The Value of Taking Inventory (On Mindfulness)

When I was a young teenager I discovered the band Dream Theater, who would become one of the most significant musical influences of my life. To this day I still listen to Dream Theater and am blown away by their music craftsmanship and expertise. For nostalgia's sake, I'll link you to the very first song I ever heard from them, known at Ytse Jam (which is Majesty, their original band name, backwards). Maybe it won't blow your hair back the way it did mine, but I discovered these guys when I was entrenched in an era of Good Charlotte, Green Day, and Blink-182. Add on the fact I was just learning the guitar, this music blew my young mind.

As I delved into Dream Theater's discography over time, I discovered a grander understanding for how conceptual music can be, from concept albums, to recurring concepts- musically and lyrically. One of my favorite examples of this is the Dream Theater Twelve-Step Suite: a collection of five songs across five albums that makes up the 12 steps of Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) from the personal reflections of then-drummer Mike Portnoy. (Here's a bonus link to my favorite song in the Suite, The Root of All Evil.)

Someone important in my life found the path to recovery thanks to AA and the 12 steps, so as I learned more about it through music, I liked to discuss it with them.

I remember that there was this idea of "taking inventory" in Step 4 that confused me. I didn't really understand what "taking inventory" meant. What was I supposed to count? Or... catalogue? After several explanations over time, it eventually started to make sense.

Taking inventory is when you decide to cut the bullshit and see, call, and name things for what they are. Taking inventory is when you approach yourself on reality's terms. It means you acknowledge when you were rude, when you were hurt, when you lashed out, or when you winced and shrugged off the pain. It involves holding yourself accountable for your actions, and understanding your actions for what they actually are. When seen in the process of recovery (of any kind, not just AA), it makes sense that early in the healing process we must confront ourselves with our reality.

I'm a perfectionist. I'm a little neurotic. I'm worried I'm not enough at times. I'm concerned about failure, or being a failure. I'm concerned that I've faked my way into positions and places in life, and one day someone will discover I'm a fraud or impostor. They're all real feelings that I cycle through.

Of course, some of the edge of these beliefs is that they are what also has helped give me some degrees of success. The fear of failure pushes me to extremes to avoid failure, which, in turn, can manifest as success in ways.

But last week, I was not thinking or feeling this way. Last week I struggled to find meaningful sleep as my mind raced and fears of failure encircled me. Fears of being exposed for not being good enough. What does "not being good enough" look like, in this context? Or, more importantly, what does being good enough look like? I wasn't really sure. It was just a feeling. An irrational fear that kept me running.

This situation reminded me of a few years ago when I received a promotion at work. It was a big promotion for me; it marked an entrance into a bigger and greater world. For the first time, my career trajectory was more in my hands than it had ever been before. But, even then, I had doubts and fears of failure. I was positive there was a mistake, that I wasn't qualified, or I wasn't good enough. And similarly, I struggled to find rest and peace.

You might know enough to identify that this is more-or-less a textbook definition of impostor syndrome: the belief that you are a fraud and you are consumed with fear that your accomplishments are fake and you will be exposed for this fraud. And, indeed, this is a recurring problem I find myself in from time to time.

But what is the cure? How can I restore my sanity and peace?

By taking personal inventory.

When I received that promotion years ago, I sat myself down at the table and I forced myself to write objectively true things that I could use to convince myself I was not a fraud. Things like:

• I solved problem X, which was a highly complicated problem.

• I have solved hundreds of other problems.

• I have received X number of positive feedback comments from my colleagues and professional acquaintances.

• I have received X number of negative feedback comments, which is significantly lower than my positive, indicating that I am often better than I am worse. These comments also didn't have much to say about me as much as other things beyond my control.

• People ask me questions and I can deliver answers that are proven.

During this process, I had to be honest with myself. It felt uncomfortable, but these were objective facts I could point to and could substantiate as not being imaginary. As much as I wanted to argue with them, I couldn't. At least, I couldn't argue with them and be reasonable. The alternative was to believe that the rest of the world was engaging in a malicious coup against me, which is even more unreasonable.

Similarly, I had to run through this exercise again last week. As I struggled to be at rest about some things, I began to take inventory and face the facts:

• I have accomplished X, Y, and Z.

• I have received X number of compliments on this, and Y number of complaints. The ratio greatly suggests an overall positive response.

• Fear X has never been substantiated by anyone or anything, it's just in my imagination.

• If this was as bad as I am falsely imagining it to be, someone would have said something.

There was more than just this, and I'm trying to be vague here, but I think my point comes across.

If our thoughts and imagination are not the reality they claim to be, how can we really know what our reality is? I say one solution is personal inventory. It's a brutal, transparent honesty with yourself about yourself. The willingness to admit when you were a jerk, when you were haughty, or when you were hurt. The ability to look at all the data and be honest about what applies, not just what we want to pick and choose. Accepting the beautiful, good, bad, and ugly all together.

If we can't take inventory and see the facts for how they are, we're lying to ourselves and constructing a false reality. The work of personal inventory can be hard and gruesome, as it can require us to admit when we were in the wrong. But it can also be beautiful, when we look at things and see how they really are, and we decide to live in light of that truth. It can be freeing, but it takes work.

Anyone can lie to themselves, but it is much harder to speak truth to yourself. But when you do, if you live in light of the truth despite the hardships that may come with that process, the other side feels much better.