A timely re-post of "Santa isn't coming this year!"

Happy holiday season, everyone.  As the stress of shopping and baking and decorating and running around threatens to take over our holiday cheer and interrupt our peace and joy, I thought this piece (which I originally shared on December 12, 2011) was a timely re-post.  And some necessary food for thought.  Enjoy!

"Santa isn't coming this year!" 

(12/12/11)

Last year at this time, life was very much the same as it is today: It was just before Christmas. Red and green decorations erupted all over stores and offices and front lawns while lyrics intended to make me smile and glow (i.e. "Born in a stable" and "I am a poor boy, too") generated tears of sorrow and angst rather than celebratory smiles and endless joy.  They always do.  I'm not sure why, exactly.

I should probably clarify right away that, overall, I am not anti-Christmas.  I even love the story of Ebenezer Scrooge, not because he is an angry, nasty little miser, but because he eventually sees the beauty of humanity that often comes alive at this time of year - and more importantly, he realizes his own capacity for growth and compassion in the process.  I love that, despite the anger and hatred that often seem to permeate our world on a daily basis, this time of year inspires people to give  -- and not just material gifts, but time, and service, and genuine human connection.

But last year at this time, something out of the ordinary did happen, and I have found myself thinking about it over the last week or so, amidst all the twinkling and sparking and jingling.  I was in Plattsburgh visiting my family a few days before Christmas, and while my parents were at work and my brother was busy, I sat at Panera enjoying a hot coffee, an internet connection (much faster than my parents' dial-up), and a two-hour block of time to write.  The restaurant was packed, but I had been fortunate enough to find a corner table by an electrical outlet - my own little pre-Christmas miracle.  And since I was trapped in a writer's nightmare - time to write and nothing to write about - I was happy to watch groups of people parade by with their packages and their soup/salad combos and their animated conversations.  Something would give birth to an idea if I just sat.  And sipped.  And observed.  Patiently.

At about 2pm, a frazzled mother walked by with two very young, very tired children.  While the little boy screamed and cried, the little girl pulled on her mother and threw herself into chairs and tables to relieve the indescribable stress of childhood. Suddenly, without a word, the children switched roles - the little boy began slapping himself and falling into walls and garbage cans while the little girl started screaming and pleading for toys and cookies and princess shoes.  And then there was mom - loaded down with bags and soup bowls and sippy cups and a very large, ergonomically destructive purse.  She threatened to topple as she lumbered past me, and she almost seemed to prefer lying face down on a Panera floor to dealing with her very normal-for-their-age-and-situation kids.

As a childless woman of 37, I sympathized with the mom on some level, even as I wondered what would possess anyone to trek around town on the Friday before Christmas with two little ones who should have eaten lunch (and probably taken a nap) hours ago.  But I get it - daycare isn't always an option.  And isn't this, at least theoretically, supposed to be part of the seasonal joy?  Shopping and lunching with one's children, surrounded by the splendid wonder of Christmas tidings and lightly falling snow?

I'll save you some time on this one: The answer is No.

But I didn't realize it before that moment. Not really.  Let me be clear here  - I am generally not a "grass is greener" kind of person - only because I have found that, from afar, weeds tend to be greener than grass. It isn't til you are up close and personal with the lovely shade of "greener" that you realize it's non-grass, often covered in fertilizer, or waiting to be plucked and discarded from someone's carefully manicured lawn.  That being said, I do have a habit of romanticizing parenthood.  I've often wondered whether I made a mistake by choosing not to have children.  And then, something like this plays out in front of me and reminds me of the reality: Children are wonderful, beautiful miracles - a good thing since they are exhausting, and expensive, and an unending litany of needs and demands and anxiety-provoking behaviors.  They are, after all, human beings.

Of course, none of this logic hit me at that moment.  I was too caught up in the scene unfolding, the mother's eyes beginning to water, the children exploding in a cacophony of wails, the eyerolls and speedy exits of the other diners whose "tsk tsk" nods further condemned the already defeated mother as she plopped first the boy, then the girl into red, plastic booster seats and shoved them as close to the table as possible.  I didn't think things could possibly get worse, until I watched the little girl pick up her mother's bowl of soup and turn it over on top of the table.

Time stopped.  Noodles and chicken hit the floor, landing in puddles of their own broth.  The green ceramic bowl sat, inverted, in front of the victorious little girl whose Grinch-like grin curled her mouth upward and forced her eyebrows into a sinister arch.  I couldn't move.  I didn't know whether to help or look away or leave.  And shamefully, I admit, I was most curious to see how mom intended to handle a maneuver that would have paralyzed me.

And that was when it happened.  Mom yanked her little girl's arm, looked directly into the child's face, and screamed through the tears leaping two at a time out of her eyes: "SANTA ISN'T COMING THIS YEAR!"

All I could do was join in the collective gasp as everyone in the restaurant (who hadn't already retreated to the quiet parking lot) recoiled and immediately slapped a "Worst Mother of the Year" label on this woman's soul.  How could a mother say such a thing?  How would these children ever enjoy Christmas now?  What about a simple "Time Out" or going to bed without dessert?  Or what about feeding these children lunch at a decent hour and navigating the crowds with two children in tow a little more strategically?

But as I sat in judgment, another thought arrived, replacing the all-too-familiar critical voice of a non-parent:  This woman, this tired, overwhelmed, vilified woman, was Santa.  And she didn't get to go away to a toy shop and hang out with elves and show up once a year to be adored and idolized.  She was Santa every day.  Unless she was busy playing the role of Tooth Fairy.  Or Easter Bunny.  Or Nurse/Taxi/Chef/Coach/Teacher/Housekeeper/All-knowing, Never-sleeping, Rarely-eating ... Mom.

For a moment, I met her eyes and tried to tell her, with the nonverbal glance of a non-mom who would never speak her language, that I understood.  Not her situation, of course.  But her defeat.  And her desire to give up.  She glared at me as if to scream "What the hell do you know about my life?!" and she was, of course, very right.  I knew enough to know that I knew nothing. Not about her life, anyway.

At that moment, a Panera employee showed up with a broom and a pile of napkins - he could have been a knight on a white horse for all the fuss this mother made. She wept and thanked him and apologized over and over while she helped him clean her messy life off the table and floors.  Her children simply watched in silence.

It took me a year to write about this  - probably becase I felt some sense of voyeuristic shame as I watched it happen, refusing to look away, unable to walk away.  But as the holiday season continues to envelop us day by day, I am reminded that the spirit of Christmas is really what we make it.  Some of us play Santa.  Some of us play Scrooge.  Some of us bake and shop and wrap.  Some of us sing and party and travel.  But no matter what our roles and regardless of our beliefs, we all want Santa to show up with gifts.  And it is my hope that whether you are a four year old child in need of a nap, or a forty year old mother in need of a break, or even a kid from 1 to 92, that your Santa Claus knows where to find you.  My guess is, your gifts have already arrived, you just haven't gone looking for them yet.

May your holidays and your new year ahead be filled with happiness and peace ... and perhaps a warm bowl of chicken noodle soup.

Love, Hasky

Some thoughts on The Emotional Eater's Repair Manual, by Julie Simon.

I recently read and reviewed The Emotional Eater's Repair Manual, by Julie Simon.  It hits stands tomorrow (December 1, 2012) and I highly recommend it to anyone who ... eats.  Or doesn't, as the case may be.

