Category Archives: General Interest

The Holiness of Barbie Redux

Prologue

I mentioned last time that A LOT has been going on during my sabbatical from writing. One of those things is a reconnection and reaffiliation with my Jewish faith. Expect more writing to come on Jewish themes, but in the meantime, I wanted to post something I wrote about 15 years ago. It is an essay inspired by an experience at a Shabbat morning service and it was published in the quarterly magazine of the US Conservative Judaism movement. It is by far my most read piece since that magazine went out to about a quarter of a million homes. Since it is no longer available on the USCJ’s website, I wanted to repost here (and a few of you have asked me to do so over the years). Without further ado, then, the essay exactly as written, with a short epilogue:

The Holiness of Barbie

I have a confession. I sometimes feel as if I am faking it as a Jew.

Born into a Jewish family, I feel inferior to converted Jews. They know so much more about being Jewish than I do! Why didn’t I study more? Why don’t I study more now? Have I questioned enough? Am I just going through the motions and habits from childhood? These questions have been dogging me for the last three years. Then, one Shabbat morning a few months ago, a little girl and her Barbie doll taught me a lesson I’ll never forget about what it really means to be born and raised Jewish.

To understand my uncertainty, you need to understand my personal Jewish history. I was raised in a traditional Jewish home (somewhere between Conservative and Orthodox) and had a bat mitzvah at 13. Along with most of my classmates, I drifted slowly away from my formal Jewish upbringing when I went off to college. I never stopped identifying as Jewish but my observance of the traditions faded as I moved away from home and started my life as an independent adult. In another entirely unremarkable twist, I began drifting back toward religious observance in my mid-40s when I began to attend open high holiday services with the local Reconstructionist congregation. It accelerated when I broke up with my longtime Christian partner. I like to think that I suddenly felt free to explore my spirituality, but that’s not fair. The reality was that as I struck out on my own again, I needed a sense of community.

I rationalize my lack of Jewish knowledge by looking at chronology. Coming of age in a traditional shul as a girl in the late 1960s/early 1970s, I wasn’t given the same training as my male counterparts. At least, that’s what I tell myself. My bat mitzvah was a Friday night service and my role was limited to a few key prayers, a lot of responsive English reading, and chanting the haftarah. I remember the boys studying and studying for their bar mitzvahs. Their Shabbat morning event involved a lot more than just chanting the haftarah. They led every aspect of the service, including reading from the Torah. I remember that mixture of relief (that I didn’t have to learn so much) mixed with a bit of jealousy (that I didn’t get to learn so much). I have a distinct memory of one of my male friends whispering every word of the Amidah as he prayed next to me one Shabbat morning. I only pretended to read while I waited for everyone to start sitting down so I could sit, too. What I really wanted, though, was to know every word like he did.

My return to shul began when a colleague from work died and I attended the memorial service. Something just felt right about the place. A few years later, when the congregation moved to a beautiful new building on my side of the valley, I took that as a sign. “If Beth El was the right place for my friend, it just might be the right place for me.” I started going to Shabbat services at the beginning of the summer and paid up my membership in time to get a ticket for the high holidays. I soaked in the sense of community from day one. The feel of the sanctuary was overwhelming. I felt hugged and loved by the familiarity of the ritual of the service. It was probably a year before I could get through a service without crying at some point. Most of the time it was the Shema that got me. (It still does.) Often, it’s Etz Hayim, particularly when I’m up at the ark, standing so close to the Torah and surrounded by the congregation’s voice echoing in prayer.

I found, though, that it had been so long since I had prayed at Shabbat services that I had forgotten the flow of the service. As I began to attend services regularly, I realized that I never had known what the service really meant. Oh, the prayers were familiar. The tunes were pretty much the same. I remembered the basic sections of the service. But I didn’t understand it. When I was a kid, I didn’t really care, but as an adult, it didn’t feel right to just be there.

I began to question how I was able to identify so strongly as a Jew if I never lived in or kept a kosher home, never was shomer shabbos, and didn’t even know the prayers! How could I consider myself a real Jew when all I did was follow along, sing familiar tunes, and know when to stand up and when to sit down? I was embarrassed at my lack of scholarship and understanding; I felt like a fraud. Even now, do I mimic more than I understand? I began to read the commentary and translations; I began to think about the flow of the service; I began to understand what the prayers meant and why we said them. But as I learned more, my discomfort grew. Did I learn this as a child and just forget it? Or was I just never taught this?

Enter that little girl and her Barbie doll. I’ve been a member of the synagogue for almost three years now and I am a regular on Shabbat. Services were in the chapel that morning. Services were a little more crowded than usual as the winter weather was giving way to early spring and the prospect of getting up and out to services became more palatable. I was asked to carry the Torah that morning, my favorite honor. I can’t help but hug the Torah while I sing the Shema. I always walk slowly through the congregation, making sure everyone has the chance to approach the Torah, to honor and bless it. I had rounded the corner at the back of the chapel, carrying the Torah back to the ark, and was slowly running the gantlet down the center aisle. With the full house, the pathway quickly narrowed as people crowded into the aisle. The smiling faces closed in. I turned to the left, turned to the right. I waited as the outstretched hands, shielded by tallitot and prayer books, reached out to connect with the Torah.

About halfway down the aisle, I saw her. She was no more than three years old and had been coming to services ever since she was an infant. She stood slightly behind her father’s leg, one hand clutching his pants behind the knee, the other clutching Barbie. As her father stepped into the aisle to make room for others to reach the Torah, she stepped with him and was almost directly in front of me. There were people all around us, so many that it felt like it was just the two of us. I looked down at her from around the Torah’s mantle. She looked up at me, clear blue eyes through brown curls. She first looked back and forth between me and the Torah. We were surrounded by song as the cantor and congregation chanted. Then she looked up at her father, then at the others all leaning in around us before she caught my eyes again. They were all reaching to the Torah’s mantle. She wasn’t wearing a tallis. She wasn’t carrying a prayer book. So she reached up with her doll, touched Barbie to the Torah’s mantle, and then kissed Barbie’s head. Everyone smiled.

And right then, right at that very moment, as we laughed and my heart just flooded with that absolute joy I felt with the Torah in my arms and surrounded by this community. Right then, I understood the incredible blessings of my Jewish childhood. This little child understood something very simple: That beautiful object that woman is carrying, it is holy and special. I shouldn’t touch it directly. But I have to bless it. I’ll use Barbie. That was all she knew, yet that is all we ever need to know. The purity of holiness, the safety of community, the blessed nature of the Shabbat service. The scholarship will come later, just as it has for me. I look forward the day a decade from now when I will watch that little girl be called to the Torah as a bat mitzvah. I will follow her as she leads the service and listen as she reads from the Torah and chants the haftarah. But she learned what she really needed to know those Shabbat mornings, clinging to her father’s leg and blessing the Torah with Barbie.

I learned those lessons, too, even though I don’t remember them. They are within the tears that well up still when I close my eyes and recite the Shema. They are there when I walk into the shul on Shabbat, take a deep breath, and feel peace. What a gift, those lessons from my Jewish childhood! What a gift, the holiness of Barbie.

