Restlessness

Most would agree that human beings seem to be hardwired to seek happiness.  It appears to be an innate impulse (although in reality, it is impossible to say whether the first humans displayed this tendency).  Whether instinctual or acquired, the pursuit of happiness is practically universal among humans of the modern era.  In today's world, almost everything we do is in some way motivated by our desire to lead lives that are both happy and fulfilled.

Unfortunately, for many of us, happiness can be quite elusive.  This is especially true in Western cultures.  Modern Western societies tend to be obsessed with doing, achieving, and posessing.  We look for happiness in external activties, concrete achievements, and material posessions.  Unfortunately, evidence suggests that living this way does not make people happy.  Instead, it breeds malaise, discontent, and chronic feelings of restlessness.

Restlessness is propelled by a desire to be somewhere other than here, doing something other than the activity in which you are currently engaged.  It is a state characterized by unease and agitation. 

When people seek happiness from external sources, restlessness is the inevitable result.  When we believe happiness exists out there in the world then that is where we search for it.  We identify something we think will bring happiness and we set about trying to achieve or obtain it.  When we get it, we initially experience intense feelings of pride, satisfaction, and pleasure.  "Now," we say to ourselves.  "Now I can be happy." 

Unfortunately, our pleasure is always short-lived.  Once the novelty wears off, we realize that we feel no differently than we did before.  The thing we wanted so badly has not brought us happiness.  We feel restless, so we begin to search for something else we believe will make us happy.  The cycle continues. 

Restlessness is not a particularly comfortable feelilng, especially when it becomes a daily presence in our lives.  The natural reaction to something unpleasant is to try to get rid of it.  Restlessness is alleviated by movement.  We seek happiness, come up short, and move on to look for it somewhere else.  Perhaps we leave our spouse or begin a new romance.  Maybe we quit our job, sell our home, or move to a new city.  Or we might get a new haircut, buy a new wardrobe, and adopt a new look.  We're restless so we move, however we choose to do it. 

We look outside of ourselves for happiness; we will never find it there and so will always feel restless.  All humans have the drive to seek happiness; our restlessness spurs us to continue on this quest.

Our quest becomes much easier if we look in the right place.  Happiness comes from within...

Of course that's a bit cliche', is it not?  It's all well and good to say that happiness comes from within, but what does that mean exactly?

The first thing we have to do is stop moving.  In her article "Boredom - The Gateway to Peace," Joan Brooks explains that we must learn to do nothing.  Westerners tend to feel compelled to always be doing something.  If we remain idle for too long, we begin thinking about all the things we could, should, or would rather be doing.  There is no stillness because we don't pause long enough for our minds and our bodies to settle.  As soon as we feel bored or restless, we're on the go again.  Brooks suggests that instead of bolting into action when restlessness arises, we "need to slow down and find some peace and serenity."  This will undoubtedly be quite difficult to do, at least initially.  Over time, however, we learn to sit with our feelings, without trying to change them.  Eventually, we learn to let go, relax, and just be.

Time poverty

When my husband and I first got engaged, I had an opportunity to get a second job.  It was a good opportunity -- the pay was good and we needed the money -- but I didn't really want to work two jobs.  I didn't like the idea of leaving one job at the end of the day and driving straight to another one.  My husband, however, thought I should do it.  "Think of all the extra money!" he said.  He made a compelling argument and I was eventually persuaded to his point of view. 

I was miserable as soon as I started the job.  I always felt rushed, like I never had time to do the things I wanted to do.  I was constantly stressed out and was often irritable.  I ended up quitting after about a month.

Did my second job really consume so much of my time that there was none leftover for me to do the things I felt were important?  I honestly don't know.  What's important is that I felt like I didn't have enough time to do the things that were important to me.  My perception was what mattered.

The mistake I made (i.e., taking a second job I knew I didn't want) is a common one: I bought into the belief that money is more valuable than time.  Ours is a fast-paced society.  We are always in a hurry and there is never enough time in the day to accomplish all the things that need to be done.  Studies in both the U.K. and the U.S. have found that while a typical adult has about five to seven more hours of leisure time compared to thirty years ago, people today  feel like they have less time to engage in meaningful activities than they did back then. 

