Hi all,
Welcome back to the semifinal round. Winner goes on to the final in mid-July against 'komorebi'...
Thanks for your time and attention as always. It is very much appreciated.
The next post will be on Monday, sometime between 5am and 6am EST.
Enjoy the rest of June.
Tim
Lost In Translation- Second Semifinal
meraki- Greek adjective
Pouring yourself wholeheartedly into something, such as cooking, and doing so with soul, creativity, and love
--vs.--
iktsuarpok- Inuit noun
The act of repeatedly going outside to keep checking if someone (anyone) is coming
I worked on this pairing for about thirteen minutes before I got stuck. When I get stuck, I usually just write down everything I can think of. Once everything possible is on paper, I sort out the mess and, eventually, find that my true feelings about the matchup emerge in the process.
It took awhile this time, though. I first wrote a bit about 'counter proverbs' and speculated how those proverbs that do not have a contradicting twin usually point at a universal truth. I couldn't come up with anything that went against the idea of living fully in the present so it seemed like I had a starting point from which to push 'meraki' forward into the final.
But then I realized that 'good things come to those who wait'...
Meraki 1, Iktsuarpok 1.
I thought about what I mentioned in the tournament recap post, that elements of both words live on in the process of writing. You pour yourself into it and produce utter rubbish (which I've been informed is called The First Draft). You put it aside and edit, add, delete and repeat, until you have something closer to the real thing (which I've been informed is called The Final Draft).
But the only thing that you are really doing is waiting for the product to emerge. Each time you look at the draft, the only thing you look for is whether that product has arrived yet.
It is hard to really separate the role of each in the writing process, so...
All tied at two points apiece.
I considered possible ways to unearth the deeper meaning of each word. But as I reviewed the previous entries involving these words, I saw that I already covered these ideas.
'Meraki' allows us to achieve by holding our fears and insecurities at arm's length to allow full dedication. We apply all our creative energy into a project, a dream, a moment. We lose track of the mundane that constantly weighs us down. It is among the best ways we know to fully immerse ourselves in the present.
'Iktsuarpok' is subtler. It is a way to achieve by embracing a balance of past and future. There is regret and hope in equal measure. To wait without knowing connects past and future together. It is among the best ways we know to look ahead without losing track of what has passed.
Perhaps there is a hair to split in the above but I could not find it...
3-3.
I suppose when the facts fail to clarify a decision, all that is left is to trust my own instincts and make the call. To me, the idea of 'trusting your instincts' is a way to consider my own experiences. What have I done and how has it shaped me? What have I learned from all of this?
Since this tournament's premise revolves around the past year, I thought about what I've done this year. And the realization I had was this- I don't remember much from the past year, at least in terms of things I did and the specific dates those events took place.
I remember a few calendar dates. I remember going to a Lake Street Dive concert in late August and seeing Muse a few months later. I remember a nightmare that shook me up for a full week after. I remember a night out with my brother in September. I remember using a pay phone, getting laid off, and my cousins from Japan visiting, all in January.
So, not much. My memory bank is like a computer with a file missing. Something should be there but I cannot find it.
Or maybe it is like how when someone leaves you in a room. You can feel the trace of presence that lingers there. But it will not point you to where that person is hiding.
On its own, this revelation is not particularly notable. People forget. And I don't remember anything from two years ago, for that matter. But there is something else to think about and that is June of 2015. Because another thing I learned this year is that my recollection of last June is razor sharp.
On this day last year, just as an example, I remember that I accompanied my mom to a chemotherapy treatment. Like all the other treatments in June, it did not go particularly well. But it was unlike all the others ones, too, because instead of returning home as usual we decided to keep her in the hospital.
I remember how I left work that day, early relative to colleagues but at that stage the usual time for me. I stopped at the building's vending machine to buy Doritos, the only thing Mom was eating at that point. Since the direct bus into downtown Boston did not run at noon, I went the longer way, taking the 132 into Oak Grove. From there, I rode the Orange Line all the way into Roxbury Crossing and walked a few minutes to Brigham and Women's Hospital. I remember stopping in the cafeteria to pickup a butterscotch pudding dessert and heading across the bridge connecting the hospital to Dana Farber with it in hand. I remember seeing an advertisement on the way that if you donated blood that month you would get a pair of sunglasses that were just the kind I like- free.
The whole month has been like that. I wake up, venture into a new day, and at some point I recognize a new one year anniversary.
