Tag: Facebook

Conversation Cafes

“Come up with a crazy business idea.”

That was the WordPress prompt today.

So here goes. Conversation cafes. This would be a Starbucks-like franchise (Tim Hortons-like for any Canadian readers).

You could even set up one of those “mug walls” where regular customers come in, grab a mug and a coffee. Like the good old days.

You could still get your long, tall, short, skinny, grande, cappuccino or moccaccino with or without whipped cream and cinnamon. The choices would be as generous as they would be in any urban coffee bar burning through mounds of ground coffee hour after hour for a grateful paying public.

Now, here’s the wrinkle. My conversation cafes would not allow any technological devices to darken its doors.

No cellphones or any other kind of communications technology. No iPads. No laptops.

The speed at which technology has become central to our lives to the point of absolute necessity is astonishing. So much so, it is hard to remember what life was like before technology.

Rectangular paper maps to get directions to go somewhere? Unwieldy and messy. I could never refold the blasted things the right way.

A busy signal on the other end of the phone line? “Oh. S/he is talking to someone else. I’ll call him or her back later.”

Remember coffee dates or dinner dates where getting together to have a conversation was the main idea? Neither do I. Not well anyway.

Like many Boomers, I grieve the loss of conversation as much as I grieve the loss of cursive writing. I am glad my adult children were exposed to it and can sign checks when and if needed. Oh wait. Checks. Also an out-of-date twentieth century business practice.

So my conversation cafes would have a nostalgic vibe, obviously. Big hair. Hoop earrings. High heels. The women would dress retro, too.

The conversationalists might either know, or not know, each other. And if they didn’t know each other, they would not be allowed to look up their profile picture and bio on Facebook, LinkedIn or X account. (For the uninformed, Twitter recently became known only as “X.” High marks for originality there, Elon Musk.)

Imagine the thrill of sitting down with a near stranger and not really knowing whether he (or she – no gender bias) was a potential axe murderer.

We’d go by the old cues. Through conversation. What do you do for a living? Who do we know in common? Where did we grow up? What school or schools did we go to? Not bad for a first conversation cafe “getting to know you” date script.

These days, the strength (or even possibility) of a first meeting depends on how closely your profile pic matches what you really look like.

If you look wildly off the mark in person, you can be ghosted before the connection is even made. Not bad in terms of efficiency. Kinda lame in terms of real human connection.

So this is an admittedly desperate attempt to steer our society back to the exchange of pleasantries that were so vital at a different time in history.

It is a call to insert humanity back into every day social discourse. An impractical attempt to hold apart the walls of technology’s inevitable march before it utterly engulfs all of collective humanity.

So my solution is conversation cafes. A place to talk. Hang out. Chill. People watching. Remember that? Conversation cafes is a wild, and probably impractical, business solution to an evolving social problem.

I admit it is hard to conceive of a world now where technology isn’t front and center in our lives. Our secretaries. Our pals. Our lifeline. Our dictionaries, encyclopedia and old wives’ tales all rolled up in one tidy and portable package.

So a conversation cafe where no technology is allowed is a stretch. And likely, if I’m being completely realistic, no business either.

I’ll admit even the notion of promoting human connection sounds old-fashioned and irrelevant these days. Which is seriously sad.

Facing Forward

Today the curator of the Ultimate Blog Challenge on Facebook asks us to plan the 90 days after the challenge ends on October 31st. Halloween for those of you who have been sleeping under a rock.

God knows I’ve tried to ignore the incessant commercial come-ons. How many Kit Kat bars and Reese’s Pieces can one person eat anyway?

This will be the third monthlong Ultimate Blog Challenge I’ve finished this year. Ninety days ahead takes us through November, December until the last day of January. Oy, do I have plans.

November 1st is always a new year’s day of sorts for me. It is loosely associated with All Hallows Eve or Hallowe’en. According to pagan Celtic traditions, it is said that on this day the spirits of the dead are most clearly present on planet Earth. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Samhain

It also marks the time of harvest and beginning of the “dark part of the year.” The only harvest I participate in is doing my part in filling up the sacks of local trick and treaters.

