I wish I was an inventor.
Last week, when I was nearing the end of my agonizingly long long run (about Kilometre 26 of 36) I decided I wanted to create a new type of running vest. Well, more specifically, it is a new type of "Technical fabric" that I would create.
This fabric will not be a better wicking fabric, or a thinner material or more light weight and it won’t make me faster or make my long run easier. You see, I don’t want to make clothes that will make faster, strong, better runners – I want to make clothing that tells the world what I’m up to.
Rather than clothes that breathe, I want to make clothes that brag.
I want to create a vest that has a series of super tiny LED bulbs embedded in the fabric. These bulbs would be wired together and connected to a little programmable CPU, all of which would still need to be super light weight and breathable so as to not hinder my athletic performance.
This whole set up would have one very vital purpose: allow me to upload to the clothing a saying or a set of sayings that would be displayed on the front and back of the shirt.
I could upload slogans like “I may be slow but at least I’m running” or it could just flash “Good Morning!” as I run past people, thereby saving me the energy of having to exchange pleasantries with passing runners. Or maybe I could upload motivational saying that would be displayed backwards that I could read with the aid of a mirror (that I would then have to take with me, ok, maybe not).
There could be an additional feature of a GPS locator that I could upload your running route and it would keep a running tally (so to speak) of how far I’ve gone.
So when I look so knackered that passers-by think I might require medical intervention they could see on my shirt that I’d completed “x” number of kilometres of my “Y” length of run.
Or maybe I could have it send Twitter updates as I go; every half hour – “I am now passing spot ‘A’ and my heart rate is ‘n’” – (hey, I’ve read less interesting things on Twitter).
For the security conscious, maybe it could be made smart enough to register when I fall unconscious and then flash “SOS” followed by my emergency contact information. “If found unconscious please call…”. That in combination with Twitter might actually be useful.
Ok, I freely admit this invention would be almost solely to massage my aching ego as I run my super long runs, but in my defence, why shouldn’t the passing masses know just how hard I am working.
Or maybe this invention is just the ravings of an oxygen starved mind – but tell me, when you’ve reached kilometre 26 of 36, wouldn’t you want the world to know?
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Putting the Tech in Technical Clothing.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Damsel in Distress
I do not play the damsel in distress well.
It interferes with my desire to be a strong, independent, self-reliant woman.
Alas, every so often I am faced with a situation that reduces me to a hapless and helpless individual in need of rescuing; the most recent being only a couple of weekends ago.
The day started off innocently enough, C and I were camping and decided to go on a hike. Our campsite was near a river with a reasonably steep river valley walls (I might describe it as a small canyon; C might think I was being overly dramatic).
With our backpacks and bear bells we set off along the top of the wooded ridge parallelling the river; every so often, catching glimpses of the far side of the valley and it’s rather foreboding rocky face. Occasionally we would wander off the path and out to the edge of the cliff and survey the river below and the condition of the near face, you see, with me being rather water-philic (and C most likely keen for adventure), we really wanted to find a way down the slope and into the river valley.
Spotting only steep scree slopes and the occasional group of mountain goats we kept wandering along the top until we saw a spot that, from a distance and at an angle, looked like a viable candidate for getting us to the river’s edge. C sized it up and started discussing how we could easily get down to where only scree remained and then scree-ski our way down to the river bed. My brain kept repeating “seriously” with an increasing level of incredulity, but I deferred to C’s expertise/confidence and we headed off along the top to find the “treed area” that would, theoretically, lead us safely to the river’s edge.
Often, in life, theory and practice are two completely different things. How often have you said, “Theoretically, this should work” only to reflect after the fact with “I was good, in theory”. For me, this was one such moment.
We skidded down the slope through the ever-thinning trees, me swinging from tree to tree like some ground-bound monkey refusing to believe it’s ground-bound. Taking comfort in the stability of each branch, then tree, then shrub, then tuft of grass as we descended. In reverse proportion, my fear of tumbling butt over head (or worse still, sliding face first) into the river increased as my handholds decreased.
