A Week in Japan

I'll be honest with you: I've always been skeptical of Americans who are obsessed with Japan. I've run into quite a few people like this, and I've always felt a bit confused about them - I figured that they must feel very out-of-place in America indeed for Japan to seem an attractive alternative. Sure, it made sense that Japan is intriguing in an alien, weird sort of way - but that alien-ness rendered me incapable of identifying with a desire to move there.

Japan seemed so culturally opaque that in my ignorance, I was blind to any of its purported redeeming qualities. Indeed, I reckoned that any such redeeming qualities had a very long way to go if they were to rectify the alien-ness of the place.

That was how I felt until December 13, 2015, when I arrived in Osaka for the first time. Now, I'm happy to report, I get it. I really get it.

After a very long night of travel-induced slumber, I awoke to the most beautiful, functional, modern urban landscape I had ever seen, and it was filled with the loveliest, gentlest people I could have wished for. I had never seen this combination of truly modern city with truly friendly and apparently happy people.

The public spaces were simply incredible! Walking from my hotel to my conference center, I was shocked at the concessions made to pedestrians - the sidewalks were often wider than the streets, and there were trees everywhere! In America (with exceptions, certainly), big built-up urban areas often feel rather dead to me, if not downright scary. In Osaka, on the other hand, I was never alone, and I never felt unsafe. Every place I went felt like it had purpose and that it had been well cared-for.

So, here's to Japan. Different, perhaps alien, certainly. I suspect it would never feel like home to me. But for all that, I loved my time there and I would recommend a visit to anyone - and maybe you'll get a chance to "get it" like I did.

In Defense of Not Testing

Note: I wrote the following several months ago, shortly after my wife and I began to suspect that she was pregnant. I'm happy to report that since then, we've had the joy of hearing the baby's heartbeat, and just recently we felt it kick for the first time.

My wife is late. Two weeks late as of tomorrow. She is never late. Obvious conclusion? We’re pregnant. But here’s the thing: we aren’t actually sure. She and I have had many conversations with our close friends and family about pregnancy tests in the past two weeks, and despite the chorus of people encouraging us to test, we’ve decided almost for certain that we aren’t going to. I’m pretty sure that her reasons aren’t quite the same as mine; hers are probably driven more by her inclination to leave things appropriately unresolved so she can savor the anticipation and soak up every ounce of every possible moment. She’s not one to press forward into future stages of her life; she’d generally prefer to let the transition happen organically and enjoy it as she passes through it. I love this about her, and I married her in hopes of learning how to live that way myself - but it’s not my main reason for avoiding a pregnancy test.

As I’ve thought through my explanations of why I don’t want to test, I imagine my way through various test results. If the test came out negative, I would flatly refuse to believe it. My wife is an extremely “regular” woman; she’s never been more than a day late in her entire life. Any statistician would agree: Two weeks late means we conceived. We’re way too many sigmas out for this to be anything else. If a pregnancy test were negative, I would immediately consider it to be a faulty pregnancy test.

On the other hand, what would a positive result mean? On the surface, it would confirm what we already know: we conceived. We commenced a pregnancy. If we left it simply at that, we’d be fine; albeit no better off than before. But here’s the problem: when people get a positive pregnancy test, they don’t say “we conceived!” Rather, they make the dramatically stronger statement of “we’re going to have a baby!” But that is not what the test tells them; all the test can do is confirm that an egg was fertilized. The test cannot say if the baby will still be alive tomorrow; it can’t even reliably say whether the baby was alive yesterday. “Home Pregnancy Tests” could more honestly be called “Conception Verification Tests,” since that’s the only pregnancy-related information they give you with any certainty.

There seems to be this notion that unless you take the test, you’re totally clueless about whether you’ll have a child or not, that the test brings sharp focus to an otherwise hopelessly blurry landscape. We’re given this razor-sharp dichotomy: Complete uncertainty before testing, complete certainty after testing. But the way I see it, this line we’ve drawn is false and misleading; in reality, before you take the test, you’re not completely uncertain. The very fact that you’re taking a test means that at some level, you already suspect you might be pregnant; your uncertainty is already beginning to look a bit less blurry. Then, once you get the positive test result, the baby still has a very long and dangerous road ahead of it before you get the privilege of holding it in your arms. The certainty given you by the positive test is incremental, not absolute. The dark consequence of home pregnancy tests is that a positive test brings a dangerous illusion of certainty; true certainty can only come with time.

So, I’m taking this next month to cherish this process of incremental certainty. Every day that goes by where my wife doesn’t start a period is one day we’re that much more sure we’re pregnant. We’re letting our sense of certainty grow with the baby’s actual chances of survival. When we actually hear the heartbeat in utero, we’ll cry tears of joy like the new parents we’re that much closer to becoming. When we feel the little one kick us through its mother’s belly, we’ll be overjoyed because of the miracle unfolding in our life. When we hold our newborn child for the first time, we’ll thank God for this unbelievable gift that he’s entrusted to us. We’ll pray for long life, and ask for the courage to savor each moment as it comes.

Mini-disclaimer: I recognize that there are many legitimate medical reasons to take a pregnancy test, and I am in no way arguing that anybody goes against the advice of a medical professional in this. Also, I recognize that the ritual of taking a pregnancy test is a source of great joy for many couples and I hope if you're one of these couples that my words don't unduly detract from your experience.

Keep Your Eyes Open!

Mindfulness isn't a word that many people use these days. It seems to have roots in Eastern religion; and colloquially means something like "focusing your attention on the present moment and the things happening immediately around you." I learned the word in Boston while I was traveling last year; I was telling a woman I'd just met that the reason I run without headphones is that I want to be fully present to my run; not trying to distract myself from it. She replied simply: "so it's about mindfulness for you." Mindfulness, I thought. That's a word I need to remember.

