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Taylor Goodridge died in agony at the Diamond Ranch Academy in Utah while staff at the "troubled teen" camp allegedly told her to 'suck it up' as the easily-treated intestinal infection she endured there killed her. There will be no charges for those responsible, say local prosecutors. — Read the rest
“Whitehead’s satire takes aim … at a capitalist system that senses the profits to be made from proclaiming that systemic racism is a thing of the past.”
The post B-Sides: Colson Whitehead’s “Apex Hides the Hurt” appeared first on Public Books.
Faculty and students can—and must—govern their own institutions, so that universities maintain their vital power.
The post As Society Evolves, So Too Does the University appeared first on Public Books.
Having worked closely with dozens of people’s transformative journeys, I’ve come to recognize a handful of mindset shifts that make an incredible impact.
Those who’ve worked to shift in these ways have remarkable transformations.
I’m going to share them here with you in hopes that they might inspire your own transformation. If you take these on fully, they could be life-changing. This isn’t all there is, but these are a huge, huge foundation.
How do you work with these? I would love to work with you as a coach, because it’s often impossible to do this work without support. We just can’t see what we can’t see. That said, here are some keys to working with these mindset shifts.
First, notice when you have the opposite mindset. Notice when you’re stuck in the old mindset, as often as possible. Notice the impact of the old mindset — what effect is it having on you, on other, on your life? Have grace for yourself, and love, when you notice. Breathe.
Second, practice the new mindset. What if the new mindset were absolutely true? Empower it. Be it.
Third, when you get trapped in the old mindset — you’ll revert to it often — get support. From a coach, from a therapist, from a meditation teacher, from someone outside of yourself. Someone who can help you see it, help you bring love to it, help you practice outside of it.
And then keep practicing! This takes a lot of practice, a lot of messing up the practice, a lot of getting yourself back into it. It’s all a part of the practice. It’s not easy work, but I promise, it’s transformative.
The post 6 Powerful Mindset Shifts appeared first on zen habits.
While visiting the exhibition by the artist Xadalu Tupã Jekupé at the Museum of Indigenous Cultures in São Paulo, one of the works caught my attention. It was a monitor on the floor. On the screen was a modification of the game Free Fire, where it was possible to follow a virtual killing taking place from the point of view of an indigenous character wearing a headdress. For a while I couldn’t look away. I remembered a conversation I had with Anthony, a Guaraní-Mbyá professor that works with the youth of his territory. At the time I was also a teacher, working with marginalized youth. I remember Anthony’s distressed words—he was concerned about the time and attention young people were putting into games like Free Fire, creating a situation very similar to the one I lived when I worked with teenagers in the outskirts of São Paulo.
It took a while for me to get rid of the profusion of shots, bodies, and feathers that were frantically intertwining in front of the monitor. I took a few steps away from the work when my partner, who was with me at the exhibition, called my name. “Did you see it?” he asked me, pointing at the monitor. “I saw the Free Fire….” Smiling from the corner of his mouth, he said, “No, you didn’t see it… it’s a trap!” I thought to myself, yes, I know, it’s a trap. It took me a few seconds to realize that the monitor was positioned inside a beautiful bamboo structure, a kind of hollow basket in the shape of a pyramid, resting on one of the edges on the floor, with the opposite edge suspended by an ingenious system of capture made of joined pieces of bamboo. It was an arapuca, a traditional trap set to capture those who let themselves be seduced by the offer placed inside. A trap that captured me without even having the opportunity to resist.
This text is an outline of a proposal for a feminist and decolonial strategy to be and remain working and producing techno-scientific knowledge within academic institutions. I present the trap as such a strategy, a kind of low-intensity guerrilla technique so that we, marked bodies, can establish alliances and move within structures that are essentially bourgeois, masculine, and Western. This strategy is especially important for those of us who research with other scientists, or who have science and technology as the main focus of our concerns. It allows us to experiment with ways of researching that are simultaneously capable of carrying out the necessary denouncements while also experimenting with possible ways of production of techno-scientific knowledge that interests us.
In The Science Question in Feminism, Sandra Harding asks: “Is it possible to use for emancipatory ends sciences that are apparently so intimately involved in Western, bourgeois, and masculine projects?” (p. 9, 1986). In this way, Harding displaces the question of women in science from a concern with proportionality and representativeness and moves instead toward questioning the very structures of the production of techno-scientific knowledge. As a result of Harding’s provocations, Donna Haraway writes the article “Situated Knowledges: The Science Question in Feminism and the Privilege of Partial Perspective” (1988), a classic of feminist studies of science and technology. Even today, a few decades after the article was first written, the questions raised serve as support for us to elaborate our thoughts in a scenario that is still structurally very similar to the one Harding described—bourgeois, masculine, western.
