Finding the Edge
Well. It looks like it has been 2+ years since my last post – a lot has happened since then, but with the changing seasons, it seems like a good time to reconnect with the practice of writing here. It’s been a hectic couple of years – in the spring of 2022 we bought a new house in the countryside north of Kingston, with 20 acres of land to work with as our homesteading canvas. And it’s been quite a whirlwind so far, with a lot of updating to the house, and projects on the land like roadwork, a pond, and solar panels – but as we ease into winter here, I find myself with a little more space than I’ve had for a while – and while the achiever in me wants to continue to check things off to-do lists – I’m inclined to not rush to fill it all in so quickly…
There have been a lot of homesteading projects that I’ve tackled over the last 18 months that were at the edge of what I thought I could do. I already felt pretty comfortable with cutting wood and gardening basics from my farming experiences, but this is a new scale of independent gardening that has been exciting. I’m a pretty big fan of gradually scaling up challenges over time. In Kingston we had a wee garden plot of around 15×20 which we maximized – but now we have jumped to 50×100 – a whole new scale of project, that has been going well with some learning experiences… That has included basic plumbing for the irrigation system, as well as small engine maintenance – something I’ve never really had in my skill set. The powerful lesson for me has been that more things are possible than I imagined – something like changing the oil filter in the ATV, putting in a new car battery, or building a wood shed, are things that are actually doable by regular people – and I’ve done them. With a little help from the internet – reading manuals, watching videos, and asking for advice – these are now things that I can do. And with each small victory comes the confidence to consider taking on a new more demanding challenge.
One thing that has helped me to navigate this edge and survive the stress and chaos of the last year has been accommodation. It’s a theme I’ve been reflecting on for a while – almost more as a general philosophy as well as a HR procedure or workplace practice. In my work life I’ve struggled to find balance over the last decade, with the social nature of my job as a career counsellor – I need to talk to lots of people – and with social anxiety and depression this can be extremely challenging – made even more so by the varying levels of capacity I have day to day. I can go from feeling excited to connect to loathing the torture of being in the spotlight in front of a group.
As I’ve written about in the past, there are a lot of tools I work with to try to navigate the challenges of this existence. Medication, therapy, meditation, journaling, exercise, time in nature, good food, time with friends all have their place and support me thriving. But one factor stands out as being a major difference maker recently – working with accommodations. I’ve been lucky enough to work with some very capable professionals at Queen’s to get to a place in my work that sets me up for success. With the support of my doctor/therapist, I’ve worked over the past years to refine the conditions where I tend to thrive – less group presentations, more focus on smaller groups of mature audiences, more 1-1 and more project time, and working 60% full time (3 days a week). This navigation has required some careful negotiation and consideration of what my employer needs, what I can offer, and what works for my life and those around me. I’m grateful to have been able to find a place that is working for the time being, with a supportive partner, manager, and team. This re-balancing has let me find more balance, with time to spend on homesteading projects working outside on physical tasks to balance the social focus of my time in the office, and which contribute to the home economy in a different way.
I used to have a bias against accommodations, I’ll admit it. I would look at it as a sign of weakness. That someone is using it to get out of work. To be lazy or shirk responsibility. And that critical voice is still in my head, frequently – worrying I’m not being productive enough, making enough money, or comparing myself to people who can do more. But over time I’ve come to see things from new angles too. When I was at my worst, I could have asked to be totally off of work – but I didn’t actually want to. I could have been home being paid – which immature me would have thought of as a sweet gig. But in the moment then, and still now, I didn’t want that – I wanted the opportunity to work. I wanted to be able to contribute and connect. And reap the many rewards that can come from meaningful work – purpose, competency, mastery, impact, challenge, and satisfaction. So I kept working, but reduced to 50%. And started to come out of the darkness. Instead of looking at each day with a feeling of dread, worrying about what my inner rollercoaster ride might be that day – I started to open up with more and more positivity.
