Solitary definement

Today was meant to be a professional development day, but it turned out to be a day for personal discovery.

Our school had a very ambitious plan. The morning was devoted to the theme Amazing Race, and as such, our staff was divided up into 8 groups and we were required to answer clues, race to certain destinations around the school, and perform a variety of challenging tasks.

Ordinarily, being an introvert, this kind of activity would not excite me. Borrowing an idea from another teacher, I would much rather have had an enjoyable walk to a local library, and while there, we would curl up on a chair and read a common book, maybe discussing it later in the context of teaching and learning.

But I did not want to be a Debby Downer, and so, despite my reservations, I decided to ignore my placid nature and I went all in. Our group had decided to wear pirate costumes, and with the help of my wife and son, I had one made from scratch, including an eye patch (made from an old surgical mask). I stored this into my backpack and rode to school, happy that I would be a contributing member of the group.

I had expected some kind of response for this effort, but when I walked amongst the other competitors, I got no second looks, no comments, and no smiles of congratulations. I might as well have arrived in my regular clothes. It was highly disappointing.

But hey, I have lived many years and I was not about to allow this indifference ruin the day. I smiled even larger, gave everyone my best “Arrgghhh”, and proceeded with the Amazing race.

We walked briskly from station to station, and since the distances were quite large, we had plenty of time to talk to each other. And at first, I did indeed talk to a couple of other teachers. It seemed like it was going quite well.

But over time, the teachers drifted away from me and before long I was entirely alone. I was in shock. Was it my breath? Did I wear the wrong deodorant (did pirates even wear deodorant)? was my eye patch really that off-putting?

After some soul-searching, I had to face the truth: I was simply not that interesting. I felt just like I did when I was in high school. I was never a popular kid, often relegated to the sidelines and to the nerd group. It always seemed strange to me since I was such a good athlete in many different sports. I thought that would give me a ticket into the cool crowd. But it never did.

Now this might seem to be a depressing fact, but upon further reflection, there was actually some value to this, especially to me as a teacher. In the past few years, I have really battled with student apathy in my classroom. It seems that no matter how fascinating my stories, no matter how cool the demos, I am constantly confronted by blank stares and yawns.

I have been convinced that all I need to do is construct a more fascinating lesson, and if successful, then the students would buy in more and there would be more enthusiasm. But based on what has happened during this PD day, I think I have to resign myself to the fact that I will never experience such popularity. I have to content myself with the fact that the lesson was taught clearly and well, that the students were given every opportunity to be successful and if they so choose, to move on to higher levels in physics.

So I no longer need to be concerned about the lack of thrill in my classroom. It should not be my objective, since I am not even able to achieve this when surrounded by likeminded professionals. The pressure is off my shoulders. I am free to be me … boring, capable, out-of-touch, brilliant me.

The magnificent mundane

When I was in my late twenties and married for only a year or two, my wife discovered that she was pregnant and I discovered that I was going to be a father. I was excited about this, especially since if you had gone back a few years, I had never imagined having children (or even being married).

I have always prided myself on not doing things in an ordinary manner, and so I considered what creative thing I might do to honour the occasion. I had dabbled in writing off and on for many years, and at times I had some unfounded and crazy ideas that I could pursue writing as a side career, so I guess it would not be surprising that I decided to write a journal.

This journal was to be directed towards my future child, almost as if I was talking directly to them. I planned on writing any and all ideas that came to me as. I contemplated being a father, and also, I would briefly document any significant events that happened in our family while the baby came to term. Finally, when he or she was born, the idea was that I would eventually give this journal to them.

And it really had a cool symmetry to it. I started the journal on my birthday and it would finish on the baby’s birthday, which of course would be when the baby was born.

It is now about 30 years later, and my son has recently expressed interest in reading this journal. So, we brought it off the shelf, and since I have been having trouble finding the original file (which I think was written using a Windows 95 computer, if you can believe it), I decided to take pictures of the first ten pages and send it to him using Facebook Messenger.

But as I turned the pages on this journal, taking pictures of it, I found myself reading the passages therein. And then I read some more, and some more after that, and pretty soon, I was absorbed in the reading. Yet the reason for my captivation was not what one might have expected, and as such, this became the very theme of this blog.

