Stream of Consciousness

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About three weeks ago, I wrote a post about Netflix’s The Stack, in which we mentioned Plato, the guy from the cave.  Remember how we discussed the “Theory of Forms”? It’s Plato’s theory about how the universe is comprised of “forms” and “particulars”.

Then, a couple of weeks ago, in the post I wrote about the meaning of the Chinese word 概念化  (Gài Niàn Huà), I told you guys about how – unlike my mom –, I never really saw the word “project” as synonymous with the word “concept”.

I spent the past two weeks dwelling on it.
And I came to a conclusion.

In my eyes, the words concept and project are not the same thing. To me, concept is one phase of the project. It’s a PART of the project. Which part, specifically?

It’s the intellectual, immaterial, intangible and abstract one.

The conceptual part of the project is where everything is born: from the croquis of a new clothing design or a new architectural house plan to the sketches of a new sneaker model or a new sci-fi movie creature.

Croquis is a French word. According to the Larousse dictionary, it literally means: “dessin rapide dégageant, à grands traits, l'essentiel du sujet, du motif”. You don’t need to understand the whole thing. Just the word highlighted in bold. Essential.

Sketch is an English word, and the definition found on the dictionary.com website is this: “a simply executed drawing or painting, especially a preliminary one, giving the essential features without the details”. Once again, don’t worry about the whole thing. Focus on the word highlighted in bold. Essential.  

And why is the concept so essential?
Because it is in the conceptual phase of a project that things begin to form.

I’m using the word “form” here in the same way Plato did. It’s when we access the “realm of the forms”. The world of ideas. This is when a blank page comes to life. When outlines are drawn, without much attention to detail. And random words are written, apparently with no rhyme or reason.

The conceptual phase is the one where creatives engage themselves in a kind of internal monologue. Their experiences, memories, knowledge and repertoire are accessed in what seems to be an incomprehensible and unconventional brand of stream of consciousness.

That’s a pretty neat expression, ain’t it? Stream of Consciousness.

I am not sure how to explain what this expression really means. Some people define is as a sort of flux in consciousness. Others call it a line of reasoning. Then there are those who see it as a flow of thought. I still don’t know which definition I like the most (or if I like any of them at all), but I do know when was it that I first saw those three words put together. Stream. Of. Consciousness.

 
 

It was when I got myself a copy of the Train of Thought album. It was released in 2003 and it’s the 7th studio album recorded by American progressive rock band Dream Theater. Stream of Consciousness is the title of the 6th track of the album and it’s a beautiful, almost 12 minutes long, instrumental masterpiece. (I know… 12 minutes!? Then again, it’s a prog-rock band. What did you guys expect?)

I’m bringing this album up because, funnily enough, I think the best definition of Stream of Consciousness is precisely what happens throughout this 12-minute track. Click here, listen to it, and you’ll know exactly what I’m talking about. 

A bunch of scrambled notes and chords, coming from 4 different instruments (bass, guitar, keyboards and drums), flowing in a seemingly chaotic and anarchical way, back and forth, fast and slow, sometimes with a heavier approach, other times with a lighter one, all of that unfolding in the midst of countless time signature changes. And yet, somehow some way, in the end, everything makes sense.

In a nutshell, that’s pretty much what the conceptual phase of a project is.

A bunch of scrambled information and thoughts, coming from 4 different sources (experiences, memories, knowledge and repertoire), flowing in a seemingly chaotic and anarchical way, sometimes simply passing us by, other times catching our full attention; occasionally with a stronger punch, every so often with a lighter touch, all of that unfolding in the midst of countless idea exchanges. And yet, somehow some way, in the end, everything makes sense.

 
 

Here’s an easier way to explain it.

Imagine you decide to take a picture of a fashion designer or an architect working on a croquis; or maybe of an art director or an illustrator scribbling a sketch. Then, you decide to post this picture on your Instagram account. How would you caption it? Well, instead of the good old “Genius at work”, maybe go with this one: #StreamofConsciousness. It works much better. It conveys the exact same message. And it sounds a lot fancier. ;o)

Most people think the conceptual part of a project – the part where croquis and sketches are born –, is the “part reserved for drafts, scribbles and roughs”.  And they’re right. That’s exactly what it is. There’s a “but” though. And it refers to the value and importance that should be given to the conceptual part.

