Balance and Stress

There’s a ton of talk lately about work-life balance.  Which is a good thing, of course.  We’ve collectively recognized that working too much, and not paying attention to things that fill us up—family, friends, silence, thinking, being alone—can make us crappy and crazy.  I’ve thought about it myself, especially when I decide to return an email rather than invest in my relationship with a friend, look my son in the eye as he talks at me, or play another round of CandyLand with my daughter.  (Okay…. Fine.  A round.  I don’t think I’ve ever played CandyLand with her.  I hate that game.)

Lately, though, I’ve noticed the “balance” conversation sometimes turns into a lament about the effort it takes to do good work. We say we want balance, but we might actually mean that we don’t want to work so hard.  We want to be relaxed. We want to feel perpetually energetic, well rested, and inspired.  We want endless, expendable leisure time.  And fun.  We want lots of fun. 

But that’s a different conversation.  Right?  It’s not a “balance” conversation.

Author and psychologist Nienke Wijnants says that the word “balance” has lost its real meaning.  “It’s become a catch-all.  ‘My life’s not in balance’ can mean so many things:  ‘I’m not happy; I work too hard; I don’t have enough free time.’ “

That’s what I notice, for sure, now that so many of us are talking about balance.   A lot of talk about balance is really about workload.  We don’t want to work so hard.  But do we mean it? 

A few years ago, I had a surgery that kept me home for a couple weeks.  I felt too badly to leave the house, so I just stayed home, mostly lying on the couch and drifting in and out of sleep.  When I was better, several friends asked me how I’d done with the sitting and resting.  “It was fabulous,” I gushed.  “I could do it all the time.  Every day.  Quit my job and just stay home and chill.  Forever.”

My friends scoffed, as they should have; they knew, and I knew, that the reason it had been blissful is because I was so dulled by pain meds (and pain) that I couldn’t muster up the energy or desire to go out and hustle at anything.  Now that I was healthy and feeling good again, they told me, “There’s no way you’d make it, just lounging at home.”

And that’s true.  I like to bang around in this world with my wings on fire.  I like working my ass off.  I like the feeling that comes with a productive and exhaustive day.  Sure, my muscles ache from the hustle—but I find pleasure in the exhaustion, too. 

Most of us are like that, by nature.  Wijnants says, “In essence, we are all worker bees.  The best thing we can do for our mental health is to work on something that is attainable but challenging.”  Doing work—whatever kind it is—makes us feel like we matter.  Like we have worth.  Like there was a reason to get up and go.

So:  we work.  It’s good for us.  And with work comes stress—which is another tentacle to the “balance” thing.  When we’re stressed—and that word means a whole host of things, depending on how we want to think about it—that’s when we lament that we need more balance.  What we mean, of course, is that we want less stress.

But stress--?  Just like hard work, stress is another really good thing.  In The Upside of Stress, Kelly McGonigal points out that to try to avoid stress, you’d have to “live in a kind of bubble that excludes all those things that actually give life meaning, including deep relationships, challenging work and opportunities for growth and development.”  She says, succinctly, that stress is an engagement with life.

Thinking about all of this makes me understand that when we seek balance, we’re missing the point.  Life isn’t about finding perfect balance—because it probably doesn’t exist, for one thing, but because balance isn’t really the point at all. Life is about unbalance.  Unbalance is what makes our lives interesting, rich, difficult, horrible, and amazing… in equal, balanced measure. 

***

Time for credit where it’s due:

I’ve quoted the thinking of a couple people in this post; I encourage you to seek out their work if this is stuff you’ve been thinking about.  There’s another one, too:  A book titled Life Balance is Fiction by Jerry Porras, Stewart Emery and Mark Thompson.  It’s good stuff.  They talk about how detrimental it can be to try to order your life in a perfect, balanced place.  If nothing else, there is comfort in that.

I also got a lot of inspiration from Issue 13 of Flow magazine, which is just flat-out terrific.  Flow is always terrific.  I always get inspiration, reading it.  It’s not cheap, but like anything else, you really get what you pay for.  Seriously, I adore this thing.  When it arrives, I devour it, slowly and over the course of a week or two.  Seriously.  Try it.  And thanks to Brenda at Choice Literacy for gifting it to me.  

