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Brian Arens
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Non-Fiction
Memoir
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I was 26, and about as dumb in all human things as any 26-year-old has a right to be, when I met the woman who would change my life. That she'd been dead for a couple of hundred years made not the slightest difference whatsoever. Her name was Jane Austen, and she would teach me everything I know about everything that matters. The thing that takes my breath away when I think back on it all is that I never wanted to read her in the first place. It happened quite by accident and very much against my will. I'd been eager when I'd gone back to school to get my PhD the year before, to fill the gaps in my literary education. Chaucer and Shakespeare, Melville and Milton. But the one area of English literature that held no interest for me, that positively repelled me, was 19th century British fiction. What could be duller, I thought, than a bunch of long, heavy novels by women novelists in stilted language on trivial subjects? The very titles sounded ridiculous. Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights, Middlemarch. But nothing symbolized the dullness and narrowness of that whole body of work like the name Jane Austen. Wasn't she the one who wrote those silly, romantic fairy tales? Just thinking about her made me sleepy. What I really wanted to study was modernism, the literature that had formed my identity as a reader, and in many ways, as a person. Joyce, Conrad, Faulkner, Nabokov, complex, difficult, sophisticated works. Like so many young men, I needed to think of myself as a rebel, and modernism, with its revolutionary intensity, confirmed my self-image. I'd pass my days in a cloud of angry sarcasm, making silent speeches as I stalked down Broadway in my John Lennon coat, against everything conventional, respectable, and pious. I'd walk right up alongside the buildings in the shadows, makes you feel like a rat scuttling for cover, to aggravate my sense of alienation. If I was waiting for someone and had nowhere else to go, I'd sit right down on the sidewalk with my Kerouac or my Catch-22, just to try and stop me. I smoked weed, listened to The Clash, and snorted at the business monkeys who'd sold out to the man. Like the modernists, I was hot to change the world, even if I wasn't sure exactly how. At the very least, I knew I wasn't gonna let the world change me. I was Dostoevsky's underground man raging against the machine. I was Stephen Dedalus, the rebel artist who runs rings around the grownups. I was Conrad's Marlowe, the world-weary truth teller who punches through hypocrisy and lies. Needless to say, I was not the easiest person to get along with. In fact, I wonder that my friends put up with me at all. Like so many guys, I thought that a good conversation meant holding forth about all the supposedly important things I knew, books, history, politics, whatever. But I wasn't just aggressively certain of myself. Of course, I never let anyone finish a sentence and delivered my opinions as if they'd come direct from Sinai. I was also oblivious to the feelings of the people around me, a bulldozer stuck in overdrive, because it had never occurred to me to imagine how things might look from someone else's point of view. My best friend, who knew me better than I knew myself, once introduced me to a friend of hers named Honor. Just as I was gearing up to reel off all the stupid puns I could think of, Your Honor, honored to meet you, and so forth. My friend caught the smirk spreading across my face and cut me off before I could make an idiot of myself. Billy, she explained with the weary patience with which you might address a difficult child, she's already heard them all. Basically, I had no insight into myself or anyone else.
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Brian Arens
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Non-Fiction
Self-Help
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A basic reality of unhappy intimacies is the judgment each party develops towards their partner. No relationship can flourish with such mutual harshness. In moving through life, it is necessary to make many evaluations. Being here would serve me better than being there. This food is not good for my body. This car is not good for my wallet. We call this discrimination, an essential quality for living in the world. Judgment is something quite different and involves the closing of our heart. From birth, we are exposed to judgment of ourselves and others as a standard accompaniment to every aspect of our lives. Judging others has a comfortable, familiar, at-home quality, tempting us to indulge frequently in the pure pleasure of it. We expend a vast amount of energy in judging ourselves and others, particularly in response to fear-based behavior. We judge others for their anger, for their self-centeredness, their insensitivity, their inconsistency, their greed. All are things for which we judge ourselves. Closing the heart may also manifest as failing to see the unique beauty of another. When the heart is truly open, there is a natural sense of appreciation for others, even while being aware of their imperfections. An early warning sign of the heart's closing is the loss of appreciation. Even though you may not be consciously aware of judging your partner, lack of appreciation dampens the love and the flow of energy between you. Am I saying judgment is bad? How is one to regard inhumanity, violence? At a more immediate level, how is one to regard the insensitive behavior of one's partner? Do I need to close my heart when my partner doesn't keep agreements or isn't tuned into my needs or gets angry at me unfairly or treats me insensitively? How is one to respond, in short, when confronted with another's fear? My own fear presents its case with convincing logic and consummate skill. It asserts that I need judgment to move through the world. If I have a problem with my partner, my discomfort is due to their behavior. In order to remain safe, I must close my heart to them. My deeper wisdom has a different perspective. If my heart were truly open to my partner at this moment, would there really be a problem? Perhaps it suggests the only problem lies in the fact that my heart is closed. To this, there is only one solution.
