Essay: The Theory of Potential Relativity

written in the hour following a meeting with my thesis adviser in the dead of summer, during which no one wants to work.

August 9, 2010           

            The Theory of Potential Relativity

 

At one point I started seeing time in an entirely different light, as less linear, as relative to the situations in which I was occupied. Going to see a movie took an impossibly long 2 hours, during which so much happened, so much unfolded during those two hours. Yet two hours at my laptop, staring at the screen, willing inspiration to rain down from the part of heaven designated for intellectual epiphany rarely produced anything productive at all. Of late, anyway.

            Not so, in the past. I look back and remember writing entire essays, reflections, poems, and even select short stories in little more than a few hours’ time. I think back to a time when inspiration did not require such seeking, when my mind was filled with nervous energy and less cluttered with rules and divergences. I remember a sense of urgency.

            Or am I incorrect? Is my memory incomplete, or can it be biased? Is it possible that it is both self-serving and self-sabotaging? The answer is invariably yes to all. It can and probably is.

            See, some individuals thrive in a quick, demanding, and pressured environment. Think of people, for a moment, as rubber balls precariously poised on the top of a considerably steep cliff. Some are unmarked, unscathed, untested. They’ve looked over the edge and have felt either afraid of or disinterested in taking that plunge over the side. They know what lies at the bottom, but feel as though the risks outweigh the consequences of making that leap and have decided to set up shop at the top of that cliff, to roll in the soft grass away from the cliff, and to get to know the other balls. But for some, this isn’t enough, for a variety of reasons. They feel they don’t fit in, they like a little danger, they lack the social skills to get to know the other rubber balls. Or maybe they want to know what else is out there. They’ve heard the tales of rubber balls of other cliffs and of other valleys, they believe that they have to see certain things for themselves. Or maybe they’re just bored.

            Time and position being relative, what if that second group of rubber balls has already taken the leap? What if this isn’t their first cliff? What if they’ve rolled from the tops of cliffs their whole lives and only briefly stopped to survey the land here, to take a rest, to reacquaint themselves with the likes of others? Would the soft grass, closer proximity to the warm sun, and comforts of home life attract them? Certainly, they would. And therein lies the point.

            It is easy to get caught up in simple comforts, in the habits of others, in safety and in stability, stability being the key. See, it is position (whether mental or physical) that alters time. But more on that in a moment.

            The other rubber balls, you see, will want these strangers, these go-getters, to assimilate into their activities and their ways of life. They will invite them to roll in the grass, to lie in the sun, to bounce their rubber bodies up and down on the smooth brown rock beneath. They will not understand the need to roll on, the need to pitch lightly over the ever-feared craggy ledge. And this will keep the other group in check. They will accommodate their behaviors to fit these fears and these beliefs which are not their own.

            But leaping is never a gentle act and is never justified until one sees another safely alive at the bottom. So why consult at all? Sure there are parameters, there are logisitics. Yes. But judgments cannot be altered. Ah, but by position.

            Knowing they’ve leaped before, the second group of rubber balls has the home court advantage. And so they do. They roll. They roll slowly at first, gingerly. They’ve remained stable so long that their rubber feet are unsure of themselves. They stumble, tear a piece from their once shiny rubber faces. But no matter. They are themselves once more. Laughing and weeping with joy, they give in to gravity, forcing them downward, over rock and vegetation. They stoop to pick up as they go along. All the while, they’re observing, learning, formulating stories and ideas, taking mental pictures, testing and retesting theories as to why the world and its people are the way they are.

            An hour goes by. The rubber balls at the top of their cushy cliff face are lying in the sun, still rolling in the grass, still discussing the weather, what they read in the magazines that morning (assuming, for the sake of the metaphor, that rubber balls can read, of course). That hour creeps by slowly and rather unproductively. They may get up to bounce a bit later on, but then again they may not. They don’t know. The beauty is that the day, and the week for that matter, remain unscheduled.

            An hour goes by for that second group of rubber balls, filled with excitement and energy, of ideas and of logic. Of strategy and of planning. Of near-death and near-insanity. They laugh again at the certain uncertainty of the journey. They bend their proverbial heads low and tackle the wind. They’ve begun to strategize, to beat the odds, to accomplish.

