Farther to Go!

Brain-Based Transformational Solutions

Embarking on a New Year

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January. The start of a new year. An occasion for new beginnings. I dislike the winter months, but I’ve always had a soft spot for January for its sense of openness and promise—or at least potential.

But the promise or potential of January can be illusory because we cannot predict the future: none of us can know what it holds for us, good, bad, or indifferent.

I think back to January 2005, when I was commuting five days a week to a job in an office downtown. My partner was retired, tending cacti, composing and recording music, writing, and doing the vast majority of domestic chores. He was an excellent cook, and he didn’t mind grocery shopping or cleaning up the kitchen. My biggest gripe with him was the clutter of partially read magazines and books everywhere.

We’d lived in Albuquerque a little less than three and a half years. We were humming along in a groove. Dealing with some car issues, a couple of chronic but manageable health issues of his, and my on-and-off-again dissatisfaction with my job.

In late March, he began feeling more tired and achy than usual, but neither he nor his doctor were alarmed. On the morning of the 30th, he said he felt much better. Before I left for work, he told me what he wanted to fix for dinner. Shortly after 9pm, he was dead. Whatever I had thought about what I might be up to in 2005 did not include responding to the sudden death of my partner of 30 years.

Double Troubles

I think back also to January 2016, when I was about a year and a half into “going public” with Farther to Go! The engine was revving; my sights were set; all systems were go. Patricia was my closest friend in Albuquerque. We had been going on day trips at least twice a month for a couple of years. In January, we drove up to Santa Fe, where we walked around the Plaza, had lunch at the San Francisco Street Bar and Grill, and popped into some favorite shops. I bought a really warm winter hat with tassels on both sides.

We went to the zoo early in February, an unusually warm day. Both of us had been experiencing some odd physical symptoms—sinus issues with me, stomach issues with her—but we were doing well that day. By the third week in February, though, I was having significant trouble breathing. On the 29th, a Monday, I asked her to drive me to the ER. I thought I had an upper respiratory infection.

Instead I was diagnosed with severe mitral valve stenosis, atrial fibrillation/flutter, and congestive heart failure. They admitted me to the hospital and kept me there for a week. I was told I’d likely need to have open heart surgery to have the valve replaced. Over the next year, several ablations attempts were made to stop the flutter. The last one gave me four flutter-free months.

That April, Patricia was diagnosed with advanced pancreatic cancer. Her doctor suggested she had about eight months. He was spot on. She died three days before Christmas.

It’s an understatement to say 2016 didn’t turn out the way I imagined it would. While I’m doing significantly better than anyone predicted, my energy level is permanently diminished—sometimes more so, sometimes less. And I miss Patricia.

When my partner died in 2005, I didn’t have the kind of focus I did in 2016. By the time I was diagnosed, I had determined exactly what was important to me. Vitality was at the top of the list, so I didn’t have to be persuaded to take care of myself. But Farther to Go! was just as important to me. And nearly five years later, both of those things are still at the top of the list.

Last January, none of us saw Covid-19 coming. I think it’s safe to say that the events of 2020 were not on anyone’s list of expectations. I know that wanting to maintain as much vitality as possible and being immersed in Farther to Go! has made it easier for me to cope with the drastic upheaval and uncertainty. It already seems quaint, doesn’t it, to think about how eager we were to change the calendar to 2021? In addition to the continuing ravages of the pandemic, here in the U.S., we have more civil unrest than we’ve had since the 1960s. And we haven’t yet hit the mid-point of the month!

January, I think, is a terrible time to create resolutions, which usually take the form of concrete objectives or self-improvement. But it’s a great time to clarify what’s important to us and to identify desired outcomes: how do we want to change our status quo. There is always more than one way to get a desired outcome. If—or rather when—we encounter the inevitable surprises life throws up, we can adjust course instead of being sidelined. As long as we know where we want to end up, we can keep trying different routes until we get there.

Here’s a virtual toast to what will be lost this year and what will be found.

Bon voyage!

Pandemic Pivot

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The Past: Some Context

We live in a vast country. We are people of different ages, different ethnicities, different genders, different levels of education and economic circumstances, different histories, different (or no) religions, different experiences, different beliefs, biases, and political leanings, and different personalities. And we are just one country among many different countries on this planet.

