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If you were to guess
How many times in your childhood do you think you said
“When I grow up, I’ll never do that,” or
“When I have kids, I’ll never make them…” whatever
Probably a lot
Although plenty of those things are self-fulfilling prophecies
Many do shape how we move forward and raise our own children
This is something I noticed early on and had to square with
I lived my baseline, and used it to imagine my optimum
I then worked to provide my optimum for my children
Which then became their baseline
It would frustrate me how they would sometimes take my optimum for granted
But, I would have to remind myself that they never experienced my baseline
This was their baseline
And while I thought they were wildly lucky
For them it was just Tuesday
And so there should be tacos
I had to hug and kiss all my relatives every time I saw them
My children do not have to touch or be touched by any person for any reason
They do not have to deal with my creepy uncle who was always untying my bows
And while adults held authority in the house I grew up in
By the time I had kids I realized older does not necessarily mean wiser
And so while they had to be respectful, they were in no way subordinate
These things felt like huge upgrades to the operating procedures of my youth
But they’re my kids’ baseline
Anything else seems absolutely primeval to them
So I can’t quite expect them to be grateful
Indeed, they have ideas to refine their policies even further
And that’s evolution
They WILL make choices informed by their baseline, finessed into their optimum
And their children will be blest
But they probably won’t be grateful
Because that carefully engineered optimum
Will once again become a baseline
And they will call me and say, “they don’t know how lucky they have it!”
And I will laugh and say, “Yep, but it just shows you’re doing your job. That’s evolution.”
There were brief periods when my children were in classrooms
Classrooms can be surprisingly political places
Especially for those unversed in chaos theory
We had our share of great teachers and questionable ones
Great friends and nemeses
To make sense of it all, we had a family metaphor
School is like an ice cream store
There is room for all of the flavors in the coolers
Some flavors you’ll like, some you won’t
But a big part of the value of the store is that there’s something for everyone
Dad loves pistachio ice cream. He’ll get it a decent portion of the time.
I really don’t care for the flavor. I don’t even like the look.
Even if I hated it, I’d still have to appreciate it exists because Dad enjoying pistachio ice cream gets us to the ice cream store which lets me get strawberry.
So, viva la pistachio ice cream
But, strawberry, please. Today.
Tomorrow it might be chocolate.
I might even want a double.
Every once in a while, there might be some ice-cream-catastrophe
And the scooper will need to get involved
Like tree nut flavors having a dedicated, separate container
All the flavors may not go well together
And they don’t have to
Each flavor is delicious to someone
And every one has a right to exist
You don’t need to like it
Your job is to find what you DO like
Sample away
You do not need nor want the whole cooler to be just one flavor.
You also need not eat every flavor in the cooler
Nor eat the same one every time
You don’t need anyone else to agree with you
They’re welcome to their own flavors
Sovereignty starts at the ice cream shop
But it doesn’t end there
When our kids were little
Sometimes a friend wouldn’t be in the mood to play with them
And they would take it personally
Doesn’t that person like me anymore?
It’s a moment
And it doesn’t feel good
It works both ways
Sometimes they wouldn’t be in the mood to play with a certain friend
It didn’t necessarily mean they didn’t like them
Or did it?
That could be a real quandary
How does this feeling reflect on forever
And that is a question we don’t necessarily need to ask every time
We had a family context:
Friends are like pizza
We love pizza
We’re stoked to eat it A LOT
But that doesn’t mean we’re always in the mood for it
And not being in the mood for pizza doesn’t mean we don’t like pizza
It just means it doesn’t sound like what would be satisfying right now
Or we’re simply not hungry
This orientation resolved a lot of anxiety, often immediately
And its effectiveness reached back into my own childhood
I had often put myself on a rollercoaster ride if someone wasn’t as eager as I was
Old, unresolved tensions I didn’t realize I’d still carried
Melted like the cheese on a pizza
Rejection didn’t necessarily have overarching meaning
And if it did, if someone didn’t like me anymore or whatever
Let that be on them to be explicit about
“I’m allergic to pizza”
Noted.
