Post-COVID

Apparently COVID affects everyone uniquely. For me, there were about three days that felt like hell, followed by a rapid recovery. My symptoms peaked from last Saturday to Monday, then eased through Tuesday and Wednesday. I tested negative on Thursday.

Getting the virus was a harsh reminder of life priorities. At the apex of my symptoms, most of my material possessions ceased to matter again. That, at least, was refreshing.

I guess we often fool ourselves into thinking that we can purchase our way into permanence. Maybe that’s part of the lure or a “high quality purchase.” If the item lasts forever, we’re more apt to feel like we will as well. A shirt that disintegrates in three washes is oddly a reminder of ones own vulnerability.

It just takes one brutal virus to eliminate the hope of eternal life. If we’re dust in the wind, then we’re truly on borrowed time, and our possessions should be considered rentals at best. What price it is to pay for a house full of nice things that eventually end up in a dumpster.

My phone often shows me photo memories of times spent in China. I poured through some of these old photos more closely today and realized that I really liked that version of myself. He was less willing to give a damn about the quality of clothes, for example, and more apt to focus on having memorable experiences. He didn’t give a damn about “fit”. Clothes kept you warm, or shielded you from the sun. That was it, and it was freeing.

I don’t think it’s too late to go back to that version of myself. It doesn’t mean going back to China, but rather rejecting the materialism inherent in corporate America. It means accepting that your time on earth is brief, so you might as well enjoy it rather than constantly seeking false means of insurance against its end.

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.

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 Origins of Wind

I woke up just before dawn, stretched, and went for a brief jog that cut straight through downtown and then looped back to my apartment. I haven’t done much jogging the past few weeks; after a few half-marathons, I decided to spend November doing other exercises and activities. You can overdo anything, after all.

The weather forecast never indicated rain, though the skies were gaunt and the air had the metallic scent of an impending storm. Puddles blotched the streets from rainfall the night before.

A torrential downpour of rain slammed down on me shortly after I crossed the St Louis Arch. Gusts of wind gained intensity and lashed rain against my face. The wind, in my imagination, seemed capable of leveling each building and tree, and finally rendering downtown a pile of rubble.

Finally, I arrived back at my apartment, totally drenched.

I thought about when I was young and I always wondered if wind had an origin. In my mind, there was some faraway land, owned by wind’s creator, initiating these gusts and storms. Or did wind just appear out of thin air?

Obviously there is a scientific explanation for wind, but some things in life are best left a mystery. The unknown opens the imagination, whereas explanations kill it.

The rain stopped about as abruptly as it arrived. There was something other-worldly about it.

The escapist in me looks for these “other-worldly” signs. The day before, I crossed a rest station on the Riverfront Trail, and it reminded me of a train station. Suddenly I imagined the train station from Spirited Away that Chahiro took to visit the witch’s twin sister. It was the same train station occupied by various spirits, navigating a strange purgatorial world.

Would I take this haunted train, and would it take me on some fantastic adventure, away from the consumerism and hustle culture that seem to prevail in the city?

Spirited Away is an amazing movie. Who were these spirits, and where were they going? Brilliantly, the movie doesn’t tell us much. Like the origins of wind, it’s best left a mystery.

“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.”

Mitakpa

Mitakpa is impermanence. From what I’ve gathered, it is arguably the core of Buddhism.

If Mitakpa is impermanence, it obviously means that, well, nothing lasts forever. Everything changes and nothing can be held eternally, kept frozen in its present state. Even stars die.

Suffering therefore stems from attempting to cling to the current state of something. Wishing to prevent change breeds anguish. This attempt to keep something “as is” can be directed toward a person or thing, or even toward oneself.

Buddha’s final words were notably a reminder that nothing lasts forever, that all things die. “All things change. Whatever is born is subject to decay…” he said. “All individual things pass away.”

What are the consequences of a false sense of Mitakpa?

“I will do that when I retire,” we constantly say as we withhold our true desires. We prescribe ourselves to the false notion that our time is everlasting, drawn from a fountain that pours with an infinite water supply. By wasting this year we believe that we open the gates to our eternal salvation, many years from now, a “promised land” lurking in a hypothetical future, a future that was written by someone else.

But our cells steadily weaken and degrade, whether we choose to withhold our desires or not. My own mind, body, and spirit will not be the same in twenty years. I have limited influence on my rate of decay (and some things could change for the better). Your control is also limited, and a better health insurance plan will not prevent the inevitable.

