meaning in the moving design

It started with a gulch.

We were on the East Coast Trail in Newfoundland, reading out directions from our trusty map: "Following the path, you will pass a small gulch, followed by two larger gulch-like gulches, which in turn precede a particularly steep gulch just left of the isthmus."

We... had no idea what a gulch was.

That got me thinking that all those other pretty things I was gushing over probably had names too, like not just "that rocky shelf thing with the cool guy around it..." So I've decided to dedicate an entire post to geography, or more specifically, geomorphology- that mysterious, creative force that shapes all that natural beauty around us. Time to get your learn on....

Let us begin.

A shoal is a bar of sand. A dune is a hill of sand. A dune field is a field of dunes. An erg is an extremely large dune field.

(Easy so far, eh? Take a deep breath...)

A valley is a dale. A gully is a small valley. A valley full of water is a vale. A wooded valley is a dell. A small valley surrounded by mountains is a hollow. A deep, narrow valley is a coombe or a glen. A deep valley carved by water is a gorge or a canyon. A wide and shallow valley carved by water is a strath. The opposite of a valley is a hill or knoll or mound.

A drumlin is a long whale-shaped hill formed by glacial activity. A crevasse is a fissure in a glacier. A moulin is a fissure (such as a crevasse) through which water enters into a glacier. A pingo is a mound of earth-covered ice. It is also a friend of Pingu the penguin.

A bay is a bay. A cove is a bay with a narrow mouth. A gulch is a rectangular-shaped cove with steep sides (at least in Newfoundland). A gulf is a large bay. So is a sound or a bight. A fjord is a narrow bay with steep sides, carved by glacial activity.

A river is a river. A stream is a small river. A bayou is a slow-moving river or stream, or a marshy lake. A bayou is also an anabrach, which means it will divert from the main waterway and rejoin it at a later point. An estuary is a brackish body of water that sits on the mouth of the ocean and also has freshwater (ie. rivers and streams) flowing into it. A delta is a landform composed of sediments that forms at the end of a river, before the river flows into a lake, an estuary, an ocean or another river.


A ventifact is a rock or stone that has been shaped or polished by wind. A yardang (which comes in mega-, mesa- and micro-) is a ridged ventifact shaped like the hull of a boat. An eolianite is any rock created by the wind through the compacting of sediments. A mesa is a mountain or hill with a large flat top and steep sides. A butte is like a mesa, but with a smaller flat top and really steep sides.

A stack is a tall column of rocks found near the coast. Stacks are remnants of headlands that were eroded away by the waves. A headland is also a cape. A hoodoo is also a column of rock, but is only found in the badlands. They're usually composed of sedimentary rock, but have a hard hat of volcanic rock that protects it from erosion. Badlands contain canyons, hoodoos and eroded sedimentary rock. Malpais (or "bad land") are like badlands but contain eroded volcanic rock. A scree or talus is a pile of rock fragments found at the base of a mountain or a cliff or a crag.

A ridge is an edge of a landmass. An arête is a super thin ridge of rock. A defile is a narrow pass between a hill or a mountain. A debouch is the wider space at the end of a defile. A monadnock or inselberg is a rocky hill, ridge or mountain found in a predominately flat area. A kame is a hill composed of sediments deposited by glaciers. A kettle is a water-filled valley containing sediments deposited by glaciers.

An alas is a valley with steep sides formed by the melting of permafrost. It may contain a lake. A lake is a lake.

An archipelago is a series of islands. An atoll is a circular reef with a lagoon in the middle, formed when a volcanic island sinks into the ocean. An isthmus is a narrow strip of land connecting two other pieces of land. A strait is a channel of water between two land masses.


And a horse is a horse, of course.




*Thank you Wikipedia and Wiki Commons

Ambivalence.
I think that's my favourite word. Or at least based on my definition of it. Ambivalence, the way I intuit it, is not about uncertainty, it's about feeling strongly about two opposing concepts. I imagine a line, or a metal pipe. I imagine bending it in ways that purists and bureaucrats would frown on, until the two ends meet, tensely, but with intention; the poles perspiring in resistance. I like being there.
But that was a tangent. This post isn't about ambivalence. It's about action. It's about my ambivalence to action.

