A Willingness to Let Life Sweep Over Us and Burrow Its Way Into Us

I'm afraid this is not going to be a big thematic post, merely a collection of items that have intrigued me recently and fragmentary anecdotes. Like these two, for instance, spontaneous and immediate responses I composed on work chats (keeping in touch with colleagues at other locations):

Colleague: adult in grey shirt with backpack might beep [the security gates] but they are all good

Me: Nah, surely not all good. Everyone's a mix of good and evil, light and dark, compassion and selfishness. Even this grey-shirted patron.

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Colleague: Unrelated, but: is "calendaring" a word?

Me: Once someone says it, it becomes a word. We are all wizards with the magical power to conjure language out of thing air. (The most advanced practitioners of language magic even have the ability to control the minds of others.)

This is how I think.

[Younger]'s (age 10) teacher (along with many others in the building) prints out a paper currency she created that she can give out as an extra incentive. She has various "jobs" students can do, like run messages to the office and organize supplies and similar, to earn a few "bucks." They can then use the bucks to "buy" things like little prizes, lunch with the teacher, and extra free time.

[Younger] came home a few weeks ago all excited that he'd had his first job opportunity and made his first "money" of the year--and that he'd immediately looked for more work. He asked the teacher if he could have more than one job and said he wanted as many as he could get. He told us his goal is to amass a fortune; not because he wants to spend it, but because he wants the status of being the richest person in class.

Well, earlier this week, the teacher told us that [Younger] came to her with a "business proposal." He had taken it upon himself to redesign her currency. He showed her the file and said he'd be happy to print up a whole new stack of bucks for her so she'd be able to use the improved design instead of the old one. He'd mint her money and then run her bank for her. And he'd do all of that for the low fee of 10%.

[Younger]: "Oh, why does it have to be Mom's turn to pick the TV? Mom picks are always old-fashioned and boring, like, 'Oh, Mr. Darcy, you're so hot, I want to marry you.'"

From Thomas Moore's book Original Self: Living with Paradox and Originality:

Paganism is not a belief system; it is a way of life in which one appreciates the holiness of every facet of experience and honors that holiness with specific rites and images.

Pagans saw sacredness and depth everywhere, telling the stories of gods, goddesses, and other spirits whose role it was to maintain the vitality in ordinary life. They had a goddess of sexuality and a god of commerce, a god of medicine and a goddess of the pristine forest. They honored unnamed gods, and to every things and every act they built a shrine. This making holy of everything in sight we call superstition and consider naive, but our sophistication, rooted in a deep rift between spirit and matter, is itself suspicious. How strange to assume that there is nothing but what can be perceived by the senses and measured in the language of quantification. What a deadening reduction to do away with the entire realm of spirit in the name of control and understanding!

Appreciate the holiness of every facet of experience and creation.

The other day I was introducing the library to a visiting school's worth of third graders, getting them oriented to just what a library is at a conceptual level and how that translates into the practices they encounter. Who owns the library: they do. So they get to use it for free because it's theirs. But they share that ownerships, so they have to be good at taking turns and sharing. I explain things like the stereotype that librarians shush everyone because libraries must inherently be quiet is not accurate; they simply need to be good at sharing the space with the other people who are using that space at the same time, some of whom want things calm and hushed to help them focus--but it's situational. Just like you can renew your loan to extend your checkout period if no one else needs the book, but if someone is waiting their turn you have to return it. Being a good library user isn't about knowing and following an exact set of rules, it's about developing the situational awareness to be good at sharing the library and its resources with the others who happen to be using it at the same time you are. It's more fluid and adaptive than set and unchanging rules. It's about achieving the intent of the law, not mindlessly following the letter of the law, as the old saying goes.

More than a decade ago, I wrote a couple of posts inspired by the book Practical Wisdom: The Right Way to Do the Right Thing by Barry Schwartz and Kenneth Sharpe: Free Market Values: Or, Laissez-Faire Morality and I'm Sure You Saw This Coming. From my review of the book:

It argues that we need to have more empathy, freedom to rely on personal judgment, and wisdom of experience in our daily interactions and in our larger institutional structures, when instead we are bound by unbending rules and demoralizing incentives that erode any sense of humanness—concern for others or the greater good—in our interactions. Indeed, they argue that we are weaving an ever tightening net of rules and incentives around ourselves that is draining what wisdom we have left in a downward, self-feeding spiral.

