We can change the world.
Sunset sky in Torres del Paine, March 2019
In talking with friends and family today, it’s clear that everyone is reeling to some extent. We are not in a great place as a country right now, as a species. It’s indubitably tough. I feel it along with everyone else. There’s anxiety over the uncertainty of the future. It truly does feel like we are at a crossroads. So, who do we want to be? Who do we want to be?
Looking up the steps to the Sydney Opera House, January 2020
It’s good to see those you love. How utterly simple, if difficult right now. Only time will tell how much the social isolation is affecting us. I feel it’s altered our biology in a lot of ways we haven’t considered. How crazy will it be to look back on this period in five, ten years? We’re going through something unprecedented, because we have the technology to document it. The only way we’re actually going to get through it is together.
Don’t forget the wondrous architecture from centuries long gone
I've been opening up the double doors to the balcony, which is right where my desk is in the living room. The cold keeps me alert and focused on my work. I've noticed a few fruit flies in the apartment over the past few days, obviously coming in from the outside now that the doors are open for long swaths of time. It got me thinking...we live on a planet of insects. There are there are quintillions of insects on this planet, everywhere there are people. It's pretty insane when you think about it. What an interesting planet.
Then I whimsically thought of my time in China, and the feeling I had when I decided to move there. I was intrigued by this ancient, exotic culture I knew nothing about. It might be that I've learned a good deal of Chinese culture, but there are thousands of cultures spanning the history of our civilization, spread out across the globe. There is so much to learn about the different histories and lifestyles our distant cousins have developed. It's mind-boggling. And it's still the same planet, the one with all the insects.
Contemplating my time in China made me think of all my travels, and the diversity of Earth's beautiful landscapes. As I've previously written, there are so many incredible geological features on every continent: mountains and waterfalls and plains and plateaus; rivers and lakes and oceans and deserts. The nature on this planet is astounding, and it's just waiting to be discovered.
What are the chances that the insect planet, that houses a 5,000 year old Chinese civilization, is also made up of inspiring physical phenomena? It sure is one big beautiful amazing world. How incredibly fortunate we are.
Looking off to the sea from atop Table Mountain, December 2019
Watching The King’s Speech tonight reinforced the oft-repeated phrase over the past week: words matter. More than that, upon rewatching the film I was struck by the gravity of history. We complain of the lingering pandemic in 2021, but how about living in British 1936? I would be off to war. Now that we are connected more than ever, we must remember: words matter, actions matter. We affect those around us, whether we’re aware of it or not. If we become more aware, we can truly change the world.
Penguin grouping on South Georgia, March 2019
I had a thought while getting to sleep the other night: these are the good ol’ days. Even with the pandemic, even with the hardship being faced everywhere... we still have much to be thankful for. As President Obama described toward the end of his second term, if you were given the choice of being born in any time in history, you would choose right now. We have so much to improve in our society, but we still enjoy collective freedoms and conveniences never before experienced. It can be hard to see that when the world appears so bleak, but see if we must. The struggle is part of the journey, and at some point in the future a look back will bring either nostalgia or satisfaction. Nostalgia if the times really aren’t that bad; satisfaction if they were and we still got through them. Another day above ground, another day breathing. Let’s not forget to treasure the simple things.
A gathering of monks in Sertar, August 2014
When I think of it, I don't know if there's any other quality that shapes me quite the way my love for travel does. In trying to limit my screen time while locked in apartment and...wait for it...not traveling, I've tried some Netflix-free ways to pass the time. One of my favorites is looking through my Dad's old atlas. It's an 18 1/2" by 12 1/2" Atlas of the Worldpublished by the National Geographic Society in 1992. While not the most recent, its large size and volume of contents make it a really fun dream machine. Over the years I've drifted towards using Google Maps to scour the world, but I'm glad I navigated back to the big book.
I get that it's not for everybody, but there's something about leisurely perusing a map. It's restorative. You can scrutinize a specific area and create connections between places, or you can glance at the imagery in its entirety and drink it all in.
Of course, browsing through the atlas makes me want to travel, to explore unique pockets of the globe that were previously unknown to me. The world is such an amazing home. There are cultural differences between households across the street from one another, let alone between a tertiary town, a separate state; a nearby nation, or a contrasting continent. There exists deserts and mountains and oceans and jungles and isthmuses out there, everything you've ever seen in a movie, just waiting to be discovered. In some regions on the map you can imagine polar bears living there, in others it's easy to picture an elephant plodding along with bemusement. It's truly a wondrous place, and using the atlas only evokes a hunger to experience it.
Travel creates life possibilities that are otherwise simply unknowable. Going somewhere new is trying something new, except it's doing completely routine things, like eating and bathing and socializing and sleeping and speaking, in a way you've never before been exposed. This cultivates a respect for one's relationship with everything. It helps impress upon the futility of division. In essence, it makes one a more synergistic human being. Hey, it's a pandemic, I get it. Can't travel right now. Open up an atlas.
