Outsource Responsibility

Skimming an article about choosing healthy snacks, a psychologist used the term "outsource responsibility." Students were given a choice of serve-yourself snacks, or ready-to-go portions. 

“If they’re served by someone else, they can outsource responsibility to someone else. But if they serve themselves, they have to accept responsibility and that makes them feel bad.” 

I stopped, went back and read again, and decided she was really saying they could blame somebody else for their choice. I find the double speak disturbing. 

When I damaged our car (see Jan 23rd post on this blog) I tried to outsource responsibility. In a voice squeakier than the meeting of garage frame and car door, I asked my parking tutor,why he didn't tell me to stop when he heard screeching metal. The unspoken message was that if he had done more, I'd have done less damage. But I was the one driving, and I did the scraping. He didn't let me put the blame on him.

We've heard children shuck responsibility. And it starts early. this video clip of a two and a half year old shows how far we go to avoid responsibility.

Yet, it is foundational to healthy adult interactions, and thus a healthy society. 

Children have to be taught to not "outsource responsibility."  As teachers we've already seen a huge shift towards this warped thinking. Too many kids have excuses for unfinished work, late work, no work, and worst of all, aggressive behavior. Their parents don't hold them responsible. Shirking comes from immaturity and wanting to be liked instead of doing the hard work of forming their kid's character.

The school is left trying to enforce standards that wobble like jello instead of resting firmly on concrete.

Add to shirking our culture's confusion between discernment and censure. If we don't place blame, we avoid any chance that we are "judging" someone. The ancient Greeks had it right in that they had two different words which were translated as judge (verb). One word meant to decide an action should be censured.  

However, if we evaluate the consequences of an action, and use discernment, we are using the other Greek concept. Literally it means to separate, and indicates discrimination of thought, seeing distinctions. Once evaluated, some behaviors should be rejected.

If we begin to make someone else responsible for our choices, good or bad, we lose our sense of efficacy. If somebody else is to blame for what I've done, I have no agency, no power. And I believe that what happens to me is out of my control. 

That's a sad way to live. 

Scylla and Charybdis

Scylla and Charybdis live in my garage. More accurately, getting into my garage is sort of like Odysseus trying to get past the two monsters at sea.

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Quick refresher of Homer's classic:  Odysseus had to sail past Charybdis, a nymph-turned-whirlpool. Opposite  the violent eddy was another nymph turned into a ship-destroying, sailor-munching monster. 

My twin dangers are a very narrow garage door, and the small strait between the two facing garage buildings. I have scraped past Scylla, but not unscathed. Despite Bill's driving lesson, I fused the white garage paint to the grey body of the car while it squealed.

ouch

It's a good metaphor for the spring-summer-fall-winter of our distress. Circumstances squeezed us. We got beat up some. There was squealing. But we could have been altogether wrecked. 

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Odysseus lost the ship to the whirlpool but saved himself. Then, when the pool tossed the ship back up to the surface he snagged it and escaped. Rescued by deus ex machina.
    

We didn't count on improbable theatrics (the ex machina part) to save us, but on God and our support groups.  To those who doubt prayer's efficacy, I argue it's got to be more reliable than a belching vortex.

If you've been in a tight spot, I'd like to hear your story. Share your dents, missing paint, and the rescue.  You don't have to be Homer to encourage us. 

Too Much Time in the Hospital - the Top Ten

so ugly I made Bill model it

You've spent too much time in hospitals when: 

1. You think Medicare should allow valet tipping as a payable expense.

2. As soon as you get to the front doors your brain tells your body you crave a mocha. And you know which franchise operates there.

3. You ask for a better room based on your frequent malady points.

4.  You hope for a room away from the nurse's station.

5. You don't expect a nurse to come running when you hit the call button.

wiiiiide wheelchair

6. Even your adult children think the attending physician appears to be eighteen years old.

7. The grandkids stop for pea-sized crushed ice on their way to your room, then critique the room's size, view, decor, and bathroom.

