The Rest Project

Why we get more done when we work less

The most important creative collaboration of your life is with your own Muse

Henri Poincaré was one of the most astute observers of the relationship between the conscious and subsconcious mind in creative work, and he developed a pretty high degree of respect for his subconscious mind’s ability to solve problems. As he writes in  The Foundations of Science: Science and Hypothesis, The Value of Science, Science and Method

The unconscious, or, as we say, the subliminal self plays an important rôle in mathematical creation; this follows from what we have said. But usually the subliminal self is considered as purely automatic. Now we have seen that mathematical work is not simply mechanical, that it could not be done by a machine, however perfect. It is not merely a question of applying rules, of making the most combinations possible according to certain fixed laws…. the subliminal self is in no way inferior to the conscious self; it is not purely automatic; it is capable of discernment; it has tact, delicacy; it knows how to choose, to divine. What do I say? It knows better how to divine than the conscious self, since it succeeds where that has failed. In a word, is not the subliminal self superior to the conscious self?

There certainly are times when I feel like my creative mind is an entirely separate entity from me, and I’m little more than its transcriptionist. My subconscious, or unconscious, or whatever you want to call it– I still prefer the old-fashioned term muse— comes up with some of my best ideas, greatest turns of phrase, and most lyrical lines, and I’ve learned that I”m an idiot if I don’t listen to it. Like Scott Adams, I design my morning routine around my unconscious mind’s need for quiet and undisturbed time; I listen closely to what it has to say; I keep a notebook handy so I can write down the turns of phrase or ideas that pop into my head while I’m doing other things.

Of course, my muse isn’t separate from me, and one of the important things I’ve learned while researching and writing REST is that while we can’t teach our muse, it does learn; we can’t direct it, but can nudge it; we can’t dictate to it, but we can listen to it. Learning to do so– learning the preferences of our own muse well enough to be able to support it and listen to it– is something that lots of creative people seem to do.

This is why I believe that the most important creative collaboration of your life is with your own muse. If you can learn how to feed and sustain and draw on that hard-to-control, challenging-to-access, yet incredibly creative part of your mind, you’ll do much better work than if you don’t.

John Littlewood’s advice to mathematicians: 4-hour days, acquire the art of “thinking vaguely,” and “work all out or rest completely”

Views of Cambridge from Great St. Mary's
Cambridge from the bell tower at St Mary’s Church

I’ve quoted from this before, but I love John Littlewood’s essay “The mathematician’s art of work,” In this extract, the Cambridge offers “some practical advice about research and the strategy it calls for.”

In the first place research work is of a different order from the “learning” process of pre-research education (essential as that is). The latter can easily be rote-memory, with little associative power: on the other hand, after a month’s immersion in research the mind knows its problem much as one’s tongue knows the inside of one’s mouth. You must also acquire the art of “thinking vaguely,” an elusive idea I can’t elaborate in short form. After what I have said earlier, it is inevitable that I should stress the importance of giving the subconscious every chance. There should be relaxed periods during the working day, profitably, I say, spent in walking.

HOURS A DAY AND DAYS A WEEK On days free from research, and apart from regular holidays, I recommend four hours a day or at most five, with breaks about every hour (for walks perhaps). If you don’t have breaks you unconsciously acquire the habit of slowing down. Preparation of lectures counts more or less as research work for this purpose. On days with teaching duties, I can only say, be careful not to overdo the research. The strain of lecturing, by the way, can be lightened if you apply the golfing maxim: “don’t press.” It is, of course, hard not to. Don’t spend tired periods on proof correction, or work that needs alertness; you make several shots at an emendation that you would do in one when fresh. Even in making a fair copy one is on the qui vive for possible changes.

Either work all out or rest completely. It is too easy, when rather tired, to fritter a whole day away with the intention of working but never getting / [116-117] properly down to it. This is pure waste, nothing is done, and you have had no rest or relaxation. I said “work all out”: speed of associative thought is, I believe, important in creative work; another elusive idea, with which my psychological doctor agrees.

For a week without teaching duties- and here I think I am preaching to the converted – I believe in one afternoon and the following day off. The day off need not necessarily be Sunday, but that has a restful atmosphere of general relaxation, church bells in the distance, other people going to church, and so on. The day, however, should stay the same one of the week; this establishes a rhythm, and you begin relaxing at lunch time the day before.

