Joy of Reading or Listening to Books While Traveling

Recently I heard several people planning the same trip that I myself was planning to the same destination (and from different places), and realized how peculiar my habit must be. Perhaps like many other people they decided to travel together in order to kill what they may perceive as the boredom of solitude. This gave me a chance to reevaluate why I enjoy reading or listening to books while traveling.

There are two occasions when I prefer being - or have to be - alone. One is when I visit a bookstore, and the other is while traveling, even for half an hour within the city - all the more so when I travel to another city within the country or abroad.

I spend this precious time in solitude - and in motion - reading or listening to books. Solitude and motion together with time-boundedness make any trip a perfect occasion for this. I'm not interrupted by others, my work, or, hopefully, worries, and the constant tiny movement of the body in a bus, train or plane helps me absorb what I read or listen to.

All in all, this experience gives me an enormous joy that I'm not ready to sacrifice in exchange for small talk that often leads nowhere and leaves me with the loss of something precious – time.

Especially because I now live in a very rural place, many people ask me if I have a driver's license. When I say no, they wonder how I survive, and some of them even look at me with pity. But in a sense I also feel pity for drivers.

It's true that if you drive a car, you may often be able to reach your destination faster, especially within the city, as you don't have to wait. But what do you do when you drive? Preferably nothing but focus on driving.

So I feel that by driving your own car, you may have more to lose than to gain. I also know that many people who shorten their travel time by driving their own car don't always use wisely the time they save.

But please don't misunderstand me. I'm not a misanthrope. On the contrary. I enjoy interacting both verbally and nonverbally not only with fellow humans but also with animals and even plants. Just not while traveling.

So while traveling I also watch other humans from time to time. I often find other humans no less interesting than books. When I still lived in Jerusalem, I used to tell my friends abroad that I felt no need to visit a zoo, as I lived in a huge zoo. ;-)

I especially enjoy watching what other passengers read while traveling, if at all. Several times I have started a conversation - and a fascinating one at that - when another passenger noticed what I was reading, or when I noticed what they were reading. On a few occasions these conversations even led to friendships with fellow book lovers!

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Why Active Listening Is Almost a Lost Art

Like many truly important life skills, active listening isn't generally taught formally. Those who have learned this skill seem to have acquired it by stumbling upon, observing (and being impressed by) a very small number of people who still practice it.

But unlike some of these skills, active listening seems to be almost a lost art. I encounter fewer and fewer people who still practice it in any language. In this specific area, human beings have achieved true equality, overcoming linguistic and sociocultural differences. ;-)

The "honor" and "privilege" of receiving unsolicited advice from someone who even took the trouble to invent an issue almost ex nihilo in order to fulfill his self-imposed obligation to advise me ;-) have made me ask myself again why active listening has almost become a lost art.

So the true favor he has done me is not his unsolicited advice about an issue I didn't have in the first place, but this precious opportunity he gave me. I also passed the test of being tempted to advise him not to give unsolicited advice—not only to me, but to others as well. ;-)

It must always have been a skill possessed by a very small number of people throughout history. But our new environments must have accelerated the process of endangering its survival. This is also a vicious circle: the less people practice it, the fewer opportunities we have to observe it - and then to learn it.

One possible reason for this accelerated process that has just occurred to me is that more and more people are less and less patient in coping with the issues they encounter, and therefore increasingly inclined to rush to online references, especially generative AI, for quick answers and solutions instead of actively listening to themselves first.

Of course, these online references are not to blame. The responsibility always lies first and foremost with those who use them. They can become incredible assistants if you seek their help after actively listening to yourself. You can even be helped by generative AI as a possible role model, since it has a built-in mechanism of what seems to us almost like active listening.

Many of those who are used to this must think they are doing an enormous favor by advising others before they are asked to do so, saving them the trouble of asking instead of actively listening to them first.

I still find myself giving such unsolicited advice to others from time to time, though less and less frequently. But unlike before, I can now notice this and stop myself from continuing.

There is one practice I started a couple of years before I left Jerusalem at the end of September 2023, and I still continue it in this new place. Do you want to hear (as if you had a choice not to hear)? ;-) It's listening to stillness in nature, especially during my weekly self-seclusion in nature in the last hour before the end of Sabbath.

I was inspired by a lesser-known book by Eckhart Tolle entitled Stillness Speaks. I must have listened to the audio version of this gem, narrated by the author himself, more than ten times, making this a kind of meta-listening to a profound teaching of a very pristine form of active listening: listening to stillness in nature. Once I get used to it, it becomes relatively easy to apply this art to fellow humans.

