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Summer Ends
To many of us, summer is a gift
of illusion, of permission to
behave as if our lives really
were consistently lazy,
warm, adventurous, and sensual.
Finances, careers, and ambitions
can't compete with a big blanket
at the beach, an Adirondack
chair in the mountains, a lemon
Italian ice savored slowly.
What can't wait until after
Labor Day?
For hundreds of thousands of us,
however, the summer of '05 ended
abruptly, in total devastation
and ruin, as the harshness of
nature asserted itself with a
fury and cruelty not seen in
this country for almost a
hundred years. We watched
-- on CNN -- in impotent
near-intimacy as Americans died,
day after day, begging and
crying for someone to come
rescue them. We are now
left with the impossibility of
trying to understand how we can
help tsunami victims in South
Asia within 48 hours but not
poor people in New Orleans or
Mississippi.
A year ago the nation was
consumed in debate as the
Republican attack machine worked
overtime to convince Americans
that a John Kerry presidency
would be some sort of disaster
for the nation. One year
later the nation stands in shock
as we see that the billions of
dollars we (and our children's
generation) have spent, and
pledged to spend, in Iraq have
neither brought peace abroad nor
afforded us the ability to
protect our own population
from...a hurricane that
was observed slowly inching its
way towards the center of one of
our cities? I am forced to
agree with Newt Gingrich that,
if this is how our government
now responds to a
well-predicted,
carefully-observed, slow-moving
threat, we would be utterly
unprepared for a nuclear,
biological, or other terrorist
scenario.
We are used to,
unfortunately, hearing of the
deaths of hundreds of people --
sometimes even a thousand -- in
earthquakes and "natural"
disasters in other areas of the
world. We don't think
about them much because they
aren't Americans.
Non-Americans don't register
much on our scale of moral
outrage; they are just not quite
like us. Seeing dying
black Americans wave the
American flag trying to get
military helicopters to land, or
bring supplies, to ferry away
the desperate and dying, however
is genuinely disturbing to us.
The message
here was this: This could
have been you; you would have
been told to wait patiently
because help is on the way, and
then you would die.
The question of how and why
relief was so slow to come to a
dying city should be a focal
point for the next several
years. Can anyone believe
that a city such as, say,
Newport, Rhode Island, or a
refuge of the rich such as San
Clemente, California would have
been neglected in such fashion?
Perhaps it is time to remember
President Bush's joking
reference, made during the
campaign to an appreciative
audience of the rich at a
Waldorf-Astoria fund-raiser (and
captured at the end of
Fahrenheit 9/11) that, "You
are my kind of people: the 'haves'
and the 'have-mores.'"
Seeing the President struggle to
wipe his ever-present smirk off
his face long enough to concede
that the rescue effort would
likely "...take more than one
day," and hug weeping Americans
whose lives have been completely
overturned and emptied, at the
same time as rescue officials
were wallowing in confusion,
allowing babies and older people
to die like dogs in the street
is beyond our capacity to
comprehend.
The standard Republican caveat
-- that President Bush has
"received bad advice" or that
his underlings somehow aren't
doing the job as well as they
could -- should be met with
anger this time. Yes,
President Bush was correct when
he first observed that,
"...Being President is hard."
That's why it is important that
the person who occupies the
office be up to the task.
Can anyone believe that he is up
to the task anymore?
Philip Roth, in an essay
published concurrent with his
novel, The Plot Against
America observed that George
W. Bush was "...a man unfit to
run a hardware store let alone a
nation like this one."
The country's mental health will
now be sorely tested: the
combination of oil prices that
are considered "a runaway
train," according to industry
analysts, returning traumatized
veterans of a vicious foreign
war, and an entire displaced,
traumatized population of
hundreds of thousands of people
down South (who are likely to
slowly realize that the
familiarity of their daily
lives, jobs, careers,
friendship-networks have been
ended or altered, in one week,
forever) will make us or break
us. I would not be
surprised to see more of the
type of savagery that was seen
in late August in the streets of
New Orleans becomes more
commonplace as angry, desperate,
hopeless people do angry,
desperate, hopeless things.
