Ramblings – Page 4 – Peter Butler

Why Write?

I’ve been writing a lot lately. Some of it good, some of it.. less.. good. And slowly, consistently, I’ve been getting messages. Some from people I talk to often, some from people I don’t talk to so often. The gist is almost always the same: they want to ask what has caused the sudden change from 1 post per year (maybe), to a post per day. Generally the subtle undertone to these conversations is “Are you ok? What is going on?”

So yes, I’m ok. And yes, I’m writing a lot, often half formed ideas, sometimes ideas that make people vaguely uncomfortable. Why?

Serendipitously, a coworker shared a video on Facebook last week, which was specifically about how good the movie Arrival is. Not necessarily good like entertaining (although it is), but good as in well crafted. Thoroughly thought out. Compelling. It’s an interesting video (embedded at the bottom of the post), but it leads with an idea that got to the heart of why I keep vomiting words every day:

An idea, no matter how profound it feels to you, does not exist until you can write it down or… put it on film.

I have a lot of ideas. I like to think. I like to question, I like to get to the heart of things. And I spend a lot of time doing it – walking, running, laying in bed. But the ideas, when they’re just cycled through a quiet head on a walk, or mumbled to yourself while doing the dishes – even if they’re discussed briefly with a close friend – tend to be ephemeral. They’re here, they feel important while they’re around, and then the next hour, or the next day, or the next week, they’re gone. I’m on to something else, having almost entirely lost all the ideas or mental exploration I found so profound just a short time earlier. Then in, time, I’ll loop back around, and think through the same problems again – with a slightly changed perspective, maybe – but with almost no lasting benefit from the previous round.

So I want to write. Writing, especially writing in a context where other people might (gasp) actually read it and try to make sense of what I’m thinking, forces a different approach. Suddenly things have to make sense, they have to go together, there has to be a reason for the idea, and maybe (ok, rarely) a conclusion to them. And I think that, similar to physically writing notes during a lecture you actually want to remember, forcing this change in perspective, this requirement to actually form thoughts fully (half-fully?) means there’s some traction. The ideas are better. They stick with me further.

What’s more, I get better at explaining things – at forming thoughts at making sense of them.

So you’ll get more writing from me. Maybe, if we all just really believe, the writing and/or ideas will even improve. In the meantime, watch these well formed and interesting ideas about the movie “Arrival”:

Dishonest Diplomacy

It was a mistake to speak one’s mind at any time, unless it perfectly matched your political purpose; and it never did. Best to strip all statements of real content, this was a basic law of diplomacy.

Robinson, Kim Stanley. Red Mars (p. 414)

I enjoyed Red Mars well enough, but apparently not so well as to read the sequels. It was long, and slow in parts.

This quote is good, though. While it first feels like the author is only talking about actual politics (or maybe political correctness), I think it’s applicable far wider. How often do we strip statements of real content, and for what reasons?

At the very least, I do it:

To avoid offending.
To avoid hurt feelings.
To avoid looking dumb.
To avoid being vulnerable.

Conversely, this kind of shallow, vanilla, no-chance-anyone-could-take-offense discourse is useless. It’s guaranteed to avoid real connection or understanding. At best it’s a waste of both parties’ time, at worst it’s one more offending action in a greater pattern of soul crushing, whitewashed dishonesty.

So go say something real, honest, and maybe offensive. Do it thoughtfully, to an appropriate audience (read: not facebook), and be ready to listen and discuss why you might be wrong – but do it.

What am I going to do today?

It’s Saturday.

I woke up this morning, and rolled over: 7:15. I get up, go to the bathroom, and come out – directionless. On a weekday, I’d be headed to the gym, or making the kids breakfast before school – something. But it’s not a weekday. I pull up some sweatpants, wander out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. I look out the kitchen window. The sun is already up, but the day looks dull and gray. And I’m faced with the question: “What am I going to do today?”

