Insights and Outcomes

Shalom

If I were to sum up the lessons I have tried to convey in the four years of writing this blog, they are to listen to your gut, learn from your past and then move on, and laugh daily.  There you have it--four years summed up in one sentence.  And now it is time for me to take that advice.

This is my last blog entry.  I have loved every blog I have posted, and there have been many.  I even have drafts of blogs waiting in the wings that will never see the light of day.  My gut tells me it is time to move on from this medium to expressing myself in other ways.  I will always need a creative writing outlet, and Insights and Outcomes has run its course for me.

I am most grateful to you, my faithful readers.  I have relished every comment and email you wrote to me.  That you took the time to read my words, and then comment publicly or privately, is one of the best gifts possible.  I hope you reread some of the postings because the messages and lessons are timeless.

"Shalom," the Hebrew word for hello, good bye, and peace, is most fitting here.  I hope you will periodically say hello to me and update me on your life.  I am saying good bye to this blog.  Most importantly, however, I wish for peace in your own lives and throughout this tiny planet we share.

Shalom.

Chill Before Serving

I recently caught part of a TV talk show hosted by a famous, down-to-earth, perky chef.  Given that cooking ranks only slightly higher than oral surgery in activities I enjoy, I don't routinely watch this show.  Her guests were a famous Italian chef and an Academy Award nominated actress. 

What I learned, other than it is good to drizzle olive oil over everything and have sous-chefs cut up all the ingredients for you, is that how you entertain should reflect how you live rather than how other people live, or how you think other people live.  If you love formal china and silver serving pieces, use those with guests.  If, on the other hand, you're like me and don't own fancy china or "good silver" (is there "bad silver?"), then that is a-ok, too.  There is no need to impress your dinner guests by being anyone other than who you are.  Wine isn't the only thing that needs to chill before guests arrive. (Ask me about my 1979 Christmas duck incident if you want to know what can go wrong when you entertain to impress.)

What is true for entertaining is true for the rest of our lives, too.  The talk show host, as it turns out, is friends with the famous Italian chef and has eaten dinner at his home.  What did he serve her?  Lasagna!  Of all the fancy dishes he makes, he chose a yummy, down home recipe.  Sure, his lasagna may taste a bit better than mine (I minimize chopping and dicing), but this isn't about taste, it's about being true to ones style.  Given that he wore shorts and bright orange Crocs with socks on TV, I'd say his lasagna reflected his way of being. 

The Academy Award nominated actress, who always looks gorgeous on red carpets, was dressed simply in jeans and a cute t-shirt on the talk show.  As an amateur interior designer, her role was to set a festive table using easy to acquire, inexpensive decor.  She succeeded.  When an audience member asked her how to use place cards that aren't stuffy, this actress suggested, without missing a beat, that the questioner's kids make them out of index cards or construction paper.  She thinks guests would be charmed by the effort, putting smiles on invitees' faces.  What could be better than charm and smiles?  Apparently this actress leads a very casual lifestyle during the 99.9% of the time she is not attending a movie premier or awards show, and her entertaining style reflects that.

The moral of the story is, as it always is, be true to yourself because [drum roll] that is all you can be.  You can admire other styles of entertaining without feeling compelled to copy them.  As much as I marvel at the way my dear friend entertains with her beautiful china, silver serving pieces and white lace placemats, that is not me.  It is her, however, so in being true to herself, her dinner parties are always fun and interesting.  My guest dishes... oh, who am I kidding, I don't have "good" dishes.  My everyday dishes are just that--used every day.  That one piece of information alone reflects my style.

Wanting to present your best self is healthy, showing you take pride in yourself and your environment.  Problems arise when we feel we have to create a persona that is "better" than our best, as if we are fundamentally flawed.  The irony is that those around us, including our dinner guests, relax more and have a much better time when we chill.  The best and easiest way to create a warm, welcoming climate is to be who we do best:  ourselves.  

