Well, at least some of my body parts are :-)
A few of my limbs and the back of my head indeed appear a couple of times in this video:
World fame, here I come!
Well, at least some of my body parts are :-)
A few of my limbs and the back of my head indeed appear a couple of times in this video:
World fame, here I come!
I am a regular reader of the Post Carbon Institute’s various publications (among a long list of blogs, books and resources analysing the defects (ecological, financial, economical, social…) of the society we live in…).
I just must link to that video they made: it sums up the whole situation so neatly! It tells in 6 minutes what all this reading has gotten me convinced of.
A video that says it all (source: nasa)
I have spent at least a year searching for the answer to that question: What happens to an economy that is based on debt accumulation when growth stops?
Isn’t it a simple question?
I mean, once you have read a bunch of resources about the end of economic growth (like this or that) and been convinced by their rather compelling arguments, and once you have recognized that most of the world’s economy is fueled by ever increasing-debt, this question comes very naturally to mind.
Indeed, loans are made on the premise that future growth will make it one day possible to repay both loan and interests, and hopefully do so with a margin. Take a glance at the exponential-looking curve of most western governments debts since the seventies and it is clear that the world’s economy is seriously depending on future growth. So what if that growth never comes? What if the assumption of future wealth behind most accumulated debt was but an illusion? What happens with that mountain of debt never to be repaid?
A simple question indeed.
Still, it took a year of steady tribulations across blogs, books and newspapers to come upon a thorough, well-structured answer to that very question. Why? Mostly because the conventional economic debate sees the end of growth as a kind of taboo. People coming in trumpeting about resource scarcity and the end of fossil fuels are still seen by economists as doomsday weirdoes riding vegan unicorns. But I suspect the root cause lies deeper, in the way the human mind tends to fossilize its knowledge: if all you learn at economic schools is how to navigate an economy whose sole purpose is growth, thinking outside that box becomes really hard.
I stumbled across my answer in ‘The end of growth, adapting to our new economic reality‘ by Richard Heinberg.
His discussion is based on research from the economic historian Niall Ferguson who identified 6 ways of resolving a debt crisis:
Option 1 becomes obsolete in an economy devoid of growth. Interest rates are already so low that option 2 can be discarded. Option 3 works to some extent as when the US government bailed-out Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac in 2008. But it does not scale up. Economic austerity is what the IMF and EU are applying in Greece and Spain, and it’s painful. Option 5 is what the US have been doing since 2008 with Quantitative Easing. Option 6 is more funky since it requires some form of debt-jubilee. That’s what Iceland did when it gave the financial finger to its creditors upon going bankrupt.
In the context of a worldwide systemic failure of economies due to the cessation of growth, the first 4 options are not realistic. That leaves money creation (and hence inflation which leads to relative reduction of debts) and debt-jubilee. Both solutions are highly controversial but, hey, at least they make it possible to avoid a total economic meltdown.
Now I am happy, I got my answer and the future looks less mysterious :-)
I am escalating my parental leave, passing from a 32 hours work-week (for the past 4 years) to a 15 hours one (for the whole coming year), and spending the rest of the time at home, caring for my second child.
Being on a parental leave has an interesting side effect, something I remember experiencing already the first time: it leaves me with time to think. Quality thinking time. Unstressed, unhurried time to catch ideas, massage them thoroughly, fry them on every side and let them sprout new ideas all over. And out of that time grows a thirst for knowledge and understanding, as well as a deep pleasure at seeking them.
And I don’t mean time to think in the way I do while working as a software developer. It’s a completely different thing to focus one’s brain on a work assignment, while being interrupted all the time and constrained by a team’s agenda, versus letting my brain freely explore topics of its own interest. Time spent at work passes in a sort of focused thinking trance woven into a rather intensive social dance, that leaves little space to relaxed, self-motivated exploration. And here I must emphasize the ‘relaxed’ aspect of it. No good thinking can ever be hurried up, nor arise under stress.
Caring for my second born gives me plenty of that kind of relaxed time, especially while I am walking with her strapped on my belly or sleeping in her stroller. Time during which I can ponder whatever I have been reading and let new questions arise.
One frustrating point, though, is that all those questions that pop up during the day have to wait for answers until all children have gone to bed and fallen sound asleep. Trying to google for articles while in charge of children just does not work. It only leads to pointless frustration. So lately I have developed a pattern of reading in the evening and pondering during the day.
And what a liberation to suddenly have time to think! I am seeing the world again! New horizons are opening! During my first parental leave, I submerged myself into buddhism, studied corporate finance and vegetarianism. I daydreamed stories that I fancied I would write down someday. This second time, same thing: I am swallowing quantities of books and articles about peak oil, climate changes, renewable technologies, models for collapsing societies, finance and debt-driven economics. And when bored, I swap to yogic philosophy.
It’s a very exciting time, the like of which I haven’t experienced since my student years.
