Shaking, the American slams his Monster and Gatorade on the gas station counter.
Somehow unbothered, the local sips his espresso and orange juice.
Bothered, I cannot help but see this and cringe.
I’ve been enjoying my first true love this week—observation.
Life under the stack closed off all of my senses. All that was left was a walking semi-developed-prefrontal-cortex.
It left me too serious, with no room for play.
As an artist, this was an absolute killer.
I don’t know how much I lost without my ability to observe, both outward and inward, but boy am I glad to have it back.
I yearned to taste, to smell, to see, to hear, to touch, to receive the information I’m now transmuting onto the page, out the instrument, through the lens.
True observation takes not being a molto-multitasker (I borrowed this neologism from pattern extraordinaire, JJ Martin). It takes relearning stillness and unlearning screenness.
Observation is intimately entwined with attention, which are both crucial facets in our ability to imagine and build a better collective future. I will write about this more at a later time but for now, Johan Hari’s Stolen Focus — masterfully weaves this interconnection.
“The climate crisis can be solved... But to do that we will need to be able to focus, to have sane conversations with each other, and to think clearly. These solutions are not going to be achieved by an addled population who are switching tasks every three minutes and screaming at each other all the time in algorithm-pumped fury. We can only solve the climate crisis if we solve our attention crisis.”
On a hike this last week, I realized how afraid I was that I’d blink and it’d all be over. I’d be back in Brooklyn, and nothing would have changed.
That, friends is textbook lack mentality. It’s an aftershock of the stack. It lingers. It’s a built-up default.
This week I chose to reframe. To think about my time here abundantly—with joy and with pleasure.
I wake up slowly, with no alarm clock. I lay in the grass and just listen. I draw, making dark, imperfect, marks on the page. I sing too loudly.
PS. Maybe I was too salty about the whole Dolce Vita thing, it’s quite seductive if you just give in.
Things I’m reveling in this week—
watching: pachinko (S2) — an instant classic. for the film I’m writing (oh yeah. I am writing a feature), I’ve been exploring generational guilt of children that’ve lived a more comfortable life than their parents — that feeling of being eaten alive by the unsaid was captured perfectly in the last episode…
“I’ve lived a pathetically easy life,” Solomon admits. “When I look at the way you look at me, the way my grandmother looks at me, how can you not ask yourself, Did I really live through all that for this?”
grilling: fresh fish, an open fire, rosemary wood, oh yeah….
eating: we stopped by Parco Statella, sat down, no menu, and were served one of the best meals yet. two porcini dishes straight from the erupting etna
studying: the wild, wild paintings of Hieronymus Bosch
enjoying: saving butterflies
listening: fellow substacker Black Noise’s playlists — they’ve all hit the right mood
experiencing: climate weirdings—my camera died before the ping pong sized hail fell
PPS. Feeling incredibly honored to be in the company of all the brilliant climate leaders working to make a better future possible on this year’s Grist 50. Each year, the Grist 50 list features 50 climate leaders bringing unique and innovative solutions to their field, their community, and the world.