03 - Reflection on Soundwalks

This post serves as a record of my response to the third written exercise for my IDEA 2900 special topics course I took in the Spring 2022 semester at Kwantlen Polytechnic University.

Torbjørn Ekelund, in his book, IN PRAISE OF PATHS: WALKING THROUGH TIME AND NATURE, opens his discussion by quoting filmmaker Werner Herzog, who describes how:

“The world reveals itself to those who travel on foot.”

Herzog’s deceptively simple quote holds a lot of truth. For me, the most important truth is about how much deeper a connection I have when I leave my Nissan Pathfinder behind and take to walking. Sometimes, my SUV will take me to a place that I’ll explore. In those cases, I enjoy the anticipation of arriving at my destination. If the weather is nice, I’ll have my windows rolled down, with the music up loud. Sometimes, with my right hand on the wheel, I’ll gently stretch my left arm out of the window and let it ride the wind. I love the sound that the air makes as my SUV cuts through it, hurtling down a road. I suspect that there’s a distinct fluttering that’s unique to each model of car ever made, that only comes to life when somebody drives along with their windows rolled down. But, like I mentioned, when I’m away from my car, step by step, my feet are closer to the ground. In those moments where I go barefoot, I savour the feel of cool grass beneath the soles of my feet. I also enjoy moments when I can feel dirt between my toes. There’s a scene in the film DIE HARD, where Detective John McClaine is making fists with his toes on the carpet, to help relieve the tension and the stress he feels from time to time. This twenty‐nine second clip can be seen here:

It’s advice he was given by a fellow passenger on a plane ride he had just taken. The passenger described the act as being “…better than a shower and a hot cup of coffee.” This forty seven second clip can be seen here:

And in many ways he’s right, and what he describes is a kind of grounding, but for me I love to replace the carpet with grass or dirt. According to Daisy J Fable, in her April 14, 2020 article for THE GREATIST, called “Getting Grounded: How Dirt Makes you Happy,” , “Grounding, also known as earthing, is when humans make an electrical connection to the earth’s energies. The simplest form involves walking barefoot in the grass, dirt, or sand.” The concept of grounding I think beautifully ties back to the concept Herzog is hinting at with his quote – where the world reveals itself to those who travel on foot. By walking barefoot, the world reveals itself to us by letting us feel and be a part of its energy. Barefoot is also key in many ways, because when I wear my socks, sandals, or shoes, my connection to the Earth is severed.

But Herzog’s quote also ties into how our other senses connect us to the Earth. In relation to this course, with how sound impacts the experience. And more specifically, with how we pay attention to and respond to sounds we encounter. Wikipedia describes how:

“A soundwalk is a walk with a focus on listening to the environment. The term was first used by …composer R. Murray Schafer in Vancouver in the 1970s.”

It continues, noting how a soundwalk can be:

“…any excursion whose main purpose is listening to the environment. It is exposing our ears to every sound around us, no matter where we are.”

In his book, THE SOUNDSCAPE, Schafer notes how a soundwalk is a bit more complex than just a listening walk, noting how:

“A listening walk is simply a walk with a concentration on listening.”

And he further notes how:

“The soundwalk is an exploration of the soundscape of a given area using a score as a guide. The score consists of a map, drawing the listener’s attention to unusual sounds and ambiances to be heard along the way.”

In my second reflection for this class, I referenced Pedro Lasch and Mathias Hinke, and how they described the concept of perspective in their Coursera course, EXPERIMENTS WITH SOUND. Specifically, they described a global perspective of all the sounds in a café as representing:

“…an orchestra … (and) all the different instruments that make sound in that performance.”

I think perhaps, this is representative of exploring a soundscape using a score as a guide.

In terms of my own soundwalks, at the start of the semester I was trying to do a ten kilometer walk everyday, usually after 9:00 pm, and often closer to midnight. I then did one walk during the day along the same route, to provide myself with a point of contrast. I liked walking at night, because it was so quiet. I could be at peace with myself, and navigate the roads more easily, as I didn’t have to keep clear of cars or even other people. In all honesty, at night, there was no orchestra, or deep layering of sound.

As I became more confident, I’d venture through the thicker wooded areas of the Sunnyside Urban Forrest, where on a clear moonlit light, the grey pebbled trails lit up just enough that I could see the path before me without having to use a handheld torch or the flashlight of my iPhone. When it snowed in January, these wooded areas were even brighter, as the white of the snow reflected what little ambient light there was, making it feel as though I was walking through some kind of dream. When I ventured through the forest, the most prominent sound I could hear was the crunch, crunch, crunch of the pebbled trail beneath my feet. When I’d stop walking, it would feel silent but then I could hear off in the distance the sounds of the odd car passing by the area I was in, but it wasn’t a constant droll, it was an undulating rise and fall of the odd vehicle. When there was no sound of vehicles, sometimes I could hear a light breeze rustling through the canopy. And at other times, I could hear the sound of my own breath.

