Ornoth

This is a question that has followed me for most of my life. From the college employer who had no idea what I did for him; to Inna’s family and friends who wonder how I spend my copious free time, since I don’t work. It’s a question even Inna herself can’t answer, despite having lived with me for six years!

That question – what do you do? – confuses me, because I make no secret of it; there’s evidence plastered all over my social media.

I suspect that people are confused because I don’t push myself and my interests forward in verbal conversations. I’m more of a listener, allowing others to guide the conversation, and will only talk about myself after people express interest in what I’m up to; although most people will naturally direct conversations toward their own interests.

And then some of my closer friends avoid delving into my interests because they know that once I do get that implicit permission, I’ll talk about them enthusiastically and at length. Kinda like when you open up one of my blogposts… There’s a reason why my writers’ group always cautioned new members with, “That’s Orny… Don’t encourage him.”

On a side note, my interests tend to be very long in duration and deep in nature. It might take a while before I commit myself to something, but when I decide to do it, I insist on doing it well and thoroughly. I will not half-ass anything I do; this is one of my core values as a person.

So let me attempt to answer that eternal question: what does Orny do, anyways?

Number one: cycling. I ride up to 10 or 20 hours a week, either solo, group rides, or major events, both outdoors as well as on the indoor trainer through the winter. And that doesn’t include time spent on bike cleaning, maintenance, repairs, and performance analysis. Cycling is my passion.

Number two: meditation. I spend 2-4 hours a week in meditation, and another couple hours listening to dhamma talks. About twice a month I lead two different meditation groups, and must put time into researching, developing, practicing, and delivering my own dhamma talks. Sometimes I’ll go off on weeklong silent retreats, and I’ve always got plenty of dhamma reading to do. The philosophy and practices behind Buddhism are a central part of who I am.

Number three: investing. My former employment at Sapient gave me enough capital to consider living free of the working world. However, that means my “full-time job” is to invest my finances wisely and safely, and provide financial advice to Inna. So I devote a ton of time to reading financial news and books about investing. I keep tabs on the market daily, both because I want to be aware of my opportunities and, frankly, I enjoy monitoring my success. Financial self-sufficiency and independence are life goals that were drilled into me by my parents.

Number four: the Pan-Mass Challenge. I’ve ridden this annual fundraiser for the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute sixteen times and raised $119,000 for cancer research. You have no idea how much time that fundraising effort requires: the countless emails, tracking contacts (and writing my own database to manage it), chasing down corporate matching gifts, et cetera. For many years, it alone was a full time job from May through August. But this has been one of the most fulfilling things I have done.

Number five: learning Japanese. This winter I’ve put 10-15 hours a week into this newest intellectual challenge I’ve committed to. Characteristically, I’ve attacked it with energy and dedication. Academic learning and developing new skills are lifelong pleasures, and this is their current form. There’ll probably be a separate blogpost on this sometime later.

Number six: my relationship with Inna. It should go without saying that a lot of time goes into sharing our lives together and helping one another out. Partnership and family have always been a challenge for an introvert and loner like myself, so this is where a lot of work needs to happen.

So those are the big things.

Now fill in the remaining gaps with some of my more episodic background interests. Between my general and cycling blogs I write two or three dozen posts per year. I devote time to artistic interests in both photography and videography. I find time to enjoy a number of simulcast anime series and follow MLS soccer and the New England Revolution as well as the US national team.

And there’s always plenty of household duties. I’m fairly fastidious about my living conditions, and my responsibilities include vacuuming, laundry, garbage & recycling, car maintenance, computer maintenance, and cat feeding, grooming, litterbox, and exercise (if you only knew!). Plus grocery shopping and cooking for myself every day. And then in the background is researching our future move away from Pittsburgh.

That’s my life every day. If you ask me, I think the question shouldn’t be “What does Orny do?” but more like “How does Orny possibly do all that?”

So we have a global health crisis on our hands. The COVID-19 virus has eluded even our harshest attempts at containment, and there’s no prospect of either a preventative or treatment, other than for associated diagnoses such as pneumonia.

With an unknown number of infectious but asymptomatic carriers wandering around, Inna and I have taken the only measure anyone can do, which is complete social self-isolation.

No more Monday or Wednesday meditation groups, and I prematurely ended my brief stint as a CMU brain research subject. Inna has cancelled a business trip, two seminars in Austin, and plans to take the salt cave women’s group she leads online.

We don’t plan on leaving our apartment except for safely isolated outdoor activities like hikes, or emergency grocery runs. We’re pretty well stocked with supplies, having each made major trips before our lockdown.

Thankfully, cycling will still be a good option for me, although I’ll curtail rides of more than two hours, rather than replenish at the usual convenience store.

It’s very reminiscent of the widespread lockdowns following the 2001 World Trade Center attacks, and the shelter-in-place order that followed the Boston Marathon bombing in 2013. It’s the same scope of disruption, and the same sense of separation from general society.

