Bach v Housework: To be Martha or Mary?

Less than an hour left before my first meeting of the day, which luckily is here at home. Overslept after the exhaustions of yesterday so thought I'd pop on some Bach concertos to pep me up. Slight miscalculation: am now too caught up in the musical narrative to vacuum ... or move away from the laptop ... this is why I need to keep my iPod charged at all times!

I find that, while I am no longer a Christian, Biblical texts are deeply imprinted in my mind; tattooed by years of practice. So I am taking solace from the story in Luke's gospel and, in this moment, am choosing to be listening Mary rather than bustling Martha.

There'll be plenty of Martha-like activity in the rest of the day to make up for these few minutes.

Short Australian love story

Clip out; hair tumbles down. Lie back against the patio slats. Warm autumn sun pushes against my black tee, pinning me to the ground. Fold arms over sun-shy face skin.

Turn head sideways. Watch. Ask:

"Do you see our relationship as complicated, or simple?"

He turns a page of the newspaper.

"Both."

Another page over.

"How about you?"

Pause.

"Both."

Pause. Cigarette smoke rolls my way; he bats it grasswards.

"Something else we've got in common, then."

My umbrella tree has a new shoot!

A tiny domestic miracle: a lively green shoot, leaves already showing at its tips, which will grow at an amazing rate over the next fortnight to join its sister branches adding life and joy to our livingroom. See the tiny sprout in the centre of the picture? It's about 3cm long (just over an inch, if you're still non-metric):

I love growing things. Sadly circumstances haven't been conducive to nurturing a really fantastic veggie garden over the last few years, but still I have my potted plants which enrich my life.

My longest "relationship" with a potted plant is the palm I bought to adorn the first flat I leased alone. It is one hardy plant! It has followed me through thirteen moves sincew 1996 - a pretty good track record.

This umbrella tree has only been with me since June last year. It's endured my long hospitalisation and subsequent recuperation, three moves and the long and very crowded drive from Adelaide to Melbourne five weeks ago (yes, the poor trunk is still crooked ... but I have faith in its resilience). The recent branches each have their own story: this newest is the first shoot born in Melbourne; the previous arrived while I was living in some friends' granny flat; the one before that marked my return home from hospital ... it's a living storybook.

"So what? It's a shoot on a plant." Yes, but it's a shoot on my plant, my beloved plant, and it's a vivid sign of new life.

This certainly counts as one of my favourite things.

A strange "good book"

My sleep habits are awry after our whirlwind visit to Adelaide, comprising a day in the car, three nights in a strange bed, the disturbing events of Friday morning, and another day in the car returning home yesterday. My poor body doesn’t know quite where it’s at – in more ways than one! – so I find myself wide awake in the middle of the night.

How to spend this time? I very much dislike insomnia; but I remembered one small highlight of our trip to Adelaide, previously overlooked amidst all the other excitement, and most certainly worthy of a brief mention here.

The Barr Smith Library, at the University of Adelaide, hosted an exhibition called “The Book that Changed the World”, a celebration of four hundred years of the authorized version of the Bible.

It was quite a small exhibition, but interesting: there were some exhibits particularly relevant to South Australia’s history, including one with a descriptive passage in Deuteronomy marked “South Australia”; one of the world’s smallest books, 3.5mm by 3.5mm; and old, as well as replica, illuminated texts.

However, my runaway favourite in its obscure quirkiness was a phonetically printed version. Here’s its own description, as printed on the card beside said book:

“Holy Bible, containing the Old and New Testaments: according to the authorized version: arranged in paragraphs and parallelisms, and printed phonetically.” London, Pitman, 1850.

Wow – a 160 year old phonetic text! I wonder who its intended audience was? Was this printing a further attempt at the vernacular for virtually literate lay readers? Or was it intended to calm jittery clergy, whose daily duties would have required reading tracts out loud publicly? The accompanying notes, reproduced above, were unhelpful but left my imagination running wild.

Beneath the glass case, it lay open at the first page of John’s gospel, and I’ve typed out the title line and first sentence here:

ᴆhe Gospel Acordiŋ tw S. Jon

In đe beginiŋ woz đe Wurd, and đe Wurd woz wiđ God, and đe Wurd woz God.

These words are so familiar to me; when I was a Christian, they were imprinted on my mind, at once cosmically grandiose and comfortingly familiar - but in this rendering they have become mysterious and strange. I keep wondering why Pitman publishing printed such an obscure version, and for whom it was intended.

