New Year’s Resolutions 2018

2017 – A year of resolutions met

The last few years, I have focused my New Year’s Resolutions on well-being, and I have made progress – in 2017, I built my fitness by doing more cardio, going vegan. I wrote a draft of a book on social media and management, which I hope to get published soon, and have been thinking about another on communication and strategy more generally. I was also definitely more prayerful and mindful in a sustained way. As for building a real life? Well, I discovered that my life is real, just not necessarily as connected to others as I would like it to be – I worked on that and feel much better going into 2018. So in many ways, I feel I met my NYR2017.

Resolutions for 2018:

  1. Find and work with a physical trainer and osteopath to actually build sustainable fitness and well-being. I have found that fitness exercise has revealed flaws in my posture and body balance that I can’t fix myself.
  2. Continue with a plant-based diet.
  3. Publish my book manuscript. Write the next one. Continue the scholarly collaborations I have started, by publishing academic articles.
  4. Continue to explore and build my liberal, progressive Roman Catholic faith and practice.
  5. Learn more about startups and entrepreneurship in the AI, communications analytics, and metrics field.
  6. Take a real vacation, away from home – preferably somewhere warm.

So there you have it. Let’s see how I do.

Until 2019.

Advertisements

The first snow – a moment of regret? or an invitation to contemplate?

We spend so much time in the waiting room of life, anticipating a future in which the conditions will be right for us to take action.

The first snow fell today, in silent sprinkles. I am watching its flakes drift and glide in a zig-zag as they fall, in a manner similar to leaves.

I am surprised by the thought of thousands of perfectly formed crystals falling from the sky against the bright grey-white light of the winter morning.

Snow, where I live, is the harbinger of change.

Its arrival means that winter nature will be asleep soon, that Christmas is around the corner and that the clock will soon tick over into a new year.

While a new year is a somewhat arbitrary marker in life’s path, it is significant because we make it so.

I ask myself this morning – how do you face a new year without some nostalgia or regret? It must be possible, but how?

I think the answer is in a daily feeling of “nowness”, or mindfulness in today’s vernacular. I have successfully integrated meditation into my life, mostly due, in an amusing twist, to technology. A dear friend introduced me to the Calm app on my phone and my Garmin watch has a feature where it measures my stress and suggests that I breathe. Both the daily meditation from Calm and the breathing helps me to find my centre for the day, or grants a moment’s respite during a stressful hour.

As some of my readers may know, I am a liberal and progressive, yet faithful Roman Catholic. As such, I have always tried to incorporate daily prayer into my life, with varying success and at different levels of intensity over the years. I find that mechanical repetition of prayer becomes a chore rather than something I look forward to, so have sought to find ways of approaching prayer more mindfully, more contemplatively.

One of the methods I use, is listening to Taizé music. These simple, repetitive chants are very similar to the mantras sung by yogis. The Taizé Community is an ecumenical movement that invites all Christian orders to unite in song and contemplation. Taizé songs are sometimes so beautiful that they bring tears to my eyes, making me feel a great emotional release and spiritual uplift. They seem to open a door to the sanctuary of transcendent feeling that comes of gaining a glimpse of the reflected, warm golden light of love.

Another method that I have used with success is the Ignatian daily examen. This method of practical prayer and contemplation was prescribed by St. Ignatius of Loyola, the founder of the Order of Jesuits. The examen is simple, yet elegantly effective. At the end of the day, take a moment to:

1. Become aware of God’s presence.
2. Review the day with gratitude.
3. Pay attention to your emotions.
4. Choose one feature of the day and pray from it.
5. Look toward to tomorrow.

Obviously, this is a religious approach to mindfulness and that won’t work for many. I do encourage you to check out Taizé and the Ignatian Examen as both can be practised and enjoyed in a secular, fashion as well.

I have found going through this can help open the door to self-examination and awareness. I have found that being in this state can avoid nostalgia and regret in those moments when we become aware of the flight of time’s arrow. They make us more aware of where the arrow is leading us.

Indeed, they possibly allow us to be in sync with our actions enough that we mindfully and willfully shoot an arrow into the future with each of our actions, confident that it will land in a future place that we will be one day happy to inhabit.

Beauty of the moment.

I walked past a homeless man today in Hamilton, who stopped me and told me a story.

