What is a tour without the exotic? In this case, fried insects?
One of the things The Ravishing Mrs. TB likes to do when we are in a foreign country is take a local food tour. I have to admit that the idea has grown on me: besides being a good way to get out in a more localized way, it exposes us to food that we often will not get on the larger tour. And so, the evening of the day of our Street Art Tour, we met up with a group and our same tour guide, got in a Tuk-Tuk, and ventured off.
A note: I am having to recreate these via memory and a link on Cambodian Cuisine, so any inaccuracies are from me.
Cambodian Fried Spring Rolls:
Every morning around 0600 as I take my morning walk, I pass the morning round of delivery vehicles.
They come in two types. The first is the large, blocky van associated with the world's biggest online retailer, complete with beeping noise when parked and the high beam incandescents indicating an electric vehicle, their drivers in the blue and grey uniform. The other are the personal transports - cars, trucks - with the driver that may or may not wear a safety vest clearly delineating themselves as a delivery person, single package grasped in hand.
The same two groups will appear in the evenings as I make dinner: added to these two groups are a third group, personal cars whose drivers are not safety vest clothed but are carrying boxes and bags of what are clearly food to doorways.
Even 5 years ago this was not a thing. Now, it is as regular an occurrence as street lights going on and off.
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My work, along with likely hundreds (or even thousands) of other companies, is heavily pushing Artificial Intelligence (or AI). When I say "heavily pushing", I mean a multi-week mandatory training regime to be done by the entire company. Progress is tracked. Levels of in-person engagement are expected.
The point of all of this is to bring Artificial Intelligence into our daily work. The anticipated outcome is that we will all begin to use Artificial Intelligence to automate simple (or not so simple tasks) and create tools that allow us to focus our time on higher level activities (what these "higher level activities" are never clearly defined except in generic sorts of examples). I am assuming that, for next year's goals, some level of Artificial Intelligence will be included: demonstrating using it in practical terms, creating a tool, automating tasks.
It was only in one of the later trainings that it was noted that those who learn to "adapt" will be the most successful in the new work place.
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The point of this discourse is not to argue the benefits or lack thereof for Artificial Intelligence; people far more educated and thoughtful are commenting on it. My particular point is dwelling on what I see as two opposite points: On one, an intensely manual process that has virtually no barriers to entry except the ability to drive and follow instructions on a phone; on the other, a process where automation is being heavily pushed as a way to make work more efficient.
That industries and companies will oversell the benefits of Artificial Intelligence goes without question in my mind: if history has demonstrated anything, it is that companies will triple down on anything that promises to save money regardless of the long term ability of said thing to save money or even work effectively. They will the initial results that they think they will get; the long term impacts - such as, for example, Artificial Intelligence not being the panacea for ever task - will manifest itself only after the people have been fired and the systems changed to accommodate Artificial Intelligence.
More importantly, what happens to the people who did those jobs?
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I cannot guess at the reasons people take delivery jobs. For some, it is likely the job they can get. For others, it is one of many they can use to piece together an income. But in either case, these jobs are predicated on an underlying principle: people have money to spend that allows them to buy things that include the overhead for delivery.
In an economy which is in distress - be it from a collapse in markets or a mass series of layoffs - the first thing to go for many is non-essential spending. Spending will concentrate down further and further into the basics - housing, food, the basics of living. And with that spending drop, goes all sorts of other jobs.
It strikes me that I am looking at an economic system that is eating itself from both ends, both the highly paid and technical side and the low end minimum wage side. What emerges from that I can scarcely imagine - except I cannot imagine it will be good.
In what is almost a complete reversal of my normal operating procedure, I am leading a short-term small group at my local church.
There is almost nothing more anxiety inducing to an introvert than leading anything; the fact that I am a "manager" at work leads to its own sense of anxiety as I try my best to be completely non-managerial. So the fact that I was suggested by my own small group leader for such a role is nothing short of either amazing or terrifying - or both.
