The Logical Philosopher

Thursday, February 23, 2012

New Beginnings

Well, I resigned from my job last week.

"It's like Halley is the Godfather Part Two. That was an incredible movie, might be better than the original, all right? But no matter how much you love The Godfather Part Two, you still have to see the original to understand and appreciate the sequel"

- John Cusak's character, Jonathan Trager, in the movie Serendipity

I started 14 years ago as employee #201 in a small Victoria based technology company, and I leave as employee #125,000 (give or take a few) of a global fortune 500 company.

Along the way I have had more experiences than I ever imagined I would have when I started. I have traveled the world multiple times over, traversing England, France, India, Indonesia and selected cities (both good and bad!) across the USA and Canada. I had to figure out how to prepare for presentations from scratch while on 12 hour airplane rides in coach, do conference calls at 2am on a windy country road in the back of tuk-tuk's, and more importantly, how to pack for a 2 week business trip with only 1 carry-on suitcase. Sorting my "travel suitcase" this week gave me currency in about 7 varieties, and almost enough to stock a game of monopoly for the kids.

I met a lot of great people all over the world, and wouldn't trade the past 14 years for anything. LP-ette and the kids, on the other hand, are looking forward to me being home and taking a family vacation that does not involve me being on blackberries, apples or any other sort of technical fruit.

So what next, you ask?

Last September I signed up to write some legal exams in 9 weeks, which will consume all of my time, so my first order of business next week is to pack my truck (and dog!) and head away for a studying sabbatical on Hornby Island. I am looking forward to the cold and wet, my body warmed by statutes, regulations and applicable Supreme Court of Canada case law.

After that, who knows, but I am sure my Godfather Part Two will be more of an adventure than Godfather Part One.

Tuesday, March 01, 2011

Vacation time in YYJ

This past February I took a week to have a vacation in my own town: Victoria

Although it was mixed around the rest of my life schedule, I had my camera with me so had time to take a few random pictures while I roamed. Here's a shot from the top of a downtown building overlooking the Johnson Street Bridge.

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The iconic blue bridge is soon to be replaced with something that will not be so blue, yet regardless of when it goes it will always live on as I hoist a pint of Spinnakers Blue Bridge Double Pale Ale.

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I took a random walk through Chinatown, British Columbia's oldest Chinatown and second only to San Fransisco in North America.

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There are a few old alley ways with secondary entrances to shops which provide a circuitous route for the shopper, with many of them catering to cheap reproduction antiques.

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And of course no vacation in your own town is complete without an obligatory picture of our dog playing in the snow:

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...and a frozen pond as I drove to work one day:

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I also had a chance to go downtown in the evening, and took a few shots of the Parliament Buildings at night:

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That is all, kayak building and world traveling will resume shortly....

Monday, February 28, 2011

View of Mt. Baker

View of Mt. Baker and the Olympic Mountain range after a hike to the top of Mt. Doug:

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Sunday, June 06, 2010

Noetic Revalations

I feel crampy.






Brain cramps to be specific.










Like the kind you feel right after you've crammed for an exam, but then realize you memorized a pile of useless facts, only to be given a multiple choice basic math quiz. Only I don't feel like doing any math.

Why all crampy, you ask? 2009 and 2010 (to date) has been a crampy year all around for many reasons:




  • Way too much travel. Hitting Air Canada's Elite Gold Status in under 3 months sounds fun until your body has to actually do it (and all in coach)... I did a quick calculation and I have travelled over 100,000 miles in the past 8 months. That is 4x around the world. India, Indonesia, France, Nashville, Toronto, Montreal...



  • Too much renovations. I am still working on the inside finish work of this enternal renovation and yes, the darned deck. Railings? Who needs railings?!? Apparently I do. And a cement stone path as well.



  • Not enough riding. I picked up a new Trek Madone in the summer and have well under 200km on it. Why? See my "Too much" list.



  • Not near enough writing: 21 blog posts in 2009. What was up with that? Yes I had probably 200+ Facebook or Twitter updates, but that doesn't count.



So here's what I tried:





  • I tried replacing the crampy feeling with high quality scotch, but the hangover was a wicked 2 days of blurriness.



  • I tried replacing the crampy feeling with Facebook status updates. All I got was a bunch of Farmville requests in return.



  • I tried reading all of Reddit, but did it all and then saw the repeats on Digg the next day.



  • I tried increasing my noetic stimulation by broadening my Twitter feeds, but realized all I received in return was a plethora of data which required manual extrapolation into meaningful informaiton .



So I have to bump my wring again. My notebook is out, and in the past few month many scribbles have been taken but none crafted into prose.

A prime example of some note-pad scribbles from this past year:




Toronto:
everyone wears a scarf - fashion over coldness.
couldn't understand why I wore shorts
women are better looking. What? Well, better dressed. I think Little Italy had something to do with it.
Bikers - crazier, no helmets. I aspire.
Less panhandelers more hot-dog stands. Standing at Bloor & Younge gave me 4 choices within 100 feet. Nice






For inspiration I have stocked up my bookshelf with some 2009 Giller Prize nominees:







• Kim Echlin for her novel THE DISAPPEARED
• Annabel Lyon for her novel THE GOLDEN MEAN
• Anne Michaels for her novel THE WINTER VAULT

So the table is set and I will read with veracity...and hopefully let the cramps be gone!

