Confusion, chaos, & cold brew

There are two types of people in the world - measurers and tasters, those who make plans and those who ignore them. I am the first, and Jason is the second. There are people who detest chaos and people who thrive on it. I am the first; I try not to resent the second. Some of us get a thrill out of completing lists; others relish trashing their lists for something shiny & new. I am the first. My work requires the second. That’s a big problem for me.

I asked for blog suggestions last week, and a friend (thanks, Tammy!) gave me two: (1) constantly changing work environments and (2) good coffee. One of those is a source of deep angst in my life, the other of superficial appreciation. I’ll write about both!

It took me years, decades really, to learn that the “other type” of people, the tasters, aren’t inferior. They don’t need to be fixed or rescued. In fact, if a list gets boring enough, even hyper-planners like me can enjoy an interesting distraction. Any “two types of people” statement is either a joke or a lie. Change tolerance is a spectrum, not a binary state. So is attention to detail. My band in the spectrum feels right to me. The other bands feel wrong. Worse than wrong, they can seem outright cruel when it’s my well-formed plan they lob in the trash.

I crave stability & consistency because feeling lost & confused is scary, terrifying even. In my defense, it’s a survival instinct that generally serves species well.

 But as a a middle class American in the 21st century, my survival isn’t at stake when Lucy moves the football on me for the 50th time at work.

My reputation is at stake. My sense of competence is at stake. Maybe my actual competence is too. The way I react to difficulty when I’m scared & confused is…suboptimal. I can’t find the right words. I can’t reason through problems. I make more mistakes, and I have less patience. Then I look over to see all the “other types” who weren’t going to execute our real plan anyway just blithely pivot like there was never a football in the first place. See what I mean? Suboptimal.

The upside is I’ve been this way over four decades now, and I’m starting to figure out how to work with it. I practice 3 steps as I gaze at the sky after whiffing the ball thanks to a taster:

1 - Switch my perspective

Put myself in “their” shoes for a minute. Imagine they see a rigid, inflexible grump who wants it her way or no way at all. Realize that’s partially accurate. Wonder what makes them feel lost & confused. Maybe it’s executing an intricate plan laid out months ago, i.e., my specialty. Appreciate that it takes both types, the whole spectrum, to run a successful business. Applaud them for adapting to changing circumstances.

2 - Protect my peace 

I heard this phrase from a coworker, and it resonated in my bones. I Googled its origin and instantly put Protect Your Peace: Nine Unapologetic Principles for Thriving in a Chaotic World on my reading list to pick up after I finish The Let Them Theory. Not having read the book yet, I only have my response to those three little words to share. It’s simple - go where my gifts shine. I have a choice about the demands I’ll tolerate. There’s no law saying I must fulfill every role in every circumstance to be a good person. I made up that law for myself, and the Supreme Court of Carrie needs to strike it down.

3 - Stretch myself 

This follows #2 for a reason. Only AFTER I mentally advocate for my peace and well-being do I consider potential for growth. Could the changes I face lead to better outcomes? Do I have the resources to scale the cliff of incompetence and learn something new right now? If not, where can I get them? How can I reframe my confusion & fear as opportunity & adventure? A healthy degree of discomfort in life is good.

I will never let a post go by without pointing to Jesus. I believe Christ is the ultimate resource for both peace and growth (my #2 & #3) through change. He gave us the preeminent example of switching perspectives (my #1) by becoming one of us in flesh & blood. My Lord is never-changing but ever-interesting. Confusion & chaos are nothing to fear with him! Easier said than done, but I’m trying.