If we have more free time than ever before, why do we still feel so rushed?

As it turns out, I'm not the first person to ask this question.  And there's actually a name for feeling like there's never enough time: it's called time poverty.  Time poverty is an inevitable outcome of living in a world that never slows down.  Some suggest that it's tied to the competitive nature of Western (and especially American) society.  Culturally, we have embraced the idea that success is measured by material wealth and tangible achievements.  For this reason, we attribute more significance to a prestigious job title than to the nature of our relationships with family and friends.  We want to be successful so we constantly strive to "get ahead."  (The irony is that no matter how far you get ahead it will never be far enough to make you happy.  True happiness doesn't come from getting ahead or even from being successful).  We fill our schedules with activities that reflect the value we place on material gain and personal achievement.  Unfortunately, these are typically not activities we find to be meaningful or personally fulfilling.  Still, they consume the bulk of our time, often at the expense of activities that we do find intrinsically rewarding.

So what can we do about it?  We can't exactly get off the boat while life sails past us at breakneck speed.  Dr. Stephan Rechtschaffen believes he has a solution.  He calls his strategy "timeshifting."  According to Dr. Rechtschaffen, the problem with living in a fast-paced world is that we never switch gears.  There are times, he acknowledges, when we need to move quickly.  At other times, however, we need to slow down and be present.

Sound familiar?  Dr. Rechtschaffen is basically telling us that the way to create balance in our lives is to incorporate periods of mindfulness.  He assures us that we don't have to take time out of our already hectic schedules to integrate mindfulness practice into our day.  All we need to do is pick a mundane task and make a conscious effort to bring our full attention to the activity.

How do we spend our time?

I recently read an article about making the most of your weekends that really struck a nerve.  We're always complaining that the weekend is too short.  It certainly seems that way!  There never seems to be enough time to do the things we really want to do.  If, however, we are truly honest with ourselves, most of us would have to admit that we don't make the best use of the time we do have.  For example, we don't have to spend Friday night in front of the television.  Sure, we have plenty of legitimate excuses for doing just that -- we're tired from a long work week, we deserve a break from our constant commitments, we need some time to ourselves, etc.  All of these things are probably true and if you feel strongly about your Friday night television time then have it, by all means.  But if you decide to use your time this way, you are not in a position to later lament that you haven't seen your friends in months becaue you "haven't had the time."  Nor can you honestly say that the reason you haven't had a quiet night alone with your significant other in so long is because you're both "extremely busy."  Furthermore, you are being less than truthful when you tell your parents that the reason you haven't come to visit (or called) in so long is because you've been so busy with work and other responsibilities.

I'm as guilty as anyone of making excuses for not getting around to things I claim are important to me.  It's human nature.  Our behavior at a given point in time is strongly influenced by - among other things - how we feel at that particular moment.  That is why, despite our best intentions, so many of us never make it to the gym after work, put off projects until the last possible minute, or knowingly do something we're sure to regret later.  So while spending time with our friends and family is important to us, it is often overshadowed by our emotional impulses.  "I know I should spend some time with so-and-so," we tell ourselves.  "But I'm just so tired.  The only thing I feel like doing right now is sitting here on the couch."

Most of us know that time is a precious (and nonrenewable) resource.  Still, most of us squander our time as if it were of no value at all.  Ilona Boniwell conducted a study on how people use their time.  She discovered that while most people do not see watching television as a meaningful activity, they still spend a significant amount of time doing it, to the tune of about fourteen hours per week.  I imagine we'll begin to see similar studies about how much time we spend online. 

I've often pointed out that no one on their deathbed says, "I wish I'd spent more time at work" or "I wish I'd spent more time watching t.v."  I think about this whenever I'm tempted to turn down an invitation to get together with my friends or family.  Sure, I might be tired, but I can always go to bed early another night.  When I'm at the end of my life looking back, will I say, "I wish I'd gotten more sleep?"  Probably not.

