#compartmentalization

[14ratss]

mitosis

[mostlysignssomeportents]

In praise of (some) compartmentalization

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2026/04/14/compartments/#flow

If there's one FAQ I get Q'ed most F'ly, it's this: "How do you get so much done?" The short answer is, "I write when I'm anxious (which is how I came to write nine books during lockdown)." The long answer is more complicated.

The first complication to understand is that I have lifelong, degenerating chronic pain that makes me hurt from the base of my skull to the soles of my feet – my whole posterior chain. On a good day, it hurts. On a bad day, it hurts so bad that it's all I can think about.

Unless…I work. If I can find my way into a creative project, the rest of the world just kind of fades back, including my physical body. Sometimes I can get there through entertainment, too – a really good book or movie, say, but more often I find myself squirming and needing to get up and stretch or use a theragun after a couple hours in a movie theater seat, even the kind that reclines. A good conversation can do it, too, and is better than a movie or a book. The challenge and engagement of an intense conversation – preferably one with a chewy, productive and interesting disagreement – can take me out of things.

There's a degree to which ignoring my body is the right thing to do. I've come to understand a lot of my pain as being a phantom, a pathological failure of my nervous system to terminate a pain signal after it fires. Instead of fading away, my pain messages bounce back and forth, getting amplified rather than attenuated, until all my nerves are screaming at me. Where pain has no physiological correlate – in other words, where the ache is just an ache, without a strain or a tear or a bruise – it makes sense to ignore it. It's actually healthy to ignore it, because paying attention to pain is one of the things that can amplify it (though not always).

But this only gets me so far, because some of my pain does have a physiological correlate. My biomechanics suck, thanks to congenital hip defects that screwed up the way I walked and sat and lay and moved for most of my life, until eventually my wonky hips wore out and I swapped 'em for a titanium set. By that point, it was too late, because I'd made a mess of my posterior chain, all the way from my skull to my feet, and years of diligent physio, swimming, yoga, occupational therapy and physiotherapy have barely made a dent. So when I sit or stand or lie down, I'm always straining something, and I really do need to get up and move around and stretch and whatnot, or sure as hell I will pay the price later. So if I get too distracted, then I start ignoring the pain I need to be paying attention to, and that's at least as bad as paying attention to the pain I should be ignoring.

Which brings me to anxiety. These are anxious times. I don't know anyone who feels good right now. Particularly this week, as the Strait of Epstein emergency gets progressively worse, and there's this January 2020 sense of the crisis on the horizon, hitting one country after another. Last week, Australia got its last shipment of fossil fuels. This week, restaurants in India are all shuttered because of gas rationing. People who understand these things better than I do tell me that even if Trump strokes out tonight and Hegseth overdoes the autoerotic asphyxiation, it'll be months, possibly years, before things get back to "normal" ("normal!").

Any time I think about this stuff for even a few minutes, I start to feel that covid-a-comin', early-2020 feeling, only it's worse this time around, because I literally couldn't imagine what covid would mean when it got here, and now I know.

When I start to feel those feelings, I can just sit down and start thinking with my fingers, working on a book or a blog-post. Or working on an illustration to go with one of these posts, which is the most delicious distraction, leaving me with just enough capacity to mull over the structure of the argument that will accompany it.

I can't do anything about the impending energy catastrophe, apart from being part of a network of mutual aid and political organizing, so it makes sense not to fixate on it. But there are things that upset me – problems my friends and loved ones are having – where there's such a thing as too much compartmentalization. It's one thing to lose myself in work until the heat of emotion cools so I can think rationally about an issue that's got me seeing red, and another to use work as a way to neglect a loved one who needs attention in the hope that the moment will pass before I have to do any difficult emotional labor.

Compartmentalization, in other words, but not too much compartmentalization. During the lockdown years, I transformed myself into a machine for turning Talking Heads bootlegs into science fiction novels and technology criticism, and that was better than spending that time boozing or scrolling or fighting – but in retrospect, there's probably more I could have done during those hard months to support the people around me. In my defense – in all our defenses – that was an unprecedented situation and we all did the best we could.

