More than Numbers

Technology has made tracking ourselves in numbers easier than ever. At a glance I can tell you how many miles I ran last month, last year, or in the last 3 years. I can tell you how many people follow me on Twitter. I can tell you how many songs I have in my music library, or how many photos I've taken with my phone. I can share a lot of numbers with you.

But numbers never, ever tell the whole story. Ever. They do not express value. They are not the story. They are not us, ultimately. We regularly try to assign value to numbers - in terms of stats, in terms of size and weight, in terms of those "good" and "bad" extremes.

How do we assign value to what we do, and what we say? How do we understand not the quantified self, but the qualified self?

 

Redesign

I redesigned my website last month. Did you notice it? I'm hoping you did, because I tweeted about it and made a big deal about it. That's great!

What about the redesign I did a week ago? That's the one I didn't write about. Was that one noticeable?

The poorly-kept secret is that we're always redesigning. We make changes along the way, try things out, and if they don't work we may go back to the way we used to be. Or, those changes may stick and bring forth new changes.

Change is always happening. Redesigns are always happening. Do we want to call attention to that change, or not?

 

My inbox isn't a to do list

Let's make something clear: I love email. I have always enjoyed getting stuff in the (regular) mail, and when I first started sending and receiving emails on BBSes in the 90s, it was truly magical.

For a very long time I treated my inbox as a to do list. It's easy to see why: most mail apps are very similar to task management apps. There's a list of stuff. It can be labeled and organized and flagged and tagged. It has a bunch of things attached to it. But there's one important component  missing for me: context.

As an example, I have an email in my inbox right now with the subject "Worksheet". It's something I forwarded to myself from my Gmail account, so it appears to be from... me. Given that, what do you think it is? Yeah, yeah, a worksheet. But about what? When is it due? Is it due, ever? Who is it truly from? What do I need to do? What's the first action I need to take on it?

If I don't get that out somewhere else, preferably in Things, then all of that is weighing down my cognitive load. I look at "From: Paul, Subject: Worksheet" and see about 8 different tasks I actually need to do. And in that moment it overwhelms me and feels like a block, a thing I need to take care of instead of something I may want to do.

In addition, the flow of what comes into and out of my inbox isn't controlled by me, not directly. I get junk mail (requires processing), links to stuff to read (goes to Instapaper), email newsletters (sits in the inbox... for now), and various messages. All of it requires some action, usually much more than "just" replying, and my email client says none of that. None.

Because of those hidden tasks, my inbox is a terrible to do list for me.

PS: about those tools

Obligatory: I could certainly find tools that aid in this. Back when I was at a company using Jira (shudder) I wrote a little AppleScript to process incoming bug emails and convert them to tasks in my Inbox in The Hit List (an abandoned to do list app). And yes, there are apps and plugins and things that will just go ahead and make your inbox a to do list. But for my workflow, I strongly prefer to treat my to do list as a separate item from the flow of email.

Bigger and better than ever

Since the web became popular I've scooped up domain names here and there, thinking something would come of them someday. In the early days of my own domain, I considered splitting phonezilla.net (my personal site) into two sites. I wanted to test out my creativity and see if it made sense to separate my journal and personal information from my art and work. It didn't.

I wasn't quite sure where that second site would go. I experimented. But there wasn't a real goal in mind.

Sometime after that, web stats packages became available and popular. The parts of me that love numbers started to love these things and realized, "Ah! This is one of the reasons I'm doing websites! Because visitors." Note that - not people. Visitors. Hits. Page views. Referrers. All of that became increasingly important to me to the point that reviewing my site's stats became a daily ritual.

It grew from there. How can I get more people to read my stuff, or view my web projects? Getting listed on Yahoo!, sure. Trying to get on Cool Site of the Day, sure. Just getting out to more people. Not necessarily the right people - just people.

Over time, traffic to my site picked up a lot. Many, many more people were visiting my site in the early 2000s than now. But because of where I was at the time, I let one particularly nasty and relentless troll get to me, and I took all of it down. All of it. I found a risk to putting one's self on the web: getting hurt. And I got hurt, bad. My ideas of numbers and connecting with people and all of that was blown away by one person whose goal was to make my life miserable.

So I didn't have a website for a very long time. Here's the problem: I missed it. A lot. It ultimately took me about 7 1/2 years to figure out what my website could do, and should do, for me at this point in my life.

However, numbers

I mention all of this because of numbers. That part of me that still loves to obsess over numbers hasn't gone anywhere, so I check the stats for my site regularly.

But there's a twist now: if someone I respect favorites or retweets something I post (and especially if it's a link to something I wrote), that feels very good. It has at least as much meaning as a big day in the stats tab, if not much more.

