I feel the pain of others more than they can imagine. I see it in their eyes, their body language, hear it in the inflection of their voices, their vocabulary, and the pauses in their sentences. And I do feel it. I enter into their pain and misery even if only for a few moments.
Not long ago I watched as people were being laid-off from their jobs and each and every moment I could feel their anger, frustration, fear, sadness, confusion, and all the rest. Because I was the person who was most involved with their lay-offs I was the object of that suffering.
For the last couple of months I have been recovering from it all. I am still recovering. I'll return soon...
Monday, March 10, 2014
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
Non-linear in a linear world
I spend a lot of time struggling with the linearity of others. They want to hit every point from A to Z. I go from V to L to A to U to Z and skip all the rest. What's more, as an INTP I inherently understand and like to build systems, but I find that if I have to live inside one of those systems I have created it strangles me. I rebel against the rigid walls I've built.
I know that my designs work and do what they are intended, but when it comes down to the moment I find that I will not conform to the system. The dichotomy of the situation lends itself to a host of ironic situations. Right now on my desk I have a guide for how to do projects, it covers every detail of project management that I have learned over the years. And yet, as I look at it and the projects in front of me I know that I am not likely to use the guide as I wrote it. I designed it for linear thinkers, not me.
Of course that makes sense, why would I design something for me when my entire life has been designing systems for other personality types? Unfortunately, now my career is changing (again) and I really do need these new systems for me.
The concept of kits seems to lend itself to this. Years ago I realized it was silly for me to have a "perfect" kit or toolbox for every job. That lent itself to massive amounts of duplication (do I need a hammer for carpentry and a separate one for picture hanging and a third for pounding stakes in the garden?). So I started to break my kits into broader categories that allowed some cross over. To add some humor to it I gave them silly names. Now I have a shelf of "pounders" in my workshop. When I need to pound something I can go to that shelf and select just the right hammer for the job at hand (or the right hammer for the thumb at job).
I'm wondering if the same needs to be true for how I work in the office. Maybe I am spending far too much time trying to build perfect kits for everything rather than putting my "tools" where they need to be in a general sense. I've been building entire guides for doing things rather than small crib sheets for how to do a small thing.
Something inside me seems worried about making absolutely sure my kits are complete, but as I think about it it is impossible to have a complete kit for projects without knowing every possible project that may come into my life. Instead, I can break my kits down to tasks that may be part of a project. If I need it then the tool is there, if not then it can be safely ignored for this project.
I know that my designs work and do what they are intended, but when it comes down to the moment I find that I will not conform to the system. The dichotomy of the situation lends itself to a host of ironic situations. Right now on my desk I have a guide for how to do projects, it covers every detail of project management that I have learned over the years. And yet, as I look at it and the projects in front of me I know that I am not likely to use the guide as I wrote it. I designed it for linear thinkers, not me.
Of course that makes sense, why would I design something for me when my entire life has been designing systems for other personality types? Unfortunately, now my career is changing (again) and I really do need these new systems for me.
The concept of kits seems to lend itself to this. Years ago I realized it was silly for me to have a "perfect" kit or toolbox for every job. That lent itself to massive amounts of duplication (do I need a hammer for carpentry and a separate one for picture hanging and a third for pounding stakes in the garden?). So I started to break my kits into broader categories that allowed some cross over. To add some humor to it I gave them silly names. Now I have a shelf of "pounders" in my workshop. When I need to pound something I can go to that shelf and select just the right hammer for the job at hand (or the right hammer for the thumb at job).
I'm wondering if the same needs to be true for how I work in the office. Maybe I am spending far too much time trying to build perfect kits for everything rather than putting my "tools" where they need to be in a general sense. I've been building entire guides for doing things rather than small crib sheets for how to do a small thing.
Something inside me seems worried about making absolutely sure my kits are complete, but as I think about it it is impossible to have a complete kit for projects without knowing every possible project that may come into my life. Instead, I can break my kits down to tasks that may be part of a project. If I need it then the tool is there, if not then it can be safely ignored for this project.
Friday, August 16, 2013
Monday, July 29, 2013
The delicate balance of aloneness
This morning I woke up and spent a little time considering the sermon from church yesterday. I was in a pretty decent state of mind. I was trying to get my head straightened-out so I could have a productive day. Then my wife walked into our bedroom, "Can I ask you a question?"
