Failure.

I did something today I've never done before.  I walked out of class without doing the test I was supposed to have written.  It will mean I will fail.  However, in so many ways I'm okay with it now.  Failing this course has taught me more than the course itself.  Because of it...

I learned it's okay to admit you're failing.

Not everyone is good at everything.  Although I understood this before, I have realized I never applied it to me.  There are things I can't do as well as others, and then there are things I really struggle with.  Failing doesn't mean you're a bad person or that you will never accomplish your dreams.  It doesn't even mean you won't finish the task or goal you started.  All it means is that you're gonna have to try a little harder.

I learned that you constantly need to evaluate yourself and your progress.

When I started economics, the first lecture was easy and interesting.  The next was a little more difficult but I could still do the homework without fully understanding the material.  By the time I realized how far behind I actually was, it was not without consequence.  If I had been honest with myself about how much I really knew, things would have been better.

Sometimes, you just have to put extra work in.

My professor, bless his heart, is very intelligent.  He's also stronger in mathematics than myself, and is Bangladeshi.  This means that his mathematical thought process is both faster than mine, and occasionally difficult to understand.  

For me, this meant I rarely got anything out of lecture.  Between trying to decipher his speech, watch his examples, and take the notes, I often found myself hopelessly confused and frustrated.  Later on in the course I stopped trying to follow him and just told myself I'd read the book, which I did understand.

I did read some of the book, but not all of it.  Also, some things needed to be read more than once for me to grasp the concept.  I found it all very boring, but through failing I have come to appreciate the delayed benefit of tedious, hard work.  Failing doesn't feel very good.  I know now that I have to be able to motivate myself better, and this will be a good reminder as to why.

Once in awhile, things actually do create more stress than they're worth.

Yes, I could have put more effort in.  Yes, I could've, should've, would've... Done this, done that... Hindsight, right?  But I didn't, and what I did do wasn't enough.  When I hit the floor last night in frustrated, bored agony because I didn't understand what I was trying to study for today, I realized that sometimes, some things are just not worth it.  I was sitting at 50.5% before today's test, which is worth 10% of my total mark.  For the amount of time studying and stress it continued to cause, trying to save myself was just not in the cards anymore.  On that note...

It's okay to try again.

Sometimes it just doesn't work out.  Despite your best efforts, or lack thereof, the ball drops.  You fail. But it happens to everyone.  Hundreds of people experience failure every day.  You will live through it and it is okay to try again!  Failure doesn't mean you can't.  It just means you didn't this time.

You have to forgive yourself and move on.

Last night, I was very disappointed in myself.  For not realizing sooner that I wasn't getting it, for not doing as much reading as I should have, for a hundred different small things.  I felt guilty for wanting to quit, for wasting the time and money on the course when - if I just studied realllllllly hard all night - I might pass.  

But I don't want to just pass.  I want to succeed.  I want to be proud of myself and cramming for a 53% isn't what I want.  I also didn't want the extreme moodiness, exhaustion, and sickness that comes the next day with a stressful all nighter.  So I chose to try again.  I left that homework and study material on the corner of the bed and moved on to other things that needed doing for other courses in which I was still earning good marks. I had to stop feeling guilty for prioritizing, which is what I was actually doing.  

So I did.  I let it all go and I quit.  I forgave myself for being stupid this time around and promised myself I'd do better next time.  Forgiveness is not an excuse to repeat the mistake you've made, but rather an allowance of grace to attempt again.  Don't forget that.

Lastly, I learned that even though it's still hard, I can learn math.

This course was difficult for me, even when I did understand the material.  But there was some that I understood!  Math and math related subjects (ie economics) have always been the most difficult subject matter for my art and writing wired brain.  This course proved to me something I never believed:  I can learn math.  I can do math.  So maybe it takes a little longer and a lot more effort... I am never telling myself I suck at math again, because I don't.  

Math is a challenge, and it's now a challenge I believe I can overcome with the right mix of effort and motivation.  This is a huge confidence boost for me.

So, really...

Yes, I failed.  No, I probably didn't have to.  I will try again.  And I'm actually okay with it.  I know this experience will guide and shape my failures in the future, of which there are bound to be some.  As long as I know that it doesn't shape me, I'm ready to keep trying till I succeed.  For that, I'm grateful for economics.

Nobody Reads These Anymore.

