I had resisted it for several months. I knew no good would come of it. I would not be able to say no once it started. And yet, I did it anyway. I ordered an ice cream maker.
Not just any ice cream maker, mind you. The deluxe two-quart, automatic, no-ice, no-salt Cuisinart model.
And I couldn't leave it at that. At the online urging of over 500 reviewers, I also got the authentic Ben & Jerry's ice cream recipe book. The book that gives you only three options: a lot of butterfat, more butterfat, and the most butterfat recipes.
To me, summertime is homemade ice cream. I remember sweltering July evenings at my Uncle Bill and Aunt Vivian's house, taking turns hand-cranking the ice cream paddle, as Uncle Bill added ice and salt around the freezing container, and the cream and milk concoction inside magically turned--much too slowly for me--into a mouthful of summer.
Watermelon also spelled summer. Unlike homemade ice cream which was made in precious batches that seemed to be the size of thimbles, and was doled out in delicious but fleeting scoops, watermelon was the one dessert that we kids could have in abundance. The sheer size of the slices was enticing. The contrast between the air temperature of a Virginia summer night and a slice of iced melon was enough to lower your body heat index several points. Add family--particularly my cousin Mike from two houses away--and you not only had a cold treat; you had a competition: spitting seeds. The furthest. With the most accuracy. The highest. The most machine-gun-like.
The one thing both of these delicacies had in common, aside from being sticky and delicious--they were fun, made special by the fact they were seasonal. Because they weren't available every day, they became, by definition, fleeting joys.
So now, well into summer, I fervently gathered the ingredients mandated by Ben & Jerry, chilled them to the requisite temperature, waited a full 24 hours for the freezing insert to freeze solid, and then carefully--and with some tempered glee--whipped the eggs and sugar into a frenzy and combined them with enough fat calories to equal a bag of potato chips, two or three sugared lattes and at least one chocolate cake with cream cheese icing.
And then the magic began. With a click of the "on" switch, the motor began to whir, the freezer compartment began to turn, the paddle swam through the sea of cream and milk. Twenty-five minutes later: ice cream.
It was delicious. It was sinfully caloric. Frighteningly fatty. And altogether summer.
I am resigned to the fact that there will be several more batches this summer, and that, despite future efforts to reduce the butterfat content, they will still be fatty--and delicious. And summer.
This must be why divine providence makes homemade ice cream seasonal. It's certainly what makes it special.
Oh--and I don't want to forget to mention why we're talking about ice cream and watermelon here. Despite the fact that one is sinfully caloric and the other is juicy and messy--they, in my humble opinion, are stress reducers. For me, anyway, it's almost impossible to stress out over a scoop or two of French Vanilla or Orange Dream. Ditto for a cold slice of sweet watermelon.
They transport me back to a simpler time: a time of no schedules, no serious job commitments. A time when the biggest worry might be will it rain on the Fourth of July? Or, will our mothers let us walk--without adults--to the "Little Store" to get Double Colas?
Don't get me wrong. I like a certain amount of order in life. And I love my work. But summer brings back reminders of simple joys--and balance, between what needs to get done, and what is simply fun to get done.
I vote for a balance of both, and wish the same for you as summer stretches into August.
Until next time, thanks for listening.
Monday, July 23, 2012
Saturday, July 14, 2012
To Kill A Mockingbird Or, Sitting With Tragedy That's Not Fiction.
I have recently taken the time to reread Harper Lee's To Kill A Mockingbird. I suppose it's been more than 40 years since I first read it. My grandmother, who died in 1972, was still alive; I remember talking with her about how unfair the events were, how hateful and judgemental many of the characters were. How sad the story was. How sad that, despite being fiction, it could have easily been fact.
If you haven't read the book, I won't spoil it for you. Suffice it to say, it's a novel about racial injustice, set in 1930's in the fictional deep-South town of Maycomb, Alabama. It's also a novel about social progress--painfully slow--but progress, nonetheless. It's also a story of learned kindness. It's a story so powerful and universal that the author, Haprer Lee, won the Pulitzer Prize for it, her first novel.
