I'm not boyfriend material.
Before you contest this, let me emphasize that I'm not boyfriend material now. Maybe, I will be in the future. Maybe I'll have the capacity and the interest to be an outstanding partner. It'd be too much a product of depressed thinking to assume my state is static and inevitable. It's not, and I know this-- at least on an analytical level, if not an emotional one.
But I really am not, not now, or for the near foreseeable future.
Here's why.
I don't have a job. This is used as a screen by most middle-class women in America. While on paper many might think that there are many out of work due to the general economic malaise, and not because of some specific fault of character or intelligence of the person, in practice many women have confided in me that it is an automatic deal-breaker. In practice, it's probably a deal-breaker for someone of my attractiveness level, but not necessarily automatic in general. And those who know me reasonably well would probably conclude that my unemployment is due to more structural concerns, and therefore an accurate red flag.
I'm still depressed. I imagine it is difficult to be in a relationship with a depressed individual, even if the individual seems, or is, less depressed with company. Most people I engage in conversation don't comment on an aura of general sadness that follows me around, probably because it dissipates momentarily with good conversation, or because I'm reasonably good at hiding it, or because people are less perceptive than they think. But being in a reasonably close relationship with someone will probably reveal the nature and scope of depression eventually, making it difficult on the partner. And while it is difficult to continue a relationship with a depressed individual, it's generally crazy to even consider starting one with someone openly depressed. Why bother starting with someone operating at half capacity, even if, arguably, being half there is to still be superior to many other men they've dated?
I've never been boyfriend material. I still remember, to my shame, a girl in high school explaining, matter-of-factly, that I'm the kind of guy they like to marry, not date. Harsh, but accurate, especially because I was way more of a doormat/counselor in high school than I am now. I think I also valued words more than I should have -- I remember giving my backwards dance date (Sadie Hawkins, for older folks) a poem. Why? Because I wrote poems back then. It wasn't good, but it was original and specific to the person. Anyway, at this point, words have continued to desert me, so I don't think I could even muster sophisticated, elegant compliments or whisper eternal truths into a beloved's ear, even if I had the motivation.
Most importantly, I don't think I crave companionship. I desire it abstractly. But, perhaps as part of the depression, I don't seek some sort of completion of myself. It makes sense -- a person who, at some level, believes he is broken and unfixable won't seek repair through someone else. (However, I know plenty of people with non-depression neuroses that do precisely that -- try, and largely fail, to complete their lives and fix problems in their own psyche through relationships.)
Now, you might be asking, why would I even consider dating now? Well, a counselor once pointed out that certain things can only be worked on within a relationship. Fixing oneself to prepare for better and more relationships of all natures looks good on paper, but there is a limit to which a person can do this independently, or even with the structure provided by counseling.
But what has held me back, at some level, for ages, is the chronic fear of mental illness, and the desire to protect a partner from that. It kept me from long-term relationships when it was a neurotic fear. It sure as hell will keep me from them now that, arguably, the fear itself paradoxically led to a distinctly sourced, but still difficult, chronic depression. The same belief -- now intellectually registered as faulty, though emotionally still present -- caused me at an early age to decide not to have children. To make it crystal clear, I didn't want to be the kind of father to kids that my father was to me.
I'm not good boyfriend material, but not for the reasons I believed when I was a teenager, though partly due to actions and beliefs born from that time.
This is both depressing and liberating. It is depressing because, despite the philosophical arguments I have with myself, I remain emotionally hidebound to a crippling belief -- that I am somehow damaged beyond repair, destined to be mentally ill forever. It is a belief that has crippled me socially, professionally, and intellectually. And the persistence of the belief may be reason enough to, again, spare anyone from having to share this hell.
It is liberating in that, by not caring about it, even on an abstract level, I feel a bit more free to be imperfect. While my family and friends still have to deal with whatever the hell is keeping me from realizing some vague and poorly characterized potential, I will at least rest easy that I won't subject a close person to this hell for the duration of a relationship or marriage. (Even that sounds depressing, but if you can wrap your head around it, it is finding freedom from a fear by embracing the reality of its existence and materialization. Often, the fear of something is worse than the thing itself.)
Hopefully, this will free up energy to become a better friend. We do need better friends in our lives, especially friends that aren't trying to get into our pants. I suppose some of us need that, too, though there are plenty of other people willing and able to do that job. I'll defer to their expertise and enthusiasm.
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
How to change the world
There is a pattern for organizational change that seemed to work for major changes in military doctrine, and can probably be extended elsewhere.
Note that many organizations, or society as a whole, might not be able to apply this. Society is more diffuse, with fewer sources of broadly accepted legitimacy. Also, for more flexible organizations, change can happen more quickly with hiring and firing, and may require more of a consensus.
With those caveats, let me begin.
I learned this about the American switch from a battleship-centered naval doctrine to a carrier-centered one, and use it as a case study to illustrate the points. The analysis is borrowed from the history mentioned in Knox and Murray, The Dynamics of Military Revolution, 1300-2050.
Step 1: Create a vision consistent with the mission of the organization.
Someone's got to have an idea of how things could be different, and why. It has to be an idea, not necessarily novel, but perhaps novel in application, and different enough to substantially change things. That idea has to be wedded with a need, or mission, and is often triggered by changes in technology or society that transforms it from fantasy to possibility.
