New ways for modern times
12/02/15 05:17
Nearly a decade ago now, we had the opportunity to study at the Sandy-Saulteaux Spiritual Center in Beausejour, Manitoba. The center is unique in its educational model, offering theological education that is rigorous and recognized by the accredited University of Manitoba, but offered in the teaching and learning styles of aboriginal Canadians. Although specifically tailored for indigenous designated lay ministers, Learning Circle Courses are expanded to include non-native learners on occasion. In our time at the Center, Rev. Stanley McKay served as elder for the circle. Stan is a very modest man who has made deep contributions to Canadian culture and education. The recipient of the Canadian National Aboriginal Achievement Award grew up on the Fisher River Reserve on the western shore of Lake Winnipeg before the community was accessible by road.
Stan told us of the time before electricity came to the community. Isolated from the rest of the world most of the year, people traveled and traded by canoe in the summer and over the ice in the winter. He grew up listening to the stories of the elders, who told of a time of even more isolation - the time before airplanes and snowmobiles - the time before people learned to read books.
In those days, the stories of the people were passed down through long evenings, often with stories being repeated multiple times in an evening and multiple evenings in a row. It wasn’t just that they became familiar - they became so deeply ingrained in the listeners that they could be recalled and told with word-for-word accuracy at a moment’s notice.
The world doesn’t work that way any more. Yes, there are still isolated communities in the north country where there are no roads to provide access. The only access is by airplane in the summer and over the ice roads in the winter. But those communities now have electricity and television and Internet access and the problems of the outside community including drug and alcohol addiction, family violence, and oppressive poverty.
The north is no longer isolated. You can now book a 20-day cruise through the northwest passage on a ship with continuous satellite communication with the outside world. Remote villages such as Niaquornat in Greenland, Beechey Island and Cambridge Bay in Nunavut now have tourists arriving each year.
Whatever else we might say about this world, no amount of nostalgia or idealism will allow us to turn the clock back to simpler times when the primary entertainment was telling stories around the campfire. The world just isn’t that way any more.
One of the costs of this modern way of life that we have adopted is a perpetual busyness. We speak of being “always on” and never truly getting away from our work. Recently Susan and I took a trip for some continuing education. I checked my e-mail multiple times each day, remained in contact with a cell phone and wrote the blog each morning as usual.
The very technology that is supposed to make our lives more efficient often clutters them with all kinds of additional demands and tasks. It seems that overtime technology promises to simplify my life, it ends up making it more complex with profuse password prompts, inboxes brimming with hundreds of emails each day and interconnected applications that share data without my understanding. Why do I need to sign on to a website using Facebook or Twitter? Why does a shopping website need to remember what I look at? Why does an activity that used to seem relaxing, such as browsing the web or looking at a video on YouTube now turn into something that is way more like work that recreation?
Simply managing everyday life is unnecessarily complex and filled with stress.
I find myself longing for evenings around the campfire without any media and connections to the wider world.
But, as I said, we don’t get to turn the clock back.
Living a balanced life, however, does demand that I create spaces that are free of the technology. And the process has to be intentional. I can remember when I would launch my canoe on the lake knowing that the cell phone stashed in the car wouldn’t work in the remote location and couldn’t withstand the wet environment of the lake. These days the tallest tree on the horizon is really a cell phone tower assuring excellent reception all around the lake and the phone has a waterproof case that floats. The fact that I still leave the phone in the car is a conscious choice. I know that I need the space away from the technology, but sometimes it isn’t as simple as taking a walk or lifting a paddle.
These days I have to work harder to create complexity-free zones where I am mindful and present. Unlike some of my colleagues, I don’t constantly check email. I don’t leave my email program open on my desk and I don’t respond to all of the alerts on my phone. I set aside times during the day for email, try to deal with it in a timely fashion and reserve the rest of the day for other activities. I keep my phone on “vibrate” much of the day and I don’t answer it if I am talking to someone else. I trust those who really need to get in touch with me to leave a voicemail and wait for my response.
