My friend Andy likes to remind me that I cannot live life in an epiphany. This is good advice for me, but still rather disappointing every time I hear it. So much of life feels infused with wonder and beauty and divine splashes, that I am not quite sure what to do with the ordinary. Don’t get me wrong... my life cannot boast of much measure of verifiable excitement (she is the girl most likely studying on a Friday night). It’s just the little wonders are usually quite thrilling. I actually get adrenaline rushes reading my textbooks, like my heart dances when my dendrites fire. I eat strawberries like they're ambrosia. My 963rd sighting of Mt. Rainer still feels like a new crush, that captured sort of gaze you feel in your stomach.
I have been told that I have an unusually high pleasure barometer for the simple things. I think I just have a disposition to make love to life.
However, this passion has concerned me as of late. For what happens when I cannot extract the divine out of a moment? When the wonder is much more rare? When the moments of life just roll along, with little to report of ecstatic inspiration?
This is how my heart feels tonight. Like I have much to thrill me, but my heart is curled up taking a nap this month. I wonder if this is just the pathos of mid-winter in a city of grey skies, or whether I am getting to learn…once again…that it is ok not to strive all of life for the epiphanic. Sometimes I need the rest.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Friday, February 16, 2007
A Little Bit of Nonsense
I’ve been serious since I was about 6, so learning to appreciate nonsense is my necessary path of regression. Does anyone else remember not knowing what to do with the sandbox? Kindergarten’s play stations befuddled me. But somewhere in college, I began to remember that life is not just to be studied, but actually can be played. Now as a graduate student, a little bit of nonsense feels like survival.
I have learned in my lessons on playing that it is its own way of being. Playing is to be present in a moment, letting your ego go on vacation. It is to surrender the addiction of productivity. Release the impulse of purpose. Honor the spontaneous. Meander, open to the gifts not found in your pocket planner.
So, to get you started I will present exercises in nonsense. Two disclaimers here: one, I am talking about the non-chemically induced nonsense. Two, I am very much a girl, and these exercises might not be gender neutral. But here’s my top ten list to inspire your own:
1. Twirling. Yes, just like you think. Arms outstretched, get on your tiptoes and spin. This works best in wide-open spaces, like a park. I taught a friend to twirl recently…he was rather resistant I am afraid. At first, just little nervous twirls. He was hesitant to have passerbyers musing on his dradle-like like behavior. (This business of nonsense is impinged with all sorts of social worries). Finally, I coaxed him into a few free revolutions. I think he liked it.
2. Don a fancy hat. Need a say more? I went to an antique store recently, looking for the perfect wide brimmed, Hepburnesque black hat. I found it, complete with a shimmery veil that makes me feel mysterious. I probably tried on 2 dozen hats before I found her, which was a lovely time warp back to the dress up box.
3. Eavesdrop. People spill their souls at coffee shops- catch them in your notebook, verbatim if you can. (The other day I heard some lively grandmothers at Pete’s Coffee talking about some movie star’s abs. They turned to me a little sheepishly, worried about misguiding the younger generation. Then, they told me to go rent the movie.)
4. Skinny-dipping. It’s a bit like returning to the womb. The first time I jumped into a lake naked was in 8th grade, with full moon light and a silly group of girls. I would encourage this activity in the summer months, though for risk-takers, it can be year round. I admit I am a conservative skinny dipper, which means I am not a co-ed skinny deeper. But to each their own.
5. Open up your lungs. Sing very loudly and dramatically. Celene Dion anyone? The Lion King soundtrack is also very good. I know you must make fun of Britney Spears in public, but secretly you want to dance and sing like a grown up musketeer. Improvise from the kitchen drawer for your microphone.
6. Finger painting. Yes, even if you are not an artist. Get out the craft box and create something. Enjoy bold primary colors. Make a mess. Pretend you are Jackson Pollock. Stay with it even if you think it’s terrible. If you need to get serious, than pretend it’s a rorshok.
7. Puddle jumping. Playing in the rain in general is very good for your soul. So don your rain boots (you have them, right?) and jump. Get very wet. Maybe even cartwheel. Remember what is like to enjoy mud. Then come in for hot chocolate.
