The other day I read a one-year-ago journal entry, and had a strong impression of having a long-distance conversation. Although I had not the slightest memory of writing the entry, it was clearly me. In fact, the me writing in those moments past, had something striking to say to the me reading a year later. Something insightful. Nearly poetic. Definitely useful.
The entry wasn’t from a depressed past–me. It wasn’t from a hopeful past–me. It was from someone who clearly had insight, who had thoughtfully crafted some phrasing, and who had included quotations for thematic punctuation. This happens to me a lot— nearly daily. I’m so glad that past me took the time (for it really does take prodigious amounts of time) to write that entry. And so I keep writing to myself in my journal.
Other times I find things in my journal that were clearly important—way too important—at the time, but I can’t recall the feeling. Sometimes I can’t even recall the event or project.
All of which serves to provide me with perspective and guidance on the faux urgencies and importanties of my todays.
Everything is fun, until one’s expectations are crushed. I thought I was getting the convenience of online shopping for things that were previously literally unavailable; Instead, the local stores closed and I’ve lost the convenience of local purchasing. I thought I was getting expanded communication via email; Instead, I’ve been overrun by people taking advantage of the ease of access. In 1989 I was excited by what we could all do with the Internet. So excited, that in 1994 I quit a funded research position and dropped out of graduate school.
Today’s internet is largely shaped by a dialog between two ideas. One position considers personal data as a form of property, the opposing position considers personal data as an extension of the self. The latter grants inalienable rights because a person’s dignity – traditionally manifested in our bodies or certain rights of expression and privacy – cannot be negotiated, bought, or sold.
There’s nothing wrong with the Internet. There’s nothing wrong with people. There’s nothing wrong with government. The problem is in everyone’s failure to think things through. “Can” and “should” are very different animals. Until a plurality of people think things through—until a plurality of people stop delivering themselves into the power of ideas they do not know they have accepted—there will be nothing new under the sun.
I write a lot about “looking back”. (A lot: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 and 21 more posts, plus “looking back” has another 17 posts.) I clearly believe—I really do—that looking back is best for assessing things.
By all objective metrics, I’m as successful today as I could hope to be a decade ago. I’m happily married, well inside the richest 1% globally, have found my tribe and earned some respect in it. I should be able to relax and take some satisfaction in my current situation. And yet the thought that in 5 years my life will look exactly like it does today fills me with dread.
My title is a nerdy reference to a small detail in the article. But it’s also a nerdy reference to how I feel that everything I write is simply derivative. Nonetheless, I’m looking back. I’m assessing my progress. I’m making some plans and I’m cutting red tape.
The need for conversation is one that many people have not fully acknowledged, perhaps because they have not had occasion to do enough of it or to do it well. I am not suggesting that, in conversing, we serve as each other’s therapists, but I do believe that good talk, when carried on with the right degree of openness, can not only be a great pleasure but also do us a great deal of good, both individually and collectively as members of society.
I agree with Cohen; It’s definitely a need. We humans are inherently social beings. A great way to get companionship and intellectual stimulation is with a nice, juicy, inspiring, thought-provoking, belief-busting, mind-expanding conversation. Also great: Chats over tea. Jawboning over a beer. Whispers by candlelight. Raucous exclamations at the game. Judicious maneuvering. Single-serving sized (h/t Palahniuk.) Week-long retreating. And countless more I’m looking forward to discovering.
I recently had a conversation with someone while recording an episode of Podtalk. They mentioned the importance of naming our audience in the early moments of a podcast episode. An example they gave is: “Do you feel like a square peg trying to fit in a round hole? This podcast is for you.” (If you’re curious about this idea in the context of podcasting see, Naming our audiences.)
This idea was a quake moment for me. Because in order to name my audience—to literally say it, briefly, in a way that someone identifies with… Well, first I have to know who my audience is. I’m well aware one should know “who’s it for?” (If I just want to fiddle in my workshop, whatever-it-is can certainly just be, “it’s for me.”) It’s easy to know “who it’s for?” and to be able to talk about that when asked. It is vastly harder to name the audience, succinctly, in way a that connects with people.
