Archive for the ‘Gratitude’ Tag
I’ve been engaging lately in what I once thought was the right way to do things – reading and researching to understand what those words “liberal” and “conservative” mean. I confess I’m running into trouble. I just can’t understand “conservative.” All I know is it’s not my father’s conservative, even mine up to and including Eisenhower. I do know, though, what I mean by “liberal.” This is a partial list
- Violence breeds hatred.
- Hatred breeds destruction for the hater as well as the hated.
- Vengeance is violence in any form, physical or other, even ridiculing, insulting, or demeaning.
- Peaceful problem problem-solving leads to fulness of growth for everyone.
- Every individual is of value, deserving of care, appreciation, and encouragement.
- People come in many genders, abilities, and color.
- Freedom makes creativity possible by allowing every individual to grow and prosper.
- Peace makes freedom possible, and vice versa.
- Appreciation, gratitude, and forgiveness clear the path to peace.
- Earth is a gift to be cared for with appreciation.
- Children are a gift deserving birth into a loving, caring society.
- Agape love signifies mental health.
- Good mental health depends on all the bullets above.
- History ignored opens the way to history re-enacted.
This is it for starters. Now I ask for two things,
- Add to my list
- Provide me with a similar list of the current meaning of “conservative.”
Thanks
I am a Democrat and I really want to help, but I can’t afford to waste my money on ineffective commercials and interviews. For some reason that I do understand, (but don’t like), no one wants to hear my psychologist’s eye view. But here goes anyway
Reason Number One: People want to see strength in their leaders, and we in the US live in a society that equates strength with masculinity. So electing a masculine person to office is a no-brainer. And Masculinity, for fairly obvious reasons, is equated with maleness. Therefore females still don’t qualify in our culture. Besides we have a long history of thinking in terms of opposites, especially opposite sexes. So, the assumption goes, if men are strong, then by definition women are weak. So women are out because they are seen as the “opposite” sex, i.e. weak as opposed to strong. Moreover, our frontier culture tends to think of strength in terms of physical ability so the support of violence in language and actuality feels good. And the elderly are out because, quite literally, aging does reduce physical strength.
To tell the truth, I think it would be fun to sit with some Ad men and turn some of that information around to appeal to folks who want to see good stuff get done.
Reason Number Two: There is another strong side to the US culture. We see it in the daily stories of people rushing to the aid of their neighbors. Physical strength is good, but so is the strength of shared community, kindness, gratitude, forgiveness, and peace. I waited during the whole campaign to see stories of real people suffering or enjoying victories. Instead I got numbers and generalizations. I’m not a political scientist or politician, but I do know about jargon and I often find it boring. In this election the opposition did a great job of using plain, ordinary language and applying it to things folks care about in their personal lives. But what I saw in Democratic commercials were jargoned intellectual arguments – boring (and effeminate?). How about stories of effects on real people, like women suffering the agony of pregnancy denied the aid that health workers are not allowed to give, or mothers trying to find an apartment they can afford with the two jobs they hold down while raising three kids, or the joy in a child’s eyes when being recognized for something they did well, or the grief in losing one’s home to flood or fire. It’s an old rule in creative writing, “Show, don’t tell.” Make me see what it looks like when people in poverty suffer expensive illness because they’ve been denied regular preventive care. Tell me the stories of the people and families seeking shelter on our borders. Give me a reason to see the very real strength in seeing the positive that can be done. Don’t just leave me with the opposition’s lies told with confidence – no ifs, ands, or buts — denigrating other people. Most folks don’t really get excited by explanation of the process of scientific method or polling procedures. Show me.
Oh my gosh. Do I really dare publish this? I guess so … I can’t just sit around and watch tragedies happen.
I consulted with a few friends about the appropriateness of publishing my Holiday letter, and we all agreed — I’m old enough to get away with it. I don’t have to worry about my resume, and I think my reputation is sufficiently solid. I know this contains no pornography or even indecent language. So I should be good to go. Enjoy! Or not, as the spirit moves you.
