Defeating Defeatism (or how game theory helps me understand myself)

Some years ago, my older stepson made the decision to pursue an advanced degree and eventually a livelihood in what used to be called Computer Science.  I’m certain my livelihood at the time as a mainframe programmer helped shape that decision of his.  Somehow, beyond my parental naggings and lectures, he was able to see the gleam in my eye of working on complex problems that needed to be broken down into thousands of individual lines of code.

After a few false starts, he was successful not only in obtaining an undergraduate degree from William and Mary, but eventually a Master’s and then a PhD from the University of Michigan.  And to his credit, he pretty much did the whole thing on his own dime after his parents and stepparents helped him obtain some initial financing.

On July 25, 2014, my husband and I were fortunate to be among the selected few audience members at his dissertation presentation in Ann Arbor, Michigan. I could never – not at that time, and certainly not nearly three years later – pass a quiz on the contents thereof.  Some of it gave me a tiny glimpse; the rest whooshed over my head.

Since I was there primarily as a silent observer to this gathering of stepson’s faculty, advisers, and peers, I didn’t need to understand.  I just needed to observe, admire, and be proud without making a lot of audible reactions.

His dissertation related to what is called game theory.  Apparently, there’s an entire discipline of computer work around that in these modern times.  

A really good computer game design will include algorithms not only to keep the game functioning properly, but also to predict the strategy and future moves of the human player.  It’s kind of like old-fashioned chess in that respect – something at which I never excelled while my husband and both his sons did.  They’re all observably smarter than I in the areas of offensive and defensive strategies.

My natural tendency – possibly hard-wired from birth, possibly reinforced by my life’s failures – is to get defeated.  I give up or give in, because it often seems easier to submit to those human bulldozers than to fight what seems inevitable.

Fast forward to early 2017 where I have lost a full-time job with full benefits.  

The first part of my unintentional sabbatical (collecting unemployment) was consumed with care-taking for my husband, who opted to have his right knee replaced in early February.  His Medicare actually covered the lion’s share of the costs, but his subsequent physical ordeal continues to varying degrees four-plus months later.

As a way of breaking the boredom and pain cycle for our household, he introduced me to a new game online. It’s what is called a puzzle game, and in this case, you match tiles to complete various tasks. This game is highly addictive for both him and me for a variety of psychological reasons, some of which I can identify.  Either way, it’s just fun.

When my brain locks up over various stresses (for example, but not limited to: finances, health of family and pets, my future career) I sometimes zone out to the repetitious shapes, colors, and infectious theme tune of this game on Facebook.

When I’m really tired, my creative brain is often wide open, and interesting patterns occur to me while playing the game.  Sometimes I compare my own patterns and preferences to the “game” of job hunting, and then amazing truths are revealed.

Although I tend towards annoyance when my dear husband refers to job hunting as “a numbers game” where one should throw resumes at every possible job to see what sticks, I have to agree with parts of his own former employment strategy.

However, I’ve refined it for me personally, knowing what I know about computer logic, as the following:

Job Hunting is an iterative strategy which optimally uses some form of agile methodology.

For my friends who are not, and never were, Information Technology Professionals post-2000, let me clarify with some bullet points.

• The “software development” of my career is not finished when a job is obtained.
• The process of courting potential employers must be repeated again and again. (This is also known, for those of us who would rather hide in a closet with smooth jazz music, as “developing and refining social skills”.)
• At each checkpoint, it’s important to review and refine one’s strategy. (A checkpoint might be a rejection letter, an interviewer’s facial expression, or any structured feedback from anyone involved, including my own recollection.)

This is how I am working to determine what works.  It’s a lot like learning the strategy and sub-strategy for each level of a puzzle game.  And it repels my defeatist side.

Unintentional Caregiver

There are times when my life feels as twisty and hilly to me as many roads here in my home town.  A few weeks ago, I was presented with what can only be described as a hairpin turn at max G force.

