Work the straw
The reality of living in Australia - and anywhere that this newsletter is read - is that to some extent challenge and difficulty are options in our lives.
We (you and I) could easily, for the rest of our lives, live a completely comfortable, straightforward, physically undemanding life. There would probably be an element of existential difficulty (I think people need purpose to feel good), and there would probably be some difficulty with realising that a lot was left off of living by avoiding challenges, but nevertheless it's entirely possible.
You (and I) could go years without feeling dirty, sweaty, exhausted, upset, challenged, failing, etc, etc. And, the more I think about that, the more I wonder: isn't that so weird?
I was thinking about that, as I often do for some reason, as I was walking to work to pick up some printing. It's summer, not hot but quite muggy today and along this fairly easy walk I got really sweaty. Now we are not talking about just a little sweat, we are talking about sweat dripping from every pore.
This walk, while not terribly long (maybe 6km round trip), is optional. I could have caught the bus and it would have been 1/4 of the time, nice and air conditioned. I could have ridden, taken 10 minutes and been there faster and more comfortably. But I chose, as I usually do, to walk.
As I got more and more sweaty I remembered something that's going to sound pretty bizarre, but stick with me: I really like being pretty sweaty. I don't want this to be my default state, I do like it to be over and I certainly don't always want to feel this way, but when I'm doing something physical and actually pretty sweaty, something about that feels right. Like I've sunk into what I'm doing and found the rhythm. It's actually the in-between part - where it's winter, say, and I'm just a BIT sweaty - that's the most uncomfortable. Once I'm in the zone, I'm there.
When I spend all day working outdoors (or, more recently, woodworking) I finish the day totally tired, but in the best way. Tiredness is usually something bad and, to be fair, feeling tired after filling out a spreadsheet is misery, but there is something unique, pleasing and enjoyable about some forms of mild physical discomfort.
When I worked in Guyana we went hiking and it's so so so deeply humid and muddy you just are dirty, and you get to a point where that's fine, and the mud between your toes from the riverbank just doesn't matter anymore. You're ok. Sand at the beach so many people hate, but if you just let it be what it is, suddenly it's not so bad, it's quite nice actually.
One last example of this in my life is cold showers. In summer I take cold showers, not for any health benefits (there aren't any, duh), but because it's warm outside and the cool water refreshes me. Even still the first 5-10 seconds are always pretty unpleasant and then, really very quickly, it's fine.
With each experience there is that initial feeling that's no good (it's cold, I'm gross, the sand sucks!) - and it DOES suck - but if I (or you, or anyone) sits with that activity for just the tiniest time we adjust and the feeling changes, and suddenly it's quite ok, maybe nice, maybe great.
Of course there are limits (sitting on the middle of the road in 40 degrees is just a bad idea, or something like that), but I do think for most experiences that seem unpleasant if you (or I) are able to hold that discomfort for just a bit we very quickly find things aren't that bad, maybe they are even good in their own little way.
I remember, vividly, being maybe 10 or 12 and going to a rollerskating rink and just finishing up after an hour and being soaked with sweat. I remember not even realising what was happening but being entirely proud of that. I remember playing soccer on Saturdays and that feeling of taking off the socks and shin guards and airing out my legs - it's quite gross but also there's nothing like the way it felt relieving.
If you think a bit about creativity or creative work, a lot of it is initially unpleasant. The darkroom takes a while to set up, smells bad and is hard to see in (duh). Taking pictures in the desert takes a huge amount of driving and hordes of flies. And yet, both are fantastic.
I don't really have any big point here, I'm not trying to drive at anything inherently complex or subtle. I just know that I seek out mild discomforts, which objective is very unusual, but adds a ton of texture and experience to my life.
I think that the most reasonable way I can live is in ways that add texture to how my life unfolds. Texture isn't always pleasant - some things feel smooth, others cut you if you rub them the wrong way - but texture has presence and leaves an impression. I was listening to an interview a month or so ago and the interviewee was talking about owning a dog as an experience that adds a ton of texture for better AND worse (joy, companionship, cleaning up and grief). He concluded by sharing that even though the experience wasn't all good, he believes living a life avoiding those more textured moments would be so empty.
So, as I was walking to pick up my printing, literally wiping sweat from my brow, I tried to rationalise that: why did I do it? Why not drive, take the bus, ride or just wait till tomorrow? When it came down to it, I think the only rationalisation I have is this: my day felt more full and enjoyable because I did something slightly uncomfortable (and, as it turns out, it wasn't even really that uncomfortable, it was sort of fun), I don't know what's more rational than that.