Category: Understanding life and the world

Big ideas and analysis related to life and the world. This is where I become philosophical and tend towards guru-ness.

Eat, Pray, Love: Damn You, Elizabeth Gilbert [en]

[fr] J'ai aimé Eat, Pray, Love plus que ce à quoi je m'attendais. Le trip "spiritualité indienne sauce occidentale", je m'en passerais, mais il y a plein de bonnes choses -- outre l'écriture, que j'aime beaucoup. Pour plus de détails... lire l'article complet en anglais!

Damn you, Liz Gilbert. I didn’t want to like your book, but I did. I even like you (well, the narrator you). Yeah, of course I can relate: 30-something heartbroken woman finds peace and love. Which single woman in her mid-thirties wouldn’t?

It annoys me, though, that you found them through faith, because I can’t do that.

I don’t doubt that you had a life-changing experience. I’m not either against religious or spiritual paths journeys per se, as long as they actually serve to grow us as human beings. But like the friends you mention near the end of your India book, I *cannot* believe anymore — believing there is a God or some other power, personal or not, is too incompatible with my worldview. A part of me would *like* to believe, so that I could find the peace you found. But I’d be faking it, right? Because another part of me is *certain* that there is nothing up there — or in there, aside from ourselves.

Bangalore 016 Gandhi Bazaar.jpgTo your credit, you do not proselytize, nor try to tell us that your way is The Only Way, and that we should all be doing it too. You bear witness of your own personal path, which involved a spiritual adventure in an ashram in India. I can appreciate that. But I have trouble relating to that aspect of your journey. (There is the Siddha Yoga issue too, which bothers me, but that I won’t delve into here.)

Also, whether you want it or not, your spiritual journey is coloured by a very specific — and modern — Indian school of thought (and by that, I don’t just mean Siddha Yoga). You acknowledge that, but in some respects you are blind to it, for example when you serve us truths about Indian spirituality or religions in general — you are talking from the inside of a specific religious tradition, not giving us access some kind of general truth. It’s a mistake many make, and I guess I can forgive you for it.

I personally believe that our conversations with God are conversations with ourselves. I believe we are much bigger than we think, and probably much bigger than we can ever know. And I say this not in a “mystical” or “magical” or “supernatural” sense, but in a psychological one. So for me, any religious or spiritual path is no more than a path within and with ourselves, using an exterior force or entity (“God”, “energy”) as a metaphorical proxy for parts or aspects of ourselves which are not readily available to our consciousness. Yes, it’s sometimes a bit complicated to follow for me too.

So what I can relate to, clearly, are your conversations with yourself in your notebook. I know I am a good friend. I’m loyal. I can love to bits. If I open the floodgates, I can love more than is possibly imaginable — just like you say of yourself. But I do not let myself be the beneficiary of so much love and care. “To love oneself,” not in a narcissistic way, but as a good friend or a good parent would. I know this is something I need to work on, I knew it before reading Eat, Pray, Love, but your journey serves as a reminder to me. It’s also reminding me that meditation (even when it’s not a search for God or done as religious practice) has benefits — and that I could use them.

So, thank you, Liz Gilbert. We may differ in our spiritual and life aspirations, but your journey has touched me, and inspired me. I didn’t expect it to. Thank you for the nice surprise. And damn you, because now I can’t look down quite so smugly anymore on those who rave about your book.

Montréal: l'amour passe par l'estomac [fr]

[en] As the editor for ebookers.ch's travel blog, I contribute there regularly. I have cross-posted some of my more personal articles here for safe-keeping.

Cet article a été initialement publié sur le blog de voyage ebookers.ch (voir l’original).

On dit que l’amour passe par l’estomac, pas vrai? Je viens de découvrir que c’est vrai non seulement pour les gens, mais aussi pour les villes. Montréal m’a bien nourrie, et mes réticences initiales ont fait place à un début d’affection.

Ma première poutine, à la Banquise.

