This weekend there was a YSA Easter Conference in Paris, France that I was privileged to attend. While in attendance, I had the opportunity to see some old friends. I've been thinking lately about how much work it is to keep in touch, and how it requires active participation by both parties. In today's world, where travel has become so common, we meet a lot of new people in our lives. My life has certainly been no exception. My life has crossed paths with many others.
As a result, I've been thinking a lot about what this word "friend" means, but more importantly about our relationships with others in general. Those of you who know me well are probably already familiar with the introduction I'm about to give on this subject, but I hope you'll humor its repetition in setting the discussion.
My first semester at college was one full of new experiences. I always love a fresh start, of which I had my fair share growing up (I've lived in about 20 or 25 different places, I stopped counting a while ago). As much as I love my friends, I must admit I love the opportunity to redefine myself, to start from scratch. When you live in the same place for too long, you get to know people and they get to know you. When I was younger and even more foolish than I am now (if you can imagine that), I sometimes said and did things that reflected a very different person from who I am. I realize I'm still guilty of this to some extent, but I hope it's a lesser one.
Coming to BYU was just one of these experiences. I was thrown into a setting where I knew no one and no one knew me for all intents and purposes, and I liked that. I arrived several days after everyone else, but everyone was very kind in welcoming me to the apartment complex, perhaps due at least in part to our common Mormon background. The Church has a way of opening us towards others.
I was only at school for one semester before my mission (which was, incidentally, another one of these "fresh starts" I love so much). A few weeks into the semester, as I was walking to campus from our apartment buildings, a girl from my Ward who was walking with us made a comment to the effect of: "You know, I'm glad I have great friends like you guys" to a group of my friends and me. I wasn't quite sure how to take this comment. I remember my response though, and it still holds true. "Are we really friends?" I asked myself. Then I said to her, "You know, as much as I like you and respect you, I don't know that we're friends. I've only known you for a few weeks, we don't really do THAT much together, and my guess is that after this semester, we will fall out of contact and lose touch. I'm not really sure I can call you a friend. An acquaintance, perhaps, but a friend?"
This response shocked the girl and at least startled my friends. I suppose that wasn't the politically correct way to answer that question, but I'm not sure I'd rescind my response today if given the chance. A real friend is someone who'll tell me straight up what he thinks. A friend is someone I can trust. Someone I'll be in touch with in 5, 10, or 15 years, someone about whose well-being I'm sincerely concerned, someone who drops me a line if it's been a while. I could go on, but I think you get where I'm going with this.
The word is of Germanic origin meaning "to love." I suppose we should love everyone in a general sense, as the parable of the Good Samaritan teaches, but I must admit I'm more concerned about my family and my real friends than someone I've only known for a few weeks. Call me self-centered, but that's the reality.
Some might argue this is a battle of semantics. Some might say there's a difference between a friend and a close friend, for example, or a best friend. I suppose most of my arguments could be reduced to semantics, but maybe that's just because my course of study has made me keenly aware of the bastardization of English and language and general. Words don't mean what they used to. Some might argue this is just the inevitable evolution of language, but isn't there something more at stake here? How do I convey the meaning of what I consider a "friend?" Must I resort to qualifying my friends, or is our language becoming so poor as to no longer contain the simple purities of yore? It is said that language perfectly (or nearly perfectly) meets the needs and the culture of its native speakers. For example, as a native speaker of American English, the language should contain the words to express the meaning of the point I'm trying to get across, based on the culture in which I currently live. This scares me even more. Have we removed from our culture the true meaning of friend?
An express example comes quickly to my mind: facebook. Lest you think me a hypocrite, I must confess my appreciation for facebook and all it does. I am a strong believer that facebook is one of the technologies that allows me to keep in touch with my real friends more readily than I might otherwise. It's quite possibly the easiest way for me to check up on others and maintain relationships that might otherwise fall by the wayside. This said, I still think facebook is at least partly responsible for the degradation of the word "friend." On facebook, we become "friends" with people, some of whom we've never met, some of whom we'll never meet in person. We look at the profiles of our friends' friends, and then their friends, and we see we have a few things in common. Without a second thought, we add them as "friends." I'm not going to argue it's impossible to become friends with someone I've never met in real life before, but I will certainly contend it impedes the natural course of events. Perhaps the language, along with the culture, is changing. An argument on what culture means and where that word comes from is another discussion.
