Wednesday, December 6, 2017

Soothing Holiday Stress with Civility





In these divisive times, it's  more important than ever to maintain civility during family holiday gatherings.

How can you keep your temper, hold your tongue and keep a festive holiday event from becoming a disaster?

It can help to cultivate a habit of civility and to take a page from the 12 step programs, saying  "Just for today, I will..."

1. Refuse take the bait. This is a huge help when your conservative Uncle George, a die-hard Trump supporter, or your equally fervent Aunt Judy, who vows to support Bernie 4-Ever, pounces on you with a confrontation about your own beliefs, affiliations or voting record. You might say "I just want to enjoy you today without our differing views getting in the way. So what about....." And bring up a favorite sports team or ask about their children's or grandchildren's latest achievements. Or inquire about their health or even ask about their travels or what you know is a favorite hobby. Anything to avoid the conversational flashpoint that can derail a family holiday celebration into a scream-fest.

2. Deflect conflict with humor: If your smug, know-it-all older brother descends on you with his 97 reasons why Trump is doing a great job (or 97 reasons why he's an absolute disaster), cut off the confrontation with a little self-deprecating humor: "Look, you know I’m a wild-eyed fanatic. Don’t get me started! Let's give everyone here a break. Mom and Aunt Sally have gone to a lot of trouble to make this wonderful dinner. I don’t want to spoil it. So let's discuss all this at another time and in another place!"

3. Stifle the urge to set someone straight: Don't tell a family member who is a total hypochondriac that he or she is healthy or venture the thought that a tortured youth really had a delightful upbringing. Just listen. Hear them out -- until you find an escape -- without feeling the urge to poke holes in their reality. The same is true of family stories: each person may have his or her own version of the same event. Don't jump in with "No! It wasn't that way!" Listen and then offer your own memories in a non-threatening way: "What I remember most about that day is....." and perhaps observe that what makes family stories so fun or interesting is that all members bring different perspectives and memories to the tales.

4. Take the high road: If met with hostility and continuing attempts to get to you, don't react in the expected way. Instead of meeting hostility automatically with anger, think for a moment, reflecting on the unhappiness of this person or other painful feelings behind the stinging words, and say "You may be right...." or "I'll have to think about that."  or "I think we'll just have to agree to disagree on this one..." This unexpected reaction can take the wind out of the confrontational relative's sails without a major blowup.

5. Keep confrontations gentle and, if possible, private. If someone says something so offensive, you can't let it pass, take the person aside to talk it over instead of escalating the conflict in front of everyone. And, as you consider countering these offensive comments, ask yourself if these are alcohol-fueled and if the offender could even hear and understand another point of view right now. If you can't avoid disagreeing in front of everyone --e.g. at the dinner table -- say "I see things differently..." but don't attack the other. Simply state your feelings as well as your desire to have the pleasure of all being together take center stage.

Another course of action is to avoid holiday celebrations where others are guaranteed to be (take your pick) boring, offensive, obnoxious, controlling or otherwise challenging to your peace of mind. However, in avoiding the problematic, you may also miss seeing some people you truly enjoy.

Remember that you don't need to win to have a good time. You don't have to match another's hostility to get him or her to back down. You don't have to agree with a person -- on one topic or most topics -- to love him or her a lot. 

Keep in mind that holiday gatherings are usually a mixed bag of fun, tedium, old memories both joyous and fraught, new memories of the bad and the beautiful moments. Some of these you simply, just for today, endure and move on. Other moments can bring pleasure and happiness for years to come.

Friday, November 24, 2017

Living Your Bliss


She had a long-time dream: to dance, to paint, to perform on her own terms.

A native of New York City, Marta Beckett studied ballet and painting from an early age. She danced at Radio City Music Hall and in several Broadway musicals including the original production of "Wonderful Town." But her dream was to have her own show and to make her own art her way. In 1967, Marta and her husband set off on a tour with her one-woman show, but were sidelined momentarily in isolated Death Valley with a flat tire.

It was then that she made an amazing discovery: a dilapidated meeting hall in an abandoned building that she saw immediately as a theatre and potential hotel. Her New York friends were aghast. But she rented the place, initially, for $45 a month, named it the Amargosa Opera House and started renovations herself. She painted backdrops, scenery and, eventually, unique murals of a perpetual, silent audience on the walls of the theatre. By the next year, she was performing her own ballets in the small theatre. Sometimes she had an audience. Sometimes she didn't. But she always performed on schedule three nights a week. As the story of Marta's work at the Amargosa Opera House spread around the world, the little theatre was usually filled to capacity during the performing season. People came to see this dancer turned legend, to see someone truly following her bliss. In her later years, she remarked "It's a perfect life for someone creative. It's as if this place found me."

She performed there until 2012, giving her last sold-out performance when she was 85. Like all of her other evenings of dance and pantomime at this tiny desert theatre, her last performance was filled with joy.

Her legacy continues.

Some years back, Jenna McClintock, a six-year-old girl from Oakland had come with her vacationing family to see Marta dance and she was transfixed. She decided on the spot to study ballet and, one day, to follow in Marta's footsteps. She grew up, became a dancer and wrote to Marta that she would love to learn her repertoire and to keep her work alive. Marta was delighted, never missing one of Jenna's performances. Marta died at her home in Death Valley in January 2017. Jenna continues to keep Marta's dreams alive as she follows her own bliss.



We all have our own visions, our own dreams of what bliss might be.

What's yours? Are you living it today? Or is it still elusive? What would it take to make it happen? What would the first step be?

Sometimes the first step is getting past one's own threshold anxiety or procrastination or the inclination to forever put others first. Sometimes the whole concept can seem selfish. But following your bliss doesn't have to mean selfishness or ignoring the needs of those you love. It can mean simply carving out time and space in your life to do something you really want to do. It isn't something you need to do perfectly -- now or ever. Just do it!

Ask yourself, as you dream of that glorious someday when you can follow your bliss, "If not now, when?"

My bliss, after years of working multiple jobs, was to retire to my little casita to write full-time once again. This new, blissful phase of my writing career started in 2010 when I started this blog and then, not having written a new book in more than a decade, wrote several books -- including Purr Therapy in 2014 and We Don't Talk Anymore published this fall.

My husband Bob is living his perfectly blissful retirement --devoted to pleasure and to learning. This means watching a movie every day, doing challenging crossword puzzles, reading for hours on a great variety of topics, following a demanding fitness routine and learning something entirely new. Right now he is trying to master American Sign Language.

A number of my friends are also following their bliss.

My friend Georgia, retired after years as a teacher of emotionally disturbed children, enjoys painting and other artwork in her small studio. Her husband Mark is an expert woodworker, making lovely furniture, each piece an original. And together they have been advocates and guardians for a neighbor child who needs their warmth and expertise so much.

My friend Maria, after a demanding career as a financial journalist, enjoys giving back to her Ukrainian community in Chicago, sometimes by mentoring young people, sometimes by writing grant proposals for her church and community organizations.

My friend Tim, still working a demanding job, nevertheless enjoys spending weekends as a deacon at his church, helping to feed the homeless in the church's outreach programs and comforting members of the congregation by joining them in prayer for their special needs and concerns.

There are so many ways to live one's bliss without excuses or apologies. Living authentically and happily can be contagious: there are so many ways that living your bliss can extend beyond your own satisfaction and contentment to enrich the lives of others immeasurably.





Wednesday, November 1, 2017

Reunion Reflections

We've all been to bad class reunions. Those are the ones where:

  • Only strangers from our class show up and we all stare into our glasses of wine or punch, making awkward conversation with each other
  • The class pariah gets rejected all over again by aging mean girls 30 years after graduation
  • Bragging about personal achievements or those of the kids is the center of our classmates' (and often our own) conversations
  • Grudges and jealousies still live all these years later
  • You find yourself struggling to make a five minute conversation with once-upon-a-time best high school friend with whom you once shared your deepest secrets.

But time goes by and as we grow and change, the nature of class reunions can change.

I first noticed this at my 50th high school reunion four years ago: there was a new ease with each other and greater joy in reuniting with the women who were once Catholic high school girls with me in what seems like another lifetime.

One of the greatest pleasures of that reunion was spending time talking with my former classmate Claire Griffith who had seemed so cool and sophisticated when we were young that I was too scared to talk to her all through high school. Fifty years later, she was the first person I saw -- and embraced -- at the reunion. And as we talked -- so easily -- she told me that underneath that cool veneer had been a young girl who was lonely, who couldn't understand why her parents sent her to boarding school, who felt out-of-place as a non-Catholic at this Catholic school. My heart went out to that young girl and to the marvelous woman she had become. I was thankful that we had a second chance in life to connect.

I recently attended my 50th college reunion at Northwestern University near Chicago. This was wonderful in whole new ways.

