Commitment Issues

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Let me first start by apologizing for my prolonged and unexplained absence.  I had an unexpected change to my work schedule that resulted in a lot of late appointments and difficulties rearranging my day to day needs. 

This came at a bad time in terms of my writing progress.  I was feeling like I just finally got back in the swing of things.  My recent blogs were sounding and feeling less forced than they had been.  Then, bam! Change of schedule.  My routine broke up, and now I'm out of practice again.

To be totally honest, this frustrates me.  Just a few years ago I found myself to be frustrated with my blogging peers for their own intermittent commitment to their "passion."  At the time, I was following multiple internet authors, and gaining information about the process of running a blog.  I found that I enjoyed the predictability of regularly scheduled blogs, and the writing quality seemed to improve with blogs that posted frequently.  So, when the posters I followed began to slowly trickle off the internet I declared confidently to myself: "I will never do that."

Certain I could sustain such a problem, I trudged forward with a goal of weekly posting.  Thus began Monday Musings.  And, I was fairly successful with it.  For over a year I faithfully published a post every Monday.  Then came my graduate thesis and my internship, and a hiatus seemed in order.  It was with great displeasure that I announced my break from Leaving Neverland to finalize my academic pursuits.  The plan was always to resume weekly blogs once I earned my degree.  However, I'm clearly not holding strong to that plan.  My epic writers block and jam-packed schedule have made blogging and book-writing take a back seat, and I hate how this looks.  It would seem like I no longer care about this endeavor, and the truth is far from that. 

So, I'm understandably dissappointed.  The problem is, I just don't know how to move forward.  I'm suffering from a strong case of writer's block; going on 6 months now.  The only thing I can think of is to implore my readership for ideas. I'd like to resume weekly blogs, but clearly I need a storage of ideas and topics.  Either that, or I need to readjust my schedule.  Which is where I look to you all.  What are your thoughts?

Automatic Answer Syndrome

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When I was little(r), I was somewhat of a know it all.  If I was comfortable, I could be quite the chatter box.  Any question pointed in my direction likely got a lengthy monologue in response. Sure, I was pretty cute, but even the cutest of little ones can exhaust the attention of those that love them.

After seemingly endless periods of squeaking my every thought and observation, I eventually encountered the much too advanced wisdom of my father.  I recall conversations in which he spoke at my wee tow-head about the concept of noise pollution.  Believing himself to be helpful, he explained that my excessive verbalization was just adding needless sound to the world.  He guided me through picturing what the air would look like if we could see sound, and insinuated that I was soiling breathable space with my desire to talk without purpose.

This was not as awful as it sounds.  Though my not yet fully formed brain was momentarily stifled by the all too scientific advice of my apparently heroic father, I didn't actually stop talking.  It's possible that I may have slowed down some in response, but historic reports of my family members would indicate the inaccuracy of this assumption. On and on and on I prattled; selfishly soaking up the sound space around my loved ones.

In particular, I loved to prove my intelligence to my father.  As you may have discerned from the above story, my dad was pretty clever himself.  I'm pretty sure that was always obvious to me.  I even imagine myself as an infant, craning in his arms, thinking "whoa! this dude is smart!" So, naturally I had to rise to the genetic occasion. As a bumbling tot trying to form my own understanding of the world, I assumed I had to prove my worth by immediately answering every question that even seemed meant for me.

Obviously, I got a lot of questions wrong.  That's what happens when you increase the frequency of your attempts at anything, you increase the chances for error.  Eventually, as it always did in my family, my behavior led to another paternal teaching moment.  I recall a family dinner, with us all seated at the table discussing our days, and likely answering trivia questions to the key of "for an extra two points!"  I must have exhausted the patience of others with my interrupting and attempting to guess at things I didn't truly know, because my father finally spoke out against it.

