Keeping my promise Jacob

Either my hiding skills have gotten worse or they are better finders as Cycle 3 has one main difference (or at least I think it does…maybe this is another tale of mine), but my children are very aware.

It was Benno who found me first crying hysterically as I lay balled up on our patio with the explicit goal to be alone. While I didn’t want him to see me like that and tried to pull myself together, the closer he got,  I only got worse. Literally gulping for air as I felt his weight hit the cushion. 

 He just held me.

 No words were exchanged. Not like I was capable of words, but he didn’t ask that of me. He just sat there. It was the kindest gesture I have ever felt. I wanted to tell him that. Tell him how proud I am to be his mom, but I couldn’t and even saying them in my head made the crying worse. Made me feel  like a a shitty mom. But he didn’t seem to mind. He just sat there wrapped around me. 

We did that for a whole 15 minutes. While that may not seem to be a lot of time. I don’t think I’ve had Benno’s full attention in absolute silence  for 15 minutes ever. I would question if any parent has had devoted attention like  that with with the barrage of better distractions from screens to games.

And then Jacob found us.

He, on the other hand, had lots of questions. “What’s wrong?” “Are you okay?” “What’s Going on ?!” He nuzzled his way between the embrace between Benno and me believing at first that benno must be the culprit . 

 He notices my arm. I am wrapped with bandages. These he knows. He knows what that means. “Did you have an IV today or shots?” 

“IV.” This I could answer. “What is wrong” and “am I okay”… were questions I couldn’t. I wouldn’t even know what to say.

But Jacob did not stop. “Why?”

And I just said it. I have post-traumatic stress disorder and every year for some reason it flares up. It makes me really sad and I can’t stop crying. So the doctors are giving me medicine.

Benno just squeezed me, Jacob on the other hand, was just getting started.

He first explained to me the difference between a disease and a disorder. “Cancer is a disease, you have a disorder.” Normally I would marvel at Jacob’s understandings of things that barely I can, but I just couldn’t bear it..I told the boys I needed some space and to go and play. Benno obliged, Jacob followed, but 2 minutes later Jacob was back.

“You can’t be sad for no reason so what are you sad about?” It was clear he was not going to play. He wasn’t going any where. 

“The world just feels mean to me. I don’t understand why there is so much pain and suffering and it doesn’t feel fair.” Looking back on it, this is probably a really unfair thing to say or put on an 8-year-old boy. His mother telling him the world sucks is probably not the most encouraging statement. 

He asked for an example.

So many flooded my head. Gun violence, homelessness, and betrayal, but all felt a bit “R” rated so I told him that I hurt for some of my students. How stupid rules hurt kids. How it is so much easier to hurt than help and that didn’t make sense to me.

It was clear he disagreed. “Mom we can fix this. I’ll help. We can help your students.”

I quickly informed them that we can’t. But that wasn’t enough for Jacob. He clearly was not going to stop.

So I explained the entire thing to him. The issues in higher education that it’s really about money than the students.

Jacob had the solution. I need a build board. I needed a large sign to tell the world about them.

I don’t have access to a build board so this will do

So the rest of this post is me making good on a promise. Jacob told me that if I tell the story of one student the world would care. Alrighty then. I will use pseudonyms. 

—————————

Meet Callie, one of the hundreds of students who I have held space for. One of the hundreds of stories I hear daily…

Callie’s father died when she was 10 and her mother just passed 8 months ago unexpectedly. She is 20 years old. She works in retail. Supports herself and a younger half sister completely and is smart as a whip. She is organized, she asks the right questions and she is educated on education. I do have to give this gen Z generation some props, they are not suckers. They walk into life with eyes of skepism. They do their research. I guess you have to when growing up with a phrase like “fake news.”

She wants to study graphic design. She explains her rationale. I am creative and good with computers and this is a job I can do on top of my existing job until I get more established. 

Prior to her mom’s death she was enrolled at her local state university. While her mom’s death was the tipping point, prior to that she was already trying to drop out as even though she had a 4.0, she saw no value in her classes and after a year had not even had the opportunity to take a graphic design class. She would not have that opportunity to end of her sophomore year, and by then it would be too late to switch majors if she didn’t like it.

As I said, she is no dummy.

