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Trying to outrun a team

Selecting a title for today's blog post wasn't easy and the fight probably deserves its own post next week. George wants to name it How to outrun a team and I suspect him - in addition to encouraging you - of also wanting to sell a line of nutritional supplements to of course help you.

Have you ever tried to outrun a team? Probably not, it sounds “naive” (trying to express the futility in a more romantic nuance, you're welcome) and yet, I feel like subconsciously we often aim at exactly that.

I had a moment of doubt of evaluating my own strengths and abilities this week. At least, that's how it feels in the moment. Looking back, I wasn't focused on my own strengths and abilities at all and instead on the gaps to the perceived strengths of selected (!) individuals. Basically, how much I lack compared to selected individuals. Oh and you lack a lot there, we both know it. You can admit it to the reader, no one will blame you! Thank you, George, not now, I am trying to make a point here. Be a nice little self-talk and stay quiet for a while.

We all compare ourselves with others, survival instincts and all. But I claim to say we do it in certain situations and we are less selective (!) about it. Well then get to your point now, the reader is already annoyed by that exclamation mark. I was getting there now, thank you. For each skill, we select a point of reference and it's commonly the most capable person we can find: “Why am I not as strong as [the strongest person in the room] and why am I not as clever as [the most clever person in the group] and could I at least be as beautiful as [the absolute stunning beauty over there, on the definitely not photoshopped cover of a magazine aiming at selling you creams and lotions] ??? :'( “

We concoct a game we can't win, a game – ironically – not even our points of refence could win. Ok, the cover beauty could be the strongest or most clever but probably not both at the same time and equally unparalleled in big data programming, scuba diving, and macramé. You can at least try! Where's your ambition? You've got nothing to lose but losing itself. Yes, George, I know your agenda. How is that line of nutritional supplements and Zoom masterclasses turning out?

I'm not against aiming and growing, I'm not against striving for something your heart burns for. But trying to achieve “Universe #1 in totally everything” written on your morning coffee mug must fail and the futility will hurt you. And... paralyse you before you have even started, because: Where to start? Where to start everything? Tough call prioritising, I reckon.

But enough, I'm walking into George's trap again, talking about “How to not achieve it” instead of asking the “Why even trying”, the “What is even wrong”? We walked into the trap of “not the best” must equal “bad”... Please keep walking, there's nothing to see or learn hear, why not go the gym, look at people fitter than you!! ...and I get the survival instinct of being the best... but let me state the obvious:

Not being the best in everything simultaneously does not make you the bottom of the bucket.

Hell, not being the best in anything doesn't automatically make you the bottom of the bucket! Do you consider an Olympic silver medallist at the bottom? (If you do, please get help.)

You are probably the best in one thing: Being yourself. And if being yourself entails incredible skills in a specific discipline your heart burns for, congratulations! And if being yourself entails still looking for that passion, being a “jack of all trades” (definitely a compliment to your versatility, don't let anyone tell you otherwise), then congratulations and good luck! You'll find it.

As long as we are alive, we are still on the road, learning, striving, not having reached the end yet. How you perceive the road ahead, if you allow it to motivate or sadden you, is up to your own storytelling.

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Next post:“How to put it into a frame” Last post: “Only as old as you feel”

Only as old as you feel

Let me ask you an – as I assume – silly sounding question. How old is your self-talk?

If you were to draw a face to the voice, imagine it speaking, how old would that face look? And do the advice you get fit that age?

I lately enjoyed a night out in town with friends, a “let's go out like in the past” “we haven't done such a thing in quite a while” night.

And it was fun. Most of the time. When George was quiet. For George, all the other people around us were the perfect age. This was mostly the case for people younger than me, which was never truly phrased that way of course. You are older than them! Yes, George, I noticed. Surprisingly, even older party folks were the “righter” (?) age than me. Because they don't try to be young. They have a certain dignity you don't have. George, I was simply ordering a drink and enjoying my time, having a conversation while enjoying the music! Music you know so well since it was written decades ago! ...