4 min you can’t get back

 

My Thursday - 

• Nervously awake in fear of missing early alarm
• See time of 4:45 and relish shot at another half hour of sleep
• Lie awake for 20 minutes
• Get up annoyed
• Find dusty to-go coffee cup on top shelf
• Start large K-cup brewing (with difficulty because coffee maker doesn’t seem to appreciate being awake yet either) & put on happy face for Jason even though it’s his fault we’re up at this ungodly hour
• Ask him if he’s nervous, tell him it’s a nothing burger, remind him not to swallow any toothpaste, & ask him to take out the trash for the last time in 6 weeks
• Reach for coffee but see no elixir of life in the tall morning chalice
• Mutter “I hate this stupid machine”
• Mash buttons
• Step aside as Jason mansplains “Just do this” and presses same 3 buttons I did the first time and every time for the past 5 years (plus one extra)
• Hear coffee start to drip
• Grit teeth
• Dam the torrent of sarcasm flooding my soul
• Say “thanks”
• Grab car keys & backpack loaded with Carrie-tainment for the day
• Savor sound of my IV drip that will soon parallel Jason’s
• Wonder if he might actually have some magic touch with our moody machine because its drip sounds more like a flow 
• See the coffee truly is flowing…over the edge of my cup all over the counter and floor
• Realize the first attempt did work after all, the cup was just too tall to see it
• Accept that we would be late to the surgery center

Jason laughed. I laughed. Well, I burned my fingers snatching away the tall cup to replace it with an empty one. Then I misjudged its height yet again as I moved it toward an empty bowl and knocked its bottom against the edge spilling hot liquid on my toes. At that point there was nothing left to do but laugh. Swear and then laugh.

Three days have passed since that fateful morning, and I haven’t had 60 seconds free to come back and write. I had aspirations of tying the jovial narrative to a meaningful insight by way of illustrating pain is relative. I had three supporting examples: (1) Jason’s post-op isn’t going at all like my coworker’s did after his shoulder repair. (2) My children’s favorite fight when they were little was whether “that hurt or not” after their silliness turned to madness and caused injury. (3) I wish I could just be happy like everyone else. Pain is relative. It was going to be an award winner.

Now it’s 5:30 PM on Sunday, I still have chores to do, the dogs make themselves sick eating figs every 2 hours outside, the fig tree is afraid Jesus might stop by, and I’m regretting my choice of hobby. Plus Jason is miserable. He can manage the pain with Tylenol and immobility, but he can’t sleep and the internet only lasted him until roughly 3:15 AM Friday. So, how am I going to turn this post into something you don’t resent for stealing 4 minutes of your valuable time?

I can’t. Here’s my feeble attempt - laugh at yourself. Be kind to yourself. Serve those around you when it’s convenient and when it’s not. I babysat some friends’ preschoolers yesterday while their family got moved to a new house, and I don’t regret it. My back does. This post does. But Jason & I have our priorities straight. Have a great week! I hope your 4 minutes with me were well spent.

Oldest child v. youngest child

Water cooler talk at work this week turned toward birth order. A bunch of software developers and data analysts gave free rein to their childhood baggage. Most topics with any potential for discord are off limits at work, but somehow “who has it better - oldest sibling or youngest sibling?” slipped past HR. It’s a spicy question!

“The youngest child gets to do whatever they want! Parents just give up on enforcing rules.”

“The oldest gets a big deal for all of their birthdays & milestones! The youngest gets an ice cream cone.”

“The baby of the family never really grows up! They forever wait to be taken care of.”

“The firstborn tries to be the parent! They always think they know what’s best for everyone.”

“Helloooo? Does anyone even care that some of us are middle children?? Of course not.”

It got heated. The other firstborn and myself fanned the flames because we were up against five baby-of-the-family nemeses, and the temptation was irresistible.

“Just look around. The oldest children are the team leads around here. What does that tell you?”

Fourth of July fireworks got nothing on the nerd explosion that followed. Lights and colors rained down in smoking arcs from lofted bombs of engineer outrage. It was beautiful.

To be honest, no one actually got offended. All the teasing fell just shy of real insult. I was surprised by the passion, though. The emotional response of boring engineers at 6am on a Tuesday was telling. People feel strongly about the claim they had it easy. I kept one tiny detail to myself throughout the melee - something I didn’t want the other camp to know and I hesitate even now to admit. The hoard of babies made great points.

