Defending My Life – Day Two of Facing My Fears

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DAY TWO – Getting a Name and Assigning a Penalty

I have an amazingly difficult time initiating conversation, even with people I know.  In group situations I tend to sit back, observe the flow of the conversation and then if I feel I can add something or have a question to ask, I contribute.  Unless I’ve been drinking and then I let loose with my opinions at the drop of a hat.  I’m inhibited in general.  My fantasy is to be a bon vivant and have a clear sense of joie de vivre.  I don’t necessarily want to be the life of the party, as that requires too much extroversion than I can muster, but at least I can be ‘of the party’ and enjoying it with everyone else.

I’ve attempted to analyze my fear of casual conversation but unfortunately I mask it and rationalize it.  “I’m a misanthrope,” I say.  “There is nothing to talk about,” I deflect.  “They don’t want to talk to me,” I avoid.  I do like people.  New people mean new conversations and new ideas.  I love new ideas.  I love new perceptions on old ideas.  Quite possibly the root of it is a fear of rejection.  Facing the possibility that this new person isn’t going to like me might be too daunting.  This explanation makes me a wee bit sick since it means that I must be getting some sense of self worth through the opinions of others.  I dislike this idea very much, very much indeed.  Yet, how else can my general fear of initiating conversation be explained?  I know when people initiate the conversation with me I engage and converse as fine as a person with geek tendencies can.  Meaning, I probably can’t comment on American Idol contestants but I will go on and on about Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog.  Hey, at least they both have singing.  The only difference is one is annoying and one is good.

A challenge I’ve been facing since before I started this endeavor is asking the woman who sells me coffee every morning for over two years what her name is.  Honestly, it is quite possibly the simplest type of human interaction.  Yet, I’ve been stymied.  The more I thought about how to ask and have it sound natural, the more unnatural it sounded to me.  This very morning I squirreled up my courage and asked.  Walking to the shop as my mind began working the permutations of the upcoming encounter I willed myself to “SHUT THE FRAK UP!”  I have to do this on some nights when I am trying to get to sleep and my mind just wishes to torture me with all the little faux pas (this is turning into a very French post) I made through the day or with things I need to address the next day.  Hemingway even defined cowardice in these terms when he wrote, “Cowardice… is almost always simply a lack of ability to suspend functioning of the imagination.”  I love my imagination, but it needs to learn the lesson that I’m in control, not it.

I don’t mean to rest on my laurels for this day. This process isn’t about doing one thing that I’m afraid to do a day, it is about facing my fears consistently over nine days, and ideally carry the lessons foward so I can face them continually thereafter.  This minor social interaction is one thing I’ve been fretting about to such a degree that I successfully built it up to  a level that after accomplishing it, I felt like I climbed Everest.  I need to do more but to do more, I need to formulate a list of the things I’ve been avoiding doing because of my lack of courage.  Some stuff can’t be accomplished in the nine days as it is ‘opportunity’ based or require more preparation than I can pull together at the moment.  On the days that no opportunity presents itself, I think I need to find a proper  penalty that helps symbolize to me the outcome of not facing my fears.  Since lack of courage is one of the elements that prevents me from having an enjoyable life, for every day I do not confront a fear, I will have to eat just a potato (baked, nuked, or boiled) or rice for dinner.  A bland dinner will remind me that a coward’s life is a bland life.  Rewards for courage enrich, adds spice, and sweetens this life. Fortune favors the bold and history does not speak kindly of cowards.

Defending My Life

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Are you familiar with the 90s movie by Albert Brooks, Defending Your Life?  The basic premise is a man dies, goes to a purgatory where his life is analyzed to determine if he has conquered fear.  If has hasn’t conquered fear he goes back to Earth for another go around.  If he has, he gets to ‘go on’ with his journey in life.

I am not reviewing the movie, but I am adopting its core premise for my own personal development.  Courage is a much lauded virtue and I lack it in normal everyday situations.  You need me to run into a burning building to save someone?  I’m there.  You need me to ask the waitress to see if we can move to a different table? Screw that noise, I’m a flipping coward.  Fear of death? No.  Fear of mildly inconveniencing someone else? Yes.  Fear of injury? No.  Fear of talking on the telephone? Yes.

I’m not even going to pretend that my ability to deal with death is courage, it is more nihilism.  I’m always expecting the big final number so each roller coaster I ride on is me saying, “Okay, it was a mediocre life, it can end now.”  And when I get off safe and sound, I’m mildly surprised.

In the movie, Defending Your Life, Albert Brooks has nine days to convince the judges that he has conquered his fear.  I’m going to write nine posts about how I’m attempting to address my social fears.  This will not be easy for me.  This process is to help me truly identify the fear I have and hopefully develop strategies to deal with it.  Planning, strategizing, and analysis are exactly the sorts of things I am good at.  Asking a stranger what their name is? Fail.

