I noticed this faded sign spray-painted on the sidewalks in east London as I was wandering around.
It’s the kind of thing that is easy to miss, the remnants of a message that we needed during a pandemic, but maybe we took a little too literally as it started to subside. It’s funny, people found it so hard to keep their distance when it meant saving someone else’s life, when we were told to do it, but we are experts at thinking we can remain unbiased, at a distance in every other aspect of our life. How positively foolish.
I was recently drawn to Tim Ingold’s work, and I found this sentiment embedded early in his book on Anthropology - a feeling that resonates so deeply with me.
”Elaborate methods have been devised to keep them at arms length. Methods are the guarantors of objectivity, put in place to ensure that research results should not be contaminated by too close or affective an involvement of researchers with those they study. For anthropology, however, such involvement is of the essence… We study with people, rather than making studies of them.”
Tim Ingold, Anthropology: Why it matters
I have always struggled with this objectivity, because if you really think about it, there is no way to really avoid it. There is subjectivity in the way you ask a question, in the way you determine which questions are worth asking in the first place. Not only does this have major implications for the way we see the world and make sense of it, but also what seems valuable. I was really fortunate in that the questions I got to ask during my PhD were genuine, emergent, and from direct experiences of the participants.
Don’t know how women become professional cricketers? Ask them.
What do they think makes an elite performer? Adaptability and decision making.
Do they train for those two things? Not really, no.
Does anyone train for those two things? Nope. Community cricket is even worse.
So how do they get better? Probably just (over)exposure to training over the years. It was harder to leave the pathway than it was to get in. And if you miss out at 12 or 15 years old, your career is pretty much over. Don’t believe me? Kids are acutely aware of this…
“I once requested assistance for an athlete who was considered a suicide risk. At a selection trial for a junior talent pathway team, they were unsuccessful in being selected and genuinely believed that this was their last opportunity to pursue a career in sport. Their identity and self-worth were deeply entangled with their experience of being omitted from the talent pathway, reinforced by the dissonance of being autonomously supported in one context and disregarded in the next. Adolescents are acutely aware that delayed entry into talent pathways is not possible due to pervasive determinism; a realisation that has traumatised young people and their relationship with sport and physical activity.”
Beyond the field of play by Morganti et al. (2023)
So why do we pretend to keep our distance? Maybe we’re not willing to admit that we have already tainted everything we touch. What if, instead of pretending like we don’t bias everything, we lean into that bias? What if we really leaned into the fact that all of our science is biographical, a reflection of ourselves, our journeys through the world and how they entangle with others?
I’ve tried to do this in subtle ways, because I’ve learned that getting up in the front of a room full of people expecting you to speak and starting with “I’m not an expert but…” doesn’t always go down well. I was really angry at myself earlier this year because I introduced myself as my phd… not as the human I am. I felt so unsafe in that room, like I had to justify why I was there, and I defaulted to the external things that people value, but it didn’t sit right with me. So immediately after I stopped talking (and internally beating myself up), I wrote down an alternative introduction:
I was raised on blueberries and backyard cricket.
I think this line speaks volumes to who I am and what I do. It’s childish, almost too simple, and I think that’s what life should be. Small pockets of sweetness and the kinda fun that transcends physical space, when the backyard feels like the MCG. Like I said, I try to do everything Spelenderwijs.
What would your description be?
I am so glad that I don’t keep my distance well. I still find it hard to believe that my 25 days through Europe and the UK is already over, much like any travelling returning “home”, but it doesn’t really feel like home. It feels like familiarity, work, routine, sure. But I think you’d find pieces of my heart all over the world, because keeping my distance is just not something I can do.
The second leg of my travels was just as heartwarming, but in entirely different ways - which is honestly the best part. There are always going to be small, in-between moments that resonate with me, even though you can’t capture those moments in a Polaroid. Like sitting in a park drinking coffee and talking about the depths of learning and development in coaching; touring a community basketball centre and sitting in a cafe for hours; spending a day in the PE staff room (just like I used to do when I was a student) and recording a podcast in a little shed on the oval, watching my first equestrian training session and wandering along the beach walking someone else’s dog, living in the coolest attic ever!? Not to mention a workshop with coaches that continue to inspire me, wandering through east London in search of ice cream and feeding pigeons against my explicit instructions.
People often thank me for visiting, but despite the distance and the cost, the joy is almost always more for me. Every cent and kilometre is worth it for that massive welcome hug, or on this trip it was a “holy shit you’re here in person” hug, which never gets old. How could I keep my distance from these amazing people?
You may be asking why, but if you knew the science I am most curious about, I would have to for the sake of “objectivity”. I wouldn’t be able to have lunch, dinner, drinks, coffee, ice cream with the people I “work” with in other circumstances, if I didn’t put my whole heart and soul into what I research.
I wouldn’t hear their rich stories, be a witness to their growth over years, to be the first one they call when they get in the car or voice note when the time zones don’t align. I don’t think I’d miss that for the world.
So as Tim Ingold suggests, I will continue to study with people, my people. The people scattered across the globe that make foreign cities feel like home. The people who make me realise that I don’t want to spend my whole life being told to calm down, to settle, to not be so loud or laugh so much, to think smaller, to be less.
There is a running joke that I won’t be in Australia for much longer. I think shortest odds are 1-2 years until I move overseas. What’s your bet, and where should I go? 👀