Lifestyle
Opinion: What I find in solitude and silence on the cliffs of Big Sur
As a student, like many of us, I liked to read Henry David Thoreau. Many of his ringing one-liners thrilled me and got copied down in my commonplace book, but there was one sentence I hardly registered: “Every man is tasked to make his life, even in its details, worthy of the contemplation of his most elevated and critical hour.” In my early 20s, my life was all about action, movement, exploration: Contemplation was for the aged in their rocking chairs.
Within a few years, though, real life began to catch up with me: I’d completed my first four years in an office; I’d fallen in love with the woman I was going to marry; I’d been lucky enough to see much of the globe, from Cuba to Tibet. More dramatically, my house had burned to the ground in a wildfire, and I’d lost not only all my possessions, but also the handwritten notes that were the basis for my next three books. My future, in short, as much as my past.
After weeks of sleeping on the floor of a friend’s house, I made my way up (at another friend’s suggestion) to a Benedictine hermitage, four hours north along the California coast, just south of the hamlet of Lucia. I would try to forget that 15 years of Anglican schooling as a boy in England had left me most interested in traditions from the far side of the world. What I found at the top of the mountain, the minute I stepped out of my car, was a radiant view over the blue Pacific, freedom from all distraction (no TV, no cellphones, no internet) and a day that seemed to last for months. I could read, take walks, scribble off letters or, best of all, do nothing at all. The roar of the highway was far below, and for most of the day, even amid birdsong and tolling bells, the main sound was of living silence.
I’d stumbled, in short, into the realm of contemplation. I’ve never meditated, and as a writer on place, I was often in motion, crisscrossing the globe every week. But now I was invited just to sit and watch — not as I did when writing, but with no end in sight at all. And not to think, since my thoughts subsided as soon as I left clamor behind; just to attend. To observe the world, perhaps, as if it were the central scripture.
The results were quite startling. I was no longer angry with that friend I’d been raging against when I drove up; he, too, was probably just trying to find some peace in an overstressed life. Memories rose up — sometimes poignant, sometimes erotic and piercing — and they held and possessed me as they never could when I was driving along the freeway, preoccupied with my next appointment. Death itself didn’t seem quite so terrifying in a landscape of rock and redwood and unbroken ocean — and in a silence that seemed no less changeless. It was instant joy, in short, the kind that lingers even when things are difficult.
I was being asked to offer just $30 a night, which covered hot lunches, hot showers, books and fruit and salad and bread, and the most heart-expanding views along the famously beautiful coastline I’d ever discovered.
It’s not surprising, perhaps, that very soon I reserved a trailer on the hillside for two weeks, and then three. The monks were great company and bracingly undogmatic; they were confident each of us would find what we needed here, whatever names we chose to give to it. I could drive down to a pay phone at the motel along the highway if an emergency arose — but emergencies are never so common as we imagine. Of course it was not easy to leave my mother or my wife-to-be behind, but it felt worthwhile if I could bring back to them someone who was fresh and attentive and brimming with delight, and not the distracted and overburdened soul they otherwise saw, grumbling, “Not right now!”
At the same time, I could never ignore that sentence in Thoreau, whom I was reading much more carefully now in silence: How to make my life worthy of what I saw and who I was — and wasn’t — in this space of contemplation? I wasn’t a monk and never would be. My mother was calling for company after her husband’s sudden death; my loved ones in Japan needed emotional as well as financial support; I had to pay the bills.
Maybe I could try to remake my life a little in the light of what I’d seen in silence? I surprised both my sweetheart and myself by moving to Japan and a tiny, two-room apartment, crowded with her, her 12-year-old son and her 10-year-old daughter; I’d realized, as Thoreau reminded me, that “a man is rich in proportion to the things he can afford to leave alone.” In this cramped space, I’d have the luxury of living without a car or a big house, free of constant distractions. I began to pick up some of the wise writers in the Western tradition — Meister Eckhart, Etty Hillesum — no longer convinced that Sufis or Buddhists owned a monopoly on wisdom. And I resolved to try to go on retreat for three days every season, simply to clear my head, root myself in what mattered and remember what I loved.
