Ennui

It is done, I have signed up for the first two courses of a horticulture and landscape design program and am on my way. Many at this point may find within themselves feelings of excitement, fear, pain from the tuition. I suppose I harbor similar emotions during this time, however, I feel my reasons are different. Some may find themselves nervous or fearful of failure. This seems to be one of the greatest reasons for education or training based anxiety, "what if I fail, what if I find that I just can't do it?" If only I was simply afraid of failure. At least failure denotes some level of attempt, some form of interest and a large portion of character if one fails well. My fear is pure, simple, unabashed, utter lack of interest.

I remember back to years of playing with Legos and match box cars, in the midst of the time of my life, suddenly stopping, looking around and sometimes even audibly saying to myself, "I don't want to do this anymore." This would be immediately followed by a smaller version of myself getting to his feet and promptly walking away. Where was he walking away to, what was on his mind, what was so important that the mere notion of it stopped an amazing Lego experience dead in its tracks? Nothing from what I can recall. Times of halting one activity was not often for another, but simply for the fact that I no longer wanted the present activity.

To this day I fear this potential within my psyche, this super-human ability to decide in a moment I no longer care. I do not fear failure, I fear lack of interest. I suppose I don't have a lot to complain about so far. I finished a four year undergraduate program and got a BA out of it (though I'm not working in what I studied...big surprise). I'm a hard worker and do well at whatever it is that I do do. Therein lies the issue, though. What do I do, what do I do with myself?

To this day, as I would walk away from a video game in the past, I feel prone to wonder away out of boredom from what it is I have been working on with no alternative in mind. It is not distraction, it's disinterest. Some have so much going on they've hardly the time to finish anything or do any one thing well. I have nothing going on only to lead to more nothing.

I took a few graduate courses a few years ago as part of a larger secondary education program. I thought it would be a good idea to be a high school English Literature teacher. That really didn't work out. My grammar is horrible, I realized the school systems are a mess and decided that literature was more of a hobby.

I have come to one conclusion, however, in my seemingly never ending, half-hazard, partially interested wanderings. It was in the graduate courses as I realized how bad the school systems were that I thought back to my undergraduate time when I was then interested in social work (which is equally a mess). I realize now that whatever it is that I, or anyone for that matter, ends up doing as a professional career, that task/career will ultimately burn the doer out. Burn out cannot be avoided; politics will eventually ruin any endeavor and the career that was once fantasized will become a source of anxiety, stress and pain. The only question is, then, what will I give myself to that will ultimately destroy me?

Perhaps my seeming lack of interest in anything is actually some strange defense mechanism. As long as I keep in the search mode, as long as whatever I'm doing is not "the thing" for me, as long as I'm not living some career apex, it will not matter when politics destroy it, it will not matter when I find myself more irritated than anything else over it. The thought of moving on is not hard considering it would not be a flight from a dream job, it would not be giving up on a dream or even worse, the destruction of a fantasy. In this, though I say I have no hobbies, in reality, everything becomes a hobby, even work itself, just something I do to pass the time and if one day I wake up and feel like never doing that again I have nothing stopping me, no commitments or expended educational efforts backing making me think twice.

Or perhaps I'm wrong. I have become a very critical person. Had I a more demanding career, some higher level something that I was working toward, training for, educating in, would I have the extra energy to be so critical? Are my criticisms and inability to be amused really just jealousy over others' successes manifesting itself? I lay awake at times and shutter at this thought, but what if it's true? If this is all just jealousy then it's about time I get out and develop something, lest I become everything I hate; some jealous old jerk who doesn't care about anything because he never gave himself to anything.

It's difficult, though. What happens when entire weeks go by and the feeling of ennui continues. Does this happen to all who are trying to succeed and finish? Is the line between myself and an established path really as simple as just working through the hard moments (though they may last weeks)? As it turns out, I seem to be a slow shopper in a far broader way than I had originally assumed. Perhaps I need an accountability partner for all this.

Becoming Indigenous

When the word "indigenous" comes to mind many of us gather in our minds images of little people, barely clothed, running around some jungle or desert. Armed with only a spear or a bow and arrow and carrying only a quiver or small satchel of sorts these characters live off the land, function as hunter-gatherers, horde little and, as far as those of whom discover them are concerned, were born out of the land itself. It seems that every environment and land has its respective indigenous peoples. There are the American Indians and images of tepees and hunting buffalo on horseback, the Eskimos and their igloos and seal hunting escapades.

It seems that the landscape has once again bore itself a people group all its own and all too part of the landscape. An urban, indigenous people exist, however they do not carry spears but u-locks. They do not sport quivers and cool loin cloths but courier bags and 3/4 length pants. They do not ride upon horses but on simple machines made of two circles and two triangles. The urban indigenous people ride bikes and are often accused of almost hitting pedestrians.

Upon taking up biking in the city, one becomes aware of the presence of this sub-culture like indigenous people group we all call messengers. They are dressed something like that of above and they're bikes are striped of every extra part that would add even an ounce of weight leaving only and just the most crucial parts needed to make a bike move. Two circles and two wheels, a set of pedals, chain, seat, handlebars.

I in no way associate myself with the messenger community apart from the fact that like them, I happen to ride a bike as well sometimes. However, the longer one rides a bike in the city the more "indigenous" one becomes. I find myself looking over my bike for parts I can do without, allowing it a sleeker, simpler look and a lighter ride. I too have searched for the perfect 3/4 length pants which breath well, yet block the wind, but are also waterproof all while being just short enough to stay out of the way of the chain. I too have attached a fender to my bike and now wear completely waterproof sandals, which wear like a shoe in that they cover one's toes protecting them from toe clips and have thick soles, yet have open sides and are built for the bare foot like a sandal. This allows me to ride in any weather as far as the summer, spring and fall months are concerned. As far as winter is concerned, I too own a hood, which one would confuse as a fitting headpiece for bank robbing, but is justified as long as I stay near my bike and it is below twenty degrees out.

While biking in the city I have learned that the above mentioned are not fashion statements but felt needs of biking. This aspect actually helps me in my social life, however. If something I'm wearing comes across as off or strange, fashion wise, all is forgiven at the thought that I rode to our meeting destination. I find it easier to wear the same clothes over and over and in a row in front of the same people as well, which is something I have tried to perfect all my life, especially in elementary and middle school, and now have just stumbled upon the answer. People can't expect one to look great after biking in eighty-five degree weather and they can't expect one to get all their clothes sweaty.

It gets worse, however. In the heat of the summer (and the random rain storms), I have found that my shirt often becomes a source of extra heat and is just another item to get wet with sweat or rain, so at times I get rid of it. I find the best shorts to bike in in such heat need no belt, but have a draw string and are more simple all around. I have become a native, biking through the city in the heat of a day, shirtless with a small bag attached to my back, sport shorts and a pair of keens on my feet (no socks thank you. Since buying the Keens which I wear, I have stumbled upon yet another aspect I've been trying to attain and revisit from childhood, that being not wearing socks for the entire summer. Now if I could just figure out how to forget what day and month it is at all times I'd have it made). I can maintain a similar speed going any direction down any street in any amount of traffic. Rain or shine, it's all the same. It will always take me the same amount of time to get to a certain location and there is no waiting between point A and B.

Of all the space that there is not in a densely populated, highly trafficked municipal area, on a bike one finds what is left.