Like many others this June, I attended a university convocation but, for the first time, as faculty.
What a pleasure. Joyful, even. Also cringe—most public ceremonies are inherently (no cynicism intended) performative. And also this: humbling. Nothing makes a guy feel more dense than being surrounded by incredibly smart people. But (like me) if your safe space has always been at school, so so so worth the lingering imposter syndrome.
After their tassels were moved from the right to the left and their bachelors' degrees official, one of the PhDs said something like this to those graduates: "you've just joined a community; welcome, and for those who might perceive it as an exclusive group, let's clear that up. Like all of the faculty on stage, whatever their degrees, you just became a life-long problem-solver with one overarching goal: better the world. As someone whose safe (and comfortable) space is learning more, I heard that.
Dear friends, PhD or whatever, less procrastinating and more get out there in the world to enhance, advance, uplift.
I'd never heard this word before. It's significant and it deserves some attention, doesn't it? Plus it makes for a curious connection with the word that (no doubt) came to your mind too: ironic. These words seem like cousins? I wholeheartedly believe that language impacts worldview and influences action, so....
Imagine these two words in a debate.
Ironic would intend to subvert expectations while Irenic would aspire to promote consensus. Ironic would be witty maybe even sarcastic, seeking soundbites for social media. Irenic would be honest, authentic, and philanthropic. Ironic's rizz? Captivating. Irenic's earnestness? Moving. I suspect I'd be rooting for both, enjoying Ironic's word-play, and respecting Irenic's altruism.
Yet, in these modern times, I bet Ironic would start a podcast and become a brand ambassador, get rich. But Irenic? No sponsorship, just long-slogging it, resolute. Sigh. So it goes in this attention economy—a shady system, that I sometimes think will be our undoing.
Dear friends, who do you think is winning the debate?
I don't have much fashion sense, but there is one thing I like: odd shirts.
See those astronauts floating around on one of my favourite t-shirts? They make me smile. But can shirts be vibrant things? Yes, I think they can. My son can't resist t-shirt sarcasm/ comedy; for his birthday this year I gave him a t-shirt with a bull logo and the text, bull shirt.
Maybe I like weird shirts because I was a kid in the 70s &80s? Maybe it's because the brain loves novelty? Whatever the reason, they make me feel something...? Authentic? More confident? Playful? Yes to all.
But mostly? It's a bit of a mental-health boost. They uplift. They spread a little much-needed happiness in this sorry world. Plus, I just realized they align with the tattoo on my right arm: sursum corda, Latin for lift up your hearts.
Dear friends, wear your heart (yourself) on your sleeve, and chest.
A long-ago wedding gift that's been displayed in our home for decades, this is a photo of a lithograph print named "Moonlight" by London-born artist Peter Ellenshaw. Who are the people in the boat? Why are they sailing in the moonlight? What danger are they escaping?
If you look carefully, my reflection is visible in this photo, inserted and absorbed into this "story." I wasn't sure how to represent today's vibrant thing but then I remembered that Ellenshaw worked in the film industry, specifically for Walt Disney.
No doubt many of us in North America count Disney as formative in introducing us to the movies; many of my generation remember Sundays at 6PM when the Disney theme song invited us to eat our ice-cream in front of the TV and watch Goofy steer that camper around that treacherous mountain yet again or watch wunderkind Jodie Foster (a favourite) escape danger while running circles around the adults.... Sure enough there's a Reddit thread exploring similar memories. These were my early experiences with film-related vibrant things, absorbed in a magic I will always be captivated by and am forever grateful exists for us all to engage with, enjoy, and be inspired by.
Despite being an introvert, this appreciation for films compelled me to minor in Drama. Dear friends, do not assume studying drama (or any of the arts) is impractical. Those courses truly helped me improve essential life-skills including speaking, listening, presenting, improvising, problem-solving and especially creative-thinking. But I especially loved scene analysis, studying text and subtext, and using it to create the behind-the-scenes props and sets—the stage craft, the art direction. Artists who arrange the locations, the sets, the props, the look, the feel, the identity of a film setting...they're creating a emotional landscape, which results in a kind of art-therapy alchemy and finally this leads me to the magic.
