going on six, and will

the burden(ˈbərdn) of the will

By Henry H. Walker

I feel the heavy(ˈhevē) weight,
the burden he carries(ˈkarē),
he sees how the world needs to be,
for he wants it to be that way,
and only if it’s the way he wants is the world right,

the toys must be just so,
and the “just so” changes every moment
as the creator(krēˈātər) in him manifests(ˈmanəˌfest),
his parents must be there for him
just the way he feels they should be,
for what he wants is how it should be,
a video game: joy when it goes well,
indignation(ˌindigˈnāSHən) when it doesn’t,
a call for a science(ˈsīəns) museum(myo͞oˈzēəm) trip,
and today he loses(lo͞oz) the discussion,
though he revisits(rēˈvizit) his desire time after time for hours,
anger at his father for multi-tasking,
talking to us while playing with him,
a physical expression(ikˈspreSHən) of his anger close to his surface(ˈsərfis),

it is hard to understand the world as another sees it,
to realize the world can be seen
as differently shaped from how you see it,
and then to walk forward
in a constant balancing(ˈbaləns) act
between assertiveness(əˈsərdivnəs) and responsiveness(rəˈspänsivnəs),

the will seeks a way to use us as tool,
the challenge is to find a way
that is the best compromise(ˈkämprəˌmīz) for all
to gain(gān) the most and lose(lo͞oz) the least(lēst),
for will to be the tool and not the master.

https://henryspoetry.blogspot.com/2018/10/going-on-six-and-will.html

Science(ˈsīəns) takes a hard look at the Instagram-ization(ī) of fitness.

By Rainesford Stauffer

One minute, you’re soaked(sōkt) in sweat(swet), silently repeating to yourself whatever vaguely(ˈvāglē) inspirational(ˌinspəˈrāSHənl) mantra(ˈmantrə,ˈmän-) you use to push through each set’s last few agonizing(ˈagəˌnīziNG) reps(rep). (“Go hard,” “Finish strong,” and “You can get pizza(ˈpētsə) after this” are favorites(ˈfāv(ə)rət).) The next, you’re hustling(ˈhəsəl) out of the background of a fellow(ˈfelō) gym(jim)-goer’s workout selfie(ˈselfē)—if you aren’t taking one yourself to document your own hard work first.

“I have clients give me their phones—they’re like, ‘Could you take a quick picture of me?’” said Kenny Santucci(santyo͝ochi), the general manager at Solace(ˈsälis) New York. (Solace, not coincidentally(kōinsəˈden(t)əlē), appears on a list of the “Most Instagramable Workouts in NYC”). “We’re in the middle of class, I’ve got fifteen other people here, and you want me to take a picture of you!?”

The scenario(səˈne(ə)rēˌō) Santucci details is common in 2018, when everything from brunches(brənCH) to crunches(krənCH) can have the insufferable(inˈsəf(ə)rəbəl) “do it for the ‘gram(gram)” slogan(ˈslōgən) slapped on it. “It’s become more of a visual(ˈviZHo͞oəl) game than ever before,” Santucci says. “Instagram specifically has made the fitness culture evolve(iˈvälv) a lot faster.” In a recent poll(pōl) 43% of respondents(riˈspändənt) reported taking photos or videos at the gym, and 27% of those were selfies. And if you were wondering whether the practice based on gender, Santucci says that in his experience, men and women are equally(ˈēkwəlē) likely to stop, wipe(wīp) sweat(swet), pose(pōz), and snap(snap).

The gym selfie, experts say, is more than just a visual brag(brag) or photo-driven pep(pep) talk. Social media is fundamentally(ˌfəndəˈmentl-ē) changing the way we work out—and the way we see ourselves in the mirror(ˈmirər). In a recent study, professors Tricia(trishə) Burke(bərk) and Stephen(ˈstēvən) Rains found that individuals(ˌindəˈvijəwəl) who saw more workout posts in their feeds were more likely to feel concerned about their own bodies, especially if the posts came from a person they felt looked similar(ˈsimələr) to them.

…
http://www.gutenberg.org/files/219/219-h/219-h.htm

Build Fitness(ˈfitnəs) With Mild(mīld) Interval(ˈin(t)ərvəl) Training(ˈtrāniNG)

By Steve Pavlina

If you haven’t exercised(ˈeksərˌsīz) in a long time and have gotten out of shape(SHāp), mild interval training is a good way to rebuild endurance(enˈd(y)o͝orəns) and cardiovascular(ˌkärdēōˈvaskyələr) fitness without killing yourself.

