What Do Study Habits Have to Do With Work?

I just figured out what my biggest problem was in college.  I studied too much. 

And how did I come to this revelation, you ask?  Especially now, since I’ve been out of school for quite some time, it seems like an odd thing to be concerned with.  If you look at my transcript – especially from undergrad – one would argue that I didn’t study enough.  Those grades sure don’t look like that of the next Einstein. 

I have to credit being laid-off for giving me the insight to see that I studied too much in college.  Try to follow me on this; I know I’m sounding like I’ve either pulled an all-nighter and need sleep or that I’ve lost my mind.  

When the lay-off hit, I began consulting.  I looked forward to setting my own hours and working from home instead of having to commute to an office each day.  Getting started wasn’t too difficult, and before long I had a few clients.  One thing led to another and my work expanded, including some very fulfilling personal projects.  Then I was offered a job that allowed me to work in the office several days a week, while maintaining one day a week for my personal projects.  It seemed like the best of both worlds.

That was more than a year ago, and now I’m exhausted.  While it is the “best of both worlds”, it’s more than a full schedule.  I’ve got four action-packed days at the office followed by three more work-filled days at home.  Somewhere in there I’m supposed to relax and have fun.  Yes, my work for the company is interesting but it’s also intense.  And while my personal projects are very fulfilling, they are also creative in nature and take more time to complete than I thought.  So it feels like I’m working seven days a week. All.The.Time. 

This is exactly the same thing that happened to me when it came to studying in college.  With demanding classes I felt like I should be studying every waking moment.  Sure I had fun, never missing a football game and working in time for friends, yet deep down it was hard for me to relax, even for a night.  It was the feeling that I had, that I needed to be studying rather than having fun that caused me so much stress. 

It’s the same stress I have now, like there’s so much to do that I can never stop working. With both of these great jobs I find myself unable to break away from work, even for a short time. The fear is that if I take time to have fun or take a day off, I’ll miss self-imposed deadlines or that I’ll never catch up.  I find myself not accepting social invitations because I know that I have work to do. Hmmm…this sounds familiar. Haven’t I seen this movie?

If I had been smart in college I would have learned how to handle this situation by paying attention to one of my friends.  On the surface it appeared that this very smart individual didn’t care about grades – and in some respect that’s true. It seemed as though he didn’t worry about studying and had lots of fun.  His approach? He figured out exactly what he needed to do to make the minimum passing grade – and he did that.  Not too smart, huh?  Actually it was brilliant, and I wish I’d followed his lead. He spent his extra time exploring other interests and thinking in a more entrepreneurial way about life after college rather than feeling guilty for not spending all his time studying.   Yes, he graduated. Not with honors but I’m pretty sure he doesn’t care.  Now a successful businessman, he’s flying his personal airplane around the country while I still have to hunt for air fares and fly commercial.

My hunch is that if I had allowed myself the freedom to take time off in college, without worry, that I would have been happier and my grades would have been no worse.  They might actually have been better, since I would have been rested and rejuvenated.   Yet here I am years later, struggling with the same issue again, this time without the threat of a poor GPA.  I simply can’t seem to let myself relax, even for one night.  Poor Hubby; we haven’t had a “date” in ages.  It’s no fun to go to a movie when all I want to do is check my email or scribble notes for one of my projects.  

Hard to believe it’s taken me all these years to figure it out.  Too bad I wasn’t smart enough to adjust my work/study habits while I was still in college.  Imagine the fun I would have had, the memories I would have made and the grades I would have seen at the end of each term.

Even now, I wonder what kind of great work I might accomplish, if I just allowed myself some time off?  It’s worth a try.

© Tami Cannizzaro 2012 All Rights Reserved

Hubby Was Right

Hubby likes to be right. This doesn’t happen very often, but occasionally he is right.  At that point he announces to anyone who will listen, “Hey, I was right today!”  Women stare back at him like he’s nuts, while the guys smile and give him a high-five.  This is because they too are seldom right.

It all started because I was having “one of those days”.  You know, the kind where nothing makes you happy, with a funk hanging over you like a black cloud?  Luckily they don’t happen to me very often.  Hubby is extremely glad too.  My mood can go from giddy to ghoulish in a nanosecond, although mostly I just can’t seem to make a decision on anything – going to the gym, working, reading, watching TV – you name it.   I know I’m in a funk, yet I simply can’t extract myself from its grip.

This time was even worse because I had work to do, including writing.  Nothing kills creativity more than being in a funk.  I had been at the computer for hours and all I had to show for it was a Facebook update and a few winning games of solitaire.

Being a very smart man, Hubby assessed the situation and suggested I get out of the house for a break.  Being a very stubborn gal, I didn’t move a muscle, insisting that I need to stay at the computer to get work done.   Not sure exactly what happened next except that I found myself being led to my car, purse in hand, with Hubby telling me to head to the mall and just walk around to clear my head.   “It will do you good,” he said.  “Besides, don’t you need to buy some face stuff?”  That’s guy-talk for make-up, in case you don’t recognize it.

Fine, I thought. You want me out of the house, I’ll leave.  It’s not going to help the funk I’m in, but at least I’ll get some exercise. 

I felt even worse when I got to the mall, realizing that I had not bothered to change and I was still in my gym clothes.  At least I wasn’t sweaty since my funk had forbid me from hitting the gym.  My plan was a quick walk all the way around the mall, with only one stop for “face stuff”.  

As I walked, it occurred to me that I hadn’t been shopping in quite some time.  Serious shopping, I mean.  The kind where you look at all the clothes, assess the season’s trends and make a wish list of must-haves.  Store windows screamed fall, with new clothes in a glorious color palette.  Colors that were perfect for me.  Styles that were perfect for me.  Sale signs that encouraged me to shop – which was perfect for me.

