When you’re bogged down with writer’s block, creative fog, even brain freeze, what do you do to break free from its hold? Here’s one way to purge the hive of such impediments. Go to an opening, an art exhibit, perhaps one which deals in a medium that you know little of. In my case, think fabrics, paper and ceramics and other materials—either in combination—or crafted exclusively with fabric. An oversimplification, but a few photos can better illustrate the creations displayed at the exhibit, Beauty is Resistance, our Fall Art in the Barn Exhibtion. I was impressed with the inventiveness, originality, concept development, creativity, and overall execution of the various pieces.
At browngrotta arts, co-curators Tom Grotta and Rhonda Brown have managed original art, crafted by internationally recognized artists for more than 3 decades. My “introduction” to the pieces of art at this exhibit was an A-1 engagement of diminishing my brain fog, creative block and so on. Neither words nor photos can describe the pieces. This is a case of what I actually see and feel is amazing, because of what is physically in front of me. A demonstrative be-in-the-moment activity, to say the least. So, please take a moment to peruse a small sampling of what was on display.
A special thank you to Tom Grotta and Rhonda Brown for their hospitality and sharing their knowledge about the artists, the scope of this exhibit and their anecdotes of life in international Art. Photography: courtesy of Tom Grotta. All rights for the images and the Art are those of the artists.
Home artist Lija Rage; mixed media, wooden sticks, linen and copper [2-panels; detail shown in second image].
From Chaos to Reality artist Aleksandra Stoyanov; sisal, cotton
Shred dollar artist Chris Drury; US currency [detail shown below]
Female Husk II artist Anda Klancic; torso [from Momento Mori composition] with cone; palm tree bark, synthetic filament, acrylic, and metal wire
Ce qu’il en reste IX artist Stephanie Jacques; willow, gesso, linen thread
Flower Colors artist Mary Merkel-Hess; paper, cord, paper
Rhonda Brown co-curator
Tom Grotta co-curator
Photography a professional photographer, Tom Grotta created a display showcasing some of the literature and gear he has used through his ongoing career.
Time I spend at a museum of fine arts is about as cathartic an experience I can think of. Indeed, cathartic art is an emotional salve that can ease the burden of feelings that keep you down. For someone with dysthymia–like myself and others–engaging in positive activities helps mitigate the weight of dysthymia [Persistent Depressive Disorder]. PDD is not as well known as MDD [Major Depressive Disorder], but the former has less severe yet more persistent symptoms of depression.
With all that’s been bombarding us [unfortunately many instances are not positive] in our day-to-day, we can manage that which irks us and steer thought and action toward positive choices, which in turn can help generate positive thoughts and feelings. Some choices I lean to include blogging, letter writing, playing the piano, tennis, family time and more.
Recent family time with my 2 grown daughters, their husbands, children and their dogs percolated this thought: Both women and their spouses have full schedules with work, raising a family [includes a dog per family], volunteering etc. so then, how do these 2 women have a Room of One’s Own? I credit the exhibit now at the Clark Institute of Art, A Room of Her Own: Women Activists-Artists in Britain, 1875-1945, for germinating that thought surrounding my daughters. I encourage you to experience this exhibit; it runs until September 14, 2025.
The 1929 essay, A Room of One’s Own, was written by Virginia Woolf. You can see the tie between the title of the essay and the name of the exhibit. And if you read Ms. Woolf’s essay, all the better.
Photos taken, courtesy of Clark Institute of Art
Consider this post a “trailer” for the exhibit. It’s worth the trip, and not just for the love of art, but that of expanding our perspectives as well our own sensitivities toward women.
