Sick Day

I have a cold. I’ve been in bed most of today and have hit total boredom. Ever the workaholic, I’ve checked my work email a few times today, but managed not to do (much) actual work since I did after all call out.

My job is sort of a nightmare these days. It has often been that way, so I can’t even say that its more or less so than many other times in the past three years, but right now I’m at a low point in my ability to let things slide off my back. I know I need to leave, but I don’t know how, I’m struggling with when, and I’m absolutely terrified of what it will mean for my future– financially, career-wise, everything. It’s clear that the people who care most for me will probably want to throw a party when I finally find a way to walk away– but I have not yet figured out what it will mean for me. I find the whole situation utterly heartbreaking. I define myself by my work and for work to be such a constant source of anxiety is frankly tearing me apart.

I need a break.

I Hate That So Much of What I Have to Say These Days is So Negative…

I am a “Director” in my little sometimes-struggling NonProfit, meaning not a “Manager”. I’m the senior staff member, and in this long strange “transition” I’m the only one of the now 3 full time staff who’s been here longer than a month. There are 3 part time employees 10-20 hours a week, the longest standing of which has been here since end of July.  And then there are a variety of independent contractors that provide services to the company but are basically around on a per-project basis. This is my third boss in four months, and it’s fair to say I’m grieving the other two in one way or another, but most particularly the most recent of them.

Yesterday was a pretty lousy day. NewBoss is angry with me because… oh it’s a pretty long story. But among the highlights are that she feels I have a bad attitude and that she feels “taken advantage of” by the fact that I’m in and out of the office as much as I am. My hours are odd at times and a strategy I’ve had against my Workaholism has been to try to keep track of my hours and “make up” extra time as it comes up. So, for instance, when I got called in for my supposed day off this week, I worked less hours one day later in the week. To this point, flexible hours has been one of the few benefits of my position and all the stress it causes me. I’ve been lucky to be in a job where I can schedule a doctor’s appointment one morning and not have to jump through hoops to clear it, because everyone knows that I will work several hours “overtime” in the long run. This isn’t working for NewBoss, which is her right to determine I suppose, but her intense reaction (considering we’ve never had a discussion about my hours or her expectations in general) and a few things she said greatly concern me.

She wants me to have more regular work hours (9-5 or 10-6 or something) no matter whether there was a late night meeting or event I was required to go to or not. She basically said that telecommuting isn’t really “doing work” and that if I have to “do some typing at home” its on my own time. The implication is that if I was using my time well in the office I wouldn’t have work to bring home. And that as a “Director” if one of my staff calls out on my day off and I have to cover for them all day, I still need to put in the additional hours above that.  I am a salaried, at will employee. So my question becomes, if salary means I don’t get overtime and am expected to come in above and beyond the traditional “8 hour day plus a lunch break,” is there no upper limit to what could be reasonable hours or workload?

One of her other issues is with one of my two assistants, J, who has a young daughter and is currently sharing a car with her husband because she has to save the money to get her car fixed. I hand-picked this assistant because she is nothing short of amazing and helps me out in innumerable ways. She comes in when she is sick, and she goes above and beyond with the tasks I assign to her. When I ask her to do something, I do not worry whether it will be done or done competently. But there have been times where her child care has fallen through, and so she has called me to see if there are possible tasks she could do from home, or in two cases brought her daughter to work with her. The other day it was raining and she was driving to the office from a mountainous area where it was more slippery than in Office’s City, and she called to say she was a little delayed because of traffic and safety but that she was on her way. NewestBoss has serious problems with all of this because it did not “look that bad” outside, and because she “raised two kids while working and never had any trouble.” I care about J and I’m protective of her in a way, but mostly the tenor of NewestBoss’ objections is what really bothers me. It seems like her view is that there aren’t other priorities in life, and that it’s reasonable to expect that J would choose to put her family after her job.  And when she says to me that the 50+ hours I worked last week aren’t that big of a deal, and that in fact she doesn’t consider time I spent subbing for an absent staff member, making phone calls on the way to the office, having business related lunches with potential partners, or typing up multiple reports on my laptop at home count as work done– that in fact she feels I’m trying to get away with something by NOT  WORKING ENOUGH… well, its been a difficult thing to process.

