Home Alone

I am an introvert.  That confuses people sometimes, because I am a people person.  I have chosen a helping profession--education--that is all about people, and interacting with people. I enjoy that immensely.  I wouldn't change that.  I like the stage.  I'm a performer, as an instrumentalist, a singer, a speaker...that seems pretty extroverted, doesn't it.  I wouldn't change that either.  But, when I do personality or trait or "type" identifying exercises (such as Meyers-Briggs, "colors," StrengthsQuest, etc.) I invariably show as "introverted."  Often, just barely.  That is, we pretend it is a discrete definition, not a continuum.  But, it is a continuum.  And, invariably (see, if you study the social sciences for too long, you end up doing these things regularly), I end up on the introversion side, even if mildly.  I "recharge" by being quiet, reflecting, reading...alone.  Extroverts "recharge" by being with people, partying, conversing...together.  (My wife is an extrovert, by that definition.)

My family, with the kids done with school for the summer, has boarded a plane to visit extended family, vacation, and play.  I have a couple of weeks of work left to do, so I will follow and catch up with them after that.  For right now, the house is quiet.  It occurs to me that I have not been home alone, for even a minute, in over a year.  I'm conflicted:  on the one hand, I miss my family already (they just left today), but on the other hand, I am beginning a two-week stint (when not at work) of introvert bliss.  I'm going to read, and journal, and reflect, and tidy up the house (that's especially fun when there is no one else to "mess it up,") and play guitar, and...just be, alone.  I'll stay late at work and catch up, and not feel guilty about not being home.  Maybe I'll take a solitary walk, or sit at a coffee shop and watch the people go by.  Maybe I'll aimlessly surf the internet.  Maybe I'll blog a bit.

Don't get me wrong.  I'm already looking forward to hooking back up with my family in a couple of weeks.  But for right now, I'm enjoying being home alone.

Success v. happiness

I watched a TED talk last week, in which the presenter, Shawn Achor, posits the commonly held belief that success leads to happiness, when held up to research, is 180 degrees wrong. That is, he says, happiness in fact increases productivity and success, in a measurable way. But, success, by our standard definitions (raises, promotions, climbing the corporate ladder, getting more "stuff," fulfilling expectation scripts--I suppose I may have added a couple of my own in there) does not lead to happiness. We have it wrong.

He offered a simple script--probably an overly simple script--to increase happiness. Exercise. Eat healthy. Reflect intentionally on positives.  That is, keep a log of three positive things you did, or that happened, each day. Keep a positive journal.  Stuff like that.  I'm not representing him well--it was an eloquent, well-received talk with a valid point and an actionable message. I left it remembering my brief infatuation with Norman Vincent Peale, during my adolescence.  And, inspired to be more positive.

In fact, I decided to make my Lent (trying to take that Catholic obligation, tradition, and opportunity to a higher level of meaning than that one year when I gave up coffee and my secretary made me promise to never do that ever again has been an annual ambition of mine) centered on being more positive.

Thing is, as I'm paying attention, I'm realizing what a grumpy, gruff, and frankly, negative guy I have become. At least to my own perception. And, certainly to my family's. I think outsiders may see and experience a more positive side of me, but I'm not sure about that either.  When did that happen?  It's relatively recent I think.  Maybe a response to work and family pressures, maybe a response to the media (don't even get me started on that), maybe for no good reason at all.

Well, when I reflect, there is no doubt that the universe is an unfathomable  miracle and life a precious and amazing gift.  I need to remember that in the moment.

And, I need to lighten up.

Wish me luck, eh?

It's a finite resource.

It occurs to me that maybe productive output in terms of words, sentences, thoughts--complete, coherent, articulate thoughts, anyway--is perhaps a finite resource.  It sure seems that way.

I'm not blogging here.  Anymore.  Why?  I don't seem to have much to say.  Or, at least, to have much left to say.  Or, maybe it is that I just don't have time.

I'm working on my doctorate.  It's a great program, one that is growing by leaps and bounds, and for good reason.  One that is aligned with an Ignatian philosophy--care of the individual, social justice, striving for excellence and the greater good--that resonates solidly with me.  One that I can complete, living in Europe, primarily through distance learning.

I'm writing a lot, and reading even more.  That is in addition to the heavy reading and writing I do as part of my day job.  And in addition to any recreational reading (e.g. none) and writing (e.g. this blog, and not since last July) I might do.

Writing papers, writing discussion posts and responses...writing my reflections and musings (in consummate APA style, always).  I get regular compliments ("you write so well," "great 'voice,'" "you are very articulate," etc.); I like that--I like compliments.  But the writing is not gratifying in the same way as journaling, as writing from the heart.  It is writing as a means, not as an end.

