In light of my last post, I'm going to give you the philosophical summary right away and then build to it with the actual story of how I got to this summary. When I read this summary much later, which I typed on my iPhone right after the conversation that led to this stream of thought, I as the author didn't understand it. It was like trying to read your hand writing and not having a clue what it says. It seems zen, overly contrived and kitschy now. But that's because, like most philosophical ramblings, it has no context. Hopefully it will make sense after the fact.
I got into an engrossing conversation with a young couple consisting of a sculptor and an art student. The ambiance was perfect. We'd all had about one glass of wine, a little food, the lights weren't dim nor were they bright. The general noise level was medium, there was a hum of conversation but not too loud so you didn't have to yell, like in a club. It was the definition of "chill".
As it goes at these events, we were talking about what each of us did and somehow the conversation drifted towards expectations. We all came in with strong expectations of what the event was supposed to represent. We assumed it would be a gallery-like exhibit with an uppity Manhattan hipster feel. The presentations would be extremely abstract, sensible only in the vacuum of the current crowd.
We were generally right, but the people at the event made all the difference. They were strong-minded, yet open-minded. Firm, but friendly. Rich, but gracious. Whatever picture we came in with was repainted by the people there. It wasn't fun in the sense a house party with your friends is fun, but the warmth of the attendees made us all amenable to deeper conversation (than expected).
The couple and I discovered we all shared a similar sentiment about the unraveling of our expectations and talking to others in the crowd only reinforced our view. We realized we were also a part of that friendliness that made it so welcoming. The way I'm describing it makes it seem like some kind of like-minded commune party, but it just happened to have the right elements to make all of us "click".
We were all very much made aware that nothing could have prepared us for this moment in time. It wasn't overly special or exciting, but it befuddled our expectations of what we supposed it to be. One could say our expectations helped to shape our view of the event after all, considering how our perspective changed because we held onto preset beliefs coming in. In this light, I suppose expectations can create a favorable outcome, but very rarely. They didn't add to the effect so much that they were needed.
Understanding this gave us a reality check about being in the moment. No matter what someone tells us about a place, no matter what hype is built around it, nothing can prepare us for the actual thing, boring or thrilling though it might be. It just is. And that zen sort of explanation was palpable right then, prompting me to write about it in a such an abstract way.
From this experience and others like it, I've come to believe that zen-like spiritual writing can only make sense in the right context. You could in fact call this an expectation. It's more of a premonition though.
If you read a simple zen quote, for example, "The obstacle is the path", at first it's frustrating. Second time around, you start relating it to personal experience and understand it's wisdom. But until you truly feel it, in the atmosphere from which it came, understanding the context behind it, it's difficult to ingrain into your life, and even more difficult to pass onto others. Some sayings you hold onto and at some point in your life, it hits you "SMACK", like hands clapping together hard right in front of you. You "get" it. Grok it, perhaps?
I hate when people say "you had to be there", so I tried to describe the origin of abstract thought. We all do this daily with each other, using narrative, song, theater, art, and other mediums that will get our message across. Language is only the start. Our communication depends on effectively explaining the "you had to be there" moment.
Explaining "Be here now" and making it actionable is tough. As an abstract writer and thinker, I personally find this to be an even greater challenge. "The obstacle is the path" andI'm pushing through it I'm riding that wave.
"We are in the perfect place and don't even realize it. Expectations explain everything. If I told you your future, you still wouldn't be happy because who wants to know the ending of a story before they read it? Your story, your life, has to transpire for you to think back on it.I was at a dinner party the other night with a lot of artsy people. Literally, there were sculptors, architects, graphic designers, and such. Being on the business side of healthcare, this was not my usual crowd, and I was loving the change of social scenery.
Be here now, because no one can set you up for the perfect. If they did, it wouldn't be perfect. So stop seeking the perfect. Nothing will be more uncertain, more random, more spontaneous, more surprising than it is now. You're already in the perfect state of mind to experience the unknown."
I got into an engrossing conversation with a young couple consisting of a sculptor and an art student. The ambiance was perfect. We'd all had about one glass of wine, a little food, the lights weren't dim nor were they bright. The general noise level was medium, there was a hum of conversation but not too loud so you didn't have to yell, like in a club. It was the definition of "chill".
As it goes at these events, we were talking about what each of us did and somehow the conversation drifted towards expectations. We all came in with strong expectations of what the event was supposed to represent. We assumed it would be a gallery-like exhibit with an uppity Manhattan hipster feel. The presentations would be extremely abstract, sensible only in the vacuum of the current crowd.
We were generally right, but the people at the event made all the difference. They were strong-minded, yet open-minded. Firm, but friendly. Rich, but gracious. Whatever picture we came in with was repainted by the people there. It wasn't fun in the sense a house party with your friends is fun, but the warmth of the attendees made us all amenable to deeper conversation (than expected).
The couple and I discovered we all shared a similar sentiment about the unraveling of our expectations and talking to others in the crowd only reinforced our view. We realized we were also a part of that friendliness that made it so welcoming. The way I'm describing it makes it seem like some kind of like-minded commune party, but it just happened to have the right elements to make all of us "click".
We were all very much made aware that nothing could have prepared us for this moment in time. It wasn't overly special or exciting, but it befuddled our expectations of what we supposed it to be. One could say our expectations helped to shape our view of the event after all, considering how our perspective changed because we held onto preset beliefs coming in. In this light, I suppose expectations can create a favorable outcome, but very rarely. They didn't add to the effect so much that they were needed.
Understanding this gave us a reality check about being in the moment. No matter what someone tells us about a place, no matter what hype is built around it, nothing can prepare us for the actual thing, boring or thrilling though it might be. It just is. And that zen sort of explanation was palpable right then, prompting me to write about it in a such an abstract way.
From this experience and others like it, I've come to believe that zen-like spiritual writing can only make sense in the right context. You could in fact call this an expectation. It's more of a premonition though.
If you read a simple zen quote, for example, "The obstacle is the path", at first it's frustrating. Second time around, you start relating it to personal experience and understand it's wisdom. But until you truly feel it, in the atmosphere from which it came, understanding the context behind it, it's difficult to ingrain into your life, and even more difficult to pass onto others. Some sayings you hold onto and at some point in your life, it hits you "SMACK", like hands clapping together hard right in front of you. You "get" it. Grok it, perhaps?
I hate when people say "you had to be there", so I tried to describe the origin of abstract thought. We all do this daily with each other, using narrative, song, theater, art, and other mediums that will get our message across. Language is only the start. Our communication depends on effectively explaining the "you had to be there" moment.
Explaining "Be here now" and making it actionable is tough. As an abstract writer and thinker, I personally find this to be an even greater challenge. "The obstacle is the path" and