Summer Joys

These are the things I'm enjoying this summer:

1. Test Cricket! And not just our trip to the MCG on Boxing Day:



but also the drama of the Sydney Test, enjoyed via radio and TV, and enhanced through interactions with friends near and far on facebook

2. Finally getting around to re-upholstering our diningroom chairs. This is indicative of how they looked this time last week:

Part-way through the process, the original ugly 1970s brown fabric can be seen:

The contrast between old and new is marked:





and I'm very happy with the final result:

3. Reading! I'm so excited that Dead Men's Boots was returned to my local library today, so I can pounce on it - I'm looking forward to seeing what Felix Castor gets up to next. I've also enjoyed re-reading the Narnia books and browsing through some positive psychology stuff, as well as catching up on issues of New Scientist I didn't get through last year.

4. Eating - summer specials like bananas microwaved until they begin to caramelize, then mixing in low fat Greek yoghurt for a sweetly tart treat; melon for breakfast, and a perennial favourite - stir-fried wombok - for tea

5. Watching TV - as the cricket allows! Catching up on the third series of Breaking Bad on DVD, and taping the re-runs of Doctor Who to savour again.

Work will pick up again next week, but this week is still summertime. Joy!

Celebration of Discipline

Yes, I have shamelessly stolen the title of Richard Foster's iconic book as a heading for this post. (Foster - there's no point in suing me - I have no money.) But the matter of discipline has been on my mind this week, as I've exercised discipline in many different ways - and sometimes, of course, failed to do so!

My "thinking about thinking" has been dominated this week by running. During that 10k event last Sunday, when things got tough, I'd put my head down and repeat what I know is true: "My strength as a runner is that I keep going." A different type of self control was required in recovering from that event.  During Monday's jog, having pushed my body harder and faster than usual the day before, I had to not stretch out into my usual lope, but keep things firmly under wraps: very slow, very steady, nursing that tender calf muscle, just plodding along in order to warm my body up for a very good stretching session afterwards.

Yesterday's discipline was one of busy-ness: I had to be in what my husband and I call "Go Mode", functioning at a high level, in order to get everything done. It was great to reach the end of the day having achieved everything I wanted to do, a long list which ranged from two school visits to remembering to tell the insurance company that I've changed my car number plates over to Victorian ones. (Seventeen weeks, five days today since the move!)

Today, I've had a cancellation, which leaves the whole day open to prepare my tax information for the accountant tomorrow. I loathe accounting! And bookkeeping: Ugh. The discipline required today will be using psychological tricks to actually stay on task and not drift off to other things. I can do this, I will do this; and, as I must do this, it will be done.

Finally, there's that ever-present but oft-ignored pressure which seems to originate about an inch above the base of the back of my neck: "write, Catie, write, Catie, WRITE..." I have a few projects on the go at present, but as the deadlines are wholly internal, the writing simply hasn't been happening. Today, if I can summon the discipline, I should be able to get some good work done on at last one project.

I can savour the pleasure of choosing which piece to work on as I endure my bookkeeping ... think I'll have another cup of tea before starting.

Paralysis

"For the good that I would I do not: but the evil which I would not, that I do." (Romans 7:19 from the 1769 King James Bible - Authorised Version) Or, in modern parlance: Why do I do that which I ought not to do, and why don’t I do that which I know I should?

These are some things which, at times, paralyse me:

1. Procrastination
2. Anxiety
3. Stress
4. Fear
5. Exhaustion
6. Overwhelming sadness
7. Joy

I put procrastination at the top of the list because it is the thing which, at this time in my life, most often stops me from getting done those things I ought to - perhaps because there are so many great distractors in my life right now!

Moving down the list: "Hold on" - you might say - "aren't anxiety, stress and fear simply different names for the same thing?"

Personally, I like to nuance them. In my individualized dictionary, anxiety is a nebulous, non-specific state which may be traced back to a specific trigger, or may not; stress is caused by particular circumstances, and fear is a set of negative feelings about something which may or may not happen.

Exhaustion? When you're just too tired to put one foot in front of another, too sleepy to construct one more sentence? That's an effective paralyzer.

Overwhelming sadness: ah ... to have one's limbs bound by grief; that is a terrible thing.

But, on occasion, I am so overwhelmed by the joy and beauty of being alive that I am rendered actionless. Or, perhaps, I choose not to act, in order not to lose connection with the experience of joy.

As I write this, I am, of course, avoiding doing something else. Quite a few things, really. I'm avoiding doing the housework, but I was only going to do the housework to give me a good excuse not to work on my bookkeeping, which I was planning to finish before doing some sewing for both the new baby in my family and also myself. But none of that matters, because doing this writing is something I deem important, right?

Perhaps number 8 on the list should be "being too clever by half and compiling plausible excuses to justify inaction".

Seriously, though, when I am avoiding doing something I had planned to do - isn't fear always at the root of that behaviour? Fear of a negative feeling, such as boredom; fear of the consequences of failure, or success; fear of beginning something, and not being able to finish it? Fear of moving from my current state, even if that is an unpleasant one, to a new state? Fear of revealing just what I may be capable of?

What did Leunig write in "A Common Prayer"? Something about there being only two states: fear and love. In this context, what would the love look like?

Today I have no answers, only a list of reasons I don't get things done, and questions about why. Usually when I sit down to write something like this, a conclusion arises from the process of writing. I'm finding it very frustrating that this isn't happening today. I wonder why? What's different?

Argh! Least satisfying post ever. Think I might just sign off here and leave these thoughts rest for a while.

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.