A few weeks ago, after finally accepting the reality of a Mid-Atlantic winter, I dug out my long underwear from the back of the closet. Long had they sat there, unused and forgotten, for last year's winter was mild, cool but not freezing, breezy but not wind-swept. This year, however, things are different: the first freeze came in late October, the winds have been strong and out of the north-west, and temperatures have sunk below freezing every night for the past week – long john weather, to be certain.
Starting in 2002 I spent seven years in California, hunkering last winter in Los Angeles. Therefore, I now ask myself: How do I use the long john? When do I don it, and when doff it? I started out by just wearing it all the time, which worked out great at my job, where I spend a lot of time sitting in the cold because I am too stubborn to turn on the heat; but, being a regular and avid cyclist, I found that the extra layer of insulation caused me to sweat too much, especially when climbing the hills south of town back to my home, from work. And so I put the undergarment back into storage and had forgotten about it until yesterday morning, when I was preparing to do my yoga in a cold, ground-floor room (I do yoga pant-less, for ease-of-movement), and I thought: I need to keep my legs warm during my asana, and, since I write in the same cold room after making my stretching exercises, an extra layer of insulation might mean the difference between frozen toes and a buoyant spirit. Now, after some trial and error, I proceed as follows. I awake at dawn in the warm cocoon of a German down comforter, put on my sweatshirt and pants, go downstairs, take my pants back off, put on my long johns, do my yoga, put on jeans, and do my hour of labor in the yard before breakfast, changing back into regular clothes before breaking my fast, after which I write until my netbook's battery dies. Then, I do more yoga (sun salutations with some core-strengthening exercises thrown in), take the long johns back off, eat a lunch of a half a cup of rice and a few dollops of peanut butter and honey, and gather up my things in preparation for bicycling down into town, for work. If I return in the evening and the house is still cold, I put the long johns back on before doing my asana, leaving them on during the rest of my nocturnal activities and taking them back off again mere moments before crawling back into my nest of blankets on the floor in one of the upstairs rooms.
If one were to have asked me three years ago how and when to use long johns, I would likely have responded off-handedly with a snide remark about donning them when one's legs get cold; today, though, I would say that the use of this undergarment depends on a number of factors, including one's level of physical exertion, the average temperature of one's home, one's ability to withstand cold, and one's usual pants-changing rhythm. Things have been going similarly with many things in my life – I find that the more I think I know about a given subject, process, or procedure the less I am in a position to actually pass judgment on it, to talk about it, or to give my opinion about it, and the more damage is done by my talking and opining and judging. Perhaps the central lesson I have learned from this adventure with the long john is to check things out first before dismissing them offhand, and, as always, to keep an open mind. Some day, I'll remember this simple mantra. Until then, mahalo.
© mentiri factorem fecit (場黑麥)
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