Helpful Conversations

The other day, a very good friend of mine and I were chatting and she decided to bring up a topic of conversation that is strictly a hands off topic for me. It concerned a relationship with someone in my past who no longer shares my present. Now, I am not one to deny past events, but I find it more useful to not dredge up things that don't serve me now or later. 

I have had a discussion with this friend about this particular situation and to please not bring it up. I was a little blind-sided by it. I'm not sure what her intentions were: whether she was trying to find out what this person was up to, or get more information, or whether she was simply forgetful. It's hard to say, but it didn't sit well. And to tell you the truth, I've been grumpy about it ever since (admittedly my stubbornness is a strength but also a weakness).

I've been thinking a lot lately about the helpfulness of the conversations we have with each other. Most of us are open and willing to let our boundaries be semi-permeable. Our flexibility is what makes people good friends, good spouses and good parents. The same arms that are open for a hug to a crying friend, can be used to shield someone from pain. The same words that can bring comfort, can be barbed if the intention is different.

In a time where conversations are critical to building bridges, we are reaching out to more people than we would normally reach out to. Social media has been a big part of this. Between our disbelief, the use of humour, and if-then situations, we've all been talking to each other. It is now more important than ever to have conversations that help us move forward. We can share in each other's grief, and panic, and humour, and joy, but all of it is for naught if we don't stay sensitive to people's boundaries and communication skills. Here are a few things I've learned in sharing conversations with others over the last few months.

1. Ask yourself whether you're honouring someone's sensitivities: If you rolled your eyes at this, don't worry, I'm rolling mine too. I sound like I should be wearing a crown of flowers. But the point here is important If something is particularly painful for a person, respect that they might be sensitive talking about it and try not to push the issue. They may need the time to process it, or they may never want to speak about it. It's not your call to make.

2. Ask yourself if you're being helpful: Sometimes being helpful means shutting your mouth. If you are talking just to add a voice, ask yourself whether this is what the conversation needs. Is it worth your time to argue with an egg?

3. Keep the prophesying to a minimum: Conspiracy theories are fantastic fun if you're watching the X-Files. But as far as you and I are concerned, none of us know anything about what tomorrow will hold, and whether the most recent article on CNN will be right or wrong. Prophesying leads to fearmongering, and unfortunately, that spreads like wildfire.

4. Listen: You don't need to talk all the time. Someone needs to listen too. 

5. Accept that you don't know everything: It's easy to google things and sound smart. Lord knows we've all done it. The Coles notes version is not always the most accurate because it misses the nuances. Accept that you might just know a small part of the story and either learn more, or talk on terms that are aligned with what you know.

Last Monday, I fired up my email at work early in the morning. I had an email from a senior colleague titled "Reaching Out". He wanted to see how I was doing after a rather tough weekend for the world. He mentioned that he was there to support how he could, and would like to have a chat about how he could be useful.

I have worked with this colleague an awful lot, but we have mostly kept it professional and our tea room chats are generally about what I'm reading lately. I tend to keep my personal and professional life strictly separate. This was, however, one of the most thoughtful emails I have received. It offered help, it added action, and it respected my boundaries.

It is lovely to be part of a group of people who help each other along. Action is important, but usually starts with words. Words hold incredible power to help others rather than merely take up space. We move forward when we employ them with the intent to help each other move forward.

Sanity in Troubling Times

What can we even say about the last ten days? The world appears to have been turned upside down and everyone just seems to be scrambling to make sense of it all. Common sense is at a premium, and well-being is being seriously compromised. If you are like me, and the millions of people around the world, you have yourself tapped into news almost all waking hours of the day.

Between "What happened now?" and "I can't believe it" we are caught up in a barrage of arguments, support, tweets, retweets, water cooler conversations, protests, letter writing campaigns, and pulses of information. For me, between the immigration ban and the shootings at the Montreal Mosque, it has been a tough weekend. We have to ask whether we are taking care of ourselves and of each other. This post is reminder to myself, as much as it is to others around me.

