About Giving

“I like to give until it feels good.”

I read that quote from a nonprofit volunteer and thought, “Huh.” Is that kind of philanthropy really giving – or is it simply scratching an ego-itch?

Why do we give money to the needy? Why do we give volunteer time to charities? Why do we help elderly people carry heavy packages … or whatever else it is we do out of the alleged kindness of our hearts?

Philanthropy. Charity. Both words grow from the same linguistic root: the idea of unselfish love towards other humans. It is the virtue that is the foundation of all others, at least according to St. Thomas Aquinas. But if I’m doing something because it feels good… what’s love got to do with it? If I’m doing it because it makes me look like a virtuous person – at least in my own eyes, if not in the opinion of others – is it a virtue at all?

I have loved a lot of people, not always completely unselfishly. But I can tell you this – real love requires the willingness to do something that is 100% for the other person and 0% for my own benefit. And, frankly, the only way to know whether that willingness is the real thing is to do the unselfish thing I claim I am willing to do.

Let’s do that this season… do one thing that is 100% for someone else’s benefit. I suspect we will find it impossible, because even when we are cold and tired and covered in other people’s unappreciative nastiness, we do find ourselves on the receiving end of our very own benefit. Somehow, we realize we are connecting with something deeper than ourselves.

When we don’t have that connection, then we discover that we are simply incapable of loving unselfishly, because this kind of love-philanthropy-charity doesn’t come from within ourselves. It originates in a much grander reality than what our physical eyes and ears can capture. But, somehow, our hearts know.

During this holiday season, whatever holiday it is we observe, may we each connect with that which flows out of us as selfless love. At least once.

"Mommy, look!!"

I heard a very young voice speak that phrase yesterday and was struck by how some of us never really outgrow the impulse to share things with our parents, hoping they will be just as thrilled as we feel. My parents have now been gone for a few years, but whenever something new and good happens in my professional or personal life, I still start to reach for the phone to call them.

And then I started hoping that each of my kids will feel that way too as they continue their journeys through adulthood. I don’t need to be the first phone call they make, but I hope I’m the kind of mother and mentor that rewards those calls with encouragement and shared excitement. That may seem like stating the obvious – doesn’t every parent react that way? Uh… no.

As I grew older, there seemed to be more areas of my life that my parents simply did not “get.” Even if I had good news, I couldn’t share it with them because, at best, they would look confused. At worst, they would question why I was even involved in the activity in the first place. And their questioning had less to do with genuine curiosity than with poorly-veiled criticism about those things that are so important to me. Volunteerism comes to mind… philanthropy…. and anything connected with faith. My mom had religion, my dad had no faith until his final years, and my version of faith was simply a foreign concept which they did not try to understand.

I never really got used to that. I accepted that my extrovert mother would never understand my introvertedness. Why, yes, I do realize that’s not a word. At least it wasn’t before now. :) And I knew neither of them saw the fun in playing with words – or teddy bears. That was okay. Not being able to talk to them about my most important values was not okay. I sometimes feel that way with my adult kids, but I still invite them to enter my world now and then. I guess I'm either more courageous or less inhibited than I used to be; I stopped offering my parents those tentative, shy invitations long before I hit my thirties.

I was sure they would be excited when I announced my plans to go to graduate school. After all, education was just about their highest value. My mom was pleased, mostly because she had her own ideas of what I would do with the degree. My dad was more cautious. He shocked me by telling me it was not a good idea for a wife to be more educated than her husband. I had never heard him speak a single sexist word before! He meant well, but this was a traumatic moment for me – shaking the foundation of my understanding of who my father was.

I suppose parents and adult children will rarely, if ever, share identical sets of values. To be able to encourage each other even in the places where our journeys diverge: that is love. And it is grace. I guess this ability is one of the things I would like to be remembered for – by my kids, my friends, my siblings, my husband, my colleagues, my clients, my students…. Please keep inviting me into your world, even if my response is sometimes less than what you had hoped for.

Reasons, Purpose & Power

“There is a reason for everything.” Really? It seems that every year I hear more voices added to that chorus, find more occasions where a tragedy is explained, even minimized, by people saying it happened “for a reason.” Well, that’s one philosophy, and I’m not sure I agree. Please bear with me as I think about this with my fingers on the keyboard…

What I disagree with is the idea that the tragedy in question was fore-ordained, was purposefully part of some divine plan…. People use the word “reason” to mean “purpose”, and imply that the purpose preceded the event. Hmmm. The only alternative they can imagine – it seems – is that the event is insignificant, no matter how tragic and painful. That’s just bad thinking, at least in my book.

Why? Because purpose does not always come first. Take the story of Candy Lightner, who founded Mothers Against Drunk Driving (MADD) in 1980 after her daughter was killed by a repeat drunk driver. Why? Because that is what had to happen in order for her to start an organization whose efforts have helped cut drunk driving fatalities in half? No!!!! It happened because some idiot got drunk and once again got behind the wheel. Period. That’s the dark side of life – things happen because human beings are by nature stupid, irresponsible, selfish, and short-sighted. Does that sound harsh? Well, it is. I suspect seeing your daughter’s mangled body in the morgue is pretty harsh too – but it’s the truth.

