Author Archives: Steve Jacobsen

I worked for 43 years in the nonprofit and spiritual development fields....Executive Director of Hospice of Santa Barbara, Director of La Casa de Maria Retreat Center (before it closed in 2018 following the mud and debris flow event), and as a Presbyterian pastor in a variety of states and settings. I've been active in inter-spiritual work for 20 years, particularly with the Jewish, Muslim and Buddhist communities. I've served on several nonprofit boards and published a dozen articles. I enjoy baseball, classical music, listening to peoples' personal stories, politics, history and my family.

Taking Care of Your Gyroscope and Your Compass

I follow different weekly columnists looking for useful insights. I recently saw a comment by Peggy Noonan giving advice to fellow commentators as we face what might be a chaotic year: “Keep your tools, compass and gyroscope, clean, dry and level.”[i]

I liked this statement. The metaphors weren’t new, but I appreciated putting them together: “Keeping your…compass and gyroscope, clean, dry and level.”

I take our personal gyroscope to be what keeps us balanced when our life gets topsy-turvy – what keeps us in touch with our deepest values and best thinking.

A compass helps locate where we are at any one moment. It gives us trustworthy information with which we can decide on the best direction to go.

It is common for us to start our day, our year and any new chapter in our life with certain assumptions about what’s going to happen and how we will respond. Sometimes things unfold like we expect. But often unforeseen events happen – events that we did not see coming — and we can feel like we’ve been knocked off balance and are lost. Time to check our navigational instruments.

I have previously written about a scene from the movie Lincoln. [ii] In the winter of 1865, Lincoln wants to have Congress pass the 13^th amendment (abolishing slavery) before the Civil War ends. He needs the support of Thaddeus Stevens, an abolitionist who wants an amendment that goes beyond just the abolition of slavery to declare the total equality of the races. Lincoln and Stevens have the same inner conviction that equality is the ultimate goal – they share a similar gyroscope. But Lincoln knows Steven’s amendment won’t pass. Lincoln grew up on the frontier and has been in wilderness. He says, “The compass points you true north but does not warn you of obstacles and swamps along the way.” Where we want to end up may be clear but the way to get there may not be; we must forge ahead as best we can. Stevens reluctantly agrees to compromise and with his support the amendment passes.

I’ve performed many weddings in my ministry. Early on, I wanted couples to have a good experience in premarital counseling, but knew I was not equipped to provide it. I found marriage and family counselors whom I trusted and arranged with them to see couples for three sessions. I would tell the couples that an added benefit would be becoming familiar with someone in town they could always go back to for support and advice as time went on – people who could help them get in touch with their “compass and gyroscope” when needed.

One topic I did personally discussed with couples was the vows. Sometimes people wanted to write their own vows, which I could support. But I would also have them consider the traditional vows:

I, ____, take you, ____, to be my lawfully wedded (husband/wife), to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.

I would tell them to consider the three couplets: “for better/for worse, for richer/for poorer, in sickness/in health.” When events in life are going for the “better,” if we are feeling “richer,” and if we are in good health, loving another person is easy. But consider what might happen when life events are becoming “worse.” Or circumstances mean you are getting “poorer.” Or one person becomes seriously ill. These vows mean that you will not turn away in hard times but promise to dig in and deepen your commitment. “Hollywood movies show how wonderful falling in love is,” I would say, “but over the years I’ve learned to look at the couples who hang together in hard times. They develop a love deeper than just emotions – they create a bond that is lasting and profound.”

I would add that spiritual beliefs and practices become particularly valuable in disorienting times. There is wisdom beyond just ourselves that can be found in prayer and contemplation, in timeless teachings about what makes life worth living, and what our ultimate purpose can be. Calling on these resources is turning to our spiritual gyroscope. Then we can check our compass to see if we are headed in the best direction and not get stuck in an egocentric wilderness.