The smartphone deludes its owner into believing it is a key to immortality, having been given access to an entire world of information at all times, and given infinite lenses from which to view strangers. But these Faustian things drain you of your life force while falsifying your sense of being. They tell you that you exist in an eternal state of watching and consuming. Their manufacturers want you to believe that they are a medium of absolute power. Meanwhile, they insidiously accelerate your sense of time, rendering your brief stay on this planet even briefer. Days on a phone feel like seconds. Years feel like moments. Nothing is created but a few health issues from long periods of staring.

Bodily enhancements delude us into thinking we will prevent cellular degradation. A sag can be countered with a lift. Bad diet can be countered with a triple bypass. But no number of lip injections can keep a person from eventually withering away. Surgeries may tighten your skin, but they will not prevent your insides from rotting.

“Well, once my savings are high enough.” This is the antithesis of Mitakpa. This is a heralded phrase in this day and age. And yet the concept of “work until retirement” is relatively new in the scope of human history. Death is the only certain retirement. “Retirement” claims to be heaven, but for most it is tragically brief and limited.

Mitakpa also sheds light on the dangers of materialism. We want our acquisitions to remain as pristine as they were when we bought them. But cars rust and dent. Paint chips away steadily, revealing spots of ugliness beneath the lovely pastels. Kitchen flooring needs replacement. Objects collect dust and we constantly fret over maintaining our aura of perfection. Maintenance requires money. Yet we truly own nothing.

Meanwhile, industry constantly redefines standards of what perfection may be. This definition shifts according to what industry requires for economic growth. Clothes must be cleaner. Cars must be faster. Jobs must offer better “benefits.” Skin must be smoother. Social acceptance must require more time on the phone.

So we acquire more and more, needing that “one thing” to bring a sense of inner peace, and the hole inside us deepens. We obsess over keeping more things in a “new” state of being, in a state of permanence, our futile attempt to defy Mitakpa. And our suffering worsens, and we decide that we suffer more because we need more. And it hurts that much worse when the things that we purchased are inevitably destroyed or cast aside!

I do believe that there is relief in accepting that life is brutally short and that control over one’s own lifespan is limited. Letting go of the romantic sensibilities of materialist-driven salvation, and evading the Hollywood endings meant only to keep one subjugated and downtrodden, can at least give one a sensible grasp of his or her own true power.

The crux of consumerism is the suggestion that the consumer has deficiencies; there just isn’t much power in that.

I say this because time is precious; if you are aware that this current hour you find yourself in is unique and beautiful, you may be more apt to make the most of it. It will not be forever, but it can be incredible.

Let the chasers play the industrial slot machines.

Fork in the Road

I find that my most joyful time on a bike ride is when I stray from my plan. It is when I ignore the voice in my head that whispers to exhaust myself, to burn the maximum amount of calories, and to “pedal at full speed.” The further I stray from this voice, the more at peace I am.

This morning I found myself at such a metaphorical fork in the road, ten miles north, along the Mississippi River. I was four miles shy of my “planned route,” which is typically the Chain of Rocks bridge, but a flock of geese was feeding in the moist grass to my left, and there was a balmy scent in the air that strengthened as I pedaled farther away from the city.

Rather than “maximize my workout,” I shunned this inner competitor and stopped. I parked my bike against a tree and watched the geese, without any particular plan to resume my ride or turn back. I did not have a watch or a phone with me and I realized just what a brutally manufactured device the clock is for so many who live and die by its limitations and permissions.

Suddenly moments passed more slowly and with gratitude I stopped activity and absorbed my surroundings. As I breathed, my own anxieties over tomorrow calmed and the diabolical planner within me died, and I felt better for it. Let my inner planner die: he lived too long already!

It is a modern mantra, I think, that an idle mind is a wasting one, but in fact the opposite is true. An active mind festers and an idle mind blossoms. The less I try to do, the more I am able to think and the more I am able to be at peace with my own existence.

How few have the courage to stop all duty and appreciate the stillness of nature. Those at work say time flies by, and this is true for anyone in a constant chase for tomorrow and a constant bracing for “the next step,” heeding for “the next thing needed for fulfillment.”