You can go here for my full review and a brief description of the book.

Happy reading!
~~ Hasky

Everything I am thankful for ... I learned from my Schnoodle

As Thanksgiving approaches this week, I have been thinking a lot about gratitude.  What it means to me.  Where it shows up in my life.  How I express it.  I realize that I am grateful for so many people and so many things, and that my life is blessed in more ways than I can count.  Though it is often easy to focus on the things I am trying to fix or the relationships I would like to improve, I think Thanksgiving is a perfect time to sit back and simply reflect on what feels good and brings me joy and peace.

By now you are well acquainted with Beckett, my Wonder Schnoodle, so no shock that he rises to the very top of my gratitude list this year (as he will, I imagine, every year from this point on).  But I realized, as I watched him eat his way through his latest chew toy last night, that everything I have learned from him has made my gratitude list this year.  Some of the lessons he has taught me are simple, and some are so complex that I have a hard time wrapping my head around them or putting them into words.  But either way, his presence in my life is a daily reminder of just how wonderful the unexpected can be, and of how blessings can occasionally appear in the most unlikely places - even in a rescue shelter.

So, here is this year's gratitude list with a unique twist.  I like to call it "Everything I am thankful for I learned from my Schnoodle":

1.  Life should be all about fun!  What's wrong with that?  Why should I have to schedule it or time it or ration it?  Why can't I just have it?  After all, FUN is everywhere!  In a stray sock, a new bone, a fluttering leaf, a loud squeaky toy.  All I have to do is walk a few feet and fun will be waiting in some form or other.  How easy and awesome is that?

2. I eat when I'm hungry.  I stop when I'm satisfied.  I see nothing wrong with eating a treat when I have done something well (or two treats when I have done something really well!).  I don't criticize my mom for rewarding me with food - I just do more of what she wants so I can have ... more rewards. (Don't have to be a math major to figure this one out, people.)  Food keeps me alive so I can have ... yup, you guessed it ... more fun.  (See #1 above for more details on this).

3. Breathing is important.  And not that hurried, shallow nonsense that most humans do because they're always so busy talking and yelling and worrying and rushing.  When I breathe, I breathe from my belly, deep, full breaths that fill my lungs and then slowly leave.  It's why I can run and chew and bark and jump for hours upon hours while my poor mom alternates between hyperventilating and barely breathing as she hurries through life looking at that time-telling thing on her wrist.  She looks at that a lot.

4. When I don't feel well, I nap.  When I am tired, I nap.  When I feel like napping, I nap.  Sleep restores me.  I need it.  So I take as much as I can, whenever and wherever I can.  It repairs my muscles and replenishes my energy and makes me a much happier, much more pleasant Schnoodle to be around.  If I loaded my plush bed up with lap tops and remote controls and books like my mom stacks on her bed, I'm pretty sure I'd suffer from chronic insomnia.  And while I'm at it, if the television is on, my brain is on, too.  Sleep.  It's what the body is supposed to do.

5. I love people!  Sometimes I bark at them, sometimes I lunge at them, sometimes I size them up, sometimes I circle them.  Depends on the person.  Depends on how the person treats me.  But I always give people the benefit of the doubt, since I am usually pretty sure they show up because they are interested in getting to know me better.  And most people are kind.  The mean ones eventually go away, and if they don't, well, then I can growl and hide.  But why growl and hide before I know why they're there?  Maybe they just want to play fetch and give me a cookie.  Why would I bark away THAT opportunity?!

6. I don't speak English, so people need to show me they love me.

7. I appreciate people who are willing to sit on the floor so I can look into their eyes and who don't make me struggle and jump to reach their level.

8. Home is where I live and family is who I love and who loves me.  Even though my mom doesn't look like me, she chose me.

9. It's not good going through life following people.  It's good to be a leader, ahead of the crowd. Bold. Confident.  Even loud, when the situation calls for it.  My mom is a bit of a follower at times.  She once told me that "Neutering is just what good puppy parents do, Beckett."  What good parents?  I want to meet these so called "good parents"!  Followers, the whole lot of them.  And look how that ended up for me!

10. Money can't buy everything.  Sure, it bought me lots of medical care and toys and food and daycare, but  sometimes cuddling with my person is the most priceless part of my day.  (Sometimes.  Because I did just get a cool new bone, and it's perfectly ok to love that, too!)

Happy Thanksgiving to all!

Til next time,
~ Hasky and Beckett

And speaking of healthy diets -- don't forget your pets!

Yesterday's post about Chinese food therapy has me thinking about Beckett's diet, too. After some research, I am considering the alternative dog food recipe below. Even though I buy him the healthiest "bagged food" I can find, I still don't like that I either have to choose minimal ingredients (and therefore minimal nutrients) or lots of nutrients with the added ingredients I don't want him ingesting.  And, bonus:  he likes every ingredient in this!

Bella's Alternative Dog Food

YIELD: 20 Servings   PREP: 10 mins COOK: 60 mins READY IN: 1 hr 10 mins

Ingredients

6 Cups Water
3 Cups Brown rice
4 Stalks Celery Chopped
3 Large carrots Chopped
1/4 Cup Olive oil
1 Pack Chicken gizzards Find these in the deli
1 Pack Chicken hearts Find these in the deli
2 Bone marrow bones Find these in the deli
Instructions
In a large pot, bring water to boil.
Add rice and turn down to simmer. Cook for 35 minutes.
Add gizzards, hearts, celery, and carrots into pot. Add a cup of water. Cover and cook for an additional 25 minutes, or until carrots are soft.

I can't imagine handing anything chicken-adjacent, but I also don't think it's healthy to inflict my vegetarianism on my puppy, who needs the protein. Even so, I would LOVE a chicken gizzard/heart alternative (for oh so many reasons!) that would be just as healthy for him, so please share away.

Bon appetit - to you and your canines!

~ Hasky

Some thoughts on Chinese Food Therapy

Halloween is here. Thanksgiving is just around the corner. And then it's on to Christmas and Hanukkah and Kwanzaa.  No matter what or how you celebrate, one thing is universally true: we have entered The Food Months.  And I'm not talking about fresh, healthy, whole foods. I am talking about those familiar sweet, high fat, high carb, low fiber foods that beckon to us until we finally give in.  Over and over and over again.  Until January 1st, when we land on the couch in a pile of bloated exhaustion, vowing to "eat better, do better, be better" ... starting tomorrow.

But what is it about the availability of so many foods that tempts us, then promises to satisfy us, then fails to sustain us until they tempt us once again?   Well, there are as many theories as there are foods, of course, but Chinese food therapy is one that actually makes sense to me.

Chinese food therapy is based on the idea that foods generally fall into two main categories: Yang foods, which heat the body, and Yin foods, that have a chilling effect. When we consume equal and reasonable amounts of Yin and Yang foods, the body achieves its natural state of balance, while an excess or restriction of either category leads to an imbalance of natural "heat" and "cold" in the body that can lead to and/or exacerbate disease.

One of the first signs of hot/cold imbalance often appears in the form of a craving. A sugar craving, for example, is not always about a lack of willpower. In fact, a sugar craving (or worse, a sugar addiction) can be - and most likely is - evidence of yang food overload ... and not enough yin. And why? Because sugar is a Yin food. But guess what? It isn't the only one. So while many of us run to cookies and candy to satisfy our perceived "sugar needs" only to find that we feel bloated, nauseus, and needing more sugar a mere ten minutes later, a serving of healthy Yin foods would likely satisfy our physiological needs without the compounding the sugar toxicity and further tipping the Yin/Yang imbalance.

