Author Archives: Sherri

Compassion

I was having lunch with a wise friend recently and we were discussing my lack of publishing.  I know you are tired of hearing that I have “a lot going on,” but it’s been more true than I would care to acknowledge. The reality is that I haven’t stopped writing. I just haven’t been publishing.  Mostly, I’ve been writing in my journal.  Said wise friend encouraged me to keep drafting essays, even if I had no intention of publishing them.  Writing is therapeutic for me.  This one made it out of purgatory.

I’ve been thinking about the subject of compassion a lot these days.  Due to a combination of isolation from the pandemic, social media driving further isolation, and our frankly f’ed up political environment, I feel like “compassion” has become an old fashioned concept.  And it’s bothered me.  A lot.

I’ve noodled on why people’s “compassion” muscles have atrophied.  Or maybe never developed.  I have several theories, none of which are backed up by any scholarly research since I’m a bit too lazy to Google (or ChatGPT) the topic and read up.  I just have thoughts.  The biggest reason I think we’ve lost a societal sense of compassion is that we’ve stopped seeing people as human beings.  Some of this has been driven by our political and media environment.  The Powers That Be have become pretty good at convincing us to see anyone who looks or thinks differently from us as some inhuman “other” that must be hated and destroyed.  I try not to get too political in these essays, so let me focus on one aspect of this tendency.  To use an example, if someone who is like us happens to commit a heinous crime, our reaction is to think, “That is a bad person who needs to get help and/or get locked up.”  We do not say “all (fill in the blank) people need to be locked up or thrown out” because we know that not all people like us are bad.  That one particular person is bad.  However, there is a tendency to paint entire classes of people as “bad” if that class is different from us and someone conveniently describes them solely by that difference.  I don’t believe I need to give examples.  You are all smart people.  You know what I mean.  For this to be effective, though, you need to dehumanize the “other.” 

Compassion arises when you see someone as fully human.  And when you can empathize with them.  “Care for the stranger,” our Judeo-Christian tradition teaches, “because you were once a stranger in Egypt.”  I, for example, have made it a point throughout most of my adult life to be as “out” as I can be, since the gay community was totally dehumanized and persecuted in my youth.  Hearts and minds changed as more people “came out” and everyone could start to point to someone they liked and cared about who was gay.

Isolation, from both the pandemic and the changes in our social structure led by social media, unfortunately have built on this dehumanization theme.  Even those who don’t isolate but stay within a very homogeneous bubble risk this.  I’ll say it again:  dehumanization of people different from you leads to a lack of compassion and I have to believe that leads to unhappy souls.  We all need connection.  As I’ve written, that’s a good part of what led Trish and I to very purposefully build a strong sense of community connection.  And it’s that community and the connections we built from it that led to the story that sparked this essay.  Let’s see how much of this story makes it through the editing process since Trish is both the subject of this tale and my editor.

I have said more than once that I truly “married up.”  There are a number of reasons I think this, but one of the main ones is what a strongly compassionate person Trish is.  She is very compassionate by nature but also because she is so comfortable in her own skin.  I admit to putting up a fearful wall around people I don’t know well.  What I’m afraid of is probably a discussion for another time, but it keeps me from making the deep connections that Trish makes so easily.  I can understand how fear—fear of being hurt, of being taken advantage of, of being asked to do more than one is willing to do—can keep people from acting compassionately toward others.  But that doesn’t happen with Trish.

Trish has developed tight connections to a number of members of our new communities, but few more so than one couple at our synagogue.  Over the last several weeks, they have had to navigate the decline and, as of the morning of the day I am drafting this essay, the passing of one of the pair.  Without family nearby and with a bit of a language barrier, there was a lot for the pair to deal with—particularly navigating our healthcare system and managing through hospice, but also with the emotional toll of this journey.  We all knew they needed help.  We all knew they needed support.  Many were willing to do something.  Trish is the one who was willing to do anything.  She was literally there day and night for a couple of weeks.  It was where she wanted and needed to be.  She recoiled at people telling her she was an angel or giving her other accolades.  It truly made her uncomfortable.  She was just doing what her heart told her to do and she did it with joy.  Did it tax her and exhaust her?  Yes.  But her strong sense of compassion would have it no other way.  I don’t think I could have done what she did.  I would have been too afraid.  Fred Rogers, I believe, said something like, “In difficult times, look for the helpers.” It’s a reminder that good exists, which we all need to see in tough times like these.  Compassion isn’t dead.  I married it.

We can all resolve to face our fears head on and look for ways to be more compassionate.  Start by questioning yourself when you find yourself dehumanizing “others.”  Then allow yourself to help, even a little bit, when someone needs it.  It can be as little as looking someone in the eye and smiling, as big as holding someone’s hand when they pass away, or a million other little actions and thoughts that fall somewhere in between.  Be the helper that everyone looks for in these tough times.  See the humanity in all those around you.  Be compassionate.

Stay in Your Own Lane

It happened again today.  There is this young woman that comes to my spin classes on occasion.  She seems very nice.  Everyone, including the instructors, seem to know and like her.  However, she seems to be interested in everything except exercising. She usually comes in 15-20 minutes late for a 45 minute class, loaded down with all manner of bags and water bottles. She is always dressed in high quality, matching workout outfits (unlike me, who is always dressed in whichever t-shirt and leggings have made it to the top of “the rotation” that day).  Like me, she seems to prefer bikes in the front row, right in front of the instructor, which usually are the last taken. As such, she is often next to me or in my line of sight. She drops her belongings, takes her time setting her bike and getting on, then spends the next few minutes updating her chats on text before settling her phone on the shelf between the handle bars. I have never seen this woman break a sweat. I have never seen her even breathe hard. She occasionally follows the instructor’s directions, but usually does her own thing and spends more time texting than anything else. 