This is an easy question to avoid on weekdays: I’m going to work. What exactly I’m going to do at work is often up in the air – but that’s ok. I’m working. I’ll sit down in front of my computer, talk to people, read things, write a post or two, review some code, maybe have a few calls. But no matter what I do, I’m safe from the dreaded question “What am I going to do today?” – I’m going to work, and work is safe. Unquestionable. I have to work to pay for this house, food for my kids, life. So there’s no decision. I work. 5 or 6 rolls around, and I can go relax with the kids, have some dinner, maybe go for a run or watch TV. It’s all safe, because I’ve already done what I’m supposed to that day, so now I can indulge, without pesky questions about how I’m spending my time.

But that’s not today. Today as a weekend, and in theory, I’m not working. So I have to make decisions.

On it’s face, “What am I going to do today” is not so hard – I can do any number of things, and I have a lot of ideas: I can sit around the house and read. I can play video games (with or without the kids). I can exercise. I can plan a trip with the family – maybe a drive to the mountains, or to the trampoline park for the kids. I can cook – maybe it would be nice to have a couple of loaves of homemade bread this week? I can clean the garage, or do yardwork. I can build furniture, or start on some other creative project.

But it turns out the difficulty of the question is not about the actual actions I’m going to take – the feeling of dread that comes with it is not about a lack of options, or impending boredom. The issue, the real question, comes later: “Am I satisfied with what I did today?” Especially on a weekend: if you accept “workdays” as free from this kind of personal scrutiny (which is an idea that deserves more thought and a separate blog post), then the weekends are particularly important – the 2 days out of 7 that you get to choose entirely how your time is spent. What are we, if not how we spend our free time, without constraints, without direction or duties to hide behind?

Is it ok to sit and watch TV all day?

Cleaning is safe, right? Nobody can question if the guy cleaning his garage is using his limited time wisely. Right?

I don’t have an answers here, this isn’t that kind of post. What I think I know is this: a day that does not that move you meaningfully toward your goals, or fulfill you in some way, is wasted. And we only get so many.

Boredom

I think often about boredom. I do this because I am bored. Often.

If you really dig into it, I think boredom is actually pretty interesting. Whenever I tell someone I’m bored, or hear that they are, I’m skeptical that we’re actually talking about the same thing. I think language is pretty interesting that way, but I’ll save exploring that for another post.

So lets talk about the same thing:

boredom

noun
1. the state of being bored; tedium; ennui.

Thanks, dictionary.com, super useful. Lets try again.

bore

verb (used with object), bored, boring.

1. to weary by dullness, tedious repetition, unwelcome attentions, etc.:

The long speech bored me.

So, I think that’s a useful starting point, at least for identifying the specific feeling. But it’s superficial – really superficial. Like it could be cured, or at least papered over by a particularly exciting show on TV. I don’t think that covers it.

I think boredom is more nuanced. It’s not a switch – you’re bored or you’re not. I think boredom is a symptom of deeper longing for something – sometimes acute, but often not.

While we tend to think specific actions will cure our boredom, the reality is probably that we’re looking for specific feelings – adventure, excitement, fulfillment, responsibility, coziness, quiet, danger, etc. The actions are merely a catalyst for these feelings.

Why is the distinction important? You identify that you’re bored, you do something – go for a walk, watch TV, eat (I’m a particular fan of eating as a treatment to boredom), and then you go on with your day.

Being forced to identify why you’re bored means admitting what you want, and what is lacking. Maybe it’s as simple as “I need to be relax entertained for a few minutes by something on YouTube, because I’ve been responding to emails for an hour, and my brain is tired.” Fine.

But maybe it’s not so simple. Maybe it’s “I need to do something big, out of the ordinary, because my day to day is too routine.” Or “I need to do something meaningful – I need to really feel like I’m making a difference in someone’s life, because it’s been too long since I’ve felt that way.” But it’s subtle. In the moment, it doesn’t feel so different from when you’ve been responding to emails for an hour.

So you watch something on YouTube.