And it strikes me now that many of the persons whose blogs and articles I am reading, people who distinguish themselves by doing a lot of research and coming up with well-grounded theories of their own, have just the kind of lifestyle that leaves space to quality thinking time. No silver bullet here. If you want to think outside the beaten path, you have to arrange space for your thinking.
This post is about a few practical techniques for writing regression tests for a bash script.
More precisely, this is about writing expectation tests in Python for a script written in bash. Most bash scripts contain little logic and a long list of calls to other system commands, so expectation testing fits them rather well.
But first a word of warning: if you find yourself in a position of having to write expectation tests for a bash script, you are in a bad place to begin with. Alarms should scream in your head and you should seriously consider rewriting your script into a more appropriate language. Yet, if a rewrite is not an option at the moment, writing tests for a bash script remains a lesser evil than having none at all.
For the sake of mental sanity, I will however implement the tests in a more appropriate language. Python in the present case. That will also ease the path towards a future rewrite of the bash script to Python.
So let’s consider an average bash script such as the one below. And let’s assume that we want some tests that validate that its behavior remains unchanged.
Had this script been writen in Python, I would have used a function to proxy all the system calls. Then in the tests, I would have mocked this function and asserted that it got called in the right sequence, and with the right parameters.
Well, we can do pretty much the same in bash :-) The key here is to have a proxy function, run() in this example, that does all the external calls, and whose behavior we can control. Here is the code:
If the script runs with the –test flag, run() only prints the command it would execute to stdout. We can then, from the Python tests, catch the output of the script and validate that it contains (or not) the expected commands. A simple case of expectation testing.
And here are the tests, runnable with nosetest:
Horrible, ugly, hard to maintain, counter-intuitive, not future-proof… but it works.
(omg, i can’t believe i am actually publishing this…)
I do yoga at work.
And no, I don’t mean that I am going to a yoga class during working hours, or over lunch time. I mean I do yoga in the office, in plain sight of (some of) my colleagues.
Did your mind just go blank?
Mine did too, when I first pondered the possibility. Rolling my mat in some discreet corner of the office. Half hiding, but not quite. Displaying myself in sweaty training clothes. Making a show of myself in weird and rather intimate positions. All this was a kind of mental no-go.
But on the other hand, I am addicted to my yoga practice. I need it to live more fully. And since my parental duties keep me from popping up at the ashram every morning at dawn, I have to find other times and places to practice. I am at work five days a week, so that’s the next best match.
Once I am on the mat, I quickly find back some of my focus. But practicing at work has a tensed quality that can be disturbing.
I figure that I am practicing in an office full of people who know close to nothing about traditional Ashtanga and have all sorts of ideas and prejudices about yoga in general. That always makes me feel a bit off balance. Part of me is bothered by what I imagine people are thinking about me. Though when I put my worries through a reality-check and ask people what they think of me training at work, they are usually quite enthusiastic. Well, that also tells something about the open-mindedness of folk working at Spotify.
Yet, the other day, a colleague of mine saw me going around with my mat and started chatting about yoga. He does a lot of Bikram yoga himself. His first question was “how good are you at yoga?”, his second was “what asanas can you do?”, and his third “so, can you teach yoga?”. I was a bit over-sensitive from practicing in a public place and I immediately put myself in a defensive mental stance. My mental dialog went: How good I am? Well, I have more experience than the average gym yoga teacher but I am still decades away from the teachers I train with, and yes I can do some non-beginner asanas but does it really matter? and so on. Each of his questions felt like a probing to my ego.
That situation was interesting: here was a colleague showing friendly interest in my practice, and I got all defensive. Why?
I am normally delighted to talk about yoga, though I am usually careful to assess how genuinely interested my interlocutor is before flooding him or her with over-enthusiastic statements, less they take me for some weird sect member. But I felt scrutinized and judged. In other words, my ego took the stage and I got caught in its game.
And that’s exactly where practicing at work gets challenging: it brings forth the ego. With all its habit patterns of defending its self-image and asserting itself in a social context. For me, a good practice will leave me ego-less, and it is a state I seek. But practicing at work sometimes triggers just the opposite effect, leaving me off-balance and in the grip of a grasping ego-centric mind.
For me, practicing yoga has at least one major effect apart from keeping my body fit: yoga nurtures my mind.
Yoga practice is like a fire that burns through my mind, and leaves ashes where frustration, anguish and compulsions grew before. Zen master Thich Nhat Hanh often describes the mind as a garden full of seeds. In this metafor, seeds are habit-patterns of thoughts and behaviors, that grow and evolve within you. By mindfully applying love and care to those seeds, you can cultivate the good ones and refrain bad weeds from invading your inner landscape. Since I am not a buddha yet, my mind gets regularly invaded by those bad weeds. I grow irritated, start clinging to my cravings, forget to take distance from whatever story my mind is weaving, and slowly but surely loose my inner balance and life sucks again.
