For so many, technology has become the gatekeeper to ordinary life. Being locked out can feel like a form of imprisonment.

I was recently trying to help a very sharp 80 year old man who could not get into his computer. He could not access his email, Microsoft Word, or old passwords. Somewhere in the confusion, someone had sold him a “lifetime” copy of Microsoft Word. Think about that for a moment. Here was an intelligent, capable man who had been persuaded to buy permanent access to software inside a machine he could not access at all.

At first there is something almost comical about it, the kind of technological absurdity we have all learned to laugh about. Then you look at the person sitting there, staring at the screen, and you realize it isn’t funny at all. He didn’t know what had happened. He didn’t know what he had purchased. Most disturbing of all, he didn’t know where to go for help.

That is the part that has stayed with me.

I have begun to wonder whether we are creating a kind of forced helplessness for millions of older people. We are steadily moving the necessities of ordinary life behind gleaming digital walls and then acting surprised when some people cannot climb them. There is an old and brutal image of elderly people being placed on an iceberg and pushed out to sea when they were no longer considered useful. Whether history or myth, the image is chilling because it represents abandonment disguised as inevitability.

I sometimes think we are creating a twenty first century version of that iceberg.

This one has passwords.

The older person is pushed out onto a cold digital landscape and told that everything needed for daily life is right there. The bills, the bank, the doctor, the television, the insurance company, the pharmacy, the airline reservation, the photographs of the grandchildren. Everything is supposedly within reach. There is only one problem. You have to know how to get in.

You try to pay a bill and discover that you need an online account. You try to make a medical appointment and are directed to a patient portal. The portal requires a password you created three years ago and have long forgotten. You ask for a new password, but the verification code is sent to a phone number you no longer have. You try to get a refund and are directed to an online form. Your television suddenly stops recognizing a subscription you have paid for every month, and a message appears telling you to scan a QR code.

Somewhere in this maddening maze sits a human being who may have successfully navigated eight decades of life and is now completely defeated by a six digit number flashing briefly on a screen.

So you call for help.

“Please listen carefully because our menu options have changed.”

Of course they have.

Everything has changed. Again.

You work your way through the artificial voice, answering questions and pressing numbers, until finally you believe you are about to reach an actual person. Instead you are directed to a website, where a cheerful little box pops up asking how it can help you today. You type your problem into the box. The machine misunderstands. You try different words. The machine apologizes with impeccable digital politeness and misunderstands again.

There comes a moment in this process when frustration turns into something else. It becomes helplessness.

That distinction is important.

When you cannot get into your bank account, your medical portal, your email or your own computer, you are not simply experiencing an irritating technical problem. You have lost control over a piece of your life. Someone or something has the key, and you don’t know who has it or where to find them.

There is a peculiar kind of imprisonment in that. The walls are invisible, but they are very real. Your money may be behind those walls. Your medical information may be there. Your photographs, documents, correspondence and memories may be there. The machine itself may be sitting three feet away on a familiar desk in your own home. You bought it. You own it. You can touch it.

But you cannot enter.

Imagine how that feels.

Now imagine being 82 or 87, perhaps living alone, when the telephone rings and a pleasant, patient voice says, “I understand you’re having trouble with your computer.”

Suddenly, after hours or perhaps days of frustration, there is a human being.

A warm voice. A patient voice. Someone who seems to understand. Someone who doesn’t rush you or make you feel foolish. Someone who says the most seductive words imaginable at that moment: “Don’t worry. I can fix this for you.”

And there it is.

We wonder why older people fall victim to scams. Perhaps we should spend more time examining the desperate environment in which the scammer arrives.

The scammer has discovered something many legitimate companies seem to have forgotten. A frightened and confused human being wants another human being.

We have closed so many doors to legitimate human assistance that the person who knocks politely on the wrong door can suddenly seem like a rescuer. The scammer offers patience where the corporation offers menus. The scammer offers reassurance where the website offers error messages. The scammer says, “I’ll stay with you,” while the legitimate company tells you that your session has expired.

There is an even darker irony. We have created legitimate digital communication that increasingly looks like fraud, while sophisticated fraud increasingly looks legitimate. Banks send security alerts. So do scammers. Microsoft may tell you there is a problem with your account. So does the scammer. Real companies send links and verification codes and ask you to confirm your identity. So do criminals.

Then we offer the older person the wonderfully useless advice, “Don’t click on anything suspicious.”

What exactly does suspicious look like anymore?

I am troubled by the casual way we dismiss this problem by saying that older people are simply “bad with technology.” There is something condescending and profoundly inaccurate in that phrase. It conveniently places the failure on the person instead of examining the system that failed them.

These are people who have navigated entire lives filled with complexities far greater than a computer screen. They have raised families, built businesses, practiced medicine, taught generations of children, managed households, fought wars, created art, survived grief, bought homes, cared for aging parents and adapted to breathtaking social change. They have moved through a world that went from rotary telephones and handwritten letters to smartphones and artificial intelligence in a single lifetime.

They are not stupid because they cannot find the verification code.

Many of them learned technology perfectly well. Then, just as they became comfortable, we changed it. The familiar button moved. The operating system updated itself overnight. The program they once bought became a subscription. The website was redesigned. Password requirements became more elaborate. Security questions appeared. Authentication apps arrived. QR codes became ubiquitous. A device began demanding confirmation from another device.

Yesterday’s competence can become today’s confusion without the person having done anything wrong.

And while all of this was happening, something else quietly disappeared.

The human being.

There was once a person behind the counter who knew your name. There was a bank manager whose office had a door you could walk through. There was a receptionist at the doctor’s office who would help you fill out the form. There was a customer service representative who answered the telephone and listened while you explained a complicated problem in your own imperfect words.

Increasingly, those people have been replaced by systems designed in the name of efficiency. We celebrate how much time and money companies save through automation without talking nearly enough about where the work went.

It didn’t disappear.

Much of it was transferred to the customer.

And the older customer often pays the highest price, not simply in wasted hours but in something more precious. Confidence begins to erode. Independence becomes fragile. The world that once seemed navigable starts to feel treacherous.

You begin to hear sentences like, “I’ll wait until my daughter comes over,” or “I don’t want to touch anything because I might make it worse.” Eventually, perhaps, “I guess I just won’t use it anymore.”

Those sentences should frighten us.

They describe a human world getting smaller.

Technological exclusion can quietly become social exclusion. When banking, medicine, entertainment, transportation, government services and ordinary communication migrate behind digital gates, the person who cannot navigate those gates doesn’t merely lose convenience. Slowly and almost invisibly, that person can begin to lose independence.

There is a word we don’t use nearly enough when discussing technology.

Dignity.

Human dignity includes the ability to move through ordinary life without constantly having to beg someone younger, faster or more technologically fluent to unlock it for you. There is something deeply diminishing about having to hand over control of your finances, your medical information or your personal communications simply because someone redesigned an application.

I love technology. I am fascinated by artificial intelligence and exhilarated by some of the possibilities opening before us. I don’t want to stop technological progress. I want us to become sophisticated enough to ask a harder question about what progress actually means.

Perhaps every company creating a digital service should sit an intelligent 80 year old in front of it and watch what happens. Ask that person to get into an account, find a bill, change a password, request a refund and, when something inevitably goes wrong, locate a living human being who can help.

Then the designers should remain silent.

No helpful hints. No pointing at the screen. No impatient little “It’s right there.”

Just watch.

Watch the shoulders tighten. Watch the hesitation before clicking an unfamiliar button. Watch the fear of making an irreversible mistake. Watch the frustration slowly become embarrassment and the embarrassment become surrender.

Then redesign the system.

Because the real test of advanced technology cannot simply be whether technologically sophisticated people can use it. Of course they can.

The test is whether human beings can use it.

We are rushing toward an extraordinary technological future, and I want to be part of that journey. I want to see where artificial intelligence takes us, what new forms of creativity emerge and what previously impossible problems we may finally solve.

But as we race forward, I keep looking back.

I can see people standing on the iceberg.

They are surrounded by extraordinary technology, connected to everything and somehow unable to reach anyone. The shore is still visible. The lights are still on. They can see the world continuing without them.

And before we congratulate ourselves on how brilliantly we have engineered the future, perhaps we should turn around and ask the most important technological question of all.

Who did we leave behind?

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But slow does not necessarily mean still.

Mindfulness Moments Downloaded from Within emerged from the experience of nearly losing everything she was familiar with. She took a unique and transformative look at everything around her. She changed, and her life changed. This book can be very helpful for those facing loss and severe change, not written from an outsider’s perspective but by someone living through that loss and the eventual gain of a whole new perspective.

“This book is a raw, poetic, and inspiring journey of this beautiful soul, putting herself back together with intuition and cultivating self-love. One step at a time, the author walked outside in her garden, in the woods, to heal. Through the grounding touch of the earth and practicing mindfulness, she found a way back into the light.”

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Find it here:

I love watching fly fishing.

I don’t fly fish. Perhaps that is part of what makes watching it so interesting to me. I have no investment in whether the cast is technically perfect. I don’t know enough to criticize the angle of the wrist or determine whether the line should have landed three feet farther upstream. I am simply watching.

There is something almost hypnotic about the cast. The line travels backward and then forward, floating for a moment above the water before settling upon it. There is intention in the movement, but there is also surrender. The person casting cannot command the river. The water is moving. The wind may change. Whatever lives beneath the surface is operating according to another set of instructions entirely.

The fisher casts anyway. It looks to me like an act of faith.

And because I know so little about the mechanics of fly fishing, I can watch without judgment. I can observe without immediately deciding whether what I am seeing is good or bad, successful or unsuccessful. I can simply follow the line.

I have come to believe this is an important skill in learning how to live with our own minds.

We hear a great deal about controlling negative thoughts. We are told to replace them with positive thoughts, concentrate on gratitude, change the channel, raise our vibration, visualize a better outcome, or just stop thinking negatively. Some of those practices can be useful, but I think there are some basic steps missing.

Before changing a thought, we might first learn how to recognize and see one.

That sounds ridiculously simple until you try it. A negative thought arrives and almost instantly begins masquerading as a fact. Something is going to go wrong. Within seconds the mind begins gathering evidence. This happened before. That person hasn’t called. Something felt strange yesterday. Perhaps she is angry. Perhaps the project is falling apart. Perhaps there will be no money. Perhaps the test will be bad. Perhaps the relationship is ending.

Notice what has happened.

Nothing outside the mind may have changed at all. But one thought has cast another thought, and that thought has cast another, until we are no longer standing beside the river watching the line.

We have fallen into the water.

This is where I have found the idea of observation so useful. People who teach meditation, mindfulness and other methods of working with thought often tell us to “observe the thought.” For a long time, I wasn’t certain what that meant. How do you observe something that is occurring inside your own head?

I try to observe a thought the way I watch that fly fishing line. There it goes. I don’t have to chase it. I don’t have to reel it in. I don’t even have to decide immediately whether it is true. I can watch where it lands.

