Each instant of the present
Hangs like a leaf
Upon the infinite tree
That is the future.
And just like leaves in autumn
Each in its turn
Becomes an instant of past:
Now falls from the tree
Whose roots absorb the essence
Of fallen past,
Feeding on earlier times
To nourish new growth.
The cycle thus continues:
Old times return
Though in a different guise.
Our stories repeat.
Monday, 16 January 2012
Wednesday, 11 January 2012
Driven To Distraction
Last week I returned to work after the holidays. I find that breaks like that in my normal routine unsettle me and it has taken a week to get back to normal. The problem is that feeling off-balance makes me particularly susceptible to being distracted when I try to concentrate on the job in hand.
Little things such as the noise of the air conditioning and computer fans, people talking - however quietly - and especially interruptions just build up, one upon another, until my mind is a jittery mess and I can hardly think straight, let alone concentrate on technical matters. And as for achieving a state of flow, well that's nigh impossible! I find myself frequently switching from one task to another and forgetting what I was doing only ten minutes ago. Needless to say my productivity is none too high.
All I can do is go for a little walk or sit somewhere quiet for a bit while I regain my focus and calm down. It just takes time to settle down into the familiar old routine again - about a week in this case - before I'm back to my old self and able to block out the various distractions. I no longer hear the AC fans, I don't notice as people walk past my desk and I can enter flow with my old facility.
It is a simple matter of regaining my familiarity with my surroundings; of picking up the old behavioral habits. It seems strange that in only a week and a half away from the place I have suffered such disruption to my regular patterns of behavior, but the Christmas and New Year period is a challenging time to get through because changes affect almost every part of my daily life. Regular events such as the darts league are in recess, I see people out and about at unusual times of day because they are not at work either.
The relief I feel when life returns to normal, running along its rails according the the usual schedule, is immense. The predictability - knowing what to expect and when - literally takes a load off my mind. Not having to cope with random changes means I spend much more of my time near my ground state instead of being constantly excited into an energetic, exhausting state by all the irregular stimuli.
Distractions appear in many forms but they all take effort to handle. Above a certain rate of incidence this effort saps my energy to the point where I cannot cope with any further cognitive load: overload. It happened a few times over the past two weeks that I just had to take some time out to relax and rebuild my strength. So I am glad that the holiday season is past. Despite having some enjoyable times it is overall just too much like hard work.
Little things such as the noise of the air conditioning and computer fans, people talking - however quietly - and especially interruptions just build up, one upon another, until my mind is a jittery mess and I can hardly think straight, let alone concentrate on technical matters. And as for achieving a state of flow, well that's nigh impossible! I find myself frequently switching from one task to another and forgetting what I was doing only ten minutes ago. Needless to say my productivity is none too high.
All I can do is go for a little walk or sit somewhere quiet for a bit while I regain my focus and calm down. It just takes time to settle down into the familiar old routine again - about a week in this case - before I'm back to my old self and able to block out the various distractions. I no longer hear the AC fans, I don't notice as people walk past my desk and I can enter flow with my old facility.
It is a simple matter of regaining my familiarity with my surroundings; of picking up the old behavioral habits. It seems strange that in only a week and a half away from the place I have suffered such disruption to my regular patterns of behavior, but the Christmas and New Year period is a challenging time to get through because changes affect almost every part of my daily life. Regular events such as the darts league are in recess, I see people out and about at unusual times of day because they are not at work either.
The relief I feel when life returns to normal, running along its rails according the the usual schedule, is immense. The predictability - knowing what to expect and when - literally takes a load off my mind. Not having to cope with random changes means I spend much more of my time near my ground state instead of being constantly excited into an energetic, exhausting state by all the irregular stimuli.
Distractions appear in many forms but they all take effort to handle. Above a certain rate of incidence this effort saps my energy to the point where I cannot cope with any further cognitive load: overload. It happened a few times over the past two weeks that I just had to take some time out to relax and rebuild my strength. So I am glad that the holiday season is past. Despite having some enjoyable times it is overall just too much like hard work.
Tuesday, 10 January 2012
I Miss You, Mum
When I'm happy, want to share,
When I need someone to care,
Though I seek you everywhere,
Have to face it: you're not there.
Grew up sheltered by your wing,
Never wanted for a thing,
You eased every hurt and sting,
Now my birds no longer sing.
There's an empty space inside
To which access is denied,
Though I've tried, oh! how I've tried
To heal my wounds since you died.
But I struggled to impart
(I was lacking in the art,
Never knowing where to start)
I loved you with all my heart.
Think about you night and day,
And I want so much to say
That because you showed the way
I'm the man I am today.
