Daily affirmations of a word mercenary
Journalish Category
I like to think of this blog as more than just a journal, but sometimes it’s not. Not at all. Sometimes it’s just all about ME ME ME and what I’ve been up to. Sort of like a journal…ish.
The solution
22
Feb
2007
In: Journalish
When you’re sick, mildly depressed, have gnawing anxiety, haven’t showered in two days and sort of just want to curl up and die in your dirty pink sweatpants, it’s awfully nice when the mail man shows up with the solution: a netflix envelope containing Beverly Hills 90210: Season 1: Disc 1.
Content Manager
17
Feb
2007
In: Journalish
You know how anorexics have that strange loss of reality where at a certain point they stop being able to see or understand what “attractive” or “healthy” means? You know those 80-pound women still convinced that they have fat thighs, even as their skin visibly droops off of their exposed, sad little femurs?
I am the same way — but with happiness, success, and contentment. Lately, I’ve been this ball of perspective-less free-floating anxiety, somehow convinced that I’m just not doing enough and that secretly it’s all going to shit. Oh sure I have a book out, but my Amazon sales rank is unacceptable and publicity needs to be stepped up. Oh sure I just got a great job that will let me work part time doing stuff I like doing while giving me great benefits and financial security, but should I have taken it full time? Oh sure I have a great home, but it’s in the burbs and I’m a urbanite and if only I didn’t have to drive so much! Oh sure I have an amazing husband, but do I spend enough time doting on him? Clearly, I’m doing it all wrong.
Basically, I’m that scary little woman staring at her sad little femur whining, “If only I tried a little harder, this could be better.”
The job I’m starting next month includes the words “Content Manager” in the title, and a friend asked me a pointed question: “Is that CAHN-tent Manager or Cuhn-TENT manager?” If I was ever hired on as Manager of Contentment, I would have some serious challenges, because evidently I suck at being content. I can write content, but I have trouble being content.
This bug is a feature, of course. It’s part of what makes me so ambitious and driven and hyper-motivated all the time. But when is good enough? When do I let myself sit back and say “Ahhh, good job, Me! Way to go!”? Andreas wrote a while back about how according to recent studies, the secret to happiness is low expectations. How do you balance this then with the concept of manifesting greatness? I try to visualize my own success and happiness a lot, but then downside is that there’s always something more to be manifesting. MUST! BE! HAPPIER!
I’m certainly not alone in this conundrum. It’s the American way, isn’t it? Driven by capitalism and the lingering effects of a protestant work ethic, we’re always holding the American Dream in our minds, but it’s a slippery beast. There’s no exact picture of what it actually is, and so you’re constantly trying to ferret it out, working hard, trying more, keeping growth at an incline rather than just a flat-line. You can never be to rich, too skinny, or even too enlightened because oh yes, keeping up with the Joneses happens with spiritual exploration, too.
I guess the moral of the story is that as Contentment Manager, I have a long way to go. Every day this week I’ve freaked out about something that’s more than perfectly fine. I can type these words and understand them intellectually, but even as my sad little femur pokes out, I tell myself I’ll do better next week.
A moment from a marriage
15
Feb
2007
In: Journalish
on the ferry
Originally uploaded by yelahneb.
For the record
7
Feb
2007
In: Journalish
I am not a good puppet-maker. This will make more sense later. In other news, I want to ditch my actual skin and just live in a dress I just got from Wai-Ching. Who needs flesh when you’ve got raw, hand-dyed silk?
In high school, I was a solid A- honors student, taking honors English and Social Studies class for four straight years. I was in the National Honor Society. I was a speaker at my high school graduation. I was also an obsessive theater geek, doing at least three (and sometimes four) plays a year with both my high school and the community theater. I spent four years in Greasepaint, the teen theater program that produced former SNLer Chris Kattan. I spent two years going to a 6:30 am jazz choir class. Classic over-achiever, right?
Maybe not. My parents were worried I was lazy, and frequently shared this concern with me. See, I didn’t have a job. Oh sure, I babysat. And I worked as a teaching assistant at the theater’s summer theater camp. But I didn’t have a job during the school year (how could I? I was too busy getting straight As and doing theater!), and this bothered my parents, who I think were worried they were cranking out an entitled, spoiled child who would never be able to support herself. They had serious talks with me about it, and chided me with stories of classmates and family friends who earned their own money so they could go on summer trips. My parents were convinced: I was lazy.
