Yesterday was Richard’s (my brother-in-law) birthday and while we all reveled (me included, and for my own selfish reasons) in his joy at getting a Scaletric Racing set (a real big boy’s toy) it did set my mind to thinking of the past, unfortunately it’s where those of us with questionable futures tend to spend a lot of time.
There’s not a lot I regret from my past, much I am sorry for, but not a lot of regrets. The way I see it, all of my experiences have culminated in developing the person I am today and though I do not stack up even-steven with the likes of Superman, Batman, Spiderman or even Obama, I do think that I am an OK guy.
The mistakes I’ve made, and boy have I made mistakes, have gained me the experience to be a better man and hopefully a better person today than I was at any other time in my past.
That’s not to say I do not have regrets, I, as the immortal Frank Sinatra sings, “have had a few.” My biggest regret though was destroying a relationship with of one of the few women I could have, or should have married. Hindsight is a bitch!
This incredible woman worked with me for a while and was not only beautifully sexy but also intelligent with an amazing capacity to experience new things all the time, a quality I find very attractive in women, mind you I’m probably overly romanticizing, like any good fisherman, the attributes of the one that got away.
My regret was not that I let her get away, sorry my male ego got in the way here; I do understand that a relationship is based on two people and not just what I want, and the fact, might be, that she, if I had given her the chance, would have turned me down anyway. The regret is actually that I took away the opportunity for her to make that decision. My actions drove her away and practically demanded that she hate me for the rest of her life, or mine depending on which of us crosses the pearly gates first.
Relationships are the bane to my existence, my Asperger's becomes a disability in this aspect of my life.
I do not intuitively understand the nuances of human verbal and non verbal interaction. At the best of times I use references from novels I’ve read and TV shows or movies I’ve seen, as well as past experience, compare the millions of scenes I’ve seen play out to the one I’m presently in and pattern my response to suit. This is not an automatic knee-jerk response that most people seem to be able to do but a calculated and determined action that I have to be actively engaged in, much like any work task you have been given to do.
Since no conversation flows exactly as the references I’m pulling from I have to constantly review each individual instance of my conversation, with all those stored in my head and pattern what I think is an appropriate response, verbally, non-verbally or both. This process takes intense concentration, specially when you have to keep the fact of what you are doing from your companion. It taxes me physically and mentally and after a while, from just pure exhaustion, I have to seek sanctuary and pull back and hide, as best I can.
You would think that after 53 years I would be more adept at this but that’s not the case and with my recent divorce, my ring finger still has the absent ring’s indent, I have once again been thrust into, at least for me, the black hole of female/male interaction.
Case in point, I met a woman last year at a rally event, with whom I had an immediate attraction, but with only one week to work with and her at opposite ends of the event to me meant we only interacted two or three times and only in an official capacity…if this were a movie I would have flirted with her at each occasion to let her know I was interested but I just did not know how too. A lost chance for me.
And again last night, on my way back home with Richard and Giselle, we were out with a few friends continuing Richard’s birthday celebrations, I was told that our waitress was flirting with a friend sitting but one seat away from me. What I thought was a waitress just being friendly, maybe angling for a bigger tip, was in fact flirting. I was shocked, not so much that she was flirting with my friend but at the now possible thousands of times that I had been flirted with and had not known about it.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Thursday, January 26, 2012
A lesson we need to learn
I never had a granny. Well, like everyone else, I actually had two, my father's mother and my mother's mother. My father's mother died when I was still a child, before I could get to known her as anything other than Nan Nan. My mother's mother lived across the Atlantic Ocean, in Ireland so, here too, I never got to know her before she also passed away.
The only "granny" I knew was actually an in-law, my ex-wife's grandmother. Grace Taylor and she was all of what a classical "headstrong" granny should be. In an age which expected women to be subservient to men (in general) and their husbands needs, Granny Grace was anything but,she left her well-to-do home in Trinidad and flew to Barbados to build and run her own apartment hotel, in a swamp no less!
Granny always had her own way of doing everything. When she made up her mind on how things would happen, then that was that, no need to confuse her with actual facts.
