I was away for a couple of weeks, so this blog has been fairly stagnant. Normally on an out-of-town trip I try to do a lot of journal-writing, and a lot of evaluating of priorities. On this trip I did neither.
It's as though the health scare I had a few weeks ago has set my priorities, without any question, without any "baby steps" about it. My outlook towards food has changed - and so far it's stayed changed for a month.
The idea of food-as-comfort is almost (not completely, but almost) gone. I seem to understand things I could never "get" before - that if half a doughnut is good, then a whole one might be better, but three is definitely worse. That if I'm hungry, but not for anything in particular, I shouldn't graze my way through everything in the kitchen, but instead think about what I've eaten so far that day, and fill in any gaps - have I missed fruits? Vegetables? Grains? Fiber?
Portion size is easier as well, except for my friend Melanie's tofu meatloaf, which I love; still, if I'm going to over-indulge, meatless meatloaf is a better choice than, say, a double cheeseburger or a medium pizza.
I'm down about eight pounds, which feels painstakingly slow but is really about normal.
Finally, I think I'm beginning to consider food as fuel, and not as an emotional panacea. Fuel can - and should - taste good and be enjoyable - but much better to eat something my body needs, that I've prepared (sometimes well, sometimes less so), than to eat something that satisfieds my head, but does little for the rest of me.
I've tried to make this kind of change before, and it has never lasted more than a few weeks. This time I think the change was reinforced with real fear - and that seems to have made it "stick."
The glucose monitor doesn't hurt, either.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Low anxiety
And this, class, is the sort of mood swing that can happen to, oh, just about anyone.
It's not a panic attack; it lasts too long and it's not nearly that severe. I told my doctor once that instead of panic attacks, I had dread attacks - but really it's "just" anxiety.
The simplest description is that I'm nervous about getting up and moving, but I can't stand the thought of staying where I am (which, in the end, is inside my own skin.) None of it is real; tomorrow I will visit dear friends in a town I really enjoy (but, the anxiety says, you have to go through Airport-Land to get there - don't miss the shuttle bus, don't miss your flight, don't miss the next shuttlebus, your luggage will be too heavy. No, it won't, I won't, everything will be fine.)
And a week (or thereabouts) at a computer conference reminds me that I have neither the brain of a mathematician nor the heart of a programmer. More and more I think I really need to figure out another way to make a living.
Of course, being almost 50 years old, that's a terrifying thought.
Ah-ha. It's that "not fitting" feeling, I'd bet, that kicked off the anxiety. "These really aren't my people" quickly translates to "I am wrong." A friend of mine used to say that years of depression modifies your brain - where a normal person's brain goes from A to B to C, he would say, our brains go from A to B to fucked up.
There isn't anything wrong with all these computer types; like me, they enjoy solving problems; they're just more into the tools than I am. And there's nothing wrong with the idea that I'm not as into those tools - but I do have to learn to use them well enough to justify the salary I'm earning.
It's nice to know that if I stop and breathe, I can back up from "fucked up" to B, make an adjustment, and continue to C and D and beyond. Just like the rest of you.
It's not a panic attack; it lasts too long and it's not nearly that severe. I told my doctor once that instead of panic attacks, I had dread attacks - but really it's "just" anxiety.
The simplest description is that I'm nervous about getting up and moving, but I can't stand the thought of staying where I am (which, in the end, is inside my own skin.) None of it is real; tomorrow I will visit dear friends in a town I really enjoy (but, the anxiety says, you have to go through Airport-Land to get there - don't miss the shuttle bus, don't miss your flight, don't miss the next shuttlebus, your luggage will be too heavy. No, it won't, I won't, everything will be fine.)
And a week (or thereabouts) at a computer conference reminds me that I have neither the brain of a mathematician nor the heart of a programmer. More and more I think I really need to figure out another way to make a living.
Of course, being almost 50 years old, that's a terrifying thought.
Ah-ha. It's that "not fitting" feeling, I'd bet, that kicked off the anxiety. "These really aren't my people" quickly translates to "I am wrong." A friend of mine used to say that years of depression modifies your brain - where a normal person's brain goes from A to B to C, he would say, our brains go from A to B to fucked up.
There isn't anything wrong with all these computer types; like me, they enjoy solving problems; they're just more into the tools than I am. And there's nothing wrong with the idea that I'm not as into those tools - but I do have to learn to use them well enough to justify the salary I'm earning.
It's nice to know that if I stop and breathe, I can back up from "fucked up" to B, make an adjustment, and continue to C and D and beyond. Just like the rest of you.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
If a change is as good as a rest, is a rest as good as a change?
I'm on a business trip - my first in some time. Conferences normally bore me to tears, but I love being in hotels - they're so clean, and it takes no effort on my part at all. Having someone clean up after you is a huge luxury, and one I greatly appreciate.
I always bring along a journal on trips like this one; it's a good time to write, to sift through my concerns, to think about what I've been neglecting and which priorities are out of whack.
Except this time.
Oh, there are things I want to improve - there always are - but I'm exercising and eating right, which is a major change (usually on the top of my "I really need to" list.) Thanks to the conference organizers for providing healthy food choices.
I was thinking earlier about conferences like this one I attended five or six years ago. Then, I was a chain smoker - and a not-exactly-light drinker. I haven't spent any time in the bar at all (which is not to say I've had nothing to drink - I'm just not holding up the bar all night.) I've been taking the stairs as often as possible (several times a day) instead of automatically heading for the elevator - not a minor consideration, as I'm on the 11th floor!. I'm skipping the desserts and the breakfast pastries, and I joined in on a long walk tonight - something I've never done before. (Of course I did treat myself to a piece of raspberry-chocolate cake afterward - still, except for a bar of Dove chocolate, that's my first sweet since Sunday morning.)
Yes, I need to be more cautious with my money, but I know I can do that; I've done it before. And I've treated myself well on this trip - there is a perfumery down the street and I spent freely there - but that's a pleasure that will last a long time.
So I think my next big "push" - along with continuing the improvement in diet and exercise - will be focusing on my home. Just before I left town a friend called; she'd had a horrible fight with her husband, might need a place to stay - could she borrow my apartment? Of course - but I am a horrible housekeeper (I take after my grandmother in that) - I scrambled to clean up but it was a reminder of how much just plain dirt and dust I never even notice. And I want my home to be comfortable and clean. That doesn't mean just vacuumed and dusted; it means doing a job my mother would be satisfied with.
I have no idea whether I'm really up to that; after all, deep cleaning is not something I notice unless I'm having unexpected company. But I'm pleased that so many of the changes I've wanted to make over the years have actually taken place, or are in progress. I am financially much more stable than I used to be. I am living a healthier life (and I was right about one thing - the glucose monitor is a much better stimulus than the scale!)
When I leave this conference, I'm traveling on to visit friends for several days, instead of going directly home. I'm hoping to write more there, without the distractions of work.
This is a rambling post, the effect of two glasses of wine. But I feel good, and I don't think it's just the wine talking.
I always bring along a journal on trips like this one; it's a good time to write, to sift through my concerns, to think about what I've been neglecting and which priorities are out of whack.
Except this time.
Oh, there are things I want to improve - there always are - but I'm exercising and eating right, which is a major change (usually on the top of my "I really need to" list.) Thanks to the conference organizers for providing healthy food choices.
I was thinking earlier about conferences like this one I attended five or six years ago. Then, I was a chain smoker - and a not-exactly-light drinker. I haven't spent any time in the bar at all (which is not to say I've had nothing to drink - I'm just not holding up the bar all night.) I've been taking the stairs as often as possible (several times a day) instead of automatically heading for the elevator - not a minor consideration, as I'm on the 11th floor!. I'm skipping the desserts and the breakfast pastries, and I joined in on a long walk tonight - something I've never done before. (Of course I did treat myself to a piece of raspberry-chocolate cake afterward - still, except for a bar of Dove chocolate, that's my first sweet since Sunday morning.)
Yes, I need to be more cautious with my money, but I know I can do that; I've done it before. And I've treated myself well on this trip - there is a perfumery down the street and I spent freely there - but that's a pleasure that will last a long time.
So I think my next big "push" - along with continuing the improvement in diet and exercise - will be focusing on my home. Just before I left town a friend called; she'd had a horrible fight with her husband, might need a place to stay - could she borrow my apartment? Of course - but I am a horrible housekeeper (I take after my grandmother in that) - I scrambled to clean up but it was a reminder of how much just plain dirt and dust I never even notice. And I want my home to be comfortable and clean. That doesn't mean just vacuumed and dusted; it means doing a job my mother would be satisfied with.
I have no idea whether I'm really up to that; after all, deep cleaning is not something I notice unless I'm having unexpected company. But I'm pleased that so many of the changes I've wanted to make over the years have actually taken place, or are in progress. I am financially much more stable than I used to be. I am living a healthier life (and I was right about one thing - the glucose monitor is a much better stimulus than the scale!)
When I leave this conference, I'm traveling on to visit friends for several days, instead of going directly home. I'm hoping to write more there, without the distractions of work.
This is a rambling post, the effect of two glasses of wine. But I feel good, and I don't think it's just the wine talking.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Change in Others
This weekend I've been thinking a lot about the change we see in others, and how we - how I - deal with it. And it seems to me that it might be harder to deal with change in others than it is to deal with the change we struggle to create in ourselves.
My father lives in a nursing home, and he hates it. I don't blame him; unfortunately I don't have a better solution. He wants to stay in the rural area where he's lived most of his life, and the services that might have kept him living at home just aren't available.
So he's angry, and bitter, and I understand that and I hate the fact that I can't change it. But this weekend I realized something else: the sense of humor that has always been so much a part of him - a dry, subtle sense of humor that most people don't even see - it's gone.
It may not be gone completely but that twinkle in his eye that says "got you again!" has become very rare. Understandably so; who makes jokes when you're unhappy?