More importantly, I interpret that as a connection with someone.

And that right there is why I do this.

Gone

One of the routes I run takes me up and down a main business district in my town. And, there's a plot of land that has been vacant for about 10 years or so, adjacent to a lovely historical building.

I remember the buildings on that site because one of them was the computer store where I worked in high school. My first job! So many first experiences there. I learned about hard work. I learned the basics of running a retail business. My boss introduced me to falafel.

But today that building is gone.

There was an adjacent building, a beautiful red brick 2-story commercial building, for a travel agency. It had a neon sign hanging over the sidewalk. "SEE THE WORLD BEFORE YOU LEAVE IT!" I saw that sign for all of my childhood, just about every day, even before I understood what it meant.

That building is gone too.

These things are temporary, and it is harsh for me to realize that in the present, these places don't exist anymore. Instead I tell stories and share memories of what happened in those places, and how those places were parts of my life.

What will we say about our places, our selves, and our lives? What do we say, now? And more importantly, what will we *do*?

I Never

As we learn and grow and live we create the story that is our life. We write that story intentionally... or not. Others read it. We live it.

A good story requires editing and revision. It's not static. It changes over time. It expands. It contracts. It has a journey and lessons learned. It can be fun or serious, or a little of both and everything in between. It can be long. It can be short. It can be all of these things.

But first we must ensure we're allowing ourselves to be open to many possibilities, many directions, many plots, and many subplots. What are you leaving out of your story that really could be let back in? How can you be more open to what's happening right now and do something truly great with that?

Big thanks to Whitney Hess for inspiring this one; our conversation around this topic will be on the next ep of Designing Yourself.

On hunger, food, and self-care

It was a pretty standard workday. 11am rolled around, and my stomach was grumbling. I didn't know what I wanted to eat, but I knew I needed to eat. And then something came up. In that moment I chose to delay having lunch and ending my hunger. It was, in retrospect, not a good choice.

As a consequence of that, I was ravenous half an hour later when I finally allowed myself to get some food. I hadn't planned the meal out - that morning was a busy one, and I thought, "I'll just buy a lunch today." I hopped in the car and drove towards a store where I was going to run an errand after lunch. "Surely," I thought, "There's something in that vicinity." And there was. But it was roughly my 8,900th choice amongst restaurants.

I was fortunate enough to be able to afford and choose a meal. But I let myself get very hungry and ultimately, neglected my own care. I thought on this a bit, and realized there were techniques I could have used to help myself along the way.

I'd like to note that while this is my experience, I've observed it in many, many other people too.

Eat when you're hungry

This is a radical concept (!) trumpeted by people like Michelle Allison. She talks about normal eating and pulls in a definition from the great Ellyn Satter (whose work in this area is essential reading) that includes this:

Normal eating is giving yourself permission to eat sometimes because you are happy, sad or bored, or just because it feels good. Normal eating is mostly three meals a day, or four or five, or it can be choosing to munch along the way.

It can be challenging to do this - very challenging. There is a lot of social stigma and stereotyping around this idea and it impacts women more than men - and particular, fat women the most. It's also exacerbated by standard American workplaces where people eat at their desks in lieu of going out for lunch; this removes a degree of privacy when it comes to food, but it also establishes a boundary and sense of normalcy. Food is okay at our desks, but not okay in a meeting, for instance.

So eating on one's own schedule can be quite difficult sometimes. I've lost count of the number of times I've walked back to my desk with a meal I chose and I wanted, but felt very concerned about others' judgment of it. ("He's eating something fried!" "He's eating lunch at 10:30?")

With regards to schedules: it took me a long time to realize that it was okay for me to eat lunch at 11 instead of 12, which is when I was almost always hungry for a meal. I had to listen to what my body needed first, and then plan for the comments or feedback I would receive. I'm not done with this, but I'm in a better place than I once was.

I've talked about eating solo. While eating and sharing a meal with others can be a social activity, it can also be fraught with judgment and wanting to follow norms. Whether alone or in a group, one's food choices are always one's own.

Planning in advance

There are parts of me that love to plan. These parts also like to take a break when it comes to lunch, outside of picking up a few frozen evol bowls during a weekly grocery shop. I also try to balance those feelings with the very real notion of not feeling like a particular lunch on a given day. ("Another sandwich? Ugh...")

Still, having options is what matters here. At some point prior to that lunch, I could have put together a sandwich, or looked for leftovers. (PB&J is probably my winner for least effort and highest protein, which I dig.) While those might not have been my ideal lunches the next day, they became very real options... and were preferable to going out and having an unsatisfying lunch. (As a bonus, this ends up being a money saver for me as well.)

