Friendly Space

Today, like most days, when I opened this window to make a note about today’s observation of evidence of a friendly universe, I have to pause for a moment and try and think of something. My mind runs over several things considering whether there’s something friendly about them. I kind of do a quick inventory. I found myself looking towards the interactions I had with people today. Was there something in them of the friendly? And I look around me, which is mostly office supplies of various sorts — desk, computer, pen, paper, (stupid) smart phone.  These things don’t scream out “friendly.”

But then I look on my windowsill at an aloe plant that is fighting for its life. Something about the natural shape of the plant, the color of the leaves, does whisper “friendly.” I used to keep a few aquariums of fish. Something about that always whispered “friendly.”

The computer does not. The phone does not. I know the manufacturers and designers work hard to make them whisper “I’m friendly,” or make them think they’re your friend, but they’re not. They just lay there and do what you tell them. Your friends don’t just lay there; they give you shit when you deserve it; they talk back; they have different opinions; they don’t like everything you like; they don’t necessarily “like” what you tell them to like (referencing Facebook — it’s not the real world, folks). You can’t just click a human friend until they take the shape you want. They rebel. That’s a real friend. The one that says, “no way,” but then still sticks around. The virtual friend of course sticks around, or is easily replaced if you have to get rid of them, not because they disagreed, maybe, but because you clicked them wrong.

It’s the naturally-formed objects — plants, people, cats — that whisper “friendly” to me most readily.  OK, some cats. Rats. Rats are friendly, I think. But the natural form feel inherently warm and friendly. Even snow does. Why is that?

Evidence of a friendly universe: that the naturally-formed shape, the authentic personality, the unadulterated soul, the essence of humanness,  feels warm and safe to me. The constructed, artificial personality or object does not.

Maybe my inclination to view much of the universe as hostile is that I am sensitive to artifice and despise it. However, we humans construct artifice all around ourselves, whether it’s houses to shelter us from rain, or clothes to shelter us from unwanted touch — whether it’s hands or cold air — or we don airs and pretenses, which are shelters from the negative judgments of others.  I’ve got the roof and the clothes, but not the pretenses. In that sense I’m a nudist.

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I’m confident that it’s fair to say that the choreographer David Dorfman has taught and inspired many dancers. I always remember his classes being full of happy, eager students.

I once heard him say something to the effect that it is beautiful to see someone learning movement. I agree that the process and moment of learning is indeed special. It’s possible to see into the soul of a person as they try, as they learn, as they make mistakes that are unique to their mind, as they fix their mistakes, move forward, maybe fall and fail, but all the while their stumblings are unique expressions of that person’s feelings and thoughts.

Saying it’s beautiful to see the students learn is also a very encouraging thing to say to a class. I remember I would feel un-self-conscious in his classes, even though I was generally the rank-beginner among them all and somewhat clumsy to boot. That’s so important. How can you learn self-expression and dance if you feel self-conscious? David had called my learning process beautiful and maybe even dramatic. Wow. What a nice guy. Hey, look at me everyone.

OK, so evidence of a friendly universe: the beauty of transformation, the clumsiness of making mistakes, the beauty of seeing learning take place, the uniqueness each of us reveal as we make our own mistakes.

Here’s me, making mistakes, in the process of learning J.S. Bach’s Invention #6 in E Maj.

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This is a tough one.

Today I was writing for a website and wanted to quote Lance Armstrong.  Specifically, I wanted to quote the title of his autobiography “It’s not about the bike” and needed to verify the exact words he used. [The book’s full title is It’s Not About the Bike: My Journey Back to Life by Lance Armstrong and Sally Jenkins.]

When I googled his name to find the quote, a few other quotes came up, some of them suitably bad-ass:

“Pain is temporary. Quitting lasts forever.” (I especially like that one.)

“A boo is a lot louder than a cheer.” (This has become an established fact of psychology, that humans seem to give significantly more attention to the negative and frightening than we do to the positive and comforting.)

“If you ever get a second chance for something, you’ve got to go all the way.” (I’ll take that on face value. I can’t think of too many second chances I’ve gotten.)

