Your AARP Card Is In The Mail, Or, Getting Older Takes Attitude.

Many of us of a certain age (50+) have had the pleasure of the cheery notification from AARP (The American Association of Retired Persons), which reads something like, "Congratulations! You are eligible for the many benefits of AARP! Don't wait! Reply today for these exciting membership benefits...." And it goes on to tell you the many--and actually very beneficial--reasons to join the ranks of your cohort of 50+ year-olds.

It also says You are now officially an old fart.

I have compared notes with others who have received this notice. The reactions varied from "Who cares?" to "It felt like my draft notice."  All kidding aside, this is, in my opinion, a great organization. If for no other reason that its AARP prescription discount actually saved my mother significant dollars on her medications in her later years.

The operative words here are "mother" and "later years." Not me. Not at my age.

I have to say that I have nothing against aging or getting older. I have no illusions about my age, my looks or my stage of life. I've earned my laugh lines. I exercise to stay in reasonable shape, but my knees remind me, almost daily that, despite the fact that they've each survived trauma,  and a major surgery , they have continued to serve me faithfully for more than 21,000 days--and they are tired. And yet, I soldier on.

I have good friends and family who are pushing into their 60s and 70s with varying degrees of acceptance and grace. Some claim to "embrace" their age; others grit their teeth and endure it; still others seems to go blithely on without so much as a blip. They look wonderful, eat everything they want, sleep great, are as active as they care to be and, for the most part, exude contentment.

My mother was like that. All the way up to age 92, when she died.

So, how do they do it, those contented acceptors and doers of the improbable? How do they flourish in old age?

One word seems to surface again and again, in both my personal and professional observations of thriving older people: attitude.

A positive, accepting, realistic attitude about old age is about the only thing they have in common. Other than this, they have varying degrees of health, independence, social support and financial security. It seems, from what I can gather both professionally and anecdotally, that attitude is the key. Not a Pollyanna attitude, but one that says, without reservation, Yes I am (fill in the appropriate age--truthfully) and I'm basically ok with that. I recognize my limitations, but I also embrace my remaining abilities. I am grateful for what is, not despondent over what isn't.

Easy. No. Not for one minute would I pretend that those flourishing in old age have come by their stellar attitudes with ease. It has take them some combination of work: self-examination, self-reflection,  acceptance of what is and the ability to ask for help. None of these are easy, and yet, the payoff can be big.

So, AARP, bring it on. While I have resisted joining for the past 8 years, who knows? You may get me sooner than I might like, but later then you have invited me.  I really don't have anything against you or getting older. It will just take me some time to adjust to the idea that, like everyone else, if I'm lucky, I will get old.

Until next time, thanks for listening.

Agreeing To Disagree, Or "To Love, Honor and Agree?"

It never fails to amaze me.  Couples work is often the most challenging--and interesting--work I do. Inevitably, the couple brings conflict into the room. Something, done or undone, said or unsaid, has caused a breech in the relationship. Correction: the breech is usually the result of a long series of action or inaction which has not been addressed for some time. By the time some couples seek the help of a therapist, things are often ready to blow.

It can go like this in session:
He: She just doesn't get it! If the washing machine is too full, nothing gets clean.
She: I follow the directions on the machine: "Load to fill line."
He: Everyone knows you're never supposed to fill the machine that full.
She: Everyone? Who is everyone?
He: What part of this don't you understand?

Does any of this sound vaguely familiar?  In a conversation like the one above, the real issue isn't about how clean the clothes get. It's about a variety of underlying voices we carry with us from our collective experience: "Being right is very important. If you're wrong, you're bad." Or, "You need to take responsibility for everything. If you don't do it personally, it might not be done the right way." Or, even, "No one is going to push me around or tell me how to do things. I had enough of that when I was a child and I'm not a child anymore."  And so the voices go.

These "voices" usually aren't as clear or defined as I've outlined above.  But, if you subscribe to the idea that we are the sum of all our experiences, chances are, like it or not, you got messages in your life that made an impact, and helped inform how you respond in a variety of situations.

Challenging those voices, those embedded messages, is part of the work of therapy.