Here are a few things that we can all do to exercise compassion, get rest, rejuvenate. The fight is long. Don't burn out.

1. Unplug. No seriously. Turn off the computer and TV and get away from the media for a few hours. It doesn't matter what you go to do. The world will continue on when you're not there. The minute bits of information coming in will still trickle in. Go away. Come back when you've caught your breath.

2. Respect your own limits. We are addicted to the drama of our daily lives lately. And for some of us, it's far too late before we realize we have burned out. When you start feeling emotionally overwhelmed, or angry, or upset, know that this is your body telling you that it has reached its limit. Respect that.

3. Go outside. Whether you're heading to nature, or to your coffee shop, go somewhere else and enjoy being in places you want to be in. For me, it's the water. I head there when I'm feeling weary.

4. Respect others' processes. We all have different lenses and different priorities. We all process things different. Some people shut down, others might lash out. Respect other people's processes. Vocalize your own. You can talk when you are ready. You may never and that's okay too.

5. Connect with kindred spirits. My family and friends are important in my life (I don't always tell them this, because feelings). Reach out to others to see how they are. Ask for help when you need them too. 

6. Have helpful conversations. It's easy to bloviate, to predict, to place bets. Easy, but not always helpful. It never helps to argue with someone who isn't respectful of you. So know when it's no longer helpful and learn to walk away.

7. The basics. Eat well, practice sleep hygiene, get your exercise. The basics are what fuel us daily. Remember that they don't go by the wayside because that means you'll be at the wayside.

8. Do your fun thing. Go do something that makes you happy. I love to read, and I find myself doing lots of that. If you love to hike, knit, cross-stitch profane tea towels or write letters, go do that. Go do the things that help your creativity. It's important to occupy all the spaces in your life.

9. Stay away from your triggers. This is important for anyone who struggles with impulse control. I love sugar and when I'm stressed, I want to eat all of the cookies. If someone tries to get in my way, they risk having their arm bitten. If you know and have your triggers, try to stay away from them. You generally end up in a far worse spot than initially. I end up with stomach aches.

10. Seek professional help. There is no harm in it. If you need it, see a doctor or counsellor.

For those who need something else to concentrate on, but don't have ideas:

Z-Type - Typing game where you get to laser shoot words.

The Dollop - A hilarious history podcast that has had me in stitches for weeks.

Poorly Drawn Lines - Comics by Reza Farazmand

Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee - Such a great show. Jerry and his buddies are awesome.

The New Yorker Shouts and Murmurs section - They aren't all winners, but some of them are very funny.

Partita by Adnan Saygun - for the musically inclined, hear this piece played by Yo Yo Ma. It's a favourite.

On Truth and Listening

I am deeply, comfortably introverted. I accept (more or less) this part of my nature in all its book-loving, quiet-seeking, ardently-creative glory. For as long as I can remember, I have always asked questions so that I could listen to the answers. I didn't divulge much and I still don't tell everyone everything that is going on with me. That is a privilege that is earned. I am, however, very good at listening. 

Listening awards us so many gifts. For one, it allows us to plug directly into ideas that are not our own. It gives us perspectives that we might not have considered. It enables us to get a whole slew of ideas to form interesting patterns from. It gives us the benefit of creating "character profiles" of the people we are listening to, so that they are more colourful, more poignant and more human than any one interaction. As friends, colleagues, family, listening is to our greatest benefit. It is not only sensory (we have ears!), but supersenory - letting us form ideas that go beyond the medium of reception.

But what happens when we are confronted with ideas that we can't easily sift through to categorize and apply? What if, for some reason, we're faced with information that, at first blush, doesn't seem accurate? Perhaps it is even purposefully misleading? What if it straddles that very fine line between truth and fiction?

People who meditate often talk about the idea of detachment, whereby  a person engages with something without judgement, without wanting to pigeon-hole it into a particular ideology. Letting the idea come and go without conscious attachment. I like this idea but it doesn't always make sense in a world where we are forced to make decisions about how we feel, and how we should act. To detach from the ideas that come at us, is in some ways, a disservice to action when it is required.

