Careers: Making a Life vs. Making a Living

Once upon a time, I worked as an employment counselor. As I work to restructure my life, I thought about employment counseling, the tools I used, and the people with whom I worked. Most of the people with whom I worked had fallen into unemployment. The reasons for their fall varied.

Many found themselves ambushed with a lay-off notice/being downsized (many had similar experiences to the lead character in the movie “Larry Crowne”). Others submitted retirement paperwork and discovered they’d lost their retirement savings or pension in a corporate sale (I’m reminded of the movie “Love Punch”). A few lost everything (in an accident, due to illness, or other catastrophe) (I’m thinking of “Henry Poole was Here”). A few job-hopped so much that as they aged and their charms became more dated, they were suddenly unable to recover. A few had opted for the fulltime mommy-track and when their spouse absconded with the family fortune, they came seeking the skills they needed to secure a job with a living wage…or two jobs at minimum wage.

One of the things I tried to do was encourage people to take the time to find a job that felt fulfilling to them, that gave them the sense they were doing something important and helping others. The counselors at the career center where I worked all encouraged clients to get on a career track that gave them a sense of making their life better, not just making a buck. We also advocated for living-wage jobs (jobs that paid enough to cover basic needs).

Granted, there are career surveys that have a lot of support from employment counselors. They line up the traits, character, and preferences of job-searchers with people in certain career fields. The more they match, the better it is assumed for the job seeker. However, when you consider that most workers (approximately 70% in surveys) state they are unhappy with their jobs, that route may not provide the best results.

One of the most in-depth (and time-consuming) options was presented in grad school as System for Identifying Motivated Abilities (SIMA). The newer version is described in the book The Power of Uniqueness: Why You Can’t Be Anything You Want To Be by Arthur F Miller, Jr., with William Hendricks. The technique is time-consuming, but worth the effort and I recommend it highly to anyone who is interested enough to make the time investment. In a nutshell that I’m certain sells the technique short, it’s about identifying your areas of giftedness and things that motivate you to help you identify a career that inspires your best.

A short-cut option we often used in our time-limited culture of career counseling was to ask people to consider this: most people, between ages 9 and 12, come up with an idea of a career they feel strongly attracted to. This is after the notion of being a pop star, astronaut, or perhaps a race-car driver passes. It could be inspired by a person in that profession, a random idea, a movie or book.

When I was in that age-zone, I had an amazing teacher. She was not the popular teacher. (I had the popular teacher the following year. He was, at best, condescending and emotionally abusive to the non-athletes in the class, but wildly popular among the athletic children.) Mrs. Turner was fair. Never giddy. She challenged all students to do better, behave better, live better. And one homework assignment was to imagine our grown-up lives and to describe how we made a living, including providing an example of a work product. For example, an aspiring airline pilot would describe the job in a few paragraphs and might create a flight log.

I took it seriously. I know that because many years ago, as I helped my mom sift through old papers, I found that assignment. Condensed, and to the best of my memory, here’s what it said.

Because I loved children and didn’t feel they got the respect they deserve, I wanted to be a teacher during the day.

Evenings I would work as a writer for a television show because I felt stories had the power to change lives.

Summers I would travel, explore new places, gather stories, and document my explorations to encourage others to get out to take the roads they hadn’t and to see the world. I thought it the best way to get to really learn about, and possibly understand, other cultures.

Although it was a bit ambitious – finding time to sleep and grade papers would certainly have presented challenges – the things I wanted to do as a child reflected core values that haven’t changed much.

I still believe in the importance of supporting and encouraging children. In my life and work I’ve done that by working with foster family placements; helping homeless families secure safe permanent housing; supporting youth and low-income parents as a therapist, career counselor, or educator; volunteering for Special Olympics and as a Girl Scout troop leader; and other ways.

Exercising my creativity through writing, story-telling, and other activities continues to uplift and fascinate me. As a fund-raising professional, I told stories to encourage generosity and wrote proposals for funding from many different sources. I’ve written newspaper columns, technical manuals, newsletters for multiple nonprofit agencies or programs, and I write and read nearly every day.

My dad loved to find and explore roads he’d never traveled, and travel remains a joy for me. Though most of my journeys have been on the continental US or Hawaii, my road trips have taken me to every state in the continental US except Maine, I’ve seen some amazing places. I also had the privilege of working and living in Hawaii for 10 years.

So, from someone who worked in the field of employment/career counseling, I think we all could do better when it comes to finding careers and making time for our passions. One way to do that would be to look at what was important to you as a child, the core values those desires arose from, and think about ways to incorporate those values in your work, volunteer opportunities, or daily life.

It’s another part of healthy self-care.

A Surprise Visitor

Featured

Those days. It was one of Those Days. One of those rare stretches of time without a lot scheduled and when the grandsons had other activities that didn’t require my presence.

I remember the early morning because the heat wasn’t working in the locker room after my early-morning water aerobics class, and the fan blew in the 40-degree dawn air from outside. By the time I showered and shivered into clothes, I could only think of hot coffee, so headed for the nearby Starbucks.

Morning coffee: an indulgent luxury for no-rush-days when the aroma and the first sip receive their deserved savoring. The steaming almond-milk latte did not disappoint me, so I took my time. Checked a few errands off my To-Do list.

When I returned to a 60-degree house, I grabbed my Kindle full of books and carried my laptop to the sun-blasted patio where 65 degrees of direct sunshine warmed me.

Ah, the difference between a protected spot in the sunshine and a chilly desk chair inside…

Before I could open the laptop, I thought about my grandmother. She would have loved that brilliant day.

Grandma Isabel lived with us from the time I was 5 years old, and every morning she filled a mug with coffee, lightened with 2 spoons of sugar and a large dollop of evaporated milk, and carried it to the front porch. She sat there in an Adirondack chair for an hour or two. No gaming device or cell phone on her lap. No book or newspaper.

When my cheeky 6-year-old-self asked her how she could tolerate all that boring time doing Nothing, she informed me she wasn’t doing Nothing and was never bored. She described Noticing. She suggested observing the birds stretching their wings and singing to one another, the cars zipping or crawling by on the busier streets a half-block away, the plants dancing under the weight of insects skittering about, folks pulling into the nearby church parking lot, dew on the grass, children heading to school or parents dressed for work, the wind pushing treetops back and forth. Everywhere she looked, she saw Life, and all of it seemed Special.

Ten years later, after she passed away, I would sometimes sit in one of those chairs on the porch, just noticing things. It surprised me to learn how much of what happened around me I had missed.

But that day, a few short weeks ago, I sat outside, ignoring my electronics while I watched a flock of birds as they made figure-eights toward the southwest. A raven sitting on a nearby power line made shocked noises. Aircraft passed over at high altitudes, leaving their white trails in their wake.

Suddenly, a small group of smaller birds scattered amid a lot of squawking.

From the north, a hawk swooped in, landing about 20 feet away from me on the back fence. I’d read stories about coyotes and other small creatures, displaced by human expansion into what was once their territory, wandering into neighborhoods on this rocky side of Ventura County, but the hawk was an unanticipated visitor.

Standing with it’s brilliant rust-colored chest facing toward me, I never even thought to grab my phone to try to get a photo. Somehow, I knew my time with this large hunter would pass quickly. In my limited reality, the word Awesome came to mind to describe the event. The hawk, judging by the foliage behind him, stood about 18” high. He (I’m assuming, because of the striking color of his feathers), paused for a few seconds, hopped and spread its wings, dipping over the fence and out of sight.

It took a while for me to trudge through websites to find the Red Shouldered Hawk. I almost forgot the incident.

A few days ago, though, I heard a screeching cry from above and watched smaller birds scatter. I stopped everything to look around, hoping to see the visitor again. Sadly, that didn’t happen. Still, I appreciated the pause and the reminder to savor each moment.

What We See

As an elder and a fat aging woman in a culture that often seems to lean toward the younger (not youngest!) generations, the slender, and men (white ones more than others), I’ve come to appreciate some experiences more than others. On the downside, the assumption of medical professionals that I’m in poor health (have high cholesterol, high blood pressure, and/or type 2 diabetes) because I’m older and fat annoys me, particularly when I have to remind them several times that I don’t have any of those conditions, though I can feel my BP elevating as we chat! The assumption of adults from younger generations that I’m feeble-minded, ignorant about technology, and incapable of understanding modern life likewise frustrates me. However, I’m in the midst of a lovely and eye-opening experience I’d like to share.