If we only think about and focus on whatever is actually drawn and literally written on that piece of paper, no matter what it is (it may be a house, a piece of clothing, a sci-fi creature or a pair of sneakers), then the idea conveyed by the words sketch and croquis is that of “a rudimentary version of the final project”.

But… when we realize that that scribble or that rough is actually the tangible representation if an intangible, unique and inimitable Stream of Consciousness, then the words sketch and croquis acquire an entirely different meaning. They expand. They become more valuable. Now, the idea conveyed by these words is that of the “synthesis of the final project”.

 
 

Try to build a house, sew a piece of clothing, manufacture a pair of sneakers or draw a sci-fi creature WITHOUT CONCEPT. Is it doable? Of course it is. However, the final result will be, most likely, more of the same. It will be just another house. It will be just another piece of clothing. It will be another sci-fi creature like so many others created before. It will be another pair of sneakers, just like every other pair in the world.

That’s why the conceptual phase of a project is so important. So…essential.  

Because it is during this phase that the truly, really original ideas are born. The most disruptive concepts. It is during this moment of creative introspection that the artist finds permission to test, experiment and explore freely. It is precisely during the project’s conceptualization that the Stream of Consciousness meets the perfect conditions to reach its most abundant and powerful level.

In our next posts, we’ll see some examples of works that are considered unique, iconic and original. Works that not only changed the world, but the way we see it and interact with it.

We’ll revisit the contexts in which each one of these works was conceived. We’ll learn a little bit more about the artists that created them. And, finally, we’ll discover the sketches and croquis that gave birth to them.

As you’ll see for yourselves, sometimes, the final project and the final result may not have the exact same form (as in “aspect”) as the one originally proposed in the sketch of the croquis. That happens. Every project goes through adjustments, changes and refinements.

However, as you’ll also see for yourselves, still, it is perfectly possible to recognize that the final result of each project, somehow, has the same “form” (in the platonic sense of the word) as its respective sketch or croquis.

That happens because the essence of the project is still there.

Literally, in the form of a concept.

Gài Niàn Huà (概念化)

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My mom is a Taiwanese immigrant.

She arrived in Brazil in the early 70s, when she was already around 20 years old. Which means she was raised and educated in Chinese. Today, almost 50 years later, her command of the Portuguese language (which, for those of you who might not know, is one of the most complicated languages in the world) not only fills me with pride and joy, but also inspires me on a daily basis.

The first thing you’ll notice is her thick Taiwanese accent. The second thing is her knack for mistaking Portuguese words that, phonetically, sound very much alike to her Bopomofo trained ears: it’s common that she’ll mistake the words “cadeira” (chair) for “carteira” (wallet / desk); “pneu” (tire) for “pernil” (ham) and “Seattle” (the city in Washington State) for “Cielo” (a Brazilian credit and debit card operator brand). You know, cute little mistakes like that. ;o)

One of these mistakes happened when I was having a conversation with her, about 2 years ago, and I said “conceito” (which means concept, in Portuguese).

She understood “conserto” (which means “repair” in Portuguese).

Which explains why, for the longest time, she had a super hard time understanding what exactly I was doing for a living. In her mind, that made absolutely no sense. I don’t even know how to change a light bulb. How in the world could I be running a repair shop?

Finally, I told her I wasn’t running some kind of repair shop (which would make it a “conserto” business), but instead, I was running a concept agency (which is part of the “conceito” business). She gave me a puzzled look. As expected, she didn’t really get it. And it wasn’t because of any language barrier.  

It was because, for people who have never been involved in a creative process, any kind of creative process (from building up an ad campaign at an agency to creating a choreography at a dance studio), it’s really hard to understand – and explain – what a concept is and the role it plays in the creative process.

Obviously, the first thing I did was check out Google Translate and type the verb “conceptualize”. I made sure to translate it into Traditional Chinese, which is the one used in Taiwan. As I pressed ‘enter’, the translation in mandarin read as 概念化  (Gài Niàn Huà). In order to give you a general idea (a VERY GENERAL idea, ok?) of what my mom most likely got from this word, here’s a brief explanation.

There are 3 Chinese characters in the word 概念化  (Gài Niàn Huà).

The first one, 概 (Gài), is the same as the one used in the word 大概 (Dà Gài), which means “probably”, in the sense that you “have an idea”, that you’re not 100% sure.
The second one, 念 (Niàn), is the same as the one used in the word 想念 (Xiǎng Niàn), which means, “to miss something or someone”, in the sense that you’re thinking about something or someone, that you have something or someone in mind.
Finally, the third one, 化 (Huà), means “to transform”.  

