A reflection on a popular Asian story reveals that there are times when ignorance could be very hard to detect.  Here’s the story written by Anthony de Mello.

The young disciple was such a prodigy that scholars from everywhere sought his advice and marvelled at his learning.

When the Governor was looking for an advisor, he came to the Master and said, “Tell me, is it true that the young man knows as much as they say he does?”

“Truth to tell,” said the Master wryly, “the fellow reads so much I don’t see how he could ever find the time to know anything.

I had a friend once who was addicted to Romantic Notions.

Scott kind of looked like this

Case in point, as soon as he turned 18 he legally changed his last name to “Darktreader.”

He also had a habit of bowing to me and my friend Robin in the middle of our high school, doffing an invisible but obviously feathered cap, and saying “Mi Lady.”

He was entranced when our senior field trip took us to a performance of Scaramouche.

He was also, at 16, an avid Republican.

Still, I found him adorable. His hardcore arrogance and metallically glazed ideals mixed oddly with his coltish awkwardness, his too-skinny arms poking out of his outdated paisley shirts, the meager moustache grassing over his upper lip so tenderly budding you wanted to pet it. He wore a scowl and often sneered to undercut the sensitive shape of his bones. The effect was humorous, in a sweet kind of way.

He was convinced for a while that I was his soul mate; to that end, he had a past-life regression session where apparently he remembered us in Roman times, where I was a patrician and he a poor plebian, unable to get to me while I pitied him from my upper-crust window. And this was the story he liked to play out between us – that he desired me from afar, but could never have me – a plot he followed, to my annoyance.

He dreamt of going off to Alaska. And then he did, shifting into a “man of the wild” to attend college; he grew his hair into a bushy ponytail, took to wearing khaki, and supposedly lived illegally in a tent on campus grounds a whole summer.  He actually hated Alaska, but he was committed to Romantic Notions.

Some of the things he said to me included:

Your thighs are like watermelons

You are a goddess

You will never get married

You will die before you are 36

I’m going to turn 35 this year, and although he was quite wrong that I would never get married – I’ve done it twice – (though the goddess part resonates)  his pronouncement about my death haunts me.

But that’s what you get from a guy whose last name is Darktreader: Romantic Notions.

And the thing is, we all have them – grand and lofty Ideas, Big Fears, Deep Beliefs that have the look and feel of Absolute Truth, because they are so Big or because you have had them so long – but, once you blow on them, they fall apart, like the white puff of a dandelion weed.

Sometimes we don’t want to let go of a Romantic Notion because, while it may bring with it a sense of Doom, it is also attached to a desire or belief from the past that we don’t want to fork over.

For instance, I believed for a very long time that I was “special” and “talented” in a Big Grandiose Way – and that meant that I was always, in my adult life, failing and not living up to my potential or using my gifts wisely or doing anything right at all. Giving up this belief about myself released me from the pressure to perform – but it also meant relinquishing the shiny, sparkly illusion I’d been wearing in my imagination. It meant letting go of a cherished wish that had formed my self-image as a child – one that had been fostered and fired by the adults around me for years and years.

Another example: My first love. For the longest time, I believed she was not only my first love, but my only real true love, and while this prevented me from opening to anyone new, it also was a Big Idea that I relished. Pining after her through the years and feeling sorry for myself fed the dramatic Romantic story I wanted to tell about myself.

I have to be really careful, because I can easily get carried away by romantic stories. I can quickly believe that I will be abandoned by someone who loves me for a long, lost love – I can readily go along with a plot line of disaster, begin moaning and grieving the denoument, when it never in actuality happens.

It’s the Darktreader within myself, making Romantic predictions and then living them out, caught up in a story so much I make it true, whether or not it reflects the facts, or my true desires.

Stories certainly help us humans process life – even the totally fictitious ones we want to believe are real, like past-lives. But it’s important that we learn to reread our stories, retell them, let them shift and change, because what makes a story or a romantic idea a harmful notion is when it gets rigidly stuck in time – when only one version from one perspective or time period in your life is told.

Life constantly shifts; so must our stories.

Scott, by the way, did eventually change his last name. But, I have to admit – he’s still “frozen in time” in my mind. He will always be Darktreader to me. That may not reflect the truth – but it sure does make a good story.

It’s a chilly (low forties) but sunny morning here in Arizona, and after I finished writing my Morning Pages, I was relaxing in my recliner, thinking about holidays past.   When my wife and I were first married, we met a couple through my work that became the best couple friends we’ve ever had.    We were family … without the baggage that being family sometimes brings.  Their move back to San Diego was a major factor in our move to California, where we adopted our two children, which has defined our lives, which … well, if you read Coincidences … which is about how in life, one thing just leads to another … you’ll understand why they’re so much a part of our life as it is, even though their marriage is history.

For quite a few years, we spent Christmas Eve together.  We were fairly affluent young couples fond of over doing the holiday gifts, and we’d pile two families worth of wrapped packages under one tree.   With four adults and four kids, it was quite a sight.    One Christmas Eve about thirty years ago, our friends bought a two wheel bicycle for their older daughter and a large cardboard playhouse for their younger, both unassembled.   Once the kids were in bed, the men, ready to be Santa’s elves, adjourned to the garage where the bicycle waited in its carton.   These particular elves worked better with a little liquid fuel, so along with the toolbox, they brought a fifth of Chivas Regal.   As is often the case with Christmas Eve toy assembly, there were parts missing.   It took over two hours to finish, partly because amateur elves are no match for the real thing and partly because the fifth was gone before the wheels were on.    When we proudly wheeled the finished product into the family room to be placed next to the tree, our wives were looking at the playhouse they’d put together.   Something doesn’t look right, one of them said.   There were cardboard tabs sticking out everywhere and the kitchen sink was on the outside.    They’d put it together inside out … and they hadn’t even been drinking.   We all laughed so hard … and for so long … that our ribs hurt.   I think it was three am before we got to bed and the kids were up at seven.

