Do you have expectations and preconceptions of what America is? Are those assumptions based on personal experience, on what others have told you, or on what you’ve been shown by the media?
Is this America, to ask these questions about America?
Is this America, where a blogger might
become a poet and
try not to blow it?
Is this America, where
there are so many parts that can be so divided,
the political system can be so derided,
there’s unfairness AND freedom in ways most confusing,
without money or privilege, so many are losing,
there’s that love/hate dynamic with the rest of the planet,
other countries might praise it but so many might pan it?
Are any of those photos more or less America, as you see things?
Is this America, where I’m writing this?
I have the day off from work for Patriots’ Day. Does that answer that last question?
American AND world-wide thanks to poets and Pats; trees, geese, and cats; artists and walkers; listeners and gawkers; doorways and flowers; signs by the hours; eaters and feeders; writers and readers (of course, since that’s you!)*
“Never worry alone” is something my manager likes to say.
I most recently heard him say
Never worry alone
two days ago, during his presentation on “Violence in Health Care,” at the hospital-based Primary Care Practice where we both work.
Earlier this morning, I followed his advice to
Never worry alone
by sending an email to my cardiologists, about some worries filling up space in my head.
As I approach surgery for my very unusual heart on May 4th, I hereby resolve to
Never worry alone
from now on. Does anybody want to join in with that resolution?
Yesterday, I spent some time with my friend, Deb. We never worried alone, as we walked around less-worried Watertown, Massachusetts.
That’s Chris, who told us he no longer worries about flat tires or chains, now that he alone has that most excellent bicycle.
There’s Deb. Does she look worried? Whether she is or not, she’s not alone — I’m right there, taking pictures.
At some point, I shared with Deb my worry that I had left a bottle of heart medication pills at the Royal Restaurant in Watertown the night before.
No worries! I found those pills when Deb and I returned there for brunch:
Deb and I shared worries and other things (including soy milk French Toast, a Gruyere and mushroom omelette, and FRIED OREOS) at The Royal.
Does anything about that worry you? It didn’t worry us, and we left The Royal for more walking.
One thing I didn’t photograph yesterday: imagining my worries attached to a rock I found and throwing that Worry Rock — with Deb as my lone witness — into the Charles River.
I wasn’t worried yesterday when I accidentally switched to black and white photography for a few shots.
Deb said I should put my name (or the non-judgmental name of this blog) on my custom-made t-shirts. Should I worry about that?
Should I worry about which “Worry” song to include today?
I’m not worrying alone now, thanks to my manager, my cardiologists, Deb, Chris and his bicycle, Watertown, the Royal Restaurant, the Charles River, my Worry Rock, Stevie Wonder, soy milk French toast and fried Oreos, kids and pogo sticks, peaceful frogs and people, and — of course! — you.
I remember a therapy session at work, yesterday, when we were talking about comparing your problems to other people’s problems. Somebody quoted how Victor Frankl wrote that any problem will fill the available space, like a gas.
I just looked up the exact quote, from Man’s Search for Meaning, and here it is:
To draw an analogy: a man’s suffering is similar to the behavior of a gas. If a certain quantity of gas is pumped into an empty chamber, it will fill the chamber completely and evenly, no matter how big the chamber. Thus suffering completely fills the human soul and conscious mind, no matter whether the suffering is great or little. Therefore the “size” of human suffering is absolutely relative.
I really appreciated that person filling my office with Victor Frankl’s life-filling thoughts.
That song — “I Remember” — is sung by a girl who’s been trapped, from a very young age, inside a department store.
I loved Evening Primrose when I saw it, on television, when I was a kid. What fills my mind now is how I may have related to that girl, since I filled some of my days and nights trapped — not in a department store, but in a Children’s Hospital.
Like that girl, I am filled with appreciation for all those wonderful things that fill the world.
As usual, what filled my ears, eyes, mind, and soul, yesterday — including the beautiful lyrics from “I Remember” — affected how my iPhone was filled with images and how I fill this post, today:
That “Work Zone” sign is filling that last photo so much, you might miss the first flowering tree I’ve seen in Boston, this spring.
Feel free to fill the space of a comment here with anything that’s filling you, now, about this post.
I shall now fill the space of this post with my gratitude for my patients, for Victor Frankl, for Stephen Sondheim, for Judy Butterfield, for the sky, for the trees, for everything I experienced yesterday, and for you.
At the bottom — I mean the beginning — of this past week, my first patient on Monday talked about how much better she was feeling. Almost immediately, she said
I’m afraid the bottom’s going to fall out, and something bad will happen.
From the bottom to the top of my career as a therapist, I’ve heard similar thoughts from many people, who are trying to move from the bottom of psychological distress to the top of their personal worlds.