At one time I used to work 7 days a week (apart, of course, from 3-week chunks of holidays). I experimented during a Long Vacation with a Sunday off, and presently began to notice that ideas had a way of coming on Mondays. I also planned to celebrate the arrival of a decent idea by taking the rest of that day off. And then ideas began coming also on Tuesday.

In these paragraphs, Littlewood beautifully and informally summarizes some of the key practices of deliberate rest: the conscious use of rest to nurture and sustain subconscious creative thinking, the mixing of focused and unfocused periods, the advocacy of exercise, and the practice of keeping an eye out for insights after breaks. It’s all in here, which is why I’m so enthusiastic about it.

Source: John Littlewood, “The mathematician’s art of work,The Mathematical Intelligencer 1:2 (June 1978), 112-119.

Darwin at work and at home

One of the enduring myths of creativity is that creative people who treat their families badly do so because the weight of their genius keeps them from being good spouses and parents (99% of the time, husbands and fathers).

This excuse is crap. I was reminded of it recently when reading over Francis Darwin’s autobiographical account of life with his father, the great naturalist Charles Darwin.

Charles Darwin

As should be clear, Darwin is one of my great heroes. He’s always been an intellectual hero, but the more I know about his life, and the better able I am to appreciate the choices he made, the more I admire him.

Charles and me

Darwin absolutely isolated himself from the world, but never from his family. Down was his effort to create a space that insulated him from the demands of the London scientific scene: after his return from the voyage of the HMS Beagle, and long before the publication of Origin of Species, he had become an important figure in that world. With his publication record, his academic connections (he hadn’t been a brilliant student at Cambridge, but he had studied with some of the best minds of his day), and his family background (his father and grandfather had been distinguished doctors, and he was related to the Wedgewoods of china fortune). He was exactly the sort of person you’d want on one or another committee or panel or conference, and would invite to the monthly meeting of whatever scientific society you were vice-president of.

Royal Astronomical Society
Royal Astronomical Society, Burlington House, London

Down was close enough to London to let Darwin keep an eye on things andhear the latest news, but far away enough to keep people from bothering him with trivial stuff, and to give him an excuse to avoid serving on examination committees or royal commissions impractical. His son Francis Darwin, who wrote an account of life at Down, said that his father “used to try and stop people coming by representing to them the enormous distance of Down from London, & the labour it would be to come here.”

But Down wasn’t a space for him to isolate himself from his family. Francis has several recollections about his father that illustrate how they ran in and out of his daily life, and don’t seem to have been particularly constrained by the Needs of Genius. For example, Francis describes going on pre-dawn walks:

I used to like as a little boy going out with him, and I suppose I have a vague sense of the red of the winter sunrise, and a recollection of the pleasant companionship and a certain honour & glory. At one time I can remember he used to go on walks still earlier when it was quite dark and I used to be impressed, as a boy, by his telling me that he had once or twice met foxes trotting home at the dawn.

Then there was the Sandwalk.

Darwin Walk
Darwin Walk, University College London

The Sandwalk was a long walk at the back of the property that Darwin called his “thinking path.” Francis recalls:

This was a very pleasant walk, a sheltered shady side; the other side separated from the neighbouring grass field by low quickset hedge over which you could look at what there was — a quiet little valley losing itself in the upland country towards the Westerham hill with hazel coppice and larch wood…. I have heard my father say that it was the charm of this little simple valley which helped in making him take to Down.

This is a space that Darwin had made specifically so he would have a place to walk and think. He could spend an hour or two out there, exercising his body and letting his mind exercise itself on whatever problem he had been working on earlier that day. As Darwin biographer James Moore put it, Darwin walked as many miles on the Sandwalk as he traveled aboard the HMS Beagle— and it’s hard to say which miles were more important.

For Francis and the rest of the Young Darwins, though, the Sandwalk

was a great place for us to play in as children and we continually saw my father as he walked round and round; he liked to see what we were doing and sympathized in any fun that was going on.

So the kids weren’t fobidden from going on the Sandwalk, nor were they only grudgingly tolerated. In fact, Charles had a handful of flints that he would use to mark how many times he’d gone around the path– he would knock one from one side of the path the other has he passed– and the kids sometimes made a game of moving the flints back, and seeing how many times he would make the circuit before he noticed. (Though any parent will recognize that “not noticing” such shenanigans can be an act.)

