It's hard to know where to start here. The times, they are a-changing, and of course that means there ought to be ample material to muse upon. Problem is, I can't seem to settle on just what shape those musings should take for public consumption, or for that matter, for my own consumption.
I tend to write when I'm feeling contemplative, and I tend to be contemplative when there is not a lot else for me to be. This does not currently apply: there are approximately eight million little things for me to do, to be doing, and they're all bouncing around in my head like a herd of wild ponies- only they seem to be blind ponies, with rather disturbed herding instincts resulting in a situation where they all gallop in different directions and entangle themselves with one another rather than come together in any semblance of cooperation. So not really much like ponies at all I guess. Anyway. In my attempts to wrangle up some of these non-ponies, I have noticed something. If you look closer at the herd, it is not as it seems. A good 80 or 90 percent of the ponies are actually ordinary, good natured, steadfast little beasts who would contentedly graze were it not for the other few: a small minority of completely wild, blind and hotly wired creatures wreaking havoc. I've been trying to manage the herd by just grabbing a pony here or there, working with it a day or two and sending it on its way. Naturally, the ponies I'm catching are the ordinary, relatively tame ones, while the real firy ones remain at large. I am distracting myself from the overwhelming task of dealing with the rogues by occupying myself with the neat and sweet manageable thoughts. What I'm beginning to realize though, is that no matter how many tame, manageable ponies I deal with, the herd will remain wild and unmanageable as long as the wild and unmanageable minority continue to run amongst it.
Wow, is that abstract enough for you?
Put another way: One of my teachers, a jovial and very intelligent Chinese man, often compares American and Chinese psychology. In America, he observes, when someone is very anxious about a certain thought or idea, it is recommended that he confront it, that he focus exactly upon that very thought or idea and in so doing, learn to understand and deconstruct the anxiety he feels. If he were Chinese, Dr. Chen says, he would stop thinking the thought that was making him anxious.
I have been trying the Chinese approach, if a little half heartedly. Rather than stop thinking precisely the thoughts that were making me uselessly anxious, I just went on ahead and tried to stop thinking entirely about the topics to which these thoughts were related. There is great merit to this approach, for a while. But it turns out that eventually, especially if your anxiety is related to certain things like where you are going to live and what you are going to do every day, those topics come up.
At which point you quickly distract yourself with a whole bunch of other menial tasks- I need to learn how to make Chinese oyster sauce, I need to get more incense for the room in the front of my apartment, I need to recheck the 50 albums on sale for $5 from Amazon. And so on, until you are exhausted, and no longer need to think about anything, because you are asleep. Again though, the problem ultimately arises when you realize you are now not just anxious, but exhausted and perhaps even a little more anxious...but at least you can make some oyster sauce.
I guess the idea is that ultimately you get tired enough of all the time-wasting you're doing, and just buckle down and deal with the wild things, and lo and behold, the herd gets straightened out. At least, that's pretty much how it works for me.
This was going to be a post about something entirely different. But it's not. Suffice it to say, I've got the herd all in order now, and I feel really, really good about where it's moving. Those ponies are wild, but strong, beautiful, amazing when they're steered in the right direction.
(Afterword: Sometimes I reread what I've written and it shocks me. It is strange, the experience of encountering my own attempt at translating what goes on in one teeny little section of my head. Afterward, I usually understand exactly why I've felt exhausted. Internal reflection is a good way to check in when you don't feel...right. Look in, check in, make an adjustment, but then, don't waste too much time, and get on out. Onward, upward, OUTward. I'm out for a run, wish me luck in eight million degree and humid New York, and then try not to get jealous of me in the yellow house with CENTRAL AIR next week...)
Love to the world, and best of luck with your own ponies, wherever they may roam-
K
