Back Off Artoo! Robots and Boundaries

The technology I find charming, delightful, and useful is the tech with very conspicuous limitations. It helps with a specific task – and then it retreats.

Only with such limitations will the technology truly support my needs. When the technology intrudes any further, *my* efforts will ultimately support *its* needs.

That’s one reason those “It looks like you’re writing a business letter…” tools were so annoying, despite their utility – and why I personally find those “Dim the lights, Alexa” commercials so disturbing.


Technology is useful, but so are boundaries. The public rejected Google Glass because it directly assaulted boundaries of privacy – not of the user, but of everybody else.

That Google Glass users could not understand that was not a coincidence; it was closer to a symptom.

The crossing of boundaries is much easier to accept when it is not YOUR boundaries being crossed. (Offramp to “cultural appropriation” thread…)

Social and cultural boundaries will always fluctuate between decades and communities. The intrusion of technology already seems welcome to some and profoundly threatening to others – and both with good reason.


All of the above sounds uncomfortably close to discussions of people or ethnic groups “knowing their place”. Robots are not people – we need not recognize the humanity of robots, and we must not empower corporations as if they were citizens despite corporations’ non-corporeal needs and desires. The topic is vitally important and disquieting specifically because we have not yet set effective boundaries which artificial intelligence must and will observe.


Steampunk is popular in part because it represents a fantasy level of technology that is absorbing and wondrous, but also completely focused on human causes. (Correct me if I’m wrong, but very little steampunk artwork seems to focus on Artificial Intelligence.) The focus is always on invention and craftsmanship and discovery, with physical danger and surrender to a roboticized system looming only in the far distance.


Star Wars had such an impact in part because R2-D2 and C-3P0 represented intelligent technology playing a specific, *limited* role.

It’s actually R2D2’s story, and he represented technology offering exactly the right level of mission-focused independence and people-focused devotion.

C3P0 became such an effete bother because he was aligned with the mission but had no meaningful role to play within it. (Same with Jar Jar!) If Luke had been just a bit less skilled and devoted to the task, he would have been just as annoying.


Your Gateway to the Internet (and/or Hell)

Evolving thoughts about Facebook & social networking:
1) The root question of human ponderance has long been “What is the meaning of life?”
The question is now “Does this conversation really have to take place in public?”
Online communications have made it necessary to deliberately separate and insulate conversations that would previously have taken place in private simply because nobody else was around.
“I have nothing to hide” sounds like an embrace of intimacy, but it’s really the opposite. The assumption that all conversations can or should be public magnifies the reach of those conversations, but diminishes their value.
The practical information may still be delivered to a single individual, but the currency of relationship – the sense of history and personal connection – is spread thinly between an unspecified number of people. The cost of including so many “friends” is friendship itself.
If this seems somehow defensive, conservative, old-fashioned – consider that such social connection, the attention we give to specific friends, is precisely the capital Facebook has found a way to monetize and control. (Consider their intrusive algorithm, “promoted posts”, content you’re not shown, etc.) Facebook knows exactly how valuable your social connections are.
When public posts are truly public, it makes sense to give Facebook their cut of the action. When private conversations are diverted through the public medium and milked for their social value, however, Facebook is cashing in on what should have been a cashless transaction.
Of all my many grievances with Facebook and the culture it’s created, this is the primary complaint. Private conversations held in public are rude and often hurtful – even to the person hosting them, and often apparently without their knowledge. Arguments quickly become either extremely personal or extremely cumbersome. However important the topic, the solution is to have the conversation more directly, in person or on the phone – removing the very convenience that generated the conversation in the first place.
2) “Tagging” someone on Facebook calls another user’s attention to a post, and it makes the post *to* somebody into a post *about* somebody, visible to all their friends. These are two fundamentally different goals and should be kept separate.
Facebook benefits from every “conversation” generated on their site – including this one. Baffling and unnecessary connections are made without the user’s effort or permission. As the saying goes: users aren’t the customer – they’re the product.
3) Since the 1980s there have been many, many websites trying hard to be “your gateway to the Internet”. We are now paying the price for allowing any of them to succeed.
Allowing such near-monopolies was dangerous because the Internet provided an unprecedented means of shaping human understanding of what is happening in the community and the world. Media consolidation is a huge problem, but nobody anticipated that we would face something worse: total consolidation of media gathering done not by a media source, but automatically by web technology under the naïve guidance of individual users.
The emergence of such new technology wasn’t like introducing a new newspaper or media voice; it was like finding a way to influence, edit, shape, hide and redirect all news on an individual basis. This led directly to cult-member behavior – not shaped by any one (cough) charismatic leader, but by a handful of powerful executives, and many millions of excitable participants with no sense of the tide they were creating, its origins or its direction.

