Werd I/O

This weekend, while I was out for a walk, my Apple Watch sent me a notification - actually buzzed my arm to let me know - that I was unfit. I had two reactions: firstly, how rude, and secondly, how bad did the situation have to be for it to proactively tell me?

I spent the first half of last year running every day and eating well. I lost a bunch of weight, but most importantly, I felt better: I had more energy and was sleeping better. I’d worked hard on it, and it hadn’t been easy. But then, halfway through the year, my mother died and I gave myself a pass. I haven’t paid real attention to my health since then.

Until now. I weighed myself and took my blood pressure, and discovered that both were higher than they’d been in a very long time. I already know that my ability to exercise and recover is far worse than it used to be.

There’s only so long I can let trauma be a pass for taking care of myself. So I’m starting clean: re-starting the running, re-starting the food regime. Not because I want to get thinner, but because I want to be healthy, because I want to feel better, and because I want to stick around.

I’m not mad at myself for letting myself get back to this state. I know why it happened. Nevertheless, now is the time to do something.

As annoying as that buzz on my arm was: I’m grateful that it gave me the push to take a further look.

The other day I posed the question:

I've started two end-user open source social platforms: Elgg and Known, from the web2 desktop and mobile era respectively. Imagine I was going to create an open source community platform today. What would be different about it?

As you might imagine, I expected the answers to be broadly related to web3 and crypto: perhaps a decentralized platform where each community is interrelated and identity and reputation can be transferred.

But I really liked this reply from Colin Walker:

Everything on social networks is too easy — that's why I used to like Google+ when it launched. There was no API, no way to share something to the network from outside, everything had to be an intentional act.

There’s something really powerful about the idea of anti-virulence. Instead of optimizing around a platform’s K-Factor, we should make the conversation just hard enough to require a thoughtful reply.

The indieweb - blogging in general, actually - has this characteristic. You can’t just knock off a blog post in 10 seconds without time for your brain to kick in. It requires thought, but at the same time, you’re not writing an essay for the New Yorker. In other words, it requires just enough thought. It’s definitely the medium for me.

I wonder what a community platform that was centered around long-form thought would look like? Medium, perhaps? Or something else?

It should be obvious, but: Neil Young and Joni Mitchell’s decision to remove their content from Spotify to protest Joe Rogan’s ongoing covid disinformation is not censorship under the First Amendment or any other measure.

The First Amendment protects us from government censorship. It does not guarantee freedom from content filtering by any other entity. Spotify is not the government. A school board banning books about the Holocaust is a First Amendment issue; musicians threatening to leave a private service because of the content it hosts on one of its shows is not.

Every artist has the right to choose who and what their work is associated with. Spotify is, in effect, a private marketplace (albeit for attention). It’s completely reasonable for an artist to remove their goods from a marketplace because they don’t want to be associated with other goods made available there.

Young said exactly this in a statement on Friday:

“I support free speech. I have never been in favor of censorship. Private companies have the right to choose what they profit from, just as I can choose not to have my music support a platform that disseminates harmful information. I am happy and proud to stand in solidarity with the front line health care workers who risk their lives every day to help others.”

We all have a similar right to do what we want with our attention and our subscription dollars. If we enjoy Joe Rogan, great: we can choose to continue subscribing to Spotify. If we don’t, and consider the company’s support of misinformation that leads to unnecessary deaths to be immoral, we may wish to consider spending our money elsewhere.

If Spotify was to decide that it no longer wants to spread lies that kill people to bolster its profits, it still wouldn’t be a free speech issue. Rogan is free to keep publishing his work on the web and doubtless would find another avenue. The government is not telling him he can’t be heard, and most of his audience would likely follow him anywhere.

Activism and boycotts are a perfectly reasonable part of democratic society. You could argue that they’re a necessary part of a free market: businesses and customers have the right to make these decisions. To equate not wanting to financially support a toxic talk show with censorship is disingenuous at best.

It’s no secret that I’ve been pretty stressed out.

Someone I trust said that my writing lately has given the impression of “a man on the edge”. I think of it slightly differently - there’s a lot going on and I feel like I’m dealing with it in good humor - but I accept the idea and the intent behind it.

One of the most useful concepts I’ve been introduced to over the last couple of years is the Yerkes-Dodson curve. I’m not a psychologist, so please excuse my layman’s explanation: the idea is that we’re at peak performance when we have an optimal level of sensory arousal. Too little arousal and we’re maybe increasing our level of interest, but not in the zone yet; too much and we burn out quickly.

In contexts where there’s a lot going on, you’re already further along the curve. Because you’re nearer to burnout as a starting position, cognitive input that might ordinarily be okay has the potential to push you over the edge.

It’s a reductive explanation - again, I’m far from a psychologist - but I’ve found that it works for me. Applying this kind of structure to the process by which it all becomes too much has allowed me to think about what those cognitive inputs are, and to build in systems of control to keep myself on the straight and narrow.

I first put this to the test a couple of years ago. My mother’s condition had worsened, and I was feeling utterly overwhelmed, which was deeply affecting my performance at work.

At the same time, I’d become addicted to some game on my phone, and was traveling to and from New York a lot. I’d pick up my phone on the plane and play the game for an hour or two; depending on the day, I might play it a little in my AirBnb after work. There were a lot of notifications involved: lots of input.

In the scheme of things, the game was just a distraction. The big input was my mother’s terminally declining health, which was something that was always going to affect me psychologically, and wasn’t something I could or wanted to cut out of my life. (I can’t imagine what this would even have looked like.) Nonetheless, deleting the game dramatically improved my mental state. I was surprised, but it was undeniable: I was calmer, performed better at work, showed up more effectively for my family, and even had better sleep.

Abstracting this idea has resulted in a rudimentary system of control for my own stress. If I’m finding myself going over the edge - as happened this last week - I take stock of my inputs and reduce them. There are two more systemic solutions: find ways to become a more efficient processor of inputs (physical and mental exercise both help here), and create contexts for myself where there are fewer inputs overall.

Social media is one set of inputs. I’m going to try and take a break over the next month: removing all apps and logging myself out of the websites. It’s not that social media is bad, as such: it’s just one major set of cognitive inputs that can be removed. On the other hand, I find writing and blogging to be closer to a meditative process, so I’ll keep doing that. If I feel better at the end of the month, I’ll come back to social; otherwise I’ll leave it a little longer.

The same principle applies at work. The more chaotic and un-streamlined a process, the more cognitive inputs it produces, and the more stressed a team will be. Structure (or at least, the right amount of it) leads to predictability. Similarly, the more a process depends on ongoing meetings, the more inputs you receive during the workday. Zoom fatigue is both real and related to this principle: each meeting an input, each unscheduled meeting even more so. The more calm, reflective time I have, the more optimal my performance will be - which is, of course, different for everyone, because we all start at different places on the stress curve.

We’re still in the middle of a modern plague. Everyone’s stress level is higher than it would have been: not just because of the underlying context, but because many of us have lost family and friends. Creating conditions for our optimal well-being and performance means limiting stress, controlling our inputs, and more than anything, an intentionality that we might not have felt the need for before.