Connection is precious. We can, and must, find ways to be so clear, and so vivid, that people literally feel a reaction when we name our audience. It’d be better if you heard me say this, but what happens when you read…
Are you the curious sort who leans in to find joy in learning and self-awareness? Terrific. You’re in the right place. Know anyone else who should be here too?
Back when I got deeply into running and jumping and playing again, I spent all the rest of my time stiff and achy and sore. It was glorious. I began intentionally working on restorative practices. At first I was doing vanilla stretching routines. Then I started doing more exploratory work with foam rollers and lacrosse balls and resistance bands. Then things got more organized with little, light activities focusing on weak parts. These days I have a finely tuned sense of what needs to be attended to. A little exploratory movement here, an extension there. Something or other feels off—or perhaps it’s better to say: Something or other is noticeable. That attracts my curiosity and exploration.
Scientists call our ability to feel what’s happening inside our bodies interoception. A portmanteau of “interior” and “reception,” it differs from perception, which comes from our five senses, and proprioception, which tells us how we are oriented in space. Interoception is an inner sense having to do with our bodily processes. It can be divided into three rough categories. The first comprises feelings that break through into consciousness based on need; this is how we know when we need to pee or sleep or hydrate, and how we grasp that our hearts are racing after a good jump scare. The second encompasses the unconscious ways in which our brains and bodies communicate; our brains detect high glucose levels in our livers, for example, then release hormones that trigger our metabolisms, and we are unaware of the process. A vast number of these silent interoceptive processes are going on within us all the time.
Aeon has been one of the better things I’ve recently found scattered upon the Internet. It’s not new; It’s new to me. One of my super-powers isn’t actually a super-power. It’s a piece of software that I wrote. Take a look at Aeon and imagine if, somehow, every day you were offered a couple of these essays to consider. Most of them I pass. But some of them…
For those with more serious loss, the decline of one sense often strengthens others. Watch anyone who has had hearing problems for a while and it’s obvious that they are listening differently. They listen with the whole of themselves, bodies turned towards the speaker, drinking in cues. They don’t hear so much as inhale, taking in everything from the expression in the other person’s eyes to the story told by their hands. At a sign language class or a deaf pub night, people — British people, even — will be listening and communicating with everything they have: gesture, expression, if necessary grabbing the other person and physically manhandling them into understanding.
I have always had poor hearing. If you’re a certain age, you’ll remember lining up to go into your school library, where someone gave you headphones and told you to raise your hand when you heard each tone. I didn’t have to raise my hand much, so, yay? /sarcasm Over the years I realized that I was compensating in other ways. Lip-reading being the most obvious. It wasn’t as good as Ye Ol’ Ears, but it worked. Somewhat. Eventually I got hearing aids and that’s another anecdote for another day.
Those who know me best, laugh derisively when I say, “People tell me I’m an amazing listener.” No really. A lot of people tell me that. And after reading that essay, I’m left wondering if having really poor hearing for most of my life, might be the secret to my listening.
I remain only slightly less clueless than as on my birth day. No clue then. After about a trillion seconds of learning, I’ve still not much to go on. Some things have worked— but I’m not sure exactly why. Some things haven’t worked— also not sure why. The only clues I have are very abstract, fortune-cookie sized, clues like: “Work hard. Stay Humble.” (And a few I’ve cribbed from Lao Tsu and Marcus Aurelius come to think of it.)
The following recipe assumes you’re very ambitious.
The first step is to decide what to work on. The work you choose needs to have three qualities: it has to be something you have a natural aptitude for, that you have a deep interest in, and that offers scope to do great work.
I’ve often wished there’d been a How to Be Human manual. I’m not sure how one would learn the contents very early on. (How does one learn the first chapters pre-language?) Each year, as one levels up, the next chapter of the manual would become available. Arguably, the entire book reduces to: “Relax. Breath.” But, somewhere around chapter 7 I’d very much liked to have found what Graham wrote. (Even though I’d probably have ignored it until about level 22.)
How does one navigate and sustain motivation through personal and professional challenges in long-term creative and athletic pursuits, while balancing innovation, personal growth, and community impact?
