You can’t become a magician!? What will our friends think!?

I often wonder what would happen if I suddenly realised exactly what I wanted to do with the rest of my life but the thing I realised I wanted to do was something like become a magician or a ventriloquist. Would I or anybody I know accept this, and could I actually make the change, or would I ultimately forgo the life I’d finally realised I wanted?
When I say I often wonder this, I don’t mean it’s particularly all consuming. I just wonder about it because I think it’s interesting for a number of reasons:

a. It hasn’t happened – though it must have a non-zero probability, right?

b. In the specific examples I’m used above – magician or ventriloquist – I actually don’t think I would disrupt my whole life to be one of those and I don’t think people around me would “understand” if I did.  

c. Given a. and b. I wonder if this is ever likely to happen

It’s c. that’s really interesting to me. The idea that there is some hidden purpose to your life that you must discover has been discussed all over the place as both a truth and as a fallacy. I personally believe more in the idea of “making yourself” rather than “finding yourself”. I also suspect that “making yourself” has gone from being the edgy contrarian opinion to being the dominate popular believe, even as it continues to be presented as the contrarian view.

So I don’t believe your special purpose is completely isolated from the situation you are currently in now. Nor do I think your special purpose is at odds with the values you currently have now at this moment. Again, this is because I believe you “make yourself” rather than “find yourself” and therefore your special purpose doesn’t even exist until you make it.

However, there’s a contradiction here. If your special purpose doesn’t exist until you make it, and yet it’s not at odds with your currently situation and the values you have right now, then it cannot fully “not exist” right at this moment.

The situation you are currently in, and the values you currently hold, should already be the seed of what you eventually make. In many ways there is nothing new or revolutionary about stating this. In fact, those who knew me in my 20s would probably recognise this sort of articulation of beliefs. Furthermore, those who knew philosophy when it was in its 20s could probably provide a more nuanced and incomprehensible rendering. However, I personally haven’t really thought like this for a long time.  

I didn’t need to think through these sort of things over the last few years because I’ve felt that I was fully formed. But I’ve been questioning that recently. I’ve never been one to resist change, and I consider myself as much of a “lifetime learner” as anybody else. But I’m also doing what many people do at my age (and perhaps at this time of year) – I’m consciously transitioning to whatever’s next.

And I’m determined to enjoy the process.

Work isn’t frustrating, Disappointment is

I used to get angry and frustrated at work. This was objectively because work is actually pretty frustrating and many things that happen at work are a legitimate cause to get angry. But I stopped getting angry and frustrated anyway.  
I had to make up a reason to stop because without a good reason it was easy and natural to fall back into the old habit. The reason I came up with was simply that being angry and frustrated at people either hurts them or helps them – depending on whether they have power over you.

If you are angry and frustrated at somebody who has power over you, or wants power over you, then you are giving them a lever with which to manipulate you and your fortunes. If you are angry and frustrated at somebody who you have power over, or somebody who believes you have power over them, you frighten them or at least make them feel uncomfortable.  

So your anger and frustration ultimately helps people who might want to hurt you, and hurts people who might be willing to help you. This is my reason I made up for no longer getting angry or frustrated. It’s useful and may well also be true.

It’s important to realise though that forcing yourself to stop being angry and frustrated isn’t a magical cure to all things work related. I used to also get angry and frustrated because I’m ambitious (in my own way) and determined to make a positive impact on the world.  

I was rarely angry or frustrated at a particular person or any aspect of their personality. Instead, I was typically angry and frustrated at how a person’s actions, behaviours, inaction, or perhaps just poor communication interfered with my plans or the progress I thought I had made.  

So there still exists this distinction between being angry and frustrated for legitimate and even noble reasons, and the act of being angry or frustrated at or towards particular people. This step of taking your anger and frustration and aiming it towards somebody – even yourself – must be seriously considered and most often avoided.  

The trap we sometimes fall into is that we want to hold onto that anger and frustration because we know it’s part of our passion. We want to hold onto it because we know it’s righteous when it comes from good intentions and noble causes. But we get stuck in this transition between not getting angry and frustrated at people, versus not getting angry and frustrated at all.  

During this transition we tend to get frustrated at ourselves. If we don’t shift through this phase with the right changes in mindset we’ll move away from our passions and towards regret and self-loathing, rather than away from the frustration and anger we were feeling.

We need another name for the noble frustration and anger that we don’t want to let go of. Although it feels the same we need to consciously make a distinction between worthless frustration and anger and noble frustration and anger, just like we need to make a distinction between being frustrated and angry versus getting frustrated and angry at a particular person.  

