Just finished reading: A Failure of Nerve (1997) by Edwin Friedman, which Morgan recommended to me. It’s a partial application of Bowen family systems theory to family and institutional leadership. It was sometimes difficult to wrap my head around. But it seems like it might quietly change my life. I’m not going to summarize it, but I will jot down some of what I think I’m taking from it, the first chunk of which draws some connections with Martin Buber:
To get to I and Thou, you’ve first got to have an I. This is the “self-differentiation” Bowen and Friedman view as paramount. Otherwise, you’ll never get beyond I and It: using, pushing around, or simply passing by other people in your life.
One of the ways to do this, or perhaps better, one of the signs that you have done this, is that you manage your anxiety and reactivity by maintaining some emotional distance from your own thoughts and emotions and the thoughts and emotions of others. Not that you should be unsympathetic to yourself or others; on the contrary, it’s only in understanding your thoughts and emotions and those of others—or at least in acknowledging them, even if you don’t fully understand them—that you’ll be able to maintain the distance necessary to be an I and thus be capable of relating to others as sacred subjects themselves.
Be sympathetic, yet be your self, not merely an outworking of the internal, partner, familial, institutional, or society anxieties in which you live. Be in these systems without being of them—except insofar as those systems are love. Only then might you be able to inspire change. (Note that I write “inspire change” and not “change” because a key principle for managing your anxieties and reactivity is to embrace that you cannot change other people.)
All this without disconnecting from others.
Copying from Bob Thune, I’ll recap Friedman’s list that well-differentiated leaders:
are a calm, steady presence, not reacting to other people’s reactions,
have a strong sense of self and can effectively separate while remaining connected,
take responsibility for themselves and inspire others to do the same,
realize that good, long-term change requires discomfort, and
take decisive stands at the risk of displeasing others.
There is a man from Klinger Heights
Who keeps the good of man in sight
Always wants to please the Lord
And as a result, is never bored
His birthday today, we won’t say which
«cough 46!» Oop! That was a glitch.
We actually talked about a wind-down in the time footprint of my contribution at DiamondBack today in my annual review. Progress!
Now, as with paying reparations to descendants of slaves, the devil is in the details: At what point do we start doing it, i.e., what is the trigger? What does it look like, step-wise, to do it? Certainly, it doesn’t happen until I’ve finished paying my part in my children’s education (i.e., until they finish their post-secondary educations). Maybe at that point, I take whatever the difference is between the proposed raise and the years-aggregated inflation rate as time? What will that mean for my work itself? At what point will I no longer be able to make a contribution to DiamondBack?
Ben did say wage inflation will always trail price inflation. That seems like a problem.
I am newly resolved: I will not work past 5 PM except to finish up for the day, discharge my daily email duties, and fulfill requests that are specifically to work after hours.
I am grateful for Elliott, Amber, and Vinny finally making it over for dinner tonight. I am grateful for a highly contrastive peace of mind today, with no anxiety-producing doubt about God. And I am grateful today for the opportunity to do good work on DiamondBack’s website.
Boy, does my desire to journal nightly wax and wane.
Anyway, today I am grateful for the time Éa and I spent before a magnetic board at Schlow Library with magnetic letters. She was sorting the letters when I walked up, then we started a game in which I would spell a new word to her and she would read it. I got to introduce her to words like “anodyne” and “arachnid.” She enjoyed it—and read everything very well. Later, after I had gone upstairs to pick up a LEGO architecture book for Sullivan and a copy of Wally Pfister’s film Transcendence, I returned to find she had spelled the word “xilafone” all by herself. She was just so chipper and engaged about the whole thing. I like Éa very much.
I am also grateful for rebound from a first hour-and-a-half at work today of distraction (Michael Shermer, Keith DeRose, John Piper) that started as I wanted to corroborate Ethan’s report that members of ISIS are converting to Christianity because they have visions of Jesus. I found new clarity and decisiveness to stay on task and be efficient at work—and it felt great.
Finally, I am grateful for the continue distillation of Christianity in my head and heart as a Way and not a set of beliefs. I still hold those beliefs and them galvanize my commitment to the Way, but my priorities lie in imitating Christ (or our distilled, inherited version of Him), not believing the right things about Him. Meanwhile my confession that my beliefs might be false strengthens my commitment to them.
If you asked me in my old age to tell you one thing about my life as it was today, I’d tell you that it was a day that featured an evening in which I struggled to understand how I am to know firsthand that God is loving and faithful as David writes if I can’t sense Him. And then I remembered: He works in me to will and to act according to His good pleasure. He is at work and He is good and He will even bring us from glory to glory, as I used to repeat in years past. Even if I can’t see Him, He is at work in me and in the world.
It was also a day when I spent most of my workday—and therefore a good chunk of vacation time—applying my very slow, barely conscious financial brain to hashing out nuances in the way we handle our finances. All so that I could figure out what to do when my parents give money toward the kids’ long-term or college savings and so that I could give Carla a better idea of what balances we can expect in our various savings accounts at the end of the year. It was an example of being unhealthily carried away from my regular agenda, I think. Plus, money is definitely deceitful.
If you asked me in my old age to tell you one thing about my life as it was today, I would tell you that I wasted hours of my workday trawling the Internet for religious certainty.