Creative work takes me away from my pain – both physical and emotional – because creative work takes me into a "flow" state. This useful word comes to us from Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, who coined the term in the 1960s while he was investigating a seeming paradox: how was it that we modern people had mastered so many of the useful arts and sciences, and yet we seemed no happier than the ancients? How could we make so much progress in so many fields, and so little progress in being happy?

In his fieldwork, Csikszentmihalyi found that people reported the most happiness while they were doing difficult things well – when your "body or mind is stretched to its limits in a voluntary effort to accomplish something difficult and worthwhile." He called this state "flow."

As Derek Thompson says, the word "flow" implies an effortlessness, but really, it's the effort – just enough, not too much – that defines flow-states. We aren't happiest in a frictionless world, but rather, in a world of "achievable challenges":

https://www.derekthompson.org/p/how-zombie-flow-took-over-culture

Thompson relates this to "the law of familiar surprises," an idea he developed in his book Hit Makers, which investigated why some media, ideas and people found fame, while others languished. A "familiar surprise" is something that's "familiar but not too familiar."

He thinks that the Hollywood mania for sequels and reboots is the result of media execs chasing "familiar surprises." I think there's something to this, but we shouldn't discount the effect that monopolization has on the media: as companies get larger and larger, they end up committing to larger and larger projects, and you just don't take the kinds of risks with a $500m movie that you can take with a $5m one. If you're spending $500m, you want to hedge that investment with as many safe bets as you can find – big name stars, successful IP, and familiar narrative structures. If the movie still tanks, at least no one will get fired for taking a big, bold risk.

Today, we're living in a world of extremely familiar, and progressively less surprising culture. AI slop is the epitome of familiarity, since by definition, AI tries to make a future that is similar to the past, because all it can do is extrapolate from previous data. That's a fundamentally conservative, uncreative way to think about the world:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/05/14/everybody-poops/#homeostatic-mechanism

The tracks the Spotify algorithm picks out of the catalog are going to be as similar to the ones you've played in the past as it can make them – and the royalty-free slop tracks that Spotify generates with AI or commissions from no-name artists will be even more insipidly unsurprising:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/09/12/streaming-doesnt-pay/#stunt-publishing

Thompson cites Shishi Wu's dissertation on "Passive Flow," a term she coined to describe how teens fall into social media scroll-trances:

https://scholarworks.umb.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=2104&context=doctoral_dissertations

Wu says it's a mistake to attribute the regretted hours of scrolling to addiction or a failure of self-control. Rather, the user is falling into "passive flow," a condition arising from three factors:

I. Engagement without a clear goal;

II. A loss of self-awareness – of your body and your mental state;

III. Losing track of time.

I instantly recognize II. and III. – they're the hallmarks of the flow states that abstract me away from my own pain when I'm working. The big difference here is I. – I go to work with the clearest of goals, while "passive flow" is undirected (Thompson also cites psychologist Paul Bloom, who calls the scroll-trance "shitty flow." In shitty flow, you lose track of the world and its sensations – but in a way that you later regret.)

Thompson has his own name for this phenomenon of algorithmically induced, regret-inducing flow: he calls it "zombie flow." It's flow that "recapitulates the goal of flow while evacuating the purpose."

Zombie flow is "progress without pleasure" – it's frictionless, and so it gives us nothing except that sense of the world going away, and when it stops, the world is still there. The trick is to find a way of compartmentalizing that rewards attention with some kind of productive residue that you can look back on with pride and pleasure.

I wouldn't call myself a happy person. I don't think I know any happy people right now. But I'm an extremely hopeful person, because I can see so many ways that we can make things better (an admittedly very low bar), and I have mastered the trick of harnessing my unhappiness to the pursuit of things that might make the world better, and I'm gradually learning when to stop escaping the pain and confront it.

Image: marsupium photography (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:2.8_hours_later_-_Zombie_Apocalypse_(14315382305).jpg

CC BY-SA 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/deed.en

[tgirl-tamag0tchi]

I’m going to go back to repressing my negative emotions.