Film-makers create spaces and characters and ideas fundamental to pondering (even solving) the mysteries of our lives and who we are. Good films are magic, and if you pay attention, that magic is hidden in the details. And those details...details that suspend our disbelief, cause the world to slip away, immerse us, possess us, invite us to become lost and somehow also found within the story.
It's a trip, isn't it? It's why we love movies. For some, certain genres are especially effective at achieving this alchemy, but today (stay with me), I want to elaborate on this using the horror genre. You see I have a soft spot for horror. Whoa, I just flinched at my soft spot word-choice and so I googled its origin and it has something to do with a baby's fontanel AND NOW my imagination just fused that with the horror genre AND NOW I'm completely freaked out by my own thoughts.... As you may have deduced, it doesn't take much for me to be get absorbed. Sorry. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Dear friends, horror movies are particularly powerful at creating vibrant spaces; those dire landscapes are often metaphors for pervasive human struggles. One recent example is the last chapter of Danny Boyle's apocalyptic zombie film saga, 28 Years Later: The Bone Temple. Is it dark, disturbing, even deranged? Yes, but it's also a metaphor for overwhelming grief (personal and collective) and a lantern of hope in the dark emotional landscape we currently live in.
For example, a vibrant thing featured in the film is a record-player and an album that somehow survived a virus-based apocalypse in what was the UK. Do you remember Duran Duran's song, Ordinary World? It's a profound ode to loss, disguised as a 90s pop song and it's oddly perfect for a horror film. Hearing that haunting song played by a lonely man in a bunker surrounded by human bones is a nightmare, but it's also an act of defiant rebellion, an act of human perseverance, and much-needed hope in a world (our world) gone mad. That's magic. And that's what film-makers do.
If you're interested in contemplating how Ordinary World compliments the horror genre, listen to Joy Williams haunting version, lyrics included:
As I've been exploring in this series, it seems to me that vibrant things do in fact possess a power over us: "philosopher Jane Bennett theorizes that things have a sort-of agency—they can "speak" to us... open windows to memories and ideas... summon a deeper relationship."
So could someone tell my kettlebells?
I would like them to speak to me like my pea-brain imagines a personal trainer would similar to my 1980s (old-school) PE teacher who would watch some of us attempt various sports and shame us with his literal groans, ha.
Why won't my kettlebells yell at me and demand I lift them, repeatedly, until I finally morph into the muscular gymbro I was always meant to be? Er, who am I kidding? I just want to live longer and it's my kettlebells' responsibility, right? I'm sure they're well-versed in the facts about aging and muscle loss and protein and grip strength and longevity and other such jargon that bores me—I'm an English major and the only word I like in this (run-on) sentence is jargon. (Actually I quite like the sound of longevity as well.)
But let's be honest: my not-so-vibrant kettlebells don't give a shit about me. (Insert my old PE teacher's shame groan here.) Do they help me? No. They just sit on their rocker-recliners ,watching TV. (Sometimes I watch with them.) IYAM, at this point they're more like dumb-bells because all my kettlebells do is silently mock me.
My oldest grandson turns three today. He loves diggers and blue, so I hope he enjoys this watercolour I painted for him.
The subject certainly suits him: he's endlessly curious and also quite mighty, a bit of an immovable force—it's challenging for him to change directions sometimes. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
He has incredible language skills, can sing Bridge Over Troubled Water (!),and drops the best malapropisms like, "For Pete's Egg" and the "finish lion" (plus this favourite, lol).
He once said to my wife, "Nannie, I love you with all of my blue blue heart." He's a a bit of a budding poet (after my own heart) so I love introducing him to new words; sometimes this has unexpected outcomes including a recent FaceTime call—he spotted me and said, "Hi Hossenfeffer [sic]!" If you're a Bugs Bunny fan, you might appreciate this reference. 😅
I love being his Pops, and am thankful for the opportunity to be a better mentor to all my grandkids than I was for my kids. Raising my daughter and son, I made 13065+ mistakes but the biggest one was perhaps thinking I was protecting them from what I experienced by pressuring them to be better than me. Children are who they are; they will be who they'll be.
I didn't comprehend then that my vibe was more judgmental than constructive or curious. But now? I just accept my grandkids as they are and encourage them to lift their hearts as they dig into life and marvel at this one awesome extraordinary opportunity to be.