Life Sprawl

As conflicted as I am over Facebook, I’m awkwardly pleased to see the sudden ‘ditch Facebook’ movement. The people I connect with are great, but the ultimate impact of Facebook (and social media in general) is troubling.

What feels most distressing is to recognize that social networking has filled (and monetized) a very specific and growing need. I describe it as “life sprawl”: most of my close friends live over an hour away. (Bay Area traffic can make a short distance into a long trip.)

Connecting online can provide real nourishment to people whose mobility is limited, whose loved ones live far away, or who would otherwise be without an active social life. Yet it can also turn physical isolation from a reason to explore the neighborhood into a reason to retreat into virtual relationships, and accept the limitations they offer.

A commuter who walks an hour to work every day finally buys a car. Do they then drive five minutes to work every day? No, they move farther away, buy a bigger house, and spend the same hour driving to work instead of walking.

This doesn’t always happen, and it isn’t a good argument against driving. But it’s human nature to change our circumstances to match our compromises instead of the other way around.

Facebook presents specific problems. Monetizing friendship itself, controlling media access, and turning users into marketable data can each, we are now realizing, have a major, largely negative impact on American culture and human civilization. Some of that negative impact could be diminished by recognizing social networking as a public utility to be separated from commercial influence. But some of it can only be dealt with by recognizing it as a kind of symptom – not to be fought as a disease, but to be understood as a reflection of deeper problems requiring a holistic response.

Guitars, Synthesizers, and The Path From Nothing to Something

I remain a cheerfully mediocre musician, but I’ve greatly enjoyed playing guitar, piano & synthesizer lately – and have noticed a few things.
1) A guitar or piano sound is like a tuxedo, whereas a synth sound is like an evening gown. Guitar noises borrow heavily from tradition and established styles, whereas every synth noise is obliged to explore new sonic territory. I ain’t saying this view is right or fair or universal, but my impulse is to be embarrassed as the thought of another keyboard player making exactly the same carefully designed synth noises. (I imagine a synth player being asked “Who are you playing?”)
2) I did some simple animation a few years ago and found that, despite my total lack of technical skill, drawing a line by hand gave the image a compelling sense of vitality that a straight computer-generated line did not have. While a hand-drawn corporate logo might seem amateurish, an animated image could gain meaning from the apparent sense that a human being was on the other side of it – particularly when part of the drawing came to life in successive frames.
That seems to be exactly the case with music as well. Machines can generate rich sounds, maintain complex rhythms, produce melodies it would be physically impossible to play – and the resulting music may be compelling for many reasons. But the meaning to be found in such new music shifts to wherever a human being is standing behind it: as composer, designer, programmer, producer, performer, vocalist – or even DeeJay. This may explain some of the cultural nuances of rap, hip-hop and electronic dance music, whereby sounds that seem homogeneous and empty to some listeners can offer tremendous meaning, power and musical variety to others.
3) The cliché is that “it’s all about the music”, but I’m reminded that a live performance of music consists of a great deal more than just people making sounds. One recent show I witnessed featured a musician skillfully manipulating a variety of unusual sound controllers – unfortunately, out of sight of the audience. Another concert involved a famous musician playing a different unusual electronic controller for every song, when a single keyboard could have been used to control the entire show.
In both cases, I found that the visual part of the show was vitally important (or would have been), even if nothing very exciting seemed to be happening on the stage.
4) The reason why also explains the current vogue for analogue synthesizers and other forms of seemingly backwards-looking technology.
My interest in electronic music is not simply in novel sounds, but in sounds emerging from machines through a complex series of visible, tangible, interactive components. In short, I want to see and hear a sound being generated *organically* from the most inorganic of parts. I want to witness the birth of life from lifeless materials.
We know technology frees us and traps us, empowers us and threatens us, expands our horizons and confines our behaviors. The advances that once heralded only greater achievement (and more free time) now rob us of our privacy (and our free time). This lost sense of promise may be captured in the popular fashion of “Steampunk”, whereby costumes and characters imagine a time before technology had broken away from the otherworldly adventures it might have made possible – when, for example, our space program was confined only by the scale of the universe itself and not by the scale of our ambitions to explore and understand it.
5) The most basic advice given to an actor is: “stop acting”. The performance is not in what is done deliberately, but what is deliberately done without deliberation.
My desire to see musicians produce music carries the same apparent contradiction.
The job of the performer is not to stand between the music and the audience, but to step out of the way.
That’s why I want to see and hear the bones and exposed organs of my synthesizers: to glimpse the path that leads from nothing to something.
I imagine the end of a triumphant song at the end of a triumphant performance – when the instruments have lowered and only a few voices carry the evening forward. Even the silence that follows the final note seems to be part of the magic, part of the composition, part of the landscape not yet fully crossed.
A great concert can bring meaning not simply to the familiar sounds generated, but to the silence which follows them. The meaning within the song is revealed to have been there all along, before the song began, and after its end.