In the last two decades, the composition of the higher education body in Brazil has been changing through struggles that resulted in affirmative public policies, implemented by leftist governments from 2003 onwards. Some of these actions were: the construction of universities in peripheral regions of the country; the establishment of quotas in public university entrance exams for people coming from the public education system, black people, and indigenous people; and the funding of programs for people from the working classes to access private higher education. I myself am the result of this process, a worker daughter of workers. With this never-experienced-before entry into higher education by a greater diversity of people than ever before, the resumption and transmutation of the issues raised by Harding and Haraway is a necessary and effervescent movement, so that our occupation of these spaces does not end up swallowing ourselves in our differences. The institution is a machine for shaping bodies and homogenizing possibilities of futures.
Something we inevitably end up asking ourselves as marginalized people is whether we should occupy these spaces. Stengers (2015) addresses this issue, defending our permanence in spaces of contradiction, including the academy, as a way not to resolve this contradiction once and for all, but to at least get to know the terrain through which we are forced to walk—and, who knows, build new alliances capable of establishing other trails. If we want to remain researchers, teaching and working within universities, we need strategies to make our permanence viable. This obviously includes a constant struggle for better material conditions, but that goes hand-in-hand with the need to remain honest with our differences—which is only possible with a radical change in the way science is produced. It is necessary to cultivate techniques of insistence that, on the one hand, protect us and, on the other hand, allow us to continue walking and facing the overwhelming monster we are facing. Knowing how to produce traps can be one of these techniques.
An arapuca, a traditional trap (image made by Clarissa Reche)
“The nature of the trap is a function of the nature of the trapped.” It is in this way that Stafford Beer (1974) summarizes one of the most interesting attributes of the trap: the cybernetic character between the object, who designed it, and what it is intended to capture. These three nodes are entangled in a feedback system that works like a game of mirrors where, when we look at any of the nodes (capture-trap-captive), we will inevitably find the other nodes. In this game of mirrors, we can see not only the relationship of nodes with each other, but also with the environments they compose. The trap therefore participates in complex fields of interactions.
Anthropologist Alfred Gell (1996) sought in African traps a tool to think about the tension between the piece of art, specifically Western, and the artifact, arising from the so-called “exotic” cultures. Gell argues that the possible conciliation between these poles lies precisely in thinking of both as traps, in an exercise of horizontality that, in a single movement, empties Western arts of their specificity, filling them with ethnicity. The anthropologist makes an exquisite description of the conceptual modes of operation of a trap.
For Gell, the trap is the knowledge of oneself and the other turned into an object. The trap is a functional model of the one who created it, replacing the presence of the one through a “sensory transduction” (p. 27, 1996). The capturer’s senses are replaced by a set of “sensors” attached to the trap, such as a rope or a stick that can simultaneously sense and act as triggers. In this sense, the trap is an automaton. But, at the same time, it is a model of what one wants to capture, since in order to function it needs to emulate and incorporate behaviors, desires, tendencies, functioning as “lethal parodies of the umwelt” (own world) of the captive.
In addition to this spatial dimension, the trap also has a temporal dimension whose structure is based on waiting. In this way, the trap incorporates a scenario of a dramatic nexus between the capturer-captive poles. Gell describes this waiting as a tragic theater, where the trap places the captor and the captive in a hierarchy. The metaphor would be that who sets the trap is God, or fate, and who falls into the trap is the human being in his tragedy. The task of creating traps would therefore be to experiment with controlling fate. However, if we take into account Amerindian conceptions of the trap, such as the Guarani-Mbya practice/thought, this relationship becomes more complex, since a prey is only captured in the trap if there is consent from its owners, who are non-human entities responsible for the animals. Here, the attempt to control fate slips through the bamboo stakes—the tragedy is shared between captor and captive.
From an Amerindian perspective, in particular Guaraní, the trap can be understood as a “memory card” (Caceres and Sales, 2019) capable of storing information that accounts for a profusion of knowledge such as: the behavior of the prey in its environment, modes of production of traps, cosmopolitical relationships involved in hunting, etc. But this potential for keeping memory has been gaining other contours with the increasing destruction of nature and traditional ways of life. With indigenous peoples without possession of their territories and abandonment in the face of deforestation and land grabbing that agribusiness and mining advance, hunting is no longer a possible reality. The maintenance of traps in this scenario becomes a form of resistance, a way of safeguarding what is possible and transmitting that memory to those who are growing up and will soon be responsible for the struggle.
