AppleBoy Steve Jobs knew the not-so-secret secret to creativity:
“Creativity is just connecting things. When you ask creative people how they did something, they feel a little guilty because they didn’t really do it, they just saw something. It seemed obvious to them after a while. That’s because they were able to connect experiences they’ve had and synthesize new things. And the reason they were able to do that was that they’ve had more experiences… Unfortunately, that’s too rare a commodity. A lot of people in our industry haven’t had very diverse experiences…The broader one’s understanding of the human experience, the better design we will have.”
This concept applies even if you aren’t in the design realm.
Get out of your bubble. Get into something new. Read a lot – from a variety of sources.
It’s fine to dabble, and be a dilettante. You’re filling the creative well.
My dear friend LJ (okay, his real name is John but I never call him that) turned 61 yesterday. For his birthday, he got… surgery. He had a cancerous brain tumor removed last May and has been an absolute champion since then, through the radiation and the oral chemo and the testing regimen. Zapping. Poking. Prodding. Like water off a duck’s back for LJ, who has been both a rock and a rock star.
His latest scan showed some “activity” in the area where the tumor was removed, so the docs went back in yesterday, did a biopsy while he was sedated, and found out it was a recurrence/regeneration of the cancer. So they removed that, and put in some radiation tiles that will zap the area from the inside.
As birthday presents go, “surgery to remove cancer from my cranium” has gotta be pretty low on the wish list. But knowing how LJ is, his reaction won’t be “it sucks” but rather “it is what it is.” He’s been steadfast in his approach: day by day.
One of my favorite musicians, Jesse Malin, calls it “PMA” – Positive Mental Attitude. LJ’s PMA is off-the-charts good. Radiation tiles are one weapon to fight the cancer, but we should never discount the power of PMA. And LJ has other weapons in his beat-cancer arsenal too. I listed them in my post about LJ last year, and they still hold true today:
LJ is in great shape.
He has a family that loves him… and grandkids who adore him.
His faith is strong.
His support network is deep and wide — relatives, neighborhood friends, church friends, even a bunch of knuckleheads from college.
[Phil, LJ, Brian, Dubbatrubba, and Art – Uber driver Tom wasn’t able to attend, but his wife Jodi was there.]
I wouldn’t wish cancer upon my worst enemy. But I do wish that all of us could channel LJ’s PMA. He knows quite profoundly what most of us spend a lifetime ignoring: the present is a present.
He didn’t choose cancer. But he’s choosing to continue to live his life in an exemplary way. With serenity, not anxiety. With love, not anger. With gratitude, not bitterness. In joy, not sorrow.
What I said last year still holds true:
If anyone can beat the odds — and people DO beat the odds — it’s LJ.
We hope. We pray. We believe in miracles. And we cherish the time we get to spend with him.
We don’t know what the future holds. That’s not just true for LJ. It’s true for all of us.
This short essay by Mandy Brown has 777 words. (I counted… OK, Microsoft Word did.) I’m lucky it was brought to my attention by one of the many newsletters I try to read each week/month. (I wish I could remember which one… )
The essay is about dealing with uncertainty. And how uncertainty is the only thing that makes life possible.
Our awareness of life, of its great variety and beauty and possibility, emerges out of uncertainty. Awareness, that sense of being awake to the world, is necessary only because we live in uncertainty. If we knew what was to come, we would have no need for sensemaking, no need to be alert to what’s around us, no need to ever open our eyes and ears and arms to each other.
This is, perhaps, the great paradox of modern technologies: in a world without uncertainty, we would need only be aware of our screens—nothing else would matter. But in the deeply uncertain world we do live in, we cling to those screens because they promise the one thing we can never have.
We want answers, but life delivers questions. Ms. Brown’s advice at the end of the essay makes a ton of sense:
Take small steps.
Be ready to shift directions.
Anticipate surprise.
Trust in creativity.
Go with friends.
Our power is not measured in weapons or cash but in humans; our power is with and through each other.
Life may be uncertain, but I’m certain about that!
This is NOT a music-related post. (I have to post that disclaimer, as two of the four regular readers of this blog don’t like my musical musings.)
Michelle Zauner is the leader of the band Japanese Breakfast. I’m a huge fan. (Their new album comes out soon!)
But she also wrote a very moving memoir about loss – her book Crying in H Mart. When her mother was diagnosed with cancer, Michelle left her East Coast band and flew back to her childhood home in Eugene, Oregon, to take care of her mom during her final months. And as a Korean-American who lost not just her mom but her connection to her Korean heritage, Michelle feels the grief quite intensely.