René Scavington joins Craig to discuss the evolution of parkour, his new film and his ongoing quest for innovation and wonder.
I feel like if I’m trying to do bigger jumps, there’s a smaller window of time because I’m eventually going to tip off in power output. But flips and other freestyle type moves, I feel like I can age with those a little better. […] I think if we’re going to expect anything out of me, I would say it might be more of that. In the future, just trying to be a bit more playful— A bit more loose. And I think that was harder to do in the early days of parkour. I think scenes and communities were a little meaner.
~ René Scavington 24:27
René gravitates around the evolution and nuances of parkour, revealing his perspectives and experiences within the discipline. He touches on experimentation, highlighting its growing acceptance over time. He notes the shift from a past where trying odd moves or playful variations was met with disdain, contrasting it with the current atmosphere where experimentation is often embraced and sometimes even celebrated.
René goes into his personal journey and the meticulous, relentless dedication he embodies in his practice. The conversation reveals the essence of René’s movement captured in his forthcoming film, Resilient. René speaks candidly about his 20-year commitment to parkour, and about his attitude despite the challenges. His discusses his relentless pursuit of certain flips, acknowledging the struggle to balance his progression in flips alongside the continuous advancements in parkour techniques.
Takeaways
Evolution of experimentation — The shift in the parkour community’s attitude toward experimentation.
Relentless dedication — René’s 20-year commitment to parkour reflects his focused and persistent nature.
Resilient — René’s explains the motivations and vision that went into his forthcoming film.
Enduring wonder and curiosity — René shares his perpetual sense of wonder and curiosity, finding inspiration in envisioning new possibilities and an enduring passion for the discipline’s potential.
https://www.sportparkourleague.com Sport Parkour League was founded with the mission of creating an engaging competitive platform for parkour athletes that remains true to the culture.
Suppose I wanted to give something up, but I’m completely baffled by how to decide which thing. I’m not talking about needing to give something up. I mean: This is all nice, and I’d like to have less. It turns out I spend a lot of time thinking about what to give up, and how to give it up. And who would I be once that thing that I do ceased. And why am I still making the mistake of identifying who I am as what I do? (I run, but I am not a runner.) Most of the answers I’ve found to, “what to give up and how?” come from visualization exercises. I know in fact that I will eventually give it all up. Suddenly, it’s no longer about “if”, but more simply “when”. If next decade is fine, why not next year? …why not right now?
To change a habit – whether you’re starting a new habit or quitting an old one – you have to let go of something really important to you. This is why most people struggle with habit change – it’s not easy to let go of your sacred cows.
As always Babauta’s thoughts and perspective inspire me to pause, breath, relax. We do need space, because without space when are we comfortable simply being? I now often find I do have such space. Although my urge remains to fill the spaces up with doing, not-breathing, grasping— Therefore I continue, slowly. breathing. relaxing. visualizing. being.
If I’m never able to acknowledge that the current moment is nice, then what’s the point? Never noticing it’s nice leads to the aching feeling that—as the thread-bare adage goes—time is slipping through my fingers like sand through an hourglass.
Time management is a cognitively strenuous task, leaving us feeling harried. As the opportunity cost of time increases, our concern about “wasting” our precious hours grows more acute. On balance, we are better off, but the blessing of high-value time can overwhelm some individuals, just as can the ready availability of high-calorie food.
Fortunately I have taken steps to ensure that I regularly notice, and think, “this is nice.” I’m not always successful; I can still be spotted being a grumpster, or a petulant three-year-old. But that’s the point: Life is a range of experiences, and once I realized my scale of judgement were always tipped to one side, when that’s clearly not the reality of my existence, I set about adjusting the scale.
I like Carl Sagan’s point about humans being able to work magic. (I’ll pause here while you read the quote.) Writing enables us to transmit ideas across time and space directly into others’ minds; It’s a natural and obvious development once we had language and storytelling. I am so far, endlessly fascinated by that.
