December 2009

There is one moment in the movie that stops me in my tracks, and my eyes well up with tears, no matter how often I watch it. A mother helps her daughter prepare to be a bride, and she uses the time to reflect on how quickly the time went.

I have to admit that I’m not tearing up for the characters in Mamma Mia…but pondering how quickly the people in my family are growing and changing. This video has me take stock of how quickly time is passing, and has me pause to both celebrate all the joy, and mourn the wonderful stages of life that have passed, never to return.

The lines that stick with me the most are:

 This song is a trigger for me to remember to be present in the moment. To remember that, 20 years from now, the state of my kitchen, or the pile of boots and shoes at the back landing, or whether the pizza was homebaked or freezer section fare won’t matter…what will matter is the time I spent with the people I care about. Being with them, enjoying the simple pleasures of life. I want to capture mental images of laughter, patience, endurance, triumph. I want to be there for the ones I love through the thick and thin, helping them negotiate the challenges of the growing years in ways that has them feel powerful…and powerfully supported.

I want to choose to go sledding even when I am tired…I won’t remember flopping on the couch to watch TV years from now, but we might remember landing on top of each other at the bottom of the hill when we think about our family in future years’ first big snowfall.

I would like to not only have “quality time” with my loved ones, but “quantity time” too…sometimes it takes hours together to get to the meaningful conversation. For me, right now, that means logging in the time in the car driving…some of the best conversations happen in the car. I will always treasure those.

I’m hoping that years from now, as that song goes through my head, I can feel that I didn’t let time slip through my fingers…that I grabbed it and squeezed the moment, being fully present on being with my loved ones, capturing the opportunities to meaningfully connect.

Time passes, certainly, but hopefully doesn’t slip through my fingers, but is cherished and valued.

It’s not always the worst thing to be uncomfortable.

In fact, there is a place for discomfort.

Not very sensitive-seeming words for a therapist to be writing in her blog, huh?

Let me explain.

A few weeks back I was at Costco and saw this winter running shirt in a super fancy fabric that holds heat in and wicks moisture out, blah blah blah. It was very reasonably priced, and was supersoft and had a “wear me” invitation written all over it. Snow was coming. So I got it—and was eager to try it out.

The next time I went running, I put in on…over my running t-shirt, and under my running sweatshirt (which is under my weatherproof shell jacket). It was a beautiful late fall, unseasonably-warm day and I quite enjoyed the comfort of this soft shirt as I was running. I started off my run toasty warm, and I was loving the day.

About 10 minutes in, I was realizing that I was more than warm. 20 minutes in, well…it wasn’t rocket science to see that I was clearly overdressed for the day, and that the rest of the run would be uncomfortably warm…even with a little snow on the ground.

All runners who are reading this now, are thinking to themselves, “Any experienced runners know that you start off a run dressed for 10 degrees warmer than the actual weather.” For example, when it is -10 degrees Celsius, you dress for 0 degrees. I remembered that too…about 10 minutes into the run. It seems some things I am destined to relearn annually the hard way.

What happens when you start a run dressed for weather 10 degrees warmer than it actually is? It’s COLD!! I dislike being cold, and avoid it where possible. I need one powerful reminder every year in early winter that it is better to put up with a few minutes of discomfort at the beginning of a run until I get warmed up—the rest of the run is amazingly pleasant.

Isn’t a lot of life like that? I know that counseling certainly has that quality to it. Almost all people who make an appointment aren’t looking forward to the first session, especially the first few minutes of a session. Starting to talk to someone new is awkward enough, but then very quickly entering into tough areas that are full of pain is incredibly uncomfortable. Many contemplate their suddenly scratchy throat and look for an excuse to bail with the best of intentions, consider cancelling to avoid infecting the therapist. Some look at their work schedule and see the new project with the upcoming deadline and decide that she can use this an excuse to cancel the couple counseling that he has been pleading for her to attend she really must postpone because work is too busy.