In the course of almost a decade of sitting with clients, I can remember many sessions as if they had concluded only this morning. As I've said in previous posts, I am honored that my clients entrust me with the truths about their lives: their insecurities, triumphs, disappointments--and sometimes the horrific events that would leave any human injured, cynical, emotionally scarred.
It's not an easy thing for clients to disclose the injustices of their experiences. Some are so embarrassed, so afraid of judgement, so emotionally bound to their injuries that it can take months of work to bring the pain to the surface so it can be dealt with.
This is part of the work of therapy. To help my clients process past psychic traumas in order to move through--possibly beyond them. The trauma never is erased. Just made less powerful, less present--hopefully, less painful.
In the book, in a pivotal passage about kindness and moral goodness, Miss Maudie one of Maycomb's more enlightened denizens imparts a seminal lesson of kindness to her young neighbor, Scout, also the book's nine-year-old narrator: Mockingbirds don't do one thing but make music for us to enjoy. They don't eat up people's gardens, don't nest in the corncribs, they don't do one thing but sing their hearts out for us. That's why it's a sin to kill a mockingbird.
And so it is with most children. And most good-hearted adults. I believe, in my heart, and from my experience, we're mostly good. Mostly kind. Mostly sensitive to others. Most of the time.
Yes, human beings can be unpleasant, even mean. And when humans inflict cruelty on others, the trauma can be devastating. And lasting.
And yet, healing can, and does, take place. In the arms of a loved one. Over countless coffees with a best friend. In sanctuary of a church or synagogue. Or in a therapy office.
As therapists, we hear the worst of what people can do to people. By definition, and of necessity, it comes with the territory. How do we hear it, sit with it, work with it, day in and day out?
For me, I take comfort in my steadfast belief in mockingbirds and the simple joy they bring. And, in the slow, but often sure progress that comes with healing.
And in those moments, I remind myself how privileged I am to sit in the therapist's chair. To all my clients who honor me with their stories, thank you.
Until next time.
If you haven't read the book, I won't spoil it for you. Suffice it to say, it's a novel about racial injustice, set in 1930's in the fictional deep-South town of Maycomb, Alabama. It's also a novel about social progress--painfully slow--but progress, nonetheless. It's also a story of learned kindness. It's a story so powerful and universal that the author, Haprer Lee, won the Pulitzer Prize for it, her first novel.
In the course of almost a decade of sitting with clients, I can remember many sessions as if they had concluded only this morning. As I've said in previous posts, I am honored that my clients entrust me with the truths about their lives: their insecurities, triumphs, disappointments--and sometimes the horrific events that would leave any human injured, cynical, emotionally scarred.
It's not an easy thing for clients to disclose the injustices of their experiences. Some are so embarrassed, so afraid of judgement, so emotionally bound to their injuries that it can take months of work to bring the pain to the surface so it can be dealt with.
This is part of the work of therapy. To help my clients process past psychic traumas in order to move through--possibly beyond them. The trauma never is erased. Just made less powerful, less present--hopefully, less painful.
In the book, in a pivotal passage about kindness and moral goodness, Miss Maudie one of Maycomb's more enlightened denizens imparts a seminal lesson of kindness to her young neighbor, Scout, also the book's nine-year-old narrator: Mockingbirds don't do one thing but make music for us to enjoy. They don't eat up people's gardens, don't nest in the corncribs, they don't do one thing but sing their hearts out for us. That's why it's a sin to kill a mockingbird.
And so it is with most children. And most good-hearted adults. I believe, in my heart, and from my experience, we're mostly good. Mostly kind. Mostly sensitive to others. Most of the time.
Yes, human beings can be unpleasant, even mean. And when humans inflict cruelty on others, the trauma can be devastating. And lasting.
And yet, healing can, and does, take place. In the arms of a loved one. Over countless coffees with a best friend. In sanctuary of a church or synagogue. Or in a therapy office.
As therapists, we hear the worst of what people can do to people. By definition, and of necessity, it comes with the territory. How do we hear it, sit with it, work with it, day in and day out?
For me, I take comfort in my steadfast belief in mockingbirds and the simple joy they bring. And, in the slow, but often sure progress that comes with healing.
