Spoiled Only Child

Creating a new habit

I wish I could adequately describe the feeling I get each morning when Mia is safely dropped off at school and I'm alone in the house, the point when I'm supposed to start my work day. Somehow everything that seemed so urgent when I ran out of time yesterday afternoon feels nebulous and far away. I tell myself I'm going to get started early today, but instead I open the computer and check Facebook, email, a few blogs. I'll just chill out for a few minutes while I drink my last cup of coffee, I tell myself. But the truth is, I don't want to face my work and all that it entails. Just a couple minutes longer, I think as I finish the coffee, and the next thing I know an hour has passed, maybe two. If too much time goes by, the tone for the day is set: unproductive, sluggish, unhappy.

My multipart new year's resolution about computer use has been a total flop. I knew when I made it that I was breaking all the rules of habit change, but I somehow imagined I would summon the willpower that other people couldn't. Turns out I'm just like everyone else, ready to slide back into old habits over and over again, no matter how bad they make me feel. So, it's time for a new plan.

I've been hearing a lot about how habits work lately, both at Zen Habits and now from a New York Times writer who has a new book about how most of our behavior is ruled by unconscious habits. This writer describes the process that happens in our brain. First there is the trigger, then there is the habitual behavior, and then there is the reward the behavior gives you (however fleeting). The idea is that if you identify the trigger and the reward, you can develop a new habit that will get you the same reward. Everyone seems to say that we should try to change only one habit at a time, so I'm going to focus on my computer procrastination at the beginning of my workday.

The trigger: Opening my computer at the beginning of the day

The habitual behavior: Wasting hours procrastinating on the internet

The reward: Putting off something I fear

This is a tough one, because the reward is problematic. I'd like to be able to face that fear and do my work anyway. But for now, maybe I could structure my "putting off" time in a way that it isn't so soul-sucking and demoralizing, and that it doesn't end up eating up multiple hours a day. I'm going to allot one hour every morning for non-work activities. That feels really hard, because I start every day with the fantasy that, today, for once, I'm going to get started early, goddammit! But all this fantasy does is push me into the same old trap again and again. The reality is that if I get to work exactly one hour after dropping Mia off for school, it will be a significant improvement. And if I actually schedule this hour into my day, it will no longer be a source of guilt and shame that infects my whole day.

I'm still not sure the best way to manage that hour. I'm thinking it should involve using the computer, without the pressure to do any work. Otherwise, I'm just delaying the trigger by an hour, and I'll still have to face that first opening of the laptop at the beginning of my workday. So the plan is that during that hour, I'm allowed to spend about half the time doing non-work related stuff on the computer. I'd also like to use the time to eat breakfast, meditate, listen to music, make calls to family, straighten up the house, cook, walk the dog, etc.

And then, after one hour, it's time to get started. That's still going to be a hard time for me, but on days when it feels impossible, I'm going to ask myself to work for just five minutes before doing anything else. Just five minutes. Because it's just looking at the work for the first time that's often the hardest, and if I can get over that hurdle, I just might make it. Don't know if this will work, but I'm going to try. And right now, my hour is up...

With every mistake we must surely be learning

I'm still here. For a while there, I thought I was going to fade away into a grayish blob sitting in front of the computer, and that eventually Mr. SOC would have to move me into a corner and start using me as an end table or something. But somehow, I keep getting up every day and my arms and legs still work and I have the chance to try again. And every once in a while, I even remember that my tiny little drama is not all that serious—and that maybe I don't have to make such a big fucking deal about it.

I was going to write a post here about the tragedy of all the time I've wasted procrastinating and hating myself for it. How, if I had put all that time to good use, I could have earned an advanced degree or written a series of novels or built a wind-powered turbine or something. But what good does it do to think about that? None of us are machines. And all those wretched hours have taught me something about compassion, for myself and others, and reminded me that I'm not really in control of anything. Would I rather have spent that time learning some other kind of lesson? Hell, yes. But, as much as I'd like to think otherwise, that's not really my choice.