Plus, of course, to get perspective on the world and my life in it, none of which I could see in the midst of all the tumult. Some friends take runs every day, or swims, for the same reason; some cook or sew or golf. Almost any practice that allows you to open space in your day and your head seems invaluable, especially as the world accelerates, but it was a particular luxury to spend three days and nights with nothing I had to do. Even on holiday, I’m usually captive to my plans.
As the years went on — there have been almost 34 of them now, and more than 100 retreats — the nature of my days in silence began to mature. Not only did silence bring those I cared about close to me — and clearer — than they might be when in the same room; it also turned the strangers along the monastery road into trusted friends. We were all here for a common purpose, and it wasn’t usually a text or a teacher or even a doctrine; it was simply a human longing (or intimation). I grew ever closer to the monks, a wildly talented and friendly collection of scholars, musicians, artists and chemists; I realized I had a connection with everyone met in silence — even if I knew next to nothing of their jobs or their backgrounds — that I seldom had with people met along a busy sidewalk.
I came to understand what Thoreau knew, like all contemplatives: The point of being alone is to be able to give more to others and to be a more useful member of society. “I am naturally no hermit,” he had written in “Walden”; “I think that I love society as much as most.” I didn’t tell anyone to go to my particular retreat, but I did sometimes remind friends that three days away from distraction could clarify their lives. Those who had spent time in silence weren’t surprised when I explained that it was being alone in the ringing quiet that moved me, at long last, and at the not-so-tender age of 42, to get married.
I never regret my life in the world, chronicling its movements and the explosion of possibilities our grandparents could not have imagined. But I hope never to stop returning to my friends in the Hermitage; at times I’ve even stayed with the monks in their Enclosure, there seeing that their lives are all hard work and constant activity to ensure that their guests can enjoy absolute peace. I can’t imagine a more important investment.
One day I was making my little trailer clean, polishing its every surface and wiping the sink down till it shone — as I seldom do at home — when I noticed something that stayed with me (no detail seems trivial in silence). I had to squeeze only a single drop of dishwashing liquid into my glass of water and the whole thing turned blue. It doesn’t take much to transform a life.
Pico Iyer is the author of “The Art of Stillness” and the forthcoming “Aflame: Learning From Silence.”
Lifestyle
‘The Invite’ is a marriage comedy with sex and heart
Lifestyle
L.A. Affairs: It’s hot when a man drives to me. But would this new guy make the trek from the Valley?
I met Dan on Hinge.
He lives in Woodland Hills, and I live in Venice. In Los Angeles, this is considered a long-distance relationship. In another city it might be nothing. Here, it’s a factor.
But I believe that with the right person, you can make anything work, so I stay open. I’m a native New Yorker, and if I were living in Brooklyn and a guy lived on the Upper West Side, that would be a 45-minute subway ride, which is truly nothing in New York. So with that same logic, I try to have flexibility with men in L.A.
When we started planning our first date, Dan suggested three options: a hike on mushrooms, a wine tasting or a walk on the beach.
A hike on mushrooms is something I’d only do with someone I already trust, not someone I just met online. I don’t do first-date hikes because I don’t like feeling trapped if the guy’s a dud. So I chose the wine tasting.
Then I learned the wine tasting was in West Hills.
On a Friday night, driving there from Venice would be insane. So I said I didn’t want to meet there because of the traffic. He suggested Malibu. That was also not ideal on a Friday.
I was getting annoyed — this was a pink flag because in my dating world, the guy is supposed to come to the woman’s neighborhood in the early days. I’ve gone out with plenty of men from the Valley who effortlessly suggested they come to me. It’s not rare or impossible.
I suggested he come to the Westside. I didn’t specifically say Venice, and in hindsight, I probably should have. He landed on Brentwood, which was manageable for both of us. On our first date, we met at an Irish pub on Wilshire Boulevard. He was cuter and more interesting than I had expected, and with the Guinness flowing, we had fun.