That tiny interval between the arrival of a thought and the point of noticing it may be one of the most powerful spaces available to me.

Psychology offers another method of dealing with thoughts. have developed a word that comes close to observation. The word is decentering (attributed to Jean Piaget). It means becoming able to experience thoughts and feelings as events occurring in the mind rather than automatically accepting them as descriptions of reality.

I like that idea because it does not require us to declare war on ourselves. The thought is allowed to exist. I am frightened. This will never work. Something terrible may happen. I do not have to deny any of those thoughts. I simply become aware that they are there.

The important shift is subtle. Instead of Something terrible is going to happen, I become aware that I am having the thought that something terrible is going to happen.

Those statements may look almost identical on the page. They are worlds apart. One places me inside the thought. The other allows me to look at it.

There is another reason I am suspicious of our enthusiasm for immediately replacing every dark thought with a bright one. Trying desperately to eliminate an unwanted thought can sometimes strengthen its hold on our attention. The cliché follows here: “What you resist, persists.”

Psychologist Daniel Wegner demonstrated this wonderfully with what became known as the “white bear” experiments. Ask people not to think about a white bear, and the mind has a peculiar problem. In order to make certain it isn’t thinking about the white bear, some part of the mind must keep checking for the white bear.

And there he is:

.The unwanted bear has wandered directly into consciousness.

This is why ordering ourselves to stop thinking something can become exhausting. The internal command, Don’t think that, don’t think that, don’t think that, contains the very thought we are attempting to escape.

I suspect this is also why premature positive thinking can sometimes feel strangely violent. We are frightened, but we insist we are joyful. We are angry, but we paste gratitude over the anger. We are worried about money and command ourselves to imagine abundance. We are grieving and rush toward affirmations before we have even acknowledged the grief. The rainbow may be beautiful, but sometimes we are using it to cover the storm rather than seeing the storm clearly.

Observation is different.

Observation says, There is fear here. It does not say fear is correct. It does not say fear is incorrect. It says, I see it.

And that recognition can interrupt something the human mind does extremely well: it can travel.

The Buddhists have long used the expression monkey mind to describe the restless quality of consciousness, the mind jumping from one thought to another much as a monkey moves from branch to branch. I love the image because the monkey is not evil. It is simply doing what monkeys do.

Our minds do something similar. One thought provides the branch for the next. Something may go wrong. Why do I think that? Because something similar happened before. What if it happens again? If it happens again, what will I do? Perhaps I won’t be able to handle it. Perhaps everything I have built will disappear. Perhaps I should never have tried in the first place.

Look at the distance we have traveled.

The first thought may have been worth examining. By the fifth or sixth thought, however, we may be living emotionally inside an event that has never occurred.

I have a dear friend who can begin with a perceived threat that has not actually happened and, during the course of a single conversation, travel through an astonishing series of consequences. If this happens, then that will probably happen. If that happens, this other thing will certainly follow. And once that occurs, imagine what comes next.

Her intelligence actually makes her very good at going deeper and deeper into the darkness of thought.

That is important because negative spiraling is not necessarily evidence of foolishness. Quite the contrary. A highly imaginative and intelligent mind can construct an extraordinary future catastrophe from very little raw material. Imagination is one of our great human gifts. It allows us to create novels, buildings, scientific theories, businesses and entirely new possibilities. But the same imagination that can construct a cathedral can construct a dungeon.

The problem, then, is not our ability to imagine what could go wrong. We need that ability. It can save our lives. Engineers need to examine the places where a structure might fail. Physicians consider what symptoms might mean. Investors examine risk. Parents anticipate danger. Good journalists ask what has been overlooked and what else might be true.

There is an enormous difference between consciously examining what might go wrong and allowing the mind to become captured by everything that might go wrong.

When I consciously examine a problem, I remain the investigator. I can ask: What are the facts? What am I missing? What could happen? What is merely possible and what is probable? Is there something here I need to prepare for? Is my fear pointing toward information I should examine more carefully?

Those questions are not negative thinking. They are thinking.

I can walk deliberately into the darker possibilities, look around, gather whatever information is useful and walk back out. I have not surrendered control of my attention simply because I have examined something unpleasant.

Something very different happens when the monkey mind takes over. Questions gradually become conclusions. This might happen becomes this probably will happen. This probably will happen becomes this is going to happen. Each conclusion then becomes the evidence for the next conclusion, even though nothing new has actually occurred.

This is one of the mind’s most fascinating sleights of hand. Possibility quietly becomes probability, and probability quietly becomes certainty.

Then the body may join the journey. We can become frightened, angry, sleepless or exhausted by circumstances that have not happened. The imagined conversation produces real anger. The imagined rejection produces real hurt. The imagined catastrophe produces real fear. The event may be fictional, but our experience of it is taking place right now.

We can suffer tomorrow on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday before tomorrow ever arrives.

This is why I do not want to make this a contest between positive and negative thinking. I am not interested in banishing negative thoughts. Negative thoughts have information. Fear may tell us to look more carefully. Doubt may ask us for evidence. Anger may reveal that a boundary has been crossed. Focusing on the problems in a plan may reveal something that enthusiasm caused everyone else to miss.

The issue is not whether the thought is pleasant or unpleasant. The issue is what happens next.

Do I examine the thought, or does the thought begin examining me? Do I use my imagination, or has my imagination begun using me? Am I still aware of the difference between what has actually happened and what I have projected might happen?

This is where observation becomes much more than a meditation exercise. It becomes a practical way of reclaiming attention.

Perhaps the monkey does not need to be captured. Perhaps it does not need to be punished, disciplined or forced into silence. Perhaps we simply need to notice when it has started swinging.

There it goes.

That small recognition changes my relationship to what is happening. I am no longer entirely inside the journey because part of me has become the observer of the journey.

And now I have a choice.

I can ask whether there is something useful on this branch. Maybe there is. Maybe the worry is telling me to make a telephone call, gather more information, change a plan, save more money, see a doctor, apologize to someone or simply pay closer attention. Observation does not mean passivity. Sometimes observation leads directly to action.

But sometimes there is nothing to do.

Sometimes the mind is simply producing thoughts because that is one of the things minds do.

That brings me back to the river.

Perhaps thoughts are more like casts than commandments. Some land beautifully. Some become tangled. Some catch something worth examining. Others touch the surface and should simply be allowed to drift downstream.

The discipline is not controlling where every thought goes.

It is learning to watch the line without being pulled into the water.

There is tremendous freedom in discovering that.

The quality of our days is influenced by events we cannot control, by circumstances we did not choose, and sometimes by genuine tragedy. I would never suggest that thought alone determines what happens to us. Life is far too complicated, and suffering far too real, for that.

But events are not the whole of our experience.

There is the event, and there is the mind meeting the event. And then there is the extraordinary cascade of thoughts the mind can create about what the event means, what might happen next, what someone else may be thinking, and what all of this could mean about tomorrow.

Entire worlds can be constructed in that space.

Learning to observe those worlds before automatically moving into them may be one of the most useful forms of mastery available to us.

Perhaps in this example, mastery is closer to awareness.

I notice the rod and the cast. I follow the line. I see where it enters the water. I become curious about what it may have touched beneath the surface.

I remain aware that I am the one watching. And before I allow the line to pull me down:

Haiku: Still upon the bank
The river passes by me
Observing all

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I found a very talented young artist through Fiverr. I have never met her in person, but I could see and hear her gifts after hiring her. I wanted to reach out and find out about her career ambitions. We talked over the phone, and I discovered she has great ambitions, but all were blocked by fear.

This is a personal letter to her that might help others.

Dear _________,

This is a follow-up to our last conversation.

“We don’t see things as they are, we see them as we are.”
Anaïs Nin

I have come to understand something that has profoundly influenced the way I move through the world. There is the world, and then there is the world as I perceive it. Those are not always the same thing.

External events are real. Circumstances are real. Rejection is real. Opportunity is real. Talent is real. So are prejudice, competition, timing, luck, beauty, illness, money, power, and the countless forces over which we have little or no control. But none of these arrive in our consciousness untouched.

Everything we experience passes through the accumulated architecture of the mind. Memory, childhood, disappointment, desire, fear, success, failure, the opinions of others, and the conclusions we have drawn about ourselves all participate in the act of perception. We are not simply looking at the world. We are interpreting it. That distinction has become enormously important to me.

When I encounter what appears to be a barrier, I work at not to avoid immediately accepting my first interpretation of it. The barrier may indeed be real, but my assessment of its power may belong partly to another time in my life. A wall that frightened me as a child may still live somewhere in my consciousness, and when another wall appears decades later, some part of the mind may whisper,

“You could not climb that one. You cannot climb this one.”

But it is not the same wall, and I am no longer the same person standing before it.

There are spiritual philosophies that take this idea much further and suggest that we create our own reality. I have never been entirely comfortable with that. Reality has an inconvenient habit of asserting itself. A person can believe with enormous conviction that a wall does not exist and still acquire a considerable bruise by running into it.

I am much more interested in discernment than denial.

If there is a wall in front of me, I want to know everything I can about that wall. How high is it, how wide, how deep? What is it made of? Is it solid all the way through, or is it porous? Are there cracks? Is there a hidden door? Is there a ladder somewhere that I have not yet seen? Is there a tree growing beside it whose branches reach across the top? Has someone else found a way over it, under it, around it, or through it?

And perhaps the most important question is this: How much of what I believe about this wall actually belongs to the wall, and how much belongs to me?

That is the question I would like you to consider as you think about your acting and your music.

I do not know you well enough to tell you what you should do with your life, and I would not presume to do that. But I have observed enough to believe there is something quite special in you. And I wonder whether some of the barriers you see before you deserve a second examination, not because they are imaginary, and not because positive thinking will magically remove them, but because fear is also an interpreter, and fear is not always an accurate one.

There may be very real difficulties ahead of you. The entertainment world can be capricious, superficial, unfair, exhilarating, generous, and cruel, sometimes within the same afternoon. There are no guarantees that talent will be recognized or that effort will be rewarded in the way we hope.

But there is another danger that interests me even more. We can become so persuaded by our interpretation of what might happen that we never collect the evidence of what actually could happen. We see the wall, measure it from a distance, remember every wall we could not climb before, and then turn around.

What if, instead, you moved closer?

Not recklessly, not naively, and not with some artificial declaration that you are fearless, but with curiosity. Examine the terrain. Gather information. Listen carefully. Use all of your senses. Test your assumptions. Look for openings. And then decide.

There is wisdom in knowing when a wall is truly impassable. But there is also wisdom in discovering that what appeared from a distance to be a wall was actually a door you had not yet learned how to open.

That is the distinction I hope you will allow yourself to discover.

I am here for you because I have experienced your amazing talent.

The great storytellers have something important to teach us.

The question they wrestle with is not simply how to entertain us. It is how to reach us. How do you move millions of people? How do you communicate truths that audiences desperately need to hear?