In addition, while she had become friends with her roommate, she found campus life shockingly isolating. She felt depressed and found herself between classes scrolling through tiktok by herself on a bench next to another student doing the exact same thing until the next class. She tried to meet 3 times with an academic advisor to see if she could find a way to stack her classes so at least she could work instead of spend time on her social media feed, but she waited weeks for an appointment and once she got a virtual one, she was informed that that wasn’t possible.

She became quite disillusioned with education. She asked for information on how to pause her education quoting financial stress (even though she was going for free), but never got a response. However, the day her mom died, she just packed up her shit and left. She is still on the school’s mailing list. They had no idea that she is not on campus. She even got her grades a “C” and three “Ds” in the mail. Not a question was made on how a straight A student all of a sudden went from C’s to D’s. Just a computer generated report. She is still trying to get someone on the phone to see if those grades can be taken off as she wasn’t there. She is still unsure what it all means regarding her student loans and scholarship. 

She now has an understanding of all of that, but that is only through meeting me talking her through it. 

Callie found MYX on tiktok. She was drawn to the community and travel. She applied. She was accepted and next step is meeting with the education team to curate her education to her unique goals. I was lucky enough to get her. 

 She cried in our meeting. I asked her if I said something that upset her. She was fast to say no and that she was just happy. No one has ever sit down with her talk about her hopes and dreams and explained to her her choices explaining the costs and benefits at the out front. I told  her that the ROI on a degree in graphic design is poor (statistically speaking). Graphic designers get chosen by their portfolio not a piece of paper. I told her about the professional certifications out there by industry leaders like CarArts and how she can get that certification in one term and build her portfolio through real world experience at MYX. In two terms she can be off. 

She did not stop thanking me and was so thankful of just the time. We hear that a lot.

But Callie can’t come. 

Even though it is about 10x cheaper overall than the traditional route and she will walk away in 1/8th the time with the skills credentials to be a graphic designer with a portfolio AND have the benefits of life coaching and a small community that would know if Callie goes missing for months,  MYX is not considered an “accredited education.”

She can’t click a button like last time and get student loans. We don’t qualify. AND she has no parents to underwrite a personal loan.

So Callie can’t come.

She is used to disappointments like this. She is stronger than even me. But I mourn for her and the hundreds of others that fall in her bucket. She is not alone.

For MYX to become accredited, we would have to become just like a traditional university. We would need all of our students to be degree seekers (even if the ROI is terrible!), we would need to have certain numbers of instructional hours, we would need to become the problem instead of the solution.

The fact that Callie can take out 1,000s of government student loans to go to her local community college with a 19% graduation rate, but can’t come to MYX with a 100% graduation rate, community and support, is just another example of the unfair qualities of the world. 

Jacob said by just putting this in writing it will make a difference.

I know he is wrong, but a promise is a promise. 

If you can’t trust yourself, who can you trust?

I’m realizing that the narrative in my head is not quite complete. Nope. That is not even a fair description. It is totally inaccurate.

When reading THIS. It was like I was reading someone else’s story. My eyes rapt with this stranger’s tragedy. Turns out depressive people like tragedies.

Note: I have NOT watched the Hands Maid Tale. Oh, I want to, but thank you blog for that warning.

Reading that post was like learning this story for the first time. Huh? How does that make sense? Didn’t I experience it?! 

I mean I know those things happened, but I don’t remember them like that at all.  I forgot that these events even occurred in the same day. That all of that happened within 18 hours. That Jacob had surgery and a blood transfusion in one day with two separate trips to the hospital. You would think that would be something a mother would remember?! I don’t even remember having to hold him down against his will, the kicking, the screaming. Most of my memories are of Jacob walking himself in, sitting on the table, and asking when the sleepy medicine starts. 

Over the last two years I even told myself a little lullaby. I reminded myself that I never had to do something against Jacob’s will. How lucky am I.  I had seen so many other parents have to. But yet that inner mantra…isn’t quite true.

Oddly, I do recall the man almost dropping a hammer on Jacob’s head. I remember that vividly. I can even see the person’s face. I remember screaming. Pushing them out the door as they screamed at me in Spanish. 

I know this writer is telling the truth.

It seems it’s me who has been making stories of my story.

But why?

I wonder if that is a me thing?

But looking at research it seems to be an us thing. Trauma or not, our memories are highly impressionable and completely inaccurate. Our brains are not recorders, they are analyzers. They don’t play back a movie, but rather play an episode of Siskel and Ebert. You get to watch the movie with a specific lens (good/bad) through a few snippets of the film that may not even be in chronological order.