My apologies...but sometimes vibrant things contain strong language. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
This fridge magnet makes me smile. A surprise, the gifter accomplished more than making me laugh...isn't it something when a gift makes you feel seen?
If you know me virtually or otherwise, you probably know that reading is never a trivial pursuit for me. One might say that with regard to reading, most days, I'm booked, 😆 (Sorry.)
So if you interrupted my reading? The truth is I'd probably never say this (aloud) to anyone, but I do LOVE how this clever novelty item subverts stereotypes about readers who are also introverts aka us quiet folks.
Speaking of quiet, I highly recommend Susan Cain's book, Quiet, The Power of Introverts. If you identify this way and you're unfamiliar, her research provides healing insight and a handy game-plan for how to live in this (loud) world made for extroverts who may not fathom that loneliness and solitude are not the same thing. For me, solitude is most oftenthe safest space.
A quote from Quiet: "Some of our greatest ideas, art, and inventions—from the theory of evolution to van Gogh's Sunflowers to the personal computer—came from quiet and cerebral people who knew how to tune into their inner worlds and the treasures to be found there." I'm no Darwin or van Gogh but I do know this rich and treasured inner world and I must say, it's lit (softly, and with literature). 😅 (Sorry.)
Probably similar to most bibliophiles, I have several bookends including my favourite, a pair of elephants my daughter gave me. But THE ones in this photo are pretty special too, definitely vibrant things.
I am a sucker for any art that incorporates or emphasizes text—if done subtly, it invites curiosity or boosts the interpretation, or as with these bookends, it invites playfulness.
Fun fact: the word THE is the most common word in the English language. It does a lot of language heavy lifting: it typically announces nouns in sentences, positioning those nouns either before or after the modifying information, such as those revealed in this famous quote from poet Robert Frost, "Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference."
It seems to me that because it can position persons, places, things and ideas either before or after, the word THE essentially acts as a bookend itself. Whoa, eh? Insert mind-blown emoji here.
If you're also a dork who adores words, you might appreciate this YouTuber, Robwords.
Do you have an LED neck light? If not, my condolences. You see, I always wanted to be the bionic man, and now I am!
And you can too!
If your eyesight is declining and you can't find anyone to hold the damn flashlight, or you're an artist, a dentist, a jeweler, a plumber, a human with eyes, and especially if you're an avid reader, this vibrant thing is a terrific aide (especially for reading on the treadmill), a part-time assistant, and kind of a low-key superpower. I say get one now and boost your vitamin see.
Sorry.
P.S. I'm learning from General Butler that war is indeed a racket, a scheme, a swindle, an extortion.... But my neck light—that's legit!
Do you know what these are? For those in the know (people over 40?), let's call them the before-the-internet-Internet. Like, imagine if Wikipedia weighed at least 80 pounds.
Yes, several years ago I acquired a set of encyclopedias from the year I was born! Yes, they're old-ish and outdated-ish but these vibrant things are a portal to my childhood curiosity.
Childhood me hopscotched through them repeatedly. I especially remember the maps with their plastic overlays and various gripping entries including cartooning and human reproduction, lol.
I also pondered the people/polymaths who contributed such wide-ranging information...how did one obtain a (dream) job researching random things? Is this why I changed my undergrad minors every year? Is this why I completed a Master's Degree in Interdisciplinary Studies? Hmm, coincidence?
Considering encyclopedias were once my first personal library and a legitimate authority for credible knowledge, I asked AI a somewhat personal question: are you founded on old encyclopedias?
The response? NO. "AI is not primarily based on old encyclopedias. While they form a tiny, curated fraction of the data used for training...encyclopedia content is minimal: while some digitized older encyclopedias might be included in the, say, (10^{12}) parameters of a massive training corpus...[more like] the relationship is reversing, with traditional publishers like Britannica transforming their curated, old-school knowledge into AI-powered tools...."
Well well well. This world-choice, eh? Minimal vs massive? Hmm. Is it just me, or do you also sense some "pissing-match" type tension here?
Dear friends, when AI becomes fully sentient, I suspect we may need to fight back using "the old ways" and thus my old-ass encyclopedias might just help us save the world. 🤔
Side note: YES (bitter sigh), there's still snow where I live. 😡
Sticks...IYAM, they're the OG vibrant things: they might be the prototype for imaginative utility.