I’m a cyclist and have competed in after-school sports since I was 9 years old, beginning with a little kids ice hockey league in Chicago. I was so excited the night before my first practice that I went to bed wearing all my hockey clothes, including my protective cup. Over forty years later I still remember how uncomfortable it was to lie in bed wearing a cup. I took it off at some point during the night.

Anyway, I have deep feelings about fairness in competition. I’m among those who feels very disappointed that Mr. Armstrong doped to win Le Tour de France. The need to cheat and cheaters themselves seem like formidable evidence of a hostile universe.

But surely there’s something here of the friendly?

Well, what I found inspiring about Armstrong hasn’t changed: grit, tenacity, courage, willingness to do whatever it takes to win, willingness to take risks. But I’m not sure any of these are evidence of a friendly universe. If anything, they’re instructions for handling a hostile zone. It feels right that it’s admirable to go to the limit, however only to the limit, only to the boundary. Going beyond the boundary of fair is wrong. Cheating. Unfriendly.

But maybe the evidence of the friendly universe here is inspiration. That we have an ability to look outside of ourselves and see examples of what we think we’d like to achieve, or how we’d like to behave (the flip side of disappointment). When we’re low on self-motivation and see nothing around us for encouragement, we can pick up a book or pull up a website about an individual who did something incredible, all due to sheer grit and going to our personal limits. The inspiring story is that we — any and all of us — can win “simply” by doing what any of us have the capacity to do: work incredibly hard and never give up.

OK, so, here’s the evidence of a friendly universe: inspiring stories. Even if it’s inspiration to be bad-ass, that’s okay.

I wonder if some of the ancient cave paintings, like at Lascaux, are inspiring stories, maybe even exaggerations of the truth intended to inspire the younger generation, maybe the teenagers, to get out and do something — anything — that they can brag about.

Frrriendly: inspiring stories.

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[Nine hours later, after that last post].

That’s not true, is it?  That we can create our own beauty entirely on our own, independent of others.  At least, it wasn’t true in the context I described it last night.

I wrote that when I was tired.  When I’m tired I’m blind and often feel lonely.

This morning, I’m unsure of whether we can create our own beauty.  We might need a community to create and experience it.  At least, in this case, that music exists in a community.  J. S. Bach lived in a community that supported him and commissioned, performed and preserved his music.  Bach had a large family.  Many generations of musicians and music lovers have taught, saved and passed along his music.  My piano teacher, who is also a member of a larger community and tradition, assigned me that piece.  A group of crafts-men and -women in a piano factory made my piano; importers brought it to the USA and sold it to the woman who would pass it along to her sister who, decades later, would give it to me, on the advice of my teacher.  And I’ve been working hard on that particular piece in order to perform it in a public recital.

Truth is, in this case, my fun and beauty exists because of a community.  Taken to the next level, my entire life is the result of my interactions with a community.

This blog, this exercise of finding friendly spaces, I chose to write in a public forum because I felt it would be more powerful, or maybe even vital, to do this in front of others.  The reason is that I wanted to feel accountable to others and that I probably wouldn’t keep it going if I did it in private.  (I just now realized that I’m doing something my ex-wife did almost 20 years ago, when she would escape into her private internet space to blog, possibly because, together, we failed to create a warm and welcoming environment in our home.)

When I’m tired, I mistakenly believe I’m alone. And, at the same time, I shut other people out.

Evidence of a friendly universe: willingness to admit it when we discover we’re wrong; willingness to change our minds; willingness to allow other people to join us in what sometimes may feel like an independent and lonely journey, but which is not. We don’t exist alone.

Evidence of a friendly universe: communities, both seen and unseen.

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We can create beauty in our lives, on our own, without depending on someone else to provide it every time we want to experience it.  Case in point: learning to play timeless music on the piano.

This Saturday evening, I made my own fun with J.S. Bach’ Prelude 1 from the Well Tempered Clavichord, Book 1.

 

Evidence of a friendly universe: our ability to create our own beauty (and fun).

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