In the meantime, the stock market—which had been on a tear so far this year—has experienced unprecedented volatility. Like a good long-term investor, I’ve sat tight and gritted my teeth, and even made one opportunistic buy, but it’s nerve-wracking watching your money vaporize. Where I had been crowing about my growing wealth in February, in little more than two weeks I’ve experienced massive losses that bewilder the imagination.

Between the stock market’s gyrations, the fear of illness, the social isolation, the wholesale cancellation of all group activity, and the drama surrounding the Presidential primary elections, there’s been a surfeit of emotion to process, even for someone as stolid as myself.

No one likes uncertainty, and no one likes anxiety, but the situation is unlikely to change for several weeks, if not months. Rather than venting that discomfort in random ways (like a completely pointless run on bottled water), it’s important that each person discover how to accept their anxiety and be okay with it.

For me, my meditation practice provides a reassuring guide: acknowledge my feelings and my fears about the future, then take refuge in what’s happening at the present moment, because none of those fears have manifested in my present-day, lived experience. Life really isn’t that bad, so long as you have the mental discipline to stop the mind from fabricating and getting lost in wild doomsday scenarios.

And I’m blessed to be sharing my space with a partner who also manages her internal state with great insight and wisdom. Viewed from a less fretful perspective, this is an opportunity to deepen our relationship while also getting some goddamned housecleaning done!

Be well, my friends.

Inna wanted to go to the 2017 Meetin national celebration in Seattle in September, and it made sense to piggyback that with a detour up to Victoria BC to visit my brother, since—after my mother’s death—he’s unlikely to be coming east any longer.

The logistics were enough of a nightmare that we actually needed a travel agent’s services. Inna and her mother flew direct to SFO to visit family for a few days. Then Inna flew OAK (not SFO) to SEA while I simultaneously got from PIT to SEA via IAD. After the Meetin gathering, we’d take the ferry to Victoria BC, then eventually get home flying Air Canada together from YYJ to YYZ to PIT. Meanwhile, Inna’s mother returned on a direct flight from SFO. Yeah. Glad to have an agent handle all that.

Seattle Skyline & Rainier

Danger Man

Self-Portrait in Steel

Inna's on the Ball

The Sky's the Limit

Family @ Observatory Hill

Sunken Garden

Japanese Garden

Full Seattle photoset Full Victoria photoset

Tuesday, the day before I left, was memorable for two reasons.

First, having just gotten over a three-week long summer cold, I woke up with another sore throat, heralding another ugly illness spanning the duration of the trip.

Second, that evening I had a ticket to go see “Walk With Me”, a movie centered around Buddhist icon Thich Nhat Hanh’s meditative community at Plum Village. Between this and other previous films, I’ve become convinced that the medium of film really isn’t a good vehicle for introducing Buddhist philosophy to the masses. But that’s really not a topic for this blogpost…

After I returned home, my sore throat left me with a sleepless night before an early Wednesday morning walk to the bus stop, then a two-bus expedition out to the Pittsburgh airport. Having lived without owning a car for more than twenty years, I hadn’t even thought about driving!

My first flight—from Pittsburgh to DC—was delayed 30 minutes by a maintenance issue, causing me to skip my planned combined breakfast and lunch as I loped through Dulles seeking my connecting flight.

After five hours with absolutely zero legroom in a United cattle car, I touched down at SeaTac hungry, tired, and sick. I ignored the seventeen text messages from our catsitting friend and hoofed it to the Uber lot to meet up with Inna, who had flown in separately from Oakland CA.

Although I’ve made half a dozen trips to the PNW, I’d never been to Seattle, so everything here was new to me.

After a lengthy drive into downtown Seattle, we tried to check into our hotel—the Inn at the WAC—only to discover that our room wasn’t ready. We had only planned to drop our bags before heading out for dinner anyways, so we simply got a recommendation from the desk clerk and headed straight to the nearby Tap House Grill. I had a French dip sandwich and ice cream, while Inna ordered shrimp and tiramisu ice cream, which wound up being her favorite meal of the trip.

We returned to the hotel to find a tray with hot tea, cocoa, a chocolate bar, and a handwritten note—to Mr. and Mrs. Nirenburg—waiting in our room, since the staff had overheard Inna mentioning my illness. Inna tracked down Sheela and Monika, our Pittsburgh friends who were also attending the Meetin gathering, and the four of us chatted briefly in our room. After a long day of travel for me, we opted to skip arrival-day festivities in favor of rest and a quiet evening in bed.

Thursday morning we were up early to join a small group of Meetin people exploring Pike Place Market. Along the way, I snagged a cinnamon bun for breakfast. We observed the market’s outdated manual daily stall-assignment ceremony, then took a brief guided tour with still more Meetin peeps. With tired legs, Inna and I wandered off for some overpriced ice cream. Then I spied a stall selling roasted corn on the cob, but balked at the ludicrous $5 price tag. We both eyed the beautiful ristra hot pepper arrangements—each for different reasons—but realized they would be impossible to transport back to Pittsburgh.

We joined another big Meetin group for lunch at the Pike Brewing Company, but left before ordering when Inna realized she wasn’t sure if she had forgotten her medications in San Francisco. That led to an afternoon of phone tag with doctors and chasing around drugstores before we returned to the hotel, where she found them hidden in the bottom of her bag.

