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This is why I didn't like your status update

/ Christine Pennylegion

A few weeks back I ran across these two articles:

I Liked Everything I Saw on Facebook for Two Days. Here’s What it Did to Me.

I Quit Liking Things on Facebook for Two Weeks. Here’s how it Changed My View of Humanity.

(Please excuse the click-bait titles. I’ll give you the TL;DR although I do recommend reading them both — liking everything on facebook turns your newsfeed into an insane and highly polarized confluence of mostly advertisements; not liking anything on facebook means that you have to actually write comments and be social, and it’s nice.)

Both of these articles struck a chord with me. I’m a long-time facebook user — my timeline goes back to 2005, and facebook was pretty new then. I remember having to have a university email address to register, and I remember the furor when they removed that restriction and facebook was invaded first by thirteen-year-olds, and then by our parents and grandparents. I use it to keep in touch with many friends and family who live far away, and I’m not likely to quit any time soon.

The fact that I’m probably a permanent facebook user, however, (whatever “permanent” means in the internet age) doesn’t/shouldn’t mean that I keep using it mindlessly. I do have concerns about facebook’s advertising algorithms, about privacy, and about the fact that it being a free service means that I am the product. And of course there’s the old dead horse about facebook’s inherent superficiality and the false sense of community that it (may) provide. I had already decided to stop engaging in facebook debates — much like how I try not to read the comment section underneath news articles — for the sake of my sanity. And I am ruthless about unfollowing annoying people and blocking just about every app or meme-generating page that crosses my newsfeed. But what about taking Elan Morgan‘s line and actually quitting the ‘like’?

Unlike Morgan, I didn’t announce that I wouldn’t ‘like’ things any more — I just stopped doing it. Either I liked a status enough to comment on it, or I scrolled on by: no more easy middle ground. And since I did that, I do actually find that I enjoy facebook a lot more. Needing to actually comment or not (and needing to decide which option to take) has brought back a degree of mindfulness that I had been missing. Leaving comments has fostered conversations, and it’s nice to engage with people a bit more than I had been. And being made to actually stop and think has curtailed my natural inclination to open it up a aimlessly scroll down for more time than I care to admit. It’s helping me to actually see what people are posting. I don’t think I’ll go back.

Thinking about habits

/ Christine Pennylegion / 2 Comments

Something or other in my online reading (what? by whom? I don’t recall) has lately gotten me thinking a lot about habits, and led me to both Charles Duhigg’s The Power of Habit and Gretchen Rubin‘s Better Than Before. Both books are very good, but they work especially well as a pair: Duhigg tackles more of the brain-science of habit (like the cue-habit-reward cycle) and Rubin focuses more on the social/personal factors of habit formation and change (like her “four tendencies” of personality, which determine how we respond to both internal and external expectations). Together they paint a broad picture of how we form habits and how habits form us. I was intrigued by Duhigg’s more technical approach, but I appreciate Better Than Before‘s practicality, as well as the emphasis on knowing yourself — since people tend to respond to the making and breaking of habits in predictable but different ways.

For example, Rubin broadly divides people into four categories: Upholders, Questioners, Obligers, and Rebels. (Take the quiz here). I’m an Obliger; I find it much easier to live up to other people’s expectations than my own. It’s hard for me to form a habit without some sort of external accountability; I don’t like to let people down, but can (too) easily shirk a habit if I’m the only one who knows or cares. It doesn’t necessarily mean that I do everything for which I’m externally accountable ungrudgingly, of course — witness most of last semester’s homework — but I still do it. (In terms of school work, I think this is why I struggle with courses that use contract grading; I don’t feel driven to try the same way I would if I really had to earn a grade, rather than just meeting a minimum requirement of work done.) There are many other categories Rubin looks at; one that stuck out to me was the Opener/Finisher divide. I’m a Finisher; I get a bigger charge and sense of accomplishment over finishing something (a project, a jar of peanut butter, a blog post) than out of starting a new one. I like looking at something and being able to say “It’s done!”. By the same measure, I get stressed out when I have so many things on the go that I’m not finishing any of them, and it’s hard to stay motivated when I have a long-term project that won’t be finished any time soon.

