Words that sing

The idea of a learning curve suggests smooth and inexorable progress in acquiring new skills or knowledge… and completely misses out all the dips and plateaux and sudden leaps that tend to happen in real life.

Last night I was dancing tango at a milonga (i.e. a tango-dancing party ), and got a bit demoralised because I didn’t seem able to do anything I’d been so proud of myself for learning lately. I had started to feel I was, though not an expert, past the beginner stage and able to dance a creditable tango. But for some reason it just wasn’t working. Despite trying to follow, I kept misreading what I was being asked to do and either pausing or heading off in the wrong direction. And I was frustrated, and felt fairly sure my partner was frustrated too.

It was made harder by the fact that I felt very conspicuous - the first dance I did I was one of three couples in a room of where about 50 people were watching, and the other dancers were all really really good! I’m not normally self-conscious, but I’m at such an early stage with tango that it did get to me a bit. The fact that I knew very few men at the milonga and so didn’t get invited to dance very often didn’t help much either!

But I’m getting better at this learning lark, and recognised a dip when I saw one. And so I refused to let myself be discouraged, and compared my abilities to previous times when I’d felt bad about my skills, rather than the times when I’d briefly felt I knew what I was doing.

On the way home I deliberately expressed my frustration about not dancing as well as I had hoped to. Which was useful, because people explained that dancing at a milonga is often harder than dancing in a class because there is so much less space, which means that the leader often ends up having to do unexpected things (e.g. stopping to wait until there’s space) that wouldn’t be necessary in a class. Which helped too - clearly dancing like that in milongas is a slightly different skill I need to work on!

And finally, the eternal advice “get back on the horse again”.

So enough blogging - I’m off to another milonga tonight!

As a distinctly arts-oriented child growing up in a household of physics teachers (my brother also now has a physics degree!), mealtimes could be challenging.

I particularly remember the time when I burnt my tongue on the pineapple on my pizza, which led to an interrogation about why the pineapple burnt my tongue when the ham didn’t (for the curious uninformed, it has to do with the high specific heat capacity of water.) I think my parents must also have expressed sympathy, but I don’t remember that quite so clearly….

This was certainly not the only time that I was asked to think through the physics of everyday life, when I’d probably rather have been writing a novel or playing music. Though I certainly enjoyed doing experiments… like making hydrogen in the sink with my mum (to my dad’s horror when he discovered us in the middle of this potentially explosive activity!), or dying flowers two colours by dipping split stems in different dyes. I loved playing with my microscope and my chemistry set.

As it happened I didn’t study science beyond the age of 18. I was a creative wordsmith, but a careless mathematician and rather incompetent experimenter. I doubt I’d have contributed much to the world as a scientist.

But my upbringing did made me think about the physical world that I live in, and see how it could be understood as the product of simple rules. And it gives a richness to my life that I value. Every time I whizz round a corner on my bike, the exhilaration is enhanced by the dim memory having once worked out, using in a simple diagram of forces, the relationship between the vehicle’s speed, the radius of the curve and the angle of tilt needed to turn without skidding.

I’m not sure I could reconstruct that calculation now - my trigonometry is distinctly rusty with lack of use. But that’s not the point. I know it’s possible. I have a rough feeling for how it works. If I needed to, I could go and look it up. More generally I also learnt a respect for experimentation - for the ideas of repeatability, exclusion of observer bias and significance. (I’m not sure even at my most mathematically skilled I was any good at calculating significance, but at least I understand why it’s important!)

It’s sad that not everyone has the same exposure to this kind of basic science in its most practical and immediate form.  It’s even sadder when people seem to be proud of their ignorance of basic science and maths. As if it’s unreasonably, wilfully difficult, designed to exclude all but eggheads.

I’m not ashamed not to be a scientist. Not everyone can be, after all. I only have one life, and science was never the thing I was best at. But I have a respect and interest in the way the world works, and a basic grasp on some of the excellent tools that humanity has developed for finding out.

As a child I respected science, but was rather scornful about sport. I was fairly incompetent at throwing and catching, and succumbed to the natural human tendency to despise disciplines I’m bad at. Which was a shame, as for many years it blocked me from discovering that actually I could learn to be good at physical skills. While I’m no great athlete, I can enjoy performing at my level and watching others perform at higher levels.