And in those moments, I remind myself how privileged I am to sit in the therapist's chair. To all my clients who honor me with their stories, thank you.
Until next time.
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Slowing Down, or "How Would You Know If Your Body Was Saying No?"
Summertime. A time when alot of us take a vacation. Time away from work, from our regular routines. Time to relax, recharge, reset.
Often, a vacation is exactly what we need to temporarily move out of work mode in order to give our bodies--and minds--a respite from daily stressors.
But, what if a vacation isn't enough? How would you know if you needed to do more than slow down for a week or two? And, what if you really needed to make a lasting change in the velocity of your life? How would you know? Where would you start?
Most twenty- and even thirty-somethings rarely think about slowing down. If anything, life is about wringing the most out of each moment, experience, opprotunity or relationship. "More" and "faster" are simply better. And, twenty-and thirty-year-olds, more often than not, have the physical stamina to keep up with their inner expectations.
As we age (can you tell I was recently called a "Senior?") our bodies often send us different--even disconcerting--messages regarding our ability to withstand stressors. Daily, repetitive mental stressors can take their toll in a variety of ways that often show up in a yearly physical (most healthcare plans, even the bare-bones plans, provide for a yearly "wellness" exams. If you're not sure, ask!) The effects of stress and what I call "time-starvation" (not enought time to do everything) can show up in the form of elevated blood pressure, weight gain, aches and pains, insomnia, and a variety of other somatic (bodily) symptoms that might not point to anything by themselves, but add up to a wake-up call in the aggregate.
So your doctor says, "you need to slow down, cut back, de-stress." A reasonable question is, "How?"
Just as weight loss requires a lifestyle change (or at least a change in one's relationship with food), so "stress loss" requires a change in your relationship with yourself--your professional expectations, physical expectations, relationship expectations, and possibly even an adjustment of your self image.
Sound like alot? The longer-term alternatives could be chronic stress, obesity, headaches, bowel disorders, high blood pressure, depression--even death. Stress, untreated, can literally be a killer.
Obviously, therapy can be a healthy start to treating stress and making life changes to reduce it. If you're thinking of taking steps to de-stress your life a bit, here are some questions to consider:
*how many hours a week do I devote to work?
*how many hours of vigorous (make you sweat) exercise do I get on a regular weekly basis?
*how stressful are my primary relationships (partner, children, colleagues)?
*have others commented about my stress/anger/health?
*how many hours do I devote to activities that renew me (hobbies, passions)?
*when was the last time I had any solitary--me--time?
If you can't remember when you even addressed the above questions, it might be useful to sit down--and write down the answers. At least begin the conversation with yourself. If you're wondering if you're stressed out, ask someone close to you for an honest opinion.
The road to stress-reduction starts with the understanding that maybe--just maybe--you're cramming too much into your life--and enjoying it less.
And, if your life feels mostly like the opposite of a vacation, it might be time to slow down and see how you might begin to put things back into balance. The good news is, you took on your life obligations--you're the one who can prioritize and, if needed, reduce them.
Until next time, thanks for listening. Enjoy your vactation.
Often, a vacation is exactly what we need to temporarily move out of work mode in order to give our bodies--and minds--a respite from daily stressors.
But, what if a vacation isn't enough? How would you know if you needed to do more than slow down for a week or two? And, what if you really needed to make a lasting change in the velocity of your life? How would you know? Where would you start?
Most twenty- and even thirty-somethings rarely think about slowing down. If anything, life is about wringing the most out of each moment, experience, opprotunity or relationship. "More" and "faster" are simply better. And, twenty-and thirty-year-olds, more often than not, have the physical stamina to keep up with their inner expectations.
As we age (can you tell I was recently called a "Senior?") our bodies often send us different--even disconcerting--messages regarding our ability to withstand stressors. Daily, repetitive mental stressors can take their toll in a variety of ways that often show up in a yearly physical (most healthcare plans, even the bare-bones plans, provide for a yearly "wellness" exams. If you're not sure, ask!) The effects of stress and what I call "time-starvation" (not enought time to do everything) can show up in the form of elevated blood pressure, weight gain, aches and pains, insomnia, and a variety of other somatic (bodily) symptoms that might not point to anything by themselves, but add up to a wake-up call in the aggregate.
