Agent Plus Environment

Your expectations define your perceptions

It’s raining.

Fat, corpulent water globules cascade from the sky. Plop, plop. A drop, and a few of its compatriots, dribble down the inside of your collar. They’re cold. Wet, and unpleasant. The drops slither down your neck.

“Take my cloak,” he [Lord Golden] suggested.

“It would only get as wet as the rest of me. I’ll change into dry things when I get back.” [Fitz]

He didn’t tell me to be careful, but it was in his look. I nodded to it, steeled myself, and walked out into the pouring rain. It was every bit as cold and unpleasant as I expected it to be. I stood, eyes squinted and shoulders hunched to it, peering out through the gray downpour. Then I took a breath and resolutely changed my expectations. As Black Rolf had once shown me, much discomfort was based on human expectations. As a man, I expected to be warm and dry when I chose to be. Animals did not harbor any such beliefs. So it was raining. That part of me that was wolf could accept that. Rain meant being cold and wet. Once I acknowledged that and stopped comparing it to what I wished it to be, the conditions were far more tolerable. I set out.

— Fool’s Errand, Robin Hobb

Keep it in perspective

Keep what in perspective? Well, everything, but particularly the bad things, the frustrating things, and the irritating things. So it’s raining. So you cut your finger slicing potatoes. So it’s ninety-nine degrees Fahrenheit and humid. You are in some set of circumstances and you wish to be in some other set of circumstances. You wish to be dry. You wish your finger didn’t hurt. You wish to be cool and comfortable without drops of sweat sliding down your neck.

Unfortunately, we don’t live in a world where wishes change the world’s physical properties. We have limited control over our environments. We have slightly more control over our reactions to our environments.

“Since we cannot change reality, let us change the eyes that see reality.” —Nikos Kazantzakis

What you expect significantly influences how you will perceive your circumstances. The thing is, a lot of times, we don’t explicitly set out our expectations. You leave the air-conditioned building with the continued implicit expectation that you’ll be cool and comfortable, and when that blast of muggy, sticky air hits you, it hits you twice as hard because you’re expecting something else.

What can you do about this? Try explicitly setting up your expectations. It may help prevent the disappointment of being wrong (and feeling unpleasant). Instead of thinking “Aaugh, I’m getting wet and the rain is cold, why can’t I be warm and dry?” try thinking “Okay, I’m going out in the rain so I’ll be wet and cold. That’s just how rain is.” Keep in mind that this works both ways–sure, you can set yourself up to expect to feel better about your circumstances, but you can also easily set yourself up to expect to feel worse.

As a final note, I’m sharing to a quote I occasionally turn to as a reminder to keep things in perspective, from Nick Hornby’s High Fidelity (on the subject of pop music):

“Did I listen to music because I was miserable? Or was I miserable because I listened to music?”

Are you miserable because of your circumstances, or are your circumstances miserable because of your misery?

Words are still great.

Having devoured the remainder of China Miéville’s Perdido Street Station and started on The Scar, I thought I ought to share my continued collection of wordly wonders. (Don’t forget to check out the first half of the list!) Some novel, some familiar but infrequently encountered and marvelous, and all commendable to have in one’s vernacular.

• palimpsest
• bonhomie
• jurisprudence
• desquamate
• abbatoir
• ululate
• prurient
• efflorescence
• phalanx
• salvo
• etiolate
• scurrilous
• conniption
• rictus
• ordure
• priapic
• agglutination
• ossified
• puissance
• stygian
• protuberant
• obstreperously
• pudenda
• phlogistic
• opprobrium
• aggrandizement
• tinnitus

Oh, and I have to ask: Do you have any favored words–unusual, rare, or just plain fun to say? I’d like to discover more!

Words are great.

The vocabulary I habitually utilize hardly taps the well of words available in the English language. This isn’t news: most people fail to employ the full range of lexical jewels stashed in their thesauruses. As such, I’m delighted to announce that the book I’m reading now is full of fantastic words.

