Category Archives: Searching for Wisdom

personal growth stories

New Year Resolutions Update

I am writing this mainly because I resolved at the new year  to write a blog once a week. I haven’t written one because I am working on a memoir piece and have told myself that until it’s finished, all the other stuff on my mind must be put off. I thought I’d just report on how I’m doing on the resolutions for 2015.

I find that having them posted on my computer is very helpful. I read them once a week whether I plan to nor not. I am reinforcing what I proposed and it is helpful. I can report moderate success. I think when I finish my essay, I might expand on each item. Just for my own edification.

I am finding that life is moving much too quickly. I’m overwhelmed that it is already February 7. I want to shout out, “Slow down!” but who’d listen?

I am Homo Sapiens

Je suis Juif. I am Jewish. I wrote this on my Facebook page in solidarity with the Jewish people of France. IF  you’d asked me a few months ago if I’d ever make this declaration, I would have said, “No, why should I? I am American, first and foremost. Judaism is my religion, not my identity.” All true, as well, but sometimes you have to stand up and be counted.

320366_10201114967826438_1951783341_n

We used to say, “Never forget,” about the Holocaust. But then we began to say, “It’s a new millennium. We are ‘Free To Be You and Me’. It could never happen again. ” We thought for a moment we didn’t need to be vigilant. But we were wrong. It’s a global world and there is an enemy out there who not only wants to annihilate the Jews, but the Western way of life for everyone.

“When it was Hitler and the Nazis,” my daughter said this morning, “at least you could identify the enemy. Now, who can find the head of the snake?” A New York Times article today verifies her statement:

PARIS — Al Qaeda’s branch in Yemen formally claimed responsibility on Wednesday for the deadly assault a week ago at the French satirical newspaper Charlie Hebdo that killed 12 people, saying that the target was chosen by the Qaeda leadership and referring to the attackers as “two heroes of Islam.”

If the claim of direct responsibility holds up, it would make the attacks in France the most deadly strike planned and financed by Al Qaeda on Western soil since the transit bombings in London in 2005 that killed 52 people. And it would serve as a reminder of the continued danger from the group at a time when much of the attention of Europe and the United States has shifted to the Islamic State, the militant organization that controls large swathes of Syria and Iraq and has become notorious for beheading hostages.

It is a clever enemy we are facing. Did we realize in April, 2013 that the Boston Marathon attack was part of a larger battle? Or were we saying it was an isolated act? If we ever had that thought, we can give it up now. In November when worshippers were knifed or shot in a Jerusalem synagogue, did we register that these were our brothers, and that this was part of a coordinated attack on all people who love freedom? Or were we a little too busy getting ready for Thanksgiving?

th_035

Being Jewish, I’ve been the target of prejudice all my life. One day in second grade, classmates surrounded me on the playground, singing an anti-Jewish chant. I was sick with fear as they tightened the circle, pointing their fingers at me and shouting, “Jew”.

Many of my friends from every religion and race also knew first hand about stereotypes and prejudice. We learned to take people for who they were, not for the race or religion they were born into. That’s why so many of us were activists in the Civil Rights Movement. All our lives we’ve been determined to be decent human beings who wish goodwill to all.

But I’m afraid our reactions have become knee jerk rather than thoughtful. We have been naïve. There are people in the world who have no interest in letting freedom ring—just the opposite. As much as I don’t want to, I need to take off my rose colored glasses to be able to read the fine print in what is presented as fact. Often, it is propaganda. It’s time to see the real world and be a part of it.

 

 

Resolving for 2015

 

10885147_10152599459592285_4688856350197966239_n

 

Since my birthday is December 28, I approach the new year with a double barrel wish to understand who I am in the present incarnation and what my goals are for the future. This year: Who am I at 69 years of age? And who do I want to be at 70?

But the end of December is a time of chaos for me—no time to contemplate, that’s for sure. Now we’re already a week into the new year, and I wondered if it was stupid to write down resolutions. Would I keep them anyway? Then I began to think about three small things I could do that would make my life better. I wouldn’t write them in a notebook, which I would close and they’d be hidden from view. I would write them on the computer, print them out and scotch tape them to my computer. That way I would see the list every day. Small things—doable things—things that would make me healthier in body, mind and soul—things I could work towards also.

