Medalist?

I think we all know someone like this champ aka loose meet cannon. But there's so much more to unpack in this genius Steed cartoon—it's got me thunk. 

First reaction? I chuckled. Second reaction? I remembered teenaged-me that time I placed fourth in ALL four high school track and field events, including the hurdles (which had four participants that year, ha). This aptly defines my youth sports career trajectory. Think flatline, ha.

I don't know about you, but it may not be a surprise then that I do not identify with any of these hurdlers. Sure, it's a dopamine party to WIN, but I don't ever win...well, except for that drawing contest in Grade 2 and I'm still confused and conflicted about that. Anyway, although I (almost) never win, I feel like I've won everything. I just default to gratitude. (Thanks, Grandma.) I don't care about winning. I don't want to be first. In many cases, I don't even want to participate in the race. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I'm not saying I'm not bummed when things don't go the way I'd hope, nor am I nauseatingly positive when times are tough. I just don't dwell there (anymore) and I forget to be annoyed. And to be honest, it's probably unhealthy that I expect to be disappointed, but I can always outwit that feeling by cheering someone else on. Nor do I have low expectations for myself and others. I am not saying that achieving excellence isn't important. It is; I just don't care to compete. 

My third reaction? This brilliant cartoon is an entire story. What happened during the race?! Who is this smiling overgrown toddler? Did he cheat? If you're certain he cheated, consider that in hurdles there are apparently multiple ways to be disqualified: lane violations, obstructing others, deliberately knocking down the hurdles, going around or under the hurdles.... Hilariously, he wasn't disqualified, so couldn't one argue he's just both fast and clumsy? 

But for me this cartoon is next level because of the obstacles. In addition to his medal, he's proudly wearing the obstacles. He's antifragile, and those others on the podium? More than the win, isn't that what they really need to succeed? 

Dear friends, I do not wish obstacles in your path, but I know you will encounter them, so when they occur may I suggest you be neither an optimist nor a pessimist—not even a medalist—but instead continue Sisyphus-ing your way up that hill: be an obstacalist. If you ask me, language like this is a lifeboat. 

Sweet (but temporary)

Thanks, T. 

I'd say this beaut of a cupcake represents how (about) 76% of us post-referendum Albertans feel today: celebratory. Perhaps it should feature the red maple leaf but no matter, today still tastes sweeeeet. 

Nevertheless, like cupcakes, we all know this is temporary. We sent a clear message to those who'd prefer to stoke more division, but like chalant folks everywhere (I hope), we know that continued democracy is no cakewalk, and so we will enjoy what's pleasing today, and eat with our elbows up. 

New Paragraph

Today feels like a bit of a "pilcrow" day for us Albertans. Voting regarding our separation referendumb ends today.

As you know, a paragraph is all about unity encompassing a topic, an idea, an important point. Fellow Canadians will see the irony here, sigh. But what I'm contemplating is how a pilcrow signifies a new paragraph, and in our case, an historical one. 

Writers and readers know there are several reasons to begin a new paragraph; today is about two of those reasons. 

In this unfinished political story, will the outcome signify a transition toward the next chapter in Canadian unity? Or will the results be a signpost pivot into a fool's paradise? Stay tuned. 

Got me thunk.

Are men still obsessed with remote controls? Sure, I am. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (The TV's my best friend, ha.) But in this era when fewer people actually watch content on their TVs, isn't this now just a reductive stereotype?  

I'm curious because of my youngest grandson, M, pictured here reaching across the coffee table for the clicker. Some context for you: 

1. The moment he spots it, nothing will deter him from his quest for this holy grail, this diadem of an object. He's like Odysseus/Ulysses and this is his Odyssey, ha.
2. HE'S 9 MONTHS OLD. 
3. HE CAN'T YET WALK (so think of the extra energy expended). 
4. Once spotted, toys strewn about mean DIDDLY-SQUAT by comparison. 
5. He cares little about the actual TV. Mostly, he yearns to hold it and press buttons buttons BUTTONS....  

In contrast, his two-and-a-half year-old sister will find the clicker and hand it me. Hmm...is that more proof of this theory? You might think that our grandchildren watch a lot of TV. Nope. Sure, his older sister and I watch Miss Rachel or Bluey occasionally, but TV time is limited. No 9-month-old should be watching TV.

So, is he obsessed by the buttons or is this some inner drive for the (great and mighty) power afforded by this dopamine-regulation doodad? What's going on in his budding mind? Is he already astute enough to have gleaned its magic? Have you seen similar behaviour in near-toddlers?

Yes, dear friends, I apologize, but these are things I think about. 

