Measured Words

Good health

2011-12-21T23:19:00.000+13:00

It’s the festive season – a time to gather with friends and family to celebrate the year passed, a time to toast one another’s good health.

Health. Such a deceptively dull word and yet the word itself tells the story of why good health is our primary universal human need, and why life without it is so terribly trying.

Health evolved from the Middle English word hale (which we still use in the phrase ‘hale and hearty’), as did whole. So health really means ‘wholeness’. When our health is poor we are not whole and our quality of life suffers. Nothing is more essential to us than our good health.

And this year – for me and my family – health has been our preoccupation.

In February my father was diagnosed with stage 2 cancer and a week later my uncle-in-law was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer. I felt deeply unsettled, not just for the obvious reasons, but also because the situation was unfamiliar to me but depressingly commonplace in our society. Cancer is literally swathing its way through our friends and families.

Up steps modern healthcare (bravo), immediately trailed by the dark shadow that every cancer sufferer must face: the treatment dilemma. Cancer is so damnably invasive that conventional treatments invariably damage (painfully) a patient’s health to improve a patient’s health, and therein lies the dilemma. Do I throw everything at the disease and risk losing quality of life for the slim chance of prolonged life, or do I jump straight to palliative care and try to squeeze out as much quality of life from the short time I have left?

I imagine (I can only imagine) that for most cancer patients, there is only one option: fight it with all guns blazing, not least to show loved ones that you want to remain with them at any personal cost. The more advanced the cancer, the greater the heroism: I have seen firsthand the price paid. Both my father and uncle chose this option. My father survived, my uncle did not (and tears still well when I think of his selfless bravery – he would have done anything to be here for his wife and children).

But the dilemma remains: the other option is equally valid – immensely brave, loving, and wise in different ways. And if I ever have to face the awful choice, I will consider both options.

Understandably, this situation caused me to think about ‘life’ even more than I already do. I reflected that, despite our society’s obsession with materialism, life is not something you accumulate: the longest lives are not necessarily the best. Each day is a life. On any day, in any hour, we can attain the best of life. And when quality is the goal – as I sense it should be – then even a short life can be gloriously abundant. My uncle’s life was so.

Have I suddenly changed my lifestyle in response to these illnesses? No. Not at all. I already knew where health sits in the pecking order (see my human needs theory), and I already live in a manner configured around that reality – and perhaps I always have. You see, my father is a doctor and the principles of primary health care are familiar topics. Put the fence at the top of the cliff; not the ambulance at the bottom. Visit your GP regularly. Eat well and take every opportunity to exercise. Prioritise primary health care. Educate.

Fittingly, a few weeks ago I began some consulting work at Ko Awatea, the centre for healthcare improvement and innovation at the Counties Manukau District Health Board at Middlemore, South Auckland. How will I contribute as a wordsmith with nothing more than an appreciation for medicine? I will simply try my best to help the dedicated staff to share more widely and persuasively their valuable knowledge, so that more benefit can be gained from it.

Please, wish me well, the stakes are high.

And if your life isn’t already configured around good health, may I gently (but persuasively) urge you to reconfigure it, starting today.

Book review: Never Let Me Go

2011-09-17T17:06:00.000+12:00

Never Let Me Go
by Kazuo Ishiguro

2010 Faber and Faber (UK paperback)
ISBN: 978 0571272129
282 pages
First published 2005

This delicate story has recently been made into a movie (which I haven't seen), resulting in the publication of a new, heavily marketed paperback which caught my eye on a recent trip to London. Ishiguro had long been on my radar as I loved The Remains of the Day (both the novel and the movie).

The Sunday Times endorsement described Never Let Me Go as 'Masterly ... A novel with piercing questions about humanity and humaneness.' I cannot argue with the assessment, but this novel didn't do the thing I most want from a novel: it didn't fully absorb me.

I am sure its assured understatement and slow pace will fulfill many readers - I have enjoyed the combination in other novels - but the 'dreadful secret' was delivered in such a slow and fractured way that by the time the picture was complete in my mind, I had already become used to its substance. The secret was indeed weighty - sad, tragically explicable - but not dreadful and, crucially, not believable.

The three main characters (Kathy, Ruth, and Tommy) were believable, touchingly so, and I did care for them. But I just couldn't engage with their world. Was that because it was openly not this world - the setting more science fiction than merely fiction? I don't think so: I have 'bought into' much more extraordinary settings as a reader. No, I think pace was to blame. Bluntly put, not enough happened to maintain my engagement. A brilliant tableau, but a flawed novel.

Measured quotes

2011-09-16T14:09:00.001+12:00

We quote others because their words resonate and reveal, often capturing a liberating truth or 'bringing light to bear on the dark corners where troubles fester'. At times their words shock or provoke us, causing us to stop and think. I am often inspired by quotations and I appreciate the regular supply I receive in my A.Word.A.Day newsletters (subscribe at Wordsmith.org). So here are some of my favourites — via AWAD and other sources. I'll kick off with ten and will update when inspired. For now, the quotations are ordered merely by surname. I hope they inspire you.

Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication.
- Leonardo da Vinci, painter, engineer, musician, and scientist (1452-1519)

When I go into the garden with a spade, and dig a bed, I feel such an exhilaration and health that I discover that I have been defrauding myself all this time in letting others do for me what I should have done with my own hands.
- Ralph Waldo Emerson, writer and philosopher (1803-1882)

Nothing is more full of grace in the human condition than the presence of a most excellent friend.
- Marsilio Ficino, philosopher (1433-1499)

All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another.
- Anatole France, novelist, essayist, Nobel laureate (1844-1924)

He who listens to truth is not less than he who utters truth.