The Yin/Yang diet is grounded in macrobiotic concepts, as shown in the chart below. Although we need 1/3 yang food to 2/3 yin food, the typical American diet is primarily Yang food-based: meat, potatoes, cheese, and wine, for example with minimal Yin foods.  Not too hard to see where the imbalances are coming from or why we turn to the fastest acting Yin foods when the imbalance becomes unmanageable.

Not only a form of nourishment and weight management, food in Chinese culture is also medicinal. Understanding the Yin/Yang food concept is essential for treating "hot" conditions such as Eczema, where garlic, chilies and potatoes may best be avoided. In the same way, it is believed that an over consumption of too many hot foods like " foods like peanuts or smoked fish could cause a rash, whereas too many grapes or bean sprouts could cause digestive problems.

Does any of this ring true for you?  Are you a heavy Yin food eater?  Or do you consume a diet of mostly Yang foods?  If you're considering a holistic approach to diet and healing, give the above list a try and see what happens.  Whether your cravings or rashes disappear, whether your energy or sleep improves, and use how you feel as your measure of success.

Just some food for thought. And balance.

Til next time,

~ Hasky

Wordless Wednesday Post

Happy Wednesday!  

And welcome to your weekly opportunity to do all the talking.

Use the image below to talk about absolutely anything that comes to mind.  

Until next Wednesday,
~ Hasky

You shouldn't have to work to be happy. Or should you?

If you do nothing else for yourself today, commit to challenging - and getting out of the way of - those self-limiting stories of the past that you allow yourself to repeat and believe in.

Step 1: Figure out how theses stories are serving you even as they restrict you.  Because even when we engage in self-limiting (and in many cases self-destructive) behavior, we generally think there is something "in it" for us.  Something that is protecting us, comforting us, saving us from pain and sadness and illness and failure.

So, how do you identify one of these little (or big) self-saboteurs?  I've found that they tend to have a few common elements:

• They often begin with phrases like
• I always
• I never
• I can't
• I have to/I must
• I should/I shouldn't
• I need
• I won't
• I don't
• We often feel a sense of discomfort even as we are engaging in them, a sort of "I know I shouldn't eat this food" or "I always end up in self-destructive relationships."  Yet we pursue them anyway.  Because there is some thing that we believe we are getting from them.  Think about that. See if you can identify a few of these "faux rewards" and think about other, less self-limiting ways to achieve them (without what you have come to see as "just the price I pay for happiness.")

A few more tips and tricks:

Most of us have people in our lives who are willing - and often eager - to share their opinions about all the "unhealthy/destructive/incorrect" things we do, from our choice in careers and partners to where and how we live.  But think about the people in your life whose opinions you trust, who seem like sound, reasonable friends/family members, and (here's the catch) who don't routinely offer unsolicited opinions or advice, but who are generally willing to share their thoughts when asked (and who don't use the "You always/You never/You can't/You have to" phrases in the process.) Certainly don't act on their advice, no matter how well-intentioned, but listen to it.  Log it.  Refer to it often as you examine some of your choices and behaviors.  Don't have people like this in your life?  What about spiritual leaders, writers, historical figures whose lives appeal to you or whose words resonate deeply?  Read a passage or listen to a speech or interview, and really pay attention to the words and their meaning.  I actually enjoyed Gretchen Reuben's book The Happiness Project as a practical guide to self-evaluation and to a gradual, realistic pursuit of personal happiness.

Finally, sit down in a quiet place (ideally a beautiful room with a burning fireplace and soft music and unlimited time to think and write - but realistically a coffee shop, your car, a bathroom stall, wherever you can steal a few minutes with just yourself) and finish the following Happiness Statement

"I would be happiest if ______________________"

As you answer this, I strongly encourage you not to censor yourself.  You can answer this in one sentence or fifty + pages. Don't consider money, time, current or past obligations and schedules and lifestyle.  Yes, those are all considerations, but for now, to determine your happiness goal, just write.  And think.  And write some more.  In other words, don't limit.  Not just yet.  And remember, "Happiness" is not a goal we reach, but a never-ending journey we walk, twisting and turning, changing direction, speeding up and slowing down, not so much eager to arrive as we are content to remain on the path.

Care to share your sentence here?

Til next time,
~ Hasky

For more about happiness (and to help you write your own happiness statement):

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/michael-s-broder-phd/giving-back_b_1959722.html?utm_hp_ref=happiness

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/10/09/gps-guide-alison-sudol-a-fine-frenzy_n_1948443.html?utm_hp_ref=happiness

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/10/15/happiness-longevity_n_1968158.html?utm_hp_ref=happiness

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/10/08/motivational-videos-deepak-chopra_n_1937164.html?utm_hp_ref=happiness#slide=1597136

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/08/23/marlo-thomas-mondays-with-marlo-where-does-happiness-come-from-from-gretchen-rubin_n_1825814.html?utm_hp_ref=happiness

Happiness and Health and ... Woody Allen?

Woody Allen once said: “You can live to be a hundred if you give up all the things that make you want to live to be a hundred.”   And as with most things Woody Allen, I absolutely agree.  Though Allen is arguably the master of turning pain and suffering into humor, I always find some thought-provoking reality in words.

I often think it is Allen's ability to capitalize on the absurdities of life that provoke laughter, even in his most cynical moments. And although so much of his work is dark and depressing, almost always self-defeating, and usually centered around death or the human instinct we all have to somehow escape from it, his quotes are so memorable and so timeless that the above graphic immediately brought the opening Allen quote to mind because, as usual, it so perfectly illustrates our never-ending belief that we can be happy or we can be healthy, but we can't be both at the same time. What's more, it is the effort we put into achieving a simultaneous kind of health&happiness that lends humor to the graphic and (at least in my opinion) makes pretty much every single Woody Allen line so laugh-out-loud funny.

Clearly the message above is - just eat the apple.  It's nature's medicine, it's not likely to create more problems than it solves (individual digestive system situations notwithstanding), and rather than treating a condition, it works to prevent many illnesses from occurring in the first place, if eaten on a regular basis.  In fact, a good friend of mine told me just last week that she read of a study where "healthy, middle-aged adults [consumed] one apple a day for four weeks [and] lowered blood levels of oxidized LDL - low density protein, the 'bad' cholesterol."  Sure, these same people could have lived apple-free lives, then turned to the latest cholesterol-lowering medications when their levels finally turned their bodies into living, breathing stroke risks. But what if, just this once, Woody Allen's statement wasn't entirely accurate?  What if we could actually live to be a hundred, not only despite indulging in all the things that made us want to live that long, but because of them?  Just some food for thought.



How do you combine pleasure and health to create your own individual "lifestyle"?  Do you consider things like massage, physical fitness, spending time in nature or engaging in artistic pursuits unnecessary indulgences? Are organic foods and regular vacations pure luxury items, or do you consider them part of your overall healthcare/self-care regime?  Feel free to share here!


And while we're at it, when was the last time you ate an apple?


Until next time,
~ Hasky

Thank you Jennifer Livingston

Few topics lend themselves to a "Lighten Up" theme as obviously as weight.  Body weight.  That thing we all measure on a little square box - otherwise known as the bathroom scale.  While some people profess to have not a single care about body image and express no concerns or anxieties about what or how they eat, what they weigh, or how their jeans fit, the reality is, for a lot of us, body weight and body image are heavy issues, and it doesn't help that we live in a world that prioritizes physical appearance over physical (and mental) health and wellness.

