Images and Words

Cycling north and I’m edging the west side of the Mississippi River. The first 20 minutes are near-absolute darkness and I might as well be riding through space, through an ever-expanding universe in which invisible clouds have drowned out the stars. It’s cold enough to freeze the water in my water bottle and I can’t squeeze a drop out of it. My front light provides some trail visibility directly in front of me, just enough to dodge the occasional cluster of broken glass.

To my right, moments later, morning breaks and a thin strip of orange glows on the eastern horizon, across the Mississippi. Above this tangerine line the sky becomes a purple sea. Behind me I hear the steady rumble of construction vehicles moaning that “progress is important”.

A flock of wild turkeys loiters ahead. There’s one perched on the cement wall that edges the trail on my left, and another turkey pecking at something, maybe a rat, in the grass to my right. They don’t mind me.

Memories of things I’ve heard over the past week clutter my mind.

At work, a corporate head: “My car broke down and I was sooooo stressed. Like, it’s as if life as you know it ends. You can’t do anything. Sooooo glad to have my car back.”

Another corporate head: “I felt a little sick but like, I got the vaccine, so no wayyyy it’s coronavirus. Like, I got the shot already. I should be safe.”

Suddenly I wonder if I can actually be of the same species as these corporate talking heads.

Thoughts of an older man telling me his life story: “I’ve been divorced for three years. I was married for 23 years. I think constantly about what I’ve lost. We were really in love once. Someone reminded me that I’m lucky, because who gets a good marriage for more than 20 years? And that reframes my mind, even though I may never have that feeling again, and maybe I’m not meant to, but maybe it’s enough that I had it once.”

Words from another person follow these: “The high and low for me are the same thing. I quit my job. I have no plans. I have no security blanket. I don’t care. I felt like it was time. It was time to venture into the unknown. I was tired of waiting. I was tired of the security blanket. It’s both exhilarating and terrifying. I’m ready for the darkness.”

The trail ahead of me is still dark, but it suddenly concerns me less.

Thinking about those words reminds me that people can also inspire me.

I don’t want my bike ride to end because while I’m pedaling I’m absorbed in deeper thoughts and at times entranced by the present moment.

Everything, I think, is a series of expansions and contractions. While pedaling my heart expands and contracts. Trillions of light years away the universe expands, and I wonder if it is inevitable that it will eventually contract and smother us with the nothingness from which we all began, and render all of these thoughts and worries obsolete as I, my being, blends with the planets and stars that at present seem so foreign. And if so, was the security blanket really worth it?

Sunlight brushes my left cheek on the ride back to the apartment.

A Return to Running

I was cleared by my physical therapist to attempt a short (five minute) jog during our Wednesday session. It was successful. The pain in my right foot remained relatively minor. I was told that the injured foot was healed enough to continue running so long as the pain remains below a “4/10”. The pain remained around a “2/10”, never more than a dull ache. I was also told that now it has enough strength to “push through some pain” (again so long as the pain remains below a “4/10” without much fear of a significant setback.

That was my first successful run since August, a gap of almost 5 months. The foot, though not 100% healed, is quickly approaching that mark. For all intents and purposes, the foot is “healed”.

The following day I jogged for a total of 7 minutes (on a treadmill to avoid slopes, slants, holes, and sidewalk crevices). The day after, I jogged for minutes. This morning I jogged for 14 minutes. The pain has never elevated above a “2/10”, though there is a damaged tendon that is easily inflamed.

What a journey! I was beginning to think that the foot would never heal. Five months is a long time to walk with pain and a very long time to feel that running is outside of your grasp. It takes a toll on one’s emotions.

Next week I’ll start some agility exercises to regain the ability to quickly shift direction with speed. I only have two weeks of physical therapy to go.

I imagine myself as the protagonist of the Stephen King novel Duma Key. Injured from a car accident and forsaken by his family, he rents a small house on an island in the Florida Keys, and lives there alone. Each day his task his simple: take one step more than the day before. It is both therapeutic and gainful for the character, who finds his lost self in the process of walking.

