October 2020 – Still Finding Fun

Greetings From The Sunshine State

As has been our custom in recent autumns, we are spending a month in Florida recuperating from the stresses of, in F’s case, tax season (for those not familiar with the ways of CPAs, tax season doesn’t really end until Oct. 15), and in my case, F during tax season (just kidding dear!).

Therefore in the coming weeks, assuming I actually do some writing and don’t spend all my waking hours drinking beer on the beach, swimming, riding bikes, cooking seafood, and drinking cocktails while watching sunsets, this blog may occasionally take on the form of a travelogue.

In truth the idea for this blog originated in a series of emails I wrote during some trips we took over the past couple of years as a way of keeping family and friends up to date. Thus, its origins are about the fun we have traveling. So for you readers who are disappointed in not getting the usual brilliant satire and hilarious insights into life and the human condition and could care less about our vacation, all I can say is that you need to check the fine print in the blog’s money back guarantee.

So, a few notes about Florida.

Yes, it’s as decidedly weird and absurd as its reputation, although I have to admit that given the number of times I have read a news item in recent years about some crazy person or some bizarre happening, North Carolina is giving it a run for its money. I think of Florida as having a split personality; one is the glitzy, sandy, high-rising, palm tree swaying, luxury lounging rich relative, while the other is the, well, let’s just leave it as the poor cousin baking in the sun. Driving the length of this great long state, you realize that there are a lot more orange groves, cattle ranches and horse farms than there are beaches, which is saying something.

And, of course, there are more strip malls per capita than in any other place in the world filled with shops selling stuff I have no idea what it is and offering services I’m not sure I want to know what they are.

I say all this not to denigrate Florida, because I did plenty of that when I was an actual full-time resident of the state, but to celebrate it. Because the mountains of North Carolina, where we live most of the time, have plenty of things visitors could denigrate, plus it’s not very warm right now and – this is the critical point – it doesn’t have a beach.

I have been accused before of not liking where I live, which is not true; I simply don’t like winters that last nearly half the year. And having spent a considerable amount of my childhood around (mostly tropical) water, I’m like a junky who needs a regular fix of the warm waters of the ocean. You could say my heart is in the mountains but my soul is at the beach.

Which brings us to our present surroundings, high above a beach overlooking the Gulf of Mexico. Looking at the beachgoers after driving through the length of Florida, where wearing masks during this pandemic is decidedly optional, I can’t help but wonder why bathing suits aren’t optional too. I mean, who doesn’t long for the glorious freedom from that clingy feeling of wet material grabbing at all your bits and pieces so that you are constantly rearranging things and plucking it away from soggy personal parts?

I might consider putting liberty to the test and seeing just how much freedom is allowed here on the southern tip of America. But I’ll definitely need another beer first.

How Did I Become So Sensitive?

I always assumed that we toughened up as we got older, that our experiences throughout life, our ups and downs, would inure us to many of the deprivations and depravities of the world.

Boy, was I wrong.

I find that the older I get, the more sensitive I’ve become to certain things. Oh, my skin is somewhat thicker than it used to be and I find myself not caring as much what people think of me or what they say about me, but then I’m not climbing an employment ladder anymore so I don’t have to worry about what co-workers think or what a boss wants me to do (I’ve lived with my current one long enough now that I intuitively know what’s expected of me).

But physical sensitivities are another matter. Take food, for instance. I used to have an iron stomach and could eat anything, any time, and in any amount with nary an ill effect – including unwanted pounds. Now, however, I have to consider the dire consequences before eating certain foods. Anything fried, for example, means long hours later with heartburn and sitting … well, you get the picture, and a pretty one it’s not. And, of course, all I have to do is think about a slice of pizza and I will gain weight.

I also used to put a lot more hot sauce on the food I ate; the hotter the better. Now, not so much. I still like hot sauce, but I have to tone it down, much to my disappointment. This is not so much a stomach issue, though; I suspect it has more to do with the unfortunate discovery about a year ago that I was allergic to many types of lip balm, which is a story for another day.

My eyes, which have been shielded by lenses since the fifth grade, are also much more sensitive than they used to be, often burning and tearing up when outside, although I suppose that is to be expected given all the crap that has been pumped into the air through the years. But as a kid I could swim for hours in salty seas and chlorinated pools with my eyes wide open; now, goggles or masks are the order of the day.

And unlike others in my family growing up I did not suffer as a child from allergies, or hay fever as it was called back then. I thought this was simply the luck of the draw and that I would be immune to the effects of pollen and particulates and what have you for the rest of my life. So imagine my surprise a few years ago when I found myself suffering sinus headaches in the spring, sneezing throughout the summer, and having it feel like all those leaves falling in the fall we’re going straight up my nose.

Years ago when these symptoms started appearing I asked my doctor what was up and he casually mentioned that yes, you can develop allergies as you grow older. What?! Who knew? Isn’t this something they should warn you about when you’re younger so you can fully appreciate the joy of breathing air filled with the smell of new-mown grass and jumping into those piles of leaves?

But perhaps the most acute sensitivity I find myself having these days is that I am increasingly sensitive to stupidity. This, naturally, can be attributed to the fact that stupidity seems to be running rampant a lot more than it used to, although looking back at some of my misspent youth I have to admit that a fair amount of stupidity existed back then as well.

I used to be a lot more tolerant of stupidity – unlike my wife, who never has suffered fools gladly – partly I think because at times during my journalistic career my job entailed talking to politicians, bureaucrats and others who required restraint when judging their mental acuity or competence. Nowadays it seems that stupidity and incompetence come much more naturally in people, although if you’ve spent much of your formative years glued to a tiny screen scrolling through funny pictures of cats and texting your BFF about the latest memes, whatever the hell they are, then you at least have an excuse, as lame as it might be.