Life is brutally diluted under this mindset. What was organic becomes a construction, a ladder to climb that is in a constant state of lengthening, and when one reaches the end of the lifespan, there is nothing to do but look up and realize that the ladder still extends out of sight. Then the mind will cry in anguish, “But I had so much higher to climb!” But who’s version of fulfillment do you climb for?

If we grant ourselves permission to halt our inner urges for progress, time ceases to rush as well, and ironically, I believe, the years graciously slow.

You deserve to own each day, and therefore make it distinct, even in your chores. You deserve to spend your hours freely and merrily, to sleep and dream, to be outside, to have a picnic that lasts for hours instead of the brief office lunch in which employees tragically cram their food in haste, often at their work desks, under artificial lights, breathing artificial air.

A “year” spent in leisure is infinitely better than a year spent in labor so long as the stopwatch, and the compulsion to plan, are removed from its borders.

Weekly Plunder: Week 24 - Plotting

“You have all the fears of mortals and all the desires of immortals. You will hear many men saying: “After my fiftieth year I shall retire into leisure, my sixtieth year shall release me from public duties.” And what guarantee, pray, have you that your life will last longer? Who will suffer your course to be just as you plan it? Are you not ashamed to reserve for yourself only the remnant of life, and to set apart for wisdom only that time which cannot be devoted to any business? How late it is to begin to live just when we must cease to live! What foolish forgetfulness of mortality to postpone wholesome plans to the fiftieth and sixtieth year, and to intend to begin life a point to which few have attained!” - Seneca

I understand why most relevant religious figures warn about money (and in most cases avoid it like a plague).

Fortune is one of the great paradoxes of humanity. What one gains inevitably becomes the point of anxiety over what one may lose. It will render the brief time you have to live perceptibly briefer, because a simple, miserable, thoughtless, begrudged chase for more will dominate your memory.

Fortune’s woes are timeless. Its ills conquer us now the same as they have conquered our progenitors for thousands of years. Fortune may, as it did to Roman aristocrats, render you paranoid of your usurpers, and it may give your heirs ruthless malevolence in the quest for your inheritance.

Inevitably, what promises utopia, “enough money,” creates strife, collusion, plotting, and fretting.

Money sells us the lie that we “only need more” to finally be “happy”, to “rest” and “enjoy the sunshine.”

“I’m ready to build my empire,” I hear a lot of young people say or suggest these days. To that I say, all empires fall. Build a home, and then build a garden!

At some point, the lie that money will bring you utopia will be shattered. For each stage from birth to death, you will create your own problems from money.

If you live for the chase you will die with regret.

Wrote Seneca on those who waste time planning in his famous letter, On the Shortness of Life: “They form their purposes with a view to the distant future; yet postponement is the greatest waste of life; it deprives them of each day as it comes, it snatches from them the present by promising something hereafter. The greatest hindrance to living is expectancy, which depends upon the morrow and wastes today.”

Money is a major reason why we stave off today for a better tomorrow, though so long as a better tomorrow hinges on money, it will never arrive. Money is why we kneel to the stopwatches of those who do not consider our health or interests, and why we cannot feel adequate with the present breath that escapes us with such tragic haste.

Wealth is a catalyst to our plotting, scheming, and fretting.

For this reason, my unknown friend, I say this, and may you and I both take it to heart: beware of money. Enjoy what it can offer, but don’t fret over it. Don’t let it own you.

What I’m watching: I have two episodes left of All of Us are Dead. What a stellar show.

What I’m reading: On the Shortness of Life by Seneca. The beautiful thing about philosophy is that is spans every era and that it allows one to realize that often, the best wisdom is found by looking back, not by pushing forward.

What I’m listening to: “Dialectic Chaos” by Megadeth. This is a showcase of Mustaine’s and Broderick’s guitar virtuoso.

What I’m doing: I bought a new GPS for my gravel bike (Garmin), not to track my mileage but to route new maps to places I haven’t been. Tomorrow I’m going to take a route I haven’t taken. Exploration is the aim.

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.

Beauty is Natural

Modern industry’s job is often to make you feel inadequate, to make you strive for something that seems out of your grasp, to belittle you, and to push your mouth an inch below sea level. These are the feelings that cause a person to open up a wallet. Products, they tell you, will solve issues of appearance.

