The art of guiding

after a nine-year career in elementary education and a five-year stopover as an apple computer sales representative.  i took a leap into graduate school, enrolling in psychology at the university of kentucky.  i spent seven years learning to become a psychologist.  i had no idea that my training would lead me to a sixteen-year career at the university of dayton counseling center.  i promised the director i would stay at least two years but what the university had to offer was irresistible.

as a neophyte, i leaned toward trying to fix students' problems, which didn't work as well as i had hoped.  i had an excellent supervisor who served as a role model, confidante, critiquer, and listener.   even after our supervisory relationship ended, she was available to counsel as a colleague and friend, guiding me to become a seasoned psychotherapist.

just as our roles changed, so did my role as therapist.  my students didn't need a problem fixer, they needed to develop tools and skills to make more healthy decisions and to manage the situations of life more effectively.  although i was not one of those who constantly asked, "how do you feel about that", i realized the absolute importance of listening....  listening to the words, the eyes, the hands, and the heart.  of course, i played several assigned roles such as parent, advocate, container of secrets, and sounding board.  but as the students progressed in their therapy, many of them accepted me as a guide.  i refused, except in emergencies, to tell my students what choices they should make.  instead, i attempted to guide them into self-empowerment...  learning to make their own healthy choices. 

i have recalled many times those people who guided me in adulthood; people who resisted the urge to fix my situation in order to hear me out...  listen...  understand.  but one person rises to the top of the list.  that person is grandma hughes.

grandma lived next door to us when i was born.  she attended my father's church and participated actively in the education and nurturing of children.  she and her husband mond babysit us, was present at our birthdays, and cheered us on in our childhood pursuits. 

what made grandma unique to me was the manner in which she conversed with me.  even as a kid, she assumed the role of guide.  of course she scolded me at times, but her nature was to see me as a person with my own thoughts, feelings, desires, and aspirations.  and she wanted to know those things into order to know me.  i could relate many, many stories that would illustrate her style.  perhaps one in particular will suffice.

i had just told my mom that i attended a movie with a college friend.  as understanding as she was in most circumstances, she couldn't at that time wrap her mind around the fact that i broke one of the church rules.  the conflict abruptly ended when i walked out of the house and headed in my car back to college.  passing by grandma's house, i found myself turning into the driveway, knocking on the door, and falling into one of her rocking chairs sobbing.  she waited until i gained composure.  and then she said, "steve, what's wrong?  you can tell me anything.". 

i told her my side of the story and vented my anger and frustration.  she offered her support, not necessarily for what i did, but for expressing how i felt.  she really wanted to know.  and then she asked me a question that i will never forget... "steve, what does your heart tell you?" 

i started to cry again because her question was exactly what i needed to hear.   i remember feeling confused as thought and feelings swirled around and around.  i didn't have an answer. 

as we continued our conversation, i began to realize that her words guided me into an area of confidence and self-responsibility.   she told me the importance of listening to and following the voice of god.  and she told me to follow my heart. 

grandma still guides me... everyday.  her words still motivate me to be the best stephen i know to be.  went in doubt, i can hear her whisper, "steve, follow your heart!".  she has believed in me for 58 years.

i was well educated in school, mentored as i developed into a psychologist, and went to beaucoup workshops to enhance my skills.  but i must give credit to my grandma hughes as my primary teacher in becoming a psychologist...  in becoming a person for whom she would be proud. 

fyi, she was not a blood relative...  only a woman who made loving me a priority in her life. 

Camp meeting

i was a regular at the central ohio campgrounds from the time i was 0.8 years old until an adult in my late 20's.  my experiences there have made several entries into my list of 'memories worth remembering'. i will share a few today.

my parents were active participants on many levels, but my earliest memory was that my dad ran the main dining hall.  as a kid, i would go in the backdoor into the kitchen to observe people baking, frying, cutting cake, preparing various jello combos...  getting ready for the next meal.  rev. leonard was cooking away, mrs. flack and mrs pusey worked on the salads, various teens were preparing the food lines, and i made my rounds talking to them, listening to them, and enjoying the attention, especially of the teenagers.  then the doors were open and people joined one of two lines to choose their food cafeteria style.  i would stand behind the line servers, watching the people go by and waving at/ flirting with the people i knew.  this was one of several experiences that taught me that what goes on behind the scenes are valuable, useful, and quite fascinating.  doing service does not always come with gratitude, but it does bring a sense of pride and joy. 

boys camp was both a wonderful time and a big challenge.   i loved making crafts, singing silly songs led by martha vogel and rev. marsh, and listening to the speaker for the week.  i abhorred the sports, however, mostly because i didn't do well.  baseball was the main sport, and i sucked as confirmed by being relegated to the nether regions of left field.  with my incompetence came jabs from my dorm mates, calling me sissy.  after all, even at an early age, boys seem to crave the opportunity to distinguished the 'real' men from the 'fake' ones.  rather than fighting back, i would play myself into the role.  at night when i was called sissy, i would lay in bed, kicking my legs up and down to turn the name-calling into laughter.  my ploy was clever and it worked.  after all, when boys can't get under your skin, they tend to move on to more vulnerable victims.  i learned that fighting back with my brain and sense of humor was the most effective tools i had.  and i used them well.  i determined to have fun in spite of the taunting.  after all, it was boys' camp!!

teen camp was among other things, one big hormonal festival.  guys and gals would begin on monday, sizing up each other and gathering the courage to ask someone out.  even more tense was determining the right outfit, figuring out how/when to hold hands, find a shadowed spot between the cabins to steal a kiss, and learning how to hold a decent conversation. as was always the case in these situations, i tried my best to act the part.  knowing i was much more attracted to the guys, i had to develop a keen sense of observation to determine how to act interested in the girls.  what i had going for me was a natural way of making female friends, of which i had plenty.  but taking it to a romantic attraction didn't happen, so my romantic 'moves' were mechanical and well-rehearsed in my mind.  more spontaneous was my ability to relate to women, speaking their language and understanding to a significant degree their point of view.  for that i am grateful.

at 14 years old, i was a counselor for boys' camp.  my duties were to lead, direct, and hold accountable a group of ten 4th, 5th, and 6th graders. i relished the challenge being like a big brother to them.  my lack of sporting skill was irrelevant because they knew how to play.  a daily contest held by the camp nurses pitted cabin against cabin for the cleanest room and the most creative room decorations. those boys were guinea pigs in a young teen's experiment with the challenges of learning to balance fun with setting boundaries for acceptable behavior.  thanks to them!  the camp counselor experience was significant in my decision to become an elementary school teacher.  and for the most part, i enjoyed that profession and did a fine job at it. 

one week at junior high camp, however, stands out in my mind above all other camp weeks.  honestly, it was a nightmare.  the week started out just fine until rumors about me being gay were circulating.  perhaps i gave away some part of my secret due to the fear on my face when i heard the rumors.  i heard the words 'sissy' and 'girl'  rather than 'steve' from a group of fellow campers who were out to find a scapegoat.  they succeeded in their desire to intimidate me, but thankfully, they had more interest in pursuing their own athletic and romantic opportunities... except for two of them.  they made a game out of sneaking up on me, chasing me, and threatening me with a swirly as punishment for being sissified.  i spent the majority of the week terrorized by the act of two guys holding me upside-down, sticking my head in a toilet, and flushing it to make my hair swirl like the top of a dairy queen ice cream cone.   eventually they suceeding in spite of my screams for help.  they quickly left the bathroom, leaving me wet, smelly, and humiliated.  from this experience, i formulated a defense that helped me through the rest of my growing up years. 

• first, i decided to excel in music.  thanks to a teacher who understood me, my ability to play the piano flourished. 
• second, i surrounded myself with people who would not try to hurt me.  i showered attention on the old folks at church, i involved myself in the youth group, and i continued to make friends mostly with girls. 
• third, i made the decision to view guys, particularly at school, as the enemy.  i made very little effort to make friends.  it just wasn't worth the risk.  at school, i was a loner... just the way i wanted. 
• fourth, i faked it.  i dated girls.  i held hands with them at church.  i tried my best to have a girlfriend most of the time.  i am not sure how much i fooled other people, but believing i succeeded was good enough for me. 

looking back at what i wrote, i intended to address all the fun and excitement of church camp.  those experiences were plentiful indeed.  but walking back there in my mind reminded me also of the challenges i faced there.  like most kids, i found happy times in many places, and surprise challenges and fears in some of the most unexpected ones.  and like all of our experiences, they have shaped who i am today. 

In the still of the night

it's 3am as i begin this post.  the house is quiet except for a quiet, introspective music playing softly.  this is treasured time.

1.  solitude is sacred.  very different than being alone, solitude is only found in contentment and inner peace. 

2.  listening is sacred.  as i commune with my thoughts, i find who i am.  there is nothing more intimate than self-knowledge and self-acceptance. 

3.  lights are sacred.  a candle is burning and the landscape lights cast a glow on our patio setting a surreal and ethereal mood.  low lighting invites me to stay in the present,  helping me to avoid the 'what its' and trio of wouldas/shouldas/couldas of a wandering mind. 