When I need someone to care,
Though I seek you everywhere,
Have to face it: you're not there.
Grew up sheltered by your wing,
Never wanted for a thing,
You eased every hurt and sting,
Now my birds no longer sing.
There's an empty space inside
To which access is denied,
Though I've tried, oh! how I've tried
To heal my wounds since you died.
But I struggled to impart
(I was lacking in the art,
Never knowing where to start)
I loved you with all my heart.
Think about you night and day,
And I want so much to say
That because you showed the way
I'm the man I am today.
Monday, 9 January 2012
Visualizing Emotions
Feeling emotions means seeing myself in different settings, each reflecting - to me at least - the nature of the sensation. This is obviously a consequence of a visual mode of thinking: my conscious identification and comprehension of my emotional state is driven by my recognition of the specific mental imagery.
To feel happiness is to take to the air, flying through the limitless skies with velocity in proportion to the degree of pleasure. Happiness is a strong, bright yellow like the summer sun, daffodils, buttercups or gorse flowers.
As happiness shades into ecstasy or excitement then the flight becomes aerobatic: swooping, twisting and turning through the air. There is an invigorating surge of glittering bubbles like swimming through the fizz of champagne.
In contrast, sadness is a leaden dullness, an unrelieved monotony of gray emptiness. Little or no motion, no possibility of escaping gravity's pull that tethers me to the ground. Everything moves so slowly as if mired in a morass, and it takes such effort to overcome the inertia.
As sadness deepens into despondency and despair, so the gray darkens, chasms opening beneath my feet as I slip down, deeper and deeper into the abyss with what faint light there is steadily diminishing overhead, dwindling and fading to a point that eventually becomes imperceptible from the gloom all around. Add hurt - pain - to this and the edges become hard and sharp, pressing in on me, trapping me in their constrictions before piercing into and through me as the intensity becomes unbearable.
Fear is cold; a blue/white arctic landscape through which the wind blows relentlessly, sculpting the ice into faerie castles with towers like scimitars, and whipping the snow up into blizzards. As I begin to panic I am picked up by the wind, and left falling endlessly, arms thrashing in vain as I try to slow and stop my irresistible descent.
Anger is a curious one. Other people speak about "seeing red"; however I cannot honestly say that red is associated with the feeling for me. Anger is a huge black and silver steam locomotive, belching smoke from its stack and spouting prodigious jets of steam from its pistons as it speeds, unstoppable, along gleaming straight steel rails, wheels flashing so quickly that they are just a blur, making the very earth tremble with its immense power and trailing an immense white plume back along its path. This thundering titan seems to me to be the embodiment of dreadful might.
And finally, calm - serenity, peaceful solitude - is walking through woodland on a balmy summer's day, sunlight filtering through the lush green canopy to project dappled shadows on the gray/green/brown tangle of the undergrowth. Not another person around; it is just me and the creatures of the woods - birds fluttering among the branches, squirrels bounding sinuously up trunks and along the limbs. Perfect natural harmony all around me.
To feel happiness is to take to the air, flying through the limitless skies with velocity in proportion to the degree of pleasure. Happiness is a strong, bright yellow like the summer sun, daffodils, buttercups or gorse flowers.
As happiness shades into ecstasy or excitement then the flight becomes aerobatic: swooping, twisting and turning through the air. There is an invigorating surge of glittering bubbles like swimming through the fizz of champagne.
In contrast, sadness is a leaden dullness, an unrelieved monotony of gray emptiness. Little or no motion, no possibility of escaping gravity's pull that tethers me to the ground. Everything moves so slowly as if mired in a morass, and it takes such effort to overcome the inertia.
As sadness deepens into despondency and despair, so the gray darkens, chasms opening beneath my feet as I slip down, deeper and deeper into the abyss with what faint light there is steadily diminishing overhead, dwindling and fading to a point that eventually becomes imperceptible from the gloom all around. Add hurt - pain - to this and the edges become hard and sharp, pressing in on me, trapping me in their constrictions before piercing into and through me as the intensity becomes unbearable.
Fear is cold; a blue/white arctic landscape through which the wind blows relentlessly, sculpting the ice into faerie castles with towers like scimitars, and whipping the snow up into blizzards. As I begin to panic I am picked up by the wind, and left falling endlessly, arms thrashing in vain as I try to slow and stop my irresistible descent.
Anger is a curious one. Other people speak about "seeing red"; however I cannot honestly say that red is associated with the feeling for me. Anger is a huge black and silver steam locomotive, belching smoke from its stack and spouting prodigious jets of steam from its pistons as it speeds, unstoppable, along gleaming straight steel rails, wheels flashing so quickly that they are just a blur, making the very earth tremble with its immense power and trailing an immense white plume back along its path. This thundering titan seems to me to be the embodiment of dreadful might.
