Category Archives: personal

The Stars Are Stacked Against You Girl, Get Back In Bed*

October 7, 2014 tananda Leave a comment

There are certain things in this life that appear to be universal. For instance, it’s a bad idea to let someone you just met pick your tattoo after a night of tequila shots. Bartenders want all Journey songs removed from jukeboxes and karaoke lists. No one looks like a Mensa member with a flat-billed, oversized baseball cap turned to the side. Legos are deadly when stepped on in the dark. And if I have planned to get into the office earlier than usual, I am guaranteed to forget everything, including my wardrobe in various steps making me at least ten minutes later than my usual arrival.

I had one of those mornings. You know the kind. The kind or morning that indicated apparently my subconscious and the universe had a meeting and decided that they did not want me to leave my home. I forgot everything but my pants, and not all at once. It was piecemeal. Get to the car…and, I forgot that folder. Run upstairs and grab the folder only to remember that I left my briefcase on the couch. Remember the keys to the car were left in a pants pocket now in the laundry pile… And manage to get all the way to the stop sign at the end of your neighborhood to realize that I left my coffee in its go-cup on the counter.

Yes, of course I turned around to get it. Did you really want me driving in morning rush traffic in a caffeine deficit?

Speaking of traffic, apparently to have instant idiots on the roadways, just add water. No lie. It is astounding how many people think that they have some sort of magical shielding on their small, compact vehicle that will somehow, miraculously prevent them doing an impression of a trash compacted soda can while they whip it out (yes, I said it like that on purpose) in front of the semi barreling along at 55 miles per hour. This favored risk-taking behavior seems to occur with a much higher prevalence when rain has fallen increasing braking distance by a relative factor of how much friction is decreased by rain mixed with oil and other mechanical fluids coating the asphalt surface.

After the harrowing experience of morning traffic, I finally arrived at the office to find that the pushers of all things technical and software related had run an update on the network that my comp had to catch up with, and I was threatened with my life if I did so much as breathe hard while the warning was on the screen. I sat, hardly daring to glance away, should the technology gods perceive that I had not adhered to their admonitions and corrupted my entire workspace. Finally, a new window appeared indicating that my computer would reboot in 60, 59, 58… or I could Reboot Now. Gratefully, I clicked the reboot now… AND… Just kidding, WRONG ANSWER! The BSOD, the “blue screen of death” for those who are unfamiliar with the acronym. Heaving a ponderous sigh… I shut down the computer and sat momentarily staring at the darkened screen. I sent out a plea to the universe. As I pushed the power button and waited expectantly to see if the computer would behave, I told myself that should it fail to do so, I would take it as a sign that today was a bust and I should just go back to bed.

I’m not sure if it was a benevolent higher power looking after my work ethic and taking pity on me or some more maleficent entity that said, “Nay, you must endure the rest of your day, limping along in anxiety about your data and reports…” but the computer came back readily. So, no day off for me with the excuse of technology SNAFUs or Mercury in retrograde. However, on days like this, I really would love to be able to hit the reset button and get a Mulligan, but what the hell! I might get lucky today.

*Thanks to Mary Chapin Carpenter , “I Feel Lucky” 1992

personal

Bless the “teachers” in Life

September 20, 2014 tananda Leave a comment

I have, for many years, labored under the delusion that the best teachers were those that got awards and children loved and talked about into their later years as remembering Mr. or Ms. So-and-so who inspired and believed and encouraged. I thought about those “Teacher of the Year” recipients as the ones who have imparted the greatest knowledge and wondered if I had been privileged enough to encounter more of them what my life would have been like. This was my delusion, as I stated previously, for so many years.

In my more recent times, I have come to realize that the teachers in our lives are not always pleasant, loveable, enjoyable, or painless. More often, sadly, it is the nature of human beings to learn as much from adverse stimulus as from pleasure (though, yes, I know that pleasure is more likely to create a stable pattern of behavior). The point being, I realized quite suddenly one day that some of the most unpleasant experiences of my life came with some remarkably powerful (if difficult) lessons.

What amazes me, consistently, is the way that people continue to replicate behaviors over and over expecting different results. Observing individuals run into the same brick wall over and over full tilt, even with people holding up signs, screaming, or trying to physically hold them back, has made me understand that gentle teachers cannot always make a difference until the subject is ready to learn. It is the definition of insanity, but they continue to do it. Over and over, they break themselves against an immovable obstacle… never noticing that they could walk around, or that there is a door in the middle.

But that wasn’t really where I was going with this. I wish that I was one of the people that seem to learn the lessons on the first try and enjoy the success. That doesn’t really seem to be how my brain works. Instead it seems that my brain only absorbs the lessons that life offers through the application of repeated beatings with sticks, figuratively.

What is worse is that I have had the opportunity to learn the lessons presented with less pain involved, but almost without exception, I find that the only way that the lessons truly take hold is with some dramatically unpleasant experience. I spent a lot of time resenting the “teachers” in my life, blaming them for my unhappiness and the memory of unpleasantness. I was angry, and I felt myself to be righteous in my anger towards those wielders of the educational stick (sometimes literally, for example the first grade teacher who broke the ping-pong paddle against my narrow back… yes, it happened. Corporal punishment was used in the stone age of my primary years). After a while (like maybe round about the end of my first abusive attempt at matrimony), I realized that the anger and resentment really wasn’t doing me any good and wasn’t making those who harmed me explode in large, impressive, Hollywood-style fireballs of glorious carnage (I guess I should have talked to Michael Bay about that?). Yes, you can tell I had some pent up rage going on. Point being? It was a waste of perfectly good emotional and cognitive energy. Sadly, even being able to let go of the negative emotions didn’t fix everything. It took one final stage before I truly got it.

For years, I had been told that I overestimate the emotional attachments of acquaintances. Not in a delusional, erotomanic way; more in the way of being open to new friendships and welcoming them into an almost familial acceptance. I think this goes back to my days of living in the military brat mentality. To survive, you either made friends intensely and fast, or you were antisocial and content to be alone. Obviously, these are the extremes, but I do believe that the experience of living overseas in a closed community and moving around about every three years changed how I viewed social acquaintances. It didn’t occur to me that my acceptance was one-sided. It was horribly naïve of me, I know. I’m a psychologist, after all. I have observed and counseled a variety of people over the years to remove themselves from damaging one-sided relationships where they were being used. Physician (or counselor), heal thyself!

