Pride, grief, and work

Pride, grief, and work

This blog is an excerpt from ‘The next day: a bundle of notes about grief, loss of vocation, and having to carry on regardless’.

Illustration by Rebecca Stewart

An obstacle to re-building, and then articulating, a sense of vocation can be when an ignominious or startling exit from work has hurt your pride. In writing this section, when I talk about ‘pride’ I am referring to the right sort of pride that arises out of a healthy ego, not a sort of vanity. For obvious reasons, hurt pride can make it difficult for someone to reinvent their personal brand. Someone whose pride has been hurt spends their time looking over their psychic shoulder, trying to pick out whispers and finger-pointing, waiting for jeers and cruel exposure.

During the current economic downturn, some sectors are experiencing such a drastic upheaval that many of their workers are being cast off with little warning. People who had enjoyed secure (or apparently secure) careers have found themselves being churned through brutal redundancy processes. Contractors in the arts industry who could point to years of consistent gigging suddenly found their projects cancelled overnight. Artists, academics, professional staff, technical crew, and many other types of workers found themselves unceremoniously dumped while their sectors collapsed around them.

Nobody likes to be made to feel expedient. We all need to feel special. Fair enough – we all are special, each of us with unique mixtures of qualities, skills, talents, experience, and knowledge. Where we are all the same is that each of us needs some measure of security – emotional, psychological, material – to be able to thrive. When our place in the economy – whether that be as an employee or one of the self-employed – is terminated, then our expedient status is made clear to us. It hurts, because those unique and wonderful skills, talents, and qualities are treated as if they can be jettisoned as excess tonnage, thrown overboard. And it’s scary because, with future income unsecured and our work status ‘cancelled’, our sense of security is undermined.

This state of affairs is bad enough, but if how we are cast adrift is particularly brutal, shocking, or cursory then – alongside our insecurity and psychological pain – we have to deal with hurt pride. It’s the curdled icing on top of a poisonous cake. Given the horrifying prevalence of workplace bullying, some people may have taken on board psychosocial damage – including injured self-esteem – even before this whole pandemic lockdown era wreaked havoc on our economy. Which means that alongside possible feelings of relief and liberation from the bully (and – remember – feelings of relief and liberation can be manifestations of grief) the hurt their pride receives from being chucked out of work could compound the hurt their pride had already received from bullying.

Another attack on the professional pride of some workers in some sectors can come from the attitudes of the society around them, including from official figures such as politicians, or prominent figures in the media or business. The arts industry has been one of the hardest hit in Australia during lockdown, with staggering numbers of arts workers cut off from income – whether that be in the form of salaries, sales, commissions, or fees – and, due to lockdowns and social distancing requirements, unable to access the forums, venues, and the networks they need to be viable. Last December, in a cabinet reshuffle, the federal government arts portfolio was absorbed into the Department of Infrastructure, Transport, Regional Development and Communications; the word ‘Arts’ was left out of the portfolio name altogether. For years, the arts sector has been systematically defunded by our government and the JobKeeper income support scheme was designed in such a way that many arts workers were ineligible for it, despite there being an obvious need for them to be able to access it.

Speaking of JobKeeper, the government retrospectively changed its governing policy three times to block universities from being able to access it, despite universities also being extremely badly affected by pandemic lockdowns. This came on the back of years of adverse policymaking from the government in the area of higher education.

Public universities were excluded from JobKeeper. Many, many artists were excluded. Many migrants, those on temporary visas, now stuck in Australia because of logistics and money, were not eligible for help at all. Casuals who had not been with their employer for 12 months were not eligible, which had a large effect on young people and women. The list read like a rollcall of groups an unimaginative critic of the government might have predicted would be excluded: academics, artists, recent migrants, young people, women. Frydenberg, asked why artists and actors had been left out, said, ‘We had to draw the line somewhere.’” ~ Sean Kelly

Whenever the government talks about higher education, and if it talks about the arts, it does so with spin and obfuscation. It does not articulate what drives its hostility against these two sectors; speculation from others ranges from wild-eyed conspiracy theory to sober reasoning about ideology.

But to work in these sectors is to know that your government is ranged against you, that they do not value the work you do. So, in addition to hurt that may be sustained by poor conditions or culture, and alongside hurt sustained by a rude ejection from these sectors, comes the hurt of knowing that the leaders of your own society don’t want a bar of you, that they believe that your work is of no value.

