Smiling at me
Nothing but blue skies
Do I see*
So, if young adults no longer have the kind of money to support a life of conspicuous consumption our generation did, what takes its place?**
I am increasingly hearing that the the resources enjoyed by the baby boomer generation are not going to be there for the next generations. The skies in future are not going to be so blue, it seems.
A baby boomer myself, I’ve always been been suspicious of plenty and what it can do to us, and more likely to see consumption as a medical condition.
Maria Popova introduces me to Horace-Bénédict de Saussure‘s cyanometer, an instrument for measuring blueness, especially that of the skies. Henry David Thoreau writes, as he looks upon a blue Spring sky:
“Where is my cyanometer”?^
‘Thoreau’s writings, dancing at the borderline between observation and contemplation, are strewn with his love of blue.’^^
This combination of observation and reflection and blueness fascinates me.
I wonder what happens if I don’t bring humble, grateful, faithful reflection to my life, to who I am and what I have and how I behave?
Robert McKee writes of why we love movies. In everyday life we live in the experience but in movies we have a chance to experience and to reflect upon it. I wonder whether we’re moving into a time when we can be more aware of the “movie” our lives are, that we will live our lives as both experiencers and reflectors.
Hugh Macleod answers his opening question:
‘Why, conspicuous production, of course.’**
Instead of going along with the production of others – what consumption is about and a production that is running out of steam – we are witnessing more opportunities to bring some that matters from the centre of our lives.
We can wait for the next blue sky to come along or we can paint our own.
I think it will seems working more and more together, hence cyanometrists only exist in collaboration of various forms, or hues.
(*Ella Fitzgerald sings Irving Berlin’s Blue Skies.)
(**From gapingvoid’s blog: Welcome to the hustle.)
(^Henry David Thoreau, quoted in Maria Popova’s Brain Pickings: Two Hundred Years of Blue.)
(^^From Maria Popova’s Brain Pickings: Two Hundred Years of Blue.)