Tough to Answer

I am not a feelings person.

For reasons I will not divest here, my personal journey has led me to be very cautious of feelings, as they are often misleading and detached from any external reality. In my humble estimation, feelings are responsible for far greater human suffering than a more disciplined, more reasoned approach to understanding the world around us and our place in it. Between the two, I tend to trust my reason far more than my intuition or my feelings at any given time. If, for no other reason, the former may be reasoned while the latter seems to pop in and out of existence without clear origination, rationale, or causation. In short, I tend to be cautious of my feelings and hesitant to allow them to be a guide.

Though I’m not sure of the exact time frame, sometime in the past few years I ran across a book titled, Looking for Spinoza: Joy, Sorrow, and the Feeling Brain by Antonio Damasio. The book challenged my perspective on feelings from a rational, scientific point of view. In a sense, by examining both the life and work of Spinoza, Damasio articulates the continued perplexity that remains at the core of the study of human emotion, and courageously affirms how little we understand them from a neurological point of view. However, in spite of an improper understanding regarding emotions, Damasio remains a clear defender of the importance of these feelings, since our evolutionary brains have not eliminated them from our schema of operation. In a sense, Damasio argues that we should not dismiss so flippantly an aspect of our biology that, so obviously, has remained part of the human experience for as long as humans have recorded such experience; a fair point.

However, if feelings are to have a place in our cognitive navigation of being, just what place should they take and how much credence should we give to them, especially when accepting how dangerously volatile they tend to be, and how much trouble they can cause? Just what are we to do with our feelings?

For those reading this blog, and wondering if I have accidentally posted my academic work in the wrong location, I want to assure you that you are in the right place. This blog is intended to share our collective experience, and the entirety of this experience sits upon a foundation that makes little rational sense. Ash and I, from the earliest parts of our marriage, have been the model of reasoned consistency. Growing up in a predominately military town, we were the ones who stayed when our closest friends moved away. Even well into adulthood, we have found ourselves saying goodbye to more close friends and loved ones than we've cared to. At this time, my closest friends live in Central Texas, up north, Northern California, the American Midwest, and on the East Coast…suffice it to say, poker games have become difficult to host, but I was always there to host them. Ash and I stayed, held down the fort (so-to-speak), and tried to build something of value in a place that never felt much like home but was, nonetheless, home. For two decades, we watched loved ones come in and out of that home, in and out of our lives, in and out of birthdays, hangouts, weekend get togethers, holidays, etc.

Ash and I had built a life. We moved into Ashley’s childhood two-bedroom home, and with our labor, our sweat, and our determination, we slowly renovated that house into the home we wanted. We added a larger living space, remodeled the kitchen, added a larger dining room, two new bedrooms, two new bathrooms, and a large upstairs living space we ceded to the kids. We build a fence around the backyard, and filled it with pets and chickens. We installed bird houses and bird feeders to ensure a vibrant ecosystem of life surrounding our place of living (so much so that we could time the arrival of our Purple Martins each season). I planted flowers each year to brighten up our house and our community. We invited nieces and nephews, our kid’s friends and random neighbor children into our space and tried to provide a respite from an otherwise chaotic world. We built a life and offered it to others. We had remained steady and had built something of value, but the feeling that our place was somewhere else never quite went away. In fact, the more we resolved to stay, the stronger the pull grew to go somewhere else; a pull that simply made no rational sense. It was a feeling. A stupid feeling. A persistent feeling. But a feeling nonetheless, and every time it began to grow, I used my reason to squash it. It made sense to stay.

As I sit here in our new living room in Kaltag, Alaska, covered in snow and new calamities, I still definitely believe that it made more rational sense to stay. Yet, we are here.

Here, where we are thousands of miles away from anything resembling real friends or support.

Here, where I’m thousands of miles away from my family; most notably my father who is still recovering from open heart surgery.

Here, where we could only bring a small fraction of our belongings and have opted to sell the rest in a massive, “living estate sale.”

Here, where I have no demand for my budding educational consulting endeavor.

Here, where I have no way to market or sell my book series, A More Perfect Parent (available on Amazon ; )…Book 3 Coming Soon!)

Here, where we must collect our own firewood and trample through several feet of snow to get to work every day.