But the dark side is not the only side. Human beings can also be courageous, visionary, selfless, and heroic. And when a tragedy happens, we can THEN find a purpose. We can say, “because this happened to me, I now have the sensitivity/knowledge/ability to help others, and I must.” That’s what Lightner and many others have done. They purposefully found a purpose for their tragedies – but I don't believe that is the “reason” that those things happened in the first place. Instead of asking “why did this happen?” which does not always have a useful answer, they asked “what can I do now to make things better?” By doing so, they took their power back, they said, in effect, “This tragedy will not destroy me – it will propel me to save others.” Loss is no less meaningful, and no less powerful, because it didn’t happen as part of some divine plan. But it can be redeemed.

What are we waiting for?

"What are you waiting for? You're faster than this. Don't think you are, know you are. Come on. Stop trying to hit me and hit me." -- Morpheus in the Matrix

I’ve been struggling lately with a situation that is so common it may be reaching epidemic status: healthy, talented people who fail to grow up. I don’t get it. As Morpheus would say, they're faster than this. Many people are independent adults by the time they reach their twentieth birthdays; there’s nothing particularly impressive about that. But the older I get, the more otherwise really cool folks I come across who are in their twenties, thirties, even fifties and sixties, and yet still need help taking care of their own basic needs. Sometimes I hear these very people complain about not having a spouse or children. Maybe it’s just me, but it seems that someone who hasn’t figured out how to keep a roof over their heads or how to maintain more than casual relationships probably shouldn't be wishing for their very own dependent.

But it’s not those unfulfillable fantasies that perplex me, it’s the very fact that someone would want to stay so stuck for so long. Pediatricians have a term for kids that stop growing, they call it failure to thrive. So many adults I have met have failed to thrive… they survive day to day and year to year but that’s all they are doing: surviving. Well, surviving and complaining, and wishing and sighing and staying stuck.

What to do? Children who fail to thrive sometimes have to literally be taught how to eat, because they may not have developed the muscles used in chewing and swallowing. I guess we need to do something similar when working with adults who have failed to thrive, failed to grow up. Mind you, most of them eat food just fine, it is probably the feeding of their mind and the exercising of their character that needs help. So I’ve developed the following handy checklist you can use if you are either (gasp!) identifying with my description or you love someone who fits the failure-to-thrive profile:

1) Is the majority of the information/entertainment/media product that goes into my mind junk? Would I rather stop putting that junk in my head and start growing up or is the junk so fascinating it is worth my staying stuck? If I choose to stay stuck, am I at least willing to admit that and quit whining to others about the situation I have chosen?

2) Do I put little, if any, nourishing stuff in my head? When was the last time I actually learned something useful? Have I learned enough useful things that I am worth hiring? Marrying?

3) Do I allow myself to be in situations that are socially uncomfortable? Like physical exercise, many things that are uncomfortable actually lead to growth. Do I run from relationships the second I feel discomfort or do I work through the discomfort in order to grow as a friend – employee - relative – future spouse? Do I run from jobs (or job opportunities) the moment I feel uncomfortable or do I learn new job skills, time management, self-discipline, organizational, social and communication skills in order to either get better at the current job or qualify for another one?

4) Am I constantly playing at something or do I give myself time to really digest what is going on, to study my circumstances, relationships, and reactions? What frantic, unproductive activity should I rest from?

5) Honestly: am I still waiting for somebody to spoon-feed me or am I figuring out how to do it myself, that is, figuring out how to meet my own needs in constructive, healthy ways?

I've been through enough birthdays to know this: no knight in shining armor, no fairy godmother, no pill-offering Morpheus will appear one day to cause instant wisdom, instant maturity, instant job-readiness, spouse-readiness or parenting-readiness. They won’t. So I wonder - what can we as a community do to encourage self-discipline, to better value the ability to endure discomfort, to more consistently reward those who engage in the process of growing up and to quit making it easy for so many to stay in the matrix - in the illusion that it is okay to fail to thrive?

Lindsay Lohan - Victim?

My first reaction to today's news? There are times when I want to beat my head against the wall because that would hurt less than the insanity that surrounds us. This was one of those times. I understand that Lindsay Lohan is an addict, that there is no telling what she would actually say if she was in her right mind, and that she probably wouldn’t claim to be a victim if she was thinking clearly. Okay, that’s about as much grace as I can muster right now.

What makes me want to scream is the fact that this is only the echo of the whining I have heard over and over again throughout my life from people who want to be pitied and saved instead of just growing up. It’s hard work to grow up. It takes a lifetime. But we can shorten that process by simply asking ourselves, “How am I responsible for this mess? What can I control in order to clean up the mess? How can I avoid this quandary in the future?” Sometimes the answer includes getting professional help. Trust me, Just Do It.

Now, the “system” is sending Lohan to jail with a long list of “prescription” drugs to help her ease the pain of this “cruel and unusual punishment” for repeatedly driving under the influence of various substances and quite literally telling the court F U. I don’t have all the answers, for Lohan or anybody else. I just don’t think this is it.

I’m pretty much out of grace for self-appointed “victims” quoting the Geneva Convention instead of doing something to help the people that really can’t help themselves. That’s one of the main areas where I’m still trying to grow up myself – grace. It’s partly because I figured out that if I could take off the “HELLO – My Name is Victim” badge … so can every other person who has been victimized in some way –whether real or perceived.

