One of my friends shared it on her Facebook wall and yesterday a speaker at a sustainability conference even recommended it, saying that parents today spend too much time “on those things like Pinterest” and “working so hard to make their children’s live magical.”
“They’re just making their own lives harder,” she scoffed, “trying to make everything perfect.”
Then she said it’s because we mothers are addicted to stress.
Yes, it turns out we secretly like stress and so the quest to make childhood fun is some deep, psychological quest to make ourselves unhappy.
Or something like that. I had a really hard time understanding the logic in any of it.
These people seem to completely miss the point about what makes a childhood magical, and why some of us…
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I read something this morning that took me back 5 years, 9 months and 20 days – to a moment which is never too far from my consciousness. As I approach my sixth year clean and sober, the image burned into my mind on June 17th, 2008, doesn’t haunt me like it once did. That skeletal frame, covered with bruises and track marks no longer chases me, fearfully, toward sobriety. The hollow, lifeless eyes are no longer black holes threatening to swallow me whole unless I begin sprinting toward a spiritual life. No, today the memory brings up a feeling of sorrowful gratitude. The girl in the mirror has sunk to such a low point that she can’t even recognize herself anymore. Absolutely nothing in her life makes sense anymore. Once upon a time, she was really something. She “coulda’ been a contender.” On this day, though, she has finally lost her last…
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It has to be the most common annoyance experienced by users of technology everywhere. As soon as you want to partake in the pleasures and treasures of modern comforts, a password is required. For every frigging thing.
A password is required if you want to buy stuff, read stuff, access stuff, post stuff, play stuff, write stuff, approve stuff, release stuff. A password is even required if you just want to retrieve your own goddamn stuff. You end up with a thousand different places where you need to type in those eight crucial characters.
The problem is an obvious one: What normal human being has the ability to remember all the different passwords that is required for daily functioning?
No one, I tell ya. Not one single person. (And Spock is not a person.)
The reality is that most people simply pick one. A password for everything. One word that rule them…
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I can see so much of myself and my own life in this.
One day, I had a call from mom.
It was one of those routine calls she used to make to my wife and I, more as a means of reaching out than because she had some news of import to convey – the telephone line as umbilical cord.
So she would call and ramble on about my eating habits and smoking and how the neighbor was remodeling his home and the dust was settling in thick layers all over our home as a result and about the other neighbor whose daughter, based in the US, was pregnant, and…
I listened patiently to those stream-of-consciousness chronicles of the mundane ticks of her time because I knew she was, in her own way, trying to make up for lost time. Through a torrent of words, she was trying to make up for the grim silences of the past.
So that day, she…
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I have encountered a new stage of grief. There have been volumes written on these stages, or more accurately phases. We don’t go through them step by step, but rather by turns, and I mean twists and turns, looping back on them, sometimes all at once, but not in any orderly fashion. These past few days I have been steeped in what I call the “disbelief” or the WTF stage. It is not Denial; that he is dead is an undeniable truth. There is no denying that I watched them lower Jake’s body into the ground, and that I was the first one to throw shovelfuls of dirt onto the plain pine coffin. It isn’t Anger, although I hold anger at bay daily, nor is it Bargaining; I have nothing to bargain with, the bazaar is closed. Not Depression, even though depression visits me often. Acceptance? What choice do I have…
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By Mika Kasuga
I was a little bemused when I saw that the NSA scandal caused sales of 1984, George Orwell’s masterpiece, to rise more than 3,000 percent. Although it warms my heart to see exponential book sales – for a title that isn’t Fifty Shades, too – the world that Orwell imagined has not come to pass.
In 1984, the figure of Big Brother watches over the citizens of Oceania, enforcing total obedience to the following maxims:
WAR IS PEACE
FREEDOM IS SLAVERY
IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH
Antonyms can be synonyms, if Big Brother makes it so: by reconciling opposites, the official language of Big Brother, called Newspeak, aims to diminish the range of thought and make insubordination impossible. Whether Oceania is at war, against whom, and why is irrelevant. Orwell’s dystopic vision is rooted in opposition, in the assumption that only an outside threat can…
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