Hope

We all create our own good luck

I am a lucky man: I was driving my motocha the other day and somewhat preoccupied with different thoughts. Whatever “my frame of mind,” I was not paying the detailed attention that the driving in Taiwan requires. “Out of the corner of my eye,” I saw a man pulling into the traffic without analyzing the ongoing flow of other vehicles or scrutinizing anything around him for that matter. He was driving like a “bull in a china shop,” with no attention paid to any driver or pedestrian. I have witnessed this behavior on more than one occasion and it always quite shocks me. Is it because he doesn’t care, or he thinks that he is alone, or is it that his “world” does not include the other, at least in the context of driving? I believe that it must be the latter: he does not really include anyone else in his perceptual field — amazing! The stunning amount of minor traffic accidents in this country must be indicative of this perceptual flaw. This will be altered over time, however. When the automobile was first introduced in the fountainhead of the automobile, Detroit, the level of accidents was extremely high. This was ameliorated by changing driving habits and police enforcement:

“The transition from the horse age to the motorized age would prove to be very dangerous. At first speeding vehicles were not big problems, with only a few of them on Detroit streets, but the situation grew serious quickly.

As early as 1908, auto accidents in Detroit were recognized as a menacing problem: In two months that summer, 31 people were killed in car crashes and so many were injured it went unrecorded. Soon thousands of cars jammed Detroit streets, driven by inexperienced drivers. The city would lead the nation in managing this chaotic, enormous problem. Detroit was the first city to use stop signs, lane markings, one-way streets and traffic signals. Detroit was among the first to have a police squad dedicated to traffic control, and second to New York City in creating a judicial court for traffic violations. The city drew national attention for using a tennis court line painting device to mark pedestrian crossing areas, safety zones, and parking spaces.

In many ways, Detroit was the first city to transform the streets and the minds of people from the age of horses to the new, fast-paced age of motor vehicles, but it was a battle that took decades to win. In the first decade of the 20th century, there were no stop signs, warning signs, traffic lights, traffic cops, driver’s education, lane lines, street lighting, brake lights, driver’s licenses or posted speed limits. Our current method of making a left turn was not known, and drinking-and-driving was not considered a serious crime.” (1)

Now to our driver: he narrowly missed hitting me. I responded with the requisite audio-thrust of my scooter horn (really?), which was not acknowledged, and he sped on his way as did I. This was “a close one,” nonetheless, and I stopped to ponder my good fortune: no trip in a white car with red crosses, no missed conversations with students and, perhaps more importantly, the opportunity to continue my mission. God was giving me another chance at life. My luck had held, as the saying goes: I was to continue. You must have remarked to yourself and observed somewhat the same idea: I have a disproportionate amount of good fortune! If you believe that there is a finite amount of positive energy in the universe, you realize that you must have more than many, many others: unfair, but the reality of the cosmos. The question then becomes: what do I do with my over-abundance of serendipity. The answer lies in realizing that you have been given a precious gift. Just by standing next to you others will feel your vibe, your power. Make good use of this: help others, protect others, encourage others. If we all realize that life is this incredible gift and how lucky I am to have some of it, I can change the world. If you throw a single rock into a stationary pond of water, the ripples begin and flow outward: be that rock. The stoic philosopher and scribe, Seneca, (2) leaves us with a thought: Luck is a matter of preparation meeting opportunity.

A closing thought: I remark that each and every day is special. There are days, of course, that it does not appear so: it is dreary, cold and wet, yet again. It is on mornings like these that I attempt to see if my belief is really true: I control my own reality – my own moods. The other day I had an opportunity to see if this was true. I awoke feeling overwhelmed: so much to do and, seemingly, so little time. I felt sad and somewhat hopeless. Then I realized: “Wait a moment! I don’t have time for this emotion today. I have too many people to talk to. They deserve a happy and committed educator, not a misanthropic one.” I put this thought in my mind: over the next half an hour or so my emotions changed and I eventually felt positive and contented. Was this just the change of the day or had I actually altered my mood? I would like to believe that I do have at least some control over my emotions. What do you think?

To sum up: This week we spoke about luck. How much do we naturally have and how do we get more. We also discussed driving and the automobile.

A philosophical question: Why are some forms of humor true across all cultures? I think the cartoon, Herman, is a good example:(3)

Just for fun – Bruce Springsteen, Growing Up

This week, on your thoughtful run, please admire the beautiful world we live in.

Every day look for something magical and beautiful.

Quote: We increase our quotient of luck each time we give kindness to other beings: both human and animal.