There is a new name badge waiting for those of us who are willing to let go of the victim identity. It reads: HELLO – My Name is Hope.

On happiness

I came across an interesting quote today from an author named Margaret Runbeck: "Happiness is not a station to arrive at, but a manner of traveling." At first glance, I like it. Then I got to thinking… something is wrong here. See, as we travel through life we run into and across misfortune. Pain, death, violence, injustice. Should I travel through those lands riding the “happiness” express?

Come to think of it, are we REALLY endowed by our Creator with certain inalienable rights that include the “pursuit of happiness”? And then I realized… of course! What the word meant to Runbeck 70 years ago or to our founding fathers back in the eighteenth century was not what the word has come to mean today. Now, the idea of happiness goes something sort of like this: a state where nothing is missing, hurting or wrong and everything – absolutely everything – is pleasurable and exciting!

Hundreds of years ago, the word happiness meant a pleasant and contented mental state. Today, we use “happy” when we’re talking about bliss, which according to the Random House Dictionary is an unalloyed happiness or supreme delight. Contentment, on the other hand, is a peaceful kind of happiness in which one rests without desires, even though every wish may not have been gratified. Consider the pursuit of contentment, about contentment as a manner of traveling. Not very exciting, is it?

I’ve known my share of people intent on pursuing the exciting brand of happiness. They have been persistently disappointed because that state of excitement does not last long. And that discontent is the very engine that drives our consumer culture. We are constantly bombarded with seeds of discontent so that we will go buy something in the effort to be something because what we already have is never good enough - or so they say. I read somewhere that as long as we primarily identify ourselves and others as consumers, we are unable to build true community except with those in our own very narrow economic bracket. That’s a sad and lonely place to be.

Contentment, on the other hand, seems to mark the wise as their constant companion. And so I thought about that as a manner of traveling. When I am at peace with myself and my situation, when I am at rest with the nature of my life, my family, my home, my work – whatever – then I am able to give. When I’m not consumed with grasping for the next shiny thing or hanging on to whatever I’ve managed to accumulate – be it material or interpersonal – then I have open hands with which to give. When I give away goods, services, comfort, instruction, encouragement, companionship… I keep the love (the life-force) flowing. That’s good. And it has never stopped me from improving my work, my home or my relationships.

When my standard becomes Constant Bliss, the love stops and the me-centeredness takes over. That’s not who I want to be, it’s not how I want to travel. I don't want my circumstances in the driver's seat. Give me life, liberty, and the pursuit of contentment. That pursuit is an inner thing; one could say it is a spiritual journey. It’s working for me.

On Motherhood: The Ultimate Perspective-Changer

On the week leading up to Mother’s Day, I found myself pondering Oprah’s recent interview of Ms. Rielle (pronounced a lot like the word “real”) Hunter, a former presidential candidate’s mistress and the mother of the child they conceived while said candidate’s wife was battling cancer.

Here is how one Time magazine columnist described it:
Hunter… has the knack of articulating completely narcissistic and delusional thoughts with a disarming blitheness. She's puzzled that people think her remotely culpable in the affair. For her, the right and obvious thing to do is always to follow "your own truth" and to be really "authentic," even when such authenticity requires you to buy your married lover a secret phone so he can call you without anyone knowing.

What the columnist missed is that Ms. Hunter was still articulating her old belief system while actually living according to the fact that a mother’s decisions are no longer her own – that a mother’s decisions inevitably affect her children. Only a true narcissist can ignore that fact, and Ms. Hunter thankfully isn’t that removed from reality.

This is the truth – the reality – that came out whenever Oprah asked about the contradictions between Ms. Hunter’s personal “truth” and her actions, which included agreeing to lie, at one point telling the world that a different man had fathered her child. Her previous moral compass told her to tell the truth, consequences be damned. But her new identity as a mother caused Ms. Hunter to first think about how her child might feel in the future if this candidate’s daughter one day came to believe that she was to blame for costing her father the presidency.

“My dear,” I wanted to say, in my most sanctimonious elder sister tone of voice, “that is the problem with using yourself as your own moral compass.” A compass that is set to point to me, to my truth, my desires, my preferences, my “needs”, will rarely point to True North. And such a compass will inevitably leave me lost. The trouble with believing that all “truths” are equally valuable is that they are not, at least… not if the consequences matter.

And that has never been more clear – or sadder – than in the case of Ms. Hunter, the once-married Mr. Edwards, and their child. Because in their effort to be “real” to their own selfish desires (that’s right, not “truth” – simple desires), the two new parents caused tremendous pain to many people, not least of which are Mr. Edward’s older children.

Oprah: Do you think you hurt Elizabeth Edwards?
Hunter: She was hurt by the process.

Oprah: You didn't answer the question.
Hunter: Do I think I hurt Elizabeth? Um, you would have to ask Elizabeth that. I don't know.

Oh, BS! I don’t need to ask Elizabeth and neither does Oprah. We don’t need to ask Elizabeth’s children. We don’t need to ask thousands of former John Edwards supporters. And we don’t need to ask the baby. What we do has consequences. That’s the truth that motherhood is beginning to teach Ms. Hunter – that is what is ultimately real, Rielle. At least part of the measure by which we select our moral compass should be the effect that following that compass has on others.