Older Eyes still likes a little Chivas on the rocks on Christmas Eve, but since his daughter’s religion doesn’t approve of alcohol … and grandchildren are SO much better than scotch … he’ll do without.   And that’s OK because what I’ve discovered … prodded in part by yesterday’s Top Sites Tuesday #39 theme … is that my holiday spirit is fueled by memories.   My mother carefully putting tinsel on the tree and insisting I learn to do it right if I want to help.   Our annual drive to look at the Christmas lights in what my father called the rich neighborhood, not ever really feeling poor.   Being Santa’s helper by going with Dad to pick up the presents from the relatives.    The first time going to midnight mass with Mom when I was old enough.    Lighting the Hanukkah candles with my wife the first year we were married and … years later … the glow of my children’s faces in the light of the nine candles in the menorah on the eighth night.   My baby daughter, sitting in an empty box next to the tree, uninterested in anything but the candy cane she’d opened.   Our first Christmas in my daughter’s tiny apartment with her new husband … and now, starting all over in their house with our three beautiful grandchildren.

Sure, not all holiday memories are good … there’s the trivial, the gift never received and the gift not appreciated … to the profound, the year after my Mom died or the year my son wasn’t home for the holidays.    But fortunately, the glow of the menorah candles and the twinkle of the Christmas lights and the spirituality of the season (regardless of your personal beliefs) seem to dim the sad memories and brighten the happy ones.   Sixty-five years give off quite a glow.   It’s not what I would have called a party in my Chivas Regal years but it’s the kind of party that suits these Older Eyes.

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I’VE BEEN READING an intriguing proposal by an Israeli MK for a solution to the biggest little problem in the world.

It still astounds me that the attention of the world is riveted on the conflict between the ancient people of Israel and a relatively small number of Arabs who mistakenly think that somehow the Jews ‘stole’ their land. How we got to such a gross misunderstanding has been clearly laid out in many places. Here is one I find helpful, but there are many others. To me, why we find such a tiny part of the world so very important to us so far away is another question. I presented some of my thoughts on this matter here in an earlier post.

But whether or not it makes any sense that the “Palestinian problem” exists, there is undeniably a problem, and the best political, diplomatic, and military minds of this century are looking for an answer.

So along comes Member of Knesset Benny Elon, National Union Party, with the suggestion that attempts to find a political solution have come to a dead end, and perhaps we should try an humanitarian solution instead. In a succinctly laid out proposal which he calls The Israeli Initiative, he sets forth a plan which could turn the entire conflict on its head, if we could make it work. It is not my intention here to truly present the plan, but I do suggest you go check it out, if only to see for yourself that there are alternatives .

I don’t pretend to have sufficient background in Middle Eastern affairs or international diplomacy to give a thorough evaluation of the plan, but we all owe it to ourselves to take a look at anything that has a fighting chance of succeeding. We’ve seen too much of the other.

Having thus said that I don’t feel qualified to thoroughly present the initiative, there are nonetheless a few points that caught my attention.

Here is MK Elon’s brief statement of what’s so different about his plan:

The attempt to solve "the Palestinian problem" by means of a political solution, or in other words, by the establishment of a Palestinian national entity, has lead to a dead end. Such a solution is not feasible, since realization of Palestinian nationalism plainly means the elimination of the State of Israel.

The problem of the Palestinian refugees is not a political, but a humanitarian one. The establishment of the State of Israel did not take away their state from the Palestinians, since such a state had never existed. However, in many cases it did take away their homes and their dignity. There is a way to give the refugees back their dignity, provide them with a home and a starting point for a new life. It is possible to replace their status as poverty-stricken refugees with a reality of welfare, prosperity and hope.

He further points out that the “peace process” has had years to work, but in spite of all efforts to reconcile opposing parties in the West Bank and Gaza, so far

…thousands of Israelis have been murdered, tens of thousands injured, and life in Israel returned to normal only with the adoption of strict security measures, the construction of fences, and the return of the IDF to intensive activities in Shechem, Jenin, and Tul Karem.

Palestinians have likewise received no benefits from the peace process. No refugee has been rehabilitated, the standard of living has dropped, and tens of thousands have fled from the territories under Palestine Authority control. Instead of allocating the tremendous sums of money contributed by the international community for the construction of an advanced economy for the welfare of Palestinian residents, the Palestine Authority has allocated massive sums for the personal benefit of its leadership, as well as for terrorist activities against Israeli citizens.

And I don’t know why the world has had to wait for someone to point out that:

The choice of the leaders of Palestinian terrorism as "partners" for peace was a mistake. Peace must be made with entities that desire stability and peace, not with the leaders of terrorist organizations.

Or why do we see the Mideast situation as primarily a battle of Arab against Jew? I have to admit that from my comfy seat in the USA it has looked that way, but Mr. Elon also points out that:

The Iranian threat, the rise of Al Qaeda, the strengthening of Hezbollah and the victory of Hamas in Gaza are causes of anxiety today in both the Western and Arab worlds. Dangerous Islamic extremism has become a major force in the world.

Most Arab countries, which regard themselves as secular but have a significant Sunni population, are liable to collapse like dominos in the face of the Islamic offensive that will create an empire starting in the Teheran of Ahmadinejad, in Baghdad that is slipping away from the Americans and in pro-Iranian Damascus.  The next step may well be total control over Amman, Beirut, Ankara, Cairo, Jerusalem, and Tel Aviv. The appearance of this threat is a dramatic development that changes all the rules of the game in the region.