Most people are brought up in a way that reverses these attitudes to sport and science. They’re happy to be an interested, informed spectator of sport, and respect the expert participants. They don’t feel inadequate because they can’t participate on the same level - and they celebrate rather than denigrate the effort and talent required to perform at that level. Their childhood games of five-a-side or ballet classes gave them a feeling for physical activity, which helps them to understand and appreciate what it meant to be an athlete.

It’s never going to be possible to raise a nation of scientists. But it would make a huge difference if we could raise a nation of people whose attitude to science is similar to their attitude to sport - so that even if they’re not experts, they can understand and appreciate expertise. 

For me the key to achieving that is focussing on the practical, simple questions that confront us every day. Giving people the opportunity to find out that investigating the world around them is entirely possible. And often fun as well as satisfying. That science is not something to be learnt but something to be done - an act of investigation, not of accepting on authority. Using the principles of experimentation to investigate everyday issues is a great way to develop confidence that these same principles will also work when applied to more complex and less everyday issues.

And if nothing less, we may have a population less prone to burning their tongues on unexpectedly hot chunks of pineapple….

(A wordle cloud based on the top 100 words in this post)

I realise that I’ve been writing a lot of posts that in some way relate to the truth - to the struggle to see what is true rather than what we wish to be true, and to be honest with ourselves and with others. I thought it might be a good idea to explore what I feel about truth.

I am in the slightly odd position of being deeply committed to an end goal of personal and spiritual growth (tolerance, honesty, compassion, freedom from fear etc) that is similar in some ways to that which is praised by religions. But at the same time I find the supernaturalism of religious and new-age beliefs fundamentally alien, and their approach to key issues like truth and fear unhelpful at best. Which doesn’t leave me much in the way of reliable guidance for the personal growth that I am seeking. Or indeed any help with defining what exactly I aspire to.

But let me try anyway. One of the things I am seeking is a resilience in the face of the problems that life throws at me - not a permanent happiness, but an emotional buoyancy. A state of mind that deals with problems and obstacles with the minimum of pain and misery. (This ideal owes quite a bit to the non-supernatural elements of buddhism)

Part of that process is about overcoming fear, which is often both unnecessary and counterproductive, and replacing it with a confidence and acceptance. And another part of it is about truth - seeing things the way they are. Because I’m curious to know the truth, and because I feel that honesty, integrity and openness are all valuable characteristics of the person I aspire to be. And because if our beliefs lead us to make false predictions about the world, we’re in danger of being unnecessarily prepared for the problems that arise, or of dealing with them inappropriately.

I also value truthfulness as a great tool for identifying and overcoming fear. From my experience, it’s almost always fear that makes me reluctant to see or speak the truth, so working to overcome that reluctance, or at least defy it, can help me to overcome that fear.

For me the work of moving away from fear and towards truth is a vital part of my life at present.

When I feel I am tempted to lie, I try to ask myself, what am I afraid of? When I feel afraid, I ask myself, why am I afraid, and what is the worst that can happen? And I try to decide whether the fear is of something real, or something imaginary. If, as mostly happens, it’s imaginary, I try to do exactly that thing that I’m afraid of. I don’t always manage it - it’s amazing how easily the mind dreams up excuses why it’s not necessary on this occasion! But step by step I am working on my fears.

And similarly I am trying to eradicate the prejudices, biases and fears that are the biggest obstacles to seeing what is real. I keep trying to remember that, although I believe that every one of my beliefs is correct, is is, in practice, certain that I believe something that is not true. Which doesn’t help me to identify which one it is, but it’s a useful principle. (It would be great to be able to swill out my brain with some sort of epistemological plaque detector, which would stain the areas of false belief so that they could be removed with energetic brushing). But it’s a useful way to counter the pride of having to be right about everything all the time.

