The Age Of Novelty

 One of the interesting stories in the book Superbloom by Nicholas Carr is how a superbloom of flowers in California caused a bit of a crisis when thousands of visitors swarmed the area so that they could take pictures of the Superbloom. It is a phenomenon that has manifested itself more and more, especially given the fact that social media and social influencers are now a thing.  People - really tourists - flock everywhere now, wanting to get their pictures taken by famous things. In some cases - like Justin Bieber in Iceland some years ago - these sorts of events lead to ecologic destruction of the environment in the rush to "get the picture". In other areas - like the Dolomites - local farmers have taken to charging for people to walk across their land to take pictures.

We all must now be able constantly see the amazing.  We live in The Age Of Novelty.

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The Age Of Novelty (Trademark for me, I guess) is a phrase that came to mind when I was thinking of the fact that our modern Western World constantly demands to be amused and enthralled by the novel.

Social Media has driven this of course:  we now see pictures from all over the planet (and beyond it!) of people going amazing places, doing amazing things, and - at least in appearance - living "their best life ever".  

And for many, they demand that this be true of themselves as well.

The Age Of Convenience helps this trend as well - technology helps us not only with the social media aspect but the travel aspect.  Abundant energy means we can go to the magical places quickly. And the abundance of riches means that such things are accessible for more individuals than ever.

The Age Of Convenience did not create The Age Of Novelty - after all, the ultra rich of every age have sought the exotic and unusual (looking at you, Roman feasts with peacock tongues), but it certainly democratized it.

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There is a danger in having living in The Age Of Novelty of course.  It is that we will become so addicted to novelty that the ordinary becomes boring and something we retreat from.

Most of life is - frankly - ordinary and not-novel.  It is a series of activities that we do every day.  Many of the things that we do to live and exist - work, cook, clean, provide; the ordinary things of life - are for the most part simply that: ordinary. They are not novel.

But it is in that ordinariness that we gain experience and knowledge.

By doing a thing a thousand times - say, drawing a sword or cleaning a house - I learn the best way to do the thing. I learn where I can perhaps shave some time and where I have to spend the time.  As I water a garden or care for an animal (or a loved one) over time, I come to know their foibles and their ways: I can learn where the best place is to plant tomatoes (not in the shade, apparently!) or when a rabbit suddenly loses their appetites.

I would submit that every person has mastered a thing has, at some level, been deep into the ordinary activities of that thing and life itself.

Novelty seekers are denied this.  Yes, they can - and do - see amazing things and have amazing experiences, but those are often one time events that may or may not stick and even if they do, become a memory or a memento on the shelf or a picture on social media, destined to disappear in the flow of information.  And coming back from those experiences, how pale and boring life must seem - the ordinary life, the life that most of us actually have to live.

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I have to be fair of course: I am as guilty of this as anyone else.  I feel the pull of the new, the novel, the exciting - and, as exhibited by my travels and hobbies, sometimes do it.

But there is, I feel, a difference.

For all that I go to these places and do these things, there are simply novel experiences.  They are not something that I constantly demand happen.  I am just as happy to return home and go for long stretches with my daily schedule and arguably quiet (and boring) life.

And perhaps therein lies the difference.  For some, they cannot walk away from The Age Of Novelty.  For others, it could be lost without any impact whatsoever.

Because even in the ordinary, we often find the novel.

Travel Interlude (IV): Whimsy Imagines

 

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The older I get, the more I embrace whimsy.

I embrace it because - as I continue to discover - my interests and passions are inherently whimsical.  They do not fit into the modern world at all.  They likely will not move me forward in "the world".  They will certainly not enhance my bank account or my career.  They might enhance my social media standing, but only with those that value such things.

And what have I discovered?  That those who value such things are the sort of people whose opinions I actually care about and in whose lives I am actually interested in.

So go be whimsical.  And then have the courage to build your life around that whimsey.  It will likely be far harder, but will also likely be so much more fun along the way.

Travel Interlude (III): One Friend

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Friendship is an odd thing - as more than one person has said, it can sometimes seem like walking down an aisle, randomly grabbing someone, and saying "This one.  This one is the one."

Most of those that have been or become my good friends over the years are not ones that I would consciously have chosen at first. They very often seem like a set of random events in meeting among the hundreds of people that we encounter in our lives.  There is something - some interest, some spark - that moves it beyond the greeting phase to the "Hey, this person seems like someone worth spending time with".  That moment is often lost to the history of friendship, but there are times I can still remember it happening: the moment where The Director introduced me to Uisdean Ruadh in the Spring Semester of our freshman year of high school, the moment at work where Rainbow and I started taking a walk at lunch, the moment when The Shield Maiden moved beyond just another throwing acquaintance to a friend.

What  difference those friendships make.

My friends believe in me, sometimes more than I believe in myself.  My friends have listened to me rant and rave and helped me come out on the other side, if not better than at least feeling heard.  They lift me up when I down, remind me of the things I have done when I can only think of the things I have failed at.

How empty my life would be without them.  

And what a testimony to the fact that one person, one friend, can truly change a life.
 

On Earning A Cryptocurrency

One of things going on in the (very far) background is the fact that I continue to using Brave as my main browser (sadly, Blogger no longer works well with Brave and - begrudgingly - I use Google there).  And one of the "selling points", as you might recall, is that as part of that service, you earn cryptocurrency ("BAT") on a monthly basis as you view add notifications.

I had performed a cryptocurrency experiment that older readers may recall (Reflection, End) and at one point used some of my BAT to procure a $25 gift card for The Mother Of All Shopping Sites.  And even I had "liquidated" my general holdings, I still continued to earn my BAT every month - and every month, I get a notification of earnings.

At the time I exercised that purchase, BAT was about $1.00 a token.  It now sits at $0.07. What would have been well over $150 in value 5 years ago is now barely $12.

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If you do a quick search on Cryptocurrency, you find varying assessments on how it has performed.

