‘Twas blind, but now I see … 3D

My wife is part of a Chinese educational organization, and sometimes she receives some perks as a reward for good service and being part of their family. And being a generous woman, she receives these graciously and then promptly gives them to her immediate family … namely, us. It is a good deal.

This week, she received two free tickets to the new movie Kung Fu Panda 3, and she thought it would be a good idea if I would go with my youngest son. It was an afternoon showing on a Saturday, which meant that it fit into my schedule – as long as I get a chance to ride my stationary bike in the morning, I am ready and able to do anything else for the rest of the day. So, fresh off a 2+ hour excursion on my metal steed of torture, and with my tummy full of a meatball sandwich (thank you, honey), off we went to the nearby theatre to take advantage of this free movie – which, by the way, is my favourite kind of movie of all.

When we got there, we were beset with the first and most important challenge: where to sit? This is no easy decision, and so we stood there at the entrance for a good little while considering the options. Much like Sheldon explaining his ideal sitting location in his apartment, it might seem an overly complicated process to the uninitiated. If the seat is too high up, the screen is too far away, but if the seat is too low, the screen is so large it is tough to take it all in at once. It cannot be too far to either side, since you would be seeing the screen at an angle and not getting the optimal picture. A good distance from young children is ideal, since they tend to talk and scream at all the wrong moments – in fact, any loud people are well avoided, if you have the power.

We decided on the middle seats a few rows up from the front, and one might think that this was too close, but I found that when I leaned back, the back rest flexed nicely and placed my head and neck at the perfect angle to view the screen. Great start!

Just before the movie started, though, I thought that this perfect outing would be ruined beyond all repair. A voice came on the intercom and told us that the movie we were watching was 3D and that if we hadn’t picked up our glasses yet, we were to venture back to the entrance and pick them up. I groaned out loud. Because one of my eyes is not as strong as the other, I have very poor depth perception and up until this point, I have never been able to see any 3D movie properly. They end up being blurry, fuzzy-coloured messes. Did this mean that I would be spending a full 95 minutes in complete frustration? But I was with my youngest son and I did not want to ruin his watching experience, and so I resolved to make the most of it. I went with him to the entrance and grabbed a pair of glasses, secretly convinced that this was a complete waste of time. But hey, I didn’t want to be the one guy who was not wearing the glasses. This would only lead to undue attention and again, it might cause my son to feel uncomfortable and begin to sympathize with me. Definitely not something I wanted him to experience.

So, we returned to our seats and in a while, the movie began. I put the glasses on, expecting to be disappointed once again, but lo and behold, a miracle occurred. The disparate images from my left and right eye coalesced within my brain and the screen exploded with depth. Some characters were further away, while others were very close – in fact, some of them were hanging out in the space between the screen and me, close enough for me to touch. Leaves swirled in the virtual air, bubble floated to cover the first three rows of the theatre, and there were moments where I was struck with vertigo because I felt like I was on the edge of a cliff and about to fall. It was like seeing for the first time. I laughed aloud in delight, and in fact, I did it so loudly at times that I had to shut myself up before I completely embarrassed myself. I am watching a show with a bunch of young kids, and I was acting more like a kid than they were. I was spellbound, starstruck, and transfixed, all at the same time.

Admittedly, the movie was not the greatest – if I had seen it in 2D, it would have been merely okay. But the 3D element made it magical and I loved the entire movie. I was constantly looking for signs of depth and I was never disappointed. In the past, such movies would only have moments of 3D, inserted at times as more of shock value, but this movie incorporated 3D for its entirety. I didn’t realize that such quality was possible.

I have always been the kind of guy who preferred to watch movies at home. Why go to a theatre to watch something that I could just as easily watch at home with my own theatre system? All I need is a bit of patience and wait for its release on DVD or Blu-Ray. But now, I am not so sure. I can’t help but wonder when the next 3D animated movie is coming out, because I might just want to be there to be amazed once again. I can only hope that my wife will score some free tickets for that one as well.

Musical intervals

It is far too easy to think of songs as static things. Once they are written and produced, they are fixed quantities and when you listen to them, they sound the same each time. But recently, I have witnessed a radical transformation of songs. No, I am not talking about dance remixes or dubstep reinterpretations. The change occurs not because the songs themselves have been altered, but rather, it is because of … intervals.

