December 23, 2003
First Moving the Chameleon
One of the worst/best aspects of middle-luxury suburbia is that when all of my friends and I are shopping for presents we are utterly tortured by trying to find the perfect gift. I know many friends who would happily hand away $50 on one gift if they could know that the gift would make the other person smile. We all think it has to be perfect. Mostly we are limited by our imagination and the inhibition of our self-doubt.
Christian told me the most difficult part of finding a gift for me is that he wants it to reflect that he knows that I am more than the persona I put out for the world, to reflect how well he knows me as a person. More than a writer; more than ambition; more than intellect. And in looking for more, he is trying to reduce me down to what makes me tick, what I truly am, and give a gift to that part of me.
I mostly try to satisfy more softly spoken desires to give people the gifts they want but they would never actually give themselves. Or something that they want but do not know they want it because they have not seen it yet.
While I was looking around at Barnes and Noble I tried to find a book exposing some of the culinary philosophy my friend Kenji spouts from time to time. It goes beyond the truth and nature of mind to try to address man's needs and find some kind of ecstasy through serving the needs of others. It is more of the idea that serving others really is the height of enlightenment because most people are not able to recognize the needs of others and their capacity to satisfy those needs.
Chefs and culinary students like my friend Kenji are simply more evolved than mere students of literature and history like myself. They see that chemistry in the kitchen is the first mover, ecstasy in the other rooms of the house quickly follows a satisfied tongue. With a full stomach, the bedroom and study will be duly appreciated.
I could not find such a book, though. I was disappointed.
Sometimes I find connotations of words much more interesting than the actual being of the word. Specifically I am thinking of chameleons and the attitude adopted about their ability to change to any situation.
Rather than respect how they change color and adapt to their environment, most of us use the term spitting venom that the chameleon never chooses any one way of being. Yet as people we are always trying to change and trying to better adapt to changing conditions like that talented lizard. Then again, if I were a chameleon I wonder if I would always wonder what my natural state was. Not that it is that important, but the natural state is the kind of control I would need to know exactly what kind of progress I was making in life.
Then again I am entirely too obsessed with progress. I am a citizen of civilization.
If given the opportunity, I wonder how many of us would choose to lead the life of a chameleon. Maybe it is easier if you are only supposed to blend into your environment for the ultimate security. And not only do I wonder which of us would choose the path, I wonder when in our lives we would. When is it most difficult to change and what is the value of those factors that make the change so impossible?
Environment is often the first mover of the chameleon; the kitchen is the first mover of the household; I have yet to discover what moves me to action or anyone else. I am weary if it is service or self-sacrifice.
Love,
Mandy