Young me, the one who was writing the journal in the midst of managing the overwhelming workload typical of a fledgling teacher, was clearly trying to be clever with every journal entry. And sure enough, at times I was quite successful, and as a modern reader, I would tip my hat to honour such efforts. But more often than not, young me would resort to apologizing to the reader (who would be my future son) for being utterly tired and not being able to conjure up anything remarkable or profound. Instead, I would simply relate some of the tedious details of the day, things that were not out of the ordinary, things that I felt were not worthy of putting on the page, especially for this wondrous journal that I was attempting to conjure up.

Yet, and this was the surprising part, older me was not that interested in the exercises of special wordplay or the particularly poetic expositions. No, I was actually drawn to the mundane details. I found myself especially intrigued in what my expectant wife was eating, how often she was getting sick, the strain in our relationship that occurred as she battled with this hormonal and emotional experience, and my ideas about what my child would be like when they were finally born and I was able to spend time with them.

You see, we can barely remember those days. This is not to say they were unimportant to us, but rather, our lives were so chalk-full of new experiences that we were simply overwhelmed, trying our best just to simply survive it all with our minds and hearts intact. It was a whirlwind and a lot of the events just didn’t stick in our exhausted brains. Strangely, and to emphasize this, there were some memories in our current heads that we were sure that happened, but the black and white words written in my journal proved these to be absolutely false.

So, it was not my attempts at brilliance that made this journal valuable, but rather, it was my dry text, my plain descriptions of everyday events, that stole the show. They were able to magically transport me back to those earlier days and to allow me to relive them. They have educated me, reordering my aging mind, until I have a much clearer idea of what it was like to be an “expectant” father who had no concept of what he was getting into. And they have helped put my present life in perspective, using my young expectations as a measuring stick. Was I the husband and father that I hoped to be? Can I be proud of what I have accomplished over these thirty years? Fascinating stuff.

This now has me wondering if I am doing my blogs all wrong. The only times I write in my blog would be when I have a fascinating tidbit to share, something off the wall, something quite of the ordinary. But if my journal can offer any insights at all, maybe I should be leaning more towards the blasé and the unremarkable. Should my next topic be my technique for how to brush my teeth or how I mow the lawn or how I make my choice of cereal in the morning for my breakfast?

I am not sure. But one thing I do know is that I am going to quickly finish this blog so I can return to reading my mundane journal entries from 30 years ago.

Flipped classroom?

It is early September, and as a teacher, this means that school has started up again. And on the first day, we do a lot of introducing the school rules, the course objectives, and of coursed, ourselves. Same thing, class after class after class.

But there was one class where things went really differently, and I want to tell you about that one.

The students arrived and chose their seats, and when the bell went, it was time for me to tell them about myself. But when I tried to turn on my Epson board, it did not register the presence of my computer and as such, no image was displayed on it. Just a blue screen of death.

I am no rookie teacher, so I did not panic. Instead, I turned the Epson board off, waited for about 10 seconds, and then turned it back on. But it was the same blue screen. Crap!

So, begging the students’ forgiveness, I restarted the computer and while we waited for it to boot up again, the students were starting to get a bit restless. Made sense. While they chit chatted, I prayed to the digital gods for a successful reboot. But again, there was no response with the Epson board, which meant I was screwed.

I immediately emailed the IT people at our school and to their credit, one of them responded within minutes. Time was wasting, so I decided to tell the students about myself without technology. But the truth is, this is exactly what powerpoints were made for, and let me tell you, not having one available made my personal story fall flat. It was a terrible start to this class.

Fortunately, the IT guy arrived quite quickly and began to do his magic with my computer system. However, since he occupied the front of my room, I was not able to do my intro any longer (which was probably a good thing, since it sucked so much!). There were simply too many distractions. So I was left standing there, wondering what I was going to do. Think, Phil, think!

Brain blast! I suddenly realized that the content of this first lesson was a complete review for the students, and so, I took a chance and told the students to start working on the homework … without having taught them anything yet. I verbalized a few hints about the methods, and they were off the races.

I secretly thought that this was going to totally bomb, but surprisingly, the students actually began to work on the questions. Many were remembering the content, and for those who could not, they were asking their fellow students for help. I was really impressed with what I was seeing.