Eventually, I ignored George. The inner conversation got stuck in a loop without any progress. And at the same time: There was a nice time to enjoy! I focussed on being myself (what then maybe translates to “my own age”). So, the story was over? Not quite...

...when spending a night out in town, you can feel as young and old as you want. But this degree of freedom collapses in on it itself when you wake up in the morning. (Feel free to imagine the emoticon of your choice here. Sad, angry, HaHa, ... your choice is yours to make.)

Did George then win this one in the end? I would argue a “Yes, but...” kind of point:

• Yes, I was older than other people gathered there.
• Yes, “let's go out like in the past” set me up for it.
• The bargaining is “Get a night, pay a day”

But...

• I had fun. As a person my age. Full stop.
• It's not like there is a time machine and I refuse to use it.
• And if there were: Would I want to?

Again an – as I assume – silly sounding question! But consider instead of rejuvenation more of a time-reversal, a trade. You become younger, but your entire life becomes the life of a younger person! Have you ever been eavesdropping on conversations by kids, teens, young adults? They face problems we outgrew! Problems that might sound petty now but they weren't! And in case of time-reversal, they won't! (Please overlook the temporal dynamics of my grammar.)

How old are we? How old do we feel? And how old do we want to be? It is the consequence of our finite life that the older we get, the more we seem to want the reversal button. Or do we simply want more time? Time to enjoy the moment we have now?

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Next post: “Trying to outrun a team” Last post: “Bored on the stairs”

Bored on the stairs

If the probability isn't zero, it will eventually happen.

And it happened: I locked myself out. Quickly getting some laundry, keys in the apartment... just not me. The moment the door closed, the moment I realised, the moment George screamed “Hold my beer”. Anger and frustration bubbled up and the worst part? I had nowhere to hide. And by “nowhere to hide” I include topics to distract me.

Because this is what we do, isn't it? Be honest! We distract ourselves, sometimes we label it as “being busy”, “using the time” or the all-time favourite “multitasking”. All in an attempt to escape our thoughts – and as such – George.

Not so lucky this time. No keys, no phone, no book. Not even a restaurant flyer to read. Only me and George, a closed door, white walls, and some stairs to sit on. to wait on. For how long only the future will tell.

As I said, anger and frustration bubbled up. The entire day was ruined, you know what: the entire YEAR was ruined!! Trust me! And for a moment I trusted what George said. I fell into his trap. The situation was dire, my fault and unfair! Don't forget unfair! and apparently unfair. A good reason to complain a bit when I'm done complaining.

My second instinct was trying to kick in: Get going, move a bit, maybe a walk around the block? Well, I had neither jacket not sweater... every attempt on a walk would end up with two (!) locked doors blocking my way.

It might surprise you but that was the moment I started laughing:

If an action can make it worse, it's not the worst.

This tiny little thought was enough to send George back to his beer. I was still angry and frustrated but he couldn't leech of it anymore. I relaxed and accepted that some things are out of my control. And that I will be rescued at some point. After all: If the probability isn't zero, it will eventually happen.

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Next post: “Only as old as you feel” Last post: “Being insignificant and crucial at the same time”

Being insignificant and crucial at the same time

I can tell you one thing about my self-talk named George: George is the master of bridging paradoxes. Tirelessly he informs reminds lectures me of obvious flaws of mine and like icing on a cake, he adds that I'm also the total opposite and that's of course another flaw on top.

In short, George's shades of grey resemble a chess board. And it is entirely my fault that the board – despite intended to look this way – is not colourful enough and too bright.

We were heading to an event (“we” being George and myself) where I (or we?) had the opportunity to go up on stage with other artists to entertain the audience together. Dare to guess? George wasn't so sure about it.

"When I realised that I am the least experienced person on that stage, I started to tremble. Embarrassing as it might end, I felt an obligation: the obligation to not drag others into the abyss of embarrassment."

Sounds familiar? Of course it does, we all know it. The truth is that “When I realised” stands for “George told me”. Equally “I felt an obligation” is just a façade for “George demanded”.