Returning to the idea of thinking about the trap as a strategy to be and remain producing techno-scientific knowledge within an academic context, I would like to list the following characteristics that may be useful to us:
Acquiring the necessary knowledge to build a trap also helps us to know how to identify one when we come across it on our walk. Stengers points out how a moment of relative success, when you move from a position of contestation to a position of an interested party, is also a dangerous moment. For many of us who insist on working at the university, coming from classes historically far from that space, life becomes restricted, in an eternal non-belonging. On the one hand, it shows the impossibility of “integration” into the ideal body of those who produce technoscience—we have no way of doing that. On the other hand, we are haunted by a constant (self-)accusation of betrayal, and in fact something is lost from our previous relationship with “our own.” Faced with this impasse, Stengers proposes that we be able to “foresee that there will be tension” (p. 89, 2015), that is, share common knowledge and experiences that help identify and avoid predictable traps.
Image of an arapuca, a traditional trap (image by Clarissa Reche)
Some traps of the scientific knowledge production system are quite obvious. We come across well-set traps that straddle the path as we advance along our academic careers. We see the trap and look around. The alternatives are to abandon the trail or to stay in the same place. Since the food is just inside the trap, standing still means starving, or at best surviving in starvation. If we want to insist on the journey, we must voluntarily surrender ourselves to the cruel trap placed in our path, in the hope that even captive, though well fed, we may be able to retort before being devoured.
The list of traps is long, but I want to describe a specific type that is prostrating itself in front of me at this point in my journey: the trap of publishing in international academic journals. In Brazil, a researcher and/or scientist who wants to pursue a career within universities will necessarily find a scoring logic that allows, or not, their permanence and advancement to more prominent and better paid positions. As in other national systems of science and technology, research funding is linked to a good score, mainly arising from productivity and measured through, for example, number of publications and citations. An important characteristic in the case of Brazil, which differs from countries like the USA, is that funding for scientific research is mostly public, organized through state funding agencies. For this reason, most Brazilian academic journals are free, both for publication and for circulation.
In recent times, the internationalization of research has been a requirement of Brazilian funding agencies. In this scenario, publication in high-impact international journals has become a necessity. In some science and technology systems in other Latin American countries, this requirement is even tougher, with the acceptance of only articles published in journals indexed in repositories such as Web of Science and Scopus, both maintained by private entities seeking profits. The overwhelming majority of journals indexed in such repositories charge a lot of money for publication and access to the article. The amounts that researchers must pay to have their articles published can reach around R$ 20,000. For comparison purposes, the value of the minimum wage in Brazil is R$ 1,320 (about 15x less than the publication cost of the article).
Although most of the time the money to pay for such publications comes from the institutions, not being paid directly by the researchers, the effects produced by this logic of professional permanence are cruel. At the national level, it intensifies competition between researchers and research centers, who need to outperform each other in order to obtain funding. Internationally, such logic keeps the knowledge produced by the poorest countries in the corner, unable to circulate in large centers. This trap works like colonial shackles to which we often have to submit.
But the traps that we will find in our paths are not always so brazen and so painful. In fact, the most dangerous traps are precisely those that we don’t immediately notice and that offer us pleasure. When we are finally able to recognize our status as prey, we are so committed that we try at all costs to convince ourselves that it is better to become captive than to give up the delicious offer they make us. What we are offered is a biochemical comfort well adjusted to the “pharmacopornographic era” of Preciado (2008), which for many of us means a substantial distance from situations of physical suffering and the most varied humiliations, especially intellectual humiliations. In a scenario of growing public attention regarding the degradation of working conditions that researchers are facing, made explicit for example in a vertiginous decline in the mental health of workers who occupy laboratories around the world, this “pleasant” counterpart of working producing technoscientific knowledge that I mention in the last paragraph can only be understood from a class point of view—academic/intellectual work is essentially different from the overwhelming majority of jobs available to workers.