Then we ran out of handholds (or at least I ran out of handholds, since C never needed them in the first place) then my fear rose in a rather exponential fashion.
I was standing, well, crouching, on the side of a rather steep slope, facing nothing but about 25 feet of scree and a couple of rocky outcroppings between me and the rocky river below. Then, in true damsel in distress fashion, I began to panic and whimper in equal proportions as I slid my way down to the first rocky outcrop (only about 5 feet away).
Propped up on the outcrop I attempted to calm myself down as C suggested that I could just “scree-ski” (sliding sideways down the slope) my way down to the next rock outcrop – and my helpful brain began showing me short vignettes of me somersaulting my way down the slope until ending up in a heap in the cold river. Thanks brain, really helpful.
I would be reluctant to describe myself as paralysed by fear, I was, more accurately, temporarily immobilized by a strong reluctance to injure myself. The Damsel was demobilized. C, obviously realizing that I was unwilling to skid uncontrollably to my death in the river and knowing that he couldn’t, in good conscience, leave me behind knew that his only course of action was to rescue his damsel in distress. (Honestly C, I do try to be brave, and calm, and level-headed, honestly, I do).
Then C said to me the three most incredible, situation altering, awe-inspiring, heart fluttering words a woman in my situation could ever hope to hear: “I.have.rope.”
Feeling calmer and able to focus on something other than my brain's fatalistic films, I took out my camera and took a few pictures, after all, it was very pretty. C dug though is pack and then dug though the emergency kit he was packing along (just in case - he assured me it wasn't just because I was along for the hike) and unearthed a small bundle of rather thin rope. C reassured me of its tensile strength after I made some disparaging remark about its size. After all, it didn't really need to hold my weight as much as it needed to offer something for me to hold on to so I could control my descent as I skidded my way down.
Hooking and unhooking the rope over each of the rock outcrops, C managed to get me ("safely" in my mind, "calmly", I expect in C's) down in stages to the river's edge.
Finding ourselves at the edge of the river with no discernible bank and needing to find an alternate way up and thinking that the other side of the river held more promise, we took off our shoes and socks and waded into the river. Refreshing turned into freezing as I waded, well rather hobbled, my way along the rocky river bottom. We stopped mid-river on a large dry patch (a rocky sand bar, if you will) to let our feet dry and to take a break.
I was mentally kicking myself for getting so panicked – I may think I have the soul of an adventurer, but I have the bravery of a skittish housecat – a rather depressing dichotomy. I am grateful the C was there, that he wholeheartedly embraces the phrase “always be prepared”, that he had rope, and that he was understanding and patient with me. I am lucky in so many ways to have him in my life.
With our feet sufficiently thawed and dry we put our shoes and socks back on and surveyed our options. Realizing the shortcomings of his hiking companion, C and I ruled out scrabbling back up the way we came down; I was also reluctant to head along the river’s edge back the way we had come knowing that there was no better way down meant, to me, there was no better way up either; and the other side of the river was too much of an unknown for me to want to venture forth in that direction.
Further down river, on the same side of the river as we had been hiking, just at a bend in the river, there seemed to be trees that came right down to the edge of the water. I felt it offered the best chance of a save and “easy” way out of the river valley (at the very least, there would be things to hang on to as be climbed up.
We headed off in that direction along the rocky "sand bar"; me stopping to take a picture of a very pretty piece of slate then wandering along looking at pretty rocks and picking up the occasional stone to take home with me; C stopping to put the pretty piece of slate into his backpack and then walking along to catch up to me.
After wading once more though the river to the river’s edge we clambered along the rocks to see what was just beyond the bend in the river and to find the best place to begin out ascent.
We snapped a few photos and then began out climb, me complaining mildly about my tight calf muscles, C carrying a 30lbs pack (16lbs of which was the piece of slate that is now adorning my living room) and making no complaints. When I grow up, I want to be just like C.
Despite it all, I quite enjoyed the hike (I hope C did too; despite the damsel in distress he got saddled with).
I hope in the future that the damsel will not return, but if she does, I hope that I am lucky enough to have a hero like C able and willing to come to the rescue.
