Today I read an article in the New York Times that was basically about a man's summers in a fire lookout tower in the southwest. He spends two to three months in complete solitude--no Internet, no telephone, and tons of books and typewriter ribbon. When I was a kid we'd go on vacations in central Oregon, and I'd stare up at Black Butte and look at the little tower up there, thinking about who was in it and what they were doing.
This article made me realize that I've been somewhat paralyzed by my stuff--like, I want to paint a picture, but then again maybe I'll look something up on the Internet instead, and shouldn't I be reading a book? Let's watch TV. My show is on. You see? And I'm not complaining, I love my life and everything that comes with it--but the idea of being completely cut off from everything is attractive, too. I mean, with isolation comes either intense focus or intense longing to not be isolated. I wonder how I would fare in isolation.
Before I turned about 11 or 12 I was able to play pretend with my dollhouse for long periods of time, alone. I loved it. I guess that could be called intense focus. I seemed to have lost that focus as I entered adulthood--you can come over and the TV will be on, my laptop is in front of me, a book is open across my legs; and I'm fiddling with the radio. (Maybe I shouldn't have arranged all those things in such close proximity.)
One way I've tried to deal with my distractibility at work is to cut out visual chaos. I'm an editor--there is a great potential for desk chaos. Style sheets, books, papers, printouts, you name it! But I keep my desk almost ascetically clean (I hope they know I'm doing stuff). But it doesn't matter! There is so much distraction to be had behind the screen of my computer. Sometimes I just want to turn it off; Lev says that I lack self-discipline which may be true (I was supposed to be at the gym right now) but seriously I can't help it! I mean, if I hadn't've looked at the NYT online while I was at work today work I never would have even read that article about the man who spends his summers in a lookout tower. Did I just talk myself in a circle?
This article made me realize that I've been somewhat paralyzed by my stuff--like, I want to paint a picture, but then again maybe I'll look something up on the Internet instead, and shouldn't I be reading a book? Let's watch TV. My show is on. You see? And I'm not complaining, I love my life and everything that comes with it--but the idea of being completely cut off from everything is attractive, too. I mean, with isolation comes either intense focus or intense longing to not be isolated. I wonder how I would fare in isolation.
Before I turned about 11 or 12 I was able to play pretend with my dollhouse for long periods of time, alone. I loved it. I guess that could be called intense focus. I seemed to have lost that focus as I entered adulthood--you can come over and the TV will be on, my laptop is in front of me, a book is open across my legs; and I'm fiddling with the radio. (Maybe I shouldn't have arranged all those things in such close proximity.)
One way I've tried to deal with my distractibility at work is to cut out visual chaos. I'm an editor--there is a great potential for desk chaos. Style sheets, books, papers, printouts, you name it! But I keep my desk almost ascetically clean (I hope they know I'm doing stuff). But it doesn't matter! There is so much distraction to be had behind the screen of my computer. Sometimes I just want to turn it off; Lev says that I lack self-discipline which may be true (I was supposed to be at the gym right now) but seriously I can't help it! I mean, if I hadn't've looked at the NYT online while I was at work today work I never would have even read that article about the man who spends his summers in a lookout tower. Did I just talk myself in a circle?
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