Combined Essays: The Comfort in Universality

“No sooner had the warm liquid mixed with the crumbs touched my palate than a shudder ran through me and I stopped, intent upon the extraordinary thing that was happening to me.”

Proust describes tasting a madeleine. How it triggers memories; causes nostalgia. Sure taste triggers this, but so do all your senses. The smell of a particular perfume, songs from a cartoon-they trigger something, reminding you of a past mindset; a past perception of the world that you’ve long outgrown. And there’s comfort in this.  

If I’m being completely honest with myself, it took me almost all of high school to form even the slightest sense of identity. But now that my identity is formed, these changing perceptions/mindsets just seem like an interference holding me back from being able to confidently say, “I’ve figured it out!” I guess that’s the point. I haven’t figured it out. But I’m too stubborn to admit that. Universality allows me to travel back to past mindsets; mindsets I have understood. It’s comfort at a point in my life when I can't always necessarily provide that to myself. 

Walking in the Parc des Buttes Chaumont, I was at first taken aback. It having just rained, the smell of spring coming replaced my initial concern for this class; my initial concern for every class. 

The smell brought back all the springs I’ve seen: the track meets, riding my bike around the cul-de-sac, waiting for the ice cream truck. I was transported, and not through my own will, but rather through some exterior force-a force that knows (better than I) my life. Memory works like that-your subconscious coming out of the woodworks. This is this comfort in memory-reverting to a past mindset-a mindset you fully understand and recognize. 

Spring triggering the mindset of my childhood: the angst-y teenage years, the innocent blinded ones; I’m transported to a past version of myself. For a mere second I stop being so conscious to how I’m perceiving everything and just see it the way I did back then-‘living in the moment.’ It comes so naturally, allowing me to forget, for a split second, all the bullshit I’ve seen/heard/learned and revert to a simpler state. Everything is still the same in this state-grass, trees, whatever. For that moment my environment is the same, but I’m not; I’m transported to this past version of myself, seeing the world for a mere couple of seconds the way I saw it back then. Back from whenever this memory was from. 

My mom always said she’s glad she’s not judged on who she was in her past. I never understood this. Isn’t whoever you are in your past still you? Your perception of the world changes as you change sure, but does that mean that it isn’t still apart of you? I hate using that word-change. It never seems like anyone is in control when they’re changing…like it just happens overnight or something. 

I’m at this point where I’m trying to force a consistent mindset. I mean, that’s step 2 in becoming a ‘real’ person, right? I know who I am, but the way I see everything changes on a daily basis. Or maybe that’s just what different moods really are: your perceptions changing.

Regardless, constantly reminded of this goal, I spend a substantial amount of energy trying to determine how I’m seeing and perceiving everything. Its come to a point where I spend so much energy on this that I’m not really seeing anything for what it is, but rather for how I choose to calculate it.

This momentary state of nostalgia-momentary comfort of a past spring-ended abruptly as I heard my heels clank against the concrete. Maybe this is why Thoreau was bothered by the sound of his ‘own steps, the grit of gravel; and therefore never willingly walking in the road, but in the grass, on the mountains and in the woods.’ Thoreau just wanted to escape himself; escape this consistent consciousness to our perception. I looked to see if there was any grass to walk on, but fences stood in my way-man telling me which way to walk, giving me order. In front of the fences sat a variety of greens; greens that looked beautiful, but that left to their own devices would have never grown next to each other. 

I keep walking, running into the pond-perfectly shaped. Looking out over the pond, I see the buildings of Paris. Buildings filled with people working, studying, paying bills. Suddenly I remember that I still have to pay my tuition for this semester-my own duty to society. 

How can walking be a means of escape; an opportunity for one to go back to his primitive, natural core, when there are reminders of society everywhere? Thoreau believed that, “If you have paid your debts, and made your will, and settled all your affairs, and are a free man, then you are ready for a walk.” But you can’t be a free man when the thing enslaving you is still towering over you.

Considering that parks, essentially order, are what civilization has to offer nature, Muir sees nature as best when left alone; best when left to its expanses. Nature in the urban context limits its expanse, turning nature into just another thing that we can look over; say we’ve conquered. Using this as an example, I should probably just let myself perceive my surroundings the way they’ll naturally come. I mean things are always best when untouched my man, right? That’s a saying. People totally say that. 

But now that I’ve become aware that I can be in control of this, I owe it to myself to choose a mindset by which to filter the world by, right?

