On Where We're Going

I find myself a little obsessed with how technology and social networking is changing us. I've read a lot of cautionary tales about how it's going to be our downfall, how we're forgetting to connect in real time, how kids today (always a red flag statement) don't have the community ethic or attention span. But I don't know. To some extent I do agree with all of this, yet I also don't believe we can know where we're going. Who knows what kind of world this will be in 100 years. It might behoove our race to not have an attention span long enough to read Crime and Punishment or know how to communicate with each other face to face. We might need to make quick decisions based on little information and do this without knowing the person we're deciding with. Although I immediately begin thinking of humans as energy sources for machines or living in pods underground, I wonder if that's because it's the only vision I've been fed. It might not be frightening to those living in that time. It could be that all this decentralization and speeding up of information is laying the groundwork for a kind of utopia we can't even imagine.

I'm thinking of this today because I've been converting all of our cds to mp3s (yes, I got there from here). I'm about halfway done and it's been a dozen every few days for the last several weeks. I'm thoroughly enjoying myself, as the task combines two of my favorite things: seeing progress unfold on a tangible sized job (like scrubbing down the refrigerator or deadheading the rhodies) and reminiscing about my life (Critters Buggin'! Slant 6! Screaming Trees for chrissakes ... the doc martins, the pitchers of Pabst at the Beav, driving sweet Blackie O) And as I methodically worked through the pile, thinking about who I was in the 90s and the explosion of technology that has happened in just this short amount of time, I began to wonder how my grandparents experienced this last 20 years. Or how my cousin, who will enter college soon, will experience the next 20 years. We are all, of a time, of a place. We think we know what's best for the next generation but we don't.

There are some simple lessons here ... the first that comes to mind is to tread lightly. Underlying all of this talk of technology and what it's doing to us is the desire to ensure that the next 20 years comes, in whatever form. So, a separate conversation, but #1 is taking care of our home. Following this I'd say:

Keep up to date: do what you can to explore and understand (not necessarily master) new technology. I was anti Facebook for a long time until I heard myself say how unnecessary it was, that it would just go the way of Friendster and MySpace, so why bother. I realized that each piece of technology that I avoided because it might just be a stupid stepping stone to something else would eventually leave me in the dust. How could I understand this world of social networking if I didn't get in the pool with everyone else? With my current attitude I would quickly join the ranks of an 'old person', stubbornly clinging to the past while the future lives without me. I take my father-in-law as a good example of how to do it right. At 70+ years he is making videos with his new iTouch and sending them out to his kids ... he's way ahead of any of us and I really admire that.
Ask questions of those older than you: try to come to terms with how quickly time passes and how much changes in one lifetime. I can talk with my grandmother about playing in the train depot while she waited for her dad to get off of work, or my grandfather about the cost of his first car and how he would save to buy a new pair of shoes. What they've seen blows my mind. It makes me realize how similar we are and that when you look back over 90 years it quickly condenses down into a blip, just a moment in time. I am not the most important thing to walk the planet. My generation did not create the coolest thing ever. Every generation is cutting edge in context of their time spent here.
Ask questions of those younger than you: although every generation is cutting edge at their time, the younguns are definitely a part of the coolest right now. And right now is where we're living. I was talking to my 16 year old cousin about what music she listens to and all of a sudden I realized, it's less about what and more about how. I wanted to know if her friends made mixed tapes, er, cds, er, mp3 playlists ... and how did they transfer those to each other? Or was mixing music even something to do anymore ... maybe there are different things being 'mixed' right now that I'm not even aware of. I wanted to know how she discovered new music - radio? xm? amazon suggestions? Turns out, she's listening to the same radio station I did in highschool. Which, truly, that's kinda weird. The look on her face, well, now I know how I look to my grandparents. It was a cross between disbelief that radio existed so long ago and trying to imagine that I could have been anything like her when I was her age.