And now, if you will excuse me, I need to go check my own path. What am I leaving behind – as a mother and as a human? Should I be glad that Oprah’s not interested in interviewing me?

The Question That Cripples

I had the chance to chat with some new online friends today. The subject was why humans have to deal with incredibly difficult circumstances like crippling illnesses. So that got me thinking – why do we ask why? I think maybe we think that if there’s a cosmic reason for our hardship then it will still be hard, but it won’t FEEL so unfair or cruel. And, if there is no reason, then we have a right to demand justice, a.k.a. healing. Right?

Do we really get much of a return on the investment of time and energy we put into chasing an answer to the why-question? Frankly, I’ve had much better results from asking the “now what?” question. What do I do in the midst of my circumstance? How much good can I squeeze out of life despite the situation? I ask myself what can I do now – whom can I connect with – that would have been unreachable before I reached my current state of health – finances – whatever.

I have a friend that became a quadriplegic in his late twenties. He’s had to spend some time living in nursing facilities in order to undergo physical therapy away from his hometown. You wouldn’t believe the influence he has had on others within that situation. Before his accident, he would never have set foot in one of those facilities, let alone been taken seriously. Should we throw a party to celebrate his paralysis? Of course not! But we should celebrate his life. We should see beyond his limitations to all the barriers he has broken. I don’t think of him as somebody to be pitied, I think of him as someone to be admired.

And I am so glad he did not waste his life on asking why or on seeking justice. Bitterness is the much greater form of paralysis.

Refuse to be paralyzed by bitterness or self-pity. Refuse to be paralyzed by shame or by pity for the family members who are affected by your condition. Celebrate having one more day to live, one more day to make a difference, one more day to shine through all the crap, all the pain, all the unfairness, all the abuse, all the brokenness, all the loneliness, all the rejection, and all the physical hardships.

Live!

Stuck? Try Gratitude

Poor, poor pitiful me
Poor, poor pitiful me
All these boys won't let me be
Lord have mercy on me
Woe is me
(from a Linda Ronstadt song)

Long, long, ago, in a galaxy far, far, away.... well, not really that far or that long ago but it has been a while... I lived through a difficult situation for many years. During that time, it was easy to feel sorry for myself, constantly keeping track of what was wrong or missing in my situation. It was darn near impossible to count my blessings.

Here's what I did: I recalled words from Desiderata, a poem that says "there will always be greater and lesser persons than yourself" and realized that somewhere out there was someone who was in a worse condition. In fact, I'll bet that for every life there are at least a dozen people somewhere in the world who would give up almost anything in order to have what you have. Maybe you can breathe without an oxygen tank. Maybe you can walk on your own two feet. Maybe you have at least one family member who cares about you. Plenty of others don’t have these gifts.

I decided that I would be the person who most appreciated my life - no matter what was missing or painful or going wrong at the time. That doesn't mean I ignored my problems, or celebrated the misbehavior of others or accepted abuse, only that I found a way to identify and appreciate the areas in which I was blessed within my difficult situation.

Eventually that situation ended and things got better. You would think it would be easy-breezy to count my blessings now! And yes, it is easier, but my human nature still there, still wants to focus on everything that is missing or broken. The difference is that after all those years of disciplining myself to focus on the good, counting my blessings now comes much more naturally. It doesn't come naturally because the situation has changed - it comes naturally primarily because I have changed.

Stepping outside our own circumstances and looking at our situation from the point of view of someone who is much worse off helps us to quickly identify our blessings. You simply assume that there is someone out there who would love to trade places with you and try to imagine who that might be. Then you say "thank you" for at least one area where you are better off than those who have no home, no health, no friends, no family, no job, no dreams, no future. Gratitude is a powerful thing and can be the starting point for getting unstuck and un-miserable.

[You can follow this blog at: http://perspectivemd.blogspot.com/ ]

They Both Begin with “I”

Isolation – an act or instance of detaching or separating so as to be alone.

Interdependence – mutually dependent; depending on each other.

Which is scarier? Your answer speaks volumes about your life until now. We are probably most comfortable with those things that are most familiar. For me, it’s isolation. I kinda like being alone – except for when it feels lonely and I feel overwhelmed – like what’s inside me is simply not enough to handle the world around me. Yet, many avoid being alone like the plague. They need someone – anyone – to distract them from something. Pain? Boredom? Uncertainty? Talking to someone seems to help – except for when it just doesn’t.

Trying to share the load with someone else simply doesn’t work if we insist on still carrying all the weight. Picture this – you and a friend, carrying a sofa from one room to another. You pick up one side but only allow the friend to lay their hands lightly on the other side. You’re not alone – but you’re still isolated, still carrying the whole couch by yourself. Tell me, how’s that working for you?
What’s missing? Interdependence – being willing to trust the other person with their share of the sofa’s weight, while still being trustworthy in carrying your end. That’s the scary part, isn’t it? Daring to trust someone else while also daring to be responsible for someone else’s reciprocal trust?

People were not designed to carry the weight of life by themselves. We also weren’t designed to abdicate all responsibility, forever letting someone else work things out on our behalf. Will those we depend on disappoint us sometimes? Of course! But we disappoint ourselves almost daily, so what’s the difference? The difference is that within interdependence lies the potential for growth; the kind of growth that only comes from confronting our fears and anxieties. Fear of failure. Fear of intimacy. Fear of being really, truly known. Fear of being rejected. Fear of being let down. You know – fear of life.

