In the coming days, der blaue Berg (The Blue Mountain) will celebrate its first New Years', and I must admit it's been quite a year. New Years' is often a time for looking back; to consider the road on which we've all traveled to get to our present place. I've noticed that in the blogging world, this is sometimes done by highlighting a few of a blog's best posts of the year. So I thought I would share with you a list of 11 (in honor of 2011) posts I deemed to be the so-called "best" of the year. Enjoy!
1.) How to be a happy hermit
2.) Contentment
3.) "Obsessed"
4.) Talent vs. Training debate considered
5.) A Wholesome Thanksgiving
6.) The Effortless-Effort of "Flow"
7.) My First Marathon
8.) The New Teacher
9.) Discussion of Overtraining
10.) A memorial to Steve Jobs (1955-2011)
11.) From Discomfort to Resilience
Also, an end-of-the-year post would not be complete without a warm and hearty thank-you to you, the readers, whose encouragement, thoughts, and kind words have so helped me learn and grow as a writer and as a person. You are truly an inspiration, and I wish you all from the bottom of my heart the happiest 2012.
Have a Happy New Year, friends :)
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Developing alternatives to college
The end of a calendar year brings many things, but perhaps one of my favorites involve listening to others take stock of the previous 360+ days. Sometimes I think it's sad people don't do this more often, since so many interesting "seasons" in life don't follow the usual calendar system (the school-year previously being the most potent example for me). At any rate, the last few days of December are a convenient time, if nothing else, to look back upon the days that were, and consider their significance in the coming year.
Newspapers often approach this project by rehashing important (or provocative) events, remembering those famous figures who passed away, reviewing the big ideas of the year, and finally, having a laugh at predictions made the previous year which failed to materialize. Whatever your opinion on the matter, it's often done.
One idea I "rediscovered" in the plethora of "year-in-review" publications for 2011 was described in an article by Sarah Lacy, senior editor of TechCrunch.com, entitled "Peter Thiel: We're in a Bubble and it's not the Internet. It's Higher Education."
For those who don't know of Peter Thiel, he is among other things a co-founder of PayPal, and according to Ms. Lacy, "has a special talent for making people furious." This is likely because he has on multiple occasions in the past backed minority opinions, and often proved annoyingly accurate in his assessment (for instance, navigating PayPal through the Nasdaq collapse in 2000, and more recently his own finances through the housing-bubble in 2008).
But it's one thing to get a prediction about the economy right, and quite another to endorse a program which questions a cherished national belief. Yet this is precisely what Mr. Thiel decided to do this past year, and his target is what he perceives to be a bubble of higher education.
Mr. Thiel suggests that "'a true bubble is when something is overvalued and intensely believed.'" Ms. Lacy goes on to compare this education bubble idea with the housing bubble. "Like the housing bubble," she says, "the education bubble is all about security and insurance against the future. Both whisper a seductive promise into the ears of worried Americans: Do this and you will be safe."
The promise (described in part in an earlier post) is not without merit, but as Ms. Lacy suggests, the logic at work in a bubble is often "rooted in truth," but taken "to unhealthy levels." Mr. Thiel contends (in Ms. Lacy's words) that this unhealthy level is reached in higher education by "pin[ning] people's best hope for a better life on something that is by definition exclusionary." Says Mr. Thiel, "'If Harvard were really the best education, if it makes that much of a difference, why not franchise it so more people can attend? Why not create 100 Harvard affiliates?'"
It's a fair question, but would Harvard really be Harvard if everyone could attend? "'It's something about the scarcity and status.'" suggests Mr. Thiel. "'In education your value depends on other people failing...It's a way to ignore that people are falling through the cracks, because you pretend that if they could just go to Harvard, they'd be fine. Maybe that's not true.'"
That last sentence suggests that part of Mr. Thiel's purpose is to develop what Ms. Lacy calls a "counter-narrative" in response to a belief about higher education "rooted in the most elite echelons of the upper class." Accordingly, higher education's value should not only be questioned; in addition, viable alternatives need to be developed that hinge not on the promise of getting into an exclusive club, but on the rewards garnered through creativity and challenging previously-held notions of possibility.
In that spirit, this past year Mr. Thiel launched the "20 under 20" program. "The idea was simple," says Ms. Lacy. "Pick the best twenty kids he could find under 20 years of age and pay them $100,000 over two years to leave school and start a company instead."
The program has not passed without controversy, and it remains to be seen if the "alternative path" the program hopes to offer will prove truly viable. But one thing seems clear: 2011 has proved a year full questions, and the years to come will bear witness to how efficacious the answers now being proposed will be. It's an interesting time to be sure.
Happy Thursday, friends :)
Newspapers often approach this project by rehashing important (or provocative) events, remembering those famous figures who passed away, reviewing the big ideas of the year, and finally, having a laugh at predictions made the previous year which failed to materialize. Whatever your opinion on the matter, it's often done.
One idea I "rediscovered" in the plethora of "year-in-review" publications for 2011 was described in an article by Sarah Lacy, senior editor of TechCrunch.com, entitled "Peter Thiel: We're in a Bubble and it's not the Internet. It's Higher Education."
For those who don't know of Peter Thiel, he is among other things a co-founder of PayPal, and according to Ms. Lacy, "has a special talent for making people furious." This is likely because he has on multiple occasions in the past backed minority opinions, and often proved annoyingly accurate in his assessment (for instance, navigating PayPal through the Nasdaq collapse in 2000, and more recently his own finances through the housing-bubble in 2008).
But it's one thing to get a prediction about the economy right, and quite another to endorse a program which questions a cherished national belief. Yet this is precisely what Mr. Thiel decided to do this past year, and his target is what he perceives to be a bubble of higher education.
Mr. Thiel suggests that "'a true bubble is when something is overvalued and intensely believed.'" Ms. Lacy goes on to compare this education bubble idea with the housing bubble. "Like the housing bubble," she says, "the education bubble is all about security and insurance against the future. Both whisper a seductive promise into the ears of worried Americans: Do this and you will be safe."
The promise (described in part in an earlier post) is not without merit, but as Ms. Lacy suggests, the logic at work in a bubble is often "rooted in truth," but taken "to unhealthy levels." Mr. Thiel contends (in Ms. Lacy's words) that this unhealthy level is reached in higher education by "pin[ning] people's best hope for a better life on something that is by definition exclusionary." Says Mr. Thiel, "'If Harvard were really the best education, if it makes that much of a difference, why not franchise it so more people can attend? Why not create 100 Harvard affiliates?'"
It's a fair question, but would Harvard really be Harvard if everyone could attend? "'It's something about the scarcity and status.'" suggests Mr. Thiel. "'In education your value depends on other people failing...It's a way to ignore that people are falling through the cracks, because you pretend that if they could just go to Harvard, they'd be fine. Maybe that's not true.'"
That last sentence suggests that part of Mr. Thiel's purpose is to develop what Ms. Lacy calls a "counter-narrative" in response to a belief about higher education "rooted in the most elite echelons of the upper class." Accordingly, higher education's value should not only be questioned; in addition, viable alternatives need to be developed that hinge not on the promise of getting into an exclusive club, but on the rewards garnered through creativity and challenging previously-held notions of possibility.
In that spirit, this past year Mr. Thiel launched the "20 under 20" program. "The idea was simple," says Ms. Lacy. "Pick the best twenty kids he could find under 20 years of age and pay them $100,000 over two years to leave school and start a company instead."
The program has not passed without controversy, and it remains to be seen if the "alternative path" the program hopes to offer will prove truly viable. But one thing seems clear: 2011 has proved a year full questions, and the years to come will bear witness to how efficacious the answers now being proposed will be. It's an interesting time to be sure.
Happy Thursday, friends :)
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
A question for parents, teachers, coaches etc.
It's been almost a year since Amy Chua published her controversial book Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother, yet in spite of all the media attention it received this past year, the issues she brings to the fore continue to hold relevance in our time.
This is due to the intense and and often passionate scrutiny under which formal education on all levels (particularly college) finds itself in the US today. Mrs. Chua has not focused especially on formal education in the first half of her book (the half I've read), but her emphasis on industry and hard work point toward the same end: success.
As discussed in an earlier post, the recession of 2008 has led many to question assumptions once made regarding formal education, most particularly that a college education guarantees a good job, and therefore makes taking on massive debt to achieve that end worthwhile. Given that student-loan debt in the US topped 1 trillion dollars this past summer, perhaps it is right to question such assumptions.
But what of other assumptions should we question? A major theme in the first half of Battle Hymn is that children cannot be trusted to do what's good for them, so far as their future is concerned. Given the freedom to get less-than-perfect grades, practice the instrument (or choose their instrument for that matter) when they like, or remain only at grade-level in mathematics all lead to inevitable decadence and waste. Childhood is a time of training to become confident, competent adults of exceptional brilliance and skill. Anything less than top of the table is a failure.
Quite a vision, eh? It's remarkable how an idea can simultaneously seem so repulsive and attractive. How many young people dream of being successful professionals someday? How many children nurse an ambition to transform themselves into confident and brilliant adults? And yet how many alone can cobble together the industry and intellect required to make that dream a reality?
That's a pickle (one of many) in our time, and it leads some parents, teachers, and coaches to question how to approach the cultivation of talent and skill in young people. Should they employ an iron fist or an open palm? Assume strength in all cases, or weakness instead? Is childhood a time of training for adulthood, or a unique stage of life that transcends traditional conceptions of success?
These are hard issues, and I'd like to finish Mrs. Chua's book (and think some more) before diving in myself. You're welcome to share your thoughts if you have them, and wrestle with this important issue. Many thanks, and of course,
Happy Tuesday :)
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Enjoy the holiday by slowing down
Good morning, good day, good evening; whichever it is, I hope it is good :). It's the winter solstice today in the northern hemisphere, and the light is going fast. That doesn't mean, however, that you must as well. While few seasons prove more frenetic than the winter holiday season, there's something to be said for taking a moment to catch one's breath and take in the festivities. You might find by doing so that life can be very refreshing when you spend a little time just slowing down.
Of course it can be surprisingly difficult these days to slow down. It's is a demanding time for many, full of pressure to please and outdo. It's a bit frightening really, with stories in the newspaper about Black Friday violence, shop-lifting, and how once again loads of people are cracking under the pressure to make the season "perfect." Of course you find that in all seasons, but the holidays do seem to highlight such confusion. It's enough to drive anyone bananas.
Yet for all that the winter holiday season can be really great. The music is festive, the food is quite good, and the context abounds with wholesome images (bells, holly, snowmen, menorahs, stars, mangers, and frankincense to name a few) among all the advertising. Whether you're alone or surrounded by family and friends, you'll miss a lot if you forget to take a moment and slow down a bit. For all the uncertainty, difficulty, and tragedy in our world today, there remains something quite nice about these next few days, the first of winter. If you can just take a moment from whatever it is you're doing; to think of something that makes you happy, or something about the holiday that you particularly enjoy. Celebrating these things is perhaps more important than any deal you might get, or any gift you might buy (awesome as they might be!). It may not be "the most wonderful time of the year" for you, but it could turn out quite nice anyway if you wake up and celebrate the moment.
It's been said that our thoughts are like a garden; water your worries, and they will out-grow everything. Water your joys, and they will do likewise. And while winter isn't the most conducive season for gardening outside, it's as good a time as any to tend that figurative garden in the mind. Something to consider.
Happy Winter Solstice, friends :)
Of course it can be surprisingly difficult these days to slow down. It's is a demanding time for many, full of pressure to please and outdo. It's a bit frightening really, with stories in the newspaper about Black Friday violence, shop-lifting, and how once again loads of people are cracking under the pressure to make the season "perfect." Of course you find that in all seasons, but the holidays do seem to highlight such confusion. It's enough to drive anyone bananas.
Yet for all that the winter holiday season can be really great. The music is festive, the food is quite good, and the context abounds with wholesome images (bells, holly, snowmen, menorahs, stars, mangers, and frankincense to name a few) among all the advertising. Whether you're alone or surrounded by family and friends, you'll miss a lot if you forget to take a moment and slow down a bit. For all the uncertainty, difficulty, and tragedy in our world today, there remains something quite nice about these next few days, the first of winter. If you can just take a moment from whatever it is you're doing; to think of something that makes you happy, or something about the holiday that you particularly enjoy. Celebrating these things is perhaps more important than any deal you might get, or any gift you might buy (awesome as they might be!). It may not be "the most wonderful time of the year" for you, but it could turn out quite nice anyway if you wake up and celebrate the moment.
It's been said that our thoughts are like a garden; water your worries, and they will out-grow everything. Water your joys, and they will do likewise. And while winter isn't the most conducive season for gardening outside, it's as good a time as any to tend that figurative garden in the mind. Something to consider.
Happy Winter Solstice, friends :)
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
How to be a Happy Hermit
A few days ago, I came across an interesting talk by a Buddhist monk named Ajahn Brahm entitled "To be a Happy Hermit." In it, Ajahn Brahm describes how time spent alone ("hermit moments") allow people to develop a better relationship with themselves, and thereby a better relationship with everyone else. It's a nice video if you have time to watch (it's about 55 minutes all told), but if not I'll try and describe the pertinent points below.
As a monk who lives in a cave, Mr. Brahm is often asked if he feels lonely. He says he doesn't, and the reason is because being alone has allowed him to get to know himself. In a manner of speaking, he has become "best friends" with himself. That sounds a bit strange at first, but the more upon it he elaborates the less strange it sounds.
See, Mr. Brahm suggests that a great many people can't stand to be alone because they don't particularly like themselves. They think they're too fat, too stupid, or just not up to the level at which they should be.
Have you ever felt this way? I know I have, particularly around exam times or when filling out graduate school applications. You have an image of what perfection should look like, and you lament at the incongruousness between that image and how you view yourself. Some go so far as to hate themselves for being so different from the image in their head, while others simply don't like themselves.
In an earlier post we discussed a similar problem related to the "self-improvement urge," considering the place of contentment in growing as a person. Ajahn Brahm presents a similar conclusion, suggesting that spending time with oneself allows a person to realize that for all the faults and mistakes of the past, "I'm okay" (Before I continue, just imagine a jolly Australian monk saying this with a big grin). "There's nothing wrong with you," says Mr. Brahm, "when they gave out a body and a mind, they didn't make a mistake with you." By accepting yourself--faults and all--you can become friends with yourself, and not wage a constant "war" inside your head. According to Mr. Brahm this is critical, because a healthy relationship with yourself is critical for developing a healthy relationship with others.
Mr. Brahm suggests this is because those who don't seek to find fault with themselves are less likely to seek fault in others. If you can accept and be kind to yourself, you can accept and be kind to other people too. For Ajahn Brahm that starts with yourself, particularly in those "hermit moments" when you and yourself are all alone together. Learn to be kind and treat yourself well, and it will help you learn how to be kind and treat others well.
There's another side to it, however. Mr. Brahm suggests that by accepting yourself, you learn to stop striving after things and relax. It's amazing actually the similarities on this point between Ajahn Brahm and New Zealand running coach Arthur Lydiard, who use to implore runners "train, don't strain." For Lydiard distance runners had to learn how to relax; this was absolutely necessary for peak performance. Ajahn Brahm appears to agree, suggesting that people will see more improvement if they learn to relax and accept themselves for who they are.
So to sum up, Ajahn Brahm suggests that to be happy hermit (and indeed, a happy person), one should try and cultivate a happy, healthy relationship with one's self. Doing so teaches a person how to cultivate such relationships with others, and creates a kind of contentment that allows a person to relax and perform at their best. If you can make peace with yourself, perhaps peace with everyone is possible. Something to consider.
Happy Tuesday :)
As a monk who lives in a cave, Mr. Brahm is often asked if he feels lonely. He says he doesn't, and the reason is because being alone has allowed him to get to know himself. In a manner of speaking, he has become "best friends" with himself. That sounds a bit strange at first, but the more upon it he elaborates the less strange it sounds.
See, Mr. Brahm suggests that a great many people can't stand to be alone because they don't particularly like themselves. They think they're too fat, too stupid, or just not up to the level at which they should be.
Have you ever felt this way? I know I have, particularly around exam times or when filling out graduate school applications. You have an image of what perfection should look like, and you lament at the incongruousness between that image and how you view yourself. Some go so far as to hate themselves for being so different from the image in their head, while others simply don't like themselves.
In an earlier post we discussed a similar problem related to the "self-improvement urge," considering the place of contentment in growing as a person. Ajahn Brahm presents a similar conclusion, suggesting that spending time with oneself allows a person to realize that for all the faults and mistakes of the past, "I'm okay" (Before I continue, just imagine a jolly Australian monk saying this with a big grin). "There's nothing wrong with you," says Mr. Brahm, "when they gave out a body and a mind, they didn't make a mistake with you." By accepting yourself--faults and all--you can become friends with yourself, and not wage a constant "war" inside your head. According to Mr. Brahm this is critical, because a healthy relationship with yourself is critical for developing a healthy relationship with others.
