Of course, you know him. Because you're cool like that, and nobody tells me anything.
I discovered him through this video about the sampler I use (SP404 mkII), posted by Ricky Tinez, whom I mentioned here. But you also know him, obviously.
Two videos watched several years apart, yet both left a similar lasting impression on me.
The first one, "Journey to the Andromeda Galaxy," made me truly grasp the vastness of the universe. As an engineer, I already knew it was immense... but not to this extent. Take a look, it's a fascinating mini-documentary that completely disrupts our perception of space and time scales.
For the infinitely small, a short video: a protein "walking" on a microtubule. As I speak to you, billions of proteins are calmly walking inside your cells.
As Pascal once said, we find ourselves lost between these two infinities. Good night.
We often forget the people who make our lives easier.
We dwell too long on those who cause us problems.
Those who smooth the path, give us a boost at the right moment, discreetly help when we need it the most, tend to fade from our attention in favor of others: those who create drama, complicate situations, pose a threat. They say a problem solved is one less thing to think about. In doing so, the helping hand can easily be forgotten along with the problem it resolves, while the devil thrives in the complications it creates.
"The brain fades in favor of the world," said Alan Watts. If I perceive the sound of the river and the sunlight, it's because I'm not constantly preoccupied with the existence of my nervous system and the activity of my neurons. The machine disappears in favor of the experience.
In many respects, maternal instinct works in the same way. By silently providing for all the vital needs, the mother allows the child to focus on the world rather than their hunger, thirst, or fear. She herself cannot remain the center of attention for too long, as it can create an attachment that hinders awakening. Her purpose is to fade into the background for the sake of everything else.
Often, when I watch a documentary, I wonder how people who claim to be so affected, so depressed, sometimes so mean, can appear so open, so sincere, and have so much perspective when telling their story. The hysterical one is perfectly calm. The compulsive liar tells the whole truth. Those presented as suffering from intellectual or emotional delays demonstrate an extraordinary clarity and intelligence in their introspection.
It's not staging or manipulation. It's the camera effect.
One day, in the midst of the routine, a director called them and showed interest in their lives. He asked them questions, wanted to know more about them. There seemed to be no cost to this interest, no trap, nothing to give in return. Trust was born. Then, on the day of the interview, a whole team sprang into action: lights were set up, equipment moved, furniture rearranged, and at the right moment, this machinery fell silent to capture their words. The director, the cinematographer, the sound engineer, the assistant—everyone was attentive.
We all seek to prove that we exist.
Not being seen is probably the mother of all fears. On a small scale—the annoyance of being jostled by a stranger in the street—or on a more essential level—the feeling of being ignored by parents, by friends, by the world in general.
During an interview, this fear fades away. The lights, the camera, the attention of the entire team are focused on oneself. There is time. One feels heard. The barriers one had set up to protect oneself, the reflexes one had created to prove that one is there, to attract attention—all of that can be put on hold.
We reveal the remarkable person we would be at every moment if the world paid attention.
In business, of course, it's a quality. We want it everywhere.
In essence, reactivity is the ability to analyze and react to a situation that is outside the scope of what was originally planned. When you've devised a plan that obviously isn't working anymore ("is it normal for the basement to flood like this?"), you have to be able to put aside outdated solutions ("so we don't turn the power back on?") to initiate actions that are more in line with the reality of the problem ("maybe we should tell the kids to come back upstairs?").
So if you're asked this question in a job interview: yes, you're reactive. Thoroughly.
In Eastern philosophy, it's a more mixed quality. Becoming less reactive is even a measure of progress: a Buddhist who is not proud of his behavior would say "Sorry, I was being reactive" or "I was acting from a place of reactivity."
In that context, reactivity is acting immediately on the basis of one's thoughts and emotions. Without buffering, without temporizing, without giving them a chance to evolve.
For Buddhists, thoughts and emotions are transient. Like everything else in this world, psychic contents appear, take their course, and then disappear. The wisdom lies in observing this dance without getting trapped by each passing mood.
Often, Buddhists tell us, we give too much credit to our thoughts. We imagine that every idea is the mental representation of an underlying reality; that every emotion that points inside is the consequence of something that happens outside; that there is a 1:1 ratio between the physical world and our image of it. In this view, it is crucial to act without delay since thoughts are reality - or are, at least, extremely faithful ambassadors of it.
Except that a modicum of introspection quickly puts this idea to shame.
When not artificially entertained, thoughts... pass. Emotions pass. Everything passes. And usually very independently of the reality to which they were thought to be attached.
