48) I'm a Curious Sloth

Self-ish-ness, the shoe vacuum, and more!

Here’s what went on over here last week: I stayed in the same sweats and tee shirt I slept in, wore them all day, slept in the fit again and wore it all day again and YES, slept in a third night. I caved and showered and changed on day 3.

My creative output equaled exactly zero for two entire days, as did most other activity. This might sound like a person who is in the grips of a paralyzing depression, but I felt quite content and can’t offer an explanation why this happened—and happens on occasion. Not too often, but it does happen. This time, I observed and documented myself and really tried to notice what’s going on.

I’d throw on some sneakers and a jacket for short forays outside to walk or get food. Sometimes I examined stupid stuff at TK Maxx and thrift stores, but bought nothing. (I’m anti stuff lately, but very pro looking at stuff.) My eating was random but not too terrible. I admonished myself several times to “at least go to the gym and workout,” but it never happened—could have even kept the same ‘fit on! I hate going to the gym until I do it, then I’m fine with it. Trying to improve on this deal, use the knowledge to affect a change—been trying for about 30 years now and still not there.

I take care of basic household chores—my UK place is too small to allow for mess, so I get the dishes done, the clutter organized, the cat litter dealt with, the trash out to the dumpster. I do some of what I call “shoe vacuuming.” I hate pulling out the vacuum cleaner. I hate the noise it makes, the annoying maneuvering of its various parts, the putting it back. Instead, I scrape the carpet with the side of my foot and gather up loose shit into a ball which I then pick up and toss. It doesn’t completely eradicate the need to vacuum, but it buys some time. In Austin I had the same housekeeper for 17 years, coming 2x a month. Here it seems pointless, I have the time, my place is small.

Days like this make me wonder where I actually reside on the spectrum of shiftless, lazy sloth-dom. I suspect, if it wasn’t for the ingrained linkage of productive human ratio to self worth that capitalism has infiltrated into every aspect of Western life, I might easily let time pass idly more often and for longer periods.

productivity = sun and happy face

Self-esteem, self-regard, self-respect, self-worth, self-confidence. Seems like a self needs a lot in order to enjoy itself at a higher level. I wonder what part of myself is conjuring up these attributes and what part of myself is receiving them? They aren’t all the same and the distinctions are notable, with self esteem being the basic ingredient. A basic ingredient that begins in childhood. Those who had the good fortune to get support and attention, feel valued, seen, heard, and have formative positive experiences with the outside world and humanity—they get a head start. I’m one of the lucky ones who got enough to have a healthy baseline. There were enough lapses and missing chunks thrown in for good measure, ie, an absent father, mother’s general inability to parent, and garden variety childhood trauma in the forms of abandonment and instability—but these are part of my recipe too and are the source of most of my resilience, character and ambition.

Let’s face it, a human built on nothing but solid self-esteem is a bland, tasteless concoction.

Anyway, circling back to where I think I was going with all this, is how I noticed that doing nothing action-oriented-productive affects me. I need to do nothing at times, and yet it comes at a price and brings into sharp focus how much my own self worth is tied into productivity. Sometimes at the end of the day I have to write a list of what I “accomplished” so that I feel good enough to lay down and rest. And I do believe it’s a Westernized cultural phenomena inextricably woven into capitalism—although I readily admit I blame capitalism for just about everything these days: climate change, the homeless, failures of the healthcare system, environmental ruin, racism, the patriarchy, income inequality, genetically modified food, corrupt judiciary and politics, the prison system…you name it, I can trace it to unchecked, late stage capitalism. No, I’m not a commie, and from what I can tell, the system worked fine when rich people paid their taxes. It’s a topic I love to dig into, but once the research drifts into economics my brain starts dissolving.

I wonder, as a coming of aging person, how lost days of sloth might be just me dipping my toe into the world of the oldster. The peaceful grand-human rocking in their chair, doing absolutely nothing and watching time go by—have they "earned” that? Yes indeed. Are they considered worthless in our society? Yes indeed.