I’m with you Ebert. Siskel you got this one wrong. Two thumbs down all the way.

So if its all bullshit…what does that mean? If you rest your identity on a tale, is life just that a tale?

Cycle 3, updated PTSD research

Holy shit.

It has been a while since I read my blog.

I am back in it so I can learn from the past PTSD cycles and thank you past self, it’s all very helpful. All the research is right there to reread and all the results of past treatments are there to learn from.

At first, I was just filtering for June posts but then I fell into an internet rabbit hole letting the AI-generated suggestions for other blogs to read dictate the way. This one really rocked me. How did I survive that?! But yet here I am. 

While I feel like shit, I have to acknowledge that it has been MUCH worse. MUCH MUCH worse. Today I did not have to tackle my child for surgery and a blood transfusion. Nor did I have to learn that he is not responding to treatment and still has cancer all over his body after rounds of poison. Yes, it is fair to say that today is a better day than that. Even if I can’t feel it in my body, my mind understands that. 

And I understand that I may have another cycle, that there may be a fourth so I continue to document the newest research to learn from. I feel so fortunate to live in a time when we can name such disorders and have novel treatments that only get better year after year. 

The newest research is less about “software” (chemicals/ anti-depressants) changes, but “hardware” (physical brain/ neurons) changes to combat PTSD. There is ample evidence to show that increasing glutamate production triggers new neural connections. This makes the brain more adaptable and able to create new pathways, giving patients the opportunity to develop more positive thoughts and behaviors. 

The drug that can do this? Ketamine. As in the antithetic used to treat wounds in battle. Crazy but true. It was discovered by accident and the VA leads most of this work. Ketamine works by quickly increasing the activity of the neurotransmitter glutamate in the frontal cortex of the brain, while also allowing new synapses to form in the same area. I’m on day three of these infusions and while I’m not ready yet to give it the stamp of approval for other cancer moms out there, I will say that I am seeing some results. The physical pain has subsided and last night I was able to enjoy my children and Steve. I laughed at a joke even.

I also pumped up the music. I found my cancer playlist and gave that a whirl. It has been helpful to replace negative thoughts with lyrics. 

LOG:

Day 3 of treatment- was able to laugh and a somewhat normal-ish night

Music helpful (Sia- The greatest, The Wild Reeds- Let No Grief)

Blog VERY helpful

Meeting with students also has been helpful. Being a teacher is a selfless act that requires you to be there 100% for another. That has let me out of my own negativity. VERY helpful

It’s back, cycle 3

Going on four.

Four days.

Day one was really dark. Just the understanding that there will be a day two, three, four, five…was enough to put me in tears for hours. I don’t have time for this. I don’t have minutes to spare! Days? Absolutely not.

It’s odd that even though I know what it is happening, it still feels like the first time. But thankfully, I left breadcrumbs. 

The world is so gloomy right now. I’m not feeling capable or worthy of anything.  I feel you Lady Gaga, the shame and guilt are worse than the pain. The physical pain is only a reminder of how much you suck. How feeling like this lets down everyone around you. Your family, your team, and yourself. 

Disappointed to be here again. And while I know it’s not my “fault,” I am frustrated. I really tried this time. After last cycle I changed my life. I stepped down as CEO to spend more time with my family and focus on mental health. My new role allowed me to work with students and families directly- YEAH! So happy. I even worked out (gasp!). I was doing great. Everything was going great.

Many of my friends have said I was “triggered.” That by being back at the hospital last week triggered me, but I hate that word. I blame millennials and their overuse of “trigger” making it the most annoying word ever so apologies for using this word at all.

And I really don’t think it was the room of waiting that “triggered” it. The timing is a bit suspicious, I hear you, but this has been an incredibly stressful month. A month of true betrayal. If you have seen me recently you may see my hunched over with a dagger in my back. And what pisses me off is that the dagger was not even from a real competitor, an equal. My dagger is from incompetent people. Like stupid people. I allowed stupid to hurt me and others. And it also came from someone who called himself “a friend.”

Due to this dagger, I am back as CEO of my company and I have been operating at 250% to fix the stupidly, which was fixed by competent people like myself and the rest of my team in 2 weeks. Yes two weeks to do the work that a team of “experts” have been (not) doing for months. And fix it we did as let me be clear (especially to you fuckers who caused this issue)  “NO ONE FUCKS WITH MY STUDENTS!” No one. Got that?! No one.