My father was deeply skeptical of fiction. He believed novels were merely entertainment, pleasant diversions that distracted us from the serious business of understanding the world. One day he found me reading Jules Verne and dismissed it with a wave of his hand. “Entertainment,” he said. He believed that the great nonfiction writers deserved my attention, that history and scholarship were where wisdom lived, and everything else was entertainment.

I tried to follow his advice. I read the weighty volumes. I enjoyed a strong academic career. Yet, over time, even while working as a journalist, I came to realize something useful:

People remember great stories.

The great novelists, playwrights, filmmakers, and poets shape our culture far more deeply than statistics or scholarly arguments. Their characters become part of our moral imagination. Their stories linger in our memories long after facts have faded.

That is why I believe we often miss the real point of our greatest films.

Take The Odyssey.

Much of the public discussion has revolved around superficial questions. What color was Helen of Troy’s skin? Nobody really knows.

These debates completely miss the deeper message.

The Odyssey is not ultimately about archaeology. It is about the terrible cost of war.

It is about exhausted men watching their companions die. It is about grief, longing, fear, and the unbearable desire simply to return home.

We spend endless energy stirring arguments over identity while ignoring the suffering that conflict leaves behind. Hatred grows from these manufactured divisions, and people die while we argue.

Christopher Nolan, like the great storytellers before him, reminds us that myth can illuminate truths that academically noted history alone cannot. Whether or not every detail reflects historical reality is almost beside the point. The emotional truth remains. War destroys families, communities, and generations. That is the lesson worth carrying home.

War and its spoils should never be celebrated. They should never become objects of national pride or political theater.

We often convince ourselves that projecting military power across distant shores will somehow make us safer. Yet history repeatedly teaches the opposite. Every conflict unleashes consequences nobody predicts.

That is the journey of Odysseus.

Each new shore reveals another unexpected horror. Every apparent victory opens the door to another tragedy. The farther Odysseus travels, the more desperately he longs for the simple gift of home.

Our own century tells the same story.

Actions that once seemed decisive and victorious create new dangers we never imagined. Small waterways thousands of miles away suddenly determine the cost of food across Africa, Europe, Asia, and the Americas. Local conflicts ripple through the entire global economy. We continue discovering consequences long after the first bomb falls.

The storytellers warned us.

They remind us that home is sacred.

Odysseus does not dream of conquering another kingdom. He dreams of returning to his wife, his son, and his homeland. His deepest victory is not military triumph. It is peace.

The longing for home is universal, and the longing for peace is universal.

Somehow we continually manufacture the longing for war.

Before The Odyssey began in the theater, I watched a promotional film celebrating the newly named Department of War. As I sat there, I found myself wondering why our language itself still centers on war.

Of course, every nation has the responsibility to defend its people against genuine threats. Defense is necessary. Protection is necessary.

But effective defense and waging war are not the same thing.

A society organized primarily around preparing for war risks forgetting that its highest purpose and perhaps its greatest defense is preserving peace.

I think our greatest storytellers understand this better than some of our political leaders today.

Consider the recent film Project Hail Mary. At its heart is not a story about superior weapons or technological dominance. Survival comes through curiosity. It comes through the willingness to know the stranger instead of fearing the stranger. The hero survives because he chooses understanding over suspicion.

In my view, that too is a message of peace.

Christopher Nolan and Steven Spielberg understand something that many critics overlook. They create films on an epic scale. They are visually spectacular, emotionally gripping, and enormously entertaining. Audiences come for the adventure, the suspense, the astonishing imagery, and the technical brilliance. Yet beneath the spectacle lies something far more enduring.

The entertainment is the invitation. The gift is inside the box:

Like the prize hidden inside the old boxes of Cracker Jack, you do not get the gift the moment you open the package. You discover it only after you have worked your way through the experience. Christopher Nolan and Steven Spielberg understand this. They invite us with breathtaking spectacle, unforgettable characters, and cinematic wonder. But hidden within the adventure is something far more lasting: a deeper understanding of ourselves, of one another, and of the enduring value of peace.

The greatest storytellers know that wisdom is rarely delivered as a lecture. It is wrapped in adventure, concealed within conflict, and carried by characters we come to love. Long before there were textbooks or universities, there were storytellers like the African griot who passed stories from generation to generation. Storytelling around campfires, in ancient amphitheaters, and now on screens has affected our understanding of courage, sacrifice, compassion, prejudice, and hope.

Scholars who study the Iliad and the Odyssey debate whether or not these were written by Homer or a collection of poets and ancient storytellers. Perhaps the collection of all these instead of one man lends to the universality of the writing.

Perhaps stories endure because they quietly succeed where academic arguments so often fail. They do not demand that we change our minds. They seep below our skin and invite us to change our hearts.

And if we are willing to work our way through the whole box, we may leave the theater carrying something far more valuable than we ever expected.

_________________

Author’s side note:

As a little girl, I remember the headlines that suggested Marilyn Monroe was the most beautiful woman in the world. I believed it and took it to heart. I love that Christopher Nolan chose one of today’s beautiful women: Lupita Nyong’o as Helen, “The face that launched a thousand ships.” Now it’s the face that launched a billion tweets. Good marketing, Christopher Nolan!

Excerpts from an interview with MIT professor Dr. Asegun Henry.

Dr. Asegun Henry is a professor of mechanical engineering at MIT. He is the founder and chief technologist at Fourth Power. He explains how the system works:

Asegun: “We take in electricity. We, of course, want it to come from renewable energy, and we use that electricity to run effectively a giant light bulb, a joule heater element.

Phyllis: Imagine a continuous, uninterrupted flow of safe energy. Imagine a grid that doesn’t go down. Alternative energy sources like wind power or solar power are at the mercy of the elements, but the work of MIT professor Dr. Asegun Henry and his company Fourth Power offers a solution that keeps things running.

Phyllis: What’s the problem that you solve?

Asegun: Yeah, so the problem that we solve is very simple: Climate Change ultimately is being caused by the fact that we use hydrocarbon fuels in order to make electricity and to run transportation.

And in order to deal with climate change, we basically have to switch from using hydrocarbons as a fuel source to some form of renewables. The main problem with renewables, they’ve become very, very cheap, so they’re actually the cheapest source of electricity now. But the main issue is that you only get renewable electricity when the sun is out, or the wind is blowing.

And so the key problem is that you need to be able to operate the utility grid around the clock and be able to match supply and demand. And

So what that requires is something in the middle, some form of storage. You need to be able to store enough electricity when the sun is out and the wind is blowing, charge up some kind of energy storage, and then put that energy back on the grid when people want it.

And that technology doesn’t exist. The main thing people usually point to is pumped hydroelectricity as a form of storage and/or lithium-ion batteries, both of which have gotten, much cheaper. Lithium batteries continue to come down in cost, but they are still about a factor of 10 too expensive.

You try to put, let’s say, a bunch of solar panels and a lithium-ion battery in order to be able to operate continually. It turns out the lithium-ion battery is more expensive than the solar panels are. And so this is the key problem, and so our technology solves this problem by introducing a new technology for storing energy that is 10 times [00 cheaper than lithium-ion so that you can store energy very cheaply and now have solar or wind plus storage and have that together be cheaper than natural gas and provide electricity around the clock.

Phyllis: So what about the big data centers that are being built for AI. They will put a lot of strain on the grid right?

Am I right in reading that you may be a very helpful solution to that problem?

Asegun: Yeah, we will see how it plays out. So there’s a lot of discussion about, uAI and the AI revolution, which is actually being held up by power. So what is at the precipice or at the conjunction of whether or not the AI revolution will happen or how fast it will happen is it’s entirely dictated by getting access to the power.

There’s really no big innovation in computers or cooling or any of these other things. It’s really all about can they get the power they need. So most of these hyperscalers, as we call them, are interested in deploying very large, what they call data center campuses. So I don’t know if most people are familiar, but these are not even just a single building.These are ginormous campuses of buildings full of large, what we consider supercomputers or clusters of computers. The power consumption is equivalent to small cities. So we’re talking about hundreds of megawatts.Some of these companies are looking at even gigawatt-scale power, which again, is similar to what’s used in medium to large size cities.

It’s a big transition. It can destabilize grids, and so it requires a lot of other resources to then back them up and to make sure that they can operate and keep the grid stable while they do this.

So requests come in; we call that demand. The reality is the utilities are not going to sacrifice providing electricity to residential homes and other businesses in order to meet this demand. And so this is really the crux of the issue: The hyperscalers are working with whatever utilities can provide power fastest and get them up and running.

And so that’s largely the two key things that are deciding where the data centers are being built: where do they have utilities that are willing and able to provide power quickly? And number two, where do they have access to the fiber optic backbone so they can transfer data very quickly?

So those two things, wherever those two things are true, those are the places where they’re trying to build data centers quickly. What we are hoping to offer, and I think, the timeframe for a lot of this stuff is within the next five to six years. This is the same timeframe where we are looking to get our first deployments out.

So to the extent that the AI revolution has extended into the mid-twenty-thirties, then I do think that we will play a very significant role.

Here is the highly technical explanation:

Asegun: So it’s a large graphite element that heats up. It’s like a resistor that has electricity flowing through it, and it heats up to about half the temperature of the sun, about 2,500 degrees Celsius. That heating element is positioned next to some graphite plumbing that has liquid tin flowing into it. So the tin flows in at about 1,900 degrees Celsius.

All the light being emitted by that heating element then heats the tin up to 2,400 degrees Celsius when it exits. The tin then flows over to the graphite storage blocks, which is where we’re storing the energy, and they’re made out of a lower grade of graphite that’s very cheap. As the tin flows in the tubes past the graphite blocks, those tubes are radiating light, causing those blocks to heat up nominally from 1,900 C all the way up to the peak temperature of 2,400 C.

And so when the blocks reach 2,400 C, the entire system is considered fully charged. The entire system is encased in a very large layer of thermal insulation, so now the energy can sit there weeks and months.

We lose about a percent of the energy we’re storing over in the course of an entire day. When you now want electricity back on the grid, you now use that big bank of graphite blocks like a heater.

And what it does is it keeps the liquid metal hot, and we pump it through. The liquid metal comes out at 2400 C, and then it goes over to what we call our thermophotovoltaic, or TPV, power block. The TPV power block essentially has a bunch of graphite tubes and panels that radiate light onto solar cells, which we call thermophotovoltaics.

These TPV cells have a special design in the sense that they are attuned to the light that’s coming out at now half the temperature of the sun. But instead of being 93 million miles away, instead our heat source is only a few inches away, and so that allows the light put onto the cells to be extremely intense.

And in fact, that’s the light that scales with temperature to the fourth power. With that extremely intense light, we now get a lot of power output from very few cells. And so that electricity coming out of those solar cells then goes back to the grid and keeps the grid going for as long as you need.