Epilogue

I did, indeed, attend this young girl’s Bat Mitzvah. I had long since moved to the Philly suburbs and the Rabbi reached out, asking if he could use the essay in his comments to her that day. I decided to drive up and attend. Imagine my surprise when the Rabbi read almost the entire essay to her as the majority of his remarks! I listened through tears as he read the essay exactly as I heard it in my head as I was writing—same emphasis, same intonation. I have never felt so heard nor so validated. I am still extremely proud of this piece of work. This “little girl” is now spending a gap year in Israel before she matriculates to college. Tempus fugit.

What I Did on My Summer Vacation

I’m back! Some of you are thinking, “I wondered if you were ever going to post again!” Others are thinking, “Gee, I guess I haven’t seen a post from you in a while!” A not-insignificant-number are thinking, “Am I still subscribed to this site?” Regardless, I am going to assume that you all are thrilled to get a blog post from me again, just as I am thrilled to be writing again, and Trish is (sort of) thrilled to be editing again. My last post was way back in January of this year on my Five Year Blogiversary. In it, I hinted that I might be taking a break from posting since I had felt my writing had become…stale. I needed to rethink what I wanted to accomplish. Then life happened. SO MUCH has happened over the last nine months! Over time, I will fill you in, but we’ll start small.

Let’s start with the message from the Universe that got me to sit down at the keyboard again. I was in the airport almost two weeks ago, heading down to Atlanta (more on that in a bit). I was in that scrum of people that forms around the gate when they make the preboard announcements and I had just maneuvered myself into position to be first in line for Group 4. I heard a familiar voice and turned around to see one of my all-time favorite co-workers from my Air Products days behind me, talking on his phone. I leaned over, smiling, and caught his eye. Between waiting to board and then wandering down to baggage claim in Atlanta, Ron and I had a few minutes to catch up. It was so wonderful to see him! We hadn’t crossed paths in at least 10 years. Ron is one of those people who was always a joy to be around. We caught up on work (he is actually retiring and was on his “farewell tour” to see key customers). We caught up on his kids (he now has an adorable toddler granddaughter). And I was treated to a classic Ron “Dad joke” (“Two of my sons are actuaries! What are the odds?!”). Then he said something to me that I was not expecting: “I haven’t seen a blog post from you in ages! Why aren’t you writing? I looked forward to those posts. It’s how I stayed connected with you.”

There are so many reasons why I write. I write to get thoughts organized in my head and then out of my head. I simply find the process enjoyable. When I read something I’ve written and pronounce it “good,” that is very satisfying. I started the blog to capture the myriad coaching lessons I had absorbed over my professional years and that I imparted to those younger who might benefit from that experience. As I finished capturing those thoughts in a range of posts, the blog evolved to more broad thinking about life, although almost every “life lesson” can be applied in a work environment and vice-versa. And, I realize, I write to connect. I write to share a bit of myself with others; to receive a bit from others as they share thoughts and comments back with me; and, in some little way, to stay connected with a bunch of people with whom I’ve crossed paths over the years. I have found that connection of all sorts becomes more and more important as you get older, so whatever I can do to maintain and build community and connection has increasingly become a focus in my life. So, I’m writing again because I want that connection. I will write when I have something to say and post when I believe the writing is solid enough to share. I resolve to be a little lighter in presentation, since laughing (or at least chuckling) makes anything more enjoyable.

What do I have to say today? Well, I want to share with you what the last six weeks of my life have been like. More specifically, I want to share some thoughts on what I’ve learned from that time. From July 21 (when I left home for a trip to Atlanta) to August 31 (when I finally put my suitcase away), I have spent only six days at home. That time period included:

  • An initial one week trip to Atlanta
  • An 18 day journey from Vancouver to a cruise in and around Alaska
  • A second, 10 day trip to Atlanta to be there for my Mom’s major surgery (she is, thankfully, doing great!)
  • A head cold
  • My first bout with COVID
  • And a sinus infection (bonus visit to Urgent Care in Atlanta)

What have I learned?

  • Obvious observation: I can no longer travel as well as I used to travel. I caught the head cold on the way back from that first trip to Atlanta. I was not over it when I came down with COVID on the cruise. I was barely functional on my second trip to Atlanta, staying masked 12 hours a day which probably led to the sinus infection.
  • Everyone around me has learned The Second Rule of Sherri: If Sherri is miserable, everyone is miserable. I am not proud of this behavior. When I finally stopped feeling like I was swallowing shards of glass and apologized to my travel mates in Anchorage, no one argued with me that I’d been a pain the ass. My dear sister had to not only deal with the stress of Mom’s surgery, but take me to CVS four times, Urgent Care once, and then deal with me complaining, coughing, and snorting 24/7. She deserves a medal. Trish’s suffering was further compounded by getting COVID from me. (The First Rule of Sherri, by the way, is: Feed Sherri on time and at regular intervals. That’s for another essay.)
  • The bears in Alaska must be a myth because we saw no bears, save for one humongous one in a wildlife reserve. Ditto for moose.
  • These challenges are always sent to you for a reason. I believe the reason for this trial was to push me out of my comfort zone and back into action. I had gotten too consumed by completing my Daily Challenges in on-line solitaire, Spider solitaire, Sudoku, and a tile matching game. I think I need a little more out of life.

Checking in on line for the final flight home, American offered me an upgrade to First Class for $69. Was there a question in there? As I settled into my seat, I thought about breaking my “no drinking” rule while flying, then I remembered I’m on antibiotics for the sinusitis and shouldn’t drink. As I sipped my vodka/cranberry, I noticed that I had slipped into a kind of numbness. I was physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted, yet I was feeling good about Mom’s recovery and allowed myself to remember all the GOOD parts of the vacation (of which there were many). These last six weeks were surely a test—as well as a kick in the pants to get moving again. I have so much to tell you about! This essay is a good start. More to come.

“W” is for Welcoming

We are on the home stretch of our year-long Abecedarium, patient readers!  I must admit, I’m a bit amazed at how I’ve been able to pull this off thus far.  I was a bit worried about letters, like Q and V, that seem to have limited use, but finding words to support a theme has been surprisingly easy.  In fact, most of the time I am noodling over several words that start with the letter of the day.  Bring it on, X, Y, and Z!

Finding the right word that begins with W has been an interesting challenge over these last two weeks.  I began pondering about the power of Words in general and Writing in particular, but that’s not the theme.  (I have a feeling that will drive my essay on my five-year blog-iversary, which we’ll reach right after this Abecedarium is complete.)  Nor is Wisdom, although I always try to sprinkle in a little bit about that as well.  No, today’s essay is going to focus on thoughts around Welcoming.

Part of what had me thinking about this theme is the on-going journey of socializing our new kitten, Baxter, with his reluctant older “sister” Bridget.  We’ve had Baxter almost a month now, and we’ve come a long way.  The day we brought him home, Bridget reacted with a “What fresh hell is THIS?!” look followed by a hiss and growl and running away.  Baxter, for his part, dove under a couch, not to be seen again for 12 hours.  I, of course, had had visions of Bridget falling in love with this adorable little kitten, letting her maternal instincts allow her to welcome him.  Instead, she has reacted to every stage of this socialization process with confusion/anger/standoffishness complete with strange growls that should not come out of any earthly creature and bared teeth that give me nightmares.  Little by little, her stance has softened.  She has begun to come running (well, slinking) to play along with Baxter with the feather-on-a-stick toy that she’s ignored up until now.  Bridget has consented to being in the same room with him, including somewhat relaxing on one lap while Baxter does the same on another.  (This is why you never should have more pets than available laps.)  Then, this morning, there was an amazing breakthrough.