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Brian Arens
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Historical
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For a long time, though, unlike his puzzle boxes, her father's model of their neighborhood makes little sense to her. It's not like the real world. Its streets are empty, its pavements static. To her fingers, it serves as little more than a tiny and insufficient facsimile. He persists in asking Marie-Laure to run her fingers over it, to recognize different houses, the angles of streets. And one cold Tuesday in December, when Marie-Laure has been blind for over a year, her father walks her up Rue Cuvier, to the edge of the Jardin des Plantes. Here, ma chérie, is the path we take every morning. Through the cedars up ahead is the Grand Gallery. I know, papa. He picks her up and spins her around three times. Now, he says, you're going to take us home. Her mouth drops open. I want you to think of the model, Marie. But I can't possibly. I'm one step behind you. I won't let anything happen. You have your cane. You know where you are. I do not. You do. Exasperation. She cannot even say if the gardens are ahead or behind. Calm yourself, Marie. One centimeter at a time. It's far, papa. Six blocks at least. Six blocks is exactly right. Use logic. Which way should we go first? The world pivots and rumbles. Crows shout. Breaks hiss. Someone to her left bangs something metal with what might be a hammer. She shuffles forward until the tip of her cane floats in space. The edge of a curb? A pond? A staircase? A cliff? She turns 90 degrees. Three steps forward. Three steps forward. Now her cane finds the base of a wall. Papa? I'm here. Six paces, seven paces, eight. A roar of noise, an exterminator just leaving a house, pump bellowing, overtakes them. Twelve paces farther on, the bell tied around the handle of a shop door rings, and two women come out, jostling her as they pass. Marie-Laure drops her cane. She begins to cry. Her father lifts her, holds her to his narrow chest. It's so big, she whispers. You can do this, Marie. She cannot.
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Brian Arens
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Athletic
Training
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Training books commonly begin with an overview of the fitness program and lay out a few rules for how the program is to be followed. There's often a discussion of equipment and usually a brief review of training principles. But I'm not going to start that way. Instead, I want to begin with what I consider to be the most important asset every athlete must develop and nurture before beginning a training program. That asset is mental fitness. No athlete will ever reach his or her goals without a sound mental strategy and a commitment to success. So before we talk about anything else, let's look at why you want to take on the challenge of triathlon and how you can develop a winning approach to your training. Master the principles in this chapter and you will be on the path to a triathlon season marked by high achievement. The common denominator for all of the high-performance triathletes I have known is a can-do attitude. It's a sure thing that they will succeed. They're convinced of it. This leads me to believe that mental fitness is at least as important as physical fitness, perhaps even more so. A mentally fit athlete always figures out a way. High achievement always starts with a dream and triathletes are big dreamers. They dream of what may be achieved in the coming season, finishing an Ironman, taking a podium placing at a favorite race, achieving a top 10 national ranking, qualifying for a world championship, or some other big dream. I really don't know which comes first, the big dream or the will to achieve. I suspect it's the latter. But they go hand in hand. Because of this, I believe it is imperative that triathletes develop mental fitness along with their physical fitness. And just like physical fitness, mental fitness can be trained. In fact, physical fitness and mental fitness are similar in that both must be trained consistently.
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Brian Arens
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Science
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Just as the disappearance of a ship below the horizon seems a puzzle if one misconstrues the Earth to be flat, our misconception that the universe is only three-dimensional leads to apparent paradoxes about the Big Bang in the expanding universe. For example, since all galaxies seem to be rushing outward from the Milky Way, it would appear that we occupy the center of the universe, the place where the Big Bang occurred. Many people ask after they're shown that creatures on any other galaxy would make the same observation and come to the same conclusion. Well then, where exactly in space did the Big Bang happen? Others focus their thoughts not on the center of the universe but on its edge. Surely, they say, some galaxies are out leading the way, those that form the outer shell of the expanding sphere unleashed by the Big Bang. Wouldn't beings on those galaxies look back to see galaxies at their backsides with only emptiness out in front? And from the most sophisticated comes a worse puzzle. How can we look farther out into space and thus back into time and see a bigger and bigger volume when we know that the universe was smaller in the past? These and similar conundra are born from basic misconceptions about the nature of space and time, the ones we get from intuition, that is, the circuitry evolved in our brains to deal with perceptions of the immediate world. In order even to make sense of these questions, we must begin to accept the true nature of space and time, a reality totally outside our experiences. We quite naturally imagine space as a fixed framework, unbending and static, and time as a ticking clock, steady and precise, absolute standards against which all events can be measured. This was the world that Newton described so brilliantly with his new math, a world where the trajectories of apples and planets yielded with equal ease to the calculus. Newton's laws are an excellent description of the world we perceive with our senses, but his system is only an approximation, albeit a magnificent one, that breaks down when we deal in vast distances and great speeds. Albert Einstein was the first to grapple successfully with this larger domain when he was trying to understand how the laws of physics would appear to different observers in relative motion. Newton's laws of mechanics describe how objects move in response to external forces and give simple rules to transform from one observer to another. For example, consider a baseball pitcher tossing a lazy 50 miles per hour curve ball forward from the backseat of a convertible automobile traveling at 60 miles per hour. The pitcher would not be surprised to learn that a batter on the sidewalk will be terrorized by a blazing 110 miles per hour fastball. Such simple rules had been found to hold as exactly as could be measured for some 200 years, but by the end of the 18th century, a few disturbing contradictions had surfaced.