Before school begins, I like to start my day with a good workout to get the blood flowing and to keep myself in shape. On the “odd” days, I do an upper body workout, but on the “even” days, I get on the stationary bike and pedal my life away. But not any ordinary pedalling. I get on that metal horse and I push my body hard, doing intervals. However, unlike other athletes, I do not use a clock or a stopwatch to govern my intervals – I use music.

I think I have talked about this before, so I will keep the details short. When the song begins, I spin the pedals at a level greater than or equal to 105 rpm and I keep this up until the end of the first chorus. Then, I increase my tempo to a level greater than or equal to 110 rpm, and I go at this crazy pace until the bridge. Then, it is the sweet bliss of rest until the song ends, after which I do the same thing with the next song. Using songs this way makes the interval process a bit more organic and flexible, and I find myself much more motivated through the process. When I use the stopwatch, it seems so artificial and imposed, and I find myself hating every sweat-soaked moment of it.

But here is the interesting thing. By using music as my guide, I have found that I view the songs much more differently than if I was simply listening to them on my Ikea chair or in the kitchen having dinner. The beginning of the song is a gentle invitation to intense exercise. It is more easily accessible, and while I am doing it, I don’t feel too challenged to maintain the pace – so it is as close to fun as this kind of masochism can be. Then, the next verse is the big challenge, where I know I am going to suffer, but I am encouraged by the fact that it will not last very long. I just need to get through the verse, and then the chorus, and the closer I get to the end, the more tired I get but the more optimistic I am that it will soon be done. And finally, there is the bridge. Oh, the sweet bridge, the great saviour of my ride, the moment where I am transported to a place of rest and peace and gentle motions. Oh, there is nothing sweeter.

But it doesn’t end there. I can categorize the songs based on how they impact my ride. There are the short and sweet, upbeat songs that are easy to get through and leave me feeling strong – those are fun, but they are few and far between. There are the songs with long intros, that while irritating since it will prolong the push, they are still not so bad because I do the intro at a lower intensity and it doesn’t hurt me too much.

The worst songs are the ones that attempt to be creative, with more ambiguous sections and less clear cut choruses. These are tough because it is hard to know when to start the high intensity portion of the interval, but even worse, if the bridge is difficult to identify, then I might just continue to ride like a maniac right through it without knowing that I should be resting. There have been many a moment when I completely miss the bridge, and as I sprint at mad dog intensity and my legs are screaming in absolute agony, I discover that the song is now over. I don’t even have a chance to rest before the next song! And like the true masochist that I am, the truly righteous exercise fanatic, I refuse to have a rest during the next song. Instead, I bite the bullet, blaming myself for missing the bridge, and I keep spinning at high intensity until the next bridge. God forbid that I ever experience two songs in a row that are ambiguous in their divisions and leave me wondering when I should stop riding hard. I would likely collapse off the bike and need an IV of pure adrenaline to get me back into the land of the living.

All songs have their own unique structure, and this leads to a unique interval ride every time I do it. The songs are fascinating, and they keep my mind alert while my body goes through absolute hell. How long will this verse be? Will the chorus be standard, or will the artist try to be creative and extend it, leading to a protracted session of torture? When will that blessed bridge ever get here? Will the song end before I get the chance to rest?

These questions have different answers for each song, but regardless of whatever music I choose, no matter the nature of the intervals workouts, there is one constant. When it is all over, I am flooded in endorphins and life is pure bliss. Short intervals of pain for long intervals of joy. That is my kind of cyclic equilbrium.

Teaching tension

Being an introvert, I am kind of picky about my audience. They have to be the same group of kids day in and day out for an entire semester, if not for the entire year. I don’t like having any land scale changes. New faces equals stress, and stress equals a less than optimal teaching experience. (Hey, I am the kind of guy who can eat peanut butter and jam on bread for dessert every day for the rest of my life and always be delighted about it. Think of my classes as my PB and J.)

Well, nobody told this to my administration. We are now in educational post-season, the playoffs of learning, and as such, we teachers must assume an additional role in the school as exam invigilators. And if we are not doing this, then we are performing some ancillary service like bathroom breaks, calculator checks, and general crowd control.

