Project “Leaving Linus” update

My fledgling project to avoid mindlessly hanging out with Linus (the name I gave my computer, in case you missed that episode) when I’m not doing something actually meaningful has had some nice results. One is this photo … more on that in a minute. For now, on to the status update on Project "Leaving Linus."

Great blue herons

The first change is that avoiding this mindless thing has made me aware of how much time I typically spend at the computer when I have no particular goal. I also realize that deciding to hang out less with Linus has left me more open to things that happen to pass my way, things I might normally dismiss (“Maybe, if I have time” or “Nah, that’s not convenient” or “I’ll probably be too tired” or simply “I’m too lazy”). It turns out that some of those things truly interest me, if I can just get past my lethargy and sloth and actually consider them as genuine possibilities.

For instance, here are some things I did in the past week or so that I likely would have dismissed in favor of aimless time at home (which usually translates to time in front of the screen):

• At the tamest end of my adventurous continuum, on a couple of occasions, I simply packed up my reading and headed for a local coffee shop—for no reason other than to get out of the house, away from the computer, and into some of the reading I claim to want to do. Not exactly wild, but definitely atypical for me. So it is an adventure in the scheme of things. BTW, Stephen King’s new book about JFK’s assassination is pretty gripping!

• In a slightly more adventurous vein, I decided to go to a performance of the Interactive Theater Project at CU. The performance was about the distinction between old-fashioned and modern racism and about being an ally to other folks who are facing (often subtle) prejudice. Both of these topics interest me a lot. But this was an evening performance, and I had no one to go with. So usually, I would have stayed home instead… it’s easier, more familiar, less hassle strategically, less of a stretch psychologically. But I went anyway. What else was I going to do—hang with Linus? As is almost always true with ITP, I enjoyed the performance and the discussion afterward. Cool.

• Feeling my oats, I went to a movie at the Boedecker, the small theater at The Dairy, my first time there. The movie, “Tomboy,” was, as the title suggests, about a girl who violates traditional gender norms—a French film, with the slow-moving quality common to many French movies. It was an interesting portrayal of a complicated topic, with great acting by a couple of kids. This, too, I usually would not have bothered with, for no good reason. But I was really glad I went, although the audience’s understanding of the film was a bit “off,” IMHO. Still, I learned some stuff about how folks on the streets of Boulder think (or at least talk) about these things. Wow. Twice in one week!

• Then, as if Linus hadn’t already been abandoned enough, on Friday evening, I went to a talk and slide show at REI, “Wildlife in Winter.” It was informative and fun, with lots of great photos. The whole experience took me back to the days when I knew a lot about wildlife. Interestingly, I felt no urge to take notes. This is a new phenomenon that has just cropped up in the last couple of years. This was the third evening outing when I usually would have hunkered down at home. I could get used to this.

• To round out the week, I spent most of Saturday cruising around north Boulder County with a handful of volunteer naturalists and a gaggle of folks eager to learn about—and to spot—raptors. Most folks had sophisticated equipment: high-power binoculars, fancy cameras with long lenses, high-tech spotting scopes. I had my camera phone. Oh, yeah—and my trusty binoculars from trips to Alaska many years ago (like, 15?). My tools worked totally fine for my purposes. (Although I must admit to moments of envy when I would have loved to snap off a great photo.) I loved being outside all day, focusing on wildlife, and soaking up the fresh air, the sun, and (true to Boulder) the afternoon wind. 

Here’s my list of sightings for the day, from memory rather than recorded, so the accuracy is iffy:

o   First thing in the morning, before the official wildlife trip even began, I watched a cow licking her brand new calf, welcoming it to the world. I’m sure it was a new calf, because on my way back a short time later, a cute little wobble-legged calf was standing in front of mom at the same spot. The meadows are sprinkled with what we call “cow dots” now. It always seems too early to me. But I guess nature knows more about these things than I do. This means coyotes will be hanging around these meadows, too.

o    As the birding group gathered before we began our tour, a single bald eagle flew across the water right in front of us and scooped up a fish as if s/he had seen it all the way from the other side. Not a bad start to our outing!