8. Bake cinnamon rolls. Get out yeast and milk and sugar, and remember how to knead. Spend an afternoon watching bread rise. (I credit this suggestion to Henry David Thoreau, who has a passing line in Walden about watching dough rise. I remember being astounded at the time that anyone had the life allowance for such unproductivity.)
9. Hang out in the children’s section of a local bookstore. Re-read Go Dog Go. Observe little faces. Reclaim the joy of story. Have a party with Amelia Bedelia, Bernstein Bears, Madeline. Clifford and Arthur. Remember Choosing your Own Adventure? Or exploring Where the Wild Things Are. Enjoy nostalgia.
10. Make a top ten list. I love making lists. Make a list about all the things to explore in your city that you haven’t quite gotten to. Or your secret dreams. Or your favorite people and why you love them. Or why life is beautiful. Stay with the process of list-making, even if you start to struggle at #3. Wait for what comes.
I have learned in my lessons on playing that it is its own way of being. Playing is to be present in a moment, letting your ego go on vacation. It is to surrender the addiction of productivity. Release the impulse of purpose. Honor the spontaneous. Meander, open to the gifts not found in your pocket planner.
So, to get you started I will present exercises in nonsense. Two disclaimers here: one, I am talking about the non-chemically induced nonsense. Two, I am very much a girl, and these exercises might not be gender neutral. But here’s my top ten list to inspire your own:
1. Twirling. Yes, just like you think. Arms outstretched, get on your tiptoes and spin. This works best in wide-open spaces, like a park. I taught a friend to twirl recently…he was rather resistant I am afraid. At first, just little nervous twirls. He was hesitant to have passerbyers musing on his dradle-like like behavior. (This business of nonsense is impinged with all sorts of social worries). Finally, I coaxed him into a few free revolutions. I think he liked it.
2. Don a fancy hat. Need a say more? I went to an antique store recently, looking for the perfect wide brimmed, Hepburnesque black hat. I found it, complete with a shimmery veil that makes me feel mysterious. I probably tried on 2 dozen hats before I found her, which was a lovely time warp back to the dress up box.
3. Eavesdrop. People spill their souls at coffee shops- catch them in your notebook, verbatim if you can. (The other day I heard some lively grandmothers at Pete’s Coffee talking about some movie star’s abs. They turned to me a little sheepishly, worried about misguiding the younger generation. Then, they told me to go rent the movie.)
4. Skinny-dipping. It’s a bit like returning to the womb. The first time I jumped into a lake naked was in 8th grade, with full moon light and a silly group of girls. I would encourage this activity in the summer months, though for risk-takers, it can be year round. I admit I am a conservative skinny dipper, which means I am not a co-ed skinny deeper. But to each their own.
5. Open up your lungs. Sing very loudly and dramatically. Celene Dion anyone? The Lion King soundtrack is also very good. I know you must make fun of Britney Spears in public, but secretly you want to dance and sing like a grown up musketeer. Improvise from the kitchen drawer for your microphone.
6. Finger painting. Yes, even if you are not an artist. Get out the craft box and create something. Enjoy bold primary colors. Make a mess. Pretend you are Jackson Pollock. Stay with it even if you think it’s terrible. If you need to get serious, than pretend it’s a rorshok.
7. Puddle jumping. Playing in the rain in general is very good for your soul. So don your rain boots (you have them, right?) and jump. Get very wet. Maybe even cartwheel. Remember what is like to enjoy mud. Then come in for hot chocolate.
8. Bake cinnamon rolls. Get out yeast and milk and sugar, and remember how to knead. Spend an afternoon watching bread rise. (I credit this suggestion to Henry David Thoreau, who has a passing line in Walden about watching dough rise. I remember being astounded at the time that anyone had the life allowance for such unproductivity.)
9. Hang out in the children’s section of a local bookstore. Re-read Go Dog Go. Observe little faces. Reclaim the joy of story. Have a party with Amelia Bedelia, Bernstein Bears, Madeline. Clifford and Arthur. Remember Choosing your Own Adventure? Or exploring Where the Wild Things Are. Enjoy nostalgia.
10. Make a top ten list. I love making lists. Make a list about all the things to explore in your city that you haven’t quite gotten to. Or your secret dreams. Or your favorite people and why you love them. Or why life is beautiful. Stay with the process of list-making, even if you start to struggle at #3. Wait for what comes.
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