                                                                  

                                                         

 My years at Northwestern were a critical turning point in my life. Attending college nearly 2,000 miles away from home set me on the path to a new, independent life. I was away from the chaos and isolation of living with an alcoholic, mentally ill parent. Despite my shyness and initial fear, Northwestern was heaven. I made some of the best friends of my life. I grew both emotionally and academically in a newly challenging environment. My years there prepared me for everything that was to come and made my career as a writer possible. I've always been thankful for the professors who cared and some very special friends with whom I shared so many goals and dreams.

And returning to this place, this pivotal point in my life, for a 50th reunion brought some revelations about the advantages of age and new insights into how we grow with the years, the wisdom of letting go of what no longer matters, the value of warm reconnections and the blessing of love that has thrived and matured through time.

I was surprised and pleased to discover that:

1. We were genuinely glad to see each other just because.... While there was tremendous joy in seeing the classmates who have been lifelong friends, there was also special delight in reconnecting with people I hadn't seen in 50 years. That was especially true of the women with whom I had shared a freshman dorm when I was so young, more than a little scared, but excited to be living among so many new friends.

For example, there was Mimi Keane, who lived down the hall from me during our freshman year. She, too, had graduated from a Catholic girls' high school. But that's where our similarities ended. Mimi's father was a prominent politician and she was a stunning beauty queen (in a very different time and place when that meant much more than it does today). I was in awe of her. I had told Mimi and my other dorm mates that I was thinking of becoming a nun (more as a hedge against total embarrassment just in case no boy ever asked me out on a date during my college years than as a firm life plan). When a nice classmate named Vern asked me out for Homecoming, there was great excitement in the dorm. And Mimi volunteered to do my hair and makeup for my very first ever date. As she transformed my look, helping me to feel pretty for perhaps the first time in my life, she begged me not to become a nun.

And at the reunion, as we embraced, I thanked her for the role she played in persuading me away from the cloister and into a life filled with love.

It was wonderful to see dorm mates -- like Mimi, Brynna, Lynn, Sue and Nancy -- some of whom I had known well and some of whom I had never really known, and to hear about their lives and challenges as we talked with a candor that might have been unthinkable in earlier years.

While we joked in congratulating each other on still being vertical, there was an edge of sadness to this. All of the professors who nurtured and encouraged our young dreams and ambitions have passed away. Fourteen of my good friends from my class --including the beloved three roommates/suitemates who were fellow '67 grads and my warmly remembered first date Vern -- are deceased.

So it was a special joy to see age mates who were vibrant, in reasonably good health and happy with their lives, either in retirement or in still active careers.

2. There was no posturing or bragging, just sharing. There were earlier reunions, either in high school or college, when we seemed quite full of ourselves -- carrying on about career triumphs or kids -- either their intrinsic wonderfulness or their achievements in school and beyond. Now, however, we all seemed to live more in the moment, sharing challenges and disappointments as readily as the highlights of our lives.

3. Old grudges and jealousies were finally irrelevant and fell away forever.  Those post adolescent skirmishes one may have had with a classmate or two back in the day became, at last, of no consequence.

When I was young and insecure, I resented Maria Kulczycky, a journalism classmate who was not only bright and talented, but also wonderfully at ease with the world. Maria could speak her mind. She was confident. She was comfortable with men. I had little confidence, was afraid to speak up and was terribly shy with men. I seethed with jealousy as I sat in class watching Maria flirt with and sometimes even affectionately touch our classmate Tim Schellhardt, whom I considered not only a dear friend but also my secret love -- a love so secret that even he never suspected! So I watched Maria and sulked, wishing that I had the confidence to act similarly. It seems so silly now. All three of us were too sharply focused on academics and future careers to think seriously about pairing up with anyone at that point in our lives. Yet I envied the grace with which Maria moved through her young days as well as the assertiveness and grit that made her such a promising journalist.

Fifty years would pass before I saw Maria again. And what a revelation! As a member of the reunion planning committee, I had sent my journalism classmates emails this past summer, urging them to attend the festivities. Maria responded immediately and warmly, eventually changing travel plans in order to attend. We shared snippets of our lives and memories in emails over the summer. She told me at one point that she had been so excited to see an email from me that she had halted dinner preparations to sit down and read it immediately. And when I saw her at the reunion, I felt only joy as we embraced. It was an emotional moment. I rejoiced, once again, at having a second chance to know and enjoy a truly amazing woman.

Tim and Maria at Northwestern once again!
                                                               
Happily reunited with Maria           

                                   
It was a wonderful day as Maria, Tim and I hung out together, attending events as we pleased and enjoying a three hour lunch together in my old freshman dorm dining room. It was then that I heard, for the first time, Maria's back story: born in the Ukraine only weeks before V-E Day, spending her early childhood in a refugee camp in post-war Germany as her family waited to emigrate to the U.S., coming to the U.S. at 7, not speaking a word of English and making a whole new life for herself. No wonder she was so strong, direct and unconcerned with the trivial in our college days.

As we lingered over lunch, the three of us realized, with wonder, that we were united in so many ways: by our shared history as journalism students in a different, more optimistic and idealistic time; by our early fierce ambition and diverse career trajectories as writers -- Maria as a highly successful financial journalist, Tim as a political reporter who spent some years covering the White House for the Wall Street Journal; by our growth into generatively:  Maria as a devoted mother and grandmother and tireless volunteer  --  doing everything from mentoring to writing grant proposals-- for the Ukrainian community of Chicago; Tim as a loving father and grandfather and also as a deacon at his church, doing charity outreach with the homeless and offering companionship in prayer to parishioners in need of comfort. We also discovered a strange unity in our birth dates. The three of us were all born in April 1945 within 13 days of each other. We decided that we three were simply destined to be friends forever. This leisurely lunch with my two long-ago classmates was the best, the very best, part of our reunion celebration. And the next day, Maria sent both Tim and me a loving email ending with "Let's never stop talking..."

That's a promise: we'll never stop talking... or caring.

4. Feeling grateful to remember and be remembered. It's interesting what settles into our gray matter, leaving an indelible memory. I always smile when I think of my classmate Gregg Ramshaw, whose campus job was working as headwaiter in the dining room of the small dorm where I lived during my junior and senior years. Gregg, who always had a lively sense of humor and special gift for parody, prepared a real treat for all of us the night before graduation: he wrote and performed -- with a chorus of his co-workers -- a naughty version of a hallowed university song with a somewhat scatological ending. We were delighted -- and I've never forgotten that moment or that song.

Gregg went on to a wonderful career as a television news producer and later taught his craft at several colleges. But when I saw him at the reunion -- and we both smiled with recognition of each other -- all I could think of was his long-ago serenade. I went up to him and quietly sang the song in his ear. He laughed with delight and sang the last two lines with me, happy to have had a piece of his past carried into our shared present by my memory of him as he was 50 years ago.

And at certain times, a bit of familiar behavior triggered fond memories. As we enjoyed a reception for journalism alums, Tim grinned suddenly and I reached for my camera as Gregg and Maria were engaged in an intense discussion -- so reminiscent of those days when we were young and Maria would debate fearlessly with anyone. They saw our smiles -- and both smiled, too.

                                         
                           
Gregg and Maria in an intense discussion as Tim looks on

Kathy, Gregg and Maria -- all smiles now!

It occurred to me that we all love to be thought of, to be remembered, to matter to each other whether or not we're in constant touch through the years. And perhaps the specific memory is less important than the fact that we remember pieces of each other's youth, little details, perhaps long forgotten, that spouses and children may never have known.

5. Knowing that our lives have evolved in ways that, at last, make sense. Our life puzzles are complete -- or nearly so. We may have moments of looking back with longing at what might have been, but it seems more common these days to look at the past with today's perspective and to realize that, despite rough spots and disappointments and setbacks and challenges, things have worked out in so many ways.

Talking with classmates that day, this theme came up over and over: how a career setback led to a whole new direction that now makes perfect sense; how an unhappy marriage nevertheless produced some wonderful children who -- to the delight of their parents and many in the world at large -- were simply meant to be; how an unhappy first marriage led to deep introspection and growth and, eventually, happiness and true love the second time around. And how a career choice that seemed so unpromising at first turned out to be just the right move...

I shared the tale of my embarrassment and anguish after graduation as I watched my Northwestern journalism school classmates being hired at prestigious magazines and newspapers in New York, Washington and Chicago, while I returned reluctantly to Los Angeles (due to a family crisis and pressing student loans) and worked for the only female-oriented national consumer magazine then based in L.A. : 'TEEN Magazine. My Northwestern professors were baffled, my friends tactful and polite in their congratulations. I was totally mortified.

But 'TEEN turned out to be truly life-changing. In my nine years there, I developed a specialty in psychology and health reporting, learned so much from the most responsive readership I would ever encounter, wrote my first and most successful book (The Teenage Body Book) and enjoyed the best group of co-workers ever, some of whom are still close friends to this day.

6. Realizing that love, however shared, is life's greatest blessing. I felt love all around me at this reunion: the love of old friends rediscovered, the love of a very special new/old friend in Maria, loving thoughts of classmates who have been dear friends through the years and who were unable to come to the reunion, sweet memories of those who have passed away, and the expansive love one feels for a time and place and people who have made such a difference.