One thing about the “teachers” is that if you are repeating the lesson, the learning aids get more and more obvious. Thanks to the many learning opportunities in my existence starting all the many years ago, I have finally learned a few things:

· Adults are fallible and sometimes cruel

· Human beings are indolent and typically will not go out of their way to inconvenience themselves only to benefit someone else

· Justice does not always mean a happy ending

· Being innocent does not always mean you escape punishment

· Being good doesn’t guarantee happiness or success or reward

· Loyalty is not always reciprocated

· Truth is not always believed

· People lie… a lot

· Pretty gets you more than smart (though smart lasts longer)

· The hardest worker will be rewarded with more work (if you have a task that needs to be done, look for a busy person)

· The good times are not when you find out who your friends are… It is when you are in need and at your darkest that you can see to weed out the users, fakers, and cheats. And more importantly? The truly hearty specimens of friendship are able to shine through the withering and choking vines.

· Being right sometimes sucks

· Generosity does not breed reciprocation, it merely renders the generous depleted (thanks, Shakespeare)

· Refusing help when you need it doesn’t make you strong

· People do not like change, especially when it means they can no longer predict outcomes or rely on someone to act the way they always have

· “Acting as if” works pretty darn well… (thanks, Aristotle)

Oh… and alcohol does not make people sing or dance better. That one is not as much a lesson I’ve been taught as an observation that I feel compelled to share whenever I have the opportunity.

This year has been especially enlightening due to several instances of having the curtain pulled back to reveal some rather devastating facts and severe disappointment in my own blindness: My horribly misplaced faith. This is all pretty dark, depressing, and cynical stuff. It isn’t all bad, though. I have been amazed and humbled by some of the truly beautiful, supportive, and decent people who were overshadowed by the more grandiose deceptions of others. Understated loyalty is a much stronger statement to me, now, than other more flamboyant displays, and resentment does absolutely nothing to assuage the pain of betrayal. These are just the lessons that I have been “taught.” I didn’t always want to learn these lessons. However, I will bless my “teachers” in hopes that if I have learned my lessons I will not have to repeat the grade.

personal

Hyperbolic Crap and Other First World Problems

September 13, 2014 tananda Leave a comment

Have you ever noticed that lately everything seems to be way over the top? It is like someone took the expressed passion volume and turned it to eleven, but not necessarily in a good way. It makes me wonder if people really are this emotional about everything around them or if this is a reaction to something more problematic along the lines of a disconnection to genuine humanity and true affective response to each other.

It isn’t really that I think people should be unemotional or contained at all times. Obviously, having passions is what makes us human and involved with our world. But, seriously, let’s take a look at what people seem to get their knickers in a wad about… most of the time it isn’t even impacting them on any intimate, personal level.

Does that mean that I think people shouldn’t be concerned about the oppression prevalent in distant lands, or the outlandish contrivances of various governments to demolish our basic human rights, or even abuses in the systems we use that put those basic rights in danger from each other? No. I do not mean that at all. I just think that so much of what people get completely bent about are distractions from what may actually be very wrong right before their very eyes. It is a bit of that “not seeing the forest for the trees” stuff. I cannot decide if it is that people do not have enough to worry about in their own lives, or what is more likely, that to avoid taking a good, hard look at what is going on in their own lives, they choose to get in a towering fury about issues that in the grand scheme of things do not have a lasting impact on anyone (like whatever Paris Hilton is doing or how long the Kardashian’s are staying married).

It’s escapism, pure and not so simple, because, what are people escaping? Why are people so adamantly extravagant in their hyperbole about every blessed thing? It seems to be impossible for anyone to have an opinion unless it is extreme, and sadly, it is not possible for anyone to have a differing opinion without causing a schism the likes of which would cause apocalyptic rumblings at the Vatican. I’ve been pondering this for a while. I’m not claiming to have the complete compendium of knowledge or all the answers, but I have come up with a few theoretical constructs and categories, all of which could be erroneous but I’m going to run with them anyway.

Escape Artists

I called it escapism because so much of what people are diving into with all appendages has so little to do with their own physical realities. I can only suspect that their own physical realities are miserable or distasteful to them, and losing themselves in the lives of the rich and famous or fantasy of fiction provides a ready distraction from overwhelming responsibilities and otherwise unpleasant aspects of their own lives. There are also those folks who live in the glass houses, but love to throw stones. They find a good deal of vicarious pleasure in giving counsel to all around them while completely avoiding their own foibles and flaws. These types may legitimately have excellent objective observation skills, but their abilities to critique or provide solution for friends and acquaintances have left them myopic to their own concerns. Bless their hearts! I can understand, truly I can. How many times have I gotten sucked into the wiki-rabbit hole and social media quagmire, neglecting the responsibilities of financial stewardship or household cleanliness in order to argue a point on Facebook or play Farmville, Zombies, or whatever the brain-drainer of the day is? I cannot cast so much as a pebble at this one. Procrastination is my long-time companion, and distraction, the balm for my wounded ego.

Attention-seekers or Social Crusade Warriors

There is nothing wrong with getting a little attention now and then. Everyone deserves a bit of positive attention on occasion. However, some crave it, demand it, and can’t seem to live without it. This isn’t really all that healthy, people. So, perhaps, some of the hyperbole expressed publically (or in social media) isn’t so much about the issues but about getting the attention associated with those issues. It is related to the flawed logic of “If I do not say this loudly with some extreme adverbs or adjectives to define the strength of my passion, no one will notice,” but the notice isn’t so much about the issue but about wanting people to notice them. Yes, there are people who stand on soap boxes merely because they believe the angle makes their butts look better (so to speak… it’s a metaphor, for heaven’s sake!). My rebuttal, why do you need attention for your opinion? Does the issue require this much exposure? If the cause is sufficient, without the grandstanding proclamations to the world by the individual, will the issue languish and subside into the dark and lead to the downfall of society as we know it? There are issues that deserve to be brought into the light, but my question to the hyperbole addict is what are you hoping to accomplish with your expansive, extremes? Are you shedding light on the issue, or are you hoping to have the spotlight directed upon you?

White Knights, Defenders of the Internet and Social Media Realm

This is almost a subcategory of the previous group, but I felt it deserved its own, separate mention. Now, while the nomenclature may be indicative of the masculine, the white knights out there are just as likely to be female as male. These folks can exist on a spectrum of behavior that extends from the supportive to the downright creepy. The defenders of the realm may actually feel strongly about an issue, but what typically happens is that they get a huge boost to their passions about the issue if someone to whom they are attracted expresses their own passionate opinion of same. Sometimes, this can go to the extremes of even flipping the knight’s previous views, but generally, it is more a magnification property than a role reversal. For example, you may have an individual who likes animals well enough. Pets are fine. However, they are not protesting red carpet events about people wearing leather or fur… until… Enter fair damsel in hand-wringing distress. Our maiden in peril is absolutely rabid over the plight of euthanized animals at the animal shelters and the cruelty of carnivorous fare at eating establishments. While our knight has never given much thought to this (and generally enjoys a tasty steak), the charisma of her plea has lit a bonfire within his soul (or her soul… I do not want to be biased). Suddenly, the knight is playing Sarah McLachlan and sharing videos all over the internet of puppies with sad eyes and expounding upon the virtues of tofurkey (“Tastes just like chicken!”), all accompanied by a rousing verbal diatribe upon the special place in hell for unfeeling and complacent people who do not donate to the ASPCA until their wallets scream. That is obviously a little dip in to the hyperbolic on my part, but you get the idea. The knight in question had virtually no opinion or at most a moderate opinion of the issues until expressing otherwise might garner the attention of their lady (or gentleman) fair.

