Because of your melodic nature, the moonlight never misses an appointment.

Later on, I found that my father had held a similar intrigue for Thoreau.  He has reread Walden every year for many, many years.  Some of us are born with a desire to become closer to nature and the world around us.  Thoreau is a beacon for those people, or, at least that is what appears by me.

Beyond his attempt to “commune with nature”, Thoreau also is a spiritual, or rather, secular, father of simplicity and minimalism.  Indeed, in the beginning of his book, he notes that those who know him would find this experiment to be odd, being contrary to the man that they know.  Isn’t that the minimalism that we have all embraced, coming from a life of excess and moving towards something simpler?  Perhaps we are all Thoreaus in some sense.

As I read Walden again, I was struck by the simplicity of his building.  I have been lucky enough to read Michael Pollan’s “A Place of my Own,” which references another book, “Tiny Houses.” by Les Walker.  This book contains many examples of dwellings of 300 square feet or less, including Thoreau’s cabin.  It appears so simple to build.  It was so simple that others mimicked his design.  Most interestingly, Daniel Ricketson’s cabin was an attempt to mimic Thoreau’s design.  What was sad, in the description, was that Ricketson did not build the cabin himself, but rather hired out to do it.

What does it say about us when we merely try to facially mimic the things that we see in others, be it having a cabin built, or reducing our things to 100?  I want to explore this question in further posts.  For now, all I will say is, read Walden, it’s always worthwhile.

I have always wanted to be able to pick up an instrument and create music. I have always wanted to be able to read sheet music and play beautiful melodies.  Despite all of these desires I’ve always had a problem finding the right instrument.  I have a basic knowledge of how to read sheet music, and, a strong desire to learn.

I made learning the play the keyboard/piano a goal for the year.  Over the course of the past month, I have had a daily moment where I reconsidered the goal, and whether I wanted to pursue it.

Step one was to become resolved to learn.  I had made the decision several months ago.  One particular song had caught my ear, stayed with me, and made me want to learn. I used this to create a genuine desire to learn the instrument.

Step two, was to purchase a keyboard.  I tried not to go overboard, but found a decently priced keyboard on sale at Guitar Center.  I waited over a month before making the purchase.  I wanted to make sure the idea was still in my head, that I wouldn’t buy a keyboard and drop the idea.

Step three will be the most difficult part, dedicating a minimum of 4 hours a week to practice.  I could be more ambitious and declare that I will practice an hour a day, but I am trying to be realistic.  I will break this step down into parts, starting with practicing for an hour a week, advancing onward until I have made it part of my weekly routine.  I don’t want to become discouraged because I have failed to practice.  I am still considering piano lessons.  I think I will try to acquaint myself with the instrument first, learning the basics and refreshing reading sheet music, before I jump into formal lessons.

The piano seemed like a good instrument to play.  The one-to-one correspondence of keys to notes appears to make it an easier instrument to learn, though a difficult one to master.

I purchased my keyboard today.  Finding a place for it in my apartment is difficult.  However, I believe I know where it will make its final home.  I will need a proper keyboard stand before all is said and done. For now, the keyboard rests near my desk, easily accessible to play while I prepare the final home for it.

Has anyone else had experience making the decision to jump into a new instrument?  What were your considerations and motivations?  How successful were you?

I started the morning on a mission to get four quarters so I could do some laundry. I left my building in the morning and started up the hill to find a cafe, or some store that would be open. It was still early, maybe 8 a.m. As I walked up the street, there wasn’t a moving car in sight. They were all buried. People were walking up the middle of the street to avoid trudging through the snow. It was beautiful.

As I made my way up the street, I thought about how the world must have been quite different 50 years ago, let alone 100 years ago. It led me to an idea: Spend a day being old-fashioned.

What does a person have to do to have an “Old-Fashioned” Day?

1. Cook a meal

The meal doesn’t have to be the greatest thing in the world. Just look in your kitchen cupboards and find what available ingredients you have. Make a nice, simple meal, enjoy it with a few close friends, or just on your own.

