I don't have a refrigerator at my place so leftovers are kind of tricky. In late Autumn and early Spring it's easier because I can sit my leftover dinner outside through the day and have the rest the next night. That works in Winter, too, so long as the food will tolerate freezing. And sometimes during Summer, when I have guests over, I put ice in the cooler and cook a bigger meal and again my leftovers will keep for a bit. But usually, I cook a single meal and consume it all.
I don't have much storage either, so I don't really stock up on food. I keep some canned goods on hand, and dry goods like rice and nuts and pasta. Things that tolerate Summer's heat and Winter's cold. In the colder months I keep eggs and cheese and butter and things like that on hand, but more delicate foods, like produce, have to be bought and eaten right away.
I don't make shopping lists anymore, since I buy one meal at a time. And I just make mental notes when I run low on other consumables like toilet paper and paper towels and...well that's about it for other consumables.
My lifestyle forces me to be very deliberate about buying and storing and consuming things, especially food which has to be dealt with immediately. There's no opening the refrigerator door to see what's inside. Instead, as I begin to get a little hungry, I begin lining up my next meal.
I rarely waste food these days. I like that. I like being more in tune with my consumption and not stocking up on things. I'm not sure why that's appealing to me, but I like it. It's sort of that way with everything at my place. I know what I have, and I don't have much so I can keep track of it all. And I know where everything is. It feels good for some reason.
Monday, May 13, 2013
Our Endless Desires
On my way to work this morning, I listened to a radio broadcast of a religious sermon. It was about greed and desire and money and property and its relationship to spirituality and I was very moved by it. I'm not particularly religious, but I'm fascinated by religion. I love talking with people about their religious beliefs, and observing how their beliefs impact their lives.
I always look for the common threads that run through religions, and there are many I think. There's always a deep connection to the culture in which the religion is rooted. And the telltale signs of cultural shifts that pushed and pulled the doctrine along the way, keeping it relevant. And of course, the promise of answers to our most difficult questions. Solid, authoritative answers that help quiet our minds and bring us comfort, when the religion is good.
My own beliefs are now a patchwork tapestry, woven from these common threads. The wonderful, colorful teachings of Hinduism with its ancient stories, and its practical teachings of Karma, and Yoga. The Christian teachings of love and compassion and forgiveness. The Four Noble Truths of Buddhism. The self-discipline of Islam. All good and helpful messages.
And perhaps not surprisingly, these common threads seem to align, like warp in a loom. They all seem to point in the same direction, toward spiritual growth. Toward a higher place that promises to make us better. Better for ourselves, and better for each other.
But it's a difficult direction to follow, so our religions try to guide us and help us along the way. They warn us of the pitfalls, like temptation and desire. They encourage us to be strong. They promise reward, and sometimes threaten punishment. All in the name of making us better.
This morning's sermon focused on greed and desire. Boring, right? We've heard it all before, "Greed is bad!" And so it went with this sermon. But then the speaker took an interesting turn. He started to paint a picture of an afterlife. A realm in which possessions could not enter. A place where we are separated from all those things that once made us happy and comfortable. Where not even our bodies are allowed. Where only our spirits may dwell. And that image struck me. Not because I necessarily believe in such an afterlife, but because of the symbolism that it has for this life.
We spend so much of our time struggling to acquire. Hedging ourselves against an uncertain future by accumulating as much as we can each day. We have too much fear, and not enough faith. Our religions warn us about this, but we're too weak or afraid to follow the advice. And so we continue, endlessly searching for pleasures in the niceties of the world, trying to find solace in the knowledge that we are like so many others. And so it goes, and we grow old.
There's a deeper level of satisfaction that we're missing I think. A greater potential that remains unrealized in each of us. And I can't help but see that it's our endless desires that are at the root of our struggles.
I always look for the common threads that run through religions, and there are many I think. There's always a deep connection to the culture in which the religion is rooted. And the telltale signs of cultural shifts that pushed and pulled the doctrine along the way, keeping it relevant. And of course, the promise of answers to our most difficult questions. Solid, authoritative answers that help quiet our minds and bring us comfort, when the religion is good.
My own beliefs are now a patchwork tapestry, woven from these common threads. The wonderful, colorful teachings of Hinduism with its ancient stories, and its practical teachings of Karma, and Yoga. The Christian teachings of love and compassion and forgiveness. The Four Noble Truths of Buddhism. The self-discipline of Islam. All good and helpful messages.
