A Perfect Beginning

The Earth travels around the sun at a whopping 67,000 miles per hour, and it's not slowing down. With the days rushing by, who has time to squander on "just another day?" The days of the calendar are limited. That's why I felt a sense of urgency when I entered Ms. Wonder's sanctum--for I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep.

"Wonder," I said. "The glad new year has gotten off to a great start, don't you think?"

"Not bad," she said, leaving me wishing she'd be more attentive. I realized she was on the clock--focused on her job. But still...you know what I mean.

"Not bad?" I said. "I might go as far as to call it a perfect beginning. We were up before the sun, whispers in the air, as the poet would have it, and we've completed four of the nine steps already."

"Nine steps? Are you talking about the article I asked you to read in Vanity Fair?" 

"Vanity Fair if it suits you," I said. "It might have been Vanity Fair or it could have been one of those forever ads that pop up on YouTube from time to time."

"Forever ads?" she said.

"Yeah, the ones that go on and on, page after page, promising to share the secrets to a happy life. You know the ones I mean."

"Have we completed three of the steps already?" Her words were in the correct order, but she didn't ask the question with any real interest. She seemed engrossed in something on her computer screen.

"Four," I said. "The first step was to Wake Up, which we did without effort. And then the day came..."

"What are you talking about? Ooooh," she said, "it's a poem, isn't it? I don't have time for poetry this morning, so don't try me. And waking up doesn't sound like a step to bring about change. It's not like there's another viable option."

"I disagree, Wonder. I believe waking up is a brilliant first step. You open your eyes to a new day and immediately feel a sense of accomplishment. What could be better?"

"Fine," she said. "Go with it if it makes you happy."

"The second step in the list is Morning Walk, and I think you'll agree we did that."

"Hmmm, mmm," she said, clearly not paying attention.

"The third step," I said, "is Breakfast, which we've finished. After that comes Meditation, followed by Lunch, and then Exercise. We haven't gotten to those yet, but number seven on the list is Socialize, and I took care of that on my trip to the grocery store."

"Grocery shopping doesn't count as socializing," she said.

"No," I said. "But making a new friend does."

She turned to look at me with a quizzical expression.

"Is quizzical a word?" I asked.

"Not one commonly used," she said. "It typically implies showing amusement at someone's silly behavior."

"I was thinking it described a puzzled look."

"Why are we having this conversation?" she asked.

 "I was wondering how to describe the look you just gave me."

"Oh, in that case, you used the right word."

"Alright, now that's out of the way, it's time for the big reveal.  Wonder, I've had one of those serendipitous experiences."

"Oh, well, why didn't you say that in the first place? Spill it and keep in mind--I can only spare three minutes for this."

"As I walked past the dairy case in the Food Lion, I noticed an elderly lady having a heated conversation with her shopping cart."

"You don't see that every day."

"Right?" I said. "I've learned to pay close attention to such rare events because something interesting often happens. This was one of those occasions. The lady had a certain look about her. She seemed the type whose favorite cookie is oatmeal raisin and who might be called Ethel by her friends."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because she wore her hair in a style that hasn't been seen since the first half of the last century. She reminded me of a great-aunt who answered to the name mentioned. My aunt and her sister Molly lived in Shady Grove and watched Days of Our Lives every afternoon."

"Alright, I get it. What was she discussing with her cart?"

"She explained that the cart seemed to have a mind of its own. It's not true, of course. Neuroscience defines the Theory of Mind as the ability to understand mental states in others. While I have no doubt that her cart's mental state differs from hers, most neuroscientists would argue that a shopping cart does not possess a mind."

"I can relate," she said. "Even now, listening to you tell this story, I'm quizzical about mental states and minds."

It always lifts my spirits to know that I've caught her interest. There's nothing I enjoy more than giving her something to think about. So, with renewed vigor, I pressed on.

"I asked Ethel if the wheels squeaked too, and she explained that no, while she could abide the cart moving in directions she didn't intend, squeaky wheels would be crossing the line."

"Hmmm," said Wonder and turned back to her computer. 

We Genomes are quick to take a hint, and we don't need to be told twice. We live by the adage that Life comes fast and hard, and it pays to be ready for anything. If the three minutes are up, meet them at the door laughing and invite them in. I read that somewhere.

I decided to drive into Wilmawood and see what was happening at Bodega Coffee Cafe. Something exciting is always brewing there. And remember, the Earth is traveling around the sun at 67,000 miles an hour, so there's no time to waste.

Shoot For The Moon

"Shoot for the moon. If you miss, you'll land among the stars."

~~ Norman Vincent Peale

On New Year's Day, I explained to Ms. Wonder my fascination with quantum theory and why I chose to be a science writer. 

