in 2015 and 2016, I posted stories for Christmas on Facebook. I'm at the life-altering decision making point. If I do it three times, now I have started something.
I looked at both the 2015 and 2016 stories, and they are both amusing and heartwarming. I just don't know if I have another one in me. But I'm going to try. I'm going to use the response I get to this blog posting to decide if this one goes on Facebook or not.
Christmas 2000 was a tough one for me. It was my first Christmas after my Dad died. My daughter and son-in-law (he was still a boyfriend at that time) had gone north to spend the holiday with her dad and my mom and extended family, so it was just me and my husband at home.
Everyone processes grief differently, and everyone processes grief in their own time. For whatever reason, the tsunami of grief from losing my father hit me on Christmas day.
Mind you, there were warnings the tsunami was coming. I made no plans for Christmas dinner. I don't remember if I purchased gifts or not, but if I did, it was in that strange state of fugue that precedes a breakdown.
On Christmas Day, I fell apart. I remember telling my husband I didn't want to have Christmas without my Dad in the world. I cried until my face hurt.
That day had to happen. Those tears had to be shed. The grief had to find an outlet. Christmas was just the catalyst.
After the storm passed, my husband and I did our annual traditional six mile run (it's a walk now) and then went to a movie, which we did on Christmas Day for many years. That year's movie was "Meet the Parents". And I probably laughed as hard as I had cried earlier.
Because of the extended crying jag, by the time the movie ended, all the restaurants that had been open on Christmas were closed. We did have two frozen hamburger patties in the freezer. (When I say I did not plan, I mean an epic lack of planning.)
The only place open was Walgreen's. So, we went to Walgreen's and got a jar of Ragu, a pound of spaghetti, and a package of hot dog buns. I defrosted and broke up the hamburger patties in the Ragu, and we made garlic bread out of hot dog buns. If memory serves me right, we also bought an impressive amount of wine.
We enjoyed our unconventional Christmas dinner, and I found a measure of peace with my Dad's death.
The next day at work when people asked how my Christmas was and I told the story, many were appalled and upset for me. By then, it was just a thing that gave me another story in my story book.
Christmas doesn't have to be anything in particular to be memorable. And sometimes, the Christmas you need includes a crying jag.
All the Christmases in my life, and I remember very few specifically. I remember Christmas 2000 because it was so far removed from the idealistic Christmas.
But that Christmas was one of the most special of my life because of the gift I received. While my husband could have been upset with me for failing to plan well for Christmas, or upset that I cried till my face hurt, or upset that the few plans we had were upended, none of those happened. Instead, he held me while I cried, and when the crying was over, tried to create as much of a sense of normalcy as he could. And while our Christmas dinner was unconventional, spaghetti with meat sauce is one of my favorite comfort foods.
The gift I received that Christmas was the gift that even though I had lost my Daddy, there was still someone in my world who would always protect me, always comfort me, and always support me. Even though I trusted in my husband's love, that day demonstrated the depth and strength of that love in ways I treasure. And then he still found a way for me to end the day laughing.
So maybe, just maybe, that was one of my best Christmases ever.
Saturday, December 23, 2017
Thursday, December 21, 2017
Season's Greetings
I was at my Occupational Therapy session the other day, and the woman next to me receiving therapy said that she wasn't going to "do" Christmas this year. She felt that with running her business, providing care taking for her mother, and rehabilitating an injury, it was just too much. I felt very sad for her.
It is not that I think everyone needs the excess that many feel is necessary for the holiday season. It just made me sad that for her, Christmas is something that you do.
I hear a lot of dialogue about a war on Christmas, and to be honest, I've never seen one. But I have seen twenty-first century America turn the time period from mid-November until New Year's into one giant impossible to complete "to-do" list.
This will probably feel rambling, but if you stay with me, I promise I will bring it all together in the end.
When my daughter was ten or eleven, we were going somewhere at night, and we had to drive past the large Monsanto chemical plant near our home. As we drove past she looked at the well lit plant and said, "Look, Mommy, Monsanto decorated for Christmas". I looked at the plant through her eyes at that moment, and it did look festive, and decorative. I knew that the lighting of the plant for 24/7 operations was normal, but for her, seeing it for the first time at Christmas, it was magical. Whatever holiday your faith or ethnic or chosen tradition celebrates, they all have an element of magic in them.
Things were hectic enough when my child was a child, with presents to buy, and cookies to bake, and Christmas pageants to attend, and houses and trees to decorate. Now we also have this "Elf on the Shelf" thing. If it works for you, and is not just another stress maker in your life, have at it. But the whole idea kind of bothers me. Do we really want our children to be good because someone is watching and reporting? Isn't it our job as parents to teach our children the intrinsic rewards for being good people? That it feels good to be kind? It feels good to be generous? That we all make mistakes, and that we need to learn from our mistakes so we can be better people, not because there will be a punishment?