This bugs the crap out of me! Here I am, sweating away, pushing as hard as I can and watching her do anything but workout. As I find myself getting more and more agitated about her, the self-talk begins. “What do you care, Sherri? The quality of your workout has nothing to do with whatever she does. Stay in your own lane.” The Y is a very chill place. As long as she’s not hurting herself or someone else, whatever she chooses to do should not affect my workout. But it bugs me.

We seem to have a bit of an epidemic these days of people telling other people how to live their lives, what to think, how to feel.  It’s nothing new, honestly.  I am old enough to have watched the TV show “All in the Family” growing up.  That show would never fly today because people would immediately clutch their pearls and hyperventilate over all the bigoted/racist/antisemitic/generally intolerant things Archie would say and yet completely miss the loving and inclusive message that the episode was ultimately sending.  Anyway, one of my favorite clips from the show perfectly illustrates the point I want to make in this essay.  Gift yourself the three minutes and watch it here.  The gist of the skit is that Archie and Michael/Meathead are late to get to a fishing expedition and Meathead has to hurry to get dressed.  Archie goes nuts when Meathead puts on a sock and shoe before going on to the other foot.  A spirited debate ensues about the “right” way to put on socks and shoes.  Meathead is a sock/shoe adherent; Archie is a sock/sock/shoe/shoe guy.  Throughout the skit, they both bring up “convincing” arguments about why their way is the right way, or at least better.  What makes the skit funny is that we all know there isn’t a “right” way.  There is just a preferred way.  (For the record, I’m generally a sock/shoe kind of girl.)

I think it’s generally human nature to want everyone to make the same choices you make, exhibit the same behaviors you exhibit, go through life exactly as you choose to go through life.  When I write it down like that, it sounds ridiculous.  But you know you do it, too!  We like our own choices and preferences so, by definition, they must be the best, right?  Can’t everyone see that?

Just as obviously, we all know that isn’t true.  A small businessman I know once said something to the effect that “only losers work for large corporations.  If you want to have a real career, you should run your own business.”   My first reaction was to feel inferior as someone who spent her whole career inside multibillion dollar corporations.  But about two milliseconds later, I realized how ridiculous that reaction was!  First of all, I am so NOT an entrepreneur.  I don’t have the ideas, nor the courage, nor the persistence to make a go of starting up my own business.  However, I worked really well (ok, reasonably well) inside large corporations.  That environment fit me well.  And last I checked, we actually DO need large corporations for a lot of what makes life possible.  We also need a ton of small businesses.  YOUR choice does not need to be EVERYONE’S choice.  In fact, it would be a negative if everyone made the same choices.  If we all know this to be true, why are we so judgy about other people’s choices?

I barely understand why I do it myself, so I’ll focus there.  One reason is righteousness combined with insecurity.  To continue with our spin class analogy, while I feel I work hard, I see many others around me (usually a lot younger) who spin faster and at higher gears.  The best way to deal with my own insecurity about not working hard enough is to beat up on someone working out less hard than I do.  Another reason, honestly, is ignorance.  I have lived a wonderful life so far, but my experiences are pretty narrow considering the huge breadth in life experiences out there.  I judge others through the prism of my own experience, forgetting my own motto about being careful about assumptions.  Maybe that woman has been dealing with a physical or mental challenge that makes it a huge achievement to simply get herself to the Y and get to a class.  Maybe she’s working her way back to health, a condition that I take for granted.  And even if she is just a lazy worker outer, who cares?  Her choices do not affect me unless I choose to get bugged by them.

The difficulty here is that sometimes the choices others make DO affect your life.  To use the opposite meaning of “stay in your own lane,” if someone literally does not stay in their own lane while driving, people can get hurt.  Rules of the road exist for a reason.  Same with Standard Operating Procedures at a chemical plant or check lists that pilots go through before takeoff.  Those examples are important but let’s not kid ourselves:  those instances are rare and focused.  Most of the vitriol that I see in the news these days is intolerance of different ideas.  It can be really hard to admit to yourself that you are merely hiding behind faux moral outrage when it’s just your own discomfort or lack of exposure to something different.  I try really hard to take a deep breath and not force the world to run according to my preferences.  It’s not easy nor am I always successful.  Learning trust and humility and not centering the world on yourself takes effort.  I do, of course, have more thoughts on this.  In the meantime, though, just try to stay in your own lane.

Shabbat Shuvah

I have been struggling to write lately.  There is an essay I’ve been working on for too long now that just won’t “get there.”  It’s on a bit of a touchy topic, so I’m trying to thread the needle on how I approach it and make it at least a little funny.  I have not been successful.  My editor tore up my latest attempt yesterday and, as she did so, looked at me sideways and said, “Do better.”  She’s right. 

Yes, I’ve been busy and there’s been personal stuff going on that has occupied my thoughts.  Moreso, though, like most of us I’ve been increasingly distressed by all the negativity in the news.  Trish and I were talking about it on the way to synagogue this morning.  We both have this general crankiness going on that doesn’t seem to be relieved by anything.  We talked about what to do about it.  We have both been, shall we say, negligent with respect to exercise lately and know that a good hard workout goes a long way.  But you know what else helps?  Going to synagogue.

We are in the midst of the Jewish High Holy Days, which began at sundown this past Monday with the start of Rosh Hashanah and end at sundown next Thursday when we break the fast on Yom Kippur.  Except it doesn’t really end there.  We move directly into Sukkot and then Shemini Atzeret and then Simchas Torah.  Crunch time on the Jewish calendar!  But these 10 days, the Days of Awe, are for me the most important days of the year.  It’s when I take stock and think about the choices I’ve made, the ways I have behaved, and how I want to grow.  Compounding all this introspection is the fact that my father passed one week and one day after Yom Kippur 15 years ago.  Rosh Hashanah brings with it memories of sitting on a park bench after services, arranging hospice care aides to help Mom take care of him during the final steps of his journey. Shabbat Shuvah reminds me of getting on a plane to head home. Yom Kippur brings memories of holding Dad’s hand while he lay in his hospital bed in their apartment, praying Kol Nidre with him.  The High Holidays will forever be bound up in powerful memories of him even as his devotion to his faith and synagogue life are with me year round.