Sometimes we need to find an environment which helps us tune in to our gyroscope and compass. For three decades, I was involved at the La Casa de Maria Retreat Center as a board member and director. Individuals and groups would come for a day or several days for retreats. There were no televisions or newspapers, and we enjoyed limited cell phone service. People were free to wander our 26-acre oak forest, orchard and spiritual gardens. They could enjoy good food, leisure time and opportunities for meaningful contemplation and conversation. This was our mission statement:

The mission of La Casa de Maria

is to be a sanctuary of peace

Where groups and individuals

Can renew their purpose

Strengthen their community

And increase their effectiveness in the world.

La Casa was a place where 12,000 people every year people could tune into their gyroscopes and compasses. It was inspiring to see what a difference the right environment could make and what it means for people to find a direction in life they know to be right.

In the days to come, may we each make good use of our gyroscopes and compasses.

[i] https://www.wsj.com/opinion/what-is-your-attitude-toward-trump-2-0-f3f8532c

[ii] “Faith and Sight,” Dec 9, 2023, https://wordpress.com/post/drjsb.com/2925

Lead image: La Casa de Maria, givinglistsantabarbara.com;

Waking The Dead

The documentary filmmaker Ken Burns was raised in a small, 2-bedroom home in Ann Arbor, Michigan. A recent article[i] describes his personal journey, which began with a traumatic childhood:

Ken was 11 and his brother, Ric, was 10, when their mother was on her deathbed. Their father, Robert Kyle Burns Jr., an anthropologist, was mentally ill.

As his mother’s cancer metastasized, Ken overheard conversations — his mother pleading with relatives, asking for someone, anyone, to take her boys in the event of her death. “I remember being scared — scared all the time,” he said.

With their mother in the hospital, the boys were left to wait at home for the inevitable. On the night of April 28, 1965, Ken went to bed with one of the worst stomachaches he had ever had — his body registering what none of the adults would speak about.

The pain disappeared suddenly. The phone rang. His mother was gone.

Following his mother’s death, his father would disappear “for hours and then days at a time” and sometimes be gone for months.

There is a saying I learned when I was at Hospice of Santa Barbara: “Pain that is not transformed is often transferred” — meaning if we don’t’ find a way to channel personal hurt and anguish into something positive, we can end up inflicting that pain on ourselves or others. In his grief and confusion, Burns found such a path:

The filmmaker remembers the exact moment when he decided what he wanted to do with his life: He had never seen his father cry — not in all the years his mother had fought an excruciating illness, not even at the funeral — until one night after her death. His family was in the living room in front of their black-and-white TV, watching a movie, and suddenly his father began weeping.

“I just understood that nothing gave him any safe harbor — nothing,” Ken Burns said, except the film, which had created the space for a bereaved widower to express the fraught emotions he had suppressed.

Burns began creating historical films that would present the past as something much more personal than just a series of facts. Through stories, letters, photographs, and music, he has been able to bring real people to life, whether the topic is baseball, music (jazz and country), war (World War 2 and Vietnam) or any other topic.

The article ends with this:

Years ago, a psychologist finally gave him an answer to the meaning of his work. “Look what you do for a living — you wake the dead,” the psychologist told him.

When I finished the article, I realized much of my life has been about “waking the dead.” I’ve been reading history and biographies since grammar school, constantly looking for how real people endured hardship and crises. I love listening to music that can seem to bring the composer’s lived experience accross time and directly into my heart and mind. I gaze at works of art hoping to time-travel into someone else’s world and imagination. I turn to the great spiritual traditions to listen to their wisdom and insights. I never thought of it as “waking the dead” but maybe that’s what I’m seeking – and not just to “wake” them but to be in a living and learning relationship with them.

Some years ago, I heard the writer, activist and defender of rural values Wendell Berry speak at UCSB as part of a series on environmental poets. In the question-and-answer period, someone asked if, given his dedication to family farms, gardening should be a required subject in high school. Berry paused for a minute, then said, “No, students should read Homer and the Bible, because they need to know they problems they are facing are not new.” Our world has changed a great deal in terms of technology and science, but the challenges of being a responsible and resilient human being have not. I’m grateful for those who can wake the dead so we can learn from them.

