Practicing without haste

Discussions of performance in most disciplines often focus on the roles that genetics, environment, and practice play in determining success. While different thinkers usually give precedent to one of these areas, all three seem to contribute to the successful cultivation of a talent or skill. While not fully understood, it seems that certain genetic predispositions interact with and respond to environmental stimuli and practice. As suggested in an earlier post, practice alone won't make a champion, but it is required, according to Dr. Ross Tucker, for the "realization of genetic potential." Accordingly, genes and environment are insufficient; you also need to practice.

Given the role that practice is believed to play in "realiz[ing] genetic potential," it would also seem important to understand precisely how best to practice. That is the theme of a recent piece on Time.com, entitled "The Myth of 'Practice Makes Perfect.'" In it, the writer Annie Murphy Paul discusses the notion that, "It's not how much you practice but whether you're quick to fix your errors that leads to mastery."

According to Ms. Paul, the type of practice that leads to mastery is "deliberate," and involves "relentlessly focusing on our weaknesses and inventing ways to root them out." Accordingly, mastery is not necessarily just the result of how much time one spends doing something, but also the way in which one approaches it. As the psychologist Anders  Ericsson is quoted as saying, "Deliberate practice requires effort...and is not inherently enjoyable."

I wondered a bit about that last part. What makes deliberate practice "not inherently enjoyable?" Is it because it constantly reminds a person of their weaknesses in a skill? Or is it because deliberate practice requires constant work in areas where competency is lowest?

My experience in school suggests something to this second explanation. I rarely minded doing work for a class in which I felt confident in my understanding of the material. It wasn't hard, required little struggle, and when finished, it gave me a sense of accomplishment (however small). The same could not be said for subjects in which I struggled. Simple work became tedious, and there was always the lurking possibility I would come to a question for which I could not remember, reason out, or derive an answer. If I'd been a deliberate practicer at the time, such instances would have been a red flag, indicating where more practice was required. But since I wasn't, they were simply a source of frustration.

So on one level, deliberate practice seems to require a kind of reappraisal of errors; they're not inherently bad, so much as indicators of where time and energy might be intelligently applied. If you find only a handful of areas preventing you from understanding something or performing a task, working on them is probably a more efficient use of time than working on things you already know or can do well.

Yet the reality for many of us is that this piece of rational advice is not enough, and perhaps that is a consequence of the first point I posed above; that deliberate practice constantly reminds people of their weakness in a skill.

Why should incompetency bother people? It's not considered a virtue, I'll grant you that, but I should think we're all incompetent in almost everything at some point, yet eventually we gain some competency in some things. What prevents us from gaining competency (at least) in all things we decide to do?

One idea involves haste. When one feels incompetent, there's a great discrepancy between how we perceive our ability and how we perceive the abilities of the competent. The greater the incongruity, the more daunting the task (from some perspectives anyway) can seem. One thing I've noticed when these situations arise is a tendency to want to progress quickly, so as to alleviate this discrepancy as quickly as possible. In such haste, I think we often put undo pressure on ourselves to improve quickly, and in extreme cases, according to a pre-determined schedule. Under duress to meet deadlines, errors become set-backs rather than indicators, and a failure in comprehension or execution becomes a failure of personal (or even moral) implications.

Whatever are we to do?

One idea is to slow down. When you're not in a rush, you can move at whatever pace circumstance allows without feeling distressed. When you come across an area where you struggle, you can work on it as long as you need before moving on. Since there's no rush to get to the end, you can take your time and get things right.

Interestingly, this closely mimics the practice of highly-skilled piano players in a study cited in Ms. Paul's article above. In her own words:

"The best pianists, they determined, addressed their mistakes immediately. They identified the precise location and source of each error, then rehearsed that part again and again until it was corrected. Only then would the best students proceed to the rest of the piece. 'It was not that the top-ranked pianists made fewer errors at the beginning of their practice sessions than did other pianists,' Duke notes. 'But, when errors occurred, the top-ranked pianists seemed much better able to correct them in ways that precluded their recurrence.'" 


It seems then, that the best pianists in the study identified the spots where they struggled most, and spent as much time working on them as it required. Their practice was measured, deliberate even, moving at whatever pace was required to master the most difficult sections. They made as many errors at the start as everyone else, but by slowing down they managed to make the fewest by the end.


