the joy of NOT doing everything

Every new place I travel, I make a bucket list specific to that place.  It has things that I want to see and do in that city (go to the Tate Modern in London), foods I want to try (a ‘submarino’ in Buenos Aires), experiences I want to have (climb the Eiffel Tower stairs on my last night in Paris), and even personal goals (read a book in French while I lived Montreal).  Inevitably, at the end of my trip, I find myself with way more bucket list items than remaining days in that place. 

            When I first started traveling, I tried to push myself to complete every. single. item. on that list before I left.   I spent my last few days in a place hardcore touristing, ignoring friends, ignoring work, ignoring the outside world, and feeling harried and rushed.  And I wondered why I never felt at peace about leaving.

So, in Barcelona, I tried to outsmart myself.  I scheduled everything out so I could make sure I had time for everything.  But without the sense of urgency that an upcoming flight to another continent provides, I found myself seriously undermotivated.  Things came up, I took pijama days instead of day trips, and I stayed out late with friends instead of getting up early to head to that museum exhibit.  I was in Barcelona for 10 months.  There was PLENTY of time for me to do everything on my list, with a lot of room to spare.  Did I do it?  Of course not. 

To be honest, after a certain point, I just stopped trying.  Instead, I spent most of my last week reliving some of the highlights of my Barcelona experience.  I went to skate at the rink where I’d been taking lessons for six months.  I rode my bike down Diagonal to the beach.  I had coffee with a big group of friends in the middle of the day.  I worked in the mornings in the peace and quiet and stability of routines I knew well.  I got a big salad from my favorite place and ate it on the secret terrace behind Casa Batllo. I sat on my gorgeous terrace and watched the sun set over Sagrada Familia and the sea and drank wine and looked up at the stars.  I went to lunch with friends and finally went in the Mediterranean (in the middle of the night, and not even in Barcelona).  I said goodbye at my own pace.

In the end, I left my list woefully incomplete.  I never made it to the Hospital Sant Pau (a particularly heinous omission, since it was just a few blocks from my apartment!), never saw Gaudi’s crypt, and never did take that trip to Tarragona.  I didn’t finish reading La Catedral del Mar (only made it about halfway), and never even came close to reading even a young adult book in Catalan.  I’m okay with it, really.  I guess I’ll just have to go back...

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(This post was written at the Oslo airport during a connection from BCN to JFK, after living in Barcelona for 10 months.)

an overwhelming world

I walked into the first gallery.  It was cool, quiet, except for the characteristic squeak of museum floorboards, and dimly lit.  A sharp contrast to the city outside- oppressively hot and humid, and equally oppressively chaotic and confusing.   The gallery contained celedon ceramics from the 10^th-14^th centuries.  Each one was housed in its own glass case, neatly lined up to follow the curve of the building.  Each one in the same pale green color.  There was just such a simple, gentle elegance to these pieces, and to the way they were presented.  It was minimalist without being boring.  The sense of order allowed me to really see each piece without feeling overwhelmed.   It was the physical embodiment of “less is more.”  

This part of the museum is in the shape of a castle- a fortress to protect the ancient art, and, by extension, to protect the visitor from the outside world as well.   And I thought, “this is how I want my life to feel.”  Simple, but interesting.  Calm and peaceful and unhurried inside, even when the world outside is anything but.   To curate an oasis of calm inside my head.   To have time and space to think… what a luxury.  But I wondered if I could find a way to create that same feeling without having to hole up in dark fortress and isolate myself…

            Initially, I was more excited about the second gallery.  Modern art is more my style.  I love art that pushes boundaries and “disturbs the comfortable.”  This gallery was arranged quite differently.  No more circular building with one clear path.  This building was a jumble, with bits and pieces sticking out here and there and nooks and crannies to explore.  The large windows invited the chaotic world in and allowed it to interfere with your experience.  There was no clear path, I found myself heading towards whatever caught my attention first.  I could feel the change from the calm, simpler world in which the art of the first gallery was created to the chaotic and overwhelming world that created the more modern art.  It felt like an assault on my senses.  You could see the attempts some of the more abstract artists made to create even a temporary sense of calm with monochromatic and two-dimensional paintings.  You just knew they felt the overwhelm, too.  And that was before the Internet… 

The theme of this gallery was expressionism.  Normally, a theme I love and care deeply about.  But maybe lately, I’ve just been overwhelmed with what feels like shouting.  Everyone is compelled to share their story, to find what they are passionate about and share it with the world.  To express themselves.  After a while, it all becomes noise.  Don’t get me wrong- I love that we live in a world where we can and are expected to express our true selves.  I want that for all of us, and I’m happily participating in it.  It’s just overwhelming.  Some days, it overwhelms me in a good way, like when I see incredible street art, or when I came across a team of prisoners carefully tending the public rose garden in Portland.  And some days, it overwhelms me to the point where I want to tune it all out and go sit in the closet for awhile.  The world is an overwhelming place.  My goal is to find ways to manage the bad overwhelming, to have more time and energy for the good overwhelming. 

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(This post was written after visiting the Leeum, Samsung Museum of Art in Seoul, South Korea.)