Case study: sometime around or after World War I, someone had the idea of taking the relatively new aircraft and making it an attack craft based on a ship. Aircraft could provide reconnaissance of the surrounding waters and launch attacks at greater range and less risk than ship-to-ship combat. This was, of course, probably prompted by the preliminary use of aircraft in a combat role during the end of World War I coupled with advances in explosives, making it more feasible for an aircraft to carry effective bombs.
Step 2: Find a patron.
Even the greatest idea needs to be recognized as great by someone who matters. Specifically, the ideal patron has high rank/influence within the existing hierarchy, but enough creativity/humility/wisdom to recognize a good idea that has the potential to supplant existing doctrine but will improve the organization's capacity to fulfill it's mission.
This must be stressed: it is usually someone who has unquestioned credentials within the existing hierarchy. It is very, very difficult to change an organization completely from without -- such events truly are revolutions, and often lead to the destruction of the organization.
Case study: There was one battleship admiral in the entire US Navy that recognized the potential of aircraft to change the structure of naval warfare. His was a distinctly minority view. But he embraced the proposed idea, and was willing to undertake effort and risk on its behalf.
Step 3: Disguise or rebrand the change to minimize institutional resistance.
Most good innovations are resisted by the existing power structure. Why is that? It could be because the leadership feels that all the good ideas have already been adopted. It could be that they feel their position is threatened by the changes. It could be they don't understand it. It's not always the case that stability and familiarity are preferred -- presumably, some of these leaders got there by contributing innovative ideas themselves -- and so the reasons for resistance are often more varied than is often appreciated.
Nevertheless, it exists, and has to be overcome. All good insurgencies resist the temptation to match strengths -- if the minority upstarts had power, they wouldn't be minority upstarts.
One of the best ways to do this is to tweak the packaging, and even the secondary substance, enough to make it palatable to the existing leadership. Sometimes this requires outright lying, or some sacrifice of capabilities or scope.
The goal is to trade away some of these things for getting the Thing built. Once it's built, it's easier to change the parameters or scope of it. But all the principled statements in the world won't help if the Thing isn't built.
Case study: Recognizing the resistance of the leadership, as well as the technological testing and development period required to make the vision a reality, the admiral pitched carrier-based aircraft as support for battleships, used primarily for recon. Given that this was a pre-radar era, even the battleship admirals recognized this value, and reluctantly supported a modest carrier program.
Step 4: Create an incentive structure and promotion path built around the new doctrine.
A funded project founded on a good idea is worthless if no one wants to participate. If something is new, it's often not well understood. Most individuals won't want to risk their career on something that could be a huge waste of time. Plus, like the older leadership, it's easier just to buy into the existing system. The path has already been blazed, and the results more predictable, if not always glamorous.
By creating an alternate promotion path, the leadership, led by the patron, provides more security and stability to the new project by building in some structure. It's a tangible commitment of resources and will. Equally important, it shows that someone has put enough energy into the vision to understand how it would work in practice -- the new roles, the new skills, the new platforms and technologies that would be integrated into operations.
The alternate promotion path is critical because the technologies or the processes are new, and require specialized training. But it's also important because young, flexible newcomers will become indoctrinated into a new system, and not beholden to ideas or powers of organizations past.
Creating insurgent cells within an organization is easier if the organization itself gives you money and resources to do so.
Case study: After more general training, officers and enlisted men could specialize in carrier operations by attending special schools and programs designed to train crews how to operate and fight from these new platforms.
Step 5: Train, promote, improve, and do your mission. Wait about 20 years.
Why 20 years? Why so long? Basically, it's about the fact that old people die and retire.
It's a pessimistic view of human nature, one that suggests we are, in general, not very flexible in our beliefs and capacities. But it may be accurate. Even if, ideologically, we can change, often our training and abilities can't change quickly enough, or effectively enough, for us to remain relevant in the new era. It seems a bit sad, but it's the story of human existence.
For large organizations, like the military, or society itself, attrition doesn't happen on a large enough basis for any strategy other than a demographic long game to be reliably effective. Smaller organizations with more flexible hiring and firing policies can change things more quickly, though that has to be balanced by the costs of losing "good" institutional memory.
Case study: It worked. As the officers and enlisted personnel received training and assignments, they gained experience, promotions, and passed their lessons on. Designers integrated newer technologies into carriers, making them progressively more modern. Strategists refined doctrines, often through the crucible of warfare. Instructors grew in number and quality, as did the recruits. By the time of Midway and Coral Sea, only the most die-hard traditionalist could ignore the fact that naval warfare had revolutionized into carrier-centered missions.
Step 6: Repeat.
No generation has a monopoly on good ideas. (Or bad ones.) Each generation is destined to become the stodgy, inflexible elders, tempering the least productive impulses of a younger generation that feels it knows better and isn't willing to wait for change. (Keeping with the theme: "We want eight and we won't wait!") Ideally, any organization large and significant enough is reinventing itself at some low level constantly. This doesn't mean changing the job of everyone frequently, though certain organizations staffed with particularly flexible and capable individuals can do just that. It means simultaneously recognizing the desire for humans to take years to become proficient in specific, complicated tasks and the reality of a changing world. This can be accomplished by training individuals well to do specific tasks, but making sure that at least some new individuals are being trained in newer doctrines and principles.
