apophenia: Warning: Email Sabbatical is Imminent .. and other random thoughts

[via trivium]

danah boyd is finishing her dissertation, then going on vacation for a month. While, she’s gone, she’s not accepting email. At all. Got that?

No apology. No “vacation message” to pretend she’ll read it later. And no implied promise that the stuff people send to her will magically be tended to by an invisble army of interns and elves. While she’s away, every message she receives is simply discarded with a friendly response as to why. danah writes:

…I believe that email eradicates any benefits gained from taking a vacation by collecting mold and spitting it back out at you the moment you return. As such, I’ve trained my beloved INBOX to reject all email during vacation. I give it a little help in the form of a .procmail file that sends everything directly to /dev/null. The effect is very simple. You cannot put anything in my queue while I’m away (however lovingly you intend it) and I come home to a clean INBOX. Don’t worry… if you forget, you’ll get a nice note from my INBOX telling you to shove off, respect danah’s deeply needed vacation time, and try again after January 19.

If you roll your eyes at such fancy, uppity, big-city behavior, consider the alternatives most of us suffer in order to pretend we’re listening. Even when we know we’re not.

At worst, we lie: both to ourselves and to others.

We play this pantomime game where we continue to offer contemporary life’s default level of extraordinary personal access to anyone who seeks it — even at the times when we have no intention of, or ability to, do anything about what people use that access to ask of us. And, that’s a small but telling lie.

You ever done the opposite of what danah is doing? Where you come back from a vacation during which you half-checked email from a mobile device, ignored most of it, and didn’t properly finish processing the rest? Sure, you have. And, what happened?

Well, if you’re like most people, you deleted a lot of the messages without even reading them. Right? Or, what? You spent 2 or 3 days reading and responding to everything? Even while new (and inarguably more salient) stuff piled up? Right. Smart.

So, maybe you prefer to think of it as mismanaging expectations. Because you feel guilty about just ignoring everything you implied you’d do something about, and you still feel the pressure to do something with all of it — even if it’s just responding with a template or writing back to say how busy you are, and, Sorry! but I’m still getting to this. SORRY!

Or. You could have told the truth. Don’t send me email. I won’t see it. Write me later.

danah’s decision would be so wrong for so many people that it’s mind-boggling to contemplate. But it is her decision, and doing anything but congratulating her on having the courageousness to unambiguously manage such a giant expectation would be cynical and (yep) dishonest. This is some bold shit, and, you know what? That scares the hell out of people.

In my experience, most of us are terrified of being told the truth, even about something as seemingly trivial as email. It’s so much easier and more comfortable for all the parties in a relationship to fall back on the pseudo-polite non-communication that lets us pretend to pay attention to each other on a massive scale. And, right now, this is a really important thing that very few people are talking about.

Even if we call this something less than “a lie,” we’re still stuck with the depressing prospect of a secret and shameful existence in which pretending to pay attention to people is less damaging than simply admitting we don’t have the cycles to be a big phony. That pretending is a more important use of your time than doing things. That anyone who pretends to pay attention to each of us is entitled to the same nonsense courtesy.

Stress comes from dissonance. When two things in your mind can’t be resolved and you start thinking you’re going to be stuck with the incongruity forever, you stress.

But, as much as our minds and our hearts encourage us to believe the fault goes to our will or our lack of industry — rather than our thinking and cognition — the true cure for stress is to cut the Gordian Knot. To change your mind about at least one thing you think you’re not allowed to change your mind about.

You alter the game when you re-write the rules. And, in this instance, if you find yourself more occupied with maintaining the lie than you are with doing the real work that the lie’s meant to support, it’s probably time to drop the lie. And, it also wouldn’t hurt to get unbelievably real about what you really do, rather than how and when you move bits.

Thing is, it’s not kindness that makes you see honesty as a dick move; it’s fear. And whenever you let fear drive, you’re going to end up in some dark, weird places where email ends up seeming like the least of your problems.

No, we can’t all turn off the inputs in our life whenever we want. But we can damned sure do the more significant thing danah did here. We can create meaningful and sustainable expectations about how, when, or whether we’ll respond to each of the inputs in our world. We can be candid about the level of attention strangers and friends can expect from us. And, when the time is appropriate, we can find the stomach to tell the world we’re not even pretending to listen.

In the wonderful Bird by Bird, Anne Lamott talks about the incredible, ripping pain she felt after having her tonsils removed. All she wanted to do was chug pain killers and let the stupid thing heal, but, Anne’s doctor gave her some advice that she found as unbelievable as it was painful: he told her to chew some gum.