This experience served to reinforce three things that I strive to attain –
Bravery
Strength
And a sturdy length of rope
It interferes with my desire to be a strong, independent, self-reliant woman.
Alas, every so often I am faced with a situation that reduces me to a hapless and helpless individual in need of rescuing; the most recent being only a couple of weekends ago.
The day started off innocently enough, C and I were camping and decided to go on a hike. Our campsite was near a river with a reasonably steep river valley walls (I might describe it as a small canyon; C might think I was being overly dramatic).
With our backpacks and bear bells we set off along the top of the wooded ridge parallelling the river; every so often, catching glimpses of the far side of the valley and it’s rather foreboding rocky face. Occasionally we would wander off the path and out to the edge of the cliff and survey the river below and the condition of the near face, you see, with me being rather water-philic (and C most likely keen for adventure), we really wanted to find a way down the slope and into the river valley.
Spotting only steep scree slopes and the occasional group of mountain goats we kept wandering along the top until we saw a spot that, from a distance and at an angle, looked like a viable candidate for getting us to the river’s edge. C sized it up and started discussing how we could easily get down to where only scree remained and then scree-ski our way down to the river bed. My brain kept repeating “seriously” with an increasing level of incredulity, but I deferred to C’s expertise/confidence and we headed off along the top to find the “treed area” that would, theoretically, lead us safely to the river’s edge.
Often, in life, theory and practice are two completely different things. How often have you said, “Theoretically, this should work” only to reflect after the fact with “I was good, in theory”. For me, this was one such moment.
We skidded down the slope through the ever-thinning trees, me swinging from tree to tree like some ground-bound monkey refusing to believe it’s ground-bound. Taking comfort in the stability of each branch, then tree, then shrub, then tuft of grass as we descended. In reverse proportion, my fear of tumbling butt over head (or worse still, sliding face first) into the river increased as my handholds decreased.
Then we ran out of handholds (or at least I ran out of handholds, since C never needed them in the first place) then my fear rose in a rather exponential fashion.
I was standing, well, crouching, on the side of a rather steep slope, facing nothing but about 25 feet of scree and a couple of rocky outcroppings between me and the rocky river below. Then, in true damsel in distress fashion, I began to panic and whimper in equal proportions as I slid my way down to the first rocky outcrop (only about 5 feet away).
Propped up on the outcrop I attempted to calm myself down as C suggested that I could just “scree-ski” (sliding sideways down the slope) my way down to the next rock outcrop – and my helpful brain began showing me short vignettes of me somersaulting my way down the slope until ending up in a heap in the cold river. Thanks brain, really helpful.
I would be reluctant to describe myself as paralysed by fear, I was, more accurately, temporarily immobilized by a strong reluctance to injure myself. The Damsel was demobilized. C, obviously realizing that I was unwilling to skid uncontrollably to my death in the river and knowing that he couldn’t, in good conscience, leave me behind knew that his only course of action was to rescue his damsel in distress. (Honestly C, I do try to be brave, and calm, and level-headed, honestly, I do).
Then C said to me the three most incredible, situation altering, awe-inspiring, heart fluttering words a woman in my situation could ever hope to hear: “I.have.rope.”
Feeling calmer and able to focus on something other than my brain's fatalistic films, I took out my camera and took a few pictures, after all, it was very pretty. C dug though is pack and then dug though the emergency kit he was packing along (just in case - he assured me it wasn't just because I was along for the hike) and unearthed a small bundle of rather thin rope. C reassured me of its tensile strength after I made some disparaging remark about its size. After all, it didn't really need to hold my weight as much as it needed to offer something for me to hold on to so I could control my descent as I skidded my way down.
Hooking and unhooking the rope over each of the rock outcrops, C managed to get me ("safely" in my mind, "calmly", I expect in C's) down in stages to the river's edge.