Trolls

Everyone thinks they know what a troll is. They wait under bridges for unsuspecting billy goats to traipse across, providing dinner for the evening. Well… more or less. They cannot seem to resist poking the hyperbole gorilla with a stick. They frequently attempt to be a check in the system of internet opinion balance. In truth, they probably do not even have that strong an opinion about the issue in question, but they know that the individual proclaiming their passion is overinflated with their social indignation and cannot resist pricking them with the needle of opposing thought. Sadly, trolls often get trapped by their own trollery (yes, I just made that up) and soon find themselves unable to have even their most sincerest sentiments believed in the courts of public opinion. Such is the plight of the terminally cynical and perpetually snide. Even statements of true support become tarnished with the suspicion of sarcasm where none was intentionally placed. Oh well, they chose their path, and truly, they do not seem to mind when people remove them from friends lists. All in all, they are relatively harmless unless the over-inflation in question happens to be in the ego.

So, why do we get sucked into the perpetual drama of the terminal hyperbole? Is it that we haven’t enough real world problems of our own on which to expend our energy? Are we all so overwhelmed by our first world problems that bathing in the iniquity of perceived and manufactured wrongs are our only escape and solace? Has society as a whole been so polarized that no one is allowed to have a moderate opinion? Does it always have to result in “us” vs “them” or “If you are not passionately with me, you are against me and must be destroyed”? I can attest that John Gabriel’s “Internet F#$%wad Theory” (aka Internet Anonymity Theory, 2004) is a reality, and the internet has become a hotbed of mob mentality where people use the shield of anonymity in their mutual hostility about issues that overall… probably don’t matter nearly as much as the relationships that they just torched to prove their points. Unfortunately, we don’t have the face to face opportunity like Scout (To Kill a Mockingbird) to call people out individually and remind them of their humanity to pull them out of the mob and shine the light of respect.

I don’t really expect answers to my rhetorical questions. I’ve pondered this for a good long while now with greater and greater despair, and I expect there is not an answer or solution to this until people can start embracing some moderation in their opinions and have tolerance and understanding that friendship and affection is not necessarily based upon holding the same exact thoughts upon all situations. And no, I will not say “we can agree to disagree” because that is just asinine. I will just say that a little respect for opposing perspectives can go a long way towards peace between friends and less heartburning all around… maybe fewer first world problems.

With great appreciation of Harper Lee for her brilliant understanding of human psyche and the dangers of social pressure.

Gabriel, J. (2004). http://www.penny-arcade.com/comic/2004/03/19

personal

Does My Two-Way Street have PotHoles and a Roadblock?

August 16, 2014 tananda 2 Comments

The adage is that love is a two-way street. Along the same lines are other fairy tales like relationships are 50-50 and “give and take.” It isn’t that I want to dispel all the warm fuzziness of the dreams woven in childhood bedtime stories or the glamour if Hollywood… Ok, I wouldn’t complain if a few of those hoary chestnuts were tossed onto the sacrificial pyre.

And… I am well aware that this intro just reeks of bitterness and forlorn dreams. Not so melodramatic, I assure you. I just have spent a good many hours and brain cells in the contemplation of what ratio of energy contribution defines a healthy (and happy) relationship. Not only the romantic variety, though. Friendships, partnerships, work “marriages,” roommates, and other categories also share some of the same traits, though perhaps not the fringe benefits of the love match.

The truth is that Disney, Hollywood, and a good many of the romantic writers of literary renown have done a great disservice to us all. They painted a picture of true love and love at first sight and love that conquers all challenges and… Yeah, I’m going into insulin shock with a touch of nausea. There are no relationships and no LOVE that can thrive without effort. Finding the “love of your life” is not the finish line. It’s the starting line. Oh, I know. We have all been exposed to the tales of great love and romance. The problem with those tales? They end when guy gets girl… Or vice versa. True story. We are drawn in by the drama and adventure while our protagonists struggle against monsters, societal norms, and odds. We cheer and feel the gladness I our hearts that true heart won fair lady… Or contrary wise that a prince can see beauty past the acceptable constructs of the day. So endeth the tale… Um, really? We never actually see what happens when Prince Charming and Princess Whatnot settle into connubial bliss. When life with its brilliantly mundane aspects comes to rest upon the weary adventurers, how does life and love without constant struggle, adrenaline, and pheromones work out for our protagonists? When Charming forgets to put his socks in the hamper, or he leaves the toilet seat up; and Whatnot is tired and cranky or possibly OTR (on the rag), what becomes of our young lovers in their quest for happiness?

There are too many people out there who have some very inaccurate beliefs about what relationships are about. It leads to some really unhealthy thinking and behaving, like adhering to the romance of hardship making bonds stronger and isolation from the rest of the world to be ensconced in the cocoon of love with your one and only… *hack* Sorry, hairball. A large percentage of divorces (and murders, I understand) are incited by financial issues. Working together through the tough times might develop a sense of partnership, but the stress of trying to make ends meet and meeting financial responsibilities has destroyed many a blissful love match.

As for the “all we need is love and each other” thing… no. How about no? Aw, hell no. Human beings are social creatures. The idea of being on a desert isle with only one person for companionship sounds like heaven to those who have been brainwashed by the mass media and romance novels, but that’s not how it works people. As social creatures, we need the interaction and experiences gained from our environments and peers to spark our creativity and original thinking. A relationship where there is no interaction outside the dyadic bubble gets old in a big hurry.

No relationship is equal all of the time; not a partnership, friendship, or marriage. People are different. Circumstances change. The needs of any individual shift with changing circumstances. So, while one partner may do the heavy lifting sometimes, the rest of the time, the other partner may need to step in and carry more of the load. The metaphor sounds very physical, but the truth is emotional heavy lifting can be a larger part of the job, and that job can get passed around like a hot potato… or one partner may end up carrying around that load for a longer time. Carrying the weight of responsibility or emotions requires energy. Doing it for too long, like literal physical weight bearing, can be exhausting. When all the energy is used up to carry the load, there isn’t anything left for the fun stuff. At some point, the person that has been bearing all the weight may have nothing left at all.

