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This is Water

This is Water

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In 2005, David Foster Wallace gave a commencement speech to the graduating class at Kenyon College (the full transcript can be found here). He begins with a parable:

There are these two young fish swimming along, and they happen to meet an older fish swimming the other way, who nods at them and says, “Morning, boys. How’s the water?” And the two young fish swim on for a bit, and then eventually one of them looks over at the other and goes, “What the hell is water?”

I have to admit, I had a pretty comfortable childhood. I always had food at the table, a bed to sleep on and family members who truly cared for my wellbeing. However, as a payment for this comfort, I also quietly accepted all the narratives whispered to me. From social narratives of traditional education to more esoteric narratives of Christian doctrines, I never really put much effort into shaping my own values or beliefs. They were just kind of given to me, and I quietly conformed.

Recently though, I’ve begun questioning some of these narratives. While I was lucky to have been raised with high moral principles, I do wonder how many of these I’ve accepted unconsciously and require re-examining. For instance, doing Biomedicine showed me that I really don’t know as much as I think – an idea which crushed a narrative I’d held for a long time. This narrative was built up on 18 years of flowery pampering and breaking this illusion hurt quite a lot.

But while the process of re-examining narratives may be uncomfortable, avoiding this would be surrendering to a state of unconsciousness, a default setting: a cost I feel is simply too great. And so, I’ve decided to embark on the strange new journey of trying to be more conscious and alive. Where this will end up, and what the first step is, I don’t really know. But I guess that’s part of the journey.

David Foster Wallace ends his speech with a challenge:

It is about the real value of a real education, which has almost nothing to do with knowledge, and everything to do with simple awareness; awareness of what is so real and essential, so hidden in plain sight all around us, all the time, that we have to keep reminding ourselves over and over:

“This is water.”

Lockdown

Lockdown

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A poem I’ve read several times this past week.

Lockdown

Yes there is fear.
Yes there is isolation.
Yes there is panic buying.
Yes there is sickness.
Yes there is even death.
But,
They say that in Wuhan after so many years of noise
You can hear the birds again.
They say that after just a few weeks of quiet
The sky is no longer thick with fumes
But blue and grey and clear.
They say that in the streets of Assisi
People are singing to each other
across the empty squares,
keeping their windows open
so that those who are alone
may hear the sounds of family around them.
They say that a hotel in the West of Ireland
Is offering free meals and delivery to the housebound.
Today a young woman I know
is busy spreading fliers with her number
through the neighbourhood
So that the elders may have someone to call on.
Today Churches, Synagogues, Mosques and Temples
are preparing to welcome
and shelter the homeless, the sick, the weary
All over the world people are slowing down and reflecting
All over the world people are looking at their neighbours in a new way
All over the world people are waking up to a new reality
To how big we really are.
To how little control we really have.
To what really matters.
To Love.
So we pray and we remember that
Yes there is fear.
But there does not have to be hate.
Yes there is isolation.
But there does not have to be loneliness.
Yes there is panic buying.
But there does not have to be meanness.
Yes there is sickness.
But there does not have to be disease of the soul
Yes there is even death.
But there can always be a rebirth of love.
Wake to the choices you make as to how to live now.
Today, breathe.
Listen, behind the factory noises of your panic
The birds are singing again
The sky is clearing,
Spring is coming,
And we are always encompassed by Love.
Open the windows of your soul
And though you may not be able
to touch across the empty square,
Sing.

Courtesy of Richard Hendrick, a friar in the Roman Catholic order.

COVID Chaos

COVID Chaos

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These days, it seems like every conversation involves the recent coronavirus outbreak and its ramifications on society. Whether it’s the toilet paper shortages, job losses or the shutting down of schools and sporting events, a single word comes to mind when reflecting on the last few weeks: chaos. In light of this, I’ve decided to do some research on what’s been happening and reflect on some of the thoughts COVID-19 has brought on over the last few weeks.

