Planning and executing

Yesterday, I got on the planning horse again and attempted to ride.  All in all, I did pretty well, at least for the first day. Today, I'm doing even better.

I was on the planning horse before, recently, and wrote about the practice that I intended to follow in some blog post that I can't easily find. Or maybe I wrote it in a doc and didn't post it. Whatever. I abandoned the metaplan after a day or two. My new version of the practice is a little bit more lightweight. And I am doing a better job of keeping track of time and adding things to the plan before I do them.

The basic idea:

> Make a plan
Do what's on the plan
Don't do stuff that's not on the plan. (Add it to the plan, then do it, if you must)
Track your start and end time
Note things that you did without putting them on the plan
Review things regularly

I've now decided that whenever I log time that I will also take a moment, wake up, and put a special symbol next to the time stamp. I believe that one change will more than pay for the overhead of tracking things.

It's 1:11 right now. I will update this post at least once, at the end of the day, report how it's gone, and what I've learned.

IFS AI stranscription

My previous post describes this exercise and explains what it led to.

For the record, (without editing) here's the transcription of my AI/Trailhead exercise.

Once again, I want to be writing, and I am not. So I’m going to try using a technique that I read about in Jay Earley’s book, on IFS Therapy to see what I can do with that. I’m going to jump into it right now. I’ll go back later and explain what I am doing.

So the “Trailhead” is starting to write. And the parts that are present are:
Writer(s): at least on part that wants to write. There may be many that want to write different things
Introvert: a part that wants to stay hidden (Wow! Grief)
Mediator: a part (possibly blended with self that wants to resolve things)
Protector?: a part that wants to protect in introvert
Failure: a part that is possibly blended with introvert and considers it/my not writing to be a token of failure.

Me: no wonder I have such trouble writing. This is a very fraught area.

Me: OK, well here is the program. I want to understand all these different parts, forces, intentions, whatever you are. And I want to see if we can work something out that won’t be painful and will be productive. And we’ll just sit here until we do. I’d like it if we could find a way to deal with this for once and for good and for all. But if we can’t that’s OK. We can learn from ourselves and each other and find something for this time, and do a faster job of finding something for the next time, and so on.

Me: So is there anyone who wants to say anything

Voice: Yes. How do we manage to get anything written at all, ever?

Me: It’s an interesting question. Any thoughts?

Another: Yes. Sometimes the vulnerable parts are not so upset.

Voice: Yes, but why is that? If we could figure that out, it would help

Another: It’s a startup problem. Anticipation of the problem is the problem. Or a big part of it.

Other: Yes. I’m afraid. But if writing is actually happening, I’m not so afraid.

Another: Until it’s time to post it. Like posting this thing feels really bad.

--So we don’t have to post it.

--Yes, but not posting it seems cowardly.

--So it’s another “no win” situation?

--Yes.

--What do we do?

--Well, give ourselves permission not to post. Not for a bad reason. Just for a practical one.

--Anyone have a problem with that?

<silence>

--Anyone?

<grief>

--OK, what

--I see that as incontrovertible evidence that I am a loser, a coward, a fake. Other bad stuff.

--Wow

--Yes, there’s a very deep-rooted belief that I’m fatally flawed and I have to die because of that.

-Kind of the Star Trek computer that has to kill imperfect creatures?
--Like that

--Well you know that’s crazy, don’t you?

--I do. But the thought is there. And the fact that I think it makes me even crazier, even though I know it’s crazy. That’s a really basic problem.

<agreement>

--Yeah, there’s a whole lot of different (bad) ideas tied up in that one package.

--I think that the problem comes down to something like this: if I am X (which might be “irrational”) then I have to fix myself or die. And since I cannot fix myself, then I must die. There were times that what I wanted was to kill the physical body; but that’s irrevocable. So I need to kill something of myself.

--And that part of me wants to die. But it wants to live, too. So it becomes murder not just suicide.

--So what do we do?

--Well, we could make some new agreements

--Like what?

--Like we don’t need to consider killing anything just because something is broken.

--Yes, maybe we should take killing off the table as a solution

--But what if the pain is unberable?

--Well, we should take unbearable pain off the table, too.

--How can we do that?

--I don’t know, but it feels possible.