Of course, I'm terrible at practicing mindfulness. Some combination of my personality and my surroundings conspire to keep my attention drifting far away from me. Interest rates, internal rates of return, income-to-cost ratios, lease contracts, and a thousand other distant tiny details swirl around in my head and blind me to the thousand tiny details right here in front of my eyes.

My happiest moments are always when I'm present to the close details - a moonrise over the water on an island beach, a field of wildflowers in the high Rockies. This is why I hike: to surround myself with wide spaces that irresistibly draw my mind from my investment portfolio. This is why I run: I find speed brings an immediacy to my attention; I can't be bothered with interest rates when I'm seconds from tripping over that boulder.

Rhythms of Green

One of my favorite things about living at home this year has been watching how my mom's windowsills turn green in springtime. My mom is an avid vegetable gardener, and she starts her seeds indoors in February, then moves them outside into her raised beds and greenhouse over the next several months. So throughout the spring, even on snowy days, her house is awash in new plant life.

This annual rhythm of brown to green has always enthralled me. I love the concept of rhythm and applying it to common phenomena, whether it be the rhythm of the earth's orbit around the sun (we call this "summer and winter"), the earth's rotation about its axis (we call this "day and night"), the alternating compression and rarefaction of air in our ears (we call this "sound"), or the superfast vibrations of electric and magnetic fields interacting with our retinas (we call this "light").

Is that fair? Can I take a concept I normally associate with drums and dancing and say it's essentially the same thing as the planets orbiting the sun? I've always assumed the answer is "yes" - because I find that sort of analogy to be a compelling way of dealing with the world.

So, mom, thanks for dancing to the green drumbeat of the earth with your tomatoes and peppers - and I can't wait to join the dance with a tasty stir-fry come harvest time.

The Boulders Rush By

The cotton-ball clouds lazily drift over my head; brilliant blue sky peeks out from between the cumulus. The sun, when he shows his face, is blinding and warm - a wonderful complement to the gusty wind. The earth passes by under my feet. Gravel, boulders, shrubs, these are my ground. Cliffs rise around me, indifferent (or perhaps intentionally aloof? I can never tell) to my presence.

The rhythm of my running shoes on the coarse sand mingles with the scrub oaks' breezy rustling. Moments like these make me jealous of the boy in August Rush - not jealous of his hands, but jealous of his ears - could I hear symphony in the wind if I listened hard enough? I am out here on the bluffs for just that - I hope that the subtle sounds of nature may calm the spinning cacophony in my own head.

Hills, roads, paths, and dry creekbeds conspire to take me far from my car, and I don't much complain. Getting lost is one of the risks (some might say one of the thrilling benefits) of exploration, and I embrace my new unexpected location. On the second half of my run, my companions are cars and apartment buildings rather than shrubs and rock; I'll take it. Could be worse.

The ground never seems to tire of rushing under my feet! I, on the other hand, have not yet conquered my limits, so my time in the sun and wind eventually comes to an end. Like so many other times of seeking, I can't say with great clarity that I've found anything in particular. But at least the noisy chaos in my head has slowed; and for that I give thanks.

Something Beautiful

Foreboding wall of mountains

Beckoning me onwards

Towering through the clouds

Peaks alight in the sunrise

Draped with whisps of mist

Bejeweled with flecks of snow

Daring me to enter

To test my mettle against theirs

And find myself utterly lacking

Yet still I lift up my eyes

For the danger diminishes not the beauty

The Effects of Setting One's Head on Fire

Disclaimer: there are a couple semi-graphic descriptions in this post. Stop reading here if that sounds bad to you.

Have you ever wondered what it's like to run around like those stuntmen in the movies with your head in flames? I know I have. Ever since I first saw something like that on the TV screen, I've secretly wondered how it feels. Recently, I was granted the rare and unexpected opportunity to find out.

It was the most terrifying thing I've ever experienced. It was the only time in my life that I thought I might be about to die.

I didn't realize my head was on fire until I drew a deep breath. The gas which entered my lungs contained none of its customary oxygen, and my panic set in. When covering my face with my hands proved futile to extinguish the blaze, my panic turned to desperation and my heart beat faster (they told me in the ambulance that my blood pressure was 180 over 110).

That's when it happened - that terrifying moment of "OH SH--... WHAT HAVE I DONE??" There wasn't any time for my life to flash before my eyes, or for me to have any enlightening philosophical epiphanies. I didn't sense anything supernatural. I didn't see a light at the end of a tunnel. In that eternal half-second of terror, my thoughts only got as far as "this could be it."

Then, rather than getting pensive about the afterlife, my instincts kicked in and I did the sensible thing: I pulled my shirt off.

The next 10 minutes are a bit blurry - the first thing I remember seeing is the terrified face of my co-worker Preston, on the phone with 911. I ran to the bathroom to rinse my face with water (which I recommend if this ever happens to you - apparently it cuts recovery time in half), killed the equipment power, and started spraying water on the fire that was still going.

When the paramedics showed up, I felt the most profound sense of relief. It was so wonderful to lie down on that bed and just let someone take care of me. I knew I was still breathing, and that seemed like a good sign, and I was sure the fluids they were pumping into my veins would feel ok. So I just relaxed, really for the first time in weeks. They told me I was going to Nashville and I said "hell yeah! I love Nashville!"

What followed was a blissful 6 weeks recovering with my family in Colorado. And the conclusion I came to was this: maybe those 5 seconds with head on fire were almost worth it after all.

just kidding. ;)