Problem Solving 201

If you desire, please read my last post, “Problem Solving 101”, before exposing yourself to the following self revealing madness.

         For most of my life, when I ran into difficulties, especially emotional ones, I resisted seeking help. I kept my pain inside. Because from what I could tell, people just made my difficulties worse. If I wasn’t shamed for having the problem in the first place, then my overriding experience was that people were unsympathetic. This was based largely on my childhood experience of going to adults for help, and rarely having it turn out much better. When it came to helping me ease my pain, adults didn’t appear to know what the fuck they were doing.
        This is no way of an indictment of my parents. Whatever I learned or internalized or interpreted (or misinterpreted) from them isn’t their problem anymore. It’s mine. Whatever character flaws they passed onto me, or whatever bad lessons they inadvertently taught me, it’s my responsibility to decide who I want to be now, and it’s up to me to become that person. Understanding my past is only useful if it’s part of a comprehensive plan to move forward. Think of trying to get to an unfamiliar, but desired, destination in your car. Knowing where you’ve been helps you figure out where you’re at (and maybe why) so that you can find a way to get to where you want to be.
        But my experience is a great example of how consistent negative and traumatic events in childhood can deeply impact a person’s perspective as they mature. Even if the circumstances improve, if a kid is unaware, as most kid’s are, of how their world view is shaped by their limited experience, then they internalize this perspective and become completely invested in it without even knowing it. Then we carry that into adulthood, and if we remain unconscious, we never even realize that our current lives are still being shaped by our past. We can change that only if we become conscious and choose a path of enlightenment over automatic response and conditioning. It takes time, it takes work, it takes help. But the payoff is a more conscious life. A more enlightened self. And vastly greater potential for happiness, fulfillment, joy, and intimacy.
        This unconscious and all pervasive belief that problems did not, could not, be solved led me to feel trapped. I was in a giant cage called life, and in that cage, life was something that happened to me. I wasn’t something that happened to life. I felt like a victim all too often, like I had no control over anything, least of all me.
        As a child, this was more or less true. Children don’t have a lot of control over their environment or their circumstances. And their control over themselves is certainly still developing. But I, like most kids with this experience, carried this into my adolescence and into my adulthood without even realizing it. And that’s when the fun really started.
        I hid this belief very well. It operated on a very deep level, and I didn’t feel it all the time. But it was always there. Sometimes this rather pessimistic outlook permeated my entire existence, and it would manifest itself as severe depression. Sometimes it was just below the surface, and it felt like low grade depression and moderate anxiety. And sometimes, it just sat inside of me and stank, coloring every experience, even the joyous ones, with little dabs of dull achy grey.
        With this perspective, it was impossible for me to receive help because I didn’t believe help was possible. But I knew I could help people, because I did. And I enjoyed it. But when it came to me, I was “different”. My problems were too complicated, or not “normal”, or I believed that I was just simply so fucked up that my problems were equally as fucked up, and therefore unsolvable. I didn’t see a way out. Of anything.
        My only out was to keep running emotionally so that I couldn’t catch myself. Like chasing one’s tail, pretty soon it doesn’t matter if you ever catch it or not. You become so invested in chasing your own tail that you forget what you’re doing and keep doing it because it’s all you know. Your life doesn’t become chasing your tail so much as chasing your tail becomes your life. The action of chasing it is what you live for, unconsciously of course, like an addict who’s addicted but doesn’t know it.
        What helped me start to shift this, years ago, was when I started going to therapy. At least now I was talking about what the hell was going on inside of me. At about the same time, or a little before, I started reading self help books, and whatever I could on psychology, spirituality, and the like. I had been introspective for many years, but now I was taking the next critical steps in the education of self. I was trying to find some answers instead of just asking questions.
        Personal growth workshops, seminars, and group therapy were next. Eventually, I made it to al-anon, which was a huge wake up call. Here were people sharing very difficult stories and internal struggles with others. They were not only sharing, but getting help. Getting relief. Connecting to others in marvelous ways. I wanted more of that. So I kept going.
        What all of this did for me was show me that there was help out there. That difficulties can be shared. And that people can help. It changed my long standing and stubborn belief that problems don’t get solved.
        I re-wrote my own book. I didn’t have to keep everything inside. I could open up and become more part of the emotional human race. I wasn’t in this life all alone if I didn’t want to be. That gave me hope. And strength. And more than I could possibly say.
        I’ve gone from despair to hope. From loneliness to connection. From can’t to can. I’ve been there. On both sides of the proverbial fence. I’ve been on the fence itself. And I’ve been a hundred miles from that fence as well. Let me tell you. It’s better over here.