I'm having an epiphany.  I'm in a stage, a season, a whatever you feel like calling it, but a time of change.  Or maybe, an end to a time of change.  I'm not really sure.  I'll have to think about it.

What I am sure of, though, is that in some ways I feel like I'm losing myself.  The last year has been a time of trying a lot of new things, challenging myself, and bursting my bubble, pushing my limits... Is there another conventional way to say that?  I don't know.  Oh well.  Anyways, I am, and have been, and will keep doing so, but maybe differently or less.

I've really learned the benefits to change and to challenge, and whereas I was afraid of them before and felt safer in familiarity, I'm proud to say that although sometimes nerves still show up, they never get the best of me any more.  I'm not afraid to try or to find the answer to the question of 'what if'?  It's been great.  It really has.  But I've also realized that the familiarity that I tried to leave behind wasn't just routine or appearances.  Those can stay behind, I don't need them again.  What I do need that I have to find somewhere along the past's dusty roads is the parts of what keep me satisfied within my... Creative headspace, for lack of a better word, or term.  

Before, I needed to fill the part of me that longed to be free of fear and try adventure, change up the perspective in life to see what became of me.  And I did, and I'm happy.  But the part that was comfortable, that lived in a shell surrounded by introverted exploits like books and puzzles has been ignored, and now I'm hungry for that again.  I find it comforting in a way that nothing else can be, and therefore an important part of my personality.

I used to be a voracious reader, especially of classical romance or children's literature.  It just gets me, right there, and... Oh, how do I explain it... You know how when you read a book, sometimes you know you're just reading and it holds very little meaning or influence over you?  Other times, when you're reading a really good book with developed characters and setting and you can empathize to the extent where you feel like you're in the story... Those are the good ones.  I like to live in a dreamworld of fairies, magical forests, gloomy moors, and giant English stone manor houses with upper class ladies and different spoons for dessert.  Where there is a different, measurable quality, and you feel with the character and somehow when they struggle, you do as well, and likewise when they triumph you've also overcome and accomplished something significant.  You can take life lessons from these people, cry with them, laugh with the, and learn from them because they're not just stories.  They're literature.

Hopefully that makes sense.  I just finished the first half of Jane Eyre and I remembered why I love reading, and how fulfilling it is.  It also makes me think of other important things I gain satisfaction from that I haven't done in so long, like writing.  I often feel like people don't know the real me, which is what this post was supposed to be about but I guess I wasn't meant to go there, so maybe it will have to wait.  Maybe I'll write it after, but for now, this is what you get.  Sometimes I write these for an audience, but sometimes I write them for me, because I know I'll come back some day and read them and I want to know how I felt.  When I'm forty and my kids are teenagers and going through personal identity crises, I want them to know I struggled with that at times too, and maybe going back to activities they've been neglecting, but that make them happy, might be part of the answer.  I don't know.  There's a lot I don't know.  What I do know is that after having read half of that book, I feel much more satisfied in an area that was feeling empty three hours ago.  Pick up a book, kids.  Maybe it will change your life... Some have changed mine.

I'm A Jerk.

So.  My mother has told me twice in the last week and a half that I am not a compassionate person.  Upon further thought and review, I have to agree.  There's some conditions attached, but I have a very difficult time feeling sorry for someone.  Anyone.  

See, I'm all about the moving forward version of life.  Everyone's seen some version of the "Lord, give me strength to change what I can and wisdom to accept what I cannot" mantra.  I have been highly influenced by people and statements aligning to that view of life and therefore, if someone has an issue or problem, I'm not the one you should go to in order to have a good cry.  Because if it's a problem that can't be solved, I'll tell you to walk away.  If there's any hope, I will go through the options to solve it with you.  That's just how I work.

Now, that isn't true for every single thing that comes my way.  Friends who lose a beloved pet, have a family member pass, break up with a significant other... I can empathize with those people and the is a grace period for grief.  But even with them, after a few weeks if they haven't started working on the healing process and keep sitting in self pity I get frustrated.  I've always been good at pointing out what's wrong with a given situation; in years of late, I've become good at producing ideas for solutions.  If people don't want solutions, and just want to be sad but still talk to someone, I just don't understand.  Sometimes I want to be sad, but from my understanding of talking to people, you do it to get your feelings out.  Organized, put together, begin the feeling better.  If you want to mope, why would you talk to someone?  At least, that's how I feel.  If you're going to talk to me, provided there was no major calamity, you're going to get suggestions for changing your situation, solving your problem, or simply accepting life the way it is if you aren't willing to change.  