Money, prizes, publications, and recognition are some of the achievements that academic work brings and that activate these biochemical pleasures. Academic work offers comforts that many of us would not have if we had chosen other paths. An example is the possibility of traveling internationally. All the international trips I took were for my academic work. On these trips, we have the possibility of getting in touch with a dimension of cultural capital that was previously inaccessible. When we make our way back to our homeland, we are already transformed. In this movement, it is important to always plant your foot on the ground, exercise your memory, recognize the terrain to know where you are stepping, and always take very small steps. After all, many of the traps are hidden in the ground.
Image of an arapuca, a traditional trap (image by Clarissa Reche)
It took me a long time to understand why Isabelle Stenger’s proposal (2000) of “not hurting established feelings” resonated so much with my colleagues as a strategy to create alliances with scientists and engineers. In my naive rebelliousness, that phrase sounded like a conformist attitude. I wondered if, in exchange for maintaining a “good” relationship, we wouldn’t be giving up the best of what we have as social scientists—our critical capacity. In my master’s degree fieldwork with biohacker scientists, I was surrounded by people who, from within their disciplines, sought to produce science in more open and democratic ways. Maybe that’s why it took me a while to realize that a posture based only on confronting and denouncing the ills of technoscience is fruitless, as it produces an alienating and perverse result: it hides from us, people who research from the human sciences, our responsibility as co-inhabitants of this same space where the scientists we are denouncing.
Complaints are important, yes, and we have lists of them on the tip of our tongues. But Stengers, Haraway, and so many other feminists concerned with technoscience point to the importance of not stopping there. Recognizing our responsibility as co-inhabitants of the scientific knowledge production system is also learning to establish and maintain dialogues, however difficult they may be. And they are. Difficult, tiring, and frustrating. However, the possibility of establishing alliances around common knowledge is also a strategy to keep producing science from joy, as proposed by Stengers (2015) when claiming that the taste for thinking is only possible through encounters capable of increasing our power of understanding, action, and thinking. The trap can also be a bridge to establish such alliances without, at first, hurting established feelings.
The first time that the trap was presented to me as a possible tool for thought-action was when I participated with a group of friends in the speculative anthropology project called FICT, at the University of Osaka. In the group were artists and people from letters, history, and anthropology. The objective was to produce “artifacts” from different timelines, different possibilities created from a fictitious past event: the Black Death had killed many more people, and the European colonial enterprise of the 16th century had failed. Thinking about it was not only challenging, but also quite painful. We were living a pandemic ourselves, with a denialist government, and many people close to us were suffering. But beyond that, the starting point of the project struck us as somewhat violent. By proposing a non-colonial reality, we were forced to think of a world without us, people whose full-life identity comes precisely from the fact that we are daughters and sons of colonial violence.
We refuse to think of a world where we do not exist. The story of how science was established in Brazil is precisely the story of how the dominant classes—politically, economically and culturally—tried to deal with the “problem” of miscegenation. Our first scientists were renowned eugenicists. Their busts still rest in white peace on university campuses, and their names baptize streets and buildings throughout Brazil. Our starting point in the project was a rebellion against the suggested starting point, in an affirmation of our uncomfortable existence. We are the incarnate memory of the violence against the land, against the original peoples of our lands and those who were uprooted from the continent of Africa. We are the incarnate memory of (scientific) racism. But how to exist within a project that predicts our non-existence? How to be there, keep occupying space and communicate to those who hope that we don’t exist that yes, despite everything we are here?
It was Joana Cabral, an anthropologist who works with the Amazonian Wajãpi people, who proposed the trap as a way of occupying the crossroads we were at. Our issue was a communication issue. We needed to communicate the existence of something that shouldn’t exist in the cosmopolitics we were in, but that did exist. Something present but invisible. I believe that this thought was the trigger for Joana to remember the Amerindian traps, especially the trap to “catch” the caipora, an entity from Tupi-Guarani mythology, inhabitant of the forest and owner of all hunt, with whom hunters must negotiate to catch their prey. Such traps were described by Joana as beautiful pieces braided in straw, positioned along the dense forest in the places where caipora usually frequent. The capture system is quite simple: enchanted by the beauty of the piece, the caipora’s attention turns completely to the moths, and their curiosity to learn more about the braid makes them stay there, undoing the braids. Thus, caipora “waste time” in the trap, while people gain time to move through the forest more safely.
At the same time that it holds the caipora’s attention, the trap also communicates its existence to those who walk unaware. We finally managed to make our artifact, a kind of dream diary where we report receiving dream knowledge about how to manage having a party where the most different people can be at. Thus, we seek to face colonialism not as a historical period, but as an entity, a drive from which we will not be able to get rid of—just as we exist, the colonial impetus also exists, persists, and is alive among us. The making of the trap revealed to us that in order to be able to capture, we ourselves need to become aware of our diverse prey conditions.