This is where yoga practice comes in. I get onto my mat, me and this little crazy jungle in my head. I do my practice. And when I am done, the jungle is gone, burnt to the ground by the tapas, the energy of practice. I find myself centered again, aware of my mind and the surrounding reality, but not caught by them.
I honestly don’t know how this works, only that it does work, and it’s reliable. Any time I feel anxious or my mind starts cramping, I know I can run to my mat, and sweat it away.
I am changing my blog engine. This will be down for some time…
I like ashtanga yoga.
But what I really love is practicing it in the traditional mysore style. Here is why.
Mysore practice changes your body. Repeating the same sequence again and again. Meeting the edge of your bodie’s ability. For an hour or more, every day. Of course your body will change. You will grow muscles at places you didn’t even know there were muscles. Your ligaments will get longer, your breath steadier, your metabolism will adapt to exercising on an empty stomach, you will sweat less. You will feel healthier and stronger than ever. But more importantly, your enhanced body will open for you the doors of a different yogic experience. Not blinded by the physical intensity of the practice, you will find space to explore the deeper meditative aspects of yoga. This is where the journey truly begins.
Mysore practice comes with your own dedicated yoga teacher. When you go to a mysore class, the teachers will follow you, learn your body and adjust you to exactly the level that is adequate for you at this point in time. As you progress, the teacher will give you new asanas and new adjustments to deepen your practice and keep you on your edge. This level of dedication from the teachers will give you wings.
Mysore classes are drop-in classes. You don’t have to hurry and stress yourself up to get to the yoga studio in time so you can relax there. Instead, you can relax the whole way.
Mysore practice is highly portable. Once you know a serie, you can do it on your own. Anywhere. A mat and some time is more or less the only thing you need. It is a perfect match for busy people who cannot attend classes too often, such as parents to small children, like me.
Mysore practice will make you hate all other yoga classes. Once you get used to following your own breath and your own body, once you get used to focusing inward and closing yourself to the outside world, going to any other yoga class will hurt. It will take you outside of your comfort zone. You will find it extremely disturbing to have to listen and understand a teacher’s intentions, follow a different sequence, brush against totally unfamiliar asanas. You will stand there and you will think: ‘what am i doing here, when i could be somewhere else and do my practice’.
Some would say that mysore practice will hurt you. Neck pain, tensed shoulders, aching lower back, not to speak about the more serious injuries like ligament ruptures. Every ashtanga student has tales to tell of what their body has been through. But let’s be honest, the mysore practice itself is not the cause of your hurt, your mind is. Letting a strong will take over the practice and blindly forcing your body beyond its limit is not yoga. It is grasping. It is unskillful.
Mysore practice is a form of meditation. The series of asanas in the mysore practice are finely-tuned choreographies. Each moment in the serie combines the rhythm of breath with points of focus for your eyes and a complex map of activated and relaxed muscles, of movement and immobility. Getting every moment right is impossible. It is an utopia. But trying to get it right will occupy your whole mind, leaving no space for day-dreaming. It also requires you to be constantly aware of your body. In other words, the practice requires you to maintain both concentration and mindfulness, the two pillars of meditation.
Mysore practice changes your mind. Every time you practice, you are reprogramming your mind toward non-grasping, openness, acceptance and equanimity. Over years, this programming will become more permanent. You will experience states of mental emptiness, of calm and joyful bliss, of profound equanimity. Not too often, mind you, and not for free. Only by practicing again and again will you gain some control over those very addictive mental states.
Mysore practice will make you face discomfort and smile at it. Discomfort in asanas that will leave you wrenched and exhausted. Mental discomfort of having practiced with a grasping mind, leaving you all shaky and confused in your head. Shame of letting out a noisy fart in the middle of the room, as the teacher twisted you further in marichiasana. Discomfort of showing so much of your body to your fellow yogis. All this is intimidating at first, then humbling, then just beautiful.
Mysore practice is an intimate social experience. It brings up love and acceptance of other’s bodies in a way that may feel almost promiscuous to out-standers, but which reflects the coming to a place of balance and grounding towards the physical body. Going through this process in the company of others is deeply bonding. Your fellow yogis may not become friends, you may not even talk to them, but they will be special to you.
Mysore practice is always the same, yet always different. You show a cloud to a non ashtangi, she will say ‘This is a cloud. Great, I have seen those before. I am bored, give me something new.’. The ashtangi will look at the cloud and say ‘Wow, I have never seen this cloud before. And it changes all the time. I could watch it forever and it would show me all the shapes in the world.’. The same stands true of asanas. You can practice the same asanas, again and again, and yet regularly rediscover those asanas as your body changes and your understanding deepens, thus making the asanas forever new. In fact, many describe the mysore practice as a never-ending serie of cycles, in which every insight you gain makes the practice new and fresh all over again.
Mysore practice has no end. You stay at your edge and, as you progress, so will your edge. There is no end to it. No reward at the end of the path. The path is the goal. Every step is a reward. And since it has no end, it teaches you to stop grasping.