Turns out that, as with a lot of injuries, the entirely sensible impulse to protect and baby a wounded area was the opposite of what Anne actually needed in order to fix the problem. So, by enduring the excruciating pain of chewing gum for just a few minutes, the muscles in her throat suddenly unclenched, and Anne’s pain went away forever.

The advice Anne wanted wasn’t the advice she needed. And, like we all eventually learn, the best advice you’ll get in life hurts like hell at the time. Because it has to.

And, maybe that’s part of what what bugs me about all the “tips.”

Today, the web is littered with sites pumping out a high volume of advice on every conceivable topic. And a lot of the pathological patrons of these sites will tell you that a daily surfeit of snack-sized information helps them with what they really need in order to be successful and happy in life — to be better at their job or to be a well-rounded person or to become a more talented programmer.

I don’t doubt for a moment that the right tip at the right time can make all the difference in the world. And I have certainly been both a (reformed) producer as well as an ardent consumer of “tips,” by any definition of the word. But, here’s the problem:

In more instances than we want to admit, tips not only won’t (and can’t) help us to improve; they will actively get in the way of fundamental improvement by obscuring the advice we need with the advice that we enjoy. And, the advice that’s easy to take is so rarely the advice that could really make a difference.

A tip is like…what? A little scrap of a map. Not only is it not the actual destination, but the part you can hold in your hand will only make sense when you understand its place in a much bigger picture.

So, sure, you might get a kick out of gazing at the pretty colors and reading the funny names to your cat, and, heck, once you’ve collected enough little maps, you may even start fancying yourself a gifted cartographer.

But, never for a minute start fantasizing that being a map collector means you’ve visited all the locations on those pieces of paper. If you ever decided to attempt them, your actual travels would very much benefit from a competent (and whole) map of where you’re heading, but it necessarily requires movement, change, and enduring potentially long stretches in which you’ll have to find your own bearings in three tip-free dimensions.

At their best, “tips” are a fine way to incrementally improve a process that you’re already dedicated to practicing on a regular basis. And, in that context, tips work.

For example, a tip on your golf swing may be very useful if you’re already playing three times a week and hitting a bucket of balls after work every day. But a subscription to a magazine about taekwondo will only be as useful as your decision to drag your fat ass into a dojo and start actually kicking people. Over and over. Otherwise, you’re just buying shiny paper every month.

In my opinion, the problems with tip culture on the web are many, not least the evidence that most of the page-view-obsessed poopers of online tips seem to have zero real interest in solving any problem beyond their own need to generate repeat traffic from dazed information tourists. But, the common problem of all tip fixations traces back to a misunderstanding of how anybody ever got great at doing anything.

We can’t get good at something solely by reading about it. And we’ll never make giant leaps in any endeavor by treating it like a snack food that we munch on whenever we’re getting bored. You get good at something by doing it repeatedly. And by listening to specific criticism from people who are already good at what you do. And by a dedication to getting better, even when it’s inconvenient and may not involve a handy bulleted list.

If this strikes you as fancy talk, may I suggest that you approach the woman in your life who most enjoys sexual intercourse, and, in the nicest way possible, ask her whether she’d prefer to have congress with:

1. a confident partner who has had a long career of safe and mutually-satisfying romps with a range of people who liked different things; or,
2. a 50-year-old virgin who likes reading blogs about sex tips.

You know the answer, and so does she. There’s probably more than one reason that poor #2 is still just a well-read dilettante, but a strong candidate for the top spot would be how he’s allowed his ardor for acquiring “tips” to take the place of getting started in the actual, complicated, and sometimes very confusing craft of making ladyparts happy.

You should and will consume the web however you please, and if scanning lists of tips is a relaxing pastime for you, I’m the last person to begrudge you your fun. But, it’s time to stop pretending that practical expertise at anything can take place in an RSS reader.

Next time you find yourself staring at another re-packaged post about all the “resources” for becoming great at whatever you’re theoretically excited about, ask yourself for specific evidence — things you can point to that you’ve done or made— that reflect the improvement all those thousands of tips and resources brought you.

If you can shut me down with a hundred satisfied lovers, a pile of well-kicked opponents, or a passport full of countries you’ve walked through: well, more power to you and the tips that helped you get good.

But, if the countless, dreary hours of resource-hunting and tip-scarfing have primarily produced more RSS subscriptions and a giant ass print on your couch, maybe it’s time to stand up, and start chewing some gum.

As I’ve started shooting photos more often, I’ve picked up on some interesting patterns: habits, if you like. And, as I struggle to absorb the insane physics of capturing light with some glass and a black box, I accept upfront that the improvements to my actual photos will be slow, incremental, and, largely undetectable to anybody but me — a fact that’s never more painfully clear than when I swoon over the work of the more talented friends who inspire me (Heather, Ryan and Chris each come to mind here).