Many months ago, my optometrist informed me that the mild cataracts I had developed over the last few years had worsened and suggested connecting with an ophthalmologist for an assessment for cataract removal surgery. She assured me the experience would provide great insights and, most importantly, make certain I could see well enough to continue to drive. That point hit home because the safety of my grandsons, the most precious “cargo” I transport daily to/from school, matters so much to me. Endangering their lives because 20/20 vision eluded me? What a poor choice!

The surgery itself didn’t go quite as well as hoped for the first eye, but my vision definitely changed/improved. I still need contact lenses or glasses to get the 20/20 view of the world, but indoors with slight nearsightedness I can safely wander without corrective lenses, bake banana bread or cakes, watch movies on my laptop, and play board games with the grandkids.

If you’re not familiar with cataracts, they’re most typical among older folks. I’m younger than the average age for surgery but the description I liked best comes from the Mayo Clinic: “A cataract is a clouding of the normally clear lens of the eye. For people who have cataracts, seeing through cloudy lenses is a bit like looking through a frosty or fogged-up window. Clouded vision caused by cataracts can make it more difficult to read, drive a car (especially at night) or see the expression on a friend’s face.”[i]

My experience disagrees a bit with the “frosty” window idea in that the cataracts turned my world a golden color. Looking at a striped pumpkin-orange and snow-white pattern, I saw a darker-orange and light beige. Very light-skinned folks appeared tan and darker-skinned folks had a golden glow. Honestly, I liked the rustic feel of the softer colors. Pre-surgery, without my glasses or contacts, the larger world looked very much like an impressionist painting: swirls of color and general impressions of people and objects with softer edges.

From only being able to clearly see what was literally right in front of my nose, the world opened up for me at age 12 or 13 when I got my first glasses. I began to understand why I tripped on objects (with my severe myopia I couldn’t see them!) and fell so often. With corrective lenses I also became more aware of the broader world, and it sometimes frightened me because the dangers, as well as the beauty, became more apparent. What I quickly realized: what we let in, notice, and focus upon has an impact on us beyond the superficial.

Life seemed to tell me it was time to pay more attention to ways different actions I take impact my overall well-being. Curious, I decided to try a few different approaches and to truly appreciate and enjoy my new perspective. Changes I’ve made:

+Thanks to a tip from The Social Dilemma[ii] and their disruptors, I turned off notifications for most apps and started taking 24-hour breaks from social media, news, and email once a week. During the breaks, I do respond to texts from family/friends and gladly speak to others on the phone. I receive emergency notices through FEMA and local emergency services apps, so know I’ll get notices that keep me safe. I recommend the healthy break, though it did take a couple of weeks to move beyond feeling a bit twitchy without Twitter, Facebook (where friends and family visit), Instagram (where I follow those I admire), YouTube, and news apps. I let go of Pinterest and Reddit long ago – big time sucks for me – and deleted TikTok (frankly, mostly boring to me and the best videos pop up on other feeds).

+Meditation keeps me grounded. A timer helps me but I started with Headspace and Calm apps – both are grand and my health insurance provider offered them free! Check your insurance details under headings like Extras or Special Offers or give the customer service number a call.

+Writing helps me imagine and explore options.

+Lifelong learning is a commitment I made decades ago. There are a lot of options for free training in valuable subjects. Curious about racism and ready to work toward a better world? The Anti-Racist Table has a free 30-day course that will change your life.[iii] Ever wonder how to respond if you witness racial, ethnic, or religious harassment? Enjoy a free Bystander Intervention Training that’s quick and definitely gave me some good ideas and a needed confidence boost[iv]. Learn a language (Lirica is so much fun and free![v]). Try coding (there are some free apps!). The possibilities are (nearly) endless!

+Encourage peace. Pray, chant, visualize all of us uplifting one another. One option I appreciated: the book HeartMath Solution. Also enjoyed visiting HeartMath[vi] online. They have some free info/trainings, too, as well as tools and virtual gatherings for folks to send healing vibes into the world.

My Suggestion is to make these a priority: taking time for yourself, doing things you love, and for acts of intentional self-care. Chances are, by doing so, you will make the world a better place and see it through gentler and more loving eyes.

May you and yours be happy, healthy, strong, safe, and enjoy lives of ease.

——————

Last words: Please remember that neither my opinions/experiences nor resources I mention are meant as cures or treatment. This is intended to uplift and educate, not as counseling or professional advice. If you are in a moment in your life when most efforts feel huge, consider finding a mental health professional to support you.[vii] If you’re considering ending your life or if you are in crisis, please reach out to emergency services (9-1-1) or a crisis hotline[viii] to connect with someone who will have your best interests at heart. Your tender heart deserves respect. Copyright 2021 D.R. deLuis

[i] Check out more info at https://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/cataracts/symptoms-causes/syc-20353790.

[ii] Visit https://www.thesocialdilemma.com/ for more tips and information.

[iii] Check out https://theantiracisttable.com/!

[iv] Sign up here: https://www.ihollaback.org/bystanderintervention/ so when you see something you’ll know ways to safely intervene.

[v] The app is available for Android and Apple. Here’s a link to a sample lesson: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=66K6fDE7j4s.

[vi] https://www.heartmath.org/

[vii] One potential resource for finding an affordable counselor is www.opencounseling.com and most communities offer a 2-1-1 number where you can get info on local resources.

[viii] To speak with someone, contact the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255 or visit the website to text/chat at https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/chat/.If you’re not comfortable speaking with someone, try reaching out to the Crisis Text Line. In the US and Canada text “HOME” to 741741; in the UK text 85258; in Ireland text 2050808.

One Good Thing

This morning during my meditation I connected a few incidents in my life. I didn’t intend to ponder any topic. As happens sometimes, little things just pop-up during those quiet moments. The question that flitted through my head was this: what’s one good thing I did? I took a breath and let it go, promising to consider it later. And when I took time later to ask myself one good thing, at first I thought about raising children and my work, but I always felt I received as much from those as I provided.

Watching children grow into parents and then finding myself face-to-face with grandchildren fills me with awe. Parenting feels risky and sometimes as terrifying as it is joyful.

And work in social services made sense to me. My belief was that social work involved being respectfully present to others, offering whatever small supports we could while hoping the assistance would, like a pebble cast into a pond, create a ripple in the other person’s life. Even with the most respectful interaction, the highest hope was that folks who were served might realize that as they were drifting, struggling to stay afloat, a tiny adjustment in course sent them in a totally new direction, changing their life for the better.

But what stayed in my mind after my meditation was the question. How had I been the pebble?

The good thing that came to mind was this:

Within my family, our parents avoided physical displays of affection with children and youth. Growing up, my brother and I never received hugs from them. They never told us, even as small children, that they loved us. Never handed out Valentines. Never offered lavish praise. Never apologized. Most often, touch meant punishment (a pulled ear, pinched cheek, or spanking). They believed more in toughening us up and making sure we weren’t spoiled.

Other family members – our Aunties and extended family – hugged us a lot. For my brother and me, the hugs often took us by surprise and felt somewhat foreign. I remember a man and woman approached my brother and me during a family reunion. They each grabbed one of us, pulled us in for tight hugs, pushed us to arm’s length and with their hands still firmly attached to our shoulders both asked, “Whose kids are you?” My brother and I both looked at one another, our eyebrows shooting toward the stars, and after I told the adults our dad’s name they wandered happily away while my brother and I dissolved into laughter, repeating “Grown ups are so weird!” while we went seeking the table with snacks and punch.

As the eldest two children, we didn’t often suffer. There was food in the house. When we ended up sick, mom followed the family doctor’s orders, kept us home from school, brought us tea and toast, checked our temperatures regularly, and warned us to stay warm so we could “sweat out the sickness.” We had a yard to play in, clothing appropriate for each season, and a pair of dressy church shoes each year. We just didn’t receive affectionate feedback. In fact, all children (nieces, nephews, friends’ toddlers, neighbors’ kids, distant and close cousins) were prohibited targets for displays of affection.

As a toddler I began to notice that not all families operated the same way. In fact, some of our cousins complained of being smothered in affection that they found too old-country – like a gentle mauling. We believed truly white families, as evidenced by movies and television, engaged primarily in nano-second-long body-slam-like bro’ hugs and air kisses as physical affection but interacted far more generously verbally.

