It's Sunday afternoon, and I'm sitting on a patio chair outside my host family's house in a rural suburb of Paris. The sun is shining brightly: we're currently enjoying temperatures of around 65 degrees. Birds are singing, insects chirping, dogs barking, and an occasional breeze ruffles the leaves of the surrounding trees and bushes. And yet, when I think that yesterday I was on the beach in gorgeous Valencia, Spain enjoying even nicer weather, even this incredible February day in Paris seems just nice at best.
This weekend a group of us from Study Abroad took a trip to Valencia, Spain, a beautiful city on the Mediterranean coast. Forecasts for the past two weeks had predicted rainy but mild weather, and we had accepted that it might not be the sunshine we had hoped for. To our great pleasure, we were sorely mistaken.
The flight arrived late in the evening to clear skies and a beautiful moon. We were cautiously optimistic for some sunny skies the following day. Needless to say we were elated when we arose the following morning to cloudless skies and temperatures already in the sixties.
The day couldn't have been long enough. In my broken Spanish I negotiated the purchase of weekend metro passes, and we made our way to the beach. It was around 10:30 a.m. by the time of our arrival, and I took off straightaway on the Mediterranean hard pack. Something about running on the beach fulfills me.
My pale skin, bleached by the many months under long sleeves, insatiably soaked up the sun, and the sounds of Jack Johnson in accord with the breaking waves served as accompaniment. The fresh smell of sea salt infiltrated my sinuses, and my only regret was having trusted the weatherman enough to pack my umbrella and leave my sunglasses.
After my run, I couldn't resist the urge to dash into the cool Med for a quick dip. The water was cold but refreshing, and it only made the ambient air temperature feel all the warmer. I had to pinch myself as a reminder that yes, I was at the beach in February.
There's something to the beach that always relaxes me. Knowing what I do about myself, I've vowed on multiple occasions to live near the beach. I tend to stress out way to much about life. I take myself and life far too seriously, and something about the beach and the nice weather cuts through all the layers I wrap around most everything and forces me to relax. Is it not, then, important for me to live by the beach?
This is the inner struggle I've been facing for the past few years. Maybe this is just my pride speaking, but I feel that if I put my mind to it, I could be "successful" at many things in life. The trade-off is the quality of life associated with the career path. Some people might be cut out for being doctors. I think I am competent enough to learn the trade, but I'm not sure it's for me.
Fortunately, in society, the variety of interests is as wide as the variety of people. But again, knowing what I know about myself, why shouldn't I find a grad school and finally a job near the beach? Why should I put in the 150-hour work weeks? Is it even worth it? Isn't there more to life than money? I'm sure my opinion on all of these things will change as my circumstances change (when I have a family, when I'm seriously looking at grad schools), but what's wrong with living near the beach if I know it's good for me?
This might seem intuitive to all my friends from California and Hawaii, but I never grew up near a nice beach. Beach days weren't a significant part of my childhood. And yet, every time I'm on a nice sandy beach, there's a new me, a more relaxed me, one where all the troubles in the world just seem to go away, even if just temporarily.
Those who know me as well as I know myself know this about me: there are two personalities inside me, each struggling for control. One side is the responsible, motivated, organized, hard-working Mike. This is the dog I've been feeding almost exclusively for the past 5 years.
The other dog, who ironically seems to be much more productive and efficient with his feed, is the side of me that could live in a shack on the beach for the rest of his life just because it's nice out, the waves are good, the sun is warm, and life is simple. This is the side that plays the guitar, that is fun-loving, spontaneous, and much more relaxed and laid-back (some of you might think of that term as the last one in the world that describes me, and in the context of the past 5 years, I can understand why).
And yet, even when I'm at the beach, I still feel like there's something more I could be doing. What did I do to deserve to be at the beach? Couldn't I be doing something more productive?
The answer I keep coming back to is "no." R&R is an essential part of my productivity. Without it, I'd never be able to work like I do (or at least should;-).
I guess when it comes down to it, then, I could work long weeks, provided I had an occasional out. Just two days away from the big city made a world of difference. I'm already planning my next beach trip.
Now I'd be interested to hear what you think. Should I feel guilty when I'm at the beach? How do you feel when you take some time for yourself? Is it egocentric? Am I wrong, knowing myself, to want to live near a beach? Do you sometimes feel an a struggle between your two halves?
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Sunday, February 10, 2008
On Paris, time, and materialism
Wow!
I can't believe how the time goes by. I just realized it's been two and a half weeks since I last wrote, almost three. Much has happened.
First of all, I'm well established out in our little country home here. I am very glad I don't live in the city. I love Paris, don't get me wrong. But just spending the day there is exhausting. It's a very fast-paced life style. I enjoy the sensation of constant motion, but it's nice to come home to a quaint setting at the end of the day for a nice run out in the country.