For example, apparently Bitcoin (even I have heard of Bitcoin) is still a major contender, with around 50% of the total Cryptocurrency market. Certain assets - Solana, XRP - have done better than Bitcoin as an investment.  The peak of cryptocurrency ownership was 2022 (33% of the U.S. Population), with 2026 showing 30% participation (I guess I am one of that "30%).

I also tend to observe how an industry is doing by its layoff pattern - and here, cryptocurrency suggests it is an industry in transition.  My regular daily scan at Dailyjobcuts.com shows the same patterns as many other tech companies:  layoffs and consolidations, with the notes of "greater efficiencies and use of Artificial Intelligence" being used as reasons for the changes.

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If there is a lesson here for me, it is that - once again - value is truly in the eye of the beholder, and all the wishing for things to be worth more does not make it so. Value is defined as what it is worth to the buyer, be it cryptocurrency or comic books or silver coins.)

(As a note, silver in the same time frame sold at $22.39 an ounce now currently "sells" at $63.58 - but that is the spot price; a seller will not get that.)

I do not intend to change anything I am doing in this regard of course:  I continue to use Brave, the "accumulation" (a very large word for a very small amount per month; last month I earned $0.03) does me no harm, and who knows - maybe sometime I will still hit it big.  

But it is occasionally a good reminder to me that sometimes, financially speaking, I get it right.

Travel Interlude (II): The Smallest Light

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We never know when or where our small light will make a difference.

That is why it is always important to shine.
 

Becoming My Father: Dressing Up Edition

 

One Sunday a few weeks ago prior to church, I found that I needed to take the trash out prior to leaving.  Having dressed already (but not having my shoes on), I grabbed my pseudo-Birkenstocks (plastic, $10.00 from Wal-Mart, used as "camp shoes) on hikes), grabbed the trash, and headed out.

Looking down, I suddenly realized I had become my father.

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TB The Elder had two modes of "dressing up".

The first - the one I remember most from my childhood - was him in slacks with a button up shirt and cowboy boots.  This would have been his Sunday "Going to Church" or other events that were not jeans appropriate (I can count on my two hands the number of times I remember my father wearing a suit to anything, including his children's weddings). 

Then, sometime in his mid-50's, my father discovered Birkenstocks.

How he discovered them I have no idea: I suspect 25 year old TB The Elder would have loathed them.  But 55-60 year old TB The Elder found them incredibly comfortable.

He wore them everywhere: in the house, out and about - almost everywhere.  The only time he specifically did not wear them was when he was working outside or in Winter when he had to go out to the woodshed to transport wood.  Otherwise, they were he constant walking companion.

And so - in TB The Elder 2.0 - he would often be found more or less as the picture above on Sundays:  button down short sleeved shirt, jeans, and Birkenstocks.

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It is odd, how these moments of becoming like my father strikes me.

I have related before that for many years I felt TB The Elder and I were very different people indeed:  different interests, different emotional makeups, different trajectories - really, just sort of randomly thrown together into a family by luck and genetics.  It is only over the years of adulthood - and in those, really in my 50's - that I have come to appreciate how much more similar we were than I had every thought.

The fact a random set of clothes reminds me of him no longer comes as a surprise.

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I still have a fair interest in my wardrobe, as it were.  Some of that is driven that I am still in a "professional" environment (although I am hardly "professional") and have to dress (to some extent) like I am an adult.  And to be fair, I have gotten more into vests and the associated long sleeved shirts (the climate here in New Home 2.0 is much more forgiving in that regard), mostly to accommodate my pocket watch and chain habit.  Which, as I am informed by the young people, means I have "Drip" (which I am informed is a good thing).

The vest and watch would, I think, make TB The Elder happy.  Although I suspect he would still recommend Birkenstocks.

Calling Autumn

Back on 13 August, Patrice at Rural Revolution wrote a post called "Calling Fall".  It is a subject that she has written on in the past and involves the day her husband, Don, declares "Fall has started".  

In listing his methodology, it can be a much more qualitative rather than quantitative:  the smell of the air, the look of the nature, the activities that are going on around them.  But at 1005 on 13 August, "Fall" was called.

It caught my attention because - for the last two weeks - I had been on the cusp of Calling Autumn myself.

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Growing up in Old Home, I cannot clearly tell you the signs that led me to believe that Autumn had arrived.  I know it happened sometime in September with the cooling of temperatures and the turning of the leaves - even if there was a false "Second Summer" that raised temperatures some.  I know that by the end of October, Autumn had passed - and when I was older, if I did not get my garden in by the end of October, it was too late.

New Home was similar in the temperature aspect.  But what really became apparent to me was the change in sunlight.

I cannot fully describe it to you when I first noticed it or how.  I just became aware one day that the sunlight softened, faded.  The angle was "all wrong" for Summer.  That, in my mind, became the defining moment of Autumn:  when the sunlight changed.

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Obviously we have not lived terribly long in New Home 2.0.  So what would convince me to Call Autumn?

I cannot - again - really tell you for sure.  Certainly here we have seasons and plants that respond to seasons and in some cases the trees are already starting to turn.  The temperatures are slowly creeping down.  The sunlight has not turned on me - yet - but I am casting a weather eye for it.

Autumn, as they say, is coming.

The Decline Of Craftsmanship?

Ælfric of Eyesham (A.D. 955-1010) was a late 10th century/ early 11th century monk and author in Anglo-Saxon England.  A Benedictine monk (and later abbot) he had a passion for writing and for teaching; many Old English works or translations from Latin we have are thanks to him (he is considered by some to be the most prolific author in Old English, at least one who is historical and not anonymous).  

As part of an instruction manual to teach Latin, he created a work called "A Colloquy on the Occupations".  An interlocuter asks about various occupations in late 10th century/early 11th century England.  The concept was that this was a "song and response" exercise:  the students would memorize all the responses and provide them and by so doing, learn all major grammatical parts of Latin.  Later, the work was translated into Old English.

