Is your Easy Button broken? Hit Restore Default
A few weeks ago I decided to spend mental energy on other projects and to reduce my blog posts. But frankly I just can’t muster much creativity. One of the closest people to me in the world has cancer, and she’s not going to get better. I can’t yet figure out how to handle that news and the new reality.
So, I’m putting myself back into a box and cruising on autopilot for a while. This means I’m back to daily blog posts, or at least an attempt at them, because I’ve got a writing habit but not a drive to reach beyond what I’m used to.
This means I’ll work with my present client base and not spend much time trying to find new clients.
This means I’m running every day, but without the drive to run faster or set new records.
This means that I’m eating the same oatmeal for breakfast every day, listening to my old library of songs, sleeping soundly in my own bed most nights and keeping a low profile with friends and family. I might even go back to my cupcake habit.
This means I’m firmly tucked into my safe little box, and I’ll come out when my inner thoughts aren’t screaming as loudly.
As a small business owner, I think this is a perfectly reasonable way to deal with a crisis without coming to a complete halt. I’m removing extraneous variables so I can concentrate on two things: making a basic living and keeping myself sane. When the news first hit, I initially shifted into neutral. For three weeks, I billed less than four hours of work a week — I need to bill three to four a day, five days a week, to make a nice living. I’m going to suffer greatly for my lack of productivity in the immediate future. I have to get back to work, but I don’t have to go full force for a while.
steph on 09 Sep 2008 at 7:25 am #
I think you’re right.
When my first husband left, I went to work the next morning. I was too afraid to be left alone with my thoughts, though I wasn’t ready. Sometimes I had to hide in the bathroom to cry. But I tried to just keep going, to put myself on autopilot as a matter of self-preservation, not only money-wise but emotional wise. It helped to talk to customers as though nothing had happened, to have some semblance of normal when my world was anything but and totally upside down.
It wasn’t as though I squelched my grief, or suppressed it for so long that it came back to haunt me. I did my crying, my raging, my confiding in a friend. But keeping on was my way of not letting my grief and fear get the best of me. At first it felt ridiculous, almost irreverent, to do normal things like shower and go to work, but I knew that continuing with my life was really the best thing, even if I couldn’t give it my all just yet.
Your readers are here for you, B.
Ingrid on 09 Sep 2008 at 11:41 am #
Hey Beth,
I know nothing I say/write will make the cancer go away or make things better. What I can do is be there for you.
I have been there done that. Although I did not go into my box, I hid under the blankets until I was ready to come out. You were there for me, just waiting for me to peek out and when you knew I was ready, you yanked me out. So, I am here just hanging outside your box until you’re ready to come out.
When you get over here, I am sure we’ll have a nice crying jag, eat some ice cream or chocolate or both, I’ll make sure I have a supply ready for you. You’ll run, I’ll watch.
And then we will make some memories and have fun in France.
Craig on 09 Sep 2008 at 11:42 am #
Take care of yourself.
The person you care about who is ill with cancer needs you, and they need you as physically healthy as possible.
Mentally healthy is another concern.
If you want to vent, feel free send me an email. My family has also suffered with cancer.
Carissa on 09 Sep 2008 at 12:34 pm #
I am impressed and overcome with your strength to maintain. The cupcakes and I are here for you. So are my running shoes…we are just a phone call away!
Beth on 09 Sep 2008 at 12:43 pm #
You are all so nice. The truth is I’m feeling horrible guilt because you’re directing your positive thoughts at me. I’m not the one with the real problem.
I’m taking your positive thoughts and deflecting them to the one who needs it. I know she appreciates the energy.
I’m not exaggerating when I say I find great comfort in your comments. Great comfort. Thank you.
Bryan on 09 Sep 2008 at 1:07 pm #
…and for every sincere, well-expressed, supportive reply, there are many many of us quietly wishing the best for all of your family too.
Lesli Lord on 09 Sep 2008 at 3:48 pm #
In the book, The Four Agreements, the fourth agreement is simply, “Always Do Your Best. Your best is going to change from moment to moment; it wll be different when you are healthy as opposed to sick. Under any circumstances, simply do your best, and you will avoid self-judgement, self-abuse, and regret.”
It may sound hokey but the above helps me whenever my life is in crisis and it allows me to move forward with my work -even if all I want to do is crawl under the covers until the pain goes away. Right now, your best is to click on the auto pilot and survive the uncertainty of your loved one battling cancer.
The good news is your auto pilot is most likely dramatically better than most people’s best.
Hang in there.
Rebecca Smith on 09 Sep 2008 at 3:50 pm #
Beth,
I am so sorry to hear about your loved one. Both of you are in my thoughts.
Take a run, eat cupcakes, do whatever it is that makes you feel good and keeps you sane! We’ll all be sending positive, caring thoughts your way.
Mark McClure on 10 Sep 2008 at 8:52 pm #
Beth, Your final paragraph sounds about what I would do if in a similar situation.
From across the Pacific I send you and yours whatever blessings I have to give. (in Ireland we usually say “Bless you” whenever a person sneezes. I’ve just revved up the “bless” part in your family’s case!)
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