- Kahlil Gibran, poet and artist (1883-1931)

Most people are mirrors, reflecting the moods and emotions of the times; few are windows, bringing light to bear on the dark corners where troubles fester. The whole purpose of education is to turn mirrors into windows.

- Sydney J. Harris, journalist and author (1917-1986)

Communication skills are one of the most important competencies needed in the 21st-century workforce. If one is to succeed, he or she will need a mastery of English because it is the language of business, science, diplomacy and academia. [6 September 2011]

- Lee Kuan Yew, former prime minister of Singapore (1923-)

The Earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena. Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and emperors so that, in glory and triumph, they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot. Think of the endless cruelties visited by the inhabitants of one corner of this pixel on the scarcely distinguishable inhabitants of some other corner, how frequent their misunderstandings, how eager they are to kill one another, how fervent their hatreds.

- Carl Sagan, astronomer and writer (1934-1996)

Clear thinking requires courage rather than intelligence.

- Thomas Szasz, author, professor of psychiatry (1920-)

How far should one accept the rules of the society in which one lives? To put it another way: at what point does conformity become corruption? Only by answering such questions does the conscience truly define itself.

- Kenneth Tynan, critic and writer (1927-1980)

Jimmy Carter said it in 1979...

2011-03-30T19:52:00.001+13:00

I was only 10 when Jimmy Carter delivered his 'Crisis of Confidence' televised speech to the American people. So his words were new to me when, earlier this year, I heard parts of the speech in a documentary. These particular words made me sit up.

In a nation that was proud of hard work, strong families, close-knit communities, and our faith in God, too many of us now tend to worship self-indulgence and consumption. Human identity is no longer defined by what one does, but by what one owns. But we've discovered that owning things and consuming things does not satisfy our longing for meaning. We've learned that piling up material goods cannot fill the emptiness of lives which have no confidence or purpose.

The Club of Rome said similar things earlier in the 70s, which of course echoed philosophical and religious teachings that have been around for millennia. Overconsumption is not a new concept that we need to come to terms with; it is a tired state of affairs that we need to to own up to and address.

'More' is not the be-all-and-end-all: it can make us miserable, weigh us down, and leave us dependent and vulnerable. Let's listen to Jimmy's words again and, this time around, let's get serious about heading in a different direction.

Link
Full 'Crisis in Confidence' (1979) speech transcript:

http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/amex/carter/filmmore/ps_crisis.html

Book review: A Week in December

2010-12-14T16:52:00.001+13:00

A Week in December
by Sebastian Faulks

2010 Vintage (UK paperback)
ISBN: 978 0099458289
390 pages plus acknowledgements
First published 2009 in Great Britain by Hutchinson

I loved this book. A Sunday Telegraph endorsement on the back cover simply reads: 'Perfectly constructed . . . a pleasure to read', and I concur. The book is pitched as a modern, Dickensian, state-of-the-nation novel, and that's precisely what it is. There are seven chapters, one for each of the days of a particular week in December 2007. Whilst not intended to be a pacey 'thriller', the book enjoys a certain pace through the regular flow of connections between its outwardly disparate characters (and there are many more than the seven mentioned on the book's back cover), and the last quarter simply is thrilling. The writing is also of such masterful quality that you just want to keep reading. Faulks's metaphors are sublime: fresh, apt, revealing, varied. And several times he writes about the manner in which one of his eminently real yet outlandish characters speaks - not something I recall seeing often - and each description is so telling it made me stop and shake my head in awe. Perhaps that's why I failed to mark any of the passages! Nevermind, here is one quote that will give you an idea of the quality of insights on offer. It is on the disconnection of an inevitably dissipated love affair.

Everything that made life tolerable derived from a premise that you could expect reward or permanence: that you could build.

Regardless of its core topics, I loved this book and will certainly reread it one day (not something I often do). But I must mention the core topics because if you are interested in either the ethics of the financial 'industry', or the nature of Islam in a modern Western context, then I recommend you read this novel. Many times I put the book down and reflected on some new learning or insight. Many times I laughed out loud (the book reviewer character is truly hilarious). And I wanted to physically applaud a certain speech given at the end of the book by the sozzled, but clear-thinking Roger.

I take my hat off to Sebastian Faulks, both for the quality of his writing and for his courage in writing so forthrightly about topics we simply must become more knowledgeable about if we are to avoid avoidable catastrophes.

Book review: Born to Run

2010-06-23T10:21:00.001+12:00

Born to Run: The Hidden Tribe, the Ultra-Runners, and the Greatest Race the World has Never Seen
by Christopher McDougall

2009 Profile Books Ltd (UK)
ISBN: 978 186197 823 3 (UK)
282 pages plus acknowledgements
First published 2009 by Alfred A. Knopf, a division of Random House Inc. New York

What is it about? Did I like it?
I shouldn’t be surprised how much I enjoyed this popular book, despite its length (see style comments). I love running (particularly off-road running) and storytelling. I am fascinated about evolution, human nature, and the timeless question, why are we here? And I am interested in barefoot running and human health. All these topics are Born to Run territory.

The backdrop for these topics is an ultra-marathon race run in the remote Barranca del Cobre region of Mexico in 2006. Legendary off-road runner, Scott Jurek took part, as did the book's author, a handful of other American runners, and a group of Tarahumara Mexican Indians, the 'hidden tribe' of the sub-title.