Each of the individual TPV cells is about one square centimeter, has an output of about two volts and between five and 10 amps. On our module, there’s 120 cells that are linked in series, and you get about two kilowatts coming out of that one little module. To put that in perspective, one of those modules is enough to power one or two houses.

Each of those modules are then mounted onto the power stick. The power stick is a long aluminum extrusion that has about 100 modules on it, so you get between 100 and 200 kilowatts of power on each power stick. That power stick is then mounted onto an actuator, and that stick can now be actuated down into the light, or we can pull it back out of the light.

And these light cavities are... think of it like a furnace. These furnaces are powered by the liquid metal flowing in the walls, keeps the furnace really hot, and we can control the output power of the battery by how far we dip the cells into the light or pull it back out, so that gives us one measure of control.

The second measure of control we have is the liquid metal. If we actually flow the metal faster or slower, we can change the temperature profile in that furnace The reason we can push the temperature up so high and others can’t is because if you put TPV [00:05:00] cells next to something above 2,000 degrees centigrade, you’re gonna see material that’s being evaporated or let’s say sublimated from the hot side, and it’s gonna deposit on the TPV.

And ultimately, that coating of the material’s gonna prevent light from getting in, and you’re not gonna get any output. We have a solution to that problem. It’s a patented solution actually called the sweeping noble gas curtain. The velocities at which matter diffuses through a gas is actually quite slow, and so if you just blow gas over the surface of the PV, you can overwhelm that speed and sweep away anything that was going to deposit before it has a chance to reach the cells.

And so in this Powerstick, we also have the gas delivery integrated into the Powerstick, so there’s gas flowing down the stick that’s distributed along all the PV cells, that’s blowing across the cells, keeping them clean so that they can operate without having any obstructed material getting deposited on them.

What’s new in the way that we’re doing it is that by pushing the temperature so high, it allows the threshold for where you get the electricity out- which frequencies of light actually give you electricity. We’ve been able to push that energy higher and higher. And by pushing it higher, it actually moved the cell efficiency pretty far up.

So for about 40 years, the efficiency of TPV was a little bit lower than 30%. When we were able to push the band gap of the cells higher, we actually demonstrated 40%, and we’re actually integrating a new innovation from some colleagues of mine. So any of the light that’s not converted gets reflected and goes back to our sun.

But in our case, because our sun is trapped inside of a box, anything you don’t use, we get to reuse later. So we’re actually working with some collaborators to improve the reflectivity and the quality of our mirror so that we can preserve even more of that light, and that pushes the efficiency above 50%.

The way we do our sealing is really our secret sauce. The seals ultimately are what keep the liquid metal contained in our system and don’t have it leaking out every time we join two pipes, and I think we are probably the only ones on Earth that actually know how to do it and do it right. Cost is the key.

The battery is 98% by mass made out of carbon, one element. That element is ubiquitously available all over the Earth, and it’s very low cost. And one of the things that was clear in my conversations with utilities, they wanted a technology that’s not only low cost, but flexible. The ability to essentially perfect one basic box of technology that you can then replicate and rinse and repeat, and people can configure it in the way that they want.

They can order however many boxes they need to meet their specific needs on a specific site. At the end of the day, utilities are charged with two basic tasks, to deliver energy at the lowest possible costs, and number two, to ensure that energy is available reliably. Renewables solve one problem.

They’re now the cheapest source of putting energy onto the grid. And so now the challenge is really shifting to how do you deliver it reliably, and that is the problem that the Fourth Power thermal battery solves.

You can also view the entire video discussion at the top of this article.

Shaking and quivering can mean life or death.

The earth trembles beneath us,
not as an enemy,
but as a living body reminding us
that nothing alive remains perfectly still.

Rattling fossil lines of ancient bones
bear witness to civilizations,
creatures,
and forests that once believed
their seasons would never end.

Toppling domino tombstones fall one after another,
silent monuments to the illusion
that permanence was ever ours to claim.

We pretend we are separate.

We are not.

The breath that fills our lungs
was first exhaled by forests.
The rivers flowing through our veins
have wandered the earth for millions of years.
The calcium in our bones
was forged in ancient stars.

There is no death,
only transformation.

Yet we continue to squeeze Mother Earth
into the tight corset of human ingenuity,
consumption,
and endless accumulation,
asking her to sustain
what no living body was ever meant to bear.

We drape her magnificent beauty
in a poison soaked shroud
woven from discarded plastic,
chemical runoff,
burning skies,
and the arrogance
that believes every gift of nature
exists only for our taking.

We rake away the forests
that patiently gathered the breath we depend upon.

We plow the living soil

Tapping the riches of her breast too often
Until it forgets how to nourish itself.

We scrape away mountaintops
in search of minerals
whose value fades almost as quickly
as the machines that extracted them.

We fracture the ancient bedrock,
cracking open the deep memory of the earth
to reach buried reservoirs of energy,
never asking what invisible wounds
we leave behind.

Still she responds
with astonishing generosity.

Trees stand akimbo against the wind,
their branches reaching toward one another
like old friends refusing to surrender.

Braided rivers continue their timeless journey,
finding new pathways around every obstacle,
teaching us that resilience
is quieter than conquest.

When storms finally release their burden,
her rainbow tears stretch across the sky,
not as symbols of defeat,
but as reminders
that beauty can still emerge
from grief.

She offers renewal.

She offers forgiveness.

She covers scorched fields
with the green insistence of new life.

She fills the air
with birdsong,
blossoms,
and the fragrance of beginnings.

Again she whispers,
“I have not given up on you.”

And once more,

despite everything we have done,

she gives us spring.

Can you savor the beauty of what already exists in this moment?

Many of us were launched into life with an invisible script already written for us. We were taught, sometimes lovingly and sometimes relentlessly, that our worth would be measured by our accomplishments. Be the best. Rise to the top. Earn the highest grades. Make the most money. Build the biggest reputation. Collect the titles, the awards, and the evidence that you matter.

I know this story well because it has been the story of my own life.

Achievement can be exhilarating. Recognition feels wonderful. Success opens doors, creates opportunities, and allows us to contribute in meaningful ways. Yet there is a hidden cost that is rarely discussed.

Success has a strange appetite.

It is never full.

The moment one mountain is climbed, another appears on the horizon. One award leads to the pursuit of the next. One accomplishment briefly satisfies before a restless voice begins whispering, “What now?”

What I did not understand for many years was that achievement can become a moving target. The prize is won. The applause arrives. The goal is reached. Yet instead of resting in satisfaction, the mind quietly shifts its attention to what remains undone. It is a subtle thief, stealing joy from the very moments we worked so hard to create.

Comedian Chris Rock was once asked how it feels to be rich. His answer was both humorous and revealing:

“My kids are rich.”

Behind the joke lies an important truth. Wealth, status, and achievement often require constant maintenance. It is hard work getting to the top. It is even harder staying there. The higher we climb, the more energy is required to defend our position.

Many gifted and accomplished people discover an uncomfortable paradox. The harder they work to prove they have succeeded, the more deeply they reinforce the feeling that they have not succeeded enough.

Every accomplishment produces a brief moment of relief. Then the mind quietly resets the standard. What once seemed extraordinary becomes ordinary. What once felt sufficient begins to feel inadequate. The reward that was supposed to bring peace instead creates a new benchmark.

The finish line keeps moving.

Psychologist Alice Miller explored some of these dynamics in her influential book The Drama of the Gifted Child. In simple terms, she examined how talented and highly capable children often learn to earn approval through performance. They become experts at sensing expectations and meeting them. They achieve, excel, and impress. Yet beneath the accomplishments, some never completely answer a fundamental question:

“Am I enough without all of this?”

The gifted child grows into the successful adult who keeps striving because striving has become intertwined with identity. Achievement becomes more than a goal. It becomes a way to secure approval, avoid disappointment, or prove worth.

This helps explain why so many accomplished people find it difficult to rest. Stillness can feel unfamiliar. A quiet afternoon may provoke anxiety rather than pleasure. Without a project, a challenge, or a target, they are left alone with themselves.

That was me for a very long time.

And that is where my deeper work began.

Because the opposite of achievement is not laziness.

In my experience, the opposite of achievement obsession is presence.

I had to learn how to sit beneath a tree and feel the breeze against my skin without turning the moment into a productivity exercise. I had to learn to watch sunlight dance across water without immediately reducing it to a task, a lesson, a photograph, or a future project.

I am grateful that I finally understood something that escaped me for years: enjoying my life is not a reward for achievement. It is part of being alive.

Do not get me wrong. My parents were committed to my success. They did what they believed was best. Looking back, I understand that their actions came from love and from a generation that often equated achievement with security.

But one childhood memory still gives me chills.

Our local church in Brooklyn held a piano competition. I was seven years old. I was not a prodigy, but I was good for seven. I probably played Fur Elise.

The other contestants were much older. Teenagers. Young adults.

I did not win. But I received a beautiful child’s pearl necklace and matching bracelet as a recognition award.

I was thrilled.

I ran home to our small apartment and proudly showed my father.

He looked at me, grabbed the necklace, tore it apart, and said sternly,

“Don’t ever bring me anything other than first place.”

I was devastated.

At seven years old, I made a silent vow:

I would do that: nothing other than first place!

Some people may argue that moment helped make me successful.

Perhaps.

But I now understand that achievement fueled by fear feels very different from achievement fueled by purpose.

One is exhausting.

The other is energizing.

As I learned to observe my own thoughts and appreciate my own sense of what mattered, success became easier. Disappointments transformed into lessons rather than evidence of failure. It took me decades to learn that distinction.

Many people discover that when they stop chasing achievement as proof of worth, they often perform better. Creativity becomes more fluid. Relationships deepen. Decision-making improves.

That was certainly true for me.

I began listening to my authentic self rather than the relentless demands of an internal taskmaster.

I have found that authentic success is not measured solely by what remains to be done. It is also measured by my ability to recognize what I have already built, learned, survived, and contributed.

There is nothing wrong with pursuing greater goals. Ambition has carried humanity across oceans, into laboratories, onto stages, and through extraordinary acts of creativity, service, and discovery.

The problem arises when the horizon becomes so mesmerizing that we lose sight of the landscape already surrounding us.

For many years, my attention was fixed on the next project, the next promotion, the next book, the next breakthrough, the next proof that I mattered.

In doing so, I missed far too much.

I missed moments that were quietly asking to be appreciated rather than improved.

I missed accomplishments that deserved celebration rather than immediate replacement.

I missed portions of my own life while preparing for a future that never quite arrived because it kept becoming another future.

This was me:

The child who longed for recognition becomes the adult who receives it but scarcely pauses long enough to absorb it.

The entrepreneur reaches a milestone only to replace it with another target.

The artist completes one work and immediately worries about the next.

The cycle can become endless.

What if success is not merely the ability to climb another mountain?

What if it is also the capacity to stop occasionally, turn around, and appreciate the distance already traveled?

To appreciate a loving friendship.

