Nanowrimo 2012

It's that time of year again:

Nanowrimo, for those that don't remember or aren't in the loop, is the annual Writing Exercise organized by the Office of Letter and Lights, a fine non-profit organization designed to get people writing.  It's a challenge in which thousands of people all across the country (and probably beyond as well) spend a month writing a 50,000 word novel.  It sounds like a lot - but it's an average of 1,667 words per day.

Okay, that still sounds like a lot.

This is my second year of participation.

Those who are sensible might ask the question why I'm doing this.  I did it last year of course, but didn't make it to the end.  That's okay - I tried, of course and even if I failed to complete the task I learned a great deal about writing and output  (biggest thing:  have a clear idea what you're writing about).

Part of the reason I'm doing this is that I'm at that point.  Having just put my second book to bed (literally yesterday) it's time to move on to the next thing.  Moss not growing, rolling stone, that sort of thing.

Another part of the reason I am doing this is that I want to try and reduce my cycle time. I went from one year to 4 months in creation.  Can I drop it more?  (Yes, I fully understand that editing is just as big a job as writing.  But it's a different kind of big job.  You're revising, not creating).

The last part of the reason I'm doing it is the same reason I'm doing other things this year:  because I want to push myself.

I've written about it before but it bears repeating:  many of the limitations in my own life are there because I put them there.  To simply surrender, to say "Nope, can't do that" is to let that part of my brain win that seems to revel in the fact of what it can't do.  To do this - to finish - is another step along the path of teaching myself exactly who is in charge and what I am capable of.  We will never find the limits of our lives and capabilities unless we keep pushing right up to the edge of them and discovering what they are - for me, I'm continually finding they are always much greater than what I thought them to be.

So come, Nanowrimo.  Let us test ourselves and see if my will to write is greater than my will to tell myself I can't.

Completed II

Book #2:  Published.

It happened over the weekend with not nearly the amount of sweat - or tears -  at the end as last time.  It took me some few hours to figure out the conversion to Kindle instead of the five days of last time.  I learned another valuable lesson as well:  wait until everything (Amazon, CreateSpace, and Kindle) is available before announcing they're available.

I'm happy about the book. It's not as long as my first one, but then again it's not meant to the same as the first one.  It's meant to answer a simple question - well, a question anyway, not so sure about the simple -  rather than propose a way of doing things. 

The interesting thing to me is how much less time this took than the first go around.  I believe the first manuscript was well over a year in writing and publishing.  This time is was 4 months or less.  The idea was again generated by a blog post - once again pointing out that this entire process of blogging has impacted my life in more ways than just letting me write. This blog has not only provided me with a sort of ongoing journal and way to communicate with my family and friends (especially since the move), it has become a mechanism for learning to regularly write and generating ideas that become other things.

A pleasant surprise was simply the fact that this was a bit easier to write this time. Things flowed faster.  The writing was a little better.  The editing process was especially a better, as I learned from last time where my typical errors occur (quotation mark, thy name is evil).  All in all, a good experience all around.

Like the first book, do I expect to make money on it?  Again, probably not.  I'm covering costs at this point, which is more than I can say for many other hobbies and projects I've undertaken in the past.  I'll make a little bit I'm sure - enough to buy myself one of those signposts of accomplishment I keep reminding others about.

The next book has to come, of course - now I'm hooked.  Fortunately, November is National Novel Writing Month (Nanowrimo), the national exercise in writing a 50,000 word novel in 30 days.  I've got my characters, my title and my plot.  I need only set digital ink to paper.

It's good to celebrate achievements.  But it's just as good to be on to the next one.

Dropping Temperature

Cloudy winds portend
fat squirrels and fat acorns:
Where did Autumn go?

Hard, Soft, Illusory

"If you want to achieve break through growth, you need to push past the fears that are holding you back." - Rieva Lesonsky

We may not be able to do everything, but we are able to do far more than we believe ourselves capable of.  The key is being willing to push:  to be willing to question our limitations as to whether they are self inflicted or there is a real wall present.

In some cases there is a real wall:  I cannot, for example, fly, no matter how hard I flap my arms.  This is a hard limitation.

In some cases there is a temporary wall:  it is conceivable that I could run a marathon, although I could not do it at the current time (well, at least not without seriously damaging myself).  This is a soft limitation, a limitation which is real but can be overcome.

In some cases there is a perceived wall:  I never competed in Highland Athletics because I believed I could never compete in Highland Athletics.  It turns out that I could (and can) compete in Highland Athletics.  This is a illusory limitation, a limitation which has reality only in our minds.

Part of the difficulty which we so often face is that we mis-categorize our limitations.  Our illusory limitations we too often call hard, our hard limitations we call soft - and our soft limitations go whichever way the wind is blowing in our minds.  This is because we do not question ourselves enough when we meet these limitations.

Do limitations serve a useful purpose?  Of course.  Not only in saving our lives (reference the man with the flailing arms as he plunges off the roof in a vain attempt to fly) but also in guiding what we do.

Sometimes limitations help us to think about what we're doing.  Just because I can do something, is it the best use of my time?  If there are limitations, why are they there?  Is it because they are truly present?  Or because my mind is throwing up barriers because it knows something I don't?

Again we return to the question of thought.  We simply don't think enough - or at least we don't think and question enough about our lives.  Sometimes we convince ourselves we want something we don't really want - and end up investing a great deal of time that could be better spent.  Sometimes we end up wanting something because others want it for us. 

But for most of us - for me anyway - the limitations tend to weigh far more on the side of creating barriers in my mind that simply are not there - or can be overcome with a some effort.  Too often we accept at face value that which, with a little consideration, we would understand to be much less than what we perceived.

Question your limitations. Make them squirm in the chair, explaining to you why they are truly hard and not soft or illusory.  And even then, perhaps cross examine them to see if they are really telling you something else than what they are claiming.

The reality is all of us - every one - is capable of far more than we do.  We need only to continue to expand until we truly reach the limits of the outer hard walls.

Faith in the Future

I took an action yesterday I have not taken in a very long time:  I started planning as if something which I don't know will happen would happen.

This is not like me.  I am typically a semi-active reactionary:  I am somewhat proactive about things that I know are coming up.  I am very seldom active about things for which I have no certainty that they are coming up.

Here is the odd thing:  the experience was not what I imagined it would be.

The picture I had in my mind before all this occurred was myself ploughing time and energy into something that was not going anywhere. I would awake from my dream at some point only to discover that all the energy had been wasted.  Instead, what I found was that I was more energetic than I have been in a great while.  Within a few hours I had created a series of tasks, graded them as to importance, mentally developed a schedule and had begun to move forward on them.  At the end of the day I walked away with a sense of accomplishment and the anticipation of getting more of the items knocked off of the list.

I have been trying to wrap my mind around this ever since.

This doesn't make sense to me.  Yes, the items in question needed to be attended to, but I have been dragging my feet about many of them. Why?  I guess there is a sense that nothing is going to happen one way or the other.  If I'm diligent and quick about them, it is seldom noticed; if I get them done within the allotted time frame, they'll be done as they were expected.

The difference?  Faith.  Faith in the future.

Faith in an outcome which I don't know will happen - but acting as if I believe it will.  Faith that plans and hopes may actually materialize, and that I need to be ready for them when they do.  That when the time comes, I need to be prepared instead of scrambling around.

Beyond this faith, I find a nascent self confidence inside of myself, a confidence that says that a different potential future is possible.  That whatever I bring to every table is more than simply filling up another chair or being another convenient body to assign responsibilities to.  A confidence that what I am and what I can do is sufficient for things to move forward.

I'm almost scared to write about these things, lest in an orgy of self discovery I crush the very things that has suddenly appeared after years of looking for it.  There's a vague sense that such things need to be nurtured rather than run over in haste.

But here, in the most ordinary of seasons and months, I think I have made a connection that has eluded me for years:  one can have confidence in the future and act on it in the absence of assurance if one believes. Rather than creating a frivolous sense of spending time, it can lead to the most productive and guided use of time because suddenly there is something to work towards, rather than the vast steppe of just another day.

The Perverse Joy of Proving Yourself Wrong

One of the axioms of life is that we generally do not like to proven wrong.

Oh, we may say we do, that we're interested in learning from our experiences or really getting to truth or something else that seems to indicate that it's not such a big deal to us. But in our heart of hearts, we truly hate the feeling of being demonstrated to be wrong.

Especially in front of others.  So many of us (I include myself here) struggle with being wrong in front of someone else.  At best it makes us look...well, wrong.  At worst it makes us look uneducated, uninformed, perhaps even a bit stupid.

Our response?  More often than not, our response is to do everything we can to not be wrong.  We'll fudge facts.  We'll selectively remember conversations.  We'll even claim that we were never present when the discussion occurred - anything, anything at all to get ourselves out from under the weight of being wrong.

