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.

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.

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.

...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.

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.

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.

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.