2009 is off with a blast of icy wind. I took a bad fall this morning when I slipped on the back steps taking out the recycling. Nothing was broken but my pride and a few glass bottles. No mistake about it, I got lucky.

I had a few major setback on the loom over the weekend, which caused me to abandon the warp after many hours of trying to save it. To say it was demoralizing is an understatement, but I did take off a huge bite, and it was more than I could chew. It was a good lesson; I was way over my head and creating a huge amount of needless frustration. As far as weaving goes, I’m going to take a number of steps back so that I’m out of the Panic Zone and see what should happen next.

I have three bookshelves remaining in my studio, down from five last year. The five were jam-packed with books and other things, whereas the three remaining are all about half full. Each one has a huge amount of space, artfully balanced around the remaining items. I could consolidate them into two bookshelves, but the balance would be lost and the functionality of the studio reduced. And I don’t really need the extra space at this point. Something, however, feels off about the whole setup, and I can’t find a way to shift things just the hair’s breadth needed to make it right.

My shelves are a good metaphor for this year. There’s been no huge drama, no volcanic upheavals. Instead, there’s been a very subtle, almost balanced tension. Something isn’t quite right, and I can’t put my finger on it. And I’m waiting for the thing to emerge that creates the balance. The only thing for it is to keep on going, keep on paying attention. Keep on keeping on.

This year I’m especially grateful for the people in my life. My family, my friends, my acquaintances. Sharing even the smallest moment with you is a treasure. I haven’t been out all that much this year, but even so I’ve met a few new friends and had some very good times. To all of you, thank you for not giving up on me.

And for the next year? I can’t hope it’s better, because this one has been good. I hope the next year is exactly what it is meant to be, and that I am able to be where I need to be.

Here in Somerville, when there’s an emergency of any sort, we get phone calls from Tom Champion who gives us the lowdown. I admit that I love getting calls from Tom Champion, because he sounds generally excited about whatever’s going on.

But it got me to thinking – how could his messages be any more energetic? How about with some music? Without further ado, here’s Tom’s latest Snow Emergency announcement with some techno backing.

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My obligatory year-end thoughts will be posted tomorrow.

I walked down to Davis Square today to take a break from work and to get out of the house for a bit, and enjoyed the sound of the wind as I did so. Anything that could be flapping in the breeze was doing so, enthusiastically, and the clanking of the neighborhood made for quite the piece of music.

Speaking of music, here’s the same section of Postscript as yesterday, after a little more practice. There’s still more wood to be shed for sure, but progress comes swiftly.

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I got some real music in the mail today. Here’s me muddling through the first bit of Mark Hanson’s Postscript after a few minutes of practice.

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My big Christmas gift was a new guitar, a Martin acoustic/electric made from sustainable wood. It is a big upgrade from my old one. I’ve been playing more and more, and it’s just about time for an intermediate instrument. I hope to be worthy of how it sounds someday.

I’m by no means good yet, but I’d go so far as to say I’m okay now. I’m able to be musical and every now and then really express exactly what I want. This is a big step forward. I might sound a little self deprecating, but given that after over a decade of serious work with the horn I was playing at a very high level, I’m acutely aware of the gap between what I want and what I’m getting. I am improving, and I am enjoying it as I go. Music every step.

At the very end of my workout, when I was feeling extra tired, my iPod blasted out Europe’s “The Final Countdown” in what was, in my experience, the best-timed appearance of Europe’s “The Final Countdown” ever. I finished strong and felt ready for whatever I was counting down to.

This turned out to be me grandly smushing the turn signal of the car next to mine as I pulled out of the parking lot. I’ve got my very first pending insurance claim, the potential of some fabulous increases in my premiums, and wounded pride. On the up side, the truck is unscathed, and the last time I took a chunk out of someone’s car, it was with my fist.

I’m not sure there’s a moral here.