If you have a faith or ethnic or chosen tradition, what is at the core of that tradition? I'm Catholic, so the core of my faith tradition is the birth of the Savior, Jesus Christ. The season is about hope. It is about the improbable. The birth of a poor child in a manger led to the salvation of mankind. What an inspirational story. If your tradition has inspirational aspects, focusing on those can quiet the noise of the "doing" everyone expects.
And as for the actual days. It can be so easy to have to have the most perfectly decorated house and most perfectly set table, with an array of delicious foods. If getting to that point means that you can't spend time enjoying the company of those you love because you are too busy preparing and serving, maybe scaling things back could work. I remember years ago talking to a co-worker who was stressing about all that she had to do for Christmas Eve, and she asked what I was doing. I told her the truth. On the way home from work, I was stopping at the store and picking up an assortment of sushi and sparkling wines, along with one of those dessert sampler trays. Set things out and celebrate. She was astonished. And started the same tradition for her family the next year. You never know how much time you have with the people you love, treasure the moments you have.
So here is my Season's Greeting for all of you. I hope that you remember the magic, and can see the magic. I hope that you are inspiring all you love through your thoughtful goodness, and that you are forgiving yourself when you fall short, and learning so that you do better next time. I hope you are inspired by the spiritual aspects of your chosen holiday, and are spiritually restored by the observation of exceptional generosity and charity in your world. And finally, I hope you are able to hold those you love close in your heart, if not in your arms, and find the ability to focus on making memories with them or celebrating memories of them. Most of all, I hope you remember that the holiday season can always be turned into a giant "to-do" list, but you can turn it back into a time of joyful celebration with the people you care the most about.
It is not that I think everyone needs the excess that many feel is necessary for the holiday season. It just made me sad that for her, Christmas is something that you do.
I hear a lot of dialogue about a war on Christmas, and to be honest, I've never seen one. But I have seen twenty-first century America turn the time period from mid-November until New Year's into one giant impossible to complete "to-do" list.
This will probably feel rambling, but if you stay with me, I promise I will bring it all together in the end.
When my daughter was ten or eleven, we were going somewhere at night, and we had to drive past the large Monsanto chemical plant near our home. As we drove past she looked at the well lit plant and said, "Look, Mommy, Monsanto decorated for Christmas". I looked at the plant through her eyes at that moment, and it did look festive, and decorative. I knew that the lighting of the plant for 24/7 operations was normal, but for her, seeing it for the first time at Christmas, it was magical. Whatever holiday your faith or ethnic or chosen tradition celebrates, they all have an element of magic in them.
Things were hectic enough when my child was a child, with presents to buy, and cookies to bake, and Christmas pageants to attend, and houses and trees to decorate. Now we also have this "Elf on the Shelf" thing. If it works for you, and is not just another stress maker in your life, have at it. But the whole idea kind of bothers me. Do we really want our children to be good because someone is watching and reporting? Isn't it our job as parents to teach our children the intrinsic rewards for being good people? That it feels good to be kind? It feels good to be generous? That we all make mistakes, and that we need to learn from our mistakes so we can be better people, not because there will be a punishment?
If you have a faith or ethnic or chosen tradition, what is at the core of that tradition? I'm Catholic, so the core of my faith tradition is the birth of the Savior, Jesus Christ. The season is about hope. It is about the improbable. The birth of a poor child in a manger led to the salvation of mankind. What an inspirational story. If your tradition has inspirational aspects, focusing on those can quiet the noise of the "doing" everyone expects.
And as for the actual days. It can be so easy to have to have the most perfectly decorated house and most perfectly set table, with an array of delicious foods. If getting to that point means that you can't spend time enjoying the company of those you love because you are too busy preparing and serving, maybe scaling things back could work. I remember years ago talking to a co-worker who was stressing about all that she had to do for Christmas Eve, and she asked what I was doing. I told her the truth. On the way home from work, I was stopping at the store and picking up an assortment of sushi and sparkling wines, along with one of those dessert sampler trays. Set things out and celebrate. She was astonished. And started the same tradition for her family the next year. You never know how much time you have with the people you love, treasure the moments you have.
So here is my Season's Greeting for all of you. I hope that you remember the magic, and can see the magic. I hope that you are inspiring all you love through your thoughtful goodness, and that you are forgiving yourself when you fall short, and learning so that you do better next time. I hope you are inspired by the spiritual aspects of your chosen holiday, and are spiritually restored by the observation of exceptional generosity and charity in your world. And finally, I hope you are able to hold those you love close in your heart, if not in your arms, and find the ability to focus on making memories with them or celebrating memories of them. Most of all, I hope you remember that the holiday season can always be turned into a giant "to-do" list, but you can turn it back into a time of joyful celebration with the people you care the most about.
Thursday, December 14, 2017
Things to be proud of
I read a Facebook conversation this morning about the difference between white pride and black pride. The point of the original post was that white pride doesn't make sense, because "white" is an artificial construct, while black pride makes sense because the place identity of many African Americans was stolen from them when they were stolen from their homes and sold into slavery.