I use the word 'explained' loosely because as she listened to me, she was also completing her year-end performance review--a challenging task even for a wonder-worker.

"Emergent properties are not seen in individual community members," I said. "They arise when those individuals interact in cooperative, supportive ways."

"The jargon is too technical," she said. "Bring it down a notch or two."

"The technical name for emergent behaviors is 'surprises.'” I said.

"That's good," she said. "Call them surprises. I like that."

"A group of starlings flying in synchronized formation is an example of a surprise," I said.

"I'll say," she said. "I wonder how they do that."

"It's simple, really," I said. "Each bird in the flock merely mimics the behavior of its nearest neighbors. A small act that leads to wondrous behavior."

She didn't respond. Instead, she seemed to ponder something in her review. The silence became awkward and I decided to say something--anything.

"I wonder what a group of starlings is called," I said speaking more to myself than to her.

"A group of starlings flying in formation is called a murmuration," she said.

"A murmuration? Really? Why not simply call it a murmur? A murmur of starlings sounds much nicer. After all, we don't call a group of crows as murderation."

More silence as she continued to stare at the review with a crinkled brow. Crinkled is the technical term I believe.

"Would Hulu produce a television series called 'Murderation in the Building'?" I said. "I think not. Silly idea."

She hit the enter key on her keyboard and then turned to look at me, her expression more relaxed but tinged with a little concern around the edges. It's a familiar look--one she wears when she thinks I'm flying with a bent whangee.

“Now I see why you associate squirrels in the backyard with emergent behavior," she said. "Surprises! Not long ago, we had half a dozen, and their silly antics inspired you to blog about them.” 

“What you call 'silly antics',” I said, “is what we science writers call disordered behavior.”

“Yes, but what do murmurs of starlings," she said, “have to do with squirrel behavior?”

“The squirrels demonstrate that organized systems move toward entropy and increasingly disorganized behavior. You see, they moved into our backyard due to abundant resources and limited competition.”

“Uhmm-unh,” she said, “but it lacked any real luster. Made me think of those notes at the beginning of a melody before the start of the first bar. What are those notes called? The name escapes me now, but you know what I mean.”

“Those favorable factors allowed them the freedom to reproduce at physical capacity and the number of squirrels grew exponentially."

“So what you're saying is,” she said. “our squirrel neighbors are enjoying an orgy of fruit and nuts, as well as staying out until the wee hours—sex, drugs, and rock&roll, about sums it up, I think.”

Many possible responses came to mind, and I paused to reflect on a few of the juiciest. Eventually, I decided to stick to the subject of quantum theory, thinking prudence to be the better part of something I heard once in Mr. Kier's advanced English class back in Edgewood.

“Chaos theory,” I said, "you probably remember me mentioning, tells us that small changes in a system’s initial conditions can trigger drastic changes over time—It’s called the butterfly effect.”

“Yes, I know about the butterfly effect," she said, "but what I’d like to know is why the hurricane shows up in Texas. What’s Texas got to do with it anyway?”

“Never mind Texas,” I said, "It's irrelevant. Molecular chaos tells us that confined molecules in a state of partial disorder must inevitably move toward complete disorder as the molecules collide.”

“Alright,” she said, taking a deep breath. "I give up. Let's get this over with. Continue, please."

There was a hint of resignation in her voice, and although I don't enjoy being a nuisance, I do crave her full attention. After all, she's gifted with superior cognitive ability and when she let's go, she becomes a force to be reckoned with.

“So you see,” I said, “it all boils down to this...”

“That-a-boy,” she said, “Spill it all. I'm holding my breath.”

I admit that the part about holding her breath got right by me, but I was bucked to the point of effervescence so I pressed on.

“A few squirrel families arrived in our yard and enjoyed abundant food and freedom from predators. Sitting atop the fence, day after day, leisurely enjoying a feast of fruit and nuts—they were soon noticed by other squirrels.”

“Crows too,” she said. “The crows sat in the tall dead tree and announced the feast to all of Waterford. It was like free Dunkin’ coffee and doughnuts.”

Once again, that Dunkin' motif was like a spitball coming across the plate in my first at-bat in the majors. I stepped away from the batter's box and let it go by.

The 'components' of the squirrel population," I said, "began to bump into each other. The more excited they became, the more disorder in the population until reaching total chaos.”

Her eyes had grown bigger as I moved closer to the punchline and by the time I stopped talking, she was out of her chair.

“The result was inevitable,” she said with no little enthusiasm. “Quantum determinism is realized, and where we once had seven quiet little tree monkeys playing in our backyard, we now have twenty interacting in total chaos.”

“In other words,” I said, “Surprises have emerged!”

