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| Deeper In |
Today is the day of the big Ski to Sea Race, the prominent feature in our town on this Memorial Day weekend. For months the members of the hundreds of teams train for their particular leg of the race. They ski, run, bike, canoe, and kayak. Each member doing their best and handing the baton to the next. The end is an impressive and exhausting stretch on Puget Sound where the kayakers ditch their boats, and sprint with their last bit of energy up a sandy incline to the finish line in Fairhaven. When they cross the line the officials ring a bell, and the competitor is engulfed by friends, family, and team members who carry them away to join in the festivities.
Yesterday was sunny and dry, today is cloudy with a steady rain. I can’t help but feel badly about that. All that hard work culminating in a crappy, rainy day. But, the truth is, all those racers have probably been training in weather just like we have today, and maybe it doesn’t bother them at all. I guess it’s possible that they might even like the rain. Anything’s possible. I’m on the outside looking in . . . I simply can’t know what it’s like for them, the insiders looking out.
Isn’t it like that with everything? The only experiences I can truly grasp are those which I am and have been involved with . . . When I’m on the inside looking out. When I’m on the outside looking in, the best I can do is speculate, try my best to walk in another’s shoes. I can employ empathy, curiosity, an open mind, and still, it’s an artificial understanding. From where I sit this morning at my kitchen table looking out at a gray, wet day, I can’t know what it’s like for the racers today. I’m only speculating, and that’s as it should be for an outsider looking in.
Problem is, unless I am vigilant with my thinking, it’s truly easy to slip over into certainty. I see the rain and immediately think, without any ‘inside’ information, “Ah, that’s too bad. What a horrible day for the race.” With hardly a pause in thought I crossed over into certainty.
I’ve been paying special attention to the proclivity of our species to jump to certainty. I hear it in my own thoughts and speaking. I hear it in those around me. I suspect it’s a part of our human composition, and possibly magnified by the amount of data we process in our every waking minute. We are flooded with information. We ‘know’ so much about events that happen across town, and all around the world. We see it in living color as it’s happening on our smart phones, TVs, and tablets. I fear we actually think we understand because we have some information.
Just a few days ago a section of a bridge on I-5, a main arterial from Canada down the coast collapsed in the Skagit River. My daughter was in town when it happened and heard about it in the check-out line. Within minutes she had a group of people around her watching the newsfeed on her smartphone. While there she received a text with a photo of the fallen bridge from a friend who happened to be driving by on an adjacent road just after the bridge fell. She called me and I watched the news on TV. I had the information almost as soon as it happened. I watched people in the river sitting on the top of their cars waiting for rescue. I listened to the chatter of all those who ‘knew’ all about the situation while being miles away in the comfort of their homes. I wonder what the man sitting on top of his car, or the truck driver who struck the bridge before it collapsed would say to them.
It’s simple isn’t it? If I’m on the outside I’m a spectator with only speculations no matter how much information I have. If I’m on the inside, I have something of more value to say when I address a situation. Nothing wrong with speculating as long as I can remain aware of where I’m standing. As long as I can have the humility to refrain from certainty.
It doesn’t look like a good day for the Ski to Sea Race, and I don’t know. I can only make a guess, educated or not. I’m working at stretching the muscles of my judgments into a relaxed state . . . let them lie in the repose of neutrality while I take a few deep breaths and enjoy the moment--whatever that may be. After that, who knows, I might not even want to get back to the business of hazarding thoughts and opinions about that which I know nothing of . . . Maybe I’ll end up living in wonder . . .
That’s what this artist is thinking about today . . .
About the painting . . . “Deeper In” . . . My attempt to portray one of many portals available to find understanding beyond my normal patterns of thinking, and habitual routines.