Ce qui se cache là-dessous est tout simple. On aime suite à une expérience partagée agréable. Si possible, plus d’une expérience. De façon plus générale, une relation se construit sur un vécu commun. L’amour ou l’attirance sans vécu commun, c’est un amour-projection, l’amour d’un idéal que l’on projette sur l’autre. Un fantasme qui peut servir de point de départ, mais qui fait ensuite place à quelque chose de plus véritable.

Je me rends compte que pour aimer une ville, j’ai besoin d’avoir une relation avec elle — ce qui n’est pas exactement le cas sitôt descendue de l’avion, ou même après trois jours passés dans un hôtel sans mettre les pieds dehors. Et dans le cas de Montréal, je n’avais pas d’amour-projection pour me tirer en avant, pour m’aider à faire ces premiers pas de vécu commun. Un peu normal donc que ça ne m’enchante guère, de passer une semaine avec elle: je ne l’avais pas encore rencontrée.

Tant bien que mal, ça s’est pourtant fait. Que peut-on vivre avec une ville? Du temps en compagnie d’autrui, des promenades dans ses rues, des spectacles et des visites. Mais à un niveau bien plus basique: une bonne bouffe. Il faut bien se nourrir, n’est-ce pas.

Alors au fil des jours, Montréal m’a nourrie. Et pour me nourrir avec elle (en elle?) j’ai dû traverser ses quartiers, prendre son métro, côtoyer ses habitants. Et de bon repas en bon repas, tout doucement, des sentiments plus doux se sont éveillés en moi. Elle n’est pas si mal, pour finir, cette ville. Elle reste une ville, mais elle est sympa.

Etre le lieu de bonnes expériences gastronomiques, pour quelqu’un comme moi qui vit pour manger, c’est déjà un sacré bon point de départ.

Tears Do Heal — But Slowly [en]

[fr] Un retour d'Angleterre un peu difficile, des vagues de chagrin qui vont et viennent depuis trois mois que Bagha m'a quittée. Mais le chagrin, c'est notre réaction à la douleur de la perte. Le sentir, c'est avancer sur le chemin de l'acceptation.

I’ve had a handful of pretty miserable days upon my return from England. Feeling very sad again about Bagha’s death, and some other losses 2010 brought along with it. But this last couple of days have been better, because tears do heal, and spring is here.

Pencil Effect Sunday 26

Three months after Bagha’s death, I’m thankfully not bursting into uncontrollable tears in socially awkward settings anymore. It comes and goes. I might spend a week or ten days with hardly a tear, and then a wave hits and I’m going through stacks of tissues every day. I’m getting used to it.

I know I need to though, so I dive into the pain and grief when it comes — and when it’s appropriate to let myself do so.

When I’m “in”, it feels like my life is over, like it hurts so much that I’ll never get over it. It feels like some part of me will forever refuse to accept that he is dead and gone, refuse to accept that there is nothing I can do about it, and refuse to accept too that nothing will bring him back. It feels like I will never manage to move on and open my heart this much again, like I will be stuck in grief forever.

Of course I know this isn’t true, and outside of these moments of intense grief, I’m living my life pretty normally these days, despite my heavy heart.

But what I’m starting to understand — and understand really because I’m experiencing it — is that these moments of pain where I am so adamantly refusing to accept that Bagha has died, and I now have to live without him, are actually the very thing that is helping me accept it.

When I was told this it made immediate and perfect sense to me. I feel pain and sadness because I am facing the fact Bagha is dead. Even if my reaction (defense mechanism) to that pain is a futile refusal to accept that which is causing the pain (clearly a flavour of denial — “I want my cat back, I don’t want him to be dead”), it remains that if I am feeling that pain it is precisely because I am realizing or accepting a little more that my life from here onwards will be without him, and I have no choice in that matter.

That is why sadness and tears heal: they are the expression of a step forward in accepting a difficult reality. And though it feels sometimes that the steps are small and the road long, I know I am making progress, and that my heart will heal again.

