I was on fire to read this book for two reasons: to validate my concept of myself as a person with a lot of grit, and to learn anything new that I could about this trait. What I learned from Angela Duckworth is that I’m basically hopping around on one foot and bragging about it. The subtitle spells it out. Grit consists of both passion and perseverance, and I’m only really strong at one of them. Knowing this may very well change my life. Perseverance is my trait. When I decide I want something, I will go after it with the tenacity of Michael Myers from Halloween. Or the cyborg from The Terminator. Or… it looks like there aren’t many pop culture models of perseverance who are, strictly speaking, human. Anyway. Failing at something I think is important just ticks me off. I took a class in college and got an F. My response was to take a different class from the same professor and get an A, while retaking the original class the same term with a different instructor and getting an A in that, too. I failed my driving test twice, and finally passed it with the proctor who had failed me the first time. I did my first marathon with an ankle injury and dragged my leg for the last 8 miles. Clearly I’m not satisfied with that, and I plan to take at least a full hour off my time for my second race. A marathon is no big deal in my mind, even though I’m middle-aged and slow, because my intention is to run a 50-mile ultra for my 50th birthday. It turns out that my weak area is in passion. How embarrassing. Apparently my issues with losing interest or changing focus are grit-related. This probably explains why someone like me who will bounce back from any setback and come back swinging has yet to take over the world. I am a dilettante in my projects. I have so many unfinished art and writing projects that I don’t even have a complete list. I think this is due to two factors: my reluctance to formally declare that I’m quitting or dropping something, coupled with my equal reluctance to buckle down and finish it on a deadline. It was Duckworth’s description of herself sometimes crying in frustration or exhaustion while working on a long-term project that really sunk in for me. Working on something over months or years can be boring and annoying. The hardest part for me is realizing that I have to scrap pages, or an entire chapter, that took me days or weeks of work. I’m going to recast this in terms of going down the trail with a bloody knee after falling and hitting my face on a rock. Grit is a transferrable skill, as the manual Grit teaches. If I believe it’s worth doing, then I should do it, and I should keep going until it is done. One of the most valuable ideas from Grit is the idea of making a Hard Thing Rule. The rule is that everyone should do something hard over a sustained period of time. That thing should be intrinsically interesting, but it does have to be challenging. I like this. For someone like me, the focus will be more on sustaining the duration of two years without swapping to something else. For others, the focus might be more on introducing greater challenge. I can attest that attacking difficult things just for the sake of doing them makes life much more interesting. What will happen when I stick to only one thing with that level of focus? Time to find out! Grit is a really excellent book. I read it in one sitting. It focuses on Duckworth’s research about grit, as well as research from other luminaries about talent, flow, and mindset. There is a section on developing grit in yourself, and another section about creating a culture of grit for parents, teachers, coaches, and others in leadership roles. I’m in love with this book right now and hoping it enters the great conversation about character. I just had the best idea! I wrote this at 10 PM last night, while in the middle of something else. Why not take a day traditionally associated with bad luck and use it as reverse psychology? I’ll get to what I mean after a brief digression. I learned about the supposed Mayan prophecy about 2012 when I was around 10 years old. It freaked me out. I mean, it really freaked me out. I hate to admit this, as a university-educated person, but I didn’t really breathe a sigh of relief until after the date had passed. Okay, the Mayans evidently couldn’t predict the end of their own society, so how could they predict anything else? What we know rationally doesn’t always manage to burrow its way down into the core of our irrational legacy as humans. We’re swinging back in the direction of superstition, anyway, having reached a place in which we are rejecting the very concept of expertise. We want to go with what works for us, and we can generally find a blogger, celebrity, or news source to support what we like to hear. Myself included; nobody is immune to cognitive bias. That’s why I can still spook myself by thinking about Nostradamus, even though I have a history degree. Back to my Friday the 13th thing. What if we used this “unlucky” day as a sort of backup excuse? What if we finally turned the ignition on something we’ve been hesitating to do, knowing that we have something totally obvious to blame if it doesn’t work out? “Of course I didn’t get the job – it was Friday the 13th – but I figured I’d send in my résumé anyway.” “Of course I didn’t finish clearing that square foot of space. What would you expect? It was Friday the 13th!” “I knew it was going to be a bad day even before I finally looked at all my accounts and totaled my outstanding credit card debt. Screw Friday the 13th, I need me a cookie.” “Friday the 13th is the worst. All I did all night was go through a stack of mail.” I have an email relating to a possible new project hanging around in my inbox. I have a tendency of hesitating and delaying on this sort of thing until the deadline passes, which is a way of dealing with uncertainty. It’s like having leftovers you’re not sure about, and waiting another few days until they grow visible mold just to confirm. The worst that will happen with an inquiry email is that it doesn’t pan out, which is much less scary than some of the stuff I’ve found in my fridge. Ah, but gross expired food is predictable in a way that human communication is not. Unfinished tasks are a major drain on mental bandwidth. When it’s something important but not urgent, it can also be an emotional drain. It is not fun to have to admit that you’ve let yourself down – again. All the talk about self-esteem that is going around in our culture, and it really comes from one thing: keeping promises to yourself. Knowing you can trust yourself. Living up to your own standards, according to your own value system. Not keeping promises to yourself is a sure path to depression and low self-worth. The ability to do it, to set a goal and go after it, is a super power. I can write an email! I can pick up the phone and make appointments, even when they’re scary! I can clean out my fridge! I can face the truth about my retirement account balance/credit cards/weight/blood glucose/cholesterol/blood pressure/whatever! Whatever is the thing I dread the most, that’s the thing I should do. Face it in the clear light of day. Tackle it, seize it, dominate it, and throw it out the window. We can’t let anxiety rule our lives. We can’t walk around with little gray clouds hanging over our heads, sprinkling thoughts of all the things we haven’t done. We can’t think of ourselves as failures. Please, please, not that. Failure should be a minor thing that happens a thousand times a day as part of the learning process toward pursuing something new. We can’t believe in bad luck, because that’s a way of getting suckered by fatalism. No matter what life throws at us, we have the power to determine everything else. I determine