Go Slow. Be honest. Pursue Epiphanies.
Feel all of it: your smile, our delight, your kindness, our optimism, your tears, our comfort.
Some musings:
Congratulations. Cheers. Great job. Brilliant.The appreciations are flying in. The plaudits keep echoing. The crowd wants to know our name. They want to understand the game.That’s the issue; we’ve gamed the system. No, we’ve tried to play the game – talk plain, dress nice, act right. We’ve made its next level our only motivator: plan short, rip your heart out, win now, think later.We’ve gamed achievement, accumulated short term woes but concealed long term bruises. Played the enjeu yet yielded nothing.The nugget promises – gulped down like they were never said.The half-hearted endeavors – abandoned like they were never there.The “will dos” that became “won’t dos” and, ultimately, became “can’t dos.”And suddenly that game isn’t so attractive anymore, is it?Do we still weep when you lose?Are we loitering around the borders of that finite level – feet in the air and unbothered by the progress seemingly evading us?Is the world coming down on you, but you feel no pressure?If so,It’s finally time for us to go slow and be honest. Pursue the long, impassioned and, perhaps, strange paths. Pursue companionship. Pursue love and kindness and laughter. Find and nourish communities. Stay earnest. Reconcile our heart.
Breathe.We’ve all been here before.
Location: New Orleans, Louisiana
Community: Engineers Without Borders
Objective: Restorations with Historic Green “If I had a penny,” Eve whispers as she sails past my shoulder and unto the rugged steps on the front porch of the century-old shotgun house, “for every time I sat in this exact spot as a teenager…”
I remain still. My mind wanders. Eighty years ago. No, ‘as a teenager.’ Sixty-five years ago. Sat on the same steps. Thinking about life and, maybe, that one chore left undone. Waiting for the friends down the road. Anticipating the sunset, its glow, and light winds – to ease the unforgiving NOLA heat. Whichever of these plagued Eve while she sat on the steps, I probably felt too.
I scramble to gather to recover from my mind’s wander but only manage to gut out weak smile. The kind I receive from almost every stranger in my campus’s library – ‘Midwestern Kindness,’ my acquaintances call it. However mine came off, the cycle was complete: Eve’s nostalgia had stirred an epiphany.
We’ve all been here before.
Can we stimulate epiphanies?
Dear Reader,
Epiphanies can be fulfilling. You can feel the rush through your soul. Synapses in your brain firing. New strings drawn. Fresh connection made. A problem devolved.
The occasional epiphany is gratifying. When we finally connect the dots in new concept. When we figure out the solution to a problem set. When we pop off our bed with fresh idea or understanding.
On the other hand, frequent epiphanies, especially on topics we think we have sufficient experience in, can feel jarring. Each hit, each puff reveals gaps in our understanding, most of which we never knew existed. Why? Because it is that exact feeling of ‘ah this now makes sense’ that vacates the hole filled by an epiphany.
When we keep unraveling epiphanies, it is a sign that whatever conclusion we previously drew was incomplete or misconstrued. You, in fact, did not understand it – at least as well as you previously thought. We become like the toddler experimenting and being awed the simpler wonders of the world: that the kettle is hot and that a ball bounces and that the staircase catches us while going up, but not while coming down.
In this state, we are especially vulnerable and receptive to the world’s gifts.
Journaling to stimulate epiphanies.
Location: New Orleans, Louisiana
Community: Engineers Without Borders
Objective: Recovery: cards and chats When, during my spring break a few weeks ago, a friend asked for my ’three hypothetical wishes,’ I almost jumped him (just kidding). We had only just trudged back into the house from our 12-hour volunteering shift. Our shirts were still moist with sweat. The New Orleans’ sun had peppered us.
Yet, here my friend was asking about three speculative wishes. A few years ago, I would have met the question with a quick-witted reply or punchline, enjoyed the laughter and moved on. Not this time though.
Something about the week had tempered me.
Some context - in case you did not click the earlier link. Along with some members of KU’s Engineers Without Borders, I had made a 14-hour road trip to New Orleans to volunteer with Historic Green, a non-profit restoring homes affected by hurricane Katrina. Okay, back to story. Something had tempered me…
Perhaps, it was the 14-hour road trip to get there? Was it the ‘you’ve got this’ nods and pats we shared across our 9-4 shifts? Maybe it was the kindness and selflessness of my volunteer partners – all of whom where were dedicating their so-long-due spring break to the cause. Perhaps, it was the energy with which the older volunteer-leads got us up to speed with the tasks at hand. Or maybe it was the kind, jovial nearly-century old woman, whose two-century-old house we spent days restoring. If not these, it might have been the bruised and beaten windows whose cracked panes we replaced and glazed.
Whatever it was, I found time to breathe. To take it slow. To relish the process – however vague it was. This is the one space where I’ve been able to work blind.
To my pal’s question, I first responded that I wish I kept a journal across the past few years. Writing’s greatest gift is the opportunity to think deeply and reflect. Our minds are too fallible to reliably retrieve and compare multiple memory instances for gaps that epiphanies fill.
Journaling, meanwhile, helps me keep track of what I’ve already unraveled and what I am still dawdling over. It helps me trace previously concluded solutions for discrepancies and make updates. If fate is so kind, it can also help explain why certain pains and worries still linger. Such is the kind of bliss and torture that writing bleeds.
I’ve found love going slow. Breathing. Relishing the process. Thinking about today. Finding purpose in – necessarily unhurried – community service. Feeling all of it: your smile, our delight, your kindness, our optimism, your tears, our comfort. And in floundering.I would love to hear from you – about this piece or anything really! Do write back.