We have discussed Bridget’s deep-seated food insecurity issues before.  Because of this, I have been really careful around feeding time.  I was afraid that if Baxter dared to come over to her food bowl that she would rip him to shreds.  He, of course, snuck over to her bowl and dug into her food, which apparently tastes way better than kitten food.  So, over the last couple of days, he has steadfastly REFUSED to eat his canned kitten food.  (I, as the paranoid hypochondriac, immediately decided that there is something fatally wrong with him.)  This morning, he again refused to eat his food and before I could react (I hadn’t had any coffee yet), he went over and stuck his head into her bowl WHILE SHE WAS EATING.  My heart caught in my throat, waiting for the attack.  But she LET him!  She actually backed away and let him eat her food.  No growl nor hiss.  I was stunned.  In her own way, she HAS accepted him and, in fact, I think she understands that he’s a kitten and needs to eat.  Her hissing and growling had clearly become just performative and that act clinched it.  She has finally welcomed him, although I expect her to continue to play the annoyed big sister for a while.  She does have an image to maintain after all.

I have also been thinking about Welcoming in the context of putting oneself in a new social situation.  My Mom made the decision last February to move to a different senior living facility.  She knew no one at this new place and even with a newcomer “buddy system,” she was often left to fend for herself at meal times.  Do you remember the stress of the cafeteria in grade school or high school?  It’s not a whole lot different as adults.  I am so proud of how my Mom handled this situation!  She opened herself up to the kind of rejection and discomfort we all dread, irrespective of how uncomfortable she herself was in the situation.  Over the months, she has developed a circle of friends and tells me stories regularly of how she welcomes new people who are looking for a place to sit.  People were kind and welcoming to her; she has been paying it forward.  

With everything going on in Israel these days, I have felt myself pulled back to more active participation in Judaism—particularly the need for a Jewish community.  The activation barrier, though, to attending a new shul for the first time has been prohibitive.  Religious institutions can be clic-y places and finding one in which you feel comfortable can be a difficult trial-and-error.  I had pushed through the discomfort when I lived in the Lehigh Valley and found a wonderful home at Temple Beth El.  I needed to push through that discomfort again, here. 

Trish went with me to Friday night services at Temple Sinai a couple of weeks ago.  The attendance on Friday nights is generally lower than Saturday morning and I paradoxically find that easier.  Trish, of course, made friends quickly and easily with the people there.  It’s one of the aspects of her personality that I admire most.  She is an easy conversationalist whereas I am not.  She connects with people extraordinarily well.  Yesterday, I went alone to Shabbat morning services.  A few of the people we had met before were there and recognized me.  (Of course, they asked where Trish was and looked a bit disappointed that she wasn’t with me.  I tried not to take it personally.)  Striking up new conversations is hard for me.  It was always a struggle at work events, too.  Once I got to know people, conversation would flow more easily but those first encounters were difficult.  However, this first time went well enough that I’m encouraged to go back again and work at recreating the community that I miss so much.

This was also a lesson to me on the importance of being welcoming myself.  The essence of being welcoming is being non-judgmental and “people curious”.  Bonnie and Mike made me feel part of the Temple Sinai community right away.  Cheryl patiently asked me questions about myself during the Kiddush and shared a lot about herself even though I was too uncomfortable to ask good questions of her.  Everyone knew I was “new” and they were kind.  I have a hard time being welcoming to others because I have a hard time striking up conversation with people I don’t know.  (Well, even with people I DO know.  Writing is not really a problem.  Talking can be.)  I am trying to embody some of the lessons I’ve written about and the best way to do that is to remember what it’s like to be on the receiving end of needing to be “seen”.  These days, with all the division and dehumanizing going on in our polarized society, making the effort to be welcoming and seeing those around you as unique humans is more important than ever.  This week was another good reminder of that for me.

“V” is for Vampire

My last few essays have been a bit heavy, so I thought I’d lighten things up a bit today.  Those of you who are cat owners will appreciate this essay.  Those of you who are not cat owners will probably be convinced to never own a cat.  This is the story of bringing a new cat into the house.

Losing our not-quite-six-year-old Maine Coon mix, Beau, was dramatic, as you know.  He was an awesome cat and replacing him would be impossible.  However.  Little Miss Bridget was quickly showing signs that she would not be a good “only” cat.  Bridget had a hard start in life.  She was abandoned, as a kitten, on the Platt Bridge in South Philly and somehow hit the lottery and found herself adopted by us.  She still carries scars (we believe) from that rough beginning.  Girl has an attitude (see this essay for more on that).  But without her chill big brother Beau, Bridget was quickly becoming excessively clingy and showing signs of separation anxiety when we would leave the house.  We knew we had to get her a playmate—or, at least, another cat to torture.

Socializing cats versus dogs is a very different exercise.  Dogs are pack animals and quickly (so I’m told) develop a dominance order and everyone learns their role in the pack.  Cats are solitary by nature and tolerate other cats only if they bring something useful to the table.  Female cats that are established in a household are particularly territorial.  Blood sacrifice is required from all beings (human and feline) when a new entrant arrives.  Bridget, as a torty (tortoise shell coloring), has attitude to spare.  We knew our best chance to introduce another cat was to get a kitten, preferably male, and preferably very soon.

I will admit that I wasn’t ready.  I was still in mourning.  I will also admit to saying Kaddish for Beau for the requisite 30 days of Shloshim.  But Trish saw a picture of a little fluff ball on Facebook and the die was cast.  (Spoiler alert:  I am totally smitten by him.)  We picked him up about a week and a half ago, and the adventure began.  He was so good on the hour-long ride home!  He is a six-month-old domestic long hair male, whom we named Baxter in a nod to Beau.  I am convinced Beau sent him to us.

It has been a long time since either of us has had a real kitten.  We had to be reminded of a lot of things, such as how their claws are like needles.  And how they can be very skittish.  And how much energy they have.  We had set up our sunroom for him since we could close it off yet Bridget could keep an eye on him through the French doors.  I set him down when we got home around 2:30 in the afternoon and he immediately ran under the couch.  He did not emerge for 12 hours.  I made the first of many panicked phone calls to my bestie, who works at a cat rescue.  She has been my Voice of Reason.  “What have we done?!” I exclaimed.  “This kitten is never going to come out from under this couch and Bridget will hate us forever!”  “Give it time,” she soothed.  “It’s going to take time.”

I took the first night on the couch.  Sometime after midnight, I woke up to the sounds of a kitten exploring.  I spent the rest of the night coaxing him over, trying to soothe him between runs back under the couch, and getting him to eat and (thankfully) use the litter box.  Dawn found me totally exhausted but with Baxter lying between my knees and shredding the skin on my fingers.  Trish came downstairs looking annoyingly rested and he immediately dove under the couch again.