I just finished a book that makes a somewhat similar argument applied to our national economy and welfare: Abundance by Ezra Klein & Derek Thompson. Here's my short review:

A clear, concise argument that the best way forward for our nation to solve problems and provide for everyone is by creating more--more housing, more infrastructure, better technology, more abundance--and that the biggest impediment to achieving it that is in the hands of the authors' target liberal audience is too much bureaucracy, too many needless rules, too much inefficient government. Whether a reader finds the argument convincing, I think, will be as much based on the reader's values and opinions as any merits or faults of the book; so, regardless of that, they present a well-argued case. It can feel a bit too simplistic, not fully engaging with nuance and complexity, but that is due to their intent: this is not a step-by-step manual, it does not try to precisely map a detailed path, so it does not tackle everything; it is meant to create a shift in thinking, in approach, to lay out the "what" and the "why" much more than the "how." At that, I find it a successful and stimulating read.

A few excerpts:

This book is dedicated to a simple idea: to have the future we want, we need to build and invent more of what we need. That's it. That's the thesis.

It reads, even to us, as too simple. And yet, the story of American in the twenty-first century is the story of chosen scarcities. Recognizing that these scarcities are chosen--that we could choose otherwise--is thrilling. Confronting the reasons we choose otherwise is maddening.

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It is childish to declare government the problem. It is just as childish to declare government the solution. Government can be either the problem or the solution, and it is often both.

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Decades of attacks on the state have turned liberals into reflexive champions of government. But if you believe in government, you must make it work. To make it work, you must be clear-eyed about when it fails and why it fails.

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Both abundance and scarcity are stories we tell ourselves. Right now, we see an America that is turning toward a story of scarcity. That turn is changing not just our politics, but our national character.

We seek a politics of abundance that delivers real marvels in the real world. We want more homes and energy, more cures and more construction. This is a story that must be build out of bricks and steel and solar panels and transmission lines, not just words. But it is a story, and we believe it is truer to the American character and experience, truer to both what we have done and what we will do, than the narrow narrative of scarcity that has taken hold.

The book resonates with me, as these are themes woven throughout the entirely of my blog and I implement them in ways small and large on a daily basis.

Also from Thomas Moore's book Original Self: Living with Paradox and Originality:

True personal strength is not to be found in an iron will or in superior intelligence. Real strength of character shows itself in a willingness to let life sweep over us and burrow its way into us. Courage appears as we open ourselves to the natural alchemy of personal transformation, not when we close ourselves by making the changes we think are best.

I was just telling [Older] (age nearly-twelve) the other day that we love the idea of self-control, but research shows relying on it isn't very effective; it's much better to create contexts and situations where you don't need to control your negative impulses, to take away the bad option entirely. Surroundings are often easier to control than impulses. (Like, in this case, putting away the item(s) distracting him from getting dressed and gathering his gear for soccer practice.)

Life has felt extra liminal for a number of years now.

Why Liminal Spaces Are Your Brain’s Secret Laboratory

These moments are destabilizing. You’re standing in the hallway between who you were and who you’re becoming. Your brain screams for certainty, for solid ground, for the familiar rhythms of a life you understand. . . . 

These uncomfortable in-between spaces have a name in anthropology: liminal spaces. And they’re not just inevitable parts of life. They can be a laboratory for transformation, creativity, and growth. . . . 

Liminal spaces change how the brain processes information. The anterior cingulate cortex, your brain’s conflict detector, becomes hyperactive in ambiguous situations. Meanwhile, your amygdala starts firing warning signals about potential threats lurking in the unknown. . . . 