“As a baby, Ken Burns appeared in this photo showing his mother spoon feeding him.” (NY Times)

[i] “The Land That Allowed Ken Burns to Raise the Dead,” New York Times, Nov 27, 2024

Lead image: “Burns in the mid-1970s, just as he was starting to create his film studio” (from the Times article.)

Wherever You Go, There You Are

“Wherever you go, there you are” is a quote that has been around for many years.[i] It’s been nudging me recently.

This past week I decided to go through some old files. They included a selection of my academic papers, published articles, old sermons, early courtship letters from our marriage, and family Christmas letters we’d sent to friends over the years. I was surprised at some things – I didn’t remember taking that particular class or having that specific experience. It felt like I was watching my life go by and also sensing I’m the same person as when it all began. It’s like being on a train, passing through unknown places and having unexpected experiences, but realizing it’s an unchanged “me” looking out the window the entire trip. Wherever I went, there I was.

What I see now in the mirror looks different than what I’ve seen the past but it’s the same me that’s looking.

What will eventually happen to this “me” that seems to be the ongoing observer of my life?

A good friend of mine has been a hospice volunteer for many years and at the bedside of many dying people. Given the right care and support, he tells me people coming close to having their “me” leave their body feel no fear but experience a calm trust in the unknown.

Some say “dust to dust, ashes to ashes” … period. We are made of eleven basic elements, mostly carbon, oxygen and hydrogen. How amazing that eleven elements could come together in just the right way to create a space for a “me” that looks out at this world, tries to make sense of it, lives for decades, then dissipates and disappears.

Some say, “dust to dust, ashes to ashes, yet in sure and certain hope of resurrection to eternal life.” The me that was carried along by the material elements doesn’t disappear when those elements cease functioning but continues in some form, and it all comes as a gift.

I remember someone asking Huston Smith, the great scholar of world spiritual traditions, what happens when we die. He said the spiritual traditions assume one of two possibilities. The first possibility is that we keep our self-awareness and become witnesses of something awe-inspiring like an eternal sunrise. The second possibility is our awareness simply dissolves into the sunrise. Then he smiled and said, “I like to think I might have a choice. If so, I’d choose to first witness the divine sunrise. But after a while – maybe after a thousand years — I’d decide that was enough. Then I’d let go and become part of it all.”

Back to sorting files. Happy New Year.

[i] There are numerous possible sources of this quote, but it gained popularity in 1994 as the title to a book by Jon Kabat-Zinn: Wherever You Go, There You Are: Mindfulness Meditation in Everyday Life.

A Restless Candle

On our last day in Vienna this past September, we decided to visit an impressive sight we had been passing every day: the Votivkirche, or ”Votive Church.”[i] Seeing its tall spires and ornate towers, I assumed it was an ancient Gothic cathedral. Upon entering, we discovered it is less than 150 years old — a “neo-Gothic” structure completed in 1879. The building is 325 feet high (second highest peak in the city) and features 78 stained glass windows; when you enter, it feels vast, mysterious and intriguing.

As we explored the interior, I noticed a small plaque on a stone pillar above a votive candle rack. No one else was nearby and only a few candles had been lit. The words were in German, Italian and English. Here is the English version:

God, there is a candle in front of me.

It burns restlessly, sometimes with a small flame, sometimes with a large flame.

God, I too am often restless.

May I become calm in you.

The candle gives me light and warmth.

God, may I also become a light for the world.

A simple prayer focusing on a single candle.

As we wandered and read more about the history of the building, we learned it was built as an expression of gratitude after the Austrian Emperor Franz Joseph survived an assassination attempt. It was expected to be a place where Austrian monarchs would be buried for generations to come. But history happened.

World War 1 began in 1914. The building was damaged, and the military was permitted to melt down parts of the organ and bells for the war effort. The war also led to the collapse of the monarchy. In the 1930s, the Nazis took control of the city and renamed the square outside the church Göring Square after the Nazi General. Following World War 2, the square was renamed Roosevelt Square after FDR. The building was restored in the 1970s.