One of the things she believed in, was the health benefits of a sea bath, as opposed to a fresh water bath (shower) or mud bath (Granny was a trained beautician). Every day at 10:00 she would drop whatever she was doing, even if it meant leaving the servants to check-in new arrivals to her apartment/hotel, and head to the Barbados Yacht club for her daily swim.
When I met granny Grace she had already decided (read this to mean forced to by her doctor and family) to stop driving. So she had "Trotman", her handyman and general all round go-to guy for the apartment/hotel, drive her for the institutional daily swim. The one problem with this arrangement was that Trotman had Sunday’s off, so, as the newest member to the family, it fell to me to take her to the Yacht Club on Sunday’s.
We’d go early, like about 9:15. this suited my ex-wife perfectly as she preferred to sleep in on Sunday’s, so I’d pick Granny Grace up from her cottage at about 9:00 and we’d be on the beach by 9:15. Now when I say she went for a swim, I mean just that, her routine was rigorous. 9:15 on the beach, ten minutes later we’d start our trek towards the sea. It took Granny that much time to take off her house dress, under which she already had her whole piece bathing suit on (thank god – the thought of helping her change still gives me nightmares) and put on her swimming cap (the aquamarine rubber skull cap with the stuck-on plastic blue and yellow daffodils).
The walk to the sea took another ten minutes of one jerky baby step after another with me in front of her (walking backwards) and her leaning onto my two supporting outstretched arms, with Granny constantly complaining that I was either not supporting her enough or taking the bumpiest route to the water or walking too fast. I swear we were moving so slow that on the days when the tide was going out it would take us twice as long to reach the water.
Finally we would enter the water with sighs of delight from us both, her for the feeling of the water supporting her not unsubstantial mass and me for the cooling effects the Caribbean sea would have on my now sweat drenched over worked muscles from the tedious ten minute walk to cover 50 feet of Carlisle Bay’s soft white sand.
Floating, free of gravity, in the aqua-green of the Caribbean sea, early on a Sunday morning, looking up into the never ending blue of a clear tropical sky made it all worth while, until I hear granny’s voice, still, even after more than twenty years in Barbados, easily identified by her Trinidadian lithe, say, “Tony, see that man there, her cheated on his wife with his secretary, who he eventually married, but later divorced to live with his maid. Image that!”
Now you would image that a statement like that would be said in a hushed, conspired whisper, with heads leaned close together, not Granny. She was floating a few feet from me, but she must have though we were at opposite ends of the three mile natural harbour that is Carlisle Bay, from the volume of her comment. Combine this with the natural affinity water has to amplify sound and I would not be surprised if seas bathers in Antigua, at the Northern end of the Caribbean Chain, could not have heard her comment.
And she had a comment about everybody that was enjoying a Sunday soak. Thank god it was early in the morning and there were only a few people out enjoying, or at least trying to, the peace and quite of the seas before the screaming, energetic sun-fuelled kids hit the beach later in the day.
After twenty minutes or so of floating (for relaxation) and swimming (for exercise), a very slow modification of the dog paddle, Granny was ready to come out of the water. reverse the trek in, only this time it took shorter since we were not chasing the receding water. And once back to our seats, thankfully proper seats provided by BYC, I could not imagine having to lower and raise Granny from a prone position on a towel laid out in the sand,we ended the routine with a Peña Colada, “To warm me up from my soak.” Granny would explain.Though if you would believe this, then Granny must have been the coldest person in Barbados, based on her alcohol intake. Thank god she lived in a tropical climate.
Granny is gone now, and I hope that the angels who now take her for her sea bath have as much fun as I had getting to know and understand a remarkable woman who lived in a world so far removed from the one I grew up in.
I truly believe that to move forward we not only need to know about our past but to also understand it, only with this understanding can we truly achieve the proper perspective to better help us move into a better and brighter future.
And the best way to achieve understanding is through the actual lived-it experience of those who were there. Our elders are an untapped resource that we all need to not only acknowledge, but to tap into as often as we can to gain the understanding urgently needed to help move us forward as a society.
The only "granny" I knew was actually an in-law, my ex-wife's grandmother. Grace Taylor and she was all of what a classical "headstrong" granny should be. In an age which expected women to be subservient to men (in general) and their husbands needs, Granny Grace was anything but,she left her well-to-do home in Trinidad and flew to Barbados to build and run her own apartment hotel, in a swamp no less!