Finding ourselves at the edge of the river with no discernible bank and needing to find an alternate way up and thinking that the other side of the river held more promise, we took off our shoes and socks and waded into the river. Refreshing turned into freezing as I waded, well rather hobbled, my way along the rocky river bottom. We stopped mid-river on a large dry patch (a rocky sand bar, if you will) to let our feet dry and to take a break.
I was mentally kicking myself for getting so panicked – I may think I have the soul of an adventurer, but I have the bravery of a skittish housecat – a rather depressing dichotomy. I am grateful the C was there, that he wholeheartedly embraces the phrase “always be prepared”, that he had rope, and that he was understanding and patient with me. I am lucky in so many ways to have him in my life.
With our feet sufficiently thawed and dry we put our shoes and socks back on and surveyed our options. Realizing the shortcomings of his hiking companion, C and I ruled out scrabbling back up the way we came down; I was also reluctant to head along the river’s edge back the way we had come knowing that there was no better way down meant, to me, there was no better way up either; and the other side of the river was too much of an unknown for me to want to venture forth in that direction.
Further down river, on the same side of the river as we had been hiking, just at a bend in the river, there seemed to be trees that came right down to the edge of the water. I felt it offered the best chance of a save and “easy” way out of the river valley (at the very least, there would be things to hang on to as be climbed up.
We headed off in that direction along the rocky "sand bar"; me stopping to take a picture of a very pretty piece of slate then wandering along looking at pretty rocks and picking up the occasional stone to take home with me; C stopping to put the pretty piece of slate into his backpack and then walking along to catch up to me.
After wading once more though the river to the river’s edge we clambered along the rocks to see what was just beyond the bend in the river and to find the best place to begin out ascent.
We snapped a few photos and then began out climb, me complaining mildly about my tight calf muscles, C carrying a 30lbs pack (16lbs of which was the piece of slate that is now adorning my living room) and making no complaints. When I grow up, I want to be just like C.
Despite it all, I quite enjoyed the hike (I hope C did too; despite the damsel in distress he got saddled with).
I hope in the future that the damsel will not return, but if she does, I hope that I am lucky enough to have a hero like C able and willing to come to the rescue.
This experience served to reinforce three things that I strive to attain –
Bravery
Strength
And a sturdy length of rope
Saturday, September 5, 2009
The Day Begins
"You have to get up!"
I opened my eyes; daylight – barely. I looked at my watch; 6:30 AM – barely.
“Sleep” I responded, snuggling deeper into the sleeping bag.
“You have to get up, we have to go!” my bladder insisted.
As if in league with my bladder, a group of squirrels decided, just then, to have an argument, which gave way to a skirmish and the chittering turned into chittering and skittering as squirrels rampaged past the side of the tent.
“Now, please!” My bladder would not be ignored.
“Fine,” I sighed and unburrowed myself from the sleeping bag, added one or two warm layers, put on my toque and adeptly exited the tent.
I wandered down the dirt lane towards the outhouse and marvelled, between yawns, at how quiet it was (aside from the rampaging squirrels whose battle had deescalated into little more than name calling from opposing tree branches) there was very little noise, little more than the occasional whoosh of the wind though the trees (which I could always hear before I felt it). No traffic, no people – the absence of both I would expect (and welcome) when camping in the near-middle-of-nowhere (especially this early in the morning) – but there were no birds, no dawn chorus; just silence and the scrunch of my sandals on the gravel and the intermittent squabbling Sciuridae.
Once I had appeased my bladder, I returned to the campsite planning to re-cocoon myself and await a more humane hour at which to begin my day but as I rounded the front of the tent, I saw movement in the forest and I froze.
Less than 30 metres away stood a group of deer. (Sorry, were you expecting a bear?) There were five of them – two does and three fawns. One doe and one of the fawns were moving slowly away from the our campsite wandering slowly though the tall thin pine trees, while the other doe and the remaining two fawns seemed more content to stay.
I stood rooted to the spot – the silent observer – then slowly began to unzip my jacket pocket to get out my camera.
The observer became the observed. The remaining doe and one of her fawns seemed to fix me with their gaze. They seemed rather un-phased by my presence though the fawn continued to stare at me. The second fawn, either not seeing me or not caring about me proceeded to lie down on the mossy forest floor.