After his post-work turn around the Sandwalk (one of several walks he would take each day), it was time for lunch.

In old days, lunch used to be the children’s dinner and I think dinner for everybody. — I suppose it was rather a ‘hurly burly with all us children as it was described by a relative as violent.

As historian Elizabeth Yale put it, Darwin “conducted his scientific labors in the midst of a rambunctious family life.” Or as my wife and I used to say when the kids were acting up, there’s nothing like a nice quiet evening at home with your children– and this is nothing like it.

Charles also had the habit of having things read to him, usually by his wife Emma or one of his daughters.

He was always rejoiced if he had few letters, & sometimes much worried by a number. He didn’t think much more about them from in the morning. I think, as he would hear any family letters read aloud as he lay on the sofa — I remember him then saying in the semi-indignant voice “Who’s it from?” — I think he was curiously slow in guessing about this sort of thing for I have often heard him ask, when it was evident who it was from….

I think the paper was the only non-scientific matter which he ever read to himself — everything else novels, travels, history were read to him…. The fact that for so many years he had reading aloud several time a day, each reading being at least 1/2 hr, enabled him to get through a great deal of lighter literature….

When letters were finished he went up to his bedroom to rest — lying on the sofa and smoking a cigarette; and listening to a novel or other book not scientific.

So the picture that emerges from family accounts of the Darwin household is one in which Charles isn’t a distant Victorian father-figure, or unapproachable, or someone whose ambition and focused required that children be seen at not heard, if that. Instead, he’s an active part of their lives, and they’re an active part of his.

It’s an account that provides a sobering corrective to the idea that parenting and genius are mutually exclusive, or that being obsessed with your work either renders you unable to be a good parent, or worse yet gives you license to be a negligent parent. If your work is more profound and history-changing than Darwin’s, you might get a pass. If not, shut up.

“To create, we need both technique and the freedom from technique”

One of the great Silicon Valley tropes is that inexperience is a positive. The extreme expression of it– I’m simplifying here, but not that much– is that young people who aren’t already experts in a field don’t have the bad habits and assumptions that insiders have about what can’t be done, what’s impossible, or how things are supposed to work (or simply are), and therefore are able to be totally innovative.

This is, to put it mildly, an idea that deserves to be examined more fully. It’s like assuming that because I don’t speak Arabic, or know anything about poetry, that I’ll have better insights about interpreting 9th-century Arabic poetry than someone who’s spent a lifetime studying the subject, and can, you know, actually read Arabic. Or that a person who knows nothing about quantum mechanics can have a brilliant insight into quantum mechanics, precisely because they’re ignorant of it.

This is the kind of magical thinking that brought us Theranos.

Presumably there’s a sweet spot between innocence and expertise, where outsiders know just enough to be able to see that a field or industry is ripe for disruption. But there’s much better evidence that the disruptions we should take seriously come from people who are incredibly knowledgeable, and have actually done the work of mastering a field.

For one thing, in most fields you have to learn a lot in order to declare yourself an expert. Everybody knows that health care is screwed up and that the tax code should be reduced to a postcard-sized set of rules– unless you’re a doctor or tax accountant, in which case you understand just how complex these systems are.

Further, in most fields you have to know an awful lot in order to understand what even counts as an interesting problem, where the gaps in a field’s knowledge are, or what things really are efficiencies.

Finally, creativity rests on a foundation of endless, sometimes boring, preparation. As mathematician Stephen J. Merrill puts it in his article “To Again Feel the Creative Voice,” (International Journal of Science and Mathematics Education 5:1 (March 2007), 145–164):

The creative voice speaks to those who have prepared themselves. The tools to implement any insight received are those experiences, techniques, and abilities developed up to that time, and, developed to an extent that they are automatic Y not needing conscious intervention. This means that there are no shortcuts to being creative. One must practice the musical scales, draw the urns, and complete the mathematical exercises…. To have a creative event, one must have both the inspiration and the ability and experience to execute it. Developing technique as an artist, writer, or scientist is necessary.

