What's the most important thing?

Besides reading this blog post, I mean

My SBM Daniel has a theory.

If you tell him that writing (and publishing) a post in your blog is the most important thing (speaking abstractly and not about anyone in particular, least of all me) and you (or I) don’t write a post and don’t publish it then he is led to the conclusion that it wasn’t as important as you (or I) said it was.

As far as he’s concerned that’s indisputable evidence that it’s not really all that important.

You (ok, it’s me) might still say it’s the most important thing.

But he would say that the evidence is that it’s not.

And so if I insist on it, he would say I’m kind of lying to myself.

Maybe I want to be seen as the kind of person who wants to write things in a blog.

Maybe I don’t really want to publish.

Maybe I’m saying shit that I don’t mean.

I think that’s his theory and it’s is kind of right and kind of wrong.¹

He’s reviewed it, so it is pretty much his theory.

He would say (and just did, I’m in the kitchen listening to him say it) “Actions follow intentions, and if there is no action there is evidence of an error”

And I would say, “Yes, but what’s the error.”

Kind of right

If writing the blog post was really the most important thing I would move heaven and earth to do it. I would let nothing stand in my way. I would stop eating and drinking and maybe even breathing until I got it published. Well, maybe not breathing.

If one of my granddaughters or someone else I loved was choking to death in front of me I’d keep writing this fucking thing until it was done. Too bad if she dies. She’s not the most important thing.

But of course, that’s stupid. And it’s not what he means and it’s not what I mean either.

What I mean is that it’s important enough that is someone was sitting behind me and saw me veer off and they said “Mike, do you want to do that veered-off-thing more than finish the blog post,” I’d probably say “Fuck, no.” Or just “No” if it was someone I wouldn’t say fuck in front of. And I’d want to go back to working on this post.

But I might actually go back to working on it even if I said I wanted to—because ADD. So they might have to say yell “Mike, you’re distracted again!” And I might say, “Fuck me! You’re right.”

And there might even be several rounds of that before I got back on track.

But I don’t have a person like that sitting behind me.

Bobbi had something like that because she would never stop as long as any responsibility was left undone.

Had guests for dinner? Everything needed to be cleaned up. Vacuumed. Pot scrubbed everything at least in the dishwasher if not clean and put away.

Bed made every morning. (To be clear it didn’t annoy me. I liked having a clean and orderly house. Just not enough to want to do it—other than out of love for her.)

So he’s right in this sense: if I say I intend to publish, I need to be on high alert for any counter-intention. And if that counter-intention arises, and I don’t see it then maybe I really didn’t care enough.

Not that I didn’t care enough to publish the blog post. But I didn’t care enough to pay careful attention and be on the alert to see the rise of counter intention and kill it.

Or maybe if I don’t do retros and notice that I’m not publishing and I don’t do anything about it I don’t care.

But I have done retros.

And I have noticed I’m not publishing anything and spent hours (and blog posts) trying to figure it out, until I came to see it the way I see it now.

Fear.

And I have to face my fear.

What his theory omits: the unconscious

I say I want to write and publish this post. And I’ve done enough introspecting to know there’s an internal conflict.

Without introspecting I wouldn’t know this. I’d just be left wondering why the fuck I didn’t publish it.

There’s a part of me that wants to publish it. Maybe that’s me.

There’s a part that does not want to publish it. Flat out does not want to. There’s an aversive reaction. It’s mostly unconscious. I’ve searched my mind enough that I am aware of my resistance. Maybe it’s me too, but I’m not aware of that me the same way as I am aware of the me that wants to.

I don’t know why that resistance is there. But I can feel it. Something in my mind pushes back.

Steven Pressfield wrote a book about it. The book is called “The War of Art” and he calls that force—wait for it—Resistance.

So I’m not alone in having this problem.

I can make up stories about what Resistance is and how it works. And if I made up a convincing enough story then I could convince myself that it was under control, and it would go away.

And I’ve made up stories (or had some insights) that have diminished the power of Resistance. But it’s still there. I can feel it. Lurking.

Resistance will tell you anything to keep you from doing your work. It will perjure, fabricate, falsify; seduce, bully, cajole. Resistance is protean. It will assume any form, if that’s what it takes to deceive you. It will reason with you like a lawyer or jam a nine-millimeter in your face like a stick-up man. Resistance has no conscience. It will pledge anything to get a deal, then double-cross you as soon as your back is turned. If you take Resistance at its word, you deserve everything you get. Resistance is always lying and always full of shit.

Resistance is unconscious—mostly—but if you pay attention you can feel it.

And to the degree that I’m able to make the unconscious conscious, it loses its power.

To publish this to my blog, I have to have attention on two things: writing the post and awareness of Resistance that will arise in force when it’s time to push PUBLISH.

Daniel’s view is that if I don’t publish it, I didn’t care enough. And I can get myself to care enough by beating myself up for not doing it.

And that works.

I’ve done that in the past.

And it’s worked.

Fuck me, it works!

It sucks but it works.

No more tyranny

But in 2016 I realized it was a con. A fraud. An error. (For me, anyway)

I realized why I’d spent my life resisting self-discipline even as I had tried to enforce it. Self-discipline is tyrannical, and I oppose tyrants. Why wouldn’t I fight myself as a tyrant even as I tried to tyrannize myself?