One particular college memory, one pivotal moment, is still vivid so many years later: the moment in November 1964 when I realized that my classmate Tim was a friend I would love for life.

Have you had such moments -- when you realize, with stunning clarity, that someone is a true kindred spirit who will always be special to you? And so many years later, have you been amazed to look back and realize the accuracy of your youthful perceptions?

That long ago November night, Tim and I had been classmates for a year, feeling a bit competitive but otherwise mostly ignoring each other, when a very wise professor forced us to combine our journalistic skills in a shared assignment that required an hour long train trip each way. We were both a little put out, as I remember, until we started to talk on the train and realize just how much we had in common and how much we enjoyed each other. We haven't stopped talking since-- through all the decades of our lives -- even though we've never lived close to each other.

From a distance and through visits over the years, we've celebrated each other's professional successes and personal highlights and soothed each other through disappointments and setbacks. We've wept over the phone together during times of loss -- including the death of the professor who made us do that joint project together so many years ago. Tim has helped me with the research for my two latest books and encouraged me on a daily basis as deadlines loomed.  I have delighted in his continuing success as a writer and a public relations executive and, not so incidentally, in the accomplishments of his four amazing adult children -- two of whom are now on the faculty at Northwestern. This reunion weekend was a wonderful chance for the two of us to celebrate our long friendship, to explore Chicago, to laugh and share secrets -- some fun, some dark -- and to talk for hours, savoring the joy of being together and very much ourselves.

                                                                 
With Tim at our 50th reunion
                                       
And after our wonderful weekend talking marathon!

Our loving friendship has thrived through our long metamorphosis from teenagers to septuagenarians, through a myriad of life changes, triumphs and losses. Loving my dear friend Tim -- from that secret adolescent crush to a mature love that has grown deeper and stronger over a lifetime -- has taught me an ongoing lesson: that there are many kinds of love in this life, all rich and resilient, and all to be treasured.

Sunday, October 1, 2017

Tears and Life Passages

What is it about weddings that can bring on the tears?

Sometimes tears come in the fullness of feeling.

At the recent wedding of Ryan, a beloved young friend, I found myself dabbing sudden tears as he and Michael exchanged vows. I wondered how the years had flown by so quickly, how the funny, quirky and very dear nine-year-old matched with my husband Bob in the Big Brothers program grew so quickly into a handsome 34-year-old man who is now a skilled, compassionate psychotherapist and agency administrator. I thought about the countless conversations, feelings and experiences shared over the years and smiled as I watched Bob standing by him as Best Man. I tried to keep my voice steady as I read from Corinthians 13 ("Love is patient and kind...") during the service, quietly wishing Ryan and Michael the best kind of love all their days together. I shed a tear of gratitude that such a beautiful wedding was even possible for two splendid men who love each other.

Sometimes tears come from a painful or poignant memory.

At the wedding dinner, Bob and I sat next to Ryan's Aunt Donna and her husband Hermann. Hearing that Hermann had come to the U.S. as a child after World War II, Bob asked him about his memories of wartime and post-war Germany. Hermann's eyes welled with tears as he recalled his terror, huddled with his mother and four siblings during Allied bombing in the last days of the war. He expressed sudden grief, long buried, about the death of his soldier father who was killed in East Prussia during the last month of combat. He looked down at his plate of tenderloin and fresh vegetables as he remembered his widowed mother's post-war anguish with no money, no food and five children. And then there was the wrenching decision to send her son Hermann to live with an aunt and uncle in the U.S. He smiled apologetically as he wiped his eyes. "It has been more than 70 years since all that," he said softly. "You'd think there would be no tears left after all that time and when I've really had such a good life..."

Sometimes tears come from knowing that life is forever changed.

The next morning, at the post-wedding brunch, Ryan sat down beside us. "I've cried twice already before breakfast!" he said with wonder. "I feel that I've started a whole new passage in my life -- and it feels huge: a new beginning, a different way of being in the world. I find myself grieving what is past as well as celebrating what is happening in the present. Life feels so full of promise and joy and new challenges. Just thinking about it, I feel so emotional..." And his eyes filled with tears once again.

Crying from joy, sadness, stress, fear or a variety of emotions endemic to being human is not only natural but healthy.

Like reflex tears -- like the tears that cleanse our eyes when they are assaulted by smoke or onion fumes clear these physical toxins and like the naturally occuring continuous tears that keep our eyes lubricated, the tears that come from emotions bring some specific health benefits.

Dr. William Frey, a biochemist and "tear" expert at the Ramsey Medical Center in Minneapolis, notes that while reflex tears are 98% water, emotional tears also contain stress hormones that get excreted from the body by crying. Crying can reduce stress, blood pressure and improve mood. Dr. Frey says that crying is a natural way to reduce emotional stress and that it stimulates the production of endorphins, our natural pain-killing, "feel-good" hormones.

Recognizing the health benefits of tears, some Japanese cities have "crying clubs" called ruiktsu where people go to indulge in crying over tearjerker movies. This is seen as an essential stress release and a way to maintain good mental health.

But our society has not always been sympathetic to those who cry. Even when very young, too many boys are told that crying is for sissies, that big boys don't cry, that stoicism equals strength.

I can't begin to tell you how many times a patient in session has apologized for his or her tears. And, following the mores of the profession that the therapist sit with the client's tears while holding back her own, there have been many times when I have willed myself not to shed tears of empathy when with a distressed client. I can think of only two times when my struggle was undeniably visible.

In the first instance, my client Mariana, struggling with life threatening health issues and devoted to her precious little dog Nanuck, brought the dog into a session with her after he had been savaged by an off-the-leash Rottweiler. Lying in her arms, barely breathing and heavily bandaged, Nanuck looked up at her as she wept, blaming herself for not being able to protect him. I thought about how many challenges Mariana was facing already and how unbearable the loss of Nanuck would be. And I took a deep breath and bit the inside of my cheeks as I struggled not to cry for and with her. As soon as Mariana left, I sought comfort with a fellow therapist in the next room and, having overheard a bit of my session with Mariana, she greeted me with open arms and tears in her eyes.  (P.S. Mariana and Nanuck lived happily together for several more years.)

In another instance, a young mother of four, who had lost a three-year-old son in a terrible accident and whose marriage had disintegrated in the wake of this tragedy, suffered a debilitating stroke after I had been seeing her for almost a year. For our first session after she got out of the hospital, her father -- who had flown cross country to help her -- carried her into my office. My emotions caught me by surprise: I was happy to see her but so sad to see the physical ravages of her stroke added to all her other life challenges. My eyes filled with tears. My client saw this and smiled. "See, Daddy, I told you," she said, looking up at her father. "I told you she would cry." And we all -- my client, her Dad and me -- embraced and shared a box of tissues.

Holding tears in can be toxic -- delaying healing, prolonging pain. How many of our fathers declined to share or weep over their wartime experiences and became the unreachable, closed off people we remember? How many tears unshed over an early loss or trauma can haunt one through life?

There is growing disagreement with the long held sentiments that real men don't cry or that tears are a sign of weakness. Dr. Judith Orloff, a psychiatrist at UCLA and author of numerous books, insists that "A powerful man or woman is someone who has the strength and self-awareness to cry."

This sentiment, though it sounds very 21st century, has been expressed in many ways over the centuries.

"To weep is to make less the depth of grief," William Shakespeare once wrote.

And Washington Irving contended that "There is sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are the messengers of overwhelming grief, of deep contrition, and of unspeakable love."

Yes, there are healing tears through all the painful, touching and loving moments of our lives, tears that speak more eloquently than any words.

Monday, September 11, 2017

From Parents and Adult Children Comments to This!

There have been three major surprises since I started this blog in October 2010:

1. How dear some fellow bloggers would become to me as we shared our thoughts and our stories in our blogs and comments on each other's blogs.

2. The fact that my posts on parents and adult children would be, by far, the most read and commented upon of all my blog offerings.

3. How the poignant and unforgettable comments on these posts inspired me to write a new book: WE DON'T TALK ANYMORE: HEALING AFTER PARENTS AND THEIR ADULT CHILDREN BECOME ESTRANGED. The book, written for BOTH parents and adult children, will be published by Sourcebooks on October 3 and would never have happened but for your comments on "When Parents and Adult Children Become Strangers", a post I wrote in 2012 that is still, on a daily basis, my most-read post ever.
                                                              
Now the book's publisher is making a special offer to readers who pre-order the book BEFORE October 3 from Amazon.com, BarnesandNoble.com and several other online retailers: a free PDF workbook to personalize the book for you. With the workbook, you can identify the major issues between you and your adult children or, if you're an adult child estranged from your parent or parents. There are exercises to discover your major issues, find the best ways for you to reconnect or to build a new life for yourself.

How do you get this special offer? Click on this link: http://ow.ly/DJ0S30f4ufX


                                                 

My heartfelt thanks to all my fellow bloggers for your friendship and encouragement and to all my readers and followers, especially those leaving comments on my parents and adult children posts. 

This book happened because of you!