MONA’S LETTER
As I write this it’s 3:55 p.m. here at The Waters of Excelsior in Minnesota and night is about to fall. Have you noticed that, at this time of year, it really does fall? In a few minutes I’ll turn on my Christmas lights ready to greet me when I get back from walking the halls for a half hour. (I have to keep my phone happy by completing its red circle. I don’t know how my phone knows what I need to do, but it says I should, so I will.) Anyway, to get to the point. I’m beginning to receive Holiday greetings from kind and timely friends, so I guess it’s time for me to roll my own news off the presses. And yes, I do have a bit of news.
Activities: I’ve been involved in the establishment of a Resident Council here. It seems that our first order of business has been to examine and encourage improvement in the way newcomers are welcomed. I think you know I’m an oldster here, in more ways than one, having moved in at the very beginning — December, 2018. By now we’re basically fully occupied with a waiting list of those who want to join us. I continue to find it a wonderful way to live, like being on a perpetual cruise without the potential for rough waters. I also enjoy the weekly meeting of our poetry/writer’s group here, expected to produce something to share every Friday. Most Thursdays I’m also in attendance at the Bible Study group currently led by Pastor (and musician) Mark Abelson from Mount Calvary Lutheran Church. Not always, though, because when son Doug is around there are many days when I’m off to various conflicting entertainments: The Guthrie Theater, Saint Paul Chamber Orchestra, Minnesota Orchestra, Cantus, The Bach Society concerts, and probably other things that are slipping past awareness right now. Oh yes, I should mention that I’m enjoying being the Correspondent for the Connecticut College for Women class of 1951. I didn’t like finding no news about us in the college magazine, as if we were gone and forgotten, so I volunteered. You do have to move pretty far into the back of the section to find us, though. I’m involved, too, in establishing a writer’s group at the Southshore community Center.
Travel: August saw son Douglas and me spending fourteen days cruising with Viking’s Octantis down the Great Lakes. It’s the same expedition ship we were on last year in the Antarctic. The difference from typical cruises is exemplified by the chemistry-classroom-like auditorium with lectures and documentaries on the broad screen up front instead of a performance theater. I don’t get to gamble, but I do satisfy my brainiac self while enjoying a cappuccino without having to pass a test at the end. While Doug takes advantage of every off-ship excursion he can fit in, I’m happy to stay on board most of the time. But I did enjoy the visit to the Ford Museum in Detroit. Wow! Those presidential limos are much longer than they seem when they appear in the news. And I enjoyed sitting in the seat that Rosa Parks had occupied on the bus when she refused to move to the back. Next year we’ll be anticipating a 2026 cruise to the Arctic on the Octantis’s sister ship, the Polaris. But, if all goes as planned, before that, in August, we’ll be cruising Viking up the Mississippi from New Orleans to Saint Paul, assuming there’ll be enough water in the river. Finally, I should mention that I did not renew my license to practice at the end of May, but, based on my academic and writing credentials, I am still available for tutoring and consulting.
Writing: Closest to my heart is working on a manuscript, intended to be a book if I can make it through the search for a publisher. Its initial title was On My Way Out, the personal story of my career in psychology with lots of tales of events along the way as the years and psychology changed. For example, My conditioned response reaction to Vaugh Monroe’s Blue Moon at the romantic high school after-prom party. But I changed the title to A Healthy Woman Was a Crazy Person when I realized how contemporary the ending was as men are now dealing with their “problem that has no name” in reaction to the success of the women’s movement. I’m available to share more info about that – eager, actually.
Summary: To tell the truth, I’m glad I’m on my way out. I’m so grateful for all the blessings I’ve received along the way, but I’m in no rush to close the door behind me. There’s just too much left to accomplish and enjoy. I have no doubt we’re entering a period of historically significant and probably startling change. I hope for all of us that what lies ahead will come to reflect the message of love we celebrate in this season displayed in the growth of kindness, gratitude, generosity, forgiveness, justice, and peace. In the meantime I’ll try to do my best.
