Crux Of The Matter  

 Oct 31, 2009

October air tastes familiar and honey crisp
when forced to the lungs the way my
father’s camera forced the orange-reds
to weary eyes as we waited for winter to invade.
We tried but never saw the beauty he found
illuminated in a leaf gone brown and cracking,
framed by two enticing tree limbs leading to
a secret place always the crux of the matter.

Autumn air brings pleasure that is gone fast
like apple pie on a square white plate
and then the airway narrows and shudders,
a small bird gasps for air as life watches, smirking.
Wings that were strong just days ago and soared
where we can only imagine, are weak and gelatinous.
New golden breezes crunch in our teeth and want to
carry us on journeys we have already paid for, but fear.
When we feel winter’s breath on the back of our necks,
it’s hard to think of pre-need plans.

Sitting in a cup, this need is like pomegranate juice.
If we don’t empty the cup the waitress throws it down
the drain and if we do, maybe no more juice or only
weak old memories of liquid scarlet trickling over bare skin.
We ask what treats nature has written on the menu
and if there is a senior special today but she waves
questions away with a sour blue dishrag.
Why take her silence when life still seduces?
So no tip on the table for her, but for us
at last we find the crux of the matter.

Paternal Grandparents & Cousin When G'Ma Could Still Walk

THE FIRST STORY TELLERS IN MY LIFE

     They are all long gone now, my parents, my sister, brother and of course, my grandparents. I am the survivor.  I have become the keeper of memories and the story weaver for new generations, friends and clients.  I have reshaped and shifted my own stories multiple times.  I know that life is delicate and fragile, but simultaneously strong, with potential for ravaging our emotional terrain with a terrible swiftness.  With that same ferocity, the storms of life can wash new seeds to our barren soil and new possibilities will spring up in the least expected places. 

       They are long gone, but I still see their faces and hear their voices every day. It doesn’t take much for me to conjure up their images.  Once I was afraid that the passage of time would make that impossible, but I know now that they will always be with me, incorporated into who I am and making the fabric of my being stronger as I age with the wisdom, truths and tales they all taught me as a child.  They were my very first story weavers.  They were the masons who built the foundation on which I rest my life and which supports many of my choices and actions even today. 

       The yarns my grandparents unraveled stretched all the way from the villages of their childhoods in Eastern Europe, to days of struggle in New York tenements, to picket lines of early union organizing days and heated debates of park bench politics in New York’s Union Square. My paternal grandparents lived with us for a time and weekend mornings would find me happily snuggling in the bed between them, safely resting in the hollow made by my grandmother’s substantial body. I would listen to story after story, begging for more, until my mother would intervene with disapproval and remind us all, in her ever practical way, of chores and obligations that awaited us. My grandfather recounted family events, told me gossip about relatives I had never met, about his studies in Europe and his revolutionary passions and political philosophies.  He had  many quirky ideas, such as believing that people should be born old and get younger and he had this idea long before F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote the story on which the movie, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button was based. My grandmother, Jenny, told me stories from the Old Testament and dramatized them with enthusiastic sound effects and exaggerated facial expressions. She had been crippled in an accident on the BMT West End Subway line  years before when she broke her hip, but gave up on life after the accident because her eldest son had just died at 42 of a massive coronary. She never walked unaided again. She mostly sat in a chair all day, but seemed to compensate for her lack of physical mobility with her animated dramatic (or melodramatic) style.

       Saturdays were spent with my maternal grandparents, who had emigrated from Romania.  My grandfather was a quiet, kind and gentle man, whose religion was not just in theory but guided his life in every way.  My grandmother was about 4 foot 8 inches tall but had a strong personality in spite of her very sweet face that never seemed to age, and looked to me almost the same as in the pictures of her on the walls when she was a beautiful young girl with flowers in her hair. She was born in Romania and came here as a girl, with her father and her siblings after her mother died in childbirth. One of my favorite stories of hers was a true tale of how she was kidnapped for a brief time by a band of roving gypsies, while she, a very pretty child, played with a ball on the front lawn of her wealthy uncle’s home in Bucharest. When they discovered her missing, her uncle, father and several others set out in a horse and buggy and combed the countryside till they found her, unharmed, around a campfire with the gypsies, who had treated her well, but who demanded a ransom. Her uncle gladly paid it but my grandmother, unlike the rest of her family, always had a fond feeling for the Romany people.  She also learned to heal with herbal preparations and incantations when she was a child and though she, like my mother, was for the most part a pragmatic woman, she would frequently suggest her remedies and impart her fascinating theories about causes for illnesses or psychological disturbances.

