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Learning to Deal with the Pressure

Update 6/25/20:  When I wrote this, I had no clue about the stresses and curve balls still to come. I aged a lot in the 5 years that followed, but through fire and error, I remain standing.

Baseball has never been my thing, but I’m learning to deal with the big curve balls that keep coming my way.

Mood music:

Last year, before my father’s health went into its final descent, he asked me to help him with his unfinished business interests. Since his death, the task has been something close to a second full-time job.

I’m now in charge of cleaning up and selling the building that housed the family business. The work needed on the property is extensive and expensive. There are additional plots of land I’m responsible for selling, and there are accounts I have to manage responsibly — all while doing the best work I can in my real career as a writer in the information security industry. Work days are frequently interrupted with phone calls from lawyers, financial advisors, and real-estate people. And then there are bills to pay to keep the building standing.

Business is not my background and I never wanted this additional work. Life was already full and busy. I didn’t think I was up to the task because of my limited knowledge about real estate, investments and all the people that come with it. I was scared, frankly.

I was worried about mismanaging the family legacy. I was worried it would make me more absent as a father and husband. I was worried that my real job would suffer.

It’s still a major stress in my life and will be for years to come. But along the way something has happened: I’ve learned to carry the load and am even willing to contemplate the possibility that I’m getting good at this.

To my astonishment, I’ve still been able to give my real job 100 percent. And with the family business legacy tasks, I finally feel like I’m in full command. Though I want to punch my fist through walls many days, I’m glad I took this on. I’ve learned a ton, and the knowledge will be valuable going forward.

I think I’ve been able to do all this without neglecting my wife and kids. I certainly hope so. My faith has sustained me. Many awesome friends have helped me along, too. And the members of my household have been extremely patient. I’m grateful for that.

My coping tools have helped, though I admit there are days I forget to use them.

That’s how life works. Curve balls come our way and we either learn to catch them or get slammed in the face. I’ve taken a few blows to the head along the way, but I’m learning to play the game.

Brenner Party Store and Shoe Barn

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What a Weird Dream Says About My Real Life

I’m in Fort Lauderdale, Fla., as I write this. I’m in a hotel by the beach and it’s pretty relaxed. I’m sleeping more deeply than I have in a while. I’m also having some fucked-up dreams. Since I rarely remember my dreams the next morning, I’ve decided to capture this one.

Mood music:

https://youtu.be/6aNNIyxbG5g

Sequence 1

I’m with my father, aunt and younger son in front of the old family business. Everyone’s gathered to go to a wedding or some other special event. Duncan and I aren’t going, so I’m not sure why we’re there.

My father, who can’t walk or sit up much, has the ability to do both in the dream, and to prove it, he stands up on the roof of the car. My aunt, who rarely leaves her condo these days, is there, too. She’s going to the big event, whatever it is.

Sequence 2

Everyone leaves, and I take my son home — to the house I grew up in on the Lynnway in Revere. The house is bigger than it was in reality, with exposed beams at the roof.

We enter the kitchen and I freak because the place is a disaster. The rest of the family had had a big breakfast before they left and didn’t clean up after themselves.

Sequence 3

We’re still in my old house, but suddenly my church pastor and a bunch of parishioners are there, rehearsing for either a play or special ceremony.

I’m not wearing any pants, so I run from the room to go put something on. Suddenly, I’m in the warehouse of the family business, which is filled with boxes. An interesting detail, because in reality the building is pretty empty now.

I hide behind boxes and put the pants on, as a bunch of kids from church parade by. I feel a hand on my shoulder and turn around. It’s my pastor.

He asks if I want to go to lunch. I say sure. He pauses, then tells me the other parishioners are talking about me. They’ve noted that I’m very quiet and sullen of late, which is unusual. People are worried about me. I admit that I’m not feeling like myself, and then the dream fades out as I wake up.

What’s It All About?

The best I can make of it is this:

  • I’m worried about my father and feel guilty that I’m not able to visit him more often.
  • I’m worried about my aunt because she’s become a recluse.
  • I’m kind of sad about the family business being over, even though I was never in love with it to begin with.
  • The mess my younger boy makes around the house is driving me insane.
  • Though I’m getting better, I spent the fall and winter in a depressed funk.

As for the lack of pants, all I can think of is that a little bit of reality had traveled with me into the dream, because I was sleeping sans pants.