Tuesday, June 23, 2009

Going to France so I can slow down....


I have been writing. Not in the narcissistic way, but in a self-preservation. Unfortunately it has mostly been in my mind. Occasionally on scraps of paper, and although my leather bound journal has never strayed far from my side, the only time it has been opened was to record a fine wine or single malt notation.

To say the work-life balance has been interrupted is an understatement. But several days travelling across France this past week solidified my commitment to Go Slow, and spend all of August incommunicado on a small island, far away from the reach of technology.

We were 2 evenings in Annecy, France, a beautiful town that is connected to one of the historical authors and thinkers of the French Revolution, as well as the upcoming individual time trial for the Tour de France. Having a visit 18 days later would have climaxed this visit to a point beyond blogging...

The trip was for work, which usually means a 30 hour travel day (via 3 airports, a train and a car), followed by several 12+ hour work days, followed by a 30 hour travel commute home. However, when travel is required I make it a point to try to get out and see parts of the world I would otherwise probably not have the chance to visit. On this trip, I found 1 place I would visit again, especially if on a holiday.

On arrival we went on an drive to see the surrounding region from the top of Col de la Forclaz. In reality we drove most of the way but did have to portage through a cow maze, before getting to the point where we could watch some Parapenter's soar across the lake. Re-read that last sentence... yes, we actually had to go through a maze of cows.


On our way up we passed a field, reminiscent of the Sound of Music...


Had my wife been with us, I am sure she would have jumped the fence and ran into the middle of the field, spinning her arms like only Julie Andrews could.


You can see the dots of the Parapenters, essentially going from one peak on the side of the lake, across the lake and beyond another peak. Even from that height, we were unable to see the landing spot they were heading for.



At the top we watched both new and experts take their turn at jumping off the summit edge, their Parapents being buoyed by the thermal drafts a mere 1 or 2 feet off the ground. A colleague told me the expert Parapenters can stay up for a few hours, going across the lake and eventually to a landing site.

Annecy, with several small canals (with emphasis on the word small) snaking throughout the old part of the city, has a plethora of outdoor cafes which allow you to take in the afternoon and evening sights. Revelers mixed with lovers, tourists mixed with locals. I tried to make the transition from tourist to revelers, but had a difficult time convincing my coworkers to do some team bonding over many drinks (at least many in the Canadian sense).





By far the favorite part of the city was the discovery of this: Rue Jean Jacques Rosseau, and his monument.

Reading some of my early posts, circa 2005, you may see some influence of Rosseau. In fact, his book is one of 2 or 3 that sit along side my journal to read when I am in the contemplative mood (with Thoreau being one of the others).

We capped our 2 days in Annecy with a quick photo visit to the Monastery Church, with it timed by our local host to be both closed, but devoid of tourists. .

On our way back, our trip would not have been complete without a quick 3 hour tour of Paris, with a visit to the Sacre Coeur, and the Arc de Triomphe.




All said, short trip and full of historical monuments, but Doug's Summer Solstice post has me Pining for the Fjords of Hornby.

Friday, November 28, 2008

No Logo


A few weeks back I was up on Hornby for a few days. I managed to get away on my own, just with some tools to do some work and my mountain bike to get some riding. It was a true accession into my man-cave, complete with a mountain bike, some beer and some 'haut de gamme' steaks from the butcher. Almost blowing up the BBQ tank would have completed the rite of passage, but I narrowly avoided that (and I stress the word narrowly).

The thing I love about Hornby Island is the two ferry commute. The first ferry, Buckley Bay to Denman Island, is about a 2km crossing which takes 10 minutes. Another 10 minute drive and you need to sit and wait for another ferry to go over to Hornby. All completed it is a 20km commute that takes almost an hour between waiting for ferries and, well, waiting for more ferries. It really is the 2nd ferry that forces one to slow down. I recall last summer I had to go from being on Hornby time, which involved meandering down the twisted and bumpy roads to my beach destination, to the next day driving back home and flying out to Nashville for a week, which left me on a 4 lane highway (one direction) doing 120kph in the slow lane. When I got back to the hotel I was longing for the 2nd Ferry of Nashville, but none were to be found. Being surrounded by Country music at every bar on the main strip didn't help either.

As I sat in the zone of "the 2nd ferry wait" I looked across the straight at the trees that were turning a shade of golden yellow. Fall was here, and the colors of nature were starting to diverge from their green summer shades. As I looked at the trees, my eyes were drawn to the items I had packed for my trip. It was a contrast in nature vs. man because just within my view inside my truck I could see how advertising has really taken over everything we touch: I drive a Nissan, drink Sleemans and Coke, and eat PowerGels when riding my Kona bike in preparation for Ironman, or reading many a Random House books. I work for Schneider Electric on my Dell laptop, while listening to my Apple iPod. And I am a frequent traveller of BC Ferries.