"You don't always have to know the answer," he calmly stated.  "There's nothing wrong with saying you don't know."  He then guided us through acknowledging our ignorance, and confidently stating "I don't know."  From then on, both my parents would pause us when we demonstrated notable sensitivity to the unknown, and guide us through calling ourselves out.  We were repeatedly coached to practice alerting others to our dearth of knowledge.

I found this activity irritating for the vast majority of my childhood.  I hated telling people I didn't understand them.  I abhorred acknowledgement of my inadequacies in a public forum, and I resisted encouragement to lay it all out on the table.  Only recently have I realized that this ongoing tutelage actually took.

In my adulthood, my academic and professional careers have been marked by my insistent confession of inadequacies.  It is possible that I call out my lack of wisdom all too often.  However, I'm frequently praised by superiors for indicating that I have yet to glean what I need to.  Personally, I often attribute it to my sense of innocence and inexperience with all things "real world."  Though, I have started to notice my own frustration with colleagues and superiors who lack the strength required to assert their ignorance. I find myself often grunting vexation with "knowledgeable others" who automatically throw out suggestions unrelated to the questions I have asked.  My head spins with annoyance when I turn to seasoned professionals who attempt to guide me through basic responses to situations I am comfortable with, and ignore my pointed questions about how to deal with advanced complexities.

My initial assumption was that this played on my own inadequacies.  My primary response was to think "they must really think I'm stupid if think I've forgotten the basics," but then I realized it wasn't this at all.  Due to my own prior experience with automatic answer syndrome, I quickly understood that the truth was they don't have the answers either.  It is they who lacks the knowledge to further themselves. Because they never had support to build comfort with their own lack of understanding, they have habituated time-wasting discussions of things that don't matter.  They don't understand the utility of recognizing a deficit in order to build upon it.

My Hats: The Asshole

Today, I am an asshole.  I am the bearer of bad news.  I am the nay-sayer, and the barrier to fulfilled wishes.

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This is the nature of my work.  I am so many things to so many different people, and generally that is okay.  For the most part, I'm able to acknowledge my varying head wear and done it accordingly. In fact, the variety serves as a protective force for me.  In one day I can be a savior, an attachment figure, an authority figure, and a friend.

The peculiar paradox is the difficulty inherent in the days marked by consistency.  Today was one of those days. I got to wear one hat today. I wore it all day long, and that took a toll on me.  It's hard to wear the bad guy hat for a sufficient length of time and not internalize it.  Eventually, it wears on you.

While I know that I am not truly a bad guy, and I understand that I am far from being an asshole, it's how I feel today.

My Wisdom

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If there's one bit of wisdom I could impart on the next generation it is this: it never stops getting hard. It seems that I have had a number of encounters with adolescent men and women complaining about the difficulties they face.  They compare themselves to others, and hope for an extreme change in circumstances that will solve everything.

I truly believe that they have the best of intentions.  Their forward thinking and individually focused minds want to believe that there is hope for something, anything, to make their lives easier.  The only problem is, that thing is almost impossible to find.

The truth is that life is wonderful.  It's awe-inspiring, and incredible.  Life has so many rewards and benefits.  However, it is simultaneously, weird, confusing, stressful, and challenging.  No matter who you are (and I've confirmed this with a large variety of individuals) there will always be periods of time that feel unmanageable.  You can count on the fact that you will go through times that feel monotonous, aggravating, or down right depressing.  No matter how hard it feels, those of us who stick it out find it all worthwhile.

Self Discovery

About two weeks ago I came home from work at my normal time, flopped on the couch, and declared epic fatigue.

"I'm tired!" I whined, perplexed that this normal every day experience had resulted in complete and total lethargy.  Being someone who must understand everything, I felt rising irritation at the irrationality of my listlessness.  There seemed to be no reason for me to feel this out of sorts.  Yet there I lay, trying to stave off the inner toddler rising to tantrum within me.