I graduated, went to college, and started working retail jobs, which eventually lead to office jobs, which eventually lead to writing jobs, and I forgot all about being the lazy one.
Last year, when reading through some of my old journals in search of a Salon of Shame reading, I kept noticing through all my years of high school all these references in my writing to my parents telling me how lazy I was. It was finally from my adult perspective that I was able to say, “Dude: WTF! I was an honors student who did theater nonstop and yet somehow I was lazy!?”
Over a brunch with my parents a few weeks ago, we got to talking about 30somethings being supported by their families. “I’m so glad you support yourself,” my mother said. “I used to worry about how lazy you were!”
It was time for my dude: wtf conversation. “Lazy?! But mom,” I said, “I was super active in after-school activities and got straight As.”
“Yeah, but school was always so easy for you,” she answered.
“So wait: because I was intelligent and didn’t complain a ton about studying, somehow that means I didn’t deserve those As? Or that somehow those As were of less value than As earned by a student who really struggled?”
“Oh, hmm,” my mother said. “But you didn’t work!”
Of course now I do work (constantly), but this conversation made me realize that this issue has come up numerous times in my career. I don’t like working HARD, and by that I don’t mean that I don’t like working. I love working. My hobbies include a lot of tasks that look a hell of a lot like work, and I do it because I enjoy it. But I have a real aversion to tooth-gnashing agony/effort. I love a good challenge, but I like trying to find ways to make challenges as easy as possible … I try to get through my work as efficiently and quickly as I can with minimal kvetching, and my parents aren’t the only ones to mistake this efficiency and cheerful demeanor as somehow evidence that I’m not actually working.
Several times in my career I’ve worked with people who liked to go on and on about how HARD their work was. Lots of bitching and moaning and sweating and panics and arm waving and oh my god, I can’t BELIEVE I got it all done on time! Time and time again I’ve seen this behavior rewarded. “They work so hard,” coworkers and managers will say. And they did indeed work hard. But did they need to? Did they get more done that way? Did they do it better, or just with lots of histrionics to ensure that everyone really knows that they did something?
I’ve made a career out of NOT working hard. And I intend to keep doing it this way, despite the fact that it may mean people think I’m not actually working.
- 30 Comments
- Tags: ambition, laziness, meritocracy
The solution
22 Feb 2007 In: JournalishWhen you’re sick, mildly depressed, have gnawing anxiety, haven’t showered in two days and sort of just want to curl up and die in your dirty pink sweatpants, it’s awfully nice when the mail man shows up with the solution: a netflix envelope containing Beverly Hills 90210: Season 1: Disc 1.
Content Manager
17 Feb 2007 In: JournalishYou know how anorexics have that strange loss of reality where at a certain point they stop being able to see or understand what “attractive” or “healthy” means? You know those 80-pound women still convinced that they have fat thighs, even as their skin visibly droops off of their exposed, sad little femurs?
I am the same way — but with happiness, success, and contentment. Lately, I’ve been this ball of perspective-less free-floating anxiety, somehow convinced that I’m just not doing enough and that secretly it’s all going to shit. Oh sure I have a book out, but my Amazon sales rank is unacceptable and publicity needs to be stepped up. Oh sure I just got a great job that will let me work part time doing stuff I like doing while giving me great benefits and financial security, but should I have taken it full time? Oh sure I have a great home, but it’s in the burbs and I’m a urbanite and if only I didn’t have to drive so much! Oh sure I have an amazing husband, but do I spend enough time doting on him? Clearly, I’m doing it all wrong.
Basically, I’m that scary little woman staring at her sad little femur whining, “If only I tried a little harder, this could be better.”
The job I’m starting next month includes the words “Content Manager” in the title, and a friend asked me a pointed question: “Is that CAHN-tent Manager or Cuhn-TENT manager?” If I was ever hired on as Manager of Contentment, I would have some serious challenges, because evidently I suck at being content. I can write content, but I have trouble being content.
This bug is a feature, of course. It’s part of what makes me so ambitious and driven and hyper-motivated all the time. But when is good enough? When do I let myself sit back and say “Ahhh, good job, Me! Way to go!”? Andreas wrote a while back about how according to recent studies, the secret to happiness is low expectations. How do you balance this then with the concept of manifesting greatness? I try to visualize my own success and happiness a lot, but then downside is that there’s always something more to be manifesting. MUST! BE! HAPPIER!