I slowly moved my camera up to my line of sight and began to take a few pictures; too far away, the light is too low; I thought and I tried to slowly and silently move towards them.
Getting a little closer I fixed my camera lens on them again – still I couldn’t capture the moment in an image. Silently cursing the shortcomings of my camera, I realized that I was missing the experience by trying to capture it in a digital image.
So I stopped. I stood. I watched.
The sun was forcing thin shafts of light down between the trees and the air seemed to sparkle with a golden morning haze.
The deer seemed to go about their regular routine, one of the foals got startled and ran a little way away, the doe began to slowly follow and the second foal (sill resting on the ground) unfolded itself, stood and trotted off after its mother. All three began to move away and I was left to watch as they receded into the forest.
As if awakening from a trance, I realised I was cold. I looked at my watch; 7:30 AM – almost. Knowing there was no point in trying to go back to sleep; I gathered some dry twigs for fire starter and turning my back on the forest began making my way back to the campsite.
It was time to start a fire, make some tea and begin my day.
I opened my eyes; daylight – barely. I looked at my watch; 6:30 AM – barely.
“Sleep” I responded, snuggling deeper into the sleeping bag.
“You have to get up, we have to go!” my bladder insisted.
As if in league with my bladder, a group of squirrels decided, just then, to have an argument, which gave way to a skirmish and the chittering turned into chittering and skittering as squirrels rampaged past the side of the tent.
“Now, please!” My bladder would not be ignored.
“Fine,” I sighed and unburrowed myself from the sleeping bag, added one or two warm layers, put on my toque and adeptly exited the tent.
I wandered down the dirt lane towards the outhouse and marvelled, between yawns, at how quiet it was (aside from the rampaging squirrels whose battle had deescalated into little more than name calling from opposing tree branches) there was very little noise, little more than the occasional whoosh of the wind though the trees (which I could always hear before I felt it). No traffic, no people – the absence of both I would expect (and welcome) when camping in the near-middle-of-nowhere (especially this early in the morning) – but there were no birds, no dawn chorus; just silence and the scrunch of my sandals on the gravel and the intermittent squabbling Sciuridae.
Once I had appeased my bladder, I returned to the campsite planning to re-cocoon myself and await a more humane hour at which to begin my day but as I rounded the front of the tent, I saw movement in the forest and I froze.
Less than 30 metres away stood a group of deer. (Sorry, were you expecting a bear?) There were five of them – two does and three fawns. One doe and one of the fawns were moving slowly away from the our campsite wandering slowly though the tall thin pine trees, while the other doe and the remaining two fawns seemed more content to stay.
I stood rooted to the spot – the silent observer – then slowly began to unzip my jacket pocket to get out my camera.
The observer became the observed. The remaining doe and one of her fawns seemed to fix me with their gaze. They seemed rather un-phased by my presence though the fawn continued to stare at me. The second fawn, either not seeing me or not caring about me proceeded to lie down on the mossy forest floor.
I slowly moved my camera up to my line of sight and began to take a few pictures; too far away, the light is too low; I thought and I tried to slowly and silently move towards them.
Getting a little closer I fixed my camera lens on them again – still I couldn’t capture the moment in an image. Silently cursing the shortcomings of my camera, I realized that I was missing the experience by trying to capture it in a digital image.
So I stopped. I stood. I watched.
The sun was forcing thin shafts of light down between the trees and the air seemed to sparkle with a golden morning haze.
The deer seemed to go about their regular routine, one of the foals got startled and ran a little way away, the doe began to slowly follow and the second foal (sill resting on the ground) unfolded itself, stood and trotted off after its mother. All three began to move away and I was left to watch as they receded into the forest.
As if awakening from a trance, I realised I was cold. I looked at my watch; 7:30 AM – almost. Knowing there was no point in trying to go back to sleep; I gathered some dry twigs for fire starter and turning my back on the forest began making my way back to the campsite.