o   Just as we started our drive, we saw a golden eagle perched in a tree right by the road, posing for photos. My camera phone was not up to this challenge (my first hint of the camera envy that would flicker through the day), but I have a picture in my mind’s eye. Then it took off, flying right above us, as cameras snapped all around me.

o   Along the way, we saw many red-tailed hawks, which are very common in these parts. I learned a lot about how varied these birds are—including the fact that even the red tail is optional. Who knew?

o   We spotted several American Kestrels, very small falcons that you can often see perched on a wire or a fence. This is one of my favorite birds—tiny, by raptor standards, with beautiful markings. I love it when they hover, which we didn’t see on this trip, but I also have a mental picture of that, from earlier encounters, and it serves very well.

o   As we were stopped to view a large heronry (a “rookery” for herons—lots of nests gathered in just a few trees), we also saw several great blue herons hanging out near a pond nearby. Again, I couldn’t capture the heronry with my mini-lens camera. But through a bit of desperate ingenuity, I managed to maneuver the lens of my phone over the eyepiece of someone’s spotting scope and captured the picture at the top of this blog. I’d love to say that I planned the artistic quality of this picture, but the truth is that I just didn’t get it lined up well. Oh, well. Artistry is always part serendipity, I hear.

o   And, to finish the day with a certain symmetry, we saw three coyotes—a single one early in the day and then a pair that we watched for quite a while, just as our trip wound down. They were “spotting,” too. They seemed especially interested in scenes similar to my early morning experience with the calf.

When I got home, somehow more tired than I should have been (too many wild adventures in one week, I reckon), Linus was there, apparently unperturbed by my absence. In fact, she seemed oblivious to the fact that she had been deserted so often.

Do you think this intense connection might be one-sided?

Addendum to "Winter and spring"

So, yesterday, I frolicked in the spring melt ... knowing that Colorado weather is way more complex than that. And sure enough, this morning:

Looks like our bunny left that winter home for a snowy outing:  

And yesterday's spring buds met winter's cold shoulder overnight:  

      

Apple tree buds the morning after

"Spring" buds in snow

You know what they say about weather in Colorado ...

Winter homes and harbingers of spring

I’ve lived in Colorado too long to really believe that spring is about to arrive at the end of February. But after the wintry weather of the past few weeks, I spotted a few spring-like signs that are most welcome. And we can always hope ...

Last week ...

Rabbit hole in winter

The transition isn't always pretty ...

But today ...

Look how red his breast is! Spring for sure!

Snow melt and ice bridge

Bush buds





I love Colorado!     

Cottonwood buds

Cyberblanket

“Security is a thumb and a blanket”

-         Linus

A few days ago, I wrote about my encounter with the thought that I had slipped into a rut that threatened to lead me straight to boredom. Well, a friend responded to that post by email, and her comments were really thought provoking. I asked her whether I could pursue it here, and she said OK. So …

My friend suggests that computers encourage a sort of passive, reactive relationship to the world instead of an active one—hardly her presentation in life. Given this perspective, she didn't like that she was spending so much time on her computer. So she decided to undertake a “project” to see what it would be like to spend a lot of time away from her computer. She found the experience freeing … and her story about it set me to thinking.

As I was thinking about this in the context of my incipient boredom and my sense of being in a rut, an image of Linus and his security blanket came to mind. Make me Linus, and you know where that says about my computer.

For me, at least, spending hours cuddled up with my computer started with the fact that virtually everything I do happens at the computer. My part-time work involves editing documents online. One of my volunteer gigs is managing the website for the Boulder Valley Safe Schools Coalition, online. Most of my communications with friends and family are by email, online. I read the news every day, online. I hunt for information, find movies, get tickets for events, check on restaurant hours, etc., all online. And of course, I do this blog online.

And now, I fear I have become so accustomed to hanging out with my computer that I feel at loose ends if I step away from it. Like, I forgot how to be in the world for more than a very short time without my hands on a keyboard and my eyes on a screen. So, when I find myself with a bit of uncommitted time, I sit at the computer and try to find things to do there.  Check the news, scan the msn homepage for new stories, play a game or two, surf aimlessly.

