humans working socially

Automation is that jagged little pill you can’t get down no matter how much water you drink.  The text that follows is taken verbatim from Harold Jarche’s site.  I can’t improve upon it.

A lot of traditional human work is getting automated, by machines or software.

I don’t know how much work will be automated or what sectors will be hit the hardest, as estimates by all experts vary widely. But I do know that people make bad computers and very unhappy robots. Therefore we should not compete with the machines for the type of work they do well, requiring — perseverance, compliance, intelligence, and diligence. There are some human attributes that machines are not very good at — intuition, empathy, creativity, and social intelligence.

As machines do more repeatable processes and even complicated work, people have to look at what we do best. Working socially, we can address barely repeatable processes for complex situations and over time make parts of them repeatable for the machines to handle. In addition, when we combine the analytical capabilities of machines, we can develop machine-assisted processes and tap into machine expertise in order to do even more complex and creative work.

In my opinion, this is the future of work. To prepare for it people have to develop social learning skills in addition to working in this machine-augmented world. We will have to play nice with other people, and play well with the machines. If a workplace is not optimized for humans working socially, it will be left behind.

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Conversation, Sitting on a Porch Swing, Drinking Coffee, Waiting, Sunday Morning, End of October

Conversation, Sitting on a Porch Swing, Drinking Coffee, Waiting

the ticksnap detach of the elm leaves,
they speak loudest.
a detachment of geese
gibbering to each other, “OutOutOut”.
nuthatches finding
the sunflower seeds in the feeder.
(We would’ve thought the greedy goldfinches
would’ve been first, but no.)
chickens rustling through
the fallen leaves
for…we know not what
nor do they till they find it.
the faint thrum of the interstate
getting stronger as the trees
take their leaves.
high, fast cirrus above
and clover and orchard grass
rising below.
time to grovel for
sweet taters and peanuts
to roast and toast
under Orion
and all the Milky Way.
the sugar bush–a whisper of
‘maybe this year we will rise’.
time for the house plants to get
their night cover
and for the rain lily to come inside
and rest.
And the last rose of summer,
our folk diva, sings.
we are waiting
but the gingko hasn’t budged a single inch off green
toward caution yellow.
we look at each other
our eyes asking–
we are waiting?
what?
we are awaiting.