Tag Archives: over-performing

Oct10

Quickie: Do You Over-perform?

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The fact that this subject has come up three times in two days has got me thinking that it’s important to write about if for no other reason than to get it off my own chest.

Do you over-perform? Do you know what that means?

Do you know what under-performing means? It usually means that we don’t do enough to satisfy the requirements of a task, job, need, situation, relationship. People often think that being in a relationship means giving 50% each so that the total is 100%. Well, that’s not entirely true. When you give 50% you usually get 50%.

What about when you give 100%? Do you get a return on your investment? About ten years ago, my brother who’s a banker (the nice kind) once asked me about the ROI on all my relationships. Was I getting back what I put in to the relationship? Was I being compensated by friends with the same level of recognition, respect, love and kindness? Generally, the answer was no because I was an over-performer. Did I dial back? Not until last summer.

Want a real story? OK. About nine years ago when I was pregnant with Thing 3 and busy as ass with the other two, I got a note from a friend, Dunga, about her neighbor (whom she barely knew) having some troubles: they were new too the ‘hood and they were having health issues with one spouse in the hospital and another out of commission for another health reason. She was just spouting off, venting. Not asking for anything. Me? I decided I would help: I would make a dinner: scalloped potatoes, ham, a salad, bread and dessert and bring it to Dunga to deliver to her friend. My friend, Dunga, wasn’t even doing that much: she said she was making a bunch of pasta to al denté, putting it in a container with sauce and freezing it. Or something like that. I did waaaaaaaaaaay way over above and beyond. I also cut the crap out of my left thumb on a mandolin slicer in the process. I had to go get stitches the next day. But by God, I was going to have that meal ready.

Did the neighbor ever say thank you to me? No. I’m stillllllll waiting for that note. It’s not gonna come.

I also recently endeavored to help out someone I don’t know who’s sick with cancer. I wanted to rally a bunch of bloggers and hold a raffle and donate the money to his cause. He never replied to any of my multiple queries to help him. I don’t know this guy, but I wanted to help. All he wanted was some money from his fundraiser site. I gave him that, but I wanted to give him more. Why? What was my motivation? To be held with esteem and regard in yet one new stranger’s eyes and mind? What the hell is wrong with me?!

Well, that fire is slowly dying and I’m ok with it. The thing is: it was a distraction. It let me think I was helping the global good by not acting locally.

Is your performance met with an equal 100% by the other parties or the recipient? Sometimes. Usually for me though: never.

What about when you give “110%” or “150%” or “500%” … are you being met by others with their “110%” or “150%” or “500%” Do they see your 100% and raise you to 120%?

Probably not. They’re probably just doing their 100% which might make you feel resentful that they’re not like you: working yourself to the bone, slaving over a hot stove, doing pushups blind-folded with one hand tied behind your back in barbed wire and one foot resting on top of the other one beneath a 50# weight while you’re in an oxygen-deprived vacuum with the heat on and bad country music from the 1940s playing at 11 while someone recites the creepy mother-yelling scenes from Carrie just to remind you how much harder you still need to work.

That’s over-performing.

How proud are you of that guy? I think he’s a doofus. And he didn’t lift the weight with his pinkie. He used his bicep and his core and his traps and his legs. If he’d really used his pinkie he would have stayed low and lifted it an inch off the ground. Raising that weight above his head proves to me nothing other than the fact that he’s confused about lifting weights and that he can’t actually lift 56 pounds with his pinkie finger only.

Back to the point: Do you do these things, the over-performing things to engender appreciation, esteem, affection? Do you work like that to impress people? Do you work like that because The System sucks and Things Need to Change and They Need to Change Now, but you’re just one voice singing like Barbra freakin’ Streisand in a chorus of people singing like mice? Who’s unbalanced here? Did you not get the memo that Rome wasn’t built in a day?

The thing is — often we over-perform (and I wrote a little about this in a post I’ll reblog tomorrow as part of my “throw back Thursday” it was about the Law of Diminishing Returns) because we want to correct a wrong, shout about something that we feel needs to be known about. We can do these things: we can correct the wrongs, but to truly effect any change we can see immediately, we must correct them within, correct them at home, start with ourselves. You might be a freakin’ rock star at work, going above and beyond, being known at the highest levels of your company, but if your health is a mess and you have a stack of books you haven’t read or donated and your children think their names are “You,” “Boy,” and “Her” you’re screwing up royally.

