An Ode to Discomfort

Life does not provide a final finish line. There is no end to discomfort until the cessation of life itself. If a cool breeze braces your cheeks at the end of a competition, you should still anticipate the turbulent storm that is bound to follow.

I think most adults believe the act of growing up deserves them a lifetime of ease and painless sustenance. In the west particularly, adults tend to shun struggle, believing the rest of their years should be lived without pain. They “deserve” comfort, they seem to tell themselves. It’s somehow a reward for “struggling through youth.” So, they seek air conditioning, the drive-through, the chair, booze, television, gluttony, and phones. They adult bicycle collects dust if its owner fears the dirt outside. It is those who embrace the chaos outside who last the longest.

I try to avoid comfort as though it’s a disease I wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole. I aim to thrive in chaos and live well in the maelstrom. Pain is a necessary part of living and the precursor to growth. Without pain there is no life.

How have I embraced pain lately?

Somehow I managed to bike ten miles home immediately after breaking my collarbone and hitting my head hard enough to not know what year it was.

I bike commuted 20 miles to work in sub-zero temperatures winter mornings over the past few years, while gusts of wind sometimes rocked me with sleet. I learned to change tires on the side of the road while my fingers numbed.

Tolerating pain helped me train for a marathon while my right arm was still broken and unable to swing naturally in stride.

I finished a long run after my face was stabbed by a tree branch (and drove myself to a nearby Urgent Care to have my face stitched afterwards). I laughed as the nurse stitched me up. I now embrace this scar, whereas many would be “distraught by the imperfection.”

It’s why my old teammates at the University of Texas called me “The Manimal.” They knew I can absorb higher loads of pain than most.

My tolerance for pain helped me learn to run after 36 years of just swimming and lifting, and it’s how I ran my first marathon at age 37. To get back in the pool and beat people my age at swim meets seemed too easy. I wanted more discomfort.

When a car hit me in 2021 and tore up my right foot, I shrugged it off and decided that I’d eventually return stronger than ever. I’d run faster than ever as a final revenge to that shitty driver.

I don’t believe a pain-free day will arrive, nor should it, and I try to embrace pain’s inevitable return. I can’t rest on my laurels.

Discomfort keeps me honest. It keeps me strong, alive, and fiery. It is the best friend I’ve ever had.

“I Would Prefer Not To”

I find myself thinking about Herman Melville’s masterpiece of short fiction, “Bartleby, the Scrivener: A Story of Wall Street.”

In the story, a newly hired clerk named Bartleby is subjected to an intense day’s work. After being overworked he answers every task with a simple, “I would prefer not to,” and then he does nothing. He arrives at the office daily, but sits and stares at a brick wall. When pushed for productivity, he always gives the same answer: “I would prefer not to.” He enrages his colleagues, but holds steadfast with this routine to the end. He’d rather sit and think than succumb to industrialized society.

Bartleby is the hero of the story: he does not let others impose their realities over his own.

I look at my own to-do list and think that sometimes “doing” is overrated. Sometimes task completion is arbitrary.

Yet leisure, always, is underrated, especially in hustle culture. The morning ritual of drinking coffee or tea should arguably last for hours, not seconds. It should be a joy, not a chore.

We should dream when we sleep, and remember our dreams, and aspire to spend much of our lives asleep, not under-slept. Sleep should not be a hindrance to work: it should be the amplifier of livelihood.

And what about the to-do list?

“I would prefer not to.”

Weekly Plunder: Week 23 - Joyless Urgency

I have written somewhere in the dark recesses of my notes that Marilynne Robinson coined the phrase “joyless urgency.” I think it’s an apt description of modern Westernized culture.

“Joyless urgency” is a difficult trap to free oneself from and I’m not sure if one can ever pry out of its snares completely. This mental prison is deeply engrained from a childhood of perpetually “preparing for what’s next”.

Even our exercise habits exhibit joyless urgency. We rush to the gym, obsess over machine metrics, count our calories, and then hurry to what’s next.

I try to counter this joyless urgency by exercising without metrics most of the time. I don’t use a smartphone app or calorie counter, nor do I go to the gym.

I bring this up because with each passing year, as time accelerates and mortality seems more obvious, it seems more important to find ways to counter “joyless urgency.”

Notes for this week:

• This was the first week I was able to run two days in a row (since a foot injury last August).

• The first week in which I was able to sprint with only minor aches in my bad foot.

• Still completing my physical therapy exercises daily. Three times per week I perform 2x30 minutes of physical therapy.

• I took the bus to Central West End on Saturday and on my return, the first bus that I expected never showed. I ended up having a fun conversation with an Indian college student at SLU while waiting the extra 30 minutes. I always appreciate a random and fun talk with a stranger.

