Just some photos from a recent trip to Scottsdale, AZ, during the Canal Convergence art festival…
Perhaps you’ve heard of the Dunning-Kruger effect? If not, here it is in a nutshell….
People who only know a little about something tend to overestimate their understanding of it, while experts tend to underestimate their own expertise.
That may seem strange at first glance, but when you stop and think, it makes sense. When you’ve only learned a little, you don’t know what you don’t know. The landscape is simple and pastel. You think you’ve got it.
But the more you learn, the more details you see, and the better you come to understand there’s a lot more detail that you can’t see.
I like taking vacations alone. In fact, I like places where there’s no internet, no TV, sometimes even no cell phone connections.
Few years back, I was spending just such a solo trip on Andros Island in the Bahamas — which is about the size of the state of Delaware and has roughly the population of the town of Tyrone, GA — at a lovely little eco-resort called Small Hope Bay Lodge, when one night at the tiny beachside tiki bar I got into a conversation with a businessman about success.
Like most American businessmen, he was a nice and affable fellow, indelibly optimistic and willing to talk to anybody. And he believed that the secret to success was hard work.
“Guys like you and me,” he said, “we work hard. That’s what it takes. Some people just aren’t willing to put in the effort. You get what you give in this world.”
“The whole aim of Newspeak is to narrow the range of thought.”
– Syme, in 1984 by George Orwell
In case you’ve never heard of a casino, here is the definition by Merriam-Webster:
a building or room used for social amusements; specifically : one used for gambling
But if you’re able to read this article, you already knew that.
And yet, if you talk to lawmakers and lobbyists in favor of the measure, you won’t hear them use the word casino. And if you insist on using that word, they’ll stop talking to you.
To love an old chair
is to love many people,
to adore the sweat of their arms
and the comfort of their bowed backs.
A yellow bus rolls the rutted road, slowing
down to the opened gate.
From its folded door steps a boy
with an old Army bag on his shoulder.
It is full of books, and his collar hangs askew.
What’s happening right now? I mean right this split second.
Sorry, but whatever you answered, it’s wrong. How do I know? Because it’s impossible for our conscious minds to know what is happening right now.
The reason for this is simple, and irrefutable. And the implications, for most people, are truly shocking.
I know, I know, you’ve heard them all before. All those home remedies for hiccups.
Hold your breath. Drink an entire glass of water. Eat a spoonful of sugar. Breathe into a paper bag. Get someone to scare you.
None of that really works. Well, maybe once in a while, but not consistently.
There is one way, however, that will work and it will work every single time. As long as you’re sober. If you’ve been drinking or anything like that, sorry, I can’t help you.
First, to understand how and why this trick works, you have to know what the hiccups are.
I was sitting at a table in my elementary school library when a friend said, “This is just a dream.” He was right.
I woke up to a dark and quiet house, and a new power — it was possible to recognize dreams from the inside.
Every morning, I searched my memory for clues. It wasn’t the outlandish stuff that tipped me off, but the details. In dreams, I couldn’t read. When I was afraid, I couldn’t scream. When terrified, I couldn’t move. So it was the nightmares more than anything that unlocked my power over dreams.
By my teens, I had come to recognize the dream world by feel. That alternate reality has its own texture, and I was rarely unaware when I was inside it. I learned to manipulate the space, to stop scenes, sometimes even replay them, or to make them dissolve, to fly at will and walk through walls. I had become the dream master.Continue Reading
This article was originally published in Define Introvert.
There’s this scene — you might know it — from Steve Martin’s The Lonely Guy, when Larry Hubbard requests a table for one and receives a spotlit escort to his one-top.
It’s a funny gag, but of course it works because it tweaks folks’ paranoia about public solitude. Just search “eating alone,” you’ll find a vigorous discussion. In fact it’s apparently a problem in need of solutions, such as helpful online instructions for newbies, table-sharing services for business travelers, even blind dates with top-shelf-size plush toys.
Of course everyone understands the reality of monomesaphobia, this aversion to tables for one, to going about unescorted. Introverts, however, have no intuitive sense of it. To us, it’s like a shark’s revulsion for magnets — we can watch it happening to the creature, but we’ll never know what the animal is feeling.