Today was the day we got sushi. Today was the day Mom stopped speaking. Today was the day I brought sake to a party. Today was the day I laughed along with friends, friends who had all lost their fathers, as they shared funny Father's Day stories. Today was the day of the bumpy ambulance ride- 'like a ride at three flags' was Mom's verdict. Today was the day I rode the 47 bus to the H Mart. Today was the day Mom made fun of my brother for his jeans being too tight. Today was the day I got those sunglasses at a beer festival (for free, of course). Today was the day I skipped the company boat cruise. Today was the day we went to Ittoku for the first time. Today was the day I went for a six hour walk. Today was the day Mom started speaking on the phone again.
I remember conversations with specific people. I remember marveling that the timing of the books I was reading was impeccable. I remember the conductor on the train who, for some reason my brother and I never quite figured out, declined to charge us for a single train ride we took from Norwood to the city after visiting our parents. I remember walking home down Newbury Street late every Sunday night after those free train rides. I remember running every day, just after dawn, not quite in time to beat the sun up but still early enough to squint into its early morning glare. On and on like that, memories only from June of 2015.
So where did the rest of the past year go? Where was I and what was I doing?
I guess I was biking, pedaling pointlessly, meandering through Boston and Cambridge, turning around in Brookline, Somerville, Dorchester, going everywhere and nowhere on rides stretching through the night until tomorrow blended into today. I was volunteering, more so than ever before, using my vacation time to contribute midweek, finally doing something on my own that I always happily got pulled into but never put in the effort to initiate. I was working, somewhat ironically putting together the half year that I am proudest of, a six month stretch in which I finally tore down the divide between self and employee. I was writing, hours spent digging many holes that I eventually refilled, occasionally finding something worth keeping, always considering where the shovel went next.
The more I thought about the past year, the more I thought about 'meraki'. What I recall of the past year is a list of things that I fully absorbed myself into. These experiences were valuable. They made excruciating times bearable. They don't have timestamps, I suspect, because the essence of the word is full absorption into the moment.
In acknowledging how I lived up to the 'merkai' idea, I see how investing wholeheartedly can happen even when you feel heartbroken. If the glue isn't ready yet, you can at least corral the pieces until it is time to reassemble the fragments.
I've started to get a better picture in this past month of how reassembling these fragments might happen. I'm starting to feel the energy needed to do this, the internal spark required to put in a sustained effort for the long haul.
June has been the most difficult month but I'm getting through it better than I've gotten through any other month. In fact, I'm almost surprised by how easy it's been to get through. Memories come, sometimes they are difficult, and maybe I even need to sit down to think about it. But I do what I need to and get on with it.
It is just like last June, in fact, the way I'm getting on with it. Its funny how similar the two Junes are in that sense. Throughout the course of this month, the sense of myself coming back, in the way you do after returning home after a long trip somewhere, grows each time I recognize a connection from this year's calendar to last's.
The concept of a trip reminds me of the Japanese word 'omiyage'. This word translates pretty much to souvenir, which is probably why it did not make it into the book on which this bracket is based. But there is a difference and the difference is important to me.
The difference is that a souvenir is something you get for yourself to remember a trip by. An 'omiyage' is a gift from a trip for family or friends at your destination. It's usually a local product from where you are arriving.
At some point, I'll be back from my own journey. Maybe I'm already back. I'll know for sure the day I look in the mirror and recognize my full return. But the return has been spoiled a little bit because I know what the 'omiyage' is going to be. It'll be a blueprint, a set of ideas and principles for how I can be my best self at all times.
It'll be drawn up around the framework of June 2015, a month that I look back on now and see as a first glance at that best self. That was a month where I was fully on point. I did things I valued with courage and heart. I observed the many different ways we extend kindness to one another and felt firsthand the eternal value in those acts. It was a time where I discovered how many people lived as their best selves every day. In interacting with these living examples, I furthered my own understanding of being your best and ratcheted my expectations for myself even higher.
My memories of the time are full of sadness and regret and disappointment but these are good memories, too, because it was my best self that responded to circumstances and pushed on as well as I could. This past year, when I immersed myself fully into so many things, was just an exercise in patience, the way I waited until I was ready to return to becoming this person I glimpsed last June.
I read just a week ago that one gift of grief is the return of yourself. I understood that sentence instantly. Having a full sense of yourself is truly a gift that keeps on giving.
It's a gift worth waiting for, even if each month to come turns out like this one and stretches my trip out a little longer. Until the waiting ends, I'm prepared to go outside everyday, just to check and see if I'm arriving.
Lost In Translation Final- July 15 (rain date- July 19)
'komorebi' --vs.-- 'iktsuarpok'
Welcome back to the semifinal round. Winner goes on to the final in mid-July against 'komorebi'...
