Hello, readers-
For various reasons I can't really go into here, I am shutting down this blog and moving it to another blog-spot. However, I will not share that with the general public in this space. Please E-mail me at blackcatweb@gmail.com if you would like to continue to follow my writing in a different blog-spot.
Thanks,
Jim
Friday, November 28, 2008
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Hello again! Autumn is calling!
The candles in churches are out.
The lights have gone out in the sky.
Blow on the coal of the heart
And we’ll see by and by.
- The last words spoken in the play J.B., by Archibald Macleish
Hello, all. It's been a while, I know.
It was in the darkness of the autumn and winter of last year that I began this blog. It was as the darkness was passing away with the lengthening of days that my efforts began to wane. I, for one, note there is a link. Is it that I become "more" spiritual as the autumn comes, and all that darkness and seasonal depression comes knocking? Well, actually, no. For me, there is no time at which one is "more" spiritual than another. We are always spiritual. To say that someone is more spiritual at one time versus another is like saying the sky is sometimes higher up than at other times. Spirituality is not a quantitative question - because the spirit, like the sky, is always infinite. There are just times when our spirituality seems more obvious than others. When that sky suddenly holds a lot we haven't seen in a while, we look up.
As such, the autumn brings a lot of new feelings. While some are enjoyable and inspiring, the emotions of the season are usually not pleasant for me at all. It seems I have what they call "seasonal affective disorder." This is the time I get a little sad - but sometimes, I get worse. My mind can become frantic in this period - and it's all I can do to keep a cascade of negative, desperate feelings to come flooding in with those big, dreary clouds that occupy the sky and push back the sun into rampantly shortening days. Sometimes, it's just plain awful.
Yet, help always comes. One thing I learned years ago is that these dark periods are times when the spirit can be engaged. As the lights from the world go dark and cold, we are left with the brightness that comes from inside. That is when we notice our hearts and move on to understanding the possibilities.
Last year, I got a lot of help. One source was here - in writing this blog and in accepting support from all of you who read it.
So - get set - you're going to hear from me - again - about having a spiritual life in the working world. And I've come to some new understandings and have gained some experience - and I would like to share what I have found now.
The lights have gone out in the sky.
Blow on the coal of the heart
And we’ll see by and by.
- The last words spoken in the play J.B., by Archibald Macleish
Hello, all. It's been a while, I know.
It was in the darkness of the autumn and winter of last year that I began this blog. It was as the darkness was passing away with the lengthening of days that my efforts began to wane. I, for one, note there is a link. Is it that I become "more" spiritual as the autumn comes, and all that darkness and seasonal depression comes knocking? Well, actually, no. For me, there is no time at which one is "more" spiritual than another. We are always spiritual. To say that someone is more spiritual at one time versus another is like saying the sky is sometimes higher up than at other times. Spirituality is not a quantitative question - because the spirit, like the sky, is always infinite. There are just times when our spirituality seems more obvious than others. When that sky suddenly holds a lot we haven't seen in a while, we look up.
As such, the autumn brings a lot of new feelings. While some are enjoyable and inspiring, the emotions of the season are usually not pleasant for me at all. It seems I have what they call "seasonal affective disorder." This is the time I get a little sad - but sometimes, I get worse. My mind can become frantic in this period - and it's all I can do to keep a cascade of negative, desperate feelings to come flooding in with those big, dreary clouds that occupy the sky and push back the sun into rampantly shortening days. Sometimes, it's just plain awful.
Yet, help always comes. One thing I learned years ago is that these dark periods are times when the spirit can be engaged. As the lights from the world go dark and cold, we are left with the brightness that comes from inside. That is when we notice our hearts and move on to understanding the possibilities.
Last year, I got a lot of help. One source was here - in writing this blog and in accepting support from all of you who read it.
So - get set - you're going to hear from me - again - about having a spiritual life in the working world. And I've come to some new understandings and have gained some experience - and I would like to share what I have found now.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
When work is home
I've often heard people describe their workplace as a second home. They like being there, they say. They feel a sense of belonging, of purpose. They experience safety, acceptance, appreciation. The fact that they are working and collecting a salary is almost secondary to their enjoyment of their days there. They are eager to be there, in good humor when they are, and work long hours easily, without much stress and no resentment. The people they work with are like family; the management is consistently good-natured and supportive.