Now we’ll see where the ability to run and bike can take me.

Who Walks Behind - Memoro Menti

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Weekly Plunder: Week 17 - Looking Glass

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” Reality is whatever we construct it to be. In that sense, we are creators to a much further extent than we know. Our villains are evil because we hone in on their faults and our heroes are pristine because we fawn over their virtues.

On a long walk through downtown today I thought about how I could choose to see the magnificence of the man-made city structures and the electric bulbs affixed to them that render them ethereal at night. Or, I could choose to see the sickness hanging over the streets, the homeless who freeze to death on cold January nights and the rats that scuttle through sewers beneath the sidewalks, where they can breed disease and occasionally sneak above to the world of man and forage for food.

Much of our interpretation of reality is subjective.

On another front, my physical therapist says I am ready to start some light running and jumping on Wednesday. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that this is the final stretch of rehab, though I’m not announcing myself healed just yet. Still, I feel that I am on the cusp of “going full-throttle.”

What I’m watching: The Silent Sea, Season 1 on Netflix. Another exemplary Korean show in a long list of excellent Korean shows. Korean screenwriting has really honed the craft of story structure. Layers are peeled from the story’s world at a perfect pace to keep the audience guessing and intrigued. Screenwriting is an interesting combination of mathematics and imagination.

What I’m reading: The Comfort Crisis by Michael Easter. Because comfort kills.

What I’m listening to: “Hotel California” by the Eagles. In my opinion this is their masterpiece. It’s essentially a song about someone who has gone to hell and doesn’t realize it until he can’t escape. That scenario can be applied to an infinite number of personal situations.

What I’m thinking: There is an implicit contract between writer and reader. I, the writer, imagine my words will have a certain emotional effect on you, the reader. However, I don’t know how much you will read… if you’ll read a certain passage once, multiple times, or just skim a few words. I only assume we will connect somewhere, however briefly, in the two dimensional realm you’re staring at now.

Out here, outside social media, we are in the Wild West. We have no skin in the game, no one to compete for followers with, no agenda to push (outside our personal opinions). We do not push for attention or popularity, or even sales. We don’t even know each other, you and I. And therefore, with nothing to lose and no reason to continue, we are fully free to be ourselves.

2021, Goodbye Forever

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

• A bikepacking trip through the Blue Ridge mountains!

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

• Hiking Turkey Run in Indiana!

• Megadeth show!

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

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

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

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

• Befriending Grant’s Farm goats and camels!

• Incredible Christmas light shows in Saint Louis

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

Spirited Away

I took a long bike ride this morning along the Mississippi River greenway. The roads were damp and strewn with puddles and debris, the skies were overcast, and a light drizzle of precipitation seemed to hang in the air, invisible but felt. The temperature was about 38 F (4 C).

Three miles in and I was violently pedaling through mud and crunchy gravel, evading crisscrossing construction workers steering their trucks and lifts, and crossing over railroad tracks. Riding in harsh weather is exhilarating.

Then my front tire went flat. I changed the flat with my final spare tube and considered my options.

I could keep going without a spare. I didn’t bring my phone. If I had another flat tire, I’d have no one to call and potentially no one to ask for help. This could be trouble if it happened enough miles away from my apartment.

The alternative would be to turn back.

Naturally, I decided to keep going. Sometimes you just gotta tempt fate.

In the worst case scenario (and worst cases are typically unlikely) I’d be about 25 miles (40 km) away from downtown. However, that would be if my bike went flat near the furthest point of the journey. The human body can survive for days without food. I’ve therefore endured worse.

Even with a bad right foot, I could physically maneuver the walk home in a day or two. Further, there are typically at least two other cyclists on the trail. Odds are that if I needed help, I’d be able to find it.

My point is that the worst case scenario is often not as bad as we fear. And sometimes, you have to experience the worst case scenario to truly feel alive.