Let’s say your exercise of choice is running. Maybe you can only manage to run a few minutes before your heart feels like it’s about to explode(ikˈsplōd) out of your chest and you’re forced to stop for fear of passing out. It’s going to take you a while to build up to 30 minutes if you simply(ˈsimplē) run your maximum(ˈmaksəməm) each day and then stop.

So instead of that, try running 1 minute then walking 1 minute, repeating this cycle for as long as you can. You’ll find that you can go much further without overtaxing(ˌōvərˈtaks) your heart and muscles(ˈməsəl). Maybe you can even go 10-20 minutes your first time. If run 1 walk 1 is too hard, try run 1 walk 2 or run 2 walk 3. Experiment to see what intervals work best for you. If your heart is still racing(ˈrāsiNG) after the walking interval, increase the walking interval and/or reduce the running interval.

I recommend(ˌrekəˈmend) you aim(ām) for an initial(iˈniSHəl) interval that allows you to do the most amount of running in a 25 minute period(ˈpi(ə)rēəd). If you can only manage run 1 walk 4, that’s fine. Take a week to experiment with different intervals if you need to, but find one that allows you to go 25 minutes total (even if it’s run 1 walk 24). You should be physically(ˈfizikəl) challenged(ˈCHalənjd) but not to the point of feeling nauseous(ˈnôSHəs) or faint(fānt).

Once you’re able to go 25 minutes, gradually(ˈgrajo͞oəlē) increase the running time and reduce the walking time. Aim to reach run 1 walk 1 for 25 minutes for an initial goal. Be patient as it may take you a few weeks to get there if you’re starting with a longer walking interval.

…
https://www.stevepavlina.com/blog/2005/04/build-fitness-with-mild-interval-training/

In Praise(prāz) of Mediocrity(ˌmēdēˈäkrətē)

The pursuit(pərˈso͞ot) of excellence(ˈeksələns) has infiltrated(inˈfil-,ˈinfilˌtrāt) and corrupted(kəˈrəpt) the world of leisure(ˈleZHər,ˈlēZHər).

By Tim Wu

I’m a little surprised(sə(r)ˈprīzd) by how many people tell me they have no hobbies(ˈhäbē). It may seem a small thing, but — at the risk of sounding grandiose(ˈgrandēˌōs,ˌgrandēˈōs) — I see it as a sign(sīn) of a civilization(ˌsivələˈzāSHən) in decline(diˈklīn). The idea of leisure, after all, is a hard-won achievement; it presupposes(ˌprēsəˈpōz) that we have overcome the exigencies(igˈzijənsē,ˈeksijənsē) of brute(bro͞ot) survival(sərˈvīvəl). Yet here in the United States, the wealthiest(ˈwelTHē) country in history, we seem to have forgotten the importance(imˈpôrtns) of doing things solely(ˈsōl(l)ē) because we enjoy them.

Yes, I know: We are all so very busy. Between work and family and social obligations(ˌäbliˈgāSHən
), where are we supposed to find the time?

But there’s a deeper reason, I’ve come to think, that so many people don’t have hobbies: We’re afraid(əˈfrād) of being bad at them. Or rather, we are intimidated(inˈtimiˌdāt
) by the expectation(ˌekspekˈtāSHən) — itself a hallmark(ˈhôlˌmärk) of our intensely(inˈtenslē) public, performative(pərˈfôrmətiv) age — that we must actually be skilled at what we do in our free time. Our “hobbies,” if that’s even the word for them anymore, have become too serious(ˈsi(ə)rēəs), too demanding(diˈmandiNG), too much an occasion(əˈkāZHən) to become anxious(ˈaNG(k)SHəs) about whether you are really the person you claim(klām) to be.

If you’re a jogger(ˈjäɡər), it is no longer enough to cruise(kro͞oz) around the block; you’re training for the next marathon(ˈmarəˌTHän). If you’re a painter(ˈpāntər), you are no longer passing a pleasant(ˈplezənt) afternoon, just you, your watercolors and your water lilies(ˈlilē); you are trying to land a gallery(ˈgalərē) show or at least garner(ˈgärnər) a respectable(riˈspektəbəl) social media following. When your identity(īˈdentitē) is linked to your hobby — you’re a yogi(ˈyōgē), a surfer, a rock climber(ˈklīmər) — you’d better be good at it, or else who are you?

…
https://www.nytimes.com/2018/09/29/opinion/sunday/in-praise-of-mediocrity.html

How My Mom Makes Everyone Around Her Better

By Leo Babauta

My mom just left our house after visiting for a week, and once again, our lives were changed.

She visits us about twice a year, and every time she does, she leaves us with a new hobby(ˈhäbē), a new passion(ˈpaSHən), a better version of ourselves.

