In Praise of Serendipity

Plans raise expectations regarding those plans. But, things rarely go as planned, and we are rarely without plans. So, we've pretty much guaranteed we'll be constantly disappointed because of our expectations brought about by plans.

If one doesn’t have a plan one can’t be disappointed at the plan not going as planned. However, can you imagine doing anything without a plan? Neither can I. Therein lies our problem.

The joy of loose plans.

Loose plans allow for serendipity. Serendipity is the soil of the unexpected blessing.

Sixteen family members. Two condos. One week. I had two hours away. I drove into Coeur D’elene with a loose plan. I hoped to find a book store and a coffee shop. I thought I remembered where the coffee shop was, and I had no idea if a book store was to be had. So, in reality my plan was to look for a book store and have a coffee if I remembered where the coffee shop was. I had no expectations regarding the book store and low expectations regarding the coffee shop.

A good one-of-a-kind artsy coffee shop is like being 6 and getting a back rub from Mom. It’s that comforting, that centring. So, I was hoping to find the coffee shop called Doma. I had been to downtown Coeur D’elene two years before and had chanced upon it. I drove down the main street, Sherman Ave., fairly certain this was where I wanted to be. Sure enough, I recognized the right block even before I saw the coffee shop. Unexpected blessing number one. (U.B. #1)

There was a parking spot. I parked. (U.B. #2)

Knowing coffee was waiting I started down the main street looking for a book store. I wasn’t in a hurry, it was a sunny day, I was really enjoying strolling down the street. (U.B. #3)

I didn’t find a book store on the main street, so I went one block north and headed back toward my car and the coffee shop. If I couldn’t find a book, at least I’d have a nice relaxing Americano.

With only one more block to go I found a book store. But not just a book store, a second hand book store. (U.B. #4&5)

I like book stores, but I really like second hand book stores. One hasn’t really been to a place until one has found a good one-of-a-kind second hand book store, chatted with who ever is behind the counter and petted whatever animal is usually lounging about.

Anyone who frequents second book stores will tell you second hand book stores embody the notion of loose plans. You don’t go to a second hand book store to find and purchase a specific title. You go to browse. Not the digital sense of “browse” in which one, oxymoronically, makes use of a “browser” to carry out a laser focused 30 second mission on Amazon.com seeking and destroying an itch of impulse. I mean the pre-digital version of browse, in which one’s body is employed in the act of browsing.

If Amazon.com is, well, the Amazon, a second hand book store is, by contrast, not. It is little creeks and streams. Every collection of creeks and steams bears a haphazard topography laid out at the book seller’s whim. One becomes familiar with each book shop’s unique topography only by lazily drifting through the shelves, noting the hand scrawled way markers, and perhaps, or perhaps not, charting a mental map of one’s wanderings.

In a second hand book store one hopes a book calls out to you. While this may sound odd to some, it makes perfect sense to frequenters of second hand book shops. Within five minutes a book called out to me. “The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich,” by William L. Shirer. Simon and Schuster, 1960. A beautiful little book. (U.B. #6)

I picked it up and made a pretense of further browsing, perhaps something better would present itself. After about 20 seconds I admitted to myself further browsing would be fruitless, I would be buying this book. Given my limited time I moved toward the counter.

Once at the counter I commented to the gentleman behind the counter that I hadn’t known what I wanted to buy before I came into the shop and had hoped a book would call out to me. This was akin to walking into an ice cream store and telling the proprietor you had hoped to buy ice cream and this seemed like a good place to do so. Not knowing what you want is the whole point of second hand book shops, frequenters of second hand book shops know this, and certainly proprietors of second hand books shops know this. None the less, books calling out to one is sort of a secret code in the second hand book shop world and I wanted him to know he wasn’t dealing with a neophyte.

The proprietor informed me that he and the gentleman standing beside me had been chatting about the very topic of entering a second hand book shop not knowing what one hopes to buy single handedly verifying my assertion about the loose plan-ed-ness of book shops. He then relayed a story to me. A woman from Seattle had been browsing in the metaphysics section when she came to the counter to make purchase. She told him she had no idea what the book was about, but since it had her business card tucked in its pages, she thought she had better buy it. A free story. But not just a free story, a free story about serendipity. (U.B. #7&8)

I asked if he happened to know if this text was indeed the definitive text I thought it was. He confirmed it was considered authoritative on the subject of the Third Reich. The author had been a journalist in Germany for much of the goings on and on top of that had managed to write a readable book. A beautiful little book worth reading. (U.B. #9)