Take a chance to grow in the presence of another. At least one of you is bound to grow from the experience… and both of you may even grow closer. Close enough to carry the burden together. Close enough to show how truly miniscule the source of our fear usually is, and how majestic the triumph over isolation can be.

When it comes to relationships, “anxiety and fear are feelings we will learn to tolerate, even welcome. They’re signals… that we’re growing.” Louise DeSalvo, “Writing as a Way of Healing”

Will I continue to go solo (I-solate) or dare to trust, to become interdependent with others? And if I choose to partner with you – will I insist on keeping all the decision-making power while you pay the consequences? Or will I really be a partner, one who embraces joint risk and joint growth? It all starts with me - "I".

Heroes R Us

Been thinking about superheroes and justice and why even grownups seem to need both. Can’t say I’ve come to a definitive conclusion, but I’m increasingly convinced of an old hypothesis of mine… that somewhere in our makeup is the need for justice and balance in life.

It’s why I didn’t become a “real” lawyer, you know. Because my view of justice is so darned idealized that no legal system in the world would satisfy me. I could just see myself leaping over the judge’s desk, going after his or her throat after yet another moronic decision not to grant a protective order, or some such thing.

It’s come up recently because of the 23-year-old newlywed who was stalked and killed by an old (old enough to be her grandfather) customer just a few days after a judge postponed the decision on whether to grant her request for a protective order. I'm not blaming the judge and, yes, I know the protective order can only do so much; it’s just the whole idea that pushes me over the edge. Did I mention I have a 23-year-old daughter myself? So this one hit home….

But back to the justice thing… I’m also starting to believe that the reason we are drawn to fictional superheroes is because being a hero is also part of our makeup. Not only is it something we want to be – it’s something we are capable of. Okay, maybe we can’t leap over tall buildings in a single bound, but we can each be a hero to SOMEBODY. The thing is, in order to really help others we have to wrap up our personal pity party. You know the one… where we go over and over everything that’s ever gone wrong, every injury we’ve ever suffered, every time we’ve ever failed. What? You’re gonna tell me I’m the only one? Didn’t think so.

Because I’ve been through certain disasters (large and small), and because I’ve bothered to do the hard work of learning and healing and letting go, I can now bring at least a little hope to others in the middle of their own catastrophes. Sometimes I can even do more than that. I doubt I’ll ever be a bona fide hero, the kind that gets their face on the news and children named after them. And I really don’t care about that.

Here’s what I do care about: when I was about 12, I decided that my life would only have been worthwhile if the world were somehow different due to my existence; at least a little bit different for at least one other person. It was all about justice, you see… I realized even then that over the course of my life I would be consuming a tremendous amount of natural resources and going through a whole lot of pain. It only seemed fair to give back to the world and to turn the pain into something useful.

And then I got older and realized it wasn’t all about me. There’s a funny story that defines an optimist as someone who can look at a pile of manure under the Christmas tree and happily squeal, “With all this poop, there’s got to be a pony in here somewhere!” I see people all the time who are still trapped beneath a pile of life’s manure. Each time, I think, “Having been through all this, there’s got to be a hero in here somewhere!”

Here’s to the hero in you, who recycles the bad cards that have been dealt to you into life and healing and hope for yourself and others. Cheers!

Failing to Love

Blew it already.

So we’re barely into February and I’ve already blown my New Year’s resolution. It’s okay, I just gotta get back on that horse now…

I’ve been thinking lately about failure. Maybe because the concept is mentioned in every other magazine article I see. But it is a legitimate subject for those interested in the development of their character. How do you react to failure – your own or someone else’s? And how do I?

“Resistance is futile” say the Borg in Star Trek land. Actually, we surely should resist failure until it happens. But once it has happened, what’s the point of fretting over it? This from someone who has spent a good chunk of her life kicking herself around the block several times whenever one of her endeavors is less than a total, unqualified success. And yet, I’m learning that failure at least proves I don’t spend my life sitting on my rear, avoiding risk. Guess that’s a good thing, right?

But my character is still somewhat underdeveloped when it comes to handling the failures of others. Let’s try that again. It’s not their failures that bother me, it’s when they feel sorry for themselves afterward and I’m expected to cheer them up. “What? First you fail to help me and now I have to work to cheer you up? Really?”

When, oh when, will I be a more loving person? When will others be able to fail me AND to feel sorry for themselves and still count on receiving my forgiveness and grace and love?

So here I fail, and must resist the urge to feel sorry for myself in the midst of this love-failure. Maybe I need to make another resolution… to resolve (again) to love bigger and better. As for you, if I have failed to love you in your times of failure, please forgive me. Let us both risk again.

Year of Discovery

A colleague on Facebook asked for a word to describe what we want from 2010 – in ONE word! My word for this year is “discovery”. I have to resist the urge to think about stuff before I answer questions like these. Fortunately, I’ve learned (slowly) how to listen to my gut/instinct instead of my overly-analytical brain, but it still takes conscious effort. It’s a bit of mental gymnastics… this thinking about not-thinking… you try it!

So now the aforementioned analytical brain is chewing on that word: discovery. What? You think I can resist thinking/analyzing forever? Thinking is in my blood….

