For one of my new experiences I wanted to read a book with over a thousand pages. I love to read but have never completed a big of that size, mainly because most books just aren't that big. It has been a fluid goal of mine since around the eighth grade. I definitely won't read a thousand-plus pages in a week, so I started reading one in May and whenever I finish it, that will be the week I count as my new experience.
The book I'm reading is Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand. I am into the second part of the book now.
This is an excerpt from her book:
What he knew, what he had discovered that night, was that his recaptured love of existence had not been given back to him by the return of his desire for her--but that the desire had returned after he had regained his world, the love, the value and the sense of his world--and that the desire was not an answer to her body, but a celebration of his will to live.
He did not know it, he did not think of it, he was past the need of words, but in the moment when he felt the response of her body to his, he felt also the unadmitted knowledge that that which he had called her depravity was her highest virtue--this capacity of hers to feel the joy of being, as he felt it.
At an earlier part in the book, when Hank and Dagny, the characters above, first slept together, Hank viewed Dagny's desire as base and depraved. It is this moment when Ayn Rand really simplifed the feelings of these two characters, Hank and Dagny. They were brought together through their love of existence, as Hank at once realized. The sex between them stands in contrast to other characters who are either going through the motions or holding themselves to higher moral values because they deny themselves pleasure on no moral grounds other than denying themselves pleasure. To me these paragraphs hold so much clarity on the real essence of life; to enjoy our existence, to use our great capacity to love life. It is not that they are happy because they are sleeping together; it is that they are fully present as human beings that they desire each other in the first place. The pleasure is created before sex is even in the picture, which I think is the opposite of how too many people view it. To reduce sex to an isolated event, with no connection to our immense potential for happiness, and our present level of it, is I believe one reason why some people struggle with it and go through the motions, expecting sex to fully create happiness rather than realizing it is meant to be borne of it; they wonder why it does not live up to their expectations. Additionally perhaps this is why it is so common to denounce it as something evil and depraved. If the capacity of enjoying existence is closed, it is closed in all realms.
When thinking of an example of someone who savors the moments of her existence, I think of a woman named Molly who was a former co-worker of mine. She worked at the Weber County Library and regardless of what she was doing, she gave it her full awareness, as if she never forgot she was alive. When she helped patrons at the desk, she was rewarded both by their presence and her ability to help. When I asked her what she would be doing over the weekend and she talked about cleaning and getting ready for the following week, she said it with zeal, not exhaustion. She looked forward to cleaning; it was her preparation for days ahead which she would enjoy because she had the capacity to live an organized and autonomous life. Autonomous not only in the sense of taking care of herself financially, but emotionally. Even when she had to talk to a patron who struggled to take care of himself and had a hygiene problem addressed by other patrons, she even seemed to enjoy talking to him about it, if for the knowledge that she could handle difficult issues with her competence and social grace.
She moved away from Utah a few years ago, but I know wherever she is now, she still possesses the smooth self-confidence of a person at ease with her own happiness. There was a simple joy of just being alive that seemed to state itself in every action she took. She remains an example to me of a person who already knows the meaning of life is inherent in the simple pleasures of being alive.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
My Next Two Weeks
My work often gives me tremendous energy, sometimes leading me to stay up too late lost in a project, but tonight I will remind myself to wind down because I have a very early morning tomorrow. In the morning I will wake up early and hike Ben Lomond. I've never been at the top of a mountain yet, but tomorrow I won't be able to write that sentence again. Since this is a significant and accessible challenge, mounting the top will be my new experience for this week. I haven't done anything new yet! I can't let any week go, for if I do, I didn't accomplish my goal, and who wants to read a book about the girl who almost did something new every week of the year?
It ties into another new experience, which was painting an image of a snow-covered Ben Lomond onto a life-size horse for downtown Ogden. I like to be as connected as I can with the artwork I create, but even more important, this is my life, I have a mountain in my backyard, why not climb it? I remember a friend Kenny telling me he climbed that back when we were in high school, and I was amazed. I didn't realize that I hold the same ability to reach the top. Early tomorrow I will drive to North Ogden pass and hike the Skyline Trail. I found the trail late last week and was going to hike it on Sunday, but excuses arise and I didn't do it. Tomorrow is really my only chance before the week's end. Normally I would not wake up at 6 am on my day off to climb a mountain, but that is the beauty of the year's challenge. It creates a motivation to live which I have never quite experienced before in my lifetime.
I am almost done with the month of July. That means only five months left. I have already done something new every week for more than half the year; I don't know exactly what I'll be doing over the next five months, but I didn't know what I was going to do over the previous seven either. The intention had a way of fulfilling itself.