I kept riding northeast, mile after mile. And suddenly it was as though I was transported to another world. I thought of the train ride in the film Spirited Away. It’s a ride of gloom and ghosts that transports Chahiro to the witch she seeks. Chahiro’s journey was a one-way trip over an endless ocean, which seemed eerily similar to my own ride.

A dense fog overlapped the atmosphere as I crossed Chain of Rocks bridge, which took me over the Mississippi River and away from Saint Louis.

The fog was like thin strips of white cotton candy that sifted through the the bridge’s steel frame.

I glanced out at the river as I pedaled. I heard a steady roar of water hitting rocks and I viewed the resulting white color. There was quiet in the roar, which is a phenomenon only nature can produce. A lone boat was out there on the river, near Chouteau island.

There can be so much beauty in gloom, sometimes more beauty than warm sunshine could ever hope for.

Normally I’d turn back at this point. I decided to keep going into uncharted territory. I pedaled beyond the bridge, mile after mile. I did not bring a watch and had no concept of how far, or how long, I was going. One of the best things to escape is time itself. Chahiro’s train ride seemed to exist outside of time as well; ghosts enter and leave the train but only repeat the mundane actions of their past lives.

I road over gently loping hills as I left the state of Missouri and entered Illinois. The landscape was dotted with ponds, lakes, and farmland. Far to my left was an interstate and a steady stream of cars moving over it.

I heard a large hawk cry above me and the cry was eerily childlike. The bird glided in a sky veiled with fog and its soaring could easily be mistaken for floating.

I crossed another bridge that took me over a canal. I realized that I was completely alone in this strange ghostly world outside Saint Louis. I kept going, over yet another bridge, lost in the moment. It felt as though I was leaving the human world.

I don’t remember when I turned back, but eventually I did. My tire never went flat. I arrived with a layer of mud on me and several layers of mud on my bike. My ankle held up.

I had been gone for more than four hours. The worst case never happened.

There’s merit in preparing for a worst case scenario. It’s said that in the first race to the North Pole, the surviving expedition was the one that was the best equipped.

But in a world consisting of pills for every ailment, spares for every possession, and sterilization for every smudge of dirt.. sometimes it’s worthwhile to just let go and see what happens.

Thoughts by a Windowsill

The winter elements bring to my mind the word “desiccated.” With Mother Nature having stripped all green from the maples, oaks, and brush, I mostly see skeletal branches above and beside me. These spindly things are like brown and dried-up arteries running over the pale winter sky.

I look at my windowsill and the plants that rest on it. Exposed to the elements they would die quickly. In the artifice of my apartment, under my control, they are in a constant state of growth and comfort. We like to believe we control the fates of ourselves and the things around us. To helplessly watch the things we see in our day-to-days wither away, more victims of time, reminds us of our own mortality.

We don’t have as strong a concept of mortality as we used to. That’s what I suspect. A disease of yesteryear would wipe out a third of us, and it would scare many of us, but the modern compulsion to control and reign in was not so much a part of the process. Now we’re more prone to believe that immortality is just a matter of politics or “supporting the better science” or “having the best retirement plan.” I suspect that death for the delusional is an especially terrifying matter.

I’m listening to a song I first heard in 2017 and finding myself in a poignant and melancholy mood. I love the song, but I’m not sure if I love the song because of the melody or because of the place and time it takes me to. I wonder if this fusion of memory and melody is what aging does to music. With each passing year we feel a more turbulent maelstrom of emotions from our old songs, not because of the brilliance of the composition, but because of the memories that the songs stir.

I observe that as people get older they tend to stick to the songs from their youth. Maybe this is where their most vivid memories reside. Maybe this is where most change and most significant events occurred.

May the song I seek always be the one I hear tomorrow.

Weekly Plunder: Week 16 - The Devil Rages On

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Battling the Dragon

One of the more intellectual arguments against the existence of what many imagine to be heaven, or eternal salvation when described as infinite pleasure, is simple:

A constant state of euphoria cannot elicit pleasure unless there is a counterbalance to compare it with. A high cannot be understood or appreciated unless it is attained by surmounting a low. One would become numb by constant goodness, and it would quickly cease to have significance.