How do we then, reconcile ourselves to common truths without owning every idea that comes at us? The answer to me, has always been to listen deeply. Listen to context. Listen not only to words, but how those words are applied - what are they in the service of? Have they been weaponized? Do they offer anything, and if so, what do they offer? What is the path they have taken to get to us?

As a reader, I've made it a sort of passion to play with, and learn from the works of others. I can't take it all on board because my brain would be filled to the brim. But after a long time reading someone's work, you start to see and hear the patterns that govern their lives, the part of themselves that they readily exploit, and the parts that they artfully dance right around. 

One of my favourite quotes - it is written on the inside of my work notebook - is by the glorious and effusive Anne Michaels from her first work of fiction Fugitive Pieces: Truth grows gradually in us, like a musician who plays a piece again and again until suddenly he hears it for the first time." 

Truth is sometimes like that. It's not always obvious, even though it's obviously there. We are absolutely mired, some days, in inflammatory rhetoric, cat photos, and for whatever reason, celebrity bottoms. But beyond the cats and bottoms, if you take one moment of sit down and digest what you know, perhaps file away the things that don't serve purpose, perhaps not shout at others who are also under the weight of their own ambiguous truthy burdens, there is a place where listening pays off.

I often work in silence. I sit on my couch, facing a large window, and the only thing I can hear is the whoosh of traffic outside, and the buzz of the refrigerator. These are the moments I take for myself to listen to myself, and to take what others are saying into account.

Not everything the world offers us is truth. Truth is found in patterns - not patterns that are coerced to fit an idea. These are naturally occurring patterns - they emerge, over time, by themselves, until they're too obvious to ignore.

But they only become obvious, if you sit. And you listen.

Some useful things to read:

Julian Treasure on 5 Ways to Listen Better

How to Be a Good Listener

Becoming Wise: An Inquiry into the Art of Living

On Preservation

Over the last week, I have been on a forced rest, taken down swiftly by a nasty flu virus. (If you are thinking of yelling at me about the flu shot, you can get off your soapbox because my sister has already done the honours). In a haze of lozenges, fitful naps, and bowls of soup, I have been watching a lot of informative television.

I'm not sure what the show was that I was watching yesterday (I think it might have been something about Nordic cookery), but I learned about the Global Seed Vault. If you don't know about the Global Seed Vault, it is a repository of crop seeds from almost every country in the world, stored in Svalbard. The permafrost conditions and storage facility ensure that the seeds will be kept safe in the case of manmade or natural disaster. It has the capacity to hold some 4.5 Million seed samples and currently holds about 860,000. 

In my flu-ridden, drug-infused haze, relief washed over me. I'm really glad someone is preparing for disaster.  

Human beings have always had a great capacity to both destroy and preserve, when the desire strikes. Though we don't always see destruction in a positive light, it is part of the cycle of creation. Things need to be destroyed or overtaken in order for other things to be possible.

The beauty of it all is that of course, we have the capacity to come away with knowledge so often, that can in turn inform our new creations. We are naturally prone to preserve, everything from human beings (let's ask the archaeologists) to books (thank you, librarians throughout history).

Beyond the obvious that preservation is linked to the memory of who we are and how far we've come along, there is another purpose to it and that is to hedge our bets in the face of uncertainty.

When we don't know what's coming down the pipeline, we are likely to maintain some semblance of sameness in order to keep the integrity of the things that we know best. It is in some way, a false, but noble guarantee that we are trying to give ourselves.

We sometimes try to preserve out of fear because of uncertainty. That act in itself works against us because it closes us off to how the future unknowns can actually impact, enhance or change us.

We need to be agile enough to be able to move outside of the confines of our current situation. I have always grappled with this idea. It applies to us professionally and personally. How do we move without losing our sense of purpose?