The key insight is that uncertainty itself isn’t inherently negative — it’s simply ambiguous information that our brains need to process — and that liminal spaces offer unique cognitive benefits that aren’t available during periods of stability: 

• Learning: Your brain pays intense attention to new information when it can’t predict what’s coming next, making liminal spaces ideal for learning.
• Creativity and problem-solving: When your usual assumptions are suspended, your brain makes novel connections you’d normally miss.
• Self-discovery: Escaping the constraints of your usual self-concept when you’re between roles or life phases allows you to experiment with aspects of your identity that might have remained dormant in more stable times.
• Resilience: Each time you successfully navigate a liminal space, you develop uncertainty tolerance, the ability to remain functional even when you can’t predict outcomes.

But these benefits aren’t automatic. You need to actively shift how you respond to uncertainty.

The key to leveraging liminal spaces lies in what I call the anxiety-curiosity switch. Both anxiety and curiosity are responses to uncertainty, but they lead to very different outcomes.

Anxiety narrows your focus to eliminate uncertainty as quickly as possible. Curiosity expands it to explore what the uncertainty might reveal.

Research shows that curiosity and anxiety activate similar brain regions, with an important difference: In anxiety, these regions prioritize threat detection; in curiosity, they support exploration and learning.

And flipping the switch is a learnable skill.

Be curious and open.

Also Thomas Moore:

The need to be normal is the predominant anxiety disorder in modern life.

This is fascinating.

You Are a Remarkable Musical Expert, You Just Don't Know It

The more psychologists investigate musicality, the more it seems that nearly all of us are musical experts, in quite a startling sense. The difference between a virtuoso performer and an ordinary music fan is much smaller than the gulf between that fan and someone with no musical knowledge at all. What’s more, a lot of the most interesting and substantial elements of musicality are things that we (nearly) all share. We aren’t talking about instinctive, inborn universals here. Our musical knowledge is learned, the product of long experience; maybe not years spent over an instrument, but a lifetime spent absorbing music from the open window of every passing car. . . . 

Much of our knowledge about music is implicit: it only emerges in behaviours that seem effortless, like clapping along to a beat or experiencing chills at the entry of a certain chord. . . . The capacity to respond to music and the ability to learn language rest upon an amazing piece of statistical machinery, one that keeps whirring away in the background of our minds, hidden from view. . . . 

The ability to track statistics about our environment without knowing we’re doing so turns out to be a general feature of human cognition. It is called statistical learning, and it is thought to underlie our earliest ability to understand what combinations of syllables count as words in the complex linguistic environment that surrounds us during infancy. What’s more, something similar seems to happen with music. . . . 

In experiments that asked people to rate how well individual tones fitted with an established context, people without any training demonstrated a robust feel for pitch that seemed to indicate a complex understanding of tonal theory. That might surprise most music majors at US universities, who often don’t learn to analyse and describe the tonal system until they get there, and struggle with it then. Yet what’s difficult is not understanding the tonal system itself – it’s making this knowledge explicit. We all know the basics of how pitches relate to each other in Western tonal systems; we simply don’t know that we know. . . . 

So strong is our proclivity for making sense of sound that mere listening is enough to build a deeply internalised mastery of the basic materials of whatever music surrounds us. . . . 

Much of the expressive power of tonal music (a category that encompasses most of the music we hear) comes out of the phenomenological qualities – tension, relaxation, and so on – that pitches seem to possess when we hear them relationally.

Musical sensitivity depends on the ability to abstract away the surface characteristics of a pitch and hear it relationally, so that a B seems relaxed in one context but tense in another. . . . 

Perception of rhythm depends on a more general ability to synchronise with our surroundings. . . . 

And so the capacity to track a beat, which might seem trivial on first glance, in fact serves a larger and more significant social capacity: our ability to attend jointly in time with other people. When we feel in sync with partners, as reflected in dancing, grooving, smooth conversational turn-taking and movements aligned to the same temporal grid, we report these interactions as more satisfying and the relationships as more significant. The origins of the ability to experience communion and connection through music might lie in our very earliest social experiences, and not involve a guitar or fiddle at all. . . . 

