Public Service Announcement

"If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different

drummer.  Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away."

Excerpt from Walden - essay by Henry David Thoreau, 1854

"Some say eat or be eaten / Some say live and let live."

"The Circle of Life" - song by Elton John, 1994

 

As I was running on my favorite trail this morning, I played the pass game with a couple of women in their mid- to late-thirties.  (The pass game = you pass me, I pass you, and so on.)  While running in front of them for a short time, I heard one of the women talking about a friend of hers who lives in Chicago.  Here is how the conversation went:

Woman 1: Yeah, there's a big group of us who have gone to the cottage every year.  Now we're all married, so all of our kids are getting to do the cottage now, too.
Woman 2: That's so great.
Woman 1: I do have one friend who isn't married, but she still comes along.
Woman 2: She just never got married?
Woman 1: Yeah, and now she never will because she's just too set in her ways.
Woman 2: (Sympathetic noise of agreement.)
Woman 1: We tell her all the time she needs to be on Match.com or eHarmony or one of the Catholic sites, but she won't listen to us.  We just keep telling her that she needs to put herself out there or she's never going to meet anyone.
Woman 2: (Some sort of agreement, again.)
Woman 1: So, she's all the kids' "Auntie", and she is good at that.  [Said in a patronizing sort of way.]

At this point, I had to walk, so they passed me.  Once I worked up a bit more steam, I passed them again, and as I was doing so, this is what I heard:

Woman 1: You know, by that age, everyone has kids.

I think at this point, I walked on purpose so they could pass me and I wouldn't have to hear their "thoughts" on the Adult Checklist any longer.  Here's what I wish I could have said:

Me: You know, you aren't doing your single friends a favor when you tell them that they "should" be doing certain things in order to meet someone or unless they do something specific that they "never" will meet anyone.  Those ideas are not encouraging or helpful. Furthermore, clearly you see the Adult Checklist as a Rule rather than a Guide.  Let's remember that everyone has their own race and their own pace.  Just because your race and pace seems to be similar to all of your friends' doesn't mean that this girl's race or pace is obsolete or defective.  Give the girl a chance.  You seem to think that you know what's going to happen in this girl's life, but you don't really know anything that's going to happen.  Life is (hopefully) long and no one knows what is coming down the pike.  Even more than that, please don't disparage the role that single people play in your life.  Being the "Auntie" is important and being able to come alongside married friends and support them in their race is something that many single people see as a way to be a true friend. How about you turn around and be just as supportive to your friend and stop making her feel like she is going to be an old spinster or like she is settling for second best because she is "just" the "Auntie"?  Marriage and motherhood don't make your life better or more valuable than hers.

Okay, rant done.  But...seriously.  Let this be my Public Service Announcement (like one of those "The More You Know" commercials) about how not to treat your single friends.

*****

Please count this little post as my June contribution, and I'll finish up my technology thread for July.  I'm in the process of moving, so it's been hard to sit down and write.  But my mind is always working, and I will be back on the writing wagon soon enough.  Thanks for your understanding!

The Line, Part 1

“Life moves pretty fast.  If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”

Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, movie with Matthew Broderick, 1986

Back in November, I finally broke down and got myself a smart phone.  I had been a staunch avoider of the technology upgrade, but cost-wise it made more sense than continuing with my dumb phone, so I gave in.  In the six months since, I’ve thought a lot about how that phone has affected my life.  I realize this seems like an over-the-top thing to do – Just use the phone, Karen…don’t think about it so much – but since I’m me, I can’t help but think about it.  Many of those thoughts have centered on the idea of mindfulness, and that’s what I want to write about today.

“Mindful” is defined as “having in mind; aware or careful (of)” and is an adjective – a descriptive word.  (Ex. Susan was mindful of the fact that her grandmother couldn’t walk very fast.)  “Mindfully” is also included in the dictionary entry since it’s a form of the word “mindful”.  It is not directly defined, but it is an adverb – a word that explains how something is done.  (Ex. Susan mindfully slowed her own walking pace.)  “Mindfulness” is also listed, also not specifically defined, and it is a noun – a thing or an idea.  (Ex. Susan’s mindfulness was noticed and appreciated by her grandmother.)

What I like about the word “mindful” is that it is not a passive word.  It suggests intention – doing something on purpose.  To suggest that a person could do something both “mindfully” and “without thinking” is impossible.  One cancels the other.

How does this connect to my smart phone?

If someone asked me how having a smart phone has affected my life, I would say that it has made me less mindful of what’s going on around me and in my own life.

Now, before you quit reading this because you think it will be another rant and rave against technology, give me a second.  I am someone who has a love/hate relationship with technology.  I see what it’s doing to erode human connection and dismantle our ability to actually communicate.  However, I also have come to see how technology encourages a healthy lack of mindfulness.  And I’m going to talk about both.  So, stick with me.  J

I’m not sure why I’m so wary of technology (and always have been).  I think it is rooted in the fact that I want to see and touch things so I can understand them fully.  I need to be able to underline quotes in my books, flip through pages of my planner, and print out my pictures.  I still buy CDs so I can check out the liner notes and lyrics.  I have a place where I keep old letters and cards, some from as far back as third grade.  I don’t want my life to be virtual; I want it to be tangible.  While I’ve blissfully forgotten most of physics, I do remember that “matter” is “anything that has mass and takes up space.”  For something to matter in my life, it, too, must take up space.

“Space” carries a lot of connotations.  It can mean a spot in a room or a house.  It can mean time spent.  It can mean emotional effort.  For me, technology means less space.  Instead of a small box of letters, I have email folders where I archive all my emails (which I rarely go back and read).  Instead of taking the time to call a friend or send a note, I often will send a text or message them on Facebook (which takes less time and effort).  I slowly find myself taking more pictures with my phone (which will never be printed out).  Don’t get me wrong.  Progress isn’t always a terrible thing.  But what I struggle with is that, in many instances, less space equates with less meaning, less “mattering.”