It’s also helpful to remember all the different ways in which we can be wrong about things, and how difficult it is to really get at the truth. I’ve recently watched several youtube clips of Derren Brown (e.g. this one) which demonstrate very neatly how easy we can be to fool, and how misleading our own experiences can be. (I recently tried dowsing with a pendulum, and it’s quite shocking how strongly it appears that an invisible external force is involved, even when you know intellectually that it’s nothing of the kind!) It seems that humans work in such a way that we arrive at beliefs easily and quickly, and change our minds reluctantly and slowly - I can’t help feeling the reverse would be more useful!

One of the most inspiring websites I know is The World Question Center, which includes a collection of short accounts from 165 people about issues on which they changed their minds. Some of the changes are really significant, others smaller. But what I find inspiring is the courage with which they have been prepared to put their beliefs to the test and say “I was wrong”. And in reading their accounts, I don’t think the less of them for being wrong - I think more of them for admitting it. Which encourages me to try to feel the same about the scary idea of being wrong.

One of the most important ways in which I’ve changed my mind over recent years is this: what people believe really does matter, because it affects their behaviour, and a “live and let live” relativistic attitude to the beliefs of others is dangerous. It also cuts us off from putting our own views to the test - indeed, as I argued in a previous post, I think one of the attractions of relativism is that we don’t have to put our own views on the line and accept that we might be wrong.

For me discussion is a crucial way of putting our beliefs to the test and learning more about ourselves and others. But for a discussion to be real, all parties have to be willing to discover that they’re wrong. And that is a rare attitude for people to have, particularly on issues that matter to them. Pride and fear all come into play and bias our view of the evidence despite our best efforts. Which, yes, brings me back to fear - indeed it seems hard to separate them!

Moving towards truth and away from fear is a daily challenge, and some days I feel I’ve made no progress at all. It’s a hard slog. But it seems to me that it’s a fascinating and important journey.

Though, I could be wrong, I’m afraid….

I’ve been thinking a lot about respect and liking at the moment (an inevitable consequence of having to say no to what people want on such a regular basis as part of my job!)

Needing to be liked is often given a bad name - and I can see that when taken to extremes it is deeply off-putting. But on another level - perhaps it would be better to say “wanting” to be liked - I think it is a legitimate part of being human. For me one of the interesting aspects of my desire for respect and liking is that it’s reciprocal - it’s not that I want everyone to like and respect me, but I do want the people I like to like me, and the people I respect to respect me. For me, the opposite of insecurity isn’t an insensitive not-giving-a-damn-what-other-people-think, but a confident ability to be open to what other people think. It’s not about rejecting others’ critical opinions automatically, but being able to consider their merits and decide whether their opinions are fair and unfair. Why should it bother me if someone whose judgements are poorly founded makes negative judgements about me?

My break-up with my ex gave me a very dramatic illustration of this principle in action. While we were going out, my trust and respect for him made me very open to his opinions, and very hurt when he said negative things. With hindsight I should have realised more quickly that much of what he was saying was wrong, but because I took him seriously, I took what he said seriously. And I wanted to believe that he was still the person that I had fallen in love with, so I wanted to believe what he said. But - far too slowly - doubts started to creep in.

He criticised me a lot for needing approval - indeed he seemed to view our last conversation as a desperate attempt on my part to get his approval and get him back. But for me it was much more about trying to understand what was really going on, and what had gone wrong. The more I examined what had happened between us, the less I saw anything about what I was, or what I had done, which might have justified his rejection and hurtful comments. I wanted to know why someone I liked and respected didn’t return those feelings. Something had to give.

As it happened, that conversation was a vital part of my recovery, not because he gave his approval, but because his reactions showed me how little he deserved the respect and trust that I had placed in him. It was very clear that the judgements he was making were based on extremely dodgy ground (”energy reading” shaped by fear and projection) and had almost nothing to do with me. Even gentle questioning of his judgments about my behaviour was met with defensiveness and ill-founded accusations.

This was not something I could respect, and certainly someone who was so confused was not someone I could trust. And as my respect for him faded, the pain of being rejected faded too. I still felt - still feel - love and affection for him, because I know the difficult past and present cultish manipulation that made him behave as he did. But without trust and respect, affection and compassion are not sufficient as a basis for a friendship, still less a romantic relationship.