Thanks for your time and attention as always. It is very much appreciated.
The next post will be on Monday, sometime between 5am and 6am EST.
Enjoy the rest of June.
Tim
Lost In Translation- Second Semifinal
meraki- Greek adjective
Pouring yourself wholeheartedly into something, such as cooking, and doing so with soul, creativity, and love
--vs.--
iktsuarpok- Inuit noun
The act of repeatedly going outside to keep checking if someone (anyone) is coming
I worked on this pairing for about thirteen minutes before I got stuck. When I get stuck, I usually just write down everything I can think of. Once everything possible is on paper, I sort out the mess and, eventually, find that my true feelings about the matchup emerge in the process.
It took awhile this time, though. I first wrote a bit about 'counter proverbs' and speculated how those proverbs that do not have a contradicting twin usually point at a universal truth. I couldn't come up with anything that went against the idea of living fully in the present so it seemed like I had a starting point from which to push 'meraki' forward into the final.
But then I realized that 'good things come to those who wait'...
Meraki 1, Iktsuarpok 1.
I thought about what I mentioned in the tournament recap post, that elements of both words live on in the process of writing. You pour yourself into it and produce utter rubbish (which I've been informed is called The First Draft). You put it aside and edit, add, delete and repeat, until you have something closer to the real thing (which I've been informed is called The Final Draft).
But the only thing that you are really doing is waiting for the product to emerge. Each time you look at the draft, the only thing you look for is whether that product has arrived yet.
It is hard to really separate the role of each in the writing process, so...
All tied at two points apiece.
I considered possible ways to unearth the deeper meaning of each word. But as I reviewed the previous entries involving these words, I saw that I already covered these ideas.
'Meraki' allows us to achieve by holding our fears and insecurities at arm's length to allow full dedication. We apply all our creative energy into a project, a dream, a moment. We lose track of the mundane that constantly weighs us down. It is among the best ways we know to fully immerse ourselves in the present.
'Iktsuarpok' is subtler. It is a way to achieve by embracing a balance of past and future. There is regret and hope in equal measure. To wait without knowing connects past and future together. It is among the best ways we know to look ahead without losing track of what has passed.
Perhaps there is a hair to split in the above but I could not find it...
3-3.
I suppose when the facts fail to clarify a decision, all that is left is to trust my own instincts and make the call. To me, the idea of 'trusting your instincts' is a way to consider my own experiences. What have I done and how has it shaped me? What have I learned from all of this?
Since this tournament's premise revolves around the past year, I thought about what I've done this year. And the realization I had was this- I don't remember much from the past year, at least in terms of things I did and the specific dates those events took place.
I remember a few calendar dates. I remember going to a Lake Street Dive concert in late August and seeing Muse a few months later. I remember a nightmare that shook me up for a full week after. I remember a night out with my brother in September. I remember using a pay phone, getting laid off, and my cousins from Japan visiting, all in January.
So, not much. My memory bank is like a computer with a file missing. Something should be there but I cannot find it.
Or maybe it is like how when someone leaves you in a room. You can feel the trace of presence that lingers there. But it will not point you to where that person is hiding.
On its own, this revelation is not particularly notable. People forget. And I don't remember anything from two years ago, for that matter. But there is something else to think about and that is June of 2015. Because another thing I learned this year is that my recollection of last June is razor sharp.
On this day last year, just as an example, I remember that I accompanied my mom to a chemotherapy treatment. Like all the other treatments in June, it did not go particularly well. But it was unlike all the others ones, too, because instead of returning home as usual we decided to keep her in the hospital.
I remember how I left work that day, early relative to colleagues but at that stage the usual time for me. I stopped at the building's vending machine to buy Doritos, the only thing Mom was eating at that point. Since the direct bus into downtown Boston did not run at noon, I went the longer way, taking the 132 into Oak Grove. From there, I rode the Orange Line all the way into Roxbury Crossing and walked a few minutes to Brigham and Women's Hospital. I remember stopping in the cafeteria to pickup a butterscotch pudding dessert and heading across the bridge connecting the hospital to Dana Farber with it in hand. I remember seeing an advertisement on the way that if you donated blood that month you would get a pair of sunglasses that were just the kind I like- free.
The whole month has been like that. I wake up, venture into a new day, and at some point I recognize a new one year anniversary.