She wants to structure my hours, fine. She wants to define her expectations, fine. She thinks her lifestyle choices have worked for her, fine. But suddenly my struggles to create a life outside of work seem to have another obstacle, and I don’t know what I’m going to do.

My name is Something and I’m a Workaholic

They have meetings for this you know. AA style. So I’m told. I’ve been flirting with checking it out, but I have a sense like its a little bit of a cult and I don’t know if I want to be in a cult exactly. Maybe that’s a dumber reason. Can’t be any dumber than “I’m too busy,” though. But that’s the excuse I give myself, the same excuse I have for not setting foot in my church for a few months now, even though I think all the time how good it would be for me to go.

I am sliding along the edge of my twenties and I wonder, is this a young life crisis? Is this some kind of rite of passage that just has to be gone through; is that all this anxious depression these past few months is really about? Does it have more to do with a biological clock or developmental stage than the details of my life? Or is it I just have a toxic job and so much unhappiness would dissolve so easily if I just moved on, whatever that entails. I have this tension inside of me lately, this SOME CHANGE HAS TO HAPPEN within me, gnawing along the inside of my shoulder blades, pushing me to something, but what? Do I just up and move somewhere? Adopt a kid? Go teach third grade? Join the Peace Corps? Would any of that HELP? Or am I just looking for a distraction from pain that will be there no matter what major adrenalin rush I force into my system with some catastrophic new life for myself?

Blogging is well-suited, for better or worse, to whining, and I feel like I do a lot of whining lately. When I imagine the person I wish I was, I find her far more content. My childhood and my early adolescence were particularly characterized by a drive to be all-tolerant of people and situations, to block any negative opinion about much of anything from coming to even the surface of my consciousness. Certainly I had my criticisms of Sister, but they were well-tempered by guilt I felt over pain I saw her in– and I would have been hard pressed at that time to find a bad word to say about anyone. As I grew older I gravitated towards the opinionated and passionate around me, who I could love with a well-disciplined tolerance and somehow deep down live vicariously through. I learned from them and changed who  I was– or maybe, found who I was because of them. I did not own the rules I held for myself exactly, they just appeared and functioned as a sort of endurance test for puritans that I thought I must do well in for some reason. Be perfect. Do well. All the time. But my perfection wasn’t of a Donna Reed variety that got me to create a put-together appearance for myself or to practice a seeming relaxation amidst chaos. Instead it required me not to care how I looked, dressed, was perceived within the strange culture of other teenagers– it required that I pretend not to care if anyone thought I was pretty and in fact to discourage the notion entirely on the basis of its clear frivolity. It required that I be too wrapped up in school, in shows, and in 12 page letters to penpals to participate in my own life in any “normal” way. So I guess some of this life is a matter of habit. But it developed as a strategy for protection from the risk of being disliked, or looked down upon, or seen as interested in meaningless things– I successfully prevented the thought from ever occurring to anyone. So maybe the question has to be, what makes me so fragile that I feel the need for such life paralyzing self-protection?

Senior Year in College

Figure make up for lost time and continue with these stories. Let’s see. Senior Year was a very busy one at school.  I directed four shows and choreographed a dance piece. I also wrote a 108-page thesis and discovered the Writing Center on campus, promptly wishing I’d taken advantage of it the rest of my four years there. Oh and I completed a minor in my spare time. So yeah, fully embracing my workaholic-ness at the time. I wisely gave up on living on-campus and was totally at SecondFamily’s house that year, to my BestFriendFromCollege’s chagrin. The man I was in lust with got engaged, which I found extremely inconvenient (although he didn’t actually marry her until several years later, so I guess it was nice — in a way– to have time to get used to the idea).

