Hold That Thought

                                                                             Rollin Rhodes, PhD

Miles Ward had built his life around data analysis. After earning a bachelor’s degree in software engineering and a master’s in computer science, he landed a position at a major technology company as a Senior Data Specialist.  His days blended data acquisition, statistical interpretation, and endless summary reports.

His personality reflected his rigorous training.  He valued keeping his life structured, detailed, and organized.  

An ever-present ongoing theme in his life was the effort to live up to his father’s expectations, to finally feel that his father would be proud of his accomplishments.  His mother had once confided to him that not only did his professional drive come from trying to meet his father’s expectations, but it was also the reason he avoided close relationships or focused on emotions.  He had once overheard a coworker describe him as “emotionally constricted.”

Professionally, what drove him wasn’t prestige or salary.

I have to believe that if we can master the right technology, use good data, follow the right protocols, and set clear goals, we can accomplish a great deal.  I don’t expect it to be easy, but otherwise, what’s the point?

Miles and his coworker Paul—a skilled analyst with similar aspirations—presented a proposal at a major symposium.

Paul began the introduction. 

“I’d like to thank all of you for coming to this presentation. We believe we are on the verge of developing analytical systems that can go beyond using computers as fancy adding machines. Our challenge is to work toward functional global analysis of economics and healthcare practices.’’

Miles added, ‘’Issues such as research funding, effectiveness of various medical procedures, exploding healthcare costs, and analytical interpretations of outcomes are data problems before they show up as medical problems.’’

It was not a topic that conservative executives were prepared for.

A senior executive approached them with a look of wonder on his face and grabbed Miles' hand firmly, not letting go.  “You two are brilliant—you just might change everything.”

“You’re ushering in nonfunctional changes in our whole system,” growled another, frowning deeply and speaking in a low, almost threatening tone.  ‘’Sounds pretty grandiose to me.”

 Several conservatively cautious department heads nodded in agreement with the critical comment.

 ‘’Right,’’ Miles heard.

Miles felt devastated by the disapprovals. He left the meeting drained.  His legs were unsteady, and he brushed the walls with his knuckles as he walked, in order to keep his balance.

“You good, man?” Paul asked, kneeling to talk face-to-face.

“I blew it,” Miles muttered. “You were great. I was terrible. Did you see all those frowns?”

“You made them think,” Paul countered. “That’s why they frowned. They’re not used to it. You should be proud,” he boasted, raising his thumb upwards.

But that night, Miles spiraled.  Though he sat still, one knee kept bouncing, while his hand went from rubbing the back of his neck to picking at imaginary loose threads.

This is it. They hated me. The CEO will fire me to keep them happy. I’ve ruined my future.

The next day, he sat frozen at his desk, staring blankly at his screen. His thoughts looped. His productivity collapsed.

I can’t stop thinking about it.

What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I ever get it together? If I don’t pick up the pace, they’ll figure out I’m not good enough.

He glanced around the office. As usual, he sat at his work desk, staring at a computer that bathed him in blue light. Miles went to great lengths to avoid any form of attention. His coworkers chatted easily, smiling, gesturing, connecting. Miles felt like a ghost drifting among them.

I never should’ve taken this job. Maybe I should just quit.

Judith, a respected senior supervisor, walked past. He murmured, “Hi, Judith,” but she didn’t hear him—or didn’t respond. He wasn’t sure which was worse.

I don’t want to be an adult who has to go through everything that I went through growing up in my family. I know how to plan out my day, set goals, and check off my to-do list. I don’t need other people for that.

On the way home, he stopped at a drugstore for Excedrin. His head throbbed, as it often did after work.

If I had the energy to go to the gym, maybe I could shake this tension. But I’m too lazy for that, too.

Back at work the next day, Paul noticed Miles’ vacant look, the slumped posture.

“Buddy, you look like you just saw Judgment Day. Come to my place tonight. Shannon’s cooking.”

