Human Billboard

We are billboards. Some things are artificial (clothes) some are natural (wrinkle lines). But they broadcast who are and who we wish other people to think we are.

I’ve been thinking a lot the last few months about what I broadcast. It is a painful fact of my life that, when introduced into a new group, I am well liked for the first month. By the third month, I am thought to be arrogant, holding out on the group and disapproving. By the sixth month I am back to being liked and that opinion then seems to hold steady.

Recently, I was temporarily reassigned to a new unit in my hospital. It’s a small hospital, people gossip, long time associates from different divisions see no problem with telling their friend about what they think of another staff member wholly unconnected with their friend. When I was assigned to the new unit I knew that I would be there long enough for people to start to think I’m arrogant but not long enough to convince them that I’m not. So began my campaign, carefully crafted as any General Patton plan for operation “Dr. JB insertion to CPAS”. Clothes were chosen to match the dress level and style of my co-workers. Humor was modified to suit their tastes. When relaxed my face looks like I’m frowning, so I constantly mentally reminded myself to turn the corners of my mouth up so it would look like I was smiling. Walk fast so people would know I’m working hard but stop to visit and check in on them so they know I see myself as part of their team. On and on and on.

Freud said that, in the absence of information of what another person is thinking or feeling, healthy people will project their own ideas of not only what someone thinks/feels but why the motivation for such. And they generally will project their worst fear, the idea that causes them the most anxiety. Thus, in the absence of evidence to the contrary, what one thinks of another person is his or her own worst fear come to life. Thankfully, we humans are social critters who thrive on getting to know other humans; a species protecting mechanism that helps us not become neurotic as we get to know what motivations another person truly has, as opposed to what we fear they have.

There is somewhat of a balance between what we think of someone else being 1) a statement of our own mental workings and 2) assumptions based on some little bit of evidence that person gives off (no one is truly a blank projector screen). I am well aware of the facets of my personality and temperament that lead to the mistaken assumption that I’m arrogant. Hence my steps to adjust my actions and demeanor to quickly feed information into the non-verbal interpersonal communication.

But if I look at myself from the ouside… as I sit in this moment… I see a human who is a billboard for the Gap jeans she’s wearing, the cotton top that’s fitted and flowing from Banana Republic, the cotton sweater with the plastic jewels all in muted natural colors. I see one wearing make-up (which is new- I didn’t start wearing make-up until I was 25) and with natural brown roots showing under the blond highlights. I have wrinkles on my forehead from raising my eyebrows and a faint wrinkle on one side of my mouth were I pull harder when I’m smiling because I’m supposed to be smiling even if I’m not actually feeling it. I have crinkles by my eyes when I smile, hinting at the winkles to come in the next decade. I know what I mean to communicate by all these details. But here is the real question: What do you understand by the signals I’m sending? Now look at yourself? What do you see?

Marrying Your Best Friend

As a child marriage ideals were guided by three points: 1) marriage at the right time in the right place, 2) marrying your best friend and 3) murder maybe divorce never.

My parents met at 14 and grew into each other’s lives to become best friends and then, because they couldn’t imagine wanting to be with anyone else, to marry each other. They remain the best example I have ever observed of what married couples are like. And coupled with my Aunt Mary and Uncle Tom and Del and MaryLou Ellsworth form the trifecta for my ideal for what marriage should be like and how married people should be in relation to one another.

What about this idea of marrying your best friend? If I’d have gotten married when I was 18 the competition would have been a lot less stiff. But I think about the BFF’s I have who have loved and supported me for (with the newest of them) at least six years, not to mention my family members, and I wonder, how can I insult the depth of those relationships by saying that someone I’ve known a year… maybe two… is on par, let alone past them, in the best friend hierarchy? I can’t do it.

Then I am doomed to a marriage of… what exactly? I would say “potential.” He has the “potential” to become my best friend, to be all the things that I enjoy in my closest friends. To know me as well as they do. To have as formative an influence in my life.

But that has taken me years to develop with each person. And, at 34, I gotta say I don’t want to wait even six years on the short end to develop the best friend thing. So then what? How can I tell in much less time if the dude has the ability to become a best friend?

This is where I laugh because I am a psychologist… and I analyze everyone. A friend recently pointed out that this is not an esoteric exercise for me, nor is it to prove my superiority. For me it is always about building the relationship, understanding the other’s likes and dislikes so that we may more comfortably be around one another. And, if I have any influence in the situation, to make the other person happier.