You are beautiful just the way you are. In fact, you are more than beautiful. You are a masterpiece of evolution, a modern miracle. Your cells are among the fiercest survivors for having made it out of the womb. Your DNA is the product of hundreds of thousands of years of adaptation and survival. Your ancestors were a combination of the fastest, strongest, and smartest humans.

Your ancestors evolved to survive the harshest environmental conditions. In Africa this may have included a brutal sun and the fiercest predators. In the Nordic regions it involved a frostbite-inducing cold and long periods without any sun at all.

You skin is perfect. It has beauty in both form and function. It adapted to allow your ancestors to receive an adequate vitamin D intake regardless of whether you lived under a constant brutal African sun, or a humid and muggy Southeast Asian air, or a Nordic region with longer winter nights than days.

Your hair is perfect. Billboard images are carefully curated to make you feel as though something critical is lacking; your hair must fit the image of someone else’s version of beauty, some sort of “silky and smooth” westernized version. Beauty in a bottle. But anyone who expects something different from what you already are is not your friend.

We are too wonderfully diverse now to live with one version of beauty. Your hair adapted to help you thermoregulate… to retain warmth in the cold and to keep cool in the heat. Human hair beautiful in all of its varieties, from smooth to coarse, from straight to curly to frizzy, regardless of recent societal standards. Your hair exists because at some time, long ago, someone else with similar hair was deemed the perfect specimen. That person thrived while competitors languished.

Your body, too, is perfect. It has evolved over hundreds of thousands of years of withstanding changing climates and wars and various predators that are long since extinct. Attached to you are two incredible feet, each with 26 bones and thousands of neurons that fire with each step, that help you feel the earth. Your feet have something other primate feet don’t: the ability to outrun a deer if necessary. Think about the stamina that requires. It’s built in you; it doesn’t come courtesy of a shoe purchase. Your natural feet kept your lineage alive while other primates died out.

Your face is perfect. It is not too big, too thin, too round, or too long. You speak perfectly, with a perfect mouth and perfect lips. You evolved to perfectly articulate the language of your ancestors and speak precisely, to taste your food, to detect potential poisons, and to find mates.

You are a modern miracle, a self-conscious being, one of the few that is aware of being alive. A shampoo or cosmetic will not augment your true beauty because it’s already there, outside of you and within you, whole as you are right now. Your beauty is tethered to your skeleton.

Your beauty is in your mind as well. You can think, laugh, plan, love, hate, and forgive. You are aware there was a past and that there will be a future. You are aware of your mortality (most likely). No other creature that we know of possesses all of these abilities.

You don’t need better shampoo, or better lotion, or a different skin tone, or a different accent, or a different personality. You are a miracle. Love your reflection: your image is worthy.

You as you is utterly amazing.

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.

When Things Fall Apart

It took one hit from a car while I was riding my bike. In addition to my torn up ankle, I lost some things that I valued. Material things, but things I valued nonetheless. Regardless, I somehow managed to emerge with fewer injuries than most would imagine possible.

My favorite sandals were torn to shreds. I realize that I implanted too many human emotions into those sandals, but they were with me for thousands upon thousands of miles (or kilometers). They were strapped to my feet through much of my previous two trips through the Blue Ridge Mountains, over most Saint Louis city streets, through the Shawnee National Forest, through local parks and into countless new neighborhoods and shops. In a flash they were shredded beyond repair. Perhaps because of their minimalist nature, they felt like an extension of me.

My bicycle got banged up, but I was just informed that the repairs are complete. Both wheels were destroyed, the handlebar tape was ripped from the bars due to the impact with the pavement, and there were some issues with the crankset and drivetrain that I didn’t fully understand. I am lucky that the bike was repairable!

My shirt was ripped up on the backside from the impact of my body hitting the pavement and sliding a bit. It was a shirt made of merino wool, nature’s greatest performance fabric. Merino naturally fights bacteria and regulates body temperature. The merino sheep are cooled by their wool when it’s hot and insulated when it’s cold. Merino is precious, but also delicate. Road abrasion will beat it every time.

My left shoulder was bruised to the point that I could barely lift my arm over shoulder level for three days. However, it has since healed. This was the first point of impact.

My left hip, the second point of impact, was similarly bruised. And similarly, it has healed over the course of the last two weeks.

There are several cuts on my right knee. One of them will scar. To be honest, I never felt pain there. I think it was because all of the pain that I was allowed from the hit went straight to my right ankle.