As soon as I finish writing this, I am going to make my shopping list for all the ingredients I need for my lasagna.  It will be different from the famous chef's, but yummy nonetheless.  Happy eating and authentic living to all.  Buon appetito!

What I Did (& Learned) On My Summer Vacation

Back to school season coincided with my getaway, reminding me of those first day essays on "What I Did On My Summer Vacation."  Those tomes eased the transition from leisurely, fun months to the serious business of learning, letting students download their news in one fell swoop so the teacher could get on with the real lessons.  In hindsight, I think a more useful essay would have been "What I Learned On My Summer Vacation."  Here are my versions of each. 

What I Did.  I just returned from a wonderful week in Aruba with my husband, Mark.  It was our first vacation sans children in 24 years that was longer than a weekend jaunt.  We had no schedule to follow, including our own.  We slept, swam, read, napped, floated, explored, snoozed, read, swam to the bar/restaurant in the pool, read, and then went to sleep.  Days  2-8 were more of the same.  Kind of like the "wash, rinse, repeat" instructions on shampoo bottles.

What I Learned.  I learned, once again, that tough times end and valuable lessons are gained.  Sounds simple, but when we're consumed by hardship, when we're in the eye of the storm, often there is no end to imagine.  Even worse, some endings are unimaginable because they are so horrific, typically our worst fears of loss.

Mark and I just endured the most difficult two years of our lives.  In August 2008, our son, Ethan, became seriously ill with an incurable disease.  Ethan braved multiple hospitalizations, surgeries, doctors, pain, more pain, and ultimately withdrew from college.   The good news is that Ethan is doing well, taking courses and working part-time. 

Simultaneously, the economy disintegrated as our medical bills escalated.  Mark and I, both self-employed, were fortunate not to have felt the economic impact until late 2009, but when it finally hit us, it felt more like a hurricane than a tropical storm (I'm still in Caribbean mode).  Fortunately, as the dust is settling and our clients are adjusting to new economic realities, business has picked up considerably. 

So this is what I learned (again):  life isn't always a bowl of cherries, that sometimes all we have are the pits, but then we move on to something new and different, even better, maybe another fruit, perhaps one that doesn't have pits, like coconuts or bananas (there's Aruba again).  I got through the past two years in one piece.  Sure, I'm a bit tattered and worn, but still standing, and in some ways, better for it.  Heck, for the first time in my life, I proudly strutted on the beach in my bubbe bathing suit alongside the itzy bitzy teenie weenie bikinis.  Good for them.  Good for me.   

During our first foray into the beautiful green and blue Caribbean, Mark and I marveled at where we were geographically and otherwise.  Ethan was home taking care of the pets, and no one needed to take care of Ethan.  This wasn't just a vacation, it was a celebration. 

Like the sea, life ebbs and flows (final Aruba references, I promise).  Sometimes it's easy to ride the waves, and other times they crash over us.  Two years ago our tidal wave hit.  In Aruba last week, the waters were still. 

That's what I learned on my summer vacation.  Ahhh...

Cracks

Although I love words, today I can think only in images.  It is rainy, the sky is gray, the ground is muddy, and the air is heavy with humidity.  My animals are snoozing, which is what we all should do on such days.  Mother Nature is moody today, and all I want to do is paint her portrait.

I love days like today.  I love sunny days, too, but gloomy days are cozy, hunker down days.  We do what we must but no more, minimizing our time in the dreary outdoors.

Anyone over the age of two knows what it is like to have an off day, a personally gloomy day (even if the sun is shining).  Many of us have endured gloomy periods due to illness, job loss, divorce, or the death of a loved one.  Such periods often feel as if the sun has set forever.

There is no magic way to get through these dark times, but it certainly includes a measure of retreat, and whenever possible, immersing in extreme self care:  read a mindless magazine, sip tea, listen to your favorite music.  Do nothing.  Or take a page from my pets, snuggle up and nap.