Mr. Brahm suggests this is because those who don't seek to find fault with themselves are less likely to seek fault in others. If you can accept and be kind to yourself, you can accept and be kind to other people too. For Ajahn Brahm that starts with yourself, particularly in those "hermit moments" when you and yourself are all alone together. Learn to be kind and treat yourself well, and it will help you learn how to be kind and treat others well.
There's another side to it, however. Mr. Brahm suggests that by accepting yourself, you learn to stop striving after things and relax. It's amazing actually the similarities on this point between Ajahn Brahm and New Zealand running coach Arthur Lydiard, who use to implore runners "train, don't strain." For Lydiard distance runners had to learn how to relax; this was absolutely necessary for peak performance. Ajahn Brahm appears to agree, suggesting that people will see more improvement if they learn to relax and accept themselves for who they are.
So to sum up, Ajahn Brahm suggests that to be happy hermit (and indeed, a happy person), one should try and cultivate a happy, healthy relationship with one's self. Doing so teaches a person how to cultivate such relationships with others, and creates a kind of contentment that allows a person to relax and perform at their best. If you can make peace with yourself, perhaps peace with everyone is possible. Something to consider.
Happy Tuesday :)
A Time of Confusion--is College Worth the Cost?
Quite by accident, I ended up on youtube yesterday scrolling through videos proclaiming how much a scam college education has become. Given the times, perhaps this should come as no surprise; people are angry, and for better or worse angry people seem to have loud voices.
The issue is a hard one for me, which is perhaps one reason I spent so much time yesterday viewing videos of angry people; there are elements of their grievances with which I agree.
What are these grievances? Primarily, that promises were made which have not proved true. Sir Ken Robinson describes one level of this promise nicely in a popular video called "Changing Education Paradigms." The promise goes something like this and is well-known: if you work hard in school, do lots of extra-curriculars, and get into college, you will have a nice job when you finish. An oft-cited statistic suggests that people who earn Bachelors' degrees earn an average of $1 million more over their lifetime than those without. So understood, the promise described above takes on an additional level, which basically states: If you make $1 million more with a degree than without one, it makes perfect sense to take on debt to fund the venture. And don't worry; you'll pay it back in no time.
The last few years have shown that both levels of the promise have not proved entirely true. According to a consumer report from June, student debt in the United States surpassed $1 trillion this past summer, out-pacing even credit-card debt. Furthermore, "unemployment for recent college graduates climbed from 5.8% in 2008 to 8.7% in 2009--the highest annual rate on record for college graduates aged 20-24."
Fortunately there is good news. While I could find no indication that student-debt has fallen, according to the Bureau of Labor Statistics (BLS), those with degrees continue to have significantly lower unemployment rates than those without. Consider the seasonally-adjusted numbers here. As of November 2011, the unemployment rate for people without a high school degree was 13.2% ; high school graduates 8.8%, some college and/or associates degree holders 7.6%, and those with bachelors' degrees or higher 4.4%. Whatever else might be wrong (or right) with college today, people who hold degrees appear a lot more likely to find work. For many people, this employment might be out of their field, or leave them feeling "underemployed." I am one such example, having studied history in college and now work in the refrigerator of a grocery store. I'm okay with that for now, but I can appreciate why people are angry.
Watching those videos last night led me to realize how popular it is these days to bash college (and often, college students). As discussed in an earlier post, research suggests that college students today not only appear to study less, but also don't seem to learn much in their time as undergraduates. Coupled with the popular fervor against college as a "scam," the message seems clear; going to college is a waste of time and money. Students today are lazy, and college curriculum ineffective. Get a job, start making money, and let the money-grubbing system of higher education steal from someone else.
Harsh? Perhaps, though who can blame people who feel they've been cheated? Our time is one of confusion when it comes to the value of higher-education, and I wonder at the consequences. Will artists and other non-technical types be marginalized further than they have? Will cash-strapped institutions start cutting language, arts, and humanities courses? Will our society alienate people whose abilities aren't congruent with traditional measures of talent and intelligence?
I hope not, but who knows. This economic downturn has certainly led people to question the value of many things, and I think that is something potentially worthwhile. Hopefully the angry voices are not the only voices heard.
Happy Tuesday :)
The issue is a hard one for me, which is perhaps one reason I spent so much time yesterday viewing videos of angry people; there are elements of their grievances with which I agree.
What are these grievances? Primarily, that promises were made which have not proved true. Sir Ken Robinson describes one level of this promise nicely in a popular video called "Changing Education Paradigms." The promise goes something like this and is well-known: if you work hard in school, do lots of extra-curriculars, and get into college, you will have a nice job when you finish. An oft-cited statistic suggests that people who earn Bachelors' degrees earn an average of $1 million more over their lifetime than those without. So understood, the promise described above takes on an additional level, which basically states: If you make $1 million more with a degree than without one, it makes perfect sense to take on debt to fund the venture. And don't worry; you'll pay it back in no time.
The last few years have shown that both levels of the promise have not proved entirely true. According to a consumer report from June, student debt in the United States surpassed $1 trillion this past summer, out-pacing even credit-card debt. Furthermore, "unemployment for recent college graduates climbed from 5.8% in 2008 to 8.7% in 2009--the highest annual rate on record for college graduates aged 20-24."
Fortunately there is good news. While I could find no indication that student-debt has fallen, according to the Bureau of Labor Statistics (BLS), those with degrees continue to have significantly lower unemployment rates than those without. Consider the seasonally-adjusted numbers here. As of November 2011, the unemployment rate for people without a high school degree was 13.2% ; high school graduates 8.8%, some college and/or associates degree holders 7.6%, and those with bachelors' degrees or higher 4.4%. Whatever else might be wrong (or right) with college today, people who hold degrees appear a lot more likely to find work. For many people, this employment might be out of their field, or leave them feeling "underemployed." I am one such example, having studied history in college and now work in the refrigerator of a grocery store. I'm okay with that for now, but I can appreciate why people are angry.
Watching those videos last night led me to realize how popular it is these days to bash college (and often, college students). As discussed in an earlier post, research suggests that college students today not only appear to study less, but also don't seem to learn much in their time as undergraduates. Coupled with the popular fervor against college as a "scam," the message seems clear; going to college is a waste of time and money. Students today are lazy, and college curriculum ineffective. Get a job, start making money, and let the money-grubbing system of higher education steal from someone else.
Harsh? Perhaps, though who can blame people who feel they've been cheated? Our time is one of confusion when it comes to the value of higher-education, and I wonder at the consequences. Will artists and other non-technical types be marginalized further than they have? Will cash-strapped institutions start cutting language, arts, and humanities courses? Will our society alienate people whose abilities aren't congruent with traditional measures of talent and intelligence?
I hope not, but who knows. This economic downturn has certainly led people to question the value of many things, and I think that is something potentially worthwhile. Hopefully the angry voices are not the only voices heard.
Happy Tuesday :)
Friday, December 16, 2011
Contentment
"When you are content to be simply yourself and don't compare or compete, everybody will respect you." -Lao Tzu
Blogger Leo Babauta of ZenHabits recently wrote a thought-provoking post entitled "Quashing the Self-Improvement Urge," in which he suggests that eventually the urge to improve, "only makes you feel inadequate."
I found the entry rather puzzling, even shocking, given the culture in which we live. In my experience, there seems to be something deeply ingrained in many people which finds the idea of improvement--particularly self-improvement--highly attractive. The idea of ambition itself seems premised on the notion that the good life is spent moving from one "place" to another, accomplished usually through practice, hierarchy-navigation, and the cultivation of particular skills and attitudes conducive to one's goal-state.
When I was in high school, two types of people seemed particularly valued: those who accomplished great things, and those who worked hard to someday accomplish great things. The field of endeavor never mattered, the values remained constant. In music, the skilled musicians took the highest place, and the young, ambitious players who practiced a lot, got private-lessons, and worked hard to improve took the next. In athletics, the top athletes who scored points and won matches took first honors, and the motivated and hard-working took second. In academics, the skilled students were valued most, and the less-skilled-but-hard-workers were valued second-most. The point is that in all fields, the skilled and the motivated were valued most.
On many levels, this makes to me a great deal of sense. A music teacher can do a lot with skilled and motivated musicians, but almost nothing with the unambitious and apathetic. Skilled and motivated athletes give coaches the resources of which winning seasons--and even championships--are made. And it is the thoughtful and passionate students who make teaching a joy rather than a chore. In all cases, some combination of skill and motivation seems a prerequisite for doing anything which society deems worthwhile.
And yet I wonder, are we missing something here?
Mr. Babauta's argument against self-improvement is premised on the notion that self-improvement is goal without an end, urged on us by ourselves and others. "When does it end?" he asks. "When is anyone ever content with who they are? We are taught that we are not good enough yet, that we must improve, and so...we always feel a little inadequate."
There's something disturbingly-familiar about this line of thought that ends in constant inadequacy, and history furnishes an illustrative example. Reformation historian Carter Lindberg poignantly describes a similar adequacy-crisis within the context of pre-Reformation Christian theology, and consideration of his discussion seems warranted within the context of our question.
According to Lindberg, with regard to the achievement of salvation, a common invocation of medieval Christian theology says that one should "facere quod in se est," or "do what lies within you" (Lindberg 2006, 63). Lacking a precise measure of what exactly "lies within" people, a common answer to those who wondered if they were doing enough was simply, "try harder." So understood, salvation became an achievement for those who honestly "did their best" with what "lies within." It's no surprise that the image of a ladder so often illustrates point. The good life, under these circumstances, becomes one of moving up from an inferior position to a superior one.
Sound familiar? It may, since the logic of the theology here described closely mirrors that of Mr. Babauta's description of the modern "Self-improvement urge." In fact, Carter Lindberg even points out the congruence, saying:
"No matter what is accomplished, one may think more could have been achieved with just some more effort. Whether you are an A student or an F student you can always do more. 'Do what lies within you,' 'do the best you can.' This approach is not uniquely medieval or Aristotelian; it is equally modern, certainly American. Realize your own potential; anyone can be a success if he or she only tries hard enough; you can better yourself" (Lindberg, 68).
Within the context of medieval theology, this "urge" is premised on Aristotelian philosophy. According to Lindberg, Aristotle claimed that "like is known by like." Since God is perfect, this was taken to mean that for a person to know God (and for God to know a person), then that person "must become 'like' God" (Lindberg, 68). This task was accomplished through another Aristotelian idea, which contended that any self-improvement is the result of "habitual activity." As described by Lindberg, "Through such habits or practices ethics becomes a kind of second nature" (Lindberg, 69).
Does that too sound familiar? "Just practice," and "do your best" still ring in my ears from those confusing days in high school when nothing I could do was ever enough to satisfy my teachers, coaches, or employers. "Only through much effort and great pains are great things accomplished."
This appears to be the credo of the "self-improvement urge." Its central expectation states that with enough effort and discipline, perfection can be achieved. When it's not, "you are simply not working hard enough."
What are we moderns ever to do? If the desired end of improvement is perfection, shall we never be content with who we are? Can you and me and everyone else never be enough? Is it our lot to always feel inadequate?
Let me tell you the next part of the theology story. It's by no means the "end," traditionally understood; far from it in fact. But the next part may offer insight into the dilemma of adequacy at which we've presently arrived.
According to Lindberg, "'do what lies within you'" means that salvation is a process that occurs within us as we perfect ourselves. Put another way, we become righteous before God as we do righteous acts, as we do good works" (Lindberg, 69). When Martin Luther (1483-1546), as a young man an Augustinian monk, tried to embody this theology in his monastic practice, he very nearly killed himself through fasting and exposure. Even then, "Luther could not believe that God was placated by his efforts to do his best for his salvation" (Lindberg, 69). Faced with the implication that imperfect humans could never be saved, Luther returned to scripture and had something of an epiphany, if the expression may be used.
What did Herr Luther see? In short, he concluded that piety is not about achievement, but about expressing a kind of contentment. As described by Lindberg, Luther concluded that "We do not do good works in order to become acceptable to God; rather, because God accepts us we do good works," shifting the relationship between man and God from an "if...then" to a "because...therefore" argument (Lindberg, 70). For Luther, it was not a matter of "If I do good, then God will love me," but rather, "Because God loves me, therefore I do good."
I think a lot of relationships in our lives are premised on an if...then basis. If you work hard and show enthusiasm, then most teachers will find you a good student. If you can help a team win the match, then the coach will usually be glad to have you. A musician who's willing to work hard, learn the music, and come to class prepared is what most band directors would likely consider a model student. It seems so common, and yet it's based entirely on conditions. "If you do what I want, then I will lavish you with praise," can just as easily become "If you don't do what I want, then I will lavish you with ridicule." In such cases, our good-will is conditional and revocable.
Perhaps this is simply the only way most people can be motivated, but, as I mentioned above, what if we're missing something important here?
What if we could simply be content with who we are? "I'm not a professional musician, but because I love music I make music." When people accept you for who you are, there's no pressure to do anything except what you love most to do.
A runner who loves to run will run regardless if he or she is ordered or not. A writer who loves to write will write no matter what.
The crazy thing about all this is that, in many ways, Aristotle's second idea from above is often proved in practice; people who do something a lot tend to get better at it. Put simply, they improve without feeling any pressure to improve. Their daily practice becomes an expression of their contentment, rather than an achievement for the pleasing of others. The difference is subtle, but the implications are possibly enormous.
Mr. Babauta's post remains shocking to me, but perhaps that is because of how deeply the notion of self-improvement is inscribed within my social context. Yet it seems entirely possible to learn, improve, and be happy without the constant pressure to get better...or else. Regardless of your religion (or lack thereof), perhaps Luther's interpretation has something valuable for all of us; that the good life, no matter your definition, is at its heart an expression and not an achievement. Something perhaps to consider.
Happy Friday :)
Blogger Leo Babauta of ZenHabits recently wrote a thought-provoking post entitled "Quashing the Self-Improvement Urge," in which he suggests that eventually the urge to improve, "only makes you feel inadequate."
I found the entry rather puzzling, even shocking, given the culture in which we live. In my experience, there seems to be something deeply ingrained in many people which finds the idea of improvement--particularly self-improvement--highly attractive. The idea of ambition itself seems premised on the notion that the good life is spent moving from one "place" to another, accomplished usually through practice, hierarchy-navigation, and the cultivation of particular skills and attitudes conducive to one's goal-state.
When I was in high school, two types of people seemed particularly valued: those who accomplished great things, and those who worked hard to someday accomplish great things. The field of endeavor never mattered, the values remained constant. In music, the skilled musicians took the highest place, and the young, ambitious players who practiced a lot, got private-lessons, and worked hard to improve took the next. In athletics, the top athletes who scored points and won matches took first honors, and the motivated and hard-working took second. In academics, the skilled students were valued most, and the less-skilled-but-hard-workers were valued second-most. The point is that in all fields, the skilled and the motivated were valued most.
On many levels, this makes to me a great deal of sense. A music teacher can do a lot with skilled and motivated musicians, but almost nothing with the unambitious and apathetic. Skilled and motivated athletes give coaches the resources of which winning seasons--and even championships--are made. And it is the thoughtful and passionate students who make teaching a joy rather than a chore. In all cases, some combination of skill and motivation seems a prerequisite for doing anything which society deems worthwhile.
And yet I wonder, are we missing something here?
Mr. Babauta's argument against self-improvement is premised on the notion that self-improvement is goal without an end, urged on us by ourselves and others. "When does it end?" he asks. "When is anyone ever content with who they are? We are taught that we are not good enough yet, that we must improve, and so...we always feel a little inadequate."
There's something disturbingly-familiar about this line of thought that ends in constant inadequacy, and history furnishes an illustrative example. Reformation historian Carter Lindberg poignantly describes a similar adequacy-crisis within the context of pre-Reformation Christian theology, and consideration of his discussion seems warranted within the context of our question.
According to Lindberg, with regard to the achievement of salvation, a common invocation of medieval Christian theology says that one should "facere quod in se est," or "do what lies within you" (Lindberg 2006, 63). Lacking a precise measure of what exactly "lies within" people, a common answer to those who wondered if they were doing enough was simply, "try harder." So understood, salvation became an achievement for those who honestly "did their best" with what "lies within." It's no surprise that the image of a ladder so often illustrates point. The good life, under these circumstances, becomes one of moving up from an inferior position to a superior one.
Sound familiar? It may, since the logic of the theology here described closely mirrors that of Mr. Babauta's description of the modern "Self-improvement urge." In fact, Carter Lindberg even points out the congruence, saying:
"No matter what is accomplished, one may think more could have been achieved with just some more effort. Whether you are an A student or an F student you can always do more. 'Do what lies within you,' 'do the best you can.' This approach is not uniquely medieval or Aristotelian; it is equally modern, certainly American. Realize your own potential; anyone can be a success if he or she only tries hard enough; you can better yourself" (Lindberg, 68).