I don’t have the time or support currently to handle them.

So, I’ll go back to not feeling them for a couple months.

It’s not healthy.

But it’s all I can do to make the next few months manageable.

I have to in part… stop feeling.

Let my pain go.

Let my family’s actions go.

And just move forward.

I appreciate every who has tried to help me unpack them recently… but I can’t do keep doing it.

[katerinaaqu]

I was reading some of your Odysseus's analysis and I love how you brought up his religious facet because I really think is a big part of who he is as an person and how it affects his decisions, specially during the war. To me Odysseus had always been the king of Compartmentalization; he is the one that is able to push his emotions down in order to act accordingly to whatever he thinks can please the Gods at any given moment, and thus save himself and his allies at the process- the problem is that he is human and Compartmentalization can only bring you so far so ofc it would eventually come to eat on him... that is essentially what a big chunk of the Odessy is for. Particularly when he was with Calypso- like OBVIOUSLY the constant abuse played a huge role on his dumpster fire of an mental health but the fact he was completely stagnant without the capacity to jump from one task to the other couldn't had helped matters either....

☝️☝️☝️ THIS MY DEAR ANON SIMPLY THIS ☝️☝️☝️

For starters I am really honored that you liked my analysis and that you saw exactly what I wanted to convey with that potential of Odysseus and that part of his character that everyone seems to forget; his religious nature and how he is literally living his life in the religious piousness

And I couldn't have said it better myself! Yes he does push his emotions down, suppresses them even, when gods speak. When gods demand, humans should shut the fuck up and respond accordingly, that seems to be Odysseus's motto in life. The gods demanded Iphigenia, the gods should have Iphigenia, no matter how bad Odysseus might feel or not feel so his emotions of sorrow or regret come second before his need to obey the gods. Then the gods demanded that they stop attacking the walls of Troy? Odysseus would turn the heel around and run! It doesn't matter if Diomedes is there. If he chooses to disobey the gods is his problem and his choice. Circe demands this price to set his men free? Yeah he would sell his body to get it. Calypso had to have him in order to secure his survival? Yeah Odysseus would do it. The gods demand from him to do a trip to the ends of the world to repent his hubris? Odysseus will damn well be on a new ship and sail there or walk there for all the world is concerned he has to see that thing through no matter what.

This is why he did what he did in the times before or during the war. This is why he chose to stay behind for retribution sacrifices to the gods and why he came back for Agamemnon even if he desired nothing else than go home with his fleet but is also this blind faith that has him being beloved by the gods like Athena or Zeus.

However like it happens with someone who has way too much religious zeal obviously the results can be catastrophic to yourself and to others in a practical manner. I mean Odysseus too paid the price for he was always hated secretly by his peers for his behavior to please the gods because in the eyes of everyone he did it just to get glory or just because he is who he is. Odysseus might have had some ulterior motive about himself or the others but it seems that his religious beliefs play a huge part in the way he conducts himself in regards to the interactions he has with others which is another reason why I am sad that I do not see more people talk about it or representing in their stories and work or that makes me happy when more people see the potential of!!!

As for the last part I am actually very intrigued by this interpretation indeed!!!! And if I am allowed an addition, it is also why he is desperate. He is paying the price, he is pleasing the goddess...and yet he cannot escape. As you said he remains stagnant. Unlike his case with Circe where he receives her trust and her knowledge and later her help with Calypso he just receives his survival for another day. The price he pays will not get him anywhere and that is definitely NOT a good thing for his already crumbling psyche indeed and it COULD be another reason why death seems his only way out at that point.

Because nothing he used to go by in his life works anymore

His piousness was stained by hubris. His decisions to please the gods did nothing for him (or so it seemed to him) and his unpleasant sacrifices brought the fate upon him. He is desperate and he is alone. If I dare use the parallel "he opened his legs for her" and has nothing in return out of his situation. And he has no way out. His brains, his wisdom, his tactics or even his schemes are not doing anything for him and neither are his prayers or his sacrifices and attempts to please this goddess work! It DEFINITELY has a lot of potential as a line of thought and adds even more confusion to his already confused mind!