So, according to Google Translate, that’s what the verb “conceptualize” means in Chinese.

It’s related to an idea, that’s not yet fully formed.
It’s about having something in mind. It means we’re thinking about something.
It has to do with this idea, which we have in mind, going through some type of transformation.

It’s all those things, mashed together, happening simultaneously. (No wonder Chinese is considered the most difficult language to learn in the world).  

Looking back, its funny how it all started with me trying to explain to my mom the meaning of the word “concept”. And then, all of a sudden, and I don’t even know how this happened, I caught myself asking her to explain to me, in her own words, the meaning of the word 概念化 (Gài Niàn Huà).

With her unique blend of Portuguese and Chinese, this is what she said:

Her: It’s like when you want to start up a business. You need to have 概念 (Gài Niàn). You gotta ask yourself: what are you going to sell? What kind of product? What’s the interior design of your store going to look like? You have to think about this 概念 (Gài Niàn).

That was way too vague for me. So, I came up with the following fictitious scenario.

Me: Mmmm… Ok mom. Let’s say I want to open up a restaurant. I need to think about the 概念 (Gài Niàn), because that’s what’s going to guide everything else. So, suppose the 概念 (Gài Niàn) is “Fine Vegetarian Chinese cuisine”, I know I’ll need to have bowls, chopsticks, and the primary color in terms of decoration can be red (because it’s Chinese), I won’t be able to serve any kind of meat (because it’s vegetarian) and the menu will be a bit more expensive (because it’s fine dining). Is that it?

Her: That’s it.

Me: And which word would you use, mom, in Portuguese, to sum up everything that I just said?

She stopped and started thinking really hard about it. So hard, I could almost hear her synapsis working.

Her: Ohhh… I mean… it’s like…. “PROJECT”.

Before we continue, let me ask you guys a question: upon reading the word “project”, which of the following definitions comes to your mind first?

  1. Something that is contemplated

  2. An individual or collaborative enterprise that is carefully planned to achieve a particular aim

  3. A piece of planned work or an activity that is finished over a period of time

For some reason, options 2 and 3 are the first ones to pop in my head.
To my mom, it’s option 1.

The one related to the notion of IDEA. The one that is far more ABSTRACT than it is concrete in nature. In other words, the one that best describes the word “concept”. It’s funny. Up until that point, it had never occurred to me to think of “project” as synonymous with “concept”. Against all odds, once again, my mom managed to help me improve my own Portuguese skills. Which sounds crazy, given that I was born and raised in Brazil, whereas she came from a tiny little island located somewhere in the Far East. 

Visibly impressed, I continued:

Me: Dang, mom… You’re absolutely right. You got it. Project. Well, if you look up in the dictionary, you’ll find that, in Portuguese, there’s another word for 概念 (Gài Niàn). It’s an idea. Or, as we, creatives, prefer to call it: a concept.  

I swear I thought my mom was going to jump out of her seat and yell ‘Eureka’. I thought she was going to have the kind of reaction that is usually reserved for epiphanies and moments of breakthrough. Instead, this is what she said:

Her: Mmm hmmm. Ok. Let’s have dinner. ;o)

Go figure, right? Maybe this is how the wise work. They can feel 100% content knowing that, just by imparting their wisdom, they make everyone involved richer and better, including themselves. And perhaps, that’s good enough for them. They don’t need anything else. No fuss. No buzz. No nothing. The exchange itself is their own eureka moment.

That said, besides being the wisest person I know, my mom also has a ridiculous talent for languages. Other than mandarin, she also speaks Hakka and Minnan (the main dialects spoken in Taiwan), she has a killer level of Portuguese and, at 71 years old, in the middle of a pandemic, she is pouring her heart and soul into one single mission: learning English.  

Yes. You read it right. I said KILLER. After all, how many Taiwanese immigrants do you know who, instead of “hopefully”, says “God-willing”?
Instead of “from whence it came”, uses “whence it came”.
And who knows how to explain the concept of… well, “concept”? In both Chinese AND Portuguese?

Speaking of which, have you guys ever heard of a concept known as Third Culture Kid (TCK)? It refers to children whose first culture is the one taught within their home (for example, Chinese culture), the second culture is the one they pick up outside of their home (for example, Brazilian culture) and the third one is an amalgamation of the previous two, something they develop out of sheer survival instinct. There are millions of such people around the world. Including my sisters, my cousins and myself.

