The Paradox of Productivity

Have you ever noticed how you're actually more productive when you have less time?

I had grand plans for all of the stuff I was going to accomplish over the summer. I was going to crank out blog posts 3-4 times a week. Learn how to write a book proposal and a query letter. Find an agent.

I did skim through a book on writing non-fiction. I actually wrote fewer blog posts than I do when I'm at work because I didn't have very many deep and meaningful thoughts over the summer. I pretty much only thought about my sleep cycle, tennis, and what I'm going to eat. You can only write so many posts about those topics.

I was going to get my jewelry business going again. I was obsessed with making jewelry several years ago and sold a lot of what I made. So I bought all these beads back in January and planned to make some new items over the summer. Take some pictures of them, even. Sell them on Etsy. The only thing I made were some earrings (the purple pair on the left) for my tennis team to match our uniform, but I didn't make any money. I just wanted my team to look cute!

I was going to knit more. I sell some of my jewelry and knitting at my friend's store, The Stitchin' Post, and my knitted items have sold the best, but it takes forever to make the things that I like. I was also going to knit this cute top for myself:

This is the picture from the pattern. I haven't finished mine yet. I've made it to the armholes, but by the time I finish it, I might only have a few weeks left of warm weather, because the top part looks pretty complicated.

I was going to get in better shape. Play more tennis. Add more low-impact cardio like riding my bike. Do some strength training. Throw in some yoga.

I tried to ride my bike, but I couldn't figure how to put the bike rack on. My ex was kind enough to help me do it, but then I couldn't load the bike onto the bike rack by myself. And it was going to take 2 weeks to take it to the shop to get a tune up. I bought something to lubricate the chain that was supposed to be easy to apply, but it still seemed too hard and messy to do by myself. In fact, the whole bike preparation experience made me feel so ill-prepared to live my life alone that I stopped trying because it was depressing me.

I did play tennis more, and I stretched almost every night, but that's about it.

I was going to read more books. I keep track of what books I read throughout the year, and I'm way behind from where I would ordinarily be. So I started reading more when I realized I only had a few weeks left before I had to go back to work. The only problem is, since I read on my iPad, the longer I read, the harder it was to fall asleep because of the back lighting. So then I had to read less so that I could fall asleep before 4 a.m.

All in all, I fell short on almost every goal. Perhaps I was being a tad unrealistic about what I could accomplish in 2 months.

Plus, when I have less time, I get more done because I have to make the most of every minute. Squeeze in a trip to the grocery store right after work, even if I'm tired. Write a blog post if I have a no show. Read a paragraph if my client is running late. When I have all the time in the world, I tell myself that I'll get stuff done eventually. No need to rush.

But I'm not feeling too bad about myself for falling short of my goals. It's good for me to set goals, not because I have to meet all of them, but because it gives me something to strive for. After all, isn't life more about the striving than the end result? At least that's what I tell myself to feel better.

Vacation

I'm in the car with my brother and his family, on the way to Florida for vacation. We've been on the road for 9 hours, and we still have 4 more torturous hours to go. My niece almost had a breakdown in the restaurant when her dad told her how much longer it was going to be, and I have to admit, I had to restrain myself from throwing a temper tantrum, too.

But when I think back to when we were kids, I really have nothing to complain about. The four of us are seated comfortably in an SUV that seats 7 people with a DVD player, multiple tablets and cell phones, hot spots, satellite radio, and knitting projects to keep us entertained. My friends are texting, emailing, and calling with tennis updates so that I'm not out of the loop. Everyone can listen to or watch whatever they want without bothering anyone else. No sharing required. Nothing like the forced captivity of what I faced as a kid when my family went on vacation.

Back then they didn't have SUVs that seated 7 people. Instead, 7 of us traveled in a sedan that sat 4 people. How, you ask? Luckily, Filipinos are small. Still, we had to be resourceful. My youngest brother would be on the floor at my mom's feet on the passenger side in the front. My overweight grandmother, 2 brothers, and I would all be scrunched up in the back seat. All of us couldn't sit back at the same time, so one of us 3 kids had to rotate sitting forward on the edge of the seat every hour or so. On trips that sometimes lasted 10-12 hours. I don't know how we did it without killing each other.