This is a surprisingly common story. In fact, there are times I could have described my own situation in these terms. It suggests a very positive idea: that the workplace is not necessarily harsh or cold to people. Further, these sentiments speak strongly for people's ability to adapt to circumstances. Whenever someone starts a job, it is a strange, stress-inducing situation. In time, you figure out which people you like and what you do not. Your duties tend to coalesce around the things you like and do best - and management, if they are intelligent, tends to support you when you're in your finest form. It is amazing how we can adjust to a situation not just to the point of toleration, but even beyond to a state of trust and even bliss.
Indeed, this is a situation that many would envy, and consider ideal. Most don't get to to have such an extreme, but even then, I hear people find the bright side of jobs that aren't especially enjoyable. Consider people who've done menial, low-paying jobs their whole lives. I imagine that the only way they get by is by approaching things in these terms. "I don't like the job," some say, "but I sure like the people."
This brings me to the other side of this story - the part that makes me pause and doubt. No matter how we might feel - no matter how things might seem - we are not at home when we are at our jobs. We are there to perform a fixed set of duties, for which we are compensated, but whose completion is primarily for the economic interests of others, and not for us. As welcome and as charmed as we might believe we are, the bottom line, however obscured it might be, is still present. We work only as long as the material interests of management are perceived to be satisfied. No matter how affable and supportive our manager might seem, the satisfaction of economic goals is the objective, and all other considerations come behind it.
Why, then, is this hidden so much of the time? Why do we gravitate toward work as if it were a home - a place of unconditional acceptance when it is most provably not so? It is one thing to adapt to circumstances - something we must do in order to survive, physically and mentally. Even people in dire or confined situations - such as in the armed services or even in prison - find a way to do this, and this is not to be faulted, but actually commended. It is quite another thing, though, when we lose sight of reality and forget that we are working at a job - a job whose completion is considered ahead of the well-being of the one who is performing it. If you do not think this is true, just ask anyone who has ever been fired or laid off. Any thought or hope that you are valued as a person disappears in the instant that you are quetly ushered behind a closed door, where you are gently informed of "restructuring" or "budgetary constraints."
Is this to say that we should not feel at home at our jobs? Well, not really. We are paid to do a job - a good job - and how can we do this if we do not feel safe and appreciated? If you have ever worked for someone who "had it in" for you - predisposed to seeing your faults - you know that is not a situation that lasts long. Indeed, companies are well aware that employees will work best in positive circumstances. They will be more enthusiastic, driven, and productive when made to feel welcome and supported. Some, such as Google, go all the way to the point of offering free food & even lodging to their employees - making the workplace practically indistinguishable from home (and Google freely admits the rationale for this is increased work hours). Indeed, we cannot fully blame ourselves for losing sight of the economic realities, especially when companies seem disposed toward hiding them in the first place. Yet, we are the ones who suffer when the reality is suddenly thrown in our faces.
I think that the very best we can do is attempt to realize that though the job may be, in the end, just a job - and that the feelings of comfort and warmth we get there may be fleeting and highly conditional - we can at least consider that maybe the relationships we form there are grounded in a greater reality, and that the respect and friendship we develop there is sincere. The job may not last - and in fact, we know that it won't. However, the friendships and loyalty that grow within the workplace can make the whole journey worth the trouble. It is within the timeless, unconditional trust of community - and not the four walls that hold it - where home really is.
This is a surprisingly common story. In fact, there are times I could have described my own situation in these terms. It suggests a very positive idea: that the workplace is not necessarily harsh or cold to people. Further, these sentiments speak strongly for people's ability to adapt to circumstances. Whenever someone starts a job, it is a strange, stress-inducing situation. In time, you figure out which people you like and what you do not. Your duties tend to coalesce around the things you like and do best - and management, if they are intelligent, tends to support you when you're in your finest form. It is amazing how we can adjust to a situation not just to the point of toleration, but even beyond to a state of trust and even bliss.
Indeed, this is a situation that many would envy, and consider ideal. Most don't get to to have such an extreme, but even then, I hear people find the bright side of jobs that aren't especially enjoyable. Consider people who've done menial, low-paying jobs their whole lives. I imagine that the only way they get by is by approaching things in these terms. "I don't like the job," some say, "but I sure like the people."
