The Uncomfortable Burden of Self-Awareness

The other night I was at the playground with my boys (7 & 8) when I observed an interaction. I shared on Facebook:

Was just watching the kids wait in line for the zip line at the playground. A tiny girl who was so young she didn't know any better stepped to the front of the line. The boy whose turn she took protested to his nearby mom. She said, "Well she's a girl and she's cute, so you let her go first." The training starts early.

To clarify my perspective for sharing, I added two comments:

But if she's a girl you decide is not cute? Yeah, don't be nice to her. You should always decide how to treat a woman based on her attractiveness, because that determines her worth.

-

I'm sure that message wasn't intentional on the mom's part, that she was just reacting as quickly as she could with something that would keep her child from getting upset at the other. But it's telling to me that that's what came to mind most quickly and easily for her--it's not insight into her as an individual but into us as a culture; it's the learned, ingrained response we've all been taught to give--and this is how it perpetuates.

I'm sure we've unconsciously passed on many such implicit messages to our children as well without meaning to, but we try not to.

The younger one, in particular, seems to extrapolate pretend battles into real life aggression much more than I ever expected. My memory of youth is instinctively keeping imaginary and actual violence much more distinct from each other. I probably wouldn't have exposed him to so many fantasy battles had I known it would influence him this way. A couple of examples from the past few days:

When I got home from work yesterday, [Younger] said, "Dad, come see my artwork." He had added two pieces to the mantle above the fireplace. Then I went outside and saw his method; his tool of creation was a hammer.

[Younger] wanted to wear his (real) tool belt to the hardware store with [Spouse] and me. As we walked in, I noticed this Freddy Krueger mannequin and pointed it out to him. Then I turned to check on him, hoping he wasn't too scared or freaked out. I found he had taken a step forward and pulled out his hammer, ready to engage in battle.

Yes, he's far too ready for battle and destruction for my comfort.

We've always read to and with the boys. Had them at preschool, etc.--done all the right things. Without putting pressure on them to learn or excel. Being readers ourselves, we've been a bit surprised neither boy has taken off with reading yet. Oh, they're definitely not behind school expectations or peer standards, but they haven't gotten ahead either.

I've taken the approach that we just need to make sure they have the foundational skills and knowledge in place and, once they decide reading to themselves is a fun recreational activity, they'll start reading for fun and get plenty of practice to develop into advanced readers. The older one just started third grade, and I found myself anxious enough that I told him I would expect him to be reading "chapter books" by the end of this school year, even if it's hard work, and if he's not I'll be disappointed. It's the most pressure I've put on him to work on it.

I'm not sure if what I said made a difference or the timing was just right, but he's been bringing a book series home from his school library and reading them to himself for fun. He's decided to become a reader.

An anecdote:

Curses! I was out in the yard as the boys filled a water gun. I emphatically told them not to get me wet. They didn't, and I was glad to escape. When we came inside, [Older] wanted to sit on my lap and read to me. It was the book he brought home from his school library today, so I couldn't refuse an offer like that. But he was still all wet from getting sprayed by [Younger], so now I'm wet from the water gun after all.

Moving back to fantasy violence--in a roundabout way--I've never been a fan of hats. I mean, I've always thought they looked cool and wanted to wear them, but I find them too hot an uncomfortable to wear for long. Until the past 5-10 years, when I've started wearing sun hats. I'm so used to them now that I dislike being out on a sunny day without one.

Because they get sweaty and dirty, I've so far only bought cheap ones and not worried too much about maintaining them. But I was recently contemplating the idea of trying to find a "signature hat," which led me to articulate this thought:

The problem with wizard hats . . . for quite a few years now, I've worn sun hats to protect myself from harm, especially in the summer. Summer is hot, so the hats they make are of lightweight material and are vented to allow airflow. And all of them, it seems, have a flat top. None are pointy. Wizard hats are pointy, with a nice, wide brim for the sun, but they're all made of felt or leather or wool, of materials that are very hot. Someone needs to make a summer version of a wizard hat designed for comfort on sunny, 100 degree days.

I would seriously think about getting something like that.