JS, October 2005
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For The Rest of Us
I have three friends who are in
their 80s. Listening to one of
them, Edie, several weeks back,
I had the nagging feeling that I
heard the wisdom she was
dispensing before. She was
talking about the fact that the
only things that really mattered
to her, these days, were in the
present. It didn’t make sense
to get caught up in a past which
was surely over and certainly
didn’t make sense to project
ahead to moments of an imagined
future which might not occur.
I realized that I
hear these things from teenagers
all the time. The teenagers I
know say the same thing as the
80 year-olds I know: live for
today. We middle-aged
therapists, counselors, parents,
teachers, etc. almost
reflexively point out the flaws
in such an approach (after all,
it won’t help you in the college
admissions process, in winning
your first job, etc.), but their
arguments seem more than a
little worthy once middle-age is
abandoned as a reference point.
Edie wrote a
beautiful speech and delivered
it at her 80th
birthday party (given by her
children and grandchildren). I
asked her for permission to
reprint parts of it here; she
gratefully agreed. Here’s what
she said:
“I’m reading more and
dusting less. I’m sitting in
the yard and admiring the view
without fussing about the weeds
in the garden.
I’m spending more time
with my family and less time
working. Whenever possible life
should be a pattern of
experiences to savor, not to
endure. I’m trying to recognize
those moments now and treasure
them.
I’m not ‘saving’
anything; I use my good dishes
and whatever crystal I have for
special occasions, such as
losing some pounds, or getting
the sink unplugged, or for the
first tulip that blooms.
I wear my good jackets
to the A&P…I’m not saving my
good perfume for special parties
but wearing it for the clerks in
the hardware store, for tellers
in the bank, and for anyone I
come in contact with during the
day.
I know there will be a
time when I will lose my grip on
my vocabulary, eyesight,
hearing, or doing; I want to
see, and hear, and do it now.
I so
miss the friends that left us.
What would I have done
differently if I had known that
our friendship would be cut
short so
sharply? Why do we wait
for that to
happen? I’d like to
think I would have hugged them
more, told them how much I love
and admire them and I would pray
to the God in me to keep from
losing them. I’d also have
gone out with them more
for Chinese
food dinners.
These friends may have passed on
to new places but
they
left behind
great memories
and advice
to live life to the fullest,
treasuring each day that passes.
I
think a great deal now and pray
that I don’t leave little things
undone…I’m
reaching magnificence."
When I look at the
back of my family’s old minivan
now – cluttered with
bumper-stickers, courtesy of my
teen daughter – I’m not as
aggravated as I first was when I
saw the messy collage because
one stickers leaps out at me:
“Every Breath is a Gift.”
My wish for Edie, for
my daughter, and for everyone
reading this is many, many first
tulips and Chinese dinners, all
savored.
JS, August 2005
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Faking It
I've watched a lot of children's
movies over the past thirteen
years. (Sometimes I think
I may be one of the only adult
males in Orange County who will
admit to having seen "The Barney
Movie" so many times that I knew
the next line of dialogue.)
Of them all the Disney movies
stand out as having, at least, a
message that resonates.
Unfortunately the message --
when applied to adult's lives --
is a delusional setup pretty
much guaranteed to leave you
with that just-run-over feeling,
wondering why.
Consider the usual "moral" of
the story: A rigid
character, leading a
constricted, resigned, "small"
life has major events occur that
reveals the secret: "It is only
when you come to trust your
heart, and follow your impulses
that magic occurs and dreams
come true." It is hard to
argue, in theory, with the
beautiful sentiment behind this.
After all, haven't dozens of
"New Age" books been written to
the same effect? And isn't
it the purpose of therapy to
help unlock the feelings, the
impulses, to free up the damned
energy that will allow for the
magic to occur?
