Clouds linger on a day predicted to be mostly sunny, both by the weatherman and I. Recent days seemed good. I got my first full paycheck, always guaranteed to make one more amenable to a new job. It even seemed that I made progress in learning the myriad intricacies of an out-dated legacy computer system and the parameters of my job. Then dawned today.
Half of my work from yesterday got e-mailed back to me from an accounting center at the home office, humiliatingly copied to my boss. In my fluster to fix the problems, I sent corrections that turned out to be incorrect. Finally, my boss came to me and asked that I take my time to fix all of the errors then present them to her before sending them out of the office. It is a new process that I am learning, so the errors might otherwise be forgiven, but several of them were simple typos – sloppy work. I have a good boss and she has never yelled, spoken with clenched teeth, etc. But she has made it clear in the past that the cardinal sin of this work is inaccuracy. Time is not relevant so long as your end product is 100% correct.
This is about a 175 degree shift (not quite 180) from my prior profession. As an attorney, time was always of paramount importance. Minor errors could be excused and forgiven when the larger picture was correct. The important thing came down to how much time it required you to complete a task. As a result, I still get flustered when a project is taking “too much time” and have a tendency to panic. Now I must school myself to calm down and work the problem.
But I didn’t do that.
And now I feel myself on the ragged edge of a stall. “How could I make these stupid mistakes?” I berate myself. I know that I must avoid allowing myself to become trapped in a depression that may take days or weeks from which to claw myself free. But isn’t it normal to be upset, and even a little depressed, when you feel like you have screwed up royally on your job?
Damn! Damn! Damn! Self-awareness and self-examination are not all they are cracked up to be. Churchill described Russia as “riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma”. Trying to pin down your own true emotions and motivations are ten times worse.
The true kicker is that the several days before may have been a mild mania. I felt good – really good – but it did not seem inordinately so. Sure, I did have trouble getting to sleep on time, but that was not such a big deal I reasoned. Now I wonder if I got a bit manic over the few days before, resulting in my flurry of hurried and incorrect work.
Should I have recognized the difficulty sleeping as a sign and been more cautious. Can’t I make a few mistakes without it being a manic episode? Maybe. Surely not every screwed up day in my life has been due to mania. But again, what if it was? Even worse, can’t I have a few good days in a row without it being mania? DAMN! DAMN! And DOUBLE DAMN!
I did have an appointment to see my pill pusher tomorrow, but I have to move it a week because I was subpoenaed to appear at a hearing for the guy who backed out into my van about three months ago. One of the things we are to check is whether my Depakote blood levels are right. Over time the body can adjust to the Depakote, and it may be necessary to up the dosage – especially since I started at a low dosage and am not the smallest of men. So I wonder, is the Depakote not having the full effect right now? I hope that is it. I hope that if I am beginning the see-sawing again that a minor adjustments to my medication can help. Of course, all if this may just be my own boneheaded mistakes.
Meanwhile, I have got to get to sleep on time, or make myself go to bed a little early. I have got to expel fear, hopelessness and self-doubt from my mind. Without fail, I must implement those mental and physical procedures designed to keep me on an even keel.
The weatherman is calling for sunny skies tomorrow. Me, I think I will go with mostly cloudy, and try to relish the odd sunbeam that manages to break through.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Obligatory Cell Phone Screed
Recently while shopping at a not-to-be-named mega store, I noticed an unusual trend. Not only were about half of the customers wandering the aisles with cell phones glued to their face, but all of the personnel stocking the shelves that I saw were on THEIR cell phones, and even a “customer service” associate or two as well! I could rant on the fact that these people, ostensibly there to help the customers, were wrapped up in their own little worlds on the clock, but to me that is not the question. I just wonder, is there really THAT much more to say now than there was before cell phones?
I can still remember it well, when “dialing” meant sticking your finger in a hole on a little wheel (i.e. a “dial”) and turning it to the desired number, then watching and waiting as the dial returned steadily to its original position before entering the next number. The farthest you could range from the sturdily mounted base unit of the phone was as far as you could stretch the cord on the handset. Sometimes a call might be made to shoot the breeze, but generally speaking the telephone served a utilitarian purpose. By and large, speaking with your friends took place in person and sometimes one had to wait to tell another person something!