Practice can help you learn something new, or perform a skill you enjoy. But as we've found, effective practice appears to require more than will-power alone. It seems to require both an understanding of errors as helpful indicators of where effort might be applied, an acceptance of whatever pace the task allows. When you're not in a hurry, you can be deliberate as you like, which might just make all the difference. Something to consider, perhaps.

Happy Friday, friends :)

A tale of three Chinese sages

Yesterday I stumbled upon a curious painting. Maybe you've seen it before:

It's called "Three Chinese Sages Tasting Vinegar," and tells something of a story you might enjoy.

The three sages pictured are Confucius, the Buddha (who I thought was from India, but oh well), and Lao-Tzu. Each is having a taste of vinegar from the vat pictured in the middle. The fellow closest to us is Confucius, who apparently finds the tonic sour and distasteful. This is supposedly indicative of the Confucian belief that the present world is somehow fallen (or out of harmony with the "Way of Heaven") from a glorious past, the remedy of which is a strict adherence to hierarchical relationships and precisely established rituals. Deviation from the established truth sows the seeds of discord and social unrest.

In the middle stands the Buddha, who is said to exude a bitter face upon sipping the vinegar. The story goes that the bitter expression represents the bitter manner in which the Buddha is said to have viewed the world. Life is full of suffering, the basis of which is, among other things, attachment to transient beings and objects, and belief in the various illusions of the world. To overcome suffering requires a total detachment from these earthly things, living in a state where basically nothing compels you to do anything. This is called Nirvana.

The third fellow in the painting is Lao-Tzu. In addition to a hat, he's also the only sage wearing a smile after taking his sip. The story goes that Lao-Tzu is smiling because the vinegar tastes precisely as it should, and that in itself is smile-worthy. The universe is governed by natural laws, balances, and rhythms that require no interference to operate effectively. The more you "poke" it, so to speak, the more harm you do (this alludes to Lao-Tzu's quote, "Governing a country is like cooking a small fish; you spoil both with too much poking").   Accordingly, Lao-Tzu isn't looking for a pleasing taste in the vinegar anymore than he's looking for a life of milk and honey. The world is not a thing fallen into corruption (as Confucius says), or a thing to be endured (as the Buddha says) so much as a source of wisdom of which words can not adequately describe, but for which understanding remains possible. Accepting things precisely as they are (such as the vinegar) leads to understanding of the thing itself, and peace of mind for the taster.

It's a neat story, though admittedly biased in favor of Doaism. Furthermore, the description of each sage's philosophy is fragmentary, and by no means captures everything. It is probable in fact that each "teaching" influenced the others through time, and the differences we observe in the story are somewhat artificial. Feel free to read elsewhere if you're interested in that sort of thing.

Happy Tuesday, friends :)

Proverbs from around the world

Proverbs can be very interesting, and speak to you in ways that perhaps more complicated speech cannot. In a pithy way, a proverb offers the kernel of a thought-provoking idea no matter how accurate it turns out to be; for better or worse, they can really make you think.

Below, you will find a list of proverbs from a number of countries around the world. The list is not exhaustive nor all inclusive, but represent a few I liked and thought you might also. Enjoy the journey :).

"What you see in yourself is what you see in the world."-Afghanistan


"No woman can make a wise man out of a fool, but every woman can change a wise man into a fool." -Argentina


"It's not shameful not to know, but it's shameful not to ask." -Azerbaijan


"There is no god like one's stomach; we must sacrifice to it every day." -Benin


"Nature, time, and patience are the three great physicians." -Bulgaria


"A thorn defends the rose, harming only those who would steal the blossom." -China


"Believe only half of what you see, and nothing of what you hear." -Cuba


"Better to ask twice than lose your way once." -Denmark


"After all is said and done, more is said than done." -U.S.A.


"Your head is not only for putting a hat on." -Ukraine


"Fear less, hope more, eat less, chew more, whine less, breathe more, talk less, say more, hate less, love more,  and all good things will be yours." -Sweden


"How beautiful it is to do nothing, and then rest afterward." -Spain


"Fall seven times, stand up eight." -Japan


"To him that watches, everything is revealed"-Italy


"The believer is happy; the doubter is wise." -Hungary


"Great abilities produce great vices as well as virtues." -Greece


"Write injuries in sand, kindness in marble." -France


"The work praises the man." -Ireland


"A beautiful thing is never perfect." -Egypt


"Flatterers, like cats, lick and  then scratch." -Germany


"Call on God, but row away from the rocks." -India


"Having a discussion is like having riches." -Kenya


"Never whisper to the deaf, or wink at the blind." -Slovenia


"Goodness speaks in a whisper, evil shouts." -Tibet


"Having two ears and one tongue, we should listen twice as much as we speak." -Turkey