I decided: “no more tyranny.”

Tyranny had worked but it had bad side effects.

You (meaning me) tell yourself (meaning myself) that you don’t care enough often enough then it’s easy to give up. Shrug. I guess I don’t care.

But I knew I cared. So I explained it as a moral deficiency. Lack of character. Lack of self-discipline. Lack of will. Lack of desire. Lying to myself. Fooling myself. I’ve said it all. And like I say—it worked.

But my main objectives became kindness, love, forgiveness—then it was clear that tyranny couldn’t work.

Not didn’t work. Couldn’t work.

You can hold a gun to an alcoholic’s head and threaten to shoot them if they take a drink. And as long as they believe you, they won’t drink.

You can beat yourself up for not doing something and threaten to abuse yourself even more if you don’t do it. And as long as you believe that the pain you will cause yourself will be unbearable, you’ll do it.

And if not, then more pain will do the trick!

Abuse works!

But you can’t threaten yourself into being loving.

You can’t beat yourself into being kind.

You can’t harass yourself until you are forgiving.

You can’t beat yourself into peace of mind²

(Although you can get yourself nailed to a cross and inspire people to be loving and forgiving and kind as a result. But you can’t crucify yourself into goodness.)

It doesn’t work.

It can’t work.

And so, as I said before, in 2016, nearly ten years ago, I decided I wasn’t going to try to make it work any more.

I willingly gave up one of my most effective productivity tools and spent years trying to replace it.

I didn’t have a replacement in mind.

I didn’t know what I would do, but I knew what I would not do.

And now I think I know what to do.

I believe I now have something better.

We’ll see how long THAT lasts!

Do unto others

I don’t want anyone to beat me up for not doing something—including me.

And I don’t want to beat up other people with judgement—silently our aloud.

If someone says that want to do something, I believe them

And if they don’t do what they say they want to do, I don’t believe that they didn’t mean it.

I believe that there is a reason.

And the reason isn’t not caring; not lack of character; not lack of self-discipline.

Pressfield calls it Resistance, but giving it a name is not enough to know what it is.

It’s something and that something has power over them.

I’m not saying that people don’t have agency. They do.

But what you don’t know CAN hurt you. Badly.

There are unconscious mechanisms. And while we are responsible for what we do consciously, we can’t be responsible for what we can’t see. (Although we can be responsible for looking.)

How can a person deal with an unconscious mechanism?

First, look for it. If you don’t look, you won’t find it.

Ask for help. If you can’t overcome it, then maybe you plus someone else can. Especially if that person is insightful, empathetic, understanding.

(Of course, they could also beat you up and that would proabably work. But I don’t recommend it.)

The most important thing

I’m writing this post right now and the most important thing has to be to publish it. Not just to write it, but to publish it.

But there’s something else that’s meta-important. I need to keep telling myself, over and over, how important it is to publish it.

Because if one of my kids calls me while I am writing then writing this is no longer the most important thing. Answering their call is the most important thing. And depending on what they have called about—something else might be the most important thing. And that might go on for a while.

Also once the immediate crisis is averted I’ll still not publish this blog post until it becomes the most important thing again.

Which happens exactly how?

If I closed my computer and put it away to handle the interruption how do I remember if I have no reminders to remind me?

Having reminders, a structure to get me back on track when I have been derailed, is the most important thing.

But what reminds me to have reminders?

So the most important thing is not writing this blog post. It’s having had a system that would have gotten me back on track immediately.

Some people have that built into them.

Dana, or Mira, or Bobbi, or Alyssa could take an interrupt, and an interrupt within that interrupt and six levels deep and when all the interrupts are gone, back on track. I have not fucking idea how any of them do it.

I’ve got lots of gifts, but not that one.

Sorry, world.

What does this all come down to?

Twelve hundred words (in the first draft, nearly 2400 now). Any answers in sight?

Kind of.

Daniel and I have different theories about this. His theories work for him. He’s a competent and capable person and is happy with how things are going for him.

His theories don’t work for me. Or rather, I believe the can’t work for me. And I don’t want to use them.

I’m happy with how things are going for me, too. I was happy even when I wasn’t publishing because I have faith. Faith that the answer would come.

If I tell him there’s something I want to do and I don’t do it he would say “Well, I guess Mike just didn’t want to do it that much.”

And in the past I would have argued with him and claim I did want to do it.

(See the post that I haven’t written yet on that, and which fact is not going to keep me from publishing this like it usually does.)

I’ve had an insight.

Convincing him that he’s made the wrong diagnosis doesn’t get me closer to my goal.

Here’s a better response:

Finishing this blog post and PUBLISHING the fucking thing.

But first I’ve got to send him a draft and give him a chance to tell me if I’ve straw-manned him or misrepresented him.

Which I’ve done, and he’s vetted.

And then PUBLISHING.

Postscript

If you see this post Daniel was right. I cared enough to publish it.

Also I am right. I cared enough to publish it.

And if you don’t see this post I’m still right, because I cared more to make it a silly joke--and the joke and not the post was the most important thing

Daniel gets the last word

I really do love 2330+ word jokes that take a couple of days to build up.

Almost

Me too.

1. He has reviewed it. So it’s his view. Unless he was lying when he said it was OK.

2. This will be a song.