The interlocuter asks the various occupations:

"Hwlecne cræft canst þu? Hwat dest þu?  Hwæm fremþ þine cræft?"  "Which craft can you do?  What do you do?  What benefit is your craft?"  

Each craft - monk, ploughman, shepherd, oxherd, hunter, merchant,  fisherman, fowler, shoemaker, salter, baker, cook - gives a description of what their craft does and how it benefits the community.  At the end, they ask an older, wiser monk "Which craft is most important?"  Perhaps unsurprisingly, the first answer given is "monk", drawn from the verse "Seek ye first the Kingdom of God and all these things may be added unto you".  The second is "ploughman" (Eorthtilþ), because without the farmer, no-one else eats and therefore practices their craft.

Interestingly, at the end of this work the wise man gives the following statement:

"And ic gelære eallam wyrhtum þisne ræd: þæt anra gewelc his cræft geornlice bega.  For þæm his cræft forlætt, se biþ fram  þam cræft forlæten.....And beo þæt þæt þu eart!  For þæm hit is micel demm and micel scand gif man nyle beon þæt þæt he is and he þæt þæt beon sceal."

("And I give all this advice by way of example: let every one practice his craft eagerly.  For he that forsakes his craft will be from his craft forsaken...And be that which you are!  For there is great misfortune and great disgrace if a man will not be what he is and what he shall be.")

(Note:  All translations are my own.)

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In re-reading this text, I was struck by the fact that one of the things presumed by this statement, and one of the things that we seem to be losing in the modern world, is the idea of craftsmanship.

I know - it is a long way from an 11 Century monk talking to salters and oxherds (and a longer prologue) to a decline of craftsmanship in the modern world.  But his instruction at the end leapt out to me.

Once upon time - prior to the Industrial Revolution - most people did what their parents did.  This was likely just as much about security as it was about "imprisoned" in a job category:  in a world where a single bad season or single business failure can signal starvation, "risk" is carefully weighed and often avoided.  But with the advent of the Industrial Revolution, individuals could do other things than what their parents did (maybe not more interesting things, but different things)  And that, in turn, held - almost up to the current era, where suddenly the concepts of "job hopping" and "skills-based employment" came into vogue.  Suddenly, one not spend one's entire career at one job or even in one field.  The work world was a vast meadow of flowers, all to be sampled by some.

What we lost in all of this is years in the field.  Years that one could develop experience.  Years that one could develop craftsmanship.

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Craftsmen and Craftswomen come in all forms.  Some are the sorts we might think of immediately, individuals working in seemingly archaic industries as a cooper or blacksmith or wheelwright.  Others are in the trades or blue collar jobs, running pipes or electric wire or industrial production.  Others are white collar workers (we do not think of them as often), individuals in knowledge based industries where that knowledge is deep and often applied.  And others are amateurs (The root word coming from Latin, "Amator", meaning "one who loves, an enthusiastic admirer, devotee") who do all of these things have specializations in things they love:  Early Roman Republic Armor, garden railroads, weaving, black power riflery.

All of them experts in their own way.  And that expertise, that craftsmanship, comes by nothing else than years of learning and years of doing.  Two things that are denied those that are always moving from one place or thing to another.

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One can successfully argue that industrialization and the technology revolution has rendered much of craftsmanship obsolete, or at least an expensive option.  And at some level, I suspect that is true:  once any technological genie is out of the bottle, all we can do is navigate it - it is not going away.  But even in that navigation, there does not need to be a wholesale abandonment or the need to constantly find something else.

On the one hand, many deplore the "cost" of a craftsman or craftswomen when we can just it get more cheaply at Big Box Mart or Generic Service Provider.  But inevitably, the differences stand out in ways that are as noticeable as they are not spoken of.

When you pay for craftsmanship, you pay for the years of experience and knowledge.

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Does this continue to decline or even reverse?  It is ridiculous to claim "all is lost"; there are millions of people out there who do care and are becoming exponents of craftsmanship in their own right.  In one of the few uses of social media I completely endorse, there are thousands of them showing off their crafts.

Ultimately, I wonder if they are not the ones at risk.

The ones most at risk are those who do not have that level of expertise in a single thing, certainly a single thing that provides something of value.  The journey to craftsmanship always involves the development of a mindset and learning that makes one useful no matter where one is.  The journey of the job hopper always leads to "What is the next, newest thing"?

I have come to greatly admire those that work to develop and grow in the craft - after all, Ælfric would counsel us not just to be what we are, but be what we will become.

(Author's note:  Matthew Crawford is a deep thinker on these matters and has influenced my own thinking.  I cannot recommend his books Shopcraft as Soulcraft and The World Beyond Your Head enough.)

A Japanese Sort Of Stroll

About two weeks ago on an early Sunday morning, I took a sort of Japanese stroll.

Most people are familiar with the kimono, the robe-like clothing most often associated with Japanese clothing.  Less people may be familiar with the hakama, a pair of divided trousers with pleats worn for formal or semi-formal occasions.  And almost all Asian martial artists are familiar with the gi, the upper shirt with short sleeves held secured with ties.

What people might be less familiar with are another form of the hakama, called historically kobakama, the traditional "short form" trousers worn under armor or for general use.

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The largest differences between hakama and tattsuke-bakama (from an unsophisticated point of viewer such as myself) is the fact that they do not have longer, flowing legs of the hakama but rather are gathered at the knee.  Below them (at least in this model and the one I own) they legs shrink to kyuhan (gaiters) that are tied around the calf:

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My pair are from a store on Etsy, Siamurai, who delivers great work.

All of this to say, that Sunday I put on my gi, my obi (well, one of my obis, or belts - I have a few), my tattsuke-bakama, and my jiki-tabi (a form of the tabi, the traditional Japanese split toed sock, but made of heavier canvas, going farther up the ankle with snaps, and having a modern rubber sole) and went for a walk.