I deal with a lot of things internally, so I guess I expect others to as well.  But after my mom's calling me out on the lack of empathy and compassion, I'm realizing that I do look like a jerk.  Which, to be completely honest, doesn't bother me too much.  Maybe, though, it bothers other people.  So I'm thinking I should start practicing being nicer.  Listening without suggesting even if I don't see the point of it.  Maybe other people need that sort of thing more than I do.  So I'm gonna try and see where it goes.  Maybe I'll look like a jerk my whole life.  Let's hope not... Here's to practice. 

If I Die Young...

-
If I die young
Bury me in satin.
Lay me down
On a bed of roses.
Sink me in the river, at dawn.
Send me away with the
Words of a love song.

~ The Band Perry
-

Mortality is a fact of life. Some people think about it. Some don't. I do.

In our petty North American culture of speak-your-mind-without-offending-people-or-pushing-your-belief-system-or-generally-disturbing-the-facade-of-peaceful-rich-white-life that we spend millions of dollars and thousands of hours trying to keep strong, subjects like death and sex have no room to be anything but scary topics banished to the broom closet only to be dragged out at 'appropriate' times like premarital counseling and writing of wills. In other cultures (thinking Europe here), they take on an entirely different connotation and people *gasp* ACTUALLY TALK ABOUT THEM.

Several unfortunate and sad recent events have, however, brought the fragility of life to the forefront of public discussion. It is becoming apparent to everyone that your perfectly scripted and manicured existence can be irrevocably shattered in an instant, and sometimes there is nothing you can do but stare death in the face. Do we know how to handle it? Do YOU know how to handle it? I really don't think most of us are ready to face that reality ahead of time... I also think 'ahead of time' is the best time to be ready.

Confession time: I have, for the past (almost) decade, believed...and still do... that I will die young. Of course that term is relative, so let's say before I'm forty. There is no particular reason, although there are contributing factors - namely that I have diabetes (which I will admit that I often manage much more poorly than I should... But that's another story. Message me) and also that I am pursuing a career that will quite likely take me to places where I will become a target of unnamed groups with guns and keys to the local impoverished, torturous jail. Mostly though, it's just a gut feeling.

I'm not bothered by the fact that I'll die. Everyone does, and I'd rather die early fighting for justice and showing love to troubled people than in my eighties or nineties never having lived the life I dream about now. Ever since I can remember, even before choosing journalism as a career, I decided I wanted to die saving someone else's life. I have watched hundreds of crime fighting shows and action movies imagining myself jumping in front of the bullet or pushing the character out of the way just as the car hits me. Maybe that's weird, but if the opportunity ever arose where it was my life against someone else's, I'd rather die for them and by imagining it I figured I wouldn't feel afraid when the time came.

What does bother me are the people I know who I (metaphorically speaking, of course) would miss. You always hear about people who lived wishing they could've spoken to the person who passed just one more time, said that one more thing... What if we reverse it? What if the person dying never got the chance to say everything they needed or wanted to say before their life ended? Terminal patients talk about this often, but I'm thinking more along the lines of a drive by shooting or a car accident. Or even if you, or someone you love, just relocates or circumstances change and you don't get to tell them how much they meant to you. What then?

My dilemma.

Especially in the wake of the shootings and the bombing in the States over the past year... I've made the decision to take every chance I have to let people know I love them and why I do. Because things happen, and if my gut feelings are true and I do die 'before my time' I want those people to know beyond a shadow of a doubt how I feel about them. Why is that a dilemma? I know you're asking. In itself, it is not; the dilemma is how much is too much? One text a week saying I love you? A Facebook message after a month or two telling you how amazing you are and that I'm proud of you and proud to be your friend? If you're going through a rough time, is a daily reminder of why you're a blessing going to get annoying? What about a letter once or twice a year detailing what you mean to me and why?

I have done all of these. Some were well received, others weren't. Some have no reply, even months after I pressed the Send button. Other people... and these are the ones I'm most worried about... Seem to appreciate them less and less over time. I try not to get overwhelming or annoying, but there are just times where I feel really strongly that I need to let my loved ones know that I love them; to confirm that they matter in case something happens to me or the relationship, in case it's Game Over and I don't get another turn. Maybe it's because I need to be validated in my friendships and by validating others I hope to get it in return. Maybe it's because I believe I won't last. Maybe it's something else entirely that drives this message madness... Maybe it's a combination of all of those.