--I think it might not be possible for any one part to do this, but it might be possible for the community to do this

--Right. It’s possibly dangerous, but what if it’s got to be a majority decision.

--Doesn’t work. What if most parts are OK, but _I_ am in pain and want to do away with myself.

--What if there’s a rule that says that happy votes count more than unhappy ones?

--What if we agree that if a part is unhappy, the it asks for help, and if two other parts recommend that it lets go of its unhappiness for “good reasons” then it will let go of it.

--It might work. Something like that might work.

--Yes, it’s got to be a common agreement or a social norm that will have the net effect of spreading rationality through the community.

--Yes. Most of the times when I am very upset, I know that it is irrational. Or if the upset is rational, the things I think of doing are irrational. I know that. And that heads me into the “I am broken and should die” spin cycle.

--So here’s a proposed agreement. 1) If a part is upset, it asks for help. 2) If a part sees that another part it upset, it offers to help by saying “If you ask me for help, I will give it.”

--And there’s a norm that in that case, it’s really a reminder.

--It might work.

--We can try with me. I am sad. And I am asking for help.

--OK, I am going to suggest--again as a norm--that when you ask for help then at the same time you step away from your upset (if you are) so you can communicate more clearly. Not giving it up. You can go back. But if you step away you can communicate more clearly

--It’s a trick

--Sure!

--OK, I have stepped away. And..OK, not me that was upset. Something else.

--So let’s tell it: this is a safe space where you can step away from your pain. You can always go back to it, but you can step away. You have the power. (How?) We give you that power. We all agree that you have it. So you haver it.

So what I am seeing now is a layered problem. Parts can’t get rid of feelings because the feelings are not, in fact, their own. They are metafeelings.

--Yeah. Most of the upset, maybe 90% of it is upset about being upset. Upset because the upset is irrational and being upset about that.

--So OK, now I am tired. It seemed to work for sad, but not for tired.

I’m going start by holding that we have a nearly unlimited supply of energy.

Getting unstuck: community values and walk-on music

Once again I found myself having trouble getting back into the writing groove. So I sat down and did something about it using a combination of two techniques.

The first is AI. AI stands for Active Imagination. I learned about AI from Bobbi, who learned it when she was in her myth program at Pacifica. You imagine that you’re having a conversation with one or more people, write out the dialog, and use the process to explore and clarify your ideas and feelings. (My transcription of the exercise is here)

The second is the process given in Jay Earley’s book, “Self-Therapy: A Step-By-Step Guide to Creating Wholeness and Healing Your Inner Child Using IFS, A New, Cutting-Edge Psychotherapy.“ Whew!!

Internal Family Systems operates on the theory that we are less like unitary beings and more like a group of individuals—a family. Individual “parts” have their own viewpoints, values, strengths and weaknesses. The whole group interoperates as a system. Hence the name. I had been doing IFS work for a while and got Earley’s book. I read it, and…ignored it. Now, I decided to reread it and apply it.

Earley recommends that you consider what he calls a ”trailhead” experience. “…a trailhead is an experience or a difficulty in your life that will lead to interesting parts if you follow it.” My trailhead was the experience of starting to write. When I hit that trailhead I found myself unable to follow the trail.

Following Earley’s scheme, I looked for and identified the parts that appeared when I approached the trailhead. I found parts that wanted to write different things and couldn’t agree on what to write. I found an introverted part that was so uncomfortable about making anything public—that it went into grief whenever I contacted it. I found parts that were upset by the conflicts among other parts. I found were parts that tried to protect these vulnerable parts by shutting down the writing process or distracting me. If found parts that were upset by that. Writing, it turned out, was not a simple, personal process: rather it was a social or community process, balancing the interests, preferences, thoughts, and emotions of different parts.

Departing from the IFS format—which would have me get to know each of the parts and help it resolve its feelings—I led a discussion among the parts to see if we could agree on a more productive course of action.

The parts involved came to understand the dynamics the system they were part of. They saw that the system was not stable. Problems cascaded. A part would be upset. Other parts would try to suppress the upset. They would become upset if they were unsuccessful. The upset part resisted being shut down. Other parts would react to the growing conflict.

