2 posts tagged “relationships”

It's been a long time since I've posted here.

I find that I often explore a new tool, crawl inside of it and make it home for awhile, then move on.  There's a lack of friction with so many of the social networking tools.  I don't want to date, toss a shout out to a new band, or increase my network.  I don't think anybody hanging out over the Twitter watercooler really gives a damn about what I just put in my coffee or fed my cats.  In first life I'm a public figure, so in my second one I find myself compelled to hide.  Running a successful business means being swallowed whole by IMs most days in Second Life, and the lack of any truly tangible privacy tools there makes it really damned tough to get a day's work done.

So, I became a bit of a hermit.  Okay, a lot of one.  And I liked it.  (And yes, I admit that it's a real hardship holing myself up with Baron frigging Grayson to build and play ... ~cough~)

I really have enjoyed reinventing myself as a recluse the past two years.  I'm a workaholic, and having a partner that shares the same insane work ethic and obsessions has made it all the easier still.  So much for the best laid plans ~grins~

Second Life has been a grand retreat, but the past few months I'm finding myself drawn into a very different kind of playground: one that doesn't exist in a single online community, but rather spanning a handful of mixed media tools and sites.  It started when Baron rekindled a love of seeing the world through old film cameras again.  He began posting notes and discoveries on his own blog here, and some rather cool, kindred spirits were gathering round.  Several were people we'd aleady connected with in Second Life as customers, and those connections were rarely more than a handful of brief encounters because of the tendency to cultivate a precious reclusiveness for the reasons I talked about above.  But I noticed something odd happening here.  In sharing a picture and some personal nugget, we were swapping stories.  It wasn't a transaction.  There was no obligation on either end.  It didn't demand lengthy, real time responses, dropping things in the middle of an inspired work session to reply.  No, this was more like slinking down into a favourite old chair in a beat-up pair of slippers with a big mugga joe in your hand, and quietly inviting familiar hearts in.

This began to spill over onto Flickr when we started posting pics there too.  Same faces.  Same fun, easy-going way of connecting.  People that I once thought of as customers I now think of as friends.  You see there's this odd little backyard fence, and it doesn't inhabit a space between just two yards, but bridges many, making them feel like the same kind of small, intimate shared space instead of some overwhelming digital geography.

omidyar.net, Second Life, Vox, Flickr, Twitter ... they all feel like rooms in the same house right now.  Where before I once dreaded the demands placed on my time by the human interaction, I now find myself craving it.  I watch Thaumata's video blog about her grandma Dorothy and am moved in ways I cannot describe.  I see this tender, vibrant person, and not just a name on a posting.  I watch Arteer romp through digital playgrounds and master them and make them so much fun.  I see her pictures on Flickr and her little notes and often end up laughing or connecting to some idea in some new way, and I love it.

It's sort of silly to just share these two women, just two names, but they are both such marvellous examples of the very thing that made me want to come back and post today:  a sense of kindred spirits with elbows on the kitchen table, and people I'd love to know in first life.  Zeke Poutine, Riversong Garden, Pam Omidyar and Callie Cline were people I connected with that way several years ago, and the ability to dive into Second Life together and culitvate our relationship in new ways was pretty damned incredible at times.  Okay, so I admit that having Zeke as a fairygodmother-in-garters (her words, not mine, but damn are they good!) with the same insane fetish for chocolate has less to do with social networking and more to do with Adventures with the Estrogen Army, but that's another post for another day, and my five minutes are up.

Would love to hear how others are thinking and feeling about connecting simultaneously through mixed media and networks.  Maybe you'd consider sharing some of your own favourite digital haunts with me here?

Tell a Friend You're Thankful

A very good friend loved me enough to kick me in the ass.

It's been one helluva year, and I may be facing radiation therapy ... again.