Background

  • Coronaviruses are a family of viruses causing diseases with variable virulence, ranging from the common cold to more severe diseases such as Middle East Respiratory Syndrome (MERS) and Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome (SARS). SERS and MERS outbreaks have occurred in the past.
  • December 2019: Reports of a new coronavirus outbreak emerge in Wuhan, China. This virus has been named SARS-CoV-2, with the disease it causes called Coronavirus disease 19 (COVID-19). Compared to SARS or MERS, COVID-19 spreads more efficiently between people to people but has a lower mortality rate.
  • March 11: The World Health Organisation (WHO) declares COVID-19 a pandemic.
  • March 12: The Australian Federal Government unveils its $17.6 billion stimulus package, targeting mostly businesses and welfare recipients. Italy goes into lockdown.
  • March 16: The Australian Federal Government places a ban on non-essential gatherings of more than 500 people to prevent the spread of COVID-19. Events such as the Australian Grand Prix and spectators for cricket games are cancelled.

Present (as of March 22)

  • In Australia, there are currently 1,072 cases reported, though this number is thought to be underreported and will almost certainly rise.
  • Worldwide, 307,652 cases have been reported across 188 countries and territories. Of these, 95,797 have recovered and 13,051 have died – a mortality rate of around 4.2%. The top 3 affected countries are China, Italy and Spain.
    • Live statistics can be found here.
  • While most people recover from the disease naturally, the mortality rate increases for the elderly, the immunocompromised and those with underlying illnesses such as diabetes, heart disease or cancer.
  • Many countries across the world have put restrictions on social gatherings in order to ‘flatten the curve’, preventing an overwhelm of the healthcare system and to provide time for research to develop treatments. The mathematical models assessing the impact of non-pharmaceutical interventions on COVID-19 mortality can be found here.
  • The Victorian State Government has announced shutdown of all non-essential activity across Victoria, commencing this coming Tuesday (March 24).

Future

  • There is currently no well-established estimate as to when COVID-19 will peak or end, though concerns that the outbreak will coincide with flu season in August have led to the push of the influenza vaccine.
  • The International Labour Organization (ILO) estimates that COVID-19 could claim up to 24.7 million jobs worldwide.
  • Trials for a COVID-19 treatment are currently underway in labs globally, though a vaccine will take at least an year to develop, given the time required for pre-clinical development, phase 1 clinical trials and upscaling.  
  • With SARS-CoV-2 accumulating 1 to 2 mutations per month, researchers are drawing up phylogenic trees to put together distinct lineages and gauge its spread. It’s currently unclear how exactly these mutations affect the behaviour of the virus.

3 Thoughts

1. Variable Responses

How does one respond when a safe and predictable week suddenly gets turned on its head due to a virus outbreak that’s taking over the world? The spectrum of responses is amazing, from people simply enjoying the show to others fighting over toilet paper. While it’s understandable that there would be a dramatic response to the pandemic, it’s unfortunate to see unhelpful attitudes such as xenophobia rearing their heads, only adding fire to the chaos.

Perhaps this period can illustrate where one’s priorities lie. For those who are concerned about their own wellbeing, xenophobia isn’t a surprising reaction – this is the perhaps one of the most unstabilising events of the last century and being weary of others is normal. But for those whose concern involves the wellbeing of others, a rare and selfless nature can emerge in a time where looking out for one’s self is the norm.

I’ve noticed it’s difficult to find posts regarding the few benefits COVID-19 has brought about. The media seems to focus exceedingly on new policies, new restrictions and new death toll updates. Very few seem to report that greenhouse gases are at an all-time low. That skies in Wuhan are blue and clear. That the sound of birds, previously deafened by the noise of city noise, now sing out through the silence. That while this time can seem incredibly isolating, it has the possibility to be wholly uniting, as people become increasingly aware of their actions on others. If this translates to more empathy and understanding of others in the future, I think that’s something we can all rejoice about.

2. Default Habits

Crisis doesn’t change people; it reveals them.

Eric Walters

If there’s one thing that COVID-19 helps reveal, it’s our default habits. When the structures and expectations that set up a week collapse, do we still maintain our usual habits and routines or do we turn to other activities, ones which seem more enjoyable and meaningful than our usual work?

Personally, I noticed that my motivations for studying drop immensely when lectures and tutorials aren’t in person. There’s something about being physically present in a class or lecture hall that creates a sense of accountability – something that makes me think, ‘hmm, maybe I should be as studious as the rest of my cohort…’ And that gets me over the line to study. Perhaps this disinterest in studying is a warning sign that my motivations for medicine aren’t as strong as I once imagined, but that’s a thought for another time.