In fact, the same reality can present itself very differently throughout the day: disturbing in the morning, indifferent at noon, more motivating in the evening. Three perceptions for the same object. But to witness this change (what Buddhists refer to as impermanence or anitya), one must not have acted hastily in the morning. By jumping into action right away (being reactive), we don't give ourselves the chance to see that first emotion disappear in favor of the next one, and then the next one, and so on, revealing the essentially ephemeral nature of our psychic contents.
This is especially important because, as Acharya Prashant writes in Advait in Everyday Life (don't let the cover fool you, this book is a treasure trove): the seed and the fruit of action are one.
In other words: action initiated in anger will only bring more anger. The enterprise built on fear will only lead to more fear. The emotion at the source of the action will be the emotion at the end of the action, no matter how successful the project is.
Think about it: do you know many millionaires who quit business after their first big score? Politicians who don't want more power once they reach the first office? Mafiosi who give up violence once the first rivals are eliminated? Far from neutralizing it, action validates and encourages the original emotion.
Conclusion: action is rarely the right solution for dealing with unwanted emotions.
Transforming the external world will not end this sadness. Accepting or rejecting this deal will not neutralize that anguish. Using verbal or physical violence will not stop this anger. On the contrary: this decision may ultimately exacerbate the negative emotions and problematic thoughts it was supposed to stop.
So what to do?
This is both the paradox and the solution: there is nothing to do. If you don't artificially nurture them with a desire for action, the thoughts arise and disappear on their own, without anything required of you. For, as the other said:
"Whatever has the nature to appear, will also disappear."
Buddha
So: when I'm worried, sad or anxious, first I deal with the emotion - by doing nothing - and then, only then, I act. But often, at this point, action is no longer necessary. Which leaves me time to write all these bullshit articles.
When I find the time, I'll write a recap article about my approach to productivity and how far I've come in this area.
Contrary to what I used to think, productivity is not the art of doing more ("Here, I have a free hour between sports and my cooking class, I'm going to learn the trumpet!"). Productivity is the search for an alignment between who we are - what we believe in, what we want in life, what is important to us - and the way we spend our time every day. Too often, the hours, days and years are consumed by routine, urgency and fatigue. We end up on autopilot in service of a job, the grind, or personal goals that are no longer current.
Finding an overall direction of our own and then ensuring that this direction infuses every minute of every day is what productivity is all about.
But since I don't have time - irony! - I'm going to share this video from Pursuit of Wonder, a channel I used to follow back when I was on youtube a lot. If you skip the beginning sponsors, you'll get a glimpse of a philosophy that I share: the importance of emptiness, of idleness, of boredom.
It's a channel I recommend. I like the topics they choose - philosophical essays rooted in stoicism, Zen and bordering on science fiction - I like the guy's hypnotic voice, I like the simple but clear illustrations.
Other videos that I liked: in a somewhat science fiction genre, there was The Machine. As a moral tale of sorts, there was The Nova Effect. And a bit more like a story: Every person is one choice away from everything changing. Enjoy.
I've decided not to renew my subscription to the New York Times and New Yorker to see how it feels. Not to get stuck in my reading habits and discover new avenues.
So recently, I've found myself a bit lost at certain key moments when I usually pull out my phone. (Lunch break: check. Extended bathroom break: check. Before going to bed: check.) A bit like when I stopped Facebook & Co: what did I do before? What was I reading before my cell phone consumed my life?
I thought about subscribing to free newsletters. Found nothing conclusive.
And then by chance, I stumbled upon a trove.
I stumbled upon (via this Lex Fridman podcast) this incredible article Meditations on Moloch.
Moloch is a biblical monster that Allen Ginsberg used in a famous poem (in English here, in French there, it starts in the second part) to describe what is wrong with the world. Many think he's describing capitalism, but that's just it: in Meditations on Moloch, the author unpacks the poem and shows that there's something much darker hidden behind it.
Moloch is the race to the bottom that everyone is forced to participate in even when they know it's bad for everyone. It is the need to abandon deeply human values to gain competitive advantages that will leave us behind if we don't do what others are doing. It is that force that pushes toward survival ("the state of subsistence," he says) rather than life and that, once this transitional period of abundance is over, will enslave us all.
And in this extremely well-written, very long article, packed with examples and references, he unveils an absolutely Lovecraftian vision of the world in which humans are at the mercy of ancestral monsters that battle each other. And one of them, the one that is probably winning: Moloch.
It made me think a lot about human nature, about our times, and about what lies ahead for us, especially in terms of energy contraction in the age of Artificial Intelligence - one of the monsters that could be working for us or against us.
