Blogging and the Workplace....

It's Julie Day. This week's question is multi-layered. What about free speech and blogging? Should there be consequences for what we blog? How about workplace blogging? How about the courts?

When it comes to free speech, I am a purist. That is to say.... any of us have the right to blog about anything we choose. With that comes responsibility. The first rule of blogging, in my opinion, is "do no harm".

The consequences can be varied. If you write drivel, people will probably think you're an idiot and not read what you have to say. If you defame someone, they have the right to sue. If you encourage others to commit an illegal act, or admit to committing an illegal act, there will probably be legal consequences. If you are the propaganda minister for Al Qaeda, you will have all the western intelligence services monitoring you. If you threaten someone's life, you'll end up in jail.

That said, you still have the right to say it as long as you are willing to deal with the blowback.

As for workplaces and blogging, I believe employers have no right to limit or restrict blogging, except during the workday on their systems. Unless someone has a classified position, in which case he or she will be monitored by security personnel, no employer has the right to butt into the personal lives of employees. Even someone with a classified position has the right to blog as long as he or she does not blog about sensitive material. If he or she blogs about Contingency of Government plans, it will mean some time at Leavenworth. Barring that, give the director of the CIA a WordPress template. Bring it on!

When I was still working, I was one of the few employees whose access to the Internet was not restricted. Most of us in the IT department spent large chunks of our day on the Internet because it was necessary for our jobs. No one particularly cared what we did when there wasn't something pressing and most people walking by would see "yahoo", "CNN", some sports site or eBay up on someone's screen. My guess is that some people probably blogged. At night, I used to listen to radio shows on the Internet.

Employers come up with a million excuses for restricting access but they're flimsy and transparent. I know this because I used to have to spit it out like pablum when people would ask to have their access unrestricted. Security, open ports, viruses, blah blah blah. It's all nonsense. Any company with decent computer security will not have that problem. (Just as an aside, AIM or any of the teleconferencing software [chat rooms] will create security problems but that's unrelated. Access to the web or the mail server will not cause that condition.)

Employers enjoy too much control already in our lives. In the sick recesses of their own foul dark little minds, they believe it's appropriate to control what an employee does at home. We're hearing more and more of these cases come up in court. Employees are property and therefore owe undying allegiance to the company store. Everything they do is considered to be a reflection on the company.

Baloney! It's not appropriate and they need a slapdown. In this respect, I am completely in line with the libertarians. What people do in the privacy of their own homes is their own business. No one else's. It seems that once they gained access to our body fluids, all bets were off and they assume unlimited access to every other facet of our lives.

There was a woman who got fired for blogging. I don't remember the specifics but I recall the general circumstances. Was it Dooce by chance? She was saying things her employer didn't like. She was writing about her coworkers and conditions at work.

She may have sued the pants off them and if she did, I hope she won.

Working people need to be talking about these things. We need to be sharing our experiences, our pay, and our conditions. It's a good idea to remember that a lot of these rules have nothing to do with the security of the companies. It has to do with the security of those in charge. They don't like it when we talk to each other. Blogs can serve as guerrilla journalism so they want to restrict it.

So.. as always in a workplace, keep your mouth shut, your butt down, your back to the wall and your powder dry.

In the privacy of your own home, outside the workplace at a restaurant or bar, at the gym or at your keyboard, let it rip! Blog until your fingers are numb. We want to hear what you have to say.

~*

Voting with our feet.....

It's Julie day again. Thankfully. I can honestly say there's not a single one of her prompts that I haven't liked, that haven't made me think, even if I chose to not participate that week.

In this case, she prompts a few different scenarios with a "what would you do" undertone.

The different scenarios didn't speak to me but the common thread running through them did.

How do we deal with conflict?

The first thing that comes to mind is that we all deal with situations according to our own conditioning. We are all socialized differently and the way we'd respond to any particular situation depends on how that was modeled for us, what we've done that works and what doesn't. And, of course, our own objective. Do we want to please? How invested are we in resolution?

When it comes to customer service issues, I am rather heartless. If my expectations are not met, I vote with my feet. Chances are I won't verbally confront. I just cancel the service without explanation.

When it comes to social situations, I can be equally heartless. I find it exceedingly difficult to stand by and say nothing when I believe something is wrong or potentially harmful.

Given my personal conditioning, in the past I would simply spit my opinions out like olive pits with little regard for where they land or who they hit. I was blunt. Tactless. I had no particular regard for diplomacy because I lived in a black/white world. If something was wrong, it was to be crushed. If it was right and wholesome, I supported it in an equally strident manner.