Friday, August 11, 2017

The Kindness Habit

My day didn't start out especially well. The heat and humidity were headed to record highs. I had driven along a highway choked with traffic and construction projects to a doctor's appointment that was frustrating: the wait was long, the appointment brief and the doctor's manner brusque. I felt distinctly unheard and, as I left, I ruminated about being seen as just another older person on the medical assembly line. Disappointed, angry and a little depressed, I decided to stop for lunch at nearby diner before braving the torn-up-highway traffic to head home.

The place was moderately crowded and noisy. Feeling pissed off and more than a little sorry for myself, I hunkered down in a booth, picking at my senior special omelet. Though the waitress was quick to refill my coffee cup, she was uncommonly slow to bring me my check. I finally waved her to my table.

She smiled. "Oh, your check has been paid already," she said. "A couple who left a few minutes ago told me that they wanted to make your day better than it appeared to be going..."

It was a magic moment. This gracious and generous couple, whoever they were, made my day. I felt an instant lightening of my mood and flood of gratitude for their kindness. It had nothing to do with the amount of the check or my actually getting a free lunch (after years of insisting there was no such thing). It had more to do with strangers noticing that I seemed unhappy and taking steps to brighten my day.

And it occurred to me that if such kindness could make such a difference to me in my minor funk, what a blessing it could be to someone who was really struggling -- and how often we tend to pass others by without looking or noticing or caring.

What if we smiled at others more?

What if we started more friendly conversations?

What if we paid it forward with a random act of kindness?

Particularly at this time, when we've divided ourselves into warring factions, Trump fans and Trump haters, red states, blue states, conservatives and liberals, religious and non-religious, we too often forget that whatever our personal beliefs, convictions and preferences, we all usually feel soothed and surprised by another's kindness.

The most obvious opportunities to be kind come with those closest to us: a surprise phone call to a lonely, elderly parent or other relative; a show of interest in a child's project or passion along with honest praise and encouragement; a gesture of kindness toward a spouse-- like quietly deciding to vacuum the living room because you know your spouse hates vacuuming, surprising him or her with a Netflix movie he or she has been wanting to see or with tickets to a sports event or concert; telling him how much you appreciate all he does or giving her the most credit when someone compliments you on how well your children have turned out.

There are, to be sure, so many times when we take those we love most for granted or when, tired and desperate for a few minutes of peace and quiet, we wave off a talkative, inquisitive child.

There are many opportunities to be kind with co-workers, colleagues, friends and neighbors: being gentle with their feelings, protective with their confidences, listening without planning a response, teaching an insight or skill without minimizing their current efforts, finding something positive about them and letting them know you notice, especially when life is not being especially kind to them.

And then there are strangers whose lives we can impact in ways we may never know: with a smile or a happy surprise (like my free lunch) or a gesture that feels quite ordinary and unexceptional, but may be meaningful to them. Yesterday, I reached a jumble of supermarket shopping carts a step ahead of another woman who was looking troubled and tired. I wrested one of the shopping carts free and gave it to her. She looked startled, then smiled. "Oh, thank you!" she said. "I always have trouble getting a cart out of all that mess. How did you know? I really appreciate it!" And she smiled again. It was such a small thing really. But it brightened both our days. Yes, I was smiling, too. When I am kind to another, I feel better myself.

And you never know when making a small gesture of consideration and kindness can bring comfort to those who may need it most.

Randy Walters, 63, the owner of Wimpy's Paradise, a burger place in Chandler, Arizona, practices daily kindness on such a scale that he was recently the subject of an article in The Arizona Republic. He has launched kindness campaigns. He rallied community support for a single mom and her daughter who were living out of their van. He uses his restaurant to raise money for a pay it forward fund to help feed the homeless and to benefit veterans and police officers. And there are daily kindnesses promised on a sidewalk sandwich sign in front of his restaurant, offering customers (and those simply passing by) unconditional acceptance and free hugs, with the admonition: "Let's become a world of hugs and help, not hate and hurt."

Community reactions have been overwhelmingly positive and results of this man's many kindnesses immeasurable. Walters told the reporter that one day a Muslim man came into his restaurant and asked Randy for a hug. After hugging him, Walters noticed that the man's eyes had filled with tears. He said he was thankful for the hug because his and his family had been the target of so much hate in recent months. In another instance, a depressed young woman walked in one day asking about free hugs. When Walters hugged her, she clung to him, weeping. She told him she had planned to kill herself that day but that this hug, this warm connection with another, had given her new hope. For Walters, his restaurant isn't just about food "but feeding hearts and souls."

We may never know the full story of the stranger we briefly encounter or the co-worker who always sets our teeth on edge. We may never agree with the loved one whose world views differ so from ours. Human relationships are, by nature, imperfect. But whatever the challenges, whatever our own troubles may be, we can make the choice to be kind and, perhaps, to make a wonderful difference in the life of another.


Sunday, July 23, 2017

Life Coincidences and Blessings


The news of her death wasn't necessarily a shock. She was, after all, only a few months away from her 95th birthday. But learning recently that my dear friend Elizabeth Canfield had died has put me in a reflective frame of mind.

I am filled with gratitude for having known her for nearly fifty years. She was a role model for courage in speaking out against injustices of all kinds and a champion for health issues and reproductive rights. She was the woman I hoped, in my youth, to become more like: outspoken and unafraid.

It wasn't until recent years that I realized that much of her strength and courage came from the challenges of her early years -- watching Nazi troops march into Vienna when she was sixteen years old and then, late that year, fleeing Austria with her family -- first to Holland and then to the U.S. -- though her grandparents and other extended family perished in Auschwitz.

I had never guessed that she was a Holocaust survivor  -- mostly because her parents had converted to Christianity before her birth and I knew her as an avid member of a socially activist Episcopalian church in Los Angeles when we first met.  She told me that she hadn't spoken of her past for many years because it was so painful and she didn't want to spread the pain to her children or her friends. But she finally began to share her wartime past while participating in Stephen Spielberg's Shoah project and began to speak about the Holocaust in schools during her later years. During the last two years of her life, she shared her Holocaust stories with me in a series of letters -- which I will always treasure. 

As I think about our friendship, I'm struck at the impact she had on my life -- not simply as an inspiration for strong, outspoken womanhood but in professional and personal matters as well -- like introducing me, 44 years ago, to a young doctor named Chuck Wibbelsman with whom I would write "The Teenage Body Book" (along with several other books) and enjoy a friendship of many decades.

And I'm struck with wonder, too, that Liz and I ever had a chance to become friends. There are so many variables: what if her family hadn't been able to escape from Austria in late 1938? What if, like many Jewish families who had fled to Holland, they had been unable to get visas for the U.S.? (Her family was fortunate that her father was a noted Austrian composer and conductor who was offered a position at a major U.S. university and was able to get his immediate family out of Nazi-occupied Europe just in time.) What if she hadn't married the person she did and ended up in Los Angeles? What if my boss at 'TEEN Magazine hadn't insisted on my doing a story about abortion in those days just before the Roe vs. Wade decision that led me to the medical clinic where Liz worked as a health educator and counselor? What if I hadn't seen the kindness and caring behind her initially unsettling frankness? What if...?

We all have a lot of "what if's" in our lives, revealing just how much of life is coincidence or random luck. All of this brings so much color, texture and so many blessings to our lives.

What are your most treasured life coincidences?

Maybe but for chance you would never have met a beloved spouse of many years. Maybe a lifelong friendship happened to you because of chance -- an accidental meeting, a chance pairing for a work or school assignment, a stranger who passed your way one day and became a treasured friend. We all have so many unexpected blessings -- as life so often surprises us. 

Thursday, June 15, 2017

5 Ways to Tame Anxiety

Anxiety may be as straightforward as sweaty palms and an accelerated heart rate as you prepare to give a presentation.

Or it may be a visitor in the night as you lie in bed awake, worrying about your fraught relationship with your adult son or daughter or a unexpected bill or some troublesome symptoms you're afraid may signal a major health problem.

Or anxiety may hit you randomly, for reasons you don't understand. For some people, out-of-the blue panic attacks may be be life-changing.

Although anxiety happens to all of us, for a small number of people it can be life-changing, interfering with everyday life and requiring medication and psychotherapy.

For most people, however, anxiety is less limiting but still periodically distressing. What can you do when it happens to you?

1. Admit that you're anxious.  That may mean paying attention to your physical symptoms and to the sudden fear you may be feeling. People who deny their anxiety may act and sound angry and irritable. Or they may become avoidant -- not driving on highways, expressways or freeways, for example -- on the premise that "I just don't like that. I prefer to drive locally." When you admit that you're anxious or that a specific situation creates anxiety for you, you're on the way to facing your fears and changing your situation.