We endeavour to keep the essence of, or the most critical parts of things that represent, in the smallest piece, who we are. The world is not a vacuum and it is certainly foolhardy to think that we can keep everything and adapt to changing conditions. Things are never going to be "the way they were" because they change instantaneously and often. Instead, we keep those most crucial things that when placed into new environments, will be in their very core, similar to what we know about our past. It is about having the essence right to be able to undertake adaptation when everything around us changes.

The Global Seed Vault is exactly that idea. We know that the climate is changing. We don't know what soil conditions will be like, how much rainfall or arable land there will be, whether the chemical composition of soil will change. But we have (literally), the seed of potential.

That's enough to give anyone hope.

More reading on preservation

Mali's Librarians Saving Ancient Manuscripts from Rebel Forces

Svalbard Global Seed Vault

The Effect of Music on Dementia Patients

The Year of Ease

Every year, I pick a word that I want to make a conscious part of my daily life. I'm not a believer in resolutions; if you have the desire to do something, you'll find a way to do it. The start of the year has never been enough of a motivation for me to start a new habit. That being said, I do believe the the conscious remembrance of something regularly, eventually makes it part of your life.

In the past, my words have really reflected where I am mentally and emotionally. When I first moved out on my own, I picked the word "Joy" because I needed to find that in a world that was going to bring me new challenges. Other words have included "fire" and "wonder."

This year, I'm choosing the word "Ease."

We all know what the word means in daily life. When I looked up the meaning, the definition included:

make (something unpleasant, painful, or intense) less serious or severe.

move carefully, gradually, or gently.

As someone who has lived off of stringent schedules and a regimented lifestyle, it is difficult to imagine living with a sense of ease - it makes me uneasy. I suspect that you would have to pry my schedules and calendars out of my cold, dead hands. And I'd probably come back from the dead to snatch it off of you again.

But life dictates something different this year. Mostly, having to fight your way through your days leaves you depleted and fatigued. A few days off from work have shown me just how tired I am and I have spent far more time than necessary just sitting there, and doing nothing. It has driven me to the brink of insanity because I feel like I should be doing something, anything.

What I have realized in the large swaths of time that I have spent denting my couch is that in order to actually employ any ease, we need to be forgiving of ourselves, and show compassion to ourselves. If you are anything like me, you're good with the sharp, pointy words aimed at yourself. Phrases like, "you should have known better" and "If you don't go to the gym, you're just being lazy" and "you ought to be more careful" can quickly become a cycle of self-blame.

What good comes of it? I have never given myself a good scold and then felt really jazzed to do whatever I was meant to do. Fear is a good motivator, but certainly isn't the best and more importantly, isn't healthy if employed slavishly. If anything, we make it more difficult for ourselves when we pigeon-hole ourselves into our obligations.

A sense of ease means giving yourself permission to forgive yourself, and to show some compassion to yourself when things don't go the way they are meant to. It means just letting go a little bit and asking yourself whether the end result is worth the flogging. It issn't the same as pushing yourself or scaling up your dreams. It's beating yourself into submission, and oftentimes to unrealistic expectations you wouldn't hold others to.

After 2016, which, terrible as it was around the world, wasn't a personally horrible year. There were some extremely difficult decisions I had to make, but I came away with a better aligned sense of self from it. This isn't a terrible thing. That means that this year is a year in which I can ease into my days, and grant myself the go-ahead of take the foot off the gas pedal just a little bit.

I deem it will be a year of growth and of focus on myself and the ever-elusive "next steps", whatever those are. No climbing mountains. No leaps of faith. No going the distance. Just a gentle, care-filled year.

Do you have a word of the year that you can share?

On Filling Up

““Reading is the work of the alert mind, is demanding, and under ideal conditions produces finally a sort of ecstasy.””

— E.B. White

This has been the summer of reading. Since early May, I have read 14 books. To some, this might not be a lot. There are 52 book challenge people out there who have read far more than I have at this point in the year. 14 books in four months is exceedingly high for me because I'm a slow reader. I like to mull things over, chew on words, reread sentences. It's a wonder I've ever made it through anything in a timely fashion. 

