The Thing You Think You Cannot Do

     
     Gordon Livingston is a psychiatrist and writer who lives in Maryland.  I stumbled across this book of his recently and was intrigued enough by the title to read more.  I would not call this a self help book but rather a collection of essays that might give a thoughtful reader something to ponder.  Among the Amazon reviews,  there are some commenters who slam the author for being political.  I think that is part of the author's point. He takes some of the psychology behind personal fear and applies it to the national scene.  He talks about fear and vulnerability and the impact those have on individuals but he also occasionally segues into how fear can dominate a culture and its leaders.

     I am well acquainted with his political perspective but that wasn't what got my attention.  What got my attention was simply that he is an older guy who appears to have lived a rich life.  He has met tragedy face to face in his life.  His 22 year old son Andrew killed himself while under the grip of a bipolar illness.  Seven months later, his six year old son Lucas was diagnosed with acute form of leukemia.  Lucas died six months later.  Reading a bit about his professional approach to psychiatry and some of his experiences as a psychiatrist made me think I might have something to learn from him.  I'm not sure I learned anything new from his book but it did make me ask a few questions and it reminded me of some answers that I already had within me.

     Dr. Livingston gives a nod to the pharmaceutical industry, acknowledging that there are some medications that can be effective for some forms of mental illness  What I like, however, is that he also very strongly supports the therapeutic model.  He makes a lot of room for courage and resilience to take their places in our lives.  Anxiety is high on the list for those seeking psychotherapy.  There are so many fears:  fear of dying, fear of change, fear of intimacy, fear of loss, fear of failure, fear of time, fear of loneliness, fear of the unknown, and on and on.  There may be a biological component to anxiety but that doesn't mean the antidote needs to be pharmacological.  I, frankly, don't understand the psychotherapy process but that doesn't matter.  What matters is that he apparently does and his work with patients involves developing relationships that foster such virtues as courage and resiliency.

    The author talks about depressed people as people who are fresh out of future dreams.  His job, as a psychiatrist, is "to sell hope in individual doses".  He listens to people, he questions their fundamental beliefs about themselves, and he works to help them identify and change those parts of themselves that are holding them back from a more satisfying life.  It's not a fast track process.  Some people come to him seeking advice (and maybe prescriptions for medications) because he is seen as "the expert".  He considers it among his harder tasks to convince his patients that the answers must come from within.  It is his job to ask the questions that will help the seeker find their own answers.  The obstacles come when patients aren't willing to be patient, when they aren't willing to give the process time to come to fruition.  Many people are also resistant to this approach because it requires them to take responsibility for themselves.  They just want him to fix them.  What he has to offer them is hope.  And the thing they need in order to accept his offer is courage.  I think it must be a complicated dance.  And a scary one.

Gray Blues

       So the blues from yesterday are still keeping me company.  They still insist that they just want to be friends.  I'm not buying it.  Maybe I need to buy it.  Today's sky is cold gray and that gives the blues a gray tinge too.  This post Christmas stretch is such a confusing time.  I began to play with the season on a Saturday night in early December and had some sweet days between December 21 and 27.  They were all quiet days, laced with laughter, shared chores, walks, good company, and moments of satisfying solitude.  

    So why is it all so confusing?  I hate the commercialism and the prodding from big business to buy buy buy yet I also appreciate the pleasure in gift giving.  Our young adult children did a marvelous job of thoughtful gift giving and their dad and I did too.  But there is still a twinge of sadness.  At what?  The part of human life that is sad?  For me, this seems to be a mourning period.  I am sadly aware of the loss of the past, the little kids who once lived here.  I am sadly aware of life when it was fresh and new, when all doors were open, when post Christmas held a promise of something vibrant and pristine.  Now I feel sort of blunted, weary, if you want.  I am skeptical of surprises, skeptical of promises.  