As such, this Shabbat, the one that falls between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, has become a favorite of mine. The best analogy I can think of is the morning after a big party in college when your crew would get together for a lazy brunch.  Everyone is tired.  We just spent a LOT of time together.  It was intense.  But there is something nice about hanging together on a “regular” morning, rehashing the previous festivities.  Shabbat Shuvah, as this Shabbat is known, means “Shabbat of Return.”  I won’t get into the Torah references that give it its name, but it also has that feeling of “returning to the scene of the crime.”  (Forgive me, Rabbi!)  It tends to be sparsely attended because we have just spent two full—and I mean FULL—days in synagogue together and we’ve got a biggy coming up (Yom Kippur).  Usually just the regulars attend.  The Rabbi and Cantor are a bit subdued, because they are tired and preparing for what is coming ahead.  The service is a “standard” Shabbat service, yet you add in a few prayers here and there that remind you that you are in the midst of Holy Week.  The service feels really short in comparison to the length of services on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.  For some reason, though, it just feels…special.

Because attendance is somewhat light, I often get an honor on this Shabbat, meaning I am asked to take a role in the service.  This Shabbat Shuvah was no exception.  (Thanks, Andrea!)  I got in the habit many years ago of making little notes in my copy of the Chumash (the book that contains the Five Book of Moses along with commentary and other writings) of the honors I receive during services.  My copy is littered with notes from honors on Shabbat Shuvah:  carrying the Torah before or after the readings; aliyot, when you say blessings before and after a section is read; dressing the Torah to prepare to put it back in the ark.  Participation makes the service even more special.  Makes it “mine.”

There is something about the familiarity and rhythm of the service that calms me down and stills my mind.  More important are the messages from the prayers, Torah portions, and the Rabbi’s sermon that remind me that my world doesn’t have to revolve around the news cycle.  There is more that I control than I think, particularly around where I choose to put my focus.  Shabbat reminds me of what our covenant with God expects of me and that helps me reorder the priorities in my mind.  Who needs to hear “I love you” today?  Who needs a helping hand?  What can I be doing to fulfill my obligations around “tikkun olam”—healing the world?

Next weekend I’ll be down in Atlanta, recognizing my Dad’s yahrzeit—the anniversary (on the Jewish calendar) of his passing.  We’ll watch the livestream from my synagogue and say the Mourner’s Kaddish as the Rabbi reads Dad’s name from the list of those we’ll remember the following week.  I’m going to deprioritize fretting over the news cycle, at least for these next couple of weeks.  Then maybe I’ll be able to get myself back in the gym.  And finish that other essay!

Pace Yourself

I’m exhausted. In a good way. It’s early on a Friday morning and this is the first “normal” morning I’ve had in a while. I kicked the cats out of the bedroom at 4:30 AM when Bridget started gnawing on my hand and Baxter started gnawing on my hair. (They do this to me instead of Trish because they know I get up first.) I dozed until about 5:45. Fed them. Fed myself. Caught up in the morning’s newsletters. Drank coffee. Hopefully, there will be some form of exercise later. That used to be a morning routine that stretched uninterrupted for weeks. Now that Trish and I have put an emphasis on building more community, these quiet days have become more rare and I’m tired. Clearly, I have to pace myself. I’m not as young as I used to be.

As I’ve written about before, the pandemic years were not exactly difficult for Trish and me. We are both homebodies. We enjoy each other’s company as well as have the ability to move to separate parts of the house and enjoy our individual time. We were kind of happy holing up at home. Until we weren’t. As happens when you have a little too much time to think and talk, we made some decisions about how we wanted to live our lives going forward. We talked about what was important in being able to age with continued good health, both physically and mentally. We knew we wanted to travel more, which is the one thing we really missed during the pandemic (not to mention the four different Viking cruises we serially cancelled over the past five years for a range of reasons; that deserves it’s own essay). We have a great group of friends but we’re all a little dispersed geographically. We felt we needed more local community.

Interspersed with regular trips to Atlanta to visit my Mom and sister (and help care for my Mom), Trish and I started involving ourselves in other local things outside of the Y. I wrote last time about affiliating with a local synagogue. Related to that is Trish’s journey toward conversion to Judaism. We also joined a local golf club, although we don’t play golf (yet). You will read much more about The Club. It still cracks me up to read those words: “we joined a golf club.” Anyway, I think we’ve both hit a wall and need to dial it back a bit. Here’s a smidge of what the past month was like:

We finally completed a Viking cruise, around Iceland, at the end of June. It was a fabulous trip, complete with travel nightmares that make great stories, beautiful vistas, fun and interesting people, and many Cosmos. Unlike our trip to Alaska last year, we did not come home with COVID, but being People of a Certain Age we needed at least a week to recover from the exhaustion of the trip. We didn’t get that. First, the requisite appointments: haircuts; dermatologist; glaucoma specialist. There were lunches with friends, new and old. There was the Lisa Scottoline book tour for her new book (she actually remembered us!). There were Shabbat Services and our tendency to close down the Kiddush afterwards. A trip to the DC area to spend time with my cousin for a weekend. And then I headed to Atlanta for five days to see my Mom and sister.

During this time, I also wrote the essays on old friends and reconnecting which led to, surprise, outreach to and from old friends and reconnecting! There was dinner and a movie; a few more lunches with friends; and another medical appointment for good measure. (Trish was smart enough to catch a summer cold in the midst of all this and get a few days rest.) I needed another haircut by then, followed by a trip up the Valley for our financial advisor’s client event (more reconnections and a late night). A late dinner the next night was followed by a lunch yesterday.