       One of my other favorite stories of hers, I think helped reinforce a belief in me that somehow things work out no matter how dark they may seem at the moment.  My grandfather had been out of work. It was some time in 1911 because my mother was an infant and her brother was about two years old. They were almost out of food and when my grandfather left one morning she told him he needed to go and pray that he would find a job immediately because they had exhausted all possibilities. My grandfather went to his synagogue to pray three times a day most days. That morning, my grandmother, feeling desperate, decided to resort to something she did not want to do.  In those days infants wore a quarter in a little pocket in a belly band to keep their belly buttons flat. My Bubby took the quarter and the children and went to the market. She returned with some guilt about what she had done, but with meat, bread, milk, eggs and even sweets. She knew that this could be their last decent food for some time.  That evening, my grandfather returned with a huge smile and informed her that he had a new job and that everything would turn out fine. 

       Finally, there was my sister, Carol, who died just four years ago. She was more than ten years older than me and was in many ways, like my second mother.  As a pre-schooler,  I was often transported from our tiny apartment on our shabby Brooklyn street, to the islands and countries of her imagination.  She lovingly beguiled me with stories of family adventures that happened long before my own birth.  Her interpretation of things was very different than that of my parents and I hung on every word. She told me convoluted stories of the secrets in our family, some of which were comedic and some tragic. She assumed voices of different characters, who would come into our pretend restaurant and she would fabricate amazing life stories for each one, just to amuse me and to entice me to eat the little bits of food she cooked on her working miniature stove. She would create elaborate Halloween costumes for me and for my neighborhood friends, and often there was a story created to go with the costumes. When my nephew, her first child, was born, and I was still a child myself, she continued her storytelling for us both. Ironically, in her own life, she was fearful of using her imagination in ways that would take her outside of the roles she felt were expected of her, but she encouraged imagination and yarn spinning in me and in my nephew, who was a talented young writer until his death at age 24.

        So, it seems fitting now, that I have an interest in how we create stories for our lives, how we can change those stories and can learn from stories created by others. I am most interested in how we can use stories in our coaching practices to help others gain insight and shift their perspectives.  I feel grateful and blessed for having had these first storytellers in my childhood.

Me With Brother Ray & Sister Carol

 

Mama & Her Parents

//

    

 

     UGH!  Just read what I consider an appalling description  about how this technique is a good one for marketing services and products in general and how it can be used in coaching practices.  While I understand what the person meant and how it would apply, it made me a little  sick to my stomach.  Basically, this line of thinking in the minds of many who teach marketing for coaching services is, “ Give them a taste of the good stuff and they will get hooked and come back for more.”

     I don’t want anyone hooked on working with me. I want clients who are serious about improving their lives and about realizing their biggest dreams.  My ideal client is someone who has struggled with loss, who is going through a life stage change, or who wants to discover how life can become not only tolerable, but joyful and of true value. I want to work with authentic, real, decent people who want the same in me.  I don’t want to work with those who crave a taste of something addictive that will feel good for a short time, so they can pretend their problems will be solved with little or no effort on their parts. My ideal client is one who needs help tapping into his or her own inner resources, but is not someone who keeps looking to the outside for solutions, or is somehow who may have looked outside of herself in the past, but is ready to change that.    

     I have no issue with giving trial or complimentary sessions so that the clients and I can determine if we are compatible.  That seems only fair, in an arena where the interactions and relationships can, at times, grow very intense.  Trust building is crucial and though this takes time, I encourage prospective clients to use their intuition to decide if it feels like this potential is there with me.  I guess I just object to gimmicky give-aways and cotton-candy fluff that in some respects, insult the intelligence and good judgment of would-be clients.      

     I also heard one marketing guru say that in the end it really doesn’t much matter what we have up our sleeves to help clients or how we propose to solve their problems, but it is all about how we can get to the level of earning six or seven figures, so marketing is really more crucial and important than what we actually do for our clients.  This one really made me shudder.

      It is not that I am closed off to marketing ideas or to making money, but I guess I still come from the camp of purists and a long history of altruisim.  That is why I founded and directed a non-profit  agency for 28 plus years that focused on building and supporting families and on creating long term relationships with clients.  A desire to help people live  more satisfying and successful lives is what motivated me to become a life-stage transitions coach dealing with loss, change and self-discovery.  I truly believe that I am here to serve a higher purpose.  It may sound naive or smarmy to those whose main focus is feathering their own financial nests.     I don’t want to sell products that are made of glitter and spun sugar. I don’t want to sell hype to people who wake up to find the high of the night before is gone, wallets  empty and that their problems are still weighing them down and dreams are still unrealized.