By my teens, many times while I visited friends’ homes the parents would toss out “I love you” or “I’m such a lucky mom to have a child like you!” remarks as if they were common. I would return home and resent our emotionally-constrained dialog. With some thought, I determined hugs and “I love you” comments belonged, at very least, in all departures and arrivals among parents and children within nuclear families.

Steeled for rejection, I created a plan during my senior year of high school and launched my pebble of an effort into the family pond. When departing for a picnic with friends, I walked up to my dad, put my arms around his very-stiff frame, and said “I love you, dad.” I walked up to mom, did the same, and she, too, retained the posture of a mature tree, unyielding. I’m guessing they wondered if I was up to something, but they didn’t say anything. I kept doing it, every day, every time I left or returned. A trip to the market, off to school, on an adventure, out for a babysitting job. A hug and I-love-you.

It took weeks before they quit standing stiffly and seemed to adjust to my new quirk. It took more weeks before they sometimes patted my back once or twice during a hug. It took even longer – months – until I noticed my parents had started hugging my younger brothers. They were quick-hugs, never lingering, with a rapid back-pat or two. If they said anything, I didn’t hear it, but I hope they did.

Those were the parents I knew, the ones who didn’t have enough, the mom who hated to cook so encouraged me to take over the kitchen at a very young age, the dad who staggered home late at night and shared bar jokes before he passed out. My sister, though, grew up with the aging, sober, always-home parents who kept their bins of medication in the dining room cupboard along with a hand-written medication schedule. Those parents had some financial stability and both my sister’s arrival and some health challenges seemed to help awaken them to a different way to live.

They hugged and offered periodic affectionate feedback. They didn’t punish errors. My sister describes them as both “tired” and “very loving.” To her, our mom, in particular, was sweet, generous, liked to hug, and a mom who often said “I love you.”

I’m grateful for the realization. When I married and left home, my baby sister was not yet one year old. Until the morning I wrote this, it never occurred to me that my rebellious ripple – taking hugs and sharing I-love-you’s – would impact others. Yet my sister views our parents much differently than I do, and we did experience quite different lives. Her parents had more emotional and mental bandwidth available to offer affection.

While I missed those hugs and encouragement from my parents, the story I now tell myself is that one good thing I did, fortuitously at the right time for them to pause to notice, would be providing my parents an example of how to behave more lovingly, to accept and eventually distribute hugs, to lose their fear of offering words like “I love you.”

It boomeranged back to me, of course.

My last words during what turned out to be my final conversation with my dad before he died were “I love you, dad.” His last words to me were “Who would have thought someone in this family would finish college and graduate school?! I love you, Punk.” With my mom, the last chat was all about love. I imagine how differently that might have gone if I had been a hold-out instead of taking action…

Even when we don’t know if it will matter, small loving actions do.

May you be healthy, happy, safe, strong, and courageous. May you be the brave soul who tosses the small pebble of loving attention, creating a ripple that helps others to grow.

Radical Belonging: Beyond Survival

The following book review reflects my personal opinion. I have no connection with the publisher or author beyond book ownership and ongoing respect for their work and courage.

Whether you’re dedicated to social justice and staying informed or you’re a fan of fiction and rarely read any non-fiction, this is the one book I’d suggest you pick up for 2021: Radical Belonging: How to Survive + Thrive in an Unjust World (While Transforming It for the Better) by Lindo Bacon. With all we have been through in the US, from an insurrection to a pandemic, this book addresses very significant issues that I’m guessing many (most?) folks don’t think about often enough.

These social justice concerns, I understand, can feel huge and difficult to sit with because sometimes change feels as impossible as towing the Titanic with a rowboat. If we don’t take some time to understand the past and deal with our own issues on more than just a personal level, I’m worried we’ll never move forward to the more just, compassionate, and accepting society we could be. The best part: in addition to educating and inspiring, this book also provides ideas for action. (Aren’t you tired of living in re-action? I am!)

Though I purchased the book when it was released, and in spite of the perfect opening in Chapter 1, I had a difficult time diving in. My margin comments, not easy and OMG reflected the amount of info presented, some heartbreaking and infuriating (why has this continued so long?!). As a member of the Boomer generation, I remember believing as a girl that my generation would “fix” the world. In fact, I felt certain that by 2000 we would all live in mutual appreciation, respect, peace, and harmony. We didn’t quite hit the mark.

Distracted by survival as a young wife and then as a single mom, I read, made an effort to stay informed, wrote letters to elected officials, and supported the ERA. But the world moved quickly in a direction I had never imagined. Paying the rent and keeping my children fed took all my energy. Through a curtain of fatigue, I watched a storm of fear and hatred grow, ginned up by self-serving leaders through the 1970s and 1980s. As a result, I completely understand anyone who feels overwhelmed today by the issues we all face.

This book presents a variety of important social justice issues with clarity and enough personal stories to touch hearts. When I struggled to take a deeper dive into the book, I did a quick speed-read from cover-to-cover. The last few chapters uplifted me, so I returned to the beginning and started over, seeking to digest more. Whenever I felt overwhelmed, I set the book down. Paused. In the end, the snapshot Dr Bacon provided convinced me we must work with whatever resources we have available to transform our communities and nation into a far more inclusive culture.

A lot of science shows up in the book, explained in easily understood terms. In fact, Chapters 1 through 7 walk the reader along some rocky roads, diving into challenges like the toll of living without feeling safe and connected (whether in our bodies or anywhere else). What I loved the most about this book were the last chapters, from “Connection is the Antidote” through “Beyond Self-Love.” These chapters and the additional materials in the appendices provide tools and powerful encouragement to move toward “Loving yourself as is. Loving yourself just because you’re enough. Loving your body because it’s your home. Self-love is a feeling, not an idea. It’s your birthright.” (p255) Amen to that.

In Radical Belonging, the author supports their discussion of topics like our culture, stress, trauma, fear, and shame with a “Notes”/reference section. They also include tools and exercises for moving into change-making: seeking connections, developing resilience, and coming together to create safe and inclusive spaces. As an elder, the “Manifesto for Body Liberation” helped me consider what body liberation might mean for me as well as for different populations and future generations.

Growing up in a community in which Spanish, Portuguese, and English flitted around like background music, it’s surprising that my cousins and I were forbidden to speak any language but English. Of course, we knew some words or phrases, but my great grandfather’s rule was that the youngest generation (now we’re the elders!) would only speak English so we didn’t develop tell-tale accents that made us stand out. The point, for that generation and in that binary world, was to blend in. As hard as we tried, though, even when my parents earned enough income to lift us from low-income to almost-middle-class, we did not blend in. Nobody ever suggested perhaps we were meant to stand out … or how much we could accomplish if we learned to stand together.

Radical Belonging issues that challenge of reaching beyond identified communities to stand together to lift one another. (So exciting! Imagine that!) Dr. Bacon explains the importance of systemic change beautifully: “In a society that stresses people out, individualized solutions can’t work. Given the existence of social injustice, suffering is going to happen disproportionately.”

I want to live in that world that I thought we would have crafted by 2000, a world in which we recognize extending social justice to all makes sense, lifts everyone, and creates such opportunities for future generations (think about not ever having to put energy into pretending to be someone other than your true self). I want that world for my adult children and my elementary school age grandsons who, some 200 years after my elders settled in the US, also face pressures to blend in. I want the unnecessary suffering to end.

My suggestions:

**No matter what, get curious, even if it feels awkward and uncomfortable.

**Read this book! Even if you’re feeling quite well informed and confident, I still recommend Radical Belonging. It is more than worth the investment.

**Visit the author’s website.

Here’s to opening ourselves to learning, to connecting, and to doing the work to lovingly accept ourselves and other people as we are – in all our glorious diversity. May you be healthy, happy, strong, safe, connected, and courageous.

Last words:

If you’ve already read the book, other books I’ve read recently that you might also appreciate: Yoke: My Yoga of Self-Acceptance by Jessamyn Stanley and Fat, Pretty, and Soon to be Old by Kimberly Dark (with an afterword by Lindo Bacon).