But I have discovered that there is one person to whom I happy to be wrong:  myself.

It seems a bit odd, doesn't it?  The idea that being proven wrong is generally something we don't like to inflict on others but I am happy to inflict on myself is something which (it seems to the analytical part of me) to be a bit counter intuitive.  Where does this come from? 

From the nature of being wrong.

With others, I can be wrong in facts or opinions or recollections and generally when I am proven to wrong, it is the sense of promoting someone else's view at the expense of my own.  Although we try not to do it, we've all been a bit guilty at times of doing a little "victory dance" when we make our point in a way that gives us a one-up on someone else.

But when I"m dealing with myself, I prove myself wrong by demonstrating I can do something I didn't think I could.

I'm finding this true more and more in my life.  I used to believe I could never publish a book.  It took me over a year to write and publish the first one.  The next one took significantly less time - 4 months.

Or running.  Never thought I could run a distance.  I did my "long" run today: 4 miles, average time of  8:23 a mile.  Better than when I ran in the 5th grade 35 years ago.

Or Highland Games.  Or Iaido. Or making cheese.  Or for that matter, keeping a blog.

What I'm finding is that many of the things I thought I couldn't do are simply things that my mind has told me that I can't do. 

And so, I find a greater and greater - yet perverse - joy in being proven wrong.  By, of all people, myself.  Instead of being the typical cover-up and justification of not being embarrassed, I am finding myself to be willing - even eager - to be found in the wrong.

Be different.  Prove yourself wrong. 

A Bhan Shith

A Bhan Shith is gone.

She turned in her notice suddenly - a medical condition which perhaps was expected but never mentioned by her.  It's a shock - both from the suddenness of the event and the departure.

Suddenness of the event?  We are a people who are accustomed to having the time and luxury to say goodbye to those moving on.  We like to have the time to discuss, to chat, to exchange goodbyes and memories.  Her departure reminds me, at least, that we can never presume upon those who we care about being there to say words to in our own time - sometimes, life intervenes so quickly our words are robbed from us, trapped in our minds unsaid.

Her departure leaves a hole.  She was one of those coworkers of whom you could easily hope of all the people you might wish to move on, she would not be one.  She was always happy, always smiling - as An Ghearmailtnach said, "She was always someone who would come into a room, say things that would make you laugh and the then leave with a smile on her face and laughter on yours."  She had the gift of making burdens easier to bear, not more difficult.

Her work?  Wonderful.  She was invested in what she did and was one of those to whom it could be applied "Thinking out of the box".  She innovated instead of accepting the norm - but again, always with a smile and joy as she related why such and such a thing should make statistical sense.

Her presence will be sorely missed.

Even in leaving, she was self effacing in her manner:  no fanfare, no excessive pity over her condition - in fact, leaving on a positive note of hope for a cure - just the simple professionalism of someone who knew the scope of what she faces and was preparing to face it with dignity and hope.

I walked by her cube afterwards to see what, if anything, needed to be replaced or moved.  All I felt was a vast hole which used to be filled by someone of joy.

Even though our paths tended to cross not so often as I would have liked, I still find the world a smaller place today as I walk out the door.  Not just because a bright light of joy will not be present  - instead, the greater reminder burns into my brain:

Our time is limited.  That which we assume will be present forever may not be there tomorrow. 

What are leaving unsaid or undone?

The Discipline of Repetition

I am not a man given to repetition.

It's a weakness I've always had, this inability to stick to a task time and time again.  My mind tends to work like that of a butterfly, stopping at the flowers of knowledge here and there, flitting back and forth to whatever it finds interesting at the moment.  In a sense I'm the ultimate intellectual jackdaw, my mind always moving to the newest shiny object that it sees.

The difficulty I have found with this approach is that while it allows one to be somewhat knowledgeable about a great many things, it scarcely lends itself to a deeper knowledge or greater ability to do anything.  The missing component - the one I too often dread - is repetition.  Most of us know it instead as that word dressed in overalls, practice.

Practice can be the bane of those who love the novel, the new, because practice dwells on that which has already been learned.  It's repeating the lesson of today - or even yesterday.  To the mind that seeks stimulation and novelty, repeating that which has been done is at best boring and at worst...well, quite boring.  The perception of learning seems buried beneath the dull drone of doing what has been done.

But over the past year, I've come to see the purpose - if not the joy - in repetition, in practice. 

It's not specifically that one develops greater skills in the doing, although that is an outcome.  What has surprised me most is that as I keep at something - running, writing, iaido - I find that there are interesting mental changes that are occurring in my head far beyond just the task at hand.

By doing, by repeating, by practicing, I am gaining a power over myself.  I am gaining the power to demonstrate that my mind controls my body, that I have the ability to force myself to do something I would rather - given my intellectual bent - avoid doing at all. 

It started with this blog in 2008.  Once I committed to it after 3 years of having it, I started to make myself write every day.  I'm quite sure all of those writing were the caliber I'd like, but I kept to it.  Suddenly, that discipline allowed me to begin to write other things as well.  The idea of writing every day was not longer a frightening or burdensome concept - in fact, it reached the point that a day not writing is a odd one.

That extended to iaido- and here, the martial arts are a fine example.  90% of them is the practice you perform away from the dojo:  we go to the dojo to learn, but it's away from the dojo that we practice and perfect.  One never learns new techniques outside of the teacher; one simply practices what one has learned.

And now my running.  Am I perfect?  Not at all.  But more and more I find my mind making my body carry on with the actions of getting ready to run - and once that was accomplished, getting ready to run farther and farther.

The thing that surprises me is the applicability of the lesson.  I had not thought making myself write every day would lead to making me a better swordsman and runner.

But it appears that this is the true gift of the discipline of repetition, the gift my teachers have tried to teach me over the years:  it is only in the throes of repetition that we master not only the skills we are practicing, but the skill of mastering ourselves.

Clarity

Moments of blinding clarity find us at the strangest times.

They find us as we sit in a meeting.  They find us at the nameless hours when the dog wants to go out for the third time that night.  They find us as we shower and commute and occasionally, very occasionally, when we actually spend time thinking.

But are we ready for those moments of clarity?  Have we trained ourselves to think wisely and well about them?  Or are we so used to being unclear about things that when clarity appears we shrug it off with a sense of shock?

Do we even value moments of clarity?  Are we ready for the bursting of bubbles, the piercing and deflation of our fantasies, the ripping away of masks and scenes?  Clarity is seldom as pleasant as we believe it would be.

Why?  Because clarity can show us things as they really are and as they really progress.  Clarity reveals the flaws we unconsciously hide, the personality quirks we've learned to accept as normal, the situations that are much different than the glasses we wear on every day.  Clarity gives the view of the life we are actually in, not the life we think we're in.

Does that make clarity unvaluable?  I am tempted to answer no, but my fingers hesitated in the response.

Clarity unasked or unlooked for provokes one of two reactions:  there is the seemingly less common reaction of "Oh, so that's how it is" followed by a vague sense of relief.  Then there's the more common reaction: the realization of how things sit and the almost immediate rarrival of grief or anger or resentment or just plain depression - all stemming from the fact that the clarity brings with it the very real understanding of what is.

Is clarity necessary?  Well, to be better, of course.  Without it we will tend to drift through our lives either spending our time doing things that are really leading nowhere or operating on a series of assumptions that simply are not true.  To see clearly is to be able to chart a course free of the illusions and hauntings that many guide their lives by.

But we have accept that clarity, seek it out, be ready to grab it at any moment which it arrives. 

And not just when we're thinking actively about it.  Even when we're just standing in the shower.

Raising the Dead

Is it useful - or possible - to raise the dead?

Not in the necromatic sense, of course (To paraphrase the genie from Aladdin, "It's disgusting and I don't like to do it!").  Not really useful to talk to them, even if were possible and weren't forbidden.  At best the dead could only tell us of what has been, not what will be.  That is the arena of the living.

No, I mean raise the dead in terms of things that we put behind us.

Not everything in the past is bad, of course.  We tend to put such things into two categories, either that of the nostalgia ("Boy, wasn't that fun") or things we have moved beyond ("I used to be a 25th level paladin with a +12 vorpal blade, but that was back when I was playing").  The past for most of the time is the past, things pleasantly hidden away from our current daily life.

But not all in the past - not all that has either died or been put to death by us - is a bad thing.  In fact, sometimes the very thing we need lies beneath the rubble of our former lives.

A simple example, one the mighty An T-sagart og used one morning in church:  as he was doing communion, he gave out water floaties to the children that weren't taken communion.  The point he made was that we have become so accustomed to communion, so accustomed to the physical presence of bread and wine that we don't look forward to it with anticipation as our encounter with the Risen Lord.  Look at the children, he pointed out:  watch them.  And it was true.  They were almost barreling over the adults in the line to get at what was at the end.  They had anticipation mixed with joy - something that we with adults have buried beneath years of simply living.