Precisely what do I want to discover this year? Well, what’s next professionally, for one thing. And what’s next in personal relationships, particularly the relationships with my adult kids. But more than the results of this discovery, I’m looking forward to the process.

I hate not knowing what’s next. Hate it! That’s because there have been too many painfully unpleasant surprises in my life. But wonderful things have also happened, so I choose to look at the coming year through those lenses instead… anticipating the good surprises to come. If there’s one thing life has taught me is that I will be able to roll through the nasty stuff, get back up, and dust myself off – with the help of friends and family and others who are rooting me on. If you are one of those – thank you for helping me learn to have faith in the uncertain future. It’s been a long, hard road.

It's About Time

So I’m a week late…. I was busy! Today I’m thinking about New Year’s resolutions because I have finally come up with mine. And every year I ask myself “Why am I even DOING this?” I mean, year after year, more often than not, I tend to keep resolutions for only a few days. But after several dozen new years of asking myself that question… by golly, I think I’ve got it!

I believe we humans make resolutions because we desperately need hope. It’s the oxygen of our souls. In our culture, the end of one year tends to prompt a review of everything that happened in the past twelve months. Well, crap. Most of the time, this is just too much. Maybe a whole lot of good stuff happened that we are now afraid to lose, or we’re afraid we won’t “live up to” the previous year. Yeah, right. More often, this review of all the messes is what turns our stomach. And now the clouds start to gather: what if next year is just as bad?

It’s a good thing we didn’t go through all the bad stuff at once, huh? But then, in the year-end review, we re-experience it all in the space of a minute, overwhelming ourselves. So… quick!!!! We reach for something, anything, that will help us feel like we have some sort of control over the new year. Why do I resolve to exercise? Well, yeah, I want the fitness benefits of exercise, but that’s not what I usually get, because I don’t stick with it. Usually, I have settled for the HOPE that I will lose the weight, breathe easier, or whatever. That’s right, I could have the real thing (health) but I settle for what I need the most at the moment (hope).

That’s kind of like being happy with monopoly money instead of working for the real thing. So should we just give up on hope? No, of course not. That’s like not breathing. Let’s see if this year I have finally come up with a real resolution instead of a something-that-gives-me-hope resolution. Stay tuned -- and stay hopeful.

Brave New World... and a Fascinating One Too

So yesterday was my first birthday after joining Facebook. I've lost track of how many birthday wishes I received online... from relatives I haven't seen in twenty years to colleagues I only barely know. And it felt good. I was smiling all day. Which got me to thinking about this "social media" world and relationships and vulnerability and stuff like that.

I've also started studying social media from a professional standpoint to help nonprofits connect with their people. A key to getting along in this quirky little world seems to be to give, give, give and trust that others will respond in kind. We give links to our favorite funny videos, we share our outrage over political bungling, we applaud each other constantly, we share our triumphs and also our struggles.

I struggle over the struggle-sharing. How much is too much? When do we cross the line from sharing to whining? And, just how vulnerable do I really want to be? It's one thing to share my self-doubts or hurts with my close friends, quite another to put them out there for consumption by people with whom I have not had enough real-world interaction to know whether I can trust them with my pain. Often, as I type I'm thinking "will this come back to bite me later?"

I have one comfort, and offer it to those who share my reluctance to open up in public writings. I tend to be a "real" person - or so I have been told. Sometimes I'm too direct, and it can make others uncomfortable. I'm learning how to moderate that.... But so long as I am not showing one face to my friends and quite another to my professional contacts and still another to my family... well, then, I guess I won't have to face that imagined future episode where the Integrity Police shine a spotlight in my face while yelling "wait, on Facebook two years ago you said something quite different - you hypocrite!"

But maybe I am most afraid to be vulnerable in front of ME. Maybe I don't trust myself to be uniformly real, genuine, sincere. Maybe my insatiable inner critic still has more power over me than I'd like to admit. Maybe it isn't others that I'm most worried about. Hmmm. Does that make me a hypocrite after all?

Imagine it Better

Some people have the gift of imagination, and they usually know it. Others have the gift of faith, but many don’t know it. Here’s a good test: do you spend a lot of time worrying about or imagining things that have not happened yet? That’s the gift of faith turned inside-out. Clothes don’t look too good when worn that way, and neither does faith. In fact, it doesn’t look like faith at all but that’s exactly what it is.

The difference between imagination and faith? It’s much like movies. Most merely help you pass the time, but some actually move you – you are no longer the same person after having seen that movie. I think Chariots of Fire was one of those changing movies for me, a long time ago. I know It’s a Beautiful Life falls in that category for many people, particularly those of us who have longed for death. And that’s how it is with faith, whether the faith manifests as fear or hope – it changes us.

I know a young man who, as a small child, was absolutely fearless. All of life was one big adventure, waiting for him to explore it. But he has grown up in a fear-filled household and now he’s afraid to try anything new. It’s sad. The environment of fear has changed him, I'm hoping not permanently.

Here’s the funny thing: we have no more evidence that bad stuff will happen than we have for the hope that we will have good results. No, really, we don’t. It seems that way because we remember –in excruciating detail- every failure, every embarrassment, every injury we have ever suffered or witnessed. For some reason, remembering the good times doesn’t come as naturally.