     I definitely don’t want to feel I am selling a product that I need to talk people into buying.  My product will probably never be wrapped in glamour, showcased with smoke and mirrors or equpped with the bells and whistles of the marketing glitterati set. That’s just not who I am.  I am “selling” myself as a coach. I am selling a person who has been through the wringer a few times in life, who has moved through many painful and joyous transitions of my own and who has, for the most part, emerged with a lot of learning and some wisdom, though maybe not unscathed.  I am selling my listening skills, my insights,  intuition,  sincerity,  honesty,  compassion and my creativity.  I am peddling my ability to be gentle and tough simultaneously. I sell my heartfelt commitment to the client’s agenda and success.

      I have head the analogy of a small plastic tasting spoon in an ice cream store, where clients/customers can sample flavors before they buy them.  I have heard that this free sampling and product giveaway is the basis of what is called the “generosity-based business model”, where customers or clients are given a taste of the wares on sale in order to earn their trust and so that we can “hook them in” and later sell them something of value.  I think it  is hard to offer samples of what I want to provide in a tiny spoon, or to package these qualities in a free goody bag.  I am not saying I will not periodically make worthwhile gifts or bonus offers when I am moved to do so, but my perspective clients will need to search beneath the designer gift wrap if they want to see the value I offer.  My qualities and services might better be described as wrapped in practical, no-nonsense brown craft paper.  If I am in the mood I might decorate the paper with colorful drawings or lines of poetry, but it is really the clients’ creativity I am seeking to draw out and nurture and not a way to showcase mine for the purpose of making a sale.

       I know I don’t like to be sold or talked into things and never have.  I dislike the assumption that I need to do that in order to fill up my coaching practice. I know I have the ability to help people recognize that holds them back and to help them transform fear or pain into something worthwhile and productive.

     So what about you? What is the way you determine who is real and ready to help you, or who is primarily a salesperson in  the carefully constructed clothing of a helping professional?

 //

 

     I saw a segment the other day on the Today Show about White House Press Corp journalist, Helen Thomas.  She said, “I think every President could have done better. I think it’s about missed opportunities.”

     This brought about some reflection for me and I am hoping it wil for you, as well.

      How complacent have you grown about your own life?   Do you ever contemplate how you could have improved on past actions, but without berating yourself?  What might you have done differently?  If  you reviewed your previous journeys, what would you learn from your experiences?

       Did you once have big dreams, hopes and goals?  Have you buried your dreams under piles of invoices or work orders on your desk,  or at the bottom of your children’s toy box?  Have you accepted your current level of performance, or ethical behavior, or low inspiration and outcomes as simply the cost of growing older?  Do you tell yourself that life just requires  settling  and giving in to the status quo for the sake of bringing home a paycheck and for survival?  Do you set standards you can take pride in and do you live according to your standards?  Are your days filled with decisions of integrity and confidence or are they cluttered with choices of insecurity and compromise?

     What about your passions? Do they come seething up, only to have you push them down quickly with a plunger of  worry and fear?  Do you even remember or recognize your passions?

     We can all do better.  Believing this doesn’t mean putting impossible pressure on ourselves. It doesn’t mean not acknowledging our own accomplishments and feeling  proud of them.  It’s a question of being open to new possibilities and  of finding them in unexpected places. Observe a baby or toddler and watch the glint in the child’s eye as he or she discovers a new opportunity for exploration, fun, or just plain getting into mischief.  We can view each day, each triumph, and even each mistake or action in which we perceive we have somehow fallen short, as a great opportunity to revise our internal scripts and to put in place some changes that will improve our performance and our relationships, and maybe even the world!

            Can you make a list of opportunities that came your way in the past year  that you   took  advantage of to make changes?

            What about these changes turned out really good?

             Did the changes create further opportunities?

             How did you recognize or discover the opportunities?

             Even if you did not then recognize them, can you recognize now what opportunities were created?

            Did these changes help to bring  your life into alignment with who you used to be, or who you really want to be?

              If not, is there something you would like to do about this?

             If you took a chance and allowed yourself to see new opportunities and they did not work, could you still find something positive that emerged from your having tried?

               Is there someone or something who/that would help you change your patterns and help you learn to see opportunity and possibility more easily?

             Now think about opportunities you might have missed, or know for sure you did miss.

              Why do you believe you missed them?