The right foot has severe sprains. Two weeks in and the bruises on this foot are still visible. There is a particularly nasty bruise on the sole that did not even manifest for several days. I am icing the foot constantly and trying to walk a little farther each day. The doctor estimated it will be about three months before it fully heals. I believe that it will be much less time. I heal quickly; I will be running before October. I am already walking with a much more natural gait, albeit also with the help of a brace.

Things fall apart and it can happen in a flash. It is a reminder of the danger in placing too much value on your stuff. Your stuff has one commonality with you: it won’t last forever.

I am lucky that this time, all of me will heal. Eventually there will just be one tiny scar on the knee to serve as memory of this hit. The body will heal.

There is a cheesy line from the Papa Roach song “Scars”. “The scars remind me that the past is real.” Simple but true, literally and figuratively.

When I flick up my tongue in my mouth, I can feel the scar along my gumline from which a tumor was once pulled out of my head. It is the only evidence that such a mass ever existed. I think there is beauty in scars, as there is beauty in calluses and birthmarks.

The cut on the knee is conveniently next to a scar that I attained when I was about ten. At ten, I loved speed (I still do). That was why I ran: to feel my top speed. So one day I ran down a sand dune in New Mexico at full speed, but tripped near the bottom and went tumbling into the nearby street.

The current cut happened about 25 years later and was a little less exhilarating.

The body may serve as a museum of the past, whereas material things just get tossed in a dumpster. Sandals replace sandals and bike wheels replace bike wheels. I guess there are knee and hip replacements out there, but such a transplant is rare.

As Clive Barker puts it, each person is a book of blood.

36 Random Thoughts for 36 Years

Since I turn 36 today, I’ll share 36 random thoughts. Don’t take these for advice! They are only my thoughts.

1. Anger is useless. I’m not angry at the driver who hit me last week and proceeded to drive away. It’s the past, and anger won’t change history. I’ll focus on today.

2. Fashion is the anathema of freedom. To follow fashion is to accept that you aren’t enough as you are. Fashion renders you an eternal purchaser, a runner in a marathon that leads nowhere and accomplishes nothing. Fashion raises prices beyond their material worth. It renders products dead before the end of their actual lifecycle.

3. I’ll need to return to the water soon. It’s been awhile since I swam. I think the last time was in the Bahamas last year. The time before that was in China, two years prior. Swimming is the ultimate low-impact activity. I think my ankle will be able to handle swimming long before it can handle running.

4. Movies are total crap these days. Some artists are interesting; Nicolas Cage is one of them. A few others are crafting good stories outside the studio system. For the most part, it’s drivel.

5. Critics are bought and sold. RottenTomatoes is just a hype machine that showcases Twitter blurbs and teases looming brilliance that never arrives.

6. An industry is bred from every remedy. And most of the industries are scams. Even the barefoot shoe industry is beginning to look suspicious to me. The whole idea behind it is that we don’t need cushioned shoes. So what do these companies do? They make a million types of “barefoot style” shoes that you need instead. I guess if they only sold sandals, they couldn’t make as much money.

7. Revenge, jealousy, and envy are useless. I used to want to “punish” people for their ill intent towards me. This is the worst sort of mindset; it gives your enemy power over you. It renders you beneath them. And it makes the world a worse place. It stems from the lowliest of positions. It’s better to forget than it is to envy, but it is important to always be on guard. A scorpion doesn’t dwell on those it’d like to strike, but it does strike those who trespass, and it strikes without hesitation.

8. The library is one of the most sacred of places.

9. Nothing heals better than water. It’s where we all came from. It’s what we’re made of. It’s what heals our wounds and baptizes our young.

10. There is beauty in every nook and cranny of the world if we are willing to look at it with the eyes of the young and the naive.

11. There is more earth to explore than a lifetime of exploration would allow; pigeonholing ourselves in one small area seems tragic. If you don’t see something, you’ll die having never seen it.

12. Camels really like me. I don’t know why.

13. There’s a great scene in the Nicolas Cage starring film Pig where the protagonist, a former master chef, confronts an old student of his, who sold his soul to make food he doesn’t actually care for. “None of this is real,” Nicolas Cage declares (I’m paraphrasing). “The critics, the audience, this restaurant. None of it is real.” And his student proceeds to have an emotional breakdown. What is real to me? What is real to you?