EPILOGUE For additional perspective with respect to women in the workforce please refer to the Women in the Workplace 10th anniversary report [published September 17, 2024 by McKinsey & Company]
I’ve come across a lot of A-words lately: amazing, atomic, artificial, augmented, abstract, auspicious, audacious, accountable, admirable, apathy, appreciation, affection, accomplished, alarming, Arctic, Antarctica, abysmal, appalling, anachronism and so forth. Like a daisy chain made of paper, these words are linked and yet each easily broken free by the slightest of tension. And while some connections may not make a whole lot of sense, there are reasons however small, that connections take place. Anxiety, lack of focus, melancholy, fear, joy, anticipation, distraction, etc. etc., the Yin-Yang of this is that the very same attributes that prompted the connections can be the same to break them. It depends on time and place. Context is everything.
Audacious. Approx. 35-degrees on a starboard bank.
The words come from various sources, anything and everything that shapes our life experience. With this exercise, the empirical nature of each word puts aside the rational, and instead embraces sentience, that ability to feeldepth of things experienced. It’s certain that others who feel existential—rightfully so in our fractured society—may feel embarrassed yet genuine. What could be more human than to feel concern about our current state of affairs [macro] and our relationships [micro]?
Anachronism. At the stable. The Mount: Edith Wharton’s summer residence.
I’m feeling abstract [visualize Cubism Art] and yet oddly auspicious because many things in life and living are not rational. We are prone to rely more on our senses, the very emotions that can either ruin or celebrate moments in our lives. Yes, I’d rather feel embarrassed and genuine versus being stymied with self-serving, deductive reasoning. The former brings a sense of order, the latter a chance to improve our emotional intelligence and increase a capacity to further understand each other.
Abstract: The Slave Market & Disappearing Voltaire.
Life imitates Art, or is it Art imitates Life? Similarly in marketing, it’s not what you’re getting, but what you think you are getting. Perception is everything and even more so in the here and now. It’s a refrain that frequently echoes in my thinking.
Admirable.Augmented.Appreciation.Arctic-Antarctica: an aftermathAuspiciousAugmented.Affection…with my favorite “cup-of-tea”
There will be no “B” collection, existential-word-dump, involving any other letter, or a character for that matter. An exercise with one letter is enough for me, and probably for you as well.
In conversations, and things written, a question posed usually prompts us to reconsider a position we hold, maybe a perspective quite different from what’s already been established in our own thinking. This collage, this tapestry-of-a-post may not mean much to anyone, but it could be provocative enough to slightly encourage another perspective. Why not?
The seasons are moving quickly and as I get older my own temporal reality is based on just how fast time seems to go by. I lean towards the empirical and the sentient qualities of the here and now to help me keep it all together.
I never thought I´d grow up so fast so far. To know yourself is to let yourself be loved. Do you ever get me? Shower me with affection and I’ll return in kind. I have no hidden motive, I am blind. Do you ever get me?
The inaugural 3-day, WIT Festival recently finished here in the Berkshires. Authors, journalists, novelists and playwrights gathered to engage participants in this year’s theme, Reimagining America. This was an opportunity to broaden one’s understanding of critical issues and concerns coursing through our current–and varied– socioeconomic and political points-of-view. The festival is the brainchild of The Authors Guild Foundation, the largest organization of its kind in the USA that “educates, supports and protects American writers across the country.” It’s been noted that the Authors Guild Foundation is “the sole group of its kind dedicated to empowering all U.S. authors.”
Ms. Lynn Boulger, executive director of the Authors Guild Foundation, welcoming authors, attendees, patrons and friends.
Berkshire County lies in western Massachusetts. Its rectangular shape stretches north-south with New York state at its west border, Connecticut to the south, Vermont to the north and to the east it borders with Hampden, Hampshire and Franklin counties. For many, the Berkshires is more than a destination: it’s a way of life.
Dan Brown, author of best-selling novels The Da Vinci Code and Angels & Demons.
Presentations/discussions took place at Shakespeare & Company in Lenox. For the most part, the 3-day festival sold out, however a roster of those wanting to attend were placed on a list just in case of cancellations. I did not hear of any registrants calling to back out.
Ms. Nikki Maniscalco, associate development manager, The Authors Guild Foundation.