I embrace the idea of black pride being a product of history. All of us like to belong, and for many, belonging is attached to origin. People wear green on St. Patrick's Day and claim to be Irish, drink beer for Oktoberfest and claim to be German, celebrate Bastille Day and claim to be French. If you can't know where your people came from, other than a continent, I get the idea of solidarity with the other people from that continent, and I understand that in the historical evolution of language in America, the time when the black pride movement originated predated the term African American and postdated the term negro. So, sociologically, emotionally, and linguistically, black pride makes sense.
But now is when I throw a curve ball into the whole thing. I understand the need to belong to something bigger than ourselves, but why do we try to belong to something based on the accident of our birth?
What is wrong with being proud of what we do, and how we act, and how we think, instead of being proud of the mix of DNA we were born with?
If you read this blog regularly, you know I had my DNA analyzed earlier this year. I found out that in spite of being raised believing I was of German descent, and relatives having emigrated from Germany, I have no German DNA. It looks like my relatives stopped in Germany on their way from Scandinavia to the United States. This knowledge didn't change who I am in the least.
The knowledge that your DNA doesn't match your family stories might be more difficult for some people than it was for me. Maybe because I never based my identity on my national heritage. I'm one of those people who cries at the playing and singing of the United States National Anthem, but I'm not one of those people who bases my identity on being a citizen of the United States of America. I was fortunate to be born here, into a family who had enough money that I always had a roof over my head and food in my stomach. That is not a matter for pride, but a matter for gratitude.
I'm proud that in spite of getting pregnant in the tenth grade at fifteen years old, I persevered and got a Bachelor's degree in Business Information Systems in college. I'm proud that once I decided on a career in Occupational Safety and Health, I pursued and achieved my Occupational Health and Safety Technician certification, and my Certified Safety Professional certification.
I'm also incredibly grateful that I was born with the physical and emotional strength, and the family support to achieve those goals. Without my family's help and support, none of what I have achieved is possible.
When I think about pride and being proud, without that pride becoming destructive, the pride is always tempered by the gratitude for the people who made the accomplishment I am proud of possible.
While our needing to belong to something bigger than ourselves is a powerful force, that need should never overwhelm our consideration of exactly what we are claiming to belong to.
Pride should be attached to accomplishments, not labels. Being proud of being kind, being humble, being generous, being compassionate are all great. To think that a person can say they are proud to be Christian or Jewish or Muslim and think that means something is delusional. When I say or write Christian or Jewish or Muslim, each reader paints their own picture of what that means. Those terms are too broad, and too influenced by too many factors. While kindness and humility and generosity and compassion are also interpretive, they are far less ambiguous than religious categorization.
The same thing goes for nationalistic labels. Why are you proud to be Irish or German or French or Nigerian or Kenyan or Egyptian? Why not say you are proud to be hard-working, or punctual, or well-read, or well-prepared, or well-practiced or reliable?
I think if more people based their pride on what they do and how they act, rather than being proud of the group or groups they were born into, we could all find more common ground. And if we stopped joining groups so that we could label ourselves as Christian or Jewish or Muslim or Republican or Democrat, and instead found pride in being and doing something, maybe we would see we are all more the same than different.
It does not make me angry if you want to be proud of the accident of your birth, or be proud of the group labels you have chosen to take shelter under. I just hope that we can all start examining our beliefs and our behaviors, and seek to believe and behave in ways we can be proud of.
I embrace the idea of black pride being a product of history. All of us like to belong, and for many, belonging is attached to origin. People wear green on St. Patrick's Day and claim to be Irish, drink beer for Oktoberfest and claim to be German, celebrate Bastille Day and claim to be French. If you can't know where your people came from, other than a continent, I get the idea of solidarity with the other people from that continent, and I understand that in the historical evolution of language in America, the time when the black pride movement originated predated the term African American and postdated the term negro. So, sociologically, emotionally, and linguistically, black pride makes sense.
But now is when I throw a curve ball into the whole thing. I understand the need to belong to something bigger than ourselves, but why do we try to belong to something based on the accident of our birth?
What is wrong with being proud of what we do, and how we act, and how we think, instead of being proud of the mix of DNA we were born with?
If you read this blog regularly, you know I had my DNA analyzed earlier this year. I found out that in spite of being raised believing I was of German descent, and relatives having emigrated from Germany, I have no German DNA. It looks like my relatives stopped in Germany on their way from Scandinavia to the United States. This knowledge didn't change who I am in the least.
The knowledge that your DNA doesn't match your family stories might be more difficult for some people than it was for me. Maybe because I never based my identity on my national heritage. I'm one of those people who cries at the playing and singing of the United States National Anthem, but I'm not one of those people who bases my identity on being a citizen of the United States of America. I was fortunate to be born here, into a family who had enough money that I always had a roof over my head and food in my stomach. That is not a matter for pride, but a matter for gratitude.
