Why do you work?
Most of us, unconsciously I think, have chosen our jobs based on maximizing income, given our particular training. Some of us are not making the absolute maximum we could, but we're still pretty close. And if we are in that camp, where maybe we are making ten percent less than we could have, we congratulate ourselves for being willing to make financial sacrifices for the sake of family or lifestyle. Or, less optimistically, for the illusion of safety or stability.
What if we chose our work differently? What if, instead of choosing a job that maximizes our income, we choose to maximize our joy? To do the things that we are passionate about? That bring us alive?
Can you even list three things that give you joy at work? I'm not sure I can. Joy happens, but I don't spend a lot of time cultivating it. I haven't studied joy the same way I have studied anger or fear or stress.
Maybe I should start.
Jeff
Monday, July 12, 2010
Friday, July 9, 2010
Exploring Fear
I used to have panic attacks.
Beginning in my late teens, and continuing until my early thirties, every now and then I would experience sudden, intense fear. I knew, just knew, that everyone noticed and was watching me, which only made it worse. I would get very warm, my heart would pound, and I'd sweat profusely. And my only thoughts would be of escape. Of finding somewhere cooler, where I could collect my thoughts, where people would not be looking at me, where I could breathe again.
My attacks tended to happen in public places, often when meeting new people. At a party, for example. I'd begin to feel self-conscious when I would have to talk about myself. Where I went to school, or what I did for a living. Hobbies. If someone showed an interest in what I had to say, my face would begin to feel flush, and then I would start to sweat. When I would stand in line in a store, I worried about what other people would think of the things I had in my cart. When I was out with my parents (later my mom), and would see people we knew, just the casual conversations would make me feel incredibily self-conscious. I remember a law school exam when my brain simply stopped. Overwhelmed by caffeine, lack of sleep, and the guilt of having skipped most of the classes, I had to walk out.
I never saw anyone about this. I was terrified to talk about it. But I got to know my fear, and the situations that might bring it on, intimately. Routines were okay, but I learned to avoid new things because they made me so uncomfortable. I learned strategies for dealing with it, actions that I could take that might lessen the chances of an attack. Unfortunately, drinking worked. But exercise worked better. Some kinds of deep breathing seemed to help, too. And ultimately, meditation put a stop to it.
I learned much later that my experiments with fear had a basis in science. Fear is driven by the amygdala, at the center of what has been called the "lizard brain." The amygdala releases adrenaline, among other things, as part of the fight or flight response. Aerobic exercise releases endorphins that calm the amygdala. Meditation, or even deep breathing, can do the same, giving us a split second before the fear kicks in. That split second can separate bad choices from good ones.
When we live in fear, much of life is on autopilot. We are driven by the lizard brain, reacting before thought. Our behavior is unconscious and often instantaneous. We often wonder later why we behaved the way that we did. But in the moment, there is seemingly no choice.
As we work with our fear, we become less afraid of it. I am grateful now for all I had to do to become a reasonably functional human being. My attacks were never all that frequent, but they did happen enough to worry me. And when my amygdala finally began to settle down, my life began to change in all kinds of wonderful ways.
I don't think any of us completely escapes fear--the wiring is simply too strong. But we can see it for what it is, and in doing so, open to other possibilities.
Jeff
Beginning in my late teens, and continuing until my early thirties, every now and then I would experience sudden, intense fear. I knew, just knew, that everyone noticed and was watching me, which only made it worse. I would get very warm, my heart would pound, and I'd sweat profusely. And my only thoughts would be of escape. Of finding somewhere cooler, where I could collect my thoughts, where people would not be looking at me, where I could breathe again.
My attacks tended to happen in public places, often when meeting new people. At a party, for example. I'd begin to feel self-conscious when I would have to talk about myself. Where I went to school, or what I did for a living. Hobbies. If someone showed an interest in what I had to say, my face would begin to feel flush, and then I would start to sweat. When I would stand in line in a store, I worried about what other people would think of the things I had in my cart. When I was out with my parents (later my mom), and would see people we knew, just the casual conversations would make me feel incredibily self-conscious. I remember a law school exam when my brain simply stopped. Overwhelmed by caffeine, lack of sleep, and the guilt of having skipped most of the classes, I had to walk out.