If we fight tirelessly against child abuse, remember we don’t leave much patience for ourselves at home. When we fight tirelessly against injustice, giving our 150% all the time, we do no justice to ourselves; we burn out, we become unbalanced and we lose perspective. We can not do it all by ourselves.

I think of Jesus (insert your religion or non-religious hero here), not as a Christian savior or as in the religious sense as a zealot, but in the sense that he had these wonderful messages about peace and love and loving one another and he is hailed and vaunted as the Son of God, who came down from heaven to change the world… and well, not much has changed has it? We still fight in the name of religion. We still don’t love one another — his simplest order — and we can’t do it. We especially can’t do it if our ego’s in the way.

Regardless of whether you believe in Jesus as the New Testament tells it, not much has changed. And if the miracles he performed (talk about over-performing!) still didn’t do the trick, still didn’t make a dent in the human condition (the earth has seen hundreds of wars and civil conflicts before and after his time) what makes you think you’re gonna be able to make someone like you more, see your point, understand you better, or regard you with more respect or enthusiasm just because you try harder? It won’t work. It’s not that the work isn’t worth it — it’s not worth it if it doesn’t bring you joy or self-satisfaction and self-love. If some people still don’t get it but you’re satisfied, it’s their loss. Don’t stop doing what you love because someone else doesn’t share your zest.

Those people you’re trying to impress or change or influence with the over-performing: Do they see you blindfolded in that hot room with the music? Do you ever tell them about that place? What would happen if they did? They’d probably think you need a break. That you are close to coming undone. What would you say to yourself if you saw yourself working that hard? Would you turn off the music first (I hope!), undo the barbed wire, turn down the heat, take off the blindfold, offer yourself some water and speak soothingly from a Winnie-the-Pooh book?

I hope so. Be your own best friend: don’t over-perform for the respect of others; you won’t get it. Work as hard as you want, but enjoy it and make sure you leave your ego out of it. Then you can respect yourself and that’s the main thing.

Thank you.

Jul30

False F(r)iendship, Feeling Unseen, Unheard and Dressing Very Old Wounds

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This is gonna be one of my deeper “self-knowing” posts.  It is the culmination of a learning process I’ve been consciously on for almost 10 years. Don’t worry, I include typical moments of humor, to deflect what I’m really feeling ;), so you’re safe.  I propose that you leave only if you’ve never had a friend show you that you don’t matter to him or her anymore. This post also efficiently shows you how to be immature about it if you’d like to do the same (or to serve as a reality check if it’s happening to you).

5….4….3….2….1

I thought so.

OK. I started a post about a month ago, it started with the line, “Sometimes deciding to dislike someone isn’t enough.” Where I was going wasn’t pretty. It involved fantasies of freak and extremely isolated tornadoes, an unexpected job transfer, a mystery case of amnesia, a diagnosis of multiple personality disorder, imprisonment, even winning the lottery if it meant the person would move far away. Hey, I’m not moving.

The post was a knee-jerk reaction to seeing someone I don’t like anymore on my online space, despite the fact that we’d been out of touch and blocked by each other for months. Oh, yes, I have a few of those. I actually find it a badge of honor to be blocked by someone, and I feel that same special endearment for those I block.  Here’s my take: my Facebook experience is like a deck party.  People can come, everyone’s invited.  But if you’re gonna be a dick?  Or nice online but a freakin’ douchebag in person…?  Here’s the gate, use it. So regarding this online-generated froth I had, I had two choices: deal with it because they don’t like me either or quit being online.  I like being online. It’s no secret that I prefer life off the grid, but I like the social “pokes” and kindnesses I see via social media.

So I must put on my big-girl panties and deal.  That’s OK. I will. I am. I do.

I decided to wait on that post, because I wanted to step back, assess my feelings and not let it get the better of me. I’m glad I did that because it turns out I “wasn’t mad at what I was mad at” (thank you dear Fr. John J. O’Connor for that life-learning phrase) and what I was really feeling was jealousy and I got over it.