It took a good 15 to 20 minutes for the computer situation to be solved, since it actually requiring getting me a brand new monitor, but it was finally fixed and I had my powerpoint back on the screen. (A bit thank you to the Scona IT team. They are the best in the world!)

Considering how late I was in the class by this time, I decided to teach the content next. So, I went through the review slides, and we did some key questions together. It felt really awkward at first, but after a while, I began to settle down and it began to feel like a normal class again. The lesson actually went quite well in the end (thanks for asking) and the students seemed very confident as I walked around and watched them do the homework.

When there were about 20 minutes left in class, I then stopped them from working and believe it or not, I began to do the introductions. I talked about myself and my family, then I talked about the course, and finally, I talked about the class / school expectations. I even had a chance to link in with Google Meet and join the presentation done by our administration, so the students got a chance to see the last half of it.

When the class ended and the students left, some politely saying goodbye in the process, I sat down and took a deep breath, reflecting on what happened. My first impression was a deep pride in myself. I thought I handled this situation very well, and despite losing nearly half an hour at the start of the lesson, I was still able to finish my entire lesson plan, without rushing and without losing it in the process. And the students did not suffer for it, which was the most important thing of all.

Then, I had to laugh. I realized that my physics lesson was the complete opposite of what I had planned. First, I had given them homework, then I had taught the lesson, and finally, I had introduced myself. It was the most literal example of a flipped classroom. The cart was so far before the horse that the cart left the horse behind! Try to explain that, Isaac Newton, with your three physical laws.

Buckle up?

When I was young, my mother had a friend who refused to wear a seatbelt. When asked to justify this choice, he told us that his big concern was that if his car ever crashed into deep water and submerged, he may not be able to unlock the seatbelt in time and would end up drowning. For him, that very rare type of accident was enough of a reason to drive naked and unprotected for the rest of his (short?) life.

I certainly did not agree with him. I always suspected that he used this special case as a convenient way to be lazy, only because he found it a pain in the butt to wear the seatbelt while driving. I mean, the chances of driving into deep water are so much smaller than simply crashing into another vehicle or a light post. It is so easy to argue that wearing a seatbelt is much safer than not wearing one.

But this weekend, my confidence in this use of statistics was rocked a little bit and had me a bit more tolerant of his position.

I was doing trail maintenance on Saturday morning, clipping the overgrowth with my shears and sawing small log obstructions. When I got to a particularly dense area of bushes, I got down on my knees and pushed back on the bush to get at its roots. But when I did this, a piece of vegetation somehow got inside of my classes and obstructed the vision of my right eye.

Well, I thought it was vegetation. I probed the area with my finger and instead of something leafy simply falling out due to gravity, it started to move around under the glasses in an alarming fashion. It was not a piece of plant. It was a wasp!!!!

With lightning speed, I whipped off my glasses and hat and gloves (and I would have disrobed completely, if that would have helped, so urgent was my panic!), then I brushed at my eye area, trying desperately to get this wasp off of me. Unfortunately, it was too late. Just before it flew away, it stung me directly above my right eye.

Was it ever painful! And as I rode home, I could feel the area swelling up rapidly. In fact, within an hour or two, I could not see out of my right eye at all – despite icing it a couple of times. My wife was not too pleased with me, since this was not the first (or second or third) time that I got a bee sting near the eye, but I was quite thankful that it did not sting me directly on the eyeball. (I know, I am such a glass 1/10 full kind of a guy.)

So here is the rub. I was wearing my safety glasses, which are supposed to protect my eyes from this very thing, and instead, they actually captured a wasp and kept it near my eyes for an extended period of time. Not only that, by forcing the wasp to remain within such a confined area, it was even more likely to sting me near an absolutely vital but vulnerable area of my body. So, does this special case justify me no longer wearing safety glasses when doing trail work?

Well, it turns out that in order to answer this question, I need only consider the ride out to the trails. As a cyclist, I always wear glasses when riding. But on this one occasion, I decided to go free and ride slowly without them, feeling the wind on my eyes (?). And of course, this one time that I went without glasses is when a bug flew directly into my left eye and lodged deep within, forcing me to rub and cry and rub and cry until all pieces of it came out. (Yes, if you are reading this carefully, you will have realized that on this day, both of my eyes were compromised. Tough day!)

