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Fifteen Reasons Why Experience Matters

Usually, when we think of the word “experience,” it’s measured in years or months. It’s a form field to be filled out in an online resume. We all want a certain amount of experience — but not too much.

This isn’t an HR post, although wisely or unwisely, I’m becoming less timid about sharing the contents of my personal blog in professional settings. Instead I’m examining the term in the absolute broadest sense. Discussion encompasses my actual job — user experience consulting — but also moral, political, and philosophical questions.

“Experience”

1. We all have it. Whatever our age, whatever our history or demographics, we are shaped by our past and our memories.

2. Experience can be measured. It is both universal and highly subjective. That is the beautiful paradox. Whether it manifests in actions, in votes, or in survey results, experience is more than a figment or an intellectual abstraction.

3. Experience is not in infinite supply. All of us have a finite amount of time on this planet. In our daily lives, we have limited attention and ability to absorb information. As many of learned in Econ 101, scarcity creates value.

4. Experience is highly personal. It is a unique adaptation, by definition “squooshy.” It plays out our bodies and our brains. Nowhere else. While AI’s may effectively mimic or even surpass humans when it comes to specific skills and types of interactions, even the most sophisticated Large Language Models do not retain memories of specific conversations or form attachments to individual people.

5. Experience means it’s all right to care. As a system of measurement, it doesn’t exclude or invalidate emotion. Instead, it takes it as a given. But it also shouldn’t exclude rational or logical discourse! Anything that you ever read in a book or learned in a class becomes part of your experience.

6. Experience leaves room for difference.

7. Experience points out common ground.

8. Experience encompasses everything: different learning styles, modes of perception, and the way in which our memories can shift and alter over time.

9. Recognizing the value and validity of experience does not imply sophism or moral relativism. Quite the contrary! Let me explain why. It is a framework of knowledge — a grid and a rubric for making choices. As such, neither systems thinkers nor poets and activists need be afraid of it. The beauty of experience is that it can ground our common truths, while still making room for difference.

10. The fundamental unit of experience is not ASCII, or binary, or MIME-encoded video. It is storytelling. If you ever read a book or saw a movie and enjoyed that work of fiction (or hated it) that’s experience. Likewise with vivid dreams that stay with you after waking. If you can explain something as narrative — that is, with a beginning, a middle, and an end — then whether it is imaginary or real, it has become part of your experience.

With that in mind, I’ve left the last five items on this list blank.

11.  …

12.  …

13.  …

14.  …

15.  …

I’ll elaborate in future posts. Or you can just use the space to contemplate your own experiences — whether they’re stowed tidily in the past or continuing to impact your present.

 

Collision Course

Imagine two families living side-by-side on the ground floor of a multi-story apartment building. They do not live in Oregon, but in some quaint and more geographically settled area, where gas heat and gas stoves are the norm. It is a sunny Saturday… one of those days when the great outdoors calls out and demands to be explored, with gusto and enthusiasm.

Two couples set out just minutes apart, in two different SUVs. They speed away in opposite directions. One is heading to the mountains. The other is heading to the shore (with perhaps a stop at an outlet mall or a brewpub somewhere along the way). They want to get an early start. They have been working hard all week and are fearful of losing the day. But before much time has elapsed, one person in one car starts to wonder: did she leave the stove on?

This has never happened before, and Ellen is usually very careful about these things. Even OCD. But she had never lived with a gas stove before. Its novelty speaks to her of danger. She remembers turning the gas stove on, to heat up water for instant oatmeal.

But she has no memory of turning the stove off. Why would she?

After much inner debate and turmoil, she brings up her concern. They pull over in the parking lot of a nearby convenience store, so that they can discuss the matter further. After several minutes of intense discussion, it becomes clear that her anxiety is going to ruin the trip unless they head back home.

She convinces her partner to turn around, “just to check.”