Eventually, a tiny crack in the clouds appears, allowing just enough sun to peek through.  Like a bear awakening after a long winter slumber, we peek our heads outdoors, reawakening to our lives.  We have endured the clouds and the mud, we fortified ourselves, and now it is time to open our eyes to the rest of our lives.

Cloudy days, literally and metaphorically, serve great purposes if we allow them.  Today Mother Nature is painting only in grays and browns, but I know tomorrow's canvas will have broad brush strokes of green, blue and yellow.  She knows what she is doing.  We do, too, if we quiet ourselves enough to listen.

When you have dark clouds overhead, have a good hunkering, and an even better awakening.  The crack will get wider, letting ever more light through.  That is when you will know to change paint colors.

Sunlight

Sammi, my miniature poodle, loves basking in the sunshine, lying on the top cement step just outside the front door.  Eventually, she starts panting, but the heat and light feel too good to forgo.  When she finally decides to come into the cool house, she is happy and relaxed, with every muscle loose enough to settle into a long nap. 

Other than wanting to be Sammi in my next life, I believe there is another message here:  bringing our secrets and fears into the proverbial light of day makes us happier and more relaxed.  I know from my clients, as well as from personal experience, that what we bury deep down, what we keep in the dark, seems to shrink in size once exposed to the light.  It's not that disclosure solves all our problems, but it does serve to keep them proportional to their actual size.

One of the biggest secrets many of us keep is the "fooled-them-again" syndrome.  No matter how smart and accomplished we are, we think we are not quite as good as other people's perceptions of us.  We live in fear of being "found out."

All of my clients are educated, most having advanced degrees.  All of my clients are very smart.  All of my clients worked hard to attain their level of achievement.  So, why do so many of them have the "fooled-them-again" syndrome?

There is no one simple answer given that everyone has a different history.  Some people grew up in families where achievements were never good enough.  Other people grew up with very low expectations placed on them.  Still others grew up with ridiculously high expectations that were impossible for any one person to meet.

While personal histories differ, the one constant seems to be this human insecurity we all possess in greater or lesser quantity.  We look around and perceive other people as smarter, more talented, more athletic than we are or could ever be.  That other people think we are smart is not confirmation for us because, and here the argument becomes tautological, we have fooled them again, too.  We may not be what they think we are--smart, talented, athletic--but we have been clever enough to slip by... so far.

The first time I realized how widespread this insecurity is was at my Harvard graduate school commencement.  During a lovely luncheon, a world renowned retiring professor was being lauded by one person after another.  When his retirement cake was wheeled out, he was asked to come up to the microphone and say a few words.  There was an anticipatory hush as he made his way to the front of the room.  He stepped to the microphone, and his only words were "fooled them again."  OMG (sorry, but these letters are apt here), this professor, the envy of many with the admiration of all, thought, at least in part, that he reached a stellar level in his life by fooling everyone.  This was the most important lesson I learned in my two years of graduate school.

The only antidote I know that helps with this syndrome is sunlight.  When we keep what we think are our shortcomings and limitations buried deep inside of us, hidden in the dark, they loom large and foreboding.  As soon as we share our fears with even one other person, our monster becomes more manageable.  The sunlight actually shrinks our deepest fears, and in so doing, we become happier and more relaxed. 

Just like Sammi.

Loyalty

If ever there was an emotionally charged concept, it is loyalty.  Faithfulness to one person can mean abandonment to another.  Can you be friends with your friend's nemesis and still be loyal to each?  Can you maintain a relationship with two people who dislike each other?  To what length does one need to go to prove loyalty?  Should one have to prove it at all?

I've recently confronted these questions when I and others were accused of being disloyal by someone very dear, who I'll call Judy, for attending an event to which she was not invited.  The party host did not want to invite Judy's husband, and, as the other half of the couple, Judy, too, was excluded.  I agreed with Judy that they should have been invited.  In fact, I advocated for their inclusion, but there was no changing the mind of the party host.  The party was in honor of someone very special to me, someone I care about a great deal and who cares equally about my family and me.  This honoree remembers my family's birthdays and special events, and has never missed an opportunity to share in my life.  Judy, a lifelong friend and confidante, is not speaking to me, furious that I did not boycott the celebration in solidarity with her and her husband.  My attending the event felt hugely disloyal, and therefore, hurtful to her. 