In the office, Miles sometimes found Paul difficult to work with. He had a breezy attitude toward attention to detail and sometimes dismissed others' opinions without considering them. However, dinner with the couple was warm and comforting. Conversation came more easily than Miles had expected.

“One thing about Paul,” Shannon said with a proud smile. “He’s the definition of a true friend. Loyal to the core.”

Paul laughed. “And Shannon’s basically a Social Worker without the degree. She dropped out of grad school to keep us afloat.  She sometimes sounds more like a scientific journal abstract than like a friend, but she sure knows how to help people.”

Miles sat quietly, not making eye contact.  He was hesitant about speaking out.  “You know you’re taking a risk hanging out with me. I’m persona non grata at work. That could rub off on you.”  He said, swallowing hard.  He could not look in their direction.

Shannon leaned forward. “I’m confused, Miles. I have a sense that you're not being open with us. You’re with friends. Tell us what’s going on. It’s okay. ”

“It’s simple,” Miles said. “I never accomplish what I should. I make mistakes. I wasn’t put on this earth to organize digital files for people I’ll never meet. Somehow, I need to—”

“Hold on,” Paul cut in.  He spoke emphatically, with both hands raised.  “I’ve seen the monthly productivity reports. You’re at or near the top every single time.”

“Not every time,” Miles said, slumping in his chair and staring vacantly at the ceiling.  “And I should be topping out every month. That’s what they pay me for—or used to pay me for.”

Shannon nodded gently. “I used to talk to myself the same way. Being with Paul helped me see myself differently, not through the eyes of my critical parents. Believe me, I know what it’s like to struggle with that. He can tell you that I still veer toward the negative, but I’m working on it ’’

“Miles-let’s try this. You speak out the thought you hear, and I’ll give you a response.  We did this in a gradual school practicum.  You want to try?” she asked.

“Sure,’’ Miles responded. “I’ll start; you answer.”

‘’I always mess up,’’ he offered.

“I make mistakes, and I learn from them,” she countered quickly.

‘’Nobody likes me.’’

‘’Some people appreciate me, and some don’t.”

‘’I’m not good enough.’’

“I’m strong in some areas.’’

“And remember what Eleanor Roosevelt said,” she added, pulling his chin toward her.  ‘‘No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.’’

Paul began speaking intensely, assuming his role as an analyst. He placed his chair directly in front of Miles, their knees touching.  “Sounds to me like you’re taking the Original Data, your father’s criticisms, and turning it into Derived Data, your self-talk. It’s known as Self-Modifying Code. It’s only as valid as the original data.’’

The conversation lingered. Days later, a memory surfaced.

Sometimes I can hear my Dad.

His father was a lawyer, with a lifetime of experience in criminal prosecution. He was reflexively critical, and he could be testy. His relationship with Miles was distant.

He remembered the voice—sharp, disappointed. And behind that, his grandfather’s voice, just as harsh.

“That bastard! He never let up. Every damn word out of his mouth came out like a sharp knife, to me, my brother, and to my mom. I think he was the reason she stayed so depressed and had to take pills. I sure as hell won’t let him do that to me-no way.”

The anger surprised him, but it also released something.

With eyes closed, he vividly pictured a specific moment: a bad grade, his father’s cold verdict.

“You’ll always be a loser.”

That night, sitting alone, his brain went into an analytical surge. His thoughts were the busiest he had ever experienced. He could not sit still.  He paced restlessly from room to room.  He lost awareness of his surroundings as his brain went into overdrive.

Suddenly, thoughts began to crystallize; his first thought was, “I’ve been using bad data.” He recalled a professor's statement from college: “Garbage in, garbage out.”

Miles decided to keep a list, reminding himself of insights he was coming to appreciate.  He scrambled to find pen and paper before the thoughts could disappear again.  After each scribble, he breathed deeply and felt his shoulders drop.

“Flawed input produces flawed output.”

