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Framing Life
We tend to think of our lives as narratives. Stories with beginnings, middles, and ends. Structured by significant nodes – moments marking personal evolution – and neatly annotated by epiphanies.
These narratives are always written after they have been lived. Meaning made by looking back; a historical decipherment of triumphs and defeats, challenges met or succumbed to, opportunities seized or lost. The narratives simplify the chaos and ascribe some measure of identity to our ‘self’. Without them, we seem to be lost. We cannot make sense of ourselves, of others, of everything around us that we interact with.
Everyone is a living book, being written and spoken ceaselessly. Together, we epitomize a colossal library. Humanity’s scripture, the collapsed state of a much more inscrutable existence. The lucid interpretation abided by but not quite believed. Authorships are shared – we take the pen when we are ready or able, but we are not necessarily the ones writing our own tale.
With those tendencies in mind, let us take a look at two brief stories. The lives of P and D. From the moment they graduated high school to now, with a particular focus on their labor.
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Embracing Prevention
It has been a recurring theme this week, popping up in conversations, media consumed, and in silent moments of reflection as I have considered what meals to prepare.
The concept of prevention. Specifically, prevention of negative outcomes in personal and societal spaces.
I was on the road again this past Sunday. Somewhere just after passing Clinton, halfway between Vancouver and Prince George, my vehicle’s sound system stopped registering my iPod Touch. The 2009 device seemed to be working fine, so perhaps the connecting cable was shot. Whatever the matter, 15 years without issue is not a bad run.
With no music to listen to and 4 hours still to go, I combed the FM airwaves until I landed on the only available channel – CBC Radio. It went in and out as I weaved through the mountainous terrain, fuzzy for much of the journey. I had to re-tune several times to find the right frequency. But for the rest of the drive, my ears followed the programming as my eyes browsed the landscapes that the hosts discussed. The news programs spoke about the upcoming fire seasons. The interview podcasts featured guests who were experts in disasters, mental health, and wringing comedy from dark times. A little politics, here and there, seemingly the same polarized discourse we have been having for the last decade. It was clear that a lot of the shows were pre-taped, as the situations had changed even by then – the Sunday morning updates from BC’s Northeast and Alberta’s Fort MacMurray markedly different than the headlines being repeated.
One of the programs, “Cross Country Checkup”, ended by fielding calls from Canadians who had questions or wanted to share their thoughts on the modern mega-firescape that has gripped the nation’s summers in recent times. Some wondered why the provincial government had not banned campfires, given the predicted disaster-filled summer ahead. Most fires are human-caused, after all – the result of hot mufflers, discarded cigarettes, grass burning run amok, industrial activity. Why not prevent what we can? (Arson, it must be noted, represented a tiny percentage of the causes.) Other callers suggested preventative measures to deal with the new megafire reality; introduce large fire breaks around towns and populated areas. The idea being that these would be effective in aiding response efforts and save a lot of forested or agricultural land from eradication. The callers were also mostly fire-affected. Former evacuees; anecdote-holders whose trauma from recent events fueled their passion for the subject.
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Suitcase Diaries
Il est minuit à Tokyo, il est cinq heures au Mali
Quelle heure est-il au paradis?A couple of days ago, a decent chunk of a city was glued to their screens as their affiliated team produced a classic comeback to win a playoff game. The fifth of sixteen they will want to claim top spot in North America’s premier ice hockey league, for the time being.
I had wanted to join them but found myself exhausted. Falling asleep on the couch, I relented and headed to bed, only for my envisioned nap to turn into a night-long sleep. My energy levels can be an issue when I am away from my regular abode and routines, as I have been for the past two weeks. A combination of interrupted sleep, more arduous daily excursions, and social exuberance needed during times of increased movement.
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Last calendar year, I spent just over four months away from my apartment. (I refuse to call it my ‘home’; that designation has not yet been earned.) Living out of a few bags and transporting myself from location to location, mostly for work and a little on vacation. This year and only ten days into May, I have already racked up over two months in the same situation. Transience has been a regular theme of my life for the past eight orbits. A voluntary one, for the most part – I have enjoyed going to every corner of BC and witnessing transformative projects in person.