In terms of commitment, it has a limited term: 7 weeks (really 6, as I was gone in Grand Canyon for 1 week). There is a program in place so I do not have to come up with anything. I just have to lead discussions for 1.5 hours a week.
It was a offer I almost passed up.
I have led groups in the past but arguably never felt I was very good at them, and with the move from Old Home to New Home my involvement in such activities almost completely ceased except as a member of groups. It was clear - painfully clear, at least then - that there was no leadership role in my future. And thus, when I was offered this opportunity, I almost passed it up again.
But I had a long thought about it first, not just buoyed by my small group leader's confidence in me, but by asking God about it - which is in itself always a risky proposition, because He might answer.
He did, in this instance - not in the Burning Bush sort of moment that Moses had or any sort of sky writing, but in the simple sense of a presence that indicated that this was something that I could - and should do.
But what if I fail at it, I threw back. My record was not stellar. What if I turned people away from Him instead of bringing them closer?
His response was simply "Whose group is it?"
My initial response was "Mine". And then I thought about it - for a rather long time, until the response came to me "Yours". He did not precisely smile at that point, but one could feel the sort of supernatural nod that comes when another party comes to the truth.
It is in fact His - and therefore, my excuse as to outcomes was invalid. I need only say yes and do my best; the results will be the results of His doing, not my fumblings.
Sometimes in our search for humility, we go to extraordinary lengths to demonstrate that we are humble and can learn lessons, even to the point of avoiding those things that we should be doing. Being humble has its place, but humbly serving when called also has one.
In our search for humility, let us never avoid the ability to serve in any role because we are so "humble" we do not think we can do the job. After all, it is not our job, but His.
Among our party that went on our hike last week, there was a gentleman from Out East that turned a year older in his early 70's on the trail. Besides being in great health (he had been going to the Grand Canyon for 5 decades, but thought that given muscle atrophy and balance issues this might be his last "Back Country" hike - but I doubt it), he had a small coterie of interests that he followed.
In chatting with him and his adventures (he is in the process of finishing up the Appalachian Trail), he comment that when he was in his early 60's he retired rather abruptly due to a work related issue. "Best decision I ever made" was his comment, and 10 years on looking at him there was nothing that I could hear or see to disagree with it.
As some shared readers may also know, FOTB (Friend Of This Blog) Old AFSarge from Chant De Dupart has also spent the better part of a year learning to be retired. It has been an interesting journey as a third party reading his thoughts, especially about the falling out of and falling into rhythms.
Why this sudden reflection on retirement? Going completely away for a week will do that to you. There is something about standing in the grandeur of God's creation, surrounded by wind and silence, that makes one think "Next week I have to be back arguing about language in documents for things that likely will never be read again".
It can be a compelling thought, if you think about it long enough.
In one way, I have "reached" the spot in my career that is probably the spot I always belonged in: the seasoned old guy who has seen almost every aspect of the industry, is the holder of some level of industry institutional knowledge, has no interest or illusions about moving up the corporate ladder, and in some ways is a sort of "Senior Stateman". It is not quite the same as the group of guys drinking coffee every morning at the local café dispensing wisdom and weather complaints, but it is as likely as I am to get to it in the employed world.
And yet...and yet, every day I have to finish here on the computer writing, put aside the sad looks of A the Cat and J the Rabbit, and get ready to go do battle again at tasks not of my choosing. An 8 hour chunk out of my day is pretty inconvenient at best.
Am I ready to retire? Financially probably not, although I am going to press into our Financial Folks a little more directly when we meet with them in December - not just the "Yeah, it is a thing I would like to do" but "How soon could it happen? What could I do now to make it happen sooner?"
I do not know that turning mid 70's on the trail is a specific goal of mine, but being in the condition to do it and having the time to get there is something that strikes me as more and more desirable.
