The High Country of the Mind

“If all of human knowledge, everything that’s known, is believed to be an enormous hierarchic structure, then the high country of the mind is found at the uppermost reaches of this structure in the most general, the most abstract considerations of all.

Few people travel here. There’s no real profit to be made from wandering through it, yet like this high country of the material world all around us, it has its own austere beauty that to some people makes the hardships of traveling through it seem worthwhile.

In the high country of the mind one has to become adjusted to the thinner air of uncertainty, and to the enormous magnitude of questions asked, and to the answers proposed to these questions. The sweep goes on and on and on so obviously much further than the mind can grasp one hesitates even to go near for fear of getting lost in them and never finding one’s way out.”
Robert Pirsig, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

Me, very tired

Several weeks ago, I joined up with a fellow Fulbrighter to hike Vitosha mountain. Most of it, anyhow; we were planning to get to the summit, Cherni Vruh, but departed late and were informed by a local, mid-hike, that we did not have enough daylight left to reach it and return safely. So, we settled on reaching one of the other sights, called “the Plateau.” After a grueling hike up–with more complaining on my part than I would care to admit–we had reached our goal, some 7000ft in elevation. The air being much thinner than I am accustomed to, each breath was just a little longer, a little more desperate. But the soreness in my legs and the challenge to my willpower were more than paid back as I looked out across the Plateau; clouds were scattered about, several sheets even floating in the distance below us, obscuring the ground below. We were able to see Sofia almost in its entirety, as if it were a mere model to be tinkered with, or to be conceptualized and turned into a theory for future publication.

The sun was beginning to set, but not so much that the Plateau was not basked in a soft, golden light, enhancing the contours in the hills and rocks around us. Perhaps it was the exhaustion or endorphins, but I experienced a feeling quite near what I might expect others to call religious, as if I should sit down right there, meditate, and reach enlightenment.

I remarked to my partner, “I think this might be one of my favorite places in the world.” Then, she turned back and gave me a sort of quizzical look. “I think it’s not the best idea to have a list of ‘favorite places,'” she said. “I was once sitting on the riverbank watching the sun set over the Hudson with a friend, and she said that this was nothing, that she had seen something so much more beautiful,” in some other time and place.

I listened to what she had said. I found myself quite far away from enlightenment indeed.

Her idea, told in that way, has stuck with me ever since. I eventually began to wonder, if it is in fact unskillful to have a list of ‘favorites,’ might it not be bad also to have a list of ‘least favorites?’

This question of mine holds more than theoretical significance; it is also practical. This is so because, at this time, I find my job and situation to be stressful, taxing. Standing up in front of a room filled with twenty-six pairs of eyes looking up at me–or turned around talking to each other and being a bit noisy, as the case may be–is demanding, at the least, especially for someone who fancies himself to be some hardcore introvert that needs serious rest after longs bouts of such intense social interaction. This is not to say that I am necessarily doing badly or that certain students are in any way malevolent or unworthy. It is all brand new, I often feel underqualified, and I had expectations of myself as some teacher on par with Robin Williams in Dead Poets Society. These expectations are starting to be lowered, gradually, but there is no switch I can pull to accomplish this instantly. The remaining self-criticism does cause stress, so now I can’t help but wonder if there isn’t some place for which I might be better suited.

As time goes on, I think more and more about my studies at university. Reading complicated books, attending lectures, discussing theory with animated professors are all things that I find I miss terribly, a feeling which, in the mayhem of my final semesters, I never really imagined would ever, ever occur. Now, I am feeling the call to return to this environment, except this time as a graduate student. I’ve been spending late nights meandering about the internet, glancing at various doctorate programs available for Sociology; part of this has been prompted by being immersed in Eastern Europe and yet not really knowing quite how to analyze and interpret everything that I see. I feel the need to be an expert, to know more about what is going on and how things work, especially in a fairly abstract way. Pursuing further study would likely only open up more questions, I understand, and I would welcome them; at least I can be even more skillful at asking them.

However, with this new dream of mine, it seems I have fallen into the same trap about which I was warned on the Plateau; might I not, so to speak, be looking out over the Hudson yet dreaming of someplace far away?

I’ve heard it said by other Fulbrighters that this stage in the program is the most difficult; holidays are passing by with family 5,000 miles away, culture shock is at a high intensity, problems at school begin to gain momentum, and it hasn’t been quite long enough to really get a grasp on what is going on. I find a great deal of truth in this assessment of the situation.

I readily admit that this (hopefully) temporary valley affects my judgment of my circumstances and colors my vision towards the future. My past circumstances also did the same thing; during the application process for the Fulbright, I used to see this as sort of an end goal, not having any idea what would happen after, but surely, I thought, this experience would be largely sunshine and roses even with some setbacks. In any case, certainly it would be better than the stress of long university papers and presenting at a conference; finally, I’d be free. So I had thought.

Clearly, there is a trend here, and, like a good theorist, I must apply this pattern to other situations, namely, the future.

No doubt, graduate school would be difficult, more difficult than I can possibly imagine now, as was also the case when I was originally thinking about the Fulbright. And then I will probably be looking back on all of this, wishing to be back in Pazardzhik, and imagining how comparatively wonderful it was.

I should break this cycle before it happens, then, if at all possible; I should look out and appreciate what is in front of me before I move on to the next place or phase and then simply start the mindless imagining all over again.

But, how?

I can start, I suppose, by noting the good things about my experience so far. This Fulbright program, I believe, is very worthwhile, and I feel that I have grown a lot already as a result. Adapting to such a different culture and line of work is bound to do so. “It is good to know something of the customs of various peoples, so that we may judge our own more soundly and not think that everything contrary to our own ways is irrational (Descartes).” I think myself more confident and able to lead as a direct result of my experiences as a teacher and as the coach of my school’s speech and debate club. After my debacle with getting to Silistra and back, I am now mostly able to navigate the Bulgarian transportation system, which at first was daunting and inspired dread. I’ve become fearless in hanging clothes above the street to dry, and now I feel somewhat comfortable shopping at the local market instead of heading to the store where I can wordlessly place items on the conveyor belt and pay without any interaction. In a word, I’ve gained some small measure of independence from all of this, despite not even being halfway through the grant period. And certainly it is no small bonus that I am able to travel widely and live quite comfortably.

I think this is the wisdom to which I was directed during my hike up Vitosha. I don’t have to wish I was somewhere else doing something better; but, I have realized, neither should I ignore the challenges I have faced and treat them and the situation in general with total admiration or irrelevance. Even appreciating the situation, it would be a disservice to ignore the flaws, to not let them factor into my next decision.

Before, I viewed this experience as a sort of end in itself, and while thinking of things merely as steps to a higher step would violate the very principle discussed here, I have come to see this experience in another way also; a base camp, which helps me to more fully prepare for the next long, laborious hike upwards.

Until then, I will simply have to try and appreciate the experience that is in front of me, for what that’s worth. Maybe, maybe soon I won’t be able to help but love every minute of it.