2. Stop the spiral with a specific word or action. Many people find themselves in a spiral of anxious thoughts and feelings that can accelerate to paralyzing fear. It's important to stop this process well before you reach the point of inertia. There are several things you might try. Some people find it useful to wear a rubber band around their wrists and snap it at the first sign of anxiety -- a reminder to stop ruminating and take action. You might say "Stop!" and then try imagining a alternate scenario -- like your giving the presentation with pleasure and confidence. You might start deep breathing, releasing a little more of your tension with each breath out. It can also help to listen to music you enjoy, to spend time petting and cuddling your dog or cat or to take a brisk walk or try some other exercise you enjoy.

3. Try the "Just Do It!" three step approach.  This can be particularly helpful if you find yourself anxious about something specific that you need to do, but fear tackling like that work presentation, that talk that you agreed to do for your church group or that drive into downtown to see a concert or play. When you find yourself dreading a task, fearing that it will be impossible for you, try the three step approach.

First, examine the evidence that this is beyond your capabilities. You might say to yourself "I've done this before. It wasn't easy. But I did it. I can do it again."

Second, examine your expectations. Are you making yourself anxious with impossibly high expectations? You don't have to make a spectacular presentation. You don't have to be the life of the party. You don't have to love driving in city traffic. You need to give yourself permission to be competent, to be present, to be able.

Third, just do it. Quite often, the more you do something, the less challenging it feels. Repeated exposure to something you fear can decrease your anxiety over time. It can help to enlist a therapist, a friend or family member in walking through your fears with you.

When I was younger, I had several valuable lessons in the value of just doing something I feared -- first, from a college professor who later became a dear friend and later, from a gruff co-worker who urged me onward.

When I was a college journalism student, I was terribly anxious about doing an interview. I cried during my first major interview assignment (with a very sweet and compassionate young Broadway star named David Jones, before he became Davy Jones of the Monkees). My professor looked over my tear-stained interview notes with a faint smile. "If you're willing to fight your fear, I'll be right there with you," she said. "You're going to do twice as many interviews as the other students. Maybe next time, you won't cry as much. Maybe the time after, you won't cry at all. And maybe eventually you'll even enjoy interviewing people." And, with her help, all of that came to pass.

A few years later, back in Los Angeles, my anxiety about driving kept me off the busy L.A. freeways, which added considerable time to my commute to work. One day, a co-worker who lived nearby asked me for a ride when her car was in the repair shop. She looked aghast when I told her I needed to avoid the freeway. "What???" this transplanted New Yorker barked. "Don't be ridiculous. Just get on the freeway. I'll talk you through it." And so she did, urging me to breathe deeply and keep my eyes on the road. She rode with me for a week. I haven't feared freeways since. And I think of her with quiet thanks whenever I head off on my periodic 500 mile solo drives on a busy, big-rig filled freeway from Phoenix to Los Angeles.


4. Ask yourself "What is this anxiety telling me?" Before you dismiss this with "Just that I'm afraid!" think about it.

Your anxiety may be a call to action. It may be telling you to call for a doctor's appointment if you have worrisome physical symptoms or to find new ways to reach out to an adult child with whom you have a difficult relationship. It may be telling you that procrastination in these instances is not helpful.

Your anxiety could be telling you that you are feeling overwhelmed, perhaps by your own perfectionism. It could be a sign that you need to take a deep breath and then that first step. Or it could be a sign that you're letting a voice from the past predict your performance today.

My friend Jane, for example, has a great deal of social anxiety, dreading parties and meetings. On reflection, she remembered her mother's voice, years ago, observing that "You're just like me. You're so socially awkward. You always say the wrong thing!" Then, examining the evidence from her own life experience, Jane decided that her mother was wrong.

"I'll never be a social butterfly or the life of any party," she told me. "But I'm good enough in social situations. I'm a nice person. I'm a good listener. And that's just fine. When I stop hearing those words of my Mom from long ago and start listening to myself, I'm much less anxious about walking into a room filled with people."

5. Embrace your challenge.  You may need to take it gradually, step by step. My former client Allie had tremendous anxiety about being in airport waiting areas. She didn't fear flying itself. But she felt closed in and near panic in a crowded airport boarding gate area. We worked out a plan -- modified in the wake of 9/11 regulations that precluded her spending time in actual boarding areas. Instead, she went to the nearest airport and sat in crowded areas before the security check-in point. She felt her anxiety rise as crowds swirled around her and practiced deep breathing and affirmations that she was safe. In time, she found that her anxiety decreased considerably and she celebrated with a trip to Hawaii with her husband. She reported that, finally, she was able to fly not simply minus an emotional meltdown, but that she actually enjoyed the experience with her travel-loving husband.

Whether you tackle anxiety-producing situations step by step as Allie did or with a voluntary (or semi-voluntary) leap of faith as I did on the L.A. freeways, you may find that facing your anxiety and overcoming it to meet your own challenges can bring an incomparable feeling of accomplishment and joy!

Thursday, April 27, 2017

Finding Your Voice


It was folded and stashed in a small storage box with other relics from my years in parochial school.

It was a sixth grade essay I had written, completing the sentence "When I Grow Up..."

                                                               



When I grow up, I'm going to cry.

This won't be because my life is sad but because I will be free to express myself and all my emotions in a way I can't today.

My father won't let us cry or express opinions at home. He spanked us for crying when we were babies. We soon learned to keep still. My father is not an evil or unloving man. He simply doesn't seem to be able to admit that emotions are part of all our lives, no matter how young or old we are, and that it's harmful to suppress them. He wants wind-up dolls, little robots, not children. I think he knows he is making a mistake in raising us this way, but is too proud to admit that he is wrong. I feel he loves me as much as he is able, but I still must live up to a standard of perfection I can never meet. I feel sad for my father and for me.

When I grow up, everything will be different. I will not be too proud to admit when I am wrong. I will love my children enough to let them be themselves.

Most of all, I will experience the whole range of my feelings. I will dance for joy on a sun-kissed beach. I will tell people I love just how much I care, not because they meet any expectations of mine, but because they are themselves. I will weep with sadness or simply from the fullness of living my own life completely and honestly as a loving, deeply feeling person. 

Glancing at the unmarked paper, I remembered: my teacher, Sister Mary Clara, didn't give me a grade or credit for this essay because "You didn't follow the assignment." She handed it back to me scornfully with the admonishment "Next time do it right. Say what you're supposed to say."

What I was supposed to say was that I would grow up to be a good Catholic wife and mother or, better still, a nun.

All our lives, there are so many obstacles to finding our authentic voices. There are teachers who want only the expected, canned reply. There are adults who think children should be seen and not heard. Or who correct children who have expressed a strong emotion with the admonition: "You don't really feel that way, do you?" Well, yes. At that moment the child does. I'll never forget the letter I got from a mother when I was working at 'TEEN Magazine and had written an article about communicating with parents. She told me that she had suffered a lot as a child when she was told that her angry feelings were wrong. She said that she had raised her children to speak their minds without punishment, even if it meant saying "I hate you, Mommy!" in a moment of anger. She told me that she had found that hearing all her children's feelings calmly led to resolution, closeness and understanding.

But, all too often, we were not allowed to express our feelings while growing up. It was not okay to speak one's mind, to express an original thought, to diverge too severely from what was considered acceptable.

Sometimes restrictions ease with age. Frankness that might have been shocking earlier on is amusing now. I find that younger people smile indulgently when I use a swear word, express a frank political opinion or make an off-color comment. Of course, this may be because I'm childless. A friend from my college days, visiting California with her teenage grandkids in tow some years ago, suddenly reverted to her own teenage self when she saw me, squealing and rushing toward me with open arms. Her grandchildren cringed in the background, glancing around at other restaurant patrons, and groaning "Oh, Grandma...please...."

So in many phases of our lives, we adapt and quiet our voices.

We learn to speak or write to a specific audience. This adaptation is useful and necessary at times. But, personally, there can be something lost in the process: an opportunity to share our authentic selves.

My parents decided to keep all of my letters from college. There is a big binder for my Northwestern undergraduate years and a smaller one for my fraught time in graduate school there. The other day, I came across that smaller binder and read the letters for the first time in nearly 50 years.

 I was aghast at what I found -- or, rather, what I didn't find.

My mother had said that she was keeping the letters so that I could look back and have these memories close at hand if, sometime in the future I wanted to write a book about these years. What I read in those letters were not my authentic memories. Those are still fresh in my mind, or at least fresh enough to know that what I wrote my parents was not the full story about my life and my experiences.

I left out the most important discoveries and feelings of that tumultuous time --  like what it meant to me to have a friendship with Judge Edith Sampson, an African American woman who rose from an impoverished childhood to become the first black female judge in Illinois and the first black U.S. delegate to the U.N. I met her on my fall quarter assignment to the Chicago courts beat in my graduate reporting class. Somehow a friendship bloomed between this brilliant, accomplished, larger than life woman and one shy, uncertain student journalist. Judge Sampson was so wise, so funny, so compassionate, so outspoken. Whether in her chambers, in the courtroom or at home, she was very much herself. She became a wonderful mentor and friend who coached me through cooking my first Thanksgiving dinner that year and taught me the joy of living with vitality and authenticity.

How could I not have told my parents about Edith Sampson?

But there was so much I left out of my letters.