No complaints on my chosen path. But I was reflecting on the transitory life; a microcosm of our long existence.
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On Juries and Verdicts
In the Middle East, another brewing conflict. In South Asia, nearly a billion votes up for grabs. On the other side of this continent, a former President trying to continue his decades-long evasion of conviction. Pause. Yes, on that.
I am struggling currently to write on personal matters, which is totally fine. I do not intend for this blog to be consistently active. More irregular; inspiration cannot be forced and the time to dedicate to following each thread is a luxury. But rather than providing shallow commentary on current affairs, I prefer to point to pieces more wholly formed.
On this matter of law – it reminds me of one of my more controversial opinions, which I intend to articulate at some future date and find some good research on: that law in an ideal society is structured in such a way that it is embedded and expressed within a robust public system that ensures equity for those charged with crimes – that lawyers are to clients in a system of law as doctors are to patients in a functioning and well-supported public healthcare system. That law followed and considered is not dependent on one’s social standing or wealth, and the courts are not another mechanism for the upper classes to delay accountability, or a playground for endless corporate shenanigans. That cases follow a similar path for all, regardless of their means or marginalization. That wraparound supports and alternative functions are present to decide on matters that are more straightforward.
The controversial bit relates to private law and its unbearable drawbacks. To eliminate it entirely and introduce prejudice-minimizing procedures into court that draw on our best understanding of human psychology and power dynamics. That is right, no private practices or firms. A system built for the public by the public. And as amazingly naïve as that may sound, it is entirely possible. Justice is inherently difficult to achieve within any setup. The processes of interpreting, framing, and regulating societal norms (law) are an ongoing struggle to define. Particularly in a capitalist modality that offers incredible financial incentives for the entire judiciary to maintain the ridiculous status quo.
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Unwritten Understandings
Just a brief comment to finish the week, on social contracts encountered behind the wheel.
One of those small, highway-side towns, somewhere between Clinton and Prince George. Just a couple weeks ago, but I cannot recall exactly where. The signs change from 90 to 80, then to 60. Slow down, there may be pedestrians ahead. Keep it at 50 in case you see any kids walking on the shoulder. Stay alert.
It is a two-lane road entering the town. Leading a long line of vehicles from the oncoming direction, a giant white eighteen-wheeler. A little bit of cloud cover, but still plenty of daylight around to not require any headlights. Yet this truck driver has their lights on, and blinks them, twice, as they pass me. Alright, cop ahead.
I know flashing lights can mean a lot of things. In rural Canada, at least where I drive, it usually means watch for animals or cops. But in the past seven years of traversing BC’s vast paved network, this caution has only been shared with me when there are police around. It seems like most drivers who are members of the headlight warning brigade almost exclusively use it to warn of speed traps. I am not sure why this level of solidarity is easier stuck to than others, but I guess it is not too difficult to acknowledge the annoyance or hate towards law enforcement. Out on the road, most divisions ebb away and the ‘us vs. them’ line is drawn between those wanting to make quick time of their long journey and those who seek to slow them down. The latter to prop up their usefulness or to manage public safety – or to do one under the guise of the other – that is where the debates lie.
Sure enough, just past the gas station, there they are. Three white RCMP SUVs with those distinctive lights, colors, and reinforced front bumpers.
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They Say
I must listen to what they say, because I cannot see it myself. At least not unfiltered; a distortion of the event, a hazy retelling, is how I bear witness. Jumping into and out of meetings a continent’s breadth away as the occurrence unfolds.
They say this happens all the time. Every eighteen months, or thereabouts. But unless you have the means and the dedication, the chances of experiencing it firsthand are minimal. A gliding shadow, uninterested in our gaze, darts swiftly, sweeping across the rock we call home over peaks and troughs unreachable, or skies opaque.