So that’s what I did. Well, sort of. First I wrote them on paper. My mind works better through the pencil on these things. My list grew to 5 very rapidly. Here they are:

1. Be happy with myself at my age.

2. Stretch after my walk.

3. Eat healthy.

4. Think the thought that makes me feel good not the negative or fearful one.

5. Don’t be the Grandiose Co-Dependent.

So I admit some of these aren’t so small. But they are what ended up on the paper. Now I’ve in-putted the list, printed it and taped it up. I ‘ll let you know how it goes.

 

Dreams Coming True

I had a dream five days ago that I was stuck out in the open during a storm. There were dozens of people around, all lying flat on the ground, trying to avoid  lightning strikes. I kept looking for my family–I needed to save them. If we could just get inside this large building, we would all be safe. But to get there, you had to walk through trees and open this huge door, which was metal. The dream’s message was danger and having the courage and responsibility to get yourself and everyone safe.

IMG_2004

I’ve just come in the house out of a storm. First there was a cloud burst. I’d seen the rain cell touching the ground when I was on the highway, but it appeared far away. Suddenly, rain pelted the car. Huge drops pinged metallically on the roof as if it were made of tin. I could barely see out of the windshield.

I made it home and just sat in the car for awhile. The rain seemed to let up so I gathered up packages and ran towards the front door. It was an open space and I could sense the flash of lightning behind me and see the jagged strike in front of me. My dream came back to me in a nightmare-rush. My legs seemed to move in slow motion. The walk was slippery and I worried about falling so I couldn’t hurry. I could see my front door but I began to wonder if it would,  like in my dream, be impossible to reach.

In Real Time, I had only myself to get to safety. And of course, I made it inside without incident. The feeling lingers though–the dream was still so fresh–and you have to wonder what it all means.

 

The Jewish New Year: 5775

Unknown

Rosh Hashana is one of the most important Jewish holidays. It translates from the Hebrew into Head of the Year. Several people have asked me what the holiday is like. For our family, we will have a big dinner at our house tonight and tomorrow we will go to the synagogue. At our dinner, we have a mini-service and eat the traditional foods from the recipes handed down through the generations. Apples and honey play a prominent part, symbolizing the sweet things of life. The shofar, a ram’s horn, is blown, signalling the ancients’ way of announcing the beginning of the holiday. At my house (once a teacher always a teacher) we will fill out a worksheet that asks, what can I do for my family, my community, and the world to make it a better place?

Unknown-2

Every year I write a little something. I will share with you this year’s.

 Rosh Hashanah   5775

Tonight, we celebrate the beginning of the Jewish New Year 5775.

We celebrate

our love for family and all humanity,

our desire to help our fellow man,

our hope to be the best people we can be,

our prayers for peace in the world.

We celebrate by reflecting on our past year. We remember the good things we have done, and the bad things we have done. We make a pledge to be better people—to do more good things—to put our words into action. Life is not a game of perfect. Just like golf, we will make some mistakes. But we never give up.

We have ten days to think about who we are and who we want to be. We search our inner selves We slow down for a day to take stock. This is something our great-grandmothers and grandfathers did, as well. We carry on the heritage and connect with the generations before us.. In these Ten Days of Awe, we center ourselves by remembering we are not the sum of our accomplishments or the amount of our possessions. No, we are human beings who are moral at our core. We remember also to be grateful for what we have, especially our families and good health.

On Yom Kippur we ask for guidance and forgiveness of ourselves and of those who have wronged us. Every year we pray that all people can learn to do this so that hatred and prejudice will disappear. We pray that war will be no more—that people will not be power hungry and greedy. This year, we have seen the opposite. In Syria and in Gaza we saw that children were used as human shields. We saw many people cut down in war. We saw anti-semitism rear its ugly head. We saw ISIS emerge with its desire to control the world and destroy all people who do not believe exactly as they do. We saw prejudice and hatred against Blacks, Jews, Muslims and other minorities right here in our country. All this is troubling and frightening.

This year:

Our prayers for peace are even more important.

Our courage to stand up and be counted is even more important.

Our connection to each other is even more important.

Our commitment to learning the facts and not falling for stereotypes is even more important.