My kids have had more time with their grandparents than my younger brother’s child has. That’s just a fact. I threw our daughter a private concert for her high school graduation, and for our son’s I got yard decorations. To be fair, she was (and is) a musician so renting an event hall and hiring a back-up guitarist wasn’t that extreme. And he graduated in 2020 at a time when we thought someone arriving in the night to stand up plywood letters in our lawn might actually kill us.  So it’s not exactly apples to apples. I carry serious mom-guilt over that one though.

I do tend to think I know what’s best for everyone. Frankly, you could strike through “I do tend to think” in that sentence and it would still hold. I do push for my ideal state to become reality. I do get frustrated when my altruistic plans meet obstacles, especially in the form of dissenting opinion from less aware or less invested parties. That means I spend most of my life frustrated.

But I’m not a control freak, dammit. I’m not! I only drive toward what I think is best because I want to protect the people around me. It hurts me when they get hurt. I feel their anger, their fear, their sadness, and I can’t shield myself from it because I’m a big sloppy empath. People share their problems with me. I feel their pain, and I try to prevent any more. That’s the pattern of an advocate not a control freak! Right? Right??

If you’re not convinced, don’t worry. I’m not either. You also need not worry I’ll unpack four decades of family dynamics in this 5-minute read. Well-meaning micro-management is nothing new, and there are countless verses & adages that speak to it. 

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My emotional support water bottle

(If a bottle like this isn't familiar, you don't know enough Gen Z.)

I think I must be blogging wrong because friends reach out after my posts asking “Are you okay?” or saying “I’m here for you.” I tremendously appreciate it, of course (please don’t stop!!), but I also wonder how even my best attempts to be positive come off as a cry for help. My two favorite animated characters are 

1. Eeyore -  
   
   
   
2. Sadness - 
   
   
   

if that’s any kind of indicator. (Vintage Maleficent too, but we won’t go there.)  Okay also Lego Batman - 

I digress.

The point is I’m well aware of my pessimistic (or what I call ‘realistic’), perfectionistic (better known as ‘driven’) nature. Wish I could say I’m comfortable with it, but that would be a stretch. I can say I accept it, though. Sometimes.

An interesting part of being a melancholic is its osmotic nature. I take up or let out hope depending on my environment. Apologies for the biology metaphor, but I think hope being water fits on multiple levels. True of both, we can’t live without them. In their absence, the building blocks of life dry up and die. Like water, hope moves from high concentration to low, even through walls within us and between us. As water circulates nutrients through our bodies, hope carries sustenance to our souls.

Here’s a nerdy one. The transfer of chemical energy that keeps us alive here on Earth is a cycle of water splitting (photosynthesis) and reforming (cellular respiration) at the atomic level. In nature, each kingdom takes up more than it puts out of some chemical energy, and it yields more than it consumes of another. Other kingdoms do the reverse. Good ole water is one of the transport vehicles. If I squint really hard, I can see hope working the same way between individuals at different times & places.

So when I’m parched, admittedly too often, I look for a drink. I run my inner dowsing rod over the world’s barren wasteland of false hope hunting for God’s thirst-quenching stream. My interactions with friends, family, & coworkers provide the tap. I mentally replay preceding days and weeks sipping from acquaintances’ life stories - their hard-fought wins, their well-handled losses, their deliberate courage, their conquered fear. I soak it up.

I strive to fuel the cycle, not just draw from it. I share my own stories of courage & fear, wins & losses, aiming to offer at least a drip. So “am I  okay?” I mean, I think so? Am I “crying for help?” In a way, yes. I need your hydrating narrative in my life. When you can be Tigger or Joy or Unikitty, please do! I’ll do the same for you. 

On second thought, hope better resembles a nuclear reaction than a cellular one. Unlike water, it multiplies as it spreads. That’s what I need. That’s why I blog. 

Jesus answered, “Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life.” John 4:13-14