“One of the utterly shitty things about this utterly shitty situation is that a significant section of the political class sees this as mission accomplished” ~ Tim Dunlop

Talking about hurt pride might sound superficial, like playground stuff, but I don’t think so. In talking about losing work, and then having to go out and secure replacement work, it is important to consider the role of self-esteem and having a sense of identity. How on earth does someone sell themselves if their ability to feel the right kind of pride in their work, their training, and the skills and values bound up in all of that has been damaged or undermined?

What leads to hurt pride in relation to work? A loss of status, an attack on reputation, not being allowed the place and time to celebrate or even be acknowledged for your achievements. With a sense of these things being lost to you, it can initially feel very hard to rebuild a narrative around what you do and its worth.

This loss of face – of pride – needs to be grieved alongside everything else. So how to do that? How to accept and feel for the loss of status, reputation, place in the world without sacrificing or damaging a more grounded sense of self in which resilience will have to be found and from which a healthy ego will have to grow?

To be continued…

This blog is an excerpt from The next day: a bundle of notes about grief, loss of vocation, and having to carry on regardless.

Every Wednesday at 9am (AEST) I will be posting an excerpt from these notes (there are quite a few!) but if you don’t want to wait then you can download the entire bundle in PDF format for free HERE.

These notes are something I have been working on during lockdown. They are a response to the plight of friends and ex-colleagues who have lost work during this tumultuous year. This is my gift to them and anyone else who has found themselves jobless.

This project is unfunded. If you would like to make a small donation to it then you can do so here. If you are unable to afford to do this, then please know that my best wishes go out to you.

Grief and personal branding

Grief and personal branding

This blog is an excerpt from ‘The next day: a bundle of notes about grief, loss of vocation, and having to carry on regardless’.

Illustration by Rebecca Stewart

In the first month after my mother died, I wrote in the mess of notes that passed for a journal at the time “I’m going to let grief scrub me raw and clean.” In the months after I abandoned my performing career, and after I figured out that my strange state was a state of grief, I decided to let grief shift me about – like wading across a river with a fast current and a silty bed. I knew I was going to get to the other side but also bargained on stumbling about, falling over, and not knowing where exactly on the opposite bank I was going to scramble ashore, depending on the swiftness and power of the water.

Grief strips you bear. My late mother, as a survivor of a severe stroke, had to process grief over her altered life. She wrote a poem in which she said, “A stroke stripped off my overcoat / Although I wore it buttoned tight… left shivering in the cold hard truth / all secrecy and poses gone.”

So, yes, grief may give your sense of self-identity a wallop. The impact can be severe even if the thing being grieved over is a job, practice, or access to a sector – the loss or sudden absence of these things can, in and of themselves, be a cause of a shift in, or loss of, sense of self-identity.

Personal branding

When people lose jobs or income streams, society expects those people to hurry right on out and find themselves something to replace them. Our economy demands that we continue to pay rent and bills, and our culture has a horror of the unemployed.

A key strategy in job-searching or business development is personal branding, equally commonly applicable to job seekers as it is to sole-traders. We are all supposed to concoct a beguiling and commodified persona that will ‘sell’ us to employers, customers and clients.

I will readily admit that I actually enjoy a good branding exercise; it appeals to the ex-theatre maker in me. I’ve always associated branding with dramaturgy – bringing different visual, textual, spatial, thematic, and social elements together to express an idea. Good branding should make manifest core values. This is why bad branding is so irritating and off-putting – it’s a mendacious attempt to spin something rather than to express authenticity.

The challenge for someone who is still in acute grief – perhaps even shock – over the sudden loss of a source of work and income is that there will be pressure for that someone to cobble together a beaming shiny-toothed personal brand to sell themselves to the work market. And that someone might just not feel like it. More pressing still, that someone might be going through a grieving process during which they are questioning and sorting through a shift in values, sense of self, or worldview. This can be a harrowing process for some people, an inspiring one for others, or a mixture of both for others still. It’s not easy, but it is important and needs time and focus. What to do when a need for material security – realised by finding new work – itself demands time and focus? And what happens when that time and focus has to be invested into a personal branding exercise that is essentially an act to impress employers or prospects, but which leaves no room for acknowledgement, let alone processing, of the disorientation and perhaps even despair of losing a vocation?

This conflict is hard to resolve and may well be irresolvable for many people who are grieving.