But then... we grow up eventually. And in my case, Thailand came along. I began my acculturation process there. My style changed. My values changed.

Both of those things forced me to view it a bit differently. The first consideration is that while I do still confront the things I see as wrong (potentially harmful to me, others, the community, the world), I try to do it with a bit of softness, allow others to save face and still get my message across.

It's all about speaking your truth with kindness. When we see something that's wrong, we don't have to be angry. We can use it as an opportunity to present different values, a different way of doing things - perhaps a way that will benefit everyone.

I've come to believe that the way we do these things is similar to the flow of water. From stream to river to lake to ocean. In the same manner, what we put out flows from self to others to community to nation to world. The way we choose to treat others in our daily lives will ultimately translate to the way a nation treats other nations and has a worldwide effect.

So now I try to stop myself. I've made no secret here how I feel about social networking, inclusion and exclusion. Just this morning while blog-surfing, I saw something that irritated me. In the interest of diplomacy, I won't say what. It was just evidence of cliquishness.

As another minor example, one in which I am not constrained by diplomacy, I was irritated recently by the exclusionary behavior that was on GoodReads where people gathered "friends" and it's put out along with our profiles in numbers. Naturally the purpose of this is to create competition for "friends" and the usual acceptance/snubbing behavior began. Lord of the Flies on a community literary site. Charming.

Because of my old conditioning, I was tempted to simply sign off and forget about it. I really detest that behavior and it does make me angry.

What is wrong with simply enjoying books? Why does it have to become some social nonsense like that, I thought.

This is only about books for me. I am not looking for a bosom buddy. I'm not offering to make casseroles, pay anyone's bills, go to their funeral or have their baby.

It's about books, for crying out loud!

The old me would have simply signed off and disappeared. I would have voted with my feet.

The new me thought about it a bit and decided to let it go. A lot of that kind of behavior is age-dependent. It's also a result of other people's conditioning. I chose to ignore it. Was it a bit of a struggle? Yes. It was. But that's part of growing up on my part and living my culture rather than just mouthing on about it.

In the case of something blatant, I will still say something - kindly - hoping to create change but another part of the process of aging is choosing our battles with a bit more care.

GoodReads was hardly worth it. Day-to-day annoyances are hardly worth it.

Julie's example of exclusion in the case of the birthday party or the dad in the playgroup would have had me speaking up because both of those things do have potentially damaging results in the long term for individuals and communities.

So I guess this is how we choose. How important is it? What would be the potential long term outcome? Is it really harmful to ourselves, to others, to our communities or to the world? Is this based on principle or is it just my ego speaking?

Most things are the latter. I wasn't treated right. I got snubbed. I didn't get what I want. It's not that important. It's important to differentiate between those things that involve truly universal principles and stand up for them and those things that are just our egos running wild, wanting validation.

Stream to river to lake to ocean.

So.. that's my hai dong for the moment. :)

~*

Privacy Policy....

Julie asks an interesting question this week and it is timely for me.

She asks: How do you handle writing about people? What are your criteria for discussing the people who affect you? Have you ever dealt with someone finding themselves in your writing and reacting (in any way)? Share with us your ethics and mores as a writer, when it comes to characterizing others.

Last week, my host and I had an interesting discussion about blogs. My blog in particular. He is not especially supportive of this site. It's not so much about my content as it is his own feelings about people putting their personal business out all over the Internet. He asked me to not write about him, his family or our relationship. Needless to say, because I respect him and value his approval, I will not discuss him on this site. It's a temptation of course but it would be unethical and disrespectful for me to disregard his request.

That would be Rule Number One: Do not write about people who have specifically said they do not want to be written about.

The ethics of writing about the people in our lives, like everything else, doesn't have a steadfast rule that will apply in all situations. There are a few general rules but after that, it's just a question of personal boundaries.

My Other Absolutes:

2) I will not write about anyone in a way that will directly identify them. I will not include names, addresses, phone numbers or email addresses unless I am asked to do so. An example would be choosing to write about someone who is campaigning for something I support or someone who explicitly or implicitly gives permission to be linked here.

Some time back, I wrote about a person in my life who has been troublesome. I talked openly about my feelings about her and my experience of her. Even though I was very angry, her identity was cloaked.

On the other hand, Julie gives implied permission to be linked here because she runs the Roundtable forum.


