I went into the chiropractor's office yesterday. My back had been hurting all day, my sinuses were draining like Niagra Falls, I had spent an entire day staring at spreadsheets, and I was stressing about my checking account balance (or lack thereof). My doc said, "Happy Monday to you!", and I said, "Is there such a thing?" As he proceeded with my adjustment, he told me how we all should appreciate every day because it could be so much worse. "Think of how bad things are for other people? You could be very ill or just have tragically lost someone you love." I grumpily agreed with him, and begrudgingly acknowledged that no matter how heavy my life feels at times, there are ways it could be so much worse. And it is so true. I have family and friends who are struggling with things far more devastating than the financial woes or the personal existential crisis that plagues me every day. It's also true that if you sat around a table with all your family and friends, and everyone put their problems in the middle like baseball cards, willing to trade, you would probably still pull back your own.
We are a nation of whiners. It's true. We all have something to gripe about, something that is not quite perfect or just short of how we dreamed our lives to be. Many of us grumble when the alarm clock goes off, wishing we were lucky enough to not have to work, forgetting about so many of our neighbors who have lost their jobs in the last few years. We complain about eating too much junk food, filling our gas tanks, depthless piles of laundry, and the ineptitudes of our political leaders. We never imagine what we would complain about if we were hungry, homeless, and disenfranchised. We all could use a healthy dose of perspective as we go about our daily chores. And sometimes, it does make it easier to find the energy to put away all that folded laundry or scrub out that scummy pan from dinner. But...
I am always kind of irked by people who tell me that, basically, I don't have the right to feel down, frustrated, angry, or tired, because my life could be "so much worse." Yes, things could always be worse. (Even as I type that, I am knocking on wood, because that phrase is far too tempting to fate.) But just because I have not reached the absolute lowest possible depth of human despair, does that mean my struggles and strife are any less real or any less painful? No, I would not trade places with someone who had a seriously ill child or who had lost a parent early in life. That fact does not make the things I am going through less serious or difficult. I think that my own personal level of stress gives me the right to say every once in awhile, "today is crappy," and not have to provide justification or supporting evidence for this statement.
Sometimes, life is just heavy. And other days, it's really a lot more heavy. Are we inclined to wallow on the days when it gets too heavy to carry? Sure. If our friends and family find that we are taking advantage of the wallowing privelege, do they have the right to give us a figurative shake and say, "Hey! Buck up! It could be worse!" Probably. But whenever you find yourself saying that phrase, remember that you can't really know all the things that are weighing someone down. And if you did, do you suppose that you would ever trade your problems for theirs? Probably not. So realize that sometimes we don't need a shake. Knowing that things could be worse doesn't magically lift that weight off our shoulders. You know what usually does? Good friends who make you laugh even at your crabbiest. A family who loves you no matter how much of mess you have made of things. A little dose of hope that, while things could definitely be worse, they certainly can get better.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Friday, September 18, 2009
Text Twist, Spider Solitaire, and Numbing Out
So over the past 5 years, I have had three jobs where I just don't have enough to do. (How does this keep happening? That is a blog for another day.) At the outset of each of these positions, I have great intentions. I read intranet sites, ask lots of questions, walk around my department offering my services and talents to help out my far-busier co-workers. But after about 3 months of this, I start to lose interest. I get apathetic and kind of angry. I feel like I am in some social experiment to test mental endurance for total boredom. The more hours I sit in a cubicle with nothing to do, while watching and listening to my co-workers scurrying about and complaining of their work load, the lower, the more inadequate, the more useless I feel. And as many people do when they are feeling down about their life and their general value to the world, I reach for a substance to drown out the pain and doubt. My drug of choice? Online games.
Now when I say online games, I am not talking World of Warcraft or Dungeons and Dragons, not that those games aren't lovely and entertaining. No, my particular brands are word challenges, puzzles, and solitaire. My far too idle brain latches onto them like a lifeline because they provide stimulation and entertainment, two excellent ways to survive a day filled with boredom. Each time I solve a difficult puzzle, figure out the seven letter word amidst the jumble of letters, or finally win a game of Spider Solitaire, I feel a sense of accomplishment. After all, aren't puzzles and games used in nursing homes all the time to keep aging minds fresh and active? It's the same concept. I'll keep myself from totally fading away by pumping word jumbles and spatial reasoning puzzles into my system.