As my spiritual “New Year,” I do have some modest resolutions for the next ninety days.

Stay healthy. That’s always Number One and always will be. I am a devotee of the “health equals wealth” philosophy. Without health, wealth don’t mean much except applying it to attempts to restore it.

Develop a debt management plan. This is also a perpetual theme in my life. I would love to be one of those people sitting on bags of money. I’m not. I’m a very low profile, ordinary financial citizen. So I manage debt.

Survive the holidays. There is a swack of them coming up in the next ninety days. If you go by the dictates of advertisers, you could go broke tricking out and tearing down and retricking out your house for the tsunami of “blessed events” coming up.

My strategy is to do as little as humanly possible for each of these events: Halloween (in a couple of days); Thanksgiving; Christmas celebrations (which is essentially the whole month of December); New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day. And all of January for recovery.

If the marketing strategy is to keep us on our toes by distracting us with one holiday after another that we are expected to execute “perfectly,” it is rather brilliant.

And if we don’t have the spirit or means to pursue holiday perfection, no matter. A whole lot of compensatory products are available out there to make us feel better about not “being perfect.”

If we are single and don’t have an existing or created family to go to all the trouble for, so much the better.

And, of course, I plan to keep writing. This blog has surprised me. Over 225 days in a row so far. The biggest surprise has been that I’ve managed to keep doing it every day and plan to continue. It centers me and reinforces my own views about the world and what’s happening in it. I wish I were more unfailingly optimistic about what I see.

By January 31, 2024, I expect to be six weeks away from the goal I set up on March 14th, 2024 of writing a daily blog post for a full year. I set out thinking I would have a book manuscript by then. That seems unlikely.

There have been an inordinate amount of distractions this year. Challenges I didn’t expect. Challenges I took on that cost me more emotionally and financially than originally anticipated.

External demands that ranged from irritating to overwhelming. I was never quite sure starting out which way a challenge was going to turn out. Life is surprising that way.

In spite of the roller coaster I’ve been on this past year, I am happy to report that marketing soaked holiday celebrations have not been among them. And won’t be, dieu merci.

Quick Fix, Not

Here is a basic dichotomy these days.

We are inventing fools. Interpret that however you like.

Forget the industrial revolution and the upheaval it brought.

The technological revolution is on a whole other level.

There are so many new and improved appliances, processes, gadgets, vehicles out there for us. They are supposed to make our lives “easier.” And “better.” And “happier.” And more “personally satisfied.”

You feeling all that, yet? I know I’m not.

I laugh now at the early promises of “new technology.” We were all sold on how these new abilities were going to make our lives easier. The four-day work week. Paperless offices. More time for “leisure” and “creativity.” I snort in my coffee.

That ship sailed a long, long time ago.

So here we are awash in the daily frustrations and idiocy as a product of countless “technological solutions.” I’ve talked about this before.

What I’m experiencing later in life is the huge social deficit caused by diminishing face-to-face interactions. Like connection. Like getting to know each other. Like shared experience. Isn’t that quaint?

It has left us vulnerable to all manner of snake-oil salesmen. Because if we don’t know anyone well, and don’t have access to information about their track record and have never met their parents or siblings, anyone will do in a pinch. Right? We need to believe.

Ideas about belonging to a community of like-minded individuals who know and support each other seem quaint and pedantic now. We imagine, crave and seek out a community of similar seekers who might be out there for us to connect with. At this particular time, it is harder to do than it was in the past.

So what do we do instead? We join online groups. We have countless ZOOM calls. We sign up for Facebook groups with people who have causes or interests that we also believe in or care about. We “lol” and “ffs” and “FOMO” ourselves into low-grade stupefication.

No wonder FOMO is so prevalent. People are so disconnected from the ebb and flow of life and each other that the manic chase to “keep up” is reaching epidemic proportions. Young people no longer have a shared social history that taught them how to be part of a group or community.

I believe many believe the internet is the way, the truth and the life. What will happen to them if it ever fails them?

The anonymity of the internet nourishes all kinds of negatives: bullying, sexting, false information, false scenarios and facts. Oops sorry. I didn’t mean to post that. Oops sorry. I have no way to retrieve that post and obliterate it from the internet.