What does the research say? Well, Facebook says men are indeed obsessed with remotes so yup, science. I josh. Truly, I hope Facebook's extinct by the time my grandchildren are adults. I have no idea what the research says, but I'm curious what you say? In this age of smartphone obsession, does anyone even care about the remote control? What have you observed? Who in your family has jurisdiction? Do you and your partner have (legally) separate TVs/ clickers? (My spouse and I are both Gen Xers and yes we do, ha.) 

Who raised you?

Well, this 1970s model TV, mostly. 

I was at a social function recently and when I returned to my seat, I accidentally kicked one of the table legs hidden by a cloth. A brief tumult of wobbling objects ensued. Before I could apologize, someone at the table joked, "who raised you?!" 

I chuckled, but I thought of our big old 100-pound TV.

My aim is not to disparage my parents, (nor my teachers, some of whom I loved) but if you're a Gen Xer, you know. My childhood Gen X friend fully credits wolves with raising her, so the TV? Not so bad. 

Anyway, in terms of rearing me, I credit TV with a solid 70%, plus 10% to reading fiction and my encyclopedias, and also a grateful 15% to my grandmother. If you're a math whiz, that leaves only 5% for my parents. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Since they were rarely home, my parents' influence on me might best be described as unintentional, trivial, fleeting. This isn't bellyaching; it is (was) what it is (was). 

NO the TV did not buy my jeans, my running-shoes, my winter coats; nor did it pay the electricity bill or bake fresh bread—a nod to my parents for all those essentials. But the TV did indeed provide. Provide what? My worldview. 

If you're thinking, I wouldn't admit that the TV is mostly responsible for the lens through which I interpret the world, what I know to be true, what I value, and how I consciously (and unconsciously) act on that viewpoint, well touché, but it's just facts. 

So regarding worldview, what did the TV actually impart? Lots. If you're still reading this, perhaps this somewhat chronological list of my childhood favourites provides some insight?

1. Mr. Dressup & Sesame Street
2. The Flip Wilson Show
3. Sonny & Cher
4. Star-Trek
5. Maude
6. MASH* 
7. The Muppet Show
8. SCTV
9. The Jeffersons
10. The 6 Million Dollar Man

Picture kid me: part artsy, part social activist, part student of comedy, part stuntman, all woke nerd. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ TV was my babysitter, my family, my most welcome escape, but (like my beloved Lego) it helped me assemble myself. When I think about what the miniseries Roots did to my psychology. Whoa. And I'm sure TV is why I remain foolishly optimistic that everything can be solved in about 30 minutes (minus commercials). If only, eh? Sigh. 

But one of the biggest influences? Mork & Mindy. Mork (Robin Williams) was my favourite (fellow) outsider. Remember Mork's observation on loneliness? It still chokes me up. He was all comedy and all pathos, and also everything. Mork was a bit of a psychic catalyst. I already felt like a social alien, but Mork (and the way all the kids at school endorsed him) helped affirm my curious nature and taught me it might actually be okay to be different (but probably not, so keep that nervous system cranked, sigh). 

Dear friends, were you also fortunate enough to "know" him? Or some other character you saw yourself in? Did TV inform your worldview? Or something else? (It seems to me that unexamined worldview is at the core of life's more pervasive problems.) 

Things one should never outgrow:

see last Friday's post (or if you're too "busy" pootling, don't bother). 

What a fine new word! It's the opposite of scoot. A nod to being irresolute. And if you're reading this while snuggled into your rocker recliner, moot. 

Happy pootling. 
 

12/hr.

I purchased this card (by Eat Haggis)
in Scotland this summer. :)

Home. 'Tis not so sweet for some. Sigh. But my home? The sweetest. My (long) weekend plans include 

a) nothing
b) nothing
c) nothing
d) all of the above. 

Despite the relief of no real plans, sadly, here in northwestern Alberta, it's raining, with snow forecast tonight. Sigh. So what better weekend to stay hame sweet hame?

If you noticed, I sighed twice in this post thus far. Fun (?) fact: science says that although excessive sighing is a worrisome well-being indicator, on average, we humans still sigh every 5 minutes, or 12 sighs per hour. 

That many?! I had no idea. 

And why do we sigh? It's a response to anxiety and stress. But apparently typical sighing is connected to optimum lung health and acts as a nervous system reset. Although we are encouraged to seize the day, it seems our bodies are designed to seize the peace. I like that. 

Dear friends, whether you're home or not this weekend and whatever the weather, I wish for you some contentment. In other words, slow down: no more than twelve sighs an hour. 

All Along

I'm no scientist, but I've long known there's an abundance of lessons (and solace) among the trees. Only recently though did I learn that leaves don't really change colours as Autumn progresses; more accurately, they unveil themselves. 