Another concept therapy can bring into the room, radical to some, is the idea that both of you are right.

Think about the conflict that might fall away if we were to entertain that idea in our daily lives, especially with our loved ones. You are absolutely, completely right. And...I am absolutely and completely right.

Absurd? Well, not according to couples who hold their ground--and their entrenched beliefs--on disagreements over child-rearing, sex, money, religion, jobs, friendships...well, you get the idea.

Where conflict melts away is when we give each other permission to differ. Put another way: we agree to disagree, not to win.

Granted, on some issues, you'll need to find some common ground. But, compromise is built on the premise of actually conceding territory for the common good. Your common good.

The idea of not agreeing is foreign to some of us.  But, if you can let go of the idea of winning, it really changes the game. If there's no need to win, then there is room for two opposing ideas to co-exist, sometimes quite comfortably.

Of all the weddings and commitment ceremonies I've attended, not one couple has ever promised to "love, honor and agree."  Nor, in my opinion, should they have to.

Doubtful? Give it a try. You might be surprised to find that "winning" is highly overrated. And loving each other by agreeing to disagree? Well, being loved, I find, is always a win.

Until next time, thanks for listening.

Letting Go, or The Power of A "Garage Sale Of The Mind."

This weekend my partner and I and a few of our neighbors are having a garage sale. Whenever I hear those words, "garage sale," my mind immediately goes to the sister phrase, "trash and treasure."
And, for me, it's an appropriate descriptor of a powerful emotional component of such a sale: Even though, intellectually, I know alot of this stuff is, essentially, of no real value to me any more, I did, at one time, treasure it--or at least the memories associated with it.

And there's the rub: Parting with the "stuff" signifies a parting with the memories--the emotional "stuff."

Clinically, this parting could be classified as "acceptance." In simpler terms, it can signify "letting go."

Now I realize that some of the "treasures" in tomorrow's sale meet all--and every--qualification for "trash." Or, perhaps, more kindly, they are the ghosts of questionable choices, lapses in retail judgement; or more radically, What the hell was I thinking when I bought this? In this category falls the pine-bark covered photo album (never used), the "extra" bargain bath mat (also never used), a handful of instructional books (mostly only thumbed-through) and a myriad of wicker baskets, seasonal trinkets and bric-a-brac that were idolized for an instant in the checkout line, and then languished in a closet or cupboard for the rest of their questionably "useful life."

However, there also exist some items, which, while not exactly "treasures," do have meaning, context, and even a brief--or even extended--role in a few acts of our life-play.  For instance, now-emptied picture frames which held photos of once-dear friends, who, through time, distance and--God forbid--age, faded from dear to distant to who was that and why did I save that photo?  

Then, there are the in-between items which, at first (and at the pleading of my partner) go, reluctantly into the "sell" pile; and then, upon reflection, back into the "keep" pile.  Not surprisingly, these in-between items are harder to part with. While here and now, in 2013, these items serve no rational purpose, they still tug at an emotional part of me. They will get a temporary stay today.

Others, however, I recognize from previous forays into boxes marked "save," from previous garage sales. Over time, for reasons I don't completely understand, those items, so thoroughly embedded in my emotional brain, no longer have that hold on me this go-round. With little hesitation or fanfare, they graduate to the "sell" pile with not so much as a sigh.

It's often same with emotional ties. Some call it "emotional baggage." It goes by other names, too: "grudge," "crush," "jealousy," "regret," even, "insult."  It usually doesn't take too much digging to identify our own emotional baggage. What takes more effort is, metaphorically, clearing it out of our psyche, putting it on the curb of our memory, and letting it go.

While there are few "buyers" for our emotional baggage, it's much like the physical "stuff" of our actual garage sales. It occupies space--space that we might need or want to devote to our current lives and loves. Space that might give us "room," or lighten up our environs.

And, so, when we're ready, like the dusty, hot-air popcorn popper we haven't used or seen for, possibly  years, we let it go. We say goodbye to a useless grudge, set free an ancient hurt, kick to the curb an old anger, and make room for other feelings: Lightness. Gratitude. Peace.