I always feel a bit of trepidation when she asks that. I know it means there's some emotional payload coming. She gets up hours before I do and by the time I'm starting my day she has a list of items to talk to me about, things she wants to get done, and so on. We've had a few good arguments over it all. She's tried to wait a bit, but she has horrible timing. For a while she tried just hunting me down when I was in the shower. Then she tried sending me emotion-laden text messages while I was at work. Then she'd try to dump things on me as soon as I got home. Of course, by the time I am feeling balanced out in the evening she's too tired to talk and falls asleep. Our clocks couldn't be more out of sync if we tried.
Sure enough, she asked this morning, why I am "always" so hard on my oldest son? Apparently he had his feelings hurt when I told him to go out last night, put the lawnmower in the shed, pick up his two bicycles, put them away, and then close the door on the shed. Of course they had all been sitting out for days...in the rain.
As soon as the question was asked the mental walls flew up. The delicate balance of healthy mindset was gone. My train of thought was not only derailed, but the bridge was blown out from underneath it.
Suddenly I was no longer trying to have a good day that avoided moral pitfalls and was truly productive. Now I was worrying over how bad of a father I am. Is my son sitting there thinking his father hates him? Does my wife think that I'm driving him away from us? What about the other kids? Are they feeling the same way?
My morning shower is usually a refuge for me. I slowly come to terms with what the day is going to bring and try to get a bead on how I'm going to go about handling the list of things I have to do. I lost that too. I just stood there wondering if anything I do is worthwhile.
By the time I made it to work the day was destroyed. I spent lunch with my son and daughter trying to express to them that I love them by just spending time with them. It never feels like it's enough.
I was so close to having a good day. I almost had the morning just perfect. I had almost the perfect amount of solitude. Then it all got blown up. I can't even express how frustrated I am.
I always feel a bit of trepidation when she asks that. I know it means there's some emotional payload coming. She gets up hours before I do and by the time I'm starting my day she has a list of items to talk to me about, things she wants to get done, and so on. We've had a few good arguments over it all. She's tried to wait a bit, but she has horrible timing. For a while she tried just hunting me down when I was in the shower. Then she tried sending me emotion-laden text messages while I was at work. Then she'd try to dump things on me as soon as I got home. Of course, by the time I am feeling balanced out in the evening she's too tired to talk and falls asleep. Our clocks couldn't be more out of sync if we tried.
Sure enough, she asked this morning, why I am "always" so hard on my oldest son? Apparently he had his feelings hurt when I told him to go out last night, put the lawnmower in the shed, pick up his two bicycles, put them away, and then close the door on the shed. Of course they had all been sitting out for days...in the rain.
As soon as the question was asked the mental walls flew up. The delicate balance of healthy mindset was gone. My train of thought was not only derailed, but the bridge was blown out from underneath it.
My morning shower is usually a refuge for me. I slowly come to terms with what the day is going to bring and try to get a bead on how I'm going to go about handling the list of things I have to do. I lost that too. I just stood there wondering if anything I do is worthwhile.
By the time I made it to work the day was destroyed. I spent lunch with my son and daughter trying to express to them that I love them by just spending time with them. It never feels like it's enough.
I was so close to having a good day. I almost had the morning just perfect. I had almost the perfect amount of solitude. Then it all got blown up. I can't even express how frustrated I am.
A Side of Turkey
It's been a while since I did any fiction writing, but a few of the people at The Refuge have been talking about it and I decided to start up again. Having been out of the mix for a while I struggled to find an idea that I felt was worthwhile. Fortunately, an article online was helpful and suggested just spending a lot of time asking, "What if?" It was late at night and there was a bright flash outside that lit the house through multiple windows. It only took me a couple moments to realize that it was a lightning bolt from a passing storm. I asked myself, but what if it wasn't...
No, he hadn’t been dreaming. It was something else, but what? He wished his wife would stop snoring and junior wasn’t jammed in between them like a radiant heater stuck on high. Maybe that was it. Maybe the kid had kicked him. Great, kicked awake at, good grief, three-forty-eight in the morning with a presentation to make tomorrow for the Wilkinson account.