A recent addition is the Multhausen stained glass window, designed and installed to commemorate the 90,000 who died in the Multhausen Concentration Camp. The window portrays prisoners helping each other up a stairway, supporting each other in their suffering; Christ is leading them at the top of the stairs.

Amid dramatic change and tragedy, the cathedral has been a sanctuary where anyone can enter, light a small candle, reflect, and pray.

I’ve been thinking how the life of a candle is like the life we live:

Both have a beginning and an end.
Both are vulnerable to being extinguished.
Neither needs to understand how it exists in order to exist.
Neither lights itself. A flame is given to it, which it bears as long as it can.
Both experience the world from its own point of view, and both affect the world around it.

The winter season is a time when we become more aware of light.

Christian communities observe Advent using a wreath with four candies in a circle and a single candle in the center. On each Sunday before Christmas, one of the outer candles is lit. On Christmas, the Christ candle at the center is lit.

Jewish communities celebrate Hannukah using a menorah of nine candles; the one at the center is always burning. Night after night, that flame is used to light one more of the other eight until all are glowing.

Both rituals assume there is a central flame. Both invite us to behold each candle as it is lit. In both, individuals become a community with the divine light at the center. Both affirm light can endure darkness.

I am paying more attention to candles this season, curious about what they can teach me. I know there are many candles burning. I know there are many people wondering. And here I am. This candle is me, burning as best I can, grateful to bear light as long as I can.

God, there is a candle in front of me.

It burns restlessly, sometimes with a small flame, sometimes with a large flame.

God, I too am often restless.

May I become calm in you.

The candle gives me light and warmth.

God, may I also become a light for the world.

[i] Votive: (adjective): consisting of or expressing a vow, wish, or desire.

Where’s Your Axis Mundi?

It’s a word I liked the first time I heard it: axis mundi.

I encountered it in graduate school reading The Sacred and Profane, a study of world religion and mythology by Mircea Eliade. It means the “axis” around which the earth “turns” — not physically, but spiritually and psychologically. It’s a place where people believe heaven and earth meet.

Jerusalem has long been seen as an axis mundi, a city sacred to Jews, Christians and Muslims. For traditional Japan, it has been Mt. Fuji. For Catholics it’s Rome.

Some indigenous tribes in Australia are always on the move, and they carry a sacred pole with them which they erect each place they stay – a portable axis mundi.

In 2000, I had a 3-month sabbatical project that focused on how digital technology was beginning to affect everyday life. I visited and conducted interviews in two locations.

Silicon Valley was already becoming the axis mundi of the tech age. In my interviews and observations, one could already sense that digital tech was becoming something close to a religion. In the Tech Museum in San Jose, I purchased a computer mouse pad made to look like a Muslim prayer rug. I visited one of the largest Fry’s stores (in the pre-internet retail era, Fry’s was a “Mecca” for electronic parts and gadgets.) Some were designed to look like Mayan temples:

One month later I went to India, which was becoming part of that revolution. After interviewing tech professionals and academics in Bangalore, I spent time in the ancient city of Varanasi on the banks of the Ganges River. In Hindu belief, there is no place on earth where heaven and earth come closer, and therefore no better place to bathe, die, be cremated and have your ashes scattered.

By 2006, I had realized the most sacred religious site in the Western Hemisphere was the Basilica of Our Lady of Guadalupe in Mexico City. Growing up in California, I had seen the Guadalupe image all my life but knew nothing about what it meant. I learned that, in Catholic tradition, the Virgin Mary appeared to an indigenous peasant, Juan Diego, in December,1531. She looked more like a native woman than a European and spoke to him in his own dialect: “Am I not here, I who am your mother?” She gave Juan Diego her robe or tilma. When he took it to a skeptical archbishop and unfurled it, pink roses fell to the floor and her image had become imprinted on the garment. The tilma is preserved in a glass case in the cathedral. I spent a week in the city that summer, making several visits to the Basilica. I watched thousands of faithful pilgrims arrive to worship and celebrate, and was moved by their joy and devotion.