No problem. Instead of overcoming their shame or finding ways to deal with their pain, young people injure or kill themselves. Is that surprising?

What stupefies me is the tolerance we all exhibit in light of widespread social and psychological deterioration. Rigid, conservative, prejudicial attitudes and actions have always been with us. That needed shaking up. But the parameters of human civility and interaction were tighter then.

People once seemed to understand that humans had a limit to their capacity for enduring pain. They had enough sense of belonging that they understood their actions were a vital part of the collective whole.

How does that tee up with how you are experiencing life these days? Safe and happy with a community of people you know you can count on and who know you and support you and love you anyway? No wonder the internet and Facebook and who knows what else are awash in corrective “positive affirmations” and meaty memes that promise to guide us to the “meaning of life.”

Our heads are in such a constant twist scrambling after the next “big thing” in guidance and insight, we have collective whiplash.

My heart aches for young people today. Young people desperate for individuality and attention and belonging dye their hair fuschia, wear three inch fingernails and one inch eyelashes. They tattoo meaningful Chinese characters on their arsm.

For those for whom this is not enough, they simply pick up an AK-47 with their allowance money at the shop around the corner and go out and murder a bunch of people. That we have collectively managed to breed such troubled, alienated souls reflects our failure to inculcate the fundamental “rules” of becoming a human being in our children: with all the warts those rules contained.

I believe a majority are scrambling to make sense of life today and need to understand where we fit in it. I watch my adult children struggling to internalize the reality of out of control housing prices. Once a surefire road to financial security, more and more that is reserved for fewer and fewer. It has affected their future and family planning and stability.

Who wants to start a revolution?

Only As Old

These are not my words.

This is a cribbed Facebook post. Posted by Eden Lynn, a San Diego graphic designer. Who knows where she found it.

It’s a good one, I think, and a great reminder for those who might believe they can’t get there from here:

“At age 23, Tina Fey was working at a YMCA.

At age 23, Oprah was fired from her first reporting job.

At age 24, Stephen King was working as a janitor and living in a trailer.

At age 27, Vincent Van Gogh failed as a missionary and decided to go to art school.

At age 28, J.K. Rowling was a single parent living on welfare who was clinically depressed and at times has contemplated suicide.

At age 28, Wayne Coyne (from The Flaming Lips) was a fry cook.

At age 30, Harrison Ford was a carpenter.

At age 30, Martha Stewart was a stockbroker.

At age 37, Ang Lee was a stay-at-home-dad working odd jobs.

Julia Child released her first cookbook at age 39, and got her own cooking show at age 51.

Vera Wang failed to make the Olympic figure skating team, didn’t get the Editor-in-Chief position at Vogue, and designed her first dress at age 40.

Stan Lee didn’t release his first big comic book until he was 40.

Alan Rickman gave up his graphic design career to pursue acting at age 42.

Samuel L. Jackson didn’t get his first major movie role until he was 40.

Morgan Freeman landed his first MAJOR movie role at age 52.

Kathryn Bigelow only reached international success when she made The Hurt Locker at age 57.

Louise Bourgeois didn’t become a famous artist until she was 78.

Grandma Moses didn’t begin her painting career until age 76.

Whatever your dream is, it is not too late to achieve it. You aren’t a failure because you haven’t found fame and fortune by the age of 21.

Hell, it’s okay if you don’t even know what your dream is yet. Even if you’re flipping burgers, waiting tables or answering phones today, you never know where you’ll end up tomorrow.

Never tell yourself you’re too old to make it.

Never tell yourself you missed your chance.

Never tell yourself that you aren’t good enough.

You can do it. Whatever it is that sets your soul on fire.”

Complificated

I witnessed the dawning of the internet and the era of new technology. I distinctly remember technology’s promise of simplification. 

We would work in paperless offices, we were told. Boring and tedious office jobs would disappear. Life would be generally much better and more efficient.

Balderdash.

Technology mostly seems to have complicated things in my life. Two-step authentication. Type in this code. Password after password after password. Scrambling to figure out which phone is ringing when I am sitting in a restaurant with friends. Unwelcome texts or imploring messages that require my immediate attention at any time of the night or day.