When I got home, he texted me: “Well, I like you 🙂 Less the tik tok and the lack of rock music in your life, but it’s not a deal breaker — there are other qualities 🙂 What are your thoughts?”
I noticed the slight negativity but was mostly dazzled that a man texted immediately after the date to say he liked me. In the modern dating economy, this felt rare.
The next day, both of our evening plans fell through, so we made a last-minute date. The wine tasting he originally suggested still sounded like fun, and although it meant me driving to the Valley, I was up for it now that we’d met.
We sipped flights at Malibu Wines & Beer Garden in its airy, romantic courtyard and played a flirty version of Truth or Dare. Halfway through, he dared me to kiss him.
We ended with sushi on Ventura Boulevard and a short make-out session in his car. He invited me to Thanksgiving at his uncle’s, which felt too soon, but also sweet.
After the second date, he texted and said he had his kids that week and was also hosting an event on Thursday, so his only day to meet was Wednesday. I said great.
On Tuesday night, he checked if we were still on, and I said yes.
Then he texted: “I’m flexible on time but not on location. I have a big event on Thursday, hopefully you can come to me again.”
My stomach tightened. This again?
So I texted back: “I drove to you last time, which was a bit of an exception for me especially in the early days, but the wine tasting location sounded special. Usually guys come to my area. How about we switch it up this time?”
He replied: “I appreciate the effort! Because of my event, I’d rather be close to a computer just if needed … Here is what i offer:
— I’ll come to your area anytime next week/end
— Lunch/dinner on me
I want to continue where we stopped last time 😉 No pressure of course, but let’s snuggle”
I responded: “Ok let’s meet next week. Snuggles sound nice … let’s see what happens …”
Then he wrote: “So I won’t see you tomorrow?”
I replied: “Unless you wanna come to me and bring your laptop along, let’s rain check until you have more flexibility.”
He said: “Dang, you are hard. I’ll let you know tomorrow around midday if it’s ok.”
And then — surprise — he decided to come.
He drove to Venice for a 5 p.m. date. He said his ETA was 5 p.m., and it ended up being 5:25 p.m., typical 405 Freeway.
When he showed up, he was in a cranky mood. On our way to KazuNori in Marina del Rey, I thanked him for picking me up and told him I think it’s hot when the guy comes to the girl.
“You’re just saying that because you want me to come to you more,” he said, not playfully, but aggressively.
That was basically the end for me. But there I was, in his car, heading to dinner. So I stayed pleasant and tried to make the best of it.
I shared that in the early stages of dating, I find it’s good etiquette for the guy to come to the woman’s neighborhood. He immediately disagreed and started ranting about how dating rules are ridiculous and how they swing in women’s favor. He resented paying for dates and declared he wasn’t looking to “sponsor a woman’s life.”
“If women want equality and equal rights,” he said, “then it should apply all across the board, including dating, and the man shouldn’t have to pay.”
I said women don’t actually have equal rights because we get paid less than men and often receive lower salaries than men in the same position.
I tried to change the subject and reset the mood, but he insisted we keep hashing it out.
I tried to explain masculine/feminine dynamics: providing and protecting, giving and receiving.
“What does the man get out of this arrangement?” he asked.
It was like watching someone’s personality warp into Mr. Hyde. Then he brought up another point: He’s a single dad of two kids, so he gets tired; and because I don’t have kids, that should factor into who drives where.
At this point, I was barely engaging and focused on eating my hand rolls, and I couldn’t wait to get home.
The check came, and I happily split it, wanting nothing further from him.
In the car back to my place, he remarked: “It’s obvious we’re never gonna see each other again.”
Obvious, but did it need to be stated?
Then he showed me a Spotify playlist he’d made for me of his favorite electronic music, because he knows I like EDM.
“Oh, that’s sweet,” I said.
“Yeah, that’s how I show interest. Through things like this, not who drives to who,” he replied.
When I got out of the car, we wished each other luck, and I headed inside and shut the door.
Two hours later, he sent me the playlist. I’ve yet to listen to it.