This strikes me as really useful data. This summer I’ve started working on my thesis, which I’ll have to submit and defend next April. But since I don’t (have to) check in with my advisor particularly often, I’m not working with a lot of external accountability here — and the long deadline doesn’t help, because it will be many months before I can look at my thesis and say “It’s done!”. So how do I make sure that I keep working on it?

Right now, like this:

As it turns out, a sticker chart is pretty much ideal for me. Here’s why I think it works:

1. I do love stickers. That’s not enough on its own, but it surely helps.

2. The chart keeps me accountable. I’m not keeping track of whether I work on my thesis privately; I’m keeping track right there on my dining room wall, where my husband and friends can see it. Even though they’re not checking up on me, they still know what’s going on. Having my chart visible turns it into an external motivator.

3. I can easily see what I’ve accomplished. I put on a star sticker when I do thesis reading, and a happy face when I do writing. At the end of the week, if I have at least one sticker on at least six days, I get a big sticker. My Finisher tendencies motivate me to earn a sticker every day, and to keep the big sticker chain unbroken. Even though my thesis won’t be finished for a long time, every day I get to “finish” a small step.

4. It’s low-key: I don’t have minimums for earning stickers. If I read anything at all — even if it’s just one paragraph — I get a sticker for that day. If I write anything at all — even if it’s just one sentence — I get a sticker for that day. For some people this might not be helpful since it could be a tacit encouragement to make a minimal effort. But for me, it’s more important to establish the habit of working on my thesis every day (or nearly) than to worry about exactly how much work I’m doing. Some days I get quite a lot done; others, I don’t. But I’m working on it regularly and that’s what’s going to make the difference in the long run. Slow and steady, etc. etc. (And since starting my chart I’ve read upwards of 800 pages and written one complete chapter and smaller chunks of others, so clearly something is working.)

Rubin also tackles the convenience factor in habit formation: if we want to establish a good habit, we need to make it convenient. And if we want to kill a bad habit, we need to make it inconvenient for ourselves (which could be something as simple as, say, storing the cookies in a lidded opaque jar instead of a clear unlidded one). This rings true for me. What finally got me flossing every night was moving the floss from inside the bathroom cupboard to a spot on the counter — it’s visible, so I see it and am reminded to floss, and it’s right there so it’s totally convenient. And now I floss! Who knew it could be so easy? (Gretchen Rubin might have known.)

This all has intrigued me greatly. I’m pretty sure that I’ll be thinking about habits for many days to come.

On reading and not reading

/ Christine Pennylegion / 1 Comment

I mentioned in a post the other day that the first book I chose from our town’s new little free library was The Thirteenth Tale, which I had read and reviewed some years ago but did not remember well (save that I enjoyed it). Not wanting to spoil things for myself I didn’t actually read my review — not that I tended to give spoilers away (much) but because I didn’t want to trigger any memories of the book’s plot at all. It’s rare that I forget a book’s contents so completely, and so I wanted to come at it fresh. A second first reading, if you will.