The writing style
There are many ways to tell a story and a key choice for a storyteller is to choose brevity or embellishment. McDougall doesn’t just opt for the latter, he commits to it with gusto. He drags out everything but the science, on purpose (I think). Born to run is a yarn. Now, I'm not sure it needs to be, but that’s what it is. It’s a marathon story for, well, a marathon story and, while I would still have cut half the text, I can see why the author and editor chose the path they did. One of McDougall's lightly-touched scientific topics is our brain's understandable preference to take the easy path (to conserve energy for an emergency) when a long hard slog is both more fulfilling, and what we're built for. McDougall's rambling creates an atmosphere that helps to bring the facts to life and, I suspect, makes the learning process more satisfying and successful. I may be being generous, but I think McDougall's writing is indulgence by design. Whatever the truth, my sound-bite bombarded brain enjoyed the long, slow, noisy meal of Born to run.

The highlights
There were two highlights for me: the running tips and chapter 28 (p214-244 of the UK edition).

First highlight, the running tips. I should preface this by saying that, in the month or so since I read the book I have changed my running style and I feel stronger, fitter, and running feels easier. Needless to say, I have had no injuries. The tips I latched onto, in no particular order, were:

'Love the beast', that is, embrace fatigue. Get to know it, to anticipate it, and to conquer it. Think, bring it on because I know I can push through it. There is no denying that fatigue comes in waves and the further you run the more waves you have to overcome.
Run barefoot (at least some of the time), or run like you're barefoot. Which means, run on the incredibly strong and bouncy pad of your foot, not heal-toe, as modern shoes (not biological evolution) enable you to do. Heal-toe running is a false economy and no amount of rubber is going to protect your body from the impact of landing on your heal.
Keep your back straighter, your gait more regular (legs staying squarely under your hips), and your strides shorter.
Don't train too fast (speed work is okay in bursts) so your body learns to slowly burn fat, not quickly burn sugar.

Second highlight, chapter 28 (the longest of the books 32 chapters), which is about the evolutionary and biological science behind running. In a nutshell, 'humans evolved to go running' and chase down prey. Our unique hairless, sweating physiology and our aerobic capability enabled us to wear down any other species. Added to that, our super-sized brains enabled us to outwit our prey. We scrawny (when compared to Neanderthals) Homo sapiens are 'persistence hunters' who survived due to our cunning and our ability to run long distances. It's there in the title; we're born to run.

Links

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Barranca_del_Cobre
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Scott_Jurek
http://allwedoisrun.com/tarahumara.htm (photos by Luis Escobar)

Auckland school the casualty of political apathy

2010-02-06T17:00:00.001+13:00

I am utterly dismayed and disgusted by the actions of Auckland City Deputy Mayor David Hay, and all the shameful, block-voting Citizens & Ratepayers councillors who, on Wednesday 3 February 2010, were responsible for authorising the totally unjustifiable and unmandated purchase of the land beneath Monte Cecilia School in Hillsborough. I am not a Catholic but I chose to send my daughters to Monte Cecilia School because of its tremendous people, character, and heart. My girls will be long gone by the time Hay's personal vision can ever be realised, but I am nevertheless committed to stopping this senseless destruction of a community.

If you are an Aucklander, I urge you to follow this story via http://www.friendsofmonte.org.nz/ so you can learn about the actions of these elected officials. Presumably our supercity rates will pay the $20 million-plus for relocating and rebuilding a primary school that absolutely doesn't need to be moved, and it is our own political apathy that has caused this situation in the first place.

The photographs in a campaign brochure do not tell you the integrity and motivations of a human being. Before the supercity elections we need to take the time to meet our candidates and determine, firsthand, their true character. The Monte Cecilia Park debacle could be small fry if our society continues to vote with darts.

Fictional dreams (updated)

2008-08-27T07:00:00.000+12:00

I mentioned in my last blog that, despite having written three non-fiction books, my first love is fiction.

The very first piece of advice I received about writing fiction was that I needed to read fiction – lots of it. For many years this was an easy requirement to fulfil, but around thirteen years ago the busyness of the digital age hit me at the same time as I became responsible for someone other than myself, and suddenly there was very little time for reading novels.

So I have regressed to being barely an intermediate level reader of fiction, but the worst of it is that, in terms of New Zealand fiction, I am still only a beginner. There are three main reasons for this. First, when I previously had time to read I lived overseas so I simply didn’t have access to a wide range of New Zealand literature. Second, I have never felt particularly drawn to New Zealand fiction. Like many (perhaps most) New Zealanders, I grew up with the distinct impression that we tend to tell small, dark stories and I was very focussed on discovering (and conquering!) the world beyond our shores. And third, I have always been put off by the fact that, in New Zealand bookshops, New Zealand novels sit in a separate section from other novels. I have always aspired to be a writer first, and a New Zealand writer second, so I would prefer to see my books (novels, one day!) alongside other similar books, regardless of the nationality of the author. That said, I have been told by booksellers that they think having a New Zealand fiction section is a positive thing – and it’s certainly in their best interests to do whatever translates to more sales and, therefore, more reading – but I still haven’t quite got my head around the practice.

So what is my favourite New Zealand novel? Of the shamefully small number that I have read Maurice Gee’s The Burning Boy is my pick. I would love to hear about your favourite New Zealand novels, particularly in the context of my five all-time favourite novels, which I will list below. And given that all of the books on my list are very popular, your suggestions may well be of value to many others.