“Rational thinking requires examining the data.”

“I have to learn to recognize signals apart from the noise.”

The revelation overwhelmed him.

‘’That bad data is not even from me. That’s my dad’s voice.’’ The phrase “Bad Dad” popped into his head.

‘’I need to switch to a valid source. How do I do that?”

In his head, he could actually hear Shannon’s voice. ‘’You don’t have to listen to that voice anymore. You’re a smart man. Ask yourself honestly, ‘What do I think?’’

An image popped into his head. He recalled the conference presentation.

“Actually, I wouldn’t say it was perfect, but I think Paul and I did a decent job of presenting some well-thought-out, solid points on where better data analysis can lead us. If I were to judge myself. I would say, ’ Good job, Miles.’

For one of the first times in his life, Miles felt a beginning sense of elation. His body felt lighter. His noisy brain grew quieter. He felt a smile creeping into his face. ‘’Wow’’ he thought. “I like this.”

The next day, at work, he felt as though he were on a mission. I’m going to recognize that voice. I’m going to hear it, and I will know when that is ’Bad Dad,’ not Me.’’.

It worked, almost to the point of overwhelming him. When he heard “You screwed it up again. Anybody can do better than that. You’re probably going to get fired,’’ he substituted what he considered good data. ‘’I think I made real progress today.”

Despite a sense of accomplishment in recognizing the difference between his Dad’s voice and his own rational opinions, processing that voice was not only tiring but also somewhat depressing.  At times, he felt fatigued, emotionally flat, and had difficulty concentrating.  He occasionally dreaded interacting with others and felt compelled to isolate himself.

On a particularly challenging day, with several frustrating setbacks, Miles not only heard the “Bad Dad’’ voice, but also a realistic independent view.  Fingers tapping, he heard the abrasive thought, “Anybody else could’ve done better.” He substituted a realistic self-statement ‘’Nice going,” he thought, gently rubbing his forehead.

“This emotional work is hard, really hard. I think it’s as tiring as physical work. On some days I feel exhausted, but I can see I'm getting there. This is a tough process. I still have some down days, and a couple of times I’ve come close to losing hope. I just have to keep at it.”

Over time, at work, Miles began to feel as though he were living in a different world.  With the extra energy, he was unusually productive and found himself periodically grinning for no particular reason.  He ignored the occasional stare.

Miles collaborated with another analyst, Neil, on ideas for new projects.  Miles had considered Neil’s interactions in staff meetings as occasionally critical and abrasive.  Neil focused on the negative possibilities rather than the positive ones Miles was bringing to the project; ‘’ I can’t see that working.  Have you really thought that through?’’ Neil asked doubtfully, his head oddly tilted.  

Miles heard a micro version of the old negative thoughts, but immediately switched to a realistic self-statement. He replied firmly and with confidence, “I see your point; my ideas are not perfect, but I also made several excellent suggestions.”

That afternoon, ‘’Miles; boss wants to see you. Doesn’t look good,”  Paul whispered, his jaw muscles flexing.

Miles found himself frozen in fear.

Victor Thorne, the Company CEO, was considered as abusive, critical, demanding, and exclusively focused on productivity. He had never been known to show the slightest concern for employees' lives.  Office rumor had it that he never spoke to either of his previous two wives.  He had never mentioned children.  His office contained no personal photographs or items.

“You want to see me, Mr. Thorne?” asked Miles, tentatively, poking his head through the slightly cracked door.

“Hell yes, what is wrong with you?” he demanded, scowling harshly.

‘’Sir, I’m sorry, but I really don’t know what you mean’’ Miles responded, dejectedly.

‘’I just talked with Neil, maybe the only smart man we’ve got around here. He said you’re full of it, and he gave me examples of some of your moronic ideas.”

Miles felt himself emotionally droop into a familiar slump. "You thought my ideas were terrible?”