I made my purchase, bid the book seller adieu, and headed toward the coffee shop. I had found a book and still had plenty of time for an Americano. (U.B. #10)

I went to Doma and ordered my Americano. The woman who owns the shop is a naturally gregarious, warm and cheerful person. Regulars came and went. She struck up conversations with first time customers. She chatted with a new customer which resulted in a newly discovered common friend, unexpectedly the common friend came in the shop. To the shop owner, this was delightful and she freely communicated her delight. It was infectious. Having no part in the conversation what so ever, merely being present my spirits were lifted. (U.B. #11)

My Americano was excellent. (U.B. #12)

I handn’t expected to write while on this vacation. It seemed reasonable given the point of the affair is to gather and visit with extended family. Lots of loud chaotic meals, boisterous talking, much laughing, but more than likely, very little writing. Sitting in this comforting little coffee shop having encountered no less than twelve unexpected blessings I found myself feeling so light, I began to write. (U.B. #13)

I began, “Plans raise expectations regarding those plans. But, things rarely go as planned, and we are rarely without plans.”

The Hooniss of Destiny

The Hooniss of Destiny. It sounds like some ribald inside joke my friend Stephen Toon might make up, and then he’d sing a song about the Hooniss of Destiny and we’d all pee ourselves laughing. Ribald inside jokes are not what I’m talking about.

I actually mean the who-ness of destiny. But if I put The Who-ness of Destiny in a subject line it would look like some weird Dr. Suess thing, which it isn’t. Thus, The Hooniss of Destiny, just to get you in the door.

Anywho. I was thinking about the who-ness of destiny today. How destiny isn’t about what we do, it’s about who we are. Well, it is about about what we do, but first it’s about who we are.

I can’t help but notice a sudden proliferation of media offerings dealing with some sense of destiny, i.e. every comic book now turned movie—Spiderman currently leaping to mind.

There is also a fairly recent twist on the hero/destiny theme. That twist being a focus away from an idealized singular definition of heroic perfection, in the model of, say, 1950’s Superman; and toward individual giftedness, in the model of The X-Men or the Fantastic Four. Likewise, television shows like Heros, Lost and, I hate to admit having watched, BattleStar Galactica,[or Crapple Star Craptactica as it’s know around our house] also take up this idea of destiny. Again the twist being destiny is attached to who one is, specifically, or what abilities and experiences one brings to the table, rather than destiny being attached to a generalized universal ideal.

While the recent twist toward particularity is a welcome one, I can’t help but notice it is still limited. Particular destiny takes place within the confines of narrative structure. Therein lies our problem. Narrative structure is linear. In a sudden paroxysm of honesty we might also admit human experience as being just as linear—at least in terms of time and space. Our fictional counterparts are constrained by the front and back cover. Our a temporal plane, and our particular destiny with it, is similarly constrained by linear time and space.

If I believed, as some do, that human existence lies solely in the physical realm then I would by necessity concede to a linear existence and only a linear existence—perhaps that’s why the idea of time and faster-than-light- travel are of such fascination, particularly, my personal observation seems to attest, to those who ascribe to a strictly physical existence; in a purely linear physical realm, the discontinuity of time travel and faster-than-light travel are the only means of transcendence.

However, I believe our human existence is more than a temporal existence, and is therefore not bound to a solely linear existence. I believe there is more to us than our physical selves, and that ultimately our existence lies primarily in the realm of relationship. Relationship is decidedly non-linear. By relationship I don’t mean online dating forums. By relationship I mean human interrelatedness in all its various forms, intensities, trajectories and textures. By relationship I mean, as network theory is increasingly showing, that we are all connected. All of us. The whole world. We may not be intimately connected to a Tibetan goat herder, but we are connected.

Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on your perspective, it doesn’t stop there. Despite our existence being fundamentally relational we are also uniquely individual. We are persons. Indeed, all matter in the universe can be understood through varying lenses of granularity, varying boundaries of meaning, from quarks to galaxies. But the boundary of meaning which seems to have universal and lasting impact throughout history is the boundary of personhood. Concurrent with this boundary of personhood, or self, is the notion of freedom. The ways and means of freedom have varied wildly throughout the ages. What may seem a suffocating co-dependant shackle of responsibility to one person is freedom pure and true to another. The common thread is that with every conception of individual personhood comes a notion of freedom. The idea being that while a person’s exterior circumstances may be out of one’s control the freedom of personhood allows for an interior freedom, a freedom of will. Indeed this freedom of will is one of the defining boundaries of personhood.