Well of course, you say.  We should take communion more seriously.  Still doesn't address the other parts of our lives, you know.  We're adults.  We do adult things, important things, not like we used to do.  Once I thought like a child, but now I gave up childish ways.  It's in Paul, you know.  Very religious fellow.

But is that true?  For most of us, the reality is that our work and lives will scarcely outlast our participation in them -they will certainly not ourlast most of our lives.  Those personality traits we abandon to become "successful", those relationships that we put behind us, even in some cases the things we used to do that we enjoyed but abandoned - yes, they will probably not outlive our lives either, but is that any more reason to have abandoned all of them?

When I was young I believed in chivalry, in honor and the Knights of the Round Table, in good and truth and justice.  Slowly over time, these got ground away into the dust of daily living and trying to get along.  But just because they were buried doesn't mean they weren't (or aren't) worthy.

Is there pain involved?  Probably.  Moving rubble is never easy, and breathing the dust of ages past will aggravate your allergies.  You'll find all kinds of artifacts there as well, some you intended to find and some whose memories will bring you to tears.

We spend so much of our time trying to get away from our dead.  Maybe it's time to reconsider having tea with some of them.  We're no worse for having tried, and perhaps we may even be fortunate enough to discover that old acquaintances renewed can bring as much joy now as they did then.

Alone

Have you ever suddenly felt alone,
Been overwhelmed by sadness,
Lost in the middle of activity?

Have you ever felt the cold fingers of isolation
rip down over the plains of the soul like a cold front,
your spirits dropping as fast as the temperature?

How can this be, in the midst of interconnectedness:
more able to see and hear people than ever
yet equally more cut off?

When even your imaginings rail against you,
when even you have seemed to abandoned yourself,
when the hollow drum of the rain is that of your soul...

Only then you know the sense
of being truly alone.

Heroes Without Capes

Building from yesterday, are parents considered heroes?
Parents hold an unusual location in 21st Century American society.  On the one hand they continue to be the primary caregivers for their children; on the other hand they sometimes spend the least amount of time with their children every day.

Least amount of time?  Total up the time a child is in school, with an activity - let alone friends - and suddenly the relationship with their parents comes to resemble the relationships that many adults such as myself know all too well, the relationship of work.  You know it, or have in the past:  where you spend more time with work associates than those of your family, constructed relationships instead of created ones.

True, this is the way of society in these days.  At the same time, the role of parent gets pushed out.  They become less and less role models and guides and more and more providers - providers of housing, of food and clothing, of transportation to other places.  In one sense parenting is reduced to a series of service industries.

Here's the rub:  service providers are scarcely seen by anyone as heroes.

Who become their heroes?  Those who do what they want to do, those who espouse important beliefs, those who entertain, occasionally even those that do.  Funny thing about that though - many many heroes in 21st Century America are heroes based on what they do in a controlled set of circumstances, not in the grind of daily living.

Think a minute:  pick a hero of your child.  If that person did you what you did - woke them up, got food in them, dropped them of at school, picked them up from school and ferried them to practice, brought them home, fed them, reminded them of their homework and put them to bed - would that person also be a hero?

Of course not.  Heroes call us out to be braver than we are, to be better than we are, to do more than we are.  Heroes are not the common stuff of living.

Do we have a skewed view of heroes?  Of course we do.  We value that which is fleeting and worthless and devalue that which is important.  I'm not arguing the point - but in order to change it, we need to accept that we are starting at point A and move forward.

Do we as parents, friends, relations - do we seek to build up the role parents in the lives of children we know?  Do we point out to them not only the stuff that makes a hero, but that the very people that sacrifice so much for them are just as much heroes as anyone else they can admire? 

Should we encourage our children to have heroes?  Of course we should.  There are many great hearted and noble people throughout history that we can learn from, we can emulate.  But in our haste to emulate them, we need to remind our children that more than likely, some of the greatest heroes they will ever meet are living in their house with them right now, silently working away for their benefit.

Not every hero wears a cape and a mask.

The Void of Parents

I was struck by a thought this week as I was driving Nighean Dhonn back from her soccer game on Saturday, as I watched the parents ebb and flow at the changing of the game.  The thought that struck me was "What do the children think of the parents?"

A bit of an odd thought, I know.  But as I began to dwell on it more, I realized what I was actually looking at was the interaction of the children and the coaches and reflecting back earlier in the day to when Na Clann were watching some reruns.

TV for young people is generally not kind to parents.  Too often most are portrayed in either one of three lights:  Overbearing, Incompetent, or out of touch.  Admittedly my pool of resources is somewhat aged - reruns from 3-5 years ago - but I believe the theory remains true.  Even if adults are portrayed as competent it is very seldom the actual parents themselves.  It's the other adults or near adults in their lives - older siblings, teachers - who very often function as the holders of wisdom and advice and the model to which the younger turn.

I'll be fair - I haven't completely fleshed out my thinking on the issue.  But as I've continued to roll it around in my mind, what I have come to wonder is why the concept of parents as competent people - even as personal heroes - is not more embraced - nay, perhaps even discouraged.

It's too diffuse a thought perhaps, and I don't know that I'm suggesting at all that there is some kind of huge secret plot.  It's just that the portrayal of parents, and the subsequent view of them in the child's life, almost seems to be more discouraging than encouraging of them as role models.

Is there conflict at times?  Of course.  Children are different from parents - but that is no different than any other relationship we have in our professional or personal lives.  In fact, part of what we have to learn is simply the ability to get along with and respect - or at least play nicely with - most everyone we meet.  Just because there's conflict doesn't mean that people aren't competent.

But why don't we (again, generally speaking as a society) encourage children to see their parents more as role models, as people as worthy as any of their other heroes to be emulated?  Why do we choose to present them as less than other adults?

Are there parents unworthy of emulation?  Sure.  There are parents that have done terrible things to their children and made shipwrecks of their lives.  But the same could be said of virtually any other class of hero that we foist on our children.  Is that in the case of other heroes their clay feet are hidden from us while our parents clay feet are always visible?  Possibly - but what a potential teaching experience  about outer and inner lives, about truly being what you seem to be (B. Franklin) rather than appearing to be one thing and actually being something else.

As I've said, I don't believe my thought patterns are fully congealed around this and it deserves some more consideration.  But I'm still left with the same thought:  why do we so often portray and represent parents as least reliable, least emulatable  of all adults?

The Point of Change

How does one begin the process of change?

A fair enough question from someone who feels that his life has become a rut without hope of modification.  All processes begin with an act - the "start" of the flow chart, the "on" button the brings the computer to life, the "In" of the first line of a book.  For every fire that burned, there was spark that set it.

I ask from the position of feeling that I simply have no power to change anything, that I am enmeshed in a series of webs which prevent me from making any action at all - to the point that even my thoughts seem to be pulled back as if with a rubber band if they make the least attempt to escape.  It's not even big change - even the small ones at this point seem beyond the reach of my imagination, let alone my actualization.  I feel trapped in a life which I seem to live, but over which I have no control - like being on a plane with autopilot, knowing the destination has been set by someone else and not knowing where you are headed. 

Or even, worse, knowing where you are headed and dreading every minute of it.

But I need to find a point of initiation - a point to start.   Something that I can say "Yesterday I did this.  Today, I did this."

And it  has to be small as well - something that I can point to and say "look, I made a change" and actually make the change, rather than a large scale change which I have no power or ability to even begin at this moment.  One will empower me to move further, the other will simply depress my hopes even more.

And change in a direction.  Not just change for the sake of change, but change for the sake of getting something accomplished.  Change for the purpose of accomplishing more.

I need to find the point of change because my life has become defined by others.  Not just by my responsibilities that I have chosen, but by others who have helped me build the webs in which I find myself enmeshed.  I need to discover a way to cut away these webs, to get back on a now-overgrown road mapped out years ago that led somewhere different than where I have ended.

Self Belief versus Pride?

Self Belief versus Pride:  How do you tell the difference?

I ask the question because I find myself in a slump.  Simply put, I have no sense that anything I do in virtually any aspect of my life - professional, personal, physical, relational - will have the slightest bit of impact in actually changing something.

Some - including some authors who I enjoy and respect - would say that this is due to a failure of self belief in my life, that by lacking any belief that I can do something or change something I doom myself to the unchanged life.  Simply change my beliefs and change my life.

Am I wrong in thinking this is too simplistic of a solution?

I don't say simple advisedly - I have come to appreciate the value of the simple versus the complex.  What I do question is the concept of self-belief being catalyst alone of change.