Conquering nature limits the awe of it; the beauty of it. But it also eliminates the unknown. The mystery of where we’ll end up; where we are; the realization of how small we are in comparison to this greater thing. Ultimately the order we put to nature to make it fit into an urban context rids it of most factors that connect one with his spirituality. Parks create nature that is understood, but spirituality stems from the unknown. 

There’s beauty in the unknown; beauty in ignorance. Thought puts so much order to life, which is natural I guess. We’ve ordered our entire world from the economy to the institution of marriage. Everything is put into nice little boxes, definitions-a perceived understanding. The unknown scares us. The concrete is something we can rely on. A solid perspective; a sense of understanding; a sense of belonging; a sense of comfort. I envy childhood a little: the days before you even knew you could have a different perception or be a different person. 

Getting back to the city streets, I walk through the Marais. The streets run on seemingly endlessly and so do the small space invaders; connecting the Marais, connecting Paris, but also connecting me with home. A friend’s favorite artist is Invader; every critter carrying a wave of comfort. A wave of familiarity, tenderness, followed by a sharp pang for something-someone-I don’t have. The streets are filled with his memory-more his presence. It’s comforting to be constantly reminded of someone who made you happy in a way you didn’t even know you were capable of; who filled in that last bit that’s missing. That last little something: a person to share the happiness with. That’s why love works so well. It makes you happy and gives you an outlet for that happiness. 

Going through an alley there’s an assortment of street art. Each piece carries its own message. Each piece screaming to be heard, ends up merely masked by its competitors. Street art: competitors who aren’t even trying to compete. The causes, messages, overlap and overwhelm, turning into one huge mass of ‘angsty' rebellion.

A storm trooper sits on the entrance of the ally. My brother loves these guys and suddenly I miss him. The thought of missing people is worse than the actual process-self-pitying remorse. With time being the controlling factor, there’s nothing to be done; no coping mechanism for this form of pain. Taking a picture and sending it to him is all to be done. 

My brother loves storm troopers in Jersey, and he’ll love them in Paris. Nature is beautiful in the wild, and in parks. I know what to expect from these elements. This sense of universality brings me comfort, understanding; a sense of consistency within a world that changes on a daily basis. 

Seeing everything for what it is is difficult when there’s so much you can connect it to-memories, your past. There are universal elements everywhere in every park, every city. Consistency is necessary. There has to be a sense of a universal world; a source pool to reach into and pull comfort out of when you don’t have any. We’re all just trying to find comfort, which is frustrating because let’s be real, nothing is going to beat the comfort we had in the bubble of childhood; the bubble of the womb. This universality gives you a way to understand your surroundings when you don’t know them. Otherwise they’ll overwhelm you, suffocate you.

I keep walking towards the Seine, looking up, searching for more art. In a window, two men look back at me. Mere paintings, they carry with them a truth that gives them a misleading reality. Typical French: striped shirt, small hat, and a mustache-these men know what they’re doing. They’re confidant. They’re smooth. The subtlety of them is something owned by street art. It adds to the coolness of it; that it’s not asking to be appreciated, but is instead there for the sake of being there-for the sake of being public.  

There’s something freeing about this art. Since it’s not really made for anyone, it ends up being made for everyone. Using known figures like storm troopers and President Sarkozy, everyone can relate to street art in a way that a gallery (or the law) doesn’t really allow. There’s a constant within the art.

It fills all of Paris: another message. This one slightly overpowering the others due to its simplicity and the fact that it’s everywhere: Je suis Charlie. Nous sommes Charlie. All it takes is gluing up a poster to make it seem like a whole city supports a cause. Maybe they do. Maybe it’s just another distraction. Distraction from the fact that you’re uncomfortable; distraction from the fact that the strongest comfort you’ll find is from memories of the known. I guess that’s okay. 

C.S. Lewis believed, “If you look for truth, you may find comfort in the end.” Maybe comfort is truth because comfort stems from memory; stems from the understood. 

Lewis continues, “If you look for comfort you will not get either comfort or truth only soft soap and wishful thinking to begin, and in the end, despair.” This is because comfort comes to you when you least expect it. Through a smell, a taste, a comic book hero. It transports you to a time that you now have the ability to reflect on, and ultimately understand. It transports you to a mindset you once knew; a time when your bubble allowed you only one perception of your surroundings-false understanding, but still something concrete. Finding universality in elements provides this sense of concreteness; a sense of the familiar. Comfort. One day my mindset now will probably bring me comfort, but for now I don’t really understand it. It’s new, so I’m not yet fully comfortable with it. I haven’t ‘figured it out’ yet. Maybe one day…probably not.