Singularity of Premise

When you are a kid, you believe things in very simple manners. “It was Wendy’s fault (my older sister).” I’d proclaim this when asked by my parents what all the noise was about. This was one of those simple manners for me. To be fair, Wendy had several assertions of cause about me too. I’m glad that she and I are close in our adult lives — she is someone that I respect dearly.

Such certainty goes with that developmental stage — we were five and seven. You hold on to a belief (without ever calling it that), not because it is a true expressions of what is really going on, but because it comforts. It is convenient. Or it just gets you out of trouble.

When you grow up, which I believe is a process that extends well past puberty and early adult life, you start to see the complexity of things. You start to see that many factors contribute to not just a description of a static occurrence, but to a dynamic of something that is ever evolving. Why do we have climate change — there are many contributing factors. Or, in retrospect, why were Wendy and I making a lot of noise — we both contributed to it, not to mention some of the environment that was our home.

I continue to observe in myself and in others, personally and professionally, that increasing complexity requires all of us to expand the premises of causality and relational dynamics that are in play at any one time. It’s easy to attribute sole fault to another person, but that’s usually just emotional laziness. Or complacency. Or manipulative convenience.

It takes some skill to hold multiple contrasting views at one time. It takes some humility to recognize when we are just speaking louder with hopes of cajoling or bullying people into what is really one of many stories that we are trying to sell as a singular story and premise.

This is not easy work. And not what I would expect our five or seven year-old selves to do. But when your in your 50s, wow — this becomes really important in contributing to a peaceful world and community. It becomes essential to navigate the noise that has gone way past “who took my bubble gum.”

I have hopes for all of us in this. Fears too. Doubts too. And I recognize we need friends to grow into our grown selves, past the time when reductionism protected us (or at least we thought it did) to the imperative of inter-weaving multiple premises at one time. Singularity of premise masquerades as clarity, but masquerades often end at the chime of midnight.

It’s midnight, and time to get to the pluralities essential for our sanity, survival, and evolution. As a species. As communities. As families. And as individual navigating such complex times.

Dads & Sons

This week, along with friend Roq Gareau, I hiked to Kanarraville Falls with my son Isaac, shown above. Yes, he’s taller than me now — that happened a few years ago. Isaac is going to school in Cedar City, Utah, about three hours south of where I live.

When I speak of what it is like to live in Utah, I often speak of it’s geography. The red rock is something I have not known or experienced in other places. It’s wild. It’s inviting. It’s rugged. It’s beautiful.

I love it that this was a hike that my son has taken before and that he wanted to show to me and Roq. We followed a trail, crossing a very chilly creek 8-10 times, eventually climbing next to falls cascading through the slot canyon. The red rock walls were 80 feet tall.

It’s something we’ll all remember.

 

Utah Valley in Fall

Recently, at my son’s invitation, I drove with him and one of my closest friends to this lookout over Utah Valley. It’s a 20 minute winding road to get here, highlighted by beautiful fall colors.

There are moments in which good company, and a view from above are all that matter.

I love in this moment the reaching view of Utah Lake, the reds and oranges of these Wasatch Mountains, the nestled buildings and community in the valley that is Provo and Orem, the clouds turning pink in the setting sun.

Shortly after taking this photo, a 60s-something woman, strapped to paraglide, ran off the mountain side, and joined a couple of hawks in search of thermal lift.

Quite lovely.

Labyrinth at Ignite

One of the things that I continue to be a student of is relationship to center.

It is where I’ve learned to look for what arises and what emerges. For groups, yes. But within me also.

I love how a labyrinth envelops me in this relationship and attention to emergence.

I love the movement toward, and then away. I love the directionality that is not a straight line.

I particularly love in this labyrinth at La Foret the trees that are within it. I paused with each of them.