Montreal

It feels really good to be back here. It still feels like home to me. I'm so grateful that my parents are still healthy and here to receive me, and also they've been here to provide a home for Aiyana while she's studying at McGill.

Reflections on my 53rd Birthday

On my 53rd birthday, I've had the opportunity and the leisure to take a little time, and I wanted to share some of my reflections here.

I've realized that I am no longer young - young, but still young enough. Not young enough to be nervous and insecure so much of the time, but young enough to have dreams and be excited about them, and possibly even be okay when they don't work out. Do you know what I mean? 

I have a certain amount of experience, a certain amount of wisdom. I still have enough energy and good health to do the things I want. For that, I am so grateful.

Fundamentally, I deeply understand now that nobody is going to come and save me. I have everything I need to answer the most pressing questions myself. And if I don't have the answers right now, then somehow I've come to trust that life will allow me to come to an understanding. All I need to do is hold the questions in a sincere way.

Though I love to inquire and explore and see what others have thought, I realize that nobody else's answers will ever fully suit our particular situation. So, while it is important to reach out to others and learn from their experiences—while that is absolutely fundamental—at the same time, our experience is unique and, as such, will have unique answers.

I have also realized that everything is possible in every way—in good ways and not so good ways, in pleasant ways and in painful ways. On a personal level for example, it is possible to have connections that were deep and meaningful be severed and fade away. It is possible to misinterpret, to be misinterpreted, and for that misunderstanding to bring pain on both sides.

And yet, it is also possible to learn about letting go and still somehow hold on to a bit of sweetness. I think sometimes that maybe that metaphor is not so bad, maybe the best way to live is a little bit like the proverbial leaf blowing in the wind—releasing what needs to be released, moving with life, and yet somehow still adhering to a set of unshakable fundamentals. Is that even possible? I don't know. I'll let you know when I do.

In more tangible terms, I realized—happily—that some of the major things that have always driven me are still here with me, like trusty, reliable old friends. Even though I have neglected them at times, they are still part of me, as strong as ever.

For example, my intellectual curiosity, which has always been a great source of joy and connection in m life, as far as I can remember. It is still here! I am as curious as ever, as excited as ever, to learn about so many things. For example, I want to dive into art and art history. I want to educate myself on culture, on Iran and Turkey, on Nietzsche and the ancient Greeks, on architecture, on the Middle East. I want to understand more about physics. I want to understand, in fundamental terms, what a field is, what gravity truly is, what these forces that shape our reality mean at their core. What is the meaning of a unifying theory? Is there such a thing?

I want to read Proust. I want to read Stalinistkin. I want to learn more about classical music and different kinds of music. I want to travel—I know that I want to travel. I want to keep learning.

And, very importantly, I want to contribute. I realize that while nobody has the full answers, together, we all hold part of the answer. When done with good intention, our efforts can truly help a world that has always needed so much help—and now, still, urgently needs to contribute in our own positive, unique ways. I believe I have some things to contribute, and I am excited to do so.

So these are some of my reflections, and this is where I find myself on my 53rd birthday. If I had to sum it up, I would say that I feel a sense of openness, a sense of freedom, a sense of excitement, and also a sense of sadness—a deep acknowledgement of how muddled things can become, both on a large scale and on a personal scale. Not everything will turn out the way we hope, even when it's right and good. But there is a sense of freedom and lightness in acknowledging that, and moving on to doing things with a good heart anyway.

I am grateful for my life and everything I've learned and experienced, and I hope to be able to keep learning and contributing in a positive way. Thank you for reading this blog, still.

Peace

Why?

 There is this image I can't get out of my head:

When Sena, Aiyana and I were driving back from Montreal after Christmas, just before we got to the US border, we saw a cat walking right near the highway. It was limping and it was bitterly cold outside. I couldn't pull off and stop safely right away, so I kept driving, and by the time we had decided what to do, we drove a ways. But we did turn around and went back to look for the cat. We found it, and just as we were about to get out of the car, another car had also stopped to help it. 