my attitude, my response, my words, my actions, and my personal environment. When “bad luck” comes my way, I deal with it, adapt if necessary, and proceed with my plan. Plan A? Plan B? I know more than one alphabet, so bring it on. All right. Let’s make the least out of this day. Whatever is that dreaded task, let’s confront the fact that it doesn’t really matter what we do, because we were procrastinating anyway, so if we screw it up, it’s about the same either way. If it’s unpleasant, better to do it today and not have to think about it on Saturday. If it feels all tingly and loaded with mysteriously powerful potential, maybe it is fate? Do you believe that a book can change your life? It’s a question along the same lines as whether you believe in love at first sight. If you do, you may find it happening to you; if you don’t, it’s hard to say. Books have changed my life over and over again. Sometimes, a simple article or blog post will. It happened tonight. Chris Guillebeau wrote a post entitled, “Taking Risks” is Not the Same as “Doing Hard Things.” I read it and found myself on the brink of tears, with chills running through my entire body. It hit me so hard that I’m still processing three hours later. This post will be a bit of real-time practical philosophy in action. As a quick summary of a short, highly readable article, the main points are:
This hit me like a ton of bricks. I spend a lot of time and effort doing hard things for the sake of doing hard things. Essentially, if I am confronted with a weakness in myself, I want to dig it out, like removing an eye from a potato. I felt that I was physically cowardly and weak, so I pushed myself, doing longer and longer races and backpacking trips, jumping over flames, climbing ropes, crawling under barbed wire… because I’m too scared to donate blood. I tried once, but I fainted when they pricked my finger, and they asked me not to come back “for several years.” (Now I’m under the acceptable weight limit to be a blood donor, and that makes me feel both relieved and guilty, like I’ve gotten away with something unsavory). I know I am weak, but knowing that helps drive me in the direction of self-discipline, grit, and determination. Just because my legs are shaking doesn’t mean I get to quit. Does it get me anywhere, though? It seems that my biggest stumbling block in life right now is my reluctance to publish. I have a 95% complete novel, and when I say “complete,” I mean that I even have the book cover and the material for the book trailer video. I have about 75% of a project that I know will sell, with clear direction on how to finish it. I have an entire index card file full of dozens of viable project ideas. Whenever I get close to where all I have to do is open the gate and swat one of these projects on the hind end, I withdraw and work on something else. As I read the article I’m gushing over, it seemed to me that fear of risk was the missing piece. I was perfectly willing to do the hard work of writing, rewriting, editing, rewriting, and editing again. I reached the point years ago when critique started to feel useful and worth seeking out. Something is going on that doesn’t have to do with difficulty. Fear of entering new territory? I turned to my husband and told him about this idea of risk versus doing hard things. Then I read him the article. We had a discussion about risk and hard things – and this is where the tide turns, because the conversation went in a very unexpected direction. The person who knows me best did not agree with how I categorized the things I did. In short, he sees risk in places where I see difficulty, and vice versa. This confounded me somewhat. He put running my marathon in the risk category. In all my training, that never crossed my mind. I knew the course was covered by hundreds of volunteers and safety professionals, I knew the route, and I knew I was getting over the finish line even if I had to elbow-crawl until midnight. I just thought it was hard. Not even extremely hard. Physically difficult, yes, but mentally, emotionally? Nah. I put my public speaking project in the risk category. He said, “How is that a risk?” I gave him fish face. Completely poleaxed. I realized he was right. I was in a place specifically designed for nervous beginners to develop skill and confidence. The room could not possibly be more supportive or friendly. Yet, in spite of the welcome audience, I am still physically shaking every time I get up to speak. I have done karaoke with no problem; I’m an extrovert, and I don’t mind being in the spotlight. (I don’t seek it out, but… ) There is something about being behind a podium that activates my fight or flight system in a bad way. The first time I managed to speak for longer than sixty seconds, I could barely walk afterward. My legs almost collapsed under me. I can run for 26 miles and carry a 42-pound backpack. My thighs are strong. The only thing that makes sense is that I’d be relieved when my speech was over – but I find myself still shaking five minutes later. My husband and I both agree that public speaking is difficult for me. Is he right that it isn’t risky? Are we interpreting risk in different ways? Or does he underrate it simply because public speaking isn’t a big deal to him? I learned something funny from our conversation. Apparently my habit of walking alone late at night feels very risky to him. Good to know. It made me think that many of the activities I categorize as ‘difficult’ actually have a level of physical risk that doesn’t faze me at all. The marathon, the adventure race, traveling alone, walking around major urban centers alone at night, hiking into the back country for days out of cell phone range… Maybe I have it backward? Maybe I have no problem with risky things, and what I perceive as risk is really something entirely different? We agree that there is a certain measure of risk in making my writing public. I have some very controversial views about a very emotional topic, and I often feel I’m on the edge of igniting a viral hate ray in my direction. We also agree that I have virtually no tolerance for financial risk. Largely, though, it seems that he defines risk in either a financial or physical sense. Emotional risk is a different territory. Is there a bright line for risk? There are obviously situations anyone would agree are risky, such as trying to rescue someone from a burning building or to mediate a domestic dispute. On the other end of the scale, someone might feel real risk in asking someone for a date or applying for a job. (I just did the latter, and when I used it as an example of a risk I had taken, my husband thought it was not risky but difficult, and I couldn’t even figure out why he would think it was difficult. It’s really just writing a letter). Risk involves the possibility of loss. Loss of life and limb, certainly, that would count as risky. Loss of money? Yup. Loss of face? Risk of public humiliation? So much of the time, we fear humiliation, only to find that whatever we were planning to do barely registered on anyone else’s radar. We can really do almost anything, and much of the time, nobody else will care, or even notice. We don’t need permission. I think there are two things going on, at least in my case. First, anything that stretches my self-image or boundaries tends to set off warning bells. I only want to do things that feel natural, that I can easily imagine myself doing. Second, there is the problem of The Resistance, as defined by Steven Pressfield. The Resistance seems able to attach itself to specific tasks or projects, even when I’ve done virtually identical things many times before. Under scrutiny, many things that feel risky turn out to be little more than mirages. Where is