Within the context of medieval theology, this "urge" is premised on Aristotelian philosophy. According to Lindberg, Aristotle claimed that "like is known by like." Since God is perfect, this was taken to mean that for a person to know God (and for God to know a person), then that person "must become 'like' God" (Lindberg, 68). This task was accomplished through another Aristotelian idea, which contended that any self-improvement is the result of "habitual activity." As described by Lindberg, "Through such habits or practices ethics becomes a kind of second nature" (Lindberg, 69).
Does that too sound familiar? "Just practice," and "do your best" still ring in my ears from those confusing days in high school when nothing I could do was ever enough to satisfy my teachers, coaches, or employers. "Only through much effort and great pains are great things accomplished."
This appears to be the credo of the "self-improvement urge." Its central expectation states that with enough effort and discipline, perfection can be achieved. When it's not, "you are simply not working hard enough."
What are we moderns ever to do? If the desired end of improvement is perfection, shall we never be content with who we are? Can you and me and everyone else never be enough? Is it our lot to always feel inadequate?
Let me tell you the next part of the theology story. It's by no means the "end," traditionally understood; far from it in fact. But the next part may offer insight into the dilemma of adequacy at which we've presently arrived.
According to Lindberg, "'do what lies within you'" means that salvation is a process that occurs within us as we perfect ourselves. Put another way, we become righteous before God as we do righteous acts, as we do good works" (Lindberg, 69). When Martin Luther (1483-1546), as a young man an Augustinian monk, tried to embody this theology in his monastic practice, he very nearly killed himself through fasting and exposure. Even then, "Luther could not believe that God was placated by his efforts to do his best for his salvation" (Lindberg, 69). Faced with the implication that imperfect humans could never be saved, Luther returned to scripture and had something of an epiphany, if the expression may be used.
What did Herr Luther see? In short, he concluded that piety is not about achievement, but about expressing a kind of contentment. As described by Lindberg, Luther concluded that "We do not do good works in order to become acceptable to God; rather, because God accepts us we do good works," shifting the relationship between man and God from an "if...then" to a "because...therefore" argument (Lindberg, 70). For Luther, it was not a matter of "If I do good, then God will love me," but rather, "Because God loves me, therefore I do good."
I think a lot of relationships in our lives are premised on an if...then basis. If you work hard and show enthusiasm, then most teachers will find you a good student. If you can help a team win the match, then the coach will usually be glad to have you. A musician who's willing to work hard, learn the music, and come to class prepared is what most band directors would likely consider a model student. It seems so common, and yet it's based entirely on conditions. "If you do what I want, then I will lavish you with praise," can just as easily become "If you don't do what I want, then I will lavish you with ridicule." In such cases, our good-will is conditional and revocable.
Perhaps this is simply the only way most people can be motivated, but, as I mentioned above, what if we're missing something important here?
What if we could simply be content with who we are? "I'm not a professional musician, but because I love music I make music." When people accept you for who you are, there's no pressure to do anything except what you love most to do.
A runner who loves to run will run regardless if he or she is ordered or not. A writer who loves to write will write no matter what.
The crazy thing about all this is that, in many ways, Aristotle's second idea from above is often proved in practice; people who do something a lot tend to get better at it. Put simply, they improve without feeling any pressure to improve. Their daily practice becomes an expression of their contentment, rather than an achievement for the pleasing of others. The difference is subtle, but the implications are possibly enormous.
Mr. Babauta's post remains shocking to me, but perhaps that is because of how deeply the notion of self-improvement is inscribed within my social context. Yet it seems entirely possible to learn, improve, and be happy without the constant pressure to get better...or else. Regardless of your religion (or lack thereof), perhaps Luther's interpretation has something valuable for all of us; that the good life, no matter your definition, is at its heart an expression and not an achievement. Something perhaps to consider.
Happy Friday :)
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Is college broken, or are student's distracted?
The Economist blogger Schumpeter recently wrote a thought-provoking entry in the December 10th edition of the paper entitled University Challenge, in which the author discusses "the need" for "American universities...to be more businesslike."
The basic argument of the post is as follows. The rising cost of higher education is symptomatic of "much deeper problems: problems that were irritating during the years of affluence but which are cancerous in an age of austerity."According to Schumpeter, these problems include, "the inability to say 'no'" and what the blog terms, "Ivy-League envy." The first problem involves spending, in that many universities and colleges continuously seek to offer more (in the way of new courses, facilities, etc.) than present finances can adequately fund. The second problem--likely connected to the first--involves a deep-seated obsession for many schools to move up an "academic hierarchy, becoming a bit less like Yokel-U and a bit more like Yale." This obsession, according to the post, drives many schools toward an emphasis on research, an emphasis that leads to more scholarship than is feasibly useful, and less time spent teaching (see the entry for more details regarding this point). Within the context of this argument, Schumpeter cites Richard Arum and Josipa Roksa's book Academically Adrift (a review here from Inside Higher Ed), which contends that "over a third of America's students show no improvement in critical thinking or analytical reasoning after four years in college." The message then, according to Schumpeter, is that within an age of austerity, rising costs, coupled with student debt (topping $1trillion) and evidence of decreased learning should compel colleges and universities to "slim down, focus and embrace technology: American universities need to be more businesslike."
I will not pretend to know much about the details of what Schumpeter is discussing here. Having graduated from a liberal-arts institution about seven months ago, I have relevant experiences of contemporary college life, but not of administration and academic reform. Perhaps others more experienced and qualified will share their thoughts, for the benefit of us all.
Given all that, Schumpeter makes a number of points which warrant reflection. Student-debt is a real issue, especially when so few can earn enough to both pay off their debts and live creatively (though perhaps living creatively with debt will become a skill of which we shall see more in the coming years). Furthermore, if an obsession with research affects the quality of a professor's teaching, should colleges and universities put so much pressure on tenure-track professors to publish?
What is happening to our nation's colleges and universities? Costs and debt have certainly risen, but are students really studying less? Are they learning less, as research suggests? Does college administration put undo pressure on new professors to publish, perhaps even at the expense of their teaching?
I can't answer these questions, but I can offer some observations. First, I don't know if students today study less, but I have readily observed (and experienced) the pervasive nature of contemporary technology. For better or worse, online data-bases, key-word search options, and Google have all become potent assets of the undergraduate paper-writer.
Yet all these tools involve the Internet, where the potential for data-overload at best--and utter distraction at worse--is all too real. I can't count how many times I've observed people (myself included) multi-tasking through projects which, if we are really honest with ourselves, demands every faculty an undergraduate is likely to posess and then some, to do well. Yet if facebook updates from the most recent finals' week are any indication, many otherwise-insanely busy people still end up spending a lot of time in facebook-verse. Coupled with the "convenience" of such tools as Outlook, is it any wonder that a lot of people find writing a paper difficult? If true learning occurs when we're stretching our intellect and industry, few things seem more likely to thwart such efforts than the ever-present temptation of near-instant distraction.
Are student's learning less? I honestly don't know, but my experience suggests that those who figure out how they learn (and apply that knowledge) tend to do quite well. By this I mean people who figure out how to take useful notes, study efficiently, and have enough patience to do tedious work when necessary. These are not always the smartest folks, but they usually produce good results, and often end up smarter than everyone else anyway. If we really expect good results from everyone, however, then we might have to give them a model for how it might be done (and probably more than once).
Does faculty research interfere with teaching? This question is particularly beyond me, but my experience has been that it does not. I went to a small, liberal-arts college where many professors regularly conducted research. Their classes, however, were largely discussion-based, and their feed-back on papers was good. Most were also available during office-hours, and if you talked with them long enough, their experiences with research could prove very helpful. In short, professors conducting research can use their experiences to help students, if given the right context.
Must colleges and universities become more businesslike, as Schumpeter suggests? Perhaps yes, and perhaps not. My experience of having recently gone through the process suggest that other factors (aside from spiraling costs and "Ivy-League envy") may well be at work, particularly the potential negative aspects of technology. Computers can be so empowering, but I must admit they can be so terribly distracting as well. Helping people navigate these distractions may prove a most useful intervention for colleges and universities today. Something to consider.
Happy Thursday :)
The basic argument of the post is as follows. The rising cost of higher education is symptomatic of "much deeper problems: problems that were irritating during the years of affluence but which are cancerous in an age of austerity."According to Schumpeter, these problems include, "the inability to say 'no'" and what the blog terms, "Ivy-League envy." The first problem involves spending, in that many universities and colleges continuously seek to offer more (in the way of new courses, facilities, etc.) than present finances can adequately fund. The second problem--likely connected to the first--involves a deep-seated obsession for many schools to move up an "academic hierarchy, becoming a bit less like Yokel-U and a bit more like Yale." This obsession, according to the post, drives many schools toward an emphasis on research, an emphasis that leads to more scholarship than is feasibly useful, and less time spent teaching (see the entry for more details regarding this point). Within the context of this argument, Schumpeter cites Richard Arum and Josipa Roksa's book Academically Adrift (a review here from Inside Higher Ed), which contends that "over a third of America's students show no improvement in critical thinking or analytical reasoning after four years in college." The message then, according to Schumpeter, is that within an age of austerity, rising costs, coupled with student debt (topping $1trillion) and evidence of decreased learning should compel colleges and universities to "slim down, focus and embrace technology: American universities need to be more businesslike."
I will not pretend to know much about the details of what Schumpeter is discussing here. Having graduated from a liberal-arts institution about seven months ago, I have relevant experiences of contemporary college life, but not of administration and academic reform. Perhaps others more experienced and qualified will share their thoughts, for the benefit of us all.
Given all that, Schumpeter makes a number of points which warrant reflection. Student-debt is a real issue, especially when so few can earn enough to both pay off their debts and live creatively (though perhaps living creatively with debt will become a skill of which we shall see more in the coming years). Furthermore, if an obsession with research affects the quality of a professor's teaching, should colleges and universities put so much pressure on tenure-track professors to publish?
What is happening to our nation's colleges and universities? Costs and debt have certainly risen, but are students really studying less? Are they learning less, as research suggests? Does college administration put undo pressure on new professors to publish, perhaps even at the expense of their teaching?
I can't answer these questions, but I can offer some observations. First, I don't know if students today study less, but I have readily observed (and experienced) the pervasive nature of contemporary technology. For better or worse, online data-bases, key-word search options, and Google have all become potent assets of the undergraduate paper-writer.
Yet all these tools involve the Internet, where the potential for data-overload at best--and utter distraction at worse--is all too real. I can't count how many times I've observed people (myself included) multi-tasking through projects which, if we are really honest with ourselves, demands every faculty an undergraduate is likely to posess and then some, to do well. Yet if facebook updates from the most recent finals' week are any indication, many otherwise-insanely busy people still end up spending a lot of time in facebook-verse. Coupled with the "convenience" of such tools as Outlook, is it any wonder that a lot of people find writing a paper difficult? If true learning occurs when we're stretching our intellect and industry, few things seem more likely to thwart such efforts than the ever-present temptation of near-instant distraction.
Are student's learning less? I honestly don't know, but my experience suggests that those who figure out how they learn (and apply that knowledge) tend to do quite well. By this I mean people who figure out how to take useful notes, study efficiently, and have enough patience to do tedious work when necessary. These are not always the smartest folks, but they usually produce good results, and often end up smarter than everyone else anyway. If we really expect good results from everyone, however, then we might have to give them a model for how it might be done (and probably more than once).
Does faculty research interfere with teaching? This question is particularly beyond me, but my experience has been that it does not. I went to a small, liberal-arts college where many professors regularly conducted research. Their classes, however, were largely discussion-based, and their feed-back on papers was good. Most were also available during office-hours, and if you talked with them long enough, their experiences with research could prove very helpful. In short, professors conducting research can use their experiences to help students, if given the right context.
Must colleges and universities become more businesslike, as Schumpeter suggests? Perhaps yes, and perhaps not. My experience of having recently gone through the process suggest that other factors (aside from spiraling costs and "Ivy-League envy") may well be at work, particularly the potential negative aspects of technology. Computers can be so empowering, but I must admit they can be so terribly distracting as well. Helping people navigate these distractions may prove a most useful intervention for colleges and universities today. Something to consider.
Happy Thursday :)
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Learning Optimism
"A pessimist sees the difficulty in every opportunity; an optimist sees the opportunity in every difficulty." -Winston Churchill
In 1967, pyschologists Martin Seligman and Steven Maier made an unusual disovery while experimenting with classically-conditioned dogs. They found that dogs which had been repeatedly exposed to random, mild electric shocks proved incapable of escaping the shocks when opportunities were later presented. Interestingly, this did not prove the case with dogs which had not been previously shocked, or those which had been shocked but also given the power to stop the shocks by touching a button. In short, the dogs which experienced random, inescapable shocks proved helpless against later shocks when opportunities for escape became available. They had, according to Seligman, "learned helplessness."
Dr. Seligman later proved the existence of "learned helplessness" in humans, suggesting in his 1998 work "Learned Optimism" that a habitual, negative "explanatory style" could lead humans to feeling helpless even in the face of contrary evidence. In other words, how you regularly interpret adversity plays a strong role in shaping your ability to adapt to novel circumstances (source). In this way, Seligman contends--much like Sharon Begley, author of the the work "Train Your Mind, Change Your Brain" (summary here)--that "how you think" shapes "how you feel." Accordingly, just as it appears possible to "learn" helplessness, it is also possible, as the title of Dr. Seligman's book suggests, to "Learn[-] Optimism."
What can we learn from this? In short, that the way we "talk" with ourselves about events shapes our perceptions of how we might act (or fail to act) so to positivly affect them later. Thoughts can therefore both empower and repress that vital energy which goes into everything we do, from studying for finals to acting kindly to a stranger. So the next time you "talk" about adversity with yourself, I encourage you to consider the tone and language you use; in short, to "see the opportunity in every difficulty," rather than "the difficulty in every opportunity."
Happy Tuesday :)
In 1967, pyschologists Martin Seligman and Steven Maier made an unusual disovery while experimenting with classically-conditioned dogs. They found that dogs which had been repeatedly exposed to random, mild electric shocks proved incapable of escaping the shocks when opportunities were later presented. Interestingly, this did not prove the case with dogs which had not been previously shocked, or those which had been shocked but also given the power to stop the shocks by touching a button. In short, the dogs which experienced random, inescapable shocks proved helpless against later shocks when opportunities for escape became available. They had, according to Seligman, "learned helplessness."
Dr. Seligman later proved the existence of "learned helplessness" in humans, suggesting in his 1998 work "Learned Optimism" that a habitual, negative "explanatory style" could lead humans to feeling helpless even in the face of contrary evidence. In other words, how you regularly interpret adversity plays a strong role in shaping your ability to adapt to novel circumstances (source). In this way, Seligman contends--much like Sharon Begley, author of the the work "Train Your Mind, Change Your Brain" (summary here)--that "how you think" shapes "how you feel." Accordingly, just as it appears possible to "learn" helplessness, it is also possible, as the title of Dr. Seligman's book suggests, to "Learn[-] Optimism."
What can we learn from this? In short, that the way we "talk" with ourselves about events shapes our perceptions of how we might act (or fail to act) so to positivly affect them later. Thoughts can therefore both empower and repress that vital energy which goes into everything we do, from studying for finals to acting kindly to a stranger. So the next time you "talk" about adversity with yourself, I encourage you to consider the tone and language you use; in short, to "see the opportunity in every difficulty," rather than "the difficulty in every opportunity."
Happy Tuesday :)
Friday, December 9, 2011
"Obsessed"
I found another Zen story this morning, and thought I would share it with you. It goes something like this:
Two travelling monks reached a river where they met a young woman. Wary of the current, she asked them if they would carry her across. One of the monks hesitated, but the other quickly picked her up onto his shoulders, transported her across the water, and put her down on the other bank. She thanked him and departed.
As the monks continued on their way, the one was brooding and preoccupied. Unable to hold his silence, he spoke out. "Brother, our spiritual training teaches us to avoid any contact with women, but you picked that one up on your shoulders and carried her!"
"Brother," the second monk replied, "I sat her down on the other side, while you are still carrying her."
(Source)
So what do you think? An interesting tale?
Perhaps not, but I did. I think it captures something interesting about the way people often think.
How so? The title of the story (given by the source anyway) is "Obsessed," and the story itself highlights this feeling on several levels. On one level, the monk who broods is obsessed with following the spiritual teachings of which he's familiar. When a woman comes along and asks something of him that requires physical contact, he hesitates out of respect for his religious instruction. After all, does it not say that physical contact with women is to be avoided?
One might view this as a healthy obsession, in that the brooding monk seeks to live the ideal of the teaching to which subscribes. In short, he takes it sufficiently serious, and is not entirely swayed by the course of events. In our culture, we might say that he is strong-willed, willing to act according to what he deems as right.