If you find yourself feeling conflict between your need to grieve and your need to hit the hustings and rustle up some cash, analyse what your inner conflict is about. Sometimes grief can highlight – with almost brutal clarity – the things that matter to us in the shape of things we become aware of missing acutely, and other things we are happy to let slide. In other words, grief can help us become hyper-aware of our values. If we find these values in conflict with the way in how we perceive the world wants us to be in the job market, then the conflict we feel has actually amplified the importance of these values to us. And good branding is based on articulating values. Perhaps, then, this feeling of conflict – as awful as it is – can be reframed as a good place to start building a brand that is authentic to you.

Being aware of feeling grief is important; it is important not to let a feeling of malaise colour your long-term sense of potential, both for yourself and for the opportunities the new post-COVID normal may present you with. Keep reminding yourself that what you are feeling is grief; it is not your long-term reality.

Where is your sense of identity at right now? Is it being reclaimed, reformed, protected, or undermined? Is there a point to having a personal brand if you are not yet sure what services you will be offering? Yes! You can start assembling networks of allies and potential clients – focus on manifesting your values. Find conversations you enjoy having, and people you enjoy having them with, and then analyse why you enjoy having them. What you discover will become the foundation of a new narrative…

 

This blog is an excerpt from The next day: a bundle of notes about grief, loss of vocation, and having to carry on regardless.

Every Wednesday at 9am (AEST) I will be posting an excerpt from these notes (there are quite a few!) but if you don’t want to wait then you can download the entire bundle in PDF format for free HERE.

These notes are something I have been working on during lockdown. They are a response to the plight of friends and ex-colleagues who have lost work during this tumultuous year. This is my gift to them and anyone else who has found themselves jobless.

This project is unfunded. If you would like to make a small donation to it then you can do so here. If you are unable to afford to do this, then please know that my best wishes go out to you.

Grief, identity, and your story

Grief, identity, and your story

This blog is an excerpt from ‘The next day: a bundle of notes about grief, loss of vocation, and having to carry on regardless’.

Illustration by Rebecca Stewart

If you have been cut off from your sector by job loss or pandemic shutdown of your sector’s activity, you may be in the position of having to find new income streams, either to tide you over until your sector opens back up or because you may never be able to go back to your old way of working and, therefore, need a new career.

You may be caught in limbo: accepting, at least intellectually, that you do need a new career or a totally different way of pursuing your vocation, but unsure – unable to visualise – what this might be. So, in the meantime, with rent and bills needing to be paid and wolves kept from doors, you need some kind of a temporary job.

This will mean hitting the jobs market and / or developing a new client base. For those who have lost access to a whole sector or way of working, this could mean exploring new sectors and, correspondingly, new vocabularies, trends, and dynamics.

This will mean constructing a whole new way of building a compelling narrative around your transferable skills, talents, qualities, experience, and education. If the new sectors you are exploring are quite different in culture to the one you have been cast out of then this will be like learning a new language and a different mode of storytelling.

This can be challenging, perhaps daunting or perhaps novel, depending on your disposition or the conditions under which you are having to function. If you are experiencing grief, then this will add a whole new dimension:

How do you find out what your new narrative should look like?

How do you define your ‘audience’ in your new sector?

Do you perceive that new audience as giving a stuff? Will they understand your history or know enough about your past work or sector to assign value to your skills, or are you going to have to build in narrative elements that ‘translate’ your story into terms they understand?

Is this ability to translate going to be coloured by your feelings of grief? Inflected by negativity, loss of confidence, numbness, recklessness, or anxiety? Or do you feel liberated, unburdened, excited by the possibility of a new life?

Do you feel orphaned by the sudden disappearance of your role and your sector? Have you been jolted out of a context you could easily articulate, and are suddenly having to seek out and perform in quite different forums?

How has your grief impacted the way you feel about yourself, or your place in the world?

Has your grief affected your ability to even see yourself clearly? Is there anyone who can help you with this? Do you need a reality check, expert advice, or reassurance and comforting?

Do you feel bold, confident, or clear-minded? Sometimes grief serves to strip away the dross and gifts us with a heightened awareness of what is superficial and what is important. This could be a help when it comes to fashioning a new narrative about yourself and what you have to offer…

 

This blog is an excerpt from The next day: a bundle of notes about grief, loss of vocation, and having to carry on regardless.

Every Wednesday at 9am (AEST) I will be posting an excerpt from these notes (there are quite a few!) but if you don’t want to wait then you can download the entire bundle in PDF format for free HERE.

These notes are something I have been working on during lockdown. They are a response to the plight of friends and ex-colleagues who have lost work during this tumultuous year. This is my gift to them and anyone else who has found themselves jobless.

