Category: Raspberries

Loss and gain can affect us so profoundly that we temporarily forget who we really are.  We tend to fixate on something nominal because dealing with a blow to our core is too painful.  When we lost Cat, not only did I lose a family member, but I felt I lost part of my identity.  We were a family of 5 – she being the 5th – and then suddenly, we were a family of four.

Cat did not start out as part of my identity.  It probably took me a good 5 or 6 years to accept her place at the table – literally.  But part of her remains in me – that part which led me to adopt two new Bengals, one last year and one early this year.  I had never really identified myself as a Bengal-Cat-Person.  I have had many boonie cats of questionable lineage.  Now, it seems, I have a preference.

It was a hard decision to open our home to new pets.  There was great debate between my son who missed Cat and wanted a new presence in the house, and my son who felt adopting a new cat would betray Cat’s memory.

My colleague and I were talking today about how another colleague of ours, a social worker I guess you would call her, works incredibly hard—tirelessly—for her clients, and yet gets paid very little.  She is literally out there saving lives every day.  It made me think about how a lot of our public servants are underpaid…teachers absolutely, but also police officers, nonprofit employees, and legal aid attorneys.  It was a running joke at my old legal aid law firm that the attorneys qualified to sign up for the same public benefits they were assisting their clients with.  This also made me think about the traditionally undervalued stay-at-home mom.

I stopped in the middle of my conversation with my colleague.  “What do we value?”  Is it widgets?  Do we value making widgets?  Do we not value some things simply because they are less tangible than others?  I thought about what we consider to be valuable – “valuables”—jewelry, cash, gold, rare art, fancy cars, expensive electronics…  All these things have a commonality: they are expensive.  They cost a lot of money to purchase.  Therefore it would seem that we value things based on how much money they cost us to acquire.  People don’t take out insurance policies on shampoo bottles because they are less “valuable,” i.e., they cost less money to replace.

There is a cat on my flight today. I met him in the TSA line. He didn’t complain when he was lifted from his cramped lunch-box-looking cat carrier, but his owner said he was terrified. He looked right at me, but I didn’t really see the terror. Exhaustion maybe (it was 3:30 am), but the expression I saw lent me to pity him. It was if he was saying, “what on earth is going on and WHY are we going through all of this?!”

He may have been drugged–as I understand many pets (and babies) are before flights–in order to give his owner some hope of survival during the flight. He looked concerned yet somewhat helpless. I am sure he would have rather been left at home.

It was a good thing I met him in the line. He gave me new perspective on the plight of helpless pets and babies who are dragged onto airplanes to take uncomfortable voyages to places they will never remember. I decided that I would remember that next time a baby cries on a plane, I would translate the distress “WAWH” into its sure expanded form: “Why Are We Here?!” I will then continue their train of thought into the complaint that no one asked them if they wanted to come along anyway or adequately prepared them for this tragedy. Think about it. Cats and babies don’t even like car rides. A plane ride is just a long, cramped, dry, loud car ride–minus the bathroom breaks and plus that thing that happens to your ears.

Giving up is never a good feeling.  It is a bitter victory–choosing loss before it is inevitably handed to you.  It is bitter because it is something you let go of with an admission that no matter how hard you tried or how much work you put in, your finest efforts would not have been good enough.  You…would not have been good enough.

Over time, we learn to give up earlier and earlier.  The sting is less, expectations are lower, and you believe you look less like a fool–just tripping instead of falling hard.  But the flip side of this is that you lower, expect less, and achieve, well, not a whole lot.

Of course giving up on trying to solve a Rubik’s Cube at a party is different than giving up on a friend, or giving up on life for that matter.  The more you have invested, the harder it is.  But it is the little give-ups which start us on the track to the larger.  We disconnect.  We stop investing.  No one makes the large jumps to whole sale giving up in a day.  It’s as if every little give-up kills off a little piece inside of you until you have little enough left to consider jumping ship altogether.

Cat doesn’t invest in much, and I have wondered if she is ever disappointed.  Surely the turning of a can opener which yields pineapple instead of tuna must be a letdown for her.  And she once in awhile cedes her vigilant watch over the bedroom door after long minutes of crying to get in.  I wonder if she’s bothered.  I wonder if it, you know, hurts.

I admit it.  I’m a workaholic…which seems weird to me because it’s not like I go looking for work, I just always seem to be doing it.  I can’t engage in activities I enjoy, or pick up the dusty hobbies I once enjoyed because well, there’s just too much to do.  When others recreate, I sigh longingly and shake my head.  “Too bad I have to work.”

Now, to be fair, I am currently holding 3 separate jobs.  Well, 2 and a half but plus 2 very time-intensive “extracurricular activities.”  Aside from my 9-5, I have two part-time consulting gigs, and I sit on the Board of two nonprofits–neither of which are in the city I live in.

So I’m busy, yes.  But there must be a reason why I am uncomfortable in between my scheduled work times…or why I am spending a Saturday night “catching up” on work.