4.  music is sacred.  putting words and music together is a magical work of love.  it seems that music expresses those thoughts and feelings that two minutes ago had no words.  one certain phrase captures the essence of something personal and real. 

5.  the senses are sacred.  the five senses...  actually the six senses invite thoughts, evoke emotions, and rouses the body into alive-ness.  sometimes i ask a litany of questions...  what do i..

see

hear

smell

feel

taste

and intuit. 

intuition connects the dots.  it molds the other senses into a beautiful sculpture of deeply-felt knowing.  by combining experiences, memories, hunches, and that mystical energy, intuition distinguishes what is real from what is fear.

6.  life is sacred.  it's now been over 5 years since my body traded health for a hidden illness, feelings of dread, and intense pain.  i reject the idea that there is some 'purpose' for this transformation.  but i embrace what my body has taught me.  life cannot be lived in the past or in the future; both are only abstractions.  living in the present is vital to feeling alive.  folks, i only have the present.  nothing else matters.  material things are just things, nothing more.  only love and relationships are real.

7.  choices are sacred.  i must take responsibility for my choices, not out of obligation but out of dignity, respect, and love.  of all the choices that i make, one stands out as most important.  steve jobs and randy pausch have imprinted in me the choice to live as if i am going to die as a top priority.  every day brings constant pain, but it also brings opportunities to make this day unique.  just as the sun rises, so does my anticipation of what choices i can make to be ok with myself and with those i love. 

this song speaks to that notion:

Phil snider

in a recent speech addressing the springfield, missouri city council, a minister delivered a message with a clever twist..  he warned that biblical principles, societal morality, and the institution of marriage were threatened if the the ordinance adding sexual orientation and gender identity to the list of protected minorities was approved. 

as he was finishing his speech, phil snider did an 'oops!' stating that he was reading from the wrong speech, using instead the language of anti-segregationists from the 1950's and 1960's who warned that the wrath of god would come upon americans if segregation was outlawed.  phil's speech effectively exposed the methods by which anti-gay advocates were using the bible as a justification for their views and as a scare tactic to those who disagreed with them.  it was a twist that alfred hitchcock would have relished.


phil snider's speech has had a huge impact on me.  as a gay man, i have been reminded of the anti-gay sermons in my early years, the efforts of well-meaning people to persuade me to change, the fear of hell, and the shame i experienced while in reparative therapy when i was in my early 20's.  it was wrong to be me.

but i have also been reminded of the transformation i have experienced over the years with the help of supportive friends, insightful therapy, and the love and support my wife, donna,  consistently has given me.  they have given me the courage to shed a lifetime of shame, to hold my head up high with pride, and to enjoy a life of freedom to be my true self.   i am deeply grateful to be at a place of peace and contentment.  the transformation over the years into a person who loves himself and is loved by others just for who i am. 

Hidden treasures

donna happened upon a children's book stashed away in a storage box.  the first reaction when i saw the book was "awwwwww!".  translated, it means "i love that book; so many good memories".  as adults, sometimes we think our life is so complicated versus a child who is so innocent and free of serious challenges to living a healthy life.  how could a child face a challenge that seems insurmountable? 

helping to dispel that myth is this children's book that makes my list of the most important books in a child's library.  this book addresses hopelessness, struggle, the need for support, and obstacles that impede progress toward a particular goal.  quite heavy stuff for a 5 year old!

the story actually is a version of the biblical story, 'the good samaritan'.  it includes someone in a dire situation, several puffed-up people who are unwilling to help, and a modest one that helps even though deemed unworthy by society.  hearing sermons and lectures on 'the good samaritan', i learned that the best way to understand this book was to identify with each of the characters.  this in spite of the desire to play the part of the hero. 

but what makes this story unique is the theme of resolve and persistence.  any super hero can confidently face mountains of obstacles with super-human powers.  but the rest of us must rely on our inner resources and the support of others.  as such, this story is not just for children but for all of us.  most of us have faced dire situations and have doubted our resolve to overcome.  and some of us have succumbed to the pressure of the current situation...  giving up...  giving in.

if i were, however, to write a sequel to this book, it would contain all of the characters and, of course, the same dire situation.  but the ending would be that in spite of resolve and perserverence, the protagonist would finally say.  i've tried my best, but i just couldn't do it. 

have you ever faced a problem that is too much to bear?  and have you ever called yourself terrible names that reflect the opinion that giving up is a sign of weakness?  i believe strongly that sometimes the most courageous and strong thing to do is to surrender to the situation and find a different way to live.

living with a chronic illness and with constant pain since 2007, i have had to give up several times.  among those times was the realization that i could no longer work at a job about which i was passionate.  after a couple leaves of absence and many, many sick days, i finally terminated my contract in 2010, feeling defeated...  feeling like a failure.

it was only with the help of supportive people that eventually i was able to see my decision as one of strength and courage.  as someone once said, i felt the fear and did it anyway.  as i look back now, i was successful because i did what needed to be done.  i changed my self-expectations to ones that fit the reality of the situation.

courage is NOT defined by winning at any cost, even to the detriment of ourselves physically, emotionally, or by straining our relationships.  winning is facing reality by re-focusing on a more worthy and achievable goal. 

i value highly the ideas contained the book, "the little engine that could".  selling ourselves short is not a helpful way to live.  but sometimes in our lives, we must move from "i think i can, i think i can" to "i did my best, i did my best".  those times give us the opportunity to love and affirm ourselves just as we are. 

Whoa nellie!!!

is it the speed, the twists, the crazy turns, or the steep falls that make roller coasters so popular?  or it is 'all the above'?  several magazines devoted to roller coasters speak to the concept, design, construction, and the actual experience of rides all around the world.  many of us have spent a day at an amusement park either riding those steel (or wood) monsters or watching others do so.  

so we can, at some level, relate to the long lines of anticipation-- a spectrum of emotions both expressed and hidden--that build with each step closer to the actual ride.  hearing the sounds of the ride and the screams of excitement, delight, and terror add to the whole experience.  people begin offering instructions to their fellow riders as they get closer and closer (e.g., raise your arms/hands, put your arms down close your eyes, open your eyes).  voices are louder, bodies are jumping, fingers are fiddling as the line gets shorter and shorter.  spectators below are watching our every move, pointing at us, and yelling special last suggestions and reminders. 

and suddenly, it's your turn!  as you climb into your seat, the safety gadgets are secured around you, and the attendant signals the ride to begin.  the convoy of cars climb slowly up a long and steep  incline.  that is the l o n g e s t part of the ride, and your head is filled with crazy thought, wild emotions, and the big question...  "will i survive this experience?".

living day to day is, at times, very similar to a roller coaster.  all the twists and turns, the climbs, the falls, and the inclines and the free-falls can make life seem out of control.  sandwiched between those rides are times of waiting and anticipation.  we try to prepare ourselves with suggestions, rules for living, safety nets, and the support of friendships.  how many times have we heard, "i am waiting for the next shoe to drop" or "life is going too well for it to last".  but try as we may, complete and sufficient preparation for what lies ahead just cannot be made.  because when the ride takes off, suddenly we are not in control.  we hang on, scream and yell, close our eyes, and raise our hands in the air not knowing when the next turn, steep drop, or 360 turn will catch us off-guard.

honestly, i have no wise words to offer about getting through those times; i wish for you sake and mine that i did.  there just aren't any guarantees...  no warranties...  no refunds or exchanges.  we have are our past experiences, our friends, our decision-making skills, and our intutions.  with those on-board, we hang on until the ride is over and until the next ride begins.  that is the one thing we can do during those times...  hang on!!  we hold tightly onto what we know as we wait for the roller coaster ride to finish, brush ourselves off, and get into the next line.

The value of a cliche

recently, i have been in an email conversation with a friend i've known since 1979.  over the years, she and i have shared aspects of our lives that would not be shared on a facebook timeline, a dinner party, or a family gathering.  Most of our conversations, aside from hilarity,  mutual face palming, and sarcasm, have been what some people may call heart-to-heart.  Others may call it sharing life stories, which is quite different than telling stories about our lives. 

We have earned with other the rights and responsibilities of honesty, confrontation, compassion, and trust...  oh, and the occasional use of cliches.  As an avid avoider of cliches, i usually give little credibility to a cliche as they are often associated with much flippancy and little caring.