At one point in my life, I decided to be rational about this. Today, the very idea of being rational about faith/fear seems pretty funny, but hey, it worked for me at the time. Whenever I would begin to become overwhelmed by worry (that’s the socially-acceptable name for fear), I would draw a line down a sheet of paper. On one side I would write down all the bad stuff that could happen regarding the situation at hand. Then I would write down all the good stuff that could happen. I would force myself to keep writing until I filled the "good" side. Inevitably I would stall after the first couple of lines but, if I pressed on, the list on the good side would grow and grow. It became much easier for me to take risks when I could see all of the potential benefits.

As a young child I promised myself that once I was an adult, I would never live in fear again. It took about twenty years after reaching adulthood for me to begin to feel safe, even in my own home. And that fear bug still bites once in a while, but I don’t live there anymore.

Are you living in fear? Move out. We think that by worrying we keep ourselves safer but that’s a lie. The gift of faith was meant to be used for something much more glorious than the illusion of personal safety.

Turning the Picture Around

Whether you're a father or not, I'm hoping you will read the rest of this. In fact, whether or not you've had a father, have a father, like fathers, or think the whole idea of "fatherhood" is, well, a crock... I sense there’s something important for you in here.

And here's why: because I see most people making the same mistake my dad made with his life. Not just with how he played the father-role with me and with my siblings, but more importantly how he played his role in the world. I don't think he knew he had a role.

My dad was generally a good, honest man who thought his role was to do his professional work well, and to take care of the house and the finances at home. In fact, he was a bit enlightened for his generation (born in 1926) because he also felt somewhat responsible for taking care of my mom's health and her sense of security. You would have to have known my mother to grasp what a tall order that was! They're both gone now, but I find myself on this Father's Day reflecting on what my dad did for me and realizing how clueless he was in some ways about his own influence. And I suspect you and I are just as clueless, at least most of the time. If you don't think so, you must still be under 30 years of age. :)

Dad believed parenting was to be done by the mother. Unless the mother called the father in to "have a talk" with a wayward youngster (read: I got less than straight-As so I needed that lecture about the right path and wrong path in life). He had no clue about a child's physical, cognitive, emotional or spiritual needs. He certainly had no idea about his ability and responsibility to address those needs. He brought home the paycheck and then stayed out of the way. It was safer that way, and it was all he knew.

My main memory of my dad is him walking away while my mom, uhmm … “let me have it”. But that's not the whole picture, and, as I come to terms with it (which has taken decades), the other pictures are starting to come back into focus. It's like they were all stuck behind the one 8 X 10 of his failure to protect me. Here are some of the other snapshots, the ones I took out today in honor of Father's Day, and of my dad:

When I was little, I was frustrated because other kids seemed to know what they were good at and this helped them know what they would be when they grew up. I was good at a lot of things. That was no help! Finally, in sixth grade, Ms. Taylor came up with a Creative Writing exercise where we would pull an index card out of a little box and write a short story based on whatever title was typed on that index card. I remember two: "The Time Capsule" and "How the Turtle Got its Shell." Now, the story I wrote about the turtle could only have been written by someone who has been repeatedly mistreated, but nobody picked up on this at the time. Here is what's most important: my dad thought it was very good writing and he saved the story. For a child who never received any praise, this was HUGE. Maybe I was finally extra-good at something! Snap.

Zoom out a few years and I'm a depressed, over-achieving, ulcer-suffering, high school senior. One day, my mom and I walk into Dad's office during the work day. We never did this before, so I guess we must have been dropping something off... In any case, I meet his office manager for the first time and she almost squeals in delight - like a teeny-bopper meeting a rock star. "Ohhhh! It's YOU! Your dad is so proud of you!" WHAT?

"Yes, you're the editor of the high school paper, right? He brings in everything you write and he passes it around so we all get to read it. You're very good." Snap.

I'm still surprised they didn't have to call an ambulance crew to pick me up off the floor.

I was so shocked and confused and angry about his silence at home (when I so badly needed affirmation) that it has taken me lo these thirty years to realize how that moment drove me to keep on writing, keep on trying, keep on believing I had something to say.

So, uhm, thank you - Papi. Thank you for recognizing my little talent, thank you for being proud of me, thank you for sharing that joy with others even while you were simply unable to share it with me. I miss you.

And, for the rest of us who are still here... we never know what role we will play for the people who cross our paths. I don't even remember that office manager's name. But she was able to reveal something I needed to know. She’s the one who took the picture that I pulled out today, and I wish I could thank her. Instead, I hope this pays it forward..

On Life’s Menu

Boring. Hopeless. Useless. Without purpose. Why do so many of us end up with these adjectives on the plate which is our day-to-day existence? I’m sure nobody would say they “ordered” these from life’s menu. This is simply what they were served.

So here’s the deal: this is exactly what we get served when we sit down and wait to see what the Life Waiter brings our way. Why? Because life is a buffet, friends! We either sit and get, well, basically nothing or we get up and go find something more interesting and potentially satisfying.

So why do some of us just sit – day after long and boring day – in the same job, the same home, the same thought-life? Maybe because that’s all we’ve ever known… that’s how Mom and Dad lived, and Pops and Granny before them. Maybe it is because we are so scared to try new things. That breaded lump might be delicious… or there might be a flesh-eating monster under all those deep-fried crumbs!