Dream of Sacrifice by EddieTheYeti
“Dream of Sacrifice” by EddieTheYeti
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5 Things I’ve Done That Scare Me

A while back I wrote a post celebrating Eleanor Roosevelt’s call to “do something every day that scares you.” Rereading that post recently, I realized I forgot something important.

Mood music:

I forgot to mention how I’m living that advice and not simply parroting it to be cool. If this blog is to mean anything, I have to lead by example, though not in the ways you may be thinking of.

I’m not about to skydive from an airplane, though some day I just might. I’m not going to ride a wild horse, though that might be a neat exercise in facing fear. But not today.

Instead, I’ve been doing the more mundane things that scare me all the same. To some people they may seem like trivial accomplishments. But to me they’re significant, because I faced down fear.

  1. During DEF CON last month, I waited in big lines and walked with big crowds despite both being major OCD triggers. I managed just fine.
  2. Despite swearing I’d never take Prednisone again, I took a leap of faith and accepted the prescription to cool a battered back.
  3. Despite that back pain, I managed to drive a hitched trailer home from an already painful camping trip. I’m always nervous driving the truck when the camper is attached. Doing it in pain was a rougher deal. But I couldn’t think of a reason not to. I was going to be in pain anyway.
  4. Despite huge fears of not measuring up at work, I postponed an important video shoot so I could put my health back in order. That was scary as hell, because I had thrown a lot of time and energy into meeting a deadline.
  5. I agreed to be a trustee for my father’s realty trust, opening me up to financial tasks and decision making that are way outside my comfort zone.

Again, seemingly small actions. But these are the things that scare me, and I didn’t run away.

Tarantula walking in man's hands

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Knowing You’re a Punk is the First Step in the Cure

I was an absolute punk this morning. I was incensed over tech problems, dropping F-bombs and punching the desk with my fist.

Mood music:

It’s a typical problem for someone with clinical OCD. You want to control everything, though you know it’s impossible.

In mid-rage, I learned a friend had just lost a sibling.

Rage turned to guilt.

I’m no special case. We all lose our patience from time to time and act like spoiled brats. More often than not, it’s over little things, like missing a favorite TV show or getting stuck in traffic. It’s much easier to blow up than to be stoic when things don’t go our way.

The news I received this morning in the middle of my tantrum just goes to show that someone else always has it worse. I know what it’s like to lose a sibling, and I truly feel for my friend and pray for his family. I needed a hard slap of perspective this morning, but I wish the lesson came from someplace else.

Appreciate what you have. Hug those around you, and don’t sweat the little things. If you fail at any of these, just try again.

I’ll work at following my own advice.

Perspective-is-everything

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Tapping into Infosec’s Human Side

In my day job, I host the Akamai Security Podcast, an audio program about all things information security. On occasion, the topics of my profession bleed into the focus of this blog.

In the following podcast, I chat with colleague Christian Ternus, a member of Akamai Infosec’s Adversarial Resilience Team. He’s been the driving force behind Humanity in Security, an effort to address burnout, depression and stress in the security community.

One of his main messages is that people in the industry need to be kinder. He touched on this some months back in a post from his “Adversarial Thinking” blog. He wrote about what he sees as infosec’s jerk problem, where cynicism and negativity run so deep that it poisons the atmosphere in many a security shop, dampening spirits and causing burnout and depression across a team.

He stressed that if you practice kindness, good things will follow.

We talk about that in much more detail. Listen to the full podcast.

Bill Brenner's podcasting equipment

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Basil Fawlty Can Suck It

I know many fans of the old BBC show Fawlty Towers. People love to laugh at lead character Basil Fawlty, who’s perpetually unhinged, rude and ridiculous. Viewers can laugh at Basil’s expense and even feel a little grateful for not being that guy. But I have to confess that I despise the show.

Mood music:

When I watch an episode, I actually get stressed out. My anxiety goes through the roof every time Basil puts his foot in his mouth or hapless waiter Manuel drops food on a dining room guest.

If you’re thinking my reaction is absurd, you’re probably right. It is, after all, just a TV show — a comedy at that.

But Basil flips an old switch deep in my brain. It’s the switch that used to trigger my own episodes of bat-shit madness. I probably was never that off the wall outwardly. But I felt that out of control inside all the time. I was like Basil Fawlty, haphazardly running from one calamity to the next. And there was nothing funny about it.

That was the old fear and anxiety at work in my soul, with disaster and sorrow lurking around every corner. Fear of not measuring up at work. Fear of losing more loved ones.