Yet on another level this obsession, which makes him laudable in one way, causes him trouble in another. For while the brooding monk acts rightly according to his understanding, this same understanding makes it exceedingly difficult for him to move on from the encounter.
The dilemma is highlighted by the answer of the other monk. "Brother," he says, "I sat her down on the other side, while you are still carrying her."
What does the other monk by this mean? Perhaps, while he might have physically carried the woman across the river, the other monk carried her as well, but in his mind rather than upon his shoulders. In this way, both monks "carried" the woman, but while the one provided a helpful service, the other merely disturbed his own peace of mind. To sum up, the first embraced the spirit of the teaching and abandoned the literal, while the second embraced the literal and abandoned the spirit. In the end, the first monk helped the woman and thought no more of it, while the second did not help the woman, and could think of nothing else.
The circumstance reminds me of two quotes by very different people. The first is by a fictitious Doaist monk named Po, who says "The purpose of discipline is the live more fully, not less." The second is by an American author named Samuel Clemens, better known as Mark Twain, who says "Never let schooling get in the way of your education." Somehow, both seem appropriate in reference to the above story.
But that's just my interpretation. Stories like this speak to people in all manner of ways, and there's really no wrong way to read it. I encourage you to think on the dilemma of the second monk (and the actions of the first monk) for yourself, and explore the ideas in a wholesome way. Much luck to you as always, and of course,
Happy Friday :)
Thursday, December 8, 2011
The Creative Attitude
Introduction: Waking up
Like some writers, one of the reasons I started blogging was to help me practice writing. My formal education (particularly college) emphasized the importance of writing, but for one reason or another its promise never really found expression in my pen, pencil, or keyboard. I graduated this past May feeling something like a fraud, having passed through a process meant to transform without feeling entirely transformed. How could this happen?
Following graduation, I spent several months considering this question, all the while coming to terms with the modern reality that a college education does not lead naturally to employment (to be fair, I had at least been warned of this prospect, but a warning and an experience might as well express two separate realities. I did eventually find work, stocking milk, eggs, meat, and other things in a grocery store refrigerator). In that time, I began encountering elements of writing that I had missed while still in school; elements that not only made my writing a little more intelligible, clear, and reasoned, but also that made writing something active, engaging, and--in a word--fun.
What was this new appreciation for written expression? What was this feeling that compelled me not only to write more, but also to create things I actually enjoyed? I realized it was something I was suppose to have experienced while in school, but was too busy to notice; something that all original and interesting work requires, yet is often taken for granted. It was a "something" that can thrive in a person under some circumstances, and be totally crushed under others. In short, the thing that I had come to rediscover in the months following the end of my formal education was precisely the thing that would have benefited it most. It was creativity.
Description: What is Creativity?
Creativity, what is that? The popular author and speaker Sir Ken Robinson suggests that creativity is "the process of having original ideas that have value," which "more often than not comes about through the interaction of different disciplinary ways of seeing things." This fits closely with the way traditional psychology defines the term, emphasizing the dual elements of "originality and functionality," and is characterized by "flexible thinking," its "most basic component." So to sum up, creativity appears to be a form of thinking, which is characterized by "originality," "functionality," flexibility, and an ability to interact with multiple perspectives.
Challenges: Circumstances which Discourage Creativity
In a video of his talk linked above, Sir Ken Robinson suggests that the circumstances in which a person finds themselves play a critical role in determining how creative that person can be at a given time. Accordingly, creative thought is in-part dependent on the environment. His claim is supported by scientific studies (an example described here), which found that both time-constraints and over-scheduling negatively affect creative thinking (interestingly, in this study time-constraints could sometimes increase creativity, but only when all other distractions were removed). Such conclusions are in accord with idea that human attention has a finite capacity (about 110 bits/second), and can be overtaxed (see here and here for older entries on the subject). In sum, certain types of pressure (notably time), coupled with over-scheduling can discourage creativity, even in otherwise-creative people. Particular circumstances can both hamper and invigorate creative thought.
Cultivating Creativity
In a 2009 article entitled "The Science of Creativity" Amy Novotney discusses some of the ways research suggests creativity thinking might be fostered. The first idea discussed is from the psychologist Robert Epstein, who finds that cultivating four habits improves creativity. These areas include:
1.) Recording new ideas
2.) Taking on difficult projects
3.) Studying fields outside your expertise
4.) Being around stimulating objects, places, and people
Ms. Novotney goes on to show research of other "practices" found to cultivate creativity, including the positive role of sleep and dreams, written collaboration, natural surroundings, and happiness (yes, a 2004 study finds that "sadness inhibits new ideas." So there's no need to be a depressed artist to create something great.)
Interestingly, research from 2009 suggests that particular types of experiences can also improve creative thinking over time. An article by William Maddux and Adam Galinsky discusses research which suggests that living abroad (and not simply travelling abroad) improved test subjects' ability to solve creative puzzles. According to Galinsky, '"This shows us that there is some sort of psychological transformation that needs to occur when people are living in a foreign country in order to enhance creativity. This may happen when people adapt themselves to a new culture."' Accordingly, Maddux suggests that, '"Knowing that experiences abroad are critical for creative output makes study abroad and job assignments in other countries that much more important, especially for people and countries that put a premium on creativity and innovation to stay competitive."'
Creativity's Challenge:
As the above discussion suggests, creativity is greatly affected by one's environment and habits. Too much stress, too little rest, and too many distractions all detract from one's ability to think flexibly and view problems from a variety of perspectives. So understood, one might begin to see creativity as, in part, the ability to devise a great many ideas. There's actually a test for creativity which does just this. It's called Guilford Alternative Uses Task, and it asks examinees "to list as many uses for a common household item" as they can in a given interval of time. The more uses (as well as the "originality" and "elaboration" on those uses) a person can give, the more creative their thinking is deemed to be. Try it yourself if you like.
When you're finished, there's another side to creativity described by the above definitions. Since creative thought inherently involves new, original thinking, it can (and often does) clash with the prevailing customs, mores, and paradigms of the day. Therefore, putting creativity to use (giving it "value" or making it "functional") sometimes requires not only an ability to have ideas, but also a willingness to pursue those ideas in the face of opposition. Under such circumstances, the creative person requires something to combat the negative environment which could potentially undermine the process.
In a earlier post, I discussed the functional role that failure is increasingly understood to play in the development of a resilient character. In light of that insight, I would suggest that the "something" necessary for combating negative creative environments may be found in the willingness to fail. This is a hard willingness to foster, particularly when the environment heavily discourages it. In college, failure was often viewed as a form of exhaustion at best, and utter laziness at worse. Rarely was it ever viewed as a learning experience, or as a helpful guide for future action (for example, how not to do something next time). The result of this experience meant that many (myself included) became highly-averse to any possibility of failure. This effectively put a cap on unorthodox thinking, and rendered many ways of thinking about a problem untouchable. This was a great shame.
Conclusion: The Creative Attitude
Many times, I've experienced myself and others lament that they never have any good ideas, and wish they were more creative.
My purpose here has been to encourage you to view creativity not simply as an ability, but as a fundamental process by which new things are born. It is a process which can thrive in a healthy, stimulative environment, and which can wither in a dull, hostile environment. In both cases, however, a willingness to fail and persevere appears necessary in order to bring new, original thinking to fruition.
In short, the creative attitude is more than ideas, intelligence, and support. All three are necessary, but the very nature of creativity as an engine of originality means that a character capable of handling opposition, set-backs, and long delays may be equally necessary. So it seems, learning how to create involves learning how to fail successfully. Much luck to you in this endeavor.
Happy Thursday, friends :)
Like some writers, one of the reasons I started blogging was to help me practice writing. My formal education (particularly college) emphasized the importance of writing, but for one reason or another its promise never really found expression in my pen, pencil, or keyboard. I graduated this past May feeling something like a fraud, having passed through a process meant to transform without feeling entirely transformed. How could this happen?
Following graduation, I spent several months considering this question, all the while coming to terms with the modern reality that a college education does not lead naturally to employment (to be fair, I had at least been warned of this prospect, but a warning and an experience might as well express two separate realities. I did eventually find work, stocking milk, eggs, meat, and other things in a grocery store refrigerator). In that time, I began encountering elements of writing that I had missed while still in school; elements that not only made my writing a little more intelligible, clear, and reasoned, but also that made writing something active, engaging, and--in a word--fun.
What was this new appreciation for written expression? What was this feeling that compelled me not only to write more, but also to create things I actually enjoyed? I realized it was something I was suppose to have experienced while in school, but was too busy to notice; something that all original and interesting work requires, yet is often taken for granted. It was a "something" that can thrive in a person under some circumstances, and be totally crushed under others. In short, the thing that I had come to rediscover in the months following the end of my formal education was precisely the thing that would have benefited it most. It was creativity.
Description: What is Creativity?
Creativity, what is that? The popular author and speaker Sir Ken Robinson suggests that creativity is "the process of having original ideas that have value," which "more often than not comes about through the interaction of different disciplinary ways of seeing things." This fits closely with the way traditional psychology defines the term, emphasizing the dual elements of "originality and functionality," and is characterized by "flexible thinking," its "most basic component." So to sum up, creativity appears to be a form of thinking, which is characterized by "originality," "functionality," flexibility, and an ability to interact with multiple perspectives.
Challenges: Circumstances which Discourage Creativity
In a video of his talk linked above, Sir Ken Robinson suggests that the circumstances in which a person finds themselves play a critical role in determining how creative that person can be at a given time. Accordingly, creative thought is in-part dependent on the environment. His claim is supported by scientific studies (an example described here), which found that both time-constraints and over-scheduling negatively affect creative thinking (interestingly, in this study time-constraints could sometimes increase creativity, but only when all other distractions were removed). Such conclusions are in accord with idea that human attention has a finite capacity (about 110 bits/second), and can be overtaxed (see here and here for older entries on the subject). In sum, certain types of pressure (notably time), coupled with over-scheduling can discourage creativity, even in otherwise-creative people. Particular circumstances can both hamper and invigorate creative thought.
Cultivating Creativity
In a 2009 article entitled "The Science of Creativity" Amy Novotney discusses some of the ways research suggests creativity thinking might be fostered. The first idea discussed is from the psychologist Robert Epstein, who finds that cultivating four habits improves creativity. These areas include:
1.) Recording new ideas
2.) Taking on difficult projects
3.) Studying fields outside your expertise
4.) Being around stimulating objects, places, and people
Ms. Novotney goes on to show research of other "practices" found to cultivate creativity, including the positive role of sleep and dreams, written collaboration, natural surroundings, and happiness (yes, a 2004 study finds that "sadness inhibits new ideas." So there's no need to be a depressed artist to create something great.)
Interestingly, research from 2009 suggests that particular types of experiences can also improve creative thinking over time. An article by William Maddux and Adam Galinsky discusses research which suggests that living abroad (and not simply travelling abroad) improved test subjects' ability to solve creative puzzles. According to Galinsky, '"This shows us that there is some sort of psychological transformation that needs to occur when people are living in a foreign country in order to enhance creativity. This may happen when people adapt themselves to a new culture."' Accordingly, Maddux suggests that, '"Knowing that experiences abroad are critical for creative output makes study abroad and job assignments in other countries that much more important, especially for people and countries that put a premium on creativity and innovation to stay competitive."'
Creativity's Challenge:
As the above discussion suggests, creativity is greatly affected by one's environment and habits. Too much stress, too little rest, and too many distractions all detract from one's ability to think flexibly and view problems from a variety of perspectives. So understood, one might begin to see creativity as, in part, the ability to devise a great many ideas. There's actually a test for creativity which does just this. It's called Guilford Alternative Uses Task, and it asks examinees "to list as many uses for a common household item" as they can in a given interval of time. The more uses (as well as the "originality" and "elaboration" on those uses) a person can give, the more creative their thinking is deemed to be. Try it yourself if you like.
When you're finished, there's another side to creativity described by the above definitions. Since creative thought inherently involves new, original thinking, it can (and often does) clash with the prevailing customs, mores, and paradigms of the day. Therefore, putting creativity to use (giving it "value" or making it "functional") sometimes requires not only an ability to have ideas, but also a willingness to pursue those ideas in the face of opposition. Under such circumstances, the creative person requires something to combat the negative environment which could potentially undermine the process.
In a earlier post, I discussed the functional role that failure is increasingly understood to play in the development of a resilient character. In light of that insight, I would suggest that the "something" necessary for combating negative creative environments may be found in the willingness to fail. This is a hard willingness to foster, particularly when the environment heavily discourages it. In college, failure was often viewed as a form of exhaustion at best, and utter laziness at worse. Rarely was it ever viewed as a learning experience, or as a helpful guide for future action (for example, how not to do something next time). The result of this experience meant that many (myself included) became highly-averse to any possibility of failure. This effectively put a cap on unorthodox thinking, and rendered many ways of thinking about a problem untouchable. This was a great shame.
Conclusion: The Creative Attitude
Many times, I've experienced myself and others lament that they never have any good ideas, and wish they were more creative.
My purpose here has been to encourage you to view creativity not simply as an ability, but as a fundamental process by which new things are born. It is a process which can thrive in a healthy, stimulative environment, and which can wither in a dull, hostile environment. In both cases, however, a willingness to fail and persevere appears necessary in order to bring new, original thinking to fruition.
In short, the creative attitude is more than ideas, intelligence, and support. All three are necessary, but the very nature of creativity as an engine of originality means that a character capable of handling opposition, set-backs, and long delays may be equally necessary. So it seems, learning how to create involves learning how to fail successfully. Much luck to you in this endeavor.
Happy Thursday, friends :)
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
"Empty your cup"
The Zen Buddhist tradition has contributed a number of things to the world, but perhaps one of the most interesting can be found its stories. I encountered the following story some years ago, but forgot about it until recently. It reads something like this:
"A university professor went to visit a famous Zen master. While the master quietly served tea, the professor talked about Zen. The master poured the visitor's cup to the brim, and then kept pouring. The professor watched the overflowing cup until he could no longer restrain himself. 'It's overfull, no more will go in!' the professor blurted. 'You are like this cup' the master replied, "How can I show you Zen unless you first empty your cup?"
(Source)
Recognize the tale? It's not long (less than 100 words in this telling), yet in its brevity the story also seems to capture an interesting facet of human psychology.
As discussed in an earlier post, positive psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi contends that the human brain is only capable of processing about 110 bits of information per second. Accordingly, a person's ability to focus and take in new information is based upon a fairly finite sum (about the amount of attention it takes to follow two spoken conversations at once).
Since a person's attentive powers are finite, they share a property with tea-cups, which have a finite volume. As the story above (and perhaps your own experience) suggests, you can only pour so much tea into a cup before it overflows. Similarly, when a person's attention becomes overwhelmed, their appraisal of an experience tends to revert toward sub-optimal mental states for learning and happiness(consider the graphic from earlier post).
In light of this fact, the Zen metaphor of a tea-cup for the mind makes sense. Like a tea-cup, you can't put anything more into a mind that is already preoccupied (and for all intents and purposes, full); a listener trying to follow two simultaneous conversations cannot equally attend to a third, given the finite capacity of human attention.
At the conclusion of the story, the Zen master asks rhetorically, "How can I show you Zen unless you first empty your cup?" Similarly, how can a person learn anything--or do anything challenging--without first emptying their mind?
n the words of the Tao-Te-Ching:
"We join spokes together in a wheel,
but it is the center hole that makes the wagon move.
We shape clay into a pot,
but it is the emptiness inside that holds whatever we want.
We hammer wood for a house,
but it's the inner space that makes it livable.
We work with being,
but non-being is what we use."
(Source)
Something to consider.
Happy Tuesday, friends :)
"A university professor went to visit a famous Zen master. While the master quietly served tea, the professor talked about Zen. The master poured the visitor's cup to the brim, and then kept pouring. The professor watched the overflowing cup until he could no longer restrain himself. 'It's overfull, no more will go in!' the professor blurted. 'You are like this cup' the master replied, "How can I show you Zen unless you first empty your cup?"
(Source)
Recognize the tale? It's not long (less than 100 words in this telling), yet in its brevity the story also seems to capture an interesting facet of human psychology.
As discussed in an earlier post, positive psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi contends that the human brain is only capable of processing about 110 bits of information per second. Accordingly, a person's ability to focus and take in new information is based upon a fairly finite sum (about the amount of attention it takes to follow two spoken conversations at once).
Since a person's attentive powers are finite, they share a property with tea-cups, which have a finite volume. As the story above (and perhaps your own experience) suggests, you can only pour so much tea into a cup before it overflows. Similarly, when a person's attention becomes overwhelmed, their appraisal of an experience tends to revert toward sub-optimal mental states for learning and happiness(consider the graphic from earlier post).