While my waking hours have been a bit of a struggle these past couple months, one part of my life is going fairly smoothly. Sleeping. (I know, I just jinxed it.) But I've been thinking about why I've been able to sleep lately, and I think it's a lesson that could apply to all parts of my life. I remember all the months and years that I felt like everything on earth hinged on whether I could fall asleep at night. If I didn't sleep, it was evidence that I was mentally ill, that my whole life was in a downward spiral, that I had a permanent unsolvable problem, that my marriage was on the skids, that I had no control over my own life. Now, I just take it one night at a time. If I have trouble sleeping tonight, all it means is that I don't sleep tonight. It doesn't mean that I won't sleep tomorrow night, or next week, or five years from now. It doesn't mean that I might as well just end it now because the rest of my life is going to be nothing but one long sleepless hell. I'm able to take the whole thing a little more lightly. It's just one night where I lie in my safe, comfortable guest room and read for a couple extra hours, nothing more. I'm also able to maintain a bit more perspective now. Even if I can't sleep, I still have things that millions of people around the globe would kill for: a safe, quiet place to lie down at night, a comfortable bed with warm blankets, a healthy child asleep in the next room, to name just a few. Now, I can remember to be grateful for those things, whether I fall asleep easily or not.

So while sometimes it feels like I can't stop slipping into the same unproductive patterns over and over, I really am learning something on this frustrating journey.

Finding my way out of wretchedness

This month seems to be moving extremely ... S L O W. Work is slow, and my days seem to stretch out forever. This respite from busy, busy, busy should be a relief. It should be a time to catch up, to revel in taking time to read a novel or meditate, to exercise more, work on project declutter and catch up on all that work stuff that remains perpetually at the bottom of the to do list. And I probably have done most of that stuff (all except catching up on work), but what is most noticeable about this expanse of free time is a feeling of discomfort and fear. I'm afraid that I'm not doing enough, not using my time wisely, not proving myself necessary. The fear makes me unable to start anything. And, as always, my coping mechanism is to avoid it all by sitting immobile in front of the computer and becoming progressively more dead inside.

But the best, the absolute best, feeling is when I start to get that glimmer of hope that this period of paralysis is coming to an end. And today, just now, I got that glimmer. I had a phone conversation with a mentor, and I didn't think it would help, but it was on the calendar and I did it out of obligation. And suddenly I saw the possibilities and the concrete steps I could take to make them happen. They say you need periods of both wretchedness and inspiration. The wretchedness softens you up, makes you compassionate. Well, let's just hope that I've gotten my wretchedness out of the way for a while, because I am more than ready for some inspiration.

Following the letter, but not the spirit, of the law

It turns out there are plenty of ways to waste time on the computer, even within the confines of my rules. I have been (mostly) obeying them, but I still seem to end up in the same cycle every day. I waste the first hour, maybe hour and a half, of my work day screwing around on the computer. Then I end up rushing like a crazy person at the end of the day, literally working until 4 minutes before I am supposed to be at school to pick up Mia. And then I'm thinking, why did I waste that hour this morning???

The urge to avoid starting my work — and all the pressures and questions about the future that come with it — is just so strong. Work feels hard and a little bit scary. So I tell myself I'll just relax for a bit while I drink my coffee, do my daily Facebook and blog check, read a little email. The next thing I know, I'm bleary-eyed and guilty and an hour has passed, and then it's time to take the dog out again and I still haven't started my work. I may only check FB once a day, but I can spend a half hour there, watching people's meaningless videos and clicking their links. The other day, when I had to edit a piece of writing that I've been working on forever, I spent hours reading the archives of my own blog. No rules about that, right?

But all hope is not lost. As Mr. Zen Habits would say, being aware of what I'm doing is the first and most important step to making positive change. And I am fully aware. I'm just going to keep trying, tweaking my rules when necessary, and forgiving myself when I don't measure up to my expectations. I think it might not be possible for me just to jump headlong into work each morning, and I can accept that. But I'd like to work toward using the time I spend procrastinating in more positive ways. Writing, cooking, doing yoga--whatever. That's why I'm here this morning, forcing myself to write this before I dip into Facebook.

Walking through the door, finally

One of my new year's "aspirations" was to find a meditation community. This is actually something that I have known I needed to do for almost a year, and that I really should have done several years ago, as soon as I decided to take up this practice. This is really not a journey that should be undertaken alone. I have also known for many months that there is a Buddhist center in my city that holds a group meditation every Sunday morning. And most Sundays I would think, I should really try that out. But I never did.

I was afraid. I envisioned the Buddhist center as a place frequented mostly by monks in robes with shaved heads. I imagined being one of only a handful of U.S.-born people (even though it was my very white, English-speaking neighbor who told me about the center). I thought I would feel like a deeply out-of-place interloper at someone else's holy ritual. I also balked at the whole Buddhist thing. While I want to meditate, and I agree with every basic tenet of Buddhism, my desire to get involved with an organized religion is minimal. I had every reason (maybe excuse is a better word) for not giving it a try.