And perhaps not surprisingly, these common threads seem to align, like warp in a loom. They all seem to point in the same direction, toward spiritual growth. Toward a higher place that promises to make us better. Better for ourselves, and better for each other.
But it's a difficult direction to follow, so our religions try to guide us and help us along the way. They warn us of the pitfalls, like temptation and desire. They encourage us to be strong. They promise reward, and sometimes threaten punishment. All in the name of making us better.
This morning's sermon focused on greed and desire. Boring, right? We've heard it all before, "Greed is bad!" And so it went with this sermon. But then the speaker took an interesting turn. He started to paint a picture of an afterlife. A realm in which possessions could not enter. A place where we are separated from all those things that once made us happy and comfortable. Where not even our bodies are allowed. Where only our spirits may dwell. And that image struck me. Not because I necessarily believe in such an afterlife, but because of the symbolism that it has for this life.
We spend so much of our time struggling to acquire. Hedging ourselves against an uncertain future by accumulating as much as we can each day. We have too much fear, and not enough faith. Our religions warn us about this, but we're too weak or afraid to follow the advice. And so we continue, endlessly searching for pleasures in the niceties of the world, trying to find solace in the knowledge that we are like so many others. And so it goes, and we grow old.
There's a deeper level of satisfaction that we're missing I think. A greater potential that remains unrealized in each of us. And I can't help but see that it's our endless desires that are at the root of our struggles.
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
Free as a Bird
Early this morning I poured my first cup of coffee and stepped outside to greet the day. As I sat on my stoop and sipped my coffee, I started watching the Spring birds. It's the end of April in Virginia and the song birds are busy this time of year. The morning air is full of song, and the sky and trees are full of birds.
Birds live a simple life, as do most creatures of our planet. They eat what the circle of life provides. They drink what falls from the sky. When it's warm, they sit in the sunshine. When it's cold or rainy they seek shelter wherever they can find it. Their social order is as simple as a song. They declare their territory and connect with mates and please nearby humans all with a warble and a caw. And they are free to fly as high as they like, but inexplicably to me, they rarely do.
I used to think about birds a lot, envying their simple ways, and thinking about how they and the other life forms of our planet are so tightly knit into a web of life, while us human remain so removed. Of course we humans still have plenty of advantages like clean and safe housing with automatic temperature control and Internet connections. Plenty of safe food and clean water. And health care and airline transportation and televisions. Things like that. So maybe birds secretly admire our way of life. But I would still trade several of my days in a corporate cubicle for just one day of living as a bird does. And indeed, in some small ways, I've made some of those trades.
Early this morning, I watched the birds and pondered, and having finished my coffee, I went back into my canvas nest and got ready for my corporate job.
Birds live a simple life, as do most creatures of our planet. They eat what the circle of life provides. They drink what falls from the sky. When it's warm, they sit in the sunshine. When it's cold or rainy they seek shelter wherever they can find it. Their social order is as simple as a song. They declare their territory and connect with mates and please nearby humans all with a warble and a caw. And they are free to fly as high as they like, but inexplicably to me, they rarely do.
I used to think about birds a lot, envying their simple ways, and thinking about how they and the other life forms of our planet are so tightly knit into a web of life, while us human remain so removed. Of course we humans still have plenty of advantages like clean and safe housing with automatic temperature control and Internet connections. Plenty of safe food and clean water. And health care and airline transportation and televisions. Things like that. So maybe birds secretly admire our way of life. But I would still trade several of my days in a corporate cubicle for just one day of living as a bird does. And indeed, in some small ways, I've made some of those trades.
Early this morning, I watched the birds and pondered, and having finished my coffee, I went back into my canvas nest and got ready for my corporate job.
Monday, April 22, 2013
One Year at a Time
When I was younger I was a pretty good planner. I had goals and dreams and plenty of ambition. And I worked in the technology field so I knew all about planning. How to define tasks and milestones and identify dependencies and evaluate risks and determine resource needs and manage the critical path and so on. I could spend a few hours filling in project management worksheets and print out the rest of my life as a nice, tidy Gantt chart. Of course, it wasn't always easy predicting how my life would unfold, but that's why mankind invented contingency plans, right?
But what I didn't do very well back then was to track my actual progress against the plans that I made. Yes, I could dream about my future and come up with a brilliant plan that covered all the angles. But then I'd just set the plan aside and go about my life, convinced that I was now prepared for whatever came my way. I never looked back at my old plans to see how well I'd predicted the future. I only came up with new plans, and then convinced myself that my future was under control.