Mona
My manuscript/memoir, A Healthy Woman Was a Crazy Person: A Psychologist’s Personal Journey, led me to a conclusion I hadn’t anticipated when I started writing. Remember how the recent decades of the quite successful women’s movement began with an exploration of “The problem that has no name?” Now many young men are facing their “problem that has no name.” as their previous primary relative position has fallen. The financial aspect is strikingly illustrated in the October 26, 2024 “New York Times,” article, They used to be ahead in the American Economy, Now they’re fallen behind, by Emily Badger, Robert Gebeloff, & Aatash Bhatic,
I have no doubt that relative deprivation contributed to the results of our recent election. I also know that we Americans tend to think in terms of “opposites” with the belief that “If one group is up, the other must be down.” I’ll stick my neck out and say I suspect that way of thinking has played a large part in the current movement to ban abortion just as it has in the various “isms” that separate us. But those role restrictions don’t have to prevail and trap anyone, no matter what their gender, in social prisons that deprive one of fulness of life.
I know, too, that while it isn’t making the headlines, there is major concern and research going on into the positive influences of generosity, gratitude, kindness, forgiveness, and related routes to happiness. Even local TV programming seems to make a point of at least one kindness story before signing off. To tell the truth, I think those are the strengths that will ultimately overcome the unhappiness, disappointment, and dissatisfaction so many of us are feeling.
Okay, so I’m talking like a Social Psychologist. Of course I am, That’s who I am! Glad of it, and aware that what we have to offer is powerful when heard.
I think I’m including the graphic illustration from the article to which I’ve been referring. That red line tells us something very important about where we need to go as a people. On the other hand the magic of the Internet might erase it from this document before it posts on my blog. If that happens, please Google the original article.
A few days ago I promised to talk about handling my morning depression. I thought then that I was finally going to write every day in my blog. Obviously I didn’t succeed. (Remember, there’s a rule against saying “I failed.”) I’m not sure why I didn’t manage to get that done, but I have a few suggestions. Maybe I’m getting involved in too many things; maybe it’s because I’ve reached the “I need a nap NOW” age; maybe I’m engaging in that form of putting-things-off-until-tomorrow called “productive procrastination;” maybe I’m too involved in trying to write a good query letter to find an agent/publisher who’ll be interested in my manuscript On My Way Out: A Psychologist’s Personal Tale; maybe it’s because I do stupid things like watch the presidential debates.
But enough about me. Oh yeah, that’s supposed to be my theme for this blog. What do I do about the morning depression? Well, first off, two years of excellent therapy several decades ago gave me the awareness that the morning depression I experience is best called “situational depression.” And I’ve learned that there isn’t much I can control about the situation in this crazy world, so it helps to point my neurosis toward things I can do something about. That certainly shrinks the area of concern. Then I focus my attention and emotions on the tasks ahead. Obviously that gets me to focus on the present and the nice awareness that I am, indeed, on my way out. Also, the recognition that, as my daughter puts it, “My personal problems are first-world problems” and therefore, by definition, really blessings. How’s that for thought manipulation? By that time I’m ready for the biggy – opening up the well of gratitude, joy, humor, and love that flows because of all that other stuff I’ve mentioned. How could I feel anything else? So I open my door to join the interesting, often delightful people I’ll be connecting with. Okay, is it icky to say I focus on spreading joy and love? Well, so be it. That really is my goal. You’ll have to question the people around me to evaluate my success.
The latest thing in “explaining” mass shootings is to focus on the shooter’s mental health. All good and well. Why wouldn’t this Psychologist be happy to know people’s mental health is gaining in focus and purpose?
But this Social Psychologist doesn’t like the way it’s being used to avoid the more basic horror – the cultural grounding in which poor mental health is being fostered. What sensible, alive, and aware person doesn’t carry a substratum ache of empathy, concern, and fear in this world of cruelty, killing, and destruction. It almost seems like a mark of emotional health to be disturbed. No, I don’t like the implication that the cause lies in an individual’s deviation from the norm. On the contrary, the cause lies in the culture that fosters the human potential for evil.
Will we ever get around to looking at the painful, destructive inequities in childcare, education, financial status, health care, gender acceptance, respect, and expectations for individual accomplishment (not necessarily measured by financial wealth)? What did I leave out?