It is no secret that the explosion of cell phones causes an exponential increase in the time a person is available to make or receive calls, and has therefore led to a similar increase in the amount of time spent on the phone by the average American. But is there an imperative that availability must immediately correspond with action? Is there really that much more to talk about? As I walk among the masses of phone wielding masses catching hints and pieces of the conversations the only answer that I can arrive at is, “No”.
Invariably it seems, when someone begins a conversation with their distant friend, the first question is “Where are you at?” soon to be followed by a description of where the caller is at – vital information, this. Finally one party or the other inquires of the activity of the other, to which the response generally is “Nothing much”. Afterward, general trivialities are exchanged, usually involving one party loudly exclaiming “I know! I know what you mean!” followed by laughter reminiscent of a hen producing the largest egg of its career. Other callers argue with a spouse or significant other as they go about their activities, denying themselves and the other party of a chance to calm themselves before speaking further. Of course, even though the argument proceeds in angry whispers, invariably the reason for the argument becomes apparent to those around the speaker.
The callers go forth, usually oblivious of those around them, splattering the banalities of their trivial existence in the aisles of the supermarket like so much mayonnaise oozing from a dropped glass jar. Only, unlike the mayo, one never hears the announcement, “Clean up on aisle three, man arguing merits of his fantasy football picks.”
My solution is quite simple, really. I do the unthinkable – I pay attention. If someone feels the need to stand near me and blather on about the latest sale at Kohls, the exploits of their in-laws, or what they will be cooking for dinner, I actively listen. When the person on the phone glances my way I make eye contact, with a smile of course. I make it quite clear that I am politely listening to every word they say (and perhaps what the other person is saying as well, depending upon how loud they have their receiver set). It seems that nothing is more disarming to these people than the fact that someone standing nearby might have the *nerve* to listen in on their conversation. At this point the person on the phone will typically move away from me as quickly as possible.
This suits me fine.
I can still remember it well, when “dialing” meant sticking your finger in a hole on a little wheel (i.e. a “dial”) and turning it to the desired number, then watching and waiting as the dial returned steadily to its original position before entering the next number. The farthest you could range from the sturdily mounted base unit of the phone was as far as you could stretch the cord on the handset. Sometimes a call might be made to shoot the breeze, but generally speaking the telephone served a utilitarian purpose. By and large, speaking with your friends took place in person and sometimes one had to wait to tell another person something!
It is no secret that the explosion of cell phones causes an exponential increase in the time a person is available to make or receive calls, and has therefore led to a similar increase in the amount of time spent on the phone by the average American. But is there an imperative that availability must immediately correspond with action? Is there really that much more to talk about? As I walk among the masses of phone wielding masses catching hints and pieces of the conversations the only answer that I can arrive at is, “No”.
Invariably it seems, when someone begins a conversation with their distant friend, the first question is “Where are you at?” soon to be followed by a description of where the caller is at – vital information, this. Finally one party or the other inquires of the activity of the other, to which the response generally is “Nothing much”. Afterward, general trivialities are exchanged, usually involving one party loudly exclaiming “I know! I know what you mean!” followed by laughter reminiscent of a hen producing the largest egg of its career. Other callers argue with a spouse or significant other as they go about their activities, denying themselves and the other party of a chance to calm themselves before speaking further. Of course, even though the argument proceeds in angry whispers, invariably the reason for the argument becomes apparent to those around the speaker.
The callers go forth, usually oblivious of those around them, splattering the banalities of their trivial existence in the aisles of the supermarket like so much mayonnaise oozing from a dropped glass jar. Only, unlike the mayo, one never hears the announcement, “Clean up on aisle three, man arguing merits of his fantasy football picks.”
My solution is quite simple, really. I do the unthinkable – I pay attention. If someone feels the need to stand near me and blather on about the latest sale at Kohls, the exploits of their in-laws, or what they will be cooking for dinner, I actively listen. When the person on the phone glances my way I make eye contact, with a smile of course. I make it quite clear that I am politely listening to every word they say (and perhaps what the other person is saying as well, depending upon how loud they have their receiver set). It seems that nothing is more disarming to these people than the fact that someone standing nearby might have the *nerve* to listen in on their conversation. At this point the person on the phone will typically move away from me as quickly as possible.