Today, it turned out – to my discomfiture – I was asked to cover for one of our learning strategies teachers, since they had to invigilate a Diploma exam. And when I went and asked this teacher what the plan was for that block, secretly wishing that all I had to do was watch over the little rugrats and make sure they don’t destroy the central table or run off with the computers, I was informed that for the first 15 minutes or so I would have to conduct a lesson. Crap!

The ironic thing was that this lesson was on reducing stress while taking exams. I had a special interest in this topic, since I was feeling a bit of stress myself about the prospect of teaching new kids on material that I was not an expert in. To make matters worse, the class was particularly small, having only 5 or 6 kids in it. This would seem to be a better alternative for an introvert, but the truth is, when the number is this small, there is an expectation of conversation between me and the students, and being that I didn’t know them from my Adam’s apple, I was quite nervous about this prospect.

Sure enough, when I got into this room, the kids were uninterested in my presence – and how could I blame them, since I was just another teacher. You see one, you see them all, right? Some of the kids had their backs turned on me, and the rest of them had headphones on to ensure that my voice was completely shut out. They did not do this as a vicious attack on me personally, since they did not know me. No, it was a sign of an aloofness, a distance, an unwillingness to make any kind of connection with me. And who can blame them, since they would only see me once. I was nothing but a substitute teacher, and there is no position out there that gets less respect or more flack than a sub.

But I have integrity, and so I did not allow such a negative vibe from fulfilling my pedagogical obligations. I announced myself assertively, and had them sign an attendance sheet and pick up the handout on exam stress. Then, with the knack of a seasoned actor, I attempted to portray the friendly teacher. With each point on the sheet, with each snippet of stress management on that list, I attempted to personalize it and bring in one of my own life stories or perspectives. I even asked them questions once in a while to ensure engagement and personal meaning.

The result? On the face of it, it was absolute failure. The kids were quiet throughout the presentation, and by the looks on their faces (well, at least the ones turned towards me), I could just as easily been reading the instructions from an airplane vomit bag, so little did they react. It took an extra jolt of perseverance for me to make it through the lesson, and I found myself secretly thankful that when I was done, the rest of the class would be simple supervision, and if I was lucky, I would be able to tackle some of my own personal projects in the time given to me.

I could easily become quite jaded by this experience, and I probably would have, if it wasn’t for a couple of small but significant observations. First, one of the girls was wearing headphones at the start, but once I got to point #3, she took them off and sort of listened to what I was saying … sort of. Second, when another teacher walked into the room for a second, one of the students said to him, “Hey, you should stick around. You might learn something.”

I had impact! I was able to penetrate that wall of distrust and apathy and reach a couple of them, if only for a few moments. My job was done. I could go home happy, knowing that I made good use of the day I was given. What teacher could ask for more?

Win = Loss

One of my favourite sports to play these days is table tennis. It is fast, it is furious, it is glorious. And I quite fortunate to have another person on my staff who shares my passion for this sport.

However, last month, he broke his paddle while we were playing – yes, that is how intense and full contact our table tennis happens to be – and that left him up the creek without a paddle. We were doomed to go through the following weeks ping pong-less. Until I got clever. Just before the holidays, our staff get involved in a Secret Santa tradition, where we exchange gifts but the recipient has no idea who the giver happens to be. I knew I was blessed by the table tennis gods when, upon putting my hand in the raffle bag, I drew out none other than my table tennis partner. So, I promptly went to a local sports store and bought him a half-decent paddle. I couldn’t get him a great paddle for two reasons – first, it would be too expensive and my wife would have me sleeping out in the frozen doghouse, and second, I didn’t want  him to be so good as to kick my butt each time we played.

Today we had our first match with his new paddle and during our warm-up, he was playing very, very well. This was good because I wanted him to fall in love with the gift, and if he played amazingly with it, then he would be more likely to want to play in the future.

But that all changed when we started playing our best of 7 match. I was feeling quite confident with my strokes, and before I knew it, I had won the first two games. I was starting to feel a bit worried, because the last thing I wanted was to discourage him. So, I changed my tactics a bit and I played a lot more defensively. Ordinarily, this would cause me to lose because his attack is so effective that no matter how long I keep the rally going, he would ultimately hit the winner. But not on this day. To my horror, I was getting all of the balls back and when he rose to the final attack, the ball did not behave as it was supposed to and he would end up making an unforced error. In the end, I won that game as well.