So we are relational, but we are also individual persons of free will. Relationship and freedom are two concepts which present annoying difficulty at their marriage. From the rocky and inexorable marriage of the these two ideas comes the giant complex hair-ball of human existence.

Here’s what I think; The marriage of relationship and freedom seen through the lens of what-ness is untenable. The marriage of relationship and freedom seen through the lens of who-ness holds deep promise.

“This is how much God loved the world: He gave his Son, his one and only Son. And this is why: so that no one need be destroyed; by believing in him, anyone can have a whole and lasting life. God didn't go to all the trouble of sending his Son merely to point an accusing finger, telling the world how bad it was. He came to help, to put the world right again.” John 3:16-18 The Message

As far as God is concerned who beats what every time. It doesn’t matter if what is religion, tradition, propriety, power, wealth or prestige. God’s non-negotiable in acting throughout history isn’t what, it’s who. In God’s biblical narrative when people place their future hope in who rather than what, things seem to work out pretty well. Further, when people place their future hope in who and the who is God, well things seem to work out just about every time. In the biblical narrative God doesn’t talk about what he is, but who he is, i.e. I AM the God in the stories of Abraham, Issac and Jacob, I acted in the dirt and sweat of real people’s lives and in every instance proved myself trustworthy, that’s who I AM. A future hope in the who-ness of God brings about a what-ness of possibility. Who trumps what every time.

We seemingly have a grasp of this divine priority. Watch the news after a house fire or a flood and what do people always say? We lost the house, but thank goodness everyone is okay. Our family is all here and that’s the important thing. The who-ness of the situation supersedes the what-ness of the situation. When something drastic occurs which dislocates, disrupts or disturbs the what-ness of existence the importance of who-ness becomes obvious, to the point of post-fire interviews becoming a cliché.

The post-fire family is a particular cluster of who existing in a particular spacial and temporal what. More importantly, the family only exists through a particular what. We are persons, but we are embodied persons. Unless one ascribes to Gnostisism, there is no who without what. Which is all well and good while houses are burning down, because in that instance we have a firm grasp of which is more important. However, most of our lives are not spent doing post-fire interviews. Most of our lives are spent in regular predictable what-ness. Sometimes we start to believe, to our peril, what-ness supersedes who-ness.

It’s everywhere. It happens every time adherence to a system hurts a person, every time a technique places someone on the margins, every time a way of doing things isolates us, every time power pushes down, every time wealth pushes away, every time a clock causes annoyance, every time a measuring tape settles a dispute, every time a calculator controls a person’s future, every time a number comes before a name, every time getting from here to there doesn’t involve human contact, every time a “worship experience” is delivered like a package, every time a child is limited by propriety, what takes precedence over who. You can see why we’d get confused. In our culture this kind of stuff is everywhere.

Once we concede to the false supremacy of what-ness we set ourselves up for a further error. If regular and predictable what-ness becomes stale and dreary, we start to look for something beyond the confines of our spacial and temporal what-ness. We look for transcendence. We start looking for destiny. But because we’ve already made the mistake of conceding the supremacy of what-ness, and because what-ness will always crowd its way to the front of attention if we let it, we look for a destiny of what-ness rather than a destiny of who-ness.

Here’s the problem, a destiny of what-ness is linear. It must follow the parabolic arc of closure. Like narrative form discussed earlier, a destiny of what-ness must abide temporal and spacial constraints. In a destiny of what-ness you have to find the right mate, conquer the right enemy at the proper time, win all the marbles, lose your shirt, get the right stuff, do the right things, avoid the right things, be at the right place a the right time, say the right thing to the right person, breath the right breath. Sacrifices may have to be made so as to do the right thing at the right time on our way to destiny. Invariably, if what-ness has crowded its way to the front of our attenetion,sacrifices must be made in the realm of who-ness. These sacrifices are seen as necessary costs on our way to our particular destiny.

Our part may be small, so the saying goes, but it is still important. This is suppose to be of comfort? Even the smallest part requires a sacrificial and unfailing allegiance to one’s destiny, and within the linear confines of space and time, if you mess something up, there’s no going back. You have one shot to make all the sacrifice worthwhile. Talk about pressure.

