Tara Rodden Robinson :: The Productivity Maven

Getting Off the Rat’s Wheel

2012-01-27T20:22:49Z

I used to start my day at 6 am. Sometimes, if I was running late, I’d start at 6:30 am. I’d begin with email and then race from appointment to appointment. I’d collapse from exhaustion twelve or thirteen hours later. If there was an empty space on my calendar and someone asked for it, I’d always say ‘yes.’ I did everything “they” say you have to do to be successful: I blogged, tweeted, facebooked. When a potential strategic partner showed up, I’d roll out the red carpet, take on new projects and produce new content at a moments notice. I piled it on, formed a partnership, hired an employee, farmed out the bookkeeping. Yep, I was on the move, running faster and faster.

My ears started ringing and I couldn’t figure out why. I went to the doctor and had my hearing tested. While I was sitting there in the doctor’s office getting my results (which were fine, by the way), I burst into tears.

“I’m under a lot of stress,” I stammered.

“I understand,” replied.

I thought but did not say: No, you don’t.

Then the wheels came off. My dad got sick. My partnership foundered. My dad died. My business came within a hair’s breadth of going under.

Magically, at this same time, my ears stopped ringing.

###

In the silence that followed all the serial disasters, I looked back with grim determination. I’m not going back to the grind, I said, with teeth and fists clenched.

I woke up in the middle of the night and realized I was still clenched. I told myself to relax. A few minutes later, I was clenched again. It took months for me to stop clenching my body. Months.

I started cooking nice meals and inviting people over for dinner, something hadn’t done in… well, since grad school. I took long hikes. I went to yoga whenever I felt like it.

When the end of 2011 rolled around, and I started thinking about 2012, I did what I always do: I created a plan and a mindmap/visionboard. (See the screenshot on the left.)

Part of my inspiration came from Susan Falcone, who described her year-long experiment in self compassion on her blog. She writes, “I deserve to love myself. I do love myself. I’m happy to treat myself with respect and value. Doing what is good for me feels good. I can now feel as good for helping and caring for myself as I can for doing those things for someone else. I do not need the praise or validation of others to know that what I am doing is good and worthy. I trust my heart knows best when it comes to self-care and I honor it instead of rejecting it.”

Using her list as a guide, I created a list of my own (it’s part of this mindmap). Then, I asked Susan if she’d talk to me about her journey. And she did– listen here.
I began seriously practicing Completion Centric Planning and implemented my 40-hours -a-week-and-that’s-it right after the New Year.

###

A couple of days ago, in conversation with my friend Augusto, he told me how different I am now.

“You were running on the rat’s wheel,” he said and suddenly, I knew why my ears had started ringing, and why the ringing stopped– it must have been from the squeaking from the spinning wheel that was drowning out the sound of my life.

I can’t say I’ve totally learned my lesson. When I felt stressed this morning, about a project, I found myself thinking, “Well, I could work on it over the weekend. It wouldn’t kill me.” And then I caught myself. “Really, Tara, who cares? Besides you?”

Anybody want a rat’s wheel? I’ve got one I want to get rid of.

Really Vulnerable

2012-01-17T16:15:24Z

A friend asked, “Do you ever say ‘no’ to a prospective client?”

“Oh, yes,” I replied. “I’ve even fired clients.”

“Really?!?”

Once upon a time, an acquaintance approached me about being coaching on professional development. We’ll call this person by the wonderfully-androgenous-not-his/her-real-name, Pat.

At Pat’s very first coaching appointment, I noticed a verbal habit. Every story included the phrase, “…and the problem with that is….” After several repetitions, I brought this pattern to Pat’s attention.

“I notice that you say ‘and the problem with that is’ quite often. How might you relate the same story you just told and conclude with ‘and the best thing about that is…’ instead?

Unlike practically every person I’ve ever worked with, Pat became noticeably huffy at this suggestion. In fact, Pat appeared quite irritated.

“There is no best thing about that!” Pat huffed.

Really?!? I thought.

Pat went on, growing more and more defensive. I’d make a suggestion and Pat would dive in, “Why are you making suggestions when you don’t know what’s going on? That’s just bad coaching.”

Really?!? I thought, again.

The interminable damn coaching session went on and on like this. Every time I’d ask a coaching question, Pat would shoot me down, become more and more aggressive with the comebacks.

When it, thank god, finally ended, I sat back, shellshocked, and thought to myself, “What the hell have I gotten myself into?” And then I knew what I had to do.

