Backdata on 19th century CPA and more musings on busyness
A nice link from the Purple Motes blog related to my continuous partial attention post of a few days ago provides the following info:
Until the 1820s (when candle technology started to improve markedly), both wax and tallow candles needed frequent “snuffing.” We commonly misunderstand the term snuffing today — it did not mean to put a candle flame out; instead, it meant to trim the candle’s wick. If one did not snuff frequently, then the wick would grow longer as the wax melted, curving over toward the small wall of solid material holding in the melted wax or tallow. The curving wick would then melt the wall, causing the molten material to flow down the candle and be lost. This phenomenon was called “guttering,” and it ensured that the candle burned less efficiently and for a shorter time. Tallow candles left unattended might use just five percent of their material and gutter out within half an hour. …the point is that reading was regularly interrupted — perhaps every ten minutes or so — by the need to snuff a candle.[1]
This was in relation, I assume, to my musing over whether or not other ages were as distracted as we, but just differently so.
Point nicely made. I had assumed as much, and go on assuming that there are additional examples of how BB peoples (Before Blackberries) had much on their minds.
About the only way I can think of really measuring a change in the level of distractedness, is by applying it to myself over the course of my lifetime. Am I more distracted at 40 than I was, say, at 16 or 25? I’m not sure. I feel more harried at times, yes. But very little of that has to do with the state of my tools and media choices. It’s more about having a kid and a job that has more responsibility than I had at 16 or 25.
And I certainly remember being pretty distracted, harried and hyper-busy in college, even though I had no access to MySpace, IM a cell phone or email.
So I don’t know if the delta-frantic in my life is an age thing or an Age thing. And I don’t know if all people, throughout history, have either felt, in general, more hectic and pressured as their lives have progressed, or if it’s a symptom of our Modern Age.
I have, as I see it, one choice: to master the tools and skills that I feel are helpful, and to limit my interactions with those that I feel are distracting.
Which brings us back to the box. Which we’ll get to shortly.
Note:
[1] [1] Eliot, Simon (2001), “‘Never Mind the Value, What about the Price?”; Or, How Much Did Marmion Cost St. John Rivers?” Nineteenth-Century Literature, Vol. 56, No. 2, pp. 173, 177.
March 28th, 2007 at 2:11 am
(Off-topic: If you were wondering why I seem to have a different email on blog comments, I try to keep my other email address clean of spam, but since I check this one anyways and keep it active, it’s usable for contact. =)
all people, throughout history, have either felt, in general, more hectic and pressured as their lives have progressed
The way this was phrased made me think that it’s simply the dampening effect of age that makes it more difficult for a person to adapt and account for changes in their environment.
I think that, in the past, the solution was to actively reduce the things someone was responsible for (and thus arose filial duty, somewhat?), whereas there is no such fix today and people who aren’t those remarkable few spritely elders get bombarded by the same level of intensity they could handle when younger and simply can’t (or won’t?) adapt.
It sounds like there’s a potential experiment in here. If you can control for a number of variables by sampling diversely and largely enough, you could take a group of 16-25s and a group of 35-45s and present them with a set of tasks intended to overload them ruthlessly and see how they react. You might be able to reliably say that it’s an age thing. Maybe. =P
March 28th, 2007 at 9:06 pm
Michael: Could be. I don’t know… I’m too old to understand the nature of your experiment
In many ways, I feel more flexible in my thought patterns today than I did at 18 when I entered college. But that may be, in my case, because I entered into a degree program (creative writing) and a vocation (marketing) and an avocation (poetry/fiction writing) and a lifestyle choice (liberal humanism) and a zen philosophy (The Beginner’s Mind) that all push one towards flexibility of thought. I’m not claiming this is a better way, just that it’s been necessary for my (ahem) sanity. Those who know me well may now shut the f**k up and stop laughing so hard. I’m the sanest person in the land, besides the invisible elf that lives in my hat, and y’all know it!
I was deeply shocked at myself, for example, when I discovered my very first “fashion inflexibility.” There are all kinds of fashion choices that I find less attractive than others. We all have certain looks and dress-styles that we enjoy more than others; it’s a question of taste. NBD. But I have never, until very recently, looked upon a particular mode of dress and done the, “My God! What are those kids thinking?!” thing.
My stumbling block? Flip-flops in public. What we sometimes called beach-sandals or shower-shoes when I was growing up. I was raised to believe that there are two places where it is appropriate to wear cheap-ass, plastic/rubber sandals that you can get at a gas station for $2 a pair: the beach, the locker-room (around the pool, basically). Maybe walking to either of those places from the car, or down the block from where you went to get ice-cream from the ice-cream man. That’s about it. But I’ve seen kids (these kids!) recently in all kinds of public places wearing these things out-and-about. I saw a girl taking an interview in an Abercrombie store in her flip-flops. I saw a girl in her late teens go to a wedding wearing them. I’ve seen boys wear them to good, up-scale restaurants and to museums. It is, apparently, just OK footwear at any/all times now.
And my brain can’t handle it. I’m working on it, as my creative Tao tells me that there is “No Bad Fashion,” only “My Perspective” and “The Other Perspective.” It’s important not to judge if you want to understand.
But, my gosh… it’s hard. They just look like… well… like they don’t give a rat’s ass what anybody things about them. Even ratty old sneakers don’t make a slapping noise and keep me from looking at the soles of your feet…
Sigh… Time to meditate on my own place in the river. If I am not to be overloaded or overwhelmed, I must be buoyant, not fixed.
One thing, I suppose… they are colorful