From personal experience, I can safely say that the relationship between immigrant parents and their TCK offspring is often built on a bedrock of disagreements, fights and discussions. Which is perfectly understandable, given the differences in repertoire, culture, habits, values and languages that exist between both generations.

However, also from personal experience, I’m proud to say that when the dust settles and the nerves calm down, what’s left is an almost inexplicable sense of obsequious respect displayed by the children towards their parents. Combined with an immense admiration for the parents’ grit, courage and perseverance to go after a better life for themselves and their children, away from everything and everyone. And finally, an indescribable sense of gratitude for all the sacrifices they made for us.

That’s exactly how I feel about my mom. I have the utmost sense of respect for her story. A deep admiration for how far she came in her own journey. And an endless gratitude for the human being I’m lucky to call my mother. I also have two sisters, one older and one younger. And I believe I speak for both of them when I say that, when it comes to how we feel about our mom, we’re way beyond repair: we are and always will be her number 1 fans.

And you know what? Time and time again, my mom keeps showing us that we have every reason to be.  

Lucky us.

The Stack

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I’m going to tell you guys a secret.

Well, it’s not really a secret. It’s more of a personality trait that I prefer not to share with the world, but that always, inevitably end up falling into the public domain category: I’m the most technologically challenged person you’ll ever meet in your life. No one is worse than me when it comes to technology.

If you’re wondering how my secret always ends up being revealed, it’s usually when someone asks me: “hey, what’s your Instagram?”, only to hear me say: “mmm…I don’t have an IG account”. The reaction to my reply varies. It can go from a sarcastic “dude, under which rock have you been living all this time?” to an incredulous “whatchu mean, you ain’t got no IG?!”

There are other less mundane, albeit not less embarrassing, examples. Like that day when a friend of mine from work came to my office so we could have lunch together, and I told him I wouldn’t be able to make it because I had to go to the bank to pay some bills. That was in 2012, when everyone was already USING THEIR PHONES to pay their bills!

 
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He went: “dude, ever heard of online banking?”. I said yes, but I also said that I didn’t know how to use it. He kindly offered to help me out. Off we went. I accessed my bank’s website, logged in and everything. Finally, we got to the step where I was required to enter some kind of password. He asked: “what’s the password?” I said: “I have no idea”. Refusing to give up, he said: “well, call the bank then. Ask them. We ain’t getting outta here until you learn how to use this freaking thing!”

I called the bank and a voice response unit answered. I pressed a bunch of numbers, until I finally heard the message “enter your password”. Apparently, it was a different password, one that was to be used on phone calls only. Obviously, I had no idea what that password was either.

Needless to say, I had lunch by myself on that day. ;o)

That being said, I believe it will come as no surprise for you when I say that, up until August 2020, I had only heard of Netflix. I had never accessed Netflix’s website, let alone watched any of its content.

All I knew was that it was a streaming service. And truth be told, I didn’t even understand the concept of a streaming service. To me, it made no sense: watching videos was something people did on Youtube. And if everyone could watch videos on Youtube for free, why would anyone pay for a private service to do so?

Well, that question was quickly answered when, just as my dear friend had done by teaching how to use online banking services in 2012, my sister (very generously) decided to bring her brother back from the Stone Age all the way to 2020, by sharing her Netflix account with me, thus introducing me to the wonderful and fantastic Netflix universe.

 
 

Today, just a few months later, I understand why so many people are into Netflix.

And by “so many people”, I mean over 200 million people around the globe. That’s right. In January 2021, Netflix crossed the 200 million subscribers barrier. That’s pretty much Brazil’s entire population. And we’re talking about paid subscribers, only. We’re not even considering all the other people with whom these subscribers share their accounts.

Now, here’s an interesting question.

On the one hand, we have an audience of hundreds of millions of people that account for a total of 190 countries. On the other hand, we have a company that needs to address all of these people, who live in different countries, speak different languages and come from different cultures.

Is there a way to make sure that communication efforts will (somewhat) be one and the same across all these different markets?

Yes, there most definitely is. Some call it brand books. Others call it branding guidelines. As the name states, a brand book is – essentially –, the brand’s “manual”. Its purpose is to regulate everything that has to do with the way the company speaks to its customers: from tone of voice and typography to which kind of photos and color palettes should be used.