But along the way, Inna picked up some dahlias for our room, and I ducked into Metsker Maps, where a postcard with a bicycle and the phrase “Conquer the Hill” called out to me in anticipation of my upcoming Dirty Dozen ride.

Tired after so much walking, we were content to rest in the hotel until the evening event: a meet-and-greet at the top of Smith Tower. On the way, we experienced elevator malfunctions in both our hotel and our destination. Smith Tower is a lot like Boston’s Custom House Tower. Both are about 35 stories and 490 feet tall, with an open-air skywalk observation deck at the top. We took a few pictures of the view, then went in to chat with other Meetin folks. Those included Mary McDaid (Portland OR), event organizers Anita Christensen (Portland) and Helene Pincus (Las Vegas), and I had to interrogate Deanna Cochener, whose cellphone case loudly announced that she was a Portland Timbers supporter.

Afterward we wandered around with Monika, stopping to admire the Seattle Public Library. The steep hills in downtown Seattle were vaguely reminiscent of Pittsburgh, and we shared an uncomfortable laugh when one woman apologized to us as her dog’s feces literally rolled and bounced down the steep sidewalk into our path. In Westlake Park plaza we found a giant-sized Connect Four game, and I promptly destroyed Inna twice running, despite never having played before. The girls stopped in a mall for Pike Place Chowder, while I brought a theoretically fast Mod Pizza back to the room.

Friday was really the main Meetin day. After Uber failed us—and charged us anyways—we got ourselves invited to share a Lyft summoned by New Yorkers Ricky Evans & Zhenya Brisker. That dropped us at the morning’s activity: a duck tour. While waiting, Inna & I chatted with Laurelee Langan, who was there representing Boston. Despite my having been through at least two dozen duck tours, the tour itself was fine, featuring Amazon’s HQ, the Fremont Troll, houseboats and floatplanes on Lake Union, and lots more. Near the Belltown Apartments, the tour guide indicated we were passing through a quiet zone, which I happily observed, having lived for ten years on the Boston duck tour route myself.

Afterward, rather than spending $33 each to get into the Museum of Pop Culture, we opted to visit a local food court with Sheela and Portlanders Bijana & Ankesh Kadakia. Still illin’, nothing appealed to me but fries.

After lunch, the “Meeps” gathered up again to go through the Chihuly Garden and Glass museum. The exhibit was short but breathtaking. In the middle of the tour, I remembered to show people that the abstract background image on my cellphone has for many years been a close-up of a green-and-yellow work of Chihuly glass that I took back at the 2000 Dargon Summit at Pittsburgh’s Phipps Conservatory, which you can see here.

After that, Inna and I returned briefly to the food court before walking down to the Olympic Sculpture Park and rejoining the larger group. We wandered around, enjoying another warm, sunny afternoon. While resting at one point, a kid ran up to Inna asking in an incredulous voice, “Hey lady, is that your belly?!?” She was taken aback but about to respond affirmatively when the kid’s caretaker came up to explain that the kid wasn’t actually referring to her stomach, but the rumbling sound of a nearby passing train!

I walked down to the harborside, having a nice conversation with Bijana, before the group split again, with most people headed predictably toward a bar. Meanwhile, Cha Cha Chen (DC) and I collected Inna and ambled off to meet Anita and the main group of Meeps for a ride up the Space Needle.

The Space Needle was a lot like Boston’s Customs House Tower and the Smith Tower from the day before: a reception room and elevators surrounded by a narrow exterior observation deck. The main difference is that the Needle was crowded to absolute capacity. But it did provide the requisite view of the city, the bay, and the mountains in the distance.

Inna & I were among the first to punt and make our way to the Belltown Pub, the first stop in the group’s planned bar crawl. I had a chicken sandwich and a cookie while we chatted with Helene and Ricky. Eventually we’d skip the bar crawl and drag Helene, Ricky, Zhenya, Sheela, and Monika back to the hotel’s common room for an evening of games: specifically Cheating Moth and Coup.

Saturday that same group got together for breakfast, having been lured away from the Meetin brunch by the promise of Quaffles—waffles made out of croissant dough and cinnamon—at Anchorhead Coffee. On the way there, we posed beneath a huge flower pot and watering can sculpture, and got unexpectedly sprayed with water. The Quaffles made up for it, as probably the best food we had during the entire trip.

Having no interest in the Meetin group activities planned for that day, Inna and I shooed the others away and walked aimlessly around the city, winding up at a Russian bakery called Piroshky Piroshky that Inna had sought out. She sampled their pelmeni (little dumplings), piroshki (potato and cabbage dumplings), and Napoleon cake, but pronounced them all mediocre. Then back to Pioneer Square, where I dragged Inna into Magic Mouse Toys and picked up perennial favorite Fluxx, while waiting for our underground tour.

