Ownership

I haven’t been sleeping well, but that was a foregone conclusion after the collarbone break. Every turn ignites a pain that wakes me. As a result, I wake up hourly through the night.

I heard a phrase that had me thinking today: “You’re only buried with your coffin.” I think it was something that “The Minimalists” said.

I look at the cracked screen of my phone, which hit the earth along with my hip on that bike crash. It was a 50 dollar smartphone. Had it been a new iPhone, it would have been a thousand dollar cracked smartphone. A better phone would be tantamount to a greater loss. More to gain means more to lose.

Things are fragile. They crack, they degrade, and they depreciate. Your loss will inevitably be tantamount to your acquisition: ultimately, it’s just you and a coffin. The rest is fodder for mites.

Last night I watched an episode of Cabinet of Curiosities: “The Outside.” It was about the human need to belong in a consumerist culture. A woman who wants to become part of a popular female social circle at work goes to horrifying lengths to beautify herself.

The episode, thematically, is a critique of consumerism. The social circle of women relish an anti-aging cream, and the main character smothers it over her skin as though addicted to it, despite clearly being allergic to it. “This cream will transform me,” she convinces herself, as so many of us do with our countless creams and lotions.

The results, to say the least, are stomach-churning.

Between the grotesque close-ups of cream being smothered to rotting skin, and the close-ups of people eating heavily processed foods, I found myself acknowledging a truth: yes, consumerism is horrifying.

The days grow colder and I realize that with a lack of movement, I will also have more time to reflect. This is a forced pause. Hopefully in this reflection and meditation, I can rid more of the sense of self that was manifested by materialism.

The Quest for More

Upon reflection, I most often find myself feeling broken by my own quest for more. It can seem like I am trapped within a Sisyphean fate; each acquisition is a larger stone to push. No purchase has patched the void that started the quest for more.

The fire that lights my hell is therefore the notion that I do not have enough.

A feeling of inadequacy transmutes into a craving for something better.

This craving for something better pries open the wallet, for the sake of better days ahead.

The opening of the wallet compels the purchaser to work the hours he or she would rather be idling.

It is difficult to reverse this sick pathology, which is so well-engrained in consumerism.

At the core of my quest for more I see that there is a social element to suffering.

When fully engrained in consumerism, I compare myself to others and vie for what they have, or for more than what they have. It is the dark side of the competitor. The sense of “enough” is therefore not internal. I adhere to the perceived expectations of others, and the expectations of consumers is always to have more. So I acquire more, which requires more labor, which curtails freedom and cripples the mind.

At the same time, I sense that the “old me” is still alive, which means that there is still hope to say “enough.”

I hope to eliminate “lack” from my vocabulary.

The Voices in Your Head

It was a quiet morning. As dawn broke I embarked on a run alongside the Mississippi River. I saw patches of ice and snow scattered over the road and was mindful of each step that I took. The river glistened and its water crept south under a pale winter sunlight that was partially blocked by clouds.

At some point, a few miles into my run, a homeless man faced me. We were the only two inhabitants beside the river. His face was streaked with dirt, his beard unkept, his flesh wizened.

He had Apple headphones in his ears and the wires dangled down, connected to nothing but air.

“Hey, you there,” he said. “Come here.”

I looked his way.

“I found these ear pieces and put them in my ear,” he said. “And voices started talking to me!”

I said nothing and kept running. He continued:

“The voices tell me to do horrible things. Things I could never imagine. Come here, buddy. Come listen with me. I want you to hear the voices too.” And he took an ear piece out of one ear and extended it toward me.

I kept running, but I’ll remember that moment for some time.

Then I looked up at a bridge crossing the river and saw a steady current of vehicles moving toward the city. From my distance it looked like a single file of ants marching from their colony.

And as I thought this I turned around and ran home, not knowing if I was running away from this terror or toward it.

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.

Making Friends With Pain

I declared upon getting hit by a car that I would be running again by October. There has been progress in my ankle’s healing, but unfortunately any significant step forward has been followed by another step backward. I will not be running today, which means that I will not be running before October hits, and even November is looking less feasible.

I think of a quote I read recently, which can be paraphrased as “Make friends with pain and you will never be lonely” (a quote by one of the Leadville 100 Ultramarathon creators I believe). My time as a 36-year-old has been unique, as every step taken has involved pain. Pain and I have acquired something of a loyal relationship—pain just can’t leave me alone, the needy bastard—though I can’t say we mutually appreciate each other. The injury reminds me of an annoying yap dog that follows you everywhere and constantly shits on your favorite rug.