              Are there stories you have written in your head about how you need to live that kept you from seeing  the opportunities? 

      If you are so busy listening to the beat of the music that bounces all around you, that you can’t hear your internal beat and rhythm, you may not be able to find opportunities that are calling out softly, rather than shouting.  Sometimes these turn out to be the best and brightest ones with the most promise.   Is it time to turn inward enough to listen to the  words and rhythms that are uniquely you and that will open you up to a life  in which you truly achieve your potential?   I guarantee you will find many more fresh and  positive opportunities you never before thought existed.

 

    

       Unfortunately, I have been through this several times now with relatives. At this moment my husband and I feel somewhat like a slab of turkey in the generational sandwich, having just returned from a week plus long trip to help settle his mother into an assisted living facility and to empty out her independent living apartment. There is always learning, though, from everything we encounter.

      When we, the adult children have to cope with these changes, we should always bear in mind that as hard as it is on us, it is that much harder on the people in the center of this enormous transition. When they have confusion and/or memory issues, it is even more difficult for them.  Confusion or emotional lability will probably be exacerbated at first.

       If you have raised children, you have probably already learned some valuable skills that you can employ to help you help your elder family members.  That is not to imply that they are to be treated like children, or not afforded the respect they deserve.  I want to point out, however, that you may have tools in your arsenal that you have not thought about for a while, but you can pull them out, dust them off and use them now.

       Remember when you made a move to a new home with little ones? Experts suggested that you load their personal favorite toys, furniture and personal comfort items last when you packed up or when you had movers pack up the truck. This way they could be unloaded first.  This holds true for moving the elderly as well.  It is helpful to set up the room (or downsized residence) in as familiar a manner as you can. Hang up favorite photos, unpack knick-knacks and memorabilia that will be comforting. Don’t feel the need to run out and buy all new things. A worn but familiar blanket or quilt and a few pillows from the old bedroom or living room can work wonders.

        How about comfort foods? Can you stock up on a few favorite snacks to offer? Perhaps you can stop your unpacking to spend a few minutes enjoying a treat together using a couple of treasured cups and dishes, as a welcome to the new abode? Remember those impromptu tea parties or milk and cookie breaks with your kids even when you felt pressured and had a whole list of chores to accomplish? Think back to the smiles on their faces. You were making memories with them and in a sense, you are still making memories for yourself and for your parent, who may not be here with you for a lot of years.

       If possible, engage your elder who may have some cognitive impairment in decisions that don’t overwhelm, but give some simple choices. “You have two radios. This one used to be in your bedroom. We can fit one on your nightstand. Which one would you like?”  Sound familiar from days when you used to give your children a choice of which outfit to wear, or which lollipop?  The red or the green?

      Be prepared to repeat things. Changes in routine make remembering that much harder.  Write simple instructions to post in prominent places. Keep reorienting but don’t argue or correct. Be matter of fact. If the family member gets upset, let her know you will be there as much as you can and that things will work out. If there is a meltdown or a tantrum, don’t expect to reason, especially in the heat of the emotions. Reassure and ride it out when you can.

       Encourage rest when you see your loved one becoming overtired. Rome wasn’t built in a day and things can be accomplished later or tomorrow. Don’t provide too much stimulation all at once. There will be time to introduce more things and new activities once he or she acclimates.

       Let your elder person express fear and sadness. That’s ok. Listen and don’t judge. Their fears may arouse your own because this is a time of change and loss for you also, but remember how it was with your little ones. You needed to be the adult then and in this role reversal you may need to now. Don’t be patronizing though and remember that the role reversal will probably not be met with enthusiasm.  Be understanding and respectful as much as possible, and try to imagine yourself in a similar place, because everyone’s time comes.  It’s ok to express that you feel sad but don’t focus too much on your own feelings. It’s not just about you, which may not be easy to remember when you are stressed, tired and worried.  Express your affection in a way that is culturally and personally the style in your family. If hugging will make you or your family member nervous or uncomfortable, be low key, but express your affection anyway. For some, frequent hugs and kisses is the way to go, but if that is not how you have always done things, while it may never be too late to start, it may frighten your elder. A reassuring pat on the hand or back works too.

       Your elder may show same traits or habits he or she has not always had. Perhaps your parent was very modest as a younger person, but now undresses in front of you or others and asks to be helped with toileting without apparent shame.  The opposite may also occur and there may be reticence or fear around how he or she will manage with toileting, or showering. Explain simply, repeat (and be prepared to keep repeating in some cases) and let him or her know that there are others who also need that help and that it is ok to use the help that is arranged for or available.