Then I did as I always do, I gave in.  This is a piece of wisdom I gleaned from many years of facilitating and safe-guarding the worst hissy fits imaginable.  I now know, after endlessly trying to circumvent hysterical meltdowns, that it's pointless.  One way or another, the emotion is going to catch up with you.  I learned to just prepare myself and others for the experience, because that's the only way to learn from it.

So, melt down I did.  In my own modified adult way, I let the child within me loose.  I cried for a minute or two, whimpering about how profoundly busy I felt.  I bellyached about my active lifestyle and how I knew it was irrational for me to actually miss my couch. I tossed and turned, and catastrophized that I hadn't had a moment to myself in years.

As I started to pull my act together, I began to actually listen to my petulant rant, and the logical part of my brain made the connections.  I'm an introspective type.  Regular readers may have noticed that my thought process often follows an inward train. My own self-exploration comes from down time and zoning out while "doing nothing." For this reason, it is crucial that I provide myself with regular relaxation time.  I need to sit in a comfortable space and allow myself to get lost in my own musings.  When I don't, I lose myself.  Though highly motivated, I forget who I am in my endless drive to the next step.

Thinking this through, I began to realize that my catastrophic thinking wasn't entirely unrealistic. In fact, I'd spent approximately the last 2.5 years working a variety of jobs, moving, attending graduate school, moving again, doing a high stress internship, volunteering, researching and composing a painstaking thesis, and beginning a career. All the while haphazardly making some of the best, most life altering, decisions ever.

 In my last couple of years, I forgot the meaning of transition.  I jumped from one thing to the next without even taking a beat.  In most cases, one thing overlapped with the next for quite some time.  I had forgotten to pause, and I definitely didn't stop to think.

So, yeah, I was tired.

Braggart Reform

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When I was younger I could be quite the know-it-all.  Teachers liked me, because I sat quietly in class, raised my hand, and answered the questions I  was asked. At home, I would jabber on and on about all the things I learned in school.  I would talk my parents' ears off as I described every accolade and academic triumph of the day.  I'd chatter away bragging about all of my skills and scholastic strengths until my dad would sigh with exasperation and declare,

"If you're really smart, you won't have to tell anyone."

As a small child this advice baffled me.  Of course I have to tell people, I thought to myself, how else will they know?  I truly believed that I had to prove my worth to others.  Because of this, I took my father's advice how I always did.  I ignored it.

I went on striving for perfection and asserting my value to all who mattered to me.  All the while, my father repeated his advice  every time he was subjected to my self-aggrandizing daily reports.  I'd roll my eyes, stomp my feet, and complain that I was merely trying to describe my day.

I never thought this advice effected me much, except to confirm that my dad could be rather insensitive.  However, as with all mild irritations that are set on repeat, I slowly internalized his words.  Without realizing it, I took on his meaning.  Before I realized it, I grew into a strong young woman who speaks to others in simple words while resisting the need to prove my intelligence.  I now equate my wisdom and skill with that of most people.  I recognize my competencies, but I see myself as no better or worse than any other person just with a different set of privileges.

Error-genic

"Parenting," as my father says, "is a job you can only do wrong."

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 It may seem overly cynical to say so, but I've had a variety of encounters throughout my life that would confirm this very belief. I have worked with and known parents who could be described with adjectives such as good, bad, perfect, mediocre, wonderful, awful, intense, amazing, and even crazy. No matter how I've come to know these parents, they all had one major thing in common. All of their children have had "issues."

In fact, that might just be the prevailing theme in life. Everyone has issues. We all have something we struggle with, some weakness that needs bolstering, and some sensitivities that need considering.  Babies are born into our world ripe for learning behaviors from their predecessors. Their brains are literally programmed to observe and mimic what they see. These learned behaviors impact thought development, which creates internalized responses, and before you know it there's a whole new generation of neuroses walking the earth.

