It was a typical morning in some respects, and not in others. Getting up in the middle of the night is quite ordinary, but generally it is unplanned. Getting up just ahead of my alarm at 3:30 a.m.--that's different. Today it was about getting out of the house by 4:15 for my 6:05 departure from SFO.
At 4:15 a.m. exactly I could feel the pressure building as Debbie searched for her keys and then ran back into the house for her glasses. Of course I took the wheel of the car at 4:18 a.m. to make up the “lost time”. I managed to pull up at the curb at the departure level of United Airlines at 4:38. What a hero.
I stood in the Premiere Executive line waiting to check my bags, all the while evaluating the length of the other lines, calculating how many attendants were staffing how many automated check-in kiosks, and evaluating whether the parties ahead of me were fully cognizant of available kiosks as other passengers completed their tasks. So much calculating going on. You could say this became moot when I at last logged on and learned that my flight departure would be delayed until 6:40 a.m.
“S#!%!” was my immediate one word response. I knew that I had a finite number of minutes (92 to be exact) in the Hartford area to land, pick up bags, hail a cab, take the half hour drive from Windsor Locks to Hartford, and make it on the last bus to Great Barrington where I planned to meet my cousin at his restaurant. A quick calc suggested that this was still doable. I kept moving forward.
The calculations and evaluations continued as I approached the all important spot in the security queue where my analysis would trigger a decision as to which line had more people and/or was moving faster. I guessed right and sailed through even with a few small containers of liquids that went undetected.
The vibration on my hip told me an email message was coming in on my Blackberry. United Airlines update. Departure moved back to 7:05. Suddenly I realized this was not necessarily a one hour delay of my overall air travel. I could very well arrive at O'Hare too late to make my connection to Hartford at O’Hare altogether.
It really isn’t about the long list of events that underwent my constant scrutiny this morning. Not about which concession stand was or was not open, or did or did not have bacon and sausage in all of its breakfast fare; or about Avis not having a Great Barrington office, or the Avis agent not knowing where the closest office would be to Great Barrington. It is not about grabbing a premade tuna sandwich before boarding, or ending up behind a whining baby, or being asked by the baby’s mother to change seats with her husband in row 13 so they could sit together (which actually worked out well, since it got me away from the baby). It is not about any one or the entire series of events.
It is about a single moment as I sat chewing on my dry sandwich watching but not listening to the in-flight movie. As a woman stood up blocking my view of the screen it suddenly hit me what a steady stream of judgments flows through my mind. This is not shocking news in itself. It was just felt at a deeper level than I’ve noticed before. It is ALL about: do I like it or do I not? Do I want it or do I not? Is it good or is it not? Is it making me happy or is it not?
With that as context I started to think about the differences between needs and wants. Soooooooooo much is about what I want. Generally my wants have something to do with pleasure seeking or pain avoidance. I want to leave on time so I can arrive on time so I can catch my bus and avoid being stranded in Hartford or having to pay hundreds for a rental car. I want Boudin to open to I can get the fresh turkey sandwich in stead of the dry tuna sandwich from Just Desserts. I want. I want. I want.
My mind moved to “the bike saga”. I need a healthy and strong body. If I do that it will hurt less going up hills, but I want to taste tacos and chips and salsa and ice cream with chocolate sauce. If I am healthy and strong I will have the endurance to pedal longer distances up steeper hills, but instead of working out I often want to take an afternoon nap and listen to Ralph Barbieri interview some jock who is in shape.
I am suddenly taken by a new concept. What if I made my myriad evaluations, judgments, and decisions based on needs rather than wants? I am such a slave to my wants. My center of want is like a tyrant running roughshod over my needs. What if I gave my needs even just a little more air time? Let’s try it.
I am now sitting in the exit row with three seats to myself having miraculously just made the connection at O’Hare to the Hartford flight heading for an early arrival! (The center of want seems to be a pessimist. Things tend to work out much better than the want bugger expects.) The flight attendant asks if I want a drink and some pretzels. When did I ever say no? Then again, that is all about want. Do I need a snack? No.
“No thank you, “ I reply.
Saturday, August 9, 2008
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Up and Down
Yes, "up and down" is a common theme in this series of blogs--as well it should be. Riding the bike. Living life. Anyone contemplating either of these lofty issues is bound to notice the cyclic nature, pardon the pun.
Today marked a grand achievement. Whereas earlier this week my bicycle odometer turned over 1,000 miles, today’s achievement was grander than that (another unintended pun--think about it). Today I ascended Old La Honda Road all the way to Skyline Boulevard for the very first time. Given the effort to accomplish this I can’t say there will be many more such occasions. Albeit I stopped often--more frequently as I went along. It took me an hour and a half to go the three and a half miles. I’m figuring it was about a 1,100 foot climb as well.
The ascent was hard. Very hard. A few weeks ago, the first time I tried this, I managed to go about two-thirds of a mile before I needed to stop for a breather. At that point I felt light headed as well, and decided it might not be wise to push on further. Since then I had a chat with Deb’s colleague, an avid and experienced cyclist, Teri. Her coaching was to stop as long and as often as I needed, and then to keep going. Today I heeded Teri’s sage counsel, and the results speak for themselves. The allegory alarm just went off! Persevere, blah, blah, blah....