In other words, we need a dragon to battle, a threat, and the possibility of losing the battle.

• A fall helps us understand the significance of standing back up again.

• A scrape teaches us that flesh can heal.

• A loss reveals there’s something to win.

• A failure reveals there’s something to improve.

• An oppression reveals there’s something to liberate.

• A rejection teaches that acceptance is significant.

• A sickness reminds one that health should never be taken for granted.

Why are we (okay, why am I) obsessed with dragons? How did we conjure up this fictitious creature, and why are they always a threat to the kingdom?

I heard one intellectual argument that makes sense. Evolutionarily speaking, our ancestors likely faced two threats: venomous snakes from below (and hidden within the trees, competing with us for food), and birds of prey from above. The dragon, then, is a combination of these two magnificent predators. It is the creature that can destroy us from any vantage point. It impales us with its talons, it swallows us whole, it crushes our rib cage with its tail, and it incinerates us with its fire.

Good can only be defined if bad exists. Even a kingdom loses worth without a threat to protect it from.

It brings to mind a silly example. I have an Internet friend who has long been in search of “the perfect pair of pants.”

”What will you do when you find the perfect pants?” I asked him once.

“I know full well there’s no such thing,” he said. “But I’m invested in the quest. It’s the chase that we need to have. Let it go on forever. Take part in the chase!”

To that I say, battle the dragon. Whether it’s beaten or not is insignificant.

The Best Cycling Times

My opinion: the two best times to ride a bicycle are dusk and dawn. Besides witnessing the sun as it renders the world in a more ethereal multicolored palette, being outside at dusk and dawn somehow syncs the mind with the natural sleep pattern that is meant for our biology.

Riding at dusk in Missouri also allows me to view one of my favorite “angry” birds, the American robin, during its feasting time. These aggressive little things flutter down from their nests to pluck worms from the soil. In grassy fields to my left and right, I can visibly see the plump worms being hoisted from the earth!

And at dusk, as shadows stretch and dominate the landscape, the tiny bird silhouettes are magnificent in sheer number, if not size.

These birds are fearless and territorial! They have a severe Napoleon complex, believing themselves bigger and stronger than their human opponents.

One time I was walking in Tower Grove park when an American robin flew down and landed on the path directly in front of me with a worm in its beak. It stared me down!

It was as if the little dude was saying, “You’re in my world now, ya wuss. And these worms are mine. Just try and pry them from my cold dead beak. See what happens.”

Orange is a powerful color, and these orange breasted birds are clearly distinguished by the color.

Maybe I like them because I connect a little with their mentality. Pride is underrated.

Sometimes I similarly wear an orange cycling jacket when I ride a bike in winter; there’s no proof that orange makes these birds “feel tougher”, but damn does it feel fly to rock some orange. Try me, the color beckons.

One thing I learned from the competition days is that belief is a necessary precedent to accomplishment. A little American robin mentality never hurt anyone.

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.

On Foot Rehab

Summary of foot issues following a car hit in August (long story short, a car hit me while I was cycling, knocking me off my bike and onto the tarmac; the ankle turned the wrong direction upon hitting the road, causing sprains on both sides of the foot and severe internal inflammation and bruising).

• Had the first and second physical therapy sessions for the right foot this week.

• The foot unfortunately had a setback last week after a one-minute running attempt (felt pain the next few days, telling me that running is a bad idea). This spurred me into signing up for therapy.

• Physical therapist confirmed running won’t happen in 2021 (bummer, but I figured).

• Muscles causing issues were identified in the session and a path to healing was set in action.

• Most severe damage noted in muscle tissue along the left part of the lower leg, which stretches into the foot and ends in the bottom-left part of foot. This is the primary source of pain when attempting a run or aggressive walk.

• Severe inflammation on upper part of the foot caused issues with healing and issues with connectivity with bones; this is why there isn’t much bend, especially in squat-type movements.