So, yeah, I will not stop wearing glasses while cycling or when doing trail work. Rather, I will likely get new safety goggles that seal off my eyes completely and make it impossible for bugs to invade and do serious ocular damage. And I will continue to wear my seatbelt religiously (although in all honesty, I will be a bit nervous when I am near deep bodies of water).

Good to the last slice

I am a teacher, and I am nearing the end of my summer holidays. It has been a full summer, filled with exciting rides and home renovations. And honestly, I had been quite okay with it coming to a close. I love my job, and so going back to it is not a burden that I dread. There has been no negativity within me … until just today.

And it all has to do with peaches.

A month or so ago, my wife decided to buy me some peaches from Superstore. Buying peaches can be a risky business, since when they are not ripe, they taste awful, but if they are fully ripe, they offer one of the greatest flavours that the palate can ever experience. So, it was with some trepidation that I ate the first one, yet to my delight, it tasted just wonderful. And this really added to my summer joy.

But about a week ago, the peaches at Superstore were no longer available and so my wife went to the local market and came upon some Freestone Peaches. They were much bigger than the other peaches, and they were far more expensive. The risk just got higher.

And in fact, when I ate the first one, it had good texture and tasted okay, but when you have to take out a second mortgage to buy them, then you have some pretty high expectations. Okay is just not good enough. But my wife was confident that they just had not fully ripened yet and that they would soon be much better.

And wow, was she ever right! On the third day, the peaches were absolute perfection- in looks and in texture – and the flavour essentially caused a mouth orgasm. Pretty soon, all I could think about was my next lunch, because I knew that I would be having another peach and it would be the highlight of my day.

But today was different, since there was only one peach left. After a beautiful road ride, I sat down in the kitchen and I looked at the sliced peach, anticipating its glory. The plan was not to eat it too quickly. Instead, I would space out when I ate each slice, and as I ate the slices, I would not take too big of bites and I would savour every flavour and sensation that erupted in my mouth. I dragged it out for as long as I could, and let me tell you, it was one of the most satisfying dining experiences I have ever had.

As I ate these peach slices, though, I could not help but think about my summer. We have not had the best summer, as I have mentioned many times in previous blogs, but right now, we are in a minor heat wave. Blue skies, warm temperatures, delightful breezes, and to the city’s collective relief, the mosquito population is dying out and we have renewed and safer access to the outdoors.

So, I have been trying to savour these “peaches” of summer days. Rather than focusing on performance, my bike rides in the morning have been all about joy and delighting in the gorgeous scenery that surrounds me. And I have been walking as much as I can. I have kept myself open to any new stimuli, and when they arrive, I appreciate them and consider myself fortunate to have such summer days. It has been beautiful.

But here’s the rub. Now that I am enjoying the days so much, I am finding it harder to feel ready to go back to school now. In two days, the frenetic life of a teacher will resume and it will be much harder to experience the sublime moments I am experiencing quite consistently during my holiday.

Do I now regret having those peaches? No, how can one feel bad about something that provides such overwhelming pleasure and fulfillment? But I fear that this peachy lifestyle might leave me in the pits.

Loss of Identity

My birthday is almost here (thank you, but please, no gifts) and you know what that means. Yes, here in Alberta, this means it is time to go to the Vehicle Registry Center and get my new identification.

Up until now, we have gotten along quite well with a separate driver’s licence and health care card. But for reasons that I am not too familiar with, since I do not regularly read the news, they have made the decision to amalgamate the two cards into one master identification card.

I suppose I can see the advantage of doing this. It does make things simpler for organizations, since the patron only needs to show this one card and all of the important, relevant information will be accessible and verifiable. It is a convenience. And I suppose, if one wished to see this from a manufacturing perspective, this would reduce the number of cards in the world and thus be less of a threat to our diminishing resources.

But my youngest son has some serious reservations about this development. He, much like many Albertans, knows that people will lose their cards through thoughtlessness or through criminal agencies. Because so much information is on this card, including health care information and social insurance number, it will be that much easier for others to successfully accomplish identity theft. Bank accounts will be quickly depleted and possibly, in other countries, our identities will be used for illegal purposes and tarnish our credit and criminal records. Sobering reality.