Conversations can be like that too. How many of us at Christmas, avoided discussing something that rubbed us the wrong way because we wanted to keep things comfortable and pleasant over Christmas? How many do that during a date, or a special evening with family, or in a special relationship—avoid the awkward and uncomfortable. It's pleasant...always pleasant...or at least doesn't plunge into a painful space with somebody starting a discussion that's uncomfortable.

In the short run, this pays off. But in the long run…the initial discomfort is paid for by a long term consequences of resentment, anger, unresolved pain, or unmet needs and desires.

I dare you…take the risk to start off a conversation in an uncomfortable way by plunging in to tough stuff. Start off 2010 taking care of an uncomfortable issue in your life—with conversations, with AA, with Weight Watchers, with a therapist, with an accountability partner. Let it be uncomfortable, and support yourself in the initial discomfort. Yes, you’ll regret your decision just before you start, you’ll want to back out, you’ll wonder if you made a mistake. That is a part of feeling the discomfort.

It's a little like that feeling that a kid gets before he goes to camp for the first time, even when he's been looking forward to it...the closer he gets to leaving, the more he wants to not go, he wants to have his mother tell him he can stay home. But his mom encourages him, supports him, listens to his fears...and makes him go anyways. When his mom goes to pick him up he  runs saunters out of the cabin and then he throws his arms around her and says, "I had the best time. Thanx for making me go even when I was scared." he casually says, "Yeah, it wasn't so bad.  It was actually kinda fun".   (Who are we kidding, a kid isn't going to admit this to his mom, especially with his friends watching.  But that won't make it any less true!)

Trust yourself to “warm up” to it, give yourself some time to get used to it, support yourself during those initial uncomfortable stages—they are SUPPOSED to be uncomfortable. That's a normal anticipated part of the early stages of some endeavors.

Being uncomfortable, in a measured and supported way, is an important step to getting the best that life and relationships have to offer.

What does one do when one has lost everything?

I had a chance recently to visit with some folks who have been through a lot. In late fall 2008, their house had burnt down. To the ground. Total loss.

These are people in their senior years, and had a lifetime of memories in that household. They’ve travelled much with his business and collected beautiful wall hangings, carpets, and artwork from various places around the world. She is a woman who loves history and knowledge…she could tell the story of each piece, and often of the artisan who crafted it, in detail. They love knowledge, learning and history…and had the books of a lifetime in the library of that house. They love family, roots, geneologies…and had objects from previous generations to remember loved ones from times past (and had the story to go along with each item).

And then, one day, while they weren’t home, it went up in flames. Very little could be salvaged. They were homeless…and had lost so much that had so much meaning.

Amongst the conversation of the evening, she told me of an unforgettable experience.  She was standing in the charred remains of what had been their library…sodden, now frozen charred remains of books, some still on the shelves, some knocked over on the ground. Her heart was numb, full and empty at the same time. She was beaten, forlorn, and utterly overwhelmed with a sense of loss.

She looked up to the sky (the ceiling had collapsed and the room was open to the elements) and noticed a maple leaf falling from the neighbor’s overhanging tree. The breeze captured a leaf…perfectly symmetrical, with the bright oranges, reds, and yellows that only a Canadian maple leaf can have. And the leaf gently, gracefully floated back and forth to land in the middle of the charred library, near where she stood.

She was captured by it’s beauty, made starker by the blackness all around. As she was telling the story of this maple leaf in the library, her voice got stronger, more animated. She said something like, “My heart was so full of so much at that moment. So much. I wish I had been a poet. I wish I was an artist, because somehow I wanted to capture that incredibly enormity of all that I was feeling in that moment. I couldn’t speak. I didn’t have words for all that was happening.” That moment of the maple leaf falling into the blackness of her destroyed home was something she will never forget.

There is something to that, I think. How, in moments of despair, the small act of kindness of a friend, or a snapshot of beauty stands out in stark contrast to the misery of the situation. How the deepest of pits is suddenly illuminated with light for a brief moment. What was particularly striking in this story, is that the beauty of that maple leaf occurred because it was itself dying and being released by the maple as the days were colder.

It was a difficult year of negotiating with the insurance company, and making millions of choices as the house was rebuilt and restocked. A time of living in strange surroundings for months as rebuilding was taking place, only to move back to a new house that while beautiful, was not the familiar house from before. 

