Anyone who ever met my mother remembered her eyes - they were an unbelievably pale blue. To call them cornflower blue would be ascribing them with a depth of color that they did not possess. They were a blue that if painted on a wall might be a bit insipid or wimpy but in the setting of a fine-featured face, the color was unexpected and striking. Until the day she died at 80, strangers complimented her on their beauty.
As a child, I was always a bit jealous of the 5 sets of blue eyes in my family because after all, no tiny girlchild is ever partial to the color brown - the eye color I shared with my father and one brother. Brown...the color of wood and the "plain" songbirds and well, lets face it, poop. It is never the first Crayon worn to a nub by young artists. When I complained about my genetic curse, my mother would always exclaim and repeat the story of how glad she was when I was born and she saw that I had eyes that were "a real color" and had not inherited her old faded blue.
Oddly, you see, my mother hated her baby blues. As a tiny child, her adored maternal grandfather, Papa, had once commented that she had eyes just like his. "They're the color of an old washed out, faded pair of dungarees," he said. Who knows why she decided he meant that as a criticism. Maybe he really did. Or maybe she just didn't like denim. Whatever it was, she seized on that one comment as a "truth" and let it cancel out the thousands of compliments she got in the seven decades to come. To her, those beautiful eyes were forevermore colorless.
Like all mothers, mine left me a lot of legacies besides the genetic. Some were intential lessons and some not. Some are positives and some are not. In this case, whenever someone criticizes me or my actions, I remember my mother and her blue eyes: one opinion does not a truth make. An opinion is just that, an opinion and I can choose what meaning to apply to it. It is an unintentional legacy, but important all the same.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Sunday, February 1, 2009
On the Car Radio
I noticed that I wasn't feeling any happier listening to the pop rock I tuned into on the car radio. The music all seemed either angry, whiny, yearny, romantic, over-sexed, sleepy, or outright depressing. And so I somewhat reluctantly turned to talk radio and discovered I LOVED it.
First of all, I felt "wicked smaht" (for you Southerners, that's New England speak for 'purrty smart'). I suddenly had interesting tidbits to talk about with friends & strangers-- no small feat for an introvert. Secondly, I noticed that it was great not to be manipulated by music in any negative way. (I'm all for being manipulated toward feeling upbeat, energized, or inspired but if you're listening to the radio, you have little control over that).
So, I clung to my local National Public Radio station (WBUR 90.9 FM --go team!) like an overboard passenger grasps a life ring.
And then the unthinkable happened. My car radio broke. I was desperate. Not only was I cut off from my happy-conducive distraction, listening to engaging stories on NPR was one of the only (safe) things that kept me awake on my long drives. Now what?
My child was all set. He had his portable DVD player and headset to distract and please him. At first, I decided to use the quiet drive time to work on my spiritual development. Being centered= being content. I tried doing an eyes wide open, 61 point, breath meditation, but it relaxed me too much and left me even more tired. Then, I decided to try instead "to pull a Jackie" (see blog post, "Thank you, Jackie," on http://www.the3minutemystic.blogspot.com ): I sang out loud for 50 nonstop minutes.
It was great. It energized me AND distracted me. When I didn't know the words and had to make stuff up it also made me laugh: not much rhymes with "remember."
My car radio is fixed now, but guess what? I kept it off by choice this time. Turns out that singing badly all by my lonesome is my ticket to endorphins, smiles and good times. If you should hear me through the car windows, I may sing off key, but I'm happy!
La, la, LA-A-A-A-Ahhh!
First of all, I felt "wicked smaht" (for you Southerners, that's New England speak for 'purrty smart'). I suddenly had interesting tidbits to talk about with friends & strangers-- no small feat for an introvert. Secondly, I noticed that it was great not to be manipulated by music in any negative way. (I'm all for being manipulated toward feeling upbeat, energized, or inspired but if you're listening to the radio, you have little control over that).
So, I clung to my local National Public Radio station (WBUR 90.9 FM --go team!) like an overboard passenger grasps a life ring.
And then the unthinkable happened. My car radio broke. I was desperate. Not only was I cut off from my happy-conducive distraction, listening to engaging stories on NPR was one of the only (safe) things that kept me awake on my long drives. Now what?