This project is unfunded. If you would like to make a small donation to it then you can do so here. If you are unable to afford to do this, then please know that my best wishes go out to you.

Grief and perceptions of risk

Grief and perceptions of risk

This blog is an excerpt from ‘The next day: a bundle of notes about grief, loss of vocation, and having to carry on regardless’.

Illustration by Rebecca Stewart

Grief affects how people perceive risk-taking in their lives.

Some people feel raw and vulnerable, disorientated and uncertain. Grief can make them more risk-averse than usual. They want to creep under their doona and hide from life until they can grow a new layer of skin and feel the ground steady under their feet.

Other people can feel as if nothing’s worth caring for anymore because everything’s hopeless. “Fuck it,” they say, “I’ve lost the love of my life. I don’t care what happens to me now. I might as well go and join the Foreign Legion.” Because these people have lost something of great value to them, they feel bereft of value. Risk-taking means nothing because life has become meaningless.

Then there are other people who meditate on how nothing ever stays the same, how everything will change and evolve, that life is fleeting. These people find liberation in their grief; they stop wasting time on superficialities and divest themselves of what is trivial. They discover what is of value. What they choose to preserve or play safe with, and what they choose to take calculated risks on, is recalibrated.

In your grief do you feel bereft or liberated? Both these things carry vulnerabilities; how do you perceive these?

Risk is fluid and our sense of where risk lies and how willing we are to take it ebbs and flows through different parts of our lives. How has your sense of risk – what constitutes a danger and how likely that is to happen – changed over the last two to three months, or since whenever it was that you lost your job or vocation?

If you are more risk-averse, what can you do to counter that? Are there things you can do to inspire you? Reflective practices you can undertake to help you understand the nature of any fears or doubts you might have? People who make you feel supported? Or are your instincts telling you that have been left raw by loss, that you do, in fact, need to hide from the world – not permanently but just until everything stops feeling so abrasive.

If you have become more reckless – of the ‘fuck it, who cares’ variety of recklessness – then what can you do to counter that? What was it about the now-absent set of conditions that anchored you, or gave you parameters, or grounded instincts? Are you able to set up some markers to warn you if you are about to cause some damage to yourself? Or are there any wise owls in your network you can use as a sounding board?

“I distinguish between “fear” and “risk”. One can be afraid when not at risk, and at risk but not afraid.” ~ Robert MacFarlane

Is your grief making you more fearful than usual, or more numb to danger? This can be hard to spot or track if your grief overwhelms you. You may be prone to being triggered by strong emotions: anger or resentment that makes you want to lash out; anxiety or insecurity that can have you jumping at small noises.

Each person will be different in the way in which they respond to the stimuli present in their lives as they process grief. Denying emotion is unhealthy. So too is nurturing hypersensitivity because you find yourself harbouring the strong feelings and reactions of grief. Perhaps the answer lies in an awareness that you are in grief, that it is an important force in your life right now, but that it does not define you or your future.

 

This blog is an excerpt from The next day: a bundle of notes about grief, loss of vocation, and having to carry on regardless.

Every Wednesday at 9am (AEST) I will be posting an excerpt from these notes (there are quite a few!) but if you don’t want to wait then you can download the entire bundle in PDF format for free HERE.

These notes are something I have been working on during lockdown. They are a response to the plight of friends and ex-colleagues who have lost work during this tumultuous year. This is my gift to them and anyone else who has found themselves jobless.

This project is unfunded. If you would like to make a small donation to it then you can do so here. If you are unable to afford to do this, then please know that my best wishes go out to you.

Time is weird now

Time is weird now

This blog is an excerpt from The next day: a bundle of notes about grief, loss of vocation, and having to carry on regardless.

Illustration by Rebecca Stewart

Ethnographer Jonathan Cook recently published the article The strange stream of COVID-19 time in business culture on the Journal of Beautiful Business website. In it, he summarises some findings – about perceptions of time – from research he has been conducting on how COVID-19 has impacted business culture. He writes:

“As I spoke with people in business, they began to tell me something strange: Their perception of time was changing… Some people talked of a great pause in time, while others talked about simply feeling lost in time, unsure of their place in it.”

If you are currently feeling disorientated and adrift in time, then you are not alone. Cook notes that “The commonality was that time wasn’t behaving normally, but the specific form of its abnormality was not at all uniform. Under COVID-19, time has become subjective, experienced individually.”