It was time to start a fire, make some tea and begin my day.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Banning the BAND
When I’m at work, I don’t want to be; when I’m at home I don’t want to do the tasks I need to get done. When it’s nice outside and I should go out and enjoy the weather, I can’t be bothered.
I really wonder how long I can go though life being this apathetic about things. Don’t get me wrong, my life isn’t one big yawn-fest; actually this past week was quite to opposite. But that week is in the past and the near-future seems to be filled with little more than what feels like a never-ending “To Do” list.
I know I’m teetering on the brink, I know this, because I’ve been here before; the problem is: can I change direction before I drop over the edge (or have I already slipped past the brink) and right into the arms of my old nemesis Depression.
Depression and I have had an on-again off-again rivalry that goes back years. I’m sure this isn’t the first blog I’ve done about Depression and his evil ways.
Like the four horsemen of the apocalypse; Depression doesn’t travel alone, he’s generally accompanied by his companions; Boredom, Apathy and Neglect (BAND for short). And like the four horsemen, BAND is a harbinger of bad times (I stop short of calling them apocalyptic, because even to me, that seems overly dramatic). BAND at its least potent, is a dampener of life and fun; at its worse, it has a paralytic effect that is hard to shake and at its MOST extreme (a level I shall NEVER allow it to reach with me) BAND is the bringer of death.
BAND and I are at the early stages; Apathy and Neglect are hanging about (as inseparable as conjoined twins) and Boredom seems to come and go like teenage acne. I’m getting behind in my bill payments and it has been ages since I gave the apartment a good cleaning. I know that aversion to unpleasant tasks is commonplace – even the happiest of persons will most likely spend some time avoiding tasks they’d rather not tackle. Though, after some amount of procrastination, most people get the tasks done – I sometimes do not.
Rather than do the unpleasant tasks, I allow myself to get seduced by Apathy and Neglect’s other buddy – Pacifying Distraction. PD helps the other two out by preoccupying the unsuspecting victim whilst Apathy and Neglect weave their web of seduction. Now PD isn’t always a bad guy – just ask any new mother with a crying kid – shiny object and soothers are more valuable than gold, at times. The key things to point out are: 1. “at times” is the operative phrase and; 2. I am not a wailing infant (though there might be similarities in my behaviour to that of a spoilt two-year-old) I am an adult and I must admit I am also quite addicted to my PD.
My PD is TV.
Now I hear you saying, TV isn’t a true addiction and I’ll admit it’s not as bad as some addictions; I don’t smoke, or drink, or do drugs – thank goodness; but still, I spend an inordinate amount of my “free-time” watching TV and most of this free time could be better spent doing, well, practically anything else! Instead of doing things I ought to be doing, I watch TV and, of late, instead of doing things that I’d like to do, that I used to enjoy doing, I watch TV – sounds like an addiction to me.
Thankfully I won’t wake up with a hangover the next day, or go though a tough physical withdrawal (should I decide to give it up) but still, since I do it at the exclusion of most other activities, it is becoming rather destructive.
The hard part is it’s so easy to do. All I have to do is turn the TV on and I become a gormless blob on the couch for the next X-number of hours. I have plenty of things to watch (mostly British mystery shows at the moment, in case you wondered) and have even spent nice sunny afternoons lolling about on the couch wasting the wonderful weather whilst watching some show or other.
Mindlessly I spend hour after hour sitting about watching TV, never thinking I ought to be doing anything else. Then, the next day or even later that same night, as I tumble into bed, I berate myself for wasting so much time watching TV, just to come back the next day and do the same thing!
Ah, PD, you’re doing your job quite nicely; Apathy and Neglect are so proud of you.
I know the solution to all of this; ridding myself of PD and the BAND. It’s the same solution that I have tried to establish before – Will Power and the Forces of Good – a little over done? - ok, just willpower then.
If I don’t want BAND to take hold, I have to give PD the ol’ heave-ho, or at the very least make him less front-and-centre in my life.
