Let me be, I don't want to fall another moment into your gravity
I am horribly naive, but I prefer it that way.
This is the conclusion I have drawn from the book I’m currently reading, called But What If We're Wrong, by Chuck Klosterman. Chuck writes with a sense of sarcasm and looks at the world somewhat unconventionally with this need to question every damn thing, which makes for good reading on a fairly wide range of subjects. He is known as an essayist and I find that kind of writing is where he really shines, but there really is something for everyone. For anyone who hasn't read his work, I highly recommend you do so.
Anyway, in his introduction to this book, Chuck mentions how gravity as we know it might only be partially explained, leaving us with lots of wrong answers that we accept on an objective level. It brought to mind an argument between the characters of Phoebe, a flaky hippie, and Ross, a paleontologist with a doctorate, on the popular TV show Friends. Chances are high that you saw those names and didn't need me to name the show. You've probably seen this episode. Phoebe questions, first, evolution, and then gravity, debating its existence and even the type of the direction of the force being exerted. "Lately," she says, "I get the feeling that I'm not so much being pulled down as I am being pushed." Everyone laughs. Ross pops a blood vessel in his forehead.
And, in this scenario, I am, at least inwardly, Ross. I would like to think I would not throw a tantrum if someone disagreed with my thoughts on gravity. (I cannot say the same about my views on movies, but I digress.)
Look, I am not very good at handling that level of uncertainty - I know this about myself, that's why I don't go to magic shows - but spend a great deal of time learning as much as possible to eliminate it by providing an endless parade of answers, answers, answers.
But, I wonder, am I really eliminating it?
I took a class in wellness once and there are various dimensions of wellness, the number of which varies depending on the theorist. There's physical wellness, spiritual wellness, occupational wellness, and so on. I learned that actions informed by one type of wellness, such as reading to engage and improve intellectual wellness, can overlap with other wellness dimensions, like emotional wellness if the reading is for escapism.
I think this is the case for me. But reading is much more than mere enjoyment. The pursuit of the intellectual soothes what would otherwise bother me in regards to uncertainty. I derive the emotional from the intellectual, not in spite of it.
Now, there is the ironic catch-22 that the more we learn, the less we know, which I learned at 7 years old from The Hogan Family theme song. Yet, for the most part, I do feel soothed by reading. It fills the black holes with … something.
I think this is why I read and watch movies and listen to music. It calms the part of me that is frantically searching for answers.
It gives even more credence to Chuck Klosterman's argument, too. Sometimes we just want to know. Not know, but "know." We placate ourselves because something at least halfway feasible is better than a verified nothing. So we believe scientists and findings and studies and the latest literature in the same way that those who have faith unquestionably hold to scripture or the words of religious leaders.
So, if I've learned nothing else this far, I will give my fiancé the benefit of the doubt and humour him on his theory of who assassinated John F. Kennedy, to which I used to respond, "Are you sure it wasn't Colonel Mustard in the library with the candlestick?"
Now, to gravitate away from these thoughts (see what I did there?) for a fun little exercise in creativity and my swiftly diminishing long-term memory, I do want to venture into my own personal version of what Chuck Klosterman describes as the few times he got something right ("the exceptions") in contrast to the many times he was wrong (the "most things").
Because that's the beauty of learning. To get from the "most things" to "the exceptions", the list will always be wildly unbalanced and never in your favour. Anyone who thinks they have been right more than they've been wrong … well, they're wrong right there.
My List of Times I Got It Wrong (Massively Abridged for the Sanity of Readers)
The time I confidently fell asleep on the sofa during U.S. election night, confident I would wake up to the first female American president, Hillary Clinton.
Not saving my allowance as a child and letting compound interest work its wonders, instead of buying the third Spice Girls album (the one without Ginger).
Thinking I'm fine until the next rest stop.
Every single time I felt like a slippery eel covered in sunscreen with SPF bajillion and someone said, "Do you want more?" and I said, "No thanks, I'm good." (You remember this moment and hate yourself when you're looking down later that very same day at your Elmo legs and your lobster body.)
My published review of Adele's album 19, where I thought she wouldn't amount to much.
The wedding vows at my first marriage.
The time I swore I would never need a smartphone.
Treating all-you-can-eat buffets like a challenge.
Taking anyone's word that something doesn't have raisins in it.
The fifth drink in two hours.
The time I filled two gigantic emergency jerry cans as part of a COVID-19 quarantine kit days before the self-isolation orders and watched gas prices plummet the next week.
Karaoke.
Pulling an all-nighter before heading back by bus from Montreal to Toronto on my grade 8 grad trip thus sleeping the entire ride home.
That time I spelled it "pidgeon" and my third-grade teacher made me write it out fifty times the correct way. (Maybe that's why I dislike birds…)
Every single time I try to play along with The Price is Right.
My List of Times I Got It Right (Not Nearly As Abridged As I'd Like It To Be)
When the teen tournament runs on Jeopardy.
Every game of Trivial Pursuit.
When the fiancé asked me what type of animal family orcas belong to, and I said the dolphin family.
Betting on Kelly Clarkson as the first American Idol.