In brief, Seattle used to have problematic above-ground sewage pipes. Then, after Seattle’s big fire, they decided to put them underground… Not by digging trenches, but by running them down the middle of the street, then filling them over and putting an elevated street over the top. Meanwhile, as buildings were being rebuilt, owners were required to build their primary entrances on the second floor, rather than the first. Wooden planks allowed people to get from the elevated street to the elevated second-floor entrances, spanning the open pits that was the old sidewalks, since they were still at the former street level. The old sidewalks were never filled in, just eventually roofed over, leaving downtown Seattle a maze of underground sidewalks connecting the basements (former first floors) of the surrounding buildings. Much of this work was financed by the mistress of several houses of ill repute. It was an interesting tour.

After that, we wandered around town some more, checking out Seattle’s K&L Gates building, the “Pittsburgh” Lunch, and so forth. Then hopped an Uber to take us to the suburban Seattle Meowtropolitan cat cafe, where we enjoyed some time with a few blasé felines. After an Uber back, I picked up a very yummy dinner from Mae Phim Thai. I spent the evening resting in the hotel room while Inna rejoined the Meetin crew for karaoke.

It felt odd to me, because the Meetin event was nominally a weekend thing, but we’d spent the entire day Saturday on our own. It felt like the social element of the trip had petered out, doubly so because our ferry to Victoria prohibited us from attending the farewell brunch on Sunday.

So the next morning we slept in a little, had a decent breakfast in the hotel, ran into Ricky and Zhenya in the lobby, and made our way to the ferry.

Looking back on Seattle, it seemed an okay town, but throughout its history it seems to have been very poorly slapped together, whether you’re thinking about their former sewage problems or the current explosive growth accompanying Microsoft and Amazon. We did have absolutely gorgeous, sunny weather up until the day we departed, but it’s probably a lot less fun in the rain. The accommodations were really great, except for the horrible elevators. My cold was mostly manageable, but I did wish I’d had the strength to bring my SLR camera along. And the Meetin group were generally enjoyable, although predictably more party- and drinking-oriented than Inna and I.

But overall, I really enjoyed my time in Seattle and could have stayed longer.

At the dock, our Victoria Clipper ferry bobbed and weaved in the wind-blown rain and heavy seas, and Inna didn’t have a particularly pleasant 90 minutes crossing over to Victoria. And as expected, we didn’t get passport stamps for our entry into Canada; cheap bastards.

However, by the time we docked, the seas had calmed and the sun was out, and we walked through downtown and past the Empress Hotel on the way to our lodgings at the Hotel Rialto. After nearly a year, it was really, really enjoyable to be outside the authority of the Trump Presidency. Tired from our journey, we had Indian at nearby Sizzling Tandoor before going back to the hotel and crashing.

Monday I let Inna sleep late, then we hoofed it through Chinatown to pick up our rental car, where we wound up with a RAV4 rather than a VW because the Hertz dealer somehow lost the keys when he got out of the vehicle after driving it up. We’d hoped to drive along the coastline of Vancouver Island up to my brother’s home, but had to settle for the inland highway because they were pressed for time.

We had Thai food for lunch and a nice visit with my brother, plus my sister-in-law, whom I haven’t seen in several years. We took separate cars and met up at the top of Observatory Hill for a brisk but breathtaking panoramic view of the island. Then they headed home while I took Inna up to Victoria’s famous Butchart Gardens.

The gardens were predictably amazing, and predictably crowded. What didn’t run according to plan was the weather, as the predicted day-long rain held off completely. Inna bought me some gelato in the Italian garden, and we took our time enjoying the scenery.

Tired from the walking we’d done all week, we gave up on dinner and just got some basics at 7-Eleven, including some products that you’d have to find in imported food shops at home.

Tuesday morning we wandered around downtown a bit. We looked into the John Fluevog shoe store, chatted with the proprietor of North48 Bicycles, perused the surprisingly well-stocked MEC sporting goods co-op (c.f. REI), and discovered Baggins Shoes, who will print any custom design you want onto a pair of Chuck Taylors or Vans. Then we had brunch with my brother at Willy’s, a diner in town. Sadly, my sister-in-law’s back trouble prevented her from tagging along.

After saying farewell to my brother, Inna and I moseyed down to Craigdarroch Castle—a Victorian mansion rather than a medieval castle, of course—which was cute but not particularly engaging, though Inna found some interest in the stained glass and examples of actual filled-out “dance cards”. By the time we dragged ourselves back to the hotel, we were both completely done with the walking and tourist thing and ready to go home. We had dinner at the hotel—a cube of mac and cheese, topped with tandoori chicken!—before showering, checking into our homeward flights, and turning in.

Wednesday we were up and out, with a quick drive up to Victoria’s leetle jetport. Our Air Canada flight to Toronto was long but uneventful. YYZ was a nightmare of maze-like corridors, eventually leading to a mid-corridor dungeon of a waiting area, with a tileless suspended ceiling and bare light fixtures dangling from their wires. Impatient to get home, we took an Uber from the airport rather than wait for the bus, and were very happy to arrive.

Inna enjoyed Victoria and would have liked to have spent more time there. Like Seattle, we were very fortunate to enjoy unseasonable and atypically good weather. It was especially nice to see my sister-in-law, since her health hasn’t permitted her to travel for some time.