The fact still remains, without giving a Rorschach or IQ test I have to assess if some dude has the potential to become a best friend. Fact: when humans are “in love” their brains function very much as if they have OCD- they are obsessional in their thinking about the other person and can only be soothed by contact with the other person. Additionally, their normally rational ability to judge is inhibited (hence the impression that the other person is perfect). (There is a really great National Geographic article on this if you’re interested.) So, my pristine professional skills are, shall we say, somewhat weakened when I’m smitten.

How much does this pre-wedding personality assessment matter when we are talking about eons of future personal growth? My mother used to tell me that behavior is like geometry: One data point (one instance of a behavior) and the line can go in any direction. Two data points, now you have a line- a clear pattern that is predictable. Three data points and you have a ray (a line whose trajectory can be tracked out to infinity). So then, what I am looking for is the pattern. I’m looking for the process of how one solves problems, adapts behavior, makes plans, alters thinking. Because if I don’t agree with the process then the outcome will be suspect.

For example: Some people are guided by logic, the good of group and rational thinking in their value decisions. Some are guided by emotions, the good of the one and how they feel in making their value decisions (Jungian Type theory; MBTI's Thinking/Feeling dimension). Two different roads to Rome. Each with good and bad points. But I (being the emotional one) have learned to trust the more logical ones. But not if they are devoid of reasonable emotions… though their logic may be sound I will be suspect of their reasoning because I don’t trust their process.

Do you have to marry your best friend? I don’t think so. I think those who are lucky enough to do so have hit marital jackpot. I think the rest of us have to thoughtfully assess the potential of the other person to become our best friend. Boyd K. Packer said that some people marry soul mates. But most of us have to choose which kind of life we want based on the influence of who we marry. So, I will consider the potential impact of a person in my life and see if, like ripples in a pond, I like how my life alters with him around. And somewhere between being smitten, thinking he is the finest thing since sliced bread, feeling he meets the characteristics of a great friend (see 33 Shades of Awesome) and a whole lot of prayer I think my husband-as-best-friend will emerge.

33 Shades of Awesome

My Great-grandmother (Nana) used to say that if you had as many close friends as you could count on one hand, you were a rich person.

Now comes the critical issue: How to define a “close” friend. As a child, I defined people as a) family or b) friends. And- as a sub-clause- one day you met someone who became your best friend and you married that person. But what happens when you grow up and your family members become friends? Or your best friend gets married? So… already we have gone from my childish idea to a multivaried construct.

When I was 10, 16, 17 and 27 years old I met four people who have been pillars in my notions of what friendship means. They have enriched my life such that my imagination is incapable of conceptualizing what a different being with a different life I would currently lead without their influence. To define what the best of friends is I must talk a little about each relationship.

When I was 10 I met my oldest best friend. In many ways ours was a childish relationship based on what we did with a childish lack of self-protection: We had a tradition of making chocolate chip cookies during our sleepovers. She was always my first choice in which friend to spend time with. Disaster struck our childish friendship when she moved several states away when I was 12. This was the olden days, before the internet and e-mail, when long distance calls were expensive and sending a letter by the post cost 25 cents. We both put in the effort to write those letters, to get permission to make those long-distance phone calls and, in a couple golden opportunities, to fly to see each other. Every conversation began with a run down on how each other’s family was doing. As we have grown older we have talked over ideas, ideals and personhood development. Her counsel is like the obo sounding an A note for the orchestra to tune before a concert, a clear bell in the fog of my own thinking.

At 16 I met someone I spent hours talking over our mutual friends, history, religion, music, our life goals, our fears... pretty much everything. There was disagreement without ever feeling like the friendship was at stake. While I don’t think he has ever considered me one of his best friends, he has been one of mine. In many things he has been my standard of what ought to be, the ruler against which other people have been held. We lost contact and found each other again over a decade later. Did that laps of time make a difference? You bet your britches it did! We had missed each other terribly and were over the moon to be back in contact. We picked up right where we left off. When I have good news I want him to celebrate with me or it’s been a rotten week, his voice soothes the discombobulation without me ever having to tell him what I’m smarting over.