During my 4 day excursion I got out for a ride up Mt. Geoffery with Doug for an hour or two (thanks Doug!). Having not hit any trails on my mountain bike for a few years I started slow. The trails were soft and smooth and the scenery at the top of the Ridge gave a great view of Denman Island, and beyond that Vancouver Island. At the top of the Ridge trail I took this picture.

Later that afternoon I headed to the beach, and managed these few shots of nature. It was cold, but incredibly clear and sunny.



It was a striking contrast to my view on the first ferry ride of my trip. In one view I only had to look in my immediate personal area to define what I was doing. On the other view I managed to go 3 days without seeing anything commercial. I was defined by my environment, not the other way around. Ironic that this thought happened at the commercial time of Christmas. What that really means is that it's too bad for anyone on my Christmas list that was hoping for something commercial from me.

Thursday, January 10, 2008

Hornby Island here we come!

After 10+ years of saving,
3+ years of searching,
2+ years of setbacks...

It is finally official, we found exactly what we were looking for, and the deal is ready to be closed!

Hornby Island and the Logical Philosopher

Wanted
  • Minimum ½ acre island property
  • ferry boat accessible
  • walking distance (with 2 kids) to a public, sandy beach
  • Sandstone bluffs to walk on a plus
  • It was serendipitous, as we actually were up looking at different properties when this one, which had been taken off the market, was suggested by the realtor as a private sale. Within the day of us getting back from our 1 day adventure turned into a 3 day tour, the offer was in and we were on our way to testing the structural integrity of the outhouse, and making sure the well was not full of iron supplements for the kids.

    While the only structure on the lot is an outhouse, we have our work cut out for us, but I'm hoping I have a lifetime to get the list done that Logical Philosoph-ette has started to draw up for me.

    This is the view from the Galleon Beach across the road:




    And from Grassy Point, a 5 minute walk:



    And there is even a bike shop! Maybe this summer I will pull my Kona back out and turn back from being a roadie to the dark side of mountain biking.



    Many thanks to Donna at Coast Realty for helping make it happen.

    This summer is so going to rock.

    Friday, October 12, 2007

    Thank goodness for romantic comedy

    I have a confession to make.

    I'm not proud of it, but she tricked me into it.

    Honest. I thought it was a comedy. I was blindsided by Jack Black. And i'm sure she knew it.


    In the last week I have watched not one, but two romantic comedy movies.

  • The Holiday where "Two women troubled with guy-problems (Diaz, Winslet) swap homes in each other's countries, where they each meet a local guy and fall in love."
  • Unhitched , where "A guy tries to help his best friend win the attention of the girl of his dreams."

    Watching them gave me time to think about why it was I willingly sat through them. Tranlsted into academic-speak - it gave me time to develop a theorm for why I was sitting though the movies.
    Spousal Movie Rental Theorem: A man's willingness to watch a movie his better half has brought home from the movie store is directly proportional to the amount of "Chick Flick" content, as measured against the length of the relationship.
    It really comes down to the type of movie and how long you have been seeing the person that picked the movie for you. At the beginning of the relationship, it is anything goes! Not sure if you are there? A good check is consider if you would willingly sit though The English Patient. Over time the willingness drops, with fluctuations for events such as Marriage (going up), or having children (going down, because that's what started it after all!). Of course regardless of a relationship status certain types of movies will be a sure fire hit, namely any action movie. The comedy is usually a sure fire hit, with only small fluctuations dependant on the current state of the relationship.

    In my case, both movies had more "comedy" than "romance" to outweigh and keep it below the relative threshold of "chick-ness" required for theatrical enjoyment. Having Seth Greene or Jack Black do their comedic routine of one liners and facial expressions was that "more comedy than romance" for me.

    So there you have it. I was bamboozled. And I'm sure she knew it when she picked the movie. Now, armed with this knowledge, I can pass on some tips to all women who are about to venture to the movie store in hopes of finding a movie that will be measured a success when returning home:

    1) Get all your chick flicks in during the early dating and marriage phase
    2) Ensure there is enough comedic talent in the Romantic Comedy category of movies to spin them as a Comedy.
    3) Ignore everything and say the immortal words "Why don't we snuggle and watch Star Wars together. I'll even wear my Golden Bikini."

  • Wednesday, September 12, 2007

    I thought I paid for that...

    He was new. Or at least new to me. It made no difference, I still chatted, although came out of the store bereft of my usual slurpee but clutching a receipt for a car wash in its place. I jumped in my car, started the motor and slowly pulled away, with the plan of circling around the lot and then heading over to the wash entrance.

    I had not gone a car length when out of the corner of my eye I spotted the New Guy, sprinting towards my car and waving his arms like I was on fire. I’m a helpful guy, I thought. I should stop and see what he needs my assistance with. I rolled down my window to see if I could help, but was on the receiving end of an unexpected accusation.

    “Hey! You didn’t pay for your gas.”

