Tag Archives: life

EDC*

Definition: Everyday carry…a collection of useful items that are consistently carried on a person every day.

No, not random crap. But rather, everyday carries.

Is it a statement of preparedness, nostalgia, practicality, or yet another kind of subculture? In a brave new world of intense connectivity, where many people understandably seek privacy and anonymity, I thought this concept might offer a platform for gentle revelation.

I want to recognize our tendency to over-idealize things. Mitch Albom, from Tuesdays With Morrie fame, noted “We are too involved in materialistic things, and they don’t satisfy us. The loving relationships we have, the universe around us, we take these things for granted.”

In contrast, I’d like to allow for the occasion that treasured items might actually provide a carpet ride to another more revelatory place. Design as Art author Bruno Munari said, “When the objects we use every day and the surroundings we live in have become in themselves a work of art, then we shall be able to say that we have achieved a balanced life.”

I used to regularly carry a funny looking titanium utensil called a spork that attached to a carabiner. At varying times it functioned as a screwdriver, a fork, a spoon, and even as a wrench. It became a favorite carry of mine. Is that really different, other in magnitude, from the bloke who preens over his Bentley SUV?

A spork, an old everyday carry of mine

If a face can launch a thousand ships, then a favorite item can spark a revealing conversation. Then there’s the My Essentials Series, 10-Things I Can’t Live Without. Comedian Jerry Seinfeld, for example, shares why yellow legal pads and Bic pens are important tools in his life. I love that simple items can be a platform for self-disclosure and revelation–the magical interlude when someone brings enthusiastic candor and transparency to the moment. In effect saying, “I’d like to tell you a little bit about who I am as a person.”

My current everyday carry…

My everyday carry includes from top left…A notebook and roller ball pen for fun writing when on the run, my favorite old-school analog watch from a California company, Vaer, my wallet with key documents including my passport and Peaks Island annual ferry pass, a good read I can tuck into my backpack–in this instance, The Barn, a non-fiction work about the 1955 murder of Emmett Till in Mississippi, glasses from Warby Parker, a pocket knife with practical blades and tools, my iPhone, Warby Parker shades and finally, my necklace with silver charms from different countries I have visited.

This batch of everyday carry reflects, I think, my love of traveling, of staying off the couch, of leaning in toward old-school, of valuing simplicity.

Now it’s your turn. What does your everyday carry say about you? I’d like to know.

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Heaven’s Fall

Note: This post was authored by one of my students, Aylin Aydogdu. Aylin is enrolled in two of my writing classes here at Daugavpils University in Latvia. She is from Kayseri, Turkey, and her English, she is proud to say, is self-taught. Aylin, 21, is an international student participating in Europe’s Erasmus Program, and is a full-time student at Erzincan Binali Yildirim University in Turkey.

Aylin Aydogdu

The ground beneath my feet had always been steady, like the promises of my parents to keep me safe. But that day, it betrayed us. The earth, which I thought was my friend, roared and shook so fiercely that I couldn’t stand. My sister screamed, and I tried to hold her hand, but we were yanked apart as everything fell apart around us. The last thing I remember was her small fingers slipping from mine as the ceiling came crushing down.

I woke up under a sky I didn’t recognize, gray with dust and shadows. I was surrounded by rubble, cold and sharp, pressing against my skin. I called for my sister, my mom, my dad…No one answered. Hours passed – or was it days? I don’t know. Time felt broken, like everything else.

When they finally found me, I was too tired to cry. The rescuers pulled me out, their hands rough, but warm. They told me I was lucky. I didn’t feel lucky. As they carried me away, I saw a man sitting in the rubble, holding a small, lifeless hand sticking out from beneath the concrete. His tears had frozen on his face from the cold, and he didn’t move. They told me later he had waited there for 3-days, refusing to let go of his daughter’s hand. I didn’t know her name, but I felt like I had lost her too.

They took me to a shelter where the air smelled like wet clothes and sadness. Everyone had the same hollow look, their faces pale and drawn. A woman sat rocking back and forth, clutching a shoe that belonged to her son. A boy about my age stared blankly at the floor, his arm in a sling. He didn’t speak, not even when I tried to talk to him. Maybe he had run out of words.

I don’t know if I’ll ever have words to describe what I felt. Unadulterated anger, sadness, fear – they all tangled up inside me, fighting to take over. I’d close my eyes and see my sister’s hand reaching for me. I’d hear my mom calling my name, my dad’s voice telling us to run. And, I’d be up shaking, the sound of collapsing buildings still echoing in my ears.

They tell me I have to move on, that life goes on. But how can life go on when everything that made it worth living is gone? I lost my family, my home, my school, my friends. Even the toys I used to play with, the ones that made me feel safe, are buried under the rubble. And every time I think about it, I feel like I’m buried there too.

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Just Curious, Why Did Curiosity Kill The Cat?

I’ve had a lifelong habit, some in my family would say, obsession, of checking where things are made. I have been laughed at for looking for dates of manufacture, or cranking my head upward to look for the year when a building was built. I am simply curious about such things.

Just the other day here in Tallinn, Estonia, we scheduled ourselves for a local tour, as we often do when visiting a new city. For The Communist History of Tallinn, we were greeted by young Marko, an outgoing local, half-Jewish Estonian, half-Bulgarian, he was quick to tell us. We are already curious. As he begins the tour he displays a single blue card about the size of a sheet of paper covered in plastic. It contains a series of dates, flowing like a river, depicting key events that took place here during WWII. It became the focal point for 10-minutes of jaw-dropping history. Marko had ignited our curiosity.

Our tour guide, Marko, piquing our curiosity.

Back in Latvia, I am working on a project with local English teachers. They’re interested in improving their teaching effectiveness in the areas of Critical-Thinking and Reading. Disconcertingly, reading amongst younger students, we discuss, is a waning skill. How can adults, parents and teachers, stimulate reading curiosity in their students?

A Youtube video reel flashes across my computer screen. It quickly describes 6-Japanese Productivity techniques, one of which is called Shoshin. Originating in the 13th Century, Shoshin is a Zen Buddhist concept based on the principle of approaching every activity with the same curiosity as a wide-eyed beginner-engaging with childlike wonderment.

Fear it appears, discourages curiosity. What one might find around the corner, or under that cover, might be too scary for comfort. And for those reluctant to step out of their Comfort Zones, curiosity, is best left for cats.

But I’ll continue to indulge my curiosity-checking labels to see where my clothes are made. Heck, I even check the occasional fire hydrant or manhole cover to see where they are manufactured. Perhaps not surprisingly, many these days come from foundries in India. I wonder, just how many cats have been killed by being too curious?

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