Taking a deep breath he closed his eyes again. Maybe he’d still be able to squeeze in a couple more hours before the wife’s hair dryer blasted him awake. And then he could see the inside of his eyelids. It was one of those moments where a person isn't quite sure what they are seeing, but know they had seen it before. Suddenly the red world of flesh and capillaries disappeared. He felt the bed shudder a bit beneath him.
Wide awake now his eyes snapped open again. What was that?! Stepping to the window he peered out into the darkness, except it was not dark. The sky was brilliantly lit with greens, whites and blues. Thousands upon thousands of streaks racing all in the same direction. Or rather out of the same direction - a bright light hanging low over the horizon and flying out of it the streamers of light. Suddenly one of them flashed like lightning and disappeared. There was a dull rumble that he could feel more than hear.
He stared at the spectacle for a while and thought about waking his wife, but realized if he did then junior would wake up too and then they would never get him back to bed. The meteors, and how could they be anything but meteors, were not decreasing in any way, in fact they seemed to be ever so slightly increasing. He decided he might as well give up on sleep and go watch the show. Maybe even see if there was anything on the television about it.
“...completely unlike anything we have ever seen before. This is nothing like the Leonid or Perseid showers in November and August! This is absolutely massive...,” the scientist turned cable television personality nearly shouted. The guy was not one of those real scientists, he just knew about as much as some high school teacher and got himself a spot on the evening news a few years ago talking about methane explosions or something. Now he was suddenly an expert on meteor showers.
“So, what you’re saying is this is a once in a lifetime event?” asked the woman who was far too chipper for this early in the morning. Must be on Cocaine, he thought.
“No! I’m saying this is unprecedented!” the fake scientist was getting shrill, “That bright dot is a comet and we’re looking right up it’s tail...,” he kept droning on about the moon and approach angles and slingshots and a bunch of other stuff.
Outside the light show was brighter than before. In fact that big light in the sky that he now knew to be a comet was much bigger. The thunder was growing louder too. It seemed that the comet had moved higher above the horizon. As he watched it he realized that it was growing, and quite fast too.
The slower meteors, if they could be called slow, were now more obvious to him as they flashed and exploded. The comet was filling half the sky and the rumble was turning into a low roar.
“....near Oklahoma...” he barely heard the t.v. nerd say. Well, maybe I’ll get interviewed in the morning. Couldn’t hurt to have old man Wilkinson see me on television when’s he’s eating his egg whites and...
At that very moment the comet grew insanely huge and the man felt something like hot rain searing his skin while a pungent scent attacked his nose. Standing in his backyard in his boxers while staring into the light his last thoughts, the thoughts of the first man ever to physically touch a comet, were of turkey bacon and a blue-green screaming demon.
A Side of Turkey
He opened his eyes and sat staring into the dark wondering why exactly he was awake. He lay motionless listening. The box fan in the window hummed on the low setting but there were no odd noises. Maybe it was a dream. He had always been the sort to have bad dreams. There was the one with the giant wolf and then there was the other with the screaming demon head. He shivered a bit at the thought of that one. Why the demon was a pale blue-green he never could figure out, but it scared the hell out of him.No, he hadn’t been dreaming. It was something else, but what? He wished his wife would stop snoring and junior wasn’t jammed in between them like a radiant heater stuck on high. Maybe that was it. Maybe the kid had kicked him. Great, kicked awake at, good grief, three-forty-eight in the morning with a presentation to make tomorrow for the Wilkinson account.
Taking a deep breath he closed his eyes again. Maybe he’d still be able to squeeze in a couple more hours before the wife’s hair dryer blasted him awake. And then he could see the inside of his eyelids. It was one of those moments where a person isn't quite sure what they are seeing, but know they had seen it before. Suddenly the red world of flesh and capillaries disappeared. He felt the bed shudder a bit beneath him.
Wide awake now his eyes snapped open again. What was that?! Stepping to the window he peered out into the darkness, except it was not dark. The sky was brilliantly lit with greens, whites and blues. Thousands upon thousands of streaks racing all in the same direction. Or rather out of the same direction - a bright light hanging low over the horizon and flying out of it the streamers of light. Suddenly one of them flashed like lightning and disappeared. There was a dull rumble that he could feel more than hear.
