Life is BUSY.

Unfortunate timing, as I’m experiencing a distinct funk at present, leaving me utterly drained. I’m an exhausted, heaving assemblage of emotional debris.

I have a residential week at University starting on Monday, (while working at night to keep things at the office on-track). As my dissatisfaction with my current professional role slowly smolders towards becoming a groundswell, I’m pondering the relative benefits of brushing up the CV and suiting up for a new challenge.

… BUT following the recent implosion of my long-distance relationship (Soundtrack suggestion: Queen ‘Another one bites the dust’)…

I’m deflated and utterly spent…

Read this:

The discovery of this little article did make me smile (well, smirk bitterly; briefly warming my hands by the  ambient glow of self-righteous indignation): Depression not a disorder, but an advantageous mental adaptation

I sit down (collapse?) heavily into my favourite leather couch. Unable to entirely set aside my obsessive tendencies, I carefully set down my glass of mineral water on the allotted coaster so I can find it again amid the wreckage of my messy, neglected home. My dwellings have long-learned to adjust to the ebb-and-flow of my life force. When I’m manic, the house is spotless, too nervous to permit a toast-crumb, as if anxiously awaiting the House and Home photographer. “Oh, no,  we can’t have that. That will never do!” it tut-tuts as a rogue fruit-loop escapes over the edge of my son’s  bowl of breakfast cereal. It hastens to clean the debris, lest it blight the house’s societal reputation amongst its peers.

When I’m depressed, the house-mood turns trailer-park. “Aaaaww, fuck it”, it drawls. “Who’s gonna notice? None of your appreciate anything I do around here anyway!”. I can almost see it reaching for a pack of ciggies and throwing back a beer as it disdainfully mourns its former beauty and promise, bemoaning all the other houses that done-it-wrong and heap judgment upon it.

So, despite being inadmissible as medical evidence, I adamantly maintain that my house is deeply in tune with my serotonin levels. My house is better able to comment on my mental and emotional health than any one of my loved ones…

In broad daylight, I flirted with a man.

Having departed the office this sunny afternoon, I was driving into the city to meet a couple of girlfriends for a cocktail or two and a funny movie. Shedding the multitude of office stresses, and free from my parenting responsibilities for the evening, I was in high spirits.

I was stuck in traffic when a handsome stranger caught my eye. He nodded confidently, and gave me a small wave, then his eyes darted away. He glanced back, his dark eyes shooting me a brief but penetrating gaze. Intrigued, I permitted myself a half-smile, and a fleeting glimpse, before looking away, blushing.

Traffic recommenced, but we soon found ourselves caught side-by-side at a set of traffic lights.

Growing in confidence, and keen to re-establish my romantic prowess following my recent re-acquaintance with single-dom, I took decisive action.

Reaching into my handbag, and taking hold of my lipstick, I fixed my eyes on the object of my flirtation and arched an eyebrow cheekily. Boldly, provocatively, I applied the lipstick in the sort of gestures reserved solely for Angelina Jolie and porn stars.

The man in the next car smiled at me, glanced away, then glanced back. When his eyes returned to me, his jaw-dropped. Growing in confidence at my evident impact, I held his gaze, enjoying his exaggerated reaction to my incontestable cuteness. I smiled sweetly as he began laughing at my brazen antics.

Then I realised it wasn’t a lipsick in my hand, it was a tampon.

(*cringe* much?!)

I hate to admit it, but sometimes it seems that we have too much technology.

We’ve become so connected that we’re expected to respond to eveything in real-time. Far from remaining business tools, our ICT systems have become our captors, enslaving us to an oppressive existance. Hopelessly dependent on instant gratifaction, we’ve become information junkies. We panic when forced to wait for a response to our immediate (and therefore pressing and URGENT right? RIGHT?!) needs. It’s beginning to feel that our technology is running us. (No wonder we call them CrackBerries!)

In He’s Just Not That Into You Drew Barrymore’s character explains the frustration of having so many forms of communication on the go:

I had this guy leave me a voicemail at work, so I called him at home, and then he emailed me to my BlackBerry, and so I texted to his cell, and now you just have to go around checking all these different portals just to get rejected by seven different technologies. It’s exhausting.