My mom (Shannon(ˈSHanən) Murphy(mərfi))) makes everyone around her better, and yet most people whose lives she changes don’t even realize(ˈrē(ə)ˌlīz) it.

So what’s her secret(ˈsēkrit)? I honestly(ˈänəstlē) wish I knew her special recipe(ˈresəˌpē), but I’m going to do my best to share what I know with all of you. It’s amazing, honestly.

…

I could go on and on with examples, but I’d like to distill(disˈtil) the magic(ˈmajik) of my mom into a handful of ideas that I draw inspiration(ˌinspəˈrāSHən) from:

She inspires(inˈspīr) others to become interested in what she’s interested in, because of her excitement(ikˈsītmənt). Things just sound interesting, when she’s really interested.

She is genuinely(ˈjenyo͞oənlē) interested in what you have to say, and you feel like a good person, an interesting person, when she listens.

She encourages(inˈkərij) you to grow, to do something beyond your normal, without making you feel like you’re not already great(grāt). She’s encouraging without making you feel bad about yourself.

She’s accepting of who you are, not critical(ˈkritikəl). She’s kind. You don’t hear her badmouthing people, only feeling compassionate(kəmˈpaSHənət) for their difficulties.

She’s always looking to help people, without concern(kənˈsərn) about herself. That’s not to say she doesn’t look out for herself — she does — but it seems like she wants to help without needing to be repaid(rēˈpā), nor given credit(ˈkredit).

I’m not saying my mom is perfect. No one is, no one is a saint(sānt). But these are traits(trāt) in her that I admire(ədˈmī(ə)r), and constantly(ˈkänstəntlē) strive(strīv) to imitate. I don’t know if I’ll ever reach those heights, but I’m grateful(ˈgrātfəl) for her example. Thank you, mom.

https://zenhabits.net/mom/

You Should Be Eating Pie for Breakfast(ˈbrekfəst)

Meet the chefs(SHef) who believe the sweet or savory(ˈsāv(ə)rē) pastry(ˈpāstrē) makes an ideal(īˈdē(ə)l) morning meal(mēl)

By Daniela(daniələ) Galarza(gələrzə)

From the moment it opens at 8 a.m. every day, customers flood(fləd) Chicago’s(-ˈkägō,SHiˈkôgō) Bang Bang Pie shop, drawn(drôn) in by the smell of browned(broun) butter(ˈbətər) and toasted(tōst) sugar. On a recent morning, peach(pēCH) raspberry(-b(ə)rē,ˈrazˌberē) was moving fast, as were slices(slīs) of apple spiked(spīk) with cider(ˈsīdər) and baked(bākt) in a graham(gram,ˈgrāəm) flour(ˈflou(ə)r) crust(krəst). One sharply(ˈSHärplē) dressed woman had the genius(ˈjēnyəs) idea to add a fried egg to her chicken pot(pät) pie. “It’s like brunch(brənCH), to-go,” she said to the smiling cashier(kaˈSHi(ə)r). The next person in line opted(äpt) for a slice(slīs) of key lime(līm) as the clock struck(strək) 8:43 a.m.

Pie for breakfast is nothing new. Prior(ˈprīər) to the 1600s, people in Medieval(ˌmed(ē)ˈēvəl,ˌmid-,ˌmēd-) Europe(ˈyo͝orəp) rarely(ˈre(ə)rlē) ate a meal before noon; depending on their socio-economic(ˈsoʊsioʊ ˌekəˈnämik,ˌēkə-) status, that first meal could have included meat, fish, or fruit (and often all three combined(ˈkämˌbīn)) baked into a crust. The go-to cookbook of the day was The Forme(fôrm) of Cury, according to Michael Symons’s(sīmans) A History of Cooks and Cooking, which describes several types of pie, or “pye,” including ones made with pork or rabbit, and a special version made from several kinds of white fish in addition to dates and raisins(ˈrāzən). Mincemeat(ˈminsˌmēt) pie and Cornish(ˈkôrniSH) pasties(ˈpastē) evolved(iˈvälv) out of this tradition.

