Wordle.net says that if you took my public brain so far and blended it into oblivion, it would look something like this. Looks about right to me!

I’ve just finished a book entitled The Paradox of Choice by Barry Schwartz. I also copied and highlighted some key parts as I always do with books since I usually borrow them from the library stacks or interlibrary loans. Certain pages of the book spoke right to me and will certainly influence my near and far futures. And I think that from the last chapter mainly, the book will indirectly influence the way that I make decisions, big and small, and with that leave a lasting daily taste in my mouth: a taste of comfort in the overwhelming modern world of information and knowledge.

Here is an excerpt from the middle of the book [emphasis mine]:

“While students at many colleges are happy to discover a subject to study that not only do they enjoy but that will enable them to make a living, many of the students that I teach have multiple interests and capabilities. These students face the task of deciding on the one thing that they want to do more than anything else. Unconstrained by limitations of talent, the world is open to them.
 
Do they exult this opportunity? Not most of the ones I talk to. Instead, they agonize: Between making money and doing something of lasting social value. Between challenging their intellects and exercising their creative impulses. Between work that demands single-mindedness and work that will enable them to lead balanced lives. Between work they can do in a beautifully pastoral location and work that brings them to a bustling city. Between any work at all and further study.
 
With a decision as important as this, they struggle to find the reasons that make one choice stand out above all others.”
 
- The Paradox of Choice - Barry Schwartz

And well: that resounds into the past college years of my life like no other. I like to think of myself proficient in the modern age of time-wasting devices, loads of information, and deceptive items of value. Yet with all of the opportunity laid out before one’s self, we reach a state of bliss and un-motion. This is evidenced by looking back on this very day, a day for me of photographing in a cemetery with a rudimentary understanding of exposures and composition, having a delicious bowl of seafood Pho and wondering how I can make it, wandering about a craft store glaring at the pastels/fancy paper/technical drafting kits, watching a lecture about high performance computing, and finishing off the day by burning a fire model of a church (for research purposes of course).

While I am a big proponent of randomness and a wide range of inputs, I am also a succumber of the pleasures of random input and a productive intake of massive amounts of information. This leaves me feeling adrift in a sea of decisions, which leads to indecision. Luckily, the book that I just mentioned talks of some ideas during the closing chapter. Not solutions, but guides to help you walk across the sea of paralysis. Instead of always looking back and wondering, I just don’t think there is a use in pondering the fourth dimension. Unless, of course, you are also interested in philosophical exercises as one of your too-many hobbies.

Either tonight or tomorrow, I am going to pursue the action of writing a to learn list (see here). Whether or not this will help with the multitude of choice that has materialized in front of me for the past years; I don’t know. But I have a deep and comforting feeling that while it will not make a difference in happiness, it will certainly grow and satiate my soul; and so I share these thoughts with you.

There is something to be said about meaningful work. My first day of school comes, and I am hit with the randomness that my mind yearns for. A random day that involves a balance of valid and worthwhile work. One with action, conversation, exercise, dreaming, and so on. And perhaps not in the traditional sense.

For instance: exercise. I am an idealist, and exercise to me means working my brain to death. By meditation or focus. Action to me means working towards something that is meaningful, not just a todo list. However, what is meaningful work? Well, as I find out, I humble myself and think that I do not yet have the wisdom to pick out the meaningful work for myself. This is where mentors come in. Mentors in the damndest sense of the word. Mentors that lead you to greater things in life.

So I am here today. The first day of my last semester. The end of another chapter. Revelations.

Today I encountered conversations of natural and synthetic happiness, readings about paralysis and choices from the macro scale to the micro, lectures of sprinkler and fire protection, ideas of numerical analysis and prediction, the dexterity and grace of a game of air hockey, a movie about the modern culture of counter-culture, and so on. The ideas and environment that exist in an academic environment spark the beauty and relationships that exist in nature and bring them to the forefront of my thinking.

On a more practical level, I am excited about this semester as I have some higher-up duties to perform at school throughout the semester, all the while I plan to keep working away at fulfilling days of creation, writing, and expression. Hence, the artful scientist continues with yet more action-packed days.

