Representations In the Heart of The Country

My Journey into how the mind can be used as a guide

Most mornings, I wake up and blast old country, ballads of the old West to be specific, trumpets ripping, and thick rich baritone voices reverberate through my 394-square-foot studio as I shower and prepare for the day. For those of you who are still getting to know me (watch out, world, I now have two substack subscribers), I live in Washington, DC, pay $5 for black coffee, and invest in early-stage ML companies. At no point in my life have I ever lived in The Country, climbed a mountain, or herded sheep, yet my draw to the open spaces and prospect of simplicity grows daily. I now wear a belt buckle fit for a rancher and refuse to wear anything but blue jeans. If you can catch me on a Saturday night, you'll likely find me monopolizing a Jukebox in a basement pool hall, forcing the good people of DC to enjoy the wonders of Jim Corce's three studio albums. 

So what's the point here, John? Why should I care if you want to play faux cowboy in DC? The answer is simple: you shouldn't; it's my life, my belt buckle, and my TouchTunes credits. That said, with a bit of self-inquiry and a few cheap beers, it clicked, and I learned a few things about myself. More importantly, I learned a bit about how the mind uses representations to show us our innermost desires.  

I learned that my passion for the West has very little to do with being out West, sheep, cattle, or shoveling shit out of a barn. Still, I want something the West symbolizes: radical personal responsibility, self-determination, and simplicity. When my apartment begins to fill with bajos and ballads, I know that my mind is telling me that deep down, I am looking for a new freedom in my life. It took me a while to realize that the mind has representations and even longer to unpack my own, yet I've learned that this desire for freedom through representations is not unique to me. Edward Abby said it best in Desert Solitare when he wrote,

"We need the possibility of escape as surely as we need hope; without it, the life of the cities would drive all men into crime or drugs or psychoanalysis." - Edward Abby

Since this realization of the nature of representations, I've started listening to songs that play in my head; many of them now serve as guides for what I am experiencing and lacking. 

Roughly a week ago, I spent some time in Charlotte, NC, biking around with a friend who is a musician, has his own house, and a lovely, supportive community. Charlotte, for those of you who are not bankers or aspiring bankers or fans of overpriced and uncreative housing, is a city of mainly glass box office buildings, monotony, and pockets of personal resistance to the blandness that is uptown. 

As I sat down at a Taco spot in, NODA, the only spot in Charlotte that is not full of bankers living in glass boxes, I was struck by a Paul McCartney song in my head. Personally, I think Paul was the least interesting Beatle (team George over here), but his song Heart of the Country played in my head for a reason. I came down to Charlotte to see what it was like to be in a midsized city in what I view as the heart of the country. While there aren't old ballads roaring or banjos plucked in the streets of Charlotte, there is a feeling of being squarely in the middle of America, a cross-section of inequality, rapid development, and mixed political affiliations. My trip to Charlotte was one of exploration, a trip emblematic of my search for a new home both personally and professionally, the lyrics to Heart of the Country came into perfect allignment with my being;

“I look high, I look low

I'm lookin' everywhere I go

Lookin' for a home in the heart of the country

I'm gon' move, I'm gon' go

I'm gon' tell everyone I know

Lookin' for a home in the heart of the country”- Paul McCartney 

The music we listen to, the songs we sing, and the buckles we wear represent our innermost desires. They are expressions, intentional or not, of what we identify most with, and I encourage you to explore your representations and see what you can learn about your own obscured desires and maybe you just might move to the heart of the country.

(Inspiration from Oliver Sacks)