I wrote briefly about pressure before, but never really progressed beyond suggesting that it's the exertion of a force between an individual or group upon another individual or group.
Invisible, like gravity, but its effects are detectable on the faces of students at exam time, in the demeanour of journalists as their copy deadline approaches; in the scurrying of politicians during an election. It is, then, a function of the time remaining to reach an expected goal versus the likelihood of the goal being reached.
Such a simple model suggests that, as time reduces, the amount of activity increases without limit. As with Frank Tipler's omega point, an infinite number of things are accomplished in a finite amount of time - but unlike the expiring universe, this is not possible for us, even in theory.
As pressure increases, then (or, in other words, as time reduces) activity increases, too. From experience, I can declare that not all of this activity is useful: it doesn't bridge the chasm between where I am now, and the pressureless state of accomplishment I should like to be in. We all know how the body lets us down at such critical moments - I was the journalist whose vocabulary deserted him; who would type 'snd' for 'and' three or four times before I'd look at the keyboard and correct the position of my heavy, rebellious fingers; who suddenly couldn't remember whether it was 'acommodate' or 'accommodate' or 'accomodate' or 'acomodate.'
I believe I should be able to eradicate these sorts of things, these mistakes, but they prevail despite my best intentions. Could it be that there's something else afoot? (If there is, I speak from a personal point of view, and hope that anyone reading it recognises at least something of what follows. As ever, I don't expect to solve the world in a few paragraphs, because I'm not scientific, and numbers make me slump against the table, exhausted.)
What if there are psychological barriers to overcome, too; elephants that are not so much in the room as the room itself? What if, in short, the increase in pressure, and the frantic rush of panic is nothing more than an excuse?
I'm a working-class male from northern England. From an early age, I was taught that certain things are beyond me; that some achievements are not for 'the likes of us.' I hereby contend that when a person, having been so informed, has extra motivation to disprove the person making the statement (in this case, my father.)
Having set a stellar goal, which I declared I would accomplish upon pain of death, and flung everything at it, only to fail, is exhausting. Having tried, and not succeeded, it is then the case that everything subsequently attempted is corrupted by this same sense of failure.
I can get so far.... with writing a book, with studying a course, with a relationship, with a job.... and then no sooner does it approach something akin to the vision I have of it in my head that, scared, I relinquish it all. If the achievements beyond the stars are not for the likes of me, then nothing else is, either, and I sink relentlessly in, and then under, my own quicksand.