And then the games start to become a problem. I can't stop. My eyes glaze over and my contacts crystalize and start prickling painfully, but I have to play until I win. When I can't win a puzzle or find that darned seven-lettered word in Text Twist, I get frustrated and irritated. By the end of a day nearly filled with this, I end up feeling worse about myself, because when someone asks "how was work today?" all I could really say is, "I played 25 games of Spider Solitaire and never won." Just like any addiction, the initial rush and relief that my drug provided fades away to reveal my problems are still here. All I am doing is numbing out.
Of course, there are other substances. I choose to watch mindless TV far too often than reading a book or listening to music. I regularly check celebrity gossip websites and read every US Weekly I can. Sometimes, I will even choose to go to bed early just to escape the boredom. Any distraction will do, as long as I don't have to really deal with my problems.
It's scary to look my problems in the face, because the only way any of them will be solved is by me, and ONLY me. I panic and feel paralyzed, because despite my boredom, my day job pays the bills. The status quo is getting me by. If I try to make the big changes I know that I need, it might get worse. I might make even more terrible mistakes or end up more alienated. So instead of working through the pain to find the answer and the relief, I walk to the laptop that is always set up on my kitchen table, and start up another game of Spider Solitaire.
But lately, I have been starting to wake up from this sleepwalking. I have felt stirrings of some of my old confidence, found a new interest in the things that have always inspired me, like great books, music, and political debate. This blog, in fact, is one example of my soul fighting back against the numb. The old me is still in here, I have just been smothering her out of fear of the unknown, fear of mistakes, fear of veering off the straight and narrow path and trying something new. Even just writing that brought a little flutter of panic to my tummy. Breathe in, breathe out. Deep breath.
I am not saying that we don't all need to escape sometimes. We do. Life can be heavy, and who doesn't need to sit down now and again and say, time to rest, time to check out? It is healthy to do that once in awhile. But we can't use those things as an alternative to living. As someone who has checked out far too much in the last two years, let me tell you that waking up from that is rough. It's like taking a 2 hour afternoon nap when you meant to sleep for 20 minutes. But now, that the initial grogginess has passed, I feel kind of energized. Even fear and panic are better than numbness, because I can feel them, and feeling them means I am alive and ready for what's to come.
Now when I say online games, I am not talking World of Warcraft or Dungeons and Dragons, not that those games aren't lovely and entertaining. No, my particular brands are word challenges, puzzles, and solitaire. My far too idle brain latches onto them like a lifeline because they provide stimulation and entertainment, two excellent ways to survive a day filled with boredom. Each time I solve a difficult puzzle, figure out the seven letter word amidst the jumble of letters, or finally win a game of Spider Solitaire, I feel a sense of accomplishment. After all, aren't puzzles and games used in nursing homes all the time to keep aging minds fresh and active? It's the same concept. I'll keep myself from totally fading away by pumping word jumbles and spatial reasoning puzzles into my system.
And then the games start to become a problem. I can't stop. My eyes glaze over and my contacts crystalize and start prickling painfully, but I have to play until I win. When I can't win a puzzle or find that darned seven-lettered word in Text Twist, I get frustrated and irritated. By the end of a day nearly filled with this, I end up feeling worse about myself, because when someone asks "how was work today?" all I could really say is, "I played 25 games of Spider Solitaire and never won." Just like any addiction, the initial rush and relief that my drug provided fades away to reveal my problems are still here. All I am doing is numbing out.
Of course, there are other substances. I choose to watch mindless TV far too often than reading a book or listening to music. I regularly check celebrity gossip websites and read every US Weekly I can. Sometimes, I will even choose to go to bed early just to escape the boredom. Any distraction will do, as long as I don't have to really deal with my problems.
