Lost in the mobility maze

A big part of the identity crisis that I’ve been struggling with lately is feeling really uncertain about my physical capabilities. Until two years ago, being physically active was been a hugely important part of how I identified myself and spent my time. Not only are two of my favorite hobbies active (cycling and hiking), but being carfree means being active as a matter of course, something I wrote about just weeks after injuring my left ankle for the first time in July 2012.

At that time I didn’t know I was going to embark on a year-long odyssey to get healed up (something I never wrote about here, although I have an old draft discussing my aggravation/reinjury about a month later). Then a year later I injured myself again, same foot, different piece of soft tissue. Too depressing and irritating for words, really. At first I thought maybe I’d get the normal healing rate this time around, but about two months in I had a flareup, and started the whole mysterious odyssey again. It’s been just under six months now and I’m only starting to feel okay in my daily life again. Predicted recovery times for ankle injuries are six to twelve weeks.

It’s taken me a long time to realize that the hardest part, on a day to day basis, is the self-doubt. Things kept going wrong. First I saw a doctor who didn’t recognize the extent of the sprain, then I overdid it partially as a result of that misdiagnosis and basically had to start from scratch. Then I had a lot of swelling and it seemed to take me longer than expected to heal, and I didn’t get physical therapy. After I did get physical therapy, my therapist was encouraging me to be more active, and then I had a relapse into pain and swelling for no obvious reason (in an MRI taken a couple weeks after the relapse, no tissue injury was found). After more physical therapy, finally I started to feel better and was able to go hiking again. I was stable for only a year, and with some ongoing stiffness (but no activity restriction), before I injured myself again. Thrown back to square one, I tried to do everything right, and I still had a relapse with additional pain and swelling two months in. My doctor and physical therapist both kept encouraging me to try to do more because it was important to build endurance, but the relapses would just come out of nowhere. Any increase in effort, if it didn’t cause a relapse, would cause heat, pain, and often swelling. I could never do as much as they thought I should be able to. And I found it virtually impossible to successfully both do as much as I could (important to increase capacity), and not do more (important to avoid damage or increasing sensitivity). Feet are so involved in everything one does; never overdoing would require a magic portable wheelchair that I could generate out of thin air, or else carrying crutches everywhere all the time, which, are you kidding me?

Because I’ve tried to do everything right, and everything’s gone wrong, I have no confidence now in myself or my leg. The least little twinge could herald a fresh relapse, so I’m hypersensitive to pain and heat buildup, and tend to under-do and over-rely on my other foot and leg, which reinforces the negative pattern of not using the left foot and creates problems in the right foot as well. I’m constantly vigilant, which leads to greater tension, contributing to pain in the foot and exacerbating the chances of relapse or reinjury. And I don’t really know how to break the cycle. I believe I’ve gotten the best advice that my doctor and physical therapist have to give, but they don’t have a clear explanation for my tendency to pain (the doctor says the ligamentous tissue is healed) and they don’t show a lot of understanding of my uncertainty. Not that they’re unsympathetic people, but it’s easy for a practitioner to say “Well, just don’t worry about it! You’re doing fine! Keep trying!” And although I believe that there’s a good chance that some or all of my remaining pain is due to some sort of neural miswiring, overattention, etc. I’m also reluctant to trust myself to purely mental therapy, because it’s not completely clear to me that I’m not doing myself damage, or aggravating some existing damage, when I’m more active.

What I really want is someone who really understands both sides of how I feel. It would also be great if I can find someone who can help me with both empathy and skill. And while I’m asking for things, how about a unicorn and a rainbow too?

Or maybe some internet links! Also this one.

Gratitude inaccessibility

I’m having a problem with the inaccessibility of gratitude, currently. It’s a bit ironic and also funny, because gratitude is one of the few happiness/mindfulness practices you could say I’m “good at”, meaning that I practice it a lot and don’t normally find it difficult (see last year’s entry on this topic). I have so much to be grateful for, on any given day, and I’m as capable of listing those things this weekend as I am any day (just for a short list: loving family, fantastic friends, great job, sweet kitty, warm and comfy house, sunshine in California for Thanksgiving — a blessing for me if not for the state drought situation), but they don’t give me the warm feeling that I’m looking for, the little rush of comfort and joy, the sense of stability and hope.

