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Browsing tag: reflections

  • July 15, 2012

    Caught in the busy trap

    A recent NY Times piece, The Busy Trap, caught a lot of attention around the web

    And this week, an Atlantic story covered similar ground, and citing research that showed that those who work/earn more are also busier and stressed.

    I have recently fallen into the busy trap. I am deep in and can’t see a way out. I think things will ease up by the end of the month as I meet a deadline and catch up on work that’s piled up/was deferred while I was away (I was still working in Australia, but fewer hours, and there are always things it’s hard to do while you’re not at your desk). And the burglary situation isn’t helping.

    I have emails coming in faster than I can read them.

    Pitches coming faster than I can scan, and usually delete, them.

    Too many people who want to just meet up for coffee or to discuss things that do not warrant an in-person meeting.

    Too many phone pitches. PR people do not seem to know how to be succinct over the phone. I need to stop picking up, or learn to cut them off midstream. I was always terrible at dealing with telemarketers, and I always felt bad about fobbing them off. But I think ruthlessness is needed.

    My current mental mantra and reflex response to anything is I don’t have time. I’m too busy. I’m flat out. It’s paralysing. Anything that crops up, I dread, and wonder how I’m going to fit it in. I need to stop thinking that way, because it’s self-perpetuating.

    Being exhausted from work spills over into, well, life in general. I haven’t tried new recipes in forever, because picking them out from my Delicious folder, compiling a grocery list, and actually doing the cooking or baking is too much effort. Cleaning is going to the dogs. T has been flat tack at work, too, and on the weekends, vegging is the only thing we’ve done in forever (barring last weekend – he hates being home alone so spent a lot of time with friends. Expensive, but I’m glad he did it, and he had a lot of fun). Basically, if I were to die tomorrow, I wouldn’t be happy about how I’d spent my last days.

    While I’m productive at work, I really am not so anywhere else. Example: the total stalling of wedding planning, although now that’s partly because I’m just not sure about timings anymore.

    That said, I am actually an incredibly lazy person. A diehard introvert who needs ridiculous amounts of quiet time to recharge and relax. Guilt over excessive vegging probably isn’t great. Part of that, I think, is also reframing your mindset to think that idleness is evil or wasteful. It’s NECESSARY. While life is hectic, I’m going to be okay with my weekends as little oases of slothfulness.

    Via a recent Zen Habits piece:

    I recently read a travel tip from someone who reminds himself that “killing time is a sin”, and so makes the most use of every bit of downtime, even on an airplane: “read a good book, learn a new language with Rosetta Stone, write to my friends around the world who haven’t heard from me in too long”.

    I have no objections to reading books, learning languages, or writing to friends. It’s the idea that downtime must be put to efficient use that I disagree with. While I used to agree with it completely, these days I take a completely different approach.

    Life is for living, not productivity.

    As Leo says: “There is a tendency among productive people to try to make the best use of every single minute, from the minute they awake. I know because not too long ago I was one of these folks.”

    I am so guilty. I multitask while cooking because I hate standing over the stove, and burn things. I email and read blogs and tweet while watching TV or a movie, and miss things. I often  used to lie on my bed as a kid, close my eyes and just listen to music, letting my favourite songs transport me away. I don’t think I’ve ever done that since.

    Seriously, stopping to smell the roses and bask in the sun is a beautiful thing. Need proof? In this post, Cordelia shows us how it’s done. Go out and find joy in the simplest, most natural everyday stuff.

    I will end this post with a quote from that Zen Habits piece:

    “Killing time isn’t a sin — it’s a misnomer. We’ve framed the question entirely wrong. It’s not a matter of “killing” time, but of enjoying it.”

    Is life cruisy for you at the mo or rattling by at top speed? Are you and the busy trap mindset well acquainted?

  • July 10, 2012

    Deliberately downsizing when you’re a born and bred townie

    English: Auckland Waterfront, New Zealand

    English: Auckland Waterfront, New Zealand (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

    They say San Fran, London, NY, LA, Vancouver etc are the least affordable cities in the world (and yes, Auckland is up there too). Recently, I was talking to someone (Kiwi-born) who’s back in NZ but can’t wait to get back to the States. It was easier to get ahead in LA, he reckons – everything here from housing to cars to food to clothing, in terms of what you get for your money, and in proportion to incomes, is just beyond.

