Update: I managed to get back to my regular Google search page – at least everything looks the way it is supposed to but other things aren’t quite right. I searched “how to remove Chrome” and found hundreds of other people who had posted the exact same question and were likewise really unhappy with the impact of Chrome – perhaps Google needs to see those comments and make some fixes.
I used to make fun of people who were afraid of anything new. I, by stint of habit, embraced change. But now I’m becoming a creature of habit when it comes to my internet.
I upgraded to Chrome and everything, all my websites, look different. Even this site. I’ve been posting for years. I like WordPress. It’s easy to navigate. It isn’t as pretty as Tumblr but it’s user friendly. Today, I had to get to this new post page a completely different way. The links don’t work the same. It’s frustrating! It’s got to be Chrome. Now I wish I hadn’t changed. Does anyone know how to disable Chrome? Please! Help!
But that wasn’t I wanted to write about. I wanted to write about truth. I used to think that truth was an absolute. Something was true or it wasn’t. I’m not opposed to bending the truth or telling a white lie, but I knew when I wasn’t being truthful. Now I wonder if there is such a thing as truth, absolute, hundred percent truth.
What has got me in this frame of mind? My mother. I find things from my room in other parts of the house. I know I didn’t move them. I know there are no ghosts in the house. I know she had to have gone into my room and moved them. However, when I mention it to her, she insists, absolutely, a hundred percent, that she did not move them; that she was never in my room. She believes it. She honestly, truthfully does not have any memory of doing it. If you asked her if she was telling the truth, she would say she was and she’d be correct. She’s telling her truth.
I have stopped asking her about the things I find. I put everything back where it belongs and I forget about it. This is happening more and more. I have accepted it. I have accepted that there’s no confronting her because she’s done nothing. In her mind she has done nothing. That’s where the truth lives. In her mind. So does the truth as I see it only live in my mind? Does an absolute, impersonal truth exist?
Don’t we all see the world through our own eyes and interpret the actions of everyone else, and our own actions through the filter of our mind? We do. We create the world around us.
I feel like I’m back in Philosophy 101. We’d walk out of class, after an hour of being lectured about concepts designed to bend our minds, stunned and silent. Only at the end of the day, after a few beers, would we start processing and talking about what we’d learned.
Those lessons learned more than three decades ago are finally having some relevance to my life. I have learned that, when it comes to my mother, I have to live minute by minute. I have to listen to the same questions and provide the same answers without revealing that I’ve been there before. I’ve discovered that if I don’t mention topics or people, she won’t bring them up. I can shape her reality. Except for her closest friends and her grand daughter, she’d forgotten most everyone else. I find it easier to let those people go. To remind her about them just frustrates her and starts a spiral of questions that keep getting asked and answered day after day until she finally forgets them again.
Years after leaving school, my mother is teaching me a valuable lesson. Be present moment by moment and don’t worry about what has been or will be. Is that from Zen Buddhism? My mother, the philosophy professor.