All these metaphors are really spinning into a negative scenario that isn’t really my intent. During our lives we will have opportunity to be both givers and takers. Healthy relationships are based on a balance of those behaviors. When things get out of balance, when the takers become perpetual users, and the givers become martyrs; the relationship suffers and can ultimately die. Every partner in any relationship can and should examine their role to see whether they are the imbalance that is sucking the life and energy out of their relationship. Take the opportunity to make a change and revitalize those relationships by bringing things back into balance. Repair some of those potholes and get traffic flowing both ways again.

Body Image, personal

Physical Fit: The Saga Continues…

June 19, 2014 tananda 1 Comment

Contrary to the expectations of the majority populace… and mainly myself… I did make it to the gym. As readers will recall, I had my momentary maniacal fit resulting in a gym membership and went so far as to purchase suitable attire and footwear. So far, so good. I half expected my determination to completely fail at that point. Good intentions count, right?

WRONG! My friend. I shall stand upon the gospel of good health and tell you that intention is only part of the formula! Can I get an ‘amen’? I tell you, my brother and sister couch tubers, we must also walk, run, and lift our less than firm physiques from the comfort of our chosen seating and move. Ye-eahsss!

So, against all my natural indolent tendencies, I did in fact go to the gym. I felt about as natural and graceful as a frog trying to dance Swan Lake. Thankfully, I had the moral support of a good friend who was able to show me the delicate technological procedures involved with using an elliptical machine. I am grateful for his patience as I stared at him like a monkey doing a math problem and nearly amputated an extremity as coordination was completely absent from my skillset that day (or any day really). I managed to get through 10 minutes of elliptical at the blistering pace of 4 miles per hour, all the while feeling not only the burn but pretty much like someone had lit my lower extremity completely on fire. However, as I said, I managed to complete the full 10 minutes (we won’t discuss the 3 minute cool down). Achievement unlocked! On to the circuit training.

For those unfamiliar with the lingo of the Dungeon of Torture, circuit training is a collection of weight machines and cardiovascular stations interspersed together and programmed to give you some resistance training for building muscle but also keeping the heart rate in the “target zone” to continue burning calories. Believe it or not (and I will assume you are believing as I am breathing and still in control of my physical movements enough to be able to type this), I finished this 30 minute ordeal as well. After a 5 minute cool down on a treadmill, during which I kept imagining myself tripping and being shot out towards the back wall, I made it home to collapse on the couch.

And like a complete moron, I went back the next day to do it all again. Yes, I did. That was five weeks ago. I decided it was time to unlock my next achievement. I scheduled an appointment with the personal fitness trainer. I am lucky enough to have a reasonable amount of intellect, and I recognize and read and research, but I still felt that consulting the expert would be the best way for me to gain the results I was hoping to achieve. She flattered me by saying that I was doing exactly what I should and only needed a few additions and tweaks to address my desired goals… And she assisted me in designing my own tailor-made system of torture designed to reverse time and gravity and turn my decrepit body into a temple worthy of worship… Ok, even I cannot keep a straight face for this, but hopefully, if I am very good and attend to my designed regimen, I will at least not have to purchase a whole new wardrobe to avoid indecent exposure charges.

At this same time, I had noticed a very large, brightly-colored poster plastered conspicuously in the gym that said that if I was a member of a certain health insurance that they would pay me to work out. Wait! What? I am a member of that health insurance. I actually work for the health insurance company as well. So, I can get money for this, too? I decided to check on this, though I suspected that my plan would not qualify based on the requirements indicated on the poster. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. So I called the toll-free number provided.

According to “Crystal *squeek*” who is the very perky representative of my insurance company’s Healthy Incentives Program, our employer is not eligible for that reward, but “We do have an impressive list of gym discounts to offer, can I walk you through our website?!?” (I swear I could see pigtails and pom-poms.)

Um… no, Crystal. so, what you are saying is that I work for the company and have our insurance coverage myself but am not eligible for a reward for trying to be healthier and a better example to our members?

“Um *squeek* ACME Insurance, Inc. [pseudonym, obviously] is, like, a really BIG company with lots of workers, and, like, ACME is only offering that for small companies.”

So, um Crystal? It was Crystal, right? [as opposed to Buffy, Muffy, or Elle] Does my gym have a discount on the list you mentioned earlier?

“Um… like, NO. Because your gym has such…low…rates… they really don’t have discounts.”

So, what I’m hearing is that I could get a discount from one of the expensive gyms, but the discount (if I’m reading you correctly) would still have my membership at a much higher rate than my current member ship of $10 per month… AND I would have to put up with douchebag muscleheads and spandex nazis?

“Um…wha…?” *cricket noise*

Nevermind, sweetie. You’ve been very helpful. Toddle off now and have a wonderful afternoon.

While this interchange might read to most as a frustrating display of unfair practice and a terribly rendered Valley Girl performance and evidence that the universe works against any financial breaks for the hard-working gal, I actually was just highly amused. Crystal really could not see why I didn’t want to take advantage of the gym discounts they offer. Apparently math was not her best subject. Rewards of a monetary nature might be nice, but ultimately were not the rewards I was expecting when I had my fit of madness and decided to become a denizen of the workout world.

As to those rewards, I am sad to report that I did not transform overnight into a supermodel. However, I can say that I am noticing other things, like the fact I can run a mile and a half without dying. (Always helpful in the event of zombie apocalypse and killer bird/bee/nature situations.) I still occasionally (as I integrate my individually designed plan into my workout each day) feel as if someone has substituted concrete into what was previously sinew, muscle, and bone, but overall, I’m feeling pretty good about this new thing. I have actually started having withdrawal if I have to change my routine and workout on different days than my usual schedule, and I actually found myself anxious and desperate to get to the gym on Monday after work as I was stopped by staff for a quick question. Hmmmm… something very odd here. I actually want to go to the gym. I suppose stranger things have happened, but I’m positive there are a few snowflakes in hell, now.

personal

A Good Memory is Unpardonable

April 17, 2014 tananda Leave a comment

We met at nine, we met at eight, I was on time, no, you were late
Ah, yes, I remember it well
We dined with friends, we dined alone, a tenor sang, a baritone
Ah, yes, I remember it well

That dazzling April moon, there was none that night
And the month was June, that’s right, that’s right
It warms my heart to know that you remember still the way you do
Ah, yes, I remember it well

How often I’ve thought of that Friday, Monday night
When we had our last rendezvous
And somehow I foolishly wondered if you might
By some chance be thinking of it too?