Between the two cities, it was a pretty successful trip, though as always it was really nice to get back home again.

Think you’re gonna find Buddhism in Steeler Nation? I didn’t. When I moved to Pittsburgh, I didn’t expect to find many meditation centers; certainly not the diversity and convenience that I had enjoyed back in Boston.

I easily found Pittsburgh Shambhala, but Tibetan Buddhism is radically different than the Theravada Buddhism that speaks to me, and I’m uncomfortable with how they venerate their teacher, the late Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche, to a fault.

Searching online, I discovered the Pittsburgh Buddhist Center, a small center run by three monks from Sri Lanka: one of the three primary Theravadan countries, together with Thailand and Burma. PBC even stream their Wednesday evening sittings, so I could get an idea what it was like before visiting. So that was the first place I checked out in person.

Their center is 40-minute drive out of town, which makes it inconvenient. The sangha is small, split about evenly between locals and Sri Lankan expats. Because of this, the practice retains a lot more of the Asian cultural context than the Americanized Vipassana centers I’m used to: there’s incense, offerings, extensive chanting in Pali, and their meditation sessions feature a lot of verbal instruction, which I don’t find helpful. Because of the Sri Lankan cultural influence, I haven’t felt especially integrated with that group.

On the other hand, they’re solid Theravadan, which is great to find in this town where refinement amounts to stuffing french fries inside your sandwich. And they’re the genuine article: fully-ordained monastics straight from Asia, rather than watered-down secular American teachers with no monastic experience. Even in Boston, being able to discuss practice and philosophy with a monk was a very rare and precious thing, and I never imagined that ongoing weekly contact would be available to me in Pittsburgh.

So PBC has pluses and minuses, but it seems like a place I’ll visit occasionally.

During my first visit to PBC, I was given a small pamphlet that listed the Buddhist groups in the area. That was a great resource, and one of the entries intrigued me. It was for something called “Vipassana Sitting Group”, which meets (at a Jewish temple, ironically) only a couple blocks from my apartment. Anachronistically, it listed no website and no Facebook page; just the personal email address for Rhonda, the organizer.

It turns out that Rhonda Rosen was of the same circle as people like Joseph Goldstein and Sharon Salzberg and Jack Kornfield and Larry Rosenberg: American hippies who practiced in Asia and returned to establish centers like CIMC and the Insight Meditation Society in Barre. Rhonda studied under the late Indian teacher S. N. Goenka, who is widely known for his rigid but effective teaching style. It turns out that she has run this small, unaffiliated meditation group under the radar for decades, generally following Goenka’s model.

Much like CIMC, her group is entirely made up of Americans with very diverse levels of practice experience, and she too has stripped off all the Asian cultural baggage in favor of a familiar secular, earnest, practical focus. She also maintains running verbal instructions during meditation, which runs sequentially through anapanasati, body scan, and metta.

Being so similar to my previous practice at CIMC and IMS—and conveniently located in my neighborhood!—I’ve attended Rhonda’s group more regularly, and have found it a lot easier to integrate with. My biggest frustration is that I can’t attend both her group and PBC because they meet during the same Wednesday evening time slot!

With attendance varying from 8-24 people each week, Rhonda’s group has a new and interesting dynamic for me to explore. It’s sort of halfway between the large-group formality of CIMC and the small-group informality of my little kalyana mitta spiritual friends group.

What do I mean By “formality”? At places like CIMC and IMS, most discussion is Q&A, where students pose questions that are addressed by the teacher, but students are usually discouraged from addressing one another’s questions directly. It’s a more centralized model where the teacher is the sole authoritative voice. In contrast, my KM group had no teacher, was completely egalitarian, and individual practitioners simply kicked ideas back and forth.

I’ve been carefully sussing out whether Rhonda wants her group to be more centralized or more open, and she has consistently encouraged me to offer my own ideas and experiences during group discussions. And with twelve years of study and practice under my belt, I often have useful ideas to contribute and experiences to relate.

With things to offer and encouragement to contribute, this group feels like a safe little laboratory for me to test the waters and find my own voice as a potential future teacher. That’s not a vocation that I intentionally pursued, but as people express appreciation for my comments, I become more aware of the value I can share, and more confident in my ability to articulate it in a way that others can receive. It’s a very new and interesting place to find myself, and so far I’m enjoying it.

This past weekend Rhonda’s group held a one-day retreat at the Zen Center of Pittsburgh, which sounds lofty but it’s really just an old farmhouse twenty miles out of town. I attempted to bike out to the retreat, but broke a spoke and had to abort my ride and drive out.

The retreat itself was nice, with about twenty people attending… And also three cats who live there, which I found delightful. One even came by to meow inquisitively a couple times during one of the sittings! It was nice to share a little more of an experience with Rhonda’s “regulars” beyond our short Wednesday sits.

For myself, I did have one minor insight, although it takes a bit of explaining to convey.