My classes are wonderful. I only have four of them, which is a blessing, because I also teach four classes. One of the classes never meets. It consists of self-guided walking tours around Paris, and I think it's my favorite class. It is by far the most time consuming, but it's a great way to spend my time. Despite being as busy as ever with school and work, I somehow have more time to do what I want. I'm not quite sure how that works, but it's nice.
I think when I'm in Provo I make my life much busier than it needs to be, or at the very least, I have the impression that my life is busier than it is. I don't know if this is true for the rest of you, but I think it's the way the administration would have it be. Provo is so full of so many "good" things. That's the first time I've ever put "good" in quotes (and there's the second) when referring to the bustle of Mormon activities in Provo, because up until this point I was convinced that's what they were. I'm not so sure any more.
The very first Sunday at Church when my family first moved to Provo in 1992--and I still remember this--someone in our ward said something I will never forget. He said that we often have the impression that all is well in Zion when we're living in Utah, especially in Happy Valley. He said he felt people were largely doing what they should be and trying to do what is right. Satan wasn't going to get us on the big things, he was convinced, but he said that if he could just keep us busy with things we thought were important, he'd have us.
As an eight-year-old, this was a point of view I had never before considered. I had lived in Virginia my whole life where most people were of faiths other than my own. In terms of the quantity of Mormon activities to be involved in, I felt there was a good balance. As a family we were active in our faith, and I grew up with friends and activities both inside and outside the Church. The idea this brother was proposing, that we could have to much Church in our lives, had never entered my mind.
I'm still not sure how I feel about it. Is it possible to have too much Church in our lives? Yes. Too much spirituality? Maybe. I suppose it becomes a semantic argument of how we interpret the word spirituality. I think always keeping a level head involves keeping my principles in mind, which are largely motivated by my spirituality and my inner desire to live a life in line with my precepts, whatever they might be. This is neither the time nor the place to enumerate them, but I think you get the point.
But even my critique of Paris brings me back to Provo: sometimes I find myself more exhausted at the end of a day of trying to do everything I feel is expected of me in Provo than I ever would at the end of a day in Paris. Maybe I just need to get away from Provo a little more, I don't know.
But all this brings us to an interesting point: one of the biggest struggles I face personally is determining what is important in my life. It's simple in theory, but I've struggled applying it.
The more free time I've referred to comes in a variety of settings. One of them is the commute to and from Paris. It's a little over an hour each way by the time you count the bus and the train, so I've had some more time to read and think, but mostly just to think. I've been trying to determine what's important to me in life, but I haven't come to any firm conclusions. I get the impression that whatever I will decide, whether it's here in Paris or at some later point, will be an important key to happiness later in life.
"The pursuit of happiness," as Thomas Jefferson coined it, is a top priority for many, it seems, but who really knows how to go about pursuing it? Besides, what would be happiness for me might not be happiness for my neighbor, so shouldn't we both be going about it in different ways? Who am I to tell anyone how to be happy? I'm convinced there are certain things which are applicable to everyone, but that's another conversation.
Happiness to me is boiling down to managing expectations. That doesn't mean life isn't what it could be or ought to be, it just means I need to pull my head out of the clouds a little more often. As a child, I had unrealistic expectations. I don't think there's anything my mother could have done to live up to what I expected my birthday to be. Parties, candles, friends, gifts, you name it--I needed it all. I've grown out of that now. Sometimes I tell people when my birthday is approaching, and I might even invite some friends over. I'm much happier talking to my family than opening a present, though. There's so much more to life than material possessions and the pursuit of accumulating them. I get much more satisfaction out of going for a run or spending some time with a friend.
And so it's in this spirit of self-evaluation that I lived an event today that made me think about an attitude I have towards material possessions. I feel blessed, and I like to share with others. Whether it's giving someone a ride (or even lending my car), lending someone my tux, or just sharing what I have, I don't see a reason not to share something I'm not using at the time. What good does it do to have stuff sitting around when someone could be using it? I've always felt a feeling of satisfaction from sharing.
Sharing had always served me well, until recently. Some things I've lent out recently never made it back. Even some expensive things. Other things I've lent out have come back in noticeably worse shape than when I lent them.
All this is background for something that happened today at Church. A brother in front of me was struggling to keep his young son quiet during Sacrament Meeting. Nothing out of the ordinary, just the usual wiggles. He turned around and asked the people seated in our row if someone had a pen. I'm down to my last one, as I have lent out the others (some of which never made it back), and I was a little hesitant to give him my pen. I didn't know what he or his son was going to do with it, and the thought of having to find another pen somewhere was not appealing.