The verdict, this time around? 
I couldn’t even finish it.
In fact, I couldn’t even finish the first third. 
The writing, you guys. The writing is so bad. It’s got the most overblown, purple prose, and I just couldn’t do it this time around. A glance over my review from back in 2009 shows that I thought that the prose was bad then, too, but had been sufficiently captivated by the plot to declare, in effect, that I loved it and would read it over and over again forever. 
So much for that. 
This did get me thinking, though, about the nature of literary taste and how it changes (or doesn’t) over time. I think that one of the reasons that I decided to put down The Thirteenth Tale is that over the last six years I have learned to read with more discrimination. I have less patience for bad writing (whether objectively bad or simply not to my taste) and I am much more willing to simply stop reading something if I’m not enjoying it. Part of this is certainly related to how busy life is right now: I’m doing a master’s degree and I have an infant, and since my for-pleasure reading time is constrained, I want to make sure that I’m using it on things that are actually pleasurable. I think that I also have less stomach for the unpleasant. It’s not far into The Thirteenth Tale that we are into the region of incest, sadism, and sexual assault. I don’t think that I’m afraid or upset to read about such things, but again, I’d rather be reading things I’m more likely to enjoy. If the writing were better, perhaps I would have lasted it out; like love, good prose covers a multitude of sins. 
At the same time, I find that I apply these standards somewhat arbitrarily: I judge books that are new to me much more harshly than books I’ve read and enjoyed before. (At least as far as the books that I remember reading, that is!) If a book was a favourite in my childhood or adolescence, chances are that it will remain a favourite despite the very real flaws that it might have. Likewise, there are some books I own that do not have, perhaps, the most literary merit, but that are light enough that they get read and re-read when I need some brain candy. 
The issue of timing also comes into play. Sometimes we read, or try to read, books when it’s just not the right time for them. The first time I read Pride and Prejudice I thought it was boring and didn’t finish. A few years later I read it again, and it became and remains one of my all-time favourites. The first time I read Wuthering Heights I thought it was garbage. A few years later I had to read it for a class — and while I will never count it as a favourite, I did come to appreciate it in many ways. That year I think I read it three or four times, and I wrote two papers on it. Perhaps I would have had more patience with The Thirteenth Tale if it weren’t coming at the not-quite-end of a very stressful semester.

Of course, books can either suffer or shine depending on what books they’re following. A book that’s kind of run-of-the-mill will appear stellar if it follows a couple of flops, or like a pretty bad book if it follows a few that were brilliant. Some books are just tough acts to follow. 

Will I try reading The Thirteenth Tale again? I might. Evidently I loved it the first time around, and while I don’t always agree with my past self’s opinions, I’m still willing to hear them. What doesn’t work at the end of the school year might work a month later on vacation or at the pool. Time will tell.

TL;DR 2013/14

/ Christine Pennylegion / 2 Comments

Oh, right, I haven’t posted in like a year and a half. Let’s catch up, shall we?

In 2013 and 2014, I retired a major debt, left my jobs, moved to small-town America, took up ukulele, dressed up as a Settlers of Catan wheat tile for Hallowe’en, drove to St. Louis for American Thanksgiving, drove back to Ontario for Christmas, started a master’s degree program, got pregnant, finished the semester, drove to Ohio for a family reunion, spent a month cat/house sitting in the fancy town up the road, made half a rag rug, painted three rooms, drove back to Ontario for a family visit, made curtains and generally nested, started the fall semester, figured I’d be pregnant forever, finally had the baby (41+6 weeks gestation), finished the semester, hosted family for Christmas for the first time, and read 354 books.

That about covers it.

I feel a lot of pressure to come up with interesting titles for these book posts

/ Christine Pennylegion / 1 Comment

Somewhat overdue, here’s May’s reading account. It was a frustrating month for me — I wanted to try reading in French more often, so I read Langelot et le sous-marin jaune (a young adult spy novel), but had forgotten that I read painfully slowly in my second language. It just went on and on. And then I accidentally read what turned out to be the last in a series (Against the Odds)… probably my fault that I didn’t enjoy that one. And then A Night to Remember was too big to cart around, which slowed it down — all in all I felt throughout May that I was just slogging through things and not really finishing anything.

And then at the end of the month I realised that I still read seventeen books — so really, what do I know?

Books Read: May 2013

01. Stranger Shores (J. M. Coetzee)
02. Bike Snob Abroad (Eben Weiss)
03. Langelot et le sous-marin jaune (Vladimir Volkoff alias Lieutenant X)
04. Inside Job (Connie Willis)
05. Bellweather (Connie Willis)
06. The Lions of Al-Rassan (Guy Gavriel Kay)
07. Letters to Karen (Charlie W. Shedd)
08. Room (Emma Donoghue)
09. A Night to Remember (Walter Lord)
10. Harry Potter and the Natural 20 (Sir Poley)
11. A Light in the Window (Jan Karon)
12. A Civil Campaign (Lois McMaster Bujold)
13. Arrow of God (Chinua Achebe)
14. Against the Odds (Elizabeth Moon)
15. Mirror Dance (Lois McMaster Bujold)
16. Clouds of Witness (Dorothy L. Sayers)
17. Black White and Jewish (Rebecca Walker)

Cumulative Stats for 2013

Total books read: 92

Average number of books read per month: 18.4

Fiction: 73
Non-fiction: 19

Books by male authors: 49
Books by female authors: 42
Books with joint male/female authorship: 1

Distinct male authors: 27
Distinct female authors: 22

Books by living authors: 82
Books by dead authors: 10

Books read for the first time: 41
Books read at least once before: 51

I’m looking forward to cracking 100 in June!