Unnecessary Thoughts re: Storytelling and Spoiler Fan-alysis re: Stranger Things 2

1) When Stranger Things is a scary mystery, it’s GREAT.
When it’s a horror-action movie, it’s fun.
When it’s a mid-1980s character study, it’s shaky but compelling.
When it’s a superhero story, it’s *terrible*.

2) Every detail about the show that really works or really doesn’t work is encapsulated in the character “Eleven”. Why are her good scenes so good, and her bad scenes so lame?

In part it’s because she’s the show’s wild card: we haven’t seen a character like her before, so we have no expectations. She’s the part that can’t be phoned in.

And that’s why it’s so awful when they phone it in. The “Lost Sister” episode was terrible – precisely because it treated Eleven as a conventional superhero character, developing her unusual skills, like Rocky doing pushups.

The basic idea of the episode is pretty great: mysterious victim finds a mentor and learns to focus, transforming into mysterious avenger – but Eleven plays an odd role in the series. She’s both a living character and a representative of the show’s central mystery: a combination of childhood isolation, government conspiracy, and (pretty standard) open portal into hell. The less mysterious her powers become, the less of the story she can represent. The mystery must then expand beyond her, and that’s where it fell flat.

3) Sherlock Holmes stories work like this: the characters are plunged into an obviously supernatural mystery, which has a delicious, consciousness-expanding effect on the reader. The world’s greatest detective unravels the trick, and we’re left back on the island of rational thought – which feels safe, and correct, and profoundly unsatisfying. We hunger to escape rational thought again – we recognize something from our own lives there – but we don’t want to spend the night beyond its safe limits, so we open another Sherlock Holmes book for another round-trip guided tour through the seemingly impossible. Win-win!

Something similar happened in the original Star Wars: Ben Kenobi introduced “The Force” – and then every ten minutes we learned something new it could do. For the length of the movie, life’s possibilities seemed to extend beyond all limitations – but living within that expanded world demanded another movie ticket.

We embrace stories that make life feel bigger. Even when the mysteries are frightening, we want to be reminded of the many possibilities, real or imagined, we’ve learned not to see.

And that’s the problem with Eleven becoming a superhero. It’s great that she’s powerful, and troubled, and human, and learning to master her skills – but her mastery of her skills confines the story more than it opens it up. Instead of a tension between story details that do or don’t fit within the limits of reality, we get a more conventional battle between demon dogs and Eleven’s hand-waving magic – and we mostly know who will win that battle, and we don’t really need to know why.

4) I’m not prone to reading reviews of TV episodes, but I indulged with “Lost Sister”. Much of the discussion was about how incongruous the episode was with the rest of the series, but that wasn’t the problem.

First: Criminal refugees desperate to evade discovery don’t wear big full-fan mohawks. A troubled youth might have awesome fashion sense, but “acting out” and “hiding out” are opposite things.

That’s just one detail, but it’s a marker: “How lazy is the storytelling in this one?” “The career criminal who lives in hiding has a standing orange 12-inch-fan mohawk.” “Ugh. Too bad.”

Second, it was great to see more racial diversity in the cast, but the Saturday morning cartoon gang of colorful misfits had the dramatic heft of a violent cereal commercial.

Third, “Superhero learns to use their power” scenes are great when the audience already knows what the character is just beginning to learn. Such scenes introduce not the powers, but the character encumbered by them – and we see where a seemingly invincible character is vulnerable. When the character’s powers are themselves the mysterious detail we want to understand, gaining mastery over them makes the story less interesting.