2. Go for a walk

Wander around side streets in your neighborhood. Don’t drive anywhere to take a walk, just go outside and start your trek. Be observant; I, for instance, noticed a piece of a tree that had grown around a telephone line. The tree has since been removed, but a small piece of branch remains forever attached to the line. What can you find?

3. Window shop your neighborhood

There are many stores along the main commercial stretch in my neighborhood. I haven’t been in most of the stores. I could peer in through the window and mentally bookmark the interesting places that I ought to visit. Given the weather, most stores are closed so I can’t go it, but that is no deterrent to window-shopping.

4. Avoid the TV

What better way to avoid the waste of time that television can be than to pretend it doesn’t exist for a day. Fill the time with some other form of entertainment. Write down your favorite life-anecdote and share it with a friend. Chances are you have amazing stories that will be lost if you don’t record them.

The most important part of being old-fashioned is to just not force anything. Read a newspaper, or a book.  The list above is not meant to be complete, or even representative of what you should do.  The main point is that you should just slow down, and enjoy being present.

Pollan had purchased an old clapboard house in Connecticut.  After having the clapboard house renovated, he has a seed planted in his mind, a little building off in the distance.  No one is sure exactly what the building will be, just that the vista doesn’t seem complete without it.  The seed is sown and what we find out this leads to is the creation of a writing hut at the end of a path.

Pollan weaves the narrative of building this writing hut of his with architectural and building history.  I immediately thought of another favorite book of mine, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance by Robert Pirsig.  Pirsig uses a similar style, a narrative of the process interspersed with theory and history.

The book led me back to my own thoughts of a place of my own, a cabin in the woods, or on a lake.  I have always thought of creating some space for working on my “side” projects.

In deciding to create such a space there are some important considerations:

1. What are your most important projects?
2. What space do you need to create things?
3. What will you create?
4. What is comfortable and inspiring in design to you?

Your space may be as simple as a small room with a table to place a laptop on, it may be an empty room used as an art studio, or an elaborately furnished area.  The most important part is that it is your own.

I currently live in a 750 square foot apartment and find that I want a space that is separate from the apartment to work on my personal projects.  Now, I know that sounds odd, 750 square feet should be plenty of room for one person to do whatever they need to do.  However, it is my everyday living quarters.  With that come the everyday hiccups in getting work done.

My “space”, I think, would be a 10×10 room.  I’ve even envisioned a small little building that would serve this purpose.  It would include my writing desk underneath a window, and a space for my art projects in another corner.  It would be one place where I could go to be separate from the everyday.

As of now, my space is a corner of my living room with a simple writing desk and lamp.  I also use my kitchen to paint.  But this hodgepodge of spaces doesn’t feel natural; it feels forced sometimes.  It feels like my projects are being forced into pre-determined spaces, and not in worlds of their own.

That said, do we really need a place for these things to live, or should they be able to flourish wherever we are?  I’m writing in a cafe now, rather than at home.

Pollan’s book also led me to think of Walden, which I have started to re-read.  I suppose the message is that we need an “other” to help use define our goals and ourselves.  I’m not sure that I really believe that theory.

If we are striving for a minimalist life, shouldn’t we be striving to be able to create anywhere, regardless of furniture, or buildings?

What Pollan gets at, through all of his design and building, is that the spaces where we go to create are not always of our own making.  Yes, Pollan hired and worked with an architect to design his writing hut, and he worked with a carpenter to actually build it; but the feel of it was created as much by his architect as by nature; the inspiration that could be obtained in the house was a product not just of the design of the house, but also of its placement, and the desires of its occupant.  Indeed, we find out that the writing hut is now a home office for a realtor.  This is quite a re-purposing of a semi-sacred place.

But, much like a church, it is only sacred when those who hold it as such occupy it.  The sacredness of our creation spaces is fleeting.  They are sacred for the short time when we occupy them, and, just as often, lose all meaning afterward.  This is not a depressing thought.  Rather, I consider it to be extremely inspiring.  The spot where you sit to drink a cup of coffee was once occupied by a noted author, putting the finishing touches on his great American novel.  The spot where you spread your blanket for a picnic was the vantage point of a painter, creating an abstract landscape that defined an artistic genre.  The subway car that you rode to work in was the concert hall for a violinist whose performance brought joy to those who did not expect it.