Everyone moves on
And having it as a policy in our lives
For a decade or more
I’ve witnessed it meet and diffuse an anxious moment a hundred times
In both directions
Let that feeling or wondering rest in a bed of perfect acceptability
I suppose it’s a mechanical thought process of not taking things personally
Having a context that diffuses extended meaning
Acknowledging that relationships having natural experiences of space
Doesn’t mean the relationship is lesser
I remember one friend my daughter absolutely loved
And when she didn’t feel like doing things with her, she’d feel terribly guilty
“Maybe I don’t like her as much as I think I do?”
The pizza analogy nipped that in the bud
All the guilt and inquiry went away
And didn’t taint their next encounter
I think plenty of people do this naturally
I didn’t
And I’m glad I didn’t pass on all the neurosis I had about youthful friendships
Finally, I, and my children, could choose from the buffet of life
Not feeling like we need to put everything on our plate
Or to be on every plate
To enjoy what’s most delicious today
There is a buffet here. Would you like some pizza?
Kiichi Usui was the best man in Yoko Ono’s first wedding
They were part of a group of Japanese artists that came to New York in the ‘50s
To make art that didn’t exist yet
Kiichi parlayed his traditional Japanese art education into abstract expressionism
While Yoko got into the Fluxus movement where the idea mattered more than the object
You may be familiar with the story of how she met Lennon
When he went to see her installation consisting of a ladder
At the top of which was a magnifying glass
You could use to search the ceiling where you’d find a small, printed word:
YES
And thus began her third and final marriage
But Kiichi had a different experience
He’d been a working artist in New York for a decade when his wife got pregnant
To support his family he decided to take on a new relationship with the art he loved
And moved to Michigan to open Meadow Brook Art Gallery
On the campus of Oakland University
There, he made a name for himself as a curator
Bringing in remarkable works rarely seen outside of New York or Paris
Lichtenstein, Pollock, Warhol
To this tiny art gallery in suburban Detroit
But he made that gallery big, in reputation as well as acreage
The university sat on a fifteen hundred acre parcel of land
Anchored by the founder’s Tudor Revival Meadow Brook Mansion
Kiichi initiated a competition for large modern installation pieces throughout the property
That made the whole campus feel like anything could happen around the next bend
He didn’t paint during most of the years he was curator
As he felt it was a conflict of interest
But in the mid ‘80s he started again
He moved from abstract expressionism into what he called
Photo romanticism
Applying his talent to recognizable imagery with a softness photorealism wouldn’t allow but impressionism took too far
My mother shared an office with him when she worked for the theater and festival
So I knew him
When I was 18 and a Japanese major
Kiichi asked if he could paint me
I was happy to sit for him, and happier still when I realized it would just be a photo session
Much easier
While most of the work revolved around me wearing intricately embroidered kimonos
I was mortified the first time he asked me to take my clothes off
What would my mother think?
When I timidly told her after arriving home she said
“Of course he did! He’s an artist. What did you think was going to happen?”
I went on to sit for him about a dozen times over the next decade
From which he painted somewhere north of 30 portraits of me before he died
Recently, one came to live with me, brought by my mother
And hanging it, I’m wildly grateful she didn’t purchase one of the nudes
I may still be the same weight
But I am decidedly not the same shape
Here, in my 200th post, I’m embracing my changing form
And who I’m becoming takes me back to Yoko Ono’s seminal piece
I feel like I’ve climbed a ladder, and I’ve been searching the ceiling with a magnifying glass
And finally, I see
YES
Go ahead, say YES!
In 1990, Buddhist practitioner Cynthia Jurs went to Nepal
There, she was lucky enough to have an audience with a 106-year-old Rinpoche
She asked him what she could do to help heal the earth and her people
He told her
‘Just one person practicing deeply can have a dramatic impact
But you, dear one
You need to bury clay pots in the earth’
Excuse me?