Recently I read an online article on mindfulness that was published on the BBC website. At the end of the article it said: To comment on this story or anything else you have seen on BBC Capital, head over to our Facebook page or message us on Twitter. Then there was an invitation to sign up for the morning email from BBC news. I resisted both invitations. Instead, I closed my eyes and spent a couple of minutes meditating.
I am not sure how I will get the old stories from the recesses of my memory into the lives of my grandchildren, but something tells me that instant communication isn’t the solution.
Stan told us of the time before electricity came to the community. Isolated from the rest of the world most of the year, people traveled and traded by canoe in the summer and over the ice in the winter. He grew up listening to the stories of the elders, who told of a time of even more isolation - the time before airplanes and snowmobiles - the time before people learned to read books.
In those days, the stories of the people were passed down through long evenings, often with stories being repeated multiple times in an evening and multiple evenings in a row. It wasn’t just that they became familiar - they became so deeply ingrained in the listeners that they could be recalled and told with word-for-word accuracy at a moment’s notice.
The world doesn’t work that way any more. Yes, there are still isolated communities in the north country where there are no roads to provide access. The only access is by airplane in the summer and over the ice roads in the winter. But those communities now have electricity and television and Internet access and the problems of the outside community including drug and alcohol addiction, family violence, and oppressive poverty.
The north is no longer isolated. You can now book a 20-day cruise through the northwest passage on a ship with continuous satellite communication with the outside world. Remote villages such as Niaquornat in Greenland, Beechey Island and Cambridge Bay in Nunavut now have tourists arriving each year.
Whatever else we might say about this world, no amount of nostalgia or idealism will allow us to turn the clock back to simpler times when the primary entertainment was telling stories around the campfire. The world just isn’t that way any more.
One of the costs of this modern way of life that we have adopted is a perpetual busyness. We speak of being “always on” and never truly getting away from our work. Recently Susan and I took a trip for some continuing education. I checked my e-mail multiple times each day, remained in contact with a cell phone and wrote the blog each morning as usual.
The very technology that is supposed to make our lives more efficient often clutters them with all kinds of additional demands and tasks. It seems that overtime technology promises to simplify my life, it ends up making it more complex with profuse password prompts, inboxes brimming with hundreds of emails each day and interconnected applications that share data without my understanding. Why do I need to sign on to a website using Facebook or Twitter? Why does a shopping website need to remember what I look at? Why does an activity that used to seem relaxing, such as browsing the web or looking at a video on YouTube now turn into something that is way more like work that recreation?
Simply managing everyday life is unnecessarily complex and filled with stress.
I find myself longing for evenings around the campfire without any media and connections to the wider world.
But, as I said, we don’t get to turn the clock back.
Living a balanced life, however, does demand that I create spaces that are free of the technology. And the process has to be intentional. I can remember when I would launch my canoe on the lake knowing that the cell phone stashed in the car wouldn’t work in the remote location and couldn’t withstand the wet environment of the lake. These days the tallest tree on the horizon is really a cell phone tower assuring excellent reception all around the lake and the phone has a waterproof case that floats. The fact that I still leave the phone in the car is a conscious choice. I know that I need the space away from the technology, but sometimes it isn’t as simple as taking a walk or lifting a paddle.
These days I have to work harder to create complexity-free zones where I am mindful and present. Unlike some of my colleagues, I don’t constantly check email. I don’t leave my email program open on my desk and I don’t respond to all of the alerts on my phone. I set aside times during the day for email, try to deal with it in a timely fashion and reserve the rest of the day for other activities. I keep my phone on “vibrate” much of the day and I don’t answer it if I am talking to someone else. I trust those who really need to get in touch with me to leave a voicemail and wait for my response.
Recently I read an online article on mindfulness that was published on the BBC website. At the end of the article it said: To comment on this story or anything else you have seen on BBC Capital, head over to our Facebook page or message us on Twitter. Then there was an invitation to sign up for the morning email from BBC news. I resisted both invitations. Instead, I closed my eyes and spent a couple of minutes meditating.
I am not sure how I will get the old stories from the recesses of my memory into the lives of my grandchildren, but something tells me that instant communication isn’t the solution.