As an exception, i took to heart a common cliche.  It was 'hang on'!

hang on?

hang on!!

what transformed that statement into the equivalent of a hug or a eye-to-eye affirmation was this:
1.  i knew the person from whom it came;
2.  she has heard similar things from me;
3.  they were words that i really needed to hear;
4.  they carried no implication of a quick fix. 

depression is something she and i have in common, as chronic and as pesky as ravenous mosquitoes inflicting several tiny bites and leaving something halfway between a sting and an itch.  one occasional bite... ok.  but the cumulative effect can be traumatic.  depression eats away at hope, contentment, self-esteem, and energy.  and with each bite, depression becomes more over-powering.  treating the symptoms are important but preventative action is much more effective.

my friend and i have been comrades in our bouts of depression.  we have suggested ways to cope, offered important things to remember, treatments that might be helpful, and the occasional comic relief from the numbness.  i place her statement, 'hang on' in the category of vital things to remember when depression strikes. 

in this context, hanging on connotes hope and assurance.  but most importantly, it brings with it a very practical way to deal with depression.  for a person to hang on, one must have some grip on reality,  some strength to remain suspended in limbo, and a lot of trust that 'hanging on' will become 'holding on', which will become 'standing again on firm ground'. 

knowing that i am in a 'hanging on' state, she was reminding me that it won't be forever.  hanging on will bear fruits of renewed energy, stability, and mood.  from experience, we both know that to be true.    oh, yes we do!

due to personal effort, much-needed support, and professional help, i WILL be moving out of the hanging on stage soon.  i will find from within the capacity to move on from this episode.  it is the loving reminders of close friends that likely will make the wait time a bit shorter.  and words from someone who knows the drill is saying loudly, "and i am hanging on for you and with you and beside you". 

A thank you to dan and effie

soon after we were married, donna and i went to england to visit some friends.  one of our planned trips was to the beautiful lake district.  donna she said this was one of the most beautiful places she had ever been, and she was right!  the six of us found a spot overlooking the valley; the bare, smooth rock gave us a perfect place to have a picnic.  it was one of those times when you say to yourself, "this is just too gorgeous to be real".

as any other tourist would do, we were taking pictures to capture forever what we were experiencing then.  donna took the camera to take a picture of the rest of us as we picnicked.  apparently she could not get all of us in her viewfinder.  so has any camera buff would do, she backed up a bit.  it must have not been enough because she continued to step backward... one step, two steps, three steps. 

suddenly i realized that she was only a short distance from the cliff.  she was going to fall to her death!  i was so panicked, my body and my voice froze.  this was a tragedy that only happens to other people.

and then i heard a calm, but firm voice saying, "donna, stop where you are.".  it was a male voice, but it wasn't mine.  our friend had realized the situation and used his voice in the same manner that he certainly has used with his children.  he knew that yelling may have made her lurch backward.  donna responded to his calm tone immediately and stopped...  less than a yard away from the cliff.  he had saved her life.

of course, after knowing she was safe, we breathed, cried, and hugged.  we recounted what each of us had experienced during those terrifying seconds.  and we 'encouraged' donna to be more careful.  but most of all our donna was with us, shaken but safe.

how often do we yell at ourselves, saying words we would never say to another person, with the intention of helping us..  words like stupid, worthless, dumb, idiotic.  we know how a person would feel if we used those words to shame them.  so why do we use them on ourselves?  maybe we think those words will snap us into shape. you know, tough love buddy!! 

but perhaps we have become numb to those words. just like a doctor who numbs an area before doing a painful procedure, we inflict pain even though we cannot immediately feel it.  but the wounding has been done.  and the pain eventually reveals itself. 

what if we were to use calm, gentle, supportive words to point out a mistake we've made or to alert us to a dangerous decision we're about to make.  what if we were to comfort ourselves out of desperation; to love ourselves into wholeness?  what would happen if we were to remove those horrible words from our inner vocabulary, and replace them with words of love and respect.

i am not advocating that we avoid correcting ourselves.  sometimes "stephen, that was not a very helpful decision you just made" or "stephen, what you said was not very kind" are appropriate and helpful.  after all, self-honesty and self-discipline are healthy and adaptive qualities to acquire.  what i am advocating is that we avoid shaming ourselves in the process, that we treat ourselves with respect as we are problem-solving, generating options, and offering self-forgiveness in order to clarify what we have done and to avoid making the same mistakes again. 

i remember a sunday school teacher whose name was effie.  what a kind and loving person she was!  she taught us the 'golden rule' by pretending to put on a pair of gloves.  as we placed the glove on the first finger, we would say 'do', the second finger, 'unto', the third finger 'others'.   because we didn't have enough fingers to complete the rule, we had to button on the gloves in order to say 'unto you'.  it might be a good idea to put on those same gloves on when we choose how to treat ourselves.  i think the gloves will fit... well...  like a glove.

Needing

grocery store scene:  "no, you can't have the captain crunch!  now put down that bag of snickers!  but, mom, i need them, please!  i will keep my room really, really clean.  please?  no, you can't have those snickers, but you still need to clean your room.  oh mom, you are so mean!"

i have observed similar scenes over the years.  in part, i laugh because it is the same type of argument that i certainly used with my parents.  how DO we pass these things on? 

but the laughter subsides a bit when i realize even now i argue with myself in a similar manner.  how do i determine what i want from what i need?  being the slightly stubborn (or at least persistent) person that i am, i can give a litany of reasons why i need something.  and like a couple shots of whiskey, the litany dulls my thinking and helps me to sneak a want into the need category. 

now don't get me wrong.  there is nothing inherently wrong with wanting something.  i love, crave, want an occasional bread pudding with rum sauce.  but giving into that craving it everyday would do two things:  i would have to buy new clothes and  i would tire of the pudding.  allow me to add one more:  it can become the means to avoid my actual needs.

from a very early age, we fight the battle of need vs. want.  and it is a battle.  after all, by focusing on what we want, we can become impulsive and selfish.  but most importantly, it can keep our eyes on the future,  always looking for yet another thing we want, often avoiding what we really need.  yet focusing on our needs keeps us in the present.  it can guide us to what will really satisfy and nourish us.  it informs us of what is really important and vital in the present...  right now.

and this is the beautiful part...  need and want now have the opportunity to work together, shuffling through the options, and deciding what will really fulfill the need that is lacking.  opponents are transformed into partners... friends... allies. 

i need comfort and i choose to ask for a hug.  i am hungry and i choose to eat something healthy and nourishing.  i am tired and i choose to stop what i am doing in order to rest. 

of course, we feel a craving and choose to act on it.  that can be so much fun!  but as allies, need can help want not to go off the deep end.  perhaps that is, in part, our security and safety...   our needs and our wants working side by side, watching out for each other, helping us to become whole.

Gotcha!

donna and i have developed and finely tuned  'gotcha' technique that works very well.  it goes something like this...  stephen decides to carry a glass, a pitcher, and a computer from one room to the next.  donna gives stephen a look that says, "just what ARE you doing?".  stephen gets defensive, saying he did nothing wrong, which sets himself up for the 'gotcha' line.  donna says, 'if i did what you just did, what would you say to me?'   stephen concedes; he knows better than to carry so much with his leg and balance problems.  then he apologizes. 

i hate when that happens, unless i am the one using the gotcha line which btw can give great pleasure.  but what is most satisfying is the empathy that continues to build between us as it diffuses a potential argument and increases accountability to ourselves and to each other.

there are gotcha moments that are less honorable.  they can also be used to manipulate or embarrass a person.  the other day, i was introduced to a man who is generally known to be a good guy.  please note...  he is a manager of a large grocery store close to us.  we shook hands and said our 'nice to meet you' remarks.  then, without warning, the man reached out and touched my stomach saying to me, 'donna sure does feed you well'.  donna and i looked at each other to confirm our shocked reaction.  i had been gotcha-ed. and being so sensitive about being judged as fat, lazy, and gluttonous only intensified my shock. i don't mean to imply that this man set out to embarrass me.  but in his position, he should have known better...  much better.   had i not been paralyzed with shock, i would have taken him to task. 

but it gets worse because another gotcha moment happened shortly after.  i realized that i had judged large people often, disgusted that they had little self-control, and that they were too lazy or apathetic to help themselves.  although i had never touched such a person inappropriately, i had avoided and dismissed large people, thinking they were not worth my time and energy.

GOTCHA!  i found myself more ashamed and embarrassed at my own past thinking than i was at the store manager's action.  the tears in my eyes were ones of remorse and regret.  i know i had been wrong.

one of donna's wise insights has been that we really don't know a person's backstory...  what they have experienced, with what have they struggled, and who they are apart from their size.  more than ever i understand clearly what she means. 