A consequence of all this fun is throwing me off any semblance of schedule. And I do love a routine! A night out leads, often, to a restless sleep which leads to a decision to be kind to myself and not go to the Y. Not enough exercise tends to mean more bad sleep and more “being kind to myself,” which has resulted in around 10 hard won pounds returning to my now squishy belly, which leads to drama-inducing monthly weigh-ins at Weight Watchers. This moderate weight gain is exacerbated, of course, by all the eating out and attendant Cosmos. It used to be that whenever we went out, it was a “treat” day because we went out so infrequently. Now I have multiple “treat” days a week which is not good for my energy level nor my waistline. They are “happy pounds,” I know, which are better than “depressed pounds,” but I don’t like it.

“Oh, poor you!” I hear you thinking, as the world’s tiniest violin plays a song. Don’t get me wrong! I am thrilled about having a busier, more varied schedule. I just want to make sure I can really enjoy it. You see, ten or fifteen years ago, that schedule would not have been a problem. I was used to being on the go all the time. But I had a tendency to just go from one thing to the next: work to gym to dinner out to business trip to Atlanta trip. I’m truly not sure how much I enjoyed any of it because, 10-15 years ago, I was living more to get to something in the future. The old “I’ll be happy when…” thinking. If I just kept moving, if I just kept busy, I would eventually land on that thing that would make me happy. I guess I did, because I absolutely love my life now! I want to savor it; enjoy every part. Be present for every minute of every Shabbat Service and the socializing afterwards; enjoy every minute of every lunch and dinner out since they are always with people I have chosen to be with and that are important to me; treasure every trip to Atlanta to see my Mom and sister.

I wouldn’t change a thing. I don’t want to go back to the very quiet schedule we had during the pandemic and shortly thereafter. And that’s a good thing, because the schedule going forward is as packed as the last month. I love the richness we’ve brought into our lives. We just need to give ourselves a little more grace to enjoy this busy retirement schedule. We need to pace ourselves better.

Why I Go to Shabbat Services

Trish and I have become regulars at Shabbat services Saturday morning at the synagogue we joined last year. The services are typically about 2 ½ hours long. When I tell non-Jewish friends that we go to a weekly service of that length, they are usually incredulous. When I tell my Jewish friends we go early, they typically say, “You go for the WHOLE service?” You see, Jews tend to wander into Shabbat services whenever they want and that “whenever” is rarely right at the beginning. Let me explain why we go. Or, at least, why I go for the whole service. Trish has her own reasons and that is for her to tell. (Maybe a guest essay on the blog? Encourage her!)

1) Safety and familiarity. Those of you who have been around a bit may remember my essay, The Holiness of Barbie. If you haven’t read it yet, I encourage you to do so. It’s a good prologue to this essay and I don’t want to repeat my personal Jewish history here. In many ways, I’m going to pick up where that essay left off. When I moved in with Trish almost ten years ago now, I let my affiliation with the synagogue I had attended in Allentown lapse since the drive was just too long to be practical. I had thought about affiliating down here, but Trish wasn’t Jewish and, although she was certainly supportive of my participation, I didn’t want to become part of a community that she wasn’t engaged with. Besides, we were just starting our life together and there was a lot of new stuff to get comfortable with.

Years went by and although I kept thinking about finding a local synagogue, I didn’t take action. I was really traumatized by the massacre at the Tree of Life synagogue in Pittsburgh. In fact, I penned an essay on that which led to me starting this blog. (Read it here.) Trish and I went to a local shul for a service around that tragedy, but I went no further. Then October 7, 2023 happened. I was shaken to my core on that one. That event along with rising antisemitism in this country and the world left me craving the safety of Jewish community. When I say “safety,” I don’t just mean the armed guards at the door—although we DO have armed guards there for every service. I mean emotional safety.

As I wrote in the Barbie essay, we attended services regularly when I was growing up. While each congregation has their own particular flow of the service, the variations are relatively narrow. There may be different choices on certain prayers and different tunes used for some parts, but in general if you go to services at a Conservative synagogue, everything will feel very familiar, and that familiarity is a big reason I go.

I feel my father’s presence so strongly during services. As I sing the familiar tunes, I can hear him beside me singing along. I vividly remember sitting next to him on those Saturday mornings, bored out of my mind. I would play with the fringes on his tallis, wondering how much longer until we could get to the Kiddush lunch afterwards. Bored though I was as a little girl (and I’m not bored now!), going to services brings back that comfort of childhood and family. I know Dad would be so happy that I’m going to services regularly again and I know he would be so proud if I could work up the courage to read from the Torah. That’s a whole different journey that we will tackle in time.

2) A feeling of peace and sanctuary That connection to my childhood is a good part of the reason I go to services at all. I go so early because of my need for peace and sanctuary. There is just something about sliding into “prayer mode”. When we get there, Trish and I pause outside the chapel, say a blessing, and put on our tallitot (prayer shawls). Just the act of donning my tallis separates my mind from everything else in the world and puts me in the zone. Those early prayers are quiet and meditative and I let my mind go wherever it needs to go. Just being there, listening to the rabbi and cantor, reinforces that we are part of something much bigger than ourselves. It’s humbling. It’s a reminder of the need to put life into perspective and remember your role as a human—to BE human. You get this sense of sanctuary and peace in lots of places. Some go out in nature. Some volunteer in their community. I’m not saying you need organized religion to find it. I’m encouraging you to find it SOMEWHERE.

3) Community This is perhaps the biggest reason I go. It’s what drove me back after October 7th. We were drawn into the Temple Sinai community from the first day we walked in that door. As we’ve become regulars, we have gotten to know the other regulars. After Shabbat services, there is a light lunch called a Kiddush and we’ve started to become the ones who close the place down. We sit and talk, share stories, get to know the other members of this community. There’s just something about feeling part of a larger whole, and the accountability that comes with it. I was welcomed back this week after having been in Atlanta last weekend. I was gone one week. But I was missed. Trish and I are, of course, starting to get involved in other activities at the synagogue. We are drawn to helping out, to giving back. And there is no shortage of opportunities.

