Our National Meme [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

This weekend while I was busy elevating Neil Postman to prophet status I realized I was also putting to rest a debate that began with my business partner during the dawn of social media. Her contention was that meaningful relationships were possible over social media. I held – and still hold – now more than ever – the opposite view. Our latest election is all the proof I needed.

Meaningful relationships are complex. They require time. They require presence – slowing down and paying attention. Listening. They are expansive as well as intricate. They are investments in the other.

The medium is the message. Social media is reductive. It is immediate. It does not slow down, rather, it speeds us up. It affords only simplistic exchanges. It’s great for memes, for sharing photos, for updates. It is self-centered. It is limited in characters and increasingly relies on emojis. It is a great medium for the superficial, the tit-for-tat. Jabs. Clever comebacks. And, if you don’t like what you are hearing, a touch of a button unfriends the annoyance. No investment required.

Social media has become our public square.

Our ease of unfriending creates information eddies, impenetrable echo chambers. We sort to bubbles of agreement with nary a nod to fact or uncomfortable truth. We do not have to listen to each other since insulting and negating each other is within the reduction-capacity of the medium while listening, questioning, discussing and debating is not.

Our medium inhibits complicated in-depth conversations or layered debate of ideas which, in-turn, inhibits fact-based conversation while promoting gossip, conspiracy, accusation and misinformation. I am haunted by a piece Kerri included in her Smack-Dab post on Saturday:

“…Catherine Rampell and Youyou Zhou of the Washington Post showed before the election that voters overwhelmingly preferred Harris’s policies to Trump’s if they didn’t know which candidate proposed them.  An Ipsos/Reuters poll from October showed that voters who were misinformed about immigration, crime, and the economy tended to vote Republican, while those who knew the facts preferred Democrats. Many Americans turn for information to social media or to friends and family who traffic in conspiracy theories. As Angelo Carusone of Media Matters put it: “We have a country that is pickled in right-wing misinformation and rage.”  (heather cox richardson – american historian, professor of history – boston college, previously MIT, university of massachusetts amherst )

The info-bubbles generated by our social-media-public-square are fortresses. Inside the walls we are capable of demonizing the other, ramping up our rage, but are incapable of promoting or encouraging the sharing of policy ideas, a comprehensive discussion of competing visions for the nation’s future, the character of the candidates, the possible impact to other nations and the ramifications of our choice…

The info-river is fast-moving and keeps flowing with little or no regard to the worth or truth of the information it carries. Not only are we pickled in misinformation and easily distracted, we are also incapable of tracking the tsunami of information that washes over us each day. We scroll and forget. Our attention span is a long as what rolls through our screen.

The voters of this nation have forgotten the train wreck of the despot-elect’s first time in office. “Trump’s own staffers, subordinates, and allies frequently characterized Trump as infantile…The number and scale of Trump’s statements in public speeches, remarks, and tweets identified as false by scholars, fact-checkers, and commentators were characterized as unprecedented for an American president, and even unprecedented in U.S. politics.”

“In the 2018 presidential rankings by the Siena College Research Institute, Trump ranked as the third-worst president in history. C-SPAN’s 2021 President Historians Survey ranked Trump as the fourth-worst president overall and the worst in the leadership characteristics of Moral Authority and Administrative Skills.”

Trump ranked last in both the 2018 and 2024 surveys of the American Political Science Association Presidents and Executive Politics section, with self-identified Republican historians ranking Trump in their bottom five presidents.

And so, we willingly walk behind the mule for a second time. There is nothing new to be learned except perhaps how damaging or fatal a second kick will be. Maybe, just maybe, if our democracy survives, we will have learned to stop tweeting at each other and step into a real public square for our most important conversations. I know, I know. I’m an idealist.

I have a suggestion for our new national meme: “Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me.”

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE SECOND KICK

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Those Ubiquitous Carts [David’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab]

In some ways the grocery store is the last vestige of a by-gone era. A gathering place. A commons. A place of spontaneous conversation with neighbors and acquaintances – nothing transactional, not facilitated through a screen. A chinwag surrounded by vegetables, boxes of pasta and bags of chips. All made possible by the weekly necessity of pushing the cart.

We lost track of time in our most recent grocery-store-dialogue. We laughed heartily. We left the store with our groceries and giddy with delight at bumping into old friends. There is so much misunderstood power available in those ubiquitous carts!