In light of this fact, the Zen metaphor of a tea-cup for the mind makes sense. Like a tea-cup, you can't put anything more into a mind that is already preoccupied (and for all intents and purposes, full); a listener trying to follow two simultaneous conversations cannot equally attend to a third, given the finite capacity of human attention.
At the conclusion of the story, the Zen master asks rhetorically, "How can I show you Zen unless you first empty your cup?" Similarly, how can a person learn anything--or do anything challenging--without first emptying their mind?
n the words of the Tao-Te-Ching:
"We join spokes together in a wheel,
but it is the center hole that makes the wagon move.
We shape clay into a pot,
but it is the emptiness inside that holds whatever we want.
We hammer wood for a house,
but it's the inner space that makes it livable.
We work with being,
but non-being is what we use."
(Source)
Something to consider.
Happy Tuesday, friends :)
Saturday, November 26, 2011
Talent vs. Training debate considered
Drs. Ross Tucker and Jonathan Dugas run a blog called The Science of Sport, on which they discuss and analyze the latest ideas in sports performance. It's a bit like posts on this blog, except that they're doctors and know a whole lot more than me. But as I'm sometimes told, you have to start somewhere so you might as well just dive in and learn.
Recently, Ross Tucker wrote a post on a discussion he had at a conference in London on the talent vs. training debate. In it, he challenges modern thinkers like Matthew Syed and Malcolm Gladwell, who claim that talent is a myth, and that success is merely a function of sufficient training and opportunity.
Dr. Tucker contends that such claims do two things. First, they states what many believe is obvious; that elite performance requires considerable practice. While talent alone may give some an advantage in a competition where no one is trained, that talent becomes increasingly insufficient as the quality of competition increases, or as Dr. Tucker writes:
"...individuals who attempt to [get] by on talent alone are washed away in this more competitive landscape...the key is that the athlete who succeeds all the way to the Olympic podium is the one who dominated without training (that is, he's talented or genetically gifted), but then trained incredibly hard to stay a champion as the competition intensified."
In this way, Dr. Tucker believes that thinkers like Syed and Gladwell simply state the obvious when they claim that practice is necessary for elite performance.
Accordingly, Dr. Tucker believes that the second thing Mr. Syed's and Gladwell's claims do is "unnecessarily polarize[-] the complexity of performance by ignoring genes and talent." As described above, Dr. Tucker does not believe that talent alone makes a champion when everyone is highly trained. But he does claim that talent and genes play a role in selecting those individuals who are peculiarly well-endowed for a particular activity. To be fair, Malcolm Gladwell in his book Outliers suggests something similar in the form of a "threshold," or a level of endowment which great achievers must usually possess. Gladwell describes this idea most clearly as follows:
"What Hudson is saying is that IQ is a lot like height in basketball. Does someone who is five foot six have a realistic chance of playing professional basketball? Not really. You need to be at least six foot or six one to play at that level, and, all things being equal, it's probably better to be six two than six one, and better to be six three than six two. But past a certain point, height stops mattering so much. A player who is is six foot eight is not automatically better than someone two inches shorter...A basketball player only has to be tall enough--and the same is true of intelligence. Intelligence has a threshold" (Gladwell 2008, 80).
In other words, as much as Gladwell points to practice, nurture, and other things later in his book, he too recognizes--on some level--the role that talent and genes play in performance.
But returning to Dr. Tucker's post, he ultimately concludes that "training is the realization of genetic potential." In other words, you need to practice if you want to be as good as your talent allows, but practice alone won't make a champion. Even Arthur Lydiard, a firm believer in the power of training to produce champions, pointed to the role of innate ability when he stressed that middle-distance runners needed natural speed to win the big race. Good practice only prepares the body to race, and get the racer to the last 200m "tireless" so they could use their natural speed for the finish, passing their less-conditioned (but often naturally faster) opponents.
And perhaps that is the lesson we should draw from Dr. Tucker's discussion of the issue. If you want to realize your full potential, it would seem that you absolutely must practice. Talent appears to be a vital component, but in a field of relatively equal talent (such as an Olympic final), other factors start coming into play. Differences in practice may prove the vital difference.
With that said, too much training can be as much if not more of a detriment than too little. As an earlier discussion on overtraining described, training more than the body can handle appears to lead to poor performance, and in the worse cases, "premature decline." Striking a balance appears essential.
So to summarize, Dr. Tucker contends:
1.) Practice alone does not make elite athletes (or elite performers)
2.) Genes (and variations of genes) and talent play an important role in performance.
3.) In a relatively equal talent pool, differences in training matter.
I encourage you to consider these points further, bearing in mind that as scientifically-based conclusions, they are subject to revision and improvement. Much luck!
Happy Saturday, friends :)
Thursday, November 24, 2011
A Wholesome Thanksgiving
Good morning, friends :). Or good afternoon, good evening, etc. In America (and perhaps elsewhere), today is Thanksgiving, one of my favorite holidays of the whole year. It has food, fellowship, and kindness. Perhaps the only positive thing it's missing is a musical tradition to match that of Christmas, but what can you do?
As it turns out, the idea of Thanksgiving may also be quite good for your health and happiness. For such is the power of gratitude, and its most potent outward expression--smiling--that perhaps it is in our own best interests to have multiple Thanksgivings each year. It is something at least to consider.
The growing scientific understanding of gratitude's positive effect on people was related a few days ago in an article from the online New York Times, entitled "A Serving of Gratitude May Save the Day." In it, writer John Tierney describes the benefits of feeling genuine gratitude. As it turns out, feeling grateful (but not indebted) markedly improves a person's happiness, self-esteem, and ability to empathize with others. Interestingly, this improved empathy also makes people less likely to retaliate when things don't go their way. As Dr. Michael McCullough is quoted as saying in the article, "'More than other emotions, gratitude is the emotion of friendship...It is part of a psychological system that causes people to raise their estimates of how much value they hold in the eyes of another person. Gratitude is what happens when someone does something that causes you to realize that you matter more to that person than you thought you did.'" For these reasons, Mr. Tierney suggests "a serving of gratitude" may well "save the day."
Yet it is not only a "serving of gratitude" that has a positive effect on people. As a recent TED talk by Ron Gutman describes, there is also a potent, yet "hidden power of smiling." As Mr. Gutman relates, research on the act of smiling shows tremendous benefits for those who frequently partake in the act. Smiling has been shown to influence the length of a person's life, the quality of their well-being, and the ways in which others regard each other. One study suggests that a single smile produces the same stimulation as eating 2,000 pounds of chocolate, or finding 16,000 pound sterling (approx. $25,000) on the ground. Sadly, only about 1/3 of adults smile more than 20 times per day, and 14% smile less than 5.
The good news is that smiling is also evolutionarily-contagious; the more you smile, the more likely others around you will also smile. And since each smile is equivalent to approximately 2,000 pounds of chocolate, or $25,000 cash, there is perhaps no greater gift one can give to someone for which they care.
Perhaps it's for these reasons that Thanksgiving is such a wonderful holiday in my eyes. For not only is the holiday a time of gratitude and thankfulness, but also one of family, friends, and smiles all around. Leaving aside nutritionally-dubious aspects of the holiday (copious amounts of beer, pumpkin-pie, stuffing, etc.), there appears to be a profoundly wholesome side to this day, one of the first "made-in-America" products we still have and cherish. Something to consider.
Happy Thanksgiving, friends :)
As it turns out, the idea of Thanksgiving may also be quite good for your health and happiness. For such is the power of gratitude, and its most potent outward expression--smiling--that perhaps it is in our own best interests to have multiple Thanksgivings each year. It is something at least to consider.
The growing scientific understanding of gratitude's positive effect on people was related a few days ago in an article from the online New York Times, entitled "A Serving of Gratitude May Save the Day." In it, writer John Tierney describes the benefits of feeling genuine gratitude. As it turns out, feeling grateful (but not indebted) markedly improves a person's happiness, self-esteem, and ability to empathize with others. Interestingly, this improved empathy also makes people less likely to retaliate when things don't go their way. As Dr. Michael McCullough is quoted as saying in the article, "'More than other emotions, gratitude is the emotion of friendship...It is part of a psychological system that causes people to raise their estimates of how much value they hold in the eyes of another person. Gratitude is what happens when someone does something that causes you to realize that you matter more to that person than you thought you did.'" For these reasons, Mr. Tierney suggests "a serving of gratitude" may well "save the day."
Yet it is not only a "serving of gratitude" that has a positive effect on people. As a recent TED talk by Ron Gutman describes, there is also a potent, yet "hidden power of smiling." As Mr. Gutman relates, research on the act of smiling shows tremendous benefits for those who frequently partake in the act. Smiling has been shown to influence the length of a person's life, the quality of their well-being, and the ways in which others regard each other. One study suggests that a single smile produces the same stimulation as eating 2,000 pounds of chocolate, or finding 16,000 pound sterling (approx. $25,000) on the ground. Sadly, only about 1/3 of adults smile more than 20 times per day, and 14% smile less than 5.
The good news is that smiling is also evolutionarily-contagious; the more you smile, the more likely others around you will also smile. And since each smile is equivalent to approximately 2,000 pounds of chocolate, or $25,000 cash, there is perhaps no greater gift one can give to someone for which they care.
Perhaps it's for these reasons that Thanksgiving is such a wonderful holiday in my eyes. For not only is the holiday a time of gratitude and thankfulness, but also one of family, friends, and smiles all around. Leaving aside nutritionally-dubious aspects of the holiday (copious amounts of beer, pumpkin-pie, stuffing, etc.), there appears to be a profoundly wholesome side to this day, one of the first "made-in-America" products we still have and cherish. Something to consider.
Happy Thanksgiving, friends :)
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
The effortless-effort of "Flow"
Have you ever performed a task during which all sense of the outside world seemed to vanish? Have you ever become so engrossed in an activity that you forgot to eat, sleep, or tend to your body's basic needs? Did the experience leave you feeling fulfilled, content, even blissful? If so, then it's likely you have entered what positive psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi terms "Flow," or a state of intense-yet-effortless concentration on a particular task.
Dr. Csikszentmihalyi is not the first person to investigate the foundations of the "Flow" experience. Daoists in ancient China developed a term called Wu wei, which translated can mean, "action without action," "effortless doing," or "without effort." These translations all correspond with Dr. Csikszentmihalyi's findings, in that a "Flow state" is inherently an effortless application of extreme effort.
Yet how is this possible? Dr. Csikszentmihalyi suggests that any experience is a function of two variables: challenges and skills. Different combinations of these make an experience interesting, boring, terrifying, etc.
Consider the graphic above. The point where all lines converge is the average of a person's daily experience (average challenge meets average skill). According to the graph, when the challenge value is below the average for a corresponding value of skill, the result falls somewhere between "Apathy" and "Relaxation" (imagine playing an easy video game, for instance, or performing a very simple task). Conversely, when the challenge value is above the average for a corresponding value of skill, the result usually falls between "Worry" and "Arousal" (for example, taking a test on unfamiliar material, or performing something difficult for the first time).
According to Dr. Csikszentmihalyi, "Flow" is an optimal combination of above-average challenges and skills. The experience occurs when a person performs a challenging task with a high degree of skill; i.e. a musician performing a difficult piece, a mountain-climber scaling a challenging peak, or simply a skilled reasoner solving a difficult puzzle. In all cases, the challenge is great, but remains within the upper-level of a person's ability. The combination absorbs a person's attention, which appears not only to allow them to do their best work, but also leaves them in a state of extreme happiness. "Flow" can therefore be imagined as a state of happiness brought on by extreme-yet-effortless concentration.
Furthermore, it appears that the concept of "Flow" corresponds with the growth of character, as described in an earlier post on the role of challenge and failure in this process. According to the above graphic, when a high challenge level is matched with a low skill level, the result is either "Worry" or "Anxiety." The suggested manner of alleviating this difficulty is to increase one's skill level until the discomfort is replaced with something more desirable. It seems possible, therefore, that the mechanism which drives the growth of character (as described in the earlier post) is founded in a need to develop one's skills so as to match the demands of high-challenge situations, and by such efforts--consciously or otherwise--to achieve the optimal balance.
A possible difficulty in drawing this connection is the role of effort in each case. In short, learning the necessary skills to make challenging tasks more manageable requires a great deal of "effortful-effort," if the term may be used. This occurs because such effort must, by necessity, occur outside the optimal "Flow" zone. Accordingly, the effort needed to affect a shift from the "Anxiety" zone to the "Flow" zone is highly inefficient, and therefore likely prone to failure. Perhaps this is one reason why people who seek to rapidly master a challenging subject or task usually fail; effortful-effort is not particularly rewarding in the short-term, nor is it intrinsically motivating. For this reason, failure is common with such an approach.
Yet not all is lost. According to the model, the effortless-effort associated with "Flow" is achieved when high challenge levels correspond with high skill levels. One could read this as meaning that in order to achieve effortless-effort (and thereby, "Flow"), one needs to already possess a high degree of skill. In actuality, however, it's not the degree of skill relative to other people that matters, but the degree of skill relative to one's own, unique average; a professional tennis player has a different average from a beginner. So for a complete novice, just hitting the ball over the net is a difficult task, and requires a relatively high degree of skill. While the expert finds such a task simple--even boring perhaps--the novice finds the task difficult yet possible. Focusing on this one task, the novice has created a situation where a (relatively) challenging task meets a (relatively) high degree of skill.
And this is how someone new to a skill might use the principles of "Flow" to improve their ability. By focusing on the smallest aspect of a task--what blogger Leo Baubata calls "The Half Step That Will Change Your Life"--a person can utilize the effortless-effort inherent in "Flow" to bring about genuine improvement, even as a beginner. It needn't be large improvement to be important. According to Mr. Baubata, the "first step" allows you to "do a second, then a third, but you can't do those without a first." By shrinking the challenge, the optimal combination of challenge and skill becomes possible even for people with little or no skill in a particular activity. In this way, "Flow" can be harnessed to help you concentrate as you learn and enjoy something new.
According to Dr. Csikszentmihalyi, the human brain is only capable of processing about 110 bits of information per second. In this way, our ability to pay attention to anything is finite and scarce. It therefore makes sense to maximize this attention to such things as benefit us. "Flow" is perhaps one of the most efficient ways in which the brain can not only focus on something difficult--helping us grow as professionals and people--but also produce a feeling of happiness and self-worth. Cultivating circumstances where this feeling is achieved seems like a valuable use of thought, time, and resources. I encourage you to consider the idea, and see how such circumstance may be produced in your own life.
Happy Tuesday, friends :)
Dr. Csikszentmihalyi is not the first person to investigate the foundations of the "Flow" experience. Daoists in ancient China developed a term called Wu wei, which translated can mean, "action without action," "effortless doing," or "without effort." These translations all correspond with Dr. Csikszentmihalyi's findings, in that a "Flow state" is inherently an effortless application of extreme effort.
Yet how is this possible? Dr. Csikszentmihalyi suggests that any experience is a function of two variables: challenges and skills. Different combinations of these make an experience interesting, boring, terrifying, etc.
According to Dr. Csikszentmihalyi, "Flow" is an optimal combination of above-average challenges and skills. The experience occurs when a person performs a challenging task with a high degree of skill; i.e. a musician performing a difficult piece, a mountain-climber scaling a challenging peak, or simply a skilled reasoner solving a difficult puzzle. In all cases, the challenge is great, but remains within the upper-level of a person's ability. The combination absorbs a person's attention, which appears not only to allow them to do their best work, but also leaves them in a state of extreme happiness. "Flow" can therefore be imagined as a state of happiness brought on by extreme-yet-effortless concentration.
Furthermore, it appears that the concept of "Flow" corresponds with the growth of character, as described in an earlier post on the role of challenge and failure in this process. According to the above graphic, when a high challenge level is matched with a low skill level, the result is either "Worry" or "Anxiety." The suggested manner of alleviating this difficulty is to increase one's skill level until the discomfort is replaced with something more desirable. It seems possible, therefore, that the mechanism which drives the growth of character (as described in the earlier post) is founded in a need to develop one's skills so as to match the demands of high-challenge situations, and by such efforts--consciously or otherwise--to achieve the optimal balance.
A possible difficulty in drawing this connection is the role of effort in each case. In short, learning the necessary skills to make challenging tasks more manageable requires a great deal of "effortful-effort," if the term may be used. This occurs because such effort must, by necessity, occur outside the optimal "Flow" zone. Accordingly, the effort needed to affect a shift from the "Anxiety" zone to the "Flow" zone is highly inefficient, and therefore likely prone to failure. Perhaps this is one reason why people who seek to rapidly master a challenging subject or task usually fail; effortful-effort is not particularly rewarding in the short-term, nor is it intrinsically motivating. For this reason, failure is common with such an approach.