I kind of straddle the line between being really active and really... not. Most people who know me would probably say I'm pretty active, and in broad strokes it's certainly true- I'm constantly squirming to do something or go somewhere, I work multiple jobs*, I have a really short attention span, I get depressed when I'm bored...
But I surprise myself constantly because in all these little ways, I am consistently able to do nothing for long periods of time, and do it really well. In fact, I often find myself actively seeking this out, clearing my schedule and opening up a time and space to do nothing. Everyone thinks that travel is so adventurous, so "active," but one of my favourite things about it is getting on a bus for 8-10 hours and dedicating half a day to staring out the window. When I go to visit my grandparents in Etobicoke, I don't even bring an mp3 player for the 1.5 hr commute, I just sit and stare at things: people, passing trees... poles. I savour these quiet times between places, when there are no distractions and I'm forced to shut my mind off and just enjoy the ride.

All my hobbies operate on the same ambivalent principle. I've come to recognize them as experimental adventures in stillness; activities of non-activity. They are pastimes that teach me how to live in real time.

Take scuba diving, for instance. Diving is the only sport I know of where the less energy you exert, the better your perform. It is a sport that's about 10% physical ability and 90% mental fitness. It has two golden rules: Remain calm and Breathe. If you don't remain calm, you run out of air and have to surface. If you don't breathe, or try to hold your breath, your lungs will rupture and you die. So, as in life, remain calm, breathe, and you'll do just fine.
Diving also has the added bonus of making you feel like you are One with the Force, it's the best real life example of positive thinking I know of. When you want to descend, all you have to do is think it. Think down, and exhale deeply... and down you go, like magic. Think up and inhale, magically you rise...

I take to hiking and canoeing for the same reasons, it's moving meditation for the body that teaches me something, in this case, how to focus mentally. It's about planting feet and oars, one step at a time. It's about the mindlessness of repetition, an appreciation for muscles and ligaments, focusing on the minute, the trivial, the inconsequential. It's a mindlessness that is decidedly different from just relaxing with a book on the beach. It's that metal pipe of ambivalence again; pushing your body so hard that your mind goes comatose.

I've just spent the last 3 hours applying for jobs, and I have to say- minus the prettiness and the physical exertion... it's kind of the same. Mindless, trivial, inconsequential. You forget yourself. You go on Auto Pilot and just do it for the sake of doing something. And you know that all this time and effort could be for nothing, but you're ok with that. It's almost... meditative.
There's supposed to be a line there; there's supposed to be a mindlessness that's good and a mindlessness that's bad, and I'm supposed to know- to feel- the difference... but all my definitions are blurry; I don't seem to discern.

I think I'm too in love with the Process. I honestly get no satisfaction out of whether anything ever materializes**... maybe that's dangerous, but I guess I just never feel like the result adds to or takes away from what I've put into something. And I guess that's why I never get anything done... I'm just Sisyphusian by nature. (Note to Self: pick up a copy of Camus' Myth of Sisyphus... I think he's onto something)

But but... Then I recognize that I'm actually like this when I'm focusing on work too. You get into a zone.... mindful mindlessness. Doing something starts to feel like doing nothing. The ends of the metal pipe are kissing again.


* ... or none, as the case may be
**A few notes on The Process:
1. I am writing a lot these days, just not finishing anything... (this entry itself feels like a bunch of parts that don't quite make up a whole...)
2. I'm getting too enamoured with the Process of job-hunting, should try to, uh, set a goal or something

I've been shamelessly obsessed with So You Think You Can Dance for about a year now... so dance is on the brain. This is awesome. Spoken word dancing should be the next new thing (along with capoeira martial arts films and breaking to classical music). Me likes...




That is all.