He was old, smelled of cigarettes and looked as though he may spent a little too much time indulging in the juice and maybe even some smack. His eyes were grey and vacant, ringed like an ancient tree that had been struck by lightening and cracked open and fallen over, its history laid out under the clouds and in the mist and the vapoury sunlight. His eyes were misty.

I am ashamed to say I tend to walk past — no sadly I would say walk through — people like this on my journey to somewhere important. Too bad I can’t remember any of the destinations. Just the forgetting of the people I passed along the way to them. Anyhow this man’s foggy grey eyes caught me and held me and I listened to him go on for a minute or five or something.

“I wasn’t always a hobo, man,” and he looked at me penetratingly, I couldn’t look away even though I felt he was a little crazy and I didn’t know what to do with that, so I just looked and listened. “Oh yeah. I lived in BC and saw orcas and helped carve totem poles. I walked along the Bow River in Calgary and delivered newspapers. I even lived in Montreal as a bouncer in a club. I’ve had a life.”

“I imagine,” I said, a little nauseated at the triteness of my words. “Sounds like you’ve seen some country.”

“That don’t count for nothing, man. Seeing country is nothing. I made friends with people, I connected. Not no one can take that from me. I got nothing here but I got memories and sadness and a lifetime of things I seen and people who remember me. I got wealth man. I got wealth.”

And then he walked off, teetering on his can, bringing his alcoholism and his need of a bath to another location. But he made me think.

What makes him lesser than another? Is it achievement? His mind and his life were full of experiences– he had touched the lives of hundreds as he zig zagged across our country, a hobo or whatever. In the end, his eyes were full of the joys and pains and loves and resentments and sadnesses and contentments of a life.

And that’s the kicker, friends – life. We only have one. Whether we spend it conventionally or whether we wander, stinky and forlorn, we have life. And life is beautiful. It is unique and rhythmic with sleep and sunset and sunrise and misty mornings and the glory of God’s great creation. An orchestra of sound and light and colour and smells and … life.

That’s why we have to take care of each other and believe in one another. Believe for those who have lost heart and believe for those who never did. We can get to a better place.

The homeless dude had a life. It is precious and serious and important. When we finally see that , a whole world possibility will open before us.

I can just feel it.

Glamour oh glamour

Whilst I have spent much of my career as a professional communicator building shimmering images of glamour and desire I have to say that the idea of glamour actually repels me as an idea.

I love the chase of an idea or image, a concept distilled down to its simplest form and then adorned is to me the most powerful way to build a narrative either visual, auditory or in language.

To me that’s the antiglamour really.

Glamour is the narrative turn fed by jealousy and a desire to withhold or hide beauty. It is created through a tantalizing feeling of access to privilege that is really rooted in a lack of access – glamour is dress up, a taunt or the reminder of an absence in your life, be it excitement or power or wealth or control of others. That’s what drives the desire to consume: either to project the taunt “look at me, you can’t have this” or to struggle to own it.

The problem is that while this works, it also makes people unhappy with their lives.

To me the mysteries that work best in communication and fashion aren’t those heavy handed storylines of glamour but rather the suggestive breezes of momentary uplift when we are reminded of the beauty and joy of a simple moment… a deep breath upon stepping outside for the first time after a day in a building, a perfect coffee as the sun kisses your face even on a crisp winter day. The fleeting electric tingle of a brush of your hand by someone you like.

To me the sun and the breeze and the tingle of the cold in my cheek or the split second thrill of light touch are sensations that remind me that I am alive and that life holds so much promise.

That’s real glamour. The rest is vanity, isn’t it?

Language and dimensionality: The movie “Arrival”

I watched the film Arrival last night. It was an interesting exploration of the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis, which has two versions:

  • Linguistic Relativity — claims that language shapes and colours our worldview (i.e. if you don’t have a nuanced set of words for different types of snow, you are less likely to see the different varieties unless you focus on noticing).
  • Linguistic Determinism — claims that language determines how we view the world (i.e. if you don’t have a word for green, you can’t see the colour)

Arrival takes the linguistic determinism interpretation with the main character, a linguistics professor named Louise (Amy Adams), actually having a piece of her mind unlocked which allows her to perceive time differently, based on learning the script language of the Heptapods.