People often fear the new, and feeling “too good” can cause fears that
the good feelings will end too soon,
it will be more painful to crash down from the height of feeling good ( than to remain with the familiar, more negative feelings), and
the person doesn’t “deserve” to feel that good.
Near the bottom of my time as a WordPress blogger (way back in 2013), I wrote some other posts about this topic. Since I’ve bottomed out my ability to link to past posts while I’m writing a new one on my phone, I’ll add links to those posts at the bottom, after I publish this.
So, to go back to the bottom of this story about my patient on Monday, after she expressed the very common fear of feeling too good, I asked several questions, including these:
What if the bottom fell out?
What would that be like?
What might happen next?
What would it be like to be more present where you are, without worrying about the future?
Why don’t human beings worry about the bottom falling out when we’re feeling BAD?
Lest the bottom fall out of the point I’m trying to make here, I asked that bottom question to invite her to consider that feelings shift up and down — moving towards the top and then towards the bottom and so on — over time. Yet, our thoughts go into the future with worry when we feel “too good” …. but we usually do NOT anticipate feeling better when we are feeling bad.
Those questions I asked that patient (especially the bottom one) seemed to get to the bottom of her fears. I’m writing that from the bottom of my heart, now, as I remember how happy she looked at the bottom of that therapy session.
Here are some top-to-bottom shots I took yesterday from the bottom of Boston, as I was thinking about “The Bottom Falls Out” for today:
Edit
To get to the bottom of that last photo from yesterday, the 2015 snow in Boston is FINALLY bottoming out.
Before I get to the bottom of this post, I want to introduce you to Robert …
… who is “the boss” of
… near the hospital where I work. When I started working there — over three years ago, and was having some days when my mood hit bottom — Robert was one of those people whose welcoming smiles and friendly talk helped my moods head back towards the top. I wasn’t surprised, yesterday, when Robert told me he was heading towards his top career choice of becoming a nurse when he realized he’d prefer to go to culinary school, instead.
Here’s the burrito Robert made me yesterday, from top to bottom:
That blue marker is there to mark the size of that burrito. Do you think the bottom fell out of that?
Apparently not.
As we approach the bottom of this WordPress page, do you have any questions, thoughts, or feelings you’d like to share at the bottom of the comments?
What music do you think should fall out, at the bottom here?
Top-to-bottom thanks to Spinal Tap (for “Big Bottom” and so much more), to Robert, to people trying to get to the bottom of their past and their fears in therapy, to my co-workers who get to the bottom with humor and grace, and to you — of course — for letting the bottom fall out with me here, today.
We’ve finally hit bottom! As promised, some previous posts about that bottoming-out Fear of Feeling Too Good are here, here, and here.
I don’t know about you, but I tend to think that I’m in trouble, even when I’m not.
For example, am I in trouble for including this picture of my son Aaron?
When I saw Aaron put that “Day of Silence #SpeakWithSilence” sticker on his forehead before he left for school yesterday, I asked if I could take his photo, and he agreed. However, I did NOT ask Aaron if I could put the photo in my blog. So, am I in trouble?
Also, am I in trouble or am I troubled that Aaron is leaving home for 10 days in Italy, starting today?
Was I in trouble yesterday morning, because of lots of unexpected traffic on my way into work?
Whenever there’s traffic, I can easily think I’m in trouble. Also, I am troubled by troubling “shoulds” like
I should have know better and left home earlier.
Am I in trouble for thinking those thoughts or for taking those photos?
Whenever I write one of these daily posts, there’s a point (like now) where I ask myself
Am I in trouble?
… regarding making this a good enough post, for myself and my readers. Then, I let go of troubling thoughts about my blogging capabilities, as I practice letting go of judgmental and other unhelpful thoughts, everywhere .
Am I in trouble because, after several years of using the iPhone, I’m still not used to the touchscreen keyboard and I still make a troubling amount of mistakes when writing these posts?
Sometimes, I am troubled just by the possibility of a mistake, even though I tend to catch most of them.
Am I In trouble because I took these pictures on my way to work yesterday?
Does my co-worker Jan look like she’s in trouble, as she’s telling me about some trouble she’s having trying to ship presents for a surprise party in Mexico?
Am I in trouble for taking that photo of Jan or for taking this one of her, later?
I told Jan that photo reminded me of most of the photos I take of my boyfriend Michael.
Am I in trouble for saying that? I think not, since Michael rarely reads this blog.
Am I in trouble for including these other photos I took yesterday, at the hospital where I work?
Am I in trouble for sharing those last two photos of Laura — a very talented therapist I supervise? I know I’m not, because Laura knew I was taking them for this blog. Laura is such a nice, non-troubling person that she told me that I would not be in any trouble with her, no matter what I did with those photos.