3) I will always stick to my perspectives, my experiences and my feelings. It is not my right to take someone else's inventory in this space.

It is not okay for me to use this site as a way to denigrate someone else and expose all of his or her character flaws, his or her background or his or her private business. No gossiping.


4) I will not write something here for the express purpose of embarrassing, humiliating or hurting someone.

Again, returning to the person in #1, I was tempted to identify this person because she is an Internet troll. In some ways, it would have been a service to others because she is still out there, possibly looking for other people to exploit. That is a very hard line to draw. At what point do we expose someone because their behavior may prove harmful to someone else? I grappled with that.

I decided that in this case, I would have been doing it only for revenge and to humiliate her, not for some higher purpose ~ so I didn't identify her. There are websites that are designed to expose trolls. I will leave it up to those folks.


5) I will always give the people I do write about fake names and protect them as best I can while still being true to my own experience and my authenticity as a writer.

Those are five rules I use here. In general, the old "treat you the way I'd want to be treated" works fairly well. I'm not a masochist so that old refrain doesn't work. Actually, I squeal rather loudly when my toes are stepped on.

I have not had any negative reactions from others I've written about so far, although I'm sure the troll would not be pleased. :)

What are your rules?

~*

Let the music speak for us....

~*~

First a note to those who celebrate: I hope you have a wonderful Thanksgiving. To those who don't, I hope you have a peaceful, untroubled day.

~*

This week's Roundtable is a discussion of music, life themes and the music that touches us most. (By the way, Julie, here's some Kajagoogoo.)

And two of my favorites from the 80s: Marillion and Tears for Fears :)

I'm also including this post in Wellness Wednesday because, after all, we all know that music helps make us better. While I'm too lazy to do the research, I know this is true.

It's been said that music tames the savage beast and I believe that to be completely true.

The music that has always spoken to me is the soft, the gentle, the folkish ~ the songs that speak for me, say things that matter when I don't have the words.

It can range from Jackson Browne's "Lives in the Balance" to Janis Ian's "At Seventeen". Music helped me process the things I saw around me when I was much younger, before I had my own voice. It helped me put it into words.

When Simon and Garfunkel sang "Sound of Silence", I felt as though those two men had reached inside me, read my mind, dove into the crevices and said what I couldn't say, particularly when I was so young and felt like no one in the world could possibly understand me. Adolescent angst was something near and dear to me.

I really did see myself as a tortured soul, another Jack Kerouac. And perhaps I was. It's a legitimate identity for many people.

Music helped us find each other, those of us who were on the sidelines, those of us who were alienated, those of us who never quite got caught up in the typical adolescent concerns. We discovered our commonalities and each other by listening to these songs that define so much of who we were as individuals and collectively. At least for those of us who grew up in the 50s, there were many topics we were not to discuss. Yet the "stuff" wilted and molded under the rugs. We learned at a young age that certain things were not to be said in polite company. The songs spoke for us.

And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people maybe more
People talking without speaking
People hearing without listening
People writing songs that voices never shared
No one dared
Disturb the sound of silence

Music pulled the rugs up and exposed the underbelly of a way of life that was supposed to be a fairy tale and was really not so much a nightmare a blissful banality. This one by Malvina Reynolds comes to mind:

Little boxes on the hillside, Little boxes made of tickytacky
Little boxes on the hillside, little boxes all the same
There's a green one and a pink one and a blue one and a yellow one
And they're all made out of ticky tacky and they all look just the same.

And the people in the houses all went to the university
Where they were put in boxes and they came out all the same,
And there's doctors and there's lawyers, and business executives
And they're all made out of ticky tacky and they all look just the same.

And they all play on the golf course and drink their martinis dry,
And they all have pretty children and the children go to school
And the children go to summer camp and then to the university
Where they are put in boxes and they come out all the same.

And the boys go into business and marry and raise a family
In boxes made of ticky tacky and they all look just the same.

The nightmares came later. Phil Ochs spoke to the beginning of the end. In NYC, when a woman was brutally murdered on the street and no one responded, he wrote this song "A Small Circle of Friends".

Look outside the window, there's a woman being grabbed
They've dragged her to the bushes and now she's being stabbed
Maybe we should call the cops and try to stop the pain
But Monopoly is so much fun, I'd hate to blow the game
And I'm sure it wouldn't interest anybody
Outside of a small circle of friends.

Riding down the highway, yes, my back is getting stiff
Thirteen cars are piled up, they're hanging on a cliff.
Maybe we should pull them back with our towing chain
But we gotta move and we might get sued and it looks like it's gonna rain
And I'm sure it wouldn't interest anybody
Outside of a small circle of friends.