In some ways I think I entered adolescence late, and I remember being more “difficult” in this period of my life than I ever was in high school. One incident that stands out, was being in a show, which received mixed reviews on campus– and was required to write a paper for the professor/director about what a good play it was. The style of the director had been very oriented towards creating an ensemble of people that would feel passionately about the work and making autobiographical contributions to a larger social theme in the play, and on a level I did both– but I got hung up on certain aspects of the whole project I found unprofessional, and on a sense that my life was being exploited in a way. I felt a strong sensation that this professor was trying to understand me, and that the conclusions she was drawing were incorrect– but instead of revealing myself more fully it closed me off further to her. What I wrote in the paper was honest, but taken to be hurtful, and I do regret it. It served no great good to burn that bridge. Unfortunately the professor was also my thesis advisor and that whole incident created a distance that did no good for that project either. My grades weren’t really affected by any of this, but the whole year had an energy of discomfort that really was unnecessary. In a way, it was my first experience with politics, and the first strongly negative reaction I’d received to stating my opinion–and it took quite a long time to sort out where I had gone wrong and what had happened to what could have been a meaningful professor-student relationship.

BestFriendFromCollege and I had a graduation party together in a rented tent on campus, and I was so happy my SecondFamily and my Aunt, Uncle, Cousin, and Cousin’s Wife were able to come out. There was definitely a sense of relief, being done, and a sense of good adventures to come.

I spent much of the summer in Europe, first on a “business trip” with my family in Germany that then turned into visits to Brussels and Paris as well. Then I went on my own trip studying directing in Italy and marveled at the scenery every chance I got. It was all rather heavenly.

Back in the states I felt great trepidation, having worn out my welcome to some extent at SecondFamily’s house and needing to earn money to get an apartment of my own.

These memories for so long seemed to be not-that-long-ago and lately I’ve been realizing how distant college seems. I’ve been missing it, or parts of it, as I’ve wondered about my suddenly seeming uncertain future and even toyed with the idea of getting a sixth year degree or PhD down the road. There certainly is something insular, and attractive about the little world of a college campus, pursuing one’s own research and stretching the mind. My master’s experience was very different because I was even more detached from the college itself, commuting in for a class or two each semester. It’s now been two years since I’ve had to write anything for a class, and after SO MUCH school for so long it’s kind of striking to realize that. It’s also been about seven years (I think) since I’ve been in a play (other than a couple brief performances at church a couple years back), and about nine years since I’ve been in an acting class myself. Is that what I want? I guess a lot of my work these days feels like I’m GIVING a lot, and I don’t have much that is giving to me. Something to think about.

I know, been busy…

Part of the reason I haven’t posted much lately is I haven’t felt very coherent or articulate. I definitely have a sense that I’m on the precipice of a new stage in my life, except I’m not altogether sure what that stage is or will hold. Certainly I have been questioning my long-term commitment to my Job, and that has been part of it. And I’ve been trying to climb my way out of depression once again, with varying results. I have this constant question in my mind of “Well what DO I want?” and my answers have not been too clear, which worries me. I’m used to being pretty sure about these things. Or at least I like to think so.

I have been good the past couple weeks and actually taken real weekends (Sunday-Monday) Well, there may have been some e-mail involved but it’s a start. It’s hard not to panic on a day off about all the things that I have to face when I return to work. But I’m trying to be strong about it, let things fall where they may, and tell myself I will be more productive if I’m rested at least. Through no great initiative of my own I also got out of teaching Sunday School (attendance was low and they combined classes and don’t need me much anymore), which is also probably a good thing in the realm of taking things off my list. I haven’t been to church in a couple months, which I regret, and I do want to get back into that soon. I need restoration. And maybe a place of worship isn’t a bad place to sort out a life’s purpose…

Musings on this disease again

One of the things that I’m starting to realize about my workaholism is it’s sort of a bipolar experience that fueled by incredible denial. What I mean is, in the course of a day I can have many ups and downs. In the course of what I would call a Workaholic Episode Day those downs can be intense beyond words. It’s a feeling that my body is running on empty but going faster. There is a sensation of THIS-IS-INSANE, of MELTDOWN-IMMINENT, and of PANIC!-IT’S-ALL-GOING-TO-FALL-APART! And while that goes on inside my outside is gritty, tunnel-visioned– I can’t connect with people because my mind is afraid of losing some bit of information it desperately has to remember, #16 on the to do list, and  #31–50. There is a tremendous fear that I will forget to do some essential thing and people will be annoyed, chaos will ensue, I will look disorganized, something. Do you know how people often remember their dreams when they wake up but then if they move at all or go about their daily business the pieces of the dream seem to get farther and farther away from certain memory? I think that’s what I fear will happen with the many responsibilities I have taken on and/or been given (for those are two different things, I admit).