Footnotes:

1)  1900-1930: The years of driving dangerously

2)  Seneca the Younger

3)  Herman cartoon: blind date

Knowledge

Embellishment and the failure of language

You know: I was born in a working-class family in an industrial village in western Canada. Like virtually all families of my generation, we were imbued with the deep-seated belief that we could make our lives better. This meant, in the main, economic improvement: but it also meant spiritual and intellectual growth, as well. There was a lot of emphasis placed on social decorum (I still feel compelled to stand up when a lady or an elderly person enters the room) and on the command of language; profanity, and its handmaiden verbal insults were considered failures of speech and successes of ignorance. I think that this is still true. We welcome the great orators that stir our hearts and inspire us to even greater heights. With the Internet and the general “leveling” of moral education, (1) however, there is increasingly a desire to find a new standard, a new caliber, and that benchmark is moving closer to the bottom than it is to the top.

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Knowledge

What is an education?

I teach a lot of young people. They are mostly decent, honest and hardworking adolescents — their eyes brimming with inquisitiveness. What is behind the facade, however, if I were to be really honest with myself, is boredom. In their hands they possess the universe — the Internet: they are God controlling infinity. What can I truly say to them that sparks the intellectual curiosity that was normal in the “seekers” of my generation? I am no Platonist (1) but I do draw a distinction between people who accept what is and those few who contemplate what could be. I find that one of the few things that have any relevance at all is just telling the truth: the truth about you, a real person – albeit aging. They have little to no time for the pontificators or the embellishers. They want the raw facts. What was it like in the “old days?” (in what many see as the Jurassic Period, (2) with small dinosaurs still running around).

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Fear

Perception: what does this really mean?

I am learning to ski: yes it is true. I was born in Canada and all Canadians can ski: right? If I tell this to people they stare at me totally dumbfounded. “How is that possible that you can’t ski: were you not born in a snowstorm?” is the standard question. Well, where I grew up there was no snow. “No snow!” is the incredulous response. These questions are always slightly tinged with the belief that you are either outright lying or you have been removed from the society for a prolonged period of time – prison, for example. The truth is that in my hometown on the west coast of Vancouver Island (1) there was rain, and lots of it – wet and cold winters – but virtually no snow. The other day, after finishing another brutal training session (When I say brutal: the body looks like it has been lucky to extract itself from the ring after losing ten rounds), I got in a taxi to return home. The taxi had four active screens playing different images, advertisings or programs. This was in tandem with the outside traffic whizzing by. “Wow,” I thought to myself. “This is what sensory overload (2) really is.” Now, I am old or experienced enough to allay my budding panic. I can return to my domicile, take a shower, get dressed and do my yoga or go for a walk in the park – or both. I know how to regulate the exterior stimuli that assail the self. I do not intend to stimulate or pacify my fears with any external substance to help the body and mind calm down. This, however, is not the case with millions upon millions of people. The old use mostly alcohol or drugs and the young social media. In either case, it is an escape from self-development: the inquiry that each individual must take to mature and improve. We are simply not developing our critical thinking skills because, like any athlete, the mind needs to be trained. Raw, unfiltered data of any sort is just that: raw unfiltered material. It is information that can make no sense to the mind. I recently listened to a song that was littered with profanities. I remarked that this is normal when you lack the vocabulary to adequately express yourself. You must resort to something succinct and expressive: “That shit’s broken.” Violence is the same: when I cannot explain what I mean (this along with my rising frustration and anger), I lash out at you physically.

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Knowledge

How do we learn to truly think?

This week, I was troubled by an image that continues to plague me. It shows a young woman doing a nonsensical task and it touches on the question of why she could not see it for what it was? Not far from our house is a dealership that sells expensive and exotic cars. The structure is new, having only been completed last year. It has the latest technological creations: glass walls that extend into the stratosphere, an overly-large revolving sign, a dynamically-moving electrified screen that showcases the latest vehicles and, most importantly, modern landscaping. The grounds are the most interesting because, though somewhat limited, they include an in-ground sprinkler system. The water system is remarkable due to the fact that it only worked for a day before it was crushed by a salesman moving a car. Water and its attendant substance, mud, do not mix on the tire wells (1) of pricey vehicles — necessity thus forced a repair. This was done, not by digging up the damaged water pipe but by tiling and concreting the offending area. We all know that water is ubiquitous and soon the puddles had returned. The work had been completed, however, and the job was left just like that, in an inferior state. This necessitates the continual cleaning of the surface area to dissuade the encroaching boue (2) from smudging the tires and clothing of the “well-heeled” clientele. Now for the image: The other day, I passed by the abovementioned building on my way to work. There was a young woman feverishly sweeping leaves on the moist escarpment. As she was cleaning, her broom touched the plashes spreading a thin layer of dirt everywhere. A fool could see what was going on. Why didn’t she stop? The answer: she had been told to clean the outside of the structure. She had simply not questioned that the fundamental premise was flawed. The water continued to leak making it impossible to actually cleanse the area.