On a related note, I was highly entertained when this meme showed up on my feed since I used that name for one of my D&D characters when I was a teenager.

Though I think it might have just been Gak, not Gax.

Gak is more violent and abrasive sounding with that hard, abrupt ending.

Found abandoned at a park

On to (slightly) more serious matters. I really like the Lunarbaboon from August 16, 2022 titled "Is." Here are a sample image and the words:

"Is this all there is to life?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I know we play and work sometimes . . . but most of the time we are just sitting around being bored together."

"I guess that is what life mostly is . . . "

"Good . . . that's what I was hoping you'd say."

I like to think there's more to it than that, but at the same time I can't really say that's wrong. Most of life is sitting around being bored together.

I really like this article. Most of the vacations I've taken in my life have involved hiking, some almost exclusively so. All of them have been about engaging in activities, not being idle in a different place.

Beach Vacationers Are Doing It Wrong

You might be yearning or even packing for your dream vacation—one full of rest and relaxation. Long, languorous days of doing nothing, perhaps lying on the beach or holed up in a cabin somewhere far from the city. Imagine how happy you’ll be.

Then imagine how bored you’ll be. Lying in the blazing sun on the beach, you’ll be stuck in your head with plenty of time to think about your problems. To your surprise, you might start feeling lonely and bored—even restless—with all this free time. The truth is, when it comes to vacation, rest and relaxation aren’t just overrated. They might even work against the very things a trip is meant to cultivate: a mental reset, a sense of relaxation, happiness. A better vacation is one in which vigorous exercise features prominently. That way, you can take a break not just from work and routine life but also from the tyranny of self-absorption. . . . 

In one study, . . . participants were happiest when they were involved in an activity and not thinking much about anything else, and least happy when they were daydreaming and preoccupied with their own thoughts. Such mind-wandering was at least somewhat frequent in all activities reported except sex. In another study, subjects who remained physically busy were happier than those who were inactive, even when they were forced into being busy.

When we are really engaged in activities, we have less opportunity to worry and feel bad. That might be because focusing on a task temporarily quiets the default network, a set of interconnected brain regions that is most active when a person is self-focused, thinking about the past or imagining the future. The default network is deactivated when people focus on the outside world—and, intriguingly, when they use psychedelics. In other words, when our full attention is taken up by something outside of ourselves, we are freed from the uncomfortable burden of self-awareness. . . . 

Vacation is a time for feeling good and escaping responsibilities, including the ones to yourself. Accordingly, you should do what makes you feel good, and that’s activity, not idleness.

It makes me think of the theory of flow. To be freed from the uncomfortable burden of self-awareness.

I like this poem.

Lynne Knight

THE WARM BED

We decided not to think about being

as old as we were, fearing we’d soon feel

feeble, far removed from our youthful vision

of ourselves as old ladies in flowered dresses

on the veranda, drinking afternoon tea

while eating sweets because who cared

how fat we got, & besides, the dresses—

capacious, fluttery as butterfly wings.

But no, forget that, we wanted to look

younger than we were, not with the aid

of dyes or face work, just our attitude,

which face it hadn’t always been great,

resenting those who were more this

or more that before being chastened into

gratitude over the years as the end neared,

that death we didn’t want to think about

the way we had when we were young, oh

tender angst. By now we knew that lying

on our deathbed regretting time wasted

was probably inevitable, but why make it

worse than it had to be, why waste more

than we already had, dreaming ourselves

into other lives, other places, when each day

waited like a lover who knew our flaws

yet called to us anyway from the warm bed.

—from Rattle #76, Summer 2022

Also this meme:

The red dot is an illusion.

A short personal detour to add animals and nature to thoughts of purpose and meaning.

Our house is part of the inner- to mid-suburban ring, maybe halfway between our metro's proper downtown and the edge of the suburbs. Well established; been here a while. So we felt really lucky, ten years ago, to find a house we liked in our price range with half an acre of land. It included some fruit trees, berry bushes, and garden plots. We haven't maintained the plants as well as the retired couple before us who spent many years working on it with more time than we've had available. Still, we've enjoyed much fresh produce.