    I stopped and slowly put the car back into park. “What?” I asked, confused as to what was going on. I had just been accused of theft by the New Guy who had just rung my purchase through.

    He paused and took a deep breath. I guess the 10 yard sprint to my car was more of a battle than he expected. “Your fill-up. You didn’t pay.”

    I looked at him with some bewilderment. “But I was just inside, I gave you my credit card. You handed it back and I signed it. Isn’t that the point of the transaction? For me to go in to see you, and you to take my money? Didn’t I pay for something?”

    “I only charged you for the car wash.”

    I looked down at my gas receipt and sure enough, I had been charged for just a car wash. Not only that, he had overcharged me for the car wash! I opted for the strategy of confusion by changing the subject from this whole "you stole some gas" thing. “Hey, you overcharged me for the wash. How come I paid $2.00 extra?”

    He simply replied “Because you didn’t buy gas."

    At this point all I could envision was Napolean Dynamite closing his eyes, tipping his head back and saying “unnnnnh. Idiot!”

    After filling up at the same gas station for the past 5 years, I had become such a regular customer I was even comped a few slurpees now and again. But this New Guy was, well, new, so I figured I would see what I could get away with so I could tell the regulars next week. But my wife was with me so there was no way I could get away with anything.

    This is what I wanted to say:

    “What, did you think I just parked in front of the gas nozzle so I could go inside and buy a car wash?” As he would be opening his mouth to reply, I would cut him off and continue on. “So let me get this straight. I drive in, fill up and then head into the gas station to pay. I say ‘I would like a car wash with that’ and then you just assume I will request a second transaction to purchasing the gas? I went in and paid. You didn’t charge me for it. I’m not sensing this is my problem… except that you owe me two dollars for the overcharged car wash.”

    Instead, this is what I actually said, keeping my inside voice inside of me this time:

    "How about this - I'll swing back in after I go through the wash."

    He nodded. "Great, much appreciated." then he headed back into the store.

    But I couldn't resist and did let one thing slip out. As he walked back into the gas station I yelled after him. "And I want my two dollars!" Johnny the paperboy would have been proud. I'm sure in a way my wife was too...

    Friday, September 07, 2007

    Another angel has gone home


    I looked at the caller display and instantly knew what it was about. It was a call that deep down I didn’t think I would get, but always expected it would come. Just not today. Just not at this moment.

    I wanted to let it ring, ignoring the call, but couldn’t. I flipped open my phone and turned away from the guests we were entertaining. “Hello.” I tentatively answered.

    I heard a deep sigh as his initial response. “Hello,” he said, with a distant and detracted voice. “You don’t need to come back to the hospital tonight… if you get my drift.”

    There was silence on both ends of the phone. After a moment I broke the silence. “When?”

    “About half an hour ago.”

    Another moment of silence came and went. “Thanks. I’ll call you later.” I closed my phone and looked up, almost as if I could see a new Angel looking down on us.

    It is a difficult thing to watch those you love struggle with simple things we all take for granted. But it is inspiring to think that my worst day for a run or a bike ride, would be the best day of freedom for others.

    My sister in law truly lived life to the fullest while refusing to allow her CF to limit passion, enthusiasm and joy for life. The reality is she was sick, and we all knew it. The hope was we would see a miracle. Now I know how John Wimber’s church felt.

    For various reasons I have always avoided the talk of my Faith on this particular blog. However the occasion suggests for me to break with tradition for one time and leave you with 1st Peter 5:10, a verse which my sister in law had posted above her desk in her house:

    And the God of all grace, who called you to his eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will himself restore you and make you strong, firm and steadfast.

    For those who do not resonate with the above text, I leave you with Sia’s “Breath Me” song instead…



    I’m going for a run… until then, see you next week…

    Monday, August 27, 2007

    What's the Hurry?

    Dedicated to A year of Living Edwardly.

    I sat by the water. Stillness, with the occasional warm breeze blowing in to bring relief from the hot and muggy temperatures. A teasing of a summer shower, slow drop by slow drop. Then, the sun peaking in and out, clear sky moving slowly in from the horizon. Through it all, stillness prevailed. One hour. Two. Then three.

    Those from the big city would remark on how still my own town is. “Where’s the traffic? Wheres’ the people? I can only see two Starbucks’s on one street – where are all the other coffee stores? And you have no Ikea!”

    Yet I have come accustom to what I now see at bustle. But now, removed from a larger island to a smaller one – population 1000 – the pace has been downshifted another notch.

    Don’t you find it odd that the older we get, the more experience we get, the more wisdom we get, the harder it is to put into practice what we already know what we should be doing?

    Last April I wrote a 3 part series about the Speed of Slow. Perhaps this will becoming an unofficial part 4. While we all take cruise or Mexico resort vacations –then realizing we need to do it more, I am talking about something different. For those, even in their wisdom, that are unable to break from the pace of their work environment – an action plan is needed.

    For the past few years my wife and I have been looking for a recreational property – on a slow paced gulf island. Close enough for a weekend getaway, but few amenities like phone or Internet which would only distract us from taking an actual break. Having it far enough away so “friends” can just “drop in for the afternoon” is also a hidden agenda of our location.

