No effort is wasted

Fibro can throw you for a loop and I’m still working my way through one. It’s been a time of frustration and anger–mostly at myself. It’s an emotional rathole I’m prone to fall down where I condemn myself with things my worst critics wouldn’t know enough to consider.

This morning, the shower rod came down. We have those hook hangers that look like anchors. The plastic curtain goes on one side and the decorative part goes on the other.

For the life of me, I couldn’t get the damn thing back up. The more I tried, the worse it seemed to get. In fact, it seemed like I’d be trying to hang the damn thing for the rest of my life.

In the past, the frustration would’ve gotten the better of me. Anger would’ve ensued, followed by shouting and cursing, and a potential curtain rod order from Amazon.

I wasn’t perfect this morning, but I was well within the margin for error. There was grumbling but no shouting or cursing. No replacement rod, either.

I’m not proud of my previous overreactions. But I’m okay with this morning. It comes after a lot of effort to change over a lot of years. And a lot of failures along the way.

It comes after a lot of times I thought change is impossible. That I would always be that angry guy who lashes out. That I shouldn’t bother. That the effort is wasted.

If you’re trying to change, no effort is wasted. If you keep at it, you will get there–or at least part of the way there.

There’s no failure in not being there yet. The failure is in giving up on the way.

Your efforts are not wasted.

The future is unwritten. Why assume how it’ll work out?

For me, the pathway to negative thinking is so well-worn, it might be a canyon. It’s formed over decades, a groove worn deeper with each trip to all-knowing cynicism.

And now it’s Monday, after a bumpy end to last week. I’m not feeling the best and at least two potential firestorms await when the work day starts. And that’s before something new has the chance to go wrong.

Or not.

My mind might perceive these things to be immutable facts, but they aren’t. The only thing I know for sure about today is what’s already happened–and even that’s perception, more than fact. Beyond that, I know nothing about the rest of today.

I know even less about tomorrow and each subsequent day.

All of those dark, worst-case scenarios that end with doom, darkness, and personal (if not global) armageddon have no basis is reality. They get less likely as the distance between now and then, whenever that is, increases.

Why burden myself before the fact? Why assume I already know what will happen? Why not just be ready for whatever it is and believe in my ability to make the best possible outcome? After all, I’m pretty good at that last part.

It’s hard to redirect decades of harmful thinking. But this week’s here. I’ve got bills to pay and I need to go through it. If I do the work to improve my mindset, I’ll have a better chance to make it a better week for myself and for others.

Getting through the dark valley

I’ve been through deeper and darker valleys, places so dark that even the possibility of sunlight seems more like a cruel taunt than an inevitability. The sun eventually came out again.

But living with Fibro (or any chronic condition, weather physical or just as part of life) means the valleys will come. And the chronic nature of the struggle means you’ll probably already be tired when you arrive at one.

I haven’t been my best self this week. I haven’t reverted to full-on asshole–at least I hope not. But I haven’t been the person I want to be. I’ve been tired and pained and stressed at it all. The things I would normally take on with a bit of grumbling have turned much bigger and heavier.

And that’s skewed my vision of reality. Not trusting your reactions makes it all harder.

It’s not fair to the people around me. I recognize that and I’m trying to do better. But sometimes your best doesn’t come close to hitting the mark. In short, I’m a freaking dumpster fire right now.

I’m lookin’ at the man in the mirror…

It happens periodically to all of us, Fibro or not. The key is to try to make do with the minimal amount of angst until you come to the other side of the valley.

So up front, I am sorry for my anger and withdrawal. It’s not the optimal way to manage things. I need to do better and I will, but my failures aren’t for the lack of effort.

They’re just part of what happens. And the reason I tend to withdraw when things are difficult.

None of this is okay. And honestly, when I’m in these circumstances, the best I can try to do is no harm. Eventually the valley runs out.

You just have to have faith in that.

The other cost of fibromyalgia

It’s not just the pain, fatigue, and brain fog that comes with the Fibro. There’s a bigger, emotional fog that goes along with the brain fog, stemming from the idea that you can’t do all the things. A constant gulf exists between what’s expected of you from yourself and others and what you can do.

Some of the expectations are self-serving, from people who either don’t care about your condition or who forget about caring when it costs them something. Some are from people who do care and who have valid needs. And some will be your own expectations or those you’ve allowed to be programmed into you through life.

If you add it up, there are days when the tank’s empty and people still want or need more. When that happens, pressure starts to mount that eventually has to go somewhere. And since the people who don’t care don’t care, it’s more likely to spew over the people closest to you–the ones with valid needs. Especially when those needs come after a litany of demands from people who don’t care.