Granny always had her own way of doing everything. When she made up her mind on how things would happen, then that was that, no need to confuse her with actual facts.
One of the things she believed in, was the health benefits of a sea bath, as opposed to a fresh water bath (shower) or mud bath (Granny was a trained beautician). Every day at 10:00 she would drop whatever she was doing, even if it meant leaving the servants to check-in new arrivals to her apartment/hotel, and head to the Barbados Yacht club for her daily swim.
When I met granny Grace she had already decided (read this to mean forced to by her doctor and family) to stop driving. So she had "Trotman", her handyman and general all round go-to guy for the apartment/hotel, drive her for the institutional daily swim. The one problem with this arrangement was that Trotman had Sunday’s off, so, as the newest member to the family, it fell to me to take her to the Yacht Club on Sunday’s.
We’d go early, like about 9:15. this suited my ex-wife perfectly as she preferred to sleep in on Sunday’s, so I’d pick Granny Grace up from her cottage at about 9:00 and we’d be on the beach by 9:15. Now when I say she went for a swim, I mean just that, her routine was rigorous. 9:15 on the beach, ten minutes later we’d start our trek towards the sea. It took Granny that much time to take off her house dress, under which she already had her whole piece bathing suit on (thank god – the thought of helping her change still gives me nightmares) and put on her swimming cap (the aquamarine rubber skull cap with the stuck-on plastic blue and yellow daffodils).
The walk to the sea took another ten minutes of one jerky baby step after another with me in front of her (walking backwards) and her leaning onto my two supporting outstretched arms, with Granny constantly complaining that I was either not supporting her enough or taking the bumpiest route to the water or walking too fast. I swear we were moving so slow that on the days when the tide was going out it would take us twice as long to reach the water.
Finally we would enter the water with sighs of delight from us both, her for the feeling of the water supporting her not unsubstantial mass and me for the cooling effects the Caribbean sea would have on my now sweat drenched over worked muscles from the tedious ten minute walk to cover 50 feet of Carlisle Bay’s soft white sand.
Floating, free of gravity, in the aqua-green of the Caribbean sea, early on a Sunday morning, looking up into the never ending blue of a clear tropical sky made it all worth while, until I hear granny’s voice, still, even after more than twenty years in Barbados, easily identified by her Trinidadian lithe, say, “Tony, see that man there, her cheated on his wife with his secretary, who he eventually married, but later divorced to live with his maid. Image that!”
Now you would image that a statement like that would be said in a hushed, conspired whisper, with heads leaned close together, not Granny. She was floating a few feet from me, but she must have though we were at opposite ends of the three mile natural harbour that is Carlisle Bay, from the volume of her comment. Combine this with the natural affinity water has to amplify sound and I would not be surprised if seas bathers in Antigua, at the Northern end of the Caribbean Chain, could not have heard her comment.
And she had a comment about everybody that was enjoying a Sunday soak. Thank god it was early in the morning and there were only a few people out enjoying, or at least trying to, the peace and quite of the seas before the screaming, energetic sun-fuelled kids hit the beach later in the day.
After twenty minutes or so of floating (for relaxation) and swimming (for exercise), a very slow modification of the dog paddle, Granny was ready to come out of the water. reverse the trek in, only this time it took shorter since we were not chasing the receding water. And once back to our seats, thankfully proper seats provided by BYC, I could not imagine having to lower and raise Granny from a prone position on a towel laid out in the sand,we ended the routine with a Peña Colada, “To warm me up from my soak.” Granny would explain.Though if you would believe this, then Granny must have been the coldest person in Barbados, based on her alcohol intake. Thank god she lived in a tropical climate.
Granny is gone now, and I hope that the angels who now take her for her sea bath have as much fun as I had getting to know and understand a remarkable woman who lived in a world so far removed from the one I grew up in.
I truly believe that to move forward we not only need to know about our past but to also understand it, only with this understanding can we truly achieve the proper perspective to better help us move into a better and brighter future.