A lone Texas Longhorn considering my congeniality
I've been struggling with consistency since the start of the pandemic, but I have become enthralled with photography over the past few years. For me, it's not just about the finished product of a great picture, but the process, the journey that happens between picking up the camera and seeing a photo at a later point. Ansel Adams has some great musings on this experience. When you hold a camera and walk around, your focus turns to what you see. It's a different type of vision because the mind quiets. Some of my best people watching happens when I shoot, because I become hyperaware of the reality unfolding around me. Even if a particular moment is never recorded by the camera, the experience you gain stays with you. That landscape is forever seared into your brain, that interaction between strangers duly noted, the emotion of facing off with a wild animal forever imprinted. I think I enjoy photography so much because it makes me a more understanding and compassionate human. If one out of every thousand pictures I capture invokes some semblance of the feeling I experienced while taking it, for just a few people out there, then I feel fulfilled with my contribution. So much of how we see affects our internal evolution, which in turn affects our interactions with others, and thus the state of the world. Photography is seeing, and shared seeing is the genesis of a gentler universe.
Watching the sun go down on the Amazon River, April 2019
How much has TV consumption increased since March? At least in California, where it feels like there's nothing else to do, I imagine more people are watching more TV than perhaps ever before. My own viewership has definitely dramatically increased, especially since the onset of winter.
But when you think about it, what is watching TV, really? It's kind of a strange activity for us to engage in. We basically stare at a box and watch a series of rapid images play. What's more, we often already know what's going to happen--how many movies or TV shows have you rewatched? We even suspend disbelief when we see the same person as a completely different character in another presentation. And yet we watch it anyway. We sit in a sedentary trance and become absorbed with pictures on a screen. It's sort of comical when you zoom out to the larger picture (no pun intended) and see it for what it is. What funny little monkeys we are. All around the surface of this floating sphere, there are billions of apes engrossed by a screen at any given moment.
Now, there's nothing wrong with the "telly." It's entertainment, and sometimes you just need to let the brain zone out for a bit. But it does serve as a mechanism for us to view our own behavior. How much time do we spend in that world versus our own? Are we enthralled with the fictitious characters in the viewing window, or the individuals surrounding us in our own lives? Besides, we don't know what's going to happen within our own adventure, this thing we call "life." We are all filmmakers in this medium, and we have the opportunity to create a grand epic.
A wary kangaroo peers back, January 2020
The events of this week make me think about time and our relationship with it all. The words of 2 prominent physicists now gone come to mind. A snippet from Carl Sagan's Pale Blue Dot, which I've written about before, expels some poignant wisdom for turbulent times like these in which a week feels like a year:
"...everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every "superstar," every "supreme leader," every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there--on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam. The Earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena."
After contemplating that truest of sentiments for a few minutes, I then remembered Stephen Hawking's short yet profound rationalization in A Brief History of Time:
"Space and time not only affect but also are affected by everything that happens in the universe."
While perhaps odd complementary quotes, their combined wisdom gave me hope. We are minuscule vessels of matter existing on an unfathomable scale, and yet...we matter. Our thoughts matter, our words matter, and our actions matter. The microscopic output we produce on this planet in turn plays a part in the entire workings of this reality we call the universe. If we can connect to this plain yet powerful truth, we can feel fulfilled in our place, our space, and our significance in this world. If we relinquish the concept of ownership, we can attune to the notion of contribution. We already change the nature of the universe through our being, no matter how small; certainly, we can change the world.
The dome of Saint Peter’s Basilica, Vatican City 2019
It's convenient that we have come to such a juncture in our nation's history in January; we are accustomed to allocating this time of year to new habit building. I would argue that the most important skill we can cultivate right now is that of critical thinking. Considering all of the factors in a given situation, and then in turn evaluating our own considerations, will prove vital in ensuring our world becomes a free, just, and equal place. I've listened to several pundits over the past 36 hours--like always, everyone has their take. But what is my take? How many millions of other people have been just like me the past day and half, consuming the news to stay informed so they can formulate an understanding of what happened? Are we constructing our own opinions of current events, or are we subconsciously stockpiling others' words and arguments? If we have seen one pattern over the past decade, it is technology's influence on our lives. Remember the first iPhone, how quaint it seems now? Do you ever drive anywhere without GPS anymore? How much time do you spend on social media, on consuming content? When's the last time you enjoyed an analog activity with friends? The pandemic, and the increasingly charged political climate, has exacerbated our dependence on technology. This century we've unwittingly experienced an acceleration of external reliance and unprecedented convenience. How much are we still actually thinking? If we want to save our world, we must consciously focus our attention back to what defines our species: sapience. If we can think critically, we can solve our problems. History has demonstrated our ingenuity knows almost no bound. And we are benefactors of that history, we have all the advantages of those standing on giants' shoulders. In a way, we must return to what makes us most human. We must see, we must think and consider...and then we must act. Seeing is reflecting, and thinking is winning.
A topi surveys the surrounding landscape from a small perch, 2019
Today was hard. There is much to process, and my emotions were difficult to control as I learned what happened. Politics aside, it could not be more clear that we have reached a reckoning point. Who do we want to be? We face the decision every day of our collective lives, but every once in a while comes a moment of history that provides perspective. There are billions of children on this planet right now--what kind of world will we leave them? The truth is, every single one of us plays a part in that mystery. Our collective actions create tomorrow. Each and every new day of life, we are presented with an opportunity to contribute to the world, to bring meaning to the universe. We determine our own existence. Who do we want to be?