That carriage ride, you walked me home
You lost a glove, aha, it was a comb
Ah, yes, I remember it well
That brilliant sky, we had some rain
Those Russian songs from sunny Spain
Ah, yes, I remember it well

You wore a gown of gold, I was all in blue
Am I getting old? Oh, no, not you
How strong you were, how young and gay
A prince of love in every way
Ah, yes, I remember it well
~Frederic Loewe, Gigi (1958)

Many people say that we are the sum of our experiences. What makes us who we are as individuals are all the myriad of joys, sorrows, traumas, and enjoyments to which we have been exposed through the years of our existence in the world. From this perspective, it seems that our personality and the core of who we are is more about the sum of our memories.

So, what happens when our memories start to fade? Do we lose who we are with the loss of each experience recorded? Is it possible to change the true being of a person merely by wiping the memory slate and giving them new memories, even newly created ones? Sounds like something out of a science fiction horror show, doesn’t it?

Lately, I’ve been giving the concept of memory and identity a lot of thought. In part, I believe it is because my own memory has been slipping a bit. Additionally, working with people who have varying types of dementia or other brain injury or illness that impacts cognition and recall has made me aware of the differences. I was watching a program on the Science channel recently that talked about memory being part of what makes us who we are. It made me think about personality changes that occur in people with dementia and fictional accounts of people with amnesia who create whole new lives for themselves. What about the ethical dilemmas of punishing someone for their past when they don’t remember it?

More interesting to me was also the social impact of memory. There have been studies that show that memory and recall are heavily influenced by the social impact of peer groups. The details of your own recall can be influenced and even overwritten by the approbation of your peers. It is true. People who were shown a picture of a little boy in a cowboy hat eating ice cream were more likely to get details wrong (for example saying that the boy was not wearing a hat) if they were informed that the majority of their peers answered with the wrong answer. What was even more astounding was that the information that was overwritten by peer pressure was enduring and later the same people got the answer wrong again even when not influenced by the fake social pressure.

So, um… why do we even care about this? Well, it means that details and facts in our memories may not be accurate. They may be just what someone else wants us to recall. Scary, right? It actually started me thinking about social interaction and popularity from the aspect of whether memory agrees with that of the peers around you.

Are people who succumb to the memory peer pressure seen as more agreeable and pleasant than those who might question the details recalled by their peer group? Think about it. So, everyone is talking about some event or occurrence and each witness to the event (as they say on all the cop shows) recalls things differently due to their individual perspective. Listening to the group reminisce, eventually all the stories start to drift towards agreement in detail. All tales resolve to the norm… and that norm is defined as what? That is probably set by the person with the most stock in the story or the highest charisma. Everyone else starts matching their impressions to that person. It is a human evolved characteristic that insured congruence in social groups and structure.

Now, what about the one person in the group who has eidetic memory? Yeah, it is rare, but for the purposes of this hypothetical, we’ll say there is one in every group. They listen to everyone and think, “That’s not what happened?” While everyone else in the group would swear that they recalled the same details as their peers, this one person knows that the details are not correct. Their memory isn’t being socially rewritten. This individual has a choice. They can sit quietly with their psychic dissonance, or they can contradict the group recall. Socially adept individuals will accept the psychic dissonance and let the group continue blithely on with their incorrect assumptions. However, if there is significant repercussions to the accuracy of the recall or if the dissonance is too uncomfortable, the individual will speak up and create a conflict of information. If they have enough charisma, people may accept their details or may even overwrite the incorrect memory encoding, but if not, the person becomes “that guy” or “that gal”. They may be seen as odd or even unpleasant, a troll. They may be ostracized for non-conformity with the consensus of their peer group.

Even in this age of relishing the non-conformist spirit, the truth is that most social groups do not want a nay-sayer. They like for everyone to get along and hold the same opinions. Contradiction breeds contempt and discord. Thus, having too accurate a memory, specifically one that disagrees with the majority, results in social distortion among peers. Perhaps this is the real reason the “nerds” were ostracized in school. Accurate recall is remarkably helpful for making excellent marks in school, but it tends to be awkward when the mean girls know you remember every incident of their rule infractions, remembered precisely when they said something less than erudite, or possibly even recalled a heinous wardrobe malfunction. No one likes being reminded of or knowing that people remember their mistakes or humiliations. The mirror of their imperfections is unlikely to garner affection or esteem.

It is possible that as more and more of our lives are captured digitally and immortalized on the internet that having accurate recall is less of a social blunder, but it is often wiser socially to observe Jane Austen and know that a good memory is unpardonable to the preservation of good rapport in amicable society.

personal

Careful, Girl! Your “Old” is Showin’

March 25, 2014 tananda 2 Comments

No one ever expects it. Rather the opposite, we all assume that we will never say and do the things we observed in our parents, grandparents, elders of whatever relation. It was as obvious to me as I am certain it is (or was) to all of you that, unlike those we observed, we would be more likely to perish of terminal coolness and hipness and general with-it-ness than fall into the bear trap of cliché and caricature from which the likes of Walter Matthau and Maxine derive their entertainment value.

I have blithely progressed through my life, certain that I would never lose touch with the modern set. I would be able to understand and connect with people of all ages using understanding and open-mindedness (something I was absolutely certain my parents and other forebears never obtained). And then… something changed. I don’t know exactly what it was. It was as if an alien entity entered my very being and I awoke to hearing a horrific cacophony from my own brain, “Hey you kids! Get off my @#$% lawn!” Ok. Maybe not literally, but it might as well have been. I found myself saying things like, “What has happened to…?” and “When I was starting out…”

I was horrified. I seemed to have no control of it. The vile ramblings would spew forth as if from an octogenarian fount of crotchetiness. Where in the name of all that I hold holy did this awful despair of the human race come from?!? Sadly, I have become that which I never expected… I’m an old codger. Oh, the humanity!

We’ve become a very casual society. I’m not entirely sure what did it. It might be the fast pace. It might be that as a society we have become more interested in the inside of the person than the superficial appearance of geniality. It might be that in the age of widespread technology and decreased privacy, there are no secrets and therefore no need to put on airs and facades. It might be any or all of these… or it might be something else entirely; something that we have lost through the passage of time and lack of patience, something that has lost any importance and meaning lost to history, like a relic or the Antikythera mechanism.

I am talking about manners and self-concept and, yes, even to a certain extent fashion. I can almost hear the clicks of people shutting down this browser window. I can hear the arguments brewing and desperately wanting to talk over the words on the screen. “We don’t need some antediluvian set of social conformity rules to guide our behavior! Go back to your cave, you old crone!” However, I will just say that I become nostalgic for some of the finer interactions of days gone by. I miss the days when people waited for their turn to speak and listened when someone else was speaking. I miss having dinner or any meal or serious conversation without someone checking their phone in the middle of it. I miss having events or social engagements where it was expected that you would wear something other than jeans and a t-shirt. I miss the days when people actually felt some remorse for hurting the feelings of others, instead of the entitlement of those who live by “YOLO” and the value of not caring about what people think… or feel.

