Take a guy who does humorous journalism, but not in the sneering sort of way, and send him out to find out more about extremists (KKK, Islamicists, etc.) and conspiracy theories (he didn’t really believe in the Bildeburgers…until he was followed), and what do you get?
Well, you get British journalist Jon Ronson.
I just listened to a wonderful interview with him on Radio West.
Don’t miss it.
Titanoboa. 43′ long. Weighs more than a ton. Could eat Bessie. Literally.
The picture below is of a python slithering over the vertebra of a titanoboa.
More here in Times Online article, USA Today, and LA Times.
Sometimes it’s the small things that make the most difference.
Like sharing an issue you might be dealing with.
I was once at a writer’s retreat at a home above the Sundance ski resort. I’d be asked to present to some of the other writers there. Robison Wells, who writes awesome YA, was also presenting. He talked about marketing and plot, but the presentation that was probably most memorable was the one he gave on the obsessive compulsive disorder he deals with.
He started off by telling us folks really didn’t know what they were talking about when they talked about obsessive compulsive disorder. He described it this way. He said he and his wife were sitting on the couch watching TV one evening. She said she was craving some ice cream, orangesicles, I think. He replied that he was craving banging his head into the wall. She anticipated some delicious ice cream. He anticipated some delicious head whacking. He then pointed at the wall behind all of us and said that it would feel so good to bang his head on the corner of the wall behind us. Needless to say, he had our attention.
He went on to explain more about this condition and mental illness in general and urged us, when we wrote about it, to get it right. To be accurate. To not turn such conditions into happy-happy super powers, nor to make them into things to be feared.
By the way, Robison had a fine little dog with him. Not some yapper to carry about in a purse, but a nice little companion. I keep wanting to call her Abby, but I know that’s not its name. We learned that his dog was trained to watch him and remind him to take his meds. It appeared that Robison would sometimes rationalize away doing that.
Robison isn’t crazy. We didn’t have a dangerous wild man among us. He’s just a guy who has to deal with some kinks in his hoses.
So what happened next? Well, nothing. We had a great retreat and went home. But the story doesn’t end there. See, if an issue is taboo, it becomes very difficult to deal with it. As an individual, a couple, a family, a community. In fact, hiding something like this only creates more problems. For example, if Robison ever says he’s going out to pick up some hammers, we now know that we probably ought to have someone go with him (grin). So Robison not only wanted to educate us, he also wanted to help bring mental illness out of the dark. And he’s talked about this issue in a number of different places.
Howard Tayler, the cartoonist, heard him talk about the self-harm once. He saw the good being open did and decided to write a bit about some things he has to deal with. Howard’s got a tricky bit of depression he has to manage. Sandra, Howard’s wife, decided to add to it what it was like being married to someone with such an issue.
Now, I didn’t know the Taylers had written anything up until last week at Comic Con. During the event a woman talked to me. In our conversation she indicated that she’d been wrangling with some mental crap, but that Howard’s comments about his had helped her. We continued with our discussion, and she left. On Friday evening after the expo for the Salt Lake City Comic Con had closed, I walked around the event floor, chatting with some folks I hadn’t had time to visit during the event. I stopped at Howard’s booth and said hello to him and Sandra. They were busy, and I didn’t stay long, but as I went to walk away, I thought I should pass on what the woman had said. So I did. I didn’t know what comments she was talking about. All I knew was that Howard had helped her. And I wanted to make sure he knew it.
We talked some more as they tried to clean up their booth before Howard had to run off to a panel. Then Howard handed me “No. I’m Fine”. It’s a little 15-page booklet that contains the title story, written by Howard, plus the essay “Married to Depression” by Sandra, his wife.
The story is an excellent short that gives you the feeling of what’s it like to be dealing with one form of the bugger. The essay reveals a bit of what it’s like as the spouse and recommends some action. But the thing I found so wonderful about both the story and the essay was the example of tender love in the midst of adversity.
I’m a writer. I can’t help but be drawn to potential characters and stories. The view we get of these two in this booklet is good stuff to build some characters on. Of course, that’s not the reason to read the booklet. The reason is because what they share is fascinating and tender—it’s good drama—and, if you or someone you know is dealing with these issues, it just might help.
Go read “No. I’m Fine” and “Married to Depression”. You’ll be glad you did.
