Reroute Quotes

I always tried to imagine what it would be like to open your door to find something you had given up on. maybe it had seen places you never had, been rerouted and passed through so many strange hands, but still somehow found its way back to you, all before the day even began.

I believe unconditionally in the right of people with uteruses to decide what grows inside of their body and feeds on their blood and endangers their life and reroutes their future. There are no ‘good’ abortions and ‘bad’ abortions, there are only pregnant people who want them and pregnant people who don’t, pregnant people who have access and support and pregnant people who face institutional roadblocks and lies.

Sometimes it's exhausting for me to simply walk into the house. I try and calm myself, remember that I've lived alone before. Sleeping by myself didn't kill me then and will not kill me now. But this what loss has taught me of love. Our house isn't simply empty, our home has been emptied. Love makes a place in your life, it makes a place for itself in your bed. Invisibly, it makes a place in your body, rerouting all your blood vessels, throbbing right alongside your heart. When it's gone, nothing is whole again.

Don't you know That lovers make the rains, Call forth the sun, Re-route hurricanes, And exorcise earthquakes for fun.

Here is the truth: I keep waiting for my anger to go dormant, but it won’t. I keep waiting for someone to reroute my anger into the ocean, but no one can.

It’s not a direction I’d ever imagined I’d go in, but that’s okay. Life does that, doesn’t it? Reroutes you as it goes along.

I expected to have some tags from reporters, but I'm clear there so far." "I've had all inquiries from media rerouted to my office." She narrowed her eyes "You can do that?" "I can." "Why don't you always do that?

Modernity has become algorithms. Our reality is now intercepted by the exploration and exploitation of our psychic cues that rewrite history by rerouting consumption, elections, public opinion, and civil war.

But then something happened, Ray, something amazing. Something... "That white cop sitting next to me? He took a long look at my mother when she came in, just like, absorbed her, and then without even turning to me, he just put his hand on my back, up between my neck and shoulder... "And all he did was squeeze. Give me a little squeeze of sympathy, then rubbed that same spot with his palm for maybe two, three seconds, and that was it. "But I swear to you, nobody, in my entire life up to that point had ever touched me with that kind of tenderness. I had never experienced a sympathetic hand like that, and Ray, it felt like lightning. "I mean, the guy did it without thinking, I'm sure. And when dinnertime rolled around he had probably forgotten all about it. Forgot about me, too, for that matter... But I didn't forget. "I didn't walk around thinking about it nonstop either, but something like seven years later when I was at community college? The recruiting officer for the PD came on campus for Career Day, and I didn't really like college all that much to begin with, so I took the test for the academy, scored high, quit school and never looked back. "And usually when I tell people why I became a cop I say because it would keep Butchie and Antoine out of my life, and there's some truth in that. "But I think the real reason was because that recruiting officer on campus that day reminded me, in some way, you know, conscious or not, of that housing cop who had sat on the bench with me when I was thirteen. "In fact, I don't think it, I know it. As sure as I'm standing here, I know I became a cop because of him. For him. To be like him. God as my witness, Ray. The man put his hand on my back for three seconds and it rerouted my life for the next twenty-nine years. "It's the enormity of small things... Adults, grown-ups, us, we have so much power... And sometimes when we find ourselves coming into contact with certain kinds of kids? Needy kids? We have to be ever so careful...

Work out what you have t do to hold it together, what you can reroute,” Kady say. “You hear me? Iа you're off with the fucking fairies when the Lincoln arrives, they'll blast us to hell, and then Hypatia is history." “I am aware of dangers of consorting with fairies, yes.

Love makes a place in your life, it makes a place for itself in your bed. Invisibly, it makes a place in your body, rerouting all your blood vessels, throbbing right alongside your heart. When it is gone, nothing is whole again.

Maybe, the darkness isn’t such a bad thing. Maybe it’s a reminder that you’re capable of turning the car around, you know? You’re capable of rerouting from a very dark, scary path back to the light. You know how to go to that dark place now, but you also know how to come out of it.

Perhaps it is the heart that is the most supernatural thing of all, Not just because of the power it wields over mortals and gods but its ability to remain unchanged even in the face of peril or temptation. No curse, no spell, no creature on earth or in heaven can reroute its true course. What the heart loves, the heart will always truly love

Reader, do you remember that ridiculous movie Volcano, the one with Tommy Lee Jones? Do you remember how they stopped eruption in the middle of downtown Los Angeles? They diverted it with cement roadblocks and pointed fire hoses at it, and rerouted the lava to the ocean, and everything was fine? Sweet reader, that is not how lava works. Anyone can tell you that. Here is the truth: I keep waiting for my anger to go dormant, but it won’t. I keep waiting for someone to reroute my anger into the ocean, but no one can. My heart is closer to Dante’s Peak of Dante’s Peak. My anger dissolves grandmas in acid lakes and razes quaint Pacific Northwest towns with ash and asphyxiates jet engines with its grit. Lava keeps leaking down my slopes. You should have listened to the scientist. You should have evacuated earlier.

You think when someone you love passes away, everything becomes clearer, that your priorities and perspectives align in a way they’ve never aligned before because of the sobriety of it all. But it doesn’t. Those revelations just become skewed and distorted until you’re forced to rewrite them entirely. You can’t walk straight on a new path when you have too much luggage on your back. You just keep swerving, trying to find a way to accommodate the weight, but it’s all dead and you know it’s going to take you down. The only answer is to reroute. -Emma

This is how society keeps us out of the C-suite—it booby-traps the way to the top with self-loathing, then reroutes us on a never-ending path of self-improvement.

