One of the things I have always struggled with in my considerations of God's purpose and submission is the relationship of self confidence.
Full disclosure: I have - for most of life - struggled with self confidence. Even when doing things that I am relatively skilled at, I struggle with having any confidence in myself and what I am doing.
Why? There are probably a host of reasons buried beneath the surface. The one that is germane to the conversation at hand is that it often impinges on my understanding of what submission to God and His purposes means.
The crux of my problem is this: if I am submissive to God and His purposes, seeking His plans, then I feel as if I have lost the ability to have confidence in my own ability to choose a path and my directions. This lends itself to constant sense of looking over one's shoulder, of trying to ascertain if what one is doing is really correct or if it is a misdirection of what was intended.
Do this long enough, and what one finds is that one becomes immobilized, never really sure what direction one should be taking or failing to put full effort into what is at hand, fearing that it is the wrong thing to be spending time on but never sure how to figure out what the right thing is.
If you think this isn't crippling, you can't imagine the level of uncertainty - perhaps even fear - that enters one's life when one is never sure of direction or effort or if one is doing the right thing at all. It makes days a thing of concern and nights a thing of waste (after all, you should be doing something more useful than sleeping, right)?
How does one resolve this?
I'm not sure. I've just written, deleted, rewritten, and re-deleted a phrase three times in this spot. I can come with the answer I think I should, but I'm not sure that it's the honest answer. Matters such as these are too important to leave to trite phrases and passionless mouthings of things I have not really made my own, a form of rote chanting without understanding the words.
How does one bridge the gap between God's will and purpose and the daily self confidence to competently live one's life?
Friday, August 10, 2012
Thursday, August 09, 2012
The Act of Lowering
Submission: The act of being submissive, humble, or compliant; the act of submitting to the authority or control of another. Middle English, from Anglo-French, from Latin submissio/submittere, the act of lowering.
One of the ugly little not-so-secret secrets of my life is that I have a terrible time with submission. I have problems submitting to authority of any kind - especially if I think the idea/thought/request is ridiculous or a waste of time. But topping the list of my submission issues is my submission to God.
Frankly, I'm terrible at it.
Oh, I'm great at the things I want to be submissive about. But as soon as we start to meander over into things that I think are foolish or silly - or worst of all, things I really want - the hackles on the back of my neck raise up and suddenly I become...."difficult".
Me, arguing with the God of the Universe. Silly, isn't it.
The silliest thing about it is that submission to God is freedom, not control. It's staying with the guardrails of living. It's transferring the outcome of relationships, events, and even my life over to the authority of God. "Do it my way" says God throughout the Scripture, "and I take ultimate responsibility for the outcome - and the ultimate outcome is very, very good. Do it your way - prepare to be responsible."
Why can't I get that? Why do I constantly struggle with doing the thing that will bring ultimate joy?
Simple. Look at the Latin root of submission: the act of lowering. When I submit, I make myself lower than something else. In human terms in can be a government, a pastor, a business, a boss. Ultimately, I make myself lower than God.
And to lower one's self is to lift something else above it. Pride - that ever present sin, the one C.S. Lewis considered one of the greatest sins - bursts forth in a paean of self-praise. You, it says, are equal to or better than all others. You need to submit to no-one."
How do I learn to submit more? For myself, it's often as simple as looking at the outcome of what I have managed to accomplish on my own when I did it "my way". Trust me, the track record is not that spectacular. If we take on the responsibility of doing things our way instead of God's way, we take on the responsibility of the results in our life.
I have to ask myself this question: "If I did X God's way instead of what I did, what were the possible outcomes?" Yes, I know we can't fully know what might have happened, but I think we can safely extrapolate other things based on what did happen.
It comes back to the question of pride: will we lower ourselves before God?
Because in the end everyone will lower to God - every knee will bend and every tongue confess that Christ is Lord. It's when we decide to lower ourselves that has the eternal implications.
One of the ugly little not-so-secret secrets of my life is that I have a terrible time with submission. I have problems submitting to authority of any kind - especially if I think the idea/thought/request is ridiculous or a waste of time. But topping the list of my submission issues is my submission to God.
Frankly, I'm terrible at it.
Oh, I'm great at the things I want to be submissive about. But as soon as we start to meander over into things that I think are foolish or silly - or worst of all, things I really want - the hackles on the back of my neck raise up and suddenly I become...."difficult".
Me, arguing with the God of the Universe. Silly, isn't it.
The silliest thing about it is that submission to God is freedom, not control. It's staying with the guardrails of living. It's transferring the outcome of relationships, events, and even my life over to the authority of God. "Do it my way" says God throughout the Scripture, "and I take ultimate responsibility for the outcome - and the ultimate outcome is very, very good. Do it your way - prepare to be responsible."
Why can't I get that? Why do I constantly struggle with doing the thing that will bring ultimate joy?
Simple. Look at the Latin root of submission: the act of lowering. When I submit, I make myself lower than something else. In human terms in can be a government, a pastor, a business, a boss. Ultimately, I make myself lower than God.
And to lower one's self is to lift something else above it. Pride - that ever present sin, the one C.S. Lewis considered one of the greatest sins - bursts forth in a paean of self-praise. You, it says, are equal to or better than all others. You need to submit to no-one."
How do I learn to submit more? For myself, it's often as simple as looking at the outcome of what I have managed to accomplish on my own when I did it "my way". Trust me, the track record is not that spectacular. If we take on the responsibility of doing things our way instead of God's way, we take on the responsibility of the results in our life.
I have to ask myself this question: "If I did X God's way instead of what I did, what were the possible outcomes?" Yes, I know we can't fully know what might have happened, but I think we can safely extrapolate other things based on what did happen.
It comes back to the question of pride: will we lower ourselves before God?
Because in the end everyone will lower to God - every knee will bend and every tongue confess that Christ is Lord. It's when we decide to lower ourselves that has the eternal implications.
Wednesday, August 08, 2012
Purpose?
How does one find the purpose - or even a purpose - for one's life in the midst of all the other things seeming to offer none?
There seems to be a combination of factors in my life - a renewed realization of the amount of selfishness I possess within myself as well as level of instability - that is causing me to question what my old purpose was - indeed, even if I had a purpose - and what, assuming the old one is defunct, the new one should be.
In my career, I seem to be butting up against the wall of reality; that suddenly the limitless blue sky of possibilities - career advancement, salary - is coming to a halt, that I can perhaps expect the normal advancement of time but the dream of moving to a significantly higher position (with higher pay) has moved on.
This then combines with factors of self-centeredness within my life - for me, perhaps, the escape valve of my life for doing what I would not really like to be doing - to create a situation where even though I may be at what and where I am for a long time, I cannot just "check out" with my own activities and life.