I'm proud that in spite of getting pregnant in the tenth grade at fifteen years old, I persevered and got a Bachelor's degree in Business Information Systems in college. I'm proud that once I decided on a career in Occupational Safety and Health, I pursued and achieved my Occupational Health and Safety Technician certification, and my Certified Safety Professional certification.
I'm also incredibly grateful that I was born with the physical and emotional strength, and the family support to achieve those goals. Without my family's help and support, none of what I have achieved is possible.
When I think about pride and being proud, without that pride becoming destructive, the pride is always tempered by the gratitude for the people who made the accomplishment I am proud of possible.
While our needing to belong to something bigger than ourselves is a powerful force, that need should never overwhelm our consideration of exactly what we are claiming to belong to.
Pride should be attached to accomplishments, not labels. Being proud of being kind, being humble, being generous, being compassionate are all great. To think that a person can say they are proud to be Christian or Jewish or Muslim and think that means something is delusional. When I say or write Christian or Jewish or Muslim, each reader paints their own picture of what that means. Those terms are too broad, and too influenced by too many factors. While kindness and humility and generosity and compassion are also interpretive, they are far less ambiguous than religious categorization.
The same thing goes for nationalistic labels. Why are you proud to be Irish or German or French or Nigerian or Kenyan or Egyptian? Why not say you are proud to be hard-working, or punctual, or well-read, or well-prepared, or well-practiced or reliable?
I think if more people based their pride on what they do and how they act, rather than being proud of the group or groups they were born into, we could all find more common ground. And if we stopped joining groups so that we could label ourselves as Christian or Jewish or Muslim or Republican or Democrat, and instead found pride in being and doing something, maybe we would see we are all more the same than different.
It does not make me angry if you want to be proud of the accident of your birth, or be proud of the group labels you have chosen to take shelter under. I just hope that we can all start examining our beliefs and our behaviors, and seek to believe and behave in ways we can be proud of.
Tuesday, November 7, 2017
Life happens when you least expect it
Hello Again to any of my regular readers who noticed I've been gone for a while. On September 25, I tripped and fell while walking the dog. I suffered a Colles fracture if my left wrist. In layman's terms, I broke my radius vertically, and a bunch of the small bones in my wrist.
I tried to start this post a week ago, but my hand still hurt so much when I tried to type that I kept losing my train of thought. This week is somewhat better.
On September 27, I had surgery to put a plate and screws in my arm and wrist to rebuild the joint. I started occupational therapy on October 23.
I find it ironic that my last blog post before my injury was titled "Recovery" and I have been in recovery for the past six weeks.
My occupational therapist is the same person that worked with me to rehabilitate my right hand after my stroke in May 2015.
So, I am in the unique position of having done occupational therapy to rehabilitate my right hand from stroke damage and my left hand from orthopedic damage.
My right hand is my dominant hand, so the consequence of disability in that hand was more acute, and probably provided subconscious motivation. However, I never knew how much I needed my left hand until this happened. Two hands are seriously better than one.
Rehabilitation is hard work. It is frustrating when something you have always been able to do is now difficult or impossible. But stroke rehab and ortho rehab are very different, and because it is what I do, I have been analyzing the differences.
In my case, stroke rehabilitation was not painful. It was very difficult and exhausting, but virtually painless. The milestones were great. I can floss my teeth again. I can put in a pony tail. I can braid my hair. I can crochet. Each one represented my brain learning to control my hand differently than before the stroke. I had to work hard, but pain was never a limiting factor.
Orthopedic rehabilitation is very painful for me. It is not difficult or exhausting, it is just painful. And it takes a lot of resolve to cause yourself pain in the belief that on the other side of pain is restored function. The milestones feel more like an adaptation to higher pain levels instead of victories. I can floss my teeth again. I can put in a pony tail. I can braid my hair. I can crochet. But they all hurt. I do what I can until the pain makes me stop.
I couldn't have typed this much last week without the pain stopping me, so I am making progress. And for that I am grateful.
But I have a huge appreciation for those that have to rehabilitate larger more comprehensive injuries. I salute the courage, fortitude and determination necessary to come back from a significant injury.
It feels good to type and share my thoughts. I lost a little bit of myself when I was unable to do this. It feels good to be back.
I'm trying to stay optimistic that down the road a bit is restoration of full function, and a pain free wrist and hand. If not, I'll adapt to whatever the future is state will be.
And while I work towards that future, it is good to be back. I missed you all.
I tried to start this post a week ago, but my hand still hurt so much when I tried to type that I kept losing my train of thought. This week is somewhat better.
On September 27, I had surgery to put a plate and screws in my arm and wrist to rebuild the joint. I started occupational therapy on October 23.
I find it ironic that my last blog post before my injury was titled "Recovery" and I have been in recovery for the past six weeks.
My occupational therapist is the same person that worked with me to rehabilitate my right hand after my stroke in May 2015.
So, I am in the unique position of having done occupational therapy to rehabilitate my right hand from stroke damage and my left hand from orthopedic damage.