It was a very different experience.

It was early in the morning of course, so the chances I would attract attention were minimal (as I had planned it).  

The kobakama, being of linen, did not wear or sound like the more modern fabrics that I usually wear.  They were quieter, less noisy.  The jiki-tabi hit the sidewalk as would any modern sole, but once we got the trail portion of my walk, the sound almost disappeared in a way that modern walking shoes do not.

Walking along the dirt portion of the trail, with forest to one side of me and a stone retaining wall on the other, one was almost transported to a different time, where almost all transportation was by foot and the only sounds were those of nature and the quiet steps of the one walking.

It was an interesting, meditative experience.  Certainly something worth repeating.

The Age Of Convenience

 When I was growing up, the only access to books we had was our local library.

Annually of course, we had that greatest of events, the Scholastic Book Fair.  And even more occasionally - maybe once a year - we would go to our local big city where we would go to an actual book store.  The store itself - a relic of the late '60's/early 70's, with its haphazard shelving and narrow rows and towering heights (at least to a child) was what I have always associated with a "good" bookstore; the modern version of over-lit fluorescent lighting, wide aisles, and organized sections is not for me.

And then, when I was at the age of Middle School, my town got a bookstore.

Suddenly, books were only a short car drive away, available (for purchase) all year!  Yes, one was confined to the stock on hand - but still, the wonder!  I saved my allowance and bought books (some of which I have to this day).  One bookstore became two, and then one day I discovered "Chain" bookstores were a thing.  The literary world was my oyster.

And then in 1998, I found a place called "Amazon".  Suddenly, there were no boundaries.

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One wonders if, in years to come and histories are written, if this will be called "The Age Of Convenience".

We have at our fingertips the ability to order anything from almost anywhere and have it delivered to our door.  Not just the ordinary things, like books or clothes or groceries.  Exotic things:  Skyr from Iceland, tea from Japan, every imaginable cat toy upon the planet. Shoes that are in my actual size, not the nearest fitting size I can find.

The even more amazing thing is that we scarcely have to wait for such things if wish. Once upon a time, ordering things and waiting for a month was considered expedited.  Now even a four day wait is considered excessive; I can get things in 24 hours or less if I desire (and am willing to pay).

Truly, we live in an age of miracles.

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The Age Of Convenience is, of course, built on two foundations:  cheap, reliable, abundant energy and a wealthy economy.

Cheap, reliable, abundant energy fuels the modern world.  It allows the use of hothouses in locations they would never traditionally be.  It allows the manufacture of items that once upon a time were handcrafted (or simply did not exist).  It allows these items to be transported across the world in relatively short periods of time compared to most of human history (via sail, cart, or foot).  And it allows these items to be dropped in our stores or at our doors sometimes with hours of our ordering them.

The other aspect is that for convenience to be worthwhile, it has to be marketable.  Companies, be they single owner, family businesses, or corporations, are in business to yield a profit.  Convenience is a way to secure profit by providing items easily - at a price.  Take away the ability to make money from a convenience and the convenience will disappear eventually - after all, there is no point in providing a service at a loss.

Without energy being cheap, reliable, and abundant, goods and services do not move quickly or as freely.  Without wealth, there is no incentive to offer convenience, at least on a large scale.

In that sense, we live at an apex of history.

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What happens when The Age Of Convenience ends?

For some of us - mostly older, but also those that have for various reasons chosen a simpler lifestyle - it will be a return to form.  Certainly it may inconvenient - after all, I have gotten just as used to being able to get almost anything quickly - but I can adjust; after all, we have likely mastered the art of doing without or making it out of something.

For those that have never lived in this reality or have forgotten, it will likely be very difficult.  Not having instant access to a thing or perhaps the thing not even being available would be hard, especially if that had not been true their your whole life.

But perhaps, not essential.  Because convenience is, well, convenience.  It is not essential.

TB Goes (Back) To School

"To those who said to Diogenes the Cynic, 'You are an old man, take your rest', 'What?'  he replied.  'If I were running in the Stadium, ought I to slacken my pace when approaching the goal?  Ought I not rather to put on speed?'"  - Diogenes Laertius, Live of Eminent Philosophers

The whole thing, as it turns out, starts about 28 years ago.

As longer time readers may recall, at one time I had submitted myself for consideration in the pastorate of a mainline denominational church.  As part of that consideration, I had to take a 3 day psychological exam which, as turns out, determined that I was not qualified (at least from a personality standpoint) for the ministry.  As part of that assessment, they also suggested that I consider going back to school, getting an advanced (Ph.D.) degree in Classical Studies, and become a college professor.

I have loved and been interested in history since I was 10 years old and found out we were going to visit my uncle in Japan. I started reading (or consuming) history.  That never stopped in all the intervening years - if anything, I just kept layering on periods of history, some because of interest and some because of gaps in my education. One of the latter points was Greek and Roman History, which was definitely a gap that I had to address.  At some point during the intervening years (post undergraduate for sure), I purchased a translation of The Peloponnesian War by Thucydides, and I was hooked. 

The difficulty was when this "suggestion" came in, we were months away from our first child Nighean Gheal.  The Ravishing Mrs. TB had first gone on medical leave and then was laid off; I was the only income our family had.  And so, this idea was shelved as unrealistic.

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I studied over the intervening years of course. I had a basic understanding of self taught Latin and an even more basic understanding of New Testament Greek (Ancient Greek remains beyond me).   Penguin translations continued showing up on bookshelf until I exhausted that resource.  Then I discovered Loeb Classics with their original text/English Translation, and my library expanded again.  I purchased other history books as well (in English of course) as well as continued to feed my library with military works (and uniform pictures) from Osprey Publishing.

But there were two more children to arrive (Nighean Bhan and Nighen Dhonn) and a business to fail and financial rebuilding and a family to support and then college to pay for.  Learning, it seemed, would always be an ad hoc affair for me.