For a long time, I didn’t have a Facebook.  To be honest, the only reason I got one three years ago is because I started a business and felt I needed an online presence.  While it hasn’t hurt me at all to be on Facebook – it really is lovely to see people’s children as they grow and to be able to keep up with people who live far away – I have a hard time saying that it has helped me.  I waste a lot of time on Facebook.  I find myself clicking on links and reading articles that do not enrich my life in any way.  Like everyone, I’ve indulged in some good, old fashioned Facebook stalking of people from college or high school instead of using that time to focus on people who are in my life now.  Are any of these things inherently bad?  Not really.  But do they lend themselves to a life lived mindfully?  Not really.

This is how I feel about my cell phone.  It hasn’t hurt me…but I remain unconvinced that it has helped me.  Do I appreciate my GPS?  Yes.  However, does my GPS make it possible for me to drive without paying much attention to where I’m going?  Yep.  Do I appreciate answering emails during the course of the day rather than having to wait until I get home?  Of course I do.  But does having the capacity to answer emails all day mean that my day is punctuated with emailing?  Yep, again.  Do I appreciate being able to Google anything that I can’t figure out?  Sure.  But does that mean that I passively depend on being able to look things up rather than trying to figure them out myself?  Absolutely.  Do I appreciate that I can fill time when I’m bored by checking out random websites and using different apps?  I do.  But do I also find myself turning to my phone as a panacea for boredom instead of enjoying a moment of silence or inactivity?  All the time.

“But Karen,” you argue, “isn’t it better to send a quick text and tell someone you’re thinking of them rather than planning to write them a letter or card and losing the moment?”  Or, maybe, “Karen, come on, do you really need to re-read letters or flip through photo albums?  You lived those moments, so it is just a waste of time to go back!”  You might even say, “Karen, seriously?  What’s so bad about checking your phone when you’re bored?”  If you argued those things, you wouldn’t be wrong.  I won’t deny that the ability to let someone know that they are on your mind exactly when they are on your mind is really great.  I also will admit that it can be easy to get wrapped up in the past and miss the present.  I won’t even argue with you that it can be a relief to have a way to pass what feels like empty time.  But there are flaws in that way of thinking, too.  On one hand, it puts “the moment” on a pedestal and overlooks the fact that, while “the moment” can be important, it cannot stand alone.  On the other hand, this vein of thinking simultaneously suggests that a wasted moment here or there doesn’t really matter and nothing is lost if we recklessly spend our time.

What I don’t want to lose is my sense of how each moment is a part of a larger picture.  I fear that we are turning into people who see “right now” as an independent entity and who forget that “right now” is just one of an impossible-to-count number of “right nows” strung together on a line – a line that is the backbone of our lives.  In fact, I think that line is sorely underappreciated.  The line is what calls us back to mindfulness.  It serves as a reminder that this moment is connected to the next one, that in order to understand “right now” we must also understand what is behind “right now.”

Here’s an example of what I mean.  Think about how people read the news in the past and how they read the news now.  In the past, the news arrived in the form of a newspaper.  Each story was its own piece, but each page had multiple stories, sometimes similar stories with different perspectives.  The stories were organized into general topics: front page news, sports news, financial news, fashion news, etc.  A person reading about finances in the United States would have easy access to news about finances in other countries, as well.  Context was clearer because stories were placed right next to each other.  As someone who grew up in a house where we got a paper every morning, I know first-hand that if you finish reading one story on a page, it’s pretty natural to just continue meandering through the other stories on the page.  Pretty soon, you’ve got a well-rounded picture of what’s going on in the country and in the world.

Now when I read news, I usually just scroll through headlines.  If a story sounds interesting, I’ll click on it.  If not, I keep scrolling.  When I read an individual story that sounds interesting, I am sometimes directed to similar articles, but I don’t have that same sense of how the story fits with other pieces of news.  I am essentially reading fragmented news.  This makes it a challenge to feel like I know what is happening in the world as a whole.  It is far more work to be informed in a well-rounded way.  Because it’s so much extra work to be well-informed, I, like many other people, replace being well-informed with being well-entertained.  Read multiple stories about the Middle East from a variety of news outlets in an attempt to understand the conflict?  Sorry, not enough time.  Watch goats perform the Game of Thrones theme song?  Done and done.  [Side note: This is not to say that the goats aren’t hilarious.  This video?  Worth your time.  Even if you don’t watch the show.]

Another great example (if I do say so myself J) is how people buy music.  It used to be that in order to add a song you liked to your personal collection, you had to either (A) stalk the song on the radio and push Record at the exact moment it started playing so you could have it on a tape or (B) buy the whole album.  Listening to a whole album from start to finish was a part of the experience of music.  Artists specifically ordered songs so they could create a whole message or feeling.  Songs were better understood in context, and it was possible to use one song on an album to help interpret another.

Since the advent of iTunes, people no longer buy whole albums.  Instead, they buy singles.  Obviously, this can be quite lucrative for certain artists who don’t have it in them to write/produce/perform a whole album of songs (which may be me being too generous – how many of these types of artists actually write or produce their own music?).  One hit wonders are probably in better shape now than they ever have been.  But I have to imagine that it’s pretty frustrating to legitimate musical artists (who do write and produce their own music) that they put the time and effort into an album only to have listeners focus on just one or two songs.  Sure, musicians make their money, but the integrity of what it means to be a musician is compromised.  They feed the arrogance of the listener by kowtowing to the notion that music doesn’t need a bigger picture.  It’s only the listener’s interpretation that matters, not the artist’s.   It would be the same as asking a friend a personal question, only listening to one sentence of his or her response, and then assuming you know the whole story.