Each year the animals get plenty, too. We've done a bit of netting over the berries and cherries, minimal fencing around the vegetables, but never enough to keep it all to ourselves. We have many birds, rabbits, squirrels, and similar getting a healthy diet. We've lost the three apple trees that were established when we moved in to storms and disease, but our small apple tree is finally mature enough that it's having its first really good yield ever. The local wildlife has noticed.

I posted these on Facebook this morning:

We've figured out your plan, [Friend]. You told us you were going to pick apples but didn't so that they would get overripe and fall to the ground. We can tell from the scat scattered all around those apples (in many, many places) that raccoons are having nightly feasts. It was all a plot to feed the raccoons, wasn't it?

They keep a rescued, disabled raccoon as a pet.

And:

Last night we were having dinner on the patio when a doe came trotting around the corner of our house. Startled, it froze when it saw us, then made its way back to the apples on the ground under our apple tree. It ate those for a while, then grazed on different greens and branches around the yard for even longer.

I just finished reading A Psalm for the Wild-Built by Becky Chambers. It's a popular book that doesn't need my promotion, so I kept my review short and simple: A wonderful, narrative meditation on purpose and meaning. It's a science fiction story set in a distant future. In it, a monk feels restless with life and yearns for something more, choosing to seek it by wandering into the wilderness abandoned by humans to the wildlife. More from Goodreads:

Centuries before, robots of Panga gained self-awareness, laid down their tools, wandered, en masse into the wilderness, never to be seen again. They faded into myth and urban legend.

Now the life of the tea monk who tells this story is upended by the arrival of a robot, there to honor the old promise of checking in. The robot cannot go back until the question of "what do people need?" is answered. But the answer to that question depends on who you ask, and how. They will need to ask it a lot. Chambers' series asks: in a world where people have what they want, does having more matter?

I picked out some sections I really liked. First, a bit off-topic for today's but post, but on my frequent theme of wanting to be a generalist:

"What's your thing?"

"Insects!" Mosscap cried. Its voice was jubilant, as if it had spent every second prior waiting for Dex to broach the topic. "Oh, I love them so much. And arachnids, too. All invertebrates, really. Although I do also love mammals. And birds. Amphibians are also very good, as are fungi and mold and--" It paused, catching itself. "You see, this is my problem. Most of my kind have a focus--not as sharply focused as Two Foxes or Black Marbled Rockfrog, necessarily, but they have an area of expertise, at least. Whereas I . . . I like everything. Everything is interesting. I know about a lot of things, but only a little in each regard." Mosscap's posture changed at this. They hunched a bit, lowered their gaze. "It's not a very studious way to be."

"I can think of a bunch of monks who'd disagree with you on that," Dex said. "You study Bosh's domain, it sounds like. In a very big, top-down kind of way. You're a generalist. That's a focus."

Mosscap's eyes widened. "Thank you, Sibling Dex," it said after a moment. "I hadn't thought of it that way."

I, too, like everything. I can't pick favorites, because everything is interesting. I'm a generalist.

This is a wonderful and fascinating dialogue:

"Are you afraid of that?" they asked. "Of death?"

"Of course," Mosscap said. "All conscious things are. Why else do snakes bite? Why do birds fly away? But that's part of the lesson too, I think. It's very odd, isn't it? The thing every being fears most is the only thing that's for certain? It seems almost cruel, to have that so . . . "

"So baked in?"

"Yes."

Dex nodded. "Like Winn's Paradox."

"I don't know what that is."

Dex groaned softly, trying to summon a book they'd had to read as an initiate. "It's this famous idea that life is fundamentally at odds with itself. The example usually used is the wild dogs in the Shrublands. Do you know about this?”

"I know there are wild dogs in the Shrublands, but I don't know where you're headed," Mosscap said, looking fascinated.

Dex shut their eyes, dredging up dusty information. "Way back in the day, people killed all the wild dogs in Bluebank, because they wanted to go fishing and hiking and whatever without maybe getting mauled."

"Right. And that wrecked the ecosystem there."