My right hand is my dominant hand, so the consequence of disability in that hand was more acute, and probably provided subconscious motivation. However, I never knew how much I needed my left hand until this happened. Two hands are seriously better than one.
Rehabilitation is hard work. It is frustrating when something you have always been able to do is now difficult or impossible. But stroke rehab and ortho rehab are very different, and because it is what I do, I have been analyzing the differences.
In my case, stroke rehabilitation was not painful. It was very difficult and exhausting, but virtually painless. The milestones were great. I can floss my teeth again. I can put in a pony tail. I can braid my hair. I can crochet. Each one represented my brain learning to control my hand differently than before the stroke. I had to work hard, but pain was never a limiting factor.
Orthopedic rehabilitation is very painful for me. It is not difficult or exhausting, it is just painful. And it takes a lot of resolve to cause yourself pain in the belief that on the other side of pain is restored function. The milestones feel more like an adaptation to higher pain levels instead of victories. I can floss my teeth again. I can put in a pony tail. I can braid my hair. I can crochet. But they all hurt. I do what I can until the pain makes me stop.
I couldn't have typed this much last week without the pain stopping me, so I am making progress. And for that I am grateful.
But I have a huge appreciation for those that have to rehabilitate larger more comprehensive injuries. I salute the courage, fortitude and determination necessary to come back from a significant injury.
It feels good to type and share my thoughts. I lost a little bit of myself when I was unable to do this. It feels good to be back.
I'm trying to stay optimistic that down the road a bit is restoration of full function, and a pain free wrist and hand. If not, I'll adapt to whatever the future is state will be.
And while I work towards that future, it is good to be back. I missed you all.
Thursday, September 14, 2017
Recovery
A recurring theme in the books I read is recovery. Many books feature a recovering alcoholic or drug addict, or a person recovering from the loss of a spouse, or the loss of a child, or the loss of a job or the loss of health through either accident or illness.
No matter what a person has to recover from, recovery is a process without a fixed timeline. If you Google "recovery timelines" you get links to all kinds of stuff. Business and organizational recovery timelines for post disaster recovery, stroke recovery timelines, physical therapy recovery timelines for a multitude of conditions. The most striking fact about all of these is how fluid they are.
The business and organizational recovery timelines are the easiest to create and follow, often because the humans involved can be interchangeable, so that if a particular human is incapacitated by the disaster, another human can take their place.
With the personal or human recovery timelines, so many variables impact outcome.
For many events, recovery is a lifelong process. For anyone recovering from addiction, recovery is what that individual will be in for the rest of their life or until they relapse to their addiction. Recovery becomes a state of being, often needing support from others in a similar recovery to stay the course.
The death of a loved one is the start of a lifelong recovery. I believe we never really "get over" the loss of a loved one. We learn to live with the empty space, we learn to live with the grief, we learn to accept a new normal is the only normal available now. The recovery can be interrupted by anniversaries, or memories, or events that crash us back into the aching emptiness of the early days of our loss. Often people recovering from a profound loss also need others who have experienced great loss to counsel them and provide support.
With a physical illness, or an accident, complete recovery is sometimes possible. All of us have been ill, or had surgery, and after a period of time feel exactly like we did before the event. Complete recovery does exist, but many medical events leave a permanent disability. Sometimes, these disabilities are visible, but many times they are not. A brain injury can leave impaired memory, or impaired processing or speaking abilities.
The thing is, with so many different events that can injure a person physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually, just about anyone and everyone you meet on any given day can be recovering from something. And there is not always a way for you to know that.
Just one more reason to always be kind.
It is so easy to assign a negative motivation to anyone that upsets your order. Labeling them selfish, or self absorbed or a bully is easier. What is harder is to accept that no one knows what someone else is going through.
I believe we can train our brains to stop assigning negative motivations to people we don't know, and start offering up our aggravation as a prayer or a petition for that person to receive peace.
The harder our own personal recovery is at any given moment will impact how well we practice kindness and forgiveness.
For some people, the pain and difficulty of recovery make them more sympathetic and empathetic; for others, the pain and difficulty of recovery seem to short circuit the ability to feel sympathy and empathy.
That is why if each of us, on the days when we can practice as much kindness as we can must do it. That kindness will change the world.
At least for the person struggling with their own recovery that we showed kindness to.
And each struggling person treated with kindness makes the world a better place.
You can change the world, one kind act at a time.
And the more of us that embrace that philosophy, the better it will be.
Society has to experience recovery just like individuals do. And as we collectively practice supporting recovery in each other, we will see society recover too.
I genuinely believe that.
No matter what a person has to recover from, recovery is a process without a fixed timeline. If you Google "recovery timelines" you get links to all kinds of stuff. Business and organizational recovery timelines for post disaster recovery, stroke recovery timelines, physical therapy recovery timelines for a multitude of conditions. The most striking fact about all of these is how fluid they are.
The business and organizational recovery timelines are the easiest to create and follow, often because the humans involved can be interchangeable, so that if a particular human is incapacitated by the disaster, another human can take their place.
