Recommended Reads, 42nd in a Quarterly Series

Stuff I read lately that I'd recommend:

Truman (McCullough). Fascinating account of an underrated and unique president.

Talking to GOATs: The Moments You Remember and the Stories You Never Heard (Gray).  The title is apt: it was cool to get a close-in account of the famous moments but also of off-the-beaten-path anecdotes.

A Promised Land (Obama).  Loved getting the inside scoop on recent history; can't wait for the follow-up book on his second term.

How to Lead: Wisdom from the World's Greatest CEOs, Founders, and Game Changers (Rubenstein).  Really enjoyed hearing from so many and so varied accomplished folks.

The Art of Woo: Using Strategic Persuasion to Sell Your Ideas (Shell, Moussa).  Picked up a few leadership pointers along the way.

How to Do Nothing: Resisting the Attention Economy (Odell).  A fascinating and multi-faceted look at why we struggle to disengage and how to actively combat that.

From One Trip to the Groceries

 

I try not to get snooty about how city living is better for kids than the suburbs, but today's post will be an exception.  We were out of flour and I wanted to make pancakes, so I decided to take Asher to the grocery store to get a bag.  In the suburbs, this would almost certainly involve hopping in the car; for example, where I grew up it was about a 5- to 10-minute drive (as opposed to a 20- to 30-minute walk).

Where we live in Philadelphia, we are lucky that there are at least three full-size grocery stores within a 5- to 10-minute drive, including the one I go to every week.  But there are also a couple of mid-size groceries and countless smaller ones within a 5- to 10-minute walk, including one just a couple of blocks from our house.  This is easily within Asher's range to walk without complaint, so we headed out of the house with a tote bag.

Even though it was probably three minutes from door to door and then another three minutes home, we were able to see so many things and cover so many topics.  Asher overheard two Middle Eastern men arguing, which led to a discussion about how there are many languages in the world besides English.  We passed by people of all ages and racial/ethnic backgrounds, and had a lovely encounter with a young man and his super-cute basset hound. We even passed by a couple of active construction sites, for which Asher took great interest in what was being done and how it was being done.

I suppose that a hermetically sealed and climate controlled car ride is pleasant too.  But part of parenthood is exposing your kids to the world and providing commentary along the way so they are ready to engage and contribute when they leave the nest.  Seems to me that a big city is the perfect place for that to happen.  Even the most mundane of activities, going to the grocery store to get a bag of flour, makes that patently obvious to me.

Too Short for a Blog Post, Too Long for a Tweet 304

 

 

Here are a few excerpts from a book I recently read, "How to Do Nothing: Resisting the Attention Economy," by Jenny Odell.

The first half of “doing nothing” is about disengaging from the attention economy; the other half is about reengaging with something else. That “something else” is nothing less than time and space, a possibility only once we meet each other there on the level of attention. Ultimately, against the placelessness of an optimized life spent online, I want to argue for a new “placefulness” that yields sensitivity and responsibility to the historical (what happened here) and the ecological (who and what lives, or lived, here). 

In the process of writing this book, I realized that the experience of research is exactly opposite to the way I usually often encounter information online. When you research a subject, you make a series of important decisions, not least what it is you want to research, and you make a commitment to spend time finding information that doesn’t immediately present itself. You seek out different sources that you understand may be biased for various reasons. The very structure of the library, which I used in Chapter 2 as an example of a noncommercial and non-“productive” space so often under threat of closure, allows for browsing and close attention. Nothing could be more different from the news feed, where these aspects of information—provenance, trustworthiness, or what the hell it’s even about—are neither internally coherent nor subject to my judgment. Instead this information throws itself at me in no particular order, auto-playing videos and grabbing me with headlines. And behind the scenes, it’s me who’s being researched.

It’s a bit like falling in love—that terrifying realization that your fate is linked to someone else’s, that you are no longer your own. But isn’t that closer to the truth anyway? Our fates are linked, to each other, to the places where we are, and everyone and everything that lives in them. How much more real my responsibility feels when I think about it this way! This is more than just an abstract understanding that our survival is threatened by global warming, or even a cerebral appreciation for other living beings and systems. Instead this is an urgent, personal recognition that my emotional and physical survival are bound up with these “strangers,” not just now, but for life. 