But the perception of our prey condition cannot be paralyzing. Our malice can certainly enable us to escape from some traps set for us—but not all, never. My proposal is that we cultivate the necessary calm and attention to walk in more or less safe territory, but, at the same time that we perceive ourselves captured and entangled, we are also capable of designing and setting our own traps to make the issues that we formulate capable of going through the academic toughness. Traps capable of opening and sustaining impossible dialogues. What I propose is an insurgent counterattack, or counterspell, to stay with Stengers. It’s a kind of low-intensity direct action, a guerrilla strategy to keep producing scientific knowledge. And so that we can protect our vulnerabilities, remain with joy in the process. It is important to repeat: the trap is not only something to be avoided, but also to be produced. We need to take ownership of capture technologies, collectivize them, and scale them up.
Caceres, Rafael Rodrigues; Sales, Adriana Oliveira de. Memória e feitura de armadilhas Guaraní Ñandeva. II Seminário Internacional Etnologia Guarani: redes de conhecimento e colaborações, 2019.
Beer, Stafford. Designing freedom. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan, 1974.
Gell, Alfred. “Vogel’s Net: Traps as Artworks and Artworks as Traps.” Journal of Material Culture, v. 1, p. 15-38, 1996.
Haraway, D. “Localized Knowledge: The Question of Science for Feminism and the Privilege of Partial Perspective.” Feminist Studies 14.3 (Autumn 1988): 575-599.
Harding, Sandra. The Science Question in Feminism. New York: Cornell University, 1986.
Preciado, Paul B. Testo Junkie: Sex, Drugs, and Biopolitics in the Pharmacopornographic Era. New York: The Feminist Press, 2008..
Stengers, I. In Catastrophic Times Resisting the Coming Barbarism. London: Open Humanities Press, 2015.
___________. The Invention of Modern Sciences. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2000.
I’m creating a new Fearless Retreat in October that will be a part of my Fearless Mastery program … and it has me reflecting on the most recent retreat I led in Costa Rica in March.
I’m moved to share with you the lessons I learned from the March retreat, because I was so inspired by the transformation that people went through …
Here are some of the lessons I took away from the Fearless Retreat on March:
It was powerful, for me and for my team, not just the people who came to join us.
So with that in mind, we decided to create a Fearless Retreat in October as part of our Fearless Mastery small group coaching program, because we think it’s that important.
I’d love to have you join us. Apply for Fearless Mastery today to have a convo about the 5-month coaching program that’s aimed at transformation.
And included in the price will be a seat at the Fearless Retreat in October, where you’ll come together with us in person and experience something really powerful.
Let’s talk — apply today!
p.s. If you’d like to hear from some of the people who went through the retreat, check out these videos.
The post Lessons from the Fearless Retreat appeared first on zen habits.
One of the things that really humbled me in recent years is the realization that I am often only halfway in on anything I do. I’m rarely ever really all in.
For example, I might join a coaching program with the idea of trying it out, but not really sure if I can do it. Then when things start to get hard or overwhelming … I might be looking for the exit door, or hiding so I don’t have to be embarrassed. This is being halfway in, with an eye on the exit.
Another example: I commit to meditating every day. Then when I’m meditating, instead of being fully in the meditation, maybe I’m waiting for it to be over, or giving myself reasons I should end early. Then two days into it, maybe I really don’t feel like it, so I skip it. Then I find reasons to keep skipping it. This is even less than halfway in.
Most of us do this in just about everything we do. And it has a really corrosive effect on whatever we’re taking on.
Does it have to be this way? Let’s take a look at what it looks like to be all in, and why we rarely do that. And then look at how it can create something powerful in your life.
Some of us have an experience of being all in, somewhere in our lives. Some places that might be true for you:
If you can relate to one of these — like having kids — then imagine what it would be like to have that kind of all-in commitment to whatever you do.
Imagine working on a creative project and having no question that you’re going to complete it. Even when things get hard, you’re working with the difficulties. Even when you feel like giving up, you don’t give yourself the option. Even when you miss a few days, you come back without any questions. Even if you die with it incomplete … you will die knowing you gave it your all.
Your heart is fully in it. Doubts might come up, but those are expected.
This is full devotion.
We rarely let ourselves be all in, fully devoted … because it’s hard and scary.