To say that it's left me a little low, and frankly rather cranky, is a monumental understatement. I've gone through a period of nearly a week where I just haven't been very much fun to be around, and instead of getting sucked into the pity party, someone that I care about very much told me to pull myself up by the bootstraps, stop feeling so damned sorry for myself, and look at all the things I have to be grateful for. Then he named them, one by one. Once I got done being good and bloody mad, I realized that he was right. The one thing that's got me through the toughest times has been my staunch refusal to elevate self-pity to a fine art. I tend to be annoyingly buoyant at times, and while it's the headspace I inhabit most often, it's not where I've been lately.

So, I figured this was a good time to go back and take my own advice. I decided to dig out something that I posted in my blog almost three years ago, after another round of tough stuff in my life. These seem like words of wisdom to be nudging myself with again now, and maybe they'll be of use to someone else who's in a difficult place too.

So, to my angel, and you know who you are, thank you for caring enough to call me on it ~winks~ Love you much ...

Blog re-run below ...

July 28, 2004

I recently attended a retreat where I was inspired by a question that our wise and wonderful leader posed:

I thought on this for a bit, and listened as people shared some truly astonishing technical feats that created various forms of uplift in the lives of people and the various organizations where they worked and played.

I really wanted to raise my hand. I had something good to share, but it seemed too simple.

I sat and listened a little longer, and was finally inspired to re-evaluate my own criteria for what made something good enough to share. I decided that the fact that it was small and simple wasn't a character flaw, but rather the thing that might make something inherently easy to reproduce.

I finally got brave and raised my hand, and decided to tell people a little bit about how I start each of my days.

The past few years have been rather blue. I've been through a few major surgeries, one that left the lower half of my face paralysed for a number of months, and the other that left me in a great deal of pain. One of my sons had been profoundly ill, cause still unknown, and missed almost half a year of school as a result. In addition, I'd shared a six year journey with my mom as she struggled with cancer, and found myself aching deeply as it came to an end in ways I couldn't possibly have prepared myself for.

I certainly was not in a "grateful" place in my life.

I found the days harder and harder to navigate. I found myself sinking into a well of self-pity, even to the point where I became bitter about what I "expected" from my life. That's when it occurred to me that, the way I'd been living it before this mess was infact the way back out of it.

I had become full of attitude, rather than gratitude, and it took a simple moment of reflection to realize the age old truth of deflecting your attention from oneself onto something or someone else where that attention could be invested in a better way.

So, I turned to the one thing that I knew could help me launch this personal mission of gratitude and hold me accountable: my computer. Each morning when I log on I go to my homepage, which is set at my customized view of "My Yahoo!". Beyond the various newsclippings it has found for the things I am interested in tracking, and the daily recipes and snippets it dispatches, it's first glance is my calendar, and the task list for each day. I've set up a few recurring ticklers to help me organize my thoughts for the day: what am I going to make for supper? have I watered the violets? had I taken a multivitamin? did I update my virus scan program? had I clicked at Care2.com yet today?

These were the things that greeted me each morning, and set the tone for the day.

I decided that something else needed to be added to this list. Here's what I placed at the top:

It seemed like a simple enough question, but the impact it had on my life was profound.

Each morning I gave myself the task of finding a reason to be grateful. I thought about people that had come in and out of my life the past few days, and others who perhaps I hadn't thought about in a very long time. I thought about teachers who had influenced me, and people who dotted my life's path and shaped the course it would take along the way. I thought about the girl in the coffee shop who had smiled at me and simply said something nice. I thought about the guy in the telephone repair truck who jumped out to open my car door for me so I could get in. I thought about the woman who stood up a city council and talked about why killing the pigeons on the church steps wasn't the right way to go. I thought about my kids, and how their simple, daily examples encouraged me to be curious, and passionate, and hopeful again.

So I started to say thank you, and something amazing happened along the way. People responded and reached back in generous and heartfelt ways. People who'd been feeling unnoticed in their own lives felt appreciated again. People who I hadn't connected with in years came back into my life and enriched it in ways too many to tell. People I'd seen as strangers were becoming friends I'd yet to meet.

The cascade of uplift was profound. This simple thing had not only rescued me from myself, but healed relationships, and cultivated special new ones, and even lead to new projects and opportunities in my life.

So knowing how powerful such a small and simple act can be, I'll ask you this:

Sue.