At 17 I met a mother of two, pregnant with a third. As families we would spend hours at one another’s homes visiting and playing. When I needed to talk over something serious, I knew I could count on her wisdom and goodness to provide a point of reference. There was no such thing as ‘not-interested’ between us. When I was a young graduate student weekends were spent at her home playing. When my life went through it's greatest problem she helped prove that my worst fear, that I was un-lovable outside my family, was unfounded and she and her children continued to love me the same as always. She takes what I say and hands me back the best, highest interpretation thereby giving me something to live up to in her seeing my better self… all without ever trying to do that.

At 27 I met my friend who very nearly didn’t want me as a friend. It took me a year after a late night munch-n-chat at Katz deli to realize that he’d decided to bump me up from friendly to friendship. He doesn’t let me get away with anything. I said, “I don’t like modern art.” He took every chance he got to point out when I said I liked something that it was, in fact, modern art. Our conversations are often about what we’re thinking, rarely about what we’ve been doing. There are many things he likes that I find quite boring or annoying. But, when I see those things through his eyes, they become fascinating.

So, when what does one of my Great-grandmother’s close friends look like? Well, someday we’ll be sitting in Heaven and I’m going to ask her. But in the mean time this is my working definition: Physical proximity is not important: the ability to communicate is the key. Lapses in time do not produce a distance in the closeness you feel for the other person or the ability to share thoughts and feelings. You’d rather share the minutes of your life with that person than just about anyone else. Jung said that “The most terrifying thing is to accept one’s self completely,” and I think friends can model that acceptance as we learn it for ourselves. Hence, you are able to take in each other’s thoughts and feelings and give back the better reflection of your mind without taking away the distinction of self and other. The world, it’s content, it’s processes, it’s ideas and events are interesting as they are seen through the eyes of the other person. You don’t just share each other, you share in each other’s families, school, work… even grocery shopping. You can be who you are even if that’s different from the other person. They bring light, clarity, and those ‘warm fuzzies’ in a way that you anticipate and feel no need to self-protect or hold at a distance. They make you happier, more sure of who you are, help you be a better version of who you are. They don’t let you get away with anything, unless you’re not ready to deal with ‘it’ and then they just shift focus to something else to not let you get away with. Being with them is the goal, and what you do is almost immaterial. They can decide what you’re going to do together without you feeling the need to control because they know you so well they won’t ask you to do anything you wouldn’t want to do and you might end up doing something novel you would not have thought up on your own. My mom says that part of friendship is being able to be embarrassed (bare assed) and be comfortable with it. CS Lewis said that “Eros will have naked bodies; Friendship will have naked personalities.” They make you feel happy, they leave you feeling more centered even after talking about painful topics and they leave you feeling life is richer and more precious. And they let you bring all of these things and be all of this in their life.

So, if you’ve been keeping count that gives me four biologically and four non-biologically related people who have carte blanche in my life. If five people is the criteria for rich, then I am incomprehensibly rich… or blessed… I’m going with blessed. And so I am grateful beyond what words I have for the people who love me, care for me or even just like me... the people who are 33 shades of awesome.

Relationships as Sunsets

Once upon a time I started a relationship eager to know who the other person was, delighted by the ideas and ways of thinking I came to understand. I didn't slow down to consider if behavior and statements matched and if convictions were lasting. I took what was professed as the finished thought or a long held trait. I didn’t know where the relationship was going, but I quickly figured out where I hoped it was going. Sure enough, end game; Marriage.

Correction: End game; Divorce.

That was the last relationship I started without examining, evaluating, judging. One of the glaring facts that everyone who was closely involved in the start and end of the marriage came to agree upon was that what the gentleman professed was not consistent. Not that he lied. Just that he meant something when he said it, and the belief that drove the statement he believed too: Until a new belief came and then he believed that just as much, and the attendant statement just as much. He was, to put it nicely, a weather vein clearly pointing one way until he, just as committedly as the little rooster weather vein shows the direction of the wind atop a roof, pointed another direction.

But I did not evaluate so I didn’t not understand the underlying flaw in him that led to this shifting in belief, thinking, emotion and action. And this I came to understand as my cardinal mistake. In fact, I can remember saying to my dear friend in graduate school, that the next guy I thought I wanted to marry would have to agree to take a full psychological battery (cognitive, personality… the works). If my naive acceptance of who he had professed to be had been my undoing, then my calculated assessment of the next Mr. He would be my salvation from ever having to go through hell again. (For what is Hell but the dissolution or absence of relationships… it’s enough to make fire and brimstone look appealing.

