Mind the gap! This I will do. Yes, sir; yes, ma’am!

It would be a shame to drop a personal item between the platform and the train—or, God forbid, a body part. I am finding that the gaps here in London are more irregular than in Washington, D.C., and truly do require some minding. Sometimes the train is flush with the platform. Sometimes there is a sizeable step up or down. Sometimes there is a sizeable gap. And sometimes one must be particularly mindful because there is a step and a gap.

Security Slogans

As with the subway, so with the language. Sometimes the language is perfectly intelligible to people on both sides of the Atlantic; sometimes there is a gap. For example, take the security slogan adopted by the British government and police and rail industry in 2016 and now ubiquitous in rail stations:

Upon first seeing and hearing this slogan, I knew what it was trying to convey, as the slogan is very similar to the one we have used in the U.S. since approximately 2007, and which originated in the aftermath of the 9/11 attacks:

In both cases, the message is simple and easy to follow. All you have to do is nothing—unless you happen to notice something unusual (like a bag left unattended), in which case you need to tell someone in uniform, because it might contain something dangerous (like a bomb).

The British Slogan in an American Mind

But the word “sorted” in the British slogan had me alternating back and forth between confusion and (carefully stifled) rolling-on-the-ground belly-laughter. To my American mind, the word sorted is mainly applicable to underwear drawers. So there I was, innocently trying to navigate a large, crowded station and figure out which platform my train would shortly arrive at, while imagining ripped security officers behaving as follows:

The British Slogan in a British Mind

I explained my confusion to a fellow attendee of the London Silent Book Club and asked what she thought of the slogan. Contrary to my interpretation, she thought it made the officers sound tough—even gangsterlike. To her British mind, the word sorted is mainly applicable to roughing people up. She put on her toughest, thickest accent and said to me,

“We’ll sort him out.”

Wow—a terrifying experience to hear her say that! I sure wouldn’t want to be (or see anyone I loved) “sorted out” by any British security officer, thank you very much!

(I would like to note here that I do not watch British television shows—or American television shows for that matter—so my ignorance of this word usage may be a mere personal problem, not any kind of commentary on international relations.)

Mind the Gap

But that’s not the actual intention of the slogan, either. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, sorted is British slang for “arranged or dealt with satisfactorily.” In other words, the slogan means exactly what I originally thought it meant. If you see something suspicious, say something about it to security officials, and they will take care of the problem in the most appropriate way.

Perhaps the most appropriate way is to put the underwear and socks in neat little piles (ha!—doubtful). Perhaps the most appropriate way is to rough someone up and teach ’em a lesson they won’t forget anytime soon (ha!—perhaps).

More likely, though, the most appropriate way is to determine whether there’s a credible threat and, if so, evacuate the area. And then, all of the British and any American travelers can exit the train station, sit around together amidst their luggage, wait for news on when the trains might resume service, and bitch to one another about how shitty life is.

Because the gap is never really very large. Sometimes there’s no gap at all. Sometimes you need to take a little step, up or down, in formality. Sometimes you need to make a mini mental leap. Sometimes you even need to step and leap at once. But you never need to be a world-class long jumper or pole vaulter.

All you need to do is mind the gap!

Hello, fellow residents of our beautiful planet! I am writing this blog post from a cute Danish cafe in London. Here is a photo I took from my seat in the cafe. If you know me at least a bit, and if you look closely at the photo, you may be able to guess my favorite part of it. However, as that detail is rather inconsequential, let me tell you something of greater importance. Let me tell you how I got here.

Oops! How I got here is inconsequential, too. I flew. (That last sentence was a clue, RE the detail in the photo!) It was a long flight—at least for a travelphobe like me. I finished a book. Exciting! I love finishing books. But in the scheme of things, that was not so exciting, really, so let me please get to my point. Let me tell you why I got here.

Four months ago, as I explained in my post from January 25 called Dreams, I had a dream. I dream vividly most nights; but only the rare dream manifests as a sort of lesson-cum-guidepost, express from my unconscious mind.

In the dream, I bought a flight to London. I bought the ticket amidst a group of friends, as part of a special discount rate; but each of us was traveling separately, and I would be traveling alone. Once I arrived in London, I discovered that my family was staying in nearby rooms. However, I decided to ignore them, since they wanted to do things that I didn’t. What I really wanted to do while in London was see a performance at the Paris Opera House; and that’s what I was making plans to do when I woke up.

