Carl Shurz

It’s something of an irony that my and my husband’s 27^th wedding anniversary is on the 27^th week of this year.  I like coincidences like that.  When the stars align, I feel good all over.  Twenty-Seven years is probably the longest commitment to anything I’ve done in my life.  I like variety, so in the past I could do something for a while and then I’d move on.  I took a very different tactic for our marriage.  While Larry is someone who likes routines and enjoys what he knows, I like to try new things, preferring to being adventurous rather than staying in place.  Though we were a bit older than our contemporaries when we got married, I was 38 to Larry’s 45, we had a lot to learn about relationships, particularly long-term relationships.  

We are officially halfway through 2024.  It’s a great time to reevaluate then manage any expectations we’ve had for this year.  This is the year I’ve had my first, and perhaps my last, book published.  It feels good to have accomplished that.  I am now in the weeds attempting to promote the book while working full-time.  Promotions do not come naturally for me so it feels like I’m rolling a big bolder uphill uncertain if like Icarus is will roll down again.   But I’m challenging myself to do what I can and then challenging myself yet again let go of the results.  When I measure my self-worth by the results I produce I may experience a fleeting high, but in the end I try my best to be proud of going beyond my limits no matter how things turn out.  

I was nervous.  I had agreed to participate in a Zoom panel which included reading from my pre-published book, In the Time of Coronavirus. but it’s been a long time since I’ve spoken to a group.  As I was practicing, reading the blog post a few times, I noticed my voice sounded like it was stuck in my throat.  I did not think that was a good thing.  

When I was younger and I upset someone, I would replay the incident over and over again. I found it intolerable that someone would be upset or angry with me. It felt devastating. I would apologize again and again, becoming a nuisance. Sometimes people would be more upset with my groveling than they were with the original upset. I couldn’t get it out of my mind. It felt like anything I did that hurt others was unforgivable. There was no fun to be had.

As a psychotherapist I’ve noticed that so many people in and out of my office will say, “I know this is boring, but…” Traditionally therapists don’t respond, we only listen. I’m more interactive, so I respond to the statement that they think what they have to say is boring. I’m curious. I don’t find what they tell me boring. But I want to know how they see it themselves. The subject matter is secondary to their perceptions and experiences of living their lives. I am fascinated by that. Luckily my profession affords me to privilege of hearing their insights and opinions regarding their lives.

“Music expresses that which cannot be put into words and that which cannot remain silent”
Victor Hugo

Yesterday I was in sweats, my hair, stiff, frizzy, and dry while getting paperwork done in-between laundry loads.  Nothing glamorous about the day.  I was comfortable and perhaps a bit tired from a late night.  The late night was very unexpected.  I had a subscription to the New York Pops at Carnegie Hall.  It has turned out to be a marvelous series.  On Friday night I, along with a sold-out house, thoroughly enjoyed an evening of Gershwin music featuring the vocalist, Montego Glover and the pianist, Lee Musiker.  

This week I’m sharing some past sunsets.  Seeing sunrises and sunsets makes me smile.  Sunsets remind me that nothing is permanent.  And sunrises are an apt metaphor that we always have a chance at a new beginning.  Both sentiments give me some peace.  And we could all use peace.

As the year approaches its end, forgiveness is on my mind.  I find that forgiveness is a process, though I used to imagine it was a one and done affair.  I earnestly believed that I could forgive someone and then I’d be okay with them.  I found that not to be the case.  It was easier to forgive if the person made changes.  Meaning they either stopped the offending behavior, or they started acting in a way they had avoided prior. 

Napping was my top priority this past week.  They were usually twenty to thirty minutes max.  They made a tremendous difference in my mood.  I was able to get through the week with a greater capacity for patience.  I had more room for the things that usually get under my skin, like loud car horns in grid lock, or the annoying overspill from packages protected with shredded paper or other messy stuffing. 

I voted early yesterday.  I like my councilwoman and I wanted to keep her in office.  What I don’t get to vote for is the abolishment of daylight savings time.  We turned the clocks back last night, and ostensibly we got an extra hour of sleep.  Then in April we “spring” ahead losing that hour.  I say, no thank you.  

Some weeks are harder than others.  Having heard from a number of people this past week was just such a week.  I can certainly include myself in that mix.  For that reason, I am going to don a virtual mask, making this a quick post, while wishing you all a Happy Halloween.  Here are some city pics of the season. 

Self-Care Tips:

• Give yourself a break.  If things are hard, find ways to let go of the normal routines to provide the energy needed for whatever is essential.
• Dark humor that does not hurt anyone can even help in hard times.  
• If you celebrate, enjoy Halloween.  If you don’t celebrate, lean into JOMO, the joy of missing out.  

Some weeks are harder than others.  Having heard from a number of people this past week was just such a week.  I can certainly include myself in that mix.  For that reason, I am going to don a virtual mask, making this a quick post, while wishing you all a Happy Halloween.  Here are some city pics of the season. 

Self-Care Tips:

• Give yourself a break.  If things are hard, find ways to let go of the normal routines to provide the energy needed for whatever is essential.
• Dark humor that does not hurt anyone can even help in hard times.  
• If you celebrate, enjoy Halloween.  If you don’t celebrate, lean into JOMO, the joy of missing out.  

Do I speak of the unspeakable?  This past week marks a tragic low in inhumane acts.  I cannot get my head around it.  As a Jewish psychotherapist I am in a similar position as I was when we faced the pandemic.  I am going through something that I am also hearing from my clients.  The sadness, along with so many other emotions, have been omnipresent this past week.  

When I was growing up in suburban New Jersey I didn’t know anything about self-care.  The first experience I had that felt like self-care was when my mom treated me to a facial at Strawbridge and Clothier.  They were having a special promotion.  Although I couldn’t control my weigh, we could try to tackle my acne this one time.  

“If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.”  That was a common idiom of our mother’s lexicon.   She lived true to that statement.  Even when she attempted to comment on something she disapproved of, she did her best to soften it.  As a teen, I often was asked the question, “Janet, do you think that’s the most complementary outfit?“  Or it could have been make-up, pants, hair style or any other appearance-related observation.  As a sensitive teen I was crushed no matter how much she tried to say it diplomatically.   

I was ten years old.  The person who I had considered my best friend was in the Stafford School auditorium with her class, and I was with my class for a school-wide assembly.  Assemblies felt important.  Usually the principal spoke.  He was a tall, somber man who communicated in hushed tones lending an atmosphere of solemnity to childhood gatherings.  

I noticed that by the end of my work week I was short on compassion.  My go to was frustration, impatience, or barely disguised anger.  It was simple things. I was missing paperwork that had been promised me.  A pair of reading glasses broke.  And then there were a string of simple annoyances.  

I, like many, have mixed feelings about Mother’s Day.  

As a daughter I knew that I loved my mom, and I also yearned for her acceptance, spending far too much of my babysitting money to bask in the momentary approval of an expensive Mother’s Day gift.  I’d set up Arlene’s Kitchen, honoring our mom.  It was a made-up restaurant in our home with hand-written menus for the family.  Nervous about what I might cook, I’d prep all the possibilities from eggs, any type of French toast or bagels & lox.  As down home as those brunches were, they were followed by the certainty that my clean-up techniques would be met with inevitable disapproval.  No one could make a countertop shine like my mom.