Easily said – I need to turn off the TV and do more, or maybe just to start with, turn off the TV and allow myself to do nothing. Or better still, read, or blog, or work on one of the myriad of stories I have swirling around in the creative half-conscious part of my brain. Do fun stuff! Then work in some of the "to dos" as less palatable (but necessary) as they might be.
I also need to get out of my apartment more (oh, this is beginning to sound very familiar). Find a pastime that forces me to go out and interact with real people instead of passively watching the lives of fictional people on the TV.
I know it starts with willpower and forgiveness and understanding, and maybe a smaller and slightly less daunting “To Do list”.
TO DO:
1. Turn off TV
2. Leave TV off
3. Rediscover the real world
4. Tell BAND where to go
5. Get on with things
I really wonder how long I can go though life being this apathetic about things. Don’t get me wrong, my life isn’t one big yawn-fest; actually this past week was quite to opposite. But that week is in the past and the near-future seems to be filled with little more than what feels like a never-ending “To Do” list.
I know I’m teetering on the brink, I know this, because I’ve been here before; the problem is: can I change direction before I drop over the edge (or have I already slipped past the brink) and right into the arms of my old nemesis Depression.
Depression and I have had an on-again off-again rivalry that goes back years. I’m sure this isn’t the first blog I’ve done about Depression and his evil ways.
Like the four horsemen of the apocalypse; Depression doesn’t travel alone, he’s generally accompanied by his companions; Boredom, Apathy and Neglect (BAND for short). And like the four horsemen, BAND is a harbinger of bad times (I stop short of calling them apocalyptic, because even to me, that seems overly dramatic). BAND at its least potent, is a dampener of life and fun; at its worse, it has a paralytic effect that is hard to shake and at its MOST extreme (a level I shall NEVER allow it to reach with me) BAND is the bringer of death.
BAND and I are at the early stages; Apathy and Neglect are hanging about (as inseparable as conjoined twins) and Boredom seems to come and go like teenage acne. I’m getting behind in my bill payments and it has been ages since I gave the apartment a good cleaning. I know that aversion to unpleasant tasks is commonplace – even the happiest of persons will most likely spend some time avoiding tasks they’d rather not tackle. Though, after some amount of procrastination, most people get the tasks done – I sometimes do not.
Rather than do the unpleasant tasks, I allow myself to get seduced by Apathy and Neglect’s other buddy – Pacifying Distraction. PD helps the other two out by preoccupying the unsuspecting victim whilst Apathy and Neglect weave their web of seduction. Now PD isn’t always a bad guy – just ask any new mother with a crying kid – shiny object and soothers are more valuable than gold, at times. The key things to point out are: 1. “at times” is the operative phrase and; 2. I am not a wailing infant (though there might be similarities in my behaviour to that of a spoilt two-year-old) I am an adult and I must admit I am also quite addicted to my PD.
My PD is TV.
Now I hear you saying, TV isn’t a true addiction and I’ll admit it’s not as bad as some addictions; I don’t smoke, or drink, or do drugs – thank goodness; but still, I spend an inordinate amount of my “free-time” watching TV and most of this free time could be better spent doing, well, practically anything else! Instead of doing things I ought to be doing, I watch TV and, of late, instead of doing things that I’d like to do, that I used to enjoy doing, I watch TV – sounds like an addiction to me.
Thankfully I won’t wake up with a hangover the next day, or go though a tough physical withdrawal (should I decide to give it up) but still, since I do it at the exclusion of most other activities, it is becoming rather destructive.
The hard part is it’s so easy to do. All I have to do is turn the TV on and I become a gormless blob on the couch for the next X-number of hours. I have plenty of things to watch (mostly British mystery shows at the moment, in case you wondered) and have even spent nice sunny afternoons lolling about on the couch wasting the wonderful weather whilst watching some show or other.
Mindlessly I spend hour after hour sitting about watching TV, never thinking I ought to be doing anything else. Then, the next day or even later that same night, as I tumble into bed, I berate myself for wasting so much time watching TV, just to come back the next day and do the same thing!
Ah, PD, you’re doing your job quite nicely; Apathy and Neglect are so proud of you.