Here, where I have to teach middle school and high school. When I first started my teaching career, I used to tell my superiors that I would teach any class they needed so long as I didn’t have to teach Freshman. My class in Kaltag includes only two students above the ninth grade: my daughters Jadyn and Emily.

Here, where I have to teach English (my educator friends will understand this bit of irony).

Here, where my kids bunk in a single 10 X 10 ft. bedroom, barely large enough for the two sets of bunk beds, and my and Ashley’s bedroom barely fits the bed included in the rental agreement.

Here, where our entire family shares a single bathroom with a single shower, a single toilet (which we can not flush toilet paper down), and a single sink.

Here, where we have no dishwasher and no drinkable faucet water. When I was in high school, my parents would often punish me by assigning dish duty. Over the four years I was in high school, I washed a ton of dishes and could not wait for the day when I was older and would no longer have to wash dishes. I’m still waiting.

Here, where a grocery order requires a 10% increased charge for packing and processing (Fred Myers, like a Kroger, has a special department that packs the food into “dry,” “chill,” and “freeze” boxes to ensure the food survives the travel), another $25 delivery charge for someone to take the grocery order from the grocery store to the delivering airport where a ~$1.30/lb freight charge is added to get the order from Fairbanks to Kaltag. The entire process takes a few days, minimum.

Here, where I have an electric stovetop to cook upon, instead of gas.

Here, where Amazon delivers, but Prime shipping only ensures free shipping not expedition. Since packages are prioritized for delivery, Amazon goods tend to hangout in storage until extra room is available on the plane for delivery. Currently, we’re still waiting on items that we ordered before we left Texas. (On this note, many have asked about sending care packages and have asked about what items are needed. To this end, we put together a family wish list on Amazon if any should feel so inclined. The kids helped populate the list, so take it with a grain of salt. In truth, we have what we need, but welcome any/all support. The list may be accessed at: https://www.amazon.com/hz/wishlist/ls/385PH87R9HD3C?ref_=wl_share.)

Here, where it costs $250 per person, just to fly back to civilization.

Here, where there is no hospital, and medevac is your only option for an emergency.

However, in spite of all the reasons not to be here, it feels right and I still can not explain it. When people have asked, I would say that it makes sense only if you allow for a divine overlay. However, my reason cautions against such overlay as that's often the fallback to explain the absurd or unexplainable. Nonetheless, I find myself allowing for divine intervention.

It is often remarked that everything happens for a reason. While this sentiment seems scientifically accurate, as all responses seem to have a cause, I’m not sure science can account for the sentiment’s divine overlay or undertone of guided destiny. It is for this reason, that I can not affirm that our move to Alaska is, inherently, positive; nothing is.

There is a Buddhist proverb that states, “Man is always living in the world he creates.” I have come to love and appreciate that proverb more and more, and I allow it to guide me on a daily basis. Upon proper understanding, the proverb carries two meanings; 1) that we, as individuals, have some tangible, meaningful impact on the world around us in a very real way, and 2) how we engage in that world largely depends on the perspective we choose to harbor about it. Thus, if I choose to harbor an image of the world around me as one that is able to be perfected, then I can work within that perspective with my intelligence and effort to perfect it. I can choose to become meaningful as I still wrap my head around the broader meaning of it all.

Maybe reason can not explain all we want it to. And maybe feelings are more distractive and dangerous than most understand or allow. Maybe it all makes sense and these fragments of living will all add up to some tangible larger good that can not be understood within a single life time. Or maybe nothing makes sense and any such considerations of meaning are merely delusions of grandeur and a fundamental ignorance of our true insignificance.

Each of us is left to answer these questions to the extent that we can and answer them in such a way that we can live with the answers. For me, I choose to believe that the world around me is moldable, and I’ll continue to mold that world toward the good until I feel like I have found home.

-Philip

Bewildered at the depth!

Attempting exaggeration...

Jadyn, keeping it real.

Mouse or vole tracks

Saturday Sunrise

Smoke on the water

If you can't pack a wreath...

...you make one!

Wild rosehips for the wreath

This week's photos reflect the foot of snow we received, and word has it that we're going to get another foot over the next couple of days. We've also started the humble beginnings of making our holiday decorations. Because when you can't pack your wreath, and you live by a forest, you might as well make one. As you can tell, the river is progressively freezing, and I am looking forward to the day when we can walk across to the other side. As the photos also show, we have plenty of candidates for our Christmas tree this year!

-Ashley