Case study: The modern US Navy is still heavily based on carriers, but is also developing new, smaller ships with the goal of littoral combat. In the future, rail guns might replace larger weapons platforms completely. Nuclear power extended both the range and the mission of carriers. Nuclear submarines provided strike capabilities less vulnerable to surface attack. And STOVL aircraft provide a capability that permits carrier redesigns and somewhat less dependence on the carrier as both starting and ending point of all flights.
Note that many organizations, or society as a whole, might not be able to apply this. Society is more diffuse, with fewer sources of broadly accepted legitimacy. Also, for more flexible organizations, change can happen more quickly with hiring and firing, and may require more of a consensus.
With those caveats, let me begin.
I learned this about the American switch from a battleship-centered naval doctrine to a carrier-centered one, and use it as a case study to illustrate the points. The analysis is borrowed from the history mentioned in Knox and Murray, The Dynamics of Military Revolution, 1300-2050.
Step 1: Create a vision consistent with the mission of the organization.
Someone's got to have an idea of how things could be different, and why. It has to be an idea, not necessarily novel, but perhaps novel in application, and different enough to substantially change things. That idea has to be wedded with a need, or mission, and is often triggered by changes in technology or society that transforms it from fantasy to possibility.
Case study: sometime around or after World War I, someone had the idea of taking the relatively new aircraft and making it an attack craft based on a ship. Aircraft could provide reconnaissance of the surrounding waters and launch attacks at greater range and less risk than ship-to-ship combat. This was, of course, probably prompted by the preliminary use of aircraft in a combat role during the end of World War I coupled with advances in explosives, making it more feasible for an aircraft to carry effective bombs.
Step 2: Find a patron.
Even the greatest idea needs to be recognized as great by someone who matters. Specifically, the ideal patron has high rank/influence within the existing hierarchy, but enough creativity/humility/wisdom to recognize a good idea that has the potential to supplant existing doctrine but will improve the organization's capacity to fulfill it's mission.
This must be stressed: it is usually someone who has unquestioned credentials within the existing hierarchy. It is very, very difficult to change an organization completely from without -- such events truly are revolutions, and often lead to the destruction of the organization.
Case study: There was one battleship admiral in the entire US Navy that recognized the potential of aircraft to change the structure of naval warfare. His was a distinctly minority view. But he embraced the proposed idea, and was willing to undertake effort and risk on its behalf.
Step 3: Disguise or rebrand the change to minimize institutional resistance.
Most good innovations are resisted by the existing power structure. Why is that? It could be because the leadership feels that all the good ideas have already been adopted. It could be that they feel their position is threatened by the changes. It could be they don't understand it. It's not always the case that stability and familiarity are preferred -- presumably, some of these leaders got there by contributing innovative ideas themselves -- and so the reasons for resistance are often more varied than is often appreciated.
Nevertheless, it exists, and has to be overcome. All good insurgencies resist the temptation to match strengths -- if the minority upstarts had power, they wouldn't be minority upstarts.
One of the best ways to do this is to tweak the packaging, and even the secondary substance, enough to make it palatable to the existing leadership. Sometimes this requires outright lying, or some sacrifice of capabilities or scope.
The goal is to trade away some of these things for getting the Thing built. Once it's built, it's easier to change the parameters or scope of it. But all the principled statements in the world won't help if the Thing isn't built.
Case study: Recognizing the resistance of the leadership, as well as the technological testing and development period required to make the vision a reality, the admiral pitched carrier-based aircraft as support for battleships, used primarily for recon. Given that this was a pre-radar era, even the battleship admirals recognized this value, and reluctantly supported a modest carrier program.
Step 4: Create an incentive structure and promotion path built around the new doctrine.
A funded project founded on a good idea is worthless if no one wants to participate. If something is new, it's often not well understood. Most individuals won't want to risk their career on something that could be a huge waste of time. Plus, like the older leadership, it's easier just to buy into the existing system. The path has already been blazed, and the results more predictable, if not always glamorous.
By creating an alternate promotion path, the leadership, led by the patron, provides more security and stability to the new project by building in some structure. It's a tangible commitment of resources and will. Equally important, it shows that someone has put enough energy into the vision to understand how it would work in practice -- the new roles, the new skills, the new platforms and technologies that would be integrated into operations.
The alternate promotion path is critical because the technologies or the processes are new, and require specialized training. But it's also important because young, flexible newcomers will become indoctrinated into a new system, and not beholden to ideas or powers of organizations past.
Creating insurgent cells within an organization is easier if the organization itself gives you money and resources to do so.
Case study: After more general training, officers and enlisted men could specialize in carrier operations by attending special schools and programs designed to train crews how to operate and fight from these new platforms.
Step 5: Train, promote, improve, and do your mission. Wait about 20 years.
Why 20 years? Why so long? Basically, it's about the fact that old people die and retire.
It's a pessimistic view of human nature, one that suggests we are, in general, not very flexible in our beliefs and capacities. But it may be accurate. Even if, ideologically, we can change, often our training and abilities can't change quickly enough, or effectively enough, for us to remain relevant in the new era. It seems a bit sad, but it's the story of human existence.