Until...

Until four years ago Nighean Dhonn, whose major is Archaeology (Classical Greece), mentioned she was looking at graduate schools for her next step when she graduated.  I started looking at them as well, more out of curiousity than anything else.  After all, I was now in my mid-50's: a formal degree at this point seemed wildly out of place and (arguably) useless.

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One of the programs I found was Master's Degree in Classical Studies.

It was fully remote.  It did not require mastery of Greek or Latin (there is a third track, Classical Literature).  It allowed up to six years to complete the program, one class at a time.

It took me time, of course.  Mostly because I had "reasons" from 2022, when I first started interacting with the school.  Na Clann, or at least two of them, were still in college or going.  It was still the height of The Plague with the uncertainty of employment.  And, as time went on, I had to contend with two layoffs. 

I started two applications from 2022 to 2025; both of them expired.  And then, this year, I finally stopped making excuses.  

During a trip to New Home I got my paper transcripts from the storage locker.  I scanned them.  I had no college professors to give me references (I even wonder if any of my professors still live or are teaching;  My Former Boss, my Sensei from New Home, and The Director stepped in and graciously offered to write one for me. 

This thing was going to be dealt with, one way or the other.

And then last week I got word.  I was accepted into a Master's Program for Classical Studies.

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And so, in theory, later this month I start the second round - could we call it a Renaissance? - of my educational journey.

There is still work to do of course.  My acceptance is "provisional"; I still have to submit all my official transcripts (As an interesting side note to those who attended colleges years ago, you will remember the painful process of calling former schools or having to mail letters to get official transcripts.  This is all now completely 100% online.).  My initial fee is paid.  Assuming all that happens, I start classes around the end of the month (and immediately have to explain I will likely be gone for the first class as I will be in the middle of Sierra Mountains without cell coverage).

What am I going to do with this degree?  Honestly, I am not sure: this is as much for personal fulfillment as it is to reach any kind of goal.  A part of me says that this could play into the "Second Act", my post-retirement life (if all works out, I will graduate approximately 6 months before I plan to retire).  

Sometimes it is not that the door is closed; it was just the wrong time for it to open.

On Interns And The Future

 This past week I was asked to speak to the Summer Interns.

I was a bit of a last minute substitution:  the original speaker (a member of the Site Leadership Team, or LT) had something come up at the last minute and they needed a substitute.  One of my coworkers with whom I am friends (and manages the program) asked if I would be willing to speak.

Of course I said yes.  After all, I like my friend. Also, there was free lunch.

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The format was similar to "Meet the X" in years past when I was a student:  I sat in front of around 30 interns at a U shaped table, uncomfortably the focus of their attention.  Each of them went around and introduced themselves:  Name, major, college, year in school ("X" year student is now the norm, not "junior", "senior", etc.).  Then of course it was my turn:  name, rank, brief job history.

And then, open question time.

The questions were likely the sorts of ones you would expect to hear in these sorts of things:

- "What was one of your greatest challenges in your job?"

- "How did you get into the industry"

- "What do you recommend to help you succeed?" (No surprise here:  I recommended "Be nice" and "Be kind".)

- "What do you look for in a resume?"

- "Do you have any books you would recommend?" (Again, likely no surprises to readers here:  The Enchiridion (The Handbook) by the Stoic philosopher Epitctetus and Go Rin No Sho (A Book of Five Rings) by Miyamoto Musashi. I think at least one of the interns wrote the titles down.)

We also had a fascinating discussion about Iaijutsu.  I do not think I am actually supposed to use the term "Blood Throw" (Chibori) in a professional setting, but there you go.

I will say they were all very polite, well-mannered, and seemed to pay attention (very minimal phone checking that I could see).  

---

Later in the week, they did their poster displays (to show what they had been working on in their time there).  Typically I do not go to these, but felt obligated as I had spoken to them.

Every one of the posters was great. There are a lot of smart young people out there ready to take on the world.  Lots of great and applicable projects to the work we are doing at our site (as an interesting side note, lots of use of Artificial Intelligence).  

The biggest thing that surprised a number of them that they did not expect to learn during these projects?  How important communication was and how many different stakeholders there were.

---

I left both happy and sad.

I left happy because - contrary to what one may see on social media (I say that; I largely avoid the news now), not all young people are hating on the world and society.  Some really are trying to do good and useful things - and they seem like are ready to take on the world (as we all were, once upon a time).

I left sad because of the same future.

In Spring 2025, it is estimated that 1,028, 185 students graduated with a B.A. or B.S. Of those, STEM programs (Science, Technology, Engineering, and Math) as well as business are among the top majors.  And while STEM jobs are growing in need (and apparently we are woefully behind in graduating them), we are also dealing in world where multiple countries are graduating STEM graduates (China, for 2025, produced 3.57 million STEM Graduates).  Add to that the burgeoning use of Artificial Intelligence which will automate a great many things, and I think it is going to be a tough job market in the future.

---

I am grateful I had the opportunity to speak to them and see the work that they are doing.  It did fill me with a bit more confidence about the future and about the younger generation.  

Hopefully they, in turn, walked away with a little more appreciation that there is a world outside of a career and the things you have to take to get a degree.  

After all, no-one dies wishing they had just one more day at their job.

A Visit To A Former Boss

This past weekend I went to visit my former boss who retired earlier this year.

The drive was approximately 2 hours North/Northwest of New Home 2.0, over the major river in this area, past a port or two, and into a lovely green part of the world largely forgotten by almost everyone but its inhabitants and logging companies.  It was not "remote" in the sense that it is far away, but it is in a valley isolated from freeways, towns, and tourist destinations. Likely no-one goes there except for a purpose - I, myself, would not have found the place without a last minute text letting me know to go beyond where The Computer In My Pocket's instructions ended.

It was not quite the end of the world, but I think you can see the end from there.