During the day, there was a lot more activity. I noticed the sound of the vehicles was steady, even if it was a good distance away. There wasn’t really an eb and flow to it. It perfectly personified a kind of white noise. One sound that existed during the day that didn’t exist at night was the sounds of children playing. Their joyful shouts and playful screaming peeled over and under the air. Ultimately, I found that this contrast between the sounds I heard during the day and the few I heard during the night really did tie back on my own ability to be present with myself, from moment to moment. Salome Voegelin, in her book LISTENING TO NOISE touches on this ability to listen deeply to oneself, when she says how:

When there is nothing to hear, so much starts to sound. Silence is not the absence of sound but the beginning of listening. This is listening as a generative process not of noises external to me, but from inside, from the body, where my subjectivity is at the centre of the sound production, audible to myself. Silence reveals to me my own sounds: my head, my stomach, my body becomes their conductor.

Silence is possibly the most lucid moment of one’s experiential production of sound. In silence I comprehend, physically, the idea of intersubjective listening: I am in the soundscape through my listening to it and in turn the soundscape is what I listen to, perpetually in the present. Silence confirms the soundscape as a sonic life‐world, and clarifies the notion that sound is a relationship not between things but just a relationship, passing through my ears. The quiet sounds do not belong to a visual source; they sound out of silence the being of the house and myself as being within it.

Finally, I find myself moving back to Ekelund, who nicely describes the changing environment of where I live in South Surrey, British Columbia, from a rural landscape dotted with trees and small farmland, into a mix of a metropolitan and sprawling suburban landscape. Specifically, Ekelund illustrates how:

When I was a child, paths were a common thread that ran consistently throughout my life. Walking was a natural part of being; there was no way around it. Paths were everywhere.

Then I grew up and began working in an office. The paths disappeared out of my life, as did movement. Signs pointed out where I should go. Asphalt ensured all my steps were even. Street lamps drove away the dark. Gates and curbs guided me in the right direction.

I no longer discovered things. I no longer had to look around at my surroundings to figure out where I was and where to go. I no longer needed to trust my own judgement and decide on the best direction. A life of movement had shifted to a static one. I drove a car to get somewhere, and if I wanted to go somewhere but did not have access to a car, I often decided I might as well stay home.

I’ve found the paths in my own life have disappeared with time. Every week it feels as if another swath of the rural landscape is bulldozed. In many ways, Ekelund’s description from IN PRAISE OF PATHS is reminiscent of the 1970s Joni Mitchel song, BIG YELLOW TAXI, where she describes how

“…they paved paradise and put up a parking lot.”

INSTRUCTOR FEEDBACK

“Dear Steven, 

I will not be commenting about this assignment in too much detail, as I have done in your previous assignment.  However, I would definitely like to commend you for your ingenious connections between quotes that you have drawn from readings, movie clips, and even music.  I really enjoyed the reference you made from Ekelund to Joni Mitchel.  That was simply brilliant!  I truly appreciate your detailed descriptions and the fact that you did the soundwalks on dark nights and during the day as well.  Thank you for your efforts and I am glad that these experiences have provided a source of joy and that you felt more grounded from these moments.  I hope you continue to pave many more different paths and seek out many more connections that will lead you to greater understanding, peace, and contentedness.  Thank you for your beautiful thoughts and writing.”

Grade for Reflection 3: 95/100

02c - Reflection on Listening Exercises

This post serves as the third part of my second exercise for my IDEA 2900 special topics course I took in the Spring 2022 semester at Kwantlen Polytechnic University. This assignment served as a written reflection on your participation in the course’s first listening exercises. Through it you have the opportunity to comment, with considerable latitude, on the full range of experience with these activities, including what you expected or assumed would happen before engaging with them, what you experienced during the activities, and how your initial impressions may have been changed or challenged after they were completed. This last step is particularly important because it asks you also to summarize your observations and learnings.

Exercise 3: SORTING THE SOUNDS - SOFT / LOUD, PLEASANT / UNPLEASANT

What I expect / assume will happen

In going back to the first chapter of Julia Cameron’s THE LISTENING PATH, she aptly describes the first part of this sound exercise as well:

The listening path tunes us into our surroundings. Its first tool focuses on what we hear around us. We take the time to notice our sonic environment. Is it soothing or abrasive? Loud or soft? As we tune into the sounds around us, we take notice of what it is we’d like to change (Cameron 39).

