achievements

We can be shiny and perfect and admired, or we can be real and honest and vulnerable and loved. But we actually do have to choose. --Glennon Doyle Melton

I listen to Glennon’s podcast, “We Can Do Hard Things.”  On one of her podcasts she said that she used to worry that no one was listening to her.  Her audiences were small, her readership small.  But then she started seeing and hearing the few who were listening.  She realized that each person was important, not the number itself.  It was so meaningful to hear that.  I have taken it to heart.

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.

"Salad can get a bad rap. People think of bland and watery iceberg lettuce, but in fact, salads are an art form." - Marcus Samuelsson

I made miso dressing this past week. It turned out well.  I tweaked the recipe so that it had a slight sweetness to balance the umami tones.  Before that it was buttermilk dressing.  Growing up we had a fresh salad every night.  And my mother was a stickler for homemade dressing.  She favored vinaigrettes when I got older, but before that we enjoyed homemade Russian dressing, Thousand Island Dressing, Italian, and Roquefort.    There was a distinct difference between her dressings and the bottled versions of Wishbone and Kraft.  

There’s nothing like a flower show in the middle of a cold winter to warm our souls.  That was my thinking as I embarked on the member preview of the Orchid Show at the New York Botanical Garden in the Bronx.  My plan was to get there early so I could get in and out and home for work.  I walked in the chilly weather to the subway where I got on the number 5 subway to Bedford Avenue.  However, it was the number 4 train that I needed, so I had to reroute, getting off at the Grand Concourse and then settling in for a 45-minute ride to the Garden via the Bx 19 bus.  This was an hour detour in total, getting me to the Garden with the throngs of people who also wanted to enjoy the tropical flowers.  

“Procrastinate now, don't put it off.”
― Ellen DeGeneres

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I spent yesterday  procrastinating.  I cooked, I baked, I looked things up online.  What I didn’t do was tally my expenses for budgeting and taxes.  I am not fond of bookkeeping.  Nonetheless, I was able to sit down and focus after I did everything I could to avoid the inevitable.  It wasn’t as bad as I anticipated.  Nor was it as fun as taking the day off.  

“Just do what works for you, because there will always be someone who thinks differently.”  Michelle Obama

I love quotes.  When I first started my psychotherapy private practice in the mid-90s before there were iPhones and Facebook, I had an answering machine, and the recording included quotes on there.  I changed them monthly or so, and it felt nice.  But I was a new therapist and I wanted to do things right.  It felt right to me.  Nonetheless, I was told by a senior therapist, one who I respected, that I might want to rethink having something so personal on my outgoing message.  The common practice was to be as neutral as possible. Her thinking was that a chosen quote could possibly be sharing unnecessary private information about me or, it might be misconceived.  

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. 

Autumn colors fire up Central Park.  I had the good fortune of walking through the park on several occasions this past week.  I was reminded that this season represents the last of the foliage as the trees and plants prepare for the winter.  Following winter comes a renewal as Spring brings greenery and flowers to enjoy.  Just seeing the colorful trees brought hope. 

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.  

’ve been watching Dear… on Apple TV.  I found it by accident.  While looking for another program a small square with Selena Gomez’s image caught my eye.  I clicked on her framed face and came upon Dear…  I watched the 30-minute segment and was immediately hooked. The series features individuals in the public eye, some athletes, actors, writers, or activists, as they engage with letters of those who have been inspired by them The featured famous person’s  influence has helped to change the letter writers’ lives.  

“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.  

Growing up my mother and her mother were sticklers for good manners.  I made a point of saying please and thank you.  I was afraid they would view me as rude, and I didn’t want that moniker.  My grandmother would point out other children who might have been louder than us, or publicly whiny, and she’d use those children as cautionary tails of behavior we were to stringently avoid.  

Although this cannot be said of much of the country or world, we in New York City have enjoyed a reprieve from the intense heat of July.  It has been delightful.  Today I relished a breezy morning riding my low-to-the-ground bicycle up and down Park Avenue for the annual Summer Streets event.  The Department of Transportation closes streets on Saturdays in all five boroughs throughout late July and August for pedestrians, joggers, and cyclists as a way of promoting greener transportation.    

What am I doing this weekend?  Nothing special and everything essential.  In an Instagram world of glamourous posts, my weekend is the antithesis of awesome.  I started early to ensure I could easily access the washing machines needed for the weekly laundry.  Luckily for me, it was a ghost town before 7 am, and I peacefully and quietly secured my machines and loaded them from the full hampers.  

I set out to go to The Brooklyn Museum to see the Africa Fashion exhibit.  I had intended to see it twice before but got waylaid, so my determination to get there yesterday was fierce.  My plan was to slowly jog in Prospect Park getting out at the arch and walking the few blocks to the museum.  Once I made it to Prospect Park at an unfamiliar entrance, I opened up Maps on my iPhone and set off.  

My son told me last weekend that he hoped he won’t have disagreements in his relationships like I have with my husband when he’s older.  It was interesting to hear, and as far as I understand he believes that with the amount of therapy, mindfulness practice, as well as the fact that I am a psychotherapist, I should be further along in my personal development, especially when it comes to my marriage.  There was a time I would have agreed.  I would have seen my defensiveness when my feelings are hurt, and that my feelings get hurt at all, as a fault in my character.