It’s scary, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. That same relationship to the richness of place lets me partake of it too, allowing me to shape-shift like the flocks of birds, to flow inland and out to sea, to rise and fall, to breathe. It’s a vital reminder that as a human, I am heir to this complexity—that I was born, not engineered. That’s why, when I worry about the estuary’s diversity, I am also worrying about my own diversity—about having the best, most alive parts of myself paved over by a ruthless logic of use. When I worry about the birds, I am also worrying about watching all my possible selves go extinct. And when I worry that no one will see the value of these murky waters, it is also a worry that I will be stripped of my own unusable parts, my own mysteries, and my own depths.

Too Short for a Blog Post, Too Long for a Tweet 303

 

Here are a couple of excerpts from a book I recently read, "The Art of Woo: Using Strategic Persuasion to Sell Your Ideas," by G. Richard Shell and Mario Moussa.

Lacking tone and context, e-mail messages are easy to misinterpret. You cannot control who will see them, and they are never deleted. If you want to get people on your side, go meet with them face-to-face and see firsthand how they react to your ideas. Then use e-mail later, after they are already on your team. 

 

In closing an idea sale, you must first overcome "decision inertia"-that is, get decision makers who are "at rest" to move in your desired direction. Then, through persistence, you must add organizational "push" to maintain your idea's momentum so it will "stay in motion ... in the same direction," eventually becoming reality.

Too Short for a Blog Post, Too Long for a Tweet 302

Here is an excerpt from a book I recently read, "The Year of Magical Thinking," by Joan Didion.

I used to tell John my dreams, not to understand them but to get rid of them, clear my mind for the day. "Don’t tell me your dream," he would say when I woke in the morning, but in the end he would listen.

When he died I stopped having dreams.

Too Short for a Blog Post, Too Long for a Tweet 301

 

Here are a couple of excerpts from a book I recently read, "Black Buck," by Mateo Askaripour.

Say, “Every day is deals day,” and clap your hands. I know it’s strange, but do it. And when you do, think of the number one thing you’re working toward. It may be a new car, a promotion, someone’s affection, or an expensive pair of shoes. Whatever it is, think of it and say, “Every day is deals day,” and clap your hands as loud as you can. As you’ll find out, every day is deals day. A day without deals is like a camel without humps; it doesn’t exist.

I lied. I lied because I didn’t want Ma to feel like I wasn’t trying to better myself. I lied because of the stank eye Mr. Rawlings gave me as a string of cheese clung to his lip for dear life. But most of all, I lied because I was afraid. You see, it’s easy for someone to walk around telling everyone that they’re “jus’ waitin’ for the right opportunity,” but an entirely different thing when they actually receive it. An opportunity means change. An opportunity means action. But most of all, an opportunity means the chance of failure. And it’s the potential for failure, more than failure itself, that stops so many people from beginning anything. Back then, I was no different.

#TBT, Continued

Every Thursday I post a song lyric from the past on social media and invite folks to see if they can name the song.  My first such post was in March 2014 (NFT, anyone?), and I alluded to this in a blog post some six years ago (see here), but let me say a bit more this morning.

First, I have a rule.  No repeating an artist, although I'll make an exception to honor someone during the week of their passing.  Which means that I've posted probably something on the order of 300 song lyrics and almost that many different artists. 

These lyrics get the tag "#TBT," so there's a question about how far we are throwing it back.  By and large, I only go as far back as the 80's, since my familiarity with songs from before that thins out considerably.  As for how recent, I prefer not to do anything within the past decade.  

Which means that, as time goes on, there are more eras that become fair game.  Some singers that are still crushing it have songs from a decade or more ago, like Rihanna or Pink or Nicki Minaj.  (Which, btw, even if you're not fans of those three, and I absolutely am a fan, you have to respect their longevity, right?)  

Which means I'll be posting #TBT's for quite some time without reneging on my rule to not repeat artists.  Look me up in 2031 as I already know which Olivia Rodrigo and Doja Cat lyrics I'll be sharing.