But she hasn’t forgotten the maple leaf. And the unwritten poem of the power of that moment stays with her.

Flowers are the sweetest things God
ever made and forgot to put a soul into.
-   Henry Ward Beecher, Life Thoughts

or

If you pass by the color purple in a field and
don't notice it, God gets real pissed off.
-   Alice Walker

The amaryllis has bloomed...it is dark and dreary outside, but in here, this charmer reminds me that the color in life persists.

I'm delighted that her first bloom opened on December 21st...the "longest night".  It was like she knew that was the day the world needed her to show up.

Alice Walker, in her own rather direct way, is a little pushy about the requirement to see beauty where it exists.  I like her style...and I'm remembering to "not piss God off" by noticing the flash of colors in my life.

Look for purple in your field today, and don't pass it by without notice.

Totensonntag was a part of my childhood. The church of my childhood marked “Totensonntag” (toe-ten-zon-tahg) on the last Sunday of the church calendar year—the first Sunday of the church calendar year being the first Sunday of Advent—four Sundays before Christmas. So Totensonntag (directly translated from the German—“Dead Sunday”) was generally in late November.

Totensonntag was a chance for those in the church community to remember those who had died…funerals that had occurred in the last year were written down in the weekly bulletin, families who wanted to remember loved ones from years past would put a plant at the front of the church in memory, and we would sing a sad slow song in a minor key…I’m assuming it was about death, but I wouldn’t know for sure…the son was in German, a language I didn’t understand. It was a public formal way to remember those who were no longer among us, and a chance to officially acknowledge the ongoing grief of those in the congregation.

It’s been a long time since I attended a Totensonntag service…but I was speaking to someone who was going to be attending “The Longest Night” service at her church yesterday. December 21 is the winter solstice, making it the day when there is the most amount of darkness…a fitting time to acknowledge the darkness in our own lives. Other places have services called “Blue Christmas” or “Good Mourning” services—the holidays are a poignant time when we remember those who are departed and won’t be a part of the Christmas traditions in the way that was familiar and meaningful

It's a struggle for many at this time of year, as one feels the pressure to be happy and cheerful, and enjoying the season. Grandma may not be around…and her special cookies and her tinkling laugh won’t be at the family gathering. A spouse isn’t present to wrap the gifts together in a made hilarious and late rush on Christmas Eve, or at the other end of the table to carve the turkey.

For many, there is mourning, though not over a death…children are alienated, and won’t come for Christmas; a spouse has been unfaithful, and while the events on the surface appear unchanged, there is terror hidden in his eyes, as he wonders if this is the last Christmas; mom scrambles to keep some of the traditions the same even though dad now lives in another house, and there isn’t enough time, money or help to do things the usual way.

The challenge for those who mourn a loss this season is to hold the complexities of life, to feel the tear of loss even as there is opportunities to embrace something new; to laugh at a child’s antics and allow that laugh to dissolve into tears with remembering; to be melancholy and still find a way to get to the party, even if one doesn’t stay as long; to thoroughly enjoy an evening without feeling guilty or disloyal to the loss; to find a way to negotiate through a painful family gathering, being thoughtful in one’s own conduct to protect oneself from the worst of the pain.

I was at a friend’s house last night, where a history buff showed me a video. It is hauntingly beautiful, as the mournful tone of the music, the incredible artistry creating beautiful images appear before our eyes, transforming moments of joy into brutal pain and then back into a peaceful scene, and back into times of horror. The story told is that of Ukraine during the World War II, some of it celebratory and victorious, much of it agonizingly painful. It seemed fitting that he showed it to me yesterday, the day of darkness…I was struck by the tears of the observers as the images touched their soul.

• Chai tea…something about the boiling of the water, getting the milk out, pulling the mug down out of the cupboard, holding the warm cup in my hands…the familiar ritual of making tea is comforting and reassuring in a day that will hold unforeseen questions and conversation that will be intense.
• Things that make me laugh…I love this picture emailed to me from a friend…after I read the caption at the bottom.
• 
  

“Good news is that I truly out did myself this year with my Christmas decorations.  The bad news is that I had to take him down after two days.  I had more people come screaming up to my house than ever.  Great stories.  But two things made me take it down.