Which gets me to my second issue:  that of self belief versus pride.  What is the dividing line?  I have seen those without any self-belief but a towering pride in what they have accomplished.  I have seen those with self belief that were clearly bereft of anything to get them to their destination (too often, I feel myself in this camp).  I have seen those with self belief and pride that have achieved their goals, only to be reveled as individuals of cramped souls and small minds.

Maybe the problem is within myself.  Self belief has never really been a burden I have had to bear.  Even when I am skilled at what I do, I hardly feel that I can do it to any great extent.  And those times I have had the self belief, it was revealed that the belief was mostly in my mind; there is nothing more embarrassing to others than someone towering in their belief in their abilities even as the evidence belies them.

Perhaps the difference is pride that I am better than others and self-belief is the belief that I can.  Pride is outward based on others, self-belief is an inward based on others.

Is there another option? Pride can drive someone to do something and self-belief can drive someone to do something - but what if either of those is missing?  Is there another factor that can start the process to get one over the edge and back on track?

Because missing pride or self-belief as motivators, all that remains is the dull gray black of twilight which never seems to make it to dawn.

Weather Mirage

A hazy moisture,
called forth out of air, not clouds:
The humid un-rain.

Breaking Points

What is one's breaking point?  How do you find it?

The fact that it's only Tuesday and I'm asking this question is probably not a good sign.

There are different kinds of breaking points I suppose:  physical, mental, even spiritual.  Vocational?  Possibly.  Personal?  I'm not sure - are the points merely an extension of our personal lives or are personal breaking points an entirely different matter?

No matter, I suppose - the fact is that they exist.  And I'm finding myself up against them now.

The worst part (for me) is that I simply have no sense of how to deal with them, what action to take to address them.  If this was a physical point - say, a run I could not complete - the answer would be fairly clear:  Stop.  Walk.  Train to run farther - or ask the question about why I'm doing it in the first place and reconsider.

The problem is that most other points are not physical manifestations that I can manipulate.

The sense of powerlessness in facing these can be overwhelming.  I simply feel that there is nothing that I can do.  There is no action I can take - at least nothing that comes to mind - that can move me beyond it or make it stop.

I keep thinking that if only I had some breathing room, a chance to stop and consider, that I might find a way out of things.  The fact is that life may have allowed that at one point (possibly - I'm not sure that was ever true) it certainly does not now.  Life has become a series of events and actions to which I always seem to be running slightly behind or late.

Of course, one has to belief that one can change things, that the point of breaking can be moved through by action.  This is again something which I seem to be lacking in.  I simply have no belief or evidence that my decisions or actions make a positive impact (although interestingly enough they always seem successful in making a negative impact).  I feel very far from being an actor and very much being acted upon by all sorts of influences and forces (including people) around me.

How do I change this?  This is the problem that vexes me.  If one is pushed to the point of feeling broken, surely there is a way to move through it?    James says that we should count it all joy when we meet with various trials, "for you know the testing of your faith produces steadfastness.  And lest steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing"  (James 1:3-4).  Paul says in Romans 8:28 "We know that in everything God works for good with those who love Him, who are called according to His purpose" - but even Paul admitted that "We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed" (2 Corinthians 4:8-9).

I certainly make no comparison to any of my issues compared to that of the apostle Paul (although I suppose it's comforting to know he had his days as well).  What I am trying to find is that thing, that action, that point at which I swing things to my favor, at least feel I have some measure of ability to influence or change or control, rather than waiting the loud "crack" the presages the breaking of mind and spirit.

When Progress Will Not Come

There are days that I feel like I've made absolutely no progress in my life whatsoever.

This probably speaks more to the pockets of jealousy and anger that still seem to be buried deep within my soul, waiting for the opportunity to claw their way out and make themselves known than to any conscious mindset of not progressing.  But it's there, lingering between the layers of fragile laughter and a placid face.

No progress?  It just feels like my life has stalled, caught in a limbo I had never really envisioned.  It would be easy to point the finger at myself and say "My bad decisions" but I don't think that in this case it would apply - certainly decisions play a part in anything, but there are circumstances beyond the control of what imagine or can even picture.

What does this no progress feel like?  The only sensation I can give is that it is a gradual thing, measured not only in my own sense but in comparison to those around me.  It's as if one is watching a coastline sink beneath waves:  you can't observe it instantly, but over time you can definitively see the progress.

The struggle is two fold:  on the one, simply not to despair.  It's one thing to feel that with effort and hard work a situation can be rectified; it's another to feel that no matter what you do, it will simply have no impact.  Effort becomes merely something that is thrown into the maw of the maelstrom:  gone in a trace, it neither abates the fury of the storm nor offers one a better way through it.

The other struggle rises from those pockets of jealousy and anger that dwell deep within one's soul, ready to leap out at the slightest excuse - in this case, the success of others.  Given free reign, reveling in the successes of others can quickly turn into a less wholesome thing. "Why am I not there?" and "Have I not also paid my dues?" and thoughts even less salutary are quick to enter the mind and dominate the thinking, if allowed.

I try to cling to God, but all that comes to my mind is both how much and often I've messed things up as well as the fact that if things are not improving now, how is it possible that they ever could?  If I'm doing what I can with what I have and that is apparently not good enough, what hope is there that that effort will magically transform itself into progress in the future?  It there such a thing in having faith that all things work to good through God when you haven't a prayer that any of that will ever come to pass.

I am left with these thoughts even as the time comes to prepare to face the reality of the my life, another day attempting to arrest what I perceive to be the slow slide even as I try to find the hope that somewhere in the day lies the promise of something better, a moving forward in some fashion.

But if dreams be the motivator of the soul and those dreams pass like moonlight through our hands, what is left to inspire?

Another Visit With Anger

Anger strolled into my office this week.

"You look well" he said pleasantly enough as he pulled up a chair in front of my desk.  I was clearly in the midst of entering something in the computer and had papers scattered all over my desk, but that didn't seem to halt him in the least. "Been busy?"

I sighed.  Me just typing away was apparently not going to get the message across that I had other work to do.  I stopped working in the computer and turned to face  him.  "Busy enough"  I said.  "What brings you out today?"

He leaned back in the chair, his legs slowly pushing against the desk until he was balance at a 45 degree angle.  "Oh nothing, nothing" he replied with that smug smile of someone who knows he's lying.  "I was just out and about and heard you'd had some incidents this week, so I thought I might just drop by to see what's up."

I continued to stare at him, hoping to deny him the victory of being right.  "Well, maybe a little bit, but nothing worth talking about.  Annoyances, more likely."

He laughed.  "Annoyances?  You know I can hear you when you think your alone, you know.  I know what comes out of your mouth in half silences when no-one is around."

I winced at that.  That much was true - talking under my breath to myself, especially when confronted with situations I could not immediately respond to, had become a bad habit of mine.

"And the thoughts"  he continued on.  "Oh, the thoughts.  It's a shame they haven't developed the technology to view them yet, isn't it?  Oh, what fun that would be."

I flat out hung my head at this point.  No point in denying what was the undeniable truth.

"But it's okay" his voice oiled silkily over my distress. "It's fine.  We all get angry.  You just need to let go.  Be free.  Let your assertiveness burst forth.  Demonstrate you're not a force to be trifled with.

I sat there as the words sank down through the cracks of my armor.  Tempting, to be sure.  Even I was too aware to deny that rage felt immediately good.  It felt as if one was doing something rather than sitting impotently awaiting the next blow.  It seemed, as Anger said, as being assertive.  That sort of assertiveness worked for others - why couldn't it work for me?

I sighed and shook my head, then looked at him with a faded smile.  "I can't, you know". 

He just sat there, smiling.

I found the courage of my voice again.  "I can't.  I can't deny that it feels good, that it feels like I'm solving something  - but I solve nothing in the process. Just create bad feelings.  And my witness?  'The anger of men does not work the holiness of God' you know.  That matters more."

I sighed again and turned back to the computer with a purposefulness that I didn't feel in my heart.  "Thanks for stopping by" I said.  "Don't let me keep you from your walk".

Anger sat for a minute, apparently realized I was trying to work, and then slowly lowered himself to the floor and stood up. He looked around the office once or twice, then smiled. "Good enough"  he said.  "I'm sure I'll be back.  I like this office.  Good to know I'll be spending more time here."

And off he sauntered into the building, leaving me to peck at the computer board dissolutely with a fragile sense of not caring that was only eyelash thick.

Emanations

It is a sign of one's dislike for something that when you are relieved of the responsibility of that thing, the entire day leading up to it is lightened.

This experience (it happened to me yesterday) should tell me something about the state of my life as it is.  Nothing - Not one thing - should have the ability to make much of a difference in my attitude.  If it does, I should seriously be rethinking my life.

Seriously rethink my life?  Sounds sort of extreme just because an afternoon went differently, doesn't it? 