By this time, the cat was in the middle of the road and clearly disoriented. The guy who got out from the other car and I were trying to have a look and decide what to do. The poor cat was in terrible shape. There was so much stuff oozing from both of his eyes, and he smelled terrible. The fur on his paws was almost gone. 

The guy from the other car said he couldn't take the cat. We clearly couldn't just leave it on the road. It was way too cold. We had no idea where a vet was, but Sena got on her phone and found one half hour away and we put the cat in a cardboard box we had in the car and drove to the vet, which was back towards my parents' house, the opposite direction from where we were initially driving.

In the car, the cat just curled up in the box and was motionless for most of the time. He smelled really bad.

Our hope was that when we got to the vet, either they would take the cat or tell us where we could drop him off, like an animal shelter nearby. However, when we got there, they were about to close and they told us we couldn't leave him there, and they couldn't see him for a consult either. The closest other place we could bring him, they said, was back near my parents' house, about one hour back to where we had just come from. They called a couple of animal shelters who said they could not take him. 

While sena and Aiyana and I were deliberating what to do, a nurse came out and said they'd take a look at the cat if we wanted, but they still could not keep him. We said okay. The vet was super nice, and when she examined him she said he was in really bad shape. He had been out in the freezing cold for a long time, she said, so much so that his body temperature was too low to even register on the thermometer. He was severely hypothermic, and he was missing an eye. All that stuff oozing from his eyes made it hard to even tell what was going on, but she confirmed that this was the case. He was also missing a bunch of teeth and she said that he smelled so bad because he was probably riddled with worms and had really bad diarrhea. She concluded by telling us that the kindest thing to do was euthanize him. She said that if we brought him to the emergency clinic, it would be at least $1000 and she didn't know if he'd make it anyway with all his problems.

We would have had to turn back to Montreal and either stay while he was at the emergency clinic until he got better if he got better, or leave him with my parents and then try to find a home for him. Clearly, we could not bring him to the US, across the border, with no papers and no information.

None of the options seemed good, and the vet strongly suggested that the kindest thing for him was to put him down. So we went with that. 

Before we did it, we did our best to make him comfortable, warming him up with a heating pad, and  petting him. He seemed very weak, to the point where he could not stand, but he seemed at peace and as we were petting him and speaking to him, I hope that he felt cared for and at ease for the last moments of his life.

After putting him down, there was a whole other thing, because we could not just leave him at the vet. They could have cremated him but it would have cost an additional $90 on top of the cost of the euthanasia so instead we opted to take him with us and bury him. 

Now the problem was that we were supposed to cross the US border soon, and we couldn't just cross with a dead cat who had also just had all kinds of disease. We had to bury him, but the ground was frozen stiff. Sena and Aiyana and I went to a hardware store and try to buy a shovel. They told us they had no shovels to dig in the ground because it was winter.

We then started deliberating whether we should just leave him in a patch of woods on the side of the highway (Sena didn't like this option because other animals might eat him and get poisoned by the euthanasia medicine); or should we just throw him in a garbage bin instead? This would possibly avoid the predator poisoning problem, but Aiyana and I didn't like this option for moral and aesthetic reasons. We didn't know what to do but we realized that the cashier, who was this 14 year old boy, was probably freaked out quite a bit by this time, as we loudly and in a panicked kind of way argued about where to bury the body, without once having mentioned that we were referring to a cat. We left the store and got back to the car.

We started driving away still not knowing what to do. I think we probably would have gone with a woodsy option, when crazily enough we drove right passed a cemetery. We all agreed on the spot that this was the right place for him, so I did a U turn yet again and we pulled on the side of the road. The cemetery was covered in snow, but there was a brush pile to one side, which was bordering on a large field, and that's where we buried him. We covered him with some sticks and snow and said goodbye.

It was quite an adventure, and by the end it was so ridiculous, with the disposal of the body argument, that we ended up laughing quite a bit. 

Still, the suffering of this poor little cat, the sheer amount of difficulty it endured has stayed with me and every once in a while I think about him and my heart breaks every time to imagine him alone, trudging through the snow for who knows how long, hungry, sick, and alone. It just seems like so much suffering makes no sense and the only thing I can think of is "why".

