Like most kids, I loved the holidays. All of them. I remember Christmas Eve being my favorite, because it meant that all of my extended family on my father's (American) side got together. Back then that meant playing with my cousins, first and beyond, along with aunts, uncles, grandparents, great grandparents, etc. Sure, I loved presents, but I really loved the get-togethers. I was young and naive to any family drama or awkwardness that might be present and ignorance was bliss.
Eventually I got older and in my late teens I decided that I hated the holidays. Ba humbug. The only enjoyable part was giving my family presents and watching Christmas movies with my sister. I decided that Thanksgiving and Christmas were just a load of bull shit. A big commercial scam. I didn't look forward to the family gatherings and even started bringing reading material with me.
Now I can look back on my holiday hostility and see what the real root was. Of course it's ridiculous from a commercial standpoint, but who really cares? It's not like anyone is trying to hide the fact. The real problem was that the family community part of the holidays that I cherished began to fall apart. Estrangements had crept up in so many corners that piece by piece, parts of the map drifted off to create their own islands. Over time, so many pieces floated away that my family and I, rooted firmly on the main land, found that the size of our gatherings weren't much more than an island either.
Then, of course, came our own form of estrangement. During the years of my parents' separation the holidays couldn't have been more awkward. My mother already didn't like my father's family so she wasn't about to celebrate the holidays with them if she wasn't bound to. They didn't like her either and without her there they didn't feel the need to censor their hostility. My mother, not being from this country, had no family of her own to visit on these occasions and spent holidays with close friends, instead. This left my sister and I in an odd sort of place. Whatever that place was, it wasn't festive.
Holidays work like a magnifier. If you have a happy, loving family, it's the time when you all get together and celebrate that love and happiness. You laugh, you share, maybe you even sing. If your family is unhappy or in the midst of falling apart, the holidays exist to remind you of what you don't have. They cause you to have to make decisions you never wanted to make, like how to split up your time between those you love. And trust me, there is never a way to split up your time that will satisfy both parties.
The last few years, I have been lucky in that I find myself looking forward to the holidays. The parents are back together, but it's not just that. The extended family is more spread out and divided than ever before, but while I would love for them all to gather together for the holidays again, it's no longer essential to my holiday cheer. I won't be with my sister this season, which does leave a very large void, but even this will not ruin my holiday.
I don't want to say anything cheesy, like, "it's all about celebrating the things in life that you do have," but I will say that once you stop defining what holidays are supposed to be and stop trying to determine beforehand what will or will not make you happy, it's surprising what an enjoyable experience anticipating the holidays can be.
Monday, October 22, 2007
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Motivation
Like most people, I spend the work week counting down to the weekend. One day at a time I get closer to that two day period of not having to go to the office. I spend five out of seven days fantasizing about the other two.
I always make big plans in my head of the things I'm going to get accomplished once the weekend comes. I'll clean the house and the garage, I'll make long overdue phone calls, I'll run the errands I've avoided for months like going to the post office and dropping old clothes off at the Salvation Army. Maybe I'll make albums of all of the photos I have laying around, or go through my old home videos and make something of them. Maybe I'll plan out my meals for the next week and go grocery shopping, or set up a budget so I can figure out how to save enough money to finally make that trip to Tuscany I've always dreamed of.
Yes, I do realize that these are boring goals, but I see them as long thought of tasks that I can finally check off my list. Of course I can't do them during the week. I have work, volunteering and tv shows I can't miss. But, once the weekend comes around, I'll have all of the free time I need. I mean, I could even get up early in the mornings, start my day early and accomplish even more! The sky's the limit once the weekend comes around, and there so much I will get done, my weekday mind tells myself.
Finally the weekend comes around. Along with the office, the goals I've made for myself seem to disappear. Well, not disappear exactly. The goals are still there, it's just the motivation that has gone. Why get up early if I don't have to? I could drive out to Costco to stock up on household stuff we need, but somehow I keep ending up in the lawn chair with my book. Costco is still there, lingering in my mind as the one thing I have to do today, but the sun feels good and the book is on a roll. Speaking of rolls, there's still a few left of toilet paper, so there's really no rush to go to Costco and push my cart through the crowd of people, right?
