Lost in Friction

Lost in Friction

I arrived in Colombia more than three weeks ago. Since then, The Friendly Anarchist has been quieter then usual. Good reasons for that abound: My feeder plane in Europe had to make an emergency landing in Paris, so I missed my flight to the Americas and arrived a day late. Then, I had to attend business on the delicate intersection of love, friendship and bureaucracy. I needed time to reestablish ties with this wonderful country and the many wonderful people I hadn’t seen for almost two years. I had to come to terms with and appreciate the changes that Cartagena has seen in recent days.

To make it short, what happened is that I got lost in friction.

In Productive Anywhere, I wrote:

No matter how long you have been on the road, traveling to new places always creates friction. […]

If you’re on the road, it will be a permanent company, and it’s helpful to be prepared for that: Luggage will get lost, climate will be tough, distractions will be high, and the business will always make most trouble when you’re in the most remote area. You will get weird illnesses. Immigration officers and embassies will deny you a visa. Wi-fi won’t work when you need it, or your computer will break down when the next service operator is a thousand miles away. Unexpected travels home will steal from your precious travel time, and the costs will eat a hole into your carefully balanced budget.

And even if all the technicalities work out fine, there will still be so many things to slow you down: The new environment you suddenly find yourself in, the different vibe, the many distractions and temptations, things to see and things to explore: Food to eat, people to meet, places to see, rum brands to savor. All of these often beautiful things will bring more friction to your workday.

Fighting Friction…

But how can we reduce friction? How can we fight it?

My personal rescue came in the form of Michael Nobbs’ suggestion to declare February a “month of tiny steps“. The basic idea is to identify a project you’d like to work on and then set aside twenty minutes a day to work on it. I joined into Michael’s experiment and have started to work more focused on my next book – even if it sometimes was for just twenty minutes a day.

As so often, though, twenty minutes of focused work can expand easily into longer work sessions. As you might have experienced yourself, sometimes it’s simply one first step that’s necessary in order to to get back on track.

What’s more, by merely looking at the tasks and challenges at hand, I’m giving my idle brain some delicious food for thought. Solutions, then, will emerge almost effortlessly when I’d least expect them – and by entering work mode every day for at least a short amount of time, I make sure I keep track of them.

…And Winning the Fight

There’s another notion to this, though: To a certain degree, friction will always be part of any real travel experience – and of life, even.

I could definitely have published more posts here over the last few weeks, but that would have come at a cost: I wouldn’t have made a surprise trip to Medellín, I wouldn’t have walked as much around Cartagena, I wouldn’t have had some of the best coffee in the world on a regular basis, I wouldn’t have read Murakami, I wouldn’t have joined my fellow hotel lodgers in attending seminars, cinema and backyard parties, I wouldn’t have visited Santa Fé de Antioquia, I wouldn’t have spent as much time with my friends and loved ones. ((Most importantly, I wouldn’t have had enough headspace to manage the “business on the delicate intersection of love, friendship and bureaucracy” I mentioned above. But that’s a much longer story that I might share with you some other day.))

To quote again from Productive Anywhere:

The lesson is a simple one: Unexpected […] things will always happen as you hit the road. But it’s your decision what to make of them: You can either bother or relax. The latter is generally the better option.

In the end, we can relentlessly optimize and streamline our lives, we can use lots of grease to reduce friction to an absolute minimum. We can neglect our voyage, our peers, our need to rest and reflect, our drive to explore – and merely focus on having an efficient workday. The cost of this is sterility, solitude and a superficial travel experience. I’ll take spark emitting friction over that anytime.

Café, Bar, Bistro

Choose one: A café, a bar, or a bistro.
Where would you like to go in this very moment?

Now think of these places called Thursday or Luigi’s or Black Rose with a byline stating “Café – Bistro – Bar”. I’m rarely tempted to visit any of those.

Here’s the thing: If you’re smart, you can build either: A great bar, a great café, a great bistro. Depending on the moment (and company), on my current preferences and desires, I’d be tempted to bring business to any of these places. Most certainly, there’s a great barista in a café. A barkeeper knowing his stuff and mixing amazing cocktails in a bar. A cook preparing humble yet delicious meals in a bistro.

I wouldn’t bet on finding all three of them in the “café – bar – bistro” type of establishment. Most certainly, I wouldn’t find either.