Meanwhile, three and a half miles away, the other couple is bickering about the very same possibility. The driver, Craig, is worried because his girlfriend insisted on making them both French toast that very morning before setting out. He is feeling gastric distress from the rich food and secretly wondering if he might be lactose intolerant or allergic to eggs. But he cannot admit that possibility out loud! Instead, he thinks of a convenient way to deflect blame.

He accuses her of leaving the stove on.

She angrily denies the accusation.

He leans across the driver’s seat to confront her. Now he is almost positive he remembers the smell of gas. He tells her so.

“All right, we can go back. But please make it quick!”

“You got it, babe.”

They pull a U-ey though the center of town and barrel homeward, at top speed.

You guessed what’s coming next…

Both vehicles turn abruptly into the narrow parking lot of the apartment building. Both drivers are distracted, and driving a little too fast. They are only a few feet away from their own front doors. They swerve in opposite directions, and in the process collide.

One SUV actually flips, and hurtles through the window of their neighbor’s gas-flooded kitchen.

The result is a fiery conflagration. The entire building goes up in flames. The people in the two vehicles perish. Because of the immense niceness of the day and the complete disappearance of Saturday morning cartoons, no children or pets are harmed.

This is the best I can do.

It’s possible to draw lots of inferences from this story. Most notably, don’t speed and don’t necessarily leave the womenfolk to do all the cooking.

It’s also not an indictment of natural gas from a safety standpoint. Serious fires can be caused by something as simple as an electrical cord left too close to a burner. Deaths can be caused by generators1 used indoors or garages. As a foodie, there is no substitute! I miss my JennAir from Charlotte, North Carolina — as well as the ancient and nameless stove that served me well for eight idyllic years in rural Massachusetts.

But yes, there is a lesson to be learned here. I’ll get to it shortly.

In this hypothetical thought experiment, the gas main would not have been damaged if somebody had not left their stove on, releasing a significant amount of combustible gas vapor into the air.

But which stove? Which kitchen?

Here is where we encounter several possibilities.

In other words, Ellen (the oatmeal eater) simply forgot whether she left the gas on in her apartment. She had a memory lapse. She was coming back to check on the situation. Had she and her partner not collided with the other vehicle, the situation would have been contained and everything would have been fine.

Craig (the guy who ate the French toast) convinced himself that he had smelled gas. This might have been an example of confabulation (in other words, manufacturing a false memory). This urgent but totally rational fear led him and his hapless girlfriend to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

But what if Craig’s memory was the true one? What if Ellen was imagining things?

Same outcome.

Change up the positions and the velocities of the two vehicles, or change which couple had rented which apartment, and it wouldn’t matter.

 Where am I going with all this?

We all know about fake news and fake memories.

We recognize that many people lie out of habit and even forget what the truth is. But that’s not all. We assume that others can be misled, then conveniently adopt the narratives that fit with our own experience and beliefs. That’s old news.

Objective reality? What’s that? Do you actually believe there was a moon landing?

We know the power of the crowd — the influence of suggestion, of propaganda, of mass hysteria.

What we forget is that memories and perceptions change of their own accord, independent of any direct causal event. When two or more sets of memories interact — particularly when these memories are different or opposing, and when a fear factor is present — the potential for conflict is high.

The scientific method yearns for an objective truth. A single, definitive answer. We want our heroes and villains. We want to know what actually happened.

Come on, storyteller…

Who is at fault? Who really left the gas on?

To the insurance company determining fault and cause, the answer matters. They are the money people. The bag holders. They need forensic evidence in order to proceed with processing the property owners’ claim. To everyone else, we just have a senseless tragedy. Who was at fault is not important. Both sides, or neither. Mistakes compounding mistakes.

The moralists just throw up their hands and walk away. Senseless violence. Hasty actions with terrible consequences. They surround us.

The optimist looks for a lesson from the story and remembers that this is a work of fiction and not an item from the local newspaper. (Although these days you never know…)

I included two symbols, placed very intentionally.