the risk in applying for a job? Where is the risk in speaking for one minute to a receptive audience? Where is the risk in publishing a book? Why are these things so frightening? Why am I more afraid of publishing than I am of walking around alone at night? That doesn’t even make sense. FEAR MEANS GO. I read that somewhere recently, and I felt it as a shameful burn. It’s so much more comfortable to suppress those spooky feelings and let opportunities pass by unexplored. I’ve managed to spend a great deal of time, energy, and focus doing things that are perceived as difficult, partly to prove a point to myself and others. I want to be seen as someone who does not back away from challenge. In some ways, that works very well as a diversion. Look over here, not over there. Ignore that whole part about how busy I am not doing the most obvious thing, because it makes me nervous. Is risk all about our personal evaluation of risk? Are there levels? Is it like pain, in the sense that what one person can easily tolerate would shatter someone else? If certain things that seem risky to others feel easy to us, are we better off exploiting that advantage, or pushing harder on our personal weak points? I’m not done stewing over this. It feels like the conundrum of a lifetime. It seems to demand a chart. For now, I’m going to move my focus away from ‘hard things’ to ‘hardEST things’ and expect more tangible results from myself. We talk ourselves out of making changes because we are pretty sure they aren’t really all they’re cracked up to be. There is a certain pride to be found in taking a contrarian position. For instance, I think Pop Tarts are gross. I didn’t like The Fifth Element, and I wasn’t all that impressed by Firefly, either. Yeah, yeah, go ahead and quit reading. Obviously I have nothing else worthwhile to say! All I was going to talk about was that the insight almost always comes after the experience. We sit around waiting to “feel like” doing certain things, and guess what? We never “feel like it” because that isn’t how it works. What happens is that we try stuff, realize things about it that we wouldn’t have guessed, and then we see what all the fuss is about. Or not. I mean, Pop Tarts? Whatevs. My resistance to something is usually proportionate to how important that thing later becomes in my life. I used to openly mock runners who jogged in place at intersections. I used to go off on lengthy rants about how people on dating sites always talk about how much they love hiking, but I actually hated hiking and thought they were lying to make themselves look good. I used to talk about LA and how it was a cesspit that symbolized everything bad about humanity. Now I live in that region, which I find delightful, and running and backpacking are two of my favorite things. I used to loathe mornings and considered myself a total night owl. Now I wake up around 7 AM, even on weekends, and it’s one of my favorite times of day. Past Self would think we had completely lost our mind. Many of the positive changes in my life have come about completely by accident. Part of this is because historically I have moved a lot. The next time I move will be my 29th time since 1993. What happens is that all the patterns of my life get shaken up. How I arrange my house, where I buy groceries, what I do for exercise, how often I go to the library or park or movie theater, and how much I sleep have a surprising amount to do with where I am living at the time. (Upstairs Crackhead Neighbor from 2007, you suck. Get help). I’ve been able to look back at different times in my life and whatever random distribution of habits I was following, and spot patterns that were positive, negative, or turned out not to matter as much as I would have guessed. Of course, I can also compare my results to whatever results other people seem to be getting, but the only way I can get solid information about that is by asking. My assessment of other people’s motivations is probably about as poor as my assessment of my own. Working out is a great example of this. All my life, I thought athletes were dumb and mean. I thought going to the gym was for vain people who had nothing better to do. The first inclination I had that there might be more to it was when I bought a bike. My intention was to save money, because I am a tightwad, and perhaps do something positive for the environment as well. I was determined to get the best possible value out of this $400 retroactive pay increase I got at work. That meant I had to skip enough months of bus passes to at least amortize the $400 cost of the bike. I didn’t frame it as exercise. At first I really struggled. I had to push the bike up every hill, and at the top of the bridge I would have to catch my breath for nearly five minutes. But I am FREAKING STUBBORN, so I kept going. I started to notice that I was beating the bus home, and that added to my determination. Within a couple of months, not only was my route easy, but I started having actual fun. Riding my bike became one of my favorite activities, giving me emotions I didn’t know it was possible to feel. I didn’t really even notice what everyone else saw, which was that my body composition had dramatically changed, until one day I realized there was visible muscle definition in my quads. What’s this? Body pride? Then it turned out that my cheapskate bicycle commute may have saved my life. Like I said: unexpected side benefits. What are some other unexpected side benefits? Walking: I find a lot of money. I have a jar with all the money I’ve found since 2005, and it has nearly $40 in it, much of it from pennies. Twice, I’ve been first on the scene when someone had a stroke and collapsed in the street, and I was able to help. I see a lot of interesting stuff, much of which I photograph for later enjoyment. My feet are really tough, and I can walk, run, or hike for many miles without getting blisters, which is nice on vacation. Wearing a small clothing size: My clothes are tiny, which means fewer loads of laundry. I can pack a ridiculous amount of outfits into a suitcase that fits under a plane seat. In stores that carry my size, I’ve been more likely to find awesome stuff on the clearance rack. I can fit comfortably in the middle seat. A backpack with the same days’ worth of supplies weighs less. Getting married: My husband can pop my back. My wedding ring is like a magical force field that I can use to wave off unwanted male attention. I have someone to talk me out of buying clothes that don’t look good on me. There is someone to watch my stuff and hold our place in line. I only have to cook or wash dishes on alternate nights. He keeps me warm on cold nights, when I used to wear a hat, shawl, and knee socks to bed. Having a parrot: Someone always notices when you wear new earrings. Surprise cheek kissing, complete with smoochy sound effects. Instant accessory for pirate costume. Always prepared to entertain small children. Makes random fart sounds. Showering is no longer a mundane activity. Someone appreciates your singing, no matter what. Get a job. This phrase is usually delivered as an insult. It’s been directed at me, as part of a lecture that included the phrase “your lazy ass.” I don’t think laziness really exists, something I will explore at a later date, and anyone who knows me well knows that I’m more like the opposite of whatever laziness is supposed to be. As a futurist, I also think that almost every last possible element of the modern workplace could more productively be completely revolutionized. I’ve been dirt poor (or even poorer than that, because in an apartment, we didn’t even have a patch of dirt to call our own). I’ve gone to bed hungry lots of times (which I wouldn’t have if we had had somewhere to