There ain’t just a promise to a brand. There’s a promise to a label, too: If your place has too many of them, the only promise I get is that everything’s going to be mediocre. While each of the labels speaks for itself, the only information I get from the combination of all three is that I probably won’t get a candlelight dinner. ((For what it’s worth, I’m told that “Sea View: Café – Bar – Bistro – Restaurant” does indeed still exist in a small town at the German Baltic Sea coast.)) But then, what do I get that’s really worth my money and my time?

And Writing?

How telling is this post for a guy writing about “personal sovereignty, (un)productivity and living an interesting life”!

The truth is that specialists have their place in the world. Just as much as generalists and dilettantes do.

So here’s another take on this issue: In any decent café, bar or bistro you can chat with good friend about a broad range of topics. I’d like The Friendly Anarchist to be that place.

What will you bring?

Over the last few months, I probably spent too much time at nursing homes. I finally understood why my grandmother had always been so reluctant to go there, as even the best of these places are nothing but fading photocopies of what any comfortable and comforting home on Earth could possibly look like.

It made me wonder: When it comes to the end, what will you bring? What will you take along? What will you care about?

  • You won’t bring your car. When you’ve reached the point I’m talking about, you won’t even be able to rise from your bed anymore. You certainly won’t be able to drive.
  • You won’t take along any clothes. You won’t be needing them anymore, as all you’ll be wearing will be a nightie.
  • You won’t care about money or fame or sex at that point.

So what else?

  • You won’t bring your mansion, your tidy desktop, your minimalist living room, your designer sofa. Better forget about all this right away.
  • You won’t take along any handguns, no matter what the Second Amendment says. ((Even if you bring one, it won’t serve you at all, unless you wish to take the emergency exit from the remains of the life that you used to know.))
  • You won’t care anymore about motivational babble, freedom businesses, or further self-improvement exercises.

[¶]

Beware, I’m not talking about Death here. Death is easy. Death is the point of relief. I’m talking about the last few minutes, hours, days and weeks, or – if you’re way out of luck – even the months and years that pass before you die: The time in which you’re still technically alive, but not in a way that allows you to live as you learned how to live and as you – maybe – got used to.

I’m talking about the time when you’re tied to your bed. When you’re hardly even able to go to the bathroom. When talking is hard, staying awake is hard, eating is hard, drinking is hard, because your organs slowly go into sleep mode, but you’re just not able to die. Yet.

If things go awry, your brain will shut down at some point, too. You won’t have any freedom of thought anymore. At that point, you won’t even be able to bring any memories. If you’re unlucky, you won’t remember a thing from your life, no matter how awesome it was.

[¶]

When you’re there, what will you bring?

To be sure, I don’t wish you actually ever get to that place. By all means, please be immortal. Please trick the Grim Reaper. Or, if you must, die in a scuba diving accident on the Bahamas when you’re 103 years old.

But who could possibly know before the hour strikes?

[¶]

So, once more: What will you bring?

Here’s something you can bring: A loved one by your side, comforting the dying. Comforting the dying person that will be you.

It’s just not up to you to decide whether that loved one will be willing to be there.

And here’s my question for you. It’s a weird question, maybe. But whatever it is that you’re doing and however it is that you’re feeling at this moment, why not think about it for a second: What are you doing to make the person who might be comforting you comfortable to be with you?

No matter who that person it is. No matter if it is one single person or a group of a thousand. No matter whether you even have any idea who that person could be or whether you don’t. ((Most of us don’t, if we’re totally honest.))

Are you giving anybody a reason to be there?

[¶]

This past Monday, I lost my last grandmother. She was an amazing and difficult and interesting and strong and tough and lovely person. I’m incredibly sad to see her go, but happy to say that she certainly lived a life worth living. This post is dedicated to her.

13

Early this morning, I had an appointment with the dentist. 8am, on January 2. What a nice way to begin the new year.

I was worried I would have to get an inlay. Another dentist had discovered some caries and advised me to get it done just a month ago. But then, today’s dentist ((That’s the thing if you’re traveling: Finding a good dentist. I think I might have found one today, at last.)) couldn’t find anything: “Nothing against your other dentist,” he said to me, after taking an x-ray of my jaw, “But there’s just nothing to do. No caries. Zero.”

The other dentist had just looked for 10 seconds and was sure there was work for him to do. He also wanted to upsell me some other inlets for a grand total of 2400 euros. That’s enough money to pay for several months of my living. This new dentist just told me: “Never touch a running system. Come back for a review next year, but I guess your teeth will be fine for a long time to come.”

A nice way to begin the year, indeed.