For large organizations, like the military, or society itself, attrition doesn't happen on a large enough basis for any strategy other than a demographic long game to be reliably effective. Smaller organizations with more flexible hiring and firing policies can change things more quickly, though that has to be balanced by the costs of losing "good" institutional memory.
Case study: It worked. As the officers and enlisted personnel received training and assignments, they gained experience, promotions, and passed their lessons on. Designers integrated newer technologies into carriers, making them progressively more modern. Strategists refined doctrines, often through the crucible of warfare. Instructors grew in number and quality, as did the recruits. By the time of Midway and Coral Sea, only the most die-hard traditionalist could ignore the fact that naval warfare had revolutionized into carrier-centered missions.
Step 6: Repeat.
No generation has a monopoly on good ideas. (Or bad ones.) Each generation is destined to become the stodgy, inflexible elders, tempering the least productive impulses of a younger generation that feels it knows better and isn't willing to wait for change. (Keeping with the theme: "We want eight and we won't wait!") Ideally, any organization large and significant enough is reinventing itself at some low level constantly. This doesn't mean changing the job of everyone frequently, though certain organizations staffed with particularly flexible and capable individuals can do just that. It means simultaneously recognizing the desire for humans to take years to become proficient in specific, complicated tasks and the reality of a changing world. This can be accomplished by training individuals well to do specific tasks, but making sure that at least some new individuals are being trained in newer doctrines and principles.
Case study: The modern US Navy is still heavily based on carriers, but is also developing new, smaller ships with the goal of littoral combat. In the future, rail guns might replace larger weapons platforms completely. Nuclear power extended both the range and the mission of carriers. Nuclear submarines provided strike capabilities less vulnerable to surface attack. And STOVL aircraft provide a capability that permits carrier redesigns and somewhat less dependence on the carrier as both starting and ending point of all flights.
Friday, January 11, 2013
The history of cheating at cards: FDR and the war
(From No Ordinary Time: Franklin & Eleanor Roosevelt: The Home Front in World War II, by Doris Kearns Goodwin, p. 159-160)
The 76th Congress had been a tumultuous gathering. So trying were the conditions, observers noted, that, just after the final House vote on conscription, Speaker William B. Bankhead died of a stroke. (He was replaced by Sam Rayburn of Texas.) But in the end, despite the blunders, divisions, and dillydallying, the Congress had granted the president the legislation he needed to begin the process of mobilization, and with it the revitalization of the American economy after a decade of depression.
It was the president's custom each year on the night that Congress was due to adjourn to host a poker game in his study. The game would begin in the early evening, and then whoever was ahead at the moment the Speaker called to say that Congress had officially adjourned would be declared the winner. On this night, Morgenthau was far ahead when the Speaker phoned, but Roosevelt pretended that the call was from someone else and the game continued until midnight, when Roosevelt finally pulled ahead. At this point, Roosevelt whispered to an aide to go into another office and call the study. When the phone rang, he pretended it was the Speaker and declared himself the winner. Everyone was in high spirits until the next morning, when Morgenthau read in the paper that the Congress had officially adjourned at 9 p.m. He was so angry that he handed in his resignation. Only when the president called and convinced him that it was all in good fun did Morgenthau agree to stay. Morgenthau should have realized that Roosevelt was not above a little deception if it helped him win his bets!
The 76th Congress had been a tumultuous gathering. So trying were the conditions, observers noted, that, just after the final House vote on conscription, Speaker William B. Bankhead died of a stroke. (He was replaced by Sam Rayburn of Texas.) But in the end, despite the blunders, divisions, and dillydallying, the Congress had granted the president the legislation he needed to begin the process of mobilization, and with it the revitalization of the American economy after a decade of depression.
It was the president's custom each year on the night that Congress was due to adjourn to host a poker game in his study. The game would begin in the early evening, and then whoever was ahead at the moment the Speaker called to say that Congress had officially adjourned would be declared the winner. On this night, Morgenthau was far ahead when the Speaker phoned, but Roosevelt pretended that the call was from someone else and the game continued until midnight, when Roosevelt finally pulled ahead. At this point, Roosevelt whispered to an aide to go into another office and call the study. When the phone rang, he pretended it was the Speaker and declared himself the winner. Everyone was in high spirits until the next morning, when Morgenthau read in the paper that the Congress had officially adjourned at 9 p.m. He was so angry that he handed in his resignation. Only when the president called and convinced him that it was all in good fun did Morgenthau agree to stay. Morgenthau should have realized that Roosevelt was not above a little deception if it helped him win his bets!
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
The Great Facebook Purge
It started, oddly enough, with a birthday update a few days back.
Facebook was reminding me to wish so-and-so a "Happy Birthday!" Usually I deliberate briefly whether or not I feel like saying "Happy Birthday!", or "Happy Birthday X!", or, rarely, something even more customized.
Then it occurred to me. I have absolutely no knowledge of this person's life. Not just her recent life -- her life. I didn't know her well in school, and and I know her even less well now.
Why were we "friends", or, more specifically, "Facebook friends", that most tenuous of connections that can run the gamut between extreme hatred and adoration on one side, and complete indifference on the other?
It was then that I resolved to purge everyone with whom I can't remember having communication with in the last year.