Happiness... Or Meaning?

The much-younger me thought I would grow up and be happy.  Just... happy.  I wasn't sure what I'd do to be happy, exactly; I just knew that I'd eventually solve all my problems, have enough money, have easy and fulfilling relationships, and float throughout my days in some mode between satisfied (a bad day) and blissful (a regular day). 

That was the goal, anyway. 

Fortunately, I've changed my thinking on this, now that I'm firmly in middle age.   I know, now, that complete happiness is an unattainable goal.  That's just the truth.  I know there are a lot of times I'm not going to be happy at all.  There's the big, wide unhappiness, like the weeks of cold in the wintertime, when I'm exhausted and stressed and depressed.  There's that kind.  But there's also the small unhappinesses that pop up a hundred times a day.  The clanking garbage truck that wakes me too early.  A slew of ants in my cabinet.  The grumpy woman who won't look at me when I thank her for the cup of coffee I'm paying way, way too much for.  The staff member who's really mad at me for no identifiable reason.  All of those silly, bothersome unhappinesses.  And when they pop up, I can't help it; I find myself trying to overcome them.  To deal with each one and find my way back to happy.  

I know I'm not the only one.  Most of us seek happiness.  It's, like, an end goal.  Right?  To be happy. 

And when we’re not happy, we worry:  Why not?  We look around and try to identify what is wrong, and we try to fix whatever we need to fix so that happiness comes back, already.  

Why is that? Or, the better question:  Is seeking happiness a worthwhile and fruitful pursuit?

I sought out some perspective on the whole thing.  In the most recent issue of Flow magazine, I stumbled across the work of German professor and author Wilhelm Schmid.  He’s in a place in his life—mid 60’s—where he’s looking back and thinking about happiness and how it relates to the span of his lifetime—and anyone’s lifetime, really.

Schmid doesn’t think seeking happiness is a wise approach; he says looking for meaning in our lives is something that’s much more important than happiness.  Take being a parent.  Having children doesn't necessarily make us happy all the time—or even much of the time.  But they give our lives meaning.  They help us build a network of relationships that will keep us connected to the world and those around us.  That, he says, is what it’s all about—and what will bring happiness.  

So: This morning, when my son split his sister's lip with a Gatorade bottle during a raucous indoor game of "football," I was anything but happy—but I can give myself a break on that. I don't have to be happy.  In fact, it's okay to be very, very unhappy.  Because happiness isn't the point.  It's the meaning that comes with raising a son who will, hopefully, think twice next time when he considers hurling a plastic bullet at his sister's face.  It's the meaning that comes with dealing with ebbs and flows of sadness, frustration, and depression.  It's meaning:  A life of meaning.  A life of challenges, and crap, and awesomeness, all melded together.  

I'm going to try to wipe the whole issue of happiness off the table for good... and just stop thinking about it.  I'll try to embrace my unhappinesses, big or small, because they aren't the point at all.  Instead, I'll try to seek meaning and experiences.  Then, I'll be happily surprised... when happiness finds me. 

Different... and the Same

I recently attended a retreat with about 50 other administrators.  We spent several days in a sprawling, open room, learning from one another; the retreat was, in a lot of ways, the thing most leaders crave every day—time to think together, to commiserate, to share stories and foster new ideas.  

And then it got better. 

The retreat ended in a way that was new to me—and inspiring, in several ways. The facilitators told us we had an hour to spend on our own.  We were told we could read, think, write, plan; we could do it in groups, pairs, or work on our own.  We were, in essence, in charge of our own time.   For an entire hour.

Which isn’t something that happens, much, to school leaders.

As we all wandered to our chosen spot to work, music began playing on low volume.  One by one, we came to realize that the songs were our songs.  Earlier in the week, the retreat planners had asked each of us to send them the title of a song we listen to when we want to relax.  They then compiled the songs into a playlist that turned out to be as varied as the the people in the room.  It ranged from rock to country to pop to classical to folk to bluegrass.  

