Martha’s Musicpad

I have been telling the story of the three bears to my energetic grandchildren. In countless tellings I have concluded that Goldilocks might never have had the standard of that delicious porridge to cook to in her later years, never have seen the limits of a little chair, or come to the conclusion that bigger is not always better had she not ventured forth that sunny day and tested that cottage door. The bears may not have had the delight of seeing such a wonderous human child in their own habitat, had they not gone for that walk and left the latch undone.

Many of us stop in our creative tracks by not going past our best estimate of our chances for success in an endeavor. And I personally hate it when I am not “right.” But I have a deeply held belief that reality is far higher, wider, deeper, and more complex – nuanced, as it were – than my brain prefers to acknowledge.

At the same time, balance being always a good idea, I am thankful for the Wisdom of the Word that sees before and beyond my moments. So let that every word be at work.

With that in mind, I have made a new determination - not that it will probably change the frequency of my errors, but it changes how I feel about them. I am going to do everything I can to honestly acknowledge at least one mistake per day.

Working Lunch

Raleigh Workshop  Jack  and other attenders go anecdotal. We are looking to draw from a wide spectrum of data in order to derive meaning that can help us help others (and ourselves) see “whaz happenin’” with greater clarity. Here, after reading and hearing (podcast) material galore, we practice the focused process of deriving and making use of prompted anecdotes among common stake holders. And taking the occasional chow break.

My mother was a woman who knew her limits. She loved to work away from home, and she loved everything to be perfect. I mean perfect. Disorder threw her into a panic. So when she came home, entered the house, she would take her glasses off. Simple. Then she did not see the imprefections.

As I navigate through complexity theory and attempt to bring it under my control (anybody else want to laugh?) i am struck by what a sinner I am. I do not wish to relax ANY of my assumptions and try on the glasses that allow disorder to be what it is.

The further I read, the more I experience, the clearer it is to me that there is an order that emerges when I am willing to look.  Then I see what I have to work with.  Then I really enter in.

The first sign I had that I was confronted with a lot to swallow - like the boa constrictor swallowing an elephant - was when I had to go back and reread the introduction to Emergence by Steven Johnson. The subject of the section is: slime mold - basically what it is. It had all seemed pretty sensible to me, using anecdotal and survey material together to “see” and get a new slant on common situations. Wrestling with Complexity Theory is not what I thought I wanted to sign on for when I jumped on board with our company’s interest in using anecdote circles to extract core values data for our friends and for our customers, but Complexity, as it turns out, is where I live now.
I don’t suppose there is any easy way to fathom the ocean, and right now I am delighted to be stretched and at the same time in over my head (to play havoc with my metaphors), but soon I hope to construct enough of a kiyak to paddle around in it.  Slime Mold.  Wow.  I think it is showing me my true self.  All the time I thought I had actual complex MOTIVES for the things I have done, but now?  Who knows?  Maybe it is all pheremones, after all.  Well, we’ll “see”.