In short, I end up trying to think of things to do on the computer instead of actually doing things in the world. I do this even though I have other things that would be much more engaging, less passive—things that I say I want to do. That’s a path started for a reason and shaped into a rut by convenience, habit, and flat-out inertia.

I have two thoughts about this (other than recognizing the compelling draw that this machine seems to have):

• First, back in the day, people had similar worries about the telephone and then about TV. It will make people lazy, they’ll never bother to go out to visit neighbors, they’ll wreck their eyes staring at the screen and their bodies sitting on the couch eating junk food.

I guess some of those things have happened. It’s true that we phone when we could go over. And the epidemics of obesity and ill health can be laid partly at the feet of TV. But civilization didn’t end, people didn’t stop growing legs (which my father predicted), and TV didn’t turn out to be the end of the line as far as passive entertainment goes. So, are computers really so bad? Can we tell yet? Is our worry about over involvement with our computers just the contemporary version of our grandparents’ and parents’ fears about phones and TV? If so, does that mean our fear is misplaced?

• My second thought is about this concept in psychology called functional autonomy. It refers to the fact that something that initially served some purpose (or function) can eventually become important in its own right (or functionally autonomous.) This concept has been used to describe things like smoking (Folks start for peer approval, but smoking soon becomes its own motivation, and smokers smoke even if their peers hate it. Smoking has become functionally autonomous) or mastering a skill (You begin a craft to earn a living, but soon, the mastery takes on importance in its own right, even if you earn nothing for it. The skill has become functionally autonomous).

Hanging out at the computer seems like this. You start because it serves a purpose. Pretty soon, just hanging out at the computer becomes an end in itself. You do it even when it serves no purpose other than to fill / pass / waste time. This suggests that sitting at the computer has become self-sustaining, although it’s purposeless. Sort of like Linus’ security blanket, holding back all the fearful goblins. Like what? Boredom? The need to actually decide how to spend time? Not a happy thought, in my book.

I have no answers to these things, but I’m very curious about what other folks have to say about it all. I'm guessing some of you have ideas about the risk of letting computers and other techno-gizmos eat up our time and our enthusiasm for other things. Or maybe about how grand they are in the scheme of things. Maybe there are some other Linus clones out there. It would be fun to have a conversation about this, so please join in!

Below a place to add your comments—just click on the drop-down arrow by the box marked "comment as." If you want, you can sign in as "Anonymous," which is the last choice in the drop-down menu, or as Ellen DeGeneres or Aristotle or The Flying Wallendas—whatever! (If you’re reading this by email, go to the blog online at retirementinthemix.blogspot.com to add your comments. Or send me an email and let me know if I can pass it on). Comments from 100 incarnations of “Anonymous” would be sort of fun. Of course, I wouldn’t mind hearing what Ellen DeGeneres thinks of this issue, if she’s willing to share.

Meanwhile, I think I’ll name my computer “Linus” to remind me, in a mildly humiliating way, of the risk of undue attachment to this machine and its magic.

Neophilia

Recently, I wrote about my need for change, and the risk of boredom—and worse—if I lose touch with that. Imagine my delight when I came across an article talking about new research on this very phenomenon. Even better, these researchers give it a name: “neophilia” (your basic ancient Greek: “neo,” meaning new, and “philia,” meaning affection). I said to myself, Voilà! (your basic modern French, meaning “Voilà”). Precisely! I love novelty. 

I heard a lot about “novelty-seeking behavior” during my career in psychology. Much of the research tied it to problems: dangerous thrill-seeking behavior, problems with impulse control, alcoholism and substance abuse, etc. The main message was something like, “If you need new, stimulating experiences all the time, if you can’t settle down, if you’re always seeking change, you’re headed for trouble.”

But, as I said the other day, I learned a while ago that the reverse is true for me: If I don’t seek change, that’s when I’m in trouble.

Now, a whole new body of research is exploring this concept of neophilia in a new light. And they’re finding that novelty seeking, when coupled with certain other traits, is actually very good—for the individual and for the world. (I can hear every teenager who’s blissed out on multitasking among YouTube, an iPod, and a thousand smart phone apps: “Well, yeah!”) Those other traits, for the record, include persistence—the ability to stick with a task even through frustration—and “self-transcendence”—a focus on concerns broader than oneself.