©2009 Clint Piatelli. All Rights (and an open book of Wrongs) Reserved.

Problem Solving 101

       Growing up, my models for emotional problem solving and interpersonal conflict resolution were virtually non-existent. On every level, conflict in my home environment was something that you tried to avoid at all costs, because the result was usually mayhem. But even trying to avoid conflict was problematic, because virtually anything and everything was fodder for chaos. Like a road that detours into another road, that detours into another road, that detours into a disheveled road rife with unavoidable pot holes, divots, and other obstructions, tension and crisis were the way of things. They were unavoidable.
        And when interpersonal and emotional problems did arise, as they always did, constantly, they didn’t get worked out. In fact, they just got worse. Nobody ever apologized, or had any skills to resolve issues and deal with how each other felt. I quickly learned not to share my emotional problems or have any hope that they would ever get resolved. The only tactics were to avoid these types of problems or get angry. Basically shut off and shut down or get totally pissed. Because anger is power, and that's how you "won". Either way, don’t really engage. That way, I could limit my problems. And if I ran into one, anger would "fix" it.
        My dad, like most men, looked at a problem as something to fix. An overriding male social archetype is the male as problem solver. Men who are able to effectively solve problems are highly valued in our society. Kick ass problem solvers, in virtually every field, get paid well. The bigger the problems they can solve, the more they are “worth”. And thus it’s no shock to see how as a society, we’ve internalized this dynamic as it applies to careers and placed much of our internal self worth and self love on how much we get paid.
        So for most of my life, I’ve never seen myself as much of a problem solver, even though I have have plenty of evidence to the contrary. Because internally, when it came to emotional issues, I had the mindset that my problems couldn’t get solved. So if a part of me bought into the societal archetype - and a part of me did, a bigger part than I was even aware of - my self worth was very small indeed.
        My dad was a civil engineer. A builder. A developer. Problems in this context were constant, and you had to be a great problem solver to be a good builder. My dad was a very successful builder, and therefore also a very successful problem solver. My dad loved to solve problems. As with so many men, it made him feel purposeful. Useful. Needed. So much so, that in his personal life, my dad would unconsciously make something out of nothing and actually create problems so he could solve them. I also believe many other men do this, mostly unconsciously, as well. I know I certainly used to.
        While this ability to solve problems serve us very well in our careers, this propensity to create problems to solve, or more insidiously, to look at emotional difficulties as things to “fix”, don’t serve us well. The general male perspective of looking at feelings being hurt, or the creation of intense feelings at all, as a “problem” that need to be “fixed” is not a useful approach. Because it means trying to “fix” the way someone feels.
        In my experience as a kid, that usually meant trying to convince me that I didn’t feel a certain way, or that what I was experiencing was not what I thought it was. Basically, trying to “fix” an emotional “problem” entailed trying to deny my experience so that I wouldn’t feel sad or lonely or scared or hurt or whatever. It’s all my dad knew how to do. He was a very deep feeling man who struggled with his own feelings. So trying to teach me how to deal with my feelings was not something he was capable of. Not a ton of men are. But that’s changing.
        Denying my experience as a way to get me to not feel what I was feeling never worked. All it did was not allow me to trust myself, because I was always being told by a trusted adult that I shouldn’t feel a certain way, or that what I was feeling wasn’t real. And unfortunately, if I resisted the denial route, as I usually did because it didn’t ever feel good, my dad would get frustrated and eventually get mad at me. So then I would feel even worse. Much worse, because now I was shamed for feeling at all. It was a total mind fuck. And a heart fuck as well.
        I say this with absolute compassion for my father. It must have been as hard for him to see his son in pain as it was for me to be in it. The big difference, of course, was that he was an adult and I was a child. My ability to make any sense of this wasn’t developed yet. So I got taught some very bad lessons about what it was to feel.
        My dad died at age eighty-six, no more aware of how much difficulty he had dealing with his emotions than when he was a younger man raising his son. I would love for my dad to be alive today, and more importantly, for him to be able to hear me when I tell him about the lessons I’ve learned about emotions and feelings and the depths of the heart. In typical father fashion, my dad had a hard time hearing me on lots of things, because I was his kid, and damn it, he knew more than I did about everything, even things he had absolutely no fuckin’ clue about. I was aware of this dynamic, and he was not. So I could roll with it.
        But if I could magically bring my dad back from the dead, and sit him down, and magically have him hear and believe every word I say, I would tell him this:

“Dad, I know you are a deep feeling man. You feel so much, so deeply, that most times, you don’t know what the hell to do with it. So you either explode, or you stuff. That’s what you taught me to do.

But I found a better way, dad. Because, just like you, I feel so very much, so very deeply. And, just like you, I used to not know what the hell to do with it all. But I do now.
Guess what dad? It’s kinda simple. I just feel it. I just allow myself to feel it. I don’t run from it, or stuff it. Or turn it into anger. Or turn it against myself. First , I just honor it. I honor how I feel. I honor myself, and I feel it. As deeply and as much as I need to.

And then, something amazing happens. Just by truly honoring how I feel, embracing it, feeling it all the way in, I somehow know what the hell to do with it. Don’t ask me how, but I do.

Sometimes I express it, right then and there. Sometimes I hold it in and express it when it’s more appropriate. Sometimes I write about it, or let it out in some other form of art. The options are many, but I do SOMETHING with it dad. I eventually release it. I don’t let it sit inside of me anymore and let it eat at me from the inside out.

I know this about me dad. I know it about you. I know it about many.”

        My dad would hear me. Because his heart would now be wide open. Like mine. And, because he’s a guy, and because he’s a builder, he would be thrilled that I exhibited some good old problem solving.



©2009 Clint Piatelli. All Rights (and nine pages of change orders) Reserved.

Simple, Man (part 2)

        Sometimes, the song “Simple Man" will move to tears now because I connect so strongly to the passages I highlighted in part one. Before, I used to be moved by how far away I felt from ever reaching the truth that those words spoke to me. They were tears of despair and longing. Now, they’re tears of intimacy; like looking into your lover’s eyes and connecting so deeply in that moment that you’re eyes well up.
        I’ve got a coffee mug that says “Life isn’t about discovering yourself. It’s about defining yourself.”. There’s an awful lot of truth in those words, but I believe that the journey I’m on is a little of both.
        The discovery of self comes in unearthing the real me that’s often buried under layers of defenses, masks, coping mechanisms, and the myriad of other constructs that I use to protect myself. It’s discovery, but it’s already in there, all of it; I’m not creating anything new. It’s just the deeper you dig, the more you get to, but all of it is already there, waiting to be revealed.
        But there is also a component that asks me to define who I want to be. For example, there is some residual anger and sadness in me. Anger and sadness that has nothing to do with the present and everything to do with the past. But I carry those emotions into present circumstances, and it clouds my thinking, taints my experience, and effects my behavior. If I choose to, and work hard at it, I can redefine myself by getting to that anger and sadness and releasing it. Then I don’t carry so much of it, and I change. I grow. I redefine myself as a more serene person. A happier person. So it’s part definition and part discovery. That’s how I frame it.
        Now that I’m not so blocked, I can get to more of what’s inside of me. I don’t have to come from my defensive places so much. I allow myself to be more of what’s within me, not whatever false selves I’ve developed to protect myself. So like the song, I follow more of what’s in my heart. Not my head. I’m on a less cluttered path of self knowledge, self acceptance, and self love. So whenever I hear a song or anything else that speaks of that process, I’m moved by it. And just as importantly, I allow myself to be moved by it. I don’t stuff it or deny it or shun it or run from it.
        I used to run a way from what I felt. Now I run towards. From that perspective, it’s all just a matter of changing direction.


©2009 Clint Piatelli. All Rights (and a simple amount of Wrongs) Reserved.

Pictures of Lilly

I've been writing every day this week, as usual, but nothing is "there" yet. That means next week should see a blog post just about every day, where this week, it was slim pickins. But I'm happy with the photographs I've posted, so here's another one, inspired by The Who and Andy Warhol.