8. You know how to unplug the IV cart and get yourself to the bathroom. 

9. You finally remember to order condiments so you don't have to eat fries without ketchup or drink black coffee.

10. You re-gift skid-proof hospital socks at the holiday white elephant exchange. 


Do you have any to add? 

Downsized Space, Upsized Attitude

New year, new home. We've moved into our new condo, which is 1/1000 of the space (indoor and out) that we had in North Carolina. That is downsizing!

We have furniture we have to sell or donate. And I'm ready for my third run to Goodwill with  leftover household goods.

We've had to downsize our outside space too. The garages are one large building with a row of doors into narrow parking spots. I've scraped the white paint off of the door frame onto our car trying to get into it. Our personal outdoor space is a concrete slab large enough for my potting bench and a small table and chairs. But the HOA won't let me me install my wonderful washing machine-converted-to-sink outside.

We face a green area between buildings that is smaller than our former front yard. While I will enjoy the trees leafing out and the roses blooming, I will miss my former view. My eye had an unimpeded view across the flower beds to the pine trees at the road 300 feet away. From my desk I watched the flowering spring trees go through their cycles.

canine traffic jam

The desk got left behind (it never would have fit!) and I've taken a space near our big bedroom window for my morning reading and writing. The first morning I sat down with my cup of mocha, watched the geese v-ing to ponds that lie beyond. Movement in my peripheral vision interrupted my reverie. Who was walking in "my" yard?   A bundled up senior citizen strolled behind a little dog. And there were more, and more. My thinking time and space were invaded by strangers left, right and center.

I've gone from living in my personal park to being on the doggie commute route. After the first flash of irritation I turned the parade into a list of owner-pet entities.  Shrouded in down jackets and hats, the people are difficult to differentiate. So I identify them by their dogs. There's the pug lady, the woman with a pair of big black canines, a mutt overdressed in a jacket with a faux fur collar, the red coat dog, the pajama guy ambling by with his cup of coffee in one hand, leash in the other, the scruffy hound whose owner needs a shave, and a fuzzball waddling as slowly as its aged owner.

I feel like I've been dropped into a reality show, maybe "Life Swap." I'd like my old life back, but that won't happen even if I win the million dollars.

So I doggedly plug away at accepting what is.

This quote helps me refocus.  "...gather up the fragments of your life and give them to Jesus, and He will make sure that nothing is wasted. Refuse to think about what you have lost; instead inventory what you have left and use it with a thankful heart." Joyce Mayer.

The process of shrinking my domain may expand my capacity for gratitude and flexibility. Perhaps there are unexpected blessings waiting for me in this new life. Downsizing space may result in an upsized attitude.

Homeless a little longer

We joke that we've been homeless for for five months. Actually we've been guests.  While we're immensely grateful,  it is hard work. 

We conform to the toddler's early rising, the big kids' Friday night sleep overs, sharing the kitchen and not grumbling about the menu choices. 

Being part of a larger, busier family empties my reserves of flexibility. It's like living in a dorm. But now I'm way too old for the free-flow. 

My perspective is decidedly selfish. I want to brew tea in my teapot. The family's Pandora radio station sounds like Muzak. I sigh to myself when all of the muffins I made yesterday are gone this morning. I'm no longer amused when somebody "borrows" the bathroom space heater. 

For months life has felt like jumping from ice floe to ice floe. We need an anchor. We long for our old routines and leisurely quiet mornings. We miss taking care of just ourselves.

The need for the structure independent living affords is great:  my chores, my way of doing them, maintaining our sanctuary.

Looming cancer treatment and whatever toll it will take on my husband make us feel it's imperative to find "home." It's urgent we create a new normal. 

Most of the future is unsure, beyond our control, rendering us helpless to make long term plans. When we move into our condo next week we hope it will be a fortress where we regain energy for the tough times ahead.

Craving routine is normal. Blogger Brianna Wiest said "The point is not what the routine consists of, but how steady and safe your subconscious mind is made through repetitive motion and expected outcomes." 

Having a few expected outcomes--finding the muffin is still there, that there's hot water for my shower, sounds good. I can't wait. 