Sometimes parts realized that the conclusions that they reached individually, or the actions that they wanted to take were not rational. Yet, they’d find themselves stuck with those irrational thoughts or wanting to carry out those irrational directions anyway. Then they—or other parts—would get upset by the system’s irrational behavior, and that would amplify the existing problems.

My IFS work had taught me that all parts had good intentions; all parts were reasonable once they calmed down. My internal family was basically sound—but it was unstable.

Discussion led to creative problem-solving and a consensus viewpoint and plan. Individual members might have problems but there were always members that didn’t—and then there was me—or “self” as IFS would term it.

“We” established a community norm. If a part felt it was weak or vulnerable parts or out of control, it would ask for help. Stronger parts (and I) would always help. Instead of looking for parts that were in agreement, parts with upsets would look for viewpoints that were stable and hopeful.

So that was agreed on as a community norm.

Then a thought occurred to me (or a part suggested it. Who cares which?) Music was a stabilizing and energizing force for me. My favorite such song has been “Tumbthumping” by the group Chumbawamba.

I get knocked down, but I get up again
You’re never gonna keep me down
I get knocked down, but I get up again
You’re never gonna keep me down
I get knocked down, but I get up again
You’re never gonna keep me down
I get knocked down, but I get up again
You’re never gonna keep me down

That’s my song!

The group assembled agreed that this should be our anthem. And more.

In Major League Baseball players have “walk up songs,” played as they step to bat or for relief pitchers as they leave the warm-up area. Tubthumping would be our walk up song. When I’m ready to go to bat—sitting down to write or to program or facing some other difficult situation, I’ll play a little Tubthumping on a convenient device, or in my mind:

I get knocked down, but I get up again
You’re never gonna keep me down

​

Getting started again

After a few days away from writing, I have found it difficult to get started again. Voice typing is not a comfortable habit. Let me make that more emphatic. Voice typing is a profoundly uncomfortable habit. It's tough.

Voice typing isn't like thinking out loud. And it's not like having a conversation. My thinking is private.  Voice typing, even with no one around is a public act, not a private one. A conversation is a public act with someone who is encouraging and contributing. Voice typing is like talking into a void. The void does not encourage me.

Perhaps I could imagine an audience? Maybe that would assign a different meaning to my speaking? Perhaps I could pretend that I was talking to a close friend? Maybe I can picture my friend welcoming what I have to say. But right now I am not imagining anyone listening. I am just talking. And uncomfortable.

This feels sad. But I am getting words out. So that's good.

I know I have choices. I can try to get rid of this discomfort by giving up. Of course, that will replace this discomfort with a different kind of discomfort. That sucks.

Can I change the meaning to the discomfort?  What if I tell myself that my discomfort is noble? What if I tell myself that my discomfort is brave? That my discomfort is a sign of strength? That every moment of discomfort, large, or small, is a kind of victory

Could I tell myself that by making myself uncomfortable that I am transforming myself? What if I say that this discomfort is changing me into the person I wish to become? What I tell myself (and believe) that this is the price that anyone must pay when they want to achieve what I want to achieve? What if I tell myself there's only one way to move from where I am to where I want to be and that way leads through discomfort? What if I tell myself there are no shortcuts? What if I repeatedly tell myself this is the only way?

What if I tell myself that the less comfortable I am the better it is for me? What if I take a moment and show myself appreciation for the discomfort that I have just been experiencing? What if I tell myself that my future self will revere me for the effort that I have made in facing my discomfort and doing what my future self would have wanted me to do?

What if I realize that  I am now the future self of the past self that wrote that? What if,  as that future self, I say to my past self, my recent past self, how grateful I am?

What if, instead of just saying these things, free of affect, I do one of these things?

I will stop up here. I did accomplish one of my purposes. I got myself unstuck. It took a rambling rant at 2:00 AM to do it. And now it's the morning. I've read this. It's a little embarrassing. But better a little embarrassed and something posted than nothing posted.

So I will post it.

It’s a start.

Let’s see if I can keep it going.

Outlastling discomfort

The last debugging post was helpful, but not definitively so. It helped write itself. The momentum stayed for one more post and then, once again, I unraveled. Collapsed.

So I need to expand my vision of what succeeding looks like. Succeeding includes difficulty. Followed by debugging.

 So, it is debug time.

What’s going on?