He stared at the spectacle for a while and thought about waking his wife, but realized if he did then junior would wake up too and then they would never get him back to bed. The meteors, and how could they be anything but meteors, were not decreasing in any way, in fact they seemed to be ever so slightly increasing. He decided he might as well give up on sleep and go watch the show. Maybe even see if there was anything on the television about it.
“...completely unlike anything we have ever seen before. This is nothing like the Leonid or Perseid showers in November and August! This is absolutely massive...,” the scientist turned cable television personality nearly shouted. The guy was not one of those real scientists, he just knew about as much as some high school teacher and got himself a spot on the evening news a few years ago talking about methane explosions or something. Now he was suddenly an expert on meteor showers.
“So, what you’re saying is this is a once in a lifetime event?” asked the woman who was far too chipper for this early in the morning. Must be on Cocaine, he thought.
“No! I’m saying this is unprecedented!” the fake scientist was getting shrill, “That bright dot is a comet and we’re looking right up it’s tail...,” he kept droning on about the moon and approach angles and slingshots and a bunch of other stuff.
Outside the light show was brighter than before. In fact that big light in the sky that he now knew to be a comet was much bigger. The thunder was growing louder too. It seemed that the comet had moved higher above the horizon. As he watched it he realized that it was growing, and quite fast too.
The slower meteors, if they could be called slow, were now more obvious to him as they flashed and exploded. The comet was filling half the sky and the rumble was turning into a low roar.
“....near Oklahoma...” he barely heard the t.v. nerd say. Well, maybe I’ll get interviewed in the morning. Couldn’t hurt to have old man Wilkinson see me on television when’s he’s eating his egg whites and...
At that very moment the comet grew insanely huge and the man felt something like hot rain searing his skin while a pungent scent attacked his nose. Standing in his backyard in his boxers while staring into the light his last thoughts, the thoughts of the first man ever to physically touch a comet, were of turkey bacon and a blue-green screaming demon.
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
INTP Experience Down
It looks like Jason ran into a problem with his domain name. He's working on getting it resolved and apologizes for the outage, but if you want to get to the articles on the main site you can go here: http://whub34.webhostinghub.com/~intpex5/HomePage.php for the moment.
Monday, July 15, 2013
That crawling feeling
I really thought I was on the up-swing, but clearly I'm not. Recent news that one of my children will need a major surgery, continued pressure at work, and the return of my recurring pain has put me right about where I was before I crashed.
The oddest part for me is the crawling feeling on my skin. When I get like this my body becomes hyper-attuned. Every sound, smell, taste, and especially touch is heightened. I don't want anything touching me except maybe the flowing water of a warm shower. Walking down the hall the sound of my pant legs popping was grating.
Yesterday I did everything I could to avoid human contact. People asked me at church how I was doing and I avoided the question. How can I explain to them what I'm feeling if I can't figure out myself? My wife has started to key-into the fact that I'm not doing well, but I don't know what to tell her either. She asks me if I want to talk, and I do, but I don't know what to say or how to express myself.
I feel like I am caught in a strong current being pulled around, bounced off of things, and unable to rest. It's just a constant swirl.
I just want to hide. Burry myself in the side of a mountain, deep within its heart where there is no sound and the world cannot touch me. I want to be able to just let my mind unwrap everything on its own. To rest.
The oddest part for me is the crawling feeling on my skin. When I get like this my body becomes hyper-attuned. Every sound, smell, taste, and especially touch is heightened. I don't want anything touching me except maybe the flowing water of a warm shower. Walking down the hall the sound of my pant legs popping was grating.
Yesterday I did everything I could to avoid human contact. People asked me at church how I was doing and I avoided the question. How can I explain to them what I'm feeling if I can't figure out myself? My wife has started to key-into the fact that I'm not doing well, but I don't know what to tell her either. She asks me if I want to talk, and I do, but I don't know what to say or how to express myself.
I feel like I am caught in a strong current being pulled around, bounced off of things, and unable to rest. It's just a constant swirl.
I just want to hide. Burry myself in the side of a mountain, deep within its heart where there is no sound and the world cannot touch me. I want to be able to just let my mind unwrap everything on its own. To rest.
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