Slagterpaladset i Slotgade

I listened to this really interesring podcast Yesterday : Evan Thompson, a professor of philosophy, presenting his book Waking, dreaming, being.

Is the self an illusion? That’s one of the questions discussed in the podcast. The self feels very real to humans, the experience of being is very present. But what if the the self is mostly an organizing principle? Or at least more a process, than something essential?

What if our souls ( I know this is another kind of essentialism, I can’t help it, I’m human), just inhabits our bodies and minds temporarily. This is most certainly not a very original thought. And thoughts, anyways, like feelings: don’t trust them!

Reading about the chemistry of the brain has left me with the knowledge, that I can’t trust my feelings much: most of them being temporary, fleeing and released by neurotransmitters as a response to situations or expectations about situations. Thinking is equally influenced by so much more than the self: trauma, patterns, the neuroplasticity of the brain. The body replaces itself every 7 years (a popular saying) and is in a different perspective more a meeting place for microbes, than it is me.

That seems as real and valid to me, as the idea of a me or self. When I think of my past, it often seems as different lives. And a different person.

Getting to know one self, is quite impossible, but maybe we can become more intimate with the proces.

I can still recall looking at the car, as it sped up towards me. It was dark. I had just gotten out of a taxi opposite my home. When I crossed the street, a car came at high speed towards me, out of nowhere. It also disapeared into nowhere. It was a hit and run. But I remember those seconds, as it approached, and I remeber thinking: “You need to get on top of the car, dont get underneath”. I still think it saved my life. It is four years ago.

I woke up with a concussion, that kept me away from work for months and with fear (and panic attacks) that it would never go away. But it eventually did. I was so lucky. 

Within a year from the accident : 

I sold my apartment, and bought a new one of my dreams

I changed my job and generally stopped putting up with bulshit from bosses

I got pregnant by insemination with a donor

I have often thought about what motivated me to pursue these major changes? I have no doubt, that it had something to do with the accident. Was it motivation from facing possible death: there is no time to waste? Was it grattitude: the gift of a chance? I’m not sure. But I sure felt motivated. I knew with such certainty, that I didnt want to stay in my job, and that I wanted to have a new home. Both were interconnected with a strong urge to act on a longtime plan: to have a child. I pictured my new life and settings. 

Definitions of motivation

In my selfstudy of motivation I’ve come across quite a lot of different definitions of motivation. 

Some places define motivation as desire to act, and as the opposite of willpower/ self discipline. Almost as if motivation is an expression of the id and selfdisciplin of the superego. 

Most places there is a more intricate relationship between motivation and willpower/accomplishment. An integrated model. I will pursue this line of thinking, as the first approach strikes me as suitable primarily to quickfixes and bestselling one-solution self-help books. Not really my style. 

Motivation many places is defined as a proces that initiates , guides and maintains goal-oriented behaviour. It causes us to act. 

You can have motives, goals, dreams and visions. But without the process of motivation, they will remain in our heads.  

What motivates - or demotivates us? This is the puzzle. Can it be grattitude? Fear of death? Love? Rewards? Competion? Accomplishment and results? Monitoring? Feedback? Life values? 

How does the brain work for us to be motivated? Are there different processes of motivation? Motivation by pull effects and by push effects? Does quantified goal setting and tracking affect the kind of motivation we experience? Is beeing motivated a quality, with which we can achieve more enjoyment and quality of life?

What creates the best circumstances for motivation processes to happen?

These are (still) the questions I’m trying to adress. 

I am fascinated by self tracking. 

Its part of my fascination with data and data visualisations. Moving charts on a dashboard. The mere immensity of available data and the possibilities is exciting. But more than that I’m hanging on to the idealism of how the internet and open availability of data could change the world. As Eric Gundersen, who works with really interesting geodata projects, puts it:

“it is shocking how much open data will fix things”.  

Back to self tracking: Anybody who hasn’t seen Feltrons yearly reports? You understand the fascination, right?

I believe that data might enlighten us about ourselves, challenge the myths, stories and self images we create about who we are and how we function. I also see great potential in how health data can help us live healthier lives. Especially if we take the time to turn data into knowledge, and use knowledge for reflection (which unfortunately doesnt always happen). 

But lately I have been wondering how self-observation affects us on a more qualitative note? How does it affect our motivation and pleasure? Our quality of life?

The observer effect

Is the idea, from physics, that the mere fact that an object is being observed changes the behaviour of the oberserved. So how does selfobservation change us? 

I decided to make a study to find out. My themes are : selftracking, motivation, results and quality. 

I made my first batch of Komboucha. It was much easier than I thought. 

I first got acquainted with Komboucha in Portland in 2013. I was there for a tech conference, I was 2 months pregnant and Bowen Ames picked me up at the airport - I stayed at his airbnb apartment in the hipstery Alberta Arts District, (I highly reccomend his Instagram btw, good stuff). 

He told me, as he drove me through Alberta street, that in the organic grocery store I could get at least two recommended, and contemporary American hipster items: Kale and Komboucha. 