If you are interested in knowing why this works - or at least why it has worked for me - you are welcome to read or listen to this book instead of reading my interpretation, so that I may not distort its message (and practice). I only hope you won't interpret this very paragraph as my unsolicited advice. ;-)

PS: It is known that ancient Egyptians complained about their youth. I may be like them. That is, active listening may have always been a lost art throughout history. So I am simply continuing this centuries-old art of complaining - and saving it from extinction. ;-)

Sociocultural Incompatibility in Speech and Action as the Main Reason for Deciding to Stay Here More

I feel more and more keenly that I don't share a common "language" with most people in the country where I have been living since I left Israel at the end of September 2023. I had to come here all the way to discover that the "treasure" was actually buried back in Israel. So, theoretically, I can leave this country whenever I wish.

But I have decided to stay here davka because of this sociocultural incompatibility of mine with the way most "law-abiding" citizens of this country speak and act. This time, I want to focus on speech.

I often present myself, half seriously, as the only native speaker of the Jewish variety of the local language. Let's call it Jewish X. I have even prepared the following "ten commandments" of Jewish X:

1. The worst mistake in Jewish X is trying not to make any mistakes. (= Mistakes are sacred. They mean you're alive and learning.)
2. Start speaking. Thought will catch up. (= Jewish X is learned in motion, not in meditation.)
3. "I don't know" is a legitimate answer - but don't hide behind it. (= Ignorance is a starting point, not a shelter.)
4. Once you know the alef-bet, start teaching it. (= Fluency begins when you pass it on, even imperfectly.)
5. Say nice things loudly. Say not-nice things silently. (= Let your words uplift, or let them rest.)
6. Don't begin by agreeing. It might offend the other person. (= True respect begins with response, not with nodding.)
7. Speak from your stomach, not just your throat. (= Jewish X starts deep in the belly.)
8. How you say it matters. Use your face. And your hands. (= Don't speak Jewish X with both hands full.)
9. The more fluent you get, the noisier you may seem. (= You're not getting louder. You're getting more expressive.)
10. Be serious about using humor. (= It's not just a spice. It's a sacred ingredient.)

You may agree with me that one of the most important common denominators of these "ten commandments" is playfulness. It is through this playfulness-shmaylfulness of mine that I want to "disrupt" the way many local people speak on autopilot, hoping to invite them to join my spontaneous "party" of words, even free of charge. ;-)

In fact, I have already been practicing this on a daily basis. I make Jewish-flavored spontaneous remarks to passers-by on the street, as well as to workers in city offices, post offices, banks, hospitals, supermarkets - in short, almost everywhere. And I seldom fail to bring a smile or even laughter to these "innocent victims", ;-) trying to implement a Chassidic teaching: "A little light dispels a lot of darkness."

You may think this is chutzpah. Although I dislike the word "hate", I have to admit that I hate to agree. But this time I must agree with you. ;-)

Desires of the Ego and Needs of the Soul

Very roughly speaking, many forms of conventional coaching, including life coaching and business coaching, help clients (or help clients help themselves) achieve "successes", or the desires of their ego, which is not necessarily a bad thing.

Conventional life coaches and business coaches promise their clients "success" in marriage, family life, study, and other aspects of life, or in making (more) money, respectively.

It seems to me that both these coaches and their clients often miss (or misunderstand) at least two important realities of life. First, if we have lived long enough, we already know that not all the desires of our ego, including our spiritual ego, are satisfied. Second, it is sometimes better if these desires are not satisfied, for our ultimate good, namely, our spiritual growth.

Unsatisfied desires of the ego can then often become obstacles that serve as both material and spiritual "barbells" for training the "muscles" of the soul. Of course, we don't have to wish such obstacles upon ourselves or others, nor do we need to invent them unnecessarily.

Having encountered such obstacles despite the help I received from a number of life and business coaches, I have come to realize that the needs of the soul are satisfied in what one might call perfect Divine timing, often in the most unexpected ways.

This is not a naive belief but a lesson I have learned from repeated lived experiences of encountering and overcoming such obstacles, through which my spiritual "muscles" were strengthened in ways that would have been unimaginable otherwise.

Until fairly recently, I could recognize this Divine Providence only after the fact. Now, however, I hope to relate to such obstacles more proactively. I also hope that I have been given not only the power to overcome them but also the ability to discover that they ultimately serve to satisfy the needs of the soul.