It's scary to look my problems in the face, because the only way any of them will be solved is by me, and ONLY me. I panic and feel paralyzed, because despite my boredom, my day job pays the bills. The status quo is getting me by. If I try to make the big changes I know that I need, it might get worse. I might make even more terrible mistakes or end up more alienated. So instead of working through the pain to find the answer and the relief, I walk to the laptop that is always set up on my kitchen table, and start up another game of Spider Solitaire.
But lately, I have been starting to wake up from this sleepwalking. I have felt stirrings of some of my old confidence, found a new interest in the things that have always inspired me, like great books, music, and political debate. This blog, in fact, is one example of my soul fighting back against the numb. The old me is still in here, I have just been smothering her out of fear of the unknown, fear of mistakes, fear of veering off the straight and narrow path and trying something new. Even just writing that brought a little flutter of panic to my tummy. Breathe in, breathe out. Deep breath.
I am not saying that we don't all need to escape sometimes. We do. Life can be heavy, and who doesn't need to sit down now and again and say, time to rest, time to check out? It is healthy to do that once in awhile. But we can't use those things as an alternative to living. As someone who has checked out far too much in the last two years, let me tell you that waking up from that is rough. It's like taking a 2 hour afternoon nap when you meant to sleep for 20 minutes. But now, that the initial grogginess has passed, I feel kind of energized. Even fear and panic are better than numbness, because I can feel them, and feeling them means I am alive and ready for what's to come.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
A moment of Glee
OK, so now is the time when I raise my hand, stand up, and say, "My name is Jennifer, and I LOVE the TV show "Glee." It is this perfect mix of edgy wit, colorful characters, and inappropriate sarcasm. These qualities appeal to my grown-up self who feels like if I can catch all of the witticisms, get them, and laugh out loud, then my brain has not gone totally to mush from too many hours zoning out in a cubicle. But more than that, there is the singing.
So it's corny and cliche, but I was one of those misfit Glee club kids. Granted, choir wasn't quite so taboo at my high school. No one threw slushies in my face or deposited me in the dumpster every morning, but neither did singing write my ticket to popularity or acceptance. But I can relate to that moment, on stage, singing, when I knew I was doing something special that not very many of my classmates had the courage to do. I sang solos, I sang with the choir, I sang in a small quintet, and I had a lead in a musical. Every time I had the chance to do those things, I felt a surge of energy; I could almost feel my body and my face change. It was like a jolt of pure happiness, powerful enough erase teenage angst and low self-esteem. I felt so hopeful and alive; I had the power to do something great and to affect the people around me.
The problem is that there aren't any adult show choirs. We trudge through the day and get the job done, but there is nothing that ever compares to the elation of belting out music with all your heart. We give those moments to our kids and students as gifts, and we say we're too old or those times are over for us. But why? Why couldn't we gather together and sing a great Journey song and feel special and happy and energized? Just FEEL anything?
I think we give up too early on having a Gleeful life. We get caught up in routine and expectations and responsiblities, and we forget how great it feels to do something just for the sheer joy of it. Like singing a song. Will singing change the world? Nope. But it sure does feel great when the harmonies line up and the choreography clicks and you think, "man, I LOVE this song!" There is a quote from last week's episode from Glee about how one can really provide for your family. Is it about money or is it about teaching them that the most important thing is living your life doing something you're passionate about? I was passionate about choir and music when I was in high school, and that passion and feeling got me through the routine and the necessary responsibilities. Singing made me feel special, which helped me get through the times I felt invisible. I have to think that I should keep using what music inspires in me to get through the hard times now. Watching that silly TV show reminded me of the feeling of joy that it gives me. I want to get back there.
So I am going to start singing along with my favorite songs in my car, LOUDLY. I am going to blast the iPod while I'm cleaning the house and use my feather duster as a fake microphone and my vacuum cleaner as a dance partner. I am going to go to more concerts, and I will stand up and sing and dance and annoy everyone around me who doesn't have the courage or the spirit to do the same. I am going to give myself up to that feeling of being alive. It's time for some Glee for me. I can't believe I forgot about it.