Not what I was expecting
Not what she was expecting
But his hermitage gave her 30 small pots
She says it took her quite some time to wrap her head around the assignment
But she’s been traveling the world planting these pots and more, 72 so far
With local communities, in ceremony
Through her organization Alliance for the Earth
In learning about her work
I also learned: she’s not the only one
Multiple traditional communities plant their prayers
Putting minerals or seeds or talisman in a pot and burying or submerging it
A ritual act of appreciation for the land
Recognizing the earth as a main character
Not a set
An invitation to the unseen world for collaborative assistance
And acknowledgement of participatory enmeshment
I’ve heard it said that at the end of ancient battles, for example
Both leaders would plant their weapons on the battlefield
In recognition of the land and what had just happened on it
Modernity eliminated that kind of honoring
In favor of digging up those weapons and putting them on display in a museum
This practice reverently puts things back
But I’m most touched by the participatory nature of the practice
The involvement of community and peace-builders in burying these vases
As individuals and groups, visitors and residents, hold and bless these vessels
Living ceremonies catalyzed by symbolism, intention and ritual
Even developing ongoing peace and resource alliances
Brought alive in a new way by what was buried
I particularly love this ritual because I can feel the humility and recognition
Participation as the sacred act
The results: out of our hands
But joining hands in recognition that our intention and actions matter
That the course of our shared history might hinge on a prayer and a gift
Humans and the earth have had millennia of certain kinds of reciprocity
Usurped by things like plumbing and industry
And we have lots of decisions to make about how we continue to exist
And as much as innovation may have a role to play
So might
Guidance from the proverbial - and literal- wise one in a cave
Today I had the opportunity to use my umbrella shaped like the Duomo in Florence
There’s a detail on it most people don’t notice
Like the Eiffel Tower in Paris or Big Ben in London
Florence’s skyline is recognizable based on the Duomo
Or, more formally, the Basilica di Santa Maria del Fiore
The cathedral grew with Florence’s prominence in Italian history
First, just a small church on a northbound Roman road
Then a 5th century upgrade to “Santa Reparata Basilica”
But as the middle ages became the Renaissance
Florence came out swinging
And this Russian nesting doll of a church
Began to take its modern shape
1296 brought a new cathedral which took 100 years to build
But left a nearly 150 foot hole in the roof
And in 1420, Brunelleschi began the octagonal dome that is now known the world over
The first and still largest brick dome in the world
In what was a drama worthy of a telenovela
He built it in only 16 years
With incredible innovation
Using no scaffolding or wood supports
And confusing the hell out of the architects and artisans of the day
But, for some reason, Brunelleschi left the base of the Duomo unfinished
You have this incredibly fancy, two-tiered, intricate dome
And a bunch of raw stone and sandstone beams attaching it to an incredibly ornate cathedral
He died more than a decade later… He could’ve finished it
No one else had the guts
No one understood the engineering above it and didn’t want to be responsible for collapsing the structure
But eighty years later, as the Renaissance was hopping
Florence set an architect to the task
At about the same time they commissioned Michelangelo to carve “David” to sit at the cathedral’s roofline
So, this architect designed decorative columns for where the cupola meets the cathedral
And he completes one of the eight sides before Michelangelo comes back to town with David
A couple of things happen next
One, David is so beautiful - and so heavy - they decide he must live where he can be appreciated
And even Michelangelo’s archnemesis, DaVinci, agrees David should be placed in front of the town hall
Sorry, Palazzo Vecchio
Where he sat for the next three hundred and fifty years
But, the other thing that happened
Is someone asked how Michelangelo thought the Duomo base was coming along
He snickered and said the columns made the Duomo look like a cricket cage
At which point, the work was abandoned. Permanently.
I mean, if Michelangelo doesn’t like it…
So, that’s what my umbrella shows
One edge of the octagon with it’s cricket cage
And seven more completely unfinished
Because of one man’s opinion
And here, 400 years later, it remains the same
Look at a picture - any picture
One of the most ornate and visited buildings in the world remains visibly unfinished
And absolutely no one cares
But it does make me chuckle every time it rains.