Well, yes and no. For many
people a successful therapy
revolves around them getting to
the point where they can finally
feel their feelings, their
breath, their body. Once
they contact this vital energy
-- once they truly come to feel
alive -- all else will fall into
place, the hope goes. The
problem comes when Reality
Factors set in. I may
decide -- after seeing the movie
"Charlie's Angels" -- that being
in touch with my impulses and
lively energies mandates that I
put myself near Cameron Diaz and
do whatever I could to enable a
physical/romantic relationship
to occur. (Penelope Cruz
might just be "Plan B.") I
may deeply feel that this is
something that really, really
needs to happen. Successfully
enacting this, however, would be
problematic in the extreme for
my marriage (as well as
ridiculously humiliating for my
children.) "Thinking with
your heart" and leaving your
brain out of the equation often
results in destructive actions,
interpersonal pain, and greater
loneliness. There is more
to life, apparently, than
figuring out what your heart
might want and acting on it.
Feeling one's own breath, sexual
impulses, and emotional
neediness may be the necessary
prerequisite for putting it all
together with some revamped
thoughts, courtesy of your
brain, which allow you to form
and sustain a meaningful
relationship that brings
satisfaction for the days and
years ahead.
"Trusting your feelings" -- when
taken out of the context of the
whole person -- can be
disastrous.
So, too, for the "stuck client"
-- the person who has been in
therapy for a long time, who
knows what they "should" do
but who resists making any
change in her/his life with all
the stored-up energies they can
muster. In this case, the
client's feelings tell them the
following: "Don't change.
Don't ever change.
Change will feel all wrong and
the most important thing is to
always feel the same.
There is comfort in the
familiar; it may not be heaven,
but it isn't hell." Or
perhaps the client tells
themselves, "Don't change YET.
Wait until you feel the time is
right."
The problem with this is the
following: Change almost
always feels wrong
-- initially. I counsel my
clients that when they finally
make a change -- doing some new
activity that they've dreamt
about for decades, taking a risk
in extending themselves and
opening up their hearts to a
stranger, changing careers,
giving up physical or emotional
addictions -- expect it to feel
wrong. The Disney-Movie
part of you will tell you to
retreat, give it up, go back to
your old ways, FAST,
because...you might die or
something. It takes your
brain -- and retraining your
brain's habitual messages -- to
help you stay with it past the
period of initial "wrongness."
During this crucial time,
"feeling your feelings" is an
obstacle, not a support. (This
is also why it can be crucially
important to have the support of
a good therapist at such a
time.) It is only after a
new set of habits and adventures
has been established that you
can safely return to your
feelings and note, with some
chagrin, that you are beginning
to enjoy the adventurous change
you have just brought about.
Up to that point you have had to
"tough it out" by "faking it."
Too little has been said about
"faking it" in the world of
therapy. Whereas thousands
of volumes have been written
speculating about what factors
help, or hinder, people in
changing, I'm not aware of much
that has been written singing
the praises of doing exactly
what feels wrong (until your
brain can catch up and reprogram
your emotional circuitry).
Faking it requires you assume
the role of actress/actor in a
somewhat frightening play.
You are required to keep to the
script (i.e., the changed/new
behavior) and you will say the
right lines at the right time
without resorting to confessing
your real fears or misgivings.
You will act, at all times, "as
if" you were comfortable, even
though you may feel awful
inside. You will not turn
back simply because the script
doesn't call for you to turn
back. It calls for you to
portray yourself as cool,
confident, and self-assured.
The next thing you know, the
difference between your acting
and your feelings will narrow.
(Or, as Lou Reed wrote,
"Sometimes the worst doesn't
always happen.") You may
not know what hit you, but -- as
you welcome the new changes into
your life and actually come to
get used to them -- you will
glad that you didn't focus on
your feelings, or "trusting your
heart," at a time when you very
much needed your brain to lead
you through the fears.