grow some potatoes at least). I’ve been unemployed and stuck in bureaucratic double binds. I’ve scrambled to prove my ambition, my innate industriousness, my natural knack as an innovator, my drive for efficiency and productivity, only to meet total disinterest in the best I have to offer. I didn’t know it at first, but I was born to be an entrepreneur and artist. Now I see the phrase “get a job” as equal parts exciting and foolish. I want to share my perspective with those of my friends who are equally bright and dedicated, but who haven’t yet found a channel worthy of their energy. Why “get a job” when you can create a job? When we’re hopeless, we tell ourselves “there are no jobs right now” or “there’s nothing out there.” I recently had a conversation with a woman who kept a spreadsheet of all the applications she had sent out: over 500 in four months. We’re not getting callbacks. We’re getting the interview but not the offer. We’re working at a lower level than we know we can handle, and getting passed over for promotions we know we have been capable of completely dominating for years. We feel we’re at the mercy of the economy. You know as well as I do that being smart and working hard are not enough. That and $4 will get you a cup of coffee. The current system does not work. By no means are we extracting the maximum possible work product out of the people who so desperately want to contribute. I’m thinking of changing my LinkedIn profile to reflect my actual talents and skills, rather than my traditional résumé. I could have an ordinary office job tomorrow. I have 20 years’ experience, I type over 90 words a minute, I not only know all the software, but I’ve trained people in it, and any executive who talked to me for 10 minutes would make me an offer on the spot. If I were your assistant, I’d change your life. Too bad I’m not for sale, er, hire. Just because I’m good at it doesn’t mean I have to do it. My real role in this world is Idea Generating Machine. I don’t work in a traditional office anymore because a) I have more to give than that; b) I don’t have to; and c) the top priority seems to be sitting in your chair M-F 8-5. There is more challenge for me in trying to perpetuate a feeble, inefficient system than there is in working 365 days for myself. I’ve started over from zero several times. By that I mean moving to a new city with no money, no job, and no friends. Usually that also meant no car and no furniture. When I was younger, this felt scary and lonely. Now, I see it as a toolkit. Being a professional nomad doesn’t faze me at all. I know there is only about a 10% chance that I’ll still be living in the same house three years from now, and that is something I accept in the same way that I accept the necessity of grocery shopping. My dream will come true when we finally start working overseas; a different country every couple of years sounds like the most fun possible. The difference between ‘broke’ and ‘poor’ has everything to do with attitude and a sense of possibility. I’ll never be poor again. I know that not having any money is a temporary condition that can be changed by the end of the day. Virtually everything (except the air pump at the gas station) can be accessed by means other than money. It’s all about mindset, although reputation helps. The first thing we have to do is to recognize that we have the same power to build a business, be the boss, and generate money that anyone else on earth does. Why not me? Who is going to stop me? That second question is easier to answer once you learn to recognize the naysayers in your life. Tell people your plans and they will knock over furniture in their rush to tell you why all your ideas are stupid and will never work. Naysaying exists in direct proportion to the closeness of the person in your life. As you get further away from the inner core of family to old friends to newer friends to acquaintances to perfect strangers, suddenly your ideas seem to have more merit and receive more support. That’s part of why crowdfunding works. There has never been an idea in the course of human history that someone didn’t barrage with blistering sarcasm and contempt. That includes the car, the telephone, the airplane, and even the necessity of handwashing. The simple solution is never to share your ideas when they are in the gestation phase. Grow that little seed until it is robust enough to handle a killing frost. Better yet, just don’t tell the people closest to you until you’ve started collecting checks. The second thing is to respect the immediacy of the need for cold, hard cash. Honest work is always available if you go out and look for it. There is no shame in trading your time and effort for dollars, no matter what you’re doing, as long as it’s legal. I’ve scrubbed a lot of toilets in my time. The trouble comes when we give up and let the daily grind distract us from rising to our natural level. If I had to, I could barter to borrow an interview suit, barter for transportation, barter for computer time and printer ink, and get out there and talk my way into a job. I could barter for training in software I don’t yet know. I could barter for help bolstering my résumé. If I see an opportunity to do something I want to do, but I’m not certified in something that would make me the obvious first choice, I’m going to go out and get that credential. I’ll do it if I have to sleep in my car. I’ll do it if it takes 18 hours a day. I’ll find a way to pay for it. If I had let not having money stop me, I would never have started. I’ve never been able to settle for anything, because I never had anything worth settling for. I was taught to be obedient and to be willing to do the dirty work. That’s the blue collar way. I’m not proud; I’ve changed diapers and handled trash and done manual labor to earn my pay. Being obedient, however, means you’ll always be an underling. Obedience has nothing to do with creativity or innovation or building your own business. What we aren’t taught is to see ourselves as naturally belonging at the top levels. We aren’t taught to feel comfortable managing or directing. I have friends with world-class talent, who could be writing their own tickets, yet they live in penury because they have no idea how much their abilities are worth. Nobody has ever told them how good they are. They don’t realize that they don’t need permission to take charge and set their own rates. They don’t see how they’re depriving so many other people of the ability to partake of their gifts. The saddest thing is that so many of us who trudge along in desperation, constantly under financial pressure, absolutely have what it takes to create jobs for not only ourselves, but other people as well. The more frustration we feel with our jobs, with bad management, with missed opportunities, the more likely that we’re better suited to be in charge. We have a clear vision of how it could be done well. We can’t be satisfied with shoddy work or half-steam efforts. We have the sort of compassion that would make us ideal managers. We’d set humane schedules and earn total loyalty from our employees because we understand how people are really motivated and inspired. Most of what I do for money now didn’t exist when I was young and broke. The platforms weren’t in place. Times are easier now. The bar has never been so low. It’s actually possible to set up shop without a capital investment and start generating revenue without putting cash down first. It’s also possible to research everything online, from the bureaucratic requirements to the market research to the distribution channels. Anyone who wants to can have multiple streams of income at least trickling in by the end of the month. The more of us who cut the cord and refuse