I think the salient detail I took away was in finding a connection with the speakers. Whether through their anecdotes and experiences or with discussions that were enlightening or instructive, discovering these connections became visceral. The connections answer to or affirm my own perceptions, creative risks and even the most profound sentiments I keep close to the proverbial vest. As effective podcasts can be, for me there’s a lot more to glean from such happenings when they’re done in person. There’s an intimacy about gatherings as you hear, see and feel more than just commentary. And in that collective presence, you may pick up emotions inferred or otherwise demonstrated in tone, expressions and body language.
One cannot dodge a glance or ignore a gesture, or miss a light-hearted remark to loosen up a room. As good as podcasts are—and they have an important place in communications and education—being there does make a difference.
Henry Louis Gates, Jr.David W. Blight–Pulitzer Prize-winning author.
The dinner, served at The Mount: Home of Edith Wharton, was cleverly engaging. Instead of table numbers, the names of authors took their place. Your seat was placed at a designated table which bears the name of the author at the bottom of your name tag [Jean Cocteau] Your actual seat is marked by a small piece of paper with your name handwritten on it.
Each table had a visiting author/writer or playwrite to serve as a moderator. Our discussion started with introductions which quickly morphed into an eclectic blend of reality’s “top stories.” It didn’t take long to connect the dots. To hear one’s writing experience through the years did have a common denominator: persistence. No doubt I’d wager that most of the writers in the room have had to deal with many types of rejection. The cacophony of conversations, the tinkling of flatware against plates and the the intermittent sound of laughter made it clear that many, if not all, enjoyed being in this festival.
If you happen to visit the area, make a point of stopping at The Mount. Bear in mind that Ms. Wharton lived in that home. I marveled at the scale of its history, its art, design and much, much more .
All in all, I appreciated even more, the permanence and accessibility of books. They are tangible, finite in its content and physical features, yet infinitely capable of challenging your imagination and expectations. Such is the attractive symbiosis of humankind and the inanimate. Both are needed to create and sustain history, the arts, the sciences, and the stories that take shape into something palpable. A lot of my creative and professional work involves digital technologies. The past 2-years have made that more than obvious. Zoom meetings, laptops & desktops, flash drives and the always-on platforms in social media. We can access a myriad of things electronically, online of course, and the ease of that can make astringent our feeling and thinking from engaging in life that’s face-to-face. Books tend to provide the opposite for me. The pages in a novel can transport me to wherever. The sensory experience of turning and feeling pages are the toner that can spark my imagination and involvement in life. Recall Emily Dickinson’s poem, There is No Frigate Like a Book. To me it’s the leitmotif, that binds our imagination through the settings created by writers and authors. And I don’t need an app or device to open books.
As mentioned earlier, the Berkshires is more than a destination; for many, it’s a way of life.
There is no Frigate Like a Book There is no Frigate like a Book To take us Lands away, Nor any Coursers like a Page Of prancing Poetry – This Traverse may the poorest take Without oppress of Toll – How frugal is the Chariot That bears a Human soul. Emily Dickinson
Time, energy and focus are 3 KPIs [Key Performance Indicators] for mulitasking. And likely there are other indicators, and for those, I’ll need an ombudsman to help reset my already overloaded brain. In any one of these factors, you either have it, lose it or want it. For the most part, I’d say most people want them all, or to at least hold onto whatever’s in you.
However, multitasking is not really multitasking.
Ms. Nancy Napier, Ph.D. and contributor to Psychology Today identifies it more as “switch-tasking.” For decades we’ve heard that new electronics and computers and software are supposed to help make our professional lives much easier and faster, that’s rarely the case. Many of my marketing projects are open—actually minimized—on my screen. Perhaps “minimizing” those open windows and apps is in actually diluting the strength of your project[s]. Dr. Napier points out switching between projects is counter productive. In fact, it takes a good amount of time and energy to realign your mental details jumping from one open project to another. All of this creates stress [but we already knew that].
As Dr. Napier puts it, multitasking is mentally and physically rough on anyone. The mode of working start-stop-start-stop-restart becomes a catalyst for mistakes, inefficiency and time lost. As the saying goes, “Well, there’s 30-minutes I can’t get back.”