If money is tight (I totally understand that!), check with local and online bookstores for a used copy, contact your local public library for the book or, if they don’t have it, ask if they’ll purchase a copy. This volume has so much information, I’m betting you’ll learn something new. The personal and heartfelt stories from the author about their life and challenges bring the facts into focus. If you’re not convinced, please visit the author’s website for more information![i]

Please remember that neither my opinions/experiences nor resources I mention are meant as cures or treatment. This is intended to uplift and educate, not as counseling or professional advice. If you are in a moment in your life when most efforts feel huge, consider finding a mental health professional to support you.[ii] If you are considering ending your life or if you are in crisis, please reach out to emergency services (9-1-1) or a crisis hotline[iii] to connect with someone who will be mindful of your best interests. Your tender heart deserves respect.

[i] For more information about Lindo Bacon, PhD, visit their website at www.lindobacon.com, read Body Respect and/or Health at Every Size (both books are co-authored with Lucy Aphramor).

[ii] One potential resource for finding an affordable counselor is www.opencounseling.com and most communities offer a 2-1-1 number where you can get info on local resources.

[iii] Connect with the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255 or visit the website to text/chat at https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/chat/ For help via text, consider the Crisis Text Line. In the US and Canada text “HOME” to 741741; in the UK text 85258; in Ireland text 2050808.

Painting Angels

There are so many things to be thankful for in life. One of those special gifts to me was my brother, Mike, who took to painting angels later in his life.

Last month I knew his birthday approached before we flipped the calendar to June. It’s hard to explain, but even though he faced many challenges and passed away a few decades ago in his 30s (also during June), he touched my life in so many important ways. His memory lives on.

Mike started losing weight and began painting angels in ethereal watercolors in his early 30s and after a few years of writing off his lethargy to his intellectual disability, doctors discovered his kidneys were failing. By then, the disease had progressed and my parents received assurance that treatment options were limited. They scheduled dialysis and he commented about how painful and disruptive treatments were for him. He asked them to quit treating him to end the pain, but my parents refused.

Meanwhile, I lived a few hundred miles away and my parents didn’t share any info on his progress so I didn’t know how much he suffered. When I asked, mom would say “Mike’s okay. I’ll tell him you said hello.”

Before the funeral, my mother told me, “We know how hard you work and didn’t want you to worry about Mike. Dad said because of Mike’s intellectual disabilities, the doctors frankly explained he would never make it to the top of any list for donated kidneys. The process to get family members tested as potential donors took significantly more time than Mike had left, mostly because of lack of info and family squabbles.

In school Mike was in “special ed” and I was in the “smart kids” classes, both of us disappointments to our parents. As a bit of a math nerd who challenged teachers who preferred to grade on a curve, I learned as much as I could about that “curve.” I found it generally insulting though I enjoyed thinking of Mike and me as “standard deviants.” Our parents never got the joke. It’s unlikely any of our teachers did either.

My dad wept the night the school called to inform our parents that Mike was going to “Special Ed” while I was being moved into an “advanced placement” class. Dad’s view of the universe had somehow shattered. He paced and wondered aloud in tones as piercing as glass shards falling on bare skin, “Why did the girl get the brains?! What do girls need brains for? Why didn’t the boy get the brains?! It’s not right!”

Mike walked away from the rant that night, tucked himself in bed, and fell asleep. He never found any rewards in fighting against anything, even in our loud household. Not me! I stewed. Aligned arguments. Wished I had something to punch. Complained to God. Tossed and turned.

Wounded, we managed to stick together. My brother didn’t mind his “special” classes and shrugged off folks who called him names. I found the advanced classes lacked sufficient challenge and I didn’t think they were worth the harassment I received from staff and other students for being different, but I didn’t complain. We were opposites in so many ways, but our bond strengthened over our shared longing for the normal label we would never have.

As for me, I always believed my parents when they told me my primary responsibility as the Big-Sister was to protect Mike and any other unsupervised younger children. In that capacity I stood up to a bully who shot at my year-younger brother with a bee-bee gun on days when Mike walked home alone. I waited for the fire engine to arrive after I witnessed a boy set off a (false) fire alarm, because I worried he would blame my innocent brother. Mike, a hapless scapegoat, shrugged and accepted the blame for a lot of things.

A goofy kid who loved stories and angels, dogs and cartoons, Mike kept his dark hair short because fashion never came near his list of priorities. He liked to go fishing with me and dad but cried when he had to bait a hook because he felt so bad for the worms. When dad wasn’t looking, I sometimes baited Mike’s hook because I felt worse for him than the worms (we hardly knew them and never had time to name them). Mike had deep blue eyes that people often missed as we stood side-by-side, my dark eyes boring into them. They only looked at him long enough to minimize his relevance.

Some of the lessons I learned (eventually) from my brother who died far too young:

(1) All of us are unique, though it seems we have oddly cruel standards for assigning value to human lives, including people with disabling conditions, elders, youngsters, people of color, anybody who appears different from the youthful and slender northern European ideal. As a child I always believed that time would erase that meanness of spirit from our culture before 2000 and an era of loving respect would dawn.

(2) Acceptance and understanding are not mutually inclusive. It’s possible to have no clue about how someone reasons or thinks while accepting and supporting their right to live in their own manner as long as their manner doesn’t hurt others.

(3) Sometimes it takes a very long time for things to change. More than once I heard Dr Kimo Alameda mention that it takes about 100 years for a cultural shift once people have divided themselves from another race or ethnicity or group. Here’s hoping that pace quickens. We’re capable of so much more acceptance.

Whether or not you believe angels exist in any form, I’m happy my brother felt drawn to those purported beings of light during his final years. If anyone deserved a few celestial visitors, he did.

Sometimes my brotherly protection-gig felt huge, but during our very last conversation Mike told me he always knew that protecting him was never really my role. My role, he said, was just to accept him as he was. That wasn’t hard at all, you know, but all this time everyone thought I was the smart one.

Here’s to lovingly accepting people as we are – in all our glorious diversity.

May you be healthy, happy, strong, safe, and view others through the eyes of loving acceptance. May others view you through loving eyes as well.

Last words: Please remember that neither my opinions/experiences nor resources I mention are meant as cures or treatment. This is intended to uplift and educate, not as counseling or professional advice. If you are in a moment in your life when most efforts feel huge, consider finding a mental health professional to support you.[i] If you’re considering ending your life or if you are in crisis, please reach out to emergency services (9-1-1) or a crisis hotline[ii] to connect with someone who will have your best interests at heart. Your tender heart deserves respect.

[i] One potential resource for finding an affordable counselor is www.opencounseling.com and most communities offer a 2-1-1 number where you can get info on local resources.

[ii] If you’re not comfortable speaking with someone, try reaching out to the Crisis Text Line. In the US and Canada text “HOME” to 741741; in the UK text 85258; in Ireland text 2050808. To speak with someone, contact the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255 or visit the website to text/chat at https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/chat/.

For more about Dr Alameda, search for Christian “Kimo” Alameda or Dr Kimo Alameda. Here’s a link to one of my favorite short videos: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UtW_J4QGvek

Book: The Gift

A Book Review of The Gift: 12 Lessons to Save Your Life

In a series of small steps, I wandered online into a mention of Dr. Edith Eger as a psychologist and Auschwitz survivor from WWII. That eventually led me to a podcast featuring Dr Eger. Her light-hearted laughter drew me to purchase her book, The Gift: 12 Lessons to Save Your Life.

Filled with stories based on personal experience as well as the stories of clients/patients with whom she worked, Dr Eger makes points about ways to live a fuller life and illustrates those with examples. Her writing style is clear and comfortable, more like a conversation with an experienced friend over a cup of tea than any “how to” manual or psych text. On the other hand, she offers specific suggestions and potential practices to move beyond trauma.

In grad school, my first professor noticed my reticence to speak up given my first class overflowed with experienced students for whom the class was their last. The astute professor privately suggested to me, “The first rule of therapy is not about showing off, it’s to avoid causing harm. Use the tools you have: take time to listen and ask clarifying questions. You’ll help people if that’s all you ever do.” In that spirit, I will point out the obvious: any discussion or writing related to trauma carries some risks, so for folks who have trauma history, consider exploring this together with a professional. To all readers, suggest you give yourself time to pause and check in with your body, heart, and mind to note how you’re feeling through this journey.