And finally, calm - serenity, peaceful solitude - is walking through woodland on a balmy summer's day, sunlight filtering through the lush green canopy to project dappled shadows on the gray/green/brown tangle of the undergrowth. Not another person around; it is just me and the creatures of the woods - birds fluttering among the branches, squirrels bounding sinuously up trunks and along the limbs. Perfect natural harmony all around me.
Saturday, 7 January 2012
Overloaded (Again)
This sensory overload business can be so darned inconvenient at times. It caught me out tonight - wasn't expecting it to rear its head at all. I was out with my wife at a friend's birthday party. All fine until it got busy with loud music.
The trouble is that it all makes such demands on my faculties as I try to pick up what people are saying to me, while simultaneously attempting to block out everything else that's going on around me, that I end up very quickly feeling drained and shutdown looms.
At that point I need to take time out - find somewhere quiet to sit for a spell - and "chill out". (Literally chill tonight because I'm sat in the car and it's none too warm out here.)
So right now I'm afraid I'm poor company and not much fun to be around. I'm managing ok out here, and some of my friends have popped by to see if I'm all right - that helps because it shows support from which I take strength.
It's just unfortunate that at times like this I am unsociable - not antisocial - and just need a little space. I'd hate to think I'd put a dampener on anybody's enjoyment of the birthday party.
Devious Complication
A simple soul is what I am,
A simple life I lead.
But other people complicate
Their ev'ry thought and deed.
I fail to see the point of this:
Why skirt round what you mean?
By coming to the point head-on
Intent is plainly seen.
Let others play their petty games.
I'll stay just how I am.
Taking in the words they speak,
Ignoring hidden plans.
Because I'm just a simple soul,
I fail to see beneath
The surface of banality
That hides the claws and teeth.
Agendas hidden from my sight,
Though seen by other eyes,
Ultimately come to light
And take me by surprise.
I find it hard to understand
So devious a mind:
Manipulate for one's own ends,
So selfish and unkind.
I'm happy as this simple man,
Content to take no part
In playing games with people's lives
That end with broken hearts.
Friday, 6 January 2012
Correcting People's Mistakes
I have an involuntary urge to jump in and correct people when I notice errors in what they say. It hasn't escaped my notice that this often irritates the person I correct, but I have a hard time checking the impulse.
I'm not sure whether the cause of this is pedantry, perfectionism or simply attention to detail. Too much attention to detail sometimes because I end up getting distracted from the conversation by concentrating on the mistake. Interrupting the speaker to correct them also tends to distract them from what they were saying, halting the conversation.
Thing is... I'm trying to be helpful when I correct people. Accuracy is important to me - more important than saving somebody's feelings - and I subconsciously expect that other people feel the same and would appreciate my efforts. Publicly correcting people can engender a hostile response - it embarrasses them, triggering a defensive reaction. In conjunction with my social anxiety, fear of this kind of response prevents me from speaking up in front of strangers. But it doesn't prevent me feeling very uncomfortable about the error.
It's the same with errors in writing - things like shop signs that might have spelling or grammatical mistakes. I have been known to take a pen and make editorial corrections to notices - the urge to do so can be impossible to suppress.
I find that people mistake my motivation - while I only strive for accuracy, they see me as a know-all who wants appear superior. They may even see me as arrogant. For the record, I'm not trying to impress people with my knowledge or make them appear ignorant and stupid. I just have an obsession for precision in language.
I'm not sure whether the cause of this is pedantry, perfectionism or simply attention to detail. Too much attention to detail sometimes because I end up getting distracted from the conversation by concentrating on the mistake. Interrupting the speaker to correct them also tends to distract them from what they were saying, halting the conversation.
Thing is... I'm trying to be helpful when I correct people. Accuracy is important to me - more important than saving somebody's feelings - and I subconsciously expect that other people feel the same and would appreciate my efforts. Publicly correcting people can engender a hostile response - it embarrasses them, triggering a defensive reaction. In conjunction with my social anxiety, fear of this kind of response prevents me from speaking up in front of strangers. But it doesn't prevent me feeling very uncomfortable about the error.
It's the same with errors in writing - things like shop signs that might have spelling or grammatical mistakes. I have been known to take a pen and make editorial corrections to notices - the urge to do so can be impossible to suppress.
I find that people mistake my motivation - while I only strive for accuracy, they see me as a know-all who wants appear superior. They may even see me as arrogant. For the record, I'm not trying to impress people with my knowledge or make them appear ignorant and stupid. I just have an obsession for precision in language.
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