Here are the cheat codes:

 

The first symbol is the natural gas line. In this example, it represents the power of the state. Specifically, police and military power. But you could also expand this metaphor to include licensed possession of firearms — or medical and teaching licenses. Much like public utilities, these are systems that taxpayers fund and often take for granted. They lawfully grant individuals the authority to make life and death decisions. In a democracy — at least in theory — we as citizens set the rules.

The second symbol is the explosion that engulfs the building. And no, I didn’t place it there just for effect. Those flames represent violence — lives lost, and the grief of loved ones. But also risks to the first responders who arrive at the scene. As well as environmental damage and financial disaster (we will assume not all individuals in the building had renters’ insurance).

There are so many kinds of evil lurking in the world…

What I am trying to get at here is preventable evil.

This is the type of harm that occurs due to ignorance, stupidity, and sheer bad luck. It is inescapable. But with the right moral outlook, we can cut down on the number of incidents.

It really is still about how we treat our neighbors. What assumptions we make, and how quickly we move to act on them.

None of us are infallible. Neither the present, the future, or the past are totally within our control.

Liberating ourselves from fear doesn’t free us from the consequences of other people’s fear and stupidity.  In the short term, it can make us targets. Cultivating an attitude of patience and generosity, of awareness and forgiveness, might be a starting place. It might actually create network effects.

 

Never use an electrical generator indoors. (Source: https://www.cpsc.gov/Newsroom/News-Releases/2007/Know-Carbon-Monoxide-Dangers-Before-the-Power-Goes-Out)

Stay Warm, Stay Hydrated.

This, to the best of my knowledge, is Universal Good Advice.

Here is another piece of Universal Good Advice (UGA) from yrs truly: don’t listen too much to other people’s advice. Instead, figure things out for yourself.

To some, this directive may be threatening — in particular to lawyers and to a certain class of therapists. Historically, hackers and lawyers have a relationship that is at best glancing and at worst adversarial. Based on what do I make this generalization? Life experience.

What does it actually mean to be a hacker? Check pdxlocal.net for a few thoughts relevant to that topic. They’re in there. Along with about a million other topics relevant to me personally, and fitting what I saw as the dominant Portland ethos ’round about the last time that I lived there.

Which was some time ago. Depending how you measure time.

I helped my parents sell my apartment — a sweet condo in the fashionable but still, shall we say “edgy” neighborhood known as St. John’s — in June 2023. Anyway, that was when the deal closed. But I’ve been back to the city a fair amount since. Rented an Airbnb for a month there in May of 2024, trying to make up my mind whether to return there permanently. Finding a place to live would not have been a problem but I passed at that time, for several reasons.

The two most significant:

Severe Repetitive Strain Injury (RSI) made me feel antsy about my chances of completing the Computer Science Postbac program that would have prepared me to get a Master’s in CS. True confession: I was an English major and only took one programming course before graduating. I need an advanced degree in order to be able to teach, even at the high school level. And also because, well, you don’t know what you don’t know until it comes up and bites you in the You Know Where.

I am a rape survivor. To the best of my knowledge, the man who raped me still lives in Portland. More about that another time. Seriously, it can wait.

Anyway, what I wanted to talk about was what to do if you have a respiratory infection that just won’t go away. Such as COVID. Or RSV. Or whatever it is I’ve had, off and on, since the Spring of 2023.

I am still not sure but staying warm does seem to help. And we all know about drinking fluids.

Found out recently I had COVID. This was surprising to me because it seems like I’ve been tested for everything under the sun, in inpatient settings and out of them.

Was denied Paxlovid, because of a complication with another medication that I’m taking. Actually had a scheduled doctor’s appointment last Tuesday at my local primary care office to talk about my problems breathing, but he cancelled it after I showed up early in the waiting room  and told the receptionist I had COVID. I didn’t mind. There were also children in that waiting room. The advice on my electronic chart when I returned home was all too familiar. You guessed it: rest and stay hydrated.