Mt. Shasta is just south of the Oregon border. We’d driven by it many times over the years as we traveled between Washington state and California, but I hadn’t considered it anything more than an impressive volcanic formation. In 2009, we spent a week at a yoga/hiking retreat in the town of McCloud at the base of the mountain. We could see the peak every morning from our window. As we hiked during the week, we saw it from many angles. On the last day of the retreat, our group hiked to Squaw Meadows, an alpine meadow on the side of mountain at an elevation of 7,900 feet. I felt smaller and increasingly insignificant in the presence of the mountain’s mystery and majesty; I began to appreciate why both native people and contemporary spiritual seekers from around the world consider it an axis mundi. We’ve returned to the area every summer for 15 years.

In 1233, St. Francis returned to Italy from the Holy Land where he had visited a cave that was the traditional site of Jesus’ birth. Wanting people to appreciate the setting of the Christmas story, he created the first outdoor nativity scene including live animals. Nativity scenes have become a familiar axis mundi in countless households and sanctuaries ever since. When viewed with reverence, candlelight and song, a nativity scene affirms that divine presence can be sensed not only on mountaintops, but also in the lives of humble people in unexpected places.

Some traditions have steered away from emphasizing any particular physical place where we encounter the divine and instead look within our individual awareness. Quakers affirm that every person has within them an “inward light” or spark of divine energy. By practicing silent introspection, we can access and experience that light and find guidance from it.

I have visited many sacred sites in my life. I always try to understand and appreciate the beliefs and imagination of the faithful who are drawn there.

At the same time, the purpose of visiting such places doesn’t end with the personal encounter. Recent studies have established a powerful connection between experiences of awe and an increased capacity to care for others.[i] Coming into the presence of axis mundi sites can have that effect. The purpose of spiritual life is not to have a specific experience, but to discover within us a deep reverence for life and others and let that form our character. As Huston Smith said, “Spirituality is not about altered states but altered traits.”

[i] https://drjsb.com/2022/09/03/starstruck-the-relationship-between-awe-and-caring/

Pocket Epiphanies #200: A Buffet of Past Posts

On December 17, 2020, I posted my first piece for this “PocketEpiphanies” blog. It’s hard to believe, but this week marks my 200th. I went back and picked out a dozen that may be worth reposting. Think of this as a “blog buffet” — see if any particular one interests you and put it on your plate. And thank you for being part of this project.

Narcissim of Small Differences We prize attention to detail in many areas of life. But we can easily fall prey to the “narcissism of small differences.” We can make choices about things that have little relation to their actual value.

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Silver Keys, Mean Moms and Compassion in the Workplace The right thing to do was not to simply feel compassion for everyone involved, but to find a solution to the problem. That took “art and skill.”

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Starstruck: The Relationship Between Awe and Caring Gazing at the heavens may help us make a better world on earth.”

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Two Questions, Two Art Works, One Life to Live Maybe the best way to find ourselves is to give ourselves away.

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Seeing People Like Trees And so I practice turning people into trees. Which means appreciating them just the way they are.

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I Hope I’m Wrong Dear friends, I hope I’m wrong about all this. I know there may be some very positive uses for AI, especially in medicine. But I’m worried.

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The Intrinsic Power of Veriditas What I saw was a glimpse of the viriditas that permeates and surrounds us, an inner force we share.

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My Plan for Dementia Care …one of my constant themes is my sense of awe at the miracle of life, and gratitude for all the opportunities and experiences I’ve had. But I don’t want to live “beyond my time,” and I don’t want my family to be emotionally or financially burdened caring for me when I don’t have a life I can appreciate.

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“Mind Proposes, Soul Disposes” “This may be important. I need to be attentive.”

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GRACE: A Focusing Practice We are embodied human beings who have been gifted with this amazing multisensory life-form and a miraculous mind which, when they are working together, can open us to a rich awareness of where we are and what is possible.