---

I have, on the whole, been blessed with a series of excellent bosses.

I use the word "boss" by choice, both because that is the word I started with all those years ago with my first job in high school and partially because it covers any range of titles (from supervisor up to VP or Head) that had authority over me.  "Manager" truly is a job title, not a necessarily a role, and the more modern phrase of "People Leader" seems precisely wrong: not all people are leaders, and not all people leaders lead their people, or at least, lead their people well.

My bosses have indeed been excellent bosses overall, full of knowledge and insight and understanding - and where they were not excellent bosses (or even good ones), they were generally good human beings outside of their role as my boss, which helped ease the strain a bit when friction arrived; if nothing else, you can find some humanizing element to center on in difficult conversations.  From all of them I have learned - mostly good things both in terms of knowledge and wisdom, from others simply how not to be that kind of boss.  Most of them lightened the load where they could, taught me things that only experience can teach one in an industry where the practice is as much an art as a science, and most importantly taught me in turn how to (hopefully) be a good boss as well.

Much like any teacher in school, in some way they live on through me (although, to my knowledge, all of my current industry bosses are still with us).

---

We had the most of splendid of visits.  She showed me her property with its various outbuildings and places she practices her various arts (now much more full time), and her extensive garden (the picture above is what she sent me home with, which represents. 0.00000001% of her output:  cabbage, three kinds of onions, three kinds of garlic, shallots, and jams and salsas). 

We chatted about work, both over the lunch that she just "whipped up" of onion soup made with fresh onions and shallots from the garden and homemade bread and later after the tour.  She offered some wisdom, gave some suggestions, listened to me kvetch  about the current state of work affairs - which has not really changed since she left (of course they have not) - and gave me insight into thinking more about what my own next few years might look like  - if there is an advertisement for "retire as soon as feasibly possible", she and her husband are prime examples.

I am grateful, of course.  Grateful for the conversation, grateful for the gifts (sauerkraut is now in the crock and cabbage soup has been made and I now have garlic to plant for Winter) - but mostly thankful for her kindness and guidance and, by extension, the kindness of all the bosses I have had.

You really never know how each and every relationship will influence those on the other side of it, even years later.

The Places We Love Most

 

(Source)

There is a place in the far Northwest of California the runs along the coast where at one time, military bunkers were installed.  I cannot completely tell you the place now and the pictures and names I look at do not look familiar to me, but I would know it in an instant if I were to see it again.

That spot was the last time I took a trip with three of my college friends.

Two were my roommates from college, one a young lady that we had all more or less taken up as one of our own.  We hiked in along the coast, spent the night, then hiked out the next day.  I say hiked; these days likely I would have called it a day trip.

But there was a moment here, a moment of passing that was not reflected in any of the other activities of graduation or moving or traveling on would reflect in the weeks ahead. 

It was not that this was home.  But it set with me that for all the change that was coming forward that we had enjoyed two wonderful years living together (at least the three guys as college roommates).  It was a marker, a place to both say goodbye to and go out from.

---

There are places that figure in my life because of my memories and associations there:  my house growing up, my grandparent's house in town, The Ranch, even my hometown.  Those hold a lot of joy and memories for me as the represent the people that were there as much as any other thing about it.

But there are other places as well, places that were not necessarily "people" based but I can see and feel them even how, places that somehow grounded me at points in my life.

The woods behind my best friend's house during middle school where we ran amuck as young boys should, tearing through the forest, building forts, camping out.  The Director's House in high school, where I spent many a day (and night) in harmless shenanigans and planning as the world was our oyster at the time.  The track around my hometown high school, where Usidean Ruadh and I would walk for hours and hours, talking about everything and anything under the sun.

Sometimes it was - or is - the streets around the places I lived, where I could walk and think and allow my emotions to work themselves out.  A Rabbit Shelter, where I felt useful every Sunday no matter what the week was like.

Places that gave me some sense of belonging to someone or something, places to turn where the universe felt cold and uncaring.

---

Not every place is like that of course; there are a score of work locales that have merely been places that I exchanged time for labour, churches where the relationships were deep but I moved on due to a change in location, the "favourite" restaurant that - for various reasons - was not longer visited.  There are memories there too of course, often good ones.

But never the sort that reminded me of the rather important point that somehow I was grounded, that I belonged.  

That, as the quote says, I was never as lost as I believed.

Having A Plan

The whole thing started in late May when I broke a tooth.

I am a stress consumer of snacks and - conveniently - at work there is a large container of mint Life Savers.  I was stressed and not thinking and bit down; off came a part of a molar on the right side of my mouth.  I did not crack the tooth (fortunately), but there was a new set of sharp edges in my mouth which created problems for my tongue.  I tried to manage it for a day, then made an emergency appointment at the dentist.  She ground it off and reminded me that I needed to not do that (also, that my enamel was pretty much gone there and any future repairs would be less "delightful".

I resolved this was not going to happen again.

To help manage this process, I did two things.  The first was to reload the food tracking app on my phone and make myself use it to keep track of everything I ate (and hopefully shame me into not gulping Life Savers like candy).  This also drove to the fact that with a hike coming up in the near future, I needed to carry less of "me" around. (Which seems to be working:  I have completely stopped consuming Life Savers, reduced my overall snacking, and am down almost 10 lbs.).

The second - tracking my food as I was - is that it re-ignited more fully using my bullet journal to track my overall activities.

---

I have used a bullet journal - or dot journal, or (I am sure) a host of other names - off and on for six years.  In short, there are a multitude of ways to use it (which really appeals to my "Let me keep trying things until something sticks" nature); the core is using a series of "bullets" or check marks to track activities that need to be done, are not done, or need to be moved.  There are as many ways to do them as there are personalities and plenty of resources to do it (Dot Journaling:  A Practical Guide).  

