Focus.
Focus. Focus. Focus.
In everything that you do, focus.
If you're talking on the phone to a friend, focus. Make your mind and attention as present to that person as your voice is.
If you are filing at work, focus. Take that menial, mundane task and do it right.
If you are exercising, focus. Are you fatigued? Are you pushing yourself as hard as you can. Do you have proper form? Learn to recognize your body's signs and know its limitations. Only then can you improve.
If you are eating, focus. Savor the taste of the food and think about what it is doing for your body. Is it nourishing you or is it just a little snack? Should you keep eating or are you already satisfied?
If you are driving, focus.
If you are tying your shoe, focus.
If you are walking into a new room, focus.
If you are writing a blog entry that six people will read, focus.
If you are singing in the car alone, focus.
In everything that you do, focus.
When you focus on what you are doing, you become aware. When you are aware, you learn. When you learn, you gain control. When you have control, you can change yourself as you see fit.
If you do not focus on the little things, the big things will never change. We are what we do habitually and life is but a series of small seemingly insignificant moments. Squander one moment and you may squander a lifetime. Make the most of each, big and small.
All you have to do is focus.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Driving Games
Probably my least favorite thing about suburban life is the fact that I have to drive everywhere I go. Sure, when it's nice out I like to bike but 1) people are crazy, especially in cars, and you have to have some sort of secret death wish to pedal too far away from your driveway 2) you can't go more than a mile in any direction without running into a highway and 3) after three minutes of physical activity my body covers itself in a liquid that is somewhere between sweat and a frog's mucousy coating, not the most attractive mix. So between my car and the time I spend sitting in my office job, my body is usually bent into a couple 90 degree angles (also, check out this article on why that is a very, very bad thing: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/39523298/ns/health-mens_health/ ).
Driving around here, you realize that lots of other people are in the same predicament and you all usually spend a lot of time together on highways, usually not going very fast. When I'm stuck in the car for too long, my mind gets bored. When my mind gets bored, it likes to sleep. (People who know me well know that I can sleep on command). Sleeping at the wheel is not good, though I admit that I have come dangerously close.
The remedy, I have found, is to actually focus on driving. But how do you focus on something as monotonous and boring as lifting your foot on and off the brake pedal for hours on end. Easy. Make it fun.
For instance, when stuck in bumper to bumper traffic on a highway, I've been trying to crack the code of traffic patterns to determine which lane is the best to be in. In most cases, barring some construction and unexpected lane closures, the right lane is the way to go, only dipping over to the middle lane when stuck behind someone who brakes way too soon or when approaching an onramp. The left lane should rarely be used. The theory: most people think the left lane will move quickest and the only people exiting are on the right side. Makes sense. The hypothesis has not been thoroughly tested, however, and further investigation needs to conducted.
In my angstier, more self-righteous days, I used to play "Superhero," where I was an ordinary citizen whose duty was to protect my fellow drivers from the assholes of the road. You know who I'm talking about. The guys who cut you off without signaling, who ride up on your butt and then recklessly swerve around you, whose mufflers have been modified to make sure you know exactly how loud and obnoxious they are. I would see them cut someone off and then try to speed ahead through an impassable line of traffic. They would squeeze through, nearly causing a three car pileup in their wake. It was my duty to stop them. I would speed ahead of such a villain and then casually slow down to the speed limit. These people hate nothing more than someone going the speed limit. They would switch over to the right and try to speed ahead of me. I'd hit the gas and speed up just enough to align myself with another car, ensuring they could not pass and that they were safely boxed into between several speeding bodies of steel. They would always get away, probably angrier and more aggressive than before they ran into me. I wasn't a very good superhero.
A friend of mine told me that he plays "Shark Attack" sometimes. He'll pull up next to a car. And then change lanes in front of it. And then changes lanes to the opposite side of it. And then brake and get behind it. And then repeat that whole process. It sounded funny, but it's a lot more lane changing and braking than I prefer.
But lately, I've been playing what I refer to simply as "The Game." It's best played when there are moderate amounts of traffic that is steadily moving. The goal of the game: get through the traffic. The catch: you have to use your brakes as little as possible and drive like a somewhat courteous driver, i.e. use your signals, don't cut anyone off or tailgate unless necessary, and don't go too fast. Any asshole could drive a 100mph, then slam on the brakes, and then jerk his car over to the next lane forcing the little old lady in her Honda Accord to slam on her brakes. This game is more of a ballet than break dancing. It is about control, fluidity and efficiency. It's a puzzle at high speeds, except the pieces and the solutions are constantly changing. You anticipate, who is going where and when. It is a calculation based not on numbers, but by an instinct that must be developed over time. It is mentally enthralling.
More importantly, it keeps me awake.