So it's corny and cliche, but I was one of those misfit Glee club kids. Granted, choir wasn't quite so taboo at my high school. No one threw slushies in my face or deposited me in the dumpster every morning, but neither did singing write my ticket to popularity or acceptance. But I can relate to that moment, on stage, singing, when I knew I was doing something special that not very many of my classmates had the courage to do. I sang solos, I sang with the choir, I sang in a small quintet, and I had a lead in a musical. Every time I had the chance to do those things, I felt a surge of energy; I could almost feel my body and my face change. It was like a jolt of pure happiness, powerful enough erase teenage angst and low self-esteem. I felt so hopeful and alive; I had the power to do something great and to affect the people around me.
The problem is that there aren't any adult show choirs. We trudge through the day and get the job done, but there is nothing that ever compares to the elation of belting out music with all your heart. We give those moments to our kids and students as gifts, and we say we're too old or those times are over for us. But why? Why couldn't we gather together and sing a great Journey song and feel special and happy and energized? Just FEEL anything?
I think we give up too early on having a Gleeful life. We get caught up in routine and expectations and responsiblities, and we forget how great it feels to do something just for the sheer joy of it. Like singing a song. Will singing change the world? Nope. But it sure does feel great when the harmonies line up and the choreography clicks and you think, "man, I LOVE this song!" There is a quote from last week's episode from Glee about how one can really provide for your family. Is it about money or is it about teaching them that the most important thing is living your life doing something you're passionate about? I was passionate about choir and music when I was in high school, and that passion and feeling got me through the routine and the necessary responsibilities. Singing made me feel special, which helped me get through the times I felt invisible. I have to think that I should keep using what music inspires in me to get through the hard times now. Watching that silly TV show reminded me of the feeling of joy that it gives me. I want to get back there.
So I am going to start singing along with my favorite songs in my car, LOUDLY. I am going to blast the iPod while I'm cleaning the house and use my feather duster as a fake microphone and my vacuum cleaner as a dance partner. I am going to go to more concerts, and I will stand up and sing and dance and annoy everyone around me who doesn't have the courage or the spirit to do the same. I am going to give myself up to that feeling of being alive. It's time for some Glee for me. I can't believe I forgot about it.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Third Graders get Tutors; 30 Year Olds get Chiropractors
I turned 30 last month, and while I am trying very hard to think of this as a new decade to accomplish new goals and find new opportunities for happiness, I can't help feeling like I have fallen behind. And why is that? Why do I feel that my lack of a husband, children, a mortgage, and, to be honest, a career, has put me behind the rest of my class? If I were in third grade and had fallen this far behind, specialty teachers and tutors would be assigned to my day to help me through and to catch up. They would find my deficiencies and help change them so that I can reach 4th grade. By summertime, I would be walking alongside my classmates to the end-of-school field trip feeling pretty smug. Oh, if only they could somehow tell us that nothing in life will ever be as cut-and-dried, black-and-white as third grade. Can you tell a third grader, "Hey, I am helping you out now, but someday when you are 30 and confused and stuck on a really hard problem, you are SOL." Sounds cruel, but wouldn't it be kinder in the end?
But back to my original question, have I really fallen behind? The truth is that I have made so many missteps in the last 3 years that I am not even sure which path I am on, let alone how far along the path I am, so how would I even know if I was behind?
I keep thinking that this is not a setback, but maybe that things are just a bit out of chronological order for me. Instead of waking up at 45 with kids and a mortgage and a husband who makes me nuts and panicking at the state of my life, I am pre-panicking. While I have been waiting for these to come along, waiting for the timing to be right, I have just had too much time to think. That is never good for me.
Marriage, babies, and houses have been dangled before me as the carrot to reach for for so long that I have just had too much time to study them. Lately, the carrot does not look so delicious. What if I don't want to reach for it any more? Was I reaching for the husband and the kids, or was I reaching for what I thought must come along with them: peace. Peace. The opposite of the turmoil and confusion and fuzzy-head I feel now. Do you get peace when you finally reach that carrot? Do the wheels start moving down the path again? What if, when I start reaching for the peace carrot (or maybe peace is a cabbage? Not sure.) babies and mortgages and husbands aren't an integral part of it?