I stopped in that post before I got to talking about the feelings –emotional and physical– I have when I encounter a former friend or significant other. I get a pain, or more likely, a sensation that rises up in my very lowest gut, almost in the pelvic region.  The only thing I can equate it with for many of us who speed in our cars, is the sensation felt when the Five-O pulls us over.  What the what is that?  What is that feeling and where does it come from? I know I’m not alone in this; I’ve talked to other people about it — I won’t divulge my sources. But it’s a fantastically primitive sensation. Is it guilt? It sucks, whatever it is, and I know it means something, likely knowingly doing something wrong and doing it anyway and then getting busted.  Must be guilt.

But why do we have that feeling when we see those people again? Read on…  

I’m writing today because I got burned recently by someone whom I thought was a near-and-dear, but someone whom I realize was just as messed up, if not more so, than I was when we met.

I wrote this as my status on Facebook yesterday, “the lessons will continue until we learn them. then we become a teacher; then we will be free.”

Carl Jung, the brilliant father of theory of archetypes, the collective unconscious and his studies of the human psyche has said many amazing things; I have thought that maybe I will write a blog post per my favorites. “A month of Jung…”  His most personally frustrating quote, which is indelibly written on my brain, is this: “Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to an understanding of ourselves.” Gah! I even hate seeing it!

I have lots of people in my life whom I’ve either pissed off or whom have pissed off me. You can’t be who I am, or someone like me: scarred, learning, fearful, bold, tenacious, loyal and quick with the biting wit and slicing tongue and not have a few foes.  Hit one of my pressure points, the unseen or unheard thing, and I can become unholy. Most of those foes have become so because I have either recognized a part of myself in that person and denied it or I have let the other person deeply into my heart and soul and they exploited my soul like a … a … cockfight trainer. Sad and true.  I know it, I see it and I usually work on it. You can’t get off this bus of self-awareness once you’re on it.  It’s like a case of … herpes, I guess (not that I’d actually know…): it has flare-ups.

Such is the beauty of the universe: its magical insistence upon flare-ups balance: You can’t have hate without love first. You can’t have spite without benevolence. You can’t have scorn without admiration. You can’t have silence without sound. It just doesn’t work. Jung said this too:  “Even a happy life cannot be without a measure of darkness, and the word happy would lose its meaning if it were not balanced by sadness.”

Whatta know-it-all jerk.

Anyway, I have been on a journey for many years shedding toxicity (sometimes that means I have to shed entrenched behaviors) from my life.  This shedding means owning things: my temperamental tendencies, my reactivity, my fears of inadequacy and how those feelings transmute into trying harder, working harder, pushing harder, pulling harder, jumping higher, shouting louder, crying longer, hurting longer and just generally over-performing. It was part of my elemental and deeply primitive “see me, hear me, notice me, don’t leave me, i’ll do better” and layers-deep behaviors left over from growing up in a multi-generational dysfunctional trend in a family of truly gifted and brilliant people.

And guess what: it was bloody exhausting. Nothing quite like working your ass off to have someone notice you (bitter irony alert) who’s totally self-involved (too) because of shit that was also done to them when they were younger.  Boy, that was hard to admit. 

It’s an old habit with many people like me who are Adult Children of Alcoholics (I love my parents, so don’t think I’m being a brat, I’m just being honest). It’s also something that can come up from being a child of a mentally ill parent.  One of my sons had a preschool teacher who grew up in a world where her mother was so emotionally fractured and reactive that this woman as a child had to learn to show no emotion, none at all, so as a result she was like Spock. But she loved being around children because of their raw emotion that it sustained her, even though she was fairly ruined. I asked her about it one time and she said that getting help from a psychiatrist or other professional would be admitting that her mother did this to her… and I said, “so… uh, … what’s the problem with that?” and she simply couldn’t do it.