Bulk buying toilet paper.
This is the conclusion I have drawn from the book I’m currently reading, called But What If We're Wrong, by Chuck Klosterman. Chuck writes with a sense of sarcasm and looks at the world somewhat unconventionally with this need to question every damn thing, which makes for good reading on a fairly wide range of subjects. He is known as an essayist and I find that kind of writing is where he really shines, but there really is something for everyone. For anyone who hasn't read his work, I highly recommend you do so.
Anyway, in his introduction to this book, Chuck mentions how gravity as we know it might only be partially explained, leaving us with lots of wrong answers that we accept on an objective level. It brought to mind an argument between the characters of Phoebe, a flaky hippie, and Ross, a paleontologist with a doctorate, on the popular TV show Friends. Chances are high that you saw those names and didn't need me to name the show. You've probably seen this episode. Phoebe questions, first, evolution, and then gravity, debating its existence and even the type of the direction of the force being exerted. "Lately," she says, "I get the feeling that I'm not so much being pulled down as I am being pushed." Everyone laughs. Ross pops a blood vessel in his forehead.
And, in this scenario, I am, at least inwardly, Ross. I would like to think I would not throw a tantrum if someone disagreed with my thoughts on gravity. (I cannot say the same about my views on movies, but I digress.)
Look, I am not very good at handling that level of uncertainty - I know this about myself, that's why I don't go to magic shows - but spend a great deal of time learning as much as possible to eliminate it by providing an endless parade of answers, answers, answers.
But, I wonder, am I really eliminating it?
I took a class in wellness once and there are various dimensions of wellness, the number of which varies depending on the theorist. There's physical wellness, spiritual wellness, occupational wellness, and so on. I learned that actions informed by one type of wellness, such as reading to engage and improve intellectual wellness, can overlap with other wellness dimensions, like emotional wellness if the reading is for escapism.
I think this is the case for me. But reading is much more than mere enjoyment. The pursuit of the intellectual soothes what would otherwise bother me in regards to uncertainty. I derive the emotional from the intellectual, not in spite of it.
Now, there is the ironic catch-22 that the more we learn, the less we know, which I learned at 7 years old from The Hogan Family theme song. Yet, for the most part, I do feel soothed by reading. It fills the black holes with … something.
I think this is why I read and watch movies and listen to music. It calms the part of me that is frantically searching for answers.
It gives even more credence to Chuck Klosterman's argument, too. Sometimes we just want to know. Not know, but "know." We placate ourselves because something at least halfway feasible is better than a verified nothing. So we believe scientists and findings and studies and the latest literature in the same way that those who have faith unquestionably hold to scripture or the words of religious leaders.
So, if I've learned nothing else this far, I will give my fiancé the benefit of the doubt and humour him on his theory of who assassinated John F. Kennedy, to which I used to respond, "Are you sure it wasn't Colonel Mustard in the library with the candlestick?"
Now, to gravitate away from these thoughts (see what I did there?) for a fun little exercise in creativity and my swiftly diminishing long-term memory, I do want to venture into my own personal version of what Chuck Klosterman describes as the few times he got something right ("the exceptions") in contrast to the many times he was wrong (the "most things").
Because that's the beauty of learning. To get from the "most things" to "the exceptions", the list will always be wildly unbalanced and never in your favour. Anyone who thinks they have been right more than they've been wrong … well, they're wrong right there.
My List of Times I Got It Wrong (Massively Abridged for the Sanity of Readers)
The time I confidently fell asleep on the sofa during U.S. election night, confident I would wake up to the first female American president, Hillary Clinton.
Not saving my allowance as a child and letting compound interest work its wonders, instead of buying the third Spice Girls album (the one without Ginger).
Thinking I'm fine until the next rest stop.
Every single time I felt like a slippery eel covered in sunscreen with SPF bajillion and someone said, "Do you want more?" and I said, "No thanks, I'm good." (You remember this moment and hate yourself when you're looking down later that very same day at your Elmo legs and your lobster body.)
My published review of Adele's album 19, where I thought she wouldn't amount to much.
The wedding vows at my first marriage.
The time I swore I would never need a smartphone.
Treating all-you-can-eat buffets like a challenge.
Taking anyone's word that something doesn't have raisins in it.
The fifth drink in two hours.
The time I filled two gigantic emergency jerry cans as part of a COVID-19 quarantine kit days before the self-isolation orders and watched gas prices plummet the next week.
Karaoke.
Pulling an all-nighter before heading back by bus from Montreal to Toronto on my grade 8 grad trip thus sleeping the entire ride home.
That time I spelled it "pidgeon" and my third-grade teacher made me write it out fifty times the correct way. (Maybe that's why I dislike birds…)
Every single time I try to play along with The Price is Right.
My List of Times I Got It Right (Not Nearly As Abridged As I'd Like It To Be)
When the teen tournament runs on Jeopardy.
Every game of Trivial Pursuit.
When the fiancé asked me what type of animal family orcas belong to, and I said the dolphin family.
Betting on Kelly Clarkson as the first American Idol.
Bulk buying toilet paper.
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