Both the national situation and my own personal discomforts militate against the sensation of gratitude and joy right now. So many of our systems are broken, and I know so little about what to do about it. In an earlier time in my life maybe I would have imagined that I had some solution to the difficult problems of our national politics and social ills (foremost at the moment, racism). I think when I was younger, I in fact didn’t understand that some of these problems (racism, sexism) were still problems; like a lot of privileged people, I didn’t come face to face with them early, and thus didn’t come to understand that until after I was out in the working world and able to perceive them in their subtler, systemtic forms, and to listen to those for whom they were daily realities. Now I see the problems, but am not sure what to do about them. Admitting ignorance is the first step, perhaps, but admitting despair doesn’t feel like a step forward.

And in spite of my personal blessings I’ve been feeling lost lately. Maybe “identity crisis” is the right word to use; I don’t know for sure. It seems to fit; I had an idea in mind of myself, and I’ve noticed that I don’t match that idea anymore. The last two years have been physically rough on me; I’m not a fit and active person anymore. I don’t ride my bike much, I don’t do yoga, I don’t run, I can’t walk very far without pain. I’m not sure whether or how I’ll be able to go back to that. I hope that I will, but on days I can barely stagger around the house, that hope seems vain. And I don’t have a good sense of what my next step is in life, either. Someone told me, after hearing how I was feeling, “You need a project. You don’t have kids, or aging parents. So you need a project.” It’s good advice (except for the part where she subsequently suggested starting a business; I’m at least clear that that’s not my thing, though she couldn’t have known), but what project can I do when I barely have the resources to function on a day to day basis?

I’ve been reading a lot lately, which helps in that it keeps my mind off myself and on more interesting things, and comforts me that I’m not entirely changed, since I’ve always loved to read. Bless the Multnomah County Library for its huge selection and generous hold system, which not only reserves currently unavailable books, but brings available books to my local library for easy pickup. If I can’t access gratitude for very much right now, I can at least (at last) feel lucky for that.

The marvels of social media

I get annoyed when people complain about the banality of social media. There’s been a meme going around Facebook (I’ve seen it twice now, with different things):

The idea is to occupy Facebook with {THING}, to break the monotony of selfies, knominations, cat dog pics and personal videos. 

I have no idea what knominations even are (typo? game? annoying website?), but that’s not the point. The second version of the meme used different items to complain about. And it’s absolutely true that most social media shares are essentially banal — tidbits about people’s lives, whether it’s their cat, their lunch, or a picture of them with their bestie.

I don’t know about you, but I actually like that. Maybe I’m excessively sincere and easily pleased, but I absolutely love people’s vacation photos, cute pictures of their kids, cats, and dogs, and great captures of beautiful moments. When I can virtually travel back to my home state through the eyes of a semi-professional contact because of Facebook, I’m delighted. I’ve terrifically enjoyed watching my friends’ yard transform from a treasure trove of buried bricks and other oddities to a container garden and lovely patio. It’s great hearing tidbits from people’s lives that I otherwise wouldn’t be in touch with (distant high school acquaintances), getting a culinary tour of New York from a friend who relocated there, or finding out how someone’s new job is going or new baby is growing even though they’re too busy or tired or far away to come and visit.

Even the not-so-personal banal is often amusing. I know Buzzfeed is problematic, but I’ve never laughed harder in my life than at their collection of Reddit’s “first sexual experience” gifs. A friend of mine posted this imgur thread recently, which sent me on a probably hour-long laughing fit as I read all the comments (well, all the top-level ones). Life is hard sometimes; spending that much time laughing is precious. Yeah, I didn’t spend that time reading a meaningful novel or contributing to a worthy cause, but life can’t entirely be made up of serious things. (Besides, I’m not short on my quota of meaningful novels read this week.)

Besides enjoying individual posts, the experience of social media in aggregate is the experience of community. Community isn’t only made up of what’s serious and weighty; in many ways, the online social spaces that we occupy play a role in our lives that’s similar to the role the town common and other real-life social spaces formerly played (and still do, to some extent), places where we connect with family, friends, colleagues, and neighbors on a daily basis. Is it better for that role to be played by real space than virtual space? The reflexive answer is yes, but really the question is something that can be answered empirically to some extent, and the answer is likely to be multifaceted. The nature of the medium is that it’s more one-to-many than one-to-one, but comments and other conversation mechanisms reduce that tendency a little, and there’s advantages in producing a single piece of high-quality content and having it sent around to many people.