The short volume contains 12 chapters, each with a separate topic. Chapter 1 begins with “The Prison of Victimhood” stating “victims ask, “Why me?” Survivors ask, “What now?”” In addition to some stories and a description of each topic, Each chapter closes with a “Keys to…” section that reviews some of the key points and describes actions/activities to help readers move through some self-exploration work. Note that these are not easy-peasy, do-it-once miraculous cure-all actions. Most often these require some insight, dedication, and practice, “And then keep showing up for your self all day, every day.”

Topics include victimhood, avoidance, self-neglect, secrets, guilt and shame, grief, and more. Dr Eger explores relationships, touches on careers, discusses fears, and everything leads back to ways we can unlock our mental prisons and evolve.

Through the topics she selected, the author offers insights from her own life, lessons learned from Auschwitz to marriage, motherhood and the joy of grandchildren (and great-grandchildren).

She offers practical suggestions for ways to work through ups and downs of life, from making decisions about your relationship with yourself – “…I talk to myself all the time. I say, “Edie, you’re one of a kind. You’re beautiful. May you be more and more Edie every day.”[i] – to dealing with fears – “When fear comes like a panic storm, and your body shakes and your heart races and the trauma you already survived threatens to swallow you, take your own precious hand and say, “Thank you, fear, for wanting to protect me.” Then say, “That was then, this is now.” Say it over and over again. You already made it. Here you are.”[ii]

Some of Dr Eger’s ideas, I thought initially, sounded a bit candy-coated. However, she doesn’t live in a spun-sugar world. “We live in a world with danger, and so we live in a world with fear. Your safety isn’t guaranteed.” She goes on to point readers away from a fear-based focus. “But fear and love don’t coexist. And fear doesn’t have to rule your life.” She continues by sharing a few examples.

The author defines idealism as “when you expect that everything in life is going to be fair or good or easy.” With respect to her education and experience, I view idealists as people who do what they can to make the world a better place. While some people lean into wishing and dreaming and call themselves idealists, to me idealism is giving hope feet. It’s believing in fairness and justice, yes, and it’s also taking action. Idealists don’t just wish for a cleaner environment, they act: compost, recycle, use less. Idealists don’t dream of better government: they vote, volunteer, and connect with elected officials.

Whether or not I agree with an author 100% of the time, though, I agree wholeheartedly that this book has helpful tidbits for most people. I particularly appreciate her view of grief and her perspective about hope. “Hope isn’t a distraction from darkness. It’s a confrontation with darkness.”

The book can be a quick read, if you choose to rush through it. To get the benefit from this advice, though, I’d suggest skimming or speed-reading it once just to get a bit of a sense of the layout and activities. Then go back to the beginning and take some time, in particular, to try out the exercises. As you find ones that work well for you, incorporate those into your daily self-care routine.

If you can afford it, this may be one of those books to keep for a boost or new ideas about ways to handle unexpected circumstances. If money is tight, reserve a copy at your local library (and keep notes about ideas that speak to you).

Thinking about you, hoping you find what helps your self-care journey, healing, or helps you assist others with their healing. Wishing you hope, all the support you need and want, and creative ideas about making our world a better place.

May you be healthy, happy, safe, and strong.

Last words: Please remember that neither my opinions/experiences nor resources I mention are meant as cures or treatment. This is intended to uplift and educate, not as counseling or professional advice. If you are in a moment in your life when most efforts feel huge, consider finding a mental health professional to support you.[iii] If you’re considering ending your life or if you are in crisis, please reach out to emergency services (9-1-1) or a crisis hotline[iv] to connect with someone who will have your best interests at heart. Your tender heart deserves respect.

[i] From Chapter 3

[ii] From Chapter 9 (Are you evolving or revolving?)

[iii] One potential resource for finding an affordable counselor is www.opencounseling.com and most communities offer a 2-1-1 number where you can get info on local resources.

[iv] If you’re not comfortable speaking with someone, try reaching out to the Crisis Text Line. In the US and Canada text “HOME” to 741741; in the UK text 85258; in Ireland text 2050808. To speak with someone, contact the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255 or visit the website to text/chat at https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/chat/.

In Translation

Growing up, the elders around me spoke multiple languages. Though they only allowed my generation to speak English (allegedly to protect us from developing accents that identified us as outsiders of the unwelcome variety). However, their voices blasted forth in Portuguese and Spanish, a few words of Mandarin, a spattering of French and Italian, and my mother often resorted to Pig Latin[i]. The non-English languages appeared to come into use when nobody knew an English equivalent (I didn’t realize until my 30s that funcho was fennel or tremoços were cured lupini beans). The incomprehensible also came into play to hide topics of conversation, or to scold, to curse, or to taunt the younger generation. At a young age, though, I discovered other families practiced similar obfuscation techniques employing a multitude of other languages.

It’s not surprising that many of today’s grandparent-generation folks encouraged their offspring to learn another language. It didn’t take me long to figure out how much I had missed by not tuning my ears into the beautiful incomprehensible words flying over my head. To fill that void, in high school my acts of rebellion included studying Spanish, reading poetry, and cutting school to read science, psych, and Ian Fleming books in the park while retaining a high (but not dazzling) GPA. At one time I attempted to learn Hawaiian and Esperanto[ii], but lacking access to recordings of speakers left me floundering with pronunciation.

While I disagreed with my great-grandfather, the immigrant sailor/farmer, who changed José to Joe so he sounded more American, I appreciated his effort. He learned to speak, read and write English as an adult, and spoke Portuguese and Spanish with contemporaries. At the same time, my dad insisted Joe threatened to backhand any children who dared utter any non-English phrase. Even with that, my dad understood enough Portuguese to conduct conversations (responding in English). He also understood more Spanish than I imagined. Apparently, though Great-Grandpa Joe knew his lack of language skills hurt him, he missed cues about the value of speaking other languages. Plenty of famous people understood.

To know another language is to possess a second soul. -Charlemagne

A different language is a different vision of life. -Federico Fellini

It also turns out that learning other languages is good for our brains, no matter our age. Knowing another language can give us a competitive advantage in business situations and help us connect more meaningfully with others in social situations. It can also help us connect with cultures we never thought much about: think Hygge![iii] Anything that exercises our brains and expands our world view sounds like good self-care to me!

Expanding my very limited Portuguese vocabulary popped on my radar screen recently. Since speaking any other language was forbidden, my cousins and I only remembered very important words like “aonde” (where) and “festa” (party). We understood a few comments, at least the more popular ones. “Coitadinha” (poor thing – usually used sarcastically) and “Fique quieto” (be quiet). Taking advantage of a sale for a well-known app, I started practicing about 15 minutes a day while I wait for my grandsons to get out of school. Do I look ridiculous talking aloud while I repeat phrases to my phone? Possibly, but I’m okay with that. What disappointed me is that the second week I began to notice differences in pronunciation for words I remember…and I did some digging and discovered the only version of Portuguese this company offers is Brazilian. They did not make that clear up front, though I looked.

With the hope of learning European Portuguese, I felt a bit deflated. Brazil and Portugal are different cultures with different idioms and different pronunciation/styles. The vocabulary I’m learning involves basics and my time commitment hasn’t been stressful. It keeps me occupied without social media while I await the school bell. And it keeps my brain functioning. I’m going to continue for a short time and enjoy some more Brazilian movies, but not renew the language software.

Having taken in-person language classes that I didn’t feel prepared me well for speaking to others, I’m a big fan of self-learning options. If you’re considering exploring another language, here are some tools I’ve tried:

Over 10 years ago, hooked on French films, I picked up a Pimsleur[iv] basic French course on CDs (I believe it was at a local Costco) and it gave me sufficient vocabulary – listening and repeating during my daily commute – to understand enough of what was said in most movies to look up from the subtitles enough to enjoy the movies far more. That was exactly what I hoped to achieve!
I liked the Pimsleur approach enough that when I moved to Hawaii and had a few encounters with Japanese tourists who appeared uncomfortable speaking English, I picked up the intro course to spoken Japanese and learned enough for a very basic conversation: greet someone, talk about the weather, give directions. Those were really all I needed. Watching Japanese series on Netflix helped with my pronunciation (and I loved Atelier, Midnight Diner, Samurai Gourmet).
When the pandemic lock-down started and I first wanted to build my Portuguese language skills, the local library had free access to Rosetta Stone and they clearly identified languages like Portuguese and Spanish by geographical areas. I enjoyed the lessons but had to re-enroll often through the library system for free access and couldn’t afford the paid access so moved on.
To brush up on Spanish I tried a free course through www.edx.org and quickly discovered the course overly-challenged me with the Spanish/Castilian pronunciation and vocabulary that isn’t useful around local Latinx folks, so I dropped the course. Still, it’s an option, traditional learning, and may be free!
I investigated Mondly and discovered they have Spanish with the flag of Spain, so looked at Portuguese (both a Brazilian flag and the Portuguese flag are available). My laptop touchscreen and mouse are flaky, so using this app frustrated me. If your hardware works, Mondly has free options, so why not check it out?
Duolingo is quite popular (and they have courses in Esperanto and Hawaiian) but their courses in Spanish and Portuguese seem focused on Spain and Brazil. I didn’t dig around a lot, but left a little disappointed.
Babbel is also a popular option. Their Portuguese course seems well put-together and gives options that help focus on speaking, writing, or hearing the language. The course is Brazilian Portuguese, though.
There are also language courses available on Udemy[v] and on Netflix (search for “learning” + language name). The Udemy courses go on sale frequently, so you can look for discounts or try short courses to complete to see if you want to continue with any language.