Indifference

Indifferent people are afraid of the world and the repercussions of their own choices. That’s why they don’t make any meaningful choices. They hide in a gray, emotionless pit of their own making, self-absorbed and self-pitying, perpetually distracting themselves from this unfortunate thing demanding their time and energy called life.

Manson, Mark (2016-09-13). The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck: A Counterintuitive Approach to Living a Good Life (p. 15). HarperCollins. Kindle Edition.

I’m a follower. Sometimes I blame this on the fact that I’m the last of 4 siblings – I had several people more than willing to make plans and decisions growing up, all I had to do was sit back and go with the flow. Going with the flow can be a useful trait, and one I value pretty highly – but when I ran across this paragraph, it hit me pretty hard.

I don’t make choices. Sometimes I don’t make choices because I just legitimately don’t care. Want to go out to dinner? I’ll go literally anywhere. Anywhere. And I’ll be fine with it. Want to make plans? I don’t have any, but whatever you want to do is fine.

I’ve become suspicious that long term, there’s a cost to living this way – to constantly going with the flow, and relying on others to make plans or take charge. Moment to moment, it’s convenient. But, while there’s value in the ability to be content with whatever choice is made, at the end of the day, I’m living with someone else’s choices, not making them myself. At some point, I fear that results in living someone else’s life – or worse, living an average of the life of all the people I interact with. Life by committee.

The alternative, for me, or people like me, is scary – for exactly the reasons Manson describes. Indifferent people are afraid of the world and the repercussions of their own choices. Choosing means being willing to deal with the consequences of my choices. Even something as simple as dinner bears consequences. What if it’s bad, or people don’t like it?

Maybe more significantly, publicly making a choice means being vulnerable. Indifference is a shield, ready to be wielded to ward off prying eyes into who I am and what I value – and by extension, avoiding criticism on those things. It’s safer to stay indifferent – to feel out what other people think or feel before speaking, and lessen the risk of saying or doing anything particularly authentic.

The next time you and I go out to dinner, and it comes time to choose a place, and I inevitably tell you “I don’t care”, or “I’m game for anything”, just leave without me.

Unbound

My name is Jordi Tosas, and I’m a very simple person. I simply earn my living in the mountains an I live in the mountains. It’s as clear and simple as that. I live with the sun, I celebrate each moment as if it were my last, and I hope to live many more years like this.

Everyone with a pulse should watch this.

If you’re not up for 16 minutes of it, I’d start by saying you should re-evaluate your priorities, because whatever else you were going to do in the next 15 minute is less important. Even so, if you’re only going to watch 2 minutes, watch the 2 starting at 14:00.

Then weep, quit your job, and reevaluate your life.

The Problem with this Nice House

A while back I watched Whiskey Tango Foxtrot. Working title: “Tina Fey the War Correspondent”. It was nice. I laughed. I cried. I don’t know if those things are true, it was months ago. I remember enjoying it, I guess.

I remember very little of the plot – but the very rough arc is that a reporter from a local news station, bored, disillusioned with the state and progress of her life, takes an opportunity to be a war correspondent in Afghanistan. She gets there, it’s interesting, or something. I don’t know. She likes it? Epiphanies are had, I bet.

Here’s the important part, the tiny, throwaway bit that has stuck with me for the many months since forgetting the character’s name, or the finer points of the plot: While working in Afghanistan, the reporters live in pretty terrible conditions. They stay in (what appear to be) tiny, dirty apartments. They’re far from the comforts of home. The beds look terrible. These are professionals. They’re adults. They’re not destitute. But their living conditions are so unimportant as to not deserve any dialogue, any explanation or discussion, other than serving as a background to the story. Why?

I wouldn’t have acknowledged this before, certainly not out loud, but I equate the state of someone’s sleeping arrangements with their level of success. Mattress on the floor? That’s a raised eyebrow from me. Cot in a dirty apartment? Things must have gone terribly wrong.