For Cameron, this is important to consider how sound can impact the connections related to our own personal creativity. A soothing, soft soundscape will be more adept at keeping one calm, and cultivating creativity. Abrasive, loud sounds have the potential to make one agitated or upset, and as such, it might interfere with one’s ability to be creatively productive.

Pedro Lasch and Mathias Hinke, in their Coursera course, EXPERIMENTS WITH SOUND, describe the analytical concept of perspective as having three major categories which relate to the second part of this listening exercise: the intimate, the local, and the global. For Lasch and Hinke, “…the intimate is that sonic sphere that is the closest proximity to your own ears. And that would be only you, or the point of reference you can listen to… at a very close proximity… (it is called) intimate because only you would be able to listen to it” (Lasch / Hinke). In terms of a local perspective, Lasch and Hinke use the example of two people being able to sit in a café and still being able to listen to each other while they talk as being representative of a local perspective. And in terms of the global perspective, that would represent all the sounds in the entire café, where if the café “…were an orchestra, we would be thinking of all the different instruments that make sound in that performance” (Lasch /Hinke). This concept of perspective, seems to fit the idea that the second part of this exercise is trying to work with when considering where you are in relation to a particular sound.

The Sort

LOUD / SOFT

Arrange the sounds you heard up and down the page according to how loud or soft they seemed to be.

PLEASANT / UNPLEASANT

Arrange the sounds you heard up and down the page according to how pleasant or unpleasant they were.

SOUND MAP

Draw a medium sized circle. Place all the sounds you made in the circle. Arrange all the others according to the distance and the direction from which they came to you.

What I experienced

There was nothing jarring for me in regards to any of these noises, except perhaps the sound of my keyboard. I’m now working on writing this at a local Starbucks, and it’s much noisier in here. So much so, that I strain to hear the tap tap tap of my fingers clicking my keyboard’s keys. I’m still uncertain as to whether or not the voice in my head counts as a sound – but it is one that annoys me a lot. It’s a noise I need to learn to become more patient with, more compassionate and gentle towards. The technological noises created by the fridge likely qualify as a kind of white noise that fills the space most of the time that I honestly don’t really notice when I’m at home.

How my initial impressions may have been changed or challenged

My impressions were more affirmed than challenged or changed. Listening is an important activity that many of us don’t utilize to the best of our ability. In terms of what Cameron speaks to in THE LISTENING PATH, I’m drawn to how she is really speaking about cultivating mindfulness when it comes to how we respond to different soundscapes:

Gentle sounds make for gentle lives. As our kindly sounds sooth our psyches, we become more kindly. Rather than acting abruptly, as harsh, staccato sounds seem to demand, we respond, rather than react, and we respond tenderly. As we take in the sonic environment that speaks to our heart, we are able to forge more heartfelt lives. As we soften the tone of our lives, we soften our responses to the world around us. No longer harsh and staccato, our lives become gentler.

An evening spent at home can be made far less lonely with the addition of a pleasant soundtrack. Music soothes the savage beast, and it soothes us as well. A favorite selection changes the quality of our life. Our mood loses its jagged edge (Cameron 40).

INSTRUCTOR FEEDBACK

”Dear Steven,

Thank you for your detailed descriptions and multiple listening and writing attempts.  I really appreciate the efforts you have placed in this assignment, especially with the additional readings from other sources regarding listening.  

You mentioned that your assumption that this would be an easy exercise was not to be.  I am glad that you found this listening experience difficult because you were able to take listening to another level, one that is profound and personal.  The Beethoven clip that you shared really demonstrated such an intensity.  We often forget that listening rattles the consciousness and indeed, makes our "monkey minds" turn to countless associations related to our past, present, and even future selves.  We listen with our entire being.  Not simply with our bodies, but also with our minds and our subconscious.  This is why the argument that music is higher Art can be so controversial.  

Beethoven in particular, is known for his drastic use of harsh and tender musical ideas.  With this in mind, I am a true believer that kindness cannot be truly appreciated without suffering.  That one who has not suffered, will not be able to expense kindness (towards oneself and others) that is laced with insightful empathy.  In other words, I do appreciate what Cameron said regarding gentle sounds that begets a gentle life, however, I caution that to put gentle sounds on a pedestal can also lead us into appreciating and seek out particular sounds (soft, heartfelt, etc.) and tune out the ugly, the grotesque, and the hurtful sounds, which is an impossible task and probably not beneficial in the long run either.  There is always a play in balance.  For we can never fully escape the unpleasant.  So we need to embrace the unpleasant and learn to balance the noise with sounds that soothe.