"Persist as resolutely as you persist in eating." -New Zealand


"A handful of patience is worth more than a bushel of  brains." -Netherlands


"In every woman there is a Queen. Speak to the Queen, and the Queen shall answer." -Norway


"It's not enough to know how to ride--you must also know how to fall." -Mexico


"Reading books remove sorrows from the heart." -Morocco


"His brains hang at the top of his fez." -Lebanon


"Good management is better than good income." -Portugal.

(Source)

Some things to consider, perhaps.

Happy Saturday, friends :)

Epoché

In a philosophy class some years ago, a teacher asked his class to take part in a little thought-experiment. The 26 students present that morning, having little inclination to do more than was necessary to pass the 50-minute class unnoticed, reluctantly agreed. Tossing his chalk aside, the teacher strode in front of his podium,  eyes unblinking behind a pair of circle-framed glasses.

"Very well," said this teacher, holding his hands behind his back, pacing slowly before an impeccable chalkboard. "I want you to imagine yourselves as a brain in a vat, hooked up to a sophisticated machine that perfectly simulates every aspect of your conscious and sub-conscious experience. As a rule, anything that can happen to you in a supposed 'real world' can also happen to the you as reproduced by the machine. You can walk, talk, eat, sleep, go to the bathroom, have sex, or hold a conversation with someone. You can even drink beer if you like," he added with a smirk, "though you won't be immune to any resultant hangovers." 

The class chuckled half-heartily. It was 8:17am on a Friday morning.

The teacher continued, "So the experiment is, if you went to sleep one night, and a bunch of scientists came into your room, took your brain out of your body, and put it in a vat hooked up to a machine like that which we just described, would you be able to tell the difference?" 

No one answered. A number of stares looked blank as printer paper; others showed about as much life as martian dust. 

A hand went up, belonging to a student whose name the teacher remembered as John. John had the thickest beard of anyone in the school, or so everyone claimed. He hadn't shaved in half a decade. He also possessed a body of unusually muscular proportions. He was likely the strongest person in the school as well. The teacher nodded in his direction.

"I see at least one issue with your experiment," began John, sitting up in his chair. "A brain in a vat could not have a soul." 

Before the teacher could respond, a student named Cecil swallowed a laugh from the back of the room. The student John turned rapidly to face her, asking, "Is something funny?"

Cecil's eyes went wide, suddenly aware of everyone's gaze now upon her. "I...I just" she stammered, "I mean, there's no such thing as a soul, I thought it was a joke." Her cheeks went pink.

"There's no such thing as a brain in a vat either," said another student named Thomas, "it's all fake."

"The soul is no joke," said John seriously.

"Right," said Thomas "and God made Man in seven days." 

"You speak falsely, and irreverently about the Truth," said John.

 "Dude, chill out" said Thomas, now also upright in his chair "no one cares about your religion." 

"You are an unbeliever then?" asked Ruth, a studious-looking girl with bright green eyes. A series of color-coded binders lay upon her desk, aligned perfectly with the corner. 

"What does it matter?" asked Thomas, who seemed to look about the room for help. "No sane person takes what they read in the Bible seriously. It's all just stories and allegory." 

Silence followed. 

"I must vehemently disagree with you," said Ruth after a moment, looking Thomas full in the eye, "for I am a believer, and hold the Holy Bible to be the literal revelations of God. Jesus Christ is my Savior, and I am sane as can be." 

"Well good for you," said Thomas defiantly, "but forgive me if I don't really care."

"Have you ever even read the Bible?" asked John, his eyes softening slightly.

"Here and there," said Thomas uncomfortably, shifting in his chair. "I was raised Lutheran, but stopped going to church years ago. In Sunday school, I was told my Jewish and Buddhist friends were going to Hell, so I stopped going. I was in fifth grade for goodness sake, who says that to a fifth-grader?"

"If your friends were not saved, then your teacher simply spoke the truth," said John grimly.

"So about that brain in a vat..." said the teacher meekly. 