Life is a series of contrasts—the bitter and the sweet. Tonight, at the beginning of the year, we won’t worry about the bitter.

Tonight, it is all sweetness: HONEY and APPLES.

Another Sadness Report

There is just too much sadness in this world.

Globally, I can’t believe what is happening. The song refrain “In My Own Lifetime” keeps going through my head. In my own lifetime, I never thought I would see such destruction and such heartless acts of savagery. Beheadings? I never thought I would see such prejudice and hatred.(the beating and intimidation of Jews walking to synagogue in Europe). I naively thought that we had progressed as human beings, but I see that I was wrong.

On a personal basis, I am losing too many friends. I just received this email:

I have felt sad this weekend about the loss of our very special friend, Diane.

It made me think about the people who lived in the house with Diane and our happy times at UW, living and laughing together, studying together, creating and performing homecoming skits together, attending parties together, and generally being carefree with great adventures awaiting in our futures. Also about the amazing contributions to our families and communities that we all have made over the last 40 plus years. It is my understanding that Diane also was a dynamic leader in her Chicago community and has many devoted friends and family members, as do all of you.

So I just wanted to send a big hug to each of you in memory of Diane. Continue reading

In Praise of Crying

There’s a lot of sadness in this world, my dad would say. I think I could write a book with that title—each chapter talking about a time when his words would resonate in my life. He started saying it when we were young and complaining about something trivial, but he continued saying it into his nineties. He said it so often that I hear it in my head all the time. My kids, grown up now, say it too.

Scanned Image-77img118

There IS a lot of sadness in this world. Sometimes my world becomes so sad that the weight of it fills the room—like when my brother-in-law got throat cancer and died. And we didn’t know whether to tell my mother-in-law—whether to disturb her dementia with truths. Whether to pull her out of the nursing home to take her to his funeral. You’d want to go to your son’s funeral, right? Or maybe wrong. That was a sad time, but you didn’t have time to dwell on it. You had to make decisions—you had to argue with siblings about what to do. That pushed the sadness away.

I don’t know why I am so sad this morning. Is it the world situation, which terrifies and saddens me? Is it that wonderful friends have been diagnosed with cancer and brain tumors? Is it because I’m now just beginning to process that we moved away from a place where I had twenty-five happy years? Is it that I have been looking through photos of my life with my granddaughter as she prepares to scan them into the computer? She is already twelve—no longer the three-year-old who loved to play Goldilocks on our front steps. Don’t get me wrong. She is a lovely girl, inside and out. I wouldn’t want it to be any other way, but how did it happen so quickly?

DSC00009IMG_1463

And how have the years flown away since my own little family looked like this?

 

Scanned Image-1

 

Or is it just plain melancholy I’m feeling? In our society, we’re not allowed much space for sadness. In the nineteenth century, there were spots in gardens set aside for people to sit and examine their melancholy. It wasn’t seen as an illness. Now we say these people are depressed and we should find a cure for it; medicate in some form. I usually medicate by overdoing. I’m so busy that I don’t have time to think let alone cry. But this morning was different.

I took a walk along the lake, listening to an audio book. This kept the mind busy, giving me no time to think. Then I happened on some dead bushes. I idly wondered if they were victims of the drought. My attention was caught by the original tag on one of them, waving in the breeze. Someone had placed it on the plant when it was healthy and blooming. Now the withered plant was dead. The hopelessness of it hit me and I began to cry.

IMG_1733

I pulled myself together and kept walking. I didn’t start crying again until I was in the kitchen cleaning out the pantry cabinet, throwing out food that had passed its sell by date. One side of my mind told me to cut it out, eat my breakfast and get on with it. The other side told me to let go of my sadness—to let some of it, at least, seep out of me. It was when I was cutting up celery that I began to keen like some banshee. I put down the knife and leaned against the sink. I was alone in the house and could make as much noise as I wanted. It was only the dog I scared. He looked at me with alarm, then ran to get a toy to drop at my feet. I sat on the floor and hugged him. Normally I would have told him I was okay to reassure him, but not this time.