That being said, if you have not seen the video with Evelyn Glennie, please do.  Sounds and vibrations are very much connected.  One thing in particular, is that Evelyn Glennie touches upon what Schafer is also trying to advocate - how to truly listen and also to dispense judgements on what we hear.  Judgements, not just in relation to the type of musical genres or the type of sounds, but also to dispense judgement about the noises in our heads and the voices of others.  This stance, I believe, leads us to being kinder and more open to unfamiliarity and discomfort.”

Grade for Reflections 2.1-2.3: 98/100

02b - Reflections on Listening Exercises (02/03)

This is the second part of three sections that makeup my second assignment for IDEA 2900: Sound, Music, and the Creative Self, as taught by Charmaine Liu at Kwantlen Polytechnic University. It is a written reflection on your participation in the course’s first listening exercises. Through it you have the opportunity to comment, with considerable latitude, on the full range of experience with these activities, including what you expected or assumed would happen before engaging with them, what you experienced during the activities, and how your initial impressions may have been changed or challenged after they were completed. This last step is particularly important because it asks you also to summarize your observations and learnings.

Exercise 2: SORTING THE SOUNDS YOU HEARD

What I expect / assume will happen

I assume most of the sounds I heard will be technological in origin.

The sort

What I experienced

The experience of assigning descriptive words to identify the sounds I had heard felt straightforward. For example, the humming of the fridge was obviously technologically generated. The fridge was already plugged in and has been running for many years now. I didn’t have to do anything to make it hum. By contrast however, I did influence the sound my iPad’s keyboard made by manipulating it with my fingers that typed out what information I wanted to share with readers of this document. To my knowledge, the iPad’s keyboard cannot make any noise unless I use it.

With breathing, on the chart I noted it wasn’t something I could control, and we know that’s not true. I can control how long and deep a breath is, I can control the noise I make when I breathe in deeply and conversely, when I exhale deeply. I can hold my breath too, although eventually my brain will override this by making me try to breathe at some point. But generally, when we aren’t concentrating on controlling our breath, we don’t have to remember to breathe in and breathe out. It just happens. And it’s something we can hear if we quiet ourselves and the space around us by being present in the moment.

How my initial impressions may have been changed or challenged

My initial impression was that this would be a relatively easy exercise. But it wasn’t. In a more busy environment (such as in the food court of the Metrotown mall, or on the Vancouver sea wall on a sunny Saturday afternoon in July, or in a seat at Roger’s arena during a Canucks Hockey Game), this exercise would have been exceedingly more difficult to complete. It would have felt impossible to separate the sounds one heard, and to discern as to whether or not a sound was of a natural, human, or technological origin.

“Listening is receptivity.” —NATALIE GOLDBERG

02a - Reflections on Listening Exercises (01/03)

This is the first part of three sections of my second assignment for IDEA 2900: Sound, Music, and the Creative Self, as taught by Charmaine Liu at Kwantlen Polytechnic University. It is a written reflection on your participation in the course’s first listening exercises. Through it you have the opportunity to comment, with considerable latitude, on the full range of experience with these activities, including what you expected or assumed would happen before engaging with them, what you experienced during the activities, and how your initial impressions may have been changed or challenged after they were completed. This last step is particularly important because it asks you also to summarize your observations and learnings.

Exercise 1: WRITING DOWN ALL THE SOUNDS YOU HEAR

What I expect / assume will happen

It’s interesting that this is our first exercise, considering how this a course about sound, and Schafer opened the introduction of his book THE SOUNDSCAPE by quoting poet Walt Whitman’s 1855 poem, SONG OF MYSELF:

Now I will do nothing but

listen …

I hear all sounds running

together, combined, fused

or following,

Sounds of the city and

sounds out of the city,

sounds of the day and

night …

It’s as if Whitman penned today’s exercise 167 years ago. Whitman calls on us to slow down with his opening line, and in many ways it feels as though his first person narration could represent myself making this declaration to listen and this idea may have been what Schafer desired to see awakened in his reader’s minds. With his second line, Whitman also provides a commentary or how combined sounds feel like what marketing managers call ‘noise,’ which is the idea of how there can be ‘too much’ advertising raining down on people as they go about their day. It’s interesting that this idea was of concern to Whitman even 167 years ago, when it feels like he should have lived in a more simpler time. Finally, Whitman concludes with where we might encounter sounds, and when, in many ways suggesting that we are never really truly free from sound. For me, this idea that we are never away from sound, feels both sad and exciting.