Perhaps this blog posting, reflecting on the Bible and finding that familiar text obscure and mysterious, is as good any to make early in the hours of this, my second Easter “without God”. What was once the ground beneath my feet has become mysterious and strange; finding a 160-year-old Bible which baffles me seems fitting. Was this what drew me to Pitman's strange publication in the first place?

Once more, as so often these days, my musings leave me with more questions than answers. And the world seems a more open place for that.

Tired

Late night.

Disturbed sleep.

Early start.

Prepare for grumpy Catie tomorrow .....

Gin and Vodka ... intoxicating

We're just back from watching The Crucible, presented by Gin and Vodka Productions at the Old Adelaide Gaol.

It was superb.

Kyle Kaczmarczyk, as John Proctor; Imogen Nicholas, as Abigail Williams; Dianne K Lang, as Elizabeth Proctorl and Rachel Burke, as Mary Williams, gave dynamite performances, supported by a mostly rock-solid cast who brought Miller's powerful script to life amidst the claustrophobic surrounds of Cell Block B in the old gaol.

Imogen, a dear friend of mine, was absolutely outstanding as Abigail - but as I said to her after the show, I would have come home raving even if she hadn't been playing the female lead; my fulsome praise is independent of our friendship. Having said that, though, one stand-out moment of the entire performance came early in the first act, when John and Abigail were left alone in a room with an unconscious girl (Betty); as though a switch were flicked, the mood instantly changed from one of tense activity to intimate sexual tension ... brilliant.

During interval, my husband - heroically braving the cool night in the midst of illness - mentioned a connection between the events depicted in the play and our world today. I agreed, making reference to the Director's Notes which invited audience members to ask how far they would go to protect their name; but he cited one particular and very pertinent example from current affairs - that of Kim Duthie, the schoolgirl involved in the St Kilda photos scandal. All the elements are there: mass hysteria, peer pressure, and (quoting the Director's Notes) "that unspoken streak in human nature that leads us to fend off danger to ourselves by pointing it at someone else" ... I'll leave that sentence hanging there, I think!

I think I heard the season's sold out, but if you can, get yourself some tix and get to this show.

You won't regret it.

The Adelaide Parklands

Today my running feet were reunited with the Adelaide Parklands - to their, and my, great delight!

For non-Adelaide people, the Parklands are a broad band of natural land and gardens surrounding the square mile of Adelaide CBD. Listen to local radio for a week and you'll almost always hear something about the Parklands - whether they should be preserved or developed; how they should, or should not, be used by private enterprises for entertainment purposes, and so forth.

For my husband, who only lived in Adelaide a few years (definitely not a local!) the Parklands are the butt of many a joke - but for me, they're something which makes this city very special. The Parklands are full of space, peace and trees, things close to my heart.

So today I enjoyed jogging sweeping loops through the south and east Parklands. I heard Pulteney Grammar's alarms going off at 8.15 - tests, or tripped by someone? Not me, officer: I was running on the other side of South Terrace.

To my embarrassment, I nearly ran into the nearly-invisible two-strand wire fence along Greenhill Road - that'll teach me to check my heart rate monitor on the go.

I ended my run back to Gilles Street running the diagonal path from the corner of Fullarton and Greenhill Roads to South Terrace. This is a section I have run countless times. Some of those trees are like old friends, and it warmed my heart to see them and "catch up", as it were, on what's been happening in their lives. All seem to be thriving and I couldn't see gaps, indicating a fallen comrade.

Tomorrow morning I hope I'll be able to actually run: today's pace was a little slower than usual, having fought off a virus and been inactive in the car yesterday. But for today, the delight was in being reunited with one of my favourite places.

Bliss.

Tips for Happy, Successful Long Distance Driving with your Beloved

Today the dearly beloved and I drove from Melbourne to Adelaide. We arrived safely, in a timely manner – and still in love ©

However, I’ve made a mental list of things to keep in mind for next time:

1.       Compromise is a sign of true love

Our musical tastes have diverged over time. We could (read “should”) have spent some time organizing a mutually agreeable playlist over the last week ... but didn’t. Result: when Pete was driving, we were listening to ABC local radio; when I was driving, SILENCE – or idle chit chat! (The sound of that radio was driving me up the wall after an hour or so.)