Colonists(ˈkälənist) brought(brôt) wheat((h)wēt
) to the Americas, and by the 1800s it flourished(ˈfləriSH) in states like Pennsylvania(ˌpensəlˈvānyə), where German settlers(ˈsetl-ər,ˈsetlər) began making flaky(ˈflākē) crusts(krəst) filled with apples — another European import. Bakers(ˈbākər) in Massachusetts(ˌmasəˈCHo͞osits) were especially creative with pie fillings. In the mid-1700s, with lobsters(ˈläbstər) practically(ˈpraktik(ə)lē) leaping(lēp) out of the oceans(ˈōSHən), cooks pulled the sweet meat out of its shell, chopped(CHäp) it and mixed(mikst) it with “the Yolk(yōk) of an Egg, a little Flour, Nutmeg(ˈnətˌmeg), Pepper(ˈpepər) and Salt” to make meatballs, which were then stuffed into a pie crust along with oysters(ˈoistər) and anchovies(anˈCHōvē,ˈanˌCHōvē), according to American Food: The Gastronomic(ˌɡastrəˈnämik) Story.

…
https://www.eater.com/2018/9/27/17905030/eat-pie-for-breakfast-apple-chess-pumpkin-sister-pie-bang-bang-pie-shop-theorita

Doesn’t feel like work (or I’ve forgotten)

By Derek Sivers

We’ve all heard(hərd) that the career we should be pursuing is the one that doesn’t feel like work.

Someone today asked me, “But of course there are times when you really have to do a lot of hard work to get a new business going, right?”

I thought about it for a long time.

I can’t remember anything, in my last 20 years of running my own business, that really felt like hard work!

Was it hard work finding band members, scheduling(-jəl,ˈskejo͞ol) rehearsals(riˈhərsəl), or trying to book gigs(gig)? Not really. It felt like an extension of the creative process of making music.

Was it hard work building then launching my website, and answering customer service emails? Not really. It was good to hear what people were thinking, what problems they were having, and felt great to solve them all.

I could see how these things would seem like hard work, but when it’s your company or you’re so filled with love for what you’re doing, it doesn’t feel like work.

Then I realized a good comparison(kəmˈparəsən):

Cleaning someone else’s baby feels like work.

Cleaning your own baby doesn’t feel like work.

On the other hand, they say women often remember childbirth(ˈCHīldˌbərTH) as less painful than it really was. So maybe my brain(brān) is wired(wīrd) to forget the hard work, otherwise I’d never do it again.

https://sivers.org/notwork

A Letter(ˈletər) From Winston Churchill’s(ˈCHərˌCHil, ˈCHərCHˌhil) Disappointed(ˌdisəˈpointid) Mother

Winston Churchill was 15 years old and a student at Harrow(ˈharō) School when his mother, Jennie Churchill, wrote him the following letter from London on June(jo͞on) 12(twelv), 1890.

Dearest(ˈdi(ə)rist) winston,

… I have much to say to you, I’m afraid(əˈfrād) not of a pleasant(ˈplezənt) nature. You know darling how I hate(hāt) to find fault with you, but I can’t help myself this time … Your report which I enclose(enˈklōz) is as you will see a very bad one. You work in such a fitful(ˈfitfəl) inharmonious(ˌinhärˈmōnēəs) way, that you are bound to come out last—look at your place in the form! Yr(year or years.) father & I are both more disappointed than we can say, that you are not able to go up for yr preliminary(priˈliməˌnerē) exam(igˈzam): I daresay(ˈderˌsā) you have 1000 excuses for not doing so—but there the fact remains …

Dearest(ˈdi(ə)rist) Winston you make me very unhappy—I had built up such hopes about you & felt so proud of you—& now all is gone. My only consolation(ˌkänsəˈlāSHən) is that your conduct is good and you are an affectionate(əˈfekSHənit) son—but your work is an insult(inˈsəlt) to your intelligence(inˈtelijəns). If you would only trace(trās) out a plan of action for yourself & carry it out & be determined(diˈtərmind) to do so—I am sure you could accomplish(əˈkämpliSH) anything you wished. It is that thoughtlessness of yours which is your greatest enemy(ˈenəmē) …

I will say no more now—but Winston you are old enough to see how serious this is to you—& how the next year or two & the use you make of them, will affect(əˈfekt,ˈafekt) your whole life—stop & think it out for yourself & take a good pull(po͝ol) before it is too late. You know dearest boy that I will always help you all I can.

Your loving but distressed(disˈtrest)
Mother

https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2018/10/winston-churchill-mother-letter/568285/

Why won’t he sleep? A parent’s lament(ləˈment)

By Breann Kirincich

In junior(ˈjo͞onyər) high, I was a serious(ˈsi(ə)rēəs) night owl(oul). I proudly(ˈproudlē) taped the mantra(ˈmantrə,ˈmän-) “You Can Sleep When You’re 30” to my bedroom wall.