In Chapter 14, Listening, Schafer also discusses the preparation of listening, which I found insightful. One point in particular stood out for me, and felt relevant to how I prepared for this, where:

“…we prepare for listening experiences with elaborate relaxation or concentration exercises. It may take an hour of preparation in order to be able to listen clairaudiently to the next.”

While it didn’t take me an hour, I definitely took time to sit for awhile. I thought about the exercise itself, I wondered about how I might feel in the moment. I’ve been anxious about my courses as well, especially since I’ve been so behind, so that too was in the back of my mind, gnawing away at my synapses.

Julia Cameron, in her book THE LISTENING PATH: THE CREATIVE ART OF ATTENTION lays out an exploration of sound and listening over a series of discussion, exercises and reflections that take place over a six eeek period. She opens the first week, which involves listening to our environment with a quote by Madeleine L’Engle, who notes how a

“Part of doing something is listening. We are listening. To the sun. To the stars. To the wind” (Cameron 37).

Listening never ceases, even for the death who learn how to listen with the range of their remaining senses, such as their eyes, nose, and fingers. There’s a gorgeously moving scene that demonstrates this idea in the 1994 theatrical biopic IMMORTAL BELOVED, where Ludwig Van Beethoven (Gary Oldman) listens to the music he plays by feeling it with his body:

The importance of listening was further emphasized by Kate Murphy, in her book YOU’RE NOT LISTENING: WHAT YOU’RE MISSING AND WHY IT MATTERS argues that listening is more valuable than speaking when she says how:

It is only by listening that we engage, understand, connect, empathize, and develop as human beings. It is fundamental to any successful relationship —personal, professional, and political (Murphy 1).

Overall, for me this exercise felt like it might be an easy exercise, but I can see how it might be difficult in terms of connecting with what it is I’m listening to, and describing it fully. In my revision for the first assignment, I kind of did this exercise already as when I re-wrote that piece, sitting at the kitchen table at my Mom’s house late at night. And I’m here again, in the same spot – it would be interesting if what I hear now will be similar to what I heard a few weeks ago.

What I hear

  1. The most local sound I am hearing right now is the rhythm created by my fingers quickly dancing across my iPad’s keyboard. The timbre of the sound is composed of sharp clicks and taps, which range from a fast speed to a slower speed when I slow down my typing to think and listen to what I want to express next.

  2. Another local sound that I hear is the hum of the large fridge that’s not far behind me. It’s not as close to me as my keyboard which I can touch with my fingers. I can lean back a bit and stretch my right arm towards the fridge and touch the side of the cabinet surrounding it. I don’t touch it long, it’s more of a thud that I take in as I almost swipe it with my fingers outstretched.

  3. Just now, I hear the beer and wine fridge’s motor engage and even though it is further away, I notice how it makes a louder hum as it’s likely working harder to keep the contents of that below the counter fridge nice and cool. I notice that it has also drowned out the hum of the larger fridge that is closer to me.

  4. Like I wrote in my revision of my first assignment, when I stop typing I can hear the muffled sound of the television in my Mother’s bedroom softly floating down the hall. It’s muted, so I can’t make out what is being said. It’s a woman’s voice, strong and confident. She’s possibly watching the news or a documentary, I’m not sure. When I type, the keyboard sound is loud enough that my mind focuses on the tap tap tap of the keys being struck, and I find I’m not aware of the television anymore as a result.

  5. I take the time to pause and notice how I can hear the sound of my fingers running through my hair and stopping at a point on my neck to scratch an itch that’s been bothering me. This is maybe the most intimate sound so far, as it’s like I can feel and hear the sound of the scratch beneath my skin, as well as the slight ruffle sound of my fingers running through my hair.

  6. I can hear the sound of air being sucked into my mouth as I begin to take a sip of water from a cup. I hear the water flowing into my mouth with a soft kind of swishing sound and a slight gulp, gulp, gulp as the suction along with my tongue helps to guide the water from the cup and down into my throat towards my stomach. I hear the sound of the cup as I put it back down on the table – I do it gently, so it’s not a loud noise, just a quiet plump.

What I experienced

The experience of just listening can be disconcerting, primarily if you’re sitting alone in relative silence. But it was also a little liberating to try to fully describe things that I heard, in concrete language that conveyed what I was hearing.