In another note in The next day, I wrote that you may be feeling a sense of urgency and that this may or may not be generated by your reaction to real deadlines looming, or other people’s attitudes putting pressure on you, or from your own internal mental chatter. If time is being experienced individually, as Cook has found, then this may explain, in part, why dealing with the world, other people, and our frazzled selves can feel stressful: perhaps we are all out of alignment with each other in our sense of time.

The normal deadlines aren’t going anywhere – the rent or the electricity bill has to be paid by its usual date, that job application is due in. But perhaps you are struggling to meet them, either because your brain has turned to mush and you can’t remember to do stuff, or because you have no money anymore and therefore aren’t resourced to meet those deadlines as they march towards you.

Adverse reactions from other people can feel like a form of pressure, especially if you feel off-kilter or raw due to your own response to the current crisis. These reactions can be divulged either deliberately or unwittingly, in the form of nagging or naysaying, prophesying doom for the economy, bitchy competitiveness for the few remaining jobs in your organisation, or ‘helpful’ prompts to grab the next shelf-stacking job at the local supermarkets.

One person might be panting with anxiety about nailing down a source of income, madly filling their days with frantic activity. Their friend might have trouble getting out of their pyjamas and deciding which cereal to have for dinner. Slipping on ice or wading through treacle. If the people around you are experiencing time differently, and therefore coming at activity and deadlines differently, then they can generate a sense of urgency that may be valid for them, but unhelpful to you. Cook found that different people he interviewed reported experiencing a variety of reactions: stress, anxiety, liberation, reflectiveness, creativity, and transformation. All understandable in people under duress, all possible manifestations of grief. But all different: make sure people are not superimposing their feelings of urgency – or apathy – onto you. Hold onto the unique and individual way in which you are needing to experience the flow of time.

Cook’s article is fascinating and also hopeful. He notes that time is a cultural construct; he opines that the

“fracturing of the experience of time… is creating the potential for multiple alternative models of business. Not everything needs to be on the clock anymore.”

You have been divested of a vocational pathway that, regardless as to how easy or demanding it was to follow, made sense to you once. The sudden absence of this clear vocational pathway may be disorientating, even painful or shocking. But why should not one of these “alternative models of business” become available to you in time? Perhaps you can create one.

“We can make new kinds of maps,” Cook writes.

“A good canoeist will often save energy by riding with the currents going downstream, but will also have a paddle ready, to change direction when necessary. The future is fluid. We have the power to choose where we go.”

Happy paddling.

 

Literally right after I read first read this article by Cook, I read a poem about a canoe called ‘ars pasifika’ by Craig Santos Perez. It’s the perfect companion to Cook’s article.

 

This blog is an excerpt from The next day: a bundle of notes about grief, loss of vocation, and having to carry on regardless.

Every Wednesday at 9am (AEST) I will be posting an excerpt from these notes (there are quite a few!) but if you don’t want to wait then you can download the entire bundle in PDF format for free HERE.

These notes are something I have been working on during lockdown. They are a response to the plight of friends and ex-colleagues who have lost work during this tumultuous year. This is my gift to them and anyone else who has found themselves jobless.

This project is unfunded. If you would like to make a small donation to it then you can do so here. If you are unable to afford to do this, then please know that my best wishes go out to you.

Urgency, grief, and loss of vocation

Urgency, grief, and loss of vocation

This blog is an excerpt from ‘The next day: a bundle of notes about grief, loss of vocation, and having to carry on regardless’.

After losing your job or vocation, do you have a sense of urgency about the choices you have to make right now?

Why? Where is this sense of urgency coming from?

Do you need to pay the rent next month, but don’t know how you are going to earn the money to do it?

Are you able to pay the rent for a while thanks to your redundancy package and/or wage subsidy (like the JobKeeper payment), but still feel pressure to get a new job – any job – ASAP?

Why?

Is it because every time your Mum rings up she asks, “so, have you got a job yet?” Is it because everybody in your friendship circle is talking about their job search and/or money problems? Is it because every time you click on the news you see Scott Morrison talking about “snapping back” the economy to the ‘old normal’?

If you are trapped in a building with a bunch of colleagues who are all speculating on whether or not they will lose their jobs when the next round of redundancies will be announced, and whether or not they will ever get another job in their sector again, then that fear can be contagious. Similarly, if you are a member of the arts community and every other contractor or sole-trader you know in the sector has lost income streams, contracts, has had venues closed and events shut down and doesn’t know when the sector will open back up again, if every channel or forum of promoting, showing, and selling your creative products or services has disappeared, then that sense of devastation can spread through networks like wildfire. These fears may feasibly turn out to be valid. But, then again, new unexpected avenues for people to pursue their vocations might appear. No one knows right now and that is fuelling people’s sense of desperation and, therefore, sense of urgency.

