"I feel stupid."

• "I should hang onto this piece of paper, but I don't want to get out the filing stuff..."
• "I should get out the packing list and double-check, but I'm pretty sure I've got everything..."
• "If I leave now, I'll be early, so I'll get back on the computer and try to just check one thing this time..."

I hate thoughts like these, because later, when I need that paper and can't find it, forget the pajamas, and find myself running late, my brain remembers and says, "See? You knew better!" It makes me feel so stupid. In fact, that's what I say, out loud and to myself: "I feel so stupid!" But there are a couple reasons why I don't like this phrase and want to handle the situation differently:

Stupidity is not a feeling.

I know that I am fast at some things and slow at others, and that the former is generally more pleasant, but strictly speaking, "smart" and "stupid" aren't in themselves feelings. Why is this useful to point out? Because there's nothing I can do about my intelligence, but I can address the causes of my actual feelings. In this case, those feelings are usually shame over having made a mistake at all, and disappointment because I expect myself to be someone who doesn't make the same mistake twice.

Intelligence is not a virtue. 

I talked about this idea a little before, but it's something I have to keep reminding myself. My worth doesn't come from my intelligence or history of good decisions. I don't have to earn my right to exist. The sooner I can stop beating myself up about whether I'm as smart as I think I should be, the sooner I can focus on what I can actually do to make a difference next time.

For example,

• I can designate a place for important papers to go temporarily, and then file them in batches when I have the time.
• I can store the packing list inside my suitcase so I don't have to consciously go get it when I'm packing.
• I can keep a book in my bag so it doesn't matter if I get somewhere early.

These sound like smart things to do! But notice that these methods are all ways of making up for something that is harder for me than I wish it were, like leaving on time or putting things where they belong. In order to do so, I have to first accept that I am not great at everything, and that I don't need to be. Only then can I hope to improve for next time.

"Should" without the anxiety

• I should be saving more.
• I should be traveling more.
• I should wash the dishes.
• I should figure out what I want to do with my life.
• I should read more books.

Statements like these flit through my mind all the time. Clara wrote a few months ago about the way "should" statements induce anxiety: Whenever I book a flight, the "Can I afford this?" voice pipes up accusingly, and whenever do I sock away money for a rainy day, I worry that I'm not enjoying the sunny ones enough.

But here's something Clara and I have been doing lately to soften those "should" statements: add an "if."  Compare:

• I should be saving more.
• If I want to have more money set aside for emergencies, I should save more.

Or:

• I should be traveling more.
• If I want to have a more varied experience in Europe, I should be traveling more.

When I articulate why I would want to save or travel, getting the underlying desires out in the open, it makes the conflict between those desires and not between the actions they demand.  Rather than choosing the lesser of two guilty feelings when I'm deciding where a dollar goes, I can let my desires for variety and security reach a compromise, like "It's okay to spend Y per month on travel if I'm on target to save up X months of rent in case I lose my job."  Knowing that all my inner voices are heard is a great relief.

Sometimes, the exercise of adding an "if I want" is helpful in other ways.

• I should do the dishes now if I want to have the counter clear to prep food on later.

Just visualizing the outcome I want can make it easier to get off my bum and do it.

• If I want my life to have a clear path, I should figure out what I want to do with it.

I do want to know where my life is going, but even the best plans don't always work out.  When I accept that nothing in the future is certain, I feel less anxious about the vague need to "figure things out."

And sometimes, adding on an "if I want" is just silly:

• I should read more books if I ... want to read more books?

Poof!  There goes the guilt about not reading enough.  I read for fun, not because I should!

This adapts well to "You should" statements too, by adding an "if you want."  Which of these would you rather hear?

• You should defrost your freezer!
• If you want more space in your freezer, you should defrost it.

Why yes, I do want more space in my freezer!  But that's just one of many wants, and I don't need to act on them all right now.