Ken Robinson: Changing Education Paradigms (RSAnimate) [en]

[fr] Excellente explication du pourquoi (et comment) le système éducatif d'aujourd'hui est... coincé. Héritage des Lumières dans un monde qui est aujourd'hui celui de la technologie et de la globalisation: dur, dur!

This is the second RSAnimate video I’ve watched (the first one was Dan Pink) — I love them. The graphics really help you understand and remember what is being said. Watch this one, and listen to Ken Robinson explain the root problem of today’s education — it’s only 10 minutes and you will not regret it.

And when you’re done, do what I’m going to do right now: head over to the RSA YouTube channel and watch other videos.

Brené Brown on Vulnerability (TEDx Talk) [en]

[fr] Excellente présentation de Brené Brown sur la vulnerabilité et l'importance de celle-ci pour notre capacité à entrer en relation. A regarder absolument (il y a des sous-titres français si vous en avez besoin).

After a pretty unproductive day watching cars spawn and unhacking my blog, I settled down to watch a few videos I had stuck in Boxee over the last months.

First I watched Alain de Botton, who said very eloquently what I’ve been thinking for a few years now: if anyone can be anything, and we owe our successes to ourselves, we are also fully responsible for our failures, and that responsibility is crushing us and our self-esteem. I then went on to David Blaine, who held his breath for 17 minutes — more scary than inspiring for me (kids, don’t try this at home in the bathtub).

Finally, I listened to Brené Brown’s talk on vulnerability and connexion. It hit close to home, and I took some notes, which I’ll share with you in continuation with my mad crazy live-blogged notes of the Lift conference. But do listen to Brené directly:

In order for connection to happen, we need to let ourselves be seen.

Shame: if people see or know this thing about me, then I am not worthy of connexion.

The only thing that separates people who have a strong sense of worthiness from those who struggle to feel worthy of love and belonging is that those who have this strong sense of worthiness — they believe they are worthy of love and belonging. That’s the only difference.

The only thing that keeps us from connexion is our fear that we’re not worthy of connexion.

Courage to be imperfect.

Compassion to be kind to oneself and then to others.

Connexion as a result of authenticity. Let go of who you should be to be who you are.

AND vulnerability. They fully embraced it. They believed that what made them vulnerable made them beautiful. The willingness to say “I love you first”. The willingness to invest in a relationship which may or may not work out.

We numb vulnerability. But you can’t selectively numb the emotions you want, the difficult feelings. You numb everything else too.

We make everything that is uncertain certain. (Control.) We perfect. Including our children.

You’re imperfect, you’re wired for struggle, you’re worthy of love and belonging.

We pretend.

Let ourselves be seen. Love with our whole heart, even though there’s no guarantee. Practice gratitude and joy. Believe that we’re enough.

Thanks, Brené. You can follow Brené on Twitter or check out her blog.

La théorie de la vitre brisée [fr]

[en] I write a weekly column for Les Quotidiennes, which I republish here on CTTS for safekeeping.

Chroniques du monde connecté: cet article a été initialement publié dans Les Quotidiennes (voir l’original).

Me voici de retour de Paris (semaine chargée entre la conférence LeWeb’10 et un bon gros rhume) en ayant, pour la première fois depuis que j’ai commencé à écrire cette chronique, sauté une semaine, comme on dit. Ça m’était déjà arrivé de publier ma chronique en retard, même très en retard, mais pas du tout, jamais.

Ça m’inspire une réflexion sur le thème de la théorie de la vitre brisée (broken windows theory). Cette théorie, dont certains aspects sont controversés, suggère qu’une vitre brisée en attire une autre. Laissez fleurir les graffitis sur votre façade, chacun se sentira libre de graffiter. Nettoyez dès le premier tag, et il y a nettement plus de chances que l’on respect la blancheur immaculée de votre mur.