I am always believing that disaster will be at hand if I fuck up.

But then, somehow, I get to the end of the insanity. I save the day or I screw up things along the way but am too tired to beat myself up about them long. I curse my lifestyle and waddle in depression a bit, and then collapse in exhaustion or (I guess worse–) simply transfer over to a project of a different sort that distracts me from whatever collection of issues or messes were plaguing me 10 minutes ago. And this is what is scary. I swing back from that insanity as though (or at least I convince myself it is as though) I were rested. Optimistic. Confident. As though there-had-been-some-challenges but all is better now. All that lies ahead is supremely manageable. As though nothing had come before.

Sometimes the roller coaster goes back and forth between both sensations multiple times in one day. It occurs to me in both cases I maintain I have control to the outside world, even when I don’t or can’t or no-one-reasonable-would. When I am in the doldrums of the low I feel pathetic and desperate; people tell me I’ve taken on too much and I nod but feel helpless against this thing that seems to be happening to me. When I am back on the sunny side of life it is almost as though I am redeemed, healthy even. I am powerful, conquering.

Someone once told me that the reason people say that they stick around in domestic violence situations is that often the perpetrator of the violence creates “so much happiness” in their lives outside of the violent episodes. But the problem is that that sensation victims feel isn’t happiness, it’s relief. And I suppose there is a confusion for me too, in that in this situation I so often see that first moment I’ve wrestled free of a particularly long day or messy crisis as a moment of great joy. But it isn’t really that I’m free, the situation has just ended, despite or because of whatever level of competence I brough to it– and it will always come back. I guess I always find hope as each chapter is closed along my way– and perhaps it is only in times of rest and seeming “sobriety” that real change could ever happen for me. But I think I need to treat this disease in all its phases and cycles, and at the least recognize its presence in both the “good” and “bad” times that make up my life’s experience.

Addiction is a strange thing, and I have to say the more I’ve explored my own the more I’ve understood and sympathized with those who struggle with vices less culturally acceptable. My addiction got me a Master’s degree and a fancy title, but in the end this really is just as deadly and spirit-draining as addictions to gambling or heroin. I can do better by my life.

This post should have been about my so-exciting cruise

And I will have to remember to fill you in on all those details because really. It.Was.Wonderful. — but instead it’s 20 of 4 on the morning I have to return to work and I just found out something this past evening that is going to make tomorrow, er, today– even more depressing than I was kind of already anticipating it would be. Phooey.

Suffice it to say I think I’ve finally come around to truly question the viability of the NonProfit I work for. Economic viability, programmatic viability, everything. Things have always been rocky here, and I often say the great miracle is the fact that we’re still here. I have tried so hard to fix so much, and certainly it’s fair to say that my identity has gotten quite mixed up in my place here. And for the first time I think I will be truly in a place where I can will myself to consider whether I should stay. It makes me ill to even think of leaving. But until tonight people would say “How can you stay there? Don’t you know there are places where you could be paid more? Appreciated more?” Maybe I haven’t known. Maybe I still don’t. But tonight’s the first night that I haven’t been able to brush those questions off easily with a “well maybe someday I’ll come to my senses…” or a “it’s working as a job for me for the moment” or a “there’s a lot of benefits in this job that I couldn’t get somewhere else.” Tonight’s the first night that I’ve hesitated at all, even let myself grapple with the question for real.

Damn it. And I was so rested.

Is this a light I see at the end of this tunnel?

What a week. I go on a cruise next week and by golly I’ve earned it. As my last post indicated, there was a major crisis at work this week involving some kids. It’s been one of those miracle weeks where emotions are high, and I have often felt that I am navigating through a maze, but not on my own power– I am doing things and watching myself doing them at the same time. There is a sense of right-ness, a sense of I’m doing what I’m called to be doing. A sense that I’m a passenger in my life but I know the way. And yet– it’s peculiar because it’s exactly how I shouldn’t feel. In a crisis like this I think I should be backpedaling and unsure– isn’t that how everyone is? But for all the moments of wringing my hands before summoning up my courage– I’ve felt sure this week about what is right and a… comfort with taking on the courage to do what needed doing. I wouldn’t want to go through this again, and I would do anything to take away some of the suffering here. But there are so many times in life when things are foggy and there’s something… clarifying… in coming to a crossroads where the choices come down to moral courage.