I had Komboucha every morning for those 10 days in Portland. I rented a bike and went up and down the rainy streets. Being so careful of every little bump on the road - taking care of the tiny baby bump. I was so happy. 

I never found a solid supply of Komboucha back in Denmark, and I have been bringing it home from the States by the litre ever since. 

But now life just got easier: My friend Lea brought me a scoby and after 1 week of brewing, I could add mint and ginger. 

Here’s a link for detailed instructions, that I follow so much experimenting to do still. 

Internettet vrimler med forslag til hvordan man kan forbedre sig: blive mere effektiv, slankere, sundere, en bedre mor, en bedre elsker (ikke at jeg ved noget om det). 10 tips til en sundere livsstil. 5 forslag til en god morgenrutine. 3 smoothies med energiboosts. 15 vaner der skaber overskud i hverdagen. Lær at løbe 5 kilometer på 3 uger. 7 minute workout challenge.

På intet tidspunkt af året er koncentrationen af gode råd og intentioner større end i januar.

Jeg elsker følelsen af et nyt år. Det er ligesom en ny scrapbog. Siderne er blanke. Alt kan ske. Og jeg har ofte brugt anledningen til at gøre status og haft masser af intentioner, fulgt masser af forslag og lister med tips og gode råd for det ene og det andet.

Men på en eller anden måde synes jeg det bliver kedeligt, på et tidspunkt. Jeg er vist indrettet sådan, at jeg kun kan gøre det samme i kort tid. Så skal der ske noget nyt. Jeg gør oprør mod systemet. Også når jeg selv har indført det. Det er nok lidt barnligt. I hvertfald det med oprøret.

Så i år, vil jeg prøve noget nyt.

I stedet for at have nogle meget konkrete målsætninger, om at tabe mig, læse flere romaner, se mindre tv, stå tidligere op, smile mere, spise LCHF etc, vil jeg bruge det nye år til formulere en ramme, som jeg kan eksperimentere med.

Flid

Jeg vil være mere flittig. Ikke mere effektiv. Ikke mere nå mere. Ikke have mere travlt. Ikke arbejde mere. Jeg vil være mere flittig.

Min mormor var flittig. Hun lavede altid et eller andet. Når ikke hun var flittig med husholdning, så var hun frivillig i biografen, eller i tunghørforeningen, sang i kor, cyklede en tur, strikkede, hæklede, reparerede, passede blomsterne, lugede haven. Hun fik meget ud af livet; først og fremmest, tror jeg, en god energi af at ‘være igang’, som hun sagde.

Siden jeg for to år siden, fik et barn alene, har jeg sgu’ ikke været ret flittig. Det tror jeg egentlig aldrig jeg har været. Jeg har arbejdet meget, gået meget ud. Men jeg har ikke været flittig. Det er noget andet - flid har også at gøre med hjemmet og det er mere konstant og man bruger sine hænder.

De sidste to år har jeg akkurat holdt næsen over vandet. Alene med en baby, alt for lidt søvn. Når der var ro, og min datter sov, har jeg mest bare sovet, set tv, surfet på sociale medier eller trøstedrukket et glas rødvin og følt mig slap og sløv, stresset og stakkels. (Altså, ikke stakkels over barnet, hun er fantatisk).

Foreløbig eksperimenterer jeg med at lave mere mad og rydde lidt mere op. (Det trænger der til. Alt står i kasser, da lejligheden er blevet renoveret).Og når jeg ser tv, så er jeg igen begyndt at strikke.

Én ting ad gangen

Jeg vil øve mig i, kun at gøre en ting ad gangen. Koncentrere mig mere. Springe mindre fra det ene til det andet. Det er virkelig svært. Jeg er vant til:

-  At se tv, mens jeg surfer facebook, svarer en sms og henter vand til te.  

-  Gå med klapvognen på Nørrebrogade, tjekke trafikken, mens jeg undersøger vejrudsigten og overvejer hvad jeg skal købe ind.

- deltage i skypemøder, mens jeg svarer på emails. Svare på skypetråde, mens jeg skriver oplæg. Booke møder, mens jeg taler, og surfe på internettet samtidig, for at slå en indskydelse op.

Nu vil jeg så forsøge, at gøre en ting ad gangen. Det er mere som en øvelse i konstant at hjælpe sig selv på sporet. Jeg tror jeg kan bruge resten af mit liv på det. Det er lidt som at meditere. Man sidder der, og forsøger at koncentrere sig om sit åndedræt, og konstant løber tankerne og kroppen af med en. Man tænker på hvad man skal købe ind, eller hvordan man skal få malet børneværelset - og så skal man nænsomt prøve at vende tilbage til vejrtrækningen.

Idag, skulle jeg hente Anna, min datter, i vuggestuen. Jeg gik ned af Elmegade, tog telefonen op af lommen og skulle til at svare på en sms. Og så lige tjekke om der var noget nyt på instagram. Men tænkte så: Nej, nu går du ned at Elmegade. Én ting ad gangen. Og så opdagede jeg, at lyset, der kom ind fra Sankt Hans Torv, så helt fantastisk ud.