He did not come out all day.  All day!  We were watching TV in the evening and noticed he had just ventured out under cover of darkness.  He would come to the French doors to look into the family room, but if we dared to go into the sunroom, back under the sofa he would go.  Trish’s night with him went something like mine had gone the night before.  I came down, annoyingly rested, to an exhausted Trish who was lying on the sofa with Baxter between her knees and shredding her fingers.  She had been up all night.  As soon dawn broke, under the couch he went.  “We appear to have adopted a Vampire cat,” I said.  “We should have named him Vlad.”

Over the next few days, we moved him up into our bedroom (since the temperature dropped and the sunroom was just too cold) and made slow but steady progress.  I made hourly panicked calls to Beth, who patiently reinforced that we were doing all the right things and reminded me this process take time.  Little by little, he came out of his shell.  He has proven to be a real snuggler and an amazingly good-natured cat.  We have got ourselves a winner.

At this point, you must be wondering how Bridget is adapting to this new entrant.  Well, when we first brought him into the house, I leaned down close to Bridget (but not too close!) and introduced her new little brother.  She back up sideways a step or two and gave me a wide-eyed look that can only be described as “What fresh HELL is this?!”  Over the next week, we did a couple of supervised introductions.  Baxter’s ears would flatten as she let loose a growl from deep in her gut and finished off with a first-class hiss.

The most unnerving part of socializing new animals is that at some point you need to just let them work it out.  We started letting Baxter wander and explore with one of us following him.  When Bridget would encounter him, little Miss Bitchy McBitch Face would give him a few solid hisses and back away.  We feel fairly confident, though, that she’s not going to hurt him.  This is why you get a kitten.  As I edit this essay for publication, we have him in free roam.  We’ll hear the occasional hiss and growl, but aren’t worried.  Baxter has stopped flattening his ears and just gets down in a submissive pose.  Bridget gives him “what for” and walks away.  I suspect this will continue at some level for a couple of months.  Cats.  So much fun!

Bringing Baxter in the house was ill-timed in the sense that I felt that our lives were finally getting back to some sense of normal after a crazy couple of months and suddenly we were tossed back into total disruption.  Baxter will never replace Beau.  He is bringing his own love to us.  As a wise person once told me, “True healing begins when you realize that hole in your heart is really an opening.” 

“U” is for Uncharted

This essay is posting a few days late for a number of reasons.  First, my editor has a head cold and I refuse to put a piece of writing in front of her when she can’t edit clearly (or fairly).  Yes, that is a lame excuse.  Second, we had house guests this weekend, which is when I usually write polish my essays.  This is also a lame excuse since I could have written during the week or after they left midday Sunday.  So, the REAL reason this essay is late is that I’ve just felt very “un” lately.  Unsettled.  Unmoored.  Out of my routine.  Not in control.  Then I watched a TV show that titled that particular episode Uncharted and I knew I had my title.  I felt like I’ve been navigating uncharted waters, as it were.  And I just couldn’t write.  I’ll admit that I’m only marginally comfortable with this essay as it is.  I’ve just been all over the place.

I’m sure you got a hint of the disruption I was navigating in the previous essay entitled Time.  Let me tell you what else was wrapped around losing our beloved Beau.  First, I had traveled to Atlanta for my Dad’s yahrzeit (the anniversary of his passing).  I do not travel “well” anymore so that trip alone left me out of sorts.  My sister came back with me for a visit and we all had to deal with our trauma over Beau’s illness and decision to let him go.  Then we drove to Rhode Island for the family wedding that was beautiful and joyous and exhausting.  (We don’t handle six hour drives like we used to, either.)  After that emotionally draining visit (I hope Wendy will come back), my sister went home on Tuesday and I promptly came down with a wicked head cold.  Trish nursed me for the next, oh, five days (which basically involves getting me won ton soup, listening to me complain, and generally leaving me alone).  For good measure, I bit my tongue, so I had a huge painful ulcer, AND badly burned the roof of my mouth on hot soup.  I was a pleasure. Our house guests came the following weekend and we had a blast!  We hosted a Happy Hour on Friday that included two of Trish’s siblings and their spouses; we ate and drank and watched football and baseball with our friends; and, had a final group brunch on Sunday before they headed home.  As they drove away, Trish surrendered to the head cold and here we are.  It has been several weeks of ups and downs to the extreme.  I have emotional whiplash that has left me both drained and disoriented.

What I’m also struggling mightily with right now is Hamas’ indiscriminate, brutal, violent slaying of over 1400 Israelis.  I will say right up front that I am not balanced on this one.  No, I do not revel in the fate of civilians caught up in this mess and I will not defend every single action of Israel but nothing can compare to the brutality of those murders.  This is not a new conflict, of course.  If you want a good primer on the history of conquest of the land we call Israel, read Michener’s The Source.  But you don’t need a historical novel to know that Jews have been hated and hunted for millennia.  As a Jew, I have been educated since I was a young child on one very sad fact:  every few generations, Jews face an existential threat.  It’s happened like clockwork for thousands of years.  Those old enough to have experienced the horrors of the Holocaust, or who have direct connection to those who did, know this well.  Those young enough to be removed from that history see only what fits into their current experience.  But these are still uncharted waters.  Things are different this time.  We have real time information, much of it highly graphic, that shows the inhumanity of war.  We are also subject to enormous amounts of mis- and disinformation.  The weapons available are frightening and the ability to coordinate across different factions could lead to devastating outcomes.  I don’t know what is going to happen.  This very much feels like an existential crisis for Israel and I’m frightened.  This is all keeping me off balance.

Over the course of pontificating in these essays over the last almost five years, I’ve waxed philosophical about my ability to finally live in the present.  I apparently was a little too proud of that, because reality smacked me in the face over the last few weeks.  I was right back to living for the next opportunity to exhale, just like I had almost my entire adult life.  I couldn’t control what was happening around me and I had precious little ability (Strength? Focus? Desire?) to control my own reactions and outlook.  I stopped working out.  I stopped writing.  I stopped meditating.  I feel like I stopped breathing.  It was a humbling reminder that it’s easy to talk about calmly living in the present when everything is going smoothly yet a different exercise all together when you are lurching from one unexpected blow to another.

As I was thinking about this essay, I kept coming back to this theme of being in uncharted waters.  Mostly, that concept carries negative connotations—thoughts of dangers known and unknown; thoughts of lack of control; fears of what might happen next.  It got me thinking about my work years, particularly the last decade, which was one long uncharted journey.  When I started my career, I thought the world was run by competent, mature people and I found that intimidating.  As I gained experience, I realized that the world was run by people just like me, and I got scared!  Did I have the mental clarity to lead well?  Now, I realize that the world is run by people generally less capable than I am and it just pisses me off.

Like most people, I learned to develop mental and emotional shortcuts to navigate stressors:  a situation would arise that had elements that were familiar to me and I would apply a solution that had worked in the past.  Sometimes this worked brilliantly; sometimes it failed spectacularly.  Over time, I realized that while shortcuts had their value, EVERY situation is unique.  The trick, when you have a shortcut you want to apply, is to ask yourself, “What is different this time?”  I will admit that I did not embrace this thinking until very late in my career.  In fact, I believe it is what got me fired since the people above me did not want to think about what might be different.  They just wanted to do the same thing they’d done in the past and assume the same outcome.  I wanted to do something different but couldn’t find the right way to convince others to follow that pathway.