It wasn’t the distance that ruined it. It was the resentment. I’m not looking for a man who feels burdened by the effort. I’m looking for a man who sees the value of courting a woman in the first place.
The author is a writer, comedian and former psychologist who lives in Venice. She is the creator of the new vertical series “Manfari.” She’s on Instagram: @solange_neue and @manfari.show.
L.A. Affairs chronicles the search for romantic love in all its glorious expressions in the L.A. area, and we want to hear your true story. We pay $400 for a published essay. Email LAAffairs@latimes.com. You can find submission guidelines here. You can find past columns here.
Lifestyle
Smithsonian chief emphasizes ‘accuracy and integrity’ after White House report
Lonnie Bunch III is the 14th Secretary of the Smithsonian. He’s pictured above in September 2017.
J. Scott Applewhite/AP
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J. Scott Applewhite/AP
In a memo addressed to staffers sent Tuesday, the secretary of the Smithsonian, Lonnie G. Bunch III, defended the institution after the White House issued a 162-page report that characterizes the National Museum of American History as a place which has become “subject to institutional capture by a radical, activist ideology that is fundamentally opposed to telling the noble, honest story of the great country we know and love.”
In his email, which NPR has obtained, Bunch wrote in part: “While there will always be room for improvement, this report is not a fair characterization of the work and totality of the National Museum of American History. At the Smithsonian, our work is driven by scholarship, accuracy and an uncompromising commitment to tell the fullness of America’s story. As public servants and the keepers of this institution, we are charged with helping a nation find understanding, hope and clarity and as part of that duty, we are dedicated to excellence, reflection and growth.”

He continued: “We remain focused on what grounds us: a steadfast commitment to scholarship, nonpartisanship, independence, accuracy and integrity. For nearly 180 years, the Smithsonian has worked alongside partners across government — from the White House to Congress to our governing Board of Regents — guided by our enduring mission to increase and diffuse knowledge. That purpose remains: to pursue knowledge with rigor and to serve the American public with clarity and care.”
The White House report was issued on July 4 by the Domestic Policy Council under the title “Saving America’s Story: How Ideological Capture at the Smithsonian Institution’s National Museum of American History Erases Our Heritage.”

The council faults the National Museum of American History on a multitude of fronts, saying it underemphasized the Founding Fathers and early colonial and Revolutionary history; was not sufficiently celebratory of the country’s 250th anniversary; and that it engaged in “anti-white,” “illegal alien” and transgender activism.
It also accuses the museum of trying to “indoctrinate” teachers and students through its exhibitions, programming and teaching resources.
In the report, the council also specifically criticizes museum director Anthea Hartig, who has led the National Museum of American History since 2019 and is concurrently the president of the Organization of American Historians, calling her “an activist advancing an ideological agenda contradictory to the museum’s founding purpose of fostering patriotism.”

The Trump administration has made the Smithsonian museums one of its primary targets in its efforts to reshape cultural narratives to align with its viewpoints. In August 2025, the White House requested a “comprehensive internal review” of eight Smithsonian museums, including the National Museum of American History, following an executive order issued by President Trump in March 2025 in which he called for the removal of “improper ideology” from the Smithsonian’s offerings.
According to the Smithsonian’s charter, all of its 21 museums, 14 education and research centers, and the National Zoo are meant to be run independently of the federal government. The Smithsonian is overseen by Bunch and a board of regents, which includes Vice President Vance, Supreme Court Chief Justice John Roberts and other members appointed by Congress.
In an interview with NBC’s Meet the Press on Sunday, Bunch spoke about the Smithsonian’s 250th anniversary special exhibition at the Smithsonian Castle, which is called “American Aspirations.”
He told NBC: “It’s really important for people to understand that America is much an ideal as it is a place, that it’s a series of aspirations that have really shaped who this country is. And so for me, what is so powerful is to say, ‘Let us honor the words of Thomas Jefferson and the founders, but let us use those to challenge us to be better.’”
Jennifer Vanasco edited this story.

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