Choices and Chances

The word “choice” has come up a lot lately in podcasts, books and thoughts.  As I ponder the word, it occured to me.  Choices are chances and chances are choices.  I can choose choices instead of the latest offer or certainty.  Nowhere is this more obvious than in my choice to work for a certain local coffee company as a Store Manager.

A few years prior to finding myself in this role I came to the conclusion that I wanted to be a manager or leader who helped employees be better employees.  This applied whether they worked for me or moved on and worked for someone else.  I’ve always worked with teenagers or college-aged people, so I knew they would move on to other jobs and careers.  I wanted them to be successful.

I help them be better employees through helping them understand their benefits, paystubs or tax forms.  I emphasize the importance of understanding their role and the responsibilities of an employee.  I believe in thorough & relevant training.  I believe knowledge gives them power.

I was unemployed going on 4 months when I applied for a barista job, knowing I’d be eligible for health benefits.  At my interview and upon hearing my goal of developing employee training programs, I was told I was overqualified and should be in the Store Manager training program.  After a couple more interviews, I was offered the job.  I said yes.  To the paycheck and what I believed to be a temporary situation.

I expected to move past the Store Manager role quickly and was constantly disappointed that I didn’t.  Now I see that I chose the same thing, every day, instead of choosing choice.  I operated in a constant state of disappointment; content with the consistency of that state rather than choosing anything else.

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As I reflect, I recognize judgement, guilt and shame.  For a long time I was disgusted by my cowardice in choosing disappointment and unhappiness over uncertainty.  I was a bad person who made a bad choice.  I was stupid. Naive.  I should have known better.  I could have made better choices.  I wasn’t brave enough.  I wasn’t smart enough.

Time has expanded or stretched the gradient through which I reflect on this experience.  Time has also stretched the gradient through which I judge my choice.  I reflect on this experience with compassion.  Instead of beating myself up for what I didn’t know, I am more accepting that I didn’t know what I couldn’t know.  I was expecting my choice to be enough.

But when are we ever enough?  (When you find out, let me know)  Today I see that choosing choice isn’t redundant nor is choice something to fear.  The thought of choice still makes me anxious, but I now have greater awareness.  With compassion, I say to myself, “I accept that I made the best choice with the information I had.”

 

The Rule Book

What does it mean that I search for a rule book to follow?  It is that the openness created by mindfulness is scary?  Mindfulness wasn’t even on my radar until a couple of years ago.  Opening. Void. Chasm.  The unknown.  I’ve used all these things to describe my depression and anxiety.  Depression is a void.  The void gives me anxiety.  I try to reduce the anxiety by following the rules.

Rules are concrete.  Certain.  Increase the certainty, decrease the anxiety.  The more rules, the more manageable I believed my depression to be.  What throws me off is when I though I was following the rules and someone says, “How about this?” or “Did you think of it like this?”  No, of course not.  I was following the rules.

This is where defensiveness comes in.  I though following the rules was the point.  I defended that point.  Past managers and co-workers described me as rigid.  I didn’t understand.  I thought following the rules was the point and I thought that was what I was doing.

Here’s the challenge.  Whose rules?  Yes, I know sometimes there are rules that must be followed, like putting together a dresser from Ikea.  Can’t put the drawers in until the frame is ready.  But whose rules of life am I following?

From one perspective I don’t follow social norms.  I don’t want kids and am not married.  These two things are pretty standard expectations for women my age.  I ran into a couple of classmates from highschool a few weeks ago and asked them what they’d been up to.  Got married and had babies is the short story.  I’ve never felt connected enough to anyone to even consider kids and/or marriage, but that’s a whole other can of worms.  The point is, from this perspective, I seem to be living by my own rules.  Instead of recognizing that for what it is, I’ve constantly wondered why I don’t want or have those things.  What rule didn’t I follow?  What did I miss?

Before FOMO was trending, I lived FOMO every day.  For those of you who don’t know, FOMO is the Fear Of Missing Out.  Don’t worry, I didn’t know what that was either until a couple of months ago.  FOMO looms over me and weighs me down.  My FOMO doesn’t lead me to take risks, try new restaurants or meet new people.  My FOMO arises when I think about the past. It is my shoulda, woulda, couldas.  They weigh heavy on my mind.

One rule that I followed for years, simply for the sake of following the rule, was going to therapy.  Every week, same day, same time.  I thought showing up was the point.  My depression didn’t lift and my anxiety didn’t decrease.  I resisted medication for a long time because of this too.  I took medication because my therapist said it would help.  I constantly tried to reduce my dose because my goal was to get off medication.  I grew up not taking medication for every ache and pain.  Sure there were antibiotics for my tonsillitis and the occasional spoonful of cough syrup, but no long-term medications.  Medication was for serious, physical ailments, like my dad’s Crones.  So my rule was no medications.  I waited for my therapist to bring up my childhood.  She didn’t, so how, what & where I learned to feel stayed buried for a long time.  My rule was that the therapist asks the questions.  I answered them.

I followed the rules.  So why didn’t I get better?

Again, WHOSE RULES?  My rules were wrong.  Medication does help.  Bringing up how, when & where I learned to feel without my therapist asking does help.  Actually talking to my therapist without answering a question does help.  Now, I’m more comfortable discussing challenges at work, bringing up regrets and talking through the feelings that arise and identifying feelings.  I actually feel things.  Life started to change.  To open up. Even though the openness is still scary, it’s a little less scary.  See, it’s all gradient.