Do you feel a sense of urgency because there is a small quiet voice deep inside of you that is telling you that you’re washed up, ‘it’s all over’, you’re a loser, you’re a failure, now that you don’t have a job?

Do you feel a sense of panic because your sector has imploded, and you cannot see what the future holds for you?

If you feel that you urgently need to make decisions about your future, it is important to understand where this sense of urgency comes from: inside of you or because of messages you are receiving from other people.

It is also important to understand if the pressure is due to real demands (the rent must be paid, or you will be evicted) or the emotional contagion of other people’s panic or negative expectations.

In your grief, are your insecurities flaring up and dragging your self-image down? Do you feel urgent about proving yourself to your inner demons?

Nobody knows how the future is going to unfold, exactly. Writing for The Journal of Beautiful Business, researcher Jonathan Cook states:

Nobody knows what’s going to happen next. Anybody who is making specific predictions about the marketplace right now doesn’t know what they’re talking about.”

There may be terrible things waiting for us all – who knows? – but why should there not be opportunity for those who are able to adjust. Sitting in a space of uncertainty can feel hard. But, while you’re sitting there, why not process your grief?

Yes – you certainly do have to find ways of paying the rent in the short term. But do not allow other people’s perceived sense of urgency invade or shape your grieving process. It is your time to come to terms with what has happened to you, to access the positive aspects of grief – a sense of liberation from the conditions attached to the ‘old normal’ that didn’t do you any favours, or perhaps insight or clarity into your values and shifting priorities. This is your time to adjust to the radical absence of something that has been shaping your life; do not let other people’s opinions as to what you should be getting on with shape that adjustment process. This could be easier said than done – there are a lot of opinions flying around right now as to how shit everything is and what everyone should be doing. Those of you who have signed up for welfare will have a compliance regime to deal with [groan!]. That’s hard.

But be aware of your grief, of your right and need to grieve. Be aware of the vulnerabilities and the opportunities for insight they contain and take anyone else’s message of urgency with a grain of salt. The state of grief may be a difficult one to experience, but it is also a special time, a stage of life given to you to come to terms with and adapt to the radical absence of something important to you. This special time is yours: cling onto it.

Illustration by Rebecca Stewart

This blog is an excerpt from The next day: a bundle of notes about grief, loss of vocation, and having to carry on regardless.

Every Wednesday at 9am (AEST) I will be posting an excerpt from these notes (there are quite a few!) but if you don’t want to wait then you can download the entire bundle in PDF format for free HERE.

These notes are something I have been working on during lockdown. They are a response to the plight of friends and ex-colleagues who have lost work during this tumultuous year. This is my gift to them and anyone else who has found themselves jobless.

This project is unfunded. If you would like to make a small donation to it then you can do so here. If you are unable to afford to do this, then please know that my best wishes go out to you.

Announcement: ‘The next day: A bundle of notes about grief, loss of vocation, and having to carry on regardless’.

Announcement: ‘The next day: A bundle of notes about grief, loss of vocation, and having to carry on regardless’.

Illustration by Rebecca Stewart

I am about to start posting blogs about grief, how it affects people who have lost their streams of income, and how they might go about dealing with the pressure to survive day-to-day.

Called The next day: A bundle of notes about grief, loss of vocation, and having to carry on regardless, this ‘thing’ – shorter than a book but much longer than an essay – is one of my lockdown projects. I was prompted to write it out of concern for friends and ex-colleagues who have suddenly found themselves out of work due to Covid-19 lockdowns, be that as small traders, contractors, or (formerly) permanent employees. What is unique about this situation is that people are not just losing jobs or businesses, but access to whole sectors that are locking down or downsizing. I used to work in both the university and arts sectors, which have been particularly badly hit not just by the lockdowns but have also found themselves on the wrong side of federal government policy in regards to wage subsidies or future funding arrangements. But I believe that anyone who has lost their work could relate to what I have written.

The loss of work is a cause of grief and shock. It also brings about a mad scramble for material survival in the newly jobless. But the volatile energies and complex emotions of grief work to completely different rhythms in comparison to the process of job-search and / or saving a business. People who are dealing with grief are currently being asked to make big decisions about how they are going to get the rent paid. These two dynamics may be in conflict.