And so I've thought about what makes a friend a friend for me. A friend is someone I could call at any time of the day or night if I needed help. Try this test: if you were to call someone you know in the middle of the night because you needed him or her to buy you a plane ticket home for you and put it on his or her credit card, would he or she do it? What about if your grandmother just died and you needed someone to talk to, would you be comfortable letting this person see you as vulnerable? needy? What about if you just made a big mistake and you need some advice, or you aren't sure how to handle a certain situation, could you talk to this person? Moreover, is the person happy to talk to you and honestly concerned about your worry? Is he or she willing to share his or her time willingly to help you, or is the fact that you're calling in the middle of the night really bothersome? Or when you're at work? Or at home? Hopefully, we're good friends that would only make such calls in real emergencies. Hopefully we're making more deposits than withdrawals on such accounts.
When I think about all the people I know (outside my immediate family), I can count on a hand (or two if I were really in a pinch) the people I'd be comfortable bothering in the given circumstances. Maybe I'm just unpopular, but I think it's probably the same for you if you think about it. Putting the people in our lives to these tests might reveal that those closest to you, including your family and those you consider your best friends, aren't really friends at all, at least not in the way we're defining the word.
This is just one test. I could go through more, but I think you get the idea. See if you can come up with your own test.
I hope I haven't offended anyone who considers me a friend. I am fortunate to be surrounded by so many good people. Please know my argument is largely semantic, but also think about who your true friends are. I'd like to think I'm the kind of person who'd be willing to help out more than just a handful of people in a pinch, but that isn't what I'm getting at here. I imagine most of us would be willing to help out a much larger group of people in need than a mere handful. But that isn't what I'm getting at. Whom would you be comfortable calling?
This is just one of a few topics I've been thinking about, but I'm out of time for now.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Monday, March 3, 2008
Use it or lose it
Another splendid Sunday afternoon has left me thinking: why live anywhere the spring hasn’t come by the 1st of March? For that matter, why have a winter at all to necessitate the coming of a spring?
I flirted with the idea of a semester at BYU Hawaii. I don’t know if it’s in the cards for me, but I’d love to make it happen if I could. Even a term would be nice.
I only made it as far south as Lyon this weekend, but that was enough to get temperatures well into the 60s this afternoon. The sunshine in le Parc de la tête d’or (Golden-head Park), along with its fine wildlife collection, made for the perfect setting for a Sunday afternoon stroll. The real kicker, however, was the chance to see all my friends in Lyon from a couple of years ago.
My host brother, David, is leaving on a mission to New York next week. He went to the temple last week for the first time, and I can’t tell you how happy I am to see him ready to depart. He’s grown a lot since I knew him 2 years ago, and I can already see what a growing experience his mission will be for him.
Something struck me today in Sacrament Meeting. Some of you are familiar with the quote from President Monson: “That which we persist in doing becomes easier to do: not that the nature of the task has changed, but that our ability to do has increased” (paraphrased). Today I began thinking about the opposite of that statement. It seems intuitive, but I don’t know that we always internalize it that way. Maybe those purer realists among us get this better than I do. I’m not just talking about getting rusty at a talent, I’m talking intellectually as well.
I was recently informed that the job I had hoped on having this summer was no longer available. Hence, I’m trying to line up work for when I get back to BYU in a couple months. I’ve considered going back to EFY and the MTC (two of my favorite jobs ever), but I’m not sure they’d be as great the second time around. It’s hard to say. I’m sure I’d love the MTC, but I’m not sure they’d take me back. By time I’d start working again, it will have be more than 3 years since I got home. And when I think about it, I’m not sure I’m up to it anymore. It’s been over six months since I left the MTC, and I wonder how good my first lesson skills are. I started wondering how well I still know the Scriptures, and I realized I don’t. It leaves you quickly.
The same thing is happening to me musically. This year, I didn’t sing in the ward choir. I haven’t been using my music theory as much as I used to, even though I’m writing more music. Weird. And I haven’t sung in a quartet for a while either. All things I need to get back into when I get back to Provo. The important point here, though, is that I feel it’s leaving me. I’ve got to get back in the swing of things if I want to keep them.
As for the EFY thing, I wonder how excited 15-year-old participants would be to have a counselor who’s almost 10 years older than they are. (And on the contrary, how excited would I be to have them? Can I still deal with that level of maturity?)
I’d like to think I’d still be excited about both jobs, but can I really commit myself? I remember how much fun they were, but would they be as fun the second time around? How many things are?