Yes, I love languages. I love words. I love learning about cultures.

I appreciate you! I hope you appreciate each step you have taken along your life’s path so far and acknowledge what you have accomplished – in whatever language (or languages) you prefer.

May you be fluent, healthy, happy, safe, and strong.

Last words: Please remember that neither my opinions/experiences nor resources I mention are meant as cures or treatment. This is intended to uplift and educate, not as counseling or professional advice. If you are in a moment in your life when most efforts feel huge, consider finding a mental health professional to support you.[vi] If you’re considering ending your life or if you are in crisis, please reach out to emergency services (9-1-1) or a crisis hotline[vii] to connect with someone who will have your best interests at heart. Your tender heart deserves respect.

[i] If you haven’t heard of this manipulation of English to make it sound more confusing, check out the brief article: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pig_Latin.

[ii] For more on the language created in the late 19^th century, see https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Esperanto.

[iii] For more info about this phenomenon, visit http://hyggehouse.com/hygge or search for hygge online.

[iv] Look for CD versions online where you might find a good set or a used one at a good price. For more info, visit https://www.pimsleur.com/ where they often offer a free 7-day trial. (Always try first to see if the style fits your needs!)

[v] Visit Udemy here and search for the languages you’re interested in. Be sure to view the course intro material before paying for anything – it gives you a glimpse at the instructor and their technique. Some are quite professional and others quite casual. https://www.udemy.com/

[vi] One potential resource for finding an affordable counselor is www.opencounseling.com and most communities offer a 2-1-1 number where you can get info on local resources.

[vii] If you’re not comfortable speaking with someone, try reaching out to the Crisis Text Line. In the US and Canada text “HOME” to 741741; in the UK text 85258; in Ireland text 2050808. To speak with someone, contact the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255 or visit the website to text/chat at https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/chat/.

AS POSTED:

A STEP AT A TIME

The proverb The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step[i] shows up in various forms, with somewhat different endings. The point, though, remains the same. All beginnings require some action.

Last week I wrote about Life Plans and how, with all the challenges and opportunities, life doesn’t often go as planned. From my youth, I can cite nearly endless examples. The future model became a grocery store check-out clerk. The promising businessman from the wealthy family disappeared in a cloud of addiction. The future preschool owner became a medical doctor. The shy girl who planned to teach moved to Europe and went into broadcasting. The future school administrator sold insurance. While I know a few people who worked in the field they felt pulled toward (a dentist, two nurses), most did not. Still, they seem happy.

During my high school (secondary school) years, my dad repeatedly assured me that he would never help a female (me) with any college costs, nor would he disclose his income by filling out financial aid forms. Guidance counselors assured me of my capabilities and the importance of a university education. Knowing my dad meant what he said, I held onto my high school enrollment in a college-bound educational track instead of focusing on vocational training, but all my elective classes related to clerical skills I believed would help me secure work. And they did.

After graduation, I married young and my spouse groused constantly about my interest in education. Nevertheless, I took college classes – one or two at a time – and I worked.

What I wanted to be as a child – an elementary school teacher – sounded delightful until I volunteered in a classroom. It took one day for me to acknowledge few students would appear as a mini-Me, filled with a love of learning and a desire to make the world a better place. In fact, the classroom environment felt more like the inside of a food processor at full speed, without the pulverizing but complete with action, distraction, and some combat.

That cold day, one student came to school without a coat (shivering and swearing they were not chilly), two had thrown a small blanket over the head of the bus driver with the bus in motion on a busy street, and one student kept falling asleep between complaints of being hungry. The other challenges elude me, except a pair of kids who found cursing and passing gas a hilarious pastime. Before the first recess ended, the teacher dug up a coat from an abandoned-objects box secreted somewhere on the school grounds, engaged in a stern and motivational talk with the miscreants, and provided snacks for the hungry child (this was at a time before everyone understood allergies could be fatal and nobody ever talked about gluten). Amid the spurts of teaching, the 25 bodies in the classroom remained in some sort of constant motion and need.

When I left the school, I felt adrift and as if the life raft I’d been floating on had become a bit deflated and wobbly. I could not envision myself doing that every day (though long periods of time off work sounded heavenly). On the way home, I realized that the time in the classroom had taught me a lot about the challenges teachers face as well as my own perceptions. Clerical work seemed a bit more pleasant while I pondered other options, feeling like a late-20-something dud.

When I received an offer to fast-track from clerical work into a tech program (nerdy me loved that), I jumped at the chance and pushed myself to focus on an undergrad degree to improve my promotion potential. When my marriage crashed and burned, a decision to face some completely unplanned and generally unpleasant events in both my marriage and my youth led me to seek help from a therapist and then a healing group. Still, I never planned to transition from computer programming to social services.

However, while working part-time as a fund-raising assistant, I received an opportunity to help low-income people overcome their fear of computers, so took a full-time job in non-profit world. From there, I did not plan to get a graduate degree in Counseling Psychology, work in a mental health field, or work with houseless people. Yet that’s where I found my career home. For a while, I kept meeting people who wanted to share their painful stories with me, seeking reassurance. I felt honored to be trusted to hold a space for them to examine their experiences and drawn to that healing path. I took the road later in life than many, but the experience of grad school and the opportunities it gave me: better than any Plan.

All that to say, I hope you appreciate each step you have taken along your life’s path so far and acknowledge what you have accomplished – whether it’s surviving or you’re a future Nobel, Oscar, or Pulitzer winner. Give yourself a pat on the back.

You deserve to celebrate your accomplishments. May you have the strength to take each step forward with appreciation.

May you be healthy, happy, safe, and strong.

Last words: Please remember that neither my opinions/experiences nor resources I mention are meant as cures or treatment. This is intended to uplift and educate, not as counseling or professional advice. If you are in a moment in your life when most efforts feel huge, consider finding a mental health professional to support you.[ii] If you’re considering ending your life or if you are in crisis, please reach out to emergency services (9-1-1) or a crisis hotline[iii] to connect with someone who will have your best interests at heart. Your tender heart deserves respect.

A Step at a Time

After graduation, I married young and my spouse groused constantly about my interest in education. Nevertheless, I took college classes – one or two at a time – and I worked.

You deserve to celebrate your accomplishments. May you have the strength to take each step forward with appreciation.

May you be healthy, happy, safe, and strong.

Last words: Please remember that neither my opinions/experiences nor resources I mention are meant as cures or treatment. This is intended to uplift and educate, not as counseling or professional advice. If you are in a moment in your life when most efforts feel huge, consider finding a mental health professional to support you.[ii] If you’re considering ending your life or if you are in crisis, please reach out to emergency services (9-1-1) or a crisis hotline[iii] to connect with someone who will have your best interests at heart. Your tender heart deserves respect.

[i] From Chapter 64 of the Dao De Jing ascribed to Lao Tzu. See Wikipedia for more information.

[ii] One potential resource for finding an affordable counselor is www.opencounseling.com and most communities offer a 2-1-1 number where you can get info on local resources.

[iii] If you’re not comfortable speaking with someone, try reaching out to the Crisis Text Line. In the US and Canada text “HOME” to 741741; in the UK text 85258; in Ireland text 2050808. To speak with someone, contact the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255 or visit the website to text/chat at https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/chat/.