In essence, what technology does is it allows us to ignore the bigger picture.  We can easily isolate information and interactions.  However, when we ignore the bigger picture, it’s easy to forget that it even matters.  Small events don’t require meaning because they aren’t connected to anything more significant.  When seemingly minor events lose meaning and the context seems less important, we lose our need to be mindful of what we’re doing.  Think back to that definition of “mindful” – “having in mind; aware of or careful of.”  There is a forward-thinking aspect to being mindful.  It begs the question: “What effect will this have?”  If we constantly skirt around the context of what’s going on, we also get to avoid a lot of contemplation about what our moments (particularly our decisions in any given moment) mean.  And here, finally, we reach the real problem: when we lose our need to be mindful, we lose our need to pay attention, and once we stop paying attention, we stop living our lives on purpose.

Maybe this is a bold statement.  Disagree with me, please, if I’m wrong.  But if someone lives without the bigger picture in mind, that someone is going to struggle to find a purpose in life.

Let’s be clear.  I don’t think that having a smart phone means I will lose all sense of purpose in my life.  I would never claim that.  But I think that technology like my smart phone makes it possible to stop noticing things, to stop thinking about things, to stop doing things.  Really doing them.  What I never want to see happening in my life is the things I own – the things that put me into a moment-driven existence – becoming the things that fill my day.  Because how I fill my day is how I spend my time.  And how I spend my time is how I spend my life.

As I discussed this topic with my friend Christina, I explained my thoughts about how we sometimes forget that our moments are strung together by a line.  She thought about that a moment and then so eloquently returned, “And that line is so short.”  I have to thank her for her thoughts (Thanks, Christina!), because I hadn’t given much thought to the idea of the line ending.  I had just thought about its ability to create structure and context.  But she’s right.  Because of that line, we must come face to face with the fact that our moments are not infinite.  For some people, I think this knowledge spurs them on to walk a line where they earnestly believe every moment of every day is important and life-changing.  (This can lead to a life full of the highest highs and the lowest lows because there is nothing in between.)  Other people try to force normal day-to-day moments to have as much meaning as truly crucial moments because, otherwise, what was the point of today?  (This can lead to exhaustion – it is a lot of work to make every moment count – and to an inability to realize when something actually is important – these people are like the Boy Who Cried Wolf, Life Edition.)  I can say with complete honesty that I’ve been on both ends of the spectrum as I’ve navigated through adulthood.  But this is where I have learned a few things from my smart phone and have come to believe that there is middle ground.  There is something to be said for mindfully choosing to spend time in a way that doesn’t really achieve anything great.  Mindlessness can be useful and healthy.

But that’s a blog post for next time.  Stay tuned!

The Glassmaker

There once was a very talented glassmaker.  He worked alone for many years and then decided to take on an apprentice.  Many young men applied, but the glassmaker was looking for very specific qualities: precision, patience, dedication, and a real desire to work with glass.  After weeks of searching, a young man walked into the shop and applied for the job.  The young man did not pretend to know all there was to know about glassmaking, as some applicants had done; neither did he feign wonder and awe as he looked around at the work the glassmaker had done.  He just asked a simple question: “Can you teach me?”  It was at that moment the glassmaker extended his arm to shake the hand of his new apprentice.

The apprentice started work the very next day.  He walked into the shop, looked around, and was surprised to see the glassmaker was not there.  Walking up to his new work space, the apprentice found two things – a piece of blue glass and a note.  Picking up the fragment and examining it, the apprentice felt an appreciation for its rich color and uneven edges made smooth over time.  He found a box in the shop and placed the glass piece inside after reading the note which simply said, “I have given you this piece of glass.  Another will be given to you tomorrow.”  He placed the box under his work bench, but straightened quickly when he heard the glassmaker coming down from where he lived above the shop.  The apprentice's first day went as quickly as an hour.

The second day was almost identical to the first – empty shop, piece of glass, note, work.  At first, the apprentice was able to keep track of how many days he had spent learning under the great glassmaker by counting the pieces in the box before dropping in the next.  Soon, however, there were too many pieces to count.  The apprentice could always tell what kind of day he was going to have by how he felt about that piece of glass.  Some mornings, he walked into the shop, full of anticipation, curious about the color, shape, and size of the day’s piece of glass.  Other mornings he felt indifferent about the colorful fragment and tossed it in the box without a second look.  Still other mornings he felt angry about the piece of glass, resentful of the glassmaker for not revealing to him why he was doing what he was doing.  No matter which reaction he had, there were always questions racing through his mind: Why am I doing this?  Am I supposed to know what to do with these?  What do these pieces of glass mean?  Most days, these questions were quieted by the simple act of beginning the day’s labor.  He was working so hard and learning so much that he barely had time to consider the strange morning ritual or its meaning.  The glassmaker made no mention of it, either.

Nine months into his first year with the glassmaker, the apprentice realized that the box was full.  It was then that he decided to bring the matter up with the glassmaker.

“Excuse me, sir?” said the apprentice.  The glassmaker looked up from his bench.  “The pieces of glass that you’ve been giving me every morning…well, the box is full, sir.”

The glassmaker smiled and said, “What should be done with those pieces of glass?”

Immediately anxious, the apprentice answered, “I’ve often wondered that myself, sir.  What would you have me do with them?”

“I believe,” said the glassmaker, “that I will leave that decision up to you.”

The apprentice felt afraid when he heard those words.  “But, sir!  I don’t know what I should do with them.  Can’t you give me some direction?”

“I have taught you for many days.  I entrust those pieces of glass to you.”  Without another word, the glassmaker turned around and continued to work.

The day was ruined for the apprentice.  He somehow managed to finish his own work, but his mind and heart were not in it.  All he could think about was this task that was looming large on the horizon.  That night, he tossed and turned for many hours, asking himself, “What does the glassmaker want me to do?”  By the time he arrived at the shop the next morning, he was exhausted and anxious.  The apprentice approached his work bench only to find a piece of red glass.  He threw it into the box with some force, and he tried to take deep breaths to slow his pounding heart.  However, as the glassmaker was coming down the stairs in his usual morning fashion, the apprentice felt his frustration boil over.