The universe plays tricks. Had I won that car, I never would have met my future husband. That little Geo Tracker would’ve significantly rerouted the course of my life.

One minute I was playing chess and doing maths all the time, the next I had been rerouted into more 'normal' girls' activities: reading, writing stories and worrying about my clothes.

As I discussed in the previous chapter, attachment researchers have shown that our earliest caregivers don't only feed us, dress us, and comfort us when we are upset; they shape the way our rapidly growing brain perceives reality. Our interactions with our caregivers convey what is safe and what is dangerous: whom we can count on and who will let us down; what we need to do to get our needs met. This information is embodied in the warp and woof of our brain circuitry and forms the template of how we think of ourselves and the world around us. These inner maps are remarkably stable across time. This doesn‘t mean, however, that our maps can‘t be modified by experience. A deep love relationship, particularly during adolescence, when the brain once again goes through a period of exponential change, truly can transform us. So can the birth of a child, as our babies often teach us how to love. Adults who were abused or neglected as children can still learn the beauty of intimacy and mutual trust or have a deep spiritual experience that opens them to a larger universe. In contrast, previously uncontaminated childhood maps can become so distorted by an adult rape or assault that all roads are rerouted into terror or despair. These responses are not reasonable and therefore cannot be changed simply by reframing irrational beliefs.

The truth is I don't give a damn why anyone has an abortion. I believe unconditionally in the right of people with uteruses to decide what grow inside of their body and feeds on their blood and endangers their life and reroutes their future. There are no "good" abortions and "bad" abortions, there are only pregnant people who want them and pregnant people who don't, pregnant people who have access and support and pregnant people who face institutional roadblocks and lies.

Socialism was made to be an ideology of radical democracy, of working-class self-emancipation, not a tool for state-managed development. A revolution from above, with an unelected party overseeing the creation of a social surplus and rerouting it to certain ends, even with the best of intentions, is a formula for authoritarianism.

If we get lost, I enlist the GPS, which has the whitest voice of all. Chanel supplants it with her own impoverished GPS, reengineering each set of directions into phrases like 'Yo bitch, I said hang a right on Roosevelt" or " AH shit, you missed it again, now we gotta reroute this motherfucker. " She wants to launch an app called Hood GPS , to spare drivers from the robotic white voices in their ears.

I’ve noticed a paradox in great scientists and superforecasters: the reason they’re so comfortable being wrong is that they’re terrified of being wrong. What sets them apart is the time horizon. They’re determined to reach the correct answer in the long run, and they know that means they have to be open to stumbling, backtracking, and rerouting in the short run. They shun rose-colored glasses in favor of a sturdy mirror. The fear of missing the mark next year is a powerful motivator to get a crystal-clear view of last year’s mistakes. “People who are right a lot listen a lot, and they change their mind a lot,” Jeff Bezos says. “If you don’t change your mind frequently, you’re going to be wrong a lot.

One of the jobs of good psychotherapy is to help people tell healing stories. If autobiographical narrative is a river, psychotherapy is the means by which that river is mapped and in some cases rerouted.

Picture-perfect, state-of-the-art vaginas lengthened using sections of colon, self-cleaning and lubricated with its own mucosa. Sensate clitorises made by cropping and rerouting bits of the glans penis. The Cadillac of vaginoplasty. Some of these Cadillacs turn out so succesful that the flood of colon mucosa means wearing a maxipad every day.

Perhaps it is the heart that is the most supernatural thing of all. Not just because of the power it wields over mortals and gods but its ability to remain unchanged even in the face of peril or temptation. No curse, no spell, no creature on earth or in heaven can reroute its true course. What the heart loves, the heart will always truly love.

Ten salespeople, all young, all dressed in generic cotton casual, looked up from their conversations, spotted the money in her hand, and simultaneously stopped breathing-their brains shutting down bodily functions and rerouting the needed energy to calculate the projected commissions contained in Jody's cash. One by one they resumed breathing and marched toward her, a look of dazed hunger in their eyes: a pack of zombies from the perky, youthful version of The Night of the Living Dead. "I wear a size four and I've got a date in fifteen minutes," Jody said. "Dress me." They descended on her like an evil khaki wave.

Just when the devil tries to steer me in the wrong direction I learn how powerful God's GPS really is. (Evil will not re-route my journey). He has mapped my success to the final destination.

Once you have put your plan into action, remember that changes will be necessary and openly welcome them. Your original plan represented a snapshot of your life and skillset at that moment. An engaged person will recognize that “rerouting” will happen and accept new ideas to improve their journey.

It's not a direction I'd ever imagined I'd go in, but that's okay. Life does that, doesn't it? Reroutes you as it goes along. One Day In December/Josie Silver

even the most “turnedoff” kid has potential—it just takes a lot of time and hard work to reroute those maladaptive connections!

No matter where you are in your life. No matter that detour, that roadblock, that reroute; all paths do what they must to take you to the place you need to be. That I can promise.

I would reroute the train with my bare hands before I left you behind,” he said matter-of-factly. “How very romantic.

Grace is more than being lucky to be on God’s side. Grace is God’s goodness showered on people who have failed. Grace is God’s love on those who think they are unlovable. Grace is God knowing what we are designed to be. Grace is God believing in us when we have given up. Grace is someone at the end of their rope finding new strength. But there’s more to grace. Grace is both a place and a power. Grace is God unleashing his transforming power. Grace realigns and reroutes a life and a community. Grace is when you turn your worst enemy into your best friend. Grace takes people as they are and makes them what they can be. Grace ennobles; grace empowers. Grace forgives; grace frees. Grace transcends, and grace transforms.

