Musings from August 2003, rediscovered in a Spring cleaning...

I know there must be some reason people love reading Proust. I read the first installment of Remembrance of Things Past, and found some intriguing gems every fifty pages or so. I also want to learn more about his work in the context of the historical development of how and what ideas get put into writing. In the meantime, I thought this quote (A Word A Day scores again) touches on one of the major insights in what I’ve read of Proust:

"The charm, one might say the genius of memory, is that it is choosy, chancy and temperamental; it rejects the edifying cathedral and indelibly photographs the small boy outside, chewing a hunk of melon in the dust."-Elizabeth Barrett Browning

This somehow relates as well in my mind to a quote (by someone) noted by Frank Horvat, photographer ,"Photography is the art of not pushing the button."

It all seems wrapped up in defining moments – some of which we choose through instinct or impulse (the moment we push the button), but most of which choose us (the boy and the melon.)

To circle back to Proust, Alain de Botton, who wrote "How Proust Can Change Your Life" also gets at this concept in his latest book, The Art of Travel, as well when he talks about vacations, and about the difference between imagining yourself in the proverbial "picture in the brochure" and actually inhabiting the space pictured in the brochure. His point is that vacations will never be some idealized living out of a vacation fantasy, because you cannot leave yourself – or all of the things orbiting in your mental universe – at home. In other words, you can’t take a vacation without bringing yourself along.

In my mind, this cuts both ways. On the one hand, of course you want to bring yourself on vacation. On the other, what a pain in the ass. I want to enter into the so-called "vacation mode," but I’m not sure I know what this means, precisely, nor do I know how to access it.

I’m reading the (badly titled yet amazing) book, Wishcraft (probably more on this later), and it’s given me an idea about how people could have better vacations/travel experiences. (Actually, it’s also echoing what my friend Martha Gies suggested a year or so ago, and what she actually does, but the possibilities are really just beginning to sink in.) What if you designed a vacation not only around where you want to go, but around who you are? For instance, if you love nothing more than learning new things, plan your vacation around learning opportunities. Imagine, instead of visiting the five recommended tourist attractions, visiting a local mandolin-maker, or a factory that manufactures a local product, or a location-specific charitable organization you’re interested in for whatever reason?

Some guy, talking about travel on NPR a few years back said "I travel to think new thoughts." I was intrigued by this idea. But taking it one step further, and thinking of time as just as much a resource as the place you’re going, it would be easy to orchestrate learning opportunities that may or may not have anything to do with the specific place you’re going. In other words, time and freedom are considered just as valuable as the place you’re going. Perhaps you do things you could conceivably do at home (maybe there’s a mandolin-maker in your town) but they become part of the – hopefully cherished -- memory of a trip when you do them on vacation.

A case in point: I once bought a big piece of fabric at a Paris flea market. My traveling companion tried to discourage me, grousing "but you can buy the same thing at home." I didn’t have my retort then, but I do now. Perhaps I could have purchased the same thing at home, but in my memory, that fabric will always be the thing I bought in Paris, and will evoke memories of that trip. Hmm.