A Gate to Momentary Mortality

Morii n. A desire to capture the feeling of a moment or experience—a snapshot of a moment, like a vibrant acknowledgement that something has changed, and yet is almost impossible to convey to another in photos or through recollection. From 'memento mori,' a small reminder of your mortality and ‘torii,’ the traditional Japanese gates that mark the threshold between the profane and the sacred.

The above definition is drawn from the site: The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows—a personal favorite of mine—and it is a feeling I think we all experience as we start a new year, a new decade. Morii is like a fleeting awareness that the moment we are standing in is different, and special, and yet there is a frustration there because we know that we will be the only one to ever experience that moment, in that way. To me it is a feeling that paradoxically profound and frustrating, as if we are both connected with something deeper and profoundly alone.

So often in our world are we quick to grab our cameras, those devices that are so ubiquitous in our lives that they hang around us like albatrosses. How often do people live their lives through the lens of their digital devices, capturing moments so as to construct an identity that can be shared and envied by others. Yet how often do we put the cameras aside and enjoy the moments of Morii, and accept that the images and experiences we are witness to are wholly our own, and will always be that. Marriage proposals have become Instagram moments, instead of intimate moments. Vacations become Facebook memories instead of memories among friends. We have this urge to capture and contain our lives, not just for our enjoyment but for the observation of others, as if to say “this is me, now love me/hate me/envy me.”

Unfortunately, Morii shows us that those moments cannot ever be fully captured, at least not as we wish. Our pictures may remind of the scene, but can they ever really help us revisit what it was to stand in that place and at that time, with love, with awe, with friendship, with pity, with majesty, or so many other unspoken and ill defined emotions that no picture or moving image on a phone will ever do your own experience justice. Perhaps that is why it is easier to mindlessly grab for our phones and capture an image. Perhaps living through the lens is preferable to having a sense or Morii, an understanding that you are—for the briefest of moments— standing in a place, in a time, in a version of you that will never come again.

A torii is a traditional Japanese gate—the exact kind you are picturing when I say “Japanese gate.” They are usually located at the entrance to Shinto shrines, and mark a point of transition from the mundane to the divine. Momento mori, literaly translates from Latin as “'remember that you must die.” In a way, everyday we pass through gates of change, gates that mark our experiences as moving from the mundane to the divine, and yet we may let them go by unacknowledged. Additionally, everyday we die in many different ways, or at least versions of us die, experiences we have die. These things never come again, and we if stop too long to consider that then we are reminded of the fleeting nature of life. After all, we are mortal, and in that mortality we find beauty and awe and excitement and an understanding of ourselves and the world around us that can be both profoundly terrifying and deeply connective.

So, maybe for this year, try putting down your phone once in a while and relish the idea that this moment will never come again.

All Who Sonder Are Lost

Sonder n. The realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own—populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries and inherited craziness—an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you’ll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk.

The above definition comes from the site: The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows, and I think it might be my favorite site. Sonder is a realization, an epiphany that comes when you see that the guy who sells you coffee every morning has a picture of his family, or when that homeless man on the corner tells you that he graduated from Yale and served as an Army Ranger. We tend to break the people in our lives (especially those on our peripheral) down to unchanging and small boxes that allow us to view them in one light and then forget that they existed the moment they are gone. Sonder comes when those people surprise us and break out of the roles we assigned for them. Before that, they were just background characters, extras in the movie that is your life, your story.

It is interesting how stories, movies, plays, etc give us the language to talk about this phenomenon. We are the main characters. Our story is about us, we see antagonists and challenges and plot twists wherever we look. We all see a cast of supporting characters, (our friends and family.) We understand that they are complex, but maybe not as complex of characters as we are. Then there are the extras, little more than set dressing to the happenings of our lives, but to them, we're the dressing. We become that guy standing on the subway, wearing the black jacket, or that girl walking down the street in uncomfortable shoes. More to the point that is all we will ever be in their stories, one-dimensional creatures. A few pixels in the background of a picture they took once. A voiceless body on the streets at night. All our problems, our thoughts, our wishes, our hopes, and fears, and loves, are nothing to them. Even celebrities are just faces on a screen. Yes, we may know their names and facts about their lives, but they still aren't the heroes of our stories.

This leads to a wrong-headed understanding that we are somehow important. We never imagine it will be us who dies, who has the accident, who gets the heart attack. How could it be us? We are the hero? But statistically, in a zombie uprising you are more likely to wind up as Shambling Corpse #43 than a survivor. Sonder is a state of understanding that we are not significant, at least not any more so than anyone else around us.

"Everyone driving faster than me is a maniac, and everyone driving slower than me is a moron." Realizing that that is not true is sonder.

Ever since I was a kid sitting in the back seat watching the passing cars I have wondered about the people in them. Where were they going? What did they do? Were they happy? Sad? Maybe that is just part of being a writer, a storyteller. I try to find the story in everyone I meet, but sometimes I also try not to. When you see everyone in the world as a potential diamond, than you realize that you are no different, no more special, than anyone else. We strive to be the Waldo, but sometimes we can't be. And sometimes we have to acknowledge that it's okay not to be.

And where is Waldo? He is hidden amongst a multitude of people and crowds, but we ignore all those people. All we want to do is find this one man in a weirdly striped shirt. Hell, it's the name of the game. It's become a cultural expression. We look for the needle in the haystack while ignoring the hay, but have you ever stopped to look at the other people occupying Waldo's world? They are alive, they have their own problems and triumphs. There are firemen putting out a fire started by three incompetent chefs. There’s a car accident, a man in scuba gear in the fountain, kids crossing the street, a janitor being attacked by birds, and two LARPers making their own amusement on a rooftop. All those people have lives, and maybe even animated spouses and children and pet parakeets waiting for them at home.

They are all completely oblivious to the idiot in the red and white hat and hiking gear. In fact, of all the people on the page, I would argue Waldo is one of the more boring ones. Sure he is seeing the world, but is he living in it? Whenever we see him he's alone, never engaged with another person or doing something wacky or fun. He just stands there. So, yes, he is the main character, but is that always the best thing?

A state of sonder does not mean to imply that we are not unique, just not as unique as we sometimes think. You are not a diamond among the rough, just a diamond among many others. Still, a diamond is a diamond, and if more people thought like like this, if more people experienced sonder, than maybe the world would be a better place. After all, there is a benefit to not being Waldo, to being the guy standing above it all, looking down on the world and its all beauty and fountain scuba diving. When you stop thinking of yourself as something different you get to see how truly alike we all are.

There will never be another you, but there will also never be another person like your mailman or that taxi driver that ran those two red lights or your baby niece in her crib. When you understand sonder, you understand how precious the world is, and how truly lucky we are to spend a few years passing through it.