As the balance of power in America (undoubtedly) shifts into the hands of a new governmental team (despite the best efforts of the president's unlawful coterie), I think it is worthwhile to reflect on an important, if somewhat superficial, truth.
In politics, the state changes at a glacial pace. But in psychology, states change all the time. And, a lot of the time, you can make them change through action. The other day, I woke up grumpy. I realized that I would, at some point, have to get out of bed. I was also filled with worry at the innumerable things happening in the world that were out of my control. I decided to go for a run. I ended up going farther on my run than I thought I would. Things got sweaty. When I came back home, I didn't just feel like a completely different person. I was a completely different person. My state of mind was no longer one best characterized by grumbling concern; I was clearheaded and almost giddy with contentment. So if you are ready (or want to be), go ahead. Run. Laugh. Dance. Stretch. Breathe. Lift. Move. Do something with your body that shakes you out from under the invisible blanket of a passive state. Do it for 5 minutes any time you feel a negative state coming on or, better yet, every day. Change your state often enough, and it becomes automatic. Once it becomes automatic, that state becomes part of your identity. Just like that. Never underestimate the power of a state change. I've had this nagging, negative internal monologue since I can remember. It has always loved to intrude on peaceful moments and offer unwanted self-criticism.
But, I've vanquished that voice recently, and I think I know why. I've been journaling: two pages a night, intentionally and consistently, for the past few weeks. I've discovered that the blank page is the greatest listener. I can spill my problems, concerns, frustrations, celebrations and aspirations onto the paper, and feel a deep sense of clarity and inner stillness afterwards. I often don't even read what I have written. It is the act of writing, of conjuring up the right words to express what is on my mind, that is important. And writing by hand seems important, too. It is visceral, embodied, real. Paper, Ryan Holiday claims, is the best technology ever invented. If that is true, then sorting out your thoughts by journalling is surely one of the most effective forms of therapy. It is virtually free, can be done almost anywhere, and doesn't require anyone else. I already feel like I am communicating better, thinking more clearly, and dwelling less on unresolved problems and worries. I am intent on making journaling one of my cornerstone habits. I wish I had started years ago. But I will settle for weeks ago. If you don't journal, try it. Try it for a few weeks, like I did. The downsides are nominal. The upside is that it can change your life. There are lots of journals out there with different formats and additional features, but so far I am opting for simplicity. If you are already a convert and appreciate the power of journalling, consider these questions for your next journaling session: How might I be able to journal better? What questions can I prompt myself with to add novelty to my journaling experience? Yesterday, I finally got to see Zappa. The recent documentary, directed by Alex Winter (of Bill and Ted fame), chronicles the life and rise to notoriety of a truly brilliant (and bizarre) musician/composer.
I have been an ardent fan of Frank Zappa ever since I encountered a vinyl copy of Overnite Sensation when I was 12 or 13, and heard a track entitled Dynamo Hum. It was loud. It was strange. It was lurid. And I loved it. I developed an unwavering obsession with his music. I snatched up every CD and vinyl I could find/afford. His music was pure sonic rebellion, and represented the total annihilation of convention. I was hooked. Young me was onto something. Frank Zappa fought against mediocrity, bullshit and the tyranny and ignorance of the music industry. He was a hero, and music was his sword. While watching the documentary(almost 20 years after discovering Zappa's music), I realized that I am still highly appreciative of Zappa's genius, but for slightly different reasons. He had tremendous vision, but he also worked incessantly. He was courageous and unapologetically himself. While his aloofness and lack of warmth earned him some criticism, he was just too caught up in bringing his vision to life to give a damn. He created impeccable music, not so that he could meet some outwardly imposed definition of success, but so that he could listen to and enjoy it. And share it with others, with anyone who might appreciate something a little different — a little peculiar. If I could tell my younger self one thing, it would be this: Zappa's talent didn't just come from being an oddball. It came from industriousness and persistence. He was so passionate about music that he even taught himself music theory in high school. Despite his unconventional approach to music and life, he dedicated himself to the mastery of one thing. He wasn't dabbling and switching disciplines, looking for the right one and never finding it. He picked music, worked on it for 35+ years, and produced a staggering amount of recordings in the process: 62 albums while he was alive, and 54 posthumously. Some may disagree with my definition, but here it is anyway: a genius is just someone who picks one thing and runs with it, finds the right people, and never stops learning. 2021 is one of them, but then again, each and every day is one of them.
