But my very first memory was the Jim Henson film, Labyrinth. This has to be, without doubt, the creepiest Muppet film ever. I reacted strongly to the film as a child: frustration, intrigue, terror, revulsion, surprise, delight, and an awkward boyhood crush on Jennifer Connelly as Sarah, the heroine. It was a powerful film, not least because of David Bowie as Jareth. Evil and allure, Bowie is my archetypal Goblin King.
I agree with this entire post. As in: OMGYESPLEASE jumping up flipping my desk. It’s now been 8 years since Bowie died… and I very nearly rewatched Labyrinth just because of this post. “Evil and allure” in every direction, indeed. Muppets and kidnapped children. Beauty and horror.
Setting a challenge for myself seems simple enough. Pick a goal and then work to reach it. But there needs to be more than the goal, and the process. There also needs to be some sacrifice; What will it be necessary for me to give up in order to attempt the challenge? There also needs to be some risk; Risk of physical loss, injury or monetary cost are obvious options, but a good challenge has mental, even spiritual, risk attached. Who will I be after this challenge? What about success itself? I think a good challenge must seem achievable (it mustn’t fly in the face of reality) but must actually be uncertain. It takes a special person to set and truly attempt a challenge that they aren’t certain they can achieve.
I am going to try to convince you to spend the next 4 days watching a YouTube live stream of people running round a 4.1 mile loop in Tennessee, all day and all night.
I’m not sure what to say about this “backyard ultra”. Fortunately for you, the race will be over by the time this post appears. You don’t risk being sucked into the live stream by reading Webb’s article. While I’m not the least bit attracted to attempting something like this, I read the article slowly. The challenge that lies at the heart of this race is something I understand. I’m not suggesting you go try to run one of these races, but I do hope you have experienced true self-set challenge.
How do podcasts create opportunities for connection, learning, and personal growth?
Exploring how veterinarians use podcasting to promote well-being and personal development.
We don’t take care of ourselves very well. We focus on the caregiving for the animal and for the owner and we tend to put ourselves last, so my podcast focuses on well-being and personal development.
~ Stacey Cordivano (8:03)
The conversation examines how podcasting fosters connections and opportunities for growth. It discusses how starting a podcast can lead to new professional and personal relationships, opening doors to collaboration and unexpected outcomes. Stacey reflects on the challenges and rewards of podcasting, emphasizing the importance of consistent effort and feedback from the audience. She also note how social media has complemented these efforts, particularly within niche communities like veterinary professionals.
Another focus of the discussion is the unique perspective veterinarians bring to podcasting, rooted in their caregiving nature and their need to adapt and problem-solve. Stacey shares how her podcast addresses mental health and personal development within the veterinary field, aiming to provide resources and insights that are not typically emphasized in their professional training. She also highlight the joy of learning and how their podcast keeps them accountable and motivated.
Takeaways
Connections fostered by podcasting — Building relationships with new contacts leads to opportunities.
Mental health in the veterinary profession — Podcasts can address the unique challenges faced by veterinarians.
Audience feedback as a motivator — Positive listener responses drive continued podcast production.
Social media as a supportive tool — Platforms like Instagram play a role in strengthening professional communities.
Balancing content creation and life — Finding workflows and schedules that minimize stress is essential.
Accountability through podcasting — Hosting a podcast encourages ongoing learning and self-improvement.
What role does curiosity play in shaping movement, interactions, and personal growth?
The nuanced relationship between uncertainty and opportunity defines how we engage with challenges.
If you protect yourself from all uncertainty, maybe you are protecting yourself from falling down a well or getting eaten by a bear, but you’re also protecting yourself from love.
~ Flynn Disney (8:05)
The conversation begins with an exploration of curiosity as a driving force behind personal growth and movement practices. Curiosity is described as a positive sense of uncertainty, where individuals embrace the unknown with hope rather than fear. This attitude ties directly to embodied experiences, where physical movement reflects the mental and emotional processes involved in navigating uncertainty.
The discussion touches on boundaries, games, and goals, emphasizing their roles in learning and engagement. A notable insight is the idea that boundaries create meaning in challenges, as seen in activities like parkour and games. The interplay of failure and success, described as the resolution of uncertainty, is vital for developing curiosity and staying motivated. Personal anecdotes, such as training dogs and solving puzzles, highlight how curiosity manifests across diverse contexts.