So your doctor says, "you need to slow down, cut back, de-stress." A reasonable question is, "How?"
Just as weight loss requires a lifestyle change (or at least a change in one's relationship with food), so "stress loss" requires a change in your relationship with yourself--your professional expectations, physical expectations, relationship expectations, and possibly even an adjustment of your self image.
Sound like alot? The longer-term alternatives could be chronic stress, obesity, headaches, bowel disorders, high blood pressure, depression--even death. Stress, untreated, can literally be a killer.
Obviously, therapy can be a healthy start to treating stress and making life changes to reduce it. If you're thinking of taking steps to de-stress your life a bit, here are some questions to consider:
*how many hours a week do I devote to work?
*how many hours of vigorous (make you sweat) exercise do I get on a regular weekly basis?
*how stressful are my primary relationships (partner, children, colleagues)?
*have others commented about my stress/anger/health?
*how many hours do I devote to activities that renew me (hobbies, passions)?
*when was the last time I had any solitary--me--time?
If you can't remember when you even addressed the above questions, it might be useful to sit down--and write down the answers. At least begin the conversation with yourself. If you're wondering if you're stressed out, ask someone close to you for an honest opinion.
The road to stress-reduction starts with the understanding that maybe--just maybe--you're cramming too much into your life--and enjoying it less.
And, if your life feels mostly like the opposite of a vacation, it might be time to slow down and see how you might begin to put things back into balance. The good news is, you took on your life obligations--you're the one who can prioritize and, if needed, reduce them.
Until next time, thanks for listening. Enjoy your vactation.
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
The Gift of Perspective: It's As Plain As The Nose On Your Face.
I've mentioned my former client "Charlotte" in several posts. She's 95. She's wise. And she's dying.
Quite literally, Charlotte is in physical decline that limits her to her home and relatively mundane activities like watching TV and reading. This, quite a change for a woman who, in the not-so-distant past drove herself to current events meetings, luncheons, history classes, church meetings, family gatherings. therapy groups and poker games.
Charlotte's lot is not unusual. Charlotte is a social being who, through aging, has been reduced to a life of limitations.
We speak of these limitations in our weekly visits. She muses on her limitations and the hereafter. I counter with, "It could be worse." And she rolls her eyes in mock disdain.
It could be worse.
No one, especially someone who is captive to the limitiations of life, wants to hear that phrase.
Now, I don't mean to minimize the frustrations and disappointments that aging brings. I watched my mother's gradual--and might I add graceful--decline from age 80-92. There just comes a day when 18 holes of golf turns to nine. When walking becomes a chore, not a recreation. When the physical effort required to go out to dinner outweighs the usual enjoyment of the ritual. And, gradually, napping, resting, turning down invitations, saying "no" to a host of previous enjoyments begins to become more the norm than the exception. Isolation and depression can result.
Or... perspective can take hold.
In the case of Charlotte, we recently talked about her actual limitations and abilities. On the minus side, she can't venture out of the house without assitance and lots of trepidation. On the plus side, she still can get up every morning, dress herself, talk on the phone, receive visitors and do some simple cooking. On the minus side, she needs daily assitance from a home healthcare worker. On the plus side, Charlotte likes her helper, and Charlotte can still live in her own home. Minus: Charlotte tires easily and is often lonely. Plus: she can still enjoy a good book, understands world affairs and can hold her own in almost any discussion.
A time-backward comparision to her fomer life leaves Charlotte a bit sad, lamenting all she has lost.
And here's the perspective part...a lateral look--to each side--may prove both illuminating and encouraging: when you look at what could be in your minus column...it could be worse.
Some call this Pollyanna thinking. If it is, I'm guilty. So be it. But I truly believe that, if we decide to perform the occasional assessment of lives, we are bound to be thorough. Which means looking at our lives from all angles, possibilities and perspectives.