Reappreciating the Depth and Breath of Jewish Life Wisdom

I still can't forget what I experienced about a month ago in what I now clearly see as a small "pond". Last August, I was invited to join this "pond" after several months of acquaintance, and almost immediately afterward I was invited to take part in a three-month "challenge" program within it, without knowing much about it. I agreed to join both mainly in order to take myself out of my comfort zone.

This "challenge" program was meant to have participants obtain five "candles" within three months. These "candles" were said to grant a "special status" within the "pond", which in turn was said to provide certain "privileges".

This "special status" had already begun to seem worthless outside this "pond" to someone like me, who had even stopped seeing any intrinsic value in a PhD outside another "pond" called academia. So I did not regret ending the program without a single "candle".

Nevertheless, I was curious to ask someone who already had this "special status" to explain to me, at the end of the program, what she considered its most important "privilege". She replied, "This gives me access to exclusive content."

I could only giggle when I heard this, wondering what "exclusive content" could possibly mean in such a "pond". Then I replied to her, "Really? I have free access to a three-thousand-year-old library of Jewish life wisdom."

I noticed from her expression that this reply made her instinctively sense a fundamental difference between her "exclusive content" and the vast "ocean" in which I have been navigating freely.

Ironically, it was precisely through this contrast that I was able to reappreciate what I had long taken for granted: the depth and breath of Jewish life wisdom.

Doors That Refuse to Open Often Lead to Better Ones

I have lived long enough to realize - not conceptually, but as lived experience, and more than once, both professionally and personally - that doors that refused to open have often led me to better ones, sometimes far beyond my wildest imagination. In short, this has consistently been redirection rather than rejection.

The most striking professional redirection occurred when all my applications for academic positions in areas not closely aligned with my PhD specialization were rejected for ten years. This continued until I was invited by one of the leading scholars in my own field of expertise, who had also become my academic mentor after my PhD supervisor passed away prematurely, to teach at the very department where I later worked.

I remain deeply indebted not only to her but also to that institution for having enabled me to live without financial worries and to pursue my academic interests for sixteen years, even though I ultimately decided to leave both the institution and my professional occupation in languages and linguistics full ten years before the official age of retirement.

The most unforgettable personal redirection was how my totally unexpected and sudden divorce eventually turned out to be a blessing - indeed, blessings - in disguise. Please don't misunderstand me. This doesn't mean that I wanted to get divorced. On the contrary, I did everything imaginable to save the marriage, albeit in vain.

With hindsight, I'm even grateful to her for her courageous decision to leave me because I could not have been liberated otherwise from the prison of my egoic mind - a prison that caused incessant headaches not only to her but also to many others around me. I don't believe she intended to do me any favor with her decision. Nevertheless, the outcome was exactly that.

In light of these two experiences, as well as several earlier and less dramatic ones, I was able to remain serene when I encountered yet another series of closed doors during a three-month challenge program involving four other challengers and our respective supporters.

By the end of that program at the end of December, all four of the other challengers attained the goal prescribed by the program. I did not. Yet it was precisely through this apparent "failure" that I was redirected toward something utterly unimaginable to all of us, myself included. The door that finally opened for me at the very end rendered that original goal completely irrelevant.

Ultimately, those earlier redirections are what led me to this very challenge program in the first place, and that program, in turn, led me to this unimaginable door. In other words, closed doors at different stages and in different contexts of my life seem, so to speak, to have conspired with one another.

Why I Can't Connect Deeply with Those Who Are Unable to Have Written Dialogues

Structural linguistics claims that spoken language is primary and written language secondary, while sociolinguistics views them as two distinct entities that influence each other in complex ways. From the perspective of communication - and as far as I am concerned - speaking and writing complement each other.

The typical form of speaking, excluding prepared speeches, is a spontaneous and therefore synchronous mode of communication, while the typical form of writing, excluding instant messaging, is a contemplative and therefore asynchronous mode. This means, again as far as I am concerned, that if I communicate with someone only through speech, I encounter only one mode of their communication, while the other remains hidden.

Though I love spontaneous spoken interactions, I value written dialogues no less, especially when corresponding with someone who can express spontaneous thoughts and feelings at length and in a meaningful way that naturally elicits my response.

What I find equally important about such written dialogues is that they require us, first and foremost, to engage in inner dialogues. Contemplating our own thoughts and feelings and formulating them in writing makes these thoughts and feelings clearer not only to others but also to ourselves.

As a result, I have come to realize that many people who lack this habit tend to express their thoughts and feelings less clearly even in speaking than those who cultivate it. This is also why, in retrospect, almost all the meaningful relationships I have had - romantic or otherwise - have been grounded in such written dialogues, allowing me to connect deeply with others through two complementary modes of communication.