In all honesty, it never occurred to me to boycott the party.  It never occurred to me that another person's guest list would require me to choose between two relationships.  It never occurred to me that attending a party was proof of my disloyalty to anyone.

Have you ever been friends with two people who are angry with each other, or who just don't like each other?  These scenarios get more complicated when it is family and lives intersect.  Have you ever felt you had to drop your relationship with one half of a divorcing couple?  What is your allegiance to the warring parties?  Do you have to take sides? 

Sadly, requiring someone to choose between two people never ends well.  Like many an angst in life, the problem is typically more than what appears on the surface.  The person demanding the choice typically does so out of insecurity, misdirected anger, or both, neither of which underlies a healthy relationship.  If a person meets the demand of "choose them or me," then the result can only be resentment in the long run.

Ironically, the person being perceived as disloyal, which in this case is me, feels betrayed, too.  I went from shock to days of soul searching, eventually landing on "huh?"  Did I exclude anyone?  No.  Did I try to include everyone to a party not of my making?  Yes.  Have I kept confidences?  Of course.  Am I responsible for other people's relationships?  Heck no.  There I was, living my life, maintaining my own relationships.  It never occurred to me that doing so was disloyal to anyone.  

I am deeply distressed by Judy's pain because she is very important to me.  However, I did not create the scenario, and I am as loyal a friend as the day is long.  After forty plus years of shared intimacies, it is astounding to me that our relationship became so fragile as to fracture over a party not of my making.  I am sad but my conscience is clear. 

B.S.

I'm in the business of helping people realize their dreams, get through tough times, and find the sense of personal and professional satisfaction we all desire.  The way through life is to take a deep breath, create and continuously update plans and strategies, and above all, be realistic.  Wishing is not a strategy.  Prayer, although comforting, is not a strategy.  An inspirational slogan, although motivating, is not a strategy. 

Coaching, first and foremost, expands perspective.  Creative exploration is the order of the day.  New awareness leads to better decisions.  All of these coaching benefits are grounded in reality. 

Too many so-called self-help "spiritual" experts rely on catchy phrases that feel good for a minute, but don't help anyone in the long term.  Here are a few of my least favorite fluffy sayings:    

    The meek shall inherit the earth.  Any student of history knows that nowhere on earth have the meek owned even a square foot of dirt.  This expression serves only to make the meek feel artificially appeased while assertive, powerful people maintain control.  The proof is that no one aspires to be meek.

    Money can't buy happiness.  Money buys a great deal of happiness; it buys good health in the United States, access to good schools, and leisure time to chill, which lowers stress.  My son, Ethan, requires a $6,000 infusion every seven weeks in order to stay alive.  Money buys the health insurance that pays for (most of) this expense.  Ethan is alive because of money, and that makes me very, very happy.  

    It's God's plan.  Although I am a person of faith, I don't subscribe to the notion that bad things happen for a reason that we, mere mortals, cannot possibly know.  Some truly horrible things happen that a loving God would never condone, let alone cause.  The Holocaust, slavery, and genocide have been the plans and actions of humans, not God.  Random events, such as disease, accidents, and natural disasters, are bad luck, and not anyone's plan. (See "Luck," July 30, 2007)

Rather than remain meek, my clients learn to better advocate for themselves.  Money buys many of life's prerequisites to happiness.  Faith in God helps keep us optimistic and hopeful, which is wonderful, but only if it spurs us on to create realistic plans here on earth.

Clearly I don't subscribe to B.S., or Blatant Silliness.  Dream big, then bigger.  Create a plan and go full steam ahead.  Be hopeful, optimistic and wishful, but by all means, keep your feet on the ground.  No B.S. for you.

