Last week a colleague sent a link to this article on Task-Based Thinking (TBT) vs Outcome-Based Thinking (OBT). Briefly, its point was that TBT makes you less productive than OBT because the former leaves you thinking, "What do I need to do today?" instead of, "What outcomes do I want to achieve today?"
I read it, as I have hundreds of similar "be-more-productive" blogs, and found myself getting really pissed off. Why the hell do I need to be more productive? What's wrong with doing what needs to be done and feeling like that's enough?
According to History.com:
Image | kidskonnect.com
"The Great Depression (1929-39) was the deepest and longest-lasting economic downturn in the history of the Western industrialized world. In the United States, the Great Depression began soon after the stock market crash of October 1929, which sent Wall Street into a panic and wiped out millions of investors. Over the next several years, consumer spending and investment dropped, causing steep declines in industrial output and rising levels of unemployment as failing companies laid off workers. By 1933, when the Great Depression reached its [lowest point], some 13 to 15 million Americans were unemployed and nearly half of the country’s banks had failed. Though the relief and reform measures put into place by President Franklin D. Roosevelt helped lessen the worst effects of the Great Depression in the 1930s, the economy would not fully turn around until after 1939, when World War II kicked American industry into high gear.
Last Thursday I attended the Health Promotion Agency's video preview session for its refresh of The National Depression Initiative (depression.org.nz). The National Depression Initiative (NDI) "aims to reduce the impact of depression and anxiety on the lives of New Zealanders by aiding early recognition, appropriate treatment, and recovery."
I was there as one of 15 New Zealanders who have shared their stories of living with depression and anxiety. For me, it was living with aggressive and abusive neighbours over two years (2011 and 2012) that created acute anxiety and prompted me to offer to share my story. But, in the course of doing so, I've come to realise that I've experienced both depression and anxiety many times over my lifetime.
I'm working with some folk on a project around anxiety and depression, sharing the story of the two years I spent living with hostile neighbours. It's made me wonder if we are living in an age of anxiety, because I meet a lot of people who struggle with it, as well as depression, to varying degrees.
Since doing this work, I've come to realise I've actually struggled with both for most of my life. Anxiety as a kid about being different, or Mum being late to pick up me up, thinking she'd died in a car crash (no "Running late" texts in those days). Depression as a teenager about, well, everything. Anxiety in my early 20s about living independently and getting my support needs met. More depression in my mid to late 20s about feeling isolated and not fitting in.
I had a very interesting comment on my blog two weeks ago (not on this site, but on www.dpsn.net.nz where I cross post), in which I talked about the many reasons why I dislike labelling people having mental health concerns as having an “illness”.
The question went something along the lines of: “Now Barbara, I know that you talk a lot about depression being a reaction to the environment and that sounds reasonable to me. But, could there be another type of depression? One in which your very complicated body and/or brain can “break down” and stop working on its own? Causing some kind of chemical imbalance that occurs independently of your environment?”
The question is reflective of what is probably a quite widely held understanding as to the nature of depression and other mental health concerns. Most of the information that people are exposed to about this area comes from public awareness campaigns. While these campaigns hopefully go some way towards reducing discrimination, they offer little in the way of explanation as to where depression actually comes from. One prominent campaign line even states, “there may be no obvious cause.”