• Both ankles were sprained; ligaments in each need to strengthen and heal.

Plan: 3x physical therapy sessions per week. Foot rehabilitation exercises to be performed 2x per day.

In summary, the car crash messed up my foot pretty badly. However, I’m stoked to have a path to healing, and even more stoked that the foot can heal, timeline be damned.

Also thankful that I can still ride a bike without much worry.

Here’s to closing out 2021 on a positive note. It’s gonna feel great to exercise without pain again and I’m getting closer.

Weekly Plunder: Week 14 - Tornados

The weather has been apocalyptic lately.

I woke up Friday morning to a St. Louis that was blanketed by an opaque fog that rendered the city grey and misty.

Tornados and severe storms swarmed the city later that night. Wind ripped sheets of rain sideways in steady violent pulses.

That night I dreamed myself in a small Italian village based in a mountain pass, perhaps the Basilicata. Winding marble stairways sheened under the sun and wove upward through the village along the mountain pass’s edge. The village had layers of shops and restaurants, all connected by these marble stairwells.

I climbed up the main stairwell, hoping to reach the top, stopping occasionally to view people eating gelato or sipping wine. Why couldn’t I stop and join them?

Upward still I climbed, the village narrowing as elevation rose. But each time I thought I reached the top I’d look up to see another level of the village above me. There was no end in sight, and it seemed the climb upward would last forever. Why was I climbing? I had to have the best view, I told myself.

It seems a fitting metaphor for life. I’m glad I remember that dream.

What I’m Watching: Hellbound on Netflix. A pretty weird and thought provoking Korean show that explores religion, belief, and societal control.

What I’m Reading: From Paycheck to Purpose by Ken Coleman. As I transition away from a lifestyle driven by paychecks, I find it worthwhile to have some guidance from those who walked a similar path in the past.

What I’m Listening to: “Monochrome” by Between the Buried and Me. This is an interesting song without a genre and I suspect it will mean something different to everyone, so I won’t reveal what it means to me.

What I’m Doing: I start physical therapy next week. The ankle is getting there. I jumped for the first time in four months this week, and I successfully completed a one minute run. I’m happy that I ran again before 2021 closed its window forever.

What I’m thinking: I’m thinking about that dream and the “chase to the top”. Is the pursuit worthwhile when knowing full-well that the chase has no end? Or it it better to stop, take a seat, and have some gelato in that quaint little Italian village?

An Axe for the Dragon - Thoughts on Aging

As I rehab my ankle I find my thoughts more frequently drifting towards the subject of aging.

Regarding aging, I am approaching what many people regard as the “start of the downhill trajectory,” also known as the late 30s. Things are supposed to slow down in the latter half of the 30s, and I guess they do. Recovery takes longer, muscles get weaker, and hair gets grayer. Time is an undefeated opponent; that’s what science says.

It seems there are several options regarding how to approach aging:

• Accept the body’s inevitable decay and acquiesce to its deterioration. Do what most do: allow the body to transform into an old vegetable, a shell that breathes but doesn’t live, imprisoned within a retirement home.

• Fight aging relentlessly in a futile quest to “stay on top”. This is essentially a lifelong struggle to “remain close to the peak.” You aren’t fighting to defeat the inevitable slowdown, only to delay it. The “quest to fade less quickly.”

• Age with moderation, somewhere between the other two options. Remain active, but not intense. Take walks, but accept that the adventures of yesteryear must be replaced by garden walks.

Regarding these options, I vote to reject both moderation and surrender. Full speed ahead! Bring me the Grand Canyon rapids. If my 80-year-old body can’t handle them, let the turbulent waters swallow me as I fight to reach the end.

If, one day, scoffers say that the future 80-year-old man that I am is delusional for thinking himself still a warrior, I say I’ll pick up the metaphorical axe and let fate decide.

Metaphorically speaking, when I think of aging and death I think of the film Reign of Fire, specifically the Matthew McConaughey character, Van Zan.

