Humble

These days, it is quite easy to feel as a god. We eat well, speed along without effort faster than birds, know everything at the flick of a screen, control vast powers. We think we are pretty close to omniscient and omnipotent. Well – compared to the past, at least, we are .

So we tend to take ourselves very seriously. What we do or don’t do must shake the cosmos. Every emotion must be huge and deep and meaningful. Our successes are tributes to our glory, our failures are – someone else’s fault .

Humble is no longer in most vocabularies. As a contrarian, I cultivate it. I do not feel in control. Kind of a god? Yeah I can’t escape that. Important? Responsible for my divinity? Nope. Just damn lucky to have been born into my time and situation. Fortunate to have adapted well . Certainly enjoying the experience. But always very aware that I hardly “deserved” or “worked for” most of it .

Sure, I’m moderately proud of who I am and what I have done. That’s it. I fight hubris tooth and nail. I simply pray that things will continue. I’m a leaf swirling down the stream, but an ecstatically happy leaf.

I know everyone is stressed, often rightfully. I wish they could step back and take a deep breath. But – hey! I’m just humble old me, so nobody listens .

Anti

We seem to find it easier to be against something than for it. Maybe hate is easier than love. What we dislike – noise, clothes, morals – is often in sharper focus than what we are for .

Accordingly it is pretty simple to form social and political groups strongly against what they are certain they do not like. Trying to get people in favor of something often comes down to defining the enemy. Protect the environment, for instance, by hating industry .

The problem with anti-groups is a proverbial observation about always using a hammer because that’s what you have. And the problem with a hammer is that it is very easily turned against almost anything. Those against gay rights easily morph into being against certain ethnicities or religions. Those against certain medicines are easily marshaled against certain foods. Those who hate one modern morality are ready to go against any others .

With luck, very strong anti-groups eventually splinter against each other and dissolve. Without luck, all bets are off .

Quantity Lies

We may not exactly count “one, two, three, many”, but we do lose ourselves as numbers become immense. I think most of us understand 100, but 1 million is hard, and anything higher does become “many”. We can easily visualize odds at “one in a hundred”, but “one in a million” is practical infinity .

Our vast outreach of instantaneous knowledge and awareness has jumbled that picture. Odds of winning a lottery may be “one in 372 million”, but – as my wife claims – “somebody always wins”. We hear about that somebody all the time. Hey, it could be me !

With the unusual reported more than the commonplace, our perception of odds becomes strangely distorted. If chances of anything are truly one in a million, then in a country like ours 360 people (each one interviewed in a media moment) will have it happen to them. In a planet of 8 billion, 8,000 folks will. Suddenly it seems like an awful lot of people. Translated to our own surroundings the odds suddenly appear as likely as 50 or more percent .

That’s why anecdotal “evidence” in medicine, science, or society is so damaging. An anecdote seems real, a statistic kind of nebulous. We think “oh, a person just like me was affected”. Winning, losing. Then we act stupidly .

My antidote has always been “how many people whom I actually know have had this happening?” That is quite sobering, and puts odds into much better perspective .

Undeserving Rich

Wealthy elites hire entertaining apologists to glorify and justify their position in society. One of the great meme inventions of such employees was the concept of the “deserving poor”. Those folks were wonderful people laid low by fortune. Obviously they deserved a helping hand .

That usefully left masses of other paupers (mostly those whose views and lifestyle the elite did not agree with) to be ignored and vilified as “undeserving poor”. Such groups should be kept miserable, oppressed, or removed for the general good .

In these days of wealth concentration I propose an equivalent expression of the “undeserving rich”. People who _ unlike Carnegie, Ford, or Gates _ did nothing to deserve their affluence. They gained it through inheritance, financial gambling (with other people’s money) or fraud. They do not deserve the adulation given to the deserving rich .

Specifically, the undeserving rich should pay a lot more to support society. Sure, limit taxes on the few magnates who actually work hard. But tax to the max their children or sycophantic associates. And stop respecting their suggestions about life, consumption, or politics .

I believe the undeserving rich should be targeted just as much as the undeserving poor. And that should give all of us just as warm and fuzzy a feeling when they are righteously oppressed .

Elder Myth

Most of us understand our lives as a narrative story. Elders tend to form that into a mythology. Like any good literature, the best exaggerate the highs and lows and often have a structure with a moral. Grandparents especially enjoy inflicting this on their young grandchildren. Or at anyone else when there is a holiday gathering. It’s a way of making a mark on the universe, claiming an importance almost as meaningful as in tales of heroes of old .

Nor is it wrong to do so. There is more to existence than daily meals and bedtime. Formulating one’s place in eternal mystery is important to all of us. And once in a while it is nice to share – even proclaim – that adventure .

Unlike many others, I do not think such tales actually help the young in their own lives. Life and circumstance were always unique, and the days change at a dizzying speed. At best this is just another form of entertainment with the added benefit of being (mostly) true .