This journey of mine will continue and I’m grateful for it. I see the lessons now and I can write the lesson plan: listen to and feel the intuition, my true inner teacher, telling me what to do: “OK… here we go. Here comes one, feel that prick in your gut? that’s me (you, actually) telling you to … NO. Ugh… don’t make eye contact, don’t talk, dammit, ok… don’t talk much more. Shit! You shouldna said that, now you have a con-nec-tion, remember those? Ok, don’t say anymo– alright… reroute: look at your watch, look over the shoulder, there’s Bipsy, by the window, go to her.  Really?: ‘Why won’t she come over here?’ She’s not stupid… Don’t resume contact with this one …no. NO, don’t say THAT… Gaaad, OK, we can still save you.  You still have time to NOT SAY THAT… you’re on your own now… good luck with this stray… you now have a new project… initiating ‘fix this person’ mode. I’ll be here … in the corner under the dark felt blanket… being ignored by you for the next, oh, six years…”

But I am closer now. I think I’m really getting it. No, I swear!  In fact, when those relationships go pear-shaped now, I’m fairly ready and waiting. Sometimes I’m the dumper, others, the dumped. Despite the sting and the big hole, it’s OK though, because the lesson has been learned.

Feeling unseen and unheard for the formative years of my life has definitely had an impact on how I relate to people.  My mother used to tell me that when I was in kindergarten, I came home with “Five Steps to Making a Friend.” I believe it was a simplistic list adorned with my potato(e) (hahah, I miss me some Dan Quayle, anyone else?) people.  My mom said it went along the lines of,

1: Say hi to the person.

2: Tell the person you like their hair or clothes.

3: Ask the person their name.

4: Tell the person your name.

5: Ask the person to be your friend.

I think it worked. I remember many friends when I was little. I hope we all did. I don’t know what’s happened since kindergarten, but it seems that it’s harder to make good friends as an adult and the ones I have, I really want to hang on to. There’s the one I’ve had since 8th grade CCD and she won’t let me say how long that’s been… There are the built-in friends: cousins, and they are truly, anchors. My cousins have never let me down.  The adult / married built-ins, in-law siblings and their spouses have also been a blessing to me. And then there’s the cousins of the spouse which have also enriched my life.

There are a couple friends that I thought I had for the long haul, despite my intuition tsk-tsk-tsking, rolling its eyes and filing its nails the entire time.  The friendships that go from:

A: hi

B: heeeeyyyy…

A: i never knew my father.

B: my mother was an arsonist.

A: i was raised on dry dog food and two hours of sunlight a day.

B: i ate canned cat food and peed outside near a tree.

A: let’s go on vacation together.

B: i’ve got clothes in the car, i’ll drive.

within the first hour are likely doomed.  It’s sorta like dating: the people who are ready to jump in the sack within the first sip of the drink are probably not gonna be able to make the relationship stick without some serious attention, slowing down and patience.

The ones that seem to last are the ones that are slow to percolate (she knows who she is if she’s reading this, the poor thing) and that’s what my lesson has been: the people who take a while to get to know me and let me get to know them are the ones who see me, who hear me and who know that it’s important to take time.  It’s a lot like how I met my husband. (I started a blog on that too — how my life has been saved, so vibrantly enriched and blessed by simply having him near — and I put it on the back burner because I really wanted to honor it; he has been in my life longer than out of it now.) We weren’t hot and heavy for a while (you can come back out, Dad) as we spent many months talking and getting to know each other.  We let each other be seen and heard (even though I didn’t know it was happening) over years, and it’s still going on. Good! It has to.

If you’re incapable of having a mature, face-to-face conversation about the state of your relationship, here’s how to show a friend who trusted you that s/he doesn’t matter to you any more (or: Here’s how to mess with someone who trusts you):

1. Pose: frequently and openly preach authenticity, but don’t dare actually practice it.

2. Control: be reactive and maintain the friendship on your secret terms; expect your friend to read your mind.

3. Betray: tell your friend you don’t have time, but be openly friendly with others and definitely be friendly with people whom you know have hurt and don’t like your “friend.”

4. Confuse: when things are awkward and you’ve walked out on that “friend,” definitely dance around the perimeter of the friendship but don’t make meaningful contact (Facebook “likes” are an excellent tool for that).

5. Ignore: be unresponsive to your friend’s apologies, heart-felt vulnerability and soul-baring attempts at reconciliation.

Yes, this still happens to people at 44. Feeling invisible and feeling unheard is a very deep wound with some (most!) of us. It can have some good side-effects: ambition, success and audacity and guts.  It can also have some really (swear alert) fucked-up side-effects too: unrelenting flamboyance, outrageousness, loudness, larger than life-ness, chips on the shoulder, anger, disregard for how we appear to others because, dammit, we’re gonna LIVE, BABY!  Here’s a concrete example: I think almost all of The U.S. House of Representatives and New York City feels unseen and unheard.