This brings me to the other side of this story - the part that makes me pause and doubt. No matter how we might feel - no matter how things might seem - we are not at home when we are at our jobs. We are there to perform a fixed set of duties, for which we are compensated, but whose completion is primarily for the economic interests of others, and not for us. As welcome and as charmed as we might believe we are, the bottom line, however obscured it might be, is still present. We work only as long as the material interests of management are perceived to be satisfied. No matter how affable and supportive our manager might seem, the satisfaction of economic goals is the objective, and all other considerations come behind it.
Why, then, is this hidden so much of the time? Why do we gravitate toward work as if it were a home - a place of unconditional acceptance when it is most provably not so? It is one thing to adapt to circumstances - something we must do in order to survive, physically and mentally. Even people in dire or confined situations - such as in the armed services or even in prison - find a way to do this, and this is not to be faulted, but actually commended. It is quite another thing, though, when we lose sight of reality and forget that we are working at a job - a job whose completion is considered ahead of the well-being of the one who is performing it. If you do not think this is true, just ask anyone who has ever been fired or laid off. Any thought or hope that you are valued as a person disappears in the instant that you are quetly ushered behind a closed door, where you are gently informed of "restructuring" or "budgetary constraints."
Is this to say that we should not feel at home at our jobs? Well, not really. We are paid to do a job - a good job - and how can we do this if we do not feel safe and appreciated? If you have ever worked for someone who "had it in" for you - predisposed to seeing your faults - you know that is not a situation that lasts long. Indeed, companies are well aware that employees will work best in positive circumstances. They will be more enthusiastic, driven, and productive when made to feel welcome and supported. Some, such as Google, go all the way to the point of offering free food & even lodging to their employees - making the workplace practically indistinguishable from home (and Google freely admits the rationale for this is increased work hours). Indeed, we cannot fully blame ourselves for losing sight of the economic realities, especially when companies seem disposed toward hiding them in the first place. Yet, we are the ones who suffer when the reality is suddenly thrown in our faces.
I think that the very best we can do is attempt to realize that though the job may be, in the end, just a job - and that the feelings of comfort and warmth we get there may be fleeting and highly conditional - we can at least consider that maybe the relationships we form there are grounded in a greater reality, and that the respect and friendship we develop there is sincere. The job may not last - and in fact, we know that it won't. However, the friendships and loyalty that grow within the workplace can make the whole journey worth the trouble. It is within the timeless, unconditional trust of community - and not the four walls that hold it - where home really is.
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Merry Christmas!!
Hey everyone (& anyone) -
I wish you all a Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year!!! *Thank you* - all - who have read my postings and who have written back. I enjoy being here, and the privilege of sharing here means everything to me.
I hope we'll go much further in 2008.
*Peace*,
Jim Campbell
I wish you all a Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year!!! *Thank you* - all - who have read my postings and who have written back. I enjoy being here, and the privilege of sharing here means everything to me.
I hope we'll go much further in 2008.
*Peace*,
Jim Campbell
Thursday, December 20, 2007
All about getting there
All Things Must Pass
- the title for one of George Harrison's albums
It's been a while. I've been face-down in a new job, new family issues, and a lot of spiritual churn to work through. I also tried in this time - and did not quite succeed - to make my own business goals (you'll see more about that in this blog soon). I've come through some pretty big adjustments in the past month. I am happy to report I'm safe & sound. However, I have neglected updates to this blog, and I sure have missed it.
I am working now in a group where I am easily the oldest person there. It reminds me of when I was working at my first job in Rochester. At the company where I worked, I was frequently called into meetings where I was usually the youngest to attend. I mentioned this to my father once, and he smirked. "Just wait a couple of years," he said. "You'll go from being youngest to oldest in no time."
Yep, he was right. I am the oldest now. In fact, some people there were born after I was in college. They could be my own kids.
What does all this mean? I find myself quite conflicted. I know that on the one hand, I feel a dread over it. Why should I be working with such young people? How does it make any sense that we would have anything enough in common to be working in a common effort? Doesn't this mean I've badly underachieved?
On top of this, the nagging existential thoughts sure don't help. How did I reach this point, I wonder. Where did the time go? How can I now be middle-aged, and how can so many people I meet be younger?