So why am I telling you this? I’m not sure why I’m revealing so much. I know that when I got up and started cleaning up the kitchen, I stood outside of myself, wondering what someone would think if they saw me: is that old lady batshit crazy? I wondered how many other women did as I was now doing—cried when no one else could hear. Maybe fifteen minutes later, I realized my tears weren’t feeding my depression—my sadness—. Instead they were easing it. I was doing something I should have been doing all along—crying out my grief, not trapping it inside to fester. The phrase, “It’s All Right to Cry”, that Rosie Greer sang on Sesame Street began to play in my head so I looked up the words. Here are some of them:

It’s all right to cry
Crying gets the sad out of you
It’s all right to cry
It might make you feel better

Raindrops from your eyes
Washing all the mad out of you
Raindrops from your eyes
It’s gonna make you feel better

With Robin Williams’ death, there has been much talk about depression. Maybe that’s why I’m sharing my experience. Because you know what? I feel a lot better. My chest doesn’t hurt and I can take a deep breath. Yeah, it’s all right to cry.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Flexing My Writing Muscles

I’ve been in Life Lock lately. Life is so intense and busy (not in a bad way except for the sciatica) that I have no time to write. (Also, I cut my hair short and it now takes 45 minutes to blow dry into some semblance of hair style. I’m so worn out after fighting with the hairdryer I can’t write.) I tell myself that this is what life is about: living, (not how bad your hair is.) Writing is in your mind—it’s not real. There’s some truth to that, but after awhile, I get off kilter when I don’t write. I get so far away from my Self, so into an outer orbit away from my center, that I lose myself.
Life is quieting down for me a bit (There’s been no life changing moves, trips of a life time, no bouts of the flu) and I’m only going to the chiropractor twice a week now so the Writing Muse felt it was safe to pay me a visit. I started working on the second chapter of a book I started 15 years ago.
Here’s my process:
First came the thinking. I’ve been thinking that I’m really a short story writer, not a novelist. (But it may be that I am a bit ADD or just lazy) But I have noticed that many novels I’ve read recently are just short stories (with the same characters) grouped together. I decided I could do that. So I went through the short stories I’ve written, starting with the ones published. I needed a main character that I could relate to and cared enough about to spend sustained time together. There were two who stood out and I decided to combine them. One of my favorites was a hair stylist—I don’t know enough about hair to keep that up, but another favorite was a school psychologist. I know enough about that to keep it real. It’s true about writing what you know.

If I were a linear person, I probably would have done a character chart on her. But, I’m more random abstract so I’m letting her evolve. I don’t even know her name yet. I know she’s 50ish and has two children, and a baby granddaughter. Her ex-husband has a two-year-old with his present wife, the former office manager of his dental practice. (After writing this, I think I will do some mini character charts.)

I have a basic idea of what I want to have happen but I know me—I need to create a plot outline pretty soon. Plotting is a weakness of mine. Give me a story and I’m good to go. Without a plot line I can start to ramble.
I’m also seeing that I can’t do all of this right on the computer. I’m getting my notebook out so I can do some sketching in it. Probably will do the character charts and plot outline there, as well as write down anything random that comes to me. Once it’s written, I can work with it.

You’ll think this is crazy, but when I was stretching my back this morning, I started talking out part of the story aloud. This gave me the idea to use Pages with the recorder—verbalize it into the App, which will put it in written form. Being flexible in my writing is as important as it is in my back.
So this is where I am. I wanted to share my progress with you.

Also, I want to thank Carol Mann for reminding me to write. Thanks for the pat on the back.
Now, here’s my pat on your back if you’ve gotten overwhelmed or stalled or have difficulty eking out time for yourself. One step at a time. You can do it!

California Wildfires Hit Home

So often when I hear about disasters, I think, “How terrible. Those poor people who have lost their houses, their possessions, their pets.” I feel sincerely sorry for them, but then the phone rings or dinner needs to be made, and the immediacy of their plight dims for me. I write the check to the disaster fund and I may even think about it for a long time, but the reality of it doesn’t hit me.

Yesterday, California was hit by wildfires up and down the state. I was busy and in pain so I didn’t even know about it. Until our daughter-in-law called. Her sister’s house in Carlsbad was right in the line of fire, and the fire was uncontained. Skye got to rescue the family’s dog and her home computer—that was it. If the winds didn’t shift, everything else would be gone. When she went to pick up her girls, Skye was stunned at how close to the school a fire was raging—right on the field where her daughter, Grace, had been playing 20 minutes before.