"You sound like such a pompous ass-hole," said Thomas to John in a raised voice, ignoring the teacher "and it's literalist, narrow-minded bigots like you who drive otherwise happy people insane with guilt, grief, and sectarian promises of immortality. You called yourselves 'saved,' like a member of some exclusive club, reading your special texts and drinking your group-think Kool-Aid. But the reality is you're all just a sad bunch of brainwashed, tortured people living in a society leaving you and your medieval beliefs behind.    

The student John seemed to be boiling over with rage, and Ruth looked on the verge of tears, but neither reacted immediately. A girl near the front muttered quietly "Well said, man." All else was silent. 

"You call yourself tolerant," began Ruth, visibly struggling to maintain her composure but looking straight at Thomas, "yet you treat my most cherished beliefs like rubbish. You generalize unmercifully against my closest friends, and on top of that, you call my lifestyle backward. What was the word you used? Medieval. Do you suppose that I and my fellow believers are unhappy? Why should we be, for we are saved, which is the furthest thing from a burden one may know in this life. We dedicate our lives to the expression of an ideal, becoming born again into a life of worship, love, and accord with the revealed Word of Jesus Christ, our only Savior and Redeemer. Ours is not a 'club,' but a community dedicated to a life of devotion and spiritual growth; if we reject certain trivialities of the modern world, it is because a more important goal stands before us, one that inspires us not to be slaves to pleasure or laxity of mind, but to be zealous followers of our Maker and our Savior. You may think what you will, but if you have any sense of kindness and decency, I would ask that you keep your narrow, bigoted opinions to yourself."

"Amen" said John, closing his eyes. 

"Amen" said a girl near the door. Her name was Susan.

At that moment the door swung open abruptly, revealing a disheveled male of moderate proportions, clutching a philosophy textbook in one hand and a cellphone in the other. He seemed out of breath.

"Sorry sir," he began breathlessly, heading for the closest empty seat, "I overslept, but someone texted me saying we were talking about brains in vats, which sounded too cool." 

The teacher, who had become a virtual spectator to the argument that had raged almost the whole class period, seemed to recover some of his wits. "Yes Cain, that was a thought-experiment I proposed at the start of class, but..."

"Ah man, I've been thinking about it the whole way over," said Cain, flushing with excitement. "It's so weird man, I can't see how you could know the difference. One day the whole world could be real, while the next it could be totally simulated. Unless we're already all just brains in vats, in which case what seems real now isn't and never was. Makes you think, you know?"

The teacher smiled. "Yes, I suppose it does. What does it make you think, Mr. Cain?"

Cain thought for a moment. His face seemed as lively as the Tchaikovsky violin concerto. "I tell you what sir, I just don't know."

"Don't know?" asked the teacher with a smile.

"Yeah, whether the world is real or not. And if that's uncertain, how can anything be certain? It sounds crazy to me, but maybe we don't actually know anything about anything real."

"Hmm," began the teacher, pacing again before the chalkboard, "that sounds a bit depressing don't you think?"

"Maybe" said Cain, seeming to think very hard, "but it also seems the only way to be ready for the moment if and when some indication that the world is actually real or actually fake actually appears. I mean, we may never know with certainty, in which case such a position would be useless. But how can we know if we simply contend our beliefs are always correct? We'd have to adapt a mindset of always searching and never judging with certainty, or at least suspending that judgment almost permanently. It'd be weird, I admit."

"It could be," said the teacher. "You'd never be wrong, but you'd never be right either."

"Yeah," said Cain, "but maybe our eyes would always be open." 

The bell rang. Everyone got up to leave, except for Cain. "Something to consider, maybe," he said, mostly to himself. 

The teacher smiled. "Yes, maybe. Happy Friday, class!"

Soon the room was empty. 

Living in the middle

After a gray, rain-soaked morning, the sun came out here on the mountain, providing an excellent opportunity for a walk. A chill wind followed me (or blew directly into my face!) for much of the way, but soon the sun and my body's own metabolism warmed me to a comfortable temperature, and the discomfort soon passed. On the whole it proved a glorious afternoon in January, and I could not help but smile at its tranquility.

Experiences like this seem to offer a new angle from which to view the often cut-throat and competitive practices of human beings. This is good I think, because seeing things differently can sometimes prove difficult; getting out of our own heads--as disconcerting as that might be--appears to be one way to grow as a person. Maybe.