I think you will find that it is a surprisingly difficult task to choose your favourite five novels (and I challenge you to do just that and share your list with others, via the comments), but here, in the order that I read them, are mine.

Skallagrigg – William Horwood
A Room with a View – E M Forster
The Crow Road – Iain Banks
Captain Corelli’s Mandolin – Louis de Bernieres
Cloud Atlas – David Mitchell

It would be a dream, indeed, to write a novel that could sit alongside any of these. But that’s certainly my dream.

Update 19 March 2010: Have just been asked the same question (top five novels) and a second bout of reflection made me substitute The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams for Captain Corelli’s Mandolin. The Guide may or may not be better literature, but it certainly influenced me more and introduced me to characters, like Marvin the paranoid android, who I only need to think about and I start smiling: ‘The first ten million years were the worst, and the second ten million years, they were the worst too. The third ten million I didn’t enjoy at all. After that I went into a bit of a decline.’

This blog was first published by New Zealand Book Month, 26 August 2008

Where are we?

2008-08-18T07:00:00.000+12:00

This week I am going to write about just one of the words from my new book, From Afterwit to Zemblanity: 100 endangered words brought to life. The word is ubiety, it is my favourite word from the book, and in last week’s blog I awarded it a silver medal for Poignancy in my ‘Word Olympics’. Can you remember what it means?

The Oxford English Dictionary defines ubiety as ‘condition in respect of place or location; local relationship; whereness’. The Random House Dictionary of English (Second Edition, Unabridged) defines it as ‘the property of having a definite location at any given time; state of existing and being localized in space.’ The Webster’s Third New International Dictionary, Unabridged, adds that it is ‘the abstract quality of being in position.’

So why is this word – of all the hand-picked beauties in my book – my favourite?

Ubiety is a condition that deeply affects my life, both privately and professionally. How can anyone whose location is indefinite (neither here nor there) really enjoy life fully? How can a writer – particularly a fiction writer (my first love, despite my three non-fiction books) – write compellingly about places he has not wholly occupied? In 1995, when I joined the world of digital communication by opening my first internet and email account, I lost my grip on ubiety. Thirteen years on, I am only just beginning to regain it.

In case you are unsure of exactly what I mean by ubiety, let me paint a couple of pictures.

Ubiety is standing in front of Westminster Abbey on your OE and actually being there. Ubiety allows you to enjoy the anticipation of this experience, it allows you to be overwhelmed by the greatness of the architecture and the sheer weight and significance of the history, and it allows you to create a vivid and emotive memory that you can call upon for the rest of your life.

Ubiety is not being interrupted and distracted by emails, texts, and phone calls from home, or by researching your next destination before you have even begun to experience your current one, or by having to remember to recharge your mobile phone, your laptop, your iPod, and the batteries for your digital camera.

In our increasingly connected world we risk dislocation and liminality (‘being neither here nor there’) through our readily embraced but seldom questioned digital ubiquity. Just as multi-tasking comes with the risk of doing many things not particularly well, digital connection comes with the risk of both physical and mental disconnection. Whose attention isn’t fractured these days?

So I am on a mission to do more by doing less, to be more available by being less available, and to enjoy life more by devouring it in smaller bites. And the only getting lost I want to do is when I lose myself in a great book!

First published by New Zealand Book Month, 17 August 2008

And the Word Olympics winners are...

2008-08-06T07:00:00.000+12:00

I am a firm believer that all words are not equal. Just as some athletes are able to out-perform others, some words majestically out-perform other words and I think it is both helpful and a lot of fun to celebrate the champions.

The Olympics is in many ways a celebration of the exceptional qualities of a relatively small number of exceptional athletes. We celebrate their strength, stamina, speed, skill, and determination – and the same could apply to a ‘Word Olympics’, only the qualities would differ. What might those qualities be? Poignancy, relevance, hopefulness, style, and sound all spring to mind.

Having recently written a book about standout words, I can easily think of ‘competitors’ for each quality (or ‘event’) and, just for a little fun, I am happy to go out on a limb and nominate some Word Olympics winners.

Poignancy
BRONZE: peripeteia – ‘a sudden or dramatic change; a crisis’ (this is the kind of crisis that knocks you down; ultimately from the Greek piptein, ‘to fall’).
SILVER: ubiety – ‘whereness; having a definite location; the state of existing and being localized in space’ (this is a precious quality that most of us seldom enjoy in our world of digital ubiquity and constant ‘inforuptions’ – we are everywhere and nowhere).
GOLD: karoshi – ‘death from overwork’ (a borrowing from Japan that says it all).

Relevance
=BRONZE: elozable – ‘amenable to flattery’ (who isn’t?).
=BRONZE: peccable – ‘liable to sin and error’ (ditto).
SILVER: plutomania – ‘excessive or frenzied pursuit of wealth’ (sound familiar?).
GOLD: velleity – ‘volition at its lowest level’ (this word effectively means ‘to care about something but not enough to do anything about it’ and it describes a current failing in our over-busy society that is eminently relevant and worthy of discussion).

Hopefulness
BRONZE: irenical – ‘conducive to or operating toward peace’.
SILVER: proficuous – ‘profitable; beneficial, useful’ (just imagine a world in which all economic activity was proficuous – that’s a world I certainly hope for).
GOLD: dolorifuge – ‘something that banishes or mitigates grief’.