When you're ready, give it a try. Unpack some of your emotional baggage. Take a minute to see how it serves you now. If it still does serve you, even in a way that seems irrational to the rest of the world but makes complete sense to you, then...maybe you'll save it awhile longer. But, when you find it no longer deserves a place in your emotional attic, you may want to simply say goodbye.

Let it go. And set it--and yourself--free.

Until next time, thanks for listening.

The Power of Silence. Or, Risking Authenticity.

I'm sitting in the sun on a warm spring afternoon, on the deck overlooking a recently-greened vineyard. There are the usual background noises: feint bird chirps, a caw of a crow, the very distant hum of cars making their way up the asphalt ribbon of 101 North-South. What makes this all notable, is the literal absence of the city cacophony.

No angry car horns. No city hum. No human chatter.

It is powerful. It is the power of silence. 

And yet, in the company of others, and in the therapy setting, silence can make us, well, a little...uncomfortable. 

Filling the void with voice. In this age of burgeoning communication options--cell phones, voice mail, texts, tweets, Instagrams (and yes, I'm certain I've forgotten others)--the need to be saying something--anything!--seems to be overwhelming us with words and pictures.  

The same seems true in the therapy office, at times.  Early on in my training as a therapist, I was encouraged to use silence as an intervention--a tool--to allow my clients to go deeper into their story.  Almost always, that first foray in to voicelessness was met with fidgeting clients asking, what do you want me to say next?

Of course, it wasn't about what I wanted at all but, more accurately, what comes up when we're actually allowed to simply be in the moment with our thoughts. To not be prompted, replied to, affirmed, judged or otherwise cued by another as to the worthiness of our sentence.  

Buried treasure. It seems that we are often so eager to either garner a response or to offer one, that a thought left hanging in the air is a rarer and rarer thing these days.  A luxury, of sorts. But, given space to breathe and expand, one's thoughts, ideas, stories and true feelings often emerge, like artifacts long buried, only now unearthed.

In the therapeutic conversation it is simple yet, again powerful. And I often marvel at the profound and moving things that clients share, when simply given the room to do so. 

Perhaps that's why silence can be scary at times. Because, in the absence of another person's word, the invitation to continue is implied. And, for some, it's uncharted territory: I didn't hear you comment. What do you think about what I said? Was I right? Do you agree? Do you approve of me? Silence is the green light to go ahead, but without the safety net of another's approval (or even disapproval--at least you know where you stand!).

The gift of not saying a word. In our hectic lives, how often do our friends, family, colleagues, even strangers give us the chance to muse, without comment?  My guess is, not often. So, it's not surprising that, given the gift, we're sometimes unclear about how to proceed. And yet, left to our own discourse, we will almost always find resolution on our own.

Here's an idea: take the leap. Venture a deeper thought. A more novel idea: make room in your conversation with a friend for him or her to keep going. Give them room to muse, think, come to an authentic conclusion. Ok, they might think you're giving them the silent treatment, so use the least intrusive prompt you can: Go on.

You might be surprised with how the conversation unfolds. And if, as I've endorsed before, you are truly listening to understand and not to win or persuade, you are likely to learn a great deal about your friend--and possibly about your friendship.

Until next time, thanks for listening.

Repairing A Broken Relationship Or, The Long Road Home.

Working with couples has been some of the most challenging and satisfying work I have done as a therapist. I say challenging, because couples have often reached a crisis point in their relationship when they decide to seek help. More often than not, by the time we sit together for the first time, the couple has made a multitude of mostly unsuccessful attempts to "fix" each other, which often leaves the couple exasperated. The work is also extremely satisfying in that the couples who are willing to try to find different ways to listen, understand and accept one another can, with time and work, repair seemingly insurmountable rifts in their relationships.

The initial couples session sometimes starts with an enactment of how the couple tries to solve their problems at home. The conflict can range from mild blaming to outright name-calling or more. The mistake most couples make is to try to convince or persuade me that one of them is the "good guy" and the other is completely at fault. What couples learn very quickly is that I don't judge, take sides, or invest very much in the blaming process. Who is at fault--actual or perceived--almost never is the therapeutic issue.  How couples communicate and the goal of their communications are much more vital to the healing process.