Of course it’s important not to have a “sour grapes” approach, and decide that we don’t respect people purely because they don’t respect us. But at the same time, if someone has negative opinions about us, how seriously we take that surely has to depend on whether those opinions are justified.

It strikes me that, when it comes to others’ opinions, a little knowledge is a dangerous thing. Suspecting that other people have negative views about me will never be comfortable, and the natural response is to shy away. But I am coming to the conclusion that trying to really understand their opinion of me will be easier to deal with, even if that opinion is negative. Because if I understand why they think the way they do, I can either accept it as real and work on it, or reject it as wrong. I’ve always been open to other people’s thinking, and this has been a source of positive personal growth for me. But I’ve sometimes been too open, and been hurt by unjustified opinions.

Having confidence in myself, and a clear knowledge of who I am, is vital both for daring to enter into that process and surviving it. The sense I have developed, over the last year, that who I am is fundamentally acceptable, including my flaws, is a vital part of that confidence and knowledge.

Because I have learnt to accept who I am, I can be open to experiences and opinions that will show me where the gaps may be.

Because I have a sense of what I am like, I can filter what I hear, and reject opinions that don’t deserve consideration before they can damage me.

I’m getting quite a bit of practice at the moment in dealing with a situation where I have to do things that people don’t like, and accept the likelihood that they won’t like me as a result. And it’s not easy to deal with - I keep feeling that there must be some way to do what has to be done and still be liked. But I am in a difficult situation, and being fundamentally likable and worthy of respect does not mean that everyone will always see that.

I am holding to several different things at this point. Perhaps most importantly this sense of being a fundamentally acceptable and likable person. But also a recognition of my own limitations - that there are some aspects of the situation that no ingenuity or good will can change. A recognition that people’s perception of me will be coloured by many of these things that are beyond my control. And an attempt to be consistent and principled in those aspects that I can control - above all, keeping my word, even if that means being discouraging until I’m sure that encouragement is justified.

It’s not always easy to protect myself from being affected by this difficult situation, and I’m devoting quite a lot of time to internal maintenance and care. But mostly it’s working - and a large part of that my success is being able to build on the lessons I’ve learnt from the break-up. Yet another example of how much stronger I have become as a result of something that seemed so destructive at the time…

For me dancing is a special pleasure because it’s something I never expected to be good at. So every achievement and improvement gives me real delight.

I wasn’t particularly well coordinated as a child, and I was utterly hopeless at school discos because I didn’t like the music, didn’t know the standard steps and got embarassingly distracted by the flashing lights… It wasn’t until I was about 17 that I had the opportunity to learn latin dancing, and started to realise that this was actually rather fun! As inevitable with any new skill, I wasn’t very good to start off with (one partner crushingly described my dancing style as rather childish)… but I grew to enjoy it.

At university I carried on with salsa, and added ceilidh dancing to my repertoire. And I found I could cope well enough at discos - here what really helped was being able to be reasonably uninhibited without needing to drink so much alcohol that I became unstable… But also my musical abilities helped me to respond to music and its rhythms - and in turn I learnt a new way of appreciating music.

One big block for me was believing that I lacked a memory for dance steps. But a very good friend of mine, whose ability to learn and remember new dances seemed utterly miraculous, pointed out that this was a skill that she had learnt - and so gave me the confidence that I could too. (She also gave me some useful general pointers - e.g. avoiding excessive bum-wiggling!) The same friend separately encouraged me to become involved in martial arts, which also contributed through improving my balance, posture, coordination and stamina.

So now, rather to my surprise, I consider myself a reasonably good dancer. I’ll never be as good as someone who has danced all their life, and specialised in dancing. But in different ways I’ve picked up a lot of transferable skills (I apologise for the rather cliched term, but it is appropriate in this case!) that mean that I now consider dancing as something I enjoy and do reasonably well.

Even more strangely, people sometimes ask me if I’m a dancer, or tell me that I move like a dancer in daily life - I think that’s probably because between singing and martial arts I have fairly good posture. (I should say that not everyone shares this view - the friend I mentioned above often tells me I let my feet down like an elephant when I walk around!)