We humans have a need for other people (one of only six things we can genuinely call needs), and we desire to have a sense of belonging. So we identify ourselves with various others: maybe the citizens of the country where we live, but also with other groups, both large and small, including immediate and extended family, circles of friends, fellow-hobbyists, co-workers, spiritual or religious organizations, business associations, and political parties.

Sometimes our loyalty to the groups we identify with can lead to an attitude of tribalism: us vs. them (those others). It’s not a coincidence that tribal mentalities are strongest in wartime. Is it also possible that extreme tribalism promotes a wartime mentality? It’s a question worth asking for several reasons, one of which is that it doesn’t seem we can blame our Pleistocene-era brain for our tendencies toward either tribalism or violence—at least not directly.

It appears that our ancestors gravitated toward violence only after they transitioned away from a nomadic lifestyle to what is referred to as sedentism or sedentariness (the practice of living in one place for a long time). Their—and our—allegiance may be more to the territory we have staked out and less to the people we have staked it out with.

Here in the 21st Century, “territory” can have multiple meanings and associations, of course; it can be less geographic and more cultural, contextual, or even abstract. We are living in the digital age, as well as the nuclear age and the inter-connected age. That makes territoriality and tribalism more widespread and more dangerous than they have ever been—and a perfect breeding ground for the worldwide pandemic we’re experiencing now.

So this would be an excellent time to take a look around and acknowledge that there is only one tribe to be concerned about and that is the one we all belong to. This is certainly not a new or original thought, and it’s also clearly easier said than done. That doesn’t make the point less valid.

What makes the situation most pressing, even urgent, is that many of us are now quarantined, which means we are stuck in one place for a long time without knowing how long a time it will be.

The Present: A Plethora of Self-Soothing Advice

Remember the Eisenhower box? It’s that matrix with four quadrants:

  • #1: Urgent and Important
  • #2: Important but not Urgent
  • #3: Urgent but not Important
  • #4: not Urgent and not Important

Essentially, the purpose is to help us classify our to-do lists. According to its proponents:

What is important is seldom urgent, and what is urgent is seldom important.

The Eisenhower Box is widespread enough to have helped turn “urgent” into a dirty word. Could there be a link between our attitude toward urgency and our nearly pathological desire to avoid stress and so-called negativity?

The pandemic is, factually speaking, both urgent and important, so it falls into the first category. We don’t necessarily have a lot of experience dealing with such situations. And we’ve been sidelined, told to stay home if we can, for an indefinite period of time. Furthermore, we don’t know what the world is going to look or be like when we move back into it.

Responses to the situation vary: squirmy, angry, frustrated, worried, bored, depressed, content, etc. Some of us find ourselves with a lot more to do than before; others may be doing much less. But no matter our individual responses, the vast majority of advice being dispensed about how to cope encourages all of us to find calm, balance, and meaning (which hopefully are located within your home or at least on your property, since that’s about as far as you can go to look for them) and to treat yourself well.

Yes, these are trying times, disruptive times, uncertain times, in which we certainly do need to take care of ourselves. But this blanket focus on managing our feelings instead of solving the problems that contribute to them is absolutely not serving us. The world is in distress; bright-siding is not an appropriate response. Contrary to suggestions otherwise, lounging on the sofa watching Netflix is not actually contributing to saving the world.

If you’re OK, good for you. The more people who are OK, the better. But being OK is not an end, it’s a means.

These trying, disruptive, and uncertain times require something of and from us

The Future: Disturb the World

DREAM BIG

I’ve heard the optimistic belief expressed that we will somehow emerge from this better people in a better society. I have no expectation of a spontaneous occurrence of betterment. In fact, it’s more likely we will easily and quickly return to the situations and circumstances that led to this—or worse.

But I do believe we have the capacity to change that trajectory, or at least to begin the process—if we act intentionally and start now.

In order to do that, we need to use our imagination to generate a vision of what we want the world to be like, whether or not we have any idea how to make that vision a reality. We need a big, bold dream of a better world. We need a compelling vision we can share with others because it will take many people to create that kind of change. It will take many different kinds of people.