    We’re such a nation of travellers. Most of my high school friends are still studying, or have only just graduated. Of my university friends, probably about half have already gone on their OE, while more are planning theirs already. Of those I encounter, usually professionally, the inevitable question comes up as to whether I’ve lived or worked overseas.

    It’s a strange divide. Contrast this with the blue-collar types T works and socialises with, who’ll probably never go around the world, and may not have any desire to. The ones (and yes, I’m going to grossly generalise here) who have families, usually young; the ones who struggle along in low-paying work for years, who’ll never reach the highest tax brackets; who have little to no disposable income, or if they do, put it toward smokes, beer, and weed. The ones who, in contrast, make us look positively wealthy, like we have our shit together. Travel is a luxury afforded only to a certain class.

    Will I love what I see overseas, and like so many New Zealanders before me, eventually book a one-way flight out? Given that we have one of the highest proportions of expats living overseas (many of whom originally intended to return, but never did), this is quite possible, although would depend largely also on the boy. Or will I come to appreciate what we have here? I’ve really enjoyed Sydney, for example – I can imagine there’d always be something to do here, much like how NYC always seems to have free entertainment on somewhere. But you all know deep down I’m really all about super simple things – baking, the beach, books, while nightlife and bars don’t really register on my radar.

    The thing about growing up in the big smoke – I know Auckland is a small city by global standards, but it is the largest we have – is that the bar is set high. It’s all very well to advise us Gen Y-ers priced out of entering the property market to move away from the big centres to areas where houses are a fraction of the price. But that entails a whole change of lifestyle – a reduction in the range and type of work available (as well as lower pay), distance from friends and family, less access to everything from books to ethnic cooking ingredients to films to concerts to museums.

    Have any of you lifelong city dwellers made to downsize and slow down in the country?

  • July 6, 2012

    You know what? I’d rather be a grownup

    You often hear grumbles about how much simpler life was when we were younger – before we had bills to pay and jobs that meant we HAD to get up in the mornings. Before we had to deal with flatmates and house hunting and property agents and recruitment agents and car dealers and insurance and supermarkets.

    But you know what? I like being a grownup.

    Yeah, there were good things about adolescence. But I hated my body and how I looked. I was not comfortable in my own skin. I wore too much makeup, badly. I was pining after boys who didn’t give me a second look, and being pined after by boys I wouldn’t give a second look or creeped me out (and by others who never let on, who I now count among my best friends). Yeah, I had some freaking awesome times with friends, but I also had a lot of clashes at home. I wanted to live a life that wasn’t mine, but that quite frankly, wouldn’t have suited me anyway.

    Adulthood isn’t easy by any means, but IMO, it is infinitely preferable.

    I’ve always been an old soul, and so independence suits me perfectly. I have a job I love, a fiance I love, a life I generally love. I don’t have to answer to anyone, as long as I do my job, pay my taxes, don’t speed, don’t trash my house, etc etc.

    Today, I am 24. It sounds strange to say. But I am now well and truly in my mid-twenties.

    Do you ever long for the halcyon days of childhood? Or were you eager to grow up?

  • July 3, 2012

    The importance of being in the right frame of mind

    I’ve come to realise that when I tackle things when I’m in the wrong state of mind  … they never turn out well.

    Plunging into deep relationship talks when you’re not mentally and emotionally prepared for them is a terrible idea.

    Driving while angry, upset, or stressed is a recipe for disaster.

    Tackling a new baking recipe late on a weeknight when you really would rather be in bed and are not prepared for conversions and painstaking measurement of ingredients will result in a lot of waste and a lot of swearing.

    Choose your time and place wisely.

  • June 14, 2012

    What is the one thing you always return to?

    I’m curious.

    What is that thing for you? The thing you love most, never tire of, that is is never a chore or a drag for you?

    Books in the Douglasville, Georgia Borders store.