Many of our most fundamental behaviours and modes of understanding are governed by similarly implicit processes. We don’t know how we come to like certain people more than others; we don’t know how we develop a sense of the goals that define our lives; we don’t know why we fall in love; yet in the very act of making these choices we reveal the effects of a host of subterranean mental processes. The fact that these responses seem so natural and normal actually speaks to their strength and universality.

When we acknowledge how, just by living and listening, we have all acquired deep musical knowledge, we must also recognise that music is not the special purview of professionals. Rather, music professionals owe their existence to the fact that we, too, are musical. Without that profound shared understanding, music would have no power to move us.

And it makes sense. Our surroundings become us. We need to have a willingness to let life sweep over us and burrow its way into us (because it happens regardless).

Excellent information.

How to Be a Supercommunicator

I think it’s important to understand what vulnerability actually is, because I think most people hear this word “vulnerable” and they think I need to cry on your shoulder, or I need to talk to you about when my mom was mean to me—some deep, heavy thing. But for neuroscientists, vulnerability has a very specific definition. Basically, when I say something that you could judge, it puts me in a certain mindset. It could be something small, like I think Star Trek is better than Star Wars—

 

DE: Outrageous…

 

CD: And you might think that's the dumbest thing on the face of the planet! And it could be, but it’s not like this is a fundamental pillar of our friendship, right? But because of how our brains have evolved, I will pay very, very close attention to how you react, even without me realizing that I was paying close attention. And if you respond by judging me, I will deem you less safe and therefore less trustworthy, less likable, less all the good things. But if, instead, you withhold judgment, or even better if you tell me something about yourself that I could judge in return, like you like Star Wars better than Star Trek, then I will trust you more. I will feel more connected to you. And when you say that thing, you're looking to see how I react. So that's what vulnerability is—just saying something that the other person might judge. . . .

 

There are practical conversations where we're making plans or solving problems. There are emotional conversations, where I tell you what I'm feeling, and I don't want you to solve my feelings; I want you to empathize. And finally, there are social conversations, which are about how you and I relate to each other, how we relate to society, how we think of other people. Basically, what researchers have found is that any good discussion will actually have all three conversations within it. But if you and I are having different kinds of conversations at the same moment, it's very hard for us to fully hear each other, and it's very hard for us to feel connected. . . .

 

Communication has two parts: what we show and say, and hearing what you show and say. What’s really important is not only that I listen to what you're saying, but that I prove to you that I'm listening. And if I do looping for understanding, particularly in conflict conversations, it makes things better. And looping for understanding has three steps. The first step is I'm going to ask you a question, preferably a deep question—about your values, your beliefs, your experiences. When you answer that question, I'm going to repeat back to you—in my own words—what I heard you say. The important thing here is that mimicry does not work. What you’re trying to do is show that you paid attention and are thinking about what was said. That's step one and two. Step three is the one I always forget: Ask you if I got it right. David, did I understand you correctly? What I'm doing at that moment is asking for your permission to acknowledge that I was listening. And if you acknowledge that I was listening, you become much more likely to listen to me in return. It's basic social reciprocity, and it's hardwired into our brains.

That's from an interview with Charles Duhigg about his book Supercommunicators: How to Unlock the Secret Language of Communication. I now plan to read it.

So much news and politics right now. Too much to really even hint at on this blog; so I've been generally avoiding including it lately. This, though, this stands out to me as a particularly important mindset to be aware of and counter.

The Right Is Suddenly Obsessed with 'Heritage Americans'

In August, a guest on Tucker Carlson’s podcast said something that immediately caught his interest. The United States faces a fundamental rift “between heritage Americans and the new political class,” Auron MacIntyre, a columnist for Blaze Media, argued. “Heritage Americans—what are those?” Carlson asked.

“You could find their last names in the Civil War registry,” MacIntyre explained. This ancestry matters, he said, because America is not “a collection of abstract things agreed to in some social contract.” It is a specific set of people who embody an “Anglo-Protestant spirit” and “have a tie to history and to the land.” MacIntyre continued: “If you change the people, you change the culture.” “All true,” Carlson replied.