So, I just wanted to put in a good word for those of us who love change. Those who, when we’re at our best, seek out novelty at every turn. We may sometimes be impulsive, but our enthusiasm can be put to good ends. And we have our own official label: we are neophiles. I agree heartily with the words (if not the theories; more on that another time) of E. O. Wilson:

“I am a neophile, an inordinate lover of the new, of diversity for its own sake.”

Retirement, change, and (yikes!) boredom

This morning, I noticed a shadow floating through the corner of my mind. It took me a minute to realize what it was. Finally, I recognized it: boredom. That’s a red flag for me, a warning of trouble ahead unless I pay attention. For me, it works like this.

Word on the street is that people don’t like change. Change is scary, it’s confusing. It interrupts our comfortable lives and demands that we adjust, adapt.

Change means that we have to give up whatever we’ve held on to and learn a new way of being in the world. This is true when it happens on a minor scale (How do you turn on this flippin’, new-fangled faucet?). It’s true when it happens on a world-shaking scale (How do we understand the place of the US in the world after 9/11?). And it’s true of all the medium-sized changes we face every day.

Retirement brings change on virtually every level: daily schedules, familiar routines, financial needs and resources, relationships and social needs, physical abilities and health, our place in the workings of society, our minds … all of these change. If you like things to stay stable, retirement is probably not comfortable territory.

But I actually thrive on change. If things don’t change, I get bored. And for me, it’s just one short step from boredom to depression—uncomfortable territory, for sure. So, for a changeaholic like me, the change built into retirement is perfect. In fact, that’s precisely the origin of this blog’s title “Retirement in the Mix,” meaning retirement that incorporates anything I can manage to mix in.

Still, the freedom of retirement also allows me slip into dangerous (if comfortable) habits. It can lure me into a “routine” that makes my days sort of tend to themselves. Therein lurks the boredom that I noticed flickering through a corner of my mind this morning.

Here’s the irony. My new regime—lower workload, more time to do other things—looks ideal as an opportunity to keep my retirement lively and full of change. My plan has been exactly to fill my new-found time with changes, with new adventures.

I’m not talking about exotic trips to distant lands. There’s plenty to keep life lively right here. I have a pile of unread magazines tall enough to be their own coffee table. I want to read those, and I want to devote enough time to reading that I actually keep up with them down the line. I also want to read novels and non-fiction books. I want to hang out at the local coffee shop. I want to take walks in different places instead the very convenient route out my door. I want to go to museums and hang out for hours. I want to go out to lunch with a friend. I want to enjoy my volunteer work without feeling the urgency of getting back to work. I want to do political and professional stuff for fun instead of feeling stressed by the time it takes. I want to go to movies and talks and performances in the middle of the day. I want to take a drive because I love driving. I want to think about where I’ll go on my drive.

Basically, I want retirement in the mix. So what’s stopping me? I could do all these things! In fact, I have made some changes already—taking time for the gym, for instance. But overall, I fear I'm getting stuck. Caught in a rut. Running the hamster wheel. Trapped by my own inertia. I’m discovering that it’s hard to break the habit of living at my desk. More to the point, it’s hard to imagine how to do that. And that  sense of "stuck" feels boring, risky.

Wait (I said to myself)! I’ve done this lots of times before. Each time we moved, I found myself recreating a life that fit my need for change and variety. We’ve been in Colorado for several years now. Why would I be surprised that it’s time to rearrange my life? As the kids would say, Duh! Hello!

So, it’s time for me to stir up some change, rattle my own cage, try out things that take me away from instead of back to what’s familiar. I need to stop letting my days manage themselves, stop just yielding to what comes automatically. I need to actually think about what I’d like to do. Daily. I need to make novelty a top priority. So, I have my task. For someone who craves change, this is just another round of the never-ending game.

Oops. Now that I’ve said it here, in public, I guess I’ll have to do it.

Yikes.

Yea!

Grassroots and Snowflakes

“No snowflake in an avalanche ever feels responsible.” - Voltaire

Some folks take this to mean that we’re all responsible for bad things that happen. I take it to mean that any one of us can be the snowflake that sends an avalanche of social change cascading down the slope.