Things were never that bad. It just felt that way to me all the time.

There are a lot of fictional characters out there who entertain me with their insane behavior. Lord Business, the villain in the Lego Movie, is a pretty good example. So is Dr. Heinz Doofenshmirtz from Phineas and Ferb. I love those characters because I see a bit of myself in them and they comfort me because I know I’m not alone.

We laugh at these characters because we all see some of ourselves in them.

That being the case, my hatred of Fawlty Towers makes no sense. It really doesn’t. And yet I can’t stand it.

Maybe someday I’ll figure it out.

Fawlty Towers

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An Anxiety Attack

Friday afternoon I didn’t feel right. It was as if an anvil had been strapped to my chest. Breathing was labored. My face had that pins-and-needles sensation. I had to use the bathroom a couple times in short sequence. I’m pretty sure it was an anxiety attack.

Mood music:

I used to get them all the time, and overcoming them has been a central theme of this blog. I’ve largely controlled the attacks with Prozac and Wellbutrin.

Truth is, before Friday I can’t remember the last time I experienced one. That it came on with such force was more than a little distressing.

I don’t have to think too hard to figure out where it came from. I’ve been under a lot of stress. I’ve been doing a lot of driving the kids around. There are appointments everywhere on the calendar I look. My sleep is erratic. As great as work is going, I’m managing the endgame for a huge project I’ve been working on since early June and much is at stake.

All good things, but stressful nonetheless.

Friday the attack started while Erin and I were sitting in the accountant’s office, where we were getting our taxes done. The appointment was taking longer than expected, and we had to pick the kids up from school. I worried about the traffic and then fretted about having to go right back out to pick up trophies for a Cub Scout awards ceremony. I was thinking about things I wanted to do Saturday night, worrying about all the different ways those plans could be derailed.

It’s also February, when I start worrying about bad weather and family crises getting in the way of the biggest security conference of the year. Last year I was driven to distraction by that very worry, though that was more low-level anxiety, not an outright attack.

I have some work to do, untangling the various emotions and putting my coping tools to effective use. Back when these attacks were a twice-weekly problem I didn’t have the tools I have now. I’m also much better aware of the symptoms and at zeroing in on the triggers.

That’s something to be thankful for, and I am.

Like the rest of my demons, this is a life-long adversary to be kept in check. And so it will be.

punch

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Death by Regimentation

I lead a pretty regimented life. I’ve gotten good at juggling multiple activities at once and sticking to carefully mapped out schedules. Regimens are good for me. I need specific plans for eating, exercise and career/family management.

But I have to admit, all that regimentation is like a noose around my neck lately.

Mood music:

I recently reined in my eating plan and got back to exercising because my health was beginning to drift. I have a new therapist and a new doctor. And though the going has been tough, we’re adjusting to the boys’ new school.

All in all, good progress.

Yet I’m almost constantly on the road. I drive to and from work. I pick up the kids from school. Then it’s back out for this appointment or that activity. This is the grind multiple days per week usually.

It’s all good. It’s what I signed up for, so to speak. But I’m realizing more than ever that my shoulders aren’t as strong as they should be to carry the weight.

I don’t need or want a change in routine. But I do need to find a better way to manage it all without feeling beaten down.

Better eating and steady exercise is a big step in the right direction. My sleep needs work. I’ve yet to figure out why I keep waking up in the middle of the night and staying up for an hour or more at a time. Better sleep would most definitely make everything else more manageable. I use a CPAP that sometimes feels like more trouble than it’s worth because the mask doesn’t fit right. One more thing to work on, which means more appointments.

I don’t tell you all this to complain. This is more an exercise in self-assessment. I need to make more adjustments to how I live my days, and posts like this usually mark the turning points.

I also share it because a lot of you have the same pressures. There’s no getting around the craziness, but it always helps to know that you’re not alone in the struggle.

You could also say misery loves company.

Or, as Red Green likes to say, “I’m pullin’ for ya. We’re all in this together.”

red green

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So Many Appointments, So Little Sanity

This year’s seasonal depression comes with a twist. It’s not necessarily something new, but it’s something I’m more aware of these days: The calendar is filled with too many appointments.

Mood music:

When you have kids and a busy job, a lot of running around is expected. Lately, though, it seems like running around is all I do. Last week was a pretty good example: A medical appointment for me, two for Duncan (his therapist and new a new psychiatrist), a Scout meeting for each son and the school drop-offs and pick-ups.