I never saw anyone about this. I was terrified to talk about it. But I got to know my fear, and the situations that might bring it on, intimately. Routines were okay, but I learned to avoid new things because they made me so uncomfortable. I learned strategies for dealing with it, actions that I could take that might lessen the chances of an attack. Unfortunately, drinking worked. But exercise worked better. Some kinds of deep breathing seemed to help, too. And ultimately, meditation put a stop to it.
I learned much later that my experiments with fear had a basis in science. Fear is driven by the amygdala, at the center of what has been called the "lizard brain." The amygdala releases adrenaline, among other things, as part of the fight or flight response. Aerobic exercise releases endorphins that calm the amygdala. Meditation, or even deep breathing, can do the same, giving us a split second before the fear kicks in. That split second can separate bad choices from good ones.
When we live in fear, much of life is on autopilot. We are driven by the lizard brain, reacting before thought. Our behavior is unconscious and often instantaneous. We often wonder later why we behaved the way that we did. But in the moment, there is seemingly no choice.
As we work with our fear, we become less afraid of it. I am grateful now for all I had to do to become a reasonably functional human being. My attacks were never all that frequent, but they did happen enough to worry me. And when my amygdala finally began to settle down, my life began to change in all kinds of wonderful ways.
I don't think any of us completely escapes fear--the wiring is simply too strong. But we can see it for what it is, and in doing so, open to other possibilities.
Jeff
Thursday, July 8, 2010
A Job Worth Doing
Today, my dad would have been 74. He died twenty-two years ago, when I had just finished my first year of law school.
As I get further along in years, I see more and more I can learn from the example that my dad set. He worked hard, but he also was there at home. He was my baseball coach. I would pitch to him every night, from April through August. And he did a lot around the house. The thought of someone else mowing the lawn, fixing a toilet, or even painting, would never occur to him.
He always said "If a job is worth doing, it is worth doing right." He had an attention to detail, and a patience, that was amazing. I still have not seen a paint job that was neater than what my father was able to do, because he took the time to do it right.
Of course, the words cut both ways. Because maybe a job isn't worth doing. Maybe there are only a few things in our lives that are worth doing really, really well.
The challenge, of course, is to discover the ways in which we can be truly excellent. And then devoting our entire being to that excellence. Sometimes that excellence is best expressed at work. And sometimes it is a simple game of catch with your son.
Happy Birthday, Dad
Jeff
As I get further along in years, I see more and more I can learn from the example that my dad set. He worked hard, but he also was there at home. He was my baseball coach. I would pitch to him every night, from April through August. And he did a lot around the house. The thought of someone else mowing the lawn, fixing a toilet, or even painting, would never occur to him.
He always said "If a job is worth doing, it is worth doing right." He had an attention to detail, and a patience, that was amazing. I still have not seen a paint job that was neater than what my father was able to do, because he took the time to do it right.
Of course, the words cut both ways. Because maybe a job isn't worth doing. Maybe there are only a few things in our lives that are worth doing really, really well.
The challenge, of course, is to discover the ways in which we can be truly excellent. And then devoting our entire being to that excellence. Sometimes that excellence is best expressed at work. And sometimes it is a simple game of catch with your son.
Happy Birthday, Dad
Jeff
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
It's Not Personal
In work, as in the rest of our lives, much of the time we are dealing with people. Sometimes we hit it off, and a conversation goes really well. We become friends, or allies. And sometimes, not so much.
Was someone rude to you today? Or did a conversation not go well? It's easy to think you did something wrong, or that the other person is just mean. But maybe their baby was up early. Maybe their boss was being difficult. Maybe they are distracted by rumors of downsizing.
It's easy to take things personally. It is easy to assume that the effect that someone's behavior had on us was intentional. Surely, that other person knew that we would become upset, or offended. Certainly, they should have known better.
But it can be even easier to assume it is not personal. That they did not know what was going on in our heads. That they only knew what they were dealing with, not what we were.
I think that most of the time, each of us believes that we are doing our best. We give ourselves the benefit of the doubt. When we slip up, we know that it is not because we are bad people. It is because we had a momentary lapse. Sure, we may beat ourselves up from time to time, but there is also some level of compassion that we have for ourselves.
When we give that benefit of the doubt to others, we show compassion for them, too. And when we show a little more compassion for ourselves, and for others, we make the world a little bit easier for everyone.
Jeff
Was someone rude to you today? Or did a conversation not go well? It's easy to think you did something wrong, or that the other person is just mean. But maybe their baby was up early. Maybe their boss was being difficult. Maybe they are distracted by rumors of downsizing.