Hostility

I used to work in a residential treatment center for teenage boys.  It wasn't all that uncommon for one of the boys to get angry at me or to become hostile.  There was one resident in particular who used to threaten to kill me everytime I did or said something to upset him.  Eventually, I learned what made him angry.  I avoided doing these things whenever possible but some things were unavoidable.  I didn't take it personally.  It was my job to give him bad news.  If it had been someone else's job, he would've threatened to kill them instead.  It was just his way of reacting to things he didn't want to hear.
I was pretty thick skinned back then.  I had to be in order to survive in that setting.  I worked there for three years.  After I left, I started working as an outpatient therapist.  One of the things I found most refreshing about outpatient therapy was how my patients treated me.  They were appreciative!  During the entire three years I worked as a residential therapist there were only two - two - boys who thanked me for helping them.  As an outpatient therapist, there were at least two patients who expressed appreciation to me in the first week.  The difference was that my therapy patients actually wanted my help; most of the boys I worked with before were only there because they had to be. 

Looking back, my years as a residential therapist were a valuable learning experience.  I not only grew as a clinician during that time; I grew as a person.  I learned to set limits, to be consistent, and to maintain clearly delineated boundaries.  I learned how to let go of wounded feelings out of necessity; I couldn't refuse to work with a resident just because he said or did something to me that was cruel or hurtful.  I left that job a better person than when I started.  I assumed these were permanent changes and that the things I learned there would stay with me forever.

But time can make you forget.  I've grown accustomed to patients treating me with kindness and respect.  That's not to say that my interactions with patients are always cheerful or pleasant; they're not.  Still, I rarely - if ever- encounter the level of hostility I used to get from some of the boys at the residential center.  I guess that's why I was a bit taken aback last week when a patient became hostile during a group therapy session. 

I really didn't know how to respond.  Group therapy has always been a struggle for me anyway; I intentionally avoided doing therapy groups for about three years because talking in front of a big group of people makes me feel self-conscious and uncomfortable.  On top of that, a couple of weeks ago my supervisor asked me to sit in on some of the groups run by other clinicians.  Our clinic asks therapy group members to complete anonymous feedback forms; it seems my groups haven't been getting rave reviews.  The hope is that by observing other clinicians' groups, maybe I'll learn something that will help me become a better therapist. 

Suffice it to say, group therapy is not my forte.  Then, out of the blue, one of the group members blows up on me.  I expected him to walk out when he was done yelling.  I was kind of disappointed when he didn't.  The entire group fell silent; no one said a word.  (I guess I wasn't the only one who didn't know how to respond).  After a long period of silence, I looked up at the clock.  "Well," I said pleasantly.  "It's a little early, but we'll go ahead and wrap it up for today.  Thanks everyone."  With that, I stood up and went back to my office.

It occurs to me as I write this that maybe it's not the hostility that upset me after all.  It is what I thought initially, but writing this has helped me to sort out my thoughts.  I think the incident felt sort of like a confirmation of how bad I am at group therapy.  It's sort of disheartening.  I'd resisted doing groups for a long time.  Still, when I couldn't get out of doing them anymore, it turns out that it wasn't as bad as I'd thought.  But perhaps I was wrong about that.

Why people have kids

I've often wondered why so many people decide to have children.  That's not to say I don't want one myself -- I do.  It's just that if you asked me why, I'd find it hard to articulate. 

It seems like the logical choice for most people would be not to have children.  For one thing, raising a child is extremely expensive - about $235,000 from birth to high school graduation, according to the most recent estimate.  Children are also a lot of work.  The time parents spend caring for a child is time not spent engaging in hobbies, self-care, or other enjoyable activities.  Having a child shifts a couple's attention away from their relationship with each other, often causing them to neglect it altogether. 

Child rearing is a thankless job.  It is a rare child indeed who appreciates all the things her parents do for her.  Sure, she might come to appreciate it once she becomes an adult, but this is not guaranteed.  Nothing, in fact, is guaranteed when raising a child.  It is one of the riskiest investments a person can make;  it requires a huge commitment of time, energy, and resources up front with few short term returns and only the possibility of long term returns.

Some may argue that children bring immesuarable happiness into the lives of their parents.  While this may be true, evidence suggests that people with children are no happier overall than people without them.  Some studies even show that parents report lower levels of happiness than non-parents.  Given all the costs associated with raising a child -  and if children don't bring joy to our lives - then why are so many of us eager to become parents?