To acknowledge a hard-won skill.

To recognize the courage it took to survive disappointment, loss, uncertainty, and change.

To sit quietly with gratitude for a life that, while imperfect, contains beauty that would have once seemed unimaginable.

In this dawn of AI, there will always be another summit. There will always be another challenge, another opportunity, another reason to strive. The deeper question is whether we can pursue those possibilities without becoming blind to the richness of the present moment.

One of my favorite writers is Robert Fritz, author of The Path of Least Resistance. He emphasizes the importance of accurately assessing current reality. That idea has stayed with me for years.

In my view, you cannot get there without understanding here.

My practice is simple.

I stop.

I breathe.

I observe exactly where I am.

I take inventory not only of what remains unfinished, but of what has already been created.

I express gratitude for the people, experiences, lessons, opportunities, and even hardships that have shaped me.

These moments do not make me less ambitious.

They make me more awake.

If you join me in this practice, it does not mean you will stop growing.

It means you may finally learn how to see.

This is an excerpt from my conversation with Robert Fritz for Profonde.TV

My guest is an award-winning filmmaker, composer, and strategic consultant for worldwide entities and individuals. He is a prolific author known for his groundbreaking book, The Path of Least Resistance. We welcome Robert Fritz

Robert began his career as a composer, achieving both a bachelor’s and a master’s degree in composition from the prestigious Boston Conservatory.

From his career in the arts, Robert discovered many vital principles that directly apply to how one can create the life he or she wants. And he also discovered a major principle that impacts most people’s lives, that the underlying structure of anything determines the patterns in their lives. There are two types of patterns.

“In one, you set out for something, you do what it takes to achieve that result, and the result becomes the platform for future success. This is called an advancing pattern, and it is the essence of the creative process, but Robert discovered another pattern people often have. In this pattern, you set out for something you want to create, you take actions to accomplish it, you do achieve the result and have it for a while, but then there is a reversal, and at the end of the story, you no longer have the result you wanted.

This is called an oscillating pattern. What is the difference between an advancing pattern and an oscillating pattern? Is it your psychology, your DNA, your cultural background, your upbringing, your lack of willpower, your luck, your attitudes? While people often think there are causes beyond their control or that they suffer from personal flaws, most often it is the underlying structures they are in, structures that are invisible to them.

A change of your underlying structure will change your oscillating patterns to an advancing pattern. This is the key to structural dynamics.”

In 1984, he wrote his first version of his internationally best-selling book, The Path of Least Resistance, which has had a major influence across the US and around the world, where he continues to lead workshops in multiple countries.

As a filmmaker and composer, Robert’s films have won over 250 awards from film festivals around the world.

Phyllis: It’s so great to have a chance to talk with you. There isn’t enough time in the day to get everything into the show, but now that we know that you’re here-

Talk to me about this direction of actually writing music, still leading trainings in structural consulting, still writing books. I mean, who are you, Robert Fritz?

Robert: I’m a creator. I create things.

Phyllis: Do you feel like you’re one or the other at any given time? Or do you, you- Where does your heart lie?

Robert: I have four planets in Gemini, so you can imagine it lies in lots of different places.

I’m a Taurus, so it kind of grounds it,, I’m quite serious about each thing I do. So my training, of course, is as a composer, and everything I do in one way or another comes from music: the way music works, the underlying structure of music, the aesthetics of music, the spirit of music.

Darwin thought that humanity had music before they had language. So... And I do think there’s something primal, not primitive, but primal about music, and those things that come from music are really quite essential, and universal.

So that’s my background. I mean, I have a bachelor’s and master’s in composition, so I really studied it, and I had a life as a professional musician for many years. And then I was teaching a course in composition at New England Conservatory, and I began to wonder if the same principles of teaching composition could be applied to how people created their lives, and that’s when I started working with Human Development and the creative process as applied to everyday life.

And it was the same principles. Now, I’m not talking about creativity. I’m talking about the creative process. And the reason I make that distinction is I was-- when I wrote my book, Creating, I was booked on a lot of conferences on creativity, and I found I had nothing in common with those guys.

They were neuroscientists and psychologists, and none of them were artists, and they didn’t know what it was like to be in the studio at 2:00 in the morning trying to get a track to work or trying to get a second track to work or, trying to figure out how to get the second theme in a symphony to work.

For them, creativity was all about idea generation and coming up with things that are unusual, and freeing the mind was their big thing.

And actually, in the arts, we don’t free the mind, we focus the mind, and that’s why we create unity in art. If you go to a film, it doesn’t suddenly become a Western in the middle of a science fiction film, at least not usually.

I mean, so there is a, there’s a complete difference between the tradition of the arts in terms of the creative process and the topic of creativity, which m- primarily was mostly for middle managers in corporations. I mean, there were no artists who attended these things. So I’m making this distinction because I never really talk about creativity. It’s a dime a dozen to create ideas.

It’s not a question of can you create an idea. The question is, can you bring it into being?

I mean, you can imagine music better than Beethoven’s, perhaps, but unless you can write it down and have it performed or bring it into reality, it’s not a creation.

So the creative process is about actually creating things. I mean, it sounds kind of simple in a way, right? And but the... I think the profound idea is your life itself can be the product, can be the subject matter of the creative process

Phyllis: Well, you’ve done some extraordinary work on helping people identify patterns in their life.

What have you discovered regarding these patterns, and what holds people back from bringing things into being?

Robert: Let me first say a principle of structural dynamics, which is the underlying structure of anything will determine its behavior. So why do people do what they do? Well, there are structural elements that, when combined, give rise to certain patterns, and there are two basic types of patterns.

One is advancing. You know, you set out for something, you do what it takes, you get it. It becomes a platform for future success, and you can build on that. And the other pattern, though, which was really quite astonishing when I discovered it, is an oscillating pattern in which you set out for something, you create it, you have it, but then there’s some kind of reversal.

Predictably, there’s a reversal, and at the end of the pattern, you no longer have what you want, and it’s not a good ending. So the relationship that started off well and ends up as a disaster, the business success that ends up in bankruptcy, and was, um, I’ll tell you about the discovery and the day I discovered this.

I was on the phone with somebody who I hadn’t talked to in a while, and he had just gotten into, into a relationship when I last saw him, and now it’s about six months later. And it’s important that I was on the phone, because I had a pad of paper there and I had a pen. So“Well, what happened?”

And he started telling me the story of what happened, and I started jotting it down. As a composer, I realized that the structure of the story was really very good. The story wasn’t good. The structure of the story was good. One thing led to another, led to another, led to another.

You could just see how the causality of one step gave rise to the next step, gave rise to the next step. So what I did was I took the story and I abstracted the steps, the moves, and I ended up with a description of a pattern, and then I asked him to tell me about other times, another time in his life where he set out for something, he had it for a while, no longer had it, not a good ending.

And I said, “Don’t tell me the story. Did you do this?” Step one, yes. Step two, yes. Step three, yes. Step four, yes. And he had did every step. Went through three or four stories, and he had done every step in those stories. And I thought, “Gee, this is, this is amazing. Everybody must know about this.” So I, I started looking at psychology books of all the wisdom that w- they have obviously discovered, and turns out they hadn’t.

The closest thing was script theory, and it had nothing to do with patterns. I started doing everybody’s pattern. I... Everybody in my life. I did everybody I could. “Hey, can I do your pattern?” [00:10:00] So I did hundreds of patterns, and then I decided to put together a little workshop, so I had about 40 people, and I taught them how to do their patterns.

Now, there are two patterns, you know, oscillating and advancing. I started with the oscillating pattern. I thought they’d be really happy to see it, because then they’d know what’s going on and stop doing it. And the room got kind of heavy, and the heat went up, and people were starting to get pissed off. And I realized they weren’t happy to see their patterns.

They felt doomed. They had realized a couple of things. One is that a lot of their explanations about why things happened weren’t accurate. If the same step happened every time and you have a different explanation, but it’s the same step over and over, it can’t just simply be the explanation from the circumstances you’re describing.

There’s gotta be something more going on. So that was my first major discovery in Structural Dynamics, and I think it’s because I’m a composer, and my background is, is composition, that I was able to understand this as a phenomenon that... Because we, in the conservatory, study things like form and analysis.

We take a piece of music, and you say, “Why did he write this chord, and why does it go to that melody, and why...” You know. So you analyze the structural e- elements that make a piece work. And that same background, as I was looking at these patterns, gave me an understanding of why certain things would happen at certain moments.

And by the way, it wasn’t about duration. So sometimes the pattern would be done in 10 minutes, and sometimes it would be done in two years, and sometimes it could be done in 20 years. In 20 years, the steps are so long you don’t even know you’re in a parent pattern. Like, it could be a 20-year marriage, and, you know, the first part of it’s going really well, and then it’s not, so.

Phyllis: Hold on, I’ve gotta get clarity on something.

Robert: Okay.

Phyllis: Not once in any of your statements have you ever talked about outside influences or circumstances. Where do they play in the story? You’re in a great relationship in a lot of romance novels, and then there’s a third party that walks onto the scene and destroys the relationship. How is that a pattern? How is that not just a result of circumstance?

Robert: If it happened once, it’s definitely not a pattern.

But if it happened more than once, for example, 10 times, every single time- Okay ... right at that moment in the relationship, suddenly the soulmate comes, then you know, “Wait a second, I’ve seen this movie before!”

View the entire conversation here:

(From my story published on Medium)

According to the late artist Alex Chin, a true depiction of a dragon must have four clawed toes. Otherwise,

“It is not a dragon!”

Chinese and Japanese depictions of dragons often have different numbers of clawed toes. Some writings suggest that, depending upon a person’s status in society, displaying a flag or plaque with a dragon possessing four or five toes indicated a higher rank than one displaying a dragon with only three.

Alex Chin loved this discussion. He took pride in explaining the history and symbolism behind dragons and delighted in teaching others how to accurately draw or paint them.

Of course, in literature, dragon slayers never stop to count toes before confronting a dragon. They would be immediately consumed or burned by the fire breathing monster.

This observation points to a larger truth.

Being positional is limiting. It closes doors to other possibilities. It blocks new information from entering. It narrows vision until all we can see is our own certainty.

History is filled with examples.

For centuries, people believed the Earth was the center of the universe. The idea seemed obvious. The sun rose and set around us. The stars moved across the sky above us. What could be more self-evident?

Then came Nicolaus Copernicus, who challenged conventional wisdom by proposing that the Earth revolved around the sun. His ideas were ridiculed, condemned, and viewed by some as heresy.

Yet truth did not change because people resisted it.

The world changed because someone remained open to seeing it differently.

Throughout history, nearly every breakthrough has begun as an unpopular idea. The abolition of slavery, women’s suffrage, civil rights, modern medicine, and countless scientific discoveries all required people willing to question accepted assumptions and endure criticism in pursuit of a larger truth.

Progress rarely arrives by permission.

It usually arrives through curiosity.

