A cold, gray day perfect for going to the dentist. And it was a Monday. I met Alice for tea and sympathy afterwards and she listened to my woes before telling me her own dentist story. It was both odd and moving. The week before she had to have a crown removed, kind of chipped away. The dentist asked if she wanted the bit of gold that was left, made a joke about selling it and was surprised when, in fact, she held out her hand. She hadn't given the incident much thought but in the telling of it she began to cry. It was obvious she was experiencing a deep emotion. When her feelings subsided, she didn't want to talk about them beyond saying she hadn't thought about her dad for a long time. But that afternoon when she took the gold it was because her father had been a dentist and it was he who, many years ago, had inserted it. Her father had not been a particularly warm parent and she had had issues with him. So why, she asked, after forty years was this well spring of love so strong and clear?
I chose three o'clock in the morning to wonder. I knew about that surge of love, out of the blue and more than the sum of experiences shared; as if all the love you ever felt for a person was swept up into a bundle of pure, almost hurtful joy. Because surface events fade it's easy to think that love does also. But love seems to abide at a deeper level of our being and unexpectedly, and sometimes uncomfortably, makes itself known.
And here's another dentist story. At the hair salon the next day, Maria told me her father had just given her a small jar that he had been saving for her. Within were all her baby teeth. She was pleased and horrified. She thought about making a bracelet. Love. It's a beautiful thing.
Friday, December 13, 2013
Monday, October 14, 2013
Flower in a Crevice
Whenever he can, the cat next door comes to my house to visit. He cleans up my cats' leftovers before making a quick visit to the TV room to play with the toys scattered there. We have an understanding that when I say "Go" Boris follows me to the door and leaves. In the evening, he often returns to stand on his hind legs and look through the glass door until I bring him a plate of food. This has been going on for years, unbeknownst to his owners. They are fairly indifferent to Boris, at times, leaving him out in the rain and cold. Nevertheless, they do give him a home. I'm taken with the fact that Boris has a secret life and that, despite some hardships, he has found ways to improve his lot.
Lots of us, I think, have secret lives. Things that we do to keep us going, to please ourselves or just drop out. One of my secrets is to stand on the back deck early in the morning and look up at the sky through the trees. It reminds me of times I camped in Maine. When I pay attention, it evokes similar feelings of awe. Another thing I do, less noble, is to stop at a drug store now and then and pick up a candy bar. Choosing is part of the pleasure, just as it was when I was a child.
"Some secret life," you might think, especially if you are busy having, say, an illicit affair. That's a secret but it's shared and it's big and complicated. Quite different from small, private, experiences that enrich life if you don't diminish them by wishing they were more or different. The ability to see and appreciate what's available, be it ever so small, is one of the conditions of a happier life. Boris will likely never have better circumstances but he is making the most of what he has ... living big in small moments.
This poem, in part, is about being present even as the past calls. Altamont is a garden in Ireland.
Altamont
I spent a summer day
in the vast garden of Altamont,
long past its time of sculptured yews,
herbaceous plots and tended flowers.
Free to roam, roses and azaleas
mixed with daffodils and bluebells
and rhododendron ran wild down the lanes.
A different, fallen beauty.
But, I minded the lake.
Overtaken by lilies,
it could not move in the breeze.
The house, too, was in distress,
enclosed by moss and vines,
its windows shuttered.
On a small side porch
perched upon a parapet,
a peacock stood alone,
waiting, perhaps, for a larger crowd
that did not come.
It spread enormous wings,
opened a wide throat and brayed
an eerie high pitched call.
I fancied it missed its fellow creatures
and the sweep of their tails over cut green fields.
Knowing well the call to better days,
I turned away.
Bridget Harwell
*Liz has a piece in LIES in which she talks about knowing where you spend your time.
LIES: How to Cut a Pie, p.105
Lots of us, I think, have secret lives. Things that we do to keep us going, to please ourselves or just drop out. One of my secrets is to stand on the back deck early in the morning and look up at the sky through the trees. It reminds me of times I camped in Maine. When I pay attention, it evokes similar feelings of awe. Another thing I do, less noble, is to stop at a drug store now and then and pick up a candy bar. Choosing is part of the pleasure, just as it was when I was a child.