Did you happen to notice the bee in the first photo [the sunflower]? No, well, were you multitasking….excuse me, “switch tasking?”
……From a distance You look like my friend Even though we are at war. From a distance I just cannot comprehend What all this fighting’s for. From a distance There is harmony And it echoes through the land And it’s the hope of hopes It’s the love of loves It’s the heart of every man It’s the hope of hopes It’s the love of loves This is the song for every man. God is watching us God is watching us God is watching us From a distance.
On a recent flight home, 2 songs came to mind. An epiphany of sorts became apparent as I looked down on Springfield, Massachusetts and Ski Sundown in New Hartford, Connecticut.
Ski Sundown in New Hartford, Connecticut
In light of the Ukraine-Russia war, it’s not a stretch to understand the effect of distance when watching something from afar. Things are not always as they seem, but up close, enough details emerge to create a clearer picture. Most of us see what’s happening from a distance, from the safety of our screens playing out “breaking news” of the terror and the maddening reality of one country imposing its incorrigible intentions on an independent nation.
At 29,000 feet [8,839 meters]
At altitude, it’s easy to “not see” the actualities of what’s coming and going at ground level. And yet what impacts me the most is how the innocents and defenders suffer and die, of how the children struggle to understand this detestation that arrived from nowhere. Modern journalism can report events as visceral and undiluted, anywhere at anytime. In that sense, we see more than what we want to.
I leave this post with the words Enjolras sang during the scene At the Barricades, from the musical, Les Miserables.
Do you hear the people sing? Singing a song of angry men? It is the music of a people Who will not be slaves again.
When the beating of your heart Echoes the beating of the drums. There is a life about to start When tomorrow comes.
Les Miserables by Victor Hugo Les Miserables, the London Musical, trademarked by Cameron Macintosh Overseas.
Not again. I can’t imagine the number of times I have thought of that remark let alone the times I’ve said it. I’ve been fortunate on many fronts and I’m more than grateful. The past 13-14 months or so, has been a journey of minor inconveniences compared to what others had to suffer through. I have no reason to complain. Then again with the Delta Variant on a rampage, I can’t help but wonder yet hope that common sense will prevail….
Two renaissance men: my son-in-law and his father.
I have a handful of avocations, each having one thing in common: I am comfortable when it’s me and myself involved. That sounds a bit self-absorbed, but it simply means I’m fine being alone. Being alone and lonely are two different things, obviously. Having alone time is important for one’s rejuvenation, at least for me. Photography, journaling, letter writing, playing the piano and fly-fishing are welcome pursuits for me. Granted the first and last distractions can be shared and done with others. On several occasions my wife, daughters and other family members have kept me company on nearby waters. Our fly rods might look like conductor batons in a free-for-all, an ensemble of asynchronous metronomes, where each length of graphite is tuned to the individual holder.
On those days when I’m out with a camera, my wife keeps me company. In the city, she waits for me to catch up when I stop to take a photo. After awhile though, the distance and the time it takes to catch up get a tad longer. On jaunts through the woods, the converse is true: our pace is calmer, slower than the one we use in the urban environment. Time takes its time [read: less frenetic] in natural spaces; and for me that’s how it should be.
To see something in the wild is often fleeting: the songbird you hear only to take flight once you actually see it; the whitetail deer that suddenly, inexplicably pops out from the background in what feels like a whisper’s distance, only to bound away just as you look to acknowledge its presence.
And then I’m handed a “pause” button. Fly-fishing can put a slight pause in what you’re looking at before the moment disappears. Having a landing net is an appreciation multiplier. It allows an opportunity to add a few seconds to really appreciate what you’re seeing. The Eastern Brook Trout is a jewel among fish. I never tire of catching this wild* freshwater creature that can only live in a healthy river or stream. Healthy, as in cold, clear and running. The existence of wild trout means the habitat we’re visiting is good for the fish and everything else that’s dependent on the river and surrounding area.