But for me, I see this as a potentially dangerous trend. How long will it be until the government sees that the production of such cards is unnecessary and that instead, it would be far more preferable for such information to be recorded on a small chip and have this chip worn directly on the citizen’s body? Cards could no longer be lost, since they are physically attached to us, and when we come to a particular business or organization, they need only scan this chip to get the necessary information.

And, if we continue to extend this evolution, how long until we combine this with digitally enhanced intelligence? Through a chip that is either embedded in our skin or deeply integrated into our brains, we will have instant and continuous access to the internet. This chip could also have our personal information on it. Some believe that this is the natural evolution of our species, where there is an effective merging of the biophysical with the virtual. We will be smarter as a species and we will always be connected to a wondrous whole that is greater than the sum of its parts.

But then, we will have a much more profound kind of identity crisis on our hands. If we are constantly connected to the internet, with our own ideas inextricably intertwined with the world wide web, then what separates one person’s identity with another’s? Will anything distinguish us, or will we simply be faceless members of an amorphous massive techno-society?

So, is it any wonder that I find myself being nostalgic about the good old days of separate driver’s licence, health care, and credit cards? It may have been a bit more inconvenient, requiring separate sleeves within my wallet and causing it to become a bit more bulky, but it was simple and straightforward. And those are two qualities that I can definitely identify with.

Never stop biking

As a road cyclist, there is one inviolate rule I try to live by whenever I am riding the country roads around me: never stop. I pride myself on my ability to keep riding on my bike when I come to a red light (I do a track stand throughout), when I have to drink or eat (look Mom, no hands!), and even when I have to switch the music on my MP3 (although I don’t always get the song I was hoping for, since I can barely read the screen due to the glare).

This rule did not extend to gravel biking or mountain biking. The idea of trying to ride one-handed along a single track, with trees and roots and rocks trying to kill me, is simply a recipe for disaster. In fact, I am glad to have breaks with these styles of riding since they often require much more intense efforts, and it is simply healthy for me to take breaks every once in a while. Call them guilty pleasures.

But things have changed this summer. We have experienced our own little version of the apocalypse, with torrential rains occurring for almost a month straight and the absolute carnage that comes along with that. We have emerged from that disaster more or less intact, but we did not realize that the worst was to come. You see, with all that standing water, the mosquitoes bred like rabbits (maybe at a higher rate than rabbits, now that I think of it) and now they have fully taken over any kind of green space. It is a brave soul who ventures off the beaten track and enters their hellish domain.

But that is exactly what I do when I go for a mountain bike ride on the local trails. I essentially bathe myself in DEET (thank you, Deep Woods Off!), I offer a sacrifice to the mosquito gods, and then I go out into the great outdoors and do battle wth those little critters.

And I have realized that I now have to adopt the road riding rule to my mountain bike riding: don’t ever stop! As long as I am moving, the bugs are not an issue and I can simply enjoy the challenge of climbing technical hills and developing my aerobic power fitness. But this is not an easy thing to accomplish for many reasons.

First, there are the many logs that are blocking the trails. Every 10 minutes or so, I have to get off the bike and lift it over a fallen log, and all the while, the mosquitoes rise up from the depths and seek out any vulnerable spot. If only I had the talents of Danny Macaskill, where I could simply lift up my front wheel and simply jump up to the top of the log, hopping on my back tire, and then hop back down the other side. But alas, I am human and mortal.

Second, there are the times when I have to eat, drink, or change my music. I try to do these things when I have emerged from the trail and I am near paved surfaces, since there would be fewer mosquitoes there. And, while I am doing the necessary task, I am walking. I am always on the move, changing directions whenever possible, and if I am lucky, I walk into a stiff breeze. But still, there is still a cloud of those proboscises with wings, everpresent, ever nagging, ever evil.