I’ve written before about my obsession with assumptions.  Assuming that the same solution will work in a different situation—or that a solution that previously failed will not work now—can get you in trouble fast.  Most people are not sufficient students of history to know what’s different this time around.  It gets you in trouble in relationships, in business, and most certainly in global politics.  No matter how confident you are that you’ve “been there, done that,” know that you must take a moment to ask “what’s different now?”  It may bring you clarity or it may take you in a totally different direction.  I can’t tell you what will happen in Israel or what the “right” path forward is.  All I can see is that it’s different this time and we can’t jump to conclusions.  Similarly, while I know I have certainly been through my share of trying times, I need to take a breath and move through these times intentionally.

So, finding myself in uncharted waters again, I’m asking myself, “What is different this time?”  I’m not so much embracing the chaos as challenging myself to not give into it.  I’m starting by going to back to what I control and what I don’t.  I’m letting myself feel but trying hard not to just react.  I’m taking more deep breaths.  I’m not allowing myself to let the days slip by while I wait for things to get better.  And I’m writing again.  We’ll see what comes next.

“T” is for Time

Let me begin by thanking the astonishing number of you who took the time to reach out to me to wish our cat, Beau, well.  In my last essay on Surrender I shared that Beau had taken ill and we were on an unknown pathway.  It was a lesson in surrendering control, taking things day by day, and not getting ahead of what we knew.  Unfortunately, in the short time between publishing that essay and starting to write this one, Beau’s health declined rapidly.  After three visits to the Emergency Vet to drain fluid building in his chest cavity and long discussions with both our vet and the surgeon about what might lie ahead for him, we made the hard yet compassionate decision to let him go.  Last Wednesday morning, we dripped tears onto our little boy’s head as we soothed him across the rainbow bridge.  His breathing slowed as his little body relaxed and he finally rested.  We are simply heartbroken.  His is a gentle soul, gone way too soon.  We just didn’t have enough Time with him, although we got an awful lot of love out of those five short years he was ours.

It’s no secret to anyone that time is the great leveler.  No matter how much money or power or influence you have, you cannot reverse time or make it stand still.  Sure, there are things you can do to improve the quality of the time you have or to get more out of time, but you can’t control it.  Ignoring the detailed physics of Einstein’s space/time continuum for the moment, time marches linearly forward for us.  What we do with the time we have is mostly up to us.

I think back to the late 90’s when I was living in Mexico on an expat assignment.  I lived in an area about two hours north of Mexico City that is a beautiful place.  It’s far enough south to never get too cold; it’s high enough in elevation to never get too hot; and, it’s in a semi-arid climate so it never got too humid.  I was living in eternal springtime.  I would take walks, saying to myself, “Appreciate this EVERY DAY.  You are living in paradise and it won’t last forever.”  I didn’t, of course, appreciate it every day.  There was work and the stressors of living in a foreign country and I would find myself missing “home” regularly.  But there were also many, many days of joy when I did indeed remember my mantra to appreciate each day there.  I knew time was limited.  I wanted to eke out as much happiness as I could.

I am not breaking any new philosophical ground by writing on this topic.  We all know that time is a limited commodity and that we should take the time to stop and smell the roses.  And we all get lost in day-to-day minutia that keeps us from focusing on the joy.  I’m writing about this right now simply because I feel that lesson very acutely.  I am navigating all the “firsts” without Beau.  The first morning without feeding him breakfast.  The first time going to put in eye drops and not having him follow me to get Greenies, which are on the shelf below my drops.  The first time sitting in the lounger in the bedroom where he always would jump up and snuggle me.  While I tried to appreciate each interaction, there were certainly times when I’d push him off of my lap because I wanted to get up or he was chewing my headphone cord while I was on a Zoom call with my college friends.  I don’t think I ever missed appreciating his cuteness, which is why Facebook will remind me of him several times a month for the rest of my own life.  (How many pictures can I post of one cat?  A lot.)  I just figured I’d have him for at least 10 more years than I did.

When I was a kid, time seemed to go so slowly.  There was no problem living in the present.  Summers lasted forever.  At the beginning of each school year, it seemed like an eternity had passed, in good part because everyone seemed to change so much over those short summer months.  Four years of high school and four years of college seemed to pass slowly (compared to how time passes now), probably because we packed so much living into those years.  I was growing by leaps and bounds, each year bringing such different challenges.  Now, of course, four years passes in the blink of an eye.  Trish and I have been married (mentally calculating) over six years.  I feel like we just met last year!  And yet, reminders of the passage of time are all around.

We spent the weekend at a family wedding and I was acutely aware of several aspects of passing time.  First, I must say it was a very…regular…wedding.  I use “regular” purposefully, instead of “normal”.  It was in a beautiful setting; there were around 200 people representing four generations; there were two beaming sets of parents; there were neighbors and relatives and friends; there was a charming and funny rabbi (as all good rabbis are) under a chupah draped with tallitot from both families.  The only thing a little “not regular” was that there were two brides.  Everything else, and I mean EVERYTHING, was just as you’d expect from a joyous family wedding.  I marveled at the passing of time and was so happy that these women could experience something I never could have even imagined when I was their age.  I have to admit that, in some ways, I was jealous.  While there are still certainly barriers and struggles to being gay in this world, they came of age at a time when they could date and learn how to be in a healthy relationship in a reasonably supportive atmosphere and this gives me hope that their union will truly last.

I was also acutely aware of how the passage of time changed how my generation approached these family lifecycle events.  When our generation was “the kids,” we ran around and danced and played.  At the Sunday morning brunch, the brides were telling us about the after-party and the after-after-party.  We were in bed by 11:00 and proud of ourselves for staying up that late!  Now, we’re the “parents”.  The music WE liked was played early.  Later on, when the band was playing music we didn’t know, we sat at the tables and talked—just like our parents did.  That “cousin” bond is still strong; it’s just different now.

So, as I settle back into my usual schedule, I am reminding myself to be present.  I feel like I lost so much precious time in my adult life waiting for something to happen—to get through college or grad school or through a work assignment that was not very fulfilling.  I kept hoping I’d be happier when I reached some goal or when something difficult (sometimes a relationship!) would draw to a close.  It took meeting Trish for me to realize that this is it:  each day mattered.  I’ll be sad about Beau for a while, I know, but Bridget is still here and needs lots of love.  She is a bit out of sorts, but is adjusting.  I think her biggest issue is that she now only gets to eat one cat’s worth of food since her brother is no longer leaving leftovers for her.  Loss is a part of life and I know there is more loss to come.  But there is also more joy, like this weekend’s wedding.  Stay present, Sherri.  There is still time.

“S” is for Surrender

When we last left our Abecedarium (well, after a brief detour to praise Lisa Scottoline), I was reflecting on Reflection—which is big for me this time of year.  As we wound that essay down, I teased that I would write this time on Surrender as I work to learn how to let go and accept what I cannot control.  That is a profound topic during these Days of Awe (the 10 days on the Jewish calendar that begin with Rosh Hashanah and end with Yom Kippur).  It is a time of deep reflection, evaluation, and commitment to personal growth and Gd’s commandments.  As I noodled on surrender these past couple of weeks, the universe has brought me several examples to share and learn from.