Making Adjustments

Sometime around junior high school I began to hear people talk about their Plan. The Life Plans included attending XYZ college or university or a job/career path they envisioned, the vehicle they planned to drive, the number of children they would have. Their confidence shook me a bit because my family seemed more seat-of-the-pants when it came to living. Initially that embarrassed me a bit.

If you’ve seen the movie “My Life in Ruins,” one character asks, “How do you plan Life?!” That line resulted in a kind of benevolent flashback to my childhood. At any family event, some new- or non-family member would approach one of us kids and ask the obligatory question, “And what are you going to be when you grow up?” In response, any older family members within earshot would snort. Not surreptitiously. Full throttle. When the stranger looked surprised, an elder, typically a great aunt, would shake their head, and snap, “They’ll BE adults. How do you plan life?!”

My dad apprenticed as a machinist in his teens because nobody would let him live with them rent-free after he dropped out of high school. The machine shop was the first place that would hire him. He caught on quickly, left the job to enlist during WWII, and eventually bought the business. When I asked him if machinist or business-owner were careers from his Life Plan as a kid, he laughed. Really laughed. “I was just hoping to survive, punk.”

The same with my mom. She took “secretarial science” in high school and accepted the first job offer she received, in a law office. If that did not work out, her backup plan involved joining a contemplative convent and avoiding humans as much as possible. Soon after my parents married, mom quit working outside the home and spent the rest of her life surrounded by humans.

As far as I could tell, my parents and my grandparents, along with all the great aunts and uncles I knew, invested little energy in Life Planning. They took a step or two and made adjustments. Rent a small house. Have a baby. Adjust. Have another baby. Adjust. They worked incredibly hard, took responsibility for themselves and for helping others, and followed some guidelines they’d inherited. My dad’s big Life Rules were (1) pay yourself first (put 10% into savings), (2) next, take care of survival needs (keeping a roof over your head), and (3) pay the damnbills (keep the lights and water on, put food on the table, pay the bare minimum for necessary clothing and transportation, donate to important causes), and (4) whatever’s left can go for Fluff (entertainment, car expenses, eating out or treats, other non-necessities).

Dad practiced what he preached. Whether they wanted something small, like new garden tools, or something big, like a new car, dad put extra money into savings – equivalent to what they might make in weekly or monthly payments. When they had the $$, he paid cash. (I still think that’s amazing, though I know previous generations didn’t have as many choices as the generations starting with Boomers. Still, I wish I had soaked up more of their financial discipline!)

Their more relaxed approach to planning seemed a bit old-fashioned to me as I approached my teens, but looking back, I’m a little jealous of their faith. Mostly I’m jealous because I lived in a mainstream world where Life Plans appeared both Normal and Necessary. However, my Plans (even ones I accomplished) never seemed to work out the way I expected. Failing to achieve the expectations led to suffering. Eventually, I realized when I made difficult decisions, even a “wrong turn” generally did not lure catastrophe to my door.

Recipes flopped. Good bosses left the company. Job offers fell through. Relationships disintegrated. Friends turned into enemies. Family relocated. Pandemics erupted.

Life gets messy and I’m realizing that both the trying-times and the glorious-days usually happen, plan or no plan.

It’s good to have the backup of a downloaded map or a road atlas before a road trip, it makes sense to study hard and to prepare for the rigors of medical school if you want to be a Medical Doctor, and I still believe it’s good to have personal goals as we move forward in life. However, for me, attachment to Big Plans brought me to my knees more than once. And when it started to hurt or the hanging-on felt like a trap of my own making, I eventually learned to loosen my grip a bit, to look at it from another perspective, to be willing to let go or to hold on, to make decisions based on what felt the most loving and for the good of all. I learned to trust that every experience came with possibilities for growth. More on that another time.

Before I create a few goals for each year, I consider:

what makes me happy and how I can spend more time doing more of that,
if I can find a way to generate income or good doing what I enjoy, and
asking for advice, but always weighing my own counsel most heavily (it’s my life).

And even though planning for every contingency is too time consuming, the willingness to adjust goals and hold loosely to expectations has given me a lot of peace…and a few good laughs.

You deserve peace and joy. Whatever your goals (or plans), may you find the path that serves you and those around you with joy. And may you have the strength to make adjustments to keep yourself at peace and your life flowing with ease.

May you be healthy, happy, safe, and strong. You deserve it.

Last words: Please remember that neither my opinions/experiences nor resources I mention are meant as cures or treatment. This is intended to uplift and educate, not as counseling or professional advice. If you are in a moment in your life when most efforts feel huge, consider finding a mental health professional to support you.[i] If you’re considering ending your life or if you are in crisis, please reach out to emergency services (9-1-1) or a crisis hotline[ii] to connect with someone who will have your best interests at heart. Your tender heart deserves respect.

[i] One potential resource for finding an affordable counselor is www.opencounseling.com and most communities offer a 2-1-1 number where you can get info on local resources.

[ii] If you’re uncomfortable speaking with someone, try reaching out to the Crisis Text Line. In the US and Canada text “HOME” to 741741; in the UK text 85258; in Ireland text 2050808. To speak with someone, contact the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255 or visit the website to text/chat at https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/chat/.

The Virus and Me

Yes, several weeks ago I tested positive for COVID-19.

My plan to follow guidelines with scrupulous care and therefore safely avoid getting sick did not work. Lots of other people refused to wear masks or did not wear them properly so I quit shopping in most markets and opted for contact-less pickup or delivery, though it really strained my budget. Still, essential workers in the home had to work and even the most careful folks can end up beside someone at work who unknowingly breached safety guidelines. Grandchildren had to attend school and that opened the door to other potential virus connections. While I avoided social interactions, a forgotten rapid stranger-encounter may have occurred at exactly the worst time.

And so it was, while cooking soup one night, I grabbed extra spices because the simmering mixture on the stove didn’t taste like much of anything.[i] A passing grandson commented, “Wow, that smells really good!”

Ding-ding-ding. Who would think my wake-up call would come as I stood over the stove?!

I quickly realized I could not smell anything and that my taste buds seemed to have sheltered off-site. However, I checked my temperature repeatedly and it remained normal, I didn’t have a cough or chest pains, and I believed my fatigue and crankiness related to not sleeping well. Out of concern for others, though fairly certain I did not have COVID-19, I decided to go to a drive-up location to test, just in case.

That old saying, ‘When it rains it pours,’ comes to mind. In one 7-day span, I tested positive for the virus that devastated the world, got knocked over during a windstorm (with 75mph gusts) by a large flying trampoline (true, I swear) (family rescued me from the wannabe-fighter-jet), and somehow found time to break a tooth. No emergencies (and I’m getting better at crafting temporary dental fillings), but responsible medical and dental offices don’t want to treat folks who tested positive for the virus. Beyond that, some offices request a lengthy wait after the end of symptoms and want proof of a negative test, something the health department said could take weeks or months.

In short, it has been quite an eventful period for me. I want to blame the moon or stars, scream about bad timing and stinky luck, but sometimes the unexpected happens. Somehow, we humans, graced as we are with resilience, move on after we adjust. And perhaps, in those adjustments, we learn.

Here’s what I’ve learned about self-care from my experience:

Paying attention to our body and our needs is really important. The virus delivers different symptoms to different people, behaving in both kooky and horrifying ways. It appears I got the kooky-version and I’m so thankful that I seem to have bounced back. I’m thankful my immune system was up to the task. I felt “off,” but it took me I-don’t-know-how-many-days to catch on. During those-days I pushed aside the fatigue instead of slowing down. New practice: I’ve set aside a minute, twice a day, to check-in with my body through a quick head-to-toe scan.

We can do our very best to follow the rules and still get sick. It’s tempting to give up. However, it’s important for everyone to suck it up and continue to do our best to follow safety guidelines to protect ourselves and others. For info, follow your local health department online, or visit the websites for the CDC[ii] and WHO[iii] to review their guidelines. New practice: once or twice a week (not 20-times daily) I check for updates in public health guidelines, vaccine availability. Every day I continue to show I care about myself and others by following those guidelines.

My experience is that time invested in worry is not well spent, except when it motivates us to do better. My suggestion is to redirect any time devoted to worrying into whatever informs or uplifts you, and that we all continue to behave as if we treasure our life and the lives of those around us. Every evening I check in, asking myself: What did I do for the good of others? What did I do for fun?

