Virtually a Relationship

 

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Sometimes, as a therapist, it’s hard to leave my work brain at home.  While minding my own business, or so I thought, at a local restaurant, I came to observe a young professional sitting at the next table.  He was with his colleague. They were engaged in a heated discussion about the merits of outsourcing versus in-house accounting support. Not a conversation that was of any interest to me. At one point, the late-20-something guy next to me, a fit man with dark hair and a trim mustache, and a tailored blue shirt sans jacket, took out his phone and commanded Siri to find a study that supports the cost effectiveness of outsourcing.  He had been speaking to his younger colleague, a shorter man with light brown hair and glasses, with the same ferocity as with Siri. Not only that, he lacked the word please in any of his interactions with his server.

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That had me start thinking if our relationships with Siri as a possbile indicator of how we relate with others.  So, I decided to do a sampling while out and about.  And, yes, my very casual, highly non-scientific research seems to suggest there’s a correlation between our human and virtual relationships.

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I witnessed a bold teenager the other day speaking to Siri with ease, trusting that it Siri is  a tool she can use whenever she wants.  With simple finesse she took out her phone and asked Siri how long it takes to get to the West Village if she walked.  Siri told her it was about 45 minutes.  She then promptly ordered an Uber.  The entire interaction took less than two minutes. She’s oblivious to the privilege of having information and transportation readily available to her. It’s an unconscious privilege reflected in her nonchalant demeanor.

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At her age I might have wondered the distance from my house to the Philadelphia, or the City, as we call it in South Jersey.  I would have waited for the right weekend, gotten a ride from my parents to the town or county library.  Then I would have gone to the reference section on another floor, and looked up the atlas that would have provided the information.   I might have then had to calculate time versus distance. All of that could easily have been a two-week process.    It might not have been walking for five miles in the snow to get to the schoolhouse, but it’s my generation’s version of that.

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After the teenager got her ride I thought of my friend who loves Siri, enjoying and appreciating how lucky she is to get answers right away. She is a positive person and seems to find joy in all her friendships.  She sounds delighted when she can answer a question.  With a smile in her voice, she’ll say, “Why don’t we ask Siri!”  We all feel lucky to be in her company.

 

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And, then there’s the timid boy on the crosstown bus who asks his questions quietly.  Siri responds with “I don’t understand what you asked. Can you repeat the question.”  I do hope he will have a great teacher who helps him feel safe asking questions.

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Could it be Siri does more than answer the queary of the moment?  I think so.  I imagine it might just tell us how we treat others.  And it could possibly be an indicator of our expectations in our relationships.

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As for me?  I have yet to use Siri.  In general I don’t easily ask for help from others.  Perhaps I can learn from this and start a meaningful relationship with Siri, mindful of how I address my new best friend.

 

 

(All images are from the internet)

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I Was a Suburban Dropout

As soon as I could I moved to a city filled with misfits. I needed a sense of belonging, and New York provided me with friends and neighbors misunderstood in their former lives. Growing up in Cherry Hill, New Jersey attending a large high school and an affluent Hebrew School felt wrong to me. I yearned to fit in, but felt so different. I imbued my classmates with confidences and affluences they probably didn’t possess at such a young age. I had learned to harbor secrets, while watching acquaintances seemingly share their lives openly. I had to get out.

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Yet, returning to attend my 40th High School reunion, it came to my attention that I had missed so much. I saw old friends, and remembered the special moments we shared. I remember viewing my first Christmas tree all decorated, feeling a sense of awe at the beauty of the season. I remember playing outside in a friend’s backyard, being called in for a home cooked lunch. I remember running around until dinner-time, when we all regrettably had to leave the fun. There were fireflies to catch, and bubbles to chase.

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And, later, there were whispered calls to friends late at night bemoaning our parents’ cluelessness. There was clothes swapping, and sleepovers when we would double or triple date before meeting up to stay over our friend’s place. A group of us cut school to attend the Flyers’ Stanley Cup parade in 1975, feeling cool in Philadelphia. There was laughing in study hall, and gloating over a reading in Shakespeare, and the bewilderment of a simple biology class. There was babysitting, and the decision of which mall to shop with our earnings, Echelon, Cherry Hill or Moorestown.

