A week ago I left Boston, the third time in my life I have moved away from there. Almost everyone I have encountered asks what is next for me, and I find myself asking the same question back: What do you think I should be doing? But the problem isn’t “what”. I can think of many interesting ways and places to spend time. The piece that’s lacking is the “why”. I mean this in an esoteric, metaphysical way — why do we do what we do? Where does the inner voice come from? What decisions do we make, and who influences them?
With these questions in mind, I’ve decided to journey inward before I go much further on my journey away from Boston. The landscape of mind is at least as interesting as the world around us, and to wander through it is an adventure. I’ve been reading Japanese haiku poet Basho’s famous work Narrow Road to the Interior, which begins:
“The sun and moon are eternal travelers. Even the years wander on. A lifetime adrift in a boat or in old age leading a tired horse into the years, every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home.”
He is setting the stage for a tale of travels in remote Japan. These words also refer to the human experience. The journey is rarely what we expect it to be.
Today under hazy, sunset sky I sat with Vince, a summertime neighbor who I just met today. Vince is a born storyteller — in music with a well-loved harmonica and in speech, divining memories from decades of genuine living. Now, his stories stick in my mind more strongly than my own. He grew up with music all around his big Italian, New Yorker family. Each weekend everyone would gather, musicians making music, others dancing until heavy-set faces turned red, and kids were left to their own devices. He was in grade school, he says, when he quit playing the clarinet, embarrassed by a teacher. The harmonica suits him, and he plays with as much ease as breathing, and joy of such simplicity. He has collected hundreds of songs from years of spontaneous sessions in the bars, on the porches, and in the living rooms of the world. Each song comes with a story too, of where he learned it and from whom.
Vince fought with the 101st Airborne in WWII, at the four bloodiest battles of the war. He jumped at Normandy and at the Bulge. His company liberated Dachau. Some memories are clearly painful, but he insists that those who remember them must tell them, or the whole world will forget. He became a teacher, and a union organizer. He tells stories about those who found him years later, to thank him for inspiring them as a teacher. But what really makes him special is the wonder in his eyes. His eyes carry a constant smile. For him, the briefest of encounters is completely experienced, and he drinks in the human nature of others. He is honored by those who find him an example, and interested in those who do not. I don’t agree with him on everything, nor do think he has it all figured out. But he quietly reminded me today that every moment is filled with wonder. It may not all be good, but it’s always there, for the drinking in.