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE CART

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Answer The Call [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

As is always true, the color calls me and I stop. You’d think I’d get used to the pop of red vine against the winter grass. You’d think that I’d expect it and, therefore, no longer see it. But that hasn’t happened yet. Or maybe I’m refusing to let it happen. The color calls. I answer.

Sometimes I feel as if it is a requirement to move slow enough in the world to actually absorb it. Move too fast and the extraordinary bounces off. Moving too fast makes us Teflon. Non-stick living. I want to soak it up. I want to feel it, the whole spectrum.

It’s a consumer mind that thinks, “I’ve seen it,” and races fast “to get there,” forever on the freeway gobbling miles and eschewing the backroads. Gobbling achievement while missing the experience. Checking life off the list. I am not the same as I was yesterday. When the red vine calls I might be open to a wholly new conversation. The red vine certainly is not the same as yesterday. I can see it because I “took the time” to see.

Like the red vine, the phrase “take time” called so I answered. I Googled it and, no surprise, most of the synonyms were negative. Culture betrays itself. Dawdle. Dally. Waste time. Fritter away. Goof off. Lolly gag. And, the cherry on the top of the Puritan heap: lose time.

It’s a regular deathbed revelation for people to wish they had not raced through their lives to hang yet another plaque on their wall of respect. If there is a strategy for losing-the-time-of-your-life it is to race-through-to get-to-the-end. Goal achieved. There’s another way. Walk slow enough to hear when the red vine calls. Then, take the time to stop and answer.

read Kerri’s blogpost about RED VINE

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Line Up [on saturday morning smack-dab]

Costco. Waiting for the next batch of rotisserie chickens. People gather. Like racers at the starting line, chicken-shoppers jokey their carts for prime position. We call it “The Chicken Line”.

While we are in the Chicken Line, I people-watch. I look at faces, changing like the moon as they review their shopping list or life-choices.

Kerri talks to people. She makes friends. She makes people laugh. It’s not unusual, as we depart the Chicken Line with our newly acquired hot bird, for her to wave and call out, “Nice talking with you!”

“See you next time in The Chicken Line,” the stranger (to me) replies and giggles.

“Do we know her?” I ask, oblivious.

“We do now.”

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE CHICKEN LINE

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Be The Reason [on Merely A Thought Monday]

Our airbnb porch became the neighborhood evening meet-up spot. After a good day of hiking, we’d take our snack and glass of wine to the porch, set up our pop-up table and chairs, and enjoy the waning light. The porch was close to the street so it was only natural (to us) to talk to passers-by.

Mike and his little dog Makaela stopped to chat. Carole joined us. The guy with the pizza walked by and offered us a slice. The skittish kitty hovered. It became the evening ritual; conversation with the neighborhood. Easy laughter. Sharing stories.

It’s easier to see when traveling, when the stuff-of-life is put on the back burner for a week or so. Put down the worries and the simple gestures, the small kindnesses, become visible. In our travels we were awash in the warmth of the easy smile, the generous hello, the effortless conversation.

Taking a walk in Charlotte, the afternoon was hot so we stayed to the shady side of the street. The tree surprised us. Prayer flags wove through the branches and sweet phrases hung like ornaments and fluttered in the breeze. An invitation to stop awhile and breathe. An invitation to stop awhile and set a generous intention. Be the reason.

What I learned on my vacation: a smile is such an easy gift to give. It’s even easier to receive and reciprocate. And, best of all, the ripples go on and on and on.

read Kerri’s blogpost about SMILES

Porch Sit [on KS Friday]

Quinn used to say that two things ruined western civilization: salad bars (serve yourself) and attached garages. “It all went south when we started inviting our cars into our homes,” he mused. To his list I might add air conditioners. Porch-sitting and the neighborhood evening promenade, with accompanying neighbor conversations, went away with the invention of cool indoor air. Imagine what we might be able to solve if we actually talked to each other on a regular basis. Imagine what nonsense might dissipate if we pulled our heads out of the television and, instead, strolled the neighborhood to see what was going on.

We look for porches. And, when we don’t have one, we create it. I knew I would be with Kerri forever because (among other things) she had two Adirondack chairs sitting in the grass outside the front door of her house. Early in out time together, we sat out front, sipped wine, and waved and chatted with people walking by. She’s dedicated to greater things than cold-air comfort.