Oil & Slime

The oil gush in the Gulf of Mexico continues.  The environmental destruction is so geographically vast that it is difficult to wrap one's brain around it.  Livelihoods have vanished, some temporarily, others permanently.  Photographs of suffering and dead animals coated in black gunk are heartbreaking. 

While the experts and scientists scratch their heads about how to end the now 2+ months of environmental degradation, I, and others, scream silently about why this monstrosity occurred.  The answer is slime: not the oil variety, but the human kind.  Slimy people at BP did not spend a penny on preparing a solid "what if" strategy, and the government officials who granted permission to BP to drill, baby, drill did not require a scientifically sound disaster plan.  Slime all around. 

Unfortunately, we don't yet know how to stop the oil gush ("spill" is too quaint and understates the reality), but we do know how to contain much of the slime.  The answer is simple:  end all private financing of political campaigns.  From the election of dog catcher to President of the United States, public financing would 1) create a more level playing field so the best, rather than the wealthiest, person gets elected, or the person with the wealthiest friends and supporters, and 2) require politicians to be more beholden to voters rather than campaign contributors.  Elected officials would have fewer reasons to be in bed with the industries they are charged with overseeing, e.g., oil and health care.  Toss in the gun folks, and you have created the America of today:  environmental catastrophe, expensive health care that continues to make private health insurance companies wealthier and too many families poorer, and a violent country with guns galore. 

Public campaign financing is not a perfect solution.  Organizations would still raise money to advertise in favor of, or in opposition to, candidates.  That is the price we pay for free speech, and it's a price I'm willing to incur.  But even an imperfect solution would go a long way toward severing the cozy ties between the fox and the hen house.

Imagine an America where politicians spend most of their time courting voters, and then once elected, make decisions based only on what is best for the public.  Hence the term "public service."  I am not anti-corporations, just against the government being too chummy with corporations at the expense of the public.    

Eventually, we will contain the oil well.  Isn't it time to get rid of the slime, too?  

Fairness

Life is not fair. 

Three different people recently said that to me in one day.  These people don't know one another, or even the existence of each other, but all were experiencing unusually difficult life challenges.  These conversations led me to give a lot of thought to the notion of fairness, and while I don't have an explanation of why some lives seem charmed and others difficult, I have begun to think about fairness differently.

One of the people who expressed the unfairness of life is my 85-year-old widowed aunt who is nearly completely blind due to macular degeneration.  Her daughter, Laurie, was born five days after me, and the two of us grew up together on the same street.  We were both happy, playful children and then adulthood set in, which for Laurie brought extreme depression and emotional pain.  Last month, after decades of fighting her demons, Laurie committed suicide.  A few days later, my wonderful aunt buried her eldest child.   Unfair indeed.

At my aunt's house after the funeral, I was taken aback by the photos in a hinged double picture frame on her piano.  There was Laurie's and my high school graduation pictures side by side, taken when we were seventeen years old.  I was smiling in my photo, while Laurie wore a serious expression.  Was that a hint of things to come?  We'll never know.

Laurie did not marry or have children, so the person whose life is most changed is my aunt.  Laurie's siblings are distraught, but they have families of their own and very busy lives.  As stoic and strong as my aunt is, her life is forever impaired; she has gracefully learned to live with being almost totally blind, which will prove far easier than living with her daughter's death.

What did I learn from this tragedy? 

    1. Use the term "unfair" sparingly.  I am the first to joke that it is unfair that Heidi Klum's legs are taller than my whole body, which is probably true but hardly worth fretting about. 

    2. Want what you have rather than yearn for what is missing.  I am grateful to have a healthy body, including my un-Heidi Klum legs that carry me around all day.

    3. Don't assume you know about someone's life.  We look at the Heidi Klums of the world and see a beautiful woman who seems to have it all--famous husband, cute kids, successful career, lots of money.  We know nothing about her private life.  As a coach, I can tell you with certainty that many, many people have struggles that are not obvious to the public.