TAKE BABY STEPS

A big, bold vision generates creative tension. The bigger and bolder the vision (meaning the greater the difference between where we are now and where we want to be), the more creative tension is created. The more creative tension there is, the more dopamine is produced and the more motivated we are. Once we have a compelling vision of a desired outcome, we can begin to identify some objectives and then some actions we can take immediately. The best way to change the status quo is via repetition and perseverance—taking baby steps. Interestingly, taking action to make things better often has a side effect of making us feel better, but the reverse is seldom true.

As Serena Chan wrote in an article on complex adaptive systems:

Systems that are forced to explore their space of possibilities will create different structures and new patterns of relationships.

What new structures and patterns of relationships do you want to create for yourself? What do you want for the world? What can you contribute? What action can you take in that direction?

Hunting for Foxhogs,
I Find a Foxcat Instead

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In the last chapter of Curious, Ian Leslie lays out “seven ways to stay curious.” Item number three on the list is “forage like a foxhog.” The foraging he refers to is for information. The question under consideration is whether it’s better to have a depth of knowledge (specialize) or a breadth of knowledge (generalize).

Eventually he connects these two approaches to a quote from Greek poet Archilochus:

The fox knows many things, but the hedgehog knows one big thing.

Leslie suggests that these animals represent two different ways of thinking, neither of which is really better than the other: the hedgehog knows a lot about a little, while the fox knows a little about a lot.

The thinkers best positioned to thrive today and in the future will be a hybrid of these two animals. In a highly competitive, high-information world, it’s crucial to know one or two big things and to know them in more depth and detail than most of your contemporaries. But to really ignite that knowledge, you need the ability to think about it from a variety of eclectic perspectives and to be able to collaborate fruitfully with people who have different specializations. —Ian Leslie

So by combining the fox and the hedgehog, we get the “foxhog.”

Leslie devotes six pages to this discussion, at the end of which I was not entirely clear about the distinctions he was making beyond specialization vs. generalization. So I did a little research of my own.

Assumptions Were Made (but not by me)

The first thing I discovered was that this concept of the hedgehog and the fox is fairly widely used. That was a little surprising. Also surprising was the fact that although people seem to have definite ideas about what the concept means, it doesn’t appear to mean the same thing to everyone.

I listened to a 38-minute podcast of The Hidden Brain titled The Fox and the Hedgehog, which I found interesting and worth listening to. But it did not advance my understanding at all.

It turns out that Archilochus may have been the source of the quote, but we have no elaboration from him on its meaning. That credit goes to philosopher Isaiah Berlin and his essay The Hedgehog and the Fox published as a book in 1953. It was Berlin who first classified various philosophers, writers, and scientists as either hedgehogs or foxes. But the focus of the essay was Leo Tolstoy, who Berlin conceived of as that hybrid creature, the “foxhog” (although he did not, of course, use that term).

According to Berlin, Tolstoy was really a fox who wanted to be a hedgehog, and this internal dissonance was a source of distress to him. That would make Tolstoy a bad example of a “foxhog,” but Leslie does give us a few positive role models.

After checking out Berlin, I understood that Shankar Vedantam (the Hidden Brain podcast) had based his understanding of the concept of the hedgehog and the fox on Berlin’s essay. But other people had somewhat different ideas, and I was still trying to understand it in terms of types of thinkers—or leaders—or learners. The characteristics associated with foxes and hedgehogs by various proponents didn’t really hang together.

Enter the Foxcat

Eventually, I came across a different perspective based on an Aesop’s fable. It turns out there is a fable titled The Fox and the Hedgehog, but the moral of that story doesn’t seem to have anything to do with what Berlin or Leslie or any of the others are talking about. The fable that does connect is The Fox and the Cat.

This fable sees the fox and cat discussing the various tricks and dodges they know: the fox has many, while the cat says he has just one. The fox appears to have the advantage, until a pack of wild dogs attacks them both. The cat’s one bright idea—climb a tree to get out of harm’s way—rewards him by saving him from the dogs, while the fox—busy chewing over which of his bright ideas to act upon—remains rooted to the spot and is torn apart by the hounds.

