Meditations Of An Aching Chest, Vol. 2
A compilation of musings, ramblings and reflections from the last two weeks
1.
I often find myself looking at photos of my friends and me, or my brothers and their wives, knowing one day those very same photos will be looked at in wonder by children and grandchildren who say things like, “I can’t believe how young you were!”
Speaking honestly, it’s a big struggle for me to balance my love of life and the present moment with the knowledge that one day my “legs won’t work like they used to before,” to quote a famous philosopher I know.
If there is beauty in age, death and decay, I’ve yet to find it.
Mar 31
2.
I’d like to ask for a moment of silence for Chapstick.
Chapstick is a perfect example of how humans tend to focus on the things that go wrong and not the things that go right.
Chapstick does what you need it to every single time you use it. Every time your lips are dry and painful, it fixes the problem—with a 100% success rate.
In fact, the only time Chapstick ever really fails you is when you simply forget to buy it or bring it with you—and that’s a failure on your part.
Imagine how you would feel if you did what you were asked—no, literally fulfilled the very purpose of your existence—every single time you were needed, and yet never got a single speck of credit or recognition for it.
That’s how Chapstick feels, every day.
Apr 2
3.
I’ll never forget the day when I first began to really entertain the possibility of long-term world travel.
It was such an obviously insane, life-altering idea, and I was so disenchanted with my corporate accounting job, that I remember being in the bath (yes, I take baths, sue me) and getting this distinct thought that, even if the trip never actually happens, even if I do spend the rest of my days living a normal 21st century life in the US, just dreaming about it is sweet enough.
But as sweet as those dreams were, they were like bitter lemons compared to that which I experienced outside of my imagination, every single day, when I stopped dreaming and stepped out into the real world.
If you’re in this same place now, trying to decide whether to take your obviously crazy idea and make it a reality—this is your sign.
Apr 6
4.
How To Be Liked By Anyone In 3 Easy Steps (almost no one can complete step 3):
1) Ask the person a question about their life. This can be anything: Where do you work? Do your kids play sports? What do you do on the weekends?
2) Listen to their answer.
3) This is the part almost no one can do: actually care about their answer. I know—so simple, and yet so difficult. Why is it so difficult?
Repeat.
That’s all there is to it.
Apr 8
5.
A somewhat startling revelation I had some time ago is that the actions I dislike most in others are the actions that I myself do, and hate myself for doing.
Has anyone else noticed this? What does it mean?
Apr 9
6.
“Why do you write?”
My first trip, a 9-month solo backpacking journey through Europe and Asia, changed my life. It was a solely experiential endeavor—I had no agenda except to know this world and to be known by it.
But as I get older, the thought of a repeat trip of this same sort feels somehow a little hollow—like I’d be wasting my life or my time in some fundamental way.
My desire to see the world has not diminished even a single iota, but I now so strongly feel a complementary desire to to take that magic—the wonderful, awful, incomparable hugeness—of the nomadic life, and make it known to you—whoever you may be.
Apr 10
7.
I just got excited to write my next article, and I realized that’s because the act of writing it is going to help me find out what I really think on the topic.
Writing, by its very nature, forces you to organize your thinking and engage with the best, most coherent form of whatever mess of thoughts you have floating around in your head.
A world in which everyone was a writer would be a world in which everyone made just a little more sense.
Apr 11
8.
Miss me with that hardcover nonsense. The mass market paperback is the peak book form.
Apr 12
9.
Whenever I speak with people who don’t workout regularly, I get this strong sense that they view exercise as a sort of “price of admission”—it really sucks, but it’s just what you have to do if you want to be healthy and live a long life.
This is decidedly untrue, and I’m certain I’m not alone in feeling this way.
For the last few years, I’ve been totally obsessed with running—I’d say it makes up about 90% of my physical exercise. The “runner’s high” is real, especially when you have the right music going, and I can honestly tell you that, were there no fitness benefits at all in running—if it didn’t add a single day to my lifespan, if it didn’t improve my heart’s efficiency, or strengthen my leg muscles—I would still do it.
Why?
It makes me feel good.
Oh my goodness, the happiness and wonder I feel during and after a good run. The love I feel for people and places, the gratefulness I can’t help but embody with every fiber of my being. Running is, really and truly, its own reward.
I think many things in life are like this—or at least, should be like this. One of the reasons I feel confident in my path as a writer is that, even if it never becomes a way for me to make a living (like I want it to!) I’d still show up and do it, every day. It is its own reward.
I’m convinced that a truly good life must prioritize such pursuits: pursuits where the ends don’t actually need to justify the means—because the means justify themselves.
Apr 13
10.
Everything that confuses you makes perfect sense, and if it didn’t confuse you, that would be even more confusing.
Last night, I arrived home from work and turned the knob on my lamp. No light. I was confused.
Then I remembered that that morning, I’d bumped against the wall light switch connected to the lamp’s outlet. This probably cut the power to the lamp.
To test this, I flipped the wall light switch and tried the lamp’s knob again. Alas, there was light.
Rewind back to my initial moment of confusion, when I turned the lamp’s knob and yet the lamp didn’t light up. Suppose the world had behaved how I’d expected it to at that moment: I would have beheld an illuminated lamp that had no electric current flowing through it—a physical impossibility.
This would in fact be much more confusing than what actually happened, even though I, in my colossal ignorance, would have been perfectly satisfied at the time.
Next time you are confused by the world, just remember that it always makes perfect sense—it’s you that usually doesn’t.
NOTE: By “the world,” I’m not referring to other people. Just natural, physical things.
Apr 14
Ahhhh, baths. And that explains why you and Andrew are friends. 🛁 😆 Curious, what’s your go-to running playlist?