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There's some fundamental human attraction to permanence. We want relationships to be permanent, achievements to hold their importance permanently, and for our possessions to be ours permanently. When we break up, when our accomplishments are forgotten, or when something is lost, stolen, or sold, we feel a loss.
Good reasons to value permanence exist. It gives us consistency upon which we can base other things. It limits our options, which is something I think we all like more than we admit.
When I was a nomad, my permanence was my computer. I could be at a family member's home or at a grungy third-world bus station, and much of my world was consistent. I communicated with my friends online, worked online, learned online, and researched online. That familiar space allowed me to vary other parts of my life wildly. I never felt homesick or lost because of it.
Before being a nomad, I took permanence for granted. Even if I could have guessed I wouldn't live in Austin forever, I knew that I'd be there a while and that it would always be waiting for me. But becoming a nomad threw into contrast just how valuable permanence is.
I bought my RV, which was cheap enough that I could keep it forever. That felt really good. It was a constant in my life: no matter what happened, I'd have a (small) roof over my head. Same with Vegas. I could have spent the money I spent on it renting a much nicer place for a few years, but that wouldn't be permanent.
The point of having something permanent is that it enables you to seek the ephemeral. You have somewhere to go back to when you're done.
I wonder if this is part of why being poor is so difficult. I've watched a few documentaries, and it always seems like there's nothing permanent in poor people's lives. Not a roof, not a car, not even support from others.
If you feel scattered, lost, or aimless, invest in something permanent. Find something big that can be a cornerstone of your life. It doesn't have to be a place. It could be a good relationship with your family or close friends, or even a solid set of skills that you can use as an income.
Photo is my tea room in Vegas. Building out a place that needs to be totally redone really highlights your priorities. I have a tea room, but no kitchen sink.
It's more than halfway through the year, which means I'm overdue for an update on my dating situation. If you're just tuning in now, I took three years off dating with the intention of looking for a serious relationship, starting January 1st 2015.
Thanks to an introduction from a reader, I met a fantastic girl who I dated for a little over four months. I don't want to say too much about the relationship, mainly because I don't think she wants to be splashed around the blog. I will say that I think that the blame for us not working out falls squarely on my shoulders, and while I think that breaking up was the right decision, I'm certainly not sure.
If I'm honest, my motivation to date is really low. It's one thing to declare it as my first priority, and it's another for it to actually be the driving force in my life. It's definitely not.
Something critical I've realized through my re-entry to dating is that I'd rather be single than date someone I'm not extremely excited about. Just finding someone I'm excited enough about to go on a first date is very difficult. I've never actually met someone through a cold approach who I thought could be a long-term partner, and my online dating screen leaves me about half a dozen girls in any major city.
I've been blogging for nine years and five months. That's a pretty long streak, and I'm sure you can imagine how big of a barrier it creates against me ever quitting. Streaks are a powerful tool in the habit-builder's arsenal. There's some magic to them that makes us want to keep them going, just for their own sake.
That's a good thing, but it can also be a problem. Sometimes you don't want to keep taking the action that's creating the streak, but you keep doing it just to keep the streak alive.
I made the decision recently to only post once per week. I decided to stick to twice a week on a whim a few years ago, and hadn't missed a week since then. But my readership has barely crept up since then, and the second-best post every week is never an amazing one.
And I dreaded doing my twice-weekly posting. I haven't been coming up with great post ideas for a while, so I feel like a lot of times I end up having to choose a subpar post to put online.
Last Thursday, four of the owners of the island converged there to tackle the biggest task so far: build the yurt. Things started going poorly even before we got there.
Brian came down with a sinus infection and a 103 degree fever. He is the physically strongest of our foursome and also probably the most knowledgeable with construction. And even if he wasn't, we needed four people to complete the project. Bailing on the trip wasn't an option, so he rested for two days and came late.
Once we got there, a forklift at the storage place broke, making it impossible for us to pick up the yurt materials until Saturday. We were leaving on Monday.
Many other bad things happened. A 16' long rafter fell and hit Lisa on the head. Our boat stopped working. Two Home Depots were each out of one critical piece for the scaffolding. The mosquitoes were the worst they've ever been there.
Last night, over dinner, I was part of a conversation about virtual and augmented reality, two technologies that aren't here yet, but are inevitable and will change a lot about our world. We marveled at the possibilities and how wonderful it might be to live in a world with these things.
Today, in Budapest, we woke up and had tea at a great local place with the strange name, 1000Tea. They do tea right-- they give you a good amount of high quality leaves, water of the right temperature, and all the accoutrement necessary for Chinese tea ceremony.
After tea we strolled around a bit and made our way to Kiraly Baths, a Turkish bathhouse that's been in operation for around five hundred years and hasn't been restored in decades. We soaked for an hour or two, alternating between hot, very hot, and cool pools of water.