I cannot suggest an easy resolution to this tension; it may well be irresolvable for many people. And yet these people must live with this. I wrote The next day to acknowledge what people may be going through. In the writing I drew heavily on two episodes of grief during my life. One was the death of my mother, suddenly, to cancer last year. The other was the death of my first vocation – as an arts worker (performer, choreographer, arts administrator). I chose, myself, to euthanise this way of life but, even so, I felt a profound sense of grief. I know that these experiences are not the same as what people are going through this year; indeed, I believe the experience of loss of work in 2020 will be unique to this time. But I still felt a profound empathy, and this prompted me to write.

Even though I don’t have pat solutions to suggest, I thought that I could at least posit some ideas and provocations that may provide context or open some lines of thinking for people. I hope these notes are of some support to someone out there.

I am making this bundle of notes available for free, being mindful of the fact that some people who might like to read them will now be short of money. I will be offering them in two formats. You can either download the whole bundle in PDF format HERE, or you can wait and read each note posted separately and weekly in this blog starting from 7 October. I will be posting each one at 9am every Wednesday for the next 20 or so weeks.

Solitary mind: creativity and resilience

Solitary mind: creativity and resilience

rene-magritte-the-tomb-of-the-wrestlers-1960
The Tomb of the Wrestlers by Rene Magritte

Twitter right now is a double edged sword. On the one hand it is full of hysteria and nonsense and prolonged exposure to this is definitely not recommended  for peace of mind, but on the other it is full of lovely things. In response to the pandemic of physical distancing and isolation that has spread across the globe, many people are taking refuge in their imaginations. The stuff people are sharing range from the silly to the playful to the beautiful to the profound.

People stuck at home are making videos and art, gifs and essays, singing folk songs, and singing opera from their quarantined balconies. On Twitter, Patrick Stewart reads one of Shakespeare’s sonnets every day. Yo Yo Ma plays us #songsofcomfort. A British family has gone viral with their own witty coronavirus inspired lyrics set to a soundtrack from Les Miserables.

August institutions are sharing their resources online: you can read fine essays or view galleries from the quarantined comfort of your home. Author Robert MacFarlane is conducting a reading group on Twitter.

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Under these stressful conditions people are trying to find a way of staving off tedium and the blues. They are looking for meaning. Endeavouring to comfort and entertain themselves and others. I think it’s delightful that so many people are hunkering down with a sense of playfulness and / or an appetite for the artistic.

Obviously, for many people thrown upon their own inner resources to combat one of the most disruptive and serious crises of our lives, the instinct they are drawing on is their sense of creativity. I’m not surprised. I have long felt that creativity and resilience work in a kind of a loop. We are living in strange times that demand resilience, where we are challenged to make sense of, and outlast, the hitherto unexperienced. And to do so in a way that means we emerge from this with some sense of being coherent humans able to rebuild normal lives, whatever that ‘normal’ turns out to be.

Working creatively is psychologically challenging in different ways. You have to be prepared to risk failure. You have to be prepared to risk succeeding on your terms, only to have these terms misunderstood and denounced by others. Making creative work is an alchemical process, combining themes, ideas, techniques, resources in a process of trial and error. Creative people get used to working while feeling doubt, frustration, ambiguity, disappointment, and fear at their own audacity.

So creative work demands resilience, that ability to persevere while being vulnerable.* But the neat thing is that, while you are drawing on your personal resilience as a creative, your creative process is embedding things that, in turn, make you resilient. A rich inner world; learning to get your critical mind to work with your imagination (instead of letting one overwhelm the other); the ability to sit in uncertainty; the ability to learn from your mistakes; being able to recognise when a change of course is required; a sense of playfulness; determination; curiosity. All of these things may be called upon when steering a light bulb moment to tangible outcome. All of them can feed your ability to be resilient. And that resilience helps to sustain your creative process.

*I don’t think resilience = tough. I think these two things are quite different things.

Recommended resource:

The Discover2Learn website is the most comprehensive and caried list of stuff you can do while self-distancing that I have seen yet.

And…

I derive my income from a mixture of casual and freelance work. If you would like to support me, please consider one of the following:

If you can’t afford to support me because Covid-19 has knocked the stuffing out of your income streams, please know that you have my profound empathy. The very best of luck to you.

Time Management versus Energy Management

Time Management versus Energy Management

It was recently my good fortune to attend a Masterclass in Learning Facilitation, created and facilitated by Helen Palmer. It was a fun and incredibly useful day, with lots of insights, advice, and a variety of techniques made available to us. Helen obviously has a ball while she facilitates, has an acute sense of when to deploy any of her huge repertoire of facilitation techniques, and generates a lovely energy during her sessions.