And that's when it hit me: does it really matter? What if his son eats the pen and I never see it again? It's a pen! A ten-cent piece of plastic. It doesn't matter. But that got me thinking: what about anything else I own. If someone else breaks it, loses it, damages it, does that matter either? Why do we value the things we do? Because they cost money? Shouldn't we be placing value on what's really important? Material possessions can be replaced. People cannot.
My justification for my hesitation is this. I suppose that in our material possessions, at least those acquired through our work, is invested a little piece of us. Time is another thing we can never get back. If I work for 30 years to pay for a house, there's a part of me in it. I have worked to pay for it. How much harder it is to leave behind!
A ten-cent pen shouldn't bother me, but am I right to be a little more hesitant with more expensive material possessions? Again, why do I value them, and what is it I actually value?
Just some food for thought. I'd be interested to hear what you have to say.
I can't believe how the time goes by. I just realized it's been two and a half weeks since I last wrote, almost three. Much has happened.
First of all, I'm well established out in our little country home here. I am very glad I don't live in the city. I love Paris, don't get me wrong. But just spending the day there is exhausting. It's a very fast-paced life style. I enjoy the sensation of constant motion, but it's nice to come home to a quaint setting at the end of the day for a nice run out in the country.
My classes are wonderful. I only have four of them, which is a blessing, because I also teach four classes. One of the classes never meets. It consists of self-guided walking tours around Paris, and I think it's my favorite class. It is by far the most time consuming, but it's a great way to spend my time. Despite being as busy as ever with school and work, I somehow have more time to do what I want. I'm not quite sure how that works, but it's nice.
I think when I'm in Provo I make my life much busier than it needs to be, or at the very least, I have the impression that my life is busier than it is. I don't know if this is true for the rest of you, but I think it's the way the administration would have it be. Provo is so full of so many "good" things. That's the first time I've ever put "good" in quotes (and there's the second) when referring to the bustle of Mormon activities in Provo, because up until this point I was convinced that's what they were. I'm not so sure any more.
The very first Sunday at Church when my family first moved to Provo in 1992--and I still remember this--someone in our ward said something I will never forget. He said that we often have the impression that all is well in Zion when we're living in Utah, especially in Happy Valley. He said he felt people were largely doing what they should be and trying to do what is right. Satan wasn't going to get us on the big things, he was convinced, but he said that if he could just keep us busy with things we thought were important, he'd have us.
As an eight-year-old, this was a point of view I had never before considered. I had lived in Virginia my whole life where most people were of faiths other than my own. In terms of the quantity of Mormon activities to be involved in, I felt there was a good balance. As a family we were active in our faith, and I grew up with friends and activities both inside and outside the Church. The idea this brother was proposing, that we could have to much Church in our lives, had never entered my mind.
I'm still not sure how I feel about it. Is it possible to have too much Church in our lives? Yes. Too much spirituality? Maybe. I suppose it becomes a semantic argument of how we interpret the word spirituality. I think always keeping a level head involves keeping my principles in mind, which are largely motivated by my spirituality and my inner desire to live a life in line with my precepts, whatever they might be. This is neither the time nor the place to enumerate them, but I think you get the point.
But even my critique of Paris brings me back to Provo: sometimes I find myself more exhausted at the end of a day of trying to do everything I feel is expected of me in Provo than I ever would at the end of a day in Paris. Maybe I just need to get away from Provo a little more, I don't know.
But all this brings us to an interesting point: one of the biggest struggles I face personally is determining what is important in my life. It's simple in theory, but I've struggled applying it.
The more free time I've referred to comes in a variety of settings. One of them is the commute to and from Paris. It's a little over an hour each way by the time you count the bus and the train, so I've had some more time to read and think, but mostly just to think. I've been trying to determine what's important to me in life, but I haven't come to any firm conclusions. I get the impression that whatever I will decide, whether it's here in Paris or at some later point, will be an important key to happiness later in life.
"The pursuit of happiness," as Thomas Jefferson coined it, is a top priority for many, it seems, but who really knows how to go about pursuing it? Besides, what would be happiness for me might not be happiness for my neighbor, so shouldn't we both be going about it in different ways? Who am I to tell anyone how to be happy? I'm convinced there are certain things which are applicable to everyone, but that's another conversation.
Happiness to me is boiling down to managing expectations. That doesn't mean life isn't what it could be or ought to be, it just means I need to pull my head out of the clouds a little more often. As a child, I had unrealistic expectations. I don't think there's anything my mother could have done to live up to what I expected my birthday to be. Parties, candles, friends, gifts, you name it--I needed it all. I've grown out of that now. Sometimes I tell people when my birthday is approaching, and I might even invite some friends over. I'm much happier talking to my family than opening a present, though. There's so much more to life than material possessions and the pursuit of accumulating them. I get much more satisfaction out of going for a run or spending some time with a friend.