We’re all familiar with the geeks who desperately try to score points by knowing more about everything than everyone else, who turn even casual conversations into opportunities for one-upsmanship, to everyone else’s annoyance.

Behind their lack of social grace, all those people are trying to do is win others’ respect and admiration; they think that people will like them if they can show how much they know.

I’d use the word “mansplainers”, but that is a hatefully sexist term that does an injustice to most men and fails to address the women who exhibit the exact same behavior.

Those of us who realize that people don’t respond well to unwanted corrections have largely given up on offering them. A more fatherly approach that I usually take is to offer information only when it is useful or expressly desired.

Even though I’ve long-since abandoned the impulse toward parading my knowledge and one-upsmanship, I was surprised to realize that I still expect that being knowledgeable and competent will cause people to like me.

But that’s not necessarily true. In Rhonda’s sitting group, I’ve been trying to offer advice, suggestions, and insight to less experienced practitioners… no more than once per day, tho! My contributions have been really well-received, so my image in that group is generally one of knowledge and competence. But does that mean they like me? Not at all.

Maybe they like me, and maybe they don’t. Probably people’s impressions vary from one end of the spectrum to the other, based less upon how I present myself, and more determined by their own character and backgrounds. Demonstrating knowledge and experience isn’t a requirement for being liked, and actually doesn’t correlate well with social favor.

I’ll try to keep that realization in mind as I continue to build relationships with the people in the group and explore my own voice as an experienced practitioner.

It wasn’t a New Years resolution, but when I came home from the IMS New Years meditation retreat, I launched a major social initiative, making an effort to reach out and establish meaningful connections with people and putting an end to a lengthy period of self-imposed isolation.

As you’d expect from an off-the chart Myers-Briggs ‘J’, I’ve quantified and tracked my progress, and the results so far are actually pretty surprising.

Over the month of January I counted 44 meaningful social interactions, which I have defined as face-to-face exchanges that are more substantial than just a quick greeting or business transaction. And I met 8 new people.

Despite being a shorter month, February was even more active. I tallied 58 social interactions and met 16 new people!

So overall, for the first two months of the year I had over a hundred interactions with sixty different people, two dozen of whom were people I hadn’t known before.

And the first half of March is booked pretty solidly, too.

How’s that for stepping out?

Of course, volume doesn’t necessarily correlate with quality or satisfaction, but I am pretty happy with the connections I’ve fostered so far. And it tells me that it’s not that difficult to overcome the inertia of rest, and that the effort one puts into it is rewarded more often than not.

So if you’re one of those folks I’ve interacted with in the past couple months—and especially if you’re a new friend, or an old one that I hadn’t spoken with in ages—thank you! I’m glad to have you as part of my life.

And if I haven’t spoken to you yet, please feel free to reach out. I’d love to hear from you.

As I step away from some of my older hobbies, it looks like kyūdō—the Japanese martial art of archery—might be a new activity that arises to take their place.

People who know me will realize that when I commit to an interest, I dive into it with a unique intensity and dedication. Looking back, I’ve had numerous interests which I pursued for years and sometimes decades, such as Tolkien fandom and fiction writing during my youth, or cycling and meditation as an adult.

But every five or ten years, I step back and reevaluate my hobbies and how they fit into my life. Often I can tell when a chapter of my life is about to end because I feel that my interests aren’t helping me grow in the direction I want to go in. It’s at those times that I’ll suddenly walk away from things I’ve been devoted to for years, such as when I left my writers’ group after running it for more than a decade. At the same time, I feel myself looking for what new interests might come along to replace the old.

In the past year or two, I’ve set the groundwork for dropping two time-consuming hobbies. I’ve already publicized that after fourteen seasons, 2014 will be my last year riding in the Pan-Massachusetts Challenge, which will free up a lot of time I’d otherwise spend fundraising. In addition, I will soon stop tracking my money using the Where’s George website, after a ten-year run. These were great activities, but it’s finally time to move on.

Knowing that this would free up time and energy, I started kicking around ideas for what I might enjoy doing next: something I could get involved with that would also appeal to the very different person I have become.

And the first thing that seems to have arisen is kyūdō.

Kyūdō is a meditative martial art devoted to the traditional Japanese form of archery. It’s surprising that kyūdō is not widely known in the US, because it is extremely popular in Japan, where archery and its equipment are viewed as highly sacred. Kyūdō has been refined and distilled into a highly reflective, meditative practice, as reflected in the first western book on Japanese archery. Eugen Herrigel’s 1948 “Zen in the Art of Archery” was wildly popular and was the first book to use the now-popular moniker “Zen and the art of…”

So why have I been drawn to kyūdō? It’s hard to explain, but it boils down to six attributes that appeal to me: it’s social, meditative, physical, elegant, familiar, and Japanese.

Although the focus of the form of kyūdō is internal, participation and instruction are offered in the context of a small, friendly martial arts dojo of mixed ages and genders. This is imperative to me, since social life and connection is revealing itself as the primary project of my fifth decade of life.

I probably don’t need to belabor how kyūdō’s meditative focus complements my longstanding contemplative practice. As a form of meditation that involves a fair amount of movement, Kyūdō seems to nicely fit in the gap between rather sedate walking meditation and full-bore regular life.

