Bad Moods Are Like Secondhand Smoke

I am not an overly moody person most of the time, although I admit I do have my moments. Lately it seems I'm surrounded by moody people, however: people with lots of ups and downs, people who are easily angered by the unavoidable black flies in the chardonnay of life (with a shout out to Alanis), people who are never satisfied, cynics and pessimists of all stripes, people who take work too seriously or not seriously enough. Stop. Wait! This is becoming a moody list of Things That Really Piss Me Off and that is not the topic of this blog.

The topic of this blog is the impact of one person's bad mood on those in the vicinity. Especially those very black moods that twist and curl their sinuous ways around our heads before we have time to move away. Like secondhand smoke, they are inflicted by one thoughtless, oblivious person on others, sometimes many others, in no time at all. The impact of a dark mood on others is hard to undo, even more so if the moody person holds great power either through love or authority.

Knowing all this, I try to be mindful of my own attitudes and moods (especially the darkest ones) and stifle myself where appropriate. Perhaps there should be a special glassed-in area set aside where people with bad moods can go to unleash their secondhand miseries on each other after which they could return to civilized society with only the faint odor of bleakness lingering on their persons like a cheap perfume.

Life is a shipwreck but we must not forget to sing in the lifeboats. - Voltaire. 

Kaizen

Lately I've been mindful of Kaizen, the Japanese concept of continual, incremental improvement. The first step with Kaizen both at work and at home is awareness: clearly seeing the possibilities for improvement.

Since improvement is incremental with small measured experiments to check progress, the concept of Kaizen can overcome that sinking feeling that "this mess is way too big to tackle." It does require a degree of trust, optimism, and faith in oneself and other people, however, since very often an improvement can't be made without some agreement and cooperation from the larger group. Open, frequent communication is essential to Kaizen.

I had a conversation with a colleague who was new to one of our teams at work yesterday. I was (from my perspective, of course) attempting to communicate the benefits of working well across teams, explaining the history behind why this federated group of teams had joined together for common goals, how important it was to maintain respect and collaboration across these teams. "I want you to be successful on this team," I said at one point as I was trying to convince her to be more mindful of how her actions were impacting the group as a whole. "I'm already successful," she snapped back. Just one time in my life I would like to feel that kind of certitude, but I don't think it would help me for the long haul. To understand why, keep reading.

How can you be successful without considering the team as a whole? Kaizen assumes that the group works together to identify ways to improve quality and efficiency, and then incrementally implements these steps, testing progress at each step. It doesn't work well for those who don't want to acknowledge mutual dependencies.

I was heartened the other day during a team retrospective meeting to hear a respected and brilliant software architect comment that very early team communication about how a task will be accomplished can help guide it the right way from the beginning and can therefore reduce waste of time and resource. But this takes time up front, and some patience, and the natural urge to proactively communicate. Not everybody is born able to do this. It has to be encouraged and developed.

My dentist (of all people) has a saying his staff quotes during lectures about proper dental hygiene: "The trouble with communication is that people think it's happened."

True everywhere in life. If you think you know what's going on already, and if you're absolutely positive you're on the right track, you don't bother to ask, and you jump straight to a solution that may have little to do with addressing the root cause of a problem. I've done this so many times I've lost count. But at least I'm mindful of the trap.

My Kaizen thought for the day: ask five whys to understand a difficult problem, and always question what you think you already know.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Of Mice and B-bikes

I steel all my courage. At the bottom of the path through the CU campus and across the creek is the B-bicycle station which I have carefully cased previously, its red bikes on display. Ive already walked a couple of miles to get this far, and today I intend to check out a bike for a short spin. I follow the instructions to insert my credit card.


On my first try, with only 30 seconds of insistent beeping allotted to pull a bike from the rack, I get confused and press the silver button which is only to be pressed if you have a special B card which I of course don't have. Three beeps tell me the bike has been "successfully returned," still locked tightly into the rack, not my intention at all. But since I have 24 hours of usage for my $5, all I have to do is swipe my credit card again and this time I hastily yank the bike out of the nearest slot. I now have the B-bike in hand and, happily, no onlookers have seen me fumbling.

A small sign on the bike says "B-cycles will self destruct when ridden on commercial sidewalks and pedestrian malls."


I imagine what this self-destruction might involve: whooping alarums? A poof of smoke and perhaps for drama a small lick of flame? A mechanical recording that warns "this bike destructs in 30 seconds" or perhaps simply "I can't do that, Lynn?"

My plan is very simple, anyway. I will ride the bike strictly on the bike path from here to the next station, just past Broadway--about 7 blocks. But this does take courage on my part, because I've always been nervous on bikes: a wobbling, unassertive rider too shy to call out "on your left" when I pass a pedestrian. And I am also doing the unconscionable (given my frequent exhortations to my children); for this short experiment I am Biking Without a Helmet.