Yes.  Because if any one thing is exercising that kind of power in a way that is not bad, it would be called fanaticism.  We've seen it before, of course - that hobby that a friend takes up that comes to take up all of their time and life until they're saying, doing and living nothing that is not connected with it.  It may be harmless, it may even be beneficial - but that activity comes to exercise incredible power in their lives.  When something goes wrong with it, the rest of their life is ruined.

Most would say a hobby that dominates everything is not healthy.  The same principle is true of most everything else.

But if that's the case, how does one go about the reconsideration of one's life?  After all, most of us live in our lives.  They're not a third party that we can observe objectively and comment on?  Nor are they a case study for a class - a decision good or bad can have ramifications through the rest of our lives.

Maybe the simplest place to start in this case is simply to look at the parts of one's life and identify (be honest, you already know) what the items are that exercise the most influence and power in it.  Look at each one and ask the question "If I wasn't doing this/going there/spending time with this person, what would my life be like?"

I'm aware that just identifying such a thing does not change it, and that in many cases the ability to change on short notice is impossible.  But even the act of simply identifying such things is the first step towards at least admitting that it does exercise a great deal of impact. 

And we cannot change that which we fail to acknowledge as being an issue.

Hear Without Listening

Do you listen when I speak?
Or do you hear without listening?

When you come to me with a question
do you actually seek my opinion, my thoughts?
Or is this a pre-determined conversation in your imagination,
a dialogue in which the script has already played out in your mind
except for the physical execution?

To not ask is better:
At least in not asking
I have no illusion you have heard or wish to hear,
no sense that you sought me out because I had experience,
or expertise,
or even mattered.

Instead, you sail away under the power of your own assumptions,
pleased that you have sought out the opinions of others -
perhaps even hearing in your mind the conversation that you dreamed of
rather that the conversation that actually occurred.

Do you listen when I speak?
Or do you hear without listening?

Closure?

How does one seek closure in things that scantly offer it?

It often seems that my life is a series of open ended events, sentences that paused mid-word and never completed themselves.  I guess in some sense this is my own fault - I tend to move between ideas and interests like a hummingbird moves from flower to flower - but not everything is under my own control.

I remember - oh, it's been 30 years or more - when I heard the idea of closure, that to fully move through an event one had to have closure.  Closure, interestingly enough, is never really defined except for significant events - death, for example, seems to have a series of well defined steps.  For everything else, there seems to be less definition.  Closure becomes that thing which we should have but seldom seem to.

Is it a flaw in my own character?  I am an intellectual pack rat, always seeking to cling to things and interests, perhaps far longer than I should.  I tend to add things to my list but seldom if ever let anything "go" - it's more as if things go into abeyance for a period (perhaps forever).  To let go of something, for me, is akin to that thing dying - or at least my sense of it dying.

But do such things even offer closure?

That's the second part of the question, the unanswered chorus to the verse.  Perhaps it's not that I cannot find closure as much as many things simply do not offer a formal closure.  They simply are.  They're often morally neutral and truth be told, are merely things, not relationships.  It's not as if an interest in something necessitates a lifelong relationship with it and a grieving process when it is gone.

Perhaps (once again) I am overemphasizing a thing which in fact should be a simple aspect of my life.  Things come, things go.  Even people come and go (even though with social networking many of them seem to come back as well).  Certainly I've never grieved over the loss of a job: it was something that I did for a time, that I then came to decide I was done with and moved on.  Sure, one may miss the people and the inside jokes and even the coffee but there's no sense of emptiness - there's really no need for one.  It's simply a job, something I do.

One has to empty the bucket, of course:  at some point there are things that we cling to that simply no longer fit our life or are times.  And certainly there are things we still need to cling to after years, things that root and ground us (and are occasionally useful) in the the midst of lives which too often take us places we never expected to go.

But events are events and interests are interests.  Perhaps the simple acknowledgement of what they are, that we enjoyed them but that it's time to move on, is closure enough.

What Do I Really Do?

The reality is that for the foreseeable future, I will be in my current line of work and quite possibly in my current employ.

This reality comes from the beginnings of recognizing that there are priorities in my life and that these priorities are not all equivalent.  There is in fact a hierarchical structure that exists for them, and by choosing one I am selecting the fact that others are of a lesser importance.

But if that is the fact (and it is), how do I rekindle my enthusiasm for what I do now?

By realizing what it actually is I do.

My work (probably any work) too often ends up becoming a bubble-like existence:  we only see as far as our noses in what we do.  Too often our work becomes a series of tasks that we must complete in order to go home for the day, a list that leads to corporate goals that we may or may not have a great deal of control over.

The tasks will never completely go away, the corporate goals will never be completely within our ability to totally influence.  What does remain within our power - 100% so - is the ability to remotivate ourselves in our positions.

What is it that we do?  Perhaps not what we actually do daily, but what the end result of our activity is.  We all in theory work at something that is ultimately adding value to something larger, an output which is the some total of our varied efforts.  The problem is that we don't very often see the end result of all our effort as it may be light years away from the portion that we contribute.

But we need to remind ourselves constantly of what our efforts do contribute to the whole, what we are doing - and why it matters.

In my own case, I am ultimately working on tests which are used for diseases.  I don't often see that, buried in my piles of paperwork and constant demand for signatures and making decisions.  Often I never see the end result of the processes that I am involved in reviewing and approving.

But the things that I review and sign off on eventually go onto places where they are used to help in determining various diseases.  Individuals - people with children, children, adults, those in the prime of life, those near the end - are affected by the information provided by what passes over my desk.

I impact people's lives.

I hesitate as I type this, because this thought is simply a bit overwhelming.  I virtually never think about this aspect or even see it as I am pressed down over my desk, trying desperately to meet the daily output and tasks.  To expand my view, to see everything I do as ending up assisting medical personnel with an individual's life, is a bit astounding.

But that is the reality of what I do, the reality of what I do as much as the paperwork and tasks and endless mind-numbing tasks that constitute my daily existence.

I wonder how my work life would be improved by committing this thought to daily remembrance.  Not that the work would change of course, just my feelings about what I was doing.  If I really understood what I was contributing to, would it make me work better?  Would I take more pride, more care in what I do?

What would all our work lives, our products be like if we all did the same?

Time Wasted

There is nothing worse than the waste of our time by others.

Sure, wasting time is never really a good thing - it's the one ultimately perishable element that can only exist.  It can't be saved, only spent.  It can't be added to or subtracted from, existing only in its final form.

Most everyone wastes time at some point in their lives - for many it's when they're young, for others it may start later in life - or  many continue.  Often times we're conscious of it and perhaps harass ourselves in a kidding sort of way about how we have chosen to use it poorly instead of wisely.

But there is nothing - or at least, very few things- as bad having our time wasted by others.

Time wasted by others take two forms:  the first one is when we are given something to do by someone else that is typically a priority for them but not for us.  This often seems like a useless exercise to us - after all, our work never really went away in the course having to do this other thing - but we are often able to get through it.

The other form is more insidious.

This form is the one where the individual consumes our time by making us spend it with them resolving their issue.

At its worst form, one is not only responsible for resolving the problem, one is responsible for being present the whole time physically. Attempts to state "I'll get to it" are blown aside;  only one's physical presence is considered to be sufficient.  And the issue never seems to be resolved:  again and again over time, we must break off from whatever we are doing to pay attention to the other problem as it is "important".

The reality is that time wasting in this matter is nothing more than an exercise of power.  It's one individual exercising the power they have over others because of their needs - and the fact that they can.  It's the chronological equivalent of tyranny, the exercise of being a time- bully:  I am more important, my needs are more important, so you must serve me.

To waste time, that most precious of commodities,  as a consequence of our failure to use it is a poor choice. 

To waste time because of the power of others is a chronological crime.

Speaking Weather

Mid-day heat cannot
disguise coolness at rising:
Autumn is coming.

Decisions and Priorities

I am finding that one of the greatest - and most difficult - advancements in  maturity is making decisions based on priorities, not on what seems good to you alone.

This is a difficult thing, something I had not anticipated on having to learn.

Decision making is easier when you're younger, of course - it's only you.  The consequences of your decisions - at least the short term consequences - are generally not too damaging.  If you choose to decide something else - the life changing decisions of a major change or job change - it's not too bad; you just do it.

Then you marry and decisions become a little more difficult - there are two to think of rather than one.  Oftentimes longer range decisions - to buy a house and stay somewhere for example - begin to play a part.  Even other changes begin to have impact - if I do this, how does it affect the other person - come into play.  But to a large degree, there is still the flexibility of being able to choose largely based on you and your needs or wants.

And then children arrive.