2.       The dashboard’s fine the way it is

Sweetheart, I’ve driven literally tens of thousands of kilometres on interstate roads over the years. I know what I’m doing. I can overtake trucks safely. The dashboard has a lovely embossed texture already; your fingerprints will not enhance it. (Thank you for trying to hide your nervous gripping from me.)

3.       Activate your frontal lobe ... and keep it activated

I, the non-smoker, won’t comment when your cigarette fumes waft back into the car during a break. You, the non-napper, won’t comment when I’ve drifted off to sleep for an hour or so. See? Everyone’s happy.

4.       Keep your eye on the big picture

Yes, darling, you’re right. The 50km before Horsham did take forever. But in the context of almost 800km, we can let it go, yes?

Unexpected Beauty

My aesthetics were formed by a country childhood and an Adelaide adolescence, as were my stereotypes; I’m afraid my cultural baggage includes low hopes of finding unexpected corners of natural beauty in this larger metropolis of Melbourne.

Exploring these new surrounds, I’m fortunate to be continually proved wrong – on a daily basis. Sometiems I love being wrong!

Whether it’s admiring the simple vigorous wonder of a thriving lawn, or the flowers which seem to thrive atop brick letterboxes down my street – a verdant miracle unseen in Adelaide – I’m teaching my eyes to expect to see nature pushing up through the concrete jungle.

Sometimes it’s making its own way, as the blackberries surviving the council's best eradication efforts alongside the overpass by our home. Other times someone has planned a really successful planting in a public space, which “just works”.

A few of these gems lie alongside the Monash Freeway (the M1, this eastern side of Melbourne). As the exits reach towards the twenties, natives have successfully been planted in the serrations of sound barriers. I particularly like the trees just before and after the South Gippsland Highway – the specimens on the left as you’re heading east approach the spectacular. Other beauties lie near the Belgrave-Hallam Road exit, or the Narre Warren exit, particularly if you’re driving towards the city.

Perhaps my favourite is the mix of (? I'm no botanist) aloes and shrubs on the slope leading up to Ernest Wanke Road*. The mix of species seems to have developed well together and looks great early in the morning, under full daylight or as the day fades to gold.

This finding-of-beauty reminds me to see beauty in the other mundanities of life – those gracious interactions with a friendly shop assistant, the generosity of a fellow train commuter. Beauty, perhaps, lies within the open-minded beholder’s eyes ... kept open.

* For people who aren’t local – I didn’t make that name up!

Writer's Group

Today, my four-weeks-and-first day in Melbourne, I tried something new: I attended a writer’s group.

This was definitely outside my comfort zone!

For the last six years, I’ve only written academic pieces and speeches – and one piece of fiction, a “thank you” story for a special person left behind in Adelaide; so you could say I was sorely underprepared to attend a writer’s group. But I’ve been feeling somewhat socially isolated since arriving over here, and know I need to put myself out there – so along I went. (Previous readers: yes, I’ve been lacking a sense of “relatedness” lately! One of my Big Four.)

I felt some trepidation: would they be poncy word-snobs? Would there be bitchiness and backstabbing? Would they be open and welcoming, or closed to outsiders?

I chose the group I attended after looking at a website of Victorian writers groups; on the basis of a few words on a screen, I made a fairly arbitrary selection ... and trusted my intuition.

I chose well. Three men, seven women, age-skewed to the mature; some published, some not, with works from children’s picture books to novel chapters presented. I decided I would “put myself out there” and read the first two scenes of the piece I’d taken along. The feedback was both kind, constructive and particular – “you had a split infinitive on page two” – just what I’d hoped for, but was almost too nervous to anticipate. I wouldn’t say they were blown away by what I’d written – I’d say they’re not great science fiction fans, for starters! – but it was gratifying to hear that  it was well written.

It was a really great example of positive community: purposeful, supportive, truthful (within the bounds of compassion) ... I was really impressed, and grateful, and am looking forward to next month.

Tea

A morning which allows the opportunity to nurse a pot of tea while scanning the net and the papers: bliss.

I love tea; one of my mottos - "all tea is good tea". I love the taste as it rolls across the tongue; the sight of infusion seeping from the leaves; the change in flavour as your pot ages; playing around with blends (my current fave is two parts English Breakfast to one part Blackberry Scented).

I love the subtle sensation of the active ingredients in tea hitting the various parts of my body - brain, gut, muscles.