    So, based on that, here’s my action plan: The Speed of Slow, Gulf Island Style.

    Wanted

  • Minimum ½ acre island property
  • ferry boat accessible
  • walking distance (with 2 kids) to a public, sandy beach
  • Sandstone bluffs to walk on a plus

    So far all eyes point to Hornby Island, but an exploratory visit to Maine and Galiano may be in the works.

    If you know of anything of interest, let me know. You all have a vested interest because moving to a lifestyle of slow weekends may well increase my writing quality and quantity. Leaving town for 48 hours last time gave me time for 1 long run to the middle of nowhere and a hike to see the spectacular view of the Trincomali Channel, which solidified the need for this post.

    I look forward to your suggestions, as much as I am sure you look forward to the stories the slow travels will bring.

  • Sunday, May 20, 2007

    Choose your own Adventure

    “So tell me, will I get sleep? People say I won’t, but I need it. They also tell me that I need more time away from the office, but I just made partner. How do I balance that?”

    A friend I met during my ever so brief stint in law school just made partner this month in a large firm. Quite an accomplishment, because after working only a full 7 years of evenings, weekends and holidays, she’s are pretty much sure to be doing it for another 7 years. I’m sure Opinionistas would have something to say about that. When I spoke to her she sounded very excited about it, but was very worried about appearances as she was just about to take 4 months off for maternity leave for her first child that was due shortly.

    I thought for a moment, and then laid it out for her. “You have to take your finger out” I said with conviction.

    “Huh?” I heard, after a moment of silence.

    “You know, your finger.”

    “Is this somehow related to a piece of birthing advice? Because the way I’m feeling right now, even a well placed finger won’t be stopping this baby.”

    “With the added baby and partner track at your firm, you’ve all of a sudden got too many bookmarks to manage.”

    When I was younger my favorite novels were the Choose your own Adventure series. In fact, as a preamble to Logical Philosopher, one summer I even wrote my own Choose your own Adventure book – the summer of grade 5. Armed with a circa 1975 typewriter and a ream of yellow paper, I decided to become a writer. I don’t know what became of my first masterpiece, but I hope it was archived by my version of a Google cache back in the mid 1980’s – my mom’s baby boxes in the storage locker.

    Without fail I would try to read these books in one sitting, trying to find the adventure ending I liked the best. A well honed process of small scraps of paper and fingers at certain junctions kept track of my choices – with the freedom of knowing I could undo a choice and path by flipping back a page or two. Inevitably I would find 3 or 4 paths and ending I liked, but I would have to try them all before I settled on how I wanted the story line to go.

    This month I was questioned under oath about some of my previous choices in my academic life (details not forthcoming upon the advice of my attorney). What schools I went to. Why? How long? Why did I choose X University over Y University? When did I research my choices, and how much of the correspondence did I still have? On reflection of my day it made me think back to my life choices as my own Choose your own Adventure. It had explored many paths, researched results of choices, and made the best decision at that point in time. But, for some reason, I have always kept my finger in those older pages – just in case I get to a point I don’t like in my life, I can pickup where I want to restart it.

    Unfortunately I realized my life book is getting so long, I am running out of fingers to keep tabs on the old decisions. A combination of age, children, school, work and lifestyle have spun into an ever growing, complex web of my life. The requirement of being a responsible husband and father also has a major impact on my bookmarks of life. The fallout is that as time marches on, going back to certain pages is becoming less of a reality. Like cement hardening, it has been a slow process, and over time I’ve reach a point where I can’t repour or reshape some of the steps, the bookmarks have been permanently removed.

    It is not: I can’t do it all anymore
    It is: I don’t have the luxury of time to do it all anymore


    So after explaining my Choose your own Adventure theory to my friend, I continued on with my remove your finger advice.

    “Move on. A kid is a whole Choose your own Adventure book in itself. Pick your chapters wisely, because now it’s really about to become more complex.”

    There was another moment of silence on the other end of the phone. Then I heard her say, the words trailing off at the end “But I just made partner…”

    She’ll figure it out, hopefully for her sake, sooner than later.

    Wednesday, April 18, 2007

    The Speed of Slow: Part 3

    The local brewpub

    “Why do you blog?” he asked over a mini-pint of freshly poured stout. We couldn't decide which ale to try so a sampler tray of six seemed to be the best decision. It took awhile but we finally got down to the samples of Irish Stout “I mean, it seems like it takes time away from your other projects. Why keep going?”

    “Actually, it helps me find time - it helps me slow down and pick the important things to do. It helps to remember there is more in life than moving to the next task.” I gestured out the window into the rain. “Look at the people out there in the rain, rushing around. I have a feeling they would be rushing even if it was sunny.”

    We had been talking about my blog for awhile now, but the consumption of a few beers seemed to help my blogging theories crystallize in his head. He started to nod, slowly at first. At last I could see the wheels moving as the nod sped to a steady bobbing. “I get it. Like people moving in general without unachieved direction. Whereas slowing down to blog gives perspective, which leads to priority, which helps chart a focused direction.”

