SPRING CLEANING AT PERSIAN NEW YEAR

Here it is at last, the day we reach the spring equinox. Unlike time zones, this is one marker that the whole world transits at the same moment in some kind of “let’s all hold hands and…” way. Here in Toronto that moment will be just before one o’clock this afternoon.

We notice it’s spring, in Europe and North America, and we rejoice at the return of the light and the promise of fine weather. But we don’t have a big festival. I’m sure the Celts had druidic festivals, and other northern peoples must have too. After all, the timing of Christian Easter is reminder of our need for new life and the greening that spring brings.

In other parts of the world this is the start of the new year, a time for celebration. The festival Nou-Roz, also known in the west as Persian New Year, is a reminder of the deep inheritance that Zoroastrianism left in the Persian World, the region centred on present-day Iran but that includes neighbouring countries and peoples too. The religion arose around the same time as Buddhism, over 2500 years ago (an interesting sychronicity). It was the first monotheistic religion that we know of, pre-dating Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. The sun and the natural world’s rhythms are embedded in the religion’s view of the battle between light and dark, good and evil. Thus the return of the sun, marking the end of cold winter, and the return of the light, is cause for celebration.

The peoples who are still marked by Zoroastrian practices and beliefs, even if most of them are now Christian or Muslim, are those from the region that extends from Iran and Azerbaijan into Iraqi Kurdistan, east to Uzbekistan and Afghanistan, and to Shia communities in Pakistan and India. (There are still Zoroastrians in Iran and area, and of course the Parsi community, that left Persia and settled in India long ago, follows the teachings of Zoroaster.) No-Roz festivities last abut two weeks. There is feasting, there are green herbs and vegetables and sprouted lentils and wheat as a symbol of new growth (and green is a privileged colour in Zoroastrian rites), picnics on the grass, and more.

This new year talk as I work on my Persian World book gets me examining some basics, a kind of mental spring cleaning you might say: What am I doing each day? How am I doing it? Could I do better? The answer to the last question is always “yes”. But that leads to the next question: “how?”.

I’ve come to think that one of the best things about this life of freelance work – the fact that I have a flexible schedule – is also one of the most onerous. It means that I have to take responsibility for deciding which jobs get done first, which tasks in the day, the week, the year, are most urgent or important. If there’s a mess-up, it’s my fault. And sometimes I spend too much effort hesitating about what to do next.

I am inclined to just move forward into the array of to-do’s, moving from one to the next (post another blogpiece here, return that call or reply to those emails, do more background reading for my book project, sort through photos to send some out, write that magazine article, test those recipes, tidy the office, do taxes…you get the idea).

But now we read that decision-making takes up more energy than most of us realise. Even decision-making about small things. Long ago I had a friend who decided to avoid decision-making about what to wear: all his socks were one colour, his shirts were white, and his pants were jeans. It took the pressure off and simplified his day. It turns out to have been a smart move, taking away one layer of decision-making, however superficial.

I’ve always enjoyed the feeling that I’m improvising things: the shape of my day, what I will wear, the shape of a trip… I don’t like to feel heavily planned. But that also means that I’ve been in flight from the predictable, the known-ahead, the set list of fixed tasks or obligations. It’ s a rather reactive way to live: rather than taking charge and deciding ahead what I will do in a day, I react to events, to feelings and impulses in myself, and bumble my way along. It can work very well sometimes, and is just fine most days. But with new research about the mental drain that decision-making causes, even the most superficial decision-making, I think it’s time I smartened up.

Wouldn’t it be better to have a list and just work through it? I do think so. And slowly I am learning to make a list the night before, as guidance for the next day or several days. (The evening is a good time, because it gives some distance; there’s no pressure to get started right away, just a relatively calm contemplation of the coming day or week). I find if I do that I waste less time (and mental energy, even more importantly) thinking about what to do next or worrying about what else I should get done on a given morning.

This may all be completely obvious to everyone else, but it’s taken me a long time to realise it. Some of us are slow!

CEO’s or high-level politicians usually have a long tightly scheduled list of activities and obligations each day. They don’t waste time figuring out what comes next; someone else, perhaps in consultation with them, and well ahead, has already done the work.