For a while, many years ago, I took my tea black - but after a holiday in Far North Queensland, where the practice more closely resembles percolation to infusion, I reverted to adding milk.

Today's cafe culture is not always tea-friendly:

"Can I have a white tea, please?"

"We don't have white tea."

"OK ... can I have a normal English Breakfast tea, with milk?"

"Sure, no probs."

Also, I've learnt, when ordering tea in a new cafe, to ask for "milk on the side" to avoid being served something resembling the lower reaches of the Ganges. Still, "all tea is good tea" ... so down the hatch it goes.

Herbal teas? Fantastic, love them; but black tea is my staple. Oh, and if you're wondering, the best place to go for tea in Berwick is the Aroma Hut ... no, not a sponsored endorsement, a simple statement of fact: the tea they serve is superb.

Here's to the rest of a wonderful hour.

This morning's favourite word: Epigrammatic

Which I haven't been.

Sorry.

On Memoirs and Motivation

Last night in bed, I was thinking about what I'd written yesterday, all those reasons I love running. I remembered reading "What I Talk About When I Talk About Running" (Haruki Murakami, English publication 2008) and the joy which came from hearing my own heart's delight echoed in Murakami's reflections.

I was very lucky to have picked up that book when I did; one of my sisters had given it to me a few months earlier, and it had sat on my To Read pile for a while. The timing was fortunate because I'd just finished Anna Goldsworthy's "Piano Lessons".

Goldsworthy's book is another memoir, of her piano lessons with an extraordinary teacher. A musical friend had gushed at the evocative language she used, and Goldsworthy certainly has a way with words; I wish I had the book in front of me to provide examples - but I wouldn't trust my memory to do her justice! It certainly was a very well written book, about music, obsession, achievement, anxiety, and the life-giving relationship it's possible to have with a fantastic mentor.

Perhaps those are the reasons that, while I was reading it, I kept thinking: "This is the most wonderful book I've read in ages! She speaks to my condition, my passion, my loves. This one's going on the Favourites list."

But after I'd finished reading and in the days following, I noticed a dip in my mood. I found myself looking at my life and noticing the shortfalls between its reality and the idealized version in my head; instead of finding this amusing, the gap seemed to loom large; it grated. Thankfully, at this point I picked up Murakami's book, and the cause of my malaise was made clear.

It comes down to motivation. Both Murakami and Goldsworthy are driven by obsession ... but what is fuelling their obsession? They are both passionate ... but wherein lies the roots of that passion?

Clearly, having met neither of these people (though I wish I could!), what I am about to say is predicated only on their writings - i.e. highly constructed versions of themselves; and my response to it - necessarily idiosyncratic. But after reading Murakami I felt uplifted, alive, motivated to go out and do more of the things I loved. After reading Goldsworthy I found myself measuring my life's achievements against hers and thinking, "We're two women of roughly the same age, with roughly the same background (private-school education in Adelaide, doctor fathers) and interests (music, academia); how did her life turn out so differently to mine?"

I wonder whether the difference lies in the locus of their motivation - Murakami: internal, Goldsworthy: external? Or whether their goals in pursuing their passions were different; one of my favourite psychologists comes to mind again (Edward Deci) and his writings about motivation which I mentioned briefly in a previous blog. Murakami's obsession is perhaps focussed more on process, Goldsworthy's on ends; Murakami's on living/"being" the good life, Goldsworthy's on "doing" the good life ... if that makes sense.

Having been a devout Christian, and pondering my reactions, the words of Matthew 7:16 come to mind ("By their fruits shall ye know them ..."). I guess the bottom line is this: I read two excellent memoirs; one left me feeling flat and focussed on real or imagined deficits in my life, the other left me feeling uplifted and encouraged me in my pursuit of "more than ordinary moment[s] of existence" (Robert Henri).

Thank you, Murakami, for nurturing the desire for The Good Life within me.

Melbourne v Adelaide; Or, Why I Still Love Running

ngIf you’ve come to this page expecting a continuation of the age-old rivalry between these two great cities, a recycling of that bitter enmity – sorry; you’ll be disappointed. Instead you’ll read one woman’s comparison of running in her adored Adelaide to the metropolis of Melbourne – and why she still thinks running’s worthwhile, despite the change.