Merrill the quotes musician Stephen Nachmanovitch:

To create, we need both technique and the freedom from technique. To this end we practice until our skills become unconscious. If you had to think consciously about the steps involved in riding a bicycle, you’d fall off at once. Part of the alchemy engendered by practice is a kind of cross-trading between conscious and unconscious. Technical how-to information of deliberate and rational kind drops through long repetition from consciousness so that we can “do it in our sleep.”… When the skill hides itself in the unconscious, it reveals the unconscious. Technique is the vehicle for surfacing normally unconscious material from the dream world and the myth world to where they become visible, nameable, singable.

“By exercising and exhausting myself, I can get to restful states much quicker:” On exercise and creativity

In the BBC Radio 4 show The Quest for Rest, poet SJ Fowler talks about the creative value of working out. We often don’t think of working out as a form of rest, but in fact it is for lots of people, and it is for him. “By exercising and exhausting myself, I can get to restful states much quicker,” Fowler says. “Rather than having to take a lot of time trying to mentally calm myself, I can sweat it out immediately by exercising.”

This is a pattern I devote a chapter to in REST: a lot of very creative people integrate long walks and exercise into their daily routines, and they do so with an eye to being more creative. Fowler’s remarks, though brief, are a good illustration of this pattern.

First, he says, “I’m definitely using exercise to get to certain states of mind where I can be creative.”

This is one reason walking is so popular: it’s super-accessible, something we can easily do, and as the work of people like Jenny Roe and Marily Oppezzo have shown, it stimulates at least some kinds of creative thinking. There’s a good reason the phrase “solvitur ambulance“– it is solved by walking– was a commonplace of philosophers and theologians from ancient times.

Path from Cambridge to Madingley

Hiking also has a stimulating effect. For others, swimming, with its repetition and solitude, provides a state where ideas can flow.

Fowler continues, exercise can also be a way of “switching the mind off… [a] direct way to take yourself out of yourself, to stop thinking about what you’re doing.”

This is a different but equally important use of exercise for creative thinkers. While moderate exercise is an opportunity for mind-wandering, extreme exercise is a way to work yourself into a state of mental exhaustion, and to have a break from work.

For really creative people who otherwise have a hard time switching off their brains, having a practice that gives them a mental break is really critical. Exercise is very popular, though by no means is it universal: Winston Churchill loved watercolor painting because it so completely occupied his attention, it gave him a rest from work.

"Armed with a paintbox, one cannot be bored"

However, exercise is the route for lots of other creative, driven people. Alan Turing, for example, ran long distances because his computer research was “such a stressful job that the only way I can get it out of my mind is by running hard.” No one who’s familiar with Turing’ life can have any doubt about his intellectual ambition and capacity for obsession. But he recognized that the way to do that was not to obsess over work 24/7, but to have some times when he wasn’t consciously thinking about computers.

Likewise, Charles Darwin saw the virtue of taking his mind off research that otherwise would occupy him day and night. As Darwin told his publisher when he received the page proofs for Origin of Species,

You may rely on it, that my extreme wish for my health sake to get the subject temporarily out of my head, will not make me slur over the proofs: I will do my utmost to improve my style” (my emphasis).

Darwin felt the need after nearly twenty years to have a break from thinking about evolution “for my health sake,” but he still dealt with the edits. You gotta respect his game.

A few years later, when he tried riding as a break, his second cousin William Fox wrote to Charles about its virtues: “You get air and exercise without fatigue and must perforce, give that big brain of yours some rest” (again my emphasis).

Third, Fowler says, “I’ve trained myself to look forward to those moments… [and] the consciousness-changing effects of exercise.”

This is a very important point. We’re not just born with these abilities. We can develop them.

Nobel laureate Barbara McClintock was famous for taking long walks to get into a more creative state. McClintock was the discoverer of “jumping genes” and one of the twentieth century’s great geneticists, and she was famous for taking long walks to think. As Nathaniel Comfort wrote,

One of McClintock’s favorite pastimes was to walk the Cold Spring Harbor Laboratory grounds. Rain or shine, from at least the early 1950s through the 1980s, alone or with a friend, she hiked through the woods or strolled down Bungtown Road to the Sand Spit and back. Evelyn Witkin recalled that “every couple of feet she would see something growing that she would point out to me and give me a little lecture about it.” The walks, though relaxing, had a serious component. Out in nature but near the lab, these walks led to a string of minor discoveries that sparked her synthesis of the races of maize and controlling elements. On these walks, she integrated heredity, development, and evolution.