Fourth, exploring the blurry line between “good guys” and “bad guys” can make for powerful drama – but only when it’s done with nuance and complexity. Broad, simple characters who commit violent crime and murder while dressed like art students and mentoring our troubled heroine make the whole series look cruel and tone-deaf.

5) The violence in the last several episodes was disappointing: given how compelling the first season was, the bloody mayhem seemed unnecessary. But there were many things I liked – such as the complex way Will behaved when possessed by the creature.

Two characters bugged me: Dustin blithely nursing a baby demon when he knows his friends are struggling to escape the grip of the underworld, and Billy, the over-the-top bully.

Characters are more interesting when they have strong motivations, but strong motivations demand strong logic. Billy is represented by many sadistic bullies in the real world, but I didn’t buy his backstory scene, where his father brutally demands that he show respect to his mother and sister. The idea was poignant, but it seemed pat and clunky. Brutal treatment from his father seemed very appropriate for the character, but a code of respect for women absolutely did not.

6) Every dramatic conflict demands a balance between our heroes’ chances of winning and their chances of losing. The most exciting stories provide enough details so the conclusion is logical, but not predictable.

Sloppy stories often make the hero appealing by making them invincible – but then it’s unsurprising when they win, and it makes no sense when they lose.

This is the problem with playing Eleven as a superhero. She raises her hand, her nostril bleeds – and whatever needs to happen happens. It’s great to have a strong female character, but her strength is not what is interesting about her. The story – and most importantly, the conclusion – is ultimately about something else.

Four-Year-Olds and Grownups Have Different Jobs

I have a four-year-old son. Great kid.
Every day he tries new things he hasn’t tried before. He also tries things he *has* tried before which didn’t work. Will it work this time, under slightly different circumstances? He is eager to find out, because he is four years old.
My job is to set limits, teach him what works, and guide him in the right direction. It is exhausting.
I’d love to believe he would behave perfectly without the rules his mother and I impose, but that’s not the way it works.
Every day healthy children discover new things they can do, and healthy parents stop them before they break grandma’s china, injure themselves, and set the house on fire.
When this discipline is too harsh, kids learn not to try anything new, and development stops.
Without discipline, learning happens only when the kids’ actions bring disaster – and too often, only when that disaster directly affects those kids. And without more discipline, lessons learned from disaster will most likely be the wrong lessons.
Healthy companies try new things. Healthy governments set limits – not to stop development, but to steer away from predictable disaster.
Starting with Reagan, the GOP has assumed that “government is the problem”.
This view makes sense, if you’re 11 years old and resentful of seemingly arbitrary rules imposed by grownups. Responsible adults recognize “government is the problem” as an adolescent attempt to reject important rules, inviting predictable disaster if it succeeds.
Trump’s proposed tax cuts are an extreme, fraudulent, self-serving version of this decades-old lie.
“Starve the beast”, “get the government off our backs”, “disrupt & innovate”, “run the government like a business”, “cut taxes” – all are attempts to replace adult discipline with childish self-interest. Experience shows that markets don’t govern themselves, companies don’t discipline themselves, problems don’t solve themselves, poverty and homelessness don’t go away when we treat them as crimes, etc.
We need grownups in the White House.
We need leaders to be personally affected by the disasters they create – and whenever possible, we need citizens to be insulated from disasters created by others.
Experienced adult discipline must be properly balanced with inventive childlike exuberance. Replacing either one with the other leads to disaster.

Playing On The Rails, or The Importance of Not Being Useful

Intelligence mostly involves making observations, building on experiences, and learning from mistakes. Even the simplest grasping motion provides an infant’s mind with useful feedback. The body develops along a parallel path, responding to physical activity with increasing strength and coordination.

Adults may feel emotionally derailed in part because their most basic physical actions do not seem as useful and rewarding as they once did.

Artificial intelligence effectively means a machine calculates how to perform specific actions – but then notes the results of those actions, and incorporates those results into future calculations. Unfamiliar procedures eventually become routine, and routines become components of larger routines.

An intelligent machine will soon create its own rut. “I feel like I’m living the life of a machine”, it will finally say, in a moment of truly profound irony.
Efficient learning would require a machine to make mistakes, understand feedback – and to play. Its horizon could then continue to expand.

Robotics technologies are exploding, so it seems silly to discuss challenges that are being overcome as I type.

But one obstacle that may define and confine artificial intelligence is: we expect it to be useful.


