The why →

People think of that complexity as an expression of our capacity for abstract thought. We believe our brains are so complex because of the wonders we can build in our minds. Make no mistake, we can build wonders in our minds but what we have neglected is that those wonders are boot strapped on top of motor control. The first purpose of the brain is to guide movement.

~ Rafe Kelley from, «https://www.evolvemoveplay.com/the-why-of-movement-practice/»

Elsewhere, this is 4ueote2. — slipbox

And the second purpose it to solve problems in the physical world. (How do I go over there? How do I avoid that danger? How do I get food?) To solve problems you need to be able to define what the problem is. You define any problem by imagining some desired state (I am over there. I have avoided that danger by running. I have eaten that food.) and then looking for options that can get you from the current state, to the desired state. So it turns out that the better your imagination is, the better you can be at solving problems. Faced with endless options, you mind turns out to be really good at heuristics—making estimations in advance with limited knowledge (prejudice can be a good thing; assuming snakes are not friendly is an excellent heuristic.) All of which makes possible the beauty and diversity of our lives. Fortunately, we have a capacity for reason atop all of that which enables us to make choices so the possibility of beauty and diversity can be our a reality. I digress.

Back to Kelley’s point, if the entire edifice of our minds is built upon that first purpose, what happens if we starve the mind of the physical engagement?

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Other people’s thoughts →

For the most part, false and harmful opinions are distributed and supported by influence. We are too likely to accept the views and thoughts of other people without trying to investigate them deeper and further ourselves. Unimportant people are those who accept other people’s thoughts without developing them themselves.

~ Leo Tolstoy

Elsewhere, this is 4a991. — slipbox


Lions and lambs →

Since retiring as a lion, I have grown to admire and respect the lambs. As it turns out, they are the ones that have not yet been rendered idiots by the ‘health and fitness’ industry. Their meekness comes not from weakness of character, but from highly justified scepticism. Their sideward glances stem not so much from question such as “what am I doing”, but rather “what the hell are you doing..?” And quite rightly so. What the hell are you doing?

~ “MoveMore” from, The Problem with ‘Exercise’ – MoveMore

Elsewhere, this is 4uwote4. — slipbox

A quirky article from some place new (to me). The author (who is completely unidentified across their entire web site as far as I can tell) has a fun way of turning the tables on the standard lambs and lions. They also rail against the mainstream health and fitness representations of, well, “health” and “fitness”.

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Making choices →

To create art we make choices. We do it with intent, seeking to make a change for certain people. When we find that our choices didn’t succeed, vulnerability with lots of personal angst is an available choice. The alternative is to learn from what didn’t resonate. Was it our choices in how we did the work, or did we bring this work to the wrong audience? You are not your work. Your work is a series of choices made with generous intent to cause something to happen. We can always learn to make better choices.

~ Seth Godin

Elsewhere, this is 4a990. — slipbox


Novelty →

I get the feeling that a lot of us are afraid of repeating ourselves – as if doing so demonstrates a lack of originality or a “less than” memory.

~ Jon Yuen from, «https://www.yuenjon.com/articles/2020/6/5/reminders»

Clearly (based on all these blog posts) I’m not afraid of repeating myself, and it feels in each moment as if I’m repeating myself. I see the same patterns in what interests me, and I think the same trains of thoughts. When I zoom farther out however, I see long, slow trends. The problem for me with repetition is that I find the salience of things tapers away towards zero. I’m [knowingly] within a few feet of a snake so rarely that my brain effortlessly applies maximum attention; but the number on the scale, not so much. What works for me is when the repetition is uncertain. I know I’ll read one of my quotes tomorrow, but it’ll be a random one—and I’ll remember it instantly as soon as I start reading it. Repetition repetition on to something else then
 surprise! 
more repetition!

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Tradition →

For the majority of mankind, religion is a habit, or, more precisely, tradition is their religion. Though it seems strange, I think that the first step to moral perfection is your liberation from the religion in which you were raised. Not a single person has come to perfection except by following this way.

~ Henry David Thoreau

Elsewhere, this is 4a989. — slipbox


The message →

There are mountains of content. None of it is new. How do we decide what to practice or teach? A message can clarify this. There was a time when I did not have a message. I delivered great content, accumulated from various teachers I’d studied from. The participants had fun, but my lack of messaging left me without answers to questions like, “Why does this much strength (or mobility) matter?” or “Why have you chosen these moves and not those moves?”

~ Kyle Fincham from, What’s Your Message?

Elsewhere, this is 4ukypo1. — slipbox

It used to be, that when I read things like this article, I would be launched into deep thinking. It’s nice to know what my message is. It’s nice to know why, specifically, each piece of my menagerie is in my care, why I continue feeding it, and what my hopes for it are. It’s nice. I point this out not in some attempt to jump on my soapbox about how everyone should sort their own menagerie out
 no. I’m literally just pointing out that my experience of it is nice.

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The more you say →

The more you say, the more likely you are to blow past opportunities, ignore feedback, and cause yourself suffering. The inexperienced and fearful talk to reassure themselves. The ability to listen, to deliberately keep out of a conversation and subsist without its validity is rare. Silence is a way to build strength and self-sufficiency.

~ Ryan Holiday

Elsewhere, this is 4a988. — slipbox


Somatic movement →

A somatic approach to movement can help us get reacquainted with ourselves. This is our home base after all. It’s our guts and tissues, our thoughts and perceptions. It’s our subjective experience of life. [
] When we cultivate self-awareness through movement, we come up against the boundary of self and other. We recognize that we don’t live in a vacuum.

~ Chandler Stevens from, «http://chandlerstevens.com/blog/2016/11/9/connection-relation-and-somatic-ecology»

The word “reacquainted” leapt out at me. Every time I truly pause to pay attention, I’m immediately confronted by my physical self. There’s the inevitable settling towards senescence, and frankly that doesn’t bother me. I enjoy looking back at the things I was once capable of and thinking, well, that was nice! No, the confrontation I’m talking about is the stuff that I know is my fault
 and I’m not going to list physical metrics. Suffice to say: All I’d have to do it remove the stress and everything else would settle back to a wonderful baseline that I’d love to return to.

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The moral →

The moral? To recognize that our best chance of contentment lies in taking up the wisdom offered to us in coded form through our coughs, allergies, social gaffes and emotional betrayals, and to avoid the ingratitude of those who blame the peas, the bores, the time and the weather.

~ Alaine De Botton

Elsewhere, this is 4a987. — slipbox