It is easy for me to think to myself, “How the mighty have fallen.” Three years ago I was climbing Eagle’s Nest hill in Vladivostok, Russia, and absorbing the breathtaking coastal panorama and the old naval bases spread over it. A year ago I was swimming with sharks in the Bahamas. Now I am staggering around my apartment building (albeit there have been good and bad hours) before an early morning virtual meeting. I have appreciation for the athletes with ACL tears who must inevitably wonder whether they will ever be the same again.

At the same time, I feel the need to make changes. I know that deep down I have the power to make them, but it will require me to leave my comfort zone, which I am now deeply entrenched in. I wonder, if I can re-learn to walk and run, can I also re-learn to think?

I look around my home and aside from my possessions that assist my hobbies of cycling and running, I see no meaning in any of them. I look outside at the brick walls of an abandoned downtown building and think that, to quote Pink Floyd, I am just another brick in the wall.

When I glance at my plush memory foam mattress, which was bought to provide the best possible sleep comfort, I now only see a heap of polyurethane, a carcinogenic substance used in all memory foam. We breathe in its toxin in our cushion-covered slumber each night. We literally kill ourselves with comfort. And I suddenly despise it.

In the rug beneath my sofa I see a heap of toxic dyes and synthetic materials with chemical adhesives. We put our feet on these plastic rugs... and whatever we touch, we inevitably absorb.

In my attempt to present grandeur to the world, I have poisoned myself.

To end on an optimistic note, it is not too late to change. The ankle injury can be leverage for a sort of rediscovery of myself.

But I have to put aside the need to impress others, as that is the core of my lie.

The Weekly Plunder: Week 3 - Walk

I think one often needs an ink-jet black night sky to gain a sense of truth in a world obsessed with manipulation and distraction. It is that dark and infinite expanse’s clusters of stars, nebulae, and galaxies that help us realize the insignificance of our problems. Our gadgets and occupations deceive us into thinking that we are the centrifugal force of existence, when we are just dust in the wind.

In our purest form, perhaps we are one with the earth. The New Mexico Pueblo natives build their Adobe homes from clay, from layers residing beneath the visible crust. Clay for a roof and clay for a floor. As above, so below. And they believe that’s where we came from, and what we’re made of: the same place we return when we die. Similarly, the early Northern explorers noted when crossing Alaska that the Yup’ik natives seemingly emerged from the terrain, a part of it. Surprised that any life could exist in such a frigid landscape, nonetheless human life, they were in awe.

What I’m doing: For the first time in over a month I am walking without much pain. It is the first time since those toddler years that I have essentially re-learned walking from scratch, bit by bit, as muscles and ligaments repair themselves. Every day I am able to use more portions of the foot with my steps, and every day I adapt to a more efficient form of movement. I am walking again. Running is around the corner.

What I’m watching: Creepshow, Seasons 1-2. A throwback to the classic comic series. The first episode is based on one of my favorite, and most disturbing, Stephen King stories. By the way, happy belated bday Stephen!

What I’m listening to: Megadeth. I’m seeing them live tomorrow. First show I’ve been to in years. Glad Dave Mustaine is still around. Here’s an old one I dig: Addicted to Chaos

What I’m reading: Patagonia magazine, stories of nature and survival. Incredible where some people have been, what they’ve seen, and what they’ve survived. Show me a fisherman and I see a conqueror. Show me a businessman or a corporate VP and I see a fraud! Sad what convenience and consumerism have turned us into. I feel that my swim with sharks in 2020 was only my beginning.

What I’m thinking: Do not fear age, anonymous reader, any more than the fall and winter seasons. There is beauty in decay; blueberry bushes drop their fruit in fall for us to eat their fruit, while their leaves turn from green to a beautifully stark crimson. There is beauty in age, and there is beauty in decay. Conversely, there is often ugliness in the fight against time: if you don’t believe me, look at the odd surgically pulled faces of the robots formerly known as (insert Hollywood celeb).

Minimalism: the Perfect Number of Possessions

“The best thing is to possess pleasures without being their slave; not to be devoid of pleasures.” Aristippus, 435-356 BC

What is the perfect number of pants for a minimalist to own? I read this question on forums a lot. I’ve even typed it in the Google search engine a few times. Surely whatever I own now cannot be the ideal number.

Chasing is ingrained in us. If we are not racing to a pinnacle, it seems we are racing to a valley.

By searching for this question, I read accounts of several triumphant minimalists who manage to live with only one pair of pants.

I compared myself to these minimalists. “I have several pairs while they are fine with one… how do I declutter? Do I have too much, or too little?”

The problem for me was not that I owned too many pants, but that I felt the need to compare my belongings and standards to another’s. That I felt the need to move one direction or another to fix my relationship with things.