Kids learn to stand up by falling down. The price to be paid is *usually* small.

Kids also learn by observing and letting others make some of the mistakes. The lessons may be costly, but the price is paid by the community, and the species.

In the documentary “Fast, Cheap, and Out of Control” a robotics expert describes the dilemma of conventional robotics: a valuable machine (e.g. a robot exploring a distant planet) will not be allowed to take any risks, which could limit its ability to do its job – and would certainly interfere with its ability to learn. Better to release a hundred cheap networked robots which might each make mistakes that advance the entire mission instead of ending it.

This is the dilemma currently faced by self-driving cars. The technology promises to make our roads safer, but accidents involving self-driving cars are held to a different standard. Machines are supposed to manage the risks posed by humans, not the other way around.

Listening to this interview with (“Guns, Germs & Steel” author) Jared Diamond, I was struck by the way his bestselling writing career and his expansive work in science both emerged directly from his hobby of birdwatching. (“It was all for the birds,” he says.)

Birdwatching led him to New Guinea, which led directly to the question of why certain regions developed agriculture and technology while others did not. He’s since sold many millions of books and launched vital worldwide debates about societal responsibility.

I’m called back to this idea when I find myself struggling to justify my most obscure hobbies. It seems unwise to pursue only superficial interests – but the most gratifying path may be recognized only by its immediate rewards. Planning is important. Some caution and calculation are important. But every day, I need to remember the importance of play.


Building Robots


When I was 10 I wanted to build robots. When I was 50 I decided I would finally do some things I’ve wanted to do since I was 10.

Robots are fun to imagine, but designing one reveals a few surprising thoughts.

1) We’re already surrounded by robots. A dishwasher is a robot that washes dishes. The thermostat, microwave oven, and refrigerator are robots with specific functions and very limited anthropomorphization.

Increasingly, even our cars are robots. Many features of “Knight Rider” now ship standard on select models.

We’re not encouraged to think of the car or dishwasher as a living thing – but we might take it personally if it fails in specific ways.

2) Interactive and even somewhat anthropomorphic robots are expensive but are now widely available – yet I don’t want to buy one.

I want to build one, and my reasons for that reveal the only real purpose it will serve for me.

3) Kits to build robots are easy to find – but like costume building, buying something off the shelf feels like cheating. I don’t want to identify myself by someone else’s work. (For related reasons, I enjoy robot-building toys – but my goal lies beyond them.)

In a world where many (most?) high schools now offer robotics, it’s clearly myself that I’m most interested in reassembling into a more functional state.

Yet the availability of parts is why I can now do what I couldn’t do in high school, when I created robot arms in machine shop but never motorized them. Learning to follow in others’ footsteps in a vital part of the process – and one which I’ve instinctively avoided since childhood.

4) An animator told my college art class that animation was two things at once: a hand drawing or still image, and a living thing in motion. Animation is at its best when these two states are in perfect balance. Animation that moves too little seems lifeless and stagnant, while animation that’s *too* lifelike loses its uncanny charm.

All art seems to work the same way. A landscape painting is both paint on a canvas and an image of another time and place. A song is both a creative experience of another time and place, and a sensual experience of here and now.

A robot is both a seemingly inanimate object – a machine – and a seemingly living thing. The balance of those two states is the whole of its ominous appeal.

I want to build a robot not as a problem-solving tool – not to substitute for anything from life – but as an art project.

5) The distinction between inanimate objects and living things is very different than it was even a few decades ago. A radio controlled car is essentially a robot, and might have seemed miraculous in the 1950s. Now, RC cars are fun to play with – but provide none of the uncanny spark, the suspension of disbelief, that we find in robots.

6) Many interactive toy robots are actually remote controlled devices – so that the motion or behavior of the toy may seem anthropomorphic, but every decision is made by the human holding the remote. The toy robot is clearly an extension of the human, and not an eerily separate entity. A remote controlled toy is fun stuff, and perhaps even more fun to play with – but it’s one more step away from the apparent creative goal of balancing the states of living and non-living.

7) Designing robots to make their own decisions makes the whole project vastly more dangerous. Long before our sentient automatons rise against their creators, a rolling robot toy prototype might recognize no reason to stay out of traffic, refrain from denting the car,  avoid the swimming pool, or steer around your foot as it crosses the room.