It took me several years, and lots of failed plans, to finally realize that trying to plan out my life was a fool's errand. They say that "life turns on a dime". Well, dimes are pretty small, and I think they're right. Looking back over my life and all the things I tried to plan, all those big things like marriage and children and jobs and homes and retirement and so on, it's now clear to me that life simply happens, regardless of how much we try to execute our plans.
One day not so long ago, I tried to figure out just how far ahead I could plan my life. I listed some of the major events in my life, like getting married, having children, changing jobs, moving to different states, buy and selling houses, ending my marriage, and so on, and I thought about whether I could have planned any of them. In every case, I couldn't see the event coming more than a year ahead. One year I was single, and the next I was married. One year no children, and the next a son. A few years more, and a daughter, then another daughter. I moved from Michigan to Texas, then to Virginia, and never saw those moves coming, either. I woke up one day and my marriage of 33 years was over, and a few months ago I was informed that my job of 25 years was at risk. All big events, and all unplanned. And I'm now convinced, all unplannable.
So I just stopped making plans. Well, not exactly. I still try to plan a year ahead. It took me awhile to stop looking so far into the future and to just live one year at a time, but now that I do I really enjoy it. Friends sometimes ask me things like, "Are you going to retire soon? What if you lose your job? What would you do?" I tell them that I have no plans, and that I just deal with things as they come.
Before I became comfortable living a year at a time, I first had to learn to let go. I had to acknowledge that my prior attempts at long-term planning didn't really work for me anyway, and that it was okay to just let go and trust. To have faith that the world would always have a place for me. And now that I view the world this way, my faith has strengthened accordingly.
I only plan a year at a time now, which means I don't really do much planning at all, but hey, I still do some! And every April, I plan my next year of tent living. That's because I pay my rent a year in advance, and April is "rent month". So later this week, I'll be paying another year's rent.
So if things work out according to plan, I'll be living in my tent in Brandy Station for another year. After that...?
But what I didn't do very well back then was to track my actual progress against the plans that I made. Yes, I could dream about my future and come up with a brilliant plan that covered all the angles. But then I'd just set the plan aside and go about my life, convinced that I was now prepared for whatever came my way. I never looked back at my old plans to see how well I'd predicted the future. I only came up with new plans, and then convinced myself that my future was under control.
It took me several years, and lots of failed plans, to finally realize that trying to plan out my life was a fool's errand. They say that "life turns on a dime". Well, dimes are pretty small, and I think they're right. Looking back over my life and all the things I tried to plan, all those big things like marriage and children and jobs and homes and retirement and so on, it's now clear to me that life simply happens, regardless of how much we try to execute our plans.
One day not so long ago, I tried to figure out just how far ahead I could plan my life. I listed some of the major events in my life, like getting married, having children, changing jobs, moving to different states, buy and selling houses, ending my marriage, and so on, and I thought about whether I could have planned any of them. In every case, I couldn't see the event coming more than a year ahead. One year I was single, and the next I was married. One year no children, and the next a son. A few years more, and a daughter, then another daughter. I moved from Michigan to Texas, then to Virginia, and never saw those moves coming, either. I woke up one day and my marriage of 33 years was over, and a few months ago I was informed that my job of 25 years was at risk. All big events, and all unplanned. And I'm now convinced, all unplannable.
So I just stopped making plans. Well, not exactly. I still try to plan a year ahead. It took me awhile to stop looking so far into the future and to just live one year at a time, but now that I do I really enjoy it. Friends sometimes ask me things like, "Are you going to retire soon? What if you lose your job? What would you do?" I tell them that I have no plans, and that I just deal with things as they come.
Before I became comfortable living a year at a time, I first had to learn to let go. I had to acknowledge that my prior attempts at long-term planning didn't really work for me anyway, and that it was okay to just let go and trust. To have faith that the world would always have a place for me. And now that I view the world this way, my faith has strengthened accordingly.
I only plan a year at a time now, which means I don't really do much planning at all, but hey, I still do some! And every April, I plan my next year of tent living. That's because I pay my rent a year in advance, and April is "rent month". So later this week, I'll be paying another year's rent.
So if things work out according to plan, I'll be living in my tent in Brandy Station for another year. After that...?
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
Early Spring
Each season has it's charm. The dark greens and long, hot days of Summer. Autumn's cool nights dressed in reds and yellows. Winter's short, white, windy days spent near a warm fire. And Spring, with its light greens and soft pastels. Open the windows, listen to the birds, and feel the sunshine warm your skin!