Beware of those who tell you that what they are selling will “simplify your life.” Often so-called “simple solutions” turn out to be more trouble than they are worth. They’re “complificated.”

I am wary of inflated promises generally. For two main reasons. One is that there are lots of promises out there usually made by someone who is trying to sell you something. 

The salesperson’s job is to convince you their service/product/subscription/pet rock is as necessary and desirable as air and water. The really good salespeople and ad agencies somehow actually do. I have a number of “What was I thinking ?” items in my household.

The second reason is that promises must be backed up by performance. Whatever promises are attached to any item, you will really only experience and appreciate its’ true value after you have owned and used it for a while. In my world, the proof is in the pudding.

I have countless examples of items in my life that didn’t perform “exactly as advertised.” I bet you do, too.

I am a faithful subscriber to Consumer Reports and appreciate they have been largely untouched by scandal or assaults on their reputation. I visit them frequently when a large purchase is on the horizon. They have no skin in the game when it comes to commission or salary. That, in itself, makes them trustworthy advisors.

I get that rapidly changing technology is a fact of life and a “new normal” for young people. And I am beyond impressed by the advances made in technology that allows us to do what we do in our personal lives.

I have a friend who still uses a flip phone. Limited to be sure but it is cheap and does everything he wants it to do. I am not happy paying a bunch more money for a new phone that “increases my user experience” by a few extra pixels in my iPhone. I can’t wade through the pictures I already have. 

These days I employ a certain caution and skepticism in my own life about “newer technology.” I spend time trying to reason out how significantly better the newest version of a technology is going to make to my life. 

The paperless office turned out to be a myth. I use scads of paper still. And still intend to. As AI and other “new technologies” appear on the scene with all the doom saying and fears about the future impact, I am very much in “wait and see” mode. 

No doubt Google and Facebook and other technologies know more than I would like about my shopping habits and my financial preferences. I may eat my words if I suffer serious consequences up the road.

But in order to keep my life simple and my peace of mind intact, I am taking the Teddy Kennedy approach: “I will drive off that bridge when I get to it.”

Ain’t It Awful?

There is a personal payoff in being a little withdrawn and isolated from the world occasionally. Many people spend a lot of time observing the world and listening to the news and hearing politicians expertly and bloodlessly dissect their opponents. Those people, understandably, often have a very dim worldview.

A common complaint I hear about the state of the world is that it is awful and they can’t do anything about it. For the most part, they are correct. But what most people don’t get is that what happens out there in those other theaters of life isn’t of much importance or relevance to their own daily lives.

Yes, of course, the decisions of politicians and policies and laws that are enacted affect our pocketbook and standard of living. They may decide what we can and cannot do or where we can and cannot go. As for our regular daily lives, they are simply so much noise. It is our choice whether to listen to that noise or not.

I feel sorry for young people today who are held sway by the endless pageantry of new developments in technology and the Internet. There is this influencer who must be followed and then that one and have you seen whats-her-names newest trend-setting video but he’s all the rage now and she no longer counts. How in hell do they keep it all straight in their heads. Maybe they don’t.

Unplugging from technology seems analogous to committing social suicide these days. It is particularly sad that young people – teenagers say – who are at the very point of trying to discover who they are and what they want to be in life, have to dig through, filter out and mirror their life choices against the preaching of dozens of online personalities. Strangers in point of fact.

I am not as vulnerable to this information overload as I once was but I cannot say I am not influenced. Some websites and video reels catch me and have an uncanny power to eat up a half hour or more of my time before I am even conscious of it. There are several excellent writers out there who have my attention and I feel I can barely keep up with their output.

The chief culprits in my life presently are Facebook video cooking reels. A revolving cast of chefs from all sorts of genres display feats of culinary prowess that I would give anything to replicate. The videos are almost choreographed ballets as much as they are recipe-sharing. Happily, I am old enough to realize, that while they are dazzling, I am not inclined to beat myself up if I cannot recreate their splendid creations in my own kitchen.

I take that analogy and apply its potential to more impressionable and searching young people. I can only imagine that they must suffer for not always having the “right” clothes, or the most up-to-date cellphone, and maybe spontaneous weekend trips to anywhere but here. It is kinda diabolical.