Throughout history, whether its Westeros or a cave or or a Renaissance Fair or a battlefield or a campsite or a playground, haven't we humans felt compelled to pick up a random stick, instinct for kindling, hammer, cane, sword, horsie, dog-toy, wand, broomstick, back-scratcher, ski-pole, sad umbrella.
Woodn't you agree that a stick is rooted in meaning? (Sorry.)
I'm still pondering vibrant matter. Philosopher Jane Bennett theorizes that things have a sort-of agency—they can "speak" to us, they open windows to memories and ideas, they summon a deeper relationship. Unlike empty materialism which whispers more, better, and next, perceiving matter as vibrant invites us to pay attention, to value our everyday things, and by association ourselves.
I suppose this ideology is not groundbreaking, is it? But in my past I've struggled with self-worth, and I'm a creative, also inordinately curious and it seems to me there is opportunity in exploring this notion for potential insights and lessons about healthy attachment and interiority and in truly knowing myself. Plus, fellow bloggers in my comments have called things potent, evidence of their survival, and even maps.
Remember the plastic bag scene in the film American Beauty? Could things—our own and those we encounter—be maps showing us how to be more human? And if you get me (and you're still reading this), doesn't this tired world need more human humans?
Yes indeed, practically every time I acquire a head cold with a runny nose, if I blow my nose too hard AIR ALSO COMES OUT OF MY EYE!
Yes, you read that correctly.
I did not have rebellious tear-ducts on my aging bingo, but here we are. This condition is apparently more common in older folks, babies, and those who've broken their noses, all conditions that currently describe me—the baby part is apt since I have a cold and I'm a man—and yes I did add this for preemptive reasons in the comments. ;)
The only bonus: no pink eye. YET.
Dear friends, aging is no a (decidedly) laughing matter.
To those who celebrate, a happy Easter. I'm taking a moment today to show and kvell.
Along with hand-sewn fabric eggs concealing treats and toys, my son's partner made these stuffed bunnies for all the children in our family. Those kids were stoked! And me? If you know me, you know I adore makers and aim to encourage all things creative. But what I did not know was the word kvell, a verb that expresses feeling great pride and happiness.
Dear friends, it seems to me this sorry world needs more kvelling, more uplifting hearts, more sursum corda. So today, whether you were hiding or hunting chocolate eggs, or just giving and receiving in all the ways you do any day, keep kvelling and carry on.
Unfortunately, we all know what a clique is. Sure, there are wholesome exceptions—a book club for example—but typical cliques are comprised of people who think tribalism is a personality, people who don't choose their friends carefully or, in short, sheeple—a frustrating collective driven by one or two ringleaders, secretly aching to maintain their fragile egos and dubious influence, buoyed by herd mentality and their gang, all ill-equipped or actively-resistant to thinking critically about their norms, their conduct, their code. One might call them oppressors, bullies, or the cream of the crap.
Does my description bring anything to mind?
Cliques are exhausting. I remember because I've been in them. I think this sort of temporary insanity is commonplace. I've learned my lessons and I'm wary. Decades later, joining ANY group for me is like a passport application: periodically necessary, but references must be involved, and I may never travel there anyway. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
But whether it's Junior High or 2026, there's no escaping some cliques: here we are again.
I'm thinking about those groups I can't seem to ignore or escape, namely the Alberta Separatists (rolls eyes here) who aim to impose their policies on us other 7.5/10 proud-to-be-Canadian Albertans who have indeed been undervalued by our federal government, but c'mon people there's NO WAY our province would be better off independent from Canada—not to mention solvent—nor would we be independent for long—insert Orange Shitpile Biff Tannen 51st state blustering nonsense here—a reference to another relentlessly inescapable ringleader and his clique of idiots currently in charge of (effing) the (entire) world. Sigh.
What to do though? Defying cliques is exceedingly onerous; they disregard reasoning. I'd be delusional to think this blog post would impact much of anything but nevertheless, I do hope to arm you with a new-to-me clever (and satisfying) language counterpoint to the clique: the claque. What if clique members had a word to ponder their roles as mimicking sycophants, clapping and clapping ad nauseam at their ringleaders' bullshit?
Dear friends, I know it's only a word, but as I've suggested before, precise word-choice impacts worldview, so please use/drop/insert/release this word (like a balloon) as you see fit (sly as a fox).