There is a lot in the popular press these days about the various ills facing our society. I am one of those who feel that a loss of community has been a big contributor to our current problems. We’ve become a very “self”-centered society. The pandemic only worsened an existing trend. Stuck indoors with just our immediate family (if that), we seem to have forgotten that the world does not revolve solely around our own needs. Hey, I’m all for freedom. But when your freedom is expressed without regard for the needs of the broader community, you have anarchy. We need to feel a sense of responsibility for and toward each other again. Honestly, it’s what makes life worth living anyway. I have a whole lot more to say about community. What I will end on today is my gratitude that we’ve found a community (or two!) that gives us that grounding that we need. And, for my Jewish friends, we get to help make a minyan! (Wink)

Be Kind

It seems that my last essay on reconnecting with people from the past hit a nerve. It has been one of my most widely read essays in quite a while. It also led to a lot of outreach across platforms and some heartfelt discussion. Those discussions led directly to this topic, which is why you are getting another essay so soon. I promise not to pollute your Inbox too frequently! I’m usually not this motivated.

I toyed with several titles for this essay. It could have been “You Never Know What Impact You’ll Make” or “Think Before You Act,” but those titles didn’t capture what I was after. I wanted to discuss how little interactions can have a big impact and most of the time, you just don’t realize it. In fact, you may NEVER realize it unless the other person tells you. It’s a reminder to me to treat everyone with respect because you just never know. Well, and also because treating people with respect is the right thing to do. I pulled the title of this essay from a T-shirt I keep seeing on Facebook: “When you can be anything, be kind.”

To illustrate what I mean, I’m going to share a story from the 1990’s. I had gone home to Atlanta for a visit after a particularly brutal romantic break up. Mom and I decided to go out for a mother/daughter day, which was kind of rare for us. We saw a movie. Did a little shopping. Then we went out for lunch, during which we slowly and painfully deconstructed the relationship. After a while, when we were both talked out, Mom sighed and said, “Honey, maybe next time you’ll find a nice Jewish girl.” I had only come out to my family maybe six years before and there was still a lot of “learning to accept” going on. That was a different time, when people were routinely disowned by family for coming out and when people like me had a very hard time accepting who they were. (People certainly still struggle today and, unfortunately, get disowned but it’s much rarer.) With that comment, I knew that my Mom totally accepted me and loved me for exactly who I was/am. She didn’t say, “Maybe this gay thing is a phase.” As far as she was concerned, that particular discussion was over. She was focused on what might give a future relationship a better chance at success and, being a good Jewish Mom, felt that finding someone who shared my religious and cultural background would be a better bet. That one little statement meant more to me than she could ever know. And, yet, when I related that story to Mom a few years ago, she had no recollection of it. It was not necessarily memorable or impactful for her; it was life changing for me. And that is our thesis today: you just never know when you are going to have a big impact on someone.

Trish has a similar story. A few years ago, she reconnected with a high school friend. As they were talking, this friend told her how much she appreciated Trish standing up for her when someone lobbed an antisemitic remark her way. In fact, it was one of the first things she brought up when they started talking because it was so meaningful to her. “I will never forget how you stood up for me,” she said. Trish had no recollection of the event, but she was very glad she did it!

I’m much more conscious, now, of taking opportunities to tell people how much I appreciate something they said to me or did for me. Sometimes the “thing” is small; other times it’s pretty big. My long time readers will know that when I came back to the US after a 3 year expat assignment in Mexico, I came back into a very big job. I struggled in that role for a range of reasons but 9/11 and the subsequent recession’s impact on business conditions didn’t help. I spent a number of years resentful that I didn’t get more coaching or didn’t get some other opportunity that I’d wanted, but time gave me some valuable perspective. Sure, I needed more from my boss but, more than anything else, he took a chance on me; he gave me an opportunity that most others wouldn’t have given me. He believed in me. Before he left the area after retirement, I shared a beer with him and I thanked him for that because it set me on what ultimately was a good path. I learned to say Thank You without having to qualify it.

It’s not just people you know, either. Every day we cross paths with innumerable strangers. Trish and I both try to catch people’s eyes, make a little connection, say something nice. You never know when that little interaction can make all the difference in someone’s day. Engage in little discussions in the cat food aisle, sharing stories about how your cats never eat the same food twice. Make her laugh by saying, “Damn cats.” (That happened this morning.) Learn the name of the person who works the self-checkout most days you are there. Address her by name; engage in a little chitchat. It’s ok to compliment your server when you think he has a nice smile or tell someone you really like their sweater (just don’t be creepy). Everyone wants to be truly seen.

All of this is in keeping with my efforts to see every one as a human being and not dismiss whole groups of people with sweeping generalizations. At some point, I’ll get into my frustration with the demonization of DEI efforts as well as some of the overcompensations that led to the backlash. Sometimes we make things too difficult. Just treat everyone with respect. Take time to get to know who they are as an individual human. Don’t just assume a mindset or intent. And more than anything else, when you can be anything, be kind. And if you can, let someone know that their kindness to you mattered.

Reconnecting

I’m still on this theme of “relationships” that has run through the last several essays. And I’m still working my way toward discussing “community” which I continue to tease. But before I can get there, I must tackle the topic of “reconnections” since it has popped up a lot for us lately.

There is something about this stage in life: you’re retired; kids, if you have them, are generally out of the house and on their own; you have time to think and reminisce about people who were important parts of your life at some point in the past yet aren’t now. Often, there is a desire to reconnect, even if only to satisfy the curiosity of “what ever happened to them?” Trish and I both have been instigators and recipients of these reconnects lately. The question of what to do with these reconnections is an interesting one.

A few years ago, I took over responsibility for gathering updates on college classmates for the semi-annual Class Notes section of our college magazine. Invariably, after I’ve sent out my email blast for input, someone will reach out to me just to say Hi. Sometimes, there has been a brief email exchange. A couple of times, there has been a phone call. These have all been pleasant interactions yet none have led to a true rekindling of a college friendship 40+ years in the past.