It's subtle at first - a thought here about if we do this we can't, because something else is going on or if we move, X will not be in our lives - but it gets larger as they get older.  What one comes to discover is that at some point - I wish I understood where that point was - your decisions no longer really become your own.  It's not just you that is impacted - it's all those around you, those who depend on you, those whose lives you are responsible for. They now come to play as big - or even bigger - role in your decisions as your personal desires and wants do.

And then suddenly something becomes apparent, something which maybe you should have grasped years ago:  that all decisions are ultimately based on priorities. 

We confuse this, especially early on, as we think we are making decisions solely on what is most agreeable or best for us.  In point of fact we are exercising our priorities by choosing - it's just that at that time in our lives, our priorities tend to be centered around us.  To the blessed and foresighted, they realize this early on and make very good decisions.  The rest of us  - I count myself in this category - blunder along until we're confronted with it, hopefully not too late.

Because making decisions based on priorities instead of personal pleasure is tough.  It means subverting our own wants and desires to something longer term and usually better, even if that "better" is not for us directly.  It means we accept the fact that all decisions have consequences, consequences that are both sometimes irrevocable and impactful in the lives of others to a degree that may not be seen for years.  It means that what is a priority and important may not be the most desirable thing for me personally - but that does not make the decision any less right.

All choices have consequences, consquences we can never fully control.  We make the best choices we can - we just need to ensure that they are made on the priorities we have established instead of always on personal whims.  Thus, when we face the outcomes of those choices, we can point back to the service of the higher goal - and hopefully the good results - rather than to yet another decision that brings us pleasure but destroys all that matters.

Branching

Branches occur at the strangest places.

I was reminded of this over the course of the weekend, as I was reviewing my job history as part of a "Where have I been and Where am I going?" review.  I'm familiar with it of course as I've rehearsed it enough:  2.5 years in this part of the field, then I switched to another part of the field, following my manager through three jobs until 2004 when I joined The Firm.  After that back into The Industry, where I was three years at one place, 4 months and then laid off, and then where I am today.  Pretty straightforward, actually.

But what I realized as I looked at the history is that something happened in 2004 that I did not see before:  I chose not stay and follow.

Not because of who I was following.  The Great Boss  (TGB) is the one who I constantly look back to, even today, as the example of what a great boss is:  intelligent, honest, supportive, recognizing that the people who work for him are the resources of the company.  It's why I followed him across three companies.

But then, I stopped.

I had never seen this as something different before, a change in the rhythm of my life.  I, who was a follower, chose to strike out on my own (failed miserably of course, but that's a different tale). 

And never looked back.  My switches since then have all been due to my own choosing (or choosing for me in the case of the lay off), never due to the want or desire of following someone else.  I may not have always chosen wisely (another learned skill, apparently), but at least I have chosen.

The surprise I felt at discovering this was tempered with a sense of relief.  For years I have wondered if I will ever get the knack of making decisions for myself, of being able to chose based on something other than a feeling of security.

In this case, it appears that it has been happening longer than I thought.  And that is a good thing.

Headache

Last night I had a headache.

Oh, not a run of the mill headache.  One of those that seems to send a tube of liquid fire through the back of your head, making you think it will explode.  You can feel it pulse and swear your skull has expanded just a fraction to accommodate the pulse.

I'm not one who is given to a great deal of headaches, even more so those that are of an extreme nature.  I hardly know what to do - to take something goes against my general rule of taking anything, but the pain can be so intense.

I run through the list:  Did I not have coffee today (I did, maybe not enough?)?  Have I been feeling poorly?  Has anyone in my house been sick, something that might have passed on to me?  Have I eaten anything that I usually don't?  Did I get enough water today?

So all the questions were "yes", but just because the questions are answered does nothing to relieve the pain.  I try to distract myself in hopes that I can ignore it.  No luck there:  the waves just come and go, causing me to sink further and further into my covers in hopes that relaxing will make it go away.

And it doesn't.  It's become the worst kind of headache of all:  the kind that is still with you even while you sleep. 

It kicks up from time to time:  you suddenly awake and there it is, pulsing.  Mentally you want to cry out loud (although it's night and disturbing to others):  it's simply not fair that when I'm trying to rest to get rid of it that it's still here!

And then, somewhere about 4 AM, it's gone. 

But is it?  Even now, as I go about my morning, I can almost feel it in the back of my head, lurking ready to attempt to break out in a random act of pain and suffering.  Headaches - at least this kind - shouldn't be allowed to remain.  Like the flu, they should come and go.

Yet here it remains, silently torturing me, reminding me of how little, in reality, we control of our physical selves.

Not Able to Post

Blog writing is great,
Except when it fails to work:
Wretched Internet.

Thursday

Thursday are tough.

Thursday are the day of the week when everything seems to be against me.  My energy level has slowly sunk over the week as little by little, the sleep patterns that are disrupted have finally caught up with me.  The schedule and things I started to do on Monday are by Thursday a pile on the floor in front of me, seemingly scarcely able to be lifted.

Whatever is going on at work too often seems to have come to a head by today as well.  More often than not Thursday is the day where everything seems to come together to provoke one long string of meetings and questions that need to be answered, scarcely allowing for any actual work to be done.

And the great thing about Thursday is it simply has nothing about it.  It doesn't have the benefit of middle of the week with half already gone - in fact, it painfully reminds me that there is still one more day until the weekend.  It is not Monday with the weekend just behind nor Tuesday with some leftover weekend joy and energy - and it is certainly not Friday with promise of relief soon to come.

I'd love to say - and I'd even more love to demonstrate - that either these are random occurrences and there is no ultimate plot by Thursdays against my sanity and my body but I struggle to come up with one.   The problem is that I never seem to be able to come up with any evidence that this is not the case.

The better question - the wiser question - is what to do about it.  What can I do to make my energy level last through the week?  What can I do to make Thursday a day more like any other in the week, a day that is simply one more that I work through?

I wish I knew.  My sleep pattern work during the week has been irregular at best, with little or no overall improvement to the process (can we discuss sleep as a process)?  Work remains outside of my control as well - I control what I control, but there is often too little that I do control.

What's the solution?  Maybe nothing at all.  Maybe just a grudging acknowledgement that in the annals of days of the week, Thursday is the day directly or indirectly designed to attempt to break us.

Running with My Mind

Today was my first long run.

My participation in a 5k this weekend, coupled with my desire to get fit (okay, let's be honest:  lose weight), has been pushing me along the course of trying to improve not only my commitment but my time.  In order to do this, one needs to train.  In order to train, one needs to run.

And so, I ran.

What I find is that my intellectual state is 50% or more of the battle.  If I've settled in my head that I am going to run a certain distance before I do it, my body simply acquiesces.  If my mind  is undecided my body seemingly loses all ability to do anything than get down to the end of the block.

So my mind was made up.  Fabulous.  Off we go.

The cooler weather helps a great deal.  It's far more pleasant to run and eventually get sweaty that to start out sweaty after running 5 steps.   It also helps to quiet the mind, which immediately starts complaining about being hot and sweaty and such.

My first serious breakpoint is where I make the turn to start back - the place I would turn back for my heretofore usual runs.  My body seems okay:  no aching bones, no side splitting aches.  My mind starts to wander a bit - Oh boy, here we go back!  No, I have to counsel it, we're going further today.

The second breakpoint is where I turn to do the extra mileage.  My mind is already thinking of the lesser runs I've done up this road, looking for a way to get off early.  Again I have to tell it no, we're going the full distance.

I'm not sure at what point the mind accepts the fact we're going the whole way, but it doesn't stop trying to fight back.  Making the third checkpoint - the turn towards home - I get a little distressed as I don't run this way as often and don't know the turns as well.  The next turn - the one to get me back on my normal route - always seems to be a bit beyond where I am going.  Aha, says the mind, see - told you we shouldn't have gone this far!

We find the turn, of course, and turn back on the final route home.  We make it, winded somewhat, legs aching, but feeling good.

I run the numbers.  Average time per mile is 8:57, not bad at all.

Look at what I had us do, the mind says.

The body just quietly shakes its head and looks for coffee.

Seasons

One of the minorly annoying things about relocating is that it takes you a while to become accustomed to seasonal change.

In Old Home, seasons were, well, like clockwork.  Rains started in November - if your garden wasn't in by 31 October, it probably wasn't going to happen.  Rains peter off in early March, maybe as far as early April.  By the end of May, Summer was well on its way.  And about the middle of September, the cast of the sunlight let all and sundry know that Fall had come.

Here in New Home, it's different.  Not just the types of seasons (we really only have two:  Hot and Humid and Cold) but when they arrive.  Summer starts maybe in May - but sometimes in April too.  Winter comes possibly in November, maybe even as late as December.  And there are a couple of weeks wedged in between the two that seem to quality as Spring and Fall.