Late last week I tested negative and now have medical and dental appointments.

As far as losing my senses of smell and taste, I’m hopeful for their full return. I can smell some things now (like lemons, bananas, and eucalyptus) but the scents fade quickly. On the bright side: my grandsons’ notorious little-boy-farts do not bother me. 😊 Nuts and cinnamon, favorites of mine, do not register. Even expensive coffee tastes bitter and burnt so I’m having fun exploring teas. On the amazing side: sunflower seeds, soy sauce, raspberries, my favorite (Miyoko’s) non-dairy cheese, and Medjool dates have super-charged swoon-worthy taste.

Life is like that, right? Those unexpected challenges feel like losses or “bad luck,” but often something else awakens if we pay attention. So, please pay attention. Treat yourself and your communities with the gentleness you deserve. Take odd symptoms seriously. Limit the suffering.

You deserve peace and joy. May you have the strength to keep yourself safe, may you walk in strength, and may your life flow with ease. You deserve it.

May you be healthy, happy, strong, and safe.

Last words: Please remember that neither my opinions/experiences nor resources I mention are meant as cures, treatment, or medical advice. This is intended to uplift and educate, not as counseling or professional services. If you are in a moment in your life when most efforts feel huge, consider finding a mental health professional to support you.[iv] If you are considering ending your life or if you are in crisis, please reach out to emergency services (9-1-1) or a crisis hotline[v] to connect with someone who will have your best interests at heart. If you feel adrift and need help such as supplemental food, try calling 2-1-1. Most communities in the US use this number to connect callers to a resource directory and some offer the service online as well. If you feel ill, please contact a medical professional. Your tender heart deserves respect.

[i] I routinely use a tasting-spoon that never touches the stirring-spoon or what I’m cooking. I also wash my hands far too often when handling food, but I like to think that’s a safety-first attitude rather than OCD-ish trait. 😉

[ii] Visit the CDC website for additional info at: https://www.cdc.gov/coronavirus/2019-ncov/your-health/need-to-know.html

[iii] Tips from the World Health Organization are available here: https://www.who.int/emergencies/diseases/novel-coronavirus-2019/advice-for-public

[iv] One potential resource for finding an affordable counselor is www.opencounseling.com and most communities offer a 2-1-1 number where you can get info on local resources.

[v] If you’re uncomfortable speaking with someone, try reaching out to the Crisis Text Line. In the US and Canada text “HOME” to 741741; in the UK text 85258; in Ireland text 2050808. To speak with someone, contact the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255 or visit the website to text/chat at https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/chat/.

Off-Path Interlude

Several weeks ago I developed a few mild symptoms that I didn’t pay attention to, and a few weeks ago I tested positive for COVID-19. My symptoms remained mercifully mild and hanging out by myself to take naps felt somewhat like the kind of vacation I should have rewarded myself with years ago. The lingering fear, though, and knowing it could go downhill quickly, kept me on edge.

Thankfully, everyone who lives in my house is currently healthy. My isolation period ended some time ago. Though I’m still cautious and a bit nap-prone, I didn’t plan to write about this at all until a few days ago.

While waiting for my no-contact grocery order, I sat in my vehicle at a local market, mask on, windows half-down to enjoy fresh air on a warm-enough afternoon. I heard someone in the parking lot holler to another person, presumably a friend, “Do you know anyone who has actually tested positive for covid?”

I turned to observe, drawn by the topic. Both folks, dressed casually, appeared to be in their 30s. The second person shrugged and yelled, “No. Not a single person. You?”

The first person sounded disgusted. “Nope.” And, after a pause, shouted, “This is ridiculous. A scam. I’m tired of this bullsh*t.” The other person said, “We’re young, we’d never get it even if it was real.” For a moment I thought about shouting at them Oh, it’s Real! but my grocery order arrived and I popped the trunk so the friendly shopper could stow my items.

I remembered my parents’ terror during the polio epidemic. We went from going to the local lake every weekend from Spring through late Autumn as toddlers to staying home all the time. My dad, tired of feeling exiled, initiated family Sunday Drives then to avoid going stir-crazy. During those early drives, we had zero opportunities to leave the vehicle, but they still felt like freedom.

At that time, everybody seemed afraid of polio. Nobody thought it a scam or created in a lab or the work of uber-wealthy folks. If they did, they certainly didn’t say it aloud.

When the latest (Salk) vaccine was announced in the mid-1950s, my brother and I were barely walking and my mother admitted she remained deeply suspicious because early vaccine versions had problems.[i] However, around that time the daughter of a close family friend contracted polio, and at age 4 Nancy ended up in an iron lung.

My father took me and my brother to get the polio vaccine a couple years later at an overflowing city-wide event hosted by what would become the March of Dimes. Doctors and nurses handed out information and administered vaccinations. Mom stayed home, worried. But though Nancy was a couple years older and I’d only been allowed to talk to her from a distance, we considered ourselves friends. Dad told me to be brave for her because “Nancy’s dad said he would never forgive me if I didn’t get you kids vaccinated.”

Our families connected periodically, always at Nancy’s house because she needed her iron lung[ii] to survive. At some time after being vaccinated, dad and mom approved of me connecting more closely with Nancy. Sometimes I brushed her hair, but mostly we talked a lot about what we would do when she could run again, the freedom of double-digit ages, how she would never complain about having chores, how she imagined her ponytail flying behind her as she sprinted down the block and I chased her on my bicycle. When we drew pictures of that future, Nancy sketched with a pen in her mouth. I never imagined she would die at the barely-double-digit age of 10, before her dream of running again came true, but I learned life is precious and fragile. When I think of her, though, even now, I see her running so fast her long ponytail is airborne behind her.

Her parents disappeared from our lives after Nancy’s death. My mom told me that the family had lost most of their friends when she contracted polio and that people gave them a wide berth, leaving them feeling a bit adrift. All I knew was that they had moved on.

And that day, sitting in the market’s parking lot, I moved on, heading home with my groceries. I thought about how people may have unintentionally shamed Nancy’s parents and how lonely they must have felt after she contracted the disease. And then I wondered how many people now know someone who tested positive for COVID-19, but the person quietly isolated and didn’t share the info.

After all, folks who get ill have additional worries, more pressing than how to deal with potential unfair judgement, like how to protect others while they recover and surviving the virus. Some, like essential workers who can’t afford to stop working, admit feeling guilty about taking the risk, even when they’re wearing PPE and scrupulously following protocols. Others feel shame because some folks invariably assume those who got ill did so because they didn’t take precautions. Add to that a sufficient number of general nay-sayers, like the folks I observed. It’s not so simple as it seems.

From the polio epidemic, I remember the fear of the disease and, later, the relief about the vaccine. But for the record, if anyone asks you if you know anyone who had the virus – and you didn’t know anyone before – feel free to say you know of this grandma who had COVID-19.

More next week on my kooky symptoms, how that went, and what I learned from this unexpected off-path interlude.

Until then, may you find the flexibility to deal with those moments when life seems to go off the rails, adjust to the time away from your usual path, and still know contentment.

May you be healthy, happy, safe, and strong. You deserve it.

Last words: Please remember that neither my opinions/experiences nor resources I mention are meant as cures or treatment. This is intended to uplift and educate, not as counseling or professional advice. If you’re in a moment in your life when most efforts feel huge, consider finding a mental health professional to support you.[iii] If you’re considering ending your life or if you are in crisis, please reach out to emergency services (9-1-1) or a crisis hotline[iv] to connect with someone who will have your best interests at heart.

[i] There are many more complex explanations and histories, but this easy-to-read and brief article shows people had reason to worry at that time. https://www.history.com/this-day-in-history/salk-announces-polio-vaccine

[ii] For more info on this device and photos, see https://www.theatlantic.com/national/archive/2012/01/what-america-looked-like-polio-children-paralyzed-in-iron-lungs/251098/

[iii] One potential resource for finding an affordable counselor is www.opencounseling.com and most communities offer a 2-1-1 number where you can get info on local resources.

[iv] If you’re uncomfortable speaking with someone, try reaching out to the Crisis Text Line. In the US and Canada text “HOME” to 741741; in the UK text 85258; in Ireland text 2050808. To speak with someone, contact the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255 or visit the website to text/chat at https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/chat/.