I find myself irritated by stupidity because I think much of it is needless. Students could pay more attention in class, or schools could offer more pragmatic and practical curricula. People could pay more attention to what’s going on around them, or spend more time on self-improvement, or learn how to focus on sharing the road when driving a car, but that takes effort and is not as easy as scrolling through Facebook.

And too many businesses neglect to adequately train their employees in their basic functions, so they are at a loss to answer even a simple question and have to ask a supervisor why there still isn’t any toilet paper on the shelves.

Yes, it’s a cold, hard world out there and none of us are getting any younger. For myself, I’m just trying to adapt to the changes in how my body reacts to stuff as I get older, and I guess I’ll just have to work on trying to be more tolerant of the idiotic things people do that irritate me.

On the other hand, that would require me to become more sensitive, so screw that.

Thinking About Nothing (It’s Harder Than You Think)

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, then let it out slowly.

Ahhh. Time to relax.

I’m trying, once again, to meditate. I’ve tried it before, even meditating in a session with a meditation teacher. I’m pretty bad at it, probably because I don’t work hard enough at it and don’t stick with it (see previous post about dieting and you might notice a trend).

But I’m trying again, because I’m aware of all the benefits of meditation. How it lowers blood pressure and promotes better health in general. How it improves your ability to concentrate. How it improves your self-esteem and self-awareness. How it lowers stress and increases your imagination and creativity. How it reduces negative emotions and fosters tolerance and patience.

Plus, I’ve noticed that for all that I’m generally a laidback person, I can get awfully tense at times.

Hence, here I am, sitting cross-legged on the floor, hands on my knees, back straight, seeking complete mindfulness but mindful mostly of my breathing.

Concentrate on your breathing, beginners are told. In, out. In, out. Focus. Try not to let your mind wander, but if it does, gently rein it back in and think about nothing. Except your breathing. In, out. In, out.

I wonder if I’m breathing too deeply. What is it that happens when you do that too much? Hyperventilating? Well, I don’t want that, so I’ll slow down here. Smaller breaths. Breathe normally. In, out. Visualize the air coming in, bringing positive energy. Visualize it going out, expelling all that negative energy.

My nose itches. Damn that negativity; it must be tickling my nose hairs on the way out. Should I scratch the itch? No, that would give in to the negativity I’m trying to expel. Wait, wait … it’s just negativity’s way of distracting me from my positive meditating. It’s making me think about itching and hyperventilating when I should be thinking about … nothing.

Ahhh, there we go. Center our thoughts, focus on … boy, this floor is hard. I don’t have much padding on my backside as it is, so this is definitely uncomfortable. And let’s not even think about how my knees feel, all folded up like this. What am I, a kindergartener at story time? My body is too old to sit like this.

No, no, no. Ignore those thoughts. No pain, no gain, right? Wait, that’s weightlifting. I’m pretty sure meditating is not supposed to include pain. Now, yoga. I’ve done a bit of yoga in my time, and that can definitely involve pain. I remember that time I thought I’d wrenched my back …. no, no, no. Mind is wandering again. Back to square one. In, out. In, out. Just breathe.

Hmmm. What’s that smell? Smells vaguely like stink worm. Or maybe – horrors! – the dreaded stink bugs are back! No, it can’t be! We eradicated them, waged a months-long war with the little bastards. It doesn’t bear thinking about….

Oh, yeah. No thinking. Especially about bugs, which even now might be crawling …. whoa, there. Enough. This is not relaxing. Think calming, peaceful thoughts. Think sandy beaches, swaying palm trees …. no, no, don’t. Think no thoughts. I mean, don’t think.

Dang, my butt hurts. I wonder if it’s permissible to lie down while meditating. I don’t recall seeing any pictures of all those Buddhist monks in Tibet or Nepal or wherever lying down, so probably not. Plus, there’s the danger of segueing smoothly from meditating to sleeping if I was flat on my back rather than contorted into this painful position. Maybe that’s why they sit like this, so there’s no chance of dozing off. So, okay, no lying down.

And no paying attention to all those noises. Like those birds outside the window; do they ever shut up? And who the hell are all these people driving up and down our road? Where are they going this time of day? Why is there someone always mowing their grass in my neighborhood? And … no, stop it. Just stop. You’re thinking too much. (Ha! Not too many people can be accused of that these days.)

Speaking of noises, I wonder if I should try a mantra. You know, chant an om or two to help focus my non-thoughts on the task at hand, which isn’t a task, I know, but you catch my drift. But then, I dunno; I can’t carry a tune so what is my humming or droning going to sound like? Maybe I should just keep my mouth shut.

You know, while my mind is wandering and before I rein it back in, I think I’m beginning to suspect that this meditation could be a load of New Age mystical hooey. I could relax much easier by sampling from a whole cornucopia of pharmaceuticals that other people seem to be scarfing down to handle the stress and strain of modern life. Why, there is our medicinal bottle of tequila cooling it’s jets right now in the freezer just waiting to be doled out as a relaxing cold shot. One of those would certainly do the trick.

But that would be the easy way out, and there isn’t much sense of accomplishment in downing a shot. Meditation is harder, not to mention healthier. It takes practice. It takes concentration. Clearly I need help in learning how to … um, oh yeah, concentrate a bit better. So suck it up and do this the right way. Meditate, damn it.

Then you can have the shot.

How about we just concentrate on breathing like we are supposed to? In, out. In, out. Relax. You can do this. Quit talking to yourself and let your mind go. Enjoy the sensations of nothingness. Tune out the world and all its problems. All is peaceful. Life is good. I’m living in the moment, connected to the universe.

I open my eyes. I unkink my body. I take a deep breath and let out a deep sigh.

Dang. I feel pretty good.