Ours is a symbiotic relationship with the natural world. Unfortunately, that relationship is out of balance and all things wild and natural are being short-changed by humankind’s behaviors. I find the safest social distance in the outdoors and the time there prompts me to examine the symbiotic and personal relationships I hold dear.
*wild versus native: a wild trout is one that’s been born in the very water it lives in. Wild trout/fish reproduce naturally in their habitat and sustain their populations. A native fish are those that have lived and thrived in areas that have had no or very little human interaction. A stocked fish is from a hatchery that’s typically managed by the state’s wildlife management.Regardless, please make an effort to carefully release these fish [a fly-fishing practice called catch-and-release]. It’s good for the neighborhoods we visit.
I started out in search of ordinary things How much of a tree bends in the wind I started telling the story without knowing the end I used to be darker, then I got lighter, then I got dark again Something too big to be seen was passing over and over me Well, it seemed like a routine case at first With the death of the shadow came a lightness of verse But the darkest of nights, in truth, still dazzles And I work myself until I’m frazzled I ended up in search of ordinary things Like how can a wave possibly be? I started running, and the concrete turned to sand I started running, and things didn’t pan out as planned In case things go poorly and I not return Remember the good things I’ve done In case things go poorly and I not return Remember the good things I’ve done Oh, oh, oh, oh-oh Done me in copyright Bill Callahan from the album, Sometimes I Wish We were an Eagle.
I’m told that feelings of nostalgia can be dangerous, dangerous in the sense that you can lose yourself enough to miss out on being in the moment. Possibly true, but in an attempt to put balance into my thinking here, I’d like to think that whatever and whenever nostalgia or recollections unapologetically come to mind—whether good, bad or ugly—I can use them to better appreciate what being in the moment means.
The lyrics to Bill Callahan‘s song, Jim Cain, never fails to stir something in me. Jim Cain was an American novelist, an author often referred to as the archetype of “hard-boiled novels.” Three of Cain’s novels found its way to the screen, each receiving critical acclaim: Double Indemnity, Mildred Pierce and The Postman Always Rings Twice.
The eponymous song is haunting yet contains elements or conditions which feel relevant. I make no claim to be an expert on Mr. Cain’s life or his work, and yet every time I listen to this specific song, sensations of deja vu slip in. Mr. Callahan’s style, his sound is wholly unique [IMHO], and indeed that character of voice and music composition reinforces key feelings in my ephemeral journey of 4 minutes, 39 seconds .
Several verses strike a chord [pun intended], however three lines ping my empathetic sensors:
I started running, and things didn’t pan out as planned In case things go poorly and I not return Remember the good things I’ve done
The photos in this gallery reach back 4 decades to a time that will always mean much to my personal and professional journeys. I’m convinced that most of us are running—some more determined than others—hoping to optimize careers, relationships, and of course, one’s sense of self. And yet in spite of shortcomings that can toss us off the saddle, we get up, and with additional effort we manage to return to the point where we stumbled. We carry on as we must.
When I look at these photos in the company of the music and lyrics of the aformentioned song, I recall the people, events and lessons which remain relevant. I’m reminded that many things in life are good and that some of that good is actually a product of my own doing or in collaboration with someone else or those in a group. Why reflect on the banal, the unpleasant, the incorrigible, among other soul-dampening sentiments? Because without them, you achieve little balance to various positives that fate hands you. Indeed there are plenty of those ill-feelings to weigh down our resolve to do better, day in-day out. Think back to an event ,a person, a vicissitude if you will, that later proved to be a turning point which led you to where you are now, or perhaps pushes you to finish a journey still in progress.
There are some years that snap and engage your entirety as a person, because it clarifies statements such as, “yup, been there, done that” to any number of realizations, each based on a chance or intention: “Yeah…that was stupid…and I’m not doing that again!” Over the years, we hear reprimands from parents, teachers and coaches, even our peers, which we in turn offer to our own children. I’d like to think that most reprimands are lessons filled with hope and expectation. We hope our young charges “get the message.”