He wrote the following before the recent tirades of the European Union against Israel:

In order to guarantee the stability of the region in the presence of this threat, an alliance of countries that will halt Islamic hegemony must be set up with American and European backing.

I wonder if Europe would be willing to shoot itself in the foot – make that blow its own legs off – by clinging to a hatred of Israel even it means its own demise at the hands of an empire-seeking regime such as Iran?

And why haven’t we ever before discussed what a serious threat a radicalized “Palestinian” (read that, Hamas) regime would pose to Jordan’s west flank ?

The current regime in Jordan is friendly to Israel and basically pro-Western, but its stability is endangered, and it is threatened by the chaos existing in Iraq to the East, and by Palestinian nationalism from the West. If a Palestinian State were to be established in the territories of Judea, Samaria and Gaza, it would threaten Jordan. Such a state is liable to form a starting point for "Greater Palestine" that would swallow up Jordan, overthrow the royal house, and turn the whole of Eretz Israel into a single Palestinian-Islamic state, free of Jews and heretics.

According to Mr. Elon’s plan, there would actually be the possibility of a normal, prosperous life for the millions of Palestinians now held – not by Israel, but by the Palestinian political leadership with the full cooperation of the UN –  in enforced refugee status:

The 1948 Israeli War of Independence created hundreds of thousands of refugees throughout the Middle East. Sixty years have gone by, and now their number has been increased by the second and third generations to millions. Since 1948 tens of other "refugee problems" have been created, and millions have become refugees in Europe, Africa, and Asia. Although their problem began later than that of the Palestinians, these people are no longer considered refugees. They have been aided by the UN in host countries or through their own personal initiative and have become regular citizens. Over the same period, not a single Palestinian refugee has been removed from the tally of refugees and become a citizen of one of the countries of the world. On the contrary, the number of refugees has only increased from year to year, while introducing fresh generations into the circle of poverty, despair, and hate.

The major reason for the failure to rehabilitate the refugees over this entire period is that their wretched status serves the purposes of Palestinian terrorist organizations. The PLO and the Palestinian Authority feed on this problem and as a result, the entire Arab world has regarded the preservation of the status of the Palestinians as refugees as a means of attacking the legitimacy of the State of Israel. Fearing that mention of the problem would raise once again the question of "the right of return," Israel has also preferred to ignore the problem rather than attempt to solve it.

The treatment of refugees in the world is divided between two UN agencies: a general agency, UNHCR, whose mandate is to deal with all the refugees in the world, and UNRWA, a special agency designated to assist Palestinian refugees from 1948. The difference between these two agencies is very simple: the first, "regular" agency strives towards the rehabilitation of the refugees it is handling, and to facilitate their integration as citizens in the countries in which they are staying or that are prepared to accept them. In contrast, UNRWA is forbidden to rehabilitate the refugees in its care and turn them into citizens having equal rights in any country. Its role is confined to "maintenance" of the refugees from 1948, while preserving their status.

UNRWA is also mainly responsible for the maintenance of the refugee camps. The very existence of these camps, sixty years after the war that generated them, is both a source of shame to humanity and a grave threat to security and peace in the Middle East. These camps constitute a breeding ground for terrorism, where the motivation for terrorism originates, units are formed, and terrorists find refuge.

There’s more – for instance, the Israeli Initiative lays out means by which the millions of refugees can achieve the elusive dream of national citizenship, not to mention normal productive lives – but the key element cited by MK Elon is cooperation. Ah – there’s the rub, isn’t it? This plan has been out there for a while now, and we’re not hearing much about it, are we? There may indeed be components that just won’t work – again, I don’t pretend to be the expert here – but what’s wrong with at least giving it an honest look? And, OK, if we give it an honest look & decide it just won’t fly, then at least we’ve pulled our heads out of the desert sands, haven’t we?

Y’all let me know what you think – OK?

Our grandsons call our house in Southern California our Big House and the small place we bought in an Arizona over fifty-five community thirty minutes from their house near Phoenix our Little House.    The drive from our Big House to our Little House (or vice versa) is roughly six and a half hours on a good day, far enough that the oldest, Reed, says it gives him a headache.   Of course, being crammed in a minivan for six and a half hours with two little boys and a girl, all under five, is enough to give a Mommy and Daddy a headache, too, so we usually see them in Arizona.  Christmas at their house has become our tradition.

Today we set out at ten in the morning on an overcast winter day (that means low sixties here) with the back seat packed to the ceiling with wrapped gifts … Santa and Mrs. Clause in a slightly dented Acura.    We’ve probably made the trip over fifty times now and it’s become an extended Ground Hog Day date, familiar but pleasant.   Getting out on time (which we never do) is a scramble, leaving us both anxious in our own ways, my wife running me through her to-do lists and me, always a little behind, trying to do mine.   Usually, it’s a stop at MacDonald’s to pick up our morning caffeine of choice, coffee for me and iced tea for her, the onto the freeway.    Usually, she’s talkative right away and I do my best to sound interested until my coffee kicks in.    My wife and I both require a lot of solitude, so when we’re in the car together for six hours plus, there’s a lot of catching up to do, things we’ve been meaning to talk about and stories about friends and relatives.   The conversation lasts through the monotony of the Corona and Riverside suburbs and into the foothills.   At this time of the year, the foothills are greening as the aspens along the road turn gold.    There’s snow in the mountains on either side of us.

