Big Things - Little Things

I know I'm getting older because I question with increasing frequency the value of what it is that I'm doing, exactly - that and because everything hurts most of the time.  SuperK brought this matter up yesterday - this is the rough equivalent of humming "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" over and over in my ear.  The tune is in there and it's hard to get it out.

The struggle is seeing value in the Little Things.  The Little Things aren't as impressive in my mind as the Big Things.  If I'm not changing the world, to great public acclaim, then I don't feel like I'm accomplishing much.  The Book talks about this - apparently I'm not alone in my superficial grandiosity.  The Book says that few of us can be people of great prominence, and it implies that most of us don't want to be, really, if we're being honest about it.  The Book says maybe we can make a difference by arranging for the cake and coffee after a meeting, when so many suspicious newcomers can begin to sense a program that can make a real difference in their lives.

"How much does that pay, anyway?" I was tempted to ask when someone suggested that I take on the coffee making duties.

I'm glad I didn't.

Hedonic Adaptation

Hedonic Adaptation:  A measurable and innate capacity to become habituated or inured to most life changes.

I read a fair amount and often run across things that are helpful in enabling me to understand other things, sometimes important things.  There's a lot of good stuff out there.  

There's this from a series of psychological studies and I'm quoting from the report directly: " Hedonic adaptation is most likely when positive experiences are involved.  It's cruel but true:  We're inclined - psychologically and physiologically - to take positive experiences for granted.  When great things happen to us we're thrilled!  For a time.  Then, as if propelled by autonomic forces, our expectations change, multiply or expand and, as they do, we begin to take the new, improved circumstances for granted."

I know that I get bored easily.  Restless, vaguely dissatisfied, eager for something new, something else - not unhappy, exactly, but not content.  Some of this is due to my profound lack of gratitude but some of it is me being human, if you care to believe this study.  I get bored, I try something, sometimes something really huge and big and new, and then after a while I get bored again, and I'm ready for the next great thing.

Here's some more: "Surprise is a potent force.  When something novel occurs, we tend to pay attention  to appreciate the experience or circumstance, and to remember it."  It seems to me that this explains a lot about culture shock.  Many of us are too timid or afraid or uncomfortable to take the step into the new thing.  The change can be very uncomfortable.

But I highly recommend it.

Prone to Anxiety

I get into these periods when I battle anxiety more than I care to.  "Prone to anxiety," as my buddy Little Westside Johnny says.  It's a thing with me.  It's a thing with many drunks but it appears to be a particular curse of mine.  My head doesn't process minor fear very well.  I go to mild, free-floating anxiety at the drop of a hat.

The Crisis List is helpful and irritating all at the same time in this regard.  I write the stuff down and then I write down how the stuff is resolved a few days later and marvel at how much time I waste in my life worrying about things that never come true.

For a super-efficient, obsessively productive German peasant it's a lot of time.

Those Kooky Sponsors

I have an Old City sponsor - I've had him as a sponsor for most of my 25 years - and a New City sponsor.  One is a retired judge, conservative and religious and totally conventional  in all aspects of his life and the other is an old hippie - a real California, 60s hippie - who lived in communes and is a passionate atheist.  One has never lived more than 5 miles from where he was born and the other is spending the winter in Thailand or Ecuador or I have no idea where.

They're both great.  I need them both.  Both of them piss me off from time to time and both of them hit the nail on the head, too.  To say they come at things from different points of view would be the understatement of the year.  Sometimes I need to be reminded that I'm not relying enough on my Higher Power and sometimes I need to be told that I'm only human, that I need to give myself a break.

Guess which one says which?

P&M

Prayer and meditation is all about forming a partnership with my higher power.  I'm not much into partnerships as a general rule; I'm into taking hostages through violent means.  I'm into control and dictatorships.  If I owned my own law firm, I'd call it Seaweed, Seaweed, and Seaweed.  I like the sound of my own name so I'm going to slap it on the side of my building - which I'd call The Seaweed Building - as many times as it would fit.