Spinning on his heel, he practically shouted, “How am I supposed to know what to do with these meaningless pieces of glass?  They are fragments…fragments!  Dull fragments of glass…useless trash!”  Looking at the glassmaker, he saw no anger or hostility in his face at all, just the patience that accompanies wisdom.  The apprentice immediately felt ashamed for his outburst, but he knew he couldn’t take back his words.  So he simply lowered his head and waited.

The apprentice heard the glassmaker’s measured steps as he walked toward the box of colored glass.  After a moment’s pause, the glassmaker said to the apprentice, “Come back in three days’ time and arrive before the dawn.”

Without a word and without looking up, the apprentice left the shop and spent the rest of his day wandering and thinking.  He knew he had been presumptuous and disrespectful; he worried that he had ruined his wonderful opportunity with the glassmaker.

“I’ve learned so much from him,” thought the apprentice, “and now I have insulted him.”  He fully intended to arrive in three days and be asked to pack up his things and leave.  “How could I have been so stupid?” he wondered.

On the day he was supposed to return to the shop, the apprentice woke up very early and readied himself, his heart heavy in his chest.  Not knowing what to expect, but still expecting the worst, he walked toward what he assumed would be a terrible day.  The tinkle of the bell that hung outside the door of the shop announced the apprentice’s arrival.  The glassmaker was already at his work bench, and the apprentice just stood at the door, waiting for a clue of what to do next.

The glassmaker turned around, a genuine smile on his face, and said, “Welcome back.  Let me show you something.”

The apprentice followed the glassmaker across the shop and toward a door that had always been locked.  The glassmaker turned the key, opened the door, and motioned for the apprentice to enter the now-unlocked room.  Silence reigned as the apprentice stared at what the glassmaker had so obviously wanted him to see.

It was dark outside, but the stained-glass window in front of him was still quite visible.  He could make out a pastoral scene – sheep, grasses, hills, flowers, clouds, and trees.  Off in the corner, a shepherd watched over the hills with a serene and steady eye.  The apprentice began to weep as the glassmaker began to speak.

“You were correct when you said that the box contained fragments.  But you were wrong when you said they were meaningless.  These pieces of glass can only be understood once they are placed side by side.”  He pointed at the red piece from three mornings ago.  “Alone that is a misshapen fragment of glass.  But next to the other misshapen reds, the odd-looking greens, and the jagged yellows, it becomes the bloom of a flower.”  He touched each piece as he spoke.  “And look at what these blue fragments create together – a sky that is clear and open.”  He paused and placed his hand on the apprentice’s shoulder.  “You must understand that it is the pieces that create the whole.  No piece is more important than another, and without each piece the window would not be complete.”  The apprentice nodded, still overwhelmed with emotion.

“It was also not entirely incorrect to say these pieces of glass are useless trash.  To some, they might seem to be.  But to someone like me, a glassmaker, these beautiful fragments are filled with potential.  Each piece’s usefulness becomes obvious when we look at this window.”  Again he pointed to particular shards as he spoke.  “This one was the exact shape I needed to construct the crook of the shepherd’s staff.  Those pieces there fit together to create this sheep.  Without the way that one is cut, the hill would seem to be flat.  Each piece’s shape is different than the next, but each one matters in the creation of the window.  Do you understand?”  The apprentice nodded again.

“But there is more,” spoke the glassmaker.  “You were telling the truth when you said these pieces of glass are dull.  Just looking into the box, it was hard to discern their color, their texture, their beauty.  Glass reaches its full potential when it is placed in the light.”  He paused, and the apprentice realized that the sun had been rising as the glassmaker had been speaking.  The window was taking on an entirely new appearance – the colors brilliant, the nuances obvious, the beauty breathtaking.  Softly, the glassmaker said, “It is only once the sun shines through these pieces of glass that they become all they were meant to be.  It is only the light that gives the glass life.”  No more was said as the glassmaker and his apprentice stood basking in the sunlight and drinking in the beauty of the window.

Finally after a long silence, the glassmaker said, “I have much to teach you if you are willing.  I will help you become a glassmaker, but you must learn to see glass differently.”

“I will, with your help,” replied the apprentice.

The next morning, there was a piece of green glass and an empty box waiting for him.

Why Missing a Few Teeth Doesn't Have to Be a Bad Thing (Or, "On the Olympics and Working, Part 2")

As I’ve continued thinking through my last post about the Olympics and work (and why, at the end, I said that I felt that I hadn’t come full circle), this is the particular part that sticks out in my mind as “unfinished”:

Perhaps why I have loved watching the Olympics so much these last few years is because Olympians have challenged me to see more clearly my journey toward work I love.  Specifically, these amazing athletes have shown me the power of (A) try-try-trying again (also known as “making choices”) and (B) refusing to be afraid (also known as “making choices”).

When I first started writing about this topic several years ago, I spent a lot of time contemplating fear and disappointment and how those two ideas play a part in decisions about work.  Over the last couple months, I've kept those paper-bound ruminations close by.  I kept trying to find a way to adapt what I wrote in 2008 into a whole post, but it wasn't working.  So instead, here are some snippets of the thoughts that I had.  Some of it will sound familiar since I used it in last month’s post.

No longer do people ask what you want to be.  Now it becomes what are you going to do?  Not what do you love, but what are you good at?  (Thus implying that those are mutually exclusive.)  And after you get cut from the varsity baseball team, your mom sighs and says, “Let’s find something else to focus on.”  Inevitably, it’s working at the local sporting goods store or another variety of “almost…but not quite.”  Perhaps why so many people hate high school is because it is when they feel they should let go of “impossible” dreams and learn what the road to practicality looks like.  For four years, teenagers find things they love – things they could do all day – only to discover that “you can’t make a living doing that.”  And that's when they hear the death knell to their dreams.