This is post number one and hopefully the most difficult one to write.  I had little interaction with people today, so didn’t really get a chance to face any fears.  What I did do, which I know isn’t going to sound like much, is actually send messages to several people on OkCupid today.

Last night at Neo, a dance club I go to often, a friend of mine was trying to assist me with an attitude adjustment.  And no that is not a eupemism for him beating some sense into me.  His current operating theory is people have a hard time estimating small percentages, percentages under 10%.  So some people think any chance under 10% is equal to 0% as in it will never happen.  And some people think it is equivalent to 100%, as in it will happen.  I know this is confusing, at least confusing to me.  If something is under 10% how can anyone think it will always happen.  I don’t know if there is any science in this but the general point he is making is one of these people won’t even bother trying because with such slim odds, why waste the energy, while the other one is constantly trying.  Any good math person knows 1,000 attempts with a 5% success rate might yield some positive results while zero attempts with a 10% success rate will yield no positive results.

Go through life thinking it isn’t worth the effort because the odds are against you and you will certainly get nothing for your effort.  Go through life thinking every opportunity is going to be a good opportunity and you will eventually be rewarded.  I will not condone the use of this logic to support the lottery, but for purposes of social interaction, I think it is quite valid.

This relates to my efforts on OkCupid because I normally will always find a reason not to send a message to a person.  The hyperrealist in me tells me that attempting such things without a clear expectation of success is foolish.  The 10% Theory or whatever it should be called, says ‘You can’t win if you don’t play.’  So part of my Defending My Life trial, every day over nine days I need to reach out and communicate with a stranger.  I’m giving myself a wide berth here, so it can be everything including sending a stranger an email regarding a blogpost, podcast, talking face to face, or sending a semi-thought out message to someone on OkCupid or Match.

This is not necessarily about finding a date, per se, but about getting over a stupid fear of even initiating contact with people.  It is a stupid limitation, it is something that I feel prevents me from accomplishing goals, and actually hinders my overall success in life.  If I can’t even make a simple phonecall to the cable company to change my subscription in order to save money, can I really even be called a functioning adult?

The Art of Worldly Wisdom: 8

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Many of Gracian’s maxims cause conflict in me and this one seems aimed at the core of my being.  Passion, I believe, is what drives people to personal success.  When you care about something to such an extent that it goes beyond a goal but is an emotion, the steps you need to take to achieve it come naturally.

To be without Passions. ’Tis a privilege of the highest order of mind. Their very eminence redeems them from being affected by transient and low impulses. There is no higher rule than that over oneself, over one’s impulses: there is the triumph of free will. While passion rules the character, no aiming at high office; the less the higher. It is the only refined way of avoiding scandals; nay, ’tis the shortest way back to good repute.

It seems Baltasar is referencing base passions as evidenced by ‘transient and low impulses’.  I like to interpret this maxim as being in control of one’s passions.  Do not let them rule the self, let the self rule the passion.  A ship cannot have two captains.  The self needs one guiding authority, and it is best, in Gracian’s opinion, that the guiding authority not be vulgar impulse.

Though, there may be times when the vulgar impulses do overcome the rational mind.  Gracian appears to be a pragmatist as he allows that sometimes the low impulses, the base desires.  In those times, it is important that one doesn’t allow these desires to affect one’s position.    Certain Presidents should have followed this advice

The Art of Worldly Wisdom

Maxim 1 – Maxim 2 – Maxim 3 – Maxim 4 – Maxim 5 – Maxim 6– Maxim 7

The Art of Worldly Wisdom: 7

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I won’t lie and say that I don’t struggle trying to interpret the seventh maxim. This maxim is the second one that feels manipulative and less than ethical in the modern sense of the word. I am not a person who is willing to sell myself short in order to gain advancement in life. I adopt the belief that we need to embrace who we are and live life as that person.

At this point actually stating what the seventh maxim is might be helpful.

Avoid Victories over Superiors. All victories breed hate, and that over your superior is foolish or fatal. Superiority is always detested, à fortiori superiority over superiority. Caution can gloss over common advantages; for example, good looks may be cloaked by careless attire. There be some that will grant you precedence in good luck or good temper, but none in good sense, least of all a prince; for good sense is a royal prerogative, any claim to that is a case of lèse majesté. They are princes, and wish to be so in that most princely of qualities. They will allow a man to help them but not to surpass them, and will have any advice tendered them appear like a recollection of something they have forgotten rather than as a guide to something they cannot find. The stars teach us this finesse with happy tact; though they are his children and brilliant like him, they never rival the brilliancy of the sun.