Style
BRONZE: zaftig – ‘pleasingly plump’ (a bolter from Yiddish – interestingly, a language without a country and without a word for ‘weapons’ – that, given the word was only coined in the 1930s, is a powerful reminder of just how fickle our notion fashionability is at any one point in time).
SILVER: armamentarium – ‘the total store of available resources’ (an altogether superior word for an altogether superior ‘tool box’).
GOLD: sprezzatura – ‘ease of manner, studied carelessness; the appearance of acting or being done without effort’ (a borrowing from Italian – of course! – think James Bond, Pavarotti, Johnny Depp).

Sound
BRONZE: pandiculation – ‘a stretching and stiffening, especially of the trunk and extremities (as when fatigued and drowsy or after waking from sleep)’.
SILVER: sprezzatura – a second medal for this delicious word.
GOLD: papilionaceous – ‘resembling a butterfly; butterfly-shaped’.

I can think of other ‘events’, like etymology (gold to zemblanity), sauciness (gold to cryptoscopophilia), and silliness (gold to millihelen), but I’ll leave all that celebrating to my book, which is a kind of gallery for fine words, and which I hope you will delve into the next time you are in a bookstore.

But I will end here with a standout word for our team of exceptional athletes in Beijing: nikhedonia – ‘the pleasure of anticipating victory or success’. Bring it on!

First published by New Zealand Book Month, 5 August 2008

A problem with capitalism

2007-03-02T10:00:00.000+13:00

There is a teeny-weeny problem with capitalism: it's fundamentally flawed.

There, I wrote it. I hope I won't get thrown in jail.

Something about capitalism (defined as 'an economic system based on private ownership of capital') has never sat comfortably with me. It's not that I reject the idea of private ownership — I don't — but just not of absolutely everything and anything. You see, I hate waste, and while capitalism's arch rival communism sets off the same alarm bells, the unlimited enthusiasm with which capitalism chews through finite resources has always meant the alarm bells have rung loudly in my ears, and more so as each year passes.

And therein lies the flaw: limitlessness.

Now you probably want more than just a one-word critique of something so fundamental to our society, and I am happy to expand on my bold and perhaps even heretical statement, but not with thousands of words. 'More' is exactly the problem we have slipped into. We have too much, we do too much, and we write far too much: we are overloaded with details and we cannot see our precious, shrinking forests for our few remaining trees. So I am going to focus on a single principle and just leave you to muse on it. Another 186 words should do the trick.

If a bloke eats an unlimited amount of food, he won't be better off, he'll be dead. Even if he merely overeats, or eats only junk food, he'll become ill. This is because the human body has limits — finite needs and capacities — and, accordingly, an optimum consumption rate.

An economy also has limits, but our global mega-economy doesn't just ignore them, it blatantly demands an impossible-to-sustain year-on-year growth: more consumption next year than this year regardless of all other factors. There is, irrefutably, only a finite amount of natural capital with which to fuel economic activity, and to feed and house and heat and cool all of us busy, busy capitalists. And every year there are millions more capitalists all wanting to sell things that others may or may not need, and that may or may not result in more overall good than harm.

We need discernment, not a free-for-all, and we need to respond to our limitations, not act as if they don't exist. The time for us capitalists to rigorously question the quality of our economic activity is long overdue. Let's have this discussion.

A naked philosophy

2007-02-09T20:55:00.007+13:00

All we need is ... love? Wealth? Health? Fame? More? Faster? Bigger? Better?

What we really need to do is to answer this question, because the lack of a clear reason for getting out of bed each day is seriously stuffing-up our lives.

Our reality is that most of us are very unsure of what we need, or of what we are trying to achieve as we rush about like everyone else around us. And frenetic activity without a carefully considered purpose usually turns into busyness (the » fast forward symbol in the Nakedize logo) of the futile and damaging kind.

So, my very simple (naked) philosophy is that the best way to improve the quality of our lives (and of the lives of those around us) is to think more, first about our true needs, and then about the best ways to satisfy those needs. Goallessness (if there is such a word) appears to me to be our true deficiency, and it's a deficiency we can address, but only if we create time for thinking.

Links

Human needs theory — www.nakedize.com/universal-human-needs.cfm

Optimal goals service — www.nakedize.com/optimal-goals.cfm

The ninth need

2006-02-01T18:31:00.004+13:00

In addition to the eight needs in my theory of universal human needs, I believe we also share an over-arching ninth need*: the need to understand who we are, why we exist, how we are connected to each other, and what is unique and special about being human. I equate this need to such concepts as spirituality, faith, religiosity, and ontology.

I assume this ninth need is what has driven me to seek an understanding of our other universal needs, and is what has driven you to seek the kind of information you have found on this web page. But I don't think this need is one we ever want to fully satisfy because we need questions, and mystery, and faith.

So what has my quest for ontological answers told me about human life, so far?

It has reminded me that I am a human before I am an individual, that I am connected to all humans, and that we are one species. It has lessened the store I place in what can be easily observed: disparate actions, good and bad, performed by humans who speak different (sometimes disparate) languages, who have differently shaped and coloured bodies, who eat differently prepared foods, who wear differently styled clothes, who play different sports, who follow different faiths, who live by different laws, who live in different physical environments, and whose societies are organised differently. It has increased my interest in what takes a little more effort to observe: the common needs and motivations that compel us to do the things we do. It has led me to conclude, as I have long suspected, that despite our superficial differences, we really are all gloriously similar; that we are, unequivocally, on the same team.

And what do I think is most special about humans?