Am still a bit concerned, especially since I’m still running a fever — more than a week after the test came back positive from the Urgent Care Center.

I may be immunocompromised due to the loss of a uterus in September 2022 (if you don’t know what fibroids are, look it up or read my account from earlier that same year). Or maybe for some other reason. I am 49 years old. I get tested regularly for STI’s/STD’s.

About those test results…

I had a strange experience last February. I was wearing an olive green monokini and sunning myself in a deck chair. The guy in the chair next to me looked me up and down and asked if I’d had breast cancer? I said no. I volunteered that I was HIV-negative. He seemed elated by this news. He volunteered that he was of Kurdish descent, and now lived in Philadelphia. He told me he worked in the building trades. I noticed he was wearing a rather unusual baseball cap — one that I have seen elsewhere. It was a flag similar to the Stars and Stripes, but grayed out. I asked if he could find me a safe house in Philadelphia. He said no, but offered to get me some of the free punch that was being served by the pool and then invited me to dinner.

All of this transpired in Miami Beach, Florida. Why I was there and not sheltering at home in the gloomy, mist-ridden Oregon Coast? Business, actually. Ironically enough, a healthcare startup. Had a cofounder in South Florida.

I did ask for a doctor’s advice — different doctor than the one at the family practice — about whether I was safe to fly, but never heard back from him. Had to leave a message at the reception desk. No idea if he even got it. I reasoned that heading some place warm and lying out in the sun was what any doctor would have done, so I made my way to the airport and never looked back.

A fateful decision, and probably not the right one.

Love Alone Won’t Win the War

But why are we fighting in the first place?

I read that $1.5 million has been raised for Renee Good’s family . Too bad. Won’t bring her back.

I think about the ICE officer who fired the shot that killed her — a shot fired by a war veteran — and whether he privately permits himself to regret that action. Fear without accountability becomes lethal in the blink of an eye. Is there really anything more at work in the story?

We have taxpayer-funded death squads in this country now. But the resistance is polarized, and seems unable to reach out and even seek for common ground.

I read the most famous poem by the deceased woman. It was clear that she grappled with metaphysical struggles and questions… the same ones that are very familiar to me. I don’t know where she was when her life ended. But the poem doesn’t end in a hopeful way. Not if you define that hope as belief in a personal God, or in the Christian promise of an afterlife.

I too have thrown out a Bible…

Only one.

It wasn’t for the best of reasons. It was after reading John 3:16 on the eve of medically necessary surgery to remove my uterus. The line about God’s only begotten son really got to me. Realizing that I would never get the chance to have my own biological children — the conventional benchmark of a woman’s worth. Feeling like a failure in every other respect.

Ironic since at that point in my life I had a job and a stable place to live.

Since then I’ve had odd luck with Bibles. Bought or scavenged a few. Had two of them stolen.

I think about the book that I wrote. One of the unqualified blessings from that journey was meeting actual leaders from the Civil Rights movement. Not everyone involved in that movement subscribed to a Christian faith. But I’d argue it was successful because even racist Southerners believed in that common tradition. There was a way to begin a dialogue. And there was some recognition of common humanity. The movement was also organized and disciplined, in a way that isolated moments of resistance never can be.

So that’s one thing that I got from the time that I spent on the road and the years spent editing interview transcripts and compiling notes.

Maybe it makes up for the rest. Or maybe the best is yet to come.

I think about how faith propelled me to take financial and personal risks. Choosing not to remarry, or to go on disability back when I first realized I would have qualified. Always taking the road not taken, until it turned into a deer path. And then faded into a brambles and scree.

This is not a post I’ll be sharing on social media. I would be roundly pilloried, if anyone even took the time to read it. But it’s here for search engines, for future historians or AI trying to get a glimpse of what went wrong with our time.