But then came the new year, with it's power to make you think you can change your life. And on Sunday morning, I told myself I was going to that center. I was going to give it just one try. The night before, I almost couldn't sleep I was so worried about it. I told myself that if I had too much trouble sleeping, I didn't have to go. But miraculously, I fell asleep. That morning, I made the 10-minute drive and sat in the car outside the non-descript building surrounded by warehouses. I had no idea what was in there, and I was terrified to walk in. ,

I guess we know what this is leading up to: Me walking in and discovering that all my fear was for nothing. The place was incredibly welcoming, and almost everyone there looked just like me. Westerners in jeans, regular people who want to cultivate mindfulness and compassion in their lives. Not only did I meditate for 50 minutes and enjoy it (after months of not being able to force myself to do more than 15 minutes at home), but I was welcomed with open arms by the center's regular members. They made a point of pulling aside the newcomers and giving us an orientation, handing us an information packet, telling us how happy they were that we came — and pointing out that you do not have to be Buddhist to be part of the center. I ran into three people that I knew. And I discovered that the weekly meditation is only a tiny bit of what they offer. They have a Sunday class for children (where they do yoga, read stories and teach about virtues like generosity and compassion). They have lectures and classes and service projects and social events — all offered for free and open to anyone. The center has many of the things I've always wished for as a non-church going person (community, a sense of common purpose, organized service projects, children's programs) with none of the stuff I've always felt is not for me (Christianity, talk about the Bible, undercurrents of social climbing).

For me, the lesson was: Stop letting your fear hold you back. To think that this incredible resource that provides pretty much all of what I need as a seeker of mindfulness has been right under my nose for years, and I was too afraid to walk through the door. Next week, I'm taking Mia with me. And eventually, I might even persuade Mr. SOC to give it a try. I feel a whole new era in my life beginning.

The lessons of 2011

At the end of each year, we tend to ask ourselves whether it was a good one or a bad one. But every year, every day, every hour is a mix of good and bad. Reducing the year to that kind of black-and-white value judgment has always felt a bit empty to me. I do think it's a worthwhile exercise, though, to think about what each year has taught us. These are a few of the lessons 2011 taught me:

Meditation can cure my insomnia and fundamentally change my perspective. At the beginning of the year, I took an intensive (and expensive) meditation course. It was amazing. I felt a huge shift in the way I processed the world. And, amazingly, for a few months there, I was able to sleep without problems. But I also learned that I cannot keep up my practice alone. After the course ended, I felt that opening I had created begin to close again. And this fall, when my job got really busy, I pretty much quit meditating altogether. I'm still struggling to bring myself back to it. I need a community to continue this journey, and this year I hope to find one.

Doing things I fear won't kill me — and might even be good for me. This year was a challenging year professionally. I am running a small non-profit, with no experience and little training, and I have been so afraid of failure. As part of my job, I have had to do a lot of public speaking, and I often found myself walking around with a knot in my stomach for days before each event where I had to speak. Event organizing also scared the hell out of me. During the year, I hated and resented having to do these things that made me uncomfortable. I railed against the injustice. But you know what? I got through them. In the process, I learned a hell of a lot about running a non-profit and I learned to speak in front of people without having an anxiety attack for three days beforehand. Doing things you fear is the only way to grow. I need to remember that.

I am so lucky and blessed. My meditation practice may be a bit dormant at the moment, but I have felt a shift happening inside me these past few months. Recently, I've opened my eyes to how incredibly fortunate I am. It's so easy to go through life griping and focusing on all the things you don't have. Who hasn't felt sometimes that life is nothing but a relentless slog of work, chores and other obligations? But lately, I've been able to remember that the pile of dishes I'm washing reflects the fact that my family and I have plenty to eat and the good fortune to be able to cook ourselves healthy meals every night of the week. My massive to-do list is a refection of my full life, of the blessings of family, friends and work. I think of people living in refugee camps, or trying to keep their children healthy in third-world countries that lack clean water, or trying to stay warm as they lie down to sleep in a park, and I think, Really? I'm bitching because I have to run to the grocery store for the third time this week?