I find myself falling in with the pattern of society and failing to observe what might be considered just common good manners, but then again, good manners appear to be about as common as common sense… in other words, not so much. As much as I abhor the lack of good grace by which we all seem to live in these modern times, I cannot deny that I am easily as much at fault in my own manners. My language inclusive of way too many slang words and too few apologies. I catch myself paying more attention to my electronics than the breathing beings around me. While I am actively trying to be mindful, I catch myself speaking over others or interrupting them because I feel too rushed to take the time to just listen. I am culpable. And I don’t like it. I do not want to join the crowds of “me” generation who don’t care about the feelings of others. I want to remember and experience what it is like to engage in pleasant social interaction with people who value the companionship chosen, not merely as an audience for a game of “Look how clever am I”.

It is not that I fear change (hush up all of you who know me and will contradict this statement emphatically…). Ok, so maybe it is. I didn’t used to be. What happened? I really can remember a time when I would dive in head first to the unknown. And… that is stretching the truth as well. Now, I’m getting depressed. Was I always so reserved and hesitant? Perhaps, that is the sad truth. Perhaps I was raised by someone who believed that good manners were not a luxury. Perhaps I was encouraged to engage in the niceties because they are not just superficial, they are a sign of respect for yourself and for your companion. Perhaps, these weren’t such worthless lessons to absorb. Are some of the trappings of society superficial? Of course they are. However, they represent something that we seem to have lost. They are small ceremonies of respect that we show the people who fill our daily lives. When we fail to engage in those small ceremonies of respect for those around us, those around us may fail to show us the same respect. When no one respects each other, we may start to absorb that disrespect and lose respect for ourselves, no matter how entitled we feel.

I guess that may make me old fashioned. I would like to continue interacting with the people around me with respect, for them and for myself.

Ah, but watch out girl! Your ‘old’ is showin’.

Is it? I can live with that.

personal

The Breakfast Club

March 18, 2014 tananda 1 Comment

I apologize to my loyal few for the delay. I will only say that I have experienced some internal resistance recently. I will warn you that this entry departs strongly from my usual style. It may also feel a bit more intense than my usual entries.

Walking into the waiting room, it was subdued, more than usual. It was not that the day was gray and sullen, though it was. It was not that it was early, but it was. There was a difference in the mood. It was the same room where I had been spending mornings periodically with varying frequency for going on half a decade. The room was familiar as was almost every face. But today, something was different.

I signed in and took my seat. Occasionally, the loud clear announcement from the phlebotomist would request the presence of one of the occupants of the room to provide their blood sacrifice into the plethora of vials and tubes that would be delivered to the lab for quantifying and assessing. One of the volunteers came through the room stopping and asking “How are you doing today…?” to all in passing. Occasionally, she would spend a bit more time with this person or that because she had some knowledge of their personal life. However, the question seemed on this day less of true interest and more the mechanics of habit.

I lifted my eyes to scan the room. Closest to me, a frail, fragile lady with immaculate white hair and bones so visible that they appeared to almost cut through the skin sat next to what appeared to be her daughter. The daughter kept up a whispered commentary, but her delicate companion fidgeted with an antique gold and diamond ring too large for her right hand with the left hand which sported a tiny engagement and wedding set, the kind that was favored in the days when a tiny chip of a diamond would have been the equivalent of a crown jewel. I could only imagine that the giver of these treasures had long since passed. Beyond this pair was another lady, skin bruised and slack on the frame of her bones. A cane balanced against her knees indicated the possible source of all the purple patches marring the skin of her extremities, but it could also be the result of intravenous punctures for any variety of causes.

Across the room, a new couple sat close together. By their physical behaviors, it was evident the wife was the patient. She appeared resigned, holding her records, but next to her, the husband hovered protectively and uncomfortable, in truth unable to protect her in this instance from her attacker. The door opened to admit two ladies. In my head, I’ve always called them “Dorothy and Rose”. The one is tall, almost masculine but stylish. Her build would have once been athletic. Her friend is of a more petite stature, with curves and more femininity. It is “Rose” who is the patient, but “Dorothy” always accompanies her, and they always bring their coffee, purchased from an expensive franchise. While it is possible that neither lady would miss the cost of a latte, it is also likely that this is the weekly carrot that rewards the acceptance of the stick of treatment.

An elderly gentleman, who has a volume control issue, wears overalls and an engineer’s cap. He is back for his third round of our shared experience. We are all aware, as he is not shy about sharing, but we are all also aware that this is likely his last chance. His attitude is always positive, and his loud voice is never raised with complaints, though I know how often pain is his companion, as much as the younger man seated on his left.

Resuming my scan of the room, I mark an absence from our morning gather: An elderly gentleman who had been present every Wednesday since my initiation to the club. He was always cheerful, despite evident discomfort and occasional shortness of breath. He was usually accompanied by his daughter, and they always sat in the same seats. We all did. It was if by general consent we had assigned seats. Their seats were empty, and no one sat there. Even new people avoided the chairs as if there was an invisible barrier preventing it. Perhaps he just recovered, I told myself. I understood now the change in the atmosphere. I had seen it before. None of us asked the question, but we all knew what the absence meant. The subdued tones of the staff confirmed our suspicions. We all just sat quietly and waited.

Loudly, startling everyone in the room, my name is called. I walk back to be installed my recliner. The room is always so cold. Scattered about the room, others have taken their places. One elderly man dozes under a blanket while the IV monitor continues to pump the toxins that are meant to prolong his life. I patiently await my own turn. The nurse comes to my side and goes through the ritual of verification. I prepare myself for the sting and pinch as vehicle of administration is inserted into the crook of my arm and the bags of pharmaceuticals hang to pump into my body. I can feel my arm going cold and slightly numb. The feeling of fatigue and nausea begin, and I attempt to distract myself with reading or social media on my phone. Across from me, the fragile lady sits in her own recliner waiting for her own treatment. She sips on a cup of some fluid and begins to choke as the liquid, due to her weakened physical state and damaged swallow reflex, attempts to enter the wrong pipe. Her daughter attempts to assist her. Staff quickly assemble equipment to help with the oxygen deprivation. The woman meets my eyes, and I see her panic like that of a drowning victim. I forget about the discomfort in my arm and disorienting feelings caused by the chemicals. I can only see the terror in those eyes as she struggles to cease the spasms in her throat and get enough oxygen to her body.

What makes it all worse is looking around to others who, like me, want desperately to help, but we cannot move, tied to our own seats by the tubes and needles that connect to the bags of chemical assault upon the diseases that have overtaken our bodies. So, instead, we sit impotent and weak and watch the struggle.