As I went along, I made some exceptions. Some people I had kept out of misguided political thinking -- so-and-so was ambitious/proactive/well-connected. Then I realized that it has done a fat lot of good, and in a couple cases, had produced net pain in my life through oblivious inquiry when something was needed, and rapid departure back into the rarefied (to me) world of gainful employment in something socially estimable.
Some were obnoxious, and I cut them even if they had posted on my wall within the last six days.
Some were completely non-factors -- I hadn't noticed a single post by them in ages, either due to the sorting algorithm or their choice to spend their time differently. Not everyone uses Facebook the same way, nor should they.
Sometimes it was just me. I had done, or said, something weird, and thinking about communicating with that acquaintance just made me sick.
I also had no fucking clue who some people were. I blame the ability to change your name -- my memory is generally pretty good, even going back to high school. If I didn't remember you in high school, it's probably because you knew me by reputation, but I didn't know who you were. Sorry, but it's true.
And I unfriended my mom and stepdad. Really, they don't need to be my Facebook friends. If they want to get a status update, they'll yell from the next room. (Spoiler: I live at home! And I'm almost 30! He's a keeper!)
I also chuckled when I unfriended one member of a couple. Although it was invariably because I'm a non-factor in their lives, I get my jollies by thinking about whether it would ever come up in a conversation late at night, before they get to sleep. "So... Ryan was your friend?" Of course, silly. I never liked it when he started dating you, yet you glommed on like a barnacle. (Kidding in most cases. Dead serious in a few.)
I'll be honest -- I kept a couple people who are just physically attractive. Men as well as women. We like to be surrounded by beauty in this world, regardless of our sexual orientation or intensity, and I am no exception.
There were a few people I kept because of a handful of conversations in which I gained insight and sensitivity to them. One was a student who, when I explained feeling out of depth in a class sense at Cornell, told me his dad was a bus driver. I don't remember what his mom did. But it struck me, and something in that conversation still resonates, one-off as it might have been. Then there were HMC math professors who told me about their own humble backgrounds, or their fantastic volunteer work in education, for which they would get no academic advancement, but did anyway because they were damn decent human beings.
Similarly, a couple I kept because of the strength, or seeming strength, of friendship in the past. It was strong enough, and valuable enough, that I decided to keep them, though the relationship at present might be only so many stored variables on a hard drive somewhere. In some ways, it's like having photos of inspirational people on your wall--only these people were known to you, and mere time and distance, not the veil, have caused you to lose touch.
Also, there are a few people that are just too damn interesting to unfriend. They're as close as I get to celebrity watching. (None are "celebrities" or celebrity-types.)
I also noted that a reasonably large number (~30 or so) had up and left Facebook without me knowing. Their baby blue silhouettes were easy to discard, though I mourned some of them. Some of them would have been kept.
But in general, I found it surprisingly, disturbingly easy, and getting easier. And I admit -- I lied when I posted a while back congratulating the people that remained. I had pared away the surface, but refrained from making substantive cuts. That was probably a cut from 750 to 700.
This time is different. I cut to 324. That may still seem like too many friends, but keep in mind the "museum-piece friendships" described above.
Facebook does provide one thing: it provides an opportunity to reflect on the beginnings and endings of relationships in a way that memory alone, kind and cruel in its porousness, does not permit.
Without a regular job, or affiliation at a school, or clubs, I don't meet many new people. It has provided me with the necessity and opportunity to get to know some people better online than I had ever known them in school. I didn't expect this, and in some ways I didn't desire this, but so it is, and in some ways, I'm better for it.
It's easy to decry shallowness in relationships that aren't in-person; but a generation or two ago, people would have pen pals and letter correspondence for this reason. Think of it: what did it say about the strength of the distant relationship (or the fragility and facile nature of the local ones) that people would engage in long, wonderful letters, filled with more contemplation and thoughtfulness than, perhaps, a face-to-face conversation ever could? For some of us use penstrokes and typeset to communicate our hearts better than improvisation ever could.
At the same time, I can see that many relationships were ones of convenience. They are not to be diminished for them -- it's human nature that we bond with our roommates, or our classmates, or officemates, or people we see on a regular basis.
Doing a mental post-mortem on each relationship can be exhausting. But for a few, I paused, considered how I could've been a better friend, or how they could've contributed something more or different. In the vast majority of cases it was just a lack of sufficient compatibility on ideas, interests, and humor to make anything more of it.
But in a few cases, I feel there was something really to be mourned. A missed opportunity, or a quiet betrayal, or just bad luck. We can't be all things to all people, but there were a few I wish I had held more closely to me. (And while it might not be eternally "too late", it is, for the moment, prohibitive to repair the breach.)
Overall, I welcome this process. It helps me identify some common themes, whether it is humor, or thoughtfulness, or travel, that keeps me watching certain people, if not actively engaging with them regularly.
Finally, to anyone who might happen to be miffed at being cut and did a search for me that ended up here: please don't take it too personally. It's Facebook, for chrissakes. But if you want to have a comment fight over it, you can do so here. Who knows? It might be just what's needed to save a relationship, or build a new one from scratch.
Facebook was reminding me to wish so-and-so a "Happy Birthday!" Usually I deliberate briefly whether or not I feel like saying "Happy Birthday!", or "Happy Birthday X!", or, rarely, something even more customized.
Then it occurred to me. I have absolutely no knowledge of this person's life. Not just her recent life -- her life. I didn't know her well in school, and and I know her even less well now.