First, the cops advised me that it would cause traffic accidents as they almost wrecked when they drove by.

Second, a 55 year old lady grabbed the 75 pound ladder almost killed herself putting it against my house and didn’t realize that it was fake until she climbed to the top (she was not happy).  By the way, she was one of the many people who attempted to do that.  My yard couldn’t take it either.  I have more than a few tire tracks where people literally drove up my yard.”

• People playing as families--I was running by the river yesterday and there was a family out on the river…some space had already been cleared off and the children were playing, skating around. A grownup was shoveling the space bigger…it was magical watching them through the snow covered trees, it was a picture-postcard-perfect scene.
• Watching families love each other…saw photos of a weekend getaway a friend of mine and her daughter took on facebook. They posted a pile of photos of a weekend getaway to the ocean (living in California affords them opportunities most of us only dream of). They took pictures of haiku poems they wrote together in the sand, they experimented with taking photos of their silouettes, other pictures leaping in the air with the ocean in the background.  It seemed a rich time of reconnecting with the return of the daughter after a semester away at school—silliness, laughter, contemplation, sweet time with each other. Pictures clearly show a wonderful time.  Their creation of a heart:
• 
• I was in the center court of Polo Park mall the other day and there was a family of four children…wearing bright red T-shirts that were Seussish—the oldest one had “Thing 1” on his shirt, the next “Thing 2” and so on—VERY cute. They were arranged for a picture with Santa. “Thing 4”, the littlest, was an adorable girl of about 3 who was clearly terrified of this rotund hairy creature dressed in red. Mom pulled her aside and spoke gently into her ear for a moment..and the child, still clearly very frightened, sat on Santa’s footstool—holding her mother’s hand, the mom who was straining to be out of the picture but sustaining contact with her daughter. I loved that picture of the child working hard to stay in a difficult situation, being supported and connected enough with her mother to tolerate the time it took for the photo. Mom was there for her, supporting and encouraging her, helping her to risk trying something new. It was a beautiful moment of maternal support.
• The section in the Free Press:  Random Acts of Kindness…every Saturday. In a world that has a paper full of tragedy, scandals, crime…it’s heartwarming to see that meaningful good is being done…and  there are some that take the time to write in to let us know about it.  One sample:

• Last month during our unusual warm November spell, I happened to stop at a bank on Pembina Highway to do a transaction.

  Upon pulling up to the bank, I noticed a man sitting on a bench near the bank's entrance. It was about 8:30 p.m. and quite dark outside, but the temperature was still quite pleasant. I could see his profile in the glow of the streetlight. He was unkempt and his clothes were dirty. I realized that I had seen him before, walking around this end of town during the last few months. He is often wearing a big army parka and carrying a bundle of his possessions.

  I finished my bank business and got into my vehicle. I noticed a car pulling up beside me with a woman and a teenage girl inside. The girl got out of the car carrying a Dairy Queen blizzard. She slowly walked up to the man, said something to him and handed him the blizzard. He seemed to say something back to her to which she nodded and then she left.

  I figured the woman and the girl had perhaps come to the bank earlier, seen the destitute man and decided to do something special for him. It was just heartwarming to see this kind gesture initiated by these two individuals.

  I witnessed a great lesson that there are many caring people left in this world.

  -- Paul Bilodeau

• My heatable rice bag…An early Christmas gift handsewn with love by my mom. It’s rare that I am comfortably warm in winter. It’s cold outside, and heading out in the mornings for work is something that is easier to do with a warm bundle of goodness…I hold it in my lap and take turns warming my hands while I drive. At night, it finds itself at the bottom of my bed several minutes before I crawl in…the prewarmed sheets make falling asleep infinitely easier.