The sleeping arrangements win WTF struck me as so interesting precisely because of what it said about what is important: These reporters were completely willing to sleep in what I’d probably refer to as unacceptable conditions because the rest of their days were so compelling. If you’re doing important work, work you believe in, and you’re giving it everything you’ve got, who cares what your sleeping arrangements are? Where you sleep is so trivial as to be completely irrelevant.

It’s been months, and this idea sticks in my head. I think about it every time we talk about putting new floors in upstairs, and we talk about that often. Every time we talk about a new kitchen appliance, or consider redoing the shower in the master bath. I thought about it when I excitedly brought home a big new TV at Christmas.

How stylish your house is, how big, comfortable, and well decorated your bed is – these things are most important to me when I’m so spectacularly bored with the rest of my life that I let myself believe they’re important, and that I care about them. My living arrangements are a distraction that I pull up to avoid facing hard truths about how much I care about the way I spend my time, the way I live my life.

I’d love to finish this post with how it’s convinced me to change my life and priorities, but I’m headed out to Lowe’s to look at flooring.

Consistency

My coworker Joe posted about consistency in fitness a couple of weeks ago, and I’ve been stewing over it since.

I have a lot of ideas. I’m interested in a lot of things. All the time. That’s good – I like being excited about life, learning, and experiences. I want to know how the universe works. I want to understand the details That led to WWII. I want to understand calculus. Really understand calculus. I want to learn how to fix my car. I want to write machine learning algorithms. I want to be able to run fast. I want to build a sprinkler system controller that interfaces with my phone. I want to explore strange places. I want to start another business. I want to be good at growing tomatoes. I want to climb mountains. Lots of them.

I also have a full time job, and a wife, and some kids. I can’t do everything I want to do. Even without the job, wife, and children, I couldn’t do them all. Progressing at any single thing comes at the expense of several others, at least in the short term.

What’s left is a question of priorities: what do I most want to learn, do, experience?

All this does have something to do with consistency. In order to achieve consistency, and its benefits — to commit the time and effort toward a goal day after day for long enough to gain traction and get somewhere — requires real commitment. Maintaining that commitment means trusting the initial decision, and sticking to it, which feels like a terrible thing – ignoring the ten things you want to do for the one thing you’re actually doing.

So, what is consistency to me, really? It’s making a decision, and then not second guessing it for long enough to see it through.

The Dark Side of Trial and Error

I’m a trial and error kind of guy. It’s how I got through the few math classes I got through in high school, and how I learned to code. It’s still how I code, more often than I like to admit. It’s like a trusty friend, and it’s always there for me. Except when it’s not.

I own an old Honda Civic. It’s a relic from my pre-child, pre-wife days. I’ve thought about getting rid of it a number of times, but I can’t really pull the trigger. It takes me hiking, and skiing, and to the airport when I don’t have the family with me. And it’s fun to drive.

However, it’s no spring chicken. It’s almost 2 decades old. If cars could get driver’s licenses, it would be able to drive itself. Still, I hang onto it.

About a year ago, I realized the rear passenger door wouldn’t open from the outside. I thought it was locked. It wasn’t. Weird. It opened just fine from the inside, was definitely unlocked, but would not open from the outside. Nobody ever really rides in the car with me though, and certainly not enough people to require filling up the backseat, so I ignored it.

A few months go by, and this has become very occasionally annoying. If I ever need to put something in the back seat, I invariably try the passenger side first, and then have to walk around to do it, or to open the passenger door from the inside. I’m annoyed enough now that I’m passively trying to figure out how I’m going to fix it.

Until one day, when it finally hits me. I sat down in the car to drive to the office, and the thought of the non-working rear passenger door flashed through my head. And so did the solution. Of course! How could I be so stupid! The child lock! It’s got to be the child lock! I bet my son did it. Little rascal.

I got out of the car, reached through from the driver side to the passenger side, and opened the door. Ran around the outside to the passenger side.

I got down to have a look, and the child lock wasn’t on, as I expected – it was off. Weird. But that was easily explained, right? I had never actually used the child lock on this car. I bet the sticker is just upside down or something. That happens, right? Sure. Just flip the switch, it will work. Awesome.