How selfish and self-centered am I? Having my private pity-party with my discomfort and anger. I watch as the woman clutches at the breathing mask and tries desperately to get the spasms to quiet and oxygen to her system. Slowly, the terror recedes to exhaustion and slight embarrassment at being the center of so much attention. The activity returns to normal, and conversations start up around the room, softly at first and then increasing to normal volume. They talk about travel and family and hobbies. No one talks about the nausea and the night sweats and the hair that comes out in greater amounts with each passing treatment. We all know. It isn’t important.

Life is what is important to these few. The people they love. The people who love them. The daughter now carefully watching her frail mother breathing more comfortably now, and the son who sits quietly beside his dozing father. The friend who crochets a newborn’s skullcap while her friend slips in and out of consciousness to the ticking and drip of the IV. And the solitary woman who sits quietly and observes. Is it better to struggle against futility to extend the hours of life upon the earth merely for the sake of existence, or might it not be better to spend the time more wisely in the pursuit of a worthwhile goal though it shorten the span of time? For these, the choice is made. Every extended moment with those they love is worth the fight. And with that, I find that it is remarkably easy to let go of a lot of things that take more energy than I have to give. I find that there is only so much room in my life for the petty and self-important. I have enough drains on the energy that sustains me, and I feel that my time and activities are spent better with those who fill that void rather than further drain it.

The following is not my own creation, but I found it to be extraordinarily poignant, appropriate, and wish to share it with all of you:

She let go.
She let go. Without a thought or a word, she let go.
She let go of the fear.
She let go of the judgments.
She let go of the confluence of opinions swarming around her head.
She let go of the committee of indecision within her.
She let go of all the ‘right’ reasons.
Wholly and completely, without hesitation or worry, she just let go.
She didn’t ask anyone for advice.
She didn’t read a book on how to let go.
She didn’t search the scriptures.
She just let go.
She let go of all of the memories that held her back.
She let go of all of the anxiety that kept her from moving forward.
She let go of the planning and all of the calculations about how to do it just right.
She didn’t promise to let go.
She didn’t journal about it.
She didn’t write the projected date in her Day-Timer.
She made no public announcement and put no ad in the paper.
She didn’t check the weather report or read her daily horoscope.
She just let go.
She didn’t analyze whether she should let go.
She didn’t call her friends to discuss the matter.
She didn’t do a five-step Spiritual Mind Treatment.
She didn’t call the prayer line.
She didn’t utter one word.
She just let go.
No one was around when it happened.
There was no applause or congratulations.
No one thanked her or praised her.
No one noticed a thing.
Like a leaf falling from a tree, she just let go.
There was no effort.
There was no struggle.
It wasn’t good and it wasn’t bad.
It was what it was, and it is just that.
In the space of letting go, she let it all be.
A small smile came over her face.
A light breeze blew through her. And the sun and the moon shone forevermore…

~ Rev Safire Rose
via Devi Moksha
www.awakeningwomen.com

personal

Diagnostic Evaluation of ‘But First’ Disorder: The Epidemic

March 11, 2014 tananda 2 Comments

It was a joke between my father and me. It was a collection of observations we made over the years. Many of our family members actually praised the organizational skills of my father. My mother frequently noted wistfully how much more disciplined I am that she. Dad and I knew what it was. It was the ‘but first’ disease.

The ‘But First’ disease is a remarkably prevalent disorder in the general human population. There are acute and chronic versions. It is a degenerative disorder and can become more chronic and severe with age. Here is a general case study of the criteria for this common disorder as described by an anonymous sufferer and disseminated to the internet in the early BBS days:

“I call it ‘But First’ Syndrome. You know. It’s when you decide to do the laundry. So you start down the stairs with the laundry, but then see the newspapers on the table. OK, you’ll do the laundry.

BUT FIRST you decide to put the newspapers away. So on your way in to put the newspapers away, you notice the mail on the table. OK, you’ll put the newspapers away.

BUT FIRST you’ll pay that bill that needs to be paid. So you look for the checkbook. Oops…there’s the baby’s bottle from yesterday on the floor. OK, you’ll pay the bill.

BUT FIRST you need to put the bottle in the sink. You head for the kitchen. Darn it, there’s the remote for the TV. What’s it doing here? Okay, you’ll put the bottle in the sink.

BUT FIRST you need to put the remote away. Head for the TV room.

Aaagh! Stepped on the cat. Cat needs to be fed. Okay, you’ll put the remote away.

BUT FIRST you need to feed the cat…

So, here’s what happens at the end of the day: Laundry is not done, newspapers are still on the floor, bottle is on the table, bills are unpaid, checkbook is still lost, and the cat ate the remote control …

And, when you try to figure out how come nothing got done all day, you are baffled because …..you KNOW you were BUSY ALL DAY!!

That’s the ‘BUT FIRST’ Syndrome.”

~author unknown

I have for years blithely watched as various family members struggled with deadlines and due dates and arrivals and departures. There was always the last minute scrambling that occurred before heading out to any planned event. I always marveled at the frantic actions that accompanied any scheduled departure. I was baffled at the inability of so many to actually have a “To Do” list and yet fail miserable to get any item on it “Ta Done”. I believed myself to be immune to the plague from which so many suffer.

And then it hit. I’ve never really known whether it was age or stress or various life events that activates the “but first” disease, but it has hit me… with a vengeance. Along with the described progress of the disorder above, there is an accompanying cognitive disruption that culminates in a glorious confusion that prevents you from remembering exactly what you were even supposed to be doing or where you might be on the vaunted “To Do” list. I now find myself in the mortifying circumstance of mirroring the behaviors and symptoms previously regaled. I will share with all of you, my dear readers the criteria for this sad epidemic in our midst.

“But First” Disorder Diagnostic Criteria

Monster Spray: For Things that Go ‘Bump’ in Your Life

March 2, 2014 tananda Leave a comment

www.gocomics.com/9chickweedlane/2005/11/05 — 9 Chickweed Lane

Many people talk about being an optimist or a pessimist. They talk about drinking vessels with various descriptions of their contents as an assessment of being one of these. I’ve tried my hand at optimism, and I have been accused of being a pessimist; but in truth, I prefer to think of myself as a realist. I try not to expect the worst. I always try for the best outcomes, but I prepare myself for negative outcomes because I just want to have a fallback plan. Does that make me the harbinger of gloom and doom? Am I a Negative Nelly? I hope not. I certainly do not want to be.