When I used to be stumped by the obvious, my mother used to laugh and remind me the solution as "as plain as the nose on your face." Looking back, I realize that sometimes, we need to step back a little to see the obvious. I can't see the nose on my own face. But, with the help of a mirror or a photograph, there it is! It just takes another perspective.
So, if, regardless of your age, you're facing up to the limitiations in your life, remember to be fair to yourself. Hold up a mirror. Take a good look. Find your nose--and a broader, fairer, and kinder perspective.
Until next time, thanks for listening.
Quite literally, Charlotte is in physical decline that limits her to her home and relatively mundane activities like watching TV and reading. This, quite a change for a woman who, in the not-so-distant past drove herself to current events meetings, luncheons, history classes, church meetings, family gatherings. therapy groups and poker games.
Charlotte's lot is not unusual. Charlotte is a social being who, through aging, has been reduced to a life of limitations.
We speak of these limitations in our weekly visits. She muses on her limitations and the hereafter. I counter with, "It could be worse." And she rolls her eyes in mock disdain.
It could be worse.
No one, especially someone who is captive to the limitiations of life, wants to hear that phrase.
Now, I don't mean to minimize the frustrations and disappointments that aging brings. I watched my mother's gradual--and might I add graceful--decline from age 80-92. There just comes a day when 18 holes of golf turns to nine. When walking becomes a chore, not a recreation. When the physical effort required to go out to dinner outweighs the usual enjoyment of the ritual. And, gradually, napping, resting, turning down invitations, saying "no" to a host of previous enjoyments begins to become more the norm than the exception. Isolation and depression can result.
Or... perspective can take hold.
In the case of Charlotte, we recently talked about her actual limitations and abilities. On the minus side, she can't venture out of the house without assitance and lots of trepidation. On the plus side, she still can get up every morning, dress herself, talk on the phone, receive visitors and do some simple cooking. On the minus side, she needs daily assitance from a home healthcare worker. On the plus side, Charlotte likes her helper, and Charlotte can still live in her own home. Minus: Charlotte tires easily and is often lonely. Plus: she can still enjoy a good book, understands world affairs and can hold her own in almost any discussion.
A time-backward comparision to her fomer life leaves Charlotte a bit sad, lamenting all she has lost.
And here's the perspective part...a lateral look--to each side--may prove both illuminating and encouraging: when you look at what could be in your minus column...it could be worse.
Some call this Pollyanna thinking. If it is, I'm guilty. So be it. But I truly believe that, if we decide to perform the occasional assessment of lives, we are bound to be thorough. Which means looking at our lives from all angles, possibilities and perspectives.
When I used to be stumped by the obvious, my mother used to laugh and remind me the solution as "as plain as the nose on your face." Looking back, I realize that sometimes, we need to step back a little to see the obvious. I can't see the nose on my own face. But, with the help of a mirror or a photograph, there it is! It just takes another perspective.
So, if, regardless of your age, you're facing up to the limitiations in your life, remember to be fair to yourself. Hold up a mirror. Take a good look. Find your nose--and a broader, fairer, and kinder perspective.
Until next time, thanks for listening.
Thursday, June 21, 2012
My First Sip of "Senior" Coffee, or Acceptance: Caf or Decaf?
It's almost impossible to believe that three months have passed since my last post. As with all lapses, it feels difficult to re-start after a long absence, but here goes....
I never imagined that a major life milestone would come to pass in a local McDonald's. But it did.
According to the tall lanky, gap-toothed server pinned with the "Michael" name tag, I am officially a "senior."
One morning several weeks ago, I stopped in a convenient McDonald's for a cup of coffee on the way to work. Coffee snobs, take note: I like their coffee. It's always hot. They always get my order right (half decaf, 2 creams, 1 Equal). And they do it with a smile.
This particular morning, coffee in hand and preparing to pay, Michael announced that I owed 55 cents. "Wow," I said. "Have you cut your prices?" "No," he cheerily replied. "Senior Coffee is only 55 cents."
Senior Coffee.
It took me a second or two to realize He's talking to you. You're the senior who just got the discounted cup of coffee. Pay the man.
And that's what I did. I had saved 60 cents, and lost my middle age--all in a single transaction.