I'd love to say that I've had some blinding vision from God, some passionate uplifting dream to move me over this hump into the next phase, something so utterly clear that I cannot mistake it for anything else - but alas, I have not. I just have the walls of reality seemingly continue to close in on the circle of my life, leaving me with a smaller radius and and increasingly narrow view of the sky.
How does one find a purpose in the midst of this? How can one take the ordinary, mundane events of one's life and craft a purpose of it or weave a purpose through it? How does one find a purpose - not a canned response, but a real motivating one?
I can just make up my own or quote one, but it hardly changes anything - more of a justification of events that are already in place than a guiding statement. And eventually, I will see it as such and it will become irrelevant, one more in a list of things that I thought was real or mattered or I could do.
In the darkness of my soul I ask myself: What am I doing wrong?
There seems to be a combination of factors in my life - a renewed realization of the amount of selfishness I possess within myself as well as level of instability - that is causing me to question what my old purpose was - indeed, even if I had a purpose - and what, assuming the old one is defunct, the new one should be.
In my career, I seem to be butting up against the wall of reality; that suddenly the limitless blue sky of possibilities - career advancement, salary - is coming to a halt, that I can perhaps expect the normal advancement of time but the dream of moving to a significantly higher position (with higher pay) has moved on.
This then combines with factors of self-centeredness within my life - for me, perhaps, the escape valve of my life for doing what I would not really like to be doing - to create a situation where even though I may be at what and where I am for a long time, I cannot just "check out" with my own activities and life.
I'd love to say that I've had some blinding vision from God, some passionate uplifting dream to move me over this hump into the next phase, something so utterly clear that I cannot mistake it for anything else - but alas, I have not. I just have the walls of reality seemingly continue to close in on the circle of my life, leaving me with a smaller radius and and increasingly narrow view of the sky.
How does one find a purpose in the midst of this? How can one take the ordinary, mundane events of one's life and craft a purpose of it or weave a purpose through it? How does one find a purpose - not a canned response, but a real motivating one?
I can just make up my own or quote one, but it hardly changes anything - more of a justification of events that are already in place than a guiding statement. And eventually, I will see it as such and it will become irrelevant, one more in a list of things that I thought was real or mattered or I could do.
In the darkness of my soul I ask myself: What am I doing wrong?
Tuesday, August 07, 2012
Sin and Selfishness
All sin, ultimately, is selfishness.
That's a hard saying, hard in the face of a world that so often elevates the individual and individual achievement. It suggests that in fact we should spend less time on ourselves - do we ever really get to spend enough time to suit ourselves? - and more on the things outside of ourselves.
A little enlightened self interest, sure - but sin? Really? That's a pretty drastic word for the unkind thought I think or the candy I sneak or the thoughts I have that I shouldn't. That's more just catering to myself. I do work hard, you know. Sacrifice a lot.
All sin, ultimately, is selfishness.
Sin is simply (if such a word can be used for so devastating a thought) not doing as God does and not willing as God wills. It can be anything - an action, a thought, a word. But when I choose to sin (and as much as I'd like to excuse myself, I do choose it), I choose to do something other than what God would or not will as God wills.
Why? Because I have chosen to elevate myself and my desires (or my world, my "deservings") above God and His desires and will. Whether it is a flagrant sin or simply something secret, the root is the same: I, O God, am more important and know better than You.
Thus the danger of a culture that worships the individual, that indiscriminately tells us we are the most important thing in the universe and that we are here to self-actualize ourselves: we believe that our interests, our lives, are the most important things that are going on. We carefully learn to soothe any sense of "sin" beneath layers of being "God's Creation" and "Unique", forgetting what those words actually mean and imply.
All sin, ultimately, is selfishness.
I write this out of a sense of being first in line. I have created a plethora of justifications in my life when I sin (and let's not bother with the discussion of if it's sin. Let's just go with the fact it is). In my case, I too often hide it beneath a veneer of the "sacrifice" I make by doing what I do (which is not what I love), that I am "owed" whatever pleasures and time I can scratch together, even if such things cause me to ignore the real responsibilities and tasks I am called to.
I hate writing this, because to shine such a light is to reveal the shriveled thing my inner most self has become - by becoming "rich" in things for myself, I have become poor both in the things of God and the things of responsibility that I am called to do.
All sin, ultimately, is selfishness.
The cure? Ah, the cure. Just the most simple and most difficult thing a person ever has to do. Die to self.
Die to self. Live to God. Let go of all that I claim are my rights. Change my thoughts and my will into God's thoughts and will, my actions into His. Start by rejecting those ways that I cater to myself, even in the smallest of things.
Repent, of course. Repent of sin. Repent of thinking that the clear is not clear, that good and evil are not gray bands moving between each other but clearly defined. Repent of thinking that my needs outrank anybody else's: my own, my family, my friends, strangers, God.
All sin, ultimately, is selfishness.
All God glorifying, ultimately, is selflessness.
That's a hard saying, hard in the face of a world that so often elevates the individual and individual achievement. It suggests that in fact we should spend less time on ourselves - do we ever really get to spend enough time to suit ourselves? - and more on the things outside of ourselves.
A little enlightened self interest, sure - but sin? Really? That's a pretty drastic word for the unkind thought I think or the candy I sneak or the thoughts I have that I shouldn't. That's more just catering to myself. I do work hard, you know. Sacrifice a lot.
All sin, ultimately, is selfishness.
Sin is simply (if such a word can be used for so devastating a thought) not doing as God does and not willing as God wills. It can be anything - an action, a thought, a word. But when I choose to sin (and as much as I'd like to excuse myself, I do choose it), I choose to do something other than what God would or not will as God wills.
Why? Because I have chosen to elevate myself and my desires (or my world, my "deservings") above God and His desires and will. Whether it is a flagrant sin or simply something secret, the root is the same: I, O God, am more important and know better than You.
Thus the danger of a culture that worships the individual, that indiscriminately tells us we are the most important thing in the universe and that we are here to self-actualize ourselves: we believe that our interests, our lives, are the most important things that are going on. We carefully learn to soothe any sense of "sin" beneath layers of being "God's Creation" and "Unique", forgetting what those words actually mean and imply.
All sin, ultimately, is selfishness.
I write this out of a sense of being first in line. I have created a plethora of justifications in my life when I sin (and let's not bother with the discussion of if it's sin. Let's just go with the fact it is). In my case, I too often hide it beneath a veneer of the "sacrifice" I make by doing what I do (which is not what I love), that I am "owed" whatever pleasures and time I can scratch together, even if such things cause me to ignore the real responsibilities and tasks I am called to.