But I am still unsure.  We've been in a cooler phase over the last two weeks and the sun has occasionally taken the cast of what I would associate with Fall.  But is it Fall?  Or is it just another cruel joke on me (and indirectly on my garden), condemning me to another two months of watering and indecisiveness about Fall or Winter vegetables?

The leaves don't necessarily turn, but that's not a huge impediment for me:  I come from a place where the evergreen grow right along with the deciduous, and it's a roll of the dice whether your neighborhood will be raking leaves or just watching them stand there, eventually drifting them back to the forest floor.  Other plants seem to come and go, but the grass that is around me on the lawn of my neighbors never truly goes dormant; it just seems to grow less slowly.  And the fact that we have more water here, that everything can be green throughout the whole year with cooperative weather, means that the monsoon cycle I am used to (brown in summer and fall, green in winter and spring) is partially if not wholly of no use to me.

But the weather - that's the one that throws me off.  The seasons are passing, but I don't always realize they've gone before they've moved on. I can sense them - especially those ephemeral ones of spring and fall - out of the corner of my eye, but am always left with the sense of "Did I miss it? Has it already gone?"

I'll survive, of course - the sun still rises, the rain still occasionally arrives, the heat definitely so.  But in the back of my heart I always find myself continuing to look for signs of a season that may have already gone - or is not yet here.

Fight Dissatisfaction!

There's been far too much ink spilt and money spent on getting people to change - to modify their conditions or their lives, to make themselves better than they are.  In reviewing this, I've realized there's a critical market not being served:  The people for who these individuals work, their spouses, their friends - anyone that somehow is a beneficiary of something that these people do.

This whole commitment to change thing is dangerous, you know.  People will start wanting to make their lives better and then start making their lives better.  You're aware of who loses out in that proposition, right?  You do.

That's why, as a public service, I've decided to help all those who want people to remain exactly where they are; those who wish to ensure that people keep their noses to the ground and their eyes on the dirt.  To you Overlords, great or petty, this is what you need to do to keep your people doing what you need them to do.

1)  Don't let them become dissatisfied:  This is one of the first signs that individuals are going to lurch towards the hard road of self transformation:  dissatisfaction.  That vague sense that gnaws at them that even though everything seems okay, something is wrong.  Terribly wrong, and they ought to fix it.

Fight these sensations. Keep them thinking about anything other than satisfaction.  Give them so much to do that they don't have time to think.  Occasionally indulge their little acts, so that the faint gleam of recognition will block out any sense that they are never recognized.  And for goodness sake, don't allow them to question "Is this all there is?"   If there's no question, there's no need to think about it.

2) Be oblivious:  The reality is that you as an Overlord (great or petty) have a great deal of work on your plate.  You're quite busy and important, you know.  Those that are around you, doing things to assist you in what you do, are really there to assist you in your climb to however you've defined success.  The last thing you need is a revolt in the middle of you campaign to greatness.

The easiest thing to do is be oblivious.  If you become too mired in details you're likely to start trying to understand what's going on, which both takes you away from your mission and may give others the idea that what they do is more important than it is.  Vague understanding is your friend here.  Frequently ask for updates.  Offer assistance without ever really giving any.  This has the benefit of keeping you "involved"  (oh, what a delightful word that is!) and gives the appearance that you're taking a more active role.  In the best of circumstances, people will believe you've actually started caring!

3) Occasionally crush them:  To all Overlords (great or petty), there's nothing quite as satisfying as exercising power over someone else.  At some level, it's why we all do what we do, right? 

Crushing people utterly reminds them of the fact that they're not nearly important as the rest of us.  You can't crush others too much, you understand:  that may work for the majority, but it will crystallize the internal workings of a minority, making them hard and focused to succeed.  Just an occasional dressing down ought to handle it.  And don't always insist on the full frontal assault either; sometimes just a lack of support at a critical moment will do more than 100 words spoken in anger.

4)  Insure they occasionally get recognized:  While occasionally crushing them is necessary, occasionally recognizing them is necessary as well.  If they're never recognized, they begin to wonder if this is true everywhere.  And if it's not true everywhere...you can see where this leads.

So occasionally recognize them.  Best if it's only in the confines of your local unit - business, family, chess club - lest they begin to feel too good about themselves and others begin to recognize their achievement (and worse, encourage it). 

Most importantly for this step, immediately go back to the way things were.  Don't dwell on the recognition.  If they begin to see ungrateful about something else, it's always helpful to remind them "Well, we did recognize you for....". 

5)  Don't let them question:  Don't let them question their situation.  Remind them that this is as good as it gets, that they are in fact successful and satisfied with their lives.  If they come to you with questions, play the willing ear.  Remind them that the world is a cold place and that they have it better than most.  Compliment them for their effort (of course), and give indications that with just a bit more effort, they can rise to the next level - maybe your level (they won't, of course, but no need to tell them that).

And never let them read!  Anything.  If they have to, let them keep to socially acceptable things like light fiction or popular literature - the sort of thing that is often discussed but rarely thought about.   Whenever asked, disincline them to read books about success or achievement.  If they must read such books, find ones that deal with them contributing to the whole rather than seeking personal change.  Books are dangerous things - it leads to thinking for themselves, asking questions and seeking change - all things we're trying to discourage, right?

Remember:  The dissatisfied are agents of change.  Agents of change are enemies to the success of those above them, who might be impacted. 

Keep them satisfied.   Keep them under control

The Illusion of Privacy

We as a people are of two minds about privacy.

On the one hand, privacy is something that we desperately hold on to.  We deeply reverence (and rightly so, in my opinion) the concept of individual privacy, that the individual has the right to lead their life untrammeled by the government wherever possible. On the other hand, we enjoy the free flow of telling information about our selves.  We happily discuss the activities of our lives on social forums.  We constantly carry on conversations which we scarcely realize are very easy to hear to those next to us.  We transfer to marketers all the information they want - and more - freely.

But underlying all of this is the concept that we have a right - granted to us by the universe - of a private life.

What if this is not so?

We only deal with the privacy in the context of our fellow humans.  What they do not see or hear is, in our minds, to us alone.  But there is a third party present at each second of our lives, at each moment of our activities:  God.

In reality, we are never truly alone.  We never have a truly private moment.  The walls we erect and the windows we cover do not hide us from the gaze of the Creator of the Universe.

What would our lives be like if we truly understood this concept?  Think of the times you have sinned in the dark or alone or completely isolated from others and have thought "No-one will know or ever find out".  That's simply not true.  Even alone in our mind, we still stand revealed to God.  There are no secret sins.

On the other hand, think of the times you have been steadfast or alone at a task or wounded in the deep parts of your soul.  Neither are these moments private.  The God who sees and comforts records all of these moments as well, ready to repay and reward someday.

If we grasped - truly grasped - that we are always with God and all our actions and thoughts are visible to Him, how would this change our lives?

Servanthood and Unreasonableness

One of the greatest problems I have with learning to serve is learning to put up with the unreasonableness of others.

People are unreasonable.  This should not come as an alert to anyone.  There are merely different  types of unreasonableness.  Some unreasonableness is just merely quirky:  people who like their desks clean or the coffee always fresh or papers aligned a certain way.  Maybe its a bit strange, maybe even a bit crazy, but quirky - and manageable.

But then there is the other kind of unreasonableness.  The kind of unreasonableness that reveals itself in demands or bad treatment, the sort that demands "Thou shalt do it My way" or the passing down of tasks to do without any consideration of how they will be done, the constant coming back to make something done their way without actually wanting to do the work themselves - or worse, the punishment simply because you fail to act precisely as is requested.

At best, these sorts of behaviors can be claimed as unreasonable.

It is somewhat amazing to me how quickly I can move from trying to be helpful and servant minded to a towering sense of rage when this sort of unreasonableness presents itself.  It's not quite that it immediately brings itself up:  it's that it builds, moving from a vague sense of annoyance to an active sense of resentment to - in its worst manifestations - a blinding sense of anger, of being treated as no more than a thing, a sort of human extension of the will of another.  All personality, all uniqueness, all value seems stripped away.  You are merely a pliers with hands, a computer entry device with a voice.

How do I make sense of this in the quest to serve?  Let us not kid ourselves:  be a servant, and human nature will quickly come to treat and view you as nothing more than a stepping stone to their ambitions, their goals, their outward appearances.  Whatever good you may have originally envisioned you were performing, whatever witness you may have been trying to give too often seems to get lost beneath the layers being a smaller cog in another machine.  It seemingly destroys the simple act of serving - after all, what point in being a servant, following Christ, when your service is either invisible or viewed as another tool in the tool box?

Is this not where faith may again play a role?  We are obedient because God calls us to obedience and assures us that all things work to our good and His glory.  All things, not just those of which we have "I am serving as a servant of Christ" blazoned on them like a neon sign.  Just because one person sees us in this light does not mean that all around us do not see us that same way.  Our influence is more often far deeper than what we can imagine:  more is seen out of the corner of the eye than is ever let on by most.