3. Physical vs Social Isolation

I sometimes fear that maintaining physical health through social isolation neglects another piece of wellbeing: mental health. I identify as fairly introverted, but the notion of socially isolating myself for a few weeks doesn’t sound too appealing. Without social interaction, dangerous states such as loneliness can seep in and easily lead to other, more destructive thoughts.

For the majority of people who are more extraverted than myself, I pray people will still interact with and support others during these isolating times. Honestly, ‘social isolation’ should be renamed ‘physical isolation’, since it’s the only the physical aspect of meeting which is dangerous, not the social. Indeed, to fully socially isolate from others would be dangerous, perhaps more so than the virus itself.

As the pandemic situation progresses, only God knows what will happen to us all. But if we remember to add some empathy, some awareness and some kindness each day, I trust we can all get through this together in one piece.

Just Showing Up

Just Showing Up

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As I’m writing this, there’s a bit of a problem. The problem is as follows:

  1. I need to post something here once a week by Sunday,
  2. This week, I’ve started writing 3 reflections but am nowhere near close to finishing any of them,
  3. It’s 11:44pm on Sunday and I’m tired.

A part of me grumbles:

Look Eric, you’ve had a long day, you need to get up early tomorrow and no one will care if you post on a Monday instead of a Sunday. Forget this – just go to bed.

However, here I am writing this short thought anyway. Over the last few years, I’ve learnt that just showing up can put big steps forward in achieving particular goals. It doesn’t really matter how the actual ‘session’ goes, but the act of showing up does something incredible: it builds a sense of consistency, which in turn gives evidence for becoming a particular type of person to do a particular action again: a positive feedback loop, in a sense. To put it in clearer terms, here’s James Clear on the topic:

Every action you take is a vote for the type of person you wish to become. If you finish a book, then perhaps you are the type of person who likes reading. If you go to the gym, then perhaps you are the type of person who likes exercise. If you practice playing the guitar, perhaps you are the type of person who likes music. Each habit is like a suggestion: “Hey, maybe this is who I am.”

No single instance will transform your beliefs, but as the votes build up, so does the evidence of your new identity. This is one reason why meaningful change does not require radical change. Small habits can make a meaningful difference by providing evidence of a new identity. And if a change is meaningful, it actually is big. That’s the paradox of making small improvements.

Source: James Clear

Personally, I’ve found this to be true. I mean, I barely ever go to the gym so being a ‘buff guy’ is a title I would never consider claiming – I have no experience of lifting to show for it. However, showing up for the tasks I do perform gives a ‘vote’ for the type of person my actions embody. If I clean my room, I ‘vote’ for being a tidy person. If I get up early for a run, I ‘vote’ for being a runner. And when I stick to my self-allocated writing schedule, I ‘vote’ for being a person who sticks to their word. Even though these thought patterns can be unhelpful, I find them difficult to avoid and I suspect other people have similar tendencies as well.

But crucially, the converse is also true: when I don’t show up for such actions, or take unproductive actions, it gives a small ‘vote’ against the person I would like to become. For example, I’ve recently been rocking up to class late various times these last few weeks – one of the dangers of living close to Uni. Now when I leave to go to class, I almost habitually push how long I can wait until I’m too late, as I’ve ‘voted’ for myself as being a late person. Of course, this is an unproductive and rude characteristic to have, but due to my past votes for this identity, I’ve struggled to break out of this thought pattern. This means that any productive tasks done consistently have substantial carry-forward effects whilst unhealthy, habitual tasks have similarly powerful but destructive effects, reiterating the simple importance of just showing up.

11:59pm. Alright – time to sleep.

The Art of Empathy

The Art of Empathy

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Note: All the names below have been changed for confidentiality. Any resemblance to persons as a result of these changes is entirely coincidental and unintentional.

“God, all I want to do is to be healthy again. This sore throat, tight chest, breathing problem, it’s slowly taking over my life. I’ve been to seven different GPs and they’ve all just given me more pills but they make me feel worse! I honestly don’t know what to do… I can’t keep living like this anymore.”