Image

This disaster and its victims were no longer anonymous.

We turned on KCAL and CNN, watching a house down near them burn to the ground. The wind kept shifting, and two houses on the other side of their retaining wall, also burned. But they were spared.

Image

“We’re feeling pretty good right now,” Skye texted. “The fire department is using our backyard as a staging ground and CNN is here too. We couldn’t be safer.” We’re so thankful that no one was hurt and that their house is intact. But I realize it will be long time before they feel safe again.

And I know I’ll never look at disaster footage the same way again.

Here’s to Your Health!

imagesOne of the things that is so easy to take for granted is good health. We don’t appreciate it when we feel healthy—we don’t even notice. This past six weeks has been an eye opener for me. I went into my knee surgery with a blithe arrogance. I’d worked on keeping my quads strong before the surgery and knew that I would follow the doctor’s and physical therapist’s advice to the letter. There’d be no problems, I was sure of it.

What’s that expression? Woman plans and God laughs. Yep, all my plans went up in smoke.

I hadn’t had as much as a cold for four years before I was hit with a tough virus in November.

“Did you have a flu shot?” our daughter asked.

“I don’t believe in them, “ I said after I’d worked through a coughing spell.

“I never get sick.”

I don’t believe in antibiotics either, but I ended up with walking pneumonia that time so I had no choice. Then I coughed so hard I threw my back out—painful.

Fast forward to March. Surgery went super and my knee was healing well. Then we flew to Seattle. I was careful, using a cane to negotiate rain-slicked streets. We loved seeing our grandson play his trumpet in a concert and visited with family. My husband and I both had headaches the last day, but didn’t think much of it.

The morning we left, our headaches had moved to body aches, but we thought it was just the rain making us achy. We thought we were so tired because of jet lag. We thought our sore throats were allergy related. We were wrong—we were both sick and getting sicker.

“Well,” our daughter said when I told her, “at least you had the flu shot, so it won’t be as bad as November.”

I didn’t answer right away. It was that role reversal thing—I felt like I was the kid and she was the mother whose I advice I hadn’t followed.

“Actually, we didn’t get the shots. We thought we didn’t need them,” I said. “And I’m sure it’s just a cold.”

Even though we were on the phone, I could sense my daughter rolling her eyes.

After a few days of fevers, chills, cough and excessive nose blowing, we called the doctor.

“It’s a virus going around. Cancel everything for the next two or three weeks at least. If you start to feel better and go out, you risk getting a relapse,” he said.

What? Two or three weeks? That seemed crazy. How could that be? Even though I developed laryngitis, I still taught my class—then I was in bed for three days. My husband tried playing golf, but lasted only nine holes. And then was in bed for three days.

But I didn’t give up planning. Our children and grandchildren were coming for Spring Break and I made a list of all the things we were going to do—the Living Desert, the air museum, the art museum, the water park…Ha, Ha, Ha!!! I didn’t leave the house.

Then I coughed so hard, I threw my back out again. This time, my back went into spasm. It felt like my back was being torn apart if I moved the wrong way–I was deathly afraid of coughing or sneezing. No exaggeration. I was in a constant state of fear. No matter how I tried to relax, I was gripped with apprehension. None of my stress reduction methods worked. I was afraid to lie down in bed because I wasn’t sure how I was going to get up. I couldn’t turn over without a spasm contracting my lower back. I had to crawl off the bed on my stomach and then grip the bedside dresser to work my way to standing.

This morning I woke up and tried moving from my back to my side. Easy-squeezy! For the fun of it, I reversed the move and it worked! I realized that before I’d believed this was a basic entitlement in life—that you could move freely and comfortably in bed. Now, I know not to take it for granted.

Nor will I take feeling healthy for granted. I know this month has been just a window into the lives of so many who are suffering ill health. I am so appreciative to becoming out of my own little hell.

As for my knee? It became the step-child. Physical Therapy wouldn’t see me while I had a fever, and then they couldn’t work with my knee while my back was in spasm. So, basically, my plans to be perfect got blown out of the water. Ha, Ha, Ha!!!

Do you think I can learn something from all this?

images-1