I hate writing this, because to shine such a light is to reveal the shriveled thing my inner most self has become - by becoming "rich" in things for myself, I have become poor both in the things of God and the things of responsibility that I am called to do.
All sin, ultimately, is selfishness.
The cure? Ah, the cure. Just the most simple and most difficult thing a person ever has to do. Die to self.
Die to self. Live to God. Let go of all that I claim are my rights. Change my thoughts and my will into God's thoughts and will, my actions into His. Start by rejecting those ways that I cater to myself, even in the smallest of things.
Repent, of course. Repent of sin. Repent of thinking that the clear is not clear, that good and evil are not gray bands moving between each other but clearly defined. Repent of thinking that my needs outrank anybody else's: my own, my family, my friends, strangers, God.
All sin, ultimately, is selfishness.
All God glorifying, ultimately, is selflessness.
Monday, August 06, 2012
Back on Schedule?
The problem with exceptions to the program is that at some point, you have to go back to the program.
This is what I'm facing now that the audit has finished. I have to return to my life - which is fine, I'm ready to be back in it - but in order to get there, I have to get back on schedule.
This is the difficult part.
I had realized for many years that I am a creature of plans and schedules. I like to know what is coming up. One of the most annoying things that can happen in my world - The Ravishing Mrs. TB says I get wild eyed when it comes up - is when someone comes up with a spontaneous plan when I've already got my mind set that we're doing something else.
But we're not at the spontaneous at this moment, we're at the point in which we are trying to reconstruct the morning and evening schedule of my life. And what I'm finding is that it is drastically more difficult to get back "into the groove" than I had anticipated. The interesting fact is that it does not take long for me to target - or in my world, lazy.
It suggests two things: either 1) I am really unmotivated or 2) I was fooling myself in what I was doing.
So now the re-evaluation process starts: What am I doing? Why am I doing it? Is it the most important thing I could be doing?
Heady questions for a morning routine, I'm sure. But the underlying theme - what I'm doing with my time - is one I take seriously, as I have come to appreciate more and more that time is in frighteningly short supply compared to all there is to do.
I got at least four things that I usually do done this morning. Tomorrow I'll try for five, and we'll start rebuilding from there. But always in the back of my mind I hear the clock ticking and the questions ring: "Why are you doing this? Is this the best thing you could be doing with your time?"
This is what I'm facing now that the audit has finished. I have to return to my life - which is fine, I'm ready to be back in it - but in order to get there, I have to get back on schedule.
This is the difficult part.
I had realized for many years that I am a creature of plans and schedules. I like to know what is coming up. One of the most annoying things that can happen in my world - The Ravishing Mrs. TB says I get wild eyed when it comes up - is when someone comes up with a spontaneous plan when I've already got my mind set that we're doing something else.
But we're not at the spontaneous at this moment, we're at the point in which we are trying to reconstruct the morning and evening schedule of my life. And what I'm finding is that it is drastically more difficult to get back "into the groove" than I had anticipated. The interesting fact is that it does not take long for me to target - or in my world, lazy.
It suggests two things: either 1) I am really unmotivated or 2) I was fooling myself in what I was doing.
So now the re-evaluation process starts: What am I doing? Why am I doing it? Is it the most important thing I could be doing?
Heady questions for a morning routine, I'm sure. But the underlying theme - what I'm doing with my time - is one I take seriously, as I have come to appreciate more and more that time is in frighteningly short supply compared to all there is to do.
I got at least four things that I usually do done this morning. Tomorrow I'll try for five, and we'll start rebuilding from there. But always in the back of my mind I hear the clock ticking and the questions ring: "Why are you doing this? Is this the best thing you could be doing with your time?"
Friday, August 03, 2012
Thursday, August 02, 2012
Instability or Boredom?
Which do I hate more: Instability or boredom?
This is brought to forefront ever time I have to manage an audit.
One the one hand, audits do break up the boredom. 8 to 9 hours a day you are in a room, on your toes, constantly waiting for questions like "Can you explain this?" or "You don't seem to have..." or that worst of all possible words, "It looks like this is a non-conformity".
On the other hand, audits are exhausting. One exists constantly in a state of heightened awareness, trying to end run questions before they arise, constantly dreading the words "nonconformity" or "observation". Yes, you may not be responsible for it, but somehow it always seems to come back to you.
Then there's the going back after they've left to prepare for the next day, perhaps prepare answers in hopes that they will change their mind, and attend to the work that has had to go wanting over the last period of days while you performed the audit.
So the days are instable - but exciting. On the other hand, most of my days are relatively stable - but boring.
Which one do I really hate more?
This is brought to forefront ever time I have to manage an audit.
One the one hand, audits do break up the boredom. 8 to 9 hours a day you are in a room, on your toes, constantly waiting for questions like "Can you explain this?" or "You don't seem to have..." or that worst of all possible words, "It looks like this is a non-conformity".
On the other hand, audits are exhausting. One exists constantly in a state of heightened awareness, trying to end run questions before they arise, constantly dreading the words "nonconformity" or "observation". Yes, you may not be responsible for it, but somehow it always seems to come back to you.
Then there's the going back after they've left to prepare for the next day, perhaps prepare answers in hopes that they will change their mind, and attend to the work that has had to go wanting over the last period of days while you performed the audit.
So the days are instable - but exciting. On the other hand, most of my days are relatively stable - but boring.
Which one do I really hate more?
Wednesday, August 01, 2012
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Dying to Self
Dying to self is one of the hardest things in the world.
It's hard to me both because it's a seemingly endless activity and there is always something else, something more, that I need to look at.
Not that I'm good at it of course - in fact, I'm one of the worst I know. I'm forever finding reasons to justify my independence, my holding on to this or that. But that's not an excuse for an activity which, every day, I need to be engaging in more and more.
The pervasiveness of it is astounding, if one really thinks about it. What does it mean to have one's thoughts, one's opinions, one's mission in life replaced by Christ's? The implications are farther reaching than I can even contemplate: if I die to self and live to Christ, what does that do to my language, how I speak to and about others? What does that do to how I work? What does that do to how I live?
On a more personal level, what does dying to self do to my own life? Does that give me the blank slate to continue to pursue my own interests when God may have other needs for my life? Do I become more important than my children? Than my wife? Than my family unit?
Christ used the example of dying to self as a grain of wheat falling to the earth. This, I know something about having grown wheat and barley for a number of years. And the reality is that if the grain you plant dies, it produces anywhere from 10-20 grains itself per head. It's a great example of the gardening world - but when it's brought to my own life, it becomes a much more dicey thing. The example is there - it's just that I don't feel like I'm a grain wheat.