Once in a college class, the class was listing oxymorons, and a student suggested "How about rap music?" I had to laugh at that. And now I have to laugh at myself. My new thing for next week is I will go to a rap concert. I have never liked rap very much, but in this situation that only makes a stronger argument to attend. It is out of my comfort zone and just like at my cousin Kanani's party, my white self might stand out like Gandolf transformed into a white wizard in the Lord of the Rings (oh no, that statement alone just made me even whiter--yet notice how it is in my power to delete it, but I don't because a glowing wizard at a rap concert is too funny). Rap itself though has become more and more mainstream and we all notice the many white folks listening to it and trying to use it as a definition of personal style. I know very little about rap, but I sometimes get the feeling that many people consider it the antithesis of a white existence. I can only weigh in so much on the issue when I know so little. When I was twelve and my dad bought a computer that had a cd-rom (I remember what a huge deal it was at the time), I used to spend hours exploring Encarta Encyclopedia and would listen to an excerpt of Grand Master Flash's "The Message." I loved the keyboards in the background. The excerpt was probably less than a minute; very short, especially considering this song is over seven minutes long, so I only had a taste. My younger brothers have both been interested in rap music. And the glimpses I've had of it are more from music videos than the music itself. It seems like the image of rap, at least seen through white culture, and the music itself, are almost two separate entities. Sometimes I also feel like if the image of nonwhite culture seems harder and tougher than my own, anyone who isn't white will seem scarier behind the desk in an office and therefore be far less likely to be hired. Meanwhile the rest of us can feel cool by turning on the radio and paying $50 for a concert ticket to watch a rap artist who has branched into the mainstream so well, there are sure to be many other white people just like us watching the show.
In having all these new experiences in my life, there is a question of whether these challenges truly help me grow. I believe they have, but sometimes it is too easy to think we're doing something different, when we really just end up staying where we are comfortable after all. For example, showing interest in another culture, but only after that culture has sufficiently overlapped with our own that we no longer know the difference. Not that I even got to that point. I haven't given this genre much consideration, even though I love music, and maybe it's because I bought into the idea that I didn't belong with it. I had forgotten all about "The Message" until now.
I think going to any rap concert would hold merit for a new experience for me. I don't even listen to it, so attending a concert is quite a jump. But I don't want to be disillusioned either and believe this is a step towards carrying the so-called ghetto-pass, which is stupid anyway, because no one stands up in third grade and says "When I grow up, I want to live in the ghetto." What I would like is to accept a situation I'm not accustomed to--just very plain and simple.
This is a local concert held in downtown Ogden. I really don't know what to expect. Fliers were brought into my work, which is how I discovered it. I noticed recently that all the fliers were gone, and I hope that doesn't mean the people hosting the concert canceled and came back to pick up all the fliers. That sounds unrealistic though; more likely someone just threw away all the fliers. They must have been thrown away because there were probably close to twenty or thirty fliers, and then they were gone. Oh well. I just really want to go. It's funny how here I am, not even a fan of rap and really hoping I can still go to this rap concert! However I will not attend dressed up like a wizard or any Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter character. That can always be another week.
It ties into another new experience, which was painting an image of a snow-covered Ben Lomond onto a life-size horse for downtown Ogden. I like to be as connected as I can with the artwork I create, but even more important, this is my life, I have a mountain in my backyard, why not climb it? I remember a friend Kenny telling me he climbed that back when we were in high school, and I was amazed. I didn't realize that I hold the same ability to reach the top. Early tomorrow I will drive to North Ogden pass and hike the Skyline Trail. I found the trail late last week and was going to hike it on Sunday, but excuses arise and I didn't do it. Tomorrow is really my only chance before the week's end. Normally I would not wake up at 6 am on my day off to climb a mountain, but that is the beauty of the year's challenge. It creates a motivation to live which I have never quite experienced before in my lifetime.
I am almost done with the month of July. That means only five months left. I have already done something new every week for more than half the year; I don't know exactly what I'll be doing over the next five months, but I didn't know what I was going to do over the previous seven either. The intention had a way of fulfilling itself.
Once in a college class, the class was listing oxymorons, and a student suggested "How about rap music?" I had to laugh at that. And now I have to laugh at myself. My new thing for next week is I will go to a rap concert. I have never liked rap very much, but in this situation that only makes a stronger argument to attend. It is out of my comfort zone and just like at my cousin Kanani's party, my white self might stand out like Gandolf transformed into a white wizard in the Lord of the Rings (oh no, that statement alone just made me even whiter--yet notice how it is in my power to delete it, but I don't because a glowing wizard at a rap concert is too funny). Rap itself though has become more and more mainstream and we all notice the many white folks listening to it and trying to use it as a definition of personal style. I know very little about rap, but I sometimes get the feeling that many people consider it the antithesis of a white existence. I can only weigh in so much on the issue when I know so little. When I was twelve and my dad bought a computer that had a cd-rom (I remember what a huge deal it was at the time), I used to spend hours exploring Encarta Encyclopedia and would listen to an excerpt of Grand Master Flash's "The Message." I loved the keyboards in the background. The excerpt was probably less than a minute; very short, especially considering this song is over seven minutes long, so I only had a taste. My younger brothers have both been interested in rap music. And the glimpses I've had of it are more from music videos than the music itself. It seems like the image of rap, at least seen through white culture, and the music itself, are almost two separate entities. Sometimes I also feel like if the image of nonwhite culture seems harder and tougher than my own, anyone who isn't white will seem scarier behind the desk in an office and therefore be far less likely to be hired. Meanwhile the rest of us can feel cool by turning on the radio and paying $50 for a concert ticket to watch a rap artist who has branched into the mainstream so well, there are sure to be many other white people just like us watching the show.