I had to go to the chiroprator this week for some serious back pain. We were reviewing my X-rays and discussing my treatment plan, and my doctor pointed to a picture on a progressive chart that was labeled "Phase II: Decay," and said, "You are here, Jennifer." I stared at the word. DECAY. Wait, what? How can I be decaying already? I have not done anything yet! I have just been trying to do something. (It was all that reaching out for the wrong carrot; reaching is bad for your back.) The stress of trying so hard but never quite getting there has caused my body to start to DECAY. Decay is for death; it's what happens to your body right before it disappears into the earth.
But there is hope. They're sending in some help. The chiropractor, so kind and empathetic, is a 30-year-old's version of the tutor, the speciality teacher, to help me catch up with the rest of the class. He says, "We can fix this. We caught this in time. We can reverse it and make things better for you." So as I sit here looking at my life from the 30 year mark on my timeline, maybe that's the way to say it. I am catching the decay before it takes over. I can fix this. I can make it better.
But back to my original question, have I really fallen behind? The truth is that I have made so many missteps in the last 3 years that I am not even sure which path I am on, let alone how far along the path I am, so how would I even know if I was behind?
I keep thinking that this is not a setback, but maybe that things are just a bit out of chronological order for me. Instead of waking up at 45 with kids and a mortgage and a husband who makes me nuts and panicking at the state of my life, I am pre-panicking. While I have been waiting for these to come along, waiting for the timing to be right, I have just had too much time to think. That is never good for me.
Marriage, babies, and houses have been dangled before me as the carrot to reach for for so long that I have just had too much time to study them. Lately, the carrot does not look so delicious. What if I don't want to reach for it any more? Was I reaching for the husband and the kids, or was I reaching for what I thought must come along with them: peace. Peace. The opposite of the turmoil and confusion and fuzzy-head I feel now. Do you get peace when you finally reach that carrot? Do the wheels start moving down the path again? What if, when I start reaching for the peace carrot (or maybe peace is a cabbage? Not sure.) babies and mortgages and husbands aren't an integral part of it?
I had to go to the chiroprator this week for some serious back pain. We were reviewing my X-rays and discussing my treatment plan, and my doctor pointed to a picture on a progressive chart that was labeled "Phase II: Decay," and said, "You are here, Jennifer." I stared at the word. DECAY. Wait, what? How can I be decaying already? I have not done anything yet! I have just been trying to do something. (It was all that reaching out for the wrong carrot; reaching is bad for your back.) The stress of trying so hard but never quite getting there has caused my body to start to DECAY. Decay is for death; it's what happens to your body right before it disappears into the earth.
But there is hope. They're sending in some help. The chiropractor, so kind and empathetic, is a 30-year-old's version of the tutor, the speciality teacher, to help me catch up with the rest of the class. He says, "We can fix this. We caught this in time. We can reverse it and make things better for you." So as I sit here looking at my life from the 30 year mark on my timeline, maybe that's the way to say it. I am catching the decay before it takes over. I can fix this. I can make it better.
Friday, December 5, 2008
Auld Lang Syne
2008 - Good year or bad year?
I heard this "survey" on the radio this morning from some DJs that are not always my favorite, but sometimes they get it right. The radio callers listed their reasons for having a good or bad year, and I noticed that there were a lot more bads than goods, which was comforting for some reason. (Why does misery love company, I wonder?)
Anyway, I thought this was a great question, and I one I have never seriously considered in any year of my life. Maybe it is resonating for me this year because I can definitely answer NO.
It has not been a great year. There have been moments of being kicked while I was down. If I gave my list over the radio, it would probably sound made-up, hyperbolized for entertainment value. But no, lots of bad things have happened this year. The worst is this feeling of being lost and bewildered. I am not sure when it started, but I can't seem to clear the fog from my head so I can figure out where I am going.