In arguably the greatest death scene to ever grace a bad movie, Van Zan stands on top of a building, realizing his dragon adversary is going to kill him. He has lost his battle.

So what does Van Zan do? He suicidally jumps off the building with his battle axe, preferring to die fighting. The dragon devours the defiant and screaming Van Zan as he attempts one final swing of his axe at the beast!

If the dragon is death, I’ll gladly be Van Zan. And on my way into the dragon’s throat I’ll shout, “Come on, big boy!”

Minimalist Chronicles: Money

The philosopher Diogenes was eating bread and lentils for supper. He was seen by the philosopher Aristippus, who lived comfortably by flattering the king. Said Aristippus, "If you would learn to be subservient to the king you would not have to live on lentils." Said Diogenes, "Learn to live on lentils and you will not have to be subservient to the king." 

Chasing money for the sake of having more money, I believe, is a losing game. One only chases money as a means to the end if there is a genuine feeling of lacking. In situations of extreme poverty, one chases basic living necessities that money can potentially provide (but in these situations it is not a fat wallet one craves, it’s the food that a fat wallet would immediately be transferred into).

However, the vicious cycle of chasing money for the mere sake of having more tends to require labor for someone else in some fashion. A higher paycheck requires a higher ranking, and that may entail more hours, worse treatment, and more work drudgery.

Worse yet, money without purpose can never fill the void in the chaser. I would know. I’ve chased money to the top and consequently hit the bottom.

One chases for more money, and maybe gets more, and believes that with this extra cash there are added options, or even added freedoms. And the human tendency is to use this better income to spend more, to “upgrade.” Maybe in an acquisition the spender experiences a moment of euphoria; it feels as though the gaping wound is finally stitched together.

But the stitches don’t hold and the wound’s bleeding slowly accelerates. The feeling of inadequacy returns, and the wound requires more money, better stitches, a better doctor… just to slow the bleeding.

Consumerism breeds feelings of inadequacy, so it seems inevitable that more spending breeds more dissatisfaction.

Without purpose, money is a means to damnation. With purpose, I believe it’s rare that heavy spending (and with it, subservience) is necessary.

I do not say this from observation. This is my experience, from personally attempting to solve my problems via spending.

Similarly, I believe that chasing money for the sake of “total stability” is a losing game. One can never have true stability; life is too short and too volatile to allow for permanent sailing on calm waters. A quest for stability will inevitably deplete a person of happiness, and possibly of sanity. Life begins and ends with a struggle; a struggle with other sperm cells at the beginning, and a struggle for one final gasp of oxygen at the end. It’s only natural that struggle would be a prevalent human condition through the middle.

There will always be a disrupter of stability lurking in the mist ahead. A heart murmur, a disease, the death of a loved one, the loss of a home, the collapse of an economy, the drastic changing of an environment. Having a higher income may alleviate some symptoms, but life is ultimately a fatal condition. In my opinion, it’s more merrily spent avoiding the quest for immortality.

I believe there is a certain relief one can have by accepting chaos as a necessary condition to the human experience. Doing so minimizes one’s paranoia over the future, as well as an unhealthy dwelling over the past. A few deep breaths, bereft of technology and external voices, are all it takes to realize that the present is quite likely okay.

Money is not the cure for chaos, nor is it the bridge to stability.

I think of a recent article I read in which Paris Hilton stated she’d be “satisfied when she finally becomes a billionaire.” Therein lies the problem with money: there’s no actual such things as “enough of it.”

And I think of all the people who told me that they’d be satisfied when they reached a tiny fraction of that number, only to reach that number and decide that their problems would be solved with twice that amount.

Money tends to move goal posts.

Worse yet, it tends to be external forces who convince us that more money is necessary.

I’m not a life coach, but I suspect we would be healthier to prioritize our purpose. Relationships, family, friends, contributions. Money, to me, is an effect of contribution.