Life is bound to deal you a few bad hands now and then. You don’t need to make a big deal out of every unexpected turn of events. Your path may be rerouted, but nothing is lost unless you decide to quit. Through it all, arm yourself with the right attitude. As Oscar Wilde said: “It is all going to be fine in the end. If it is not yet fine, then it is not yet the end.” Thriving

Love makes a place in your life, it makes a place for itself in your bed. Invisibly, it makes a place in your body, rerouting all your blood vessels, throbbing right alongside your heart. When it’s gone, nothing is whole again.

Whenever I hear an objection to the male gaze—hoping that it will . . . what? Go away, get rerouted, become contained—I automatically think, Are people really this deluded and deranged or haven’t they had a date in the last ten years?

You can't stop people from things that hurt and are hard, Stella. You can't reroute to avoid pain at all costs. You can't plan your way around everything. Sometimes, you just have to go through with it. Sometimes, there's no other way, okay?

The thinking that women of all shapes and sizes can be beautiful is still hugely problematic, because it is predicated on the idea that the most important thing a woman has to offer the world is her appearance. Men are raised to worry about their legacies, not their upper arm and thigh fat, stretch marks, crows-feet, saggy elbows, ugly armpits, thin eyelashes, and normal-smelling genitals. This is how society keeps us out of the C-suite—it booby-traps the way to the top with self-loathing, then reroutes us on a never-ending path of self-improvement

Etien’s very depressed,” Ghosh said. “Not about the cancer, but over his colostomy. He can’t accept the idea of waste coming out from an opening in his abdomen.” Etien had the sheet over his head. When Ghosh examined him, and then said the colostomy looked beautiful, tears welled up in Etien’s big eyes. He wouldn’t look down there. All he said was “Who will marry me now?” Ghosh was surprisingly firm. “Etien, that’s not the part of your body I cut off, the marrying part. You’ll find a woman who loves you, and you’ll explain it to her. If she loves you for yourself, you’ll both be glad that you are alive.” Ghosh’s facial expression brooked no argument, but then he softened. “Etien, imagine if all humans were born with their anus on the belly and that’s where everyone’s waste emerged. Then imagine if someone said they were going to operate on you and reroute your bowel so it opened behind you, between your buttock cheeks, somewhere where you couldn’t see it except in a mirror, and where you could hardly reach it or easily keep it clean …” It took a few seconds, but then Etien smiled. He dabbed his eyes. He ventured a glance down at his colostomy. It was a small step in the right direction.

...so many boys and men value other men's approval more than women's humanity, continuing a centuries-old tradition of positioning bros before hoes and using control over women's bodies to earn male respect... and to reroute their disavowed desire for one another through a more socially acceptable object.

She knew from personal experience how hard loving was, how selfish and how easily sundered. Withholding sex or relying on it, ignoring children or devouring them, rerouting true feelings or locking them out. Youth being the excuse for that fortune-cookie love—until it wasn’t, until it became pure adult stupidity.

The notion that I had the power to outgrow who I was, and start a new relationship with who I wanted to be, became clear to me when I was about twenty-one. Even though it felt impossible, I wanted badly to reroute my life and find joy, but I didn't know where to start. Searching for and finding my how was the scariest thing I'd done in my life. Changing meant I had to start with being honest about who I was and who I wanted to be. It meant learning the difference between being alone and being lonely. I had to get my stuff together. And in order to do that, I knew I needed to leave people behind who were distracting me from my growth. I had to start from scratch and acknowledge my roles in the cycles that I said I wanted to break. Committing to change meant challenges and trust, which stripped me of everything that I knew.

That these mandates exist is hardly news, but their cumulative effect on women’s lives tends to be examined through a fragmented lens, one-pathology-at-a-time, the eating disorder lit on the self-help shelves separated from the books on women’s troubled relationships with men, the books on compulsive shopping separated from the books on female sexuality, the books on culture and media separated from the books on female psychology. Take your pick, choose your demon: Women Who Love Too Much in one camp, Women Who Eat Too Much in another, Women Who Shop Too Much in a third. In fact, the camps are not so disparate, and the question of appetite—specifically the question of what happens to the female appetite when it’s submerged and rerouted—is the thread that binds them together. One woman’s tub of cottage cheese is another’s maxed-out MasterCard; one woman’s soul-murdering love affair is another’s frenzied eating binge.

Just because your baby can tap a touch screen to change a picture does not mean that he should, that it is a developmentally useful or appropriate activity for him. In fact, research suggests that the process of tapping a screen or keypad and engaging with the screen activity may itself be rerouting brain development in ways that eliminate development of essential other neural connections your child needs to develop reading, writing, and higher-level thinking later.

We cannot go back to the lost oral world, any more than we can turn the clock back to a time before the clock existed.40 “Writing and print and the computer,” writes Walter Ong, “are all ways of technologizing the word” and once technologized, the word cannot be de-technologized.41 But the world of the screen, as we’re already coming to understand, is a very different place from the world of the page. A new intellectual ethic is taking hold. The pathways in our brains are once again being rerouted.

You know you’re not the only one who has to accept things you don’t necessarily like, right? It’s part of the human condition. If someone we knew took traffic signals personally, we would judge them insane. Yet this is exactly what life is doing to us. It tells us to come to a stop here. Or that some intersection is blocked or that a particular road has been rerouted through an inconvenient detour. We can’t argue or yell this problem away. We simply accept it. That is not to say we allow it to prevent us from reaching our ultimate destination. But it does change the way we travel to get there and the duration of the trip.