I left out the true extent of my heartbreak over the man I loved. He cared for me as a friend, but someone else had won his heart and they were getting married soon. Unrequited love notwithstanding, I felt even greater sorrow over the possible loss of his treasured friendship.

 I told them that I had gone to see "Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?" with my Asian-American friend Jeanne and our mutual friend Marie. I told my parents that Tracy and Hepburn were excellent. What I didn't say was that Jeanne got angry and walked out of the movie twenty minutes in, cooling her heels in the lobby and eating popcorn while Marie and I stayed to the end. She told us afterwards that she was angry that a minority person -- in this case, a black man played by Sidney Poitier -- had to be a world-famous surgeon to be even marginally acceptable to his young white fiancee's parents. Marie and I listened as she talked with anger and sorrow about the racism that she observed and experienced on a daily basis. I'll never forget that day or the lesson my beloved, now lifelong, friend taught me.

I recently shared my feelings of disappointment over my grad school letters home with Tim, whose friendship I had so feared losing all those years ago, but who has remained a loving, lifelong friend. "My parents saved all my letters from college, too," he said. "And I knew there was a reason I've never looked at them all these years. I know, without reading them, that they are all on the surface."

Of course, there are times when we can't be totally authentic. There are times when we tailor our remarks to a specific audience of one or many. There are things you don't say to avoid hurting or worrying others.

But for those times when you want or need to speak your mind and all the times in between when you want to be more in touch with your true feelings and true self, how can you hone your authentic voice?

1. Keep a journal:  Keeping a journal is great practice in saying exactly what you think. It may be forever private or simply a warm-up for voicing your feelings and opinions more openly.

2. Let your voice shine through in social media: This could be via Facebook or Twitter or through your own blog.

Some people find tremendous freedom and a spirit of community by sharing feelings -- whether love of animals or political views, personal development or delight over children and grandchildren -- on Facebook or Twitter. And blogging can be a creative outlet where you determine the subject, the tone and the direction of your narrative without interference.

As a professional writer, I never take this for granted. This blog has been an incredible help in giving me the confidence to be myself in a way that was never really possible when I was writing for national magazines and had to please an editor whose point of view might have been quite different from my own. (I still shudder when I think of the editor who exhorted me to "write a funny article about verbal abuse.")

3. Treasure friendships that allow authenticity.  We have all kinds of friendships -- childhood, professional, shared interest focused, warm but distant -- but our best friends encourage and celebrate authenticity. You know who they are. You can put your feet up and dish. You can feel comfortable in their presence even if you don't look or feel your best. You can say things you wouldn't dare say to most others -- feeling free to air your less optimistic as well as hopeful feelings. You can whine and bitch and brag and dream, knowing that your friend loves you as you are -- just as you love him or her.

4. Notice how you feel:  How do you feel when you bite your tongue and keep silent when you really want so much to speak up? How do you feel when you speak your mind in a way others can hear -- not with malice, but from your heart? When you can express yourself in this way, you may have feelings of growing confidence... and comfort within.

I have seen benefits of channeling my authentic voice even when I write on assignment these days. I recently finished writing a book about parent and adult child conflict and estrangement.  WE DON'T TALK ANYMORE will be published by Sourcebooks in October. When she finished reading the manuscript, my editor, Anna Michels, remarked that she loved my "supportive, reasonable, optimistic voice throughout that makes the book both tender and practical."

Yes. She found it: the voice I have always known and valued within. My essence, my authentic voice, is, indeed, both tender and practical.

Finding one's voice can be one of the rewards of age, finding confidence in life experience. It can be empowering and reassuring, an emotional salve for all those times in years past when you needed to be quiet, to stifle yourself, to withstand the criticisms of those who didn't understand or care to know the real you.

So much living and feeling has gone on in my life since Sister Mary Clara refused to accept my essay on growing up all those years ago. I have danced on sun-kissed beaches and have told family and friends how much I cherish them for the unique individuals they are. I have cried in sorrow and in the fullness of being.  And I have loved deeply....now that I've grown up.

Wednesday, March 29, 2017

A Strange Thing About Memory


Memory is a strange thing.

I can't remember what I had for dinner last night or the name of a casual friend I often see at the community center, but....

I can give you the name of every kid who ever threw up in my grade school class, along with the circumstances, the color and consistency of the vomit and who cleaned it up. For example, one day in second grade, Phyllis MacElvoy threw up a prodigious amount of curdled milk through her fingers as she sat in class. My desk was across the aisle from hers, so my view was up close and personal. I was both horrified and mesmerized. When Sister Claudine asked who would like to clean up Phyllis and her desk, hands shot up all around me. I did not volunteer. I was too busy willing myself not to retch along with my classmate.

Those early memories can, indeed, be lasting ones. What do you remember from your early years? How many senses are involved in these memories? Sometimes a memory is simply a sound or a smell.

My widowed paternal grandmother moved her two children from Tucson to Los Angeles when the youngest, Molly, was not quite five years old. In later years, Molly's recollections of Arizona were vague except for her memory of the way the desert smelled after a rain, the air rich with creosote.

What lives on in your memories -- the happy times or the challenging ones?

Some studies have found that negative events and information are more likely to be stored -- and sometimes distorted -- in one's memory than positive events. One study has proposed that this focus on the negative may be a way of enhancing a person's ability to deal with such events should they recur.

But the positive memories from our earlier lives can be lasting and life-enhancing, too.

Sometimes memories are warm -- like those I have of myself at the age of eight, just returning to full-time school after a two-year recovery from polio. I recall walking around the school playground holding onto the sash of Sister Mary Virginia's habit, feeling safe and reassured by her loving presence. Only a few months ago, still a nun but now using her birth name of Rita McCormack, this beloved lifelong friend told me that seeing me so small and vulnerable, standing by myself on the playground, brought back memories of her own childhood: being out of school for two years as she battled TB and the pain of going back to school to classmates who had all but forgotten her. And she had reached out to me from her own painful memories as I struggled to fit in.

Sometimes the memories start out painful but become positive. One moment from my college years has lingered for decades in my memory. It was a windy, bone-chilling day in January and, as I stomped through the snow to class, I was thinking how tired I was of the pressures of putting myself through school, struggling to keep my grades up so that I didn't lose my scholarship, dealing with the rigor of a challenging program and the angst of being perpetually lovelorn. "I'll never forget how hard this was. Ever!" I muttered to myself as I stomped along the icy sidewalk. "I'll never become one of those nostalgic alums!"

I was certain at the time that I would always remember my college years as a time of hardship and existential loneliness. But my recollections of those years have expanded over time. Now my memories of Northwestern are largely about life-changing lessons learned both in and out of the classroom and of special friends from that era -- some of them close, lifelong friends -- who are evidence that I was never really alone in facing the challenges of my young life. I haven't forgotten the financial pressures of that time nor the pain of unrequited love. But I've grown in gratitude for what I did have and the blessings I continue to enjoy because I chose to go to Northwestern. And I'm happily looking forward to attending my 50th college reunion in the fall.

The fact is, our memories are changeable, influenced by a variety of factors, including naturally occurring distortions. Dr. Daniel L. Schacter, a noted research psychologist, has noted that "Memory is inherently a reconstructive process whereby we piece together the past to form a coherent narrative that becomes our autobiography. In the process of reconstructing the past, we color and shape our life's experiences based on what we know of the world."

In his research, Dr. Schacter has identified several types of common distortions. There is "imagination inflation" that can range from someone remembering a real event with some embellishments that they are certain did occur to having a false recollection of an experience that did not occur. Sometimes imagination inflation will shape a memory to match a person's current self-image. Other distortions: remembering the gist of an experience but forgetting specific details and recalling post-event misinformation which can lodge stubbornly in memory along with the real event.

Sometimes these distortions can lead to family conflicts over what happened -- or didn't happen -- in the past. In the best case scenario, we can listen to each other's differing memories with with love and an open mind, viewing divergent memories as a learning opportunity. Listening to the way a loved one views the past and how this colors his or her world view can be a chance to get to know him or her in a while new way. It can also be a chance to look back with greater understanding of family conflicts and how these might have started long ago.

And as we age, our memories become a new concern. Why is it that long-term memories seem so secure while short-term memories can be so fleeting? It has to do with our aging brains.

After peaking in the early twenties, brain volume gradually decreases. By the forties, people begin to notice that they're not quite as good at remembering new names. As we grow older, multi-tasking doesn't come as easily as before. Decreased blood flow to the brain, especially to the hippocampus, can make new memories harder to retain. And we become more forgetful.

While we may joke about "senior moments", there is always that fear that memory lapses mean the beginnings of dementia. Most of the time, our lapses are due to age-related forgetfulness: losing keys, forgetting the names of acquaintances, or walking into a room and wondering "Why did I come in here?" These lapses, in general,  don't interfere with our ability to function effectively in our daily lives -- from household and hygienic tasks to professional activities and social interactions.

Those with dementia, on the other hand, struggle with everyday tasks, suffer from disorientation, an inability to make rational choices or to recognize the reality of their situation or, eventually, even some of those close to them.