       Acknowledge yourself and your own feelings.  You have a lot on your shoulders. If you still have kids at home or adult kids or grandkids to look after, you are probably feeling very burdened, even when you truly want to help your parent or parents.  You may have job responsibilities that are causing you worry. You want to help but you also want to get back to your own life. You may feel a combination of anxiety, grief, guilt, shame and anger. All of those are normal and natural to feel when you are experiencing a change of this magnitude and when you see your parent slipping or becoming someone else. The past is not any easier for you to let go of than it might be for your parent.   If you are the main helper and others do not step in to assist, you may have resentment too.

       Work a little harder at taking care of yourself, even when you have less energy to do so than ever before. You really need this now.  Try to get sleep when your body tells you enough is enough. Eat healthfully.  Plan some type of reward for yourself after the move for your parent is accomplished, even if the situation will be ongoing or the crisis has not been resolved by the move.   It is that much more important now to keep your support system of friends, spouse, partner, clergy person, counselor or coach in place. There are people who will listen and who can help you navigate this life transition.

        Mary Pipher says, in her excellent book written in 1991 (Another Country-Navigating the Emotional Terrain of Our Elders),  

        “….Caregivers can say, ‘You have nurtured us, why wouldn’t we want to nurture you?’   The old must learn to say, ‘I am grateful for your help and I am still a person worthy of respect’…”

      She speaks of our society “needing new words like interdependency and mutuality, which take the sting out of the old-old age stage of growth”.  She says that “good mental health for all of us is not a matter of being independent or dependent, but rather of accepting the stage we are in with grace and dignity”

      For us, the sandwich generation, we are going through our own life stage with our aging parents, that brings challenges, but which also provides small windows through which we can find rays of joy and bits of learning. We are continuing to make memories, for ourselves and for our children, for whom we are modeling behaviors we hope to see emulated when we grow into our next stage and become the “old-old”.

      A story that surfaced in August keeps on piquing my interest, and has spurred on this post.

       Around mid August, New York Mets player, David Wright was hit in the head by a 94 mpr fastball.  He sustained a concussion.  He was fitted with one of the special new batting helmets called an S100, due to its alleged ability to withstand the impact of a 100 mpr fastball.   Wright wore his helmet for two days and declared that it was too big and far too cumbersome.  Other players have indicated that the new helmets are simply too unattractive and they won’t wear them.  Right fielder Jeff Francoeur was quoted as refusing to wear the S100, developed by Rawlings.  He said, “We’re going to look like a bunch of clowns out there.”  David Waldstein of the New York Times said in an article,   “Although the new helmet has been shown to be safer than previous models, some major league players have expressed concerns over its bulkiness and fear it could be uncomfortable or look awkward.”

       I have been trying to analyze why this particular situation is of such interest to me.  I am definitely not a sports fan. What I know about sports you can fit in the palm of a baseball glove, or in a the helmet of the tiniest player in your local small town midget football league.  Brooklyn, New York was mostly my home territory till I was 18 years old,  so my loyalty is reserved for the Brooklyn Bums (Dodgers) despite the fact that they don’t exist, and I am often ridiculed for verbalizing this devotion.  Otherwise baseball bores me, which was a sacrilegious thing to say in the family in which I grew up, because my sister and father were baseball fanatics. I  don’t even remotely enjoy (or understand)  football,  though I kind of I root for the S.F. 49’ers no matter how awful a season they might be having, because I lived in San Francisco for years and was dragged to games at Kezar Stadium (in those days) by my first husband. The 49ers are tied up with incredible memories of living in S. F. in the sixties.  Most of those memories have nothing to do with football.  Nowadays, my daughters are sports enthusiasts and my husband loves football and especially the Buffalo Bills and the Eagles.  I, however,  rarely watch games for more than a few minutes, and it is mostly sheer torment to me.  Recently a little interest has been sparked only because my hometown is now Bloomfield, CT, and the Bloomfield High Warhawks, produced three players everyone tells me are worth keeping a close eye on. There is Dwight Freeney, who my husband says may now be one of the best in the NFL, (and went to school with one of my kids) Korey Sheets, who was a school mate of my youngest daughter, and Matt Lawrence, all former students distinguishing themselves in this sport. This connection gives me something to pay attention to for at least a few minutes before I abandon ship in favor of a good book or a catch-up phone call with a friend. Anyway, you get the point that sports is not my thing and never really has been.