Why were we "friends", or, more specifically, "Facebook friends", that most tenuous of connections that can run the gamut between extreme hatred and adoration on one side, and complete indifference on the other?
It was then that I resolved to purge everyone with whom I can't remember having communication with in the last year.
As I went along, I made some exceptions. Some people I had kept out of misguided political thinking -- so-and-so was ambitious/proactive/well-connected. Then I realized that it has done a fat lot of good, and in a couple cases, had produced net pain in my life through oblivious inquiry when something was needed, and rapid departure back into the rarefied (to me) world of gainful employment in something socially estimable.
Some were obnoxious, and I cut them even if they had posted on my wall within the last six days.
Some were completely non-factors -- I hadn't noticed a single post by them in ages, either due to the sorting algorithm or their choice to spend their time differently. Not everyone uses Facebook the same way, nor should they.
Sometimes it was just me. I had done, or said, something weird, and thinking about communicating with that acquaintance just made me sick.
I also had no fucking clue who some people were. I blame the ability to change your name -- my memory is generally pretty good, even going back to high school. If I didn't remember you in high school, it's probably because you knew me by reputation, but I didn't know who you were. Sorry, but it's true.
And I unfriended my mom and stepdad. Really, they don't need to be my Facebook friends. If they want to get a status update, they'll yell from the next room. (Spoiler: I live at home! And I'm almost 30! He's a keeper!)
I also chuckled when I unfriended one member of a couple. Although it was invariably because I'm a non-factor in their lives, I get my jollies by thinking about whether it would ever come up in a conversation late at night, before they get to sleep. "So... Ryan was your friend?" Of course, silly. I never liked it when he started dating you, yet you glommed on like a barnacle. (Kidding in most cases. Dead serious in a few.)
I'll be honest -- I kept a couple people who are just physically attractive. Men as well as women. We like to be surrounded by beauty in this world, regardless of our sexual orientation or intensity, and I am no exception.
There were a few people I kept because of a handful of conversations in which I gained insight and sensitivity to them. One was a student who, when I explained feeling out of depth in a class sense at Cornell, told me his dad was a bus driver. I don't remember what his mom did. But it struck me, and something in that conversation still resonates, one-off as it might have been. Then there were HMC math professors who told me about their own humble backgrounds, or their fantastic volunteer work in education, for which they would get no academic advancement, but did anyway because they were damn decent human beings.
Similarly, a couple I kept because of the strength, or seeming strength, of friendship in the past. It was strong enough, and valuable enough, that I decided to keep them, though the relationship at present might be only so many stored variables on a hard drive somewhere. In some ways, it's like having photos of inspirational people on your wall--only these people were known to you, and mere time and distance, not the veil, have caused you to lose touch.
Also, there are a few people that are just too damn interesting to unfriend. They're as close as I get to celebrity watching. (None are "celebrities" or celebrity-types.)
I also noted that a reasonably large number (~30 or so) had up and left Facebook without me knowing. Their baby blue silhouettes were easy to discard, though I mourned some of them. Some of them would have been kept.
But in general, I found it surprisingly, disturbingly easy, and getting easier. And I admit -- I lied when I posted a while back congratulating the people that remained. I had pared away the surface, but refrained from making substantive cuts. That was probably a cut from 750 to 700.
This time is different. I cut to 324. That may still seem like too many friends, but keep in mind the "museum-piece friendships" described above.
Facebook does provide one thing: it provides an opportunity to reflect on the beginnings and endings of relationships in a way that memory alone, kind and cruel in its porousness, does not permit.
Without a regular job, or affiliation at a school, or clubs, I don't meet many new people. It has provided me with the necessity and opportunity to get to know some people better online than I had ever known them in school. I didn't expect this, and in some ways I didn't desire this, but so it is, and in some ways, I'm better for it.
It's easy to decry shallowness in relationships that aren't in-person; but a generation or two ago, people would have pen pals and letter correspondence for this reason. Think of it: what did it say about the strength of the distant relationship (or the fragility and facile nature of the local ones) that people would engage in long, wonderful letters, filled with more contemplation and thoughtfulness than, perhaps, a face-to-face conversation ever could? For some of us use penstrokes and typeset to communicate our hearts better than improvisation ever could.
At the same time, I can see that many relationships were ones of convenience. They are not to be diminished for them -- it's human nature that we bond with our roommates, or our classmates, or officemates, or people we see on a regular basis.
Doing a mental post-mortem on each relationship can be exhausting. But for a few, I paused, considered how I could've been a better friend, or how they could've contributed something more or different. In the vast majority of cases it was just a lack of sufficient compatibility on ideas, interests, and humor to make anything more of it.
But in a few cases, I feel there was something really to be mourned. A missed opportunity, or a quiet betrayal, or just bad luck. We can't be all things to all people, but there were a few I wish I had held more closely to me. (And while it might not be eternally "too late", it is, for the moment, prohibitive to repair the breach.)
Overall, I welcome this process. It helps me identify some common themes, whether it is humor, or thoughtfulness, or travel, that keeps me watching certain people, if not actively engaging with them regularly.
Finally, to anyone who might happen to be miffed at being cut and did a search for me that ended up here: please don't take it too personally. It's Facebook, for chrissakes. But if you want to have a comment fight over it, you can do so here. Who knows? It might be just what's needed to save a relationship, or build a new one from scratch.