Anybody who knows me that I've been a reader for a very, very long time. It's one of my favourite things to do with my spare time. This last year, my mind was full of other things: thoughts that required careful analysis, many worries (unfortunately), a burgeoning workload and lots of plans. Reading fell a bit by the wayside, as did writing. I only managed about four books the entire six months before that. 

In early spring, I picked up a book that a friend had recommended and devoured the whole thing in four days. It wasn't a particularly good book. But I couldn't put it down. I wanted to absorb every single word as quickly as I could. The next week, I got three more books from the library and managed to blaze through them all. This has kept up until now.

What I realized was that I was missing some fundamental part of me for a while. I needed to fill up on something. Really only other readers can understand it. I was thirsty. It felt like I hadn't opened my eyes in a while and when I did, I took in everything that could possibly be seen.

Filling up is so important. I'm not going to use the words, "nourish your soul" or somesuch. Filling up on things that you value, and that are of value is critical to your well-being. Just as we'd fill up on good, delicious meals, it's important to care for our minds and hearts in the same way. For some, like me, it's the simple act of spending a silent evening tucking into a book that I've been waiting for. For others, it might be hitting the rock-climbing gym. 

We each have a cache of energy from which we draw to function in our daily lives and we sometimes forget that those stores can become depleted from stress or worry. I forget this often, even though I'm regimented about taking care of myself. There is something special about giving yourself time that's off-schedule to absorb some of that magic back.

Books have always driven me - they are a fundamental part of who I am as a writer. Stephen King in his book "On Writing" called books "uniquely portable magic." I believe it. They go hand-in-hand with the work that I do. They make me want to be a better writer and a better learner. They draw things from me - much like music does - that brighten my world.

There are many things that are uniquely portable magic for all of us. Look for the thing that fills you up and then, go have a lot of it.

If you love to read:

The Magic of the Book: Hermann Hesse on Why We Read and Always Will on Brainpicker

The Psychological Comforts of Storytelling on The Atlantic

My Favourite Bookstore on Read it Forward

On Writing: Memoirs of the Craft by Stephen King

On Emotional Immunity

"I ask not for a lighter burden, but for broader shoulders." ~ Hebrew Proverb

I have never liked driving. I didn't get my full licence until I was in my early twenties. This is because every time I got on the road I was absolutely terrified. I was terrified mostly of operating something so much larger than than I was, of not being able to anticipate the actions of others, and of going anywhere too fast. 

When I got my licence, I thought, okay that's over with, and now I never have drive again. This seems now like the exactly the opposite direction that my thoughts should have been going. My mother advised me (much to my annoyance) that the only way I was going to get over my fear of being on the road is if I got on the road. I'd have to go on the freeway for small stretches at least and I'd have to practice until my reflexes and my understanding of the road got better. I hated every moment of it, but in the end, it did get better. If for nothing else, than for necessity.

I still have days when, if I have to go to a new place, and I'm alone, and it's dark and raining, or I have to find street parking (which is an absolute battle in a city like mine), I'll be nervous. Sometimes that nervousness is debilitating and makes me feel nauseated. Most times, there is no way around it.

Therapists have long encouraged a particular type of Cognitive Behavioural Therapy known as Exposure Therapy. In exposure therapy a patient is exposed to their stressor without the context of danger in order to overcome their anxiety. It is used quite a lot in specific phobias and even in post traumatic stress disorder. The thinking is that once the threat of the stressor is removed, the patient is able to exert some control over their anxiety and through a series of increasing steps, eventually the fear will dissipate. It has had some very cool applications as well.

I have been thinking a lot about this idea of the constant exposure to stimuli that we would rather avoid in real life. Social media and how close the world is now, has made it increasingly difficult to get away.  It's a rather romantic notion to be able to start anew somewhere away from all the things that bother us. That's not possible, nor is it, in some respects, wise.

I like to think that being exposed to the things and people we'd rather not deal with is a way of building up emotional immunity. It helps us home in our coping mechanisms so that over time, feeling disembodied, out of control and anxious starts to fade. We start to be able to handle it a little bit better. Running away is often easy and safe. Being present and staying with that discomfort is often difficult and undesirable.