There is not a food on earth that I expect to fulfill all my nutritional needs
Much less satiate me permanently
There is no shampoo so powerful that I’ll never need to use shampoo again
And there’s no clarity, on any subject, that means I’ll never need to address it again with my beloveds
Why, then, do I keep thinking ‘this spiritual practice should clean up all the remaining debris”
“This mental practice will conquer this long-held pattern forevermore”
Or
“This emotional clarity will erase the original wound”
My conditioning on ‘arriving’ is so strong
That even a lifetime of experience disproving ‘arrival’
In every category
Still gets overlooked
I get disappointed when I need to meet a challenge I thought I’d already met adequately
As if participation, refinement and renewal
Were admonishment instead of opportunity
Still, part of me wants to be ‘done’ and wants to be done through one effective tool
Sigh
Even the washing machine has to go in circles for quite some time to get the clothes clean
One round won’t do it
The truth is, I love my practices
I just wish I didn’t NEED them
And I do need them
I need meditation as much as I need to brush my teeth
And am quantumly better to talk to after both
I need relational witnessing as much as I need exercise
And feel invigorated and alive after both
I need creative expression as much as I need food
And feel delight in process and restful satisfaction after both
Hygiene is an ongoing process not because yesterday’s efforts were insufficient
But because that is how living systems work
I want to tell my children I love them over and over, in new ways
Last year’s love is insufficient to describe the depth at which they delight me today
I don’t take that kind of repetition as a problem
I like what it grows into
Just like I like the way my teeth feel after the dentist
Or I like the way our house looks right before we have company
I like the way I feel when I’m inhabiting my whole self with compassion and curiosity
These may not be permanent states, which is sometimes frustrating
But coming back around to them sure feels good
In my early 30’s I lived in a boat house on a small private lake in Michigan
I called it “camp”
Which is how I squared myself with copious spider population
It was the early days of the internet and I’d done a keyword search using “charming”
And it was
Down a ½ mile-long driveway
Around the side of the main house
Park by the magnolia tree
Follow the stone path to the 40 steps
The entrance of the house sat atop another 20 steps down to the water
It was about 700 square feet
Knotty pine walls (another reason I called it ‘camp’)
A 30-foot porch I could fish off of
But really I just threw the fish blueberries and watched their disappointment
The weekend I moved in, a former contact called
I answered the phone, “Paradise, may I help you?”
He was offering me a job to run a new Australian office of his web design company
“Thank you,” I said, “and if I hadn’t been serious with my salutation, I’d be all over it”
It was so beautiful, I never wanted to leave
So I asked my boss “what would I need to do to work from home”
She answered, “you’d need to get another job”
But 6 weeks later, I ruptured a disc
And whadayaknow, I couldn’t drive for 3 months
I had been traveling a lot, so now my colleagues had to come to me
Camp hosted many meetings
Several colleagues slept on my porch instead of their hotel
We would swim off the dock to separate the work day from the evening
The environment was so spectacular
I could invite anyone over at any time
Whether I had food or wine to offer
And feel utterly confident that they would be delighted to simply be there
Usually, I could throw something together
But it was really an afterthought.
Until I got married
Suddenly, I started freaking out about whether I had enough wine
Or adequate snacks
If the house was clean enough
Or I’d swept the stairs
WTF?
It took a few times of this happening to realize
I’d changed the tape
I’d had the carefree single woman tape in the player
And now I had the wife tape
And that one was full of anxiety about how the details reflected on the state of my union
I had to do it right or everyone, including and especially me, would think I was doing it wrong
And the craziest part was that even finally realizing what was happening did not end the dynamic
It took concentrated effort to set down the anxiety that felt necessary
And it was only the magnitude of the beauty of the environment that would pause the tape
Reminding me to enjoy the privilege of sharing the space with people I enjoyed
As time went by, camp became less enchanting
The roof leaked. The landlord weirdly wouldn’t fix it
Tucker designed an utterly hilarious indoor gutter system that channeled water into 3 separate buckets
By the time our daughter was born
What was once magical suddenly felt potentially dangerous
Circumstances changed
We ended up moving 1,000 miles away
And I had to continue to slowly debug wife.exe
In a New England bungalow
I went back to camp about 3 years later for a visit
It was every bit as beautiful as I remembered it
I couldn’t resist jumping in the lake
I got entirely tangled in seaweed
AI has led me astray more than once
It just sounded so sure of itself
LLMs don’t present data as data
They weave narratives
Intimating that they know everything
You’re being seen and understood as you rarely are in life
And here’s your straightforward 7 day plan
It has been helpful, like when I had an identity theft scare
And super not helpful, like when it said an appointment would be covered when it wasn’t
Was it the LLM’s fault
Or mine, for accepting its authoritative tone as real
When I’m working with an LLM on something I actually know about
The errors are many and obvious
Which finally has me applying more discernment
When Google’s AI Overview gives me a convincing answer to something I’m truly questioning
It is something I need to remind myself to do
Question that contrived authority
And today I realize I need to bring that same skepticism
That same knowledge of the need for deeper inquiry
When fear swoops in
Intimating that it knows everything
It’s the authority
It has the data
It cares for me and understands me and wants to support me
Both fear and LLMs only have access to the past
Rearranging it and calling it the future
But that’s not a real future
It’s just the regurgitated past
And I’ve certainly had enough of that
I don’t necessarily think fear or AI is trying to deceive me
I think they’re trying to present themselves as an authority that already knows what to do
You know, to help me feel better
It’s a trap
And it’s so easy to get caught in it
Because quick knowing is the whole appeal
Even when it’s wrong
When I call AI out on its errors
It does the same thing fear does
“Yep. You’re right. No excuse. I won’t do it again.”
