phone belonging

Belonging

At first it seemed normal.  Nothing untoward.

He was one of many making their way along the busy London station platform.

He walked a few paces ahead, a little to the side.  The left.

Like many of us today, he walked one hand held aloft.  Not at eye level, but held in front of his lower face. Face and hand locked at a fixed distance apart, hand leading face, almost as if invisibly tied together.

It seemed like he was following the scent of a delicate flower, cupped within his hand.

Instead, his hand held his mobile phone.

His eyes flicked down, then up, down, then up.  The time spent down seemed to dominate.  Maybe two thirds down, one third up?

My pace was slightly quicker and I began to draw almost level.

I glanced across.  Then lingered.

His screen contained the calculator.  A familiar sight. There were no numbers entered.  Just a blank calculator screen.

We walked on.  I adjusted my pace to match his.  Half a yard behind, just to the right.

We walked in synch. No buttons were pressed.  No numbers entered.  No calculations computed. His eyes flicked down, then up, down, then up.

He was one of the gang.  He was a phone walker.

Like me, maybe others who walked past this phone walker, or those who approached from the front, we might assume he was checking the latest news, scanning his social media timeline, reading a text or an email.

But no.

He was staring at a blank calculator app.  Content in the knowledge that he belonged.  Belonged to the morning throng of commuters who held their phones aloft. Scenting their technology like pungent hyacinths. He was no longer alone. He was accepted. He was a phone walker.

when the mocha is identical, but not the same…

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This facade was familiar, if a little unsettling. The colonial look unexpected, but befitting the environment of the town and surrounding shops. On entering though, the internals were reassuringly recognisable, for that particular coffee shop brand.

Feeling safe and on solid ground, I approached the young man behind the counter. “I’d like a tall salted caramel mocha please.” I said.

He politely and cheerily replied “Sure sir, I just need to let you know we’ve run out of the usual syrup, so we’ll put in another one. But it’s identical.” He punched some buttons on his display, already in slick, automated drink delivery mode.

“No it’s not.” I said.
“Not identical.”

He paused, holding a cup, looking a little taken aback – possibly not used to a challenge, or to my English humour? He looked a little less certain, but meekly offered, “It normally has toffee nut syrup in, but we can put hazelnut in instead. It tastes just as good.”

“But not identical?” I offered

“No.” he conceded, before asking me my name, to write on the cup which would soon contain my ‘similar’ salted caramel mocha.

The other day I ordered a chilli (chile?) mocha. Medium, this time. The girl taking my order asked, “Hot or cold?”

“That’s sophisticated.” I grinned.

She looked puzzled.

“…to offer different varieties of chillies?” I said.

She laughed. “I meant do you want a hot drink or a cold one? … That’s good though.” she muttered, grinning widely.

Pedantic? Maybe?

I like to think I engaged this young man and woman in some banter. Something to add a little spice to the daily grind of latte, cappuccino, chai tea…

A little variation, a little change, a new reflection, a new awareness, a smile. All good ingredients for drinking in life.

the formative journeys of a shared t-shirt dream

we share a dream

When we travel, we are sometimes physically apart from those we are most connected to. Family. Friends. Yet physical connections are only one way we share our lives.

This amazing t-shirt display at Buffalo International Airport (the picture only shows half) is an installation by Kaarina Kaikkonen, who works with large amounts of clothing to alter our perception of our shared spaces and shared lives. The 1000 t-shirts, which are tied together, were donated by the people of western New York. The linking of the shirts signals our movements together – the daily commutes, the migratory moments of our travels and the formative journeys we take in our lives.

It is called ‘We share a dream’.

Nice thought Kaarina.

is society collapsing?

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You could be forgiven for perhaps thinking so.

The ramifications of the vote a few days ago have generated some dramatic activity. Financial markets wavering, Prime Ministers resigning, political parties in disarray, arguments beginning across the channel, countries in our United Kingdom expressing a view, again, that they do not wish to be united. Yet…

I’ve just mown my grass. I’m sitting outside now with a cup of tea. My mower started, water spewed from the tap in order for me to brew my tea, the sun is shining, my neighbour said ‘hello’, a fly wants to share my biscuit, an aircraft passes overhead…

What is society?

