In "The Psychology of Effort" Dewey quotes a man trying to make a decision. The man says, "In deciding a question that had to be settled in five minutes, I found myself turned in the chair, til I was sitting on its edge, with the left arm on the back of the chair, hand clenched so tightly that the marks of the nails were left int eh palm, breaking so rapid that it was oppressive, winking rapid, jaws clenched, leaning far forward and supporting my head by the right hand. The question was whether I should go to the city that day."
The point is that mental activity takes a physical toll. Pragmatists are obsessed with moments of indecision (they're the only intellectuals who are embarassed by the traits of intellectuals) and the psychic havoc they wreak. Thus William James will counsel readers to cultivate habits--make as few decisions as possible, waste as little willpower. I've been writing twelve to fourteen hours a day for a month or so, cranking out the lingua franca of professional academia...and so "The Psychology of Effort" is my go-to text to know that it's OK to be tired by all this, that writing is real work, that every word, in fact, is a decision, and decisions take effort, and effort makes you tired. I write a lot on this blog about the moments when the run becomes doubtful, when I contemplating skipping--sometimes I skip and am glad, other times I don't skip. I had a workout of 5x1mi planned for this afternoon, but then I decided to go on a short run instead. The short run turned into a lovely 80 minute amble in the waning light of the first brisk day of the fall--which appears to be the lovely prelude to a snowstorm. I never get bored running and I wonder where the 80 minutes go. It's a strange ecstatic state. Well, better capitalize on this euphoria and see how much editing I can get through ...