Wednesday morning, January 25, my husband and I both had morning appointments.  Mine was, like every weekday, my clerical job from 8 AM to 4:30 PM.  His was an 8:15 AM appointment with an orthopedic surgeon to get a cortisone shot in his ailing right knee.

This surgeon had already informed my husband at his prior appointment that he thought Stu too young for total knee replacement, feeling that he would be better served by waiting five or ten years.

Based on experiences that Stu and I had heard from friends, and knowing his heredity, we both felt it would actually help him stay more active in his retirement years, which started officially back in 2012. 

At around 8:45 AM that fateful Wednesday, my boss came to my desk with some bad news.  I was being laid off.  She and another manager took my office keys, provided me with a nice bin to collect my personal belongings, and gave me hugs goodbye.

When I arrived home in tears around 9:15 AM, I tried to call Stu on his cell phone.  Twice.  Left him a voicemail to call me ASAP. Then texted.  Twice.  Knowing he had had cortisone shots before, I had no reason to believe this one was going to be an all-morning quest.

It was probably 10:30 AM before he burst into our kitchen from the garage triumphantly with a packet of some sort in his hand, saying "I'm going to have both knees replaced!"

I simply said "No." 

Apparently, neither my husband nor the cosmos heard me.

At some point Stu noticed I was in tears; he then listened patiently to my story before we settled down to discuss knee replacement.

Since we had already been living on a budget that required belt-tightening to the point of near pain, losing two-thirds of our family income was not going to be easy. 

After seeing his own latest knee x-rays justifying surgery, Stu had thoroughly discussed the finances of knee replacement with the surgeon and his assistant, ignoring the cellphone buzzing in his pocket. He was confident that not only would Medicare cover the majority of both surgeries, but that his Medi-gap insurance would pick up others, or at least negotiate down our out-of-pocket costs.

Complicating the timing of his decision was the fact that said orthopedic surgeon, who had gained Stu's full trust over their several year relationship, would be forced to stop operating sometime this summer, due to insurance costs and his own age beyond 70.  Therefore he and Stu had already set the first surgery date for February 9 -- just over two weeks away.

I must admit that, for someone like myself who is able and accustomed to working a day job, the idea of having a purpose in my own life during the interminable waiting for replies that rarely come from job applications was clearly appealing. So I jumped in wholeheartedly to help prepare for his knee replacement.  

We both acknowledged that I would take over meal preparation and shopping -- something I had managed to avoid for 18 years of marriage. With that in mind, he did a lot of advance shopping and even some pre-cooking and freezing of entrees.

I was not thrilled but still committed when his surgery time got moved up to 7:30 AM, necessitating a predawn check-in that totally contradicts my own personal biorhythms.  

On Thursday, February 9, the hospital orthopedic surgery waiting room was my home base for nearly four hours of stressful waiting, which for me included reading, solitaire or Sudoku games on a tablet, and tuning out politics from the TV and its onsite audience however possible.

I was surprised when the surgeon himself came into the crowded waiting room to tell me that all had gone well and Stu was in recovery.  

After Stu survived the two nights in the hospital following surgery, the real fun began for me.  The twice-daily rushing to the hospital was now to be replaced with a genuine caregiver gig -- pay = $0. But our two dogs and I were very relieved and happy to have him come home.

At first, Stu was hobbling around with a walker we purchased inexpensively online. I was driving him to all doctor appointments, including having blood drawn twice weekly to check the anti-coagulation medication's effect, and the physical therapy appointments 3 times per week.

Doing the chauffeuring meant helping with the walker and finding either a handicapped parking spot (Stu had procured a temporary permit for the windshield of each of our cars), or doing the patient-with-walker drop and run in front of buildings, neither injuring the patient nor wrecking the car.

