Remembering deprivation

Some art materials I have been collecting for my next paper quilt.

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From an article, "Overcoming procrastination" by Steve Pavlina:

Realize that procrastination is caused by associating some form of pain or unpleasantness to the task you are contemplating. The way to overcome procrastination is simply to reduce the pain and increase the pleasure you associate with beginning a task, thus allowing you to overcome inertia.

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According to the article, which I greatly recommend, we procrastinate actions for one of four reasons:

1. We believe we are being forced to do it.


2. We fail to break the overall project into manageable tasks.


3. Perfectionism: we do not allow ourselves to make errors.


4. We believe the undertaking will deprive us of pleasure.

A conversation yesterday with a friend on LJ set me thinking about what prevents me from moving forward. Procrastination is one of the most essential difficulties of my life. But telling myself to "just do it," doesn't help. Having someone else tell me is even worse. It doesn't address the underlying sense of dread. That's why I've been looking for a therapist who could help me rewrite the script inside my head. I had an inkling of what held me back, but this article has put it in clearer terms.

The primary reason I avoid doing things is number four.

I'm hearkening back to a time in my live that was utterly devoid of pleasure. I worked in an office where my abilities were overlooked and unappreciated, where everyone operated in constant crisis mode and the rewards for completing a project were practically nil. One year I spent months pulling together the annual report to donors for a charity with an budget of $95 million. I carefully consulted all the stakeholders and sought continual feedback, only to see my work eviscerated across meeting room floors. Other projects like it I would rewrite endlessly only to see them gutted again and again. It was futile trying to compromise between the agendas of various vice presidents and directors. And in the end my superiors would receive most of the credit for the completed project. My colleagues might reassure me I was good at what I did, but such approval never descended from on high. It was a stressful and thankless job.

At the same time my personal life was descending into hell. I was still in love with a wife who despised me, but my inner craving was to experience love with a man. That feeling was repeatedly crushed in the mill of fundamentalist Christian doctrine and twelve-step ideas that treated my longing as an addiction. I was bound to marriage by God and could see no hope of relief or pleasure in this life. My search for emotional fulfilment in friendship only alienated me from other Christian men, who must have seen me as needy and self-absorbed. I became increasingly marginalized and isolated in my church community.

My only hope was faith in an afterlife. That seemed like an awfully long time to defer gratification. And when fulfilment came, it would consist of standing around for all eternity singing praises to an omnipotent deity on a shining throne. It was a promise devoid of nature, sensuality and self-expression. It sounded more like hell; I might as well have been damned. Pleasure was nowhere, and never.

I have hauled myself far out of that deep crevasse. Now I have joy based on simple things: walking by the river, making music with language, spending time with my children, sharing coffee and conversation with friends, living more in my senses, recording beauty in photographs, inventing beauty with pencils and paper, snuggling up to my boyfriend, falling asleep. And guilt-free orgasms; yes, those are very nice.

My attitude toward most of the challenges of life come from a fear of deprivation, of having to abandon this oasis of pleasure and set out again across an endless desert. I look around and see many people in this society rushing madly with never a moment to savour the fragrance of a rose until they drop dead from heart attack. On the other hand I see people who are homeless or mentally incapacitated, the ones who have given up. The idea that I must live one of these empty lives is the root of my paralysis. I don't want to sell the rest of my days, hours and minutes into slavery.

I know this fear is irrational. Actually, I don't have to give anything up, the difficulty is in convincing myself to change habits and stop living according to past experience. The pain was unbearable, and my inertia is huge.

There are alternatives. The article offers some concrete cognitive tools for changing the way I approach things.

Needing extra contact tonight

It has been a remarkably productive day.

I have been feeling seriously out of shape. My favourite pair of jeans stopped fitting over the Christmas holidays and my flexibility is deteriorating badly. This afternoon I went to the gym for the first time since September.

On the way I stopped at Staples to buy a day planner, a tool I once used to considerable advantage. Pulling into the parking lot, I realized I had used planning software one year in the mid-nineties, the name of which now eludes me. If anyone can recommend some good freeware or inexpensive-ware, I would be grateful.

Inside the store I looked at a few personal organizers and decided to buy one anyway. Until I can afford a laptop, I need to be able to carry the information with me in book form. I rejected several that had daily schedules marked from 7 am to 6 pm because I'm not a morning person and my most productive period is 3 pm to 9 pm. In fact I like writing fiction even later. I also wanted lots of note space for brainstorming and fleshing out ideas. I settled on a planner from Quo Vadis, the same title I used years ago. This particular format presents a weekly calendar down the lefthand page, with hourly blocks from 8 am to 9 pm, and the righthand page is entirely open for notes.

The vinyl cover felt good in my hands. I remembered what a visual and tactile person I am—how much difficulty I have planning and remembering things in my head. I've been thwarting myself by not investing in one of these. I'm still curious about software, though.

Then to GoodLife Fitness. I enjoy lifting weights and watching other men work out. There was a short, stocky muscle daddy with a buzzed head and a blond moustache I had not seen before. The place was crowded (what did I expect at 5 pm on the second Tuesday after New Year's?) so I had trouble getting the dumbells I wanted. But I wanted to ease back into it, so I shortened all my routines anyway. For the future I'll schedule workouts earlier in the day. It's convenient having my physical peak in the middle of the morning before my mind is functional.

I couldn't get near a scale tonight, but suspect my weight is over 190 lbs. for only the second time in my life. I don't have qualms about how I look, but it is a health concern. For one thing, my cholesterol is marginally high. My brother is mildly diabetic, and Mom's blood sugar is on the verge. Mine seems to be fine, but I don't want to tempt fate. Besides I can feel the strain on my back and hips. Nothing drastic is called for: I would be content to keep my weight around 180, but my metabolism is marvellous: semi-aerobic weightlifting three times a weak is usually sufficient for me to lose weight.

The other thing I accomplished today was to set up an appointment with my GP in Toronto on Monday to see if he will refer me to a Guelph psychiatrist who has been recommended to me.

Next: a phone call to my parents is overdue. If that doesn't take too long, I'll also try Marian.

The rest of the evening will be devoted to working with paper, fabric and thread. The novel is pressing on my conscience, too, but I've wanted to do some art for days and it keeps getting deferred for other priorities. Procrastinated. It's time I gave myself the pleasure.

One difficult thing happens when I start listening to my heart this way: it brings all desires more sharply into focus. My latent libido has started blinking its drowsy eyes at me and raising its heavy head. I also crave touch, and miss my cub.