My child was all set. He had his portable DVD player and headset to distract and please him. At first, I decided to use the quiet drive time to work on my spiritual development. Being centered= being content. I tried doing an eyes wide open, 61 point, breath meditation, but it relaxed me too much and left me even more tired. Then, I decided to try instead "to pull a Jackie" (see blog post, "Thank you, Jackie," on http://www.the3minutemystic.blogspot.com ): I sang out loud for 50 nonstop minutes.
It was great. It energized me AND distracted me. When I didn't know the words and had to make stuff up it also made me laugh: not much rhymes with "remember."
My car radio is fixed now, but guess what? I kept it off by choice this time. Turns out that singing badly all by my lonesome is my ticket to endorphins, smiles and good times. If you should hear me through the car windows, I may sing off key, but I'm happy!
La, la, LA-A-A-A-Ahhh!
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
In the Toolbox: Your Resilience History
Open up a word document with a blank page. Hit "Save as" and write, "Resilience History." You may not feel like it; you may roll your eyes and say, "Yeah, yeah, I'll just do it in my head, thanks," but I'm telling you to write it down. Write it down! Do I need to resort to drill Sargent expletives?! Write it DOWN @#$*+>~!!!!
Okay, okay, already! What do you write down? Ready? Your personal history of all the times you've been resilient. You need to do this exercise because you don't even KNOW how resilient you really are. You don't even realize the positive choices you've made, given whatever obstacles you've faced. You haven't taken full credit yet for managing the best you could. Write it down, year by year, memory by memory. Not only will you boost your sense of competence, but the next time life throws you a curve ball (and it will), you will be better able to remind yourself, "Hey, I have some skills that I've used before that might apply here!"
Don't leave anything out. By this I specifically mean, don't minimize the "small stuff" because life is primarily made up of the small stuff!
When I think of some of my own resilient moments, one of the things I remember is being a kid and feeling overwhelmed by my parents' regular, volatile arguments. Sometimes I'd throw myself on my bed and bawl, but sometimes (the more resilient choice): I'd go outside and sit on this one tree stump in the middle of a wide open field that overlooked a forest line. I instantly felt better. It's important for me to have this bit of information because it's still one of the things that makes me feel better: get out into some wide open space, see some big sky and be reminded that life is bigger than my little world.
What are some of the ways you've been resilient in your life? How have you made the best of what you had to deal with? Take the time to make a record of your history of personal strength. It's worth it . . . You're worth it.
Okay, okay, already! What do you write down? Ready? Your personal history of all the times you've been resilient. You need to do this exercise because you don't even KNOW how resilient you really are. You don't even realize the positive choices you've made, given whatever obstacles you've faced. You haven't taken full credit yet for managing the best you could. Write it down, year by year, memory by memory. Not only will you boost your sense of competence, but the next time life throws you a curve ball (and it will), you will be better able to remind yourself, "Hey, I have some skills that I've used before that might apply here!"
Don't leave anything out. By this I specifically mean, don't minimize the "small stuff" because life is primarily made up of the small stuff!
When I think of some of my own resilient moments, one of the things I remember is being a kid and feeling overwhelmed by my parents' regular, volatile arguments. Sometimes I'd throw myself on my bed and bawl, but sometimes (the more resilient choice): I'd go outside and sit on this one tree stump in the middle of a wide open field that overlooked a forest line. I instantly felt better. It's important for me to have this bit of information because it's still one of the things that makes me feel better: get out into some wide open space, see some big sky and be reminded that life is bigger than my little world.
What are some of the ways you've been resilient in your life? How have you made the best of what you had to deal with? Take the time to make a record of your history of personal strength. It's worth it . . . You're worth it.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Fried Turkey
Thanksgiving Day...and I'm trying to figure out how to get more than my fair share of fried turkey. In between developing various turkey stealing schemes which mostly involve small defenseless nieces and nephews, I've been pondering the more serious thought of "why is there so little 'thanks' in Thanksgiving?" Actually I only pondered very briefly before I skipped ahead to "how do I put more 'thanks' in my own Thanksgiving" or maybe even more specifically "how do I use this day to my own self-serving advantage".
What I came up with is this: I'm going to make a resolution to start journaling about gratitude. My goal is to journal every night until Christmas and hope the habit sticks like poorly cooked, gummy white rice. Keeping a gratitude journal used to be a habit for me but in that weird way we humans have of not always doing what we know is good for us, I stopped. Cold turkey. Or in honor of my cravings....cold fried turkey.