"Some secret life," you might think, especially if you are busy having, say, an illicit affair. That's a secret but it's shared and it's big and complicated. Quite different from small, private, experiences that enrich life if you don't diminish them by wishing they were more or different. The ability to see and appreciate what's available, be it ever so small, is one of the conditions of a happier life. Boris will likely never have better circumstances but he is making the most of what he has ... living big in small moments.
This poem, in part, is about being present even as the past calls. Altamont is a garden in Ireland.
Altamont
I spent a summer day
in the vast garden of Altamont,
long past its time of sculptured yews,
herbaceous plots and tended flowers.
Free to roam, roses and azaleas
mixed with daffodils and bluebells
and rhododendron ran wild down the lanes.
A different, fallen beauty.
But, I minded the lake.
Overtaken by lilies,
it could not move in the breeze.
The house, too, was in distress,
enclosed by moss and vines,
its windows shuttered.
On a small side porch
perched upon a parapet,
a peacock stood alone,
waiting, perhaps, for a larger crowd
that did not come.
It spread enormous wings,
opened a wide throat and brayed
an eerie high pitched call.
I fancied it missed its fellow creatures
and the sweep of their tails over cut green fields.
Knowing well the call to better days,
I turned away.
Bridget Harwell
*Liz has a piece in LIES in which she talks about knowing where you spend your time.
LIES: How to Cut a Pie, p.105
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
Two Dresses
Yesterday, I got my first whiff of autumn air and, for a moment, night-before-school feelings came rushing through me. The night before school was, for me, such a mixture of joy, dread, fantasy, anxiety, sleeplessness and stomach ache that it stands apart from all other experiences in my life. To go to school was to get away; like going to the movies but it was real, you could go everyday and you didn't have to have a dime.
Of course, like any kid, after the first couple of days my excitement tapered off, especially as the classroom was always roasting and I, allergic, was always in wool. Whatever was available is what we wore and sometimes wool sweaters had to do. But then, one difficult year, grade four I believe, our summer clothes worn through, we had nothing to wear, not even sweaters. The first week of school came and went and we weren't there, a sad and scary time. Until, somehow, my mother came up with a dress for me and one for my sister. Identical, blessed cottons, mine peach, my sister's blue with thin lines of darker peach and blue marking off squares. And, most wonderful of all, white Peter Pan collars! We had missed the first week of school but our entrance the second week was glorious.
The autumn air got me thinking about the peach and blue dresses and then wondering if I had mixed them up. "Was mine truly the peach one or was it the blue?" No matter, I thought. They were both my dresses, equally prized, more precious because we each had one. Like many stories in my life that I value, this happy ending required a tough start.
Of course, like any kid, after the first couple of days my excitement tapered off, especially as the classroom was always roasting and I, allergic, was always in wool. Whatever was available is what we wore and sometimes wool sweaters had to do. But then, one difficult year, grade four I believe, our summer clothes worn through, we had nothing to wear, not even sweaters. The first week of school came and went and we weren't there, a sad and scary time. Until, somehow, my mother came up with a dress for me and one for my sister. Identical, blessed cottons, mine peach, my sister's blue with thin lines of darker peach and blue marking off squares. And, most wonderful of all, white Peter Pan collars! We had missed the first week of school but our entrance the second week was glorious.
The autumn air got me thinking about the peach and blue dresses and then wondering if I had mixed them up. "Was mine truly the peach one or was it the blue?" No matter, I thought. They were both my dresses, equally prized, more precious because we each had one. Like many stories in my life that I value, this happy ending required a tough start.
Monday, August 5, 2013
Keeping it Real
Remember affirmations? Back then, it seemed everyone had a positive statement or two that they repeated throughout the day in the hope of becoming a better person or just getting stuff they wanted. They, the affirmations, can be found tucked in old wallets and pockets. Little pieces of paper that said things like: I am beautiful and worthwhile and deserving. I am the master of my life and I am making a beautiful day. I am walking step by step towards my goal. Positive thinking, yes, but also a bit of magic. These sacred incantations, not you, would do the work needed to be done to change your life. Alas.