Maybe it's good, maybe it's bad... but I'm done with maybes. So if you're out there and I annoy you, I'm sorry... and I'm not sorry. You see, I'd rather err on the side of you knowing then for me to walk out the door tomorrow and tragically die, not having told you how much I love you.

Lying to Myself

When you're tired is never a good time to think, and probably not to write. Unfortunately, I'm now doing both.

What I'm writing about is what I'm thinking about, and what I'm thinking about is how powerful lies are. You may not believe in God and Satan, but I do, and that devil sure knows how to throw a good punch in when I'm alone.

It's a reoccurring thought to me, this lie that I'm finding very difficult to fight against... It's hard to put into one sentence, but in a nutshell, I often doubt my own likability and whether people actually enjoy having me around or if they just tolerate it because they're being polite... Or maybe worse, because I can do something for them.

I don't think they'd intentionally use me, but that's a big section of this reoccurring thought, and it has a lot to do with my relationships with most males.

You see, it goes like this. I'll have a friend. Friend posts sad status. I write friend. We start talking. I help friend fix problem/listen to friend. They feel happier. We slowly stop talking. Aaannnd. Repeat cycle.

Or like this week, where it happened twice in two days... People say things that aren't actually hurtful, but cause me to think that I'm just not the kind of person that is destined to make new friends and although I'll never be an outcast (I won't let myself) I'll never really fit in. I just feel so awkward.

A good example is in class at college. Teacher asks for interaction, so I interact. I want to learn, to hash out ideas, to receive feedback. Especially since nobody else volunteers much. But if I respond to every question, does that make me stand out as some kind of teacher's pet or a crazy keener? My problem isn't that I'm unaware of social stigmas. It's that I don't know where I stand within them, and I feel like it puts a huge barrier between me and other students I'd like to get to know; simply because I don't know if they like me, hate me, don't care, tolerate me because they have to... It's all behind a facade, a polite "I'm an adult and I'll treat you nicely because that's what I'm supposed to do" mask. It frightens me.

It's not just with strangers or new acquaintances either. As with the friend example on Facebook earlier, I more and more often find myself wondering how many people I thought liked me really only tolerate my existence because a) it's required, b) they can get something from me, or c) because I want to be friends with them.

It's not like I don't believe I have any friends. There is a core group of about ten, mostly from church or school and going years back, that I know truly enjoy my companionship, and I theirs. Even amongst those, however, the little lie that I'm too weird finds a hold. Those days when I want to imagine fairies because they are more fun and intriguing than real life, or when I laugh at stupid things like paper clips, or talk about something like dogs for hours and bring in facts that nobody cares about, let alone knows.

I've always revered Anne Shirley of Green Gables for her optimistic view of life and inclusion of a dreamworld of fairies and wood spirits, where sunbeams are always dancing and the ocean sings an alluring song. I've tried to model my life after hers, keeping the magic of childhood imagination alive and not caring what people think... But I've found that caring about others' opinions of me has slowly taken a stronger and stronger hold.

So now I worry about whether I will have to grow out of a world of fantasy, where telling stories, and being open about life and its pain and mystery, because it's childish and weird. I worry that I'll always be the person people ask for advice because I'm good at it (which I think is because I can imagine and empathize!) but that I'll never be the one to pursue; you can talk to a dreamer of fantasy, but trying to build a relationship on an understanding of dream's dreams isn't an option.

I don't know if I've made my dilemma understandable or not. Suffice to say that I don't feel normal, and I doubt I will ever begin to understand what is normal and when I've crossed the line. In turn that means that I'm constantly weirding people out or making them uncomfortable, and wondering what kind of person I am. Which makes me feel like I can't trust that my friends actually like me (even the good ones, sometimes).

Which makes me feel alone.

But I know I'm not alone. Even if some of that ramble is true for some people, not all of it can be true for everybody. And I do have friends that have stuck with me for years and years and still call when they haven't heard from me in awhile. In my head, that counts for something. It means that I am loved, and missed, and they wouldn't call if they didn't care, right? Right.