I keep my backpack on my back rather than using the basket, hoping it will be more stable. I try to remember the last time I was on a bike. I take a breath and careen off down the path, which is not flat of course since each bike path underpass involves a small dip down and back up again. Despite my ability to walk relatively long distances, I'm out of shape bike wise and actually have to suppress my humiliation and briefly walk the bike back up from the underpass at 17th.

It is an unstable but quick ride, and the sharp pain in my right hip from my walk that had caused some limping a bit prior to arrival at the bike station has magically disappeared, perhaps because the hip got a rest as I sat on the bike using muscles and joints in different ways.

But my relief is palpable at being able to get off the bike again, push it back into an empty slot in the rack behind the Municipal Building, and observe the reassuring triple beep and green light indicating that it has been successfully returned without self destruction of either me or bike.

For my $5 I can do that again and again anytime in the next 24 hours free, as long as my rides are under an hour. And rest assured, if I try it again today, it will be another short ride. I love the concept though, encouraging alternative forms of transportation with these $1000 smart bikes that are tracked by GPS and are suddenly so readily available along our Boulder Creek Bike Path. I hope they end up being successful. Biking as an alternative does seem to make sense for me and my hips, so maybe I'll continue to take baby steps like the one today.

Laughter Yoga and The End of Days

I could only chuckle to myself when I awoke this morning to the realization that I had been Left Behind; I had not been "raptured" as predicted by a certain Christian minister who was sure he knew when the big event would occur despite clear biblical references saying that only the Big Guy himself really knows the timing for these types of events. Of course, I would have been left behind anyway since I can't claim innocence from at least some minor and possibly major (depending on your flavor of religion) transgressions I've committed over the years. But I was also still safe in my bed and had not been dumped out of it by a cataclysmic earthquake either, so unless the end of days is a lot more subtle than previously suggested I think we've all dodged the bullet.

I am glad I chuckled, since I've been working lately on being less grim and serious, hoping to increase the joy in my life. Laughter is supposed to be a key component for this. I bought an app for my iPhone that randomly supplies one-liners from famous standup comedians like George Carlin and Richard Lewis. And I ventured out last Monday night to try something completely different--Laughter Yoga.

This is a group exercise in which everybody forms a circle facing each other and maintaining eye contact while a leader guides the group through various simple exercises in laughing--the deep, guttural, Kris Kringlesque haha hoho kind. This is not an opportunity to be the life of the party with jokes or standup comedy. It's more like a guided physical experience in using all the parts of the body together to produce extended mirth--lasting a good 40 to 45 minutes or longer. It takes a surprising amount of physical energy to sustain and I'm sure that's part of why it's beneficial. It doesn't matter if you aren't in the mood to laugh. You "fake it 'till you make it." And my experience was that the laughter can be infectious and can turn genuine.

A number of studies have shown that the act of laughing (even when you're forcing yourself) can be very beneficial--reducing stress, raising dopamine levels, increasing positive moods. It is also a natural way to connect on a basic way with other people.

I think I observed warmth and compassion in the eyes of some of those surrounding me, and a certain level of acceptance for whatever measure of laughter I (the only newby in the group) might achieve. Since we were supposed to be maintaining eye contact as we cavorted about the small wood-floored room with the royal blue meditation cushions stacked in the corner, I sometimes caught glimpses of more complicated emotions--grief, quiet desperation, hope. One man's laugh lines crinkled in friendly smile, a woman's wide-eyed glance sprang from the corner of her eye like a startled thoroughbred's.

I'm not sure yet what I made of it. But as I thought about the experience Tuesday morning while driving to work, I laughed out loud in a way I perhaps wouldn't have without the experience. And when I caught myself thinking sad thoughts this morning I forced a smile--and felt a little better. Good signs, no?

After all, those of us who have been Left Behind had best keep our spirits up.

Requiem for the BookEnd Cafe

It’s like a missing tooth you keep feeling around for with a wistful tongue.  My favorite espresso joint in Boulder closed on May 1. A kindred spirit who also loved the place sent me some photos to remember it by.  I keep thinking I’ll head down there, and then realizing it is no more.  Why was it so special?

For one thing, it was attached via an inviting brick archway to the independently-owned  Boulder Bookstore, one of my favorite places in the world.  A person could sip a latte, then go next door to peruse the inviting shelves, then come back for more latte, and repeat.  BookEnd had old red brick walls, and shelves filled with ancient tea tins and pots.  There was a large ball of string on display, and a huge painted wooden frog.  The soundtrack was usually playing music I enjoyed and the overall hubbub of the place was enough to energize, but not so much that it overwhelmed.  