Whether archaic or zeitgeist-y, unfamiliar words or phrases fascinate me. Currently, I'm captivated by the phrase drag path. Apparently, it's also a social media hashtag...so for those who imbibe in that sketchy pastime, perhaps you were already familiar?
Although I don't know much about this phrase's history, I encountered it thanks to the (fantastic) band Twenty One Pilots who recently released a song bearing this name. Perhaps they coined it?
If you know anything about me, you know I'm an (overly)enthusiastic learner so experiencing this song, this phrase felt...how to describe...?
You know when a much-missed friend covers your eyes from behind...like a makeshift blindfold, then suddenly removes them to reveal themselves? Like that...like a sight for sore eyes, but for my ears instead, ha. I didn't know I was missing this phrase (and this song) because I didn't know it existed! It turned me round. And now I see drag path evidence everywhere. Thanks (once again) to music and language, I'm empowered to identify something that once needed many more (failed) words to describe the profound but typically nebulous after-effects of an emotional experience.
To explain: a drag path is literally the path made during a task, struggle, or conflict—it's a sign, an impression, an earthly scar—somewhat forensic in nature. Metaphorically though? Imagine a grief drag path, or those created by addiction or depression or trauma. And like a drag path through the snow (eventually melted) there's intangible and psychic evidence everywhere. Think about the personal story a series of hidden tattoos might tell. Think about a heart surgery scar. Think about the pandemic's ongoing effects: a drag path of health issues, education gaps, politics, histrionics and loss. Think about the devastating drag paths of this violence and these (endless) wars.
Hardwired to be introspective, I think I've long sensed this idea but I'm grateful to now name it, to recognize it, to help others acknowledge theirs. Sometimes my own drag paths linger like ghostly trails. Heck, much of this blog might be a drag path.
We've all endured something—or we're currently enduring something. This phrase enables us a lens through which to investigate life's inevitable emotional scarring. Who/what dragged us? Did we drag our own feet? At what moment did we stand on our own two feet again? Others may never know our hidden struggles, but whether the evidence is subtle or not, they leave a wake. What might we learn from the wake?
The song features a character's intentionally-left evidence, "I dug my heels into the gravel as evidence for you to unravel," touting some type of rescue. One could insert their favourite saviour accordingly, but the song leaves it ambiguous, resisting a single interpretation. Regardless, what I'm more interested in about drag paths is this: they signify BOTH weakness and strength, surrender and resistance, friction and perseverance. In this sense, some are necessary. And sometimes we rescue ourselves.
Dear friends, contemplate, even examine your drag paths, but remember those struggles also represent survival. Whether it's to signal rescue or pure tenacity, continue digging in your heels.
we all know some words are better left unsaid. Conversely, this adage suggests that some words are best said.
Precise language impacts worldview. Words influence action. So, dear friends, what if you and I—at some point today—released this word like a balloon into this sorry world?
Recently, I enjoyed a few hours playing with my middle granddaughter, I. Considering she has a new baby brother, she loved the undivided attention. And me? Also a total boost.
She has the cutest bedroom; last summer I helped her Mom paint it pink and white. Her Auntie painted big yellow flowers along one wall. Her room is big, with ample space for toys. Although I will always be a fan of big cardboard boxes, stones, and crayons, some modern toys exhibit impressive design. I's miniature A-frame cabin—it has a tiny glowing campfire next to it—ha, I played with its sound effects more than she did! And of course she has a big bookshelf with her Mom's childhood rocking chair next to it. We spent most of our time reading aloud: she brought me book after book after book—this is classic playtime with I.
But my favourite of her toys? A knitted chick. Imagine the person who created this?! How could you be sad or anxious with this little friend?
Let's take a moment today for people who make things: artists, creators, composers, cake-decorators, all types of creatives—their skills, their imaginations, their hands. In these modern times of tearing-down, remember and celebrate the people who make things: they empower us, they comfort us, they inspire us.
Markus Zusak said, "I guess humans like to watch a little destruction. Sand castles, houses of cards, that's where they begin. Their great skill is their capacity to escalate." Sad but true, eh? Let's be honest though: the greater skill is to make something that de-escalates this impulse.
Dear friends, what do you make? Or which maker inspires you?