The article grabbed me so much that I went to look around a bit. The author calls himself Scott Alexander, he's a psychiatrist by trade and...he's written so much! Like hundreds of posts. I read three or four of them at random and was overwhelmed by the detail, the intelligence, the originality.
For example, if you're in the mood and really want to be aware of your mere mortal condition, you can read Who by very slow decay which talks about how doctors deal with the end of life - which is a bit like How doctors die that I wrote about a long time ago and that he mentions. (Coincidentally, what made me click on the article: "Who by very slow decay" is a line from the Leonard Cohen song "Who by Fire" that I discovered last week.)
Even better: when you go to his blog, he's got a long list of links to other authors who keep equally packed blogs: economics, science, rationality, etc... Only geeky subjects that interest me. And his pet peeve, the thread that ties his articles together, is effective altruism which he explains extremely well.
Conclusion: you have to clear your mind to discover something new.
Did you notice how the music from Kubrick's 2001 A Space Odyssey makes everything seem strange? No? Well, I have:
(Or maybe it's just Normandy that's weird?)
The challenge starts like this:
Don't think of elephants!
Bam! Too late. You lost.
You imagined an elephant. Or Dumbo. Or any other pachyderm related to your personal culture. Maybe you imagined an entire herd of them. Shame.
In psychology, this exercise serves to demonstrate that we don't always choose our thoughts. An idea can be planted in your brain without your consent, just as thousands of thoughts are planted every day by those around you, by the media, by the outside world. You have less control over your mind than you think.
But over the past few years, I've been learning to develop an immunity.
Let's be clear: if you talk to me about elephants, I'm going to think about elephants, just like everyone else. But if we had a contest and there was a machine to measure this kind of thing, you'd see that I'm able to stop thinking about it much faster than you.
That's my superpower: not thinking about elephants for too long.
It may sound trivial (dumb?) but this ability allows you me live happier. To have less anxiety, easier social relationships, to be lighter in general. But before I explain why, let me show you how. Because it's very simple.
To stop thinking about elephants, all you have to do is:
I'll explain.
The first step is counterintuitive: if you're trying to stop yourself from thinking about elephants, you examine every thought to make sure it doesn't contain any. You see the paradox: it is the process of checking that sustains the idea. Even if you manage to move on, it's the comparison that brings back the elephant.
To get around this trap, the goal is to accept the next idea whatever it is, without judgment or comparison. Elephant? Fine. Tiger? Car? Cheese? Great. Everyone is welcome. This is what I call "accepting to be interrupted": by removing the anti-pachyderm customs and unconditionally receiving what comes, one restores the natural thread of thought, the famous "stream of consciousness" which, when not held back, never lingers too long on the same subject.
The third step is decisive:
Not celebrating means not verifying if you've succeeded. And therefore not to rejoice in a possible victory. For the same paradox would come into play: to certify this victory, you owould have to compare the current thought with the forbidden thought. And bam: here comes the elephant again.
That is the real meaning of "moving on": no longer maintaining the memory that we avoid. Not comparing the present with the past we no longer want. Accepting to be somewhere else, entirely.
Why does this make life easier? Because what works for elephants works for anxiety, for jealousy, for anger. For example, here's my three-step recipe for getting rid of anxiety:
Again, the last step is key: after the battle, you'd like to rejoice in the death of the dragon. Shout that there was a monster here that you've defeated. But merely pronouncing its name makes it come back. Wherever you look for angst - even to check that it's gone - you always find a little.
Hence the importance of moving on and not looking back.
After that, it all depends on what you're looking for in life: to exist as the Great Dragon Slayer in a world infested with them? Or live as a peaceful nobody in a world where they don't exist? For both are possible, and the choice is entirely up to you.
I'm rediscovering Leonard Cohen: The Partisan, yes, but also "Who by Fire" which speaks to me quite a bit in these times of Zen exploration.
Who by Fire, by Leonard Cohen
I'm impressed with the metric freedom.
Singing Leonard Cohen in the shower isn't as easy as expected: you end up with syllables too many, beats too few, stammering at the end of a sentence, fooled by the apparent simplicity of the performance.
That's the strength of his songs, I find: simplicity. No unnecessary adjectives, no obligatory rhyme, no imposed meter. We're surprised by a phrase that stops sooner than expected ("I took my gun and vanished"), by the unexpected repetition of a word ("Oh the wind, the wind is blowing. Through the grave the wind is blowing") or by the constant change of meter that creates a music within the music, as in "Who by Fire."
This freedom creates surprise. Surprise gives weight to every word.