8) Noted above, “suspension of disbelief” is in some part my real goal. As magician Dai Vernon put it: “In the performance of good magic,the mind is led on, step by step, to ingeniously defeat its own logic.” An interactive robot creates a sense of something living – which is charming precisely because we understand all the ways it is not true.

9) As the image of my project formed in my mind, I recognized that it would be not a helpful machine, but a kind of sidekick – or even a pet.

10) I respect animal owners, and I suspect that the more limited responsibilities of robot ownership are part of the appeal for me.

From behind that thought, another memory emerged: the imaginary friends I interacted with as a kid.

It was clear I was calling upon some unspoken ambition – not to replace the friends I enjoy in life, nor to heal any feeling of lifelessness I felt within.

As with so many creative pursuits, the goal is to locate the magic. The goal of my favorite music is to reveal the music within every sound shaking through the world. The goal of my favorite writing is to reveal the magic within the most mundane observations of life. The goal of building a robot is to reveal the personality and magic within the most common and lifeless of materials. All of these rituals put the sense of magic, of God, of vitality – back where it should be: everywhere.

The technical specifics are extremely rudimentary and are a separate discussion. Ping me if you want updates.

Stuff Costs Money

The 2003 Documentary “Festival Express” follows the Grateful Dead on a 1970 train tour of Canada. Along the way we meet fans and witness the sparking point where untested hippie idealism meets show biz reality.

Specifically, fans express dismay that the concerts they love cost anything at all. Shouldn’t music be free? Don’t beautiful things belong to the people? Aren’t rock stars already rich? Etc.

The basic response is that touring costs money, dumbass. It’s a law of nature, a benevolent food chain. Peace and love are the goals, but they will never be the means.

The real explanation is more complicated.

Money becomes toxic when we make decisions based on nothing else, ignoring love & compassion. But love & compassion become detached and irrelevant when we make decisions without considering practical resources, i.e. money. Love must decide what we do, but money will affect how we do it.

When these two sides are driven apart, when money and political power are divorced from compassion and common sense, nothing good can happen. By definition, what’s good can’t get done, and what gets done can’t be good.

Money is blood. When it spills, or clots, or collects, or shows through the skin, or fails to reach the extremities – we must investigate thoroughly and immediately.

We must be suspicious of money. We must regulate it, control it, understand its corrupting influence. We must trace its movements to learn where the influence comes from, and where the profit is going.

But money isn’t the problem, any more than blood is the problem. When it stops circulating, the life-sustaining system is threatened.

Many people have complained that Barack Obama accepts money for giving speeches. Such complaints reach toward a legitimate suspicion, but miss the rung – and only help to separate the goal of progress from the means of progress. The guiding principle of such complaints is “Money must act without compassion, and compassion must act without money.”

Donald Trump ‘won’ the Presidency for many reasons, mostly centered around his cynical campaign of manipulative disinformation.

With narrow margins, however, misguided idealism on the left was a crucial factor in his victory.

It’s a law of nature, a corrosive food chain. Resentment of the system will always work against those who would improve the system, and in favor of those who will make it worse.

Why We Need Grownup Show-And-Tell

On the radio someone mentioned how a friend used to “bring over records” to listen to great obscure tracks. I have fond memories of friends playing songs for me and accompanying me on my first listening.

Such rapt attention has become rare, particularly when live concerts are harder to manage (parenthood etc). Many friends post links of awesome music – and when conditions allow I enjoy following the links.

But it ain’t the same as hearing the tune in the same room & moment.
The medium was part of the experience. Music on vinyl bound together the physical effort of listening with the mind’s adventure of hearing. Some sounds still remind me of the place I first heard them. When listening does not demand effort, it does not receive attention.

I’ve arrived at a term: “LIFE SPRAWL”. I have many great friends, and too many of them live over an hour away. (“An hour away” may be only a few miles in the Bay Area, but it still gets in the way.)

Social Networking connects us through shared information, but not shared experience. This is one reason memes and posts gravitate so reliably toward nostalgia.

When we do get together, we tend to leave the sharing online, referencing a post or saying “I’ll send you a link”. The conversation rightly takes priority – but then, the experience to be shared is postponed until each participant is alone.

My takeaway: grownup socializing needs to include a period of SHOW-AND-TELL, specifically to re-connect the things we share to the people we share them with.
Social Networking allows us to borrow ideas, values and information from our friends, without necessarily growing the friendships in the process. I want to cultivate my life like a properly managed garden which nourishes the soil as well as the plants that grow within it.