In having all these new experiences in my life, there is a question of whether these challenges truly help me grow. I believe they have, but sometimes it is too easy to think we're doing something different, when we really just end up staying where we are comfortable after all. For example, showing interest in another culture, but only after that culture has sufficiently overlapped with our own that we no longer know the difference. Not that I even got to that point. I haven't given this genre much consideration, even though I love music, and maybe it's because I bought into the idea that I didn't belong with it. I had forgotten all about "The Message" until now.
I think going to any rap concert would hold merit for a new experience for me. I don't even listen to it, so attending a concert is quite a jump. But I don't want to be disillusioned either and believe this is a step towards carrying the so-called ghetto-pass, which is stupid anyway, because no one stands up in third grade and says "When I grow up, I want to live in the ghetto." What I would like is to accept a situation I'm not accustomed to--just very plain and simple.
This is a local concert held in downtown Ogden. I really don't know what to expect. Fliers were brought into my work, which is how I discovered it. I noticed recently that all the fliers were gone, and I hope that doesn't mean the people hosting the concert canceled and came back to pick up all the fliers. That sounds unrealistic though; more likely someone just threw away all the fliers. They must have been thrown away because there were probably close to twenty or thirty fliers, and then they were gone. Oh well. I just really want to go. It's funny how here I am, not even a fan of rap and really hoping I can still go to this rap concert! However I will not attend dressed up like a wizard or any Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter character. That can always be another week.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Shake What You've Got (Or What You Wish You Had)
If there was a reality show called "So You Think You Can Draw," I don't want to sound presumptuous but I think I might have a chance. Like visual art, dancing is its own art form and I enjoy improvising movement to music like the majority of the lay dance community, but I certainly have no formal training in any dance style. But there's no reason life has to remain that way, right?
As a young girl, I often wanted to become a ballerina, but I lacked the resources to fulfill my young wish. This didn't stop me from pretending on occasion. But a big difference between being a child and an adult is the space between imagination and reality shrink as our opportunities to live our dreams in the real world increase. In other words, it is up to me now whether I take a dance class or not. I don't have to ask anyone's permission and be halted if the answer is no. The only person who can stop me is myself. Adulthood equals no excuses.
I still love watching ballet, but dancing opportunity presented itself as something more sexy, more primal--movement to invoke Aphrodite and hold this feminine archetype, which is not always easy when you're raised in a culture that rarely honors the whole woman. While our culture may be at once sexually permissive and stunted, let's just say taking a belly dancing class may be a remedy for this bind. Shaking your hips this much does not obey narrow tenets.
My former yoga instructor, Aubrey, has a studio in Clearfield called The Movement Academy and belly dancing classes are held Tuesday and Thursday nights from 9-10 pm. My sister Tiffani and I went Tuesday and there were fourteen of us altogether, including the instructor Heather Ann, a beautiful dancer. It helped me so much to watch her reflection in the mirrors spanning the east wall of the studio. Most of the women there have been practicing our dance for the past month and a half and here my sister and I are, knowing absolutely nothing about belly dancing but willing to look stupid in order to have fun. Truthfully no one looks stupid though; it is such a raw and sensuous movement of the body that even out of sync with the choreography, moving on your right foot when you should be on your left foot and trying to figure out how to move your hips while keeping your torso still, it is still seductive in more than one way. The most difficult aspect of belly dancing is the isolation of body parts. While the hips twist, the upper body remains under control. The shoulders shake while the lower body is silent. Of course, to shimmy all over isn't that easy either. The thighs are almost always kept together while dancing, except when we lean back and throw our heads from left to right at a count of eight. It demands attention while simultaneously feeling completely natural, almost a return to a deeply celebratory part of being a woman. Just think about it: How many women celebrate being a woman? Or how about how many women curse being a woman? That can't be healthy. I definitely recommend belly dancing to any woman, and you would be surprised to see some of the other women in there dancing. There were several different ages and body types. As Heather Ann said, "Embrace the jiggle." And to all the men, you already know how much you enjoy belly dancing. That's healthy too! I loved this experience. It will make you sweat in a way you enjoy, and Aphrodite will be proud.
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