I began my thinking with observing when I find it easy to surrender.  There are not many examples; however, one my regular readers are already aware of is spin class.  I have been a lifelong exerciser (at varying levels of intensity and commitment) in good part because of my ability to surrender during a workout.  I will admit that approximately 10 out of 10 times, I don’t want to go to the Y.  Even if I’m looking forward to a workout, when I am in my jammies sipping a cup of coffee and reading my daily comics, the thought of working up the energy to sweat (or even just to stretch) is a monstrous barrier.  But I go through the process of brushing my teeth, putting on workout clothes and driving to the Y knowing that I can just surrender to the instructor.

I learned several years ago that I need an instructor or trainer to get my best workouts.  It is amazing what I will do in the gym when someone else tells me to do it (versus what I can motivate myself to do).  I think it’s because it feels good to just surrender the responsibility to someone else.  I can shut down my frontal lobe and go.  Nowhere is that more evident than in spin class, as I detailed in my essay on Flow.  At the end of those classes, I am physically drained yet mentally energized.  In that instance, surrender is easy because I have trust in the instructor, and I do know that if I really, really need to pull back that I can.  That trust and knowledge of an “out” allows me to relax and give my all.  If only surrendering in other parts of my life was as easy.

Last time, I introduced surrender in the context of learning to not force control in every aspect of my life.  Much of that need to control, I know, comes from fear of being blindsided by an action of another or confronted with something I didn’t know I didn’t know.  I feel compelled to make sure those situations never happen or, if they do, work to right that wrong.  But no matter how much I want to control those situations, sometimes I just can’t and I have to surrender to it.  I have to let it go.  Lordy, that’s hard!  And one of those situations popped up this past week.

I was scrolling through Facebook and came across a Friend Recommendation for someone that I had already been Facebook friends with for years.  This is not a close friend, but someone I worked with at Air Products for years and years and someone I considered more than just a colleague.  She is someone I admire and whose respect I was eager to earn and retain.  I checked my friend list and, sure enough, she wasn’t on it.  Then I noticed I lost a subscriber to the blog.  Were the two related?  When did she unfriend me?  Why?  Was it something I wrote in a blog post or posted on Facebook?  I try not to be controversial, but I am pretty honest and know that people won’t agree with everything I write.  But her?  I thought we were of like minds.  (I don’t know if she is the subscriber I lost because they’ve “updated” the website managing tools in such a way that I can’t figure out how to see my complete subscriber list.)  I stewed over this for days.  OK, I’m still stewing over this.  “What did I do?!” I keep asking myself.  I have toyed with sending her a message, asking if I wrote something to offend her.  I mean, maybe it was a mistake!  Maybe she accidentally unfriended me and the subscriber loss was a coincidence in timing.  Maybe I accidentally unfriended her?  that is when I took a long, slow, deep breath and said, “Let it go, Sherri.”  This is not someone I am close enough with that further steps to find resolution are critical in the grand scheme of things.  I must surrender to the situation.  I can’t control it.  I have to let it go.  But, dammit, it’s hard.

Finally, one more “surrender” challenge popped up yesterday and this is a hard one.  It is also not resolved yet.  We came back from the shore yesterday to take our Maine Coon mix, Beau, to his annual vet appointment.  We’d been concerned about some labored breathing and his attempts at what seemed like trying to get a hairball up to no avail.  The vet took an Xray to find his lungs and chest cavity filled with fluid.  He’s not even six years old!  Is he in heart failure this young?!  They tried to remove some of the fluid but he was too distressed so we took him to an emergency vet.  We knew he’d need to stay at least overnight, so we left him there and came home.  I don’t know how parents of sick children are able to put one foot in front of another, much less breathe.  Kissing him goodbye last night, knowing there was a chance he wouldn’t even make it through the aspiration, was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.  I’m crying as I type these words, even.  I keep thinking that Gd takes the holiest and best of us during the Hebrew months of Elul and Tishrei, which we are in now.  Beau is the sweetest cat I’ve ever had.  I can’t lose him this soon!  But I must surrender.  Surrender to the skill of the vets.  And surrender to Gd’s will.  He made it through the aspiration.  They removed 200 ml of fluid—almost a cup.  He’ll see the cardiologist today.  We can only take it one step at a time.  We don’t even know how he’s doing this morning, yet, since we can’t call until 9:00 and I’m writing early. 

I know I can’t control this.  In some ways, it’s easier to surrender when it is so clear things are out of your control.  I write to distract myself.  I take deep breaths.  I remind myself that these techniques are important for all of those little things, too.  Slow, deep breaths.  Focus on controlling yourself and your own reactions.  Take action when you can.  In the meantime, surrender.

(Postscript:  As I make my final edits before posting this essay, Beau is back home with us.  We don’t have the answers yet as to why he built up so much fluid.  The cardiologist doesn’t believe his heart disease is advanced enough to have caused it.  He clearly is more comfortable, acting very normal, very snuggly, and Bridget has finally stopped hissing at him.  We go back to talk with a surgeon and get him a CT scan on Wednesday.  We are trying hard to not option sort until we know more.  Meanwhile, I don’t miss a chance to love on him every time I can.)

“R” is for Reflection

The Fall, or more specifically September, is a big time of Reflection for me.  Lots of endings and beginnings.  First, it’s the change of seasons.  The change from summer to fall will always make me think of the start of a new school year; the ending of one phase and the entrance into another.  My birthday falls in early September, which quite literally means the end of one age and the beginning of another.  The Jewish High Holidays are in the fall, beginning with the Jewish New Year (Rosh Hashanah) and ending ten days later with the Day of Atonement (Yom Kippur).  Traditionally, this is a serious time of introspection for Jews—a look back over the past year and a commitment to change in the coming year.  It is also the time of year that I lost my maternal grandmother (the only grandparent I really knew) and my father.  So, yes, this is a time of Deep Reflection for me.

What kind of Deep Thoughts?  Poor Trish has to suffer through me going deep on anything and everything.  The first draft of this essay was a total mess.  I was all over the place.  Every movie or TV show I watch, every newsletter, even when I am at the Y—everything makes me pensive.  One might say I think too much.  One would probably be right.  I like to think it’s really about my powers of observation in overdrive.  The reality is that I can’t turn my brain off.  So, my way of dealing with the issue this year is to get it all out in an essay!  Buckle up.

One thing I keep noodling on is how we tend to dehumanize people we don’t directly know.  (What?  Yeah, this is why you should pity Trish!)  Trish took me to see Oppenheimer for my birthday.  Interesting birthday present, I know, but what made it a present is that I REALLY wanted to see the movie and Trish REALLY did not.  Plus, I wanted popcorn.  Anyway, I’ve been somewhat obsessed with the US decision to drop the bomb since I went through the Peace Museum in Hiroshima.  I’m not going to debate whether we should or should not have used the bomb.  There is no clear answer.  What I can say is that all the Japanese who were killed (tens of thousands instantly; tens of thousands more to radiation-induced illnesses) were for the most part just regular people going about their lives.  They had the same hopes and dreams and fears as we do.  Humans are humans are humans.  It would do us well to remember that when we take sides on political issues or really any issue.  People are complicated and have contradictory traits AND I am convinced that 99.9% of people are generally good humans trying to get through their day.  The truly evil ones are few and far between.  Focus on the humanity, first.