How my initial impressions may have been changed or challenged

Before doing this exercise again, I thought it would be easy, but it wasn’t. I felt unease and the desire to keep doing anything but listen intently A few times I found it helpful to actually slow my mind down by taking a few deep breaths and telling myself that it was okay to be present for this exercise. In hindsight, the sound of my breath was a seventh thing I heard while doing this exercise. Expanding on this, an eighth thing I heard while doing this exercise was the challenging sound of the voice in my head that could be referred to as my monkey mind, telling me how silly I was to sit there listening, and stupid to try and even work through my classes as I’ll only fail again. As I mentioned in my response to question “c,” in these moments I used my breath as a point of focus to remind myself that it was ok to allow these moments of listening to take place.

01 - Project 1: Reflections on Listening to Yourself

This semester, one of the courses I’m taking at Kwantlen Polytechnic University is an Interdisciplinary Expressive Arts course focussing on the exploration of Sound, Music, and the Creative Self as developed by Kwantlen music professor, Dr. Daniel Tones. As I’ve been doing with my short Coursera, Skillshare, and Udemy courses, I’m going to package up the work I do for this course into posts for this online journal.

So, for this post - I’m including a brief overview of the guidance given for the assignment, as well as the instructor feedback which I used to revise what I had handed in, which is what you will find presented below. I’ve also included links here and there, as I do with most of my journal posts.

This Reflection on Listening to Yourself asks you to describe who you are, the values you hold dear, and how you view your place in the world. In other words, listen to yourself deeply and sincerely, and share the story that emerges. This assignment is a starting point upon which you will build and reflect, at several points in the course, before completing your final Summative Course Reflection.

Prepare and submit a 250 to 500-word / 1 to 2-page written reflection that describes yourself. The content of your description is open-ended; however, it should consist of a series of statements, in paragraph format, that describe who you are, the values you hold dear, how you view your place in the world, and your potential to be a catalyst for change, creativity, or whatever goal you aspire to achieve. Due to the limited length of this assignment, you will likely need to select only the observations that best describe you.

I’m Steve, which is short for Steven. But, why does that matter? I mean, wasn’t it Shakespeare who asked, “would a rose by any other name smell just as sweet?” ? I mean, if my parents had named me John, would that have changed who I am today? Would it have changed any of the directions I’ve taken in my life? Honestly, I don’t know. But I know for sure is that at some point after I was born my parents named me Steven Robert Han Lee.

Why Steven? When I ask my Mom this, her go to answer has always been just because she always liked that name. So I go exploring. I love how R. Murray Schafer, in his book “The Soundscape: Our Sonic Environment and the Tuning of the World” describes our senses in his introduction, which are our means of exploring the physical realities of the Earth School. Specifically, Schafer explains how:

Touch is the most personal of the senses. Hearing and touch meet where the lower frequencies of audible sound pass over to tactile vibrations (at about 20 hertz). Hearing is a way of touching at a distance and the intimacy of the first sense is fused with sociability whenever people gather together to hear something special.

So, I let my fingers navigate my keyboard, as the quick click, click, click of the keys fills my ears. I alt-tab my way to Safari, and Google my way to learn a bit more about my given name. Specifically, Wikipedia notes how: 

Steven is a common English first name… particularly significant to Christians, as it belonged to Saint Stephen (Greek: Στέφανος Stéphan), an early disciple and deacon who, according to the Book of Acts, was stoned to death; he is widely regarded as the first martyr (or "protomartyr") of the Christian Church.

My eyes scan the page, drawing in information about my name. I was baptized at the Cariboo Bethal Church, in the City of Williams Lake, British Columbia. I get lost on Google for awhile, finding the church, and then ending up in Google Maps looking down at an aerial view of a town whose history is now some twenty-five odd years in my past. It sits cut into a valley that falls onto the southwest edges of the lake it’s named after. I can’t help but think that the shape of the town itself sitting on the map appears not that dissimilar to the boot-like shape of the province of British Columbia itself. I use my fingers to move the map around on my iPad. I tap to drop pins, zooming in and out with a pinch of my fingers. The screen feels so smooth and slightly warm to my touch. In my mind flashes of images come and go, streets I walked down as a child, or was driven down by either my Mom or Dad. The sounds of my youth also fade in and out of my memory, as another quote from Schafer floats to my attention, where he noted how:

The eye points outward; the ear draws inward. It soaks up information. Wagner said: “To the eye appeals the outer man, the inner to the ear.” The ear is also an erotic orifice. Listening to beautiful sounds, for instance the sounds of music, is like the tongue of a lover in your ear.