The coming of Spring brings immediate changes to tent living. With daytime temperatures in the 70s, I leave my door open now. The stall scent of wood stove smoke that permeated my canvas walls all Winter is slowly disappearing. And small friends that I haven't seen since Autumn are popping up for a visit already. So far it's spiders and stink bugs, but more to come later. It's seems it only took one warm day to wake up the spiders. And now that they're awake, they're busy casting their webs across my path again, just as they had last year, leaving me little reminders that warm weather is here again, and that I'd better get used to clearing the webs from my face as I pass through them.
The larger animals are back, too. More birds. And the deer are settled back in. I'll probably see turkey soon, as I did last year. I don't want to think about the ticks yet. Or the mice. But they're all coming, now that Spring is here.
The coming of warm weather brings lifestyle changes, too. Soon I'll be carrying in more water, trying to stay cool. But there's an upside, too. The nights are longer and warmer, so it's time to open up the outside living space and have some friends over! And it's time to pull the wood stove out and set up my indoor living room!
When I installed my wood stove last December, I had to clear out my living area to make room. I was able to keep a small rocking chair off to the side but that was about it. I also pulled up the rug to keep it away from sparks.
Now that Spring is here, the wood stove is out and the rug and furniture are back in!
Spring is my favorite season. The short, cold days of Winter are behind, and the hot Summer days and nights are still ahead. Spring brings me back to life, just like the creatures that I live with.
But I gotta say, I'm starting to miss my cold Winter beers already :)
The coming of Spring brings immediate changes to tent living. With daytime temperatures in the 70s, I leave my door open now. The stall scent of wood stove smoke that permeated my canvas walls all Winter is slowly disappearing. And small friends that I haven't seen since Autumn are popping up for a visit already. So far it's spiders and stink bugs, but more to come later. It's seems it only took one warm day to wake up the spiders. And now that they're awake, they're busy casting their webs across my path again, just as they had last year, leaving me little reminders that warm weather is here again, and that I'd better get used to clearing the webs from my face as I pass through them.
The larger animals are back, too. More birds. And the deer are settled back in. I'll probably see turkey soon, as I did last year. I don't want to think about the ticks yet. Or the mice. But they're all coming, now that Spring is here.
The coming of warm weather brings lifestyle changes, too. Soon I'll be carrying in more water, trying to stay cool. But there's an upside, too. The nights are longer and warmer, so it's time to open up the outside living space and have some friends over! And it's time to pull the wood stove out and set up my indoor living room!
When I installed my wood stove last December, I had to clear out my living area to make room. I was able to keep a small rocking chair off to the side but that was about it. I also pulled up the rug to keep it away from sparks.
 |
| Living room with wood stove installed |
 |
| Living room without wood stove |
But I gotta say, I'm starting to miss my cold Winter beers already :)
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
Living in the Moment
I used to practise mindful meditation. The way I did it was to observe my own train of conscious thought. For example, as I drove down the road, I'd observe how my conscious mind would wander here and there while my subconscious mind and body would continue driving. I'd try to catch myself in these mental states and remind myself to "stay in the moment". To observe the grass and trees and fences as I passed them by. To stop reminiscing about yesterday. To stop thinking about tomorrow. To enjoy the experience of driving down the road.
That style of meditation worked well for me, especially when I was stressed or worried or depressed. So long as I could maintain that state of mindfulness, I was able to step away from my problems. But it was an active process that took a lot of focus and mental energy. It was work. And it always felt like I was somehow just treating the symptoms of my problems instead of addressing the causes. Even so, it was an effective tool that I used often, and it worked.
In the past several months, I've sort of forgotten about practicing meditation. At the same time, I feel like I'm living in the present moment now more than ever. What happened?
Well, I have a theory. If I look back on the times when I used to practice mindfulness, I see that it was always during difficult periods of my life. When I was worried about losing my job. Or when I would lay awake at night thinking about all the things I had to do the next day. I was treating the symptoms, but what were the causes?
I recently pondered that question and came up with this cause-and-effect chain:
That's how it used to be for me. I'd get stressed and worried over things that were out of my control, or bad things that I thought might happen in the future, or my never ending "to do" list.
As I searched for a "root cause" to my stress and anxiety, I found Materialism and Complexity. Tent living has eliminated Materialism and Complexity from my life. Is it any wonder that it's easier now to live in the moment without practicing mindful meditation?
