RO ON REDEFINED SPACE

CRAVING CONSTANCY. WOOING CHANGE.

Once, my life was a pancake that was constantly being severed from its griddle, turned over – and over again. Once, my life was three fluffy egg-whites on Teflon, refusing to stick. Imagine the chemistry of my brain, the constant high I was on, because my space was in a continuous state of redefinition.

Perhaps living two lives – in diametrically opposite circumstances – gave me a certain internal richness? Perhaps I was bitten by the-grass-is-really-greener-on-the-other side syndrome? One was single and carefree although in a full-time job; the other, married and delightfully captive. One was in the Northern Hemisphere; the other in the South. One was in swelteringly tropical weather; the other in foggy howling cold. One was in my own home within the boundaries of my individual space; the other in a shared apartment with a girlfriend. One was in a city I craved changes in every time I returned. And the other was in a city I wanted sameness from, to be exactly where, and how, I left it.

In the two years I was doing this, I began to notice some key differences in the way this redefined space affected those around me. My flatmate in Singapore really welcomed my visit every three weeks, because my presence redefined her space as well. She’d originally rented a two-bedroom flat anticipating living there with her fiancé, and then they’d broken up. So now it made for the perfect balance – not too lonely, not too crowded.

In San Francisco, I’d dropped off people’s "calendars", as many didn’t really want to “invest” any more time in a friendship with me, given I wasn’t "available” or “dependable” any more. I was often perceived as flaky, and friends were awfully judgmental about the fact that I left my husband alone for three whole weeks. In Singapore, however, where expat culture is the very artery of life, my entries and exits were simply legitimized excuses to throw even more dinners in the name of “welcome” and “bye-bye” at the black-and-whites they lived in, and have more intense one-on-ones over brunches at Marmalade Pantry. The sorrow, by the way, would be really, really sweet, given we all knew I’d be right back.

Eventually, my sandals developed wings, and lost the capacity to find ground or form roots. The only constant ground I knew was in the air. Every time I returned, it would take my husband and me about a week to reconnect, and just when we were warming up, I would leave again. (I daresay it kept our relationship sharpened.)

So I had to redefine my space once more and learn to stay put.

About a year later, we moved to New York, a city where space is constantly redefining itself. Perhaps it has also taught me to redefine my space to be where I want to be.

When I crave Asia, I close my eyes and travel to Bali through my Squeezebox. Gamelan fills my ears as I sleep peacefully, deeply.

GUY ON REDEFINED SPACE

CHANGING LIFESPACE

My aunt drove me. It wasn't far—there's little that's far in a modestly sized Midwestern city. But it was off to a less frequented corner of town, as I was able to recognize now that I'm old enough to understand a map. My parents can't have been all that hip to have lived there.

"My goodness, it sure looks different! Wasn't it green? I don't like the new paint job," I said as we pulled up in front of the tiny frame house that had seemed so big back when I was so small.

"Well sure, I don't remember," said my aunt, parking nearby but not right out front so as not to alarm the current inhabitants if they were home.

We walked up, but we didn't walk right up. Approaching an old, once so familiar space after an absence of many years, one takes one's time. I took an odd path full of curves and hesitations, to get (eventually) to the front door and the screened-in porch where I'd once sat to watch thunderstorms.

It was all different. It's funny how spaces that were intensely familiar in bygone years are redefined when you experience them again. Some parts of this old home came back to me again alike, if not the same: the lawn, which I'd half forgotten but spent so much time on, was only altered in perception, by seeming so much smaller than it once did. Other parts were quite literally redefined, however. An extension had wiped out the back patio, making it Inside Space now, not Outside Space.

The new inhabitants let us in, and I got to see once again the living room—really just a living alcove!—the dining area, and particularly the upstairs attic, where I'd lived and which had been a storage space before my father and my aunt's then-boyfriend took to it and redefined it as the boys' bedroom. This was yet another change in space: in broad strokes, the attic was unaltered from my memory, yet it was now completely unrecognizable to me. There were too many shifts in dressing, perception, and milieu for me to be able to draw the temporal line from then to now.

We thanked the fellow who'd showed us around and drove off to find lunch, a great space in my memoryscape now redefined forever.

LORRAINE ON REDEFINED SPACE

OM IS WHERE THE ART IS

People typically think of space as external – as in outer space or deep space, or the lesser distance between two objects, or between themselves and an object or other person or persons.

Yogis, however, talk about space in the body, especially creating it. In warrior pose, as an example, you are meant to root your legs into the ground like a tree while your arms reach for the sky thus creating ‘space’ in your spine and torso. Personally, I take my yoga one Om at a time, rarely gaining new, physical dimensions. Until recently…

After six years of living in chronic pain as a result of a car accident, I found a miracle worker, aka myofascial release therapist, and had the space within my body redefined. Literally.

While I recognized the physical injuries my body had been subjected to over the years, I didn’t realize that all the knocks life had doled me psychically and emotionally had been stored physically and added up to quite an internal mess.

Now with the redefined space in my body, I can do things I didn’t realize that I couldn’t even do – if you can understand that. Which brings with it a whole new experience of external space so that is also redefined. Consider this - if you can’t walk pain-free, you’re not likely to be going on any major hikes… and now I can!

