Idealism

This morning I woke up to a grayness that I first took to be 5am but was actually 8am. I finished reading the Epilogue of Deepak Chopra's Buddha and then, fully rattled, proceeded to get my laundry together.

I know that what I've read in this book will be with me forever and has already profoundly affected me. I know that I will be ill at ease until I let what I learned from it envelope me. I know I'm scared to do it.

I slipped and slid over the slick sidewalk to the laundry room, wondering if the Dodgers @ Angels game I am going to this afternoon with my family will be rained out, not concerned but accepting of whatever the outcome would be. The point is to be with my nuclear family and that will happen rain or shine.

This week I will see three of Los Angeles' pro sports teams (saw the Laker parade) and I absolutely love that. I work at home so I've been watching the US Open and next week I'll get to watch Wimbledon and possibly see Roger Federer win his 15th Slam! Considering that I thought that might be the greatest moment of my life while I was washing dishes yesetrday, I can't help wondering if my life has become imbalanced in this passion for sports.

Walking back to the laundry room to move my loads from the washers to the dryers, I was struck by a sudden longing for Europe. The quiet gray of the morning put me right back in Italy. I actually had felt like an Italian peasant when I first ventured out. There was peace in accepting a task that had to be done regardless of the conditions, but there was something else going on--a loneliness that was not unpleasant.

While I moved my laundry I imagined being back in Europe where this task would have been part of a day that was part fight and mostly magic. I'd walk back to my apartment not completely in sync with the culture and that would bring wonder. Behind every corner there would be potential magic. The buildings, some six hundred and eight hundred years old, would radiate an energy that could touch any passerby willing to receive it. The people bustling about wouldn't need cars. They would walk where they needed to go and had abbreviated vehicles should they want them. No Hummers here. Some would be ecstatic to live here and count their blessings regularly. Some would be dismissive and choose to live in a way that required grasping and restlessness that they would insist was not a choice.

I rode a train from Salzburg to Prague when I was nineteen years old. I remember being gripped by a desire to write. Out poured a litany on Ayn Rand's philosophy. Life in Europe seemed to lend itself to quiet contemplation. I sorely missed that this morning and wanted it back.

A couple months ago I remember having a great day in LA that included hanging out at UCLA's Festival of Books and then Third Street Promenade in Santa Monica. The lavishness of the day did not escape me in the slightest. I was blown away that I could make this something I did every weekend. That joy faded when I started to wonder, "Is this all life is? A patchwork quilt of exciting diversions?"

Certainly not. But then what is it? If I walk away from that in search of something else how will I connect with people? And if I don't then how will I ever know the answer?