I’m going to just say that I really think the problem may be that thinking people don’t believe in God anymore. And the people who do call themselves Christians don’t bother to actually read or understand the teachings of Jesus. I’m not even sure most evangelical Christian pastors believe, these days. I think maybe they’ve just recognized a nice and profitable hustle, and learned all the right memes to repeat with an up tempo beat.

The thing I try to remember is that at the time that Jesus lived, the world looked as divided and hopeless as it does today. The priestly class were very much aligned with the status quo. Many of them openly proclaimed that there was no afterlife.

Look through the list of disciples and you’ll see that it’s not the same in all four gospels. And of course it’s leaving out the women who were there.

So how did a ragtag band of maybe 10-20 handles peasants shift the course of history? Was the outcome anything more than a comforting myth? A way to justify slavery and imperialism? I’d have to argue that it was a lot more meaningful, based only on the example of the previous American century.

Which never could have happened without a shared base of values, grounded in both freedom of religion and a widely accepted faith in God. That which we have lost.

I am 49 years old, so I remember a lot of that.

The way the Cold War ended. The birth of punk, and the Internet. The freedom its children once enjoyed

The way we lived and hoped and dreamed when we thought our lives could be over in an instant, from a missile attack in the middle of the night.

Maybe we’ll never get that back. Probably our civilization has peaked.

I don’t have a call to action. There’s a link to my book in the sidebar, but not in this post.

I’m just trying to leave space open for God to be real. For there to be a reason for me to be up there on that mountain, lost in the woods.

It’s not a test or a dare. It’s just where I am.

A film concept

Picture of dead sealThis is not about what you think it’s about. It’s about Baywatch. 2026.

Baywatch LC

Could be Lincoln City. Could be Lincoln County. Both of these places are in Oregon. Oregon is part of the United States. They are the same place, incidentally. Unless you’re in Newport, or Depoe Bay. Possibly there are other municipalities. Whoops, I forgot to mention at least one!

Oh well. Let’s not get too much into the weeds…

Here goes.

This may be a little surprising to some people. It’s all about marine mammals. In particular, seals.

What is happening to the seals?

Why did one of the seals turn up dead?

It happened in July of the previous year.

In this season, there would be people concerned about the death of a seal. There would be young women: college-aged, or in their twenties.

All races, all colors, all sizes could be represented. I picture one woman in particular. She’s a brunette with curly hair. She’s wearing a comfortable fleece jacket. It has a tasteful color. She is horrified that a seal has died. She tells people about it.

They are also concerned.

Together, they organize.

They work to discover what the cause is of this terrible problem.

Marine mammals are dying.

She finds helpful people who are also concerned about the death of the seals. They’re worried about fisheries. They’re worried about the tide pools, and the sea anemones.

They understand that the death of wildlife in the Pacific Ocean impacts their local economy. It impacts tourism, and whale watching in particular. They all meet up at the local aquarium.

Sooner or later, somebody gets them a rubber raft with a motor. They go out on a boat ride, searching for the cause of these deaths…

What they find, and who is responsible, will take at least six or seven episodes to be revealed. It will be a good series to binge watch.

It could play on Netflix. Or Amazon Prime. It would be great for syndication, and also for programming on basic cable.

It could be filmed right here. In the community where I live.

I don’t own the Baywatch franchise. I don’t have an agent. I don’t have access to anyone who can make this concept happen. So it probably won’t happen.

“Never say never,” said somebody I never met.

Enough about that.

One final note to any of the few remaining people left who actually read this blog…

Correction: I don’t actually know if anyone reads this blog. I took out analytics traffic tracking software a few years back. That was because I would have had to upgrade everything, and it just seemed like a huge pain.

I don’t maintain this blog for money. It’s just sort of a very open virtual online diary.

But I want everyone to know that a real seal did turn up dead on the beach just a few blocks from where I live. And yes it was in July of 2025. I’m concerned. That’s not meant ironically.