I’m reading Perdido Street Station. No lie: The man who wrote this book, China Miéville, has a lexicon just as prodigious as the world he paints. Here are a few novel and infrequently seen words I’ve espied thus far:

• detumescing
• veldt
• sciolist
• eidolon
• vertiginous
• aesthete
• bombastic
• moribund
• inveigled
• oneiric
• febrile
• necrotic
• pusillanimous
• bivouac
• chthonic
• dissident
• querulous
• inchoate
• paean
• patina
• desiccate
• moniker
• nacre
• solipsistic
• autotelic
• liminal
• deracinate
• sepulchral

Aren’t these splendid? I didn’t start taking notes on words until a hundred pages in, and I’ve got several hundred pages to go. Just think what wordly wonders I may encounter next!

I read a lot (when I have time). On Monday and Tuesday, I consumed Scott Westerfeld’s The Risen Empire and The Killing of Worlds. Yesterday, I started K. J. Parker’s Devices and Desires. Tomorrow… well, I keep this lengthy list of books I want to read. I also keep a list of books I’ve already read (it comes in handy when people ask me for recommendations, or, as was the case nearly four years ago, when a college application asks me to provide a list of all the books I’ve read in the past year). Add these lists together: The result is a page full of great books.

Next time you’re perusing the shelves, stumped on which pages to turn next, look at a few of my favorites. Maybe you’ll be inspired! I’ll update the list periodically, so be sure to check back!

Afraid of losing ourselves

You and me, as conscious beings, we’re special. We don’t just move in the world, acting and reacting–we know we’re here. We have selves (illusory as they may be). We are conscious of our existence. We also know we’re not here forever.

“Every creature has fear,” said Jared. “Even the non-conscious ones.”

“No,” said Boutin. “Every creature has a survival instinct. It looks like fear but it’s not the same thing. Fear isn’t the desire to avoid pain or death. Fear is rooted in the knowledge that what you recognize as yourself can cease to exist. Fear is existential.”

— from The Ghost Brigades by John Scalzi

You and me, as conscious beings, we’re special. We can be afraid.

Beautiful and good to eat

Deep down, maybe we all know we are, every one of us, a unique snowflake. But a lot of people, they don’t want it to be true. They want all the snowflakes to melt together into one big puddle. They want to be able to share their subjective view of the world with everyone else. They want to be able to look at a sunset and know that what it’s like for me to see the sunset is the same as what it’s like for you to see the sunset.

Hey, we all want things we can’t have. And in this case, science says no! Here’s a piece of wisdom from David Brin’s sci-fi novel Kiln People:

“We may use similar terms to describe a sunset. Our subjective worlds often correspond, correlate, and map onto each other. That makes cooperation and relationships possible, even complex civilization. Yet a person’s actual sensations and feelings remain forever unique. Because a brain isn’t a computer and neurons aren’t transistors.

It’s why telepathy can’t happen. We are, each of us, singular and forever alien…”

The amazing thing about people is that this fact doesn’t deter us. We keep trying to share our sensations and feelings with each other. As Virginia Woolf writes in her book Orlando:

For it is a curious fact that though human beings have such imperfect means of communication, that they can only say “good to eat” when they mean “beautiful” and the other way about, they will yet endure ridicule and misunderstanding rather than keep any experience to themselves.

To be known and understood

Maybe we’re just stubborn. Maybe we’re clinging to a shred of hope that science is wrong and someday, instead of just overlapping with pieces of each other, we’ll be able to know what it’s like to experience the sunset the way someone else does. Here’s a passage from a favorite book of mine, Man Walks Into a Room by Nicole Krauss:

“When you’re young, you think it’s going to be solved by love. But it never is. Being close—as close as you can get—to another person only makes clear the impassable distance between you. . . .

“But see, the incredible thing about people is that we forgot,” Ray continued. “Time passes and somehow the hope creeps back and sooner or later someone else comes along and we think this is the one. And the whole thing starts all over again. We got through our lives like that, and either we just accept the lesser relationship—it may not be total understanding, but it’s pretty good—or we keep trying for that perfect union, trying and failing, leaving behind us a trail of broken hearts, our own included. In the end, we die as alone as we were born, having struggled to understand others, to make ourselves understood, but having failed in what we once imagined was possible.”

“People really want that, what did you say, merging souls? Total union?” [Samson]

“Yes. Or at least they think they do. Mostly what they want, I think, is to feel known.”

What do you think? Is the ultimate human goal to feel known and understood? And if that’s the case, is the illusion of feeling known enough to compensate for never truly being able to share one’s experiences with anyone else?