One of the clearest descriptions of senior moments vs. dementia that I have heard is this: "Forgetting where you put your keys happens to everyone but forgetting how keys are used and what they're for is a sign that you may well have dementia."

Another observation: those who worry about losing it are usually fine. Many of those with dementia have no sense that anything is wrong with them. They may blame others for the changes in their lives. A friend of mine who suffered from Alzheimer's, for example, was outraged that his wife wouldn't let him drive and he often talked about needing to look for a job.

Perhaps such lack of awareness is protective. Being aware that you have cognitive deficits and possible dementia is devastating. I once had a neighbor who was a well-known research psychologist and in the early stages of Alzheimers when he and his wife moved into our community. He spoke to me several times about his feelings -- ranging from joking ("Can you lend me some brain cells today?") to deep depression ("If I had the courage, I would kill myself.") And, more recently, a close friend's husband who is suffering from advanced Parkinson's and dementia told his wife during a painful, lucid moment that "I can accept not being able to walk and spending the rest of my life in a wheelchair. What I really can't accept is the fact that I'm losing my mind."

His grief and fear resonates with many of us. The tragedy and terror of dementia has touched many of our lives, as we have watched beloved relatives or friends suffer, and can haunt our dreams with fears for our own future.

While research continues to look for causes and more effective treatments for dementia, we do know that, even as we age, there is so much we can do to help our brains stay younger.

We know, for example, that staying physically active -- even simply taking a daily walk -- can help that blood flow to the brain. One recent study found that the least sedentary of subjects over 65 had the lowest risk for dementia while the most physically inactive subjects had a dramatically higher risk for Alzheimer's disease, comparable to those with a gene mutation that carries a high risk for Alzheimer's.

Learning new things -- a new language, a musical instrument, brain-challenging activities like Scrabble and crossword puzzles -- can help. So can getting enough sleep, avoiding smoking, and having a supportive network of friends and family.

Living a healthy, active, social lifestyle can help our brains -- and our bodies -- to work better and longer. There are no guarantees, of course. But taking these steps can enhance our lives in so many ways as we grow older.

In the meantime, it's not at all unusual to find that while we have an endless variety of long-term memories, more immediate ones can be ephemeral.

Like so many my age, I have these vivid flashes from long ago: barfing grade school classmates, the look on my father's face when he discovered that, at age three and trying to be helpful, I had polished the kitchen floor with my mother's cold cream and all the words to the Bucky Beaver jingle for Ipana toothpaste back in the Fifties ("Brusha, brusha, brusha with the new Ipana, with the brand new flavor! It's dandy for your teeeef!")

My memory is amazing, indeed.

But...has anyone seen my keys?

Saturday, March 11, 2017

Simplifying Life

I was leaving the lap pool just as she was arriving. She smiled at me.

"Have a good workout?"

"Yes! Made it to an hour of non-stop laps today!"

She gave me a thumbs up. "Isn't it wonderful to be able to make the time to do good things for ourselves, after all those years of putting others first?" she said.  "We're simplifying our lives to focus on our own health and well-being...and it feels wonderful!" With that, she slipped into the pool, breast-stroking down the lane with energy and gusto.

I thought about her words, about how life changes for so many of us as we age. It isn't a matter of becoming self-obsessed oldsters, but of paring life down to the essentials and letting what no longer fits, what no longer matters, fall away.

I've noticed interesting, small changes in the routines of our lives. After giving me a handmade knitted trivet, our next door neighbor Judith, so talented with hand crafts, asked "Remember what this is for?  I no longer make assumptions. So many people here don't cook anymore."

She's right. I recall Bob's moment of disappointment when I brought home a single-serving bag of frozen brussels sprouts (Bob's favorite) and he noticed that the bag wasn't steamable, that the vegetables would have to be taken out of the bag and placed in a microwave-safe dish for cooking. I remember, too, recently being at the local supermarket and tempted by a ready-to-eat package of hard-boiled eggs. I was brought back to frugal reality by the scorn of our neighbor Marsha, standing there watching me examine the package. "Oh, for heaven's sake!" she said. "Just buy a dozen goddam eggs. I'll boil them for you if you want. Paying for pre-cooked eggs is just plain crazy." I agreed reluctantly...thinking to myself that the concept of pre-cooked, pre-peeled eggs in a convenient zip-lock package didn't seem quite as crazy to me as it did to Marsha, who happens to be considerably younger than I am.

I've noticed meal-time routines changing. Many of us no longer have big formal meals, but smaller meals (or bigger snacks) throughout the day. Many eat in their lounge chairs or off t.v. trays or the coffee table instead of convening in the the dining room. In my friend Mary's house, she and her husband still say grace, still talk and laugh with love as they sit together in the living room with their meals.

In some cases, our homes have changed. Some friends have decluttered -- giving away family heirlooms now rather than later and throwing out or donating the items that no one wants. Some are downsizing. My friend Tim has moved from a spacious suburban house to an urban studio apartment -- and loves the change. He no longer owns a car and walks to his nearby office, to church, to shopping and to visit friends and family. He has lost weight in the process and is enjoying improved health and energy.

Some of us are simplifying by eliminating habits and routines that used to feel essential. For some of us, makeup, panty hose and fancy dresses have given way to pantsuits, shorts and capris. Even for those who wouldn't dream of leaving the house without makeup, hairstyles have shortened and simplified for easier care.

Some of us have tamed the alarm clock habit by listening to our body rhythms and getting up when we feel like it or, if alarms are still necessary in our lives, opting for the gentle vibrations of a Fitbit silent alarm or a musical wake-up.

We don't care as much what others think of us -- casting off the burden of being trendy in favor of embracing what we like and prefer.

We're less likely these days to get unnecessarily immeshed in the lives of others with hurtful gossip or with unsolicited advice. This doesn't mean that we've stopped caring about others. We've simply learned that there are two sides to every story, that gossip accomplishes nothing constructive and that adult children, more often than not, prefer to handle their own problems and life decisions on their own. We're scaling down our need to be directive and becoming more supportive of others in our lives.

There are fewer names on our Christmas card lists and, perhaps, fewer birthdays to remember as the generation before us passes on and even a number of same-age friends are deceased. This less happy simplification of life does have a quiet upside: we're treasuring the family and friends we have left even more.

When we were younger, it seemed that we -- and those we loved -- would live forever. Now we know that we all have limited time to enjoy each other. With the family and friends we still have, we have new motivation to say those loving thoughts too often left unspoken and to give of ourselves in ways we always meant to but were just too busy, too distracted or too embarrassed before.

As times marches on, we're learning when to be quiet and when to speak up -- not complicating our lives with hurt feelings over pointless arguments. We've learned what is worth a fight and what can be let go.

There are so many advantages to simplifying in our own individual ways.

Cutting down on the needless tasks, clutter and routines in our lives gives us more time and energy to concentrate on what matters to us. What matters is a very personal decision and insight. You may find that certain people in your life matter more than ever. You may find, on the other hand, that impressing others matters much less. You may have found peace in letting go of dreams of extensive travel and now savor chances to grow and learn where you are -- perhaps by enjoying online courses from around the world or by simply listening to the experiences and insights of those around you.

Caring less what others think of us gives us the emotional space to think of others more, to listen instead of planning a response. It frees us to be ourselves in new ways, to grow in self-acceptance and self-awareness.

Simplifying today enables us to tidy up our lives before the next generation has to. This may mean looking ahead and making our own decisions while we still can: signing advance health directives, updating wills or trusts, making our final wishes known (preferably in writing) to close family members or friends. It may mean cleaning out those closets and attics, giving away heirlooms now, pruning our belongings to the ones that matter most to us. Doing all of this can lead to our own peace of mind and free us to not have to think of all of these matters again. It can also be a gesture of love and generosity to those who follow us.

Simplifying life can also give us time to reflect on what our lives have meant. When no longer dashing around trying to do it all and be it all on a daily basis -- a gourmet cook, a globe trotter, an all-around impressive person -- we can eliminate a lot of the noise and distraction to notice the themes, the challenges and the triumphs, both large and small, that have made our lives uniquely meaningful.


Sunday, February 26, 2017

Parents of Adult Children: Can You Hear Yourself?

Have you ever heard yourself saying something to your adult child that sounded alarmingly like your mother? Or a cringe-worthy comment that seemed to come out of nowhere? Or something that sprang from hurt feelings to your lips without thought or filter?

Many of us have those moments when we say something we instantly regret. But some parents seem unable to hear themselves and then wonder why their adult children are keeping a distance.

Not long ago, I saw a reality t.v. performance by a mother that defied even the sometimes outrageous reality t.v. norm.

It was on an HDTV house hunting show.  A young couple had made the decision to use their relatively modest lottery windfall to buy a house for the young man's mother and stepfather (who were renting a tiny apartment). This young couple, by the way,  was living in very modest circumstances and expecting a baby within the next month.

