On Perception

I haven't written anything here in a while because I've been busy as hell. But something's been on my mind, and I think I can keep this short...

It's impossible to describe how much I love riding a motorcycle. I'm able to transport myself from one place to the other, but everything I've always hated about driving has been removed from the experience. In exchange for freedom, there is an increased chance of getting killed. But while everyone dies, few people are free, so it's a trade-off I gladly make.

Now that I'm not in a car, I've observed a few things about drivers who are. For example, I've noticed how long it takes people to notice a green light. I used to count: one-one-thousand, two-one-thousand, three-one-thousand... It typically takes about three full seconds before the cars start moving forward. I've gotten up to five, and once -- seven. (I won't count the guy on Hollywood Blvd. who NEVER noticed the green light, as I feel the pot smoke billowing out of the windows was a mitigating factor).

This weird beat drivers take to notice a green light is the primary reason why I lane split through stopped traffic to get up to the line. But sometimes the other vehicles are too close together, so I have to sit and wait for the herd to move.

My theory is, when the light turns red, everyone in cars finds something to keep themselves occupied, and they get so wrapped up in whatever they're doing that only half of one eye is on the light in front of them. This is understandable. When I lived in Des Plaines, IL. I never knew when a quick run to the store would turn into watching a train go by for twenty minutes, so I kept books and magazines in my car. I get it.

Whereas on the bike, there is no stereo to play with, no texts to send, no calls to make. There is only the road, and it's that focus on the road that keeps me alive.

Which got me to thinking about perception. In one of the original Sherlock Holmes stories, Watson comes right out and asks Holmes how he got so intelligent. (It might even be the very first one...) Holmes explains that he actually isn't smarter than anyone else; he just puts effort into noticing the world around him.

To paraphrase, he says to Watson... "You walk up the same flight of stairs every day to get to your apartment. How many steps are there?" Watson can't answer. Sure, he's been going up that same flight for years, but when he's actually climbing the steps, his brain goes into autopilot and his mind drifts elsewhere. Watson isn't thinking, "One step, two step, three step, four step..." He's thinking about a patient or a case or bills or whatever.

Sherlock also says that he doesn't fill his mind with information he doesn't need. He sees thoughts and memories as tools, and doesn't want to have to sift through clutter to find them. For example, he says he doesn't want to know how many planets there are in the solar system, unless it affects a case.

That's a little extreme, but Sherlock's an extreme dude. He spends his free time walking the streets of pre-GPS/Google Earth London, memorizing the stores, the intersections, the distances. London is as sharp in his mind as it is in reality. It's a tool he wants in his brain.

I think the same thing applies to the green light. Riders aren't quicker off the line when the light turns because sitting on a two-wheeled vehicle turns you into a brilliant genius. It's only because, in the absence of the "living room" aspects inherent to a car or truck, perception is forced to be completely focused on the road.

I've found similar analogies since starting my own management/production company. When you're the name on the door, there is no longer any such thing as showing up at a certain time, punching a clock, doing your thing, and leaving. The work day becomes active, rather than passive. While the hours are longer, I have more freedom in deciding how to spend them. For example, if I'm unable to get to the gym until the middle of the day, I can still go and sneak in a workout, since I'm not tied to a desk. On the other hand, I'm typically reading scripts during times when nine-to-fivers have been able to shut down for the day.

I'm okay with that. The periods I've been unhappiest in life were consistently when I felt like I was in a rut, that there was no forward motion, nothing was changing. When one day seems the same as the one before it, I become depressed. I start to wonder if this is what being a ghost is like, just hanging around, having nothing to do with the world. Ennui makes me miserable.

The opposite is true when my perception is focused on the road in all areas. I know where I'm going, I know how to get there. I'll hit a few curves and red lights along the way, but that's the nature of the road. In fact, the obstacles are gifts, because they exist to keep you on your toes, and reward you for keeping your eyes and mind open. If traveling was always just going in a straight line at the same speed until you arrived, it would be easy to go into autopilot, which isn't what's wanted.

I'm actively involved in the journey, and the only person who's going to make sure I arrive -- and don't get killed along the way -- is me. And it bears mentioning that the place I'm going is AWESOME.