But I realized today that losing that part of my father really hurts. It's as though my real father died, and I'm left with this shell that looks like him, but isn't really him at all. And I also realized that not only does this change in him make our relationship difficult, but my refusal to deal with who he is, rather than who he was, is not making things any easier.
I need to work on my view of him - and my own sense of guilt for his being in the nursing home in the first place, which muddies the water even further.
If I still loved my mother when she was deep in the grip of terminal cancer, can I not still love my father when he is deep in the grip of a painful old age? I need to let go of wanting him to be my father; he is done with that. I started trying, a couple of years ago, to accept the fact that I can't make him happy. The best thing - maybe the only thing - I can provide for him now is companionship, and in order to do that, I have to stop wanting him to be who I want him to be - the Dad of 10 years ago - and accept who he is now.
My father lives in a nursing home, and he hates it. I don't blame him; unfortunately I don't have a better solution. He wants to stay in the rural area where he's lived most of his life, and the services that might have kept him living at home just aren't available.
So he's angry, and bitter, and I understand that and I hate the fact that I can't change it. But this weekend I realized something else: the sense of humor that has always been so much a part of him - a dry, subtle sense of humor that most people don't even see - it's gone.
It may not be gone completely but that twinkle in his eye that says "got you again!" has become very rare. Understandably so; who makes jokes when you're unhappy?
But I realized today that losing that part of my father really hurts. It's as though my real father died, and I'm left with this shell that looks like him, but isn't really him at all. And I also realized that not only does this change in him make our relationship difficult, but my refusal to deal with who he is, rather than who he was, is not making things any easier.
I need to work on my view of him - and my own sense of guilt for his being in the nursing home in the first place, which muddies the water even further.
If I still loved my mother when she was deep in the grip of terminal cancer, can I not still love my father when he is deep in the grip of a painful old age? I need to let go of wanting him to be my father; he is done with that. I started trying, a couple of years ago, to accept the fact that I can't make him happy. The best thing - maybe the only thing - I can provide for him now is companionship, and in order to do that, I have to stop wanting him to be who I want him to be - the Dad of 10 years ago - and accept who he is now.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
The Plan
It's been a busy weekend - a lovely dinner party in honor of my niece and her new husband, and a trip to see my father, who lives in a nursing home a hundred miles away. He hates the nursing home and I hate having him there, but there are no other solutions he's willing to consider, so that's where he is. But his unhappiness is hard to deal with. I love him, but I am happy to be at home.
I am drinking a glass of red wine. My favorite lentil-squash "stew" is simmering on the stove, and I have a very old new-agey CD on the stereo - something I seldom listen to, but tonight I need to have the rough spots smoothed away, and this music seems to be working.
Weekends like this are difficult for me, because I seem to need a lot of solitude before I return to the work-week. Not having it makes me feel as though the coming week is chasing me down before I'm ready. As soon as the stew is cool enough to refrigerate, I'll go to bed with a book. While I wait for it to cool, though, I want to write down some of the things that I think are important in making this new and very big change.
I am working towards two goals: to get my daily blood sugar readings below normal (they aren't, yet), and to lose 50 pounds in 25 weeks, beginning last week.
I'm going to accomplish this with exercise and diet, and that requires changing my routine, changing the way I look at food and eating, and changing the amount and quality of food I eat. I have a lot to learn.
It's important to be realistic about what I'm up against: I will be 50 next year; it's far easier - and more common - to gain weight than to lose it at this time in life. I take two drugs, both of which are conducive to weight gain. My thyroid functions well below normal as a further side effect of medical treatment. And I have a long history of living on pizza, cheeseburgers, and scotch. (And ice cream.)
The first major step towards change is awareness. I got a good start on that with the blood sugar scare last week, but that fear will fade sooner than I think. Here are some of the things I have observed, or want to observe:
Hunger - I think that healthy people eat when they feel hunger. I had reached a point where I ate whenever I was no longer full. I seldom got hungry, as a result, and I often felt overfull. So when I have the urge to eat, I need to pay attention: Am I truly hungry, or am I just not quite full? Am I feeding my head - from anger or sadness or fear - or am I feeding my stomach?
Food choices - last week I worked hard to eat a low-carbohydrate, low-fat diet, and it felt really good. I never felt hungry. This weekend I relaxed more than a little; tomorrow I want to be back on track. As a start, tomorrow's meals are already planned, and that's good, because if I don't plan ahead, I make very poor choices. At the same time, I understand that cheeseburgers are one of my favorite foods; as a result, I get one every time I make the road trip to see my father - one cheeseburger every three weeks. That satisifies me, but probably won't kill me.
Motivation - It would be very easy to say "oh, well, I don't have diabetes after all, so why not loosen up a bit." This is why I've gathered together all my books on the subject - nutrition, the food business in this country, emotional eating - with several books on diabetes added as of this week. Each day I will read some portion of one of these books, and write down the major points in the journal I'm keeping. I want to remind myself, daily, of my reasons for doing this.
The journal is where I'm tracking progress. There is a section to make notes on my readings. There is a food journal, where I track not only what I eat, but how I fight or give in to excess. Weight and blood sugar are recorded here as well,, and exercise for the day. Then there are a few random pages where I jot down ideas or insights. These are obvious, very broad, and would sound silly to people who aren't standing where I'm standing - but I need to learn to reward myself for making good choices, if only to take a moment to celebrate doing the right thing.
This is the first time in years I've felt confident of making change; the first time, perhaps ever, that I've laid out such a detailed plan. But it's not an easy goal; if it was, I'd have accomplished it years ago.
I'm going to put my low-fat, low-carb, high-fiber stew in the refrigerator, grab my "prediabetes/diabetes prevention" book, update my journal, and call it a night.
I am drinking a glass of red wine. My favorite lentil-squash "stew" is simmering on the stove, and I have a very old new-agey CD on the stereo - something I seldom listen to, but tonight I need to have the rough spots smoothed away, and this music seems to be working.
Weekends like this are difficult for me, because I seem to need a lot of solitude before I return to the work-week. Not having it makes me feel as though the coming week is chasing me down before I'm ready. As soon as the stew is cool enough to refrigerate, I'll go to bed with a book. While I wait for it to cool, though, I want to write down some of the things that I think are important in making this new and very big change.
I am working towards two goals: to get my daily blood sugar readings below normal (they aren't, yet), and to lose 50 pounds in 25 weeks, beginning last week.
I'm going to accomplish this with exercise and diet, and that requires changing my routine, changing the way I look at food and eating, and changing the amount and quality of food I eat. I have a lot to learn.
It's important to be realistic about what I'm up against: I will be 50 next year; it's far easier - and more common - to gain weight than to lose it at this time in life. I take two drugs, both of which are conducive to weight gain. My thyroid functions well below normal as a further side effect of medical treatment. And I have a long history of living on pizza, cheeseburgers, and scotch. (And ice cream.)
The first major step towards change is awareness. I got a good start on that with the blood sugar scare last week, but that fear will fade sooner than I think. Here are some of the things I have observed, or want to observe:
Hunger - I think that healthy people eat when they feel hunger. I had reached a point where I ate whenever I was no longer full. I seldom got hungry, as a result, and I often felt overfull. So when I have the urge to eat, I need to pay attention: Am I truly hungry, or am I just not quite full? Am I feeding my head - from anger or sadness or fear - or am I feeding my stomach?
Food choices - last week I worked hard to eat a low-carbohydrate, low-fat diet, and it felt really good. I never felt hungry. This weekend I relaxed more than a little; tomorrow I want to be back on track. As a start, tomorrow's meals are already planned, and that's good, because if I don't plan ahead, I make very poor choices. At the same time, I understand that cheeseburgers are one of my favorite foods; as a result, I get one every time I make the road trip to see my father - one cheeseburger every three weeks. That satisifies me, but probably won't kill me.
Motivation - It would be very easy to say "oh, well, I don't have diabetes after all, so why not loosen up a bit." This is why I've gathered together all my books on the subject - nutrition, the food business in this country, emotional eating - with several books on diabetes added as of this week. Each day I will read some portion of one of these books, and write down the major points in the journal I'm keeping. I want to remind myself, daily, of my reasons for doing this.
The journal is where I'm tracking progress. There is a section to make notes on my readings. There is a food journal, where I track not only what I eat, but how I fight or give in to excess. Weight and blood sugar are recorded here as well,, and exercise for the day. Then there are a few random pages where I jot down ideas or insights. These are obvious, very broad, and would sound silly to people who aren't standing where I'm standing - but I need to learn to reward myself for making good choices, if only to take a moment to celebrate doing the right thing.
This is the first time in years I've felt confident of making change; the first time, perhaps ever, that I've laid out such a detailed plan. But it's not an easy goal; if it was, I'd have accomplished it years ago.
I'm going to put my low-fat, low-carb, high-fiber stew in the refrigerator, grab my "prediabetes/diabetes prevention" book, update my journal, and call it a night.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Motivation
What kind of motivation does it take to make a big change?
I had wanted to quit smoking for a long time before I actually did it, but I had a number of reasons I believed would cause me to fail (yet again.) Allen Carr's book convinced me, in an afternoon, that I actually could succeed, and for that I am forever grateful.
I realized very soon after I quit smoking that one of the times I really missed smoking was when I was on the verge of losing my temper, or otherwise losing control. For twenty-five years, I had managed my emotions by walking away from a situation, smoking a cigarette, cooling off, and coming back. I thought I knew all the reasons that made me a smoker, but I didn't know I used it for the physical management of emotions - and I couldn't do that any more.
I began to learn to manage my temper in a more positive way. I joined an on-line political discussion group so that I could learn to present a reasonable and solid argument. But that was only a partial solution. Slowly I began to lean on food for far too many things - celebration and consolation, relief of boredom, a brake on frustration.
That behavior, plus the side effect of my medications, brought me where I am today - 5'9" and 220 pounds.