And the anger?  At it's most fundamental level, it's sin.  It's selfishness.  It's pride.  It's me demanding my own rights and my own way rather than submitting to another.  Does that make it easier to deal with?  Hardly.  But just because one can't deal with something doesn't change the facts.

We are called as Christians to be servants.  We are not told - at least in this life -that all acts of servant hood are recognized.  But we are told that, eventually, they will be.

Learning to Serve

Learning to be a servant is one of the most difficult things I have ever undertaken. 

To learn to be a servant is to realize the multiplicity of things that have to go on before and after something occurs - and realize that you are the one to do them.  To be a servant is to accept that even in the context of equals, someone asking for something means that you will do it - even if that results in the realization of others that you are not an equal.  To be a servant is to do without expectation (at least here) of reward or even acknowledgement.   To be a servant is to accept that sometimes, perhaps often, the great tasks of the enterprise or of the age are not yours to do and decide, to be replaced by the humble and unnoticed that may never been seen but are critically necessary.

This can be a very hard thing.

It's hard for me because I guess I have always believed that I was intended for something more:  to be a leader, a decision maker, someone who is out in front blazing a trail.  It's a thought our culture and society tends to enforce; whole books and websites are dedicated to the concept of being in charge.  I tried that once, working for The Firm.  On the one hand it was incredibly hypnotic, this sense of being at the apex of the pyramid, of striding across the landscape of business casting a shadow, of being the one to ask others to do.

Unfortunately, thing didn't work out as I had hoped.  Feelings of power and influence alone do not compensate for the quiet, hard work necessary to make things go.  And having a group of leaders who all believe (perhaps secretly) that the other person is the servant does not make for getting things done.

To be a servant is hard because you realize - in full-force frontal impact - how little control you have over so very many things.  To be a servant is ultimately to put your trust in the person or thing you are serving, that while you are performing your actions they are performing theirs in such a way that it ultimately benefits you as well as them.

Which is probably another reason why being a servant is so hard for so many:  they've been burned by serving those that are not worthy.

Think of world history:  those who gladly served National Socialism or Stalin's communism in hopes of  a better world only to see the long term ruin they caused.  Or more personally in our own lives, those who we have served - business supervisors, friends, even perhaps family - only to discover that they did not have our best interests at heart:  the layoffs that came after we excelled, the sudden cutoff of ties.  To be a servant is - willingly or unwillingly - to put your ultimate success and reward in the hands of someone else.

That's why, perhaps, Christians are uniquely positioned to be servants:  because ultimately we can have faith in the One on whose behalf we serve, that He will ultimately work everything to our good, that by serving Him and in His name He is truly looking out for our best interests, even if we ourselves cannot quite see that here.  Ultimately for the Christian there is ultimate success and reward because it is the hands of Another - One far greater than any of us and far more able to guarantee the results.

Ultimately serving is an act of faith.  Where is your faith placed?

Why Don't I Desire God More?

Why don't I desire God more?

I'm re-reading Safely Home by Randy Alcorn for the second or third time.  For those that haven't read it, it's a novel based on the experience of the persecuted home church movement in China.  While it is a work of fiction, it is based on the experiences of the actual church.

To read it is to read of things that I simply have no point of reference for:  persecution, arrest, physical harm, the Bible being illegal if not registered, of meeting in fear of being caught.  At the same time, it's also to read of things which I wish I had a point of reference to but also seem to have none:  powerful prayer, a real sense of God in one's life, the true commitment and understanding of the cost of being a Christian, a passion for evangelism (here, I fall very short).

Which brings me back to the original question:  why don't I desire God more?

Am I not fully convinced of the reality of sin? Is it that I am not (or never was) completely hopeless about how that sin was to be purged?  Is it that I am to concerned with the things of this life - not just the physical things, but my physical and mental well being?  Is it because my own plans are more dear to me than God?

Is it simple selfishness? 

And all that being true, how do I desire God more?

Can't Control?

What do you do when you face something you simply cannot change?

This is where I have found myself over the last week and into this week:  a situation where, no matter what I do, I simple cannot make everything that is supposed to happen.

I've done what you're supposed to do, of course:  maximized my time, delegated, working harder, made my request up the appropriate chain.  Still, I find myself in the exactly the same position: I cannot change anything.  The part that is bothersome, of course, is the impending sense of doom that is hovering over my head, knowing that there is nothing more I can do even as I fear that something will occur.

So what does one do when this happens?  Do what you can?  See above.  Scream about it?  Not  a terribly useful exercise.  Verbally complain to others?  There is no faster way to be mentally shut out by others.  Wait for something to go wrong?  Maybe viscerally satisfying of course, but hardly a problem solving method and certainly an attention getter in the wrong sense.

So (if one may ask) what's left?

Turn it over to God.

It seems counterintiuitive, and I'm not even really sure I completely understand what it's supposed to do.  But the reality is that this is my remaining option:  to turn this over to God completely.  Do what I can, of course - but then not exercise in any sort of "bad" behavior such that would discredit me or God.

It scares me, this turning over.  It's not something I can really control - in fact, the biggest control I have to exercise is over myself (which is all I ever had control of anyway).  I don't necessarily see how yielding my own rights in this matter (anger, pride, a sense of "told you so") will resolve any of the issues at hand.

But maybe I don't have to.  Maybe this insistence that I have - that I've always had - on completely understanding ever aspect of something before I engage is wrong.  One does not understand love before one is in it, and one does not appreciate what it truly means to be a parent until one does it.

We say "God is in control".  Do we really believe it?

What Matters

I have to keep dragging myself back to what matters time and time again.

It's odd how easily I am able to get myself off what is important and on to what is not.  I think it mostly stems from focusing on me:  my needs, but especially my wants.

Wants are dangerous things.  Unlike needs, which typically there is a justification for (food or sleep or shelter, for example), wants can very easily become a consuming fire, an overriding desire that eats up everything that may be good in our life for that which is either unattainable or at such an extreme outer limit that it will eat up our lives trying to get there.

And for what?  In reality, very little.  One of the benefits (if it can be called such) of growing older is the realization that things don't really have the power to gratify like we believe that they do.  Sure, it feels great for a little while:  the new car zings, the new book we can't wait to read, that thing that we have been unable to envision our life without - even relationships can fall into this category:  the person whose acquaintance propels us up the ladder to the next level, the relationship with the other that will make our lives sun and roses.

But in each case these are temporary things:  the car just takes us places, the book will be read and probably forgotten, the thing will eventually be put aside or scratched or broken, the relationship that moves us ahead discarded when it becomes inconvenient, the idealized romantic reltionship will eventually become just like another.  It's only at that point - if at all - we ask the logical question of "Was it worth it?"

We forget - or consciously block out - that life here is excrutiatingly temporary, that there is a reality that far outweighs this one in time and importance - and that we have the opportunity to do things now that will impact that greater reality.  But in order to do that, we have to learn to focus on the important things, on the things that matter most.

It's all a matter of perspective.

Automatic Transmission

I had an epiphany yesterday walking across the parking lot at work.

Somewhere deep within my soul, I have always believed that what I do was important - and that it would be recognized as such. Somewhere, somehow, there would be a knowledge that what I do mattes, that people would recognize that it matters, and that there would be some kind of sincere interest in what we do, how hard we work, and how we contribute.

I realized yesterday that I was wrong.

To use an analogy, I was under the impression that my career field would be recognized as an engine, an important item necessary to the functioning of car.  In reality, while we are very important to how my company functions, we are really the automatic transmission.

Automatic transmissions are just there.  They work silently in the background of the operation of the car.    People don't talk about their automatic transmissions.  They certainly don't think of the operation of them and they really don't give a second thought as to how they contribute to the operation of the car, other than the underlying sense that they work.    All they know is that when they push the gas and shift, the car moves forward.

That's what people really want from what I do as well:  silent, functional, quietly working away in the background.

In one sense such a realization is releasing.  To quote John MacArthur, disillusionment is the the child of illusion.  The reality is that the assumptions I was making, the things I was dreaming would be self evident others, is simply not the case - because others don't view my job the same way.  There's no point in becoming angry or upset about something that is not interpreted your way and never will be.

On the other hand, there's also a sense of disappointment.  Automatic transmissions never are recognized - except, of course, when they break down.  I guess I secretly have craved - am craving - attention, an acknowledgement of the importance of what I do and the challenges in doing it.  In fact, such attention and recognition will never come as a result of this.

The expectation? To be that automatic transmission silently operating in the background with nary a hint of issues.  To meet the increased demands of operational engine capacity by smoothly and instinctively adjusting.  To accept the fact that in world of engines, exteriors and interiors, I am - and will always be - simply a functional part which solely exists to support the rest of the car.