About twenty minutes into our allotted time, I looked up and scanned the room.  We had all chosen to spend our hour quietly working, but how we did it was as varied as our music.  Everyone had found a place to be, but we had all settled into different postures and different approaches.  Some cuddled in; some stretched out.  We were on couches and on the floor; outside and in the darkest cavernous rooms.  Some rested, head in hands.  Some wrote.  Some gazed out the window.  Some chatted softly to one another.

And I had this thought:  We are all so different, aren’t we?  There we were, a big group of people who largely do the same thing in our work, but we all approach it in different ways.  Our minds are inspired and fed with different approaches; our bodies need rest in different postures; the input that is required to make us our best selves varies from person to person.  

Yet, we all benefit from time and space to think.  It makes us all better.  And when it’s unexpected, it’s even better.  Because anything can happen when there is no plan.  And in that aspect, we are all the same.  

Nothing Got Done Today...

There are days that I'm so utterly and thoroughly non-productive, I'm embarrassed for myself. 

Today.  Today was one of them. 

In my district, principals are still at it throughout the summer.  The work is different—the pace is slower, and there is more time to think and plan—but it still requires showing up and paying attention and getting things done.  I love summer because I largely work alone, and I am a freakin' machine—I bust through stuff like it's my job.  Which it is, sure, but I really love it, how much I get done in the summer. 

Except not today.  

I stayed up late last night, because our town has an awesome fireworks display and my kids are (finally) old enough to enjoy it, so we do it up right.  Which meant getting to bed (several) hours later than usual, which meant I slept in this morning, sort of, although it was restless and broken sleep.  And I felt crappy.  I went to yoga, as usual, but that felt crappy too, which depressed me.  My body hurt and the room felt particularly hot and I felt klutzy and awkward.  Back home, I fed the family breakfast and then made my way to work.  Late.  

But even after I settled into my office, I couldn't seem to make myself tackle the (still) long list of things I need to do before everything goes bananas again on the first of August.  I mean, there's so much I could do!  I could finalize a furniture order.  Complete the master schedule.  Plan orientation for my new staff.  Organize my professional development plan for the year.  But nooooooo.  None of that was happening.  Instead, I was just wandering around, not really doing anything right.  Not really starting anything, and surely not finishing anything.  

I tried to shake the cobwebs from my head by talking a walk, but I spent the whole time wishing I hadn't taken a walk and had instead just sat at my desk and scrolled through Twitter.  Which is what I did when I did, in fact, get back to my desk.  Twitter, and then a few blogs, and then suddenly I was building a new station on Pandora.  All the while mad at myself that I wasn't getting anything real done.  

Then, mid-afternoon, the district paint crew showed up.  And that was it, for me.  For today. 

The paint crew comes around every summer and tackles whichever part of the building needs painting, as determined by a specifically planned rotation.  This summer, it's the main office and library that is getting new paint.  The crew is a mishmash of college kids, home for the summer, and district employees who don’t have year-round contracts but who like or need to work in the summer.  Their leader is Lawrence, a bus driver; he mostly stands around and finds things to talk about.  Surrounding him are the worker bees:  There’s Jana, who works as a lunch lady throughout the school year; Jared and Josh, both 20-something maintenance guys; Trevor and Debbie, bus drivers too.  They roared into the office and started right in—before I knew it, they had desks pulled into the middle of the room, shelves unloaded, pictures off the wall, and paint already going up around the trim.  

They were fast, and loud, and really distracting.  Not in a bad way at all.  In a way that I had been pining for, apparently:  Suddenly I was standing around in the middle of all of them, chit-chatting with Lawrence about our favorite drink at Starbucks.  And about the new bus he might get to drive next year.  And which route is his favorite.  And so on.  

I finally admitted to myself:  I wasn't getting anything done today.  Period. 

So I called it.  Left work, right there in mid-afternoon.  Came home.  The house is empty, because my husband and children didn't expect me yet.  So I'm on the couch, still being unproductive and bemoaning the lack of things I got done today. 

I know it's normal.  I know some days are just crappy and unproductive.  It is just the way things are, sometimes.  But knowing it's normal doesn't make me any happier with myself. 

I'll try again tomorrow.   

