The upper end of the middle, I suppose

I spent an hour or so this weekend trying to guilt my husband into installing a virtual machine on my computer so I could run some legacy software on my Windows 7 box. I failed.

I'm thinking he was getting back at me. A few weeks ago, I did not update his phone when I updated my own. He lost data services and his calls out were mysteriously rerouted to Rogers' customer service where a very nice women in India cheered him on as he installed the update. 24 hours later his service was restored and all was well.

OK, maybe not so well, after all, he was not inclined to help me with the damn VM and I ended up doing it myself.

From my perspective, our marriage license came with a terms of services agreement. RW took responsibility for networking, databases, and installs. I was the go to person for web building, advanced googling, troubleshooting, and all things requiring a word processor.

Times have changed. When we got married ten years ago, RW went to work doing techie business in the big city everyday and I stayed at home doing some web building, but mainly taking care of the home front. These days, I go to the office and RW stays home running a smallish accounting business and worrying about what he will make for dinner. I am in charge of an education program for a non-profit. My job also includes a techie component, including the website and our social networking presence.

The VM debacle represents that change, I suppose. So does the cell phone bit. Our TOS has apparently changed, or at the very least, been modified to include changing technologies.

We're both within hailing distance of 60. Neither one of us seems to have the burning need to embrace new technologies we used to have. If we want to make it sound better, I suppose we could say we have developed a late middle age ennui. If we were being honest, we'd probably call it the march of the noodles.

When rudeness transforms

I've always been somewhat lacking in social skills. I think it dates back to my childhood, when no one listened to me anyway, or if they did, I had to jump right in before they moved on. In any case, I developed a caustic wit and a reputation for being very direct (AKA rude).

Then, about 15 years ago, I had an aha moment. I was riding in the car with a woman I've known my whole life. At the time, she was about 5-6 years older than I am now. In the middle of a conversation about something truly trivial, she told me that at her age she no longer felt like she had to be nice or accommodating or polite. She went on to say that she had earned the right to "say whatever is on her mind."

Now, my experience of this person was that she had always had two distinct personae: one was bitchy and self-involved; the other was sweet, helpful, and, from my perspective, utterly phony and reserved for a small circle of friends and total strangers. I assumed that her proclamation meant that there would now be only one of her, the bitchy self-involved one I had always known.

The aha part came about when I realized that I had somehow inherited the bitchy part of her, and that I didn't want it anymore. I didn't want the false thing she was discarding, but I did want to make a change--a real change.

I then went on a journey, the intent of which was to become a no less honest, no less witty, but infinitely more pleasant person to be around. I think I have succeeded. The people I have met over the past dozen or so years still think of me as being direct, but not in a nasty way. I still have a sense of humour, but it tends toward the self-deprecating rather than the caustic variety. Best of all, it feels real to me, like over the years I was (mostly) able to successfully rid myself of a personal style that wasn't working for me any longer. I'm guessing that it never did.

All that is well and good, however I am beginning to think that it is out of step with developing cultural norms. Reading comments on websites, and interacting with people in the grocery store, it seems that rude is the new default for interacting with each other, at least in situations that are not mediated by actual relationships. Listening to how people talk to and about people they presumably love, it seems to be a big part of those relationships as well.

Oh well, I'm out of step. Again.

Learning new shtuff

I spend a fair amount of time every day reading on-line. I read things related to my work and things that catch my eye for no particular reason at all. I also read about new digital technology, mostly software, apps,--the kind of things I have always called toys.

I'm finding the technology reading a bit daunting these days. Let me give an example.

An hour or so ago I read that Swype, an application that lets you trace words on a virtual keyboard instead of typing in each letter, was now available for my cell phone. Since trading in my HTC Dream for an HTC Magic (long boring story there, boo hiss), I have had to use a virtual keyboard full time, and my typing on it leaves much to be desired. I watched a video, and it looked useful.

I knew how to do the download and install part, but found I had to watch the video again to get it going. I watched a couple of other videos that demonstrated some of the features. Then I watched them again.

I tried the damn thing, and as I came to realize that I was not immediately good at using it, I started to panic. No, not a full blown "I can't breath, I'm gonna die" kind of panic, but I felt this pressure build up as I didn't quite get it. It was like the thinking part of my brain was getting in the way of the doing part of it.

I was alone. No one was watching me. No one was judging me. Still, I was having some sort of weird performance anxiety--just like I do when I have to record a new voice mail message and I find myself having to do it over a dozen times until the eight words (hello this is noodles, leave me a message) sound good enough. Good enough? Is there an outgoing messages god who judges such things?

What is that about? It's not like there was going to be a test that would decide my future. It's not like a job interview. It was just me, sitting at my desk, holding my phone, and trying a new spin on text input. Finally, I started to breathe again and in doing so, it became the insignificant thing it always was, and I had no problem doing it. Sure, it wasn't perfect, but perfection was no longer necessary.

I'm beginning to understand why there are so many technophobes out there in the world. I am beginning to understand why people seem to get stuck in the past and refuse to even try new things.

I don't like it, but at least for now, I am willing to push past the discomfort. Check back with me next year.