14. Cells are constantly dying and regenerating. Therefore, parts of us are constantly dying and being reborn. A part of you died, just now, and a new “you” took it’s place. The eyes with which we view the world change, as does the mind that sets our priorities. What skin have we shed lately?

15. Sometimes I miss Chinese food. I never thought I’d say that. There was a spicy pork dish I especially liked. There was also a sweet fried chicken dish, “Guo Bao Rou”, that I ordered pretty consistently. Their dumplings with pork and soured vegetables were also pretty awesome.

16. Flying is overrated. Have you been in an airport restroom? It is proof that the Westernized diet is terrible. Flying is more stress than adventure, more waiting than doing. Flying is waiting in line, and the wait is overpriced. There are a million great things that you can do locally. There are a million great places you can get to with a bicycle, or a car if necessary. Airports suck.

17. Smartphones are the modern version of the succubus. They tease you with their pretty images and their useful tools and their gateways into the lives of pretty people (or people who manufacture themselves for perfection). Then the phone bleeds you dry, and drains your mind into a desiccated and withered thing that once had useful thoughts.

18. Who did the sound mixing on the latest Iron Maiden album? The new singles have TERRIBLE sound mixing. Bruce Dickinson’s voice sounds muffled. The production value just isn’t there. They are the biggest metal band in the WORLD, but the songs sound cheaply mixed. The mixer should be ashamed! Maiden deserves better.

19. I don’t write short stories often, but I have two on the way that I’m pretty excited about sharing. They’re dark, of course! Very dark. If they haunt you, they’ve fulfilled their purpose.

20. Reddit is a pretty cool online community. I’ve made a lot of friends via Reddit; many of them I share a strong connection with. One of them collaborated with me on getting some state-of-the-art winter cycling jackets reduced in price (we bought two together for a discount on each). Then he shipped the second jacket to me. I’m gonna be warm this winter!

    Sometimes you have to go out on a whim and give a stranger some trust. Not always, but sometimes, it pays off. We evolved from ancient “barter and trade” based cultures. Therefore it’s barter and trade that strikes the truest friendships.

21. I started reading Born to Run. I’m looking forward to digesting this book. My own journey in learning to run without the need for cushioned shoes has been a very fulfilling one.

22. I just read Love People, Use Things. It’s the latest book by “The Minimalists.” I poured through it quickly and thought that they had some good insights on life and relationships. I sold a lot of my clothes as well (but not my favorites… only those that could be construed as fashion items). By doing so, I was enlightened as to what I actually desired and what I was manipulated into thinking that I desired.

23. Colors can be beautiful, but they can also deceive us. Colors in nature can be appreciated. Colors in material things are another means to convince us that we “need” something. It is the color scheme of our phone screens that sends our brains signals of pleasure and comfort. Remove the color and ask yourself again: “Do I need to purchase this?” If everything in your wardrobe was black, what would you like to wear?

    Colors in a wardrobe are another thing to stress over. “What color goes with this top!?” We ask ourselves each morning. You are only allowed so many choices in a day. Liberating yourself of wardrobe choices allows room for more important decisions.

    I like color but I try to minimize it these days. Most of my jackets and shoes are black for this reason. Most of my pants are in earth tones or black, and likewise with shorts. I do keep colorful shirts. This makes pairing colors easy, as it means my colored shirts go with pretty much everything.

24. We shouldn’t be more productive as a group, we should be less productive. But we should output with more vigor and intensity when it is time to be productive, for the things that actually matter. The life of the idler is ironically more meaningful than the life of the industrious worker. One could argue that the lion and the crocodile are two of the greatest idlers that have graced the planet.

25. Grocery stores are mostly scams. Going through the food aisles, all the food is cancer-breeding crap. I should start going to places that sell locally grown food.

26. Sleep is underrated. I used to think there was value in rising early. One always reads stories of famous people who “wake up at 4 am and output work with intensity”! No! Their brains are mush by noon. Sleep in! I am learning to sleep in. It’s a work in progress. My mind can be a little overactive at times (this is an understatement).

27. Naps are a gift of the Gods. “Powering through” lunch hangovers is annoying and taxing. It’s also unnatural. Watch a lion. It’s one of the greatest predators to walk the earth. It slumbers and toils on its side through much of the day. It stores its energy. Then, when it needs to attack, it does so with unbridled ferocity.