Another thing I’ve been noodling on is the importance of critical thinking skills.  (Seriously, this is what Trish has to put up with this time of year.)  I hear it that parents are concerned about what their kids are taught in school.  They absolutely should know, be involved, have a say.  AND they should insist that the most important thing their kids are taught are critical thinking skills.  Then, as they grow, they can take in new information and know how to evolve their thinking.  I was taught the concept of Manifest Destiny as a grade schooler—that it was Gd’s will that European settlers inhabit the US from sea to shining sea and that any native Americans that stood in the way were savages that deserved to be killed or subdued.  It did not ruin me as a child to learn this; however, as an adult I have taken in new information and evolved my thinking.  I was also taught that an atom can be pictured as raisin pudding (the raisins being electrons and the pudding being the nucleus).  That was fine in 5th grade.  By the time I learned Quantum Mechanics, I no longer pictured an atom that way.  Maybe it’s because I’m Jewish, but I question EVERYTHING.  Sometimes, my opinions are reinforced; sometimes they are changed.  But I am always questioning and evaluating.

Looking inward, a lot of what I have been noodling on lately surrounds my control issues.  I’ve referred to, and joked about, my extreme need to control everything in my life.  What I’ve been digging into is the “why?”  I will allow that part of it is my personality and I know I’m not alone in this characteristic.  I would say most people I know have control issues to some degree.  While Trish may chide me for being too much of a backseat driver (even when I’m sitting in the front seat), she has been known to make more than the occasional suggestion—and use her imaginary brake pedal—when I am driving.  I’ve become much more aware, lately, of people working to control the environment around them, ranging from “suggestions” to their partner or friends, to avoidance of situations when they can’t ensure it is to their liking.  Admittedly, that makes me feel a bit better.  It’s not just me.

Then again, “me” is all I can control so the focus has to be there.  I’ve described in previous essays times when I have been blindsided by people’s behaviors toward me or when I “didn’t know what I didn’t know”.  Those situations have caused long term pain, so part of my control issues surround pain avoidance.  This fear dovetails with my desire to be liked and/or admired and the extreme accommodations I have often made to help ensure that.  News alert:  it doesn’t work.  I have finally come to accept that I need to just be my authentic self and people will choose to like (or not like) me.  That doesn’t mean I am resistant to feedback.  I am continuing to grow and evolve, so I need to hear what others think.  What it does mean is that I sort that feedback through the filter of who I know myself to be.  It does not mean that I will try to change myself (or pretend to do so) to make others happy. 

As obvious as all of that sounds, getting there has been a long journey and it has meant accepting that some people are no longer a big part of my life.  I still struggle mightily with that.  Letting go is not my strong suit.  Allowing that I may never get closure or be able to state my truth is a bitter pill to swallow.  I am working to learn from past mistakes and do better going forward even if the chance to right previous wrongs never presents itself.  That, my friends, is super hard for me.  Learn.  Grow.  Accept.  Repeat.

As we move into this season, I keep asking myself the Big Questions:  How have I comported myself over this past year?  How am I looking to evolve?  As we have discussed, being authentic and vulnerable are two of the most difficult behaviors any of us can embody.  It can leave you open to hurt but it also opens you up to the most profound joy.  My control issues express themselves in a myriad of ways and my challenge is to confront the discomfort and disarm it.  I am beginning to believe this is the challenge of my remaining life!  There is a lot of meditation and self-talk going on these days and I know that 61 years of reinforced behavior will not change overnight.  I am committed to it, though.  I can’t control everything around me.  I don’t NEED to control everything around me.  I need to learn how to Surrender.

“Q” is for Quiet

Like many writers, I tend to write about a theme reflecting what is going on in my life at the moment.  Finding the theme is not difficult; fitting it into a title that follows our Abecedarium can be.  Trish often helps me find the word or phrase to title these essays and we were talking about this “Q” essay this morning.  “How about Quixotic?” she asked me.  I made a face and said, “You really think my writing—and thus my life—is an idyllic and ultimately unsuccessful quest?”  She quickly backtracked and said she must misunderstand what “quixotic” means.  Although she’s is among the most erudite people I know, I chose to believe her.  We did agree, though, that “idyllic” is not a bad way to describe this past week.  However, since we are well past “I” in our Abecedarium, I have opted for the word “Quiet”.

That thought came to me a few nights ago as I sat on the boat dock where we were visiting, watching the sun start to set across this quiet lake in Wisconsin.  The wind rippling the water all day had died down as we approached sunset and the water looked like glass.  When a breeze did kick up, sending waves along the surface of the lake, the angle of the sun created what Trish calls “water diamonds”—endless sparkles, like cascading diamonds.  A gull flew overhead; fish jumped; a loon was floating on the surface fishing for dinner.  I was by myself just then and my heart just sang.  I hadn’t felt that peaceful in ages.

We both needed a bit of a recharge.  This last year has been more stressful than two retired people should have to endure.  You all know about the renovations on the house and the meltdowns THAT precipitated.  But there were other issues that, in sum, led to the two of us needing something of a reset.  We just didn’t feel like ourselves.  Even Trish’s annual week up in the Poconos with her long time best friend was not restorative.  We had high hopes for this week in the Midwest.

Our hosts, Lori and Jeff, could not have been more generous.  They moved out to Wisconsin a couple of years ago, once Lori retired, to be closer to family and a climate that is more like home to them.  They found this incredible house on a rural lake in a town that is just big enough to have most services that one needs yet small enough to keep the lake from being overrun.  They have their own dock; a pontoon boat; a couple of kayaks; and a pair of resident hummingbirds that were feeding all day every day to prepare for their migration south.  The first night we were there, they took us out on the boat and almost immediately a bald eagle flew right over us, landing in a nearby dead tree.  A good omen if there even was one.

I’ve known Lori for over thirty years and we have a comfort level with each other borne from time and experience.  When I still lived in the Valley, we had a great “First Friday” tradition—a standing date to go out the first Friday of the month.  We didn’t always make it, but it was always on the calendar.  We were particularly regular during the spring and summer months when Bethlehem would host “First Friday” events with dinner and drink specials and live music all over town.  What I remember most are those martinis at Loopers.  I know we must have talked about the kinds of things that deepen a friendship, but after the first half of a martini, my memory goes fuzzy.  We have traveled together, spending the better part of a week together in Aruba.  We were at each other’s weddings.  Since she’s moved, we’ve transitioned to monthly Facetime calls.  Our friendship is time-tested and has weathered some serious highs and lows over the decades, as all long term friendships do.  They say people come into your life for a reason, a season, or life.  Lori is a lifer for me.

The four of us have done dinners and nights out, but never concentrated time like this planned week.  All four of us REALLY wanted it to go well, to the point that we were too afraid each couple was overcompensating.  And, yes, I did pick up one check too many.  While I know I crossed a line (and apologized), I also know my Dad would have approved.  There was no need to worry.  The time together was seamless.  They took us out on the boat in the evenings, just to tootle around and talk.  We had a fine Saturday when we enjoyed a 90 degree summer day on the lake complete with floating in the water (I actually got IN the lake), conversation, and quiet time when we all read and Trish, of course, took a nap.  Perfect day!  We went out on the kayaks and saw four (maybe five) different bald eagles and two nests; a turtle; a snake.  And the loons!  That was a highlight for Trish—seeing loons in the wild and hearing their beautiful song each night.