Sorry tangent. The only other feeling besides extreme sadness is anger. So I embrace the anger. That one helps me get out of bed. One day I will write about my anger and name those fuckers behind it, but until the litigation is over…sadly I can’t.

So stress…maybe that did it. 

But if I had to name the moment where I felt a shift. It was leaving the hospital. My body wanted to stay. I wanted to live in the singularity. And when you go from operating at 250% to 0% within an hour, it turns out revving up the engine can be hard. Or in my case, impossible. The engine completely shut down.

I write to record. I write to find patterns.

I’ve read all my posts from previous cycles and I rarely focus on the environmental factors around these flairs. I feel that is an important piece to understand to help prevent them. In the past I believed that June was the culprit (the “anniversary effect”) but that really doesn’t feel right for me anymore. I didn’t even realize it was June. I have been working 24/7. At no point did I say- wow three year ago was the worst day of my life.

And for me the only way to find the light out is to understand its source. EMIT (truth in Hebrew). I do not want to be here again. I WILL NOT BE HERE AGAIN.  No more Junes.

Cycle log:

Began: Sunday, June 12th

Environment: Extreme stress and betrayal and a day in the room of waiting

Treatment: Started Tuesday, June 14th

I welcome the sit

Note: everyone is healthy!!!! Everyone. Steve got elective surgery for acid reflux. He has more sexy battle wounds. 

Written: Friday, June 10th

I’m back. 
Back In the room of waiting and I have to tell you oddly home like.
The dings. The alarms. The chairs. Sunk right back into them. 

And I see that they got rid of that clock. It did in the end get freed. Good for you clock.

It’s slower here. I forgot that part. 

I mean it’s life and death (literally) but in a slow comforting way that I’ve become to feel at home with.  It is the only place you can see all of life from beginning to end. Maybe this is the real matrix. Keanu you had it wrong. No ship required. It’s right here in the fluorescent light and purell scented rooms of your local hospital. All past, present, and future in one place.   Turns out you don’t need to go fast to see it, you need to go slow. 

It is actually quite easy.
Just sit.

I forgot all about the feeling of waiting. I only recall hating it and feeling captive to it. Like years of life stripping away. Every tic and toc a reminder that my family is captive. But not this time. It oddly was welcoming. 

I was back in old routines. 

I noticed people’s flair. I watched my neighbors. Wondering the stories behind each of their sits. Are they like Steve, getting a elective small procedure? Or are they waiting for the biopsy to know if your husband has weeks to live.

I’ve played both roles and at some point sat in each one of those chairs. 

But its not the chairs that reminded me of home, it was the simplicity. You sit. One task. While it can be excruciating, it is still singular. You sit because you don’t have any where else to go. Your job is to sit. Nothing more. And the sit is honored. No one comes up to you. No one asks for anything. You will sit next to someone for hours and never know their name. 

There are not multiple things to react to or for my not have even time to react to. Lately that’s how I feel. I feel like I’m being slapped back and forth and before my eyes can refocus, BAND another slap so life is just a haze.

I mean wow do you react when the next day something even more horrific is happening? How can you attend the multiple fires when you just saw the first fire and are only in your pajamas! 


Roe vs. Wade
Mass shootings
Pandemic
School Shootings
Ukraine
And betrayal
And betrayal
So much betrayal
So much pain

But in the hospital you never have to worry about those things. 

So I sit. 

Lego Block

The lego block. Pure genius. 

Even as toys get more complex with remote controls and flashing lights, the lego block remains supreme. Fads come and go, but there is always lego.

Its pure simplicity is its brilliance, but also its power. 

A block with endless possibilities. A unit of wonder.  A cell that can be built upon in any way you imagine to form shapes of incredible complexity. 

Just like our own human bodies, small units of wonder, protons and neutrons that are arranged to create infinite combinations of cells and organs. 

That is the power in the lego block. 

The winners of all categories in life understand the power of the unit. 

Yogis have units of poses 

Meditation the breath

Construction, a wood plank

Artists, a color

Experts who master their art, understand the components it is made of. 

In the end our success is mastery of the unit.

However, until recently, education did not understand this fact.  Education like every other field is made of blocks, of competencies, of skills that create a curriculum of competencies. However, while educators claim to “teach” we never let them touch the unit. We don’t let them build, we give them sets. 

Lego also has this business. For $200 bucks you can have this.