I can sorta-kinda relate. I’m not mixed race like Michelle, but my mom was first generation Italian-American. And when she passed away, I lost that connection to the Italian part of my heritage. I was lucky enough to spend some quality time with my Italian aunts (Rosetta and Inez) growing up, but chances are my feelings of “Italian-ness” would be much stronger had my mom not passed away when I was so young.
I hadn’t thought about that a lot, until I listened to Michelle speak about her book at Cincinnati’s Mercantile Library earlier this week.
I found myself getting a bit misty-eyed when she talked about the sense of not just maternal loss but also cultural loss. And I started to think that I’m not just a fan of Michelle’s band, but also a kindred spirit with her.
Then. later in the week, I saw this quote:
It is essential for us to welcome our grief, whatever form it takes. When we do, we open ourselves to our shared experiences in life. Grief is our common bond. Opening to our sorrow connects us with everyone, everywhere.
— Francis Weller
Yes, I’m a kindred spirit with Michelle Zauner. And with you. And with everyone who has suffered loss… which is “everyone, everywhere.”
Grateful Living has a monthly series called “Grateful Gatherings.” As fate would have it, the focus for March is “Grief & Gratefulness.” Here’s another Francis Weller quote:
“Gratitude is the other hand of grief. It is the mature person who welcomes both. To deny either reality is to slip into chronic depression or to live in a superficial reality. Together they form a prayer that makes tangible the exquisite richness of life in this moment. Life is hard and filled with suffering. Life is also a most precious gift, a reason for continual celebration and appreciation.”
Amen to that!
The Grief & Gratefulness resources are here. Should you find yourself crying in H Mart, or in the Mercantile Library, or anywhere, really, they could come in handy.
The Mercantile Library is an absolute gem in the Queen City. It’s been open since 1835, but recently completed a remodel that adds much more cool space to what already was the city’s best haven for “readers, writers, and thinkers” as their website says. Michelle Zauner this past Tuesday, Curtis Sittenfeld this past Friday… with Timothy Egan, Crystal Wilkinson, Ada Limón, Colson Whitehead, Kaveh Akbar, and Lauren Groff still on tap this year, along with several other authors, plus book clubs, poetry readings, yoga, and so much more.
It’s a membership library, but the low cost would be worth it just to hang out in their space, and membership gets you early (and often free) access to the author events.
I’ve been doing some digital spring cleaning, and I encourage you to do the same.
WaPo may be sorry to see me go, but I call b.s. on the “absolutely nothing has changed…”
There are the two recent developments that made me unsubscribe.
First was the news from Jan. 4th:
And then the final blow (because it blows) came this week:
I agree with Amanda Katz, a former member of the opinion team at the Washington Post who stepped down from her role at the end of 2024. She called the change:
“an absolute abandonment of the principles of accountability of the powerful, justice, democracy, human rights, and accurate information that previously animated the section in favor of a white male billionaire’s self-interested agenda”
My $40 a year won’t put a dent in Bozos wallet. But I’m not gonna stand idly by while the free press gets gutted by a guy who sells trinkets and baubles (mostly from China).
And here’s a bit more spring cleaning you can do, courtesy of Last Week Tonight with John Oliver.
Instructions are here. (I should’ve spelled out the URL, as it’s “JohnOliverWantsYourRatErotica.”)
I’m rarely on Facebook, but every little bit helps!
Finally, there’s the non-elected, non-citizen who is running our country. (Oops, sorry for the typo, I meant “ruining” not “running.”)
Getting rid of the Twit is a bit more difficult (so much for “efficiency”) as you’ll have to request YOUR data, then wait for an email with a download link. But instructions are here.
It’s chump change to the oligarchs. But dollars are the only noise they hear. And if we all do it, maybe democracy still has a chance.
This post from Scott Galloway is a year and a half old, but it’s worth flagging (again, perhaps). My favorite excerpt:
Add this to the list of ways social media is ruining society: It’s skewing our perception of the relative value of listening vs. speaking. Social media is a contact sport in which “takes” are the game ball. It’s taught us (incorrectly) that all our opinions matter. Worse, that everyone needs to hear and comment on them.
He’s spot-on. You don’t get any sort of clout (or Klout, back in the day) for just reading something and not weighing in.
The delta between hearing and listening is attention, being present. This is difficult in the age of devices, but respect is what makes the other party feel heard.
Scott offers four tips for lending someone our ears.
Not speaking up is easier said (unsaid?) than done. It takes practice. But the payoff for fewer words is more empathy.
You done said…