In his book "Antifragile", Nassim Nicolas Taleb coins this concept of anti-fragility. Things that are fragile, often break when exposed to stressors. Things that are resilient often stay the same. Things that are anti-fragile gain from chaos - they get better. While not all things can be classified as chaotic, they certain can feel like it when your internal sense of control is shaken. Exposure then, tests the emotional boundaries that we have and can help us modulate our reactions, helping us to "get better" over time. It appears to be a way of building up your body's immune response on a psychological level.

Last week was a rather difficult week at work. My mother called in me while I was in the midst of a nervous breakdown (not really, but tears weren't far) to ask my how my day was going. I told her that it had been difficult and that I was doing things that were actually legitimately beyond my capability. Being ever the teacher of tough lessons, she said to me, "You know life is difficult. So just deal with it and get it done."

Often, the best ways to face our greatest anxieties (or the small, continuous anxieties that plague our daily lives) is to indeed just deal with them. Head on. In her small, and often tough love way, my mother has taught me this. This lesson has been critical for me to learn to handle my own anxiety around certain things and certain people. Over time, it simply becomes easier to go from "not this again" to "fine. it's happening and I'll deal with it because I know how." Truly, it's just a little better to give yourself some credit in that way.

A few good reads on this topic:

Thin Slices of Anxiety on Brain Pickings

A Servant to Servants by Robert Frost

Knowledge Makes Everything Simpler on Farnam Street

Affective Outcomes on Virtual Reality Exposure for Anxiety and Specific Phobias: A Meta Analysis (Parsons and Rizzo) in the Journal of Behavour

On Clean Slates

I recently upgraded my phone. It was only two or three years old, but I needed a new plan and so I thought I might as well get a new phone. I had the same sim card for a good many years and I had done the good work on saving all of my contacts on it. I seldom back anything up on my phone and I don't keep a lot of things on there - as you probably know by now, I'm not a keeper of things in general, technology included. If it's enough to alert people to my existence, it's just enough for me.

With the new phone, however, I couldn't use my old sim card. It was a newer, bigger card and so the old one had to be discarded - along with all of my contacts from the last, oh, ten years?

Most people that I know, at this point, would panic. Or, if they were smarter than I am, would have saved their contacts to various other places so as not to lose any information and avert any crisis.

I didn't panic. I was glad for it.

Over the decade or so, I had accumulated an awful lot of contacts in my phone, many of which I simply hadn't used. Mind you, they are all nice people, but they simply aren't part of my day to day.  I had periodically erased contacts of people I definitely didn't speak to anymore, or random ones accumulated through networking and such, but I hadn't done a thorough clean up.

I treated this as an opportunity to start afresh. Everyone was gone, more of less, and I don't have much of a memory for phone numbers anymore. I proceeded to put out a call to friends to please send me their numbers. Many did. Many didn't. And the decision was made for me.

There are two kinds of people I have encountered: the ones that keep absolutely everything and everyone and the ones that keep nothing or very little. Neither one of these is right or wrong. I know that new beginnings are terrifying. We are stepping into an unknown mostly full of now-whats. It's overwhelming to think about what you can do with all of that time and space.  But the possibilities to remake or build new are endless. You have the chance to rid yourself of constricting ideas that are tightly wound around who you are and what you have.

So much of what we surround ourselves with is remnants of who we were, whether we crave the nostalgia of those things, or whether we still believe ourselves to be those people.  We don't often realize that those things are stale, in the same way that an old souvenir bottle of hot sauce in the fridge is kitschy, but offensive at the same time.

We can all benefit from an absolute throw-out of everything. I love clean slates and I start so many new beginnings that it's almost a habit at this point. There are certainly things that we can't wipe out, no matter how much we try - but then again, those things make us who we are. 

For me the autumn seems like a good time to both wind down and start anew. No longer in school, I still feel that the year is the most ripe with possibilities at this time, and I do silly things like buy new pens and throw out my summer shoes. 

