Month: March 2021

Reading for guidance and curiosity

I recently picked up a culinary book from World War II, first published in England in 1942. The title is “How to Cook a Wolf”, written by MFK Fisher.

As I was only on the first pages, I thought about how different this experience is from reading something written recently, 80 years after. An old book like that can be treated as an interesting read, a curiosity — without the assumption that this will be taken as immediate advice. There have been huge advancements (and some setbacks) in the science of diets and health. Recently written books are, essentially, guides. Just one type of how-to writings that the reader is supposed to pick up from the shelf or a Kindle version of the shelf, and learn from it. We as readers are told what we have been doing wrong, and how to improve ourselves, as taught by an expert, or an investigator (journalist) who asked the experts on our behalf. Being a learner, having a clean slate is one thing. Thinking that you need to learn or re-learn everything, is another. It’s anxiety-inducing. It’s sad.

Think about these fresh guidebooks, as read from a distance of twenty, or fifty, or a hundred years. Readers then will stand on the shoulders of giants, having uncovered new knowledge in the realm of eating, or whatever the topic of interest is — anything, really. Why then, not read them with a grain of salt (because salt brings out the flavor of all foods, so yeah, pun totally intended). Read these new books more with curiosity than the worry that you have been doing something wrong your entire life. Surely, not every old book is a carrier of wisdom. Some parts can be wise, other parts have their right to be outdated. And yet, there’s something completely different in how I read old books, as compared to new.

I find old, well-written books more relaxing than most of the do-this-don’t-do-that contemporary books. Not all old books are good. If we keep to the matter of healthy eating, all the Dukan and Atkins and I’m sure many other diets are questionable today after what, forty years since their invention. And the shift from blaming fat on everything to blaming sugars and other carbs… Examples are plenty. But generally, because with older books, I have more expectations around the style of writing that direct advice, I find them a more relaxed reading, done for the purpose of elevating the soul, if you forgive the high style, — rather than educating.

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Backpack obsession and organizing mania

My twenties were in a lot of ways about optimizing. I wanted to organize and reorganize. I could say, this was one of my themes since childhood. I wanted some sort of order, my own, something that would increase my comfort. It was also the time of productivity and lifehack blogs sprouting like mushrooms, it was easy to fall into this kind of religion — you improve, optimize, get things done, et voila, you are the winner. Sometimes, I have to admit, overattention to organizing does the reverse — it keeps you busy without much outcome. Form over matter. In any case, that’s where my writing about the things that make you feel at home come from — this particularity about some things that matter to me.

I haven’t felt a sharp need to organize in a while. Or, at least, I made small incremental improvements as I went, but I wasn’t spending so much time thinking about it. Until last week.

My good old Herschel backpack was getting less good and more old. And I started looking for a new one. I initially thought that I’d replace it with maybe a different color, and that’s all. But then, I thought, I often carry not even one but two water bottles with me (my own and my kid’s). It would be much more comfortable to have a backpack with at least one external bottle pocket. A simple request. And here’s where it all started. After a while, I was researching camera bags, external carry, learning a new abbreviation of EDC (not ‘eau de cologne’, but ‘everyday carry’), going as far as creating a comparison table of the backpacks that got into my shortlist.

Luckily, this project has been short, albeit intense. My research was good, but not too extensive. I looked into a few options, removed the ones that I didn’t like visually and chose from the ones that had the most features that mattered the most to me. I found something that looks like my ideal backpack, and ordered it. If it blows my mind as much in use as it did in its description, I might write about it sometime.

What do I want to say with this writing? I don’t know.

Maybe I want to share my surprise and excitement of finding a whole new realm of daily backpacks with enhancements and features. Technology isn’t limited to electronics and such, one can also find advancements in clothing and in everyday objects and in almost every sphere of life. Maybe I want to admire industrial design in its many forms. (I re-watched Objectified documentary about a year ago, when Hustwit made his films available for free when pandemics started). It’s impossible to notice all the changes that happen in the world, but everything moves on, and improves drastically. You have so many more options that what you think the defaults are.