And instead of having individual electronic devices that allowed everyone to enjoy their preferred music or movie, we listened to whatever my dad wanted to listen to.  For awhile it was this one cassette that came with his car and featured an assortment of the kind of instrumental songs you would hear on "The Lawrence Welk Show." But I also remember listening to hits like "Rhinestone Cowboy," "Honey," and "You Needed Me" several hundred times. Ask any of my brothers the lyrics to these songs and they can sing them to you word for word.

But even back then, we were better off than the families that traveled out west in covered wagons. All they could do to entertain themselves was talk and sing to each other for months. But maybe they didn't have a lot of down time since they had to try to stay alive and all. I read once that families were so worried about making it before winter that they wouldn't even stop the wagon when one of the kids fell out. Which kind of traumatized me. Maybe that's the intimidation strategy they used to keep kids quiet back then. "Don't make me come back there and throw you out of the wagon!"

My brother and I were just telling Sadie about what it was like for us back when we were kids to keep her from whining every 30 minutes about not being there yet. I'm sure we just sound like adults sounded to us when we were kids, with their tales of how hard life was before all the modern conveniences that kids have today.

Still, she did start watching another DVD so that she didn't have to listen to us anymore. So that's something.

Anger

Have I mentioned that I have problems letting things go?

That's why I obsess so much. And why I stick with knitting projects that make my life miserable. And why I try to make relationships work at all costs. And why I have a hard time forgiving myself. 

It's also why I can hold on to anger for so long. I know some people like anger because it's more empowering than feeling hurt, but I hate it. It's downright painful. If I could will myself to let go of anger--or any emotion, for that matter--I would. And even though I know better, I still get mad at myself for not being able to stop being angry.

Recently I had a friend tell me that when you get older you become more forgiving of yourself. That might be true for normal people, but I'm no so sure it's true for me. Because I've heard women say the same thing about being in their 40's, and I'm pretty sure I'm just as self-critical and guilt-ridden as I was in my 20's and 30's.

I am having a hard time letting go of my anger about my last relationship, even though I'm glad that it's over. I have made a concerted effort to turn to my friends and share how I feel, but in all honesty, sometimes it just makes me angry at them.

Most people aren't very good at saying helpful things. Which is why I wrote the post on good intentions. I'm trying not to take it personally. Not everyone can be a good listener. I would be out of a job if everyone were. But it's still frustrating to try to talk to someone about how angry I am, only to feel worse afterwards.

I've tried other things, too. I've prayed. I've meditated. I even apologized for being angry. Which doesn't make any sense, really, but I was desperate for some shift in the intensity of my anger.

Today I tried 3 new things. First, I gave myself permission to be angry for a day.  Which had the unintended effect of making my anger seem forced and difficult to sustain. Sort of like the whole reverse psychology thing--although psychologists don't actually call it that. 

I also looked at a journal entry from right before the breakup. It reminded me that there were a lot of things that I tried to be OK with because I thought my anger and sadness and anxiety were a product of my neediness. Or a result of being too demanding. Or were figments of my imagination. 

Now I realize that I felt those things for a reason.  I'm mad at him for letting me believe that my feelings were my fault. And I'm mad at myself for not trusting my feelings.  But reading that journal entry reminded me that my feelings are always legitimate--even if they don't make sense at the time. So I have renewed my commitment to honoring my feelings.

The last thing I did was to give myself permission to blog about my anger. I have thought about doing it for some time now but decided against it until today because I thought it would be too negative. Even though I write a lot about negative things, I try to end on a positive note. I didn't think there could be a positive note to end on in a post about unrelenting anger.

But then I remembered that the point of my blog isn't to be positive. The point of my blog is to be honest. And my anger is just as much a part of me as anything else.

And you know what? I actually do feel better...for the moment. So blogging about it helped after all.

I don't really have any art work that reflects anger so I thought I would feature some self-promotional art work instead.

Snow Days and Olympic Dreams

Today we finally got our big snow day.  Enough for sledding, snow ball fights, building snowmen, and everything.  But I am stuck home alone with no one to play with, so I didn't go outside, except to take a few pictures.  I've mainly been knitting a sweater--which I finished--and watching the Olympics.

I really want to be an Olympian.  I don't care about winning.  I don't even care if I come in dead last.  I just want to wear the USA uniform.  I want to attend the opening and closing ceremonies.  Stay in the Olympic Village.  Exchange pins with other Olympians. 