The reason most likely comes down to the old adage that people come into your life for a reason, a season, or life. All of us can probably recall relationships of some sort that seemed to fizzle after their “purpose” was fulfilled. Sometimes it is someone coming into your life to get you out of a bad relationship. Sometimes it’s to facilitate moving into some new stage of your life. Regardless, there is a close connection for some period of time that then just…fades away. It’s only in retrospect that you figure out the “reason”.

Other times, the relationship is one of convenience or proximity. I don’t mean that to sound like the relationship was inauthentic. Most of these college friendships fall into this category (excepting my core group that is still close). We were thrown together to navigate a fairly intense situation and developed friendships that were deep and meaningful at the time. And then after graduation, we went our separate ways and, for the most part, lived our separate lives. “Work friends” can be the same way. You spend most of your quality awake hours together for years. It’s natural to share a lot of your lives with each other. But for the most part, when proximity disappears, so does the closeness. That does not invalidate the meaning of the relationship. It just means that the “season” has passed.

When I first started to get outreach for these reconnections, I stressed about them. Of course. “Where is this going to go?” I would think. “What would it mean to rekindle this relationship and how does this person fit into my life now?” When I went to my Overthinkers Anonymous weekly meeting to discuss this dilemma, my wise group facilitator told me to just relax. “They probably just want to say Hi and find out what you’ve been up to, Sherri. It doesn’t mean they want to be your bestie.” And they were right. Around 99% of these reconnections have been pleasing one-offs and I’ve moved on. (I really do wish Overthinkers Anonymous existed. Maybe I should start a local chapter.)

There is a desire, sometimes, to get some sort of closure with a reconnection. Maybe someone was a real dick to you in the past and you want to, first, find out why and, second, get them to apologize. Do not, I repeat, DO NOT give in to this desire for closure. It just isn’t going to happen. Either the person didn’t know they were being a dick to you and will scratch their head wondering why you are bringing this up, or they DO know they were a dick to you and will be happy to know they’ve been living rent free in your head all these years. Let it go.

However, DO give in to the desire to tell someone how much you appreciated them. Both Trish and I have had experiences of people telling us that something we did ages ago really meant a lot to them. We never knew we had had that impact. That knowledge is both gratifying as well as reminder to be nice: you never know when something little you say or do is going to have an outsized impact on someone else. (This is another topic for another time.)

Very occasionally, a reconnection will lead to a true rekindling of a relationship. Beware, because those anecdotes are the exceptions that prove the rule. In general, people are in your past for a reason (particularly past romantic partners). Most of them should stay there, even if you do have a brief reconnection to satisfy curiosity. But leave yourself open to more. There is nothing wrong with being one of those exceptions. Just don’t force it. If all you end up doing is talking about the past, enjoy the moment and let the person go. Any rekindling of a friendship or relationship should be built on the foundation of your past time together, but needs to grow based on your lives today. You have both grown and changed. If that change has been in the same direction, then maybe you have something to build upon. Otherwise, reminisce with fondness and move on.

One final thought. I am super bad about initiating a reconnection. If I reach out to you, know that I am doing so in spite of my fear of rejection. And that means you really mean/meant something to me. It doesn’t mean I am looking to reform any past closeness. It just means I care and have thought about you recently.

So, enjoy these later-in-life reconnections. They can bring a lot of happiness into your life. Just don’t overthink it. You can discuss it at your next OA meeting.

Refrigerator Rights

My last essay on long time friends sparked a lot of discussion, mostly in our home. Trish and I had some long discussions on friendships. I found it very illuminating because she has approached friendships very differently from me over the years and I find myself benefiting immensely from her perspective. Ruminating on these ideas, I kept finding myself coming back to a certain type of relationship. Since the thoughts won’t leave me, I must write them down to make room for more random thoughts. So, you now get to hear me pontificate on Refrigerator Rights.

A person is granted Refrigerator Rights only within certain relationships. RR, as we will now call them since I don’t feel like typing “Refrigerator Rights” over and over, exist when you are comfortable enough with someone that you can just go help yourself to whatever you want from the frig. You don’t need to ask. You don’t need to wait to be offered. You are not just ALLOWED to get whatever you want, you are EXPECTED to go get whatever you want. “I’m not serving you. Get it yourself.”

My earliest memories of RR are related to my neighborhood friends. When I was a kid growing up in the 1960’s and ‘70s, I would just leave the house and “go play”. Sometimes it was with the kid next door. Sometimes the kid across the street. Sometimes a few kids up the hill. We just went out and came back when we felt like it or were expected to be home. As far as I remember, there was no planning by our parents. In fact, I don’t really remember planning between us kids. There was just a knock on the door and off we went. I had RR at each of these houses. The moms were too busy to serve us and we were expected to just help ourselves. Being the consummate rule follower, I only helped myself to what I knew I was allowed to have. I’m sure there was ample opportunity to get in trouble and plenty of kids did. That was just not me (at least until I went away to college). I took RR for granted back then. It just was what you did.

As an adult, RR took on new meaning. I certainly always had RR with my immediate family and I have it now with my in-laws. But I learned that being granted RR by friends was a significant milestone in the evolution of our friendship. In fact, the whole concept of RR had to explained to me by a friend one day when she got tired of the charades I would play around wanting something to drink. Too nervous to ask, I would mime thirst or some such desire. Trish calls this “passive aggressive behavior.” I call it “deep seated insecurity.” Trish will just wrinkle her nose and say, “I don’t care about the source of the behavior, just the behavior itself.” Have I noted how good this relationship has been for me?