Your emotional compromise -- "no
heaven, but no hell" -- suddenly
seems anachronistic and very
insufficient.
Good thing you have the rest of
your life in front of you.
JS, July 2005
“Coping”: A
Misguided Goal
“Only put off until tomorrow
what you are willing to die
having left undone.” -- Pablo
Picasso
Four and a half
years after the murderous
attacks on 9/11/01 New Yorkers
(and presumably many Americans)
remain very much on edge. Those
who were not directly
traumatized by the attacks, and
the personal loss, were
vicariously traumatized not only
by the repeated images of random
terror, but by the repeated
government warnings that another
attack was imminent. “It is not
a a question of if,” we
were told repeatedly by our
former Attorney General, “but
when.” We were told to be
especially wary of the holidays
(which we used to celebrate with
joy), to be wary of shopping, to
be wary of most forms of
transportation, to be especially
vigilant while attending “soft
target” events, such as sports
stadiums, concerts, and other
forms of entertainment. We
watched, with horror, as a
terrorist attack was launched on
an elementary school in Russia,
at rock concerts in Europe, at a
hotel in South Asia…No place, it
would seem, is safe anymore.
Not the way it used to be.
Despite our “war on terror,”
periodic pronouncements from our
enemies reminded us that we were
‘legitimate targets” because we
are Americans. (American Jews
had been advised by Osama bin
Laden in the late 1990’s that we
were targets twice-over.)
What effect does
it have on our mental health to
be told that we are about to be
attacked, poisoned or blown up?
What happens to us each time we
are advised that “an act of
unparalleled destruction” may be
in the planning stage and then
that is followed by nothing
happening? Mental health
researchers have learned long
ago that the anticipation of
something bad happening results
in a rush of adrenaline which
primes the body to
“fight-or-flight.” This is fine
as long as corresponds to an
actual event which is responded
to. When followed by repeated
false alarms, I would expect a
chronic state of confusion,
exhaustion and lowered immunity
to disease to result. We will
find out: we are the guinea
pigs.
In anticipation
of a series of attacks on
American soil (and on New York,
in particular) we quickly
lowered our life-expectations to
“coping” with The New Threat.
Simply getting to work, buying
lunch, going to the bank, taking
the subway and coming home at
the end of the day without
getting blown up or poisoned was
considered a victory. For
out-of-towners, seeing a
Broadway play, or a concert, and
coming home was considered a
triumph. Sadly, many people
didn’t even set their goals this
high.
Around a year
after 9/11 I began to see a
tremendous level of
near-constant low-level anxiety
mixed with near-constant
low-level depression in my adult
clients. These people were
functioning absolutely okay at
their jobs; it was in the area
of personal joy, or adventure,
that they were sadly lacking.
Having “lowered the flame” of
their expectations they found
that -- while nothing really
terrorized them into completely
immobility -- little really gave
them joy anymore, either. How
many of these people were
reacting to the events of 9/11
versus how many of them were
passing through a crisis in
their lives influenced by the
overall political/cultural
environment is difficult to
say. Having come of age,
personally, at the end of the
1960’s, beginning of the 1970’s
I was shocked by the sudden
emphasis on personal safety,
diminished expectations, retreat
into personal isolation, and
fear. This was more than a
return to the 1950’s (and the
“hide-under-your-desk” school
drills designed to protect you
from the flying glass an atom
bomb launched by the Soviet
Union would inevitably result
in). It was preparation for
being terrorized by the most
random form of murder we could
imagine.
So…four and a
half years into it, how are you
doing? Are you embarking on any
adventures? Are you taking off
for the unknown, fearlessly
risking that things might not
work out? Or are you playing it
safe, grateful to just still be
here, grateful for your daily
intake of oxygen? Are you just
putting in time?