In the course of human experience, I have found that my involuntary, sometimes unconscious response to events in my life, positive or negative, is to expect the worst and take what I get. If things turn out to justify my expectations, I’m never pleased with the results, but I use the outcomes to reformulate a plan to address the situation from a different approach. If things turn out better than I expect, I am relieved or elated. I worry that this approach is more negative than I would prefer, and knowing that negativity can actually serve as self-fulfilling prophecies in a neurolinguistic way, I have spent much effort attempting to change my way of thinking. The best I’ve been able to accomplish so far is to take a neutral stance in my expectations without giving bias to my fears or my wishes. It doesn’t work 100% of the time, though. I still find myself frequently looking over my shoulder and waiting for that alternate piece of footwear.

This is where that “expect the worst and take what you get” philosophy has really been the biggest detriment to my own peace of mind and happiness. While there may be some logical premise in expecting a negative outcome so that I am not surprised or disappointed, the side effect of this attitude is that I am not always able to relax and enjoy the positives that occur.

Perhaps it is a holdover from years of childhood superstitions and folk wisdom that became so ingrained that I cannot seem to shake off their lessons. Perhaps it is a result of traumatic experiences that have indelibly written their warnings on my memory to never get too comfortable with the good times of my life. No matter what the etiology, I find myself (like many others) when things are going too well looking under the bed for the monster, around the corner for the mugger, or over my head for the anvil. I know that I am not alone in this particular human frailty. There are many of us who cannot seem to enjoy life when it seems to travel smoothly avoiding the usual potholes that liter the road. It almost seems that we are tempting or cheating fate when all the stars and planets align to make the path we tread a bit too gentle and pleasant. We expect that other shoe to fall from the sky and squash us like a bug under one colossal heel.

I think it boils down to Maslow’s Pyramid of Needs. Anxiety generally stems in some part from the lack of these needs being met. The first tier is the basic needs that each person has for living, in other words biological necessities. The second tier is safety, shelter, and access to resources. People who have threats to meeting these basic of all needs have no energy to expend on other tiers, which involve things like social interaction, belonging, and achievement. For people who have experienced these threats and overcome them, the fear of falling back to that level is sometimes so real that it is difficult to shake off the constant thought that at any time, all could be lost. For others, the fear of losing the respect and love of family or other social supports may be as overwhelming as the idea of wondering where the next breath or morsel of food might be obtained. We fear being defined by our mistakes with the tarnish of failure marking not only ourselves but anyone with whom our lives might be linked.

What it all boils down to is that regardless of what tier we manage to attain, most of us never reach the pinnacle of self-actualization (especially in the current economic and social climates) because like toddlers struggling with learning to walk presented with a staircase, we cling to our highest achieved step looking down with fear that we will plummet back to the bottom. Any rock climber will tell you, “Don’t look down!” To ascend to the top, it is important to keep eyes on your goal, not where you have been. It is easier said than done. The fear of failing, falling, and losing the tenuous ground we have worked so hard to achieve keeps us from risking whatever progress we have been able to attain, but it traps us in the lowest levels of mere existence.

For some, this can become a debilitating depression or anxiety that paralyzes action and activity, isolating us from friends and family or making us such a misery to ourselves that we even shun the company that misery always loves. I have often wondered why this trait plagues some more than others, or if there is some way to inoculate our psyches against such attacks as you might vaccinate yourself against epidemic illnesses prior to a trip to undeveloped territories. Why shouldn’t we have monster spray to ward of the evil unknown lurking in the closet of anxiety? Why can’t we arm ourselves with the Acme Anvil Umbrella (which also protects against falling foot fashions)?

So much of what happens in our lives is a matter of choice. I am not necessarily saying that we choose everything that happens within our experience, but I am saying that choice has a much bigger part in how we approach the life we live than we might realize. This isn’t a philosophy welcomed by many. If life is a choice, then we have to take responsibility for the bad that happens in our lives as well as for the good. Too many of us get caught in the trap of relegating the responsibility for the bad stuff happening to us to the realm of evil or other people who carry out the evil. That is why I have avoided even using the phrase “happens to us”; it implies an external locus of control and puts all the responsibility outside of ourselves. The contradictory part of the philosophy, for me, is that the same people who talk about things happening to them will usually be the first to claim the victory and success in their own actions. Now, before some of my readers start calling “foul,” I know that there are people who attribute all success and goodness in their lives to their higher power. That is very generous of them, and it shows an element of piety that precludes pride. However, I still think that is giving over to an external locus of control that does no honor to human spirit and dignity, and yes, even to the higher power to which you ascribe merit but deny the free will given to humanity by same. For without free will, what is piety and goodness. If it is not by choice, where lies the merit. However, I did not intend to go off on a religious or metaphysical tangent. So, I will try again…

We live by our choices. Consciously or unconsciously, it is true. By saying this, I am not (with intentional emphasis) saying that we choose the negative aspects of our life or the occurrences that impact us in less than positive ways. Our choices are limited to our own responses and actions. We cannot choose for others (with the exception of the relatively brief period of parenthood or some aspects of other types of guardianship and political decisions). We cannot choose the behaviors of others or how they will treat us, but we do have the choice in how we respond, react, and behave.

Our lives are a series of choices that we make. While there are contributions of physical and biological directives that compel some of the actions that we take, we are unlike the rest of the animal kingdom in the development of a prefrontal cortex in our brains that provide us the cognitive benefit of decision. We can decide, maybe not so much what occurs by the choices of others, but we have the power to choose our own emotional and behavioral responses. This may not seem like much of a superpower to some, but it’s is one of those “sleeper” powers that have more impact than you realize. If you believe in evil or a spirit of antagonism, the inability for those choosing to act against us to impact our spirit, will, and emotions greatly reduces their powers.

So back to those monsters and shoes and such… We do have a built-in monster bane that we just need to activate: The power of our choices. We may not be able to entirely dismiss the monster under the bed, but we have the choice of whether we allow it to prevent us from taking actions of our own. We have the choice of whether to allow the fear of loss or failure to paralyze us. I think that I will start making some active choices in my life about how I respond and what (and who) I allow in my life to impact my emotions and self-concept. Will I be free of the monsters and anvils, probably not, but I can try to reduce their perceived control.

9 Chickweed Lane is a daily comic strip by Brooke McEldowney. It can be found at http://www.gocomics.com/9chickweedlane

Tananda.com

Category Archives: personal

The Stars Are Stacked Against You Girl, Get Back In Bed*

Bless the “teachers” in Life

Hyperbolic Crap and Other First World Problems

Does My Two-Way Street have PotHoles and a Roadblock?

Physical Fit: The Saga Continues…

The Breakfast Club

Diagnostic Evaluation of ‘But First’ Disorder: The Epidemic

Monster Spray: For Things that Go ‘Bump’ in Your Life

A blog about a few thing I picked up along the way… Hey driver, where are we going?!?