So, there we were in the 4th game and the last thing I wanted to do was to win the game. But I also could not throw the game, because he would know it if I did, and honestly, I have some integrity and my pride demands that no matter what strategy I use, I would do it with all of my ability. So, instead of playing poorly on purpose, I decided to go to a strategy that is the least comfortable for me – constant attack. I would pounce on any ball that I could and smash with outright abandon. This is not my style at all, and I know that smashing regularly inevitably leads to a huge number of unforced errors. Surely this would lead to my defeat.

But alas, nothing was going right … because everything was going right. I suddenly became possessed by the spirit of Ma Long, the current world champion, and I simply could not miss. Whether he gave me a short ball or a long ball, a low ball or a high ball, I was able to smash them all with absolutely impunity and it just seemed that there was some kind of magnetic attraction between the table tennis ball and the opposite side of the table. I felt like I had nothing at all to lose, since I was playing to lose anyways, and I guess this relaxed me to so much that my body became a lethal whip, able to punish that poor little white sphere and in truth, to punish my opponent at the same time.

I have never felt so torn as an athlete. I enjoyed the feeling of playing so well, but I also felt awful because I was hoping that my partner would be highly successful. Now I am left wondering if he will ever play me again. I may have won the game, but I think I could have lost the war. A smashing failure!

Black son

My wife and I watched a very good documentary a few days ago called “Black Fish”. At first it seemed like an excellent promotion of Sea World and the great work that the animal trainers do to keep the Orcas healthy and happy. But that feeling didn’t last long. The movie began to describe how the young Orcas were captured, and how they are very “family” oriented – the young Orcas never leave their mothers’ side … ever. The separation anxiety was evident in the cries of the mothers and the fact that the mothers refused to leave the site of capture.

Then the movie described the hellish conditions that the Orcas had to endure (and have to continue endure to this day) while in captivity. They were forced into small metal containers with barely enough room to move, and they were often starved to help them be more obedient. The trainers truly loved the Orcas and had no idea of the abuse that was going on behind their backs … or better yet, under their noses. But they found out the hard way because some of the Orcas began behaving erratically and started to attack the trainers, sometimes leading to their deaths. A horrific account and it made me ashamed to be a part of the Homo Sapiens species.

Strangely, we have a similar situation in our own home. No, we don’t have a large aquarium and we are not illegally harbouring precious aquatic animals. But we do have an older son, and he is currently subjecting himself to voluntary solitary. He has chosen to spend almost his entire time at home within his room and the only time he comes out is when it is time for dinner or when he wants to play the piano. We hardly ever talk to him these days, and frankly, we miss him. We don’t even have the luxury of transparent walls, where we could watch him from the outside.

Now, we understand that the university workload is not insignificant and that he is definitely using this time wisely. He is staying well ahead of all of his work and he is performing wonderfully well in all of his courses. But we cannot help but remember the boy he once was. He was a child who was always smiling, and we were always so proud of how he could play anywhere and at any time, even if there were no toys available. We often joked that if we had disciplined him by putting him in a corner of the house, without any access to toys, he would be perfectly content with his imagination as his partner. He didn’t have it in him to be bored and it was awesome to behold.

We miss that boy. And truly, we are worried that this might be deleterious to his physical and emotional health. In the movie, when many of the male Orcas were in captivity, their dorsal fin collapsed and it looked absolutely horrific. (90% of the captured Orcas showed this unfortunate trait, while only 5% do in the wild!) As terrible as this is, at least it was a definite sign of the distress that these male Orcas were going through. I find myself looking at my son for similar signs: slumped shoulders, sagging mouth (into a frown), and reduced energy levels. Some sign that this voluntary captivity is doing damage and that we will have to do something to save him.

I am sure that there are many young adults who suffer from the same condition, especially in university. Despite being surrounded by thousands of other students, it is really an isolated environment and many kids are left on their own. Their life consists of eating on their own, going to class and learning on their own, and doing all of their homework on their own, with very little time for social activities or release. I know that my life was very much like that, so I can totally sympathize with what my son is going through.