I’ve been a part of many online communities. Some were unhealthy, but most have been fundamentally enriching experiences, full of interesting conversations and surprising connections. Most of the communities I like best encourage more depth than Facebook and Twitter, but haven’t had the same advantage in connecting me with people I know in real life as well.

Finally, there’s a larger objection to the notion that Facebook and other social networks are banal, which is that while they mostly are (and that banality becomes significant only in aggregate), there’s a significant amount of substantive interaction that goes on as well — meaningful articles are shared, opinions exchanged, protests made and coordinated. Life is mostly banal; it’s not surprising that social media reflects that. But social media also carries high-quality information and interactions, if you keep looking for them. I try to cultivate my networks so that I get what for me is the right balance between the two. If you aren’t getting the right balance for you, keep looking. And keep sharing music or whatever it is you want to see more of, if that’s what floats your boat. But don’t moan about other people preferring to share their personal banality with each other, because whatever you think of it, it’s not without value.


I’ve written a few posts before on my experience with dysthymia and therapy, and managing my tendency to depression. I haven’t written on this topic in several years, and I was reminded by the flood of posts about Robin Williams that hearing other people speak about the difficulties they have can help.

One thing that strikes me about those older posts is their optimism. Funny thing to say about posts about depression, but both of them are about solutions. Those solutions have really helped me; the optimism is in that sense justified. I don’t usually spend extended periods of time depressed anymore, in part because of the work I’ve done in the past on the emotional side and the physical side of my mental state, and in part because longer experience with managed (versus unmanaged) depression, and a better understanding of what works for me, means I’m more likely to notice and to do the necessary work when things get out of whack.

But there is a relentlessness about the tendency to become depressed, and the need to constantly manage it and deal with it, that I find wearing in a way that I didn’t five years ago, or even two or three years ago. Based on my experiences with recurrence, dysthymia for me seems to be something that I’m nearly always resisting, and that I don’t always successfully stave off.  Getting into that mode is revisiting familiar mental territory, even if I try to make it less so.

It’s honestly scary to have recurrent thoughts that say, as one of my articulate friends put it, “that you’re a cancer on the world that must be excised.” The notion that that will never end for me, that there will never be a day when happiness can’t be capriciously stolen by my jerkbrain (thanks Captain Awkward for that term), is exhausting. I don’t know how other people who live with depression feel, but it’s not hard for me to imagine the possibility that someday that exhaustion might pile up to the point where I start to feel like I can’t do it anymore, can’t keep wrestling myself for every scrap of goodness and happiness that I can find.

To quote this lovely piece:

depression is not, in point of fact, you at all, but a malicious program that’s taken up residence in your brain that runs alongside your you-ness, and turns your brain into a zero-sum landgrab between malware and firmware. Not only does the depression chip away at your energy and focus and clarity, but what you do retain is so exhausted from the nonstop defense of its resources that at times you just want to give in, give up, sink all the way into the warm, quiet darkness.

Even though I feel like I’m far away from that point now, I don’t really have a happy ending to this part of the story, only an intention for it to someday have one; an intention to use all the mental, emotional, physical, financial, and fellow-human resources that I have to stay far away from that point, to remember that most of the time I’m pretty happy, and the effort to keep my jerkbrain from stealing the spotlight is worth it. If you, too, feel relentlessly sucked down in the mire, I hope you also believe that you deserve the spotlight, and not your jerkbrain. And that if nothing else, the notion of a dancing, singing brain in the spotlight made you chuckle.

Edit: Or, you know, I could let Erika Moen say it for me, and better.

Why it isn’t polite to stop for a stopped cyclist

I feel like I’ve ranted about this topic at length, but I can’t find any evidence, so it must have been on Twitter. The issue deserves some explication, since I think this is a point of actual confusion among decent people who are actually trying to be nice.

You should not stop when you have the right of way just because you see a person sitting on a bicycle preparing to travel across your travel path. In all interactions, please, proceed according to right-of-way laws. That does mean that the following advice does not apply to people walking, and it also doesn’t apply to people on bicycles using a crosswalk where sidewalk riding is permitted.

Caveat: always attempt to avoid any imminent or probable collision. Safe and wrong is better than sorry. Safe and correct is better than safe and wrong.