    “Yeah. That’s what I meant. At least in the direction of what I meant.” I took a sip of my stout and looked out into the rain. After a few moments I interrupted our silence with my newest thought. “That’s heavy.”

    “Very. A whole new perspective on things.”

    “No, I meant the stout. It’s heavy. But the perspective thing? It’s only heavy if you go against the flow. I am part iconoclast towards the cult of speed at this point in my life, so I’m just used to it.”

    A How-to Instructional Book on Slow

    Inspired by Carl Horne’s book “In Praise of Slow”, I wrote the preceding two parts of this post a few months back, during my visit to Toronto. Looking back I think it was ironic that while in one of Canada’s largest metropolitan cities I found the time to “go slow” and start to ruminate on Horne’s book. However, my reflection took a long time to culminate to something I could write about. It really wasn’t until the last few weeks when I appreciated it enough to write this final part. Five months to write 3 blog posts. Talk about going slow.

    For those who haven’t read the book Horne talked about how slowing down, while still going fast in some aspects of life, can pay dividends in your life. On his blog he posts the following summary of the book:

    “These days, many of us live in fast forward – and pay a heavy price for it. Our work, health and relationships suffer. Over-stimulated, over-scheduled and overwrought, we struggle to relax, to enjoy things properly, to spend time with family and friends. The Slow movement offers a lifeline. It is not a Luddite plot to abolish all things modern. You don’t have to shun technology, live in the wilderness or do everything at a snail’s pace. Being “Slow” means living better in the hectic modern world by striking a balance between fast and slow.”

    He talks about his research, and experiences, in deceleration at meditation workshops in Tokyo to SuperSlow exercise in New York – and these are just two of many examples of how to go Slow. He goes on to way “In the war against the cult of speed, the front line is inside our heads. Acceleration will remain our default setting until attitudes change…If the Slow movement is really to take root, we need have to go deeper. We have to change the way we think.”

    While I didn’t reach a state of slowness in any of his topics he undertook, I found on my own I had changed the way I thought, finding my own deceleration exercise: blogging. To write I had to slow down, and pay attention. Walk down the sidewalk and watch the world move around me. And once I did that, the details and inspiration sprung out.

    “Traveling on foot can also be meditative, fostering a Slow frame of mind. When we walk, we are aware of the details around us – birds, trees, the sky, shops and houses, other people. We make connections”

    So where do we go from here?

    Horne finishes his book by pondering the question “When will the many acts of personal deceleration occurring across the world reach critical mass? When will the Slow movement turn into a Slow revolution.”

    I, for one, am all for a revolution. As a (now) Slow writer, I have some perspective on why that is.

    I have alluded in some past posts that I had to make some “go Slow” life changes in the past 20 months. In some ways I have missed out and seen less, but in experienced far more than I would have imagined. I see the speed of our pace as the difference between knowledge and wisdom.
    Fast brings knowledge. Slow brings wisdom.
    The real question is, after taking the time to read all three posts on going slow – will you keep on driving, or stop to enjoy the view? Hopefully you will choose wisely.

    If you do, come back as I would love to see your “Slow” stories posted in my comments.

    Thursday, April 12, 2007

    The Speed of Slow, part 2

    Scene 1: Bloor & Young connector
    They moved like a whirlwind around me. Clutching briefcases, laptop bags and coffee cups they grudgingly parted for me as I moved against the flow. Union Station was the end of the line for some, and a quick transfer to Bloor Street for others. I headed out while they all herded in. Arriving with time to spare I stopped, now a stationary barricade in the spawning stream of professionals and students, all moving to their destinations without out any thought. Rote human behavior with professional workers at it’s finest form. Watching it became apparent that for everyone here it was about the destination, not the journey.

    Scene 2: Go Train, heading west
    My train arrived, more workers pouring into the city. About 1000 arriving for every one of us departing. We departed as scheduled, of course. Speeding out of the city we passed the remnants of “the big smoke”, now converted into living/working lofts, allowing more to work closer to their destination. We sped along side the 8 lanes of the 401, snarled one way and empty the other. As the concrete buildings receded to under two stories we passed streams where fly fishing was in season. More trees, less concrete. The country side started, slowing, a spindling of tree before the forest started.


    Scene 3: Niagara on the Lake
    I walked, rain coming down but dampened by the red and yellow canopy of maples and ash trees. Stopping to listened to the rain I took this picture. A forest path – a symbolic journey. No whirlwind. No rote movements. Just a path in the middle of a forest. An east cost Middle of Nowhere with no Pandora’s Box in sight.

    It was very clear – the perspective on viewing life as a journey, not a destination.

    I slowly headed back to the car for the return trip… back to the Big Smoke, the whirlwind of Union Station. I love the bustle of the city, but I feel emancipated when I depart it.

    Next up - The Speed of Slow, part 3 of 3. The iconoclastic within.

    Saturday, April 07, 2007

    The Speed of Slow, part I

    We all want it.
    We've all seen it.
    We've all focused on it.
    We've all lusted after it.
    We've all sacrificed for it.
    We've all negotiated around it.

