The Currency of Movement

Saturday night, I saw a one-woman play performed in a local theater. “Rachel Corrie” is the story of a courageous young woman who spent her last months in Palestine, championing a cause that was dear to her heart. The story of her death was not the story that needed told; the story of her life was a lesson in humanity.

I spent a lazy Sunday afternoon watching “The 100 Greatest Artists of All-Time” on VH1 Classic, a rare couple of hours in front of the television. I only got the chance to catch numbers sixty through one, but in every artist profiled a common theme began to emerge: the abnormality of those who transcended their genre to become music icons.

Sunday night, I caught snippets of the Academy Awards. Billy Crystal was charming and funny, yes, but the true appeal of the show began to appear during introductions and acceptance speeches, when introductions attempted to articulate the effect a particular work of art had on other human beings, and acceptance speeches showed us the raw emotion and human element of those great minds who were responsible for these works.

The weekend’s crescendo came during Meryl Streep’s acceptance speech. Watching her bring herself to tears, as she has so many times prior, I found myself wondering at the fantastic places artists to which artists can transport us. There’s  a magic in art that’s so often overlooked in our overstimulated world. An artist- an actor, painter, writer, singer, sculptor, dancer, composer- offer us a magic carpet ride. It’s as if they pull up alongside us, telling us “I know a world not far from this one, which you absolutely must see. Jump on, and I’ll be your guide.” Sometimes this world is, truly, another world. Sometimes it is only another dimension of our own reality- one that we either didn’t know existed, or that we simply never recognized. In either case, the artist’s task is simple: to move us. They tinker with the innermost workings of our hearts, of our minds, tugging and pulling until we feel an emotion that almost overwhelms us. Feel that? That’s profound sadness. This lever here? Fear. This button? Pure joy. This, my friend, is what your soul was created to feel. This is what your heart is capable of.

The ability to move your fellow man to tears, to unbridled laughter, to truly feeling operates as a sort of currency among artists. You moved me, sir, and I feel that I owe it to you to move you, too. I must repay you for your performance, and so in my next endeavor, I will strive to be better, to reveal to you the part of yourself which you have revealed to me.

This is the higher plane that true creators reach. The rest of the world operates on a currency of money- a vile, earthly, meaningless thing.  Artists, though, transfer and create and destroy this amazing currency of movement, encircling the world in a spiraling web of heartache, laughter, and emotion. If you pay attention, you may even see it. A lucky few do. The next time you’re moved by a performance, a piece of writing, a song, close your eyes. The web may appear, in all its brilliant colors- the reds of love, the deep purples of perseverance, the whites of fear, the yellows of compassion. If you’re lucky enough to see it, you are thereby given a task: to add your own color to the web, to move your fellow human being as you have been moved. Now, close your eyes, take a deep breath, and get to work.

staff:

Weekend Reading

A seemingly random collection of things worthy of your attention this weekend (some old, some new):

• "If a system of state education were to focus on the civic virtues needed for a free society, such as a respect for individual rights and obedience to a limited government, then surely it would be a good thing." George H. Smith on The Roots of State Education.


• Scott Belsky offers some much-needed tips on staying human in our digital world 


• William Boyd gives a moving portrait of Vienna, a city greatly deserving of his love.


• Sabrina Rubin Erdeley writes of a small town which has declared war on gay teens- and the disturbing, if expected, results of the town's bigotry.


• Steven Nadler looks at the First Amendment through the eyes of Baruch Spinoza- an interesting read for all Americans.

People who urge you to be realistic generally want you to accept their version of reality.

Unknown (via ageofreason)

Coffee Cups & Relationships

I recently had a conversation with a dear friend of mine, and it struck me that I’d spoken these words many times before. In fact, they were becoming something of a mantra, a piece of the personal manifesto puzzle.

In this conversation, I likened most aspects of my life to a coffee cup I recently purchased. Now, I am quite the coffee fanatic. I’ve no idea how I’d go about my day without it. Consequently, I attach a great deal of significance to the cup I drink my coffee from. It must be fairly large- I don’t want to refill the cup every five minutes. It also must be large in the right proportions- wide, not tall. Tallness in a cup creates a feeling of instability. Instead, I want a wide cup that feels stable, solid, trustworthy. I also want the cup to reflect my personal tastes, so tend to shy away from intricate designs, opting instead for a simple one. One would think that such a cup would be easy to come by, but in reality, I only recently found the perfect cup.

I now use this cup all morning, until I cut myself off from coffee, opting for water in the afternoon, when I switch to a structurally similar scotch glass. After dinner, I usually have a cup of hot tea, and I pull out the coffee cup again. That’s generally it- I use these two cups exclusively throughout my entire day. Do I pay an unusual amount of attention to the cup which holds my drink? Yes- and in doing so, I’ve extended this thought process to other aspects of my life.