Je connais bien ce phénomène à l’échelle personnelle pour ce qui est du rangement. Une chambre propre a tendance à rester propre. On prend les dix secondes qu’il faut pour remettre un objet à sa place. Mais si c’est le chenit, à quoi bon? Le désordre s’accumule.

Les bonnes résolutions souffrent aussi de ce même phénomène: on décide d’aller au fitness tous les jours, on tient pendant trois semaines, et on rate un jour. Après, c’est la débandade.

Alors, j’ai fait l’impasse sur ma chronique la semaine dernière. Est-ce le début d’un publication par intermittence?

Pas forcément. Je crois personnellement qu’il est crucial de développer les compétences permettant de résister à cette force entropique, née un peu paradoxalement peut-être du perfectionnisme.

Continuer sur sa lancée, même s’il y a des ratés. Ne pas se laisser décourager par les ratures. Accepter l’imperfection.

Brain Downtime [en]

[fr] On a besoin de débrancher son cerveau -- avez-vous assez l'occasion de le faire?

My brain needs downtime. So does yours.

We’ve managed to make our lives so efficient that we’ve removed all the downtime that used to be part of them. We can work on the train, listen to podcasts while we clean and cook, why, we even read on our iPhones as we walk through town.

Sleeping just doesn’t cut it. Of course, we need sleep (that’s also body-downtime), but we need awake-downtime.

What’s your downtime?

For me, reading fiction and watching TV series qualify as brain downtime. My conscious mind is immersed in fiction, though I’m sure a lot is going on in the background. Sailing and judo qualify to, as does riding my exercise bike if I’m listening to music rather than a podcast.

When I’m on the bus and reading FML or flicking idly through my Twitter stream, is that brain downtime?

When I’m walking in the mountains, drinking a cup of tea on my balcony, watching the sun set, taking a bath, or meditating, that’s definitely brain downtime.

Do you get enough brain downtime?

L'effet chat [fr]

[en] I write a weekly column for Les Quotidiennes, which I republish here on CTTS for safekeeping.

Chroniques du monde connecté: cet article a été initialement publié dans Les Quotidiennes (voir l’original).

Une chose toute simple relevant pour moi du bon sens mais qui n’est pas évidente aux yeux de tous est ce que j’ai nommé “l’effet chat”, à défaut d’un meilleur mot.

Derrière l’écran, sans présence physique, les défenses psychologiques et l’anxiété sociale tombent. On ose plus, on est désinhibé. Sur le versant positif, on se livre plus, parlant de choses parfois trop difficiles pour le face-à-face ou le téléphone, expérimentant des choses nouvelles (oser dire “non” par exemple) que l’on pourra par la suite, petit à petit, transférer dans nos relations hors ligne.

Le revers de la médaille, c’est l’agressivité exacerbée, les escalades d’insultes, la malhonnêteté — qui profitent de s’infiltrer dans la brèche ouverte par l’écran protecteur. On n’a pas besoin de prononcer les mots non plus: les écrire les rend plus faciles.

Dans l’ensemble je vois l’effet chat comme quelque chose de positif. Un peu comme dans un espace protégé (groupe de partage confidentiel par exemple) les timides en nous osent un peu plus être eux sans tant de peurs qui les encombrent. Beaucoup de gens un peu mal à l’aise socialement (et ça ne se voit pas toujours!) apprécient les échanges en ligne, qui leur permettent de se sentir plus eux-mêmes, plus authentiques.

L’effet chat mène aussi à un sentiment d’intimité avec l’autre qui s’installe souvent très rapidement (d’où d’ailleurs la facilité de tomber amoureux en ligne, aussi étonnant que cela puisse paraître à celui ou celle qui n’en a jamais fait l’expérience). Le problème, c’est que ce sentiment d’intimité est dû en bonne partie au moyen de communication plutôt qu’à la personne en face. D’où certaines douches froides, surtout chez les chatteurs inexpérimentés, lors de la première rencontre en chair et en os.

