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.
Thursday, October 04, 2012
Wednesday, October 03, 2012
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?
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?
Tuesday, October 02, 2012
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.
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.
Monday, October 01, 2012
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?
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?
Friday, September 28, 2012
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.
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.
Thursday, September 27, 2012
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
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.
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.
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
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.
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.
Monday, September 24, 2012
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.
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.
Friday, September 21, 2012
Thursday, September 20, 2012
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.
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.
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
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.
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.
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
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.
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.
Monday, September 17, 2012
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
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
Sunday, September 16, 2012
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?
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?
Friday, September 14, 2012
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.
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.
Thursday, September 13, 2012
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?
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?
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
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?
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?
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
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?
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?
Monday, September 10, 2012
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.
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.
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