‘’If you really can’t recognize just how stupid you sound, maybe I need to get Human Resources to do a Performance Review on you’’ he growled, turning his back.

“Go on, get out of here,” he shouted.

Miles blocked out the next few minutes. Paul found him staring at a blank monitor.

“Hey, I heard Thorne yelling from across the hall. Remember, ‘Don’t let Bad Dad win,’ Paul cautioned.

Entering his house that afternoon, some element in Mr. Thorne’s tone reminded Miles of a letter he had once received from his father. After searching, he found the old letter where he had stashed it years ago. He only vaguely recalled having read it.

Immediately after rereading his father’s critical letter, Miles felt physically and emotionally overwhelmed. His brow was sweaty. His teeth were grinding. He was unable to breathe deeply.

“I can actually hear my heart beating,” he thought.

“I need to talk to my brother, Danny,” he thought. ‘’He’s older and remembers much more than I do.” Danny was busy but called him back soon afterward.

“What’s up, bro?”

Miles read him the letter, his voice trembling.

“Is that it? Is that all you're sweating? Really? What about that time you dropped the fly ball in the state high school baseball championship? I can still remember Dad running out in front of the crowd and cussing you out. Wow, the names he called you and what he said about you. Believe me, buddy, that letter was nothing.”

As he was hanging up the phone, the full impact of that baseball game hit him. He recalled the episode in full detail. He fought to shut it down, but couldn’t.  A movie played in his head.  Eventually, Miles felt himself coming to, and had no idea of how much time had passed.

The next day at work, Miles crashed into a total relapse. He heard the same old thoughts.

“Thorne is right, I really am stupid.”

“Now I know for sure, I will never amount to anything.”

The old thoughts continued throughout the day.  He robotically ground his way through routine tasks.  He uncharacteristically snapped at any interruption with “What do you want now?”

Paul pulled up a chair and sat next to him. He seemed to ask a question, but Miles couldn’t process it. All he could do was shrug and keep staring as the thoughts continued.

Paul left, but returned, speaking in a louder-than-usual voice.  ‘’I just talked to Shannon. She said to tell you that you’re coming over for supper tonight. She was serious.”

That night, Shannon gave him an affectionate hug and set him in a comfortable chair. She leaned forward, frowned deeply, and shrugged her shoulders toward Miles.

Suddenly, Miles found himself talking in a somewhat trancelike voice.

“I really wanted Dad to be proud of me. He was dead set on telling all his friends and everyone he knew that his son won the state baseball championship.’’

‘’I have known for a long time that I have an issue with baseball.  I never watch it, even on TV.  I have turned down invitations to join classmates who enjoyed going to games.  Just thinking about it makes me edgy.  I have a vague sense of fear, which I thought came from nowhere.’’

‘’ Now I’m beginning to understand.  Last night, the whole thing came back-every second. I dropped the ball. The other team jumped and shouted. My buddies stared at me, then walked away. Nobody wanted to stand anywhere near me. That’s when Dad came out and started in on me, right in front of everyone. The things he said must’ve gotten burned in my brain.  I don’t remember thinking about it, not even once.  How does that happen?’’

Shannon breathed deeply and sat back.

Paul took her place and spoke earnestly.  ‘’You’re going to recognize what is going on with you, Miles. You and I understand data. Think of it as your having PURGED a block of bad data. Yesterday, your brain RECOVERED archived data, right? It happens,” he urged.

‘’Yes, I’m developing a dual image in my head of computer ‘Neural Connections’ and organic ‘Neural Connectivity,’’ said Miles. ‘’ The terms are almost identical,’’ he reflected in a dreamy manner.

‘’Right,’’ added Paul. ‘’A computer crash is known as System Overload; being emotionally overwhelmed is Dysregulation.’’

‘’They’re the SAME,’’ they chorused jointly. Their huge smiles were almost toothy.

Shannon giggled.