The emotional toll from that kind of release is unfair, because it spews your anger on the people who deserve it least.

If I’m honest, I haven’t figured out how to deal with that. I’m currently taking a no more excuses, figure out a way to accommodate everyone approach which that’ll work for a while–until it doesn’t anymore.

The fact is, there’s no elegant solution here. There’s no secret sauce that can put you at ease with your limitations and help you do better spending your resources perfectly.

It’s a matter of keeping at it every day, of accepting that emotional dips will come and weathering them until the sun comes out again.

Everything ends. The crashes. The flares. Even the emotional nosedives. It’s just a matter of hanging on until the weather changes. Sometimes, that’s a victory.

Sometimes the best thing to do is nothing

Yesterday was an s-show. I had a bad Fibro day as the world seemed to beat a path to my doorway with a litany of issues that I needed to fix for them. Feelings occurred–most of them dark. My emotional mind looks like a trailer park after a tornado right now.

Emotionally, I’m in a weak spot. I’m angry at the situation. But mostly, I’m angry at myself for succumbing to anger, frustration, and volume.

So the best thing for me to say or do today is nothing. The best thing for me to get is distance. I’m still too close to everything to trust my judgement.

I’m not alone having days from hell. You have them, too. Days where you feel like you’re at the bottom of all the hills as tidal waves roll down.

Some things have to be dealt with today. Most don’t. It’s not procrastination to put them off until a time when you’re better suited to handle them.

So to the best of my ability, I’ll let things play out, rather than acting in haste. First, I’ll do no harm.

Sometimes that’s a win.

Slow down, you move too fast

Part of the training for being a lifeguard deals with how to handle someone who’s panicking when you rescue them. They’re so frantic that when you approach them to help, they’ll grab onto you and start climbing your body just to get out of the water, no matter what the cost. Sometimes the best thing you can do is wait for them to get a little tired–panic is exhausting–so you can help them without danger to both of you.

In my world, it’s usually a couple people (it tends to come in groups) who IM me looking for an immediate solution to a problem that’s gotten under their skin.They’re frantic and need someone to fix their problem. Immediately is an unacceptable turnaround time. They’re uncomfortable and they just want out.

I’m not currently good at managing frantic.

This morning’s Daily Stoic Journal talks about how calm is contagious, part of Navy SEAL training. If a leader loses his mind, it’ll panic the people he’s leading. That leads to unnecessary chaos at a time when people could die.

The stakes are typically lower for you and me, so there’s not as much pressure. But calm is still contagious. The SEALs also say that slow is smooth and smooth is fast. In other words, slow things down. Be deliberate. Work the plan.

Most of us are competent at what we do. We’ve managed through crises before. When the world went to hell and everyone looked to us for an immediate answer, we survived that. We might’ve even triumphed.

We have the tools to manage through whatever almost anything that happens.

So why do we get rattled? Why does someone’s frantic demand unnerve us?

When you’re trying to debug a coding error, the best thing to do is walk away for a while. Get some coffee. Step outside. When you slow down and step away to settle your mind, the answer often presents itself.

That works with frantic people, too. They want nothing more than to be out of the water. But if you let them climb your body to get there, you’ll both drown.

I need to learn to step away. When that frantic IM comes in, I’m entitled to say that I’m in the middle of something and need a minute. The world has never ended because someone didn’t answer an IM as soon as they got it. Taking a minute to clear my mind before responding will keep my head clear and help me to bring my best effort to solving the problem.

Slow is smooth and smooth is fast. Calm is contagious.

Slow down, you move to fast. Ba da da da da da da, feelin’ groovy.

How Fibro taught me to deal with adversity

When I got up this morning, I glanced at my work emails on the phone. At first glance, it appears someone’s stirring the pot, creating friction simply because they can. It’s a part of human interaction. I’ve probably done it myself a time or two. But it makes for unnecessary annoyance. Work is hard enough without extra garbage to wade through.

It ground on me as I went through my morning routine.

At one point in that routine, I felt localized pain in my hand, the same as I do almost every day. It’s intense pain, probably a nine on the pain scale, but in an area about the size of a silver dollar. That’s how Fibro often manifests itself with me (along with the occasional brain fog and wall of exhaustion that periodically descends).

As Fibro conditions go, I’m fortunate. I can mostly live my life, but some days the pain and fatigue is too much and I have to stop.

I’m no stranger to adversity because a lot of days, I live there. I work through difficulty and get the best possible outcome in spite of the obstacles. Anyone with a chronic condition has those skills; they’re required just to get through the day.

