Outside

I grew up with no religion, no pets, few friends, little television, no strong family values. The only goal was to become a decent person, an adult, a functional citizen. I won the game my parents wanted me to play. I reached most expectations. I could keep playing. But I don’t care for (most) of the extra goodies. I’m so lucky not to care. I’m a an outdoorsy slob.

No concept of godliness or afterlife ever made its way into my worldview. The images always felt entertaining at best but mostly cringey. They’ve all landed as stories, distractions from our condition and its absurdity. I was not able to articulate it as a child. I just needed to find my place in the world and see a bit of it. Just enough to not be paralyzed by nihilism. I managed to have kids.

I had expectations of existential release as I welcomed my first child. Second kid hit was different, more physical. The messiness and fatigue fired up my nihilism. My genetic material had been given another go. The cycle goes on. Now what? I felt like I’ve seen it all. Which is egregious. I definitely haven’t and never. It’s a known fallacy. My parental fortress lifestyle, spending 95% of my time in a 1 miles radius, is starting to leave marks.

I would be a hypocrite to not mention that in recent years I have opened up to spirituality, psychology alongside philosophy. I found some emotional resonance in some but nothing that I naturally adopted as part of my worldview. I tried to force a few. I love Ram Dass and Alan Watts, their words are soothing. Zen philosophy is music to my ears. While they put me to sleep peacefully or relieve my work meltdown, I’m just not one to sing about my oneness with the universe.

Life has its seasons. Transitions are often marked by letting go of a facet of one’s identity. The gap then gets filled by something else. Lately I’ve succumbed to a very silly perspective where I acknowledge that I’m better than my past self while knowing I’m much dumber than my future self. Thus the current quality of my mind is not that great but also pretty good: Total nonsense. A nonsense made obvious by time spent outside, away from screens, and the kitchen.

By now everyone sensible agrees that a more careful use of technology will have a positive impact on one’s mental well being. Personally, I have a very hard time avoiding screens. Being careful with technology is a lot of work. Work that chips aways at my emotional budget. My fair weather meditation practice hasn’t made a dent into my screen time. My ego sees an exception, because that’s how I financially sustain my family. But of course, it uses this to fuel a lot more than necessary. Like this stubbornly idiotic blog.

The kitchen is a place where my hardware and software can’t process what’s available. Too many labels to read, micro decisions, stuff to clean… I’m like the ants drowning in the honey jar. I’m agonizing in heaven. I spend most of my day indoors, sitting or shuffling. It feels like a waste of life. I’m twitchy and scattered. The open sky above my head brings a peace that no comfort, knowledge, or meditation equals. I believe everyone is outdoorsy. I believe everyone is a morning person. If that wasn’t the case we wouldn’t be here. The indoors alienate us. Screen based interaction makes us gang up on each other. Meanwhile the sky remains open, the grass grows.

Outside used to mean in nature. Somewhere along the way it came to mean anything beyond the door. The great outdoors are not the same as “regular” outdoors. A walk around the block is not a walk in a forest. It surely helps but it doesn’t heal. Not in the same way. I’d wager that the walking craze right now is more silly than helpful, merely patching up daily paper cuts. Undeniably the world would be a better place with more of us walking outdoors more frequently. But fundamentally it would not nudge us away from the hostile relationship we have with our environment.

I’ve realized that an overnight camping trip at our local campground only gets us out of the house. It isn’t the kind of “nature-time healing” I imagined. Campgrounds are very civilized, even the primitive ones. Nature is closer there, but so are cars. The loss of comfort is a step in the right direction. The technical fabric of a tent, however fancy, is a thin skin. Nature speaks through it.

The Gaia hypothesis came naturally to mind as I found myself talking to the wind, then to “Mother Nature” in friendly, god-like terms. Indoors, my thoughts thicken and close in on themselves. I lose my sense of “being in the world”. Outside, even in the tent, my attention loosens, things stand on their own, myself included.

Maybe this all sounds like privileged coastal California baby talk. To me it’s the closest I got to a life philosophy.