Memoirous

Tea, forgotten On the counter, on the tea warmer In the cup, in the mug Tea bag still left in, growing darker, more tanic By the hour, minute, second left untouched . . . forgotten. Until I look up and ask myself: Didn’t I have a tea somewhere?

 A Lie Someone Told You About Yourself by Peter Ho Davies Was a very interesting and heartbreaking book. A simple story really—it’s about life, love, and children—particularly your child and how impossible it is to feel in control. Those of us who are parents are tapping our chest and saying, I feel ya. It is a small book and a quick read—though I guess it took ages to write. In fact the little I’ve gleaned from a topical search online about Peter Ho Davies and a masterclass I had with him via Zoom a couple of months ago through Story Studio  inform me that he is self-deprecating and transparent about feeling guilty about not writing. Funny, I‘ve been doing much the same. Not writing, and feeling bad about it. Not true. I have been writing, not just the stuff I meant to get around to. I’ve been busy with these blog posts or what I like to tell folks: the personal essay. Seinfeld would label it writing about nothing. Ho Davies seemingly writes about nothing. There was n...

 I finished Philosophy for Polar Explorers by Erling Kagge. So much of what he wrote is about the everday everybody—not just those ascending Everest or seeking the Pole. Of course as a long-distance cyclist I can find myself in many of his messages. Yes, I’m not fast, I’m not breaking world records, nor am I the first. I’m just a solo trekker of a certain age—who people tell me is brave. I don’t always feel that way. For instance: as a writer it is much tougher than you think to come back to a project where you have failed and try to revive it, or to tell yourself you might have to let this one go. To face the blank page. A bigger Pole is to create with words something out of nothing, to translate that feeling or concept you harbor in your head into words, words that have an impact upon a reader. There are times I find this impossible—and yet I keep trying. Writing is like being a polar explorer. It is about facing your fears, the absurdity of the task, and being present anyw...

My last meditation provoked by reading Philosophy for Polar Explorers by Erling Kagge is about routine. I completely tore up the pages of my life in Chicago, nearly 40 years there, to fly out to Eugene with a bicycle and a suitcase to “start over.” Yet, once again, I began to build routine. We are creatures of habit. I imagine Neanderthals lounging around in caves bored, but also satisfied that for a brief moment they do not have to run from dinosaurs or whatever danger was right outside their stone walls. We all take comfort in a set list that is settled and gives a familiar feeling of structure. It’s why I cycle. Yes, it is easy to feel like a machine, part of the cogs on the freewheel, a link in the chain, so to speak. But, I never had to question my existence or what to do that day: I woke up to pedal, I ate to pedal, I slept to wake up and pedal. It was about getting from A to B. It was that easy. So in Eugene, embarking on my new life I established a routine. Tea, stretch...

Philosophy for Polar Explorers Erling Kagge Pantheon (November 17, 2020) As I mentioned in an earlier post I’ve been reading a small contemplative book titled Philosophy for Polar Explorers by Norwegian adventurist Erling Kagge. In one short chapter is a meditation on happiness—and how it isn’t always relative   to circumstances. How we can be happy with nothing and terribly miserable in the midst of plenty. It’s like reading a fable of the rich and poor. We can be rich and at the same time poor in spirit. What brings happiness? I’m constantly amazed at the turn my life has taken. While cycling last year from Chicago to the Pacific, eventually to see my daughter in Oregon I had no idea I’d move to Eugene. At one point while camping at Cascade Lock I was joined by 2 PCT thru-hikers. The older gentleman shared that he and his wife looked after their grandson. I told him my daughter was expecting my first grandchild—a boy. He immediately said, So you will be relocating. I re...