I'd like to say I just let the good habit slide but the truth is, I stopped journaling intentionally in a great big self-defeating hissy fit of "if I can't get my way I'll just take my paperdolls and go home". See, my life wasn't going so well at the moment. And I went back and read my journal entries from a previous life. There were two kinds of entries: a) gratitude for things I used to have that I no longer had in my new life and b) gratitude for itty-bitty little things (i.e. a daffodil blooming) that every poor schmuck could be grateful for. Both depressed me. So, screw gratitude and all the good vibes that came with it, I quit.
Flash forward to today: I'm tired of fighting. "Uncle, uncle, you win. I want those good feelings back and I'll play by your rules to get them, Universe." Call me crazy, but I liked going to sleep full of love and contentment and joy. So I'm back.
Yeah, like fried turkey, gratitude journaling is very good. Yummy, in fact. But unlike fried turkey, you don't have to fight anyone for extra helpings- there is plenty to go around.
What I came up with is this: I'm going to make a resolution to start journaling about gratitude. My goal is to journal every night until Christmas and hope the habit sticks like poorly cooked, gummy white rice. Keeping a gratitude journal used to be a habit for me but in that weird way we humans have of not always doing what we know is good for us, I stopped. Cold turkey. Or in honor of my cravings....cold fried turkey.
I'd like to say I just let the good habit slide but the truth is, I stopped journaling intentionally in a great big self-defeating hissy fit of "if I can't get my way I'll just take my paperdolls and go home". See, my life wasn't going so well at the moment. And I went back and read my journal entries from a previous life. There were two kinds of entries: a) gratitude for things I used to have that I no longer had in my new life and b) gratitude for itty-bitty little things (i.e. a daffodil blooming) that every poor schmuck could be grateful for. Both depressed me. So, screw gratitude and all the good vibes that came with it, I quit.
Flash forward to today: I'm tired of fighting. "Uncle, uncle, you win. I want those good feelings back and I'll play by your rules to get them, Universe." Call me crazy, but I liked going to sleep full of love and contentment and joy. So I'm back.
Yeah, like fried turkey, gratitude journaling is very good. Yummy, in fact. But unlike fried turkey, you don't have to fight anyone for extra helpings- there is plenty to go around.
Wiggle Your Butt to Get Happy
Perhaps you are hoping that my blog entry title reflects the metaphor of a mature author. It doesn't. I mean it literally: If you're in a slump, wiggle your butt. (Oh dear, is this one worth reading through to the end)?
Here is how I came to this most profound of conclusions. I noticed that my colleague's depression is situational. If her circumstances change, she will be happy. In contrast, my circumstances are great: everyone in my family is relatively healthy; I have a husband and child, a job, friends, credentials, a car that is reliable, enough food and money, but I still tend to be chronically dissatisfied (okay, downright "moody"). For me, "feeling down" is more of a physical thing, not a cognitive thing. Despite getting enough sleep, good exercise and nutrition, I usually wake up in the morning and feel heavy, tired, lethargic. I wait to observe the negative thoughts I should be restructuring, but they are simply not there.
Then I have an "AH-HA!" moment. If my primary problem is physical, then my solution has to be physical too. This proposal fits my experience. When I force myself to just smile, however half- heartedly, I instantly feel a bit better. I complain to my BFF that I'll never be one of those "Rah! Rah!" perky (aging) cheerleader types. When I make the accompanying physical gestures of Little Ms. Rah-rah, my mood spikes as I cannot help but laugh.
Just like it's impossible to feel angry when you are completely, physically relaxed, so too is it impossible to feel depressed in the moment that you are sticking your rear end out and wiggling it around like it's Hokey Pokey time. I guarantee this one! In fact, I DARE you to try it (with gusto) and NOT feel a bit better.
And so . . . The gauntlet of butt wiggling has been thrown down before you. Will you, oh brave, moody Knight, take up the challenge?
Here is how I came to this most profound of conclusions. I noticed that my colleague's depression is situational. If her circumstances change, she will be happy. In contrast, my circumstances are great: everyone in my family is relatively healthy; I have a husband and child, a job, friends, credentials, a car that is reliable, enough food and money, but I still tend to be chronically dissatisfied (okay, downright "moody"). For me, "feeling down" is more of a physical thing, not a cognitive thing. Despite getting enough sleep, good exercise and nutrition, I usually wake up in the morning and feel heavy, tired, lethargic. I wait to observe the negative thoughts I should be restructuring, but they are simply not there.