My wife, on the other hand, is working on her third unpublished novel.  Her joy in writing is in the act, in the process, in the creation.  And, she has no deadlines, no due dates, and no work or school assignments consuming her finite resource.  She is writing just for herself.

She is very lucky.

Oh, she's also very good.  Search Arlee Olson on Amazon.com and you can download one of her titles to your Kindle reader, if you want to see what I mean.

I don't need readers, do I?

It occurs to me (when reading the statistics that blogger provides to blog authors) that nobody reads this. I can't say I blame them, for the sporadic and rare updates. I can't say I blame them, for the uninspired content, either.

 One of my least interesting posts had 88 reads. Some of my best--ok, it's a relative thing--maybe 2 or 3.

 I have a "real" journal that will never find its way to the Internet, where I process my thinking and emotion for my own eyes only. And, I regularly write and publish (letters, newsletters, etc.) to a specific audience (like, say the parents of students at my school, for example).

What is this blog--not private, but not really public, either--all about? It is not, as discussed in a previous post, a travelogue, as it was maybe originally intended. I don't know.

But, here it is, for whatever it's worth.

Life is good

Let's not forget that life is good.

I'm not preaching to you but to me. I've been grumpy lately. Short tempered. My wife has taken to quoting a pop song at me: "someday, I'll be living' in a big old city; all you're ever gonna be is mean." I'm not mean, really I'm not. Ask anybody. Except my family I guess. If I'm honest with myself as I reflect, yeah, well, I've been short tempered, impatient, and harsh.

 It's just that I've been getting wrapped up in my often stressful job, and the safe place to "let my guard down" is at home. That's not fair, and it's not right. What happens is I forget that opening sentence. Lose perspective in the moment.

Life is good. Here I am, in a hotel outside of Paris, gearing up for a relaxing/exciting weekend, sitting poolside enjoying a beverage, watching my family splash around. Just back from a wonderful week in Rome, which will get its own blog post. Sure there are a variety of crises and situations awaiting my return to work in a few days. Sure some of them are increasingly urgent. Sure my aforementioned "wronged" family does things (or rather, individual family members do things) that rightfully frustrate and drive me crazy. I just need to remember, and everything will be fine. More than fine.

Because life is short, and, life is good.

Saving Face(book)

I'm a little ashamed. Or, at least, a little sheepish. My Facebook friends often use status and comments to make pithy political statements, or to take strong, hard stances on social and political issues. I sometimes agree, and sometimes disagree, and sometimes have insight and argument to add to the discourse.

 In my head.

 To read a timeline (which I am repeatedly promised "is coming" by mandate, to my profile) of my (infrequent) updates and comments, you would conclude that I am a vapid, trivia-absorbed, Pollyanna with a penchant for shallow thinking.

 "It sure is cold this morning."
"I'm enjoying a beverage at the Coffeehouse."
"We are headed home from vacation; we sure had a great time."
"Happy Birthday!"
"It is nice to catch up with old friends."
"The high school football team won the championship."

 I don't post anything too controversial. To anyone.

Many of my friends take impassioned stands, posting stories, videos, comments and sometimes even rants on issues like gay marriage, NCLB, education policy in general, poverty and wealth, political positions and candidates from the far right to the far left, and whatever else finds its way across the newswire.  In the comments section, they will (most often politely) argue with one another over one or more of these topics.

Even here, where I posit more prolifically (albeit still infrequently), I play my personal position cards close to the chest.

It is not that I don't have opinions.  I have a personal stance on most issues.  All issues, in fact, if you count "neutral" as a stance.  I simply prefer to keep it that way--personal.  For me, this internet is far to public, and far too permanent a platform.  If you want to know where I stand (and I suspect most of you don't really care a whole hill of beans), come on over, let's share a beverage, and I'll give you a piece of my mind (for whatever it's worth).

Or, maybe we can just talk about the weather.

Travelogue?

At it's heart, this blog, which replaces grolsons.com ( see the previous post), is a travelogue. I have been remiss, and have not recorded anything of note, nor noted anything of record, from several trips. Mostly, I guess that has been because said trips have been rushed, and, while somewhat enjoyable, sandwiched between piles of "keeping up" with work.

While my wife can tell me what I have done, and where I have been, and how I have enjoyed it, it seems that in my own mind the trips blur together in my mind, in much the same way that my tertiary languages, Spanish and French, seem to. (if I envision my memory as a series of drawers, "trips" are in one drawer, and "words that are neither English or German" are in another.)

If I keep a journal, I can look back on what I have done, and remember. Sometimes I enjoy taking the time to do that, and other times I can't be bothered.

This itinerary is so low key, I will take time to record my thoughts, whether or not related to actual events of this trip. Events that I plan will include large swaths of time sitting poolside, sipping a beverage.

You know, maybe this is not a travelogue after all.