One of the great issues in my mind about a general dearth of knowledge on and thoughts about philosophy is the fact that, on the whole, philosophy is presented in either isolated parts or large chunks of reading that manage to convey nothing of actual philosopher themselves. Philosophers - at least the Ancient ones which I read - are best approached almost in a sort of "pop-star" approach.
For example, if I had started reading Epictetus the Stoic Philosopher (A.D. c. 50 - 135) by starting with his Discourses instead of his much shorter and more pithy Enchiridion, I likely would have never been as taken with him as I am. In the same vein, had I started with some other work of Lucius Annaeus Seneca ( 4 B.C. - A.D. 65) other than Letters from a Stoic, I would have never had the pleasure of coming to appreciate his works (nor would I have had a main character for The Collapse!).
Similarly, I would not have truly discovered Socrates had I not started with The Last Days of Socrates
16 December 20XX+1
My Dear Lucilius:
We were startled this morning by a knock at our door. Imagine my surprise to find one of our Erstwhile neighbors on my doorstep. His hands were plainly in view, breath steaming away from the pulled up edges of the jean rancher jacket into the crisp and cloud free morning air.
“There has been a death” he said flatly.
I nodded back. I had been expecting something like this to start sooner or later.
In a few minutes I was out with him, trudging back through the snow on a path beaten down by his coming. Pompeia Paulina I had sent off with the snowshoes to get Young Xerxes and whomever else he could rouse in short order. The walk itself was silent, the crunch of boots on snow, breaths hissed in and out like steam engines.
We wound our way through the streets of Birch, existing paths more clearly laid out in the midst of the snow – but even with that, the lifting and setting of feet, the brushing through of those holes as they merged together into a path...I hate the snow at times, Lucilius, for all that I moved here willingly.
By the time we arrived at the house – a house I recognized a little too well, that of Terentia, the wife of the man shot by Cataline in self defense– a small crowd had gathered, both of our Erstwhile neighbors as well as Young Xerxes and a few of his volunteers. I pushed through the circle, as much as through assuming I could do so as any moral authority I might still hold with everyone here: the last thing that was needed was a fight in the snow.
Inside, a smaller group was there. I recognized some of Terentia’s family and The Fashionable Woman from the trial. They were weeping, but stopped long enough to give me a cold stare as I went by through the hall into a bedroom.
There, in bed, was Terentia.
Death had found her, it seemed, at night: she lay under covers, one eye closed and the other one bolt open looking up the ceiling. I forced myself to check her with a touch (How much I hate the thought of touching the dead, Lucilius): cold and unyielding. Whatever had happened – my guess would be some kind of heart attack; I had seen similar cases long ago – it had happened some hours ago.
The man I remembered as her son came in. We nodded at each other, then looked at his mother.
“Thoughts?” he quietly said.
“Likely a heart attack or some such thing” I responded. “It was quick.” We stood in silence for moments longer, the wails of the mourners filling the background.
I looked straight at him. “Any particular reason you called for me?”
He stared straight back. “Mostly to let you know it happened and make clear – to you, to me, to everyone – that it was a natural death, not something that was contrived or carried out. Things are already tense enough.”
I nodded back. “Will you need anything from me, or us?”
He shook his head. “No. We can bury our own dead.”
We stood there in silence together for a few more minutes. “My condolences” I said as I started to turn to leave.
“You know” he said as I started to trail from the room, “she never blamed you in the end. Although she refused to really confront the truth about my father, she eventually got over you. She was just too proud to tell you so.”
I turned to look back at him and then, on a whim, offered him my right hand, which he took. “Sometimes we can all be too proud to take the first step”, I responded.
The trip back to The Cabin was quiet, Pompeia Paulina giving me the space to think through what I had seen. As Young Xerxes and Statiera peeled off to go back home, I suggested perhaps he and a couple of his friends offer to help with relocation of the body.
It is never too late, Lucilius, to try to mend fences.
Your Obedient Servant, Seneca
