Watching Clouds

July 22, 2015

I've been watching the clouds streak by today. Fast. Very fast. And it reminded me of another time I noticed the clouds speeding along, a night last summer.

I flopped back on the bouldering pad. I was probably laughing; I spent a lot of that night laughing. I was camped in a valley above Leavenworth WA on a weekend climbing trip with four guys, two of whom I had first met in the parking lot as we shoved crash pads in the car. We'd driven out after work, found a campsite by headlamp, woke up in a beautiful place, bouldered all day, and were trying to make dinner. How many engineers does it take to cook a potato if you forgot the tinfoil? These four each had a different way...the guys built an oven, put them straight into the fire, stabbed and roasted them on sticks, and boiled them on the stove. I pretty much sat and laughed the whole time (I was in the boiling crew). And they were delicious. It was a fun day.

When I flopped back I looked up at the stars. And they were moving. Fast. I just stared until I finally realized what I was seeing (and made the guys look so I knew I wasn't imagining it). The clouds were streaming overhead so fast that it appeared that they were still and the stars were rushing by. Beautiful.  

Perspective is a funny thing.

That moment threw my perspective. Trying to understand why the stars - which normally move slowly enough that I can use them for directions - were streaming over my head. Making sense of something unexpected; being reminded that things are not what they seem. All summer people, these four guys included, had asked me why I wore an infinity bracelet. I kept answering "to remind me that nothing lasts forever." Maybe I meant it to sound cynical - I was coming out of a rough semester in college. I had been having health trouble and couldn't do the things I wanted and expected either mentally or physically. I postponed my thesis, dropped to three classes, stopped participating in most extracurriculars, and on top of this, I found myself suddenly out of touch with several of my best friends. I was very ready for summer.

But when I watched the stars stream by that summer night the meaning of that answer shifted: nothing lasts forever. I was climbing in Washington. I'd found new friends to go camping with, I'd finished my spring courses, I was healthy enough to climb 3-4 times a week, and I was able to focus on my work all day. I was not perfect. But I felt like me again.

In fact, I felt more "like me" that summer than I had in a long time. I was working hard - 40 hours of programming wears me out - but I was also getting to explore a new place and spend a lot of time outside, and my confidence was returning. I even started to let go of some of the fears that had followed me through college: what if I'm not good enough? What if I'm not smart enough? What if people don't like this side of me?

I forget these thoughts outside. It's enough to be in the mountains. And I grin and jump up and down when I get to climb the mountains. I sit and watch the clouds without feeling like I should be headed to do something "productive". I wish for a few more nights on every backpacking trip. I'm just happy.

On my current trip I was reading The Architecture of Happiness by Alain de Botton. He claims that the goal of architecture is to be beautiful enough to inspire. Inspire what? That's the obvious question, but that's where it gets a little vague...because the goal is different each time. You can learn about people by their preferences. He suggests that people are attracted both to that which makes them feel at home and that which reminds them of those values in which they are deficient. For example, the more chaotic your life feels the more you may be attracted to symmetrical designs. And you'll feel relaxed when you see your values echoed around you. That resonates: a love of travel and many years of fantastic road trips puts me at ease and grinning as I pull out onto the road (especially when headed west). Maybe most people don't feel at home in the backseat of a crowded car, but for me it signals the start of a fun adventure.

He further describes qualities we admire: order, balance, elegance. For all of those, there is a lot of acting like Goldilocks. We like order but not boredom. We like balance only if it is challenging. We like greatness but not arrogance. We like things that we know are difficult, but appear effortless.

"There is beauty in that which is stronger than we are." I agree with that. I admire people who stick things out (I even have a "got sisu?" bumper sticker). People who make time to help others. Experts who are dedicated to their crafts. Climbers who gracefully maneuver across delicate holds on big overhangs.

But for me this is seen most in nature. In the thunderstorms that chase people off peaks. In the wind that forces you behind rocks. In the ice that plagues your footsteps. In rapids that are unrunnable and cliffs that are unscalable. In moments when you remember how small you are. In moments when you remember how lucky you are. In moments when the stars stream over your head.

And if the goal of architecture is to inspire, then (with an apology to Alain de Botton) I would agree with Michael O'Muircheartaigh. "No known roof is as beautiful as the skies above."