The other great thing about them is that one keeps a table of contents up front and then enters information as it happens - no matter what; thus it becomes less of a daily planner and almost more of a journal or information source.  In mine, I have weekly plans, conversations with my career coach, items from a book, plans for things - all there in sequence and a table of contents entry, ready to be recalled.

A challenge of learning to use it for planning has been "what" to include in a weekly plan.  Over time, I have learned that activities that I will always do as a routine need not be there - reading the Bible in the morning for example, or studying Old English.  Other things - things that I might let slip or find a reason not to do - benefit greatly from being an item to check off.

It really is true:  there is something indefinable about checking something off that actually creates more of an incentive to complete things.

---

The system of writing things down and getting them done was working - in fits and starts to be sure, but working (one of the great challenges for me in this system is to accept that everything does not get done and sometimes an arrow pushing something to next week is okay).  I felt like the needle was starting to move in parts of my life.

And then, last weekend, I took an outing.

The outing was not the issue.  The fact that I spent money on the outing was not the issue (this was known up front).  What was the issue was the fact that I had not planned out how much I intended to spend.

No, it was not astronomical and no banks were broken.  No gambling was involved and no large sums of money were lost.  But it forced me to recognize there was a gap in the system.  

Planning was not just for the things I wanted to accomplish.  Planning was for those things that were fun as well, if for no other reason than insuring I left with the same sense of fun I had planned for.

---

It was a good lesson for me - especially after the relative success I feel I have been enjoying with the system I have cobbled together.  It is really good practice for whatever not doing my main line of work will look like, whenever that day comes (I keep hoping more quickly, but we will have to see).

It is good to have some level of spontaneity.  It is a better to have spontaneity with a plan.

On A PR And Showing Up

This Saturday past, I hit a Personal Record weightlifting.

Personal Records (PR) is a measurement tool used in probably every sport.  It is simply a measure of something achieved:  a weight, a distance, a height, something to mark progress. They are intensely personal in that we are all different and start at different points; my personal record may be someone else's starting point.

But they are markers, markers of progress made.

---

My weightlifting journey, begun at least 10 years ago, has had a tough go over the last three years.

Part of that was due to the combination of layoffs in 2023; gym membership was one of the first things to go as cut.  I did have access to the gym at the community center for my HOA, but it just was not quite as good.  Then the move of course, and the use of my apartment gym, which had the basics and allowed me to maintain at some level, but not really progress.

I finally rejoined a gym last year (one of the big corporate ones, subsidized to some extent by my work).  It is less than a mile from work and thus convenient in the sense that if I go after work, I will get a workout.  Of course, going after work also means going at the most crowded time of the day, which pushes the workout longer.

My overall progress has been less than desirable.  I am, if nothing else, inherently lazy, and always looking for a reason to put off the workout until another day.

---

My PR on Saturday was for a deadlift, lifting a barbell with plates from the ground to one's hips.  One of the main Olympic lifts, it is a great overall lift as it engages almost every leg muscle, the back muscles, and the grip.  It is also one that has the greatest risk of injury if not done correctly (important safety tip:  Flat back).

The PR was for 5 lbs/2 kg for four reps, 4 x 265 lbs/120 kg. 5 lbs may not sound like much of an increase - but this is at the end of an increasingly heavy series of lifts (for me, 45 lbs., 135 lbs., 185 lbs., 205 lbs., 225 lbs., 245 lbs., and then 265 lbs.).  I suppose one could go directly to the end weight, but warming up and repetitions matter as much as the final weight one lifts.

After confirming the PR, I checked my notes. I had been chasing this particular weight for 5 years.

(By comparison, the current record for raw deadlift (no suit or straps) is held by Benedikt Magnusson at 460.4 kg/1,105 lbs.)

---

I - all of us - are in a race against time where in the end, we lose.  And having more than fully entered my late 50's (almost to the point I can no longer claim them), I am starting to come to grips with the fact that certain physical things are either gone or disappearing.  The fact that I can actually increase my ability to lift a weight was unexpected.

It is also hopeful.

It is a good reminder to me that time is not just a one way thing, that time - plus effort - can yield results that I would not have anticipated.  It is just a matter of showing up every time and doing the work, no matter how boring it is or the length of time between available equipment.

How utterly encouraging to find there are still records to be set.

Take Up Space

 

(Source)

About a month ago, someone approached me after watching me speak for a bit.  

"You shrink in when you speak"  they noted.  "Not your voice so much - you are loud enough - nor your gestures - you keep the audience's attention.  But you kind of shrink into yourself as you speak, as if you do not really feel like you belong there.  Own your space."

I thanked the individual profusely.  It was not something I was aware of.

---

One of the concepts from the sword art I practice, loosely translated, is the idea of "Projecting Bigness".

The idea is not simply that of standing taller or pushing one's arms and elbows and chest out.  It is just as much about an attitude of occupying the space you are in, of being a presence as you walk or move in training.  It should not matter whether or not you have a weapon; the very fact of who you are as a martial artist should be enough.

After nearly 17 years of training, I still struggle to do this at times.

---

If the world wishes anything for us, it wishes that we would not take up space.

Oh, it quite loves it if we take up space as part of a crowd, another of a long line of grey drones that march in lockstep, singing from the same songbook.  There is no risk in this.  In fact, it loves the fact that we are take up space - safe space, space that does not challenge but rather accepts.

But that is not our calling.

Do not shrink into yourself, I have to remind myself every day.  Own your space.  Project bigness.  Be colourful, not muted.

Take up space.

The Golden Little Things

(Source)

 This past Friday at The Allotment, I drove bamboo stakes into the ground.

Part of these were to shore up my tomato plants (11 of 12 of which are still alive); the remaining staves were driven by the black beans to give them something to climb up. Tying the tomatoes up was itself an adventure, as the attachment material I had was sufficient but cutting the lengths turned out to be a bit of an adventure.

