Deliberate Rest

A blog about getting more done by working less

Month: June 2014

“We shouldn’t run from boredom as if it is a tedious friend but sit down and listen to it”

Two recent articles talk about the complexity of boredom. In The Telegraph (as well as the New Zealand Herald), Kate Bussman notes the relationship between boredom and creativity.

Boredom is something we avoid and even fear. We associate it with idleness, so, as we consider idleness a vice, it gets imbued with the same negative associations…. “Being over-scheduled and overworked is the new status symbol: it shows we’re in demand, that we’ve earned our good fortune,” says Alex Soojung-Kim Pang, the author of the recent book The Distraction Addiction. “We’re like landed gentry in reverse: we can’t be seen to be at leisure.”

Today we rarely even realise we are experiencing boredom, so quickly do we move to mediate it. We fill a spare moment with distractions as soon as it materialises – and some believe that, as a result, we’re missing out on something important: creatively, psychologically and even biologically.

Boredom, say many creative thinkers, from Grayson Perry to Michael Chabon, is the very thing that made them into creative thinkers in the first place. If we don’t allow ourselves to be bored, some experts worry that our imaginations suffer or never develop at all…. There is evidence to suggest that simple activities can foster more creativity than letting your mind drift totally or even concentrating hard.

Wait, what? Where did I say that? Oh right, Bussman interviewed me by email a few weeks ago. I had forgotten. I’m glad I sounded articulate.

A few days later, in The Scotsman, Lori Anderson notes that while “we will do anything to avoid being bored:”

The second we board a train we whip out our iPads and phones, at home the TV accompanies many a families’ meal, while drama box sets kill those languid hours before bed. For the more cultured, they find their panacea in books and classical music.

As Alex Soojung-Kim Pang, author of The Distraction Addiction, said recently: “being over-scheduled and over worked is the new status symbol”. I couldn’t agree more. Yet there is a growing belief that, by filling our lives with constant distractions, we are missing out on a range of creative and psychological benefits that come with boredom.

Artists and novelists have long believed that their best ideas or works can spring from boredom’s still, static pond. Brain scans again reveal that, even “at rest”, the brain remains incredibly active and that people will frequently unknot problems, either consciously or unconsciously, when given a period of unoccupied free time.

This idea that boredom is important for creativity is one that’s both obviously true, and yet incomplete. Some kinds of boredom can ultimately motivate you to make your own fun (if you’re a kid), while walks can give your mind a chance to free associate or ruminate on problems without your conscious involvement; but there are also forms of boredom that are a pose, an expression of anomie or hostility. Still, I think there’s more to be gained from facing and using boredom than we often realize: the reflex to remain engaged all too often springs from a desire to stay mindless.

“we are together in a universe where two human beings can simultaneously understand the statement ‘if space is numeric!'”

David Auerbach writes in Slate about “coder’s high,” an “intense feeling of absorption exclusive to programmers:”

[O]ne of the things I miss about programming is the coder’s high: those times when, for hours on end, I would lock my vision straight at the computer screen, trance out, and become a human-machine hybrid zipping through the virtual architecture that my co-workers and I were building. Hunger, thirst, sleepiness, and even pain all faded away while I was staring at the screen, thinking and typing, until I’d reach the point of exhaustion and it would come crashing down on me….

In his study Zen and the Brain, neuroscientist James H. Austin speaks of how one’s attention will shift into “a vacancy of utmost clarity, a space so devoid of the physical self.” I don’t know if programmers get all the way there, but their ability to tune out the world while working is remarkable.

I don’t know if this is “exclusive to programmers;” flow states are pretty well-documented in many different fields, and I suspect that arguments about whether programmers or surgeons or composers feel them more deeply will quickly collapse into a proxy war over who’s smarter, or who the world likes best. But certainly the idea that working on software can put you in a state of deep concentration is not new. Ellen Ullman opens her great memoir Close to the Machine with this:

I have no idea what time it is. There are no windows in this office and no clock, only the blinking red LED display of a microwave, which flashes 12:00, 12:00, 12:00, 12:00. Joel and I have been programming for days. We have a bug, a stubborn demon of a bug. So the red pulse no-time feels right, like a read-out of our brains, which have somehow synchronized themselves at the same blink rate.