I know the solution to all of this; ridding myself of PD and the BAND. It’s the same solution that I have tried to establish before – Will Power and the Forces of Good – a little over done? - ok, just willpower then.
If I don’t want BAND to take hold, I have to give PD the ol’ heave-ho, or at the very least make him less front-and-centre in my life.
Easily said – I need to turn off the TV and do more, or maybe just to start with, turn off the TV and allow myself to do nothing. Or better still, read, or blog, or work on one of the myriad of stories I have swirling around in the creative half-conscious part of my brain. Do fun stuff! Then work in some of the "to dos" as less palatable (but necessary) as they might be.
I also need to get out of my apartment more (oh, this is beginning to sound very familiar). Find a pastime that forces me to go out and interact with real people instead of passively watching the lives of fictional people on the TV.
I know it starts with willpower and forgiveness and understanding, and maybe a smaller and slightly less daunting “To Do list”.
TO DO:
1. Turn off TV
2. Leave TV off
3. Rediscover the real world
4. Tell BAND where to go
5. Get on with things
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Fear and Consequences
I've been thinking a lot about fear lately; partly due to the fact that I decided to jump out of a plane and partly because I went camping.
I am not afraid to camp, I actually quite enjoy it – being out in nature, the peacefulness, chopping wood – but there is one hitch; I am afraid of the dark, or more specifically, things that go bump in the night, or rather, when it comes to camping - things that go "grrrrr" in the night.
You see, I’m rather afraid I’ll be eaten by bears if I leave my tent in the middle of the night.
Now this wouldn’t be a problem if I didn’t wake up in the middle of the night and have to answer the call of nature (and potentially face the wrath of nature). But unfortunately, on the two nights we were camping, I awoke in the wee small hours and needed to, um, well, take a wee.
So I would lie awake for awhile; listening for bears and trying to conversely; summon up the courage to go out into the dark and convince myself that if I could just go back to sleep for a couple of hours it would be daylight and safe to go out. Alas, after twenty or so minutes of debate, my bladder was wide awake and demanding satisfaction; so grabbing my jacket and my flashlight I left the safety of the tent for the unknown darkness of the trees adjacent to our campsite.
I furtively looked around and listened, seeing nothing and hearing only the snoring of my tent mate (sorry C, but the truth must be told) I found a suitable spot and turned out my flashlight and did what needed to be done (I will spare you the details – I know, you can thank me later for my prudence).
Mission accomplished I quick-stepped it back to the “safety” of the tent and scrambled under the covers and, once my pulse stopped racing and I calmed down sufficiently, I went back to sleep (about an hour after first waking with the need to pee).
I’m annoyed by this rather irrational fear of the dark. There were no warnings of bears in the area, the chances of me coming face to face (or cheek to cheek) with a bear were remote and yet I wasted an hour of contented sleep fretting about the imagined marauding wildlife.
C congratulated me for overcoming my fear, but I didn’t overcome it – I just found that my need to pee outweighed my need to stay safe in the tent (little more than an imagined safety, really, if a bear really wanted to munch on me a thin tent and a bit of bedding really wasn’t going to deter it much).
But maybe that’s the point; you overcome fear by realizing that the consequences of giving in to fear are far graver than just facing the fear (and trust me, with a full bladder, the consequences would have been rather dire).
When I faced my fear of falling from great heights to my death by committing to a tandem jump with my friend T, I realized at some stage that the consequences of giving in to my irrational fear of dying during the jump would have been that both C and T would have wasted their time coming out to the drop zone and though I could get my money back, I had driven out to the airport twice (over an hour each way) and gasoline is not cheap these days. Also, and here I have to give a nod to my ol’ buddy Ego – to back out (after telling everyone I was going to do it) would have been embarrassing and hard to justify so since I had committed.
I just realized this approach of pros and cons of fear and consequences is not just related to fear and consequences but can also be applied to all aspects of my behaviour – do the pros of sticking to the status quo outweigh the cons of sticking to it.
Interesting – who knew so much would come out of waking in the wee small hours in need of a wee.
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