Which is probably a bit arrogant in and of itself. The wheat and barley were created to do one thing, which they do quite well. I, as God's creation, was created to do something else. The wheat and barley (so far as we know) do their job without complaint; it's only we humans that seem to have an issue with doing other than what we're created to do.
But that requires an abandonment of self, an abandonment of the centrality of one's own life in pursuit of the life God calls us to. It is sacrifice, even as the grain of wheat sacrifices it's being for the sake of the 20.
The question is, will we be the one that sacrifices into many? Or will we remain cold and hard in the ground, clutching to our dreams and aspirations of what it means to our own grain of wheat?
It's hard to me both because it's a seemingly endless activity and there is always something else, something more, that I need to look at.
Not that I'm good at it of course - in fact, I'm one of the worst I know. I'm forever finding reasons to justify my independence, my holding on to this or that. But that's not an excuse for an activity which, every day, I need to be engaging in more and more.
The pervasiveness of it is astounding, if one really thinks about it. What does it mean to have one's thoughts, one's opinions, one's mission in life replaced by Christ's? The implications are farther reaching than I can even contemplate: if I die to self and live to Christ, what does that do to my language, how I speak to and about others? What does that do to how I work? What does that do to how I live?
On a more personal level, what does dying to self do to my own life? Does that give me the blank slate to continue to pursue my own interests when God may have other needs for my life? Do I become more important than my children? Than my wife? Than my family unit?
Christ used the example of dying to self as a grain of wheat falling to the earth. This, I know something about having grown wheat and barley for a number of years. And the reality is that if the grain you plant dies, it produces anywhere from 10-20 grains itself per head. It's a great example of the gardening world - but when it's brought to my own life, it becomes a much more dicey thing. The example is there - it's just that I don't feel like I'm a grain wheat.
Which is probably a bit arrogant in and of itself. The wheat and barley were created to do one thing, which they do quite well. I, as God's creation, was created to do something else. The wheat and barley (so far as we know) do their job without complaint; it's only we humans that seem to have an issue with doing other than what we're created to do.
But that requires an abandonment of self, an abandonment of the centrality of one's own life in pursuit of the life God calls us to. It is sacrifice, even as the grain of wheat sacrifices it's being for the sake of the 20.
The question is, will we be the one that sacrifices into many? Or will we remain cold and hard in the ground, clutching to our dreams and aspirations of what it means to our own grain of wheat?
Monday, July 30, 2012
The Next Step
I think it's time to take the next step. Of course, it helps if one knows what the next step is, but I suppose the important thing is realizing that one has to be ready to do it.
What's the next step? Ah, there's the rub. I've glimmers and thoughts of what it might be, almost hidden flashes of an idea, but it's always veiled in mist, light quickly flashing into darkness.
I think I have to change.
Not the core, of course: that's pretty well set at this point, and in point of fact is something that I need to do more of, not less: my greatest successes have come from operating out of that core.
It's the ancillary things, the things that are how I do things from the core that need changing.
What do these look like? Things like focus like actually keeping to goals and focus and staying on task and forcing myself to really know whatever it is that I'm doing. In a word, some form of maturity.
Ugh. There it is. That most horrid of words, the word that reeks of ties and ill fitting shoes and doing things one really doesn't want to. Those are my perceptions of maturity - the unhappy adult, looking longily at those doing what they want, then sighing and placing said nose back on the grindstone.
But that's not quite the point - or at least not quite the point as I have come to see it. It's simply an admission that I've come about as far as I can doing things the way I have done them to this point. For me to continue to grow, to achieve, to succeed (by whatever measure you want to define success by), I have to learn a new way of doing things - in my case, a slightly more constructed, documented way.
It will be uncomfortable. It will require me to set goals (what I define them as, to be sure) and hold myself to keeping them. It will mean there's a touch less "spontaneity" in my life.
But the alternative - perhaps part of my problem now - is this looming sense that I am stuck against a cliff and cannot go any further. And if one is stuck, sometimes all there is for it is to learn to climb.
What's the next step? Ah, there's the rub. I've glimmers and thoughts of what it might be, almost hidden flashes of an idea, but it's always veiled in mist, light quickly flashing into darkness.
I think I have to change.
Not the core, of course: that's pretty well set at this point, and in point of fact is something that I need to do more of, not less: my greatest successes have come from operating out of that core.
It's the ancillary things, the things that are how I do things from the core that need changing.
What do these look like? Things like focus like actually keeping to goals and focus and staying on task and forcing myself to really know whatever it is that I'm doing. In a word, some form of maturity.
Ugh. There it is. That most horrid of words, the word that reeks of ties and ill fitting shoes and doing things one really doesn't want to. Those are my perceptions of maturity - the unhappy adult, looking longily at those doing what they want, then sighing and placing said nose back on the grindstone.
But that's not quite the point - or at least not quite the point as I have come to see it. It's simply an admission that I've come about as far as I can doing things the way I have done them to this point. For me to continue to grow, to achieve, to succeed (by whatever measure you want to define success by), I have to learn a new way of doing things - in my case, a slightly more constructed, documented way.
It will be uncomfortable. It will require me to set goals (what I define them as, to be sure) and hold myself to keeping them. It will mean there's a touch less "spontaneity" in my life.
But the alternative - perhaps part of my problem now - is this looming sense that I am stuck against a cliff and cannot go any further. And if one is stuck, sometimes all there is for it is to learn to climb.
Friday, July 27, 2012
Play the Pipes Lowly
An experience that is tragically becoming all too frequent these days: Boudicca of the Iceni is leaving.
It is another bittersweet experience, happy with a sting. The happiness engages from the sense of release and moving on that exudes from her pores as she prepares for her last day; the sadness stings with the fact that of Monday, our world will be a great deal dimmer.
I owe a great debt to Boudicca. By watching her, I have learned a great deal about actual management and planning. I've seen someone who knows process and product so intimately and well that she knows more by thinking than most of us do by looking something up. I've seen what real, practical expertise is and how a deep knowledge of something is a thing of power.
She be missed by the environment as well. When she leaves, the living memory of the company and its efforts will be greatly reduced by a factor of 4 years. With her, an entire line of things disappears into the darkness of the past, to live only in moldering records in a warehouse awaiting destruction.
I will miss her companionship as well. I will miss the ability to just drop by the office and talk for a few moments about anything; of the sudden rush for something to eat; of the magical "food drawer" from which things emerge from time to time. I will miss the times she came by when I was obviously in distress and cheered me up.
I will miss the fact that she taught me one of the greatest lessons I have learned: about shutting my mouth. And a second great lesson: about forgiveness.
Ave atque Vale, Boudicca. Your new future is bright with promise, even as ours is dim with your departure.