As old as I am and with the resources I can draw on, some of these come-ons attract me. I don’t act on them and I don’t suffer for not acting on them. But if I were younger, I might feel left out.

I was at first bemused by and then a little sad to learn there is an actual thing out there called FOMO – “fear of missing out.” It seems to be there is so much technological space litter available out there that you can’t help but be missing out on something.

It is like some kind of fiendish device that is deliberately designed to keep us all “off-balance.” It seems to force people to rely exclusively on “significant” “others” “outside” themselves to find joy and happiness. They even seem to rely on them to tell them who they are. That is the biggest fraud of all. And a dangerous one if you are particularly fragile or vulnerable.

My version of “Give Peace A Chance” is unplugging from time to time. I rarely watch the news on television anymore. It is an irritation to the spirit and has an eerily similar sameness with its litany of tragedy, and skulduggery, and focuses on the worst of what humans are and do.

Books give me greater comfort. I can pick and choose among them for lessons I want to learn and master and access the emotional experiences I want to have. That is why popular successful authors are so popular. They are reliable and predictable in their style and output. Sure seems to me that in a world that is most kindly described as a little topsy-turvy, I’ll take a circuitous John Grisham novel bashing the legal system over CNN and Youtube anytime.

It keeps a rein on my sanity and a paddock for my well-being.

Self-Regulation

If anyone detects a throughline in my posts lately, you are right. I am a little obsessed about the ups and downs of my emotions. No, I am not manic-depressive. I am, however, something of a stress case.

I am stressed by the complexities of the household move we are making. And, in good old hunker down and get ‘er done fashion, I’m trying to act as if it is not bothering me one bit. But it is bothering me. Quite a bit.

Yesterday a lady from whom I had purchased two armchairs on Facebook Marketplace leaned on me rather imperiously to come and collect them. I have 73 things on my plate at the minute. Picking up her chairs was somewhere around 65 on my priority list. Why couldn’t she ease off and understand the stress I am under?

Turns out she was under some stress, too. Imagine? They were packing up to leave the following day on an extended trip. She had just had two disks inserted into her spine. As I watched her walking upright around her living room, I was impressed and amazed but also embarrassed by my childish reaction to her insistence that I pick up what I bought.

I thumbed through my mental Rolodex (remember those?) and the common denominator in this type of uncomfortable situation was me. Something to do with growing up without boundaries sometimes makes it very difficult to impose them on myself.

I had grown up accustomed to having inappropriate responsibility heaped upon me without oversight or intervention by my parents. There were very few rules in our household when I was growing up. Beyond those where we worked to keep up appearances of normality and hide the addictions and violence between the parents going on behind closed doors.

In a worldly and sophisticated city like Paris or London, our family might have been perceived as Bohemian. Being a Bohemian had a certain artistic cachet in a big city. In a small conservative town, it was simply seen as neglect.

I ached when most of my friends were called home to supper or nervously checked their Timexes as it inched closer to the time they had been told to be home. Me and my two sisters rarely had to be home at a specific time for anything, let alone sit-down meals.

There was no set bedtime on any night – even school nights – throughout my childhood. We stayed up with and partied and socialized as long as the adults did. The line between freedom and neglect was very thin in the household I grew up in.

As I grew older, my lack of internalized boundaries often showed up in a wide and rapid range of my felt emotions. An old boyfriend often used to say: “Margot, you’re “too.” What I thought was charming and coquettish behavior, others likely perceived as bad-mannered and precocious. I longed to be calm and cool like many of my other girlfriends. I had no idea how to do that.

With time, it got better and easier to settle myself down in stressful situations and hold my tongue and not say something I would invariably come to regret. I eventually taught myself strong and consistent boundaries. Most of the time, the dyke holds.

But I was already tired and overwhelmed and rundown by the time this lady started demanding something of me that mostly just felt like “one more thing.” I was still smarting over the paint-ruined carpet of the day before and had just had an inane conversation with the security system installation representative. I was beat. I am beat.