As I sat in the pool, staring at the light filtering through the five-hundred-year-old glass blocks in the ceiling, I thought about how great it was to be able to soak in natural geothermically-heated water from the depths of the earth. I also thought about how incredible it was that I could drink tea anywhere in the world that was expertly grown and processed in China.
Is there anyone who isn't busier than they think they should be? I work alone and have a ton of free time, and yet even I feel like I'm constantly doing something I have to do. But it's never something I have to do because it's been handed down from on high-- it's because I've created obligation for myself.
I had an extra projector in my RV that I had intended to sell for a while. But I got busy and never spent more than a few days in my RV in a row, so it remained there until I bought my place in Vegas.
I brought it to Vegas so that I could watch a UFC fight. The way my living room is arranged is absolutely perfect for a projector. I can stuff it under the chaise-lounge part of my craigslist couch and it projects on the wall separating the kitchen from the living room, the one I really want to demolish, but is load bearing.
I was so excited about the projector that I tried to use it the next afternoon. But it was so sunny that the picture got washed out. It's a portable projector, not a full-blown home projector. But its value is about the same as a bigger one, so I resolved to finally ebay it and bought a big projector.
The power of placebos is about as clear cut as research findings come. In fact, one of the biggest challenges for drug companies is finding drugs that are more effective than placebo. Many popular drugs are only marginally more effective.
A friend of mine is an acupuncturist. He's a really smart and down to earth guy, and is open to talking about how "real" acupuncture is, despite the years of study. He says that placebo is a great solution, and if all he's doing is providing results because of the placebo effect, he's doing a good job. I agree.
I've taken medicine exactly once in my adult life. It was fifteen years ago and I had strep throat. I believe that for most things, the power of the mind is a very effective cure. And even if it's slightly less effective than real medicine, at least there are no side effects.
I'm not super-radical about this, though. If I broke my arm, I would go to the doctor and get it fixed. There's a right tool for every job, and my belief is that minor things like colds, fevers, headaches, and the like don't need medicine. You may have a different ideas that work for you, and I'm not trying to convince you to do mine. Just offering one perspective.
Today I decided to just handle everything that's been backing up, but hasn't been a top priority. I set up invoicing for the island and began to collect money from everyone to pay for upcoming expenses. I bought socks. I listed a bunch of stuff on ebay that had been collecting dust for months on my "to sell" shelf. I began the process of switching banks for the island, to avoid monthly fees. I vacuumed. Once I write this, I'll start dealing with the mountain of emails I haven't responded to.
These things have to get done, and it's nice to bring them to a close for their own rewards, but the real benefit is how smoothly everything else goes afterwards. What a feeling it is to work on a big project with no collection of minor tasks nagging in the back of your mind.
Besides the low-level nagging, these unimportant tasks can unexpectedly become top priority. If your sock suddenly has a big hole in it, you have to interrupt your work to buy new socks. This interruption of big blocks of time is toxic.
That's the important thing to remember when considering taking one day to consolidate and deal with buildup. It's not that any of these things in isolation, or even in combination, are more important than your big projects, it's that by getting them out of the way, you can give your big projects the time, focus, and attention they need.
Our ship pulled up to Gallno. The landing was nothing more than a small dock and a dirt trail that led into the large island. It's the sort of place where my sense of direction is totally adequate, just one trail with some things along it.
Sharing the trail were a couple people from the boat. One had a hand cart with some sort of cargo, and didn't speak with us. The other was a chatty woman from Stockholm who ended up leading us to the only hostel on the island, a converted schoolhouse that looked closed and had no signage whatsoever.
There's not much to do on the island, but that's a nice change sometimes. We're in the main room of the schoolhouse, converted to a big living room. I'm programming, and Justine is painting. Out the window I see purple and white flowers, green fields, and a few cows. Last night we roasted ourselves in the wood-fired sauna.
When I travel and see other foreigners, I involuntarily cringe. As if Tokyo isn't a big enough city for at least a dozen of us white devils, I feel as though my trip is somehow degraded every time I see another foreigner on the streets.
I played the World Series of Poker for the first time in 2011. Having been consistently winning at the biggest stakes available in San Francisco (which are a lot lower than the biggest stakes in Vegas), I wondered if I might have a shot at showing well in the tournament.
The World Series of Poker is actually around fifty different tournaments, covering most major varieties of poker games and playing structures. The main event is the $10,000 buy-in No Limit Hold'Em tournament. I play Limit Hold'Em, so I entered the $1500 Limit tournament. Doing well in this tournament is nowhere near as prestigious as doing well in the main event, but it's still a tough test of poker skills, and a pretty big deal.
The top 10-15% of players get "in the money", which means that they win something. Seventieth place might get $2500 back, while first gets almost $200,000. In 2011 I was most likely one hand away from making it into the money.
As I got better at poker, I'd wanted to play again, but competing trips or priorities kept me away until this year. I mentioned to a friend that I was going to play, and he offered to stake me, making it an even easier decision.