My mother says I go on tons of dates, all of them in my head. I know me pretty well. And I get to know a guy. And then I (mentally) match him and me up and voila; I take him off my list of potential Mr. He’s without him ever asking me out. My mental evaluation of potential partners has saved me many awkward dates, or worse, heartache when I get attached and then see the relationship end. Oh, I am sure that I have saved myself tons of pain.

And, I am coming to understand that I have missed out on so much that the weight of those missed experiences is starting feel painful. What experiences? The ones where I let someone teach me who he was rather than me figuring it out on my own. And it took a recent blind date to make me see it.

Enter Mr. Blind Date, or Mr. BD for short. For the record, I like blind dates; they have always been fun and enjoyable for me. I’ve never had a blind date turn into a second date. But, Mr. BD did make it to date two. And I was a mess going into that date. It took my wingman and mother combined to calm me down getting ready for that date. They both told me I needed to be in the moment, enjoy connecting with a nice fellow, and just see where the conversation, the situation, the relationship all went.

Very un-evaluative.

And I do it? Of course not. Every comment, every look, everything he didn’t say or do was stacked up and assessed in the moment or tagged and filed away to be analyzed later.

For the record, Mr. BD was a very nice guy. A thoughtful and considerate date. Aside from a snide remark about assuming he’d have to see a chick flick in letting me pick the movie we were going to see (I actually picked Captain America, which I had really been wanting to see), he was ok. But I’d pretty much decided that a romantic relationship was not likely.

My mother is great. She is Dr. No Pressure when it comes to dating and marriage. Her consistent comment is that when I tell her to pay attention to a guy, she will: Until then she’s not invested in the guy or where my relationship with him goes. (I love my mother!) So whether I went to date #3 with Mr. BD or not, she wasn’t invested.

Another reason I love my mother is that she doesn’t let me get away with anything. She doesn’t hit me with everything all at once, but when she sees a glaring problem she doesn’t avoid sharing the observation. And she had a whopper of one when I’d finished talking over Mr. BD to her.

She said I need (emphasis on neeeeeeeed) to quit evaluating. I need to quit viewing relationships as things to assess. I need to see them as sunsets. On the one hand, I analyze people… My mind doesn’t rest until I can name who they are (a la Madeline L'Engle’s idea of being able to “name” someone). And I do love sunsets… the sun setting over an ocean will hold my attention as much as any book or piece of music. And with sunsets I feel no anxiety about the colors I see, or how they fade one into the other in the moment… or in the next moment how they have faded into another shade of color. And I don’t mind when it ends: Like a Beethoven piece, I love the build up to the crescendo and then enjoy the fading of the piece because it all fits together. And the dark after the sunset or the silence after the music I enjoy too.

So I have a new thing I’m trying: To be a namer and to view relationships as sunsets. I’m not quite sure where this will bring me. But it’s ok to not see the end from the beginning. After all, do you ever see the end of the sunset… it’s colors, it’s changes from one minute to the next, it’s nature as a sunset… from it’s beginning?

Another Fish in the Pond

When we were undergrads my brother made the observation that one of the worst things about media and Hollywood is that it presents uber beautiful people as being typical. By default then, those of us who are typical appear less than average. As a brother with both an older and younger sister could sensitively observe, “How are the pretty girls supposed to get noticed if guys are taught to think that beautiful is normal?”

After a couple decades at this whole ‘romance’ thing, I have a thought: People are perpetually waiting for another fish… a more attractive, more compatible, more talented fish… to jump into their pond. I heard it most aptly expressed in a church I used to go to where, every summer, there was an influx of door-to-door sales men known affectionately as “the bug boys”. Women, upon finding the current dating pool lacking would take solace in observing, “The bug boys will be here soon.” It was a variation on a theme: “The new semester will start soon, maybe someone will show up then.” “Maybe someone new will be at the next Luau.”

Whatever the ‘new’ event that is supposed to bring your one true love into your orbit, it represents the underlying thought that there is no need to settle for the current options if you are the least bit dissatisfied with them. This is different from the old adage, “The grass is always greener somewhere else,” because I am not moving. I am simply, waiting for new fish to come into my pond.

In the past few years, I could have gotten married at any point and been very happy. There has always been at least one guy around who I am confident would have made the party of the 2nd part in a happy, successful, enriching Eternal marriage. (I could name names here, but I won’t… remember that bit about me being good at keeping my mouth shut?) In case it isn’t obvious, I didn’t marry any of those men. In fact, I would hazard to guess that none of them ever knew that I thought of them so highly. If I think a guy is looking through me, waiting for another, slightly better, fish to come into our pond then I figure he doesn’t want me and I will fade away.