If I treat myself as a CEO, and each evening give myself the benefit of setting out the shape of the next day’s tasks and projects, then surely I too can have more energy for real and important decision-making, and for creative work too. It doesn’t have to be scheduled, let alone tightly scheduled, but an ordered list, with some idea of where the start-point is, is in the end very restful.

The other thing to schedule, of course, is enforced breaks from noodling around online. I’ve written about this before. And I am doing increasingly well at retreating from temptation, giving myself chunks of work time without online distraction. Margaret Atwood posted on Twitter the other day that she was retreating to her “burrow” I think was the word, to get work done. Clever woman! It is so important to have an image, if not an actual space, that conveys that sense of retreat from the distracting wonderful world. And that’s the word I like for the sense of withdrawal: “retreat”.

Once I’ve posted this, I’ll retreat to my work oasis…

SPRINGTIME BREAKTHROUGHS- LOSING FEAR & LOVING IT

It’s still spring, and that means it’s still time for spring cleaning. There’s the ongoing need to retune the brain and the expectations (a kind of psychological spring cleaning), and there’s the practical very physical problem of the office that needs a clean. That second one is what I was engaged with today.

Finally, after what seems like a month of drought, we had rain today, just an ongoing drizzle, but enough to discourage thoughts of a long bike ride or other outdoor ambitions. And so, to the office.

Unrushed, because in denial that I was doing it, I actually managed to make decisions, throw things out rather than stacking them for later, sort piles of keepers, reshelve books… It didn’t seem like a lot of result for four hours work, but the fact is, what I did get done was going to take four hours sometime, if not today then perhaps on a beautiful sunny day, so better get it over with. So went my internal dialogue.

And now, this evening, I can see surfaces; there are no dread mysteries lurking and awaiting discovery, and I feel lighter.

Truly spring is wonderful.

Also, the crabapple tree out front, tall and generous, as wide as the yard, is in white beautiful bloom; the wisteria out back is coming into leaf and has some fat flower buds on it, hurrah! And today’s rain was enough to make the garden soil dark and moist, so that I finally felt it was OK to dig with the shovel and turn the soil. I had planted rye and clover as a cover crop; they’re now turned under. In the areas where I had done no watering last week, the soil six inches down was still bone dry; the rain had only penetrated a short way. But where I had watered, somehow the rain percolated through better.

The earthworms looked happy and energetic.

Now we need more rain, regularly every other day for about two weeks, to try to catch up a little. I’m told by farmers near Toronto that the rhubarb and spinach and asparagus is all looking sad because of lack of water.

Earth Day is now, just two days after the famous (or infamous, depending on your point of view and politics) 4-20, the day for promoting the legalisation of marijuana (or should I say the decriminalisation?). No arrests reported, and a good time had by all, I gather. Let’s celebrate by doing a rain dance or two, and starting to plant lettuce greens and other early seeds (some of you are way ahead of me, I know, but for those who aren’t…)

My new springing to life happened today, not in the garden but at the computer: I was putzing around with Lightbox, and started to use it to tidy up a skanned image (it started as a slide and is now skanned to be a digital image). Instead of being afraid, for the first time I just ploughed on, removing spots and dirt marks, altering the contrast etc. And when I’d done the image looked much healthier, and in fact much more like the original slide.

Slides, being material things, are always at risk of damage or tarnishing by dust or other dirt. And so enter the magic of digital processing. Presto-Chango, as a kids’ book has it, the damage and dirt are erased and the image is like new, better than new.

But the biggest wonder of all for me was to discover that I could do it and become fluent at it, lose my fear of messing up and just engage.

Why do these lessons take learning and re-learning? Every new thing is cause for anxiety of some kind. And then when, because of drink or tiredness (neither helped me this time) or just because the passage of time makes fed-upness (the thing that drove me), I just get on with trying it or doing it, whatever it is, from the new video camera, to tidying photos with Lightbox, to you name it, there’s a break-through. There’s no disaster; things go just fine.

In fact there’s a liberation, the discovery of a new skill is cause for jubikation and a feeling of freedom.