So I toggle the child lock. At this point, it appears I’ve turned the child lock on – but hey, trial and error. And I shut the door. And in the very moment that the door slams shut, I remember how child locks actually work – by disabling the interior handle, not the exterior one.

And that was the last time that door ever opened.

Social Media Does Not Count as a Break.

It’s Tuesday afternoon. 3:15. I’m at my desk, computer open, headphones on. I pull up Facebook. Then my email. Maybe there’s something new on Vimeo. Back to email.

I have things to do, of course. There’s always more work than there is time. I enjoy my work. I don’t loathe turning on my computer in the morning, or coming back from a vacation – in fact, I often look forward to it. So why am I checking Facebook again?

Like everyone (I hope), I sometimes just don’t have it in me. Maybe I didn’t sleep well the night before. Maybe I’ve been working on difficult problems all morning, and now I can’t face the thought of trying to create a new solution, or understand a new problem right at this moment.

So I type in F and let chrome autocomplete fill in acebook.com again. Nonsense. Scroll down. More nonsense. Check email again. Go get a snack.

Except, when I get back from that snack, or discover once again that there’s nothing interesting on Facebook, I still don’t want to work. The little break I took didn’t recharge me, it made me more bored, more desperate for distraction. So, in most cases, I immediately, unthinkingly, start the process again. Facebook. Email. Reddit. Repeat.

Somehow this feels even more sinister when you work from home, or in any environment where you’re not next to your coworkers. When you’re at an office, or a grocery store, or a ski shop, (all places I’ve worked in the past) you are proving your value to the company on a superficial level simply by physically being in the correct location. Even if you’re not doing anything productive, at least everybody knows you’re not enjoying yourself somewhere else. Suffering is almost as good as productivity.

At home, no one knows what I’m doing – so I feel a strange urge to sit at my desk. After all – even if I’m not being productive, at least Im in the right place, right? That’s what my employment history taught me was important.

At some point, spurred by the particularly progressive environment at Automattic, it occurred to me to just give up the charade. Nobody cares if I’m at my desk from 9 – 5. If I don’t feel like working at 3:15 on a Tuesday, I can just stop working. Play a game, watch a movie – or better yet, get up and walk away from the computer. Go for a walk, or a bike ride. Read a book. Work on the bench I’m building. Take the kids to the park. Do anything except sit at the desk and suffer.

Initially, this feels really wrong – the reason I allow myself to check Facebook is because I can do it quickly, and come back to work. 2 minute break, I tell myself. I can’t get the kids to the park and back in 2 minutes. A quick glance at Facebook won’t waste the afternoon – a trip to the park will. The responsible employee just glances at Facebook and then gets back to it.

Except that’s not how it works. A quick glance at Facebook won’t waste the afternoon in theory – but depending on my mood, I won’t be back to doing productive work in 2 minutes. Sometimes I won’t be back to productive work in 30 minutes, or an hour, or 2 hours. What’s worse, I’ll be enduring a potent mix of boredom, self loathing, and irritation the entire time. By choosing a distraction that

I don’t really like
Is very short

I’m guaranteed to finish it almost exactly as I started. My brain hasn’t had time to recharge and there hasn’t been time (or reason) for my mood to change, so I’ll just start again. Except this time I know that I’m once again choosing to take a break, piling on a second helping of the self loathing that comes from knowing that I’m making a decision not to work when I feel like I should.

I’I haven’t found a way to force myself to do things when I’m not in the mood (with occasional exceptions – like pending deadlines, broken production code, etc). I’ll keep working on that, although I’m not sure it’s possible in any sort of sustainable way. In the meantime, at least I can make the best of my downtime.

Choosing to sit at the computer and consume social media when I feel like I need a break under the guise of “getting back to work quickly”, or “staying at my desk” is not innocuous. It’s bad for me, and therefore my work (and my employer), as I almost end up in a worse mental state than when I started.

So, you know, lay off Facebook in the middle of the day.