It was only me in the garden that evening, pushing and cutting and tying (and occasionally muttering to myself, cutting a new length, and trying again) followed by watering.  The evening was coolish and crisp, the noise low as - due to the holiday - people were out doing other things rather than driving through local neighborhoods on their way to something else.

Blessedly mosquito freely, I stood in the falling darkness with the hiss of water through the hose my only companion.

---

More and more, I find that such moments and such things are ones that I have to make and preserve for myself.

The world, with its news, social media, entertainment - none of this provide this anymore. And once upon time, at least for me, I could find such moments there.  But not any longer:  without a great management of what one sees and what one follows, elements of what has become a social "free-for-all" in all the worst ways is constantly before one.  

More than ever, it is left up to us to provide ourselves with this moments - these Golden Little Things - to preserve the light for ourselves.  And I confess, I find myself in need of them more than ever.

---

And so I have become a collector of The Golden Little Things: a rabbit tearing back and forth in the early morning in my living room, a cat sleeping on the top of a couch in the sun, (or on me, weighting me down), a video clip of a garden railroad or rabbits on social media, doing Iai in the failing evening light, the sight of plants popping through the soil that I had sown there.  

I find them too in the things that I have now:  the book that I unexpectedly remember (or "mysteriously" comes in the mail), the shirt or vest I love to wear, boots in general, the ability to sit on a balcony with a glass of wine and a book, moments of God I did not expect to have but appear none the less.

I put them away in soul and memory, guarding against the encroaching darkness of a world where - from almost every side - I no longer fit in nor am worth trying to fit in, more and more a monolith of another time fading into the evening as I watch the world hurtle by while I seem frozen in time.

 

Memories And Data

 This past week, with the purchase of a tripod for to use with my Computer In My Pocket for remote iaijutsu class (we do not always have access to our facility), I seemed to acquire yet another cord for yet another small device to be charged.  I went to put in the basket I had allocated for such things - and now found it full not just with other random cords, but with a pile of thumb drives.

Memories and data, frozen in time.

---

I remember when all you could save on personal computers was what your hard drive allowed you to and what you could fit on a floppy disc.

Oh, the hard decisions - What do I keep, what do I dispose of?  Do I really need this program or this file?  Can I do without?

And then - wonder of wonders - came the Read/Write CD, and then the Zip Drive, and then (or maybe simultaneously) the USB Drive (or Thumb Drives or Memory Stick, or whatever one likes to call it).  Suddenly, everything could be saved.  Memory was nothing we paid attention to at all:  Make a thing?  Save it.  Make ten versions?  Save those too.

Until the technology moved on.

First, floppy drives moved from internal drives to external drives and then disappeared.  Next was the Zip Drive (probably because it was a single use item instead of Read/Write CD/DVD drive).  The CD/DVD drives became external and then disappeared.

Only the Thumb Drives remained - likely because the port was useful for other things as well.

Suddenly, memories and data were frozen in time.

---

Over the years my data storage has migrated: the Zip drives were copied to CDs when the Zip Drive itself was no longer manufactured and obsolete, the CD files migrated to USB Drives when CD/DVD drives were no longer standard fare in computers. 

The Zip Drives are long gone into a shred bin; the CDs are still on a shelf as I cannot bring myself (yet) to get rid of them (in the event I failed to copy something over).  The USB drives now sit in my validated storage device, there if I need to find a file from years ago.

(Validated Storage Device)

---

I do not know why I am particularly nostalgic about data and data storage devices, other than as passing student of history, I am aware of how much effort has been expended up through the latter half of the 19th Century to the preservation of data.

We have lost whole slews of works from the Classical World - books that are referenced by authors but not now in existence or authors we only know from references because nothing of them survived.  Knowledge used to be painstakingly copied into books or imprinted upon memories.  

Now, we just through everything out to the wilds of the InterWeb and assume that it will always be there when we need it.

I admit I am a curmudgeon and Luddite, but even to me that seems like a highly risky decision.

On Blackberries And Memories

 

I know, another picture of and post about blackberries.  I can imagine what you are thinking:  "TB, have you ever seen a blackberry bush before?"

Oddly enough, I have.  For most of my life.

---

Blackberries were a common enough occurrence in Old Home growing up (as it turns out, they are common in a lot of places).  They grew along creeks that I remember from then; the creek by our house (gloriously named a "ravine") had them on either side.  They were something to avoid at best as we waded, building dams and looking for crawdads.

But I have other, deeper memories of blackberries as well.

Growing up - probably until I was 10 or so - we would go in Summer up past The Ranch to a piece of property that had been homesteaded by my Maternal Great-Grandfather.  Everything on the property had burned in the late 1950's, but the property remained in the family and was overgrown with blackberries.  We would go as a family along with my maternal grandmother and grandfather and pick blackberries in season - to be fair, more the adults than my sister and I, who would pick, wander off, play in the drainage ditch, and then return. The blackberries would come with us, where they would be washed and made into blackberry jam - which we would eat for the rest of the year.

We ate it enough that blackberry jam has become something I do not seek out.

---

Blackberries at The Ranch in TB The Elder's time were mostly a nuisance.

They popped up along the seasonal creeks in the Meadows such that they had to be cut back every year and, at the southwestern end of The Lower Meadow, they formed a practical barrier along the property line that could not be penetrated.

They were also helpful spread by our bear population, who scooped them up in season and then took the liberty of spreading them around through their "deposits".  And the blackberries happily responded - by the time we made the decision to sell The Ranch, they had started to overtake the road that was the deeded access to the property.

Someone else's challenge now, that.

---

The blackberries you see above are along a trail behind the housing neighborhood in which we live.

They are maintained some extent - in that the trail they are next to is cleared - but not much more than that.  They fascinate me, the pink flowers that come to enclose a green globe that will turn black with the season.

I confess that I track them now and, when the season comes, will start to pick them on my walk; being a public area, there seem to be no sorts of rules about such things other than not over-taking the bounty.

What a pleasant surprise to find a part of my history in a place I never expected to find it.