Driving around here, you realize that lots of other people are in the same predicament and you all usually spend a lot of time together on highways, usually not going very fast. When I'm stuck in the car for too long, my mind gets bored. When my mind gets bored, it likes to sleep. (People who know me well know that I can sleep on command). Sleeping at the wheel is not good, though I admit that I have come dangerously close.
The remedy, I have found, is to actually focus on driving. But how do you focus on something as monotonous and boring as lifting your foot on and off the brake pedal for hours on end. Easy. Make it fun.
For instance, when stuck in bumper to bumper traffic on a highway, I've been trying to crack the code of traffic patterns to determine which lane is the best to be in. In most cases, barring some construction and unexpected lane closures, the right lane is the way to go, only dipping over to the middle lane when stuck behind someone who brakes way too soon or when approaching an onramp. The left lane should rarely be used. The theory: most people think the left lane will move quickest and the only people exiting are on the right side. Makes sense. The hypothesis has not been thoroughly tested, however, and further investigation needs to conducted.
In my angstier, more self-righteous days, I used to play "Superhero," where I was an ordinary citizen whose duty was to protect my fellow drivers from the assholes of the road. You know who I'm talking about. The guys who cut you off without signaling, who ride up on your butt and then recklessly swerve around you, whose mufflers have been modified to make sure you know exactly how loud and obnoxious they are. I would see them cut someone off and then try to speed ahead through an impassable line of traffic. They would squeeze through, nearly causing a three car pileup in their wake. It was my duty to stop them. I would speed ahead of such a villain and then casually slow down to the speed limit. These people hate nothing more than someone going the speed limit. They would switch over to the right and try to speed ahead of me. I'd hit the gas and speed up just enough to align myself with another car, ensuring they could not pass and that they were safely boxed into between several speeding bodies of steel. They would always get away, probably angrier and more aggressive than before they ran into me. I wasn't a very good superhero.
A friend of mine told me that he plays "Shark Attack" sometimes. He'll pull up next to a car. And then change lanes in front of it. And then changes lanes to the opposite side of it. And then brake and get behind it. And then repeat that whole process. It sounded funny, but it's a lot more lane changing and braking than I prefer.
But lately, I've been playing what I refer to simply as "The Game." It's best played when there are moderate amounts of traffic that is steadily moving. The goal of the game: get through the traffic. The catch: you have to use your brakes as little as possible and drive like a somewhat courteous driver, i.e. use your signals, don't cut anyone off or tailgate unless necessary, and don't go too fast. Any asshole could drive a 100mph, then slam on the brakes, and then jerk his car over to the next lane forcing the little old lady in her Honda Accord to slam on her brakes. This game is more of a ballet than break dancing. It is about control, fluidity and efficiency. It's a puzzle at high speeds, except the pieces and the solutions are constantly changing. You anticipate, who is going where and when. It is a calculation based not on numbers, but by an instinct that must be developed over time. It is mentally enthralling.
More importantly, it keeps me awake.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Projects and Purpose
"Tommy, go look outside," my dad excitedly commanded while my little sister gave me the oh-my-goodness-I-can't-believe-what-daddy-just-did eyes. I walked outside and saw that was just hours before a ten foot high, fifteen foot wide bush was now reduced to a monstrous mound of discarded branches and two sad-looking stumps. "Call Paul," he told me, "We're starting today."
What I thought was only an overambitious dream to build a backyard pool bar thought up over the weekend - "the project" as we labeled it from the start - was now a plan officially laid into action. After a day of digging and pouring cement, a couple days of cutting and leveling foundation boards, and then a long afternoon of power-screwing down vinyl decking, we had something. We weren't quite sure what it was yet, other than a nicely laid trapezoidal deck. That week I came home from my 3 hour geometry class, changed, and worked my ass off for a solid 8 hours each day. I didn't feel tired; just the opposite. I was exhilarated. We were building something from nothing. No professional consultation, no 3-d images rendered, not even a little sketch - we were reshaping wood and vinyl to fit some vague vision my father had, and then reshaping the vision to fit what we were actually producing.
The next week the walls were erected. Suddenly, we were hoisting up beams for the roof and the skeleton was finished. Then we were hammering plywood, tacking in shingles, and siding.
The work became more sporadic from there and after Paul and I found full-time jobs we lost some of the zeal of the first month. Nevertheless, for better of for worse, it stands finished, powered, and with comfy seats.
Before we started the project, I found myself in a bit of a rut. My teaching gig was starting up and I loved that, but I still didn't have anything lined up after the class. Working on something I cared about, learning new skills, and sharing that sense of accomplishment with my best friend and my dad gave me a purpose and made me forget about my uncertain immediate future.