I wish I could blame the solar storm that blitzed the earth with electromagnetic rays, rerouted several commercial airlines, and caused all the geese to mistakenly fly west, the secret compass needles in their heads playing spin the bottle over a rowdy Pacific. Satellite communications were disrupted, electric eels in Peru forgot how to sing, and for a few seconds all the iPhones in the world flickered to black, during which time everyone raised their eyes and noticed moths shivering like tiny chandeliers. The truth is your glance shortcuts every traffic light in my heart and now no one’s in charge, I’m accelerating down the expressway of a tuba’s gold dream. With one outburst from your hair, I sputter like a firefly drowning in champagne. Just imagining the charged particles of your lips colliding with mine and I’m watching the northern lights, those bodies flaring across midwinter sheets of sky

In Kafka’s works the family table locks the child into a site where Father presides; it offers one of the prime occasions for paternity to enthrone itself, conducting prescriptive raids on the child’s bearing—invading his plate, entering and altering his body, adjusting his manner of being. The table becomes the metonymy for all law, the place where sovereign exceptionalism asserts itself: Father does not have to obey his own law, he can pick his teeth or clean his ears while the eaters submit to the severity of his rule. The children, in Kafka at least, and in the simulacrum of home in which many others were grown, are consistently downgraded to the status of unshakable refugees, parasites, those who quiver under the thickness of anxiety while laws, like platters, are passed and forced down one’s delicate throat. Give us this day our daily dread: it is difficult to imagine the Kafka family going out to eat, though that is what it would have taken for the death grip of mealtime to loosen, let go. At home, at the table, little Franz Kafka was eaten alive. By the time of the famous “Letter to Father,” he was vaporized. He says so himself: A good deal of the damage done to the young psyche occurred at table. The neighborhood restaurant might have rerouted the oppressive domesticity of home rule—it might have introduced a hiatus or suspensive regime change that would allow for hunger’s pacing. Part of a spectacle of public generality, the theater of ingestion—possibly also of incorporation—the restaurant causes the hold on the child to slacken, if only because there are witnesses and waiters whose work consists in diminishing the intensities of paternal law and the sacrificial rites that underlie their daily distribution—the daily apportionment of dread.

Meditation + Mental Strength An emotion is our evolved biology predicting the future impact of a current event. In modern settings, it’s usually exaggerated or wrong. Why is meditation so powerful? Your breath is one of the few places where your autonomic nervous system meets your voluntary nervous system. It’s involuntary, but you can also control it. I think a lot of meditation practices put an emphasis on the breath because it is a gateway into your autonomic nervous system. There are many, many cases in the medical and spiritual literature of people controlling their bodies at levels that should be autonomous. Your mind is such a powerful thing. What’s so unusual about your forebrain sending signals to your hindbrain and your hindbrain routing resources to your entire body? You can do it just by breathing. Relaxed breathing tells your body you’re safe. Then, your forebrain doesn’t need as many resources as it normally does. Now, the extra energy can be sent to your hindbrain, and it can reroute those resources to the rest of your body. I’m not saying you can beat whatever illness you have just because you activated your hindbrain. But you’re devoting most of the energy normally required to care about the external environment to the immune system. I highly recommend listening to the Tim Ferriss’s podcast with Wim Hof. He is a walking miracle. Wim’s nickname is the Ice Man. He holds the world record for the longest time spent in an ice bath and swimming in freezing cold water. I was very inspired by him, not only because he’s capable of super-human physical feats, but because he does it while being incredibly kind and happy—which is not easy to accomplish. He advocates cold exposure, because he believes people are too separate from their natural environment. We’re constantly clothed, fed, and warm. Our bodies have lost touch with the cold. The cold is important because it can activate the immune system. So, he advocates taking long ice baths. Being from the Indian subcontinent, I’m strongly against the idea of ice baths. But Wim inspired me to give cold showers a try. And I did so by using the Wim Hof breathing method. It involves hyperventilating to get more oxygen into your blood, which raises your core temperature. Then, you can go into the shower. The first few cold showers were hilarious because I’d slowly ease myself in, wincing the entire way. I started about four or five months ago. Now, I turn the shower on full-blast, and then I walk right in. I don’t give myself any time to hesitate. As soon as I hear the voice in my head telling me how cold it’s going to be, I know I have to walk in. I learned a very important lesson from this: most of our suffering comes from avoidance. Most of the suffering from a cold shower is the tip-toeing your way in. Once you’re in, you’re in. It’s not suffering. It’s just cold. Your body saying it’s cold is different than your mind saying it’s cold. Acknowledge your body saying it’s cold. Look at it. Deal with it. Accept it, but don’t mentally suffer over it. Taking a cold shower for two minutes isn’t going to kill you. Having a cold shower helps you re-learn that lesson every morning. Now hot showers are just one less thing I need out of life. [2] Meditation is intermittent fasting for the mind. Too much sugar leads to a heavy body, and too many distractions lead to a heavy mind. Time spent undistracted and alone, in self-examination, journaling, meditation, resolves the unresolved and takes us from mentally fat to fit.

The California Gold Rush, both the first and second one, had inflicted almost as much damage as the bounty. Stream channels where the Diggers fished had been disturbed or re-routed and blasting had damaged the habitat the Diggers fed on. In addition, foods the Diggers gathered from the land had been damaged or destroyed as the way was cleared for cattle, who ate one of the major source of Digger food: the acorn. Worse, as with all California tribes, contact with white men had led to new diseases for which the Indians had no immunity. The Nevada cowboy had speculated that the Sierra Diggers had once numbered perhaps ten-thousand, but that number had been whittled down to about one-thousand by the time the young man had left for Nevada.