I've always thought –without thinking too much about it, honestly– that songs were an extension of music. First you learn the guitar, then you figure out what to sing. Listening to Leonard, I understand that song can be an extension of literature or poetry: first you write a text, then you find the music to make it resonate.
When you write, it's impossible to force the reader to pause on a word or perceive the emotional color of a phrase –or else by adding more words that dilute the whole thing. Therefore, a song can be seen as a setting in space (and in time) of a text. Through rhythm and interpretation, each word is given the place and coloring that the author had imagined but that the page alone could not transcribe.
So soon Boulengerie, the album.
I had let myself go a bit so this weekend I planned to get back on track.
Zero sugar: no more pastries, cakes and dark chocolate. Zero alcohol: no going to the Pub - or else for a Perrier. Two real meditation sessions a day: it's true that in Paris, between my son and appointments, I often do this too quickly - we're getting back to it.
Since we're there: no more cell phone. I'm not on Facebook and company anymore but I spend hours on Reddit and Youtube. We're uninstalling! (Even if it means reinstalling later...)
And why stop there? I pushed the vice to the point of doing the following experiment:
For forty-eight hours, when I felt like doing something that wasn't necessary... Well NO! I wasn't doing it. The goal was not to deprive myself or suffer unnecessarily but to study my response to frustration, to see how my brain reacts under pressure, to observe the thoughts and emotions elicited by breaking my habits.
I called it my Stoic experiment.
Recently, I had been wondering about the role of effort, discomfort and discipline. In particular, listening to Chris Williamson's podcast with David Goggins on overcoming one's limits, rereading Marc Aurelius and his Stoic pals, thinking back to some of the Buddha's teachings on the nature of experience, listening again to the presentation by Joseph Goldstein on the end of passions, but also, simply, by taking cues from personalities I admire who seem to handle effort differently.
Also: through the counter-example of loved ones I see sinking under the weight of their addictions.
The theory is this: since no one escapes suffering and discomfort, we must learn to live with it. Better yet: make them allies. We cannot control external circumstances, it is true, but we can control our relationship to them. Therein lies room for progress and a field for experimentation.
First observation of the weekend: it's hard. But brief.
The moment when you deny yourself the cake, the youtube session on the couch or the little beer at the end of the day, this moment is extremely difficult to go through. Everything inside you screams: "But why? We have always done like that!" The weight of habit weighs down and the body rebels: the feeling of hunger becomes more acute, or the fatigue, or the desire to drink. It takes an effort that seems disproportionate to the actual size of the obstacle.
And a minute later... nothing.
The discomfort and difficulty disappeared as quickly as they had come. No trace, no aftereffect. One feels neither better nor worse, as if the obstacle had never existed.
Then, as we let each new urge pass, it becomes easier and easier - all categories combined. You end up wanting less, being less attached to satisfying your desire. Without a goal to reach in the future, we become more available for the present: we receive what is rather than constantly comparing with what should be.
Consequence: we realize that, the rest of the time, we act on the basis of very ephemeral impulses that have no consequence on long-term happiness. Worse: satisfying an urge reinforces the "I want / I get" mechanism which makes it more difficult to resist the next assault. Letting go is worked like a muscle.
Second observation: we find ourselves in novel situations.
When I forbid myself to collapse on the couch for another youtube session, for a moment I find myself a bit lost. What do I do instead? If I don't lie down, do I stand? Do I sit down? But... where? At my desk? On that chair in the corner that is never used? But... WHAT FOR?
A habit is the permission we give ourselves to abandon ourselves body and soul to a familiar activity that asks no questions. As soon as we break the routine, nothing is self-evident and the questions return. Everything becomes new and mysterious. What if I played the xylophone? What if I cleaned the windows? Remind me: what did we do for entertainment before cell phones?
Because let's be honest: a youtube session is twenty minutes minimum - and there are several in a day. Beer is often two beers, and that involves a drive, buddies and talk. As for sugar, it's like food in general: it's a whole ritual that requires shopping, cooking, eating, washing dishes, etc. Often with the radio or TV on.
So it's mathematical: when you stop all that, you have extra time.
Hours, literally.
That's why this weekend, without really realizing it, I started drawing again, made music on my Pocket Operator, visited a nursing home and a cemetery, read a lot more than I usually do, and filled my journal with musings about the meaning of life and the nature of existence.
I recommend.
My song of the moment.
I like it because it has no real chorus, the lyrics are nostalgic and it ends in a climax. It's not recent - 2007 - but I discovered it recently when it came after This is the life which I have always loved. Since then, I listen to it on repeat while on the beach at night.