I called Pat up and said, in my firmest, calmest coach’s voice. “We’re not a good fit. You don’t owe me anything and your future appointments are cancelled.”

Predictably, Pat hung up on me.

###

Sometimes, when I become aware of my tendencies–especially when I hear the phrases I habitually speak out loud–I want to react a lot like Pat did. There are times when I just don’t want to know myself that well. Mostly that’s because I’m ~~dismayed~~ disgusted by what I hear coming out of my own mouth.

I want to grab the words and stuff them back into my craw. An impossible feat but one I’d love to pull off, just once.

The reason I get so disgusted is that I feel like my true self is somehow being revealed. And the real me looks awfully yucky. Like wearing a bad bride’s maid dress in a really unflattering color under fluorescent lighting. Ick. No pictures, please.

This is part of being vulnerable, of course: looking like a horse’s patootie in a bad bride’s maid dress. And like that dress, it’s all in what you do with it after the event is over. No, I don’t mean give it to Goodwill. I mean taking a good long look at it and searching for it’s good side.

The last time I said something incredibly stupid (yes, out loud), I followed it up with, “What I really mean is…” and then went on to reveal the really real me, the one who was scared and overwhelmed and awkward.

Brene Brown, in her wonderfully wise book, The Gifts of Imperfection says that the root of the word courage actually means ‘To speak one’s mind by telling all one’s heart.’ She writes, “…we’ve lost touch with the idea that speaking honestly and openly about who we are, about what we’re feeling, and about our experiences (good and bad) is the definition of courage. … Ordinary courage is about putting our vulnerability on the line. In today’s world, that’s pretty extraordinary.”

###

I ran into Pat sometime ago at a business function. Naturally, we ended up in the buffet line together. It was impossible for me to pretend Pat wasn’t there and for Pat to pretend I wasn’t there. I looked for something nice to say and settled on the new eyeglass frames Pat was sporting.

“I love your new frames,” I enthused. “That’s such a gorgeous color!”

“Oh, thanks,” Pat replied. “But the problem with them is…” Pat’s face turned a rather funny color, a bit like the color of the frames. Pat’s mouth snapped shut.

Really!

A Dog’s Life

2012-01-07T16:42:07Z

I am a lot nicer to my dog than I am to myself. Take, for example, learning a new skill.

My puppy is learning to sleep in the laundry room. He’s graduating from his kennel, which will no longer be a part of mommy’s office decor. Yay! He is also learning three new commands: 1) “go to your room,” 2) “stay in your room, and 3) “come out!” Teaching him this new skill and these commands involve lots of encouragement, patience, and treats.

First, he is asked to go into the laundry room, “Go to your room!” I try to sound as enthusiastic as I do when I say, “Want to go for a walk?” The puppy goes into his room. He gets a treat.

I ask him to sit. He sits. He gets a treat.

I tell him, “Come out!” in my most happy dog training voice. He comes out. He gets a treat.

This goes on and on. Eventually, however, I say “Stay in your room!” and put up the new dog gate. He gets a treat. And lots of praise. “You’re such a good boy!” I enthuse. “What a good dog! What a good stay in your room!” Another treat. And then I leave.

A few minutes later, I return. More praise. I leave. This is repeated a few more times and then I let him out. “That was such a good stay in your room!”

###

This year, I have decided to learn some new working skills. I am learning to walk on the treadmill while typing and without making too many typos. I am learning to work only 40 hours a week (radical!). I am experimenting with Fixed Schedule Productivity and Completion Centric Planning.

When I make a typo and I’m walking, I often say a curse word. I never get treats. I never say, “Good walk! Good write! What a good typist you are!”

When I work longer hours than expected, I call myself terrible names.

When I slack off, I call myself terrible names.

There are no treats. No praise. No encouragement.

###

As I write this, my puppy is sleeping next to the treadmill. He’s such a sweet sociable dog. This is in part due to the fact that he’s always received lots of love and praise. He learned how to be a good dog. I taught him this.

What am I teaching myself when I treat me differently? I say things to myself that I would never say to anyone else, not even my dog, who doesn’t (as far as I know) speak English.

My dog and I both depend on the same person to help them learn new skills. So I am changing my methods with one of us.

“Good girl! Good type! Good write! Here, have a treat.”

A Christmas Blessing

2011-12-25T16:25:22Z

We give thanks for all those gathered here today and for this food we are about to enjoy.

We give thanks for all who made this meal possible: the ones who planted the seeds and tended the harvest, for bees and birds, for sun and rain.