I’d like writing to feel good. And sometimes it does. But the good feelings are not stable and discomfort seems to be. Discomfort leads to distraction and avoidance. Then no writing. Unravelling.

I need to create a new game--called getting comfortable with discomfort.

Step one:  find something I want to do.

Step two:  sit down ready to start.

Step three: wait until I am comfortable. Then do my productive thing.

Getting comfortable might take a little while. It might take a long while. It doesn't matter. The new game is to sit, despite the discomfort, then outlast the discomfort, then start.

The discomfort does not want to persist, but I want to create. I am motivated to succeed. It is not. I will win.

So, that is what I have been doing with this post. Every time I have felt uncomfortable, I have stopped and waited until I have felt comfortable again. I have not walked away. I have not given up. I have not done the usual thing.

I am not avoiding discomfort. I am not fighting my way through the discomfort. I am I really willing to experience the discomfort.  And I am simply waiting for it to leave.

In the past, I have tried to own “my” discomfort. I have tried to fight it. I am not going to continue doing those things. I am not the source of the discomfort. I feel it, but I am not its creator.

When I sit down to write, I sit down with joy and anticipation. If something uncomfortable sits down with me,  I will wait for it to leave.

Let’s see if that sticks. If not, I will try something else.

 Difficulty is always followed by debugging. That's what succeeding looks like.

Debugging the writing process

After spending a day designing and visualizing my ideal writing process, and another day preparing to go crazy, writing, I find myself paralyzed. I had taken all the tabs that I had open on all of my devices and transferred them to my drafting document per the designed process. And now that I'm faced with the task of actually doing something. I'm paralyzed.

Or at least I was. Obviously I've got myself beyond paralysis. Words are appearing on my screen as I speak them. Yay!

But something is missing. There's no affect here. So, it's back to the drawing board.

What's missing is enthusiasm. I'm writing this out of a sense of obligation, not out of a sense of mission or purpose.  How do I create enthusiasm where is there is none?

Worse, it's not just a lack of enthusiasm. It's sadness. Depression. And worse.

I ask myself what's behind those feelings, and I get this answer:  a certainty that I am going to fail. The pattern will repeat itself. Parts of me are full of enthusiasm. They are undaunted. Like the Phoenix, they will always Rise From the Ashes of failures and they know that.

These are parts of me that have the ethos of the scientist. For a scientist, there are no failures. Every experiment, whether it confirms or fails to confirm a hypothesis, advances knowledge. That is what a scientist cares about. And that makes every experiment a success.

But there are other parts of me for which failure is not just a possibility, but a certainty. For them, everything ends in failure. Success may appear along the way. But continue long enough, and the result is inevitable. Failure.

The newest plan for writing may last for a day or a week or a month, but sooner or later I will stop writing. That is history's lesson. And that brings sadness and apathy.

The parts of me that fear that eventuality do not consider the fact that on the route to failure there will be successes. They do not consider that before I stop writing, I will have done some effective writing. They don't take into account that I will have created things that did not previously exist. That's not how they do the math. Their accounting does not consider these things. Only that ultimately I will have failed.

So it is the anticipation of that eventual, inevitable failure that forbids enthusiasm.

Now that I see this, I realize it does not have to be that way. I, or the parts of me that are enthusiastic, hopeful experimenters, artists, and scientists, can speak to the parts of me that are immature, perfectionistic, and certain of ultimate doom. I/we can comfort them, assuage their fears, and keep the system moving forward.

So that is today's modification to the writing process. When I sit down to write I recognize that it is not an individual who sits, but a community of mind. I need to make sure that every internal view point--every member of that community--knows that it has a right to be heard and that if it has fears or concerns that there are others ready to help.

And once I am in what I will call the “ ready state”  it's time to start writing.

So that's today's revision to the writing process.

Preparation for writing. Ready state. Show up. Pay attention to the other parts. And then, when ready, write.

As I have done.

What succeeding looks like

I have some writing goals that I meet in bursts, only to fall back.

A few days ago I realized that I did not have a clear vision of the process for reaching my writing goals. (Or any other ones. But let’s talk about writing.) I knew what the end result looks like, but I have never visualized what it looks like to get there. So if I get there, it’s kind of an accident.

I had visualized success, but not succeeding.