Since my wife’s pulmonary embolism last July, we conscientiously stop at each rest area and walk for a while.   Just west of Palm springs, we stop at the Haugen Lehman rest area … maybe it’s boredom and maybe it’s age, but the name’s become a little joke for us, like Johnny Carson cutting off his Slauson.  That’s where my wife takes over driving and I get to enjoy the scenery.   As we enter Palm Springs, we get to see one of the stranger vistas in California, especially if the wind is blowing hard … hundreds of windmills spinning as they generate electricity.   We also begin our hunt for the trip’s strangest thing – Route 10 through the desert is a major truck route and invariably we pass a huge unidentifiable object on a flatbed.   Kind of like playing Beaver* when we were kids, silly, but it passes the time.    Once we pass Indio and climb into the high desert, there are only two sorry little towns between us and Phoenix, one on each side of the California-Arizona Border – Blythe and Quartzsite.    It’s gas and fast food for lunch before I take over driving for the rest of the way.

As a New Englander, I’m awed  by the desert, especially when my friends back East are digging out from a major blizzard.   The expanse, sand and grey-green desert plants below and the widest sky imaginable above, surrounded by rugged volcanic hills is simultanously desolate and beautiful.   As we farther move into Arizona, Saguaro cactus begin to dot the hills, prickly old men raising their arms to the sky.   If my wife’s awake, I put on some oldies or classic rock to keep me awake, but if she dozes, I slip on some jazz.    About an hour before we reach the suburbs of Phoenix, three heads appear above the hills to the south, a rock formation I’ve dubbed the Three Sages.   They’ve probably been huddled together for centuries and the world’s still a mess.  Some sages.

And before we know it, we’re in Phoenix, stopping for dinner and calling our daughter to tell her we made it safely.   We roll into our garage exhausted but happy … my wife will go to bed early (she always sleeps well in Arizona) and I’ll stay up late writing (I always stay up late in Arizona).    And tomorrow, we see the grandkids.   Yippee.    Life is Good.

* Not what you think.   Beaver was a game kids would play in the car, calling out Beaver when they saw a station wagon.  First to ten won.

And so far, it’s been winning. Genetic diversity is part of the survival strategy coded into evolution.

When I was first learning about stock investment I was told about the 85% rule of risk management. (I am NOT giving stock advice don’t take my word for this, okay?) Simply put, you should put 85% of your investment capital in low risk stocks and 15% should be in high risk. And that high risk should be spread thinly to as many different high risk/high potential gain stocks as possible because you never know which one will hit.

Well it seems like evolution can tolerate a little more risk than my tutor could. 22% of humanity are of the high risk/high potential gain varieties. You know, the depressives, the ADD kids, the schizophrenics, probably the autistic spectrum folks. All those things our society defines as malfunctional are being actively selected for by the evolutionary process.

Why the hell would that be, you ask? Because the very same gene variants that predispose one for these conditions lead to HIGHER functioning under different environmental conditions. Evolution keeps the genes that lead to all of those problems around because you never know when one of them will be a hit… When one of them will save the species.

Makes sense if you think about it though, right? Were any of the great innovators of history… normal? Einstein was dyslexic, Nietzsche seems like he was likely schizophrenic, Van Gogh was a depressive who cut his own god damn ear off. And I don’t know what the hell was up with that (probably) gay, backwards writing weirdo Leonardo. And where would we be without them and other freaks like them?

“We are the future, Charles, not them. They no longer matter.”

- Magneto

PS

If you liked this piece you may wish for me to write for you. Direct any and all inquiries to coaching [at] edwardewilson [dot] com.

References:

http://www.theatlantic.com/doc/200912/dobbs-orchid-gene

http://www.lifeoptimizer.org/2009/10/19/lessons-from-polymaths/

http://www.newscientist.com/article/dn2051

http://www.scientificblogging.com/hammock_physicist/game_theory_art_acting_rational

http://www.imdb.com/character/ch0001128/quotes

Maybe I’m the only hyper-sentimental one out there, but it’s rewarding to find my old Mead notebooks from high school, read past essays from History or Theory of Knowledge or Telluride.

Back then, I embraced semicolons and talked a lot about Esperanto and the death of languages (perhaps in another life I was destined to be a Linguistics major). I thought about things that I never think about anymore because being in business school, my thinking is consumed by an entirely different “set” of thoughts. And yet, I can see fragments of current myself in those old, expired essays where I psychoanalyzed Kafkian characters (still do that to myself) or talked about how effing awesome Muhammad Yunus was (still think he is effing awesome).

But that was only four years ago.

What if it were fifteen years ago?

Last year, while digging through the WAB office cabinets, I found an old but well-preserved document bound with a plastic coversheet. I knew it was old because the typeface clearly predated the era of Times New Roman (kind of looked like Courier New, but narrower. Yay for typographic analysis!). It was around finals season but I read through the entire thing – all twenty-something pages of it.

Entitled “The Wharton School: A Look at the Past, A Model for the Future,” it was written by a Whartonite in 1995. The author wrote about Joe, the school’s history, and his (the author’s, not Joe’s) vision for its future. Most of his thoughts centered around civic engagement, using business to create social impact, and the importance of experiential learning – which was pretty inspiring, like uncovering a piece of Wharton history, a perspective from previous generations.

At the same time, I was confused as to how the paper ended up in our office, since Huntsman Hall wasn’t completed until 2002. Imagine leaving a term paper behind, having it transported from building to building until it ends up in an undergrad’s lap fifteen years later. Now, if I had excavated a MGMT 101 Porter’s 5 analysis or a case study on fixed income derivatives from the depths of JMHH filing cabinets – I would not have been intrigued. But this thing was genuinely cool.

And so I emailed him (found his contact info in the alumni database).

