Tag: Frustration

Possibility

Posted on by Kathryn Atkins

I stand at the edge of possibility. It takes my breath away.

Every single moment of every single day, we can choose to be the person we were meant to be. I think it’s simple. Mostly, we have to get out of our own way.

I’m reading The Art of Possibility for the third time. I am convinced that we must commit to being open to the universe, as the authors Rosamund Stone Zander and Benjamin Zander state. We have to be prepared to receive; able to live in the present; willing to slide through our mistakes on our way to a hope (but not a guarantee) of perfection because we are one of the lucky ones that get to do our life’s work.

I love the idea of a happiness that we can obtain by the way we approach our days. Here’s a great suggestion from the book. Rule No. 6 says,

“Don’t take yourself so seriously.”

What a great concept. Yes, but how do I slow down enough to inhale possibility on the days when I am just not feeling it? I can always start by counting my blessings. I have lots.

Then I will close my eyes and imagine myself on the boat pictured below. It’s always there: Possibility.

light sea dawn landscape
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

ROBOTS and AI

Posted on by Kathryn Atkins

ROBOTS & ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE

action android device electronics
Photo by Matan Segev on Pexels.com

Elon Musk thinks people everywhere should be frightened of AI.

Bill Gates told Charlie Rose that AI was potentially more dangerous than a nuclear catastrophe.

Even the recently deceased Stephen Hawking said, “I think the development of full artificial intelligence could spell the end of the human race.”

What do you think? Here’s what I don’t like. I don’t like that the first few volleys of conversation in the chat room are AI. Maybe from a robot. I don’t know!

“How can I help you today?”

“I’m sorry you’re having that problem.”

“Let me see if we can find someone to get you an answer.”

“Could you describe the situation in more detail so we can route you to the right person?”

man with steel artificial arm sitting in front of white table
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

In fact, as I type this, my AI helper here inside my computer is fixing my spelling, anticipating my words, and adding and subtracting commas.

My AI person is cute, but he’s kind of a badass, don’t you think? He’s shooting me a dirty look because he’s not pleased that he’s been discovered. Ungrateful little wretch. And here I’m giving him the limelight, too.  It’s so hard to get good help.

I get it. AI buys big companies some time on the phone. And it might save them money.

AI might also make it so you’re not needed anymore.

That’s okay. If you’re lucky you can go flip burgers. Wait. They have AI-assisted robots that are flipping burgers. Well, maybe you can pick fruit. Nope. They have AI-assisted robots that are picking the fruit. Ahem. Make that the ripe fruit, as AI bots can figure that out, too. Wait. Is AI bot redundant? No. And it’s not even new. I just saw a post: “AI bots are getting more dates than you.” It’s simply wonderful that technology has made finding a soul mate easier. The good news: We have lots of choices these days. The bad news: They might not be human.

I do feel that my AI bot in my computer here is great eye candy, but I have to say that I agree with Elon, Bill, and Stephen. We’d better be careful. The sci-fi dystopias where the machines take over, the computers outthink our best thinkers, and the fruits pick themselves may not be science fiction at all. Someone needs to have their finger on the “Hold-On-Just-A-Minute-There-Pardner” button. Let’s hope that person is someone on our side and not a robot in human skin.

 

Flip

Posted on by Kathryn Atkins

Death Calendar ImageThe calendar doesn’t care.

Its pages flip. The new day comes into view. If it’s a plain daily calendar, it’s not much fun. The best calendars are those big monthly calendars with images that take your breath away. The ones that make you smile, even sigh at how beautiful they are. Some are sweeping vistas of romantic places. Some are such unique animals that you question if they really exist. Calendars do this on purpose, so you don’t have to suffer as much with your life’s passing.

I have a favorite calendar. It’s from Paper Source, and I buy one every year. Without looking at the summary of images on the back, I carefully hang the calendar on the wall directly across from my work desk. Like a little kid, I wait to the first day of the new month before turning the page. Never do I look ahead. In fact, it’s like peeking at Christmas presents before it’s Christmas. As in,”Mom, tell me where the Christmas presents are hidden, so I don’t find them by mistake.”

This tiny ritual aims to keep me from the frustration I feel with the swift passage of time. “The days are long, but the years are short,” says Gretchen Rubin, author of The Happiness Project. It’s crazy how right she is.

But alas, I am feeding my own angst. I look forward to flipping the page so I can see the new image. As I view the same image every day for three weeks, and then four, I almost will the month to be over. But then when I flip the page, I see what has transpired.

Time is slipping through the continuum.

The calendar looks me in the eye and starts asking the hard questions, “What did you accomplish last month?” or  “What do you have to show for the first three months of this year, not that it is one-fourth (!) over?” Or “This time last year you said you would have ____________ (fill in the blank) done. Did you do it?”

The calendar doesn’t care.

I told you that already. But it certainly has a gift for asking the profound questions — the questions that drive you nuts.

So as you flip the page of your calendar, pause to see what you have accomplished. Keep your fingers crossed. Maybe next month, you will have some good news for her. If not, there will be a pretty picture to greet you, and you can smile, sigh, carry on, and either gird yourself for self-recrimination or prepare yourself for joy when you reach to do next month’s flip.

Piano Hands

Posted on by Kathryn Atkins

Looking down, my hands are young.

Little nails. Little fingers.

Skipping on the keys.

Smooth, dainty skin.

I am six.

From farther up I’m looking down at my hands upon the keys.

Bigger reach, longer nails. A little polish

Dancing on the keys.

Taut, youthful skin.

I am sixteen.

Looking down, my hands are shopworn.

They play the music that comes through me.

My fingers waltz on the keys now.

Drying, aging skin.

I am fifty.

My gaze descends to my hands resting on the keys.

As I lift and lower, music emerges,

But alas, my fingers lumber on the keys.

Misshapen knuckles; veins popping blue.

I am seventy.

I look down upon my hands.

My fingers hover and shake,

Taking dry aim at the keys.

Gnarled, twisted, useless hands

I am too old.

They wheel me over. I bend toward the piano.

I hit a few notes with tentative strokes, and

I cry out in frustration. Then I remember.

I remember and I weep for the lovely melodies

That still skip in my heart.

* * * * * *

 I am pushing toward the seventies decade, and I have this lovely video of my son and me playing a duet! This is one melody that will skip in my heart for a long time. 

Note: The poem appeared in the California Writers Club 100th Anniversary Anthology called West Winds Centennial, published in 2010. The California Writers Club is a 501 (c)3 organization that was founded in 1909(!) by honorary members Jack London, George Sterling, Joaquin Miller and Ina Coolbrith.