***

My job right now is tolerable, but I can’t shake the nagging thought that I spend every day helping someone else love work more while I love it less.  I think it goes back to the idea that some of us take it better than others that what we really want to do won’t make us money.  We trade the security of knowing who we are and what we love for the security of paying our bills on time.

***

I figure I have to care about working in some capacity, or I would do very little voluntarily.  It’s not like I have a little man sitting on my desk, bull-whipping my hands whenever they are idle.  No, there is something else that keeps me moving 80% of the day – fear.  Fear that I’ll get caught emailing during work; fear that if I don’t finish tasks fast enough, my boss will yell at me; fear that if someone caught me off-guard and asked me what I was doing when I really was reading online news for the fifth time today, I wouldn’t be able to answer in a legitimate work-related fashion; fear that poor performance means I won’t get a raise.  Since when did fear become my primary motivational force?

***

I wonder how many women are living with fear as their sole stimulus.  We are afraid of getting fat, of being “old maids”, of having imperfect children, of our mothers’ opinions, of being unsuccessful, of ourselves.  After a while, we forget that we have a voice, as well.  We only have to hear the stealthy footstep of fear and immediately we stand at attention…and do what we think we “should.”  What a terrible word “should” is.  There’s a touch of finality when that word is uttered, even though the action technically hasn’t happened yet.  So many people (including myself) say it on a regular basis.  How many things do we tell ourselves we “should” do, when in reality it’s just the fear of what will happen (and what others will say) if we don’t?  Why does fear get to win?

***

There are people who have inspired me in one way or another.  And I maintain my stance that these people I put on a pedestal are not much different than I am.  However, I do believe it comes down to this fundamental fact: amazing athletes, people who do heroic things, and people who choose to live their lives pushing against the norm have one thing in common – they have chosen to ignore the influence of fear and “should.”  Each incredible person at one time or another has looked fear in the eye and chosen to walk away.  “Should” has no dominion over them.  And sometimes it doesn’t go as planned.  Muscles pull; mental toughness gives way; life disappoints; heroes don’t always win.  However, each time we see these incredible people put fear back in its proper place, we must recognize that a crucial battle has been won.

These sound bites have given me a springboard to evaluate (and re-evaluate) what I wrote about the Olympics and work last month.  In particular, by using them to think through last month’s “unfinished” ideas, I realized that I needed to amend my words.  I don’t think that “refusing to be afraid” is feasible or even possible.  I think what I had hoped to (but failed to) convey is exactly what the group of quotes above discusses: the idea that fear is real.  It can be a result of a variety of things – disappointment, failure, baggage, childhood, or a lack of confidence (among other things).  Whatever its origin, fear is a motivating force.  It can be hard to escape, and sometimes it’s the loudest voice we hear.  But we don’t have to give in to it.  We don’t have to let fear control us.  Despite that fact, I do believe we cannot always control the fact that we feel afraid, and that’s okay.  Giving fear a name is an important part of dealing with it, and we can only do that if we acknowledge it exists.  Furthermore, it can be difficult to make choices about how best to wade through fear if we haven't even admitted we're afraid.  So, I stand by what I wrote (in theory), because it is true that we have choices when it comes to fear. How we deal with fear is a choice.  But I would like to adjust my parenthetical claim that refusing to be afraid is always a choice.  J

Not to be left out of the adjustments, “Try-try-trying again” really should have been Point B up above and “Refusing to give in to fear” should have been Point A.  If someone is afraid of doing something they have just tried to do unsuccessfully, telling them things like "practice makes perfect" and "all you have to do is try again" can seem condescending. (Think of it like telling a recently single person that "there are other fish in the sea."  Not helpful.)  The fear of failing for a second (or third) (or fourth) (or more than fourth) time is one of those loud voices I mentioned above.  That voice can halt forward progress and delay personal growth.  It is a time usurper.  Now, we each have to work at our own pace, and taking time to deal with fear is necessary and healthy; but I believe that our ability to try-try-try again is a direct result of our choice to refuse to give in to fear.  It is usually once we decide that we are not going to be quelled by fear any longer that the prospect of try-try-trying again no longer seems daunting and nearly impossible.  And once we see fear for what it really is - one motivating force among many - it can become easier to see the benefit of trying again, of choosing to be motivated by something other than fear, of seeing failure as a step in the process rather than the end of the process.  I mean, when it comes to the choices we make as adults, it’s so easy to see failure as a final answer.

The truth?  Sometimes failure is a final answer.  Also the truth?  Sometimes it’s not.

Learning to determine if one failure “is” or “is not” is one of the more difficult aspects of growing up (I think).  It’s the difference between a TKO and a slow rise off the mat.  Admitting defeat takes courage, and giving yourself the permission to walk away can be as frightening as continuing to fight.  Then again, if you decide that you’re going to get up and keep fighting, you might have to face up to the fact that you’ve lost some teeth.  Your trainer may need to squirt water on your face a second time before you’re ready.  The crowd may be heckling you into believing you're finished.  But if you know that you have fight left in you, ignore the naysayers – especially the naysayer that resides somewhere inside your own head.  If you know it’s your moment to try-try-try again, you don’t have to explain it to anyone except yourself.

The truth?  You may fail again.  Also the truth?  You might not.

I believe that I will someday find work that I love.  For now, it’s worth the fight.  A few lost teeth are a small price to pay.  At some point in the future, that may not be true.  I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.  However, as I continue to evaluate my own progress in my own fight, I am thankful for the Olympics and the thoughts that they have helped me to think for the last two months.  And I will continue to be inspired by the choices Olympians make in order to live their own version of a successful life – being who they are while doing something they love.

