Going Nowhere

Going Nowhere

   In the third part of this missive on the holiday rush, I had the chance to view the TED Talk by author Pico Iyer, a talk he titled, "Going Nowhere."   This was especially good timing since two of my friends have now been caught by surprise with health problems, that of an operation moving slower than expected and the other with a puzzling and unsolved diagnosis.  It's something we don't really think about, that of our health taking a turn.  Even when we get a flu bug or a sore throat, we expect it to slowly fade away...that sore back will heal, those itchy eyes will be better by morning.  But alas, life sometimes throws us a curve and suddenly, the unexpected arrives, reminding us that perhaps life is a bit more precious that we imagined (even if we always felt that we knew that all along, but then who were we kidding?).

   The idea of "going nowhere" is an ancient one, often the subject of Buddhist writings as exemplified by former nun, Ayya Kehma's book, Being Nobody, Going Nowhere: Meditations on the Buddhist Path.  While more a book on meditation, the idea is the same, to slow down and look at what is directly in front of you, stepping back and looking again, then stepping back and looking yet again, trying to get a better picture of not only yourself, but of the "bigger" picture.

   Here's how Pico Iyer put it (he also wrote a book on the same subject of his talk):  I found that the best way that I could develop more attentive and more appreciative eyes was, oddly, by going nowhere, just by sitting still. And of course sitting still is how many of us get what we most crave and need in our accelerated lives, a break. But it was also the only way that I could find to sift through the slideshow of my experience and make sense of the future and the past. And so, to my great surprise, I found that going nowhere was at least as exciting as going to Tibet or to Cuba. And by going nowhere, I mean nothing more intimidating than taking a few minutes out of every day or a few days out of every season, or even, as some people do, a few years out of a life in order to sit still long enough to find out what moves you most, to recall where your truest happiness lies and to remember that sometimes making a living and making a life point in opposite directions.

   Talking with a friend of mine the other night (he being a published author of four books), I found that a common theme that all of us seem to share is that closing of our minds, or rather, the things that happen when we do decide to sit still for a moment.  Walking the dog, going for a run or a swim, that brief period between waking and being awake, all seem to produce brief points of clarity that bring ideas or thoughts into focus.  And just as quickly, the door begins to close.  Once home, we often struggle to maintain those ideas or thoughts, things that seemed so vivid that it felt that we could not forget them.  But vanish they do...songs, themes, lists, plans.  Gone.

   Is it just easier?  Are we being lazy?  Do we really not have any time?  The holidays, of course, add to this, the pace building and building (if we let it) until we realize that we are suddenly on the precipice, on one side about to give in to the pressure and on the other, ready to shut it down and flee.  Often, despite what our mind is telling us, we don't listen.  And sometimes, our body responds for us, perhaps gently at first, or perhaps violently.  A back goes out or an ankle twists, or a stomach pain doesn't go away.  It's almost as if our mind has to use our body to slow us down, as if to say, if you won't slow down willingly, then I have no choice but to do this.  This shouldn't have to be...should it?  What else are we missing by not listening?

   "...nothing can be more exhilarating than going slow," said Pico Iyer.  And in an age of distraction, nothing is so luxurious as paying attention. And in an age of constant movement, nothing is so urgent as sitting still. So you can go on your next vacation to Paris or Hawaii, or New Orleans; I bet you'll have a wonderful time. But, if you want to come back home alive and full of fresh hope, in love with the world, I think you might want to try considering going nowhere.

   Good advice...if only we would listen.  Perhaps the best present this holiday would be simply one to yourself, a gift to go nowhere.