We don’t think we can do it. We don’t think we’re strong enough. We have lots of evidence that we will screw it up, based on past experience. We don’t trust ourselves.
We don’t trust the other person. We fear what they really think of us, we think they’ll abandon or hurt us, or let us down. Yet again.
We don’t think we can work out the hard problems. They feel intractable, overwhelming, too complex, to out of our control. We hate not having full control.
It’s easier to run. But it leaves our full heart, our full power, on the table.
What you’ll find if you’re all in:
Imagine that instead of heading for the exit door, you’re committed to working things out the best you can. (Not that you should stay in an abusive relationship or anything that’s harmful to you.) When you want to run, you stand and find something deeper within you.
What would that do for the projects that are most meaningful to you? For the relationships you care about most? How would you show up differently for your purpose in life?
What would have to shift? What would you have to let go of? What could be created from this place?
This is not another set of expectations and shoulds to judge yourself by. This is about practicing deepening.
Here’s how you might practice:
This isn’t easy practice. I highly recommend you get some support. This is why I’ve created my Fearless Mastery small group coaching program — apply today and let’s talk!
The post Be All In: Unlock Your Full Power appeared first on zen habits.
Most people think that if they’re struggling, that means something is wrong. If you’re struggling to write, to meditate, to eat healthily, to be focused and productive … or struggling in a relationship or job … that means something is wrong with you, or you need to change your circumstances, or this just isn’t right for you.
If we think something is wrong with the struggle, we will usually try to fix it, get out of the struggle, change ourselves … so we don’t have to have this problem anymore.
I’d like to propose a different view: that struggle is the place of growth, learning, curiosity, love, creativity. Struggle is an incredible opportunity for being creative.
Let’s take a couple examples so you can see what I mean, then let’s talk about how to work with this.
Let’s say I’m trying to write a book or a blog post … and I feel frozen by the unknown of it all. What to write about, how to approach the topic, how to be original or valuable, how to avoid people judging me.
So I’m frozen up and don’t know what to write. My instinct might be to avoid this struggle and do something else easier, like answer emails, take care of urgent tasks, check social media. But what would it be like to stay in this struggle?
Instead of avoiding the writing … I could commit myself to staying here. Staring at the blank screen, and letting myself sit with the discomfort that I’m feeling. Let myself sit with the unknown, and feel what it feels like. Get comfortable with this unknown, with the struggle.
After sitting for a few minutes, I might start to settle in and relax with the struggle. The unknown isn’t so scary. I can breathe deeper, and find the beauty in this moment of unknown.
From this place, I might find some creativity. OK, I don’t know what to write … but could I try something silly? Write about a superhero penguin, or an accountant that can shoot rainbows out of his belly button. Maybe I could write about not knowing what to write about, and sing a song as I write (“Oh I wish I knew what to wriiiiite!”).
The specifics of what I try here don’t matter. What matters is I can just try something. Maybe I make a list. Maybe I dance around until something comes up. Maybe I meditate and become one with the universe, and then the universe channels and answer through me. Maybe I trust whatever my heart says. I don’t know — but that’s the place of discovery, in the “I don’t know”.
Let’s say I wanted to practice yoga every morning for 30 minutes. I commit myself, I set a reminder, I feel excited about it! I might even do it for a few days. Then one day when it’s time to do my yoga … now I don’t feel like it, and check my messages instead. This happens for a few days, where I avoid it and feel bad about myself.
Normally, we might just give up, and tell ourselves it wasn’t worth it. Or be harsh with ourselves about the failure. But what else could be found in this struggle?
Imagine that I could pause for a few minutes and feel the struggle. Let myself feel how I am disappointed in myself and discouraged. What if I could bring curiosity into this place, and maybe even compassion and love? What if the real yoga is in this place, where I feel lost and want to beat myself up or give up?
If I stay in this space of the unknown for a little bit, I can find something new. This is where real learning, real growth, real transformation takes place. I might be able to get creative and try something new, if I stay here for a little longer.
We mostly want to get out of this place, because it’s uncomfortable. But maybe staying is exactly the spot where I could grow beyond my current reality.
As you can see, this requires a growth mindset — a mindset that the struggle isn’t the end, but the place of learning and creativity.
So when struggle shows up, here’s how I might practice:
I invite you to practice this, and see what you can discover. You might find that there’s more depth to this space of the unknown than you imagined.
The post Turn Struggle into Creativity appeared first on zen habits.
