Tag: Arctic

Eclecticism

I once had one particularly resonant life truth pinned up on my bulletin board among many other nuggets scribbled on bits of paper that spoke to me.

“Eclecticism is self-defeating not because there is only one direction in which it is useful to move, but because there are so many: it is necessary to choose.“

It was more a visceral understanding of that truism than an actual “knowing” that spoke to me. No question I was interested in a great many things as a young woman.

Life dictates you cannot possibly pursue all interests that pop up. Not if you want to achieve any depth of success in any chosen field.

In that respect, journalism was a reasonable path to follow. I got to ask lots of questions about lots of things from lots of strangers. And then I could actually publish or broadcast what I learned. I also got into a lot of high priced conferences by flashing my press credentials.

I worried a lot when I was young about the trap of commitment that making choices and becoming successful requires.

What lay under that fear was constantly questioning whether I was good enough to do anything. I understand that is quite common among human beings. Moreso among women I understand.

I can’t imagine why. (That’s sarcasm right there in case I needed to explain…. Girls do that.)

In the upcoming generation, I feel increasing societal pushback against the extreme standards and expectations that are put on women. There used to be a chart that circulated about how women’s leadership skills compared to how men’s skills were characterized.

He was assertive. She was bossy. He was determined. She was pushy. And so on.

It has always been a devil’s bargain. No matter how well women do, it seems, someone is always ready to “qualify” their success. It took me a long time to understand that.

So I bounced around a lot in my so-called career. Had a lot of jobs. Did some of them more or less well.

I actually enjoy being eclectic. It beats the heck out of being docile and predictable. At least that is what I told myself. Often.

Looking back, I see the truth that eclecticism was self-defeating in respects. But I also dodged a lot of bullets.

I watched senior, single academic women nursing Manhattans in bars after classes were done. I watched another former peer striding proudly as the flag bearer at the front of the annual academic procession during encaenias.

I have watched peers and colleagues zig when maybe they should have zagged at certain junctures in their lives. I know I did a few times.

All the intensity and love they poured into their careers and the strangers that once perpetually peopled their days have now disappeared. They are left with themselves and what is left from that life to comfort them in their dotage.

That seems like a very poor bargain to strike in life to me. Maybe I am speaking from a place of security and safety I had never previously known. Maybe I am a jerk and the truth is I couldn’t keep a job to save my life so naturally, I kept moving forward and moving around.

But I look back on some of those eclectic experiences with satisfaction and huge measure of gratitude for having done some of the things I did.

Trips to the Arctic, Argentina, across the Andes, all over Europe and parts of Asia. High up into the Himalayas. I saw some things that won’t leave until I do.

Young people now seem to prefer collecting experiences over “things” as our parents and grandparents might have. Vast amounts of material possessions are fated for the garbage dump when boomers start kicking off in droves.

I am of the Boomer generation and feel blessed to have adopted a life strategy of accumulating experiences over everything else well before my time.

I am not promoting eclecticism as an optimum life choice. I get and have experienced that spreading your interests too thin can backfire on you.

But I will argue I really didn’t feel I had much other choice. In my bouncing from thing to thing and author to author and one philosophy over another, I finally landed in a place where I feel myself settled and grounded.

For today anyway. It is both the curse and certainty of having an eclectic bent of mind that nothing is ever settled “finally and forever.” Not until death, perhaps, and lately I’ve been questioning if seeking will end even then.

I guess one day I’ll find out. For now, I’m going to scan my eclectic collection selection of saved recipes and see what dish I can concoct that I’ve never made before to see how it works out.

Seems like how I have greeted every day and experience since I’ve been on the planet. Why quit now.

Leaving on a Jet Plane

I’d like to say all my bags are packed and I’m ready to go. I’m not. That is what I will do today.

I used to love travel. I remember the excitement in getting ready for a big trip. And there were some very big trips in my life.

From my home base in Canada, I flew to Sri Lanka for a three month walking trek and sojourn through India and Nepal. On another occasion, I flew to Seoul Korea to connect with my family on tiny and dazzling beautiful black sand Jeju Island off South Korea’s coast.

Then there was the southern sojourn to Argentina to take a ten day horse trek across the Andes. And I once flew due North and landed in Iqaluit, Nunavut for several frost filled days to attend the Arctic Winter Games.

Many writers laud the benefits of travel. I do. It changes you. It broadens your perspective on so many things. It can shatter the illusion of cultural superiority that some secretly harbor if they have not travelled very far from their home base.

One look at a carved monument in almost any country should knock that out of your system pretty quickly. Not always, of course. But often.

Travel is a kind of education that you cannot replicate by reading books. Books stimulate the imagination. Travel stimulates the senses. Nothing could replace the overwhelming sights and sounds of a spice market in New Delhi, India.

Celebrating Holi, the festival of colors, is one of the most unique occasions I’ve ever taken part in. In under an hour, me and my traveling companions were physically drenched in a dozen colors from handfuls of special chalk thrown at us. Deliberately!

As you wander the streets of New Delhi (or anywhere in India on that unique, special holiday), everyone is equally streaked with multiple colors of dust.

Indians generally have a great sense of occasion. Nothing can match the style and splendor of an Indian wedding drenched in rich fabrics, brilliant colors and enticing smells.

When most of my college buddies were working at traditional summer jobs after the term was over, I spent every summer traveling on some pretense or another. Europe. First as a waitress in a massive tourist hotel and the following summer as a student. Then Egypt as a student after my third year.