Heureusement, avec l’expérience et le temps viennent la sagesse, et on apprend à rendre au chat ce qui est au chat, et au chatteur ce qui est au chatteur. Les rencontres humaines peuvent être belles, qu’elles se fassent au travers d’un clavier ou autour d’un café.

Less Extrovert Than I Thought [en]

[fr] J'ai réalisé qu'en fait je n'étais pas aussi extravertie que je l'imaginais. Cette "méconnaissance de moi", si je puis dire, m'amène à me surcharger un peu côté vie sociale (et vie professionnelle "avec gens"). En fait, j'ai aussi pas mal besoin de temps pour moi. Je vais être plus vigilante à l'avenir avec ça!

A couple of weeks back I found an MBTI questionnaire and took it. The result itself is not that surprising (ENTJ) — but what did catch my attention was that the test only evaluated me to be “slightly extrovert”.

I’ve long known that I do need alone time and can become over-socialized, but this test result has suddenly made me realize that I’m just probably not as extrovert as I viewed myself to be. I always thought that I was very extrovert, but come to think of it, it’s just not true.

I love being around people, but I do need a healthy dose of alone time if I’m going to keep my balance.

Now that I’ve put my finger on it, I’m going to pay more attention to making sure I have enough time to myself.

Face Blindness [en]

[fr] Un épisode de Radiolab qui parle de "face blindness", littéralement "être aveugle aux visages". J'ai un peu de ça (je ne reconnais pas les gens, mais je me souviens d'eux immédiatement quand ils me donnent leur nom). Episode intéressant à écouter.

I wrote some time ago about being bad with faces. I remember people, I just have trouble with faces. I’ve been paying more attention to this recently, and realized that I actually do “recognize” people — I know that I know them — but cannot “place” them or “identify” them based on their face alone.

This morning I listened to the Radiolab podcast “Strangers in the Mirror“, about face blindness (I love Radiolab).

Oliver Sacks, the famous neuroscientist and author, can’t recognize faces. Neither can Chuck Close, the great artist known for his enormous paintings of … that’s right, faces.

Oliver and Chuck–both born with the condition known as Face Blindness–have spent their lives decoding who is saying hello to them. You can sit down with either man, talk to him for an hour, and if he sees you again just fifteen minutes later, he will have no idea who you are. (Unless you have a very squeaky voice or happen to be wearing the same odd purple hat.)

Go and listen to it.

Like everything, face blindness is not all-or-nothing. I guess I have some degree of it (not as bad as Chuck or Oliver, though). My strategy is to tell people upfront. I’m also very good with names, so that helps compensate. I find myself using some of the strategies they talk about: looking for some distinctive feature in the face, making a mental note of eye colour or eyebrow shape, teeth. Some detail I can hang onto.

I’ve realized that I can in fact “recognize” or place people based on their faces, but it takes me a lot of time and energy and concentration to do so. Sometimes hours or days after I’ve seen the person. I’ll bump into somebody at the supermarket, I know I know the person, we say hi, but I have no clue who the person is. I’ll keep thinking about it, try and visualise the person (face, voice, movement, expressions) and see what context appears in my mind.

When watching movies, I’m often crap at differentiating actors that look similar. “Is this somebody we already know, or is it a new character?” Or if I see an actor in another movie/series, it can take me a long time to be certain I’ve recognized them. For example, Lisa Edelstein (who plays Dr. Cuddy in House) was playing the role of a doctor (!) in an episode of Without a Trace that I was watching a week or two ago. It took me a good 10-15 minutes to be sure this character was not the same as the in-house FBI psychiatrist (also a woman roughly the same age with long dark hair), another 10-15 to be certain I’d seen her before and realize she was Cuddy.

So, is my “problem” in the face blindness range or is it in the “link the face with the person” one? I wonder if there are any tests available for this kind of thing. I’m curious.