I think most of the time it goes deeper than that. We are so afraid to make a wrong choice and feel the resulting shame, that we simply give up our choices. That’s right – let the “waiter” choose. Then we can blame him for the outcome! Nobody can blame us for our failed and boring lives, these are just “the cards we were dealt” – to mess up my culinary metaphor.

Here is what happens when we refuse to just sit there – when we risk getting up and taking initiative for what ends up on our plate (and belly) We become people who are able to write something like this:

I’ve been told that the life of faith is an odyssey. An odyssey is an adventure full of surprises… every day is a wonderful experience for me. This is what God wants for your life too – an odyssey of faith-filled adventures as your covenant destiny is fulfilled. The question is, do you want it too? --- Dick Bernal, from his book Shaking Hands with God.

Here’s a toast to everyone who ever got up –even once—and dared to explore the odyssey that is life’s buffet.

The Lie, the Truth, the Choice

Human beings are an interesting lot. We seem forever bent on either meeting our needs or ignoring them. Either strategy fails miserably - unless misery is your idea of success. Here’s why: we are not built in such a way that we can truly meet our own needs. Like pack animals, there are things about human nature that work for the common good. When we try to focus on our own good… well, you get the picture.

Or maybe you don’t. Here’s the rub: some of my needs will only be truly met when I forget about myself and pour myself into other people. Some of my pain will only be put into perspective when I understand the greater pain of another. Some of my feelings of hopelessness will only be comforted when I comfort another. My feelings of worthlessness will only be neutralized when I do good for another. It’s the way I’m built.

And yet, people who are addicted to sympathy refuse to believe this. “You don’t understand; I’m in too much pain to help others.” Bullshit. You are in too much pain to afford NOT helping others. The lie that your situation is insurmountable, your loss irreplaceable, your handicap unbearable, your life worthless… whatever lie you have bought into will only continue to grow in the darkness of isolation and the moisture of the tears of self-pity.

Does this seem cold? Heartless? Ignorant? Yeah, well, most of what doctors do to heal a broken, infected body is hardly warm and fuzzy. But it is necessary and helpful. You must reach out to others who are worse off. You must. Hope is something that runs through you – when it has no outlet, it dries up. To the extent that you are not DAILY bringing hope to others, your own hope WILL dry up. Loss of hope kills. I should know.

Pouring yourself into others – in even the simplest way – is healing. It has worked for me and I have watched it happen for others. And the more hurt you are, the more this helps. So here’s the question, when times are bad: do you really want to get better?

Starving and Addicted - this could be us

I realized something recently. I don’t mean that I found out something new – but that it actually became real to me. Oh, sure, I’ll let the cat out of the bag in the very first paragraph: we all need a certain amount of attention and sympathy, even more when we have been through loss or injury. But these very real needs can turn into addictions – just as irresistible as any drug or thrill. It seems harmless enough until you witness someone caught up in an ever-increasing black hole of need that can never be satisfactorily filled. What started as a need turns into starvation – and every attempt by others to help only feeds the monster – not the person in its clutches.

Some might see a spiritual component to all this, right now I’m interested in the dynamics of it all and whether it applies to me. Yeah, sure, I’ll admit it – whenever I’m exposed to some facet of human behavior I first look to see whether it applies to me. And that’s a good thing – I’ve grown over the years from taking what I learn and translating it into action – changing habits or relationship patterns here and there. I suppose there’s probably a large pile of unapplied truths lying around here as well. Like – it’s not all about me!

The Scene of the Crime - or at least a social misdemeanor

Once at a meeting, it was explained that for a particular portion of our time together, we would share our area of greatest struggle during the past week – but only the headline, not all the details. The specific examples were “my family” or “my job”. I count two words in each of those sample responses – don’t you? A couple of people were unable to keep their response shorter than five full minutes!!!! And they seemed somewhat peeved by the very suggestion that there wasn’t enough time for each group member to get a full half hour of attention. This was a free support group; nobody was paying money for a therapist’s time and attention. One of the Detail People even insisted (before we began sharing) that the meeting end on time!

So, what’s up with that? Here’s my two cents worth – I would love to hear other views. When life hurts, and something feels good, we want more of that good feeling. For some, that good feeling has come from receiving attention and sympathy over their boo-boos – be those actual physical injuries, or relationship setbacks, or that dreaded monster… injustice. I mean, injustice is illegal – right? And true justice only happens when I am forgiven all my mistakes and fully appreciated for each thing I do right – right? Yes, we should “mourn with those who mourn and rejoice with those who rejoice”, but I am not about to sit down in the mud of misery and help you wallow in your self-pity.

Taking a Stand

At one point in my life I would have said “sorry – I won’t do it.” By this age, I have edited out the “sorry” when the stand I’m taking is the most loving thing I can do for the other person. So, I’m not sorry that I won’t give you what you want. I am willing to give you what you need – but we may not agree on exactly what that is. If, like the friends I described above, you at times find it difficult to restrain yourself from sharing all about your painful past or stressful present – maybe your perspective is a little off. Maybe you need to get a little LESS attention or sympathy and to GIVE a lot more.

Few things have been as healing for me as to do something for others who are worse off. And, trust me, there is ALWAYS someone worse off. More about that in my next post.