Anyway, reaching the point of RR in a friendship is an expression of trust. It’s evidence that you have moved into one of the inner concentric circles of the relationship model. It means there is an understood level of comfort between you and the owner of said refrigerator. Some people are very relaxed and grant RR right away. I envy admire those people. They are people who are easy to get to know because they have no fear. They can be an open book because they don’t fear rejection. “You don’t like me because of this one thing? Fine. Just go help yourself to a drink.” They do not fear getting taken advantage of because they are good at setting boundaries. “Go get a snack out of that cupboard, but don’t eat the last cookie or I will throw you out.” (OK, so that one was Trish the first time I ever came to her house.) They are very comfortable in their skin and don’t concern themselves with other people’s tendency to judge. They might feel badly that there is not something you like in the fridge because they want to be a good host, but they don’t see it as an existential failing on their part.

You can probably see where I’m going with this. Making new friends has always been a bit difficult for me. That’s probably going to be my next essay since it should flow nicely from this one. Not to spoil the plot (especially since my long time readers already know this about me), but I’m always afraid of “not knowing what I don’t know” about people’s opinions of me. I try to not assume too much, even when people show me extraordinary kindness. It makes me come off as a bit aloof, I know, but I’m really just protecting myself. To counter that, I’m trying hard to develop a willingness to grant RR, both literally and in the abstract, more readily. It will still take me a while to let go of the paranoia but, as they say, you gotta fake it until you make it.

If you grant me Refrigerator Rights, know that I don’t take that lightly. I will assume you granting me RR means that you feel comfortable with me, trust me, and want me to feel the same about you. (But if you have Diet Dr. Pepper or Diet Cream Soda in there that you don’t want touched you had better tell me!) I will see it as a vote of confidence in our friendship and a willingness to get to know each other even better over time. Building lasting relationships is all about a foundation of trust, anyway. So, go help yourself to whatever you’d like! Just not the last cookie.

Old Friends

I mentioned a couple of essays ago that there was a lot going on in my life over the last year that led to me ignoring this blog. It’s not that I didn’t want to write. I kept writing in my journal. And I kept writing in my head. I even started files for at least half a dozen essays that I’ll finish up in time. I just stopped prioritizing sitting at the computer and typing. Part of what kept me away was deciding to intentionally create more community in our lives. I’ve got a LOT to say about that, but I need to discuss something else first—the importance of keeping valued people in your life even as your circle of friends expands.

In a previous essay I shared my thoughts on relationships. Picture a series of concentric circles with YOU in the center. That innermost circle contains the closest people in your life, often those that have been in your life a long time. This would be your spouse, hopefully some family members, and then a couple of friends. You truly do not have capacity for more than a few people in this innermost circle. The next ring contains people who you talk with regularly or at least have known a while. As you move to rings further out, the relationships become a bit less close, a bit more transactional. The outmost ring contains the person who checks you out at the grocery store and the guy who cut you off on the drive home—short interactions with people you will probably never cross paths with again. It’s important to recognize that people move between rings over time. Some of the people I’ve met over the past year have been steadily moving inward. Others in my life have moved outward. It’s a dynamic process. As they say, people come into your life for a reason, a season, or for life. Today, I want to discuss those lifers.

The first has to be my best friend, Beth. My long time readers are familiar with our antics. Beth and I met in grad school. She joined the research group a year after me (and will forever remind me that she’s younger). We became friends immediately; it took time to become BEST friends. We’ve known each other for (checks notes) 40 years. When a group of us went to Vegas to celebrate Beth’s 50th birthday, I toasted her by saying she has been the most consistent person in my life. Even in those years (decades, actually) when I chose to be distant from my family, Beth was there. We have shared every experience, either directly or from near daily discussions. She is one of the few people who can call me out of the blue and it does not stress me to pick up the call. We’ve been there through all the bad relationships as well as the good ones that led to our marriages. We have our own language, born from the experiences we’ve shared. We crack ourselves up with things no one else would ever find funny. The picture that accompanies this essay is from Beth’s retirement party. And, yes, she is wearing a tiara. Of course.

It’s not that there have never been bumps in the road. I struggled with falling way down the priority list when her son was little (which also corresponded with a time period when I was alone and struggling with THAT). She struggled with a reordering of my life when I met Trish. We’ve fought; we’ve cried. But we’ve always worked it out because walking away from each other just isn’t an option. I simple cannot imagine my life without her in it.

As I struggled through the last year with various life events, our time together was limited. I just didn’t have the energy, even for her. Trish would point out that I often didn’t have the energy for my spouse! We didn’t talk as regularly, although I still talked with her more than anyone else. I turn inward when I’m having a rough time. Beth knows that but it doesn’t mean she likes it! As things in my life have evened out, we’re finding more time together again. It’s not as though we do extraordinary things. We have lunch and run errands and talk about whatever. Most of our discussions involve review of bodily functions (our own and/or our pets’). As much as I enjoy the new people in my life, there’s nothing I need to explain to Beth. I can just be me, warts and all, and know she accepts me without question. This woman even made sure there were only mylar balloons at her son’s Bar Mitzvah party because she knows I have a phobia with latex balloons. Only a dear friend would do that and there is nothing more valuable.

Speaking of 40+ years and people who accept you without question, I am also lucky to have a group of college friends that I’ve gotten closer with again in the last decade. I reconnected with them at our 35th college reunion and, thanks to the pandemic, I feel closer with them than I did in college. I say “thanks to the pandemic” because we had a group trip at the end of February 2020 and started biweekly Zoom calls after that, which continue to this day. As I was heading down to Atlanta for Mother’s Day last month, one of that group was heading up to Scranton to see her Mom. We ended up in the Philly airport at the same time and had around 45 minutes together. I had missed our group trip this past year because my Mom was ill, so it was very nice to see Gwen in person. Again, it was so meaningful to spend time with someone who knows me fully and who, like Beth, has enough dirt on me to keep me from running for public office. (Not that I really harbor designs on that anyway.)