With the personal or human recovery timelines, so many variables impact outcome.
For many events, recovery is a lifelong process. For anyone recovering from addiction, recovery is what that individual will be in for the rest of their life or until they relapse to their addiction. Recovery becomes a state of being, often needing support from others in a similar recovery to stay the course.
The death of a loved one is the start of a lifelong recovery. I believe we never really "get over" the loss of a loved one. We learn to live with the empty space, we learn to live with the grief, we learn to accept a new normal is the only normal available now. The recovery can be interrupted by anniversaries, or memories, or events that crash us back into the aching emptiness of the early days of our loss. Often people recovering from a profound loss also need others who have experienced great loss to counsel them and provide support.
With a physical illness, or an accident, complete recovery is sometimes possible. All of us have been ill, or had surgery, and after a period of time feel exactly like we did before the event. Complete recovery does exist, but many medical events leave a permanent disability. Sometimes, these disabilities are visible, but many times they are not. A brain injury can leave impaired memory, or impaired processing or speaking abilities.
The thing is, with so many different events that can injure a person physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually, just about anyone and everyone you meet on any given day can be recovering from something. And there is not always a way for you to know that.
Just one more reason to always be kind.
It is so easy to assign a negative motivation to anyone that upsets your order. Labeling them selfish, or self absorbed or a bully is easier. What is harder is to accept that no one knows what someone else is going through.
I believe we can train our brains to stop assigning negative motivations to people we don't know, and start offering up our aggravation as a prayer or a petition for that person to receive peace.
The harder our own personal recovery is at any given moment will impact how well we practice kindness and forgiveness.
For some people, the pain and difficulty of recovery make them more sympathetic and empathetic; for others, the pain and difficulty of recovery seem to short circuit the ability to feel sympathy and empathy.
That is why if each of us, on the days when we can practice as much kindness as we can must do it. That kindness will change the world.
At least for the person struggling with their own recovery that we showed kindness to.
And each struggling person treated with kindness makes the world a better place.
You can change the world, one kind act at a time.
And the more of us that embrace that philosophy, the better it will be.
Society has to experience recovery just like individuals do. And as we collectively practice supporting recovery in each other, we will see society recover too.
I genuinely believe that.
Thursday, September 7, 2017
Things I notice
As my regular readers know, I read a lot. And as I read I notice things. I read differently now that I am trying to learn to be a writer, and I pay attention differently than I did in the past.
One of the things that I have noticed lately is that contemporary women's fiction, and contemporary fiction in general tackles really difficult subjects. Subjects like childhood cancer, and adult cancer. Congenital diseases, surviving the death of a spouse or child, disability from an accident, infidelity, abortion, adoption, unplanned pregnancy, child abuse, job loss, addiction, mental illness; you think of the trauma, and somewhere in contemporary fiction, there is a book that deals with that topic.
In these books, I feel I really get to know the characters. I understand what they are passionate about. I feel their pain, and their anger. I feel their joy, and their disillusionment. What I hardly ever know about any of these characters is whether they are Republicans or Democrats.
I'd like you to think about that for a second.
A talented writer can create a complex, multi-faceted character that has hopes and dreams, fears and uncertainties, passions and heartaches, without giving them a party affiliation.
Maybe it is time for life to imitate fiction.
Why is it so important to so many people to know someone else's party affiliation, or to broadcast your own? To be honest, I'm pretty sure everyone I know thinks I'm a Democrat. I'm not. I'm an Independent. I also think that most everyone I know thinks I'm a Liberal. I'm very liberal on social issues, but I'm actually pretty conservative when it comes to fiscal matters. What would confuse most people about how I think is that I think if you want to spend more, you have to have more. And that means higher taxes. I am also a huge fan of progressive tax rates, and corporate tax rates that encourage investment in the company over profit taking. But none of that defines me.
When I was younger, I felt like it was easier to get to know people. Easier to see what was in their hearts, because politics was not so much a part of what defined people. I got to know people who were animal lovers, and advocates for children's rights, and disability advocates, and tireless volunteers for women and children's issues.
I got to know Boy Scout troop leaders, and Girl Scout troop leaders, and special education teachers, and bankers and doctors and landscapers and plumbers and electricians and carpenters and factory workers and college professors.
I got to know dance teachers, and theater majors and people pursuing art as a vocation. I got to know people who were totally happy to devote themselves to raising their children and creating a warm and nurturing home environment, and people who were determined to open their own businesses to provide a service they thought the community needed.
And I could probably have guessed with relative certainty who they voted for in any Presidential election. And if they would vote yes or no on a new tax millage. But that was so far from my mind and so far from what made me want to get to know them better or to keep them on the fringe of acquaintance with me.
And I really liked that world better than this one. Because the labels we put on each other limit our ability to accept the unique capabilities of each of us. It doesn't matter to me if you identify as a Republican, or a Democrat, or an Independent, or a Libertarian, or a Green Party member. What matters to me is who you are. What your gifts are. How much you care about others. How much you want to make the world a better place.