Further - why am I still in a corporate office, writing computer code? How could I have possibly spent my life this way? I'm trying to "scrape" out of this mode now by building my own business idea, but I hardly know where that will end up.
My son was just accepted into the college of his choice (you go, David!). He sometimes kids me about the "Dilbert" nature of corporate life. I hope he finds a more satisfying path.
No matter how either he or I go about life, though, aging is inevitable. One of the most compelling comments I ever heard on this issue was from the late George Harrison. In an interview a couple of years before his death, he contrasted being a Beatle - a "lad" who epitomized the bustling energy of youth - with his middle aged state as he faced worsening health problems. Harrison, who never shied from spirituality in his thinking or his music, spoke humbly of his mortality. With no apparent will to deny anything, "the Quiet Beatle" had only this to say of aging: "We all get there."
Actually, not all of us do. Many don't see older age. So far, I have been healthy throughout my life, and that is why I am here now. Many others die younger - from accidents, disease, or crime. Harrison's own friend and fellow Beatle - John Lennon - fell to an assassin's bullet at the age of 40, just as he was beginning a popular comeback. He didn't live to see his younger child grow up - but I have seen mine do so, having now outlived Lennon's age by five years. Imagine how the now adult Sean Lennon feels when he hears the song his father wrote for him, more than a quarter century ago, that glowingly declares "I can hardly wait to see you come of age - but I guess we'll both just have to be patient." Such a simple dream - one that I live every day - fell tragically out of reach for this celebrity and his family. I'm sure that he would have gladly traded away his great fame and fortune for something I now take for granted.
A couple of jobs ago, I wasn't the oldest there. Most of the people who were there were middle-aged or older, and they were often complacent, tired, resistant to change, and sometimes downright cynical. I found it stultefying. When I go to this new job and see young people - fresh, intelligent, energetic, and just warming up - I guess I shouldn't feel so old. I'm still among them, after all, and I'm trusted to fit in with them. I guess it means there's hope for me yet. The worst that could happen is to let myself be swallowed up in bitterness and doubt, as I've seen so often happen. Why, if I know the dangers, do I feel this attitude coming on, anyway? What sense is there in begrudging my age when it actually means the world has taken good care of me? Where is the gratitude for what is right, when there is so much that can go wrong?
Perhaps the answer is very simple. Age is a bitter pill to swallow, no matter how it comes. Even as I remain fairly young at heart and healthy in body, every day I feel the time passing, more and more acutely. Like George Harrison, my spirituality has helped guide me through youth and career, but, like him, I am spared from nothing, and I am just as surely headed out. I, too, will get there, and, for all I know, it may be soon. George Harrison died at the age of 58, and that same age is only 13 years away for me now.
How much longer do I really have?
- the title for one of George Harrison's albums
It's been a while. I've been face-down in a new job, new family issues, and a lot of spiritual churn to work through. I also tried in this time - and did not quite succeed - to make my own business goals (you'll see more about that in this blog soon). I've come through some pretty big adjustments in the past month. I am happy to report I'm safe & sound. However, I have neglected updates to this blog, and I sure have missed it.
I am working now in a group where I am easily the oldest person there. It reminds me of when I was working at my first job in Rochester. At the company where I worked, I was frequently called into meetings where I was usually the youngest to attend. I mentioned this to my father once, and he smirked. "Just wait a couple of years," he said. "You'll go from being youngest to oldest in no time."
Yep, he was right. I am the oldest now. In fact, some people there were born after I was in college. They could be my own kids.
What does all this mean? I find myself quite conflicted. I know that on the one hand, I feel a dread over it. Why should I be working with such young people? How does it make any sense that we would have anything enough in common to be working in a common effort? Doesn't this mean I've badly underachieved?
On top of this, the nagging existential thoughts sure don't help. How did I reach this point, I wonder. Where did the time go? How can I now be middle-aged, and how can so many people I meet be younger?
Further - why am I still in a corporate office, writing computer code? How could I have possibly spent my life this way? I'm trying to "scrape" out of this mode now by building my own business idea, but I hardly know where that will end up.
My son was just accepted into the college of his choice (you go, David!). He sometimes kids me about the "Dilbert" nature of corporate life. I hope he finds a more satisfying path.