Shoveling

one of my new favorite shows is 'white collar'.  a clever and very handsome con man is released from prison on the condition that he helps the fbi capture other felons.  he thinks like the criminals; he knows their techniques; he searches for clues in a way unique to them; he is 'one of them'.  and guess who is his partner...  the man who captured him.  as they work on cases together, they form an unlikely friendship where trust is built... slowly and tentatively.

it's quite amazing to witness the transformation as he keeps one foot in the criminal world while he steps into the role of ad hoc law enforcer.  oh, one other thing:  he wears an ankle device so that his partner knows at all times where he is.   there lurks a constant temptation to cut off the ankle device and run.  but doing so may result in his return to captivity.

this could be my story as well.  i try to live a life of integrity and vision, to be upbeat, and to allow humor to add spice to life.  teaming up with others who share the same goals seems to add motivation and strength to my resolve. 

but sometimes i find myself in a situation in which i have one foot in a place of old habits, stifling ways of thinking, and less than stellar attitudes.  it's easy to cut myself free from the high road of healthy living to indulge old but familiar habits even though i know doing so will lead to being held captive to those indulges.

does it sound familiar to you as well?

before you think i am a wannabe criminal, let me say that is not the temptation.  rather it is slipping into the old habits of depression as evidenced by anger, emotional numbness, and psychological pain.  as uninviting as it sounds, those things can be seductive when i want to stop trying.  after all, leading a contented life has it's own challenges and just plain hard work.  ultimately, what seemed like the easy way out actually lands me in a place of captivity.  digging out from the low road is much harder work than the effort to stay on the high road. 

as tempting as it might be to say 'cheer up' or 'look on the bright side' such statements do the opposite because it adds shame and embarrassment to the struggle.  whether i say those words to myself or i hear others say them, the result is, well, not helpful.

so what does help?  the most important thing is acknowledging what the temptations were to which i gave in.  by doing that, i take full responsibility for my choices and actions.  and then i listen to my heart, which tells me that high road is still there. only then can i grab the shovel and start digging out.  but with that comes support and help from those closest to me.  that support comes in the way of listening ears and open hearts.  allowing others to love me helps me to love myself enough to head toward the high road. 

currently, i have the shovel in my hand.  i am digging and others have grabbed a shovel and have pitched in their support.  i have a ways to go, but by golly i am getting there.  the high road is in sight.

now, excuse me while i get back to digging.

Need a hamburger?

anyone living within the current drought/excessive heat zone can tell you about brown grass, withered flowers, and sometimes futile attempts to save vegetable gardens or crops.  it comes as no surprise that some people feel trapped inside their air conditioned homes, cautiously venturing out only when necessary.  of course, there are those who endure the weather to play sports, attend picnics, and take walks.  and a few people actually love this weather; i don't know any of them.

last evening when i stepped out of the house, i was hit with relatively cool air!  from where did this come?  and this morning, i sit in the patio room, window wide open enjoying the sounds of the birds and the flow of our outdoor water fountain.  although it will be brief, enjoying the coolness is a top priority.  we all deservc a break!

one of the most recognized and successful commercial jingles was aired to sell burgers and fries:  'you deserve a break today. so get up and get away...  to mcdonald's!".  cheerleaders, sports stars, and estatic floor moppers and counter cleaners declare and celebrate the right to take a break...  just come to mcdonald's where you will find respite from whatever stress you are experiencing.  what a deal!

how often have i heard and have i said, "you have worked so hard; you deserve a break!" or "life has been so tough, you have earned a relaxing vacation".  you get the drift.  we have the tendency to grant others and ourselves to stop and smell the roses.  and that is a good thing!

but for some reason, i get hung up on the word 'deserve', which means that we have done something worthy of a reward.  taking a break from our routine is not something we have earned.  rather it's a vital need for a balanced life.  doing the same thing in the same manner dulls our senses. but breaking a routine wakes us up.  it heightens our awareness.  it allows us to see our world from a different perspective. 

most of us have arrived at a destination not remembering the journey.  so lost in our thoughts, we have missed the opportunity to see what is around us.  so what?  after all, we arrived!  but is that the most important thing in life... arriving?

also, taking a break can serve many purposes.  i remember a break-up of a significant relationship for which too much extra time only increased the emotional pain.  sitting around brooding was not helpful.  only when i delved into a project at work did i find some relief.  in that case, my break was adding something to my workload. 

if we really, really want to know, we have the capacity to understand what constitutes a break for us.  others can make suggestions, but only we know what will help.  it falls upon us to distinguish between what others think should be a break and we know is best...  if we take the time to seek the answer.

Knowing

as kids, my parents would take us away for a vacation.  going as close as lancaster, ohio to swim at a holiday inn or going as far as portland, oregon to the church's general assembly, we got 'out of the city' for some r&r.  often during the summer we kids would visit our grandmother in dayton, leaving our parents to fend for themselves. 

i honed my natural sense of adventure and curiosity, not only during the trip, but also in the anticipation of the trip to come.  when our aaa triptik would arrive, i would spend hours looking at the details of our trip.  then i would refer to the accompanying map to see the whole trip, noting the states through which we would pass and the lakes, rivers, and mountains that would would see. of course, finding any strange and funny names like pee pee creek, tombstone, and truth or consequences brought humor and delight to the anticipation. 

packing my clothes, my adventure tools, and of course my mad magazine, i was off with my family to explore.  and explore we did.  we hit state historical sites (serpent mound was one of my favorites), national parks, and famous cities.  some were thrilling such as the redwood forest.  some were pure joy like knott's berry farm, and some were duds which would be the painted desert. 

staying fairly close to the grand canyon, we were awakened by loud noises in the room next to ours...  at midnight.  we tried our best to sleep, but by 3am, we decided to pack up and head for the canyon, hoping to be rewarded by a canyon sunrise.  calculating the time, and were sitting at the edge of the canyon when dawn was to appear.  we waited...  waited... waited.  it was a short time before we realized that arizona did not change to dst as most of the country had done.  groans and moans were abundant, but we finally saw the beauty of the canyon as the sun rose...  but only one hour later. 

adventures come with exciting surprises, some disappointments, a few miscalculations, occasional close calls, and amazing wonder and awe.  but that is precisely what adventures are...  exploring the unknown... 

sometimes i am confronted with the question, 'if i could know the future, would i want to know?'.  as tempting as it would be, that foreknowledge holds very little interest for me.  i don't like knowing the ending of a novel or a movie before it's time.  knowing ahead of time the people i will meet or the experiences i will have seems silly and boring.  why?  because it would take away from me the adventure, the curiosity, and the surprises of life.  as important as knowledge is to me, future knowledge would be terrible.  life would simply be playing out predetermined events.  it would transform me from an active participant into a passive observer.  no thanks!

whether the adventure is my inside or outside world, i want it to have choices, whether or not they are helpful ones.  even some of my poor choices have led me to some incredible discoveries, painful as they might be. my choices have made me who i am and who i will be.  there is much in life that is out of my control, but my choices are mine.  i own them.  the buck stops here.  i would have it no other way.

lapping it up

several years ago, robert fulghum published a book espousing the simple virtues of what we learned in kindergarten.  anything else of value that we learned could be traced back to that time in our lives.  although the idea is a cute one indeed, i challenge the notion because it is not true.  in fact, i would argue that some things from kindergarten may need to be unlearned.  but that is a subject for another time.

for almost 28 years, i have learned many things from a certain someone... but learning to trust her love enough... so much that i could safely return that love is probably the most important. 

in the beginning of our friendship, i was both amazed and overwhelmed by her ways of loving.  frankly, i could not believe in the love that came from her.  she was too friendly, too trusting, too loving...  it had to be fake.  only with time did i realize how authentically those qualities were expressed, not only to me but to others.  i spent a lot of time observing how she interacted with others.  the consistency with which she loved blew me away to the point that i wanted more. 

like a parched and thirsty dog lapping up water, i rapidly began to drink in the trust and love that she offered.  i opened my heart and mind to her in ways i had never done before.  i simply could not get enough.  over a course of five years, we developed a deep bond that tore away those protective boundaries that i had built for myself.  i didn't need them anymore. 

only when she left the country did i realize that not only did i love her, but i was in love with her.  leaving her at the airport, i realized that i had made perhaps the biggest mistake of my life... letting her go without expressing how deeply i loved her.

by some strange and wonderful circumstances, she decided to return to the usa.  my mind was racing and my heart was leaping, knowing that i might have a second chance to express those most frightening words, "will you spend the rest of your life with me?".   but i waited for months to ask that question because it required me to trust in a way that i never had before.  and i almost lost her as a result.

in a moment of vulnerability and of reckless love, i called her in papua new guinea.  her voice was stern and angry, pointing out that i had not said one thing about her return to the usa.  this was a critical moment.  with all the trust i could muster i asked her to marry me, knowing that she would respond with a clear and final rejection.

but her voice softened. 

and she said yes.

and nine months later, in a spontaneous but decisive act, we married while vacationing in bangkok, thailand. 

has she been consistent in her love since then?  has she continued to teach me how to love deeply and trust fully? 

YES!

and like that parched and thirsty dog, i continue to lap up donna sue richey-suttles' invitations to love. as a result, i continue to learn how to love and trust other people.

and in the spirit of robert fulghum's book, that is all i need to know

Doing breakfast

this morning donna and i went to breakfast with a group from our water walking class.  the 'burbs are a different place on weekdays when mostly the +55 crowd is out and about.  twelve of us ordered anything from veggie sausage gravy (blech!), to eggs soft enough to dip toast (double blech!), to french toast and sausage (yum!!). 

it was as if i had been transported into the movie, cocoon, where seniors become energetic, fun-loving, crazy companions.  of course there was talk of the past, but so much more about the present and the future.  someone went recently on an alaskan cruise, another is going to germany for 3 weeks, and another has started as a volunteer at a hospital.  geez!  these people are go-getters, including the 91 former sailor that likes to sing (and to teach me to sing) bawdy navy songs.

learning some of the group's history from members and former members made this breakfast special.  although each had their own reason for joining the group initially, one common theme was clear, they stayed with the group because they have found ways to make this exercise group like family.  it shows in the laughter, the stories, the jokes, and the tears.  and the caring is beyond class time and breakfast outings...  cards are sent, people visit sick/former members, phone calls are made.  people check in with each other. 

it's events like this...  breakfast with buddies at a mom and pop hometown restaurant that includes on it's menu 'a decent breakfast' for $6.59...  that make this guy's heart sing, this belly laugh, and his spirits lifted because he has been with family. 