I have another problem with losing weight, and that's a societal one. I think I became a feminist at 13, the day Billie Jean King beat Bobby Riggs -a long time ago. I am well aware of the fashion, beauty, and weight loss industry's reliance on making women feel less than acceptable. Not being the cute cheerleader at the front of the room, I learned early on that if I didn't learn to value myself for who (rather than what) I was, I would never be happy. (This would have made for a very healthy woman had not depression intervened to convince me that I was ntohing at all.)
So I have a real problem with diet plans and programs; I think they are almost all, at heart, exploitive of women, and I don't trust them any further than I can throw them. I was in an on-line Weight Watcher's group for a while, but it tends to have a large number of somewhat more traditional women, and I just didn't mesh well with the group. Not their problem at all, mine - but a problem.
In a way, this diabetes scare was the best thing that could happen to me. It gives me the motivation I've been lacking: first-hand knowledge of a diagnosis I want to postpone as long as possible. I have a measurement - blood glucose - that doesn't buy into all the the cultural garbage about women looking ":wrong."
And I have a collection of books with information about the problem I'm trying to deal with, and I'm going to use every one of them.
I had wanted to quit smoking for a long time before I actually did it, but I had a number of reasons I believed would cause me to fail (yet again.) Allen Carr's book convinced me, in an afternoon, that I actually could succeed, and for that I am forever grateful.
I realized very soon after I quit smoking that one of the times I really missed smoking was when I was on the verge of losing my temper, or otherwise losing control. For twenty-five years, I had managed my emotions by walking away from a situation, smoking a cigarette, cooling off, and coming back. I thought I knew all the reasons that made me a smoker, but I didn't know I used it for the physical management of emotions - and I couldn't do that any more.
I began to learn to manage my temper in a more positive way. I joined an on-line political discussion group so that I could learn to present a reasonable and solid argument. But that was only a partial solution. Slowly I began to lean on food for far too many things - celebration and consolation, relief of boredom, a brake on frustration.
That behavior, plus the side effect of my medications, brought me where I am today - 5'9" and 220 pounds.
I have another problem with losing weight, and that's a societal one. I think I became a feminist at 13, the day Billie Jean King beat Bobby Riggs -a long time ago. I am well aware of the fashion, beauty, and weight loss industry's reliance on making women feel less than acceptable. Not being the cute cheerleader at the front of the room, I learned early on that if I didn't learn to value myself for who (rather than what) I was, I would never be happy. (This would have made for a very healthy woman had not depression intervened to convince me that I was ntohing at all.)
So I have a real problem with diet plans and programs; I think they are almost all, at heart, exploitive of women, and I don't trust them any further than I can throw them. I was in an on-line Weight Watcher's group for a while, but it tends to have a large number of somewhat more traditional women, and I just didn't mesh well with the group. Not their problem at all, mine - but a problem.
In a way, this diabetes scare was the best thing that could happen to me. It gives me the motivation I've been lacking: first-hand knowledge of a diagnosis I want to postpone as long as possible. I have a measurement - blood glucose - that doesn't buy into all the the cultural garbage about women looking ":wrong."
And I have a collection of books with information about the problem I'm trying to deal with, and I'm going to use every one of them.
Serious Change
I learned today that I have a terrific second chance, and I intend to take advantage of it.
I am genetically predisposed to diabetes. Both of my parents, both of my grandmothers, uncles on both sides, and my sister all had or have it.
I've gained a lot of weight with the help of antidepressants, lithium, and the effect of lithium on the thyroid., I'm a good 50 pounds overweight.
Those two things are major indications that some day, I'm going to be diagnosed with diabetes. For most of this week, I expected it to happen today.
Because scales don't work well for me in trying to lose weight, I bought a blood glucose monitor last week. I thought it would motivate me to lose weight and keep my blood sugar in check.
My first test was Saturday, and it scared hell out of me. Fasting blood glucose between 100 and 126 is considered "prediabetes." Over that is a very strong indication of diabetes. My readings were over 170 for two days in a row, over 150 for four.
Even though I have expected a diagnosis, given my risk factor, I was deeply upset. I called the doctor first thing Monday and made an appointment for Thursday - the earliest time possible.
While I waited and worried, I also bought and read books on diabetes, changed my eating, and started 25-30 minutes of daily exercise.
Today I got the results of my A1C blood test - a test that checks average blood sugar for the past few months. I don't know how it worked out this way, but I don't have diabetes. And I'm thrilled; absolutely thrilled. This is a gift.
So I am not going back to my old ways. The weight is coming off. I am not going to blow this second chance.
This will not become a weight-loss blog, but because my weight gain is in part a result of the treatment of my depression, and because this is going to be some really serious constructive thinking, I will write about it here here from time to time, especially at the beginning.
For now, I'm just happy and relieved. And I laughed at myself this afternoon, because, although I won't ever overeat my favorite food, it's good to know that once in a while, "I can still has cheesburger!"
I am genetically predisposed to diabetes. Both of my parents, both of my grandmothers, uncles on both sides, and my sister all had or have it.
I've gained a lot of weight with the help of antidepressants, lithium, and the effect of lithium on the thyroid., I'm a good 50 pounds overweight.
Those two things are major indications that some day, I'm going to be diagnosed with diabetes. For most of this week, I expected it to happen today.
Because scales don't work well for me in trying to lose weight, I bought a blood glucose monitor last week. I thought it would motivate me to lose weight and keep my blood sugar in check.
My first test was Saturday, and it scared hell out of me. Fasting blood glucose between 100 and 126 is considered "prediabetes." Over that is a very strong indication of diabetes. My readings were over 170 for two days in a row, over 150 for four.
Even though I have expected a diagnosis, given my risk factor, I was deeply upset. I called the doctor first thing Monday and made an appointment for Thursday - the earliest time possible.
While I waited and worried, I also bought and read books on diabetes, changed my eating, and started 25-30 minutes of daily exercise.
Today I got the results of my A1C blood test - a test that checks average blood sugar for the past few months. I don't know how it worked out this way, but I don't have diabetes. And I'm thrilled; absolutely thrilled. This is a gift.
So I am not going back to my old ways. The weight is coming off. I am not going to blow this second chance.
This will not become a weight-loss blog, but because my weight gain is in part a result of the treatment of my depression, and because this is going to be some really serious constructive thinking, I will write about it here here from time to time, especially at the beginning.
For now, I'm just happy and relieved. And I laughed at myself this afternoon, because, although I won't ever overeat my favorite food, it's good to know that once in a while, "I can still has cheesburger!"
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Resolutions and New Paths
Whenever I have a few days off, as I did last weekend, I try to take a little time to step back and look at my life, to identify those things that work well and those that don't. Very often I come away with a plan for change. Sometimes those plans "take," more often they work for a little while and then fall away - but even then, they have nudged me a little closer to where I want to be.
This time the issue is, once again, weight. Very simply, I am nearly 50, I am obese, and I am genetically in a high-risk group.
I started gathering books from various stashes in my apartment, to try to make a plan. And because I hate the concept of dieting, and scales don't mean much to me, I decided to buy a glucose monitor to help monitor my progress.
Today I checked my blood sugar for the first time, and the news is -- not good. I'm going to test every day this week and at the end of the week make a doctor's appointment. But - when I see her, I want to see her with a plan in hand.
I also ran to the bookstore for a half-dozen books on diabetes, glucose, etc., and moved a picture of my parents into the kitchen. Both of them were diabetic. Dad doesn't manage his very well. When my mother was diagnosed she was told she was "a slice of pie away from a coma." She turned into a bulldog, and diabetes was her enemy. She lost weight, she changed her diet, and never needed insulin until chemo screwed up her entire system.
I'll be writing about this - and about my plan - off and on in weeks to come, because my attitudes towards food and much of my weight gain are directly or indirectly related to my years of depression and the treatment for it.
It's strange. For much of my life, I didn't get along well with my mother (my depression was a serious wall between us; fortunately it started coming down a year or two before she died) -- but this morning it feels like she is right behind me, encouraging me and offering to help me learn what I need to learn. It's a strange feeling, but a very good and welcome one.
Now I have some reading to do.
This time the issue is, once again, weight. Very simply, I am nearly 50, I am obese, and I am genetically in a high-risk group.
I started gathering books from various stashes in my apartment, to try to make a plan. And because I hate the concept of dieting, and scales don't mean much to me, I decided to buy a glucose monitor to help monitor my progress.
Today I checked my blood sugar for the first time, and the news is -- not good. I'm going to test every day this week and at the end of the week make a doctor's appointment. But - when I see her, I want to see her with a plan in hand.
I also ran to the bookstore for a half-dozen books on diabetes, glucose, etc., and moved a picture of my parents into the kitchen. Both of them were diabetic. Dad doesn't manage his very well. When my mother was diagnosed she was told she was "a slice of pie away from a coma." She turned into a bulldog, and diabetes was her enemy. She lost weight, she changed her diet, and never needed insulin until chemo screwed up her entire system.
I'll be writing about this - and about my plan - off and on in weeks to come, because my attitudes towards food and much of my weight gain are directly or indirectly related to my years of depression and the treatment for it.
It's strange. For much of my life, I didn't get along well with my mother (my depression was a serious wall between us; fortunately it started coming down a year or two before she died) -- but this morning it feels like she is right behind me, encouraging me and offering to help me learn what I need to learn. It's a strange feeling, but a very good and welcome one.
Now I have some reading to do.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Navel-Gazing: a Justification
I had an experience at work today which made a lot of my effort at self-improvement, at constructive thinking, worthwhile.
I have been working for months on a project with little leadership and less direction. It requires a huge amount of effort for a very small payback, and no one wants to touch it. I've been struggling for months to write a program that is central to the project, for which I had no specs -- I haven't even been able to verify the data coming in or the data that should go out.
This is my idea of employment hell. It saps the energy out of you; it reminds me of what Pirsig, in "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance," called a gumption trap. Wiki (I'm not going to try to find the novel right now) describes it as "an event or mindset that can cause a person to lose enthusiasm and discourage them from starting or continuing a project."
This morning, after a few days off, I went back to the office, energized and ready to start again, only to find an email from my supervisor: "Julia, your program is getting too complicated. I rewrote all your code. Can we meet this afternoon to go over it?"