"It's not me, it's HIM." It's not hard to understand why couples blame each other. No one likes to be "at fault." And, if blame can be shifted away from ourselves, we stand in "the right." In couples therapy, "right" and "blame" are much less important than understanding your partner. Empathizing with your partner. Giving benefit of the doubt. Forgiveness. Loving.


Sounds good, but it usually takes practice. And it definitely takes shifting away from blaming to understanding.

Moving from head to heart. I work with many highly intelligent couples who manage many responsibilities in both their personal and professional lives. Often, in an attempt to impose order or make sense of a hurtful situation, one or both of the couple will strive to intellectualize their differences. While this might provide logic, it inhibits the feeling process. Sometimes, there just is no sense to be made of human behavior. People are fallible. And, often, in moments of lapsed judgement or hurt, they behave in ways that defy their own values and ideas of who they are at their cores. It can be upsetting at the least; and horribly shaming. No wonder we try to try to make "sense" of it. It helps us avoid feeling our hurt. And yet, in order to begin to acknowledge our behaviors and the effects we have on others, we must feel. We must shift from processing our transgressions in our heads to dealing with them in our hearts.

Are you here to punish? You're in the wrong place. Couples sometimes do hurtful things to one another, and they're often still hurting when they walk in my office. Some come with the express purpose of extracting vengeance--with me as the audience! I can only say, I can't allow that to happen in my session. There's enough pain in the world without adding to it. And vengeance just adds pain on top of pain. What can happen, and often is very therapeutic, is to slow the couple down so they can actually hear each other; and then an amazing thing is allowed to happen: they can begin to feel their partner's pain, without having to create more pain in the room.

The purpose of their communication shifts, sometimes radically. Understanding replaces blaming. And healing can begin.

I honor every couple who has the courage to move through the process of couples therapy. Like many journeys, it can be difficult, but also very rewarding. At the end of every long road home is home--the place we build with the ones we love. And there is rarely so satisfying a destination as this.

Until next time, thanks for listening.

Merry Christmas: An Invitation, Not A Command. Or, Peace On Earth, One Heart At A Time.

I'm not a retreat person. By my count, it's been at least 25 years since I 've been on a true retreat, where you truly are invited to leave the rest of the world for a few days and to delve into your inner self.  Sounds so "touchy-feely" when I say it here. And, in some aspects, it is.

My partner and I have spent the past few days in a meditative retreat designed to help couples find ways to identify difficulties and heal with each other.  I could not possibly do the techniques and philosophy justice in words here, so I won't try. What I'd rather focus on here are a few observations that, for me, tie my inner retreat to the outer, bigger world we all live in.

Leaving Christmasland. When I first signed up for the retreat weekend in August, I didn't give a whole lot of thought to the timing: December 14-16. It was months away at the time.   As December approached, I began to have vague misgivings about having obligated us to a complete "time out" during what is, for us as a family, a very busy time.  As the season went into full-court press after Thanksgiving, pressure began to build: Must get the Christmas cards made; must buy gifts; must do the holiday baking; must tie up year-end details; must wrap, must mail gifts; must, must, must!

Friday arrived. we had, miraculously, gone into overdrive task-mode and gotten things done.  On that drizzly, cold morning,we pulled away from the house and, unknowingly, left Christmasland behind.

Tofu & Silence. Tired from the stressors of the season, we arrived at the beautiful setting for the retreat: rural, oceanside, remote, wintry. Our room was Spartan by some standards. Beds were lumpy, small and old. But all serviceable. And, by Sunday, any concerns about the accommodations had completely given way to matters more important: matters of the heart.

Of course, there could not be meditation without silence. Without being still, how could we hear our own hearts? I wasn't prepared for the duration and intensity of the meditations. And yet, surrendering to our leaders' entreats to "be present" and do some more, I did.  And I found that I could. And that I learned where I didn't expect to find learning.