• I was out this evening skating on an outdoor rink at the local community club under the lights.  I have to admit that I wasn't much looking forward to it...I'm not on skates enough to be confident, and outdoor skating is...well...it's outdoors.  But the night was beautiful, I had my warm rice bag in my sweatshirt pocket (of course)--and It was incredible.  I remember what it was like to be on the ice as a kid.  In fact, I was told I skate like a toddler...wide base, bent knees and arms out.  It was fun...pure fun.  I had forgotten what it is like to be a kid.  Today I was reminded.  And it was good.

  
  

Knowing that we can be loved

exactly as we are

gives us all the best opportunity for

growing into the healthiest of people.

Fred Rogers
The beloved "Mr. Rogers"

An update every few days does not do this amaryllis justice.  The redness is clearly visible here...but before I had a chance to post this...it grew more and more...

Fred Rogers reminds us in the above quote about how being loved "as is" helps us each to grow in healthy ways. If you're a parent, can you go over right now to your child and give him/her a hug and let them know that your are in love with the person they are right now?  Even if she has a zit on her forehead, or he has just knocked over your favorite vase.  If you're you, then can you give yourself a hug and be thrilled with who you are, right now and in this place?  Enjoy the creation of you, just for a bit...and if that is a struggle for you, think about it, talk about it, journal about it, work on it...find the truest you that is delightful and precious--and revel in it.

I'm revelling in this amaryllis.  We are coming up to the shortest day of the year, with only a few hours of daylight...and this plant is going to pop her blooms open right around that day.  She didn't get the memo that it is cold outside, and she is looking hot in her red outfit.  I was going through a long list of emails this morning that had been neglected during the week with her sitting on the table beside me keeping me company.  She's cheerful and friendly, and makes it easier for me to be positive while i work.

I was at Shelmerdine's nursery--while I did have a few things to pick up yesterday, it was a great excuse to wander around a greenhouse.  I don't do it often enough, because I find it restores my soul to be surrounded by growing...green is good, and there is lots of goodness all around at a greenhouse.  I'm loving this amaryllis so much, I'm feeling the need to keep growing happening at my house...and paperwhites were 40% off.  Don't you love it when a bargain scratches right where you itch?  So...here we go:

The little green tips on the top of these bulbs tell me that they're just itching to grow...and now that they are sitting by the window, they're all set up to take off.  These guys don't even need soil to grow, just put their ends in water and off they go.

These plants that are growing are inspiration at home for me.  I continue to be honored every day during the week by the inspirations clients are to me at work...how they invest in talking about the "tough stuff"; how they think about what we've talked about in between sessions and come in ready to work with it some more; how they find themselves able to make changes that they used to think were impossible; how they dare to look their spouse deep in the eye, and be dangerously and delightfully candid; how they dare to look at me and unload something they've carried alone for years.  I'm humbled and inspired by the growth happening with couples, and men and women at our office.  Amazing.

All my life I have tried to pluck a thistle and plant a flower

wherever the flower would grow in thought and mind.

Abraham Lincoln

This are flowers that are just starting to hatch...this flower pot has a place of prime real estate right in the middle of the table in the middle of household action.  It's dark outside, but blooming bright right here.  Lots to do this week, but its a wonderful pause to take a deep breath, and look at this beauty.  She gives me such immediate excitement, as she is different in the morning from the night before, and different again when I come home from work.  And she is going to be bright red with blooms, just like the box said.

Inspires me to be a flower bloomer and a thistle puller in my world today.

Kids are great.

That's one of the best things about our business,

all the kids you get to meet. It's a shame they have to grow up to be

regular people and come to the games and call you names.

Charles Barkley
Professional basketball player

Ouch.

A call to be aware as we grow--to grow up to be irregular people...the kind that keep the wonder and joy of life.  That remember when a game is a game, to admire people when they work hard. To be gracious to those who struggle.  To make life as fun for others as we hope to make it for ourselves.  To grow towards the light...just like my amaryllis:

Oh baby...now we're growing...every day there is significant amounts of growth...over an inch a day!  The growing was slow at first...I'd imagine this plant was busy nestling in solid roots into the soil, getting the ability to pull in nutrients to sprout up.  That's the way a lot of growth is...not a lot to see at first--the growth is "under the radar"--but significant, because it lays the ground work for the flashy external stuff later. 