This is not a question we often ask ourselves.  Having children is almost a given, part of a list of things we are "supposed" to do in life.  Any newlywed couple will tell you that the questions about having children start almost as soon as the cake is cut (and sometimes before).  A couple's desire to have children is assumed.

To Chrstine Overall, author of Why Have Children? The Ethical Debate, this seems counterintuitive.  Why, she wonders, are people expected to give reasons for not wanting to have children but are not asked to explain why they want to have children?  No one, she points out, says to a proud new parent, "Why did you decide to have this child?"  The decision to procreate is the "default" option; if you want to "opt out," you have to explain why. 

The decision to have a child, Overall argues, is an ethical one.  There are both good and bad reasons for choosing to procreate.  We have an ethical obligation to consider these issues, both as individuals and as a society.  "...The burden of justification," she argues, "should...rest primarily on those who choose to have children, not on those who choose to be childless." (For more, check out Christine Overall's New York Times post, "Think Before You Breed" at http://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2012/06/17/think-before-you-breed/). 











Overall's stance is, in my opinion, a moderate one.  She asks us to examine our reasons for wanting a child before deciding to procreate.  In his article, "Is There a Moral Obligation to Have Children," Saul Smilansky makes the more extreme argument that, at least in "first world" countries, most people have an ethical obligation to procreate.  While I disagree with his central premise, he does provide some compelling reasons in favor of deciding to have children.  Smilansky believes that children bring value to the world and to the lives of their parents.  He reasons that if people are inherently valuable then creating a new person amounts to creating value.  He also points to interpersonal relationships as "one of the major sources of value in the world."  There is an emotional attachment between a parent and child that does not exist in any other relationship.

Smilansky also see parenting a an unparalleled avenue for personal growth.  Through being a parent, a person becomes less self-centered and more focused on the needs of another.  Parenting sometimes requires a person to sacrifice his own personal wants and needs for those of his children.  A good parents learns to do this without becoming bitter or resentful.  Parenting teaches a person to give without expecting anything in return.

Smilansky goes on to talk about parenting as a moral obligation to society as a whole.  He points out that not having children places a greater burden on the children who are brought into the world, as they will ultimately be the ones supporting the economy and providing for society's care and services.  He also sees having children as a familial obligation in the form of passing on our genes (and the traits associated with them).  I find these arguments less compelling, perhaps because I am less interested in the implications of procreating on society and am more interested in the decision to procreate (or not) on a personal level.

I do believe that people should think seriously about why they do or do not want to have children before making a decision one way or another.

For those of your who have or want to have a child or children, what were/are your most compelling reasons? For those who have decided not to have children (or who are leaning in that direction), what reasons led you to your decision?

Making the best of a bad situation

My parents started planning a big family trip to Disney World last summer.  They traded their Virginia Beach timeshare for one in Orlando.  My mom managed to get reservations at Cinderella's Royal Table.  (For those  who, like me, know nothing about such things, Cinderella's Royal Table is an outrageously overpriced restaurant located in Cinderella's Castle at the center of the Magic Kingdom.  What makes it so exciting for the kids is that the Disney Princesses come up to your table while you eat.  For little girls under the age of 10, this is better than meeting a pop star).  Last Sunday, nine of us (my parents, me, my husband and stepdaughter, my older sister, my brother-in-law, and my two nieces) piled into two cars and made the twelve hour drive from Virginia to Orlando, FL.  About halfway into Georgia, we ran into some really heavy rain.  We weren't particularly concerned; it's not that unusual to run into rain on a long trip.  We figured we'd pass through it and back into sunshine.  We weren't all that concerned when it kept raining all the way to Orlando.  We assumed it was just a summer storm.

We didn't start to worry until we got settled in at the hotel and turned on the television.  That's when we learned that Tropical Storm Debby was stalled off of Florida's Gulf Coast.


Because the storm was basically stationary, it was projected to hang out in the Gulf for a few days and continue dumping rain on most of the state of Florida.

Forecasts called for wind and rain the entire week. My heart sank.  We'd been planning this trip for a year and now Tropical Storm Debby was going to ruin it.  I had images of the kids staring bleakly out the window at a torrential downpour of rain, crying over their shattered dreams of Disney World.