Now, I've never been sensitive about my age. But I, vainly, have always thought that I look--at least a little bit--younger than my age. But, here it was: without so much as asking me, Michael had made the determination--on looks alone--that I qualified as a "senior."
I've written in past posts about the work of acceptance, and the therapeutic value in accepting what cannot be changed. Certainly, my age cannot be changed--except with the addition of minutes, hours, days and years. Older is one option. Death is the other. Going backwards is not.
My father's favorite quip about turning 80 was, "It's a helluva lot better than not turning 80." It's often been said, jokingly (or is it?) that the alternative to aging is pretty grim. And, while death does carry a grim reputation, I have had some deep and engaging conversations with my 95-year-old client "Charlotte" about the hereafter. Whether or not death is a preferable state is a debate left for another time.
All this being said, I now embrace my seniorhood. Well, not exactly--I embrace my cup of Senior Coffee--and my 60-cent savings--every time I go to McDonald's. I must admit that, I secretly harbor the faint dream that one morning some fresh-faced young thing at the counter will take my order, pause for a moment, look at me quizzically and offer up those magic words: Are you sure you're a senior?
Hasn't happened yet.
But back to that fateful morning with Michael. As I took my first cup of Senior Coffee and turned to leave, I stopped and asked Michael, as casually as I could muster, "So, by the way, just how old do seniors have to be, you know, to get Senior Coffee?"
Without blinking he said breezily, "Fifty-five."
I brightened just a little, secure--at least in my imagination--that at least Michael had taken me for 55. And not a day older. Two years younger than my birth certificate will attest. And that is my acceptance, half decaf, two creams, and one Equal.
Until next time, thanks for listening.
I never imagined that a major life milestone would come to pass in a local McDonald's. But it did.
According to the tall lanky, gap-toothed server pinned with the "Michael" name tag, I am officially a "senior."
One morning several weeks ago, I stopped in a convenient McDonald's for a cup of coffee on the way to work. Coffee snobs, take note: I like their coffee. It's always hot. They always get my order right (half decaf, 2 creams, 1 Equal). And they do it with a smile.
This particular morning, coffee in hand and preparing to pay, Michael announced that I owed 55 cents. "Wow," I said. "Have you cut your prices?" "No," he cheerily replied. "Senior Coffee is only 55 cents."
Senior Coffee.
It took me a second or two to realize He's talking to you. You're the senior who just got the discounted cup of coffee. Pay the man.
And that's what I did. I had saved 60 cents, and lost my middle age--all in a single transaction.
Now, I've never been sensitive about my age. But I, vainly, have always thought that I look--at least a little bit--younger than my age. But, here it was: without so much as asking me, Michael had made the determination--on looks alone--that I qualified as a "senior."
I've written in past posts about the work of acceptance, and the therapeutic value in accepting what cannot be changed. Certainly, my age cannot be changed--except with the addition of minutes, hours, days and years. Older is one option. Death is the other. Going backwards is not.
My father's favorite quip about turning 80 was, "It's a helluva lot better than not turning 80." It's often been said, jokingly (or is it?) that the alternative to aging is pretty grim. And, while death does carry a grim reputation, I have had some deep and engaging conversations with my 95-year-old client "Charlotte" about the hereafter. Whether or not death is a preferable state is a debate left for another time.
All this being said, I now embrace my seniorhood. Well, not exactly--I embrace my cup of Senior Coffee--and my 60-cent savings--every time I go to McDonald's. I must admit that, I secretly harbor the faint dream that one morning some fresh-faced young thing at the counter will take my order, pause for a moment, look at me quizzically and offer up those magic words: Are you sure you're a senior?
Hasn't happened yet.
But back to that fateful morning with Michael. As I took my first cup of Senior Coffee and turned to leave, I stopped and asked Michael, as casually as I could muster, "So, by the way, just how old do seniors have to be, you know, to get Senior Coffee?"
Without blinking he said breezily, "Fifty-five."
I brightened just a little, secure--at least in my imagination--that at least Michael had taken me for 55. And not a day older. Two years younger than my birth certificate will attest. And that is my acceptance, half decaf, two creams, and one Equal.