Since we finished the project, I've been working my new job, processing new applications and answering phone calls. It is not glamorous work, but it's also not grueling work that's going to break my back or lead to a severed limb. At worst, I'd say I become a bit more nearsighted. It's definitely not something I can find much purpose in, at least not like I did putting myself into the project. I don't know about everyone else, but I've realized that I need purpose in my life, something to work towards, something that helps me be better tomorrow than I am today.
What I thought was only an overambitious dream to build a backyard pool bar thought up over the weekend - "the project" as we labeled it from the start - was now a plan officially laid into action. After a day of digging and pouring cement, a couple days of cutting and leveling foundation boards, and then a long afternoon of power-screwing down vinyl decking, we had something. We weren't quite sure what it was yet, other than a nicely laid trapezoidal deck. That week I came home from my 3 hour geometry class, changed, and worked my ass off for a solid 8 hours each day. I didn't feel tired; just the opposite. I was exhilarated. We were building something from nothing. No professional consultation, no 3-d images rendered, not even a little sketch - we were reshaping wood and vinyl to fit some vague vision my father had, and then reshaping the vision to fit what we were actually producing.
The next week the walls were erected. Suddenly, we were hoisting up beams for the roof and the skeleton was finished. Then we were hammering plywood, tacking in shingles, and siding.
The work became more sporadic from there and after Paul and I found full-time jobs we lost some of the zeal of the first month. Nevertheless, for better of for worse, it stands finished, powered, and with comfy seats.
Before we started the project, I found myself in a bit of a rut. My teaching gig was starting up and I loved that, but I still didn't have anything lined up after the class. Working on something I cared about, learning new skills, and sharing that sense of accomplishment with my best friend and my dad gave me a purpose and made me forget about my uncertain immediate future.
Since we finished the project, I've been working my new job, processing new applications and answering phone calls. It is not glamorous work, but it's also not grueling work that's going to break my back or lead to a severed limb. At worst, I'd say I become a bit more nearsighted. It's definitely not something I can find much purpose in, at least not like I did putting myself into the project. I don't know about everyone else, but I've realized that I need purpose in my life, something to work towards, something that helps me be better tomorrow than I am today.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
That's Baloney!
"That's a bunch of baloney!" he shouted into the phone and I could practically feel the spit through the receiver. "I never changed my password!" With my company's website (well, the company I work for), you are allowed three mess-ups before the site blocks your account and tells you to call Client Services (that's me). "Are you sure you have the correct User ID, sir?" I asked. "Yes! I've used it the same one for years! It's a bunch of baloney! Someone changed my password!" he spewed. "I can assure you, sir, that it is not baloney," I might have said, "Can you confirm your User ID for me?" He read off the ID he was using. "Sir, that doesn't match the ID we have on record here. It looks like you still have your default ID." "Oh, you mean the (Insert default ID here) one?" he responded, a bit more calmly. "Yes sir," I responded (I've become quite liberal with the use of the word "sir" these days). "Welp... that did the trick. Thank you!" and he was gone.
I hung up and chuckled to myself. This guy's immediate assumption was that we somehow messed up his account when he forgot his user name. How many people actually believe that something they did wrong was someone else's fault. It happens all the time, right? But you and I never do it, do we?
At my current job, when I'm not pushing buttons and waiting for the printer to respond, I'm usually dealing with customers on the phone who want to know how to put money in their account. Usually the customers that call are elderly and may or may not be able to see the computer screen. It's painfully monotonous.
My two least favorite moments are when my boss and my more experience co-worker will say to me, "Tom, what's the deal with this account (or something along those lines)." It'll either be missing paperwork, or I'll have forgotten to send an e-mail. "That's a bunch of baloney!" I'll say to myself, "I know I printed/e-mailed that." Then I'll remember customers like the gent from the first paragraph. I'll whisper to myself, "Damn," and then go fetch the papers.
I hung up and chuckled to myself. This guy's immediate assumption was that we somehow messed up his account when he forgot his user name. How many people actually believe that something they did wrong was someone else's fault. It happens all the time, right? But you and I never do it, do we?
At my current job, when I'm not pushing buttons and waiting for the printer to respond, I'm usually dealing with customers on the phone who want to know how to put money in their account. Usually the customers that call are elderly and may or may not be able to see the computer screen. It's painfully monotonous.
My two least favorite moments are when my boss and my more experience co-worker will say to me, "Tom, what's the deal with this account (or something along those lines)." It'll either be missing paperwork, or I'll have forgotten to send an e-mail. "That's a bunch of baloney!" I'll say to myself, "I know I printed/e-mailed that." Then I'll remember customers like the gent from the first paragraph. I'll whisper to myself, "Damn," and then go fetch the papers.
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