And the best way to achieve understanding is through the actual lived-it experience of those who were there. Our elders are an untapped resource that we all need to not only acknowledge, but to tap into as often as we can to gain the understanding urgently needed to help move us forward as a society.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
The media’s fascination with ratios
I am a believer in mathematics, I specially like the absoluteness of formulae, which for the most part result in absolute answers. I am a black and white type of guy who unfortunately lives in a grey world.
So it grates me when math's is used incorrectly. And boy has it! The worst offender is the mass media and the most often incorrect use of mathematics by the media is ratios.
We are forever seeing statements like 70% increase, 150% decrease, 300% increase or just the plain ratios stated, 50% 10%…etc. What does this mean? On the face of it the figures are big, 70, 150 and 300 but are they?
Percentages are a typical way of showing ratio’s, in other words one number’s relationship to another. It is not an absolute number, such as 70, 150 and 300 but a relative one and takes its meaning from the absolute numbers it represents.
For example if you have one penny and someone gave you 3 more pennies, then you would have increased your assets by 300%. If you deal with the percentage only and told your friends that you increased your asset base by 300% then they would be amazed. Tell them you now have 4 pennies and that would not garner near as much interest as saying you have a 300% increase.
You see ratio’s are not and will never be absolute numbers, but they can and in many cases do provide eye raising reactions when quoted. That is why the media use them (and statistics, but that’s another topic).
Mass media, and here I include the main stream news broadcasts as well as the advertisers that use mass media (including some of the better known charities) need to balance the act of providing information and gaining attention. In there perspective what’s the point in gathering and reporting on news events when they do not have the attention of an audience to see/listen to it.
So this has lead to the use of percentages (ratio’s) to enhance the shock factor, to entice an audience to listen to the story of how Joe Bloke increased his assets by 300%, after all who would listen to a story about a bum who had four pennies to his name.
So it grates me when math's is used incorrectly. And boy has it! The worst offender is the mass media and the most often incorrect use of mathematics by the media is ratios.
We are forever seeing statements like 70% increase, 150% decrease, 300% increase or just the plain ratios stated, 50% 10%…etc. What does this mean? On the face of it the figures are big, 70, 150 and 300 but are they?
Percentages are a typical way of showing ratio’s, in other words one number’s relationship to another. It is not an absolute number, such as 70, 150 and 300 but a relative one and takes its meaning from the absolute numbers it represents.
For example if you have one penny and someone gave you 3 more pennies, then you would have increased your assets by 300%. If you deal with the percentage only and told your friends that you increased your asset base by 300% then they would be amazed. Tell them you now have 4 pennies and that would not garner near as much interest as saying you have a 300% increase.
You see ratio’s are not and will never be absolute numbers, but they can and in many cases do provide eye raising reactions when quoted. That is why the media use them (and statistics, but that’s another topic).
Mass media, and here I include the main stream news broadcasts as well as the advertisers that use mass media (including some of the better known charities) need to balance the act of providing information and gaining attention. In there perspective what’s the point in gathering and reporting on news events when they do not have the attention of an audience to see/listen to it.
So this has lead to the use of percentages (ratio’s) to enhance the shock factor, to entice an audience to listen to the story of how Joe Bloke increased his assets by 300%, after all who would listen to a story about a bum who had four pennies to his name.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
The ‘Me’ generation?! Really?
I hear, from time to time, declarations by the older and supposedly more experienced life-veterans, accusations that my generation is the ‘me’ generation. They blame most, if not all, of today’s society ills, from misbehaving children to the unproductivity of employees to the breakdown in family values, on this fact.
From my point of view I think they have it all wrong. this is in fact, not a ‘me’ generation. A true ‘me’ generation would require that you never think of yourself first. Let me explain.
If I wanted everything to be about me, then I should expect that everyone that I meet should be putting my needs before their own. by extension I am also included in the “everybody” to someone else. So I too, must put my neighbors first, which means I should not behave in a selfish manner, but be more cognizant to what my neighbor (the person in the line behind me, someone walking alongside me on the sidewalk or mall, a driver in traffic with me, the server at a restaurant etc.) needs are at our moment of contact.
With this in mind, and using the natural laws of morality and ethics, I should deal with my neighbor, as though they are more important than me, as I am to them, by way of the same reasoning.