My mind begins to whirl, processing the information as I think about what I should do. Dyspnoea (shortness of breath) could be due to cardiovascular or respiratory causes. Should I ask about coughing to clarify this? Or ask about her past medical history to get a better understanding on what’s going on?

These thoughts are running through my head as I sit in the corner of a small room, amongst three others. It’s my first day on GP placement and I’m currently sitting in the middle of a consultation as a first-year medical student, where my role is to simply observe. In front of me is my supervising GP Dr. M, as well as a young French couple. A few weeks ago, Daphne (the patient), immigrated to Australia from France, ready to start a new life with her partner. However, as soon as she arrived, she developed chest pains, a sore throat and trouble breathing which have worsened over time despite various medical interventions, eventually leading her to us.

I sit quietly and wonder how Dr. M will respond. Seconds pass and to my surprise, Dr. M simply sits facing Daphne quietly, prompting her to continue. A stiff silence emerges and begins to grow, until Daphne breaks it.

“Please don’t give me any more pills… I really can’t keep living like this anymore.”

Daphne breaks down and the room now fills with quiet sobbing. I turn to stare at Daphne’s bursting bag of prescriptions on Dr. M’s desk – a menacing bag, one only weighing a few hundred grams, but carrying heavy connotations of sickness and vulnerability. The silence begins to grow again until finally, after what seems like an eternity, Dr. M stirs. And what happens next I can’t describe as anything but magic.

It starts off with a recognition of the pain that Daphne has gone through – a simple nod, an apology for the trouble that the supposed ‘treatments’ have caused her. “It must be very difficult for you,” Dr. M gently expresses. “To come to a new country hoping for a new life, only to be met with illness.” Teary-eyed Daphne looks up, surprised. “I only came to Australia a few years ago myself,” Dr. M continues. “So I can relate to some of the stress you’re feeling now.”

The tension in the room immediately dissipates. Daphne sits a little straighter and leans a little closer to Dr. M as the questions start coming out. They talk, not just as a doctor and patient, but as fellow people. People with stories unique to themselves, but with surprising and beautiful similarities to others. As Daphne’s explanations become more detailed and emotive, I wonder if this is the first time she truly feels heard. After a few questions (including, to my satisfaction, coughing and past family history), a few examinations and many explanations, a treatment plan for Daphne’s illness is transpired, with clear instructions to come back if the symptoms don’t get better. Daphne looks relieved and I can see a glimmer of hope in her partner’s face.

As Daphne and her partner get up to leave, Daphne turns to me. “I hope you become a doctor like this when you grow up.” I nod and smile in response as they leave the room.

Aftermath

“You know Dr. M, the way you approached the start kind of surprised me. I thought you’d go straight into asking history questions.”

Dr. M smiles as I ask the question but doesn’t stop typing up her consultation notes on the computer. After a few seconds, she turns and addresses me.

“Sometimes, the best thing you can do for a patient isn’t to ask more questions. Often, just being with them, giving them the space to speak and recognising the pain they’re going through goes an incredibly long way. It’s something they don’t really teach you in medical school – the art of empathy.”

Later that day, I think back to my default response to Daphne’s presenting problems. How eager was I to get to the underlying cause of her problems whilst giving Daphne herself no thought? How many of her previous GPs had done the same and caused more harm than good? The art of empathy: by no means an easy or decorated practice, but one which is crucially important. It seems that ancient adage finally makes sense: Treat the patient, not the disease.

Dunning-Kruger Cycles

Dunning-Kruger Cycles

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In the middle of Year 9, I failed my first exam. It was for chemistry and having never failed an exam before, this came as a huge shock and I remember staring down at the number on my paper, stunned. Then reality hit and a disturbing thought crept into my mind: maybe I’m not as smart as I thought.

This chemistry exam forced my perceptions of cognitive ability to be re-evaluated. Before the exam, I held a fairly steady academic record, being a straight A student and achieving Dux of my primary school. Scoring above the class average was expected of me, by both everyone around me and myself.

But perhaps this steady academic record was what got me into trouble. In the days leading up to this chemistry exam, I wrote in my journal,

I really haven’t studied that much for this chem exam… but I’ll be fine right? Chem isn’t that hard. Lol.