The common theme of the two songs is... how can I put it? A mythology associated with music and adolescence. Groups, parties, clubs, festivals... When you're young, it's not just a trend or a stage in your life: this is the life. (Ah ah, I translated this from french and I swear I didn't realize I was coming back to the title of the song. Makes sense though.)
Going to see the plays of my actor buddies when I was in acting school disgusted me with broke theater, or even theater altogether. Now, I either go to the Comédie Française to see classics, or screw it: I watch Netflix.
So it was more to spend an evening with buddies that I went along for the ride to see Arthur Viadieu's I Wish I Were Jeff Bezos at the Théâtre de Belleville, with my pal Bob Levasseur. I wasn't expecting much. And it lasted an hour and a half.
It became my favorite play in the whole world.
Everything: the subject, the writing, the direction, the acting of all the actors. I didn't want it to stop. I laughed, I was touched, I learned. It restores confidence in creation. Well done friends.
So don't miss them while they are in Belleville.
EDIT: You missed them the first time around? They're back in Belleville in oct'23!!
Of course, you've known about this song for ages. Because you guys are cool.
But did you know that Dan Klein, the lead singer of The Frightnrs, died of Charcot's disease? I think it's something to listen to a song knowing that:
So yes: it's reggae. But New York reggae, I'm told.
And when you hear the first notes of his sinuous and melancholic voice, I think that, like me, you will be conquered:
Till Then, by The Frightnrs
I spend so much time writing on my computer (novel, screenplay, journal, email, etc.) that I recently started practicing typing. Every word-per-minute I gain will be paid back a hundredfold - that's my evil plan.
During one of these typing sessions, I realized the following phenomenon: I get much better scores when I'm not trying to go fast.
Or more precisely: when I focus solely on accuracy (making zero mistakes by going as slow as necessary), I become both faster (in words per minute) and more accurate (in errors per sentence). In other words: I type faster when I'm taking my time.
Hence my question: in how many areas am I inefficient (or just plain bad) because I try to go too fast?
Besides, why go fast?
It seems there is nothing we can do about it: it's a conditioned reflex. As soon as we master the basics of an activity, the next step is to want to increase the pace. Find the technique, the trick, the gadget that will allow to go faster to improve performance. Above all, don't waste time.
We see this everywhere. In school, the best students are those who shine in limited time. In sports, the medal goes to the fastest. At work, the first one in wins the job or the promotion. It's so ingrained that we don't even think about it anymore.
But recently, I've been leading the resistance.
If you think about it, you realize that there are many activities where speed isn't as necessary as you might imagine. Roughly speaking, unless you're an EMT, firefighter, or a sprinter, we've become accustomed to going too fast in everything.
So the next time you're working, walking, or cleaning, ask yourself this magic question, "Could I do this activity much, much slower?".
This way of looking at things has transformed my daily life.
The idea that I could complete a task "at my own pace" without regard to speed or efficiency makes any activity much more palatable to me. I procrastinate less. I am less anxious about work. I consider without apprehension actions that I would never have thought of undertaking before. And when I notice latent stress, I can often relate it to an underlying performance pressure.
But most importantly, this philosophy has another benefit I didn't expect: slowing down has made me much, much faster at everything.
* For those interested, my routine for typing on the keyboard: I start with keybr where my goal is to make zero mistakes with capitalization and punctuation enabled. then I move on to monkeytype where I need to be over 96% accurate (French 2K with capitalization and quotation marks). Finally, 10fastfingers to go as fast as possible while still staying above 96%.
Change the world, maybe not. But you'll stop bugging me.
At the table, with your family, with your friends: have a blast.
Even if the Nadine de Rothschild's handbook says it's not done (what's the next step: "bonne graille?" remarked a guest), it's part of French culture, part of your freedom of expression and if not, how do you break the ice with all those people you have nothing to say to?
BUT, when you see, sitting on a public bench or on a terrace, someone you don't know whatsoever, that you will never cross paths with again in your life, and who is taking the first bite out of their sandwich while reading the newspaper... Why bother them?
True: it's always nice to connect with another human being.
But other than forcing them to swallow hard only to respond with a half-hearted "thank you" and disappear from their life forever, what did you accomplish? What did you get out of this interaction? Why the cheerfulness in your voice and the self-satisfied little smile as you left on Amsterdam Street? (Those involved will recognize themselves.)
If you're a waiter and I ask you for a coffee, there's no need to offer "And don't you want a little croissant with that?"
No. I don't want anything. Pack up your junk.
If I had wanted something, I would have uttered the corresponding words. I would have articulated "with a croissant" or I would have asked for the breakfast option. I don't need any assistance in appreciating my desires or formulating my wants.