That out of the way, right now I’m talking about you, a kind Portland driver (or a kind anywhere else driver) traveling on a street, seeing a stopped or slowing-to-stop rider in the street at the intersection where the street the rider is on has a stop sign. Your street may or may not have one. In either case, proceed according to right-of-way laws. That means stop if you have a stop sign. Then, proceed in your turn (which means going first if you arrived first). If you have no stop sign, don’t stop. If you have one, don’t insist that the rider precede you if you arrived first.

Why? you say to me innocently. I’m just trying to be nice.

I know you’re trying to be nice, but it’s mostly confusing, and therefore mostly annoying, because it breaks predictability, which breaks safety and efficiency, which are virtually everyone’s first and second goals in traveling around (not necessarily in that order). There are two reasons it does this.

  1. Your car does not have the magic power to stop every other car on the road. Just because you stopped does not mean the rider can safely proceed.
  2. The rider already has predictions and plans about when it will be safe to cross. Your behavior screws up those predictions and usually creates delay.

Neither opposing traffic, nor traffic in the other lane, nor traffic behind you will necessarily stop because you have. You might even trigger a rear-end collision if the person or people behind you aren’t paying attention, since no one expects you to stop for no apparent reason.

If I’m waiting on the cross street and there’s actually traffic on the main street, I have to check that your stoppage has triggered everyone else to stop. Often this doesn’t happen (in which case you wasted everyone’s time), or takes a long time. If it takes a long time, you and I could already have both been out of here, along with everyone else, if only you had taken your turn. It could also change at any time. If I see everyone stopped and decide to cross, and suddenly one of the people behind you gets impatient and darts into the intersection, or the opposing direction of traffic changes their mind about stopping because I’m waiting too long so they think I’m not going to go but oh I am going, guess what happens? I get squished, and we don’t really know whose fault it is, so according to the police it is most likely my fault and therefore I get to pay all my medical bills and your car repair bills. No thanks! I’ll wait!

Or, if I’m waiting on the cross street and there’s not really much traffic on the main street, or it’s just you or most of the line of traffic has already passed, traffic is about to be clear if only you would get the heck out of the way, so do it. If I’ve already stopped or even put my foot down, gesturing for me to go is not doing me a favor. I already lost all my momentum. If you would just go already, you and everyone else would be out of my way and everyone would be happy and delighted and we wouldn’t be wasting this time waving at each other and getting increasingly frustrated.

In summary, there is no circumstance under which you deciding that you need to stop out of turn so that I can proceed out of turn will predictably end in happiness. It is possible that it may end in happiness, and I do take advantage of the possibility sometimes, because if everyone does stop and there really is a long line of traffic, that’s a less confusing and usually less dangerous way to resolve the situation than being annoying in turn and refusing to go so that everyone stopped for absolutely nothing.

But if I am refusing to go, there’s a reason, which is that I don’t think it’s safe or I think you’re wasting my time and probably someone else’s as well. So if I’m not going, please take your turn instead of sitting on your high horse thinking you know what I’m supposed to do. You do what you’re supposed to, and I’ll do what I’m supposed to. That’s only polite.

Not terribly impressed with The Long Tail

So far I’m not impressed with Chris Anderson’s The Long Tail. It was boring for several chapters as it banged on about things I already know. Then it was interesting for about a chapter as it described the rise of the enabling technologies and early “long tails” like Sears Roebuck (plus the founding of Amazon).

Then it degenerated into terrible metaphors about astronomy (neutrinos do not go through the earth “like bullets through tissue paper”, obviously, because they don’t shred the earth to bits) and tautologies like “what’s notable is that none of them [the amateur astronomers] do it for money”. Well, yes. Because if they did, we’d call them professionals, and put them in the other category of the “Pro-Am” partnership you’re describing. Not to mention describing a supernova seen by a telescope as being “witnessed by the naked eye” and the clunky way he describes the fact that an event that was witnessed just now from Earth but took place 168,000 light years away would have taken place 168,000 years ago.