Here’s the response:

Mindy,

Thanks for your note and kind thoughts.  I would love to see a copy of the paper if it’s easy to copy.  I remember writing it but am a bit hazy after all these years as to what it says.  It was written around the stone ages (hence the typeface) before Netscape, World Wide Web, etc.  I don’t think the WAB existed back then and am curious what it does and how my paper ended up there…It sounds like the school has made some great strides and is doing interesting things around social impact and responsibility.  We certainly could use a fresh dose of it in the post-Madoff world…

He’s now a successful managing director in Manhattan. The next thing I knew, I was contacted by his professor from 1995, asking for the paper – which I promptly but reluctantly submitted. Hopefully I can still get a copy for myself…

Now pondering whether I should leave an intriguing paper behind. Alas, everything is now preserved digitally, so a plastic-bound hard copy will never be as valuable.

Over ten years ago, my wife was diagnosed with breast cancer.    When she went through surgery and the subsequent radiation, my son’s cat, Mr. B, was staying with us.   Mr. B was an affectionate people-loving cat to start with but when my wife came home from the hospital, he became her constant companion.   He’d curl up next to her on her pillow whenever she was in bed and drape himself over her neck when she came home exhausted from radiation treatments.   A genuine bond formed between them.   After the twelve weeks of radiation were over, we made plans to go back east and visit our families.   The morning we were leaving, Mr. B was killed by a coyote in our front yard which was devastating to both of us.    I don’t remember which of us it was that suggested that he was an angel who’d been called home because his job looking after my wife was done.    Interestingly, when I told my sister what had happened, she suggested the same thing.  Of course, we aren’t the first to suggest that our felines might be angels … Allen and Linda Anderson’s book, Angel Cats – Divine Messengers of Comfort, is full of similar stories.

According to the Harris Poll of December 2005 on The Religious and Other Beliefs of Americans, 68% of Americans believe in spiritual beings known as angels, which comes from the Greek word aggelos or the Hebrew word mal’ak, both meaning messenger.   Indeed, according to the Catholic Encyclopedia, the angels of the Bible generally appear in the role of God’s messengers to mankind.   They are His instruments by whom He communicates His will to men.  Perhaps most familiar … and comforting to those that believe in them … are Guardian Angels who stay with each individual, watching over them and guiding their spiritual lives.  There are many good sites where you can read about what others believe about angels, as well as stories of encounters with angels … try Your Caring Angels, Angels Online or I Believe in Angels.

I like the idea of angels and have reached an age where I can believe in things that I’ve never experienced.  But in my life, other than a cat here and there, my angels have all been of the human variety, at least to all appearances.  I’m inclined to think that’s the way God speaks to humans and certainly to me.   I’m not sure I could deal philosophically with the appearance of a real angel, which is perhaps why I’ve never had an encounter.    Sometimes my angels come in the form of people who say just what I need to hear or offer exactly the support I need.    But the message isn’t always easy and neither are the angels.  Sometimes there are hard angels, people who really challenge me … because, I think, the message is a two-by-four to the side of the head that I wouldn’t listen to otherwise.   I hate those.

As the year draws to a close and I wonder what comes next, I like to think there’s an angel out there with a message for me.  I may not be spiritually up to the arrival of a real angel and I sure hope it’s not a hard angel.  But I’m willing to listen.

Sometimes posts spring into my consciousness nearly complete, pure inspiration.   Other times one simmers on the back burner of my mind, a topic in search of an older perspective, until an event crystallizes it into words.   This is one of the latter.    The triggering event is a post by my daughter on her Facebook wall stating her opinion regarding holiday greetings at this time of year.  Her post elicited a firestorm of criticism from some of her Christian Facebook friends, which is unfortunate.   Given that she was raised Jewish … even though she’s now Christian … she knows what it feels like to be a non-Christian in a predominantly Christian world …  her friends missed the opportunity be exposed to a more sensitive world view that in no way threatens the sanctity of the Christmas holiday.

I was taught that the best way to stay out of arguments was to avoid talking about religion or politics.   A modern corollary to this theorem would be: don’t post your opinions on open media like Facebook or message boards if you want a measured response, a lesson my daughter learned the hard way … she eventually took down her post.   There was a part of me that wishes she hadn’t so that I could have posted a response that would rip her critics a new one, which only underscores my point.    With the opportunity for communication that this incredible technology called the internet provides, Is Anyone Listening? It is all too easy to skim an online article or post, play it against your own knowledge, beliefs or prejudices then post a knee-jerk response defending your position without little regard for what you’d just read … not a good recipe for meaningful communication.    Because there is no instant feedback to your comment (in fact, you can choose to get no feedback by never returning to the original source), your logic can be shaky and your facts questionable.   And because the wall of the internet provides anonymity, social decorum sometimes goes out the window.     The phenomenon isn’t limited to just religion and politics … just visit the college sports message boards to see supposedly educated people posting like children from Lord of the Flies.

So.  Is this just a rant or do I have something useful to offer?    Those of us who have attended Twelve-Step meetings have witnessed a different model for the exchange of information, particularly information that we’d be inclined to contest.   In a Twelve-Step Meeting, each person who chooses to shares on a topic … the length of their share is limited to several minutes, either by tradition or a timer, and should reflect personal experience.   Cross-talk … commenting directly on what someone says or talking directly to them … is discouraged and once you’re done talking, you get to just listen.    In a room full of people talking about dealing with addictions or relationship problems, there’s a good chance you’ll hear something you don’t like.    In this case, it is suggested that you Take What You Like and Leave the Rest.   An interesting thing happens in this environment … we learn from others, even those we thought had nothing to say to us.   If I want to apply this to harvesting the potential of the internet … and blogging in particular … for personal growth, I’d come up with the following:  (1) Stay away from the message boards … too much cross-talk; (2)  Post from personal experience and try not go on and on; (3) Read other blogs appreciatively; and (4) Comment constructively.   Item (3) is the hardest for me.   Anyone who blogs knows how much effort it takes to feed a hungry blog regularly … it’s all too easy to write and never read but it has to be done, ego not withstanding.

