On the Value of Goofing Off

This past holiday season, a co-worker and I built a rubber-band powered paper airplane. It took us several days of putting our engineering and scientific skills to the test, as we experimented with propeller shapes, materials, and sizes, rubber band dimensions, chassis development, paper folding techniques, and straw selection. In the end, though, we accomplished a very solid template for a reliable self-propelled airplane. I will get a video of the airplanes soon.
We also spent a good deal of time giggling like maniacs, because of course this kind of work is frowned upon at, well, work.

But during the building and designing, both of us got to flex mental and creative muscles we do not normally get to flex, but which are incredibly important to our jobs. He is a sales engineer, and must not only help customers engineer solutions, but must think on his feet and be very flexible. I have to analyze and create for my job as well, although less tangibly, and therefore must keep those skills sharp and well-oiled.

Additionally, my colleague and I had the rare chance to really size one another up, intellectually, analytically, and creatively. We got to see where the other one fell down, and where he or she excelled. It was a spontaneous team-building exercise without all of the corniness and much more efficient and fun.

So why are these types of forays into the absurd still so taboo? If companies like Google can allow their employees time to experiment and expand their minds, why can’t the regular Joe’s of Corporate America?

Frankly, I don’t know. What I do know is that the value of goofing off would be lost on those with their panties in a bind, regardless of the black-and-white numbers in front of their noses. No matter how many white papers and columns of figures I provide, my company will never, ever endorse rubber-band-guitar sing-alongs or paper airplane races.

That’s too bad for them. In the meantime, I’m going to giggle maniacally in my while I work on my next project: a house of cards made entirely of manila folders.

Does Corporate America Cause Mental Disorders?

I want a real, wholesome study on PLoS One to tell me whether living a stressed out, unsatisfied life in Corporate America actually causes mental disorders.

I see studies about stress and mental disorder (1), I see studies of stress and physical ailment (2). I see articles about workplace stress and mental health concerns (which, by the way, completely avoids the question of whether workplace stress could cause mental health concerns by saying that it is possible to have mental health concerns without workplace stress). or there's this one, that just says that a source of stress, which can make existing mental health worse, is work.

But I want to see a study.

I wonder if our rates of depression and anxiety have anything to do with jobs in cubicles. I would like to know what percentage of cubicle-dwellers are depressed. I mean really now.

I'll tell you some of my theories:

Lack of security. Corporate America is all about having a nice secure paycheck, right? Wrong! We all know that any day, regardless of how hard we worked or how well we did our jobs, we could get laid off. Whether it's a merger or a slow year, none of us is safe.

It's not personal--it's business. We spend most of our waking hours with these people, but it's "not personal". What a way to dehumanize anyone!

It's just not fair. We're surrounded by racism, sexism, and (other) unethical behaviors. In fact, at many companies, the people who are best at the Blame Game tend to rise to the top.

In Triplicate Let's say it together: bureaucracy. Nothing is more maddening than not being able to get anything done.

I could go on and on, but these four should be enough to start off a study. If anyone knows of a study, please comment so I can read it. I'd really appreciate it!

Update: What serendipity! It's not PLoS One, but yesterday (the day of the original post) the American Psychological Association released "Stress in America", which (ta-da!) reports that 70% of people are stressed about work. Slightly more are stressed out about money.

Let's look at that number: 70%. 7 in ten people. Let's pick you and the nine people sitting closest to you. Only three of them aren't stressed about work.

And guess how many people are dealing with their stress? By hiding at home watching TV and guzzling soda in between fistfuls of gummy worms (guilty!).

People, what are we doing to ourselves? Let's get this straight: we're choosing this for ourselves. It is totally possible to live off-the-grid or nearly so, and to pull utility expenses WAY down. By not doing these things, by participating in our very unhealthy materialistic culture, we are choosing to make ourselves sick.

Now you and I have a question to answer: what are you (what am I) going to do about it?

Life in Storage

Among the many gifts bestowed upon me by The Four Day Win by Martha Beck, PhD., my favorite has got to be talking to my inner child/right brain* through a writing exercise. In the exercise, after visualizing yourself as a child, you write down (with your dominant writing hand) a question for her, and with your nondominant hand, you write down her answer. There’s a lot of anger and profanity at first, (reminiscent of “automatic writing”, huh?), but after that dies down, there are some kernels of truth.

For me, the hardest kernel was this accusation: You put your life in storage.

That still drops me. I mean, hit me in the face and call it sunshine, that’s a freaking epiphany.