Clearly there’s a moral there: act quickly and decisively when you have to, rather than endlessly turning over the various options in your head. —interestingliterature.com

In this story, the fox represents System 2, conscious processing, which allows for more possibilities but is also slow and energy intensive. The cat represents System 1, unconscious processing, which is fast because it acts based on habit and instinct: what worked in the past. (I especially like this because I frequently use my cat as an example of a creature who acts exclusively on System 1 impulses.)

Is There a Moral to This Story?

Neither the fable of The Fox and the Hedgehog nor the fable of The Fox and the Cat are directly relevant to Leslie’s idea about foraging for information. (I don’t think they’re relevant to Isaiah Berlin’s ideas about Tolstoy, either, but that’s another rabbit hole.) In terms of staying curious, I definitely agree with Leslie that breadth is as important as depth. “T-shaped knowledge” combines specialization (the vertical axis) with broad understanding in other areas (the horizontal axis).

The same could be said of System 1 and System 2 thinking: one is as important as the other. It’s important to know when to apply logical, linear, critical thinking and when to allow unconscious associative thinking.

But the moral of the story is that there’s no good reason for us to believe that we know what we’re talking about—or what anyone else is talking about, for that matter. We take the world at face value when we ought to question our assumptions.

Sure, curiosity may have killed the cat. But satisfaction brought it back.

What’s Your End Game?

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I recently came across an article written a few years ago in which the author, a small business owner, asked that question.

Focusing on the end game—both in life and in business—is a popular idea attributed primarily to Stephen Covey. The second of his 7 Habits of Highly Successful People is “begin with the end in mind.”

Covey at least incorporates the concepts of imagination and desired outcome into his advice. But while the author of the article in question quoted Covey’s second habit, he was squarely focused on objectives, not on desired outcomes.

I think this happens a lot because desired outcome is a slippery concept for many of us, given that it’s intangible and involves imagination. Objectives, which are far less abstract, are easier to identify and talk about. And, of course, objectives are absolutely essential for getting where you want to go. The problem is that if objectives are all you have, they can end up stripping all the joy and satisfaction from your life.

That’s because objectives are a means not an end.

Once you settle on an objective to aim for, you can determine the steps you need to take to reach it. But before you can decide on which objective to pursue, you have to identify your desired outcome.

An objective answers the question what (what do you hope to achieve, accomplish, or attain). Your desired outcome answers the question why or so what (what difference will achieving your objective make).

If you already have an objective in mind, ask yourself:

  • What do I really want?
  • How juicy is it?
  • What difference will it make?
  • What will it be or feel like? Try to paint at least a mental picture by describing it in detail and with feeling.
  • What change in the status quo am I hoping to achieve?

The more clearly you can visualize your desired outcome the better you’ll be able to evaluate how likely it is that the action you’re contemplating is the best path to getting there. If it is, great! That clarity can be highly motivating. If it isn’t, that’s great, too, because you can change or revise your plan and save yourself the time, energy, and effort of going off on a wild goose chase.

The more time, energy, or effort it will take to attain your objective, the more imperative it is that you identify your desired outcome. The unconscious part of your brain is hooked on instant gratification, but changing the status quo tends to be gradual, mundane, repetitious, and tedious. Being able to remind yourself not only what you’re aiming for (the objective means) but also why it’s important to you (the subjective end) will go a long way to keeping you focused and on track.

In addition to being essential in creating transformational change and solving complex problems, the ability to identify your desired outcome is useful in everyday situations, such as responding to a social media post, accepting an invitation, choosing a book to read, or tackling your to-do list. It’s a truism because it’s true: it’s considerably easier to get what you want if you know what that is.

Suspend Disbelief and Commit
to the Process (Part 1)

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Disbelief: an inability to believe that something is true.

As a lifelong reader and writer, I’m on familiar terms with the concept of willing suspension of disbelief. The ability to suspend disbelief makes it possible for us to immerse ourselves in stories about people who don’t exist living in places that don’t exist (or don’t exist exactly as they are depicted) so that we can, at least temporarily, relate to them as if they and their thoughts, feelings, predicaments, and actions are every bit as real as we are.

