I was having a lot of challenge figuring out where to start this one. For some reason, the Object/Process/Meta structure I used the past three years doesn’t feel like it makes sense this year. Maybe because this year a lot of the object-level “stuff I did” was itself process- or meta-level.
The first thing I need to get out of the way is that as of last week, I’m using the Holocene calendar, which means that instead of writing my 2016 CE review, I’m writing my 12016 HE review. It’s the same year, but I’m experimenting with living in the thirteenth millennium because (4-6 years after) the birth of Christ is a weird start time for a bunch of reasons. Better is about 12,000 years ago, around the start of human civilization. There might be a slightly more accurate year, but the nice thing about just adding 10,000 years is that it means you don’t have to do any math to convert between CE and HE: just stick a 1 on the front or take it off. This in turn means I can use it in public-facing works and while it might be a little confusing, it’s still easily-understood. Here’s a great YouTube video on the subject. I’ll tell you if/how this affects my thinking during next year’s yearly review, after I’ve been using it for awhile.
Okay, 12016. » read the rest of this entry »
I’m flexing my blogging muscle again, for the first time in nearly 2 months. It feels a bit weird, and kinda nice. The break I took also feels both weird and nice.
There’s a trope or something about blogs where half of their posts are just the author apologizing for not posting more often. This isn’t going to be one of those—instead, my absence from this space is something that I want to reflect on, in a similar manner to my normal blog posts. How does it relate to my own growth? How does it relate to motivation? To metacognition?
This reflection ends up spanning 5 years and touching on a lot of what’s core to me (and what was core in the past).
My last post was about taking myself seriously, and I remarked:
“This blog post is going to be the first in a series of several posts on the subject.”
This is part of why I haven’t actually posted anything recently. Turns out writing a sequence is hard. I have spent at least a dozen hours (maybe two) refining the ideas in those posts, but it’s been hard to figure out what order to put everything in. I have no idea how people write books. Okay, some idea: slowly.
But since I felt like I had to publish the rest of the sequence before publishing other things, I found myself not writing other things, even though I had things to write. (To some extent I may have also experienced something like a vicious rock paper scissors dynamic, where I had some energy to write about some new thing but felt like I had to work on the sequence instead, but didn’t really feel as motivated towards that, so I didn’t write anything.)
But I’m feeling okay about all of this! And that’s what’s really changed.
Back in September, I was noticing a bunch of tension emerging between some of my motivational structures and the way we’re doing things here at the Upstart Collaboratory, the intentional learning community / culture accelerator I’m a part of. I was navigating a kind of obsessive get-it-done pattern that can very easily get fixated on doing some particular task, to the exclusion of paying attention to what really makes sense in the moment. This kind of focus is powerful, but needs to be used strategically or it produces a lot of motion in a direction that doesn’t matter.
(My sense is that this is similar to the phenomenon where someone takes a stimulant to do work, but ends up, say, very intently organizing the folders on their external hard drive instead, because that caught their attention before the work did).
I was experiencing a lot of internal pressure to make progress. This pressure has been really powerful for me, driving me to do tons of writing and coding and other work—I owe a lot of my success to it. And, it’s limited on its own. I began to realize I really needed to develop the skills of taking a step back, taking in what’s really going on, and taking a followership role, not just a leadership role.
So I stopped working on Complice pretty much altogether for a week, and just focused on reading (primarily the aforementioned followership book, David Chapman’s Meaningness, and The Zen Leader) and really paying attention to my own thoughts and what was going on around me.
I started noticing more opportunities to practice proactive withness, something I wrote about a year ago and have thought about more since. Learning how to do more structured improvisation based on a general sense of purpose, rather than needing to plan my day in detail in advance (which was hard to interface with everyone else here).
This, in itself, was hugely valuable in terms of shifting how I could show up in the context of the Upstart Collaboratory—the culture accelerator project I’ve been involved with over the past few years. The culture that we’re working on building requires everyone to be attuned to each other and to what’s going on in a way that’s basically impossible if someone is caught up in some fixed sense of what needs to happen next (or a fixed need to get seen, or a fixation on everyone in a situation being comfortable.)