Today, many individuals remain deeply dug in. They see the world through a single lens and refuse to consider alternatives. Discussions quickly become arguments, differences become threats, and certainty replaces inquiry.

“But isn’t it important to stand for something?”

Absolutely.

Having principles, integrity, and character matters. Yet there is a profound difference between being committed and being rigid.

A tree with no roots is easily blown over. A tree that cannot bend snaps during the storm.

Wisdom requires both roots and flexibility.

During my martial arts studies, I encountered a metaphor that has stayed with me throughout life.

Cat Stance.

One leg is firmly planted while the other remains free to move. The grounded leg provides stability and balance, while the mobile leg allows adaptation and response. If both feet are cemented in place, movement becomes difficult, reaction time slows, and opportunities are missed.

The cat stance is not merely a fighting position. It is a philosophy for a way of being.

Learning it reminded me to hold firmly to my core values while remaining flexible about everything else. It is good to know what we believe and, at the same time, stay curious about what we do not yet know.

There is a difference between being “dug in” and being committed. Knowing this difference may be one of the most important skills for surviving the 21st century.

Change is happening at an exponential rate.

Artificial intelligence is accelerating discovery, invention, communication, medicine, transportation, and education. Entire industries are being reshaped before our eyes. New opportunities appear almost daily while old assumptions quietly disappear.

The people who thrive will not necessarily be the strongest or even the smartest. More often, they will be the individuals most capable of adapting to change while continuing to learn.

Naturalist Charles Darwin is often paraphrased as saying that survival belongs not to the strongest species, but to those most responsive to change.

Whether or not those exact words were his, the principle remains true.

Continuous learning is no longer just a great concept. It has become essential to survive.

One of the most dangerous phrases in any organization, family, or society is: “That’s how we have always done it.”

Those words have delayed innovation, prevented growth, and protected countless bad ideas from necessary examination.

At the same time, not everything changes.

An apple remains an apple. Gravity still exists. Kindness still matters. Truth matters. Trust matters.

The challenge is learning to distinguish between timeless principles and temporary assumptions.

In a rapidly changing world, wisdom is not knowing everything. Wisdom is knowing what deserves your commitment and what deserves your attention.

Over the years, I have developed a few personal practices that help me navigate uncertainty. I try to remain aware and alert to what is happening around me, a practice many people describe as mindfulness. I deliberately spend time with thoughtful and open minded people whose presence brings calm rather than conflict. I apply the same standards to the news and educational media I consume, avoiding those whose business model depends upon outrage, anger, or division. I regularly return to authors, philosophers, and thinkers whose ideas have endured across generations, believing there is wisdom in voices that continue to speak across centuries. At the same time, I pay attention to new ideas, inventions, books, films, and experiences that spark curiosity, make me smile, or cause my heart to flutter with excitement. Those moments tell me that I am learning and growing.

When circumstances become especially difficult, I remember one of my favorite scenes from the movie adaptation of

Stephen King’s The Shawshank Redemption.

Andy Dufresne escapes prison by crawling through a pipe filled with human waste that stretches the length of two football fields.

Whenever I face a frustrating obstacle, a difficult life challenge, or a bewildering new technology, I remember Andy crawling forward through the muck and darkness toward possibility.

Progress is often uncomfortable. Sometimes it is messy. Occasionally, it stinks. But the alternative is remaining trapped.

So perhaps a dragon has three toes. Perhaps it has four. Perhaps it has five. It may have two legs or four. It may look different depending upon who draws it, where they live, or what traditions they inherited.

If a dragon is approaching, however, the wisest response is not to argue about anatomy.

Observe.

Adapt.

And get the hell out of there.

And whatever you do, don’t get stuck counting the dragon’s toes.

I have watched this reporter go into difficult and dangerous stories before, but this one floored me.

In a time when our current US administration fights so hard to limit the freedom of the press and manipulate what gets out to the public, I believe we owe a thank you to the journalists who continuously try to keep us informed.

This report offered a bit of hope, showing that some do survive with the help of devoted medical workers. The report also revealed the human suffering and grief that accompany the fear and loss caused by this new strain of Ebola.

To add a little bit more insight into Clarissa Ward: She is the mother of three.

Please see the entire report at CNN.com.

A screeching car
Gliding on a rain-slick street,
a distracted driver
glancing away for one fatal second,
while your fragile self
passes untouched through the slim lane of chance.

A crumbling ledge.
A misjudged step.
The dizzying abyss opening beneath you
like the jagged throat of the earth itself.

Your forehead stopping
an inch before shattering glass.

The thick shard of food
lodged in the trembling passage of breath
then suddenly released
as though life itself
refused to surrender you.

The venomous serpent
coiled in stillness
hidden beneath leaves and shadow,
its ancient poison waiting
for the warmth of your skin.

The opportunistic spider
lurking unseen
in the dark architecture of corners.

The terrible shudder of an airplane
caught inside roaring turbulence,
metal trembling against furious clouds,
while strangers grip armrests
and silently negotiate with God.

The treacherous glaze of ice
on the mountain slope,
your body rushing toward the savage trees,
until somehow
the anxious speed loosens its grip.

The dangerous stranger
watching too long
from the dim fluorescent silence
of the subway platform.

The car hydroplaning
across a frozen highway,
the wheel spinning uselessly in your hands,
headlights dissolving into white chaos,
while death circles patiently beside you.

Your skull grazing
the brutal concrete floor
of the shallow pool.
Another quarter inch
and the bright arc of your future
collapses into darkness.

How many times
has catastrophe brushed against your sleeve
without claiming your name?

How many invisible disasters
have bent themselves away from you
at the final unbearable instant?

A remembrance, then,
of all the incandescent moments
that might have become endings.

Catching your breath with a
a fierce and burning reverence
for the astonishing continuation of oxygen,
for the pulse still singing beneath the skin,
for every luminous ordinary morning
we were never promised.

Because perhaps survival itself
is the miracle

to awaken again
inside this perilous, radiant world
still gloriously alive.

Here is a sample insight from the recorded discussion, quoting Gael’s article:

 “We want evil to be alien. We want it to arrive from outside, a foreign pathology, a failure of civilization, something that happens over there to people who are not like us. We want the people who do these things to be monsters, because monsters are a different species, and if they're a different species, then we are safe. But they're not. They are us. That's the part we can't metabolize.”

---

Phyllis:  I wanted to ask you, do you agree with the suggestion in the article that evil is in fact a larger tree than the trees of good?

Lable Braun:  So I think that it depends on what we allow, and I think it has to come from a self-examination. I very much agree with what Gail is saying. It reminds me a lot of Hannah Arendt's The Banality of Evil.

Wallace Renfro: Exactly

Lable:  And the problem is, to me, that evil, the word evil itself, is a problematic word. It has to be used carefully, because there's a tendency that evil is only used in the second person, as in “you are evil” or “they are evil”, or in the third person, that that group of people is evil. But very, very rarely in the first person of I am evil and we are evil. So it then tends to end conversations. As long as you use the word evil for someone else, it ends conversation. It doesn't perpetuate conversation; it ends conversation. And conversation, one of the reasons that I am so thrilled to be here with this group of people, conversation is the answer.

Being able to look inside ourselves and say, "How do I relate to this person?" On the surface, I would say there's no way I relate to the people who did that terrible, terrible thing. But could I be? What's in me that's also in them? We're all human beings, and once I can say, I am a human being dealing with another human being who I think has done something horrific, but we can have a conversation, and that's how the tall trees grow, is when the small trees don't have a conversation.

Wallace:  Let me give you one additional thought, okay? So what Gael does is present something that is very dark, and we don't like it.

 And if we focus on it, it seems almost as if we're in a hopeless situation. Because we know that evil is very difficult to defeat, even temporarily. The notion of being able to defeat evil permanently seems absolutely impossible to us, right? And yet, I think if you look at it from evil's point of view, it must be extremely frustrating for evil that those upon whom evil tries to inflict its best, they just keep going. They just keep standing up to it. They keep living as though evil doesn't exist. And that's the value of the small tree, isn't it? Its ability to stand in the shadow, exist, do good things as well as it can do, and evil, has to deal with it.

I got to say this about Gael MacLean, from the first time I read her, I was just blown away. She is an incredibly brilliant writer.

Dr. Don Booz:  Two words that kept coming to me as I read this were fear and Carl Jung's shadow side. He was a mentor of mine for years, and still is in his writings. But, I think we're all capable of the shadow side, but that's the side we want to ignore. And it's all in us. And I think the question that Gael raised, which I think she's still struggling with, is what kind of tree am I, and what kind of shade am I providing?

 It raises a question for me to look again at what I'm doing or not doing to make this a better place to be.

Phyllis: I had always been comforted by the idea that evil was proportionate to good, that everything looked like the Asian yin-yang symbol. And when I read Gael's article, whose metaphor suggests that evil is this much larger tree that envelopes everything, and that we are but small trees, that upset my notion of the balance of yin and yang. So I pulled you all together because I needed your perspective.

Please read Gael MacLean's powerful article to find out what inspired our recorded conversation.

Second Thoughts

We Are But Small Trees

The Farmer…

Read more

5 months ago · 14 likes · 13 comments · Gael MacLean

In 1890, young Johnny sat upright at a wooden desk in a one-room schoolhouse. The room smelled faintly of chalk dust, lamp oil, and wet wool coats drying by the stove. His teacher, Mr. Whitcomb, walked slowly between rows of children clutching slates and worn readers.

“Johnny,” the teacher said sternly, “stand and recite.”

Johnny rose quickly.

“Who wrote Paradise Lost?”

“John Milton, sir.”

“And what is the capital of Austria?”

“Vienna, sir.”

“And the square root of one hundred forty-four?”

“Twelve, sir.”

Mr. Whitcomb nodded with satisfaction.

“Very good. A disciplined mind is the mark of an intelligent young man.”

Johnny’s father repeated the same message at home.

“Knowledge is power,” he would say while folding his newspaper after supper. “A smart man studies hard, remembers facts, and speaks properly. That is how one succeeds in the world.”

His mother added:
“And mind your manners. Intelligent people show restraint and dignity.”

In the late nineteenth century, intelligence was strongly associated with memory, discipline, formal education, and cultural refinement. Industrial society rewarded order, obedience, literacy, and technical skill. Schools emphasized memorization and recitation because books and formal education were still relatively rare and powerful forms of access.

But even then, the idea of who could be considered “smart” was deeply shaped by race, class, gender, and power.

Entire groups of brilliant people were overlooked simply because society refused to recognize their intelligence.

One extraordinary example was Phillis Wheatley, the enslaved African-born poet of the eighteenth century, whose literary brilliance stunned many intellectuals of her era. So difficult was it for white elites to believe that an enslaved Black woman could write sophisticated poetry that she was forced to defend her authorship before a panel of prominent men in Boston. Her intelligence challenged the assumptions of an entire culture. (Note: my parents named me after Phillis Wheatley)

Likewise, many women with extraordinary mathematical, scientific, and literary abilities were denied formal educational opportunities altogether. Intelligence was often measured less by actual ability than by who society permitted to participate.