Strangely enough, this relates to the book I finished on the plane. I’ll be writing previews of that book shortly. This story about my dream and how it influenced my life will perhaps be useful as we try to piece together the central philosophical problem laid out in that book. But I am getting off track again! So here’s what happened next.

Upon waking, I understood that the dream was important, but I wasn’t sure what it meant. In full—that is, partial—disclosure, there was also a segment of the dream that pertained to my love life. I would not like to share the details; I would merely like to note that the dream had multiple significances to me. (A multiple significance, in case you were wondering, is somewhat similar to a multiple orgasm, except that it’s not just for women; but I am getting off track again!) And so, realizing that my unconscious mind may have been trying to tell my conscious mind something, I kept thinking about the dream.

Within a few days, I was astonished to realize that I wanted to take a solo trip to London and Paris. This might not seem like such an astonishing wish to you; lots of people want to go to London and Paris. It was shocking to me, however, because I have always been a travelphobe.

There were so many things about travel that frightened me. I was scared my plane would crash. I was scared I would get irredeemably lost in trying to navigate public transportation. I was scared I would lose my passport or get beaten or harrassed or raped. I was scared I would spend a ridiculous amount of money, only to instantly get homesick for my garden and birds (that was another clue!). I was scared I would be obliged to do something touristy that I didn’t want to do.

But most of all, I was scared that the jostling and angled sunshine and lack of sleep that are inherent to travel would trigger a migraine. As I explained in my post from December 26 called Medical Mysteries (Part 2), I have suffered from periodic migraines for my whole life. They always last exactly ten days. They are debilitating, involving level-10 pain, aversion to light and noise, expulsion of stomach contents, and much moaning and rolling around amidst bedsheets.

As I explained in that post from last December, I had been unexpectedly rescued by magnesium in an easily absorbable form. I had not experienced a ten-day migraine since beginning my vitamin supplement regimen; and that happy streak continues to this day.

A miracle! Was it a god of travel—perhaps Hermes, a.k.a. Mercury—who had come to my aid?! But I will stay on track with this story, I promise.

The point is, my unconscious mind had realized, long before the “I” that I’m better acquainted with did, that my recent deliverance from periodic migraine hell opened up the door for me to travel. It further realized that my dilapidated and largely nonexistent love life would be a boon to me while traveling, for I would not have to compromise on how I would spend my time. Moreover, it realized that London was a perfect destination for doing things I love to do—namely, enjoying literature and music. Finally, it realized that the Paris Opera House is not that far from London, in the global scheme of things; and what, it mused, is the point of middle age, if not to fulfill fantasies you had while 12 or 13 years old?

Yes—in my youth, I had an obsession with The Phantom of the Opera, both the book and the musical. So I am going to go see that old building where some of the events depicted really occurred (and where some, being romantic exaggerations, did not). And I’m going to do many other literary- and musical-type activities in Paris; and I’m going to attempt to say something comprehensible in the language, and to understand something someone says to me. Because my adult, conscious mind has realized that the Paris Opera House is merely a sentimental excuse to force me to venture very far outside of my comfort zone. To experience something that, sure, lots of people experienced at a much younger age, but I have not yet: to be alone in a faraway culture of people who speak a language that’s foreign to me.

Speaking of language—I have been enjoying hearing British accents all around me. This is not a “pigeon” English, but the genuine article. (That was your third and final clue! If you have not solved the puzzle by now, I fear there is no hope for you . . . though perhaps the answer will come to you in a dream.)

But back to the point. The point is that the human brain has both conscious and unconscious parts. Managing the interplay between the two of them, in my experience, is key to living wisely. To be solely led by one or the other is a grievous mistake. In conclusion, here is a view of the interior of the Danish cafe, behind me. There are no hidden secrets in this photo . . . at least not that I know of. Those are elsewhere. Has your unconscious mind spoken to you lately?

I was stumped by yet another medical mystery.

A prescription drug that helps me immensely also makes me tired. I have trouble waking up. I feel fairly alert in the morning, but I ache to nap all afternoon. And forget the evening—I’m ready for bed immediately after dinner.

My doctor has been helping me experiment with different remedies for this problem. Now, granted, I can still function. The problem isn’t severe. In the past, I have been on medications that made me significantly groggier. Still, if I can maneuver myself into a life situation in which I feel more alert more often, I will happily take it.