Does what someone says, or writes, need to make sense? It would be insane to expect it to always, or necessarily, make sense. What about poetry? And what about mental imagery incited by reading or listening? And what about literal imagery? I find there’s a vast range of media, and mediums, that interest me once given a chance. Sometimes I want to read logical and reasoned text. Sometimes I want to relax by the window of the train as the scenery slides past.
Elsewhere I’ve talked about the Karpman drama triangle. About learning it’s not even actually fun to be the hero who rushes in. Rushing—doing something quickly sacrificing doing it correctly—is never the right choice.
The most exciting thing about professional project management is that it trades away excitement for systems thinking and intentional action. We make heroes out of people who show up with the last-minute save, but the real work is in not needing the last minute.
Of course, we can delete the word “professional” from the above and it points to something we might choose to work on: If I’m late… If I’m rushing… If I’m “too busy”… Where exactly does that come from? Once I started look at my life this way, and started asking such questions, it didn’t take long to realize the problem was within myself. We choose to take on too many things. We choose to stretch for more connections, activities and things. The details differ. But it’s the same for each of us.
I’m aware that I have a habit (or perhaps it’s a dysfunction depending on your perspective) of turning everything into a process. Before I even do something a first time I’m imagining the whatever-it-is as a checklist— imagining it as a process. I’ll be generous, and I’ll call that being detail-oriented and being a planner. I’m also processifying (my spell-checker balks) everything from both ends: The first step I imagine is: What does done look like? I’m building the process from the front (“gather materials,” let’s say) and from the back (“deposit check, dance jig”). In the middle I’ve a place holder: Magic happens.
I refine and sub-divide the stuff at the front. I refine and sub-divide the stuff at the back. I’m creating more and easier steps, and I’m trying to pull as much as I can out of that “magic happens” step in the middle. When I look honestly, I see this everywhere in my life. That ill-defined, magical, central step is the feature. The struggle there is real, and it’s not to be avoided. Once I’ve factored out—moved to before, or move to after, the magic, middle part—all the stuff I’m more or less certain of… what remains is tension, in that magic, middle part. When I do it just right, that tension makes the magic happen.
If you have your primary needs of security and health fulfilled (as billions of us now do) how then do we proceed? It seems I have two options. The option I default to, is to feel I should first do what I must—the work that others have assigned, the work that brings in the dollars, the work I feel that I should do. The second option is, of course, doing what I wish to do. My defaulting to those shoulds directly conflicts with my pursuit of the wish-tos. This creates enormous tension, and alarming swings of focus, energy and mood.
The message is clear: you should do what you do to the best of your ability, and whether you gain recognition for it or not is secondary. This is the ethic of the Japanese shokunin, the true craftsman. These masters are completely dedicated to perfecting their craft, whether it is cookery or calligraphy, woodwork or weaving. Honour comes simply from the work, not from the recognition others give you for your doing it.
What, actually, happens if we flip things? Rather than first doing what we must, we first do what we wish. Don’t misread; I’m not proposing we do what we wish instead of doing what we must. What if we simply flipped the priorities— a reversal of the ordering?
No, this isn’t about AI. I mean the work that we want to do. That’s why only we can do it. I want to sift through a certain amount of things. (For example, I like to sift through all dogs.) I want to find things that are interesting and surprising. And I want to have way more books than I can ever read.
Because the meaning isn’t going to emerge on its own—you have to create it. The algorithms and tag searches and bookmarklets will only get you so far; afterwards, it’s work only you can do, work the machine has no need for. The reader is your own personal anthology, but you are the editor: you are the sum of its parts.
RSS Tip: Every Substack publication has an RSS feed. Go to the front of any Substack publication—the page after you ignore the sign-up dialog. Then copy the URL, and add /feed onto the end. (If the URL has an “?gobble-dee-gook” on it, trim that off before adding that /feed ) Add that edited URL to your favorite feed reader. (RSS nerds: Nope the RSS feed URL is not listed in any <link> tags. These are stealth feeds.) Ta-DAH! You’ll find the entire posts from the publication appear in your feed reader. This of course will only work until everyone starts doing it. Then Substack will modify those feeds to just be an excerpt of the article . . . and that’s still awesome, because that’s how web sites work on the Open Web. Protocols, not platforms.