I hope so much that he felt a sense of relief, maybe a little comfort; maybe he was able to relax a bit feeling that he was cared for his final moments.

Peace

Made some exciting connections today, which I'd like to remember moving forward

(random unrelated picture of my plant, but I wanted to share it because it's beautiful)

Here's a string of connections that has made me happy today:

Kieslowski (after watching the first episode of Dekalog) - which led me to explore -

Hegelian dialectic (specifically the Thesis/antithesis/syntheses cycle - which led me to view -

Conflict as an essential part of the process of moving forward, and even a positive contributor to the process. 

I am so grateful to all the artists and the thinkers and all of those who share their struggle and somehow, through their own experiences and insights, find a way to convey beauty, hope and a sense of unity to the rest of us.

.

Peace 

...

Happy 21st birthday, Sena!

I am beyond blown away and humbled by this incredible human! She's so compassionate and caring about the wellbeing of others; she's a fighter, fierce, intelligent, and well spoken. She's an amazing climber, a supportive sister and friend, and so much more. Just a beautiful human overall. I am so incredibly lucky to be able to be by your side for a bit!

Happiest birthday, Seni! Love forever 

Peace

Midlife realization

We get trapped in these roles, these expectations we place on ourselves and others, and those that others place on us. At first, these roles and expectations are useful and necessary: they help us make sense of the world and provide a structure to navigate it. They give us a way to define ourselves, to understand who we are and how we fit into the larger picture. But over time, if we’re not mindful, these same patterns and mindsets can harden, becoming a carapace, a shell that confines us, a prison wall that keeps us locked inside.

I've seen this dynamic play out in myself and others. 

Our world begins to shrink. It becomes small and limited, and often lonely. We get stuck, living worm out scripts, unaware that we can rewrite them. Often, we don't realize that we can break free, or if we do, we're afraid to go there. 

But, it might be helpful to consider that the structures we once needed no longer serve us or others, and beyond those walls is something vast and alive.

This doesn't mean that the world outside is painless. Despite what we've been taught, especially by capitalist, consumerist culture, the world is not there to make us feel good or cater to our needs. Yet, it’s also not as terrifying as we often imagine. This realization can bring quite a bit of freedom. There's an excitement in tearing down walls, stepping into the openness with curiosity instead of fear.

A powerful form of love is connecting with what's out there —the small joys, the beauty and the struggles; the ordinary and extraordinary—and adding our own small touch to it, our genuine effort to make it just a little bit kinder, a little gentler. As we do this, we become freer, and the world itself a little less heavy. 

I hope that you're all good, and I hope that this is relatable in some way. Thank you for reading.

Good bye good boy Bunchie !

Today was a hard day. Our cat Bunchie became paralyzed in the morning. I took him to the vet and they diagnosed thrombosis, ie. a blood clot blocking his arteries, as well as developing heart failure. Apparently this can happen all of a sudden in cats, and the prognosis is not good, so we decided it was best to put him down. I was holding him in my arms and speaking with him and petting him as the doctor gave him the anesthetic. He seemed relaxed and at ease, and I think he had a peaceful transition.

He was 13. I'm really grateful that we were able to give him a good life on the farm, and a peaceful transition today, but I'm still really sad that he's gone and all that's left are our memories of him.

He loved to come sleep on our lap. Here, he's taken over my physics equation sheets a few years ago, haha.

I'm really going to miss him, and I know that the girls will as well. He was a big part of their lives growing up.

I'm also grateful for one last lesson he taught me today, about love and dying. Even though I was crying in the car afterwards, I felt kind of happy at the same time, knowing that I was able to be there for him, hold him, play some nice music for both of us on the way to the vet, letting him know he's not alone.

When I brought him back home, before burying him, I laid him down in the sun on the bench where he sat with me on sunny mornings when I drink my coffee. We sat listening to the birds one last time. Sun, birds, someone you love. Life is pretty simple when viewed this way. And it's also really hard and complicated, which is why it's so important to be there for each other.

Good bye, Bunches! Rest in Peace