It's easy to take things personally. It is easy to assume that the effect that someone's behavior had on us was intentional. Surely, that other person knew that we would become upset, or offended. Certainly, they should have known better.
But it can be even easier to assume it is not personal. That they did not know what was going on in our heads. That they only knew what they were dealing with, not what we were.
I think that most of the time, each of us believes that we are doing our best. We give ourselves the benefit of the doubt. When we slip up, we know that it is not because we are bad people. It is because we had a momentary lapse. Sure, we may beat ourselves up from time to time, but there is also some level of compassion that we have for ourselves.
When we give that benefit of the doubt to others, we show compassion for them, too. And when we show a little more compassion for ourselves, and for others, we make the world a little bit easier for everyone.
Jeff
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Logic, Business, and Life
Much of the last century of business writing has been about applying logic, systems, and process to the work world. When you think of corporate planning, or business strategy, or even financial statements, most of what you see is rigid and linear.
The letter from the CEO in an annual report is a delightful example of this. "We see how the world is changing, and here is our three part plan to adapt for the future."
It doesn't take long--a day, perhaps--to see this as folly. Because it is impossible to predict what is going to happen even in the next hour, let alone in the next five years. Life and work are messy, changing in fits and starts. Andrew Grove, the former CEO of Intel, used to talk about "inflection points," or nonlinear (and thus unpredictable) points of change. An example of this might be the sudden shift away from more and more capable desktop computers to "the cloud," where the local PC has less capability rather than more, and where data and applications are hosted elsewhere. (For some other great examples of this disruptive innovation, see the work of Harvard Business School professor Clayton Christenson.)
Our tendency as business people is to extrapolate from our current world, and to assume that the future will be just like today, only better. But life is not like that. Those who succeed are those who adapt fastest. And those who adapt fastest are those who have the least rigid concepts about the ways that things should work.
Mainframe makers did not succeed as PC makers. Laptop makers are not good at making mobile devices. Thinking about a PC as a small mainframe, or a phone as a small laptop, is only good to a point.
When we bring mindfulness to work, we begin to see how much of our work world, like the rest of life, is governed by our thoughts and concepts. And when those concepts begin to loosen, our ability to change and adapt increases.
Our contemplative work--the seeing through of our thoughts and concepts--isn't just at the heart of personal change. It is also at the heart of our ability to work effectively in an environment that is changing faster than ever.
Jeff
The letter from the CEO in an annual report is a delightful example of this. "We see how the world is changing, and here is our three part plan to adapt for the future."
It doesn't take long--a day, perhaps--to see this as folly. Because it is impossible to predict what is going to happen even in the next hour, let alone in the next five years. Life and work are messy, changing in fits and starts. Andrew Grove, the former CEO of Intel, used to talk about "inflection points," or nonlinear (and thus unpredictable) points of change. An example of this might be the sudden shift away from more and more capable desktop computers to "the cloud," where the local PC has less capability rather than more, and where data and applications are hosted elsewhere. (For some other great examples of this disruptive innovation, see the work of Harvard Business School professor Clayton Christenson.)
Our tendency as business people is to extrapolate from our current world, and to assume that the future will be just like today, only better. But life is not like that. Those who succeed are those who adapt fastest. And those who adapt fastest are those who have the least rigid concepts about the ways that things should work.
Mainframe makers did not succeed as PC makers. Laptop makers are not good at making mobile devices. Thinking about a PC as a small mainframe, or a phone as a small laptop, is only good to a point.
When we bring mindfulness to work, we begin to see how much of our work world, like the rest of life, is governed by our thoughts and concepts. And when those concepts begin to loosen, our ability to change and adapt increases.
Our contemplative work--the seeing through of our thoughts and concepts--isn't just at the heart of personal change. It is also at the heart of our ability to work effectively in an environment that is changing faster than ever.
Jeff
Friday, July 2, 2010
Freedom to Be
"Lives based on having are less free than lives based on either doing or on being."
- William James -
We all need things. We need food and shelter. We need transportation and clothing. We need a way of getting money to buy these things.
But do we need all that we have?
We are freer than we think, simply because we have more than we really need. But most of us have a concept, called "this is what it means to be successful," that we are striving to meet. And for most of us, that concept includes a lot of stuff that we don't yet have.
There is nothing wrong with having stuff. But when there is a difference between the amount of stuff we have, and the amount of stuff we think we should have, it creates suffering.
