Well, yesterday Mr. Jobs evoked a series of "oohs" and "aahhs" with the unveiling of his new "iPad" gadget. The audience at Moscone center in San Francisco anxiously awaited the unveiling, as they hung on his every word and gesture. (My initial thought, as I watched the unveiling via cnn.com, was, "my God; he's still alive! looks terrible, but he's still alive. The wonders of modern medicine; take that, pancreatic cancer! we'll give him a liver transplant!")
So just what is this new iPad gadget? In a nutshell, it's an iPhone on steroids. (no, actually, it's not a "phone" per se, but it's sort of a misnomer to characterize the iPhone as exclusively a "phone".) It's sort of a "tablet," a laptop sans a keyboard or mouse, because the human interface is your hands and fingers (rather than a physical keyboard and mouse). I won't bore you with a lot of details about the characteristics of this new gadget, because it's well-documented on the Web.
What fascinates me about the annual "Jobs Product Unveiling" is the hype and its accompanying lather amongst techo-geeks world-wide. Jobs, Apple & Co. have reached an idolatrous stature amongst their rabid fans. I've witnessed these annual product unveilings for many years now (various iPods, iPhones, and other computers). And I keep coming back to this question: what if we could channel all this rabid obsession with these new techno-gadgets into rabid obsession with the good of the Commons?
Let me explain.
Think of Greg Mortenson arousing the passion and interest of Steve Jobs.
Mr. Mortenson is author of the book, "Three Cups of Tea: One Man's Mission to Promote Peace.... One School at a Time."
I am convinced that one of the key means to achieve peace in our world is to provide quality education for EVERY child. Yes, EVERY child. In North America. In the Middle East. In the Far East. In South America. In Africa. ON EVERY CONTINENT. IN EVERY COUNTRY. FOR EVERY CHILD.
So, you see, Mr. Mortenson is my hero. And as much as I admire Mr. Jobs for his passion and showmanship, I do not consider him a "hero."
I am envisioning some sort of annual gathering at Moscone center, in which Mr. Mortenson gets up on stage to announce the latest progress on school development across the world. And then I am imagining rabid interest and obsessed hype amongst a mass of people who are engaged and contributing to this endeavor, somehow, some way.
I can dream, can't I?
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Monday, January 4, 2010
My Mom, May She Rest in Peace
The following is a piece I wrote and delivered at my mom's funeral service, on December 21, 2009.
To all those who know and love Kathy:
It seems that we are gathered here to acknowledge and start to deal with her absence. And that’s true, Kathy is no longer physically here with us. But I will now say a few words to celebrate her presence.
I believe that Kathy’s presence is with us, always. All of us who loved her, we will continue to love her, every morning as we wake up and consider the day, as we navigate the day, as we say good night. Her presence is constant, even though there will be times when it seems almost too much to bear to know that she has died. I will do my best to avoid clichés; but this I know to be true: that Kathy’s spirit, her indomitable spirit, will remain with each one of us. Rather than being absent, Kathy is now present in a different way.
Presence is actually a curious thing. For many years now, my family and I have lived thousands of miles away from Kathy and Gene. This distance was difficult, but alas, not at all uncommon these days, as families make their respective ways in the world, which often requires us to go where the jobs lead us. Despite the distance, I lived with the assurance that I could call her and chat. Her voice always lifted me, no matter what we discussed. It was her sunny, cheerful, “I’m so glad you called” voice. It was her calming tone that despite daunting challenges, things are ok. And despite the distance, we did make the effort to gather several times a year, all of us keenly aware of the fragility of life. And despite the distance, there was never any question of her presence.
And now, Kathy’s presence has been permanently altered. What kinds of things might we expect from Kathy’s altered presence?
Well, we can embrace Kathy’s presence by considering how she lived. Let us consider the following ways in which she lived.
First, Kathy’s sense of perspective.
Later in her life, Kathy became fascinated with Buddhism, and she adopted one of its core tenets: that of equanimity. This sort of “even-keeled” perspective enabled her discern what matters in life (and what doesn’t). Kathy treasured her family and friends; she knew the sustenance brought about from loving our families and cultivating friendships. She knew that there aren’t many things worth getting “flopped up” about; (as she would say). That is, not many things are worth agitation. Sure, some things might warrant our stress, but her even-keeled sense of perspective was a gift to all of us around her. She knew the importance of living in the present, of being there for a friend or family member, of genuinely listening, of offering a shoulder to cry on, of extending a kind hand, of graciously offering help. May all of us learn from Kathy’s sense of perspective, which reminds us about what really matters in life.
Second, Kathy’s sense of curiosity and adventure.
Kathy never veered away from the unknown; instead, she welcomed it. Years ago, when Kathy and I were planning a mother/daughter adventure, we decided to visit Equador. (We’d considered Europe, but settled on South America when we realized that our travel budget would stretch further.) She was fascinated by the entire excursion; the art, the culture, the flowers, the rural markets with handmade treasures, the way the locals lived. One morning, we awoke to a frightening sound, which sounded like an explosion. We’d learned later that morning from the hotel staff that a group of protestors had bombed a local government building. That afternoon, the protestors staged a demonstration, and Kathy was fascinated by all of this. She insisted that we leave the hotel to see what was going on. To this day I remember the army tanks rolling towards us, the sting of the tear gas, and especially the teen-age boy sitting on the curb, anxiously poised to throw rocks at the soldiers. We emerged from this adventure with a newfound appreciation of the many things we take for granted in these good ol’ United States of America. May all of us learn from Kathy’s sense of curiosity and adventure, which yields many of life’s great epiphanies.
Third, Kathy’s recognition of the impermanence of life.