While we’re talking about this, those of you who have been following this blog know that I’ve had a few dust-ups with depression myself. I wrote about it and the tools I used to deal with it then and when it tries to come back to town. After reading the Tayler’s stuff, you’ll want to look at it as well.
Edit 9/14: Addeded links to “Married to Depression”
Alfred Noyes (1880-1958) wrote poetry that thundered and sang. It’s the kind of stuff that begs to be read aloud. And I want to share with you one of my favorites–“The Highwayman.” I love it for the sound, the story, and the awesome images (note all the color).
All you need to know is that back in the 1600s and 1700s, a highwayman was a robber, often on horseback, who held up travelers. And that when it mentions “priming,” it’s talking about the charge of powder used to ignite a musket.
For maximum pleasure, let me suggest you start Loreena McKennitt’s killer ballad version I’ve embedded at the end, then scroll back up and read along as she sings.
THE HIGHWAYMAN
By Alfred Noyes
The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees.
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas.
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding—
Riding—riding—
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.
He’d a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin.
They fitted with never a wrinkle. His boots were up to the thigh.
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
His pistol butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard.
He tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred.
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord’s black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord’s daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim the ostler listened. His face was white and peaked.
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord’s daughter,
The landlord’s red-lipped daughter.
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say—
“One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I’m after a prize to-night,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way.”
He rose upright in the stirrups. He scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair in the casement. His face burnt like a brand
As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
(O, sweet black waves in the moonlight!)
Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.
He did not come in the dawning. He did not come at noon;
And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon,
When the road was a gypsy’s ribbon, looping the purple moor,
A red-coat troop came marching—
Marching—marching—
King George’s men came marching, up to the old inn-door.
They said no word to the landlord. They drank his ale instead.
But they gagged his daughter, and bound her, to the foot of her narrow bed.
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side!
There was death at every window;
And hell at one dark window;
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.
They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest.
They had bound a musket beside her, with the muzzle beneath her breast!
“Now, keep good watch!” and they kissed her. She heard the doomed man say—
Look for me by moonlight;
Watch for me by moonlight;
I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!
She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!
The tip of one finger touched it. She strove no more for the rest.
Up, she stood up to attention, with the muzzle beneath her breast.
She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again;
For the road lay bare in the moonlight;
Blank and bare in the moonlight;
And the blood of her veins, in the moonlight, throbbed to her love’s refrain.
Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horsehoofs ringing clear;
Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding—
Riding—riding—
The red coats looked to their priming! She stood up, straight and still.
Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer. Her face was like a light.
Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight,
Her musket shattered the moonlight,
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him—with her death.
He turned. He spurred to the west; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o’er the musket, drenched with her own blood!
Not till the dawn he heard it, and his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord’s daughter,
The landlord’s black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.
Back, he spurred like a madman, shouting a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high.
Blood red were his spurs in the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat;
When they shot him down on the highway,
Down like a dog on the highway,
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat.
. . .
And still of a winter’s night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
A highwayman comes riding—
Riding—riding—
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.
Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard.
He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred.
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord’s black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord’s daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
We’re told we can change.
We’re told that a key is to write “SMART” goals. Make them specific, measurable, realistic, and focused on results. Give them a deadline. And, for heaven’s sake, put them to paper because “a goal that is not written down is just a wish.”
We’re told a key is to dream, that “whatever the mind can believe, it can achieve.”
We’re told that the key to changing our life is changing our habits, and that they way to change our habits is to stick with something for twenty-one days.
Except, well, how many habits have you been successful in establishing?
How many of those lofty goals have you achieved?
How many New Year’s resolutions have you really followed through with?
The problem is that all of the good advice on goals and habits seems to only work for other people. And I grant that there might be some AAA+++ personalities out there with megawatts of motivation who seem to be able to do whatever they set their mind to.
But that triple A plus personality passed me by. It passed a lot of us by.
So are we doomed?
B.J. Fogg, a Stanford researcher, says no. There’s hope for all of us. Because the key is not in having megawatts of motivation.
It’s not that we disregard the power of motivation. It’s just that motivation, Fogg has found, is never constant. It comes in waves. And while we certainly want to take advantage of it when it comes and do things that increase it, a much more effective way to grow habits and meet goals and change our lives is to focus on the other things that drive behavior.