I routinely hear
from clients that they are
afraid of attempting a love
relationship again because it
might not work out, leaving them
more hurt and depressed than
they were after an initial
breakup. They are right: it
might. The price you pay for
risking love is the possibility
that your heart will be ripped
out and stomped on. One option
is to simply play it safe and
avoid the stuff altogether.
However, clients are often stuck
in between accepting that that
is exactly what they have done
(chosen to push other people
away, withhold themselves from
the world of intimate human
companionship) and attempting
something very scary (reaching
out). The “compromise” is
“coping” with the previous loss,
going to their place of
employment and expecting
nothing. Soul-murder would be a
good way to describe this.
People who are
going through intense personal
losses or crises have a
legitimate necessity to aim as
high as “coping.” When a loved
one is dying, or has
traumatically been ripped from
our lives, it is all we can do
to eat, sleep and go to work.
This is a period of bereavement
that should end, however, after
being properly allowed for. If
it becomes a generalized
world-view, it is a sad choice.
Imagine, for a
second, having the words on your
tombstone be the following:
“S/he coped with things o.k..”
Or your children, when asked
about your legacy, responding
with “S/he coped with life just
fine.” How would you feel if
there really was nothing else to
say? No adventures to recall,
no risks taken, no
surprises…just a series of
paychecks and some insurance
monies left. Is that really the
best we can do?
My clients will
most likely smile to read that
the word “coping” is one of my
least-favorite words in the
world (because they have heard
it many times before). I don’t
believe that it is anywhere near
enough to help people “cope.” I
believe that is only the first
step on the way to learning how
to thrive. People who thrive
take adventures. They do
precisely what they regard as
scary. They walk towards
efforts that might not work
out. They are not mindless
risk-taking fools; they are
brave for realizing that they
will no longer be held back by
their worst fears. If they need
support for their adventures,
they reach out for it.
In the
intelligently-written movie
28 Days Later, the world
faces the reality of an
aggressive blood- borne,
quickly-spreading virus. The
disease is, literally, rage.
Furious zombies roam the cities
and towns, looking to spread the
infection. (The parallel to
Wilhelm Reich’s concept of “the
emotional plague” is
well-earned.) The few
uninfected humans left are
running for their lives. A
small band of survivors does
whatever it has to to escape.
However, late in the movie the
female character concludes, in
an emotional epiphany, “I was
wrong when I said that staying
alive is as good as it
gets.” Though she can’t
quite comprehend the damage done
to herself, she can see it in
the eyes of the young girl she
is trying to escape with. The
girl -- who has seen her father
infected and killed before her
eyes -- has been, with the
assistance of the small group,
“coping” with the trauma. “I
don’t want her to f----ing
cope. I want her to be o.k.,”
she screams before breaking down
in tears.
We are right to
draw this distinction.
“If you
limit your choices to what seems
possible or reasonable , you
disconnect yourself from what
you truly want, and all that is
left is a compromise.” -- Robert
Fritz
Some activities
you might consider should you
find yourself stuck
“coping,”and/or leaning to
emotional zombiedom yourself:
bicycling, canoeing, hiking,
yoga, bioenergetic therapy (see
more about this here), working
out, learning how to sing (or
just doing it anyway), learning
an instrument that fascinated
you since childhood,
motorcycling, skiing, falling in
love (or just dating first),
joining a writers’ group, or
taking a course in something you
always were interested in but
never considered practical. I
personally recommend whatever
gets you breathing hard.
“Life is either a
daring adventure or nothing at
all.” -- Helen Keller.
A picture I took
on my motorcycle trip down The
Skyline Drive of Virginia and
The Blue Ridge Parkway of North
Carolina, from last August is
posted in the "Quotes of Merit"
section of this site. The trip
was heavenly. There were scary
moments and I was full of doubt,
until I realized that -- just
possibly -- things would work
out to be far better than “o.k.”
I will remember that trip -- in
my heart and soul -- for the
rest of my life.
Do not take stupid risks, but do
plan your adventure.
Don't just cope.
JS, June 2005
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