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The Journey

Life: how do we savor its bouquet?

I find that one of the greatest conundrums that an educator faces is to how to reconcile the joyous and boisterous faces that you see on your students in a high school classroom with the desultory and seemingly embittered twenty-something-year-olds that sit on their scooters at a stop light or stand listlessly scrolling on their cell phones virtually everywhere else. The reason, “in a nutshell”: unrequited angst. They have not been given the tools to deal with an increasingly complex “universe” — their universe. When I have been told all my life that these are the rules of “the game of life” and I work diligently and play the contest well and now this; I am allowed to be shocked and resentful, am I not? To stumble into a job interview that goes positively, only to receive a trifling bit of money and a laconic and nasty boss is, to say the last, earth-shattering. The look on their faces has already been painted by Van Gogh (1853-1890) in the Potato Eaters. (1)

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Beauty

Wake up and smell the roses.

As I left the office the other day, I chanced upon a little girl wearing a ballet tutu: she was holding tenaciously to the hand of a man. It was a scene right out Degas’ sculpture Little Dancer of Fourteen Years.(1) What was to be remarked on, unfortunately, was the demeanor of her father (I assume the man was her father). He had a blank, vacuous expression that could only be called disinterested to the point of disdain. The little girl seemed not to notice and bounced along in happy abandon as children seem compelled to do. “What was wrong here?” I asked myself. It was obvious that the man had missed the moment. We are afforded a limited amount of intimate occurrences in life and this individual had surely bypassed one of them: such a pity, such a tragic waste! I wanted to run up to the man and say, “Look! Look!” I didn’t, being reserved and polite. This whole scene led me to reflect on our “wakefulness.” Are we alive or are we just automata floating through temporal space waiting to be expunged. My observations would conclude less of the former and more of the latter. The answer most pundits believe is related to the Internet and more specifically social media. (2) We are slowly being “dummy downed.”(3)

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Work

Your own little piece of magic: do you deserve it?

I am sure you can identify with this: it comes upon you quite unexpectedly. You can be walking or talking or engaged in some inane activity. It builds softly in the back of your mind, slowly muscling itself to the forefront of your consciousness. It is initially as extremely confusing as it is remarkably rare. And then, there it is – joy: unsolicited, stunning and exciting – joy! You are filled with gratitude to just be alive. But is this an isolated quality only experienced by a lucky few? 

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Knowledge

Where do the lessons of life reside?

I am always reminded that often the real lessons of life lie in chance encounters or in simple situations. These occurrences present golden nuggets of wisdom that are dangled before our eyes. They must simply be grasped. We sadly often miss them, or at least I do. The great philosophers and sages do have eminent parables to relate and clever treatises to promulgate. The thoughts of the individual “just getting through life” are often as profound, however. I was on a series of public buses in a recent trip and, as always, I took the opportunity to speak to the bus drivers. I find them to be a fascinating group of individuals because they have “none-stop” social interaction. They are more occupied, from a work-time related perspective, than any profession I can think of with perhaps the exception of the doctor, dentist or teacher. They come in all shapes and sizes, ethnicities and are equally balanced between men and women. I think they are extremists, as well. They either hate people or love all of humanity, including the grubby, the unwashed and the downright rude. On my sojourn, I had two interesting conversations: “So, do you enjoy driving?” I inquired. “What! You mean for work?” was the riposte. “Yes,” I acknowledged, “for work.” “I hate work. Anyone who thought up this concept of work is full of b*** s***.” Now that is an “eye opener” at 6:00 in the morning, especially when on your way to said work, I am sure. “What if you enjoyed your work,” I probed. “Then, it wouldn’t be work, would it?” the “el stupido” being silently uttered with the eyes.

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Knowledge

Real Food: can you taste it?

I remember my friend’s family farm in Poland, 40 or so years ago. It was very typical of a 19h century farmstead (Poland went into societal shock in 1939 and didn’t really begin to recover until the 1990s, it only became free from Soviet suzerainty in 1989). I was there in the late 1970s, so I was right in the middle of a “time warp.” The things I most remember about the farm were the smells and the mud. The mud was truly ubiquitous: it was on my shoes, on my clothes; you could feel the tiny granules of mud’s byproduct, dust, on your skin and even in your mouth.

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To be free, spiritually, emotionally and financially is your birthright.