There are a million ways to make things better. Some ways work better at some times than others. Some ways work better for some people than for others. But if I can get past any labels that try to define someone, and get to see their heart, their fears and heartaches, their passions and their triumphs, then I can find that facet of them that matches a facet of me and we can build a relationship on that base.
And then we can begin working on making things better. Until the shouting stops and the dividing stops and the building walls around ourselves stops, we can't make things better.
I accept that some people might need the labels, and might need their personal walls. I will offer up good thoughts to the universe that the people that need those things find the enlightenment they need to not need them anymore.
In the meantime, if you allow me to, I will try to see you without labels. I will try to learn about you, and I will try to appreciate what makes you the unique individual you are.
I will try to find common ground to build on, and try to build a foundation strong enough to support discussing our differences.
I will not try to change you, but I will try to hear you, and I will ask you to try to hear me.
And then maybe, just maybe, life can be more like fiction. Where people matter more than party affiliation.
One of the things that I have noticed lately is that contemporary women's fiction, and contemporary fiction in general tackles really difficult subjects. Subjects like childhood cancer, and adult cancer. Congenital diseases, surviving the death of a spouse or child, disability from an accident, infidelity, abortion, adoption, unplanned pregnancy, child abuse, job loss, addiction, mental illness; you think of the trauma, and somewhere in contemporary fiction, there is a book that deals with that topic.
In these books, I feel I really get to know the characters. I understand what they are passionate about. I feel their pain, and their anger. I feel their joy, and their disillusionment. What I hardly ever know about any of these characters is whether they are Republicans or Democrats.
I'd like you to think about that for a second.
A talented writer can create a complex, multi-faceted character that has hopes and dreams, fears and uncertainties, passions and heartaches, without giving them a party affiliation.
Maybe it is time for life to imitate fiction.
Why is it so important to so many people to know someone else's party affiliation, or to broadcast your own? To be honest, I'm pretty sure everyone I know thinks I'm a Democrat. I'm not. I'm an Independent. I also think that most everyone I know thinks I'm a Liberal. I'm very liberal on social issues, but I'm actually pretty conservative when it comes to fiscal matters. What would confuse most people about how I think is that I think if you want to spend more, you have to have more. And that means higher taxes. I am also a huge fan of progressive tax rates, and corporate tax rates that encourage investment in the company over profit taking. But none of that defines me.
When I was younger, I felt like it was easier to get to know people. Easier to see what was in their hearts, because politics was not so much a part of what defined people. I got to know people who were animal lovers, and advocates for children's rights, and disability advocates, and tireless volunteers for women and children's issues.
I got to know Boy Scout troop leaders, and Girl Scout troop leaders, and special education teachers, and bankers and doctors and landscapers and plumbers and electricians and carpenters and factory workers and college professors.
I got to know dance teachers, and theater majors and people pursuing art as a vocation. I got to know people who were totally happy to devote themselves to raising their children and creating a warm and nurturing home environment, and people who were determined to open their own businesses to provide a service they thought the community needed.
And I could probably have guessed with relative certainty who they voted for in any Presidential election. And if they would vote yes or no on a new tax millage. But that was so far from my mind and so far from what made me want to get to know them better or to keep them on the fringe of acquaintance with me.
And I really liked that world better than this one. Because the labels we put on each other limit our ability to accept the unique capabilities of each of us. It doesn't matter to me if you identify as a Republican, or a Democrat, or an Independent, or a Libertarian, or a Green Party member. What matters to me is who you are. What your gifts are. How much you care about others. How much you want to make the world a better place.
There are a million ways to make things better. Some ways work better at some times than others. Some ways work better for some people than for others. But if I can get past any labels that try to define someone, and get to see their heart, their fears and heartaches, their passions and their triumphs, then I can find that facet of them that matches a facet of me and we can build a relationship on that base.
And then we can begin working on making things better. Until the shouting stops and the dividing stops and the building walls around ourselves stops, we can't make things better.
I accept that some people might need the labels, and might need their personal walls. I will offer up good thoughts to the universe that the people that need those things find the enlightenment they need to not need them anymore.
In the meantime, if you allow me to, I will try to see you without labels. I will try to learn about you, and I will try to appreciate what makes you the unique individual you are.
I will try to find common ground to build on, and try to build a foundation strong enough to support discussing our differences.
I will not try to change you, but I will try to hear you, and I will ask you to try to hear me.
And then maybe, just maybe, life can be more like fiction. Where people matter more than party affiliation.
Sunday, September 3, 2017
Gifts from my Mother
For reasons I don't remember, I was terrified when I was starting school. I cried every day, and didn't want my mother to leave me at school. After a couple of days, or maybe it was weeks, my mother had a talk with me.
I don't remember how the talk started or ended, but I remember the important thing that she told me. Mom told me that no matter how scared I was, there was another little boy or girl who was just as scared, or maybe even more scared. She told me that if I worried about making that child less scared instead of worrying about myself, that I would be okay, and I would make things easier for someone else.