Ironically, such a mindset stems from the same source as maximalism. It involves a chase, and it presumes that one’s current state of being cannot be satisfactory.

A chase for less is as pointless as a chase for more if the parasite that is the consumerist mindset is not removed from the host. Because ironically, chasing places one’s thoughts on the very thing that shouldn’t be prioritized: stuff.

What is the perfect number of pants to own? The answer is what I have now, unless what I have now is causing legitimate life issues. Maybe what I have isn’t sufficient for work, or isn’t acceptable for my social gatherings, or simply doesn’t fit anymore. Then it’s time for a replacement. And the replacement should be affordable, and intentional, and used to the bitter end.

I consider myself “maximal” only in that I like to enjoy ”stuff”. I have summer pants that are breezy and winter pants that are cozy. I have loose pants and slim fitting pants. I have pants for winter running and cycling. I’ve used every pair. At the end of the day, it’s just fabric.

The perfect number of pants will be different for each person. The nomad living from a backpack may answer, “one”. I’ve been that nomad. The banker with a wardrobe of business suits may answer, “fifteen”. The point is the function, not the quantity. I’ve been closer to that lifestyle as well.

My purchases are intentional enough, so I don’t think about the number of things in my closet. I am not an ascetic, nor do I find asceticism alluring in any way. It is true that the things we own can enslave us if we let them, but they can also enhance us if their primary use is to help us go places.

The key, for me, is a shift in mindset away from a common “minimalist” branding that focuses on quantity (“check out my empty room, is yours this empty?”) and more towards an objective mindset that focuses on efficiency. If “stuff” serves a purpose, let it serve. I’d rather be served than serve another; serving something material sounds like hell.

Of note is that one’s base level of happiness does not seem to increase from the act of being served, or from the peacocking of one’s own status. It is a dopamine rush, an injection of heroin, and it does feel good for a moment. But the drug depletes quickly, and the depletion rate accelerates over time. In contrast, being enslaved, or in service, or indebted, will always exacerbate one’s base level of misery.

Base happiness seems to grow more like a tree, requiring carefully planted seeds, a steady yet moderate amount of water, and a lot of time.

At some point, we will think about our stuff. Maybe we have to consider our possessions in order to resolve a deeper issue within ourselves. In considering our possessions we ask ourselves, are we actually using our purchases or letting them collect dust? If a coating of dust forms on our shirts, if moths eat away at our sweaters, then our purchases were obviously not intentional. Why? What part of advertisements was it that sucked us in? Are we chasing a pinnacle or enjoying a process?

The key, for me, is to avoid a chase, whether it be up or down, left or right, forward or backward. Stay put, enjoy what’s here.

“The white rabbit is a slave to the queen.” - Tom Hodgkinson

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.

A Schism Created by Cushion

We enjoy comfort far too much. Sometimes it seems to me that for most, finding a higher degree of comfort is the meaning of life.

Maybe linked to our obsession with comfort is a fear of death. Or at the very least it could be an obsession with security. Maybe a fear of death and an obsession with security overlap to some degree.

We want the most “ergonomically comfortable” office chairs so that we can sit still for hours without our backs aching. We want the densest amounts of foam in our shoes to prevent soreness or injury. We want the most plush mattress to sink our bodies into at night when we sleep.

Indoors, I am always amazed by how Americans in particular blast their air conditioning. God forbid we form a little armpit sweat.

I often wonder how much weaker we become due to our obsession with comfort. The foam in our shoes prevents the nerve endings in our feet from feeling the ground, and over years our feet weaken. Our office chairs encourage a state of inertia in which no part of the body can form a semblance of struggle, and over time our blood stops flowing. Our beds make us soft, mentally and physically, and our backs ache more with age, requiring still plusher beds.

And all this foam, all this cushion, creates a schism between us and the world around us. As our foam technology improves, the schism widens. We become unfeeling, overly sanitized forms with casts, going through corporatized motions of how a human should behave.

And as the years pass we become pale shells of our younger selves; yet ironically, our younger selves had a more intimate connection with the world and therefore a greater understanding of eternity. Where we once embraced a little dirt and a little stench and a little ache here and there, we now obsess over eliminating all grime, all smell, and all pain from our lives. We foam at the mouths over the latest cleaning products to sanitize our homes and ourselves, and our self-induced paranoia makes us think every little exercise requires six rehab tools and a chiropractor.

We seek some sort of overly sanitized utopia in which pain is a distant memory. Death is something beyond the horizon entirely. We buy dozens of products to make life more comfortable, and then we buy a dozen more to ease the weakened body caused by the first round of products. And thus we become perfect consumers, and our purchasing cycles repeat until death.

Yet there is another option: embrace struggle rather than seek a product to ease it.