Oh, perhaps there is some moral value. But really it helps everyone share and join internal narratives to feel far less lonely in the ineffable cosmos.

Yeoman Artisans

Jefferson expected a country of “yeoman farmers” who would have self-sufficiency by day and discuss politics by night. Never happened. He certainly was not much interested for himself, at least if slaves were not available to do the work .

For a while we did have artisan farmers, who would grow some of their own food and sell specialized items for the rest. Soon enough, artisans stopped growing stuff altogether. Then the idea was suburban nuclear families, working for a large company to gain currency. Fuzzy effect of the ongoing industrial revolution on society, as workers were turned into machines. No politics by night, just entertainment .

Now I wonder. Is AI and automation the end of that paradigm as well? More and more we seem to become a nation of “yeoman artisans” bartering our own specialties for livelihood. Not quite worked out yet, but I wonder what work and life may become in the next decade .

Not Jeffersonian. And probably far from Utopian. But the real point is – nobody knows. And hardly anyone is even sure what they would like .

I enjoyed being an artisan computer professional. Artisan pride fit me well. But the other thing I wonder is if there will remain varied niches for varied folks to fit into .

Beauty

Like ” wrong”, beauty is one of those concepts that can never be simply defined. It depends not only on environmental and cultural factors but also on the mood of the observer. We can often agree, but almost as often argue with others and even with ourselves .

It’s fairly safe to say that even considering beauty requires a sense of security within the observer _ you can hardly appreciate the loveliness of a forest while being chased by a bear. . Whether something is beautiful or not occurs way down on the scale of evolutionary fight or flight. A great deal of the time, most of us hardly notice it at all .

We assume that – like other odd traits – there must be SOME biological reason we can respond to beauty. Perhaps it helps social solidarity. Perhaps it is a shortcut to relaxation. Certainly nothing obvious .

I have noticed that in my own life the idea of beautiful has evolved as I age. When young, it was primarily biological. When older, mostly cultural. And now, in an elder, much more simply appreciation of all that is and how it fits together. A miraculous and – yes – extremely beautiful universe .

At least when I am happy, secure, and not doing too much .

Next Time

We are conditioned by evolution and experience to expect there to be a “next time” for most events. Next time the sun comes up, the next time it rains, an endless procession of recurrences .

We use that knowledge to plan and learn. “Next time will be different” we may say. We hope to do better in things at which we have failed, repeat exactly things we have enjoyed. And for most of our lives, for much of our daily existence, that belief works very well indeed .

Oh, we know there are unusual one-offs. Never again a fifth birthday party. Hopefully not another car accident. We stash those away and hope or fear as “once in a lifetime” .

As I grow older, “next time” becomes more problematic. Almost all the things I used to know have changed. Places are no longer as they were. Some people have vanished. Institutions I took for granted have mutated as in horror films. Some of it is good, I acknowledge, but even that means there is no true next time for a lot of my memories .

And it begins to get a little frightening. Any given day, for any given event, any given encounter, there may never be a next time. Such absences cascade until I feel trapped in a few quotidian routines that I can (for the moment) count on .

And yet – I DO still expect a next time most of the time.

Entranced

I think throughout history most humans at one time or another have entered a trance state. Often from concentration on something, sometimes from unusual circumstances like pain or fatigue, occasionally from use of drugs or alcohol. Always when dreaming .

In a trance we tend not to be fully aware of our surroundings. The universe has narrowed down to a particular selection of mind and senses. We are hyper aware of a few things and ignore the environment. This condition may last a few minutes, a few hours, rarely longer .

I’ve always been easily entranced. When reading a good book, for example. In my working days, entering a fugue in cyberspace as I worked out problems. Now when I engage with a sketch or drawing .

There’s not much to say about being in a trance. To be honest, I most appreciate it when I return to “real life”. I suddenly realize I’ve been away. I am refreshed, relaxed, and surprised. Wonderful things!

Of course, nobody can or should inhabit dreamland forever. There is truly a big universe to appreciate out there. But as a short vacation from the mundane it is magnificent .

Selecting Limits

A primary goal in any art form is to select the limits of the work and communicate them to an imagined audience. A pencil sketch is different from an oil canvas. A tonal study has criteria which do not much resemble hard outlines . How well the final work succeeds is based on the selection of limits, the communication of these limits, and the impact of the finished product within its declared and accepted boundaries .

I think this is why we find children’s or “primitive” or amateur work so charming. We accept the basic proposition and enjoy the creation. No need to compare your child’s work to the Sistine chapel. “Grandma Moses” even finds a place in fine art museums .

We live, however, in an age of imagined limitlessness. Artists often refuse to accept any limits, and the result is a mess, whether a dinner or a sculpture or a book. Other artists rebel and set artificially narrow bounds which, even if successfully executed, are quite boring once the initial shock wears off .

So I happily say to myself “this and not that”, or “that’s enough”. My art is more satisfying for so doing. And I pretty much feel the same way about life in general .