McClintock first felt herself able to control and really use this process in her early 40s, when she was working on the tiny chromosomes in the plant mold Neurospora.

Beautiful day at Stanford

She later recalled a long walk around the Stanford University campus during which she did some “very intense, subconscious thinking,” culminating in her literally visualizing the solution to a problem that had eluded other geneticists, including her friend and fellow Nobel laureate George Beadle, the world’s expert on Neurospora.“I jumped up, I couldn’t wait to get back to the laboratory,” she told Evelyn Fox Keller; “I knew I was going to solve it.”

Stereotypical Stanford Quad picture

Her Stanford walk, she later said, was the first time she felt she had mastered the process. Previously, McClintock said, walking had only episodically worked as a tool to stimulate her creativity; after her Stanford visit, she claimed, she could “summon it when needed,” and “use it in the service of scientific discovery.”

The habit of integrating exercise into your daily routine, and particularly in doing so in a way that aids your creativity, is not one that comes automatically; for lots of people it takes time and patience to see the results. But the benefits are long-lasting.

Charles Darwin on reading page proofs

it’s now less than three months before REST comes out. I received a draft of the book jacket yesterday, and it looks fabulous: it’s a nice warm, soothing blue, but still a color that jumps out at you. But in a restful way.

Proof of REST dust jacket

Reading proofs is always exciting, because it’s one of the clearest signals that the project is actually coming to a close. But the project also feels like it’s growing up.

According to his son Francis, Charles Darwin also had a special relationship with page proofs. He was a prolific author, and The Origin of Species and Descent of Man both went through many editions, so there were lots of pages to review. Francis wrote:

Then came the work of reading and correcting the proofs which my father found especially wearisome. He felt this to be the first serious consideration of style, for he always said that he could not judge of style till he saw himself in print.

I have a similar experience: my words read differently when they’re in print. Whether it’s an article of a book, the words make this alchemical transition from my own musings into the Stuff of Knowledge. The words feel less like my own, and I’m able to look at them one last time with a greater sense of detachment or objectivity.

New studies on the impacts of sleep deprivation

Sleep, as I say in my book, is the original deliberate rest, an activity that is both natural, and something we can learn to do better.

The coziest dog in the world

One reason to pay more attention to sleep is that the  long-term costs of sleep deprivation are pretty substantial. Recently, the Wall Street Journal had a piece on The Unexpected Ways Sleep Deprivation Makes Life Tougher, that focused on how sleep deprivation affects our capacity to make sense of emotions. It says:

Researchers have found that people who are sleep-deprived have difficulty reading the facial expressions of other people, particularly when the expressions are more subtle. They are less able to discern, for example, whether a spouse is annoyed or just serene.

People also are less emotionally expressive when they haven’t gotten enough sleep. They smile less, for example, even when they feel something is funny. Using neuroimaging, scientists are discovering certain patterns of brain activity that may be behind the emotional volatility that can be caused by lack of sleep.

“Few things come unhinged as quickly and profoundly as our emotional stability…when we are not getting enough sleep,” says Matthew Walker, professor of neuroscience and psychology at the University of California, Berkeley….

Other studies have found that sleep-deprived people are less able to accurately identify angry and happy faces, too, particularly when the expressions are subtle. While many sleep deprivation studies have subjects go without an entire night of sleep, scientists say the results likely are applicable to the more real-world experience of chronically getting an insufficient amount of shut-eye.

Sleep deprivation can have public-safety implications, says Namni Goel, a sleep researcher at the University of Pennsylvania Perelman School of Medicine. Military personnel and police officers, she notes, often face situations where they need to accurately interpret the facial expressions—and motivations—of others.

Yet another reason, if we needed more, to get plenty of rest.

Back to dog pictures!

Come to think of it, this may help explain why my dog is so good at reading my body language: when he’s not intently watching for signs that I’m about to take him out for a walk, he’s usually asleep.

“Rest sounds like a straightforward topic. We think we know what it is. Until you start to look closely:” The Quest for Rest

BBC Radio 4 has started a new three-part series on The Anatomy of Rest.

The first episode, The Quest for Rest, is being broadcast now. Here’s the abstract:

Rest sounds like a straightforward topic. We think we know what it is. Until you start to look closely and then it’s not so simple. Over the last two years Claudia Hammond has been working at the Wellcome Collection in London as part of a team called Hubbub – a group including psychologists, artists, poets, neuroscientists, musicians, historians and sociologists – all coming together to examine the topic of rest.