Why Gradient?

All or nothing thinking was my trap. Still is to a certain extent. I find myself looking for the right thing to do or criticizing myself for doing the wrong thing. Come to find out, life is not so black and white. My current therapist asked me, “Whose rules?” I don’t know. I looked for the right way to behave, act, the right thing to say, the right person to be. Who’s to say what is right? It’s all gradient.

Quick note. As I write, I may venture back and forth between past and present tense. That’s because things aren’t so black and white. Sometimes what I realize applies to the past, but since I’m realizing it in the present, the tense gets confusing. So I’ll write in whatever tense makes sense, even if they don’t match.

I have a stubborn streak. Some might call it insanity. I think I know everything there is to know and repeat the same behavior, expecting different results. I push back, thinking I’ve failed and need to try again. Someone told me recently that FAIL stands for the first attempt in learning.

I was hiring manager in a previous job. I got burned hiring people I wanted to help. They were bad employees. Didn’t show up on time, didn’t work well with others, were rude to customers. I eventually had to fire them. Later, I asked a peer to sit in on an interview with me. Afterwards, he asked my why I was so formal, so reserved. I told him I didn’t ask many probing or follow-up questions because I didn’t want to find something I wanted to help them with. He thanked me for sharing that I’d recognized that vulnerability and that it took courage to share.

Did I learn from that experience with my peer? Not nearly as soon as I would have liked. Does that mean I was wrong to hire all those people? No. I wasn’t right either. It’s all gradient.

Thoughts on Starting Therapy

Finding a therapist was scary. Is scary. I was already anxious, judgmental, self-critical, depressed, and here I was, having to spill my guts to a total stranger just to see if they were someone I’d want to spill more of my guts to. I tried out 4 – 5 therapists before finding the right one. That’s not very many, but it was enough for me. I really limited myself too, searching for someone who would prescribe meds and do talk therapy. I didn’t want to have to tell two people my sob story.

Whoever said, “the only way forward is through,” was right. Had I not tried out a few therapists, I never would have found the one that saved my life. Had I not stuck with that therapist, if only out of a fear of disappointing them, I wouldn’t be here today. Crazy, right? Not in the scheme of things. Sometimes the only reason I went to therapy was because I didn’t want to disappoint them. Sometimes it was because the cancellation fee was so much more than my co-pay. And sometimes it was because I’d set my calendar appointment to repeat until infinity, so when I saw my reminder, I went to my appointment. Not good reasons, but who says reasons have to be good? They were reasons to go to therapy. And after going through therapy, I found I had actually moved forward.

Swerve, Brake or…?

I was listening to The Book of Joy with the Dalai Lama & Archbishop Desmond Tutu while driving and something they both said resonated. I can choose how I react to another person. First thought – that’s too many choices, too many people, too many intersections to choose. Second thought – too late, a semi-truck swerved into my lane without a blinker.

I eased off the gas, lightly braked and left space. Then it hit me. I CHOSE my reaction. Woah.

I could have continued at my same speed. I could have swerved. I could have slammed on my brakes. Could have but chose not to. I chose how I reacted! It’s hard to celebrate while driving, but I gave it my best shot!

The number of opportunities to choose while driving are endless! Where to go, how fast to drive, which lane, which route, how much space to leave between me and the car in front of me. To stop or not at a yellow light. Even whether to run a red light. The list goes on!

A great driving analogy is a 4-way stop. There are rules, but I sure don’t remember all of them. Whoever got there first, gets to go first; whoever pulled up second, goes second. I think. Life is a never-ending 4-way stop. I know I get a turn, but I’m not always confident it’s my turn.

Even better is a big intersection usually regulated by a traffic light; one with multiple lanes, left turn and right turn lanes. The power is out, the lights are all blinking red and NO ONE is confident the others know what to do. This is very confusing. This type of intersection causes me lots of anxiety.

An analogy I’ve used often is my “journey,” the “road,” or the “path” I’m on. A “journey” implies that there’s a set destination, with a series of accomplishments and milestones along the way. This analogy no longer serves me. Chelsea Handler has some great thoughts on this too.

This analogy really begins to unravel when I envision a map of the US. Roads wind through the states, connecting cities to other cities, the Atlantic to the Pacific. There is no end because PERSPECTIVE. When I drive to Seattle, I have so many roads, highways and interstates to choose from. I have the choice of turning left or right at every intersection. Choosing a right turn takes me on a different road than a left turn. When I reach my destination, I’ll turn around and head back home. Not in reverse, but another, completely separate trip. My destination might be someone else’s beginning. My beginning is someone else’s destination.

Think about the web of roads around you right now. There are so many intersections! So many speeds, so many types of roads. I passed a road with a dead-end sign, one with speed-controlling bumps, one with a center 2-way turn lane and one closed for repairs. I had a choice to make! I paid attention to the signs and chose my route to the best of my ability.

That’s the thing. There are roads with signs and roads without. I’m going to encounter both. Some signs I see, some signs I don’t. Speed limit signs exist, but at some point I make a decision to go with the flow of traffic. There are some battles I choose not to fight.