Working It Out
March 26, 2009
First published in the Terrace Standard, March 26th, 2009
I’ve been writing for a lot of years now, and along the way, I’ve noticed some uncomfortable tendencies that lurk within my wordy self. When life gets hard, I like to try to avoid whatever it is that’s making it hard. I don’t think I’m alone this in this—sometimes I wonder if most of our culture’s obsessions with TV, Internet browsing, porn, shopping, over-eating, drugging, drinking, overachieving, oversleeping (etc., please add and add to the list!) are just ways to avoid thinking.
So what do I do when I’m sad about something, or confused or stressed out about things I have no control over? I sleep or work—usually the latter, because my brain too easily recognizes that sleeping too much is a sign that something’s wrong. I can work a lot for a long time before my brain says, “Avoidance much?”
There are multiple advantages to working, the biggest being: a paycheque, getting things done that need to be done, and the self-esteem and feeling of safety that lies in knowing that you control whether or not you do a good job (as compared to the tenuous feelings of walking a thin line between sanity and madness that often accompanies thinking about life’s problems).
The above benefits of work are genuinely good, important things. Work is both a virtue and a necessity. Everyone needs to eat and have shelter and warm clothes (especially this spring!), so paycheques are kind of a necessity. There really are tasks that are important to survival. People do need to derive a certain sense of satisfaction from their daily activities for good mental health.
And sometimes you really do have to work a lot—it really isn’t avoidance of any kind. It’s the nature of your business, or a seasonal reality. Perhaps you’re an accountant, so tax time is brutal, or a road maintenance person, so winter’s random weather means 16-hour days more often than not. Maybe you have a tight deadline one month. Using work as life-avoidance is more an attitude than a matter of how many hours worked.
I’m usually pretty good at keeping time free for family and friends and other important things like reading, gardening, playing, etc., but every so often I find myself making work (and trust me—that’s something I don’t need to do; I’m a busy person as it is!). I know I’ve crossed the line when I find myself re-working a piece that has been finished for at least three read-throughs or scrubbing the tub surround with a toothbrush. I believe we all know the difference between using work (or some other coping mechanism) to avoid dealing with something, just like we know when we’re attempting to put off an uncomfortable conversation with a parent, spouse or child…. We know.
The problem with keeping busy to avoid feeling negative things is that you can’t be closed off to one emotion and still be open to another. In shutting out pain and confusion, you also bar opportunities for joy and closeness. Besides, avoiding thinking about things that make you sad or uncomfortable only works for so long; eventually if you don’t face them, they really mess you up. Wounds need to be scraped out and cleaned up, kept from festering. You can survive a scar, but infections kill you. Eventually you have to face your life.
I’m lucky because by nature, I have to dig through my head (Gah—did I just say I was lucky because of that?). To write honestly—and I do want to write things that are honest, because otherwise what’s the point—I need to face whatever pain, confusion, or unfixable mess of emotions currently facing me). Thankfully, as I wade through the muck, I often rediscover things that are good, are pure, are lovely.
And so I’m back at my computer again—working on personal writing, not just safe writer-for-hire stuff. The first few days are always painful. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that my monitor is a mirror, its dark surface literally reflecting me when I sit down, then figuratively reflecting me as my words grow across the page. In the same way I sometimes groan at my tired, puffy-faced morning self, I sometimes grimace at my confused in-text self. But just like combing your hair is easier with a mirror, and pretty soon the face staring back at you is more human, less scary, I’m already feeling better, more like myself, better able to cope. I love to work, but I need to remind myself not to hide. Taking time to feel is important, even if it’s hard.