"Genome," she said. "I think you're onto something good with this science writer idea. I have only one suggestion for improvement."

"What's that?" I said.

"Why not become a Science Writer instead of settling for being a science writer? You know," she said, "shoot for the moon."

"Capital idea!" I shouted, and I'm sure my feeling was similar to that of Archimedes when he ran through the streets yelling, "Yureka!"

And so, dear readers, I wish you a very Happy New Year! I hope you continue to follow The Circular Journey through the year. Who knows you might discover your own inner Science Writer.

Yuletide Spirit!

I wonder if you've had the same experience on days around the beginning of winter when the sky's a bright blue with cotton-wool clouds, and the air is brisk and chilling? It's a light, bright, sort of thrilling that makes me want to be out among the doings.

On this particular morning, what I wanted most was some stimulating conversation, a cinnamon scone, and a steaming mug of arabica grown on the east-facing hills of Peru but brewed right here in Port City. 

Unfortunately, I'm still afflicted with inner ear issues, the kind of issues that apparently go by the name of vertigo. That's the word people often say to me when I mention my lack of balance.

It's as though the word explains everything but I'm blowed if I get the meaning. I've always thought vertigo had something to do with a fear of heights.

Due to my intermittent woolly-headedness, Ms. Wonder volunteered to drive me to Castle Street to meet Island Irv for coffee. Isn't she sweet? She didn't want me to miss my standing appointment to sip Jah's Mercy while comparing notes on the cultural and business elite in the old metropolis.

"What time should we leave to be there on time?" she asked.

"I think about 8:30," I said.

"I'll lay out something suitable for you to wear on Sunday in the city," she said. Did I mention that I'm a tad woozy-headed and a little wobbly? 

At exactly 8:23 I was shirted, trousered, booted, and gazing in the mirror to adjust the hat. A slight tilt over the left eye, which makes all the difference.

"Poopsie," I said giving the word a little extra oomph to get it up the staircase and into her office. "I'm dressed and prepared to slip down the waterspout at your command."

Seconds later she appeared at the top of the stairs looking like the goddess Diana come to view Endymion. She gave me a concerned look. She seemed to find my appearance that of a man who has passed through the lion's den but with a much different result than Daniel.

"Do you expect me to be seen in public with you in those boots?" she said.

I looked at my feet. I found them shod in what seemed to me to be perfectly respectable manly footwear. 

"Well, I thought I would," I said. "Too much, do you think?"

"It depends on what you're going for," she said. "I once saw Mr. Gotrocks wearing boots like that while tripping the light fantastic on the dance floor in a Myrtle Beach music hall." 

Leave it to the Wonder to know the preferred styles for appearing in any social situation. There are no others like her. The angels broke the mold and whatnot.

"Tell me, Poopsie, were you always like this, or did it come on suddenly?"

"Did what come on suddenly?"

"That magnificent brain of yours. Were you a gifted child?"

"My stepmother thought I was intelligent. She often told me that I was too smart to behave this way or that. Or did she say too pretty? I forget."

"Hmmm," I said giving her remark the thought it deserved. "We can't really judge by that though. My mother thought I was a smart kid too."

"Ever been hit over the head with a chair?" she asked.

"Once," I said, "but it happened so long ago that the scar is barely noticeable. Can you see it?" I asked, pointing at my nose.

She placed a hand on her hip--akimbo, I think it's called. She said nothing but raised one eyebrow so high I worried it might get stuck.

"Thank you for driving me, Poopsie," I said because her body language indicated that, in the circumstances, discretion could possibly be the better part of valor. "I realize it's a bit of a bother for you, and I'm truly grateful."

The eyebrow relaxed. "Don't mention it," she said. "The boots are fine, just straighten the cuffs of your pants to break evenly over the tops. The way you're wearing them now gives a Willy Nelson vibe."

I did what she asked. "How's that?"

"Perfect," she said. "Now you look like the man I married." She smiled and took my arm in hers to help steady me. "I like the hat," she said.

Hearing her words, I had the sensation of being struck by lightning. I felt an infusion of holiday spirit that filled me to the bursting point. I suspect Travis must feel the same when Taylor smiles at him. 

Now I'm sure to have the merriest of Christmases. I wish you one too.

Zeus in Red Converse

I slept through the afternoon—no disturbances, no phone calls, no car alarms, or OSHA backup signals. “Peaceful” about sums it up, and peace was precisely what I couldn’t get enough of after the morning I had in the dental chair. 

The dentist claimed it was the most difficult crown he’d ever removed, and I believe it; the experience was exhausting. But let me clarify: I haven’t been deprived of crowns; I simply got an upgrade. Still, the coronation was quite demanding, and I needed a nap to recover.