So that early work was done well, and my amaryllis is a show-off--it shows off daily as I come in from the cold...it's loving the sun, and the water, and it's getting ready to blow me away with it's blooms.  The stalk with the bloom buds is taller than the leaves now. It's cold outside, but that's not stopping this amaryllis.  We're loving it's potential, and it's reminding me that all is not cold and dark.

So, if your growing is at the root level...working hard and not much to show for it...hang in there...your time is coming!


 

It gets shorter.

And the task gets more challenging as the bag gets shorter.

And shorter.

And shorter.

Until the final round when they attempt to pick up a piece of candy from the flat square of what used to be the bottom of the bag.

It’s a game of balance, flexibility, agility, patience, and strategy. And it’s a total HOOT!

So here these students are leaning way over, their butts high up in the air, carefully trying to balance (while many are experiencing the constraints of denim which challenges their flexibility), doing a game they have never done before while fellow budding therapists are watching them.

There’s tentative looks, silent gazing pleas to me to somehow tell them I’m not serious, or that I’ll let someone “off the hook”.

There’s the awkward pulling down of the shirts as clothing starts to ride up—the wrapping of sweaters around the waist to cover up gaps when bending over. There’s nervous giggles with frequent proclamations of “I don’t think I can do this” (immediately prior to successfully biting the bag).

There’s lots of laughter…it is fun. Their classmates are supportive, and students who are pale with the hours of study, start to color a bit with all the giggling. They tease, encourage, cajole, and toss out ideas. And eventually, even the most reluctant are quite caught up in the energy of the room—and those who predicted early failure are suddenly incredibly committed to go “all the way”. 

At the end, feeling a little exhilarated, we talk about it. And they discuss what they learned:

• It’s hard to do something you’ve never done before, and you don’t know how to do it when someone is watching you.
• It’s not easy to be vulnerable in front of people you’re not used to being vulnerable with.
• “Performing” something new at someone else’s command is intimidating when others are watching you to see how you do it.
• It’s difficult to try hard at something you’ve never done before and you’re worried that you’ll fail when someone is watching.

I ask them to remember this when they see clients on their placements in the new year.

I ask them what else they’ve learned through the game and they tell me:

• Sometimes even when a task seems scary, with support and people who understand the situation, it actually isn’t so bad.
• When you start something off in a way that’s not too hard, and it gradually gets harder, you can actually go a lot farther and be a lot more successful than you might have originally predicted.
• A big part of going farther than one would think is possible is having the support and encouragement of people who make it “safe” to try
• “Risking one’s dignity” isn’t as quite as hard when the people around are supportive
• The method of success is something each person gets to figure out for themselves…there is no “one right way”. People tried out suggested strategies and figured it out for themselves.
• It’s actually quite satisfying to try something new and have some success.

 All of these are lessons I hope these budding therapists take with them as they begin the task of working with clients. 

I suspect that there are some people reading this that sense a need to talk to someone but can’t quite imagine picking up the phone, walking into the counselling office and to start talking. It’s really hard to start counselling. It takes courage. For some, it means bucking stereotypes that have been ingrained—“real men don’t share vulnerably”, “Therapy is for sissies”, “Therapy will just blame your mother”. It’s not hard to come up with barriers that can seem to legitimately justify not seeing a counsellor.

Please know that if you go to see a qualified counsellor (do the research to make sure you've got a qualified one!), s/he will be aware that this is new for you, that you will likely want and need to start off tentatively to feel it out. Please know that as you become more comfortable, it is likely that you will be able to talk more freely about more things in a deeper way than you could anticipate prior. Please know that it feels good to work some things out in your own way, to develop strategies and ways of relating to others that are effective. 

If you are experiencing challenges and someone has suggested counselling and you’re thinking about, “give it a go”. Please know that your therapist will know that this is hard for you, and will honor your efforts. If you’re not convinced…print this out, and show it to them on your first visit…and tell them that you’re swallowing hard, breathing deep and taking the risk—and you need the support to do it.

Change will not come if we wait for some other person or some other time.

We are the ones we've been waiting for.

We are the change that we seek.