But just as that's all settled and decided, the little thought comes - "but what if he's just there to see your sister?" "What if she said yes because you said you'd do most of the work, and for free?" "What if she doesn't actually like you?" Finally, inevitably, it leads to the question of whether or not I'm even likable, and this battle in my head between my brain and my heart begins again.

But I do believe I'm important. I do believe that people like me - that someday, someone will like me enough to kiss me and ask me to be his wife. That someday I'll figure out who I am and where I belong in the scheme of people's attitudes.

Don't bother writing nice comments about how I'm lovely and this is all ridiculous... Everyone does it all the time after someone posts something like this. But I'm not looking for that. To tell you the truth, I wouldn't believe it because that's what you're supposed to say. I just want people to understand, I guess... And I wanted to leave my thoughts in another place because in my head they're interrupting what could've been an hour of sleep by now.

I promise though, to you and to me, that someday, I'll stop allowing myself to lie to myself.

Dithering

Is a word. A word that very adequately describes my feelings about the world and its general population at present. I am so fed up with so much of our nice North American daily life, our 'highly idealistic' (to much of the world, anyway), boring, introverted, just take the money and run lifestyle.

It's not that I feel I'm superior, or even that I really dislike what we have. It's amazing that we are so blessed as to even be able to THINK the way we do, where Starbucks has become the cornerstone to millions of people's days, but sometimes I wish we were different.

I think that our great wealth and influence has poisoned us a population. After all, we're 'tripping' North Americans, white supremacists, power hungry, money collectors, drug cartels; you name it, it's in town if not right in the backyard, and of course it comes with a little of that homegrown swag rich kids are so fond of.

So much of what our society values is beyond useless. They are absorbed in a culture and attitude of pleasure by right, and we are passing it onto the entire world because we're at the top. Even now, I'm writing this from an iPad. I too am guilty of buying into this global phenomenon called, to put it simply, Stuff.

But Stuff is very broad and inconclusive; too generalized to be of use. So I will define it as it pertains to my world. Stuff can include, but is not limited to, property, physical attributes, relationships, social adeptness, self worth, communication... I could go on.

What bothers me about Stuff is the profound lack of substance bequeathed to different subjects. Clothing is required as part of our system of respect, and it helps if it's well tailored, but the emphasis is put on nothing more than sexual draw. Every model out there over five years old embodies (or attempts to embody) that hard-sought-after idea of 'cool, smooth, sexy' because the majority of the population has learned that appearance is utmost, and it has nothing to do with your professionalism or style. All that matters is that you show off the right form in the right places.

That is an overused example, but one that everyone relates to - as, sadly, it still rings true in a goodly proportion of cultures around the planet.

This concept has bothered me much in years of late, but never so much as in recent months as I learn more about the social networking site Twitter.

I have a Twitter account, which I use moderately and enjoy. There are aspects that are incongruent with Facebook that appeal to myself and to many others. A friend stated it as such: "Facebook is more about responding. Twitter is simply about sharing information." I like that.

On my Twitter, I've followed a few celebrities I'm interested in from favorite television shows, music and movies. Many post little thoughts and photos here and there and I enjoy seeing a bit of their real world instead of what media portrays. However, there is a concurrence among popular Tweeters (not just celebs, either) that it is okay to bribe fans for followers for other accounts. A common example would run something like this:

(Celebrity Name)
I will follow the next 300 people who follow (Comedy Twitter)

(Comedy Twitter)
If you're not following ________ then delete your twitter; it's not worth having.

Sometimes, the celebrity makes good on the bribe and follows those who let them know they followed so and so.

A personal example concerns Taylor Lautner and a girl named Daena in Texas. I followed Taylor because I appreciate his acting ability and laid back character in interviews. He posted a status asking people to follow Daena's account because she wanted to reach 100 followers.

Now, Daena asks the same thing for other people, and promises to DM (direct message, private between two tweeters) the names of those who follow the other person to Taylor.

Another thing that bothers me about twitter is something called fangirling. If you don't know what that is, find a video online of any celeb walking down an average street. They are ganged up on by screaming adolescent and pre-pubescent females begging for pictures and hugs. That is the craziness now known as fangirling, and tweeters are professionals. Especially if it involves the new artist group One Direction.

Every day there are 'trending topics'; things people are currently tweeting most about. And every day, there is something involving 1D.

My point is not to hate on the new boy band, but to point out the frivolousness of fangirling. Chances are VERY huh you won't meet them, let alone date or marry them. An interest is fine, but why waste hours of daylight and detain needed sleep gazing at pictures?