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Private Thoughts I can’t believe a light that burned so brightly in my life has disappeared from my sight.

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Letting Your Soul Catch Up With You “Making good time” means you haven’t left your soul behind in the pursuit of speed and efficiency. Your soul has a chance to be present with you as you travel.

A Torch in the Darkness

Years ago I created a simple structure for my personal prayer practice. I begin with the inner circle of our extended family members and expand the focus to includes others. Recently one person came to mind who I know is trying to “find their way” in life. A visual image appeared to me: The person was walking alone through an underground cave or tunnel but was not in the dark; they were holding something like a small torch in front of them as they moved.

I liked this image and wondered where it came from. I realized it had, for me, two sources: a personal experience I had backpacking in Wales and an art work I’d seen long ago.

Backpacking in Wales: A year after college, I had saved enough to spend six months backpacking in Europe. I began with two weeks in England. I was staying in youth hostels and hitchhiking to save money. After a time in London, I explored the towns of Oxford and Bath and decided to go on to Wales. As is often the case, spending a night at a hostel means you meet other travelers who may be going in the same direction. At the hostel in Bath I met an Australian guy named Pete who was also headed to Wales and we decided to team up. The next morning we got a ride to the seaside town of Carnaerfon. After spending the day exploring the medieval town and its castle, we realized it was too late to make it to the next hostel; we decided to camp in the nearby woods. As we made our way into the forest, Pete said, “I wish we had a torch.” Taking him literally, I smiled. Soon we found a good spot, spent the night, and moved on the next day. Weeks later I heard an English person refer to a flashlight as a “torch.” I realized Pete hadn’t made a joke but was wishing one of us had brought a flashlight.

The Art: It took me a while to identify what art work I’d seen that showed people finding their way through darkness, but Googling around I found it:

It’s a fresco called “Christ in Limbo,” painted by Fra Angelico on the cell wall of a convent in Florence in 1444. An ancient belief held that after his death Jesus visited the souls of the departed who had been held captive in “Limbo,” a spiritual dimension like an underground cave. He breaks down the barrier that imprisoned them, dismisses the demon captors (the crouching figures at the bottom left) and leads them into light. One doesn’t have to believe in ideas like a literal “limbo” to appreciate the artist’s purpose. In modern terms, we can see it symbolically: the power of divine light can reach beyond boundaries to lead people out of darkness. The figures aren’t holding any “torches” here; their path is illuminated by the saving light coming through the now-opened passageway and carried in the golden halos each has been given as their personal source of illumination.

In the mysterious realm of consciousness, soul and spirit, literalism can be set aside. Our imginations, both personal and shared, can communicate truths beyond ordinary understanding. 700 years after Fra Anglico conceived this scene and created it, I still find it inspiring.

Now when I pray for people who are finding their way through uncharted territory, I see them walking through a dark passageway holding a small “torch.” The torch is a gift supplied by the silent divine force that seeks to lead all of us through darkness into light.

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Notes:

For me, this image also reflects the universal spiritual theme of light defying darkness present in such celebrations such as Hanukkah and Christimas. In the Advent season, it’s reflected in many carols, such as “Bring a Torch Jeanette, Isabella.”

One dictionary gives several definitions of the word “limbo,” including “Any real or imaginary place of restraint or confinement; a prison.”

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Chatbots, Humans, and the Holiday Season

“Generative A.I. took over my life. For one week, it told me what to eat, what to wear and what to do with my kids. It chose my haircut and what color to paint my office. It told my husband that it was OK to go golfing, in a lovey-dovey text that he immediately knew I had not written.” This is the opening of “I Took a ‘Decision Holiday’ and Put A.I. in Charge of My Life,” from a recent article in the “Business” section of the New York Times[i]. The author, Kashmir Hill, is a working mom with a husband and two young daughters. She decided to conduct an experiment by engaging more than 20 different A.I. bots to get advice on more than 100 decisions she faced in a week. Here are some highlights:

After giving one chatbot details about her family, it gave her not only a detailed menu plan for the week but also a shopping list for everything she would need in a matter of seconds. As she prepared meals, she could ask for cooking advice, like how to poach an egg. The bot’s voice was casual, warm, friendly and patient.
She was given a daily schedule for her week that balanced work, personal care, and family time.
She took photos of a room she wanted to paint and color swatches at Lowe’s, then let a bot help her choose the ideal color.
“Halfway through the week, I found myself in a J. Crew dressing room because A.I. hated my clothes. I had uploaded photos of my wardrobe to StyleDNA. Based on a scan of my face, it had determined my style and optimal color palette. Most of what I owned, including some of my favorite items, were not a good match for me, according to the A.I. stylist. The app fixated on two garments — a pair of light denim shorts and a fluorescent orange exercise shirt — encouraging me to incorporate them into almost every outfit. She tried them on and shared the recommendations with some friends. They thought she looked like a boring mannequin.
She wrote a personal greeting and made a video recording reading of it so a bot could use her image and voice to compose new messages to friends and family, as well as social media. But when it digested one of my articles for a TikTok video, the script was wooden and some of my movements were exaggerated in a creepy way. When I used my avatar to send a loving, A.I.-composed message to my mom, she was horrified. “You seemed so phony!!! I thought you were mad at me!!” she replied.’
She also had the bot create an invitation to her mother-in-law that didn’t go over well: “The messages A.I. composed on my behalf were overly effusive. Even when they reflected my own thoughts and desires, they came across as inauthentic to others, such as when I let A.I. craft the message to my mother-in-law letting her know she was welcome to come over to our house. “I was really delighted by your response and I felt so loved,” she told me, “and then it struck me that it might be A.I.”

At the end of the week, she concluded that the bots had been very helpful in organizing tasks, diagnosing a child’s illnesses, showing her how to clean the grout in her shower, and researching possible vacation destinations. “That efficiency allowed me to spend more time with my daughters, whom I found even more charming than usual. Their creativity and spontaneous dance performances stood in sharp contrast to algorithmic systems that, for all their wonder, often offered generic, unsurprising responses.” She said she “was happy to take back control of my life.”

My thoughts…

In recent years, digital devices, the internet and Smartphones have changed the way we live and learn. AI bots are accelerating this process rapidly, charming and amazing us along the way. They are being constantly refined and improved. We will be offered more and more opportunities to get what we want out of life in ways that we cannot now imagine. The author found them useful in many ways.

But if we allow ourselves to become increasing dependent on them, we are setting ourselves up for disillusionment. When the power grid goes out or when our digital systems fail or are hacked, we will be left with just each other and our own wits. Other people, including family members, are not being “improved” by technological advances day after day. They may not always act the way we want. They will make mistakes, show up late, and have ideas we don’t agree with. But they are real beings who have imagination and genuine feelings.

Human effort matters to us, and anything secretly crafted, or decided, by machines feels like a deception. Let’s treasure a handwritten note, a homemade pie, the sound of authentic human voices singing, and hand-made decorations. The coming holidays are not a time to give thanks for AI or to celebrate the birth of a bot. They are about human community and the fleeting moments of life.

[i] https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2024/11/01/technology/generative-ai-decisions-experiment.html

Image: dreamstime.com

The Things We Do Without Thinking Too Much

Are there actions you perform best without thinking about them?

The legendary Dodger pitcher Fernando Valenzuela died last month. He began his career in 1981 as an unknown 20-year-old from Etchohuaquilin, a small village in Mexico. He had developed a unique way to pitch. He’d begin his motion like most pitchers — by leaning forward to get a sign, then standing tall, then lifting his right leg and rotating his body to his left. At this point, most pitchers are staring at the catcher’s mitt as the target. But Fernando did something odd. Balancing on his left leg, he’d look up to the sky and pause for a minute. Then he’d focus on the catcher and throw.