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
Homosexuality and the Boy Scouts of America
CNN: Gay Scout's request for Eagle rank rejected
These cases are often more complicated than first appears, so I'm willing to accept that the BSA may have rejected an application for other reasons. So I will tread very carefully here.
I attended an Eagle Scout induction recently. It was impressive; I am told that not all can be expected to be like this, as parental involvement plays a huge role in the scope and majesty of the induction ceremony. It did strike me as a bit more martial than I expected, which was a bit unnerving. And the Scoutmaster's Minute was clearly delivered by someone who was on the wrong side of the election and sounded overly apocalyptic about how this scout was part of the "last line of defense" against American collapse.
But it was impressive to meet a host of young men -- based on names, many of them Muslim -- with a variety of accomplishments. All the boys, to a one, were unfailingly polite and helpful. And I gained a new respect for this young man, who I honestly did not know as well as I thought I did. To be an Eagle, you have to complete, among other things, something like 120 (or 180?) nights of camping, a major service project, and a host of other things.
The BSA have, of course, been rocked by the scandal involving pedophilia and their internal database on reported cases. And the gay issue is not new. What may be new is that a majority of Americans might support either a change in policy, or the creation of a more open version of the BSA-- maybe one that enables young women to rise to the equivalent of eagle scout.
I don't think reform would happen anytime soon. I doubt it would effectively come from outside pressure; all that could happen is sufficient numbers of lawsuits could cause funding problems and the closing of some or all of the organization, which would be a huge waste. Reform would have to be grass-roots, and involve some rather precocious organizing by teenage boys, not particularly known for their autonomous political activism. (Somehow, I don't see it as coming from the parents, and definitely not from the scoutmasters.)
Perhaps the coming out of prominent men who are also eagle scouts would help-- imagine the impact of a Jim Lovell coming out and encouraging the BSA to change its policies.
A side note: the induction ceremony I attended took place in a UCC church. The first thing one would notice, even before walking through the front doors, was a big table draped with a rainbow flag with some LGBT material. I thought it was fitting, somehow, that everyone in attendance would register at some level an awareness that the troop was a guest in God's house, and, in this house, the LGBT community was not just welcomed and embraced as fully equal-- they're family, family worth fighting for.
Open-minded, closed for debate
I think I'm done debating most important things.
It doesn't mean that debate in itself is bad. But it requires a lot of conditions to come off effectively, and expectations have to be managed.
Generally, I'll only really want to engage in discourse if these conditions are met:
(1) Each of us can clearly articulate our assumptions, going as fundamental as necessary (but only if necessary);
(2) Each of us can set up a reasonably sound logical chain that leads to some conclusion that is contentious or otherwise interesting;
(3) Each person is willing and able to start from alternative assumptions and work forward in a logical manner, ideally to gain insight into the other perspective, but minimally, in order to test the logical structure of the other argument;
(4) Each has time and temperament to make sure the discourse is civil;
and, for expectations,
(5) No one expects to either change their view, or change the other person's.
*(6) If evidence is presented that shows one's opinion is wrong, they will admit it.
*This was added by Alex, and as a meta-example, I edited the list to include it.
Needless to say, these conditions are met rarely, though I'd like to think, happily, they are met more frequently by my circle of friends than could be expected elsewhere.
It seems like a lot of conditions, but they seem to all be required for the process to make any sense and have any value, and not devolve into a shouting match.
I realize, belatedly, what Professor Hal Barron at Harvey Mudd College was talking about at the height of the cross-burning/Kerri Dunn car vandalism bait-and-switch madness in 2004. He called for civility in the discussions we were having on the 5-C about race and social equity issues. But the emotional tenor of that particular meeting was just too damn high -- we had a professor cry on stage, and plenty of us cried too (including me, who, to my lasting shame, gave a rambling rant about more worldliness in our tech campus). The then-diversity coordinator gave an angry speech about her own experiences, which probably did not help reduce the temperature.
All of this is prologue to say that yes, I think I understand what it means to have a meaningful discussion with someone of opposing views. But I'm tired, and relatively content with where I am when it comes to political philosophy and general policy platform. I'll revisit and update that view, hopefully, as new data (or new to me) comes to the fore. But in general, I'm not sure I see any value in continuing to seek out opportunities to engage people with different political views.
This sounds closed-minded. And, despite the title of this post, it might be. But I'm still willing to read, and have my views challenged. In the last few months, I can remember three things I thought were "true" challenged.
As it turns out, the increase in federal debt is driven mostly by a fall in revenues, and not a rise in spending--even I had believed the Fox narrative, though as a Keynesian, I took a positive view of that false narrative.
I also started to appreciate that there is some statistical evidence indicating the deterrent value for crimes like burglary of having a publicly-known firearm in the house. (I haven't tracked down the specific study from Nashville, but I trust the reports referencing it.) I have to accept that, at least for a certain class of crimes, guns actually do behave as a deterrent, and that some actors, at some levels, are rationally deterred. I don't think this has changed my stance on guns tremendously, as the self-contradictory statements from gun advocates indicate. (In this case, gun advocates believe in its deterrent value, yet claimed that the publication of gun owner residences make it more likely for them to be targets for robbery. This, despite the statistical evidence to the contrary that, if they could be self-consistent, would actually make a case for gun ownership.)