What constantly niggles at the back of our brain is that while being part of something greater than ourselves is one of our most basic human needs, the tyranny of getting our part right and the sacrifices needed to do so are absolutely more than we can bear. If the resolution of whatever is greater than ourselves is dependent on our getting the right thing right at the right place and in the right time we don’t want the part, no matter how small. It’s too much to ask. We rail against the thought. Life shouldn’t be that destined, even for something as good as destiny.

Looking again to pop culture we see a yearning for release from the tyranny of getting destiny right. Current heroes are flawed. They make mistakes, they stumble, they fall, they don’t see their destiny, they don’t seek their destiny, they are reluctant heroes. It might be destiny, but nobody wants it. And no wonder. It’s a natural reaction to the iron handed parabolic arc of resolution and closure. We don’t want a destined destiny.

Or do we? We don’t want destiny, but we do want destiny. We don’t want a predestined destiny, but in all the narratives human kind holds dear the hero eventually gets it right, even the flawed and stumbling hero. Even in our post-modern thrice removed self reflected ironic world of anti-heroes, there is still the parabolic arc of closure. Stories not possessing the hallowed parabolic curve aren’t long for this world. We want our narrative structure to have resolution thank you very much. Perhaps obscurantist and obtuse resolution, but still some kind of resolution somewhere on some level.

So we’re back to square one. We want destiny. But we don’t want the tyranny of being destined. Two perfectly nice ideas doomed to a failed marriage.

I think the problem lies in our getting wrong something fundamental. It goes back to our idea of destiny being skewed by our propensity to see what before who. Destiny is what, but it is first who. The who-ness of destiny.

Our destiny lies in who we are. Here’s God’s gift to us. Being who we are isn’t dependent on us getting everything right on this one way ride through time and space. It’s called grace.

We can’t get everything right, we are broken. But God is so intent on us being who he created us to be that he sent his own son to put the world right. Putting the world right meant dealing with the fact that we’re doomed to not get stuff right. Again, it’s called grace.

Grace means although we are on a ride that only moves forward and we only get one shot at it, we don’t have to get everything right to be called his children. Our destiny lies in who we are. We are children of Creator God.

Our destiny spins off into an endless fractal tapestry of richness, discovery and delight. In the chaotic realm of human will and intent, every moment in time reconfigures to a new landscape of possibility, a landscape fashioned by grace. Our destiny is to explore the landscapes of possibility arising from who we are, a particular and specific child of God. It’s the Who-ness of Destiny.

As sure as the sunrise

If driving or walking isn't a viable option when getting about Addis, three alternatives present themselves. You can hire a relatively expensive—by Ethiopian standards—blue and white contract taxi; you can take the inexpensive big orange public bus; or you can take a blue and white mini bus, which is less expensive than a taxi and slightly more convenient than a bus. There are a number of major minibus stops through out Addis; Saris, Stadium, Mexico, Bole, Piaza, Maganenya to name a few. The mini buses are small vans with a capacity of 10 to 12 people. They travel between a few major stops and can be flagged down enroute.

One of the familiar but difficult to describe sounds heard in Addis is the chorus of wayella at all the major mini bus stops. On board the mini bus there is, of course, a driver. Along with the driver rides a young boy, a wayella, who collects the money. More importantly, the wayella hangs, literally, out the window of the mini bus constantly calling out the destination of his particular mini bus. By the way, wayella is a mildly pejorative term, but there are no alternatives to wayella, so use it cautiously.

At the major mini bus stops one hears the seemingly single voice of the many arriving and departing wayella. It begins roughly at sun up, and ends roughly at sun down. I wouldn't call this burbling lilting appeal for business a cacophony, it isn't that harsh. It has a particular cadence, a particular tone, and is limited to a vocabulary of the next destination. It has its own unique sound, its edge perhaps smoothed by the youth of those calling.

Mexico square is right below our seventh floor hotel room. Every morning we look out to a knot of blue and white vans tying and untying themselves into and out of Mexico square. The little blue and white vans are in varying stages of decrepitude, but their sound is always the same; many voices as one continuous voice, sunrise to sunset, everyday without fail. I'm sure I'll miss it.

re-entry almost complete

I meant to put this up some time ago for those lost souls arriving here from the brokenwing.ca site. Yes, this is my blog. No, there isn't anything about Africa. The Broken Wing Project required my full attention while I was in Africa, I was too distracted and/or exhausted to blog.

I managed to write one little blurb, and I'll put that up shortly.

A trip like this always requires re-integration and processing, so I may be retroactively posting about the trip in the next little while.