When the video of Wisconsin new anchor Jennifer Livingston went viral this week, the collective reaction seemed to be one of praise and gratitude. Yet a few days later, it became clear that there were just as many negative feelings about Ms. Livingston's response as there were positive ones.  After a viewer sent Ms. Livingston an email in which he referred to her as "fat" and "obese" and "a poor role model" -- an assessment he based purely on her physical appearance, with no regard to her profession or her status as a mother, wife, and professional --  Ms. Livingston used her on-air access to the public audience to respond to what she defined (and correctly so) as bullying.  And, more specifically, cyberbullying. On a personal level, I was grateful that she turned a discriminatory and disparaging email into a lesson - for her own young daughters, and for anyone who was watching.  And hopefully listening.  Ms. Livingston herself was the first to admit that though she is overweight, and that on a doctor's chart she would likely even fall into the "obese" category, this unsolicited email did nothing but state the obvious and seemed motivated by nothing more than an intent to harass and harm.  

Yet her response to it all was inspiring.  Rather than stay self-focused, she turned this moment into an opportunity to remind us all that October in the United States is both National Anti-Bullying Awareness Month and National Cyber Security Awareness Month. Finally, it seemed that someone - and a strong, articulate woman, at that  - was standing up not only to bullying, but to weight discrimination which, as someone recently pointed out to me, "is the last acceptable bigotry."  I would even argue that if "Fatism" isn't yet an accepted (though certainly not acceptable!) term, it should be.  Because it exists in ways that oppress and victimize millions of people every year, regardless of the numbers on their bathtoom scales or sewn into their clothing tags.  Fatism is at the root of many forms of violence and abuse, and even employers have admitted to hiring thin people more often than their overweight counterparts. What's more, shows like The Biggest Loser, while they seem well-intentioned, are so poorly titled, as if word play could somehow erase that deeply engrained societal message that fat = loser. And I don't buy arguments about "taking the word back to make it less damaging."  The day Oprah tried to do that with the word "Bitch" I vowed to never watch her show again. In the same way,  I believe that the word "loser" is always negative, no matter how much money you attach to the biggest loser of all at the end of the season.

Yet with all this talk about weight and speaking up and bullying and fighting the bully, I think the most disappointing thing to come out of this story has been the criticism of other media outlets and countless viewers who believe that Ms. Livingston blew this man's email out of proportion, misused her position as a public figure, and/or is simply in denial about the reality of her size.  When I hear comments like this, I often wonder if I am even watching and reading the same versions of things that other people appear to be referencing.  But clearly, we are all reading the same page, we just don't happen to all be on the same page
.

But here's the deal:  This woman is in a position of power.  And yes, she used that position to shed light on a serious issue that is neither about her nor about "fat" per se.  It is as much about the destructive power of words as it is about their empowerment. It is also about the fact that we live in a world often dictated by fears - some of which we can't even identify or define.  We are just fearful, on a global scale, of anything we do no understand or anything that feels personally threatening, either because it is so different from our own lives, or because it is too close for comfort and is forcing us to confront what we judge in ourselves.

But my ultimate question is this:  How many people, when given the chance, use their access and their power to speak about issues - whether or not they, themselves, are directly impacted - and how many of them choose the politically safe, non-boat-ricking alternative of silence and complacency instead?

So my only response to Ms. Livingston, after all this, is a very simple "Thank you."

Just something to think about until next time -

~~ Hasky

Have we officially gone bananas?

Billa supermarkets, which have stores in nine European countries, are now selling peeled bananas on plastic trays covered in plastic wrap.  Thoughts?

Share away!

Until next time,
~~ Hasky

How are you?: Some thoughts on World Suicide Prevention Day

Sometimes I think about how many times in a single day I ask people: "How's it going?" and barely hear their scripted "Fine. You?" response. Probably because I am already answering their question with a "Fine, thanks" of my own. Often, even as the "Fine, thanks" is falling out of my mouth, I am anything but fine. Or grateful for being asked, since I resent feeling compelled to let the question asker off the hook rather than saying "I'm not feeling great today, actually. And here's why ..."

As I was reading daily Facebook updates this morning, I came across a post by Mental Health America, announcing that today is World Suicide Prevention Day. According to the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline (1-800-273-TALK), suicide is, in fact, preventable. Perhaps not in the way we'd like to think, but often in ways we haven't thought about. While there are many risk factors for suicide (not to be confused with warning signs), the National Suicide Prevention Resource Center has also identified several Protective Factors considered to "make it less likely that individuals will consider, attempt, or die by suicide."



Certainly, while no amount of wanting to save someone from suicide can ever be truly, permanently effective without that person's permission/participation/willingness to live, there actually are things we can do to enhance one another's lives, to connect, and to show that we care beyond the superficial exchanges we shout across crowded coffee shops or send through "How r u?" text messages. According to the National Suicide Prevention Resource Center, some of the protective factors for suicide include:

• Effective clinical care for mental, physical and substance use disorder
• Easy access to a variety of clinical interventions
• Restricted access to highly lethal means of suicide
• Strong connections to family and community support
• Support through ongoing medical and mental health care relationships
• Skills in problem solving, conflict resolution and handling problems in a non-violent way
• Cultural and religious beliefs that discourage suicide and support self-preservation

As I read through the above list, the factor that jumps out at me is the one right in the middle: "Strong connections to family and community support." I can actually implement that one! With others, and for myself. What's more, it seems to me that those strong connections are what make the other factors more likely to happen at all, and more likely to be successful if and when they do. Have you ever tried to navigate the mental health or substance abuse treatment worlds alone? Ever tried to access any clinical interventions, much less a variety of them, while in need of the services they may provide? Discouraging, no? What about problem solving and conflict resolution? Ever try to accomplish either of those alone? Ever try to question faith-based messaging in a vacuum, with no one to guide or counter or support those messages?

Strong connections to family and community support. I knew it was important. And it is a skill and a process I struggle with myself. Big time. Because I have bought into the quick conversations and the indifferent exchanges that allow me to pretend I am engaging in something meaningful. And because like so many, I don't want to unload my burdensome self on someone, even when asked. I don't know what it would be like to admit to a friend or a colleague or family member: "I'm not feeling that great today, and I could really use some support."  Because I have never really tried.

Like many others, I have been conditioned to skim the surface of the "How's it going?" conversation as a matter of social convention. On some level, we have convinced ourselves that others don't really expect to hear how we are. Even worse, at least in my opinion, is the realization that, generally, I don't even attempt to find out how others are doing, either. Not really. Whether because of time constraints or comfort levels or varying degrees of intimacy with the people to whom we pose this universal question, we continue to do this dance with one another by asking the seemingly "required" questions and then praying that the recipient doesn't botch his/her lines and throw us a curve ball - like, perhaps, the truth. Or an answer that extends beyond two words and a noncommittal, sorta-smile.

But the truth is this: Prevention, even suicide prevention, is a process. And often, when it comes to prevention, we never realize the magnitude of our impact because ... well, we have prevented the worst case scenario. Or, more specifically, we have created an undesirable environment for the risk factors to attain any kind of power or take hold. So we aren't aware of what could have happened, under different circumstances, even though such an awareness could make us more grateful for each moment we do have, for each connection we make, for each truth we feel able to give and receive.