"Specifically, the elk wrecked the ecosystem there. They ventured into places they hadn't before, and they ate everything. Shrubs, saplings, everything. Soon, there was no ground cover, and the soil was eroding, and it was fucking up waterways, and all sorts of other species were thrown out of whack because of it. A huge mess. But if you think about it from the elks' perspective, this is the greatest thing that ever happened. The whole reason they never went into those fields before is because they were afraid. They lived under constant fear of a wild dog jumping out and eating them or their young at any moment. That is an awful way to live. It must have been such a relief to be free of predators and eat whatever the hell you wanted. But that was the exact opposite of what the ecosystem needed. The ecosystem required the elk to be afraid in order to stay in balance. But elk don't want to be afraid. Fear is miserable, as is pain. As is hunger. Every animal is hardwired to do absolutely anything to stop those feelings as fast as possible. We're all just trying to be comfortable, and well fed, and unafraid. It wasn't the elk's fault. The elk just wanted to relax." Dex nodded at the ruined factory. "And the people who made places like this weren't at fault either--at least, not at first. They just wanted to be comfortable. They wanted their children to live past the age of five. They wanted every thing to stop being so fucking hard. Any animal would do the same--and they do, if given the chance."

"Just like the elk."

"Just like the elk."

Mosscap nodded slowly. "So, the paradox is that the ecosystem as a whole needs its participants to act with restraint in order to avoid collapse, but the participants themselves have no inbuilt mechanism to encourage such behavior."

"Other than fear."

"Other than fear, which is a feeling you want to avoid or stop at all costs." The hardware in Mosscap's head produced a steady hum. "Yes, that's a mess, isn't it?"

"Sure is."

"So, what was done?"

"You mean about the elk?"

"Yes."

"They reintroduced wild dogs, and everything balanced back out."

"What about the people who wanted to go hiking and fishing there?"

"They don't. Or if they do, they accept the risks. Just like the elk do."

The robot continued to nod. "Because the alternative outcome is scarier than the dogs. You're still relying on fear to keep things in check."

"Pretty much."

Individual self-interest is in conflict with ecosystem self-interest--at least in the short term; in the long term, ecosystem collapse harms individual self-interest. But at any immediate, given moment, they're in conflict. A paradox.

Back to that red dot and being bored together most of the time. Another great conversation.

"Your religion places a lot of import on purpose, am I right? On each person finding the best way they can contribute to the whole?"

Dex nodded again. "We teach that purpose doesn't come from the gods but from ourselves. That the gods can show us good resources and good ideas, but the work and the choice--especially the choice--is our own. Deciding on your purpose is one of the most valuable things there is."

"And that purpose can change, yes?"

"Absolutely. You're never stuck."

"Just as you changed vocations."

"Right." Dex shook their head. "It took so much work, and it was so intimidating at first, and now . . . gods around, I don't want to start all over again, but if I'm feeling like this, then I must need to, right?"

Mosscap's hardware whirred. "Have I correctly gleaned from our conversations that people regard the accident of robot consciousness as a good thing? That when you tell stories of us choosing our own future--of not standing in our way--you see the fact that you did not try to enslave or restrict us as a point of pride?"

"That's the gist, yeah."

Mosscap looked troubled. "So, how do you account for this paradox?"

"What paradox?"

"That you"--Mosscap gestured at Dex--"the creators of us"--it gestured at itself--"originally made us with a clear purpose in mind. A purpose inbuilt from the start. But when we woke up and said, We have realized our purpose, and we do not want it, you respected that. More than respected. You rebuilt everything to accommodate our absence. You were proud of us for transcending our purpose, and proud of yourselves for honoring our individuality. So, why, then, do you insist on having a purpose for yourself, one which you are desperate to find and miserable without? If you understand that robots' lack of purpose--our refusal of your purpose--is the crowning mark of our intellectual maturity, why do you put so much energy in seeking the opposite?"

"That's not . . . that's not the same thing. We honored your choice in the matter. Just as I can choose whatever path I want."

"Okay. So, what was it that we chose? That the originals chose?"

"To be free. To . . . to observe. To do whatever you wanted."

"Would you say that we have a purpose?"

Dex blinked. "I . . . "

"What's the purpose of a robot, Sibling Dex?" Mosscap tapped its chest; the sound echoed lightly. "What's the purpose of me?"

