Category — Uncategorized

I don’t want to miss Greenland looking like Greenland. I’ve always wanted to go to Greenland (though the kids have begged me to expand my trip suggestions beyond cold islands), but it’s clearly changing. And while it may still remain mostly Greenland-esque in my lifetime, still, in the back of my mind is a ticking clock wondering how long we have to see places before they change completely.

The kids want to go to Venice. They’re scared that the flooding will shut down sections of the city in the future and they’ll miss out. (I want to go back to Venice because I haven’t been since reading The Magicians. And now that I know about the dragons…)

Of course, there’s the question of travel itself, which adds to worldly wear and tear. Is it ethical to travel knowing that travel itself damages the earth?

I just learned the term Last Chance Tourism — going to places before they’re gone. That is exactly what we did a few summers ago when we went to see the Old Man of Hoy in Scotland. I had read an article that the sea stack was showing signs that it may collapse. And it broke my heart to think about never seeing it. So we took a boat to Orkney that would pass it. It was just as spectacular as I hoped.

But learning that term, it made me think about the other places in the world that I’d be devastated to miss, whether they are gone or I’m gone.

Which places are on your list?

There was an episode of Friends were Phoebe tries to do a selfless good deed. In other words, do something for someone else and get nothing out of it––not even a good feeling of helping someone else.

That episode is the only thing I could think of when I read about the Dutch practice of niksen. It means doing “nothing”:

Practicing niksen could be as simple as just hanging around, looking at your surroundings or listening to music — “as long as it’s without purpose,” she says, and not done in order to achieve something or be productive.

But… can we actually do nothing? I mean, aren’t we trying to achieve relaxation with this? I feel very productive from doing “nothing,” such as sitting on the beach and watching the ocean, because I walk away feeling more creative and calm. In fact, the whole point of niksen is to exit your time in niksen feeling different from when you entered. Isn’t that the definition of productive––producing good feelings? For it to be truly nothing, a person would need to exit the activity feeling exactly the same.

Oh Phoebe Buffay, you were on to something…

I inadvertently kicked off an interesting discussion on a town listserv. I was commenting that I had recently eaten in a new restaurant and the staff was super accommodating. When I asked them if something was vegetarian (and then followed it up with a specific question about how we may be defining “vegetarian” in different ways), the person taking my order volunteered that a few other items on the menu weren’t vegetarian but they had vegetarian options available if I needed them. For instance, the tortillas contained lard, but they had vegan tortillas––you only had to ask.

One person lamented that she had eaten at the restaurant, not knowing that the tortillas weren’t vegetarian, and wished that the restaurant would make that clear on the menu. Another person pointed out that it was the customer’s responsibility to ask.

Which sort of begged the question: how do you ask when you don’t realize that you need to ask unless you ask about everything?

This woman clearly didn’t know that tortillas sometimes contain lard and you need to ask if you’re a vegetarian. If you’re not a distrustful, asking-the-same-question-multiple-times person like me, you probably take for granted that something that seems vegetarian is vegetarian.

Even a distrustful, asking-the-same-question-multiple-times person like me makes assumptions in new places. For instance, if I’m ordering a salad and only vegetables are listed in the description with a vinaigrette, I don’t ask them if they’ve happen to go rogue and sprinkled cricket-protein over the whole dish. Like I said, some things are obvious and some things you can’t even begin to guess don’t fit your dietary needs when they usually do.

What do you think? Is it the restaurant’s responsibility to mark every item, or is it the customer’s responsibility to ask about everything they’re ordering? I have no clue how listing it works unless restaurant print the ingredients list for each item.

I recently commented on Lori’s GoodReads post with my star system because it had been on my mind after seeing someone else’s review in my feed. I do not rate books unless I can give them a four or five. Meaning, if my impulse is to give it a three or below, I keep it to myself, mark the book as read, and move on.

I do this for a number of reasons. One, I know the author will see the ranking and not be able to discuss it with me. I mean, imagine if a friend ate dinner at your house, yelled out a score for the meal, and then ran out the door to jump on a ship and disappear forever. If she called out four or five stars, you’d probably just focus on the strange behaviour. (Why is she eating, running, and calling out a score? Where is she going on this random ship?) But if she gave your meal a two, you’d also wonder where you went wrong with cooking or menu planning.

Of course, I could go deeper and give the book a review BUT my feeling is that if I didn’t enjoy something, I don’t want to dedicate more time to that thing by talking or writing about it. If I read something and don’t rate it, you can guess that I didn’t like it. No extra effort expended.

I also believe that just because I don’t connect with a book doesn’t mean that it isn’t the perfect book for another person. Negative reviews could scare off that hypothetical person. If I’m asked, I may tell a person why I didn’t enjoy a particular book and who may find that book totally enjoyable. But if I’m not asked, I assume that the right people will find the book or it will disappear from people’s TBR pile.

I’ve also been burned by other people’s reviews. I recently read a book that I disliked tremendously. I bought it because it had mostly five-star reviews on GoodReads––over 24,000 of them. But it was terrible and I’m out $17 that I could have spent on the next book in the series I’m reading. Reviews usually guide me towards great books and save me time, but sometimes they go the other way, guiding me towards things that I don’t enjoy.

So that’s my star system. I don’t always remember to add books that I read to GoodReads––I track my books in a paper notebook––but when I do, I only star or talk about the ones I really like.

I’ll dump this little post that terrified me this week into this quiet weekend. A woman writes about her inability to get another job after being out of work for two years. It bookends an article that I read months ago about professional decline. The twins moving into a different stage of life has clearly jump started thoughts on my next stage of life where we’re moving towards retirement.

Let me be honest: I have zero plans to ever retire. I mean, yes, I am saving for retirement while simultaneously trying to figure out whether I’m doing this well or awful at it. (I think I’m awful at it.) But I don’t want to retire. I am terrified of retirement and losing that daily purpose. I’m not someone who is great with down time. I don’t long for days off of work. I really enjoy what I do, and my best days are the ones where I’m ticking items off the to-do list left and right. I need the structure of work.

But according to all of these articles, one day people will likely make me retire. Unlike the guy in the second article, my feelings aren’t tied to career glory. I’m not looking to do something different and incredible. I just want to keep doing my job. It’s about wanting my structure and having my structure remain strong and stable. Not a professional folly but a professional building with a foundation and four walls and the ability to hold up a roof.

This is just me fretting. I’m reading about retirement plans and worrying about the economy and wondering about the future. Don’t mind me — I’m just having a run-of-the-mill, midlife crisis.