I began running regularly a couple of years ago. Work life was tough, and I needed a positive way to neutralize the stresses. I was learning that I had to be kind to myself – and realizing I had to start being kind to this body, this non-refundable gift bestowed at birth, which I’d been neglecting.

Running became not only a path to fitness, but also a way of connecting with myself. A good run is one in which I enter my “running zen-state”, those timeless moments of being, punctuated by the touch of foot and rhythm of breath; yes, it’s a cliché, but the sensation of “flight” comes into it ... good thing I’m not a writer, or I’d be chastised for that one!

In Adelaide, it’s easy to find patches of nature to run through. Living in Tranmere, I’d run to Third Creek, jog along its banks then through to the Gums before weaving home again; or head west, following the creek as closely as I could, sometimes forced away as it dodged below ground. I went through a phase of running huge figures-of-eight through the south and east Parklands. Other times I’d drive to Morialta, revelling in the fresh air, the beauty of the trees and water; time it right, and I’d catch the morning rainbow at First Falls.

My favourite track in Adelaide is Linear Park*, which lines the River Torrens almost continuously from the outlet at Henley Beach to the Adelaide Hills. I love to run the Park in sections, driving to a bridge and leaving my car there as I run east (upstream) along one side of the river and then back along the other side. I have a special connection with trees, and Linear Park is blessed with an abundance; also, it amazes me how quickly the sound of traffic fades, once you’re at river level.

In Adelaide, I usually achieved my running zen-state after the first kilometre (i.e. once my body had stopped complaining). From then on, I’d just keep right on running until it was time to stop. I’ve only injured myself once in the past year, and that was due to stupidity and poor preparation, leaving my mobile phone beside a track past the very upper reaches of the Park, inaccessible by car – so having to run double the distance, without hydrating properly. That torn calf muscle taught me a lot, not least to KEEP HOLD OF YOUR MOBILE, CATIE!

I’ve lived in the outer eastern suburbs of Melbourne for three-weeks-and-five-days: yes – I still count each dawn! I’m finding it harder to find local natural space in which to run. Our home snuggles between a railway, impassable for some kilometres on either side; an expressway, and a highway – so not only am I constrained in which directions I can begin running, but my rhythm is necessarily interrupted by having to stop at traffic lights. I guess I could choose to run mazes through the local streets; ugh, that’s reminiscent of those unfortunate insects in Bank’s “The Wasp Factory” – no thank you!

I’ve reached a compromise: I start heading south-east through side streets until hitting my suburb’s bete noire, Clyde Road. From there I turn north to the Princes Highway, which invariably means stopping for the lights – a real buzz kill but a chance for some stretches. Over the Highway and heading west, I enter one of Berwick’s treasures, Wilson Botanic Park. Then follows some steep hill running along one of the Park’s many loops, before crossing the Highway again at Mansfield Street and heading home.

Yes, there are trees a-plenty along this route; but the constant buzz of traffic, the frustration of feeling my heart rate fall as I’m forced to stop at lights ... I realize I’m not in Kansas anymore.

Yet, amazingly, I still achieve my running zen-state. How can this be?

I was thinking about this as I was out this morning, and counting the reasons I love to run.

I’ll admit it: I love the buzz. In my mental thesaurus, endorphin = good!

The buzz doesn’t disappear after the warm-down, either; a good run in the morning, and I’m set up for a good day – or, should I be running after a hellish day, an evening cleansed of toxic memories.

I also love the challenge. I don’t look like a runner: I’m short-ish, and have even shorter legs; and despite being eighteen kilos lighter than my heaviest self, I’m still plump. I’m thrilled that, if I want to, I can churn out twelve k’s and feel like going back for seconds.

And, being a numbers girl, I love recording the details in my journal. This route took me this long ... my average heart rate was this, my peak heart rate was that ... I burned this many kilocalories; I wonder why today’s run felt faster than yesterday’s, when the stats tell a different story?

I love what running teaches me about myself. When I was still quite unfit, I remember standing at the bottom of a long, steep hill which had defeated me for weeks, and thinking to myself: “if I want to reach the top of this hill, all I need to do is put one foot after the other ’til I get there.” I love the fact that I’ll still head out for a run even on days I think I don’t want to, that my mind knows my body will thank me for it after the first few minutes.

But what I run for is that beloved running zen-state. And that treasure is mine, mine to keep, and won’t be stolen by the concrete jungle, traffic lights or railway lines.