Imagine trying to win at basketball by imagining the score: I’ve scored 120 points, my opponents have scored 110. Yay. I win!

That’s a success image. And it’s good to have it. But there’s nothing in that image to guide me toward my goal. Nothing to make me win consistently.

Would it help if I imagined making baskets? Sure. Better than just imagining the score, but not nearly enough.

Someone who succeeds at basketball needs to imagine plays and moves; needs to imagine obstacles and opponents; needs to know how to deal with them if they appear.

And of course, they need to practice.

But without a picture in your head of what succeeding looks like, practice will not get you there. There’s nothing to compare with your practice.

So I’m going to visualize what succeeding at writing looks like, starting—in this post—with the two most common cases. Case 1: I discover something interesting on the Internet—which I do all the time. Case 2: I have an interesting idea—which I do all the time. How do I get from there to a completed post? What does succeeding look like?

Let’s start with finding the Interesting Thing.

As soon as I decide it’s interesting enough to write about, I stop. I copy its URL. Then I open Google Docs document in which I write drafts. I call it the Drafting Doc. On my mobile devices, there’s a link to it from my home screen. On desktop devices, it’s likely already open in a tab. If not, I can open it from a bookmark. It’s my browser’s first bookmark.

I use Google’s Voice Dictation to help me. It works on mobile and on the desktop. I go to the end of the document and say or type the title of the post. I change the typeface to make it Heading 1. I paste the URL just below the title. If at all possible I continue and I don’t quit until the post is done.

If not, I document why I could not finish it right then. There’s a special section in my Drafting Doc for this.

If I can continue, I speak my draft content. It turns out that I can speak pretty quietly on a mobile device and Google will transcribe it really well. If I make an error on a mobile device, I can say it again and remove the error later in the process.

I can flip back and forth between my draft and the Interesting Thing.

If there’s a term that I want to link to some other content, I’ll create a placeholder: I put square brackets around the term and follow it with open and closed parenthesis, Markdown style. The result looks something like this. I avoid doing open-ended research.

Now I have a complete (shitty) first draft

Next step: turn my draft into a post. To do that I need to be on a device with a keyboard. First, I go through the draft, fixing anything that’s obviously stupid, replacing placeholders with actual links. I avoid doing more research. If I catch myself doing more than grabbing a link, I create a new section the Drafting Doc, make a note, copy a URL if appropriate, and start back finishing it what I started to finish.

Now I have an (unshitty) second draft.

I select and copy the draft. I choose where I’ll post it. At the top of my drafting document is a list of links to the URLs of the blogs and other media where I might want to put a draft. Stuff about programming goes to Awesome Tools. Stuff about blogging goes to Mike’s Metablog. There’s a set of hard-to-categorize posts that will go to 70 Years Old WTF. If I take more than a second to decide where to send a post it goes to Random S*&# I Learned Today, aka rsilt.

Now I use Grammarly to fix spelling and grammar errors.

I convert from Markdown to the final text.

Now I am on the final pass.

I read the document aloud or sotto voce. I fix anything that comes up. I do not go back and rewrite. If I find myself tempted to go back and rewrite, I stop. I stop dead. I do not go back and rewrite. I have a discussion with myself and try to convince myself that rewriting is a bad idea. I discuss it until I’m either convinced it’s a bad idea, or I’m convinced that it’s a good one. Usually, it’s a bad idea.

Now I have a publishable draft. Yay!

I publish. I used to get hung up here, trying to decide whether to publicize a post and if so, where to publicize it. This stops the flow. My simple answer for now: publish, don’t publicize. I will revisit that decision in August with my consultant, Mira.

Once I’ve published it, I get the URL of the published post. I switch back to the Google Doc where I did the drafting. The content the draft is still there, maybe still highlighted. I delete the draft. I enter a placeholder for the post like this: [show it](). I paste in the link in the parentheses. I switch to the post, copy its title, switch back to the document, and paste the title between the square brackets.

Done.

That’s the basic game plan. There are some special cases, but I will save them for another post

How about the Bright Idea? Close to the same. Start with the Drafting Doc. Create a new section. Do some research if it’s called for, and paste the URLs into the draft. The rest follows the Basic Game Plan.

Next up: read this, and publish it.

​