There are words, however, that can change life if one is thoughtful and willing to work for new behaviors. I have a few favorite mantras (sorry) one of which I have found to be powerful in my life and in the lives of clients. It is: Make it small. The remark your partner or friend made, the need to ask for a raise, the dozen chores you have on your to-to-list. Make your reaction small. No need to have a fit because your partner has a mean moment, no need to play over and over in your mind what your boss will say, no reason to treat yourself like an ox in order to get it all done today, everyday. People lie to themselves. And the biggest lies are about making things BIG. More messes and tangles occur because things get blown out of proportion. Exaggeration is a bad habit that serves many bad functions. Here are a few:
It helps you worry and if you worry enough it will lessen the blow when it arrives. No, that's magic.
It is used to express feelings, especially negative ones. If I exaggerate my pain, physical or emotional, it will be better understood how much I suffer. No, people will just want to get away from you.
It helps put other people in the wrong. No. People will not see their flaws because your words are inaccurate and they will fight with you about the inaccuracies.
Lately, in service of learning Spanish and also for fun, I've been watching tela novelas which, like American soap operas, give lessons in exaggerated reactions. If you crave drama and misery, don't make it small. Make everything big ... but you will need a therapist.
For more about this topic see LIES: The Truth about the Self-Deception That Limits Your Life, "Make it Small," p.14.
There are words, however, that can change life if one is thoughtful and willing to work for new behaviors. I have a few favorite mantras (sorry) one of which I have found to be powerful in my life and in the lives of clients. It is: Make it small. The remark your partner or friend made, the need to ask for a raise, the dozen chores you have on your to-to-list. Make your reaction small. No need to have a fit because your partner has a mean moment, no need to play over and over in your mind what your boss will say, no reason to treat yourself like an ox in order to get it all done today, everyday. People lie to themselves. And the biggest lies are about making things BIG. More messes and tangles occur because things get blown out of proportion. Exaggeration is a bad habit that serves many bad functions. Here are a few:
It helps you worry and if you worry enough it will lessen the blow when it arrives. No, that's magic.
It is used to express feelings, especially negative ones. If I exaggerate my pain, physical or emotional, it will be better understood how much I suffer. No, people will just want to get away from you.
It helps put other people in the wrong. No. People will not see their flaws because your words are inaccurate and they will fight with you about the inaccuracies.
Lately, in service of learning Spanish and also for fun, I've been watching tela novelas which, like American soap operas, give lessons in exaggerated reactions. If you crave drama and misery, don't make it small. Make everything big ... but you will need a therapist.
For more about this topic see LIES: The Truth about the Self-Deception That Limits Your Life, "Make it Small," p.14.
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
Important Stories
Memories. Some just float through the mind like lapping waves and recede, maybe forever. Others, you notice. Perhaps because they are cherished or, obversely, tamped down or just because they recur but for no apparent reason. Like plot points in a novel, they reveal more than others. They are in the "My Important Story" category; vignettes worth examining for what they disclose about your life. Here is one of my important stories.
I'm three years old sitting alone in a large room at a work table in an orphanage. I have a tablet with slots in it. In front of me is a big pile of letters that I must sort through and match on my tablet words that have been written on a blackboard. I've been at it for a long time. I'm tired and I can't find a second "b" in the letter pile to write my final word, "baby" and hi Mr. Freud. Fear is my strongest feeling. A woman dressed in a black robe and hood will be coming through the door to check on me at any moment. Just as the door opens I find a "b" and insert it in the tablet. End of memory.
For a long time, this was a sad memory for me but no more. What happened was that I found so much in it that fits my life story. Fear is still a presence in my life (duh) but in this vignette I am industrious, I like the little letters and the noise they make as I insert them, I don't give up, and most importantly, despite my fear, I'm successful. Also, letters made into words have always been important to me and finally, I know that when I am lonely, someone always comes through one door or another. As you can see, I squeezed a lot out of this memory. It's good to tell your important stories.
Here's a poem that somewhat relates to this piece. How, I'm not quite sure . But it's a room, unopened for a long time, full of memories.
Jim's Cottage
Shocked by the breeze,
the room moves.