They say you should watch this one. Take in the Baily Beads, signifiers of a landscape not unlike ours, its jagged irregularities enough to produce a perfect optical symphony. Or watch for the Diamond Rings, flashes of brilliance that will sandwich a long-awaited marvel.
They say that this one is special. It will deliver one of the longest interplanetary hide-and-seek games for centuries. The result of our lunar companion being further away and therefore obscuring a greater area of our solar parent. Usually we get a couple of minutes – this time it will be nearly four.
They say the stellar flares are spiking. This increased activity will be a boon for researchers on the ground, in the sky, and above the atmosphere. An opportunity unlike any other to better understand the mysteries of an unapproachable cosmic shore.
They say the anticipation is palpable. A gold circle slowly loses its luster as a species swarms to a dimming flame. The excitement increases as the shape morphs into waning crescents, hinting at the rhyming clockwork of celestial companions.
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“It’ll have to go”
This post contains spoilers for Douglas Adams’ A Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy series. It also contains rants on a bat-and-ball game.
There is an Indian word called ‘Tamasha’, which means fun, excitement, glamor, uncertainty – all rolled into one.
– Mihir Bose
In Life, the Universe, and Everything, Douglas Adams introduces us to Krikkit, a planet surrounded by a dust cloud. Krikkiters, the planet’s inhabitants, are unaware of the cosmos. They see a perpetually black sky – no starlight piercing through, no clue of what lies behind the curtain. Krikkiters are initially portrayed as unassuming, kind humanoids going about their daily lives within a pastoral bliss. That is, until a spaceship sears a luminous path through the void, crashing onto their planet from nowhere. They look up, astonished – where did it come from?
We quickly find out that the Krikkiters are more than they seem. In unbelievably quick time, they reverse engineer the spaceship and embark on a mission. Launching into the darkness, a small crew leave the planet to discover the truth. For a while, all they see is nothingness; the remarkable fact that they are moving through what they thought was a static celestial tapestry hardly appears to be invigorating. Finally, they happen upon it. A spectacular revelation – the darkness suddenly punctuated with pinpricks of light, their number slowly growing and growing, until the entire universe lies in front of them. All the stars, galaxies, globular clusters – the ignitions of existence – laid bare within infinity itself.
But their response is unexpected: “It’ll have to go.” The Krikkiters cannot share the universe. The potential life forms residing across uncountable worlds all newly discovered enemies; a rude interruption to a way of life that must be preserved through destruction. The Krikkiters head back to their planet, resolved to a new, brutal mission, one that will result in trillions upon trillions of deaths.
It is one of the more incredible moments in a series of novels that envelopes witty hyperbole and poignant interludes with comedy, providing plenty of unsettling narratives.
The Indian Premier League, or IPL, begins today. I wish I felt inspired to write about something more important, but there is a certain gravity to this game that is inescapable.
Let me rattle off a few things about cricket, its stewards, its fans, and a tournament at the node of two eras in the sport’s history.
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Syllables of Existence
Part of my job involves supporting the development of short to long-term health plans. Part of this exercise is advising on indicators – the measurable outcomes of each activity within the plan that will define the level of its success. The indicators that we usually see work on the lengthier time scales, most monitored on an annual basis. I was reading a particular granular plan recently and it got me thinking about the calculable components of my own labor. But not in relation to monthly or yearly goals – these are easy enough to quantify in projects, reports, meetings, etc. completed. Not even in relation to weekly segments, too short a timeline sometimes when you are in and out of the office in a relationship-based role, trying your best to build something larger.
Rather, it was what I produced on a daily basis that I started to think about. My contribution through emails, calls, in meetings, documents, and online logs. My movement through spaces – my apartment, the office, another’s home, walking along the street, traversing communities – what determinate things could I define through numeric figures? How could I sum up my presence?
Of course, I was not interested in finding actual numbers that I could use to define my output. I was after something more fundamental: the meaning I brought to my work (or job, labor, occupation, call it what you will) and my life. What is it that I produce that is of particular significance to those around me? What is it that I take to my friends and family that keeps them availed?