This suits me fine.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
The Devil I Knew
Yes, I hated my profession by the end. Actually, I hated my profession quite some time before the end. But, there was one advantage to practicing law – when I could force myself to do it I was a damn good lawyer. I know it sounds conceited, even arrogant, to say it in that manner. But it is the truth. Other attorneys, some quite senior to me, would often pop into my office and bounce ideas off of me. Usually, I could add to what they had already come up with. Where other attorneys came to a stumbling block, I could often point out a theory or case that would allow them to at least have a fig leaf of an argument if not a winning case. This was, perhaps, the only aspect of practicing law that I did not completely hate. Not that it did myself or my clients much good.
I could help others with legal theory, but especially at the end, I could not bring myself to do so much as make a phone call, or even answer a phone call. The other attorneys in the building would drop by and I would offer sound advice on their cases, then immediately go back to navel gazing. But, in my heart, I knew that I could do it. My competence was in no way in doubt.
Then all of that changed. Regardless of the “prestige” of being a lawyer, I recognized the need move on from the law. Now that change has arrived, I find myself again at the foot of a steep learning curve in my new profession. Perhaps it is a bit of an exaggeration to say “the foot”, but I do have much to learn. After having achieved a high level of competence in my prior profession, this can be difficult to take.
At each misstep or error, which happens more often than I’d like when dealing with math, the critical voice inside my head goes into overtime. Perhaps you have heard this voice as well, the one that tells you, “You are a fool” “You will be fired” “They’ve seen through you now”, etc. ad nauseum. No, again not an actual voice, thank God, but feelings of doubt, low self-worth, and pure fear. The fear is the worst part. It is the part of my mind that unleashes the primal monkey in my brain and makes me want to climb chittering up the nearest tree and hurl feces at passersby.
All of this is coupled with the damnable self-examination to which I must constantly subject myself. “Am I being manic, or is this a normal reaction to a stressful situation?” “Is it normal to feel this frustrated at the end of a difficult day at work, or am I sliding into a depression?”
Someone asked me the other day if I missed practicing law. I answered honestly that I did not miss it one teeny tiny bit. I still believe that to be true. I am still relieved not to deal with the problems and emotions of others (dealing with my own are enough, thankyouverymuch). But what I do miss is the feeling of absolute competence. The feeling of mastery of a profession. The positive part of my mind tells me that I will learn this new profession in time as well – perhaps becoming as fluent in this as in others before. But at present this is cold comfort. No matter how it galled, how much it burned, I miss dancing with the Devil I knew.
I could help others with legal theory, but especially at the end, I could not bring myself to do so much as make a phone call, or even answer a phone call. The other attorneys in the building would drop by and I would offer sound advice on their cases, then immediately go back to navel gazing. But, in my heart, I knew that I could do it. My competence was in no way in doubt.
Then all of that changed. Regardless of the “prestige” of being a lawyer, I recognized the need move on from the law. Now that change has arrived, I find myself again at the foot of a steep learning curve in my new profession. Perhaps it is a bit of an exaggeration to say “the foot”, but I do have much to learn. After having achieved a high level of competence in my prior profession, this can be difficult to take.
At each misstep or error, which happens more often than I’d like when dealing with math, the critical voice inside my head goes into overtime. Perhaps you have heard this voice as well, the one that tells you, “You are a fool” “You will be fired” “They’ve seen through you now”, etc. ad nauseum. No, again not an actual voice, thank God, but feelings of doubt, low self-worth, and pure fear. The fear is the worst part. It is the part of my mind that unleashes the primal monkey in my brain and makes me want to climb chittering up the nearest tree and hurl feces at passersby.
All of this is coupled with the damnable self-examination to which I must constantly subject myself. “Am I being manic, or is this a normal reaction to a stressful situation?” “Is it normal to feel this frustrated at the end of a difficult day at work, or am I sliding into a depression?”
Someone asked me the other day if I missed practicing law. I answered honestly that I did not miss it one teeny tiny bit. I still believe that to be true. I am still relieved not to deal with the problems and emotions of others (dealing with my own are enough, thankyouverymuch). But what I do miss is the feeling of absolute competence. The feeling of mastery of a profession. The positive part of my mind tells me that I will learn this new profession in time as well – perhaps becoming as fluent in this as in others before. But at present this is cold comfort. No matter how it galled, how much it burned, I miss dancing with the Devil I knew.
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