On a weekend morning many years ago, the constant low-level radiation of mailing list fracas led me to idly fantasize of sending a beseeching plaintive-yet-rousing post to one of them:

Do you think there is no darkness in my heart? Do you think I do not also have these impulses to bray, to taunt, to cut down, to lash out with terrible anger, to poison all joy present and future? But I don't, because I am a grown-up. Part of maturity is doing the constructive thing instead of the destructive thing, pausing and sighing and stifling the childish impatient id.

I didn't do it. It wouldn't do any good.

Leonard was about to head off to brunch, and I knew I'd feel better if I also went outside, to ensure that I left the flat at least once that day. Bleh, I don't wanna, inertia said, but I reminded it that I'd be happier if I did. And along the way I should drop off that neglected dry-cleaning. Bleh, I don't wanna, procrastination said, but I mentally replied that if I didn't do this errand, it wouldn't magically get done.

And I suddenly, viscerally recognized the proper relationship between the brat inside me and the adult I am. One way to think about sulky obstreperous urges is that they represent a neglected inner child, but in that moment I developed another useful analogy to help me manage them properly: mailing list flamers. The voices of perfectionism, anxiety, impatience, cruelty, and aversion-to-initiating-effort are posters on sumana-l who talk a lot more than they contribute. I'm not going to killfile any of them, just try to skim, roll my eyes, and move on.

That makes sense, for me, when it comes to counterproductive urges and emotions. But then there are pernicious beliefs. American exceptionalism is one example. Or "I don't need or deserve for this situation to be better than it is." I find with dismay how hard it is to even notice that I still secretly hold these beliefs, much less to thoroughly dislodge and uproot them.

And one analogy that comes to mind is that farming in New England soil means ploughing up rocks and setting them aside, forever, and I need to just accept that this is part of the process because of the inherent features of the landscape.

But that's more a picturesque analogy than a salient one, to me. And a few weeks ago I thought of another one that immediately sank in: those email lists that make it really hard to unsubscribe. I've tried! I've replied with UNSUBSCRIBE, I've clicked the "remove me" link, and still they trickle in. And, in this analogy, I haven't been issued a system that lets me label those emails as spam or automatically filter them to the trash, bypassing my inbox -- and at first I couldn't even see the "From:" line!

I'm making progress with these poisonous newsletters, once I realize that's what they are. I'm getting better at skimming and trashing them. Hope you are too.