The way down was an all together different experience. I have mentioned some of the concerns that pass through this cyclist’s mind on descents. Whatever I may have encountered previously pales in comparison to today’s experience. An eleven hundred foot drop on a narrow, serpentine road, lined with redwood trees and precipitous canyons--this gets ones attention! Throughout this portion of the ride the words of my friend, John Carlsen, spoken on a ride we took together months ago, echoed in my mind with keener significance. Back then, when I was grousing about climbing hills and exulting about speeding down them, he mentioned that many experienced cyclists truly enjoy the climb more than the descent. During the climb, he explained, one gets a sense of accomplishment--real work is being done. Whereas during the descent that is replaced with naked fear. I understood that before. I really get it now.
Of course all of this is informed, aptly, by the little spill I had a few weeks ago. Ergo, as magnificent as the surroundings were--majestic trees and vistas--my focus was on the pavement, the sound of approaching cars, and the fluctuating width of shoulder that the road provided. Sometimes it disappeared altogether and I had to take a commanding position on the highway. Whenever possible I moved cautiously to the right of the white stripe on the shoulder. Virtually the entire ride down I was in the dropped handle bar position gripping the brakes. Only occasionally was the road wide enough, smooth enough, and straight enough where letting go of them was not an entirely suicidal maneuver.
One of the beautiful aspects of my many stops on the way up the road was the opportunity to simply take in the natural wonders around me. I am quite conscious of the fact that I opted to ride today, Shabbat, rather than attend synagogue. Sadly, the ritual there is often not as compelling as a stand of redwood trees against a crystalline sky. To compensate, if that is the word, for non-attendance in shul, I engaged quite consciously in full appreciation of what I held before me. It would have been a great loss not to do the same were I fully preoccupied with my survival on the way down. Though my body did not demand that I stop on the descent the way it did on the way up, my soul asked for a few breaks to soak it all in on this picture perfect afternoon.
Sometimes up is torture. Sometimes it is triumph. Sometimes down is ecstasy. Sometime dread. One of my cycling friends told me some weeks ago that this venture was not so much about quads and hamstrings, calves and gluts, but about the mass of “muscle” between the ears. The mind can frame and reframe every experience. I could easily say that both up and down were terrible in their own ways, and they were. Then why do I feel so good about them both?
Today marked a grand achievement. Whereas earlier this week my bicycle odometer turned over 1,000 miles, today’s achievement was grander than that (another unintended pun--think about it). Today I ascended Old La Honda Road all the way to Skyline Boulevard for the very first time. Given the effort to accomplish this I can’t say there will be many more such occasions. Albeit I stopped often--more frequently as I went along. It took me an hour and a half to go the three and a half miles. I’m figuring it was about a 1,100 foot climb as well.
The ascent was hard. Very hard. A few weeks ago, the first time I tried this, I managed to go about two-thirds of a mile before I needed to stop for a breather. At that point I felt light headed as well, and decided it might not be wise to push on further. Since then I had a chat with Deb’s colleague, an avid and experienced cyclist, Teri. Her coaching was to stop as long and as often as I needed, and then to keep going. Today I heeded Teri’s sage counsel, and the results speak for themselves. The allegory alarm just went off! Persevere, blah, blah, blah....
The way down was an all together different experience. I have mentioned some of the concerns that pass through this cyclist’s mind on descents. Whatever I may have encountered previously pales in comparison to today’s experience. An eleven hundred foot drop on a narrow, serpentine road, lined with redwood trees and precipitous canyons--this gets ones attention! Throughout this portion of the ride the words of my friend, John Carlsen, spoken on a ride we took together months ago, echoed in my mind with keener significance. Back then, when I was grousing about climbing hills and exulting about speeding down them, he mentioned that many experienced cyclists truly enjoy the climb more than the descent. During the climb, he explained, one gets a sense of accomplishment--real work is being done. Whereas during the descent that is replaced with naked fear. I understood that before. I really get it now.
Of course all of this is informed, aptly, by the little spill I had a few weeks ago. Ergo, as magnificent as the surroundings were--majestic trees and vistas--my focus was on the pavement, the sound of approaching cars, and the fluctuating width of shoulder that the road provided. Sometimes it disappeared altogether and I had to take a commanding position on the highway. Whenever possible I moved cautiously to the right of the white stripe on the shoulder. Virtually the entire ride down I was in the dropped handle bar position gripping the brakes. Only occasionally was the road wide enough, smooth enough, and straight enough where letting go of them was not an entirely suicidal maneuver.
One of the beautiful aspects of my many stops on the way up the road was the opportunity to simply take in the natural wonders around me. I am quite conscious of the fact that I opted to ride today, Shabbat, rather than attend synagogue. Sadly, the ritual there is often not as compelling as a stand of redwood trees against a crystalline sky. To compensate, if that is the word, for non-attendance in shul, I engaged quite consciously in full appreciation of what I held before me. It would have been a great loss not to do the same were I fully preoccupied with my survival on the way down. Though my body did not demand that I stop on the descent the way it did on the way up, my soul asked for a few breaks to soak it all in on this picture perfect afternoon.
Sometimes up is torture. Sometimes it is triumph. Sometimes down is ecstasy. Sometime dread. One of my cycling friends told me some weeks ago that this venture was not so much about quads and hamstrings, calves and gluts, but about the mass of “muscle” between the ears. The mind can frame and reframe every experience. I could easily say that both up and down were terrible in their own ways, and they were. Then why do I feel so good about them both?
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