28. Truth is a difficult thing to discover. It tends to be the opposite of what we are told it should be. Or at least, the opposite of a presumption may lead us to something closer to the truth. Snakes are often among the gentlest of animals to interact with. Dolphins are among the most vicious and barbaric. Gyms can make us fatter. Cushioned shoes and beds can make our bodies weaker. Beware what you assume. The word “assume” begins with “ass” for a reason!

29. People who are competitive at work are annoying. I think of a nice quote from Tom Hodgkinson: “The competitive principle applied to work means that your success is achieved at the cost of someone else’s failure. Big companies are hotbeds of intrigue and plotting for this reason.”

30. I was telling someone that practically all of our modern inventions are a waste of time, particularly “career-oriented living” and social media. “But we need them if we are to move forward!” Was a response when I stated that social media is a waste. To that I say, moving forward for the sake of moving forward is as pointless as moving backward for the sake of moving backward. And more often than not, this thoughtless version of forward movement… is metaphorically backward. Another Tom Hodgkinson quote:

    “Progress is a tyrant. Freeing yourself from a career-based model of working means freeing yourself from other people’s expectations.” 

31. There is little worse than a watch, but I do know one thing worse: a “smart watch”. If the watch was a handcuff that binds you to someone else’s rules and schedule, the smart watch additionally binds you to their advertisements, manipulation, and emotional control (“Read this alarming headline! Don’t you feel offended!?”).

32. Most people don’t know how to listen to music. They blare music via earbuds while they exercise, but that’s just music as medication for their boring routine. If the activity was fun, they wouldn’t need music to drown out its blandness. Sit back, breathe! If you go to the gym you see lines of people with earbuds, endlessly running on treadmills yet literally going nowhere fast. This is not “listening to music!” Nor is it empowering. It encourages banality and a lack of spirit.

    In the modern world, music is mostly medication. It distracts from crap jobs and crap exercises and a lack of personal inspiration. Play! Is the civilized adult truly capable of such a verb? Let the world’s ambience be your music. Then when you get home, sit on the couch, idle, and put on some music. Sip wine and let it stir the mind. Yes, you have time!

33. Being able to say “No” is one of the greatest strengths an individual can ever have. If you do not learn to say “No”, the masses will trample you. One must say “Yes” very selectively.

    Say “Yes” to opportunity, say “Yes” to adventure, say “Yes” to live music shoes, say “Yes” to laughter with friends. Say “No” to the herd and their tricks to belabor you and drain you of your wallet.

34. I have four plants. I learn a lot just by watching them. Their life is a lesson in the power of moderation. I think it was Aristotle who said that there is a balance to everything. The gluttonous and the ascetic receive misery in equal doses… even an abundance of moderation can cause issues. Just enjoy the light and the dark as they hit naturally.

    Too much water and the plants drown in it. Not enough water and they wilt. It is the same with our own earthly pleasures.

35. If you write for critics, you aren’t writing. If you write for money, you aren’t writing. Writing for me is primarily an exorcism. I don’t aim to make a penny with this blog.

36. 37 is not a guarantee, it is a gift. So 36 should be spent intentionally.

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

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?

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.

Shop ‘Til You Drop

“By parading a stream of other people’s lives in front of us, screens remove the responsibility to create our own lives. This makes us radically powerless, and powerlessness leads to anxiety. And Anxiety leads to shopping. Shopping leads to debt. Debt leads to more anxiety. The cycle ends with death.” - Tom Hodgkinson

I attempted a return to Instagram recently. I know intrinsically that Instagram is mostly toxic, but I intellectualized a justification to return. I want to connect, I told myself. I want to show people what I’m doing! If I ride down the world’s tallest waterfall but no one is there to see it, did it really happen? Besides, I thought, Instagram can be a potential aid to my blog readership!

And as the bright, dopamine-inducing flashing colors that embroider new Instagram stories and notifications rushed over me, I felt some sense of elation. It felt like belonging. I was genuinely sharing with a community.

The first few days upon creating an IG account, I was able to log out of Instagram pretty easily. This doesn’t seem so toxic, I thought. Besides, people want to see what I’m up to!

But as days went by I found my thoughts increasingly turning to Instagram. The updates to my newsfeed were constant, and this platform seemed to lead down a rabbit hole of possibilities. I can peak into the lives of famous people, catch glimpses of new company products, and show the world my latest jacket. Isn’t that great? I have a lens into anyone and everyone I want to see.