But, being instantly great at this couldn’t be further from the point. Although I started taking photos to become a better photographer, I keep taking them because I’ve learned to love the process. And, luckily, at least as far as I can tell, dedication to the process can’t help but make you a better photographer — or a better whatever, for that matter.

An Urge to Push

I lug this clunky camera around with me every day because I want to, and because turning this hobby into a project that I work on a little bit every day ensures continuity and helps my modest bumps in skill to accrete — to make new friends with one other in ways that often surprise me (“Low ISO + giant aperture + standing very still? Wow, check that out!”).

I’m especially learning to embrace a priceless habit of shooting way more photos than I’d ever even process in Lightroom (let alone share with others). So, I’m getting more comfortable with trying different combinations of angle, framing, lighting, aperture, speed, and ISO. The calculus of capturing a “tack sharp” image encompasses an astounding combination of science, observation, and, in the fullness of time, intuition. But, to get there takes time and clicking. So, that promiscuity with the volume of photos I capture teaches me that it costs nothing to just get something in the viewfinder and shoot, shoot, shoot. Maybe something will turn out if I get enough of ‘em, right?

Cleft Unto the Suck

And, even if a given shot is shit — and, most certainly, the vast majority of all my photos are varying degrees of shit — you still learn from the bad ones and no damage is done. Truth is, at the level I’m playing, there’s no real cost associated with failure. Unless, you count the damage of working with unrealistic expectations or the paralyzing joylessness of the conventional wisdom that only some are “Blessed with Creativity…” [insert Tinkerbell glissando]

So, maybe, that’s what really grabbed me last night, when — depending on your perception of how this stuff works — I either started to lose The Fear, or I became one of those horrible little people who doesn’t realize how stupid they look fiddling with a camera.

It Starts with a Shoe

Yesterday evening, the three of us went out for pizza. And, at some point, as my wife and I took turns carrying our daughter home, Eleanor lost a shoe. This happens a lot with a 13-month-old. Of course, we didn’t notice the shoe had gone missing until we got back to the house, where I was quickly re-dispatched on a reconnaissance and rescue mission. Heading for the door, I started to grab my camera — but then stopped and winced a little.

“Oh, Jesus. Really?” some voice whined. “Now you’re That Guy? Can’t you just walk out there like a grownup, retrace your steps, and be back here in 5 goddamned minutes? You really need to drag your giant, douchey camera out for a four-block walk? Who’re you now, freakin’ Diane Arbus? Jeez, get a life.”

But, you know what? I told myself to shut the fuck up. And, I grabbed my camera and started downhill, into the darkness, toward one MIA Croc.

Fortunately, it was an easy enough trip, because there was Ellie’s shoe, upright and undisturbed, on the sidewalk at the end of the block. Of course (having the giant, douchey camera with me), I started snapping some photos.

First, I got a couple eye-level photos of the optimistic little shoe that turned out about as badly as most eye-level shots of the ground do. But, on review [always review the first few shots and zoom way in], I thought the color looked cool on the dark street, so I got on one knee to take another. Yeah, better. But, it still looked like a lame overhead snapshot that was way too dark and noisy. So, I did something that surprised me.

I laid on the sidewalk. All the way down. On my gut on 50° of western San Francisco concrete.

And, I took my time, thinking about the aperture (all the way open for depth of field) and the available light (very little, so I put the the camera right on the ground to steady it). I snapped a dozen or more shots with slightly different settings. No idea what I was doing. People walked by, cars passed, the L barreled by, but I kept shooting until I was satisfied that I might have something. Then, I grabbed the shoe, stood up, and trotted back up the hill, triumphant, with a recovered piece of footwear, plus what I suspected might be at least one pretty good photo.

I like how it turned out.

Yeah, I know, it’s no masterpiece, but I’m proud of it for reasons of my own. Because, last night, as I was splayed prone in the fog along Taraval Street, I realized I was getting a little better at this.

Not because I’d been magically touched with mythical creativity and skill, but because for a moment I was thinking more about how to use what I’d learned to get a good photo than I was about how I might have looked while doing it. And, that felt like a small turning point.

Tolerance for Courageous Sucking

Nobody likes feeling like a noob, especially when you’re getting constant pressure on all sides to never stick out in an unflattering way. And, in this godforsaken just-add-Wikipedia era of make-believe insight and instant expertise, it’s natural to start believing you must never suck at anything or admit to knowing less than everything — even when you’re just starting out. Clarinets should never squawk, sketch lines should never be visible, and dictionaries are just big, dumb books of words for cheaters and fancy people. Right?