to work under archaic, unproductive, and sometimes inhumane or illegal conditions, the more the work world will be forced to respond. This is how progress happens. We don’t have indentured servitude anymore because the Industrial Revolution came along and created so many job options that nobody would put up with those terms. (We can talk about global slavery later, although I believe there are untold options to create fair trade businesses in every corner of the planet). We can elevate ourselves. In the process, we can lift others with us. Why “get a job” when you can give one? I talk to Past Self a lot. I’m convinced by now that she can actually hear me, if I yell at the screen loud enough. “DON’T GO IN THERE, PAST SELF!” (Maybe if I throw popcorn at her…) The more important certain events are in our timeline, the more often I revisit those scenes, and the more often I reinforce those messages. What if that little voice called the conscience was really mostly just time-traveling reverberations from our know-it-all, hindsight-is-20/20 future selves? It makes me want to listen harder, to find out if I can hear Future Self checking in more often. I shout out to her, “FUTURE SELF, WAS THAT YOU? THIS CONNECTION ISN’T VERY GOOD. CALL ME BACK!” I want to be as good a listener as I wish Past Self would be. Because that girl? Can be a real imp sometimes. Hey, Past Self. You really need to stop doing that thing. No I don’t. I DO WHAT I WANT! No, seriously. Search your heart; you know it to be true. Shut up, Future Self. You think you know everything. I DO know everything. I can see your future! You need to listen to me. Live your own life, Future Self. Don’t you have some retirement plans to worry about or something? Um, since you mention it… I know you already know about the law of compounding. AAARGGGH! Go away. I’m trying to live in the now! All I’m saying is that you’re really going to wish you had paid attention, just a short time from now. Okay, okay. What do you want me to do? I want you to quit drinking soda, go on a budget, lose some weight, start tracking your sleep metrics, get rid of your storage unit, and don’t date anyone on this list. [starts unfurling list] Pffft! [hangs up] Hello? Hello?? [stares at Future Phone] The trouble with all the advice I want to give Past Self is that I know it all sounds incredibly boring to her. Everything I know to be a good idea is intrinsically unappealing. Go to bed at 11. Stop reading in bed. Keep a food log. Stop buying books and clearing out the thrift store every month. Follow a housework schedule. NO. THANKS. From my current vantage point, I know the value of getting enough sleep is about 100x more than Past Self would rate it. I know we’re not going to want to keep a single item out of all her thrift shop finds, or that storage unit. I know how many times even an extra $25 in the bank would have saved our poor-planning little butt. I definitely know all the people we shouldn’t have dated. Most of all, though, if I really had only one wish? I wish Past Self would quit that soda habit. The one thing she cared about the most, the thing she was always least willing to consider rationally. Her one true, true vice. (Other than interrupting people and never calling anyone). Fortunately, I was at least dimly aware of the existence of Future Self from around the age of 19. I read about her in a book. She was hiking a trail a ways ahead of me, and every so often I would be allowed a glimpse of her, smiling at me over her shoulder, just before she disappeared around a bend. Who was she? What did she do for a living? What was she reading? Was she married? Did she ever learn to make decent pancakes? In this way, we start to determine the simple, harmless things we can do to make our daily lives comfortable and interesting. Past Self did a number of nice things for me, here in the present day, and as she got older and more experienced, she did more. She got us our retirement fund and our college degree and our driver’s license (in that order). She taught us to make the pancakes. She wrote hundreds of pages in our journal, working out a few of her issues, so that we could move forward with less baggage. She flossed our teeth and kept up to date on our tetanus shots and our passport. I have to try to be grateful for the favors and forgive her for the f-ups. After all, I can read her mind, but she can’t really read mine. Talking to Past Self always helps when I want to get ready for a conversation with Future Self. I remind myself of all the times I acted against our self-interest. How many times I fought our intuition and ignored that inner voice. How many times I overindulged in short-term hedonism, like eating cake for breakfast, and regretted it later, usually only an hour later! How many things I refused to submit to scrutiny, clinging to the exact habits that were draining and dissolving our quality of life. It keeps me humble. It makes me more receptive. It turns out that Future Self is pretty smart. She’s never steered me wrong. When I catch up to her, I can see the notes she leaves me on the trail markers, with little smiley faces and cheery notes saying “Well done, Past Self. You finally paid attention.” It takes photographic proof now, because people who meet me for the first time refuse to believe that I ever used to be fat. Part of the belief system of Being a Fat Person includes resenting fit people, because they are obviously “born that way.” I hate to say that I used to buy into this attitude. I had a lot of negative beliefs about exercise, about health food, about people who go to the gym. My outlook changed, but my physical form and my activities changed first. As I shifted into this radically different energy, I began sifting through and testing out various ideas about fitness, food, and body image. Some ideas I rejected. That’s always fun to do. I have remained unmoved by beliefs relating to team sports, for instance. Some people respond intuitively to ideas about working together as a unit or always bringing everything you have for your team. I won’t rule that out, but at this point in life it hasn’t really clicked for me. I’m not particularly motivated by the idea of one of my exes seeing my newly fit form and feeling jealous; revenge doesn’t do it for me, for one thing, but I also happen to know that at least a few of my exes prefer big girls. (I just never thought I was one). I’m completely deaf to the appeals of the Paleo lifestyle. I don’t feel the call to win a race or set a world record in anything. I don’t particularly want to be physically attractive or look a certain way in the trend of the moment. On the contrary, it’s unlikely I would even recognize the trend of the moment, just as I have to think hard to remember which sports season it’s supposed to be. There are a lot of ideas about fitness that I do find convincing, though. As with every change I have made, the list of things I like about it gets longer as I get deeper into the experience. This is how change happens. We talk ourselves into it. We learn so much that we are fully convinced it’s the best way. The old way starts to look less and less attractive in comparison, until finally, we can barely believe we ever thought or acted that way. It’s true of the way I chop onions and it’s true of the way I maintain my physical health, too. Here is my list, in no particular order: Athletic people are experiencing life in a different way, a way that I know nothing about, and that seems worth exploring. Smaller body, smaller clothes, smaller laundry piles, smaller suitcase. QED. I can set an example for younger girls and women of physical strength that I never saw in women when I was young. It’s my body to do with as I will. Strength training is