Every global company has one. Cocoa-cola does. Google does. Unilever does. Uber does. They all do. And with Netflix, it’s no different.

 
 

What IS, however, refreshingly different in Netflix’s case is that its brand guidelines offer a conceptual approach.

Those were the exact words spoken by Ryan Moore, creative director at Gretel, the NY agency responsible for developing Netflix’s current branding guideline. According to an interview that appeared in the Fast Company magazine:

“The big challenge was unifying everything, (…) the brand itself was a little fractured because they were working with partners and agencies around the world. (…) What they needed was an idea to stitch everything together – a conceptual approach –, (…) a visual system all these agencies could look at and adapt to any format they needed to”.

The concept chosen to inspire this brand book was that of “selection and curation”.
Why? (remember how with concepts, there’s always a reason-why? ;o))

Because Gretel wanted us to know that Netflix is, indeed, a movie catalog. But first and foremost, it’s someone who’s responsible for curating everything we watch, handpicking and recommending the most exciting, relevant, fun and customized options for us.

Pretty great, right?

What’s even greater is the way the agency managed to turn this concept into a brand book. But before we get into that, I’d like to first focus on Ryan Moore’s words, specifically the ones highlighted in bold.

He said the big challenge was unifying everything. Now, why was it a challenge?

In order to fully understand why, perhaps a bit of context might help: in 2015, when Gretel was hired for the job, Netflix was operating in 65 countries. However, it had already laid out an expansion plan that was going to be set in motion on the very first days of January 2016: Netflix was going to double its market reach from 65 to 130 countries.  

The challenge Moore was referring to was this: how could Gretel help Netflix double its global presence from 60 to 130 countries without compromising the integrity, coherence and unity of its visual and textual communication materials?

In other words: how could Gretel unify everything?
The answer came in the form of an idea. A concept.  

Which doesn’t surprise us, creatives, at all. At least, it shouldn’t. After all, one of the most valuable qualities of a concept is its ability to equalize people’s understanding. We use concepts to help people:

  1. Understand the world around them and

  2. Understand each other.  

In case this last paragraph ended up sounding a bit confusing, here’s an example that might clear things up.

This sister of mine, the one that introduced me to the wonderful world of Netflix, is herself and endless source of great stories. It’s like she was issued a passport instead of a birth certificate when she was born: she’s been traveling around the world ever since she was a young teenager, and she’s probably the most cultured person I know. During one of her travels, she ended up in Madagascar. And when she came back, she mentioned the majestic Baobabs.

I was like: Bao-what? What’s that?

Instead of Googling it, I decided to guess.

Could she be talking about members of a tribe, like the Himbas in Namibia or the Konsos in Ethiopia?
Or was she referring to some kind of unique species endemic to the largest island in the African continent, like fossas and ring-tailed lemurs?

 
 

What was my sister talking about? What the heck was a Baobab?

She finally enlightened me: it’s a tree. 

All of a sudden, the seas parted. Everything started making sense. Now, we were on the same page.

By using the concept of tree, suddenly, we started understanding each other. I started to fully comprehend what she was talking about because I started using the same concept as her: “oh, I see. Ok, we’re talking about trees”. From that point forth, we were functioning in the same wavelength. We equalized out understanding.

 
 

It just so happens that in that particular case, we were speaking about a Baobab. And I am intentionally using the word “particular”.

If you’re reading this post, then you’ve passed by the introduction above and already know that this blog is named after Plato, the guy from the cave.

Besides being the guy who created the Allegory of the Cave, he is also the guy behind one of the most beautiful and dramatic theories ever produced by Western Philosophy: the Theory of Forms. According to this theory, Plato states that the universe is comprised of “forms” and “particulars”.

(No, no. Don’t leave me hanging here just yet! I know this sounds nerdy and boring, but I’ll be super quick! I promise! ;o))

 
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Plato

Socrates’ student.
Aristotle’s teacher.
The guy from the cave.
And the theory of forms.

 

The Theory of Forms is quite simple (despite its absolute brilliance). According to it:

  1. There’s the “form of tree” (which is the “concept of a tree”, the idea we have of a tree)

  2. And there’s a “particular tree” (that’s why I used the word particular before): for example, a Baobab, a Sequoia, a Pine, a Eucalyptus, etc.

You might not know what exactly a Sequoia is. But if I tell you it’s a tree, you’ll understand, right?

For exemple, let’s say we’re having a nice conversation over dinner. At some point, I say the word “tree”.