I think our specialness is an exciting (and often frustrating) combination of three qualities. The first is our unmatched cognitive abilities. The second is all that we are able to do with them, good and bad. And the third is our persistently abstract predisposition to do good: to use those unique skills to help each other for the benefit of other members — living and yet to be born — of our species.

What an incredible situation! We are designed for one specific task — to survive forever — and to achieve this goal we have been endowed with a unique set of needs and skills which, like the components of a car, only function to their fullest potential when used in a particular manner. But unlike the components of a car, ours function however they are used: we have, in short, been given the ability to do the complete opposite of our ulimate goal — and everything in between. Imagine creating an 'intelligent' car that could choose to destroy all roads?

Not surprisingly, then, I used to worry that we would blow each other up and that would be our lot. Now I am just fascinated to be part of this unguaranteed life. I adore nature and I am wary of my fellow humans but there is so much evidence of our will to survive and flourish and collaborate and invent that my faith in humanity is stronger than ever. Just look around you, the evidence of why we are special is everywhere — on sports fields, on the tops of mountains, in galleries and concert halls, in hospitals, in schools, at airports, at de-salination plants, in our simple and not-so-simple homes. Sure, we have done and continue to do terrible things, too. But these actions do not define us: if they did, none of us would be here for we would have long ago self-destructed. No, we are defined by our shared instinct to survive and by our unique instinct to better our situation and to look out for each other, so that we can go on surviving.

So is this it? Do we just continue muddling along forever, our positive traits always just managing to supersede our negative ones?

No, we can't. In both realms — survival and betterment — we face huge interconnected challenges. The key issue is our environment: we have only got one and we are ruining it. Of course, we are not the only generation to degrade our environment, but we are the worst, and the problem is escalating with our population and our taste for producing and consuming things we don't need and can't or won't recycle.

I was fortunate enough to visit China recently and two things struck me: the superb quality of the people and the abysmal quality of their environment. Well-meaning Chinese, in their hunger to 'get ahead', Western-style, will rapidly reduce the ability of their environment to support their existence. Air quality, soil quality, and erosion were all obvious, visible problems.

Right now is a crucial period in human history (whatever your beliefs are about the length of that history). Many of us are in the throws of experimenting with just how much we can do, which is part of our makeup and nothing to be ashamed of. But our ability to use up the finite resources of our one and only environment (it's called planet Earth) means that we need to progress to the next stage of our development pretty quickly. The pursuit of 'more' is part of who we are, but only a part and, for that reason, it will never satisfy us. So let's move on. Development is a double-edged sword. Those of us living in wealthy countries are lucky to be the ones enjoying the benefits of development, but we are unlucky to be the ones who have to learn the hard way that enough is enough. Buying motorized scooters for kids, just to pick one example, seems like a cool idea — 'gain some respect' — but it probably isn't. Think gas, obesity, envy. But I sense we are wising up, slowly. We just need to get wise sooner rather than later, before we use up too many resources and make too many people feel like there isn't going to be room for them in what we are wrongfully treating asour world.

And how do we get wise quickly?

My guess is that we need to first understand who we are (members of one species with a common goal of survival) and why our actions are so diverse, so that we can then utilize our incredible talents to better appreciate the variety of our needs-motivated actions, while steadily bettering their quality. In other words, let's remind ourselves of the simple goal (survival) so that we can better direct our technologically-super-powered energy and effort on achieving it.

And to expedite this required understanding, I humbly offer my 74-word theory of universal human needs, a kind of datum point for us all to work from. It is simple because our needs are simple, universal, and primal — just like our goal. And it is brief because in our frenetically busy and noisy world, it needs to be.

* The ninth need has since been added to nautilus diagram version of my human needs theory.

A theory of universal human needs

2005-01-10T10:38:00.025+13:00

Even simpler than Abraham Maslow's 5-tier Hierarchy of Needs, and Clayton Alderfer's 3-part ERG Theory, my Theory of Universal Human Needs has just two types of need: survival and betterment.

Whenever the four survival needs are met, humans attempt to satisfy their four betterment needs, which are the needs we must satisfy to improve the quality of our existence. Satisfying the first two produces transitory happiness. Satisfying the last two produces lasting contentment for the individual and contributes directly to the 'ongoing survival of the species'.

When perspective and historical context is added to the mix, two important insights come to light. First, our betterment needs ultimately make us better at surviving. And second, without recognition of our ultimate goal (to contribute to the ongoing survival of our species), most of us whose survival needs are met are subsequently left goalless.

Unlike a focused subsistence farmer, appreciative of food eaten and days survived, we wake up each day unsure of what we should be doing. And our natural motivation for 'better' — so long as we fail to understand it — is easily manipulated into an insatiable want for 'more', which leaves us perpetually dissatisfied and frustrated. We want fame, to be known by many; we need the love and the respect of a few. So how do most of us spend our time? Climbing ladders away from our family and friends.

We over-consume to our everyday detriment, each item devaluing the others we already have so we feel poor and cluttered. And we produce so much unnecessary waste that we are degrading our own (and only) environment. Unchecked, we will push ourselves back to subsistence living.

In other words, we (the wealthiest, most privileged humans of all time) are muddling up our own lives and, increasingly, the lives of others. We have, surely, misread the instructions.

As the Chilean economist Manfred Max-Neef points out, human needs are few, finite, and classifiable. It is in the infinite ways that we satisfy those needs that the diversity, wastage, and muddle occurs. But to improve the quality of our 'satisfiers' — the disparate acts we perform to satisfy our needs — first requires us to understand our universal needs and the fundamental goal they innately motivate us to achieve: ongoing survival of our truly incredible species.