Lift chairs and rollators

we recently purchased two lift chairs for the sunroom and the tv room.  having sat in one at a friend's house, i realized how much easier it is to avoid joint pain when going from a seated to a standing position.  just as my rollator allows me greater mobility and freedom, my chairs allow me to modulate pain while seated and while getting up.   although using these aids was embarrassing at first, they have become an important part of physical mobility and psychological healing from some powerful forces.   for example......

anger:  there was a time when anger was a controlling force.  i would see people walking freely, sitting comfortably in a restaurant booth, or jumping in and out of a car.  anger would rise up with the words, 'it's not fair!!!!!!'.  the anger that helped me push through the disease now resulted in frequent bouts of self-pity and two attempts to end my life.  eventually i said NO MORE!!  releasing myself from destructive anger was empowering.  i reclaimed the will to live and to thrive.

stubbornness:  i was an expert at this one!  i turned my head to what was happening to my body.  although i kept working, excessive sick days didn't help my clients, my colleagues, or myself.  facing reality was something i refused to do.  donna was appropriately worried.  doctors told me to retire.  my body tried constantly to face life head on.  but i didn't listen.  instead, i held on to 'i am too strong to give up'.  it was yet another bout of sickness in october 2010 that jolted me into reality.  with courage at my side, i found the strength to retire.  finally i took in a deep breath of relief. 

anxiety:  now that i had little responsibility, i didn't know what to do with myself.  free time alone isn't freedom.  restlessness, self-doubt, and guilt took control.  but what has been a life pattern, the anxiety released a burst of creativity.  among other things, i decided to try drawing.  the 120 colored pencils became a vehicle for expression, for purpose, and for enjoyment.  i read about artists who found freedom from psychological pain in the creative process.  also, i turned to the art of cooking.  sitting in the kitchen on my rollator, i was lost in the creative process of dreaming up concoctions and modifying recipes i found online.  i thought my favorite dishes that my parents made.  i remembered church potlucks, sunday dinners at grandma hughes' house, and nanny's (my grandmother) macaroni and cheese.  i experimented with various spices and with unique combinations, some of which were duds, but some were delightfully delicious. 

the process of healing has brought me to a level of acceptance.  rather than focusing on what i couldn't do, i learned to embrace those things i could do.  i cannot say with honesty that i am happy.  but i have transformed my definition of happiness into what i view as contentment.  the difference?  happiness is fleeting and dependent on outside circumstances.  contentment, on the other hand, is a choice to satisfied with 'what is'.  it is within my power to choose contentment in spite of circumstances.  it's an inner peace that happiness cannot duplicate. 

before i go, i want to clarify this:  i still deal with anger, stubbornness, and anxiety, which donna can easily verify.  i still withdraw into myself and give into depression at times.  but they are not quicksand anymore, sucking me into hopelessness.  instead, they become an opportunity to reaffirm my choice to be content.  contentment has become the safety rope that pulls me out of self-pity.  my lift chairs and my rollator give me access to more freedom and independence.  each day i have a choice to be content with my life.  and by golly, it works...  most of the time.

Angry birds

i have something to confess.  angry birds is my current addiction.  why would killing pigs who steal the birds' eggs be so much fun, using bombs, mighty eagles, egg-dropping hens, and even teeny tiny birdettes?  thirty minutes turns into 2-3 hours.  in the effort to control this ravenly obsession, i have limited myself to thirty minutes, which is hardly time to get the adrenaline going.  but so be it.

so what is the difference between and obsession and a passion?  after all, both involve intense focus and love of the activity.  both take time to develop and to perfect.  what sets passion apart from obsession?  perhaps part of the answer lies in the feelings passion and obsession evoke. 

when obsessed, i am driven by excitement, frustration, and sometimes boredom.  it has a numbing effect on other emotions...  anxiety and sadness, for instance.  of course, they reappear quickly.

passion, on the other hand, elicits a strong inner peace and fulfillment.  that is because it is an expression of my true self; it drives me to be the best stephen i can be.  and the effects last a long time because 'pure' expression and creativity gives a voice to the mind and heart. 

for years, i have been fascinated with the events of the holocaust. my very first high school theme was about it.  i read articles, watch movies, and listen to the stories of survivors.  the horror, shock, and hopelessness of these experiences are deeply troubling to say the least.  and the courage, survival, and redemption of the survivors teaches me about living life at the fullest.  i gravitate to the events of the holocaust because it stirs up in me the will not only to survive, but to thrive.  it revives my passion for living life one day at a time.  now is the only reality. 

now is the only reality.

now is the only reality.

Coming home

i love researching, comparing, and finding the 'perfect' vacation spot.  the preparation stage is as exciting as a double shot of adrenaline and expresso, traveling via the internet at the speed of whatever.

we did our homework to find a great spot for our vacation.  but having stayed in the same hotel... the same room three consecutive times, we decided that next may, we will stay at another place which has a nearby beach walkway that hugo can transport me 2/3 of the way to the water.  hotels, experiences, and wishes do change, after all.

having said all that, there is something simply incredible about arriving home, walking into a clean house, and with a deep sigh saying 'we are home!".   i see the house with fresh eyes, noting the placement of furniture and plants, enjoying the fresh sheets donna put on the bed before we left, and gazing at our backyard which looks like a park. 

we're home!!

many times wonderful things are experienced...  new and exciting ideas and project are tried...  exploring different parts of ourselves, some of which we didn't know existed...   they add excitement and novelty to living. 

but nothing beats the feeling of coming home to self, recognizing our deepest beliefs, feeling our core emotions, feeling as content as a well-worn pair of jeans.  visiting other places is a natural and essential part of life.  we have to leave home sometimes to discover who we are.   but nothing integrates our discoveries as much as walking in the door of our own life and saying, 'this is home'.

How low can you go?

sometimes having low expectations can be a powerful tool to keep hope alive.  

yesterday, i received the results of some neurological tests which were given to help determine episodes of confusion and disorientation and to determine the reason for the numbness and pain in my legs.  to be honest, i went with very, very low expectations.  experience has taught me that medical tests do not and cannot always explain symptoms. 

the good news:  i still have a brain.  no evidence of any serious brainthings was found.  that was a relief.

the expected news:  the tests did not reveal the source of the disorientation.  but other tests revealed damaged nerves and some loss of motor function in my legs.  whether either of those can be reversed is, according to the doctor, only speculative. 

the bad news:  none.  why?  because i had very low expectations about what the test would reveal.

and it's the low expectations that give me hope.  coping with the symptoms on a daily basis gives me a sense of control.  just like vitamin c, too much hope is simply flushed out of my system.  but a daily dose benefits both body and mind. 

conversely, hanging my hat on the hope that things will eventually get better takes me down a dark path.  over the last few years, i have had too many experiences of getting my hopes up only to be profoundly disappointed resulting in an emotional roller-coaster ride.  i can't afford to ride in that seat. 

contentment comes in many ways.  this is my way for now.

cocooning

isn't the metamorphosis of a caterpillar amazing.  as a child, i had a teacher who put a caterpillar in a glass-enclosed container.  it was exciting to get to school each day... really... in order to observe what changes had taken place.  of course, the caterpillar became a cocoon; the cocoon housed what was to become a butterfly; the class cheered. the butterfly was loosed out the window.  freedom!

i could take you down the road of using caterpillar metamorphosis as a metaphor for life, with the end result being freedom and transformation.  but i won't.

that is because the cocoon fascinates me so much more.  it is during the cocoon stage of incubation that formation is taken place.  a process that involves deep change. the animal knows that it doesn't inch along anymore; it doesn't know it will fly someday.  all it knows is something very different, something strange is happening. 

some people may understand cocooning to be isolation and avoidance.... that certainly can be true.  my preference is to view it as a time of formation.  it's a deeply personal time in which a person lets go of the known and enters into the unknown.  it's a place of insight and reflection, anxiety and fear, nostalgia and longing.

i've experienced being a butterfly several times in my life.  and sometimes i wanted to be one so much i have tried to skip (or at least shorten) the cocoon stage.  but for now, i am a cocoon.  it's cozy as it is uncomfortable.  for now, i am content here.

