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Whenever God closes a door, somewhere He opens a window. That time-honored observation bubbled up as I explored the theme for this week's reflection.
Just after I returned from travel last week, desperately behind on several projects, the computer died. After five years of nearly flawless service, it began to require two, three, then five attempts before booting into consciousness. The tech at the shop confirmed my hunch: it was on the way out. The door was swinging shut.
The next day, driven by deadlines, I sped through the stages of grief, accepted reality, and bought a new computer. Windows opened: Windows 8, Microsoft's most recent operating system and the associated experiment in patience and persistence.
Windows 8 and its new friends, the "Apps," have an endearing desire to please. In the process, they trip all over themselves, anticipating my every wish (and mostly getting it wrong). With fingers hovering over the touchpad, I contemplate the next step while the computer tries to guess what I want. Without my asking, it shifts erratically from screen to screen. From giant font to microscopic. From the last thing I was doing to what I might do next. From Desktop view to Start view. Charms, Widgets, and Buttons appear quickly, and even more quickly vanish. It is driving me crazy.
This is not the kind of window I expect to open when a door closes. I expect a window of clarity with an unobstructed view. I expect reason and calm. I expect help. Instead I get this. I have registered for a Lifelong Learning class on the topic; it can't come too soon. In the meantime, I am struggling to produce results on tight timelines while learning the new system intuitively. It's not pretty.
I love technology. I hate technology. It does so many things well. It does too many things well. It makes life simpler. And more complex. I am caught in the conundrum. I need to stop. I need to re-frame my goals and my deadlines. I need to ask for help. I need to read the directions. I can't go on as if nothing has changed.
Whether or not the hand of God is evident, the Vista door has closed and Windows 8 has opened. It has not opened all the way, and I am banging my head against the frame as I struggle to move forward. I sense a lesson to be learned here, but my head hurts and it eludes me.
What life lessons do you find buried in this experience?
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