Whelmed

May 23, 2018

I came into this week – the last week of my 34th year, feeling like I was just making it. 

I have to couch that phrase.

I wasn’t “just” making it in terms of rent, food, companionship, community, creative fulfillment, or personal safety. Everything just seemed to be moving way too fast, including myself. My attempts to limit my internet use felt like trying to stop a spigot with my palms, and by switching over to books I found myself replacing triggering headlines with existential dilemmas and bigger pictures to concern myself with. 

The perfect term for this feeling is whelmed. Modern use of the term is all but nonexistent, though we’ve come to use its extremities – overwhelmed and underwhelmed – regularly in our lexicon. In fact, the dictionary definition of whelmed pretty much gives it up as a synonym to overwhelmed which I think describes our society and times in a nutshell. But to be whelmed is different. It still leaves opportunity for control. It’s submergence without being swept by the tide. You still have a choice.

There’s nothing wrong with being submerged as long as you can tread and can understand breath control. My goal wasn’t to become over or under, to just be. The solutions I found for the past few days is so specific and short-lived so far that I don’t know how helpful it would be to anyone else, but since I find myself in a constant cat-and-mouse game for my own gravity I figure at the very least I can leave this breakdown here for myself to rediscover during moments of disillusion:

Honor my spiritual pasts: As you know, I’ve been meditating every morning for the past 2 years. It’s the longest I’ve gone with this routine, but every time I do it there’s a part of me that recalls another period in my life when I was meditating in the evenings. They felt like the more magical years, when life seemed less complicated and I could recognize the frivolousness of things that entered my thoughts at the time. They didn’t weigh down on me like the concerns of today. I was able to reach what felt like a different state of consciousness – my entire body felt like it was lit up, my lips and eyes would tingle, I’d emerge from my sitting feeling like everything was vibrating. The other night I was finally able to reach that state again, but only through meticulous planning. I set aside the time at night, resisted all stimulants, closed the doors, found the feeling. It came to me before I even cleared my mind. It reminded me that most of this sensation was due to the physical motions with which I was going through my breathing, that it’s not like I ever stopped being able to do it. I was able to let go. 

Clear my chores of guilt: I finally got the process going for iLL-Literacy’s iB4the1.1 to be distributed to streaming sites. It took only a single evening, but it’s been on my to-do list since 2014. It was one of those tasks that felt easy to keep kicking down the road, but I eventually realized that breaking the habit of delay was the true challenge. Eventually, it became a “if not yesterday, then why today?” mental block. I can’t say that I thought about it everyday, but since I finally cleared that assignment, I realize how much of a fog it had been in my day-to-day. Such a small, simple, but incredibly intimidating obstacle was finally fielded. What other pebbles in my shoe can I finally stop for a moment to pick out?

Reset the stimulation: I recently cleared my primary stimulants, including decreasing the time I spend on social media, the headlines I read, the podcasts I listen to, the coffee I drink, the sugar I eat, the alcohol I consume, and the television I watch, exchanging it for more time with music, silence, and fruit. In recognizing how much less effort goes into the production and consumption of the latter list versus the former, I realized that the simplicity I desire cannot be found in innovative products or finding some deeper research in how the human psyche works. Physical and mental digestion just happens more smoothly with things that occur naturally, that contribute to the balance of the universe. This new dynamic has made it easier for me to sleep earlier and deeper, think with more complexity, and not feel like a passenger in my own mental state.

On Sunday, amidst a beautiful, sunny bike ride home, I stopped by the water and laid on the grass. But I found myself getting up every 15 minutes, putting on my shoes, and getting ready to leave, only to realize that there were still hours of coveted sunshine left and I had absolutely nothing on my to-do list that was demanding my attention. Where was a rushing off to? Or did I just feel like I needed to keep on moving, hitting as many destinations as possible? I’m learning how to slow down while not assuming that doing so means I’m less committed to my creativity, driven in helping address issues of the world, or eager to experience life in abundance. But it’s also helpful to recognize that sometimes the problem isn’t scarcity, and that in itself is a blessing and a privilege. 

Unproductive Prolificity

May 10, 2018

I’m recognizing that wisdom isn’t as much about acquiring knowledge as it is about consistently putting into practice what I already know. I’ve been trying it out lately, felt like it’s about that time. It means not going for a second plate when I know I’m already full. Not reaching for that extra drink. Going the fuck to sleep instead of squeezing in that extra episode. Not tapping that app icon just because there’s a red dot with a number on the corner. Just slowing down in general.

Respecting the thresholds of my appetite, my mental clarity, my wakefulness, my attention, my pace, has been a challenge for someone like me who has always placed emphasis on being up on that new shit. To be a curator, a tastemaker, and, these days it seems, to just be a relevant member of society, so much currency is placed on being able to say “oh, you haven’t heard about woompty woomp?” But my past few months of intentionally (not always successfully) limiting my internet consumption, while also being more selective of the foods, liquids, and substances I put into my body, have heightened my sensitivity. And just like how you can get hella faded on a single drink after a dry season, lately I’ve returned to social media with a low tolerance for information. Whether they’re important headlines or petty threads, all of this information is pointless when passed through instead of processed. These bits of knowledge that lack wisdom are like empty carbs – I feel them course through my veins, they make my eyes sore when I go to bed, and linger in my skull when I awaken. 

(The only social consequences of not being up on every headline this past month have been 1) feeling dumb when I didn’t know Beyoncé was headlining Coachella, and 2) accidentally giving a shout out to Junot Diaz this past weekend. If neither of these references mean anything to you, it’s likely that you’ve just been better at resisting FB than I have.)

A trope of both intellectual and spiritual wisdom that often eludes me is the ability to approach life like a child. For me, the challenge hasn’t been in staying curious, or open, or questioning. My challenge has been in staying prolific with the right thing. Since I was a kid, I’ve been prolific in one thing or another, whether it was drawing, writing, or these days writing emails (a sucky thing to be prolific with). Lately I’ve also been prolific with cooking, something that I do every day that I can, even though it siphons at least two hours that could otherwise be a lot more productive. I should clarify that these two terms are not synonyms. Productivity, even when self-driven, pleases an external entity. It is a contribution to society, a token of success in which your value is appraised by your output. Prolificity, on the other hand, isn’t always necessarily “productive.” In fact, when my productivity equates to my prolificity, I’m trapped. My personal fulfillment is measured by a rubric that remains elusive and opaque, in that it’s via the perceived judgement of others. But to be unproductively prolific is to be self-sufficient, is to be self-fulfilled, is to be free.  

This blog, gutted of analytics, comments, and any other imposed rubrics of productive success, has been the grounds for cultivating wisdom that I, in my unwiseness, keep neglecting. I desperately want to commit to writing more regularly in the same way that I want to do other simple tasks that for some reason seem so harrowing – eating slower, making more eye contact, listening deeply. It’s here that I would typically find external players to hold me accountable, but that wouldn’t really be the point, would it? This week, while in the Bay and taking a day between traveling for this endless parade of conferences I’ve been on, my mom asked, “When do you find time to process it all?” She quit her job a year and a half ago and has been doing nothing but processing. She’s been incredibly unproductive but extremely prolific – I’ve never witnessed my mom with thoughts and ideas so well-packaged. Even after these four short paragraphs, I’m beginning to feel my spine straighten, my blood flow, my mind clear. Maybe it’s all in my head. But maybe that’s all that matters.