Sweating in the ghetto with the colored and the poor
The rats have joined the babies who are sleeping on the floor
Now wouldn't it be a riot if they really blew their tops?
But they got too much already and besides we got the cops
And I'm sure it wouldn't interest anybody
Outside of a small circle of friends.

Oh there's a dirty paper using sex to make a sale
The Supreme Court was so upset, they sent him off to jail.
Maybe we should help the fiend and take away his fine.
But we're busy reading Playboy and the Sunday New York Times
And I'm sure it wouldn't interest anybody
Outside of a small circle of friends

Smoking marijuana is more fun than drinking beer,
But a friend of ours was captured and they gave him thirty years
Maybe we should raise our voices, ask somebody why
But demonstrations are a drag, besides we're much too high
And I'm sure it wouldn't interest anybody
Outside of a small circle of friends

Oh look outside the window, there's a woman being grabbed
They've dragged her to the bushes and now she's being stabbed
Maybe we should call the cops and try to stop the pain
But Monopoly is so much fun, I'd hate to blow the game
And I'm sure it wouldn't interest anybody
Outside of a small circle of friends

Down in Santiago where they took away our mines
We cut off all their money so they robbed the storehouse blind
Now maybe we should ask some questions, maybe shed a tear
But I bet you a copper penny, it cannot happen here
And I'm sure it wouldn't interest anybody
Outside of a small circle of friends

Each generation has its songs, the ones that take us back, remind us of the social changes that took place when we were most open to thinking, pondering and experiencing.

I've often thought historians should pay a lot more attention to music since it typically chronicles a culture more effectively than any academic tome. It journals what's important in the day to day lives of ordinary people, what a people have been through, where we're all going.

~*

Queen of the New Beginning

A winters day
In a deep and dark december;
I am alone,
Gazing from my window to the streets below
On a freshly fallen silent shroud of snow.
I am a rock,
I am an island.

Julie's roundtable this week is one I nearly skipped.

It's one of those areas where I am likely to be misunderstood, where I won't "fit in" with the "norm" (which doesn't seem like such a bad thing most of the time) and it's an area where many who read this site might not be able to relate.

It's a chance I'll take. I'm also including this in Wellness Wednesday because the topic is pertinent to both forums.

I am the Queen of the New Beginning. Since becoming an adult, I have lost everything and rebuilt three times. I've walked out on entire households three times. I would have done it a fourth time if it hadn't been for the simultaneous running out of money and visa time.

Ive built walls,
A fortress deep and mighty,
That none may penetrate.
I have no need of friendship; friendship causes pain.
Its laughter and its loving I disdain.
I am a rock,
I am an island.

The grass was always greener over the hill. There was something waiting and the puzzle was mine to solve. To find it. There was always a clue to be followed and discovered. And I had no qualms about bailing on everything. Jobs, potential communities, households of "stuff", the last of which was a small apartment filled with antiques.

I didn't care much because I didn't feel any connection. Nothing got in and nothing got out. I was confined in a small bubble of my own creation. The bubble protected me from a world I could neither understand nor love. It was a dual battle of running from the wild boulders coming down the hill and the Sisyphian process of rolling them back up.

I have my books
And my poetry to protect me;
I am shielded in my armor,
Hiding in my room, safe within my womb.
I touch no one and no one touches me.
I am a rock,
I am an island.

I was miserable in my own skin and couldn't believe that a 20-year-old, a 30-year-old and then a 40-year-old could just be waiting to die. I lived for dying. I drank a lot. My spiritual beliefs didn't allow for suicide... so I waited. My karma was to wait. That's what I decided. One day, I'd be released from the mortal coil and go home.

I don't have any warm and fuzzy stories for you, guys. Not of that life before. Not even one. And I'm not going to make them up, just to make this easier to read.

Dont talk of love,
Ive heard the words before;
Its sleeping in my memory.
I wont disturb the slumber of feelings that have died.
I am a rock,
I am an island.

Loss didn't mean anything to me because loss was as natural as breathing. Nothing stayed. Nothing was permanent. Nothing lasted.

And a rock feels no pain;
And an island never cries.

Loss was something people experienced who didn't understand that basic fact. They just made up the sentimental stories. I didn't believe them. They were liars and it's just something they were taught to say.