I’ve noticed that so many of us are incredibly focused on getting stuff done. Productivity systems and tools, anxiety about being behind on all the things we have to do, a complete focus on all the stuff to do, at the exclusion of all else …
But here’s the thing: if you ever get really really good at executing and getting stuff done … you realize that it’s an empty, meaningless game. I’m a testimony to that — I’m very good at getting things done. And I can absolutely crush my task list for months on end. And at the end of all of that, I still don’t feel much more satisfied.
There’s some satisfaction in getting a bunch of things done, but that’s not what really drives us. What drives us is fear — fear of what will happen if we fall too far behind, if we drop all the balls we have in the air, if we can’t get a sense of self-worth through accomplishment. Our fear is really about what it will mean about ourselves if we don’t get stuff done.
That fear never goes away, no matter how much you get done. It’s like a sex addict who has a ton of sex, and still doesn’t feel fulfilled, and has to go get more. We’re addicts who are never fulfilled.
What would happen if we decided not to play that game? If we could set aside for a moment the fears that drive us, the hope that we’ll ever finish everything, the hope that we’ll somehow get a feeling of being good enough if we are good at getting things done?
What’s beyond all of that?
I don’t know the answer, but here’s what I’m finding:
Those are a few observations I’ve found in the space beyond getting stuff done. What might you find there?
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A Federal judge's ruling offered a stern rebuke of the Internet Archive's National Emergency Library and its controlled digital lending service, providing a significant victory for the four publishers that had filed suit.
The post Controlled Digital Lending Takes a Blow in Court appeared first on The Scholarly Kitchen.
On Friday, the Internet Archive lost its "controlled digital lending" case on summary judgment. Reactions today from our Chefs Rick Anderson, Joseph Esposito, Lisa Janicke Hinchliffe, Roy Kaufman, Roger C. Schonfeld, and Karin Wulf.
The post The Internet Archive Loses on Controlled Digital Lending appeared first on The Scholarly Kitchen.
Matriarch is the sixth and final addition to the In Your Skin upholstery collection, a collaboration between HBF Textiles and product and interiors designer Erin Ruby. Aptly named, Matriarch is a twill weave with strong color combinations that evoke wisdom and experience. Visually, the twill blends bold complementary colored yarns to create a subtle melange and moire effect.
The six sensorial textiles in the woven fabric collection celebrate being comfortable in your own skin, inspired by the human experience and the ephemeral nature of life. Tactile with a handmade quality, In Your Skin looks like a residential product, yet has the durability for contract and hospitality environments. Each of the fabrics are certified Indoor Advantage Gold (SCS), woven and manufactured in the United States with wool locally sourced from the Midwest, and most patterns are made using post-consumer and/or recycled materials.
In Your Skin marks Ruby’s third collaboration with HBF Textiles. “Sometimes contract textiles can tend toward being cold or lifeless for pragmatic reasons, but this collection is so warm and tactile even with its high performance functionality. It’s full of life – imbued with optimism and aspiration, which I think will resonate within a space,” she shared.
The collaboration continues HBF Textiles’ focus on supporting women-owned businesses. “I love promoting talented female designers. It gives me a sense of pride to utilize the HBF Textiles platform to share their story and creative vision to a wider audience,” says Mary Jo Miller, Vice President of Design and Creative Direction at HBF Textiles. With like-minded mills and collaborators locally and globally, the brand continually explores the possibilities materiality can offer and how it can further connect us with other people and our environment.
Ultra Violet
Cernelion
Labradorite
Cernelion
Rose Quartz
Ultra Violet
Aura
To learn more about Matriarch, visit hbftextiles.com.
By Leo Babauta
I’ve noticed that most of us let ourselves be driven by our resistance to something difficult, scary, unknown.
We take on a hard task — creating something, for example — and then we feel some kind of resistance. Or maybe it feels like overwhelm. It’s simply uncertainty, and fear of the unknown.
This is quite normal, to feel uncertainty, fear, resistance, overwhelm. Then we let it drive our actions, letting the fear be in the drivers seat. That’s pretty normal too, and very understandable.
What would it be like if we didn’t need ot let this resistance drive us?
What if we could let ourselves stay in the uncertainty, feel the resistance … and then transform it into creativity and action?
Let’s take a look at the two parts of that.
So the first thing is you have to set aside some space for whatever you’re resisting. Warning: this step can be a doozy. We somehow always find ourselves too busy to make time for the thing we’re resisting. We’re so busy! We don’t have time for that scary thing! Funny how that works.