Let me just say that I’m usually pretty quick to decide on clothing. I can enter a store, visually scan the racks, and tell almost immediately whether or not there’s anything I want to look at.  I’m so quick that if Hubby is with me, he barely gets a chance to find a seat before I’m ready to move on to the next store.

This time was different. EVERYTHING was calling my name.  As I stepped into one of my favorite stores, my heart started racing and I found my excitement pushing the funk out the back door.  The colors and styles were almost too much to take in.  Perusing the racks, touching the fabrics, examining the styles – before I knew it I was in a dressing room with a pile of clothes to try on.    And of course for once, everything I tried on fit. And looked good.  Nothing beats a good funk like fabulous new clothes. 

A bit overwhelmed by all of the styles and colors, I decided to move on down the mall while I thought about a purchase.   Every store was the same, with windows ablaze in fashion, each style calling my name.

As I purchased the one item I actually came for – “face stuff” - I mentally tallied the bill to purchase the fashions I was interested in.  My math was rough, but I figured it totaled about $5,000. I got in the car and headed home.

Walking in the door, Hubby could sense that my mood had changed and that my funk had bailed on me.  “See – I told you shopping would be good for you!” he crowed, knowing that his decision to send me to the mall had indeed been right.  “Did you get your face stuff?”  “Oh yeah”, I told him.  “But there was so much to buy!  The clothes are fabulous this season; just my colors. I spent about $5,000”. 

I watched the color drain from Hubby’s face as he clutched his wallet while trying to look brave and supportive.  I failed to tell him that I had only mentally spent $5,000.  After all, it’s important for him to know that he was right. 

© Tami Cannizzaro 2012 All Rights Reserved

Naked Thoughts

Unless I’m in a medically induced coma, turning off my mind so I can relax is next to impossible. My mind is constantly on the go, the ultimate multi-tasker, running rampant as it hops from one thought to the next.   I’m envious of Hubby who seems to have no problem putting his mind to rest. Simply turn on the TV and viola! Instant relaxation. Must be a guy-thing.

As a result, getting away from our daily grind of home, consulting and thinking about new opportunities is very important to me.  Visiting our favorite resort provides me with some relaxation as we spend the majority of our time in a poolside cabana.  This year Hubby suggested that we indulge in a couples massage.  “Come on,” he pleaded. “It will be so relaxing.”   I looked at him like he had sprouted a second head, asking “Uh, have you met me? You know I can’t keep my mind still for five minutes much less an hour”.  Persistence paid off for Hubby as I reluctantly agreed to the extravagance.

I’ve got to give the resort spa credit – I felt a bit like royalty as I indulged in a pre-massage sauna and shower, slipped into a luxurious bathrobe and slippers, then sipped herbal tea in the pre-treatment “relaxation room” while waiting for my massage “therapist”. 

My therapist was very calm, with the softest voice as she escorted me to the massage parlor – I mean “room”.  Thank goodness Hubby was already there; it would have been humiliating if they had mistakenly paired me with someone else.   “What kind of oil would you enjoy?” asked my therapist. “This one promotes balance, this one energy, this one peace…” and the list went on.  I chose “balance” simply because I gagged at the other scents. 

“Relax,” whispered the therapist.  Oh yeah, I thought. Like it’s totally normal to have a stranger rub smelly oil that’s supposed to promote “balance” all over my naked body.  Yes, technically I’m not naked all at one time, but the whole idea of being in a dimly lit room, naked, with candles and incense and other smells, naked, with a stranger rubbing oil on me is just not normal.  Did I mention the part about being naked?  Sure, there’s a sheet, but honestly that little piece of see-through muslin isn’t fooling anyone.

Trying to find my mental “happy place”, I took a deep breath, telling my mind to quiet down and enjoy the moment.  Yet my mind resisted.  How could I quiet my mind with a stranger kneading my butt, which by then was classified as an oil slick by OPEC?  There was so much oil I was afraid I’d have to pay an environmental fine.

Side one finished and my mind was still in high-action mode as I awkwardly tried to flip to my other side without falling off the narrow table.  Attempting to calm my mind and be peaceful, I tried again to go to my “happy place”.  I actually heard Hubby snoring as his therapist kneaded his butt.  Honestly, how can you sleep through this, I thought? I told my mind to listen to the peaceful, soothing music.  It was slow and soft, mainly a flute and some other instruments I couldn’t identify.  Instead of relaxing to the peaceful unidentifiable music, my mind’s thinking, “Who writes this stuff?”  I can’t imagine listening to it on the car radio; highway traffic would come to a standstill since we’d all fall asleep or go insane with the constant chiming and chanting.

Still attempting to find peace during this experience, I tried breathing slowly and deeply, counting sheep, counting backwards from 100, saying “ohm” – anything to calm my busy mind.  This is why I don’t meditate.  My mind is unable to be still for even a nanosecond. 

Finally, peace came.  I was so relaxed, the smell of the oil had become a pleasant aroma rather than an offensive odor, my muscles were enjoying being rubbed and massaged and I was ready to enjoy the rest of my time in the treatment room. 

“Thank you for coming,” the therapist said.  “We’ve left you some water and a treat, and will be waiting for you outside the door.”  What??? Wait, my mind is finally quieted and you’re leaving me? Come back, rub some more oil on me – I promise I won’t wince at the smell! 

Sigh. And just like that my mind woke up again.  I would like to think that my busy mind is brilliant, but I know better. It’s just busy.  At least it’s not naked.

© Tami Cannizzaro 2012 All Rights Reserved