One of my favorite things about our family is the way conversations never stay small. A simple question over coffee can spiral into debates about money, morality, or whatever headline happens to be buzzing that day. This morning it began with one: what would you do with a million dollars if you had to spend it in a single day?
The answers were practical, generous, and occasionally absurd. Some of us would funnel money to friends and family. Others thought about starting a business. There was also a plan to buy gold, then flip it back into cash once the 24 hours were up. That loophole sparked the bigger conversation.
We ended up on Bitcoin. We talked about how it works, the energy it devours, and the neighborhoods where mining rigs keep people awake at night. Then we asked the harder question. If you had bought in early, would you be partly responsible for the damage?
Because of course, we would turn a fun thought experiment into a philosophy seminar. For use, learning is ongoing, not just during “school”.
The answer wasn’t simple. We agreed that chasing absolute moral purity is a dead end. History is full of people who tried, and it usually ended badly. The crusades come to mind. So does any movement that can’t laugh at itself. But pretending our choices have no consequences isn’t the answer either. That tension is where the real work happens, uncomfortable as it is.
This is what I love about our family. We don’t argue to win. We poke at ideas until they give way or take on a new shape. It’s not everyone’s idea of small talk, but it works for us.
I still don’t know if anyone had the right answer to the million-dollar challenge. I do know this: the best investment I’ve ever made is in the conversations we keep having, even before breakfast.
I find it easy to spiral into negativity when the headlines blur and the grocery store feels like a war zone of choices. The inequity of our culture. The sons and daughters left for dead. The heavy boot print stamped into the ground. Institutions gorging on the marrow of tomorrow. The gravity of dysfunction is high.
So strong, even hope begins to flicker like static in a screen-lit room.
Suffering is the constant, softened by fleeting bursts of compassion. We ride on the waves. Soaring across peaks of connection, then wallowing in valleys of despair. It is said that only by becoming the ocean can we free ourselves from the influence of those stormy seas. A truth whispered from the mountain top, scrawled on the subway walls. Lost in the cacophony of voices calling out. Calling out for attention. Calling out for a fight. Calling out because silence has become unbearable.
Because we are all addicted to the ride, the thrill of falling.
Knees shaking, breath catching. Laughter caught in the throat like a choke. We can’t believe we got away with it. Until we don’t. Until the day we turn quickly. And see ourselves seeing. The self is no self. The horizon stretches out. Peaks and valleys melt into a single, steady line. And we know, the way out is through. To stop falling, we must become vast.
To remember we are salt and current, along with the storm.
I suppose it’s a good idea to keep writing without aide of j’ai pete. I do often start with a length of words straight from my brain. But truth be told, I’ve gotten lax in making it cogent or clever. So, I miss connecting with thoughts and words. And a challenge seems like a good idea.
Okay, that’s only 60 ish words. Seven hundred and fifty seems like a mountain in that context. (**Note: I’ve set myself a challenge to write 750 words a day)
Maybe a prompt would help. It’s the end of August, the dog days so they say. And we are all weary of the heat and the hot months. I’ve started dreaming of sweater weather and fall campfires. Still, there is a small part of my heart that says,
“Wait, we’ve not spent enough time on the river!”
I need to paddle more, and get out on the water as much as I can over the next two months before it becomes cold and icy. Really, icy? In Texas, unlikely. But yes, cold enough to make the water an uncomfortable reality.
Last summer, K and I would paddle most Sundays. This year, we’ve yet to pull out our boards. I think we’ve been overly tired. Age is starting to weigh on us, extra gravity that keeps us warm and tidy in our beds instead of pushing for dawn launches. And it’s too hot to go any later than daybreak. Hence the disgust with August. It’s too hot to live. And so we die a little daily inside knowing that the days are ticking by and we are missing the best of what living has to offer.
Death. That’s the card that September has promised. In January, when we could walk outside, I did a full twelve month pull. And these are the months that the cards foretold would bring change, disappointment, an ending, with the promise of rebirth, transformation. So, I’ve been pausing to notice what that may mean for my world. Not literally death, but not-not that either.
This is the last year I get to navigate in my 40’s. Closing out this decade and heading into the firmly rooted “middle-ages.” My kids are double digits and quickly approaching maturity. B will learn to drive this year. T will learn to tween. And there are a scant few left where they will be “kids” at all. I am still mourning the loss of babies and toddlers, but also now faced with young adults. It’s not all bad, they are such interesting people. We feel really blessed that these weird funny people decided to make us their parents.
I am really feeling the aging thing this week, which is probably why I’m being so morose about it. I achieved something this week that I’ve been working on for a while, a cartwheel. Four, in fact. When I tried this last fall, I was a bumbling fool. Rolling on the ground like a toddler. So, on Wednesday when I got it. Made the full turn. Almost totally vertical. I felt invincible. Accomplished. Dare I say, athletic? However, shortly after that feat, my knee said,
“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? WE DON’T MOVE THAT WAY!”
And I’ve been limping for the last three days. And I feel less accomplished and more accountable. That isn’t to say I won’t be cartwheeling in the future, but perhaps after I’ve decreased the consequences of gravity a bit more. So, yeah, that’s frustrating. I just want to be able to do what I want to do. I’m really over my physical limitations. It’s giving, OLD, as the kids would say.
Also, a friend made passing comment about my use of j’ai pete and writing, and my ego is reeling. I’m a writer first damn it. AI-aided prose is just a freaking short cut, but I can still write. I don’t NEED GPT.
As I wrote these words, my brain started to secretly wonder what it would do with this entry. What if I prompted it to help me sort out my illusions and metaphors? Would it be better? More cohesive? Worthy of maybe posting on my blog? I mean, it’s really an editor right? How is it different? These are my ideas after all. Not the machine’s. The siren’s call of LLM.
Maybe they have a point.
Okay, so a writing challenge–just me and my thoughts. I like it, and maybe this is the kind of practice my brain needs to counter act the effects of AI and j’ai pete. Building a relationship with my own mind, instead of with an LLM.
**J’ai pete recommended I close with this statement:
So I’ll keep writing, cartwheeling, paddling, even limping. Because endings may be promised, but so are beginnings.
When I was early in my career as an Agile coach, I have a vivid memory of talking to my manager. I was struggling with something that was happening on the project. We had a very difficult executive who didn’t want to hear the wisdom of the team. Frustrations were high.
I explained what was happening and expressed disappointment in the executive and how they were treating us. And my manager said, “What if we start with the believe that they have good intentions? Instead of assuming they are setting out to be difficult.”
Stunned. I was set back. Wasn’t I being empathetic? Had I missed an angle? I realized I’d assumed ill-intent from the get go, and that was where the struggle was born.
I have not perfected the technique by any means but that lesson stuck with me. And today, I see a lot of struggle happening. In our society. In our politics. In our social media spaces. And I just wonder, what could it be like if we all stopped and applied the prime directive to every day life. The prime directive is a statement that is often used to open a retrospective. It states:
“Regardless of what we discover, we understand and truly believe that everyone did the best job they could, given what they knew at the time, their skills and abilities, the resources available, and the situation at hand.”
–Norm Kerth, Project Retrospectives: A Handbook for Team Review
How often do you start with the belief that everyone is doing the best they can? Is it easier to do with some than others? How do you imagine things would change in our discussions if we did start the belief that people are coming from a place of good intentions?
It could be a powerful amplifier for change. I’m willing to start there at least. With belief.