Our goal is to move away from frustration and anger while moving towards our passion and goals, rather than losing both at the same time or reverting back to being frustrated and angry at others. 

Let’s call the righteous frustration and anger “fight”. This brings to mind a passionate defence – a defence of what you believe is right. But it also brings to mind the idea of the “fight or flight” response typically associated with stressful situations.  

It is righteous and noble to “fight” for what you believe so that particular sort of anger and frustration now has a name with less negative connotations. By feeling and labelling the feeling as “fight” you are at least acknowledge that your gut is telling you in this instance you want to stand your ground. You haven’t chosen “flight” you’ve chosen “fight”. You want to fight for what you believe in, you think this is important, and you think things could be better in this moment.  

But in that moment you have to ask yourself two questions. Firstly, do I really want to “fight” or is it just this situation in this moment that makes it feel important to my overall goals and values? Secondly, do I honestly think I’ll help my own cause the most through an emotional response right at this moment?  

These questions force as to decide, either now or by giving ourselves time to decide later, if this is important and if we truely believe what we are going to do will help. Often taking action feels better in the moment – but by forcing ourselves to remember the decision we make we can look back on it and judge if we made a good decision.  

When we act purely to make ourselves feel better in the moment we are not really “fighting” for our cause – we are getting a quick fix, usually at the expense of our own objectives. In fact, acting against our own objectives is really a “flight” response as we run from the actions (or inactions) that will help us.  

We can’t always stop ourselves doing this. But we can take the moment we decide clearly so that when we reflect back on that moment we have no excuse but to see it as a decision we made rather than something we were forced to do based on the situation.  

So, if you are angry and frustrated it’s either justified or it’s not. If it’s justified what you are really feeling is disappointment and you are having a “fight” response as a way of staying on your course. But if you try to push that anger and frustration to somebody else it’s either going to make them think you are disappointed in them, or it’s going to make them disappointed at you. This is rarely what you want to achieve and will rarely help you make the changes in yourself and the world that will reduce your disappointment in the future.

Empath, Empathic, or Pathetic

People tend to judge how much they are supporting others higher than the support they receive from others. I try not to but I might be failing.  

People who know me often tell me I think differently to other people. Usually, this is framed as somehow being “innovative” or “creative”. The truth is I do believe I think differently to other people. I even have an old note that I wrote to myself about 15 years ago entitled “Way’s In Which I’m Different”. 

I don’t really value “innovation” and “creativity” the way other people seem to think I do. I guess this is another way I’m different. But I suspect people are just trying to be kind. So I enjoy their kind words.

One of the ways I actually believe I’m different is that I have a hard time claiming to know how somebody else feels. I genuinely don’t like to pre-suppose I know how somebody feels. This means if I try to be supportive or helpful I typically don’t assume that I’ve succeeded unless they tell me. 

Interestingly, sometimes I’m told I’m not “empathetic”. This is rarely said in a nasty way – my wife says it the most often, so I know it’s not something that makes me unbearable, or unloveable.  

But I believe this idea that I might lack “empathy” is related to my unwillingness to presume to know what somebody is feeling.  

It’s possible that when I communicate I’m so committed to not presuming that I know what goes on inside another person’s mind, or to presume I know how they feel, that I’m coming across as not empathetic. When I try to take the next step it often feels fake – not because I’m faking emotions, but because I know I can’t feel what they feel. But I do care, and I do try to help.  

Like an introvert who finds communication with others draining, genuinely caring for others takes energy, and time, and must never be faked.  

There is a trend I’ve noticed where people refer to themselves as “empaths”. I believe they think this means they have a special intuition about how others are feeling and take these emotions on themselves. I can’t relate to that concept. One interpretation of me not being able to understand a so-called “empath” might be that I myself lack empathy. But I have other theories. 

I believe those that call themselves “empaths” are doing one of two things. Either, they are so self-centred that they cannot think about the feelings of others without making it all about themselves. Alternatively, they are so lacking and out-of-touch with their own genuine feelings that they have to reach out and adopt the feelings of others in order to feel emotionally connected to the world.  

It feels too personal to write about this, and again I feel it’s presumptuous to claim any knowledge of how others feel – even how empaths feel. But because I am thinking about it now does that make me finally more empathetic, or does it mean I’m an empath? Or just pathetic.  

Is there a “cultural stasis”?

This is an interesting idea:

In my book You Are Not a Gadget, I did an experiment. Whenever I was around people and there was music playing, I asked them if they could tell me in which decade the music they were listening to was made. I was quite taken aback by how people can’t tell this decade from the previous one, whereas all the other decades seemed very distinct to them, including very young people. It is as if some kind of cultural stasis has happened, but it’s hard to say whether that is down to the Internet.

