A smiling dog. That’s it.
And isn’t he grand?
But, honestly, here’s the thing that nobody really talks about when it comes to success and motivation and willpower and
goals and productivity and all those little buzzwords that have come into popularity: you are as you are until you’re not.
You change when you want to change. You put your ideas into action in the timing that is best. That’s just how it happens.
And what I think we all need more than anything is this: permission to be wherever the fuck we are when we’re there.
You’re not a robot. You can’t just conjure up motivation when you don’t have it.
There’s a magic beyond us that works in ways we can’t understand. We can’t game it. We can’t 10-point list it. We can’t control it. We have to just let it be, to take a fucking step back for a moment, stop beating ourselves up into oblivion, and to let the cogs turn as they will. One day, this moment will make sense. Trust that.
Give yourself permission to trust that.
Jamie Varon is a writer based out of Los Angeles. You can connect with her on Twitter, Instagram, and at her Facebook page. Because we all need candid smart and fearless thinkers in our lives. This one impresses me.
One person gives freely, yet gains even more; another withholds unduly, but comes to poverty.
A generous person will prosper; whoever refreshes others will be refreshed.
Or to put it another way, via Dune-Micheli Patten, A parable by an Unknown Author:
There once was a farmer who grew award-winning corn. Each year he entered his corn in the state fair where it won a blue ribbon.
One year a newspaper reporter interviewed him and learned something interesting about how he grew it. The reporter discovered that the farmer shared his seed corn with his neighbors.
“How can you afford to share your best seed corn with your neighbors when they are entering corn in competition with yours each year?” the reporter asked.
“Why sir,” said the farmer, “didn’t you know? The wind picks up pollen from the ripening corn and swirls it from field to field. If my neighbors grow inferior corn, cross-pollination will steadily degrade the quality of my corn. If I am to grow good corn, I must help my neighbors grow good corn.”
He is very much aware of the connectedness of life. His corn cannot improve unless his neighbor’s corn also improves.
So it is with our lives. Those who choose to live in peace must help their neighbors to live in peace. Those who choose to live well must help others to live well, for the value of a life is measured by the lives it touches. And those who choose to be happy must help others to find happiness, for the welfare of each is bound up with the welfare of all.
The lesson for each of us is this: if we are to grow good corn, we must help our neighbors grow good corn.
Yet, if a solution is well researched and historically validated, only a fool would not work to solve it. Right? Hence my repost of a quote from a brilliant writer, a problem solver, a man who I also consider a friend.
In this complex clash of civilizations, evolutionary biology offers a multi-million-year-old lesson on how to stop death by social media: fecundity. The good guys must simply and decisively overwhelm the bad guys with good information. The good information must be programmed better than the bad information, and it must be propagated in overwhelming amounts. We can select the social media world we want to live in and social-engineer our way back to safety.
- Shelly Palmer, Death by Social Media
WARNING: A warning to the two or three people who read this blog – the quote above is a positive quote. An excerpt. But the link to Shelly’s blog on death by social media is a link to a brutally frank post. I am quoting the solution Shelly is telling us because I agree with him. He is correct. Just be aware if you click over to his post it does contain some rather disturbing observations.
What is Mr. Palmer’s point? Briefly, that you and I are doing it wrong, And we have the power fix it..
We must overwhelm the world with positivity. Forget the world of “if it bleeds it leads” which is so prevalent. Those
media channels advertising shows won’t change, but we can and should overwhelm them with the positive.
Thus, even though it is disturbing post on the brutal reality of social media and it’s sometimes deadly outcomes, hopefully you will click over. Because we need to do this. Because it is real. Because the current reality must stop. Because the positive must prevail.
“Let us not plot against others, lest we injure ourselves. When we supplant the reputation of others, let us consider that we injure ourselves, it is against ourselves that we plot. For perchance with men we do him harm, if we have power, but ourselves in the sight of God, by provoking him against us. Let us not, then, injure ourselves. For as we injure ourselves when we injure our neighbors, so by benefiting them we benefit ourselves” (‘Hom. 14, in Phil.,’ Oxford transl.).