Takeaways
Curiosity as a mindset — Embracing uncertainty with positivity leads to exploration and growth.
Boundaries and goals — Defining clear limits gives meaning and direction to challenges.
Failure as a tool — Error and near-success foster curiosity and engagement.
The role of games — Structured play highlights universal principles of learning and connection.
Embodied practices — Physical movement reflects and reinforces mental and emotional exploration.
Uncertainty’s dual nature — It holds risks and opportunities, requiring a balance to embrace.
Social dynamics — Shared curiosity creates a sense of belonging and mutual understanding.
I’m a child of the vinyl album era. We had a collection—about 5 feet of shelf space—of classic rock, some jazz, the usual suspects collected during the 60s, 70s and into the 80s. There was sublime magic in that vinyl. My dad wasn’t an audiophile per se, but he had a few nice things that comprised the stereo system, and the crown jewel was a Marantz turn-table. We had special soft-cloth cylinders for gently lifting dust off the surfaces. We even had a little space-ray-gun-looking thing that [as far as I recall] neutralized static charge on the vinyl, (which apparently can accumulate when you pull them out of their sleeves.) A classic Pioneer amp… at one point he found someone who rebuilt his speakers for him—repair rather than replace was, at one time, the norm in America. There was a dedicated cabinet for the gear, with a built-in power strip, and lighting…
And the CD was invented while I was a kid. We—society at large—had endless arguments about sound. I even did a high-school presentation about how CDs actually work to encode the sound digitally, and how that encoding uses compression, and how quality is lost… and I bought more and more CDs. I skipped right over collecting cassette tapes; I made countless of my own from albums and CDs, but I don’t believe I ever bought a single one. The Sony Walkman was the driver for my recording cassettes. Then the portable CD players arrived and all hell broke loose. I only purchased a handful of vinyl albums and I never ever set up the Marantz after my dad died. (I passed it to my cousin who did get into collecting vinyl as a kid. I made him promise to spin the helll out of it, and play music loud— damn loud.) And my CD collection grew to thousands. Then I mixed in my dad’s extensive CD collection which had almost zero overlap with mine. My stereo? I keep a scary-old little AirPort Express plugged in, with a cheap-ass set of “computer” speakers, with a woofer, plugged into the AirPort’s 3.5mm headphone jack.
This morning… “I think some Mozart would be nice.” Click, click… and click… and Symphony no. 39, recorded in 1977 by the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra streams from the little stereo. Rather loudly I might add.
The days of our present come one by one, and each day minute by minute; but all the days of the past will appear at your bidding and allow you to examine them and linger over them at your will. Busy men have no time for this. Excursions into all the parts of its past are the privilege of a serene and untroubled mind; but the minds of the preoccupied cannot turn or look back, as if constricted by a yoke. And so their life vanishes into an abyss.
While “let it be” is profoundly wise in its own right, the passage above contains an idea even more powerful: we all suffer, and that brings us closer. No matter what differences people have, the one guaranteed common thread among us all is that we know what it means to lose and to grieve.
Over the years, as my hearing has faded, I’ve still always had music. I think–but am not certain–that I appreciate music all the more now that I understand how poor my hearing really is. Sometimes I simply stop and take time to sit and listen. It’s not-at-all amazing that music is closely connected to emotion. It’s not-at-all amazing that emotion is a common ground we all share.
Taking advantage of the beautiful weather! Lots of easy variations while working on moving mindfully to find “the infinite in the moment”; Noticing the warmth of the sun, the cool breeze, the texture of the court, the weight distribution on various parts of the hands, relaxing…
This really gets to the crux of why, when we’re in the midst of a funk, we feel like it will last forever, and yet it inevitably passes. When we imagine the future, we think we will always feel the way we do at that moment, but we do not imagine all the life events that will keep us from sitting in our room and brooding 24/7. The vast majority of minds cannot ruminate on the same thing indefinitely. Life goes on and takes us along with it.
The notion that sport shoes and inserts should keep the human arch stiffly supported is a decades-old assumption that could use some rethinking, according to a British gait analyst who has closely studied more than 25,000 footsteps of healthy people.