We awoke Monday morning to dark skies and relentless downpours.  I was surprised when my parents, my sister, and my brother-in-law pulled out rain ponchos for themselves and the kids.  Someone threw a poncho at me.  "Here, this one looks like it'll fit you."

I shrugged and put the poncho on.  I said nothing but thought to myself, "I can't believe we're going to Disney World in this weather."  I imagined we'd all be soaked to the bone and miserable within an hour.

In the end, it seems that I was the only one who expected Tropical Storm Debby to ruin our vacation.  Everyone else accepted the situation and adapted.  Nobody complained, not even the kids.  (I think the kids actually liked the rain.  We had to tell them more than once to stop jumping in puddles and splashing water all over everyone within a ten foot radius).  I felt a surge of pride when I looked around at all of us in our ponchos, standing in line for the Thunder Mountain Railroad as the storm raged on.  I felt it again when we all donned our ponchos and danced in the rain along with the Disney World "cast members" at the Street Party. We stayed at Disney World all day Monday.  We did it again on Tuesday.  On Wednesday, our luck changed.  Maybe fate smiled on us.  My sister said she prayed about it, so maybe it was divine intervention.  Whatever, the reason, it finally stopped raining.

Life and death

What is the meaning of life?  Why are we here?  These are questions that humankind has asked again and again for thousands of years.  Of course there is no definitive answer; how could there be?  Still, almost every human being ponders these questions at some point in their lives.  Underlying our desire to assign meaning to our existence is the everpresent knowledge of our own mortality.  Perhaps it is because our lives are finite that we pursue our quest for meaning with such urgency.  Some would even argue that it is death that makes life meaningful.

I understand how an argument could be made for this idea.  Life is more precious to us because we know it will not last forever.  We cherish our time on earth more because we know it is limited. This is why people who have endured a life threatening ordeal and survived oftten gain a new appreciation for life; they realize with renewed clarity how quickly it can all end. 

While the certainty of eventual death makes life more meaningful for us, it also tends to generate a significant amount of fear and anxiety.  There are, of course, people who have no fear of death, but they do not represent the majority.  Most of us are at the very least uncomfortable with death; some of us are terrified of it.  Which brings me to a question I've been considering a lot lately: How do we cope with the reality of death? 

I have periodically struggled with this question for many years.  Death scares me.  The prospect of losing the people I love scares me.  The knowledge that I will someday die scares me.  Every time I try to think about death -- to come to terms with it -- I become deeply depressed.  I typically spend a few days struggling to sort out my thoughts and feelings.  (Although on one occasion I spent a whole semester doing this.  I was taking a class called "On Death and Dying."  9/11 happened that semester too.  It was probably the most depressing semester I ever spent in college).  Eventually, I decide that it's probably best for me to stop thinking about it; if I remain in despair for too long I fear I will find it difficult to get out.  I see no benefit in allowing myself to become depressed.  Unfortunately, I am never able to make sense of it all; I simply push all thoughts of death from my mind and throw myself into the business of living life.

So how do we live with the knowledge that we - along with everyone we love - will die?  I think most people do what I eventually do whenever thoughts about death arise; they try not to think about it.  There comes a point for all of us, however, when we are forced to think about death.  It might happen when a loved one dies, either unexpectedly or after a long illness.  It might happen when we (or someone we love) are diagnosed with a terminal illness.  It might not happen until we are very old and at the end of our lives.  Whenever it happens, we will be forced to confront the thoughts and feelings we have been avoiding; it is inevitable.  I believe, when the time comes, it is easier for people to "come to terms" with death if they have a head start. 

Dr. Paul Wong (http://www.drpaulwong.com/) is sort of the guru of "death psychology."   Among his many roles, he is the president of the International Network on Personal Meaning (http://www.meaning.ca/) and of the International Society for Existential Psychology and Psychotherapy (http://www.existentialpsychology.org/). Dr. Wong believes that the best way to accept death is to live a meaningful life.  He and his colleagues have developed something they call the "meaning management model."  He asserts that, "Meaning management may be the only effective psychological model that protects us against loss and death." 

