In college, I had the privilege of moving around every four to eight months, alternating between school and work terms. Consequently, I went back to San Francisco at least once a year. And while terms spent in Waterloo always seemed lacklustre, terms spent in San Francisco ranged from irritating and uninspiring to vivid and incredible.
For instance, in 2016, I was in a fairly unhealthy state, mentally and physically speaking. I found the city of San Francisco dirty, tech bro-ridden, and borderline inhabitable. My external circumstances reflected my expectations. Catcallers harassed me frequently, the weather was constantly overcast, and the interactions I had seemed to be in black and white.
The following summer, after extricating myself from an unhealthy relationship and overcoming some destructive beliefs, I found myself experiencing San Francisco in a completely new light. The city became my personal playground. I spent weekends and evenings exploring hidden treasures. Like the used bookstore at Church and Market with the old, docile ginger cat. And the many sunsets at Ocean Beach and Alamo Square. And the running trail beside the buffalo paddock in Golden Gate Park.
Some of the best times of my life were from that summer, even though if you asked me what I did then, my answer would be "literally nothing special." I sat in the park and read with friends. I went on runs that never ended. I journaled, a lot.
What this illustrates for me is the fact that how I experience a place is entirely dependent on my internal state.
I believe this is true for situations as well. How I experience a situation is entirely dependent on my internal state.
The question then becomes: how do I cultivate an internal state where I see every external circumstance as awe-inducing and incredible? Because I believe, with every fibre of my being, that how I live my days is how I live my life [1], and that I want my life to be full of awe and wonder.
Maybe to be in a garden and feel awe, or wonder, in the presence of an astonishing mystery, is nothing more than a recovery of a misplaced perspective, perhaps the child's-eye view; maybe we regain it by means of a neurochemical change that disables the filters (of conventional, of ego) that prevent us in ordinary hours from seeing what is, like those lovely leaves, staring us in the face. [2]
Someone I respect once said, "99 percent of life is completely benign and enjoyable. Unfortunately, as humans, we've evolved to focus on the 1 percent that is not."
So this brings me to a theme for my 2019: focusing on that delightful 99 percent. Part of this involves trusting that the uncertain place I'm currently in is precisely where I ought to be. As I wrote in a letter to my past self recently, "You couldn't have planned for a better life than the one you ended up living."
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[1] from here
[2] From How to Change Your Mind, by Michael Pollan
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