On the same note, why is it SO important to have thousands of followers? Is it enough to justify online bribery and on occasion, bullying, just to see the number rise by a few hundred?

We have lost that which made our society great - the art of communication. We know how to type and can adeptly lessen an Internet insult by adding a cute :P face to the end of a statement. Come face to face with another person, and there's nothing to talk about, and sticking your tongue out is inappropriate.

We have also lost the desire to gain wisdom and knowledge. Our attitude is very much that of the observant at most street beggar who relies on public nicety to get him through the day.

I get so angry when I see young girls speaking about parties, relationships as if they are the only things that matter. Even issues like gender equality have emerged as meaningless because it's 'cool' to support homo and heterosexuals having the same opportunities; if you asked the average 14-25 year old about their reasons for support, perhaps one in ten could give a decent answer.

I'm bored, I'm frustrated, and I simply cannot handle the apathy of our society any longer. Their practice of dithering their way through life, focusing on the superficial, is the most annoying thing I have ever come across.

At the same time, as much as I'd like to avoid the human race forever and bury my nose in books of learning, I get lonely. As a result, I haven't yet found an adequate solution to my problem and the annoyance lives on.

The Inconvenience of Convenience

[Note: I meant to write this weeks ago, but thought it wasn't "big" enough... but it's still festering in my mind and someone mentioned I hadn't written in a while so I decided short or not, I'm posting. Hope you like.]

Anyways, let's get to it. I walked into one of our locations on campus at work a few weeks ago to deliver something, and noticed a new sign:

"The deli will close at 8pm tonight. Sorry for any inconvenience."

... and the proverbial bomb went off. Are we so helpless?

You see, what struck me was knowledge that yes, some students WOULD be disconcerted, even upset, that this one section of the store closed early (salad bar, grill, snack sections etc. were still open) and our management would probably be getting a letter or two from some kid too stubborn to simply pick something else that day. I was angered, and I do not believe it was unjustly.

My thoughts traveled to a conversation I had with my dad and his girlfriend when they were here last, about the technological move to online forms of communication. Their position was, and quite correctly, that kids, teens, and even adults are losing their ability to facilitate a face-to-face conversation. Because of constant use of texting, social networking sites, and other similar communication modalities, when two people (especially young people) find themselves in the physical presence of another person, they find themselves actually at a loss for words.

This is a problem. It derives from that phenomenon we call convenience. I mean, that is why we do it, isn't it? I'm sure it isn't because we intentionally don't want to know how to deal with our fellow humans when we can't just rudely walk away from the screen and ignore their anger (portrayed by CAPITAL LETTERS of course - easy to ignore!) No, that isn't the reason.

We do it because it's fast. It's cheap. It takes two seconds to text ten people; calling those ten to repeat the same information ten times would take twenty minutes, and what if they don't answer? A text can and will wait in a person's memory until they actually receive and read it... A phone call can't do that as efficiently.

And so goes the argument. There are thousands of valid reasons that wireless communication has gained the standing it has, and whether people realize it or not, it does affect everyone. I am going to England because of Facebook. I will be staying in touch through FaceTime, Skype, Twitter, Facebook, email, texting... you get the idea. I bought my airline tickets and travel insurance online. It all has its uses, and as we advance in the idea of a global village, it is becoming more and more important that we understand those uses and how they affect us and our families.

However, my parents' fears - and many others' fears - are not ungrounded. All of these technologies are driven by one idea - convenience.

So how long will it be before our children don't learn to write because it's more convenient for them to type? Before teachers teach from the comfort of their homes through video conferencing? Let's get really far fetched and ask ourselves how many years till we start ordering eggs and semen online from potential partners because it's too inconvenient to even have sex for procreation?

A good many years - or never - we hope... But reality may prove otherwise. So what can we do to slow, or stop, this solitary, computer-based culture from developing? Or, should we even try?

Fifty years ago, society knew much better than it does today what it means to work for reward - financial, relational, pleasurable, or otherwise. They knew how to communicate with their brethren because they had to. In this age, we don't "have to" - it's too easy and convenient to ignore responsibility towards both yourself and others. We are more impatient, harder to please, increasingly lazy. This thing, convenience, has changed the face of the world as we once knew it.

But how far is too far - and when do we know?