In the past days i have come upon at least two references to the renaissance man, the one who is interested in and studies a vast array of subjects, exploring the world, multi-faceted, multi-talented. Someone with a broad mind that is alive and curious. I came upon this in a novel i am reading, and in a reference down on cannery row in Monterey, when i was internally bemoaning the superficiality of the place. And then i began to think – how limited i am and how shallow my interests can be. On how in the past few weeks i have explored little, become bored by what is, and in doing so closed myself off.
I wondered if it is because i am returning to places i have once been, and had done all the exploring i wished to do. But there is always so much more. The person who can always find wonder in a back yard, a city block, a small town or a plot of land. And even on my adventures, i have really not been all that adventurous – not curious to see what is around the corner, or what really happens in a place, or who that other person really is.
But back to my recent time, back in the us of a. In Monterey this time i wandered, and did not see out, did not interact with life around, walked and observed without really seeing, putting my impressions onto all. I looked upon that which was around slightly askew and cynical – judging and categorizing though i tried not to. I went to the malls, and rode the bus, and walked along the water, and did try a few samples of the clam chowder on the wharf but i did not really engage – lose myself in the moment.
The previous visit, two years ago i explored more – the first walk along the waterfront, and the second, when it was new and magical, wondering about the plants that grew along the shore, the ones that made me sneeze, watching the harbour seals who balanced upon the rocks and gathered upon the beach.
On the previous visit i took the grapevine bus, up into the carmel valley, thinking i would do some wine tasting, not realizing the snob appeal, and the upper crust, how expensive it would be, and how you would be treated i If you were alone and dressed more poorly, not about to buy an expensive lunch or bottles of wine. And then i became disillusioned, especially waiting for the bus back to town that did not show and hanging around on a corner with the mexican workers for more than an hour until the bus did come.
And i explored the galleries and the shops in Carmel – one with impressive nature photos, but many filled with art for sale, that which would look good on a living room wall. But i wandered by the cute cottages, and tree lined streets and marveled at the white sand on the windy beach . This time i saw the sand that was white, but noticed the wind, and did not look around, feeling that i knew what i would see and thus closed my eyes to possibilities.
And the last time, was the first time i saw the coastline of Big Sur – took the bus down and back, had a coffee – even then did not go for a hike, more concerned about getting back than seeing what was around. But did not do it again – for it was now someplace i had been – the time before was before the drive down all the way a few weeks later with my father, puttering along, so slow on the twisty road, clenching my teeth out of fear and frustration blocking all the cars that went behind – stressed at something that was meant to be enjoyable. And it ws before, further down the coast, being left in a campground, hitchhiking out, after robert left to look at the ocean (in oregon), of walking and sitting looking at the ocean feeling both bliss and pain. And it was before getting a lift from a fellow camper all the way up in the pelting rain, stopping for an overpriced coffee and getting drenched, So if i had gone down there again it would not have been with fresh eyes, but a walk down memory land.
The last time on the way back from Big Sur i stopped at point lobos as the sky was turning, as it did too on Sunday, and walked in the wind, and felt the waves crash upon the shore. I never did make it to the aquarium.
Instead i spent too much time at the hostel, and ended up at Cannery Row just down the block more often that i wished, eating boring chain Subway sandwiches – not curious to find other cheap food.
And i looked at those walking and shopping and talking about when and where to eat, and realized that i was really no different. Where is the curiosity of my mind, body and soul. I looked at those who kayaked upon the water, those who were scuba diving, and those who were engaged. I thought of the flowers i passed and smiled at but whose names i do not know, whose growth patterns and origins and more i do not know, and of the rock formations, the layers jutting up, and i wondered how they were formed but did not inquire, and how little curiosity i have displayed, and how limited my experiences have been though they have taken place in many locales. And how i have been caught up in the me and wondering what i should do, instead of just letting interests guide me with enthusiasm and branching off where they lead me – developing and following a passion.
Is it that i lack curiosity or that fear holds me back – afraid to go out and explore as i do not know what i will find. And so i find myself in the same old places.
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