Jolting thru the morning

the test preparations started at midnight.  i had to stay awake until then and was allowed to sleep until 5am.  daily routines die hard, as is the case with my usual first event of a new day...  heating the water for coffee.  but this morning, caffeine was a no-no.  to distract myself, i let loose my angry birds, caught up with any news that happened since midnight, and played a few rounds of lexulous.  eight o'clock could not come soon enough. 

at 8:30, we arrived at the doctor's office to begin a morning of testing to determine two things:  1. why am i having spells of disorientation and confusion? and 2. why are my legs numb, burning, and weak?  several people have shared their stories of having these tests, but this inquiring mind was open to his own experience.

an ultrasound of my carotid arteries was quick and easy.  however, the technician pushed a bit too hard sometimes, giving me a bit of a 'buzz' when my arteries were compressed.  i can't argue with a natural high.

next came the emg, which happened in two parts.  first, the technician jolted me with various strengths of electrical current.  i tried to keep my toes uncurled but the electrical current was just too convincing.  then the doctor arrived to do the needle part of the test.  after the initial pokes, he said several times...  'while you are on the table, can i do one more poke?"  heck, why not?  this was my best chance at getting the one-stop poke treatment. i was not keen on returning another day for more fun.

finally, did i receive hair extensions or were they just multiple wires glued on to my scalp while the technician gave me her opinion of the follies of smartphones and texting? letting her know i had a dumbphone seemed to end that conversation. it was comforting when she told me to close my eyes and sleep if i wanted.  my eyes were to stay closed as bright lights of various intensities and speeds entertained me.  that experienced lasted about 45 minutes.  i left quietly hiding my cellphone to avoid any further commentary on the smartphone situation.

after leaving the office, we headed to the car.  without much ceremony, i 'informed' donna that we were headed to the quick stop shop for caffeine.  a headache from a lack of that drug was evidenced by my short, grizzly-bear responses to her.  i didn't want to talk, i just wanted an i.v.  it took approximately 2.173 street blocks to consume two beverages. 

coming home, i headed right to bed.  sleep came very quickly.

 i find out the results of the tests two weeks from today.  for now, i hope to make peace with the two-week wait.  what may make that happen is that i think i've made some peace today with the unknown.  so for today, i will enjoy the peace.  tomorrow is too far off to entertain much worry.

Two heads are better than one.

janus was a greek god who had two heads...  one looking forward and one looking back.  in addition to giving us the name of our first month, he contributed powerful symbols to represent transitions, change, time (both past and future), and our growth from childhood to adulthood.  what an advantage janus had, being a god of vision that was informed by the past. his two heads gave him wisdom that other gods did not have.

in my early years, the importance of knowing the past was lost on me.  after all, i couldn't wait to be in junior high then high school then college then in my first teaching job.  at church i was so excited to arrive finally in the junior department and then to make it to the 'prestigious' teen group.  i couldn't wait for the weekend.. for vacations...   for christmas. 

and now, i find fascination in history, genealogy, the stories of people's lives, and the growing understanding of my own life narrative.  i've accomplished many of my goals and i look forward to coming events.  i can hardly wait for our virginia beach vacation next month.

i will let you in on a private issue that has been irking me lately.  i have been involved quite closely in the lives of a few people.  significant investments of time, energy, and money have gone into their lives..  some of them since their birth.  and now that they have grown to adulthood, some seemed to have forgotten me.  it feels sometimes that i have lost them. 

don't get me wrong, i am happy that they are creating their own lives now.  they are making important decisions about partners, occupations, and lifestyle.  as a psychologist at a university counseling center, i was thrilled when students realized the importance of taking delight and of accepting responsibility for their choices.  after all, isn't that what adulthood is all about?

so even as i fell forgotten, i understand because i did the same thing.  although i was grateful for the love people had shown me throughout my youth, i also took that love for granted.  i profited from their their commitment to me.  but they didn't receive much in return.   i wish so much that they were alive today so that i could express the love that i still have for them.  i wish that i could talk to them and hear their wise words of counsel.  it's as if i have become a janus, looking to the future but having now a deep sense of connection with those people in my past. 

at the risk of sounding too self-important, i believe my 'kids' are missing out on me.  i still am committed to them..  still love them deeply...  still believe in them...  still write to them...  and still celebrate their accomplishments.  and i believe i could make significant contributions to their lives if those communication lines worked both ways. 

i am convinced that someday they they will 'grow a head' that looks to the past.  they will remember and will realize the benefits of having me (and others who love them) in their lives.  but that time has not come.  their janus has not yet emerged. 

and so as other people have undoubtedly done for me, i observe their lives from afar.  i feel joy when they are happy.  and i am heartbroken when i know life punches them in the face.  there is much satisfaction in knowing i have played a part in what they are today.

i choose to remain involved in their lives.  i choose to keep my commitments to them.  and i choose to keep loving them no matter what.  after all, isn't that what januses do?

She knows!

last week i had the opportunity to speak to a group of thirty medical professionals at a local hospital.  during a three-day workshop on 'reviving the spirit of caring', ninety minutes are set aside for former patients to share their experiences of being in the hospital.  i remembered several positive and negative experiences and donna helped me fill in things that i didn't remember. 

revisiting these experiences was more intense than i expected, evidenced by an increase in hospital-related nightmares.  i also know that dreams are my brain's way of helping...  resolving and healing the memories of some of those events.

i will spare you the long list of experiences, thoughts, and emotions.  but i want to highlight one very special experience that i don't remember except through the eyes and ears of donna.  apparently, a female housekeeper had finished tidying up my room and i was thanking her.  her response gives me goosebumps whenever i think of it. 

donna told me this:  the housekeeper said that cleaning the rooms was her gift to the patients.

again...

cleaning the rooms was her gift to the patients.

this woman, who no doubt is invisible to many people, realized that what she did was more than useful...  it was important...  it was vital.  the shiny floors, the dusted furniture, and disinfected surfaces, the tidy bathroom impacted the well-being and the recovery of the patients she served. 

i won't suggest that we all hold hands and sing 'we are the world' with a couple key changes to make the song more alive.  and i won't submit her name to the vatican for sainthood.  either action would be most likely embarrassing to her.

but i would like to nominate her for a place at the table where other medical professionals discuss medical techniques, strategic planning, and clever marketing ideas to improve their performance ratings.

if you listen carefully to her voice, you might hear her say, 'i don't know much about medical things, but i do know what a good feeling it gives me to help our patients.  i know why i do what i do'.  a few people may politely thank her for her comment, someone may be making note about some brilliant idea.  but i would hope that for most people, this woman's words would ring true.  they would know that she hit the bulls-eye about what makes a hospital great.

of course i wish i knew the woman's name.  i would like to thank her.  and she would appreciate it.  but i have a sneakin' suspicsion that she appreciates much more the luxury of knowing her that she makes a difference in the lives of her patients.  it makes little difference whether they know it... or not. 

because she knows!

Aliens

as a child, visits to nanny's house in dayton were replete with 'adventures' not usually allowed back home in columbus.  one of those adventures was staying up late to watch scary movies. sometimes my aunt robbie would join us in our friday 'fright night'.

on one particular occasion, we three kids watched a movie... alone.  it was a space alien movie filled with fear, doom, and gloom.  what i remember most is that my seat gradually moved from a comfy chair to a small space behind the chair where the aliens couldn't find me. the terror was most intense due to so many unknowns, especially the eventual outcome of the innocent earthlings. i wanted to go to bed, but i was not about to leave with my brother and sister still watching.

 about three-quarters into the movie, my mom came down the stairs and ordered us to bed.  i am sure the tv volume woke her up.  and i was so relieved that she put a quick end to the movie.  it was as if turning off the tv ended my fear of the unknown, except for the nightmares that resulted.

today i face another movie starring me and co-starring donna and a neurologist. for several month now, i have been having episodes of disorientation.  whether out driving or in the house, i find that i don't know where i am.  a few weeks ago i finally admitted to donna what was happening.  so a visit to my doctor was in order, who referred me to a neurologist.  at the appointment, he found evidence of nerve damage in my legs and arms. suspecting several causes for my symptoms, he ordered several brain and nerve tests to be done in april, and a follow-up in june. june! holy, scary wait, batman!!

after the mri last tuesday, i have been obsessed with the unknown.  nightmares have been frequent and waking hours have been filled with thoughts of what could be.  don't anyone tell me not to be worried.  of course, i think most about the worst case scenarios.  that is what happens when i face fears of the unknown, whether it be the final fate of the earthlings or the final results of the tests.  i wish someone could turn off the tv and make it all go away.

so we both wait... wondering... worrying... hoping...and longing for answers.  try as i may to quell my fears by keeping myself busy, those inner aliens continue to attack at my most vulnerable area... my fear of the unknown. 

i have faced many unknowns in life, especially in the last 4 1/2 years. each time, those aliens attack with promises of doom and gloom only to be vanquished to outer space when i finally know the facts. one would think i would be an expert on coping with the unknown by now.

nada!

so again i wait for news, whether good or not so good.

this really gets old!