When I was nearly 50 years old, I took a vacation. A friend of mine who had decided to take the ex-pat route encouraged me to come visit him. I wasn't too excited about the idea but he talked me into it. Michael lived in Thailand.

Many of you know the story from there.

Sometimes a taste of honey is worse than none at all. Sometimes it's just what we need. I have a full-fledged family in Thailand. They may not be blood family but blood doesn't count for much anyway. It's connection that matters. It's stepping outside the little bubble we build around ourselves to let someone in. And I have fully let these people in.

Trust is the hardest thing of all and it is what took the longest. During the time I lived with them, I watched vigilantly for inconsistencies in what they'd say and what they'd do. I found it hard to believe that when they said they expect me to come back, that they really meant it. After a while, I finally believed them. I am not an easy person to convince. After months and months of weekly phone calls and yellow slips in my post office box, I finally came to realize they did mean it. I was part of the family. It wasn't fast or instant. But it is very real.

I'm totally against the admonition in recovery circles that "pulling a geographic" is wrong. Sometimes we really do have to find that one place where we truly belong and where we are part of the fabric of life.

It's difficult for me to imagine losing my Thai family because I don't think it's possible.

The things I've gained from them, the ideas, the beliefs, the consistency, the trust.. and, yes, even the love is something that can never be taken away from me. Every one of them could die tomorrow and I'd still carry that with me. It's a part of me.

I have a picture on my nightstand. It was taken one afternoon when there were many people visiting. We are all standing under the house (the house is on stilts). A motley group of folks suffering the heat. I am standing among them, holding one of the children. He is nuzzling my neck and I look at peace. We are all at peace. We are one.

I'm just one of the group. And if someone had told me that I'd go from blue-eyed blonde from Southern California to a blue-eyed village girl from northern Thailand, I would have laughed. I would have had a bitter laugh and poured another drink.

~*

Blog Blast for Peace: If not now, when?

When we talk about peace, it is easy to wax poetic about creating a peaceful planet where we all live together in harmony. We can talk endlessly about the ideals. We can talk endlessly about Buddha and Christ, Mohammed and Maimonedes and their visions for a peaceful future. We can talk all we want about how we want peace.

Peace isn't theoretical. Peace isn't a roundtable topic. It's a choice. It's a way of life.

There are times when it is appropriate to point the fingers where they belong and identify it with clarity. I'm a believer in the old axiom "sunshine is the best disinfectant."

So, let's lay it out:

When business interests, corporate profit and money matters more than human beings, we will have war.

When it is more important that you get to choose red shoes over blue shoes while others in the world starve, we will have war.

When it is more important that you can choose those shoes than the exploitation of labor in third world countries, we will have war.

When belief in national superiority becomes more important than our common humanity, we will have war.

When geopolitical advantage is more important than feeding the children, we will have war.

When individual market freedom means more than community, we will have war.

When men matter more than women, we will have war.

When you believe that you can be free when others are not, we will have war.

When poverty is viewed as a character issue rather than a social failure, we will have war.

When I believe I matter more than you, I will wage war.

When you believe you are more important than me, you will wage war.

Be the peace you want to see in the world.

That is the only answer.
~*

Good neighbors....

Julie can always be counted on to come up with a good topic for examination. Each week, she presents a topic for everyone to collectively examine and dumps it all on the table, each contribution, and it provides a good focal point for seeing what others have to say, their perspectives and experiences.

I like it. If you haven't already been drawn into participation, give it a look and see what you think.

Being a good neighbor is one of those concepts that can be taken in many directions, although I see it is a bit linear.

The way we treat our house mates is likely how we will treat the folks next door. How we treat the folks next door is probably how we treat our immediate community. How we treat our immediate community is likely how we treat our city. How we treat our city... and so on.

Ultimately, it is a reflection of how we treat the world. It is a reflection of our place in it and how we choose to present ourselves.

Many of the problems on a macro level are evident in the micro.

If we carelessly make noise, yell, bring negativity and abuse our immediate environment, we are probably equally inconsiderate of how we behave in the world at large.

In general, I find most people just want to live peacefully.

But there are those....

Using my neighbors as an example, their attitudes border on complete and utter selfishness, caring only about themselves and what they want.

They think nothing of blasting their music at ear-splitting levels, playing music that is both offensive in content and in sound. In order to be heard, they yell above it. They allow their children to screech and scream without regard for the sensibilities of those who must surround them.

If I could become invisible and follow them around, my guess is that they are also the ones who pull up to red lights, car shivering with pounding bass and filthy language streaming out the windows like a fetid smell.