Dr. Wong believes that every experience has the potential to be meaningful, including death.  The path to a meaningful death, he says, begins with examining our values, determining what is important to us, and then consciously engaging in activities that embody these values.  In other words, we prioritize the things in our life we find the most meaningful.  We stop making excuses for why we can't get around to doing whatever it is we claim is so important to us.  We make spending time with those we love a priority.  We invest time and effort into identifying and fulfilling our "purpose" in life.  We live with the awareness that tomorrow is not guaranteed. If something is truly important to us, we never put it off 'til the future because the future may never come. 

Wong's meaning management model also includes a significant spiritual component.  I plan to do more research on meaning management theory; look for it in future blog posts. 

According to Wong, when we live without regrets, we confront death with the same attitude.  We are able to face death with faith and to embrace it "with...courage and an undying hope." 

I am interested in Wong's ideas about how to come to terms with death.  My hope is that his meaning management model might offer a path for me to sort out my own fears; if so, I suspect I will grow as a person in the process.

Stress response

It seems like most of the literature on stress management focuses primarily on ways a person can better tolerate stress or on how to relax when stress becomes overwhelming.  The implicit assumption is that the presence of multiple external stressors is inevitable.  Given its inevitable presence in our lives, we are best served by learning to respond to stress in a healthy and adaptive manner.

I agree that we can all benefit from learning to regulate our response to stress.  Many of us react to external stressors in ways that create more stress, thereby exacerbating the problem.  A lot of us fail to make time to relax or to engage in activities we enjoy.  When we neglect to care for ourselves, our ability to tolerate distress and anxiety decreases.  (In other words, we can tolerate higher levels of stress if we take care of ourselves physically and mentally). 

What appears to be missing from the literature is an acknowledgement that there are innate differences in how people react to stress (and in how much stress people can tolerate before becoming overwhelmed).

We all know people who perfrom best when under pressure.  Among these people are those who seem to have difficulty performing unless they are under pressure.  Often, these are the people who procrastinate until the last possible moment.  It is not until the deadline looms ominously before them that they are stirred to action.  The pressure seems to motivate them like nothing else can; they thrive on it.

Then there are those who fall apart when faced with even the smallest stressor.  A slight change of plans can ruin their day.  Interruptions in their normal routine create excessive anxiety.  These are people who become overwhelmed fairly easily. 

These are mostly innate differences, largely attributable to variations in temperament.  Those who thrive under pressure can learn to stop putting things off to the last minute.  Still, they will probably always have the urge to put things off, even if they push themselves to do otherwise.  Those who become anxious at the drop of a hat can learn to cope with stress more effectively.  Still, they will probably always experience some degree of anxiety under stress, even after they learn to manage it in healthy ways. 

I personally tend to have a strong, negative emotional response to stress.  Any kind of stress makes me anxious.  When I'm feeling stressed out, I often have trouble concentrating because I can't stop thinking about whatever it is that is stressing me out.  I devote a significant amount of emotional energy to feeling anxious and thus become irritable or frustrated with very little provocation.  My overall energy level plummets.  I've always had this reaction to stress, even as a child. 

Over time, I have learned to structure my life so that certain times are designated for carrying out various obligations.  This ensures that everything I need to do gets done in a timely manner.  It also means I don't have to spend additional time worrying about what needs to be done or about finding time to do it. I've learned to challenge the catastrophic (or otherwise unreasonable) thoughts that have a tendency to arise when I'm feeling stressed out.  I have improved my ability to tolerate stress and anxiety so that I can continue to function effectively when these feelings are present. 

While I can cope with my negative emotional response to stress [i.e., anxiety], I cannot seem to prevent myself from having the response; it happens automatically.  I could get angry at myself for this but that would only make things worse.  Instead, I've learned to accept myself as I am.  This means accepting my overly-anxious tendencies without judgment.  "Ok, so I'm anxious," I tell myself.  "I know I'll feel better once I'm not so stressed out.  I just need to do the best I can until then."

Do you love your job?

It's funny how sometimes a casual conversation with an acquaintance can reveal to a person things he didn't know about himself.  Or how an offhand comment can pique a person's interest and lead to self-examination. 

Something like this happened to me the other night.  A close friend had organized a "girls' night out" at a local wine tasting room.  This friend has a pretty extensive network of friends.  (I often wonder how she manages to keep up with them all).  When she arranges an outing, she typically invites several of her closest girlfriends, myself included.  Last weekend, the group consisted of me, another close friend of mine, the friend who planned the get together, and two of her close friends who I've met before but don't know all that well.