Giving is a powerful and freeing act. I believe that clinging to things — money, possessions, even people — is the root of suffering. Only when we learn that we can live without any of it, and that hoarding it will not bring us security, are we free. I also believe that reaching out to others with love and compassion is the path to happiness. But believing those things and living by them are entirely different matters. At the end of the year, I tried the challenge of giving something away every day for a month. I cooked meals for friends, sent kind letters, gave away things with value and gave lots of donations to charity. I tried really hard to give gifts outside the immediate circle of my family and close friends. (The spirit of the challenge is that you give indiscriminately, surprise strangers with bouquets of flowers, that kind of thing.) I lost momentum as the holidays arrived, because it takes time and creativity to find a way to give something unexpected every day. But I learned that it feels great to put aside fear and selfishness and just give--whether it's a kind word that makes you feel vulnerable, a bit of your time or $100 that you think you can't live without.

I can love a dog. When we got a puppy last February, I was a little concerned that the part of my heart that's supposed to love pets was a cold, shriveled raisin. I used to have two cats, and in the last couple years of their lives, I lost all interest and affection for them. I can't explain it, but I was really just waiting for them to die. But I have always said a dog would be my second kid. The dog and I have had our ups and downs, and it is definitely not the same as having another child. But I do love this funny little dog.

I'm sure there were hundreds more lessons, but I'll stop there. This post is so far from perfection, but I need to accept that if I keep waiting for the time and talents to write the perfect words, I'll never write anything. So, here's to imperfection.

Starting out right

Happy new year! One of my aspirations for 2012 is to write more often. So here I am. I am trying to start this year by putting a few words on the page, even though I am--right this minute--out of time. This week between Christmas and New Years, I had imagined as a long stretch of free time. Time to meditate, reflect and prepare for a fresh start in 2012. But as usual, those stretches of uninterrupted time have been elusive. Somehow, cooking, cleaning, hanging out with the family, walking the dog, and all the other regular stuff of life filled up my days.

The lesson, of course, is that if I wait until I have time, I will never, ever do anything. So, I promise to show up more this year, even when I don't have time. I promise to think about my priorities, and figure out where I am wasting the precious moments I could be using to write and meditate. (Internet surfing, I'm looking at you.) For now, I'm going to go watch a movie with the husband. But I'll be back soon to tell you more about my high hopes for 2012. And everything else too.

This is my come-to-Jesus moment

This is it. This is the week that I change my ways. I have been making myself miserable with my brand of extreme procrastination for way, way too long. On Wednesday, I had one of those days. I just couldn't move. I sat bleary eyed in front of the computer all day, doing absolutely nothing. A couple times I forced myself to get up and take the dog for a walk, anything to get me away from the computer and the leaden, miserable feeling that it gives me. Then I'd come back and end up right back on it, wretched and dead inside again.

But for the first time in my life, I see what this is. It's not an unchangeable character flaw. It's just a coping strategy — it's my way of running away from fear. I have a fear of failure that surrounds my work, and I am afraid that if I try, my worst fears will be confirmed: I will try my best and still fail. The organization I'm running won't be a success, or my career won't be a success, or other people will think I'm incompetent, or I will realize that I'm on the completely wrong path and be back at square one again. My strategy for dealing with that fear is to not try. I let myself sink into absolute paralysis. This procrastination method has become an addiction, just like alcohol or drugs. It's an escape from my problems that causes more problems.

I think seeing it for what it is is the first step to kicking this addiction. The second step is learning to be with the fear, rather than running from it. When I feel that nervous rumble in my belly, that tightness in my chest that often comes when I think about starting work, I'm going to breathe in that feeling. I'm going to allow it to be there, but try not to get caught up in all the stories and scenarios that go with it. Just feel the fear, and then get started anyway. When I feel my urge to run (otherwise known as the urge to check Bloglines or Facebook or Twitter) I'm going to breathe that in too. Feel the urge, allow it, but don't act on it. As my new hero Pema Chodron would say, I'm going to stay, I'm going to hold my seat, and see the fear for what it is, a passing memory, a phantom made of nothing but air and thoughts and clenched muscles.

I know there will be days when I fail in this. But I'm starting to see how I'm creating my own suffering by constantly running away. And if there is a way to never feel again the way I did on Wednesday, I want to give it my best try.

What am I afraid of?

Last night, I lay staring at the ceiling with a feeling of absolute dread. This is a recurring theme for me, being terrified in the middle of the night. Lying there in the dark, I feel like a monster is breathing down my neck. The anxiety makes my chest thump and my thoughts start sprialing into ever-darker places. In the morning, when the sun is shining again and Mia is greeting me with her joyful smile, it all feels so strange. What the hell was I so scared of?