That same phrase—heritage American—has been rippling across the right, particularly on the social web. Politicians have started flirting with the idea as well. During a speech at the Claremont Institute in July, Vice President J. D. Vance said that “people whose ancestors fought in the Civil War have a hell of a lot more claim over America than the people who say they don’t belong,” referring to those on the “modern left” who conceive of American identity “purely as an idea.” And here’s Senator Eric Schmitt of Missouri at the National Conservative Conference last month: “We Americans are the sons and daughters of the Christian Pilgrims that poured out from Europe’s shores to baptize a new world in their ancient faith.” America, Schmitt said, is “our birthright. It’s our heritage, our destiny.” (Spokespeople for Vance and Schmitt did not respond to requests for comment, nor did Carlson or MacIntyre.)

The question of who counts as American has been debated for generations, and people have answered it in different ways in various eras—often depending on their own background and ideology. C. Jay Engel, a self-described “heritage American” whom Politico credits as having helped popularize the term, has repeatedly said that he is not a “racial essentialist” and believes that “blacks of the Old South” and “integrated Native Americans” also count as heritage Americans. But he has also argued that “the majority of blacks have demonstrated that they cannot function within the old European cultural standards” and that the concept of heritage Americans affirms “the domination and pre-eminence of the European derived peoples, their institutions, and their way of life.” . . . 

Especially important to counter, since it's becoming more open and mainstream all the time.

Of course I love this and have to share it.

Viva la Library!

Rebel against The Algorithm. Get a library card.

The internet, writ large, is now a universal medium. In the beginning, we were told the digital sphere would bring us together to share information and expand our perspectives, and now, there’s hardly a corner of our lives that it hasn’t touched. It governs nearly every aspect of how we read, learn, and connect to the larger world.

But while few parts of the world remain outside its reach, the internet leaves little room for discovery. Our curiosities in the digital environment are not so much sparked as they are confirmed. The system is designed to say “yes” to us, not challenge us. Over time, even the questions we ask begin to take on the smooth, antiseptic quality it was designed to reward. Digitalization has driven us further into ourselves and sects of the like-minded.

As they have done time and again, libraries have adapted to these technological changes. But they have also managed to maintain their value as places where learning is interpersonal and social. Libraries might be our last bulwark against the digital degradation of life and learning. . . . 

For all that transformative technology, lately something about Search feels off. Billions of queries seem to be returning more and more homogenous results cluttered with links to e-commerce sites and prioritizing texts that read like they have been written by robots. As more and more people click on similar things, they reinforce the circularity. . . . 

The more content on the Web is tricked out to draw our clicks, the more sequestered and siloed knowledge gets. The tennis enthusiasts get clickable tennis content, cat lovers get feline content, the wingnuts get wingnut content. There’s scant variability running contrary to the premise of any given search. Getting beyond the cycle requires the users themselves to stumble into something new—to exercise an intellectual agency that the algorithm so often seems designed to dull. . . . 

Why would anyone bother with a librarian when questions are easily answered by a search engine and without the wait? . . . 

There have been plenty of research articles by library science experts on how the internet stacks up against a good reference librarian. The verdict: If you’re looking to ground yourself in a topic with fact-based research, librarians are still your best friends. . . . 

The library now exists as much in digital space as it does in cement, steel, and—in the case of the Mid-City branch—marble. As Burvant led me through the suite of free phone apps the library offers, I felt like a bit of a dupe for shelling out for iTunes, Netflix, and YouTube. That also goes for eBooks and audio books, of which the library has about 200,000 holdings. And when I check out an online book from the library, Burvant assured me, none of my choices here are spied on. At best, my hold on an item might trigger her colleague Rel Farrar, head of adult acquisitions, to order more copies of what I am looking for. . . . 

And, as it often is on the weekends, the library was a model of the vibrant, integrated city New Orleans wishes to be.