In April 2000, a team of neuroscientists from MIT reported in Nature the results of an extraordinary experiment. They rewired the brain of a ferret, rerouting the connections from the eyes to the auditory cortex (the part of the brain responsible for processing sounds) and rerouting the connections from the ears to the visual cortex. You’d think the result would be a severely disabled ferret, but no: the auditory cortex learned to see, the visual cortex learned to hear, and the ferret was fine. In normal mammals, the visual cortex contains a map of the retina: neurons connected to nearby regions of the retina are close to each other in the cortex. Instead, the rewired ferrets developed a map of the retina in the auditory cortex. If the visual input is redirected instead to the somatosensory cortex, responsible for touch perception, it too learns to see.

Sometimes my mind goes dark, and every single part of my life goes dark with it. Any happiness I thought I knew gets replaced by a sadness so big it must be for the whole world. I convince myself that I have nothing to offer, and that nobody has anything to offer me, either. I commit to hopelessness. In these dark moments I remind myself, ( because I’d be too lost without the reminder) that what I'm feeling isn't the full truth of the world, not by miles, and that though I can't see it, nothing is as dire as the nightmare my mind conjures, and that i, and the world, will be okay. In time, with hope. Slowly I come out of the darkness again. I reject my mind's devotion to misery and fear, and reroute myself on a path of acceptance and love. I focus on the beauty in our world, and in myself, and I remember that we are family, all of us, and we each matter. We each shine. Certainly.

Light exploded from the uppermost castle spires, so bright that he was blinded for a moment. Aelin. Alive. Alive. He flapped, bending the wind to his will with the dregs of his magic, soaring faster and faster. He sent another wind toward the clock tower, rerouting the smoke toward the river, away from them. Rowan rounded the corner of the castle. He had no words for what he saw.

A Prayer While You Wait. May God visit you with patience in your season of waiting. May the barren landscape of your adversity become the fertile soil of new growth. May the God of grace revive your spirit and give you back your laughter. May you find God with you in your pain and trustworthy as you wait. May the one who restores what's been taken, meet you in the desert and journey with you to the other side. Amen.

The winter had been fairly normal as far as winters went in Juneau. There had been plenty of snow. There had been a few unusually cold days, and even a few mild ones. The airport had endured a normal number of days where it was forced to close because of fog. Flights had been rerouted, passengers upset, and plans delayed, but eventually everything returned to normal. Spring even came, perhaps a little earlier than usual.

My body, my work, my voice, my confidence, my power, my determination to demand a life as potent, vibrant, public and complex as any man's. My abortion wasn’t intrinsically significant, but it was my first big grown-up decision – the first time I asserted, unequivocally: ‘I KNOW THE LIFE I WANT AND THIS IS NOT IT"; the moment I stopped being a passenger in my own body and grabbed the rudder... The truth is I don't give a damn why anyone has an abortion. I believe unconditionally in the right of people with uteruses to decide what grow inside of their body and feeds on their blood and endangers their life and reroutes their future. There are no "good" abortions and "bad" abortions, there are only pregnant people who want them and pregnant people who don't, pregnant people who have access and support and pregnant people who face institutional roadblocks and lies... For that reason, we simply MUST talk about it. The fact that abortion is still a taboo subject means that opponents of abortion get to define it however suits them best. They can cast those of us who have had abortions as callous monstrosities and seed fear in anyone who might need one by insisting that the procedure is always traumatic, always painful, and always an impossible decision. Well we're not and it's not. The truth is that life is unfathomably complex and every abortion story is as unique as the person who lives it. Some are traumatic, some are even regretted, but plenty are like mine... My abortion was a normal medical procedure that got tangled up in my bad relationship, my internalized fatphobia, my fear of adulthood, my discomfort with talking about sex; and one that, because of our culture’s obsession with punishing female sexuality and shackling women to the nursery and the kitchen, I was socialized to approach with shame and describe only in whispers. But the procedure itself was the easiest part. Not being able to have one would have been the real trauma.

Sometimes, using the experience doesn’t go smoothly. Maybe the TAPP rider has forgotten to update their credit card expiration date, or maybe a bus has been unexpectedly rerouted for an emergency. The organization can use alerts and error messages to inform the person and help them get to their goals (Figure 1-

Remember: the neurons that fire together wire together, so you can reroute and redeem your thinking patterns.

An idealism previously directed at gods and spirits has been rerouted towards human subjects – an ostensibly generous gesture nevertheless freighted with forbidding and brittle consequences, since it is no simple thing for any human being to honour over a lifetime the perfections he or she might have hinted at to an imaginative observer in the street, the office or the adjoining aeroplane seat.

This doesn’t mean, however, that our maps can’t be modified by experience. A deep love relationship, particularly during adolescence, when the brain once again goes through a period of exponential change, truly can transform us. So can the birth of a child, as our babies often teach us how to love. Adults who were abused or neglected as children can still learn the beauty of intimacy and mutual trust or have a deep spiritual experience that opens them to a larger universe. In contrast, previously uncontaminated childhood maps can become so distorted by an adult rape or assault that all roads are rerouted into terror or despair. These responses are not reasonable and therefore cannot be changed simply by reframing irrational beliefs. Our maps of the world are encoded in the emotional brain, and changing them means having to reorganize that part of the central nervous system, the subject of the treatment section of this book.

My promotion to General came with a warship. My first action upon seizing control was to reroute us to Fanatic Space, cutting off all communication to the Empire.

It was no use suggesting to Dam that pursuing Eric was a bad choice. She’d watched Dam do this time and again, and there was no rerouting him from his course of pursuing men whom he despised in order to be abused by them and therefore confirm his assumptions about the world. He was like Sara and Sascha in that way: so sentimental and so in need of care, and yet so incapable of seeking love from a person who could provide it. Unlike Sara and Sascha, though, he was perfectly aware of his own hypocrisy. By seeking compassion in the wrong places, he tried to dull his needs by proving to himself that they were impossible to meet. The satisfaction of rejection was the only kind he seemed to know how to feel.