It is another bittersweet experience, happy with a sting. The happiness engages from the sense of release and moving on that exudes from her pores as she prepares for her last day; the sadness stings with the fact that of Monday, our world will be a great deal dimmer.
I owe a great debt to Boudicca. By watching her, I have learned a great deal about actual management and planning. I've seen someone who knows process and product so intimately and well that she knows more by thinking than most of us do by looking something up. I've seen what real, practical expertise is and how a deep knowledge of something is a thing of power.
She be missed by the environment as well. When she leaves, the living memory of the company and its efforts will be greatly reduced by a factor of 4 years. With her, an entire line of things disappears into the darkness of the past, to live only in moldering records in a warehouse awaiting destruction.
I will miss her companionship as well. I will miss the ability to just drop by the office and talk for a few moments about anything; of the sudden rush for something to eat; of the magical "food drawer" from which things emerge from time to time. I will miss the times she came by when I was obviously in distress and cheered me up.
I will miss the fact that she taught me one of the greatest lessons I have learned: about shutting my mouth. And a second great lesson: about forgiveness.
Ave atque Vale, Boudicca. Your new future is bright with promise, even as ours is dim with your departure.
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Discomfort
I'm coming to believe I need a certain amount of discomfort in my life.
Why? Because I easily become complacent. Because I easily can fool myself into accepting the status quo as it stands, that any situation is really more endurable than it be (yes, I understand that many situations are endurable. My point is that there are those that one has to be in and those one chooses to be in).
Discomfort is the stone in the boot. It's the light on the dashboard that won't go away. It's the thing that constantly reminds me that something is not quite right, that something needs to be attended to.
I find ways around it, of course. I try to convince myself that things are not all that bad, that I can continue to work with the stone in my boot. I let things roll off my back, hoping that they will continue to roll but never questioning why I should have to hope they roll off in the first place.
But just acknowledging that the discomfort exists is not enough. This discomfort needs to push me to action, not just accommodation. I need to use the discomfort to propel me to do, not just extend my skills in endurance of small discomforts.
Because in the end, both the discomfort and the endurance of it say less about the actually situation and more about myself: my energy levels, my goals, my desire to actually act. Given long enough and without action, at some point one looks back and realizes not only what the discomfort was trying to force in action, but what the cost of compensating turned out to be.
Far better to stop, remove the stone, and change your situation.
Why? Because I easily become complacent. Because I easily can fool myself into accepting the status quo as it stands, that any situation is really more endurable than it be (yes, I understand that many situations are endurable. My point is that there are those that one has to be in and those one chooses to be in).
Discomfort is the stone in the boot. It's the light on the dashboard that won't go away. It's the thing that constantly reminds me that something is not quite right, that something needs to be attended to.
I find ways around it, of course. I try to convince myself that things are not all that bad, that I can continue to work with the stone in my boot. I let things roll off my back, hoping that they will continue to roll but never questioning why I should have to hope they roll off in the first place.
But just acknowledging that the discomfort exists is not enough. This discomfort needs to push me to action, not just accommodation. I need to use the discomfort to propel me to do, not just extend my skills in endurance of small discomforts.
Because in the end, both the discomfort and the endurance of it say less about the actually situation and more about myself: my energy levels, my goals, my desire to actually act. Given long enough and without action, at some point one looks back and realizes not only what the discomfort was trying to force in action, but what the cost of compensating turned out to be.
Far better to stop, remove the stone, and change your situation.
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
Forged
I am feeling a hardness starting to settle at the outer regions of my soul. It is a sense I have known before: the sense of being forged by circumstances.
It is a thing that comes when a realization occurs, the realization that circumstances simply cannot continue as they are and that to survive them, you will need to become stronger, purposeful: forged.
Forging is heating and hammering, drawing and folding, shaping and forming. Forging takes raw metal and makes it into something of use or repairs that which was of no use into something useful.
I can feel the hammers of circumstances beating me against the anvil of reality, stripping away that which of no use, forcing me to confront reality as it actually stands, bending my resisting life into something else.
It is hard, this forging. It strips away pretenses. It forces me to deal with things as they are, not as I would like them to be. It asks me hard questions about values, about purpose, about what really matters and where I should be.
But the forge is a promise as well. Something is only forged when it is intended to be used.
May the heat of the fire and the strength of the hammering make me more of, not less of, what I need to be.
It is a thing that comes when a realization occurs, the realization that circumstances simply cannot continue as they are and that to survive them, you will need to become stronger, purposeful: forged.
Forging is heating and hammering, drawing and folding, shaping and forming. Forging takes raw metal and makes it into something of use or repairs that which was of no use into something useful.
I can feel the hammers of circumstances beating me against the anvil of reality, stripping away that which of no use, forcing me to confront reality as it actually stands, bending my resisting life into something else.
It is hard, this forging. It strips away pretenses. It forces me to deal with things as they are, not as I would like them to be. It asks me hard questions about values, about purpose, about what really matters and where I should be.
But the forge is a promise as well. Something is only forged when it is intended to be used.
May the heat of the fire and the strength of the hammering make me more of, not less of, what I need to be.
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Whither?
I find myself at a crossroads
(isn't life really series of crossoads?)
not knowing where to turn.
Only knowing that the direction I am going
seems to lead nowhere.
What does one do,
when the road one has followed
leads to a wall?
Do I scale it, hoping that the road continues,
even as I know there is another wall behind it?
Or do I turn right or left and walk a different road?
If the road you're on leads to nowhere,
where do you purchase a map?
(isn't life really series of crossoads?)
not knowing where to turn.
Only knowing that the direction I am going
seems to lead nowhere.
What does one do,
when the road one has followed
leads to a wall?
Do I scale it, hoping that the road continues,
even as I know there is another wall behind it?
Or do I turn right or left and walk a different road?
If the road you're on leads to nowhere,
where do you purchase a map?
Monday, July 23, 2012
The Path Without Footsteps
At what point do we take the path without footsteps?
It lies there to our right, waiting:
The detritus of decades' worth of leaves bury the dirt,
The branches of pine and oak create a passageway,
The blue and white sky beckons.
It's a hard thing, of course:
The course we are on is the course we have always run,
the dirt tamped hard by those that have gone on before us,
the way broad and clear.
But always there is the stress of this path:
the hurry, the rush, the maneuvering among others,
the sense that the faster and faster I go,
the farther and farther I fall behind.
And then I see it again:
seemingly abandoned and without footprint,
waiting, almost inviting the weary traveller
to rest their feet off the hard trod ground on soft leaves.
I stand, buffeted by the fact I am stopped in a unending flow
going where I know not in pursuit of that which matters not to me.