Serious crime has DROPPED 43% since 1990.
FORTY THREE PERCENT
43 PERCENT DROP IN CRIME AND THE MEDIA HAS CONVINCED YOU IT’S UP
BECAUSE THERE IS NO MEDIA, THERE ARE ONLY ADVERTISING COMPANIES. SORRY. #TRUTH
See that HUGE decline since 1990. Those are the facts. Please Stop, just stop, stop being a tool to “the man.” Just stop.
I ask people. You should ask people to. “Is crime up or down in the US since 1990? They will say “up”. Then ask “by how much do you think it’s up?” They will say anything from 5 to 50%. They think crime is up. I ask “can you google it for us” (try duckduckgo for search too. Google isn’t God. Really people?) and I get nothing. Blank stares.
They look at the actual crime data and their minds can’t grasp it. The lie is so big we’ve all come to believe it to be true.
Stop, just stop. Sorry to burst everyone’s paranoid bubble (insert pot-kettle cliche here) with facts. I know, we all hate it when someone drops facts on a good ghost story. Sadly it is true – you are safer now in the US than ever.
With a BS in Political Science (a BS in BS?) I frequently hear people parroting advertising companies that run search engines or web sites or TV shows or Newspapers. Note the first phrase – “ADVERTISING COMPANIES” – they need to sell advertising. Nothing more nothing less.
If you sell advertising, how do you make more money? Simple, follow a very old formula and scare the life out of people. It boils down to, what if it bleeds less than before but nobody notices?
Stop, just stop. No more fear mongering to weak minds. And if you don’t have a weak mind, then educate and empower those around you. Advertising companies make money from page views, not from facts. They do not have your best interests at heart. But you know that. So tell your kids! Tell them! It’s not a conspiracy, it’s the system and it’s YOUR responsibility to educate your children and your community that what is in your best interest is different from what sells the most ads.
Example: “OK, yea, we are selling banner ads and we decided to just lie on our rate sheets that 5000 people picked up the paper in the Doctor’s office and it should be a 5000x multiple of subscribers.” (an exaggeration for the sake of drawing eyeballs… and no, the irony is not lost on money, but I don’t sell advertising and I’m not paid for this so wahtev…. )
For those not in the Advertising Business, which thankfully despite the resolute ethical souls leading the Houston Advertising community (disclaimer: I was formerly a board member of AAF-Houston) the rate sheet dictates the “ad buy” rate. So the more people who view an advertisement the more you can charge. If you can convince people that your business journal is subscribed to once (1) and viewed by an additional twenty (20) people (um.. not on this planet anyway so unless aliens are spiriting it away in the night and buying online then I call BS (zOMG so (recursive(recursive(nerd-humor, *args, *kwargs))) then you can sell advertisements at a higher rates. Thus it sells ads (*cough* chron.com *cough*.)
I know, crazy, right?
Facts and all that “stuff“. Those silly facts get in the way of our preconceived ideology.
It’s not all good news as death by gun is stupid. And a shame. We can continue to do better. One tragic fact not discussed in the media is that more people die from self inflicted gunshot wounds than are victims of homicides involving a gun.
As a true friend has been reminding me lately:
“When is the best time to plant a tree? 20 years ago. And right now.”
PROGRESS. It’s a journey. It will take time. But these are huge improvements the media has no incentive to tell us about because they don’t sell advertisements.
Is a new mother happy with the pain of childbirth? No. And yet is she not fulfilled with the creation of life?
Or an artist who struggles for 20 years to create a piece that meets their own expectations. You have the eye before the skill, which is what is so frustrating. This is why we tear up our work. And delete entire photo shoots from our CF cards. Or rip the roll of film out of the Mamiya to expose it to light, killing it like a vampire thrown into daylight.
It is that our creation lacks fails to meet our vision. This is not happiness.
But do you want to live in a world where people, where you, don’t strive outside of your bounds? I don’t. I don’t need the happiness project. If I wanted that, there is some drug I can take surely. No, the brutal truth of reality, and frequently failed “creation,” is the reality I wish to live in. It gives meaning.