In search of this latent value, I unearthed a soft revelation. I have a feeling it is something many of us have in common.
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On the Intimately Remote
The ghostly Coast Mountains and serene islands straddling Atlin Lake, the base of a makeshift ice rink. February 28, 2024.Here I am contemplating the next great vacation, a jaunt on some foreign land for an extended period of introspection via exploration. A quest to fill a lacuna in self-identity, not confirmed but understood, like the mechanisms behind forces of nature.
The break will have to be a long one. Three to four weeks. Leisure is an illusion; to delay the end of its fleeting nature one of the simple joys of a secure profession. The time is also as necessary as it is limited – parts unknown only discoverable when repeatedly sought, Rooms of Requirement hidden away in alleyways far from tourist meccas.
Fall seems like a good option, all factors considered. Perhaps a trip south of the equator to Chile, where herds of horses hurtle across lands as sacred to astronomers as they are to widows of crushed rebellions. Santiago to the Atacama to the Patagonian outlands. Tempting. But what about one of the Asian Tigers? South Korea, wrestling with deep binaries – cultural differences between men and women, young and old, urban and rural, or rich and poor, while traditional religions flourish amid heightened modernity – a microcosm of globalized struggles. Wait, I have it, Iceland! An isolated reprieve; a romantic outpost. Who could argue with its chilling volcanic landscapes or gorgeous vistas overlooking stellar phenomena?
I am also trying to find companions for the journey. Aside from not being alone with my thoughts for too long, I prefer the benefits (and can tolerate the drawbacks) of travelling in a (small) group. Conversing through novel experiences can enrich them greatly, personal thoughts and assumptions not always the best guides towards, or filters of, wisdom. We all need bouncing boards for our learning and amusement. Finding a group with a small circle is also tough; coordinating leaves and scheduling excursions a terrible foundation of administrative turmoil on which to launch collective adventures.
No matter where I end up travelling, it strikes me that I am always here, on the shore of the cosmic ocean. An inescapable beach with too many grains of sand to sift through. Trifling in the grand scheme of things yet immeasurable in its immensity. Human experience and construction a mere footnote to its natural wonders.
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The Price of Connection
Sometime in the mid-2010s, there was a chorus of researchers who began to seriously consider the long-term effects of modern, digital social media on our personalities. At this point everyone with a mic, pen, and laptop had already waxed lyrical about the positive and negative impacts of online networks invading every corner of our daily lives. The foundation of the dual life – of your actual person and your profiles on digital platforms – had long been consolidated. Facebook was the dominant player (and remains for now as the most utilized site for connecting), essentially ubiquitous among younger demographics who had grown up with technology at their fingertips. Even youth who were living in poverty could afford simple flip phones where they could access the basic Facebook mobile interface and messaging services – something I witnessed working with children in rural Uganda back in 2013.
These researchers may have been motivated by the unexpected and anecdotal rise in social isolation, especially among youth (early adopters and heavy users of large social media sites). MySpace had been an experimental precursor where the potentially harmful effects of social media may not have made themselves apparent. The rise of Facebook, a digital party for all your acquaintances, with a constantly updating feed, and Reddit, which allowed a window into the general zeitgeist and its flowering subcultures, led to increased critical scrutiny of the underlying infrastructure that was fast forming our new social connective tissue.
Facebook, Twitter, Reddit, Youtube, Whatsapp and over in China, WeChat and QQ, were also fast becoming relevant in the workplace. Links to each began to be embedded not just on webpages designed for entertainment and fun, but also for professional use. There are still vast swathes of industry in East Asia where an email or mobile text may not be exchanged during an entire workday; instead, interactions on a single platform like WeChat may be all that is needed to accomplish daily tasks.
These researchers did surveys, looked at all publicly available data, and spoke to industry experts, users, promotors, and critics of social media platforms. They quoted twentieth century intellectuals such as B.F. Skinner, Bertrand Russell, Alan Turing, and Norbert Wiener in their search for an answer to the question: should we be worried?