Later, the genomics revolution made it possible to see just how impactful touch is to plants on a deeper level. Peering at the genes of Arabidopsis thaliana, a weedy plant in the mustard family and the lab rat of the plant biology world, researchers saw that touch quietly triggered such a dramatic response in their hormones and gene expression that it could substantially inhibit their growth. They stroked the arabidopsis with soft paintbrushes, and then analyzed the plants’ genetic responses. Within thirty minutes of being touched, 10 percent of the plant’s genome was altered. Clearly, the plant was reorganizing its priorities to deal with the disturbance, and rerouting energy away from the hard work of getting taller. Touched multiple times, arabidopsis cut its upward growth rate by as much as 30 percent, just as Jaffe had found years before.

I’d never forgive myself for what I did, but it had been necessary. Protecting Sofia was far more important than my own selfish desires. She was always so innocent, lost in an imaginary world that only an artist could know. It was never my place to tell her about her family—to bring that darkness into her life—and if I’d tried to keep her and my secrets, the inevitable breakup would have been even more catastrophic. I had abandoned that path, and now a detour had rerouted me back down the same dead end. This time, there were no exits or U-turns. I couldn’t reverse my way out of this. This time, we would see just how it would play out—every last gory detail.

Elicitation – A process designed to influence or persuade an individual to reveal information that he has reason to want to conceal. This process is characterized by use of a monologue rather than a dialogue. (Used synonymously with interrogation.) Equitable distribution – A term used to describe the legal process of dividing a married couple’s assets in a divorce proceeding. Exclusion qualifier – A verbal deceptive behavior used to enable a person who wants to withhold certain information to answer a question truthfully, but without releasing that information. Examples: “basically,” “for the most part,” “fundamentally,” “probably,” “most often.” Failure to answer – A verbal deceptive behavior in which a person’s response does not answer the question that’s asked. Failure to understand a simple question – A verbal deceptive behavior in which a person’s response is an expression of confusion over an easily comprehensible question. This strategy is typically used when a person feels trapped by the wording of the question and needs to shrink its scope. Fight-or-flight response – A triggering of the autonomic nervous system that reroutes circulation to the body’s major organs and muscle groups to prepare the body to deal with a threatening situation. Forer effect – A cognitive bias named for psychologist Bertram Forer, who found that people tend to rate as highly accurate a personality analysis that is presented as being individualized, when it is actually so general in nature that it could apply to almost anyone. (Also known as Barnum statements.)

Finland had required a matriculation test for 160 years; it was a way to motivate kids and teachers toward a clear, common goal, and it made a high school diploma mean something. Korea rerouted air traffic for their graduation test. Polish kids studied for their tests on nights and weekends, and they arrived for the exam wearing suits, ties, and dresses. In America, however, many people still believed in a different standard, one that explained a great deal about the country’s enduring mediocrity in education: According to this logic, students who passed the required classes and came to school the required number of days should receive their diplomas, regardless of what they had learned or what would happen to them when they tried to get a job at the Bama Companies. Those kids deserved a chance to fail later, not now. It was a perverse sort of compassion designed for a different century.

A specter is haunting the modern world, the specter of crypto anarchy. Computer technology is on the verge of providing the ability for individuals and groups to communicate and interact with each other in a totally anonymous manner. Two persons may exchange messages, conduct business, and negotiate electronic contracts without ever knowing the true name, or legal identity, of the other. Interactions over networks will be untraceable, via extensive rerouting of encrypted packets and tamper-proof boxes which implement cryptographic protocols with nearly perfect assurance against any tampering. Reputations will be of central importance, far more important in dealings than even the credit ratings of today. These developments will alter completely the nature of government regulation, the ability to tax and control economic interactions, the ability to keep information secret, and will even alter the nature of trust and reputation.

In Milwaukee and across the nation, most renters were responsible for keeping the lights and heat on, but that had become increasingly difficult to do. Since 2000, the cost of fuels and utilities had risen by more than 50 percent, thanks to increasing global demand and the expiration of price caps. In a typical year, almost 1 in 5 poor renting families nationwide missed payments and received a disconnection notice from their utility company.4 Families who couldn’t both make rent and keep current with the utility company sometimes paid a cousin or neighbor to reroute the meter. As much as $6 billion worth of power was pirated across America every year. Only cars and credit cards got stolen more.5 Stealing gas was much more difficult and rare. It was also unnecessary in the wintertime, when the city put a moratorium on disconnections. On that April day when the moratorium lifted, gas operators returned to poor neighborhoods with their stacks of disconnection notices and toolboxes. We Energies disconnected roughly 50,000 households each year for nonpayment. Many tenants who in the winter stayed current on their rent at the expense of their heating bill tried in the summer to climb back in the black with the utility company by shorting their landlord. Come the following winter, they had to be connected to benefit from the moratorium on disconnection. So every year in Milwaukee evictions spiked in the summer and early fall and dipped again in November, when the moratorium began.

These vertical suburbs--jet black glass structures in matte-grey iron and titanium corsets.--boast their own mayors and their own municipal services. They flicker with illegally-rerouted power and pirated water--pumped up external piping from the Toronto Syndicate's aquifers in San Jaquin.

neuroplasticity--a vision replacement therapy done by rewiring or rezoning neurons to help out when other are destroyed.  They claimed the brain is not centrally wired, but rather exists in zones.  These zones could be repurposed, rerouted.”               “We still know relatively little about how the brain works.  I guess anything’s possible.  We should know a lot more in a few hours.