Sky Scrooge

Holiday travel is gearing up. The airports look pretty, but you're bound to encounter some unmerry travelers.

I'm one of them. I turn into a sky Scrooge when I am crowded.  I cope by maximizing my personal space. (Proxemics is the study of human use of space and the effects that population density has on behavior, communication, and social interaction. Wikipedia)

1)    In long lines, hang back just a smidgen from the person in front of you. I think the extra breathing room makes the line feel less frantic.Scrooge

2)    Walk instead of taking the moving sidewalks. The exercise clears your mind and speeders swerve around you.

3)    Wait at a gate without a flight, but within sight of your boarding area.

4)    Don't board when your "zone" is called. I don't understand why all fifty people in zone two jump up to be stalled in a jetway traffic jam. And more people put more germs within reach.

5)    Make sure the arm rests are in place. It sends a subtle message - this is my space, stay out.

service dog at DIA relaxes travelers

6)    Pull out anti-bacterial wipes and clean said armrests, folding tray, buttons for lights, etc. Your seat mates will silently inch away because they think you're a fanatic.

7)    I don't make unnecessary eye contact or smile at anybody. This discourages conversation.

8)    Plant your feet wide underneath the seat ahead of you. Otherwise some big guy will think his size thirteens deserve some of your size eight foot space.

9)    Wear your ear buds, even if the cord dangles unconnected.

10) Pack light. If your carry on fits under the seat, you don't have to compete in the scramble for bin space. Plus, schlepping a bulging bag is bad for your back.

It's my theory that introverts probably dislike the close quarters created during holiday travel more than extroverts. Do you get irritated by the masses when you travel? Do you jump in and make new friends? Tell me what helps you travel smoothly at high peak times.

(December 9th Wall Street Journal has an article about how shrinking airplane head space causes anxiety. It corroborates my ideas about proxemics.)

Thankfulness eases adversity

It's been a tough year for us. While thankfulness doesn't erase the ache of adversity,  it can ease it. I'm choosing to focus on the year's blessings this week.

January: I am grateful for tutoring three razor smart first grade boys from Africa. They didn't speak a word of English but used the universal law of learning: mimic what you see. One morning Mohammed grabbed my sticky notes and a marker and made a name tag for himself.  He passed the tools so the others could make their own. When I looked puzzled he pointed at the name tag on my chest. It was my privilege to help them get a good start in their new lives, and a weekly source of fun.

February: Cold nights and starry skies.  Living in a city now, the stars are masked. I close my eyes and thank God for many nights I stepped outside our North Carolina home to  marvel at the studded vault above me. 

March: What can be more glorious than the month's progression from tight red leaf buds to  Bradford pears dressed like brides, electrifying redbud blossoms, and yellow daffodils carpeting the landscape?

April: Sorrowfully we decided to sell our beloved home and move close to our family. An unexpected hospital stay confirmed the timing.

May: Off-season harvest from seven years teaching middle school. Two of my students, now married to one another, invited us to celebrate their daughter's birthday. One of the other guests was also a former student.  She enthusiastically reported that she was teaching in a preschool, and thanked me for my inspiriting example. Wonder of wonders!

June: Beach week! Even though it was cut short by my husband's medical emergency, my friends poured love out and arranged a pony express to get me home. Everyone rallied for Bill's surgery and recovery.

July: Despite reduced mobility, I  savored summer: a cool bath with the breeze blowing the curtains, fresh peas from the garden. The bright blue balls hanging from the hydrangea surprised me every time I walked by them since it had been badly damaged by frost.

August and September: Unable to do much,  the 3 year old and I squeezed into the red recliner and tilted back. There we spent many happy hours reading and laughing, reenacting Humpty Dumpty at least fifty times.

October: I can drive! I can walk!

November: Struggling with revised, negative diagnosis for my dear husband. Oh, my God, thank you for his friendship, gentleness and love during the forty three years of our marriage.

Whatever your troubles this year, pause. Recall instances of beauty, acts of kindness received, relationships enjoyed, meaningful work. Then read your list to somebody.

Gratitude shared is gratitude multiplied. 

Let me hear an amen!