Or, as Margaret Mead famously said,

“Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed individuals can change the world.

Indeed, it’s the only thing that ever has.”

A perfect description of grassroots activism: folks deciding to change the world. Throw in the Internet, and you have grassroots on steroids. This weeks was full of stories of victories for grassroots activism—some years in the making, other almost instantaneous. These things became major national news stories, but they began with “a small group of committed people” who believed that they could make a difference. And they did.

For example:

• Two important steps forward for marriage equality, in California and Washington state.  Both still face hurdles ahead, but step by grassy step ...

On Tuesday, a federal appeals court panel overturned California’s ban on same-sex marriage. This ruling is likely to be appealed, and the case is predicted to go all the way to the US Supreme Court. 

The next day, the Washington state legislature passed a bill granting marriage equality in that state. The governor has promised to sign the bill (although she had previously opposed marriage equality … people do change). Check out this video of a Republican legislator testifying on behalf of the bill, a glimpse at the range of personal stories that made it happen. 

·        This story had a strong Colorado connection, too:

A New York Times opinion piece on the California ruling cited the US Supreme Court decision declaring Colorado’s anti-LGB Amendment 2 unconstitutional. That case has transformed how LGBT people are regarded in courts of law, and it’s now often cited as a crucial precedent in cases addressing LGBT rights.

And a local psychologist/activist’s work on the psychological impacts of anti-LGBTQ politics, which started after Amendment 2, got some national attention in the blogosphere this week. Here, her comments about the impending New Jersey decision on marriage equality are framed in the context of decisions in California and Washington. 

• The flap between Susan G. Komen for the Cure and Planned Parenthood was quickly resolved in favor of women’s access to health care.

On Tuesday, Susan G. Komen for the Cure (SGK), the nation’s most famous breast cancer-related foundation, was revealed to have cut off long-standing funding for Planned Parenthood. This funding provides breast cancer screenings for poor women. The Internet virtually lit up with outrage, and SGK backed down just two days later. But not before their reputation had taken a major beating. This was Internet-fueled bit of grassroots activism involving a virtual avalanche (to mix metaphors) of blogs, Internet petitions, facebook postings, tweets, and almost instant news coverage—probably because of the aforementioned blogs, petitions, facebook postings, and tweets.

Meanwhile, information on a new film about Susan G. Komen for the Cure, “Pink Ribbons, Inc.” is circulating on the Web. The trailer gives a hint at an on-going controversy behind this week’s uproar. It will also make you reconsider all those pink things that are marketed in the name of SGK or of breast cancer awareness in general. 

A friend with whom I've done some social change work sent me a couple of related links. The first is to a blog by a couple of companions in retirement who make no bones about their anger at the SGK move and their support for Planned Parenthood. Read it if you'd like a good catharsis about the whole thing.

The second item speaks for itself. Just what we need to advance women’s health care rights. 

 Grass roots and snowflakes. Sounds like winter in Colorado. 

I wonder ...

Sometimes I find myself wondering about odd things. Some of these probably have a straightforward answer (and I could probably google it, but I don’t really want to). Others are just items of curiosity for which there probably is no real answer. For instance,

I wonder what happened to the tree swing I saw a couple of months ago (see “Ode to a Cottonwood”). Did someone move it to another tree? Did someone decide it wasn't safe, so they took it down? Did someone cut the rope just for the heck of it?

I wonder why it smells like natural gas in the mall early in the morning. Is it because all the fast-food places have been closed, so the gas that they usually burn off has accumulated and is sitting around in noxious clouds? Or is the smell there all the time, but usually it’s masked by other smells during the day?

I wonder why they mow a strip along each side of the bike path where it passes through open space. Is it to keep tiny creatures that live in the tall grass off the path? Is it so doggies have a place to sniff (etc.) that’s off the path but still out of the tall grass?

I wonder what will replace old idioms that don’t work anymore because technology has changed the world. They made sense in their time, but the things they referred to are going or gone. For instance, how long will people know what we mean when we say:

• Dial the phone. Left over from the days of rotary dials. This should be gone soon, but what will replace it? “Button the phone”? “Touch screen the phone”? “Speak to your phone”?