It could be done. We could create a culture based on encouraging personal growth, self-confidence, gratitude, appreciation, cognitive competence, kindness, personal value – dare I say love? But that would require reducing the “blame the other” emphasis implied in the focus on individual mental health and looking instead at our own responsibility as part of a culture. As it is, I’m afraid we have adopted “mental health” as a way to avoid looking at our own selves.
Please notice, I haven’t used the words “mental illness.” That’s a related but different story.
GRATITUDE
This morning I woke up in a comfortable bed in a pleasant, clean room, all at just the right temperature for my comfort. My first stop was a nice clean bathroom with a toilet that flushed and water that ran in the sink — both hot and cold based on my choice. I plugged my cell phone into the outlet on the wall and electricity came through to power it.
Then I went to the kitchen to fill a pan with water from the sink faucet which ran both hot and cold. I placed the pan on the stove and turned a knob which caused the heat to start. From the refrigerator I took an egg, preserved at just the right temperature and put it in the pot. Three minutes after it had come to a boil I ran the pot under cold water until I could retrieve the egg and continue cooling it, after which I removed the shell and placed it in a clean dish to put on the table along with a small bowl of blueberries that had been preserved in the freezer until removal to the refrigerator yesterday. In my microwave I warmed a cup of coffee and sat down at a comfortable table to eat it.
And that’s this morning’s news. Grateful? Indeed! and sad that a huge percentage of people in the world can’t have the same experience. Am I wrong to wish we were working toward a world where everyone could enjoy such a morning?
This morning I woke up in the same bed I’ve enjoyed for many years, under covers of just the right weight and temperature. I expect to return to the same comfortable bed tonight. I did the lying down exercises I had been taught back in 2015 after my accident — physical therapy lessons, like all other treatments after the crash, covered by insurance. I lolled in bed for a while playing some games on my cell phone and checking emails, knowing I didn’t have to worry about the battery running low, because I’d be plugging it in as soon as I rolled out of bed, into an outlet that I was sure would provide the juice to recharge.
Once I was up I did more of my exercises accompanied by the local TV station emanating from an old but perfectly fine set nestled in my bedroom cabinet where other shelves and drawers house my supply of clothes from which I would chose todays outfit. (comfortable but not fancy – still pretty much confined to my sunny senior apartment, protected not only from the weather, but – more important – from the virus.)
Eventually I turned on my shower, confident that nice warm water would emerge from the shower head, allowing me to enjoy soap that I have in sufficient supply, aided by a washcloth and later a drying towel which I can keep clean in the washing machine in the laundry room.
And then breakfast, an adequate supply of nuts and fruit and eggs kept fresh in the refrigerator next to the stove on which I was confident I could cook my egg because the burners would turn on as soon as I dialed the appropriate knob.
Finally to my computer which usually responds to my command, like the other appliances that have enjoyed the adequate supply of electrical power.
Pretty standard stuff, unless you do – as I do every morning – think of the people who don’t have these things. No guaranteed source of power, maybe because no guaranteed place to sleep and eat, or maybe because where they live power is sporadic. Maybe no assured fresh food or warm water – even clean, pure cold water – ready on call. No insurance available to keep healthy teeth and bodies. So many people who don’t have these things I take for granted every day. Yes, I am filled with gratitude – and also pain for all those who suffer.
The other side of gratitude is awareness. Without both, life would be pretty empty, I think.
Just my ruminations on living another normal day – normal for us fortunate ones.
I avoided writing here for a while for a couple of reasons. First, I’ve been happily busy and second, because I like to keep my entries simple, and life – mine anyway – has become complex. Yes, really, complex though simple.