The Don had not seemed surprised when Hagen returned from California late tuesday evening and told him the results of the negotiations with Woltz. He had made Hagen go over every detail and grimaced with distaste when Hagen told about the beautiful little girl and her mother. Had had murmured “infamita,“ his strongest disapproval. He had asked Hagen one final question, “does this man have real balls?“
Hagen considered exactly when the Don meant by this question. Over the years he had learned that the Don’s values were so different from those of most people that his words also could have a different meaning. Did Woltz have character? Did he have a strong will? He most certainly didn’t, but that was not what the Don was asking. Did the movie producer have the courage not to be bluffed? Did he have the willingness to suffer heavy financial loss delay on his movies would mean, the scandal of his big star exposed as a user of heroin? Again the answer was yes. But again this was not what the Don meant. Finally Hagen translated the question properly in his mind. Did Jack woltz have the balls to risk everything, to run the chance of losing all on a matter of principle, on a matter of honor; for revenge?
Hagen smiled. He did it rarely but now but he could not resist jesting with the Don. “You’re asking if he is a Sicilian.“ The Don nodded his head pleasantly, acknowledging the flattering witticism and its truth. “No,“ Hagen said.
That had been all. The Don had pondered the question until the next day. on Wednesday afternoon he had called Hagen to his home and given him his instructions. The instructions had consumed the rest of Hagen’s working day and left him dazed with admiration. There was no question in his mind that the Don had solved the problem, that Woltz would call him this morning with the news that Johnny Fontane had the starring part in his new war movie.
At that moment the phone did ring but it was Amerigo Bonasera. The undertaker’s voice was trembling with gratitude. He wanted Hagen to convey to the Don his undying friendship. the Don had only to call on him. He, amerigo Bonasera, would lay down his life for the blessed Godfather. Hagen assured him that the Don would be told.
The Daily News had carried a middle-page spread of Jerry Wagner and Kevin Moonan lying in the street. The photos were expertly gruesome, they seemed to be pulps of human beings. Miraculously, said the News, they were both still alive though they would both be in the hospital for months and would require plastic surgery. Hagen made a note to tell Clemenza that something should be done for Paulie Gatto. He seemed to know his job.
Hagen worked quickly and efficiently for the next three hours consolidating earning reports from the Don’s real estate company, his olive oil importing business and his construction firm. None of them were doing well but with the war over they should all become rich producers. He had almost forgotten the Johnny Fontaine problem when his secretary told him California was calling. He felt a little thrill of anticipation as he picked up the phone and said, “Hagen here.“
The voice that came over the phone was unrecognizable with hate and passion. “You fucking bastard,“ Woltz screamed. “I’ll have you all in jail for a hundred years. I’ll spend every penny I have to get you. I’ll get that Johnny Fontane’s balls cut off, do you hear me, you guinea fuck?“
Hagan said kindly, “I’m German-Irish.“ There was a long pause and then a click of the phone being hung up. Hagen smiled. Not once had Woltz uttered a threat against Don Corleone himself. Genius had its rewards.
Jack Woltz always slept alone. He had a bed big enough for ten people and a bedroom large enough for a movie ballroom scene, but he had slept alone since the death of his first wife ten years before. This did not mean he no longer used women. He was physically a vigorous man despite his age, but he could be aroused not by only very young girls and had learned that a few hours in the evening were all the youth his body and his patience could tolerate.
On this Thursday morning, for some reason, he awoke early. The light of dawn made his huge bedroom as misty as a foggy meadowland. Far down at the foot of his bed was a familiar shape and Woltz struggled up on his elbows to get a clearer look. It had the shape of a horse’s head. Still groggy. Woltz reached and flicked on the night table lamp.
The shock of what he saw made him physically ill. It seemed as if a great sledgehammer had struck him on the chest, his heartbeat jumped erratically and he became nauseous. His vomit splattered on the thick bear rug.