I was lucky enough to have a director that saw what I could offer and wanted to work to put me into a position where I could use my strengths in a sustainable way – and had a new role created as “Senior Career Consultant”. In this role I am really starting to feel like I’ve arrived at work, showing up with a new degree of optimism and confidence. I spend a decent chunk of time bringing my 20 years of work experience to bear on working on various projects and creative tasks, support individual students and scholarship programs, and lead some specific group activities – like co-teaching a Design Your Life course for the first time over a whole semester, and leading the development of a new Career & Academic Advising Certificate for staff at Queen’s. Willingly. Instead of being forced to do these projects, I’m the one coming up with them, feeling confident that I can accomplish things.
There was a useful idea I’ve grabbed on to from a Trauma-Informed coaching workshop at Cannexus, that talked about levels of trauma response and activation – similar to a traffic light. In the green zone, all systems are go – we are free to use our strengths and interact with the world freely. In the yellow zone, we are in caution mode, activating stress responses to shut down regular orientations towards connection, resting, digesting, playing, and creativity, more focused on threat response of fight or flight. In the red zone, we move more into learned helplessness, shutting down and giving up. And I had been spending way too much of my time in the red and yellow zones to be healthy.
The tricky thing to figure out about this for me has been that as humans, we tend to be pretty darn resilient. Elastic. Capable to bouncing back. And tolerating hardship. For a long time. Which seems amazing, right? But it can also be a problem – because we CAN put up with non-ideal conditions longer that is ideal. I often find it helpful to think of how I would treat a plant that I loved – I would want to know what it needs to thrive – in simple terms like how much water does it need, how much light, any nutrition, and more. While I could get away with leaving a plant to slowly wither and fade and only water it when it is desperate and wilting – I could also consider giving it what it wants to be its best plant self.
So for me, that looks like finding the sweet spot. The edge. I often work with students who are reluctant to be with discomfort in any way, and can stay stuck because of it. But just as problematic can be taking on too much challenge, and pushing ourselves too far into the red zone. That sweet spot to me is elusive – it’s a dynamic, fluid place – somewhere just pushing the edge of what I think I can do and handle. In learning theory, we call this the Zone of Proximal Development – that space just pushing our limits. That’s where the magic happens. Coming back to the plant metaphor – at the beginning when we have tender babies, we give them everything we can to have a good life. Lights, heat mats, water, soil – but when it is time to put them out into the harsh world – we harden them off, gradually. Putting them out into the elements for an hour, then 2, then 4, then a whole day – and they respond, amazingly – by toughening up. But if we just throw them in the ground and fend for themselves, many of them are shocked and die. The trauma of the change is too much. But with support, they put down deep roots and strengthen their stem, grow leaves, and start to be self-sustaining and resilient.
Another theory from work comes up for me with this – the concept of Self Authorship. That as we mature into adulthood, we move from a place where we are managed by other people – parents and teachers – who tell us what to do, where, when, and how – and slowly over time we take over responsibility for our lives. And much of this growth happens in response to crisis and disequilibrium. When faced with a challenge where our previous understanding and skills don’t seem to be up to the task, we are given the choice of failure or growth. Growth is not always the outcome of crisis, but it CAN be – with supports along the way and room to make mistakes and try new things.
For me, and many others, the past few years have been tremendously challenging. There has been suffering, heartbreak, loss, and more. But there has also been growth. And signs of hope. People coming together. Innovation and creativity. And setting boundaries and considering self-care. For me, working with challenges used to be about pushing through or giving up. But now I see there are more options at play – what kinds of ways can I support myself through this period ahead? Are there resources or modifications that I can employ? How can I grow from this? While there will always be unexpected disruptions and crises that are out of my control, can I try to be moving towards setting up my life to put myself in a position where I can thrive? To spend more time in the green zone, and less in the red and yellow zones? Where I can be at my best, not just for me, but for those around me? With this general mindset of trying to set myself up for success, I can start to feel more confident that I can handle the occasional shock, knowing that there is more elasticity and resiliency in the system if I’m not spending so much time stretched to my limits. In finding my edge, and spending time there, I can also find strength, courage, and hope for the future.
K. Miguel Hahn 