—

While I am on the topic of everything, there is a feeling in the air that forces me to stop what I am doing and write or read. I seek to take action in non-action and a day full of empty decision scares but amuses me. Here is a list of readings and ideas that I hope to pursue in the next week or two:

•  The Paradox of Choice - Schwartz: The idea that we are faced with an almost unlimited amount of choices in our modern lifestyles and how this can lead to paralysis of action and thought.
•  The Great Adventure: Essays and accounts written by former volunteers of the Peace Corps. Excellent range of topics and experiences of worldly cultures and monumental tasks taken on and how it affected and influenced the lives of the volunteers.
• Against Love - Kipnis: Book about the trappings, routines, mindsets, and rituals that the idea of modern relationships put us humans though by marriage or otherwise. A call for all to love more and resist the urge to “work on ourselves” relentlessly as if we are double-majoring in jobs and relationships for all 16 waking hours of our lives.
• Breaking away from my todo list for most of the day and filling it instead with reflection, creation, and true action.
• Contemplating the summer of 2008 and what it may bring. Research at a fire protection firm? Coding mathematics at a Google-like place? Working closely with a fire research firm? Or taking a long term sabbatical on a somewhere mind boggling journey.
• Considering wrapping my head around the 1.5 - 2 years that I will be (probably) in Maryland studying fire science and mathematics and ensuring that I get everything that I can out of the experience while again maintaining a free, open, and exploratory mind.

—

I ride the night freeways going northbound at 75 mph on the way to my new temporary home. The red jacket keeps the chilling winds at bay by utilizing technology and a thin layer of polymers. My mind wanders to the night sky and sets in a lull, considering the different paths to go on mentally during the ride home. Choices suffocate my deliberation on any subject, and as I arrive at one thought or experience to soak in, my senses quickly jump to the next set of problems or decision to be made.

Snapshot of paralysis of the mind in real-time from a real human:

When I get home, should I have a glass of water or a beer? [2 minutes]
Moving on, should I waste some time with internet games or entertaining forum postings? [1-2 hours]
Should I write a blog post? [20 minutes]
Should I read one of the five books that I am currently in? [30 minutes-1 hour]
Should I write some more Perl code for that project? [1 hour]
I could always just go to sleep right now and forget all of these decisions. [8 hours]
Or I could practice my typing. [30 minutes]
Wait, I could try to edit those three rolls pictures that I took. [1 hour]
I should attack a few items on my todo list like brainstorming for the semester and writing a few emails. [1 hour]
Screw it, I should delete half of the items on my todo list that won’t matter in five years anyway. [20 minutes]
Oh wait, I could write down the top 10 things that I want to do for the next month, then narrow it down to three ideals, then ignore the rest so that I actually progress at something. [30 minutes]
I should grab a bite to eat. [20 minutes]
Or just meditate about everything above. [30 minutes]

Welcome to the modern renaissance life. Thanks for listening. Next time: answers?

Here are some of my favorite pictures from the 8-day motorcycle trip through Texas and Mexico:

The trip started with a cloudy but warm day and one of the coolest parts of Sunday’s ride was the stop on Hamilton Pool road over a piece of the Pedernales River. The air was crispy and cool as our three bikes took a rest near the water crossing. The water was a stiff 80 degrees despite the cool air being pushed in by the front. I couldn’t help but wander around the area and ogle at the palette of my favorite natural shades of green to light brown that filled my vision.

After finally getting my heart rate down from the exciting ride and plentiful colors, I couldn’t help but be drawn to a small pile of rocks on a larger stumpy boulder. I invited my father and college mate to join me in interacting with this collaborative work of nature and enjoy the simplicity of a balanced stack of stones.

Before we took off from this wonderful mini-oasis, I couldn’t help but snap a quick picture from the distance. My dad never was one to just give in and go with the human-imposed flow of things:

I jump a day ahead to my next favorite picture: a group of guys just hanging around as we were, looking for different feelings along the trip, facing in different directions, but united by the common blood of exploration and wandering. This is after we had arrived in Ciudad Acuna, just across the border from Del Rio, and tucked away in a restaurant with only one other family partaking in a late dinner in this still but warming town.