no less valid a form of personal expression than other body modifications, including tattoos, piercings, tooth bleaching, hair dye, manicures, make-up, fashion, or even cosmetic surgery. On two occasions, I have been attacked on the street by strange men. I was able to run to safety. I wear a size zero (or smaller, unfortunately). As much cultural hysteria as there is around this mystical size, it is perfectly within a “normal” size range for vintage clothes. I’m the exact height and weight of Betty Grable, although I’m bigger in the waist, thigh, calf, and ankle. I can do things with my body that are illegal in many parts of the world, and would not have been allowed for me in my own culture just a short time ago. Like voting, I feel a responsibility to my foremothers to make the best possible use of my freedom to run and hike and travel alone. When I walk, run, or bike outdoors, I’m adding to the safety of my neighborhood. The more people are outside, the more witnesses and phones and video cameras. When I was a kid, children could play outside and walk to school, and I think we can and should bring that back. There is Alzheimer’s Disease in my family tree. I have every reason to follow Alzheimer’s research and to modify my lifestyle to delay onset or reduce my risk. That includes exercise, eating a diet low in sugar and saturated fat, and the same factors that reduce risk of diabetes and heart disease. Being fit feels good. It feels good by itself, but it also feels good to be able to do things easily that used to be difficult. People on planes are excited when I ask to sit in the middle seat. They’ve even waved me over. My husband can pick me up and carry me down the hall. I suspect I could probably pick him up, too, but he won’t let me. I can fit in a child’s Halloween costume or tutu if I so desire. I feel totally confident wearing a swimsuit in public. A bikini, even. You can only see my stretch marks now if I show you where to look. I don’t even have cellulite on my thighs anymore. If someone yells “RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!” I know exactly how fast I can go, and for how long. I’m faster than a speeding toddler running toward traffic, although I hope I don’t have to prove it again… Exercise reliably elevates mood. The more strenuous the activity, the longer I do it, the more often I do it, the better the results. I’m 40 and I don’t need any pharmaceuticals or medical appliances. I’d rather spend that money on other things. All my “numbers” are on target, including blood pressure, fasting glucose, lipid panel, resting heart rate, waist/hip ratio, percent body fat, and BMI. I no longer have to spend time arguing over whether BMI is valid for the individual, because I don’t feel defensive about my health metrics. I can sit on the floor and get back up again without holding on to anything. Not only that, I can climb a fence, climb a rope, and do a pull-up. I can open jars. I know how to calculate how many calories to pack on backwoods expeditions. I can still eat everything I used to eat when I was fat. Now, I can do it without the guilt or recriminations, because I have more information. I’m fitter now than I was when I was 30, and MUCH fitter than when I was 20. There is every reason to expect that I can be even fitter at 50 than I am now. I don’t have to go to the chiropractor anymore. I have something in common with more people now. When I go to a wedding or other social event, and see another woman with posture like mine, I know we can be deep in conversation in under a minute. I can carry a 45-pound backpack. If you realize how big a deal that is and how much of the world that opens up, I might want to go on a trip with you. I sometimes see photos of beautiful young actresses and celebrities, and realize I have better abs. I have the cardio endurance to dance every song. I can climb a tree with my nephews and niece. The more we go out, the more my dog loves me. My doctors always say, “Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it!” or “I wish all my patients were like you.” I convinced one of my doctors to take up triathlon, so I can claim the distinction that my doctor takes health advice from me! I used to be chronically ill and fatigued. I had my cancer scare at age 23. I know everything I need to know about pain, about feeling trapped by fate, about feeling like my body was my enemy. It was a powerful learning experience in its own way. There are many other ways to experience living in a human body, and I’ve learned even more from trying out a few other options. Appreciation is one of those vanishingly rare feelings that everyone wants to receive but almost never does. It’s like talking to a truly good listener. Either these things are not being radiated outward by very many people very often, or they don’t mean what we think they mean. When it comes to appreciation, there are three basic possibilities:
The first, being surrounded by ingrates, is unfortunately quite common. Anyone who has ever wiped out the office microwave or cleaned up someone else’s coffee mugs understands this. People who expect to be cleaned up after and waited on, and don’t even realize that this is entitlement, are probably in the majority. It’s not usually a deliberate policy; they truly are unaware that they leave a trail of mess and problems for other people everywhere they go. I’ve been a secretary and a maid and a nanny. I get it. It’s not just a gendered problem, though; there are plenty of steel-toe-booted men with grease under their nails who feel the same way. It’s all about what we notice. We want our contributions to be celebrated, but we don’t necessarily celebrate those of others on a daily basis. The cure for this is to stop dwelling on it. Do the work for its intrinsic value to you, or get away from it and do something else. For instance, I’m on the extreme end of tidiness and organization, so I accept that the cost of having things my way is doing them myself. There is a certain base level of housekeeping that has to get done, whether I live alone or with other people, so it is completely irrelevant whether I am the only person cleaning this bathroom every week. I’d be doing it for myself either way. I do do it for myself, and if anyone else benefits from it, then it is my choice to offer my work as a gift. Whether it is received as such is none of my business, any more than it is my business whether people like the birthday cards I send. All those tedious years I spent working as a secretary gave me a solid skill set that I use every day in working for myself. Most of the hundreds of people I supported probably can’t even remember that I ever worked there, and wouldn’t recognize me or remember my name. That’s fine; the reverse might be true in many cases. I got paid then and I benefit from my work now. None of that work was ever going to lead directly to anything I wanted to do, or an income level I found exciting. Until I got out of it, I was stuck at the wrong level, in a limbo of my own creation. That is the second issue with feeling appreciated. My work was indeed appreciated, but not in the ways that mattered to me the most (emotional connection, fat wads of cash, inspiration, and inherent interest). This tends to be a bigger problem in personal relationships. Several of the unhappiest people I know are dedicated readers of romance novels. Now, I’m married to the love of my life, my best friend, and an extremely interesting person – all one man, yes – but our marriage has no resemblance whatsoever to anything I’ve read in a romance novel or seen in a “chick flick.” Which is unreal? My ten-year relationship, or an entire multimedia genre? We set up a system to divide the infrastructural elements of our life (money, chores, privacy, personal fulfillment, career growth, decision-making), and we each hold our end up. We report back to each other, but most of our conversations are about wacky stuff, our projects, gossip, or the news rather than Our Feelings or Appreciating Each Other for Taking Out the Trash. I could wait a million years for him to write me a love sonnet about my terrific job folding laundry, or passive-aggressively wait for him to, I dunno, build me a custom closet organizer or something. Or I can just enjoy his company and occasionally ask him outright to do favors for me. Which he does. He’s not a mind-reader, and I wouldn’t want him to be, because can you imagine living with someone who reads your mind all the time? I just want to hang out with him in the lowest-maintenance way possible, because he’s my favorite person to talk to. Many relationships start out this way, only to die a slow death due to a lack of systems and defined boundaries. This is where the third appreciation issue comes in. We don’t always merit the appreciation we feel we deserve. I remember my first real office job, when I was 18, and I believed I should be promoted directly to management because I was obviously one of the smartest people there. Didn’t work out so well. This is a fixed-mindset problem. If you’re the smartest person in the room, you’re in the wrong room, and you’re probably not the smartest person in the room anyway, because that person ain’t talking. My folly was in thinking IQ has anything to do with context, competence, contribution, or mastery. I was in the wrong job (mortgage bank), had no experience (unless you count making nachos at 7-Eleven), did something even a child could do (making photocopies 8 hours a day), and did not have the demonstrated track record of kicking serious ass. That whole “pay your dues” thing is frustratingly real, whatever your age. Fast forward 15 years, and I was making triple the income for what I considered the same type of work, because I had a college degree and more experience. That’s fair. The older and more experienced I get, the more I realize that I’m not even qualified to shake hands with the people who really get things done. Do what they did or don’t expect to get their results. Appreciation in relationships is not distributed based on the desire for it. We tend to give with one hand and take away with the other. Many relationships polarize into bitter nagging and resentment from the one, coupled with annoyance and rebellion from the other. Nobody is the boss of anybody when it comes to love. Many of us could love each other better if we didn’t have to live together or share a bank account. We have to look to ourselves first. Would I be my roommate? Would I marry me? Many years ago, I decided that whenever I had a thought that “I wish he would” or “He should” [whatever], I would immediately look to myself and make sure I was fully following my own advice. Then I needed to back away, leave him alone, focus on my own homework, and let him do whatever he wanted to do at his own pace. Our relationship has evolved over the years, not because I’m some perfect role model or highly skilled manipulator, but because people mature and grow and change. We have to leave each other room to do this. We also have to start suspecting that maybe our mates are really the patient, long-suffering ones. Maybe they love us a little more than we love them, and we haven’t noticed yet. Getting hung up on feeling appreciated is a losing battle. It’s like waiting for opportunity to come and knock on your door. It doesn’t work that way. Feeling unappreciated is a sign that we’re either doing the wrong thing, spending time with the wrong people, or caught up in ego needs. We need a perspective shift. We need to let it go and start focusing on people and situations we can love on their own merits. Or, in other words, we need to find what we can appreciate, and radiate what we wish to receive. “Live each day like it will be your last.” This advice is a bit suspicious. As a medievalist, I’m all in favor of the occasional memento mori, and it’s Halloween season, but, well… MORBID! If I really started thinking about dying tomorrow, I would spend the rest of the day sobbing my goodbyes into the phone. It would be like drunk-dialing “I LOVE YOU, MAN! NO, I REALLY REALLY LOVE YOU!” except nobody’s later memories of that day would be at all amusing. Also, I would focus much too much on eating multiple flavors of Oreos, on top of my other favorite foods, such as sauerkraut and pickles, to the point that if I did live another day, I might wish I hadn’t. On second thought, let’s not go to Memento Mori. Tis a silly place. What I’d really like to talk about is what would be different if we knew we were going to live forever. What would you do every day if you knew you never would die? The first thing I’m thinking is that I would be very worried about taking care of my gums. I’m 40, and I already know my body is capable of aging. There is no reason to assume that immortality would come with eternal youth. Better start being more careful with the sunblock. Money is a question. There are two ways of tackling the fiscal aspects of living forever. Either you assume the law of compounding will work in your favor, or you look around at the elders in your acquaintance and guess which ones feel they have adequate wherewithal for their golden years. Yikes, right? Taking care of Future Self becomes a much bigger deal when thinking in centuries rather than decades. In some ways, we are rather like immortals. My chances of living to 40 as a woman would have been fairly low in most cultures throughout human history. My chances of living to 70 would have been considered low through most of the 20th century, even in the wealthiest, most advanced nations. Now, I have to assume I will live to be at least 85 as a matter of pure common sense. If I accidentally live to be 120, that’s an additional 35 years of inflation and savings I need to calculate. Prudent financial planning demands that I be as optimistic as possible about my potential lifespan. Money is only one aspect of planning to live a long life. There is this whole concept of “retirement.” I am just as skeptical of this as I am of the idea that we should live each day as though it is our last. This is partly because I used to sit at the desk of a man who had retired, only to find out that he had cancer a couple months later. I’m not sure he made it six months. (He was a sweet person; may he rest in peace). It’s fairly common for people to die shortly after their retirement. I’m young yet, but in some ways I “retired” at 35, and I can tell you something: IT IS BORING. After spending the first year taking two or three naps a day, and mastering all the crops in Farmville, you just need something more. That something turns out to be this little thing they call WORK. This is the most interesting part of the idea of living as though we will live forever. What would we do with the time? What sort of project would be stimulating and challenging enough to keep us going? Ice sculpture? (Channeling Bill Murray here). Mastering chess? Writing a series of fantasy novels? Painting an epic ceiling? Ridding the world of extreme poverty? Developing a new variety of fruit? I mean, TV would have to be significantly better than it is now for me to want to sit there and watch it for a few million years. On an epochal time scale, we can dream of accomplishing amazing things. Imagine building something like the Great Wall of China in one lifetime. Of course, the entire point of this exercise is that we should be imagining building anything in one lifetime. Do we really know how much we can bring into the world in even as little as