            Another hour goes by. Much the same for the first group. The sun, the grass, the discussion, the same discussion they have every day at this time. The ideas are the same, but perhaps they should share them again. Perhaps the others would like to share theirs again as well. Perhaps everything should always stay the same. That’s the beauty of unscheduled, unhampered, unadulterated sameness, isn’t it? Being the same. Expecting the expected. Oh, have two hours gone by already?

            Let’s visit with that second group again. They know that two hours have gone by. They know because they’ve felt every minute of them. They remained on-edge and attentive for every sixty-second block of sixty-minute frame until they thought they’d explode with thought and feeling. They see a landing, a protrusion from the side of the mountain. They stop to rest, coming to an artful halt to catch their breaths, their mental faculties. They check with one another. Yes, it has most definitely been two hours. It has been two hours because that’s exactly how much experience they’ve gained, thoughts they’ve worked out, theories they’ve tested. They know it has been two hours and they do not regret a second of them. They know now that they will rest fitfully, having exerted themselves in such a way that they are filled with accomplishment and pride. Maybe they’ll even sit down to write about those experiences, to share them with others who may not have the opportunities or the drive to take that same leap.

            You may think that these rubber balls should be so incredibly tired that they should go right to sleep, roll in the small patch of grass there, or bask in the weak sunlight that shines through the cracks of their temporary safe haven. But no. Because energy is also relative. Their energy should be far depleted, correct? Wrong again, I’m sorry to say. See, the part of their rubber cores that house their potential energy has only grown. They are now rubber balls of twice the size. They not only converted that mounting potential energy into something constructive, but expanded in a self-perpetuating growth of potentiality, so that they not only may take the same leap again tomorrow, but will share their knowledge, boost their morales, and seek additional tasks and stimulations as well. Tomorrow they will fall, roll, bump, and gain ground for three hours, in fact. They will increase their efforts, knowing full well that they are frowned upon and might very well be labeled crazy by conventional standards.

            And what of the first group? They remain as they were, as they always have been. They sit, they lie, they read, they talk. They revel in their stability, their safety. They are psychologically healthy, interpersonally satisfied, and may outlive the second group.

            But someone has to gain the experiences, to write the articles that fuel their conversations, don’t they?

            My point, convoluted and longwinded as it may be, is that constructs such as time, position, and energy are all relative. Yes, we know.

But do we know? Many ideas are stated in theory and taken for granted every day. But are they put into practice?

If I were to tell you that yesterday I spent an hour doing nothing but lying alone by the pool, listening to the neighbors talk, and taking in the hot August sun, would you believe me? Of course you would. Who wouldn’t?

The question I then ask myself is this: Why? Why did I choose to engage in an act (or lack thereof) that would gather me no comfort, fame or notoriety, sense of accomplishment, friendship, satisfaction, or self-worth? I had done nothing that day to tire myself so I needed no rest, so why did I lie there? I knew I had tests to study for, parts of a thesis to write, books to read, laundry to tend to, work to be done. I knew. And yet I acted the way I did. And I will tell you why.

Because that is the way I had acted the past few weeks. Classes were over, people in my life were in the mode of summer and I got caught up in it. See potential expands, like mentioned before, but it also may diminish quite quickly. It can sit and fester, change and transform into a hunger for something entirely different. Overeating, overwatching of bad television, oversleeping. Potential must be satiated, but in which manner you have the choice.

Ah, choice. Another construct which is highly relative, perhaps the most relative of all. But that discussion is for another day.

So, you may wonder after the point of this particular essay (for lack of a better word) and I will leave you with this, my only concrete evidence for it all:

            See, yesterday I spent an hour doing nothing but lying outside and that hour went by rather quickly because I accomplished exactly nothing. I also overate, overtelevisioned, and overslept. That being true, today, I transformed that self-perpetuating, self-sabotaging, festering potential into construction. I created where no creation had ever existed. I talked, I read, I wrote, I planned, I strategized. I took the leap. I took the leap and guess what it got me? A clear head, a renewed sense of purpose, happiness, and an almost six-page essay detailing these insights to any who will read such rambles.

And do you know how long this invaluable experience took to unfold? One hour.

                  :)