And once you start being more engaged physically with the world, guess what happens? Your emotional and psychic space is redefined too.

I am so looking forward to doing backbends – I can hardly wait!

Om.

ADAM ON REDEFINED SPACE

MAPS, SPACE & I

Ro’s latest topic, Redefining Space, got me thinking about maps. How they continually challenge my understanding and experience of space. How, curiously, I’m both attracted and put off by them. And how they seem to me to be an abstraction masquerading as facts.

For starters, I love the cautionary disclosure that’s often found on a map – “Map not drawn to scale”. Almost as much as I love the warning that’s ghosted on the side mirror of a car – “Objects are closer than they appear”. In both instances my bearings, which aren’t exactly that reliable to begin with, are put on notice - “Hey buddy, you know that thing that you think you know, well I got news for ya, it isn’t what you think it is.” Now, I’m very comfortable with these warnings. They help remind me that “not knowing” is ok, and actually can be part of a safe and sane outlook on life.

On the other hand, I’m a little put off when the wording on a map states that it’s been drawn to scale. It’s as if this information makes the map more real, more understandable, and more meaningful. Come on! Drawn to scale or not, I, for one, can easily find myself all-turned-around and feeling hopelessly lost using a map. Indeed, how often is it the case that the space that a map depicts has actually changed? Which reminds me that I often rationally know that something “is”, and yet, emotionally I’m still at a loss to fully recognize or deal with “it”. Indeed, emotions are never drawn to scale and almost invariably are closer than they appear.

Before the advent of MapQuest or Google Maps, which I now religiously use to find where something is located and how the heck to get there, I use to like to draw maps for folks to help explain how to get to my home. These maps tended to look a bit like a Saul Steinberg cartoon, where the representation of my home, typically an iconic box with a triangle on top, was always way out of proportion to anything else depicted. Streets, freeways, an important surrounding landmark, such as a nearby park or shopping center, all receded in stature. In effect, my home was the center of the world, the center of my world. I probably should have added these words at the bottom of my maps – “Map drawn to emotional scale”.

If you were to search for my home on GoogleMaps, you’ll find it’s presented entirely differently from “my home is where the heart is” map. The Google map has a little red pin-like icon pointing out where the house is located. Sure, it’s has been called out, but my home is certainly not the center of the world for GoogleMaps. It’s been homogenized. Redefined according to Google. Surprisingly, there’s also a photograph that accompanies the Google map. I believe it’s been put there to imbue it with a greater sense of “reality” and to confirm its “truth”. (There’s a bit of big brother going here. I wonder who actually took this photo? Kind of creepy. But that’s another topic for another day.)

As an exercise in exploring how maps can define or redefine “your space”, draw a map to your home from the airport to your doorstep. Compare that with GoogleMaps’ depiction. Then ask yourself, which one is more real? Or, which one do you prefer and why?

GUY ON HOMELESS SPACE - 2

SPACE ON THE ROAD

In my last post I referred to a kind of continuum that may exist from home-space at one familiar end to homeless space at the other. The idea is that when a permanent change occurs in your living conditions, such as foreclosure, you may be thrust into homeless space, even if you are still living in a home afterward (someone else’s home).

On the near end of this continuum is a situation I hadn’t mentioned: the transient homelessness experienced by the traveler. I have done a fair amount of traveling in my career: enough to feel disconnection from my home-space, but not enough for my traveling space to become a home-space of its own. There is a certain homelessness to the traveler, especially when trips come back to back.

What’s interesting about this kind of homeless space, I think, is its distance economically and materially from what you’d normally associate with the word “homeless.” Instead of being played out in stressful or dramatic places—the street at night; underground; in rail-yards—it occurs in comfort and refinement—in hotels, in airport lounges, in conference rooms, in restaurants.

So, homeless space on the road is temporary, and mild in its effects. But over time it does shape, even disturb, one’s character.

I recall one particular trip that had all the feel of the traveling salesman’s midway journey. I was staying in a perfectly fine, perfectly shapeless business hotel halfway down the Peninsula in the Bay Area in California. There was nothing wrong with the room; there was nothing wrong with the food; there was nothing wrong with the bathroom. In fact, there was aggressively nothing wrong with anything. I seemed to be halfway between here and there, with “here” and “there” themselves being halfway points, never ending.

One’s sense of distance from oneself is heightened by such spaces. I felt somewhat lost by this disconnection to anything with an edge to it. While at the hotel, I presented on a Webinar, calling in from my room; and the strangeness of communicating with hundreds of people regarding a very focused, technical topic, while actually sitting alone in a stark, bland but comfortable place, depressed my mind and pushed me into premature exhaustion.

I think you are pulled by any travel out from your home-space and into a homeless environment, mitigated by your trappings, like your clothes, a book, your iPod, your cel phone. Habitual or regular travel extends this light homelessness through time … and since time is the enemy of homeless space, eventually it must pass and your travel-space becomes familiar space and therefore home-space. But if you do not reach that point you will be, like I was on the Peninsula, suspended, disconnected, waiting.