Fogg has spent his career studying persuasion and habit. He works with companies to help them create products that are habit-forming. Think about Facebook, Twitter, or Candy Crush, and the habits those products form. These and similar companies have implemented the principles of habit so well that their products have become, for some, something of an addiction.
So what’s the secret?
Fogg has identified three things that must be present if we’re going to do something:
When those three things are present, we act. And we often do so without thinking. If one of those three elements is missing, we don’t act. So if we want to start a new habit, we need to focus on these three things.
But if motivation goes up and down, then we don’t want to rely on that part of the equation. Fogg’s insight is that it’s much easier and more effective to focus on the ability and the trigger parts.
When we focus on the ability, we make the habit we want to form so tiny and small that it’s super easy to do. Such tiny behaviors require only the smallest levels of motivation. And if we’ve planted them in good ground (at a time of day where they can expand and linked to a good trigger), those tiny habits eventually grow into the full blown big habit we wanted all along.
Does this work?
Well, I started Fogg’s Tiny Habits back at the beginning of December. And I’m happy to report that starting new habits using this approach has been easy.
Like falling off a log easy.
For example, because I work on the computer, I know that to increase my health, I need to get at least forty minutes of good, heart-pumping activity each day. But did I start there? No.
Did I start at twenty minutes?
No.
Ten minutes?
No.
Five? Surely, I started at five minutes.
No.
The Tiny Habits approach suggests starting much smaller. I started with doing one push up after I used the restroom. And it was an incline pushup on the stairs, which my daughter found hilarious.
Yes, that’s how tiny you start them. Something that takes less than 30 seconds.
That tiny habit grew. And I am now doing 60 regular floor pushups each day, plus 75 curls, 75 flies, 75 squats, and 75 bicycle crunches. It’s about 25 minutes of good activity. And it’s only going to grow. Come April, I’m pretty sure I’ll be around 100 pushups every day.
And there was no twenty-one day business. Fogg has found that’s not the secret. Habits can form in just a few days.
I started the delicious habit of kissing my wife for at least five seconds each day. Along with a five-second hug. And then a little more kissing, and little more hugging, and a little more kissing (when I can steal it). Did I mention it was delicious? This is a highly-recommend habit.
I started the habit of daily morning scripture reading. I have tried to be consistent for years and couldn’t do it. But with this new approach, I think I’ve missed three times in the last two months.
I started the habit of beginning the day with a positive thought, the habit of turning off my wireless mouse when I’m done at my desk, and I’ve also made great headway against the mother of all habits for me—going to bed by 10 PM.
I can easily stay up until one a.m. reading, “researching” on the internet, wasting time watching political videos, or Facebooking. Or a million other things. This bad habit is so ingrained it is almost like someone else is controlling me. All day long I say I’ll go to bed only to find myself, yet again well past dark, screwing up my life plans. It’s like some evil villain has me on remote. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve tried to “motivate” myself to change this. All to no avail.
But with the tiny habits approach, I finally figured out the triggers that were driving it. Then I engineered other triggers and tiny habits to replace them. And now my computer is off and behind a closed door most of the time in the evenings. I’m actually getting to bed. It’s huge progress. There are still some kinks to work out, but it’s only going to grow.
I found the Tiny Habits program through my insurance provider. They had an annual wellness check in November, and on their website they had a link to Tiny Habits. I clicked, signed up for their tiny program, and I’m so happy I did.
I’m hooked on tiny habits.
And the cool thing is that you can begin learning and developing your ability to plant and grow tiny habits too. For free.
If you want to change your life, I think you will love their free five-day, three-habit program. It’s there to teach you how to create tiny habits, triggers, and celebrate.
Let me also recommend a few videos. Here’s the best video I’ve found that explains Fogg’s model of behavior and why tiny habits work.
And here’s the best video that explains the pitfalls of relying mostly on motivation instead of bringing in the other two Musketeers.
Researchers say that between 40-70% of all we do each day is driven by habit and external triggers. We think we’re exercising our agency all day long, but it’s an illusion. We’re not. Most of the day we’re running on auto pilot and responding to triggers. But we can change those routines. That’s the promise of tiny habits. And so far, the results for me have been promising. Give it a try. I think you’ll be happy you did.