The physical “guilty” feeling and getting that “I told you so…” tug in the belly must come from ignoring our intuition. It’s the knowing disobedience we inflicted on ourselves and the crash of “oh shit, now we’ve done it; mom’s gonna kick our butts” in our souls.

Those of us who feel (deeply) unseen and unheard are likely drawn to one another so so so strongly that we don’t realize we are simply repeating the pattern. Consciously we think, “This person gets me, s/he knows what it’s like, we’re gonna get along great!” but unconsciously, our bodies, hearts, spirits and souls are saying, “You’re gonna get ignored again. You’re also likely going to ignore this person when s/he needs you desperately not to.”  We might feel a “connection” but it’s really an attachment, which is waaaaay super-duper, I-can’t-tell-you-enough-or-how-very-deeply unhealthy.

We are lining up with people who are very likely to never see us and never hear us because they, themselves, are too busy working very hard to be seen and to be heard, hence betrayals and other acts of desperation to be seen and heard.  This was my pattern and that was my lesson to learn: I can not have an earnest and healthy relationship with another person who is as wounded as I am if that person isn’t working as hard as I am to beat the inner feelings of invisibility and irrelevance and truly listen and see the other person.

What’s worse than any of this? I’ll tell you: being rejected by someone who is totally vapid and self-involved. Why is it worse? Because that hits the unseen and unheard nerve like a cannon ball.  And if you’re asleep spiritually, you’re gonna do one thing and one thing only: GO AFTER THAT PERSON MORE. I’ve done it myself, but I stopped about two months ago and I see other people do it all the time.  In fact, I saw someone do it yesterday.

It’s a deeply old pattern and it’s gonna keep happening until, and ONLY until, I (you, we) stop it. Yesterday, I stopped it. I showed someone the gate. Lesson learned. I am free.

Did you know that band was all white guys? I had no clue!

Thank you.

Feb26

Law of Diminishing Returns

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Everyone who has a goal exerts an effort toward achieving that goal.  Typical of overachievers (or hardheads), they press on even more.  As a culture, we are told that with greater effort, tenacity and perseverance results will come abundantly.  “Work is its own greatest reward.”

The Law of Diminishing Returns states otherwise.  The law states that with increased and sustained effort toward a goal, the return will actually decline.  We see this in athletics: overtraining can result in strained ligaments, torn muscles, increased irritability, disrupted sleep and joint pain.  Run too hard too often and too long and you’re not gonna be running much at all very soon. 

Consider my beloved yoga. I recently read that too much yoga-inspired meditating can slow the metabolism and counteract any muscle building the work can impart.  Obviously taking a pose beyond what our bodies can withstand can cause injury and clearly issues with inversions (headstands, backbends and similar poses) can royally mess up the spine.  Would you rather unwind or unravel?

The Law of Diminishing Returns reigns in personal relationships and dynamics: stalkers go to prison.  

All too often, all that pushing, working, believing, and wishing will be the undoing of the effort. Tenacity sometimes can kick your own ass.

Take Thing 2 (11) for example. This evening, he wanted to go outside after dinner to play and we said no because it was too cold, too dark and very windy outside. As I type, I can hear the winds, they are gusting at about 35 mph.  Our neighborhood has a lot of old trees with brittle branches and that is that.  We have learned over the years to head him off at the pass: to offer the reasons and conditions for our decision before he has a chance to whine, “But whhhhy?” I said no.  Not two minutes later, he asks again, but in this way, “So you don’t want me to go out after dinner?” And we both said no.

Thing 2: “I’m asking DAD. So DAD, you don’t want me to go out after dinner?”

Dad:  [I love this]: “What did your mother say?”

Thing 2: “I’m asking you. Can-I-go-out-side-af-ter-din-ner?”

Dad: “Again, I ask you, what did your mother say? She said ‘no,’ right?”

Thing 2: “Yes, but I want to know what you say, Dad.”

Dad: “If your mother says ‘no’ then I say ‘no’ and that’s it.”

. . . . . . . . . . Kiss of death:

Thing 2: “Guuuuh … huff.  But I waaaaant toooooooo…”

Dad: “You’re about to lose playing outside tomorrow.  Now sit down and eat.