For all that I am afraid of, and there is much– one thing I am proud of, one thing I like about myself, is that I think I am a courageous person. More than once now I have faced hard choices and gone along a path that could have been easier– and I’ve always found I sleep better at night after. Even seemingly trivial choices like whether to give a toast at my sister’s wedding– I knew I needed to say what needed saying, and I was chicken for so long I couldn’t write it or guarantee it would happen for the longest time. But when I read the speech it was almost an auto-pilot thing– I think it’s that I feel free-est when my heart is open and sharing.

So. Miracles happen amidst madness. It is nice to be at the end of a lot of difficult decisions and have survived in one piece. It’s nice to actually now be thinking of my vacation. For a long time this week I didn’t think I could enjoy my vacation– I kept thinking of the many work items tabled in the name of crisis and stressing that it would be the center of my thoughts next week– and THEN all the worse to return. But something in me is shifting this past day or so. It’s not just the “I need a vacation” cliche’ of every week– it’s somehow I think I’m ready for it.

Programmatic Victory

So we have a good show. A really good show, actually. With high production values, a talented cast, and a minimum of amateur hour moments. The less-than-pleasing number of people that have seen it so far are universally thrilled and have offered their congrats. It’s a bit of a mixed blessing because most of them aren’t really sure if I have anything to do with the fact that a good show miraculously appeared– but a less-than-altruistic side of me is secretly relishing contact with a few who probably came to gloat at what they fully expected would be a failure.

It’s hard to talk about work without specifics– even if no one but friends really encounters this little blog I’m just paranoid enough to avoid that. Cuz who knows. Anyhow, I am thrilled to have a show here that I can point to and say SEE!! THIS IS WHAT WE’RE CAPABLE OF IF YOU LISTEN TO ME. I am not entirely confident that THAT will be the result but it can’t hurt.

In another personal victory (I suppose) I am tearing myself away from work tomorrow to go see BestCollegeFriend and her new little girl. It’s killing me a little to contemplate leaving while the show is up but I’ve got to let the place fly without a net and babies are only a few days old for, well, a few days. BestCollegeFriend needs me, and I need a day off. I hope to enjoy myself and not spend the whole day obsessing about work. We’ll see.

Oh! And I finally got my washer-dryer fixed– we think– so life is looking up all around.

Game Plan

So I met with my pastor on Thursday and talked with him about some of the workaholism-related issues I’ve been struggling with lately. He had an interesting perspective. There is a story that is often told, from John 5, of the man sitting on his mat in front of the “healing” lake for 38 years. He has some sort of great infirmity and it is said that when the water ripples the first person in the water will be healed. So Jesus asks this man what his trouble is and listens to his litany of reasons he has yet to find healing. “Pick up your mat and walk.” And of course, after 38 years the mat is a metaphor for his life. Pick up your life and walk. Sometimes it all comes down to that.

So I’ve been trying to formulate a game plan, and it’s been harder than I expected. Simply put, I have to figure out what my boundaries are and then I need to communicate them to the people I work with. I’m definitely moving towards a two-day weekend at work, which is HUGE. Getting my hair done every few weeks seems like a step in the right direction– if I feel like I look better than I seem to take better control of my life in general for some reason. I have a sense that I need to underschedule– or at least take things off of my schedule before I add new ones– it’s something I find difficult to “enforce” though.

I’m currently taking a class on prayer on Tuesday mornings and I think that or some similar activity needs to be a regular part of my week. I need centering– even in the short time I’ve been doing this class it’s been clear how scattered I am, it’s difficult for me to hand over my attention to a simple meditation for very long at all. So I think that’s a sign it’s something I need.

I guess there isn’t necessarily a shortage of ideas, just a shortage of confidence.  I don’t have faith in myself yet that I can carry some of these things out. But if it was something that came naturally I wouldn’t need a plan. And I’ve got to pick up that mat if I’m ever going to walk, so I’m going to do my best.