I felt the same way recently. I was at home with a sick child, and had subsequently become unwell myself. My work BlackBerry was abuzz with urgent incoming emails from work, and I was logging on to my hotmail so I could review the attachments (it’s still easier on a PC screen than on a BlackBerry). While flipping between the two, both my personal mobile and the BlackBerry both began to ring. When my mother then rang me on the home phone to see how the house full of patients were holding up, I gave up and went to bed.

]]> http://viewfromwitsend.wordpress.com/2009/08/30/technology-runs-my-life/feed/ 4 lyncampbell toomuchtech wrong http://viewfromwitsend.wordpress.com/2009/08/26/men-argh/ http://viewfromwitsend.wordpress.com/2009/08/26/men-argh/#comments Wed, 26 Aug 2009 11:13:18 +0000 lyncampbell http://viewfromwitsend.wordpress.com/?p=732 ]]>

Men. *sigh* Why do I bother?

The gulf of understanding on either side leaves me yearning for so much more.

A relationship should be based on mutual respect and understanding.

My current one seems to be more of a battle of egos.

I’m too old and set-in-my-ways to be bothered waging a war of wills. Experience tells me that so often in these relationships, even when you think you’ve won, you come out so bruised and battle-scared that it takes a while to realise that you may have won the battle, but ultimately, both sides lose the war. And so you hobble away bitterly to lick your wounds.

Being right – I am learning – doesn’t keep me warm at night.

I’m tired of the petty squabbles, the endless tears and the haunting notion that it shouldn’t be this damned hard.

Right now, I have all the down-sides of single life and none of the benefits of a relationship. There must be more to life – to LOVE – than this.

The mindless point-scoring and numbing loneliness make me wonder whether we’re doing the right thing by one another, or if we’re whiling away the years in a doomed relationship that’s going nowhere in the vain hope that it will one day blossom into something more fulfilling. I feel more alone right now than I ever did when I was single.

Surely, if a relationship is meant to be, it lessens the load, rather than compounding it? How hard should it be?

I had a phone call from an old friend recently that sent into a reflective spin  regarding the qualities that make a great friendship.

In the company of a good friend, words simply don’t matter.

With someone who knows us well, (and despite that, still manages to love us!), the quality of the conversation quickly becomes irrelevant.

Those rare relationships when the sense of connection and understanding transcend language are genuine soul-food. Our cares and troubles are temporarily muted as we exhale into a relaxed silence. The whole exchange feels like an embrace; we are at ease in a cocoon of caring where nothing can hound us.

Whether we tell and re-tell the same lame old anecdotes, or  say nothing; we feel at ease.

These are the relationships that matter. These are the touch-stones that allow us to step aside from the pressures of our everyday life. We ground ourselves, regroup, and return to our responsbilities refocused and recharged; sure in ourselves once again.

You can tell a lot about a person by their friends. Through the years, they mirrior our values and experiences and plot the trajectory of our personal growth as we learn and grow.  It is the boldness engendered by a lifetime of trust that enables our closest friends to tell it how it really is;  taking on the burden of telling what we need to know, rather than what we want to hear.

In a world of instant gratification, meaningless blathering, and hidden-agendas, not all friendships are created equal. The value a trusted friend brings into our lives in undeniable.Take the time to  descern the heartwarming connections from the toxic ones, and in doing so, choose those you let into your life wisely.

It’s been a long while  since I was a web-land professional, but I remain fascinated by the meteoric trajectory of the social media genre. Almost everyone, it seems, is engaged in social media in some form – FaceBook, Twitter,  MySpace, Bebo – if you’re not logged-on,  you’re out-of-touch!

Why do we do it? Is it some sick voyeuristic tendency to keep tabs on our loved-ones, a quest for our own 15 minutes of fame?  Or just a sign of the times?

Personally,  I find social networking downright convenient.

As someone who suffers from extended periods of debilitating depression during which the very idea of having to endure the insufferable torment of engaging another human being in conversation teeters on rendering all relationships too damned burdensome to be bothered with, I enjoy the liberation of being able to flutter about in relationships that, while dear to me, don’t require massive amounts of time, energy and commitment to keep them afloat. This then allows me, with only a small investment of time, to maintain relationships that I would otherwise permit to lapse. That’s not to say these relationships aren’t meaningful to me. Due to a combination of factors,  we often find ourselves time-poor, and social media sites make communicating in frequent, bite-sized chunks incredibly convenient. You may not call 50 friends to say you’ve discovered a sensational recipe, or enjoyed a certain book, but this way, if something you comment on piques the interest of a friend, it can start a conversation you wouldn’t have otherwise had.

