Just another day

It is unjust that these pages should be reserved for the exceptional experiences, a statement which itself implies the uncatalogued events are anything but.  Take for instance the class our Headmaster Gabor taught on the History of Philosophy.  In this series of text-based discussions, we had the chance to answer for ourselves age-old quandaries on the nature of being, knowledge, and higher powers.  These questions are not inherently based in cognitive pursuits, but they are relevant to any intellectual discussion.  Still, when you put two dozen cognitive scientists in a room after sharing common evocative readings, the discussion inevitably turns to the topics on everyone’s mind.  Gabor is well regarded, cherished even, as our headmaster.  He is the one who acts as our advocate, assuring that we are enjoying the program fully.  I worried, then, if expectations for his class would be overly lofty, if Gabor would struggle to retain his positive regard.  Luckily, having heard our critiques of prior professors, Gabor had everything in his favor from the getgo.  The openness of the topic combined with our professor’s comfort with us and the field led to a learning experience for everyone involved.  Talking about philosophy always makes me reconsider what is real.

the next day, the branches were bare

There is an opportunity to return to reality at the weekly collegium soccer game.  There are few better ways to clear a question-clouded head than with fresh air, I find.  Luckily, I have ingratiated myself with the group of Hungarians in the dorm who host the ritual game.  Running around, even if I make a fool of myself, I know I will feel that much better, livelier, invigorated.  On nonsoccer days, then, I pursue the fresh air through solo efforts, by running to Margaret Island, a few kilometers away.  The brisk autumn air inspires some to bundle up, but in truth, there is no better climate in which to exercise.  Running along the river’s edge, I am greeted by many pedestrians, the wind off the water’s crest, and innumerable vistas of both shorelines.  Running along the same path every couple of days throughout the last month allows me to monitor seasonal progress.  Something like the ratio of leaves overhead to those underfoot might be a good way to systematize my experience, but I prefer to attempt to catch the leaves as our paths cross.  When enough specimens are present on the walkway, my passage creates a chromatic wake.  Thus far, I have not gotten myself lost or had any run-ins with dogs.

Although coffeehouses were against the law here about half a century ago, they have returned to Budapest with caffeinated alacrity.  It is true, where once it was forbidden to meet for a hot beverage or heated discussion, the custom has readily returned.  It is to one of these places of stimulation that I retreat for refreshment and advancement after a midafternoon jaunt.  Such sophisticated surroundings are ideal for academic readings, especially in the vein of philosophy.  What’s more, such outings give me the opportunity to create narratives about the other patrons from behind the veil of the steam from my green tea.  They don’t seem to mind, nor are they any help, given that they insist on conversing in languages beyond my ready comprehension.  But so it goes, and so do I, all in the course of a day’s work.