Links

The theory — nakedize.com/universal-human-needs.cfm

Related articles — The ninth need, Cinema unanimity

Cinema unanimity

2005-01-01T20:21:00.001+13:00

A strange thing happens in cinemas: unanimity.

In the real world few of us can agree on how we should live our lives; but as cinema-goers we are typically unanimous — that's right, unanimous — about what protagonists should do at every stage of their struggles. We all want Miss Bennett and Mr Darcy to ignore societal pressures and throw themselves into each other's arms. We all want Frodo to ignore his own comfort and safety and set off on his heroic journey. And we all want Forrest Gump to just carry on being himself…Forrest Gump.

But outside cinemas we don't all determinedly seek romance, we are not all brave or good or generous, and we certainly do not all genially accept unusual folk.

So how can screenwriters possibly know which protagonists and goals we will all support?

I know what you're thinking: storytellers entertain and sometimes even inspire us by writing about our ideals, about what we should do in trying circumstances, not the day-to-day decisions of our tedious, imperfect lives.

But does that really explain cinema unanimity? If it is so obvious that we all prefer love and courage and generosity and peace and gratefulness and honesty to their respective opposites, then why do so many of us live such ignoble lives? Sure life is complicated, but it's not holding a gun to our heads threatening us to act badly 'or the kid gets it'.

I, for one, think there is more to this phenomenon than everyone somehow knowing we must expect protagonists, but not ourselves, to live and die by human ideals.

When I am on the edge of my seat urging the hero to hang on! my emotions are real. When I laugh out loud, or cry as silently as I possibly can, my emotions are real. When I hope the troubled will turn their lives around it is the same emotion I feel when I watch the parade of shame on the evening news. When I am angry at the actions of antagonists it is the same anger I feel on the drive home from the cinema when I witness the actions of self-important nitwits who feel perfectly warranted operating their mobile phones and vehicles with the same two hands, while dispensing with the annoying customs of indicating or stopping for red lights.

The emotions, I swear, are universal. And they are universal because the trampled-on ideals that evoke them are also universal. So why, if we are all angered by selfish, harmful behaviour, do we only expect protagonists to live by our ideals?

The truth is, we don't, and I believe this is a clue to understanding, not only cinema unanimity, but the grandest of all enigmas: the meaning of life.

Whoa! Easy there, partner. Did you just say what I think you said? I sure did: the meaning of life; the purpose of existence; the secret to contentment; truth!

No, I'm not crazy — this is a theory. And if you're secular, I'm not going to get all religious on you. And if you're religious, I'm not going to discount or agree with your beliefs but rather embrace them and, perhaps, even refresh them. So I'll just continue.

The expectation we have for others to live up to our ideals is not limited to protagonists as they overcome evil on the big screen; there are, of course, many occasions when we expect ourselves and others to do the same. Some of these occasions are momentary — a life-or-death situation requiring a heroic response. Some last longer — a relationship with a trusted relative, partner, or friend. But we don't expect everyone to act honourably all the time; just protagonists for their two-hour lives.

The most universal expectation humans have of others to act honourably, outside a cinema, is in the treatment of babies or children. We believe our young are 'good' humans who deserve our steadfast respect in both thought and deed.

So is there a link with cinema unanimity?

I think there is: youthfulness. Despite the fact that protagonists are of all ages, their lives only ever last a couple of hours. For us, they are eternally young.

So how does youthfulness affect our attitudes?

Youthful experience is comprehensible. We are able to comprehend everything that has happened in the life of a baby, child, or protagonist; whereas the only other people we even attempt to comprehend are those trusted relatives, partners, and friends — people we have observed for years.

There can be no doubting that humans believe humans are born 'good' — just observe any adult interacting with a newborn. And as long as we believe a person remains well-intentioned (as we do with children and protagonists), they remain 'good' and we wish only for them to be treated with compassion and respect.

But as soon as we are unsure of what a person has experienced or how they have reacted to their experiences we assume, pessimistically, that they may be weak or nasty or misguided. From there, it can take only a suggestion — like 'all rich people are selfish' or 'you can never trust Arabs' — for lazy assumption to transform into destructive belief. And before you know it a hundred separate beliefs have combined into an overriding view of the human condition: that you should assume the worst and treat respectfully only those youknow are 'good'.

So that's our nature? Only the young and fictional are worthy of good faith; the rest of us guilty until proven innocent? This is certainly our sad and deeply damaging practice, but I don't believe it represents the extent of our nature.

But let me paint a brighter picture.

Imagine humans are all born as unpainted canvases (the universal elements of the human body). But the canvases are all a slightly different shape (our unique physical traits). And each canvas has been treated with a transparent solution (our personalities) that causes different coloured paints (types of experiences) to react differently to each canvas. Some colours stick first time (our strengths and interests) while others need two, five, a hundred coats (our weaknesses); hence our natural inclination toward our strong colours (experiences that make us feel good).

But when we are born none of these unpainted canvases is entirely blank. They all have the same sketch lines already drawn on them. This is the sketch of our universal human needs: what experiences (colours) we each need to ensure, primarily, our personal existence and our contribution to the existence of the species and, secondarily, our personal betterment and our contribution to the betterment (development) of the species.

