I read this on the Reddit rowing sub-forum last week: You do not rise to the level of your goals. You fall to the level of your systems." --James Clear
I don't know anything about James Clear, but that's one of the most profound things I've read in a long time.
I talked to Eli 19.5 at length about this, and we agreed that it's a good description of how he manages his life. He is full of systems that many other kids his age simply don't have, and it's one of the reasons he's been so successful.
In my mind, this started with hockey. We worked together to create schedules and habits that supported his effort. Workouts focused on explosion, not endurance, because the goalie position is an explosive one. He had workout coaches and stretching coaches. He did visual training. He did mental training.
On the ice, he was systematic, too.
His entire approach was system-based, which I never understood until I read that quote and started thinking about what we'd done.
That's translated to the rest of his life, I think, because he is incredibly well-organized and thorough in any area where he wants to excel. He learned how to cook in the most systematic way I've ever seen, selecting recipes on the basis of what they were teaching him.
Even in the pandemic, he's remained systematic.
Here's the bonus. In helping him do those things in hockey, I learned about systems myself, even though I wouldn't have expressed it that way at the time. The Man You Trust is absolutely a product of systems and not goals.
So I started something in order to help him, not even fully understanding it at the time, and it turned into something terrific for both of us.
I think this explains why so many people (including myself, in the past) can't reach their goals. They have aspirations, but they can't get started, because it's hard to get started and stay on track without systems to support those aspirations. Actually, it's more than hard--it's almost impossible.
I wish I understood this when I was twenty, but that's true about almost everything, really. The really fantastic thing, though, is that Eli 19.5 already understands.
I've been paying quite a bit of attention to heat lately.
I turn off the heat at night. In the morning, I've been interested in how long it takes to heat up the apartment, since I have a temperature/humidity gadget in the kitchen.
At first, I thought I had it figured out after I collected data for a few days. Roughly 20 minutes to raise the temperature 1 degree, and roughly 1 hour for it to drop 1 degree.
There was variance, though, and I couldn't understand why, because I thought the temperature increase would be linear.
It's not, though. It's something much interesting.
After doing some research (which I'll probably mangle here), I discovered that an enclosed space has a set point in terms of temperature. For instance, the apartment has a set point (roughly) of 69, which represents its equilibrium temperature. The further it gets from the equilibrium, the faster it heats/cools to return to its normal state.
When I wake up in the morning, the lower the temperature, the faster it initially heats up. The speed of heating decays as I get closer to the equilibrium, and it really slows down when I keep heating the room until it's 71 (because I like to leave the heat off for hours at a time instead of it coming on every half hour or so).
So it's definitely more efficient in an energy sense to turn off the heat when you're away for a few hours instead of just setting it at a lower temperature. Although this would probably not work for Garret in Winnipeg.
Anyone who's surprised by what's happening today hasn't been paying attention. That is what happens when paranoia is cultivated as a political strategy.
Eli 19.5 returned to Ann Arbor and the television in his house was broken. It was of unknown ownership, six years old, and based on the sequence of flashing red lights when powered on, had sustained either a backlight or power supply failure.
When he was younger, I'd gotten him a 43" Samsung LCD for his basement area, and it still worked, so we agreed to meet in Lansing halfway. At our favorite, magical exit: 101.
I will call this exit The Wonderful 101 forever more, because it is the easiest, most perfect exit, and it leads to gas and food within a hundred yards of the interstate. It's exactly halfway to Ann Arbor.
It's also exactly halfway to Detroit (the rink where he had goalie lessons, at least). I believe it is halfway to every place on Earth, including Taiwan.
In this case, we agreed to meet in the Wendy's parking lot, where we had eaten many a lunch on the way to the rink.
While I was waiting for him, I was awed by the staggering line in the drive-through lane. Over a dozen cars, and they weren't moving. Then I saw an enormous red truck pull up at the end of the line.
Inside the truck was a man shoveling a handful of fries into his mouth.
Apparently, he had already been through the drive through, and was now willing to wait fifteen minutes to go right through it again.
That's commitment.
That was Moment #1.
Moment #2 was today on my way back from the store. School had just let out, and I stopped to let some children cross the street. They were all with their parents, and while most hurried along, there was one who was considerably more interesting.
She decided that it was critically important to step on the broad white stripes that crossed the street and nothing in-between, which required her to invent a stride that would have received enthusiastic approval from The Ministry of Silly Walks.
Her mother was trying to hurry her along, but she was resolute, and she touched every white stripe and nothing more.
From David Gloier, and this answers my question about reindeer positions on the sled by using a similar (and real) sport: Dogs on the line. Enjoy, Meg!
Holiday letters are generally what you would get if reality television had children and those children were raised by hummingbirds.
What those children wrote would be holiday letters.
"I can't read this whole thing," I said. This letter was actually from someone who I like very much, but her holiday letters have the folksy density of osmium.
This particular holiday letter, received for many years, has also proven itself to be uncomfortably personal. I can't handle the emotional full monty. I know my limits.
"What does this mean?" I asked, skimming. "'I'm thinking of becoming a farmer's market.' Is that physically possible?"
"It seems unlikely," Eli 19.4 said, laughing.
"What is this? 'Colby Bryant'? I need an Enigma machine to decipher this."
