Otherwise, we might have been overwhelmed by the riotous quantity of eating options. We could have spent all day agonizing over the restaurant choices and trying to decide which one was “the best.”

Instead, we did what Schwartz recommends: we limited our options. Each day, we perused the menus of two or three eateries, and we selected one of them.

We wound up having wonderful, memorable meals. Truly, in Barcelona it’s difficult to dine badly. And we felt satisfied and happy about our choices…happier than if we had invested hours researching and deliberating.

One big problem with having too much choice is that the human brain hates the feeling of loss, more that it enjoys the experience of gain. Losing something, even an imagined “something,” hurts. The dream that doesn’t pan out causes pain, the road not taken sparks lifelong pangs of second-guessing and regret, and a restaurant menu perused and then passed over represents a meal that will never happen, a meal to be mourned.

So it turns out that a certain amount of self-imposed ignorance is bliss. Limiting one’s options places a cap on the accumulation of loss and regret. Our meals were not burdened by the weight of comparison with all those other imaginary dinners we could have been eating instead. We enjoyed what was on our plates instead of wondering about what we were missing.

[photo of Gaudi's La Pedrera]

PRACTICE

And not just any kind of practice; what’s required is rigorous, highly-focused drill that targets precisely those skills in which one is most deficient.

This is called deliberate practice, and it’s the stuff that changes brains for the better.

It’s also the kind of practice we love to avoid, because it’s tedious and uncomfortable and self-esteem-deflating. Who wants to spend hour upon hour running over and over and over the very skills one most sucks at? Who wants to revisit and carefully examine and attempt to revise again and again and again those specific behaviors that cause one’s relationships to run aground?

Yet, this is what is entailed.

A student of mine received a disappointing score on his algebra midterms, and my response was to bring him a second textbook (for double practice!), and to teach him how to drill properly:

1. Find the Examples at the beginning of the section (which show how to do the problems)
2. Work each example, step-by-step, on paper (don’t just read them)
3. As you work, keep asking yourself: Do I get this?…if not, go back and rethink until you do.
4. If you still can’t understand, go to the second textbook and try their Example of the same material.
5. If that doesn’t work, go to KhanAcademy for a YouTube tutorial.
6. Once you understand, begin working practice problems. Do the problems which have the answers listed in the back of the textbook (commonly the odd-numbered problems).
7. Do ONE problem and then check your answer. Then move to the next problem ONLY IF YOU GOT THE ONE YOU JUST DID CORRECT!! (So many students work problem after problem incorrectly and wind up reinforcing their errors! Yipes!)
8. If you were incorrect, rework the problem until you figure out your mistake, and then redo the problem correctly (don’t just look at it; work it again on paper).
9. Continue until you feel a sense of fluidity and mastery. By all means take breaks every 20-30 minutes, though…and it’s likely that more than one hour’s practice per day in any one subject will be too much.
10. DO return the next day for more repetition and review of the same material, until it feels like it’s become a natural part of you.

So much for learning being fun, eh?

But, it’s hugely satisfying and “fun” to actually master a difficult skill, be it a foreign language, the guitar, the SAT’s…or being a good life partner.

I love David Finch’s tale of how he used deliberate practice to iron out the irksome behaviors that were destroying his marriage. His memoir, The Journal of Best Practices, is a perfect Valentine’s Day gift.

[On Saturdays my topic of focus is A Small, Good Thing, inspired by one of my favorite Raymond Carver

Some people like to make large, dramatic life changes, while others aspire to gradual, incremental improvements. (Personally, I’m of that second camp.)

Joel Fuhrman’s excellent book, Eat to Live, contains valuable nutrition advice for everyone. For those who relish Big Change, Dr. Furhman will help you become a vegan, give up all caffeine and alcohol, and lose hundreds of pounds.

Meanwhile, for the Gentle Souls (wussies like me who hate discomfort and feel anxious when their metabolisms are tweaked too violently), Dr. Fuhrman offers this simple, lovely prescription.