We create our own spaces.  In a world as crowded and hectic as our own, we can only hope for a retreat, perhaps at the end of a walkway that led from the backdoor of our home.  More often than not, we must seek to define our spaces as they interact with a busy world around us.  I can be totally isolated in a busy coffee shop when I immerse myself in my writing, or, I can feel distracted and uninspired in my quiet apartment as I sit with no creative spark.  I define my own space, physical or otherwise.

Pollan was just lucky enough to have been able to build his ideal space in his backyard.  And I was lucky enough to read about it.

I guess I should explain the “Nothing Day”.  I was thinking that I have talked about it, but never really explained it in the past.  Are you familiar with “Buy Nothing Day”?   How about Shutdown Day?

They are based on the idea that we spend way too much time doing things that are unimportant.  Each one is directed at some specific issue, for instance, Buy Nothing Day, is the day after Thanksgiving, a sort of protest against the fucked up consumerism that drives the country.   Shutdown Day started a few years ago, asking people to give up their computer and other electronics for a day.  I like the idea of this, that so much of what we do is superfluous, and we ought to focus on more important things.  It was along these lines that I started having my own nothing days.  They are these days where I decide I need to step back and evaluate what is going on in life, to read a bit, maybe cook a tasty dinner, maybe not, but the point is that:

1) I don’t buy anything

I hate that I buy things.  It makes me feel like crap every time I spend money, even when it is on something like food.  Sure, I could go buy a piece of chicken to cook for dinner.  But I have cans of beans, and rice in the house already, or I have canned soup, or some other thing.  I should use what I have before I go out and purchase something else, even when it comes to food.  Now, right now, if I were you, I’d be thinking, “Sure, nice ideal, but you just bought…. that you didn’t need.”  That is the point.  I do it without thinking, sure, it is nice to have a framed poster, but that is unneeded.  I like to be comfortable in my home, for it to feel welcoming and warm, but there are ways to do that without succumbing to consumerism.  So, step one on a nothing day is to spend no money.

2) I write something

I started having these days before I kept a journal.  I would always tell myself I needed to write more, even if it was just some bullshit blog post.  So, I made the nothing day a day when I would be sure to write something.  For instance, when I kept a blog, I often would write a sort of Sunday rant about some particular topic.  It wasn’t for any reason other than I had all of these ideas and thoughts in my head, and writing them makes them more coherent, it helps clarify them.  Also, it’s something I want to do, to be able to write, and the only way to write is to actually do it.  So, on a nothing day, you write something.

3) I don’t do “work”

I want a day away from work.  I decided that I needed a day where I wasn’t doing work, be it actual paid or, or classwork/homework.  I wouldn’t read for class, I wouldn’t do paid work, I wouldn’t do anything that was going to be in any way stressful, or potentially stressful.  I want a day where I don’t worry about things that I shouldn’t worry about, like class, or like a job.  I put a lot of time into class, or I did when I had class, and a lot of time into work, and every once in awhile, you need to take a day where you consciously stop working, where you don’t worry about “work”, and where it takes not one shred of your mental energy.

4) I read for pleasure

For a very long time, most of the reading I did was for class.  I couldn’t stand to sit down to read for pleasure; it was just too much of a hassle.  I wanted to just sleep, or hang out with people, or do something else, something other than reading words on a page.  At some point in time, I realized that I was missing out on so many things by not reading for fun.  So, I tried to make it a regular part of my life.  I can’t say that I was particularly successful.  So, I decided that for one day, I should read only things that I want to read, a novel maybe, or some political book, or something, whatever, just so long as it doesn’t relate to work.