Waking up after a comfortable night of rest, I was alarmed by a sound that I need not hear; a sound that would hamper my trip with its natural fury: the sound of rain pouring down outside. I snap up onto the concrete floor, orient myself upwards, and head towards the window, still attempting to establish my balance. As I pull back the heavy curtain/blanket, I realize that the sound is coming from the restroom: the shower. I exhale a breath of refreshment.

I turn on the television and tune into a staticy weather channel as they dictate the wind speeds and air temperatures in slightly familiar packages of Spanish vocabulary. I see ice heading where we should be heading and lists of negative degrees Celsius. After a long walk but a quick breakfast, we head back to the hotel with a looming wonder of where to head next. And before I can even shake the overhanging feeling, we ask the hotel overseer if he can find out when the next bus to Monterrey leaves.

He comes back in about 85 seconds with a small piece of paper that says “Coahuilenses: 10:15 am” and it also has a bus number on it. I look at the clock on the stand right as he calmly tells us, “Esta dejando en cinco minutos. La estacion es una cuadra de esa y tres cuadras de esa.” I look at my friend for a nod of approval, but instead am returned with a look of indecision. The bus is leaving in five minutes and it is seventy-seven dollars for the round trip. My dad gives his regards and gets back on his way to Houston. I excitedly turn back to my friend and ask, “Are you ready to go?” And, well, I’ll let the next picture of the bus bathroom facilities speak for our decision to go or not:

After hitting my head on the bathroom ceiling a few times as I relieve myself, I shuffle back through the tight center aisle on the bus and plop down back in my comfy seat. Three more hours to go. I tire from watching the Spanish dubbed movie at the front of the bus and pry back the heavy curtain separating me from the view outside. Ahh, almost there.

With lots of blanks to be filled in later, after all this is only a best of my favorites picture tour of the trip, I continue on to the next day. After a few good meals and a plethora of broken word exchanges with the locals of Monterrey, me and my friend walk for miles and miles down to check out the mountainside and be immersed in the culture of Mexico. We head off towards the local Santuario de Guadalupe church with no other routes or distractions in mind. Just walking and looking, always having a third eye out for a good picture opportunity.

We notice droves of businesses, banks, and restaurants that are closed on the southerly walk. On a Wednesday? Add this as another odd thought that infiltrates my mind and has to find out the solution by some line of practical reasoning. I keep walking, and thinking. We get closer to the church and just like we crossed into the cold front and had it smack us in the face and torso, we cross into an area with thousands of people lining the streets. Aha, my brain is placing the elementary ideas together in a deductive and airy style: this must be some sort of holiday or festival. We round the corner of the church:

After a fantastic day of pictures, life, travel, experience, culture, food, people… we finally settle down for the night and as I glance in my wallet for our remaining stock of pesos. I pull out six coins and head to the local 7-11 for a round of the night’s entertainment. Paying for a pack of beverages with change has never been so fun, or real, as I realize that we are running down to our last 200 pesos for the trip. Nonetheless, we have a great end to a fantastic day.

The last day leads us between two major roadways in an empty river bed. We walked about 15 miles this day as our brains walked about 1,500 miles as we took in the sights and sounds of this mountainous cityscape.

Soon enough, nightfall comes on our walk back north, and I stop on a bridge to play with the long-shutter speeds on my camera. The massive amounts of vehicle traffic going by make me wonder how people think of these Mexican cities back in the U.S. Sitting atop this pedestrian bridge, I breathe in a cool breath and feel more of my ideas of the world flourishing. I look at the back of the digital camera screen and see how much bright light the aperture has taken in only six seconds, and I wonder how much light and culture the aperture of my eyeball has taken in on that 15 mile walk of the day. My brain and thoughts reassure my heart of the amount as I continue the walk back to the hotel.