We in western society seem to have an awfully inflated sense of the relative importance of rationality. And an even more inflated sense of how rational we as a society actually are. Now, I am most definitely not saying that rationality isn’t good, I’m just asking that we get a little perspective here.

Life has done fine on earth for billions of years without needing our rationality. Homonids have done fine for millions of years without western rationality. In fact, if we look at the state of the world today, look at the mass production of war and environmental destruction… maybe (just maybe) life and humanity were actually better off without our rationality?

Every rational system is actually irrational. No matter how systematic and logical the approach is, at some point arbitrary and irrational assumptions had to be made as the foundational axioms. My favourite example is Euclidean Geometry. If we make different axioms we come out with a different but equally rational and useful version of geometry.

Economics, the dismal science, has hilariously irrational assumptions. It assumes that economic actors are rationally self interested. The briefest study of human decision making quickly disperses that assumption and yet we continue to make policy decisions based on economic theory.

Advertising, as noxious as so many people find it, at least has a better understanding of humanity. Advertising is largely based, now, on rationally analyzing (and exploiting) the irrationality of human decision making. They put our irrationality at the service of their rational self interest.

It brings to mind an axiom from Chaos Science. (Thank the gods for a science called CHAOS!) We get chaotic results because these on going systems have a sensitivity to initial conditions. When it comes to our systems of rationality those initial conditions that lead to chaos are the arbitrary assumptions that we built all this rationality on top of.

And here’s where it gets weird. The people trying to extend that rationality is the only solution to our problems brought about by our run away rationality… really don’t want us to examine the arbitrary assumptions underlying their rationality. We’re being told that questioning SCIENCE! is asking for the sleep of reason.

I’m more with Blake on this one, it’s Newtons Sleep that I think is our problem. Yes, let’s have rationality. But let’s not imagine that this rational lens is all there is to it.

Now I a fourfold vision see And a fourfold vision is given to me Tis fourfold in my supreme delight And three fold in soft Beulahs night And twofold Always. May God us keep From Single vision & Newtons sleep. – Wm. Blake

PS

If you liked this piece, you may wish to contact me about writing for your publication(s). Direct any and all inquiries to coaching [at] edwardewilson [dot] com.

I am  honored to be published in Auburn University’s Circle Magazine. I had three photographs from my travels abroad and five perspectives published in the Fall 2009 issue. Click below to see them all…

From Movies

One formidable task nagged at me from my to-do list: restore order.

(Restore order wasn’t a metaphor, though confirm Joy is on my list again — I really do need to call to my pet sitter!)

Restoring order was a stated intention designed to address the status of our home, my office, the piles of gift wrap, the un-hung jackets, birthday cards (thanks so much!), party favors, school projects and reminders, receipts, the symbols and detritus of my family’s life in motion December.

Okay, let’s call it what it is: clutter.

But still, having been away for a long weekend and returning home to an empty refrigerator and full schedules, I felt ready to assume collecting the pieces of our life and putting them somewhere more specific and appropriate. (You know: cleaning.)

Anyway, with all the wheels spinning, items were getting checked off the list in rapid succession. And then, my little girl woke up, complaining of a sore neck and a headache.

SCREEEEEECH!

The wheels came to a grinding halt.

All the best laid plans, right?

The voice I know as my intuition spoke directly in my mind: what’s most important right now?

Right now. Not when the list was written, not thinking about my plans and commitments, how I’d need to juggle my schedule, not of what might happen to her holiday show or weekend plans. Right NOW!

I did what moms do, I stopped everything to figure out what she needed, how we’d manage her day, how she felt RIGHT NOW and improvised along the way. (And I did it all remotely, too.)

When her status changed, as statuses are known to do, we continued to go on adjusting our plans.

The day didn’t end the way I thought it would, the dishes still lingered in the sink and the toys remained scattered. And yet, the day also ended as I expected it would, everyone sleeping soundly in their beds, and that is how most of our days end — not all, but most.

Some order was maintained, if not restored.

*    *    *

Things change constantly.

One moment is never the next.

What’s it feel like to be where you are right now?

And now?

What about now?

You are here.

Breathe.

The rest will happen.

Image via flickr: freeparking  (Creative Commons Attribution)

I am an extrovert. I gain energy by being around people and activity. I am so extroverted that I answered Extroverted on every applicable question on the Myers-Briggs personality assessment.

Yet there is something magical in stepping back, in slowing down, in spending time alone. I write this as I sit at a posh bar, alone with a glass of Argentinian wine and stuffed calamari. And I inhale as the busyness around me fades away. Finally.

The holidays can make us all a little insane. The rush of shopping and decorating, baking and partying can turn daunting. For those of us fortunate enough to work in retail – whether online or offline – the holidays are a series of busy days and exhausted nights. It can become all to easy to forget the reason this is such a special time of year.

Instead of focusing on the manger, we focus on managing the busyness; instead of focusing on a baby, we focus on buying gifts. Our focus has shifted from the simplicity of a barn manger. We have lost sight of why we celebrate.

This holiday season, though I love having people all around me and sharing this time with those I love, I owe it to myself to take a step back. To inhale. To remember why I celebrate. To marvel at the wonder of a baby tucked in a manger.