Add to these duties the fact that receiving Missouri Unemployment compensation requires that I continue applying for three positions each week, documenting each of those thoroughly on their website without duplication across weeks. I must also swear online (fingers crossed) that I'm always available for work, and never busy with anything else that might cause me to refuse work.

Stu is now approaching the two-week mark post surgery, and he is doing great.  In his typical over-achiever fashion, he is beating all the benchmarks at physical therapy.  He's mostly using a cane now, and occasionally the walker, but he doesn't really need either. He can descend the twelve steps to his basement office using the railing.

He is also managing to lose weight at a remarkable clip due to changes in his diet necessitated by the pain medication and its effect on his stomach.

As for me... I'm mostly just tired.  However, I too am losing weight, although at a much slower rate than he, and that's a welcome change.

There are few (if any) boring moments in my daily life.  There are more than enough household chores and errands to keep my mind and body running.  Managing his schedule demands alertness, organization, and technical know-how.

At the moment, I'm learning and implementing the balance between his needs and my own in a fast-paced home environment.  I'm interfacing with caring friends, neighbors, and relatives as they provide support. I'm running interference with two large dogs who aren't sure why they can't walk all over Daddy anymore.  

I'm actually doing it all - and doing it well.

While I wish these were resume skills I was building, I must appreciate my own soft skills and flexibility these days. Furthermore, my honey NEVER takes any of this frantic effort of mine for granted.

Overall, I must say: Very worthwhile experience.  Will gladly sign on for a second tour for his left knee this summer, assuming similar employment status and personal stamina.

Did I Care Too Much?

I've had lots of different job experiences in my life, and every time one ends, I undertake a certain amount of introspection.

This job from which I was just laid off is a great example of that.

More than once, I indicated to a coworker that I'm not one of those "don't give a #$(*& about my work" types.  No matter what my level of pay or seniority, I've never been able to just show up and do the minimum.

When I'm in a culture that runs counter to my own natural preferences - such as the recent former job - I can always feel that rub of misfit against my admittedly sensitive skin.

But it's really hard to just put everything behind you and "move on" - at least for me, no matter how many people tell me I need to do so.

There were nine other human beings there with whom I had near-daily interaction.  I wasn't allowed any goodbyes with any except the boss and her second-in-command who notified me of the layoff.  That's probably some Missouri law of employment, but still.

I had put two years, four months, and twenty-three days of my being into that place. I cared about the company and the people.

The question that's the title of this post is going to haunt me for a while.

A Sense of (False) Urgency

Way back before the recession, I used to have a very fast-paced job.  I typically managed to get the things done that needed to be done, in order for the people using the computer system I supported to do their jobs most effectively.

You see, for me, it has always been about the people more than the computers.  The computers are merely tools to be used by the people.  And the business users of our system recognized me for that ability, and therefore came to depend on me.

One phrase that my boss used more than once in an annual employee review was this:  “works with a sense of urgency”.  I suspect that was one of those popular corp-speak phrases that managers at this large company sprinkled across the employee reviews for those of us worker bees who were able to get the job done without a lot of fanfare or foolishness.

When the company made its decision in late 2007 to outsource the jobs of hundreds of us worker bees, the whole game changed.  And it didn’t just change for that company at that time.  No, those of us remaining at work until early ‘08 to train the foreign contract firm’s employees had barely time to catch our collective breath – and perhaps snag another job – before the worst recession of our lifetimes hit.

After failing to make myself more professionally relevant in newer technology skills, I opted to move to a land far away and do something completely different with my life.  When I failed at that, I opted to move back here and try to get back into the old grind.

What a shock to move back from a small southern town to a large metropolitan area.  I had no idea how different my brain had become during that two years and eight months away. To me, everything here seemed so fast, so angry, so impersonal.  This was not my old home town.  Where did it go?

I’ve been alive long enough to learn that when everything around me seems completely different than it had been before some event took place, the change has actually been in my own brain, not so much in everything around me.  

But to be fair, the “smart” phone became a thing while I was running an accidentally non-profit lodging establishment.  It was a thing that changed everything.