Look, I was in Year 9

Instead of reflecting on my study techniques and work ethic that got me to this place, perhaps I let my academic standing get to my head. You’re smart enough. I might’ve whispered. Look at your exam history – you don’t need to study for this.

The Dunning-Kruger effect: a cognitive bias in which people assess their cognitive ability as greater than it is. It largely stems from both an overestimation of their abilities and a failure to recognise any lack in ability.

In the moments before the chemistry exam, I’ll call the state I was in as ‘Dunning-Kruger positive’, whereby my cognitive abilities were heavily overstated, even delusional. Directly after the chemistry exam, I’ll call the state ‘Dunning-Kruger negative’, whereby my cognitive limits are reflected upon and re-evaluated.

This exam begun a series of Dunning-Kruger cycles, in which ‘Dunning-Kruger positive’ and ‘negative’ states came and went. After the chemistry exam came a series of successful assessments, which unfortunately lead to a replacement of solid study habits with arrogance, a ‘positive’ state. Soon after, I began my Biomedicine degree in University and began performing poorly there, transitioning back from a ‘positive’ to a ‘negative’ state. Right now, having started medicine and realising how little I know versus what I need to know, I’m well and truly in the ‘negative’. However, this time I wonder if I’ll ever feel like I’ll come back to a ‘positive’, given the complexity of medicine.

Sometimes it’s easy to forget how we got to the places we are now. We misconstrue our history, ignoring key moments and forging erroneous causes. Was I smart in Year 9? Maybe, but it was definitely by no inherent means. Rather, it was through the hard work of my parents to fund my secondary education, who gave me opportunities to pursue extra-curriculars and who supported me through every step. Rather, it was through the teachers who inspired me to learn and guided my academic adolescence. Rather, it was through God, the creator of heaven and Earth, who gave the greatest privilege of life. To ignore these factors would not just be arrogant, but pathologically delusional.

This serves as a reminder for me to continuously reflect on my limitations and earnestly pray to overcome them. While there will almost certainly be times where I drift back to an arrogant state, I hope I’ll be able to recognize this and reassess my limitations – before I fail another exam, or worse.

Shifting Perceptions

Shifting Perceptions

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“So, the next step in the history taking process is to define the pain. You start this by asking for site, with questions like, “Where are you experiencing the pain? Can you pinpoint the site or is it more general? Does the pain radiate (spread anywhere)?” And if the pain is on one side of the body, remember to ask about the other side – this is important. Got it? Okay, the next step is severity…”

As the tutor speaks, the flurry of medical students typing notes is oddly reminiscent of a waterfall, with myself and 11 other first year medical students taking part in its creation. The class I’m in is called Clinical Skills Tutorial (CST), which teaches the more practical skills of medicine such as taking histories or doing patient examinations – this week, we are being introduced to the history taking process. But while it is exciting to learn what a doctor does, I can’t help but feel a different, uninspiring feeling rise up within me as I type. A twinge of… disappointment. The disappointment initially surprises me but after a while, it fades away. I soon realise why.  

When I was little, I thought doctors were a special breed of people – those blessed with levels of intellect, observation and analytical thinking far beyond that of the general population. A ‘superhuman’, if you’d like. I always marvelled how a GP, upon never seeing a patient before, could diagnose the cause of chest pain using a few questions, tests and some poking around and then prescribe the perfect drug, where the patient would then live happily ever after (hooray!). I imagined doctors had flashes of superhuman genius which told them what questions to ask, what diagnoses to make and what decisions to make in critical situations – a process mere humans could never understand.

But of course, doctors are human and have limitations like the rest of us. Doctors often get things wrong, with diagnostic error rates estimated to be close to an alarming 15% [1]. And from my first few weeks of medical school, it seems unlikely that wild ‘flashes of inspiration’ occur at all. Rather, medicine seems more mundane, more formulaic – a process of extracting the same pieces of information from each patient and recognising particular groups of symptoms. Almost like pattern recognition, like a game. Nothing too superhuman at all.