I am not actually going to make my list. It is not necessary. But I do know that the prospect of a clean slate in 2009 is inspiring hope. I am anticipated the change of the calendar. Things have got to get better.
I heard this "survey" on the radio this morning from some DJs that are not always my favorite, but sometimes they get it right. The radio callers listed their reasons for having a good or bad year, and I noticed that there were a lot more bads than goods, which was comforting for some reason. (Why does misery love company, I wonder?)
Anyway, I thought this was a great question, and I one I have never seriously considered in any year of my life. Maybe it is resonating for me this year because I can definitely answer NO.
It has not been a great year. There have been moments of being kicked while I was down. If I gave my list over the radio, it would probably sound made-up, hyperbolized for entertainment value. But no, lots of bad things have happened this year. The worst is this feeling of being lost and bewildered. I am not sure when it started, but I can't seem to clear the fog from my head so I can figure out where I am going.
I am not actually going to make my list. It is not necessary. But I do know that the prospect of a clean slate in 2009 is inspiring hope. I am anticipated the change of the calendar. Things have got to get better.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Did I Miss the Day They Taught This in Kindergarten?
Do you ever just feel blind-sided by your life? There are times I am driving home from work, and I have a moment where it feels like I am waking up from napping too long, groggy and cranky and headachey, and I realize...this is IT. This is my life. This is how it's playing out. Did I really decide to be here? Did I consciously make decisions that got me to this point in my life? I can't clearly remember it, but somehow it has all become this big jumble.
So here it is. This is the blog of an overachiever who feels like she had done everything BUT achieve since she graduated from college. I went from being organized, "with it," sharp, witty, on track, goal-oriented, to this...FLAKE. I am a flake. The worst part is that I used to hate flakes! I spoke badly of them whenever they were not around, and here I am, a classic flake!!! Instead of being in charge, I feel like am barely keeping up. I am the kid in the back of the class trying to keep up with the algebra lesson for the day, still trying to figure out what we learned the day before. Day late, dollar short. I should have probably named my blog with that phrase. It's one of my favorites because it always feels so true. My life...like showing up for the big test without any sharpened #2 pencils. Sorry for all of the school-related analogies, but sadly, that was the last time in my life when I felt successful, like I was making progress.
This is my intro message. I will be blogging about my feelings and experiences as a 29 year old woman with a job but no clear career path, in a long-term relationship with no hint of a legal committment, who is helping her boyfriend raise his 8-year-old son with no idea what she is doing or how it sometimes brings out the worst in me.
I used to be an example to others for motivation, brightness, potential. Now, I am a flake.
Are you like me? Do you feel like you missed the day in school where they taught you how to keep it all together, how to balance it all, how to know where to go when you don't know where you going? I feel like I aced all of my classes, but missed the real lesson.
So here it is. This is the blog of an overachiever who feels like she had done everything BUT achieve since she graduated from college. I went from being organized, "with it," sharp, witty, on track, goal-oriented, to this...FLAKE. I am a flake. The worst part is that I used to hate flakes! I spoke badly of them whenever they were not around, and here I am, a classic flake!!! Instead of being in charge, I feel like am barely keeping up. I am the kid in the back of the class trying to keep up with the algebra lesson for the day, still trying to figure out what we learned the day before. Day late, dollar short. I should have probably named my blog with that phrase. It's one of my favorites because it always feels so true. My life...like showing up for the big test without any sharpened #2 pencils. Sorry for all of the school-related analogies, but sadly, that was the last time in my life when I felt successful, like I was making progress.
This is my intro message. I will be blogging about my feelings and experiences as a 29 year old woman with a job but no clear career path, in a long-term relationship with no hint of a legal committment, who is helping her boyfriend raise his 8-year-old son with no idea what she is doing or how it sometimes brings out the worst in me.
I used to be an example to others for motivation, brightness, potential. Now, I am a flake.
Are you like me? Do you feel like you missed the day in school where they taught you how to keep it all together, how to balance it all, how to know where to go when you don't know where you going? I feel like I aced all of my classes, but missed the real lesson.
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