By the way, I found that having my meals at work on Monday morning is the best for me. That means I need to do some planning over the weekend and bring in all of my stuff at once on Monday morning, but then I don't need to even think about it during the week... and that is a huge, huge relief for me.

Prepare yourself

One last thing: you need to rely on yourself to feed yourself. This may sound elementary, but it is true. I can not and should not rely on my workplace to ever provide the food or snacks I need to get through the day - even if they do provide snacks (and almost every one of my workplaces has done this). I try every day to bring at least a couple of snacks along with me, in addition to my meal. I have a decent sense of when my body typically gets hungry, and I'm still learning what best fills it up.

But if I get to work and I have nothing in my bag? I know I'm either a) going to be hungry, b) going to choose from non-ideal options, or c) going to need to stop at a store and get snacks. And frankly, c) doesn't happen often. That's planning in the moment, which I'm not great at.

This idea is a subset of the idea of a "food bag", one of the tenets of the Overcoming Overeating program by Carol Munter and Jane Hirschmann. It's such a good idea that I think it can apply to everyone, even if you have a positive relationship with food. Here's more info on what a food bag is. (That article includes a lot of terms like "glitter", "legalizing food", and the like.)

It's all about taking care

You know those candy bar commercials that show people literally not being themselves when they're hungry? Putting aside the commercial message for a moment, that's actually a great analogy. When I'm hungry I am unable to focus. I am dissatisfied. I get a little cranky. These are things I don't necessarily want to feel.

All of these techniques and ideas - normalizing food, eating when you're hungry, and having the best options for you - are a big part of taking care of one's self.

(For more info by people much smarter than I, I recommend When Women Stop Hating Their Bodies which is a great read for people of all genders.)

Taking Care of Your Needs

Last year I made a number of big observations about myself. One of them was that I was - to borrow a tech term - DDOSing myself. I wasn't giving myself the opportunity nor the space to allow my needs, my wants, and my desires to take any kind of shape.

Looking back at that piece, I found one throwaway sentence I want to come back to.

I'm thus carving out a space where I can get my needs met and also still be a non-jerk.

At the time I wasn't quite sure what that space would look like, so I didn't discuss it much. That post was more about the fact that, oh yeah, I have needs - and they are important. At the time, giving myself permission to feel that was a big step forward.

Just having that feeling is a great start, but I felt a little lost on what to do next.

Knowing Your Needs

I find it useful to check in with myself about my needs. Then, and only then, can I deal with them in a satisfying way. Here's a few ways I approach this.

First, is it immediate? If my stomach is rumbling, I'm hungry. I should try to not wait until I finish my current task to take care of myself unless I am physically unable to do so (like, say, giving a talk.) Whitney & I discussed this in episode 1 of Designing Yourself. (transcript here, below edited slightly for clarity)

...I can definitely remember times when I’ve held off going to the bathroom because I’ve really got to finish this screen or I’ve really got to finish this thing. And for goodness’ sake, your body’s saying, hey, we’ve got to go now. ... that’s a part of self-care. And it’s really weird to me, and very troubling when it’s a matter of something like going to the bathroom. These are really basic things. ...these are super basic, and we deny them. We say, "Hey, that can wait." Is that really taking care of yourself, really?

Short answer, no! It's not! If it's immediate, take care of yourself now. NOW.

All right. If it's not immediate, then I start to figure out when I can satisfy myself. For instance, if I feel the need to move my body, I check in with myself and see what I can do. Can I do something now like stand up from my desk and take a walk? No? Okay. That's sad. I think about time next: can I find a time soon that I can do this?

Mind you, a part of me will be upset if I can't find that time right now, but I need to call on other, calming parts of myself to say, "No, it's cool - we won't let this slip. It's important." One example: I would very much like a massage. But it requires a bit of planning (checking the schedule, finding a babysitter, scheduling the appointment, finding the money for it in my budget...) so I can't do it right now. Thus, I'll pop it in my to do list and prioritize it appropriately.

If the need isn't immediate and I feel it's important, then yes, it comes down to prioritizing this against everything else in my life, which is probably the most difficult thing to do. A massage for me isn't just a one-hour period of rest and care; it's also the planning that goes into it, including putting myself in a state of mind and presence where I can truly enjoy the massage and not feel stressed. That is not trivial!

The planning piece, then, includes all of those tasks outlined above plus this: is there anything that my family needs that is more important at that particular moment? Now, I always used to default to, "Yes!" in an effort to be selfless. But I found that if I always did that, I was actually not helping because it meant I was saying no to self-care. And when you don't take care of yourself, then you can't take care of others. Simple as that.

(I'm also in a position where I'm not, say, taking full-time care of a family member, or the like. I recognize this is a luxury and a privilege.)