What I’m watching: All of us are Dead. Okay, this show is incredible. What starts as a simple zombie apocalypse narrative quickly becomes something much darker.

What I’m reading: Four Thousand Weeks (finishing it up as I left it half-way completed for the sake of another book). Also revisiting Orwelle’s Animal Farm.

What I’m listening to: “Northwards” by Amorphis. This album is what I would describe as “proggy melo-death metal”. I also listened to the new Korn album but it did nothing for me.

What I’m thinking: There’s an interesting passage in Four Thousand Weeks that I can only quote to do it justice. It has been on my mind all week:

“One way of understanding capitalism, in face, is as a giant machine for instrumentalizing everything it encounters—the earth’s resources, your time and abilities (or “Human Resources”)—in the service of future profit. Seeing things this way helps explain the otherwise mysterious truth that rich people in capitalist economies are often surprisingly miserable. They’re very good at instrumentalizing their time, for the purpose of generating wealth for themselves’ that’s the definition of being successful in a capitalist world. But in focusing so hard on instrumentalizing their time, they end up treating their lives in the present moment as nothing but a vehicle in which to travel toward a future state of happiness. And so their days are sapped of meaning, even as their bank balances increase.”

Weekly Plunder: Week 15 - Buy Buy Buy

Saturday morning. Christmas arrives in seven days. Millions scramble to buy, wrap, and prep the belly for gluttony. In one week, millions of pounds of torn wrapping paper will be disposed of for the sake presents that most didn’t need or want in the first place.

I read that once upon a time, the holiday was celebrated primarily outside, and that the holiday tradition focused on helping the poor. Celebrators spent much of the day on the urban streets, selflessly helping the starving, the diseased, and the mentally ill.

The modern holiday was invented in New York City. The NYC aristocrats of the day didn’t like this ritual of selflessness, likely fearing class warfare and social unrest. In the early 19th century, the New York City elites reinvented the holiday. “Santa” emerged as a core piece to the holiday and “gift giving” was refocused to be more self-serving, focused within the family unit. Therefore, economic growth became intertwined with ritual. The NYC aristocrats, also known as the “Knickerbockers,” made a new series of traditions. St. Nick emerged.

So, much of this “holiday tradition” that we consider Christmas is relatively new and wholly manufactured.

What I’m watching:

What I’m reading: Books that are controversial and contrarian. Having a different opinion leads to more interesting conversations.

What I’m listening to: “Wish You Were Here”by Pink Floyd. Sometimes a path forward requires looking backward. The lyrics of the song, besides indicating a longing for a lost friend or partner, emphasize the need to embrace struggle. Said Roger Waters: “It's to encourage myself not to accept a lead role in a cage, but to go on demanding of myself that I keep auditioning for the walk-on part in the war, 'cause that's where I want to be. I wanna be in the trenches. I don't want to be at headquarters.” This really resonates with me.

Why? Because comfort kills. Let me struggle as a novice, so long as I keep pedaling forward.

What I’m doing: I’m two sessions into physical therapy. Already I’m noticing more foot mobility, which makes me incredibly happy. I’ve waited so long to run again and it’s finally looking like it’ll be possible one day.

It’s overcast and cold. I’m gearing up for a long bike ride.

Rule: Don’t Chase

Being told I have to obey rules can give me an ill feeling, maybe because I usually associate rules with school. The modern school system is more focused on molding and shaping thoughts than enhancing them. It’s also more driven to produce perfect workers than to produce modern intellects and abstract thinkers.

Rules, however, can add value to our lives. Rules are required for any civil contract to form between people. Without civil contracts, we devolve into a form of Darwinian savagery. The constraint brought forth by rules can allow for liberation; rules can focus us on what matters while blocking what doesn’t.

Give a film a time limit and the story can be told concisely.

Tell a classroom of students to listen and respect one another, and each individual’s thoughts can be expressed freely, and contribute to the search for a greater meaning.

Tell an employee not to work on weekends and this person’s wellbeing will be extended.

Sometimes, but not always, rules should be unmalleable. The Ten Commandments provide moral tenets that universally prevent the inner destruction of a culture. It is the absolutism of them that has brought forth much of modern civilization. Some rules, therefore, must be permanent.

If an individual does not set forth personal rules and boundaries, that person invites others to set rules and boundaries for him or her. And these rules will likely not be to the benefit of the individual. Therefore, by neglecting rules, one invites tyranny into his or her life.

I have a rule for myself, a primary rule, based on my own experiences and struggles. Maybe it can or should be a rule for you. It is not a rule I have always obeyed. In fact, it’s a rule I’ve often neglected, and when I’ve neglected it I’ve paid severe consequences.