Third, and most disastrous, there is a lot of vegetation that I am riding through, thanks to the Genesis levels of rainfall, and every once in a while, one of the big weeds or bunches of long grass gets wrapped up in my drivetrain – especially in the small pulley wheels of my rear derailleur. Eventually, my shifting gets compromised and right in the middle of a trail, I have to stop and try to remove the biomatter. Oh, the swarms of mosquitoes that I battle with during these times! They are in my face, covering my sweaty back, buzzing in my ears, and dive bombing my legs. I breathe out forcefully and constantly to help me from going absolutely mad and to ensure that they do not go into my mouth (which has happened more often than you want to know), and I go at that drivetrain like a man possessed, cursing at my bad luck and my increasing chances of getting malaria or West Nile.

My wife wonders why I even go out there. Would it not be smart to simply ride my road bike and my gravel bike, and thereby reduce my interactions with those little pests to a bare minimum? She is undoubtedly correct, for that is surely the safer option.

But deep down, I don’t want those critters to win. I simply cannot let them dictate what activities I do outside, no matter how much of a health risk (both physical and mental) they happen to represent.

Ultimately, I refuse to allow my mountain bike to become a house ornament. I have always thought that dying on the bike would be a good death, a worthy death. If the mosquitoes take me down on the trails, where I have fallen and I cannot get back up due to the sheer weight of them on me, then I can only hope that I take a lot of them with me. 

iBad or iGood?

Recently, I was the beneficiary of a special physics teaching award (thank you, you are very kind). Apart from the standing ovations and the visits with prime ministers and other dignitaries from around the world (I may be exaggerating), I was also given a $1000 educational grant to be used to further my development as a physics teacher.

For days on end, I racked my brains as to what I could use this money for. Certainly any kind of biking equipment, as attractive as they might seem and as helpful as they would be for my own personal development, could not be considered as proper choices for purchases – unless, of course, the bike parts were made to be part of some elaborate mechanical device that would illustrate important principles of physics to my students. An intriguing idea. Some kind of Rube Goldberg device?

In the end, I decided that it would be most beneficial for me to get myself a quality iPad. Sure, this device has excellent personal uses, but in the spirit of the award, I could also use it to create quality physics educational videos, especially with the magical PencilPro. When I suggested this to the representative, she was quite hesitant at first and needed to discuss this with the other big people in the organization (whoever they might be). But after some explanations about its honourable physics-based purposes, with some demonstrations of its capabilities to advance the education of students around the world, they were entirely on board. All I had to do was go and buy it, and once done, then I could send the receipt to them and they would reimburse me.

I did my share of research for a few weeks, making sure I knew exactly which version of an iPad I wanted (the Air, if you are interested) and which accessories I would need (such as the PencilPro). I had all my information ready, and all my ducks in a row. I just had to wait for a convenient day to make the trip. In other words, I had to ask my wife when she would be willing to drive me there.

And it turned out that today was the day. We decided to make a date out of it. We would go the mall, get my iPad, etc. and a few other items, and then we would go to have lunch at MKT, which would be paid for by a gift card from a generous student and her family. (Thank you so much, by the way. The chili dog was amazing!)

I knew that teachers get a special discount at Apple when purchasing items, and so, we made sure that I had clear teacher ID – in fact, I brought 3 different cards, providing irrefutable evidence. I was not about to let this opportunity to save pass me by.

When we got to the Apple store, it was already pretty busy, despite being midweek and in the morning. But we got one of their geniuses (do they still call them that?) after waiting only for a few minutes, enough time to spot the iPad I wanted and verify that it was the perfect one for me.

When the genius starting talking to us, my wife very quickly asked about the teacher discount. While doing so, she was fishing through her beautiful Gucci bag to get my three types of teacher identification. But the agent told us that such ID was not necessary. Instead, there was an app that they now used to verify my teacher status, and the store used this method instead.

Now I knew all about this app, since I had read up on it, and in fact, I had already used it during the previous week just to make sure that it would recognize that I was an active teacher and thus qualified for the rebate. But I was under the impression that this was only needed if you were doing an online purchase. I was convinced that when you were physically in the store, then physical evidence … such as ID … would be used instead. It only stood to reason. But reason was not winning out on t his day. She refused to look at my ID, and instead, required me to go through the app. Genius, indeed!

This proved to be a serious problem. I do not happen to own a phone, and this process required me to have one. We tried to use my wife’s phone instead, but I did not have my personal gmail on her phone, and in order to set it up there, I had to remember my password for that account. The last time I used that password was months, if not years ago, and so there was no chance in hell that this old brain of mine was going t o remember it on the spot, especially with both of them looking upon me expectantly.