A Message From Ron

        Despite the weatherman’s forecast of doom and gloom for Saturday, here on Cape Code, the weather cleared about 1 PM. Suddenly, it looked like a beach day. I threw on my skivvies, strapped on my ipod, hopped on my bike, and headed for the sandy shore of Old Silver Beach, about three miles away.
        When I got there, I did something I never do; I headed for the seaside bar at the Seacrest Hotel, which is right on the beach, and I ordered a Jack Daniel's on the rocks. It was just past two in the afternoon, way too early to start drinking, but I just went with it. The combination of the exercise and the heat caused the drink to go right to my head. So I did the only sensible thing. I had another one.
        So here I am, at the beach in the middle of a beautiful Saturday afternoon, riding the crest of a healthy buzz. And really enjoying it. The novelty of being buzzed at the beach so early in the day contributed to the fun factor. So did the fact that getting buzzed at the beach, any time, is just plain....fun.
        Along with my ipod, I had with me a twenty dollar bill (because before I left, I sensed the inclusion of alcohol in my immediate future), a pair of sunglasses (which by the way, I lost at the beach), and a little notebook and a mechanical pencil. Being in a beautiful environment, like a beach on a sunny day, surrounded by people, stimulates me (so does looking at hundreds of women in bikinis). So lately, I’ve been bringing writing materials with me, and it’s served me well. Ideas can come to me fast and furious when I’m stimulated, and sometimes they leave me just as maniacally. Having something to capture them on, before they disappear into the ether of the once-felt-once-thought, has proven invaluable.
        Previously, my writing pad of choice had been those rectangular sticky note pads, because they were the only “notebooks” I had that would fit in my bum bag. This day, however, I scrounged through a box in my office and grabbed a colorful little notepad that I had not seen in years. It was the right size, about 5 inches by 5 inches square.
        When I got to the seaside bar and decided to pull it out and start writing, two things struck me immediately. Once was that I had not written in this particular book since 1993. The second was that, there, on page three, was a note and drawing done by my friend Ron. Ron was no longer alive. He died in a motorcycle accident in August of 2001.
        Ron was an artist of the highest caliber. He was a brilliant illustrator and a very intellectual individual with a deft wit, a sharp mind, and an even sharper tongue. Luckily, he was as prolific as he was talented, and he left behind hundreds of pieces of his work. He was always drawing, writing, and coming up with ideas. If you spent any time around him, you saw this. And you loved it about him.
        Ron would usually carry an illustration pad with him everywhere he went. Sometimes, he would sketch out ideas or concepts he had. Other times, he would do an impromptu illustration of a scene that was happening right in front of you, complete with dialogue, like a one panel comic strip.
        Ron was the biggest, most knowledgeable comic book aficionado and expert I ever knew, and this expertise on all things super hero permeated his artistic sensibility in the most beautiful of ways. Whenever he was messing around and drew you or anybody else, you looked like a super hero. This was especially true when he drew himself. It was magnificent, and the butt of many of our running jokes with him.
        I had completely forgotten about this little notebook that I was now holding in my hands at the beach. And I had completely forgotten that Ron had written and drawn in it. When I opened it up and saw his distinctive hand writing, and even more distinctive artwork, I gasped and smiled broadly. I have lots of stuff of Ron’s, but I honestly haven’t looked at any of it in a while. Now, out of nowhere, one of his forgotten gifts revealed itself to me.
        Not only was this gift a surprise, but it’s content was as poignant and beautiful as I could have possibly imagined. It was a beam of light and love shot right from his heart to mine; as personal as could possibly be, speaking directly to the journey I have been so diligently engaged in for the past thirteen months. Like he knew then what I needed to hear. I’m sure I heard it then. But I hear it now in a whole new way. On a whole new level. And what he wrote means something to me now that it couldn’t have meant to me then; because I was looking in the wrong places for something Ron could see that I already had in me. All I needed to do was rediscover it. All I needed to do was own it and embrace it in a way that I never had before. That’s what I’ve been doing. Ron knew it then. I know it now. So I’m closer to him than I ever have been.
        And next to what he wrote is another one of Ron’s infamous drawing’s of himself. And it looks just like him.

©2009 Clint Piatelli & Ron McArdle. All Rights (and a Marvel Universe full of Wrongs) Reserved.