I think the best way to get something out of this book is to read it while fasting. I sure empathized anyway. Each time the hunger scratched my innards. Here are a few things I learned:
- Hyper intention can be a huge roadblock in getting what you want. For example, if you’re bent on going to sleep, you’ll never fall asleep. This can be the same with laughter and other things. It is countered by paradoxical intention: try to stay awake for example. Or forget about trying to sleep at least. In the same vein: happiness cannot be pursued, but must ensue.
- Boredom is strongly tied to having a lack of meaning or purpose in life. Humans were first robbed of instinct when they graduated from being animals. More recently, they have been robbed of tradition, which would normally have given them some direction in making decisions. Our modern society is now confronted with boredom and lack of meaning, which can have many negative consequences, including suicide. The way to counter this is to find meaning. Finding fulfillment through finding meaning is what Frankl’s logotherapy is all about.
- Another modern problem is lack of responsibility. Having responsibility, even for a crime, makes a person human. Having no responsibility makes him animal or less. He does not act, but only is acted upon. Today many blame their parents, their society, or their government. And by doing so, they dehumanize themselves, which removes meaning from life.
- Things determine each other. Whereas people determine themselves. People are self determining.
- There are three ways to find meaning: to act or work (which is external), to experience or love (which is emotional and internal), and to suffer (so long as it is unavoidable suffering).
I was surprised that Frankl was teaching “begin with the end in mind” (one of the Seven Habits). It is interesting how all this truth is connected.
Today at 2:16 pm (I try to wait about two hours between snacks), I ate powdered sugar cookies. Which is different than powdered-sugar cookies. Huh. This turned out to be an unexpected lesson in hyphenated adjectives.
I really enjoy the 35-minute commute. Yes, one way. I’ve listened to a ton of good audiobooks in the last few months–more reading than I’ve done since I was a kid. Plus, if I ever get tired of that, I listen to one of my favorite albums straight through. In fact, I don’t think the commute could be any more enjoyable. Unless I were stretched out on the couch during it.
And I’m starting to recognize other commuters. I realized this when I saw the guy with the big gray beard in the Crown Victoria. I passed him last week. And I’ve been trying to memorize the pattern of potholes in the interstate. The first one is on the left, where your tire should be. Then it goes right, left, right, right, maybe left. I’m still working on it. But you get the gist.
Henry’s teeth are stained. At first I thought he was wearing braces, because I didn’t see enough white in his mouth. He carries a green flag at the top of a four-foot extendable pole, so that we can find him in the thronging multitudes. His th‘s are s sounds. And some words have a glottal stop instead of an ending consonant. It’s not so easy to write though. The olympic medals are made of ja– (jade); something like that. Or the l‘s that sound a bit like w‘s: hote– or we–come.
Maryann asked how long we’d be in the Ya Xiu market. He said, “I was planning on an hour and a half. But you’re from a democratic country, so we’ll vote.” A bunch of Asians were really rushed–maybe a little rude–in getting us off a cart so they could get in. As we walked away, he said, “They were Japanese.” But he said it with a hint of smile. Later, when we asked him who was the president of China, he said, “Hu is the president of China.” We totally didn’t get it. He said in China the husbands make the big decisions and the wives make the little decisions; but there are no big decisions.
On the bus ride to church, we asked Henry a few questions about religion. He said 90% of Chinese people don’t have a religion. They believe that when the body dies the soul dies too. He said it’s like you go to sleep, but you don’t wake up. No more dreams. “No more Henry. It makes me feel scared.”
There was this little cart or go-cart thing. It was tiny, smaller than the 3-wheeled taxis. And it was made of shiny metal–you could see the lines from the pieces being welded together. It passed right next to me, standing on the corner of the sidewalk. And I had this sudden–sudden but strong–urge to kick it, with the toe of my boot. I refrained. Strong enough to write about, at least.
We saw Forbidden City. Henry II said they have a step in the middle of the doorway, and one reason for that is because ghosts can’t bend their knees.
This morning we visited the park that surrounds the Temple of Heaven. I got to play Chinese hackie sack with several different groups (I love hackie). They smiled a lot. It’s only old people who exercise at the park. Some did the splits, pushups, pullups, and many other impressive feats. I played a Chinese frisbee game where you throw these soft rings, and your partner tries to catch them around his neck. It was way fun. A whole huge group was watching me and this one guy. I would throw them really high, then the next one really straight, and keep them coming as fast as I could. I think he had a good time. Bobbie took great pictures.