No matter how either he or I go about life, though, aging is inevitable. One of the most compelling comments I ever heard on this issue was from the late George Harrison. In an interview a couple of years before his death, he contrasted being a Beatle - a "lad" who epitomized the bustling energy of youth - with his middle aged state as he faced worsening health problems. Harrison, who never shied from spirituality in his thinking or his music, spoke humbly of his mortality. With no apparent will to deny anything, "the Quiet Beatle" had only this to say of aging: "We all get there."
Actually, not all of us do. Many don't see older age. So far, I have been healthy throughout my life, and that is why I am here now. Many others die younger - from accidents, disease, or crime. Harrison's own friend and fellow Beatle - John Lennon - fell to an assassin's bullet at the age of 40, just as he was beginning a popular comeback. He didn't live to see his younger child grow up - but I have seen mine do so, having now outlived Lennon's age by five years. Imagine how the now adult Sean Lennon feels when he hears the song his father wrote for him, more than a quarter century ago, that glowingly declares "I can hardly wait to see you come of age - but I guess we'll both just have to be patient." Such a simple dream - one that I live every day - fell tragically out of reach for this celebrity and his family. I'm sure that he would have gladly traded away his great fame and fortune for something I now take for granted.
A couple of jobs ago, I wasn't the oldest there. Most of the people who were there were middle-aged or older, and they were often complacent, tired, resistant to change, and sometimes downright cynical. I found it stultefying. When I go to this new job and see young people - fresh, intelligent, energetic, and just warming up - I guess I shouldn't feel so old. I'm still among them, after all, and I'm trusted to fit in with them. I guess it means there's hope for me yet. The worst that could happen is to let myself be swallowed up in bitterness and doubt, as I've seen so often happen. Why, if I know the dangers, do I feel this attitude coming on, anyway? What sense is there in begrudging my age when it actually means the world has taken good care of me? Where is the gratitude for what is right, when there is so much that can go wrong?
Perhaps the answer is very simple. Age is a bitter pill to swallow, no matter how it comes. Even as I remain fairly young at heart and healthy in body, every day I feel the time passing, more and more acutely. Like George Harrison, my spirituality has helped guide me through youth and career, but, like him, I am spared from nothing, and I am just as surely headed out. I, too, will get there, and, for all I know, it may be soon. George Harrison died at the age of 58, and that same age is only 13 years away for me now.
How much longer do I really have?
Monday, November 19, 2007
A quick one today
I want to thank all of you who read this for your support and respect. That makes this worthwhile.
Today, 11/19/2007, was the day I started my new job. With that, I'm a bit overwhelmed. I will be writing more to all of you soon, once I've gathered enough reflection to make it a meaningful post. Expect to hear about aging in the workplace. Also, some new sources of inspiration have come by. I have only some generous people to thank.
Stay tuned....
- Jim Campbell
Today, 11/19/2007, was the day I started my new job. With that, I'm a bit overwhelmed. I will be writing more to all of you soon, once I've gathered enough reflection to make it a meaningful post. Expect to hear about aging in the workplace. Also, some new sources of inspiration have come by. I have only some generous people to thank.
Stay tuned....
- Jim Campbell
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
How fear can cage us
My news this week: I resigned from my corporate job and will be working, at least for the time being, as a contractor for a different company, in the same industry where I've always worked. I am thankful that I had this chance. The jobs are pretty easy to find at this point, and with luck, this new job will take me in some good directions. However, I don't know anything for sure, since life is a major game of chance.
My own nervousness about the job change was actually a little surprising. I've done it several times before. This one hit a little harder than usual, though, and for reasons that aren't exactly clear. The money, benefits, and situation will all be about the same. The work stands every good chance of being better and more engaging. The commute will be much shorter. Why, then, would I be lying awake at night in nervousness, instead of going out to celebrate?
I spoke to some people at my company before I left, some of whom admitted they had not been happy there for a while. Most all of them said they were staying at the company to avoid making a big change. That is certainly an understandable sentiment. Psychologists have long noted how "eustress" - stress over a good change - can be just as hard on the body and on the psyche as the "distress" of things going unexpectedly bad. I am a living testament to this phenomenon.