From here.

As we reduce the discovery cost of finding people, services, and even our personal preferences, surely, the benefits of the discovery process start to disappear.  

Is government really this broken?

It used to be that you had to be deep into conspiracy theories to read things like this:

the Obama administration has formally re-defined the term “militant” to mean: “all military-age males in a strike zone” unless “there is explicit intelligence posthumously proving them innocent.” In other words, the U.S. government presumptively regards all adult males it kills as “militants” unless evidence emerges that they were not.

or this:

In sum: We need U.S. troops in Africa to launch drone strikes at groups that are trying to attack U.S. troops in Africa. It’s the ultimate self-perpetuating circle of imperialism: We need to deploy troops to other countries in order to attack those who are trying to kill U.S. troops who are deployed there.

or this:

So yesterday the president killed roughly 150 people in a country where the U.S. is not at war. The Pentagon issued a five-sentence boilerplate statement declaring them all “terrorists.” And that’s pretty much the end of that. Within literally hours, virtually everyone was ready to forget about the whole thing and move on, content in the knowledge — even without a shred of evidence or information about the people killed — that their government and president did the right thing. Now that is a pacified public and malleable media.

The above quotes are from the very interesting article here:

Millennials and Marketing

It occurred to me this morning that we seem to have been talking about “millennials” for a long time now.

If you think about it, we started talking about millennials, and how we thought they’d turn out, when some of them were still at school.

That would be okay if we updated our ideas as they got older.  But have we really said anything different over all these years?  Haven’t we just decided – as old people from a different generation – what the younger generation is like, and then not bothered to update our views as they got older?


Karl Ove and Blogging

I’ve been blogging since mid-1999.  This is quite early in the history of blogging so I’m quite proud of it.  In fact, according to A Brief History of Blogging:

In 1999, according to a list compiled by Jesse James Garrett, there were 23 blogs on the internet.

I’m pretty sure I’m not in that list of 23 blogs.  In fact, I’m quite sure that number depends on particular definitions that seperate blog from “regularly updated personal homepage”.  Also, how would anybody know the number of blogs when this description wasn’t uniformly utilised and discovery of sites had only recently shifted to Google’s indexing, ranking, and search-based approach?

What I do know is that I had to write my own blogging system for my website. This was probably the last bit of software development I ever did – and it was pretty ugly behind the scenes – but I was quite proud of it too.  It had two seperate types of “posts”, one was a traditional article, and the other was an “idea”.

The “idea” content was supposed to be  the blog-like content.  Except I didn’t want it to be just a reverse chronological list like typical blog sites.  Myself and good friend Graham Rix had an idea that the posts would be interconnected in a multidimensional way that would create a structured body of content over time.  Rather than focus on only the newest posts we wanted to use the platform help us understand how our ideas related to one another.

What’s this got to do with Karl Ove?  Well, as I was reading Book 2 of Karl Ove’s increasingly incredible My Struggle saga, I realised that I’d really like to learn to enjoy writing itself again.  My Manage Without Them Blog works better if it’s actually about my MWT Model – rather than this present form of rambling.  But there is also another more subtle constraint I’ve placed on the MWT blog.

One of my explicit intensions when I started the Manage Without Them site and associated blog was to develop my thinking into a grand unified theory of organisations.  Though I haven’t managed to do that, the attempts have been crucial to my personal  and particularly professional development.

The attempts to make everything connect together have exercised parts of my brain that I can then use in my professional career.  The feedback I get reflects that I have developed myself in the way that I intended – and yet again I am proud.

But finding connections, explicitly trying to tie things together, and seeking interconnection is a maddening impulse.  When it comes to writing it’s a constraint.  While constraints, as always, can help with creative endeavorers, this is only one of many types of constraints I might utilise.

If I want to enjoy writing, write more, and extend my ideas more freely, I think I’ll benefit from removing that constraint.  While reading My Struggle I often go back and re-read to find the exact moment we went from, say, a visit to the coffee shop, to the moment when Karl Ove is considering how nihilism shifts from being art and existentialism in Dostoyevsky to being largely the scientific name for teenage angst in the modern world.  Often when I look back in the text to find the transition it simply isn’t there.

The transition makes sense.  The ideas and particularly the emotional context often connects the passages.  But the need to explicitly connect them in the text is absent.  This, and of course the skilled application of many other techniques I can’t even detect, creates an engaging form of writing that I’d like to explore.