      So what’s the deal with my focus on the S100 and on major league players’ refusal to wear the helmet?  Let’s face it.  Some people are just married to the past (Says the person who still likes the Brooklyn Bums). They don’t believe in divorcing themselves from old habits, no matter how much they are being harmed by them or held back from becoming better, safer, happier or more successful.  They hold on to stale, outmoded ways and choose to be unsafe in this case, because old ways are more familiar, or because they have always followed the path of the known.  They survive by the creed of “what has always been done”, what they learned by rote,  what they think is expected of them by others, or what looks good. They choose to live in a limited, but familiar fashion, instead of having to deal with possible unknowns, as exciting and interesting as these unknowns might prove to be, or when new advances are clearly in the best interests of their own well-being. They keep on doing the same things, stumbling over the same obstacle rocks, hitting the same brick walls.  They lock themselves up in the same dark rooms, afraid to emerge and navigate new terrain out of fear of failure, or of how they might appear to others.  They resist what they don’t understand, or what is new and what they can’t yet see, though their good sense and instincts might be sending them strong messages that change is the right thing.

      What do you imagine makes some people resist to this degree?  What makes some feel uncomfortable when faced with possible change, even when it seems rational and of potential benefit to them?  What causes some of us to hang on to the status quo so tightly that our fingers and souls are close to bleeding? Why do we hang on for dear life to things that no longer serve us in any positive way? Why do we see only risks and negative points, instead of exciting opportunities and potential benefits? Why do we oppose  transformation, or even just variation that will add value and safety to our world?

         I think it’s time for major league players and other sports figures who are so visible to the public and especially to young people, to start paying attention to what they model.  We know some of them have difficulty getting this and thus, there are often headlines declaring some sort of abuse, misuse or incident involving a sports personality.  Safety, self-respect, and self-care are certainly among the things sports stars ought to be modeling for young people.  Instead they resist change, worry about their appearances and refuse to move forward and embrace something new and beneficial. What’s up with this?

 

    

 

 

 I know…I know…Readers really like to read these lists of tips and that’s why writers like them so much.  I get daily e-mails and tons of obnoxious marketing download offers screaming to me about 5 things I need to do to get clients, 10 things I absolutely must do to shape my life like wet clay into exactly what I want it to be, 3 things I have to do to turn any kids in my life into compliant and model Stepford citizens, instead of multi-pierced, rainbow-haired, whining teenagers, 7 actions that will transport me straight to Nirvana, regardless of my religious orientation or past deeds,  4 moves to turn me and my bedroom into a sizzling seduction machine. You get the picture.

 5 “Secrets” From Coach Iris

        1. Stop with the secrets. Transparency is important in doing business and establishing trust with your clients or customers. How will you go about building that trust? Don’t have a hidden agenda.

 

        2.  Stop screaming it out loud in dayglow colors and font sizes designed for Godzilla to read from the top of the Empire State Building if written on the street below him.  Have a little respect for your reader’s intelligence and nerves.

 

        3. Think about what makes you an expert and if the answer is nothing, stop clogging up my inbox please. Offer me and others something of value and not something we see or hear every day from twenty others in the same field.

 

        4. Be authentic and sincere and really want to help people with your tips and don’t  just  fill the space with chatter to boost your own ego.

 

        5. Zero in on the pain, struggle or problem of your target audience. Give them some food for thought that will make them want to return to read what else you have to say, but don’t pre-chew it for them.  Make them work a little and come back to the “table” for seconds.

 

 

“A friend is a present you give yourself.” -Robert Louis Stevenson

 

     Do your friends share their wins and positive occurrences with you? Are you ready to listen and celebrate with them, or do you feel jealous of their news? When something wonderful happens to you, do you bask in the glow in solitude, or do you share your happiness and/or prosperity with friends? Nobody is suggesting that you boast, but that you award your friends and supporters with the opportunity to be happy for you and to rejoice in your successes.

     I have noticed that many people are more prone to complaining and want their friends to wallow in their misfortune with them. I know I have a few friends who only call me when they are at low points and they seem to find solace in spreading around their melancholy and agony. Unfortunately for them, this mulch of misery is so thick, there is little room for anything positive and life affirming to grow out from under it. I like being there for people who are important to me, but at times, after they have unloaded all of their suffering and misery from one huge wheelbarrow, I need to race to do something life affirming and deliberate to let the sun shine in for me. I find I have to work at not getting covered and enveloped by their clouds of doom, which can fog up my own vision like a pesticide.

     Everyone needs a safe and trusted person to unburden to once in a while. I believe, though, that it would be so much nicer for me and for my friends if we could enjoy each other’s victories, triumphs and accomplishments more often.