On the Olympics and Working

I don’t watch a lot of TV.  I have specific shows I keep up with, but I don’t come home after work and flip on the TV.  I don’t have cable and don’t have a DVR.  I do binge-watch shows on DVDs checked out from the library.  But all in all, I can’t say that television is a major focus of my day.  However, that all changes when the Olympics roll around.  For the two weeks previous, I’ve been pretty much obsessed with what was going on in Sochi.  I would watch the Today Show every morning to see interviews with winning (and losing) athletes.  If I had some time in the middle of the day, I’d grab my remote right when coverage started at 3pm.  Once I got home from work, the first thing I did was turn on the television.  Two years ago, I had the same routine with the London summer Games.

I love sports.  If I did have cable, I think the likelihood is high that ESPN would be my go-to background noise.  But the Olympics seem to be different than just flipping on an average basketball or football game.  (Just to clarify, “average” means the same as “random”.  Watching my teams play is a totally different experience and separate from what I am about to say.)  When it comes to the Olympics, I am far more invested in what’s going on in front of me, and I feel like I care more about the athletes.  I’ve been thinking a lot about why that is, and I have a couple ideas.  I would guess it is partly because of the patriotic aspect of the the Olympics.  I can identify with the American athletes simply because they are American.  It may also be because the Olympics are a one shot deal.  If a baseball player has a bad game, he gets a bajillion more tries.  Olympians do not have that luxury.  The central idea I have been chewing on the most has to do with work, though.  Odd, you say?  Follow me.  J

I’ve had some trouble finding a job that makes me happy.  (If you’d like to take this moment to look up “understatement of the decade” in a dictionary, I believe you will find this statement.)  For most of my twenties, I was in a work situation that I would consider a holding pattern, a temporary fix to a very big problem.  Much time has been spent trying to figure out why this average adult decision has given me so much trouble.  I went through college without ever questioning the line of work that I chose: teaching.  In fact, despite all my angst, I still don’t question that I am gifted to be a teacher.  I think what’s taken me a long time is how to teach and be a happy, healthy adult at the same time.  So, my work life is punctuated by spurts of classroom teaching jobs mixed in with various office jobs.

I guess no one can accuse me of not trying to figure out (a) what the problem with classroom teaching is and (b) whether or not I should completely start over in the job department.  I’ve been to career counseling; I’ve researched graduate schools; I’ve tried new lines of work; I’ve applied for countless jobs; I’ve taken aptitude tests; I’ve talked with friends and family; I’ve interviewed completely random people about their jobs; I’ve quit jobs without new ones.  But everything I’ve done has led me back to the slightly frustrating fact that what I love and what I’m good at is teaching.

Growingworking is so mind-numbingly up, I feel like no one tells the truth about having a job.  The confusion starts when we are very young.  An all-too-common question posed to children is “And what do you want to be when you grow up?”  Poorly informed kids, groomed to believe that growing up and getting a job will be the pinnacle of their existence on earth, start to dream big at this point.  Doctor.  Lawyer.  Teacher.  Police officer.  Baseball player.  Singer.  The loftiest of dreams are brought to the table and, until about the eighth grade, encouraged.  I mean, when was the last time you heard an adult say to a small child: “Hmm…wanting to be a basketball player in the NBA sounds like a blast, but only 1.2% of college basketball players ever make it to the pros, so you miiiiight want to re-think that life plan.”  It’s probably not a comment you’ve heard very often.  Children are told they can be anything they want to be, and they play dress up with abandon, believing that they can become whatever it is they are imagining.

Starting right around high school, adults start to drop hints of what working really entails.  No longer do people ask “What you want to be?”  Now it becomes “What do you want to do?”  Notice:  the focus changes from what we are to what we do.  Because of this, many students choose a work path based on where they feel they excel or where they feel most comfortable.  “I’m good at math, so I will become an engineer” or “My dad owns a business, so I’ll study business, too.”  Of course, there is nothing wrong with playing to strengths and/or family experience.  I know plenty of people who have chosen their profession this way and have found great happiness.  But there also are plenty of people who find this way of thinking doesn’t pave the path to personal success.

I would posit that for people like me who struggle it is related to the fact that simply “doing” something isn’t enough.  I can look back on my twenties and know that my problem has centered around trying to find a job that marries “being” with “doing.”  For example, I started scribbling notes about this topic in 2008 when I was working at a law firm full time.  I was a receptionist and a legal assistant.  It was a good job with great benefits.  Sometimes the lawyers yelled at me, but most days were pretty easy, uneventful, and straightforward.  At the time, I needed some distance between myself and teaching, so working in a legal office seemed like as good a choice as any.  I was doing a job that paid my bills, had salary advancement potential, could have led to a career in the legal world, and meant a steady 9-5 schedule.  It was the kind of job that provided stability and structure.  None of these are bad things.  But I knew within about three months of doing that job that if I stayed there, I would eventually poke my eyes out with forks.  It was a job that was 100% “do” and 0% “be.”  I suppose the argument could be made that the “being” part of life happens (or should happen) outside of work, so a job doesn’t have to create room for that.  I think that can be true for some people.  But for me, a job that doesn’t allow for both is not a job I want to keep, and I wonder how many other people who have struggled to find meaningful work that they love would say the same thing.

I think this is where the Olympics – and Olympians – come into play.  When I watch the Olympics, I have a twinge of envy lurking in the back of my mind.  During February, I thought a lot about why that is.  While a small part of it is because of how freely (and legitimately) they can wear spandex in public, I think most of it is because the Olympics is a celebration of doing what you are.