It's an endless cycle that can only be circumvented with acceptance. This is our fate. Whether guarded, defensive, fearful, or reactive, we all have our vulnerabilities. Often times these issues have been selected from a preordained set of environmental, hereditary, and social dynamics. There's little anyone could do to avoid creating issues. It's possible that special focus and attention may have prevented development of a specific sensitivity.  However, it's more than likely that hyper-attentiveness in one identified area would actually create neglect in an another unrealized realm; causing a whole different set of difficulties.

This is not to say that we should all just throw up our hands and surrender to our flaws and shortcomings.  Truly what I point to is the opposite. I bring up our inevitably flawed experiences, in an attempt to point out that we're all striving for improvement.  This experience is not unique to any particularly sick set of people.  We're all working on change and betterment of ourselves, because the future depends on us.

(Not) Helping

I work a 9-5 now. I got home at 6:45pm today. I could have stayed later. I should have stayed later.

This is the nature of my work. I'm currently operating at a half a caseload, and the amount of action items and steps to take on is overwhelming.  It's never ending. There's always someone to talk to, and something to do. There's always someone who wants something and someone else who needs something from me. I'm quickly learning that my job involves a massive amount of identifying who and what does not get my attention.

I took this job because I like spending time with children.  I'm energized by working with kids in need, and I have a knack for intervening in a crisis.  I took this job because I want to help, but what I'm quickly learning is sometimes not doing something is the only help I can provide.

What I Am

I spend a lot of time thinking about what I represent to others, and I recognize that it's a lot of things.

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For some people I represent The Answer. I am the authority that holds the knowledge that gives insight.  For other people I am The Power. I hold the keys to the doors that get you toward what you need and away from what you hate. They do not see me. Their thoughts tell them all they need to know.

Some people believe I am The Innocent.  I am a youthful representation of freedom and ignorance. When some see my size, stature, and appearance, they assume I am without wisdom, skills, or know-how. They don't hear me. Their perception tells them who I am.

There are those who see me as The Maternal. I am The Savior. I am The Nurturer. I am the person who holds people when they cry. I am the one who makes everything all better. Then I am the one who flees when there's a need. I am The Abandoner. I am The Perfect Bitch. I am the Spoiled Child. I am The Privileged One. There are those who believe I represent everything they are not or cannot have. I am a reminder of pain and misfortune. They have no sense of me. Their history and experience forms their impression of me.

There are also those in my life who clearly see me as The Hope. I have been inexplicably called The Favorite in a variety of realms. I represent Something That Could Be. I have the skills or the prowess to turn things around, to enact change, to make things better. These people hear me selectively. I cannot ask them for help, because they do not perceive me to need it.

There are others who perceive me as The Needy. The Distant. The Reactive. The Disengaged. The Nosey; Over-involved.

I am a variety of things to a wider variety of people. I am The Projected. The Absent. The Superimposed.  I spend the vast majority of my day, my week, and my life filling the role I am assumed to have given the situation, relationship, and context. I represent what I am to individuals, groups, and systems. I try my best to work with this, but it is so moment to moment, that much of my life I find myself assessing what I am in each specific scenario, and I forget to ask myself what I truly represent.

Representing so much to so many, leaves me forgetting who I actually am. What is my role to me? What do I want to be? Who am I to me? Who even knows?

Secondary Gains

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People do some ridiculous things to get attention.  They act absurd.  They make a fool of themselves.  They harm their images, their loved ones, their bodies, and their psyches, all for the sake of recognition.  But we live in a paradoxical world where a little bit of attention is never enough.

Being the focal point of the moment seems to fill just enough of the void to remind us that one was ever  there.  It brings about panic at the thought that we might have to deal with ourselves for even for a short period of time.  The thought is so unbearable, that we can't even begin to process or cope with the idea.  So we do the only thing that's ever abated this particular breed of anxiety.  Something.  Anything, to remind us we're not alone.  We act in ways to remind others that we are important enough to notice, because we can't even begin to remind ourselves of that.