That style of meditation worked well for me, especially when I was stressed or worried or depressed. So long as I could maintain that state of mindfulness, I was able to step away from my problems. But it was an active process that took a lot of focus and mental energy. It was work. And it always felt like I was somehow just treating the symptoms of my problems instead of addressing the causes. Even so, it was an effective tool that I used often, and it worked.
In the past several months, I've sort of forgotten about practicing meditation. At the same time, I feel like I'm living in the present moment now more than ever. What happened?
Well, I have a theory. If I look back on the times when I used to practice mindfulness, I see that it was always during difficult periods of my life. When I was worried about losing my job. Or when I would lay awake at night thinking about all the things I had to do the next day. I was treating the symptoms, but what were the causes?
I recently pondered that question and came up with this cause-and-effect chain:
That's how it used to be for me. I'd get stressed and worried over things that were out of my control, or bad things that I thought might happen in the future, or my never ending "to do" list.
As I searched for a "root cause" to my stress and anxiety, I found Materialism and Complexity. Tent living has eliminated Materialism and Complexity from my life. Is it any wonder that it's easier now to live in the moment without practicing mindful meditation?
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
Rain
It rained last night. It started as just a sprinkle at around 11pm, just when I had crawled into bed. As soon as I heard the first few random drops, I rolled over onto my back and laid quietly, a smile crossing my face, and listened. I had noticed crickets chirping earlier in the evening. It was the first time that I had heard them so loud, a nice sign of warming weather. So as the rain began, I listened to see whether I could still hear them in the background. But after just a few minutes, the storm intensified and drowned out all the other sounds.
My tent began filling with white noise. The rain fly is a thick poly tarp and it resonates at a low frequency when struck by raindrops. As the rain fell harder, the noise in the tent increased until the whole tarp buzzed with a low-pitched drone.
Soon, I was fast asleep. I awoke at 7am to my cell phone alarm. The rain was still going strong so I snoozed. And snoozed again. When I finally decided to get up, I remembered that I was out of water, but instead of walking to the water supply, I decided to place a pot outside along the eaves of the rain fly to catch some rain water for my bath. There was just enough potable water left in my container for a pot of coffee, so I made one and put it on the stove.
As my bathing pot filled with rainwater, and my coffee pot began to perk, I looked out onto the path to my home. It had become a little river, with large section being overtaken by runoff that was making its way to the creek just below my tent. I gazed for awhile longer until I started to smell the coffee. By then, my bathing pot was full so I brought it inside and put it on the stove to warm. Surprisingly, this was the first time that I'd collected rainwater that way, but it won't be the last. The rainwater was noticeably softer than the well water that I usually bathe in, plus I didn't have to walk through the rain to fetch it.
It's early afternoon now and the rain has stopped. The sky is starting to lighten and soon the sun will be out again. My path will be a muddy mess for a few days, and now that we're getting closer to Spring, it will be like that more and more often. But my nights will be good, and I'll sleep well as those Spring showers make their way to Virginia, and my rain fly.
My tent began filling with white noise. The rain fly is a thick poly tarp and it resonates at a low frequency when struck by raindrops. As the rain fell harder, the noise in the tent increased until the whole tarp buzzed with a low-pitched drone.
Soon, I was fast asleep. I awoke at 7am to my cell phone alarm. The rain was still going strong so I snoozed. And snoozed again. When I finally decided to get up, I remembered that I was out of water, but instead of walking to the water supply, I decided to place a pot outside along the eaves of the rain fly to catch some rain water for my bath. There was just enough potable water left in my container for a pot of coffee, so I made one and put it on the stove.
As my bathing pot filled with rainwater, and my coffee pot began to perk, I looked out onto the path to my home. It had become a little river, with large section being overtaken by runoff that was making its way to the creek just below my tent. I gazed for awhile longer until I started to smell the coffee. By then, my bathing pot was full so I brought it inside and put it on the stove to warm. Surprisingly, this was the first time that I'd collected rainwater that way, but it won't be the last. The rainwater was noticeably softer than the well water that I usually bathe in, plus I didn't have to walk through the rain to fetch it.
It's early afternoon now and the rain has stopped. The sky is starting to lighten and soon the sun will be out again. My path will be a muddy mess for a few days, and now that we're getting closer to Spring, it will be like that more and more often. But my nights will be good, and I'll sleep well as those Spring showers make their way to Virginia, and my rain fly.
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