These technologies provide the opportunity to hold dialogues you wouldn’t ordinarily have and maintain connections you may not have sustained long-term.

Friends long out-of-touch, family overseas, old housemates and school friends. These are people we care about, but, due to conflicting responsibilities and time pressures,  may not keep in touch with as often as we’d like to.

It’s a way of touching base – at the touch of a button.

And why not? We bank online. We shop online. We date online. Why not connect with our friends and family online too? I live a fairly compartmentalised life where the various aspects of my personality and friendship groups don’t overlap much, so it can be interesting to see the eclectic collection of disparate personalities who in various ways and degrees, comprise portions of the rich tapestry of my life,  converging on a single site.

Online, as in life, discretion is the better part of valour. Those prone to over-disclosure can get themselves into trouble. Colleagues could potentially come to work informed that you’re hungover. Friends could be forearmed that you’re miffed that they didn’t turn up to your BBQ.

Regardless of the medium, the need for sound personal judgment remains. Chances are, if you’re the sort of person who’s going to notify the Twitteratti of your break-up before you speak to your partner, in days gone by, the local grapevine would have known about it long before your partner did anyway. Technology doesn’t make a person good or bad, it simply gives them the means and opportunity for impulsive publishing! Drink-and-dial in a new medium!

Today, more than ever before, we strive to feel connected and understood. Social networking technologies permit us to connect at a micro level on a macro scale. The ultimate in personalised expression and democratic communication tools; they provide a sense of intimacy and connectivity that negate traditional boundaries such as distance, time, language, culture.

The don’t replace in-person interactions, they complement them and in doing so they provide a life-line for those that are isolated.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to check my messages…

I used to think relationships were all about love. Then I thought it was compromise…

Following several years of solid reflection following the implosion of my marriage, I’ve decided (at least for now!) that the driving force in interpersonal relationships is not our search for acceptance, but a desperate yearning to be understood.

It is not enough to be loved.

To be loved, or even accepted, without the surety of knowing that the other person deeply comprehends and appreciates every facet of who, how and why you are, (even if they don’t agree with you), is a hallow comfort.

Throughout my marriage, I was loved unconditionally. Despite all my faults (and there are PLENTY believe me!), my husband loved me dearly. He still does. But he did not understand me. Patty Smyth had it right when she and Don Henley teamed up to tell us that ‘Sometimes Love Just Ain’t Enough’. Amongst our loved ones, there are many who love us, but so very, very few truly able to understand what it is that makes us tick.

Even in our most selfish moments of self-celebration, when we’re receiving gifts for special occasions, it is those gifts given with insight, those that show that the giver truly understands us, that we appreciate the most. In relationships, from family to friends, colleagues and lovers, it is always those that leave us feeling , well, known, that move us most. We see it all the time in the best of good-guy, bad-guy movies. The only person who understands the hero is the villian and vice versa, with their growing, grudging respect for one-another cinching the final climax of the movie based on some deep, unperceiveable insight.

When it comes right down to it, in those most private, vulernable moments, when our guards are down, we dearly long to know that despite the unfathomable unknowing of life, someone, somewhere, totally and completely ‘gets’ us. (and, yes, loves us anyway!).

‘Seek first to understand, then to be understood’. So modern management theory (Stephen Covey et al) tells us, and  – sod it – I think they might have something there! If you want to build a more meaningful relationship, stop trying to love your partner – and try getting to know them!

Searching for a partner can be a traumatic experience. Often we look for partners that will complete us, not complement us. We say it all the time:

‘he completes me’

‘she’s my better half’

Besides being nauseating company, becoming achingly-co-dependent is dangerous.
When rely on others to fulfil us, we allow others to make us miserable. In expecting any one person to be solely responsible for providing for all your needs, we set ourselves up for disappointment. It’s decidedly unrealistic, unfair and – dare I say it – a tad passive-aggressive. (It’s also a helluva lot of pressure on our partner!)

I rather consider abdicating responsibility for your own happiness is something of an act of masochistic procrastination in that it prolongs any opportunity for the pursuit of genuine happiness and replaces it with a resentful whiney-arsed approach of hoping and wishing your life away – altogether a sure-fire road to disappointment! Happiness comes from achieving your life-goals, however modest they may be.