This utopia will result in the real ‘me’ generation, where you will always be the center of your contacts circle.
What we have existing now, is not a ‘me ‘ generation but an isolationist generation, where each of us surrounds ourselves with a wall of solitude, ignorant of the needs of anyone but ourselves, oblivious to the true rewards that come from the sharing of lives, ambitions, frailties, loves and hopes, that enrich us as a people and in fact, makes us more human in every way, every day.
So, lets be good children and listen to our elders, if they are calling this the ‘me’ generation then lets make it a true ‘me’ generation by destroying our walls of solitude and putting our neighbors first!
From my point of view I think they have it all wrong. this is in fact, not a ‘me’ generation. A true ‘me’ generation would require that you never think of yourself first. Let me explain.
If I wanted everything to be about me, then I should expect that everyone that I meet should be putting my needs before their own. by extension I am also included in the “everybody” to someone else. So I too, must put my neighbors first, which means I should not behave in a selfish manner, but be more cognizant to what my neighbor (the person in the line behind me, someone walking alongside me on the sidewalk or mall, a driver in traffic with me, the server at a restaurant etc.) needs are at our moment of contact.
With this in mind, and using the natural laws of morality and ethics, I should deal with my neighbor, as though they are more important than me, as I am to them, by way of the same reasoning.
This utopia will result in the real ‘me’ generation, where you will always be the center of your contacts circle.
What we have existing now, is not a ‘me ‘ generation but an isolationist generation, where each of us surrounds ourselves with a wall of solitude, ignorant of the needs of anyone but ourselves, oblivious to the true rewards that come from the sharing of lives, ambitions, frailties, loves and hopes, that enrich us as a people and in fact, makes us more human in every way, every day.
So, lets be good children and listen to our elders, if they are calling this the ‘me’ generation then lets make it a true ‘me’ generation by destroying our walls of solitude and putting our neighbors first!
Monday, January 9, 2012
Eating or taking
Every culture, or sub-culture for that matter, has their own language. Sometimes the language is made up of a mixture of different languages such as Patois (a French/English mash-up spoken in Trinidad) or, more commonly, a mixture of re-defined English words and truncated grammar.
Living in the Caribbean, with its many small micro-cultures, all co-existing in close proximity, creates not only a tolerance for but also an appreciation and understanding of the variances in dialect.
A Trinidadian friend of mine, living in Canada for quite a number of years, visited Barbados on business recently and though well versed in the various Trinidad dialects, was out of practice with dealing with different nuances, after all he had been exposed to the language of Canadian English as his only verbal communication for so long that his intuitive grasp of local dialect was rusty.
At the cashier of the local fast food outlet, after placing his order, he was asked, “Eating or taking?” To which he replied, falling back on the old Trinidad statement that conveyed the message that I did not understand you question, “Eh!”
“Eating or taking?” the cashier repeated, this time with a slight tone in her voice that said, you dumb or what! answer quickly nuh! De line getting’ longer.
My friend, recognizing the tone, began to think quickly, what is she’s asking? Eating or taking? Surely she can’t be asking if I intend to eat the food I just ordered, since this is a restaurant and they serve food, they must expect me to eat it. And taking, the food will be handed to me over a counter, like every other fast food restaurant, so I must also take it.
Looking at the cashier’s face for clues my friend was greeted with the bored, lights-on-but-nobody’s-home refection of a woman who has spent too many hours at the same job asking the same questions and who’s only ambition is to finish her shift without encountering too many stupid customers.
With the realization that an answer was expected to allow the completion of my friend’s transaction, he reverted to the tried and true Trinidad response to get the question repeated, “Eh!”
“Eating or taking?” the cashier repeated exasperatedly. To which my friend replied, with a smile as though only now understanding, though all he did was take a stab in the dark, after all it couldn’t be eating, that was too obvious, so it must be…”Taking.”
The cashier smiled in return and handed him his change and directed him to the other end of the counter to collect his food.
When he returned to my car and explained what had happened, I laughed and explained to him the Bajan’s propensity to chop words in their dialect. What the woman was asking him was if he was planning to eat in or take out the food he had just ordered, but after so many times of saying the same thing over and over in got shortened to, eating or taking.