Which leaves me thinking, what should I do this summer? Should I stick around BYU? Should I look for an internship somewhere? The last few summers have been exciting and have given me the chance to travel extensively, but is it time to get on with life? I can’t believe I’m asking myself that when I’m only 24. Maybe I just need to lighten up. Or maybe getting on with life, in my case, means traveling more. Shouldn’t I take advantage of my situation (single, no strings attached) to see all I can?
What do you think?
I flirted with the idea of a semester at BYU Hawaii. I don’t know if it’s in the cards for me, but I’d love to make it happen if I could. Even a term would be nice.
I only made it as far south as Lyon this weekend, but that was enough to get temperatures well into the 60s this afternoon. The sunshine in le Parc de la tête d’or (Golden-head Park), along with its fine wildlife collection, made for the perfect setting for a Sunday afternoon stroll. The real kicker, however, was the chance to see all my friends in Lyon from a couple of years ago.
My host brother, David, is leaving on a mission to New York next week. He went to the temple last week for the first time, and I can’t tell you how happy I am to see him ready to depart. He’s grown a lot since I knew him 2 years ago, and I can already see what a growing experience his mission will be for him.
Something struck me today in Sacrament Meeting. Some of you are familiar with the quote from President Monson: “That which we persist in doing becomes easier to do: not that the nature of the task has changed, but that our ability to do has increased” (paraphrased). Today I began thinking about the opposite of that statement. It seems intuitive, but I don’t know that we always internalize it that way. Maybe those purer realists among us get this better than I do. I’m not just talking about getting rusty at a talent, I’m talking intellectually as well.
I was recently informed that the job I had hoped on having this summer was no longer available. Hence, I’m trying to line up work for when I get back to BYU in a couple months. I’ve considered going back to EFY and the MTC (two of my favorite jobs ever), but I’m not sure they’d be as great the second time around. It’s hard to say. I’m sure I’d love the MTC, but I’m not sure they’d take me back. By time I’d start working again, it will have be more than 3 years since I got home. And when I think about it, I’m not sure I’m up to it anymore. It’s been over six months since I left the MTC, and I wonder how good my first lesson skills are. I started wondering how well I still know the Scriptures, and I realized I don’t. It leaves you quickly.
The same thing is happening to me musically. This year, I didn’t sing in the ward choir. I haven’t been using my music theory as much as I used to, even though I’m writing more music. Weird. And I haven’t sung in a quartet for a while either. All things I need to get back into when I get back to Provo. The important point here, though, is that I feel it’s leaving me. I’ve got to get back in the swing of things if I want to keep them.
As for the EFY thing, I wonder how excited 15-year-old participants would be to have a counselor who’s almost 10 years older than they are. (And on the contrary, how excited would I be to have them? Can I still deal with that level of maturity?)
I’d like to think I’d still be excited about both jobs, but can I really commit myself? I remember how much fun they were, but would they be as fun the second time around? How many things are?
Which leaves me thinking, what should I do this summer? Should I stick around BYU? Should I look for an internship somewhere? The last few summers have been exciting and have given me the chance to travel extensively, but is it time to get on with life? I can’t believe I’m asking myself that when I’m only 24. Maybe I just need to lighten up. Or maybe getting on with life, in my case, means traveling more. Shouldn’t I take advantage of my situation (single, no strings attached) to see all I can?
What do you think?
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Mr. Hyde is getting the best of me
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?
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 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.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Second chances: was Air India worth it?
After 3 days of travel, I have finally arrived at my host family's home in rural France, about 45 minutes outside of Paris. I'm excited for a new semester to begin tomorrow morning, even if it means I have to get up and go to school/work like a real person again. It's been nice to have a month off, but reality has finally caught up to me.
My transatlantic flight was the best to date. I flew on Air India, despite a less than desirable first experience with them about 18 months ago. On the way home in the summer of 2006, I contracted whooping cough from a man seated next to me who didn't stop wheezing and coughing on me for the eight-hour flight. I was gravely sick for the following 8 months.
But I couldn't beat the fare, so I went again with Air India. This time around, I was on a newer 777 with a kind crew and delicious Indian food all the way over the pond.
This second impression made me think: how often do we really give things (or people) second chances? It's also interesting to note how quickly one faux pas can destroy trust that's based on much more previous experience. Just within the airline industry, I boycotted Delta after they didn't allow me to carry a guitar on a plane. I was ready never to fly Air India again if I had similar trouble.
