Yesterday, during a therapy session. I wrote this on my office whiteboard:
I wrote that for somebody who’s been having some very painful and stubbornly unshakable worries about the future. Recognizing that as a helpful antidote for the cognitive distortion of catastrophizing, she took a picture of it, so she could look at it whenever the negative, frightening thinking came back.
As you can see, I took a picture of it also, to help with my own automatic, fortune-telling thoughts.
I think that picture has been working, because I do believe that I’m going to be okay … today, tomorrow, and the next day.
Do you believe that, now, for yourself?
Here are some other things I believe that helped me (and perhaps others) to be okay, yesterday:
Okay! I do love adventure, but I don’t think I should howl at this particular moment. I believe that howling is okay, but it’s extremely early in the morning, right now.
Believe that I’m going to be okay today at a conference on medical practice innovation in Boston (and afterwards, at one of my therapy groups at work).
Before I leave, is it okay if I share some “Believe that you’re going to be okay” music?
I believe that you’re going to be okay with one of these “Believe” songs.
I spend any time at all worrying about the future, because life is too short for worry AND I work so hard at inviting other people to let go of worry.
I’ve stayed in the Boston area for my entire 62-year life, despite my discomfort with the snowy, cold, and way-too-long winters.
I forgot to bring my Identification and access card with me to work yesterday, on my first day back after corrective surgery for my very unusual heart.
Sometimes, people express gratitude easily and, at other times, it’s a struggle to find the words.
Tulips are so beautiful, but last for such a short amount of time.
I never noticed — until my friend Peggy pointed this out to me last week — that some pansies have faces and others don’t.
I keep doing things that scare the living daylights out of me (except it sure does make life a whole lot more interesting).
Trash day around here reminds me of what I’d like to permanently throw away, including fears, past hurts, disappointments, regrets, worries, shame, and other things that do not serve me well.
#11. Indulge in your favorite things whenever possible (like, for example, a showing of the musical “Singin’ in the Rain,” with music performed by the Boston Pops, tonight).
Stress-free thanks to cats, to Boston and its surroundings, to Antonio Vivaldi, to Donald O’Connor, and to all those who help melt away my stress, including 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.
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.
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.
I noticed that I woke up this morning with a few fears.
American President Franklin Delano Roosevelt said, in his first inauguration speech on March 3, 1933:
The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.
I fear that might not be the ONLY thing we have to fear, since there’s so much
confusion,
pain,
injustice,
sickness,
cruelty, and
other misfortunes, all around us.
I have no fear, however, that FDR had something very important to tell us, because if we
fear our own fears,
are anxious about our anxieties,
get depressed about our depressions,
become sick about our sicknesses
… we multiply our pain, which can become overwhelming and paralyzing.
So how do we let go of fear, which I fear I’ve promised some practical solutions about, today?
I fear that fear can become overwhelming if we don’t name it.
I have already named that I have some fears today. I can now face some fears, one by one.
Fear du Jour #1: I fear I will say the wrong thing to a vulnerable, fearful person today, at work.
I am glad I’ve named that fear. By expressing that here and now, I can now remember that
I’ve encountered that kind of situation at work before and
I’ve dealt with it, well enough.
Voila! I let go of that fear or — at least — reduced it to a manageable size.
That was easier than I expected. I fear that my next fear might be harder to let go.
Let’s deal with that fear about fear immediately, shall we?
Fear du Jour #2: I fear that friggin’ Federal Express will not deliver my tickets to see Todd Rundgren in concert, without more unnecessary suffering for me.
I am glad I named that fear, too, because, at least, I got to tell my loyal blog readers that I am quite annoyed with Federal Express. I fear if I get started, this post will turn into
Day 829: Why Federal Express SUCKS
which would be fun for me but, I fear, not particularly helpful for you.
I fear, however, that I must show you this delivery I found from Federal Express, yesterday:
Any fears about that? Here are my fears:
They won’t let me sign for the package, allowing them to leave the tickets in a future delivery,
I have to go to friggin’ Needham Massachusetts if I want to pick up my tickets, which is fearfully far away from here,
Wait! I have to go to friggin’Neeham, Massachusettsto pick them up, which doesn’t even exist,
When I tried to control my destiny last night by choosing a reasonable time for the next attempted ticket delivery when somebody who lives here might actually hear the friggin’ doorbell, the friggin’ fedex website asked me some fearfully private questions to confirm the friggin’ delivery, as if there is something to fear about ME GETTING MY OWN TICKETS,
The website didn’t work, I fear,
The nice Federal Express guy I reached on the phone last night told me he feared there was nothing he could do to set the delivery time I wanted, and
There’s a big VOID on that door ticket, which reminds me of the existential void we all fear as human beings.