For years, I’ve been looking for some technique for integrating physical exertion and meditation, which initially led me toward an exploration of yoga. However, being in a room filled with women in tight skinsuits—all rolling around on the floor in provocative positions—wasn’t especially conducive to internal exploration. Kyūdō allows and incorporates a focus on the body without the detrimental distractions.

However, like the asanas in yoga or the forms in tai chi, kyūdō is strictly choreographed. And when control of the human body and its motions is combined with the natural geometry of the bow, bowstring, and arrow, kyūdō epitomizes elegance and grace: attributes that I strive to embody.

And archery has always appealed to me. Even as a child, archery was my favorite activity at summer camp, and over the years I became pretty skilled at it. And in my medieval recreationist days I bought and used a very powerful English longbow, as well.

And for whatever reason, I seem to be in a phase where Japanese stuff is interesting, so it fits into that, as well.

So as you can see, kyūdō actually complements my interests quite nicely.

Practices are both convenient and a bit of a stretch. During the winter, they use an indoor aikido dojo in Union Square, which isn’t easily reached by mass transit, but is manageable. And in the summer they’re out in Lincoln, which would be really difficult, except that’s just one town over from where I would be training during a regular weekend bike ride, so I’ll probably combine the two.

I first started looking at their website around Thanksgiving, and saw that they were running a new student “first shot” training at MIT in January. However, it filled up before I could sign up.

So two weeks ago I showed up at the dojo just to observe. Fortunately, another new guy was there, and apparently we comprised enough interest for them to schedule another first shot training the following week. So I returned for a second visit and received instruction on most of the form from Joyce and Randy, with the expectation that I’d get to perform my first shots the next time.

This past weekend, I returned for part two of the training. Although the other new guy wasn’t around, I received additional instruction from Joyce, and then Don covered some more details before encouraging me to step up and take my first shot.

To put that into perspective, in Japan new students often take weeks, months, or sometimes years drilling the techniques before they’re allowed to shoot. Due to Americans’ typical impatience, our school has disposed of that, but it’s still a big milestone.

So I felt some anxiety as I stepped up and went through the movements and fired two arrows. When we move outside, we’ll fire at targets 28 meters away, but indoors we shoot at cardboard bales from a distance of about ten feet. I managed to remember most of the steps, but forgot to flip my right arm back upon my first release; I corrected it for the second.

What was interesting to me was how intensely the body experienced it. When I stepped away, my heart was racing and I was breathing heavily. I think much of that is due to the selfconsciousness of taking my first shot under the sensei’s gaze, combined with the physical stress of drawing the bow and the loud thunk of the arrow striking the target.

Of course, I haven’t mastered anything as yet. It’s frustrating but entirely predictable that some of the things I do wrong are common both to kyūdō and cycling, such as tensing and hunching my shoulders. And I also need to pay better attention to keeping my body facing perpendicular to the target, rather than turning toward it.

But it was successful! I’d followed the forms and properly fired and lodged my arrows into the target. So at least I’ve got the basics down.

Over time, I hope to embody some of the elegance that you can see in some of the YouTube videos or Vimeo videos about kyūdō. And if I stick with it, perhaps someday you’ll even get to see a photo of me in a hakama!

What if you could go back to high school and have just one day for a do-over. One chance to go back and interact with those kids in a different way, without all the fear and risk. With more patience and a healthy sense of compassion. What would that look like?

Let me tell you about my weekend…

Friday afternoon I grabbed a rental car and drove back to Maine. I had a quick dinner with family, which was surreal enough, considering my brother and niece were visiting from British Columbia. But this post isn’t about my ambivalence regarding family…

After dinner I checked into my hotel and drove over to Margarita’s Mexican restaurant for the first of two gatherings of people from my high school class. Friday night was essentially a small pre-party before Saturday night’s main event, which would be the first reunion I’d ever attended.

After wandering around I finally recognized the organizer, Jamu (names will be altered to protect those who pretend to innocence). Thankfully, she was someone I knew, so it was nice to chat with her for a while. She also introduced me to the twenty or so people who had come, and was kind enough to hang with me while I dipped my toes in the edges of the proverbial social quagmire.

Over the next couple hours I talked a lot with Dido (a woman I’d never interacted with at school), and Debo (about yoga), and twin sisters Mave1 & Mave2. The likely highlight of the evening was a conversation with Rodi, who seemed reasonably interesting. But I got put off when I tried to talk to Kelo, the girl (woman) who used to sit behind me in homeroom.

If you’d known me in high school, you probably would have been surprised (as I was) to discover that I probably spent 80 percent of my time talking to women, rather than men. I guess I’ve gotten much more comfortable relating to women on the whole. It’s not really a huge surprise for the “me” that I am today, but it’s a pretty dramatic change from the “me” I was back then.

I did have brief conversations with a couple guys: Tola (our mothers are friends) and Deki (who has apparently become as rabid a Tolkien fan as I used to be when I was in high school).