Coming back towards the Macroplaza area, I run into a tree lit by Christmas lights and try to capture its fluid glory with the camera as best as I can. The way the lights flow over in a haphazardly fashion is quickly overcome by the soft pulsing and flowing of the blinking pattern. “Why didn’t they wrap the other trees?”, I wonder out loud. But it really serves me well that the one tree there is appearing like it does so peacefully, despite it being surrounded by an inflow and outflow of what looks like 900 cars per minute.

Fast-forward over a six hour bus ride back to Acuna and a long walk back inside the U.S., and I meet a friend while I have my hotel door open to take in the breezy, chilly December air:

On the way back to Houston, we decide to stop by San Antonio for Saturday night and visit with my family. And then, on the way to San Antonio I quickly pull over right before arriving in a small town called Sabinal and their appropriately named river, the Sabinal River. The colors again comfort and appease me. They also remind me whose trip this really was, it was a trip of nature with me just following along as an observer.

Night falls and a cold and clear night sky lights up the great ceiling. I fall asleep in San Antonio on my cousin’s couch from exhaustion and pure vitalization.

The final day comes and I still haven’t had a chance to ground my thoughts. Don’t get me wrong, I can express my thoughts, but my head is in the clouds after so many sources of inspiration on the trip: human and non-human; cultural and intangible. In fact, as I write this on the Tuesday after getting back, I still haven’t really returned to earth. And I love it. Thanks for the trip, Mother Nature and people of the world.

————–

I’ll be posting more mini-stories and topics of the trip in the coming weeks. And I have lots more pictures to share with you. However, if you just can’t wait and wish to cheat, you can view the full album at my Google Picasa Web Album.

Thanks for reading.

I made it back in town last night from my eight day motorcycle trip around Texas and Mexico. In the next couple of weeks, I’ll be posting words about different aspects of the trip: the people, the consumerism in a different part of the world, along with other ideas.

Another semester down and only five more months of undergraduate studies face me until another chapter is marked.

Please enjoy this “abstract letter” that I wrote while staying in a hotel near the Central de Autobuses in Monterrey, Mexico during the trip. Be sure to check out the trips from the picture when I post them, you’ll love them!:

———————

Please, me. I sit and contrast and compare. Or I stand. Lie down. What position flows blood from my brain to the heart quick enough such that => I can submerge myself into a lifelong dream of constant hope and vivid/lucid happenings. If I am obsessed and dreaming in this moment, I am led into yet another obsessed thought. It is more like a box of tic-tacs? Or is it more like a stream of consciousness. How continuous is this brook of synapses firing?

Keep in mind that my heart is thinking, too. And my right hand. It remembers July as well. A discontinuous series of experiences and sensory loads. What is the different between a flood of chemicals touching end to end or reality actually bringing us together? I’ll tell you. Something that classic philosophers quantified as unstudiable. A soul connection.

Soul is still a word to many that is just a euphemism for something not yet explained or covered by a multimeter. But I secretly whisper to them that they just haven’t heard of it yet. They haven’t touched the soul or had something touch the soul like I had done to me. Culture; travel; sleep; poverty. They spoke to me, and yelled at me. I heard them well. Why wonder how sure I am of going there in 8 months? Are our brains just related in a way that, when looked upon in an absurd flash of light, like the words cuarto and cuadra, waiting for a connection.

This sort of connection, once experienced, once the blood returns to your brain, sticks like a stapled report. Everyone thinks that you’ll one day move out of your phase. Well, I turn that around and ask myself this. I even know of a living and breathing pair of examples. When separated by space but not time, it grows stronger in both; a yearning for more, and a fear of continuation with a lack of pure and beautiful fulfillment. It scares the brain, but the heart remembers the arcing between potentials. Different potentials. At the same time, when separated by space, time, and most importantly: mind, they grew apart fasted than a decaying tree.

This, like all progressive experiences in life, not only serves to bring about more questions, but stronger questions. The kind that make you want to drop everything that you are doing in search for your personal legend. Thanks for that relighting of my mind. It broke what I know, and it made the physical into ruins; and I love that. If nothing ever becomes of this, something certainly came of nothing, and I am endlessly in thought of the results - infatuated. But please, me.