So if you notice that you never have time for it … make the time. Set aside some time. Maybe 15 minutes in the morning, maybe 30. Cut out some Netflix, Youtube, or social media time, and make time for this. Put it on the calendar, and commit yourself fully.
OK, let’s say you do that … now you find yourself in that block of time, and all of a sudden, everything else seems so much more urgent! Your emails are suddenly irresistible. Your kitchen magically needs some cleaning.
Stay here, don’t abandon the task. Your resistance wants to drive you away, but you’re going to try something different. An act of leadership rather than letting life happen to you.
Sit still for a minute. Let yourself feel the resistance. Not the thoughts about how you can’t do this, or how you should do it later … but the sensation of resistance in your body. The sensation of overwhelm and fear and uncertainty. It’s simply a sensation, an experience.
Be with it. If it feels like more than you can handle, stay a few moments longer. It’s a training, to be able to stay mindfully present with the feeling of resistance.
With practice, you learn that it’s not a big deal. You can be with it, with non-judgment, gentleness, even love.
Once you’ve done that, there’s another incredible way to work with this energy in your body. It feels like something you don’t want … but actually, it’s just energy.
This is the energy of life. Of being human. Of fear and meaning. Of learning and creating. Of discovering something new. Of connecting and falling in love.
This energy is not something to expel from your life, but rather to use in your creation. What can you create in this place of resistance, in the unknown? Can you let yourself stay curious, and explore? What might emerge, if you stay open here?
From this place, your deepest creation will be uncovered. You begin to realize that you are not the inventor of your creations but the discoverer of them. You begin to get excited about what might be unearthed in the unknown.
This is magic. What are you waiting for?
The post Creating When You Feel Resistance appeared first on zen habits.
The effects of climate change paired with the mounting accumulation of global plastic waste will undoubtedly change the landscape and scope of architecture in the decades ahead. Structures, including housing, will need to be adaptive not only in their intended form, but also in the manufacturing and material sourcing process. Noting these challenges, a 3D-printed prototype pavilion designed by architecture studio Hassell, in partnership with 3D-printing studio Nagami and creative collective to.org, propose utilizing a material that isn’t dwindling, but mounting in availability with every passing day.
Inspired by Qarmaq, a type of inter-seasonal, single-room family dwelling long used by the Central Inuit of Northern Canada, this concept interprets the indigenous architecture into a 3D-printed pavilion constructed with recycled plastic. Engineered for inclement weather and harsh local climates around the globe – in heat or in extreme cold – the small habitat combines traditional indigenous solutions with technological adaptations to permit modifications as required in response to the structure’s site.
In its most extreme iteration the pavilion will be hermetically sealed with its gently grooved exterior designed to collect snow to create natural insulation similar to the traditional igloo.
From overhead, the pavilion’s ridged design with a center skylight resembles a Danish vanilla ring butter cookie, but something more like a marine bivalve mollusk from ground level.
The shell-like design utilizes plastic refuse as a resource for construction, an idea born from conversations between Hassell’s head of design, Xavier De Kestelier, and Manuel Jimenez Garcia, the founder of Nagami, a 3D-additive manufacturing studio.
In warmer climates where insulation from overbearing heat is a concern, the Pavilion 1 can be adapted to use its overlapping fin design for passive cooling and cross ventilation, as well as water harvesting.
“The implications of 3D printing at this scale are huge for architecture and we hope we can apply this aspect of adaptability across projects,” notes De Kestelier, “We wanted a pavilion that will be able to exist completely off the grid and adapt to local climatic challenges and conditions to create as low as possible embodied and operational carbon footprint.”
Additionally, Nachson Mimran, co-founder & creative executive officer of to.org notes the project’s aim to reuse already processed petroleum-based material as “an inexhaustible resource” is vital in the realization of a “circular economy [to] reduce pollution and reverse the effects of climate change.”
Pavilion 1 is 3D printed at full-scale, using minimum energy with the main structure comprising 24 separate pieces easily transported and assembled on-site.
The Pavilion 1 in its varied imagined applications is currently only in a proof of concept state, with to.org currently seeking partners to invest in its future production and work toward reproducible scalability.
Manuel Jimenez Garcia, founder of Nagami hopes the project note only radicalizes the construction industry, but also inspires future generations of architects to invest and explore eco-innovation as a plausible element of designing the habitats of the future.
Marissa Barnwell’s parents said that they filed a federal lawsuit over how school officials handled their daughter’s refusal to recite the Pledge of Allegiance.
FreshRSS 