On this particular occasion, it was thoughts of work that were keeping me awake. And part of me wants to write about all the things at work that are stressing me out, and try to talk them out one-by-one and convince myself that it's all going to be OK and that my fears are overblown. But I have a feeling that's an exercise in futility. Because if I somehow manage to defuse my work-related fears with logic (long odds on that, anyway), then I'll just move onto some other dark fear the next time. Like my loved ones dying, or my own death, or my fear that I'll never see California again. (Yes, these are all real things that have kept me awake at night.)

But I think it might be helpful to look at the way my thoughts spiraled last night, just to see the tricks my mind plays on me. I started with my stress over creating invitations for a fundraiser. (This task has taken hours and been more complicated and frustrating than you could ever imagine.) Then I moved on to my anger over how I shouldn't be doing this at all, because someone else said he would take care of this fundraiser and then backed out at the last minute, in a rude and insensitive way, leaving me completely in the lurch. Then I moved to my fear that the people I rely on to pay my salary are not really invested in raising the money they need to pay that salary. Then to my feelings of abandonment, of being alone in a big scary world. Then to the fear that our organization will fail, that I will lose my job, that my resume will be tarnished by running a failed organization, that I won't be able to find another job and (as a technically self-employed person) won't get unemployment, and that we'll end up broke and living in a singlewide trailer somewhere. Whew! That was quite a ride down the slippery slope of catastrophizing, wasn't it?

Really, the specific situation isn't the problem. No, my job isn't perfect and its funding is somewhat precarious, but that's pretty much the nature of having a job. The only way out is to become independently wealthy, and I still haven't figured out how to make that happen. The problem is the way I allow myself to get hijacked by my fear. It's the way I get caught up in all my imaginary what-if scenarios. It's like I walk myself out into the middle of the dark woods and then tell myself a terrifying ghost story and then wonder, "Why am I so scared?"

I'm trying so hard to take the advice of the wise zen masters, to just drop the story line and sit with the fear. To just feel the energy of it, the way it moves in my body. To watch the thoughts it triggers but not get swept away by them. To bring myself back to my breath, to this moment in which I am safe and warm and just as employed as I was a week ago--when I wasn't worried about this at all. But the reality is it's so, so hard. Fear gets in your face, and it won't back away, and it's hard to keep your composure and remember your strategies when it's breathing down your neck.

But at least now, in the light of day, I can see the fear monster for what it is. It's just me, telling made-up ghost stories in the dark. And if I keep working at it, I might learn how to stop repeating those same old tired tales night after night.

Loss of heart

I have written many times about the fugue state that I sometimes descend into. This post pretty much sums it up. Those days, or strings of days, when I cannot do anything. Days when I feel stuck in place, incapable of communicating, doing my job or accomplishing anything other than the minimum required to keep myself and my family alive. Days when I waste hour upon hour reading meaningless crap on the internet, checking the same sites over and over again for updates, reading 200 comments about night-waking in 6-month-olds or some other random topic that I don't even care about. It's a terrible cycle, because the more time I waste, the more I hate myself, and the more I hate myself, the more I cannot function.

I have always thought that I was the only one who had such a problem. I must be the only person stupid and self-indulgent enough to waste whole days because I "can't deal with life," despite having all the comforts of the spoiled American middle class. And then I was reading a book by the incredibly wise Buddhist nun Pema Chodron, and I came upon her chapter on laziness. According to her, there are three kinds of laziness in the universe, and I almost fell out of my chair when I read about the second kind.

The second kind of laziness is loss of heart. We feel a sense of hopelessness, of "poor me." We feel so poverty-stricken that we aren't up to dealing with the world. We sit in front of the television eating, drinking, and smoking, mindlessly watching show after show. We can't bring ourselves to do anything to ventilate our loss of heart. Even if we manage to crank ourselves up and open the window, we do it with a sense of shame. We make an outer gesture of breaking through laziness, but still hold that essence of hopelessness inside. That gesture of cranking up or pushing through is still an expression of loss of heart. We are still saying to ourselves, "I'm the worst. There's no hope for me. "I'll never get it right." Thus we don't really give ourselves a break. We've forgotten how to help ourselves.

That is it! That is completely, exactly it. To know that this feeling is not an abberation, or a sign of a design flaw particular to me, is incredibly comforting. To know that when I struggle with this overwhelming loss of heart, I am wrestling with what it is to be human, is such a relief. Today I'm thinking of all the other people in the world who feeling like they are the only ones who are lost and that it is their own fault and that no one could ever understand. Today I'm feeling my connection with all of them, and that is the best cure I can imagine for a loss of heart.