The conversation around this cup sprang up in speaking to a friend about a current relationship and its eminent demise. I had been single for many years, and preferred it that way. I was asked how I could be so comfortable living for so long without a partner. My answer was quite simple: I was more selective than most. As with the coffee cup, I refused to allow anything mediocre in my life, be it a relationship or a cup.

The response that I got was quite interesting: what gave me the right to be so selective? Most everyone settles for something at some point or another. Isn’t it better to have something than nothing at all? From my friend’s perspective, it all sounded a bit egocentric. Perhaps, I said, but if that’s the case, I wish everyone were a bit more so.

I want to immerse myself in an experience. If I’m reading a book, I’m doing so without any distractions- maybe outside on the porch, with the accompaniment of the birds’ calls, maybe in my favorite chair with Sinatra playing faintly in the background. If I’m watching a film, I set aside a certain block of time to pay attention to the message that the filmmaker is trying to convey, similarly setting the atmosphere. When I exercise, I don’t do so half-heartedly; again, I immerse myself. These activities (and even the simple act of drinking coffee) are things I’ve decided are worthy of my time. After all, time is the most valuable commodity on earth. It’s the epitome of transience. There has never existed a person who was more rich in time than any other. It’s a remarkably finite thing. Even as you read this, your supply is diminishing. That being the case, why would I settle for anything mediocre? Why would I read an article that does not enthrall me? Why would I drink from a cup that rather annoys me? And why in the world would I devote my time to a mediocre relationship?

It is a wretched taste to be gratified with mediocrity when the excellent lies before us.

~Isaac Disraeli

With the acceptance of mediocrity inevitably comes the confession that one’s life is mediocre, and to make that confession is not only sacrilegious, it’s patently false. As Carl Sagan put it: “Who are we? We find that we live on an insignificant planet of a humdrum star lost in a galaxy tucked away in some forgotten corner of a universe in which there are far more galaxies than people.” The fact that you are here is amazing. That you are able to bear witness to a sunset, to a child’s laughter, to great coffee and great conversation with a dear friend is awe-inducing. If you’re unfamiliar with the feeling of awe, you’re not paying attention to the world around you.

The excellent lies before us, if only we cast mediocrity aside. Allow yourself to be a bit more selective in what is worthy of you, and the excellent will make itself known, be it a coffee cup or a relationship.

The Case for Conscious Consumption

If you reside on the web, or even occasionally visit, this seventeen-minute presentation given by Clay Johnson should be at the top of your to-do list. In it, Johnson explains why we must demand a reversal in the trend of the downfall of editorial integrity, and why it is vital to every American citizen.

                  [youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xhFSxycMJCA] 

found via curiositycounts.

I’m bored’ is a useless thing to say. I mean, you live in a great, big, vast world that you’ve seen none percent of. Even the inside of your own mind is endless; it goes on forever, inwardly, do you understand? The fact that you’re alive is amazing, so you don’t get to say ‘I’m bored.’

Louis CK (via metheliving)

“You run through your top ten erotic fantasies, ambition fantasies, revenge fantasies, global ratification fantasies. You run through them all until you bore yourself to death, basically, and the faculty that produces opinions and snap judgments and unrealistic scenarios for your own prominence, after you run through them for a number of years, they cease to have charge. They bore themselves into non-existence. You see them as diversions from another kind of intimacy that you become more interested in–and that is what Socrates said: Know Thyself.”
—from Sarah Hampson’s interview with Leonard Cohen in Shambhala Sun.

Leonard Cohen on Meditation 

Had my credentials been in order I would never have become a writer. Had I been blessed with even limited access to my own mind there would have been no reason to write. I write entirely to find out what I’m thinking, what I’m looking at, what I see and what it means… What is going on in these pictures in my mind?

Joan Didion, in her 1976 New York Times article, “Why I Write

In Response to @JDBentley's "The Purpose of Life is to be Happy"

JD Bentley recently (well, two months ago) wrote a post with which I vehemently disagree. Now, for the record, JD is a wonderful writer. I’m a subscriber to his site (you should be, too) and I enjoy his posts immensely. That said, I think he has this happiness thing all wrong.

He begins this particular post by refuting an idea from the Dalai Lama, that “the purpose of our lives is to be happy.” JD’s refutation of that notion is this: “Not only does happiness being the purpose of life sound ridiculously vague and simplistic, it also sounds selfish and shallow.”