I’d been awake for a minute or two—long enough to determine that I would probably survive—when Ms. Wonder peeked into the bedroom. She was wearing a geometric print blouse and black slacks. Not that it matters; I mention it only in passing.

“What’s with this?” I said. “Why aren’t you working?”

“I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Wow,” I said, “it must be serious if you’re checking on me. Does my face look swollen?”

“Not bad. How are you feeling?”

“The right side of my face throbs with my pulse, but other than that, I feel fine.”

I rolled out of bed, thinking I’d spend the afternoon at Luna Cafe. But when I walked into the kitchen, I managed to spill my water bottle, drop yogurt on my shoe, and drip coffee down the front of my pajamas.

Well, that does it, I thought. Driving to Luna would be risky. Apparently, the gods had taken the afternoon off, or maybe they’d left for Florida to escape the cold snap along the Carolina coast.

“I don’t know,” said Wonder. “Maybe you’re looking to the wrong god for support.”

I cut my eyes in her direction, surprised that she knew what I'd been thinking. I mean, sure, she works in mysterious ways, her wonders to perform and all that, but this was over the top. 

“I was thinking of Zeus,” I said, attempting subterfuge and misdirection to disarm her defenses.

“He’s not in Florida,” she replied. “In fact, he hasn’t been heard from in centuries.”

“Surely not that long,” I said.

“I’m afraid so. I’m pretty sure he’s no longer around.”

“You mean he’s clocked out?” I asked. “How did he go?”

“I think it was ruled natural causes,” she said.

“Makes sense,” I replied. “I mean, who would want to kill Zeus?”

“Probably lots of people,” she said. “He was an okay guy, but he messed around a lot. And I think he owed a bunch of people money.”

“I won’t be the same with him gone,” I said.

“It hasn’t been the same for a long time,” she said. “I’m told there’s another one now.”

“A replacement for a god? Now that’s something to think about over afternoon coffee.”

“The cycle of life,” she said.

“Well, yeah,” I said, “I suppose that’s the only way to look at it. But still, it seems like replacing a god wouldn’t be so easy. My crown upgrade was more challenging. Do you suppose they keep a file of applicants in an office cabinet somewhere?”

“I think they use an app called "Indeed" now. But however it happened, you know that Zeus wasn’t real, right?”

“Someone thought he was real,” I said, “and when you get right down to it, that’s all that counts.”

Suddenly, I remembered reading somewhere that Zeus wore red Converse tennis shoes. The thought seemed to support his existence. I chose not to bring it up, though, because Ms. Wonder appeared to be musing on what I’d just said, and that was good enough for me.

“Still,” I said, “it just feels wrong to go around replacing other people’s gods.”

“For sure,” she said.

Happy, Joyous, and Free

Belloc* wrote about "the unchanging place where all we loved is always dear."  He described it as where "we meet our morning face to face and find at last our twentieth year."

His words speak to me about memories stored in my mind and heart--memories of an idealized time where everything I once cherished—people, places, events—remain as meaningful and precious as ever.

When he speaks of facing the morning of our twentieth year, he means the place and time where we realize our cherished youth is behind us, and we come face-to-face with our future, with all its challenges and opportunities.

I read somewhere that when a patient wakes from anesthesia, the doctor asks several questions to assess their level of awareness. One of the questions is, "How old are you?"  

Regardless of the patient’s age, the first response is often "nineteen." That answer may be repeated until sufficient consciousness returns to respond accurately. 

For me, the age corresponding to Belloc's "carefree fields of a glorious period" came much later in life. I suppose the age isn't the same for all of us.

My passion for life, my friends, my overwhelming optimism, and my bubbling enthusiasm from that "glorious period" shine through in every story that Princess Amy shares with me about the present—whether joyful or sorrowful, whether truthful or embellished.

The Genome I remember before "meeting my morning face to face" was a kind, chivalrous, naive, aunt-ridden, code-driven, schoolboy.

I tend to overlook the low expectations for happiness that haunted those mornings. It was sufficient for me to simply escape uncomfortable circumstances.

In The Circular Journey, the Genome frequently faces bewilderment, indignity, and bullying. The source of my predicament typically lies with one of two nemeses—either Fate's practical jokes or my misguided belief that I'm the Lord of Misrule.

I almost always pay for my escape through some form of atonement or forfeit, but in the end, I'm happy to simply escape unscathed.

There’s an important life lesson in all of this—a lesson that, if I truly embrace it, could potentially transform my life and help me live happily, joyfully, and freely. However, I don't have a clue what that lesson might me. If you have any insights, please share them in the comments.

* Joseph Belloc was a French-English writer, historian, orator, poet, sailor, satirist, soldier, and political activist. The words quoted in this post are taken from his poem, "Dedicatory Ode"