The project has been moving forward slowly for the past decade or two in one form or another. It’s only really been in the last few months that we’ve started to take ourselves more seriously as not just a community or a nebulous group of people, but an actual team, working together. So there’s still a huge sense of using my time valuably… but now it’s coming more from a sense of attraction (being pulled towards what’s exciting) than from a sense of pressure (being pushed away from inaction).
Following this general relaxation of pressure, some other things shifted. The one in particular that ties back into this blog post about blog-posting is a realization I had about my relationship to my projects.
Early morning in early October, I set out on a walk with Jean, head of Upstart. She was going to work at a café and I said I’d accompany her partway on the walk, but then would go back and do some solo work. This was after that week of doing almost no solo work on projects like Complice or blogging. Partway turned into most-of-the-way, which turned into the parking lot of the café. The conversation as we walked had been really exciting—one frame we explored was of a sort of stand-up meeting between the CEO and CTO of the startup that is Upstart (these aren’).
So there I was, at the café. I was feeling this pressure to turn around and go do some of my own work, but it also really felt like it made sense to stay and continue collaborating with Jean. As we took our first sips of our drinks, it suddenly dawned on me that all of the pressure I was experiencing was self-created and something that I could simply choose to let go of.
It was a weird feeling, because I’d been subject to it for so long and so intensely. But there I was, able to look at it clearly and recognize the stress it was causing me and the real possibility of letting go.
I developed this internal project-pressure, I imagine, in response to feeling the external demands of university and knowing I needed some internal locus of drive that would help me resist the temptation to feel like I should be doing homework all the time when I really didn’t need to. This was enormously powerful: I created this blog, started doing more self-experimentation and making commitments to personal challenges, built several apps on the side, and recorded an album of original music, while staying on top of my studies. This was back in 2011-2012.
Then in fall 2013, I began channeling this intensity into building Complice—in two ways. The straightforward one is that Complice became one of the projects I was focusing on instead of school. But also, the very structure of Complice itself was predicated around the kind of motivation I’d been using—a bunch of different goals/projects, making sure to make a bit of progress every day. Without recognizing this, it might surprise some people to learn that (except for a few weeks) my work on Complice has mostly been “part-time”—20-30 hours in a given week. But in this context, it makes total sense.
In writing about my Ritual to Upgrade my Face last March, I noted:
“One last [motivation for doing this] was realizing that part of me seemed to be holding back from caring passionately about anyone or anything. I had seemingly misplaced my ability to fall in love.”
Let’s return to the scene at the café. At that moment, I’ve just had a really transformative week being mostly focused on the Upstart Collaboratory work. Yet I’m feeling like I need to do all of these other things. Then I have this realization: it’s okay to fall in love with one project and get really obsessed about it. Even if that means that other projects get put a bit to the side.
It now sounds obvious, written here, but it required a serious cognitive restructuring for me.
(I suspect that it’s in general true that lots of things that feel like they would be NOT OKAY are either actually fine upon further inspection or are not okay only because of some circumstantial factor that could in fact change.)
I really can’t say how much I’ll end up blogging in the next few months. It could be substantially more than my historic 1 post per 10 days, or could be much less. But it currently looks like things have stabilized a bit, and having given myself that space, I’ll find myself getting excited about writing even if I’m not pushing myself to do it.
I realized recently that while I’m pretty consistently operating out of Growth Mindset, there’s another mindset shift that I’m often missing.
I was reading an insightful book called Influencer. One of the sections of the book describes a man with a love of chocolate, who wants to lose weight and tries to replace his chocolate-snacking habit with a carrot-snacking habit. I know the feel—chocolate is very compelling to me. From that book:
“Initially, failure signals the need for greater effort or persistence. Sometimes failure signals the need to change strategies or tactics. But failure should rarely signal that we’ll never be able to succeed and drive us to pray for serenity. For instance, you find yourself staring at a half-eaten ice cream cone in your hand. Should you conclude that you’re unable to stick with your eating plan so you might as well give up? Or should you conclude that since it’s hard to resist when you walk past the ice cream parlor on your way home from work, you should change your route? The first conclusion serves as discouraging brake on performance, whereas the second provides a corrective guide that helps refine your strategy.