Every day, whatever else you consume, eat:

• A large salad
• A cup of beans
• A bowl of steamed vegetables

Not only will you feel better and slowly, gently, lose a little weight…you’ll also be automatically eating less animal material and processed stuff, thus lessening your impact on the environment.

I’d like to add my own homely little admonition: Hydrate!

It’s wintertime here in New England and yet again I’ve forgotten that in January I need to drink MORE water.

Since November, the cold weather and the holidays have had me drinking lots of invigorating hot coffee, plus yummy alcohol-based treats (wine! cordials! egg nog!)…and lately wondering why I’m feeling so puffy and sluggish.

So I’m drinking more water, eating soups, and drinking a cup of decaf herbal tea in between every cup of coffee…and feeling TONS better!

Have you got any small, good January tips to share?

[photo of my fur-guys eating well and drinking lots of water]

When I was in my doctoral program, I was amazed at some of the research coming out on kids’ understanding of math concepts. We assume that children all learn pretty much the same math at roughly the same ages, and that they learn these concepts in math class.

In fact, there’s a wide natural variation, and not necessarily a lot of correlation between the math kids are taught in school and the math they actually know.

For example, when researchers assess kids for “multiplicative thinking” (multiplication as a separate concept, not just repeated addition) they find that a few children have multiplicative thinking as early as kindergarten, long before multiplication is taught in school. And, despite several years of formal instruction, half of all fifth graders don’t yet have solid multiplicative thinking.

Math is not a natural skill. We learn math one step at a time, our brains building connections between neurons which link each new concept to what we already know. It’s a cumulative process, much like learning a foreign language.

I’ve been using Khan Academy videos with my students; much like a foreign language program, students can play lessons over as often as necessary and review until they are “fluent.”

I’m also very excited to see Khan videos now being used for actual classroom instruction in the form of Flip Teaching (the lectures are listened to at home, and the practice and projects that were typically done as homework are done in the classroom).

• I really do know how to be happy. Listening to my own internal voice and allowing myself to Be Leigh, works well for me. This includes becoming OK with the parts of me that so often feel less-than-ideal, like my messiness / lack of attention to dress and housekeeping, and my enormous need for oceans of reading and sleeping and quiet-contemplation time (which eat up so many hours and make me less “productive”…well, so be it!)

• Making other people happy doesn’t work, in large part because I’m so often wrong about their state of mind. Just because a person seems gruff or moody doesn’t mean they’re unhappy. And even if they are unhappy, I can’t directly do anything about it. If anything, my efforts to cheer them up tend to backfire and make everyone feel even worse.
• Instead, I can help others most by being steady, supportive, clear and authentic.
• People need and appreciate information abut themselves. What Sam Harris says is true: We often avoid telling people important information about their social behaviors because we’re afraid of hurting their feelings. But people need to know facts about how they come across to others and about how the world of people works, so they can adjust their behavior and be more successful in their social interactions. I really see this in action on the days when I sub at a school for kids on the autism spectrum. These kids exhibit a lot of abrasive, inept social behaviors, and it’s easy to get angry and offended. Instead I’ve learned to educate them. I instruct them on how to not ask people personal questions, how to take turns speaking, how to greet people politely, etc. It then occurred to me how we ALL need this sort of instruction.
• I believe I know more about others than I do. I noticed that I was spending far more time puzzling and pondering and theorizing about other people’s behaviors...Why did she do this?…What’s wrong with him that he could say that?...than I ever spent just asking them. And isn’t that odd? Why on earth would I assume that I can understand any other person better than they might explain themselves? I find that when I open a conversation, my theories and assumptions are ALWAYS wrong, and instead I discover a whole world of fascinating otherness…a world that is kinder, gentler and more real and poignant and human than whatever it was I was suspecting and fearing.

[On Saturdays my topic of focus is A Small, Good Thing, inspired by one of my favorite Raymond Carver

A big part of my identity is rooted in thinking of myself as a kind, caring, gentle and optimistic person…one who says supportive, positive things…a Tigger, not an Eeyore.

I’m uncomfortable saying anything that might come across as negative or unnice.  I hate the thought of hurting someone’s feelings or having them get angry at me.

