Notes at the end of June
I’ve been thinking about the pacing of my life lately. As I’m just a few days out of leaving San Francisco, I’m reflecting on the speed of the city—I’ve become acutely aware of how intense things are here compared to the life I lived before I arrived.
I was fortunate to be able to spend time in Spain (with a short stop in Phoenix) before I moved here. During that time, I mostly just ate croissants and ham and hung out at cafes to read and write and draw. I would walk aimlessly and my mind wandered, leading me to write esoteric ravings and poetry which led to the formation of the arc of My Only Friend La Croix. This time was immensely valuable as a creative; I was in no rush, so I spent ample time back in Phoenix zoning out into a half-blank canvas, subconsciously musing about where to take a stroll with oil paint.
San Francisco has been different. In short, I feel like this city is riddled with micro-interactions; most coffees with friends, dates, dinners, and other social events take place within nice little 45 or 90 minute appointment windows. There’s always something else to run to—people pack their schedules so tightly that I’m getting hit with the real-life equivalent of the classic corporate-Zoom “gotta jump, we’re 5 minutes over for my next meeting.”
Speaking of which, I think the attitude that’s now pervasive within my social circles (and now one which I’ve since adopted due to social osmosis) stems from the blurred lines between personal and professional life. If you spend 8 hours per day in meeting-hopping, scheduled & schematic calendar-brain, you’re probably going to live that way after-hours.
I’m reading The Joy of Not Working and Zelinski talks about the importance of avoiding being in a hurry; it’s essential to slow down and enjoy where you are. I try to remember the yogic principle of honoring where you are in the process: it’s not important if you can touch your toes today, but the key point is to value your journey and recognize that you’re undergoing that growth.
It’s easy to lose sight of this in context of city life. The buzz of a phone telling you that you have yet another opportunity to meet friends, or that there’s an event near you, or to just quickly run to that pop-up on Valencia Street is too enticing and leaves little room for honoring the now. Personally, I don’t feel like I ever figured it out; my balance for fulfilling my social needs and my solitude needs was never calibrated in such a way for me to feel like I made inroads in either.
Oddly enough, version of The Joy of Not Working which I’m reading was written in 2003, and Zelinski places a quote from a San Francisco-based consulting psychologist which I feel all too relevant:
The workplace has become their community center— where they work out, get a massage, go to parties. They come to me anxious, and they don’t know why. They’ve become caught up in the culture. The question is, Is that healthy? From what I’ve seen, it isn’t.
Similarly, one of the most important things I got out of reading Murakami’s novels is within The Wind Up Bird Chronicle, where the protagonist Toru Okada receives advice from Mr. Honda, who tells him that when he needs to go high, he must go to the top of the highest tower, while when he needs to go low, he must go to the bottom of the deepest well.
I think about this advice often and recognize that life is cyclical. There are times where you can’t fight the flow and must live in a low state, and others in which you should make use of going high. I’m not quite sure where to place San Francisco—I have quite a few highlights from the years that I’ve spent here, so I can’t categorically place it as either “high” or “low.” Still, I don’t feel like the pacing ever struck a chord with me or my preferred way to live, and I honestly got whiplash from living in Spain. Unfortunately, I do think I tried to fight it—I didn’t let myself sit in the bottom of the well and spun wheels creatively and socially. Regardless, it has been a learning experience for me—I know now what I value, and one of those values is to live life a little slower.
The mystery of life isn’t a problem to solve, but a reality to experience.
- Jamis, Dune (2021)