Even though suicide prevention doesn't feel like a light topic, I think it is a necessary and important one for us all to be thinking and talking about. And perhaps a wonderful reminder to ask just one person today: "How are you?" And then wait for the real answer, even if it isn't "Fine. You?" and be ready - and willing - to listen to the truth.  To simply connect.

Until next time -

~~ Hasky

Putting yourself on the calendar

In her book Real Happiness, Sharon Salzberg tells a fantastic story to illusrate the concept of "globalizing," that thing we all do from time to time (some of us more frequently and more intensely than others) where we tell ourselves (and anyone else who will listen) dramatic stories about how irreparably doomed and out-of-control our lives are.  Salzberg writes:

"Mindfulness helps us get better at seeing the difference between what's happening and the stories we tell ourselves about what's happening, stories that get in the way of direct experience.  Often such stories treat a fleeting state of mind as if it were our entire and permanent self.  One of my favorite examples of this kind of globalizing came from a student who'd had an intensely stressful day.  When she went to the gym later and was changing in the locker room, she tore a hole in her pantyhose.  Frustrated, she said to a stranger standing nearby, "I need a new life!"

"No you don't," the other woman replied.  "You need a new pair of pantyhose."

I love this story, because while the concept of globalizing is a hard one for me to grasp at times - probably because I am usually indulging in it myself - examples like this make me laugh as I recall similar experiences where I blew a seemingly minor event or occurrence into an all out catastrophe. 

Stuck in traffic?  I need to move!  I can't drive in this town anymore.

Conflict at work?  I have to quit.

Argument with a friend?  I am all alone in this world.  I have no one!

Just look at that.  And the exclamation points aren't there for effect, either. They are there in an attempt to accurately reflect the level of urgency and emotional distress that usually accompany these moments - moments I believe to be true while I am living in them.

Through meditation, I am learning a little something about mindfulness, which is really not as complicated as it sounds, even though it is difficult to achieve, I think.  Because mindfulness is, by its very nature, a process. And I, in my perpetual rush-and-hurry-and-multitask-my-life-away state, often skip over as many steps as possible to get to the end result of things.  After all, who has time to stop and be mindful?

Well, we all do.  If we make time.

I am not saying that responsibilities and demands and schedules aren't real, constant stressors in our lives.  But what better reason do we need to write ourselves into our own day planner once in awhile?  I use this as my example because that is precisely what I have started doing.  Since I store all my appointments and meetings and various schedules in my cellphone calendar, every few days I come across a half hour appointment - sometimes an hour, if I am feeling really self-loving. Or in desperate need of grounding and focus - labelled, simply "HH."  Not a very cleverly-veiled code or anything, it serves as a gentle but necessary reminder that I need to take some time for myself.  Time that doesn't include work or family or working out or writing or dealing with my dog or ... and this is the biggie ... stressing myself out.  As in -- globalizing the hell out of minor occurrences that I so often turn into catastrophes.

So I meditate. And I have started doing light yoga again.  I go for walks. Sometimes short ones. Sometimes with my dog and sometimes alone.  I have even started playing my piano again.  Sometimes I even put on a half-hour comedy that I love (think Roseanne or The Office. And I make no apologies for how wonderfully funny I find the characters and the situations in both of these shows.)  In essence, I lighten up.  But only if I schedule it.  Because not only do I never miss an appointment, I always arrive everywhere early. Which is really nice when it buys me ten extra minutes with myself . To laugh. Or breathe more deeply.  To look at a minor blip in my day and realize it isn't actually the end of the world.  Or even of my world. It is a blip.  And I need not react to it at all.  I can simply let it be and move on.  Or, I can go out and buy a new pair of pantyhose and give my life a break altogether.

Does this concept of "globalizing" sound familiar?  Do you ever do it to yourself?  If so, do you do it often, or only under certain circumstances and around certain people?  And how do you lighten up?  Are you more preventive, with a regularly scheduled practice, or are you more likely to intervene after crisis hits and the stakes seem higher? (Or at least your blood pressure seems higher?)

I highly recommend Real Happiness if you haven't read it - and I recommend reading it again if you have already read it once.  In fact, what a great way to spend some scheduled time with yourself - reading a chapter, a page, a paragraph.  Whatever you can manage.  After all, you are the best use of your own time.

Until next time -
~~Hasky

Pleasure Proxy

Today is "New Bone Day" at casa de Haskins. And as I sit here trying to write while listening to Beckett indulge in his fresh out-of-the-bag rawhide, I am wondering where I can find a human rawhide equivalent.  Something that makes me as happy and content and excited to be alive as Beckett's weekly treat does for him.  I am also wondering whether I selfishly give Beckett these little moments of enjoyment because most of my own happiness is vicariously derived. Usually, I find contentment in watching others have fun, and I enjoy the osmotic excitement I feel when my "New Bone Day!" announcement brings Beckett running, no matter where he is or what important job he is doing (or mess he is making) elsewhere in the house. Certainly, I want Beckett to be happy for his own sake, and I do believe that his display of lip licking and tail wagging whenever I hold out his new treat prove just how pure and uncomplicated his happiness actually is.  In Beckett's world, "I want something + I get something = I am happy."

But I also admit that in addition to making Beckett happy because I love him, I rather enjoy the simplicity of giving him something that seems to create such a positive reaction.  Because essentially, Beckett has become my pleasure proxy.

Now, I know plenty of people who do things for others at least in part because it fills the "do-er" with a sense of meaning. There is nothing wrong - and everything right - with enjoying a little of the positive energy we share with the world.  So I don't think I am at all unique in my emotional connection (Some might say dependence.  Some might say co-dependence.) to my dog.  After all, he is the being with whom I share my life.  He is where I have invested my time and my money and my energy since I brought him home almost a year ago, when he was nothing more than a seven-pound runt filled with parasites and worms and more medical problems than I could have imagined. While many people's children and partners occupy this central space in their lives, I have chosen to place my beautiful little Schnoodle there instead, so it makes sense that I am interested in what he likes, concerned about what upsets him, amused by his quirks and habits, and completely tuned into his abrupt shifts in mood or behavior.  But the interesting element to all this is that as time goes by, I am realizing that more often than not, Beckett's antics and his temperament are actually reactions to me.  So as convoluted as it sounds, as I key into what is going on with him, I am really connecting with something in myself.  This became painfully clear recently when, as Beckett and I were playing fetch, he grabbed his toy from my hand and accidentally bit into my finger, breaking skin and drawing a pretty significant amount of blood.  More shocked than hurt, I yelled without thinking: "OUCH!  DAMN IT Beckett!" which sent him running to his crate with his tail between his legs and his head down.  Fortunately, it took only seconds to reassure him, as I sat petting and hugging him, that I was okay, that I wasn't angry, and that he was not a bad boy. But my ability to scare and worry him without even thinking about the power that holds amazed me.  What's more, Beckett's refusal to leave my side for the rest of the night was both a sweet gesture and a sad reminder that I do influence him more than I ever realized. And more than I ever thought possible.