Danny put his tablet down on the table.  “No.  It’s bad.  I, um, I hacked into a satellite to get some pictures.” “You re-routed a satellite?” Danny gave him a surprised look.  “Didn't have to.  It was already passing over.” Right, because re-routing would have been crazy.  Thank God he's on our side.

You know what they say − the road to hell is paved with good intentions.  Our worth is determined by our deeds, not by our good intentions.  If you’re going to talk the talk you should be prepared to walk the walk. 

God is not grieved because of “all the homosexuals.” Not in the very least. That’s religious people you’re thinking of. If God is grieved it’s because the beautiful, incomparable message of redemption and grace, the sweet peace of a loving relationship, has been truncated, rerouted into a message of behavior-modification and sin-management. For

Each time we peer into the mirror, our minds are set to wondering: Am I looking older these days? Am I as attractive as I used to be? Should I get surgery? Maybe I should get contacts, buy wrinkle cream, or color my hair. Mirrors, by their very nature, focus us on our physical appearance in the most superficial of ways. And by constantly rerouting our thoughts back to how we look, they make us sitting ducks for advertising ploys that promise to make us more attractive.

If there is any certainty in life it is in the tendency of the unexpected to reroute us along a path we never would have chosen, yet in the end, cannot imagine never having forged.

waving to get his attention. The small White Rock police force had shut down the entire department so they could all attend the funeral, but crime didn’t take the day off in order to pay respects to the dead, so Reese had had the calls rerouted to her cell phone just in case. And judging by the stricken look on her face, Sam knew that had been a good idea. Sam scanned the crowd for Kevin, their part-timer. It was just the three of

I believe unconditionally in the right of people with uteruses to decide what grows inside of their body and feeds on their blood and endangers their life and reroutes their future. There are no “good” abortions and “bad” abortions, there are only pregnant people who want them and pregnant people who don’t, pregnant people who have access and support and pregnant people who face institutional roadblocks and lies. For

Allow problems to reroute you towards your purpose in life. Use them as stepping stones on your journey to light.

Allow problems to reroute you towards your purpose in life. Use them as stepping stones on your journey to light.

Worse, once triggered, the employee we want to do better actually has less ability to do so because the brain is under siege from those negative neurochemicals that reroute our impulses and zap resourcefulness. None of these responses get us closer to the results we need.

But I couldn’t let you go on thinking I hated you. That’s so far from the truth.” “You sure could have fooled me. You could have fooled everyone. Why were you such a jerk to me?” His grin slips. “I told you. I was a kid, and that’s what dumb boys do when they like a girl. They pick on them.” “I’ll never understand that.” “Yeah, it’s stupid,” he says. “Then we both grew up, and giving each other hell was just a part of who we were. There was no going back.” Dean is staring at me, almost knowingly. “And you can deny it all you want, but you wouldn’t want it any other way.” I set my jaw, my emotions spiraling into a frenzy. I’m not sure what to make of Dean’s confession. I can’t process it. It goes against everything I thought we were. I gulp back more questions and choose to reroute the subject. Dean’s bomb did happen to trigger something somewhat juicy. “I lost my virginity to Mr. Adilman.” He gapes at me. “What the fuck?

Well, I have had some luck. I cross-referenced some of the other articles in the issue and got a few hits, one of which led me to a man’s personal website. I sent him an email.” I stare at Henri. “Don’t worry,” he says. “They can’t track emails. At least not the way I send them.” “How do you send them?” “I reroute them through various servers in cities across the world, so that the original location is lost along the way.” “Impressive.” Bernie Kosar scratches at the door and I let him in. The clock on the microwave reads 5:59. I have two hours before I have to be at school. “Do you really think we want to go digging around in all this?” I ask. “I mean, what if it’s all a trap? What if they are simply trying to root us out of hiding?” Henri nods. “You know, if the article had mentioned anything about us, that might have given me pause. But it didn’t. It was about their invading Earth, much the same way they did Lorien. There is so much about it that we don’t understand. You were right a few weeks ago when you said we were defeated so easily. We were. It doesn’t make sense. The entire situation with the disappearance of the Elders also doesn’t make sense. Even getting you and the other children off of Lorien, which I have never questioned, seems odd. And

In wealth building, you will soon realize that the process is doable, practical, attainable and realistic enough if you engage in a systematic way of thinking, planning and rerouting your life to creating wealth lifestyle

Praying in tongues ultimately reroutes and realigns you with the perfect will of God. If you have missed God at any point, He will get you back on track through His Word and by His Spirit as you pray in tongues

Thankfully, innate ambition doesn’t die, it reroutes.

But for the most part, being a fallible human means we need to recognize our own tendency to dawdle, to dash, to buffer the doing, whether out of necessity or habit—and maybe we don’t need to add a layer of guilt, anxiety, or shame to that. Perhaps, instead of trying to optimize, we can learn to reroute the guilt, anxiety, and shame we encounter on days like these and accept ourselves as imperfect people simply experiencing the day.

If you're heading in the same direction ten years later, It's time to reroute.

If our sights are clearly set on the reworking of our own thoughts, emotional reactions, and behaviors, what is stopping us from gradually rerouting the neural pathways of well-being?

Adults who were abused or neglected as children can still learn the beauty of intimacy and mutual trust or have a deep spiritual experience that opens them to a larger universe. In contrast, previously uncontaminated childhood maps can become so distorted by an adult rape or assault that all roads are rerouted into terror or despair. These responses are not reasonable and therefore cannot be changed simply by reframing irrational beliefs. Our maps of the world are encoded in the emotional brain, and changing them means having to reorganize that part of the central nervous system, the subject of the treatment section of this book.