I’m certainly not alone in this conundrum. It’s the American way, isn’t it? Driven by capitalism and the lingering effects of a protestant work ethic, we’re always holding the American Dream in our minds, but it’s a slippery beast. There’s no exact picture of what it actually is, and so you’re constantly trying to ferret it out, working hard, trying more, keeping growth at an incline rather than just a flat-line. You can never be to rich, too skinny, or even too enlightened because oh yes, keeping up with the Joneses happens with spiritual exploration, too.
I guess the moral of the story is that as Contentment Manager, I have a long way to go. Every day this week I’ve freaked out about something that’s more than perfectly fine. I can type these words and understand them intellectually, but even as my sad little femur pokes out, I tell myself I’ll do better next week.
A moment from a marriage
15 Feb 2007 In: Journalishon the ferry
Originally uploaded by yelahneb.
For the record
7 Feb 2007 In: JournalishI am not a good puppet-maker. This will make more sense later. In other news, I want to ditch my actual skin and just live in a dress I just got from Wai-Ching. Who needs flesh when you’ve got raw, hand-dyed silk?
In high school, I was a solid A- honors student, taking honors English and Social Studies class for four straight years. I was in the National Honor Society. I was a speaker at my high school graduation. I was also an obsessive theater geek, doing at least three (and sometimes four) plays a year with both my high school and the community theater. I spent four years in Greasepaint, the teen theater program that produced former SNLer Chris Kattan. I spent two years going to a 6:30 am jazz choir class. Classic over-achiever, right?
Maybe not. My parents were worried I was lazy, and frequently shared this concern with me. See, I didn’t have a job. Oh sure, I babysat. And I worked as a teaching assistant at the theater’s summer theater camp. But I didn’t have a job during the school year (how could I? I was too busy getting straight As and doing theater!), and this bothered my parents, who I think were worried they were cranking out an entitled, spoiled child who would never be able to support herself. They had serious talks with me about it, and chided me with stories of classmates and family friends who earned their own money so they could go on summer trips. My parents were convinced: I was lazy.
I graduated, went to college, and started working retail jobs, which eventually lead to office jobs, which eventually lead to writing jobs, and I forgot all about being the lazy one.
Last year, when reading through some of my old journals in search of a Salon of Shame reading, I kept noticing through all my years of high school all these references in my writing to my parents telling me how lazy I was. It was finally from my adult perspective that I was able to say, “Dude: WTF! I was an honors student who did theater nonstop and yet somehow I was lazy!?”
Over a brunch with my parents a few weeks ago, we got to talking about 30somethings being supported by their families. “I’m so glad you support yourself,” my mother said. “I used to worry about how lazy you were!”
It was time for my dude: wtf conversation. “Lazy?! But mom,” I said, “I was super active in after-school activities and got straight As.”
“Yeah, but school was always so easy for you,” she answered.
“So wait: because I was intelligent and didn’t complain a ton about studying, somehow that means I didn’t deserve those As? Or that somehow those As were of less value than As earned by a student who really struggled?”
“Oh, hmm,” my mother said. “But you didn’t work!”
Of course now I do work (constantly), but this conversation made me realize that this issue has come up numerous times in my career. I don’t like working HARD, and by that I don’t mean that I don’t like working. I love working. My hobbies include a lot of tasks that look a hell of a lot like work, and I do it because I enjoy it. But I have a real aversion to tooth-gnashing agony/effort. I love a good challenge, but I like trying to find ways to make challenges as easy as possible … I try to get through my work as efficiently and quickly as I can with minimal kvetching, and my parents aren’t the only ones to mistake this efficiency and cheerful demeanor as somehow evidence that I’m not actually working.
Several times in my career I’ve worked with people who liked to go on and on about how HARD their work was. Lots of bitching and moaning and sweating and panics and arm waving and oh my god, I can’t BELIEVE I got it all done on time! Time and time again I’ve seen this behavior rewarded. “They work so hard,” coworkers and managers will say. And they did indeed work hard. But did they need to? Did they get more done that way? Did they do it better, or just with lots of histrionics to ensure that everyone really knows that they did something?
I’ve made a career out of NOT working hard. And I intend to keep doing it this way, despite the fact that it may mean people think I’m not actually working.
- 30 Comments
- Tags: ambition, laziness, meritocracy
Hey there. I'm Ariel Meadow Stallings, a native Seattleite who's written my way up and down the Left Coast. Electrolicious is where I post daily randomata, but I also write for a living. My first book, Offbeat Bride, was published last year.
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