Understanding where I fit on the continuum gives me hope that each generation brings new material to the conversation. Each new phase of life on the planet evolves us toward something we cannot possibly understand or appreciate. But we can be present and continue to be curious and thoughtful about how we're evolving. Technology and social networking sites are not something to be afraid of or to stubbornly tune out. They are tools like fire and disposable mop heads, changing us for the better and the worse, depending on how we use them (this is maybe where the discussion is going, where my passion really lies - because how we use them is what is changing us).

Bottom line is that you must know what you're dealing with in order to be a part of the change and a part of the solution. We're on the frontier of something, that's for sure, and I certainly hope I get to be a part of it.

I walk into Liam’s room at 2am, responding to his wails with a sippy cup of water and the reassurance that it’s nighttime, go back to sleep, it’s nighttime. Without the lights on the smell of vomit is stronger, and oh man I’m tired. I turn the light on to see how bad it is, try to assess if this is going to be an all-nighter. Every few months he does this, pukes once or twice during the night and then is perfectly fine in the morning.

So I’m shuffling around changing the sheets and stripping off clothes when I hear his stomach lurch an adult size lurch and before I can prepare for it I’m covered in vomit, working my way slowly to the bathroom while I rub his back. Slade is up, takes over the baby while I strip down out of my pajamas and drape myself in a towel to begin the vigil. We rock, he moans, stomach rumbles and a little puke. He’s bright eyed but pale and listless. He sits facing me with his legs wrapped around my waist, tiny fingers playing with the trim of my tank top. All the while he’s looking at me, barely blinking, so miserable but calm, focused. For a moment I’m reminded of us in the beginning when we were together in the middle of the night, him looking up at me while breastfeeding. Through his gaze, once again, I’m transported to wherever he came from. I see it all so clearly, so simply. This is not about him. This is not about me. This is about being called to serve something greater than either of us alone. I’m the caretaker of this spirit for this period of time. What a gift I have been given, what a raw and awesome gift. Being a mother is merely an opportunity for me to be in service to the universe; and it is no more clear to me than in this moment, waiting to be puked on. When he finally settles his head on my shoulder and wraps one arm up and over my neck, I rock. I rock until his breathing deepens into dreams. I close my eyes then and continue rocking, keeping time with all the mothers up tonight, all the mothers holding vigil for little spirits awakening in this world.

Giving Thanks

When I was a kid we went to church every Sunday and said a prayer over dinner every night. These practices have fallen away for me and I've been torn about the role I play in bringing religion or spirituality to my children. Slade was not raised in a religious tradition and does not have the same desire to share this journey. I'm intent on finding some middle ground, bringing a level of appreciation and wonder for the world, a respect for others and self, a trust in a divine pattern of some sort. It will be an ongoing challenge for me I'm sure, but I knew from the beginning that I wanted our family to give daily thanks. So even though Liam is only a year and a half I have begun asking 'What are you thankful for today?' as we sit down for dinner together. It's much harder than I thought, coming up with something new to appreciate every day, but it's such a good exercise. I want it to be something that is second nature for Liam, something he instinctively does as he grows up.

We usually start, each of us talking about what we are grateful for that day, and then I turn to Liam. "What about you? What are you thankful for?" And the past two nights he has paused, but kept looking at me intently, and then said, 'cat!' He only has a handful of words (truck, cat, down, no, daddy, shoe) but I like to think he was sorting through those things to share which one he was particularly happy about.

The feeling, unfortunately, is not reciprocated.

When dreams become reality ...

The words we speak curl out in front of us, creating a new reality to step into. I'm reminded of this today, listening again to Dr. King's I Have A Dream speech. His words are instigators, building a common space where we can join together and get to work.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal."

The power of his dream, which is the dream we all dream, resonates across the years and now through youtube clips and highschool reenactments. He knew that his dream was the dream of a nation and the truth of his vision lives in my marrow. I know this dream.

Social justice begins when we dare dream of a better way. Speak the dream out loud and if it resonates as truth change begins to happen. It takes but one of us to have a dream. Challenge the status quo, question the systems we currently have in place. Do they serve us anymore? Be creative and thoughtful and intentional with your life. Take the time to dream of what could be.

