Shift.

November 18, 2005 at 4:40 AM

A shockingly non-violin-related, unshockingly philosophical post with a bad pun for a title. Tonight my friend and I witnessed the evils of corporate America firsthand when we agreed to meet at Starbuck's, only to discover we each went to a different one. We hastened to remedy the situation by meeting again at Border's, and sure enough, again we each found ourselves at a different store. I love mindless shopping at huge chains as much as the next guy, but when they crop up on every street corner and are totally indistinguishable, it's a bit much.

The snow and the cold have begun here in Cleveland (after the leaves all fell one random day in about a three-hour long mass suicide), which makes looking out the window very pretty and walking out the door very ugly. I comfort myself with the fact that on some fine day in March, the weather will be exactly the same as it is today and people will exclaim, "Wow, it's up to 20 degrees out! It's so nice!" before throwing on T-shirts and flip-flops.

In an interesting reversal, my parents will be visiting me for the short Thanksgiving break next week, which is great timing as the nearly sold-out Mitsuko Uchida concert is coming up and it'll be a great chance for them to hear the Cleveland Orchestra. I have a fondness for Mozart Concertos and am excited that No. 24 in c minor is on the program.

I have always been a bit ambivalent about the whole inspiring quote thing. I think there's a tendency to overuse them or to turn to them when one is at a loss for creative independent thinking, and I despise those pre-made quote books that really depersonalize and devalue quotes. But I do think that at the right time they can be powerful and not turn into cliches. I don't actively seek them out as some people do, but one that has stuck with me is an analogy from Tim Gallwey's The Inner Game of Tennis, so if you haven't heard or read it before, here it is. Hope you all get warm fuzzies:

When we plant a rose seed in the earth, we notice that it is small, but we do not criticise it as 'rootless' or 'stemless.' We treat it as a seed, giving it the water and nourishment required by a seed. When it first shoots out of the earth, we don't condemn it as 'immature' and 'underdeveloped'; nor do we criticise the buds for not being open when they appear. We stand in wonder at the process taking place and give the plant the care that it needs at each stage of its growth. The rose is a rose from the time it is a seed to the time that it dies. Within it, at all times, it contains its whole potential. It seems to be constantly in the process of change; yet at each stage, at each moment, it is perfectly all right as it is.

I feel that Mr. Preucil has inspired me in some lessons with this kind of message--even when I feel unprepared, there are still many things he can teach me, and he always looks at my development as a process, not a black-and-white, right-or-wrong answer. This idea applies not only to tennis and music, but to life. The happiness and innocence of childhood comes from being nurtured and cared for, but the realities of life and expectations set in with age, and there's some crucial turning point--perhaps we're not able to pinpoint it, but the change is inevitable--where we lose that magical sense and that innate connection with the more beautiful things in life in favor of our newfound fears and worries. So many of us walk around every day preoccupied or in simple denial, afraid to ask what we are really afraid of.

I guess I ramble on about this because there are two things I would very much enjoy in the world: one is if people, including me, took a closer look at themselves with some ideal combination of logic/reason and compassion/empathy, and saw who they really are and how they can more directly and externally manifest that and bring out the best in themselves. The other is if doing this, in turn, made people more receptive to the influence of others--not in a weak, wish-washy, doormat sort of way, but in an open way, giving to others and allowing them to enter without losing your integrity and source of identity in the process. I think relationships abound where so much more could be had from them, where all parties involved could benefit more from the willingness to suspend judgement and doubt just for a second, to invest more time in having moments that are honest and real. As a child of my spoiled generation, in no way do I believe that the internet is the demise of human civilization; however, I think it's telling that people spend so much time addicted to services like AIM, reaching for connection that can never be fully attained through the barrier of a screen. Nothing replaces the feel and atmosphere of being in the same room with someone, breathing the same air.

How can we be more present for ourselves and for each other? Here is a loosely related, totally off-the-cuff movie recommendation: the live-action Peter Pan that came out I think in 2004. There is a beautiful scene where Peter and Wendy float and dance among the fairies, yet Peter is unable to let himself get closer to the real emotions of the moment or face anything other than "pretend." Peter's final separation from Wendy, who chooses to grow up and face the reality of pain and hardship, leading to richer and more fulfilling joys, is a very human and awkward wave goodbye. Why are so many people, like Peter, looking in through a figurative glass window pane at a more colorful and caring world they won't allow themselves to inhabit? What stops us from getting there except realizing that we could live there, right now?

Shift.

Subscribe

Laurie's Books