Beginnings

Talking about beginnings: We had a lovely New Year’s celebration on this tiny island in the North Sea. We dressed up as hippies, had a delicious cheese fondue, played games, made music (or noise, ask the neighbors), and then visited two village discos to receive 2013 until 7am.

I have always believed that a clean start on January 1 is a nice idea, but a hard thing to do in practice. December is stuffed with so many things for most of us: Decorate the house, meet friends and family, check out the Christmas markets, buy or build some presents, send holiday letters, call old acquantiances, et cetera. In my case, this rarely leaves enough time to wrap up the year that’s ending and to plan the new one.

It’s an old ritual that people make resolutions and promises during these days. It’s another old ritual that most of them are broken by February. Which is why I don’t make any resolutions, nor plan for the next year in December.

Instead, I started to take the month of January “out of time”. This year, Michael Nobbs will join in and make January a month of reflection and planning. Which is very similar to what I do: I use the month to plan and outline, to wrap up things from 2012, and to create a proper starting point in order to make the most of the new year. (It’s still “new” enough in February! Ask the Chinese, whose year of the Water Snake will only begin on February 10!)

So why the party, why meet friends, why even celebrate on December 31? Two reasons: One, it’s always good to celebrate and to enjoy the wonderful energy of millions of people enjoying a great party. Two, even if you’re not entirely ready for it, this energy makes January 1 the emotional beginning of something new. It’s this emotion and energy that guide me through my more rational and technical planning phase in January. It’s also a good (albeit random) date to start writing regularly again after taking some time off over the holidays.

Writing

Talking about writing: I’m currently filling out a questionnaire that would deserve the attribute huge-ass. It’s a questionnaire to apply for an obligatory health insurance for independent artists and publishers. I’ll also hand in some examples of my work. It’s not really a fun thing to do, but it’s necessary, and it’s also quite beneficial if they accept me.

So here’s the announcement: Even though 2013 isn’t properly planned yet, it will be an important year for The Friendly Anarchist: I’m officially becoming a full-time writer and publisher. I will put my full focus on writing (and reading) great stuff, and on sharing it with you on this site. (I hereby vow to get some business cards stating “The Friendly Anarchist, Officially Approved by the Government of the Federal Republic of Germany” once the bureaucratic necessities are done.)

And yes, I intend to stay independent. I got another job offer a few days ago, and while it’s very tempting, I decided to forgo it and give this a try: Art and writing full-time. Nothing else. 2013 will be the big test.

And there’s more: I have not one but two book ideas outlined and partially researched so far, and one of these ideas will turn into a thing this year. It will be my most important release since Productive Anywhere and it will be the missing counterpoint to the productivity focus I had over the last year: Back to idleness, if you want, and deeper than ever.

Depth

Talking about depth: An interesting comment came in from Jonathan Ziemba, regarding my post Start to Care:

Fabian, your point of starting to care has uncharted depth. […]

Please expand on your experiences of how you started to care Fabian. On the real, genuine experiences that infuse your caring. And note, it has nothing to do with social class, measuring difficulty or drilling deep to gain happiness.

Here and now, start to care.
Now that’s a post I want to read.

Let me be honest: The answer to this request is too complex for me to put into words at this point. But: The answer is also what drives me every single time I write. It can most certainly be distilled from the posts that are closest to my heart. (Some of which can be seen on my new-ish Start Here page.)

One thing is for sure: There wasn’t any single revelatory moment in my life that made me care. And there are still many not-so-revelatory moments in my life that make me uncare. But so is life: Beautiful in its imperfection. And however it goes, I’m intending to stay in this game of life for many years to come.

Life

Talking about life: If you’re reading this, somewhere on this planet, wherever you are and however you feel, you’re still alive. And you made it all the way to 2013. So, wherever you are and however you feel: I wish you a lot of fun, action, idleness, interestingness, health and always enough money to buy a round of drinks for your friends. Make it count. And don’t trust your dentist if he has dollar signs in his eyes.

Cliffhangers and Hangovers

As we prepare for the arrival of Bolon Yokte’ K’uh and the end-date of the 5125-year-long cycle in the Mayan Long Count calendar on December 21 (which might also be the end of the world as we know it), I met my good friend and accountability partner Milo McLaughlin to record a podcast “before it’s too late”.

Listen in to hear the “view from Europe” on work and idleness in 2012, the beauty of doing reviews, filing cabinets, Siri versus pen & paper, New Year’s resolutions that never fail, and why we prefer cliffhangers over hangovers.

Show notes