That is a prime example of the Law of Diminishing Returns.

For all of us, Thing 2 included, our id (the wah-wah baby in us) is the voice that says go ahead, keep trying harder, ask again, ask louder, get what you want, go faster, push again.  We like that voice because we want to be rewarded with bigger, better, stronger, faster, richer, smarter — because why? Because we know best.  We know that our goal is the best goal.  Oh, and because when you get what you want, you’ll be a different, a stand-out; you’ll be NOTICED.

Bobby Brady tried it when he wanted to be taller: he used the backyard swing set to stretch himself so he’d grow a couple inches to impress a girl.  It didn’t work.

So if we have the id, what about the other voice? The super ego, the rational one, the one that says, “give it time and it will work out.”  “Don’t overdo, you might get overdone.”  In most first-world nations we push that annoying, nasaly, Felix Unger voice off the nearest cliff.  Surely our super ego or even our intuition can’t be right.  Intuition? That’s so … Fiji and woo-woo.  In our world of watching a movie on our phones while waiting in line at a store or paying a premium to block access to WiFi at hotels and resorts, acting with our intuitive intelligence doesn’t always fly.  If there’s no app for that, we don’t want it. Go Go GO!

Ten-assity

Quite often tenacity works and it’s great: you study hard and you get a good grade.  You work long hours and your boss gives you a raise.  You watch what you eat, exercise with care and you lose weight and gain energy.  You show kindness and patience to a new friend and you are rewarded with a solid relationship.  It’s good.

How can our tenacity kick our asses? Well, when we push the boundaries sometimes. Duh. No, I mean if we involve other people, tenacity can backfire. For example: What about the partner, the child, the friend who continually implores an addict to change his or her behavior?  It’s at moments like this when tenacity has become our enemy. 

Consider the popular phrase, “the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.” It dovetails beautifully for someone who loves someone else so much that he or she loses his or her self in their beloved’s problems: the partner nags, pushes, reads, researches, hides, distracts, connives, plans, schemes, dreams and wishes, tries again and never gives up thinking or hoping that things will change.  And guess what?  The addict does almost exactly the same thing, but just in the opposite direction: hides, schemes, lies, steals, distracts and dreams that things will stay the same but that the other person will change. 

 

I was in a strained and significant relationship where I wanted to thank someone for something.  I didn’t want to let that person think that I didn’t appreciate their efforts despite any challenges in the relationship. I was in a good place emotionally and so I started to write a letter of gratitude and appreciation and unfortunately, it morphed into a place where I apologized for any strain I had placed on things but my apology wasn’t perfect.  I couldn’t look away from the bright and shiny trophy that I felt we both deserved if we owned our parts in the challenges.  It was at this point that things went a little pear-shaped but they reformed before the end of the letter.  The letter was never sent because I realized that it wasn’t pure and isolated.  Despite the fact that I’d printed the letter, folded it, put it in an envelope, addressed it, sealed it and put a stamp on it and walked it to my outgoing mailbox, I realized several hours later that I wasn’t ready to send it.  Even with all of my best intentions, and all those letter-closing actions I knew I had created a back-handed compliment and I had twisted and contorted my way around the communication to sincerely thank the person but also suggest, “by the way, you’re welcome for my putting up with all your manipulative crap…” which wasn’t altogether fair.

So I told my therapist about that attempt.  She said it was a noble idea but she was glad I pulled the letter out of the mailbox.  She knows I’m a word freak and that I shroud my emotions under my intellect, it’s a protective mechanism.  She gave me homework.  She said, “Instead of sending that letter of gratitude to your person, I want you to come up with an appreciation of yourself.  I want you to thank yourself.”

I said, “You want me to thank myself?! Well THANK YOU!” and I sprang up from my seat on the couch, grabbed her box of tissues and beaned her with it.  Gave her a shiner.  Then she called security and had me arrested. 

No, actually we didn’t do that.  I sat on the couch and festered.  I didn’t like this assignment because after mostly being on the couch for a few years, I knew that where we she was taking me was not Dairy Queen.  It was going to be a mahogany-paneled library in my mind where great thinkers thought in leather chairs and considered great things.  I had to do some work.  “Ok, I’ll thank myself.  This is not as easy as it sounds, y’know.” And you know what she said? She said, “I know. Good.”