There are two parts of that idea – the “do” and the “be”.  First of all, Olympians are people who spend their days doing their sport.  For many of these athletes, their sport is their whole job.  (Well, except for the curlers.  Apparently the American curling team was made up of a restaurant manager, a middle school science teacher, an engineer, and a college student.)  It seems like fun and games, but really think about making a sport into a profession.  I know people who love to ski on weekends, but I don’t know anyone who would be willing to spend six to eight hours every day of the week skiing and/or weightlifting and/or running and/or whatever else they have to do become Olympic skiiers.  A person who chooses to train for the Olympics has to allocate huge blocks of time to the training process.  Sacrifice and commitment must be at the forefront of an Olympian’s mind.  Sacrifice is never easy, but when a person is passionate about something, it is a choice that same person is willing to make.

Secondly, these Olympic athletes truly love their sport.  That might not seem extraordinary; everyone has things they love.  However, the level of commitment that Olympians have to their sport would suggest that whatever sport they are doing is more than just a hobby.  Here’s what I mean:  I love running, and I make time for running about three times a week.  It’s an activity that I love, but not an activity that defines me or my schedule.  However, when I trained for a marathon my senior year of college, running became a part of who I was.  It had to be if I was going to make the choice to parcel out the training time I needed.  Not that I was anywhere close to an Olympic marathoner, but during that process, I got a small taste of what it must be like to both “do” and “be” a sport.  Olympians have found a way to be who they are while doing what they love.  Without seeing their sport as an extension of themselves, I have to believe it would be hard to stay motivated.  I think this is why we are so drawn to the human interest pieces that news outlets cover during the Games.  If these athletes were just robots who did a sport, we most likely wouldn’t care.  But they aren’t robots.  They are real people, and as fellow real people, we want to hear more about who Olympians are.  What their motivation is.  How they have overcome obstacles along the way.  Why they do what they do.  These are the pieces that make Olympians human, and those human pieces are crucial to understanding why they have chosen to spend so much time doing their sport.

So, essentially, my envy of those participating in the Olympics is rooted in the fact that they spend all day doing something they are good at which is also a reflection of who they are and where their passions lie.  Looking again at the idea of work, I’ve often wondered why finding this perfect combination has been so difficult for me (and others).

I suppose a logical question at this point in the discussion would be something like this: “Umm…didn’t you say earlier that teaching was something you love and something you are good at?”  And I would respond, “Well, yes.  I did.”  Then there would be a slightly awkward silence since that’s the true answer to the question, and it doesn’t require much explanation since any explanation I would offer there would sound like excuses.  But after the awkward silence, I would say that finding this part of my identity is a work in progress.  Perhaps why I have loved watching the Olympics so much these last few years is because Olympians have challenged me to see more clearly my journey toward work I love.  Specifically, these amazing athletes have shown me the power of (A) try-try-trying again (also known as “making choices”) and (B) refusing to be afraid (also known as “making choices”).

Let’s all admit something difficult.  Olympic athletes are average people.  Not average when we consider they’ve qualified for the Olympics – which I recognize makes them part of a small percentage of the world’s population – but average from the standpoint that they are made of the same material you and I are made of.  Their material may be a bit more toned, but Olympians are people like you and me.  Again, I believe that’s why we love hearing about their backgrounds.  There is a “me, too!” quality to those stories.  [Side note: Blog post for another day is arguing for the fact that the point of storytelling – and art – is to create “me, too!” moments.]  The “me, too!” may not be related to athletic ability.  Even when we know that we aren’t physically capable of doing what they are doing, seeing athletes as people brings them down from the untouchable pedestal they often are placed on and then humanizes them.  I think it’s really important to establish the “we are all human” aspect of this topic before moving on.  If Olympians are super-human then there is nothing to be learned from them, only qualities to be admired or copied.  Learning implies application, not just emulation.  Emulation leads to the eventual (disappointing) realization that we are trying to be something we never can be.  Application leads to individual adaptation of what we learn from others and, hopefully, personal success.  I will never find success as a five-minute-mile marathon runner, because I’m not capable of running that fast.  However, I can find success as a nine-and-a-half-minute-mile 10K runner by applying the lessons I’ve learned from marathon runners.  When it’s all said and done, we all have our own version of the Olympics in our lives, and watching these athletes compete in their Olympics can challenge us to rethink how we compete in our own.

I have more to say on this topic, and I don’t feel like I have come full circle yet, but I feel like this is getting lengthy and like I need to think more, so I will stop for today.  Consider this Part 1.  J

A Face with a Name

About a year ago, my friend Annika posted a link on Facebook to this blog entry.  It is, perhaps, one of the best explanations I have ever read of how it feels to live with depression, and I encourage everyone to read it.  [Note: There is some profanity in the post, so consider yourself forewarned.]  If your first response to my encouragement to read that blog post is “Why should I read it when I don’t deal with depression on a regular basis?” then I would suggest you read it for the people in your life who do deal with it on a regular basis.  Or, just read it so you can better understand this blog post.

According to the National Institute of Mental Health, 16.5% of the adult population suffers from a “lifetime prevalence” of major depressive disorder.  6.7% of the adult population suffers from a “12 month prevalence” of major depressive disorder.  Major depressive disorder is “characterized by a combination of symptoms that interfere with a person's ability to work, sleep, study, eat, and enjoy once-pleasurable activities. Major depression is disabling and prevents a person from functioning normally.”  There is a difference between having a couple bad weeks and having major depressive disorder.  Everyone has times that are harder than others, and often depression can accompany those difficult times.  For most people, once those hard times get better, the feelings of depression diminish and, often, completely go away.  However, a person who has major depressive disorder cannot always attribute their symptoms to any particular life situation.  Life can be great and the feelings of depression can persist.  There isn’t a known cause of depression (in terms of why some people struggle with it and others don’t), but the chemicals of the brain – particularly dopamine, serotonin, and norepinephrine – have a large effect on why a person is or isn’t able to “snap out” of feeling blue.  In the same way that a person with diabetes cannot regulate his or her insulin, a person with major depressive disorder cannot regulate the chemicals in his or her brain, and this imbalance can lead to regular depression.  [Please note: There are many other factors that can contribute to depression, as well.  I don’t want to oversimplify a very complicated condition, but this is just one paragraph, so brain chemistry was my chosen focus.]