As compared with my computer career – where telephones and pagers frequently sounded in the middle of a night’s deep sleep to inform me that my services were required on the job – now it seemed that anyone with any job of serious nature was on 24/7/365 call.  In 2012, I actually met two former coworkers for lunch, and not only did they not have a lot of time to linger and chat, they actually each placed multiple electronic devices next to their place settings on the table when we all sat down.  

We now fast forward to my actually getting a job here in September of 2014. No, it’s not a job of a serious nature.  It’s a low paid clerical job that includes health insurance and seems to be a job from which I neither get fired nor quit.  And that’s why I’m still there.  Inertia is a strong force in life at my age.

One of my coworkers, also underpaid considering his prior career as an engineer, gets a variety of “urgent” text messages from our boss, who is a woman of my same age group.  

This coworker is a Millennial who is a father of a baby girl, and his personality type is like mine – introverted yet fascinated by other people’s behavior.  He doesn’t believe that moving faster gets the job done any better.  He and I are both fans of the plan, which would be the opposite managerial philosophy of “shoot water on the flame burning highest NOW” – Management By Crisis – which is espoused by the boss and several of her employees.

The boss actually told this young man more than once that he does not work with a sense of urgency.  She sees his work style as one of procrastination, rather than one of thoughtful planning and attempting to avert crises before they happen.

My theory is that the everything-everywhere availability of so much communication, especially since smartphones came into being, has caused people to feel that they are not doing their best work unless they are rushing around.  There’s a certain adrenaline hit that comes from being so busy you can’t take breaks.  It’s a sense of being needed, and everyone needs to feel needed.

This is amped up by the current coffee culture (and I refuse to name that expensive brand that tries to put all others out of business) that pervades my office and probably most others, especially in the morning.  My workplace is filled with young people racing around like they’re on some kind of steroids most days.

Is it any wonder there are so many “near misses” in traffic on my commute path, and lots of tragic or fatal not-misses featured in every traffic report in this town at start and end of day?

Is it more important to pay deep attention to what you’re doing in the moment?  Well, when you’re over a certain age, it definitely can be a life or death matter when it involves directing a piece of heavy machinery in which you are contained on a road with other such machinery.  Those of us who are painfully aware of our own impaired vision and slowed reflexes tend to be careful enough for everyone else (creating our own anxiety).

It is my opinion that a sense of urgency in my life should be reserved for things that really matter:  my family and loved ones, including myself.  Computers can create a sense of false urgency that is addictive, but at some point everyone needs to decide what his/her priorities really are, and be more true to that than to any boss or device.

Does This Job Application Make Me Look Negative?

The interviewer asked me to describe, in 1,000 characters or fewer, what makes me deserve this job.  I utilized 988 characters, according to their online count, as follows:

I'm passionate about non-profit organizations in this economy.  Passion drives great work. 

I don't need supervision.  I worked from home online for nearly three years to keep the bills paid without a full-time position, requiring keen focus.  I get the work done, and I'm a quality fanatic.

When you ask me to show up somewhere, I’m there.  I’m reliable, punctual, and disciplined.

I'm able to easily adapt to a variety of grammar constraints and writing styles to suit my customer.  I've done a lot more of this than my resume or LinkedIn profile will indicate.

I'm very comfortable with a variety of computer hardware and software.  I also have the ability to work around system bugs in newer software.

I've done some actual Search Engine Optimization work for the website that my husband and I developed for our small business (Lake Verona Lodge Bed and Breakfast) which helped increase traffic to our site.

Please contact me to find out more.  Your position sounds exciting!

Dear Daddy, What Now?

Dear Daddy,

I know it’s been nearly 23 years since you left this planet, but I have never stopped missing you, and I continue to need your advice.  Maybe I need your advice now more than I ever did while you were still around.  I was only 34 when you left, and I had thought I was getting things figured out.