So naturally, it had to be something major. I was lost.  After a couple days of head-scratching, I went to the most sagacious place I knew: Facebook. I posted my status, “If you were going to thank yourself for something, what would it be?” and I got some answers that were good, but not right for me.  They were lovely reasons, but they were extrinsic.  I needed to go deep, down the sidelines and turn to receive a great pass and take it in for a home run.  (I don’t watch much hockey.)

After the Facbook consult, I continued on.  I didn’t forget about the assignment and I stayed on task, driven to distraction and the only word I could come up with, for myself when I considered all of my life and the story I had created in it was “TENACITY.”  I laughed at the irony of how I’d finally arrived at it.  I never gave up.

So all chest-puffy and feathers fluffed I marched in to my therapist’s office about a week later and plopped on the couch. 

“I know why I’d thank myself.  I figured it out.  It took me a while, but I did it and it makes perfect sense and it’s the most appropriate and good reason: I thank myself for my tenacity.  For never giving up.  For always swinging and putting in the good effort and for always believing things could happen and get better and that good times were just around the corner.  I love that about myself.  And that tenacity has made me a good mom and a good friend and a good person.”

My therapist has this cute mouth that reminds me of a turtle: right at the center of the upper lip she has a delicate dip and she has a sincere smile.  Her smile did not belie her plan:  she had me.  And up went an eyebrow and down went the pen on to her notepad and as clear as the sky on a crisp fall day, she said, “Great. Tenacity is a noble quality and it has been good to your children and your friends and your family and the PTA and community, but has it really been good to YOU?”

My head tilted, my eyes locked and drilled, my neck unrolled and I said,  “Urruh?” I felt I looked like my (incredibly gorgeous and talented) dog when he’s watching a squirrel on our front stoop through our storm door and he Can’t! Reach! The! Squirrel!  “Urruh? Of course tenacity has been good to me.  Pish posh.  I’m there!  I did it.  I thanked myself! Tenacity is good; you agreed. Right? I mean, since when is optimism and perseverance a bad thing? Since when is commitment and never throwing in the towel . . .  and never quitting . . . and believing a . . . better day is  . . . just around . . . the . . . cor—  ner. . . a bad . . . idea?  Oh  . . . . . . . . . . shit.” 

And from across the coffee table, my therapist scribbled, scribbled, scritched, scratched, nodded, nodded, “mm-hmm”-d and nodded …  “And so when has tenacity been unkind to you?” she asked from her notepad.

“It’s been unkind to me and a foolish idea when the goal is out of my control.  It’s a bad idea when it’s clearly not gonna happen.  It’s a bad idea when the other factors don’t align; when the other person is out to lunch, when the other players are on a different field, playing a different sport, or are on the . . .   worse: playing for the opposite team.”

Crap.

That is when tenacity is bad. That is when the law of diminishing returns becomes your best friend: when you realize that what you’ve been doing, pushing, believing, pursuing, idealizing, praying for and dreaming about is simply never going to happen. 

Does that mean your goal, your ideal is absurd? Not in a vacuum, no.  Say you have a situation that is truly wrong: a friend who is unfaithful to its spouse.  You disagree with the infidelity; you lecture, you listen, you engage, you debate, you defend and you hold your ground: that infidelity is wrong.  The thing here isn’t whether your goal of honorable behavior is bad or good (it’s good). The thing is that your tenacity, your moxie will be your undoing.  Your friend might not give a patoot if you are right or wrong; afterall, the id and its drives motivate that person and your id and probably super ego are what are motivating you to fight for truth and justice.  But it’s a waste of your time because it’s not your battle.

So while tenacity is great, sometimes giving up is better.  Hanging on to wishes, ideals, goals, hopes and dreams that you can never realize for someone or something else is effort, energy and time you will never get back.  And that, sports fans, is a bummer.

So be tenacious about yourself by paying attention to the Law of Diminishing Returns, for it comes down always at the right time and its judgment is flawless. Having my tenacity turned on its head is the most liberating thing that could have ever happened to me.

Thank you. 

 

ps – i wrote this in Word, that’s why my I’s are capitalized. a’hem.  :o}