If you paint by numbers (satisfy all your needs as your particular personality allows) you get a great picture — you are alive, you want to be alive, you improve your existence (producing happiness), and you improve the existence of others (producing contentment). It's so simple, but there is a complication that explains, for me at least, why we find it so difficult to see the truth that connects and makes sense of every one of our actions and reactions, like that joyful cohesion you experience every time you journey, hand-in-trusting-hand, with your Elizabeth, Darcy, Frodo, or Forrest.

We are so good at meeting our primary needs (our survival needs) because they are instinctively practised from the day we are born: there is never any need to refer to 'the sketch'.

But our secondary needs (what I call our betterment needs), we first experimented with as creative toddlers attempting to impress our caregivers. Well, we all know what toddlers are like with paint — it goes everywhere!

So by the time we mature into young adults and are ready to play our role in society, those sketch lines are already hidden under a thousand layers of experience. We are unsure of our needs or goals so we look around us for guidance, and what do we see?

On big screens we see betterment needs being satisfied — Pride and Prejudice, The Lord of the Rings, Forrest Gump, Life is Beautiful, Good Will Hunting, and (my favourite) The Shawshank Redemption — and the message is trust the human condition and try.

But on the far more influential small screens dissatisfaction dominates — soaps, 'reality' TV, and 24-hour 'Fair & Balanced®' news — and the message is don't trust and don't bother.

And all around us we see humans, millions of them, whose naked canvases have been painted, entirely understandably, in the same confused manner as our own. And we all conclude, fact-seeking social scientists included, that we are messed-up.

So, map-less and goal-less, we take wrong paths and daily provide more evidence that we are just as the well-intentioned scientists and profit-driven media report, over and over again: hopeless.

Well, thanks to moviemakers and truth-seekers of every kind and era, I no longer buy into that message. I can see the sketch on my canvas and it's a beauty: breathtakingly simple, logical, and constructive. Human life is mind-bogglingly complex; human needs are not.

But are my needs (and thus my goals) the same as yours — the same as everyone's? Of course, no one can confirm that but you. I can only reveal the picture my search has uncovered and await your response (email simon[at]nakedize.com), whether it be recognition, refinement, or rejection.

To complete my part of that transaction I will defer to two extraordinarily talented men, writer Stephen King and screenwriter/director Frank Darabont.

Andy Dufresne, convicted double-murderer, is the protagonist of Stephen and Frank's exquisite movie, The Shawshank Redemption. Without an ounce of hype or posturing, Andy gets 'busy living' while those around him are 'busy dying'. And as the film's sublime 142 minutes play out, we are able to strip back every last layer of paint from Andy-the-prisoner until we have revealed Andy-the-universal-human-being, and the gloriously simple and hopeful sketch on his unpainted canvas: respect yourself, respect all life, choose something positive, and do it.

Organized for romance

2004-09-02T16:22:00.000+12:00

If I had to describe my experience of fatherhood in a single word I would choose surprising. Sure, wonderful, exhausting, fun, and rewarding would all have made the list, but surprise is the emotion I have experienced most, starting the instant my twin girls were born.

First was their sex — I just never imagined we would have two girls. Next was the disconcerting reality of their size — one was just 1930g (4lbs 4ozs). But the king-hit — a surprise that has lost none of its awesome power in its thousand reoccurrences since that unforgettable day three years ago — was protective love: the kind you would instantly lay down your life for. It sounds melodramatic but, of course, it's a simple truth of parenthood. A simple truth I had massively underestimated, like so many things.

And that brings me to the fatherhood surprise that (as I suspect is true for most new fathers) probably ranks as my #2 — both in terms of poignancy and frequency: the relegation of romance from the front seat of my two-person marriage to the rear of my new four-person family, if there is any room after the buggy, high chairs, nappy bag, food bag, clothes bag, toy bag ...

Now, if you're thinking, "yeah, yeah, he doesn't mean romance, he means sex, and if he was a mother it wouldn't be high on his list of priorities either," then, please, take a breath and pause before you read on.

I do mean romance, which (if anyone has forgotten) certainly involves sex, but it also involves attention, intimacy, a predisposition to interpret your partner's characteristics and actions in a favourable light, and dependence.

Dependence is something mothers know all about — it's what my wife received a double helping of the day our children were born, and it's what powered her, more than anything else, to become the super-human, 24-7 worker she was month after month. And it's still powering her today.

Being the #1 person in the life of someone you love is astonishingly powerful stuff, and the moment my daughters were born I felt like I was one half of that amazing dynamic three times over. But the truth is the moment they were born I ceased being that person to anyone. Just another simple truth of parenthood, but one I have no problem admitting I didn't foresee, and it has broad-sided me more than a few times.

To my mind, the consequences of this sudden imbalance in the relationships of new parents are underestimated, far-reaching, and well worth plenty of open and honest discussion; but for now let me just throw two logs on the fire.

First, mothers, a thought about the actions of your husband or partner. Needing you, and needing you to show him that you need him, does not necessarily make him selfish, weak, or out of touch with either your needs or the needs of your children. It just makes him human.

And second, fathers, a thought about the actions of your wife or partner. The responsibility of keeping everyone clean and fed and where they need to be is simply overwhelming, or at least it would be if she wasn't super-organized and supercharged on all that 'dependence-power' — power that she needs. If you think your job is more exhausting than hers then try hers, without assistance, for just forty-eight hours and see if you still feel the same way.

I have learned that my wife puts being organized before being romantic to avoid drowning in washing and dishes and nappies and toys and kids; not to douse passion. And the only way that I can create the romance we both need is to assist her to be organized and to feel organized. It may not sound like a recipe for romance, but it works.