Except for Jamu, I hadn’t known any of these folks in school, but it was nice to talk with them nonetheless. Apparently the people I remembered best weren’t showing up until Saturday’s official gathering. But it still wound up being a nice evening, and I was (surprisingly) one of the last people out the door at the end.

Two observations… Passing around the class yearbook, it became abundantly clear that all of us needed reading glasses, and none of us had brought them. And even in that small group, two of the women had recently been through cancer treatment.

That was Friday. After sleeping very poorly, on Saturday morning I got up early and headed out for a 40-mile bike ride from Augusta to Manchester, Readfield, Belgrade, and back. Since my annual charity ride is only two weeks away, I had to find some way to spend some time in the saddle.

I swung through the old family farmstead, which some time ago was bought, torn down, and replaced with a state government office building. I remembered picking wild strawberries in the fields, my first “hunting” trips in the woods out back, the old apple tree at the edge of our huge vegetable garden, the stand of pines out front, and the camp that my grandfather built. They’re all gone; the only thing that remains from my childhood (and my father’s) is a horrid-looking willow tree that everyone always hated. Figures!

The ride also included a lakeside rest stop in Belgrade, riding past the now-bare former site of Farnham’s (our favorite roadside farmstand), coming down Sand Hill at speed, and then the long and difficult workout climbing from the river’s edge up Winthrop Street to the airport. It was a nice ride, doubly so because it provided the only moments of and peace and “rest” (if you will) that I’d have all weekend!

After showering at the hotel, it was back to family-related activities, which featured sandwiches for lunch and then mini golf with mother, brother, and niece (yes, I won). I was incubating a headache, so I was grateful that my brother’s presence hadn’t drawn any additional family members. Even so, I pled fatigue and went back to the hotel for a quick nap before freshening up for the party.

Way too soon, it was time for the main event: the official high school reunion. I showed up fashionably on time, and did my best to step into socializing mode.

Again, I talked to more women than men, and there were a lot more folks that I actually remembered. The inseparable Nihe & Kamcca agreed with my observation that the inestimable Mr. Ayotte had taught us as much about life, philosophy, and wisdom as he had French.

To my chagrin Anqui and Diru (one of the few alumni in the Boston area) both firmly agreed that I was definitely not attractive in high school, but that I was cuter now. Oof!

Among the guys, I talked to Chrise and Ticho. Both of those could have been awkward conversations, but went fine, which was cool. Ticho works in Boston, and has been playing out in a band on and off over the years.

And I finally got to shake hands with Scojo, one of my earliest childhood friends, whom I rediscovered a few years ago when I learned that he too is a cyclist and serious cancer fundraiser, having survived testicular cancer himself. He’d even ridden the PMC back in 2008, but we hadn’t been able to connect. So finally seeing him was certainly one of the evening’s highlights.

Although I had hoped to, I didn’t get much chance to talk again with Rodi. And I again had difficulty cornering the elusive Kelo. Toward the end of the evening that was remedied when out of absolutely nowhere she trotted up to me and tried to pull me out onto the dance floor! I resisted, but between wanting to connect with her and hearing someone near me say, “Oh just go on up,” I acceded. I was flattered that for some reason she had called on me, and it was definitely a highlight. Even if, as I now believe, she had done it purely for someone else’s benefit.

Ironically, notable absences included all the people that I was closest to during high school: the popular Mika, Josa, Jemu, Jere, Keja, Chila, Meho, and others. That was a bit of a disappointment.

Another disappointment is that I really didn’t make use of the occasion to plug my PMC ride. I really should have been more forward about asking for donations, but it just didn’t seem to be the right thing to do.

As the night wore on, I started feeling exhausted by the effort of being social, and took more time to sit back and watch others, which was pleasant in and of itself. I hadn’t talked to all of the 120 alumni who had come, but I’d certainly done the rounds. Between the conversation noise, the increasingly loud music, and the sheer freneticism of bouncing from person to person to person for four or five hours, on top of visiting family, I was feeling pretty overstimulated, and—after two days of heavy use—my voice was as done as I was.

With so many people to talk to, conversations couldn’t get as involved as they had been in the smaller group on Friday, so in that sense I preferred the pre-party, although it would have been cool to have more of my friends in that group, rather than all strangers.

Overall, the reunion was interesting from a number of angles. Given the passage of so much time since graduation, most of the cliques that once separated people have dissolved, so it was nice to be able to relate to folks from a place free of group identities and social stigma. Only a couple people were fixated on status and career, and just one boor had a blatant goal of recruiting others to support his specious business venture.

Would I consider going to another reunion? Well, overall this one was good, but I think I’d prefer the opportunity to sit down and get to know a smaller number of select people in more detail, rather than have a hundred shallow conversations with lots of strangers. And I did renew enough connections to reach out to the people I’m most curious about.

As for future reunions: I might do another large event, but I would hope that the organizers continue to support smaller adjunct gatherings, like Friday’s pre-party. Although I did enjoy reestablishing contact with people that I haven’t seen in decades, I certainly don’t need to dive back into that big melee anytime soon!