Henry II also told me about a Tai Ji game called pushing hands. I want to try it with Jeffer and Jax.
I talked to two young kids at the Silk Factory. Only one of them spoke decent English. They first tried to sell me some caligraphy, but then I just got to talking with them. They told me about this idea of yu’en. He said it was hard to explain but that before you meet a person, you have no yu’en. Then when you meet a person, you (the two of you) do. Then as you talk, your yu’en grows. I think it has something to do with brotherhood and friendship. Tanner later told me it has to do with fate too. If you don’t have yu’en, you could live next door to a person and never meet him. Fate draws you together. No, yu’en does. I asked Tan if it was like karma. He said it has to do with people, and relationships. As I was leaving, the caligrapher painted the yu’en character in black on a red piece of paper and gifted it to me. My best souvenir.
Everyone smokes here. It’s annoying. I used to like second-hand smoke. Now it gives me a headache. And I mean everyone.
We lost Tanner. He hasn’t been with us in a day and a half. He was supposed to be a half hour behind us, on the next train. Of course, we never planned a good way for him to find us. Tienanmen Square is too big. So was our window of time. I hope we find him soon. It makes me appreciate cell phones.
For dinner we went to a grocery store. Couldn’t really find anything appetizing. We bought a loaf of white bread, chocolate ice-cream, and chopsticks. All three were much better than expected. And you can eat ice-cream with chopsticks if you eat quickly.
Our new guide is more stern. I call him Henry the second. Our last guide was Henry the first. I want to ask him more about communism. But I hesitate. I wonder what he’d say…
I think I need to write something profound or not write anything at all. And I’m afraid this hasn’t been profound.
The elevator in our Xi’an hotel makes four notes from this chorus: “Glory to God on high. Let heaven and earth reply. Praise ye his name.” It’s been in my head all day. Tanner took us down some alleyways where we ate cow’s stomach, roasted on a barbeque of coals.
If I were in Germany, I could at least pronounce the words I see on buildings and signs. I can’t here. I just see these symbols that mean nothing. I say
ni hao to people when they do something nice. But they just look at me like, “That’s all you know? It’s too little. Doesn’t count.” I feel ignorant.
I realize the only thing I can do is smile. But at least it’s a strong word.
There is a guy sleeping on our couch for the next couple of weeks. He’s gone all day with his finance, so I rarely see him. I thought I’d just brush him off. And try to ignore the fact that he’s stinking up our couch. (I hate when people don’t use sheets.)
But then I remembered the rule of one for all and all for one, and how it’s supposed to be my motto. (I’ve even told some friends about it.) Well, a new angle popped into my head yesterday:
I want see people as permanent friends, not as temporary acquaintances. It’s easy to think, “Well, I’ll just smile, and he’ll be gone soon. No need to get to know him or actually care about him.” I lie to myself and pretend that once he leaves my realm, he’ll be completely gone, like the picture on an Etch-a-Sketch. But that’s not true. He’ll keep living, even after he’s out of my sight.
I want to be able to treat people this way. I want to treat them as if I’ll run into them again, maybe in two years, and I’ll remember their names, or in the afterlife, when we’re all kicking back in lay-z-boy clouds.
And by everybody I mean Kenny, who’s sleeping on my couch. And Jeff, my co-worker’s brother who is in town and stopped by for lunch. I mean the kid sitting infront of us at the Jazz game, who seemed a little slow, but enjoyed the game more than anyone. I mean Brandy, who’s so quiet you can be in her ward for almost two semesters before you notice she’s there.
I want to smile at these people, so that they’re better and not worse the next time I see them.
I suddenly realize the hypocrisy in this entry. I’m sorry, Brandy. I don’t mean this to be demeaning. It is a promise that I will do better.
They say Roosevelt was a lion. John Wayne was a bear. Tony, my coworker, is a mouse. I, on the other hand, am a lizard.
(Sticking to a warm rock, holding very still.)
Straight ahead, through the beads hanging down from Ben’s open door, I could see the blue sky, white clouds smudged across, the dark blue-almost-brown rock jagging across, highlighted with snow so bright it made the clouds look gray. And a rope hung down, a vertical line cutting the scene. And the line swayed. And then I saw boots. And a bucket. Then feet. And then a man with a squeegee. And I glanced down at my monitor, then back up at him. And I wished we could trade jobs for a day.