All kinds of things went through my mind:
- You've done this once before and never admitted to it.
- I've been asking for help for weeks; this is not help
- If you were going to write the goddamned program, why wait until I've beaten myself silly over it?
And
- oh my God, what an insult, and
- he's rejecting all my work, and
- I'm a lousy programmer, and
- he's not going to fire me but I bet he wishes he could.
It felt like such a huge rejection, of my work and my effort and ... it was awful. A cross between anger and shame that hits me whenever I am publicly wrong.
All morning, whenever I thought about it, I had to fight tears of anger and frustration. But constructive living kicked in: feel what you feel, but act. So I turned my back on the program for awhile and did other, smaller jobs that had been pushed aside during testing.
Lunchtime came and I was still, well, gobsmacked by the whole thing. And I knew if I met with my supervisor in that state, I would either lose my temper, or cry (I have a tendency, much detested, to lose control and cry when I'm angry.) I had gain control before the meeting started. I began to think about cognitive errors.
- Does he wish he could fire me? Probably not. The guy I replaced couldn't get along with anyone, and I get along with just about everyone. That counts. And I have other duties in addition to writing this one program, and he would have to find someone else to do them. As an employee, I'm a net gain - although it probably doesn't feel like that every day!
- Am I a lousy programmer? Yes and no, and mostly no. I told him when I was hired that I was a good maintenance programmer, but that I hated writing my own code. In fact, every organization I've worked for avoids writing original code, because it's so expensive. But my boss loves to code. I don't. So, yes, I'm bad at a task we try to avoid; I'm good at the task for which I was hired.
- Why didn't he just rewrite it weeks ago and save me all the hassle? Because he hasn't had time to look at it earlier, and (truth be told) he wasn't sure what he wanted the program to do (see missing specs.) In the four rewrites of this program that I've done, I've hammered out most of the specs and the potential errors. That was a big advantage for him in the rewrite.
- You've done this once before and never admitted it. Yes, in fact, he has done this once before, and he didn't tell me - just quietly put the rewritten code into production. That was a shitty thing to do, and I think he felt badly about it, because the first thing he said in the meeting was "I feel like I'm treading on your toes here." No, really?
- Oh, my God, what an insult! Was it an insult? Hello to the Buddha, hello to Dr. Al: it is an insult if I perceive it as one; if I'm so attached to my reputation as a programmer that I can't take criticism. But - he's a much better programmer than I am. The new program is a great improvement. If he had re-written it and it was worse, then I might be upset. But it's better.
And he did acknowledge the groundwork I had done. (I think he also realizes that he's not being particularly helpful to my growth as an employee when he pulls this programmer-ex-machina stuff, and he prides himself on his managerial skills - with reason.)
As I sat there sifting through everything I've learned about emotion and control and what's really important, pulling out nuggets to help me get through each part of the meeting, I realized that pre-medication I would have burst into tears, quite possibly lost my temper and, if not my job, at least my boss's respect. Post-meds, with what I have learned from the Buddha's teachings, and constructive living, and Dr. Al, and cognitive therapy -- I can't say I sailed through the meeting, but I can say I handled it better than I ever thought possible. I think my supervisor was surprised - and I'm willing to bet that he was impressed - that I handled it as well, as gracefully, as I did.
Doesn't mean it was a good way to handle things, and there's no way I can claim a poker face - he knew that I was unhappy about the way it was handled. But it's done and I still have a job and the long nightmare of screwing with that program - having to face, daily, a task that requires my weakest skills - may be just about over.
It could have been much worse - especially if my actions had been negative. Just when I think I spend way too much time thinking about this stuff, I get a payback like I had today, and it makes me want to keep getting better.
I have been working for months on a project with little leadership and less direction. It requires a huge amount of effort for a very small payback, and no one wants to touch it. I've been struggling for months to write a program that is central to the project, for which I had no specs -- I haven't even been able to verify the data coming in or the data that should go out.
This is my idea of employment hell. It saps the energy out of you; it reminds me of what Pirsig, in "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance," called a gumption trap. Wiki (I'm not going to try to find the novel right now) describes it as "an event or mindset that can cause a person to lose enthusiasm and discourage them from starting or continuing a project."
This morning, after a few days off, I went back to the office, energized and ready to start again, only to find an email from my supervisor: "Julia, your program is getting too complicated. I rewrote all your code. Can we meet this afternoon to go over it?"
All kinds of things went through my mind:
- You've done this once before and never admitted to it.
- I've been asking for help for weeks; this is not help
- If you were going to write the goddamned program, why wait until I've beaten myself silly over it?
And
- oh my God, what an insult, and
- he's rejecting all my work, and
- I'm a lousy programmer, and
- he's not going to fire me but I bet he wishes he could.
It felt like such a huge rejection, of my work and my effort and ... it was awful. A cross between anger and shame that hits me whenever I am publicly wrong.
All morning, whenever I thought about it, I had to fight tears of anger and frustration. But constructive living kicked in: feel what you feel, but act. So I turned my back on the program for awhile and did other, smaller jobs that had been pushed aside during testing.
Lunchtime came and I was still, well, gobsmacked by the whole thing. And I knew if I met with my supervisor in that state, I would either lose my temper, or cry (I have a tendency, much detested, to lose control and cry when I'm angry.) I had gain control before the meeting started. I began to think about cognitive errors.
- Does he wish he could fire me? Probably not. The guy I replaced couldn't get along with anyone, and I get along with just about everyone. That counts. And I have other duties in addition to writing this one program, and he would have to find someone else to do them. As an employee, I'm a net gain - although it probably doesn't feel like that every day!
- Am I a lousy programmer? Yes and no, and mostly no. I told him when I was hired that I was a good maintenance programmer, but that I hated writing my own code. In fact, every organization I've worked for avoids writing original code, because it's so expensive. But my boss loves to code. I don't. So, yes, I'm bad at a task we try to avoid; I'm good at the task for which I was hired.
- Why didn't he just rewrite it weeks ago and save me all the hassle? Because he hasn't had time to look at it earlier, and (truth be told) he wasn't sure what he wanted the program to do (see missing specs.) In the four rewrites of this program that I've done, I've hammered out most of the specs and the potential errors. That was a big advantage for him in the rewrite.
- You've done this once before and never admitted it. Yes, in fact, he has done this once before, and he didn't tell me - just quietly put the rewritten code into production. That was a shitty thing to do, and I think he felt badly about it, because the first thing he said in the meeting was "I feel like I'm treading on your toes here." No, really?
- Oh, my God, what an insult! Was it an insult? Hello to the Buddha, hello to Dr. Al: it is an insult if I perceive it as one; if I'm so attached to my reputation as a programmer that I can't take criticism. But - he's a much better programmer than I am. The new program is a great improvement. If he had re-written it and it was worse, then I might be upset. But it's better.
And he did acknowledge the groundwork I had done. (I think he also realizes that he's not being particularly helpful to my growth as an employee when he pulls this programmer-ex-machina stuff, and he prides himself on his managerial skills - with reason.)
As I sat there sifting through everything I've learned about emotion and control and what's really important, pulling out nuggets to help me get through each part of the meeting, I realized that pre-medication I would have burst into tears, quite possibly lost my temper and, if not my job, at least my boss's respect. Post-meds, with what I have learned from the Buddha's teachings, and constructive living, and Dr. Al, and cognitive therapy -- I can't say I sailed through the meeting, but I can say I handled it better than I ever thought possible. I think my supervisor was surprised - and I'm willing to bet that he was impressed - that I handled it as well, as gracefully, as I did.
Doesn't mean it was a good way to handle things, and there's no way I can claim a poker face - he knew that I was unhappy about the way it was handled. But it's done and I still have a job and the long nightmare of screwing with that program - having to face, daily, a task that requires my weakest skills - may be just about over.
It could have been much worse - especially if my actions had been negative. Just when I think I spend way too much time thinking about this stuff, I get a payback like I had today, and it makes me want to keep getting better.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Time off
I am very fortunate; I live alone and I have time to think about perspective, and priorities. I realize this is a luxury.
(Here is a good example of multiple perspectives: I know there are others who would look at my life and think "Poor Julia, no husband, no children, all alone in the world, nothing to distract her." Ha! And there are still others who think "If Julia would only be more involved in the world she wouldn't spend so much time navel-gazing; just think what she might accomplish." And my mother: "Julia, if you would just do something instead of thinking so much!" Those, and other, views have come from inside as well as outside at various times in my life. The perspective in the opening sentence is the one I'm working with these days.)
I have always worked in the non-profit sector. It's less demanding, I think, than the for-profit world. It's also less lucrative - in terms of dollars. It's much more lucrative than the average American corporate job in terms of time. I get about a month off a year, maybe a little more.
For a long time I hoarded time off - I don't know why. Maybe I was subconsciously preparing for a time when I couldn't work; I really don't know. Now I have about a month coming (which I can't take all at once.) So I took a couple of extra days on this Labor Day weekend; I'll take a few more at the end of a conference I'm attending in October.
What I've realized over the last few years is that I need regular, extended breaks. Even though my medications keep me relatively healthy, there is still a lot I need to learn, a lot I don't do well, and life is simply more tiring than it would be if I had always been well, if I was better at dealing with people and situations.
I know, too, that I tend to lose my focus, or my perspective, if I don't take time for mental tune-ups. When I get to the point when work is keeping me awake at night, when I'm digging into clothes I haven't worn in months because everything is in a pile to be ironed, when I haven't eaten anything but frozen food or take-out in over a week - then it's time to take a break. I've lost focus, I'm running too fast in too many directions, things are piling up, and I've lost track of what's important.
I haven't really done much with this break -- some ironing, a lot of reading, some movies. Not as much writing as I expected, and probably more napping than was strictly necessary. (I finally finished Anna Karenina!)