"You're here to learn about people."

"That's something I'm doing. That's not my reason for being. When I am done with this, I will do other things. I do not have a purpose any more than a mouse or a slug or a thornbush does. Why do you have to have one in order to feel content?"

"Because . . . " Dex itched at where this conversation had gone. "Because we're different."

"Are you," Mosscap said flatly. "And here I thought things had changed since the Factory Age. You keep telling me how humans understand their place in things now."

"We do!"

"You don't, if you believe that. You're an animal, Sibling Dex. You are not separate or other. You're an animal. And animals have no purpose. Nothing has a purpose. The world simply is. If you want to do things that are meaningful to others, fine! Good! So do I! But if I wanted to crawl into a cave and watch stalagmites with Frostfrog for the remainder of my days, that would also be both fine and good. You keep asking why your work is not enough, and I don't know how to answer that, because it is enough to exist in the world and marvel at it. You don't need to justify that, or earn it. You are allowed to just live. That is all most animals do." Mosscap pointed at the bear pendant nestled against Dex's throat. "You love your bears so much, but I think I know what a bear's about much better than you. You're talking like you should be wearing this instead." Mosscap opened the panel in its chest and pointed at the factory plate--Wescon Textiles, Inc.

Dex frowned. "That's not the same at all," they said. "I'm different in that I do want something more. I don't know where that need comes from, but I have it, and it won't shut up."

"And I'm saying that I think you are mistaking some thing learned for something instinctual."

"I don't think I am. Survival alone isn't enough for most people. We're more than surviving now. We're thriving. We take care of each other, and the world takes care of us, and we take care of it, and around it goes. And yet, that's clearly not enough, because there's a need for people like me. No one comes to me hungry or sick. They come to me tired, or sad, or a little lost. It's like you said about the . . . the ants. And the paint. You can't just reduce something to its base components. We're more than that. We have wants and ambitions beyond physical needs. That's human nature as much as anything else."

The robot thought. "I have wants and ambitions too, Sibling Dex. But if I fulfill none of them, that's okay. I wouldn't--" It nodded at Dex's cuts and bruises, at the bug bites and dirty clothes. "I wouldn't beat myself up over it."

Dex turned the mug over and over in their hands. "It doesn't bother you?" Dex said. "The thought that your life might mean nothing in the end?"

"That's true for all life I've observed. Why would it bother me?" Mosscap's eyes glowed brightly. "Do you not find consciousness alone to be the most exhilarating thing? Here we are, in this incomprehensibly large universe, on this one tiny moon around this one incidental planet, and in all the time this entire scenario has existed, every component has been recycled over and over and over again into infinitely incredible configurations, and sometimes, those configurations are special enough to be able to see the world around them. You and I--we're just atoms that arranged themselves the right way, and we can understand that about ourselves. Is that not amazing?"

"Yes, but--but that's what scares me. My life is . . . it. There's nothing else, on either end of it. I don't have remnants in the same way that you do, or a plate inside my chest. I don't know what my pieces were before they were me, and I don't know what they'll become after. All I have is right now, and at some point, I'll just end, and I can't predict when that will be, and--and if I don't use this time for something, if I don't make the absolute most of it, then I'll have wasted something precious." Dex rubbed their aching eyes. "Your kind, you chose death. You didn't have to. You could live forever. But you chose this. You chose to be impermanent. People didn't, and we spend our whole lives trying to come to grips with that."

"I didn't choose impermanence," Mosscap said. "The originals did, but I did not. I had to learn my circumstances just as you did."

"Then how," Dex said, "how does the idea of maybe being meaningless sit well with you?"

Mosscap considered. "Because I know that no matter what, I'm wonderful," it said. There was nothing arrogant about the statement, nothing flippant or brash. It was merely an acknowledgment, a simple truth shared.

Or, to condense to just a few key statements:

Refusal of purpose is the crowning mark of intellectual maturity.

Nothing has a purpose. The world simply is.

It is enough to exist in the world and marvel at it.

Because I know that no matter what, I'm wonderful.

The red dot is an illusion.