    Lifestyle – a means to the end, or an end to our means? We stop, long enough to listen to the pace around is. “I’m missing out” echoes around us. Email; virtual offices; Blackberries; Like the forbidden fruit, a taste is all it takes to blindly jump back in.

    Yesterday’s dreams are turned into successes of today, which are overshadowed by wants of tomorrow.

    Ironically it starts slow. Added responsibilities, prestige, power, money – repeat. We automatically shift to the next level, unaware of our ability to tread backwards. We can, but it is as awkward as running the wrong way down an escalator. Why expend the energy to remove the perceived comforts? “ Ride the wave of comfort…” we think as we subconsciously keep our eye on the golden parachute to take us back down.

    Now the real question comes: Can we reclose the Pandora’s Box of lifestyle?
    Can we have a shift, without the shift? What if we stopped? Quit – stepped off the escalator where we were at? In our culture of success how is that different from mediocrity?

    More pointedly: Is there still success in slow?

    Next up - The Speed of Slow, part 2. Three locations with a feeling of emancipation thrown in.

    Saturday, March 24, 2007

    An Expensive Bathroom

    "You can't be serious" he snapped.

    "I am sir. That's the price, even with the manager's discount."

    "It better have a nice view for that fee."

    "It does sir. Best in the city in fact. Taking up most of the top floor of our hotel the Prime Minister Suite will offer spectacular views for you and your guests."

    I was in Vancouver this week and while downtown all day drinking Coke slurpees I suddenly found I had to go to the bathroom. Not wanting to chance the public bathrooms in the downtown core I did what any normal person would do. I looked for the most luxurious and expensive bathroom to use. And for those readers that know downtown Vancouver, you also know what a crap shoot finding a clean bathroom in the downtown core can be.

    As I was in the downtown core this gave me plenty of options, but I wanted the best of the best. This would be no day for a trip to the loo at a Starbucks or Chapters. I was going all out. I was going into the Fairmont Hotel. Soaring, floor-to-ceiling dark wood walls; marble counter tops with a plethora of complementary toiletries to use; luxurious fluffy white linen hand towels... It could be written up in Architectural Digest and come off sounding like a retreat in the middle of the city. Suffice to say that the bathroom at the Fairmont Vancouver is, in some ways, nicer than my house.

    After a serious case of bathroom jealousy had set in I headed out, but paused by the front desk to tie my shoe. An older man was arguing with the front desk clerk about the price of the room he wanted to book for the next nine days. He was more Philip Stuckey than he was Edward Lewis.

    "And how much is it again?"

    "Twelve hundred a night sir, which brings the total, with taxes, to just over $13,000 for your stay."

    "And you say that is with the discount?"

    I stood up and looked over at the man, thinking, So let me get this straight. You're about to drop $13,000 on a hotel room for nine days and you are complaining about not getting a discount? For the price of the TAX on your hotel room, you could stay in a very nice suite in the same hotel.

    As I walked out of the hotel into the spring rain I thought about the old man and shook my head. He was so wrapped in his world of wanting the best, but still felt the need to bargain for the penthouse suite at a five star hotel. Perception. For some people they find humour and tragedy in a situation relative to where they are in life. To him he wasn't getting a deal at $1200 a night. To me I was happy I got to use some fluffy white towels in the bathroom while travelling for a few days.

    Monday, February 19, 2007

    Sweet Senses

    "Hey mom, the sky is crying!" I heard the preschooler say to his mom.

    Like toddler on Christmas Eve as he accidentally discovered Santa wasn't real, the sky was starting to let loose on the pedestrians below. And not wanting to walk home in the tears I lined up behind the child and waited for the next available stop. Time marched on, the rain becoming more of a torrential downpour, drenching all of us. Fortunately the rush hour meant that busses were frequent. Unfortunately that meant busses were packed.

    Moving onto the bus I stepped from the rain into the thing I hate the most about riding the bus - the nauseating smell of wet people, pressed together in a moving vehicle. I tried to position myself near a window, anything at least get the impression of some fresh air. It wasn't until I sat down, while trying how to plan not to breath for the next 10 minutes, that I noticed a blind man across from me. He was mumbling to himself, caressing the scratches and scars on his white cane with his finger tips. Head tilted slightly to the side he jerked subtly with each clank and honk of the traffic. It seemed that he was quite tense, perhaps derived from the unpalatable sounds and smells bombarding us from the surrounding environment

    At the next stop the driver stopped and picked up several more passengers, the final one, a young woman, stopping and taking a seat next to the blind man. For a moment I couldn't see why his posture changed - his sway slowed and he seemed to breath a little deeper. His fidgeting stopped. His shoulders dropped. It was only once her subtle smell of perfume wafted across the bus aisle, I understood why. Then, gravitating back into a gentle sway I could see his remaining senses pickup the subtle changes in the chi of the bus with the woman next to him.