Asking someone else to take on (or worse, not asking them; just silently thrusting upon them) responsibility for fulfilling the dual-roles of mind-reader and wet-nurse suspends both partners in a tormenting cycle of hide-and-seek. Even when you get what you want, under these circumstances, it’s only ever a short-lived thrill, and, as Mick Jagger would attest – you can’t get no satisfaction. Ultimately, this leaves you resentful that your partner is unable to make you happy, when, in effect, it’s not them failing to make you happy – it’s you failing, by not being willing or empowered enough to get out there and make yourself happy!

Robbing yourself of the satisfaction that comes from reaching your goals (or, even in the worst-case scenario, the personal growth that stems from our failures) is the most soul-destroying disappointment of all. Far worse than the stinging pain of failure is the nagging torment of knowing you didn’t ever reach out for all that you wanted or could have been.

What sort of partner should we be looking for, if not someone who will complete us?
Someone whose stengths and weaknesses complement our own. Someone who makes us stretch, and grow. A partner who challenges our preconceptions and prejudices, and helps us confront our fears. We all need someone who understands the worst of us, and loves us regardless. Who helps us overcome obstacles and remove roadblocks, without always doing it for us. Someone who cares for us enough to know the difference between when we need help, and when we need to do something for ourselves.

This is not always the most comfortable of relationships, but it is surely the most rewarding.  I’m not saying that it’s the differences that make us happy, but it is the differences that make us grow and the compromises and shared experiences that lead to the  intimacy and togetherness that are the bond in any relationship.

Stop waiting for someone to give you the easy answers. Grab hold of your life! Challenge yourself to take personal responsibility for your own happiness – and all of your relationships will prosper.

I frequently wax lyrical about the depths of despair I plummet to when depressed, but there’s a reason I fight the need to medicate my bipolar disorder – mania.

For me, when I’m experiencing it – a manic episode is a beautiful, beautiful thing. For those trying to live with me while I’m experiencing it – it’s exhausting, and sometimes frightening.

This time around, I’ve been lucky.

For the last couple of weeks I’ve been on fast-forward. Surviving on 4-5 hours sleep, one meal a day, frequently working 12-hours a day and powering on at home as well. This weekend I rebuilt my computer; forensically cleaned my whole 4-bedroom-house (I even washed the washing-machine!) and still found time to watch three movies, have a couple of social outings and do all of the ironing. This was on top of completing a mountain of office work, (akin to 2-3 days worth) after having finished work late on Friday night.

This time, it’s been a vital burst of productivity that’s coincided with a peak-need at work. It’s not always such a positive experience.

Often it’s only afterwards that the trail of human carnage becomes clear – the friendships I’ve impatiently and selfishly severed because they became too demanding, didn’t share my vision or passion, or seemed too much like hard work; the staff reporting to me who’ve felt intimated by my emails at un-Godly hours of the night/morning, or my barbed criticisms. The partners I’ve left based on some burning insight I felt I’d had – no breakthroughs, just break-ups. I can be a hard task-master at the best of times – prone to being judgemental, self-righteous and outspoken, but when I’m manic – I’m uncompromising and unbearable. Sometimes the wreckage is financial – in the past I’ve bought tonnes of gadgets I didn’t need or want, clothes, expensive gifts for friends, stupid items for hobbies that are fleeting fads. I’ve even bought a new car and a new house!

Those that see me on a high think I’m driven and focussed; they don’t see me when I’m depressed and dysfunctional – I tend to hibernate at those times. When I’m hyper though, I’m the life of the party. Often I become animated; gregariously social, but sometimes it can tip over and become a destructive force – at those times I’m obnoxious, rude, demanding and downright aggressive. I’m not going to discuss what a manic episode does to my sensual self, but as you can imagine – it’s not pretty.

While I may not like who I am when I’m manic – I do like how it feels to be productive, to feel powerful, driven and totally in-control of your own destiny. The self-belief, focus and energy that comes with a manic episode is something that mere mortals pay a fortune on illicit drugs to experience – yet my high is totally free!

The manic-upswing is one hypnotic little beastie, nigh on impossible to harness, but, for this week at least – I’m enjoying the roller-coaster!