Today, the fifth and last of my days off, I'm finally feeling a little peace. Whatever has been chasing me is quieted for now. I am rested; I can think. I can smile. I just now realized that I haven't been smiling lately.
I just bought some music by a new performer, Zee Avi, so I have something to listen to this afternoon if the temperature stays reasonable and I feel like finishing the ironing. In the meantime, I'm going to visit the bookstore, buy too many books, and take a notebook to the Japanese restaurant down the street, where I can drink sake, have lunch, and make notes.
In the next day or two I'll write about the priorities that floated to the top during this break.
For a long time I hoarded time off - I don't know why. Maybe I was subconsciously preparing for a time when I couldn't work; I really don't know. Now I have about a month coming (which I can't take all at once.) So I took a couple of extra days on this Labor Day weekend; I'll take a few more at the end of a conference I'm attending in October.
What I've realized over the last few years is that I need regular, extended breaks. Even though my medications keep me relatively healthy, there is still a lot I need to learn, a lot I don't do well, and life is simply more tiring than it would be if I had always been well, if I was better at dealing with people and situations.
I know, too, that I tend to lose my focus, or my perspective, if I don't take time for mental tune-ups. When I get to the point when work is keeping me awake at night, when I'm digging into clothes I haven't worn in months because everything is in a pile to be ironed, when I haven't eaten anything but frozen food or take-out in over a week - then it's time to take a break. I've lost focus, I'm running too fast in too many directions, things are piling up, and I've lost track of what's important.
I haven't really done much with this break -- some ironing, a lot of reading, some movies. Not as much writing as I expected, and probably more napping than was strictly necessary. (I finally finished Anna Karenina!)
Today, the fifth and last of my days off, I'm finally feeling a little peace. Whatever has been chasing me is quieted for now. I am rested; I can think. I can smile. I just now realized that I haven't been smiling lately.
I just bought some music by a new performer, Zee Avi, so I have something to listen to this afternoon if the temperature stays reasonable and I feel like finishing the ironing. In the meantime, I'm going to visit the bookstore, buy too many books, and take a notebook to the Japanese restaurant down the street, where I can drink sake, have lunch, and make notes.
In the next day or two I'll write about the priorities that floated to the top during this break.
...and How it Went
It went well, actually. Most people my age talk about drinking more than they actually drink; we have all (all who aren't actually alcoholic) paid the price of hangovers and alcohol-induces errors in judgment and have had enough.
So we had just enough to drink to unkink the muscles and the shyness, from which I suspect all three of us suffer. We were in the country, deep in a woods, and spent much of the evening simply watching the changing light on the leaves. There was the most beautiful old - ancient - oak tree, with knarled, twisted, angled limbs. I've never been able to draw, but I know if I lived in that house I would spend hours trying to draw that tree.
The word "gloaming" comes to mind, from the old song - 'In the gloaming, oh, my darling, when the lights are sad and low / In the quiet shadows falling, softly come and softly go.'
So, I didn't drink too much, I didn't try too hard to be funny, and I didn't talk too much. I did find that as I drove away, composing a mental thank-you note, I wanted to apologize for any number of things. It took a while to convince myself that I had nothing to apologize for.
So we had just enough to drink to unkink the muscles and the shyness, from which I suspect all three of us suffer. We were in the country, deep in a woods, and spent much of the evening simply watching the changing light on the leaves. There was the most beautiful old - ancient - oak tree, with knarled, twisted, angled limbs. I've never been able to draw, but I know if I lived in that house I would spend hours trying to draw that tree.
The word "gloaming" comes to mind, from the old song - 'In the gloaming, oh, my darling, when the lights are sad and low / In the quiet shadows falling, softly come and softly go.'
So, I didn't drink too much, I didn't try too hard to be funny, and I didn't talk too much. I did find that as I drove away, composing a mental thank-you note, I wanted to apologize for any number of things. It took a while to convince myself that I had nothing to apologize for.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Socializing
I've been invited to dinner at the home of some people I don't know well but would like to know better. I'm trying to think of the things I need to keep in mind:
- Stop drinking early so I can drive home; I really don't want to overdrink and have to spend the night.
- Remember that years of depression gave me a sense of humor; I can be very funny, and it isn't necessary to try too hard.
- If I pitch my voice low and speak a little more slowly than usual, my tongue won't (I hope) outrun my brain.
As usual, not knowing what to take with me, I'm taking too much -craft root beer and ginger ale, chips and salsa, and a key lime pie I couldn't resist at the store.
I haven't written as much lately because I've been working on two goals: trying to shut the work project off when I leave the office (I've watched several movies this week), and trying to get through "Anna Karenina." Forty-five pages left; maybe I can do it before I leave for dinner.
- Stop drinking early so I can drive home; I really don't want to overdrink and have to spend the night.
- Remember that years of depression gave me a sense of humor; I can be very funny, and it isn't necessary to try too hard.
- If I pitch my voice low and speak a little more slowly than usual, my tongue won't (I hope) outrun my brain.
As usual, not knowing what to take with me, I'm taking too much -craft root beer and ginger ale, chips and salsa, and a key lime pie I couldn't resist at the store.
I haven't written as much lately because I've been working on two goals: trying to shut the work project off when I leave the office (I've watched several movies this week), and trying to get through "Anna Karenina." Forty-five pages left; maybe I can do it before I leave for dinner.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Cognitive errors
Recent events - my friends' illnesses, looking back through my journals, and an incident with my sister - reminded me of the list of cognitive errors that I used to keep.
I read a bit about cognitive therapy of depression - including the book by that name by Aaron Beck - when I was diagnosed and trying to straighten out my thinking. The book lists a half-dozen or so errors in thought commonly found in depressives. The one I want to talk about today is "excessive responsibility." It's an idea that depressives often have - that we are responsible for everything negative.
Here's a small example of how it works.
One day I was sitting in the doctor's office crying away about something - probably sheer relief that someone knew what I was dealing with, and could help me - when I realized the tissue box next to my chair was empty. Doc got up to get another one from the closet, and I began to apologize. (Probably profusely, as I was upset to begin with.)
I was focused on the fact that I had interrupted our talk, and I had made him get up out of his chair (he was an older man - not old, but older.) He had to explain to me that, in a psychiatrist's office, people cry - it's apparently quite common - and as a psychiatrist it was his responsibility to keep supplies of tissues on hand, and if anyone needed to be apologizing, it wouldn't be me.
He was rather stern, and finished up by telling me that it was not necessary for me to apologize for living - something, I'm sure, that set me wailing again, as that was precisely what I had been doing for as long as I could remember. I apologized for everything.
Over the years I have gradually grown out of thinking that everything is my fault. I had to start hearing my own apologies, and then paying attention to what I apologized for, and to whether it was really my fault. And I'll give you an example of how that works.
This weekend my sister and I went to a concert, in my car. We left our purses locked in the trunk of the car - I picked up both of them, carried them to the trunk, and set them on the floor.
The next day she called me; she had lost an electronic key; would I go and check the trunk? I checked the trunk, and the floor where she had been sitting; there was nothing. I felt really bad; she had lost her key, and I couldn't find it. The feeling of being responsible for something bad was so familiar; it was only when I re-read the list of cognitive errors that I realized what was going on. I had, after all, picked up her things with care, and placed them in the trunk in the same way. I'd searched the parts of my car where she had been, and I shook out a blanket that had been in the trunk just in case something was caught in it. In the several square miles where her key might be, it was not in the six or so square feet of my car.
Her missing key was not my fault.
Even now, though, having figured out my cognitive error, there is still a tiny part of me that feels guilty...because my sister lost her key, and I couldn't find it.
While looking the journals I found a remark from Doc - of course I can't find it now but he was warning me against setting artificial hurdles for myself. I used to be very good at that; I think I believed that if I set myself a task and accomplished it, then People Wouldn't Figure it Out. The mask would stay in place.
The first book on the "books I'm reading" box is "Anna Karenina." It's been there for awhile; it's going to stay there for awhile; it's slow going and I have about 350 pages left. I read it long ago but didn't remember much. Why am I reading it now? Because I ordered a novel called "What Happened to Anna K." by Irina Reyn. It's Anna's version of the story.
Why didn't I just sit down and read the new novel? Why am I spending weeks on "Anna Karenina?"
I'm setting myself unnecessary tasks. The good news is that I know it, and if the book wasn't interesting, I'd have put it away by now.
Excessive responsibility. It's a real pain in the ass; if everything is truly your fault then everything you do is wrong, and you are wrong.
My thanks to my gray-braided doc for the fresh box of tissues.
I read a bit about cognitive therapy of depression - including the book by that name by Aaron Beck - when I was diagnosed and trying to straighten out my thinking. The book lists a half-dozen or so errors in thought commonly found in depressives. The one I want to talk about today is "excessive responsibility." It's an idea that depressives often have - that we are responsible for everything negative.
Here's a small example of how it works.
One day I was sitting in the doctor's office crying away about something - probably sheer relief that someone knew what I was dealing with, and could help me - when I realized the tissue box next to my chair was empty. Doc got up to get another one from the closet, and I began to apologize. (Probably profusely, as I was upset to begin with.)
I was focused on the fact that I had interrupted our talk, and I had made him get up out of his chair (he was an older man - not old, but older.) He had to explain to me that, in a psychiatrist's office, people cry - it's apparently quite common - and as a psychiatrist it was his responsibility to keep supplies of tissues on hand, and if anyone needed to be apologizing, it wouldn't be me.
He was rather stern, and finished up by telling me that it was not necessary for me to apologize for living - something, I'm sure, that set me wailing again, as that was precisely what I had been doing for as long as I could remember. I apologized for everything.
Over the years I have gradually grown out of thinking that everything is my fault. I had to start hearing my own apologies, and then paying attention to what I apologized for, and to whether it was really my fault. And I'll give you an example of how that works.
This weekend my sister and I went to a concert, in my car. We left our purses locked in the trunk of the car - I picked up both of them, carried them to the trunk, and set them on the floor.