"Yes, I have an appointment with Mr. Seaweed," my first client would say.

"Which Mr. Seaweed?" I'd say.  "We have three of them here."

"I don't know," would be the perplexed reply.

"Get the $#!! out of here," I'd say.  I wouldn't make much money as a lawyer.

The point is that I spend way too much time talking and way too little time listening.  I can't be bothered to listen when I'm meditating - and that's all about the listening - so you can imagine the problems I run into when I'm praying.  There's a lot of dictating and laying down of the law when I pray.  There's isn't much supplication or confession or thanksgiving or praise - it's more of a detailed list of demands presented with an angry snarl.  One of my fondest fantasies is to have a direct phone line to my higher power so I could make sure that he, she, or it is with the program.

"Here's what I need you to do today," I say to god, simultaneously checking my Facebook account.  "Are you taking notes because I'm only going over this once?"  I have a long history of trying to push god around.  It doesn't work very well but I'm not shy about it.

Why I'm Going to Hell

Another List that I keep on a regular basis to supplement my Crisis List is one I call Reasons Why I'm Going To Hell List.  It's quite a long list and I'm deliberately, willfully leaving off some very good reasons why I'm going to hell.  If I don't the List gets overwhelming in its length, detail, and complexity, and I slack off on my updates.

Willie and I tell each other: "You're not going to hell but wherever you end up there's going to be some bad dudes there."

Anyway, today's reason falls in the general category of "I'm Never Happy With ANYTHING!"  While that's not technically true I sure have a tendency to ferret out the dark, rotting underside of any person, place, or thing.  I can see a defect at a 1000 yards, at night, in a driving rainstorm, right after someone has tossed a beaker of battery acid in my eyes.

"Ow," I say, wiping acid off my mug.  "Hey, is that a minor inconvenience possibly awaiting me over that next mountain pass in another 1000 yards or so?"

I roll into my temporary apartment and immediately start complaining about the things that I don't like or the things that I forgot to bring.  

Part of this, I believe, is normal human nature.  I believe this, I believe, because I do it and I'm uncomfortable when I do it so if I pretend like everyone else does it then I don't feel quite so insane.  I know that when I'm in the midst of something new I try to wait for a bit.  A lot of times I just go to bed and get up the next day - when I'm tired I really can focus in on the crap.

I can see clearly now the something is something . . . 

Salty Snacks

Here's 25 years together . . . 

SuperK and I have been on the road for 3 days - 3 long days of driving, most of it the rain so far.  We get along great when we travel but 3 days in close quarters is enough to grate on anybody's nerves, especially when I'm one of the people in the close quarters.  I'm tough enough in distant quarters let alone close ones.  We got to our crappy hotel last night after long day 2.  I offered to walk over to the truck stop to buy a couple of sandwiches for dinner - either that or The Rainbow Room - as neither of us wanted to sit in a restaurant for an hour to get something to eat.  It wasn't even the restaurant at the truck stop - it was the gas station at the truck stop.

I didn't mind doing this.  I'm a pretty good husband.  I'm also annoying as hell most of the time.  The Agony and the Ecstasy, to coin a phrase.  (Note to self: if anyone ever offers to name a new party drug after me I'd like to use the name Agony).  

"Get some chips, too," said SuperK

I got some chips with the sandwiches.  I didn't think about the selections much but I have no doubt I got what I wanted.  I wasn't trying to be overly selfish but I did go get the sandwiches.  I was exhausted and I almost had a nervous breakdown trying to sort through all of the options on the crappy sandwiches.  Parsing the relative merits of 25 different kinds of chips was way beyond my powers of concentration.  I still had the 1000 yard stare from all of the driving.  I returned to the motel.

"I don't like these kinds of chips," said SuperK.

I declined to comment a wise declination.  Her comment really didn't bother me.  I was tired and so was she and I had no desire to start WW III over some crappy chips.  This is new behavior and this is also learned behavior.  This is why we've been together 25 years.  No WWs over salty snacks and such.

She apologized later.  She also ate the chips.