But are we meant to see anyone and everyone? Does it remove us too much from where we are today?

Before I knew it, Instagram was invading far too much of my time. And my thoughts were no longer on writing, or cycling, or traveling. They were on Instagram.

So what if Instagram aids in blog viewership? I write this blog for myself. And so what if no one can witness me ride down the world’s tallest waterfall, or swim with great white sharks (I have done neither of these by the way). If I saw and felt the experiences, and I still have two hands and a page to type or write on, I can try to put my recollections to words. If my camera captured anything, all the better.

It’s more meaningful when you write on your own platform.

I feel better having deleted Instagram again. I don’t envy young people who are given such apps and “tools” at a young age. If someone gives a 12 year old cocaine but slaps a warning on the bag that states, “Don’t take too much because it’s actually kinda harmful,” I’m not sure if the 12 year old is going to remain sober for most of his or her waking hours.

These days my main goal is to escape compulsive consumption. Yet there are few tools more effective than Instagram at making us want more. Better clothes, bigger homes, fancier furniture, better vacations. We’re introduced to millions of people seemingly living better lives than us, and we spend increasingly amounts of time living vicariously through their fake world.

But the real world is here and now, in the silence of the present, in the clothes we have on today, on the couch that currently rests in our living room. And if we are ok with this silence, if we are healthy, if we are not suffering… how do we tell ourselves that it’s enough?

Edit: I’m back on Instagram.

Minimalist or Maximalist?

“Everywhere, the same myth is perpetuated: you are just one object away from happiness.” - Tom Hodgkinson

I have an itch for more. It’s in my DNA, and it’s probably in your DNA too. It’s a rash that Western civilization evolved to have, as it keeps the cycle of constant consumption perpetuating. The rash must remain. Purchasing more products will temporarily alleviate the rash, but the rash will never heal.

I also have an itch for less. I wish for less stuff, but mostly I wish for less noise. Due to the advent of the current Techno oligopoly, companies are constantly in my ear. So long as my smartphone is near me, I am allowing companies to track me and manipulate me with their advertisements. I turn on my phone and Google tracks my browsing to determine products I want to buy. I log into Instagram and advertisements invade my feed. “Tag our company and become part of our community,” they beseech.

I find myself convinced, largely by these companies, that there is something lacking in my life. I have a problem and it is dire. Luckily there is a product out there, somewhere out there, that can solve this problem. Solving it might be a matter of life and death. After all, to lack complete security is to risk the abyss.

Despite modern consumerism getting out of hand, I am not a minimalist. I don’t have much interest in discovering how little I can live with. I believe materials can matter. Boots with lining keep our feet warm in winter. Waterproof clothing allows us to bike in storms without getting sick.

Stuff can also be a reward for hard work. Sometimes said stuff is worth owning. My bicycle keeps me fit, healthy, and happy. My Xero Z-trail sandals allow me to run, bike, travel, and walk with almost no weight on my feet and without a need for socks. Linen pants allow my legs to breathe in the hot and humid summer.

I am not a true ascetic because I am not a derelict, trapped with only the things on his or her body, left the the arbitrary conditions of the environment. That is suffering, and I’m not interested in that when I have a choice.

I do not want to avoid materials altogether. I want to avoid vanity. I am interested in living efficiently, not minimally. There is a difference. Living efficiently does not necessarily mean racing to the bottom or striving for a mostly-empty closet. It means being conscious of purchases and aware of the constant manipulation companies put us through. It means choosing, but choosing wisely, and recognizing what brings you value.

Living efficiently does not require a complete rejection of stuff. When I buy something, I want the quality to be as high as possible. I want use out of it. I’d prefer my winter and summer pants to have substantially different fabrics, rather than be trapped with just one fabric for both seasons.

If an object brings aids the wellbeing of my life, it is of value. What aids ones wellbeing is a subjective matter.

I am not interested in cosmetics or fragrances, but you might be. I’m also not interested in owning a lot of art pieces because it can often be appreciated just by seeing it. I’m not interested in driving because cycling is more fun. But I do like a t-shirt that doesn’t get too clammy in the summer.

Some might consider me a minimalist, but I often regard myself as a maximalist. It’s just a matter of maximizing ones hobbies and minimizing 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.