Yet not all is lost. According to the model, the effortless-effort associated with "Flow" is achieved when high challenge levels correspond with high skill levels. One could read this as meaning that in order to achieve effortless-effort (and thereby, "Flow"), one needs to already possess a high degree of skill. In actuality, however, it's not the degree of skill relative to other people that matters, but the degree of skill relative to one's own, unique average; a professional tennis player has a different average from a beginner. So for a complete novice, just hitting the ball over the net is a difficult task, and requires a relatively high degree of skill. While the expert finds such a task simple--even boring perhaps--the novice finds the task difficult yet possible. Focusing on this one task, the novice has created a situation where a (relatively) challenging task meets a (relatively) high degree of skill.
And this is how someone new to a skill might use the principles of "Flow" to improve their ability. By focusing on the smallest aspect of a task--what blogger Leo Baubata calls "The Half Step That Will Change Your Life"--a person can utilize the effortless-effort inherent in "Flow" to bring about genuine improvement, even as a beginner. It needn't be large improvement to be important. According to Mr. Baubata, the "first step" allows you to "do a second, then a third, but you can't do those without a first." By shrinking the challenge, the optimal combination of challenge and skill becomes possible even for people with little or no skill in a particular activity. In this way, "Flow" can be harnessed to help you concentrate as you learn and enjoy something new.
According to Dr. Csikszentmihalyi, the human brain is only capable of processing about 110 bits of information per second. In this way, our ability to pay attention to anything is finite and scarce. It therefore makes sense to maximize this attention to such things as benefit us. "Flow" is perhaps one of the most efficient ways in which the brain can not only focus on something difficult--helping us grow as professionals and people--but also produce a feeling of happiness and self-worth. Cultivating circumstances where this feeling is achieved seems like a valuable use of thought, time, and resources. I encourage you to consider the idea, and see how such circumstance may be produced in your own life.
Happy Tuesday, friends :)
Monday, November 21, 2011
My first marathon
I ran my first marathon yesterday, finishing in a time of 4:43:18. That's approximately 10:48/mile, or 6:43/kilometer. It was in Philadelphia, and the weather was lovely.
The race began well enough, even though I ended up in the wrong corral (a designated wave of runners, arranged according to their predicted finishing time, so as to prevent traffic jams), and I cruised through the early miles slightly behind the 3:40 pace group. The first half of the race progressed easy enough, and later calculation revealed an 8:20/mile average for that 13.1 mile stretch. Considering that the longest sustained run I had managed in the previous three month involved an easy 5-miler with Dan and Dante, I considered this a positive development.
Things continued to progress well, until suddenly they didn't. This occurred just after mile 14, when I felt the need to walk for a bit. I managed to run a bit a few minutes later, but could only manage 10 minutes before needing to walk again. So I decided to try walking for 5 minutes and running for 10. This quickly became "walking for 10 minutes and running for 5." By mile 17, it became "run for 30 seconds whenever possible." By mile 19, I began counting steps up to 60, then starting over. By mile 20, I continued the exercise, only counting every other step. When mile 22 rolled around, I was down to counting every 4th step up to 30, rather than 60. At mile 23, I counted every 4th step up to 20.
At this point, I managed to jog through the mile-markers, and for a short interval after them before returning to a trudge. At mile 25, I jogged through the mile as usual, but instead of slowing to a walk, I just kept on running. From there I began to accelerate, a fact which surprised me as much as it seemed to surprise the hordes of people I managed to pass in that last 1.2 miles. Even a gradual incline near the finish didn't seem to slow me down; the pace, if anything, seemed to quicken. In the space of a few minutes, things had gone from a hopeless march to a spirited finish. The final stretch felt like the finishing kick of a PR cross-country race, or the end of a well-fought 10K. To the sound of a cheering crowd and Bart Yasso's commentary, I crossed the line with a smile on my face, happy to have survived my first marathon.
The race began well enough, even though I ended up in the wrong corral (a designated wave of runners, arranged according to their predicted finishing time, so as to prevent traffic jams), and I cruised through the early miles slightly behind the 3:40 pace group. The first half of the race progressed easy enough, and later calculation revealed an 8:20/mile average for that 13.1 mile stretch. Considering that the longest sustained run I had managed in the previous three month involved an easy 5-miler with Dan and Dante, I considered this a positive development.
Things continued to progress well, until suddenly they didn't. This occurred just after mile 14, when I felt the need to walk for a bit. I managed to run a bit a few minutes later, but could only manage 10 minutes before needing to walk again. So I decided to try walking for 5 minutes and running for 10. This quickly became "walking for 10 minutes and running for 5." By mile 17, it became "run for 30 seconds whenever possible." By mile 19, I began counting steps up to 60, then starting over. By mile 20, I continued the exercise, only counting every other step. When mile 22 rolled around, I was down to counting every 4th step up to 30, rather than 60. At mile 23, I counted every 4th step up to 20.
At this point, I managed to jog through the mile-markers, and for a short interval after them before returning to a trudge. At mile 25, I jogged through the mile as usual, but instead of slowing to a walk, I just kept on running. From there I began to accelerate, a fact which surprised me as much as it seemed to surprise the hordes of people I managed to pass in that last 1.2 miles. Even a gradual incline near the finish didn't seem to slow me down; the pace, if anything, seemed to quicken. In the space of a few minutes, things had gone from a hopeless march to a spirited finish. The final stretch felt like the finishing kick of a PR cross-country race, or the end of a well-fought 10K. To the sound of a cheering crowd and Bart Yasso's commentary, I crossed the line with a smile on my face, happy to have survived my first marathon.
Friday, November 18, 2011
Your honest passion
The online New York Times recently published an article entitled, "As New Graduates Return to Nest, Economy Also Feels the Pain." Written by Catherine Rampell, the article describes an unusual consequence of increasing numbers of college graduates returning home after college because of poor job prospects. In short, it's not just that the unemployed buy less stuff generally (which reduces economic activity); rather it's that the unemployed (particularly the young) also don't start households, which can have a powerful effect on a country's total economic output.
It's an interesting issue, and could prove difficult to fix. The reason is because establishing house-holds appears to require not only consistent and sufficient income, but also confidence that the larger economy is doing well. The problem arises when people with otherwise sufficient means refuse to start their own house-holds because they deem it unwise given the barren and uncertain times. As the article suggests, the combination of high-unemployment among potential house-hold starters, and the low-confidence in people of marginal exacerbates what John Maynard Keynes termed the "paradox of thrift." "Saving is good for the individual," says Ms. Rampell, "but en masse can hurt the economy by reducing demand."
The good news is that some economists believe pent-up housing demand needs only an improvement in employment (or in employment prospects) to reverse the current trend. As it is estimated that such demand could top 1.1 million houses, and that the establishment of a single house-hold adds approximately $145,000 in total output, improvements in this regard could have a pronounced effect on the national economy.
This argument suggests that one way to improve economic growth in the US today is to release the constraints which currently hold back demand in the housing market, namely high unemployment and low confidence. While President Obama's jobs bill seeks to address both issues, the ideological struggles of the government in our time make compromise difficult. Perhaps it's possible to remedy such ills without the government.
One method is entrepreneurship. As a recent post by Washington Post blogger John Harrison describes, while entrepreneurship in US is down 0.3% since 2009 (7.7% compared to 8.0%) necessity-driven entrepreneurship is up 5% (28% compared to 23%) in that same interval. In short, more people are turning to entrepreneurship because they need it to earn a living rather than because they have a stellar idea.
Interestingly, a growing number of bloggers and "netizens" advocate just such an approach for helping the unemployed, underemployed, or otherwise-unhappily employed find work for which they feel passionate. A major advocate of this approach is Leo Babauta, founder of blog Zen Habits, who among other things encourages readers to improve their lives one habit at a time. Keeping things simple, he believes, can help people discover their passion in life, and from there follow it. With technology empowering millions of people as never before, the possibilities for people to contribute to society are great.
In short, it appears that we live in a time when the ability to create our own job has never been more possible or necessary. With anemic economic growth, global uncertainty, and dysfunctional government, the current times appear ripe with danger and opportunity; danger, in that we might find ourselves unemployed, ill-used, or without the means to live creatively; and opportunity, in that the context has never provided so many tools for helping us improve our position. The future prosperity of our country depends on us finding those things we do best, and expressing those abilities with the tools of our times. Your honest passion, given a chance to grow, may not only promote prosperity in the land, but also assist you in living a happy and healthy life. I wish you all much luck.
Happy Friday, friends :)
It's an interesting issue, and could prove difficult to fix. The reason is because establishing house-holds appears to require not only consistent and sufficient income, but also confidence that the larger economy is doing well. The problem arises when people with otherwise sufficient means refuse to start their own house-holds because they deem it unwise given the barren and uncertain times. As the article suggests, the combination of high-unemployment among potential house-hold starters, and the low-confidence in people of marginal exacerbates what John Maynard Keynes termed the "paradox of thrift." "Saving is good for the individual," says Ms. Rampell, "but en masse can hurt the economy by reducing demand."
The good news is that some economists believe pent-up housing demand needs only an improvement in employment (or in employment prospects) to reverse the current trend. As it is estimated that such demand could top 1.1 million houses, and that the establishment of a single house-hold adds approximately $145,000 in total output, improvements in this regard could have a pronounced effect on the national economy.
This argument suggests that one way to improve economic growth in the US today is to release the constraints which currently hold back demand in the housing market, namely high unemployment and low confidence. While President Obama's jobs bill seeks to address both issues, the ideological struggles of the government in our time make compromise difficult. Perhaps it's possible to remedy such ills without the government.
One method is entrepreneurship. As a recent post by Washington Post blogger John Harrison describes, while entrepreneurship in US is down 0.3% since 2009 (7.7% compared to 8.0%) necessity-driven entrepreneurship is up 5% (28% compared to 23%) in that same interval. In short, more people are turning to entrepreneurship because they need it to earn a living rather than because they have a stellar idea.
Interestingly, a growing number of bloggers and "netizens" advocate just such an approach for helping the unemployed, underemployed, or otherwise-unhappily employed find work for which they feel passionate. A major advocate of this approach is Leo Babauta, founder of blog Zen Habits, who among other things encourages readers to improve their lives one habit at a time. Keeping things simple, he believes, can help people discover their passion in life, and from there follow it. With technology empowering millions of people as never before, the possibilities for people to contribute to society are great.
In short, it appears that we live in a time when the ability to create our own job has never been more possible or necessary. With anemic economic growth, global uncertainty, and dysfunctional government, the current times appear ripe with danger and opportunity; danger, in that we might find ourselves unemployed, ill-used, or without the means to live creatively; and opportunity, in that the context has never provided so many tools for helping us improve our position. The future prosperity of our country depends on us finding those things we do best, and expressing those abilities with the tools of our times. Your honest passion, given a chance to grow, may not only promote prosperity in the land, but also assist you in living a happy and healthy life. I wish you all much luck.
Happy Friday, friends :)
Sunday, November 13, 2011
The New Teacher
The Wall St. Journal online had this article posted the other day, entitled "My Teacher Is an App," by Stephanie Banchero and Stephanie Simon. It details the recent surge in online cyber-schooled students, whose full-time enrollment has increased 40% in just the last three years. Where once such schooling catered only to the otherwise-occupied (young elite-athletes, child-actors/actresses, etc.), the current batch of new enrollments hail from all across the social spectrum.
Results of this surge are so far mixed. As the article more fully relates, in some cases test scores went up when kids engaged in a cyber-school, and in others the scores went down. The lack of a full-time teacher building lesson plans and actively working with students proved disastrous on some occasions, and perfectly fine in others. Perhaps the only consistent winners in these cases have been state budgets (though incidentally, not school districts' budgets) which save considerable sums when students switch from ordinary schools to a cyber-schools.
Given that, the cyber direction could well point to the future, especially the hybrid variety, which includes both human and computerized teachers. With increasingly sophisticated teaching games--which adapt to a student's ability over time--it might be possible to individualize education so that students are grouped according to their actual ability in a subject rather than by their age. So while today one might group all 8-9 year-olds into "Third Grade," a hybrid-cyber approach might group them according to their specific ability in each subject. For example, students with a particular aptitude for math might progress to learning algebra by the time they're 9, while those who struggle with the subject might remain on material deemed by today's standards "below grade-level." The potential beauty of this approach--assuming sufficiently adaptable software--is the specificity with which a student's ability could not only be assessed, but also matched with the type and level of work most congruent with that ability. So whether a student is "quick" or "slow" in picking up a subject, an adaptive cyber approach would allow them to set their own pace.
To use an analogy, in distance-running (a subject I've studied more than pedagogy), specific stresses yield specific adaptations. Accordingly, it stands to reason that any coach who seeks to improve the performance of his or her charges should endeavor to provide the specific stress that each athlete requires for improvement. Like students, all athletes are unique in their abilities, and therefore have unique needs. The task of the coach then becomes two-fold; to assess the specific needs of each athlete, and to develop a program for providing those needs in an optimal way.
For teachers, one potential benefit and challenge inherent in the cyber-hybrid approach could involve the increased attention they might give particular students. With computers doing the "base" assessment and teaching through adaptive games, teachers could concentrate on the more nuanced educational (and ancillary) needs of their charges. What are the student's particular interests? Do they have a healthy lifestyle? What is the nature of their particular temperament? And how easily do they bounce back from adversity? While experience suggests that this is already done, perhaps it is possible that the current system forces teachers to teach too much like a computer, and not enough like a human.
And that's the real benefit I see from the increasing use of cyber teaching methods. It's not that computers are better at teaching people new things; in most ways I would suggest they're not. Rather, the benefit is the potential freedom it gives both teachers and students to work together toward a student's self-realization. Most would agree that knowledge is a necessary component of schooling, but knowledge alone does not yield achievement or contentment. As discussed in an earlier post on the constructive role of failure, research suggests that "character" is at least as important as knowledge in achievement, be it in schooling, professional careers, or simply in attaining happiness. Given the critical role that character plays in these fields, it would seem essential that a student's education should assist in developing it.
Perhaps computers will one day allow teachers to specialize in the study and development of character, which today seems relegated to secondary importance by an emphasis on content and skill-based exams. Perhaps the trend toward greater cyber instruction will give teachers the space and perspective they need to be foremost active agents in the development of that mysterious quality of "mental-toughness" that seems so essential to doing almost any difficult task. Something to consider.
Happy Thursday, friends :)
Results of this surge are so far mixed. As the article more fully relates, in some cases test scores went up when kids engaged in a cyber-school, and in others the scores went down. The lack of a full-time teacher building lesson plans and actively working with students proved disastrous on some occasions, and perfectly fine in others. Perhaps the only consistent winners in these cases have been state budgets (though incidentally, not school districts' budgets) which save considerable sums when students switch from ordinary schools to a cyber-schools.
Given that, the cyber direction could well point to the future, especially the hybrid variety, which includes both human and computerized teachers. With increasingly sophisticated teaching games--which adapt to a student's ability over time--it might be possible to individualize education so that students are grouped according to their actual ability in a subject rather than by their age. So while today one might group all 8-9 year-olds into "Third Grade," a hybrid-cyber approach might group them according to their specific ability in each subject. For example, students with a particular aptitude for math might progress to learning algebra by the time they're 9, while those who struggle with the subject might remain on material deemed by today's standards "below grade-level." The potential beauty of this approach--assuming sufficiently adaptable software--is the specificity with which a student's ability could not only be assessed, but also matched with the type and level of work most congruent with that ability. So whether a student is "quick" or "slow" in picking up a subject, an adaptive cyber approach would allow them to set their own pace.
To use an analogy, in distance-running (a subject I've studied more than pedagogy), specific stresses yield specific adaptations. Accordingly, it stands to reason that any coach who seeks to improve the performance of his or her charges should endeavor to provide the specific stress that each athlete requires for improvement. Like students, all athletes are unique in their abilities, and therefore have unique needs. The task of the coach then becomes two-fold; to assess the specific needs of each athlete, and to develop a program for providing those needs in an optimal way.
For teachers, one potential benefit and challenge inherent in the cyber-hybrid approach could involve the increased attention they might give particular students. With computers doing the "base" assessment and teaching through adaptive games, teachers could concentrate on the more nuanced educational (and ancillary) needs of their charges. What are the student's particular interests? Do they have a healthy lifestyle? What is the nature of their particular temperament? And how easily do they bounce back from adversity? While experience suggests that this is already done, perhaps it is possible that the current system forces teachers to teach too much like a computer, and not enough like a human.
And that's the real benefit I see from the increasing use of cyber teaching methods. It's not that computers are better at teaching people new things; in most ways I would suggest they're not. Rather, the benefit is the potential freedom it gives both teachers and students to work together toward a student's self-realization. Most would agree that knowledge is a necessary component of schooling, but knowledge alone does not yield achievement or contentment. As discussed in an earlier post on the constructive role of failure, research suggests that "character" is at least as important as knowledge in achievement, be it in schooling, professional careers, or simply in attaining happiness. Given the critical role that character plays in these fields, it would seem essential that a student's education should assist in developing it.