It’s all normal, necessary stuff. I have to take care of my health, and we have to take care of our children. The school commute is the result of our choice to put the boys in a new school, and every parent these days is a taxi driver, running kids from one activity to the next. I don’t regret any of it. All the appointments for Duncan have especially been worth it, because we’ve gotten a clearer fix on his challenges and the best remedies.

But with the darkness of the coming winter and the rushing and running that come with the holiday season, each appointment feels like a hot pin prick to the eye.

I long for a week where I can just exist at home once the work day is done. It’s not going to happen, so I have to fall back on my coping tools.

It’s a funny thing about this time of year: I have a huge box of mental tools and know how to use them, but I’m so mentally tired that I have trouble finding the discipline to open the box.

I can’t let that continue, so I’m making a big effort to jolt myself out of the funk.

Last week I started increasing the breathing exercises I’ve learned. When commuting, my habit has been to use the tool of music therapy exclusively, cranking the metal to 11. But I have to add some variety, so I’m trying to do the music for part of the ride and the breathing exercises for the other part.

I’m making a point to play guitar for at least 30 minutes a day.

I’m re-introducing exercise into my regimen. In recent years I haven’t exercised much beyond walking because my food plan kept the weight in check without it. But I changed my eating plan earlier this year because I was getting bored. I didn’t up the exercise to match the increased portions, and as a result I’ve gained 15 pounds. I’ve started jogging laps around the garage, but Erin and I are looking to either buy an elliptical machine or get a gym membership. My new doctor is pushing me toward exercise, too; he isn’t happy with my borderline blood pressure and cholesterol.

Finally, I have a new therapist who is determined to help me build a fresh regimen for using all the tools. Appointments to see her involve 45-minute commutes back and forth, which adds to the overall stress. But she’s good, and I’m betting that the coaching she gives me balances things out.

It’s going to be a long winter. But with some luck, prayer and effort, it’ll be a healing one.

Gremlins

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Why Do Americans Die Sooner?

CNN reports that despite spending more per person on healthcare than any other country, Americans are getting sicker and dying younger than our international peers.

Why is this? Because Americans are too high strung and overworked. You could say the stress is killing us.

Mood music, ironically sung by a couple of Brits:

[spotify:track:45Zo6ftGzq6wRckCUrMoBJ]

Here’s the takeaway from CNN:

Data from 2007 show Americans’ life expectancy is 3.7 years shorter for men and 5.2 years shorter for women than in the leading nations — Switzerland for men and Japan for women.

As of 2011, 27 countries had higher life expectancies at birth than the United States.

“The tragedy is not that the United States is losing a contest with other countries,” the report states, “but that Americans are dying and suffering from illness and injury at rates that are demonstrably unnecessary.”

I’ve had conversations about this with friends from Europe, and they always go on about how crazy we Americans are. We respond to job stress by putting in even more hours, trying to keep up with the ever-growing demands of our corporate masters. Some of us now work holidays like Thanksgiving and Christmas. We seek solace from the stress in all the things that are bad for us: Overeating, drinking, pills.

When Erin and I got married, we spent our honeymoon traveling around Ireland. The slower pace of life floored us. They took the first Monday of every month off for a “bank holiday.” In restaurants, people weren’t in a rush to put their orders in. Waitresses would talk for several minutes with patrons before taking down their orders. Accustomed to faster service, Erin and I didn’t like that much. We are, after all, Americans. Rushing ourselves and others is in the blood.

At the time, I was working at least 60 hours a week in a job that paid $28,000 a year. I was a ball of tension, and I comforted myself with food binges. I was 280 pounds on that trip.

I still put a lot into my work today, but it’s different because I love what I do. I’ve also spent a lot of time building a relationship with God, taking a mindfulness class heavy on meditation techniques, and playing guitar. I’ve slowly learned to enjoy life and not rush through it to the next pressure. But I still have a long, long way to go.

I’m not a unique case. Americans put ridiculous amounts of pressure on themselves over trivial things.

To be fair, I know a lot of Europeans who have bad habits and bad health. Americans are simply destroying themselves a little bit faster.

But I also have a lot of American friends who have fought back. One friend is a passionate weight lifter. Another friend does jujitsu. Many of them are now doing yoga. They’ve made radical and necessary changes to their diets. This gives me hope.

We may be dying faster, but in never giving up and trying to better ourselves, we have a pretty good shot at learning to live longer.

Man under job stress