Living in the Caribbean, with its many small micro-cultures, all co-existing in close proximity, creates not only a tolerance for but also an appreciation and understanding of the variances in dialect.
A Trinidadian friend of mine, living in Canada for quite a number of years, visited Barbados on business recently and though well versed in the various Trinidad dialects, was out of practice with dealing with different nuances, after all he had been exposed to the language of Canadian English as his only verbal communication for so long that his intuitive grasp of local dialect was rusty.
At the cashier of the local fast food outlet, after placing his order, he was asked, “Eating or taking?” To which he replied, falling back on the old Trinidad statement that conveyed the message that I did not understand you question, “Eh!”
“Eating or taking?” the cashier repeated, this time with a slight tone in her voice that said, you dumb or what! answer quickly nuh! De line getting’ longer.
My friend, recognizing the tone, began to think quickly, what is she’s asking? Eating or taking? Surely she can’t be asking if I intend to eat the food I just ordered, since this is a restaurant and they serve food, they must expect me to eat it. And taking, the food will be handed to me over a counter, like every other fast food restaurant, so I must also take it.
Looking at the cashier’s face for clues my friend was greeted with the bored, lights-on-but-nobody’s-home refection of a woman who has spent too many hours at the same job asking the same questions and who’s only ambition is to finish her shift without encountering too many stupid customers.
With the realization that an answer was expected to allow the completion of my friend’s transaction, he reverted to the tried and true Trinidad response to get the question repeated, “Eh!”
“Eating or taking?” the cashier repeated exasperatedly. To which my friend replied, with a smile as though only now understanding, though all he did was take a stab in the dark, after all it couldn’t be eating, that was too obvious, so it must be…”Taking.”
The cashier smiled in return and handed him his change and directed him to the other end of the counter to collect his food.
When he returned to my car and explained what had happened, I laughed and explained to him the Bajan’s propensity to chop words in their dialect. What the woman was asking him was if he was planning to eat in or take out the food he had just ordered, but after so many times of saying the same thing over and over in got shortened to, eating or taking.
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Sarah Conner, where are you?
Technology, as we all once thought, is there to make our lives better, more productive and allow us to spend more me-time, more time with our creative soul, more time sorting out who we are and where we fit into the whole scheme of things.
Nice goal but we’ve fallen far short of this ideal.
Even with the modernization of the home, washing machines, drying machines, vacuums, microwaves and toasters the modern housewife still spends more time on housework than her equal in the last century.
Today’s office has changed with the emphasis on speed of doing rather than the actuality of the doing itself, starting with telephones and then faxes, followed by faster and faster computers and now the piece de resistance the smartphone. All designed to increase the speed of communication making our jobs easier but in fact does exactly the opposite, it in fact creates a demand to work even faster and has us all moving so fast we don’t even realize the unseen threat.
You cannot go anywhere today without seeing a smartphone-zombie, easily recognized by the smartphone attached to the ear. It has become so addictive that we carry on (or at least try to) conversations with other people while talking on the smartphone, we place orders at shops, restaurants, bakeries while on the smartphone, we drive while on the smartphone, hell I’m sure there are those who even use it during the ultimately intimate human contact, sex.
Practically every near mishap or senseless reduction in speed I’ve encountered on the road is due to someone on a smartphone. Even when walking I encounter the same, I end up dodging other pedestrians who stop suddenly, or change suddenly direction or just wonder into the flow of pedestrian traffic totally oblivious to what's happening around them.
Are our lives any better now that we can be contacted 24/7 no matter if we are at the park, having a hot chocolate or in the bathroom? Where is the time we used to spend just allowing our minds to wander, to investigate, to reason, to speculate or to just dream.
Is technology turning us into mindless zombies where we react impulsively to stimulus only within the limited range of our senses? Where is Sarah Conner when you need her!
Nice goal but we’ve fallen far short of this ideal.
Even with the modernization of the home, washing machines, drying machines, vacuums, microwaves and toasters the modern housewife still spends more time on housework than her equal in the last century.
