Disruption is a thing to behold. In swift measure, it redirects the flow of living. But please don’t confuse me: this isn’t concerned with those parasitic tech disruptor companies that our business-obsessed media predict will make it easier for smartphone-addicted 20 somethings to bank or get their food delivered – it’s about run of the mill – though increasingly common – occurrences that interrupt our set routines, i.e., disruptions.
The kind that divert our energy elsewhere, often toward things of greater depth and purpose. As in the profoundness and intimacy of simply being together as opposed to “sharing” how we feel with the distracted masses (thanks, Facebook!). Or as in true solitude, the kind we can reflect in, introspect in, be in, rather than than the “being alone” that involves merely sitting by ourselves fidgeting with idevice.
When our workaday live are disrupted, we’re granted the freedom to consider, to reflect. And when we’re granted the freedom to reflect, we tend to consider meaningful alternatives. As when we…
…reclaim the streets with boots and sleds in the wake of a snowstorm;
…savor a candle-lit get-together when the power goes out;
…wonder how else we could have traveled to NYC when our flight is cancelled;
…become curious about the star-speckled night sky that reflects off the screen of our smartphone
Disruptions jolt us from mindlessness, as when we burn our mouth on that first cup of coffee. They often jar us into a state of wonderment. Like if our smartphones were to suddenly stop working, how we might wonder why we felt compelled to check Instagram in the first place.
Herein lies the cleverness of disruption: the moment we reflect on ‘why’, is the moment we open doors to deeper and more meaningful ways of being in the world. Disruptions push us toward our natural selves. The selves that seek out experiences that promote growth, exploration, affiliation.
It is this latent desire to live, to be, to experience vitality that is the true threat to the status quo. It’s not the one catastrophic event that hunkered-down preppers are gearing up for. No, it has more to do with a sort of change that writhes and gasps. Arrives and departs in fits and starts. A rolling brown out. The “100-year flood” that occurs every 10 years.
The kind of change that starts with a lowly, though hearty weed reaching up through a single crack in a parking lot. And as the cracks multiply and spread forming ever-longer, wider fissures, nature begins her verdant takeover. From the cracks soon emerge weed lots, grassland, forest – a cascading renewal. A chance for a saner more convivial tomorrow. Herein lies the beauty of disruption.Follow SethLaJ307