In my own life, and I suspect in other's too, pressures exist on all sides to conform to certain practices and ideals. If there's a human society without them, then I've yet to find it (though wouldn't that be interesting? maybe). Speaking for myself, the idea has generally been that a happy person is he or she who is eminently successful at whatever he or she does. If there's a metric for measuring the differences between different people's ability, then the "happy" person was he or she who came out on the side of that metric that someone at some point deemed "better."

Outrunning your peers, outperforming them in maths, or getting into an elite college have all served as such a metric, and at some point I've played each of those games. Sometimes I won and sometimes I lost. That seems to happen for a lot of people, at least those I've met or about whom I've read. Maybe it happens to everyone.

Interestingly, winning the game seemed to have the same effect as losing it once a few days had passed. Well, actually I've heard stories of professional athletes or politicians falling into depression for months following the loss of a championship or an election, but having experienced neither in my short life, I will for now suspend judgment. What I would say is that time seems to make most victories less euphoric, and most defeats less disastrous. So whether you win or lose, at some point you seem to end up somewhere between the two.

If that's true (and it's most certainly an 'if'), maybe human beings are actually suited for that middle-ground in the emotional landscape. Maybe. I've met some folks who are always depressed, and some who are always euphoric. I wouldn't think it possible had I not met them, but so it is. Perhaps they have their own middle-ground, for the depressed folk somewhere between "morbidly depressed" and just "sad", and for the euphoric folk between "ecstatic" and "blissful." It's an idea, nothing more or less.

But if there is a middle-ground of some sort, what if we all tried to make that ground a happy place in which to live? You figure a goodly number of people spend much of their lives on such ground, so it doesn't seem illogical to give it characteristics to our liking. Rather than competing or striving after things, what if instead we all found a way to sit quietly and listen to the rhythms of the world? It sounds boring when you think about it(maybe), but actually doing it can be fun, at least so I've found. It can also be quite difficult, as difficult even as performing Ravel or mastering a jump-shot. Doing nothing feels like wasting time; becoming still is like becoming something less than human, at least a human that is alive. Maybe.

Yet in becoming still, perhaps you will begin to find things with which to decorate that middle-ground in your life. Noticing the frenetic tendencies within yourself, perhaps becoming still allows you to view the world in a different way. After all, a road looks quite different when you're driving a car then when you've stopped on a walk and given it a long, stationary look. When still, you notice all the bumps, grooves, and minor details on a surface that in motion lacks all such subtleties.

In this light, maybe becoming still isn't boring after all. Noticing details large and small, perhaps the change in speed can also yield a change in perspective. It seems true of physical motion, so why not mental motion too? Something to consider. Maybe.

Happy Tuesday, friends :)

Thinking about writer's block

So the last few days I've had a bout of writer's block; I just haven't been able to write anything. It's better than having a bout of say, the flu, but when writing is something you enjoy writer's block has the potential to short-circuit all the fun. I say "potential," because while it's often the case that people (myself included) view it in a negative light, this isn't the only light in which to see it.

No joke, honest. 

As I'm finding these days, writer's block isn't just an inability to produce new work; it's also an excellent opportunity to approach the practice of writing from a new direction. This can be difficult under ordinary circumstances, but a bit easier when the ordinary way of doing things malfunctions. You're forced to find another way, which can be really uncomfortable, but can also shed a load of light on how you think and feel. On one level, I think that's what is going on here. Maybe.

My first thought when I realized I'd encountered a writer's block was to consult reference material on the matter, a bit like when you find a funny spot on your skin one day and think "well that's strange, let's see if I can find it on the Internet." 

In other words, my first thought was to assume that writer's block was a kind of illness, or if not quite an illness, then at least a curiosity that needed to go. I'm a writer after all, and what is a writer who can't write? Well, blocked, that's obvious, but what to do about it is anything but. Is it something that needs curing, or is there another way? I'd like to think there is.

My second thought when I realized I had writer's block was to read more. After all, books and online news are both major sources of inspiration for the ideas about which I usually write. So if the writing process is malfunctioning, it must be due to a dearth of material. The logic seemed sound, so I went about reading more. 

I did this rather aggressively for about five days, all the way up until yesterday. Full of many hundreds of pages of new reading, I sat down at the computer that morning to have a go at whatever came to mind. It was then that a most extraordinary thing happened. Can you guess? 

In a single word, "nothing." 

Would you believe it? After days of intense reading and thinking, the moment I sat down to make sense of it all absolutely nothing came out. If anything, the condition had worsened, since the moment I started writing a scrap of any idea my mind immediately rejected it.  "Bah, what drivel!" my inner voice decried, "everything you write is trash! You're nothing compared to those Pulitzer-winners!" 