The mother/mother-in-law's behavior during house-hunting made for provocative reality television, but was Exhibit A of the kind of older parent who tends to drive adult children away.  There appeared to be little gratitude for the sacrifice the young people were making. The mother simply accepted their generosity as her due and challenged their request to keep the price of the selected home under $300,000 with "Don't you care about your mother that I shouldn't get what I want?" What she wanted was a house that cost more than $500,000.

When her son politely reminded her of their financial limits, she urged him to "be a man" and to stand up to his wife, the person she was convinced was standing between her and her dream home. She threw in a number of divisive comments about her daughter-in-law, questioning her authority to have any kind of a say in this matter ("Because, after all, I'm your MOTHER!"), diminishing her spirit of family and generosity by waving away reminders that this young couple was choosing to do without so that she could own her first home.

It was obvious that this woman viewed herself and her son as family, her daughter-in-law as an interloper and her second husband as someone somewhat in between. She felt her son owed her big time and scoffed at the notion of gratitude. It was only after her husband finally intervened and reminded her that she was, indeed, blessed with a son and daughter-in-law who would give her such a gift that she decided on a perfectly acceptable $264,000 house that she had rejected previously and, somewhat subdued, thanked the young couple.

It made me wonder what she would have to say when something went wrong, when the first house repair came up? Would this be "the house that selfish wife of yours forced me to take!" or will she remain grateful, counting her considerable blessings?

Who knows?

But this show reminded me of the many times I have heard parents speak to their adult children with words unfiltered by present realities.

So many times parents -- often unwittingly -- speak before they edit themselves, revealing troubling feelings of ownership, of primacy, of betrayal in their relationships with adult children.

What about the words of a mother to her just-married daughter ready to leave for a Hawaiian honeymoon: "You always said you'd take ME to Hawaii! Seems you've forgotten..."

Another mother to her son while making Christmas plans meant to leave his wife of two years completely out of the family celebration: "Let's have a holiday with just us...just family... doesn't SHE have a family to go visit?"

Yet another mother to an adult son, disappointed that he and his live-in fiancee are busy decorating their new condo to their taste: "But I expected you'd have ME decorate your place. After all, I'm your mother!"

And, finally, a father speaking to a young adult child: "You're making so many stupid mistakes and here's why and here's what you should do."

Some parents feel that their role entitles them to a lifetime of telling it like it is and sharing unfiltered thoughts with their adult children. While it can be a comfort and a blessing to be authentic with each other over the years, there are limits when it comes to adult children. Speaking without thinking, without being sensitive to the realities of their lives, can build barriers instead of continuing warm ties between you and your adult children. What may make perfect sense to you may sound and feel outrageous and insensitive to your adult child.

So how can you be yourself without offending?

1. Think before you speak: What will the words you're planning to say accomplish? What are your intentions?  Do you want to be helpful -- or are you looking to hold onto the power in your relationship?

My friend Jan has difficulty stopping herself from giving her 28-year-old daughter Amelia, whose tastes are much more casual than her mother's,  fashion and grooming advice. "It's just that she would be so pretty with just a little effort," she protests while bemoaning her daughter's emotional distancing tactics. We discussed the fact that Amelia has different priorities, that continuing to focus on her physical appearance simply perpetuates a years-long conflict between mother and daughter. Jan sighed. "I know," she said. "It's a conflict between what I want for her and what she wants for herself. She wants to be seen as intelligent and accomplished. Whenever I forget what she wants and think about what I'd like to see, my words come between us. I mean, in some ways, just fixing her hair seems like such a small thing. But coming from me...the way she hears it is no small thing. Most of the time, I catch myself. But sometimes I slip and I always regret it."

I nodded with understanding. It's so easy to forget and, with all the best of intentions, to say something that feels offensive or intrusive to a young adult.

Though I have no children of my own, I love some of the children of close friends unconditionally and intensely. One of my most beloved, the daughter of my best friend from college, is in her late thirties and giving a lot of thought to the directions she would like her life to take both personally and professionally. Several years ago, I remember her asking me how I felt about being childless. It's not an easy question to answer since being childless was not a life goal for me but something that simply evolved over time due to a number of choices I made in my thirties. I told her that, from my current perspective, I regretted being childless very much and that I sometimes felt that I had made a critical mistake in putting my career first and foremost when I was young. Several years later, as we were talking about her sisters who have started families and the joys of being an involved auntie, I heard myself asking her if being an auntie would be enough or if she might be thinking of starting a family of her own. There was a fleeting look of shock and pain in her eyes and I realized that my question was unintentionally intrusive. It's one thing to ask about past decisions as she had and quite another to ask about future plans. I apologized and explained that I asked only because she had seemed curious about the experience of not having children. She smiled. We were back on track. She said "I'd like to have a child. Or to adopt. Or both. And I love being an aunt. That's enough for now. If anything changes, I'll let you know right away!" Our eyes met. We smiled warmly, fondly at each other. And I knew that, while I would be happy to hear any news or insights she has in the future about having children or not, I would never again initiate a discussion of this topic with her.

2. Let go of being central: When your child was little and dependent, you were the center of his or her universe. But your child grew up -- just as he or she was meant to -- and now things have shifted. And so many conflicts can come from forgetting this reality and assuming that nothing has changed.

Feeling the need to be central, you might hear yourself giving unasked for advice or making critical comments about an adult child's significant other in a conspiratorial tone. You might make assumptions that are no longer valid: planning trips for just the two of you when your adult child's life has expanded to include a spouse; demanding time and attention that your adult child, who has grown into new roles and commitments, can no longer give.

While some parents bemoan no longer being central as being relegated to the sidelines, it's more constructive to look at this another way: as having a front row seat to cheer your son or daughter on.

3. Edit your comments and soften your approach. You feel you really need to say something before your adult child makes a terrible mistake -- whether he or she is planning a romantic commitment or preparing for an important job interview. You may be tempted to scream "Nooooo! Don't do it!!!" or to say "You're going to say what if your interviewer asks you about your previous job experience?" Think about how such expressions of maternal or paternal concern will be heard. You may make more of an impression -- or find a way to reassure yourself -- with a quieter approach. Ask a question like "I'd really like to get a feeling for Jake from your point of view. What do you enjoy most about him? What do you imagine he'll be like in ten years or twenty? When you dream of a future together, what is it like?" Or if you feel compelled to give advice, ask first. Ask "Would you like some advice for your interview or do you feel pretty confident that you're well prepared?" And if you do give advice, make it a quiet suggestion, building on your adult child's ideas, rather a than mandate for action from your point of view.

4. Keep quiet.  Sometimes the wisest of parents keep quiet, while crossing their fingers that all will go well with a beloved adult child.

"My advice to other mothers of adult children?" smiles Kim, a friend with two grown daughters. "Shut up and pray! You can't help but worry and want to intervene in all that concerns them. But nine times out of ten, it's best to step back and simply hope and pray for the best. They have to make their own mistakes and find their own way -- just as you did!"

My friend Tim looked surprised when asked if he had offered any career management advice to one of his daughters. "Oh, no," he said. "I have confidence that she will make wise decisions and that if she makes a mistake, she'll learn from it. I would only give advice if she specifically asked for it. There is great value in working her career issues out in her own way and in her own timeframe." This father, by the way, enjoys excellent relationships with his adult children.

5. Apologize for verbal transgressions.  Love of any kind means saying you're sorry - over and over. So when you upset an adult child with an off-the-cuff comment or unasked for advice, apologize. Making excuses like "A mother should be able to say anything to her child!" or "I'm your mother. Who else is going to tell you the truth?" can only escalate the conflict. Sometimes you need to go beyond a simple "I'm sorry!"

A few years ago, my husband Bob and our beloved "surrogate son" Ryan, who came into our lives as Bob's Little Brother in the Big Brother's program when he was nine years old and who has become like a son to us in the years since, was visiting us from California when he and Bob got into a heated conflict. It began with Ryan telling a story about a parking ticket. Bob jumped on him about his need to take more responsibility and continued to nag him about some work decisions and lifestyle choices. Too stung to engage in further conversation,Ryan went to bed early. The next morning, as he was getting ready to fly home, he joked about their conflict and the fact that they had only clashed once in the three day visit. But I could see sadness and pain in his eyes. So could Bob. He told him that he was sorry. But that didn't seem to be enough. After Ryan left, Bob sat down and wrote him a heartfelt email, apologizing further, expressing his love and his confidence in Ryan as a young adult excelling in a difficult field and facing several significant life challenges at the time. Ryan called him as soon as he read it, telling him how much his opinions mattered, how deep his hurt had been and his joy in seeing Bob's love and vote of confidence for him in the email. Don't ever assume that your child just knows you love him or admire her achievements. Let him or her know. And when there is conflict, be the first to apologize, even if you're convinced that what you said was right.

It's important for your adult child to know that your words come from love...and that conflicts are resolved with love. There are so many ways to show this love. Sometimes, a well-thought out comment is the loving thing. Other times, you can show your love most by keeping quiet, by ceding the spotlight, and by recognizing your adult child's growing competence and power over his or her own life.