Food is another example. I have never liked tomatoes. For many years, this might have been because somewhere in my mind, I had it in there that they tasted bad. Even years after those childhood recollections, I avoided tomatoes. I periodically tried them, but since I had it in my mind that I wasn't going to like them, it made it difficult to give them a fair chance. Recently, I've been trying to eat tomatoes. I reasoned that if millions (and maybe billions) of people around the world don't just eat them but LIKE them, there must be something to them. (Kim Chi was another nice experience in experimenting with interesting foods.) Tomatoes aren't my favorite food (yet--but then again, neither is Kim Chi), but I have tried to eat more of them.
This idea on first impressions has so many applications. I guess the questions I've been asking myself recently--especially in a new setting with so many people to meet--have been, among others:
1. How do people perceive me when they first meet me? Are their first impressions accurate?
2. Whom have I met recently, and to what conclusions have I come? Or jumped? I suppose only time will tell whether they're accurate.
3. Are we wrong to rely so heavily on first impressions, or does the price of being taken in outweigh the consequence of giving second chances? I'm going to keep thinking about this, so I don't think this is the last time I'll bring up the subject.
Well, what are your thoughts? Have I learned anything from this?
My transatlantic flight was the best to date. I flew on Air India, despite a less than desirable first experience with them about 18 months ago. On the way home in the summer of 2006, I contracted whooping cough from a man seated next to me who didn't stop wheezing and coughing on me for the eight-hour flight. I was gravely sick for the following 8 months.
But I couldn't beat the fare, so I went again with Air India. This time around, I was on a newer 777 with a kind crew and delicious Indian food all the way over the pond.
This second impression made me think: how often do we really give things (or people) second chances? It's also interesting to note how quickly one faux pas can destroy trust that's based on much more previous experience. Just within the airline industry, I boycotted Delta after they didn't allow me to carry a guitar on a plane. I was ready never to fly Air India again if I had similar trouble.
Food is another example. I have never liked tomatoes. For many years, this might have been because somewhere in my mind, I had it in there that they tasted bad. Even years after those childhood recollections, I avoided tomatoes. I periodically tried them, but since I had it in my mind that I wasn't going to like them, it made it difficult to give them a fair chance. Recently, I've been trying to eat tomatoes. I reasoned that if millions (and maybe billions) of people around the world don't just eat them but LIKE them, there must be something to them. (Kim Chi was another nice experience in experimenting with interesting foods.) Tomatoes aren't my favorite food (yet--but then again, neither is Kim Chi), but I have tried to eat more of them.
This idea on first impressions has so many applications. I guess the questions I've been asking myself recently--especially in a new setting with so many people to meet--have been, among others:
1. How do people perceive me when they first meet me? Are their first impressions accurate?
2. Whom have I met recently, and to what conclusions have I come? Or jumped? I suppose only time will tell whether they're accurate.
3. Are we wrong to rely so heavily on first impressions, or does the price of being taken in outweigh the consequence of giving second chances? I'm going to keep thinking about this, so I don't think this is the last time I'll bring up the subject.
Well, what are your thoughts? Have I learned anything from this?
Thursday, January 24, 2008
By the way...
Hello again all. Here I am, it's after midnight, and I'm at my parents' house in Connecticut thinking about my flight tomorrow. I can't believe I'm leaving again. It's going to be a great trip, but I have to admit, I'm going to miss my friends.
I'm at a time in my life of great transition. I enjoy change, but there are sure to be some big ones coming up soon. I'll be graduating, and my friends and I will be headed in different directions. Studies abroad seem to claim one of us each semester, and the prospect of getting the boys back together again lessens with each departure. We're all doing good things, and the good things are taking us down different roads.
Up to this point, this blog has been mainly a travelogue of my trips to Europe. While I still intend to keep you up to date on my journeys, I would also like to make this blog a forum for thought and reflection. I'll be posting some of what I'm thinking, and I'd love to hear your thoughts and reactions. I'm looking forward to a semester of progress, improvement, and fun. Peace.
I'm at a time in my life of great transition. I enjoy change, but there are sure to be some big ones coming up soon. I'll be graduating, and my friends and I will be headed in different directions. Studies abroad seem to claim one of us each semester, and the prospect of getting the boys back together again lessens with each departure. We're all doing good things, and the good things are taking us down different roads.
Up to this point, this blog has been mainly a travelogue of my trips to Europe. While I still intend to keep you up to date on my journeys, I would also like to make this blog a forum for thought and reflection. I'll be posting some of what I'm thinking, and I'd love to hear your thoughts and reactions. I'm looking forward to a semester of progress, improvement, and fun. Peace.
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