• Roll down the window. Remember when car windows were raised and lowered by a manual crank? Now that they’re all electric, push-button gizmos, what will we say instead? Also, what will replace the gesture that asks someone to roll down the window so you can tell them something. What gesture would say, “Open your window with that electric button”?

• Groovy. Just about gone, along with the vinyl records that gave it birth. What will be the equivalent word? “Diggy”? (I actually tried to start this as a trend once. “Diggy” was intended to signal the change from groves to digital data. A friend from the east coast promised to get it started there, and I was to do it here in the west. Didn’t work, but it was an interesting experiment.)

• Disk jockey. How can someone be a genuine disk jockey when there are no disks (See “groovy,” above)? So are they “button jockeys”? Somehow, this doesn’t work. The visual just isn’t as groovy.

Jury duty, duly done

I just spent the better part of a day on jury duty. Amazingly, I had never been called for jury duty in my many years—except once in Massachusetts when we were in the process of packing to move. I got excused from that one, since I wouldn't be in the state on the appointed day.

So this was a totally novel experience for me. Unlike many folks, I actually wanted badly to be on a jury, to witness the process from start to finish. I wasn't concerned about the time it would take. I can make time for such things—time is one of the great benefits of retirement. And I don't at all resent this particular use of my time. I really believe that it’s important for us all to serve. 

One of my volunteer gigs brings me into the company of lots of folks who were not born here and who have tales of their nations of origin. Their stories aren’t the horror stories of ‘disappearances’ and torture, but everyday stories of how ‘justice’ is served. I know our system is not perfect. I know jury duty can be a pain in the tail, a disruption in the flow, an interference in things that seem important. It can also be boring, I suppose. But I found the process really interesting. And it sure beats generals or dictators or local power lords deciding who’s right and wrong.

Sitting in the courtroom with the other prospective jurors, it was clear to me that this case would be decided by everyday folks. We might question their judgment, but they are exactly the “peers” that the framers of the Constitution imagined. They are not generals or dictators or (presumably) the agents of generals and dictators. They are citizens like you or me who will have the task of deciding matters of great import. I celebrate this system, even as I know that it has flaws and deserves continuous scrutiny. So, I was eager to do this and completely willing—actually, happy—to devote my time to it.

We started with an instructional video that was actually very informative--which, as you know, is not always the case. In retrospect, it was as much an inspirational/motivational video as an instructional one. Someone feeling cynical about the whole thing might have found it awful. But given my frame of mind that morning, it worked for me. So, I was delighted when I was randomly selected as part of a group who would go through the next phase of screening to actually sit on a jury. I was delighted again when I was among the sub-group randomly chosen to be interviewed by the judge and then the attorneys. 

I didn’t think much about it when we were each asked to give information about ourselves that included education, degrees, occupation (or, if retired, former occupation), and other tidbits: What do you read? What do you listen to on the radio? What do you watch on TV? I was disappointed when they didn’t ask me anything during the questioning process.

The message that each side would try to convey was easy enough to read behind the lawyers’ questions. They were already making their case: “Do you believe that sometimes women can assault men as well as vice versa?” “Do you believe that because someone can’t remember details, that means it didn’t happen?” (Questions about details of football games were used to make this point. The other attorney pointed out that this wasn’t a matter of a football game; it was a question of people’s lives. Right on!) These hints piqued my curiosity, and I grew more interested in hearing this case.

When they read the names of those who would be seated on the jury, my name wasn't among them. I knew I wanted to do this, but I was surprised at how deflated I felt. Actually, I was ambivalent. It was a domestic violence case, and I didn't particularly want to listen to the details of that sort of story for three days. But it’s true that I was also disappointed. I wondered if my degree and my profession made them scratch my name from the beginning. Who needs a PhD psychologist, much less a professor, on a jury? Can’t you just imagine the lectures in the deliberation room? The psychoanalyses of the attorneys, the witnesses, the defendant, the plaintiff? Of course, that misreads what “psychologist” means in my case, but this is the best reason I can come up with for why they eliminated me. It can't be something I said because they never asked me anything. Oh, well ...

Still, I got to see a large part of the process of creating a jury. I’m really grateful for that.

Next time, I want my turn to be among “a jury of my peers.”