What do I do now?  How long do I wait for my new life to happen?  In what direction should I be looking?

I’m aware that you too lost your livelihood of choice before you were ready or able to stop working to support yourself and Mom.  I’m sure that a television repair shop seemed like a great business model back in 1956 or whenever you and Stan started Lucas & Siegel TV Repair.  After all, you two had done your apprenticeships at Hollander & Co., and did pretty well know your collective way around the electronics of the day.

In your case, I’m sure it was really scary to marry off both your daughters in the same year as your business was no longer profitable and you and your (then) three partners were considering your options in what must have seemed like a bleak economy in 1987.

I remember you going through every variety of odd job trying to find something with health coverage for yourself and your unemployed bipolar wife.  I know it was a terrible struggle.  I wish I had paid more attention.

I do know that you landed on your feet, so to speak, when you went to work for the state senator for four years – long enough to get state health coverage for you and Mom – and enjoyed working as his personal assistant.  That job seemed tailor made for you, and yet, I know it was not without its difficulties.  Being 60 and having to start a new career is not for sissies.  Hell, from what I’ve seen in others, being 60 is not for sissies.

You were such a good man to give up that job to someone else who needed it more.  I remember the senator’s next assistant being thankful and keeping in touch with you right up until your last breath at age 67.

All my life I’ve tried to do “the right thing” in every situation with which I’m presented.  I try to follow your example and the footsteps in which you and Mom carefully raised me.  But I’m at one of those crossroads now where I simply don’t know where to turn or what else to try.

I did what you told me – “get a good education, get a good job with health insurance, be able to support yourself for life so you don’t have to depend on others” – for as long as I could.  I know that life’s not fair, but for some reason I thought I could keep on doing like I had been until retirement age.  I kept my dealings with other people honest, and didn’t stab backs.  I had a great reputation as a better-than-average employee everywhere I worked until 2008.

I guess I wasn’t watching the signs closely enough about what was going to happen to the economy and my own nearly-obsolete skill set.  I guess I just wasn’t paying attention and I missed a lot of red flags.

I remember more than one of your lectures to me as a child ending with you screaming “you’re missing the point, Mary Rose!” Well, I feel like I’m missing it now.

Maybe I did successfully help raise two sons.  I mean, after all, they have both landed in what seems to be the promised land of health, wealth, and happiness.  I can’t bemoan the fact that they’re “too far away” because it’s the job of parents to launch their babies from the nest.

While it’s true that I never exactly promised my beloved husband, Stu, that I would support him in the style to which we had become accustomed, I actually cringe at the way we have to live now and what little he is able to enjoy in what should be his golden years.

I so wish you and Stu could have gotten to know each other as fellow human beings.  You’re so much alike.  He actually has now outlived you, as of about February of this year.  I am all too aware that every moment matters with someone you love, and I know that life is temporary.

So what is a washed-up old former mainframe programmer, who’s so afraid of trusting most other people that she can count her actual friends on one hand, supposed to do now?

I’m crying as I type this letter to someone who is no longer living.  I just don’t know what to try next.  No one wants to hire a 57-year-old woman who “used to be” something but hasn’t done anything for them recently.  No agency wants to pay for me to go back to school.

I’m so frustrated by the fact that I know my mind is sharp as any chef’s knife, but my body is falling apart.  And I’m slowly dying inside every day at my current underpaid job, where I sit at a desk and keep track of data, creating reports that no one ever looks at until something goes wrong.

And here it is, another holiday.  Stu and I have no family in town and no friends for any get-togethers.  I sit here and listen to the occasional firecracker being shot off, the occasional kids yelling, the birds singing, through the open window.

Yes, I’m grateful for the weather.  It changes every few hours in this town, so I guess I should just learn to love diversity, be more flexible, all that stuff.

Daddy, please help.  I need a job that deserves me.  I need a reason to WANT to get out of bed in the morning.  I need some social activity.  I need to feel like I belong on this planet.