In this I am not unique, most people will fade away when they are not wanted. That is the luxury of the waiting for another fish mind set: someone else will come along. You may be 40 before they do, you may have 40 years of life to try and fill them in on by the time they do, you may have lost being able to have children with them by the time they do… or, ‘someone’ may not come along and you opted your way right into not getting married by dint of always looking for another fish.

I’d like to propose an imaginary situation: What if you lived 500 years ago where people didn’t travel more than a few miles from home? Where the people in your town were the sum total of your social world… and of your dating pool? No waiting for someone new to move in. No waiting for you to move to a new place. Who you had was who you got. Period. My guess is that you would decide a) you didn’t like the options and live out your life single or (much more likely) b) make your pick from the options you had.

Back to reality; I know a growing number of singles who are opting for choice “a” by default by waiting for someone better to come along. They all say they want to get married, but year after year goes by and they are still single despite having met many attractive, talented, moral members of the opposite sex.

Without going into deep-seated psychological issues… no wait- this is me, of course I’m going to. Psychological math: unrealistic expectations about facial/body beauty + unrealistic expectations about what one ‘needs’ to be happy + fears about ‘failing’ at marriage/temple covenants + social/religious pressures to pick someone who is wonderful for you for all Eternity + whatever unresolved relationship baggage you have accumulated = refusing to find someone. Yes, refusing… active, willful, stubborn.

Here is what I propose: Mentally look around at your social world. Consider whom you know (church, hobby groups, work, clubs, people you currently are in contact with via your online dating website [NOT the people who are also on the site but you have not contacted]). Take inventory of the singles who are remotely potential, and I mean remotely, no fair ruling people out right at the start cause their hair is the wrong color or you had one mediocre date with them. Now imagine that this is the sum total of who your options will ever be… you will not meet anyone new. If anything, your options will only diminish as people marry off. Now imagine you had to choose life as a single person or marriage to one of the people you know. Which would you choose? (And if you said you’d wait till someone new showed up, or for one of the younger generation to grow up, you’ve missed the point and need to go back to step one.)

Now consider that your refusal to pick someone is the reason you are not blissfully married. If you don’t want to be married, then fine. It’s your life. But get off of the playing field so the rest of us can be focused on people who share a similar goal: getting married. If you do want to get married, sweet! I know some great people I can point out to you. But what ever you do, quit thinking that it is anything but your own mental attitude toward finding an Eternal mate that is getting in your way. And if you can’t figure out why you’re getting in your own way I know several excellent therapists around the world to whom I’d be happy to refer you. But first I’d start by considering that you’re just waiting for another fish to come into your pond.

Independence Day

July 4^th 1776: The U.S. proclaims its independence from Great Britain

July 4^th 2004: Jenny decides she will live an independent life

July 4^th 2005: Jenny takes a bold first step in said life; Jenny meets a BFF

July 4^th 2006: Jenny’s Independence Day is proclaimed.

July 4^th is kind of a big deal in my life. As a child, fireworks and parades were never a focus of the day, but there was always a bit of extra feeling of something to celebrate about. George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, these were well known figures in my fund of childhood stories and they were talked about on July 4^th. Being proud of the U.S., without prideful blindness to its limitations and faults, was something instilled from tender years. And what better way to convince a child that something is good than by having a party about it?

In 2004 July 4^th became the most hated day of my life, the one with the most painful memories such that the National Holiday was blanketed over and being so busy that I didn’t even have the presence of mind to recognize which day it was became the supreme goal. While divorce had been something I had been fighting against for some time, despite my best efforts it crept nearer until it pounced on July 4^th. My last ditch hopes and efforts had failed and Martin and I decided that it was time to end the marriage. My world, my fairy tale, my Eternity seemed shattered and I was left fragmented and mourning for the loss that left me independently adrift.

In 2005 July 4^th found me in a brand new state, a new city, with no friends. So, having a horror of being alone one year to the day from when my life fell apart, I did what any YSA would do, I called the local Institute and asked if there were any plans I could participate in on the 4^th. There was a pool party, no one there I knew, in a place I didn’t know… I screwed up my courage, packed my bathing suit and pulled out my map. I still remember the walk from the side of my car, across the residential street, up the front walk, knocking on the front door, thinking whole way, “What on earth are you doing crazy lady??!!!” and being nearly too scared to go through with it.