Anyway, the most important thing is that I love dancing! I love the social and interactive element, I love the music and the sheer physicality and sensuality of dancing. (I’m very much into tango at the moment where these elements are all strong!). I also love the way I can sometimes find myself in a space of flow where it’s just my body, my partner and the music… and my normally busy mind calms down and stops chattering. A very physical and social meditation.

There’s a huge difference between doing something that you’ve always done well, and doing something that you once couldn’t do, but have learnt. It’s so satisfying to be aware of progress! Dancing has taught me a lot about how to learn - about being patient, about accepting and building on your mistakes, about not apologising or being self-conscious about being a beginner. About taking pride not in achievement or performing flawlessly, but in willingness to learn and explore and discover.

For me, dancing is also a reminder that the limitations that used to be part of my self image - judgements like “I’m not a good dancer and I never will be” - are just temporary. If I choose, I can challenge those limitations, redefine my self image, and grow.

And so every time I dance, I am reminded that changing and learning are not only possible, but deeply satisfying!

(Photo - Tango intimacy, uploaded to Flickr by Métempsycose)

I find I tend to panic a bit when I notice someone is attracted to me. It often happens that I notice their attractedness well before I’ve decided whether I am attracted to them, or indeed paid any attention to their attractiveness. I met someone recently who, it’s clear, fancies me quite a bit, but although I could repeat a lot of what he said (in half an hour’s conversation), I could give only the haziest description of what he looks like! (I don’t think it’s too much of a stereotype to say that it’s rather rarer for a man to speak to a woman without noticing the way she looks than vice versa!). Anyway, the effect is that I often feel I’m under pressure to catch up and decide!

It’s more unease than panic, I suppose - a feeling that the situation is out of my control, and that I have a responsibility to make my mind up straight away about what I want so as to avoid giving the wrong signals and leading someone on. And yet I know that for many women being desired is something that gives them great pleasure and affirmation. And some women, consciously or unconsciously, use this power to manipulate and control men.

I’ve never wanted that sort of power, and I’ve never sought out that sort of affirmation. I was a bit of a late developer in the dating game, as I’ve mostly had other priorities that seemed more interesting (and deep down less scary!) than pursuing relationships when I was quite happily and busily single! So being desired was always rather unfamiliar ground, and kept taking me by surprise.

It didn’t help that most of the guys I noticed looking at me that way often showed it in a dog-like, rather hopeless, sad and unassertive devotion, which (sorry guys), just wasn’t at all attractive to me and made me feel guilty about not giving them the attention they clearly craved. (On the other hand, when I noticed I was attracted to someone before I had an idea how they felt, I was often so nervous about whether the feelings were returned that I was completely unable to read their behaviour at all!)

Having said that, I’m getting better… the first time I realised someone was attracted to me (I must have been about 17) I panicked and avoided the poor guy (with whom I’d been pursuing a relaxed and (from my side) entirely asexual friendship) for about a month. I’ve come a long way since then, and have navigated serious relationships and casual flirtations with increasing confidence. And once I’ve confirmed that desire is mutual, I am very happily uninhibited. But still I catch myself, as a few days ago, feeling a bit uneasy when I notice someone fancies me, before I’ve made my mind up about them.

But this time, having identified my reaction, I am working to change it. To accept, and to enjoy, the fact of my attractiveness. To accept that me just being who I am, physically and in personality, is going to be attractive to people. (I’d never claim to be drop-dead gorgeous in the conventional sense, but I have gradually overcome the false modesty and lack of confidence that stopped me being aware that I am, in my way, very attractive to particular men).

I am starting to feel convinced that, if someone is attracted to me, it’s not something I’m doing to them. So if they end up experiencing confusion or frustration or disappointment, that’s not my responsibility. Nor do I need to change the way I want to behave naturally - e.g. dancing with less energy and joy - just because of the effect it might have on people watching me. There’s a world of difference between setting out deliberately to seduce someone, which I feel does confer some responsiblity for feelings that have been provoked consciously, and happening to seduce someone by being myself.