What prompted it was, I think, my wanting to test the strength of the Intelligent Design argument after reading some of Eric Metaxas’ attempt to cast all of existence as a miracle in Miracles, his popular volume which my mother sent me late last year when she first heard about my doubts. What kept me at it for what must have easily accumulated to half the workday was…I’m not sure what: An inner drive for certainty and stable identity? A proud wish to test my faith, which was renewed through the Christmas holiday at my mom’s house? A masochistic streak?
Whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t love. My willful diversion today was unloving to my colleagues at DiamondBack, our customers, Carla, the kids, our church, and God. Even if atheists are right, exposing myself to their thinking in this way, via this medium, does nothing but enervate me. Even if I end up an atheist myself, I’m not going to end up an atheist via a failure to love and a squandering of time. Atheism-by-Internet-reading—or faith-by-Internet-reading, for that matter—is on the whole too fast, too shallow, too addictive, too hung up on miracles, too obsessive to be healthy for anyone.
I confessed my sin to Carla. (She had suspected as much based on my spiritlessness. I told her that if her emotional intuition fails her next time, she can always use tea: If I am sitting with a mug of chamomile, it’s a dead giveaway that I’m doubting. I drink it ward off the prospect of anxiety-induced insomnia.) She encouraged me stop seeking absolute certainty for the whole world, and simply make a decision for myself. She gently scolded me for emailing follow-up questions to Krista about her having spoken Mandarin at a meeting in Kelowna when she was 15. We prayed. I confessed that I am powerless by myself to resist the temptation of trawling the Internet like I did today and asked for God’s help. Carla and I experience sweet human connection.
Sweet human connection is one good thing that has come and will come out of this doubt.
— Andrew Shearman, as reported by Ethan, with whom a visiting Jason and I sat with at Happy Valley Brewing and discussed many things, including, but this topic of how to govern and steer one’s life being the most salient and edifying. I rephrased Shearman’s idea in a way that was helpful to both my friends: “Unless you have a specific calling—which you’ll know when you feel it—whether you move to Cambodia to end sex slavery or stay here and love people well, you can’t go wrong as long as you love God.”
The Peters gave us a bound copy of Stories of the Supernatural today. And we chased Santa down on Hickory Drive, having come home too late from the Peters’ house to see him from our stoop. And we ate at Olive Garden. And I focused at work! And I (mostly) stayed God’s. And Sullivan got sad about Ponyboy and wanted to take better care of his next fish; he wants to breed gobies. And Éa was upset by Sullivan’s gift of a plastic bow and arrow to her.
Working at DiamondBack since the migration of our CRM and order entry to Salesforce has felt unfriendlier and lonelier. And you know what? I think it has everything to do with abandoning our old friend, the Intranet.
And it really is like leaving an old friend. Gone is our distressed concrete background. We’re disoriented, and as for me, grumpy about it. The primary, interface for livelihood since the birth of the company has just changed to something that doesn’t even have a name, something broader, plainer, and frankly, daunting.
We’ll learn and customize Salesforce. But it’s natural to be grumpy about a change like this and nostalgic about what we had. (About software?)
The most significant thing to happen to me today was the realization by contrast that taking regular breaks and approaching work levelheadedly and results in better, more thorough work, especially when deadlines loom or demands careen my way. When I worked on the small version of the Visualforce contact form for the DiamondBack Direct pages today, as if Father Time himself was harrying me and as if urgency disallowed 5-minute breaks, my work was slower, sadder, and sloppier. When I calmed down, my work was higher-speed, happier, and haler.
(Please pardon the forced alliteration. I could scarcely resist.)
What’s more, you don’t learn anything when you hurry.
Today was Salesforce migration day at DiamondBack. Lots of phone calls and IMs about what to do, at least an hour of screensharing with Jerry. Cuh-razy. But fun.
It also was a day when our wastewater line backed up to form a roughly 6’-diameter irregular puddle of in the basement, we suspect because the chemical “sponging” that S. Wimmer & Son gave our toilets—an act that should improve our quality of life by all but eliminating our frequent need to plunge the toilets (I broke the plunger today), along with embarrassment that comes with a toilet bowl hat has urine solids built up inside—probably loosened up a bunch of junk that got stuck in the trap just outside the house.
Carla and I got to poke around outside in search of the UAJA cleanout and our own trap, vent & cleanout. In 12°F weather on snow. Hence I thought Carla’s NPR find of ice music worth posting as well.
Carla drew the above Mr. Funny collaboratively with the kids. We all thought it hilarious.
Alas, the rest of my day was tiring. At DiamondBack, I’m working on hooking up our contact-us forms to Salesforce via something they call “Visualforce.” And at home, I’m about three million miles away from finishing the Choral Society website.
Web development feels more and more like writing formal papers, the bane of my academic career.
But then, it is by definition always easier to enjoy the facile, isn’t it? Let’s face it: I just don’t like projects whose work isn’t like water falling down a sluice.
Without an interpreter, my workday with Alexander Amelchev and his family visiting would have been a drag. As it was, with our Svitlana Budzhak-Jones in tow, we had a great time touring the factory, eating lunch at Retro Eatery in Philipsburg, playing at Discovery Space, and eating again at Happy Valley Brewing.