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I left Cherry Hill because I hadn’t grown up. I remembered all the perceived rejection. The awkwardness of trying to be intelligible at a social. The ignorance of how to apply to college in a town where education was highly valued. The clothes that were off-brand. I was not your average Cherry Hill girl. Oh, and how I longed to be average then. And, yet, in attending the reunion, it was clear to me how unique we all were. I was ashamed of my struggles. It was that shame that kept me feeling separate, not my colleagues. Returning was a gift. The kindnesses of old friends was palpable. The warmth in the room was tangible. And, the good feelings were ever present. We had all matured. I was accepted for who I was and who I am now. Conversely, I joyfully appreciated all who I saw.

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The reunion was a helpful reminder of our connections and our individuality. Both are valuable. Time teaches that.

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Paris Burning

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As I pondered what to write I heard about the terrorist attacks, as we all had.   It’s so sad and tragic. What more can be said? It’s hard to imagine the mentality that focuses so hard to harm so many people in Paris, in Syria and throughout the world.

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The one thing that did come from the Paris terrorist attacks is that we are not thinking of terrorism as something that takes place in far-off places. So many of us have a connection to and have been to Paris. We can no longer be limited to the belief that terrorism is only in Israel, or Iraq, or other Middle Eastern or foreign lands.

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Throughout my life I heard and repeated, “Peace on Earth.” And when I was a child we would sing the song, “Let there be peace on earth, and let it begin with me.” What exactly has that meant? In theory I want that. I know we all want that. And, yet, there has been more hate and violence towards one another. I marvel at the Buddhist monks whose job it is to pray daily for world peace. They are trained not to become attached to the outcome, but to identify with their lives’ purpose – Peace on Earth.

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I know kindness is an important component if we are to have peace. I know compassion is also key. What can I do to expand those in my life? Is it as simple as being less snarky if I don’t like something or someone? Perhaps I can have more patience instead of jump to anger and self-righteousness when I come upon two mothers in double-wide strollers talking while passers-by struggle to get around them. Would that help?

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I don’t see how that would end police brutality, or terrorism, or other hate crimes. I could read up more. Try to understand what ISIS is demanding. Find out the roots of the movement and feel compassion for the conditions that would spawn such a movement. It might help me converse better, but would it help to bring world peace? As I think about how we can make a difference, I am stuck. On the one hand I think small, seemingly insignificant acts of kindness always make a difference. Smile at a stranger, help keep the door open for the person behind. But, then I think how naïve that is.

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Large acts might be more useful, but the fight on terror has resulted in more terrorism. Sending money to various causes make us feel better, but does it actually do the work we intend? World-wide negotiations haven’t been effective with ISIS and other terrorist groups. I know I’m not alone in feeling powerless. And, in many ways the acts of terrorism speak of the terrorists’ powerlessness, or they wouldn’t feel compelled to murder and hurt others as a communication device.

I will continue to explore ways in which I can be part of a peaceful world. Perhaps if we all just do our best to do better in our own lives we will, in fact, do better as a whole.

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To World Peace.

Nice; A Grounded-Spirituality Post

images-1This winter got to me. I became grumpier. I’ve been quick to judge. Yet this past week something renewed my faith in others. I had a rare late dinner with a friend. We laughed and caught up, enjoying this reprieve from our busy lives. I went home on the bus, slightly tipsy from the glass of wine I enjoyed with the meal. It was rainy, so when I got home I was happy to unload my umbrella, rain coat and bags in the vestibule. I took off my rubber boots, went online and received an email. It was from a name I didn’t recognized. Luckily I read it. Noam Franklin wrote that he was the last to get off the bus and saw my bag so it brought it with him. He was ten minutes away. Maybe a 15 minute walk in the rain. I put on my soggy coat and boots, grabbed my umbrella and my dog, and took we walked in the rain. When I got to his friend’s place, Noam had a big smile on his face. And, when I wanted to give him the little money I had in my bag, he refused. Told me to, “Pay it Forward.”

Well, thank you Noam. You were thoughtful and generous. May you always enjoy the kindness of strangers. You lifted my mood, and reinvigorated me. I forgot that some, like you, are kind for no reason other than the fact that you have it in you. I forgot I didn’t have to be so cranky. You gave me back my bag and a new attitude. I won’t promise that I’m not going to be ill-tempered, but I do promise to be kind from time to time. I do promise to pay it forward.NYC_Transit_New_Flyer_5753