Once we admit it to ourselves, a thorough razing of some aspect of life is a good thing, if for nothing else than to get past the things that take up too much space and are difficult to negotiate with because they end up consuming us with their presence. Though I am a follower of a gentler way of cleaning up, an overhaul can do wonders. This is not an easy task and you often find yourself at odds with yourself. But it's worth asking, why is this still around?

A few of my favourite reads/listens:

The Personality Myth on Invisibilia

On Final Things on The Book of Life

The Four Tools of Discipline on Farnam Street Blog

On Being Realistic: The Wisdom of Hanging in the Balance

“To be realistic, one must always admit the influence of those who have gone before.” ”

— Charles Eames

Someone whom I knew for a short while in my life, once commented that I wasn't as optimistic as they had thought I was when they first met me. For someone who doesn't place much weight on the opinions of others about myself, this comment carved very deeply into my understanding of who I am.

I had never been anything but my true, blue self: a person I have come to understand and cultivate over time, such that on most days, I'm perfectly happy and comfortable in my own skin. I'm well aware of my proclivities, flaws, strengths and contributions. I was bothered to the point where it unhinged me and set me on a quest of trying to understand who I was. Had I got some part of myself wrong? Was I not who I thought I was? Had my circumstances turned me into someone difficult to be around?

I started asking myself irrational questions and started attributing all sorts of things to being optimistic. Perhaps if I was more optimistic I'd have more opportunities, or a book deal, or better shaped eyebrows. It was a rabbit hole I have never been down.

So, as is my default, I started to take notes and to read and to try and understand where these thoughts were coming from. What is our obsession with optimism? Why do we devalue people who prefer a rainy day to those who bask in the eternally sunny days of summer?

First, some definitions. In the world of Positive Psychology, Martin Seligman (who I have a major intellectual crush on), is a juggernaut. He is the pioneer of the field which explores the link between positivity or optimism and a variety of characteristics in life, from well-being and health, to resilience and problem-solving to relationships.

According to Seligman, optimists view negative events as temporary, not pervasive, and attributed to events outside of themselves. Whereas, pessimists view negative events as pervasive, constant and their own fault. These are known as the explanatory styles within each domain. It's how we see the world, how we think of it in relation to ourselves, and the relative power and control that we hold over the ability to change those events.

We all fall on a spectrum between these two very extreme explanatory styles and perspectives. We all know people who are eternal optimists and are unshaken by what can by consensus be seen as traumatic events. Think of Viktor Frankl, the holocaust survivor and famous psychologist who explores the area of  meaningfulness of life. We need only think of Eeyore from Winnie the Pooh to get an idea of what pessimism is (I think he's just a bit misunderstood; you might disagree).

There is something to be said about a tempered perspective. I don't like to think of the two extremes in isolation. There is certainly a propensity to go toward one or the other, but by and large, we discount the people who tend to be middle of the road. We write articles like this one, which equate realism with average, run-of-the-mill and even mediocre. We equate it with the inability to think big or creatively.

I would like to argue that being a realist is a wholesome and accumulated view, taken over time, through many events that inform our relationship with this world, with ourselves and with each other. Being a realist is about entertaining the very possibility that things could both turn out better than and worse than expected. It's not to bum anyone out or to give false hope, but to be perfectly honest that we entertain a world full of chaos.

Most of the realists I know are problem-solvers. They have many, many contingency plans. A pessimist might say they hope for the best and prepare for the worst. I like to think of it as back-pocketing an inevitability without placing it on the table.

Being a realist doesn't preclude you from dreaming big dreams and supporting those who have them. I'll admit to being the first one excited when a loved one ventures out into this wide world with a new endeavour. But it does give you the accumulated wisdom that the law of averages might preside over these dreams. That you might just make it, or that you might have to take a detour. No matter. We'll help you. We've got a map.