Still, maybe you don't see a problem here. Maybe you side with George, agree with the stakes, and tell me something about “encouragement to try my best”. Yet where should encouragement come from, I ask. Where should be grounding upon, be routed in?

Yes, if you are the least experienced person in a group, then you are the least experienced person in a group. Tautologies after all are true. And yet the fact alone doesn't lead to an inescapable downfall.

This might depend on two things: whether I fall; and whether I am crucial enough. And here lies the black spot in George's argument: How can I be equally insignificant and crucial? Not counting and yet tipping the scale?

We play a part – scripted or not – and we are never insignificant. Being inexperienced is no flaw. It is a phase we pass on our journey to experience. The ones we admire simply passed by earlier, leaving an encouraging mark on the old oak tree on the city square saying “I was here”.

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Next post: “Bored on the stairs” Last post: “Just a flesh wound”

Just a flesh wound

Have you heard the saying “Higher education is something that comes from within, just appears out of subspace, and enlightens your life”? No? Me neither. But regardless I have to inform you that my self-talk named George is an unparalleled health professional.

No matter the symptom, from skull-splitting headache to a tingle in a cold breeze, he knows exactly that you're sick. (You read correctly: not if you're sick but that you are.)

Dr George knows the alarm sign for danger and I start to believe it's “being alive”. That alone is a steep slope into medical disaster. He is at the same time (!) deeply worried about your uncertain medical future and absolutely certain about your worrisome medical future. You are doomed if you don't act immediately while there's simply nothing you can possibly do. How educated.

And most importantly: Don't try to look up your symptoms online! Dr. George wants to inform you: the search results are wrong. The search results are wrong and too positive. It's way worse than that.

Also, Dr. George has an adamant opinion about hypochondria: it is something you make up. As in “There is no such thing as hypochondria. You truly are sick, believe me.”

Dr. George is always right and if it ever turns our he was wrong, then of course he was right and right to have told you what he had told you. It turned out well after all, didn't it? Well thank you, Dr. George.

How bad is it then? Is it just a flesh wound or even a scratch? Will my life end if I go on living it? And since I am absolutely, totally, irredeemable powerless anyway, what about this prescription of a daily dose of worries? Are you only giving me this to stay in business?

George, you aren't simply prescribing worries, you are a worry-dealer. And a very slick and addictive one at that. Pondering the futility of all my efforts, the powerlessness you attest... I decide to stop the daily dose of worries. It's not without a rather poetic beauty: if you truly have no influence at all, you can do whatever you want.

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Next post: “Being insignificant and crucial at the same time” Last post: “Hold my stakes”

Hold my stakes

This week, George was again very lively and active. I could end the narrative with A project of mine ended and calling it a “rough landing” would be quite the understatement but then I play directly in George's hands. You see, it was indeed a “rough landing” but mainly for myself and of course George. And since this is the hub of the wheel, let's have a look on both sides.

So for George and myself:

• I didn't start on time
• I basically didn't start at all
• And without written proof I probably haven't even finished

• I didn't plan enough
• I didn't plan at all
• Even if, my plans aren't good anyway

Each of those two and similar trains of thoughts ultimately spirals down the pit. And the vicious clever communicator that he is, George uses the word “even” at the end of the spiral. The word “even” adds futility to injury. “You didn't do X but even if you had, the outcome wouldn't have been better!”

Why calling this manoeuvre vicious clever? Adding futility to injury removes insult. Who's to blame if the race was a lost cause from the beginning? “Better listen to me next time!” Well no, George, you gaslighting little imp!

Let's instead listen to the stakeholders and their views

• “The project finished as 'success”
• (Meaning the project finished)
• (And was considered a success)!

• “The audience is grateful for my efforts”
• (As above, take a short breath at grateful)
• (And at efforts)

George hates taking those short breaths at individual positive words (he's a restless and relentless one) and instead urges me to point out to you all that the audience couldn't grasp the entirety of the project, unable to even decide between success and failure, and is therefore incapable of judgement and praise.