Thank you Anon for this great addition!

[howifeltabouthim]

But the surprising thing is, I was happy. You need only one thing to be going well to keep up the trudge, and the one thing going well was work.

Abigail Dean, from The Death of Us

[echo-of-apollo]

What Fit in Four Boxes

One box

Managed to fit all my books.

Some I’ve finished,

Most I haven’t even started.

Each one I put away,

I feel the weight on my shoulders lift,

Bit by bit.

The second

Had my trinkets,

Gifts from friends.

Ones that stayed,

And ones that didn’t.

Nonetheless, it never mattered to me

Who came and went.

I still cherish each one.

The third has my companions,

Ones that I wept into

During the lonely nights.

Ones that’ve seen it all,

Good and bad,

So they have a special place.

The fourth has my memories.

Papers with faded ink,

Written by people who’ve long since

Forgotten me.

Pictures of people—

Some bring a smile to my face,

Most I no longer know.

And books of my suffering.

I wish to seal this box the fastest,

And I do.

It sits behind the others,

For it is the smallest one amongst them.

I brush off the thought and look around

At the room I dared to call my own.

My walls feel bare,

Despite the messy imprints of where

My passion once hung.

My bed feels empty,

For my companions have already been

Safely tucked away,

Save for the ones I cannot do a night without.

I decide to stop at the fourth box,

As I felt sleep begin to make its way

Behind my eyes.

I take one last look around,

And I sigh—

One of relief.

As if

The pressure

That has been choking me out

Was finally lifted.

And suddenly the sight of my bare room

Felt less like the loneliness

I desperately wanted to cover up

And more like the escape

I always longed for.

I lay back down on my bed.

Sleep begins to embrace me,

But silly thoughts keep me

From melting into it.

"It’s quite funny."

"You know,

There was a time that I thought

This would be the room that imprisoned me,

The room I would rot in,

Or the one I would take my life in."

"No,

That’s not really funny…”

My thoughts start to drift.

Perhaps this room

Wasn’t as great as I used to think it was.

There were more bad memories

Than happy ones.

I think back on what memories I had here.

None bring a smile to my face.

This was the room

I drew my own blood in,

Night after night of this horrible addiction.

This was also the room

That shrunk at night,

That gave me horrible visions

Of even worse scenarios.

Worst of all,

Shameful as it is to admit,

This was the room

I had planned my own death in.

Pen to paper,

Knife in hand,

I had planned my own end.

Then sobbed,

As my own guilt and cowardice saved me.

I snap back into the present as something—

Perhaps another trick of my mind—

Moves in the corner of my eye.

I look around again,

And I laugh.

Because they won’t ever know

That just at the very back

Of the second drawer

Of the cabinet I had just emptied out

Sat a small envelope,

With paper written in neat writing,

And hands too steady

For someone who always trembled.

A letter.

One that told of everything—

Of my joy,

My sorrow,

My anger,

My pain,

And my gratitude.

One that was a testament to my end.

I sit in silence as my thoughts blur.

Then I laugh again,

Because it isn’t funny.

It really isn’t funny.

I’m just relieved

I’ll never have to come back.

And for the first time

I fall into sleep's embrace

Without any horrible visions.

——————————————————————————————————————————

Was too lazy too lazy to use italics so you, yes, YOU the reader can decide where the stress is

Anyways have fun with this one! I didn't use much flowery language nor did I bother hiding it behind a metaphor

Possibly one of the most literal poems I ever wrote lol

[borninblood]

[unwelcome-ozian]

Compartmentalization. This defense mechanism is a less intense expression of dissociation, in which parts of the person are separated from consciousness, so that it ends up behaving as if it had separate sets of values. In practice, we create separate compartments for systems of values​​and beliefs that are different and opposed to each other, so that they don’t generate a cognitive dissonance or put our identity in crisis. An example can be a person who sometimes behaves honestly, but in other circumstances has no problems to cheat or lie. By compartmentalizing both behaviors, he remains oblivious to cognitive dissonance.