As you might imagine, this episode was a bit disheartening. Perhaps it's unhealthy to measure things you write against prize-winning authors, but it can be hard to avoid if you've been reading award-winning books continuously for five days. The sheer breadth of the research, the beauty of the prose, and the quality of the author's erudition make it difficult for me to look on anything I write as good by comparison. It's a bit like going to see and hear the Philadelphia Orchestra one afternoon, then going back to school to perform with your all-volunteer wind ensemble that night. Your school group might have the performance of their lives, but how shall you notice when your mind keeps comparing it to the professional performance from the afternoon? 

It can be a real pickle, but sometimes when life gives you pickles...make a burger?

My third thought concerning writer's block, after trying out my first two, was, in a manner of speaking, to do just that; I made a burger. I decided to take my writer's block and use it (or eat it, if the metaphor is any good). 

At first I was baffled how this might be done, because up to now I'd considered writer's block an impediment to creative expression.  If anything, it was the opposite of creativity, because it left an empty page at the end of the day rather than a full, cogently-argued, and grammatically-immaculate one  (this being of course only an ideal, since my writing is rarely polished). 

The real "breakthrough," if it might be called that, occurred when I decided to write a post describing the course of my writer's block (the very post you now read, what fun!). Sometimes when deducing the cause of a running injury, it helps to trace the course of one's training back a ways to determine the factors involved. Assuming writer's block was like an injury, I tried the same approach. And I'm beginning to think that it might have worked.

It wasn't because I'd found a root cause, or nexus of causes, to the problem. Rather, I suspect that the experience of thinking about my thought-process led me to view writing in a new and unique light, and thereby generated a more relaxed approach to the art. It also led me to question and find wanting such claims as "writer's block is precisely like an illness" and "writer's block is caused by a dearth of new material." In short, the things I thought I knew about how I write proved less than perfectly accurate. They weren't totally false mind you, but they didn't tell the whole story either. It was thanks to my latest bout of writer's block that this more nuanced realization came to mind. 

Writing can be both fulfilling and maddening, or so I've come to think. When it becomes a big part of your life, writer's block acts like an illness or an injury, in that it keeps you from doing a thing you enjoy. But just as with getting sick or getting injured, there are multiple ways of appraising your lot, and sometimes a good attitude can make all difference. Something to consider perhaps.

Happy Friday, friends :)

Positive emotions improve academic performance

An interesting report appeared on the ScienceDaily a few days ago, entitled "Key to School Improvement: Reading, Writing, Arithmatic...and Character?"

The article's caption quite nicely summarizes the conclusions of a recent study (built on the results of others), stating:

"A study of 20 elementary schools in Hawaii has found that a focused program to build social, emotional and character skills resulted in significantly improved overall quality of education, as evaluated by teachers, parents and students."


Described briefly in the report, the specific purposes of the "focused program" involved the cultivation of a healthier self-image, improved self-esteem, empathy, honesty, responsibility, and personal development. Using "about an hour a week," the programs yielded impressive results. Says the report, "Previously published results showed 72 percent fewer suspensions, 15 percent less absenteeism, and much better reading and math skills based on state tests. National tests showed a 9 percent improvement in these academic subjects."

All of this occurred without other changes in curriculum.

The study is worth considering. In my own experience, minor changes in one's mental approach to certain activities can make a big difference. My best coaches in sport all sought to feed and train the mind in addition to the body. This involved simple things like cultivating a positive self-image and nurturing a healthier concept of success and failure.

You'd think these steps would be obvious, but sometimes they get lost in the way people today (and not only today) think about competition.

Very rarely do coaches (or teachers) remind us that the verb "to compete" has the Latin root "competere," meaning "to seek together." So understood, "competitors" are people who go off to seek something together, be it fun, excellence, or something more sublime. Emphasizing that idea over a more traditional interpretation (for example, the sole purpose of competition is to win) can really change things.

The point is, traditional education appears to benefit by cultivating in students positive emotions and the character traits that sustain them. If helping children learn to like themselves, to empathize with others, and to develop healthy habits early in life improves  academic performance, perhaps it can also improve the quality of their lives. The study does not say, but that would be nice.

Happy Thursday, friends :)

Are e-mails a distraction?