I fear I may be fearing Federal Express too much.
However, I feel better.
Fear du Jour #3: The surgery I’m getting the day after the Todd Rundgren concert might not help my very unusual heart enough, which might necessitate future fear-inducing surgery like a heart valve replacement or, more likely, an eventual heart transplant.
Hey! Who wouldn’t fear something like that?
However, as with the other fears, naming that fear helped me. Now I know I have a right to have my fear (as we always have the right to feel our own feelings).
And, I realize that fear is about the future, which I cannot really know or control.
I hope you do not fear questions from me, because I have two more, now:
Are all fears future-oriented? Since we cannot know or control the future, why not let go of fear, as best we can?
Fear du Jour #4: The photos I took yesterday will not match the topic of today’s post.
Again, I feel better now that I named that fear. I shall now let go of that fear even further, by sharing these photos:
Anything to fear, there?
Just one more photo, I fear:
I fear that somebody might quickly read that as EXPEAT, by mistake.
In case you fear saying anything at all, below, remember this:
Did you fear I forgot to include some music about fear?
Never fear:
Do not fear that “Don’t Fear the Reaper” by Blue Oyster Cult or “Don’t be Afraid of the Dark” by Robert Cray aren’t available elsewhere, if you don’t see them here. They’re both on YouTube, fearlessly.
Thanks to all who helped me create this fear-ful post and special thanks to you (no matter how much fear or what kinds of fears you’ve experienced, so far, in your precious life).
Is anybody stumped about how I manage to blog here day after day, season after season, through sickness and health?
I’m not stumped about that, but I am stumped about why there is so much snow still around, during the second week of April in my hometown city of Boston. After months and months, this finally reappeared, yesterday morning:
That’s the stump of our tree, out back.
Have I been stumped by any thing else, recently? I am quite easily stumped, it seems.
Why has it taken me so many years to figure out how to make fried matzo that’s almost as good as my mother’s?
Why are there only three players on my 2015 Boston Red Sox, when I could have sworn they need nine players on the field, this Opening Day?
I’ve also been stumped about why I’ve been seeing Coca-Cola everywhere, lately:
If I hadn’t told you what kind of truck that was, would you have been stumped by that photo?
I am stumped by this new Kids Concourse at Fenway Park. If my sister Ellen reads this post, she’ll probably un-stump me, since she knows all the latest about baseball, the Red Sox, and Fenway.
I am stumped by what that bench is doing at that construction site.
People can really stump themselves with unhelpful negative thoughts. In case you are stumped by that last photo, yesterday at work I invited somebody to transform the thought
I’m not doing enough
to
I want to do more.
Are you stumped by why I thought that was so important?
I wonder if anybody at the hospital cafeteria yesterday was stumped by matzo balls. Are you? I was personally stumped because the soup, at first, was matzo-ball-less.
Don’t be stumped by the matzo-ball-less appearance of that soup. The matzo balls were there, but they were sinkers, not floaters. Are you stumped by the concept of floating vs. sinking matzo balls? If so, don’t stay stumped — ask for help, below.
Speaking of sinking, when I told my friend Jan yesterday that I’ll be having surgery next month for synching my heart ventricles, she looked stumped for a second. She thought I’d said “sinking” instead of “synching.” Because she’s a nurse, she realized her mistake immediately.
In case you’re stumped by what might be sustaining me, right now, while I’m creating this stumped post, here it is:
I’m stumped by why I and others don’t eat more apples, rather than junk food. Apples are so yummy. Are you stumped by that photo, in any way?
Speaking of food …
That was dinner last night, served by my boyfriend, Michael. Is anybody stumped by why I let him do all of our cooking (except for an occasional fried matzo, by me)?
In case you’re stumped by how to move forward, here’s one answer I saw on a wall last night:
As I was taking one step at a time yesterday on my walk to work, I was stumped by how the universe put the PERFECT music into my earphones.
Are you stumped by what that music might be? I would expect you would be stumped, at this point, so allow me to answer that particular stumper.
It was the full version of “Gotta Dance/Broadway Melody” — from my favorite movie musical Singin’ in the Rain — which lasted every step of my way, until I reached the hospital.
I am stumped in my attempts to share that full version with you now, but here’s part of it from YouTube, with the stumpingly amazing Gene Kelly and Cyd Charisse:
I wonder if anybody, yesterday, was stumped by how happy I looked, walking towards work on a Monday morning!
Stumping and stomping good thanks to Gene Kelly, to Cyd Charisse, to my family, to Jan, to people who do their best to let go of thoughts that might stump them in their attempts to heal and grow, to matzo in all its various manifestations, to synching and sinking hearts, to Fenway Park and Red Sox fans everywhere, and to you — of course! — for stumping your way over here, today.