Fast forward and, contrary(ˈkäntrerē) to my adolescent(ˌadlˈesənt) foreboding(fôrˈbōdiNG), I am getting less sleep than ever before. When I was pregnant(ˈpregnənt), people warned me I would never sleep again, but I brushed(brəSHt) these harbingers(ˈhärbənjər) aside. As it turns out, sleep deprivation(ˌdeprəˈvāSHən) is something no one can prepare you for until you experience it yourself.

My beautiful, angelic(anˈjelik) son would transform into a tiny(ˈtīnē), bald(bôld), 14-pound dictator(ˈdikˌtātər) at the first sign(sīn) of nightfall. He flatly(ˈflatlē) refused to sleep anywhere but on me or my husband, so for the first few weeks we slept in shifts. I logged many a night with a baby on my chest(CHest), catching up on all 10 seasons of RuPaul’s Drag Race(rās). As for naps(nap), our petit(ˈpetē) prince(prins) would only doze(dōz) in his stroller(ˈstrōlər), so I pounded the pavement(ˈpāvmənt) for hours each day; rain, shine(SHīn), even once during a full-fledged(flejd) ice storm. I couldn’t even rest at crosswalks(ˈkrôsˌwôk), lest(lest) the slightest pause(pôz) in motion rouse(rouz) him from his precious(ˈpreSHəs) slumber(ˈsləmbər). I once woke up with my arm extended(ikˈstendid), pushing a phantom(ˈfantəm) stroller in my dreams.

A friend took one look at the bags under my eyes and suggested I hire(hīr) a night nurse(nərs). I initially(iˈniSHəlē) balked(bôk) at the astronomical(ˌastrəˈnämikəl) expense(ikˈspens); who was I, Angelina Jolie? But after searching high and low for the TV remote one day only to find it in the refrigerator(riˈfrijəˌrātər), I dipped into my savings and gave it a shot. Annette was with us for three nights, and during that time, she not only got my son to sleep in his bassinet(ˌbasəˈnet), she also taught us a lot about baby care and routine(ro͞oˈtēn). I was able to get seven hours of uninterrupted(ˌənˌintəˈrəptid) sleep a night and I felt like I could conquer(ˈkäNGkər) the world.

…
https://www.theglobeandmail.com/life/first-person/article-why-wont-he-sleep-a-parents-lament/

When Animals(ˈanəməl) Take the Night Shift

They’d rather eat in the dark than risk(risk) coming across one of us.

By William(ˈwilyəm) Brennan

Several years ago, Kaitlyn(kātələn) Gaynor and her colleagues(ˈkälˌēg) noticed an intriguing(inˈtrēgiNG
) pattern. It started with data(ˈdatə,ˈdātə) from Tanzania(ˌtanzəˈnēə), where motion-detecting(diˈtekt) cameras(ˈkam(ə)rə) captured a trend(trend): Antelope(ˈantlˌōp) that had once roamed(rōm) primarily(prīˈme(ə)rəlē) in the day were now roving(ˈrōviNG) more at night. As Gaynor(gānər), a doctoral(ˈdäktərəl) candidate(-dit,ˈkandiˌdāt) at UC Berkeley(ˈbərklē), and her fellow(ˈfelō) researchers discussed(dəˈskəs) the change, they realized that a similar(ˈsimələr) nocturnal(näkˈtərnl) shift had occurred in many other mammals(ˈmaməl), too. In Mozambique(ˌmōzamˈbēk), elephants(ˈeləfənt) had begun traveling on roads in the dark, when they were relatively(ˈrelətivlē) free of humans, and staying in the forest(ˈfär-,ˈfôrəst) by day; in Nepal(-ˈpôl,nəˈpäl), tigers were moving about more often by moonlight(ˈmo͞onˌlīt), while people slept; in Poland(ˈpōlənd), boars(bôr) living in a national park split their days evenly between waking and sleeping, while urban(ˈərbən)-dwelling(ˈdweliNG) boars were awake almost exclusively(ikˈsklo͞osəvlē) at night. Once the nocturnal(näkˈtərnl) phenomenon(,fəˈnäməˌnän) “was on our radar(ˈrāˌdär),” Gaynor told me recently, “we started seeing it, really, everywhere.” Everywhere is no exaggeration(igˌzajəˈrāSHən): In a paper published in June(jo͞on), Gaynor and her co-authors offered evidence(ˈevədəns) of nocturnal shifts in dozens of species(-SHēz,ˈspēsēz) that come into regular contact with humans, on every continent(ˈkäntnənt) but Antarctica(-ˈärtikə,antˈärktikə). Gaynor suspects(səˈspekt) that these behavioral changes are bringing with them rapid(ˈrapid) evolutionary(ˌevəˈlo͞oSHəˌnerē) change as well.

…
https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2018/10/up-all-night/568291/