Maybe I want to think about how you can choose between complexity (a space rocket of a backpack) and simplicity (a canvas bag with just one feature, being a bag) — and you can be happy with either of them. Depends on you.

Maybe I want to say that it all doesn’t even matter, and yet, there are so many games to play, if you want and can afford. You can pay attention to some things and disregard others. Your life, your games. Organic food or it doesn’t really matter? Latest phone model or whatever has internet? Obsessing over things is okay, I guess — as long as it’s something that doesn’t harm you or others and that you enjoy.

A few backpacks to get you started on this slippery slope if you’re curious about what I was looking at:

Posted on by T

Carrying my home with me

Monday morning. I’m looking at people on the street, in the middle of what I think is their daily routine. People getting their morning coffee. A young dad with a toddler in a stroller, very leisurely looking. A girl with a yoga mat heading to, or from, her (socially distanced, appropriate) practice. I feel joy with a pang of envy looking at them. The others’ outside tells me that they are enjoying their morning habits, while my inside asks me, “why haven’t taken your longboard with you so that you could practice during your lunch break?”

I’m a creature of habit. I find comfort in the things that are familiar. Love my routines. Love my comfort zone. It’s about something different than never pushing myself out of it — the longboard is one of the things I’m currently exploring, way beyond my comfort zone; and trust me, it is definitely uncomfortable when I can’t brake. Yet, I have to admit, the simple routines — knowing that now it’s time to get dressed and go, now you have time for reading and making yourself a cup of tea, and now you have to dive deep into work — this kind of familiarity is essential to me.

I think of my young daughter and how her behavior deteriorated on one weekend trip when she was three. We drove to Dresden, and gosh that was tough! She was never happy, always fighting with everything. Acting out, refusing to eat anything (but ice cream and chocolate, which “is not food”), saying (more like screaming) “NO” to everything we offer. Even the playgrounds didn’t help for long — on the pretence of lacking trampolines. Spoiled little brat, in other words… Then we get back home to Berlin, and — fingers crossed it lasts — the gremlin is gone and the girl is back into her more adequate self.
All the while, I have to question myself. This disobedience was likely not a sign of a poor upbringing, rudeness and obnoxiousness, but a response to the changed environment. Just a certain sensitivity and lack of control because she found herself in an unfamiliar place. The first thing she did when she got home? Played with all of her toys. Ah, the relaxation of being at home, surrounded by habitual things. No need to fight anymore.

For sure having the elements of one’s routines around is comforting. (That’s why, for example, I often take my tea set on my travels.) But also, finding joy and comfort in the things that you do often, looking forward to them in your habitual, daily life, is crucial. Especially emphasized by the lockdown, I suppose. Sometimes our response to the unknown is like the toned down version of a toddler temper tantrum. We can fight something just because our need to feel secure outweighs the curiosity of exploration. In such situations, having something familiar at your hands, a piece of your daily that you can resort to helps to ground you up in your day, and to deal with the “chaos” around you.

Some of such things that I have are:
1. Notebook. A physical notebook is good, and I often (but not always) carry it on me. If not, then notes — on phone or tablet. This is also a place to go to. Yet, recently I got a little notebook in addition to a bigger one, so that I can carry it around and use anytime I need a mind cleanse.
2. Tea. On trips, I prefer to have a small travel-sized teapot/cup combination with me, and a thermos tumbler to keep water hot. And one or two sorts of tea. This helps me to slow down when needed, and even in a hotel room, make a good cup of tea. When going on a long walk (an approximation of travel that we now can afford), normally there’s also some tea in the thermo bottle.
3. Music. I have to admit, I resort to reading more than to music lately. Yet, for as long as I can remember myself, from childhood, whenever I didn’t have access to music, I was starting to feel uncomfortable very quick.

I don’t know if there’s anything else that I need to make myself feel “at home” — meaning, peaceful and more of myself. But these for sure are my essentials. Doesn’t mean that I always have them with me or even if I do, I always use them. These are just a few hooks that I can use throughout the day to feel better.

Posted on by T