My skeptical self knew the vegan meals could pose a challenge to this carnivore; and yet, we both found ourselves enticed by the aromas wafting from the kitchen as mealtimes approached; and we both ate the delicious meatless dishes heartily, but without feeling like gluttons. And we both left the table feeling satisfied.

Acceptance, not achievement. The lovely part of our work (and it was intense work!) was the permission-giving quality of the exercises. We were invited rather than instructed. The goals were framed in allowing yourself into the exercises, the yoga, the intimate conversation work, as opposed to achieving some required level of competence. It was almost as if the retreat leaders were offering up the framework, the exercises, the meditations--as gifts to receive, not achieve.

How different from the commands and stressors of our everyday lives. And what a mind-shift from the overwhelming "to do" lists of the holiday season.

And so there was peace. For many, the weekend brought clarity, understanding and re-commitment to long and loving relationships. For all of us, it seemed to me, the result of 48 hours of focused honoring of relationship brought no small measure of quiet, satisfaction, and yes, peace between us. Even as we mourned the tragedy that occurred in Connecticut on Friday, we found comfort in the humanity of our peers.

We reflected on our present and past. We mused about our futures. Emotional blocks were dislodged. Misunderstandings were cleared away.We wept and laughed within the safety of a loving group of people who, just a day or so before, were strangers to each other.

A commitment to carry on. In the end, there were no grand pronouncements or shout-it-from-the-rooftop epiphanies.  But there was again, an invitation--initiated by the group itself--to stay in touch. To reconnect with this unique community from time to time in the future. To not entirely lose these special connections with special people.  Will it happen? I'm optimistic that it will. I'm also mindful that, at least, for me, the "real world" is likely to creep back in with its honking horns, pushy people and my own reactions of impatience and irritation. 

But, just for now, I'm inviting myself (not striving!) to hold on to the serenity of knowing there are good people out there. People who could, through mindful calm, could be strangers in that strange world out there 72 hours ago--and loving, connected people now.

Touchy-feely? Yeah, definitely. It reminds me of my childhood and every December, about this time of year, when my mom would ask, her eyes twinkling, "Have you got that Christmas spirit yet?" It was a signal that acknowledged a child's innocent glee and joy.

Well, mom, the answer now, today, is, "Yes." I have that Christmas spirit. And it comes from the depth of giving and love that came from my loving partner, Lou, and from a group of perfect strangers.

It was a most unexpected gift. You can't put a bow on it, but it's the one that means the most.

Until next time, Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Blessed Kwanzaa. Whatever you celebrate, open your heart. Receive.  And be glad.

The Choices We Make: What Did Your Vote Mean Yesterday?

It's the day after our nation went to the polls to choose, among other elected officials, the President of the United States.  Sounds impressive when it's written out: President of  the United States. And it should. For better or worse, the President guides the ship of state though whatever waters--murky, calm or stormy--that history serves up at the time. It's a daunting job. I often wonder, Who could possibly want this position?

And yet, every four years, political parties, special interests, friends, neighbors, family and business associates engage in the national debate over who should assume the highest leadership post in the land. The debate ranges from the friendly to the spirited to the enraged.  Yes, some of us are disengaged from the process and claim no vested interest in the outcome: They're all jerks is the collective refrain from that corner.

But, despite your feelings about the candidates, their ads, their records, their debate performances or their promises--what happens to your voice if you opt out of the process?

In my humble--and singular--opinion, when you choose not to participate, your voice is, quite simply, silenced--when it matters most.

So why am I addressing this from the vantage point of the therapist's chair?
Well, I work with a variety of clients, many who are striving to be heard: by their children, spouse, boss, friends, the cable company, customer service reps, and, yes, by their government officials. As I have asserted in past posts, being heard is important to us humans.  That's why it baffles me, from a therapist's point of view, why anyone would relinquish their right to be heard--and with no possibility of being rebuffed or discounted.  Every vote is equal, Every vote counts.

Even yours.

So, if you are one of the 115 million US residents of voting age who cast their ballot yesterday, congratulations. No matter how you feel about the outcome  you came out a winner. If you didn't vote, I humbly invite you back into the national dialogue.

Your voice matters. And if you don't speak up, you can't be heard.

Until next time, thanks for listening.