There was nothing the genius could do, and I felt the rage building up within me. I felt betrayed because I could not receive this discount only because I did not own a phone. I suddenly became convinced that the world had secretly (or blatantly?) conspired to require all of its citizens to own a cellphone. And, when someone doesn’t have one, they have to go through countless other hoops to receive something that people with phones could get with one click (or qr code scan).

The genius looked upon me with sadness. I was not sure if this look arose because she felt bad that she could not offer me the rebate, or simply just because I did not have a phone. I felt like a second-class citizen. I was afraid that she was going to give me some kind of handout or donation to get me through the day. It was humliliating.

Alas, we bit the bullet hard and decided to drive all the way home to get the required information and to set up my wife’s phone so that it would show that I was a teacher. Then she returned to the Apple store about an hour later. A huge waste of time, but fortunately, we were not in a rush and could afford the lost time. And really, it was a beautiful day, with a bright blue sky and nice warm temperatures. Hard to be angry on such a day.

We returned with the information and we got a brand new genius. My wife explained what had happened, and in her explanation, she told this person that it was all because I did not have a phone. He thought she meant that I had forgotten to bring it with me, but when she further explained that I did not own one at all, he turned to me and said, “Good for you!”

Really? Was it good for me? I mean, it certainly wasn’t a good thing when we had to drive an additional hour to get this app information, especially when we would have done it all immediately if I had my own phone.

So why did he think it was good? Especially since he worked at a technology store where everyone had a phone and used it regularly, in their own lives and in their occupation.

I thought about this for a while, because it was not the first time I had someone say this to me. And what I have arrived at is that people see my phoneless life much like they would perceive someone who did a solo walk across the Antarctic or who free soloed up a rock face in Yosemite. It is fascinating that someone can do such a thing, and one can even imagine how it could be considered heroic or majestic, but there is no way in hell that they would do the same thing! The sacrifice, the risk, the diminished lifestyle, it would be just too much of a sacrifice.

So is it good or bad to be without a phone? I will leave it up to the reader to answer this. And when you figure out what your answer is, don’t bother calling me. (I don’t have a phone.)

[Interestingly, I wrote this blog using my new iPad Air with the attached keyboard. The number of typos I made for this one blog approached something astronomical, making me feel like I had never used a keyboard before. In fact, this blog took me just as much time to edit as it did to write. The jury is out. I may just have to return the keyboard and stick with my tried and true keyboard from my desktop.]

Beyond Convenience

A lip balm dispenser is quite a clever device. By simply turning the dial on the bottom of the cylinder, new waxy balm protrudes from the top and can be readily applied to my dry lips. But there is a limit and a danger to this apparatus. Eventually, after repeated use, the inner plastic cylinder reaches the top, making it nearly impossible to apply the balm to your lips without scraping them. And the temptation at this point is to promptly throw it out and get a new one, because if you are like us, you have stocked a supply in the bathroom that will last through the apocalypse.

But have you ever stopped yourself at this point and realize that there is still more wax balm inside the cylinder? Is it not wasteful to throw it away at this point?

Inspired by this new realization, I acted upon it and proceeded to grab a set of pliers and yank out the bottom dial, and with it came the projecting arm that pushes up against the inner plastic cylinder. The cylinder then conveniently falls out and within it is still a good amount of balm, ready to be used. I used a small metal pick to remove the waxy substance and I then placed it in a larger dish that has a sealing lid, ensuring that the balm does not dry out.

Now, in all honesty, although it seemed like there was still a lot remaining when comparing it to the small inner cylinder, when it was placed in its new home, it looked pathetically small, even insignificant. But, it did provide me with an additional week’s worth of lip balming, which is not nothing.

And this phenomenon is not restricted to lip balms, no siree. In fact, in my experience, it i even more prominent in lotion pump apparati. For example, I use Aveeno hand lotion regularly to keep the skin of my hands soft and pliable, and thus far less likely to tear or rip under the duress that comes from teaching and working on bikes. The bottle’s pump action is the very pinnacle of convenience and makes application of reasonable amounts of lotion as simple as pushing down once on the pump. Excellent invention.