Am I in trouble because I took these photos before the baseball game at Fenway Park yesterday, and I didn’t get permission from anybody in them?
Were any of those people in trouble, because they were so friggin’ close to the shuttle bus I was in?
Am I in trouble because I’m getting a St. Jude Medical CRT ICD device implanted in less than three weeks, especially since the web page calls it a “Heart Failure ICD”?
Actually, I think there’s a chance that device might get me out of trouble.
Am I in trouble with you, for creating such a long post?
I hope Joni Mitchell isn’t in too much trouble, right now.
What do you think of all the trouble in this post?
You might be in trouble if you don’t leave behind a comment, but I doubt it.
One final question: Am I in trouble because it’s tax day in the USA?
Answer: I’ll live.
Non-troubled and (I hope) untroubling thanks to Aaron, Jan, Michael, Laura, Joni, St. Jude, people who work and play in the Fenway Park area of Boston, all those who stand up bravely for important issues no matter how much trouble that means, and to you — of course! — for taking the trouble to visit here today.
Keep calm, even if you’re surrounded by loud noises, people, and vehicles.
Keep calm! Loud noises, people, and vehicles might just mean it’s the home opening game for the hometown baseball team.
No matter what is going on around you, keep calm
and deliver on, as best you can.
I’m now keeping calm and delivering on to you some photos from my office, where people keep calm and/or do not keep calm, depending upon what they’re bringing in that day.
If somebody called you “too much” or “too emotional,” would you keep calm or not?
If anybody says you’re “too” anything,
keep calm as best you can,
consider the source,
ask yourself “does this information help me?”,
deliver on a truthful response, if you choose, and
move on.
What keeps you calm? I can think of three things that keep me calm, right now:
my 17-year-old son is leaving for a 10-day trip to Italy tomorrow,
the 2nd anniversary of the Boston Marathon bombing is tomorrow,
tomorrow is also tax day (and the only things that are inevitable in our lives are “death and taxes”), and
I’m having surgery in three weeks.
One more thing that keeps me calm:
Too little snow!
Calm thanks to the calming and exciting keyboardist George Duke (who — I just found out while writing this post — passed away in 2013), to serene sisters and brothers everywhere, to people who keep calm and lose calm and then keep it again, to the Boston Red Sox, to the nice delivery guy who let me take a picture of his t-shirt, to the thousands of calm and non-calm Red Sox fans I saw on my walks to and from work yesterday, to everybody and everything that has helped me keep calm over the years, and to you — of course! — for calming me with your visit here, today.
Yesterday was like any other day for me. Like the rest of all of us, I was just trying to figure it out.
After I woke up, I figured it out that it was the second day of a beautifully sunny, warm weekend in Boston.
To help you figure out how I spent my Sunday, I’ve figured out which of yesterday’s photos to show you. I believe you’ll all figure out enough about my day, even though I am presenting the figures in these photos in REVERSE chronological order. Go figure.
Edit
Did you all figure out all those figures in those figuring-backwards-in-time photos?
I figure I should introduce you to Bette and Lulu-bel — the two figures in that last photo (whom I saw at the beginning of my walk). I wouldn’t have figured out that either of them spelled their names that way, if Bette hadn’t helped me figure it out. Bette figured I’d want to know she was “the matriarch” of that neighborhood. She also tried to figure out my Heart Walk hat and told me about her brother who had recently died from heart problems. When she told me he was “the sweetest guy” and that he was in his 90’s, I figured it out that Bette’s sweet brother had lived a long and full life.
We’ve all figured it out that some people need to go back to work on Mondays, so here’s my last (I figure) figuring-it-out photo:
Books are wonderful, in helping us all to figure it out.
Have you figured it out that I’ll be sharing some music now?
I figured it out that “Figure It Out” by Royal Blood is on YouTube. Also, because it took me so long to try to figure it out how to include a video created by my son Aaron and his friend Cameron in yesterday’s post, I am going to do my best to try to figure it out how to include that video again here, immediately after I publish this post.
What are you trying to figure out? After years of trying, I’ve figured it out that it’s very useful for me to let go of
fear,
worry,
regret, and
anything that interferes with my living in the present moment.
I’ve also figured it out that most things marked “easy” on a package are not easy for me:
I figure I’ll end this post by thanking all the figures I saw yesterday, including Bette, Lulu-bel, Irvin Yalom, Hilary Custance Green, swans, robots, race spectators, walkers, runners, bikers, bunnies, matriarchs, patriarchs, Royal Blood, Aaron, Cameron, my boyfriend Michael, and many more too numerous to mention. And special thanks to you — of course! — for joining me here as we’re all just trying to figure it out, today.