To open archives of a time long ago produces a reawakening of feeling, dissonant and concordant. It all depends on context. My cohorts line up alongside nostalgia, in ways that yes, brings up yearning but also that understanding of, “I don’t think I would’ve made it this far if it weren’t for _________.” That blank line between “for” and the “.” has possibilities. For me, the ones I’ve chosen were life-changing. The elements of personalities, a moment in time–and especially at a specific point–are sealed. They are irrevocable and part of me.
Clearly on many levels, I am a better person because of such experiences. Throughout life, we move forward and as people and events become things of the past, of things which somehow shaped you, regardless of where you are and with plans you’ve made, you certainly have done good things worth remembering.
Spring is springing though the thermometer begs to differ. I have one of those old-fashioned stick thermometers encased in a brass sleeve attached just outside a window. It read a chilly 41-F [5-C], at 8:23 this morning.
Whatever the temperature, we know that another season is here, although some of us are still bundled up. I think that’s better than huddling inside whining about the cold. In New England like the rest of the northeast, you expect the unexpected. An urban environment does have its share of color, especially those on display from flowering trees and shrubs. Yet I’m drawn to other colors which “pop” in front of me.
I find it a bit odd that not more people are out walking whether by themselves, or with a friend, or from behind a stroller or in the company of a dog. In most cases, it’s the dog walking the handler; I’m empathizing from the dog’s POV. More than likely, I have to keep on walking in order to see others coming and going to wherever they need to be. I need to continue my exploring and allow whatever creative divining rod I may possess to guide me.
It’s a bit ironic that in a city so large, not many were out. It wouldn’t surprise me that NYC could be mentioned as the city with the largest number of street photographers per square mile, whatever that number might be. Who knows, my sortie was on a so-so day at a time when more than not, folks just decided to stay put.
On the above marquis, the tagline to this church reads, “The road to spiritual success is always under construction.” For most of us, it means no one can attain spiritual success. This is akin to Sisyphus rolling his boulder uphill, only to fail when he comes so close to the top. His pathway to salvation is under construction in perpetuity.
A few of us have been [hand] writing for as long as we can remember. More specifically, letters, postcards and greeting cards. Conceit aside, I’m one of those anachronisms [I use fountain pens & bottled ink] and I enjoy writing in all its archaic forms.
Because of the pandemic, there’s a renewed interest in writing, whether a letter, in a journal, even on a page or two of plain paper. I find it all encouraging as voiced in this recent article in The Critic. Writing a letter isn’t what it used to be, but a few of us still find satisfaction in such a personal construct of thought and emotion. A part of me is contained therein. Some days, the pen skims across the paper and other times, it’s hard to get out the first sentence or two.
Decades from now, no one will need an app to read its content. Sentimental as it is, perhaps some of my family and friends will keep them in a shoe box of sorts. Each envelope containing a capsule of time and place.
A journal can capture and hold—albeit brief—a particular sentiment, an observation, an epiphany perhaps more. And like letters, there is an enduring permanence to what’s put into and left on the paper. In a recent [April 13, 2021] issue of the Wall Street Journal, staff writer Ellen Byron wrote, “How Journaling Can Help You Live Your Best Life.” The Byron article reads more like a primer on the hows and whys of writing and using a journal.
Journal writing is cathartic and offers a number of ways to express practically anything. I write to an alter-ego, directly to myself and at times even address myself in the third person. When I move myself from the “I” to “he,” the dynamic changes. Writing in the third person creates a buffer of sorts, a moat if you will which separates the person in the moment from the person that offers perspective.
A large part of the catharsis revolves around time slowing to a less frenetic cadence. The efficiency or speed of the digital realm fosters an expectation of click-it-now, get-it-now. Letters and journals are the antithesis of such expectations.
Go ahead. Take a pen and some paper and write something, anything, that comes to mind. What matters is you’ve made a decision to place part of yourself right in front of you.