I can only hope that in time, he will look out the window and want to be that free person he used to be. I want to see him laugh, play, and just be a kid, for that is what he still is. I would pay big money to see that exhibition.

 

Sing low, sweet Sarah

In life, there exist necessary evils. We are smart to get insurance, even if we absolutely detest insurance agents, just in case our homes burn down or our bodies are seriously injured. We need to go to the dentist regularly, overcoming our fear of the drill and bad news, or else we would lose our pristine dental hygiene (and likely, most of our friends). Despite the pain of the needle, and the greater pain of enduring the waiting room, we cannot avoid getting our shots and getting blood work done. We even need to eat things like liver, salmon, and strange soups conjured by your mother-in-law that are intended to inflict the greatest of damage to the taste buds but, purportedly, are healthy for every other part of the body.

The same goes with music. As much as we would like to have all upbeat, happy music in our selection, things to keep our toes tapping and our smiles planted on our faces, there are times when they just don’t fit our mood. We need dark music, depressing music … we need Sarah McLauchlin.

I am sure she does not want to be referred to as a necessary evil, but let’s face it. She is a Canadian treasure precisely because she sings about the darkest, most depressing hours in our lives. Her lyrics bare our souls to the brutalities of unrequited or spurned or abusive love, and as much as we recoil from such terrible themes, we are drawn in with her sweet, melodic voice. She offers an unabashed look into tragedy, and strangely, as we go with her on this sonic voyage into the depths, we later emerge feeling better. It is catharsis through song.

Lately, my family life has taken a serious turn toward the dark side. Smiles are in short supply and hope is a shrivelled rose in a dusty vase. It is oppressive. When I escape into my bedroom, I rush to my music collection like a desert man scrambles to an oasis and I invariably find myself taking out one of Sarah’s CDs. My heart is in such pain until I hear her plaintive voice clearly articulating my agony and offering solace through sharing. My aching heart sings a duet with hers and I am comforted.

Thank you, Sarah. You are my dark angel in my darkest hour, and somehow, your music leads me to the light.

Back against the wall

I am not usually one to stress over things, although one could argue against this quite easily since I have to go to sleep each night with a mouth guard to prevent grinding my teeth to nubs. But I have to admit that I was worried these past couple of weeks.

A month ago (or so), I injured my back after a long session on the stationary bike. It was just a small pang, a tiny thorn in my side, and I figured that it would last a couple of days at the most. Well, I should not consider any kind of career in predicting the future, because that two days turned into over two weeks. It would just not leave me, despite all of the icing, the resting, and the responsible movement I adhered to. It made no sense to me, but I have tried to take life as it comes and I simply waited it to heal so I could move on.

But to my alarm, when the left side of my back recovered from injury, the right side of my lower back decided to fall prey and suffered from its own aches and pains. This injury I was much more familiar with, considering I had been plagued with it since I was in my 20’s, and I knew that it would only last a couple of days and I would be right back at it. No problem.

Well, Houston, there was a problem. This age-old malady of mine started acting differently, possibly inspired by its neighbour to the left, and it decided to stick around for longer than two days. And to make matters worse, when I got back to school and started teaching, both sides of my lower back showed significant weakness and started throbbing again only halfway through the day. I had to start icing my back before school and after school. This was new territory for me and I did not like what I was feeling.

So bothered was I about this development that I started contemplating the unthinkable. What if my back never fully recovers and I am unable to remain as active as I am right now? Worse still, what if I could not bike any more? Even typing it gives me  cold sweat.

Cycling is at the very centre of my life, and it has been with me for so many years. I rely on biking for physical health, for remaining in shape, for mental acuity, and for relaxation of mind and body. I have lost the ability to do so many sports over my lifetime, more than I would like to recall, but cycling has been there for me throughout it all. It has been my standby, my old reliable, my steady friend, and I don’t know what I would do without it. I imagine myself turning into this crotchety old man who swears at everyone why his body turns to absolute pot. I imagine myself selling my precious bikes to others who would not appreciate them or use them like I did, and it would tear my heart apart. I imagine feeling so empty, so listless, so lacking in energy and motivation. It would be absolutely devastating.