The main obstacles standing between me and my Olympic dream are that I'm not that athletic or talented.   And I'm too scared to do flips in the air or go high speeds.  Which pretty much eliminates all of the events except curling.  But that seems really boring.

I could imagine myself as an ice skater.  But I didn't grow up near an ice skating rink.  And apparently you have to wake up at 5 a.m. to get your practice in, which would have been hard for a night owl like me.  Even if I had been motivated enough to do it, I probably would not have been able to talk my parents into taking me to the rink every morning, what with my lack of talent and all.

I've tried to think of ways to get around the lack of talent thing.  Maybe I could do one of the events in the Summer Olympics, like badminton.  I don't play badminton, but how hard can it be to get good at it?  It can't be harder than playing tennis.

I thought I could also increase my chances of qualifying by competing for the Philippines.  I might even get to carry the flag since they only send about 4 people.  That's a 25% chance.  I would need dual citizenship, which would probably mean paying taxes in the Philippines or something.  I barely have enough money to pay my bills, so that would be a problem.  Without the talent to attract sponsors, I would at least need money.

Plus, I bet even the badminton players are in good shape.  I couldn't even talk myself into exercising for 30 minutes today, so I might lack the necessary discipline to be an Olympian.  Even if I were disciplined, my allergies, GERD, and exercise-induced asthma make it hard for me to engage in sustained physical activity.  It's hard to be competitive when exercise makes you throw up.

Hmmm.  Maybe there really isn't any way I can be an Olympian.  Maybe I'll just have to settle for  knitting and watching the Olympics on TV.  I hear the accommodations in the Olympic Village are terrible in Sochi, anyway. 

Sophie drew this picture for you.

 

 

And here's the sweater I knitted.

 

 

 

Addiction

I've been thinking a lot about addictions lately.  Even before Phillip Seymour Hoffman's death.  I have never been the addictive type.  My history is so clean I would have made a great political candidate, if I didn't dislike politics so much.  But Richard Rohr, my spiritual guru, says that everyone is addicted to something.  So I'm trying to be honest with myself about what that might be.

At times my hobbies have been like addictions.  When I first started knitting, I would crank out so much stuff that I made all my Christmas gifts in a month and still had scarves to give away.  Same thing with making jewelry.  I sold a lot of what I made, but all my profits went towards buying more beads.   And I can sing Karaoke for hours.  I hosted a small Karaoke party over the summer and we sang for 6 hours straight. 

But knitters tend to be fanatical bunch.  Jewelry makers can be, too.  And for a Filipino, my Karaoke usage is average, at best.  Plus these hobbies tend to go in phases.  I'm in a knitting phase now.  I would describe my interest in these activities as obsessive rather than addictive.

The next addiction candidates would be tennis and sugar.  These two things are a consistent presence in my day-to-day life, and I cannot imagine living without either of them indefinitely.  Giving them up would require some kind of intensive inpatient treatment program, and even then the probability of relapse would be high. 

But playing tennis and consuming desserts has not significantly impaired my functioning, and I've been able to cut back.  I am only playing 3-4 times a week to prevent injury.  And I don't eat 3-4 desserts a day any more.  So I would classify myself as a heavy user but not an addict. 

As I was thinking about this post, one of my FB friends messaged me and asked me to write something about codependence.  And that's when it hit me:  I am addicted to unhealthy relationships.  Ostensibly because I want to help people, but needing to be needed is a form of addiction, too.   In the post on solitude I talked about how ashamed I feel for tolerating so much crappiness to avoid being alone.

Based on my experience as a therapist, I know that many people have the same problem.  Often clients come in for a relationship addiction.  Their friends and family are sick of listening to them.  They know they should break it off, but they can't.  They live in secrecy because they're still in contact with the other person.  If someone came up with a detox program for unhealthy relationships, they could probably make a fortune.

I guess in a way I have completed my own self-imposed detox program.  And for the first time in 30 years, I did not use another relationship to ease the pain.  I rank this accomplishment right up there with defending my dissertation.  Maybe even higher.  Because after my dissertation I got depressed because there was nothing left for me to accomplish.  But as far as relationships are concerned, it's all up from here.

Interestingly, I started this blog right before the breakup.  It wasn't conscious, but I guess at some level I decided that the energy I was investing in my relationship would be better spent writing.  And blogging helped me tremendously during the breakup process.  I don't think I could have made it this far without it.

So until someone comes up with a detox program for unhealthy relationships, I would highly recommend intensive blogging as a treatment strategy.