Today’s office has changed with the emphasis on speed of doing rather than the actuality of the doing itself, starting with telephones and then faxes, followed by faster and faster computers and now the piece de resistance the smartphone. All designed to increase the speed of communication making our jobs easier but in fact does exactly the opposite, it in fact creates a demand to work even faster and has us all moving so fast we don’t even realize the unseen threat.
You cannot go anywhere today without seeing a smartphone-zombie, easily recognized by the smartphone attached to the ear. It has become so addictive that we carry on (or at least try to) conversations with other people while talking on the smartphone, we place orders at shops, restaurants, bakeries while on the smartphone, we drive while on the smartphone, hell I’m sure there are those who even use it during the ultimately intimate human contact, sex.
Practically every near mishap or senseless reduction in speed I’ve encountered on the road is due to someone on a smartphone. Even when walking I encounter the same, I end up dodging other pedestrians who stop suddenly, or change suddenly direction or just wonder into the flow of pedestrian traffic totally oblivious to what's happening around them.
Are our lives any better now that we can be contacted 24/7 no matter if we are at the park, having a hot chocolate or in the bathroom? Where is the time we used to spend just allowing our minds to wander, to investigate, to reason, to speculate or to just dream.
Is technology turning us into mindless zombies where we react impulsively to stimulus only within the limited range of our senses? Where is Sarah Conner when you need her!
Alone again, naturally
This is the third big move I’ve made in my life, I moved to Trinidad from my birth home (Ireland) when I was five, I moved to Barbados when I was thirty-one and now I’ve moved to the US (temporarily) at fifty-three.
With each move I seem to get more and more alone, moving to Trinidad I was with four other people, my mother and father and my two sisters, the move to Barbados I was with only one person, my ex-wife and now, with my latest move I am by myself…by progression the next move should be my permanent one, where even I stay behind.
At the beginning of each move I remember feeling very much alone (except for when I was five, I do not remember much of my early years at all) and not just alone due to a lack of friends but truly alone, stranded in an unnatural environment.
At the best of times I feel alone due, I’ve since learnt, mostly because of my Asperger's, in what most people see as a sea of normality. It always amazed me when my friends could feel at home in radically different environments with just the addition of a few known elements, a Starbucks’, Timmy’s, MacDonalds’ or in the case of most Caribbean men a bar.
But alone is what I feel, I mean even if you change my planned daily activities, I get lost is a sea of uneasiness. Order to me is familiarity, I know what is coming, what is expected. It’s what I’ve planned for and what I’m comfortable with. Change that and I get lost immediately and it takes me time to get back up to speed with the new things, even a change in the order of events can put me into a tail spin.
I wasn’t as alone before I was diagnosed with Asperger's, in the pre Asperger's days I just could not understand why people acted and re-acted as they did, and I spent a lot of time trying to find out why. Since my diagnoses I now know that I am the odd man out and no longer part of the maddening crowd...Alone!
With each move I seem to get more and more alone, moving to Trinidad I was with four other people, my mother and father and my two sisters, the move to Barbados I was with only one person, my ex-wife and now, with my latest move I am by myself…by progression the next move should be my permanent one, where even I stay behind.
At the beginning of each move I remember feeling very much alone (except for when I was five, I do not remember much of my early years at all) and not just alone due to a lack of friends but truly alone, stranded in an unnatural environment.
At the best of times I feel alone due, I’ve since learnt, mostly because of my Asperger's, in what most people see as a sea of normality. It always amazed me when my friends could feel at home in radically different environments with just the addition of a few known elements, a Starbucks’, Timmy’s, MacDonalds’ or in the case of most Caribbean men a bar.
But alone is what I feel, I mean even if you change my planned daily activities, I get lost is a sea of uneasiness. Order to me is familiarity, I know what is coming, what is expected. It’s what I’ve planned for and what I’m comfortable with. Change that and I get lost immediately and it takes me time to get back up to speed with the new things, even a change in the order of events can put me into a tail spin.
I wasn’t as alone before I was diagnosed with Asperger's, in the pre Asperger's days I just could not understand why people acted and re-acted as they did, and I spent a lot of time trying to find out why. Since my diagnoses I now know that I am the odd man out and no longer part of the maddening crowd...Alone!
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