     When was the last time you felt true happiness when a friend did let you in on an important win?  How did you communicate your delight and pride to him or her? Did you have feelings of envy? What did you do with those feelings? Did you acknowledge them to yourself? Did you learn anything from them? What did you do to get past them?

     How often do you let people in when good things happen for you? Do you complain more than you rejoice? We are all guilty of this occasionally but if this is a perpetual state of being for you, what steps will you take to change this? Is there a friend you can ring up today with whom you will commit to sharing something wonderful? It needn’t be monumental, but just something that makes you feel good. What are some ways you can design to invite friends to join you in acknowledging and honoring something good in your life?

3 Ideas for Less Complaining and More Positive Sharing

        1. Make a game out of turning every negative thought into a more positive one. Write them down and give yourself a reward when you reach 50.

        2. Invite a friend to celebrate a win you have had with a special lunch, dessert, or glass of wine. Make an advance rule that this time is only for celebrating.

        3. Send a friend a nice card or note for no reason, saying how proud you are of him/her and how much you love hearing when things go well in his/her life, though you know he or she has had obstacles to overcome.

 

 

  

 

 

                                                                                            (Me, hoping to get more outrageous as time passes)

     Yes, I am beginning to admit to that label.  I bought myself a tee shirt from the National Organization of Women and a button with the same words.  I also admit to retaining a little bit of resistance, though I am determined to age gracefully and in an adventurous manner for the duration of my existence.  Still, it is difficult to completely throw off the shackles of societal attitudes and this is so much a culture of youth.  I happen to derive pleasure from watching  the  startled facial expressions of many  people I meet when I tell them my age and they exclaim that they thought I was much, much younger. I am  beginning to enjoy assertively claiming my senior discount from business establishments that have a fairly low age qualifying threshold of 55 or 60.  Most of my friends absolutely refuse to do this and look away with some embarrassment if they are in my company when I do it.  I have pretty much decided that since we have no choice about chronologically advancing age, we might as well cash in on whatever concrete benefits we can find, and saving a little money here and there is fine with me. 

     In fact, the other day I was “carded” at Duncan Donuts by a teenager who insisted I could not be that old.  I felt the need to set him straight and to produce my driver’s license, which he said was unnecessary (as he gestured at the growing line  of coffee drinkers dangerously approaching a state of caffeine and high fat withdrawal ).  He glanced at my ID and shrugged, said, “No problem”, and rang up my drink.  I felt a bit of a high after claiming my due in Fast Food Land.  This  incident charged up my feeling good  battery that whole day, as I periodically thought about it and felt a smile involuntarily creeping over my (mostly unwrinkled) visage.  It hardly seems like very long ago that I complained to everyone I knew about how I used to get carded at restaurants and bars till age 35 or so, which was around the time I was widowed, and I remember how indignant I was and how I needed to announce my age.

     In spite of my vanity getting in the way occasionally, I have vowed to look for as many positives as possible in the fact that I am now an aging Baby Boomer and not a hot young chick with long braids and a mini-skirt up to my belly button, as my mother used to say (The Yiddish expression, “up to my pupick” sounds funnier).  I truly want to be an Outrageous Older Woman, though as I write this I can visualize in my head the rolling of collective eyes among my four adult children.   I have managed to come up with a few thoughts and  observations on the topic.

      When I was a kid, relatives used to tell me that “time speeds up” when one gets older. So how come if time speeds up, we slow down?  Is slowing down such a bad thing?  I think not.  Maybe we  don’t like it when our bodies can’t always  keep up with our memories or compete with the slender young thing next to us on the elliptical machine at the gym   On the other hand, in US society nowadays, and unfortunately in other places that are picking up our lifestyle more and more, we rush through our lives at breakneck speed.  Some of us race to work, skipping breakfast, charge through lists of errands and chores during our lunch hours and on weekends, zoom around with our cars full of kids, ferrying them from one activity to another, eat a lot of tasteless and unhealthy fast food, maybe squeeze in a hurried, perfunctory sexual encounter with our significant others when we are able to keep from falling asleep.  Then we  start the routine again the next morning. 