Then I have an "AH-HA!" moment. If my primary problem is physical, then my solution has to be physical too. This proposal fits my experience. When I force myself to just smile, however half- heartedly, I instantly feel a bit better. I complain to my BFF that I'll never be one of those "Rah! Rah!" perky (aging) cheerleader types. When I make the accompanying physical gestures of Little Ms. Rah-rah, my mood spikes as I cannot help but laugh.
Just like it's impossible to feel angry when you are completely, physically relaxed, so too is it impossible to feel depressed in the moment that you are sticking your rear end out and wiggling it around like it's Hokey Pokey time. I guarantee this one! In fact, I DARE you to try it (with gusto) and NOT feel a bit better.
And so . . . The gauntlet of butt wiggling has been thrown down before you. Will you, oh brave, moody Knight, take up the challenge?
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Rx: A bit of extra help
Amidst all our blog entries about fighting for your own happiness, one thing must be included: If you keep trying to change your thoughts, feelings, and actions, but it's not working well enough, then for Pete's sake please consider seeing a physician to discuss taking some medication --even if it's just to get you through something temporary or situational.
What about the stigma of taking something for your mood? Get over it. Seriously, I beg you: get over it. The real stigma in this culture is toward anyone who, God forbid, isn't happy.
Don't like the idea of "artificially" manipulating your brain? Oh please! We all manipulate our brains daily-- through television, newspapers, music, exercise, perfumes, food, tobacco, alcohol, romance, alternative therapies, vitamins, herbs, etc. etc.
Maybe your resistance is about not liking to ask for help; afterall, you "ought" be able to fix this on your own. Think about this: If your car's electronics weren't working, would you try to WILL the electric system to work?
Oh, but what will "they" think? Number one, perhaps "they" don't need to know. "But what if 'they' find out?" Consider this true ditty: Six, single girl friends in their 30's and 40's were hanging out when one of them asked, "Whatever happened to Amy? She was such a whack job on Prozac." Group silence. One brave woman said, "Uh, *I've* taken Prozac." Then another admitted the same. Then another and another. If you live in a non-hip, rural town where everyone knows everyone else's business, have your physician order your Rx through the mail or talk to your doctor about St. John's Wort or SAM-e.
It's hard to make a decision. I know. In some ways, you'll only know you've made the right decision after the fact: after you've experienced the difference between feeling like you're sludging through the mud of each day to feeling like you can finally just walk about normally.
I'm not talking about taking a magic potion that allows you to cheat your problems. Anti-depressants (and/or anti-anxiety medications) can allow you to deal with your problems without additional disadvantages.
You can face climbing up the steep, rocky moutain with a sense of dread or hopelessness OR you can face climbing that mountain with a bit of optimism.
Which one do you think you ought to choose?
What about the stigma of taking something for your mood? Get over it. Seriously, I beg you: get over it. The real stigma in this culture is toward anyone who, God forbid, isn't happy.
Don't like the idea of "artificially" manipulating your brain? Oh please! We all manipulate our brains daily-- through television, newspapers, music, exercise, perfumes, food, tobacco, alcohol, romance, alternative therapies, vitamins, herbs, etc. etc.
Maybe your resistance is about not liking to ask for help; afterall, you "ought" be able to fix this on your own. Think about this: If your car's electronics weren't working, would you try to WILL the electric system to work?
Oh, but what will "they" think? Number one, perhaps "they" don't need to know. "But what if 'they' find out?" Consider this true ditty: Six, single girl friends in their 30's and 40's were hanging out when one of them asked, "Whatever happened to Amy? She was such a whack job on Prozac." Group silence. One brave woman said, "Uh, *I've* taken Prozac." Then another admitted the same. Then another and another. If you live in a non-hip, rural town where everyone knows everyone else's business, have your physician order your Rx through the mail or talk to your doctor about St. John's Wort or SAM-e.
It's hard to make a decision. I know. In some ways, you'll only know you've made the right decision after the fact: after you've experienced the difference between feeling like you're sludging through the mud of each day to feeling like you can finally just walk about normally.
I'm not talking about taking a magic potion that allows you to cheat your problems. Anti-depressants (and/or anti-anxiety medications) can allow you to deal with your problems without additional disadvantages.
You can face climbing up the steep, rocky moutain with a sense of dread or hopelessness OR you can face climbing that mountain with a bit of optimism.
Which one do you think you ought to choose?
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