At first glance action and isolation may not seem like antonyms, but consider those words in the following ways:

Action is a process. It is exerting a force, or perhaps, multiple forces. It implies interaction between a least two objects – or perhaps, an object and subject. Action implies change over time.

Isolation is a state of being. It is stillness, loneliness – emptiness, perhaps. It implies a complete lack of interaction. Solitude. Isolation implies stagnation – a lack of change from a lack of interaction.

It is no surprise that society as a whole should favor action. Even the height of American isolationism didn’t imply that proud Americans shouldn’t seek each other’s company. We wanted to be isolated with those who were like us – not isolated on our own.

Action is the foundation of society. If we all went to the woods because we wished to live deliberately, there would be no society left. “Communal life is moral,” wrote Philosopher John Dewey, adding, “that is emotionally, intellectually, consciously sustained.”

Isolation, on the other hand, is generally frowned upon. A list of synonyms includes confinement, desolation, aloofness, detachment, exile, withdrawal. Am I the only one who thinks none of those sound good?

At best, isolation is seen as a phase of development, a period to grow out of. For seven weeks, Siddhārtha Gautama meditated in isolation under the Bodhi tree. He achieved enlightenment and emerged Gautama Buddha. He traveled and taught others what he had learned.

After being baptized, Jesus fasted for forty days and nights in the Judaean Desert – in isolation save the temptations of the devil. He emerged cared for by angels and prepared for public ministry.

Even Thoreau returned from the woods.

But why is isolation bad? Is it positive only as a tool to improve interactions upon our return?

That seems unfair. There is power in stillness, in loneliness – in emptiness even. Isolation can be calming, centering, enlightening.

Perhaps, after achieving enlightenment, we do have a duty to action – to share our lessons of isolation with others. But I can’t shake the feeling that by devaluing isolation we are doing ourselves a disservice.

Not that we should devalue action instead. I imagine we might all fall along a spectrum – some of us gregarious in our most isolated moments, and others isolated in our most gregarious moments.

They say there’s nothing worse than being alone in a crowd, but I’m not prepared to judge you for it.

I could sit under a tree for seven years and fail to achieve enlightenment. Would it be wrong of me not to give up? To remain in isolation seeking an unachievable goal?

Someone recently joked that society would be better if certain people choose isolation over action. The action, of course, is not always for the better.

So where does this leave us? Must we choose action or isolation? Can we embrace both as different modes of being, of existing?

Perhaps most of us will alternate between the two – embracing equally action and isolation. But a few will commit to one path. Always choosing the crowd or always alone.

Some of us will choose isolation.

And – perhaps that’s okay.

In 1848, Sam Brannan – an ex-communicated Mormon – ran through the streets of San Francisco yelling that there was gold in the foothills. Of course, this man who single-handedly started the gold rush bought up all the picks, pans and mining equipment he could find before announcing the discovery to the world.

In 1859, San Fransisco resident Joshua Norton – an Englishman who came to the city by way of South Africa – declared himself Emperor of these United States. Norton I: Emperor of the United States and Protector of Mexico, later dissolved congress, saying:

It is represented to us that the universal suffrage, as now existing through the Union, is abused; that fraud and corruption prevent a fair and proper expression of the public voice; that open violation of the laws are constantly occurring, caused by mobs, parties, factions and undue influence of political sects; that the citizen has not that protection of person and property which he is entitled to by paying his pro rata of the expense of Government–in consequence of which, WE do hereby abolish Congress.

Over the years, he issued several other decrees, printed his own currency, and continued to insist his title was Emperor. How did San Fransisco respond? They called him Emperor and local establishments accepted his currency.

In 1863, Lillie Coit became an honorary member of the “Knickerbocker 5″ volunteer fire fighters unit. This woman wore pants, fought fires, smoked cigars and gambled. It was all very scandalous, except nobody cared – she was just another character in a thriving city. Coit Tower, shaped like a fire hose nozzle (possibly apocryphal), now stands in her memory.

These folks – and many more I’ve failed to mention – may have been a little eccentric, and possibly mentally ill, but they were part of the life blood of San Fransisco. Part of character of westward expansion.

The people who settled California in these decades were exploring the final frontier. They came from around the globe. All of them were outsiders. Many of them hoped to find something in this “undiscovered” country. Most of them were crazy in one sense of the word or another.

The laws of high society hadn’t quite made it out here. The rough and tumble attitude allowed unique characters to thrive. This, of course, wasn’t always for the best – I understand the “Shanghai-ers” formed a union as they carted men off in the night to serve aboard ships.

And this isn’t some ancient, long forgotten history. These are the stories I heard growing up. These are the heroes I was taught to admire.

To be honest, California is still a little rough and tumble and it’s certainly still home to many colorful characters. We may be misfits without high society to keep us proper, but…it’s all good, man. We get by.

Shoot for the moon, the common saying goes. Even if you miss, you’ll land among the stars.

Then, of course, there’s the more skeptical version of that expression:
Shoot for the Moon. If you miss, you’ll end up co-orbiting the Sun alongside Earth, living out your days alone in the void within sight of the lush, welcoming home you left behind.

So what is a person to do? Is it better to dream the impossible dream or to manage expectations?

Are the two mutually exclusive?

Maybe, maybe not. Aiming for perfection is all well and good – it’s when that aspiration meets the real world that things get dicey.

First, there’s the practical problem. If you do all things perfectly all of the time – you really aren’t accomplishing much at all. Perfection is an ideal. It arguably doesn’t exist. As Voltaire wrote in La Bégueule:

Dans ses écrits, un sage Italien
Dit que le mieux est l’ennemi du bien.

In his writings, a wise Italian
says that the best is the enemy of the good.

Perfect’s not so perfect any more if the task never gets done.

Perhaps perfection is going too far, but perhaps one could still aim for perfection and settle for above average.

The challenge here is not so much where you aim, but where you land. If you really aim for perfection – work for it with everything you’ve got and pour your heart and soul into getting there – will you really be satisfied with good enough? Even if that good enough is above average, that’s still mighty short of perfection.

And that’s a recipe for disappointment. Perhaps even a recipe for assuming failure.

Arguably, that sense of failure could lead you to try harder next time – to be better next time. But, it seems to me, that sense of failure is just as likely to set you off on a downward spiral of accepting defeat before you’ve begun.

I don’t think there’s a formula that works for everyone. But I do wonder if we can blur the lines a little more than they’re typically blurred. Sort of a hope for the best, plan for the worst model.

Perhaps, instead, I would propose something like this:

Shoot for the moon – but if the conditions are unfavorable, reschedule the launch for tomorrow. That’s better than dying in space.