    4. Be clear on what "having it all" means.  We may envy or admire people for particular traits or lot in life, but would you want to trade places with them if you could?  Remember, trading places means giving up all that you are and value, including the people you love. 

Bad things happen to good people.  There is no rhyme or reason for it.  There are no satisfying explanations.  There are no road maps for how to cope.  All we can do is our best to move on, to relish the joyous moments and somehow learn to smile again. 

So, hug your loved ones.  Take a walk outside and be awed by nature.  Listen to your favorite music.  Watch a funny movie.  That's all any of us can do.  Actually, that's all we need to do.

30

Today is my thirtieth wedding anniversary.  Un-freakin'-believable.  When I met Mark in 1977, I couldn't even imagine being thirty years old!

Like all couples who have been together forever, Mark and I have been through many of life's highs, lows and everything in between.  Together we went through graduate school, traveled the world, raised children, changed jobs, changed careers (me), changed careers again (me), endured illnesses, grieved, laughed, cried, and laughed some more.  My adult life is my life with Mark.

We joke that we have to stay together because we're too tired to "break in" someone new.  Truth is we still like being together.  Have we had our share of arguments?  Of course.  Do we agree on everything?  Of course not.  Are our interests completely aligned with one another?  Ha!

Every marriage is unique, but after three decades of marriage and nearly a decade as a life coach, I have concluded there are a minimum of three ingredients required to create and maintain a happy, healthy marriage:

    1. Shared values.  It is imperative that both people have a similar world view.  Mark and I are very different people, to say the least.  He is soft spoken and doesn't make waves, and I, er, have chutzpah (Yiddish: nerve).  He is extremely calm and rational, even in the face of difficulties, and I am passionate and assertive.  He enjoys golf and I prefer the world of paper, beads, and rubber stamps.  He grew up in a soft-spoken Midwestern Protestant family, and I grew up in a noisy, Northeastern Jewish family.  We epitomize the cliche "opposites attract."  I have long joked that if Mark had married himself, they would put each other to sleep, and if I had married myself, it would have been a murder/suicide long ago!

       In spite of our differences, our values are nearly identical.  We had very few disagreements about raising our children because we had clarity about what was most important to instill in them--have respect for self and others, be an independent thinker, and know that family is love and safety.  We are grateful for all we have and know how fortunate we are compared to most people throughout the world.  We place family first, but believe that we have responsibilities to others, most of whom we will never know.   

    2. Laugh.  Relatively few days have passed when Mark and I have not gotten silly together.  After thirty years, we can look at each other in response to an event and laugh without uttering a word.  We each think the other one is funny and clever!  (We have to stay together because we are each other's best audience.)

    Our laughing has, at times, been problematical to our children, especially when they feared for their lives.  Once, while at the wheel on a narrow, winding mountain road, I announced through tears of laughter that I could hardly see.  Another time, I nearly had to pull over on a four-lane highway because I couldn't stop laughing at something Mark said (it is still funny ten years later).  One night our daughter asked us to "keep it down" because our laughter woke her up.  It's not that every day is a riot, but most days have at least one thing about which to chuckle. 

    3. Trust.  There are two kinds of trust in a marriage:  fidelity and I-got-your-back.  We all know how devastating infidelity can be on a marriage, and it's not worth discussing here.  The trust that I think is less obvious but no less important is knowing your partner is there for you no matter what happens, that the commitment is unconditional.  Just as we want our home to be a safe haven for our children, it should also be a respite for each partner.  I am blessed with a husband who has been my biggest cheerleader, especially through all my iterations!  Mark knows I'm always on his team.    

So, Mark and I have gone from being young, carefree students to middle aged parents.  Sometimes it seems like a flash, and other times it feels like the full thirty years (especially on the mornings when we both utter "oy, my back" as we get out of bed).  We have endured better and worse, richer and poorer, and sickness and health.  What is next for us?  I'm not sure, but I'm glad it will be with Mark.