Competitive Latch-Hooking

When I was a kid, my mom got my brothers and me to entertain ourselves through arts and crafts. One year she bought us latch hook kits. 

My first project was a picture of Scooter from the Muppets, which she turned into a pillow. I quickly moved on to a picture of Linus. I can't remember what my brother Jr.'s project was, but I do remember that what began as a fun activity for the 4 of us turned into a fierce competition between him and me.

My brothers and I had this unspoken code of ethics. If there were a box of 12 Fudgesicles, we were each allotted 3. Once my brother Romeo was looking for something to eat and my mom told him that there was a Fudgesicle in the freezer. He had already eaten his share so he didn't take it. He knew better. She was confused, though.

When someone left the room, their seat was saved. This is because whoever was closest to the phone had to answer it and hunt my dad down, because it was almost always for him. We would pull in every chair possible into the TV room to avoid sitting next to that phone.

Of the 4 of us, Jr. was the most law-abiding. He never cursed. He followed all the rules. He never lied or cheated. Unless he was competing against me in something like latch-hooking.

As I reached the end of my Linus project, I ran out of yarn. Which really pissed me off. What kind of project lacks the necessary supplies to complete it? I thought it was only fair that he stop working on his rug until I bought more yarn. Since I'm the oldest, I made up and enforced most of the rules, so I took his latch hook. He did not protest because this was consistent with his sense of justice, too.

But he wanted to win so badly that he secretly worked on his project without the latch hook. Because you don't need it if you're really determined. He quickly gave himself away though with his guilty laughter, so he didn't get very far. Still, I took his rug from him, just to be safe.

I don't even remember who won. He probably does, though. But we both remember how fun it was to compete against each other--in that instance, at least.

I realize that this fiercely competitive attitude is not the norm. Yet it still surprises me when people don't feel the same way. I don't understand why my colleagues don't rush to turn in their paper work first. Or why some players don't play in tournaments or leagues because they don't like the pressure. Or why more people don't read my posts about sacrificing my health for the sake of my team.

It's not that I have to win. I often play in leagues above my level, so I lose quite a bit. It's more about being fully engaged in whatever I'm doing. Competition forces me to do this, but it's really more about competing with myself. That's why I do things like spend 4 months knitting a dress for my niece by Christmas.

I'm so proud of that dress that I thought I'd show you a picture of it, even though it is only tangentially related to this post.

Yes and No

Being alone isn't as bad as I thought it would be.  Relationships are an area where I take on challenges without asking myself whether it is worth the effort, so it's a nice change of pace to have energy to expend on myself. 

When I was in school, the reason why I was a good student is that I did what teachers told me to do.  It never occurred to me that not doing the reading or homework and not studying were an option.  I also try to fulfill my job responsibilities because I'm afraid that if I make one mistake I'll get fired.  

I think it's partly due to my Catholic upbringing.  I'm a rule-follower to begin with, but I also fear that if I break the rules I will go to hell.  If I call a ball out, I'm afraid I'll go to hell because I wanted the point so badly.  So usually I just call everything in, which is sometimes to my advantage because my opponent wasn't expecting to play a ball that was a foot out.

I used to have this prayer where I would ask God to forgive me for all my sins, intentional and unintentional, because I thought, what if I've sinned and I didn't realize it?  Then I couldn't ask for forgiveness and I might go to hell.  So I figured this prayer covered all the bases.

Most of my relationships weren't of my choosing.  If someone liked me, I would date him because I thought that would make him happy.  Feeling ambivalent was not a good enough reason to say no because my feelings didn't count.  And it's hard for me to end relationships because I'm not allowed to hurt anyone.  Although I often ended up hurting them, anyway.

This is also the reason I became a psychologist and feel compelled to save the world.  If someone is hurting, then it's my job to help them if I'm able to do so.  It doesn't matter if I want to do so, whether I like the person or not, how stressed I am, or how much energy I have to expend.

My superhero family members also share this sentiment, as I mentioned in a previous post.  They are even more extreme in terms of putting other people's needs first, even if it hurts them.  So I really haven't had good role models for setting limits.

But thanks to this blog, I'm beginning to set limits.  I've quit that crazy writing job where I was spending 10-12 hours on articles that gave the most superficial advice possible for $25.  I ended a relationship and am learning to be alone.  I have narrowed down my extra-curricular activities to tennis, knitting that dress for my niece, and writing/promoting my blog.  Which is still a lot, but it's an improvement for me.