After graduation, I spent several months traipsing through Asia. So many indelible memories. So much experience and learning – mostly good.

I am leaving my country again. This time, on a more permanent basis. We cannot predict the future with flawless accuracy but we can make some educated guesses.

For me that means the next few years will be spent among my continent mates directly to our South. Living in the USA at this juncture in history is an ongoing daily education. I won’t make a qualitative call on what I’m learning there.

Travel brings you home with new eyes. You see everything that was familiar and there before but differently somehow.

It is easy for me to appreciate the old song, “How you gonna keep ‘em down on the farm after they’ve seen Pa-ree?” Travel was like an addiction where the more I did it, the more I craved. I deemed it a healthy addiction and only now see the cravings diminishing somewhat.

Hours from now, I’ll be winging my way South to rejoin my husband and put this country in the rearview mirror for awhile.

When the jet place departs, I fully expect my bags to be packed and ready to go.

As ready as I’ll ever be at any rate.

Playing for Change

I watched a music video tonight. It suddenly opened my eyes to something I’d never quite understood before. (Ironically, the song was called “Doctor My Eyes.”) I instantly understood why music (and art) generally is so threatening to power.

Playing for Change (https://www.playingforchange.com/home2) is a movement created to inspire and connect the world through music. Though separated by geography, countries and culture, music is a common language that can be shared by everyone.

Last night, a new Playing for Change video popped up. I watched in amazement as American singer Jackson Browne sat in his California studio accompanied by about fifteen accomplished musicians from around the world.

As Browne sat at his piano and sang his 1972 hit song, Doctor My Eyes, he was joined by video links with singers and musicians from around the world playing on sitars, an African grass piano, rain sticks, electric guitars and their own voices. The music was amazing as is the PFC message. “No matter where we come from, music helps us overcome our differences.”

The insight I had is that power is maintained in this world through deliberate separation and compartmentalization. Op. cit. apartheid. It’s easy to understand why that appeals to power. Smaller groups are easier to control.

Staying small and disconnected from each other diminishes the ability for members of different groups to get to know and understand one other. “Fear of the other” kicks in and defines many inter-group relationships.

Simple miscommunication and misunderstanding underpin many interpersonal and global conflicts. Even social conflicts: think racism and anti-Semitism. The more disconnected and separate groups remain, the more isolated and vulnerable they are.

I think back to how naive I was working in a government bureaucracy.

They sentenced me to twenty years of boredom, trying to change the system from within … Leonard Cohen https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/First_We_Take_Manhattan

I was appalled by the redundancy and waste in so many different branches and divisions. They were often devoted to many of the same tasks without communicating between themselves. This frequently caused problems when one group’s findings or directives or priorities conflicted with another. Yet it went on all the time.

How much more sensible and efficient it would be, I reasoned, if these groups worked together toward a common goal. And that was when I learned about “silos.”

These disparate bureaucratic groups between departments or in departments were called “silos.” Each “silo” is headed up by someone like a director or manager. The hierarchy is fixed. How much time and energy did I waste creating organizational charts!

Silos exist in organizations like a government bureaucracy and they will always be there for a simple reason. There are those who like to be in control. There are others who like to be controlled. They are two distinct personality types.

The two are attracted to each other like moths to a flame. Their respective positions are distinct and well-defined. It gives both of them a sense of certainty and security. The thinking seems to go: “I am the boss and you are my underling. As we both agree on that, we will both get our needs met and contribute to our mutual well-being and security.” As long as we both obey the rules….

But life isn’t like a carefully constructed organizational chart. There is no absolute fixed hierarchy in nature, for example, in which roles remain rigid and inflexible. Roles fluctuate with age and death and the local geography and weather conditions and supply and demand.

Life is actually messy and surprising and random. Usually only as we get older do we come to understand and accept that. There is never going to be an immutable, safe haven. At best, we have all agreed to a tacit and self-serving civility to maintain our stability and security as we know and expect.

From years of travel, I became familiar and comfortable within many different cultures. The rukle was pretty simple: “Treat others as you would want to be treated.” That worked around the world for the most part.

For many years, I eagerly sought out foreign culture and experiences. I have met people for whom this is the very definition of a nightmare.

People regularly travel to foreign countries, but usually in ways that support and mirror the standards and expectations of their own culture. Bus tours. Cruises. Biking adventures. All with people “just like them” and amenities “just like home.” Super structured. Super safe. And sorry, but super boring.

I have happily travelled the rough and ready way. Slept on a dirt floor in a Nepali hut. Camped on the open tundra in the high Arctic. And, my favorite, in a life preserver box on a ferry crossing across the Atlantic. In smelly canvas tents on a horse trek across the Andes. Once had to sleep in those smelly tents in the middle of a snowstorm.

Each of those experiences changed me in ways I don’t suppose I’ve even yet fully realized. I only know I remain open and curious.

Playing for Change seeks to expose viewers to different cultures in less immersive ways than actually being where the musicians are. But this is not a Carnegie Hall concert experience.

Sitar players sit and play on rattan chairs on the edge of a jungle. Black Jamaicans play guitars on the side of a street with broken pavement. In Argentina, an accordionist plays to the rapt attention of two little girls sitting on and looking up from two tiny, little chairs.

Unstructured. Messy. Unpredictable. Each and every one different.

All beautiful. Such a gift to be able to share in that experience.

Play on, Playing For Change. You are doing such a good thing.