Day of Cleansing

A few days ago, I had an epiphany of sorts. For the past eight years of my life, my actions have been governed by responsibilities and appointments, which in turn have been dictated by my family, friends, school and sundry other authorities. This year, however, I am free of such influences, an entirely unencumbered existence save the few tasks assigned to me by the Watson Foundation. Such an immense shift in the shaping of my daily activities required that I make some serious choices. One option, I decided, was to use this year to test my own mettle, to dig deep and ask the hard questions, to make the year a check for my own discipline, to wake up early and seize the day, every day. I tried this for three days. By the third day, I came to a few conclusions. Firstly, I realized that I am far too impetuous of an individual to succumb to the drudgery of schedules. I live my life on the edge, a wild man, if you will. It's the sort of life that can't be inked out the night before in any great detail. For example, today I was supposed to go on a 5 mile run by the river. Instead, I went upstairs and took a 3 hour nap. That kind of impulsiveness cannot be contained. The second realization I arrived at was that my mettle and discipline had been tested time and time again. There are too many examples to count-- my stint (brief though it was, a stint nonetheless) as the number one player on Williams' Junior Varsity Squash team, and numerous other, far better examples which escape me at the moment-- that demonstrate that if I set my mind to something, I can and will achieve it.

Thus, I moved on to Plan B. This option is more of a philosophical study, inspired by the musings of John Locke, who, in his ''Treatises of Civil Government,'' endeavored to encapsulate the natural ''state of man.'' I have now taken it upon myself to determine my own personal ''natural state,'' to investigate my own actions and reactions in an environment free of accountabilities and social engagements, unfettered by questions of discipline and restraint. It’s been hard, attempting to give in to those wanton desires and primal urges which I had previously expended great energies to curb. In spite of all its difficulties, however, this exercise has taught me a great deal. I have learned, for example, that no matter what time an alarm is set for, if I have no responsibilities on a given day then I will sleep for a period of nine hours. I also no longer walk to other destinations. Instead, I amble, putter, dawdle or saunter, depending on my mood. You tend to walk differently when you have nowhere to go. I take time to watch interesting or strange-looking individuals, and continue to do so until they catch me peeping, at which point I smile at them. It is an entirely novel lifestyle, and one to which I am afraid I am growing quickly accustomed.

In all seriousness, it’s been really strange trying to adjust to the lack of, well, everything out here. I have a few things that I get done every day (learning Portuguese, yoga, writing in my journal, and running). Outside of those activities, and hitting up the pubs at night, I’ll strum the mandolin, listen to some of the Irish tunes I’ve accumulated, or read. The Irish jigs, reels and set dances are a lot of fun to play because they’re literally designed for the mandolin or fiddle- they are almost all in the keys of D or G, and since the instruments are tuned GDAE, they can be picked up in no time. They’re also all played in the first position (meaning the left hand doesn’t have to move up and down the fingerboard), so they’re easy on beginners. As far as reading is concerned, I just finished John B. Keane’s collection of humorous short stories, Owl Sandwiches, and have started Patrick McCabe’s The Butcher Boy. I figured if I’m in Ireland, I may as well kick it off with some Irish authors.

I also typically have one or two objectives to accomplish each day. These objectives could all theoretically be completed over the course of a single day, but then I would lack purpose for the rest of the week, so I decided to spread them out. On Tuesday, I cooked dinners. I say dinners because the food lasted me through Friday, and I still had to dump some of it out because I was leaving town. Those little bags hold a lot of pasta. On Wednesday, I got a library card. Thursday, though, was a big day. Thursday was Laundry Day. In college, doing laundry was a chore, an afterthought midway through an all-nighter, when I realized that I could turn my underwear inside-out no more. In Ireland, though, it’s an event. The physical washing of clothes is no different from in the U.S. It took me a few minutes to figure out the washer, but once I got things rolling I was set. Mostly because the door automatically locks once the cycle starts, so when I tried to open it afterwards, it wouldn’t let me. What makes laundry in Ireland special is the drying. I’ve only seen two houses here that have dryers. I don’t live in one of them. Instead, my house has a drying room, which smells like mildew because we keep wet clothes in it, and a clothesline outside. There are actually two clotheslines outside, but only one of them works. I didn’t know you could break a clothesline, but there’s actually an ingenious little pulley system behind them, which allows you to pin the clothes at a low level, and then hoist the line higher to display a glorious banner of underwear for all the neighbors to see. Someone broke that. Anyway, when I pulled my first load out of the washer, I had to make a decision. I opted for the clothesline, and started hanging my clothes up with little yellow clothespins. About halfway through the process, I realized I was enjoying myself. There was something freeing about being outside, hanging clothes up on a line and not really having a care in the world. Then the rains came. I started taking my clothes down. As soon as I got inside with my now-wetter clothes, the sun came out again. So I went back outside. I decided that from here on out, I would just leave my clothes up outside, because at least the rain doesn’t smell like mildew. I also decided that the neighbors must think I’m an idiot. When I got inside for the second time, I thought about heading into town. I have to visit the police station (police are known as Garda in Ireland) in order to get a visa extension. I then realized that I couldn’t go to town, because every pair of pants I owned were currently being rained on outside. I suppose I had my cotton Fab-India (that’s really the name of the company, not just something I like to call them) pants, but people in Ireland dress nicely. I wasn’t about to be caught waltzing around town in my pajamas. I’m already one of 6 minorities in the entire west of Ireland, so I have no reason to try to stick out further. Anyway, I decided to wait it out, but couldn’t help envisioning conversations with Nora later that night.

Nora: So what did you do today?

Me: I learned how to say ‘’The man is wearing the suit of the bathing,’’ in Portuguese.

Nora: Did you go to town?

Me: Couldn’t. No pants.

The pants dried eventually, but I never actually made it down to the police station. I’m sure I’ll head down one of these days, but I’m trying not to stress out about it.

I hope all is well, and much love to everyone,

Auyon