I don’t know which tree, in particular, you are thinking about. But I do know that its form is probably made of a vertical trunk, a few branches here and there and a canopy of some sort on top.

That’s it. Pretty simple, right?

There are forms. And then, there are particulars. (Ok, done! See? I told you it was going to be quick! ;o))

Concepts are the forms.

And the way Gretel turned the concept of selection and curation into a brand book was particularly great: they called it The Stack.

The idea behind The Stack is this: imagine three cards, disposed just like in the video below.

 
 

Now imagine that each of these cards represents a movie, a show, a series or a documentary from the Netflix catalog.

Finally, and this one’s for you guys who excelled at combinatorial analysis in school, please do the math: considering Netflix’s entire catalog, how many possible combinations do we get by mixing these three cards up?

I don’t really know the answer, but if I had to guess, I’d say it’s something close to “infinite”. And that’s exactly what Gretel wanted us to pick up from The Stack: that Netflix is indeed an endless, living catalog of shows and movies, always expanding. In other words: there’s always something else to see.

Also, Gretel knew it would be simply impossible to oversee every single creative, designer and art director working for Netflix’s communication around the world. So, instead of creating a branding guideline with a million rules and regulations, down to the tiniest detail, Gretel decided to operate from the camp of guiding principles. Directives, if you will. 

These directives were related to the role that was assigned to each card.

  1. One had to feature a photograph or video of a“character”

  2. One had to be entirely dedicated to a splash of one the Netflix’s colors (black, white or red)

  3. One was reserved for a text of some sort (like a movie title or tagline)

 
 

That’s it. Nothing else. How these cards would be intertwined, the “width” of each card, how they would be animated, all that was entirely up to the designer. End of story. It doesn’t get any simpler than that.

Such simplicity was quickly rewarded.

As soon as the new brand book was launched, positive reviews started coming from critics all over the world. Logo Design Love (the website) described it as “one of the strongest and most comprehensive identities of recent times”. Fast Company (the business magazine) called it “a universal branding language that can scale from giant billboards to tiny iPhone apps.”

The ultimate proof of The Stack’s huge success came in 2018, when Netflix was voted the simplest brand in the world, according to the “Simplicity Index”, beating brands such as Google, McDonald’s and Spotify. The ranking is based on criteria such as “how easy the company’s services are to use”, “how honest customers perceive the company’s industry to be” and, most importantly, “how clear the brand’s identity is”.

The “Simplicity Index” was created and is managed by branding firm Siegel+Gale, who is also responsible for taking care of brands such as 3M and HP, and for creating the iconic NBA logo.

Speaking of logos, Netflix’s logo, besides being a masterpiece in simplicity, is also incredibly conceptual: Cinemascope, the process created in the late 50’s and that made the projection of films in widescreen mode possible, was the inspiration behind it. The choice of red and black also has a reason-why: according to Netflix, these colors were deliberately chosen because they create a premium cinematic feel.

 
 

I love this about concepts: the fact that everything has a reason-why. But here’s something else that I also love (and admire) about the conceptual world: the fact that concepts are unifiers. They’re timeless. And universal. A tree is a tree no matter where you are in the world. It’s always been and always will be.

In that sense, come to think of it, concepts are kind of the opposite of technology, which changes all the time, everywhere. And therefore, tends to divide more than it tends to unify.

Don’t believe me? Well, let’s take the concept of social media.

Apparently, today, “old timers” use Facebook. “Young people” use Instagram.
Yesterday, it was all about Snapchat; today, it’s all about Tik Tok.
In Brazil, we use WhatsApp. In China, they use WeChat.

Technology changes.
The concept doesn’t: we’re still talking about social media.  

It’s the same, for both “old timers” and “young people” (unifier).
It’s the same, yesterday and today (timeless).
It’s the same, from Brazil to China (universal). 

That’s why it’s always been easier for me to understand and navigate the conceptual world than it was to keep up with the fast-paced and fickle rhythm of the tech universe. But that doesn’t mean I don’t see all the benefits and advantages that come from technology. No, no. On the contrary. I’d be the first to acknowledge them. There are plenty of them.

For example: learning how to use the Internet to access online banking services - as hard as it was (for someone slow and lame like me) -, brought me an enormous benefit. And it’s not even the fact that I don’t have to waste my time waiting in line to pay my bills anymore.

It’s because I can spend more time watching Netflix. ;o))

Please, give it up to… The Stack.

 
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