So I know: it's probably your boss who demands it. But let me share a secret with you: there's nothing that requires you to follow dumb orders when your boss isn't standing right behind you. And I refuse to believe that he's replaying the surveillance tapes reading your lips to make sure you're suggesting the right baked goods. (If so, get the hell out.)
What's next? Ordering a glass of water only to have the waiter whisper in your ear "wouldn't you like to go for a quick pee first?". At least I'd find that funny.
Let's end on a positive note.
Whether it's meditation, exercise or finding meaning in your life, start now. Get started today. Right now. Don't even finish this paragraph. Just go for it.
Most importantly, don't wait until you "finish such-and-such a project" or "are in a better place."
There are two reasons not to wait:
For example: I meditate and journal every morning. Sometimes I skip a day or two - it happens. But never - oh, never! - when I have an important or busy day. On the contrary: that's when it counts and when I need all my mental energy.
The mornings after a bender when I'm eating fat while watching Netflix, it doesn't matter as much.
A quick word on how I make my websites because my method is:
If you want to do the same thing, here's how.
In prehistory, I used to make static HTML / CSS sites. And it was fun. I had learned html during an internship at an internet company and I was having a lot of fun making psychedelic sites where everything moved thanks to carefully placed gifs (now I pronounce "jguif" to agree with everyone).
I should have stopped there.
Then I got into Wordpress. And let's be clear: it's very good, Wordpress. A very mature environment, a solid code base, a very active community around an open source schema with paying options for those who want them. Whatever your business, in 90% of the cases, Wordpress is a good solution.
I should have stopped there.
But when it came time to make a website for my company ChezFilms, I wanted more control. Over the aesthetics, the categories, the navigation. I started with a static html site: simple, sober, fast. Important company info, demo movies, an email address and that's it.
And that's when I messed up. I put my finger in the pie.
I thought to myself, "what if I created a tiny database to enter my movies anyway?" After all, with over 60 films under my belt, it made sense to be able to browse projects by client, by craft, by genre, etc. So I linked my site to this database in php.
But to populate this database and update it, I did need an admin console. So I programmed that, still in php: a quick and adapted way to enter movies, teams, projects. The version 1 was only for the movies. For version 2, I expanded to other types of posts: photos, articles, videos, etc.
And before I knew it, I had programmed a new Wordpress.
In much, much, much worse ways, obviously. But - I have to admit - very suitable for my needs. So that if you go to ChezFilms, it's still my code that runs the site. (The only external library I use is twig.) The console also allows you to manage invoices and quotes.
Then... I got tired of it. Since the beginning of the year, as you know, I've been taking a more content-centric than container-centric approach.
So I started over using Drupal.
It's a framework that allows you to build a site from scratch but more in depth than Wordpress. The architecture is extremely scalable so you can do whatever you want with minimal code. And there are ready-made templates. That's what I used to create this version of Boulengerie and that's what I'll use to create the next version of ChezFilms.
And then, I promise: we'll stop here.
Distance walked this morning: 8.9km
Number of children dropped off at daycare: 1
Desire to work: 0
Diary entries: 1231 words (7287 characters)
Money spent on coffee and drinks: €11.40
Number of very important meetings this afternoon: 2
Number of meetings postponed without date: 1
Number of meetings postponed by one hour: 1
Number of times I told myself that in life you really have to plan for nothing, I mean: yeah, you can plan, but the most important thing is to be able to dance with the chaos when nothing goes as planned: 2
Number of women crossed sobbing in front of the Bataclan: 1
Number of times reading the name of an actress I vaguely know on the poster of a hit play made me think about the importance of growing your network to be successful so much that I read the wikipedia article on graph theory to think more deeply about the connections that bind us and imagine how we could automate the process of finding the people who are right for us: 1
Number of times I felt like I was wasting my time and not doing what I should be doing: 4
Number of times I said to myself "it's OK, I do what I do, stop judging": 3
Number of times it helped: 2
Number of phone calls received while writing this post: 1
Number of meeting postponed without date which now have a date: 1
This morning on a scale from 1 to 10: 10, easily.
There are certain external views that we have internalized.
That of a parent, a teacher, a friend, an idol. Someone who mattered to us at some point - recently or in our childhood - and who has become a permanent filter in the way we see the world. So much so that we no longer realize it.
In every new situation, we react for that person.
We imagine what they would find admirable, ridiculous, welcome, inappropriate and act accordingly. We don't know where they are watching us from, but they are watching us, even (and especially) when we are alone. So we pretend to like something, to hate it, to enjoy it, to be offended by it. We act against our instincts to gain approval from someone who isn't there.