And here I take another short breath looking into George's restless and relentlessly expecting face. So he gets a reply. “Now that is your case? That the stakeholders I wanted to make happy can't even (Yes, I'm trying to use the very same word against him) decide how difficult it is to make them happy and therefore when they end up being happy they aren't qualified to acknowledge their happiness and the fact. that. they. are. happy ???”

< Silence >

George, get lost! Yes, I didn't start on time. Yes, I didn't plan as much and as effectively as I could. And yet I made it to the finish line. Sweaty, barely breathing, and incredibly hungry. My jeans are stained, my shirt is torn and I'm in desperate need of a shave. But I made it to the finish line.

That's not a failure, it's a starting point for the next run. And I better work on my smile for a less sweaty photo finish.

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Next post: “Just a flesh wound” Last post: “Time is relative – so is importance”

Time is relative – so is importance

We are the victims of our self-talk. But are we its sole target?

Call it a silly if you want but it is the question I encountered this week. Normally all dismissive, degrading, good-for-nothing-or-at-least-not-good-enough comments try to devalue myself. Here's the thing: not this time. Instead, I was the victim of EVERYBODY ELSE'S good-for-nothing-ness.

Working on a project, I've been relying on other people’s support/input/feedback, at the very least on their acknowledgement. And that's been the pressure point my self-talk tries to sting.

Phrasing it this way - granting my self-talk a more active role and mischievous behaviour - I get the sudden urge to name my self-talk. We've come this way now. Spontaneous gut feeling for no apparent reason: George. So welcome (or rather not?) my self-talk named George.

Back to George aiming at my pressure points. Here I was, waiting for my project partners, and George was screaming “Nobody cares about it. Am I the only one who takes this seriously and as important as it is?” George, as you may have noticed, is a pro. A blunt accusation, followed by a mere question to tone it down again. Congratulations, my self-talk qualifies as Facebook troll. They grow up so fast.

Of course, this is just a curve ball. Accusing others of not taking it seriously in reality means taking me seriously. And we all know the following chain of why it is my fault they don't and I deserve nothing less and so on... Point for George.

Let's break the chain then, shall we? Time is relative – so is importance. Yes, at this very moment I thought about the project. And I missed and lacked (still at this very moment) feedback from other people. Who are at other places. Doing other things.

Other things as I did 10 minutes ago! I maybe had a snack. Or closed my eyes for a moment. Or scratched my feet that had fallen asleep when buying a few eggs. You might see where I am going: The heart of my complaint – and George's ammunition – was that the exact moment of spacetime I considered it important, I couldn't prove that anyone else did. How terrible. For that one instant having been the only (and last) crossroad in history to change the outcome of the project. The only project. Of everyone out there.

If we unravel George's pleadings and accept the fact that importance is relative, that unproved doesn't equal non-existent, that it isn't even important to telepathically worry at the same time to worry at all... then the attack will miss. George can scream and rant all he wants. And I am simply not going to read this troll post of his. Maybe I'm simply too busy eating cake.

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Next post: “Hold my stakes” Last post: “Mirror, mirror on the floor”

Mirror, mirror on the floor

Do you soliloquize? Most people do, and the rest might just be too distracted to notice.

Do you converse? It would be after all a bit impolite to babble about and then not react to yourself, would it? Your most trusted advisor (cough cough self-talk cough cough) at your disposal!

Do you... argue? And here we are: The bottom of the pit. Smile into a mirror and the mirror smiles back. Smile a fake smile into a mirror and it's up to you and your skill in self-deception to believe it or not. But what about open opposition?

I admit, I am prone to these arguments. Debates of a kind, popping up in my head. And no, I don't talk about debating pros and cons with myself. I talk about debating and reasoning against myself. The transition is not – as one might expect – slow and smooth. There is a clear cut when one half of the conversation becomes silent, imaginative. Imagine me, walking true a forest or sitting on a bench, and I speak words with my mouth while the other part of the conversation is only in my mind.

“Talking to yourself” usually means to speak out loud every word of the play script. But here: I speak “Character 1” while “Character 2” is only heard in my head. This is, when it becomes a debate, when we disagree, when Me becomes a We: two characters with different opinions.