We all likely learned some of this in elementary school: in Spring and Summer, abundant sunlight and heat enables leaves to create the nutrients trees need to survive and thrive. Leaves absorb the light for photosynthesis to occur in cells containing green-pigmented chlorophyll...but did you know that this pigment masks other pigments already within leaves?

During Autumn, daylight decreases and temperatures drop, signaling plants to form a kind of cork between leaf and stem and as leaves die, chlorophyll breaks down, the green pigment disappears, and other pigments are revealed: yellow, orange and red—those beguiling Fall colors.

Think about that: the colours were there all along. 

There's something altogether reassuring about this. Perhaps there's much more within us humans too? More resilience? Untapped hidden potential? Some of the answers we seek elsewhere? I'd like to think more likely than not. 

Poet Mary Oliver also felt more likely than not. In her poem, "When I am Among the Trees," she describes herself returning to the forest, her sun-dappled and comforting first love, just listening. And although she feels "distant from the hope of myself," the surrounding trees invite her to "stay a while." They say," “It’s simple...you too have come into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled with light, and to shine.”

Dear friends, if you too are preoccupied with life's seasons or some other matters and needed a boost today, I hope something helpful is revealed here. If not, go to the forest. 

Whose hands?

Do yourself a favour and add
The Muppet Thought of the Week
YouTube channel to your life. 

A good friend and I were texting about her artwork. She was mired in that inevitable-for-creatives Lynda Barry 2-Question loop: Is this good? Does it suck? Curious, she uploaded a photo to get AI's assessment.... 

With all the nuance of a stapler, AI concluded it was "not a famous artwork." 

As you can see from the screenshot, I joked that AI is most certainly an unreliable narrator, and yes, I implied it: an inferior Muppet. Let's be honest about AI: who knows whose hand is shoved up in there?  

But upon reflection (yes, this is what my brain burns glucose doing), I shouldn't have picked on Animal, who is actually quite an endearing Muppet to me, sort of a furry characterization of the id. I mean, he loves a good time and he drums with passion—he's a beast. (Sorry.) No, AI is a different Muppet.... 

Now, if you're not Gen X, nor (oddly) is 6% of your brain (like mine) absolutely devoted to Muppets characters, you may have already left to mow your lawn, or whatever, but if you're still with me, I'm almost there. 

A better Muppet to represent AI is Captain Link Hogthrob, of Pigs in Space fame. Why? Well...Hogthrob is a smug, self-serving, one-dimensional fool, but somehow remains "qualified" to be captain of the ship, similar to how AI is now steering this ship we call life. Yikes. 

To explain further, let's consider AI's qualifications. Can it boost human innovation? Yes. Can it help us solve problems? Yes. Is it wise? No. It has never lived—it is indifferent to life; for us passengers on this ship, it couldn't care less. And if it does develop a sort of wisdom, then whose? 

Dear friends, like Hogthrob and "leaders" of similar ilk, AI is untrustworthy and therefore unfit to captain our lives. So, whether you're pro AI or not, shouldn't we regulate its (inevitable) role in everything, and monitor the "hands" behind it, especially those already profiting from it? Ha, Kermit would agree that we're moving too fast. 

How to say it?

Apparently, you can buy these
stickers, lol. I miss Betty. 

I'm still thinking about emojis* and their role in our lives, so when I teased a friend via text recently and she responded with🖕I laughed—a bit surprised by her cheeky ambush mic-drop of an emoji. I countered with a fist bump, a sign of respect for her comic timing. But what did I actually appreciate about our exchange? It provided a good laugh. Who doesn't need that?

With that in mind, a thought for today: here's to giving the finger. 

Some might (understandably) frown—this is not exactly a "gift" one should "give" recklessly, emoji or otherwise. But consider this example: when I first visited my brother in the hospital soon after he shared his terminal cancer diagnosis, this was what I noticed immediately. That laugh was a most welcome way to begin that visit and that conversation. Although that "finger" didn't cure my brother's cancer, the environment felt better, safer, less severe. 

Sometimes the finger says it so well. Better than anything else. But why is that? It's science. 

Giving the finger (or saying the words) can decrease pain. And although the science is less conclusive, witnessing someone giving the finger may provide secondary catharsis, decreasing stress as it activates mirror neurons that boost feelings of empathy, shared justice, and social connectedness. Sudden thought: imagine attending some team-building session where the finger is employed to empower all participants! Attention workshop leaders: I think I'd find the novelty of that hilarious. (I dare you.)

Dear friends, these days we often feel so powerless in a world that can feel doom-y, a world where it sometimes takes too much energy to resist the bleak. Permission (for those who might need it) to use science to boost your nervous system today. 🖕😀

*Update: AC and one of his followers explained how to use the Genmoji function (iPhones) to create your own emoji. Thanks—I immediately made an orange shirt emoji. Solved.