Please note that, just like when you were alive, I’m still a needy little kid that never asks what YOU want, just what I want.  I’m sure I was one big “gimme” monster growing up with endless questions.  

Sadly, the monster is still in here.  But now, I’m not only asking you for something specific with an easy answer from you, even if it was "no". I’m asking you to show me what I want and how to get it.

Aren’t you glad you’re not here anymore?  Selfishly, I will never stop missing you.

Your Loving Child,

Mary Rose

Please Don't Call That Device "Smart"

Something occurred to me this morning while I was sitting at my desktop computer playing Kenny G through my headphones and playing FreeCell on my screen.  My entire life is old school, as those who know me as a person already know.

I was apparently taking just a little too long to make my strategy choice in the FreeCell game, and it started blinking a hint at me.  I almost yelled at the computer to slow down and let me think for myself.  And yet this is the kind of outburst that makes others label me "crazy."  

I'm not crazy.  I'm not stupid, either!

I'm also not old yet, and I'm not irrelevant yet.  My recent acquisition of an honest-to-God full-time job with great benefits has proved that beyond a shadow of a doubt to almost everyone, except that little voice in my own brain.  Self-doubt has cost me more than one job over the past six years.

There are times, however, when it's all too easy to feel old and irrelevant when you're a sensitive human being who doesn't move at the speed of a computer, or even at the speed of a young person.  One of those times, for me, is when someone or some THING is trying to force me to hurry up and do something.  

Tomorrow is "Black Friday," which is arguably my least favorite day of the year.  It's a day to hurry up and buy everything you can possibly grab, even if it means trampling human beings in the process.  I personally remember many a day after Thanksgiving, even back in the 1980's, as a day when I got in my car to try to do some innocent errand only to get stuck in hideous gridlock.  So for me, it's a day to stay put and stay calm.  

In this short-attention-span time, it's hard to do anything online without something blinking, dancing, flashing, or twitching to take your mind away from what you're trying to do.  

I was brought up not to trust anyone or anything screaming "hey, look at me!" (even a large print ad in a yellow book). When I was tempted, the ensuing discussion went something like this:

Me: "But Dad, it's such a good buy!"

Dad:  "It sure is.  It's goodbye, money!"

The best wisdom I know comes from human beings who, while no longer physically living, will never be irrelevant in my mind.

I'm always telling every younger person I know not to trust technology.  Why not, they always ask.  Because computer programs are developed by very smart human beings who are trying to make money.  Whether they're simply seeking "enough" or trying to be celebrity-level rich is not important.  The bottom line is, someone is usually trying to separate you from your money.

I know this about technology because I used to develop mainframe computer programs for my living.  In 2008, the large insurance company for which I worked at the time decided that my job could be done better (or at least cheaper) by someone in a developing country overseas.  After a brief and expensive attempt to regain career relevance, I gave up and opted out of Information Technology entirely.

Even if our family budget might allow a "Smart Phone," I don't particularly want one.  

This is where everyone demands to know why not.  Like everything with me, it's not a short or simple story.

I'll cut to the chase and simply say that I'm easily distracted (and often frightened) by anything sudden: noises, flashing lights, vibrations.  The day that a device in my car suddenly makes a noise I'm not expecting while I'm white-knuckle driving through North Saint Louis County traffic could be the day my life becomes just one more sad local fatality.

I value my life and I value my intelligence.  I love my family, friends, and coworkers.

I prefer to use my own brains whenever possible.  I believe over-dependence on devices can make us lazy, complacent, and unwilling (or just unlikely if in a hurry) to think for ourselves.  I'm concerned about future generations following blindly to the tune of technology du jour like lemmings to their bankruptcy or even death.

If this sounds like a lecture, so be it.  I may not be young, but I'm very relevant.

Have a great Thanksgiving today, and be calm and safe.  I care.