One thing that made me prick up my ears was during the section of the Masterclass when Helen was talking about preparing to facilitate. She mentioned that she makes sure that she puts aside half a day before and after a day of facilitation in order to be quiet, calm, and to reserve energy to give to her facilitation process. As an introvert, and an introvert who enjoys people, this approach made sense to me.

We are all familiar with the phrase ‘time management.’ Lately I have been thinking that we should also talk about energy management. We should not just think about when we do stuff, but also about the quality of energy we bring to the doing of those tasks. Working with people, working creatively, working technically, working intellectually, performing emotional or physical labour: these things all require different kinds of energy. Are we managing our lives so that we take not just enough, but the right type of energy into those tasks?

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‘Un Autre Monde’ by Grandville

Helen also made the comment “Some things like turning off my phone (before facilitating) I almost treat like a ritual… so that I have the cognitive space to deal with the unexpected.” Again, this pointed to Helen deliberately shifting focus so that she brought the right kind of energy to her facilitation work.

Those of us who facilitate know how rewarding it can be: creative, interesting, satisfying, and just plain fun. But it is intense. To do it well you have to be incredibly present and responsive. This Masterclass equipped us with lots of techniques, and that is useful and important, but the discussion around preparing to facilitate – I would call it preparing your energy – was equally important. I guess the secret to succeeding at any task or undertaking is to make sure that you have the right techniques and the right amount and type of energy. We are often good at identifying what we need for technical efficiency; are we as good at understanding how to manage our energy?

A Profound Place to Start

A Profound Place to Start

There are two things that this tweet reinforces for me:

  • Using the word ‘great’ 3 times in one tweet does not show off my vocabulary skills at their best.
  • That failure is not an end but a beginning, and a “profound” one at that.

Some background first: I tweeted the above during the 2018 Melbourne Sustainable Society Institute (MSSI) Annual Oration. Given on 20 November by Professor Lars Coenen the lecture, entitled ‘Resilience in the Face of Sustainability Crises: Is Innovation the Problem or the Solution’, was an enjoyably thought-provoking event.

During his oration, Professor Coenen touched on failure – and the things it can teach us – as part of innovation process.

Kate Auty, Chair of the MSSI Advisory Board and MC for the evening, picked up on this during the Q & A, and I especially liked the wording Kate used: “a profound place to start.”

There is a growing trend to encourage people to embrace their failures more, to not be embarrassed by them or in denial of them but to acknowledge and welcome them as a chance to grow. I heartily approve of this, BUT to truly learn from our failures – to find that profound starting place they can lead us to – we must go beyond merely acknowledging them or turning them into war stories. Shrugging stuff of with cries of “Oh shit! Oh well… tomorrow’s another day” and then hurrying off to get drunk won’t do. The growth comes from having the humility and developing the capacity to reflect deeply.

Interior of Denghoog
Taken from ‘Fians, Fairies and Picts’ by David MacRitchie

I have been meditating on some favourite lines of poetry recently:
“Now that my ladder’s gone
I must lie down where all the ladders start
In the foul rag and bone shop of the heart.”

These are from W.B. Yeats’ The Circus Animals’ Desertion, and speak to a need to find inspiration, especially at the moment when inspiration seems to have dried up.
“I sought a theme and sought for it in vain,
I sought it daily for six weeks or so.
Maybe at last being but a broken man
I must be satisfied with my heart…”

In our failures, with our egos bruised and our thinking in disarray, the experience of our failed projects can feel very raw. The potential for gains in status, finances, career advancement, or personal triumph are all stripped away – we are pared back to the bare essentials of our self, our hurt and failing self. The ladder we were climbing to better and brighter things has gone.

The foul rag and bone shop of the heart may not be a place filled with things that are shiny or lovely, but it is filled with stuff nevertheless – the rags and bones are remnants of life lived. In Yeats’ poem, he comments that the great and ‘pure’ images in his famous poems grew out of “A mound of refuse or the sweepings of the street” – beauty or meaning can grow out of compost.

If our failures lead us to the rag and bone shop of the heart, then this is a profound place indeed. For it is the place where all ladders start, and where our next attempt at ascendancy can begin.

 

I have collected a recording of the oration, a follow up extract, and some other information about the evening into a Wakelet collection. Just click here if you would like to look.