One dictionary definition is…

the aggregate of people living together in a more or less ordered community.

another…

an organised group of persons associated together for religious, benevolent, cultural, scientific, political, patriotic, or other purposes.

On that basis the society that is the road I live in, is fine. We are, more or less, operating as an ordered aggregate of people living in a community for a variety of purposes. A local society, I grant you, so let’s look bigger, much bigger.

As a species, we live on a planet. We have little choice really than to live together. We do so for pragmatic purposes, to breathe, to survive, to reproduce as a human race. It’s more or less organised, more or less ordered.

Much is wrong with it though. Some groups fight, for political or religious reasons. Some groups have little, others arguably too much. Some prosper, some starve. Some believe in one set of values or world order, some another. Our cultural histories are significantly different. We speak a multitude of languages. We raise our children and operate in our communities differently. We come together for a variety of reasons beyond survival. In some respects we are organised, ordered. In many we are not.

But even this massively faulty, culturally disparate, often blind society works, more or less. It does so because fundamentally human beings are social animals. We want to ge in groups, to be together, to belong. We have a deep need to connect and to be accepted. Even the terrorist suicide bomber seeks to belong. To his or her faith and to the community or society or afterlife they believe in. We live in relationship systems.

I passed a man sitting in the street on Friday. He had a dog, a blanket, a cardboard mat and was begging. This is one of the wealthiest countries in the world, and he was begging. I can’t rescue him, I can’t take him in or solve his problems, but I can acknowledge him. Acknowledge his existence. His humanity. So I spoke to him. I said hello and asked him how he was. Maybe I should have given him money. Maybe that would have been more important. But money is transient. Money isn’t what makes society. If anything money destroys it.

For me society has at its core, humanity. Human recognising human. Not necessarily agreeing, not necessarily believing the same things, not necessarily speaking the same language, not necessarily living in the same way, not necessarily having the same choices, past, present or future, not necessarily wanting the same things. But human beings nonetheless. It seems to me as long as we have that, society will survive. Hopefully it will blossom and grow.

Say ‘hello’ to someone today.
Maybe offer them something.
Maybe perform a random act of kindness.
Maybe say sorry.
Maybe just smile.

thinking our way out of the darkness

out of the darkness

Farmers used to think that it was in the nature of chickens to peck at one another, that they were basically loners, unsocial animals that couldn’t mingle without being nasty.

On some farms, their beaks were clipped, but this only made it more difficult for the chickens to eat – which made them hungrier, so they pecked at themselves and one another even more. Then a chicken farmer somewhere noticed something exquisitely simple that changed everything: chicken coops were dark, and the absence of light was what was causing the chickens to peck at themselves and one another. As soon as that farmer introduced a light source into his coops, his chickens stopped pecking—it was as simple as that.

People are not all that different. When we don’t know what our minds need to think well together, we are like chickens pecking around in the dark. This isn’t as far afield as it might seem. When we are communicating and thinking well together, our faces actually “light up.” When our minds don’t get enough light, our thinking breaks down and we begin to peck at one another and ourselves.

Humans can no longer afford to think in division and darkness. Collaborative intelligence is the light that is necessary for our individual and collective survival. We have no choice now but to think together.

Dawna Markova & Angie McArthur

journeys

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I’ve been travelling today.

A road journey, along motorways.

Travelling with companions, both in my car and those in other vehicles travelling a similar route. Some joining, some leaving. Some we passed, some passed us. Some moving slower, some racing ahead.

Some we met again and again. That dance you sometimes enjoy between you and another car. Both travelling at a similar speed, but occasionally because of circumstances, they pull out and overtake you. Then, a mile further on, you return the favour. As if two dance partners holding hands, connected in an invisible link, one pulling or pushing the other into a new move, or a different pose.

We pulled off our route for refreshments. As did other travellers. Recharging for the next leg of our journey.

We never know where our fellow drivers are headed. For this leg, clearly we are travelling together. At a future point they may branch off and head in a different direction, as indeed might we. But for now, we travel together.

It’s a bit like life really. All on a journey.