Limitations

I am haunted by this short story:

“Once a fiddler played so sweetly that all who heard him began to dance, and whoever came near enough to hear, joined in the dance.  Then a deaf man who knew nothing of music, happened along, and to him all he saw seemed the action of madmen – senseless and in bad taste.”  (from Tales of the Hasidim, by Martin Buber)

There are those who hear what I cannot hear,

There are those who see what I cannot see.

Often, the poet hears that to which I am deaf.

Often, the artist sees that to which I am blind.

There are many who have helped me to hear a little better, and who have helped me to see a little clearer.

There are times when I can do no better than to recognize and accept my deafness and my blindness.

Before judging others, I must recognize and accept my limitations. 

There are those who imagine what I cannot imagine.

There are those who understand what I cannot understand.

There are those who feel what I cannot feel.

These limitations I recognize and accept . . . reluctantly.

This is Pickleball

My wife and I are learning to play pickleball.  Recently introduced to the game by my in-laws, we watch instructional videos and play once or twice-a-week, gimpy knees and all.

For several years, I’d heard of the game.  I was put off by the name.  Pickleball just sounded too silly.  I was put off by the characterization of pickleball as tennis for old people.  In fact, there are a lot of old people playing the game.

A pickleball court is 1/4^th the size of a tennis court, so there’s less court to cover. The game is usually played with a partner, which further cuts down on the running.  The game is played with an oversized ping-pong paddle and a wiffleball.  Compared to tennis, when hitting the ball there is less torque on the arm, which means less chance for injury.  Still, playing pickleball is a surprisingly good workout.

The scoring is a little confusing at first.  Each game is played to eleven points.  You only get a point if you’re serving.  With each point you serve you must call out three numbers; your score, your opponent’s score AND a server’s number, either one or two.  If you want to check your mental status, you can also call out the date and day.

The net is at the same height as tennis.  The baseline is 22 feet from the net.  There is also a line 7 feet from the net.  Anything inside of that line is called the kitchen, and with a few notable and confusing exceptions, even if you can stand the heat, you must stay out of the kitchen when hitting the ball.

The serve must land in the opposite opponent’s half of the court, beyond the kitchen line.  The ball must bounce before being returned.  Unlike tennis, the ball must bounce again on the return of the return.  Only then can the ball be hit from the air.  Beginner’s strategy is simple, play it forward.  Get yourself and your partner up to the kitchen line after the third hit, and then try your best to keep hitting the ball over the net.

There is a group of mostly elderly pickleball players, men and women, that meet Monday through Friday, 7:30am at the local pickleball courts.  My wife and I warn them we are beginners, and we are nevertheless welcomed.  We rotate teams, different partners each game.  Even the very skilled players have been kind and patient with us.

During one game, my wife apologized for a missed hit.  She was informed, “This is pickleball, no need to apologize.”  Between games, my wife and I sat on the sidelines, watching two notably better players warming up.  They invited us to play.  Being newcomers to the sport, we declined.  One of them looked at us and said, “You’re missing the point. This is pickleball.  You're supposed to be social.  Get out here and have some fun.”

And we did.

Reading and Writing

“We must learn to feel addressed by a book, by the human being behind it, as if a person spoke directly to us.”  (Walter Kaufmann, 1921—1980)

“Maybe we understand, in some way, that books represent the permanent part of us that can “shed” the body and live on for a time in the new form of words.”  (Roger Kamenetz, 1950--)

Is reading my hobby?  No more so than eating and breathing.  It’s my sustenance.  I am driven to read by unquenchable curiosity.

I am a bibliophile. I treasure books, real books, not ebooks. When I read a book, I need to hold it, turn each page, underline and make occasional notes in the margins.  At times, I find books oppressive.  Books unread remind me of my finiteness; how much I don’t know, how much I still want to learn, how little time there is.  Mortality forces me to choose and prioritize, to read some and to put aside so many others.

Sometimes when I read great books and essays, I imagine I'm listening in on a great conversation, ideas being discussed and debated, back and forth defying barriers of time and space.  When I write, I pretend that I am no longer a passive listener, but a small contributor to that eternal dialogue.

Is writing my hobby?  No, it’s my creative outlet and my therapy.  The best self-help book I’ll ever read?  The one I’ve yet to write.

It’s easy for me to read. It’s hard for me to write. The more I write, the more I fall behind in my reading. I find excuses to not write. It takes time and effort.  It takes a willingness to be vulnerable; a willingness to accept the scrutiny and criticism of readers.  Perhaps hardest is wanting the writing to matter, fearing that it will not.

I write for my children. I want them to know me for my beliefs and ideas, for my occasional humor and my occasional wisdom. And if they happen to read what I’ve written, I hope they hear my open invitation to join me in a great conversation.  Here are my thoughts and beliefs.  Now, I want to know, what are yours?

This is my 50^th blog post.  Time out while I catch up on some reading.

Plausible Truth

“. . . we know truth not only through reason but more so through the heart.  It is in this latter way that we know first principles, and it is in vain that reason, which plays no part in this, tries to combat them.”  (Blaise Pascal, 1623—1662) 

Many believe in the truth of God.  Many believe that, in truth, there is no God.

Many believe in the truth of a transcendent source of good and evil.  Many believe, in truth, that humans alone decide the measure of good and evil.

All truths follow from unprovable first principles.  Many believe that, in truth, we live in a material world made of matter and energy only, explainable by the properties of matter and energy alone.  This is the prevailing presumption of the sciences.  Many others believe that, in truth, the world is made of matter, energy and something more.  ‘Something more’ has been called sentience, spirit, creative force, oneness.  Most commonly ‘something more’ has been called God. This is the prevailing presumption of religion.

It seems to me that there are truths, perhaps some of the most important truths, that defy proof.  Yet, they are the truths that stir great passion, conviction and devotion. Let’s call these plausible truths.

Plausible truths have been reasoned, witnessed, experienced and believed by many.  Plausible truths have also been denied, disputed and disbelieved by many others.  People have argued, fought, killed and died for their plausible truths.

Plausible truths are built upon unprovable first principles, principles that are accepted in faith. Reason then must explore and question the implications of these first principles.  “It is not certainty which one acquires so, only plausibility, but that is the best we can hope for.”  (Milton Steinberg, 1903-1950)

Plausible truths can neither be proved nor disproved. Don’t try to convince me of that which can’t be proved.  I won’t dispute with you that which I can’t disprove.  I live with plausibility, not certainty.  I have my truths.  You have yours.