I finally received my big-box-of-things-to-plug-into-the-CHIP. So I started plugging things into my CHIP.
So far, I’ve figured out how to control LEDs and wrote a small Ruby gem to do so from Ruby.
The end result?
It’s not much, but I have some more interesting plans for where to go next. Stay tuned!
I bought a CHIP computer! It’s a little ARM-based Linux computer in the style of the well-known Raspberry Pi.
And I didn’t just buy it. I bought it ages ago. It was a Kickstarter that I backed in June 2015. It arrived a year later in June 2016. And then I didn’t touch it until late August 2016 when I realized that I wouldn’t have to find a monitor to plug into it: I could just connect over serial using a USB cable. I didn’t even know screen could *do* that but it was in CHIP’s documentation and everything.
So I was able to get my CHIP onto the WiFi and start SSHing into it. And now the hijinks ensue!
I haven’t actually done much with it, but I’ve started poking around. With the help of trailblazers before me, I figured out how to blink the status LED in patterns of my choosing. I figured out how to interrogate the power controller and get all sorts of fun information back.
And I’ve started reading up on what might be next. I have some plans to figure out how to control external LEDs and even analog meters. Anything interesting I learn will be posted to github and the CHIP forum (ask for “willia4”).
At the moment, I’m in sort of a limbo: I’m placing an order for all sorts of components and more exciting things like a multimeter and a soldering iron. While I wait for that to arrive, I’m continuing to read and learn and poke. And to watch my status light blink, just to let me know that it’s there.
In a recent episode of his podcast, Clay Jenkinson was discussing Thoreau and Walden. He focused in on the idea of “living deliberately”, a concept I could not help but conflate with some form of minimalism. It’s an idea that has been resonating with me lately as I have found myself increasingly discomforted by all the stuff I have dragged into my tiny house through the years. It’s almost overwhelming.
And I think, “How did it come to this?” and I have to admit that it is because I have not been living deliberately. When I see a new and shiny toy, I grab it to satisfy that immediate want — but I give no thought to where that thing will fit into my life in one or two or ten years.
The move towards replacing physical artifacts with bytes has helped tremendously. My Kindle has so many more books on it than I would be able to store as physical copies. Our iTunes library is expanding while our groaning DVD shelves are happy to not be called to further service. But these still come with an economic cost that I don’t always fully consider in the sense of living deliberately. And that doesn’t even begin to factor in the psychic costs of my nagging worry that Amazon or Apple will flip a switch one day and all my “investment” in those books and songs and movies will vanish in less than a puff of smoke.
So this deliberate living (in a minimalist possession style anyway — I will save thoughts of things like food for another day) starts to sound pretty good when I take a hard look at where my time and energy and money goes.
But how to start? There are two clear points: there is the commerce side where I bring possessions into my life and there is the other side where I have to live with them. The commerce side is more of a regular habit that must be handled with a new commitment each day. But the housing-life-possessions side — Ah! Now that presents and immediate and severe challenge.
SO I star taking stock: what do I need to be happy? I need a good chair to read in. And a good sofa for when I need a good lie-down. And a good TV. And a couple of good boxes to plug into that TV.
I need a good computer. And a good phone — these are how I make my living. I don’t need a good tablet (finally! A concession!) But I do need my Kindle.
I need a good pen and some bottles of ink and good paper and a good notebook, but I have at least convinced myself to stop buying more of these things for now. Even though I really want some.
And the list goes on (I haven’t even gotten to my small whisk[e]y collection…). I believe my definition of “minimal” may need to be calibrated. And that can no doubt turn into a life-long pursuit of contemplating and refining that definition. But one thing is decided not on the list of things I need and it breaks my heart.
I don’t think I really need all these books.
Our house is basically a library. We have filled it with shelves. We have filled those shelves with books. We have stacks of books. We have piles of books. We have bags of books. Our storage closet is filled with boxes filled with books. When we buy books now (and we buy books!), we can give only small thought about an organizational system as the pressures of reality force us to put them wherever there is an empty space or (in some cases) where we can convince gravity to look the other way.
I married someone who loves books as much as I do and it is glorious. And I love books a lot. I love reading them. I love holding them and smelling them. I love running my eyes along their colorful spines and reading their titles — each one an invitation. I love being surrounded by them and just existing in their presence. But I have to wonder: how much of that could be satisfied by a trip to the library? How much space at home am I sacrificing and is it worth it?
I don’t know if I can get rid of them. Each fiction book is a miniature universe, filled with possibility. I can’t throw away an entire world so callously! My non-fiction books are even more valuable for they are filled with knowledge and the potential for self-betterment!
I find myself paralyzed by sentimentality and I do not know if I can overcome it. Even for books I have not opened in decades or technical books that are staggeringly outdated, I don’t know if I can stand to part with them.
I may have failed at deliberate living before even starting — and that is before discussing any of this with my spouse (a vital piece of any lifestyle experiment!). Perhaps I am doomed to live more like Jefferson (but without the astounding intellectual gifts that allowed him to gain enough status to mostly get away with it in his lifetime).
But I have a secret. None of those books on our shelves is Walden. I’ve never read it. I think I shall and maybe Thoreau will speak to me and help me overcome my own worst instincts.
But when I read Walden, I think I shall get a copy from the library.