And then I see a single imprint at the head of the path:
Can the heart leave a mark?
It lies there to our right, waiting:
The detritus of decades' worth of leaves bury the dirt,
The branches of pine and oak create a passageway,
The blue and white sky beckons.
It's a hard thing, of course:
The course we are on is the course we have always run,
the dirt tamped hard by those that have gone on before us,
the way broad and clear.
But always there is the stress of this path:
the hurry, the rush, the maneuvering among others,
the sense that the faster and faster I go,
the farther and farther I fall behind.
And then I see it again:
seemingly abandoned and without footprint,
waiting, almost inviting the weary traveller
to rest their feet off the hard trod ground on soft leaves.
I stand, buffeted by the fact I am stopped in a unending flow
going where I know not in pursuit of that which matters not to me.
And then I see a single imprint at the head of the path:
Can the heart leave a mark?
Friday, July 20, 2012
Blinking
Sometimes the cursor just sits there and blinks at you.
"I'm ready" it says.
"For what?" my response is annoyance.
"For you to start typing."
"I don't really have anything to type about at the moment."
"That's not my problem" the cursor says smugly. "I'm just a tool, you know. You're the creative one."
I thrum my fingers on the keyboard lightly in frustration. "I just can't think of anything. That's not really my fault. It's the creative process - I can't just make it happen."
The cursor just sits there, blinking on and off at me. "Type, type" it says as it flickers on, off, on, off.
Thrum on the keyboard again. "You're not helping." Sighing, I slump down in the chair a bit, waiting for inspiration to strike.
And waiting. No lightning strikes today.
The cursor sighs. "Wow. You really have hit bottom. Sorry."
"Thanks." I smile wanly. "Sometimes I sit down and I know exactly what I'm going to say; sometimes I don't have any idea. I wish I could find more themes, but when I theme something I miss the opportunity to wander off on a really good thought. That's the risk that seems to come with this sort of stream of consciousness writing that I seem to have developed."
Blink, blink. Thrum, thrum.
"Hey, I've got an idea" the cursor finally breaks out. "Why don't you let me drive this morning?"
I chuckle and half smile. "Okay. What are you going to write about?"
The cursor changes from a line to a parenthesis. " ). I thought we might write about sitting down at the keyboard in the morning...."
"I'm ready" it says.
"For what?" my response is annoyance.
"For you to start typing."
"I don't really have anything to type about at the moment."
"That's not my problem" the cursor says smugly. "I'm just a tool, you know. You're the creative one."
I thrum my fingers on the keyboard lightly in frustration. "I just can't think of anything. That's not really my fault. It's the creative process - I can't just make it happen."
The cursor just sits there, blinking on and off at me. "Type, type" it says as it flickers on, off, on, off.
Thrum on the keyboard again. "You're not helping." Sighing, I slump down in the chair a bit, waiting for inspiration to strike.
And waiting. No lightning strikes today.
The cursor sighs. "Wow. You really have hit bottom. Sorry."
"Thanks." I smile wanly. "Sometimes I sit down and I know exactly what I'm going to say; sometimes I don't have any idea. I wish I could find more themes, but when I theme something I miss the opportunity to wander off on a really good thought. That's the risk that seems to come with this sort of stream of consciousness writing that I seem to have developed."
Blink, blink. Thrum, thrum.
"Hey, I've got an idea" the cursor finally breaks out. "Why don't you let me drive this morning?"
I chuckle and half smile. "Okay. What are you going to write about?"
The cursor changes from a line to a parenthesis. " ). I thought we might write about sitting down at the keyboard in the morning...."
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Making Space
How do I go about making space in life?
I seemingly have the least obnoxious commute to work I have had in years and can relatively control the length of time that I work but I seem to have less time than I have ever had. This is a problem for me, as I can see the trap forming about my head as this goes on: less and less gets done and I move further and further away from directions I want to go in.
So how does one make space in one's life - I mean, with constraints like a job and a family?
First, it seems to me, is energy level. Am I able to give the most energy throughout my day, not just at the beginning? Do I expend the best energy doing the things that are least important and leave the remainder for the things I really want to do? (In my case, yes)
Everyone's energy level is different - for me, it's tied directly to sleep. That seems a conundrum to me, since time spent sleeping is time not spent doing something else - but if I'm too tired and low to do the other things with the extra time, then I've gained nothing.
Nutrition probably figures in here as well, although I'm much less versed in it. I can make the generic comment that I need to eat better - what does that really look like?
Second is where I'm spending my time. One large item, of course, is not giving time away unnecessarily. It's easy to paint this as only being time wasted at work (giving extra hours, for example) but it's not just that. It's how I spend my time at work. I've come to realize that in the case of bad work environments, people tend to cluster together like survivors to maintain their sanity. It's necessary for maintaining sanity, but it comes at the cost of getting things done. Be honest - do I really need to do everything that I think I need to do at work?
Third, then is what I'm spending my time on. This is where Stephen Covey's Urgent and Important matrix comes in helpful. Am I spending time on the the things that are important but not urgent first and important and urgent first, or am I letting the urgent and unimportant or non-urgent and unimportant dominate my time? The difference between these two is critical: I can spend precisely the same amount of time in two different areas; one will move me close to a goal, one will simply amuse me or take my mind off a bad situation. The results are not the same.
Fourth is wedging in larger chunks of time. This is something I am still trying to master. In essence, it is creating larger and larger blocks of time that things can be accomplished - for example, learning to string five and ten minute chunks together, pulling them out of the things that don't matter at all and redirecting them. Before long, you've made thirty uninterrupted minutes to do something in.
Time is time, and 24 hours in a day is all we get. It's learning to make the space therein to pursue the important things that eventually differentiates those that accomplish from those that whine.
I seemingly have the least obnoxious commute to work I have had in years and can relatively control the length of time that I work but I seem to have less time than I have ever had. This is a problem for me, as I can see the trap forming about my head as this goes on: less and less gets done and I move further and further away from directions I want to go in.
So how does one make space in one's life - I mean, with constraints like a job and a family?
First, it seems to me, is energy level. Am I able to give the most energy throughout my day, not just at the beginning? Do I expend the best energy doing the things that are least important and leave the remainder for the things I really want to do? (In my case, yes)
Everyone's energy level is different - for me, it's tied directly to sleep. That seems a conundrum to me, since time spent sleeping is time not spent doing something else - but if I'm too tired and low to do the other things with the extra time, then I've gained nothing.
Nutrition probably figures in here as well, although I'm much less versed in it. I can make the generic comment that I need to eat better - what does that really look like?