Next comes overheated rhapsodizing about Wikipedia and Google, wherein he asserts that probabilistic systems are “simply counterintuitive to our mammalian brains” (this is true in some ways, but not in others), that Wikipedia created order out of chaos (not really a great description; it created order out of not very much, not out of a swirling vortex of disorder), and that it is “completely unbounded by space and production constraints” (which is definitely why it’s always asking us for money). Not to mention that he claims that Britannica has a line beyond which “this is not worthy” but Wikipedia doesn’t. Actually, the lines are just in different places: Wikipedia’s Notability guidelines anyone? Things get deleted from Wikipedia all the time. In this chapter he also says that The Wisdom of Crowds (which is a book I actually did enjoy about a concept that can be as easily summed up as the Long Tail) is about Adam Smith’s invisible hand of the market. Certainly that aspect of the wisdom of crowds is mentioned, but it’s far from the only or even the main thing the book is about — most of it covers modern social science research.

It doesn’t really get good again until the detailed analysis of music marketing in Chapter 7. Interesting case studies I didn’t know about! Yes!

Basically, The Long Tail gives the impression of a well-honed presentation that had much less well-honed “book material” added to it — occasionally interesting, but often not — which is disappointing. Although it may be unfair to criticize a book that’s probably the ultimate reason why I already know about its ideas for not having fresh information, the best idea books I’ve read have far more substance than their core ideas suggest (see The Wisdom of Crowds). There’s nothing wrong with the information in the book being out of date (Netflix is no longer primarily a physical goods aggregator, having gotten into the digital aggregation business, where the getting is better) but not having interesting information in there to begin with makes it difficult to trudge through, in spite of Anderson’s usually engaging, conversational style.

What can I contribute?

Asked of oneself, in the context of being able to contribute one’s non-material resources to societal endeavors, the question What can I contribute? can be taken at least two ways. One is: what resources am I able to contribute, or capable of contributing? The other is: what resources can I offer that constitute a unique and valuable contribution?

I’m lucky to have a job where I frequently have the opportunity to make a contribution to improving people’s experience with software that’s important to their business or profession. I do that alongside other people with a similar role, which is a great opportunity to see both the common contributions that we bring and the unique and valuable ones. Everyone I work with has really strong technical skills, proven ability to analyze complex problems and identify solutions, and the ability to express those problems and solutions clearly and appropriately in speech and writing. But we all have different styles of expressing ourselves, different specific technical knowledge areas, and different ways of looking at problems. I’m particularly interested in documentation, zero in on and remember details, and tend to focus on the core issue without a lot of verbal decoration. I also have a great head for correct and effective process and a related, more amorphous thing that I think of as ‘appropriateness’ — I’m unlikely to jump into a situation headlong and ask for something that was already provided or try to answer a question I’m just guessing at. That’s a pretty cool thing that I’m good at. The flip side of that skill is “get ‘er done” — jump in and move things along, even if you don’t always get it quite right. It’s also valuable, but it’s not something that I personally am best at doing. It’s great to be part of a team so that I can focus on using my skills where they’re most needed and letting others do the same.

Applying that same thinking to transportation advocacy seems fruitful. Being on the sidelines right now means I’m mostly tuned out, but I’m still friends with my friends and Twitter is still Twitter, so I have the chance to see some of what happens with me out of the game. And the answer is: mostly the same stuff happens. I’m not the axis on which that world turns (obviously), but when I was in the midst of it, it was easy to think that because I could contribute something, that meant I should, because the work I was doing was important and therefore doing as much as I could was obviously valuable.

This seems honestly kind of stupid in retrospect. Most of what I can contribute (in the first sense) in advocacy can also be contributed by other people. As in my job, I’m one of several to dozens of people with similar capabilities and inclinations. Is this kind of contribution valueless? Definitely not. At work we’ve got a certain ticket load and my base contributions are important to keeping that load manageable. And in advocacy there’s a certain amount of basic work to be done that creates value by showing interest and articulating opinions — writing letters, making requests, commentating on issues, having discussions, attending meetings. But almost anyone can do this, and I don’t do most of it remarkably better than most people, aside from being a good letter-writer. Unlike in my professional life, though, I’m not as clear on what I do in advocacy that is unique and valuable, and that’s part of what I’d like to figure out during this hiatus.

This idea has a pretty broad application — it’s worth thinking about how it applies to close relationships, general socializing, and internet/social media as well, but that’s too long for one post (and I’m too tired).

Low-stress route choice

I decided to quit public advocacy for a while (time TBD), but one of the things I decided is that I’m going to keep writing stuff here if I feel like it, just focusing on my personal experiences and not trying to get attention for them. I can’t turn off my advocacy brain so I might as well write stuff down and see if any of it turns out to be useful.

