Temporary pleasures

My work commute recently got a lot longer, so I used the extra time spent trapped in a car as an excuse to refresh my podcasts. I got rid of a few and added, erm, more than a few.

So far, having a long commute hasn't bothered me at all. More time for podcasts and music is a win as far as I'm concerned.

But if you were to ask me to give you a recap on my podcast consumption every day, I would fail that test more often than not. I wish I could go around impressing people with random trivia and interesting tidbits about every subject under the sun, but my brain insists on letting a lot of that information disappear after a few hours, like it's a dream that quickly fades from memory.

To some extent, it's the same way with books. Books stay with me longer, but it disturbs me how soon I forget even basic plot points. My book nerd ego is wounded every time I can't discuss a book at length, or at least enough to fill the silence of an elevator ride. (Which is why I take the stairs. Anything to avoid elevator small talk.)

I've always prided myself on having a good memory, so the fact that I can't hold on to everything I take in really bothers me. And what does it say about me that I spend so much of my free time on things I'll likely forget? That I love spending my time and mental energy on things that'll disappear? What about all the other non-life-changing experiences I've had that are lost for good? Am I less of the person I should be because I can't rely on my memory baggage to follow me wherever I go, informing every decision?

That last question was the start of bucking me off of my philosophical high horse, although a part of me wants to get back on. I don't like failure. Even if the "failure" is a faulty but human memory.

Because humans aren't designed to remember everything; in fact, it's a mercy that we don't remember every mundane detail of our lives. (Can you imagine how exhausting that would be?) Living in the moment often means engaging in temporary pleasures—basking in something while it's happening, then letting it go when you move on to the next distraction.

And if I'm lucky, the temporary pleasure could become a lasting memory of generalities, if not specifics. For example, I've been in a great period of life where I have the time to indulge in books and podcasts at a rate others would scoff at. The experts would probably tell me I'm ruining my mental health by filling so many silences with media when I should be meditating, but when I think of books and podcasts I think of sunset walks, rejuvenating lunch breaks, relaxing me time, and stimulating drives. These temporary things have become a fixture in my life that I'll surely miss if/when I'm forced to take a step back from it all in order to make room for more "permanent" and life-altering experiences.

If nothing else, I can console myself with the knowledge that what could have been a boring and frustrating morning on Utah roads was a calm and entertaining start to my day. Who knows, maybe my lack of road rage made someone else's day a little better, too.

Some podcast recommendations
I always appreciate it when people I know recommend podcasts to feed my addiction, so here are a few I've been enjoying lately (hopefully ones I haven't already mentioned in previous posts):

• Harry Potter and the Sacred Text—a reread of the Harry Potter series, with each chapter analyzed through a different theme and then analyzed using a sacred practice. It's my favorite HP podcast right now, which is saying a lot.
• LeVar Burton Reads—Spend 40 minutes or so listening to LeVar Burton read a short story to you. What's not to like?
• Nocturne—Stories of the night. Great for nights when I'm restless.
• Tell Me Something I Don't Know—A game show where the contestants try to stump a panel of smart people with obscure but interesting facts.
• The Allustionist—word/language history. Perfect for word nerds.
• fiction/non/fiction—current events paired with a piece of literature that mirrors it. 

Packing revelations

My original intent for this post was to debunk the popular belief that packing is a terrible chore, akin to writing a research paper or running a 10k. Packing isn't so bad, I thought as I typed away, because if you're packing it means you're about to have an adventure. Maybe a quick getaway, maybe something more permanent. The reason for the packing negates the chore-ness of it because it's a necessary final step before something changes.

But packing for a move? Big adventure, yes. Exciting change, yes. But fun? At first, sure—I couldn't wait to get started, actually—but the delight wore off as my back pain increased. And as it dawned on me just how much work this was actually going to be.

Remember that phenomenon that caused time to slow down while I was waiting for my house to be built? Now it's causing my possessions to multiply, so no matter how much work I get done, I'll never be done packing. This is not just an ambitious chore; it's a near impossible task.

I've had other revelations as well. Like how I buy food I think I'm supposed to have because they're in every American family's household: canned green beans, popcorn, peanut butter, rice. The most respectable of the expiration dates on those products was somewhere in the land of 2016.

I've been living in a one-bedroom apartment for six years, so storage space is limited. And what do I do with my one and only storage closet? Fill it with boxes. Some of which are too small to be of use for anything bigger than pens and some that are held together by duct tape. I figured I'd be thanking myself later when the time came to move, but if I had known how many people would suddenly have boxes to get rid of as soon as they found out I was moving, I would have used that storage space for something more useful.

I've even unburied a few boxes that were never unpacked from my last move, filled with mementos from my life that hold only sentimental value: participation trophies, badges, graduation announcements, terrible stories I wrote as a teenager, signed softballs, business cards, and—my favorite—the Wacky Wednesday book my brother made me when he was about 7. I thought that was gone for good and I was overjoyed to find it.

Did you catch that part where I mentioned I live in a one-bedroom apartment? Yeah. Starting my packing two weeks early was necessary due to the never-ending nature of the project, but pretty soon I'm going to start having nightmares about suffocating in boxes. Kids would have a ball playing the lava game at my place, because there's very little carpet (aka, lava) to be seen.

And there's still more packing to do. And miraculously, still more empty boxes, even after I used about 30 for all my books.

Please keep your "Just wait until you have to unpack" comments to yourself. I'll cross that bridge when it comes.