Severed from its body, the black silky head of the great horse Khartoum was stuck fast in a thick cake of blood. White, reedy tendons showed. Froth covered the muzzle and those apple-sized eyes that had glinted like gold, were mottled the color of rotting fruit with dead, hemorrhaged blood. Woltz was struck by a purely animal terror and out of the terror he screamed for his servants and out of the terror he called Hagen to make his uncontrolled threats. His maniacal raving alarmed the butler, who called Woltz’s personal physician and his second in command at the studio. But Woltz regained his senses before they arrived.
He had been profoundly shocked. What kind of man could destroy an animal worth six hundred thousand dollars? Without a word of warning. Without any negotiation to have the act, its order, countermanded. The ruthlessness, the sheer disregard for any values, implied a man who considered himself completely his own law, even his own God. And a man who backed up this kind of will with the power and cunning that held his own stable security force of no account. For by this time Woltz had learned that the horse’s body had obviously been heavily drugged before someone leisurely hacked the huge triangular head off with an ax. The men on night duty claimed that they had heard nothing. To Woltz this seemed impossible. The could be made to talk. They had been bought off and they could be made to tell who had done the buying.
Woltz was not a stupid man, he was merely a supremely egotistical one. He had mistaken the power he wielded in his world to be more potent than the power of Don Corleone. He had merely needed some proof that this was not true. He understood this message. That despite all his wealth, despite all his contacts with the President of the United States, despite all his claims of friendship with director of the FBI, an obscure importer of Italian olive oil would have him killed. would actually have him killed! Because he wouldn’t give Johnny Fontane a movie part he wanted. It was incredible. People didn’t have any right to act that way. There couldn’t be any kind of world if people acted that way. It was insane. It meant you couldn’t do what you wanted with your own money, with the companies you owned , the power you had to give orders. It was ten times worse than communism. It had to be smashed. It must never be allowed.
Woltz let the doctor give him a very mild sedation. It helped him calm down again and to think sensibly. What really shocked him was the casualness with which this man Corleone had ordered the destruction of a world-famous horse worth six hundred thousand dollars. Six hundred thousand dollars! And that was just for openers. Woltz shuddered. He thought of this life he had built up. He was rich. He could have the most beautiful women in the world by crooking his finger and promising a contract. He was received by kings and queens. He lived a life as perfect as money and power could make it. It was crazy to risk all this because of a whim. Maybe he could get to Corleone. What was the legal penalty for killing a racehorse? He laughed wildly and his doctor and servants watched him with nervous anxiety. Another thought occurred to him. He would be the laughingstock of California merely because someone had contemptuously defied his power in such arrogant fashion. That decided him. That and the thought that maybe, maybe they wouldn’t kill him. That they had something much more clever and painful in reserve.
Woltz gave the necessary orders. His personal confidential staff swung into action. The servants and the doctor were sworn to secrecy on pain of incurring the studio’s and Woltz’ undying enmity. Word was given to the press that the racehorse Khartoum had died of an illness contracted during his shipment from England. Orders were given to bury the remains in a secret place on the estate.
Six hours later Johnny Fontane received a phone call from the executive producer of the film telling him to report for work the following Monday.
– from “The Godfather“
I was drilled for surviving nuclear apocalypse as a “duck-and-cover“ teenager, believing that the world might end before I reached adulthood. But I suspect my personal perspective was the biggest factor: I didn’t like the world the way it was and wanted to “figure out“ how I could make it better. I was hurting and scared. Survival instinct pure and simple!
It’s taken me 60-something years to transform to a more optimistic state of mind, actually a passionate state of mind. Maybe through the wisdom of my varied experiences and learning, I have not only figured out what a better world can be, but more significantly, through the media of the Web, I have discovered “signs“ of a large community of likeminded people. For the first time in my life, I can justify hope and faith in the future of humanity.
“In retrospect, I have always had the temperment of an artist, looking at the world with curiosity and sensitivity””sometimes, so much that the beauty of nature overwhelms me.
Like Pecos Bill, I was raised by a pack of dogs. I thought I was one… until they started to chase, kill, and eat squirrels. I guess I will always be a pacifist. I still love running in the woods.”
Reporter Q: Do you really think you are changing the world?
Deepak Chopra: Me personally? No. But the world is changing and I am part of what you call the transition team.