So now, even as I marvel at the pleasure I take in watching Beckett work his way through this rawhide bone, convinced that his excitement makes me as happy as watching other people eat satisfies my appetite, or seeing parents and their children at the park warms that small part of me that always longed for a family of my own, I wonder if perhaps Beckett's pure, uncomplicated happiness is actually a response to my "New Bone Day" excitement.  Maybe it is all in how we present ourselves to those who care most about us - When we hurt, they feel concerned. When we are happy, they feel a sense of joy on our behalf.  And when we are angry - well, they may run and hide at first, but generally, they care enough to stick by us until we stop bleeding and can honestly say that we are going to be alright.

I guess maybe that is what love is all about.  And I guess that the pleasure proxy goes both ways, regardless of whom we choose to share our lives with.  I am much more aware of the impact my volume and tone of voice have on Beckett now, and he seems to like the gentle, positive, upbeat tones best - so that is where I try to stay.  After all, it's hard to do anything but smile while you're announcing "New Bone Day!" to a puppy who has learned - from you - that this is what happiness feels like.

I would love to know what your pet(s) have taught you - about yourself, about life in general.  What are some of the ways you connect with your pet(s)?  What instincts do they have about you and vice versa?  Share here!

Until next time,
~~ Hasky

Where Happiness Lives

 "Happiness is born from letting go of what is unnecessary."  

(I attribute the above quote to Sharon Salzberg because I first read it in one of her teachings on meditation and, to date, I have found no other source.)

When I read Salzberg's statement and really think about its meaning, the question that arises for me is this:  What does "necessary" mean?  

If you're at all like me, you often say (and think) that you "need" something, when in fact you may just really want it.  When this was pointed out to me several years ago during a conversation about food cravings, I remember thinking that of course I wasn't really under the impression that I needed chocolate, even when I insisted that my body literally required a daily hit of the sweet stuff in order to survive.  As usual, my overly dramatic "I need chocolate" (most likely uttered while the back of my hand was pressed against my brow, swoon-style) was just more of my own special brand of point-illustrating hyperbole, not unlike my "I would die without my morning coffee" assertions and my "I can't handle Mondays" laments. No one ever actually died without caffeine (that I know of, though I am always interested in credible information to the contrary) and Mondays are neither handled nor un-handled. They simply are.  So, although untrue in a literal sense, these types of statements are powerful beliefs I often hold true. And the power I give these non-truths, often without even realizing how deeply I subscribe to them, is what allows me to hold myself captive at times.

That said, what is true, in my opinion, is the old saying - or at least my paraphrase of one variation on the old saying  - that "How you speak determines how you feel and how you feel determines how you act." This is probably why, both anecdotally and according to various credible research studies, the most successful, longest lasting changes come about when we simultaneously address all components of our thinking, feeling, acting selves.  Seems easy, no?  After all, with the exception of a few illnesses that result in loss of ability to control one's behavior, we are in charge - completely in charge - of whether and how we act.   Think about the last time you tried to "give up" something you didn't need but really wanted.  Was it a food?  A material possession?  A relationship or even a particular way of thinking about something/someone?  If all you did was tell yourself "No," each time you reached for that chocolate or slid that Mastercard out of your wallet for yet another impulse purchase, how hard was it to follow through?  Sure, you may have changed the behavior and proven to yourself that a Hershey bar is not actually essential to survival, but where did that take you for the rest of the day? Fixated on how much you still wanted the candy?  Or, if it was a thought process you were working on, did your choice to not lash out at someone eat away at you anyway, so that you felt angry and resentful toward that person in ways that drained your energy and focused all your attention on someone else, rather than on comforting and simply being with yourself?

I am interested in the suggestion I have often heard that it is never really "the thing" that we want, but the happiness we believe it will deliver to us.  Happiness, that invisible, undefinable, sometimes unidentifiable concept that always seems "right over there," just out of reach, though available to everyone else - especially the everyone else's we believe to have nicer homes, happier relationships, better behaved children, more advanced degrees, higher paying jobs, more attractive bodies, and greater health. This makes sense to me on a level I can't necessarily explain, but that seems logical. After all, what about a house - a pile of wood and nails and glass and carpet  - can actually make us "happy"?  Isn't it more about the concept of home, the longing for a place to feel safe and grounded and away from "the world" that fills us with what we think we can achieve through bankrupting mortgages and stuffy, upscale neighborhoods?  Yet because "The American Dream" tends to be more of a fantasy - or even a fiction - than an achievable reality, we stress ourselves out and go into debt and give up precious time with loved ones and the things we really enjoy as we struggle to make more money. On the other hand, sometimes we simply check out of life altogether in the absence of feeling able to achieve what seems unachievable.

I am definitely not suggesting that a complete lack of these things paves the road to happiness.  Poverty and isolation and family dysfunction are often so wrapped up in the depression and anxiety that spirals around us that it is often impossible to tell whether the crises cause the self-defeating feelings or vice versa.  What I am saying, however, is that I have come to believe that happiness continues to evade us because we don't even know how we define it.  We don't know where it lives or what it wants or what it even looks like, but we are pretty sure it is tangible, and we often believe - I think - that there is not enough to go around.  Our rush to beat everyone else to the happiness finish line requires constant dedication on our parts to get all this stuff as quickly (and sometimes as ruthlessly) as possible. 

Contrary to The American Dream story we have been told for decades, happiness is not a right - as much as I wish it were.  Even so, happiness is not an impossibility, either.  In fact, I think we have over-complicated happiness to the extent that we don't believe it can really be as simple as wanting it and finding it and experiencing it.  And that is why we can't yet believe that in letting go of what we do not need we can actually hold onto what we desire. 

This week I am literally letting go of things as I move from one apartment to another.  My new home has less space, less room for "stuff" I have acquired over the years, stuff I don't need, some stuff I don't even want and can't remember where or why I ended up owning it.  But it is a learning process, going through things and thinking about who I really am by looking at what I do and do not need, then thinking about what I do and do not want.  I encourage you to examine the needs and wants in your own life and see what you come up with. Though letting go of our attachments can be a hard and sometimes painful experince, it can be incredibly liberating, too.  And if you are willing and brave enough to try this, even starting with one little "junk drawer" in one room of your house, I bet, if nothing else, you will suddenly find a lot more uncluttered space in your life.  And in that space, where once there were things, there will finally be more room for you.

Happy "letting go" until next time,
~~ Hasky

A week - and a blog post - full of challenges

The events of the past week have encouraged me (in a loud, coercive kind of way) to start meditating again.   For a while, my life consisted of a regular daily meditation practice that combined classes and workshops several days a week with meditating at home by myself in my quiet apartment on non-class days.  I found both experiences helpful in my quest for the relaxation and focus I hoped to achieve, as meditating with others is a very symbiotic experience of shared space/shared breath/shared energy, while meditating alone offers an opportunity to tap into one's own presence in a profound and necessary way.  Given the many benefits of meditation, I have no logical explanation as to why I simply stopped one day, though I do have an explanation: I felt better.  Not unlike a medical condition, that sense of "all better" that often kicks in when the treatment is doing its work often lends a feeling of faux recovery, as if anxiety and feelings of imbalance are curable and the desire for a more focused, more holistically healthy life has a definitive endpoint. 