I really did put my life in storage. We all do. When we have a talent, or a gift, and we say to ourselves, “I’ll just put this away until ____ and then I’ll use it again,” or “I want to _____, but I’ll do it later,” or even “I’ll be happy when _____” what is all that but putting our talents in storage? For me, I always said, “I’ll live like they want me to until the kids are grown, and then I’ll pursue my dreams.” In fact, it started even earlier, when I wanted to be a writer but didn’t think I could support myself that way (circa second grade. Um, Mom and Dad? Not to point fingers or anything, but how does a second-grader get to evaluating her financial solvency in potential careers?).

Even rebellion is, in most cases, just putting our lives in storage. When we consciously rebel, we are often doing the exact opposite of what someone wants us to do, and specifically not doing what we want/need to do (I know there are exceptions, but think teenagers). The person with the expectation is still the one in control, not us. And we’re over there like, “Until they let me do what I want, I’ll show them.” But who’s got the power?

No, the person over there quietly doing what he/she wants to do without the theatrics is the one who is actually living.

So there we have it. Through youthful rebellion, to not-so-youthful “accepting responsibility” via cowing to the expectations of an abusive ex-, well-meaning family and friends, and society at large, and through the second stage of rebellion (from ex-), I put my life in storage.

I don’t know yet how much permanent harm was done. I do know that my life is a little dusty, but still seems to be there. There is hope that a good wash and a few coats of paint will liven it right up again.

There is hope.

*I will not be addressing the whole left brain/right brain debate. New information comes to light back and forth, including a recent (Nov ‘11, Dec ‘11, Jan ‘12?) edition of Scientific American I just read. You know what I mean by “right brain”, so work with me)

Polyvalent Mind Redux

Welcome to 2012!

Yes, another year, finding me still in my gray padded cell.

You know what (as a little aside here)? I like to use the British spelling of gray, "grey", and I'm going to, because it's my blog.

So There.

:-P

Anyway, another year, and I'm still in my gray padded cell called a corporate cubicle (thanks to Harry Potter movies for getting us Americans used to the idea that "cubicle" also means a bathroom stall). But I have made some progress, just not on my poor forlorn site.

So far, this past year, I managed to disentangle myself mostly from the soon-to-be-ex. I feel less pressure from him. I feel less like he is running my life. He's annoying me, to be sure, and in some cases still screwing with me, but he can't touch me. He can mess with my plans, but I'm in a safer place in my head. There are still physical concerns, and there always will be, but it's so much better.

I was re-reading some of my previous posts, and I think it's only fitting to mention how, looking back, I can see me doing so many things just because the Ogre wanted them done that way. I'm glad I make parenting decisions on my own now. I may get advice, but the decision is mine. I like that my kids don't have to be insecure or anxious around me, and that quiet moments of empathy and love just flow around us, just like loud racous moments of laughter. Life is so much brighter and free.

A note on the future (if I can find the "f" key on my keyboard. I don't know what a guture is, but I really want to type it): I am going to work on my writing. I always wanted to be a writer, but thought I could not make a living that way. It is long past me to at least try it. There is no point being beaten down before you even try. That makes them win.

Last year I was breaking free. This year I'm moving forward with my life.

It's going to be great.

My Declaration of Indpendence

When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one Person to dissolve the psychological bands which have subjugated her to others, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle her, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that she should declare the causes which impel her to the separation.

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. That to secure these rights, boundaries are instituted around individuals, limiting the accepted behaviors of others, deriving their just powers from the respect of those boundaries of others, That whenever any person’s behavior becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the Recipient to require the alteration or abolishment of it, and to determine acceptable behavior and the consequence of noncompliance, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing her powers in such form, as to her shall seem most likely to effect her Safety and Happiness. Prudence and Politesse, indeed, will dictate that behaviors long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn, that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce her, it is her right, it is her duty, to throw off such behaviors or perpetrators of such behaviors, and to provide new Guards for her future security.

I, therefore, appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the rectitude of my intentions, do solemnly publish and declare, That this Woman is, and of Right ought to be, a Free and Independent Person; that she is Absolved from all subjugation of others, that all responsibilities toward the happiness of others, is and ought to be totally dissolved; and that as a Free and Independent Person, she has full Power to decide her own feelings and behaviors, to claim her rights to privacy and freedom from Manipulation, Insult, and Injury, the right to petition for Time Alone and moments in which to Meditate or Collect her Thoughts, conclude Peace, contract Alliances, establish Commerce, and to do all other Acts and Things which Independent People may of right do. And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of divine Providence, I pledge to myself my life, Fortune, and on my sacred Honor pledge to respect of the above Rights of all others.

Celebrating "Lasts"

Today I celebrate lasts. This morning was the last morning that I will have to be chauffered to work. This morning was the last morning that I have to un-stink the sponges because hubby refuses to use one sponge at a time.

This was the last time I had to arrange a lunch pick-up time.

Then, it was the last time he dropped me off at work, and did the last "Love you, have a good day, BE GOOD," thing.