From the article:
The first dreams we ever had were to be held. And loved. And to explore this amazing world with love in our lives.
We dreamed of seeing, touching, and experiencing the world around us, with the happiness and comfort that comes from family.
As adults, many of us dream of building a family, and do so.
It’s the day-to-day realities that don’t always feel so dreamy. We get busy, exhausted, and overwhelmed. We’re changing diapers, cleaning up spills, searching for a jolt of caffeine to keep our eyes propped open until we can fall face first into a pillow.
Along the way, we sometimes see some work dreams take a back seat. We worry they may slip away, that we may never get back to them.
There are tough tradeoffs that moms and dads have to make every day. But since my son’s birth, I’ve stopped seeing those tradeoffs as sacrifice.
Because when we give up something for a time to make sure we’re putting enough focus into our families, we’re not giving up dreams. We’re committing to our biggest, deepest ones.
We’re prioritizing the dreams that make up who we are.
Monica, in her usual fashion, takes over completely, leaving Phoebe in charge of only cups and ice. Phoebe decides to make the most of it; she makes everything imaginable out of cups, and serves every kind of ice.
So the next time Monica gives you cups and ice, just ask yourself, what would Phoebe do, and do that. It’s the hard way out. But worth it.
(Note: video added and minor edits Jan 18, 2016 while writing this post about Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. – EGS)
“IV. At the same time, living systems adapt themselves to changes in their environment they learn, grow, develop, evolve. When the mouse population in a region suddenly declines because of an epidemic, the predators who adapt to a new prey survive; those who remain determined “mouse-avores“ starve. Life events affect us and change us, and we can see these changes reflected in the nevertheless familiar faces of our friends. The ability of living systems to adapt and self-organize allows them to defy the second law of thermodynamics, which insists that everything runs down and returns to a state of disorganization and homogeneity. Not so for living systems! They continuously reorganize themselves into ever more complex patterns and interrelationships.”
Woke up thinking about this stuff from days gone by, so consider these notes to myself.
The analogy would work with the notions of “Left“ and “Right“…. There is nothing that distinguishes them internally. The half-space that we named Left can be Right, and the half-space that we named Right can be also Left.
It is in this abstract symmetry where different notions become equal. (or more general produce a contradiction of some kind)
But for sure Left and Right as notions are not equal, they have different meaning. So, we are brought to a contradiction, they are different, but also they are equal.
This contradiction is resolved by externalities;
The resolution is based on really simple principle ““ if the distinction between two universals is not in them taken alone, then their difference is something outside of them.
Hence the role of an external “observer” to break the symmetry.
On phenomenology from the Edmund Husserl (1859-1938) entry on Wikipedia.
Husserl made some key conceptual elaborations which led him to assert that in order to study the structure of consciousness, one would have to distinguish between the act of consciousness and the phenomena at which it is directed (the objects as intended). Knowledge of essences would only be possible by “bracketing” all assumptions about the existence of an external world. This procedure he called epoche.
And Stanford’s entry on Phenomenology continues
We are to practice phenomenology, Husserl proposed, by “bracketing“ the question of the existence of the natural world around us….
Consider my visual experience wherein I see a tree across the square. In phenomenological reflection, we need not concern ourselves with whether the tree exists: my experience is of a tree whether or not such a tree exists. However, we do need to concern ourselves with how the object is meant or intended. I see a Eucalyptus tree, not a Yucca tree; I see that object as a Eucalyptus, with a certain shape, with bark stripping off, etc. Thus, bracketing the tree itself, we turn our attention to my experience of the tree, and specifically to the content or meaning in my experience.
Which, in pop-culture, is probably best explained by The Matrix
Spoon boy: Do not try and bend the spoon. That’s impossible. Instead… only try to realize the truth.
Neo: What truth?
Spoon boy: There is no spoon.
Neo: There is no spoon?
Spoon boy: Then you’ll see, that it is not the spoon that bends, it is only yourself.
It’s incredibly selfish if you think about it. If I imagine the spoon bending, it is bending because I am the external observer of said spoon. Or Eucalyptus tree if you wish.