So my initial reaction to the email is silly. Whatever annoyance comes from the situation (and it’s possible none will), I’ve been through worse just to get to the end of a difficult Fibro day. I know how to navigate difficult waters. I’m good at it.

If I could choose to return to my pre-Fibro self, I’d do it in a heartbeat. But as long as I have to live like this, it’s important for me to recognize when my condition actually has advantages. Knowing how to navigate difficult situations is one of them.

Noticing the subtle blessings

This morning’s Daily Stoic Journal entry said I should take a walk–that stepping away from things and going outside is great to clear your mind and help you manage whatever may come. Okay, I figured, whatever. I already exercise in the morning, write this, do a devotional, and write in a couple journals. Talking a long walk, unless it’s for exercise, doesn’t fit.

And then I had to take something to the mailbox.

June is Florida is usually like Satan’s armpit outside. In the afternoons, it’s typically Satan’s wet armpit, as the storms we need roll in. At night, it’s Satan’s dark armpit. In the morning, it’s a decent taste of the afternoon heat and humidity to come.

Except this morning was pleasant. Very pleasant.

Normally, I might be a little irritated at having to go to the mailbox. Or I’d be thinking about the 4,815,162,342 things I think I need to get done today. I’d probably be a little stressed. Maybe irritated.

This morning, I had the presence of mind to notice and appreciate how comfortable it is. It was almost like a special little gift, just for me.

How many special little gifts are there that we don’t notice? How often does a sour mood or a stark realization of the grim tasks of the day prevent us from noticing something wonderful that can lift our spirits?

I’ve missed an abundance of lovely surprises because I was too busy or cynical to recognize them. And I’ll probably continue that practice more often than I want because that’s how I’m wired. But if I catch even one out of ten surprises, that’s a starting point. And it’s a practice I can build on.

You, too. Who knows what wonderful thing you’ll notice?

The importance of anticipating joy

My mind has an active imagination. Outside working through plot points in my fiction writing and finding creative ways to solve problems at work, that’s not the best thing.

Yesterday was a flight day from LA to Tampa. It was a direct flight, which meant no layovers or increased chances for delays. I had a seat in economy plus, which meant extra leg room. All I needed to do all day yesterday was get to the airport, wait around until it was time to leave, sit in a chair on a plane, then get my luggage and go home.

And that’s what happened. We were a little late taking off, but arrived functionally on-time. The luggage took a while to get to the baggage claim area.

Those are the only bad things that happened. Overall, it was a wonderful trip.

And yet, my mind actively looked for things to be irritated about. Is it possible, just once, to leave on time? I bet that very, very large person will sit next to me, no small person in my own right. (They didn’t.) How can it possibly take so long to put luggage on a cart and load it on a conveyor? (Sometimes it does; get over yourself.)

It’s a silly mindset, but one I’ve nurtured over decades. Things will probably be as bad as you think, unless they’re worse. We’re powerless against the forces of whatever to change things. And at the end, I’ll have been right about all of it.

And yet, the most fundamental change is the simplest–the change in mindset. It’s simple, but it’s not always easy.

Today’s the first day back after a week out of the office. Same thing–dread about what might be. I’d be better served saving my energy for anything difficult that actually comes up and increasing my energy by actively cultivating joy.

Actively pursuing a mindset that anticipates joy isn’t selfish or silly. It’s vital.

You can’t pass on to others what you don’t have.

Becoming an instrument of happiness

The peace prayer attributed to St. Francis of Assisi asks that God make me an instrument of his peace, then it goes through a litany of places where we ask him to use us. It’s a wonderful aspirational prayer, something to remember as we approach each day:

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace:
where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
where there is sadness, joy.
O divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek
to be consoled as to console,
to be understood as to understand,
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive,
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

This morning, as I wait in LA for my flight back to Tampa, a couple flight attendants were talking about movies they enjoy and The Princess Bride came up. I chimed in, saying it was the perfect movie and that my daughter got me a Princess Bride shirt that looks like stained glass.

At the end of the discussion, she said that made her day.

Air travel is often a war of attrition, where you outlast the necessary delays and indignities until you finally get home. People are confined next to strangers, subject to rules they’d prefer not to follow, next to people they’d rather not know.

That’s before you factor in bat-faced yippie dogs (like the one I encountered on the way to LA), crying babies and frazzled parents, and the rest.

I had to work to keep my mood decent as I faced a long day with a busy work day tomorrow. But my comments about the Princess Bride and my shirt made her happier. And that made me happier.

It all came from one decision to not lead with fear and irritation. It’s something I’ve been working on. Perhaps over time, it won’t require effort.