SMART stands for specific, measurable, achievable, results-focused, and time-bound. SMART goals are helpful. But the key, Fogg has found, is in not trying to eat the whole SMART whale in one bite. Instead, you start with the tiniest part of the very first step. And then watch as the habit grows.
I reviewed The Power of Habit by Charles Duhigg back in 2012. It provided great insight about habits, but not a tested program to actually change them. In fact, the author states himself that his book doesn’t provide a program, just a way of thinking about habits. Duhigg isn’t a behavioral scientist; he’s a reporter, trying to share what he’s found. The book was great. However, I tried to apply his insights, and, as expected, wasn’t very successful in changing things. But Fogg and his Tiny Habits fills that gap in a spectacular way. Fogg is a behavioral scientist and has taught thousands how to form habits. So read Duhigg for great stories and insights about habits in general. But go to Fogg for a tested program that will guide you step by step.
After this year’s presidential election I emailed my sister, a smart, super-competent, true-blue, bleeding-heart, save the weeds and snails liberal, who volunteered to do campaign work for Hilary Clinton in Colorado during the 2008 Democratic primaries and, of course, voted loudly for Obama in this last election.
“Are you kidding me?” I asked. “How can anyone who doesn’t have a carrot for a brain want more of the same? I don’t get it. Obama? How can so many Americans be that gullible? I’m totally baffled.” And that puzzlement wasn’t rhetorical. I was seriously baffled.
“Are you kidding me?” she replied. “Mitt Romney? How could anyone vote for Mitt Romney? Talk about baffled.” She went on a rant listing all of Romney’s supposed deeds and positions of sooper evil and stupidity. Then she questioned how anyone could support that Hitler in his Mormon clothes.
Okay, she didn’t say “Hitler,” but she did claim he was “evil” and “despicable.” And when I think of evil, my first thought is always of folks like Mitt Romney.
Vicente Carrillo Fuentes, leader of the Juarez drug cartel, which is responsible for hundreds of gruesome murders each year and . . . Mitt Romney. Oh, yeah. They’re like brothers. In fact, wasn’t Romney’s dad born in Mexico? And, hey, one of Romney’s sons even knows Spanish. That boy wasn’t on a church mission there. No, he was making connections with the jefe!
Sonia Montoya-Cadena, the one who ran a human trafficking ring in Denver exploiting young girls for sex and . . . Mitt Romney. Yeah, Romney’s just like that. If he could run slave brothels, he’d do it in a minute to make a buck. In fact, doesn’t Bain Capital own a couple of slave brothels in Greenland?
I wanted to unload. I was prepared to destroy her with fiery analysis of the first order.
Thundering analysis.
Mountain crushing logic.
She was so freaking blind.
Except,
She had never actually considered what I had to say in any of my previous emails. It never mattered how powerfully vast my brilliant logic was. She’d demonstrated wax ear time and again. All of my intellectual might never made a dent in her liberal force field. I brought blood and thunder, and it always seemed to bounce off her like bullets made of styrofoam.
Nevertheless! Clinton? Obama? Save the gerbils?
I made a comment that sent Smart Sister into DEFCON 5. Foolish me. Eventually, her liberal ire cooled and she decided to order comrade Putin to stand down and not push the big red button.
Meanwhile, I started to think.
I noted that if things didn’t change, the Republicans wouldn’t be winning the presidency any time soon. If they couldn’t beat Obama when the economy was in the tank, then there really was no hope. Which meant we are going to end up like Greece, with continuing inflation (which is not only an intentional, government-led annual pay cut on the disgustingly rich, filthy rich, and annoyingly rich, but also on the middle class, poor, destitute, and various and sundry hoboes everywhere), huge debt, stupid taxes, ridiculous health care, Soviet-style redistribution, blah, blah, blah.
I asked myself, like all Republicans did, what could we conservatives do differently? Follow Obama’s example and improve our operations to get the vote out? Build up a conservative La Raza? Do the right thing with the children of illegals? Get someone willing to land more blows on the opposition (Romney could have decimated Obama in debates two and three, but he didn’t; he totally failed to define his opponent).
Maybe it was in the messaging. Maybe what we needed to do was develop something that actually changed minds.