One thing about the sloth days—my brain is active and working even if my body isn’t. Reading, learning, internet diving, checking out music, history, tech, science, art—there’s so much to know about. Being interested and curious, wondering, about anything and everything—it’s my coming of aging superpower.

“Anything and everything” is certainly an exaggeration. I steer clear of celebrities, gossip, the royals, politics and sports, none of which I find interesting.¹ (caveat in footnotes)

In my missing few days of non-productivity I did tons of research and reading on Web3, the Metaverse, and AI—specifically the new company that’s cracked the ChatGPT and music code, Suno AI. It’s a brave new world coming at us so fast and furiously, I think it would spin anyone’s head off. And an awful lot of people, including artists, are not going to have jobs, are not going to be able to rely on what they used to do to get by. When I started the Direction of Motion, I was thinking about this stuff—it’s part of what interests me the most: how do we find or make a place in the world when everything we know or identified as or worked as is obsolete? I got here because I’m 65, my kid is grown, my band is retired, and it’s the natural order of things. What’s going to happen to the people younger than me who get here before their time?

Anyway, on a less scary level, we all know the parent or relative who is confounded by their Iphone, fully grown adults who don’t know the difference between a browser and a search engine, and even young people who don’t know what a server is. I’d like to remind you to try and keep up. Model that for your kids, because they are going to need every skill we had and ones we can’t imagine. You don’t have to be an intellectual giant or even understand it all, just stay curious and interested, don’t run away because it’s complicated and new. And it’s great for self-worth—I just love myself to death when I figure something out or know what I’m talking about.

There’s a man who plays guitar on the street here in St Albans, a busker; his playing is exquisite, like Grant Green or Wes Mongomery or Kenny Burrell level good. Mainly jazz, but also beautiful instrumental renditions of other songs, Eleanor Rigby etc. I’ve noticed and loved him for years, hearing these crystalline notes floating through the air when I’m walking up French Row. I slow my pace and make a wide circle so I can listen longer. For some reason I never stopped and talked to him, although he’d always nod and thank me when I dropped money in his case. I think once I said “you play beautifully” when I was passing by in-between songs. But I never just stood and listened—maybe because everyone else is just going about their business, with this beautiful playing soundtracking the streetlife—maybe I was just being a conformist, acting the way everyone else did. Yuck.

this painting captures French Row better than a photo - by Donna Borg

Recently, to my horror, I realized I hadn’t heard or seen him playing in a while. Every day I hoped he’d be back, and when he wasn’t, my dread grew. He’s an older man, so who knows? I wondered who I could ask—I’d never seen anyone talking to him, and he moved around different parts of the street or town center. The regret began to eat at me. Why hadn’t I shown him my appreciation, stop and talked to him about his choices of material, talk about my love of jazz. Why hadn’t I introduced myself, asked his name? Adding to my sorrow was genuine confusion, because it’s not like me at all. Encountering a human who is enhancing my experience of life on a nearly daily basis is the exact sort of thing I acknowledge.

After 16 days of missing the guitar guy, yesterday he was there. I was elated. I went right up to him, told him I’d missed him, asked about his whole deal, bought a CD, talked about “Round Midnight” which was on the CD I bought (my favorite song ever.) I found out he’d gotten a degree in physics from the renowned Imperial College but became so enamored of music, that’s all he wanted to do and all he’d done since graduating. Amazing. I want to know more, like why busking? Does he busk because how else can you play in front of people every day all day? Anyway, I’m so grateful I got a chance to correct my weird lapse and look forward to knowing more. His name is Chris Flegg and he plays beautifully.

Speaking of appreciation—thank you for the time you took to open and read the Direction of Motion. I’m moving in a good direction, I’m sure of it, and many of you have been alongside since the start. I feel really lucky to have your interest and support. This is what keeps me going and keeps me remembering I’m a writer who wants to write a book and stories and you’re part of that and I sincerely cannot say enough thanks! xKV

1. Unless it’s NBA playoffs. And not being into politics doesn’t mean I’m not an activist or an engaged, informed voter.