Thank goodness I did because I met a fellow YSA who has become one of my best friends. To this day, each year I contact him and remind him (dates are not so much his thing) what a scared little puddle of goop I had been that day and how grateful I am that he sat and talked with the new girl and how much I value his friendship.

In 2006, now well established in my singlehood, I continued to be overwhelmed with the pain of July 4^th 2004, so ashamed (though I had done nothing ‘wrong’) that I had kept my “secret” from all but a handful and I fled to spend the National Holiday with my family. My brother, ever supportive, ever blunt, listened to his sister’s tale of woe about the on-going pain associated with July 4^th and then made a profound statement. He said that July 4^th was not a day of mourning; it is a day of celebration both for the country and for me personally. It was the day I chose to live my life free of a love-less marriage from a man who did not like me, disparaged my profession and deliberately insulted members of my family on a regular basis. Adam then said the words that have echoed in my mind until I can, five years later, believe it, “July 4^th is Jenny’s Independence day, too.”

So when, on July 4^th, you hear me say, “Happy Independence Day to the U.S. and to Me,” you may have some small glimmer into the path I’ve walked and just how much I have to celebrate on this day of independence.

Vicarious Pain

Do you have any traditions or little things that set you in the right frame of mind to do something? I do. It seems my life is totally comprised of these little traditions. Including traditions to add or change the current traditions.

For example, I am very slow to warm up to new people, ideas or activities. I know this about myself. Any one who has ever gotten close to me knows this. To off-set this hallmark of my personality, I have a rule (though I use that term loosely) that when friends ask me to do something, even if I’m really not sure I want to, I do it. This tradition has brought me many moments of unanticipated fun and joy… and a lot of new interests.

Traditions are funny things: They connect us to the past and build a bridge to the future. They bring a sense of continuity to our ephemeral existence. They can bind us if too many or too rigid and they can leave us three sheets to the wind if too few. By noticing who shares similar traditions they help tell us who is part of “our” group and who is not.

I have a tradition called work. It is work that I have wanted to do since I was 11 years old. I began formal study for it when I was 14 years old. Given those facts, I’ve been at this profession for about two decades. It is a source of joy and fulfillment in my life. I am grateful each day that I get to live my childhood dream of being a child psychologist.

I have many fun moments at my work. Laughter is sprinkled throughout my day. My patients laugh too, sometimes with me and sometime at me and the silly things I do. Little do they know the secret… I’m silly, I’m the stand up comic (those of you who know me off-duty will not believe that I’m a stand up comic at work, but it’s true), I’m the cute acting and dressing “Dr. JB” to ease the pain that they can’t get away from.

They can’t get away from it because it’s in their own head, their own thoughts, their own feelings, their own bodies. Their pain is palpable: It makes my head hurt. It makes my heart hurt. It makes me squirm in physical discomfort. But I can go home at night, to get away from the radiating pain, confusion, worry and sadness of these young people I affectionately call “my kids”.

That distance eases the hurt. But they are still in the hospital, right where I left them, and they are still hurting. And I know this. Distance does not bring amnesia.

Once, I had a patient very nearly kill himself. I got the message late at night, while with some friends. When I hung up the phone and turned back to them, feeling ready to vomit over what I had just learned, they stopped in their tracks and asked WHAT had just happened. Without betraying any of the confidentiality by which I am legally and ethically bound I told them a patient had just tried to kill himself. One dear, bold as brass and blunt as an old ax friend said, “You’re not doing a very good job if he is still trying to kill himself.” A cruel statement? Not at all. He gave words to my deepest fear. I went into work, to help my patient through this crisis with my own fear clearly articulated and set about to heal both my patient’s and my own pain at this, now historical, event in our lives.