The guy on my shoulder.

music has been/is one of the most valuable things in my life.  it provides inspiration, relaxation, opportunities of creativity, and just plain fun.  i enjoy playing alone or for other people; but that hasn't always been the case.  two stories come to mind...

as a boy of  about 11-12, i played in a recital sponsored by my piano teacher.  the piece had to be memorized, which i had accomplished fairly quickly.  it was difficult sitting at the recital listening to others play because my piece was running through my mind....  i could see my fingers hit the notes, my foot press the pedal, and the notes flowing on the page.  i was ready!!

and then i heard my name!

i sat down at the piano, picturing the people sitting in the room.  my hands were shaking and i could feel the beginnings of a sweat river.  i took a deep breath and started.  much to my amazement, i relaxed a bit as i began the piece.  but a one point, my mind went blank.  i could not remember the next line... not even the next note.  i sat frozen until my piano teacher asked me to begin the piece again.  oh my god, not again!  but i complied.  if you would have placed your ten dollars one me succeeding the second time, you would have lost.  at the very same place in the music, i went blank.  the room was silent.  way too silent.  i felt the tears aching to get out, so in desperation, i ran out of the room... out of the building...  into the car...  and sobbed.  i was humiliated. 

 

when i was a junior in high school, i was part of a city-wide nazarene teen choir.  we practiced every sunday afternoon for months to prepare for our 10-day tour in june. every night we held a concert, had dinner at the church, and stayed in the home of one of the church members.  we even spent a day in new york city.  it was so much fun.

 

people were chosen for vocal solos and groups and for instrumental solos, including a piano solo by moi.   i was scheduled to play at our last stop in portsmouth, ohio for their sunday evening service.  we arrived for dinner and then spent some time warming up and to getting dressed.  the guys wore red shirts and blue slacks.  after a week of touring, you could imagine the amount of deodorant sprayed on those shirts that evening.  the gals wore blue and white dresses made of linen-like material which probably had to be ironed one more time. 

 

a few minutes before the concert, i approached the choir director, asking...  no, begging her to replace me with another piano soloist.  i was shaking, in tears, and ready to run out the building.  in a kind but firm voice, she told me that i was scheduled and that i would play.  she was counting on me!  it was another 'oh my god!' moment.  the tears welled up as i felt the sweat start to flow... again.  it was happening...  again.  honestly, i felt trapped.

 

as you might imagine, the first half of the concert was a blank for me.  my entire concentration was on my solo, which was to played during the 'intermission'.  and before i knew it, the time had come.  the rest of the choir left the auditorium and i took my place at the piano, hands shaking and eyes fixed on my music.  the momentary pause was at least 90 minutes, and then i began to play.  to my surprise, the music flowed.  and flowed. and then, i was finished. the applause was overwhelming...  i choked back the tears, tears of relief and pride.  i actually did it, and did it well!

 

i still wonder what would have happened if the choir director had excused me from playing.  what would the result have been if she allowed the fear to control me?  i don't know, but i am grateful that julie slonacker helped me face my fear.

 

in both cases, i feared the judgment of the audience.  i just knew they were waiting with a pad and pencil to check-off every mistake that i would make.  and i knew they would talk about my poor performances repeatedly and forever.  i knew it furshur! 

 

i can laugh about these events now because i know that the biggest (and maybe the only) critic was the guy sitting on my shoulder telling me how bad i was going to play.  that same guy who mocked me in the car after i ran out of the building.  i can laugh because, for the most part, i have learned to send that guy running from the room so that i can enjoy and appreciate my talent.  i can make mistakes now and i really don't give a damn.  i just play on....

 

thank you to all the julie's in my life who have helped me face my fears.  and i thank myself for not allowing that guy on my shoulder to control my life.  he hasn't disappeared, but he knows he is not welcome.

Birch bark and feathers

looking through a magazine that jane gave me, i discovered a picture of birch bark.  the white, cream, beige colors are in sharp contrast to the black markings.  i had to draw it!  five pictures later, my collection was somewhat satisfying.  included is a canoe, and tight close up of the bark, and a couple landscapy compositions. 

the same thing happened when i saw an ostrich feather earlier this week.  i was compelled to draw it with quick and wispy strokes, almost feeling the feather tickling my fingers.  now i am drawing a deep gray and red feather and am looking for other eye-catching feathers on the internet.  what i really want to draw is a peacock feather, trying to capture the sheen of the blues and greens, the contrasting 'eye', and the elegant pattern.

as much as i enjoy the spontaneity of drawing random pictures, entering into a 'pattern phase' is delightful.  looking everywhere for birch-like or feather-like objects, i found patterns more common than i thought i would.  there are patterns everywhere:  ceilings, floors, food, fabric, grass, trees...

our own choices distinguish us from each other.  those choices become patterns of behavior and attitude.  but those patterns can change when life events turn our world upside-down.  in fact, they must change in order for us to adapt to new situations.  if a person who i haven't seen for years would say to me, 'my, you haven't changed a bit', my first reaction would be to slap them and put a dirty sock in their mouth.  more likely, however, i would say, 'really?  actually i have changed quite a bit!'. 

rather than drawing birch bark forever, i am now in a feather mode.  but tomorrow, something new will take the feather's place.  as i make different choices, my patterns change.  what used to work for me doesn't anymore.  whether it be social, religious, psychological, or physical, changes are necessary...  helpful...  adaptive...   enriching...

i have chosen, due to huge life changes, to form different patterns.  one of the more curious patterns that has changed is my circle of friends.  before my illness, i had many friends, several close friends, and a very few soulmates.  a variety of opportunities for meeting new people existed.  but my life has changed dramatically.  some casual friends became much closer, several close friends became distant, and a couple of friends transformed into soulmates.  on the other hand, many friends have distanced themselves.  calls became less frequent and invites became an exception to the rule.  realizing that friendship phase in and out of our lives, i still was disillusioned, disappointed, and bitter with some people who 'suddenly' disappeared from my life. 

but the big take-away from those experiences is this...  the choices i made were crucial in order to adapt to a new phase of life.  leaving an angry and hurt stage, i decided to change my pattern.  and as that pattern changed, i found myself embracing people as close friends...  i was astounded that as i opened my life to new friendships, my life was enriched.  rather than feeling sorry for myself, i allowed myself the luxury of adapting my patterns in order to surround myself with loving, positive people. 

and now, the best compliment anyone could give me now is 'my, you sure have changed...  you've adapted...  you're a winner!'.

Baby grand

at ten o'clock a.m. we arrived at the home of an historic oakwood resident.  as we were getting out of the car, a neighbor opened her door and watched us get hugo out of the back of the car.  we knew that even a suspect facial expression could land us in deep doo-doo with the vigilant watch-dog.

confidently, we approached the front door.  donna knocked and/or rang the bell several times.  the fourth one yielded an opened door...  with a woman dressed in her bathrobe, looking like the irs had just come to audit her  oh shit!  we arrived one hour early; too early for the woman to be awake.  it must have been quite a party last night. 

she was selling her baby grand piano and our piano tuner said that with some work, the piano could be a good choice.  now i have had a dream for years of owning a baby grand piano.  and the piano tuner has been on the lookout for me.  there is something about the sound, the beauty, and the presence of a baby grand that captures the attention of the senses.

i must say that the woman was much nicer to us than i would be if awakened at a 'bad time'  in fact, one of my friends texted me at midnight a few days ago.  throwing tlc out the window, i told him if it happened again, i would return the call at 4:30 am.  but i am digressing into my own personal bitterness.

playing the beautiful piano left me wanting for a much better tone quality, accurate pitch, and octaves that resembled each other.  even after a recent tuning, this piano just didn't cut it.  i tried to talk myself into buying it by the process of 'making do' with an inferior piano.  so i put on a happy face and put a positive spin on the instrument, especially in front of the woman.  i hope it's not too tacky to mention that the piano had been in her deceased husband's family for several generations.  she had it refinished for approximately the same price as the price for which she was selling it to us.  i just couldn't point out the negatives, glaring as they were. 

as we were leaving the house, we noticed another neighbor who stepped out unto the front porch and watched us until we were in our vehicle.  it reminded me of the tv show 'laugh in' in which celebs would peek out of a door, say something loony, and the retreat only to have another celeb repeat the process. 

driving home, donna asked me about the piano.  at that moment, i had to choose my words carefully.  i so badly wanted to say how much i loved the piano, minimizing the obvious problems.  but instead i said, 'i don't want to buy it'.  in response, donna was relieved.  she said the piano didn't sound good.  and so our first venture into grand piano buying was over.  btw, i purposely did NOT take my checkbook.  smart move when i really, really, really want something. 

when dreams are involved, making decisions are difficult..  the head and the heart lose their best friend status.  chaos erupts.  compromises are offered.  deals/bribes are made.  but like an inner superhero, intuition appears.  having sat back and listened to all the pros and the cons of a decision, the superhero offers a most comfortable chair in which to settle in comfort and relief.  'follow your gut'!!

now i am the first to say that 'gut decisions' and intuitive answers are not always the best ones.  but in my experience, finding that place of peace AFTER the heart/head battle has been going on for too long almost always sends me to a helpful, healthy place. 

Drum-rolls

i learned something new today...  men get epidurals too. 