“But what if they select all the text and –”
” — hit Delete.”
“Damn! The NULL case!”
“And if not we’re out of the text field and they hit space –”
“– yeah, like for –”
“– no parameter –”
“Hell!”
“So what if we space-pad?”
“I don’t know … Wait a minute!”
“Yeah, we could space-pad –”
” — and do space as numeric.”
“Yes! We’ll call SendKey(space) to –”
“– the numeric object.”
“My God! That fixes it!”
“Yeah! That’ll work if –”
“– space is numeric!”
“– if space is numeric!”

We lock eyes. We barely breathe. For a slim moment, we are together in a universe where two human beings can simultaneously understand the statement “if space is numeric!”

Joel and I started this round of debugging on Friday morning. Sometime later, maybe Friday night, another programmer, Danny, came to work. I suppose it must be Sunday by now because it’s been a while since we’ve seen my client’s employees around the office. Along the way, at odd times of day or night that have completely escaped us, we’ve ordered in three meals of Chinese food, eaten six large pizzas, consumed several beers, had innumerable bottles of fizzy water, and finished two entire bottles of wine. It has occurred to me that if people really knew how software got written, I’m not sure if they’d give their money to a bank or get on an airplane ever again.

But she argues that while part of the state is a pleasure, there’s also a defensive element to it. The complexity of projects eventually leads to a point where

the programmer has no choice but to retreat into some private interior space, closer to the machine, where things can be accomplished.The machine begins to seem friendlier than the analysts, the users, the managers. The real-world reflection of the program — who cares anymore? Guide an X-ray machine or target a missile; print a budget or a dossier; run a city subway or a disk-drive read/write arm: it all begins to blur.

“giving everybody the same length of cable:” equalizing distance to obliterate time in HFT

High-frequency trading has long stood as a great example of how the physicality of computing really matters, contrary to companies’ breezy declarations that everything is in The Cloud. Take for example this great anecdote from a long article on an impending class-action suit over HFT in The Guardian:

The NYSE was the first stock exchange to build its own data centre, at Mahwah, New Jersey (with an identical European sibling in Basildon, Essex). Finding engineers to describe what goes on inside this 37,000 sq metre (400,000 sq feet) hangar is not easy, but once you have, the eccentricity of the microverse comes comically alive. NYSE began by building a room called a pod, in the centre of which was the “matching engine”, a central server that gathers data and distributes it to market participants for a fee. For a higher fee, however, HFT traders could “co-locate” their own algorithmic computers inside the pod. And because space inside Pod 1 sold quickly, a second was built. When the traders in Pod 2 complained at being farther from the matching engine, a Pythonesque comedy began. “I always thought that was funny,” laughs one engineer down the phone, “because a foot of cable equates to one nanosecond’s difference – a billionth of a second. And when this first happened, the machines most of these guys used couldn’t even differentiate nanoseconds.”

But the NYSE centre is regulated, unlike private, third-party data centres, and has to be seen to be fair. So NYSE came up with an elegant solution, by measuring the distance to the farthest HFT server and giving everybody the same length of cable. This worked until engineers noticed that traders now wanted their servers located farther from the matching engine, because light signals bouncing around inside a long, coiled cable would in principle degrade and slow infinitesimally in comparison with a straight cable. In response, NYSE ran traders’ cables around the walls to minimise bend. Laugh at this Marx Brothers farce, however, and systems people will remind you that computers don’t work the way we do. Our “time” is meaningless to them: a nanosecond might as well be a second, or a century, because the message that arrives first gets the trade.

Chess and mental exhaustion

This afternoon, I ran across this bit in Thomas Kuhn’s interview with Werner Heisenberg:

[Arnold] Sommerfeld would always have very definite opinions as to what people should do and should not do. And so also about this game of chess. He said, “Well, you shouldn’t waste your time by playing chess. If you do have that kind of effort, then you’d better do physics; if you want to have some recreation, you can go skiing.”

A tiny bit of background: Sommerfeld was a physicist famous for training a number of the leaders of the quantum physics revolution, though he himself was definitely old school (and actually a mathematician by training). But I’m curious here about the attitude regarding chess. Was there a sense that chess was (or is?) a game that is mentally draining rather than diverting? Or is it only so among players of a certain skill level, a certain ambition, or what?

What I’m trying to understand is whether Sommerfeld is expressing an example of a more general understanding in early 20th century Continental scientists (or educated people generally) about recreations that were actually restored your mental energy and left you able to resume work, versus recreation that further drained you.

Quote of the day: William Gibson

"It’s harder to imagine the past that went away than it is to imagine the future." (From his Paris Review interview.)

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