This morning, the orange dog is lying on my sheetless bed, and the sun from the window is on half his body while the other half is in the shadows. I have historical maps of old whaling towns now owned by rich people who don’t live in them on my walls. I also have a map of the place I am from. I have a list of things to do, including writing statements of intent, learning ten new words, leaving the house, and not thinking about children.

The other night, I was talking to an online friend about Deadliest Catch, which is a reality show about Alaskan crab fishermen on the Discovery Channel. I was addicted to this show last winter and no one understood. She said she had the same reaction from her friends, but it usually helped them understand why she watched it when she explained that it is called Deadliest Catch because people actually die.

Then I started telling her about whaling, which was even deadlier. Did you know that the harpoon is just for attaching the gigantic whale to a tiny boat so the whale can drag it around the open seas until it gets tired or kills everyone onboard? Did you know that they took young boys onboard whaling ships for the purpose of crawling into the dead whale’s head to retrieve the sperm oil? Did you know about the beautiful things these men made out of whale teeth and whale bones to bring back to their wives after five years away?

I have been reading Simone de Beauvoir’s letters to Sartre, and although I do not really understand their relationship, I can appreciate how she sometimes signs them “I love you — with a hint of tragedy.”

Last weekend, a small plane carrying two adults and a child collided with a helicopter carrying 6 tourists and crashed into the Hudson River, killing everyone on both aircraft. Last month, I flew from New Jersey to Nantucket and back, with my boyfriend and his flight instructor, in a tiny Cessna 172. We flew over the Hudson, alongside Manhattan, and it was one of the most amazing, breathtaking sights I have ever seen. Travel by small plane is 8 times more dangerous than driving, and 150 times more dangerous than travel by commercial jet. I know people who have friends who have died this way; I know of people who have been severely burned. I went anyway, and I loved it.

I have often wondered about the true value of what I call “peak experiences.” There are certain experiences I have had that have dramatically changed the way I understand everything else in my life. These experiences have altered the way I see. I am not just talking about adventurous outings like flying, and travel in general, which have changed my perception of the world and made me feel incredibly free, but also about more subtle things, emotional and spiritual experiences. Clinging to such experiences is very risky, and is often the first step in the process of getting stuck. For instance, sometimes I worry that the heights to which I sometimes travel, speaking metaphorically, put a damper on the everyday, though I know that truly there is no separation between the sublime and the ordinary.

Another way of putting it would be to say that there is no ordinary world. Even being stuck, even so-called samsara, even sin itself, is included in divine reality. Why do we choose to believe an illusion?

But, still, would it be better to forsake the highs if that somehow dampened the pain of the lows? I have been pondering this question for what seems like my entire life, and I still find myself returning to it, even though it is probably ultimately the wrong question to ask. I have more or less concluded that, no, it would not be better, and furthermore, pain should not necessarily be avoided.

I am not sure how this intersects with questions of danger and risk-taking, which are somewhat different. But I’ll end there, because Royal, the dog, just jumped out the window, so I need to go let him in the back door.

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