Eventually the great ideas I had during the week of ways I could simplify or tidy up my life by accomplishing a few tasks on the weekend disappear. I end up sitting around with the roommates, drinking beer, watching tv shows I'm not interested in, or losing hours to whatever book I'm reading. Before I know it, it's Monday again. That looming Monday. The worst day of the week because it holds the least hope. Come Monday I know that I will start, once again, to count down to the next weekend where I will accomplish everything I failed to all of the weekends before.
I always make big plans in my head of the things I'm going to get accomplished once the weekend comes. I'll clean the house and the garage, I'll make long overdue phone calls, I'll run the errands I've avoided for months like going to the post office and dropping old clothes off at the Salvation Army. Maybe I'll make albums of all of the photos I have laying around, or go through my old home videos and make something of them. Maybe I'll plan out my meals for the next week and go grocery shopping, or set up a budget so I can figure out how to save enough money to finally make that trip to Tuscany I've always dreamed of.
Yes, I do realize that these are boring goals, but I see them as long thought of tasks that I can finally check off my list. Of course I can't do them during the week. I have work, volunteering and tv shows I can't miss. But, once the weekend comes around, I'll have all of the free time I need. I mean, I could even get up early in the mornings, start my day early and accomplish even more! The sky's the limit once the weekend comes around, and there so much I will get done, my weekday mind tells myself.
Finally the weekend comes around. Along with the office, the goals I've made for myself seem to disappear. Well, not disappear exactly. The goals are still there, it's just the motivation that has gone. Why get up early if I don't have to? I could drive out to Costco to stock up on household stuff we need, but somehow I keep ending up in the lawn chair with my book. Costco is still there, lingering in my mind as the one thing I have to do today, but the sun feels good and the book is on a roll. Speaking of rolls, there's still a few left of toilet paper, so there's really no rush to go to Costco and push my cart through the crowd of people, right?
Eventually the great ideas I had during the week of ways I could simplify or tidy up my life by accomplishing a few tasks on the weekend disappear. I end up sitting around with the roommates, drinking beer, watching tv shows I'm not interested in, or losing hours to whatever book I'm reading. Before I know it, it's Monday again. That looming Monday. The worst day of the week because it holds the least hope. Come Monday I know that I will start, once again, to count down to the next weekend where I will accomplish everything I failed to all of the weekends before.
Friday, October 19, 2007
Work
I've never had a problem with work. In fact, I usually enjoy it. I like the satisfaction of a "job well done." I've also felt that I've been gifted with a strong work ethic. I like work. I don't like my job.
Sometimes I find myself considering quitting my job and becoming a construction worker or an oil changer. Anything that involves a clear-cut job to be done. I find myself longing for a project, for someone to say, "here, do this, do it right, and then tell me when you're done." I've spent years working myself up through higher and higher positions in my company. These days I find myself longing to start at the bottom again. I would last five minutes in construction. I'm sure it wouldn't take long before I'd pour oil into someone's coolant tank. But I would be moving, I'd be using my hands, I'd be creating things or fixing things - concrete things, not "processes" or "procedures."
Growing up I worked a variety of jobs. I've washed dishes and windows, shelved books and movies, served meals and cocktails. I did each of these jobs with confidence. I learned what needed to be done and I did it. There was a right and wrong way. What had to be done was obvious. Washing dishes, you just have to make sure they're clean. Working cash registers, you give out the correct change, filing movies and books is done in alphabetical order. At the end of the day, you close up shop. The customers go home. You clock out. Your day is done.
After college I entered the world of working on your butt. By that I mean doing work while sitting down. No more running around. Communication is done through email. You are neither seen nor heard, but read. It started out perfectly. Orders came through and I did them. I did them right and I did them fast. I edited. And I became the top editor in the company before long. I liked it. I got up in the morning and went to my job, knowing what I had to do and knowing how to do it right.