Until next time, thanks for listening.
Saturday, March 10, 2012
Stop Fighting Yourself: On Courage, Wisdom & The Serenity Prayer.
I recently Googled "The Serenity Prayer," and up came 2,130,000 results in a scant 0.9 seconds.
The reason I looked was to refresh my memory on the exact wording:
God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.
The Serenity Prayer comes up a lot in my senior group discussions. As I've mentioned in previous posts, I hold several groups each week where senior clients (mostly women, mostly in their late 70s or 80s) support each other as gravity, body chemistry,and life alter and/or take away the basics of independent living. Said another way, they're learning to cope with the effects of aging.
Aging. Talk about something "I cannot change."
I also work with a variety of other clients who are navigating the younger end of the lifespan; while not exactly challenged yet by "old age," they have their own life difficulties, some changeable, some not.
What is challenging, sometimes saddening, but always rewarding is helping and watching clients come to moments of "acceptance:"
I will not be able to drink like a "normal" person.
The relationship is over.
I will need to take medication--every day.
It's not "everybody else." It's me.
And so it goes. The realizations often come hard, but often with a sense of relief.
Once we can stop fighting the truth about ourselves, we can start devoting that energy to either courage (to face a difficult change we need to make in ourselves or our lives) or acceptance (of that part of ourselves or our relationships that is difficult, but true).
When the familiar words of the Serenity Prayer popped up on my screen, I also saw something new. What I didn't know is that the attributed author, theologian Dr. Rheinhold Niebuhr, had a second, less quoted part of the prayer, which goes like this:
Regardless of your belief system--God, the universe, divine spirit--try, for a moment to plug into the basic tenet: taking this world as it is...not as you would have it,...trusting...surrendering...that I may be reasonably happy in this life.
Reasonably happy. Sounds promising. Amen
Until next time, thanks for listening.
The reason I looked was to refresh my memory on the exact wording:
God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.
The Serenity Prayer comes up a lot in my senior group discussions. As I've mentioned in previous posts, I hold several groups each week where senior clients (mostly women, mostly in their late 70s or 80s) support each other as gravity, body chemistry,and life alter and/or take away the basics of independent living. Said another way, they're learning to cope with the effects of aging.
Aging. Talk about something "I cannot change."
I also work with a variety of other clients who are navigating the younger end of the lifespan; while not exactly challenged yet by "old age," they have their own life difficulties, some changeable, some not.
What is challenging, sometimes saddening, but always rewarding is helping and watching clients come to moments of "acceptance:"
I will not be able to drink like a "normal" person.
The relationship is over.
I will need to take medication--every day.
It's not "everybody else." It's me.
And so it goes. The realizations often come hard, but often with a sense of relief.
Once we can stop fighting the truth about ourselves, we can start devoting that energy to either courage (to face a difficult change we need to make in ourselves or our lives) or acceptance (of that part of ourselves or our relationships that is difficult, but true).
When the familiar words of the Serenity Prayer popped up on my screen, I also saw something new. What I didn't know is that the attributed author, theologian Dr. Rheinhold Niebuhr, had a second, less quoted part of the prayer, which goes like this:
Living one day at a time;
Enjoying one moment at a time;
Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;
Taking, as He did, this sinful world
as it is, not as I would have it;
Trusting that He will make all things right
if I surrender to His Will;
That I may be reasonably happy in this life
and supremely happy with Him
Forever in the next.
Amen.Regardless of your belief system--God, the universe, divine spirit--try, for a moment to plug into the basic tenet: taking this world as it is...not as you would have it,...trusting...surrendering...that I may be reasonably happy in this life.
Reasonably happy. Sounds promising. Amen
Until next time, thanks for listening.
Sunday, March 4, 2012
Can It Realy Be March? Or, We're All Allowed A "Do-Over."
Winter typically give us time for introspection. The days are short; the weather is often wet, cold and drives us indoors. We may not be as active or social as we might normally be.
And so, we sit. And we think. And we ponder. Hence my last post on finding purpose in one's life.