I realize how lucky I am to have people like that in my life who accept me for who I am—all that I am. Look, I am not the most emotionally secure person in the world. I am constantly afraid of being blindsided; of people having opposite opinions of me from that which I perceive; of people being inauthentic; of me making a fool of myself. But with a precious few people, I don’t fear that. I know that if they have a problem with me or something I’ve said or done that they will TELL ME and not just walk away. We’ll be able to work things out and be stronger for it. No matter how many new people come into my life, I will never take that for granted. As Gwen said, “I can’t think of a better way to spend 45 minutes than with someone I’ve known for 45 years.” Me, neither, Gwen. Me, neither.

The Bluebirds Were the Last Straw

Trish has a special place in her heart for bluebirds. She doesn’t know why. For whatever reason, that fondness has transferred to me. I also don’t know why. She has built our backyard into a bird oasis amidst our crowded development. There are many birdhouses and feeders and we love watching the birds particularly this time of year. We sit in our sunroom, crack the windows, and listen to the bird calls as they fly in and out of feeders and houses. Bluebirds don’t usually hang out in crowded developments. They normally nest on the edges of fields where they can hunt their favorite treat—worms. But a couple of years ago, we saw a male bluebird perched on our backyard fence, checking the place out. Trish immediately ran out and bought meal worms to add to the buffet in the backyard.

Trish diligently kept the meal worm bin full over the last couple of seasons and the bluebird brought his mate and then another breeding pair. We went to a Nature Center and built a bluebird box for them (not sure what makes it a “bluebird” box except that Trish painted a bluebird on the side). And this year, they chose a box under our kitchen window and had a brood. We were thrilled, watching the male bring worm after worm into the box. Again, we don’t know exactly why having bluebirds in the mix made us so happy. It just did.

This essay, however, is not about bluebirds. It’s about loss, which has been weighing heavily on me this week. What do bluebirds have to do with loss? I’ll get there.

I was fortunate to be spared from the pain of significant loss until well into adulthood. It’s not like I didn’t know what death was; nor was I unaware of the death of people around me. I was simply spared the pain of a close loss until I entered my 40’s. Many people are not that fortunate and I am aware of the blessing of spending so much of my life not needing to grapple with that kind of grief. It wasn’t until my father passed in 2010 that I knew what loss really meant. And it takes experiencing a close loss to develop a sense of empathy for loss around you. And it’s all around us, every day.

Over the last few weeks, I’ve experienced a number of losses. None particularly close to me, but close to those who matter to me. And this last week was such a gut punch that I had to write about it. It began a few weeks ago when Trish lost an uncle. He was a sweet man, the younger brother of Trish’s Mom. We knew he hadn’t been well but for various reasons we had not been able to see him in the last two of years. Trish was deeply hurt by his loss, understandably. Then I saw a Facebook post from a friend and mentor from my Air Products days. Her husband passed away early in May. I don’t know the circumstances. He was a sweet, gentle soul. I didn’t have the pleasure of spending much time with him, but I smile remembering our meetings. Moreso, I am grieving for my friend. They were a wonderful couple! So close, truly so fond of each other, and with a large family that was similarly close. I can’t imagine the pain of losing a spouse. At all. And now it’s starting to happen to my friends.

Then, earlier this week, came a one-two-three lesson in loss that inspired this need to write. First, a friend of mine lost her dog. I have never met this dog, but know he was a lovable, huge Newfoundland who worked as a therapy dog when he was younger. The loss of a pet is just an enormous hurt. I truly believe that our pets are how the angels walk among us. When Trish and I got together, we had four elderly cats between us. Over two years, we lost all four. I never expected it to hit me so hard. Our pets are companions; they are little devils that can destroy furniture; they are the stars of innumerable videos on social media; and, more than anything else, a source of unconditional love. That loss is always a deep one.

Later that day, Facebook served up another loss. The picture that accompanies this essay is of a local artist who I have followed since the early 1990’s. Her music just resonated with me. I first saw her at a little music festival in Allentown. She hadn’t even recorded an album yet. She was selling self-produced EP’s on cassette, which I played until it couldn’t be played anymore. Over the years her talent, body of work, and popularity grew. I’d go see her play a couple of times a year. That picture was after a show at an acoustic club in Bethlehem more than a decade ago. I was never a super fan; never a groupie or stalker (no matter what my best friend says!). I just enjoyed her music. A couple of years ago, she was diagnosed with a difficult to treat cancer. A GoFundMe was launched to support her treatment costs, which I contributed to and followed. She passed away on that same fateful day.

And then the damn bluebirds! For some unknown reason, sparrows (which are actually an invasive species around here) have it in for bluebirds. There are entire industries built around protecting bluebirds from these murderers. Sparrows will drive bluebirds off their nests and destroy eggs or kill babies. I was a little worried when the bluebirds nested in a box that the noisy sparrows used every year. The same morning that I learned about Tukka (the dog) and Christine (the musician), I saw a fat sparrow perched on that box, screaming away. I went out and shooed it away and shook the box. Later, I told Trish about it. We went out into the backyard and found them. Four little bluebirds, almost ready to fledge, dead. WHY?! The brooding pair had managed to protect the nest during incubation and when the babies were little. Why did they give up the nest NOW? It was the last straw. We opened a bottle of wine with dinner.

Maybe it was the unfairness that we sometimes see in nature. Maybe it was my natural instinct to protect the vulnerable. Maybe it was the loss of such a significant talent whose music affected so many and was lost too soon. Maybe it was remembering our pain at putting down Beau a couple of years ago. Maybe it was knowing I have limited enough time, as it is, with Trish since we met so late in life that I can’t even contemplate losing her. All I know it that I’ve felt loss deeply this week (and when I feel something deeply, I have to write).

I’m not going to launch into platitudes about how loss makes us appreciate life. We all know that. Nor am I going to segue into a discussion about gratitude. We all know the importance of that, too. I’m just going to let this sit here. Because we all experience loss all the time. Sometimes it’s very close and deep. Sometimes it’s tangential but meaningful. And sometimes, it’s just nature being nature. Yes, loss is a regular part of life. I just wanted you to know that you are not sitting in it alone.