The book describes the first response—concluding you can’t do it and giving up—as Fixed Mindset, and the second as Growth Mindset. They depict an overdramatic Fixed Mindset internal monologue:
“Henry wonders if he can overcome the genetic hand that he’s been dealt… has [no] self-discipline… surely he’s doomed… believes he hadn’t been born with ‘the right stuff.'” …etc.
I basically never have thoughts like that.
Which led me into the puzzle of why, if I’m consistently operating out of Growth Mindset, do I not consistently respond in that second way? That is, using each failure as a corrective guide, tweaking my path so I don’t encounter future temptations. » read the rest of this entry »
I try a lot of things. In the past I’ve forced myself to try things a certain oftenness. There was my 2014 habit-a-week project, and 2015’s #trythings beeminder.
I think I’m presently trying more interesting things, more often, but it’s coming from internal drives rather than external pressures. I reflected that I wanted a place to write about these—things in progress, things that might not work, small things… things that aren’t worth their own blog post at this phase.
So I’ve made a new page on my site! malcolmocean.com/experiments
I was chatting with a friend of mine the other day, who remarked:
I’ve got a question for you… I’m working at this company where I get a referral bonus for new hires or new customers, and when I told some of my coworkers that I was friends with the CEO of [Company], they said that I should try to get them to sign up.
…and I was like “whoa, that feels really aversive”. So I was wondering if you have any tips on selling to your friends.
Turned out this is a question I had pondered before, myself. Specifically, last October I found myself puzzling over the question:
Fortunately, most of the conversations in which that had happened were recorded in the form of chat logs, so I was relatively easily able to investigate the question framed as such. First, I made a list of relevant factors that were different at the nascent stages of my company versus several years in:
Earlier this week, Julia Galef posted a brief piece to facebook on unsolicited criticism. I started to reply, and then semi-accidentally wrote something blog-post length and somewhat tangential to the original discussion. Note that I didn’t start out with a specific point to make, so my post doesn’t exactly have a coherent structure or direction to it.
“Criticism” seems like a complex term, which might be worth deconstructing.
Wikipedia says “Criticism is the practice of judging the merits and faults of something.” This seems pretty uncontroversial to me, and also seems to imply that criticism is inherently ~essentialist. If A is criticizing B’s behaviour, that basically implies there’s something wrong with B (and that A has the right to judge B).
This is naturally going to put people on the defensive.
Broadly speaking, criticism is part of a larger set of things we might call “feedback”. In a really abstract sense, what “feedback” is is information flow between parts of a system. Even if we assume that all criticism is negative (which seems roughly but not strictly true of the usage of the english word “criticism”, outside of artistic contexts) it’s still not the case that all negative feedback is criticism: for instance, if your house gets too warm in the winter, a negative feedback loop from the thermostat to the furnace will cause the furnace to stop.
To take a human example, sometimes I’ve been talking excitedly and then someone has told me (with words or gestures) to be more quiet. This is clearly negative feedback: it responds to increased voice volume on my part with something intended to decrease voice volume. Often this volume feedback feels like a helpful and connective signal, but at other times it feels like criticism—like they think I’m incompetent for not already speaking more quietly. Especially if they’ve told me in the past.
What makes the difference?
I finally managed to put words to a thing that has been subtly bugging me for awhile: why certain reactions to me being in pain bother me. This post is short!
I was moving behind a car to get in the passenger side door. I hit my shin on the car’s tow-hitch and exclaimed some sort of sharp sound of pain.
My mom, who had also been getting in the car, started going “Ohh, buddy! That hurts, oh wow, that really hurts…” etc.
…but I wasn’t actually in that much pain, and was mostly wishing her reaction would go away. The pain is already fading. The sympathy is escalating.