Eventually I moved to management. Also not bad. The whole idea of clocking out disappeared, along with over time, of course. But I like leading. My employees liked me, those above me appreciated my determination to get things done - done right and done fast. Their appreciation led to my promotion, and now, here I am. I'm no longer an editor processing orders, and I'm no longer a manager making sure the orders get processed. Now, I manage managers. I sit here at my computer all day. I answer questions. I ask questions. I find myself with hours of free time and drawn out deadlines. Work moves at a slower pace, and as a result, so does time. I'm restless. I'm bored. I'm working towards miserable here.
I'm making more money and doing less work. I have no right to complain, I really don't. I have it easy compared to a lot of jobs out there. Of course, these days, I have a lot more accountability, I take a lot more shit from those above me and my boss can, and does, call me whenever he needs to, no matter what day or time, but my job has only gotten less stressful I as work myself up the ladder. Yet, at the same time, my dislike for my job seems to increase at the same rate. In the end, it's not my dislike for corporate politics or "the man" that has me itching to get out, but my desire to sit down and do work. To go to a job, work, and then clock out and close up shop for the day. No more bull shit, no more pissing contests, no more drawn out conversations about goals and processes and numbers. Just give me a job where I work. Where I start something and I finish it and I know I'm doing it right.
The catch? The harder you work, the less they pay you.
Sometimes I find myself considering quitting my job and becoming a construction worker or an oil changer. Anything that involves a clear-cut job to be done. I find myself longing for a project, for someone to say, "here, do this, do it right, and then tell me when you're done." I've spent years working myself up through higher and higher positions in my company. These days I find myself longing to start at the bottom again. I would last five minutes in construction. I'm sure it wouldn't take long before I'd pour oil into someone's coolant tank. But I would be moving, I'd be using my hands, I'd be creating things or fixing things - concrete things, not "processes" or "procedures."
Growing up I worked a variety of jobs. I've washed dishes and windows, shelved books and movies, served meals and cocktails. I did each of these jobs with confidence. I learned what needed to be done and I did it. There was a right and wrong way. What had to be done was obvious. Washing dishes, you just have to make sure they're clean. Working cash registers, you give out the correct change, filing movies and books is done in alphabetical order. At the end of the day, you close up shop. The customers go home. You clock out. Your day is done.
After college I entered the world of working on your butt. By that I mean doing work while sitting down. No more running around. Communication is done through email. You are neither seen nor heard, but read. It started out perfectly. Orders came through and I did them. I did them right and I did them fast. I edited. And I became the top editor in the company before long. I liked it. I got up in the morning and went to my job, knowing what I had to do and knowing how to do it right.
Eventually I moved to management. Also not bad. The whole idea of clocking out disappeared, along with over time, of course. But I like leading. My employees liked me, those above me appreciated my determination to get things done - done right and done fast. Their appreciation led to my promotion, and now, here I am. I'm no longer an editor processing orders, and I'm no longer a manager making sure the orders get processed. Now, I manage managers. I sit here at my computer all day. I answer questions. I ask questions. I find myself with hours of free time and drawn out deadlines. Work moves at a slower pace, and as a result, so does time. I'm restless. I'm bored. I'm working towards miserable here.
I'm making more money and doing less work. I have no right to complain, I really don't. I have it easy compared to a lot of jobs out there. Of course, these days, I have a lot more accountability, I take a lot more shit from those above me and my boss can, and does, call me whenever he needs to, no matter what day or time, but my job has only gotten less stressful I as work myself up the ladder. Yet, at the same time, my dislike for my job seems to increase at the same rate. In the end, it's not my dislike for corporate politics or "the man" that has me itching to get out, but my desire to sit down and do work. To go to a job, work, and then clock out and close up shop for the day. No more bull shit, no more pissing contests, no more drawn out conversations about goals and processes and numbers. Just give me a job where I work. Where I start something and I finish it and I know I'm doing it right.
The catch? The harder you work, the less they pay you.
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