both free-thinkers/individualists/leaders and the opposite (followers) are necessary for a functioning group
the more backup plans (exits/entries into the tunnels) you have, the less likely it is that you’ll end up trapped or with no options.
sheer luck in numbers can be very useful. if the group does lots of different things at once, odds are higher that one of them will find something the group wants or needs.
not every member of a group needs to be self-sufficient. the more members of a group there are, the truer this is.
Just trying lots of things is one of the surest methods of success.
Simply because most or all of the group is doing one thing doesn’t mean it’s the right thing. Since groups have decision-making inertia, it’s possible that they fell into doing that thing either through sheer chance, or because of a fact that was true once but no longer is.
The thing is, I like it here w/in the Fediverse. Perfect, no, but what is? I’m not one to quickly jump ship or to try different platforms simultaneously, especially when you know who owns/runs them. That actually sounds repulsive & time consuming. Being here has slowly started to change how I feel about social media for the better, & that’s a good thing. 🙂 #thoughts#fediverse
On the edge, where nobody is, it's wild and rugged, a bit lonely -- because you stand alone -- but with an unparalleled view unblocked by a forest of others that look too much the same.
Imagine if there were no wild areas where one could escape, where one can marvel at and contemplate a view that was not built by corporations or governments. Nature's power lies in her beauty and timelessness.
In the U.S., we are taught from a young age that efficiency is supreme: our job is to work quickly, accurately, productively -- kind of like a machine.
But efficiency lacks in creativity, thought, and soul. It is a straight freeway bypassing scenery for time. The winding roads, though not quick, invite us to BE in in both moment and place.
There were so many things to think about, but they had to be curated.
Otherwise, she would use this precious time of silence to focus on things that didn't matter, items of "news" or current events to mentally grumble over, as opposed to deeply focusing and thinking upon those introspections within her heart, ones that were calling out to be heard.
I'm wondering if you have any #thoughts on the "#Web#Environment#Integrity" proposal by some #Google folks. I wrote a short thread about it, but would be interested in hearing your thoughts before reading it (if you do read it - I'm not demanding it 😀 ).
Imagine a world in which there were no color, no variety, in which all the people thought and acted the same -- copying the words, actions, lifestyle, beliefs and dress of media and celebrity "Influencers."
That world would be not only dull, but constricting, coercive, conforming and repressive.
My autistic grandfather dutifully cared for his wife (the grandmother I never got to meet) at the end of her fight with breast cancer.
Grandma Mary really wanted marijuana joints to cope with her pain, but the doctors only permitted her to use morphine (this was in the late 1970's). She couldn't administer it to herself so my grandfather injected it into her veins for her.
He told me this story one summer day when I was over at his apartment with my father. I was 10 years old at that time .
What prompted the story was grandpa Bill giving us a tour of his tackle box. I saw a syringe next to the rubber worms, and I asked what it was for. He explained that the fake worms injected with air made them seem life like to the fish, they'd wriggle about in the water, and were more likely to get a bite.
Then, he paused and told the story of that needle, and what it was originally for. After grandma Mary died, he kept all those remnant from that time, and everything seemed to have a repurpose . I watched him grimace as he took the morphine syringe in his hand and he angrily snapped it in two, and threw it away.
That was the first time I ever seen the gentle man look angry, actually, full of rage.
Only now, as I lay here in the hospital bed, after having a dose of Dilaudid, as the burning hot pain relief sears through my veins and breaks open my weary heart. I feel my grandmother, and I didn't have to meet her, to begin to feel her pain.
I feel grandpa's pain too. Repurposing the hurtful memories, the tools we are are actually given , when what we needed was something totally different. The autistic tendency to survive and "make due" with rampant unfairness.
Thoughts, feelings, perceptions are just that: thoughts, feelings and perceptions. They arise, stay for a while and cease. They're not you, not yours, not self.