    Books in the Douglasville, Georgia Borders store. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

    For me, it’s reading. I take books anywhere (I’m old-school, don’t believe in e-books, although I’m the biggest smartphone addict ever). I will read on public transport. In the toilet. During the ads, if I’m watching TV in real time. While stirring the pot for dinner. Even while walking, sometimes.

    Reading requires nothing of me, just the energy to focus my eyes, hold a book up, turn the pages.

    I never DON’T want to read, although sometimes I may not have the time for it, or am just too tired.

    T can’t fall asleep without having the TV on. I like to doze off with my nose in a book.

    Books are my first love.

    What about you?

  • May 30, 2012

    Knowing your limits vs stretching your limits

    Knowing your limits vs stretching your limits

    T is big on ignoring pain and working through it nonetheless. When I’m attacked by bugs/struck by eczema, he keeps me in line, yelling at me when he notices me absentmindedly – or sneakily – reaching for an itch, and I’m often jostled out of sleep by him grabbing my hands to stop me scratching. When he manages to slice himself open, he simply carries on (no bandages, no dressings) and heals within a couple of days.

    Sometimes, this doesn’t work out so well. But I have to admire the general philosophy. Self-control and perseverance are fine virtues.

    Still, while I’m all for positive thinking, there are some things I can’t manifest away. My chronic sinus problems. The fact that I bruise at the merest brush up against another object. My digestive system’s dislike of Indian food. And even T can’t ignore his chronic back pain.

    I’m a bit of a day dreamer, but ultimately, I consider myself a realist. That’s just how I like to operate.

    But does that mean I sometimes sell myself short and give myself an out – using that as an excuse for not even trying?

    At indoor rock climbing recently (my second time) I was really struggling. It was a serious struggle to belay T (probably doesn’t help that’s he’s nearly triple my body weight), and I wasn’t doing all that great with my own climbing thanks to insane foot cramps (most people worry about excessive sodium intake; I usually don’t get enough and don’t realise it till agonising cramps set in at inconvenient times), hand swelling and cramps, general fatigue and my own lack of physical strength. Oh, and my fear of heights doesn’t help either. I think I only made it to the top of two walls out of five.

    I know that I didn’t have it in me. Nonetheless, watching the doggedness of my friends as they went all in, trying several times to scale a tricky part, couldn’t help wondering if I’d pushed hard enough. I’m sure to an outsider, it looked like I was giving up without really trying to push my own limits.

    What do you think? Where’s the balance between realism and reaching for the stars?

  • May 29, 2012

    Complete disclosure is unnecessary

    Honesty is not always the best policy.

    Or at least, full disclosure is not always the best way to go.

    I watched a recent Big Bang Theory episode with mixed emotions – hilarity and horror – the one where Penny and Leonard get all scientific at his suggestion and decide to treat their relationship like a technical experiment. Check for bugs, list bugs, fix bugs. All very cool, calm and logical.

    But logic has nothing to do with emotion. And human relations are all about emotion.

    Nagging and ribbing is one thing –  we all do it from time to time.

    But listing your partner’s every fault on paper? Deliberately retrieving them from a dark corner of your mind and cataloguing them in the harsh light of the physical world for your beloved’s eyes? That is not kosher.

    Complete honesty is overrated. Really, it’s up there with scorekeeping and grudge-holding in the ranks of very bad ideas.

    I can imagine what T’s list for me would look like. Awful morning breath. Queen of hangriness. Never closes the curtains properly. Can’t cook a steak. And that’s just for starters.

    And of course, I could go to town on him. Works a physical job, so never takes my end-of-day fatigue seriously. Doesn’t take cleaning seriously (we’re always quibbling about the state of the house). Has lame friends who always need rides/crash on our couch/park their cars on our driveway, which then leak oil and fluids (that’s happened at three separate houses now)/constantly text to see what he’s doing, because they have nothing else in their lives…

    You get my point. I know my flaws. He knows his. I feel confident in saying we’ve both pointed out each other’s faults out multiple times over the years, usually one or two at a time. In my grumpier moments I run through most of them in my head and then stalk off to take a calming shower. But rattling off a comprehensive master list of personal bugbears, say, in the middle of a heated fight, would be nothing short of ugly and destructive. Yes, sometimes I’m petty, and mean, and bitchy, but thankfully I can clamp down on those fruitless thoughts before they’re followed by an urge to be verbalised.