Five short weeks later, it's March and what a difference. The days feel substantially longer (light!). The daily temperature swings a bit higher and dips not quite as low. If you're into gardening, you know that the soil will now accept seeds (yes!) even three weeks before the last predicted frost.
In other words, spring is upon us. The season of renewal. Birds return from the south, earthworms till the soil, sun warms our faces (yes, there is usually rain--and more rain, in our area, but this season seems to be an exception). It's the season that has traditionally signalled a "waking up" from winter, and a rebirth of living things.
If you've had a season of introspection, stagnation or even despair, spring provides the chance for a giant "do-over."
I work with many clients who face chemical addiction on a daily basis. While many are in recovery and have significant "clean time," others experience occasional relapse and the myriad of emotions that come with it: shame, frustration, disillusion, even sadness. Despite much knowledge, support, 12-step work and personal work for sobriety, my clients who relapse often report a feeling of having to "start over at day one" of their sobriety. It can be heavy and disheartening.
I was fortunate to train with an experienced and savvy addiction recovery counselor who told her groups,
"You may be in day one of recovery, but no one--I repeat--no one can take from you ANY of the days you had sober. You earned each one of them. They are yours forever. So now...you start adding to them, one by one."
It's true of recovery. What's more, it's true of any behavior you've successfully mastered, and then may have fumbled. Did you slip away from your diet over the winter? Fail to get to the gym as much as you planned? Maybe you vowed to volunteer, keep in touch, be kinder, work harder, etc.
Well, spring is coming. And you, like all of the rest of us, can use the start of the season for your personal "do-overs." Start small, but start! If you want to feel successful, start keeping a record of your improving behaviors. Make a chart, keep a journal, mark the calendar. When you can see your progress, you'll feel your progress. Try it.
I can almost guarantee that forward movement will feel better. Like the sound of your robins returning from their winter vacation, the greening of the hills around you and the sun on your face, the renewal of your best intentions can feel wonderful and invigorating.
Like your own personal spring.
Until next time, watch for the robins. Thanks for listening.
And so, we sit. And we think. And we ponder. Hence my last post on finding purpose in one's life.
Five short weeks later, it's March and what a difference. The days feel substantially longer (light!). The daily temperature swings a bit higher and dips not quite as low. If you're into gardening, you know that the soil will now accept seeds (yes!) even three weeks before the last predicted frost.
In other words, spring is upon us. The season of renewal. Birds return from the south, earthworms till the soil, sun warms our faces (yes, there is usually rain--and more rain, in our area, but this season seems to be an exception). It's the season that has traditionally signalled a "waking up" from winter, and a rebirth of living things.
If you've had a season of introspection, stagnation or even despair, spring provides the chance for a giant "do-over."
I work with many clients who face chemical addiction on a daily basis. While many are in recovery and have significant "clean time," others experience occasional relapse and the myriad of emotions that come with it: shame, frustration, disillusion, even sadness. Despite much knowledge, support, 12-step work and personal work for sobriety, my clients who relapse often report a feeling of having to "start over at day one" of their sobriety. It can be heavy and disheartening.
I was fortunate to train with an experienced and savvy addiction recovery counselor who told her groups,
"You may be in day one of recovery, but no one--I repeat--no one can take from you ANY of the days you had sober. You earned each one of them. They are yours forever. So now...you start adding to them, one by one."
It's true of recovery. What's more, it's true of any behavior you've successfully mastered, and then may have fumbled. Did you slip away from your diet over the winter? Fail to get to the gym as much as you planned? Maybe you vowed to volunteer, keep in touch, be kinder, work harder, etc.
Well, spring is coming. And you, like all of the rest of us, can use the start of the season for your personal "do-overs." Start small, but start! If you want to feel successful, start keeping a record of your improving behaviors. Make a chart, keep a journal, mark the calendar. When you can see your progress, you'll feel your progress. Try it.
I can almost guarantee that forward movement will feel better. Like the sound of your robins returning from their winter vacation, the greening of the hills around you and the sun on your face, the renewal of your best intentions can feel wonderful and invigorating.
Like your own personal spring.
Until next time, watch for the robins. Thanks for listening.
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