The next Friday, Paul tapped Miles on the shoulder as he walked by. ‘’Shannon wants to invite you to have Sunday dinners with us every week. I’m going to tell her you said fine.”

Miles began to look forward to Sundays. Feeling connected to someone and knowing someone cared about him was entirely new. Conversations came easily to him and felt natural.

“I trust them,” he thought with amazement.

 One Sunday dinner was notable.  “Let me catch you up on how my life is going,’’ he offered, somewhat tentatively.

“I’m beginning to pick up what I learned before. I’m having ups and downs, but they are getting further apart. I can hear my critical thoughts now as bad data. I’m getting better at talking to myself realistically. I think I’m doing some self-debugging,” he concluded triumphantly.

“We can see that you’re getting there. We know that you’ll make it, or at least be no worse off than all the rest of us,” Shannon added, beaming widely.

‘’I noticed you've been joining the conversation during lunch in the break room. From what I’ve heard, people seem to enjoy getting to know you,’’ Paul added enthusiastically.

When a newly hired analyst presented a project update to the executive meeting, other more experienced specialists pointed out several obvious flaws. Miles saw that she looked devastated.

‘’I have to do something.  I think I can help,” his inner voice compelled.

With everyone back at their workstations, he approached her and invited her to join him in the break room. He gave her realistic feedback.

“Listen, Mary, I know you heard some negative feedback today. That’s pretty routine around here. You know, you’re working with some very experienced people here, and this is your first month on the job. I noticed that you also got some positive comments. My view is that you brought a new perspective that some of us have lost. Let’s you and me practice making some of your points in the language that these people are used to. What do you think?”

Even to Miles, the change in her demeanor was a near-total transformation.

When she first sat, she was slumped in her chair, head down, eyes slightly glazed, and she spoke in a slow, quiet voice. Her mouth was turned down, and her hands fidgeted nervously.

By the end of their conversation, with the focus on the positive contributions she had made, her posture was erect, leaning slightly forward, and she wore an intense expression. Her voice quickened and was punctuated by several brief laughs. When she made good points, she gestured positively with her hands. Her entire demeanor had shifted.

“Wow! I’m not alone,” thought Miles.

At the end of the day, Mary followed Miles out the door and into the parking lot.  She glanced around nervously.  ‘’Sir, I noticed you and Paul getting excited about the possibilities of what we can accomplish.  I can’t help but think about the difference between computers and humans.  We are capable of wisdom, loyalty, and judgment, and having emotions such as grief, compassion, and love.  Computers have none of that.’’

‘’You’re absolutely right, Mary.  Actually, I’ve had similar thoughts lately. Issues such as how we interpret and use immense quantities of data can be both exciting and horrifying at the same time.  It’s not about the interpretation. That’s just a tool.  It’s about the people who use it.  How do we harness the power for good or bad?  Maybe that’s THE issue.  I picture your generation, which will be responsible for taking us in the right direction.  I think one defining difference is that as humans, we have Morals.’’

“The old man gets it.” Mary smiled.

Then, the big day came.

Miles and Paul were to follow up on their original presentation at the next corporate meeting.

Paul presented with his usual confidence.

This time, Miles spoke with conviction. He had a vision and accepted that not everyone shared his views.

Of course they don’t; these are concepts they never even imagined, much less understood quickly. I’ll just keep going, and I think some of them will eventually come around. It’s worth trying, so I’ll keep going.

‘’Nice going, buddy,” said a coworker. “Join us for coffee?”

Miles was having a good day at work. The thoughts started again. His OWN thoughts.

“Sure, love to,” smiled Miles.

The talk in the break room over coffee was intense. Everyone was talking at once. Miles slipped into the different conversations easily, almost without effort. He felt confidence in his own views, whether they were similar to or very different from his coworkers.

“I saw you trying to park this morning, Paul.  Were you actually aiming for that light post?”  Miles jibed.

 The group erupted in laughter.

“I’m where I belong,” he thought.