Purpose in itself is a difficult term. The modern western world often defines purpose as “career”, or a “dream job”, or “the perfect degree.” That seems to me to be complete nonsense, a corporate illusion.

I believe one can find purpose through many occupations and interactions, through many tasks and puzzles, through many hobbies and activities, through many travels, and many conflicts.

I think of a Chinese traffic conductor on a busy Changchun street I often crossed. Day in and day out, he smiled and said hello in Chinese. And if he saw me, he said hello in English and waved. He had such a mundane and draining job to most observers, but he approached it with zest and passion.

His purpose was to make people smile, and he seemed infinitely happier to me than any successful corporate type I’ve met. The job, to him, was just a vehicle for his purpose.

I therefore don’t think it’s a matter of “minimizing” money, but rather deemphasizing its importance in our lives.

To make people smile like that Chinese traffic conductor is a purpose that would fulfill a lot of people in search of meaning, many of whom likely have much more money than the conductor.

He was happy because he had something that many seek but never get: enough.

To accept ourselves today as enough…

China Memories - BBQ with Friends

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

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

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

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

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

“Yǒu.” (I’ll have)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Weekly Plunder: Week 13 - Change

This week, an unusual warm front meant that I took my afternoon walks without needing a jacket. One of my favorite colleagues retired, my first boss is retiring at year’s end, and my foot is inching closer to a return to running (after re-learning to walk and bike, it’s the elusive next step). It seems appropriate for late fall to signify a lot of change.

Speaking of change, I think there are two interesting philosophies regarding a person’s ability to change. The first is what I deem the “Stephen King” belief. King seems to (almost cynically) believe that we are all trapped in a vicious circle, forever doomed to repeat our past errors and (quite likely) the errors of our parents. Note how the abused child tends to become the abusive parent.

King’s Dark Tower series, for example, signifies that a quest to find the meaning of it all, a quest to the end, inevitably takes the pursuer back to his or her beginning.

Then there’s the more optimistic view of humanity’s ability to change: that as long as we’re willing to change and willing to undergo pain, change is entirely possible and never too late.

I like to think that my belief on change falls somewhere between these two sides.

What I’m watching:

I found this to be pretty hilarious!

What I’m listening to: “Changing” by John Mayer. I listened to a lot of John Mayer this week and find this song relevant for the blog topic.

What I’m reading: A little philosophy by Sartre. If it’s true that there is no reality besides the reality that the individual perceives, anyone able to shape a culture’s doors of perception is essentially a God. The social media gatekeepers therefore have far more power than even the most cynical of us believes.

What I’m doing: I assembled my skateboard and have been doing some early practice with what my ankle can currently handle. I’m also making travel plans for next year.

I had thought about training for a triathlon, but frankly I find the idea too “linear” and the training too boring. I might do one for fun, but it would have to be in my own style, and my own style would involve more randomness than a traditional training method would encompass.

I’m thinking about change and how it relates to me. What will I (we) change this week for the better, both in myself (ourselves) and the world around me (us)?

Fall Ride to Riverfront Trail with Mission Workshop Apparel/Bag

I took my gravel bike and some new Mission Workshop apparel on a fall ride along the Riverfront Trail (about 24 miles/38 km total). It was a cool 38 degrees F (3 degrees C) but I felt warm (without overheating). Mission Workshop products are on the pricey end, but made of high quality materials. They tend to last.

Mission Workshop

The Weekly Plunder: Week 12 - Cold Rides

Most people hate cycling in cold weather. The frigid and dry winter air bites with sharper teeth when you’re on a bicycle. Fingertips go numb quickly if they aren’t well-insulated. There’s an art to dressing for a winter bike ride.

I find winter cycling to be pretty awesome. The cold gives you something to fight against—an element to conquer and a challenge to navigate. We need challenges in life to overcome. They verify that we’re alive.

Outside of cycling, I have laser focus on rehabilitating my right foot. Getting the foot to 100% health is proving to be a trying process; I have essentially re-learned to walk again over the past few months, and now I have to strengthen a lot of very weak ligaments.