And so it's in this spirit of self-evaluation that I lived an event today that made me think about an attitude I have towards material possessions. I feel blessed, and I like to share with others. Whether it's giving someone a ride (or even lending my car), lending someone my tux, or just sharing what I have, I don't see a reason not to share something I'm not using at the time. What good does it do to have stuff sitting around when someone could be using it? I've always felt a feeling of satisfaction from sharing.
Sharing had always served me well, until recently. Some things I've lent out recently never made it back. Even some expensive things. Other things I've lent out have come back in noticeably worse shape than when I lent them.
All this is background for something that happened today at Church. A brother in front of me was struggling to keep his young son quiet during Sacrament Meeting. Nothing out of the ordinary, just the usual wiggles. He turned around and asked the people seated in our row if someone had a pen. I'm down to my last one, as I have lent out the others (some of which never made it back), and I was a little hesitant to give him my pen. I didn't know what he or his son was going to do with it, and the thought of having to find another pen somewhere was not appealing.
And that's when it hit me: does it really matter? What if his son eats the pen and I never see it again? It's a pen! A ten-cent piece of plastic. It doesn't matter. But that got me thinking: what about anything else I own. If someone else breaks it, loses it, damages it, does that matter either? Why do we value the things we do? Because they cost money? Shouldn't we be placing value on what's really important? Material possessions can be replaced. People cannot.
My justification for my hesitation is this. I suppose that in our material possessions, at least those acquired through our work, is invested a little piece of us. Time is another thing we can never get back. If I work for 30 years to pay for a house, there's a part of me in it. I have worked to pay for it. How much harder it is to leave behind!
A ten-cent pen shouldn't bother me, but am I right to be a little more hesitant with more expensive material possessions? Again, why do I value them, and what is it I actually value?
Just some food for thought. I'd be interested to hear what you have to say.
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Haste: the American tourist's enemy
What a fantastic fortnight I've had! If only the hastiness of our peregrinations hadn't eliminated the opportunities to see some really great things.
We've been traveling around France for the past week as a group, and I traveled around France by myself for the week before, and there was a big difference in the two weeks.
The way I see it, there are two kinds of tourism, both of which have value and, consequently, both of which I'd recommend, for different reasons.
First, there's the kind we might think of when we think of tourism. See as many places as possible in the shortest amount of time possible. This has some value to provide an overview of what a country, state, region, continent has to offer. It is often while we are in this tourist mode that we visit museums, buildings, monuments, art, beaches, and many other things.
But then there's the kind of tourism I'd really recommend, which doesn't fit the term tourism as well. What I mean by this other kind is somewhat more closely related to life as usual. Experience another country, don't just visit it. In our typical American haste we often miss some of the sweetest experiences other cultures have to offer when we visit. Take the train people take to work every day. Understand why people dress they way they do. Read the paper of the country you're visiting. Where do the locals eat? What do they eat? Have you figured that out yet, or are you just visiting the places the locals set up shop to feed/take advantage of the tourists?
My most rewarding experiences traveling have undoubtedly been those when I have forgotten about the all things I need to see and places I need to go and have immersed myself in the culture I'm visiting. My internship in Lyon, where I worked under a French boss, lived with a French family, and made French friends, is an entirely different experience from the three times I have visited France with large groups of Americans.
Experience the culture, don't just pass through it.
We've been traveling around France for the past week as a group, and I traveled around France by myself for the week before, and there was a big difference in the two weeks.
The way I see it, there are two kinds of tourism, both of which have value and, consequently, both of which I'd recommend, for different reasons.
First, there's the kind we might think of when we think of tourism. See as many places as possible in the shortest amount of time possible. This has some value to provide an overview of what a country, state, region, continent has to offer. It is often while we are in this tourist mode that we visit museums, buildings, monuments, art, beaches, and many other things.
But then there's the kind of tourism I'd really recommend, which doesn't fit the term tourism as well. What I mean by this other kind is somewhat more closely related to life as usual. Experience another country, don't just visit it. In our typical American haste we often miss some of the sweetest experiences other cultures have to offer when we visit. Take the train people take to work every day. Understand why people dress they way they do. Read the paper of the country you're visiting. Where do the locals eat? What do they eat? Have you figured that out yet, or are you just visiting the places the locals set up shop to feed/take advantage of the tourists?
My most rewarding experiences traveling have undoubtedly been those when I have forgotten about the all things I need to see and places I need to go and have immersed myself in the culture I'm visiting. My internship in Lyon, where I worked under a French boss, lived with a French family, and made French friends, is an entirely different experience from the three times I have visited France with large groups of Americans.
Experience the culture, don't just pass through it.
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