For me, the start of 2021 is a time to reflect on the lessons of 2020 (of which there are almost too many to count). It is a time to start new creative projects, think bigger than ever before, and stand in awe of the achievements of others. I made lots of mistakes in 2020. I committed to a teaching position in a remote First Nations community that stretched me in both healthy and unhealthy ways. That commitment completely changed my understanding of what success looks like for me. It made me realize that I had been aiming at and hitting (with some degree of success) the wrong target. I was living a deferred life plan. The projects, missions and habits that I wanted to work were being ignored, and my unconscious, intuitive voice spoke up in a very real way. 2021, and each glorious new day that it brings is a chance to listen to your inner voice and intuition. It is a chance to live a life that is aligned with your values and your purpose. You can start today. What wrong targets are you aiming toward and hitting, giving you a false feeling of success? What new target(s) can you aim for that might put a fiery gleam of meaning in your eye and a jolt of excitement in your step? ... One of the best books I read in 2020 was Peter Thiel's Zero to One, which is serendipitous as we move from 2020 to 2021. At the core of the book is the idea that the world is ripe for innovation. Copying something or making more of something that already exists is important. But, making something completely new is an act of almost divine creation, and takes the world from zero to one. You have immense gifts to offer the world. Let's make 2021 the year that that we all move from 0 to 1. Sometimes, things go sideways. For example, let's say you write a blog post, and it accidentally gets permanently deleted while in draft form (very specific, I know).
You want to get angry. You do get angry. You want a source of blame outside of yourself... so you go looking for one. Sometimes, the lesson is to take the time and learn the lesson. Maybe, you make the decision to write your future blog posts on a more secure platform with an autosave feature. That way, you don't have to face the same problem again. You take a small, seemingly insignificant step instead of berating yourself for losing (yet another) post. But you don’t let it stop you from showing up. What tiny step can you take that might help you avoid a future loss, or save you time in the long run?
For many people, learning ends when they finish school or get good enough at their job to be successful enough (if not before).
They may continue to experience situations that challenge them, and they might adopt new practices here and there, but generally the desire to continually learn and grow gets replaced by the desire to appear competent, capable, and above reproach. This represents a finite learning mindset. It is a very safe place to approach the world from. The risk of appearing completely foolish or wildly inaccurate is greatly reduced. However, real growth only happens when there is something on the line. The best gymnasts still fall, the greatest musicians still miss notes and forget lyrics, and the finest authors still come out with books that disappoint. Sometimes, a safe approach is best. You don't want pilots, Uber drivers or your mechanic to be on the bleeding edge. You want assurances of reliability and security. But when it comes to music, art, friendships, love, and many careers, risk-taking, courage, and the immense desire to learn from mistakes are not only warranted, they are vital. I recently started carrying a Judo white belt with me on my travels. It is now one of my prized possessions. To me, it symbolizes a willingness to start new things, to fail forward, to fall and get up again. In Zen Buddhism, this idea is called Beginner's Mind. It involves learning without pre-conceived notions of one's pre-existing capability. But I think the idea of infinite learning means more than merely being open to learning as though one were a novice. Newly acquired skills, improvements, and applied ideas lead to a ripple effect. Improving your mindset to perform at 3x efficiency does not only make you 3 times as efficient for as long as you employ that mindset. It also means that you encounter dead-ends and refine the path you are taking more quickly, which means learning faster, sooner, and better. An insight learned and acted on quickly can mean life or death to a company, a project, or a relationship. Infinite learning is continuously learning, applying new learning to all domains of interest, and using that learning towards practical ends. It means going cross-disciplinary. It means sacrificing the stability of being right and foregoing the ability to rest on your accomplishments. From a perspective of infinite learning, there is no arbitrary finish line, no conclusive victory or defeat. There is only growth, learning, and the highest, noblest purpose imaginable. What can you achieve from a position of infinite learning? It is a rare privilege to have 14 days entirely to yourself, with few (if any) external obligations. This prolonged block of time is a hunk of clay that you can sculpt into the work of your choosing. Now is a good time to question yourself, your identity, your values, and your goals. Who are you, really? What is the narrating mind saying about your past, present and future? Where are you headed? What can you do with this time to sharpen your skills? Further your growth? Challenge yourself? If, according to Carol Dweck, an individual's true potential is unknowable, what stories about your own limitations have you been unwittingly perpetuating? It is Christmas day, and I am currently in quarantine: reading, questioning, journalling, writing blog posts and re-watching Batman Begins. I am discovering (and recreating) who I am, and I hope that you get the chance to do so as well. Transforming one's mindset is empowering; taking action in ways that align with that mindset makes you unstoppable. It's not who you are underneath; it's what you do that defines you. What if we don't need 10,000 books to fill entire rooms in our house?