* Actually my pet name for it is (non-)Linear Park, but that’s another story.

The Big Four: Autonomy, Competence, Relatedness and Critical Thinking

What do we need to be happy? What personal attributes can we develop which will guide us towards a more fulfilled, joyful life - one characterized by an abundance of what Robert Henri described as "more than ordinary moment[s] of existence"?

Over the last week I've enjoyed re-reading summaries of some of my favourite researching psychologists' work, which has reminded me of what I believe are "the Big Four" mental attributes required for well-being.

My thinking about this was initially prompted by Yair Amichai-Hamburger 's article (issue 2739 of New Scientist magazine, December 2009, page 28-29) which introduced me to the work of Edward Deci and Richard Ryan, who developed self-determination theory.

Deci, coming from an experimental psychology background, and Ryan, from the humanistic tradition, combined their research efforts and concluded that healthy, actualized human beings functioned with autonomy (the sense that our actions are self-determined), competence (the belief that we can be effective agents in our worlds) and relatedness (the desire, or rather I would say imperative, to feel close to other people). In his review, Amichai-Hamburger added a fourth dimension, critical thinking, and I whole-heartedly embrace this addition.

Deci (with Richard Flaste) summarized their findings to date in his 1995 book, "Why We Do What We Do: Understanding Self-Motivation" (Penguin, ISBN 978-0-14-025526-3), which is an accessible read and I believe has dated well. Deci's voice rings through - he sometimes finds himself "aghast" at the behaviour of a friend, and "thought it was a shame [an MBA graduate] hadn't learned the difference between the nominative and the objective". I sometimes found myself cringing at some of his personal opinions (does it really matter that an MBA graduate uses "me" where grammar dictates he should write "I"?) but this personal presence makes the book more readable.

Deci emphasizes that people in "one-up" relationships (parents, teachers, bosses, doctors) have a responsibility to those who are "one-down" to them (children, students, employees, patients) to promote healthy autonomy, competence and relatedness attributes through the manner in which they conduct themselves within those relationships. This brings me to the work of another of my favourite psychologists, Carol Dweck.

Dweck is interested in self-theories, or the way that people perceive themselves (or aspects of themselves). Her 2000 book "Self-Theories: Their Role in Motivation, Personality and Development" (Psychology Press, ISBN 978-1-84169-024-7) is another very engaging and accessible read - despite the somewhat daunting title!

Her research began by asking how students thought about intelligence,whether they saw it as an innate, unchanging quantity (what she terms an "entity view") or a malleable, adaptive quality ("incremental view"). Her detailed exploration of what these self-theories mean for individuals' motivation, development, success and failure is clearly laid out; her arguments are easy to follow, and illustrated through reference to numerous (and I do mean numerous!) studies, which she summarizes with a light but accurate hand. She emphasizes the role teachers and parents (and, I propose by extension, all those in "one-up" relationships to others) play in moulding the self-theories children hold. In particular, she emphasizes the importance of what "one-up"s praise, and how they deliver that praise; for example, effort- and strategy-related praise is far more beneficial than person- or intelligence-praise.

OK, I've tried to summarize the life work of three researchers in a few paragraphs, and hope that if they read what I've written they wouldn't feel too mis-represented! What have I taken from all this reading and thinking?

Firstly, I am keenly aware that I am in "one-up" relationships with various others in my life. This is most clearly seen in my role as educator, tutor and mentor to people younger than me, but there are moments when I will - however briefly - adopt a "one-up" position in relationship to various others, as each day unfolds. I choose to believe I can adopt ever more helpful strategies in my relationships with others to support them in developing autonomy, competence, relatedness, the faculty for critical thinking and a healthy set of self-theories. I do this through the manner in which I interact with people and, most particularly, through the language I adopt when speaking with others.

Secondly, if I find myself feeling negative or low, I can use critical thinking to pinpoint which of "the Big Four" is lacking in my present circumstance and cultivate a mastery attitude to the situation (as opposed to a helpless attitude - thank you to Dweck for these evocative terms).

I love how these researchers' work - built up from very simple laboratory experiments over long periods of time - are now summarized for us in accessible form, and how they can equip us for living lives characterized by joy ... as well as enabling others along the same path.

PS: I think I'll write a bit more about each of "the Big Four" over the next little while ... depending on how the mood takes me! So keep posted, should this interest you.