This means that I often avoid saying unpleasant things, or I tell little white lies, supposedly to spare the other person’s feelings…but, hey, let’s be honest here…it’s mostly because I’m a super-wuss who hates the idea of anyone lashing back at me.

Are you a fundamentally good person, who cringes a little inside every time you hear yourself sugar-coat or gloss over or spin or change the subject, instead of coming out and saying something difficult yet important?

Sam Harris’s new e-book, Lying, (actually a long essay; I read it in about an hour), convinced me that I’ve got to change my ways.

Harris lays out why always speaking the truth, even about “little” things,  is good for relationships, good in the long run for the people who are receiving it (they need that information you’re withholding, even though it might be painful for them to hear), and extremely good for your own head (lying is stressful and complicated and involves having a good memory; telling the truth is easy and there’s nothing to remember!)

I was so impressed with Lying that I wanted a friend to read it. I typed him an e-mail, saying Read Lying! It’s short! Only about 40 pages!!!

Which wasn’t true. Lying is actually 58 pages long.

I went back and changed my e-mail message accordingly, and immediately felt way better.

[Small, good things: photos of lobster traps decorated for the holidays in Provincetown, MA]

My career as a tutor takes me from one house to another, and at this time of year I’m availed of the special treat of seeing so many folks’ holiday decorations.

I’ve learned to always stop and take a moment to enjoy and admire and comment. People put so much work into decorating, and those ornaments and displays often carry deep meaning for their proud owners.

I make sure and comment specifically. I look for small details and extraordinary qualities, and I try and ask a question or make some remark that shows I’m really paying attention and interested, and that inspires them to reply. Comments such as Oh how pretty! are nice…but watch people’s faces light up when you say something more specific:

•  Wow, what a lovely tree-topper! Look at the way it catches the light. Where did you find it? 
• Walking up your path just now, all lit up with those cheerful blue and green bulbs, made me feel like I was walking through a wonderland!
• Look at all those nutcrackers; like a little army! Where did you get them all?

For me and my neighbors, trash pick-up day is Friday.

I live in a little town, where there’s no municipal sanitation crew. Everybody hires one of several local mom-and-pop companies to pick up their trash.

The guys who collect our garbage are a father and son team with a small garbage truck (a modified pick-up truck). The men grab each can and swing it up and dump the contents into the truck by hand. They do that ALL DAY. I get tired just watching them.

So, last Friday was the day after Thanksgiving and my trash can was extra-full. No doubt everybody had extra garbage. Plus, of course these guys also had their Thursday client’s trash to fetch as well…so by the time they got to my little cul-de-sac late Friday afternoon, they must have been moving fast and utterly exhausted.

Between my house and my next-door neighbor’s we had several cans and a bunch of recycling all piled up for the trash guys, and they were tired and stressed and moving quickly, and they missed my garbage can. The dad thought his  son got it and the son thought his father had it. OF COURSE this is what happened.

Yet, when I got home and discovered my still-full garbage can, the first thought that crossed my mind was:

I wonder what was wrong with my garbage?

…which then struck me as so silly and outrageous and so typically human, I needed to write about it.

For a week now I’ve been observing my own thought patterns and trying to catch myself when I lapse into this kind of paranoid thinking (and by the way, it’s natural for people, and animals, to be a little bit paranoid. It’s a survival strategy. I’m not SO paranoid as to think that I’m unusual in this).

My unfounded worries and misplaced fears skew my perceptions in ways I mostly don’t like. They make me less relaxed. Less trusting. They rob me of enjoyment and they make me into a less-fun person to be with. They make me misunderstand people, which causes so much unnecessary pain and confusion.

A parent called me last-minute to cancel a tutoring session, because her daughter was in the ER with a high fever. Of course this was a reasonable excuse!…and yet, this split-second thought:  Maybe she’s just saying that to get out of the session?

I was scheduled to work on Monday at the special school I sub for, and on Saturday I got a message from the director: We won’t be needing you on Monday after all… which caused an automatic pang in my heart. They don’t need me anymore! was the first place my head jumped to.

Oh good grief.