The trouble, however, is that doctors and scientists, even in this advanced age of medicine and technology, don’t really know how the brain works. And they don’t really know what happens when different chemicals are introduced to it. We know a whole heck of a lot! Sadly, though, that whole heck of a lot amounts to a patchy understanding of what’s going on up there. The brain is just too complex and intricate and multivariate and changeful.

As Gary Greenberg writes in his article “Psychiatry’s Incurable Hubris,” in the most recent issue of the Atlantic, “Psychiatrists . . . cannot precisely predict for whom and under what conditions their treatments will work.”

Sigh. That explains why my doctor is forced to help me experiment. Since different people react differently to any given drug, it’s not possible to know beforehand what will work for each patient.

Thus my doctor, thinking we might make a change and see how I felt, prescribed me a new medication.

I felt different right away. Within a few hours, I felt like I was floating on a cloud. A very nice cloud. The niceness of the cloud intensified over the next few days. It became softer and fluffier and cozier . . . and I felt like sleeping. All day long. Zzzz. . . .

In the meantime, I made a profound discovery about this medication. Listen up, literary friends, because this is crucial! This is key! This is vital! My new medication . . . gave me writer’s block!!!!

I could no longer write blog posts! With sufficient amounts of caffeine and junk food, I was able to edit and proofread, but write a paragraph? Nope! (Needless to say, since you are reading this post, I went off that drug pronto.)

Why is this significant? Well, listen to this fine theory of mine. If this drug energizes some people—not me, obviously!—then might it not also cure any writer’s block those people might be experiencing?*

I humbly invite the reps of said drug company to call me ASAP, so we can discuss my payment for this lucrative marketing idea.

*In case it isn't sufficiently clear, this is a joke. Do not try this at home, or at work, or on a sailboat, or at an amusement park, or in an airplane, or anyplace else you might find yourself. Please also refer to the footnote in my original Medical Mysteries post.

I am interested to know about your dreams. Tell me about your dreams. Did you dream last night? Can you recall a long, harrowing sequence of events? Or just a feeling you retained upon waking? Did you dream of specific people? People you see in your current life? People you knew in childhood? Have you had any particularly powerful dreams that you remembered for years afterward, that seemed to guide you, or terrify you, or watch over you?

Please tell me about your dreams.

No, no, no—stop there! I did not mean that I wanted a blow-by-blow report. Your dreams are not that interesting. Do you take offense? I am sorry. Well, then, how about this? To return the favor, I will not share a blow-by-blow report of my own dreams, either. Fair? Fair.

However, I do still want to know about your dreams. Do you dream most nights? Do you dream only rarely? Have you never once experienced a dream? Do you know you are dreaming when you dream?

I never know that I am dreaming. I have always had very vivid dreams. On certain medications, they get even more vivid. I have had dreams that were so steeped in meaning that they felt like thunderclaps, missives, mandates. Have you? I would like to share what I mean . . . so can we amend our deal? Please? A blow-by-blow report is only okay if it is meaningful, and if that meaning is explained. Deal? Deal. Now, here is what I mean:

When I was in the final stages of finishing my novel, and was nervous about how it would finally turn out, and whether I could get it right—this was a few years ago—I had a dream. In the dream, I was at a place that has great meaning for me: the capitol square in Madison, Wisconsin. For me, this place represents peace and stability. I could hear a beautiful symphony playing, and I knew I had written it. I had written it by typing words on the computer, and the result was a symphony, and it was the most beautiful music I had ever heard. In the dream, I listened to the music, and I was proud, and joyously happy, but also sad, because no one else could hear it, or wanted to hear it. When I awoke, I could no longer hear the music and did not know what it sounded like. But the loss of the music was bearable, because I suddenly remembered that I had something else: a nearly finished novel manuscript.

Some time later, when I was contemplating seeking an agent for the novel and starting a blog, I had another dream. In the dream, I was a dancer/stripper, auditioning for a part. I performed on the stage, dancing to the music before an audience, slowing taking clothes off. The removal of clothes was, I knew, the same thing as publishing my writing. I desperately wanted to remove all my clothes, but I somehow could not manage to take off the last layer. But I danced my heart out, and afterward, despite not taking off my sports bra and little skirt, I found out that I got the part. I was ecstatic, but also mortified. How could I bear to finally take my clothes off, when it came time to perform for real? I walked out into the audience, and my college roommate was there, having watched my audition. I was terrified about what she might say. I was shocked when she started telling me about something in her own life. It was then that I realized that she, and almost everyone I knew, did not care that much about any decision I made about my own life—as long as it did not affect them—and my worries that everyone would judge me were unwarranted.