Second is where I'm spending my time. One large item, of course, is not giving time away unnecessarily. It's easy to paint this as only being time wasted at work (giving extra hours, for example) but it's not just that. It's how I spend my time at work. I've come to realize that in the case of bad work environments, people tend to cluster together like survivors to maintain their sanity. It's necessary for maintaining sanity, but it comes at the cost of getting things done. Be honest - do I really need to do everything that I think I need to do at work?
Third, then is what I'm spending my time on. This is where Stephen Covey's Urgent and Important matrix comes in helpful. Am I spending time on the the things that are important but not urgent first and important and urgent first, or am I letting the urgent and unimportant or non-urgent and unimportant dominate my time? The difference between these two is critical: I can spend precisely the same amount of time in two different areas; one will move me close to a goal, one will simply amuse me or take my mind off a bad situation. The results are not the same.
Fourth is wedging in larger chunks of time. This is something I am still trying to master. In essence, it is creating larger and larger blocks of time that things can be accomplished - for example, learning to string five and ten minute chunks together, pulling them out of the things that don't matter at all and redirecting them. Before long, you've made thirty uninterrupted minutes to do something in.
Time is time, and 24 hours in a day is all we get. It's learning to make the space therein to pursue the important things that eventually differentiates those that accomplish from those that whine.
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Thieving Time
I need to start stealing my time back.
I am having a conversation with An Drumair about how I am spending my time and how I make progress towards what I want to do rather than continuing to wallow in what I am doing. As I lamented the fact of how I spend my time at work he asked me the question I probably should have been asking myself: "Can you integrate your passion - your writing - into what you are currently doing?"
(Behold the brilliance of the question, by the by: not "What can you do to change where you are?" but "What can you do to integrate what you want to do into what you have to do now?"
I started to ponder after reading it. What could I do to integrate my passion into what I am doing now? On the one hand, not a great deal - my writing and my real work life are about as far as apart as two activities could be. But on the other hand....
Time. It comes down to time (well, really, time and commitment, as An Drumair so correctly pointed out). The commitment, of course, comes from using the time. The trick is finding the time.
So let's ask a different question: If I have spend a certain amount of my day currently doing something I'm not crazy about and if I want to move towards doing something I am crazy about and I need the time to do it, where do I find that time?
By thieving it.
No, not by showing up at work and not working, that's not the point. It's finding a way to take part of the time I otherwise spend uselessly and converting it into time which is useful to what I want to do. This is partially accomplished by 1) working harder when I am there and 2) not dedicating additional hours beyond those I am required to give. Fair enough - that adds 30 minutes or so to my day.
What else?
The what else came in two forms: how are you spending your lunches and how are you spending your time driving?
Lunches? Sure. I eat lunch more with my coworkers than I have in 14 years - but is that as critical as achieving what I want to achieve? If I could even find 15 minutes a day to write, that's an article or part of a chapter or something else for me to read and ponder for my writing.
And driving? That's 70 to 80 minutes a day that is available for some kind of use, if I can only figure out how to apply it. Surely I can speak and eventually convert something into writing.
A very wise man, An Drumair. Adapt to where you are with what you have in pursuit of what you want.
I am having a conversation with An Drumair about how I am spending my time and how I make progress towards what I want to do rather than continuing to wallow in what I am doing. As I lamented the fact of how I spend my time at work he asked me the question I probably should have been asking myself: "Can you integrate your passion - your writing - into what you are currently doing?"
(Behold the brilliance of the question, by the by: not "What can you do to change where you are?" but "What can you do to integrate what you want to do into what you have to do now?"
I started to ponder after reading it. What could I do to integrate my passion into what I am doing now? On the one hand, not a great deal - my writing and my real work life are about as far as apart as two activities could be. But on the other hand....
Time. It comes down to time (well, really, time and commitment, as An Drumair so correctly pointed out). The commitment, of course, comes from using the time. The trick is finding the time.
So let's ask a different question: If I have spend a certain amount of my day currently doing something I'm not crazy about and if I want to move towards doing something I am crazy about and I need the time to do it, where do I find that time?
By thieving it.
No, not by showing up at work and not working, that's not the point. It's finding a way to take part of the time I otherwise spend uselessly and converting it into time which is useful to what I want to do. This is partially accomplished by 1) working harder when I am there and 2) not dedicating additional hours beyond those I am required to give. Fair enough - that adds 30 minutes or so to my day.
What else?
The what else came in two forms: how are you spending your lunches and how are you spending your time driving?
Lunches? Sure. I eat lunch more with my coworkers than I have in 14 years - but is that as critical as achieving what I want to achieve? If I could even find 15 minutes a day to write, that's an article or part of a chapter or something else for me to read and ponder for my writing.
And driving? That's 70 to 80 minutes a day that is available for some kind of use, if I can only figure out how to apply it. Surely I can speak and eventually convert something into writing.
A very wise man, An Drumair. Adapt to where you are with what you have in pursuit of what you want.
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Cutting Wood
The recent storm brought down a large oak limb in our backyard. I could see it there Sunday night, hanging against the tree, not quite down but waiting to plunge. It was still raining, so I moved it in rank of importance to the back of my mind.
Last night after I arrived home I saw it there, laying flat on the ground. Everyone else was out to dinner and I was looking forward to some quiet time alone - but the branch kept catching my eye every time I looked out the window. Finally I sighed and got up to go out, promising myself I'd only do some and finish the rest later.
Cutting branches - or even wood - here in New Home is certainly different from before. I don't have access to the array of tools from my parents or friends, only what we brought out here. So armed with only my brush cutters and my saw, I dragged the trash can out.
The weather was not as hot as it could have been, but the humidity from the recent storm hung like a reminder on everything as I looked at the branches. It was resting pretty firmly on the ground, so the chances of flipping over on me were low. Grabbing my cutters, I started to work.
My procedure, when cutting branches like this, is to start by trimming off the end and minor twigs until I get to main lines only. From there, it's a pretty simple task to cut them into forearm long lengths for burning.
When cutting, one gets into a rhythm: Trim. Dispose. Saw. Check balance of the limb. Start on the next section. Repeat.
The heat was not overbearing but was a little oppressive. As I trimmed and started to cut, I suddenly realized I was committed at this point with the semi-convincing tale of "It's less than it actually looks."
I am my father's son in at least one sense: I can keep a branch well balanced, not having it roll on me as I trim and cut lengths until I'm ready to move it. I'm not sure that such a thing as wood cutting can be genetic, but then again maybe passive learning is more effective than I think.
The evening was quiet, the bulk of people and their pets still indoors from the heat and humidity of the day. All that sounded were the snap of cutters, the crunching of branches being thrust down, and the brittle sound of the saw biting deep into the wood. Above me from time to time doves quarrelled, apparently concerned that someone was near enough to their food source that flying down was risky and looking for volunteers to test the waters.