January will come, and we’ll turn our excitement to the new year. The decorations will be taken down, the shopping will become returning, and the parties will slow down. But the reason we celebrate – the baby whose birth we celebrate – is not a seasonal baby. January can be another month to marvel at his birth and his sacrifice. This season is only the beginning.

Counting this year, I’ve celebrated sixty-five Christmases.   My mother told me that I believed in Santa Claus until I was so old that she was embarrassed to take me to seen him.    I’ll be kind to myself and take that to be twelve years old.   From the time I was twelve until I moved out of my parent’s house, my favorite Christmas memory (recalled in Fatherhood – A Dad Story) was going out with my father on Christmas Eve to pick up presents from our relatives … I was Santa’s Helper.   So, for the remaining forty-three years of my life, I’ve been Santa.

I won’t kid you, this Santa’s had a tough year.   Friends and family have struggled with financial difficulties and illness … and one dear relative is no longer with us, at least in body.   The engineering consulting business that sustains me when I’m not playing Santa has been lousy and I’m dipping into retirement funds sooner than I’d like.  For the first time ever, this Santa is a little short on cash.    The gifts I’m putting under the tree are a bit more modest than in the past.   I feel like Bruce Nolan (Jim Carrey) in the film Bruce Almighty did when he discovered that being God wasn’t as easy as he thought it would be, even when he was given God’s powers.    I think I’m ready to give the job back to the real Santa, if he’ll take it.  I’ve been pretending to be him for so long, he probably won’t bring me anything even if I ask.   And I think that’s OK.     My wife has been after me to make her a Christmas list and I’ve wandered through the stores, looking in vain for things I just have to have … or even things I might want to have.    Yet I’m having a wonderful time finding just the right smaller-than-usual gifts for everyone else.  It’s as if learning that I’m not Santa has made me a better one.   And in ten days, I’ll get to see Christmas morning through the eyes of my grandchildren.  What more could I ask for??

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Several years after moving to California in 1971, we took advantage of the low real estate prices in North Orange County (proving conclusively that this is ancient history!) and bought a three bedroom house in the growing community of Yorba Linda.    When we signed the papers, we committed our entire savings to an empty lot and the promise that soon a replica of the model we loved would appear on it.    We lived there for thirty-one years until we moved to Anaheim Hills seven years ago.   We lovingly call it the Old Neighborhood.

Friday night was the Second Annual Old Neighbors Holiday Dinner.     Just to be clear, age is not a requirement for participation, though we’re certainly all seniors … the four couples in attendance are friends from the Old Neighborhood.   In addition to being Old Neighbors, we are also members of the Forty Year Marriage Club.   Other than that, we’re a diverse bunch, who perhaps would never have become friends if we hadn’t moved into a new community at roughly the same time, sharing an interest in making new friends and common family values.    My memories of our years in Yorba Linda are dotted with vignettes of these six friends and their children … slipping away one Saturday afternoon with my next door neighbor to buy Martin guitars we couldn’t afford so we could sing together in the backyard … Saturday nights out to dinner and dancing into the night on New Year’s Eve parties at local restaurants … packs of children on Big Wheels racing up and down the street … their children baby sitting for ours, teaching them to burp the ABCs … two of the men wheeling me home on a Big Wheel when I sprained my ankle shooting hoops.     It was a magical time that seems to grow more so as I get older.

I wasn’t in the mood to go out to dinner Friday night and although I didn’t say so to my wife, I’m sure she could tell.    When you see people at most once a year, differences become more pronounced and it takes effort to stay involved in the conversation, especially in a noisy restaurant.   I hadn’t slept well the night before and wasn’t sure I was willing to make that effort.   The other three men are retired, while I’m trying hard not to be for personal and economic reasons …  I guess it’s my ego that would just as soon not discuss my situation.   The other couples have all traveled more than we have and I’m not sure if I’m uninterested or jealous.    The conversation turned to golf and skiing, neither of which my wife and I do.    Over dinner we acted our age by talking about our health problems (which only makes me feel older) and we talked about celebrities (which only annoys me … see The Celebrity Bubble).   My Inner Curmudgeon was out but fortunately he kept quiet.

On the way home, my wife asked if I had a good time and I said yes.   She asked, Are you going to have a lot of material for posts? and I said, No, why? Because you seemed to be in your observer mode, she said.   No, I replied, I just didn’t have much to say about the topics of conversation and it was hard to hear from the end of the table.   But here I am, posting on the Second Annual Old Neighbors Holiday Dinner … and under the topic of Monday Smiles, yet, because some smiles come later.   That’s a lesson I’ve learned with age.   I wish I was better at enjoying in the moment but sometimes retrospective enjoyment is all I can manage and that’s not bad.     The restaurant, the Cedar Creek Inn, was beautifully decorated for Christmas and the food was wonderful.   In the thirty-six years we’ve known each other, we’ve all been through life’s ups and downs, and yet there we sat, looking prosperous and happy, telling stories about the old days, like our parents used to do.  I didn’t get to talk as much as I like to but perhaps that’s a good thing.    At the end of the evening, hugged each other and went back to our separate lives … and by the next morning, the time I’d had was good.   Friends of all sorts are a good thing and old friends are special, no matter how infrequently you see them.

I had made the mistake early into my co-op of calling the Vertical Processing Facility (VPF) soulless. It’s a more or less steel structure, grey metal siding, occasionally exposed grey concrete, and no windows. All in all not a very interesting building in terms of design, in that it lacks the perceived thought and consideration most of us learn to implement into our own projects at school.

But the bare bones of it are what give it character. It’s not designed to impress. It’s designed to perform what it needs to.