    Are you secretly petty? How long do you reckon your list might run to?
  • May 28, 2012

    Does morality matter when it comes to making a living?

    Excellent video. (No? Might just be a Kiwi thing…)

    Seriously though.

    Would you ever? Are there any companies or industries you would never consider working for?

    When it comes to earning a crust … I’ll admit I once entertained the thought of joining the armed forces for about a millisecond, mainly thanks to T’s suggestion. It’s not a bad lifestyle for some people, and it’s definitely one that’s enjoying a resurgence. And if you’ve got a degree, you get to go in at a decent level.

    That would be all well and good, as long as you’re not on the frontline. Because infantry = weaponry.

    And that’s something I have a problem with. Guns.

    T has used pretty much the most lethal ones you can get (during his army stint) and since he’s been back, he’s owned a rifle and a couple of airguns. And yes, I’ll give you that guns don’t kill people; people kill people. (Using guns.)

    But you cannot tell me that guns are a neutral thing. They are designed and manufactured to kill, or at least injure.

    I see cigarettes in the same light. They do not serve any positive purpose whatsoever.

    I’d have to be in dire straits, quite honestly, to consider applying for a job at a tobacco company. Or a company that dealt in arms. (Richard Branson, in Like a Virgin, states that despite Virgin’s famed diversification strategy, he has never considered entering either of those sectors.)

    Where does that stop, though? Would you not work for McDonald’s, because no matter how many healthy menu options they introduce, their core business is in flogging artery-clogging excuses for food? Would you not work for an oil company? Would you not work for an alcohol brand? Would you not work in an industry perpetuating harmful body image – in cosmetic surgery, or modelling?

     

  • May 24, 2012

    Cows and milk, birds and bees, living in sin

    Never say this to your daughter

    A few months ago, my mother asked me if I was pregnant.

    This is precisely why I do not wear ANYTHING empire waisted. That particular dress, I normally wear belted. But good to know it can double as maternity wear when the time comes, huh?

    I can’t remember a more awkward moment in this vein since, back in high school, she persuaded my cousin to email me a long diatribe about boys, girls, and getting the milk for free. Or however that goes. (I know Mum was behind this. Trust me.)

    Seriously. I was probably 15 at the time. Guess she hoped to get me early.

    That whole thing about cows and milk? Words can’t express how much I despise this trope. It essentially implies that men only want women for sex. Like there’s no other reason a guy would ever want to marry a woman. (While no doubt this is true for some, it would be a huge mistake to tar all mankind with the same brush. Those are definitely not the kind of dudes you want to be marrying.)

    While the intent is all well and good – protecting the honour of your sisters and daughters – this is incredibly demeaning to women. And actually, it’s rather harsh on men, too. Let’s give them some credit. Not all of them think with their junk 24/7.

    It’s also obviously patently untrue. How many couples do you know that have lived together then gone on to tie the knot?

    Oh, and I was at a comedy show just the other night where another audience in a couple turned out to be newlyweds (2 years) but had been living together for 16 years before that. (I haven’t exactly been lighting a firecracker under our wedding plans, but we won’t be getting to that kind of ballpark, at least.)

    Course, cohabiting is not always all it’s cracked up to be. I wouldn’t swap it for anything, but it’s definitely not a painless thing for us. Our story is much more like this than it is this.

    There’ve been a couple of good pieces in the NY Times recently on this exact topic: this one points out that more and more professional types are maintaining separate dwellings and this one the fact that often we drift into cohabiting rather than making a clear-cut, conscious decision to. And as a result, “couples who cohabit before marriage (and especially before an engagement or an otherwise clear commitment) tend to be less satisfied with their marriages — and more likely to divorce — than couples who do not”.

    While we kind of slid into moving in together for practical reasons (in fact, before I was really ready), thankfully, it’s worked out (after all, disentangling your relationship is infinitely more difficult when you physically live together and have mingled other aspects of your lives). Given how different we are, I think moving in together for the first time as newlyweds would have been disastrous.