When we travel, our airbnb’s almost always have porches. A porch is on the list of requirements. It never fails. The porches in our travels are always sources of good stories, special moments, new friendships. They are not magic. They were invented for peace and polite conversation. They are liminal spaces, both public and private. People wave and greet each other. People stop and chat – even for a moment. You can learn a lot about a new place by sitting on the porch and asking a local carrying a pizza where the good food is to be found (a true story). People like to share what they know.

As Skip reminded us yesterday, people write things on Facebook or other social media that they’d never say otherwise. I think there’s a lot of that going around these days. Forums for ugliness. I’m certain it’s nothing that a good porch and an evening constitutional couldn’t cure.

time together/this part of the journey is available on iTunes or streaming on Pandora

read Kerri’s blog post about PORCHES

time together/this part of the journey © 1997 kerri sherwood

Check Your Attribution [on KS Friday]

I have just had a front row seat to a full-blown, hyper-antagonistic, years-long, classic case of attribution-bias-escalation. It was [and is] ugly. The ripples are rocking boats, eroding foundations, ending friendships. The damage is thorough and, as is always true, infinitely avoidable.

Attribution bias. Making the assumption that you KNOW why someone did or said something. Assigning your reason to their behavior.

Years ago, a red faced executive called me, the consultant, in and fumed, “She said THAT to demean me!” I paused and asked, “Do you really know why she said it? Have you asked her what was going on from her point of view?” His blank stare told me all I needed to know. He would rather demonize her, be offended by her, than communicate with her. We sat down, drank a cup of coffee and decided that, rather than fume and escalate, rather than simmer in a victim-stew, he had at his disposal a better path. Communicate rather than assume, ask questions rather than blame, poison the well, and indulge in being offended.

It always amazes me how unconscious and/or resistant folks are to challenging their attributions. How eager they are to spin hard narratives and create vicious persecutors. How invested they become at being offended or otherwise insulted en route to being ‘right.’ It is monster-creation. It provides nothing more than a reason to draw a sword.

We do it so fast. Assume we know. And, once the attribution is made, we hold onto it as if it were gospel. It is easier to believe we know-all-things than it is to step out of the yummy-victim-archetype and ask a few simple questions, confess a few honest vulnerabilities. It is easier, more tasty, to take offense than it is to give consideration. Blame provides a great reason to never ask a question. Being ‘right’ is a hard stop to all inquiry.

In the canon of unconscious bias, attribution is one of the most-oft-used routes to really effective miscommunication. It makes mountains out of molehills. It makes muck from otherwise good working relationships. It savages careers. It makes vice presidents run to the phone and call consultants. It makes councils meet in secret and vote without investigation. It makes revenge a serious pursuit of otherwise grown-up adults. It makes weak leaders run for the basement and hide. It makes new-contract-creation and other tit-for-tat flexing a less-than-fun game of control. No one wins. No questions asked. It makes a hammer the only tool in the tool kit.

A few breaths to simmer down, the suspension of a snap-assumption, an honest “can I talk to you” conversation that comes with no blame and a wee-bit of vulnerability…could make a minor miscommunication remain minor. It could save all manner of hurt feelings, ill intention, relationship destruction, HR costs, separation agreements, litigation…all unnecessary wreckage that might have been avoided with an assumption-made-conscious, an attribution challenged. A simple word or phrase can usually be explained, “You took a bullet meant for someone else, I’m sorry.” Mountains return to molehills when we are willing to turn from our hyper-active-attribution-bias (“I’m right and I know it!”) and ask, “I’m not sure what just happened here. Will you help me understand?”

read Kerri’s blog post about ESCALATION

Follow The Conversation [on Merely A Thought Monday]

I met Horatio on an airplane. With his wife, Teru, we were seatmates on a flight from Washington D.C. to Seattle. I’d just finished facilitating a workshop at the Smithsonian about story, he was stepping toward directing films, and Teru is passionate about writing life histories. We talked about storytelling clear across the country and our conversation continues to this day.

David and I sat next to each other at a conference. I’d only just moved to Seattle, I knew no one. I saw a sign for the conference and wandered in. It was my good fortune to pick a seat next to a brilliant visual and theatre artist. We started talking about life and art. Years later, every gallery I enter, every play I attend, I have conversations with David in my mind – and hurry home to write him or call him and share what we talked about.

To this day, MM is my greatest collaborator. We used to sit in my office and dream big dreams – and then go out and make them happen. He is the ultimate player-of-infinite-games, playing-to-play. When I need my mind opened, my pot stirred, or my obstacles surmounted, I turn to MM.