We have a library, here in headquarters, which mostly has just records and building codes and the sort. However, there is a small architecture section and one book in particular focuses on industrial buildings, in which there’s a really nice two-page spread on the Vehicle Assembly Building (VAB.)

There are, of course, other buildings on Center, but the VAB is decidedly the most recognizable due to its size. It’s the 4^th largest building in the world by volume, 525’ high and a footprint roughly 700’ by 500’. So let’s be honest, it’s a GIGANTIC box. It would literally develop its own weather in the interior because of its size before they implemented climate control measures.

From an industrial standpoint, the VAB is a marvel, 4 huge bays designed to hold 4 separate rockets and the transfer isle between them. There are platforms rising up in the high bays to construct the massive rockets and cranes to hoist the different components into place. Like many of the buildings here on Center, well for the most part like any government industrial building constructed in the sixties and seventies, structurally it was designed to withstand a nuclear blast. The sheer scope of it knocks you on your feet when you’re inside because you look up and it swallows the entirety of your perception. I couldn’t take a good picture while I was there in order to capture the idea of the size that the VAB is, but I found the picture to the right from the NASA archives which hints strongly at what I’m talking about. The base of the shuttle where the solid rocket boosters (SRBs) meet the mobile launcher (ML) is still about thirty feet in the air, and if you look closely at one of the platforms you can see workers in order to scale it in your mind. And then you think about it, the Shuttle fully stacked is only about 180 feet tall (Haha, only,) the Saturn V was 363 feet, and the proposed Ares V is going to be 380. Yikes! This is a MASSIVE structure that works and manipulates these delicate (and just as massive) vehicles.

And all of this is fantastic.

But…

Architecturally, the VAB doesn’t dress itself up nice and pretty. Strip off the few instances of decorated siding (The meatball and the flag) and you’re left with, like I said, a box (granted, a very cool box.) And really I’m just reiterating a long discussed argument in architecture, but I feel it’s one to address while on this co-op because I’m working so closely with industrial buildings. As designers, we need to think about form versus function, but also budgets, schedule, current conditions, the historic registry, construction practices, building codes, and ultimately, what does the user want in this structure? We need to, as thoughtful architects, to consider above all else what the user needs.

The VAB doesn’t need decorative cornices and odd angles. We needed a place we can stack rockets safely, and that’s exactly what the architect and structural engineer designed.

Perspectives is an effort towards understanding the end-users per se via qualitative research analysis. At the end of the day its very important for a software developer to understand the end-user’s perspective to deliver an easy-to-use application that brings cheer on to the customers face. The study emphasizes an approach towards understanding the current industrial practices or the processes through networking industry/technology experts, rigorous online research, technical/white papers, e-books or via a panel discussion.

I hope this blog turns out to be a one-stop-shop for information buying ! ! !

Regards, Ajit

In the 2000 film, Finding Forrester, there’s a scene where the reclusive author, William Forrester (Sean Connery) sits the young prodigy, Jamal Wallace (Rob Brown) at a typewriter. and tells him to write something.   When Jamal sits there, thinking, Forrester chastises him, saying No thinking – that comes later. You must write your first draft with your heart. You rewrite with your head. The first key to writing is… to write, not to think! That seems to be the idea behind NaNoWrMo, National Novel Writing Month.   Every November first, over 100,000 people sign up to write a 175-page (50,000 word) novel by November 30th, posting excerpts and their page count on the NaNoWrMo website.   In 2008, over 20,000 people actually completed 50,000 words.    In 2009, one of those taking on the challenge was a friend and fellow blogger (see Being a Man – the Handbook in my Blogroll).   According to his Facebook page, he was at 35,000 as of December seventh, past the NaNoWrMo deadline but still determined to finish.   We agreed that having a job does get in the way of our pet projects … a situation I think I’d like to try again soon.

Over lunch last week, I asked him if he would need 50,000 words to finish the novel.    I’ll paraphrase what he said:   I know how it’s going to end but I’m not sure what the characters are going to do or how many pages it’s going to take them to do it. It is a subject we’ve discussed before, how sometimes the characters we create take on lives of their own.    We know more or less where we want the story to go … we may even have outlined it in detail and planned an exciting conclusion … but as the characters’ personalities develop, they make decisions and take actions that are consistent who they are.    Sure, we could force them to act in strict accordance with our precise outlines but then they’d seem inconsistent or contrived.   Who wants that?   Sometimes, we have to introduce additional characters or situations to move them toward the conclusion we’ve envisioned.    Sometimes, they change the story.    It’s almost as if they have free will.

Speaking of the relationship between God and humanity in his book, The Secret Life of God, Rabbi David Aaron offers the metaphor of God as a Universal Author and us as his characters.    Just as  something of each human author goes into each of his characters, each of us expresses some aspect of God.    Our free will contributes creatively to the unfolding of creation, yet the overall plot is God’s.   If we choose to make decisions that advance the Universal Story, we get to do so in our own unique ways.    If not, God can introduce situations that will move us along His plot lines … or add new characters if we’re stiff necked (biblical reference here).   Rabbi Aaron points out that we can’t take metaphors for God too literally, but each can give us a glimpse of an aspect of our relationship with God, especially when it relates to our own experience.   I have always struggled with the apparent contradiction between the notion of God’s plan for mankind and free will.    If we all have free will, how can God be sure we’ll carry out His plan … or, if He forces us to carry out His plan, how can we have free will?   As I said in Balance and Belief, when I choose a spiritual path, it helps if I express it in terms … metaphors, if you will … that my Rational Side can live with.   Rabbi Aaron’s notion of God as Author really resonates with me.    Now, if I can just figure out what I’m supposed to do next in this Story … and do it.