First off, I haven’t been away from home here at the Waters since March 8 – sequestered with all the residents to protect against COVID-19, basically confined to my lovely first floor apartment. Meals delivered, Zoom activities provided, trash and recycling removed from outside my door, walks around the patio that surrounds my home on the southeast corner. Watching the plantings green up and blossom. I’ve missed out on the planned cruise with Doug to Kiev and area, lots of theater and concerts, and planned family activities. FUNNY HOW THINGS HAPPEN!. I am happy as a clam with the opportunity to finish the editing of My Father’s House in cooperation with Susan Thurston Hamerski working for Calumet publishers And too the almost finalizing of It sucks! I wanted to live (tentative title) by Nick Spooner. Basically the collection of his Facebook entries from the time of his glial blastoma (or two) diagnosis until his death. I never would have had the time if I’d been on my planned schedule.
On our recent cruise to Japan we noticed that just about everyone was comfortably wearing a face mask. Male or female, walking, driving, scootering, motorcycling, bicycling, dressed with black suits or attractive dresses, carrying briefcases, or more casual in doing daily chores. On a previous Asia Pacific cruise we had concluded the masks were to protect against the intense smog. More recently the smog had largely lifted but the masks remained. FUNNY HOW THINGS HAPPEN! I talked constantly about the opportunity for someone to produce designer masks. Just take a look around now.
When I was teaching the psychology of women at Southern Connecticut State University back in the 1970’s we used to imagine a future where people could work from home making possible the combination of career with parenting. FUNNY HOW THINGS HAPPEN!.
These days I shed tears a lot. FUNNY HOW THINGS HAPPEN!. The tears don’t come when I’m sad. No, when I’m touched by folks caring for others in heroic ways or just plain cooperation and kindness, as in wearing a face mask and keeping distance, or singing and applauding from the balconies. I’m touched by the virtual celebration of high school and college 2020 grads. This morning I watched the distance celebration of the Connecticut College class of 2020. Yesterday with some time left over I worked at organizing my photographs, encountering Connecticut College friends from our early days to the many years of gatherings at Cape Cod. And family from birth to now. I am overwhelmed with the sense of love and friendship and being part of history. I know that what’s going on currently is as big as – maybe even bigger than – the industrial revolution. The tears reflect my hope, I think, that we will emerge with a commitment to cleaner skies, fairer education and living standards, Just plain more love.
FUNNY HOW THINGS HAPPEN!. I don’t cry when mean things make me sad. Maybe it’s hard to be mad and sad at the same time. The contrasts! Oh the contrasts between my comfort and the terrible misery of so many others. It’s been a long time since I gave up my childlike belief in Hell, but about a week ago it struck me that even if I feared hell I should fear no more, because we’re here now. If I believed in reincarnation, I’d be worried that I’d suffer in my next life to make up for all the happiness I have now.
And sometimes, like my father many years before me, I’m glad I’m living the end of my journey.
FUNNY HOW THINGS HAPPEN!. With all that, I can’t help waking each day with gratitude – and chest expanding love for my family and friends. And the opportunity to feel safe about being up front here with all of you.
See what I mean? This is too long.
Still hoping to find Milt Turbiner, I’m waiting for Boston University to let me in on the alumni directory. I do want him to know his success story.
As for my success story, I am suddenly overwhelmed. I was in perfect balance working with the super editor of My Father’s House — she’s really good, and it’s fun. But the manuscript is in the cloud, so we can’t both be working on it at the same time, and she’s devoting the weekend to it. So I’ll be off.
That’s Okay, though, because now I’m into the next phase of Nick’s book. Wait ’til you hear the title we’ve chosen! — his last written words. Maybe I’ll tell you next time I’m on.
To add to it, I just got notice that my license renewal — Psychology — is due the middle of May. Not only the challenge of coming up with the money, but I need a total of 40 continuing ed credits, and all I have so far is 18. Oh wow! That’ll be my task to begin tomorrow while I don’t have access to My Father’s House.
And now spoonerisms. My father was really into them, but sometimes he got into unanticipated trouble. like “Up the hill to the poorhouse,” became “Up the pill to the whorehouse.” OOPS! And then there was the name of my friend Martin Fox. Well, you can see for yourself why that was an unintended shocker.
The thing that got me thinking about spoonerisms was a really good one handed on to me today by a client. WILL YOU BE HUMBLY GRATEFUL? OR GRUMBLY HATEFUL? A good one to think about in these times.
Stay safe
monagustafsonaffinito 