I try to make sure I phrase my exhortations this way, to give someone an out if their priorities are different from mine.  Telling a student "If you want this passage in your thesis to be clearer, you should add more exposition" goes over much better with the "if" clause than without, if they turn out to be worried about exceeding the thesis page limit.  And when I hear "You should...", tacking on an invisible "if I want..." in my mind makes it much easier to keep from getting angry that people don't understand my unique situation.

To sum up, here's my attempt at a tweet-able epigram:

If you want to say "should," you should say "If you want."
(Click to tweet)

"What do you do?", "You should...", and other anxiety-inducing phrases.

In the last two years, there have been a lot of conversations in my life that start with, "so, what do you do?" If any of you are wondering, here are some answers I usually give.

Most often I say something like, "I'm here in Leiden because my husband works for the University, and I'm not working full time, and it's been nice to have one of us at home, handling the heavy lifting of moving and adjusting to a new place. But I do teach violin lessons, tutor English students, and babysit."

If they're a teacher or a student I might say, "I'm a bit of an academic out of water at the moment. I study English Literature, but here isn't exactly the best place for me to do it, so I'm working on my own for now." I might add, "I did get to present at a conference in Scotland last year and that was great, and last year I wrote about once a week for an online Shakespeare news source." or possibly, "I just got hired to teach Shakespeare online at a homeschool academy online, so that'll start this fall."

At church I sometimes answer, "Many different things. I am pretty involved in my church, I play in the praise band, help run several of the ministries, organize the church library, and things like that. I'm often lumped in with the moms, because I'm not working full time, but I don't have children, so it's an interesting position to be in."

I know I am not the only one who dreads this question, and hopes my answers don't invoke pity or fear. That would be a tragedy.

Sometimes I give answers saying that I've been looking for work. Mostly not, because when I say I am looking for jobs, I am so often flooded with advice. I tell the sad and laborious stories of applying for many jobs, following many leads provided by friends every one of which hasn't worked out, and respond to many, many, many sentences beginning with the phrase, "you should."

That word, "should" is such a tricky word. I've been tutoring a Spanish speaker who is hoping to improve her English, so we've been working together. She has many questions, often questions on how to ask questions, and I find myself using the word should again and again. "How should I get there?" "Where should I put my coat?" And she asks about it, and so I explain, "we use it as a polite word, to ask someone's opinion. What they think is the best thing to do." And I realize that when someone asks with that word, "should" as in, "Where should I" or "what should I?" one must value the other person's opinion. When I resent the "you should"s around me, I dislike them because I feel like other people are not appreciating my own struggle. If they don't know my difficulties, don't know what I've tried, of course they will not be as effective at helping me. I am a little ashamed of my dismissal of the quick opinions of well meaning people.

Ashamed and anxious. Ashamed because I don't want them to think that I haven't tried what they see as obvious solutions to my long term problem, but also anxious that I do the very same thing. This anxiety as raised a lot of questions in my mind and heart.

How much do I judge other people by their jobs, their accomplishments?

Am I looking down on people whose work isn't as intellectual or stimulating as my personal preference?

How much of my identity have I tied to my occupation?

Have I always been jealous of other people's successes?

When did I stop seeing free time as a gift? a joy?

In what other ways have I devalued the basic everyday work of people who serve others?

How can I broaden my respect and appreciation for the people around me?

These are all questions I'm still thinking about, but that last one I can answer at least in part. And it's something I want to answer well, because maybe in five years I'll have a more normal answer to the question "What do you do?" but I hope to have learned enough to ask different questions myself, so I can listen better and judge less. I think that we can grow in respect and appreciation for each other by listening. By asking questions about people's lives, not just where they'll spend their time this week, but what's made them who they are today. What they hope for, what their struggles have been, how different things affected them, or how their life might be different or similar to your own. If we build understanding, we can get to a place where we want to know people's advice in our lives. We want to know it because we are friends, we know each other and trust each other. I think that can be a beautiful thing.

Anyone else struggling with these same issues? Wishing your story was better heard? I'd love to listen.