A few words about Colvin’s Talent is Overrated. The basic premise of the book is, unsurprisingly, that talent is overrated. In looking at how “world-class performers” in various fields have achieved eminence, the basic building block is a lifetime of deliberate practice aided by environment. After a quick debunking session on innate talent, he goes on to ascertain what “deliberate practice” means, and how other factors affect that, finally touching on the question on what motivates people to practice in the first place. For, says Colvin, practice is hard and not fun and requires great sacrifices.

There’s also a few weird asides into the world of business, trying to cram the process of deliberate practice into a corporate environment, where I’ll be the first to admit it’s sorely lacking. As much as I’m in favor of the idea, I can’t see much changing while the profit margin is the sole indicator of success. So, back to practice.

A point Colvin hammers on: at some level the hours of practice that matter. If I wanted to be a virtuoso violin player, for example, I’d have to put in some serious hours because I’d be essentially racing someone who started playing at age 3 and practiced at least 20 hours a week. So if I started now, I’d maybe be able to compete against the 20 year olds at Julliard when I’m 50. Another point: it takes a fixed amount of time for people to achieve proficiency at something. If I started drawing today, I’d turn out something that’s not dreck in about 9 years, give or take (for a great example of how deliberate practice works with comics, look at Penny-Arcade in 1998 and today. Gabe has been practicing all this time, and the results have paid off).

Colvin mentioned this kind of a chart in the book, so I’ll toss one up here, as it’s a very clear way of visualizing the issue:

The slim yellow circle is the practice zone, where any and all gains will be made. Stay in the comfortable center, and things don’t improve much. Get outside into the panic zone and no real improvement is possible because it’s all too much. I’d guess we all have an intuitive sense of this from our own experiences. And, this is absolutely true, the practice zone is hard to even find sometimes, let alone stay in.

The practice zone moves as well; practice enough and you’ll master what you’re working on and you’ll have to push it a little bit harder. Let your skills decline and your comfort zone shrinks. This has been drilled into my head since I was a wee child playing the piano, so this is all blindingly obvious by now – I knew this chart before I ever saw it.

This time around, my mind couldn’t help but throw Zen into the works. Colvin rightly says that staying in the deliberate practice zone is a challenge, and even great performers can’t do it all day long. But it seems to me that the required concentration he’s talking about is another way of talking about the attentive concentration of Zen, joriki. To put your mind where you want it, when you want it, for as long as you want it. To stick your awareness in that yellow circle of practice – bam! and leave it there. And that’s the practice of Zen, the practice of practicing. With that awareness, everything can become practice, from playing the piano to running to your job to washing the dishes. Nothing is excluded from practice. The more you do it, the better you get, and the easier it is to stay in that practice zone. Life your live in the little sliver of yellow, and the world opens.

The game Desert Bus was brought to my attention a few days ago. It’s what I’ve heard called a verisimulator, which strives to replicate as much as possible the experience of driving an empty, aging bus. From the description of the game:

The objective of the game is to drive a bus from Tucson, Arizona to Las Vegas, Nevada in real time at a maximum speed of 45mph, a feat that would take the player 8 hours of continuous play to complete, as the game cannot be paused… the bus veers to the right slightly; as a result, it is impossible to tape down a button to go do something else and have the game end properly.

It’s a game Erik Satie would have loved, and one that has brought unexpectedly vivid thoughts to me. Once you start seeing metaphor in everything it’s hard to back out of it, and Desert Bus is full of metaphor. I imagine myself creaking along on the bus, driving through my life in an almost straight line, jostling myself every now and then to keep things on the road. Round and round go the wheels of my bus, but does the horn work? Who would hear and understand the beep! beep! beep! in the middle of the desert?

I am extremely grateful that my life is not nearly so linear, and I tend to veer in more than one direction. But every now and then, the richness and abundance of reality becomes ghostly, and all that seems to be real is that straight, barren road. And all that’s left to do then is to climb into the driver’s seat, buckle up and plod along at 45mph. There’s no greater verisimulator than living.

The dark of Winter can be overwhelming sometimes. It creeps.

