Innoveering Nebraska

Why is it so hard to ask for help?  I’m not talking about the incidences when something is on fire or you’re bleeding profusely or something else very immediate and very physical and very obvious has occurred.  Unless we are instantly rendered unconscious by the disaster, it’s pretty easy to ask for help at these times.  Some of us might even demand help quite loudly.  It’s probably instinct. 

What I’m wondering is why it’s so hard to ask for help with the less immediate situations.  Or in the slightly embarrassing circumstances.  Or when you feel you should be able to handle it on your own – but somehow just can’t.  Even in the terrible times when these factors pile up, we somehow don’t recognize that it’s the emergency equivalent of accidentally stabbing ourselves with the small pruning shears while mowing. Why is this? 

I encountered several of these situations recently.   After getting really annoyed with myself I spent a lot of time searching for an explaination for why I behaved the way I did.  As a result, I’ve reached some conclusions as to why this disparity in perceived emergency levels occurs. 

1. The situation creeps up on us slowly and grows larger and more serious than we realize. 
2. We get overwhelmed and stop thinking clearly. 
3. Plain old fashioned denial. 
4. Overconfidence in our skills and abilities.
5. A perception that no one can or no one does want to help.
6. A sense of responsibility for “cleaning up our own messes.”

Regardless of which factor or combination of factors is causing your inability to ask for help, I think I’ve also discovered the best solution.  Describe your circumstances to someone who cares about your welfare and gauge their reaction.  It’s highly likely that you should be having that same reaction.  Describe your situation to several people if you don’t trust one person’s reaction – but ask them each individually.  This isn’t a group project.  But it is an easy start.  You’re just talking to someone.  Maybe asking them to have lunch with you – or just coffee if lunch seems too much to ask. 

It’s what finally shook me into the realization that I was in over my head and needed help.  The irony is that help was easy to get once I asked.  And here’s the best part of all, even though my problem isn’t resolved yet, I’m not worried because I know someone competent is working to solve it.   This lovely sense of relief made me wonder why I tortured myself for so long – which led to the annoyance with myself and the thinking through why I would act this way. 

Wouldn’t it be so much easier if something yelled “Danger Lora Frecks!” at opportune times?  Where’s the app for that?   Dinner with family, lunches with friends and coffees with colleagues is better anyway.  My phone will certainly never care for me as much as they do. 

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Every now and then I’m reminded strongly of the biggest reason I haven’t left Nebraska.  Last night was one of those times. 

Last night there was a solid sheet of ice on all the roads leading up to my lovely neighborhood on a ridge above the Missouri River.  It was a very unexpected sheet of ice which caught me at the bottom of all the hills rather than safely at the top of the ridge where I belong.  After many failed attempts to drive up the hills, I parked the car in a church parking lot. 

At this point I gathered my belongings and began a slow and careful trek up the ridge.  It was dark and cars kept sliding backwards on the street, turning circles and bumping into each other and the piles of snow stacked up between the street and sidewalks.  I was nearly hit by a spinning blue PT Cruiser.  I was cold, sore from the gym and much more frightened than I’m accustomed to feeling. 

I was also worried about my car.  There at the bottom of the ridge, nicely lined up for robbers, was my car and at least a dozen other cars whose drivers had also been caught off guard by the ice and had had to walk home. 

Which brings me to the point of family.  My father and brother also thought this wasn’t the best place for my car.  They also knew I wouldn’t sleep well with the car not in the garage, would venture down the ridge as early as I could in the morning and would be greatly upset if the car had been crashed or broken into overnight. 

So they ventured out later that night to get my car up the ridge and safely parked in my nice, warm, snug garage.  I was so relieved.  Very sillily, I kept peeking out into the garage just to revel in the fact that the car was home safe and sound.    

It wouldn’t have been the end of the word if they hadn’t done this, but it’s ever so wonderful that they did.  And it’s one of the reasons I love Nebraska.  My people are here – which means that my back up crew, a big chunk of my support network and my largest source of technical and mechanical expertise are here.  Here is a very good place to be.

The car safely in it’s garage thanks to my father and brother.