Stirring Point

My great-grandfather loved coffee. He’d reheat it on the stove several hours after it was first brewed, often drinking a cup before bedtime. If some remained in the pot from the day prior, he’d warm it up and slurp that down too. He once consumed week-old coffee he found in a percolator, resting on the stove of the family vacation home. Instead of making a fresh pot, he scraped off the top of the liquid with a spoon, brought it to boiling point, and shrugged his shoulders while his wife and children scoffed.

He died a year before I was born, and what I know of him, I learned by proxy. Time slaps the shine off our neurons, changing memories as we age, and by now, it’s possible some of the family stories surrounding him are apocryphal. They tell me he was rigid, frugal, and caustic. He came from impoverished German roots, by way of a hardscrabble Philadelphia upbringing. He started smoking at 7 years old and dropped out of school around the 4th grade. He sold soft pretzels on the street in the early 1920s: two for a penny. His childhood inspires visions of Oliver Twist, sans the orphanage. Yet his soft edges were playful. He was a prankster, an organic urban gardener, and an exceedingly determined worker. He raised two children with his wife while managing multiple jobs: a portion of which was during the throes of the Great Depression. Most importantly, he was a relentless learner.

His legendary curiosity helped me construct a mythology around the man, functioning like a conduit between us. While traveling, he spoke with everyone he met, asking questions about their work, their lives and circumstances. He read every shred of news within reach, always searching for a new edge of understanding. His nightly ritual was a visit to the icebox, building a sandwich from leftover scraps we’d find fit for a compost bin. Onion sandwich? Sure. Liverwurst trimmings? No problem–slap some bread around it and grab a plate. He’d sit down, pour a cup of coffee and read every word on every page of the Philadelphia Inquirer. Front page news, sports, obituaries, advertisements–you name it. While he read, he’d sit with a spoon pinched between thumb and forefinger, endlessly stirring his coffee with steady, mythodic pacing. Stir, stir, stir. An hour would pass with the steel nose of the spoon grinding against the bottom of the porcelain cup, making mantra-esque circles as he soaked in the stories of the day. The habit eventually shaved down the ends of several spoons, shifting the oval scoops of silverware to miniature flathead shovels. One sits in my kitchen drawer to this day.

I have deep admiration for curious minds, specifically those willing to abandon a belief when it fails to hold water. This curiosity, this “stirring” of discovery, drives us towards new ideas that challenge our sense of understanding. Our entrenched beliefs meet a wall of resistance, and here, we encounter a choice: continue with our internal narrative or test the durability of our beliefs against a new idea. Is my belief sound? Have I inspected its tensile strength? Are these my thoughts or has someone else done the thinking for me?

This is my “stirring point.” It’s the moment when curiosity pushes against comfort, causing confrontation with an embedded belief. It’s the churning in our guts as we challenge and upend our accepted narratives. It’s the choice of resistance above illiberal behavior–our gateway to clear thought and greater awareness. It’s the depth of concentration towards committed growth so complete, that it grinds a stirring spoon to right angles.

Linguist Stephen Krashen developed a theory in the 1970s around second language learning, known as I + 1 (“I” represents our current level of understanding). Phil Western summarizes this theory in the online journal Oxford Open Learning with the following:

“Learning is most effective when you meet the learners’ current level and add one level of difficulty, like the next rung on a ladder.”

Growth comes with the added degree of difficulty. It’s the extra push up attempted, the tenth of a mile added while finishing a run, the recognition of an ideological shortcoming, and the choice to confront our version of “truth” from a new angle and perspective. Facing off against comfort, feeling the stiffness of change–this is a “stirring point,” and subsequently, why this website bears the name. My travels aim to dissolve my ignorance–like nail polish dipped in acetone–and force a reckoning with my own prejudice. Travel is my (I+1), my flashlight in a dark alley, the way to combat my narrow-minded viewpoint. My great-grandfather’s curiosity and commitment to relentless understanding serve as a reminder that I too can embody this practice.

I’ll use this platform to write broadly–covering culture, geopolitics, martial arts, and the “stirring points” I encounter internally as I navigate the varied spectrum of the human condition during my travels. I’ll do my damndest to breathe life into the flavors of the world I find, bringing the characters I meet to your doorstep, and share an honest portrayal of my emotions as they push against the mind. There’s growth ahead, and I hope you’ll join me for the journey.