It seems ironic barely a week after Christmas, during which (if boxes in the neighborhood's recycling bins are any indication) everyone and their brother seem to be getting the latest gadget, that tuning-out from technology would become a popular op-ed topic. Yet so it has this past week. Yesterday, we discussed a New York Times op-ed  from Sunday by Pico Iyer. In this morning's Times, Roger Cohen takes his own look at the matter in an op-ed entitled A Time to Tune Out. 


Mr. Cohen's approach is different from Mr. Iyer's, but his underlying opinion appears similar. Mr. Cohen begins by describing a new initiative by Volkswagen to limit company e-mail service to its Blackberry users when they are not working. According to the plan, company e-mail servers would only deliver messages up to 30 minutes after an employee gets off work, and again 30 minutes before that employee returns to work the next morning. The idea seems to stem from a renewed desire to help employees maintain some distance between their home and work lives.

According to Mr. Cohen, the blurring of this distinction--as well as the dwindling ability, "to be fully absorbed by and focused on one's surroundings rather than living in some defuse cyberlocation composed of the different strands of a device-driven existence,"--could have some serious costs, the outward manifestation of which he terms the "Inability to Switch Off (ITSO)." Citing several examples, this "inability to switch off" has led several high-level figures (executives, professional sports coaches, etc.) to resign or take extended leaves to recover from what seems to be a kind of mental exhaustion wrought by hyper-connectivity.

As the Volkswagen example (among others) highlights, some in the business world are now taking note of these costs. The most common intervention in Mr. Cohen's examples involve attempts to curb the number of e-mails  employees receive throughout the day (both on and off-hours). The idea goes that if employees know there's no possibility of receiving e-mails at certain times, they'll be less likely to feel the need to check every few minutes.

This seems like a good policy, and other communities may benefit from trying it themselves. For example, my college prided itself on the connectivity of its student body and faculty. The school gives laptops to every incoming student and professor, equipping each with a variety of programs, among them Microsoft Outlook. For those unfamiliar with the program, the default settings for Outlook cause a chime to sound and a message to appear in the lower right-hand corner of the screen whenever an e-mail is received. Presumably, the idea is to give users near-instant updates of their e-mail status.

Such programs have their uses, but now that I've graduated I find I don't miss them. If my college was like any other in the US, most incoming e-mails are not of much use, and deleted basically upon receipt (Outlook's instant updates made this easier). The problem is, such a constant stream of messages can be a real distraction, and sometimes now I wonder if student e-mail is more detrimental than helpful. Perhaps colleges should consider e-mail "amnesty" periods, or at the very least question the supposed benefits of demanding quality work from students while simultaneously distracting them with mountains of pointless e-mail.

It's a tricky issue, considering that connectivity does have benefits. But what is the cost? As Mr. Cohen suggests:

"Connectivity aids productivity. It can also be counterproductive by generating that contemporary state of anxiety in which focus on any activity is interrupted by the irresistible urge to check e-mail or texts; whose absence can in turn provoke the compounded anxiety of feeling unloved or unwanted just because the in-box is empty for a nanosecond; whose onset can in turn induce the super-aggravated anxiety that is linked to low self-esteem and poor performance." 


Something to consider, perhaps.

Happy Tuesday, friends :)

Seeking Silence

An interesting op-ed appeared in this Sunday's The New York Times, entitled "The Joy of Quiet," by Pico Iyer. In it, Mr. Iyer describes some of the ways in which people today are turning away from the increasingly hyper-connected world in which we now live.

According to Mr. Iyer, the root of the issue appears to be a kind of ignorance on how best to use the remarkable connections modern technology has made possible. "The central paradox," he says, "of the machines that have made our lives brighter, quicker, longer and happier is that they cannot teach us how to make the best use of them; the information revolution came without an instruction manual." As a result, we have "less of ourselves...to give every snippet," and "the distinctions that used to guide and steady us--between Sunday and Monday, public and private, here and there--are gone." 

Looking to escape the noise, people are increasingly seeking ways to detach--even for just a few hours-from all the data and chatter. Things like disabling the Internet for eight hours straight, taking online "Sabbaths," or going on long walks without a cell-phone are just some of the ways people are using to create some distance between themselves and their technology. According to the op-ed, there are now even "Internet rescue camps" for children addicted to the computer-use in China and South Korea. 