Generally, linguists reject the linguistic determinism hypothesis because it seems to contradict the laws of physics — as Steven Pinker put it in his book, The Blank Slate, learning a new language doesn’t rewire the cone cells in your eyes.

However, on a deeper level, I think there may be something to linguistic determinism — call it a mindful or meditative, perhaps even a spiritual level. For example, Buddhist koans and Christian plainsong have been said to induce ecstatic transport, increase focus and alter consciousness. I recognize that this isn’t linguistic determinism proper, but there is a linguistic behaviour here (chanting) at play that seems to have the potential to alter one’s perception of reality.

The fact is that we don’t  understand the brain well enough yet to be able to know how different stimuli and practices come together in the network or palimpsest or whatever configuration of mental representations through which our minds are organized .

Now, these altered states may not be determined through language strictly but through a combination of language, memory, shape, colour, sound and attention… who knows.

The idea of the link between symbols, representation and our consciousness is pretty fascinating and I am happy that Arrival was abe to produced such a nuanced and engrossing experience based on it.

The pain then is part of the goodness now

So sometimes we are confronted with the pain of others and its raw and its hard and it hurts, both them and us. You know, we make choices in our lives and sometimes, I think about those choices and it’s hard to see the path linking them through time… that golden filament weaving through the events and moments of our lives, driven forward fast and inexorably by time’s arrow darting forward ever forward and our decisions behind us and our minds somewhere in between trying to grasp and compute what happened, what’s going on and where the arrow might be going to land.

The train just passed over a bridge that forded a river of black glittering water, like polished obsidian in the night. There was a light from a factory on the riverside, lights making a flickering pattern like gold brocade on black velvet fabric, stretching out like a ribbon across the land, leading away from the train and city and into the darkness of the faraway night full of mystery and dreams and the future and the past.

I noticed an armada of geese or ducks — I couldn’t tell ’cause I was far away looking down at them from the window of the train, like polished black figurines again the altnerating gold and oily black of the water below.

I’ve been thinking of how a friend had a moment where she was weak and succumbed to that pinprick sliver of time and now regrets and doubts and hunches her shoulders when she walks, worrying that carefree days may never again be hers.

Her mind is trapped in the dark lake of memory and reminding and the half-remembered thoughts of that black ribbon tracing back into her past and through a Moebius strip into her future, making her worry and doubt. I was thinking as I look out and feel the cadence and shake of the train that whatever bad she had in the past led her to something really good now and that something to celebrate and be joyful about. I told her that being around folks who care now is a blessing not to be taken lightly and if it took a dark passing to get into the light, then that’s a good thing and focusing on the old grumpy dark of the past only casts shade on a sunlit present.

Her eyes teared up and she said that it was a kind thing to say but I just said that it was the truth, simple and obvious. It was a moment of mutual understanding and it was pretty good.

I wonder though if words and pictures don’t objectify our feelings and the misty tangle of our memories which are complicated but sublime and so reduced when we we fit them to a word or a drawing or even a photo.

Swimming is beautiful

Last night I went for a nice swim at the Westmount Pool in Hamilton on the mountain. It was lovely to swim again after being away from it for a couple of weeks. I felt renewed.

There is something really special about community pools. The energy of a legion of people doing aquafit or just families having a lovely time playing in the water is soothing and makes me think of how happy people can be when they just splash around and laugh and giggle and do things together.

The warmth of the lights, the din and the water lend a certain feeling of security and belonging, while the fact that it fades into a faraway hum when my head is underwater in a rhythmic cadence of din and then distant hum and din and distant hum is mesmerising and relaxing. I feel my tension muscles relax and my mind open with each stroke, with the movement forward and the repetitive nature of the whole thing.

Length after length, stroke after stroke, breath after breath.

It reminds me that I’m alive and that everything happens in increments, despite it sometimes feeling as though it is all coming at me at once. That with every step, I making progress toward a goal, even if that goal is just to swim another length, back to where I came from.

After the swim, I love the humid air of the pool and the cool down period standing under the shower, feeling my body’s muscles moving in a coordinated way after working together to propel me forward through the water. I get a funny feeling that I know my body better when I stand in the change room, drying off and moving. My actions feel more fluid, more coordinated.

Swimming is beautiful.