At some later time, I'll (hopefully) come back to my to do list and break out "Get a massage" into discrete tasks. It's mechanical, but the mechanical parts of me need to lend a hand so I can have my needs met. Otherwise, I'll feel longing and sadness over having "Get a message" on my list and seeing no forward progress on it. And then I'm not really taking care of myself.

It's important

Again, self-care is important. Over time, you'll find an amount of care that you need. Sometimes it will be a lot more and sometimes it may be less. But be sure to not cut it out of your life altogether.


Liked this post? Then you'll love my talk "Better Living Through Design" at Webvisions Chicago this September! Register now with promo code MCALEER and save 20%.

Observations on self-compassion

Last year, a theme emerged for me around change and growth. This year, it's refinement and improvement. With that in mind I want to come back to something I had posted in 2013 about compassion for ourselves:

It's easy to [be compassionate with myself] with things that are in the past, for me, but it is also limiting as the past can't be changed. So I'm working on being compassionate with myself in the now.

And sometimes, that is what I need the most.

A few weeks ago I was out running errands. I drove to a store, parked in a spot, and got out of the car. I started walking towards the store, car remote in hand, and locked my vehicle. Not three steps later I realized, whoops, I forgot my wallet in the car. My mind flashed an image of it sitting in my cup holder.

My first reaction was to berate myself out loud in a small, quick comment. "Forgot your wallet, motherfucker."

This time, I heard myself. And I wasn't happy with it. I had simply forgotten my wallet, but a part of me felt so strongly about this that it felt I had to say something downright mean about myself, to myself, out loud. I would never treat anyone else this way. So why would I do this to me?

The Change

There were a few things I chose to do in that moment to help myself.

The first, as noted, was to really listen to myself. Have you ever had that feeling when you're saying something and a part of you feels, "Hey, wait! This isn't me talking!" It just feels like your voice and words are on autopilot, and you're elsewhere. Well, that part may be right. In my case that wasn't me talking. This was something I had internalized (deeply) and given space and power to.

I then realized, wow, I do these tiny insults a lot! And it's over little things too, usually forgetting things - like not taking out the trash, or leaving something on the kitchen counter at home.

In an effort to help, I gave myself permission in that moment to hear my internal dialogue. What parts of me were talking? What parts were checked out? And most importantly, what parts did I need to tug on to help me out in that moment? It's like parenting: if someone insults your kid, what do you do in that moment to help and what do you do to help your kid prepare for the next time that happens?

Since I had just been insulted, I needed a highly caring part to bring in the love and reassurance, and also gracefully defend myself.

Tough work

As I said last year, looking back and being compassionate with my past is much easier. It's not here now. It's a hairstyle I chose in 1993, or a size I was in 1987, or an emotion I felt in 2003. I'm removed from it.

Being compassionate with myself in the present requires me to draw on loads of skills and feelings. It demands practice and patience, but I'm feeling more me because of it.

Fresh Start

Personal finance software is generally dreadful, but in my household we've settled on You Need a Budget (YNAB) because it works closest to how we think about money. It's not perfect but it's certainly quite good.

We've been lost in a sea of budget software and planning for a while now, but we're finally getting to a point where YNAB and long-term plans are beginning to gel. It's starting. That doesn't mean we have it licked, and that means we do mess up.

With other finance software, recovering from a mess up is hard. It means a new file and complete reorganization, or reconciling out the wazoo. This is something YNAB is great at because of a single feature: Fresh Start.

Lots of people start over to reorganize, or because they stopped using YNAB for a while and just want a fresh start.

Fresh Start is great because it's got a positive vibe about it. It's not a monstrous, computer-y thing. The app simply says, "Hey, cool. Happens. I got this." And it does. It's a surprisingly human and guilt-free process, notable in both the software and financial worlds. Beyond little things like animations and copy, it proves that some features of products can be warm and helpful.

A Brand New Way of Seeing Things

I'm struggling to apply this same idea to my current state of GTD tools. The things I've felt in the past - my brain has it covered - are returning again, and outside of using Things for a daily check on what's up, my inbox is a mess of dozens of items. During my run this morning I pondered why this was.

Part of it is that I'm afraid to admit that this isn't quite working for me. It feels like I've failed this system in some way and, in turn, failed myself. While I will forgive myself, it would be lovely if Things offered a way for me to recover from this other than blitzing everything away manually. That process of deleting all my items? It's painful. Each swipe is a tiny reminder that I didn't get that thing done either.

I attach a lot of emotion to this, as you can see, and I suspect others do as well. If we set out to do something one way and it doesn't work, the question is, how long does it take us to recover and try once again?