Like multi-colored threads, these moments are woven through my life. The one as a third year grad student, at 25 years old, where a long-time and deeply trusted mentor commented that my adult male therapy patient had paid his dominatrix to have a relationship with him and (not having had any female relationships, even of the friend sort, since then) was now paying me to have a relationship with him. The one about a year before that when I had to tell two sweet, mentally retarded parents that their son was mentally retarded, a problem they had grown up struggling with and had told me, early on in knowing them, that they did not want to see their only child go through what they had endured growing up. Or the time I was subpoenaed to appear in court on behalf of CPS because they were seeking to terminate a mother’s custody of her child I had tested and I would not have to go if she did not contest the termination: I did not have to go. Or the time my client was so tired she just couldn’t go back to work and asked to sleep a little in my office while I sat and watched over her, or the time after time after time I came home, sick at heart with the stories of my clients and couldn’t tell my family or friends to ease my own pain. Finally, the time I spent the day testing a six year old who had been taken from his parents’ care because they wouldn’t care for or feed him to find out the extent of the psychological damage, and went to dinner that night and watched as my friend sat in horror when I said this, just this much, in response to her question, “What’s did you do today?” and I realized that I was becoming hardened against the pain I saw and vowed not become hardened to it.

So, I refuse to become hardened to the pain I feel and vicariously live with as I help my patients. I see the man hallucinating at the bus stop as I drive by. I see the mother being too harsh with her child because she doesn’t know what else to do as I walk down the mall. I feel the depression of the person standing next to me in my favorite past-time. I am a witness to it; we all see these problems all around us. I also have been blessed to learn enough about how people function to have a measure of understanding of the significance of these facts in the lives of my fellow humans.

Lots of people work as psychologists, as mental health professionals. I don’t see me as anything special in that group of healers. But sometimes, I am given an honor that I don’t expect and am not totally sure what I did to earn it. Once upon a time a friend said there was a family who needed help, and would I talk to them? I felt honored that they trusted me enough to send this family my direction. (It’s one thing to get clients off the street. It’s another when your friends, essentially, pre-screen you and still find your help of enough value to LET you help.) I did nothing more than listen to these friends of a friend a few times and point them in the right direction of how to help their child and family. What I heard back about what this family said about me was a little embarrassing in its praise. I had simply been grateful I could help.

So, what is the tradition that allows me to cope with the pain I’m flooded with nearly every day? “Where much is given, much is required” is a basic tenant of my life. And I am grateful that I have been given much.

Sonata Form

You might, or might not, want to read this blog. If you’re a friend of mine you might find interesting my take on how you (with a thinly disguised identity) have impacted me. If you’re an acquaintance of mine, you might not want to hear the above without any attempt at disguise. And if you’re neither I’m not sure why you’re reading this.

Selfishly, I have things I need to say, experiences I need to make sense of. Thus, I am writing about me, to me and then sending it off to the Ethernet Universe. As such, I will be speaking as I think, which means (if you’re going to follow along) you need to know a few basic points of reference about me.

1) I am a musician. At six months old I kept time accurately and find metronomes only get in the way of me keeping beat. I almost always have music playing in my mind. Music helped me make the most important decision of my life. I am an accomplished pianist, but I will not play for you unless you are a stranger or very close to me.

2) I am a psychologist. I will use psychological concepts and terms without explanation, so keep your Google and Wikipedia handy. One last note: You’re only hope of me not ‘analyzing’ you is if you never popped up on my radar. If I’ve seen you, heard of you or interacted with you then I’ve already started as reflexively as breathing. Your only consolation is that I keep my mouth shut about what I see and I don’t blab to others.

3) I am divorced. A few of you will be saying, “Tell us something we don’t know already!” The vast majority of you will need a moment to readjust your gestalt of me. The Mormons among you will be asking two questions: 1- Was it a temple marriage? 2- Why did it end? The rest of you might ask why it ended, but many of you will say, “Ok, we got it… next?” To answer your questions, yes it was done in the temple and 2… I suppose the easy answer is that we found out we weren’t as compatible as we thought we’d be. And then, subsequently, I didn’t want to stay married to someone who said he didn’t love me anymore. There are some things that one should not have to live through and I wouldn’t wish divorce on anyone.

4) I don’t brag. I will state facts, which you might or might not be impressed over. To quote Jane Eye, “I do not say it to impress. It is a fact. That is all.” In fact, I generally struggle to not alienate others by saying what could be perceived as bragging. Which lead to one of my best friends telling me I should brag and then promptly bragging on my behalf. I am as curious as a cat and have a hunger for new information and experiences so I tend to do a lot of stuff.

Finally, if you’re totally befuddled as to the meaning of this blog’s name, allow me to elucidate: Ostinato is a repeating musical phrase. Rubato refers to when the strict tempo is abandoned for a more emotional tone. Emotions are there to help us learn wisdom from our experiences… and I am looking for the patterns in my life. But, as the name implies- you will not understand if you try and logic it out. Only by relying on intuition can you feel the meaning.