None of the self-reinforcing tribal divisions that the internet seems so keen to foist upon us were visible. Affluent-looking young mothers parked their strollers at a catalog terminal in front of a pair of rumpled men playing chess at a table. Back in the media lab, a group of high school boys in puffy jackets and sneakers were recording a do-it-yourself rap video while a middle-aged guy in a fishing cap and muddy galoshes inquired at the circulation desk about an upcoming genealogy seminar the library is hosting. Other patrons were situated throughout the vast atrium’s armchairs just doing whatever and enjoying the communal space. Old men read newspapers, students crammed for tests, a daughter taught her mother how to file her taxes online. On this Saturday afternoon, they were here together as one people, each drawn by some search query of their own.

What might have been lost if they had just Googled it?

How could I not?

Someone shared this on my Facebook feed recently . . . 

And, of course, I had to basically say, "Hey! That's my metaphor."

From my journal . . . 

I'm afraid I must admit to being annoyed with myself at the moment. Tonight is the school Fall Festival--an evening of play at the school playground. Normally on a Thursday night like this I'd be at soccer practice with the elder child, getting some exercise during, but he begged us to let him skip that to be here. So I'm chaperone, sitting off to the side as I prefer while the other parents mingle and the kids run and scream. I probably don't need to be here since the boys are 5th and 6th grade now, but it it still our habit to supervise and be available if needed.

I'm annoyed because I forgot to bring my book I was going to read. There hasn't been enough reading lately, but I'm getting close to finishing this one and was looking forward to it in exchange for my workout. I contemplated heading back home for it--perhaps even walking--but decided not to. My satchel was in the car with this journal, so here we are.

It's a beautiful autumn evening. A bit hot for mid-October, but hints of chill in the crisp air. I'm in shorts but contemplating pulling out my shawl as the sun goes down.

There is music playing and a generator growling for the taco food truck. Lots of conversation. And the running and screaming.

So much running and screaming.

That's playground night.

Oh, I see bubbles. Giant bubbles being waved on a stick of some sort. My view is obscured by the play equipment, but must be some adult with something special.

Soon it could grow too dark for me to continue and I'll be face with the choice to sit with my thoughts or move closer to the lights--and noise and hubbub.

I crave the ability to offer more poetic words, but this is where my thoughts linger at the moment. No big emotions or sensitive vulnerability, merely the banal activities of another day. Unremarkable.

Okay, I caved and moved closer to the light. Right near the music speaker, with dancing and singalong. And still, all the running and screaming.

Was texting with the wife for a while, who is home early after her friend took ill at dinner. A selection of the messages from my side of the conversation:

"My day was good. Highly successful hosting of the third graders from a school near my library, followed by weariness from it and an unremarkable afternoon that went a bit too quickly."

"Tomorrow should be a quiet day. Have email to catch up on. Two hours on the desk."

"So much running and screaming. Eye of the Tiger just came on. I'm afraid you already missed the chicken dance and hokey pokey."

"Just mellow and off in a dark corner being my own island of contented calm. Unusually un-restless."

Of course, the running and screaming is joy and exultation. Wild happiness. That's why it's not truly annoying, despite my preference for calm and quiet. Sure, at times a calm, measured intensity, strongly felt and enthusiastically expressed, but without the violent volume. I don't find any fault in most others for being my opposite in this, though. I am the outlier. And I love them for their passions.

"The need to be normal is the predominant anxiety disorder in modern life." A quote from Thomas Moore's book Original Self. I feel blessed in that most of my life I've largely avoided this need. Sure, I want acceptance, approval, and love, but I haven't felt the need to find those by measuring myself against some idea of normality. I appreciate and embrace what makes me distinct. More so all the time as I age.

Lately--have I mentioned this before here? I think perhaps so--lately, I've adopted a hat as my "signature look." I intentionally found one that was unique and avoided categories, then added decoration to make it even more unique. I now openly display my non-conformity everywhere I go. (Though still with the safety of all my privileges from being educated, white, male, married, straight, Christian, and more.)

The thing I've found most remarkable about wearing this hat is how often random strangers compliment it. Daily. They not only appreciate it, they make a point of telling me so. It's a constant reminder of the kindness of others.

So I appreciate how they express their joy and exultation, the wild release of jubilation, through all their running and screaming.