When the nanny leaves

/ Christine Pennylegion

Elementary logic tells me that because Stan and I are moving to another country, we are going to have to leave our current jobs. This is going to be hard for me. Actually it already is, even though I have two weeks left to work.

I’ve been taking care of Goober & Goobrette since they were four months old. They’re turning three next month; this has been the longest I’ve stayed with one family. We actually haven’t started transitioning the kids much — that starts next week — because right now their sense of time comes down to “yesterday,” “now,” and “later.” We figure two weeks’ worth of “soon” and “in a bit” and “in a few days” should do the trick. But it’s definitely something that’s been on my mind.

~~~

My first nanny gig was just a temporary arrangement, covering the first half of a summer during my university years. The family in question already had a nanny who had been with them since the birth of their first child, nearly five years at that point. She had been live-in for most of that time, but now had her own place and was being “transitioned out” — to use the mother’s words. Flora* was still working a few days a week, but I was also working a few days a week. After about a month of this the family was going to France for a vacation, and when they came back, abracadabra: no more Flora and no more me.

The thing that made this arrangement exquisitely uncomfortable was that the parents had not bothered to tell Flora that she was been “transitioned out”. The writing was on the wall, of course, and she knew as well as I did what the deal was — in fact, we talked about it more than once. But it was an exceedingly poor way to handle that transition, for Flora and for the children. The parents didn’t seem to want to risk Flora accepting another job before they had gotten all of their desired use out of her; I believe the plan was to give her notice once they were actually in France. Too, they hadn’t told the children anything about Flora leaving, or about why I was there. The youngest had told me many times and in no uncertain terms that “I want Flooooora” — and this is while we were both in the house, often at the same time. I can only imagine what it would have been like once she’d disappeared entirely.

I think I have more experience with transitions that were handled poorly than the reverse.

~~~

The tricky thing with this job is that you always know that it’s going to end, but you attach anyway. You have to attach to the children if you’re going to be caring for them effectively. You just do. But there’s a constant tension there, because the job will end: you’ll move or have a child of your own, or they’ll move or decide they’d rather use a daycare, or at the very least, eventually the children will grow up a bit and be in school full-time. That’s the reality of the job. It just is.

A quick google seach on “how to prepare children for the nanny leaving,” however, tells me that while nannies always know this, parents sometimes don’t. The articles I find have three dominant tones. First, there are the preventative articles: How to Keep Your Nanny Forever in Ten Easy Steps. Then there are a few fairly balanced pieces acknowledging that yes, these transitions are hard for everyone involved.

And then there are my favourites: the articles that sound something like this:

“Waaaaah! My nanny is leaving and my life will be sooooooo hard now! Why is she soooooooo selfish? Why me? What have I done to deserve this? I can’t believe she wants to [take a better job / move / go back to school / have a baby / insert other extraordinary self-centred reason here] — the cow!!”

Amazingly, this attitude can also be found off the internet. My mother told her of a family she knows of whose nanny just left. There are two children, ages eight and ten. The parents have had to hire people to do the laundry and cut the grass and such, because they just! can’t! keep up! without the nanny. (My question: why aren’t your capable older children being taught how to do the laundry? My brother and I started washing the dishes every night when we were younger than that.)

~~~

In two weeks, my job ends. A few days after that, Goober and Goobrette and their parents are going on an extended vacation to the prairies and then (funnily enough) France. We’re moving away in the month after they get back, and they’ll actually be moving not long after that. So it will work out conveniently enough for everyone involved. But this time, we’re going to do transition right. This time, there will be no abracadabra-the-nanny-is-gone.

This time, there will be a chance to say goodbye.