Rules for Being Human

From Cherie Carter-Scott’s “If Life is a Game, These are the Rules.”

Rules for Being Human

1. You will receive a body. You may like it or hate it, but it will be yours for the entire period of this time around.

2. You will learn lessons. You are enrolled in a full-time informal school called Life. Each day in this school you will have the opportunity to learn lessons. You may like the lessons or think them irrelevant and stupid.

3. There are no mistakes, only lessons. Growth is a process of trial and error: Experimentation. The “failed” experiments are as much a part of the process as the experiment that ultimately “works.”

4. A lesson is repeated until learned. A lesson will be presented to you in various forms until you have learned it. When you have learned it, you can then go on to the next lesson.

5. Learning lessons does not end. There is no part of life that does not contain its lessons. If you are alive, there are lessons to be learned.

6. “There” is no better than “here.” When your “there” has become a “here,” you will simply obtain another “there” that will again look better than “here.”

7. Others are merely mirrors of you. You cannot love or hate something about another person unless it reflects something you love or hate about yourself.

8. What you make of your life is up to you. You have all the tools and resources you need. What you do with them is up to you. The choice is yours.

9. Your answers lie inside you. The answers to life’s questions lie inside you. All you need to do is look, listen, and trust.

10. You will forget all this.

“Life is too short because we die”

“Life is too short for office politics, for busywork and pointless paper chases, for jumping through hoops and covering our asses, for trying to please, to not offend, for constantly struggling to achieve some ever-receding definition of success. Too short as well for worrying whether we bought the right suit, the right breakfast cereal, the right laptop computer, the right brand of underarm deodorant. Life is too short because we die.”

— Christopher Locke, The Cluetrain Manifesto

Virtual Eternity-Part 2

Jeff offers some enhancements to my Virtual Eternity idea:

“The website (posted 5 minutes after time of death) could have many features. You could post a general greeting (“Hi, it’s me Jeff, yes I know I’m dead, but I feel great, come on in!”). A seperate video post that sends condolences for your own death and the hardship it is causing family and friends (“Boss, I won’t be in today….I’m dead!) You could have a link to a video clip where you say all the things you always wanted to say (“I killed Rover! I did it, I admit it! It was an accident!”). … Dispense your dark secrets (“Honey, ever notice how the kids next door have my ears?”) … Speak openly to friends, read your own will, tell off-color jokes, read the kids a bedtime story, talk to grandkids you don’t have yet, summarize your life in your own words, and on and on.”

Virtually eternal

Here’s what I’m thinking… I’m going to endow a trust to keep this website going after I’m not. I’ll record a brief video message that will be posted 5 minutes after I’m gone. We’ll have a little chat room where visitors can share their thoughts. Nobody will have to travel because there won’t be anyplace to go. (There you go, I’ve already got the title for my eulogy.) This is such a good idea it has to have been done. If you come across such a site, email me.

You’re going to pay me?!

You’ve heard people say they love their jobs so much they can’t believe they get paid to do it. If you are fortunate enough to be one of those people –as I am– you understand. If not, it just sounds like bullshit. But here’s what I’m wondering… does enjoying your work to that degree change how you feel about money? I can’t remember ever saying to myself, “Hey, I worked too damned hard for that money to (fill in the blank).” I mean, if the money is less important than the satisfaction you get from the job, it’s just less…valuable. For a few weeks one college summer I worked on the assembly line of an auto plant in St. Louis. I think 62 cars an hour passed my station. Would I do that job for 5 years at $100K per? I don’t think so. There’d have to be child that needed an operation or something. I’m not really going anywhere with this. For me, it wouldn’t be enough to just “not hate” my job. If –like me– you love what you do, all of this makes perfect sense. If not, well, I’m not going to tell you to find a job you love. You’ve got a million reasons why you can’t and I don’t have one why you can.

The Torrent

“Picture a very swift torrent, a river rushing down between rocky walls. There is a long, shallow bar of sand and gravel that runs right down the middle of the river. It is under water. You are born and you have to stand on that narrow, submerged bar, where everyone stands. The ones born before you, the ones older than you, are upriver from you. The younger one stand braced on the bar downriver. And the whole long bar is slowly moving down that river of time, washing away at the upstream end and building up downstream.

Your time, the time of all your contemporaries, schoolmates, your loves and your adversaries, is that part of the shifting bar on which you stand. And it is crowded at first. You can see the way it thins out, upstream from you. The old ones are washed away and their bodies go swiftly buy, like logs in the current. Downstream where the younger ones stand thick, you can see them flounder, lose footing, wash away. Always there is more room where you stand, but always the swift water grows deeper, and you feel the shift of the sand and the gravel under your feet as the river wears it away. Someone looking for a safer place to stand can nudge you off balance, and you are gone. Someone who has stood beside you for a long time gives a forlorn cry and you reach to catch their hand, but the fingertips slide away and they are gone. There are the sounds in the rocky gorge, the roar of the water, the shifting, gritty sound of the sand and the gravel underfoot, the forlorn cries of despair as the nearby ones, and the ones upstream, are taken by the current. Some old ones who stand on a good place, well braced, understanding currents and balance, last a long time. Far downstream from you are the thin, startled cries of the ones who never got planted, never got set, never quite understood the message of the torrent.”

–From John D. MacDonald’s Pale Gray for Guilt

The first eighteen years

I started working for Clyde Lear in May, 1984. My second job in 30 years. Clyde Lear and Bob Priddy are easily two of the nicest and most talented people I’ve ever met. I’m reminded of the character in Joseph Heller’s Catch-22 who played horseshoes all day. He hated the game and it made the day (and his life) seem longer. I’m having way too much fun and it’s going way too fast. One more movie reference comes to mind. In Broadcast News, William Hurt asks Albert Brooks, “What do you do when your real life exceeds your dreams?” Brooks: “Keep it to yourself.”