I really don’t know what I’m doing

Are we all in the same boat here, full of a sense that we can accomplish more than we are, but no idea on how to practically achieve it? I’m going through this phase in life a little late (or a lot, depending on my optimism/pessimism levels) and maybe everyone else has already dealt with this feeling when they were in high school or university, and the rest of you have made peace with the tools you have on hand and your ability to build with them.  For me, it’s like I’ve woken up from a coma and I now have a brain full of exciting goals and dreams, but my withered coma body isn’t up to the tasks I’m presenting it.

Ego plays a huge part in all of this: I want to be in the cool kids club with the leaders and thinkers and visionaries, no matter how little experience I actually have, or the quality of contribution I can bring to the table. It’s pretty demoralizing when you want to help the people around you and your community but you don’t really know how.

Okay, the above statement is both maudlin and inaccurate. Blame senor Ego again. I do know how to help out. But I want to help out in the bigger and more impressive ways, like being a board member at a not-for-profit. The trouble is, I don’t have the skill set these boards need, and I know that. It will all take time and effort. I can’t help but glare glumly into the past at the younger version of myself and mutter about his lack of success. If young me had finished university, how much farther ahead would current me be?

The trouble with that kind of logic is that it assumes that the younger versions of me were capable of doing more than they did, when that’s not a fair assessment. My brain was a pretty sad mess for most of high school, a swirling mix of low self-esteem, social anxiety and a total lack of personal responsibility. That fog was extended and worsened by a five-year (give or take) enthusiastic drinking habit. It has been a long, difficult process of managing to function and thrive despite the brain mess, and things are much, much better.

Now that I’m paying attention to the world around me and trying to be a better all-around citizen, I’m hitting the limits of the amount of information I can process. No matter how earnest and engaged I am, I just can’t assimilate a comprehensive understanding of civic issues at the municipal, provincial, federal and international levels at the same time. My poor brain is aching. Do I like standardized testing? Is my opinion on the Shared Services plan well-informed? Do I even care if there are ad banners on the railway bridges? Is my stance on Israel fair and balanced? Ack! I don’t know! I’m just a poor author.

Speaking of artistic poverty, there’s this cheery piece of dream-crushing: http://www.locusmag.com/Perspectives/2011/09/cory-doctorow-why-should-anyone-care/

The author is a guy who has been doing this for a while, so he’s got the street cred. I know that the odds of my first book making a giant pile of cash are hilariously bad, but I really want to hold to the (reasonable?) hope that I can eke out a subsistence living by continuing to write and publish novels. I don’t want diamond shoes or anything, but would it be too much to ask to make enough to remove money stress from my life? I’m not talking a large sum of money here-when you work out the hours I spend on writing, it would probably come out to about a full-time minimum wage. Oh well. I can’t control who buys my book. I can only control the creation process.

Massive Cuts at Dad Co. !!!!!!

MadeUp News – The workforce at Dad Co. has been given notice that, as of September 6th, they will be transitioned to a part-time basis, working only Mondays and Fridays. A company spokesman was quoted as saying “it’s a definite shift in our workload, but the consumer demand just isn’t there. Our primary client has decided to use another service provider for Tuesday to Thursday, and we can’t offer a competing package.” Reaction from the workforce has been generally sad and mopey, with muttered talk of “my boy is growing up so quickly” and questions about “who will make sure he eats his lunchtime vegetable?” filling the air of the Dad Co. Factory.

 

translation: Max goes back to preschool tomorrow, and this year, he’s going for 3 full days a week. For the first time in 2 years, I won’t be there during lunchtime. For some reason, that’s the part that I’m hung up on-his new level of sandwich autonomy.

I know that he’s going to enjoy going back to school. In fact, he’s been asking about school for the last few weeks, after he reached a state of boredom with our summer routine. My boy’s a social butterfly, and he’s looking forward to having new friends to play with. And it will be good for me as well, giving me time during business hours to try to make money, while also plugging away at my next novel.

But like every parent before me, I can’t help but be sad at the march of time, since that march leads him towards independence and away from me. Last year, I couldn’t fathom reaching this point in time. I thought it was so far away that it would never actually happen, but here we are. Next year he’ll be at the real deal, full day junior kindergarten. Sniffle.

I’m very grateful that I’m able to be at home, spending Mondays and Fridays with him, and being able to pick him up at 3PM after school.  I sincerely hope that I can find some kind of reliable income source that will allow us to keep me here, though I realize how challenging it’s going to be to find some kind of job that will fit within the hours I have available (nevermind my continual battle with the lack of credentials on my CV. Curse you, lack of employer-enticing accomplishments!) So, dear universe, if you were planning to throw some cash my way, this would be a fine and dandy time to do so. I promise that I’ll keep trying to make the world a better place, and I won’t buy even one giant foam cowboy hat.

We’re Watching the Politicians

(I’m addled by the furious wrath of the sun, but I’m determined to get out a blog post before the heat stroke takes the last bits of my reason and intellect. I don’t think I’ve gone mad yet, but you’re always the last to know).

There is an experiment discussed in the personal improvement book “The 4-Hour body” that really caught my interest. One of the volunteer test subjects decided that his method of weight loss would be to keep an accurate record of his weight several times a a day, every day. That’s it-no diet changes, no new exercise, just weighing himself and writing the number down every day in the morning and at night. And he lost weight.

I don’t think this is some kind of miracle cure for obesity, and it’s doubtful that this guy was going to see a dramatic long-term loss through simple observation, but it highlights an interesting feature of our human behaviour. Quite simply, we behave differently when observed. One of the best ways to ensure that people straighten up and keep flying right is to watch them and to let them know you’re watching them. No, I’m not advocating round the clock surveillance.

Let’s look at a specific situation. Last week, our city council met for what was promising to be a cavalcade of poor decisions that sacrificed long-term progress for rash penny-pinching. The council members were greeted by a full gallery of citizens who were ready to watch and comment on all of the goings on. There were a fair number of attendees who were focused on a very specific issue (the closing of a tiny but beloved library), and you can always count on that type of focused group to come trooping out to complain, so I imagine they are fairly easy to ignore. But along with these special interest people, there were a large number of citizens who were there to keep an eye on the general business of council. And as they watched, they took notes, and they tweeted each vote and comment. I followed along at home and it was fantastic to have real-time access and reaction to the goings on, and I was able to join the conversation.The next day, I reviewed the council decisions, and I was pleasantly surprised to notice that most of the decisions that had been made were the right ones, even if it contradicted what the earlier committee work had recommended.  It was almost as if the councillors had noticed they were being watched.