The next day she called me; she had lost an electronic key; would I go and check the trunk? I checked the trunk, and the floor where she had been sitting; there was nothing. I felt really bad; she had lost her key, and I couldn't find it. The feeling of being responsible for something bad was so familiar; it was only when I re-read the list of cognitive errors that I realized what was going on. I had, after all, picked up her things with care, and placed them in the trunk in the same way. I'd searched the parts of my car where she had been, and I shook out a blanket that had been in the trunk just in case something was caught in it. In the several square miles where her key might be, it was not in the six or so square feet of my car.
Her missing key was not my fault.
Even now, though, having figured out my cognitive error, there is still a tiny part of me that feels guilty...because my sister lost her key, and I couldn't find it.
* * * * * *
While looking the journals I found a remark from Doc - of course I can't find it now but he was warning me against setting artificial hurdles for myself. I used to be very good at that; I think I believed that if I set myself a task and accomplished it, then People Wouldn't Figure it Out. The mask would stay in place.
The first book on the "books I'm reading" box is "Anna Karenina." It's been there for awhile; it's going to stay there for awhile; it's slow going and I have about 350 pages left. I read it long ago but didn't remember much. Why am I reading it now? Because I ordered a novel called "What Happened to Anna K." by Irina Reyn. It's Anna's version of the story.
Why didn't I just sit down and read the new novel? Why am I spending weeks on "Anna Karenina?"
I'm setting myself unnecessary tasks. The good news is that I know it, and if the book wasn't interesting, I'd have put it away by now.
Excessive responsibility. It's a real pain in the ass; if everything is truly your fault then everything you do is wrong, and you are wrong.
My thanks to my gray-braided doc for the fresh box of tissues.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
The Glass Mountain
When I was a child, I read a fairy tale about a glass mountain. The evil king had placed his beautiful daughter at the top of the mountain. In order to win her the prince had to climb the mountain - which was as slippery as ice - and give her a golden apple.
The way I "work on" myself reminds me of that glass mountain. I make progress so long as I keep trying, but in order to keep trying, I have to remember that two steps forward and one back is truly progress.
I come up with theories, or plans, or ideas, or motivations, and I work with them for a week or two or four, maybe - and then they fade away. Fortunately, with each of these mini-efforts, I end up with the seed of a new habit or understanding. Each seed keeps that net number of steps on the positive side.
Right now I'm sliding back from the two-fruits-a-day and adequate exercise plan I've been on for a month or so. I've been through this many times, though. I know that what I have to do is find a little inspirational reading, get back on the elliptical machine, and buy some fruit before I go to work in the morning.
I've been eating ice cream and packaged, prepared food. That's a good sign to me that something is troubling me. (Years ago, I drank my emotional concerns/unrest - or they went up in tobacco smoke. Now, I eat them - literally.)
I think by writing this blog I'm making myself look at some things that I haven't thought about for a very long time. Overall, I think that's probably a good thing, even when it's not particularly comfortable. But I need to make sure I handle the effects intelligently - and a quart of ice cream does not qualify.
Writing here isn't always as easy as I thought it would be. It makes the glass mountain a little more slippery. But on the whole, that's good, it keeps me from getting lazy - and as I recall, that's part of what blogging was supposed to do for me.
The way I "work on" myself reminds me of that glass mountain. I make progress so long as I keep trying, but in order to keep trying, I have to remember that two steps forward and one back is truly progress.
I come up with theories, or plans, or ideas, or motivations, and I work with them for a week or two or four, maybe - and then they fade away. Fortunately, with each of these mini-efforts, I end up with the seed of a new habit or understanding. Each seed keeps that net number of steps on the positive side.
Right now I'm sliding back from the two-fruits-a-day and adequate exercise plan I've been on for a month or so. I've been through this many times, though. I know that what I have to do is find a little inspirational reading, get back on the elliptical machine, and buy some fruit before I go to work in the morning.
I've been eating ice cream and packaged, prepared food. That's a good sign to me that something is troubling me. (Years ago, I drank my emotional concerns/unrest - or they went up in tobacco smoke. Now, I eat them - literally.)
I think by writing this blog I'm making myself look at some things that I haven't thought about for a very long time. Overall, I think that's probably a good thing, even when it's not particularly comfortable. But I need to make sure I handle the effects intelligently - and a quart of ice cream does not qualify.
Writing here isn't always as easy as I thought it would be. It makes the glass mountain a little more slippery. But on the whole, that's good, it keeps me from getting lazy - and as I recall, that's part of what blogging was supposed to do for me.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Illness
In the last few days I've had news from two friends - one an old friend who has been supportive of me for all the years I've known him; another a new, Interwebs friend. Both have recently spent time in psychiatric care of one sort or another - hospitalized for a few days.
I'll call them "OF" and "NF" - again, I won't abuse anyone's privacy on this blog.
OF taught me years ago to play my mental health cards very close to the chest - or, to be fair, I thought that's what he was teaching me; I may have got the message completely scrambled. But that's the lesson I learned, and one I have followed, with one exception (which I quickly regretted.)
NF simply announced, on the net board where his true name is known, that he'd been in a hospital for psychiatric treatment for nine days and he was glad to be home.
I was really quite surprised at his honesty. And he was well received, with comments about openness and trust and honesty, all of which were well deserved, and then a comment that openness "is the only way to go."
All of which I watched from deep in my own little Narnia, in my little mental-health closet, which seemed awfully small suddenly. It made me think about my own situation - some of that thinking healthy, some of it less so.
For example: as I read the conversations between NF and other members, I bent them a bit and reacted as though they were about me. That is, NF is brave and honest and open and therefore Julia is cowardly and dishonest and sneaky. Amazing how quickly the warped thinking comes back, isn't it? I finally convinced myself that the conversation was about NF, not me, and that just about everyone I know would understand my unwillingness to open the door of my closet.
It's also true that NF worked for himself for many years, and would be only too happy to do so again. I work for an employer, who would most likely not fire me if my history were known, but would certainly not trust me in the way I am currently trusted. And my field is a fairly incestuous one; word would get around unofficially, very fast, and my future earnings could be compromised. As a single woman of almost 50, I have only my own earnings to rely on. I'm not willing to put those at risk. So, although I found myself NF's ability to speak openly about his experiences, I'm glad I've never taken that step, and I'm happy for the lessons learned from OF - whether he taught them to me or not.
I also had to spend a bit of time thinking about the phrase "mentally ill." I will freely admit that I tend to avoid that phrase; for me it conjures up hearing voices and having a very slim relationship to reality - in short, people much sicker than I ever was (she says, praying that it was always true.)
I tend to think of myself as mentally healthy - as someone who was mentally ill, is now mentally healthy, will stay healthy as long as I take my medication, and will be mentally ill again if I stop. Even at that, I don't like the phrase "mentally ill." (Well, who does?) It just carries way too much baggage. While I don't mind choosing to stay in the mental-health closet, labeling it the mental-illness closet just seems to lock that door from the other side. I've never been hospitalized, and I want always to be in control of that lock.
Until society - more importantly, employers - have a better attitude about things, I'll just call it a salt deficiency. Lithium is made from lithium chloride, after all, and I wouldn't have to take it if I wasn't short of it, right?
Cowardly, maybe. Dishonest? I prefer "private." But I've been stable for 12 years, I'm still paying the rent, and I'm still putting money in the retirement account, and I'm not willing to give that up because other people are still hung up about words like "bipolar."
As for my old and new friends - I wish the best of health to them both, for a very long time to come.
I'll call them "OF" and "NF" - again, I won't abuse anyone's privacy on this blog.
OF taught me years ago to play my mental health cards very close to the chest - or, to be fair, I thought that's what he was teaching me; I may have got the message completely scrambled. But that's the lesson I learned, and one I have followed, with one exception (which I quickly regretted.)
NF simply announced, on the net board where his true name is known, that he'd been in a hospital for psychiatric treatment for nine days and he was glad to be home.
I was really quite surprised at his honesty. And he was well received, with comments about openness and trust and honesty, all of which were well deserved, and then a comment that openness "is the only way to go."
All of which I watched from deep in my own little Narnia, in my little mental-health closet, which seemed awfully small suddenly. It made me think about my own situation - some of that thinking healthy, some of it less so.
For example: as I read the conversations between NF and other members, I bent them a bit and reacted as though they were about me. That is, NF is brave and honest and open and therefore Julia is cowardly and dishonest and sneaky. Amazing how quickly the warped thinking comes back, isn't it? I finally convinced myself that the conversation was about NF, not me, and that just about everyone I know would understand my unwillingness to open the door of my closet.
It's also true that NF worked for himself for many years, and would be only too happy to do so again. I work for an employer, who would most likely not fire me if my history were known, but would certainly not trust me in the way I am currently trusted. And my field is a fairly incestuous one; word would get around unofficially, very fast, and my future earnings could be compromised. As a single woman of almost 50, I have only my own earnings to rely on. I'm not willing to put those at risk. So, although I found myself NF's ability to speak openly about his experiences, I'm glad I've never taken that step, and I'm happy for the lessons learned from OF - whether he taught them to me or not.
I also had to spend a bit of time thinking about the phrase "mentally ill." I will freely admit that I tend to avoid that phrase; for me it conjures up hearing voices and having a very slim relationship to reality - in short, people much sicker than I ever was (she says, praying that it was always true.)
I tend to think of myself as mentally healthy - as someone who was mentally ill, is now mentally healthy, will stay healthy as long as I take my medication, and will be mentally ill again if I stop. Even at that, I don't like the phrase "mentally ill." (Well, who does?) It just carries way too much baggage. While I don't mind choosing to stay in the mental-health closet, labeling it the mental-illness closet just seems to lock that door from the other side. I've never been hospitalized, and I want always to be in control of that lock.
Until society - more importantly, employers - have a better attitude about things, I'll just call it a salt deficiency. Lithium is made from lithium chloride, after all, and I wouldn't have to take it if I wasn't short of it, right?
