I’ll write a short post, even if my thoughts on the topic are long and winded.
I’m often not comfortable with the word/concept of “wanting” and I use it very rarely. I definitely avoid using it when talking about objects or even food.
I have noticed that most people I know use the word to mean “I have a goal and I will achieve it” or at least “I’m invested in something”.
For me both sentences are not well translated by “wanting” that thing. I may set a goal for myself and achieve it, but I notice that my success either depends more on the favorable context than my ability to overcome issues (sometimes there are very few and it’s not really a matter of any effort or even willpower), or when the goal requires new/better skills, I work on those, and that’s the focus.
I may be invested in something, but not because there is any personal result, rather because I care about the thing and work on supporting it.
In both situations, a personal goal doesn’t raise (nor is the product of) strong emotions. I feel much more push and adrenaline when it’s about a shared objective with positive outcomes for more people/etc than myself.
Writing this brings me to think that my thoughts around “wanting” may be the sign of more profound schemas that are not centered around the self (for a set of reasons that I’m currently researching). I’ll keep working on this.
As my last post of 2022 I wish to share the overview of this year’s crafting, mostly knitting with some crochet items. This activity makes me particularly happy and proud, because it calms me, progresses slowly but visibly, and very importantly, progress is stable. I learned a few new techniques and gifted some items to friends. I made wearables that properly fit me and are comfortable.
For 2023 I want to keep knitting and crocheting, and have many projects in my queue already.
So, goodbye 2022, wishing you all a great start in the new year!
Recently I read an article about bilingual people’s brain activity according to language spoken/read. I honestly don’t remember much of the methods nor conclusions, but I thought about my use of languages, and it’s quite evident that I’m not even fully bilingual when I consider the two languages I learned as a child. Especially back then, each language belonged to non overlapping environments (home, school, books, movies…), and even growing up, each environment kept its language or at least its strongly preferred language.
That’s why I don’t see myself as bilingual in the sense of being able to use any of the two languages interchangeably. Not to mention the two more languages I learned later in life, that are even more markedly domain-specific.
During a recent conversation, a friend told me “Imagine how powerful/effective a dolphin would be if it were fitted with hands it could control, it would probably make humans look stupid in comparison, as it could finally make use of its great intelligence”.
I tried to take a breath before answering, but I immediately thought “Are you implying that dolphins are living massively below their potential because of their hand-less bodies? Do we even understand how their lives and world views are? Are we maybe unaware of something important that we could learn from them instead?”
Then my thoughts took a turn towards “Why always evaluate animals’ performance using normal-human standards as the goal, and judge them as less developed, or worse, that they would live better if they were more human-like in their actions and aspirations?”
Then I only answered out loud: “Isn’t it the usual human focus at play? I bet the dolphin chosen for the experiment would be bullied because it’s not human but dares to challenge humans’ achievements, probably bullied harder if it’s smart, or more cruelly, if it’s not that smart for human standards, as if it were the proof that all dolphins were overestimated in their potential? Like what happens to neurodivergent people? I don’t wish to dolphins to be treated like this.”
Difficult to pick words in this time and place. I feel that speaking about my thoughts like I did in recent posts is irrelevant in light of how other people’s lives are and will be devastated. I am not scared for myself or my future – no matter what happens, and (sadly!) not due to my actions, my life will not be hit as badly as the lives of so many people. I feel lucky, but I wish someone else received my share of luck and opportunities.
I am overwhelmed and speechless, but I don’t want to isolate myself from what is happening. I find that staying calm and positive in such times is either the product of an exceptionally stable mind, or of an aggressive (to the point of looking inhuman) filter on inputs. I struggle talking about this, as strong emotions and projections make the discussion derail, leaving me more confused than before.
Recently I took a long and winded walk on Wikipedia and read about space shuttle orbiters.
After many years since their first launch and a decade since last mission, the surrounding (and lifting) enthusiasm about traveling in space with such machines has dissipated somehow, and the way of talking about them became more practical, less dependent on the interpretation. The details of their construction and missions, at least the ones shared publicly, appear very practical to me, and therefore interesting.
One of the pictures that struck me is one of Atlantis docked to the ISS, the international space station.
When I saw it the first time, the details almost brought me to tears, and every time I see it (quite often, as it’s one of my desktop backgrounds) I smile. I see the picture as a mosaic of pieces that all need to be there for the mission to be successful. And more than the metaphorical pieces, I see the actual pieces – the tiles of Atlantis’ thermal shield, with signs of wear, the black tiles protecting the most exposed sections (and I particularly cherish the black area between the cockpit windows, as it’s a feature that airplanes don’t need) – the cabling of the ISS, so non-Earth-like in its appearance, exposed and only answering to physics and necessity – and I think: this was made possible, even if mostly for political reasons; but those were the motivation, and didn’t take part to the actual creation of the whole setup. I am emotionally indifferent to the publicity around the space shuttle, but I cry when I read the details of their construction and missions – at least what is publicly available – because I can relate to the struggles and successes of a technician with a very practical problem to solve, and I feel a profound sympathy for the finished object.