"in the spirit of murses, bromance, and man-girdles, the procedure formally reserved for women in labor now is available in a gender-neutral environment.  life is good."

those were my thoughts as i climbed onto the table in the doctor's office.  he was about to do a lumbar epidural in order to relieve pain and burning in my thighs and legs.  as i lay there face down, i hear chattering voices sharing their weekend plans.   within ten minutes, it was over...  drama-free.   and i went home to wait 48-72 hours for some relief to come. 

it's been 20 hours.  nada.

the worse part of waiting is...  well...   waiting.  it's where hope and anxiety and excitement and fear exist.  being there many times before, i have developed some tolerance for the anticipation.  yet, each new waiting time is unique because the end result is not known..  yet.  

it's kind of like watching 'worst cooks in america'.  the contestants chop, peel, saute, cook, and plate their food.  and then they wait for the decision of the judges.  i sit there with compassion anxiety listening to the comments made by worried contestants... 'will the judge like what i prepared', 'i burned the carrots'!, 'will i be voted off the show?'.  come on judges.... finish the damn drum-roll and bring on the decision!!!!!

when the decisions are made, some smile and laugh and clap.  some hug in a ritual of mutual relief.  and two tear up knowing that they have been eliminated, they take off their aprons, and they walk off the set.  and for all, the episode ends. 

whoa!  down with the drama, stephen.  pa-leeze!

lesson learned:  no big epiphany.  no brand-new insight.  no sudden burst of enlightenment.  just a familiar and frequent event in life happens again, drum-rolls and all.  waiting is one of those things that we all know about; it's part of our common experience.  and we know that it will happen again...  very, very soon.

Organic

the last time i looked, organic food is everywhere in the grocery store.  whether it is fresh, canned, or frozen, organic food, along with free food (hormone-free, antibiotic-free) is everywhere.  and there is a price to be paid...  organic food costs significantly more than regular food.  in addition, the 'national organic program', an arm of the department of agriculture, enforces laws designed to define what organic food is or isn't.  what used to be a counter-culture phenomenon, organic food has gone mainstream.

the older i get, a move toward a more organic self seems to take on more steam.  the additives just don't matter as much anymore.  all the time, stress, and effort to make a good impression, to pretend i am something i am not, and to repress thoughts and feelings are not worth it anymore.  i am left wondering why the additives seemed for so long to be natural!

i won't go into my theories about the impact of education, religious training, rigid sex roles, media influence, and the desire to be liked have shaped me.  but if asked, i would glady enlighten you.  suffice it to say that those additives, for better or worse, have at times squeezed and then re-constituted me into a persona that is not naturally me. 

belting out the song 'i gotta be me!' could be inserted here.  perhaps a medley of tunes including 'r e s p e c t' and 'honesty' would make a lovely serenade.  but i promise to contain myself, at least until noon.  i will be content, instead, with humming a tune written and directed by and for me.

Moments

i was sitting outside at nanny's house eating a popsicle as fast as possible before it created grape-colored streaks down my arm.  nanny, granny, and 25+ kids were enjoying the same afternoon treat in the hot summer sun.  we had just finished enjoying the cold water fun of a hose splashing us without mercy.  just how many games can a kid invent with a water hose?  the cement was getting warm again, my shorts were drying off, and it was time to return to the swings, merry-go-round, and slide. 

glimpses of past events can, in a moment, become real again.   they can turn a fifty-seven year old into a 5 year old kid in a flash.  suddenly a body is free to run, jump, fall down, get up, run, swing, slide.  and making important decisions such as choosing the right flavor of popsicle is just about as complicated as it gets.  and they can be a powerful reminder of how imagination and creativity flow from simple and spontaneous curiosity

certainly 'big' life events are like milestones...  the first day in high school...  walking to the drugstore by myself... the first crush.  but it's the thousands of 'little' events are just as important. they provide, after all,  a clear reminder of those people and events that have shaped our lives...  and continue to do so.

Body shame

a predominant dynamic in my healing process is the issue of my weight.  often, when in public, i sense an oppressive judgment about not only my weight but also the reasons for my obesity.  lazy...  undisciplined...  gluttonous...  

coming to a greater understanding of the shame, i have realized that those judgments are the ones i have put on people who are obese.  i did the same thing.  dismissing such people was an easy and 'natural' thing to do.  'they are fat, they don't exist in my world!'.  and so it goes.

the judgment i feel from others actually comes from the voices inside my own head.  that is not to say that some people don't judge me.  rather, the worst critic is me.  as such, i wonder how much i enter a social situation already laden with those messages...   'i am too fat to have worth'... 'nobody will take me seriously'... 'who can see beyond my size?'...

those self-judgments become so ingrained, i am not aware at times that i am doing that to myself.  it is seems natural. but self-oppression should be anything but natural.   i grieve over the energy i spend on judging myself that could be put to better use on creative energy, intellectual energy, connecting energy.

what would my world be like if i were to suddenly drop these self-judgments and to believe that i am much, much more than my weight?  would i socialize more?  would i enjoy the moments of life?  would projections of judgment from other people lessen?... or cease?...  or not matter? 

it's unnerving to write this because it lays out a problem.  and it lays out the makings of a solution.  the most unnerving part for me is to struggle with 'how do i get to another place?'. 

for now, i will sit with my thoughts, attempt to embrace what i feel, and make room to allow for a different way of thinking.  being genuine about my current thoughts and feelings has to be!  fake or revved up rah! rah! rahs! don't cut it. 

so i think, consider, and sit with all of this.  it takes time to digest.   

Oops!

when i was boy, i remember enjoying company in our house, the parsonage of the church.  and with those stories came juicy bits of information, stories of traveling, and fascinating opinions.   and i felt it my duty, privilege and honor to add to the conversation whenever i could.

 there were missionaries who would spin wonderful stories of life overseas.  i wanted so much to be a missionary in order to travel.  usually my questions were 'what kind of animals live near you?" or "what kind of food do you eat".  i held most missionaries on a pedestal, so i reserved my most poignant moments for other guest.

there were ministers and evangelists who told about churches and people throughout america.  i delighted hearing how others did church.  but more delightful and seductive were the stories 'about' people... what they did...  didn't do...  what they said... didn't say....  what they wore.... didn't wear...   the possibilities were endless.  once, a minister with an 'honorary' doctoral degree was eating a meal with us.  i just HAD to ask, 'are you a real doctor'?  i wish i could remember the response.  oops!

two single women sang for a revival at our church when i was no older than 7.  one, i addressed by her name.  the other, by 'coocoonose'.  she was a good sport.  frequently, i had nicknames for our guests.  luckily, i kept most of them for private use.

one married evangelist couple who sat at our kitchen table proceeded to make negative comments about other people within the nazarene denomination.  i took in some really 'good' information.  but rather than adding to the conversation, i delighted in watching my mom's and dad's eyes divert, avert, squint, open-wide, and stare.  try as they might to change the subject, my parents realized the couple would continue to 'spill the beans'.  after dinner, we were encouraged NOT to spread the good news to others.

speaking of which, a pastors wife, while eating with us, spilled the green beans all over the table.  she was not embarrassed just once, but by anytime we would remind her of the incident.  her accident was so thrilling to us kids...  so much so that for years, we would always mention it when our family had 'memory' time. 

another evangelist brought his wife and children to our church for the weekend.  at sunday dinner, i asked another fun and frequent question....  'what church do you go to?'.  the evangelist explained very tactfully that his wife was not a christian and didn't usually attend church.  oops!

of course, members of the church were in our homes frequently.  many were like family, loving and kind...  a few weren't.  some would come over to babysit, others would visit my parents, and some came over to pick up a key or a book or who-knows-what.  once, a woman came over to talk to my dad.  while she was waiting, she was asked by a little red-haired boy if she peed in her kool-aid.  she handled it graciously, but my the boy's mother heard what was being asked.  oops!

a group of church members had a meeting at church long into the evening.  my mother baked pies and invited them over to wind down i suppose.  it was a school night, so i couldn't stay up to talk and listen.  instead, i hid in a hall closet and just listened.  imagine my surprise when i awoke to the relief of my parents' voice when they finally found me.  apparently, they had search all over the house before trying the closet.  oops!

even though it didn't happen at our church, i must tell another story. this happened at our annual campmeeting. a woman asked her teenage daughter to deliver something to another woman in the camp. the teenage girl invited me, a 9 year old, to come along. the woman invited us in. and before i knew it, i had asked her, 'why are you so fat'? the woman turned red.  the teenager gasped. we left quickly. the teenager told her mother. the mother gasped AND told me how rude i had been. duh! and.... oops!  imagine me face.  imagine a brilliant color of red. 

for better or worse, i still enjoy engaging in all sorts of conversation.  and as fate would have it, i still have 'oops' experiences.  recently, a friend of mine said something that was confusing to me.  when she asked, 'does that make sense'? i seized the opportunity to be 'cute' and humorous, by saying that her comment made no sense at all.  as i laughed at my joke, i realized she was not laughing with me.  rather, she took offense to my flippant comment.

oops!