While we each had plenty of time to ourselves to read, nap, or work (sorry, Jeff!), we came together in the evenings for dinner and conversation, usually by a fire pit, and usually with one of Jeff’s signature cocktails.  We talked; we laughed (“Wisconsin is known for their grapefruits!”); we shared subjects close to our hearts.  I am always in awe of how Trish is such a great conversationalist.  I admittedly can really struggle.  I am the queen of “companionable silence”.  Trish can talk with anyone, bringing out their stories and sharing her own.  I loved sitting back and watching them all talk.  I got to know Jeff much better and, even though I’ve known Lori for decades, learned new things about her as well.  It was just all so comfortable!  And I slept better there than I have in ages.

We left before we were really ready to leave—always the right time to go.  We feel rejuvenated not just by the peace and beauty of the lake, but by the love we felt from Lori and Jeff (and their cat, Buckley, and newly acquired yet not permanently named kitten, Junior Mint).  These are the times that I really treasure.  Vacations used to be about detoxing from work.  Now, they are all about creating shared memories with those I love.  We hope to go back to visit Lori and Jeff again.  The lake is beautiful and quiet and an immersion in nature that is critical for the soul.  But what really restored our souls was sharing that experience with the right people.

“P” is for Pendulum

Back in the early days of the pandemic, I wrote an essay on Balance.  In it, I used the visual of a pendulum instead of a two-pan scale.  Balance, I encouraged you to think, is a dynamic process (like the swinging of a pendulum) and not a static process (like perfectly balancing the weights on a two-pan scale).  The goal, I wrote, is not to achieve some nirvanic state of perfect balance, but to keep the amplitude of the swings to a minimum.

I’ve been noodling a lot on balance, again.  In that earlier essay, I was writing in the context of balancing precautions around exposure to the COVID virus with the need to keep our economy moving a bit and not isolate people too much.  This time, I’ve been thinking more about pendulum swinging.  Why do people seem to drive to extremes so easily?  And how can we dampen that swing to keep the pendulum oscillating more gently around the middle?

I think back to my time living in Mexico.  Since I lived about two hours from the Mexico City airport, guys from the plant where I worked were kind enough to drive me there when I needed to travel.  I lived in Central Mexico, which is clearly the most perfect place on earth.  High enough in elevation to never get too hot; southern enough to never get too cold.  Home were neither heated nor air conditioned.  But what that meant is that drives to the airport on cool winter mornings were an exercise in temperature extremes.  We’d be driving for a bit, freezing, when I’d ask the driver to turn on the heat.  He would turn it on full blast at the highest temperature setting.  After sweating for a while, I’d ask him to turn it down.  But he would turn it off.  There seemed to be nothing in between.  We’d alternatively freeze and sweat for the two-hour drive.  I’m sure, on average, the temperature in the car was comfortable.  But the swings of temperature were not.  The pendulum swung way too wildly when a nudge here and there would have worked much better.

I am a fan of the Art of the Nudge.  Maybe it’s my background as a synthetic organometallic chemist.  When you are trying to measure out exact milligrams of something, you learn to nudge.  Maybe it’s my evolving skills as a cook (not unrelated to my background as a chemist).  When you are cooking, it’s better to nudge the temperature, not cycle between full-on heat and off.  Nudging—small adjustments—work better when you are trying to approach an optimum.  These types of small adjustments also tend to work better to create lasting change.

There is a Japanese concept called “kaizen” that we would all do well to embrace.  This is the practice of making small changes.  Once a small change becomes engrained, you make another small change.  Little by little, you end up with a big change.  There are two advantages to approaching transformation with this method.  The first is that by absorbing small changes, you have a better chance of making them stick.  The second, of course, is that you avoid swinging the pendulum too far and too fast.  Dieting and exercise are two areas where we tend to be pendulum swingers.  When you approach a change in your diet (with the goal of losing weight) by eating restrictive fare, it is not uncommon to lose a bunch of weight and be miserable in the process.  Once the weight is off, too many of us swing the pendulum back to all the foods we love which packed on weight in the first place—and guess what happens?  Making small but permanent changes to how you eat is an example of kaizen.  A two-week juice cleanse is not.  Similarly, I’ve certainly experienced epiphanies around exercise.  I will place a significant expectation/burden on myself around how much I work out and how many days a week such that I either burn out or hurt myself.  Then I end up back on the couch again.  Small changes have a better chance at sticking.  And once you’ve engrained one small change, then you can decide if you want to take on another.

Managing those pendulum swings is easier when you are managing a change within yourself.  Sure, we all get impatient, or greedy, and push that pendulum too far.  We, alone, must deal with the backlash of the swinging pendulum which hopefully encourages moderation.  And many people go through their entire lives swinging from one extreme to another, so “easier” does not mean “easy”.  The real difficulty, though, comes when a change you might be pushing for—a movement of the pendulum to a different balance point—affects others.

Those who push for big changes usually come from one of two camps:  those highly unhappy with the status quo and those who just like to create chaos.  I have some compassion for the former.  I get highly irritated with the latter, so we’re just going to ignore them for the purposes of this essay.  Humans, generally, don’t like change.  We like life to be predictable, within boundaries, because it feels safer.  We like where the pendulum sits and we tolerate only minor swings around that balance point. If you are reasonably comfortable with the status quo, you will generally resist change.  If you are unhappy with the status quo, you will generally push for change and the amplitude of your push is proportional to your unhappiness.  If you are unhappy, you don’t see the current status of the pendulum as swinging gently through a balance point.  You see it as way off balance and want to give it a big push in the other direction.  (“Perspective” is another good “P” word.)  Living in a pluralistic society means that there will always be people who agitate for change and people who are happy with things just as they are.  I would argue that the benefits of living in a pluralistic society are worth it, but that’s a discussion for another time.  (Or maybe never, since my instinct is not to touch that one with a 10 foot pole!)

We have, however, absorbed a stunning amount of change if you view life over a longer time line.  As one example, I am stunned at the advances in LGBTQ+ rights and recognitions in my lifetime.  In fact, just look at how the term itself has evolved!  First, it was about “gay rights”; then “gay and lesbian rights”; then “LGBT”; now “LGBTQ+”—and in many instances even MORE letters that strive to include other marginalized elements of the community.  That does not mean there has not been regression or backlash (two steps forward, one step back).  Each time the term was expanded, each time the pendulum was nudged, there was pushback and it certainly continues today.  But the overall trend has been bravely forward and society is absorbing that change.  In fact, everything that agitates us today has probably been much worse at earlier times in human history.  As a big fan of the Outlander series of books, I have started watching the series on Starzz.  I can only watch it during the day, though, because the degree of violence that was typical of the 1700’s keeps me up at night.  Does that mean that we are done evolving?  No.  Does that mean that all these societal changes have been happily accepted by all?  Clearly not.  If you are the person agitating for change and pushing on that pendulum, remember that small changes are still good and you need to play the long game.  And if you are the person resisting change, try to understand why the status quo doesn’t work for the person pushing the pendulum.  It’s ok to push back a little to moderate the swing but not, generally, to stop it all together.  We all want balance, but it’s a dynamic process.  Just small swings, ok?