Johnny learned quickly that being smart meant:

• remembering facts,

• obeying authority,

• speaking formally,

• and avoiding foolishness.

Curiosity mattered, but discipline mattered more.

By 1955, Johnny’s grandson — also named Johnny — sat in a very different classroom.

Rows of fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. Maps of the world hung beside posters about science and atomic energy. America was now a technological superpower living in the shadow of the Cold War.

“Class,” said Mrs. Ellison, “the future belongs to problem solvers.”

Young Johnny raised his hand.

“But why do we have to learn algebra if we won’t use it every day?”

Mrs. Ellison smiled patiently.

“Because algebra teaches you how to think logically. America needs engineers, scientists, and innovators.”

At dinner that night, Johnny’s father spoke proudly about satellites, rockets, and the race for technological superiority.

“You want to be smart today?” he said. “Then you study science, math, business, and computers. The world is competitive now.”

His mother added:
“And don’t just memorize things. Learn how to analyze problems.”

The twentieth century transformed the meaning of intelligence. Scientific discovery accelerated. Universities expanded. Psychology attempted to measure cognition through IQ testing. Intelligence became increasingly associated with analysis, specialization, strategic thinking, and measurable achievement.

Figures such as Albert Einstein became symbols of intellectual genius. Yet the twentieth century also revealed how many brilliant minds had long been excluded from recognition.

At NASA, mathematicians such as Katherine Johnson, Dorothy Vaughan, and Mary Jackson performed calculations and engineering work essential to the American space program. Yet for years, segregation and discrimination limited both their visibility and professional advancement. Their brilliance existed whether society acknowledged it or not.

Meanwhile, intelligence itself began expanding beyond technical mastery.

Thurgood Marshall demonstrated another form of intelligence entirely: strategic legal reasoning joined with moral courage. His arguments before the United States Supreme Court helped dismantle legalized racial segregation in America.

Marshall served on the US Supreme Court and showed that intelligence was not merely the ability to solve equations, but the ability to challenge unjust systems through disciplined thought and ethical conviction.

Elsewhere in the world, Mahatma Gandhi embodied yet another form of intelligence. Gandhi’s genius did not emerge through industrial invention or scientific calculation. It emerged through psychological insight, moral philosophy, discipline, and an understanding of collective human behavior powerful enough to challenge an empire through nonviolent resistance.

These figures complicated older definitions of intelligence. Society slowly began realizing that intelligence could not be reduced to memorization, test scores, or institutional credentials alone.

Johnny noticed something different from his grandfather’s world.

Teachers encourage questions.

“Think critically,” they said.
“Challenge assumptions.”
“Innovate.”

By the 1980s, computers entered homes and offices. Creativity began competing with conformity.

One afternoon, Johnny argued with his father.

“I don’t want to work for the same company for forty years,” he said.

His father frowned.
“That’s security.”

“But what if I want to build something new?”

The older man shook his head.

“Too risky.”

But society increasingly rewarded exactly that kind of risk. Entrepreneurs and innovators such as Steve Jobs represented a newer form of intelligence — combining creativity, intuition, technological imagination, and the ability to reshape culture itself.

By the late twentieth century, intelligence had expanded again.

A smart person was no longer simply obedient or analytical.

Now they were expected to innovate.

Now it is 2026.

Johnny sits alone in a coffee shop staring at three glowing screens. One contains an AI chatbot helping him draft an essay. Another summarizes financial reports instantly. A third generates artwork from a simple sentence.

His grandfather would have thought this was magic.

Johnny’s professor walks into class carrying no textbooks.

“I don’t care if AI writes perfect sentences,” she says. “I care whether you can think.”

A student raises her hand.

“But if AI already knows everything, what’s the point of learning?”

The room grows quiet.

The professor pauses before answering.

“Because intelligence is no longer about storing information. It’s about judgment.”

That single sentence defines the twenty-first century.

Today’s Johnny lives in a world flooded with information. Unlike his ancestors, he does not suffer from a lack of knowledge.

He suffers from excess knowledge, endless distraction, manipulated narratives, algorithmic persuasion, and emotional overload.

Now his parents worry about entirely different things.

His father says:
“Can you tell what’s real online anymore?”

His mother asks:
“Are you learning how to focus, or are you just scrolling all day?”

Even teachers sound different now.

“Learn how to ask good questions.”
“Learn how to work with AI.”
“Learn emotional intelligence.”
“Learn adaptability.”
“Learn media literacy.”
“Learn ethics.”

Research from cognitive science and educational psychology suggests that success in the AI era depends not simply on raw cognitive ability but on adaptability, emotional regulation, interdisciplinary thinking, creativity, and discernment.

Thinkers such as Howard Gardner challenged narrow definitions of intelligence through theories of multiple intelligences, while Daniel Goleman argued that emotional intelligence is essential for leadership and human connection.

Artificial Intelligence itself is accelerating this shift.

For centuries, smart people knew more.

Today, machines know more.

AI can retrieve facts instantly. It can summarize books, compose essays, generate images, write code, and solve equations in seconds. But AI still struggles with human judgment, moral reasoning, emotional nuance, wisdom, and lived experience.

So now Johnny is told something no earlier generation heard:

“Your value is not just what you know. Your value is whether you can remain deeply human while surrounded by intelligent machines.”

That is an entirely new expectation.

Johnny’s great-grandfather was expected to obey.
His grandfather was expected to analyze.
His father was expected to innovate.

But Johnny is expected to do something even harder:

to discern,
to adapt,
to remain psychologically grounded,
to think independently,
to use AI without becoming intellectually passive,
and to preserve meaning in a world drowning in information.

At the end of the day, Johnny closes his laptop and asks his professor one final question.

“So what does it mean to be smart now?”

The professor leans back for a moment before answering.

“For generations, people thought being smart meant knowing more than everyone else. But machines now store more information than any human mind ever could.”

Johnny looks down at the glowing screen in front of him.

“So where does that leave us?”

She smiles faintly.

“Smart means having a keen sense of self. It means understanding your own values, judgment, creativity, ethics, and emotional center. Machines can be extraordinary partners, but never masters. They are tools to extend human capability, not replacements for human meaning.”

She pauses.

“The danger is not that AI will think for us. The danger is that people may stop thinking for themselves.”

Johnny nods slowly.

Outside the classroom window, students move across campus carrying devices more powerful than the computers that once guided astronauts to the moon. Yet for all the technological advancements surrounding them, the essential human challenge remains unchanged:

to know oneself,
to think independently,
to discern truth from noise,
and to remain deeply human in an age of intelligent machines.

The professor gathers her notes and says one final thing before leaving the room.

“Being smart today means knowing when not to let the machine do your thinking for you.”

My next guest is not intimidated by the growth of AI. Jory Des Jardins helps companies bridge transitions with her strategic thinking on how to empower humans in the workplace. (Interviewed for Profonde.TV)

She stops companies from running, scared and making poor decisions, while partnering with AI. She is known for her groundbreaking work in the digital world with her company, BlogHer.

Now, her work spans Fortune 1000 companies, open-source movements, startup accelerators, and public-private partnerships. She is the one to talk to about the future of work

Phyllis: I am most interested in a particular line that you wrote:

“ If the current job market tells us anything, it’s that no one new or experienced, knowledge workers alike, is insulated from disruption. No one is insulated from disruption.

This is a scary line to me. What did you mean by that?

Jory: I feel like my entire ecosystem is living this line right now.

So what did I mean by that?

Jory: I am absolutely focused this year, trying to identify what this uncertainty looks like and how we get out of it, how we work our way out of it. I was referring to the impacts, not just of what’s going on in the world geopolitically, which has left a lot of uncertainty, but I would say AI evolution. I won’t say revolution. The evolution has truly accelerated this sense of disruption in the workforce across any vertical (market segment) you can think of.

And so many people in my orbit, I’ve been working with a few years 25, 30 years, people who have been in this space, who have navigated really well-planned careers are in a place of, I don’t know where to go next.

This is such an uprooting of where we were planning to go that people don’t have a roadmap, and the previous roadmaps from previous disruptions are not applying.

And so what does apply? What will work? What will get us to where we want to go? And that means many different things to many different people.

So it’s the moment of, I’d say, occupational chaos that we’re navigating right now. And I am perhaps strangely optimistic that we can work our way out of it because so many people are asking these questions right now and not blindly accepting what’s happening.

Phyllis: I’m a bit optimistic about it all because I think that there are new areas of work that are also evolving, and one of the reasons I’m interviewing you is that I think you’ve navigated a lot of the change on your own.

You have another service that you do that describes itself as:

‘Taking a complex AI frontier work to human.”

So that you’re helping decision makers make what they do more human. But let’s narrow this down for the layperson.

What should we be thinking about, or what kinds of questions should people looking for work be asking?

Jory: Yes, so backing up to the job crisis that is emerging from the AI disruption, let’s look at what’s actually happening in the workforce. Companies are anticipating that AI is going to change everything, and they don’t know exactly how.

So they adopt AI before they know how it’s going to impact the workforce. So what this results in are layoffs or a lot of mass confusion.

People whose job was X now have to do Y if they’re going to keep their jobs. So there’s a lot of panic, and I think a lot of this disruption is unnecessary.

Let’s play this out.

A year or two years later, people who were laid off will be needed to come back in to help navigate these systems because we need humans to oversee what is happening in these companies. No company can or should, I would argue, be run by an LLM (Large Language Model) by AI. We need a person at the top. And there is a phrase for this kind of company or any solution where a human is involved, and that’s called human in the loop.

So if you’re building a human-in-the-loop solution, that means that no matter what, a human is making the final judgment or is involved in the process at some point, and ensuring that the AI is making the right calls or doing the work that it was meant to do.

If any system that does not have a human in the loop, it is not valid in this model, and that is a model that I believe in strongly.

The other thing that I believe very strongly in is human. I call it human agency architecture. So when we’re thinking about: how do we integrate AI into our organizations, into our own work, rather than looking at AI as simply a productivity solution, this will help us get here faster, cheaper, without people.

I look to see how AI will enhance human output!

The real missing opportunity is that we could be empowering people to go beyond what they were doing, not replace them, accelerate them, but the AI has to be employed to help them meet their potential.

See the entire interview with Jory Des Jardins

Sometimes we humans take for granted the very quiet, unheralded profession of print journalism. Some folks do the daily hard work of seeking out information and holding people in power accountable for their actions. The print journalists don’t get the same attention as the broadcast journalists.

But they are the true backbone of fact-finding. I had the privilege recently to interview author and journalist Claudia Dreifus, one of the hardworking reporters working behind the scenes. She has been a consistent contributor through numerous print publications and digital outlets, including the New York Times, New York Review of Books, Quanta, and CNN.