I was riding home today from 20th and Burnside. When I used to ride from there I would just take 20th, because I live off 15th just north of Broadway, and 20th is fast and direct. But I got tired of people being assholes on 20th. It’s stressful and my goal right now is to ride my bike and try to enjoy it. So I started diverting. First I diverted from 20th between Burnside and Irving: now I take 22nd to Glisan/Sandy, then cross there either in the western crosswalk or at the light (depends how much traffic is on Glisan — if there’s a fair amount it’s easier to glide up the sidewalk and press the button). At first I took 22nd to Irving and then turned left, following that route back north (Irving is the natural choice of where to get off 21st when coming south). Now I’ve added additional diversion and take 22nd north. I can take it all the way to Pacific and then turn left and then right to come right out on the bridge, where the bike lane is. This not only bypasses the segment from Irving to Pacific that has no bike lane and then the awkward curve in the bike lane, it prevents having to divert to 20th and then end up back on 21st. (The specific path through here isn’t that important, but 22nd also avoids the dairy trucks better.)

No options until you get to Multnomah. You can turn left there, but it’s a difficult merge and there’s a lot of waiting traffic so generally I had been going up 21st to Hancock or Tillamook, which is the obvious thing to do. Today I realized that I could actually merge with traffic and then turn left at Clackamas (roughly where parking usually starts). Then it’s an easy jet up 16th. Very relaxing comparatively.

My behavior is interesting to me because it relates to a post I wrote previously called What if your design rider is wrong? As I mentioned, I used to ride on 20th; riding on the direct and fast route is definitely my preference absent other factors. But now here I am, constructing a mildly circuitous route (it really only adds a block to the distance, but it’s much more complex) so that I can relax and enjoy riding my bike. But does that mean that I prefer to ride on side streets? I don’t think it does. It means that I prefer not to be stressed (wow, there’s a surprising preference for you). I’m not a design rider, but neither is anyone else, really. We all just have a certain weight we place on various values in the transportation world, and mine have shifted substantially toward avoiding stress.

Reasons for that in another post, maybe.

The emotional challenges of advocacy.

I was having a hard time last summer and fall with getting back to riding my bike more, and with doing advocacy and encouragement work for bicycling. I didn’t — don’t — feel safe riding anymore, and I felt frustrated about the barriers to bicycling, so I didn’t feel comfortable encouraging people, and I didn’t feel that advocacy work was providing much return for the effort I was putting in. Everything seems stuck to me, like nothing is changing. Cycling is still dangerous and stressful in too many places. There’s a lack of vision within many parts of the city transportation staff; there’s stiff political opposition to policies and projects that advance bicycling and urbanism.

I am still in the midst of dealing with those feelings, but slowly, different experiences have inspired the return of the slow burn of conviction I’ve had for years: that the transportation menu for our future cannot mostly contain cars and the wide roads, highways, and freeways that we desire for such powerful beasts. And that because I believe that so strongly, I must, in the end, find the inner resources to go on working for it.

The first was this simple line, posted by a member of an online community I belong to, about something else entirely:

Nobody feels like they are doing a good job in advocating. Nobody.

That was the moment when I stopped feeling guilty for feeling that I was doing a terrible job, guilty for thinking that my job was hard. Advocacy is actually difficult. By its nature, you are almost always working against the status quo and for the underdog. You almost never get everything you want, and you have to work very hard to get what you do get.

Second: last week we watched Lincoln at a friend’s house. It’s an inspiring movie for any number of reasons, but for me, at this moment in my life, it’s best summed up with:

The greatest measure of the nineteenth century. Passed by corruption, aided and abetted by the purest man in America.

The process of moving the law forward is a messy one (laws and sausages are things you don’t want to see made). Even if we achieve great things, they may have been achieved in not-so-nice ways. I love and hate the process of moving from the crystalline clarity of the idea to the real details of how to achieve it in the current political climate. My mind is an engineering mind, and it likes that which is Correct and Effective. Politics is usually neither. But my heart believes in community input; it believes in consensus; it believes in the wisdom of crowds: that ideas are made better by more people examining them, that achieving something that people don’t buy into isn’t forward progress, that winning hearts and minds is as important as meeting budget needs and drawing lanes of the correct widths.