While talking with one of the girls I'd met only two or three times before, we discovered that we actually work in the same building.  Naturally, this led to a conversation about what we do for a living.  She seemed intrigued when I told her that I am a psychotherapist.  A few minutes into the conversation she asked me, "So, do you absolutely love your job?" 

"No," I replied without hesitation.  As soon as I said it I felt compelled to elaborate.  "Don't get my wrong," I rushed to add.  "I don't hate my job.  I'm proud of what I do.  It gives me a sense of satisfaction and fulfillment.  I just don't love it..." 

I wasn't sure how else to explain it.  Maybe it's because I really don't understand it myself.  Most of my colleagues seem to get pleasure from their work.  There are even a few who seem excited by it.  Why don't I feel that way? 

I thought about it for a few days.  Ultimately, I began to ponder a quite different and perhaps more basic question: Who says we're supposed to love our jobs?  I mean, here I am thinking something is wrong with me because I don't love my job, despite the fact that I find it meaningful and satisfying.  But who says lacking passion for one's work is pathological?  Yes, there are people who love what they do for a living but there are also a lot of people who don't.  Why is one group considered "normal" while the other is assumed to have problems?

Being passionate about your work is one of the pillars of the broader self help movement here in America.  It seems like everywhere you turn these days there is some self-help book, magazine cover, talk show host, or website offering advice on how to "love your job" or "find your passion."  If you're not doing what you love for a living then you're not being true to yourself, they tell us.  We are encouraged to "quit your job and discover your passion."  Messages like these are so prevalent that even employers have bought into it.  They want to hire employees who are "passionate about the job."  The assumption is that a passionate worker is a good worker; those lacking passion need not apply.  Once merely a desirable quality, passion is fast becoming a basic job requirement.  Americans now see passion as a prerequisite for success.
Yves Smith talks about this in her article "The Case Against Passion."  She believes the whole idea that work should be driven by passion is misguided.  American society has embraced the belief that the true path to happiness lies in "following your dreams."  Those of us who feel anything less than passionate about our jobs are told that we're missing out.  We are encouraged to go off in pursuit of "something more," to search until we find our passion.  Only then will we know true contentment.

I wonder, though, how many of us "non-passionate" people felt fine until we were told we should feel passionate about our jobs.  Perhaps it wasn't until we were expected to feel passionate that we started to wonder why we didn't. 

Every person is unique.  We cannot expect that everyone will approach work (or anything else, for that matter) in exactly the same way and with exactly the same attitude. 

Risk and Love

Loving someone is inherently risky.  There is the potential for great rewards but there is also the risk of big losses.  This is true for every person we choose to love, although loving some comes with greater risk than loving others.  For most of us, it is probably romantic love that carries the most risk.
When we first meet a potential romantic partner we are faced with the task of determining if we have any interest in investing in a relationship with this person.  In such encoutners, we are motivated by two equally important but fundamentally opposing goals: the pursuit of intimacy and connection versus the need to protect oneself.  These first meetings are often awkward, like interviewing for a job we're not even sure that we want.

Even after we (and the other person, presumably) decide to invest ourselves in building a relationship with someone, we continue to struggle with the competing goals of pursuing intimacy and protecting our own interests.  If we choose to pursue intimacy, we increase the risk that we will get hurt.  If we maintain distance between ourselves and our partner we are less likely to get hurt but we also create a situation that precludes the development of a closer, more intimate relationship. 

Ultimately, the most fulfilling relationships are those in which each partner puts the other's interests ahead of his or her own.  Making the decision to prioritize intimacy over self-protection is inherently risky; we have no guarantee that our partner will recipricate in kind.  We put our partner's wants and needs ahead of our own with the hope that he or she will do the same for us.  If this doesn't happen, we end up in a situation where no one is looking out for our interests.  In such cases, we are almost guaranteed to get hurt. 

So how do we decide when to take such a risk?  And after we've taken that leap of faith, how do we pull back if our partner hurts us?  How do we make such choices?  What criteria should we use to guide our decisions?

We all have to ask and answer these questions for ourselves.  As for me, I have no answers; I have only questions I needed to ask.