My new rule is to say yes to what I want and no to what I don't want.  I said this 3 years ago, but sometimes it takes awhile to do what you know you need to do.  So I'm trying not to beat myself up about that. 

So from now on, it's yes and no.  Hopefully.

Positive and Negative Feedback, Part 2

So I turned in my first writing assignment today, feeling all happy and accomplished.  I was even fantasizing about how I can put a link in my blog to this article when it gets published.  And then I got an email saying that my article has been reviewed and requires rewrites.

As you know, I am not good with negative feedback, so I tried to prepare myself for the worst:  What if they say it's all wrong?  Then I'll just correct it and give them what they want.  That sounds easy enough.  And then I read the comments. 

I have to give the editor credit; that was the most constructive way possible of saying that my article sucked.  I didn't answer the person's question.  I used examples more appropriate for middle-aged women than the teenagers and young adults who read the website.  I had one good sentence in the entire article.  I didn't use AP format.  I didn't follow the writing guidelines.

I'm sure she was thinking, did you not read any of the materials we sent you?!  I did!  I really did.  Except for the AP manual.  I haven't gotten it in the mail yet.  I really wanted to get started, and I thought, how different can it be from APA or MLA format? 

Would it be unprofessional if I wrote "Oops!" in the notes to the editor section?

My first thought was to quit since I obviously have no idea what I'm doing.  But then I decided to write myself a pep talk: You work closely with an editor for the first 3 assignments for a reason; you're supposed to suck.  In fact, I bet they give writers that bonus after the 3rd article because some people get so demoralized by all the rewrites that they give up.

Then I worked on the rewrite for several hours.  I have another draft but I have no idea whether this version is any better than the first one because I don't trust my judgment anymore.  I guess this is why people are afraid to get their hopes up; the fall is so much higher from the grandiose cloud that I was floating on.

I may not be good with positive feedback, but I am the Mt. Everest climber of impossible tasks.  Knitting pattern that is far more complicated than my skill level?  I'll have it done by Christmas.  My football team is 2-5?  Well, we still have 4 more chances to win!  My tennis team is 1-6?  I'll just pretend that we are in our second season, and we're only down 0-1 in this one.

Sometimes it helps to be a little delusional.  If we made all of our decisions based on what we think we are capable of, we may never take the risk of finding out what is possible.

Knitting and Relationships

I love knitting.  Some of the time.  It's actually more like a love/hate thing. 

Last night I was working for several hours on this dress for my niece, only to have to rip out every row except one.  Four hours of knitting for one row.

I only have myself to blame.  It's a complicated pattern where every stitch has to be accurate, and I knew I had messed up but I figured, it's at the end of the row.  It will be at the seam.  I can make it work!  I've made this mistake hundreds of times, and it always costs me in the end. 

My problem is that I love to knit complicated patterns.  Most people find a pattern for a scarf that they like and they knit 5 of them.  I, on the other hand, decide to knit something like a dress, which takes months to knit, and when I'm done I never want to see the pattern again. 

I'm actually selling a few of the items that I've knit at The Stitchin' Post.  Even if they sell, the best I can hope for is to cover the cost of the materials, because I'm only making something like one cent an hour. 

But that's OK.  I'm not doing it for the money.  I just like the challenge.  To me, patterns are more like puzzles to be solved, like Minesweeper or Sudoku.  A pattern that I have already mastered is boring and no longer holds my interest. 

My relationships follow a similar pattern.  I like a challenge--someone with all kinds of issues and baggage and diagnoses.   I want to hear all about their problems, learn how they developed, and figure out how to solve them.  That's why I became a psychologist.  No matter how messy things get I think, that's OK.  I can still make it work!  Which is not always a bad thing.  But sometimes you  need to cut your losses and start over, in knitting and in life.

The problem is, the majority of my family members have some type of mental illness, so I have a skewed notion of what a "normal" relationship is.  Several years ago I was talking to one of my colleagues about the demise of my first marriage and she said, "marriage is hard work, but it shouldn't be like climbing Mt. Everest."  I thought, really?  It sounded that bad?  

But some people do climb Mt. Everest for fun, and I guess I like scaling psychological mountains.  Like knitting a dress for my niece by Christmas.  Which I will work on again tonight.