I'm fifty-seven years old, and I still repeat my Mom's advice in my head when I am nervous or scared entering a social situation. I remind myself that there is someone in that room, or at that conference, or attending that party, that feels incredible anxiety, or isolation, or fear. I can help them simply by being present for them. Listening to them, smiling at them, letting them know that they are seen, and appreciated and valued.
The gift my mother gave me was the ability to practice empathy from a very early age. She gave me the gift of seeing that we are all struggling, we are all fighting invisible demons. We can focus inward on our demons, or we can focus on someone who needs our support to fight the demons that plague them.
With any skill, the more it is practiced, the easier it gets. And the more the pathways in our brains get wired to respond in a particular way. My mother set me up to be a empathetic, compassionate person. She taught all of us that service to others is rewarding. She taught us that volunteering is a great way to make friends. She taught us that we had the power to change the world for someone simply by caring about them.
My relationship with my mother was and is complex, as are most mother-daughter relationships. As she slips further and further into Alzheimer's dementia, I struggle to remember her as a whole person. I went through the same progression with my father when his Alzheimer's progressed, and it was a couple of years after his death before I was able to remember all the wonderful gifts my father had given me before Alzheimer's stole so much of who he was. I'm trying to keep memories of Harriet vibrant even as her disease takes her further away.
I tend to think of happy memories as treasures that are greatly cherished. Those memories will fade and tarnish, just as physical treasures will if they are not celebrated and nourished. I'm trying to do a better job of nourishing my treasured memories by talking about them, and writing about them, and sharing them with others.
When I visit my mother, I try to share memories with her. Sometimes she can remember the story I relate, and sometimes that memory has been stolen from her. But the magic comes in her smile when she does remember a story or an event that we shared.
And those are the gifts my mother still gives me. A smile that says she remembers singing along with a Les Paul and Mary Ford song while we dusted the furniture. An "I love you" as I say goodbye after a visit. A strong grip on my hand even as she is too tired or lost to open her eyes or speak.
As hard as the visits can be, I am working hard to turn them into treasured memories. Because I know as hard as these visits are, I will miss the ability to kiss her face or hold her hand when she finally leaves this plane of existence to join my Dad on the next plane.
I am blessed to have a treasure chest full of memories with my mom and dad. And a heart full of the gifts they gave me.
I don't remember how the talk started or ended, but I remember the important thing that she told me. Mom told me that no matter how scared I was, there was another little boy or girl who was just as scared, or maybe even more scared. She told me that if I worried about making that child less scared instead of worrying about myself, that I would be okay, and I would make things easier for someone else.
I'm fifty-seven years old, and I still repeat my Mom's advice in my head when I am nervous or scared entering a social situation. I remind myself that there is someone in that room, or at that conference, or attending that party, that feels incredible anxiety, or isolation, or fear. I can help them simply by being present for them. Listening to them, smiling at them, letting them know that they are seen, and appreciated and valued.
The gift my mother gave me was the ability to practice empathy from a very early age. She gave me the gift of seeing that we are all struggling, we are all fighting invisible demons. We can focus inward on our demons, or we can focus on someone who needs our support to fight the demons that plague them.
With any skill, the more it is practiced, the easier it gets. And the more the pathways in our brains get wired to respond in a particular way. My mother set me up to be a empathetic, compassionate person. She taught all of us that service to others is rewarding. She taught us that volunteering is a great way to make friends. She taught us that we had the power to change the world for someone simply by caring about them.
My relationship with my mother was and is complex, as are most mother-daughter relationships. As she slips further and further into Alzheimer's dementia, I struggle to remember her as a whole person. I went through the same progression with my father when his Alzheimer's progressed, and it was a couple of years after his death before I was able to remember all the wonderful gifts my father had given me before Alzheimer's stole so much of who he was. I'm trying to keep memories of Harriet vibrant even as her disease takes her further away.
I tend to think of happy memories as treasures that are greatly cherished. Those memories will fade and tarnish, just as physical treasures will if they are not celebrated and nourished. I'm trying to do a better job of nourishing my treasured memories by talking about them, and writing about them, and sharing them with others.
When I visit my mother, I try to share memories with her. Sometimes she can remember the story I relate, and sometimes that memory has been stolen from her. But the magic comes in her smile when she does remember a story or an event that we shared.
And those are the gifts my mother still gives me. A smile that says she remembers singing along with a Les Paul and Mary Ford song while we dusted the furniture. An "I love you" as I say goodbye after a visit. A strong grip on my hand even as she is too tired or lost to open her eyes or speak.
As hard as the visits can be, I am working hard to turn them into treasured memories. Because I know as hard as these visits are, I will miss the ability to kiss her face or hold her hand when she finally leaves this plane of existence to join my Dad on the next plane.
I am blessed to have a treasure chest full of memories with my mom and dad. And a heart full of the gifts they gave me.
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