Cowardly, maybe. Dishonest? I prefer "private." But I've been stable for 12 years, I'm still paying the rent, and I'm still putting money in the retirement account, and I'm not willing to give that up because other people are still hung up about words like "bipolar."
As for my old and new friends - I wish the best of health to them both, for a very long time to come.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Behind the mask
I've been thinking about this since I said it was in the works; the problem is that the further I get from thinking about the bad times, the harder it is to bring them into the present. The only way to get them to come to life again is to go back into the past and as we've already seen, that's not a good idea.
It's difficult to write about the isolation of depression, too, because to some extent we're all isolated inside our heads. I have no idea whether my own sense of isolation was greater because of my illness, or whether I was just like anyone else.
Given the situation, though, I think it unlikely that I was just like everyone else.
At its absolute worst, the mask was a visible (to me) gray screen between me and the rest of the world. It seemed to be two or three feet in front of me. But that was at the end, shortly before I was diagnosed. Before that, it was just a mask I wore that I hoped made me look "normal."
For most of my life, I had a strong sense that I was wrong - that I looked wrong, sounded wrong, felt wrong - I did not fit and I was trying to pass. The sense of wrongness started in grade school, but I think I was older, probably in high school, when I started trying to fake it. I hid behind the mask, knowing that if I dropped it, my wrongness would be visible; I would be found out.
I was living in a world of Miranda rights - I knew that anything I said could and would be used against me - not because people were out to get me, but because I continually felt I was saying the wrong things. Live like that for 20 or 30 years, and you slowly become afraid to say or do anything at all. (I just realized that I'm still a bit nervous when there are friends - or anyone - in my apartment; what part of me is showing, that shouldn't be?)
Or you say "to hell with it," and speak your mind - but your social skills are/feel so poor that you can't tell whether or not you even made sense. One too many times, and you lose your professional credibility. I tend to change jobs every 7 or 8 years; that's about how long it takes me to feel I've "screwed the pooch," so to speak.
I was at a family gathering this summer and heard my sister tell her daughter, "Poke me if I start talking too much." Shyness is a family trait, and in trying to overcome it, we all struggle with how much social chat is enough. I was surprised to hear her say that; I thought it was just me. That's when it struck me that I have no idea, really, how odd I am, how much of my self-consciousness is the scar from years of illness and how much is simple shyness.
I am getting better. I still hate large gatherings - I can never remember names or faces; I think it's from having spent so many years not looking people in the eye. That may never change. But I'm getting better at small gatherings and parties. In general, I can hold conversations and not be particularly anxious that I'm going to Expose Myself. But there's a sense of restraint - a sense that I shouldn't be too honest, or too open, or someone will know that something was wrong.
Now that I'm writing about it, it seems that I don't know any more about this than I did when I was ill; it almost seems as though I haven't advanced at all. But that's not really true. The level of anxiety is much, much lower, when it's there at all. I know that for the most part I'm as 'normal' and capable as everyone else, and most of the time I'm able to trust that.
And I no longer care so much about my place in someone else's view. It's far more important to me to be okay with myself in my own view, and I don't mean that in an "I'm Okay, You're Okay" kind of sense. I mean that most of the time these days, I like myself. I know where I've been and what I've come through, and I'm pleased with where I am. That's a huge achievement, and it gives me a place to stand. There will always be people who find me odd or unsympathetic or awkward - but that is more a matter of taste than anything else.
I've met a lot of people, and there are maybe a half-dozen I actively dislike. I'm guessing there are about the same number who actively dislike me. A half-dozen is not so bad. A half-dozen I can live with.
It's difficult to write about the isolation of depression, too, because to some extent we're all isolated inside our heads. I have no idea whether my own sense of isolation was greater because of my illness, or whether I was just like anyone else.
Given the situation, though, I think it unlikely that I was just like everyone else.
At its absolute worst, the mask was a visible (to me) gray screen between me and the rest of the world. It seemed to be two or three feet in front of me. But that was at the end, shortly before I was diagnosed. Before that, it was just a mask I wore that I hoped made me look "normal."
For most of my life, I had a strong sense that I was wrong - that I looked wrong, sounded wrong, felt wrong - I did not fit and I was trying to pass. The sense of wrongness started in grade school, but I think I was older, probably in high school, when I started trying to fake it. I hid behind the mask, knowing that if I dropped it, my wrongness would be visible; I would be found out.
I was living in a world of Miranda rights - I knew that anything I said could and would be used against me - not because people were out to get me, but because I continually felt I was saying the wrong things. Live like that for 20 or 30 years, and you slowly become afraid to say or do anything at all. (I just realized that I'm still a bit nervous when there are friends - or anyone - in my apartment; what part of me is showing, that shouldn't be?)
Or you say "to hell with it," and speak your mind - but your social skills are/feel so poor that you can't tell whether or not you even made sense. One too many times, and you lose your professional credibility. I tend to change jobs every 7 or 8 years; that's about how long it takes me to feel I've "screwed the pooch," so to speak.
I was at a family gathering this summer and heard my sister tell her daughter, "Poke me if I start talking too much." Shyness is a family trait, and in trying to overcome it, we all struggle with how much social chat is enough. I was surprised to hear her say that; I thought it was just me. That's when it struck me that I have no idea, really, how odd I am, how much of my self-consciousness is the scar from years of illness and how much is simple shyness.
I am getting better. I still hate large gatherings - I can never remember names or faces; I think it's from having spent so many years not looking people in the eye. That may never change. But I'm getting better at small gatherings and parties. In general, I can hold conversations and not be particularly anxious that I'm going to Expose Myself. But there's a sense of restraint - a sense that I shouldn't be too honest, or too open, or someone will know that something was wrong.
Now that I'm writing about it, it seems that I don't know any more about this than I did when I was ill; it almost seems as though I haven't advanced at all. But that's not really true. The level of anxiety is much, much lower, when it's there at all. I know that for the most part I'm as 'normal' and capable as everyone else, and most of the time I'm able to trust that.
And I no longer care so much about my place in someone else's view. It's far more important to me to be okay with myself in my own view, and I don't mean that in an "I'm Okay, You're Okay" kind of sense. I mean that most of the time these days, I like myself. I know where I've been and what I've come through, and I'm pleased with where I am. That's a huge achievement, and it gives me a place to stand. There will always be people who find me odd or unsympathetic or awkward - but that is more a matter of taste than anything else.
I've met a lot of people, and there are maybe a half-dozen I actively dislike. I'm guessing there are about the same number who actively dislike me. A half-dozen is not so bad. A half-dozen I can live with.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Taking Responsibility
During the time I was sitting zazen at the local zen center, I learned several chants. This one is very short:
All the karma ever created by me from beginningless greed, anger, and delusion born through body, speech, and thought I now fully avow .
The first few times, I had real trouble saying it out loud. I think it was first referred to as a "vow," and I don't do well with vows - had, in fact, decided I wasn't going to take any more vows at all, ever, no thank you. I really struggled with that; if I was going to chant, I wanted to know what I was committing myself to.
Eventually, as I learned more, I began to chant it every day, and I need to start doing that again.
The meaning is fairly simple. "Karma" means "action." So the chant is saying that all of my actions, and the results of my actions, if they arose from anger, greed, confusion, or general wrongness of purpose -- whether I said them, did them, or merely thought them - these things are my responsibility. (Please understand that this is what the chant means to me now; I don't speak for the zen center, and I don't expect that my interpretation would match theirs.)
The chant speaks of actions that arose out of anger and delusion; it does not say anything about actions arising from good will. But I needed to learn to take responsibility and ownership for my actions, no matter their origin.
When I was sick I never knew whether the outcomes of my actions were good or bad; I felt at the mercy of judgments I didn't understand and couldn't predict. I lived a very defensive life, a life lived in reaction to illness and the world around me.
To chant the repentance vow with honesty means that I trust myself to understand the origin of my actions - to understand the difference between anger and illness and good will. It means I know which of my actions needed more thought. It means I know myself well enough to understand my own intentions.
The Repentance Vow taught me a great deal about myself. I didn't realize until I wrote this post that it is still teaching me.
All the karma ever created by me from beginningless greed, anger, and delusion born through body, speech, and thought I now fully avow .
The first few times, I had real trouble saying it out loud. I think it was first referred to as a "vow," and I don't do well with vows - had, in fact, decided I wasn't going to take any more vows at all, ever, no thank you. I really struggled with that; if I was going to chant, I wanted to know what I was committing myself to.
Eventually, as I learned more, I began to chant it every day, and I need to start doing that again.
The meaning is fairly simple. "Karma" means "action." So the chant is saying that all of my actions, and the results of my actions, if they arose from anger, greed, confusion, or general wrongness of purpose -- whether I said them, did them, or merely thought them - these things are my responsibility. (Please understand that this is what the chant means to me now; I don't speak for the zen center, and I don't expect that my interpretation would match theirs.)
The chant speaks of actions that arose out of anger and delusion; it does not say anything about actions arising from good will. But I needed to learn to take responsibility and ownership for my actions, no matter their origin.
When I was sick I never knew whether the outcomes of my actions were good or bad; I felt at the mercy of judgments I didn't understand and couldn't predict. I lived a very defensive life, a life lived in reaction to illness and the world around me.
To chant the repentance vow with honesty means that I trust myself to understand the origin of my actions - to understand the difference between anger and illness and good will. It means I know which of my actions needed more thought. It means I know myself well enough to understand my own intentions.
The Repentance Vow taught me a great deal about myself. I didn't realize until I wrote this post that it is still teaching me.
Making plans
Deep depression made dealing with people incredibly exhausting. Being incredibly exhausted by social interaction for no reason I could identify (I didn't know I was depressed) made me feel incredibly inept, socially - so I struggled harder to be "acceptable" around other people.
Because of this downward spiral of energy and anxiety, it was very difficult to make any kind of social plans. In the months prior to diagnosis I reached a point where I would only accept a lunch invitation for the current day. I could be fairly certain how much energy I'd have in a few hours, but if you asked me on Tuesday to have lunch on Friday? Who knew what kind of shape I'd be in on Friday, whether I'd have the energy needed to make conversation?