Well-placed hope is a card that most realists will have. Just as a scientist would be remiss if they conducted one experiment and claimed that it was applicable to everyone everyone forever, realists use reality, real life to know that overall things turn out, but they show their own idiosyncrasies along the way, and that uncertainty can have very real effects. 

Realism is a place of wisdom. I have always thought of it this way. It aligns with who I am. It comes with understanding that gratitude is necessary for the good things that we have and the lessons that we learn. It comes from the wisdom that we are no different from each other in our hopes, dreams and wishes, and that it's fully possible to support something until a time where it might be much bigger than you are in either direction. It is the wisdom to walk away when necessary and to hang on when possible.

Let's credit the realists in our lives, not as trepidatious and risk averse, but as informed and balanced. We have a map. We'll always have it whether we need it or not.

My favourite reads on the topic:

On being too much for ourselves - Brainpicker

On How to Disagree - The Book of Life

Stumbling on Happiness - Daniel Gilbert

Naming Your Price

There is an old myth that floats around in Blues music about a musician named Robert Johnson. Robert Johnson, according to sources, was a terrible musician by any account. He was an awful guitarist when the Blues were in their early days, as the craft flourished and established its voice. One day, Robert Johnson disappeared. He disappeared for quite a while and nobody knew where he had gone (this in the days where it was easy to do that).

One day sometime later, he suddenly resurfaced, guitar in hand. When he started to play, he had miraculously acquired aficionado-level skills. So the myth goes, that if you went to a crossroad at midnight and waited there, the devil would appear, take your guitar, play a few chords and hand it back to you. Suddenly, you would be able to play perfectly. The only catch: you just sold your soul.

I got to thinking about what we trade, and why we trade it to get what we want. Today I read an article about a ghostwriter for Donald Trump, who helped to write his first book, knowing that he sold out. His wife was expecting, money was worrying him and the payoff was big, even though his journalistic integrity took a lashing.

Why do we make these trades? 

Desire plays a large part. We desire the things we don't have and could have. We see other people and suffer from the Fear of Missing Out. And we want them enough to make large enough trades. We see a culture that gives up so many things in order to achieve dreams, whether it's sleep, money, family, or integrity. Desire helps us gauge whether those trades are worth it. Do we want it badly enough to take a dive in some way? Sometimes those trades are worth it. You bet large and you win large. Everything has a price if we want it badly enough. Robert Johnson traded his soul (apparently) for an enchanted ability to play the guitar. That's what it was worth. 

The psychology of what we think we deserve is the other part of it. We all have a frame of reference that maintains what it is to stay in our station in life. Every time we negotiate, we trade away something vital. Sometimes it's small enough that we can recoup the loss over time. We can find an alternative. Sometimes we negotiate down. We settle. We do this because we think we deserve less. Or perhaps less is just what's available. We learn to be okay with what we have. I would bet money on the fact that Donald Trump thinks he deserves more. He isn't the most qualified candidate (at this point, I would be more qualified), but he feels as though he deserves this presidency.

It is often our psychology that gives us the permission for what we seek out to achieve. In a sense, it is our confirmation of ourselves, our worth, and our ability that bears down on what we get, and the price that we are willing to pay. We confirm these things with ourselves daily. We didn't get the girl or the raise or the concert tickets, because frankly, we are in some way undeserving or lacking.

Wandering around a Saturday Farmer's Market is an exercise in naming your price. Everyone has a set of criteria. The rhubarb is particularly delicious this time of year, and the blueberries are just beginning to come to their peak. Sometimes our trade matches up. We are willing to give a little to get a little (nobody likes sub-par rhubarb pie). At other times, the discrepancies are larger and we find ourselves negotiating up or down. You stand there, holding an artisanal jar of strawberry jam, and you ask yourself, is this worth the seven dollars I'm going to pay for it? Sometimes it's just the perfect thing for that crusty french bread you picked up. And sometimes you think, the bread will be just as delicious with some Smuckers.

Some good reads on negotiation:

Hunger Makes Me by Jess Zimmerman

How We Came to Desire a Job We Could Love on The Book of Life