Perhaps computers will one day allow teachers to specialize in the study and development of character, which today seems relegated to secondary importance by an emphasis on content and skill-based exams. Perhaps the trend toward greater cyber instruction will give teachers the space and perspective they need to be foremost active agents in the development of that mysterious quality of "mental-toughness" that seems so essential to doing almost any difficult task. Something to consider.
Happy Thursday, friends :)
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Weight-training and distance running
In the last few posts, we've discussed a number of running-related topics, including: bare-foot running, peaking, and overtraining. As we've seen, there's some controversy surrounding these topics, and in each case I've advised readers to both experiment with and think critically about the facts, theories, and opinions inherent in each before taking their conclusions at face value. Put simply, the human body is very complex, and can vary in small but critical ways (so far as distance running is concerned) from one person to the next. So it seems important not only to read, but also to think and experiment so as to find the training methods that work best for you. Sound research and a coach can be helpful in this pursuit, but may not prove necessary. As always, due caution is advised.
The topic I'd like to discuss today is weight-training for distance runners. Just as competitive runners almost invariably consider whether to embrace a high or low-mileage training scheme, it's not uncommon for those same runners to eventually consider whether they should do weight-training.
Not surprisingly, fanatics exist on both sides of the debate. Historically, the Australian Percy Cerutty is one early example of a coach who whole-heartily embraced weight-training. Among other things (Cerutty never allowed his athletes to drink milk, consume white flour, or drink water during or shortly after meals), his athletes were said to lift three times per week, each session lasting two hours (link). Most famously, he required anyone he coached to be able to lift, in some manner, one's body weight above one's head. This training he supplemented with intense bare-foot fartleks over sand-dunes, long runs in natural locations, and a holistic philosophy that included moderate alcohol consumption, no smoking, and no staying up past mid-night.
On the other side of the issue, the New-Zealander Arthur Lydiard considered weight training anathema for distance runners, suggesting that runners lift weights for their legs only if no hills were available. In several of his books, Lydiard points to Lasse Viren, the Finnish runner who won the gold medal at the 5,000m and 10,000m at both the 1972 and 1976 Olympic Games, as having the ideal shape of a distance runner. Viren's "plucked chicken" look seemed to Lydiard the closest thing to a perfect distance-running build then available. A brief glance at most large cross-country invitationals (be it college or high school) today reveals the continuing appeal of this idea.
According to Kenny Moore, Bill Bowerman, a famous coach at the University of Oregon, felt that Lydiard's New Zealand runners could forgo weight-training because they, "...still pitched hay and cut woods in New Zealand. 'If we did that...we wouldn't have to lift weights'" (Moore, 146). (As an interesting aside, Geoffrey Mutai--winner and course-record setter of this year's Boston and New York City marathons, including the fastest 26.2 mile marathon time ever recorded (2:03:02)--took up lumber-jacking before his break-out performances in 2011.Coincidence?) Moore notes that Bowerman's runners did pull-ups and other similar exercises, and even swam some days so as to recover. Weight-training, then, appears to have held a small but important place in Bowerman's training regimin at Oregon.
It is this sort of position that most "moderates," if you will, espouse on the topic today. A review of some interesting studies in 2000 found that, "strength training is indeed beneficial to endurance athletes," most particularly when "it mimics the movements and actions of the athlete's sport." The review cautions, however, that it remains unclear whether strength-training benefits carry over into distances over 5,000m.
These conclusions are reinforced by a 1997 study performed on female runners, in which test subjects were given a 10-week program of strength and endurance work, and then compared to a control group given only endurance training. The study found that no increase in V02max resulted from the addition of strength training to an endurance regimen. However, running economy improved "significantly" in the Strength and Endurance group, a result which did not prove true with the Endurance-only group.
So it would appear that weight training can improve running economy. Based on the review linked above, this improvement would likely occur in runners whose strength-training closely mimicked the motions of running. The adaptation of specific muscles involved in running finds support in the Muscle Power Model, which "predicts that changes in exercise performance may result from increased muscle contractile function caused by biochemical adaptations in muscle that increase force production or the rate of sarcomere shortening, or both, independent of changes in neural recruitment by the brain" (Noakes, 38). A 1992 study of swimmers found similar conclusions regarding swimmers' muscles and the application of force against the water, stating, "'...it must be remembered that strength per se does not indicate fast swimming. The forces generated by the muscle must be effectively applied to the water if they are to propel the body. Thus, strength specifically is the key to swimming success'" (Noakes, 38). Accordingly, strength exercises that closely mimic the running motion could improve economy.
In conclusion, it would seem that weight training can have a positive effect on running performance, at least in races up to 5,000m in distance. I suspect the benefits would extend to almost any distance, but the literature I could find does not say. Improvements in running economy should mean that the same running speed can be maintained with less effort at any distance. This adaptation means not only potentially faster racing times, but also faster training paces. Weight-training may therefore allow an athlete to train at a more intense level, and reach a higher level of general fitness before beginning the race-specific sharpening training, as discussed in the post on peaking.
I encourage you to experiment with these ideas as you can. Consulting a knowledgeable trainer may help you to avoid common mistakes while weight-training, and by extension lessen the risk of injury. Dietary considerations should also be discussed, especially regarding protein and iron-intake. With some help and a careful approach, it seems likely that weight-training could benefit your competitive running.
Happy Thursday, friends :).
The topic I'd like to discuss today is weight-training for distance runners. Just as competitive runners almost invariably consider whether to embrace a high or low-mileage training scheme, it's not uncommon for those same runners to eventually consider whether they should do weight-training.
Not surprisingly, fanatics exist on both sides of the debate. Historically, the Australian Percy Cerutty is one early example of a coach who whole-heartily embraced weight-training. Among other things (Cerutty never allowed his athletes to drink milk, consume white flour, or drink water during or shortly after meals), his athletes were said to lift three times per week, each session lasting two hours (link). Most famously, he required anyone he coached to be able to lift, in some manner, one's body weight above one's head. This training he supplemented with intense bare-foot fartleks over sand-dunes, long runs in natural locations, and a holistic philosophy that included moderate alcohol consumption, no smoking, and no staying up past mid-night.
On the other side of the issue, the New-Zealander Arthur Lydiard considered weight training anathema for distance runners, suggesting that runners lift weights for their legs only if no hills were available. In several of his books, Lydiard points to Lasse Viren, the Finnish runner who won the gold medal at the 5,000m and 10,000m at both the 1972 and 1976 Olympic Games, as having the ideal shape of a distance runner. Viren's "plucked chicken" look seemed to Lydiard the closest thing to a perfect distance-running build then available. A brief glance at most large cross-country invitationals (be it college or high school) today reveals the continuing appeal of this idea.
According to Kenny Moore, Bill Bowerman, a famous coach at the University of Oregon, felt that Lydiard's New Zealand runners could forgo weight-training because they, "...still pitched hay and cut woods in New Zealand. 'If we did that...we wouldn't have to lift weights'" (Moore, 146). (As an interesting aside, Geoffrey Mutai--winner and course-record setter of this year's Boston and New York City marathons, including the fastest 26.2 mile marathon time ever recorded (2:03:02)--took up lumber-jacking before his break-out performances in 2011.Coincidence?) Moore notes that Bowerman's runners did pull-ups and other similar exercises, and even swam some days so as to recover. Weight-training, then, appears to have held a small but important place in Bowerman's training regimin at Oregon.
It is this sort of position that most "moderates," if you will, espouse on the topic today. A review of some interesting studies in 2000 found that, "strength training is indeed beneficial to endurance athletes," most particularly when "it mimics the movements and actions of the athlete's sport." The review cautions, however, that it remains unclear whether strength-training benefits carry over into distances over 5,000m.
These conclusions are reinforced by a 1997 study performed on female runners, in which test subjects were given a 10-week program of strength and endurance work, and then compared to a control group given only endurance training. The study found that no increase in V02max resulted from the addition of strength training to an endurance regimen. However, running economy improved "significantly" in the Strength and Endurance group, a result which did not prove true with the Endurance-only group.
So it would appear that weight training can improve running economy. Based on the review linked above, this improvement would likely occur in runners whose strength-training closely mimicked the motions of running. The adaptation of specific muscles involved in running finds support in the Muscle Power Model, which "predicts that changes in exercise performance may result from increased muscle contractile function caused by biochemical adaptations in muscle that increase force production or the rate of sarcomere shortening, or both, independent of changes in neural recruitment by the brain" (Noakes, 38). A 1992 study of swimmers found similar conclusions regarding swimmers' muscles and the application of force against the water, stating, "'...it must be remembered that strength per se does not indicate fast swimming. The forces generated by the muscle must be effectively applied to the water if they are to propel the body. Thus, strength specifically is the key to swimming success'" (Noakes, 38). Accordingly, strength exercises that closely mimic the running motion could improve economy.
In conclusion, it would seem that weight training can have a positive effect on running performance, at least in races up to 5,000m in distance. I suspect the benefits would extend to almost any distance, but the literature I could find does not say. Improvements in running economy should mean that the same running speed can be maintained with less effort at any distance. This adaptation means not only potentially faster racing times, but also faster training paces. Weight-training may therefore allow an athlete to train at a more intense level, and reach a higher level of general fitness before beginning the race-specific sharpening training, as discussed in the post on peaking.
I encourage you to experiment with these ideas as you can. Consulting a knowledgeable trainer may help you to avoid common mistakes while weight-training, and by extension lessen the risk of injury. Dietary considerations should also be discussed, especially regarding protein and iron-intake. With some help and a careful approach, it seems likely that weight-training could benefit your competitive running.
Happy Thursday, friends :).
Friday, November 4, 2011
Experimentation and Barefoot running
Christopher McDougall, best known for his 2009 book Born to Run, wrote a piece a few days ago in the online version of The New York Times Magazine entitled The Once and Future Way To Run. The article largely covers the major themes of Mr. McDougall's book: that humans have been constructed by evolution to be long-distance runners; traditional running shoes cause injuries; and barefoot running forces people to run naturally. According to McDougall, the "once and future way to run' is the light, "whisper-soft" stride of the experienced barefoot runner.
Mr. McDougall practices what he preaches, having become a barefoot runner after travelling in 2008 to Copper Canyon, Mexico, home of the Tarahumara Indians. The experience "transformed" him from a "broken-down, middle-aged, ex-runner" into a runner capable of completing a 50-mile ultra-marathon over extremely rigorous terrain. The race is described in Born to Run, and regardless of your interest in barefoot running generally, I'd definitely recommend it.
In the subsequent two years since the book was published, barefoot running has become and remains a major topic of discussion in the running community, though admittedly less so these days than a year ago. People have argued themselves hoarse over the supposed benefits of ditching running shoes, adopting a fore-foot strike, and lessening impacts forces. It seems probable that this debate is one reason why the minimalist shoe industry has grown into a $1.7 billion dollar business. Regardless, the issue seems to warrant investigation.
In the article, Mr. McDougall cites a 2010 US Army Public Health Command report which concludes that running shoes, "'had little influence on injuries.'" Runners' World columnist Amby Burfoot came to similar conclusions in his 2010 review of the "Dismal Science" surrounding research on the running shoe question. In that review, Mr. Burfoot noted that the current research suggested that some shoes increased the amount of torque experienced by foot during exercise, but that the precise relationship between increased torque and increased injury incidence remained unclear. Without a clear-cut understanding of that relationship, Mr. Burfoot ultimately decides that runners could probably get away with a more minimal shoe than they currently use, but that it would be wise to experiment first.
Exercise physiologist Jack Daniels expressed a similar opinion in a video interview on the subject. Taking up the debate on whether a fore-foot, mid-foot, or rear-foot foot-strike is most effective for running, Daniels concludes from his research that the matter is unclear, but that individual mechanics appear to influence what type of foot-strike is most economical for each runner. It is entirely possible that a life-time heel-striker is actually more economical with a fore-foot strike, but that doesn't automatically make a fore-foot strike desirable for everyone. As with the running shoe question, careful experimentation currently appears to be the most sure what of determining what is optimal for particular individuals so far as foot-strike patterns are concerned.
In that vein, the barefoot vs. running shoe and fore-foot vs. heel-strike debates are but guides revealing a continuum of possibility in one's training. People have run quite fast without shoes (just look at Abebe Bikila in the 1960 Olympic Marathon). Furthermore, Jack Daniels points out in the video from above that in one study, it was found that adding 100g to the foot leads to a 1% decrease in performance (about 1 minute in a marathon). Given the physics of circular motion, the amount of torque required to move an object (one's leg and foot through a stride) increases with both distance and force ( Torque = radius x Force, or Torque = radius x [(mass)(acceleration)]), so having more mass further from one's body (i.e. 10 ounce running shoes on one's foot as opposed to just one's foot) requires more torque to move it. But there is also the question of receiving return energy from the shoe itself, such that while it costs more energy to move a shoe-clad foot, the benefits of the shoe may outweigh the additional cost in torque.
More research is required on this matter, and I suspect that because everyone's body is high individual, that individual experimentation is therefore the best means of determining whether you're more economical with or without shoes; fore-foot striking, mid-foot striking, or heel-striking. It could well be that how you run now is precisely how you ought to run to achieve optimal performance. But you'll never know for sure (so far as one can be sure) without a little experimentation. Due caution is, of course, advised.
Happy Friday, friends :)
Mr. McDougall practices what he preaches, having become a barefoot runner after travelling in 2008 to Copper Canyon, Mexico, home of the Tarahumara Indians. The experience "transformed" him from a "broken-down, middle-aged, ex-runner" into a runner capable of completing a 50-mile ultra-marathon over extremely rigorous terrain. The race is described in Born to Run, and regardless of your interest in barefoot running generally, I'd definitely recommend it.
In the subsequent two years since the book was published, barefoot running has become and remains a major topic of discussion in the running community, though admittedly less so these days than a year ago. People have argued themselves hoarse over the supposed benefits of ditching running shoes, adopting a fore-foot strike, and lessening impacts forces. It seems probable that this debate is one reason why the minimalist shoe industry has grown into a $1.7 billion dollar business. Regardless, the issue seems to warrant investigation.
In the article, Mr. McDougall cites a 2010 US Army Public Health Command report which concludes that running shoes, "'had little influence on injuries.'" Runners' World columnist Amby Burfoot came to similar conclusions in his 2010 review of the "Dismal Science" surrounding research on the running shoe question. In that review, Mr. Burfoot noted that the current research suggested that some shoes increased the amount of torque experienced by foot during exercise, but that the precise relationship between increased torque and increased injury incidence remained unclear. Without a clear-cut understanding of that relationship, Mr. Burfoot ultimately decides that runners could probably get away with a more minimal shoe than they currently use, but that it would be wise to experiment first.
Exercise physiologist Jack Daniels expressed a similar opinion in a video interview on the subject. Taking up the debate on whether a fore-foot, mid-foot, or rear-foot foot-strike is most effective for running, Daniels concludes from his research that the matter is unclear, but that individual mechanics appear to influence what type of foot-strike is most economical for each runner. It is entirely possible that a life-time heel-striker is actually more economical with a fore-foot strike, but that doesn't automatically make a fore-foot strike desirable for everyone. As with the running shoe question, careful experimentation currently appears to be the most sure what of determining what is optimal for particular individuals so far as foot-strike patterns are concerned.
In that vein, the barefoot vs. running shoe and fore-foot vs. heel-strike debates are but guides revealing a continuum of possibility in one's training. People have run quite fast without shoes (just look at Abebe Bikila in the 1960 Olympic Marathon). Furthermore, Jack Daniels points out in the video from above that in one study, it was found that adding 100g to the foot leads to a 1% decrease in performance (about 1 minute in a marathon). Given the physics of circular motion, the amount of torque required to move an object (one's leg and foot through a stride) increases with both distance and force ( Torque = radius x Force, or Torque = radius x [(mass)(acceleration)]), so having more mass further from one's body (i.e. 10 ounce running shoes on one's foot as opposed to just one's foot) requires more torque to move it. But there is also the question of receiving return energy from the shoe itself, such that while it costs more energy to move a shoe-clad foot, the benefits of the shoe may outweigh the additional cost in torque.
More research is required on this matter, and I suspect that because everyone's body is high individual, that individual experimentation is therefore the best means of determining whether you're more economical with or without shoes; fore-foot striking, mid-foot striking, or heel-striking. It could well be that how you run now is precisely how you ought to run to achieve optimal performance. But you'll never know for sure (so far as one can be sure) without a little experimentation. Due caution is, of course, advised.
Happy Friday, friends :)
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Discussion of Peaking
So last week, we discussed the topic of overtraining, concluding that the human body--while considerably adaptable to stress--is fragile on the whole, and appears to pays a heavy price for years and decades of continuous heavy training.