So most of the time, if someone is attracted to me, it’s just their reaction to the person I am. And the fact that they are attracted to me does not reduce my control over the situation. My feeling of being powerless comes because I feel I should be responsible for controlling their feelings. But if I stop feeling responsible for that, I can see that the fact that they are attracted to me does give me a degree of power.

Not that I wish to be manipulative or abuse that power. But actually I think being aware of it, and accepting it, will make me kinder and less likely to confuse or hurt people. I hope that through accepting my attractiveness I will find it easier to relax, be myself, and react naturally and frankly, rather than being driven by fears. As with so many things, it is often fear that makes us behave most cruelly towards others - and I’m sure I hurt and confused the poor guy who first shocked me by being attractive to me. I suspect using attractiveness to manipulate often results from fear in one way or another.

Alongside that acceptance I need to develop another - an acceptance of my own desire or lack of desire or simply haven’t-made-my-mind-up-yet. That any of these feelings are appropriate and acceptable, regardless of whether the other person desires me or not.

I have a feeling life might be more interesting with this new perspective…

( Photo - Pretty Woman Walking Down the street, originally uploaded by QTR at Flickr.

When I watch you, I see the games you play
I see the hopes you are afraid to dream
The fears that drive you to push and stray

When I watch you, I see your false smiles beam
I see the defensiveness in your eyes
And I also see your frail humanity gleam

When I watch you, my smile implies
That naivety underlies my respect
And yet I am not unaware of your lies

When I watch you, I know what is in prospect
The pain that others’ choices have forced on you
And yet I cannot give you all that you expect

When I watch you, I feel affection and concern, it’s true -
But still I am watchful of the flaws deep in you.

This is inspired by a prompt at readwritepoem - to write a poem based around the line “when I watch you”. For once, this isn’t a poem in any way about my ex!

After waiting to be rescued for far too many years
I feel it’s time to investigate alternative careers
I had such high expectations of the arrival of my knight
But when he finally got here, well he’s just not quite…
As shiny as I was expecting. Actually rather a feeble wreck:
One sneeze from the dragon and he was stretched out on the deck
So I picked myself up, and, though I’m not especially brave,
I triggered a neat little rockfall that sealed the dragon into its cave.
I could try to wake the knight up - I feel I ought at least to learn his name
But he’d probably find my rescuing him a source of deepest shame.
So instead I’ll head off into the world, leaving him lying here
I suspect that I will cope quite well with any perils that may appear.
And really, not much happens when you’re part of a dragon’s hoard
Whatever dangers are out there, it must be better than being bored!

This was inspired by the picture above, the monday mural at poefusion - the image is by pokermedic at photobucket.

I must confess that at the back of my mind I had the brilliantly funny poem “Not my best side” by Ursula A Fanthorpe, which I thoroughly recommend.

Spanish is a delightful language, and has some fantastic words that I really feel we need in English, such as this one which I discovered today:

Espeluznar (verb)

1 - (hair) to cause to stand on end
2 - to terrify
3 - to ruffle

Not to mention:

Espeluznarse (reflexive verb)

1 - (hair) to stand on end
2 - to be terrified
3 - to become ruffled

I will now be looking out for a suitable context to drop this word into conversation - suggestions welcome!

It’s become increasingly clear to me that my job, which would have been difficult anyway, has been made much more difficult by the way things were done before I came along. On one level the challenges should feel really stressful - but I am still feeling remarkably calm and cheerful.

Partly it’s because these mistakes are not my fault, and anything that I can do to rectify them is therefore positive. It’s also clear that, though I am relatively inexperienced in this job, my inexperience isn’t really a problem - that my experience in other areas and willingness to ask questions and find things out, is enough for me to do at least as good a job as my predecessor.

But it’s more than that - I seem to have got a lot better at having realistic expectations of myself, and allowing myself space to make mistakes and be uncertain. I’m also noticeably better than in previous stressful situations at self-maintenance and stress-management.

It is so encouraging to notice these changes, and know that I have learnt from previous experience, including - indeed often particularly - from the most difficult and painful experiences.

Few things are more disheartening than feeling that you’ve made the same mistake again, or fallen into an old pattern. Few things are more encouraging than comparing past and present and seeing clearly how far you have come.