Rule: Do not chase unless it’s for fun.

• Do not chase material things, because even ownership is ephemeral. At some point in the future, a time you cannot possibly determine, you will die, and a loved one will be forced to either rid your belongings, take them, or sell them to someone else.

• Do not chase material things because the chase will carve a hole in you, and the hole will only widen as the chase continues. To chase a thing means to assume that ownership of said thing will fix something broken in you. After a time, you will realize that you are no better or worse off with your newly aqcuired object, and you will chase another. The chase will drain you of time, money, and individuality. The objects you purchase will not relieve you of any burden, but rather will add new burdens. You will fret over them breaking and degrading, and you will scramble to find places to put them.

• Do not chase status, because to do so assumes that status brings you self-worth. It assumes that your current status is not worthy of being. Because there is always a higher status than your own, this chase cannot possibly satisfy you. Social media presents the epitome of this danger. One can never have enough likes, and there are illimitable people to compare yourself to, if you choose to compare yourself to others.

• Do not chase the validation or approval of people because you subject yourself to their judgment. The basis of this mentality is that your own wellbeing is dependent on the whims of another’s opinion of you. There is nothing more dangerous than giving someone else this sort of power over your health. If you chase a job promotion to the extent that you subject your sanity to the whims of a boss, you enslave yourself to that boss. If you chase a lover to the extent that you place your livelihood on the whims of their approval of you, you invalidate your own self-worth.

Games are another matter entirely. To chase for fun is to enjoy a moment and accept a potential thrill. What, then, is it okay to chase? Some examples:

• Chase the queen on a chess board.

• Watch a child chase butterflies and rabbits. Can you do the same?

• Chase green lights while cycling through a city.

• Chase your dog if it won’t give up a ball in a game of fetch.

• Play tag, or baseball, or basketball. All involve a chase of some sort.

To ease the sense of lack in your life requires you to stop chasing material things. Chase something if it’s fun. Be brave enough to let others chase the rest.

Filling the Void

There is a void in our lives. If we continue living with this void, it will lead to unprecedented misery and corporeal decay.

Companies brilliantly convince us this is so. It’s how they convince us to buy their things.

I’ve been paying more attention to car commercials lately. The typical car commercial portrays a happy couple or family driving across a natural landscape, over terrain they never could have otherwise accessed. Text implies that to purchase this vehicle would be a steal. Video hints that this vehicle is a key that can unlock unprecedented freedom. A corporation is practically giving it away.

Buy me and you unshackle the chains that render you inert.

Drive me and leave behind the misery of a life stuck in one place.

But what is the reality?

Car registration at the DMV.

Thousands of dollars in car insurance, an expense not ending for as long as the vehicle is “yours.”

Thousands of dollars in gas, an expense not ending for as long as the vehicle is “yours.”

Thousands of dollars in maintenance, accumulating like a snowball rolling downhill for as long as the vehicle is “yours.”

We want it shiny. We want it new. Yet a steady degradation and rusting inflicts all shiny new things unless one is willing to spend a fortune to fight Father Time and slow down the inevitable destruction that all things come to. Botox for the face and for the car. Injections for the lips and for the tires.

The drain is unending unless one finds another shiny new object to replace the current one.

And yet the voices in our heads whisper: Buy me. You need me. I’m the last thing you’ll ever need.

“The things you own end up owning you.” -Tyler Durden

The lack oozes and burns into every pore of our existence.

Your frizzy hair makes you unattractive, but this special shampoo will save you.

Your male pattern baldness makes you look as pathetic as Gollum, but this Rogaine will save you.

Your pectoral muscles are flat and flimsy and your bench press sucks, but this protein powder will make your pecs adequate.

This tethers the puchaser to the shampoo bottle, the rogaine, and the protein shake. If a product depletes, the void, a disgusting tumor that will twist and contort all things beautiful, will grow. And if the void grows, what then? Death?

I want to embrace my aging rather than rely on a product to fight it. I want to jump into my own void.

I want to climb out of the consumerist rabbit hole that leads to a red queen I cannot reconcile with.

I do get value out of my material things and ironically, this blog will detail a lot of the material things I get value from. But I aim to only use what I find legitimate value in, and to find the best material possible to suit that need. That is why I consider myself a “maximalist.” I strive to maximize my output, but to do so efficiently. I have to be honest with myself. I am not necessarily a minimalist.

I am not perfect. I have bought things I don’t need and will do so again in the future. But I aim to separate my own intention from the intention imposed on me by external forces. I aim to embrace my materials while avoiding an emotional attachment to them. It’s not an easy balance. I don’t yet know if it’s even possible, but I will explore it.

I am incomplete. Therefore I am complete.