We give thanks for those who are not present today; those from whom we are absent and those who are absent from us. We pray that our absent ones will be blessed with the knowledge that they are missed and loved.

We pray for those who are alone this day–for those who suffer from illness or addiction, for those who have no homes or families to welcome them, for those who must toil or keep watch over another. May they be blessed with comfort and love.

We pray that we will be blessed by the sharing of this food and that our time together helps us to grow in love and unity for one another and for all those with whom we share our world.

We ask all this in the name of Love.

Amen.

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I wrote this as a blessing for our meal today. You may use it in any form, anywhere. If you publish this elsewhere, please share credit by linking back to this post. Thanks and Merry Christmas!

A Truce in the War on Christmas

2011-12-20T14:44:53Z

The Boy Scouts at the Christmas tree lot have been well trained. The instant we arrive, a cute kid bounces out to greet us and give a quick orientation. “We’ve got a sale today,” he says, brightly (this kid’s got a great future in business). “All those trees over there are only five dollars!”

I glance at the five dollar trees. I think they look like Charlie Brown trees. My husband grins at me, undoubtedly remembering a two dollar Christmas tree we bought at the last minute when we were impoverished grad students. I look back toward the nicer, bigger, not-on-sale trees. “Let’s go look at those first,” he says.

The helpful Boy Scout salesman follows us, starts pulling out candidate trees from the line up, holding them erect for inspection, giving each a well practiced shake. Every single one of them has something wrong with it–a lop side, a big bald space between the top branches and the lower ones. I, the reluctant tree buyer, start sounding petulant. “I don’t like any of these.” The kid rolls his eyes; my husband winks at him and they both grin in the brotherhood of boys.

I am thinking about all the hassle the tree will bring. It will be hoisted up the stairs. Then there were will be the annual tag-team wrestling match: me and my husband versus the tree and the stand. Finally, the tree will submit itself to being decorated. Ornaments will be placed: some dating way back, evoking memories of other less happy times with a different husband, the one I’m trying to forgive and, at last, forget.

The kid’s voice calls me back to the present moment. “Hey, what about this one?” He’s got the perfect tree. No kidding. “I love this tree! I want this one!” He and my husband grin at each other again. This whole tree buying thing is mostly his idea. Although the one year that I managed to procrastinate us into a no-tree Christmas, the whole holiday was just a bit too bare.

We stuff the tree into this truck and head home.

###

The tree is unusually perfect. It’s quite round and symmetrical. The trunk is nicely slender and the wrestling match is canceled when the tree and stand forfeit. We string the lights, which all work on the first try. His job done, my dearly beloved plops down on the couch to watch Monday Night Football while I decorate.

At the end of the process, I hold up the Christmas angel. My husband places her on the top of tree and I step back to admire the effect.

The angel was made in China. I imagine a tiny little Chinese woman who took fabric, dampened with starch, to mold the folds into glorious swirls and puddles. What was she thinking about when she created this vision of loveliness? Probably not Christmas. No, I imagine she was thinking about how many bazillion of these angels she had to dress before she could go home that day. Her idea of Christmas probably doesn’t include angels or baby Jesus or lovingly decorated trees. To her, it’s probably more like goo covered fingers and plastic dolls dressed up to resemble somebody’s idea of a heavenly being.

###

People say there’s a war on Christmas. We can’t say “Merry Christmas,” without checking religious credentials first. Maybe it’s safer, they say, to just wish people “Happy Holidays!” That way, nobody gets offended.

In last week’s homily, Deacon Chris talked about this. “If there is a war on Christmas,” he said, “Christmas has won—corporate Christmas, consumerist Christmas. … Let’s keep Christ out of Christmas. That Christmas. That phony Christmas. Because He already is.”

The true Christmas hasn’t happened yet anyway, he reminded us; it’s Advent, the waiting time. And we are waiting for a birth. Christ is carried in watery darkness.

###

My Christmas tree is dying. It’s been cut down and even though I’ll water it carefully for the next two weeks, its life is over. I crush its needles between my fingers and inhale the fragrance.

I look at the angel and think about that nameless woman and her starch covered hands. “This is the true temple not some big, spectacular building, but the body of this young woman.”

“This solstice,” Deacon Chris said, “let’s each of us sit in a room, in the early evening, and watch the light fade away. Let’s each of us sit and watch the darkness come. And the next day, in the morning, let’s sit in that room again. Let’s just sit there, quietly, with Mary, and ponder what this greeting means.”

In unplug the multicolored lights. I imagine Mary. I whisper her ‘yes’ in the darkness.