In the first of three programmes Claudia attempts to define rest. Is it the absence of work? Does it have to mean doing nothing? Claudia discusses the concept of rest with a historian, a composer, a poet and an English literature scholar.

One of the big ideas is that “rest is not simply a natural state,” as project director Felicity Callard says in the opening minutes of the program. “You need to understand economically the conditions under which certain people can rest, you need to look at how it’s changed historically, you need to look at physiological accounts of rest.” (That’s pretty close to a direct quote, give or take a word or two.)

The next two episodes will talk about rest in the modern world. You can listen online, but it seems impossible to embed the BBC Radio 4 player.

It’s a product of Hubbub, an interdisciplinary exploration of rest at the Wellcome Center that started in 2014. I visited there briefly when I was last in London.

Another product of the project is an exhibit on Rest and its Discontents that will open at the end of the month. I’m going to be in London in mid-November, and hope it’s still open when I’m there.

Francine du Plessix Gray on her writing studio and “becoming something I can begin to call myself”

When I was researching REST, I discovered that one of the best sources for material on writer’s routines was The Paris Review. (I’ve posted quotes from other Paris Review interviews with Ray Bradbury, La Carré, Isaac Bashevis Singer, J. G. Ballard, and Martin Amis.) Today I came across this interview with Francine du Plessix Gray, which has a lovely description of what being in her writer’s studio is like, and why it’s important for her:

the most important aspect of coming to this room for several hours a day is a talismanic one—it’s here, for the past twenty years, by creating a presence of words alongside me, that I’ve slowly become something I can begin to call myself, and traveled away from that “ocean of gibberish” that menaces us throughout life.

For all my love of mobile work, I still admire those book-lined retreats that writer’s make for themselves, or that co-evolve with them over the years. And I really appreciate her observation that it can take years of work to “become something I can begin to call myself.”

Back room

I think it’s easy to underestimate just how physical and material a writer’s life is; it is portable– those pictures of writers at cafe tables or Hemingway on safari aren’t lying to you– and of course it’s very interior and cerebral, but it’s also very material: you can’t get away from the fact that if you writer, you’ll live surrounded by books.

Back among my people

Perhaps if the act of writing is one that requires us to spend so much time roaming and living elsewhere (if only in our imaginations), it’s good that we’re anchored to the world by books.

Interview in Scientific American Mind

 More brains

The latest issue of Scientific American Mind has an interview with me (“Q&A: Why a Rested Brain Is More Creative“) about REST and its big ideas. Ferris Jabr, who writes regularly for the magazine, spent a couple hours on the phone with me a few months ago, and this is the result.

If you can get past the fact that it’s a pretty accurate representation of the way I sound when I speak— namely, it’s full of diversions and indirection— it’s a pretty good summary of the book’s big argument. A sample:

How have you come to define rest and what are some of the biggest misconceptions about it?

What I mean by rest is engaging in restorative activity. It’s not necessarily completely passive for one thing. We tend to think of rest as putting your feet up and you’ve got the margarita and you’re binge-watching Orange is the New Black. For people in my study, their idea of rest was more vigorous than our idea of exercise. These are people who go on long walks covering 15 or 20 miles in a day or climb mountains on vacation. For them, restful activities were often vigorous and mentally engaging but they experienced them as restorative because they offered a complete break from their normal working lives.

Why does modern work culture undervalue rest and encourage nonstop busyness?

It seems self-evident that more work equals more output. This is true of machines, so why shouldn’t it be true of us? Well it’s not. We have adopted industrial-age attitudes, and they don’t really work for us. There is also a long-standing assumption that not working hard is morally suspect.

What is the brain doing when we are at rest?

The critical thing to recognize is that when we are mind-wandering, when our minds don’t have any particular thing they have to focus on, our brains are pretty darn active. When you do things like go for a long walk, your subconscious mind keeps working on problems. The experience of having the mind slightly relaxed allows it to explore different combinations of ideas, to test out different solutions. And then once it has arrived at one that looks promising, that is what pops into your head as an Aha! moment. The people I looked at are able to construct daily schedules that allow them to draw on that process in little increments.

Anyway, check it out! The rest of the issue looks really good, too.

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