Words from a Friend's Mother

I have a friend whose mother is in the final stages of her life.  My friend is sad, and grieving, and mad.  Helpless.  She is feeling all the things we feel when something really crappy is happening to someone we love.

It’s especially hard because my friend has just become a grandmother for the first time.  Her daughter’s baby is only a few weeks old, and so it’s a happy and joyful time in a lot of ways.  So she’s really conflicted.  She’s trying to balance the joy with the sadness she’s carrying, and the impossible conundrum of wanting all of them—her mom, her daughter, her granddaughter—to be together.  Just a little longer. 

But last night, my friend called me from the hospital.  She sounded lighter than she’d sounded in weeks.  “How’s your Mom doing?”  I asked, tentative.

“Not well,” she said.  “She’s struggling to breathe.  They tell me it will be just a matter days, now.”

“I’m so sorry,” I told her, aching for her. 

“But..."  Christina sounded really good.  I waited.

"I just had a great conversation with her,” she said.  “I thought you’d like to hear about it.”

I would.

Christina had been holding her mother’s hand and sitting quietly next to her hospital bed.  They’d been quiet, together, for quite some time.  Out of the silence, her mother unexpectedly and calmly asked Christina not to worry about a thing; it was going to be just fine. 

“Oh, Mom,” my friend told her.  “That’s not true.  Please don't go.  Not yet.  I need you to teach me a whole bunch of other things.  Like, being a grandmother.  I don’t know how to be a grandmother.  You need to teach me.”

Her mother thought awhile.  Then she said, “It’s easy.  Just be there, and don’t interfere.”

Christina loved that piece of advice and had called me to marvel at its simplicity.  “It’s perfect, isn’t it?  I’m going to remember that.  As a grandmother for sure—but it applies to a whole bunch of other things, too,” she said, sounding excited.  “Think about it.  Be there, and don’t interfere.  It applies to our work as teachers and leaders, too.  There are tons and tons of times that we just need to be there, but not interfere.  Whether it is a process, a conversation, a learning opportunity—sometimes our main role is to be there but stay out of the way of the natural progression of things.”   

Christina told me, emphatically, that this last piece of advice from her mother might be the one she holds tightest. “She’s told me so many smart things in my life—this is the one I like the best.  Be there, and don’t interfere.  It’s my new motto.”

It’s a good one.

When People Talk About You

Being in a leadership position, by its very nature, means living under a very large microscope.  As Urban Meyer, renowned head football coach at the Ohio State University, writes in his leadership book titled Above the Line, "When you are a leader, your followers are watching everything you do."

It's something that's difficult to get used to, at first.

If you're a new principal, you can bet that there will be people talking about you in classrooms, in hallways, in the staff lounge, at community events.  In the back of the room at school assemblies, in the deli line at the grocery store, at the local pizza joint.

It can be pretty unnerving.

It's not always bad, of course.  In fact, most of the time, it's fantastic.  There will be people who will love you and your leadership style; they will sing your praises, loudly and enthusiastically.   And that feels good.  Super good.

But there are also times that you'll have to make a tough decision and you won't be so supported.  It won't happen a lot, but it will happen.  It's inevitable.  Some people won't like you.  Not one little bit.  They'll want to talk to everyone—everyone!— about how crappy you are.  That's a lot harder to be okay with.

Last week, I was discussing this with my friend Cathy.  She asked how I handle the constant under-the-microscope living.  I told her I've come to peace about it; I've done this long enough to have grown some pretty thick skin.  I've got calluses in the soft parts.

"There are always exceptions, though," I told her.  "I still get hurt, especially if I hear someone has said something unfair, uninformed, or untrue about me.  Those are the tough ones."

"And it happens when you least expect it," she said.  "Friends and family, too."

"Yes.  It does."

"Well, just look at it this way," she said.  "If they're talking about you, they're leaving someone else alone."

I thought about that for a few moments.

"Thank you," I said to her, feeling that there-are-no-words kind of grateful.  "I'm so glad you shared that with me.  I love that perspective."

I really do.  It's a great way to think about it. If someone is grumbling about something I've said or done, I can take it—because it means someone else ... is being left alone.