What if all we needed were a few really exceptional books that spoke to us? Books that we could re-read again and again? Naturally, I am a hypocrite. I say these things after recently carrying a gym bag filled to the brim with 40 pounds of unread books I couldn't leave behind (after a recent move) through airport security. The bag was flagged by the security agent (she was a lovely, soft-spoken older women) and I spent a few minutes chatting with her about the book titles/subjects, and her daughter's interest in reading. The best part was, she didn't find any dope. Still, I left more books behind than I took with me. That must stand for something. I won't even mention my trip to the bookstore almost immediately after landing... In 2019, more than 1.6 million books were published. If you started speed reading at 400 words per minute right now and never took breaks, it would only take you 456 years to read them all. Of course, a bunch of those books are trash. You could narrow it down to the top 1,000 and only read those, which would take a sleepless 104 days. Actually, that doesn't make reading 1,000 new books sound all that bad... What was my point again? Oh yes, narrowing down one's book collection. You could keep only the best of the best, the books that you have given 5 stars. The rest you could donate to a school, a library, or someone who writes and maintains a blog. For me, that would mean keeping books like 100 Years of Solitude or Atomic Habits (the book I have gifted most to friends and family), and donating books like Murakami's A Wild Sheep Chase. Fundamentally, I am calling for no less than a minimalist book revolution. As the Taiwanese writer Lu Ka-shiang once said: “The love for books is the same as that for friends, you might not need a lot of books, but why do you keep flipping through pages and purchasing new ones? That is because you are fearful of missing a friend in the world that is worth knowing in your life.” It is certainly okay to go out and make new friends, but you wouldn't keep thousands of your friends locked up at night in your living room. You don't need a lot of friends. You don't need a lot of books. I want to make a list of the most indispensable books I own. Books I will never dispense with. Books that capture the beauty and magic of language and story in a way that few other books can. What books are on that list for you? Which books can you let go of, and feel lighter for having done so? Nothing says “natural ability" and “innate talent" quite like the piano. Seeing skilled pianists often supports the mistaken, fixed-mindset view that some people are born brilliant, and others simply live in their shadows.
Take Mozart, a supreme example of precocious genius. You've likely heard the stories of young Wolfgang writing minuets when he was 6, and his first symphony at 8. We like to assume that he had some deeply ingrained ability that accounted for his wild accomplishments. No doubt, he had a disposition towards learning and some degree of natural musical endowment. But the picture is incomplete without accounting for Mozart's father, Leopold, who made it his life's work to nurture and develop his son's talent through rigorous instruction. There is also the considerable length of time it took between Mozart composing his first work and composing more celebrated pieces of music. In the highly influential book Mindset, Carol Dweck writes: “Mozart labored for more than ten years until he produced any work that we admire today. Before then, his compositions were not that original or interesting. Actually, they were often patched-together chunks taken from other composers". A year ago, I became fascinated with the piano. I knew nothing about it. I am a long-time drummer, and a friend of mine referred to it as “88 tuned drums". I started with the C major scale, and fumbled around with chords. Then, I started to learn parts of songs. Each day, I'd carve out 20 minutes and practice. I began layering my new skills and discoveries. It was exhilarating. But, there were setbacks. I'd play a part I had practiced 20 times and still make mistakes, making one of my favourite songs sound terrible in the process. I took on songs that were far too challenging, and gave up in frustration. The fixed mindset part of my brain went to town. Thoughts like “you will never be good at this", “You didn't start young", and “you are a failure" cropped up again and again. But I struggled through. I kept up the unshakeable habit of showing up, and eked out just enough progress to feel occasionally satisfied. And now, I get to play keyboard and communicate through the language of keys and chords with my musician friends, and the learning cycle has accelerated. But most important of all, I have learned that I can learn nearly anything I put my mind to, and I am empowered to take on new challenges. Piano taught me the value of a growth mindset for learning. What is something you've always wanted to learn, but thought you could never get better at? Start learning it, even if its on your own, and use it to hone the most important part of your learning toolkit: your mindset. |