I felt better yesterday because — for the first time in 5 months — the weather in Boston was temperate AND sunny.
I felt better yesterday because I got to spend some quality time with my 17-year-old son, Aaron, who is leaving this Wednesday for a 10-day school trip to Italy. Here are some shots I took during that quality time:
I felt better yesterday because I watched on YouTube, again, a video that Aaron and his friend Cameron made, several months ago, which included an original song and a surprise appearance by my boyfriend Michael, with lasagna. I felt better watching that video because I always love witnessing how cool and creative my son is.
I may not be cool and creative enough to include that video in this here post (so that you might feel better too), but I shall do my best.
I felt better yesterday because I was able to post on Facebook that my high school class of 1970 had a time and place for its 45th reunion, next September.
I felt better yesterday because, despite several cardiologists believing that my very unusual and difficult-to-figure-out heart is on an irreversible and perhaps rapidly increasing path towards deterioration, eventually necessitating heart valve replacement and/or a heart transplant …
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
… I felt more than better, yesterday. I felt GREAT.
Indeed, if you had seen me taking any of those pictures above, you might have felt better too, because — as a 62-year-old survivor with the extraordinarily rare condition of congenitally corrected transpositon of the great arteries (cctga) and “on the cutting edge” (which is not referring to my surgery next month) of longevity — I was
I hope to feel better today, too, especially if I can figure out how to include Cameron and Aaron’s video in this Feel Better Post.
Whether or not I’m good enough to include that video here, I feel I’ve bettered this post enough to publish it, already.
Okay! I can now include the video of Cameron and Aaron’s song, thanks to help from Aaron (which always helps me feel better):
Feel-good thanks to Aaron, Cameron, Michael, my high school classmates, Stephen Sondheim, John Stamos, smiling creatures everywhere, the beautiful Boston weather, my caring and competent cardiologists, my very unusual heart, and everybody and everything that contributed to my feeling better yesterday. And special thanks to you — of course! — for visiting and helping me feel better, today.
I am starting my story today with the last picture I took yesterday, in my office.
I wrote that in a therapy session, where somebody was telling a personal story with paralyzingly harsh self-judgment and hopelessness about the future.
I have witnessed, many times, how people can get stuck in negative stories about themselves, ignoring positive exceptions and different perspectives.
Yesterday, I encouraged that person in therapy to
let go of an overwhelming and crippling sense of personal failure,
to see themselves as the hero of their own story, and
to allow for the possibility of hope and change.
And by the end of the session, there were some glimmers of hope about the future.
How are you telling your own story these days, to yourself and to others? Are you the hero of your own story? I hope so, because who else could possibly play that role, in The Story of You?
How might I tell the story of the photos I took yesterday, presented here in chronological order?
Each of us could tell the story of those pictures in many different ways — depending upon what we notice and the history and assumptions we bring to those images.
I’ll tell you my story of this photo:
Everybody is self centered. The difference is the size of the radius.
And here’s my story about these two:
I have no idea how those photos got on my iPhone.
As I often see in clients (and in myself, too), negative stories tend to stick, leaving less room for the positive ones.
For example, 10 days ago, a cardiologist told a doom-filled, scarily negative story to me, about me, my health, and my future, even though he had just met me and had no medical tests on hand about my very unusual heart. Ever since that very upsetting encounter, I’ve been trying to get that negative story out of my head, by telling parts of it here and elsewhere.
Retelling a story sometimes includes rewriting new dialogue. For instance, since I was too shocked to respond to that cardiologist telling me that — if I didn’t have valve surgery as soon as possible — I would “die a miserable death, ” I am now wishing I had changed that story by replying:
Well, at least I am not living your miserable life.
I don’t know if that’s the best way to tell that story, but I am hoping that telling and re-telling the story of that miserable doctor’s visit — with or without new dialogue — will help me let that story go.
Based on the advice of several people I respect, I am seriously considering telling the full story of my awful meeting with that doctor to the appropriate hospital authorities. My main reasons for doing that would be
to prevent other people from telling an upsetting story about encountering this doctor in the future and
to help put that anxiety-provoking story behind me, as I prepare for a less invasive surgery on May 4th and allow room for the more hopeful and complete stories my long-time doctors are telling about my unusual, story-telling heart.
What will I do in the future, with that upsetting doctor story? I am in the process of figuring out what will benefit me and my personal story, going forward. In other words, the ending of that story hasn’t been written, yet.
Speaking of ending a story, what musical story should I include, now?
Many thanks to Bette Midler and to all who help me tell my story in a hopeful and healthy way, and special thanks to you — of course!– for reading my story, today.