Clouds of awe over a hillside on the island of South Georgia, 2019
I came across the movie An Inspector Calls tonight, based upon the play of the same name by J. B. Priestly, and I was stirred by Inspector Goole’s poignant speech at the end of the film. The words “we are not alone” are seared into my brain, because we do have a responsibility to each other. Until we understand this, we cannot solve anything else. Humankind has much to learn, and we must start by learning from each other. Only together can we change the world.
A secluded valley in the wildness of Tibet with a hell of a view, 2014
The longer I live and the more I experience, the greater significance I attribute to perspective. As I mature (it has to happen at some point right?) I become more empathetic to different viewpoints, because I've tried more of them on for myself. I see clearly not out at the world but at the lens with which I view it. My opinions have shifted over time, my consternation with other paradigms has subsided. So much of how we see the world is a result of what we have thus far been exposed to, and as you get older that becomes more plain. We can take advantage of this phenomenon by building bridges between attitudes, by synergizing our distinct considerations to form more profound understanding. The world is what we make of it, the result of the energy and action we put forth. It begins with our thoughts, these corporeal manifestations of the universe. What do we think?
The Deep Ellum area of Dallas Texas on a bright January afternoon
As I return to the Bay Area tonight, it will be interesting to see how quickly I fall back into comfortability with my old environment. Rural northeast Texas is different; the people, the setting, the way of life. However, I reminded myself throughout my visit here that it’s not that different. Is it as dissimilar to California life as Laos? Or Kenya or Bolivia? And really, are those places so far removed from a familiar reference point that a Californian couldn’t understand? The more of the world I see, the more fascinated I am, because it becomes clearer and clearer: we harbor thousands of unique cultures that provide their own beautiful inspiration for the joy that is life, and yet... we are all the same. We all want the same things, we just sometimes go about it in special ways. So long for now Texas, I’ll be back. Howdy California, I’ll be eager to adopt the lessons I’ve learned here, to add to my enjoyment and understanding of this wonderful life.
Down the street from the main square in Paris, Texas
Spending a day with a friend on their birthday.. what’s a better way to spend the 2nd day of the year? What’s a better way to spend any day? As we move through this new experience we’ve agreed to call 2021, let’s do so with love..
The Trail de Paris on the first day of a new adventure that is 2021
One-one always feels so fresh. It’s an opportunity for us to be better at whatever we want to be. It’s also something to be grateful for—another day, another year of life. There’s much work to be done. Let’s be better to ourselves, kinder and more considerate to each other, and make this a great year for humankind. Here’s to 2021 being a step forward for all of us individually, and together.
Roads lead to new beginnings, Paris Texas, 2020
It seems everyone is clamoring for the year to be over, something new, for some change, in 2020. I can’t say I’m much different, but I believe it’s important to reflect on the past 365 days every New Year’s. The year of 2020 has brought much hardship to many. But it’s also given each of us something: an opportunity to examine our lives, what’s important to us, and quite simply, how we’re livin’. Let us remember and treasure what this year has given, as we move forward to an even better 2021.
A lonely road by moonlight in Lamar County, Texas
We knew cases would get worse with the Christmas and New Years holidays, and they have. While trying to resist our penchant for overreaction, it’s difficult to not ask, “what happens from here?” Do people stay locked down, alone in their households, for 6 more months? Is it going to be 1.5 to 2 years in total that we live this way? Being in rural northeast Texas this week has highlighted how different daily coronavirus life is in countryside versus larger cities and suburbs. Near Paris, Texas there is space. Even without seeing people, one doesn’t feel as confined or restricted. Back home in my one bedroom apartment, the isolation is much more daunting. All of these questions and circumstances make for an interesting collective experience for our country as a whole. It’s easier to see why the coronavirus has served as a prime divide between liberal and conservative individuals. However, it’s clear that albeit in different ways, life is being affected everywhere in this country, no matter what color any given state associates itself with. People are sick here too, far away from the hotspot known as California. The sooner we recognize that we’re all in this together, the faster we can unite in eradicating this virus and building a more cohesive world for hermits and social butterflies alike.
Pondering walks in rural Texas are well spent
It’s always a weird in-between period this week, the juxtaposition of two important holidays in the United States. Christmas was always the most familial event growing up. New Years seemed more societal, about the turning of a page in the record book for our species. But what about in between? It can serve as a great space for introspection. Slow lazy minutes of nothing, interspersed with deep thought of where we’re going how to get there, and why. If we individually take the time to reflect, we can collectively effect big change. We can change the world.
The quiet, slow life of Paris, Texas
I was writing a blog post about the pace of life, how it can be good to experience both fast and slow, and how we adapt to the various speeds throughout the different stages of our existence. The truth is life adapts—it’s the hallmark of the nature of life—and our being uncomfortable has nothing to do with it. We can seek out the change of pace in life, or we can simply witness it. Regardless of the exactness of the acceleration, it becomes clear that time is merely a vehicle of experience.