With that said, training appears essential for bringing out any distance runner's fullest potential in the sport. The contemporary example of Galen Rupp under Alberto Salazar is but one example of how a sound training approach can yield improvements over the course of several years. Just because some genetically-gifted runners have performed incredible feats on little training does not mean their potential in the sport was ever reached. The question then seems to be, how shall one maximize one's racing potential while avoiding the chronic issues associated with overtraining? The method I'd like to discuss in this post is peaking.
In a 2005 article for Running Times magazine, Dr. Peter Pfitzinger suggests that, "Peaking implies a sharp improvement in performance followed by a 'slide down the other side '" (Link). The effect of a peak is therefore temporary. Many people accept this fact if it brings them a desired result (a race victory, pr, Olympic gold, etc.). The point is, while hard work appears essential in fulfilling one's running potential, an intelligent application of one's ability to peak seems essential in fulfilling one's racing potential. As the discussion on overtraining highlighted, runners who trained heavily all the time sometimes produced fantastic races, but flopped badly in others; they had great talent and a considerable body of training, but they couldn't consistently bring out their best abilities on race day, especially as they trained even harder to make up for the poor result. So in order to perform well (which includes racing), one needs to understand how to utilize their training to achieve the maximum performance potential on the date of the performance. This maximum performance potential is what I imply by the term "peak."
So how does one peak in distance running? According to Dr. Tim Noakes, the earliest discussions of peaking appear in works by Franz Stampfl (Roger Bannister's coach), swimming coach Forbes Carlile, and running coach Arthur Lydiard. While differing in their details, the essential goal is the same; how to bring the athlete to the desired peak on the day of the competition. Both Carlile and Lydiard divide the year into training phases, emphasizing different types of work in each phase. For Lydiard, these phases include marathon training, hill work, speed work, and finally sharpening. Each phase builds upon its predecessor, making the athlete first very physically fit, and then very racing fit (See more here). The peak is therefore achieved not by incessant heavy training, but by the application of progressively more race-specific training as the competition approaches, culminating in a brief-but-intense period of sharpening in the weeks leading up to the big race.
Dividing a season into phases is known as periodization, and continues to be utilized today. The physiologist Jack Daniels suggests that an ideal season lasts approximately 24 weeks, involving 4, 6-week phases. Like Lydiard's system, each phase in the Daniels' season emphasizes a different aspect of training, leading ultimately to a peak racing season. In this way--much like Lydiard--Daniels' program attempts first to build a person's general fitness, and then to hone their racing fitness. Clearly then, while similar, general fitness and racing fitness appear to be two distinct things.
This is made clearer by Daniels' discussion of seasons which deviate from the ideal (here). For example, if one has only 6-weeks with which to prepare for a big race, Daniels suggests 3-weeks of Phase I training (foundation/injury-prevention) followed by 3-weeks of Phase IV training (final quality). By skipping the Phases II and III, the athlete naturally neglects a fuller development of their overall fitness before preparing the body to race. Yet this appears to be the trade-off that such an athlete would have to face if given only 6-weeks to prepare for a big competition. Simply put, when given so little time within the context, the need to get race fit supersedes the need to get generally fit.
By now, however, you might be wondering how it's possible to differentiate between race fitness and general fitness. After all, doesn't a person need to be exceedingly fit to race well?
The evidence suggests that where peaking for a race is concerned, there is a difference between race fitness and general fitness. In a sub-section describing the science of sharpening, Dr. Tim Noakes cites several studies showing the marked improvement made by athletes who underwent a period of sharpening training. For example, Noakes cites a study which:
"...showed that replacing 15% (about 50km) of a group of cyclists' usual 300-km-per-week training with six twice-weekly sessions of 6 to 8 five-minute rides at 80% V02max or 90% of their maximum heart rates improved their times in a 40-km cycling time-trial in the laboratory by 2 minutes (3.6%). Doubling the total number of training sessions by lengthening the high-intensity training program from three to six weeks did not produce additional benefit (Westgarth-Taylor et al. 1997)" (Noakes, Lore of Running, 305).
A similar study in runners produced a 2.6% improvement in a 3000m time-trial.
As Noakes describes, it is unclear upon what physiological basis these improvements can be laid. The short duration in which these changes occur seem to preclude the possibility that oxygen is suddenly more able to reach the muscles, "thereby rendering them less anaerobic." To put it simply, the athlete's general fitness does not appear to be greatly altered by the sharpening training, yet their racing ability improved a few percentage points in a matter of weeks. How?
Noakes believes the changes occur "in the nervous system, so that sharpening training increases the mass of skeletal muscle that can be recruited during exercise before the central governor is maximally activated, terminating exercise. According to this theory, sharpening training reprograms the subconscious brain to accept a higher exercise intensity as safe than the governor was prepared to allow before sharpening training took place" (Noakes, 306). In this way, one's ability in races can improve without any marked improvement in general fitness. My own experience supports this idea, having found that recent workouts and races allowed me to push a harder pace in subsequent races. Interestingly, sharpening can only be reasonably performed for 8-12 weeks, as the greater intensity appears to make the body more susceptible to infection and injury. One might think of it as riding a knife's edge.
There is another side to the concept of peaking, and it is commonly known as tapering. There are all manner of tapers in the vogue these days, but they all tend to share an element of reducing overall work in the lead-up to competition. The question for our purposes then, is what is the ideal taper?
Dr. Noakes cites a number of studies which offer clues. A study by Shepley (1992) found a taper program of 5x500m on day 1, 4x500m day 2, 3x500m day 3, 2x500m day 4, and 1x500m on day 5 "produced significantly better performances during a maximal run lasting 6 minutes than did either complete rest or low-intensity training entailing a total of 30km of 50%-60% V02max over the same five-day period" (Noakes, 320).
A study by D.T. Martin (1994) found an increase in muscle power in cyclists engaged in a 2-week taper. A study by Hourman and Colleagues (1994) noted a 2.8% improvement in 5k times (9-30 seconds) in sub-elites who reduced mileage and took up interval training at 5k pace. Interestingly, this improvement could not be accounted for by changes in V02max or blood lactate concentrations (Noakes, 320).
Finally, a more recent study (abstract here, summary here) by Scott Trappe (2010) of Ball State found that a reduction in mileage (73% of maximal milage week 1, 73% of maximal mileage week 2, and 50% maximal mileage week 3) led to significantly improved 8km times for the cross-country team involved in the study (average time dropped from 27:42 to 26:12 in those three weeks). Furthermore, it was found that the thigh and calf muscles of the athletes involved increased in size, and became stronger, specifically, the Type-2a muscle ("fast oxidative" or "fatigue-resistant A") fibers. The improvements in performance appear to come primarily from the increased strength of these muscles, since other physiological indicators (V02max, running economy, etc.) remained constant.
Importantly, these results were achieved by reducing "moderate" miles in the athlete's program, not the easy runs or the interval sessions. Tempo runs and fast distance runs were eliminated in the three-week period, giving way to recovery runs and sharpening intervals.
So what can we draw from all this? Namely, that peak performance in racing is a function not only of general fitness but also of race fitness, which appears to be combination of muscle strength and neural allowances by the central governor in the brain. Accordingly, it is entirely possible to be in the best shape of your life and still race poorly (and conversely, to be in sub-par shape and still race decently). In order to maximize one's racing ability, one has to not only become quite fit generally, but also effectively utilize peaking and tapering to bring the body's race fitness to it's highest level on the important day.
At present, the studies cited above suggest that an ideal peaking/tapering method involves three things: a sufficient background of base training, a reduction in "moderate" paced mileage leading up to the competition, and a short-but-intense period of sharpening in close proximity to the big race. These methods do not appear to improve V02max or other physiological indicators of general fitness, but rather affect the structure of the muscles, the allowances of the sub-conscious brain, and the interface between them. The sum of all this would appear to be marked (and short-term) improvements in racing fitness.
It's important to remember that people are unique, and have subtly different requirements where training is concerned. For some people, a peak is relatively easy to reach a number of times a year, while for others, peaking requires more time, but once achieved, lasts longer. A thorough investigation of one's self or of one's charges in this regard would appear essential. A deep appreciation of an individual athlete's particular needs, lifestyle, fears, and ability should be taken into account when considering the development of a training program in general, and a peaking program in particular.
Further research may help to hone our understanding of how to maximize both general fitness and racing fitness. I encourage you to read the literature yourself, and devise experiments to test those assumptions that science has made, and which you might make in your own analysis. Much luck to you in this endeavor, and of course,
Happy Thursday, friends :)
With that said, training appears essential for bringing out any distance runner's fullest potential in the sport. The contemporary example of Galen Rupp under Alberto Salazar is but one example of how a sound training approach can yield improvements over the course of several years. Just because some genetically-gifted runners have performed incredible feats on little training does not mean their potential in the sport was ever reached. The question then seems to be, how shall one maximize one's racing potential while avoiding the chronic issues associated with overtraining? The method I'd like to discuss in this post is peaking.
In a 2005 article for Running Times magazine, Dr. Peter Pfitzinger suggests that, "Peaking implies a sharp improvement in performance followed by a 'slide down the other side '" (Link). The effect of a peak is therefore temporary. Many people accept this fact if it brings them a desired result (a race victory, pr, Olympic gold, etc.). The point is, while hard work appears essential in fulfilling one's running potential, an intelligent application of one's ability to peak seems essential in fulfilling one's racing potential. As the discussion on overtraining highlighted, runners who trained heavily all the time sometimes produced fantastic races, but flopped badly in others; they had great talent and a considerable body of training, but they couldn't consistently bring out their best abilities on race day, especially as they trained even harder to make up for the poor result. So in order to perform well (which includes racing), one needs to understand how to utilize their training to achieve the maximum performance potential on the date of the performance. This maximum performance potential is what I imply by the term "peak."
So how does one peak in distance running? According to Dr. Tim Noakes, the earliest discussions of peaking appear in works by Franz Stampfl (Roger Bannister's coach), swimming coach Forbes Carlile, and running coach Arthur Lydiard. While differing in their details, the essential goal is the same; how to bring the athlete to the desired peak on the day of the competition. Both Carlile and Lydiard divide the year into training phases, emphasizing different types of work in each phase. For Lydiard, these phases include marathon training, hill work, speed work, and finally sharpening. Each phase builds upon its predecessor, making the athlete first very physically fit, and then very racing fit (See more here). The peak is therefore achieved not by incessant heavy training, but by the application of progressively more race-specific training as the competition approaches, culminating in a brief-but-intense period of sharpening in the weeks leading up to the big race.
Dividing a season into phases is known as periodization, and continues to be utilized today. The physiologist Jack Daniels suggests that an ideal season lasts approximately 24 weeks, involving 4, 6-week phases. Like Lydiard's system, each phase in the Daniels' season emphasizes a different aspect of training, leading ultimately to a peak racing season. In this way--much like Lydiard--Daniels' program attempts first to build a person's general fitness, and then to hone their racing fitness. Clearly then, while similar, general fitness and racing fitness appear to be two distinct things.
This is made clearer by Daniels' discussion of seasons which deviate from the ideal (here). For example, if one has only 6-weeks with which to prepare for a big race, Daniels suggests 3-weeks of Phase I training (foundation/injury-prevention) followed by 3-weeks of Phase IV training (final quality). By skipping the Phases II and III, the athlete naturally neglects a fuller development of their overall fitness before preparing the body to race. Yet this appears to be the trade-off that such an athlete would have to face if given only 6-weeks to prepare for a big competition. Simply put, when given so little time within the context, the need to get race fit supersedes the need to get generally fit.
By now, however, you might be wondering how it's possible to differentiate between race fitness and general fitness. After all, doesn't a person need to be exceedingly fit to race well?
The evidence suggests that where peaking for a race is concerned, there is a difference between race fitness and general fitness. In a sub-section describing the science of sharpening, Dr. Tim Noakes cites several studies showing the marked improvement made by athletes who underwent a period of sharpening training. For example, Noakes cites a study which:
"...showed that replacing 15% (about 50km) of a group of cyclists' usual 300-km-per-week training with six twice-weekly sessions of 6 to 8 five-minute rides at 80% V02max or 90% of their maximum heart rates improved their times in a 40-km cycling time-trial in the laboratory by 2 minutes (3.6%). Doubling the total number of training sessions by lengthening the high-intensity training program from three to six weeks did not produce additional benefit (Westgarth-Taylor et al. 1997)" (Noakes, Lore of Running, 305).
A similar study in runners produced a 2.6% improvement in a 3000m time-trial.
As Noakes describes, it is unclear upon what physiological basis these improvements can be laid. The short duration in which these changes occur seem to preclude the possibility that oxygen is suddenly more able to reach the muscles, "thereby rendering them less anaerobic." To put it simply, the athlete's general fitness does not appear to be greatly altered by the sharpening training, yet their racing ability improved a few percentage points in a matter of weeks. How?
Noakes believes the changes occur "in the nervous system, so that sharpening training increases the mass of skeletal muscle that can be recruited during exercise before the central governor is maximally activated, terminating exercise. According to this theory, sharpening training reprograms the subconscious brain to accept a higher exercise intensity as safe than the governor was prepared to allow before sharpening training took place" (Noakes, 306). In this way, one's ability in races can improve without any marked improvement in general fitness. My own experience supports this idea, having found that recent workouts and races allowed me to push a harder pace in subsequent races. Interestingly, sharpening can only be reasonably performed for 8-12 weeks, as the greater intensity appears to make the body more susceptible to infection and injury. One might think of it as riding a knife's edge.
There is another side to the concept of peaking, and it is commonly known as tapering. There are all manner of tapers in the vogue these days, but they all tend to share an element of reducing overall work in the lead-up to competition. The question for our purposes then, is what is the ideal taper?
Dr. Noakes cites a number of studies which offer clues. A study by Shepley (1992) found a taper program of 5x500m on day 1, 4x500m day 2, 3x500m day 3, 2x500m day 4, and 1x500m on day 5 "produced significantly better performances during a maximal run lasting 6 minutes than did either complete rest or low-intensity training entailing a total of 30km of 50%-60% V02max over the same five-day period" (Noakes, 320).
A study by D.T. Martin (1994) found an increase in muscle power in cyclists engaged in a 2-week taper. A study by Hourman and Colleagues (1994) noted a 2.8% improvement in 5k times (9-30 seconds) in sub-elites who reduced mileage and took up interval training at 5k pace. Interestingly, this improvement could not be accounted for by changes in V02max or blood lactate concentrations (Noakes, 320).
Finally, a more recent study (abstract here, summary here) by Scott Trappe (2010) of Ball State found that a reduction in mileage (73% of maximal milage week 1, 73% of maximal mileage week 2, and 50% maximal mileage week 3) led to significantly improved 8km times for the cross-country team involved in the study (average time dropped from 27:42 to 26:12 in those three weeks). Furthermore, it was found that the thigh and calf muscles of the athletes involved increased in size, and became stronger, specifically, the Type-2a muscle ("fast oxidative" or "fatigue-resistant A") fibers. The improvements in performance appear to come primarily from the increased strength of these muscles, since other physiological indicators (V02max, running economy, etc.) remained constant.
Importantly, these results were achieved by reducing "moderate" miles in the athlete's program, not the easy runs or the interval sessions. Tempo runs and fast distance runs were eliminated in the three-week period, giving way to recovery runs and sharpening intervals.
So what can we draw from all this? Namely, that peak performance in racing is a function not only of general fitness but also of race fitness, which appears to be combination of muscle strength and neural allowances by the central governor in the brain. Accordingly, it is entirely possible to be in the best shape of your life and still race poorly (and conversely, to be in sub-par shape and still race decently). In order to maximize one's racing ability, one has to not only become quite fit generally, but also effectively utilize peaking and tapering to bring the body's race fitness to it's highest level on the important day.
At present, the studies cited above suggest that an ideal peaking/tapering method involves three things: a sufficient background of base training, a reduction in "moderate" paced mileage leading up to the competition, and a short-but-intense period of sharpening in close proximity to the big race. These methods do not appear to improve V02max or other physiological indicators of general fitness, but rather affect the structure of the muscles, the allowances of the sub-conscious brain, and the interface between them. The sum of all this would appear to be marked (and short-term) improvements in racing fitness.
It's important to remember that people are unique, and have subtly different requirements where training is concerned. For some people, a peak is relatively easy to reach a number of times a year, while for others, peaking requires more time, but once achieved, lasts longer. A thorough investigation of one's self or of one's charges in this regard would appear essential. A deep appreciation of an individual athlete's particular needs, lifestyle, fears, and ability should be taken into account when considering the development of a training program in general, and a peaking program in particular.
Further research may help to hone our understanding of how to maximize both general fitness and racing fitness. I encourage you to read the literature yourself, and devise experiments to test those assumptions that science has made, and which you might make in your own analysis. Much luck to you in this endeavor, and of course,
Happy Thursday, friends :)
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