Currently I am regaining stability in the foot by practicing balancing on it, walking on the ball of it, and standing on toes. The foot stability left me on that fateful 36th birthday weekend. But like the seasons, sometimes parts of us die only to later be reborn, albeit reborn with a different set of leaves.

I am seeking a physical therapist to help me with this portion of my recovery. There’s a slight chance I’ll be able to manage a brief jog later this week.

What I’m listening to: “Revelations” by Judas Priest. This is, in my opinion, one of their most overlooked gems. It’s a swirling epic about Nostradamus and his prophesies. The band tries a lot of synths and strings on this album; though it isn’t one of their strongest albums, it has some standout tracks such as this one.

What I’m reading: Crossroads by Jonathan Franzen. Whoa, this is a long book. There’s another powerful section about an aunt who dreams of acting (but fails to “make it big”), lives in New York City, and shuns the suburban family life. She dies of cancer at a young age and with few friends, a real-life Eleanor Rigby. There seems to be a message that our aspirations don’t define us, nor do they ultimately matter much.

What I’m watching: Clint’s Reptiles on YouTube. Reptiles get an unfairly bad reputation when in fact most of them are a tiny fraction as dangerous as dogs (I don’t believe most species of reptiles pose any danger whatsoever unless threatened… but why would you threaten them?). I really enjoyed the video this week on the best “uncommon” pet reptiles. The emerald tree skinks look especially fun.

What I’m doing: I’m standing on one foot, my bad foot, and trying to strengthen it. The road to “100%” is a long one, and it will likely require external help. Sometimes we have to suck it up and ask for help. It ain’t worth attempting the journey alone.

What I’m thinking: I’m thinking of Shenandoah, when I was sleeping in a tent more than 4000 feet up in the Blue Ridge Mountains. In the dead of night I was awakened by a sudden clang. Something was trying to break into my steel food box outside of my tent, and it was more than likely a black bear (admittedly it could have been a very strong raccoon, though black bears were prevalent in the area).

At the end of the day, we all want the same thing. You, me, the Blue Ridge mountain black bears, and the spiders that hang in the corners of our window frames.

Thankful: Negatives and Positives

Zero negatives in life do not necessarily compute to a net positive.

How many people seemingly have nothing going wrong but still feel so empty?

In fact, mathematically speaking, if you’ve had more than three negatives in your life (and you’ve likely had innumerable negatives), you are net positive.

What is the cliche? A diamond in the rough; they’re shaped by pressure.

Maybe we (I?) should embrace the negatives.

For example, 11 negatives computes to a net positive of 4. How? If two negatives become a positive, the total sum is 5 minus 1. I’m in net positive territory, if I choose to believe it.

Our negatives have the potential to strengthen and embolden us. Over time, they solidify like clay and transmute us into something new entirely.

If this is true, it’s better to have a lot going wrong than to live in a painless vacuum.

Our negatives give us potential to change. They are what pave the trail ahead. And it’s better to journey forward than to languish in place.

I’m thankful for my negatives today, and the list runs far longer than the first things that sprout to mind:

• For often feeling overlooked as a young age group swimmer.

• For failing my first few leaps in ballet.

• For all of my innumerable rejections, which span a wide gamut of endeavors and attempts.

• For being told my first resume was crap during my first internship interview.

• For being disliked at my first full-time job.

• For being told my teaching was terrible in my first training school session.

• For failing to get a presidential award at the middle school shuttle run.

• For being out-touched at the finish in my final NCAA 200 yard freestyle race.

• For being hit by a car and walking myself home on a torn ankle as adrenaline surged through me.

• For dealing with any and all consequences of the things I’ve said that were wrong.

Each of these in some way led to a net positive.

Today I’m thankful for my failures and the people who were part of them. I’m also thankful I’m still around; I’m ready for the next adventure. And of course, I’m thankful for the positives, and the people who were a part of those!

And I’m thankful for you, because by reading you’ve shared a connection with me.