I think finding your own comfort with the process (whatever that process ends up being) might just be the whole game here — being willing to put in your time, learn the craft, and never lose the courageousness to be caught in the middle of making something you care about, even when it might be shit and you might look like an idiot fumbling to make it. What’s the worst thing that could happen?

Well, you could quit, because it’s too hard to make stuff you aren’t already great at. You could convert all that pointless effort and practice back into MySpace updates and the production of funny cat pictures. No, it’s not technically the worst thing that could happen, but it’s a damned common pathway for fear to molder back into an emotional impulse to put on jammies and watch Judge Judy.

I’m not doing anything special here, and I don’t claim to have a magic formula for creativity, let alone for getting a half-decent photo of a rubber shoe. All I know is that sticking with things that don’t arrive with instant mastery does have its own reward, even if you’re the only one who ever collects it. Because the more you push through the barriers for these little avocations, the easier it becomes to remember you always have everything you need to just keep banging until you’re satisfied with any work that’s thrown at you.

Next time I need inspiration to get through a bad patch, or to get past that persistent feeling that I’ll always be stuck in the lowest creative gear, I hope I’ll remember to stop and ask myself what exactly is keeping me from just laying on the sidewalk until I get my shot. Even if it’s cold, even if I look like an idiot, and even if I risk missing the first crucial minutes of Judge Judy.

The Creative Habit: Learn It and Use It for Life (Free 1st Chapter)

As long as I’ve outed myself as an obsessive fan of Twyla Tharp’s The Creative Habit, it seems sensible to point you to this free excerpt of the book, which includes the full text of the book’s first chapter.

While it doesn’t capture the clear-eyed usefulness of the book nearly as satisfyingly as each subsequent chapter does, it will give you a feel for why this book’s different from your garden-variety aspirational artist porn — this woman does not believe in “natural genius,” and she damned well expects you to work your ass off, every day:

After so many years, I’ve learned that being creative is a full-time job with its own daily patterns. That’s why writers, for example, like to establish routines for themselves. The most productive ones get started early in the morning, when the world is quiet, the phones aren’t ringing, and their minds are rested, alert, and not yet polluted by other people’s words. They might set a goal for themselves — write fifteen hundred words, or stay at their desk until noon — but the real secret is that they do this every day. In other words, they are disciplined. Over time, as the daily routines become second nature, discipline morphs into habit. […]

The way I figure it, my work habits are applicable to everyone. You’ll find that I’m a stickler about preparation. My daily routines are transactional. Everything that happens in my day is a transaction between the external world and my internal world. Everything is raw material. Everything is relevant. Everything is usable. Everything feeds into my creativity. But without proper preparation, I cannot see it, retain it, and use it. Without the time and effort invested in getting ready to create, you can be hit by the thunderbolt and it’ll just leave you stunned.

Yep. And, as Samuel Goldwyn said, “The harder I work, the luckier I get.”

Have a look at that excerpt and see what you think. More on this soon.

ILIS Interviews Louis C.K. - AST Forums
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In 2006, Louis C.K. didn’t know whether his HBO show would be renewed, but he didn’t want to sit on his hands for months waiting to find out.

Instead of going conservative by gluing new treads onto old tires, he did something tantamount to suicide for a working comic; he threw out his whole set and started over.

I decided that I would spend the year dedicating my time to building a brand new hour from the ground up. I figured that if it was ready by September, then if I got another season of Lucky Louie, (I didn’t) I could shoot that hour and then go back to work. I also figured that if we got cancelled (we did) I would really need something else ready so that I wouldn’t die of depression and poverty.

So I hit the clubs hard, recorded every set I did, and started building the time. It was REALLY hard. I didn’t know that it was possible for me. Then I listened to a CD called “George on George” where he talked about his work ethic and how, rather than just compiling material in general and shooting the best of what he has at the end of the year, he spent the year developing material specifically for the special. In other words, thinking of it as writing one special, like a novel. If you write a novel, it has a form, a theme, a story, whatever, and you know you’re writing that novel the whole time, and when it’s ready you publish it and move on. Rather than just writing “things” and then when there’s enough of it you put it out.

This approach totally changed how I thought about my task….

Louis C.K.’s latest special on Showtime was a riot, but he’s probably best known right now for killing on his recent Conan appearance.

Thanks a million for the interview link, Jesse Thorn (BTW, Jesse himself interviewed Louis C.K. in September for TSOYA).

Although I haven’t been able to put my hand to a copy of George On George, I do recommend checking out the 2007 oral history George Carlin did with the Archive of American Television. Man was crazy-smart and thoughtful about what he did and how he did it.

George Carlin - Archive Interview Part 6 of 7

I’m a writer first. […] An artist is on a journey…

So good. Don’t miss this.