(And…then they called me in to work on Wednesday).

So, I’m catching myself at all these little undermining reflexive thoughts. I’m amazed and amused and appalled at how many there are!

I’ve been confronting each one as I notice it…putting reality to it…not just squashing it down, but having an active internal discussion and putting the worry to rest.

And I’ve been feeling better.

Except for right now. It’s Friday morning. Time to put the garbage out and I’m a little bit worried…

She was very fond of this old-timey saying:

If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.

I know, I know…pure Pollyanna…

but those words actually sank in.

Now, I was NOT an especially obedient kid, not at all inclined to listen to any adult’s lessons, but I found that this particular piece of advice had real, practical value.

Saying only nice things to people made them treat ME nicely. They liked me more, were more generous and tolerant towards me, wanted to be around me. I made friends; I influenced people.

I’m trying to dilute the sugar in the message by admitting to a healthy dose of pragmatic self-interest. If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all?…sickly-sweet, perhaps, but it’s also a policy that gets results. It works.

And it’s definitely become a part of my personality. If I stand back and listen to myself, I can hear Me hesitating for a microsecond before I pronounce anything…because I’m first running it through my internal Is-this-a-nice-thing-I-am-about-to-say-? meter.

I think it’s mostly a good way to move through Life, stepping carefully through the delicate gardens of other people’s egos.

It’s certainly been key to my success as a tutor. Students who already feel failed and resistant need messages that are carefully crafted for maximum gentleness and support. I’m scrupulous about how I say everything. I never say: You were wrong; I say: Hey, check that answer again. I don’t say: You’re not applying yourself; I say: Working on this material a little more every day sure would make a big difference.

Notice, though, that with my students I only adhere to the first half of the policy. I can’t “not say anything at all” about their academic issues. I have to find nice ways of saying difficult things. That’s very, very different from avoiding talking about those things.

In our personal relationships, my mom and I wound up with the same problem: We’d hold in and push down the un-nice things we felt, until, finally, we’d explode…and then, wow, like Pandora’s Box all the suppressed emotions (grotesque from festering in the cramped darkness) would fly out and cause terrific damage.

My mom’s gift to me was a mixed one. I’m still working on unpacking it.

[photos at Kensington Gardens in London]

My dad spent his last days in a beautiful hospice. One of us stood with him at the window, looking out at the gorgeous autumn leaves, and asked him: Are you sad that this is the last Fall you will see?

He replied:

I’ve had a wonderful life, and now it’s over, and that’s OK.

They say there are no atheists in foxholes, but that’s not true. My father’s atheism gave him a lot of peace.

My dad’s life was NOT all wonderful. His heart was broken numerous times, twice by the deaths of children. He lived through money problems and health problems and relationship problems…and he counted himself lucky.

Atheism doesn’t necessarily have to focus on rejecting the notion of God. As an implicit atheist, the concepts of God or an afterlife were never a part of my life.

The thing I like about atheism is the boundaries it provides. Penn Jillette explained it so well in his famous NPR essay:

 I have love, blue skies, rainbows and Hallmark cards, and that has to be enough. It has to be enough, but it’s everything in the world and everything in the world is plenty for me.

Atheism makes me appreciate what I have. It limits me in a way I find reassuring. Infinity strikes me as frightening and overwhelming. Reality is harsh, but it’s something I can wrap my head around.

My atheist’s take sees me as being seated at the Thanksgiving table of Life, having been served my portion: this mind, this body and this one scoop of some indeterminate but definitely finite number of years. That’s my helping. That’s all I get. It has to be enough and it’s plenty.

When my kids were little and the first pet died, I didn’t know what to say to make them feel better. We all just sat there and held the tiny still-warm body, and we huddled together and let the sensations of pain and loss come on, and we cried.

Mommy, why do things have to die?

They die so that others can have a turn at living.

And I’m actually glad for that. I love my life very much, but I’m also glad that it exists in this finite space of time, and that someday I’ll move over and give my seat at Life’s Table to someone else.  My mortality makes me feel connected to the rest of the living world. Atheism, for me, helps me embrace my life more completely.