I’m awash in words right now, having spent much of the weekend reading. Geoff Colvin’s Talent is Overrated (a bit hit or miss, a lot Corporate, but enjoyable), Neil Gaiman’s The Graveyard Book (entertaining and clever as always), Sarah Vowell’s The Wordy Shipmates (really, really good), as well as some shorter works by my two new superheroes – Haruki Murakami and Annie Dillard. There’s something about what they do with words that cuts right through to the essence, and it makes me quake.

Today was the first real day of the Christmas season, so-called “Cyber Monday.” I got through many random (and a few unpleasant) chores I’d been putting off to clear the decks, and started on the inevitable deluge of support requests. With luck I’ll have a block of time tomorrow to code undisturbed.

It’s good to have a relaxing weekend after a relaxing and fruitful Thanksgiving, a holiday I grow more and more fond of each year. There was, and still is, much to be thankful for.

From here on out until Christmas I’m more or less tethered to the computer, in case anything breaks (which I ardently hope doesn’t happen). This is the time of year in which I’m extra thankful for a quality office chair. I’ll be doing some heavy lifting on the big project while I man the bridge, which I’m looking forward to. I think this project is going to be my best so far.

There’s something in the air right now. You could call it potential. I’m not entirely sure what’s going to come out of it, but I’m very grateful to be where I am.

The reduction project is still going on. The goal isn’t to live an excessively austere life, but to live in a way where the objects I share my space with are meaningful.

I’ve given away more than 280 books using BookMooch, and many many more through other means. Once again I’ve reduced my wardrobe nearly 50%. There’s a stack of objects I’m ready to give away, donate, or sell.

I still have so much stuff.

The way I buy tangible goods has changed – I really can’t do it without some serious consideration. I’ll grab a coffee while I’m out without too much thought, but anything that comes home to live is a different story. I purchased a Kindle a few months ago, mostly to staunch the flow of paper into the house while not impeding the flow of books, and I’m very happy with it. Tangible books usually fall prey to the “one in, one out” rule (also for t-shirts). I did splurge on a new set of in-ear headphones which I didn’t need, but are objectively awesome.

The more things I give away, the easier it becomes. There’s some sort of giddiness associated with it (there’s apparently a documented mental buzz people get when they’re being charitable). The real thing I am learning is that “I am not my stuff.” This should be obvious, but it took a slow learner like myself a long time to understand. While objects go out the door, they are no longer the things of which I’m letting go.

If you were wondering what my studio desk looks like these days, wonder no longer. I’m rather fond of the setup right now. Apparently I keep my surfaces tidier than most, but it’s necessary for me to work.

Time weighs down on you like an old, ambiguous dream. You keep on moving, trying to slip through it. But even if you go to the ends of the earth, you won’t be able to escape it. Still, you have to go there – to the edge of the world. There’s something you can’t do unless you get there.

Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

Who are we? It’s a simple enough question, but when you really dig into it, and look for the answer, the very foundations of the world start to go out from underneath your feet. Maybe it’s not worth asking, but from what I can figure out, once the cat’s out of the bag, that’s that.

I can take the rational approach and describe what I am; this amazingly complex bio-electrical body. But am I my body? If I’m diligent, I can’t just accept the first definition, and I have to look deeper. I can use an ever increasing scalpel to divide my physical existence up into smaller and smaller pieces, looking for that kernel that is me. Or maybe it’s the the interaction between things that is me? Like rests in a piece of music, maybe I reside in the in between places, in the corridors and hallways of my body.

I can take a mystical approach say I’m not able to understand. But there’s a problem, it’s that I want to be absolutely sure that I can’t understand. This is a bit like proving a negative, I know, but while it’s a comforting answer to reside in pure mysticism, it’s not a satisfying one.

I don’t really know who I am, and I suspect that’s not going to get any clear. But doubt has many different levels, and what remains is to dive into that doubt, go deeper and deeper, and come out through the other side. And what’s on the other side of that doubt?

I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.