Just as GPS can reroute you to your destination when you make a wrong turn on a road trip, God’s Holy Spirit has an infinite number of ways to reroute you when you get lost or hit a dead end in life. In both cases, as long as you don’t throw out the “GPS” but keep following where it leads, you’ll get there.

The repressed refers to specific mental contents that have been banished from consciousness; the oppressed refers to human thinking that has been forced to become suspended or distorted. Whereas a repressed thought can return to consciousness through the re-routing of ideas, the oppressed involves an alteration, not in the contents of the mind, but in its capacities; it compromises the mental process that would have constructed the thought to begin with, producing a cumulative degradation of perception, thinking and communication. The repressed, therefore, re- sides in the unconscious as the successful work of censorship; the oppressed is also to be found in the unconscious but as a failed effort, bearing the trace of what might have been ideationally created.

Gardeners, are, by their nature, people who believe in regeneration, as poet Laura Villareal points out. They understand that the broken world we inherit can also be amended, with compost, worms, and steady tending. They have seen that the tended earth, in turn, offers up radical abundance—not only of food, but of insects, birds, rhizomes, and soil. The garden surprises us in unexpected ways. Oregano winters over. Wild miner’s lettuce springs back. A volunteer pumpkin luxuriates near the compost bin. Suddenly met with abundance, we beg people to come help harvest our plums. We befriend a plot of earth, and it befriends us in return. By some powerful force, this friendship brings us into a fuller, more just communion with the human and nonhuman at once. Sometimes, in the face of huge pain, the things of the earth can help reroute any of us toward awe and fascination.

the reason I took it apart. I got angry every time I looked at it after he died. I put another piece of tangerine in my mouth and reroute my thoughts. “I can’t believe she’ll be five.” Grace sighs. “I know. Unreal. Unfair.” Patrick pops into the kitchen and tousles my hair like I’m not almost thirty and three inches taller than him. “Hey, kid.” He reaches around me and grabs one of the tangerines. “Did Grace tell you we can’t make the game today?” “I haven’t yet,” Grace says. She rolls her eyes, her annoyed gaze landing on me. “My sister is in the hospital. Elective surgery, she’s fine, but we have to drive to her house and feed her cats.” “What’s she getting done this time?” Grace waves a hand at her face. “Something with her eyes. Who knows? She’s five years older than me, but looks

If we taste the fruit ahead and then reroute, we will never again be satisfied with anything less than what we reached for with our higher self.

Within busy airspace, it is possible to be vectored for longer-than-expected time periods, especially when low ceiling or limited visibility conditions prevail. To ignore potential fuel needs due to vectoring invites the prospect of a serious and untimely shortage. Conservatively, it would be wise to add at least thirty minutes of additional fuel to the FAR 91.167 regulatory requirement to meet possible vector reroutes. Rule 4: Know the two-way radio communications failure procedure (FAR 91.185).

My argument is obviously anticapitalist, especially concerning technologies that encourage a capitalist perception of time, place, self, and community. It is also environmental and historical: I propose that rerouting and deepening one’s attention to place will likely lead to awareness of one’s participation in history and in a more-than-human community. From either a social or ecological perspective, the ultimate goal of “doing nothing” is to wrest our focus from the attention economy and replant it in the public, physical realm.

The constant dredging, banking, and rerouting of the Mississippi to ease passage for ships and cargo meant that less sediment washed down from upriver to restore the land that was lost. The very activity that had made the region a commercial hub and allowed the oil industry to thrive was now hastening the sea’s steady advance. Looking out the rain-streaked window, I wondered how long the road I was traveling would last, with its gas stations and convenience stores, before it too was swallowed by the waves.

TRAIL DESCRIPTION Segment 7 begins at the Gold Hill Trailhead on the west side of CO Hwy 9, mile 0.0 (9,197 feet). Leave the parking lot on single-track to the west and begin climbing where trees killed by pine beetles have been cut down. The trail ascends moderate slopes on the fall line here, though authorities have contemplated minor reroutes (traverses and switchbacks) to mitigate tread erosion and be more sustainable. The trail climbs to mile 1.0 (9,659), where there is a well-marked, three-way logging road intersection. Bear to the left. At mile 1.2 (9,748) continue straight ignoring trail on the left. Cross a logging road at mile 1.6 (9,990), passing an old clear-cut area that recently has been replanted. At mile 2.0 (10,158) the CT turns to the right through a colonnade of young trees at another well-marked intersection. At mile 3.2 (9,952) the trail turns left at the intersection with the Peaks Trail near some beaver ponds. There is water here and good camping. At mile 3.4 (10,018), turn right on the Miners Creek Trail. The trail sign here does not identify The Colorado Trail, but there are confidence markers on trees on both sides of the intersection. Over the next mile, cross and recross a small tributary to Miners Creek several times. There are good campsites in the vicinity of the crossings. At mile 4.8 (10,555), the Miners Creek Trail reaches a parking area for jeep access to the trail. Continue on the Miners Creek Trail by bearing to the left after passing most of the parking area. There are campsites on both sides of the parking area. Cross Miners Creek at mile 4.9 (10,583) and several more times in the next mile, most with potential campsites. The last crossing of Miners Creek before entering the tundra is at mile 6.1 (11,120).

Several connections form a mesh network – a group of independent actors capable of connecting one another to a larger system. As users enter and exit the mesh network, logic in the system automatically re-routes traffic through the connected network of users. Structured networks (such as cellphone services) are able to be destroyed, overwhelmed, and degraded in their performance. Mesh networks are not prone to these problems because they are natively built to withstand them.