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Permanence

There's some fundamental human attraction to permanence. We want relationships to be permanent, achievements to hold their importance permanently, and for our possessions to be ours permanently. When we break up, when our accomplishments are forgotten, or when something is lost, stolen, or sold, we feel a loss.

Good reasons to value permanence exist. It gives us consistency upon which we can base other things. It limits our options, which is something I think we all like more than we admit.

When I was a nomad, my permanence was my computer. I could be at a family member's home or at a grungy third-world bus station, and much of my world was consistent. I communicated with my friends online, worked online, learned online, and researched online. That familiar space allowed me to vary other parts of my life wildly. I never felt homesick or lost because of it.

Before being a nomad, I took permanence for granted. Even if I could have guessed I wouldn't live in Austin forever, I knew that I'd be there a while and that it would always be waiting for me. But becoming a nomad threw into contrast just how valuable permanence is.

Meet Mortimer

On Where Pianos Roam

O and B are becoming acquainted with a new member of my little family.

I mentioned in a couple of previous posts that I've been reading a lot lately.  Well, there's a reason for this.

 Truthfully, in spite of my love of reading in general, it has taken a distant backseat to all of my musical and artistic pursuits over the last couple of years.  If I could, there would be two or three books that I could be working my way through, but that generally creates more of a hassle in terms of lugging them around and frequently misplacing them (as I am prone to doing more than I should).

Several years ago, Amazon (dot) com, the behemoth online get-whatever-the-heck-you-want website to end all websites, released it's first version of The Kindle.  It was a portable and digital reader that allowed folks to read books and carry them around within a little machine.  It could be held easily in one hand and weighed less than 9 ounces.   I was fairly skeptical when I first heard about it.  I've long loved the smell and feel of books and the physical act of turning a page.  To me, this is like a warm bowl of soup on a cold day or a soft bed to lie in when taking a nap.  Reading an actual book has always felt like home to me.

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