Finally, today I was reminded, in the person of Gabby Giffords, that there are a large number of people who share my devotion to the slow but determined method of achieving progress. Whatever issue they hold dear, they will go on pushing it forward:

Our fight is a lot more like my rehab. Every day, we must wake up resolved and determined. We’ll pay attention to the details; look for opportunities for progress, even when the pace is slow. Some progress may seem small, and we might wonder if the impact is enough, when the need is so urgent.

But every day we will recruit a few more allies, talk to a few more elected officials, convince a few more voters. Some days the steps will come easily; we’ll feel the wind at our backs. Other times our knees will buckle. We’ll tire of the burden. I know this feeling. But we’ll persist.

We can get tough and win elections. We’ll support our allies. And those who stood in the way will face a powerful advocacy community standing between them and re-election….

We will seize on consensus where it exists, on solutions big or small. We will fight for every inch, because that means saving lives. I’ve seen grit overcome paralysis. My resolution today is that Congress achieve the same. How? Step by step…

A politician to admire, and to emulate. (She likes bikes, too.)

Finally, riding home last night (it was chilly, and raining lightly) I saw the beauty of the quiet night and the slight fog, felt the strength of self-sufficiency, of resisting the cold and rain. These increasingly rare (for me) moments of joy and freedom are inevitably connected with all the ones that have gone before, and remind me of what I love, have always loved, about riding. Bicycling shouldn’t have to be a black diamond endeavor, and you don’t have to resist the rain and cold to be legit (there’s far too much mythology about toughness as it is) but as long as those barriers exist, I might as well make that work for me, make it part of my strength, not part of my fear, or part of the hassle. Because that feeling of freedom is worth it. It’s what I want everyone to have.


Smitten Kitchen cookbook adventures (7)

Gnocchi in tomato broth

This came out nicely in terms of execution, and didn’t take a whole lot longer than advertised (if you actually chop stuff first, probably it really would only take an hour). But: it took All The Dishes, it was pretty fiddly, and the result was underwhelming for someone who doesn’t love gnocchi that much in the first place.

I know, I know — why would I make this recipe if I don’t like gnocchi that much? Well, it looked really easy from a shopping perspective, and it didn’t seem like that much prep work (except for the gnocchi-making, which I thought would be interesting), and maybe it would be really good? It looks so tasty.

Honestly, I was secretly hoping that I just hadn’t had good gnocchi, and that making my own would finally convince me they’re amazing. But it didn’t. They turned out well — not the best I’ve ever had, but totally passable homemade gnocchi. Which is saying something, since gnocchi are kind of known for being hard to make. I think the reputation is a little undeserved — it’s irritating and messy because potatoes make sticky dough, but not actually difficult if you have some dough-making experience. Deb has you use a box grater instead of the fancier and rarer potato ricer, which is sort of fine except that half the potato just falls apart while you try to grate the rest. So I think, actually, you should have a potato ricer in the ideal case. Or I should have used the food processor — as if I didn’t use enough dishes as it was.

Anyway, the gnocchi aren’t the highlight of this dish if you ask me — it’s actually the tomato broth. It’s really good. Really, really good. I would totally make it again, at least if I can convince myself that ending up with a bunch of stray mushy vegetables at the end is worth it. (I’ll probably save them to add to another vegetable soup. I can’t stand throwing away cooked veggies, even if their essence is already extracted.)

But when you add the gnocchi to the tomato broth, it’s just these blandish white soft things in this amazing broth with some tasty garnishes (I used more basil leaves and parmesan, like Deb suggests), and I’m like “But why are gnocchi? I do not understand.” When all you have is gnocchi and tomato broth, they both need to be things you like. And for me they’re just not. I normally love potatoes, but gnocchi are blander than potatoes alone.

And the dishes, oh lord, the dishes. You have to understand: my kitchen is as small as Deb’s (or smaller), and doesn’t have as many cabinets or clever storage devices. I managed to use two pots, two mixing bowls, one glass storage container, one giant baking sheet, one plastic container, the grater, a strainer, the colander, and the usual suspects (knife, cutting board, garlic squisher, peeler, cup and spoon measures). I washed the cutting board and the knife twice. Things were precariously balanced everywhere. I was making gnocchi while cooking gnocchi. It was awkward. So it’ll probably never happen again. I just need to figure out something else to put in this amazing broth.