Hitters had never seen anything like it. He won the first eight games he pitched, giving up an average of less than one run per game. That year he won not only the Rookie of the Year Award, but also the award for the best pitcher in the league. He became a sensation, a legend, a folk hero.

When someone asked what he was thinking when he went into his motion, he said wasn’t thinking about it at all; “I can’t do it if I think about it. I would fall down.”

We spend a great deal of energy on planning, training for, and practicing many tasks in life. But sometimes we learn to do something well without thinking too much about it.

My mother was not an accomplished cook. But she could create amazing apple pies. She didn’t use a recipe. She had developed a sense of how much of each ingredient was needed, when the pie dough was ready to be rolled, and how many drops of lemon juice should top the filling beneath the crust. If you asked her how she did it, she would say she simply did what seemed best; if she had thought too much about each step, it would have distracted her, and her better instincts would have been compromised.

It was the same playing piano. She had taken a few lessons, but was mostly self-taught. She could play Gershwin and Broadway tunes beautifully; the music began in her heart and the rest of her found a way to bring what she felt through the keyboard into the room. It was wonderful to hear.

I’ve led, participated in, and attended many memorial services over the last 40 years. The person’s accomplishments are often recited. But the most moving testimonials are people describing how the person lived, endured hardships, and treated other people. My sense is that that behavior was not rehearsed or carefully planned. If you could go back and ask the person, “How do did you do that?” many would say, “I don’t know. It just seemed right.”

I want to celebrate the actions we take and the ways we live well that aren’t a product of formulas and mental concentration but arise from a desire to simply do the right thing.

One of the widespread concerns following this election is the threat to the way we, as a democracy, have gone about the challenges of being an open society. We have always shared an assumption that we will, despite our differences, respect established norms of decency, foster mutual respect, follow due process and assume personal responsibility. If someone from another country would ask us, “How do you do that?” we might answer, “We don’t think about it too much. We have always assumed that’s the right way to do things in a democracy.” I wonder if now what seemed a given is something we are going to have to “think about;” if we don’t recover that attitude, we may very well “fall over.”

30 years after that first game when he was 51, Fernando was asked to throw out the first pitch to open the season at Dodger Stadium. In the Los Angeles Times, Dylan Hernandez wrote:

When he winds up to throw the ball, Valenzuela won’t look skyward the way he used to. “I can’t do it if I think about it. I would fall down, especially if I’m wearing street shoes,” he said, laughing… “I didn’t even know I did that until someone showed me a video…”

He said he didn’t notice more Latinos in the seats at Dodger Stadium. Or that he was helping ease long-standing ethnic and cultural tensions in the city. Or that he was drawing the attention of businesses to the growing Latino market. Or that because of him teams were increasingly looking outside the country for players.”[i]

Fernando didn’t plan all that. He simply found a way to perform a task exceptionally well. And in the process benefited his teammates, his community and the game.

[i] https://www.latimes.com/sports/la-xpm-2011-mar-30-la-sp-0331-fernandomania-20110331-story.html

Facing the Challenges

This has been an historic week in the U.S., and we are facing uncertain times. Like many people, I’ve been trying to understand what happened and what it will mean.

My thoughts have gone back to a piece I wrote several years ago, describing what I learned following the 2018 debris flow in Santa Barbara. We were put into a prolonged period of uncertainty. This is one idea that helped me navigate the situation:

Several years ago, I read a book by a Navy Seal who helped other vets get through PTSD experiences. He believed we have an option when we face hardship. Do we ask, “How will this affect me?” and passively let circumstances determine whom we become? Or do we say, “Facing these challenges, how can I respond in a way that will help me become the person I want to be?”

Past generations have gone through great challenges, and this may be our turn. I want to do what I can, where I am, with what I have to meet whatever lies ahead. In the meantime, I will invest in the relationships, activities and principles that bring out the best in us.

I also want to let beauty renew me. Here is a painting that captured my attention when I saw it in Vienna in September: Dusk, by Carl Moll, painted in 1902. I’m not sure why it calls me to now. Perhaps it’s the presence of light in the shadows.