For years, I fobbed off all social invitations with some version of "I'll see" or "I'll try." I generally ended up showing up, but I had to have that escape hatch.
This week I made reservations for a business trip, with a few days visiting friends tacked on at the end, and I realized I still have difficulty making plans. I'm much improved from the old days, but there are still areas where I hesitate, where commitment becomes difficult.
I have no trouble making plans for work. I think I've always been vividily aware that I don't really have a fallback for financial support - I am "it." (Even when I was ill, what reserves I had went to my job first.)
I have no trouble making plans for myself. I have traveled overseas, I routinely buy tickets for arts performances months in advance.
But social plans are still difficult. For nearly ten years I've lived less than 200 miles from my college roommate, and I've visited her once. (And on that occasion, behaved less well than I would have liked.)
I have dear friends who invite me to their home in the mountains every August and every Thanksgiving, and I have not been there in years. In fact, I decided on a whim to see them last year, not having thought things through, and had to cancel because driving for two days during the holidays to have a one-day visit just seemed foolish.
I need to work on this. I haven't been going out as much as I used to, and I think old habits of thinking have been sneaking up on me. The more I stay in, the more I will stay in.
Rather than jump in with both feet, and involve other people, I think I'll start making regular plans for myself - specific days, specific events, a week or more in advance. I've already started, by making plans to see a concert next weekend with my sister. Then I think I'll start making very specific plans that require me to be at a certain place, at a certain time, money in hand, ready to enjoy myself. Whether it's a movie or a meal or a play or an art exhibit, I need to remind myself that I can be relied upon.
But first, I need to make some hotel reservations for after the conference. As for my friends in the mountains - your turn is coming. I promise.
Because of this downward spiral of energy and anxiety, it was very difficult to make any kind of social plans. In the months prior to diagnosis I reached a point where I would only accept a lunch invitation for the current day. I could be fairly certain how much energy I'd have in a few hours, but if you asked me on Tuesday to have lunch on Friday? Who knew what kind of shape I'd be in on Friday, whether I'd have the energy needed to make conversation?
For years, I fobbed off all social invitations with some version of "I'll see" or "I'll try." I generally ended up showing up, but I had to have that escape hatch.
This week I made reservations for a business trip, with a few days visiting friends tacked on at the end, and I realized I still have difficulty making plans. I'm much improved from the old days, but there are still areas where I hesitate, where commitment becomes difficult.
I have no trouble making plans for work. I think I've always been vividily aware that I don't really have a fallback for financial support - I am "it." (Even when I was ill, what reserves I had went to my job first.)
I have no trouble making plans for myself. I have traveled overseas, I routinely buy tickets for arts performances months in advance.
But social plans are still difficult. For nearly ten years I've lived less than 200 miles from my college roommate, and I've visited her once. (And on that occasion, behaved less well than I would have liked.)
I have dear friends who invite me to their home in the mountains every August and every Thanksgiving, and I have not been there in years. In fact, I decided on a whim to see them last year, not having thought things through, and had to cancel because driving for two days during the holidays to have a one-day visit just seemed foolish.
I need to work on this. I haven't been going out as much as I used to, and I think old habits of thinking have been sneaking up on me. The more I stay in, the more I will stay in.
Rather than jump in with both feet, and involve other people, I think I'll start making regular plans for myself - specific days, specific events, a week or more in advance. I've already started, by making plans to see a concert next weekend with my sister. Then I think I'll start making very specific plans that require me to be at a certain place, at a certain time, money in hand, ready to enjoy myself. Whether it's a movie or a meal or a play or an art exhibit, I need to remind myself that I can be relied upon.
But first, I need to make some hotel reservations for after the conference. As for my friends in the mountains - your turn is coming. I promise.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Coming Attractions
Friday is often my most productive day, which could be a little discouraging if I let it.
My weekend is free and I hope to add at least two or three new pieces here. If focusing on the past felt scary, or an invitation to illness, then focusing on the changes I've made appears to be energizing and uplifting. And who can't use more of that, right?
Here are some of the topics I want to delve into in the next several days:
- When I was ill I lived behind a mask. Have I come out from behind that mask, or have I simply traded it in for a brighter one?
- I'm making plans for a brief vacation in the fall. The years of illness left a very clear mark on my ability to make plans, particularly social ones. How can I make myself aware of that influence, and address it when it shows up?
- I also want to read, think, and write about the ideas in "A Handbook for Constructive Living."
- One topic that is a little further out on the horizon is coping mechanisms - the ones I used to rely on, the maladaptions I've tried to eliminate, new techniques I might need. Somewhere in relationship to those issues is a discussion of money and depression.
The counter is beginning to rise faster than my own obsessive checking could account for - someone is reading this, which is a truly amazing feeling. Thanks for that gift. If this is the end of your week, I hope you have a chance to put your feet up and sip a glass of iced tea. For me, it will be a scotch and water. But I'm looking forward to it, because I'll be able to be here.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Focus, Part 1
I have a terrible time with focus. I don't have ADD; I can concentrate on things I enjoy. Most of my focus problem comes with getting things done - and particularly at work.
Over time I've bought book after book on time and task management. They generally help, if only for a little while. Sometimes all I want is a tool or a hack or a technique that will work in the short run.
I work in software maintenance, which (in my case) means that nothing is truly finished. We also write a lot of trial stuff that ends up being abandoned. If you get your kicks from solving one problem and moving on to another, this really isn't the best place to be.
For me, it helps to break everything into pieces and tackle them one at a time. Unfortunately I'm on a project now where a lot of my tasks are backed up due to missing pieces in other areas. In short, the project isn't going well, and it's sapping my energy.
One thing I need to do is enable the screen saver on my office system, and set up a marquee that says "Chop wood, carry water." It's one of those very old, very well-known Zen phrases that may or may not be terribly obvious. For me, it's a reminder to do the work that is at hand and do it well; when it's done move onto the next task, doing that one also as well as you can. It's similar in nature, I think, to the Zen phrase "Just this." Just this; what is in front of me is what I need to do; what comes after will make itself apparent in its own time.
I left my copy of "Constructive Living" at work, unfortunately. I want to re-read it in a concentrated fashion. A major tenet of Constructive Living is to be aware of, alert to, your feelings, but to act, nonetheless. It's so easy to get tied up in planning and what-ifs. That's what's tying me up in the office right now. My supervisor told me very plainly last week to enjoy the process we're in because the result isn't really predictable, but I'm struggling because I want to know where I'm going - otherwise how will I know whether I've succeeded?
Oh. Because the project will be over and I will have my sanity, my fingernails, sobriety, etc. Because the project will be over and I will not have allowed it to "own" me. (And if I concentrate and work well at the office, the project won't have to own me.)
Those ideas - "Chop wood" and constructive living - are two different philosophies on how to proceed, of course, but either of them is more helpful than the complete lack of focus I've been struggling with. Whichever one helps me focus at a particular time, works for me.
As for hacks - small tricks - I've noticed that I work better, the more formally dressed I am. I work in a very casual environment, so dressing up tends to make me stand out - not always a good thing. But I think I'll have to dig through the closet and dress up a bit more than usual tomorrow. The more professional I feel, the more professionally I work - not always, but often.
These are exactly the kinds of things I mean by "Thinking Constructively." It's a process of identifying the discomforts in my environment and/or in my thinking, and then figure out how to make them less uncomfortable or less important. I can change behaviors and thought patterns that aren't serving me well. I have to know what they are, know their effect, and come up with a way around or through them.
Over time I've bought book after book on time and task management. They generally help, if only for a little while. Sometimes all I want is a tool or a hack or a technique that will work in the short run.
I work in software maintenance, which (in my case) means that nothing is truly finished. We also write a lot of trial stuff that ends up being abandoned. If you get your kicks from solving one problem and moving on to another, this really isn't the best place to be.
For me, it helps to break everything into pieces and tackle them one at a time. Unfortunately I'm on a project now where a lot of my tasks are backed up due to missing pieces in other areas. In short, the project isn't going well, and it's sapping my energy.
One thing I need to do is enable the screen saver on my office system, and set up a marquee that says "Chop wood, carry water." It's one of those very old, very well-known Zen phrases that may or may not be terribly obvious. For me, it's a reminder to do the work that is at hand and do it well; when it's done move onto the next task, doing that one also as well as you can. It's similar in nature, I think, to the Zen phrase "Just this." Just this; what is in front of me is what I need to do; what comes after will make itself apparent in its own time.
I left my copy of "Constructive Living" at work, unfortunately. I want to re-read it in a concentrated fashion. A major tenet of Constructive Living is to be aware of, alert to, your feelings, but to act, nonetheless. It's so easy to get tied up in planning and what-ifs. That's what's tying me up in the office right now. My supervisor told me very plainly last week to enjoy the process we're in because the result isn't really predictable, but I'm struggling because I want to know where I'm going - otherwise how will I know whether I've succeeded?
Oh. Because the project will be over and I will have my sanity, my fingernails, sobriety, etc. Because the project will be over and I will not have allowed it to "own" me. (And if I concentrate and work well at the office, the project won't have to own me.)
Those ideas - "Chop wood" and constructive living - are two different philosophies on how to proceed, of course, but either of them is more helpful than the complete lack of focus I've been struggling with. Whichever one helps me focus at a particular time, works for me.
As for hacks - small tricks - I've noticed that I work better, the more formally dressed I am. I work in a very casual environment, so dressing up tends to make me stand out - not always a good thing. But I think I'll have to dig through the closet and dress up a bit more than usual tomorrow. The more professional I feel, the more professionally I work - not always, but often.
These are exactly the kinds of things I mean by "Thinking Constructively." It's a process of identifying the discomforts in my environment and/or in my thinking, and then figure out how to make them less uncomfortable or less important. I can change behaviors and thought patterns that aren't serving me well. I have to know what they are, know their effect, and come up with a way around or through them.
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