But here's the thing: There is no "Wellness Finish Line."  Or, if Maslow is more your thing, no "Self-Actualization Finish Line."  All those sayings about life being a marathon and not a sprint, and about living through the journey and not living for the end result aren't only great tee-shirt and bumper sticker slogans - they happen to be true.  Overused, but true. The road to "Optimum" is endless, and in our goal-driven, time-sensitive, do-it-yourself world of 24/7 non-stopedness, many of us become anxious at the mere thought of any pursuit that doesn't have a measurable outcome or a final destination.  Certainly things would be different if life were like a Thanksgiving turkey and came equipped with one of those little white poppers to let us know when we had reached our full potential. But would things necessarily be better that way?  Is it possible that what keeps us reaching higher is the lack of restriction that a finish line presents?  I wonder how many marathon runners could keep running (and/or would keep running) if they were aiming for something a lot further away than that ribbon waiting just past the 26th mile.

So here is my first challenge:  I want you to use my slightly "out there" Thanksgiving turkey popper example above to learn something about yourself (and others).Aside: this is probably most naturallly done at Thanksgiving, while the turkey is cooking, but get creative and do it now if you can.  First ask yourself this question, and then ask others:  When that popper finally pops, do you say (either out loud or to yourself) the turkey is "done" or do you say the turkey is "ready"?  (Or do you use some other term/phrase for what that popped popper signifies?)

I only pose the question and point out the two answers I typically hear because I think "done" indicates that some extrinsic element has determined a thing to be over.  Ended. Finished.  "The turkey is "done" mentality signifies that the cooking of the turkey was the main event, and that the Thanksgiving dinner, the moment we believe we long for all year (those of us who love Thanksgiving anyway), is actually the denoument.  How depressing! 

Yet for those who say the turkey is "ready," the fun has just begun.  The dinner is the beginning of something, and the turkey (and all it signifies and symbolizes)  still holds a promise, rather than a past.  I don't know what all this means in the larger macrocosm, certainly, but I do find it an interesting experiment, and one that crept into my consciousness during a Thanksgiving dinner a few years ago, when I realized that the people in my life tend to be "The turkey is done" people, while I am a "Turkey is ready," despite the fact that I am a vegan.  As is probably clear by now, this is not really about turkey.



I think this challenge and this examinantion of how we think and speak and act is all significant as I  approach meditation and begin again.  I have decided to start with the basics by turning to the book I used last year - Real Happiness, by Sharon Salzberg.  In her book, Salzberg - a meditation teacher for decades and an amazing woman in general - breaks meditation down into its most basic components, dispelling meditation myths (i.e. "Meditation is too hard for me" and "I'm not the type of person who meditates") and guiding practitioners through various types of meditation from breathing exercises to hearing and walking meditations and beyond.  More than anything, Salzberg encourages meditators from the novice to the experienced to make meditation part of everyday life by scheduling time and arranging a place and giving ourselves whatever we have - an hour, fifteen minutes, a few deep breaths - to connect with ourselves and simply settle in.  I encourage you to go to Salzberg's site for more information and helpful resources: http://www.sharonsalzberg.com/

I think, if nothing else, that meditation is simply a way not to zone out, but to look inward without judgement, without that hurried, chaotic numbness that often pushes us through each day from one task to the next, so that for at least a few breaths, we are grounded firmly in the moment - which is a place we rarely give ourselves permission to stay for long, if we are even able to find our way there at all.  When we sit and breathe, we are not stopping anything.  Or, to put it in turkey terms, we are not done, we are ready.  We are not looking back, we are looking forward.  We are beginning something and we are hopeful even though we can't possibly know or predict what the outcome will be. Even though we are sitting still and quiet, we are moving forward.

I am going to be posting parts of Salzberg's 28-day meditation challenge here over the next few weeks - pieces I find helpful as well as things I find difficult. The goal for the first week of this challenge is to meditate for at least twenty minutes, three times during the week.  I find it helpful to have Salzberg's voice to guide me through these sessions on her audiobook version of Real Happiness, and though I encourage you to go directly to the master herself, you can also find free meditation podcasts online to help you, too.

I hope you will join me and post feedback here when you can.  I am interested to know both the outome of my little turkey popper experiement, and more interested in what you think of meditation and whether you think you will try this 28-day challenge - or any pieces of it that appeal to you.  "Progress, not perfection,"  they say.  Another great tee-shirt/bumper sticker slogan, and a perfect way to meet yourself in meditation one breath at a time.

Happy breathing until next time,
~~ Hasky

Sometimes a panic attack is just a panic attack ... I hope.

Today started like most of my days: Up at 4am, quick potty walk for Beckett, off fo the gym til 6:30am, back home, make lunch, feed Beckett, play with Beckett, walk Beckett, iron and laundry and dishes and commute to work by 9:15am.  I have always been a morning person.  And I love my routines. I never talk about the mental illness elephant in the room on this one - the fact is, I believe I need my routines. I cling to them as if Life were a car and my daily routine was the steering wheel not only guiding me from Point A to Point B, but guiding me there comfortably and predictably and with what I tell myself is absolute safety and security. Because, after all, if I can control my morning, I can control my world.  And nothing bad will happen.

The fact that this morning went as usual, right to the minute, made my 1:00 pm panic attack - the worst, most embarassing, most frightening one I have ever had - all the more surprising.  The truth is this:  I have anxiety disorder.  And PTSD.  The two are what I call 'linked but distinct" and I have spent a lot of time trying to live with them, knowing that kicking them to the curb isn't an option, but challenging them and recognizing them for what they are somehow disempowers them a bit.  But every now and then, I do get that abdominal twinge that tells me to leave whatever place I am in and go somewhere else.  Immediately.  And of course, I do just that, now that I have learned to put myself first in these situations, in the same way I would do whatever necessary to get insulin if I were diabetic.  In the same way I will go to any lengths to find my inhaler when I feel an asthma attack looming.  Anxiety is a medical condition, and it is one I have hidden for many years, occassionally revealing a funny little quirk about myself that makes people laugh (my obsessive WebMd googling, for example) or writing off a serious symptom as a minor character flaw (anorexia, anyone?).  I have recently started talking more about my struggles with eating, because those are visibly apparent, and I would  rather be upfont about what is really going on than to have people speculate that I have a more serious illness or, heaven forbid, take pleasure in misusing my body out of some kind of "I need to fit into a size zero" vanity situation.  But what is it about the mental piece of mental illness that scares us and embarasses us and silences us?

I am certainly not suggesting that everyone with any kind of mental health issue disclose the details - that is a personal decision and one with many considerations and a lot of self-searching involved.  But for me, there is some driving force urging me to simply, casually say "Yup, I struggle with this.  And it is what it is."  Yes, the blogosphere lends a level of comfort to this process that, say, a cup of coffee with a friend may not, though I am working my way up to that one, too. And I know this seems a strange topic for a blog that promises to look at the lighter side of life, but every now and then, it's ok to take a break. Or break a rule. Life is heavy. At the same time, I think honesty can lighten one's load sometimes - anxiety and all its associated symptoms from addiction to phobias to panic attacks to eventual physical illness is heavy.  Too heavy.  And it is an unnecessary weight added to the already painful and difficult experience of living in a world where fear and stress and constant worry are so exhausting that sometimes, many times, the promise of sleep each night is a reward for surviving another day.

So this afternoon, when I felt a strange spasm happening in my throat, when I felt that heavy feeling in my chest, when my inhaler and my deep breathing and my positive self-talk did nothing to help as my symptoms grew and seemed to take on a life of their own, I panicked about my panic - what I now believe was panic anyway - and I fled.  I grabbed my bag and staggered down the hall, down the elevator, and into the street in front of my office building.  I gasped and I heaved and I stuggled to swallow while my hands and feet grew numb and cold and my eyes went blurry.  I fell onto a bus stop bench and called an ambulance, promising myself this was panic and, as is a common panic symptom, believing I was dying.  Because nothing had happened at work.  Nothing had happened in my personal life.  Nothing had changed or triggered or set off the symptoms that I still believe will "work with me" if I keep them at bay.  Or keep them happy.  Surely, I reasoned, I was dying.