These – for the most part – polite debates take their time. It can go back and forth, both sides well aware in advance what the other one is thinking. Yet there is no simple solution, the two characters not being named shoulder angle and shoulder devil. Is the inner voice my conscience? The rational, clever, human part? Or is it representing my inner fears and thought patterns that need to be overcome?

This week, the inner voice was the impatient one, urging for action. Did I call it to me? Or did it bang the confinement it was in, raising attention and a chance to be heard?

Should I aim at a mutual agreement? Would that even be possible?

Talk to yourself like you would talk to a good friend. I guess that I then also need to listen to myself like I would listen to a good friend.

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Next post: “Time is relative – so is importance” Last post: “Who What When – To From Then”

Who What When – To From Then

As pointed out in my About me post, this project was inspired by the warning “Don't talk to yourself in a way you wouldn't talk to a close friend.”.

It appeared to be obvious where this was pointing: internal Self-talk. And by implication: internal To-Self-Talk. As the warning above states, be wary about the way you talk to yourself. We understood that and analysed it so far. Be a valuable close friend to yourself and treat yourself accordingly. That's still what it this about, isn't it?

The subtle but important difference between obviously and apparently: the direction we started to walk was correct, yet we haven't trodden the path to its end which goes loop after loop after loop in spirals. Talking to yourself means being talked to by yourself and hearing from yourself. (Independent if you listen to yourself or not.)

You are on both ends of the conversation. A monologue.

You probably often disagree. A dialogue.

“Who Am I?: And If So, How Many?” [a book by Richard David Precht, let me state it immediately: I haven't read it]

I feel a lot of snarky questions bubbling up, all eventually leading to cynicism

• Can you lie to yourself?
• Can you believe it?
• Who's to blame in a tango?

Unearthing and understanding this tug of war (if it even is one) requires a closer look at permission and justification, decision and calculation, me and myself.

For now, the next time I talk to myself I am going to focus on listening. To what isn't said. The blanks between the lines. To the truth I wouldn't even tell my closest friend.

Shame on me if I fool me once Shame on me if I fool me twice.

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Next post: “Mirror, mirror on the floor” Last post: “Only a Sith deals in absolutes”

Only a Sith deals in absolutes

By the look of it, my last week included a lot of Sith in my mind. Don't jump to wrong conclusions now! I had plenty of “Good” moments, there was neither bloodshed nor an attempt to take over a galactic senate. But there were absolutes, dominating my mind.

Simply calling myself 'busy' would be such a cliché; a façade blocking all questions as to which emotions blessed or cursed the busy bee. Being 'busy' doesn't imply a certain emotion: After all, one can be gleefully busy or painstakingly busy on the verge of collapse. Some can be both simultaneously without even noticing. Such multitasker.

Then again, a Sith being a cliché, being a façade blocking questions... if not busy – not 'just busy' – how else to describe myself then? I was mentally occupied, absorbed in activities, and not taking the time to reflect. The result was a very narrow view. Two narrow views, actually.

Emotions have a spectrum. So do beliefs. So do the intensities of both. You can see an entire scale. Unless when your view is narrowed. When things get binary. And absolute.

That's no immediate reason to complain about it. My days were 'good' or 'bad', some as alternating as a chess board, balanced without mixture. But my reactions and decision grounded on and grew out of two narrow views. Limiting my interactions with the world. You simply can't roll a four by flipping a coin, can you?

And hindsight now is a handful of work. The narrow view wasn't limited to my situational feeling during the week. My memory of it is equally affected. “How was your week?” is a question I can only answer using my two narrow views unless I have found, taken, and used some time for reflection. For mixing a drink not ordered. Otherwise the result won't ever come close to what it could have been. Combining two drinks from last night in a glass doesn't magically make a little umbrella appear, does it?

Next time, I'll better take the time. I'll better reflect on the situation, I'll beter use the open view. I don't want to limit myself to bringing home the black and the white, combining a grey memory. Next time, I pack into my bag a week in Technicolor.

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Next post: “Who What When – To From Then” Last post: “I'm sad to be sad – recursive emotions”