This summer alone, I have had to call the police several times.

It fails to register with me how anyone can honestly believe that everyone within a quarter-mile radius wants to share in their reverie, why we want to share in their particular choice of electronic entertainment.

These are the same people who think nothing of coming over here and picking my roses.

It's not that I care so much about someone picking a rose. If they'd ask, I'd probably give them five.

Still, it is a self-centeredness, a lack of consideration for others an an assumption of entitlement to behave however they choose and the rest of us have to just live with it.

This is often an example I present to those who argue for anarchy. We unfortunately need laws to regulate behavior. Where simple consideration fails, we have to have a system in place to control the bad behavior of those who do not choose to live in a community.

Finally, I believe the only way to create more "good neighbors" is to start in childhood, with parents teaching the benefits and obligations that are a part of living in community. It needs to be reinforced in the schools, churches and other media involved in social engineering and cultural development. Social harmony is necessary for us to avoid annihilating each other.

~*

Forgiving Serendipity.....

This week, Julie's roundtable discussion on forgiveness goes one step further in asking how we forgive happenstance, random chance, destiny, fate, serendipity (pick your word of choice) and it is a really good question because it exemplifies the difference I find between my belief systems and the common view of contemporary culture.

Frankly, I have no trouble forgiving destiny.

Serendipity is impersonal ~ and contemporary western culture has trouble with that concept.

Personalizing most everything has become a national pastime. Media encourages it with the Aristotilean "appeal to misery" being used in nearly every form of mass communication, from newscasts to movies and books.

What if this happened to you?

It is not always so blatant. Sometimes it's more subtle.

The neatly dressed, perfectly-coiffed reporter asks the mother whose child just got killed by a drunk driver: How does it feel?

The reporter stands in a wartorn country, surveying the damage and says: National security advisors are concentrating on contingency plans. What if it happens here?

Subtitle: We will keep you safe.

It is part of the fear-mongering that keeps people in a constant state of anxiety and anger at the world for being... well... the world.

Stuff happens. All the time. We live in a natural, constantly-changing environment built on certain principles of physics.

All of us are going to get something, somehow, some day.

In more metaphysical terms, these events are part of the cycle of life (samsara). And part of the cycle of life is suffering (dukkha). And impermanence (annata).

There is no way to escape it.

So how do we move beyond the anger at the world for being .. well.. the world? How do we learn to stop taking it all so personally?

For me, it is an understanding that very little in the world is about me. It spins on its axle, turns in and out, continuing its movement, entirely regardless of me. If I am here, not here, aware or unaware, it goes on.

And getting mad at the world for being the world is like getting mad at a dog for barking.

Maybe the larger question is how do we forgive ourselves for our karma?

If I figure out that one any time soon, I will be sure to pass it along. Chop wood. Carry water.

We all do the best we can do with what we have. When we begin to understand the impermanence of things, we know that, as trite as it sounds, this too shall pass. We continue to grow and to learn from our experiences and somehow find a level of gratitude for the process itself.

~*

On Julie's additional question about either waking now from a coma of 20 years or going into a coma and coming out 20 years later, I'm still pondering that one.

I don't suspect much will have changed if I slipped out today and came back in 2027. As much as it seems change is often lightening quick, it's really rather slow. Additionally, I would then be 75 years old which puts another gnarly knot into the entire equation.

Delving into the world of the future is a rather dystopian exercise from my perspective, given that I would be coming back in 20 years to (most likely) same-same, but different. The consumer goods will look different. The environment might look different. The government might look different. (Beware, friendly fascism.) There may be some substantial changes in medical research.

Human beings by nature will not have changed all that much and the same metaphysical angst we deal with now will still be present then. The same ponderous questions will remain unanswered and we'll be frustrated because human beings for some reason believe we have the inherent right to know everything, including the imponderable.

Personally, after 20 years in a coma, I would be older. And hopefully skinnier. My developmental stages would not have progressed. I'll still have a 55-year-old perspective on life with a 75-year-old body and mind. My body would defy me. It would be unlikely that I could take 7-mile walks, just because I feel like it.

So one might logically ask: If this is my view, why go on at all?

Because this is a fascinating experience, this earthly life. The questions, the answers, the experiences, the connections, the disconnections, the ups and downs and the very observance of life itself unfolding.

This earthly experience is one big classroom. While I don't figure I will ace or even deserve to ace the class, I'm sure giving it my best try.


Peace,


~Chani