I was visiting Tom McK at his ranch. When he asked me to help him tell a story I had no idea that his simple question, the story that he needed to tell, would take more than a decade and would only be possible after his death. His story became my story to tell.

It was Tom’s story that I told to Horatio that day on the flight from D.C. to Seattle. It was multiple good conversations over many years with David about writing plays that finally brought me to clarity. MM was my constant companion. With his band, Mom’s Chili Boys, he composed the music that supported the telling of Tom’s story. He built the world of the play and then, together, we stepped into the world and fulfilled Tom’s request.

Fortuitous seat assignments on a flight. Following an impulse into a conference and taking any old seat. Playing an infinite game. One good conversation, again and again, and nothing will ever be the same.

read Kerri’s blog post about ONE GOOD CONVERSATION

Breathe The Same Air [on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

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For years I had a debate with my business partner. She was a first adopter, always jumping into the latest technology. Her position in the debate: real relationships were possible through technology. My position: you need to be in the same room with someone if you want a real relationship. Technology can provide connective tissue but can never approach the visceral, tangible, sensual realities necessary in a relationship.

Over time I’ve flip-flopped my position and then flipped back again. Connectivity is not relationship. I am connected with people all over the world – and I deeply appreciate the network connection – but I am only in relationship with the people I spend time with. It is simple. Relationship takes time. Relationship needs time. It is not an achievement; it is an ongoing investment in the heart of another.

John O’Donohue writes about the “digital instant,” the expectation of arrival compressed into a nanosecond. The absence of journey. If the website doesn’t come up in a second or two, we leave in frustration. We click our angry departure for another instant arrival. If I don’t answer an email within a compressed amount of time, the originator of the email wonders why I’m ignoring them. Connectivity comes with expectations that often prohibit relationship. Or, rather, connectivity is the low-bar expectation of what now qualifies for real relationship.

Yesterday 20 and I continued a conversation that we started four years ago. We will pick it up again because our conversation has no end. It is a lifetime conversation. There is no expectation of arrival, of conclusion. The focus is entirely on the journey, the friendship, the continuance. The laughter, the deep sharing of fear and frustration, the vulnerability, the sharing-of-time-to-listen-and-give-presence. What we share is not a network connection (that phrase feels scrubbed, antiseptic, even in the writing of it). It is something with breadth and depth and texture that can only come when two people breathe the same air, sit in the same room, read body language, and feel what is beneath the words.

 

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read Kerri’s blog post about NETWORK CONNECTIONS

 

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Save Your Nickel [on Merely A Thought Monday]

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We walk on snowy trails through the woods because it is quiet. I retreat to my studio to work because it is quiet. It inspires quiet. Quiet evokes quiet.

Scrolling through her news app, Kerri said, “Everyone in the world is angry.” It certainly seems that way, especially if the news is the lens through which the world is defined. Headlines shout. The advertisements flash and disrupt.  Tom used to say that watching television, plugging into the news-of-the-day, reminded him of his childhood. The circus would come to town. Carnival barkers and bright signs, lots of noise and distractions. The one sure moneymaker, the tent everyone clamored to get into, lining up to pay their shiny nickel, was the freak show. Two headed cows in jars of formaldehyde. Things that gross us out or make us mad. “Nowadays, they call it reality television,” he’d say, shaking his head. “Or the news. It’s a lot of noise.”

Here’s a simple truth: conversation is impossible in too much noise. People shouting to be heard. A room full of shouting people actually makes listening more difficult and conversing impossible. It’s a feedback loop. Noise evokes noise. And, noise isolates. It is a perfect recipe for being alone together.

The Five20 is a little bar at the Stagecoach Inn in Cedarburg.  Their tagline, “Where you can actually hear your conversation” is refreshingly accurate and seems a throwback to another era. People valuing conversation; a place, a space, intended to facilitate interaction sans noise. Our group, 10 people strong, the up-north-gang, began and ended our yearly trek to Winterfest there. Sitting at the far end of the long table, I could hear every word spoken at the other end. Even when the bar was packed.  And, the best part, today, I can’t tell you what we talked about – the simple stuff  of life – but I can tell you that we laughed and shared and left the Five20 full of friendship, warmed by sharing rather than exhausted from shouting.

As Tom would have said, “Save your nickel.” Sometimes the thing you seek is not in the tent amidst the noise but outside, far from the circus.

 

read Kerri’s blog post about WHERE YOU CAN ACTUALLY HEAR

 

 

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