On the whole, it seems apparent that humans need both chatter and quiet; why we've increasingly substituted noise for silence is not really clear, though perhaps it's for similar reasons some people try to schedule every minute of the day. The logic goes that if no time is wasted, more will be accomplished. It's an attractive idea, but I don't think it's true.

In my experience (and perhaps in your own), attempting to be productive all the time usually turns out badly, particularly when attempted over the course of several days. Perhaps some people can work all the time, but I've yet to meet them (which doesn't mean they don't exist). The point is, Mr. Iyer makes a good case when it comes to us and our technology; it can be both a blessing and a curse. The key seems to be striking a balance between the positive and negative of effects of heavy technology use.  

As it turns out, time away from your phone/computer/television etc. may prove exceedingly beneficial. As described by Mr. Iyer, Nicholas Carr, author of the book, "The Shallows," contends that subjects who spent time in, "quiet rural settings...'exhibit greater attentiveness, stronger memory and generally improved cognition. Their brains become both calmer and sharper.'" 

This is a potentially-valuable piece of information, and may help explain why so many people are looking for some off-line time; particularly in "quiet rural environments," such time appears to helps our brain work better.  

So in sum, a little quiet time away from technology is probably quite valuable. Our time is one of extreme connectivity, which can make it difficult to unplug. Yet constant information is almost certainly bound to leave a mountain of data without a pebble of meaning. Clear thinking likely requires both. Something perhaps to consider. 

Happy Monday, friends :)

Actuating a New Year's Resolution

Frohes neues Jahr! Happy New Year, friends :). Another year has now begun, and the traditional season for celebrating and reflecting upon the past year has effectively come to an end. For better or worse, the collective focus of the good people of planet Earth now seem turned toward the future.

Accompanying this turn "toward the future" is a desire for change and transformation, sometimes embodied in a goal (or series of goals) and called "New Year's Resolutions." I've encountered a number of people the last few days making such resolutions, their extent and nature varying across a very wide spectrum indeed, reminding me for the umpteenth time how fascinating human beings can be.

Often, such resolutions involve the cultivation of a good habit, the elimination of a bad habit, or both in a single package. At its heart, the purpose seems to involve the creation of a positive change in a person's life, and by extension (or primarily) perhaps the lives of others as well.

It's an interesting idea, though statistics suggest it doesn't often work. According to Scott H. Young, a writer for Lifehack.org, New Years' resolutions have a 15% success rate (or an 85% failure rate, depending how you prefer to interpret the numbers). For whatever reason, the goals people make for themselves often fail to take root, leading to frustration, apathy, and a potentially-positive habit left undeveloped.

Mr. Young suggests that many resolutions fail because the maker relies on will-power--rather than a plan--to ingrain a habit until it sticks.

A post on myGoals.com echos the need for a plan, suggesting that resolutions gain "resolve" when they involve, "clear steps that can be put into action." This implies that making a plan involves breaking a resolution down into smaller goals. On top of that, the post suggests a "year round" approach, in that "New Year's resolutions should be nothing more than a starting point...Resolutions are not set in one day, but accomplished with a hundred tiny steps that happen throughout the year."

Leo Babauta of Zenhabits.net would likely support this idea (even if he no longer supports the notion of goals and resolutions). As his recent post suggests, "Instead of creating a list of resolutions this year, create a habit."

Mr. Babauta's approach focuses on cultivating a "spiral of success," one habit at a time. Keeping it at one, he says, makes it "more manageable." "One habit is doable" he says, "15 habits are too hard." The ideas is to put all your focus into making a single habit stick, so that 1.) you'll have started a habit and accomplished something potentially beneficial, and 2.) the experience and success of starting one habit may give you knowledge and confidence for starting others. As Amy Chau (author of Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother) suggests, success generates confidence, and thereby the potential for future success. Giving yourself a single goal simplifies the process of acquiring that confidence. It also, according to Mr. Babauta, gives you the greatest probability of success.

In sum, a successful New Year's Resolution appears to be a start rather than an end. Its success seems to depend on a well-conceived and flexible plan, which is broken down into manageable portions and allowed to spread over the course, if need be, of an entire year. Focusing in on a single goal or habit is one way of channeling your energy and raising the probability of success. Some thinkers believe this early success generates useful confidence and know-how for later projects, forming the foundation of a "virtuous cycle" or a "spiral of success."

Perhaps they're right and perhaps not. In either case, I wish you all a very happy New Year, and much luck in 2012. And of course, Happy Sunday, friends :)