Shoot The Arrow, Then Draw The Target

on trying new things

Rye Fields by Ivan Shishkin, c. 1878

These days, I have a new hobby. It is one that I picked up fairly recently, at the behest of both my mind and my body. What I have recently started doing is staring out my window. This may sound strange, and to be frank, in some ways, it is. There is no inherent “reward” to looking out your window recreationally, as there would be when a friend arrives or a package is dropped off. In fact, the only tangible “product” is perhaps this piece I have decided to write. And that is very much the point.

I am not used to being an adult. To be fair, I have only struck out on my own for the past 4 or 5 months, living in the same city I grew up in, but surrounded by things that are exceptionally new to me. It is exciting, and there are moments, deeply beautiful ones, where I feel as if I am both a passenger and the captain of my own ship. Staring out the window has helped me contextualize and articulate all this. When I begin to look out, my mind immediately becomes blank… but this is only temporary. After a brief cleaning of the slate, the important stuff comes rolling and stumbling onto the stage, as if to tell me “Ilya! Where have you been! We’ve been waiting for you!”

These moments of clarity are a saving grace during a time of upheaval, no matter how dramatic or trivial. When there is a pandemic that feels like it will never end, a political recall seemingly conjured up out of boredom, and a warming planet, my problems seem frivolous. But this simply clears the runway for things I currently appreciate. A few of which include: old photos of my family, the incredible figs at my health food store, my roommate and life partner starting his own substack, and maybe beginning to sorta kinda understand wine. (This is a great one I grabbed at the Jug Shop off Polk St.)

For all of these varied thoughts however, the ones I appreciate most are the ones reminding me to simply try new things. I think this, in essence, is what being an adult is. As a kid I was very hesitant to explore new horizons, and I enjoyed what I thought was the apex of life on earth- frozen twinkies, exclusively playing GameCube in my free time, and thinking girls were gross. It’s okay if you still hold these things in high regard (except for perhaps the last part), but for me, this sort of lifestyle turned out to be deeply suffocating, and even isolating. Staring out the window is a nice portal to remind oneself it’s good, even great, to put yourself out there.

But as always, there is a fear. For myself, it is often a mix of imposter syndrome and just generally coming off as a clown. Recently however, I am enjoying taking the plunge, more than I ever have. One of the new things I am exploring is a deeper connection to my Jewish roots. While I am culturally a Jew; neurotic, hyper self-aware, and often ending arguments with “well that’s a valid interpretation”, I feel as if I am missing out on a more rooted, historical context.

My favorite recent anecdote comes from Jacob ben Wolf Kranz, an 18th century maggid, from my native Belarus. His most famous fable is one that describes how he finds such incredible fables, which I find both deeply profound and genuinely hilarious, as if a car mechanic was famous for recommending other car mechanics.

He was walking through a birch filled forest, when he began to notice dozens of targets carved into the trees. In the center of every target was an arrow, and Kranz was taken back. This must have been the work of an incredible archer, he surmised. Perhaps, even a group of them. Suddenly, a lone small child appears behind a tree with a bow. Kranz asks “Are you the one who shot all these arrows?” The boy nods, and responds with a simple “Yes.” Mystified, Kranz asks, “How did you always hit the center of the target?” The boy laughs, and slowly responds: “Shoot the arrow, then draw the target.”

These days, I am indeed trying to do just that.