Back to baking! Here is my last bread, decorated with the college S:
Bread #174 – Weizenvollkorn
I enjoy baking for a variety of reasons. Eating it is not the most important 🙂 I find baking, and especially leavening, a process that demands respect for its timings, in exchange for minimum requirements (flour, water and cozy ambient temperature). I mix the ingredients and I know that in a few hours the dough will be ready. There is no way to make it faster (apart from raising ambient temperature, but still) but from my side there is not even such intention. I bake only when there is enough time. I actually try to follow this principle for everything, which is sometimes clashing with expectations around me – either I get pushed to act faster, or worse, I am expected to push others. The result is that I get really uncomfortable (in both situations), and the task gets delayed or derails completely, which is not better than letting me complete the task at my pace.
Apart for the metaphorical considerations, bread #174 tastes delicious 🙂 Till next time!
One more post of the series “short posts about big topics”.
Today’s topic is predictability. As a disclaimer, I want to say that I was often able to hide it and looked like I was ready to improvise, while I actually had rehearsed the possible two or three scenarios in advance. So much for being praised for credible masking. I don’t think I would have acted differently back then, because looking “normal” was pretty much a requirement from the outside world, not something I voluntarily decided to burden myself with.
But I want to come back to the topic. Predictability took for me one main shape, that is the ability to rehearse written music in my various orchestras and choirs, and being able to exactly predict what was going to happen, because it was literally written down note by note. In choir music it’s how it is written – rarely you get only your own notes, while the norm is to get the full four-voice score. It is a supreme joy to see all the notes on the paper become notes in reality, and me being able to read a few bars in advance, sometimes more, sometimes waiting for a specific section to sing a specific part, and melting when that finally happens, at the precise time, not earlier, not later. When it comes to orchestral/band music, the opposite is the norm, that is, each gets their own notes, only the conductor gets the full score. In a few occasions I was able to read the full conductor score and I got the same profound satisfaction about seeing notes on paper, and soon afterwards hearing them played by exactly those instruments.
Percussion notes, SBO rehearsals (2017)
Another, apparently unrelated, area where predictability reigns, is track driving. I was only once on a F1 track for a day of “Freies Fahren”, and as a passenger, I must say I enjoyed all of it – I don’t think I would have liked it as much if I had to drive myself (so many decisions to take!). As a passenger I took one lap to learn the bends of the circuit (and got surprised+scared once), and from that moment onwards it was pure enjoyment. I knew in advance how each curve would feel, and looked forward for each of them, instead of notes, acceleration and bits of drifting (we were often excused, as the weather was rainy and the track slippery). I can’t really tell if I liked predictability more than the actual driving, but I want to confirm that it was one of the rare experiences I remember as entirely positive and safe. The track is indeed very large and meant for much higher speeds than an ordinary car can achieve, and the surrounding gravel/dirt areas are much larger than any road would offer, so I felt way safer than in everyday traffic. It was movement, in a form that made so much sense to me – much more than moving my own body.
Spa-Francorchamps track, in the BMW Motorsport division colors
This is to say that I need at least one area where things happen as I expect them to, and get really upset if they don’t. I know that many people can rely on a bunch of processes and people to be consistent in time, and therefore are ready to accept surprises and unpredictability elsewhere; in my case, as many of these areas are not predictable, I need some other processes/people to be consistent, and it sometimes comes out as demanding, or at least unexpectedly demanding. I used to apologise for it and hide my needs, and I don’t do that anymore; still, it looks odd, but I stand my ground.
There is much more to say about this topic, but these two examples are the shiniest and clearest I can think of. I may write more in a further post, and would happily respond to comments to this post. Until next time, take care!
I took a while to pick the topic, as Continuity is in the middle of a fan of related concepts, and it would be meta-nice to… continue on that line. Sort of connected to it, but on a different plane, is my perception on how easily I can perform common tasks according to how busy I am with one or more major ongoing tasks. I noticed that, depending on how stressful those major tasks are, I seem to lose the ability to concatenate the most common actions, stuff that I otherwise do without thinking – and losing this automation transforms a normal day in a costly, relentless manual flight mode. This is what I call “fragile autopilot”, as automation stops functioning exactly when I would give hands and feet to at least not worry about closing windows and the front door when leaving the house, and remembering what I need to take with me or buy. In this state of mind I can only follow very familiar procedures, like taking the Known Route to go shopping (to the point of using a specific sidewalk and cross the road in a specific spot, otherwise I risk getting hit by traffic), in a shop where everything is where I expect it to be. Knitting also helps a lot, as I mostly follow detailed patterns, and I have at least one work-in-progress that allows autopilot knitting (knit to end of row, based on stitches of previous row) for at least an hour. Of course (at least it’s obvious to me) the first thing that flies out of the plane is social interaction, unless it’s joining a recurring event with people I know, or joining an online group like I do every day. I’m aware that it comes through as unfriendly, and I dearly pay for it when I realise I act like I don’t care about people or take really long to answer, but I’m too busy doing all the small actions and counteractions that the plane needs to stay airborne to worry about anything else.
I think everybody has gone through one or more moments like these, where it seems hard to focus on anything and one is literally drowning in worries and anxiety. It’s when it happens often, and/or in connection with tasks that are considered mildly challenging by the majority, that I think I need some dedicated strategies and not only symptom-reducing fixes.
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aghisla draws 