Workaholism is like alcoholism in that those afflicted with it can rarely see their own problem.  A trip to dictionary.com defines workaholic as, “a person who works compulsively at the expense of other pursuits.”  I would add to this that the workaholic is one who “enjoys” work to the point where anything “enjoyable” must be an accomplishment of some kind.  The workaholic derives pleasure and satisfaction from accomplishment.  This may be why a workaholic can read books for “reading pleasure” but not watch TV.  Being able to say you finished a book is an accomplishment–a feather in your cap and an addition to the list of books one’s read.  The same thing is not as easily attributable to non-educational TV watching or other passive activities.

Cat’s gained weight.  Yet she doesn’t  mind as much as I do when I’m scolding myself.

Today as I sat in a nice, warm bath, I was pondering my perpetual state of anticipated change.  It started like this: “Around this time last year, I weighed about 30 lbs. less.”  We all have been told that the only certain thing in life is that life is uncertain and the world and everything we know about it will change.  We, ourselves, will change.  Some people have a problem with this precept in and of itself.  However, it amazes me how many more of us actually accept this fact all too willingly to the point where we let it run our lives.

For example, think about the fact that every woman you know is trying to get to some idealized weight (except maybe your Grandma–likely because she’s reached enlightenment).  We crash diet and exercise and join support groups–and watch Oprah–in an attempt to capitalize on this change which we know is going to happen.  We know change is coming, and that we cannot control whether change happens or not, so we seek to control what type of change comes our way.  Not only is this vain attempt somewhat like trying to put the kittens back in the box, in seeking out this control (through Sephora, Michael Kors, or other such nonsense), we completely miss the point.

The point is this: acceptance of change requires not only an acceptance of the inevitability of an evolving reality, but also an acceptance of the inability to control change–even the properties of which are constantly in flux.

Imagine this:

Right now, where you sit, suddenly something happens and you are stuck–forever–as you currently are.  Same clothes, same hair, same weight, same family, same job, same friends, same zits.  You are powerless to alter any piece or part of your physical existence.  (Suicide is not an option.)  For the rest of your life, you will see your neighbors, coworkers, and hot dog vendors wearing the same clothes day after day, with the same whiteness of teeth, sporting the same shoes, carrying the same purse, wearing the same up-do, pushing the same cart, faxing the same forms, over and over again.  Your job would ever be the same job.  Your spouse or partner would never change their ways (any of them).

Think Groundhog Day–except everyone knows it.  Basically it’s Today lived over and over again with slightly different situations, but mostly the same reality.

After about day 2, you would not care what anyone was wearing anymore.  Those cute shoes would no longer be so cute.  That dumpy gray sweatshirt would not be as repulsive.  That red sports car would be nice, but you would know that it was not destined to be yours.  After about day 7, even that nagging habit your husband has would seem unimportant to squabble over, since of course, it can’t be changed.

How would your day be if you were not constantly trying to trade up?  It amazes me how we have multi-billion dollar industries built on our insecurities and wanting to trade ourselves in for better models–all of the makeup and aging creams and mid-life-crisis-mobiles.  AND we have multi-billion dollar industries built on making us feel better about ourselves at the same time–self-help books, meditation classes, yoga, psychiatry (apologies Blueberry Cat), life coaches…

Ah the frailties of the human body.  Being sick is all the rage by the way.  It seems I can’t go anywhere without talk of H1N1 (which by the way I survived this past summer).  And when back-to-school time came, all of the kids got sick and brought the germs home to their families who brought them to work…game over.

I could sit here and rant about how we need to have hand sanitizer machines everywhere (especially in schoools), but even that would not help me now.  I’m down with a cold–day 1–and all of the Airborne in Costco couldn’t save me.

There are two maladies which accompany being sick:  1) The physical bodily discomfort which comes with the accrual of a bacterial or viral infection, and 2) the mental exhaustion accompanied by pangs of frustration, guilt, and –yay– fever dreams or antihistimine-induced deliria.

1) Mental health Step #1: Acceptance

The first step to getting well is admitting to yourself that there is indeed something to get well from.  This is a huge hurdle for me.  I don’t listen to my body at all and will often say aloud, “I’m not sick!”  As if I would have to verbalize such a thing if I wasn’t.  If you’re healthy, you can tell.  If you’re trying to convince yourself that you’re healthy, you’re probably not.

Accept that you’re sick.  And accept that you’re going to need some time to recuperate.  And while you’re at it, might as well enjoy it.  It is not often that we devote time to pay attention to how our bodies are doing.

Sometimes I actually enjoy being sick because if I lie quiet enough, I can actually feel my body healing.  If I am still long enough, I can almost grasp the chords of the symphony of systems operating just to help me breathe.  And if you’ve ever been stuffed up and congested, you know how much of a blessing clear breathing is!

So accept that you’re sick, so that you can start taking steps to heal.