We assume, though, that the way to ease our suffering is to get what we want. When the secret might actually be to want less in the first place.
Easier said than done. But when we look at the moments in which we are happiest, they tend not to be the times that we are spending with the things that we have.
It could be a sunset. A lover's touch. A baby's smile. Moments of transcendence in the midst of ordinary lives.
There are other moments, too. A presentation to a big account. A big sale. A new idea. Challenges that are met and bring personal satisfaction.
If your car or house bring that kind of satisfaction, that's great. But it can be a worthwhile exercise to look at the things in your life and see what they bring for you. If they bring joy, keep them. If, on the other hand, they are more burden than bliss, it might be worth rethinking.
Here's to a weekend of celebrating freedom.
Jeff
- William James -
We all need things. We need food and shelter. We need transportation and clothing. We need a way of getting money to buy these things.
But do we need all that we have?
We are freer than we think, simply because we have more than we really need. But most of us have a concept, called "this is what it means to be successful," that we are striving to meet. And for most of us, that concept includes a lot of stuff that we don't yet have.
There is nothing wrong with having stuff. But when there is a difference between the amount of stuff we have, and the amount of stuff we think we should have, it creates suffering.
We assume, though, that the way to ease our suffering is to get what we want. When the secret might actually be to want less in the first place.
Easier said than done. But when we look at the moments in which we are happiest, they tend not to be the times that we are spending with the things that we have.
It could be a sunset. A lover's touch. A baby's smile. Moments of transcendence in the midst of ordinary lives.
There are other moments, too. A presentation to a big account. A big sale. A new idea. Challenges that are met and bring personal satisfaction.
If your car or house bring that kind of satisfaction, that's great. But it can be a worthwhile exercise to look at the things in your life and see what they bring for you. If they bring joy, keep them. If, on the other hand, they are more burden than bliss, it might be worth rethinking.
Here's to a weekend of celebrating freedom.
Jeff
Thursday, July 1, 2010
The Blog About Nothing
"Each something is a celebration of the nothing that supports it."
- John Cage -
It can be odd writing about something that can't be written about. But all of the activity in our lives arises from something. It has been called silence, or awareness, or consciousness, or space, or the void, or pure potentiality, or ordinary mind.
It is in the moment you wake up in the morning, before you remember who you are.
It is when you are so absorbed in activity that you forget your name, your gender, your age.
It is the very sense of aliveness that we all share. It precedes our ideas and preferences.
And yet it includes our entire life, preferences and conditioning and all.
There are no words to describe it, no words that do not turn it into a dead concept. It cannot be communicated, only pointed to.
It is not special. It is essential. It is the very prerequisite to our own being.
And why do the nondual traditions spend so much time focusing on it? Simply because noticing it can loosen the cacophony of our thoughts and concepts. Resting in it can ease our suffering. It is the state that is often called liberation itself. Liberation from a sense of having to plan and do and succeed or fail.
Just resting in this, for a few minutes, can give our entire lives a completely different perspective. Our work can take on an almost magical quality, as it mysteriously does itself. We can be a simple witness to whatever is arising in our lives, rather than feeling controlled by our circumstances and thoughts.
And the opportunity is here in each moment. For everyone. Waiting to be noticed, and cultivated.
Jeff
- John Cage -
It can be odd writing about something that can't be written about. But all of the activity in our lives arises from something. It has been called silence, or awareness, or consciousness, or space, or the void, or pure potentiality, or ordinary mind.
It is in the moment you wake up in the morning, before you remember who you are.
It is when you are so absorbed in activity that you forget your name, your gender, your age.
It is the very sense of aliveness that we all share. It precedes our ideas and preferences.
And yet it includes our entire life, preferences and conditioning and all.
There are no words to describe it, no words that do not turn it into a dead concept. It cannot be communicated, only pointed to.
It is not special. It is essential. It is the very prerequisite to our own being.
And why do the nondual traditions spend so much time focusing on it? Simply because noticing it can loosen the cacophony of our thoughts and concepts. Resting in it can ease our suffering. It is the state that is often called liberation itself. Liberation from a sense of having to plan and do and succeed or fail.
Just resting in this, for a few minutes, can give our entire lives a completely different perspective. Our work can take on an almost magical quality, as it mysteriously does itself. We can be a simple witness to whatever is arising in our lives, rather than feeling controlled by our circumstances and thoughts.
And the opportunity is here in each moment. For everyone. Waiting to be noticed, and cultivated.
Jeff
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