She bravely acknowledged the impermanence of life and she embraced her own mortality. The reason this acknowledgement is so important is that it profoundly influences the way we live our lives. If we lived forever, there would be no urgency or necessity to seek the things that matter: to create and love families, to cultivate and nurture friendships, to pursue various projects, to experience the inevitable ups and downs of all these endeavors. If we lived forever, we would be stuck in a grim stasis of nothingness, and we would never be called to our true home.
I often reminded her of one of my favorite quotes, this one from Winston Churchill, in which he said, “Democracy is the worst form of government; except for all others.” “Ain’t it the truth,” she’d say. So there’s this idea that something might be pretty bad, but if we were to replace it with something “better,” what would that be? This idea warrants careful consideration.
We might extend this idea to death, as perhaps, “death is the worst thing that can happen, except to live forever.” The truth is, death, as painful and infuriating and devastating and heart-breaking as it is, is universal. This is of course cold comfort for all of us, as we think about all the times we’ll miss Kathy, the phone calls that won’t happen, the visits that won’t take place, the cards we won’t receive in the mail, the innumerable instances of despair and the immeasurable loss.
And so, Kathy’s death has left a profound hole in our respective hearts. And yet her new presence augments our respective spirits.
Amen.
To all those who know and love Kathy:
It seems that we are gathered here to acknowledge and start to deal with her absence. And that’s true, Kathy is no longer physically here with us. But I will now say a few words to celebrate her presence.
I believe that Kathy’s presence is with us, always. All of us who loved her, we will continue to love her, every morning as we wake up and consider the day, as we navigate the day, as we say good night. Her presence is constant, even though there will be times when it seems almost too much to bear to know that she has died. I will do my best to avoid clichés; but this I know to be true: that Kathy’s spirit, her indomitable spirit, will remain with each one of us. Rather than being absent, Kathy is now present in a different way.
Presence is actually a curious thing. For many years now, my family and I have lived thousands of miles away from Kathy and Gene. This distance was difficult, but alas, not at all uncommon these days, as families make their respective ways in the world, which often requires us to go where the jobs lead us. Despite the distance, I lived with the assurance that I could call her and chat. Her voice always lifted me, no matter what we discussed. It was her sunny, cheerful, “I’m so glad you called” voice. It was her calming tone that despite daunting challenges, things are ok. And despite the distance, we did make the effort to gather several times a year, all of us keenly aware of the fragility of life. And despite the distance, there was never any question of her presence.
And now, Kathy’s presence has been permanently altered. What kinds of things might we expect from Kathy’s altered presence?
Well, we can embrace Kathy’s presence by considering how she lived. Let us consider the following ways in which she lived.
First, Kathy’s sense of perspective.
Later in her life, Kathy became fascinated with Buddhism, and she adopted one of its core tenets: that of equanimity. This sort of “even-keeled” perspective enabled her discern what matters in life (and what doesn’t). Kathy treasured her family and friends; she knew the sustenance brought about from loving our families and cultivating friendships. She knew that there aren’t many things worth getting “flopped up” about; (as she would say). That is, not many things are worth agitation. Sure, some things might warrant our stress, but her even-keeled sense of perspective was a gift to all of us around her. She knew the importance of living in the present, of being there for a friend or family member, of genuinely listening, of offering a shoulder to cry on, of extending a kind hand, of graciously offering help. May all of us learn from Kathy’s sense of perspective, which reminds us about what really matters in life.
Second, Kathy’s sense of curiosity and adventure.
Kathy never veered away from the unknown; instead, she welcomed it. Years ago, when Kathy and I were planning a mother/daughter adventure, we decided to visit Equador. (We’d considered Europe, but settled on South America when we realized that our travel budget would stretch further.) She was fascinated by the entire excursion; the art, the culture, the flowers, the rural markets with handmade treasures, the way the locals lived. One morning, we awoke to a frightening sound, which sounded like an explosion. We’d learned later that morning from the hotel staff that a group of protestors had bombed a local government building. That afternoon, the protestors staged a demonstration, and Kathy was fascinated by all of this. She insisted that we leave the hotel to see what was going on. To this day I remember the army tanks rolling towards us, the sting of the tear gas, and especially the teen-age boy sitting on the curb, anxiously poised to throw rocks at the soldiers. We emerged from this adventure with a newfound appreciation of the many things we take for granted in these good ol’ United States of America. May all of us learn from Kathy’s sense of curiosity and adventure, which yields many of life’s great epiphanies.
Third, Kathy’s recognition of the impermanence of life.
She bravely acknowledged the impermanence of life and she embraced her own mortality. The reason this acknowledgement is so important is that it profoundly influences the way we live our lives. If we lived forever, there would be no urgency or necessity to seek the things that matter: to create and love families, to cultivate and nurture friendships, to pursue various projects, to experience the inevitable ups and downs of all these endeavors. If we lived forever, we would be stuck in a grim stasis of nothingness, and we would never be called to our true home.
I often reminded her of one of my favorite quotes, this one from Winston Churchill, in which he said, “Democracy is the worst form of government; except for all others.” “Ain’t it the truth,” she’d say. So there’s this idea that something might be pretty bad, but if we were to replace it with something “better,” what would that be? This idea warrants careful consideration.
We might extend this idea to death, as perhaps, “death is the worst thing that can happen, except to live forever.” The truth is, death, as painful and infuriating and devastating and heart-breaking as it is, is universal. This is of course cold comfort for all of us, as we think about all the times we’ll miss Kathy, the phone calls that won’t happen, the visits that won’t take place, the cards we won’t receive in the mail, the innumerable instances of despair and the immeasurable loss.
And so, Kathy’s death has left a profound hole in our respective hearts. And yet her new presence augments our respective spirits.
Amen.
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