I know you are thinking that I am overreacting and blowing things out of proportion, but I know myself. I know that I have to begin preparing my mind for this eventuality. It may never happen, and that is certainly my deepest desire, but if it ever did happen, I want to be ready for it. I will need to have some kind of backup plan, something that will keep me happy and productive. Something that will keep me on two feet when I lose my two wheels. I cannot think of anything right now, but maybe when the horror wears off and I am able to face this possible future with both eyes wide open, I will be able to conjure up an alternative lifestyle that will keep me as excited and healthy as cycling does.

I know that it is unwise to cling so hard to something that could be taken away from me, but I cannot help it. Cycling is part of my very identity. I am a husband, I am a father, I am a teacher, and I am cyclist. These are the four pillars that hold me up and make me who I am. If one of these pillars falls, then how would I not collapse?

 

Kicking back old school

Lunch time had just ended, and while all the other science teachers left the office and returned to their classrooms, I remained to enjoy my spare. As per usual, I sat in front of the computer and booted it up, ready to put on some online music and work on a little project I had been looking forward to doing all day. But to my dismay, to my outright horror, the computer network had shut down and I had no access to either thing.

I didn’t think this would be a big issue for me. All I had to do was come up with another activity to occupy my free time for the next 80 minutes or so.  I pride myself on being able to make use of any time given me, and using it in such a way that is fun and productive. But not this time. I sat there on the leather couch, curled up in the corner, and as I allowed my mind to wander through the possibilities, I discovered that there were none to be found. I was completely out of ideas. It turns out that pretty much everything I do as a teacher now revolves around the computer. Apart from setting up labs and marking, I spend most of my time in the virtual world modifying lessons, creating tests and labs, and doing the million and one other tasks that have to be done by a teacher throughout the day.

I was becoming a bit distraught. I was at a complete loss as to what I could do and I ended up simply sitting on the couch, listless, purposeless, useless. I did not enjoy the feeling at all and what began as a casual consideration of possible things to do turned into a frantic search for something to occupy my time, something I would consider a good use of my time. I looked high and low, left and right, and just before I lost all hope and resigned myself to being nothing more than a couch fungus, I saw it.

On the bottom shelf of the nearby coffee table rested a pile of books. Hey, I thought, I like to read. Maybe there would be something in there for me, something worthy of my attention. And sure enough, there was. Sitting under a pile of faceless books and old newspapers, there was a copy of “Teaching – It’s harder than it looks” by Gerry Dee. Winner! It was about teaching, it was written by a comedian, and it did not require a functioning computer to operate. So, I spent the next 45 minutes reading his perspective on teaching, and it was quite enjoyable because I could relate to many of the points he was making. So, what could have been a complete waste of time, with me being nothing more than dead weight on a couch, turned into something fun and worthwhile.

It is a well known fact that teachers have to be ready for any and all eventualities in the classroom, because they will experience any and all eventualities – power outages, medical emergencies, class uprisings, and of course, computer malfunctions. But I never realized that teachers must have the same safety nets built into place for their free time as well. In the future, I will be certain to have some kind of project in my backpack to pass my time if I am unable to be on the computer again. But even if I don’t, I know that at the very least, I will always have Gerry Dee there for me, ready to entertain me and save me from suffering through from the ultimate teaching sin – being completely unproductive.

Holiday Diss

Today was my first day back to work, and naturally, the first question I get from my colleagues – if they speak to me at all – is “How was your holiday?”

Now, I have never been so good at small talk. If I am walking down the hallway and someone asks me how I’m doing, I actually think about it and offer my best of the my present condition. This flies in the face of street smarts, which claims that when one asks you such a question while walking by, then you are to give them a quick and wonderfully vague catch-all phrase to pacify them … something like, “Good, and how’s it going with you?” The words don’t even matter, as long as they are reasonably appropriate and they do not ask much from the other person in the exchange.

So, it shouldn’t surprise you what when I was asked about the holiday, I told them the truth. (Did I hear groans from the audience?) I informed them that this was probably the worst Christmas holidays I have ever experienced.

The reactions that I got from this frank reply are pretty funny. The person would ask me this as they were walking by, with the full expectation that my answer would be short, sweet, and superficial – the three essential esses for small talk success. But when I dropped them the t-bomb, they came up short, looked at me askance, and said, “What?”