I get the appeal. It’s easy. It’s no risk and you get this pretty globe. I would even say therapeutic like knitting. 

It’s also good business. Lego can charge crazy money for this packaged experience and you really have no idea what the true cost is? You only see a packed deal. 

That’s college. A lego set. The sets are majors. English, Science, etc with clear requirements and a large check to go with it. We funnel our students through these sets and yes we can charge a lot!

But let’s be clear, that is not true learning and today’s jobs don’t come in majors. Nor does mastery come from this track as we haven’t given them the block. We haven’t allowed them to create and stack. They have only learned regurgitation. They have learned to follow instructions that come in the format of papers and tests. There is no expectation nor should we expect it after completing a list of steps, that a student on demand can make another lego globe or make an iteration that is all there own. That currently is not part of the learning process. 

Education needs to change to allow students to be the builders. Give our learners access to the blocks and build their own unique shapes that map directly to their core interests and goals.

We’ve seen other industries go through this transition fueled by the consumer’s demands for the block, the power.  The music industry is a good example. 

Remember the days when we bought albums?  Entire albums of music to get that one song. We would pay 20x for that one song. And remember what we did in return?  We created mixtapes! You could not stop us even then from creating.  We want the song, but in the order and next to the other songs we want to listen to. 

And that is what the modern student is saying. I want the unit. I want to MYX my education. I want to be the decision maker and create something truly my own that gives me the exact skills I require for my next. My own reMYX. I will create. I will build. 

I am the master of the lego block.

The movement where education is a continuous self made soundtrack is upon us. Where personalization reigns supreme. 

The future of higher education is here and the student is holding the mic. 

And with that I drop mine!

Ukraine

We have all been so challenged as parents these last years. Having to explain things that we never thought we would have. We explained to our children the need to wear masks, we explained why they can’t see grandma. We did unthinkable things, but that is what we do. We protect our children.

And now parents in Ukraine have another impossible task to explain to their children. They need to explain why they now sleep in bunkers, halls, and their fathers may not return home. Why they are at war. And why its not stopping.

And then within that horror, there lives another set of parents, cancer moms and dads.

The cancer parents who already lacked words to explain to their child that there is an enemy living inside their body trying to kill them, now have to do this in basements of hospitals that are losing electricity and lack the critical drugs these children need to fight.

How does a mom of 3 children with one in treatment for cancer and a husband on the front lines survive?

I only know one answer: With community coming together to save her. 

Let’s do this Nightwing!

This is where we BAND TOGETHER.

We are getting these children out. HELP US!

Donate here

Mentorship opportunity

Dear friends of MYX,

At MYX, experience is everything.

It’s what we do best.

A MYX education is more than credentials, our students get hands-on, real-world experience applying their new skills and kicking the tires on potential academic and career pathways.

The MYX Project, is one of the integral parts of a MYX education. Through the MYX project, students showcase mastery of what is required for their “next.” As you can imagine, they are as distinctive as our students. These Projects enable MYXers to leave with more than theoretical knowledge and a transcript. They leave with a compelling portfolio of actual work that shows future employers, admissions officers, or investors that they’ve acquired real skills through the application of what they learned.

One of the critical success factors of a successful Project is having a feedback session on project ideas with someone related to the field of study. It is just one phone call/ zoom, but this is an important part of the project process. Not only do students receive critical feedback, but gain practice in the art of building networks.

I reach out to ask you to join our network of professionals with stories to tell and perspectives to give.

The time commitment is no more than 30 minutes per term (every 4 months) at most. All done over zoom! I assure you this will be an incredibly enriching and rewarding experience!

Please list all of your interests. You don’t need to be an “expert” just experience.

For example here is the list of the fields of interest I listed:
Entrepreneurship, cancer research and innovation, education, cognitive sciences, teaching, administration, dance, installation art

To join the Network, please complete this form.

Thank you so much for your consideration.

Last one standing

She was the last one standing.

I wonder what that is like being last. I don’t think any of us envision being the last one standing. Instead we envision our funeral full of people swapping stories and passing tissues, but what if there are few people who know your story left?

My last grandmother died. This was just shy of 102 and she was the last one standing. All of her friends had passed, her husband had passed, and honestly her mind had passed. For the past 3 years she hasn’t really known where and who she is.

How could she? No one was left to remind her.