When the ambulance arrived, at the busiest intersection in Albany at the busiest time of day - think politicians, food vendors, a couple of kiddie field trips in the nearby park - I was relieved at first.   I sat on the bench while they strapped an oxygen mask to my face and a blood pressure cuff to my arm.  I let go of my body image issues while EMTs lifted my shirt and stuck electrodes to my stomach to read my heart rhythms.  I am amazed, at moments like this, that for all its awful qualities, panic is quite the antidote to pride and the quickest route to humility.  Still struggling to breathe, I climbed onto the stretcher and rode across the intersection, was stuffed into an ambulance, and
cried all the way to Albany Med while a kind EMT named Mark (Or Mike?  Matt?) told me that everything seemed to be looking good and that I was going to be ok.  "Don't worry," he assured me.  If he only knew.

At that point, my tears were coming from two places, really:  fear of what I worried was happening to me, and shame over what I suspected was actually happening to me.  Had I really just humiliated myself on the intersection of Swan and State streets, used necessary lifesaving resources that someone in an actual health crisis may have needed?  Had I walked out of my office with nothing more than an afterthought phone call ... all for this?  This illness I refuse to medicate and, until today, refused to even acknowledge to anyone other than my few closest friends and my therapist?

Yes, I had.

When I arrived at Albany Med, I was still struggling to breathe but feeling more and more like this was going to go the same way similar experiences had gone. Though worse and different than the others, it didn't seem to be a stroke ot a heart attack or some kind of major organ failure - since my heart rate and blood pressure were well within normal limits and my oxygen level was 100%.  (See, my ability to know all this proves that WebMd googling is useful on occassion.)  Still, I let the ambulance crew wheel me down the hall and take more vitals, check me in, and ask me some basic questions.  And then, just as I was in the middle of telling someone what health insurance I had, I watched the man on the stretcher in front of my shove the orderly standing over him.  "Chrissy!" the man started screaming, as he jumped off the stretcher and faced the commotion that was starting - unbeknownst to me - to erupt behind me.

And then I heard Chrissy.  She was a drooling, large black woman in a hospital gown, and she was angry.  I am pretty sure she was coming down from something, and as she screamed and threatened to kill people, to kill herself, to blow up the hospital, everyone came running. They flew past me - security guards, doctors, nurses, interns, medical students, I think even a janitor or two - jostling my bed in the process. Chrissy's boyfriend was headed toward her by now, begging the staff not to hurt her, while Chrissy continued to scream and wail and thrash and rip her hospital gown off her body.  While five staff grabbed and restrained the man, it took about ten to take Chrissy to the floor and stick a huge needle in her thigh while her boyfriend wailed and pleaded "Please don't hurt her!  She's mine!  She's mine!"  Turns out, he had tried to kill both Chrissy and himself this morning, and while his arms were laced with needle marks and razor slashes, Chrissy looked like she had been beaten and left for dead.  A few nurses asked me if I was ok, and all I could do was nod.  "I do this for a living," was all I could mumble.  And I used to.  Before I came to Albany for the safe desk job I have regretted since the day I took it.  I have seen domestic violence up close before, but never while I was stuck on a hospital bed, trapped in a locked down ER with no weapon or pepper spray to protect myself and no way to even get to my sandals, which I had kicked off so I wouldn't dirty the hospital's sheet.

It seemed to take forever to sedate both Chrissy and her boyfriend enough to get them to separate "pods," each guarded by armed security.  I was eventually wheeled back to my original place in the hall where I could listen to Chrissy "come to" every few minutes, at which point someone in charge at the desk behind me would order "5 more for Room B13."  And then all was quiet again.

As I lay there thinking about why I was here - I got angry.  At myself.  These two people were so damaged, so broken, and so beyond help, that the fact that I was there at all seeking treatment I likely didn't even need pissed me off.  I could understand the hospital staff's eye rolls and comments of "I'm so sick of this crap" and "Just send em' home and let em' duke this out."  I know I couldn't handle what they were trying to handle at that moment - in fact, I couldn't even handle a fraction of that,  one of the sad realities that sent me running for Albany seven years ago.  At the same time, I was sad.  I cried as I thought about where these two people were going to end up.  How they had ended up here.  What a good day versus a bad day was to them.  And what a luxury illness "anxiety" and "panic" must be to someone suffering the way they were obviously and painfully suffering.  I wished I could give them something.  I didn't know whether to watch and listen or pretend I was trying to give them something like privacy.

I contemplated walking out of the ER, more out of fear than guilt at that point.  But at that moment, the resident physician came over and apologized for "the drama" and said he would be with me shortly.  "No worries," I mumbled. I was the one who felt guilty.  I was the one who wanted to apologize.  But I couldn't make myself.

As I lay there for a few more minutes, realizing Chrissy must have been sedated again, I listened to a doctor talk to the woman on the stretcher in front of me - the stretcher Chrissy's boyfriend had been on before he was carted off to whatever isolation room would hold him.  Apparently, this woman in front of me had overdosed on something.  And the doctor was trying to figure out what she needed.

"Every time you do this, you come straight here," he told her.  "And I'm not sure what it is you want us to do for you."

"Well I don't know either," she whispered.

"Are you looking for help with your physical care or your mental health?" He was blunt.  Direct.

"Well, I don't know," she echoed herself.

"Are you coming here because you are looking for someone to talk to?" the doctor went on, cold but seemingly trying to identify what it was this woman was after.

"I guess I am," she finally admitted.  "My life is too hard.  And I need something.  I need someone.  I'm scared.  And as soon as I leave here and go home, everything feels bad again.  I don't want to die, I just want someone to know how much I want to die."

I didn't realize I was crying until a nurse stopped by and asked me if I was ok.  I told her I was fine, but I hurt.  I hurt for these people, these people in so much pain that they were never going to find the right band aid or antibiotic or xray to stop the bleeding or mend the break.  And I was one of them.  Not homicidal or suicidal or delusional or coming off a really rough high, but I was one of them nonetheless.  One of the misunderstood who believed that their pain was so real that others could see it, and help it, and make it stop.

As soon as the nurse walked away, I told myself that I was fine and I got up and walked out the front door.  I didn't stick around for the blood work and the xrays that would tell everyone what I pretty much already knew - I have anxiety disorder.  And a hospital ER was not the place I needed to be.  I calld a cab, got a ride to my car, and drove home to spend some time with Beckett.  My throat still feels odd, and my body still feels shaky, but all I can do is sit and wonder where Chrissy is right now.  Or where her boyfriend ended up.  Or whether the nameless woman whose face I couldn't see has overdosed again already.  Who are they and what will happen to them?  And who will care?

Well, even though I don't know them, even though I can't ever know what happens to them, I care.  I hope they find something like peace.  And compassion.  I refuse to believe that pain and illness and self-inflicted death is their fate.  It is certainly their option, but I hope - and I may even pray a little - that they find some reason to eventually get up and walk out of that hospital door because they can.  Because they have the ability to drive themselves home and get through another day and to know that they are worth that much.

Til next time
~~ Hasky