But again, when the lotion supply lowers within the main bottle, eventually it falls below the inner straw and it can no longer be pumped up. The user is then faced with the temptation of throwing it away, much like with the used-up lip balm, but doing so would be even more wasteful. What we do here at our home is when this happens, I get a utility knife and using the serrated drywall blade, I make a horizontal incision and proceed to sever it along this axis, revealing a shocking amount of lotion still available in the bottom section. When this is transferred into a glass bowl used precisely for this purpose, it offers nearly a month of additional use!

I could certainly finish the blog right here, offering you this gentle advice to not throw away your containers until their contents are fully used up. But that would just not be me. I like to find a larger perspective from this, something more powerful that relates to life in general. So, again, sitting on the back patio, I thought about this idea of coming to the limits of convenience and being forced to allow the experience to come to an end, being thereby dictated by the convenience itself.

Which got me thinking about skiing at Fernie Snow Valley when I was a child. Ski lifts are wonderfully convenient vehicles to transport skiers up to the top of the hill, and then we simply have to allow gravity to pull us back down. And that is what most people do. The ski lift basically dictates the vertical parameters of the run.

But after being on this hill for years, I eventually discovered a way to break through this limit. Instead of getting off the lift and immediately turning around and skiing down, what we would do is take our skis off and begin to climb up even higher, closer and closer to the “rocks” at the very top of the hill. Then, when we were touching the summit with our mitts, we would then proceed to put on our skis and then ski down absolutely virgin powder, feeling like the only people on the hill. It was a magical experience, so very different from going down the groomed runs and moguls created by other skiers. And we would never have discovered it if we were not willing to break through the boundaries set by convenience and be willing to put in significant additional work, only to then reap the heavenly rewards of fresh powder.

Does that make sense? Is this something worth applying to your own life? Call it my own inconvenient truth.

View from the back patio

It is not like my patio is anything special. It does not look upon backdrop of a lush forest, or a babbling brook, or a breathtaking mountain range. No, from this vantage, I can see only a lackluster yard, a solid but weathered fence, and the steady traffic of a major road beyond it.

In fact, in the past, I would not go the back patio to see at all. Rather, after a long bike ride, I would arrange my deck chair and foot rest just so, place a cushion and pillow atop them, and then with soft music playing through my headphones, I would close my eyes and hopefully have a nice nap. Then, with that accomplished, I would return the chair and footrest to the wall, and bring my belongings back into the house. This was the sole purpose of a particularly expensive patio.

But recently, things have changed. I have become inspired to live a simple life, and to appreciate the few things that I have and do. And this philosophy has extended to my back patio.

For the first time in my memory, I have actually gone out to the back patio without a pillow, without my music, and without water even – although the cushion is mandatory, otherwise the hard plastic surface would be agonizing on my bony protrusions. I then simply sit on the chair, my torso and head more vertical in their orientation (since I am not trying to nap), and I observe my surroundings.

There have been times when I have witnessed the playful antics of a magpie as it flits to and fro, and then ultimately finds itself a worm and proceeds to devour it on the top rail of the patio balustrade. Other times I have been mesmerized by the random but powerful effects of the wind on local trees and bushes, or the Rorschach nature of the billowing clouds. But this is the exception, not the rule. The truth of the matter is that the physical view from the back patio is uninspiring to say the least.

Yet strangely, this is its greatest appeal for me. You see, by not having anything engrossing to witness around me, my attention inevitably goes internal and I begin to explore thoughts and feelings and memories. I go on an introspective journey, and what I find appealing about this is that there are no set paths or prescribed rules. It is nothing but mental meandering, which has proven nothing short of vital.

By doing nothing at all on the back patio space, and with having nothing to look at, I have made some very compelling discoveries about myself. Ideas would pop into my head, ones that might never have shown their shy faces when confronted by the maelstrom of so-called normal life. I would explore such ideas fully while I am sitting there, and I would always come out enriched from this experience. In fact, lately, this backyard experience has prompted me to come down to my basement and write down the newfound ideas in a blog.

I never thought I would come to appreciate my back patio precisely because of its mundane and unromantic nature. What’s next? Will I place a chair in front of a blank white wall and consider myself in heaven?