We want to control our thoughts. To justify the ideas that don't go the right way. Those that would not please them.
Sometimes, several views merge into an indistinct mass that no longer has a name. A multiform presence that judges us and ends up being part of us. Because that is the danger: when the genesis of this view disappears and all that remains is a permanent judgment whose origin is unknown. We seek to score points in a game without an opponent that we cannot win.
The first remedy is to realize this.
To recognize those moments when the superego denies the instinct, when the heart says something that the brain reflexively opposes. As if the impulse itself were taboo. Where does this appreciation come from? Is it justified? Is it part of a recurring pattern? Do we feel a presence behind it?
Then remember that these views are internal constructions that no longer have any connection with the people who were the source of them. Judgments that we hold between ourselves and ourselves, unanchored in reality, and which we can choose to get rid of without asking permission.
Yes, it's a cliché, but I've recently experienced it in a very personal way.
As of late, I realized that I was much more likely to get angry after long stretches of work on my computer. Because of the bugs? Not at all. Because after a prolonged interaction with a digital slave which reacts to all mouse clicks immediately, which executes my orders without a second thought, without judging, without getting tired, and which also shines by its speed, it's visual harmony and it's round-the-clock availability, I am much less likely to bear the slow pace, the incompetence and the bad faith of everyone else in the real world.
Think about it: when our ancestors were only concerned about the seasons and the land, nothing in their daily lives – nothing! – would respond to their commands in such an immediate way. Everything relied on human, animal or natural energy. Instantaneity didn't exist.
My theory is this: The day man invented the light switch, humanity lost a bit of its cool.
NB: I realize computers also upset my mother but for extactly the opposite reason: complete lack of control of what's going on on the screen. Everytime I see her interact with a computer, it reminds me of this meme:
using microsoft word
moves an imagage 1mm to the left
all text and image shift. four new pages appear. (...) in the distance, sirens.
I stopped watching the first episode of Wednesday half way through. (I tried to go to the end, I promise, I even stopped then resumed it). But I want to take this opportunity to tell you what I really liked about Barry Sonnenfeld's The Addams Family.
First of all, sure: it's a difficult type of story to navigate. It's tricky for a screenwriter. When following a family where everything is upside down, where good is bad, where up is down, and where all the values are reversed, it may be difficult for the viewer to identify with the characters. If they love sadness and failure so much, what is their motivation to overcome the obstacles put by the film on their path?
I thought Sonnenfeld's version had struck a good balance. But also: he managed to completely turn the tide.
Without losing the spirit of the original series, the film had brilliantly portrayed what many psychologists, sociologists and even Zen masters would describe as the perfect family.
Yes, I promise. If you don't believe me, I encourage you to review the film from this angle. I could not list all their virtues but here are a few of them from the top of my head:
It is a united family where several generations live under the same roof; the parents are in love and constantly profess their attachment in public; they are cultured, live among books and speak several languages; they follow their passion without judging others and without worrying about what people think of them; they openly discuss death and cultivate a true relationship with their ancestors to derive part of their identity; they love to laugh, party and they dance extremely well; the education of their children is built around play, dialogue and trust; despite their wealth, their culture is never based on money or possession; and despite everything that sets them appart, they are never afraid of strangers and are extremely inclusive, including with those who are not like them and judge them harshly.
And when their world crumbles around them, they stick together with dignity.
That was the strength and the irony of the film: the real model was the Addams family. Not the Perfect Family judging the rest of the world on their way to church. (But some of them find some redemption thanks to the Addams.)
I didn't expect the same in the Netflix version, of course. But I feel they missed the mark. They took what was secondary in the film to make it the heart of the series. And I don't feel that it works.
Of course, everyone will tell me that the best part is in the end of the first episode which I did not see. Or in the following episodes that I will not watch. But don't worry: I saw Wednesday's dance on the internet. So I didn't miss it all.
Our habits are a boon and a curse.
A boon because we don't have to reinvent the wheel every time. We can rely on the routine we've built for ourselves: the same actions, performed in the same order, produce the same results. We can't put everything into question every morning, can we?
A curse because they imprison us. Once they're in place – for years, sometimes decades – they are extremely difficult to transform. We do what we do because we don't know how to do otherwise.
A habit does not require mental energy. By performing the same actions everyday ans following the same automatisms, we put part of our life on autopilot in order to be available for the rest. But when we want to change – stop smoking, start exercising, stop biting our nails – the effort required to implement this change consumes energy that suddenly becomes unavailable elsewhere. Everything else becomes that much more difficult.