You could sit next to the tall windows and people watch for hours as the parade of humanity* which is Boulder’s Pearl Street ambled by.   Or you could sit outside at the stone tables next to the black iron grillwork and listen to that long-haired old guy with the beard who sings pretty well, knows the words to every folksong ever written and always seems to know which one you want to hear next.  Chess players, students, tourists, silver-haired groups in lively conversation, writers, families--all found a cozy place to hang at Bookend.  I can only hope for a swift resurrection.

*The Pearl Street parade can include the likes of a small boy balancing a luminous green-purple peacock feather on his index finger as his proud father looks on, a smiling young couple holding up a sign offering “Free Hugs,” several people in a row on mats doing yoga on their backs and offering to balance onlookers on their feet, a ragtag band with a guitar, washboard and fiddle singing fast jazzy tunes in raucous harmony, a flamethrower and juggler explaining to a member of the audience how not to toss the axe up to her  while she’s pedaling the unicycle lest bloodshed occur, a blonde belly dancer undulating to a languorous drumbeat gradually building to a fast crescendo...and so much more.

Impostor Syndrome - True Confessions

All my life I’ve suffered from Impostor Syndrome--that persistent certainty that I’m not worthy, that everything I’ve achieved is by chance, an inexplicable twist of fate.  And that surely any moment my fraudulent charade will be uncovered and I will be drummed out of my position in mortal shame.  This self doubt has crippled me at times and generated huge anxiety for me.  So often I’ve felt that I just don’t belong where I am in any way, shape, or form.  According to my research, this is a surprisingly common affliction for women and men.   The prescribed treatments include:

• attending group therapy with others in the same boat--hearing how common this state of mind is with others who by all outward appearances are deservedly successful
• imagining what the response would be if you explained your “incompetence” to the supportive people you have “fooled”
• keeping records of positive feedback received
• employing positive self talk: “I will do well in this presentation” rather than “I know I'll screw this up somehow”

In my own experience, no amount of self talk has been fully successful in eradicating this feeling, but awareness of it has helped me to stay mindful of the distorted thoughts around it and able to resist it to some degree.

I do remember a conversation I had with my father about 12 years ago (he of the “Horrible Example” fame) when I told him that I had been promoted.  (I will resist the urge here to itemize all the reasons still lurking in my own head for why this was surely an improbable turn of events).  My father’s reaction to the happy news was sheer, unmitigated disbelief.  I could see it in his eyes and hear it in his tone of voice.  He could not comprehend how it was possible.  I do know that my father loved me very  much--but this reaction was painful for me I must admit, and further contributed to my own doubts about my worthiness. 

In thinking back on it, I think my Dad’s reaction was driven by his own negative world view--the self doubt that tortured him all of his work life and caused him huge suffering. 

I remember once in a therapy session (oh, yes, I know from therapy) with a male grad student when I was in my 20’s being called on my “dumb blonde act”--it was a pretty crude and roughly handled confrontation but I’ve never forgotten it and eventually I came to understand what he was driving at.   He said, “You’re just a little cream puff, aren’t you?”

Understanding all of this, today I’m able to let go of the hurt and feel compassion for my father’s past suffering, and the suffering of all who feel like impostors, who have the excruciating sense of unbelonging that can make life such a grind.  

So--for all those fellow suffers who may be reading this and looking for a solution--please look objectively at the evidence, and then choose to believe in yourself.  You are not perfect, but your achievements are real and deserve your recognition and self love.  

Comments appreciated (but I’m determined not to think less of myself if there are none).   Dear, dear.  What a piece of work I am...

The Sheening

As one of the most well known actors in American sit-com history axes a hole through the American psyche and sticks his head through to yell, "He-e-e-re's Charlie!" I have to weigh in on addiction and our attitudes toward it in this crazy culture.

Every standup comedian and late night host alive has won some laughs now at Charlie Sheen's expense.  Some people suggest Charlie is laughing all the way to the bank as he flits from one paid interview to the next.  the world is well aware of his cocaine and alcohol addictions, his crazed comments about maggots and devils and flying monkeys ( okay, he hasn't gotten to flying monkeys yet but it's only a matter of time), his repeated acts of self destruction.   His name has been added to the Urban Dictionary as a synonym (verb) for outrageously out-of-control behavior.

Anybody who has loved another person In the grips of addiction has a hard time laughing.  Addiction is like a whole other entity--it is the other woman, the best friend, the first choice always for an addict not in recovery.  It comes ahead of family, love, work, even food. It is like the devil himself, possessing its victims and changing them into heedless, soulless zombies or ax wielding family wreckers.

And, like a horror picture, we all want to laugh about it to keep ourselves from crying or screaming.

So my heart goes out to all those who are close to Charlie and who are getting sheened once more in a long series of sheenings. May they, and he, find peace.