Integration

We've been living in a world of rules. Mostly a black-and-white binary paradigm. It's very common for us to fall into a stereotype - either you're tough or you're tender.

It sounds pretty uncomfortable to let people hear me swear (and I did) when I'm supposed to be a kind-hearted person. At the end of the day, we might end up pretending to fit with the stereotype. Oh, man. That means I can only swear when nobody is within earshot.

That's why I feel much relieved after reading Brené Brown's work. I've had the opportunity to learn from this four-time New York Times bestselling author who has spent two decades studying vulnerability. She shows us the courage to show up and be vulnerable. True belonging, according to Brené Brown, doesn't require you to change who you are; it requires you to be who you are. What's perhaps the most important example to live by is the act of bringing together a threesome - strong back, soft front, wild heart.

I believe I should learn to integrate all these three. Who shouldn't?

Factfulness

I remember teaching from Hans Rosling, professor of international health, about how we score worse than chimpanzees in answering global trends. Not terrible enough? Gosh, that's worse than random. In spite of the hard fact that people living in extreme poverty has halved over the last 20 years, more than 90 percent of online polls perceived that the extreme poverty rate has either doubled or remained more or less the same.

In short, we don't see how things are getting better.

What exactly, then, leads us astray in getting a correct worldview? Our negativity instinct. That's an instinct to notice the bad more than the good.

It turns out that I'm not immune to such instinct. I assure you, because I had made the same mistake yesterday, that humans are more likely to notice the dips than the overall improvement. I was reminiscing the "good old days" with my nurse friend. Little did I know that we were quite tempted to glorify our early experience: our instinct to feel that we were much more competent than our colleagues nowadays. This perception, luckily, too often is an illusion.

Shakespeare

It's hard for me to relive the experience of the Globe Theatre, and it's easy to see why. That was an open-air theatre in which William Shakespeare drew huge audiences four hundred years ago.

And I did, pretty much recently, turning page after page of the novel How to Stop Time, following the footsteps of its narrator Tom Hazard who had hardly aged a day. He wasn't allowed to join Facebook because "there isn't the option of putting 1581 for your birthday." Tom brought me (and his lute) back to the noisy stinky theatre when Elizabethans didn't bath very often. I ended up learning a bit of British history.

Yet none of that matters until I joined my daughter's school field trip this morning. That's a workshop to learn the Shakespearean society through language and sonnets.

I liked it.

And I just thought, really, honestly, how remarkably the instructor turned every sentence into teachable moment. The way children learned idioms coined by Shakespeare. The way children made rhythmic sentences out of pentameter pattern. The way my daughter rushed to read Romeo and Juliet after school.

Thy life's a miracle.

Sedaris

"It’s a Fitbit. You sync it with your computer, and it tracks your physical activity.”

It was the last answer I expected from a description of a wristwatch. Being a Luddite myself, I first learned about Fitbit from David Sedaris’s essay Stepping Out.

That gizmo sounds like our smartphone pedometer app that tracks walking, plus a push notification after certain milestones.

As David Sedaris points out, many people, and I happily include myself among them, like the push signal or tingle because it feels so good, not just as a sensation but also as a mark of accomplishment.

Sedaris is so obsessed with getting the e-batch that he hits thirty-five thousand steps a day. Then another e-batch for forty thousand. And forty-five thousand. Next, sixty thousand. And on and on.

The push notification can be addictive. You keep returning to the gadget, the way Ebenezer Scrooge would have done if there were electronic bank account in 1843. I can tell from my personal experience with the digital running app.

The prime example, of course, comes from Sedaris who was once devastated when his Fitbit died. He walked twenty-five miles but found that meaningless without the steps being counted and registered. Is this behaviour logical? No. Does it make sense if he ordered an immediate replacement? No. Did he experience withdrawal symptoms while waiting for the express delivery? Yes. Should he tear open the box as soon as he received his new Fitbit and went out racing, with his new Fitbit strapped on, to make up for lost time? Absolutely.

Unplugged

If you can't list your dinner table a tech-free zone without buzzing cell phones in this digital era, try your luck on the bike trail with your kid.

This is exactly what I did last weekend after reading Jonathan McKee's 52 Ways to Connect with Your Smartphone Obsessed Kid. I didn't ride a tandem bike with my daughter; we rode our own bikes, with only short distance between us, and ventured out on long stretches of road.

No matter how tech sucks us in, hands occupied with the bike handles are too busy to pick up a smartphone. Simply put: cycling helps the two of us bond.

I encourage you - no, I flat-out dare you - to read McKee's book and then you will - like me - realize that it's we parents who should get unplugged.

If I am being completely honest, I'd have to say that I'm addicted to my smartphone way more than my daughter. Let's face it: we all are. Our kids learn to stare at their phones because they are learning from us.  

Duh.

Apple

Choosing the right smartphone has never been difficult. Picking the right age for a child to own one is.

We all agree that there has been a mass exodus of children from outdoor free play to the glowing screens of smartphones or tablets. The American Academy of Pediatrics has for years urged parents to limit tech time for young children, simply because unstructured, unplugged play is the best way for them to think creatively, to problem solve, to develop communication and reasoning skills.

In no way do I advocate giving our innocent children a smartphone. That electronic gadget sounds like a forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden, and it is. And I have had a sneaking suspicion that my daughter will ask for her Apple sooner or later.

Earlier last week, the forecast came true. Our daughter badgered us to give her a personal telephone, two months shy of her ninth birthday. My heart sank. I took a deep breath, and my wife hers. We then talked over this question during dinner time and asked Jasmine for her two cents. "How's that going to work out for you?"

We agreed that our daughter can be trusted to make good use of her smartphone even before the end of our dinner. The remaining questions for me are the know-how of reconfiguring our old iPhone 6 and whereabouts to buy a SIM card. Next, to play safe, I headed to public library and borrowed two books on helping kids to navigate the digital age. These are what I need - and want - for peace of mind after we nodded in agreement to our daughter's request.

It may have been too early to conclude, but she didn't disappoint us.

Obama

Raise your hand if you have ever felt offended when your mail goes unanswered. Keep your hand in the air if you have not given a hoot to answer mails.

Time and again, I'd fallen into the same trap of "read and no reply." Most of us are not born with willingness to reply mail; I am no exception. And it's even worse when there's page after page after page of mails pouring in.

It surprised the heck out of me when I heard that Barack Obama made a daily effort to read and reply ten letters at the White House. An examplar of passion and respect. Imagine a country's leader who received ten thousand letters from ordinary citizens, coming up with a deliberate practice of reading ten letters before going to bed. He answered some by hand and wrote notes on others for the correspondence team to answer, and on some he scribbled, "SAVE." I reflected on my mistakes when a good friend of mine bought me the inspiring book To Obama by Jeanne Marie Laska. I was inspired, amazed, and embarrassed all at once.

How can I leave mails unanswered when my mailbox size is nothing compared to Obama's? That admitted, I must further confess the shame I feel when caught skipping a mail - oh, say, unseen - to say nothing of reply.

I told myself I should follow the example of Obama, or at least I should be trying to.