self improvement

Inner Monologue

May

I’ve been thinking about this quite a bit lately. What’s your inner monologue? How do you talk to yourself? Of course when I asked MB about it the other night, he sort of scoffed and retorted, “You talk to yourself in your mind, like in words?” To which I muttered, “Yes, in full complete sentences. Like right now, I’m saying, ‘MB is condescending and judgmental.’” ha ha. He didn’t hear me. But I was, I mean I am, being serious about the whole thing.

I continued by pressing him about what he tells himself when he tries something new, and then gave him a bunch of examples so the girl brain and boy brain could meet somewhere in the middle.

For ex: When I try something new, I hope for the best, but I actually think I won’t be any good. I tell myself I can’t do it, or it probably will just be acceptable. Not extraordinary.

For ex: when I am met with any kind of math problem, my brain shuts down. Just turns off. But I CAN do math. I’m very capable, it’s just my mind hates it and tells me to go somewhere else.

And then I asked, “Do you think there are people that just go around telling themselves that they’re going to be awesome at anything they do? They always think they’re going to excel?”

Duh. He didn’t need to answer that one, because clearly those people exist. But when I encounter those people, I have a few issues. Like one, sometimes they are not very awesome. Just watch the auditions for American Idol. They are totally delusional. And two, they sometimes are great and they know it, and well, that’s annoying.

MB is of course normal in his thoughts. He believes if he works hard and applies himself, he can be good at something. Gah! He doesn’t seem to believe me that when I try to self-talk like that I feel all Stuart Smalley and false on the inside. What’s with the huge part of me that has to hate on myself in order to produce results?

I am plagued by self-doubt. Because the self-esteem thing of the 80s that my cohort and I were brainwashed with, doesn’t cut the mustard (total MB old man phrase). We’re not all special. The vast majority of us are ordinary and will die ordinary, with ordinary children, and ordinary pets, and ordinary accomplishments.

I’m actually not trying to be a wet blanket. It just always seems that way. I am working on it. Trying to flip the script, trying to live whole-hardheartedly, a la Brené Brown. The older I get the more power I see in narrative. In our personal narratives. The things we tell ourselves matter immensely. We are shaped by our own stories.

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Envieth Not

Mar

Did you know it’s Lent? I’m usually more aware, but just had a conversation yesterday where it was brought to my attention. (A funny convo about the stuff kids like to give up versus what they should really give up, i.e., lying.) Obviously I’m not Catholic, but I’m down with virtuous and lovely stuff. Do you have something you give up for Lent? Or think about the practice? I started thinking about Lent the way I do every year, considering what I would/should give up.

MB will tell you that I don’t get jealous. It’s one of the things he’s said continually since the beginning of Us. I like that we can talk about our exes at length and in detail without flinching. I like that I can text him in a flurry when the guy that comes to make the template for the new counter top is super hot and we exchange ideas about how I could nonchalantly take a picture of him for reference (none of our ideas worked, btw).

I don’t think any of this means I don’t experience jealousy. I think I’m pals with her sister, envy. Envy manifests itself in the small petty things we do: withholding compliments, feigning interest in the accomplishments of others, putting yourself down, playing greater than/ less than, not being genuinely happy for other people when they succeed, and becoming negative when we see people obtain the things that we feel we want more or have worked for more.

The thing about envy is that it feeds our insecurities. That want makes us focus on the lacking within ourselves, which eventually leaves us bitter and ungrateful. Shall I quote some James Thomson for you?

Base Envy withers at another’s joy,
And hates that excellence it cannot reach.
The Seasons. Spring. Line 283.

I have a friend (that shall remain nameless) that is hopelessly encouraging and happy for people. All the time. No matter what I tell her, she gets super loud excited for me. For real – I’m pretty good at spotting the fakes. I’ve seen her do it with other people too. It’s so incredibly awesome to see her put herself aside. And it feels really validating to be on the receiving end of her excitement and promotion. I want to be that person.

So, I’m ready to give it up and let go. Give up Lady Envy. She takes up too much room. I need more space for her antonyms: contentedness, comfort, confidence, good will, and kindness. Because we all know I am not giving up chocolate.

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Bring Me A Higher Love

Sep

I wrote a perfectly nasty little post late yesterday with every intention of posting it today. It was snarky and mean, with just the right touch of vagueness. That’s the kind of stuff we want to read isn’t it? All the while my busy little fingers were typing I knew I wouldn’t feel the same in a few hours. Worst of all, I knew I would feel stupid about what I wrote. But I kept thinking, this is the stuff we love to know about other people, so surely everyone will like this – they can relate to it. I was right about feeling stupid about it. I looked it over this morning and was glad I held it as a draft.

Okay, so now I know it feels like I’m dangling some big juicy secret in front of you, but trust me, you didn’t miss anything. Though I know it’s always fun to get a bit trashy. Isn’t that the way we bond sometimes? We get together and pick on somebody else? I don’t wanna be like that. I don’t want my blog to be like that. There are plenty of mean-spirited people out there willing to tell you everything about anyone. It gets me wondering about how to maintain a sense of reality on this blog without being Mrs. Sweetness, cause we all know that label won’t stick. What I’m saying is that I am trying to be a better person. I know, how incredibly dull. But still true. I’m trying to find the balance in my personality (which tends to lean towards the biting and caustic) without becoming a sugar-coated robot.

All of this time spent thinking about behavior and taming my tongue reminded me of 2 different experiences from last week. We won’t revisit them, but I’ll give you my “take-aways.”

1) Realizing that it is okay that I don’t like everyone. I don’t have to, but that doesn’t exempt me from civility or charity. (And yes, I realize this means that plenty of people don’t like me and that’s sort of okay too.)