three years? What is the longest we have spent focused on one endeavor? The truth is that most people’s outrageous dreams are completely feasible with existing resources and technology. It’s a mystery why we don’t go after them and make them happen. We most likely don’t have endless eons to bring our wishes into existence – although so far, I’m 100% successful at immortality – and it only makes sense to make the best possible use of the time we have available. I don’t think motivation really exists. I’ve written a lot about this, and I’m sure I’ll keep writing more, because as far as myths go, the motivation myth is seriously entrenched. Why do I have such a problem with this concept, around which an entire industry is built? It makes me sad to think of all the people out there who are waiting to Feel Like It before they go on to do things that are decaying on their to-do lists. All this wasted human potential is swirling around the drain of I Wish I Had Your Motivation. Those of us who get things done don’t concern ourselves with motivation. What do we do? Everyone has at least one thing that gets done, day in and day out, that feels simple and easy, yet would require massive willpower for someone else. For instance, drinking a cup of coffee every morning is something I would only do for charity. Triple dog dare? *shrug* You win, bro. On the other hand, I floss my teeth every night, because not to do so feels crawly and disgusting. Nothing would motivate me to do the one; nothing could stop me from doing the other. I’m a Questioner, and I’m driven by curiosity. The minute I learn about something that is an improvement over something I already do, I’m hooked. My motto is: “Do things that are a good idea. Don’t do things that are a bad idea.” I used to be completely sedentary, because I thought fitness was pointless. (That would make a catchy t-shirt slogan: FITNESS = POINTLESS. Or maybe FITNESS = WITLESS). Then I started questioning my attitude, and that led to research, and that led to losing 35 pounds and running a marathon. I used to be chronically disorganized, and I thought it was simply part of my nature, but, as is my wont, I started questioning my attitude. Gradually, I learned to think and behave like an organized person, which I find significantly more efficient. I have changed my initial skepticism about all sorts of things, from cooking to making my bed to using direct deposit to reading e-books to owning a smart phone. Once I see the point of something, I just start doing it, because it makes sense. Unfortunately, there have always been a lot of obviously smart things I wouldn’t do, because I didn’t see the point yet. My husband is an Upholder, and his kind believe there is a Right Way to Do Things. If it is on their Upholder flow chart, they do it. If not, they don’t. Upholders tend to overlap in their attitudes about many things, such as punctuality, but there is no universal Upholder handbook. They have a plan, they follow it, they appreciate it when others follow it, and that’s all they need to worry about. I lean heavily in the direction of Upholder, so much that it’s really a secondary characteristic, but I’ve never been able to stop updating the manual. I also find it fascinating when I meet people who operate out of a different manual, which can be stressful for true Upholders. Achievers have different driving forces, most of which probably appear to resemble ‘motivation’ to outsiders. Athletes cannot bear to remain sedentary; an excruciating physical restlessness builds up, and that’s why we have to fight the tendency to play while injured. Entrepreneurs can’t stand following orders or doing pointless make-work, they don’t feel the hours passing, and work is their happy place. They run the risk of damaging personal relationships because they don’t come equipped with an off switch. Organized people feel the same pain that natural editors feel; when an object or punctuation mark is out of, place it bothers them. (BWAHAHAHA! *evil laugh*) Dancers love dancing over all other activities, and they usually don’t care whether they are dancing alone, in a group, or in front of an audience. Artists have visions that push to be born into the world. What all of these disparate groups have in common is that they know how to enter the FLOW STATE. They crave it. The more time they spend in the flow state, the better they get at inducing it, and the longer they can keep the flow going. This is the secret behind what ordinary mortals call “motivation.” Those practitioners of whatever it is are in an altered state of consciousness. They are experiencing non-obvious, uncommon emotions. This is part of why some prodigies excel in multiple fields. They know what Doing It Right feels like. They know how to learn, they know how to structure their schedules, and they recognize when they feel the inclination that is needed to commit to a new practice. This is part of why some people who excel in a particular area will suddenly quit. Once they pass the point of mastery, the challenge is gone. They aren’t interested in showing off; they want to do whatever it is that feeds the feeling of continual improvement. This is also part of why musical geniuses persist in putting out strange, experimental albums. They’re not doing it for the attention or the critical acclaim or the awards. They’re doing it because it is what they must do. They want to do it, so they do. I don’t think motivation exists. I think people feel natural inclinations toward certain things, and then they make those things a part of their routine. For instance, once I tried backpacking, I loved it, and I will take any opportunity to go, as long as I don’t have to go alone. The inclination to change, to adopt a new habit or skill or practice, generally comes after a mental adjustment of some kind. We become curious after watching a video or meeting someone who does something we didn’t know about. We feel in sync with others in a crowd, who naturally absorb us into their CrossFit or horseback riding or wine-drinking habits. We have an inner resonance with a state of affairs, such as an orderly home or a well-groomed appearance or a parrot on the shoulder, and we arrange our lives around maintaining that energy. It’s just a thing we do. It would take me a lot of “motivation” to play a video game, watch network television, eat bacon, drink a beer, get a tattoo, or wear three-inch heels. That’s motivation I just don’t have. I do have the “motivation” to stay fit, keep my house clean and organized, eat vegetables, go to bed at a consistent bedtime, and all sorts of other things that most people believe require motivation. This is because I’ve lived both ways, with and without the habit, and I’m fully convinced that there is a payoff involved. I know what’s in it for me. When we haven’t experienced the benefits of something such as being able to run long distances, have clean countertops, or go paperless, it’s hard to feel any kind of interest or inclination. The best way to develop that kind of inclination is to learn more about why other people do it, and then try it, in the spirit of true inquiry. The distance between “interesting” to “good idea” to “automatic part of my life” is shorter than it looks. |
AuthorI've been working with chronic disorganization, squalor, and hoarding for over 20 years. I'm also a marathon runner who was diagnosed with fibromyalgia and thyroid disease 17 years ago. This website uses marketing and tracking technologies. Opting out of this will opt you out of all cookies, except for those needed to run the website. Note that some products may not work as well without tracking cookies. Opt Out of CookiesArchives
January 2022
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