The last pieces are always the hardest to cut, both for their size (width of my upper arm at the end of the branch) as well as the balance. Here again that genetic wood cutting helped: with a skill I can't quite explain, I was able to balance and cut and joints and keep the rest of the limb balanced while I worked.
With the last cut and the "Thunk" of the wood falling, down, it was time to clean up: cutters and saw to the garage, garbage can to the side of the house, cut wood into the recycling bin to be stacked by the side of the house. The seemingly giant task had taken a little over an hour.
As I stood under the porch and sucked down the cold ice water from a profusely sweating cup, I realized that once again I had managed to have a moment. Once again, I had managed to lose myself in the task and hand. Time flew, work was accomplished, and I was still here, shirt damp with the sweat of a humorless humidity but alive.
It is moments like these that remind one of the dignity and the greatness of work - true work, done with both body and mind, done with a task at hand, leaving an accomplishment that will be of use to somebody.
Would that we could do this sort of work always.
Last night after I arrived home I saw it there, laying flat on the ground. Everyone else was out to dinner and I was looking forward to some quiet time alone - but the branch kept catching my eye every time I looked out the window. Finally I sighed and got up to go out, promising myself I'd only do some and finish the rest later.
Cutting branches - or even wood - here in New Home is certainly different from before. I don't have access to the array of tools from my parents or friends, only what we brought out here. So armed with only my brush cutters and my saw, I dragged the trash can out.
The weather was not as hot as it could have been, but the humidity from the recent storm hung like a reminder on everything as I looked at the branches. It was resting pretty firmly on the ground, so the chances of flipping over on me were low. Grabbing my cutters, I started to work.
My procedure, when cutting branches like this, is to start by trimming off the end and minor twigs until I get to main lines only. From there, it's a pretty simple task to cut them into forearm long lengths for burning.
When cutting, one gets into a rhythm: Trim. Dispose. Saw. Check balance of the limb. Start on the next section. Repeat.
The heat was not overbearing but was a little oppressive. As I trimmed and started to cut, I suddenly realized I was committed at this point with the semi-convincing tale of "It's less than it actually looks."
I am my father's son in at least one sense: I can keep a branch well balanced, not having it roll on me as I trim and cut lengths until I'm ready to move it. I'm not sure that such a thing as wood cutting can be genetic, but then again maybe passive learning is more effective than I think.
The evening was quiet, the bulk of people and their pets still indoors from the heat and humidity of the day. All that sounded were the snap of cutters, the crunching of branches being thrust down, and the brittle sound of the saw biting deep into the wood. Above me from time to time doves quarrelled, apparently concerned that someone was near enough to their food source that flying down was risky and looking for volunteers to test the waters.
The last pieces are always the hardest to cut, both for their size (width of my upper arm at the end of the branch) as well as the balance. Here again that genetic wood cutting helped: with a skill I can't quite explain, I was able to balance and cut and joints and keep the rest of the limb balanced while I worked.
With the last cut and the "Thunk" of the wood falling, down, it was time to clean up: cutters and saw to the garage, garbage can to the side of the house, cut wood into the recycling bin to be stacked by the side of the house. The seemingly giant task had taken a little over an hour.
As I stood under the porch and sucked down the cold ice water from a profusely sweating cup, I realized that once again I had managed to have a moment. Once again, I had managed to lose myself in the task and hand. Time flew, work was accomplished, and I was still here, shirt damp with the sweat of a humorless humidity but alive.
It is moments like these that remind one of the dignity and the greatness of work - true work, done with both body and mind, done with a task at hand, leaving an accomplishment that will be of use to somebody.
Would that we could do this sort of work always.
Monday, July 16, 2012
Second Starts
I'm starting to think about second careers.
Why? The realization rose back to my consciousness this weekend that really, I can only do one thing. Yes, I can maybe do it in other places, but it is still only one thing. This wouldn't concern me too much except for the fact that 1) My industry seems to be shedding a great deal of jobs and 2) My skill set, years of experience and age are such that I may not be the first (or second, or third) choice in any job consideration.
Which raises the inevitable questions: What career? How long will it take?
Good questions. I wish I had better answers. I have managed to spend a lifetime discovering things that I'm not really good at, don't like, or do like but are not profitable. This hit and run philosophy has not really given me an insight into what the next step could or should be, although it has given me a few pointers about myself:
1) I tend to lose interest quickly unless I'm engaged.
2) I tend to romanticize things and overlook the drudgery.
3) I need something that keeps my mind and my body engaged.
The last point is the interesting one to me personally, something I have overlooked over the years. I can be just as disengaged mentally as I can be physically. The best tasks, the ones that not only are most productive but are most enjoyable, are the ones that involve both my body and my mind. It forces me to focus, to be "In the moment" as Zen would call it.
What would that look like? I'm not sure. I'm paging through my local Junior College, trying to find a program that both looks interesting and would address the criteria above.
Is it an investment? Sure. Is it something I might never use? Perhaps not professionally. But I am dogged by the sense that in the event the bottom falls out, I have very little in the way of skills or skill sets to fall back on.
Being in the control of circumstances can be a frightening place.
Why? The realization rose back to my consciousness this weekend that really, I can only do one thing. Yes, I can maybe do it in other places, but it is still only one thing. This wouldn't concern me too much except for the fact that 1) My industry seems to be shedding a great deal of jobs and 2) My skill set, years of experience and age are such that I may not be the first (or second, or third) choice in any job consideration.
Which raises the inevitable questions: What career? How long will it take?
Good questions. I wish I had better answers. I have managed to spend a lifetime discovering things that I'm not really good at, don't like, or do like but are not profitable. This hit and run philosophy has not really given me an insight into what the next step could or should be, although it has given me a few pointers about myself:
1) I tend to lose interest quickly unless I'm engaged.
2) I tend to romanticize things and overlook the drudgery.
3) I need something that keeps my mind and my body engaged.
The last point is the interesting one to me personally, something I have overlooked over the years. I can be just as disengaged mentally as I can be physically. The best tasks, the ones that not only are most productive but are most enjoyable, are the ones that involve both my body and my mind. It forces me to focus, to be "In the moment" as Zen would call it.
What would that look like? I'm not sure. I'm paging through my local Junior College, trying to find a program that both looks interesting and would address the criteria above.
Is it an investment? Sure. Is it something I might never use? Perhaps not professionally. But I am dogged by the sense that in the event the bottom falls out, I have very little in the way of skills or skill sets to fall back on.
Being in the control of circumstances can be a frightening place.
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