Each of these dreams taught me something about myself that I had not known before. Each of them also guided me toward the future. I do not necessarily believe that this can be attributed to some sort of woo-woo mysticism, but rather to the workings of the unconscious mind. The unconscious mind often has access to knowledge that the conscious mind does not.

So anyway, few days ago, I had another such dream. In the dream, I knew I should do something, and I knew I should do it alone. It’s nothing bad or illegal or harmful, but it would require a certain outlay of money and time.

Should I do it?

What do Immanuel Kant’s metaphysics and David Foster Wallace’s commencement speech at Kenyon College (known as the “This Is Water” speech) have in common?

Both of these famous philosophies, according to Matthew B. Crawford in his book The World Beyond Your Head, are faulty—and for the same reason.

It’s a bold claim. Crawford attempts to topple two towering figures of Western culture and thought in one fell swoop! So let’s back up a sec and analyze what Kant’s and Wallace’s philosophies, in these instances, are. Then we can delve into why Crawford thinks they are wrong.

Immanuel Kant’s Metaphysics of Freedom

Immanuel Kant (1724–1804) was a German philosopher famous for a philosophy called the categorical imperative. He states that morality exists beyond the realm of the everyday world, and can be derived through reason alone. The moral law, he says, is categorically (“unconditionally”) imperative (“crucial and essential”).

Crawford points out that Kant held a mind thinking rationally, in an ideal state, in far higher esteem than a mind grappling with the way things are in the messy, real world:

“Kant builds a high wall between the empirical world and the purely intellectual, where we discover a priori moral laws. Reasons to act must come only from the latter if we are to be free, and the will is to remain pure, ‘unconditioned’ by anything external to it. . . . To be rational is, for Kant, precisely not to be situated in the world.”

David Foster Wallace’s “This Is Water” Commencement Speech

As those who know me well know, I am a huge fan of David Foster Wallace (1962–2008). Infinite Jest was well worth the struggle to read. I have also enjoyed and marveled at the brilliance of many of his other works, fictional and nonfictional. However, I was distinctly unimpressed by his work—for the only time ever—when encountering, ten years ago, the commencement speech he delivered on May 21, 2005: and for the same reasons Crawford cites.

Even ten years later—and I remember it very well: it was exactly ten years ago, give or take a few months, when my boss (at the time) printed the speech and gave it to me, as a benefactory gesture, an offering* of moral guidance from mentor to mentee, and which I duly read, but did not duly (oops) compliment, nor, however, criticize, because, after all, who criticizes David Foster Wallace?!!

But I seem to have gotten off track. As I was saying, even ten years later, I distinctly remember the bit in the speech about the annoyance of grocery shopping. Wallace opines that if you are engaged in one of the many frustrating activities of modern life—such as grocery shopping, after a long day at work, in an ugly and crowded supermarket, when all you want to do is go home and rest, but everything is annoying and taking too long, etc.—that you should remember that you can always control what you are thinking.

Here’s what Crawford has to say about this:

“Wallace’s core suggestion in the speech is that ‘you get to consciously decide what has meaning and what doesn’t.’ . . . His solution is thus emblematic of the problem we are addressing in this book: we have an uncertain grasp of the world as something with a reality of its own.”

In other words, Wallace, in this speech, held a mind thinking rationally, in an ideal state, in far higher esteem than a mind grappling with the way things are in the messy, real world.

Matthew B. Crawford’s Praise of the World Beyond Your Head

I believe in the power of the mind, thinking rationally; but I also concur with Crawford that thinking in an idealized bubble is not enough. There’s a real world to contend with out there! If the deep, rational thinkers aren’t up for working to make a difference . . . whom does that leave?

Crawford titled his book The World Beyond Your Head. His thesis is that we should work to apply our minds to real things, in the real world, despite the many powers that be and cultural conceptions guiding us in less grounded—and more illusory—directions. This quote of his is buried in a footnote, but it’s one of my favorites in the whole book:

“Wisdom is impossible without biography.”

The mind is not an empty shopping cart, hovering in an imaginary space. It has a history. It has been filled and emptied a bit, filled a lot more and emptied a bit more. It has traveled the aisles again and again and again. It has been knocked around quite a lot, but it keeps going. It keeps moving. It keeps engaging. And the more it moves and engages, the fuller it becomes.

With what real-world activities will you fill your cart today, this week, next year?

*I thought I'd throw a footnote in here, just for good measure. (RIP DFW.)