Newspaper meal
blows off the table,
coal dust shifts in the grate
and on the wall, a palm crucifix
tilts.
Joyous,
the curtain lifts its grimy hem
and waves.
A small remembrance
of another time.
Of April air,
of clean and white
and free-flapping on the line.
Bridget Harwell
I'm three years old sitting alone in a large room at a work table in an orphanage. I have a tablet with slots in it. In front of me is a big pile of letters that I must sort through and match on my tablet words that have been written on a blackboard. I've been at it for a long time. I'm tired and I can't find a second "b" in the letter pile to write my final word, "baby" and hi Mr. Freud. Fear is my strongest feeling. A woman dressed in a black robe and hood will be coming through the door to check on me at any moment. Just as the door opens I find a "b" and insert it in the tablet. End of memory.
For a long time, this was a sad memory for me but no more. What happened was that I found so much in it that fits my life story. Fear is still a presence in my life (duh) but in this vignette I am industrious, I like the little letters and the noise they make as I insert them, I don't give up, and most importantly, despite my fear, I'm successful. Also, letters made into words have always been important to me and finally, I know that when I am lonely, someone always comes through one door or another. As you can see, I squeezed a lot out of this memory. It's good to tell your important stories.
Here's a poem that somewhat relates to this piece. How, I'm not quite sure . But it's a room, unopened for a long time, full of memories.
Jim's Cottage
Shocked by the breeze,
the room moves.
Newspaper meal
blows off the table,
coal dust shifts in the grate
and on the wall, a palm crucifix
tilts.
Joyous,
the curtain lifts its grimy hem
and waves.
A small remembrance
of another time.
Of April air,
of clean and white
and free-flapping on the line.
Bridget Harwell
Monday, July 1, 2013
Help Yourself
One of the most useful questions you can ever ask yourself is this: Who do I want to be in this situation? Whether it's a first date, a fight with a partner, a difficult good-by or asking for a raise you will have more self-control and greater self-satisfaction if you hold in mind an image of who you want to be. This does not mean choosing a false front. It means choosing (and practicing) a different set of attributes, attributes that help you in whatever situation you find yourself. So, rather than being the irrational, screaming, threatening or bawling, foolish one, you choose to be a cooler self, a person who is able to listen, who can get across a point clearly and respect other points of view. Rather than being the shy one, you choose to be the friendly person who you know lives inside you but rarely gets out. Rather than being the one who crumbles or fights back when criticized, you're the one who is strong enough to weight and measure an opinion and accept or reject it on its merits.
One of the reasons some people never change is that they never truthfully ask themselves if they are who they want to be. Does Rose really want to be known as the bossy person others resent? Does Martin want his kids to be afraid of him? Does Phil want to be the one no one can count on? "Yes" is sometimes the answer, but more often it is not. Understandably, people avoid painful self-knowledge. My suggestion, creep up on it. Ask yourself who you want to be, not in a broad, global sense (more spiritual, more understanding etc) but in a particular situation. "I want to be able to be with my mother for thirty minutes without snapping at her." Act on that image. It really does lead to change.
More on this topic in LIES. chapter 30, "Look Out For Yourself"
One of the reasons some people never change is that they never truthfully ask themselves if they are who they want to be. Does Rose really want to be known as the bossy person others resent? Does Martin want his kids to be afraid of him? Does Phil want to be the one no one can count on? "Yes" is sometimes the answer, but more often it is not. Understandably, people avoid painful self-knowledge. My suggestion, creep up on it. Ask yourself who you want to be, not in a broad, global sense (more spiritual, more understanding etc) but in a particular situation. "I want to be able to be with my mother for thirty minutes without snapping at her." Act on that image. It really does lead to change.
More on this topic in LIES. chapter 30, "Look Out For Yourself"
Saturday, June 15, 2013
How to Cut a Pie
Let yourself deeply ponder this one. It's a topic we talk about in our book, Chapter 27: "How to Cut a Pie."
Saturday, June 8, 2013
EBOOK
Doesn't make a bunch of intuitive sense but it seems it takes longer for the ebook format to go "live" than the printed copy. So, finally, I am thrilled to announce that our book is now available in ebook form (kindle, et. al.).
We would love your feedback.
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