Finally, regarding the Prop 38 37 GMO initiative, I eventually got convinced through some running dialogues (often involving dozens of highly intelligent people on FB) that while I still opposed the proposition on its execution, I did get a reframed perspective. I had approached the issue in terms of a referendum on the safety of GMOs (which I believe evidence supports), but my good friend clarified that I should approach it as a consumer choice problem. Even if I believe that GMOs are safe to eat and generally a good thing in our world, not everyone may agree, and it may be worth a small price to pay for labeling such that those who choose to, can opt out. My views on this are still evolving, but that's the point -- they are evolving thanks to an actual dialogue (or, more accurately, an heptadecalogue).
I should note that only the last is an example of an actual debate leading to changing views. The first two were prompted by questions raised by friends, which spurred me to research the questions on my own.
Look, I've debated American politics, gay marriage, American foreign policy, America's relationship with Israel, the death penalty, Benghazi, healthcare, gun ownership, Biblical literalism, libertarian philosophy, and a number of other things with intelligent people who happen to believe differently than I do.
Sometimes it was fun. Sometimes it was exhausting and frustrating, and changed my overall regard for the other person negatively. Sometimes one or both of us would duck out, just because it didn't seem to accomplish anything or one or the other just seemed extremely underprepared to have a real discussion about something.
At this point, however, I think that, even if it hasn't always been a waste of time in the past, it will be a waste of time going forward. My views are pretty well-formed, and I'm largely comfortable with them. They probably will evolve, perhaps radically, perhaps due to personal tragedy or more positive events (my view on taxes might change if I start making over $1 million a year). But I'm somewhat, cautiously confident in my ability to adapt given those changes, or new information, without subjecting myself to the torment of engaging for the sake of engaging.
Note: I don't have anyone in mind when I say all this. It's just a general conclusion I've reached over the last few months. Those of you who believe differently, and with whom I've had many conversations over the years, I love you. And we'll still talk about many, many things. And I can't say you're wrong for you. But I've concluded what you believe in would be wrong for me. And I need energy that would go toward honing debating points elsewhere right now.
Monday, January 7, 2013
What smart is
If I have one thing I wish I could tell the smart students I've met in my life, it is this:
Smart is not what you are. Smart is what you do.
That's it.
I spent a good chunk of my life doing smart things, like studying hard in school, not getting into trouble with the law, not taking controlled substances, etc. But at some point, smart became my identity. This, in itself, wasn't bad. But that became divorced from the "doing smart things" part. It meant I wasn't working productively, every day, to be more knowledgeable, more wise, and, critically, to make intelligent choices and actions.
I'm not the only one. High school had its share of people who believed smart was a fixed quantity, an identity to be celebrated and bragged about until reality proved inconvenient. These people, like me, reacted in ways characterized by the five stages of grief--denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance... assuming any of us got beyond depression.
College had some people that had trouble dealing with the disconnect between the smart identity they had carried with them for their entire lives and their apparent academic prowess. And again, people reacted in different ways--some by studying more, or studying more intelligently, or by redefining their value system, or by rejecting what they had pursued and valued their entire lives in a fit of pique. I did a bit of each, but heavier on the pique than I'd like to admit.
Anyway, this post was intended to be short, and therefore hopefully of greater impact, than most. Smart is not who you are. Smart is what you do, every day. It adds up, and is somewhat (but not entirely) cumulative, and barring significant biological or psychological changes, you can rely on it for the most part for the rest of your life.
But, please, get over yourself. Or get over your self-debasement, if self-aggrandizement is not your problem. If you think you are smart, shut the fuck up about it and do something with it. If you think you aren't smart, shut the fuck up and do something to make yourself incrementally smarter.
Smart is not what you are. Smart is what you do.
That's it.
I spent a good chunk of my life doing smart things, like studying hard in school, not getting into trouble with the law, not taking controlled substances, etc. But at some point, smart became my identity. This, in itself, wasn't bad. But that became divorced from the "doing smart things" part. It meant I wasn't working productively, every day, to be more knowledgeable, more wise, and, critically, to make intelligent choices and actions.
I'm not the only one. High school had its share of people who believed smart was a fixed quantity, an identity to be celebrated and bragged about until reality proved inconvenient. These people, like me, reacted in ways characterized by the five stages of grief--denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance... assuming any of us got beyond depression.
College had some people that had trouble dealing with the disconnect between the smart identity they had carried with them for their entire lives and their apparent academic prowess. And again, people reacted in different ways--some by studying more, or studying more intelligently, or by redefining their value system, or by rejecting what they had pursued and valued their entire lives in a fit of pique. I did a bit of each, but heavier on the pique than I'd like to admit.
Anyway, this post was intended to be short, and therefore hopefully of greater impact, than most. Smart is not who you are. Smart is what you do, every day. It adds up, and is somewhat (but not entirely) cumulative, and barring significant biological or psychological changes, you can rely on it for the most part for the rest of your life.
But, please, get over yourself. Or get over your self-debasement, if self-aggrandizement is not your problem. If you think you are smart, shut the fuck up about it and do something with it. If you think you aren't smart, shut the fuck up and do something to make yourself incrementally smarter.
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