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Life, an Onion, and Social Networking

by 44 Comments

I've been thinking . . .

about life on the Internet and an onion.

Once a friend gave me a metaphor of the world as an onion.

Life in the comment box is what my friend called Layer 17.

“Imagine that life is like an onion,” a friend said to me. “Most people live on that brown papery stuff on the outside. That ‘s where they go about their daily routine. They’re born. They have kids. They die out in the sunshine on that brown papery thing.”

“Yeah, so.”

“You like to live be thinking and talking inside somewhere down near Layer 17. You come out and have fun on the papery thing, but you live near Layer 17.”

I have fun Social Networking on the papery thing, but the comment box here is Layer 17.

Liz's Signature

Comments

  1. Hi Liz

    Down the layers of an union rings such a true bell with me. Many years ago a homoeopath told me the same, and found the cure for my ailment deep down the layers of the union: there where you truly live, feel and ‘worry’.

    Uncovering all the other layers might be daunting at first, but oh boy the ‘reward’ of uncovering that ‘cover’ and finding your true being. It’s wholesome, healing!

    Karin H. (Keep It Simple Sweetheart, specially in business)

    Reply

  2. Hi Karin!
    Isn’t it interesting . . . I was thinking of you when I put this together. I knew you would know what I was talking about.

    I’ve had this discussion on my writing blog (see the link in the post above) and different folks feel comfortable at different levels. It was most interesting. 🙂

    Come to think of it . . . this sort of ties in with what we were all talking about on the One Blinking Dot post.

    We’re connecting in so many directions!!

    Reply

  3. Layer 17… that’s a lot of junk to bypass to get to that layer, although it’s amazing how fast a comment box achieves that level of transparency.

    I’m of the opinion that it is because of the ability to remain as anonymous as you want on the blogosphere. You have monikers (Starbucker), silly screen names, first names, or the whole shabang (sp?) with your blog and photo.

    Reply

  7. 😉 Preach on, ‘sister’

    Jesse, don’t take this wrong, but how can someone be an anonymous ‘onion’? Don’t think there are odourless onions around?

    Karin H.

    Reply

  10. Liz,

    I just realized that I jumped into the conversation just as it reached the anonymous and stinky phase:-) Gotta work on my timing.

    The onion metaphor really is useful and one that people get. Those who decide to make the journey to layer 17 have to decide whether to shed the inevitable tears in the peeling process. That’s the choice that separates genuine life from brown paper-thingy living, eh?

    Keep peeling…

    Reply

  11. Hi Steve!
    I hadn’t really thought about the other aspects of the metaphor but I think the process is stinky, sweet, and tearful — and so many other things — guess that’s the fun of metaphors. 🙂

    Rare is the person who doesn’t understand how an onion works. 🙂

    Reply

  12. to shed the inevitable tears in the peeling process/

    Steve, that’s a sentence!
    Keep peeling, shedding the layers and the tears – the reward will be smiles, many happy and ‘knowing’ smiles, insight knowledge and growth.

    Thanks for that simple truth. It’s never late for that.

    Karin H.

    Reply

  14. Hey guyz!

    The onion life and most people living on the brown papery stuff makes sense… but only because I know what’s in an onion and can to some extent relate it with values one keeps discovering.

    But what about them who live on the papery stuff and are not even aware that there’s a layer underneath it?

    Maybe some of them will shear off the papery layer and find they’re living on another layer. To many, that could be the end of it…. just because they just don’t know that there are 16 more layers.

    It’s the trailblazing heroes we read about in history who have dared to peel off one layer after another and then try to tell the rest what they found there. And some of us who haven’t been to Layer 17, may be able to hear them if we listened carefully.

    But I don’t understand this: “You like to live be thinking and talking inside somewhere down near Layer 17. You come out and have fun on the papery thing, but you live near Layer 17.”

    How can you live near Layer 17 if you’ve never peeled of the first 16?

    Reply

  15. Hi Zakman,
    Just drill on through and start talking. We’re here we’ll make sure you don’t get lost. 🙂

    Curiosity got me here. That’s all I know.

    Reply

  16. I’m an adventurer, Liz! Most of the times I’m s**t scared, but that doesn’t stop me from adventuring.

    Then again, there’s adventurism, and there’s rebellion – close cousins with different attitudes.

    Not sure what’s driving me. But, as you said, it never hurts to “keep on drillin’ and start talkin’… ” 🙂

    Reply

  18. ah yes, this rings with me too.. a double edged sword, peeling layers of the “onion”…. you get the next aha followed usually very shortly thereafter… yet another layer on the journey

    no tears though 🙂
    gp in montana

    Reply

  19. Hi Gp!
    I so identify with the metaphor of the onion. I’m ready to sit around on Layer 17 to light some candles to listen to Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young. Come sit by me and rest between layers.

    Reply

  22. CSNY . a grand eve for a cold glass (or 2) of chardonnay… and then “think this through with me, let me know your mind…. “:)

    Reply

  24. Ok, you guys,

    I confess I opted for a cabernet while doing tomorrow’s blog post. So I haven’t been tracking in real time and am quite late on my response.

    But heck, “Cabernet” rhymes with “Chardonnay” so there’s no need to lose the groove…

    Reply

  28. Aw, shucks, it’s so good to be noticed.

    Actually, it really is, isn’t it?

    Now I’m trying to figure out whether to go to bed or open another bottle of wine.

    The other one was almost empty. Really. Honest.

    Reply

  34. Exactly.

    And that, of course, is the wonderfulness of it all.

    That said, there’s fuzzy stuff on the corkscrew. Do you think I should have used something else to clean the needle?

    Reply

  36. Clearly, I went to the wrong college.

    Speaking of colleges (I sound like Henny Youngman), I have a story that I hope you will enjoy. It combines many of the common elements of our lives.

    I’m going to send this and then compose the story.

    Reply

  38. Ok, Liz, here’s a story that combines CSNY, college, and elementary school teaching.

    When I got out of the Army I taught 4th grade beginning in 1970. I picked 4th grade for 3 reasons:

    1. I needed a job
    2. Third graders weren’t completely housebroken and I didn’t want to deal with that
    3. Fifth graders were reaching puberty and I really didn’t want to deal with that.

    So, Fourth grade it was.

    But I get bored quickly doing repetitive tasks. Like teaching actual content. So one day I brought my guitar into class and taught the gang to sing “Teach Your Children” all the way through. They loved it. The principal hated it. Therefore, being counter-dependent, I loved it, too.

    Fast forward to this year. I get an email through the blog from a kid in my 1972 class who wants to know if I am me. I assured him I was, and remain, me. He is now a college professor in Georgia. So I went out on a limb with, “I’m really pleased that you are successful and happy at your profession. But tell me. What did you learn during the year we spent together?”

    His response: “I learned how to sing “Teach Your Children.”

    Reply

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