This has happened with other people too; this is just the most salient example. I find these encounters pretty disconnecting, because the person is trying to empathize with me but then after the initial moment they’re paying more attention to their own imagination than they actually are to my experience.
In general, pain that doesn’t indicate something is ongoingly wrong will attenuate—it will gradually decrease. This is true for most stubbings of toes, small cuts and scrapes, and so on. But some responses to pain (eg tensing up a bunch) can make things more painful.
A common source of confusion in conversation is when the participants aren’t talking about the same thing. If the thing in question is a concept, it can be helpful to taboo your words so that you have to unpack the concept. Does a tree falling in an empty forest make a sound? Well, depends on what you mean by “sound”.
In other situations, where the conversation is about communicating our experiences of each other (aka “feedback”) there’s another habit that I find useful, that I call using reference incidents. The idea is to find or create a shared example of a particular behaviour or experience in question, with features known to both parties, so that you can compare notes on the incident and reveal your perspective to the other person in a way that they’re able to integrate it. This is related to the virtue of narrowness: “What is true of one apple may not be true of another apple; thus more can be said about a single apple than about all the apples in the world.”
A short example from my life of how this sort of confusion shows up. I was talking with a housemate, and she said to me, “This experience right now reminds me of this time with Jean,” and went on to describe that incident. Then, some minutes later she mused, “…yeah, when I spoke I think I was feeling discomfort.” At this point it would be easy to assume that she meant that she was feeling discomfort in talking with me just then, but she also could be still thinking of the conversation with Jean. (Or I could have made the opposite assumption).
Of course, in this case it may simply be both. But I asked about it, because in making sense of her talking about her discomfort, I’m bringing a lot of background context based on my own understanding of the conversation in question, and so if she and I are thinking of different conversations, then it’s going to be hard for me to make accurate inferences about what she’s saying. This makes communication hard.
Here’s a more extensive, made-up example: » read the rest of this entry »
A lot of things that we usually model as events or states can be thought of as processes. Depending on the context, this process lens can
I’m going to go through them in that order because it’s also perhaps in increasing levels of complexity.
When was the last time you looked at the stars at night?
I was hanging out with my friend a few weeks ago, staring at the stars while we talked about the nature of the universe.
It occurred to me that in some ways it’s less accurate to say that the stars “are bright”, and more accurate to say that they’re continually emitting light. I mean, obviously, but really stop and think about it: say you’re looking at the “North Star” (Polaris). It’s about 400 light years away, which means that the fact that you’re seeing light from that direction right now is because of a bunch of nuclear reactions in the star, like 400 years ago. A few seconds later, you’re seeing new light, made from some more nuclear reactions. And on and on.
And that light is being continually sent out in all directions. There’s a giant sphere radiating out from Polaris of light-from-400-years-ago. There’s another sphere of light-from-500-years-ago, which is a thousand light-years across (Earth is inside this sphere) and still expanding. The sphere of light-from-300-years-ago is also gigantic, but won’t reach Earth until the 22nd century. (If you’re reading this in the 22nd century or later, then OMG HI. Please forgive this claim which is now false.)
So the light you’re seeing isn’t just the state of things. It’s a process that is continuously happening.
Over the past few years, I’ve spent about 7 months staying with friends while traveling. Here’s what I’ve learned from the experience.
One of the main ways that I’ve found people is just by posting to Facebook that I’m going to be in town and I’m looking for a place to stay. (I suspect this works better for me than other people, since I have a fairly engaged feed.) This is a nice approach, because it lets me cast a wide net without anyone really feeling like I’m putting pressure on them.
At any rate, apparently I still feel a bit weird about posting this or something. I’ve known for quite awhile I’d be traveling to the Bay Area again this August, and yet I still didn’t manage to get around to making a simple post until yesterday. I think it’s that issue again where not getting what you want feels immensely worse if you can’t pretend you didn’t want it.
Anyway, offers to stay, both on facebook and from people I’ve talked to in person, have often come from people I didn’t actually know very well at the time, which I wouldn’t have expected. Although of course I got to know them better via staying over, so we’re closer now 🙂