"Maybe she doesn't know the right name for Koby Bryant," Gloria said.
"She's a sports person," I said. "She knows. This can only mean that there's some awful cheese reference earlier."
"Go find it," Eli said.
"Are you kidding? I'm not jumping on that grenade for you," I said.
We were watching a bowl game. Two rando teams with some kind of food tie-in.
"Would reindeers take a Toradol shot to be able to compete on Christmas Eve?" I asked.
"They only play one day a year, so I guess they probably would," Eli 18.4 said.
"How do you think Santa drafts reindeers?"
"Do you mean does he draft natural athletes or students of the game?" Eli asked.
"Exactly. And does Santa draft the best available athlete or does he draft for need?"
"What kind of reindeer does he need to fill out a sled? Eli asked.
"Well, you definitely need great athletes, and they have to have endurance," I said. "But the reindeer near the sleigh need to be able to respond to Santa's commands."
"They might have to make line calls, like offensive lineman."
"Right," I said. "So they definitely have to be students of the game. Coach's sons, maybe."
"Santa has to manage the sleigh, too. What weight of presents can he carry without impacting performance?"
"There are so many simulation aspects here that it could totally be turned into a game. "Sleigh Manager 2020" would work."
"Whataburger" is a beloved burger chain in Texas, and I saw the sweater and felt like its provenance, in combination with possibly the worst shade of orange in existence, made for a special holiday treat.
It was well received.
"Oh my god," Gloria said, laughing.
"Nice sweater, dad," Eli 19.4, also laughing.
"I was going to wear it on Christmas, but given the entertainment value, I thought it deserved two days," I said. Which it did, and I have to say that it's actually a very comfortable sweater, as long as I don't have to look at it.
On Christmas Day, we were sitting around after lunch, and I got a text from a good friend. "You know, it's really nice to hear from people who care about you on Christmas Day," I said.
A few minutes later, I got another text, which I read aloud:
I just wanted to take a minute to wish you a very merry Christmas and a happy year, most of all good health! These days people don't spend much time or thought on some personal words to their friends and family, they just copy and paste some random shit and send it on. So after all we've been through together this year I want to thank you for your friendship and wish you a happy and fulfilling 2018 - you’re the best gymnastics group anyone could ask for. Best wishes, Helen
"Wait, 'gymnastics group'? '2018'? What's happening?" Eli asked.
"Like I said, hearing from the people who genuinely care for you is what it's all about," I said.
I learned some interesting things about ultrasounds last week.
I had one on the 24th, as a precaution (side note: it was totally normal). The technician doing the ultrasound was in her sixties, I think, and I asked her how long she'd been doing this. 30+ years, she said, so I asked her some questions about the technology and how it had changed.
The changes have largely been in both speed and accuracy, which makes sense. But she also said the biggest hardware leap that's coming is wireless wands. Everyone hates the cords, she said, and they constantly get in the way. The problem with the initial wireless models that have recently come out, though, is that they're too bulky. Packing all the electronics into the wand instead of having the cord as the data cable makes a significant difference in size, and the wireless wands just aren't that usable right now.
I asked her how long it took to get good at doing scans. Not just competent, but good. She said 5-6 years, which surprised me. I didn't realize it was that complex.
I also asked her how she analyzes a black and white image that is constantly changing as she moves the wand. It just looks looked like a mess to me, and I wanted to know how she knew when to take an image.
There are actually two kinds of images, she said: still and a 6-second video mode. She takes both over the course of an examination. There's a minimum level of documentation required for each scan, so there's a somewhat standard set of images/videos. However, she also said there's a level of interpretation outside the standard documentation where she will take additional images when she sees something unusual. That's one of the reasons it takes so long to become highly skilled, because you need so much experience in seeing what's normal to be able to immediately recognize what's not.
One of the things I've always really enjoyed is talking to people who are good at what they do. Hearing about the processes they use is fascinating, and I haven't had many chances this year because of Dammit 2020.
When I was 17, I kicked a 48-yard field goal in an intramural game in school.
We always go and kick the ball around during holiday break, and Eli 19.4 has come close for the last few years.
Still, though, the record held. Of course I let him know about it, too.
Then this happened:
That's from 45 yards (I recorded it in slo-mo, for some reason). And yes, it's higher than the uprights when it goes through.
Then he made one from 50.
Then he made one from 55.
Then he kicked one from 60 that would have been good from 59.
The ball was just exploding off his foot today. It was incredible.
Yes, he used a kicking tee, and yes, there was a strong tailwind today. No matter. 59 is 59 no matter the conditions.
Two guys in the 20s who still looked like football players were watching while he was bombing these kicks through. One of them said, "What college do you kick for?"
That's a running joke between Eli and I. No matter the sport, no matter what we're doing, he gets asked that. And it gets funnier each time it happens.
I was struggling to make a 25-yarder. I mean, I'm the same as I was 40 years ago except I have 1/4 the leg strength and 1/10 the hip rotation. Other than that, I'm still 100%.
"I'll give you $50 if you make one from 40," Eli said.
That's a thing between us. I can go from zero to hero when there's money on the table.
I didn't make it, but in an entirely shocking moment, I did get it there. It was to the right of the upright by about a foot, and Eli's face looked more shocked than mine did when he made one from 55.
"I don't know what I would have done if you'd made that," he said.