    I sat and tried to imagine the bus without the visual cues. The clacking, beeping & bumping of the bus. The smell of wet clothes and their owners. The bitter taste of smog in the air. I was tense within twenty seconds.

    The bus slowed at another stop. “Your stop sir.” the driver said towards the man. As he got up he turned towards her and gave her a small head nod. "Thank you madam." With that he was gone, the tapping of his cane fading away as the bus door closed us remaining passengers in.

    Five senses.

    Friday, January 26, 2007

    Mark Twain the Comedian

    I was reading a book about Mark Twain which included some excerpts from his publication The Innocents Abroad, which is his travelogue written about the Middle East. I never realized it before, but Samuel Clements, aka Twain, is a pretty funny guy.

    Twain on visiting the city of Damascus, discussing their women: "and women so ugly they couldn't smile after ten o'clock Saturday night without breaking the Sabbath."

    Twain on his disappointment about the small size of the Sea of Galilee, suggesting it was so tiny that he did not want to pay the boat fare to cross. "Is it any wonder that Christ walked?"

    Twain on the dreary scenery of Palestine "If all the poetry ... upon the ... bland scenery of this region were collected in a book, it would make a most valuable volume to burn."

    Agree or disagree with his writing, you have to admit his social commentary of the day has hidden zingers that are pretty funny.

    Saturday, October 28, 2006

    Logical Philosopher Secrets

    Like having a birthday in a room full of strangers, it passed without notice. In fact, I didn't almost notice. One year, 118 posts later, Logical Philosopher tuned one.

    Coke, Culture and Crazy People - my weekly topics were sure to hit at least one of those categories. Writing inspirations came from my yearnings to reenter academia, to contemplative thoughts on life that came to mind during a bike ride, to humorous conversations heard in passing on my bus rides. After overhearing the three goths on the bus discussing that kissing isn't cheating when your boyfriend is in jail, who would have ever thought I would get 3 or 4 google hits a week on "what is considered cheating?".

    Of course, having good friends such as Sandritia also provided great posting material. Again, who would have thought Sandritia's insights on the gay hanky code would also bring people to the blog via google hits on a daily basis.

    Along the way I have (hopefully) improved my writing through osmosis while being entertained by blogs such as Opinionistas, Dooce and Laid Off Dad. At the very least the last two make me want to redesign my masthead every month.

    I have used blogging as a reason to do research on Roger Martin's Integrative Thinking, the amount of calories in a Cinnamon Bun (and where best to buy them), and Social Networking and its technology adoption curve. With the Logical Philosopher nom de plume I have been able to write on topics I wouldn't normally get away with in the unwired world. Like all good writers I do claim artistic liberty, because we all know that the occasional shameless decontextualization is what brings the readers back!

    And as for my secrets, apart from the 'elephant in the room' of anonymity, some have made it into a posting or two, and some still sit in draft mode. But does it really matter? To those who are reading in between the lines to find them I leave you with a quote from René Magritte, who said about his painting "The Son of Man"

    Everything we see hides another thing, we always want to see what is hidden by what we see, but it is impossible. Humans hide their secrets too well...

    Here's hoping my second year of posting is as much fun, and secretive, as the first.

    Tuesday, September 26, 2006

    The Starbucks Social Gap Theory


    I sat, and unknowing observed. Tazo Brambelberry over crushed ice will do that, if you are not paying attention. After some time the patrons became a blur. Then, slowly, the blur crystallized into two clear groups.

    The first group passed me as they entered the store to order their morning drinks. Businessmen dressed in Hugo Boss shoes, Armani silk ties and other Italian named suits. With their cell phones and Blackberry in one hand, they shifted the papers under the other arm to accommodate their freshly brewed coffee. I didn't get the impression any of them would be impacted by the upcoming price increases for their latte next month. The women, also dressed for success, mostly opted for espresso - low fat milk with no whip of course. The standard attire for the day started with the eyes hidden behind large designer sunglasses. For dress it was either black skirts and top, or black pinstripe pant suits, both options contained between dyed blond hair in a bun and stiletto heels. Many sat together, nobody alone for more than a moment, their animated gestures and laughter open for everyone to see and hear.

    The second group straggled in slowly, clutching McDonalds coffee in one hand, the other busy searching out discarded cigarette buts. They each sat at the outdoor tables, alone, with their Zig-Zag paper, making a new cancer stick of out of the discarded few. There is less to write about them because they moved as such. No designer clothes. No laughter. No discussion. Just survival.

    As I sat I realized that something and somewhere as simple as a Starbucks visit can exemplify the social gap that is prevalent in any city. I'm sure they don't advertise that in the franchise materials.

    The Starbucks Social Gap Theory: only the wealthy need apply.
    When I was leaving two young business men strolled in, one grabbing a seat while the other headed into the coffee shop. "Hey, Mike, want a latte?" the first called out over his shoulder.

    His business partner cocked his head to one side and thought for a moment. "Nope. Caffeine is bad for you, grab me a juice instead please." Then, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and proceeded to light up.

    An addendum to my Starbucks Social Gap Theory - A prerequisite for being in the first social tier is not intelligence.