At this point a faint ding sounded in the distance in my mind. A small light bulb suddenly flipped on and illuminated a dark cubby of my mind.
Hadn’t I just read about studies showing how a soap opera in Mexico, a radio play in Tanzania, and sitcoms in America actually changed viewer attitudes and behaviors about literacy, HIV, and abortion? Didn’t I already know about the power of concrete and vivid storytelling? Not sermon-telling, but storytelling.
Why, yes. Yes, I did.
Had I not witnessed the use of storytelling on U.S. television for, what, fifteen years by those wanting to build sympathy for homosexuals? (A good thing, even if I disagree with some of the gay agenda.) And the cheapening of sex by others? (A bad thing.) And the clearly conscious promotion of many other attitudes and beliefs via various media programs?
I determined there was something to this.
If people were going to vote for fiscal responsibility in Washington, something like this was going to have to be done. It wasn’t going to happen in flame wars.
About this same time I was browsing through the recent Radio West programs. I saw one called “The Righteous Mind.” It was an interview of Jonathon Haidt about his new book The Righteous Mind: Why Good People Are Divided by Politics and Religion.
Hey, wasn’t that addressing my question?
The program blurb states: “Monday, our guest is the social psychologist Jonathan Haidt, whose latest book sets out to explain the root causes of the divisions in our society. At the heart of his argument is the idea that the human mind is designed to “do” morality. But when we separate into tribes – say political affiliations or religious denominations – we focus on different moral foundations. Haidt joins us to explain why he says we need the insights of liberals and conservatives to flourish as a nation.”
I listened. And loved the program.
Haidt shared a number of deliciously insightful things about how our mind works and how we choose our affiliations. He shared so many insights that I immediately requested his book at my library. The library ordered a copy for their collection. I, of course, was first in line to read it. I just finished the book.
It’s one of the best books I’ve read all year.
Haidt explains why my sister and I were both baffled by people who voted for the opposition candidate. He explains how human morality works. How our reason does not lead us to make the judgments we do, but instead more often acts like a lawyer to justify our positions to others.
As soon as he explained that I saw how I had done that time and time again. For example, in this election cycle I blamed Obama for the economy. In the Bill Clinton re-election I vigorously argued that the President doesn’t have any effect on the economy and is lying if he takes credit for it. I’m not saying that Obama didn’t do things that might have hampered the recovery, but how did I know his actions exacerbated our problems? What evidence did I really have?
Haidt explains that there are six basic moral bases then points out which ones drive liberals, conservatives, and libertarians, and how we can use that knowledge to disagree more constructively. He provides strong insights into how our reason and intuitions and judgments work, the evolutionary function of our morality, and how our wiring for group affiliation affects it.
I didn’t agree with some of his conclusions. He sometimes takes his points too far. For example, he seems to suggest that people in cities are pre-disposed to be liberal. And that’s why they live there. Um, no. That’s not why they live there. They live in cities because that’s where the jobs are. The agricultural revolution made sure of that, remember? In his effort to explain the smaller biological basis of our beliefs, he also downplays the larger effect our families and groups have. But despite these excesses, he shares so many fresh and exciting ideas that they don’t matter. And he shares them all in such a fun and clear way that I couldn’t help but stay up late a number of nights reading this book.
Do you know how much I wanted to trash Obama to my sister? That Soviet-style central planner. That drunken sailor spender. That choom wagon pot head.
And yet, you and I also know that will never work. I now know better why. Because of Haidt, I think I see a better way. I certainly see how I have done exactly what drives me mad about those who have drunk the opposition candidate’s Kool-aide. I see that I have my own conservative force field that deflects liberal bullets (and perhaps even blinds me to the truth sometimes). And why I need to watch my reason, that cunning lawyer part of my brain, as well as my intuition.
Haidt, a liberal, has given me, a conservative, a great gift. I intend to use it. If you are interested in the two taboo topics of politics or religion, if you enjoyed Malcolm Gladwell’s book Blink or the Heath brother’s Made to Stick, if you want to find a better way to influence than flame wars (as fun as they can sometimes be), then I think you will enjoy the wonders Haidt shares in his fine book.
Don’t just take my word for it. Listen to the Radio West program http://radiowest.kuer.org/post/righteous-mind for a taste of what awaits you.