Reading a novel is sort of like making a compact (looser than a contract) with an author. The reader agrees to suspend disbelief, which means trusting the author. And the author agrees to do his or her best to be trustworthy by getting things right, even when those things are not factual—in fact, especially when they are not factual. That includes keeping the plot and the characters straight, maintaining internal consistency, not making obvious errors, and having a juicy story to tell in the first place.

Vampires in San Francisco

I stopped suspending my disbelief in Atonement by Ian McEwan once he introduced an event for the sole purpose of moving the plot forward. I willingly suspended my disbelief in Anne Rice’s Interview with the Vampire until she placed the toll booths at the wrong end of the Golden Gate Bridge. Losing my suspension of disbelief in Atonement was a big deal because the plot contrivance was pivotal to the outcome of the story. The toll booths, on the other hand, were a minor issue in Rice’s Vampire Chronicles.

As a reader, I felt I was doing my part in both cases; it was the authors who let me down. I would have had a much different experience, however, if I’d approached Interview with the Vampire without a willingness to suspend disbelief. The very idea of “vampires” would have been a deal-breaker; I would never have begun reading the book. Not reading Interview with the Vampire probably wouldn’t have altered my life significantly—although it did give me that toll booth example, which I’ve used many times.

Things without Names

But there are other books I’ve read that I believe have enhanced my life, and reading them has contributed, even if in a small way, to me becoming the person I am now. One example is my all-time favorite novel, One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. It begins:

Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buendia was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice. At that time Macondo was a village of twenty adobe houses, built on the bank of a river of clear water that ran along a bed of polished stones, which were white and enormous, like prehistoric eggs. The world was so recent that many things lacked names, and in order to indicate them it was necessary to point.

Magical realism definitely requires the willing suspension of disbelief.

But there has to be some promise—some prospective payoff—to cause us as readers to suspend our disbelief and invest our time and energy in a story. We like the genre or the author. The book comes highly recommended by a trusted source. It’s the next volume in a series we’re already hooked on. Or maybe we pick up a copy in a library or bookstore and are immediately captivated by the opening.

Whatever the case may be, on the one hand we readers automatically understand that suspension of disbelief is a requirement of getting the most out of fiction. On the other hand, we don’t automatically or permanently suspend disbelief for every work of fiction we encounter. We discriminate. But once we’re in, we’re in, so to speak—unless the author messes up.

Imagination and Truth

Author and columnist William Safire explored the subject of suspension of disbelief in a 2007 piece for The New York Times:

[W]ho coined the phrase and in what context? The quotation books have the coiner — the English poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge, in his 1817 “Biographia Literaria”: “That willing suspension of disbelief for the moment, which constitutes poetic faith.”

But the context is an eye-opener. Coleridge and William Wordsworth were neighbors. They agreed one day that “the two cardinal points of poetry” were “the power of exciting the sympathy of the reader by a faithful adherence to the truth of nature” (Wordsworth’s specialty, with his “host of golden daffodils”) and “the power of giving the interest of novelty by the modifying colors of imagination” (which Coleridge was especially good at). They agreed to contribute individually to a group of “Lyrical Ballads.”

You may not have noticed, but we’ve sort of wended our way, via imagination and truth, to art and science.

Safire added:

Richard Sha, professor of literature at American University, takes this to mean that “…one must willingly suspend one’s skepticism.”

Don’t Drink the Kool-Aid!

Suspending one’s skepticism in undertaking to read a work of fiction doesn’t usually pose much danger. But in other realms of life, it can lead to a variety of negative outcomes, from minor mistakes to profound tragedy. But while it shouldn’t be done lightly or habitually, there are some times and places where it definitely should be done—where it has to be done if we’re to get anything out of the situation, the learning, or the experience. We not only need to suspend disbelief, we also need to commit to the process if we want to:

  • Learn something new (a musical instrument, a language, a creative pursuit…)
  • Start something (a business, a project, a relationship…)
  • Make a significant decision (to become a parent, to get into or out of a relationship, to take or leave a job…)

What does this have to do with creating transformational change? Maybe you’ve figured that out. If not, it’s what I’ll be covering in the next installment.

Contact Me

joycelyn@farthertogo.com
505-332-8677