What is different now from days gone by is recognizing me in all of my “bitchy, over-the-top, I’ve had enough and need to lie down” glory. What followed my little phone outburst of sarcasm and displeasure with the lady I had been rude to were copious declarations of mea culpa. That’s progress, I guess.

Tomorrow – aside from the things I must do – will be about attacking that absurd and overburdened “to-do” list and cutting it down to a manageable size. It is okay to take time and let weeks, even months pass before we settle into our new digs. As is often said in healing circles, I’m “setting boundaries.”

I’ll be setting boundaries both with myself and with the unrealistic expectations I created for myself. Easing up on myself and letting go of some of the irritants somebody else can take care of.

Now there you go. I feel better already.

Thank You, Jeff Brown

I hadn’t initially planned to feature other authors on this blog, but here we are. When someone says exactly what you have been thinking about and wrestling with for years, why not? What’s not to like about a website that opens with this front page: “If you want to live a more spiritual life, live a more human life. Be more truly, fiercely, heartfully human.” From, Jeff Brown, Author, Teacher, Enrealment Activist & Grounded Spiritualist. https://jeffbrown.co/

When one of his posts popped up in my Facebook feed, I emailed Jeff Brown and asked for permission to copy it to my blog. He quickly replied: “For sure.” Those of us raised by troubled and immature parents know how easy it was to take all of their deficiencies on ourselves. Children would prefer to believe it was their fault that no one was consistently there to care for and protect them. It is nearly impossible for children to put the blame for neglect and abuse on their caregivers. Their sense of self is not strong enough or big enough. Also, by taking the blame on themselves, it gives children some measure of control. And so the seeds of people-pleasing are sown. It is easier for children to believe that they are the problem than to admit their caregivers are doing a bad job.

There is one question children should not have to ask: “Who is going to take care of me?” I remember wondering that often. When Dad crumpled in a heap to the floor, weeping uncontrollably after losing his businesses, money, and marriage, I put my arms around his neck: “Don’t cry, Daddy. We’ll be all right. Everything will be all right.” At the time, I remember casting about wildly in my mind for what I might be able to do. My mother was in a mental institution at that time so could not be reached, let alone expected to help. I was 11.

Here’s what Jeff Brown writes about what children raised in that situation often do: “In order to deal with the feelings related to the absent parent, children often make the assumption that they are to blame. This is the only way they can make sense of it – if the adult isn’t loving, it must be because we are ‘unworthy.’After all, “Rachel’s father spends a lot of time with her”, and “Michael’s mother always hugs and kisses him in public.” So if yours doesn’t, it must be because there is something wrong with you, something not enough, something not worthy of love. Thus begins the internalized shame and self-blame cycle, often reflected in the disdain we feel for our bodies, our creations, and our very existence. Of course, our unworthiness is entirely untrue, but it is experienced as deeply true for the child self. And if the bitter parent actually told you that you are unworthy, or bad, or a mistake, or anything that undermines your sense of self, then you have literal evidence of your own valuelessness. Who do we believe if not the parent? Who defines us before we are ready to define ourselves? It then becomes very difficult to recognize and call out abuse and neglect, because you move through the world certain of only one thing – your inherent unworthiness. If you are constantly seeking validation and approval, if you are not yet at an egoic stage where you can recognize your own value, on what basis do you stand up to those who abuse you? I think one of the reasons I didn’t call out my mother in my early adulthood was because I had taken her negative message to heart. If I was a bad person, how could I demand she treat me with respect? If I was ‘persona non grata’ on Mother Earth, on what basis would I fight for my right to the light?”

Mr. Brown, you speak my mind. You also mirror my experience. Parents coping with addictions are absent de facto. It took an astonishing number of crises large and small in adulthood based on low self-worth for me to learn to live crisis-free. I wandered too far and too often down wrong alleys in pursuit of love and stability.

Finally, the penny dropped in that I realized to attract love and support, it was up to me to create it inside myself. You cannot drink from an empty well. I finally came to a place where I could see myself as worthy of happiness. Only then, was I able to open up to the possibility that I was capable of giving and accepting love. How I got here is the main message of the book I am writing. Jeff Brown’s take assures me there are others out there who get that type of journey, as well.