I’ve struggled with depression for…well…I don’t know how long.  Let’s start that sentence again.  I became aware of the fact that I was struggling with depression when I was twenty-two years old.  I would guess that I have struggled with it for much of my life, but twenty-two was when I finally put a face with a name.  Since then, I’ve tried many different options for how to manage my depression, and at thirty years old, I feel like I have a pretty good hold on it.  “Having a good hold on it” doesn’t mean I don’t struggle with depression anymore.  It just means the likelihood is very low that my depression will lead me to sleep the day away, drink to numb my feelings of sadness, cry for (what seems like) no reason, or believe my life is hopeless.  When I know I’m having a bout of worse-than-normal depression, I try to work out more, make an effort to talk about it with friends and family who know how to support me, and stay busy so my days don’t have much downtime where I could over-focus on how I’m feeling.

You might be wondering why I’m attempting to write my own version of the blog post I mention above.  "If it’s one of the best explanations of depression you’ve ever found," you say, "why re-invent the wheel?"  Here’s why: Because struggling with depression as a Christian is different than struggling with depression as a non-Christian.  I was re-reading that blog post the other day, and I was struck with the fact that at different points of her mostly-spot-on explanation, the blog writer suggests that life might not have any meaning, that everything is hopeless, and that there are no guarantees things will get better.  She suggests that she finds meaning in the fact that there isn’t any meaning and that hope can be found in that same place.  Each time I’ve read this post (before now), I’ve sort of passively dismissed that portion.  I’ve read it, but I haven’t paid attention to it because I already knew I didn’t agree.  But as I read it this time, I got thinking about how my own struggle with depression would change if I didn’t live in the hope that being a child of God provides.  Here’s what I realized.

Being a Christian allows me to see that my depression is a result of sin.  Not my personal sin.  It’s not a punishment.  But because of sin, our bodies aren’t perfect and parts of them don’t work correctly.  For me, that’s my brain.  I didn’t do anything to earn my depression and it’s not because of what’s happened in my life.  It’s just the way it is.  Someday, when Jesus comes back and I am in heaven, I will have a perfect body, and I won’t struggle with depression any longer.  Hurray!

That leads nicely into my next point: when I struggle with feeling like life is hopeless, I know that I can cling to a couple major promises.  The first promise is that I was made a child of God through my baptism, and the value of my life lies not in the things I do (or in the things I cannot do), but in the work that Christ did for me on the cross.  Life is never hopeless because I have hope in Christ.  I’m not responsible for creating hope.  Christ already did that for me.  Now, that might sound oversimplified to some who are reading this, and, honestly, I would have to agree.  On days when things are really bad, it’s not easy to tell myself that and believe it.  But my ability or inability to believe it does not make it any less true.

The second promise I believe is that this world is not my home.  This is a pretty messed up place, and, depression or not, I think I would always feel a little down about the state of the world.  Nothing in this world can provide me with the hope I need because nothing in this world has been untouched by sin.  The promise of heaven and eternity with God does give me a hope for the future that never falters, no matter how I’m feeling.

A third promise is that I am never alone, even when I am in the depths of darkness and feel like I am on my own.  Whenever that happens, I know that I can pray for God to make Himself known to me, and He does.  Whether it’s a friend calling out of the blue, being able to get ahold of someone who will listen to me, Bible verses that pop into my head, or finding something to fill my time, God gives me a way to stand up underneath my feelings of being alone.  I know that Satan uses my depression against me and tempts me to believe I have been abandoned by everyone, including God.  But God has also promised that He will provide a way out of temptation if I ask Him, and I believe that promise. Furthermore, I know that Jesus understands loneliness and isolation.  He was alone in the desert when the Devil tempted Him.  He was alone in the Garden of Gethsemane.  Most importantly, He was alone on the cross when He took all my sinfulness and brokenness upon Himself and made it possible for me to stand in front of God someday, free from sin and whole at last.

I will never be able to “conquer” my depression.  I will deal with it my whole life, and I will always need help to deal with it.  My depression is a daily reminder of the fact that I cannot do anything on my own.  Just like my sin should point me to the cross of Christ and remind me of how helpless I am to do anything about it, the bodily effects of original sin have the same result.  Because of my depression, I’ve been able to grow in my faith, knowing that I am dependent on Christ to provide me with what I need to get through every day.  I am constantly reminded that my humanity makes me weak, but like Paul, “when I am weak, then I am strong” (2 Cor. 12:10).  My weaknesses point me to the cross, and I remember that Jesus’ death and resurrection mean I will one day enjoy a life free from depression (among other things).  Until then, I have to ask that God would send His Holy Spirit to walk with me on a daily basis and that He would keep me safe from the sometimes-scary effects of depression.  I have confidence that He will remind me through the Word and people who love me that I am never alone in this fight.

In case you’re wondering, all of this is a lot of work.  It’s easier to see all of these things now that I’ve read about, discussed, and lived with depression for a good chunk o’ years. I’m sure that I will continue to learn more and find new ways to regulate what goes on in my brain.  However, that will be something I work at for the rest of my life.  I recently said to a friend: “The difference between living without depression and with depression is sort of like the difference between running a mile on a track and running a mile in the pool.” Every day isn’t a run-through-water kind of day.  Some days I don’t have to work hard to understand and manage my emotions or my brain.  But many days are like running through water.  In spite of that fact, I am able to wake up every morning with the knowledge that, by His grace, God will provide me with all I need to be able to “run with perseverance the race marked out for [me]” (Hebrews 12:1).

Best of all, I am never alone in that race.