    Mingled with the mourning is fear - fear of the future.  What tragedies are on the horizon that I can't even glimpse right now?  They have to be sitting out there, watching me in my innocence and naiveté, perhaps saying to each other, "Wait til she sees what's next!".  I know I am scared.  Not much I can do about the future though.  That is the tough part. Maybe that was something about youth.  Youth thought she could make things happen.  She thought she could control what was coming down the road.  She thought she would stay vibrant and pristine forever.  Nope.  Along comes Reality and he says, "I am the boss.  I will decide what's what.  So hang on for the ride of your life."

   I had a dream a few weeks ago where I was on a monorail type of conveyance.  The train went up six different poles, each pole covered with vines.  The cars circled around the pole and then came back down, over and over again six times.  The dream ended just as the car was completing its sixth descent. What if each pole represents a decade of my life.  There were only six poles in the dream.  Maybe this dream is telling me that my days are numbered.  Maybe this is my last year on the ride?  Talk about scary.

Fear

Do one thing everyday that scares you.
          Eleanor Roosevelt.


        It's a popular quote these days.  I see it on coffee mugs and magnets, calendars and cards.  But is it real?  Or is it just something that catches the eye and the heart?  What scares you?  One could be philosophical and say that going out the door is enough to scare you because who knows  what danger is lurking.  And, of course there is the argument that your house could be hit by a wheel from a passing airplane and you could die instantly without ever venturing out into the world.

     So what are these things we are supposed to do that scare us?  And what's the value in being scared?  Most of my days are methodical, predictable, and ordinary.  I don't consciously see myself challenging any fears.  I wrote about one challenge here .  This example is uncommon, obvious, real, and valuable.
Rare.

    There are professional moments that are challenging but I don't think of them as fearful: dealing with an irate parent, being the decision maker regarding a medical issue on campus, being present with a 13 year old who is talking suicide.   Those are challenging times but that's not fear.

    Painting can be full of fear for me but not really -- hard to explain.  I say things in paint that are scary but no one knows it except me.  So does that count?  I say no, it doesn't count  because my fear is  not exposed.  No one knows the fear is there and so I can cover it up and hide myself.  Make sense?

     Revealing yourself is scary.  Revealing yourself to others and revealing yourself to yourself.  Facing truths and considering them - scary.  It is so much easier to put on a mask or pretend, isn't it?  So what is the value in revealing yourself?  I suppose revelations can transfer into a life well lived.  At least that's what I like to think.






   

Talking to the Heart

“Don't give in to your fears. If you do, you won't be able to talk to your heart.” 

― Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist


I have been thinking about fear and all the ways fear manifests itself in our lives.  Then I ran across this quote.  I love the way it sounds but I don't understand what it means.  Can you tell me what it means to you?  

Anything But Dangerous

   I've started a farewell to 2011 post a couple of times now and it's not working for me.  I don't really like to look backwards but I can see the value of examining the life already lived.  2011 saw my life break into shards but, the thing is, I was the only one who saw the breakdown.  I let a tiny fistful of people see pieces of that collapse and I tried to paint it but I am the only one who really knows what happened.  I prefer it that way.

    I do believe I literally broke and I do believe that the pieces are still all around me on the floor.  I have reached a point where I am not afraid of them anymore.  They will not cut me.  They will not kill me.  I have even started to pick them up occasionally and will run my fingers over them to feel the smooth yet sharp texture.  When the disintegration first occurred, the shards were shiny red but since that time, they have become more mellow, a deeper, ancient sort of red.  There are some of the shiny ones still flashing in the winter sunlight but mostly the pieces are less flamboyant, less garish.  At first, I couldn't imagine that the pieces could ever be anything but dangerous.  Time has a way of changing one's perceptions, however,  and now I think that if I allow myself to become acquainted with those splinters and slivers perhaps I can put them to some kind of use in 2012.  I am creative but I am also hugely defined by my personal culture and history.  I fear I have some more breaking to do but perhaps this will be more breaking out than breaking apart.  I am curious to see what happens to those shards in the upcoming year. One thing for sure, though:   I am not afraid of them.