5) I think about my life

I’m really good at ignoring what is happening to me.  So, I decided I needed to take time to actually think about things that are important to me, what my desires in life are, what I want to do, where I want to go, what has bothered me, what has made me happy, etc.  Therefore, on a nothing day, I spend time reflecting on what the important things in my life are, where I would like to be in a few years, or even days, and what I would like to be doing.

6) I meditate

I guess this is fairly self-explanatory.  It is a sort of practice session for every day life.  I think meditation is extremely important in that it is a little “Do nothing” slot of time, not in the sense of all of what I’m writing about, but in the sense of not actually doing anything, for a period of time.  It was always hard to get real quiet time when I had a roommate, so, on these Do Nothing days, I’d often take a walk, and find someplace outside that was secluded, and go there to meditate.  Now that I have my own place, it is much easier.  I can just sit down, after I’m sufficiently non-off the wall to be sure that I’ll be successful, and meditate.

Six simple steps: There is sort of a theme throughout these items.  I’ve integrated them into my daily life, at least to an extent.  I now read for pleasure all of the time, I take time every day where I don’t think about work, I try to write something every day, I actually think about what I’m feeling, or what is bothering me, or what makes me happy, and I verbalize it when I can, and, when I can, I meditate.  I’ve gotten better, I’ve changed things that upset me before, things I wanted to do but never “found the time” for.  But, every once in a while, I start to slip.  I start to slide back into old habits, of being an automaton, of just existing.  So, I decide that I need to step back and sort of reset, to remind myself what is important, and what matters.  That is a nothing day.

I’ve decided to wander for a while this year.  I plan on doing a lot of hiking/backpacking, and a lot of reading.  I wanted to create a place where I could keep track of my 2010 reading.  I created a 2010 Syllabus Page to keep track of the reading.  Take a look, feel free to offer any suggestions for indispensable reads.

I reduced my clothing to a few pair of pants, about a dozen shirts, a dozen sweaters, underwear and socks. The rest sits in a pile that I’m going to donate to charity soon. I’ve been waiting to bag the clothing. My plan is to leave the clothing out for another week or so before I give it away.

I’m purposely keeping the pile in plain sight. It gives me the chance to pick out anything that I think will be worthwhile to keep. Up to this point, there hasn’t been a single item that I have added back into my “keep” pile.

I don’t know if I want to say that this is part of the 100 Thing Challenge. In a way it is, in that I am seeking to reduce the number of things that I live with, however, I have no end goal other than simplicity and minimalism.

Still, actually giving away clothing will be hard. You never know when you will need an item again, and, spending money on something new when I just gave away a perfectly good pair of jeans, or a shirt, is frightening. I’ll inventory what clothing is left once I have actually given the majority of it away.

I recently sat down and started to evaluate what the central needs of a simple life are. One of the questions that I asked was, “Do I need a car?” The answer to that question several months ago would have been a resounding “YES!” I was commuting over 100 miles per day. In order to pay my bills, I needed a car. However, I recently changed jobs. This cut my commute down to about 10 miles round-trip. This new commute will be accomplished entirely via public transportation.

Still, even with my change in commuting status I can’t give a definite, “No!” as an answer to the question.

I started to think about the cars that I have owned over the years. What brought me to purchase my first car, what about the second car?

I purchased my first car when I was 17 years old. It cost me 200 dollars, had a leak in the gas tank and radiator, and got about 12 miles to the gallon. Gas was cheap, and I didn’t do a lot of driving. However, the car got me around in an area that was fairly spread out. It could fit 6 people comfortably and provided transportation for friends and myself. The car promptly died about a year later. It was a good car.

By the time the car died, I was headed away for college. The university that I was going to would allow me to have a car as a freshman, but I couldn’t see the point in paying several hundred dollars per semester for parking. I decided to go without replacing the car.

The town where I went to school was more than walkable. Public transportation was abundant and free. Beyond that, I had a few friends with cars that were more than willing to take the occasional road trip to a store when certain things needed to be purchased and hauled.