Maybe people who are afraid of cooking or baking feel this way once they try it. Or those who are afraid of driving, or bicycling in the city… We’re all prisoners to some degree of our anxieties large and small.

And so I am reporting here my liberation from the bondage of Lightroom anxiety and into the freedom to tidy up and edit my own photos, rather than having to cry “help!” to Nicole or some other young person with quick hands and confident expertise.

The transition from fearful pre-beginner to engaged learner is a magical one. I want to go on remembering that it’s always worth the pain of the anxiety, for that’s what in the end pushes me into new tasks, new challenges. It’s the not-knowing that’s an exciting (and irritating and painful) stimulus. There’s nothing special about knowing; it’s not-knowing that’s a source of richness, progress,, and insight.

aha!

AND A POSTSCRIPT: The BURMA book is getting ever-closer to being shipped off to the printer. There's a new cover design, great news, still being finalised but already a lovely leap ahead; and the photo picks are almost final. I am so grateful to be consulted through all this process; many publishers aren't nearly so considerate of their authors. Thanks, Artisan!

SPRINGTIME FULL MOON THOUGHTS

It's full-moon day today, with a big fat moon promised for this evening, the largest and brightest for some years they say. It was already huge last night. I have no idea why it would sometimes be brighter and others not... Whatever the wattage, the full moon has a magic, not measurable, just there. Wonderful.

Last night I was out with some old friends for supper at the Niagara Street Cafe. Such a pleasure to be with people with whom I don't have to edit or filter or in any way watch what I say. So often we make conversation with others, trying to reach out or to not offend or to put the other person at ease. All these goals are laudable, some more than others, but best of all is the luxury of full human to human communication without political or social worries. It's so much fun to just let go.

We ate slow-cooked Ontario lamb, and also some deep-fried frogs'-legs (from Ontario too? not sure) and duck confit and special Japanese-bred pork. There was a delicious parsnip soup too. It was a treat to have tastes from others' plates...

And after watching several old episodes of West Wing on the computer with Tashi, I headed for bed to read some more of my current book: The Man from Saigon. It's extraordinary, a vivid novel set in 1967 in Vietnam at the height of the war. The book is by Marti Leimbach; it's a Nan Talese/Doubleday book published in 2009. This copy is a bound galley lent to me by a friend. I can't remember reading about the book or seeing it in stores. Did it get noticed? Did it have any success? I hope so. Do go and look for it in a library or bookstore.

This week is new year (Nouroz) in Iran, a time just before the equinox when people eat green and growing things (sprouted wheat berries for example, and fresh herbs) and celebrate the return of the sun and new growth everywhere. New year in springtime makes a lot of sense to me. The Thais and Burmese and Lao have their new year in mid-April to mark the end of the death that is hot season and the arrival of the first rains that will bring the ground back to life...

Speaking of spring, I celebrated the arrival of warm weather this week by flinging open the doors of the house and spring cleaning. No, it's not glamorous, and it certainly didn't advance my word count on the Burma cookbook. But it did feel great. All rugs got aired and shaken and vacuumed, the floors washed, and some non-essentials purged. The house now feels relatively dust-free and refreshed. And a feeling of light airiness as light and warmth return is visible on people's faces as they walk down the street. Despite the harshness of news from the wider world there's a lovely optimism in the air here.

What a pleasure.

Who knows if this no-fly zone will help the democratic forces in Libya; let's hope it doesn't just lead to endless fighting and bloodshed. And let's hope that the beleaguered people in north-eastern Japan get more warmth and shelter and a measure of healing this week. We've all been so concentrated on the nuclear crisis that the living victims of the earthquake and tsunami have rather faded out of our consciousness. SImilarly, the democratic forces in Bahrain and in Libya continued to struggle and suffer this week without the encouragement of the eyes of the world upon them. It's heartbreaking and overwhelming.

Let's hope that there is dialogue rather than bloodshed that results in the end of autocratic rule in the Mahgreb... and let's rejoice as the sap continues to run, the birds return, the snow melt, the green return... There's such a sense of expectancy as all the signs of new life appear. They're like a fanfare announcing that the death that is winter is finally leaving for another year!

And don't forget to take a long pause to wonder at the full moon's radiance today.