It’s somewhat disappointing to reach the conclusion that doctors probably aren’t too different from the rest of the population. I imagine the notion of the ‘superhuman doctor’ is something we hold for our own sake – we want doctors to be infallible, incapable of getting our diagnoses wrong, when in fact doctors can get sick, miss their families and become exhausted just like the rest of us. Despite all this, the ordinary doctor tries their best to repair a patient, knowing full well that they share the same limitations of energy, time and need for social connection.

But perhaps it is exactly this that makes doctors and other allied health workers superhuman: the constant exertion of effort to reach an unattainable level of perfection for the sake of the poor, the injured and the broken. It’s taking potential burnout, imposter syndrome and unmet social commitments and temporarily moving them aside to make space for the patient’s needs. Caring: perhaps this is what makes healthcare workers superhuman – not some transcendence of IQ or memory, but something more subtle, more internal: the prioritisation of others’ needs above your own. Now that is pretty extraordinary.


Sources:
1. Graber ML. The incidence of diagnostic error in medicine. BMJ Quality and Safety. 2013 Oct; 22(Suppl 2): ii21-ii27.

First Impressions

First Impressions

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Three weeks have officially passed for my first year in the Doctor of Medicine (MD) at Melbourne University. According to older and more experienced students, MD1 is a precious time in the context of a medical career: you have the most time you’ll ever have, there are zero expectations of you and you’re only there to learn. Over the next few years, I’ll be documenting this journey ahead – everything from the bright and beautiful to the dark and demoralising, with this post marking the start. I don’t really have a plan of what I’ll be writing about, so here goes nothing.

INTRODUCTIONS

“Hey there, I’m Eric – what’s your name?”

Of the 359 students in MD1, most of the faces are new but there are some familiar ones. Through ice-breakers, orientation activities and lunch breaks, I’ve slowly begun to meet some of the new faces who I’ll be calling colleagues over the next few years, and catch up with old friends.

The act of mingling was draining in the first few weeks, but things are slowly settling down. Groups are beginning to form, with clusters in lectures and circles in lunch breaks taking shape. Without a doubt, getting to know new faces throughout the next few years is something I’m looking forward to.

Most people seem friendly and relaxed, making it easy to forget that many of these individuals are likely straight A students, accustomed to topping their classes and acing every exam. I wonder what will happen now that these students are now all together – how and if their expectations will shift throughout the years given the competitive nature of this course. On the other hand, not seeing faces who I’ve become accustomed to seeing during undergrad is a little strange; friends who have moved to different states, who have gone down different paths. But things like this happen, and I have faith they’ll do great things no matter where they’re placed.

RESILIENCE

Some of the themes of the first week of MD1 included resilience and developing a ‘growth mindset’ – stuff like if you ever fall, fall forward. Within these talks, the idea of imposter syndrome came up frequently as a reminder that yes, imposter syndrome happens to everyone and no, don’t listen to those thoughts – you absolutely deserve to be in this course.

There are many arguments that could be made against doing medicine. You are studying for a long time (essentially your whole life), you will probably experience some form of burnout in navigating patients and hospital systems, leading you to almost certainly work long hours whilst trying to maintain a healthy personal life. On top of that, you are in an inherently competitive field with a vast number of brilliant minds vying for a limited number of specialist positions, of which many exams stand along the way. It is no wonder imposter syndrome and burnout are such big problems in this field.

But of course, these are also reasons why one would decide to go into medicine. The thrill of lifelong learning, the opportunity to meet patients’ health needs as another human and the opportunity to work in a team of like-minded, capable individuals must surely be worth the inevitable struggle to receive these gifts or going to medical school would be nonsensical.

Things may change and I may drop out of med school in the future, but for now, I’m content on this path that God has placed me on.

Books That Shaped Me

Books That Shaped Me

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Perhaps the greatest habit my sister ever instilled in me was one of reading. While it took a while to see reading as a gift rather than a chore, the opportunity to learn and explore worlds from people I’ve never met has given me insights like no other. Here are 5 books which have had a massive influence on how I now see myself, the world or others – in roughly the order in which I read them. For each, I’ll try to give a brief overview of what it taught me.

Steal Like An Artist
Austin Kleon

This book was perhaps the biggest reason why I decided to start writing in a public domain – a notion which initially terrified me. A short read, but one which transformed the way I now think about creativity, networking and creating.

Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine
Gail Honeyman

I’ve never been as captivated by a fiction book as I was with this one. There were points in this book that were so engrossing that I seriously thought I could hear the characters’ voices through the pages. It was through this book and following the lens of Eleanor in which I began to understand the concept of sonder: that people are much more complex than they may seem.

What I Talk About When I Talk About Running
Haruki Murakami

Often regarded as one of the most mystical and moreish fiction writers out there, Murakami stands on a creative pedestal in my head – a pedestal reserved for minds that have that extra creative reservoir. I was pleasantly surprised to find out Murakami also runs marathons and this memoir of his gives a glimpse into his life as a distance runner and artist, revealing insights related to creativity, sacrifice and running. In particular, it helped me see how running can be much more than the physical act itself, but as a medium to test one’s resilience and to step into a void.

Atomic Habits
James Clear

I personally tend to find personal development books a little simplistic and cheesy, but this one was pivotal in reshaping my attitudes towards habits and motivation. This book came at a time where my identity felt scattered between various domains and I wasn’t going anywhere. After reading this book, I was convinced on the idea of consistency and the importance of having a clear identity – ideas which helped get me out of many ruts since.

Knowing God
J. I. Packer

This was the first real theology book I’d ever read. While I found the topics in here heavy and complex, it helped clarify Christian teachings which I’ve struggled with for decades such as the incarnation of Christ, predestination and the nature of the Trinity. While I’m doubtful I’ll ever truly understand these, this book now serves as a useful resource for my walk as a Christian.

Other shout-outs include The Old Man and the Sea – the first work I’d read of Hemingway (who is now one of my favourite authors). Why We Sleep was also a big wake-up call (ha) on the importance of sleep and I’ve begun to prioritise it since. Antifragile is a book recommended by my brother-in-law I’m currently working through which is slowly changing my perceptions towards challenges and resilience. And of course, the Bible – which has shaped the lives of billions around the globe and continues to shape mine to this day in unexpected ways. I look forward to discovering new worlds through books this year and have all my current notions challenged in spectacular ways.

Do What You Are Doing

Do What You Are Doing

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I’ll admit it, I don’t like doing chores. Some chores – such as cleaning the toilet or doing the laundry – are okay, but I have a particular aversion for others like doing the dishes, vacuuming or cleaning my room. This aversion usually leads to my apartment being in a sub-optimum state and is mostly due to my mindset towards these chores: I’ve always seen them as a necessary evil; they’re boring, take effort and I would rather not do them (is the floor that messy? Surely not…). When I do end up doing chores, I usually require some sort of distraction in the form of a podcast or audiobook to get through the mundanity of it.

I’ve held this attitude for some time now, but I recently came across an article called Do What You Are Doing. The idea is that when we do anything, we should be fully immersed in whatever it is, rather than thinking about other things. The author, David, quotes a passage from a book on Speed Cleaning:

Pay attention. Almost everything else will fall into place if you do. Don’t think about revisions in the tax code. Or anything else. In Latin: Age quod agis—”Do what you are doing.”

David continues:

I take this to mean something more than just “don’t get distracted from the act of cleaning.” I interpret it as, “bring all of your concern to exactly the task you’re on now,” whether it’s wiping away soup spatters from the stovetop, or dragging the coffee table aside so you can vacuum.  

Reading this was a lightbulb moment for me. Perhaps my mindset towards chores was wrong. Perhaps I should see them as opportunities – opportunities to find contentment in the mundane, instead of seeing them as a waste of time.

And so, I tried it. When I needed to do the dishes next, I put down my headphones and reminded myself of Age quod agis—”Do what you are doing.” I proceeded to do the dishes, trying to be as fully immersed on the task as I could be. I focused on all the stains on the dishes, felt the sponge against the metal and washed every dish carefully, taking in the sensation of the warm water running against my skin. It was an oddly fascinating experience, one which has helped me break down my aversion towards the task.

Since this practice, I’ve begun to notice more things in passing. That really oddly-shaped stone on the ground. That faint, but beautiful melody from a distant bird. That certain phrase that my friend actually says quite a lot. This concept – that people, places, chores can be fascinating if you try – have added a little bit of extra magic to each day and is something I’ll be looking to apply in other areas of life.