I was watching Joy Behar interview Roseanne Barr last night and I started feeling depressed and anxious. Life is happening right now. Life is passing right now. Is this what I want to be doing? Am I doing what I want to do with my life? It became clear in that instant that the world is divided into two camps, consumers and creators. And right now, I am a consumer. My recent desire for simplicity goes way beyond stuff. When I read blogs or play around on Stumble Upon during naptime or stay up to watch sitcoms after the house is once again asleep, I am consuming without any output. And I don't want to be a consumer, I want to be consumed. I want to be a part of the conversation, not on the sidelines taking it all in. I know, I've been tired this year, creating a life and nurturing growth in a small child, but all this mindless consumption is numbing me. I'm afraid I'll wake up 60 years old wondering what the hell happened. I was going to write a book, start a business, produce a film ... if I don't start now when do I think this is going to happen?

So I'm giving myself some goals this year rather than resolutions. In writing, here we go:

1. Write the first chapter in my novel.
2. Host a simplicity retreat.
3. Post at least once a week.
4. Write up a business plan for philanthropy consulting.

That's a good start I think. A bit ambitious even, especially if we plan to move and get pregnant again. Geesh. But if I post these 4 goals maybe they will inspire me to do something when I have a free hour here and there, keep me on track with my creativity. I think part of the problem is knowing I only have an hour or two at a time, I mean, what can I get done in an hour or two? But if I see each hour as part of a larger goal ...

I don't want to sell anything, buy anything, or process anything as a career. I don't want to sell anything bought or processed, or buy anything sold or processed, or process anything sold, bought, or processed, or repair anything sold, bought, or processed. You know, as a career, I don't want to do that. ~Mr. Dobler

Mesmerized

It's been 10 minutes and I can't look away from Breathing Earth ... I guess I've always assumed (wrongly, I know) that people die and are born in a balanced kind of way. I know statistically this isn't true, but it's hard to wrap my head around what this looks like. Fascinating to watch the discrepancy play out. Breaks my heart a little bit, to imagine the web of sorrow and joy each of those blips makes. Just a blip in a computer generated algorithm that represents a whole life, awakening or fading. I imagine there is something like this running on a huge screen in the background of our creator.

Creepin' myself out. Back to househunting.

Hoarding

We've been looking for a new home for nearly a year now. We've seen houses striped of all hardware and houses that don't have stairs to the basement level, we've been entangled in a possible short sale since July that has kept our hopes up and made everything else pale in comparison. It's been a year coming to terms with the fact that we might not be able to move back to the city.

Enter the new year. On Saturday we met our agent at a house that will be listed in a few weeks, after the current residents clean out their stuff in order for proper pictures to be taken. He warned us of the hoarding, that we'd have to have vision, that it wasn't for the faint of heart to see a house before it was ready for viewing. Fear not, I have an overabundance of vision - just sometimes not the cashflow reality to recognize that my 'creative fixes' will run another $50k. This wasn't a dirty home, it wasn't filled with garbage as far as I could tell; just boxes of paperwork, books, piles of clothes, unopened packages containing hundreds of packets of tea. You couldn't see the floor, you couldn't see the furniture. There were pathways and tunnels to get around the house. There were french doors to a lovely deck that you couldn't get to.

In a twisted way it feels like a sign that the current owners are hoarders. Like we could use this as an opportunity to take stock of our own possessions, and in turn make each corner of this house a sacred space, open and uncluttered. I can't imagine being trapped in this homemade labyrinth, yet I wonder if we aren't all, to some extent, burying ourselves alive. Sadness and grief, manifested as addictions, depression or a compulsion of some sort, shut out the light and drown us in our own undoing. If every disorder is a spectrum I'm aware that I share a gene with these people. Do I need 3 fleece jackets? 12 pairs of black pumps? I'm pretty sure it's a fine line between being a 'collector' of nuts and a hoarder.

So we're processing whether we can afford it, the price of the house combined with the vision of what it could be, but we're optimistic. There even seems to be a buzz of energy, a surge of potential that I haven't felt in awhile. So we'll see ... but I find it very interesting that as I'm coming to terms with my desire to create space for simplicity we tour the house of a hoarder, and after a year of looking it might just be the right house.