I hover over the Stampede Grounds, on which the homestead of my biological Great Great Grandfather, William Pinchbeck and his wife Chulminik, once stood. His grave is at the top of a hill, looking out over the Stampede Grounds and the lake that held his father-in-law’s name, Chief “Sugar Cane” Will’ium, my 3rd Great Grandfather. But I digress. I can almost hear the sounds of the horses on the Stampede Grounds: the raking of hay, the shovelling of shavings, the sound of a truck engine turning over to take someone home who was done looking after his horses for the day. Or the sound of the bacon sizzling and the sound of a metal flipper, lifting and flipping a pancake over on a large hot griddle during one of the Stampede pancake breakfasts my Mom used to help with, as my young eyes would look up at the various people rushing around, doing whatever they needed to do to serve up the delicious smelling food that was cooking. The memory of these sounds, that have laid dormant and locked in my mind across these decades, provide a foundation that makes my visual memories feel so much more real. I stare at the map longer, and swear I remembered location of the building where those breakfasts were cooked, but I don’t quite see it on the map. Gone too are these large trees I was certain used to live behind the stables. Thankfully, several stumps nestled between the grasses on a hill provide comfort to me, that my memory of this place hasn’t completely faded. 

As I’m transfixed on the map in front of me, I find I’m slightly aware of the slight hum of the beer and wine fridge which sits across from the kitchen table I’m sitting at. I’m also aware of the muted sound of the television my Mom is watching, floating down the hallway of her house where I’m staying tonight. I strain my ears slightly, trying to narrow in on what she’s watching, but it’s no use. The voices are just too muffled and muted by distance and the solid doors of her bedroom to make out anything concrete. 

I remember to circle back to Wikipedia. Christianity. Martyr. I’m not a practicing Christian, even though I would later spend a year at the White Rock Christian Academy, for about a year after my folks and I moved from Williams Lake to South Surrey. So no, I’m not a practicing Christian, even though I wear a small cross. I wear it, not so much for what the church represents, but for Christ himself – a man who cultivated unconditional compassion, curiosity, gratitude, forgiveness, love and reverence for all life. No, today, I consider myself more of a Christian Spiritualist, open to studying not just the myths, stories and tenants of Christianity, but also the foundations of other practices, such as Buddhism, or even some New Age mysticism thrown in for good measure. The Wikipedia article about my name also says how: 

The name "Stephen" (and its common variant "Steven") is derived from Greek Στέφανος (Stéphanos), a first name from the Greek word στέφανος (stéphan), meaning 'wreath, crown' and by extension 'reward, honor, renown, fame', from the verb στέφειν (stéphein), 'to encircle, to wreathe'. In Ancient Greece, crowning wreaths (such as laurel wreaths) were given to the winners of contests. Originally, as the verb suggests, the noun had a more general meaning of any "circle"—including a circle of people, a circling wall around a city, and, in its earliest recorded use, the circle of a fight, which is found in the Iliad of Homer.

The metaphor of the circle seems apt in describing my life. Beyond the loops my mind is making right now, looking back at my childhood in Williams Lake, but also as a young adult, when I was much more of a high functioning depressive, working for several different nonprofit organizations as a teenager and into my early twenties. I first volunteered for the South Surrey District 5 RCMP Community Police Station, where I was able to put work the knowledge I was gaining studying marketing management during my first time at Kwantlen Polytechnic University, then Kwantlen University College. There, I organized events, such as Police Week, which saw us take over the Semiahmoo Mall with a gathering of two dozen different organizations who setup information tables to highlight the different ways they each proactively helped to keep South Surrey safe. I can remember the hustle and bustle of people walking through the mall, visiting each table. Muffled voices and shuffling papers, the slight sound of mall music hanging in the air. This volunteer work helped me later land a job with the Kwantlen Student Association, where I also organized many events for almost a decade, and even fought corruption that broke out when a group of students got elected and began systematically finding ways to mine their pockets with student’s money. At each of these places, I was involved with different circles of people who were trying to make life for a surrounding larger circle of people just a little bit better.

The name Robert was the name of the groundskeeper of the Williams Lake Stampede grounds, Mr. Robert Turnbull. I don’t remember much about him, but he too was a person who always worked to help a greater circle of people. I do remember his wife Rose, who painted oils on canvas. She let me have a go once when I was very young, maybe two or three years old. I remember the feel of the paintbrush in my hand and the palette laid out in front of me, with the remnants of the browns, reds, and dark green splayed out on her palette. I remember the wood panel walls of the trailer they lived in, and the chiaroscuro light that made the edges of everything I’m now remembering feel as though it was out of a dream. I want to say I remember the sound of her voice, gently explaining the very basics of painting to me, but that would be a lie. I don’t remember at all. But this was the first time art had circled into my life, and it’s something I’ve circled back to today, as I work to complete a Bachelor of Fine Arts at Kwantlen.