     What would happen, if we just took some cues from the fact that our bodies are slowing down a bit (Not mine, mind you!  LOL) and we decided to stop and breathe, to inhale deeply of the wonderful world around us.  What if we committed to taking the time to really listen to the people we encounter?  It seems to me we do too much striving and too little connecting.   What if we let ourselves lazily stare up at the clouds and visualize  their fluffy shapes coming to life?  What  would it be like if we permitted ourselves to laugh more?  Imagine if we said no, once in a while to the kids’ activities and to the never-ending errands, or to the requests and obligations that crowd out time for relaxation and self care?  What if  we just spent part of a Saturday reading, lounging around in our pj’s or nightgowns?  What if we played a board game with our kids or grandkids and forgot about the clock, maybe forgot about rushing to cook a meal or to grab a pizza, and instead, ate popcorn and drank cocoa, sitting on the front porch or by an open window, just watching the rest of the world careen by?

     After age forty or so, our vision can deteriorate a bit, often requiring us to wear bifocals.  So how is it that as our vision becomes more blurry, experience often helps us see with greater clarity than ever before?  A little wisdom is a wonderful thing!   As we get up there in years, some people’s hearing gets less sharp. Some of us, on the other hand, continue to have excellent hearing,  but we hear only what we wish to.  Maybe dimimished hearing is Nature’s way of causing us to pay attention and to focus extra carefully on everyone and everything around us? 

     It is a fact that as we leave our youth, we lose some of our tastebuds?  Certain dishes we remember from childhood often  just don’t seem as good when we sample them in adulthood.  This may be our message to take the time to chew, to savor, to experience our food with every sense we possess so that the enjoyment is enhanced for us, even with fewer tastebuds, and with fewer years left to be on this earth.

     Speaking of slowing down and savoring, remember that earlier reference above to the hurried sexual encounters when we are immersed in the workaday world and/or raising young families?  Nature sends strong messages to people as they age, that in order to continue being sexual creatures as long as possible,  (Forever?) they may have to exhibit some adaptive behavior.  Slowing down and really enjoying the journey makes a lot of sense, as people’s bodies change,  physical issues or illness may become part of the picture, hormones diminish and performance challenges may be present for some couples.   

     Joan Price is the author of “Better Than I Ever Expected: Straight Talk about Sex After Sixty” (Seal Press, 2006),  a very candid and personal story about Joan and her great sex life with the then-68 year old man who became her husband.   It includes interviews with other mature and seasoned women about their  own experiences.

        “ We’re as turned on by each other as a couple of teenagers, but with the juicy addition of decades of life experience, self-knowledge, communication skills and a sense of humor. We’re also willing to experiment and stretch our boundaries.”  Price adds that “we overcome the physical challenges by being inventive and resourceful. We take advantage of the lessened urgency by slowing things down, taking more time.”

     As I continue to grapple with my vanity, since I am who I am because of and in spite of the culture in which I grew up, I am increasingly working on valuing my mature perspective.  I like using my life experience and the unique perspectives derived from it to make my own life more satisfying and productive . I love being able to apply what I have learned in my many trials by fire to help others grow if they reach out to me.  I am, for the most part, looking forward to certain kinds of slowing down.  In fact, I am pleased to note that slowing down has actually become a movement to which people are committing worldwide.

 

 

 

MOTHERHOOD LATELY

-Iris Arenson-Fuller

She has at times, been a lioness, with gleaming sun
 flashing in her eyes and mighty claws ready to strike,
protecting with unrivaled fierceness.
Now mothering is oddly unfamiliar sitting all together
at the old table, voices feel freshly sharpened, slicing
the air with Cuisinart precision as they shred
so many years of her softly comfortable assumptions.

They have memories of very different storybooks than
the ones she carries with pages of jelly-smudged bears
and fuzzy characters who used to visit all four of them
with such love and regularity.
She thought they remembered the same tales they once
eagerly lapped up  like milk with honey, unaware of other
mothers hidden in their genetic codes.

Were they cloth puppets for whom she was merely
a convenient puppet master?
Was she only an actress reciting good parent lines,
an imposter or stand-in?
She shivers unexpectedly in August heat, as puzzled
 as mosquitoes flying past clumsily, wondering if  sensors
are askew and waiting for  colder winds to signal the end
of their sweet, lazy summer blood feasts.

She used to dream of fat babies crawling on golden floors
while exploring  the world’s edge as she kept them in sight
and always safe.
Now she listens, hugging herself hard. to callous critiques 
accusing her of helicoptering and of keeping them
in simulated cages.

On her last birthday, her wish was tossed over her shoulder
into the water with beach stones and what she had imagined
were simple expectations.
No gifts this year, but she was unconcerned, keeping eyes
tightly closed and wishing  for some small consideration
to unwrap in private.
Wishing too  that they had finally grown enough to see
 her true shape unveiled and not what they had molded
in their own childish imaginations.