I guess, in their mind, if I was that open and honest about my holiday, then it must have been something brutal or catastrophic. Only such extremes would necessitate someone telling the truth about their subpar holiday. But such was not the case for me either. The holiday was filled with sickness, injury, and grumpiness, and so it was very disappointing for all people involved, but it was definitely not traumatic in any way.

The funny thing is, by offering such an unconventional response, I was soon surrounded by interested and empathetic listeners. Maybe this was the same type of interest that is shown by drivers who are going by an accident site, and so I should not read too much into it, but the conversation that came after my admission was very good, better than it had been in a long time. Crazy!

I suspect that my colleagues will be a bit more leery about asking me such questions, for they are starting to realize that even seemingly innocuous and superficial queries can lead to deep introspective responses and a commitment to hear them through to the end. No, I expect they will keep their distance, both physically and emotionally.

(I am so tired after my first day back to school. So, let’s just assume that I have finished this blog with a sufficiently pithy and creative ending that ties it all together and leaves you breathless because of the sheer wit and imagination. Thank you.)

Gaming at a deeper level

Video games are often thought of as purely superficial diversions. You inhabit a character from a fictional world and complete virtual tasks that have no real value whatsoever, apart from artificial challenge and escapist fun. This is why we are so concerned as parents when our children are spending too much time on their computers and consoles, because to us, they are a complete waste of time.

But I recently read an article that had me look at video games in an entirely new way, in a deeper way. It turns out that there are strong philosophical underpinnings in these games, ethical foundations that are subtle but definite. The writer illustrated this with a few examples, and like any good writing, it inspired me to do the same. These past couple of weeks, I have been playing Crash Bandicoot with my youngest son. The protagonist is a silly character with completely unrealistic abilities, and as much as I love playing the game, I would never have thought that any serious philosophy could be applied to it. But it can, and there are some surprisingly practical implications to the real world.

Crash is caught up in an epic battle of good vs evil, with both sides very clearly delineated. It is his job to either avoid or destroy all of the evil characters, and when he accomplishes all of this and completes a level, he earns a reward. This is a common theme for video games, and it represents what we wish about our world. Wouldn’t it be nice if truth and goodness and justice were easily determined in this world, and the path we have to take an essentially linear one? Our lives would be filled with purpose and by progressing through our lives, we would know that we are making progress towards some greater ambition, some ultimate reward.

Crash often dies, especially when I am playing, and fortunately, the death is not permanent. He resurrects and is able to return to the challenge, wiser and stronger, more capable of solving it and making it past. For me, this is less about resurrection and more about second chances. I love the idea that when we make mistakes in life (and again, I make more than my fair share), we can wake up the following day with a fresh start and we have a chance to make amends or tackle it again. And we are usually wiser from our mistakes – in fact, most of the lessons I have learned about life have come from my mistakes.

At the beginning of the game, the levels are quite simple and very achievable. This gives the player a chance to learn how to move adeptly, to build skills that will help him later in the game. As Crash ascends to higher levels, the challenges get harder and harder, but he gets better and better at tackling the problems. By the end of the game, he is so different than how he was at the beginning. And is this not the case in our life, if all goes well? When we are children, we are naive and unskilled in many ways, but life is simpler for us as well and it gives us time to grow up and grow more skilled. As we get older, life’s challenges definitely get harder and the consequences become bigger, but we hope that with all of the previous life experiences, we are better prepared for them and will be able to handle them when they hit us.

We can even learn about ourselves as we choose and play these games. Do we tend to opt for games that call for less skill and risk, that are much easier to complete? This would indicate that we tend to run away from challenges and would rather live an externally designated life. Or are we the kind of people who go for the harder levels, who seek out ways to challenge ourselves and are willing to risk it all? This would suggest a go-getter kind of an attitude in life, an approach that faces life at its hardest and does the best possible in all situations. I would like to be a person like this. It is not easy, and it can get really frustrating, but the rewards are greater and I believe that I develop more as a result.

Wow! Even in this short period of time, I was able to see quite a few deeper implications to such a simple game. Does this not also suggest a similar approach to one’s life? When I look at the way I am living my life, what are the underlying philosophies that are inherent? Am I living the life I want to live or do I need to make changes? This new perspective could be a game changer.