She won numerous awards and citations for her science writing, her amazing interviews, and her coverage of women’s issues. She’s beloved and respected by her colleagues and also works to impart journalism skills to grad students at Columbia University. She is known as a gifted interviewer and someone who has made scientific information and progress accessible to all due to her discipline and clear writing styl

Phyllis: Claudia, it is such a pleasure to get to talk with you again. You’re a fellow journalist I knew years and years ago. I am delighted to have witnessed your remarkable career. I would love to get your thoughts about the direction journalism and broadcast journalism have taken today.

It feels like a very different world from when you and I started in the field (in the 1970s.)

Claudia: Indeed, it’s a very different world. I think we both were pioneers for women in our time, when there weren’t very many women with public voices. And when just to be in public and to have a voice was revolutionary.

The public square wasn’t as much a male public square as football is. And women didn’t have much authority. And I, I remember watching you on TV, Phyllis, and thinking “she’s doing it, she’s speaking up, she’s being heard.” How important that was.

Phyllis: Do you feel a sense of loss in the business of news?

Claudia: Absolutely.

Phyllis: What are your observations?

Claudia: One of the things we know is that. When authoritarianism takes over, there’s less news.

And if you go to authoritarian countries, there are very few newspapers. There’s state-controlled television. And I fear that we, for a variety of reasons, we in America are becoming that.

Our news sources are more limited when we think of some of the great things that journalism did in its time, which includes coverage of the civil rights movement, which includes, Watergate, and coverage of the Vietnam War.

There was so much more (coverage) then than there is now. I think one of the reasons why the response to the shooting war that we’re all in the middle of now is so limited is that news sources are limited and getting more consolidated. And this isn’t just the work of authoritarianism. It’s those who want to control what we all read and think.

But it’s also a silent process that technology has brought on economic consolidation. There are so many fewer newspapers there than there were when we were starting out. There really are only three major ones now. Many local communities don’t have newspapers or television news. Sad!

The people who see themselves as news channels are more talk than they are news. I’m shocked that whenever I watch CNN or MSNBC, they’re mostly interviewing each other. They are not going out and getting direct news themselves. They’re interviewing other correspondents from the stations, or they’re interviewing reporters from The Times or the Wall Street Journal who are covering the stories, but they’re not going out in the field and getting those stories, and that’s a great loss.

I’m not so much interested in journalists covering each other, and so much of it is just opinion. Rather than direct news, we need to know what’s happening in our society, what’s happening at the nitty-gritty grassroots levels. Sometimes MSNBC or its successor does that well, but sometimes they just totally fall down on the job and you feel like they’re lazy, that they don’t have any producers or something. They’re just interviewing the same people and often each other.

Phyllis: So you are a writer with real experience, and you’ve definitely survived this industry for many years and continue to write.

What is it that keeps you going? What is your inspiration, despite the nature of the business, that keeps you contributing?

Claudia: Allow me to tell you a story. I was in a jury pool some years ago. One of the other women in the jury pool said to me,” You are very proud of being a journalist, aren’t you?”As if I were engaged in some nefarious, awful work.

And I said, "You bet. I’m proud. We’re the foot soldiers of the First Amendment and we are, and we give people good information. By which they can make good decisions and be a part of society.”

And, I’m a second-generation American.

My family were refugees. And so I grew up understanding the preciousness of democracy and wanted to participate in a way that I could. And telling true stories about the world we live in is my way.

I’m not a good political organizer. I’m a terrible political organizer. My first job out of college was as a union organizer for 1199 Drug and Hospital Workers of New York.

I did that because I wanted to stay in the Civil Rights movement and stay connected to civil rights work. But I was the world’s worst union organizer, really bad at it.

And, somebody in my family is sick right now at NYU hospital, and I keep on saying to this person when I visit them, I know this hospital I used to organize here, but not successfully. I know these hallways; I used to hide out in the bathroom and give leaflets to people as they came.

Phyllis: Let’s go back before that. There’s a remarkable photograph of you among Freedom Fighters and the Civil Rights Movement.

How did you get involved in that? What drew you to being part of that? What pulled you there?

Claudia: The date of the photograph is April 6th, 1963, which turns out to be the same day as the day that people were being doused by water cannons in Birmingham,

and those pictures that we all know of people being bitten by police dogs. That was going on that day, and that day I went with people from Brooklyn Corps and NYU Corps, the Congress of Racial Equality, to Maryland to integrate restaurants in a rural town, which was famous for being a Klan center.

I was 18. I didn’t tell my parents ‘cause they wouldn’t have approved, not that they disapproved of being involved in the civil rights fashion, but they were Holocaust survivors. They were survivors of the Nazi regime, and they were terrified of arrest or saying no to authority. So I just didn’t tell them I was a freshman in college.

I said I was staying over at a girlfriend’s house, and I hopped on the bus. The thing that drew me was my family’s background. I could see the clear link between what happened to Jewish people in Germany and the way blacks in the US were being treated, and the links are very strong. My Aunt Inga, who arrived in America in 1938 from Cuba, where she had escaped from Berlin to Cuba on the ship immediately before the St. Louis (which was forced to return to Europe with Jews fleeing Nazi Germany)

So if she had taken one ship later, as her father had urged her, she wouldn’t have gotten here. My Aunt Inya had to stay in Cuba for a few weeks and then took the ferry to Miami. She got off the ferry, and she sat down on a bench, and she immediately saw that she had sat down on the wrong bench.

In Florida in the 1930s, she thought, “Oh my God, this is just like home.” She had sat down on the bench for Black people, and that’s welcome to America for the first member of my family to be able to escape and come here. I’ve never forgotten that, even though I was born here. I’ve never forgotten my auntie's story.

And for me, it’s always been very vivid and clear that a commitment to human rights wherever they are has to be central to who I am. I was born in the middle of the war. If I’d been born in Europe, I wouldn’t have lived. A million Jewish babies were murdered throughout those years.

And I’m keenly aware of that. It’s an obligation. It’s an obligation to make the world fairer, safer, and more just…..

Here is my entire interview with Claudia Dreifus:

Definition of Superlative:

“an exaggerated or hyperbolical expression of praise.” Oxford English Dictionary

Example:

Trump on the recent Supreme Court Tariff decision:

“This was an important case to me, more as a symbol of economic national security and also, I would say, just for our country itself, so important, because we’re doing so well as a country. We’ve never done so well.”

Listen for more of this hyperbole in the State of the Union.

Politicians use superlatives and hyperbole because exaggeration is one of the easiest tools for capturing attention and stirring up emotion. Words can energize supporters, reduce complexity, and define opponents. Superlatives and hyperbole do all of this easily.

One major reason is “attention economics. “

The phrase and concept of “attention economics” (or the attention economy) was offered by psychologist, economist, and Nobel Laureate Herbert A. Simon.

Simon first introduced the concept in 1971, “ in an information-rich world, a wealth of information creates a poverty of attention…” It was Michael Goldhaber, who argued in the late 1990s :

“Attention, not information, was the new scarce resource and currency of the internet age.”

Politicians and speechwriters use exaggeration and superlatives to get quoted.

Algorithms pick up keywords like best, greatest, worst, etc. Getting quoted in a saturated news cycle is the goal.

Statements like “the worst deal in history” or “the greatest economy ever” are more likely to be quoted than well thought out, measured phrases and assessments. Hyperbole can break through the noise. It makes headlines.

But it also creates a problem for those of us who desire to get an accurate view of a situation. Speech that I call “headline speak” robs us of nuances and deprives the listener of an accurate telling of what is going on.

It saddens me that we will not get an accurate view of the actual state of our Union. Both parties are guilty of the effort to get headlines.

We have been groomed to respond to exaggeration. The recent February Northeaster had to be described as a “ Bomb” blizzard. Such terms work because they help to keep people off the roads, but the long term affect will be a need to create stronger and stronger descriptors to get an emotional response.

The rise of name-calling and harsh descriptions can be pinned to Donald Trump but some members of both parties have begun to use it to capture attention.

Georgia Republican Marjorie Taylor Greene suggested that Jasmine Crockett’s “fake eyelashes messed up her reading.”

Crockett responded to Greene, calling her a “bleach-blonde, bad-built, butch body.”

Granted, this fight was only memorable because of the extreme language and description. What they were actually arguing about in a past hearing was obscured by the attention received due to the abusive language. The name-calling won’t be forgotten, but the actual policy discussion will be. It was a “routine Oversight Committee hearing” about whether to hold Merrick Garland in contempt of Congress, according to NPR.

Stirring up emotion is a powerful driver. Research in psychology consistently shows that people make political decisions based less on detailed policy knowledge and more on emotional response. Hyperbole heightens emotional intensity. Calling something “an existential threat” creates a feeling of urgency. Superlativescan stimulate all kinds of emotion.

The danger here is that we get numb to the constant stimulation. Then what?

Rule #1: Do something extremely outrageous and take no responsibility for it.

Make sure it is visual, like the image of the Obamas as apes.

Rule #2: Repeat the process every time if something could put the office of the president in a negative light, family, or friends (including friends who have paid to be friends).

Every time something serious or critical happens that could affect Trump’s world and his highly supportive friends, he does something outrageous and even clown-like. It happens over and over again. Here are some of the most recent:

Three million Epstein documents were finally released. Just as pundits and reporters start to report on the contents, the president sends out an offensive image of the Obamas. The awful visual of the Obamas posted on his Truth Social account captured the outrage of news broadcasters, podcasters, and pundits for days.

Other examples:

Killing people in boats, capturing images of big blasts off Venezuela, and not providing any proof of what they were carrying or doing.

The 400 million dollar jet gift

The destruction of the East wing to build a ballroom

The release of an extremely expensive project that is deliberately poorly made, so people will keep talking about it: “Melania.”

All of these grabbed the headlines and the lead sections of broadcasts and newspapers.

If folks are talking about these things, they are not talking about the killing of Alex Pretti or Renee Good. They are not looking for people's names in the Epstein files. They are not paying attention to the continuing easy life of Ghislaine Maxwell. They lose their focus on the victims of Epstein.

Sensational and crazy activity is an easy way to distract the public and move journalists away from the rising food and medical costs, the loss of insurance by millions, and the spread of uncontrolled disease due to a shift in vaccine policy. These are not sexy and highly visual images. The truth is often delayed by “distraction.”

Combine this with the destruction of key news outlets like CBS and the Washington Post, and a White House press secretary who is a beautiful, gutless puppet, and we move closer to gilded news outlets controlled by the state.

I write this note for the public. We take freedom of the press for granted, but it must be protected. Big money and unchecked executive power can destroy this precious freedom. If we continue to remove accountability for governmental and corporate misdeeds by controlling and narrowing the competing and free news outlets, we are moving closer to authoritarian control. I served as a journalist with some of the greats and am concerned about the institutions of the press and the journalists who serve us each day.

The point is: Learn to understand how the distraction of the news cycle works and look beyond the headlines.

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