The vague nature of happiness is entirely the point. In fact, were happiness not so vague, it would also be far less valuable. The notion of happiness reminds me of the ultimate and age-old question regarding the meaning of life. Indeed, perhaps the two are one and the same. Neither can be called objective- what makes me happy, what gives me meaning may be monotonous drivel to you, and vice versa. Happiness is perhaps the most subjective experience of all, and it’s this very characteristic that gives it its inherent value. As a wedding ring given to a young girl by her dying grandmother holds more value to that girl than the rest of the world, so the value of our happiness is ours, and ours alone. The question of happiness or meaning is a misleading one, because in and of their own right, those concepts don’t exist. Meaning (read: happiness) is a thing to be created, not an objective truth. As for the “selfish and shallow” bit, I’ll get to that.

JD goes on to say:

The purpose of life is a struggle for completeness. It has little to do with your emotions or your well-being. It’s about your character and your essence. You will have joyous experiences and sorrowful experiences, relaxed experiences and tiring experiences, all conspiring to build you up into wholeness.

We’ve all known miserable people, and few of us would gladly spend a day with someone who seems to be in constant anguish. After all, misery loves company. It is indeed infectious. So, too, is a positive personality, and it is these with whom we prefer to spend our time. It’s simply human nature to prefer the presence of positive people. Given that you accept this truth, who could be called the more complete person? Person A, full of despair, or Person B, full of life? Nietzsche was an intellectual giant of his time, wildly accomplished, and yet I doubt he would have described himself as complete. Thoreau, on the other hand, would probably have no trouble describing himself as such, having devoted an enormous amount of his time to personal growth, after which he emerged a tremendously happy person. Both had tremendous character. Only one may be called complete. To commit to presenting the most complete version of yourself to those who choose to spend time with you seems neither selfish nor shallow.

The post ends with this:

We are a generation unwilling to hear such an answer, though. We’re more concerned with feeling good and being told it’s okay to feel good, whether or not it’s actually beneficial for us.

Feeling good is not the point.

Here, again, the very definition of happiness needs to be questioned. To confuse happiness with “feeling good” is, in my mind, intellectually dishonest. Were that the case, a few drinks would induce the optimum state of man. To feel good does not equate to being happy. In fact, the happiest people I know are not those who string together the most possible joyous experiences while eliminating as many negative experiences as possible. No, the happiest people are those who not only accept sorrows as inevitable, but embrace them as a mere link in the chain of life- a stimulus for reflection and growth. On his last point, I agree completely. Feeling good is not the point.

Happiness is the meaning and the purpose of life, the whole aim and end of human existence. ~ Aristotle

I’ve yet to hear a more glorious description of solitude.

There’s something intensely magnetic about this.

We can learn nearly as much from an experiment that does not work as from one that does. Failure is not something to be avoided but rather something to be cultivated. That’s a lesson from science that benefits not only laboratory research, but design, sport, engineering, art, entrepreneurship, and even daily life itself. All creative avenues yield the maximum when failures are embraced.

Kevin Kelly on failure as a key ingredient of innovation (via curiositycounts)

A master in the art of living draws no sharp distinction between his work and his play; his labor and his leisure; his mind and his body; his education and his recreation. He hardly knows which is which. He simply pursues his vision of excellence through whatever he is doing, and leaves others to determine whether he is working or playing. To himself, he always appears to be doing both.

L.P. Jack from his Education Through Recreation, published in 1932.

Liz sent this quote to me this morning. I won’t pretend to be a “master in the art of living” (still too clumsy at life, still finding my legs), but work looks ever more like play and play more like work. The similarities create all sorts of new complications involving the pursuit of uncomplicated pleasure, but I can not pretend for one moment that I do not love having the objects of my affection so close and accessible. We should all be so fortunate. Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone.

(via viafrank)

A Reminder

The links at the bottom of the site all point to my personal pages. If you'd like to follow only the posts to this blog via social media, you can follow Wonderisms on Twitter or Tumblr.

wonderisms:

The most awesome staircase ever. #thedoors

Mammaw

Last Friday, I received a message that my grandmother, who had a stroke last year, wasn’t doing well, and that she wasn’t expected to make it through the day. Hours later, I got the phone call. She had passed.

In a way, from a grandson’s perspective, this is the natural order of things. When Fate comes to take payment, our grandparents are the first to be returned to the soil. It is expected. Yet, when a grandmother is lost to the ether, even when the anticipation softens the blow, I realize that we reserve a special form of mourning for grandmothers. When I think of my Mammaw, I think of the quintessential grandmother. The matriarch.