We are the sum of our habits.
Many traits that we think are part of our identity are actually habits that we could change. What psychologists call "the declarative" ("I am like this, I like that, I hate this and that, I always do such and such thing, etc") is often an excuse to justify a way of doing things that we don't have the energy to change.
And a small dose of fatality can be reassuring sometimes. It's easier to say "I am like that" than to try to do something about it.
This link between identity and habit is very well described by James Clear in Atomic Habits. Our culture level today depends our reading habits over the past decade. Our health today is the result of our eating and sports habits over the past ten years. Our finances, the consequence our work habits and savings of the last ten years.
And the person we will become in ten years is the result of the habits we put in place today.
But what I find fascinating (and what has become a source of steady progress in my life) is acknowledging how little we know about the genesis of our habits.
Most of the time, we don't know where our habits come from or how they were born. The older they are, the less we know. And since they control such a large part of our life, it means that, most of the time, we have no clue why we do things. Worse: when we're asked the question, we start making up stories, fabricating excuses : "Well you know, I am like that", mixing murky stories about our past with new beliefs and opinions about society... Everything rather than admitting that we don't know.
Think about it: why do you eat three times a day? Where does your relationship with work, success and failure come from? How did your addictions start? Your passions ? Why do you listen to this music, watch these shows, trust this group over this one?
Where does it all come from? From your parents? From school ? From television? From Work ?
And above all: if you don't know how or why these habits have taken hold, how do you know if they are really good for you?
Not so much resolutions as general principles that I've discovered and explored in the past years:
Happy 2023.
Two very bad reasons not to act.
And yet: the two main causes of our inaction.
To the point where, now, when I feel I'm about to not do something, big or small, I ask myself: "am I giving up out of fear?". If I realize that fear is the only (or main reason), I think twice about it. Or, at least, I try to analyze that fear, make it more apparent so it doesn't control me in the shadow.
And if it isn't fear, I ask myself: "Am I giving up out of comfort?". Is the warmth of my cozy nest preventing me from going on an adventure? The nest in question isn't necessarily materialistic: it can be a comfort of thought, an attachment to some habits, or an excessive satisfaction with what I already have. Here, same treatment: I try to shake myself out of it, or, at least, I try to become aware of it. Once you've seen the trap, it's easier to avoid it.
Fear repels us from the new. Comfort ties us to the status quo.
Let me be clear: there are a thousand perfectly good reasons not to act. Sometimes, not doing something is the real courage. But if those reasons boil down to fear or comfort, it might be worth looking into it a bit further.
You can imagine that a pagan like me is not particularly concerned with the birth of Jesus Christ. As for New Year's Eve on the 31st, I'm too much of a snob to want to celebrate at the same time as everyone else.
Yet, I really like the holidays.
Precisely because (almost) everyone celebrates at the same time. Kind of like Sunday. We agree not to do anything on the same day and everyone chooses how. Parks, walks, vacations, biking, family, Satanist masses.
So little we agree on.
I could tell you the history of how I started meditating and why it changed my life but we'll do that another time. It's a mistake I've often made: when I create a new website or a new notebook, I want to start over from the beginning and explain the genesis of everything. But soon enough, I'm overwhelmed by the task and I give up.
So let's talk about the present.
A notable progress I've noticed in my practice is being able to recognize more and more inner contents as thoughts.
You probably know that meditation is all about taking a step back to realize that a particular anxiety, fear or anger is actually "just a thought" which will pass like a cloud in the sky. This shift in perspective is often enough to get rid of it. When an existential anguish is seen for what it is – a brain fart – it loses its power.
But we don't always succeed.
If some apprehensions are soon recognised for what they are – intellectual constructions – some others are more insidious and harder to let go. As if in the game of "thought spotting", these particular thoughts didn't count. "This is not a thought, it's reality."
These thoughts which won't let themselves be classified as thoughts are often the most intimate. The ones we're most accustomed to, the ones we've been dragging around in our head for years, sometimes since childhood. They're part of us, part of our mental construction and often play a huge role in the way we react to everyday life. They're like a wallpaper glued to reality for so long that it becomes impossible to imagine the world without it.
Progress in meditation, for me, is the process by which we manage to put these contents into question as well.
Day after day, the frontier of consciousness expands and what we thought to be the fabric of reality, the essence of things, fatality (…) turns out to be just another item of our inner world. Just another brain fart.
Until the day when, faced with an anguish so familiar we thought it was inescapable, we find ourselves in the position to utter these magic words:
"That, too, is just a thought."