And absolutely does it again.
Talk about predictive modeling.
I can’t erase AI from the cultural zeitgeist
Any more than I can erase fear from my thinking mind
I can, however, not let them go unquestioned
And my frustrations with AI are just making explicit and obvious
The series of predictive jumps and ridiculous confidence fear has been conjuring all along
Sure, not knowing is uncomfortable
But life is a dance with discovery
The nuance and specificity of this encounter
What this moment is both asking and offering
Fear and AI help me think I already know enough to stop paying attention
As if I can circumvent the discomfort of not knowing and feel safe
But billions of years on this planet
And it’s never been the same day twice
I want to meet today
Not a model I’ve anticipated, perfected and executed flawlessly
But a living possibility
Where inquiry, discovery and wonder
Aren’t things I need to resolve or protect myself from
But what I allow to shape me
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Growing up, I didn’t have a lot of emotional mirroring or reflection
Most of my family was too busy to engage
The sister closest in age, however, had lots of time on her hands
Which she used to tell me how much she hated me
That everyone did
That anyone who pretended to like me, was indeed just pretending
Not just most days
Every day
Consequently, I felt the need to get a second opinion
And, not finding a willing mirror in my own house
I used to go knock on doors in my neighborhood
Plenty of people didn’t open the door
And in retrospect, I can’t blame them
“Hi. I’m 7. I’m just looking for someone to talk to.”
There was one old lady who would answer almost every time I knocked
She got loose tobacco from a Native American farm in Virginia
We would talk while I watched her roll her cigarettes
Another house would answer the door when their grandchild was over
And I was happy to entertain the toddler for an hour or two
Most people were just confused
And eventually, I got the hint
But I carried the desire for a reliable witness throughout my development
I would ask teachers and counselors for an honest assessment of me
Strengths and weaknesses
And usually they would tell me how smart and resourceful I was
But that I could be more patient
That wasn’t what I wanted to hear
I wanted to hear something that could reconcile my sense of self
With my sister’s constant assessment of me
But I also knew that my sister’s take was skewed
And that I was too close to understand my own blind spots
And so, I kept asking
Now, we live in a polite society
People generally are not equipped to give constructive psychological evaluations
Most told me what they thought I wanted to hear
Until Lou Schultz
Lou was the president of the company I worked for
And the husband of my dearest friend
He was successful, succinct, and no-b******t
So, one day, at about 30 years old
I decided Lou was the perfect person to ask
And he did not disappoint
He wasn’t going to fluff my pillow
I’d asked him a question and I was getting my answer
He started with things he liked about me
And then he dug into where he thought I was an idiot
One example: “You’re political without being politically astute”
I asked for clarification
He recalled a business dinner I’d relayed to him previously
I’d done a negative POV paper about a company
The president of which was a former roommate of the president of GM
I’d recommended GM not engage
Of course they engaged
They were always going to engage, and I should’ve known that
And I certainly shouldn’t have confessed to being the author of the paper at the dinner
Yeah.
There were other things he offered
All of them valid from his lens
And, after all those years of asking
I finally had an unflinching assessment of who I was as a person
From someone I knew and respected
And, I won’t lie: I was crushed
I spent several days in a funk. Wouldn’t leave my house. Had to process.
I’d asked for it
I’d gotten it
And now I had to deal with it
Imagine my surprise, then, when several days later a very high-ranking executive called me
One of the people at that business dinner Lou said I’d flubbed
“I want to offer you a job,” he said
“Your honesty is refreshing, and your lack of posturing is unique”
A fog lifted
I didn’t take the job
But I got something much better
I finally saw I was mistaking frames for mirrors
Echolocation doesn’t tell a bat who she is
It just tells her where she is
I’ll always love Lou for being the first person to be truly candid with me
And the last
Because I never had to ask that question again
P.S. I no longer ask strangers who I am. I do still enjoy talking to them.
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