When I headed off to school, I packed my father’s minivan full of the things that I thought would be essential to life in college: books, clothes, and bedding. I didn’t bring a microwave, but I did bring a hot pot, and some other non-essentials such as a small television, video games, movies, and a whole lot of computer equipment. It wasn’t too much stuff, but it was definitely a hassle to transport it. What would it have been like if I had my own car to load up with stuff?

I arrived at college in the spring semester. Most people had already been fully moved in, so I missed the deluge that is move in day in the fall semester. I quickly moved my belongings in to my room and began to unpack. My roommate would arrive a day later, but move out to live with a friend within the week.

During the next 2 and half years I spent a semester abroad (domestically abroad, not overseas), and moved back and forth to my parents at the end of each year. I was thoroughly a college student. I didn’t acquire much property beyond some clothes and the endless stack of textbooks. I had purchased a laptop and printer and rid myself of my desktop computer. I kept my clothes to a minimum. I lived well for a student.

Then, between junior and senior years of college, I purchased a new (used) vehicle. I had some money saved because I thought that the need might arise to purchase a vehicle. I had many considerations in what sort of four-wheeled propelled device I would choose. Mainly, it had to get decent gas mileage, be able to hold all of my earthly possessions, drive well, and have room for me to sleep in on road trips. I found a small pickup truck that got over 30 miles per gallon. I was instantly sold… and bound to the truck by loan payments.

I was OK with this idea. I figured that the truck would let me get around easier. I wouldn’t have to rely on people coming to pick me up from college. I could go out when I needed to, and take the occasional scenic drive around western New England.

When I arrived at college, I found that I had brought more things than I had in previous years. The truck, while small, could fit a large quantity of stuff. When I arrived at school, I also took the unprecedented step of buying an easy chair. It cost me about 20 dollars at the local thrift store. I will admit, it was a very comfortable chair, but there was really no need for it. It didn’t matter though; I could pick it up and transport it myself. I was no longer bound by the bus system.

Over the next year I acquired more stuff than I had had before. I even started to buy CDs. I thought, “sure, I can pack them up and take them home without a problem now.” The car gave me the freedom to buy, to consume, and to acquire.

When I went off to law school, only a year after purchasing my car, I decided that I should try to reduce my costs. I still had the monthly loan payment to make on the car, but I could take it off the road and cut out insurance payments.

I had brought a substantial amount of furniture with me to my new apartment. More than I needed, really. Family members used it is a reason to give away furniture no longer needed. I took a massive old couch, an old metal teacher’s desk, and a bunch of other furniture. It was much more than I needed, but it did fill the apartment.

One year later, I moved again. I downsized my life and moved to a small studio, not even 400 square feet of space. Without the car, I found that I was not purchasing “things”. If something was too big to carry on the bus easily, I wouldn’t purchase it. I would think carefully about each purchase, and I would only go to stores when I really needed to.

Eventually, I grew tired of having to rely on sometimes inconsistent and inconvenient public transportation. I decided to bring the car to Pittsburgh. Street parking in my neighborhood was free, so I didn’t need to worry about having a permit, or paying for a spot in the building parking lot. Times were good, times were easy. but, as before, when the car came, so did the acquisition of things.

After two years, I moved from my studio to a decent sized apartment in Squirrel Hill. I was hyper-commuting, so my car was absolutely essential. The car let me buy new furniture for my new apartment… maybe too much furniture. Either way, the car let me keep buying things.

Eventually, the hyper-commuting took its toll on my truck. I had to buy a new car. I was anticipating continuing my commute, so I purchased a fairly new car with good gas mileage. About 3 months after purchasing the new car, I changed jobs to one where I no longer need to drive to work.

In Summation
So, after my third car, I’m now questioning what the real implications of a vehicle are. There is a trade off in owning a car. There are not only the costs of owning the vehicle, but also the costs of other things that you buy. While you can go to events more easily, you can also acquire more things. Self-restraint is key.

That said, I can’t see getting rid of the car. Occasionally, going for a drive on a nice day, or being able to go to the Strip District on Saturday, make having the car a convenience that I wouldn’t want to go without. I can, however, limit my use of the car. I resolve to do that.