Few of us get the opportunity to truly know our great-grandparents. Mostly, if we are lucky enough to have met them, we do so at such a young age that our memories of them are not quite fully formed. So, as we grow, our grandparents occupy the highest existent rung of our known lineage. As a child, this symbol is especially poignant- and it was especially true of Mammaw, from my point of view. Grandparents are the living, breathing reason your parents are here, and so are the reason you are here, too. There is a certain form of awe that kicks in when you realize that they raised your parents as your parents are raising you. They brought the image you hold now of your mother and father into being, seemingly from nothing. They demand as much respect as your tiny heart can extend. Somehow, they even have the ability to tell your mom and dad what to do. I’ll never forget the first time I saw this in person. I must’ve been four, maybe five. I don’t recall the argument, but I vividly remember that my dad was trying to make a point when my Mammaw told him that she’d heard enough. From my position in the corner of the room, I gasped a bit, and held my breath. Of course, no one was able to get away with telling Dad what to do -there are ramifications for such things. Didn’t she know who he was? Then it happened. He got quiet. And that was it- the conversation was over. What kind of awesome power did this woman have? She obviously demanded more respect than anyone I’d ever encountered.

My young mind may have overextended the awe factor a bit, but I held that image in my mind, permanently. It never weakened. It may have matured a bit with age, but the amount of respect never waned, because she deserved it. She was the Matriarch, and she cared for her family as if it was her only purpose. And it was. There’s something so noble about the simplicity of a life seemingly devoted to strengthening the bonds of one’s family. How ignorant are we, then, to ignore this pattern among our elders? Most every grandparent (every person*** even) comes nearer to the virtue of family as they age, increasingly condemning the rest of the world in favor of the flesh and blood people comprised of their flesh and blood. And what does this tendency consist of if not the accumulated wisdom of so many years of life experience? If most of our elders eschew the world at large in favor of their family, why, then, do we continue to place so much importance in the very things they shy away from?

Mammaw wouldn’t care how big my house is, or how expensive is the car I drive. She wouldn’t care about the movie I saw last night, or how great my garage looks after I cleaned it out. She certainly wouldn’t care what a great deal I got on that coffeemaker at Target, or how envious I am of my neighbor and that new sport boat in his backyard. She would care about her grandchildren’s laughter, about the bonds that tie us together with an invisible thread- a thread that’s more delicate than we sometimes realize. Writing, designing, acting make you happy? Wonderful, she would say. Do that. Then call your father.

The first progressive step for a mind overwhelmed by the strangeness of things is to realize that this feeling of strangeness is shared with all men and that human reality, in its entirety, suffers from the distance which separates it from the rest of the universe.

Albert Camus (via fuckyeahexistentialism)

Plato said that men could find their true moral development only in service to the city. The Athenian was saved from looking at his life as a private affair. Our word “idiot” comes from the Greek name for the man who took no share in public matters. Pericles in the funeral oration reported by Thucydides says: We are a free democracy, but we are obedient. We obey the laws, more especially those which protect the oppressed, and the unwritten laws whose transgression brings acknowledged shame. We do not allow absorption in our own affairs to interfere with participation in the city’s. We differ from other states in regarding the man who holds aloof from public life as useless, yet we yield to none in independence of spirit and complete self-reliance.

“The Greek Way” - Edith Hamilton (via bloggingthebookshelf)

My early and invincible love of reading—I would not exchange for the treasures of India.

Edward Gibbon  (via aneuromess)

Never mess with a man’s coffee if you want to live.

(via mnmal)

To send light into the darkness of men’s hearts - such is the duty of the artist.

Robert Schumann (via thecultofgenius)

Weekend Reading

The weekend is a wonderful time to relax, to let the triumphs and failures of the week fade into the ether, and to be nowhere but right here, right now. Here's a few articles to help you sink into now:

• In Philosophy - What's the Use?, Gary Gutting disputes the pervasive notion that philosophical reflection is useless.


• On Why We Reason: Julian Baggini recently gave a TED talk likening the self to a waterfall. It's an apt metaphor, but the struggle to understand ourselves is still in its infancy.


• In a review of Clay Johnsons's A Healthy Information Diet: The Case for Conscious Consumption, Maria Popova explains that to blame the abundance of information for information overload is akin to blaming the abundance of food for our obesity.


• Jeff Atwood quite succinctly describes what it means to be a parent- the euphoria and the pitfalls- in On Parenthood.


• Philip Kitcher explains why religion is not needed to form a sustainable set of foundational ethics in Ethics Without Religion.


• In Thrifty Brains, Better Minds, Andy Clark tells explains that our brains lie to us more often than not- and that's probably a good thing.


• In Search of Serendipity is an exploration of how the definition of serendipitous has devolved, and what the internet needs to do about it.


• Design is something that's recently dear to my heart, and Cameron Koczon explains why designers need to take on a more foundational role to move the web (and the world) forward on A List Apart 


• Gregory Judanis explains why literature is vital to the progression of our morality in Literature and the End of Violence.