Slowing Down for (Clearer) Resolution

I’m not convinced graduate school is a healthy lifestyle. Toward the end of this fall semester, I found myself in a cycle of class, studying, working, or gorging myself with scrolling and mindless entertainment, self-assured that after a long day “I deserved a break”. And I do deserve a break, as we all do, but a sequence of insights throughout the past few weeks has led me to regard mindfulness as a greater source of respite than mindlessness.

While there’s a tangible history to the tradition of New Year’s Resolutions, in this late stage of the game of capitalism, it seems to be more about promoting aesthetic/outward body health and persuading people to purchase gym memberships they’ll use for a month. I feel there is far less focus on the subjective, internal process of reframing our approach to living.

Like I eluded to above, I’m in a rut—but a psychological rut, not a physical one. Even journaling, something I do most days, has become just another thing to check off the to-do list, rather than a process of honest reflection. At the end of the day, when all necessary tasks are done, I feel an anxiety toward how I should spend my time. The irony is not lost on me, that from an entertainment, consumerism lifestyle, the notion of “spending” our time (because time=money, right?) on doing nothing at all simply doesn’t compute.

A few weeks ago I read an article in The Marginalian (previously called BrainPickings), titled “Bertrand Russell and The Vital Role of Boredom”. Upon finishing it, I felt a sadness for my childhood, a time when I spent hours in my room doing nothing, often thinking, and sometimes worrying, about why I thought so much. I think I’ve mentioned it in a previous newsletter, but my favorite game was to lay on the ground and throw a ball toward the ceiling, seeing how close I could get without actually touching it.

Russell argues that our collective anxiety toward boredom is, in part, a self-induced state, resulting from a continued trajectory away from any meaningful symbiosis with nature. Upon reading this perspective, I tried and failed to think of a time spent in the wilderness where the tug of boredom was able to sneak through. On the contrary, the natural world fills up one’s senses in a manner I’ve personally only felt rivaled by that of genuine conversations with good friends and family.

Russell also notes the futility of existence upon the “hedonic treadmill”, comparing routine excitement to drug use:

“What applies to drugs applies also, within limits, to every kind of excitement. A life too full of excitement is an exhausting life, in which continually stronger stimuli are needed to give the thrill that has come to be thought an essential part of pleasure. A person accustomed to too much excitement is like a person with a morbid craving for pepper, who comes last to be unable even to taste a quantity of pepper which would cause anyone else to choke.”

Illustration by Maurice Sendak from ‘Open House for Butterflies’ by Ruth Krauss.

I chose the picture above for its simplicity, but also for its use of the words “quiet” and “listen”—the latter necessitates the former. The Last Sound, a podcast by NPR’s Invisibilia, follows Bernie Krause, a former musician who devotes his life to listening to and recording the sounds of natural ecosystems, eventually creating the discipline of soundscape ecology. Krause found that upon embracing a state of quietness, his awareness expanded and he began to appreciate the underlying orchestra already at play by the surrounding wildlife. This awareness led to the Acoustic Niche Hypothesis, which states that within mature ecosystems, animals evolved to make sounds in different rhythms and pitches as to not get in each other's way. It’s a beautifully intuitive response for species whose survival relies on hearing and being heard in order to find food, water, and mates.

At one point in the podcast, Krause plays a recording of thousands of spadefoot toads croaking near Yosemite National Park; the synchronized sound of the toads coalesced into what appeared to be one large organism—a brilliant defense mechanism against hungry prey. Krause then proceeds to explain how the sound of military jet test flights in the area began disorienting the toads. For up to an hour after a jet passed, toads would croak out of sync, exposing themselves to a hungry owl or coyote and resulting in the rapid decline of spadefoot toad populations. The Last Sound is a humbling and sad story, depicting how man-made sound—not even the physical presence of humans—is destroying entire ecosystems.

Photo by Joah Legg on Unsplash

Am I creating the noise I want to bring into the world? Do my actions and behaviors serve the life I want for myself? Slowing down means different things to different people, but I’m finding that the hyper-productivity and overly-driven tendencies of some of my current academic milieu aren’t the traits I want to emulate. I want to purchase land, build a cabin, and start a garden (i.e. Spanish Pipedream by John Prine). I’ve convinced myself that a two-year masters degree will provide me with the knowledge and monetary returns to make this dream a reality. But upon graduation, will I be able to make such a drastic change? How long should I sacrifice the Present for the Future?

There’s no reason to believe we should only check in with our goals and desires once a year, but I can’t deny the ethereal vibe that this time of year brings about. To even begin finding the space to reflect on the questions I’ve asked above—and any other significant examinations throughout our lives—I’ll need to check in with a quieter side of myself. To be quiet risks being bored; only then will I find the loud, noisy quiet I dream of in the woods.

Have a happy new year :)

-Kyle (and Kenzie)