Our identity is tied to others. We have meaning because others see us and value us. When the value goes away, we may lack purpose suffer from depression, but when the entire group fades, where does that leave someone? Alone.

While I mourn my grandmother, I also am happy for her too. Her life was not hers in the end. She did not have the community to bring it to life. But someone has to be last. It has to be someone and I assume it is left to the bravest.

I hope to be as brave as you grandma. Brave enough to be the last one standing.

Delayed

He was getting annoyed, I could tell. His gaze following me across the room as I place the third meal of the night in front of Jacob. Yes third. I may have overdone those prayers in the hospital praying for him to eat. He eats!

But back to the child that never eats, Benno.

I promised him I would be ready by 6:30PM. I made that promise at least a dozen times within only a 4 hour time period as he reminded me over and over and over again. Truly painful. And as promised I am there right at 6:28PM, two minutes early, which I point out to him…only once.

He is giddy with excitement. And he did not joke when he said the VIP experience. There picking us up was a limo, black and decked out with lights. Benno was pickled pink. I can only describe it as a spastic jumping movement, but he did this all over the limo, from seat to seat. Until he settled right where I thought he would, by the door facing forwards. This kid plays it safe. 

He was non stop verbiage. While it can be argued that non stop verbiage is his homeostasis, this is that on hyper drive. You can just nod away, he doesn’t really care. He is mainly talking to himself. But I do listen. I hang on every word. I note that we need to remember to go to the counter as the airline is giving away free products. Benno hopes to get a neck pillow. Alrighty. Our ideas of a good time could not be more different, but this is Benno’s trip. I’m just a passenger here for the ride.

I can’t help but notice my son’s apparel. He is in full camo (dark, gray type) and wearing a helmet with a mic and on the back of his helmet he has night vision goggles. I ask him if he really thinks this is an outfit to wear to an airport. He is surprised by the question. What do you mean? What’s wrong with it? I begin to try to hint about looking like a terrorist, but decide best to not go down that route. 

Turns out it doesn’t matter, he just keeps talking.

Non stop verbiage.

We arrive.

Spastic bouncing recommences. 

We get out and go to check in. Turns out we are too early to check into the flight.  Benno has ensured that we are FIRST to get there. I am about to make a comment. “Does this mean I get to sit in the airport longer? Oh yeah. Thanks Benno with my signature cutting enthusiasm. 

But I stopped myself as I see we are not alone. Dozens of people are hopping about trying to check in. Some of them just stand there and putting their information into the machine over and over expecting a new outcome.  And the people sighting was legit. Vegas buffet had nothing on this smattering of species. My favorite was the guy (I’m assuming as he had chest hair), hopping around in a ballet outfit with a unicorn horn. I now understand Benno’s utter confusion previously. He is dressed just fine. He fits in great and no one seems to care that he looks like he is carrying a weapon.

While I watch, Benno just chips away at that machine and he does manage to check us in within 4 minutes. Not too bad. However, I spot with my watchful eye someone at a kiosk walking away with a neck pillow. I point this out to Benno, who without skipping a beat frantically gets to the kiosk, only 2 people beat us there. Benno is pleased. Not bad. We get to the front of the line and bang neck pillow around our necks. 

Benno thanks me. No literally that happened. And I quote: “Good job mom. Look what you found. So glad you’re here.” I wish I could have recorded it. Strange that all it took was a neck pillow. Next time for dinner I may just serve him up a pair of compression socks, which I’m told is also a traveling must. This must be his love language. Noted.

We are now hopping our way in the terminal, Benno frantically looking for our gate. And we get there to see.

DELAYED

What?! 

Now this is my breaking point. 

Benno informs me that “this happens.” 

Now I understand this happens, but this entire flight was in Roblox. We were hanging out in a “video game”and my son paid REAL money to go on a flight, VIP style (with a limo). But all of this was from our couch.  All not “real” (real is in quotes with real intention…for another time, spending a lot of time thinking about what real is- be curious how you would define it).

And I have spent my last three days pondering on this moment. 

I saw the future reality and how in this new reality… our children are building worlds and while you can jump and get to a plane in a 2 minute limo ride, in the end, it’s just as complex and disappointing as the physical one.

Even in the metaverse things will be delayed.

That for things to feel real to humans there has to be “suffering.” There has to be loss. That the games do BETTER (more people buy etc) when it mirrors our own world. That our children are leaving the physical world to create it in a metaverse where they can move faster, but in the end, find things delayed.