When I was a teenager, I changed my name to Steven Hanju Lee, to reflect the name of my adopted father. Han was his name here in Canada, and it’s been a part of me since birth. You see, when he came to Canada in 1952, the customs and immigration officials misheard his name and recorded it as Han Choo Lee, and not as Hanju Lee. My Mom and I found this out in the early 90s, when my Dad’s family found and made contact with those family members who were stuck in the authoritarian dictatorship known as North Korea. Each letter that came from them was addressed to “Hanju Lee” and one day, my Mom asked my Dad why this was. 

“Because, that’s my name,” he replied. The mistake was something he never corrected customs on, in the moment, or even later on in his life. I’m not sure why he wouldn’t get it fixed. Maybe it was between English being a second language for him (even though he could speak over half a dozen), or maybe it was because growing up with so many unstable governments you never quite trusted or ever questioned, it was probably just easier for my Dad to accept the error, and move on with life. But it was an error that gave him a name he would have to live with for the rest of his life, one that his parents hadn’t given him.

I spent almost a decade with the student association before leaving their in 2010. Leaving, wasn’t by choice though. I lost my bid for re-election. But near the end of my time there, I found my depression started to circle into my life with a force I hadn’t really seen before. I suffered a lot as a teenager, as I was bullied a lot, but the depression I experienced while working at the student association led me to try and take my own life a few times in 2007. I still remember going into the small bathroom of my parent’s apartment and closing the door behind me. I remember the feel of the bottle of Tylenol 3s in my hand as I unclipped it’s lid and emptied the bottle’s contents into the palm of my hand. Two or three dozen little white pills, which I shoved into my mouth like candy, washing them down my throat with a cold glass of water I had taken from the tap that was still running, phssshhhhh pouring water into the sink, and a tinkling sound at the same time as it promptly escaped down the drain. I remember my hand shaking, and looking at myself in the mirror, my eyes haggard from the tears that had been streaming down my face just moments before. 

In many ways, I consider the last decade of my life to have been a lost decade. Lost jobs, countless failed courses, a lost girlfriend. An art history teacher signing off on a waiver to let me take her course again, saying that if I was anyone else at any other institution, without the talent I had, I would have been kicked out of art school by now. Each loss represented a small little instance in life where it felt like a little piece of me had crumbled. It’s something I’m still struggling with today, impacting my dream of circling into a career of making art that serves to make people think. 

Had things gone as I had envisioned, I would have graduated in the spring of 2021. Instead, the fall of 2021 marked the sixth semester in a row that I bombed. It’s something that landed me in the hospital last fall after another suicide attempt. This time, after having a horrific fight with my Mom, where I ended up by my car in the driveway of her house, trying to stuff some rags into the tailpipe, to drive off and park somewhere, leaving the engine running, and hopefully going to sleep just one last time. As I stuffed the rags into the pipe, I could hear the sounds of sirens off in the distance, quickly moving closer to me. My Mom had called 911. I remember arguing with the cop through the closed door of my car, and him threatening to smash the window of the vehicle if I didn’t unlock it. Eventually, I climbed out of the vehicle, to be arrested on the lawn of my Mother’s house, under the Canadian mental health act. I felt so utterly broken and useless as the officer snapped a pair of handcuffs onto me, and had me maneuver into the back seat of the cruiser. I remember how uncomfortable it was to sit there, with my hands cuffed behind my back, staring through the bars and glass of the cruiser at my Mom talking to the officers. In so many ways, that’s how the last few years have felt for me, as though I’m stuck hand cuffed in the back of a cruiser going nowhere. And sometimes I still worry that I’ll never break free.

INSTRUCTOR FEEDBACK

“Thank you for your open and sincere reflections. You've captured some important memories, values, and elements of your life, and it appears you know yourself very well. I wish you all the best as you address and explore the topics you've presented.

What do you make of the Wagner quote? I was hoping it would be addressed more directly, although having said that, there are some excellent reflection here already. Perhaps ponder this quote, and in your future writing for this course, relate it to our listening, music-making, and reflective writing exercises.

I've enjoyed your comments in our chats thus far. Thank you for sharing your wisdom and experience. Wonderful to have met you, and I wish you all the best with your studies.” - Dr. Daniel Tones

Grade: 87+9=96