By all appearances, he patiently cares for his pigeons. While I cannot verify if he’s out regardless of weather, my sense is he’s devoted and committed to his feathered friends. I have this feeling he’s been at this for a long time. The 3 or 4 times I’ve seen him on the roof is a study in stoicism, or maybe a purposeful, self-administered state of calm and reflection which is part of his daily schedule. Click HERE to learn more about the hows and whys of raising pigeons.
On a cold March afternoon, I was surprised to see a large flock of birds flying closely together, first in one direction, then back toward the direction they came from. When they hovered and eventually landed, I noticed someone walking on a flat roof top, nothing more than his head and shoulders visible from the street below.
Having access to the roof of an apartment across the street, I made my way up and discovered the gentleman sitting on a bench, his back against a column of white-painted brick. His focus was on a rather large screened-in coop housing perhaps a hundred or more pigeons. Having nothing to compare this to, seeing it was impressive.
I only know of 3 reasons why someone would raise pigeons: some enthusiasts race them, another group trains them to return home to their roost and others rear them for special occasions. During some festivals, you might see a flock released from a specific area often during a program within that festival. Or you may witness a blur of white-feathered pigeons take flight moments after an officiant proclaims the union of two lovebirds [indeed, pun is intended].
It’s unwise to assume. Assumptions often miss their mark, but in this case, I believe the birds and their caretaker have a strong connection. It’s a reciprocal relationship.
For his efforts, the pigeons have shelter, food and water. He in turn relishes his role and acquires satisfaction knowing his handiwork allows him a unique form of social interaction.
There are positive attributes to like-mindedness. It’s a way to find common ground and interests in practically all relationships be it personal, professional, philosophical and spiritual.
We understand that having similar interests can help solidify these relationships. We also know that different pursuits can develop into new perspectives, and these perspectives can present alternative ways of thought and action, perhaps some you haven’t thought of yet.
Unfortunately, the bridges which can connect the like-minded and those diverse in thought and action, are in danger. There is a level of social deconstruction affecting not only the infrastructure of social interactions and preferences, but our individual feelings of well-being [health] and significance [purpose].
Some may like it more than others, but various apps connect us both professionally and personally.
The relevance surrounding social engagement has been noted across many communication channels–magazine articles, academic papers, broadcast news, and more. The absence of in person, face-to-face interactions with colleagues, friends, family, business connections, neighbors, et al, has created varying levels of social isolation.
Some may miss the informal chatter when shuffling the hallways to and from meetings. There’s the interaction during lunch periods and conversations at the water cooler and copy room. I certainly miss some of the gatherings and conversations, either formal or informal. The taken-for-granted expressions of “good morning…good to see you…how’s your kid doing…you’re looking well, feeling better I hope….” and so on, chips away at our own self-perception and emotions borne by experiences. And this includes uncomfortable expressions and experiences as well. The good and not-so-good are inevitable in everyone’s life.
Before the pandemic, on two or more days during the workweek, a small group of us banter about life, kids, work pressures and current events. The time together in the lunchroom is not just small talk or attempts to fill in the question, “So, what’s new with you?” The time, albeit brief, permits a reciprocal exchange of ideas and feelings, or concerns and burdens, and even lighter moments, which on the whole, provide a brief respite from work. I miss deciphering the “Jumble” word game found in newspapers. Just about everyone at the table has had a go at the jumbled letters. Not surprisingly, others who saunter by have also added their own guesses.
Circa 2013. Interaction: Want to wear blue jeans on a Friday? Contribute to a charity.
Everyone has preferences though our personal constructs, expectations and beliefs can be as different and varied as the objects on our planet. And that’s what nurtures our face-to-face, in person interactions. We know there are differences, but I like to think that deep down, a lot of what matters between us are all too familiar.
Digital communications–Facetime, Instagram, zoom meetings, text messages and so forth have their place and their legions of supporters. Personally, I miss nuances of expression, of feeling connected and relevant in life whenever people are not physically present. Perhaps I’m just old fashioned but for me, being face-to-face validates our humanity.
Carlo Centeno 