2) Bonding with people on a real level can be short, authentic, and simple. And yes, we can indeed do this without tears. (hi-5 to Luna)

I will leave you with the last line of the alleged snarky post:

I am not my hair. I am not my clothes. I am funny, dammit.

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Nerves

Jun

I’m supposed to play it cool and act like it’s no big deal. But, I’m kind of freaking out on the inside. I’m leaving tonight on a jet plane, I do know when I’ll be back again. I’m happy to go and I’ll be happy to come home. I get to visit good friends and hang out with my in laws. I’m heading to Utah for a few days and it’s not just a visiting trip. The real reason I’m going is for a writing conference. Yeah, you heard that right.

A writing conference because I’m ready to pursue my life beyond my home and I need to test the waters. This writing thing has thrown me for a loop, I mean I always knew I liked writing, but writing on a consistent basis for this blog has ratcheted that up to a full blown consuming desire. The words! I’m in love with the words and they’re always elbowing for room in my mind. I need some direction, so I thought this would be the logical step before I invest in a MFA.

I’m totally nervous because well, there are going to be people there that know what they’re doing. People who have published novels, poetry, essays, you name it. There will also be a few visual artists. Me? Well, I don’t even have an English degree to stand on and I have very few writing samples. When I say few, I mean 2 and they are depressing. The conference is open to all levels of experience, but we all know that there will be judgement made. Forget about the superficial stuff, it’s the actual discussion and review of our work that makes my stomach churn in a very bad way. I don’t take issue with the judgement, I know it’s necessary and helpful but really, who likes criticism – even if it is constructive?

I lied. The superficial stuff matters too. I won’t know anyone there. The classic Jr. High drama of who to sit with and who to talk with have been plaguing me at night. Not to mention my real conundrum, what does one wear to a writing conference??? (MB suggested I tone it down a bit, so I don’t get marked right away as the weird girl. Well, that’s not exactly what he said, but that’s what I heard.)

It’s too late now, I’m going to do this regardless of what my insecurities throw at me. I’m taking the jump.

Image by Tyler Lacky, Tech & Learning photo winner

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Experiment

Apr

I have kind of a mean, nagging inner voice. Some days I would say it was like living with Estelle Costanza, other days like hanging out with Jadis, the White Witch. I’d like to kick these two out because the screeching and cruelty are a bit much on most days. So I’ve been thinking about the way I think.

I just finished The Secret Garden. I haven’t read it since my first reading, when I was still in single digits. More than anything it made me wish I could get into gardening. The garden cured everything – attitude, looks, physical ailments, relationships, and cognitive hangups. Seriously, can I get one of those installed in my back yard? (Complete with doting mother that brings me pails of fresh cream, buns, and oat-cakes?)

For years I’ve just thought of it as a pleasant story about a place; The power lying in its secrecy. But it’s really about our thoughts isn’t it?

“Where you tend a rose, my lad, A thistle cannot grow.”

Burnett spells it out clearly for us in the last chapter:

“To let a sad thought or a bad one get into your mind is as dangerous as letting a scarlet fever germ get into your body. If you let it stay there after it has got in you may never get over it as long as you live. So long as Mistress Mary’s mind was full of disagreeable thoughts about her dislikes and sour opinions of people and her determination not to be pleased by or interested in anything, she was a yellow-faced, sickly, bored and wretched child…..

So long as Colin shut himself up in his room and thought only of his fears and weakness and his detestation of people who looked at him and reflected hourly on humps and early death, he was a hysterical half-crazy little hypochondriac who knew nothing of the sunshine and the spring and also did not know that he could get well and could stand upon his feet if he tried to do it. When new beautiful thoughts began to push out the old hideous ones, life began to come back to him,”

I’m not sure where I stand on psychosomatic healing, but I love this simple idea that “two things cannot be in one place.” Can I change the way I think? Can I change the explanations I give myself about events? I’m willing to give it a try, though truthfully, I’m afraid I might miss my bitter self.

I’ve already been trying to re-frame my thoughts and put a positive spin on what’s going on. Mostly I just feel like Stuart Smalley. I don’t think I’ve noticed anything other than the fact that I feel like a big fat fake when I tell myself these kind of things. I’ve sort of slipped into a mocking Pollyanna routine. Oh wait, I did notice that cutting out complaining means I talk a lot less.

So, my next step will be this book I heard about from one of my book groupies (wait, is that offensive?): Learned Optimism. I’m particularly interested in his ideas about learned helplessness and explanatory style. I think there are some tests you take to identify your thinking style and I love that kind of stuff. Perhaps I will post my results so you can all openly mock me. (See – automatically I go to the bad place. It’s my default).

Anyone want to join the Angry Baker’s Happiness Project?

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Kvetch

Jan

Kvetch is one of my favorite words. Why? Because it sounds exactly like what it is: complaining. And there is the added bonus of those hard syllables that give you a satisfaction akin to less polite words. Ahem. Today I thought about making a big long list of everything that bugs me. A real list that I could post to air all of my grievances. A kvetch list. A kvetch list. A kvetch list (three times fast is hard to say and makes it funny).

My name is AngryBaker and I am a kvetcher. A terrific kvetcher. I started the list in my head and it got embarrassingly long really quick. Not only long, but incredibly specific and petty. (This is the part where I remember the phone call I had with Tall Skinny Girl and shift my finger in her direction. Thanks for getting me all worked up! Too bad the only kind of energy I’m feeling is the heat of righteous indignation.)

You know, I want to be better. Really, I do. I want to have nice things to say all of the time. The problem is I have to think those things first. Yeah there’s plenty of fake nice going around, but I want the truly nice, the truly good. It does exist. I know a few goodies to the core and they inspire me. I think I need to take LegoManiac’s misnomer as personal advice. I’m referring to his talk of a New Year’s revolution. I need a personal revolution.

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