Even more to the point is the fact that any job change is a step into the unknown, and that is always provocative. Like all animals, our very survival mechanisms have us equating the unknown with danger. Anyone who has cared for a pet or for a toddler knows that a new person, animal, or mechanism in a house can provoke a completely primal and dramatic response. It is even worse when the whole environment is changed. It is only when we get used to that new place - once we see that it isn't dangerous - that we begin to adjust. Even when a new job is bound to be quite similar to what we already know, the fears and doubts can come into full gear, leaving us feeling once again like that frightened child on the first day of school. The fears do not fully disappear until we finally get the feeling that we'll be all right where we are. This is a lot to ask of anyone to go through, and most people avoid it.
The corporate world can certainly encourage us toward "playing it safe", which I've mentioned in various examples throughout this blog. It is not in corporate interests for individuals to take new risks or make unexpected moves, since to do so interferes with organizational business plans. When people are enough reprimanded for going too far or doing more than asked, they fall in line in progressively subtler and subtler levels, first behaving as expected, then thinking as expected, and, finally, being as expected. The fear we have for ourselves and our livelihood can easily become a powerful and imperceptible cage that keeps us in place - the "quiet desperation" that Thoreau famously described.
I was laid off from a different job in 2004. I stayed calm, but it was a stress. I was concerned about my family and how they would do unless I found income, insurance, and stability. After seven weeks, I found a new job - at the place I am now leaving. I was certainly thankful for the work in 2004, and I'm still thankful now. Yet, I often think back to a conversation I had with a fellow contractor there, which occurred inside my first week of work. When I told him of my layoff and of my happily finding this new job - in the same industry I had worked for twenty years - he made a very interesting comment. He said that I did exactly what the Buddha had warned against - that I had gone escaping back to my prison.
Could it be that my nervousness around this job change has something to do with that very idea?
My own nervousness about the job change was actually a little surprising. I've done it several times before. This one hit a little harder than usual, though, and for reasons that aren't exactly clear. The money, benefits, and situation will all be about the same. The work stands every good chance of being better and more engaging. The commute will be much shorter. Why, then, would I be lying awake at night in nervousness, instead of going out to celebrate?
I spoke to some people at my company before I left, some of whom admitted they had not been happy there for a while. Most all of them said they were staying at the company to avoid making a big change. That is certainly an understandable sentiment. Psychologists have long noted how "eustress" - stress over a good change - can be just as hard on the body and on the psyche as the "distress" of things going unexpectedly bad. I am a living testament to this phenomenon.
Even more to the point is the fact that any job change is a step into the unknown, and that is always provocative. Like all animals, our very survival mechanisms have us equating the unknown with danger. Anyone who has cared for a pet or for a toddler knows that a new person, animal, or mechanism in a house can provoke a completely primal and dramatic response. It is even worse when the whole environment is changed. It is only when we get used to that new place - once we see that it isn't dangerous - that we begin to adjust. Even when a new job is bound to be quite similar to what we already know, the fears and doubts can come into full gear, leaving us feeling once again like that frightened child on the first day of school. The fears do not fully disappear until we finally get the feeling that we'll be all right where we are. This is a lot to ask of anyone to go through, and most people avoid it.
The corporate world can certainly encourage us toward "playing it safe", which I've mentioned in various examples throughout this blog. It is not in corporate interests for individuals to take new risks or make unexpected moves, since to do so interferes with organizational business plans. When people are enough reprimanded for going too far or doing more than asked, they fall in line in progressively subtler and subtler levels, first behaving as expected, then thinking as expected, and, finally, being as expected. The fear we have for ourselves and our livelihood can easily become a powerful and imperceptible cage that keeps us in place - the "quiet desperation" that Thoreau famously described.
I was laid off from a different job in 2004. I stayed calm, but it was a stress. I was concerned about my family and how they would do unless I found income, insurance, and stability. After seven weeks, I found a new job - at the place I am now leaving. I was certainly thankful for the work in 2004, and I'm still thankful now. Yet, I often think back to a conversation I had with a fellow contractor there, which occurred inside my first week of work. When I told him of my layoff and of my happily finding this new job - in the same industry I had worked for twenty years - he made a very interesting comment. He said that I did exactly what the Buddha had warned against - that I had gone escaping back to my prison.
Could it be that my nervousness around this job change has something to do with that very idea?
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