Today was the day we got sushi. Today was the day Mom stopped speaking. Today was the day I brought sake to a party. Today was the day I laughed along with friends, friends who had all lost their fathers, as they shared funny Father's Day stories. Today was the day of the bumpy ambulance ride- 'like a ride at three flags' was Mom's verdict. Today was the day I rode the 47 bus to the H Mart. Today was the day Mom made fun of my brother for his jeans being too tight. Today was the day I got those sunglasses at a beer festival (for free, of course). Today was the day I skipped the company boat cruise. Today was the day we went to Ittoku for the first time. Today was the day I went for a six hour walk. Today was the day Mom started speaking on the phone again.
I remember conversations with specific people. I remember marveling that the timing of the books I was reading was impeccable. I remember the conductor on the train who, for some reason my brother and I never quite figured out, declined to charge us for a single train ride we took from Norwood to the city after visiting our parents. I remember walking home down Newbury Street late every Sunday night after those free train rides. I remember running every day, just after dawn, not quite in time to beat the sun up but still early enough to squint into its early morning glare. On and on like that, memories only from June of 2015.
So where did the rest of the past year go? Where was I and what was I doing?
I guess I was biking, pedaling pointlessly, meandering through Boston and Cambridge, turning around in Brookline, Somerville, Dorchester, going everywhere and nowhere on rides stretching through the night until tomorrow blended into today. I was volunteering, more so than ever before, using my vacation time to contribute midweek, finally doing something on my own that I always happily got pulled into but never put in the effort to initiate. I was working, somewhat ironically putting together the half year that I am proudest of, a six month stretch in which I finally tore down the divide between self and employee. I was writing, hours spent digging many holes that I eventually refilled, occasionally finding something worth keeping, always considering where the shovel went next.
The more I thought about the past year, the more I thought about 'meraki'. What I recall of the past year is a list of things that I fully absorbed myself into. These experiences were valuable. They made excruciating times bearable. They don't have timestamps, I suspect, because the essence of the word is full absorption into the moment.
In acknowledging how I lived up to the 'merkai' idea, I see how investing wholeheartedly can happen even when you feel heartbroken. If the glue isn't ready yet, you can at least corral the pieces until it is time to reassemble the fragments.
I've started to get a better picture in this past month of how reassembling these fragments might happen. I'm starting to feel the energy needed to do this, the internal spark required to put in a sustained effort for the long haul.
June has been the most difficult month but I'm getting through it better than I've gotten through any other month. In fact, I'm almost surprised by how easy it's been to get through. Memories come, sometimes they are difficult, and maybe I even need to sit down to think about it. But I do what I need to and get on with it.
It is just like last June, in fact, the way I'm getting on with it. Its funny how similar the two Junes are in that sense. Throughout the course of this month, the sense of myself coming back, in the way you do after returning home after a long trip somewhere, grows each time I recognize a connection from this year's calendar to last's.
The concept of a trip reminds me of the Japanese word 'omiyage'. This word translates pretty much to souvenir, which is probably why it did not make it into the book on which this bracket is based. But there is a difference and the difference is important to me.
The difference is that a souvenir is something you get for yourself to remember a trip by. An 'omiyage' is a gift from a trip for family or friends at your destination. It's usually a local product from where you are arriving.
At some point, I'll be back from my own journey. Maybe I'm already back. I'll know for sure the day I look in the mirror and recognize my full return. But the return has been spoiled a little bit because I know what the 'omiyage' is going to be. It'll be a blueprint, a set of ideas and principles for how I can be my best self at all times.
It'll be drawn up around the framework of June 2015, a month that I look back on now and see as a first glance at that best self. That was a month where I was fully on point. I did things I valued with courage and heart. I observed the many different ways we extend kindness to one another and felt firsthand the eternal value in those acts. It was a time where I discovered how many people lived as their best selves every day. In interacting with these living examples, I furthered my own understanding of being your best and ratcheted my expectations for myself even higher.
My memories of the time are full of sadness and regret and disappointment but these are good memories, too, because it was my best self that responded to circumstances and pushed on as well as I could. This past year, when I immersed myself fully into so many things, was just an exercise in patience, the way I waited until I was ready to return to becoming this person I glimpsed last June.
I read just a week ago that one gift of grief is the return of yourself. I understood that sentence instantly. Having a full sense of yourself is truly a gift that keeps on giving.
It's a gift worth waiting for, even if each month to come turns out like this one and stretches my trip out a little longer. Until the waiting ends, I'm prepared to go outside everyday, just to check and see if I'm arriving.
Lost In Translation Final- July 15 (rain date- July 19)
'komorebi' --vs.-- 'iktsuarpok'
