Uncertainty is my discipline.

At it again...all for you. 

by Angela K. Durden
The Most Brilliant Woman in the World

"Do you own a gun?" asked Jazz Drummer (JD) from Berlin, Germany.

"Yes, I do," I answered.

He shook his head. "I'm...disappointed. Nobody in Berlin uses guns."

He was misinformed about gun use in Berlin.

But I didn't care to follow that line of discussion, instead attempted to pull the conversation around to music, the thing we both had in common. The man proceeded to ask a series of questions about certain U.S. politicians, current and past. He did not like my answers.

On my way home that night from the Jazz Jam, I reviewed the exchange and JD's reactions to anything I said. You see, given my answer to the gun ownership question, JD was absolutely certain he knew all about me.

JD was surprised to find I didn't give him the answers he expected. His dead certainty rendered null all his arguments for whatever point it was he wanted to make that night. I still don't know what it was he wanted to say.

What I do know is that, as I answered him honestly, he refused to accept anything I said, and stated definitively that I was not living up to my potential while also being a hypocrite.

I always give everyone opportunity to explain what they mean. That opportunity includes asking them questions, listening to their answers, comparing those to what was previously said, and then asking for more clarification.

This threw JD off his stride. When he found he could not intimidate or confuse me with what he thought was his brilliant logic, he closed his eyes halfway through a diatribe, pretending to be enraptured with the sounds of a drum solo coming out the front door onto the walkway.

So I waited for him to finish his thought, but he kept his eyes closed. After two minutes of watching him stand against the brick wall, I said, "Oh, he wants me to go away!" So, I did, and went back inside.

A few minutes later, JD came in and walked by me three times. On his last pass, he leaned over me and said, "Hey, ummm...you know...the drums..." He shrugged and went back to the bar where he proceeded to allow yet another person to buy the famous guy yet another beer.

Of course, JD, of course. Let me tell you what confused JD about me: He couldn't understand how it was I was not dead certain about anything he was certain about. If he had asked, I would have told him, "JD, uncertainty is my discipline."

JD would not have understood that.

Being uncertain allows for the inclusion of more facts and opens paths for more solutions. Uncertainty expands the conversation, it does not shut it down.

I find myself being all too human, though, not liking the state of uncertainty, preferring life to be ordered and all big questions answered so that I can get on with whatever it is I want to get on with. That is why rigid and strong religious beliefs and political ideologies can gain footholds so fast. The state of uncertainty is not one that humans like to be in.

Most humans would rather be told what to do and live within those confines even if it means dying or killing for something they've never given thought to. To question is to paint a big old target on your chest that says "Kill the thinker", and they don't want to be a target.

As I look back on my life, I've come to realize that uncertainty has always been my discipline, but that for a long time, just to get along, I pretended it was not. I pretended to believe that the answers were known. During these times I was unhappy because of living a lie. As I allowed myself to again recognize uncertainty as a powerful state — one that was not bad, one that enhanced my belief in God — then my happiness returned.

Sure, not having all the answers causes me anxiety, but it is an anxiety that is much less painful than living a life built upon false promises and half-baked but dead certain ideas.

Uncertainty never promises anything except that it will always be there, true to itself, and faithful to me. Uncertainty guarantees a great conversation, something JD will never have.

Citizen Journalist.  Novelist. Author of other stuff. 

Business writer.  Songwriter.  Protecting creator's copyrights. 

A Jazz Musician's OODA Loop

by Angela K. Durden
Technology inventor protecting creator's copyrights. Business writer, novelist, songwriter, and Citizen Journalist.

As longtime readers know, Angela is a songwriter and, of late, turning into a singer who performs in front of total strangers who actually smile at and clap for her without getting paid to do so. This has been a hoot, but that is not what this column is about though it is connected.

This column is about OODA Loops. In military parlance, an OODA Loop is a quick succession of thought and action that defines the decision cycle when under fire. OODA stands for: Observe. Orient. Decide. Act.

Specifically, this column is about OODA Loops as they are deployed in a Jazz musician's decision cycle. That is to say, how he will choose to whom he shall give it good to tonight.

There are several reasons Angela rarely wears dresses anymore. The main reason is that when Angela puts her gams on display, men tend to stutter and their eyes glaze over and they can't walk straight. Yes, Angela knows her legs should be insured for a million dollars, but Angela cannot afford the premium.

Actually, Angela does not like her legs, has no clue why men react like that, and tends to thinks her gams are not so pretty. So, while Angela's ego sure does like men's reactions to them, Angela gets tired of not having conversations with men so she wears  pants. 

Back to the OODA Loop of the Jazz musician.

Anyway, Angela was going to be singing her new song Crying Puddles and, given the topic of the song, thought it would be appropriate to wear a dress that night to fit into the song and so Angela did, adding to that outfit hose and heels.

Waiting her turn to go onstage, Angela was sitting at the back bar at the venue when who walks by but "Frank", not his real name.

"Frank" is a very well known Jazz musician who plays piano and drums. Angela has never been interested in "Frank" and "Frank" has always sensed that fact, if not flat out known, and so has never tried to put the moves on Angela for which she is extremely grateful.

But "Frank" has always only seen Angela in pants. That is to say, he has never seen a display of her gams and so on this night, with Angela sitting at the bar on a tall chair and her legs crossed prettily, encased in suntan hose thus accentuating the positives even more, "Frank" walked by.

And there, in front of God and everybody, "Frank" perfectly executed a two-second OODA loop. Here's how that happened.

Observed: "Frank" saw a pair of legs he liked.

Oriented: "Frank" immediately turned and headed toward the legs.

Decided: "Frank" looked up to see who owned the legs, saw Angela, and said to himself, "Oh, hell no."

Acted: "Frank" immediately turned and walked away.

Perfect execution of a Jazz Musician's OODA Loop. Angela admired it so much that she immediately laughed out loud. Nobody knew why Angela was laughing. But, you see, Angela knew what she was seeing and happily said to herself, "Column material!" She can't make this stuff up, y'all. She is a Citizen Reporter after all.

Practice makes perfect.

Let's be clear: "Frank" and Angela like each other perfectly fine as colleagues, so conversation between the two happen often enough. Six years ago, "Frank" once bragged to Angela that he sure gets lots of the good stuff because he is a touring Jazz musician. That bored Angela. "Frank" understood immediately and never brought it up again.

He is not a stupid man. Nor is he slow.

In any case, "Frank" has had many years to practice his OODA Loop technique and boy-oh-boy has it ever been perfected. But these days, "Frank" is in a bit of a quandary. One night here recently he was frank with Angela about his growing dissatisfaction with offers from firm-fleshed young women.

He said, "Angela, as you well know, I get offered the good stuff all the time. But now, when these young women offer to do me, well, I just shudder. They are so...so...boring."

"Frank" just turned fifty years old. It's one thing to say "I'm forty-nine." It is quite another to say, "I'm fifty."

Yes, Angela can sympathize with him.