Seth Lewis

How Satellites Changed How I See The World

I grew up on the edge of a new world. I was the first of my friend group to own a mobile phone—an indestructible Nokia that could call and text, but I didn’t use it to text because that was expensive and who would I text anyway? No internet. No satellite navigation system.

I was 16. My parents gave me the phone because we lived in the country and I had just gotten plastic proof of my adulthood: a full driver’s licence. I drove our little Toyota pickup truck with a tape deck that was so old the tapes would play faster or slower according to the engine rpms—so the tempo of the music changed every time I changed gears. It was hilarious. And really annoying. That truck was mostly reliable, but only mostly. I remember it breaking down on top of a mountain and how thankful I was that I could just barely coast into the driveway of the first house after miles of forest. I didn’t know the people there, but they helped me. I couldn’t always depend on the car, or the phone signal, so I had to depend on strangers. Gradually, as the cellular towers sprang up and the satellite networks became more reliable, our family breakdown stories changed. Helpful strangers began to feature less often in them.

After The Flood

When the children went to school last Wednesday, it was raining. This is Ireland. We’re used to rain. Met Éireann gave an orange weather warning, but that almost always just means a bit of gusty wind or extra rain. I barely noticed. It wasn’t until the afternoon that I realised that this time it was not just a little bit extra—it was a month’s worth of rain, in 24 hours. The ground, so green and lush and well-watered, refused to take any more. The rivers carried away what they could, but they couldn’t carry it fast enough. Their banks broke. The green fields quickly became brown lakes. Then the lakes came into the streets, and the streets became rivers. And rivers don’t knock before they come inside.

Inside Of The Painting (a poem)

I have a short poem for you today, and it requires some imagination—but not much.

Inside Of The Painting

What does it look like
Inside of the painting?
What would it be like
To live in that world?

An Announcement

It’s been a little over a year since “Dream Small” was released. It still amazes me that I had that opportunity to write at length about a topic I care so deeply about. And now today I get to share news with you about another writing project that I’m excited about.

Already Unique

I saw an article recently that focused on how three different men had each created their own unique fashion styles. All of them looked quite different from each other, and all of them had managed to combine their clothes in ways that really did stand out from most of the styles on the street. The point of the article was to explore how these men had been able to craft styles that were actually unique, and how you and I could do the same.

Because that’s what we’re supposed to do, isn’t it? Western culture encourages us to stand out from the crowd and be different, to express our individuality and make sure everyone knows how unique we are. But it’s not as easy as it sounds. The three men in the article are not the only ones trying to be unique these days. There are unique styles all over the place—or there would be, if there weren’t so many other people trying to be unique in the same sorts of ways. It’s getting harder and harder to stand out from the crowd with so many in the crowd working so hard to stand out as well. I guess I could wear a scarf in the summer, or put on a cowboy hat in Ireland, and that would certainly stand out, but is it really unique? Garth Brooks already wore a cowboy hat here, and he looked better in it. Do I need to invent my own hat? Wouldn’t that be crossing the line from unique to just plain weird, like Lady Gaga wearing her dress made of meat? Is that what it takes to be truly unique these days?

Looking Out For Number Two

“Look out for Number One” they say, “if you don’t, no one else will.”

Actually, it wasn’t some generic “they” who said this first, it was Arnold “The Brain” Rothstein. He was boss of the Jewish mob in New York City during the Prohibition era, so I guess you could say he lived it out, too. He certainly took care of himself. He probably took care of a lot of other people as well, if you know what I mean.

Maybe the quote is too vague. There are just so many ways of “looking out” for yourself. Thankfully, most people don’t do it by becoming kingpins. But we still take the kingpin’s advice: Look out for number one. Follow your own bliss. Take care of your own self. After all, The Brain’s logic seems bullet-proof: “if you don’t, no one else will.” Isn’t that how the world works?

Rivers, Not Lakes

There’s a small lake in our village with a path around it and an island in the middle where a pair of swans make their nest every year. When the cygnets are born, they’re grey and fluffy and clumsy until they grow up and slowly become majestic. Eventually they all fly away and I don’t know where they go. Then every year one couple returns and there’s a new nest and eventually new cygnets.

The cygnets and ducklings and baby coots (cooties?) on the lake make the place a lot nicer to visit, because there are certain times of the year when the water isn’t much of an attraction on its own. It has the typical problem that most small lakes have: it tends to grow green and manky with pondweed and algae and such, especially in the summer. Some summers are worse than others, but even on a good year (like this one) there are still places where the weeds are thick enough that the little cooties can walk around on them instead of swimming.

Thorn Bush (a poem)

This week I have a short poem for you about a plant in our garden. It’s about more than that, really, but I’ll let it speak for itself:

Thorn Bush

The bush in our garden
Is covered with thorns

Answering Children

When our children were small, I used to write down some of the things they said because the things they said were so funny and cute. I recorded the most when they were around three and four years old, because that’s the sweet spot when simple logic, creative grammar, and limited vocabulary all come together in fantastically surprising ways. Like the time one of my children asked to see “the belly friend” and I didn’t know who that was but it turned out that the belly friend was the ice cream man—which does make a lot of sense when you think about it. Or when I was asked to pretend that I was real (a question some philosophers would probably love to dig into) or the time one of them asked me to stay with them because they wanted to be alone. Then there was the entrepreneurial child who asked if I’d let him sell our family car for €55 (I didn’t).

A Personal Update

It’s been a year and a half since I put up a personal update on the blog. That’s a long time, so today I’m sharing some of our recent news:

School is back in session for our children this week, which means summer is officially over. We didn’t get to go to America to visit our families this year, but all four of our parents did get over to visit us (and a niece as well). This was especially significant because both my mother and Jessica’s father had heart surgeries early this year. We are thankful that both have recovered well, and it was wonderful to have them here in Ireland. Our travel this summer was to take a ferry over to England for a Christian conference. It was one we’d never been to, and we barely knew anyone there, but that was soon remedied. It shouldn’t surprise me anymore, but it really is amazing how quickly our connection in Christ can override every area of difference and turn strangers into friends. We left refreshed and encouraged.