair of twenty dollar shoes at Wal-Mart and wore them until the soles were completely removed from the uppers.

I drove the first college vehicle I bought until I moved to China, and owning one vehicle felt like owning one too many. I sold it when I knew I was China-bound.

I lived in the cheapest apartment in Chapel Hill with a roommate shortly after moving out of my parents’ house, with approximately 700 total square feet of space to share. I rented it because it was the cheapest apartment I’d ever heard of.

I moved to China for two years. Most of my first year was spent in a dormitory with little heating and no A/C. I spent the summers sweating and the winters sleeping in my winter gloves, jacket, and scarf. I spent most of my second year in an apartment bedroom smaller than most closets. It had a severe roach infestation that I battled until my return to the United States.

My homes, my clothes, my shoes, my cars, were often the worst, and I never cared. I never cared because it meant avoiding debt.

Harsh conditions do not trouble me, nor do people with nice things.

I returned to America at age 33 and it is probably no surprise that scrappiness is now engrained in me. My current apartment is 800 square feet and that feels like way too much. I bought a car fully with cash in 2019 and it also felt like too much, so I sold it in 2020.

I am scrappy by nature. I prefer to sweat. I enjoy wiping dead bugs off my brow and legs after a long summer bike ride.

My mind goes to day 2 of my recent bikepacking adventure. I’m somewhere outside the north entrance to Skyline Drive, at a camp site pretty far removed from what most would call “civilization.”

Next to our tent is a trailer, and outside the trailer is a shirtless man, living alone, drinking a beer and watching the sunset. He’s smiling, but it isn’t the simple urban smile of someone posing for a selfie in front of a cappuccino. Out by the Blue Ridge Mountains, he has nothing he needs to buy. He’s smiling because the mountains are enough.

Remove exposure to those who desire things, and you remove the desires for those same things.

This means removing the people who pursue “more” from your close proximity, but it also means removing exposure to the gadgets that bring them within close proximity.

This is no easy task. How badly do you want to leave behind your longing for more?