Hopefully tonight will hold the last insinuated accusation of sleeping with other people.


I am scared, but I am determined.

I am leaving my husband.

For those who have been reading along and want to know the jump between "Is this abusive" and "Hasta Luego", well, I was basically going to leave anyway, but I got sidetracked by the abuse question. That question got answered by my analysis of his behavior. Then my analyses were confirmed. Then my whole supposition was confirmed by my best friends and my sister, who were relieved I was finally talking about it and seeing it.

Here's a note: Once you see abusive behavior, it becomes easier to recognize, even in your own spouse.

To top that, my eldest asked me if we could leave sooner than the original plan (which was Spring).

So what could I do then? I had to start making my exit strategy.

And so I did.

And so I planned it out.

And so it will happen tomorrow.

And today, I celebrate lasts.

Sometimes We Just Need Mommy

My family loves its snacks.

We love all kinds of snacks, from nachos and cheese to gooey chocolate brownies. Of couse, we're all overweight, too, so we've been trying to cut down on the snacks, especially with the kids, to slim them down a little.

So it wasn't a big shock when my eldest asked me for snacks last night, and it wasn't a big shock that I said "no", since we had ice cream in the house already and I was tired.

What was a big shock was that my answer sent him into a sobbing fit.

Now, again, he's nine, so he's long past the crying-when-he-doesn't-get-what-he-wants stage, and has fully entered the "I'll just find a way to get it anyway" stage, so it was odd that he lay across the bed, moaning and crying and shaking his little fist.

But, whatever. I mean, sometimes we all need a good cry, so I was content to say "Sorry, dude." and watch TV. This may sound cruel, but I know what it's like to have snacks withheld, and it really unhinges you for about ten minutes, and then it's over.

But the crying didn't stop.

Eventually my husband went to visit him. For the next fifteen minute as I half-listened, the cries turned into hiccups and lound keening wails. So I went in to rescue him from Daddy, who was apparently only making things worse.

Now, we have a habit of patronizing the kids a bit when they cry, because we do have one cry-baby in the house (not the eldest, though). So when I scooped the 75-lb snot ball up, I was expecting him to kick and fight a little bit and generally be indignant.

What I was not expecting was him trying to bury his face into my chest and start rocking himself. Or him clinging to me with all of his strength like he was lost at sea and I was the only bouy for miles.

So, what is there to do at that point but to sing to the kid? He is obviously regressing for some reason, and must be really upset to hold on to Mama like a 5-ft. long baby.

So I start singing "Rock of Ages", which, as well as being a great song for funerals, is actually a great song to calm people down who are very upset.

Rock of Ages cleft for me
Let me hide myself in Thee

Well, OK, only the first and last two lines are really comforting in a general way, and the way the last verse starts with: "While I draw this fleeting breath/ when mine eyes shall close in death..." can be disturbing, still the tune is soothing to people who don't associate the song with funerals, and it worked. He stopped crying and just listened.

And we talked a little, but not about anything to explain his outburst. So after a while I just lay on the bed with him in silence, just sort of absorbing his company and letting him absorb mine, and I guess just reminding him he wasn't alone in this big scary world.

And he was calm.

But I still don't know what was bothering him, and why talking with Dad made it worse, because he didn't talk about that at all. And we didn't get to the bottom of why he was angry at Dad for saying "no snacks", but not me, when I was the one who first said it and sent him off to hysterics-land. It was as if he forgot that I started it (sort of).

But somehow I comforted him, and he comforted me, and I didn't realize how lonely I was until he just lay beside me, listening to the air conditioner. Eventually, I had to get up just 'cause I started to feel the need to be alone again, but just that moment of comraderie was amazing. And I think it helped him.

I think it maybe helped him to know there was someone like him in the world, if that makes any sense. A social person who needs other people but who is still a loner.

And I wonder how many people in the world could, like him and like myself, have this moment of wordless sympatico and then let it go because it is finished, without trying to prolong it past its moment or talk it out of existence or whatever. And I wonder if it really helped him or if he cried quietly after I left, as if I had abandoned him or something. And I wonder why he and his father don't get along at all.

He's a complicated little dude.

I don't know if I'm getting across this dual sensation of comfort and perturbation. There was a definite element of uncertainty, but I was absolutely certain that everything was alright when I was with him and when I got up to go.

I think it was simply that despite my certainty that I provided what he needed, since I don't know what the problem was, I don't feel like I have taken any steps to solve it. But it could easily be that the problem was that he felt unaccepted in some way, and me just sitting with him made him feel all better. And maybe me just knowing he needed a Double-huge hug and time with Mommy was enough for him to feel accepted and understood and unalone.

Are we really as simple as sometimes just needing someone to lie next to us and not say anything?

It sure beats getting fat on snacks.