This is a good point to highlight; this was written at a time of immutable class structure and the concept of a superior is much different than today. Yet the essence of the class structure does flow down through time to our lives today. You have a boss, unless you are one of the few self-employed people. I have a boss, at least, and I will speak from my personal experience with all the people who have held a position of power over me.

First, just to appease my immense ego, I have to recognize that I accept and allow others to have positions of authority over me. This goes to a whole other political belief system based on the idea that all governments rule through the tacit or explicit agreement of the people. This will be a subject of another long winded post, but when I enter into a contractual agreement of employment, I am agreeing that there will be people who can make decisions that affect my day to day life.

Beyond that asterisk to this maxim, I really believe this is telling us that our superiors, our bosses aren’t people who are our rivals. We are not in competition with our superiors. My personal belief is when my boss succeeds, I succeed. My actions, my victories reflect upon my boss.

This maxim is most effective when there is a healthy relationship with one’s superior. The superior in question cannot see subordinates in terms of people to use and turn into refuse. It must be seen as a mutually beneficial healthy relationship. There is no point in toiling under a tyrant who will never appreciate one’s labor and contribution. On the contrary, in today’s world there is no such thing as a ‘superior’ since the winds of fate blow freely. Today’s superior is tomorrow’s peer.

To me, this maxim is more about reminding one that a superior is not a rival and in the proper course of life, the proper course of business, it is part of one’s job to assist one’s boss, to apply one’s intellect and strength to strengthening the superior’s position.

The Art of Worldly Wisdom

Maxim 1 – Maxim 2 – Maxim 3 – Maxim 4 – Maxim 5 – Maxim 6

The Cowboys on Dinosaurs

Sheriff Buck Houston kicked a burnt and charred piece of wood, the remains of a small campfire, from a ring of stones with his booted foot.  He knelt down next to the ring of stones and picked up a small piece of cloth, the edges burnt away by the fire.   The centrosauruses tethered to the side bellowed, sensing the anxiousness of the posse.  Buck stood and looked over to the five others in the posse, five of the toughest men and women Cave Gulch could muster.  “Let’s mount up! Colonel Rauff was here last night.  He can’t have gotten far since day break.”

Jane Drummond grabbed the saddle strap of her centrosaurus and climbed the rope ladder up the side of the large dinosaur to reach the saddle.  The reins trailed down the thick neck of the centrosaurus below the large fanlike skull structure and connected to a sturdy leather harness wrapping around the centrosaurus’s jaw.  Jane tugged on the reins and her centrosaurus grunted but responded to her direction.  The others in the posse also guided their centrosauruses to fall in behind Sheriff Houston.  When the sheriff called for volunteers to join the posse to hunt down Colonel Rauff, Jane stepped forward before anyone else.  Her hatred of the Grimmtroopers stretched back years into her youth, when the Grimmtroopers killed her parents.  She never thought she’d get a chance to see justice for that crime.  When Colonel Rauff and his crew were captured by Sheriff Houston, relief washed over her.  When Colonel Rauff escaped Cave Gulch’s jail, rage overcame her.  She could not allow justice to be denied.  Not again, not ever again.

The six beasts and their riders thundered along the open plains.  “We have to catch him before he reaches the Grimmtrooper stronghold at Castle Reinhardt,” Buck shouted as he spurred his centrosaurus to speed up.  The sheriff rode with purpose. Seven holes were dug in the Cave Gulch cemetery because of Colonel Rauff and his Grimmtrooper troopers.  Twenty-two good men and women suffered injuries.  Purpose was one of those words that troubled Buck, normally.  To claim a purpose in life seemed like an act of hubris.  Did he know God’s will, God’s plan for him?  This has nothing to do with God and everything to do with the oath he swore when he took the badge of his office.  The people of Cave Gulch expected their Sheriff to fulfill that oath.  The purpose was clear, bring Colonel Rauff to justice.  Heinous crimes, even crimes that were acts of war require justice.

Big John Harding reached down and pulled out his double barreled breach loading shotgun slung to the saddle.  He cracked it, balancing the powerful weapon in the crook of his arm.  He rocked with the rhythm of the stomping dinosaur, carefully loading two shells into the gun.  Three days earlier Big John tended to his cows on his ranch when the Grimmtrooper airship glided overhead.  The gatlin guns mounted on the airship made short work of Big John’s cattle.  If that was the only crime, Big John wouldn’t be hell bent on revenge.  The Grimmtrooper airship firebombed his ranch house, killing his wife and his son.  Never in his life had Big John felt so helpless. He took the oath Sheriff Buck issued to him and openly grimaced when he had to promise to bring Colonel Rauff back alive so the villain could face justice through the courts.  If he got a chance, Big John wouldn’t let a simple thing like an oath stop him from extracting a more biblical justice.
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