2) Physical health Step #1: The Basics

Mind you, I am no physician.  …but in the name of all that is good, SLEEP and DRINK PLENTY OF FLUIDS (orange juice, water, gatorade).  When you wake up, EAT food that is rich in nutrients, and AVOID STRENUOUS ACTIVITY (soccer with a fever, not so good).

STAY HOME.  Period.  No one wants you at the office.  Really.  And if your kid makes my kid sick at school, we’re gonna have words.  So stay home, and keep your sick family home.  Friends don’t let friends bring germs over.

…and for that matter, Raspberries to getting up in the early afternoon, or any time you’re not ready for it.  But mostly, these raspberries are for that special morning hour which demands us to leave the warm and cozy comfort of our beds to face the world yet another day.

I have to admit, I am not a morning person.  I will stay in bed as long as possible–even if it means ignoring the fact that I have needed the bathroom for an hour.  Part of me is still exhausted when I’m asked to rouse, and the other part of me wonders what good reason I have to leave the happiness I find in my pillow.  Work?  Bringing kids to school?  An early appointment?  All pale in comparison to, well, being snug.

So I lie in wait, knowing that the inevitable will come–rather soon.  I will have to get out of bed and face the day.  That magic number which my brain dizzily makes up in the misty morning fog, but never truly comprehends, is flashing on my alarm clock.  All ambitions of an early start have been pushed off until now.  The snooze button (my dear friend) has been abused.  My alarm clock, which is usually quite pleasant waking me with bird chirps or sounds of waves, is now beeping angrily like every other alarm clock in America.

I get up.  Begrudgingly.  Like a kid being forced out of bed and into geometry class.  Only now, it is I forcing myself up.  I get ready for my day almost spitefully.  Then it is a blur of water, hair products, fast breakfast, and lunch kits before I somehow appear at work on time.

Let me clarify that it is not the actual morning which I hate, it is the fact that mornings make me have to stop doing something I am comfortably enjoying–plus wrenching my eyes open when they don’t want to be is just painful.  I almost entitled this raspberry: Raspberries for Mornings, but I actually like mornings.  On the rare occasion which I am out of the house right at sunrise, I am awed by the beauty and freshness of the morning.  I actually enjoy the clean cool air and early morning birds.  And I wonder why I don’t get out more often in the morning–like any time when I don’t have to pick up someone at the airport on a 7am flight.

So being up is not the problem, it is getting up.  Getting up in the morning is stressful.  I’ll stop at that because I feel like I don’t really have to convince you of this one.

The irony is, we know we have to get up at some point.  The question I ask myself is: why do we do it later rather than earlier?  Does it really hurt less? Since this raspberry is quite a doozie for me, enjoy a chronicle of my daily efforts.  I’ll let you know what works and what failed miserably.

Theory #1:  Preparing a Nice Morning Will Motivate Me to Have More Desire to Get Up and Face the Day

Perhaps the real stressor here is not when we get up (5 am or 7 am) but how we get up (grumpy, at the last minute, ready to rush).  Therefore I will fashion my remedy around this hypothesis.

Stress Source: Feeling exhausted due to the fast pace of it all and leaving no space to appreciate the day.

Stress Relief: 1) A peaceful and fresh awakening, 2) Sufficient home prep time, 3) Self-time before having to be somewhere, and 4) Plenty of transit time

Anxiety over money and finances is very common, especially these days.  If you’re worried about how you’re going to make it through this month, you are definitely not alone.  This morning, I was trying to get into my locked office door and having no success.  My coworker suggested trying to jimmie the door open with a credit card.  When I handed her one, she said, “well, one that you don’t care about.”  I said, “don’t worry, there’s no money on it anyway!”  to which she responded, “I hear ya.”

Everyone’s broke.  And it’s not even that money seems to fly away, it’s that it was never there to begin with!  In 2009, being broke doesn’t mean not having any money, it means running out of credit.

I already have two friends who have declared personal bankruptcy in the past year.  Many more are teetering on the balance.

The funny thing is, for every friend of mine who is freaking out over the recession, I have another who was broke to begin with!  I have one friend who joked with me that we should write a book on how to survive the recession because really we live like it’s a recession all the time–stock market failures or not!

But enough of my musings.  We want answers.  Financial stress can be broken down into two pieces: 1) Fear of “losing it all” and 2) Just being tired of “not having”.

1) Fear of “Losing It All”

My Dad has this fear.  Actually, many dads have this fear.  The fear of if-I-fail-no-one-will-take-care-and-we-will-all-starve.  Oddly enough, I have found that those who manifest this fear the most are the ones who actually have more (versus those who have less).  My friend T, who has been down at the bottom of the barrel for a while, watching the rest of us cycle up and crash back down and cycle up again, does not possess this fear.  Because when you are at the bottom, really, there is no where else to go but up.

Stress source: Feeling that without your money, you will emotionally or physically perish.

Stress relief: Realizing that this is actually not true–many people survive with far, far less than you will ever experience in your lifetime.