    There’s the argument that cohabiting makes getting married less special. I can understand that. As it relates to us, I don’t buy it, but marriage means different things to different people (to me, it’s a new level of emotional reaffirmation/commitment).

    Was I going somewhere with this?

    Basically: live together or don’t – whatever. It’s not a one size fits all kind of thing. But the sooner that ‘buying the cow’ phrase disappears, the better.

    Do you hate that saying? Or think it stands true? (I have friends who don’t support gay marriage; I can deal with differences of opinion. Outwardly, at least.)

  • May 22, 2012

    Learning to take criticism

    Learning to take criticism

    I have been writing as long as I can remember being alive.

    Starting from when I could pick up a pen, I wrote. I wrote stories. I wrote diaries. I wrote songs. I wrote drafts of novels. I wrote blog posts. I wrote news articles and features and profiles.

    But I’ve never really learned to take criticism all that well.

    When faced with criticism, my heart and stomach sink. I flush red. It’s a little bit, I imagine, like that film camera technique where they track in and zoom out at the same (the dolly zoom?). The world skips a beat and fades away, the blood pounding in my ears quickens and grows louder.

    I am my own biggest fan

    In my second year of high school, I got a group of muso friends together and we performed one of my songs for the annual talent quest. It was a fabulous song. Short, tight, catchy, poppy. I got compliments from two people that I remember: one of my girlfriends and my music teacher.

    I was expecting more of my friends to be impressed, frankly. It’s darn hard to write a catchy pop song (though Gaga seems to churn them out no problem). I am still really proud of my amateur effort (which I reckon is on par with some of the Kiwi music that makes it out there) even if hardly anybody else appreciated it.

    And also, my own worst critic

    I actually can’t bear to read stuff that I’ve had published in print. Despite all the time spent agonising over every word choice, every paragraph, I just lose all perspective on the story. I flip to the page, cast a quick eye over,  then quickly slam it shut. Once it’s out of my hands, I don’t really want anything to do with it.

    So I’m probably always not the best judge of my own work…

    Sometimes I know I’m hot shit. I look back on stuff I had published in high school and am kind of surprised at how mature I was on paper. That song was pretty rad. I have a fond spot for my favourite blog posts (here, here and here). And usually, I find my best work happens when it just flows out of me. Writing that I labour over is sometimes up there, but it’s never on the same level.

    Learning to take criticism

    All my life I was one of those high achievers – a big fish in a small school pond. Then I got myself a pretty practical degree. Unlike friends who did more creative courses, I never learned to get ripped apart and take heat at uni. I’ve definitely never had anyone “shit all over my work”, as a designer I know once put it. I’ve never had my creative work criticised by peers in classes or workshops. The peer review part of every tutorial was kind of a joke; straightforward news stories don’t take much creativity, and writing clean copy was never a problem.

    Sometimes I fear news writing has drained me of my creativity. Even writing short, simple reviews sometimes proves an agonising exercise. (I’d be a terrible columnist – I’m a die-hard fence sitter and can never make my mind up on issues, paralysed as I am by both the pros and cons.)  And so although I started this old blog completely on the spur of the moment, I’m very grateful I did, because it gives me a space to write freely.

    One thing I don’t think I’ll ever forget is my ex telling me that his mother didn’t think I would make it in media, because I couldn’t hack the pressure, the criticism, the pace. And granted, criticism hasn’t featured often in my life. I’ve been spoiled.

    Criticism is part of the creative life. If you’re going to create art and put it out there, there will be haters. No creative work is going to appeal to everyone.

    Slowly, very slowly, I’m becoming better at receiving it. I’d like to think I get better at dealing every time it happens. My initial reaction is still a defensive one, I won’t lie (psychology dictates that we tend to hold others wholly responsible for their own actions, but play up external factors when the focus is on ourselves and our own faults). I can recognise criticism as being constructive and given in good faith, and appreciate the end result when pushed further.

    You need a bit of both, ultimately – the self-belief that keeps you going through those dark periods of creative despair, and the ability to accept and act on feedback.

    How are you with accepting – or giving – criticism?

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