all of the selves we Have ever been
![]() Though I am physically less active than usual as I shelter in place during a long rainy spell, I find myself more exhausted than ever. I am not ill, just pre-occupied. Many of my friends are telling me they are experiencing the same inertia or lack of motivation. Our minds have an amazing ability to keep working on the unresolved even when we are not aware that the gears are turning. Nothing like a pandemic with no end in sight to keep the machinery humming day and night leaving us spent. When busy with work, we crave down time. We have long lists of things we will do if we ever get the time. Many things move far ahead onto the “when I retire List.” But here we are, home, with unlimited time on our hands, and we consider ourselves accomplished if we take a shower. The television and internet call me to check for updates. I could sit like a zombie all day long absorbing the minute details and range of opinions, but that allows my mind NO rest. Unless I stretch out on the couch. What is it about a big comfy couch? If I remain sitting up, I can make it, but the minute I lie down, my change in posture becomes a sort of anesthesia. I quickly feel drugged, my mind hazy. I can’t pull myself out of it. Before I know it, I am waking up from the deepest, most delicious sleep imaginable. Sometimes it is only minutes. Other times, it is hours. When I was growing up, houses were smaller, about 1100 square feet on average. Families were bigger. Four children or more were common. I remember bargaining and fighting for a spot on the couch. When one of us would be sent to do a chore or get changed into our pajamas, the outcast would yell out, “I claim the couch” as though there were some sort of Homestead Act that allowed the first one to take a seat to claim the property forever. But it was the wild west. Didn’t matter if you had a deed or an ironclad contract. Space on the couch was in demand. The wrangling only worsened as we got taller and took up more space when we stretched out. With smaller houses, there was less furniture, in general, which meant if you didn’t get a seat on the couch, you had to take a spot on the floor. Over the years I watched family size shrink as the square footage of homes more than doubled. I read that in 2014 new houses were averaging over 2600 square feet of space. I realize now it was not about family size, it was about couch size. The couch of my youth was totally lame. The contemporary couch has expanded. The sectional is in. And when I say sectional, I am talking about furniture that could take up two blocks of my old suburban neighborhood. No need to stake a claim to some small cushion, there is room for the entire family. We hear so much about the importance of sleep, and many people I know suffer from insomnia. There is no end to the television commercials for mattresses offering a good night’s rest. There seem to be hundreds of options and combinations from the standard spring mattress to memory foam, adjustable, temperature-controlled, something purple…twin size, extra-long, double, queen, king… I never hear the experts suggest a couch to cure insomnia but maybe insomnia is only a problem in the bedroom. I can roll around for hours turning the radio on and off, reading books and solving crossword puzzles. But if I stretch out on the couch, I am out. Maybe the experts are in cahoots with the mattress manufacturers. Next time I buy a bed, I will ask for a full disclosure statement. In the meantime, I may have to rethink my room design options. Why do I have an exercise bike in my bedroom and the most comfortable sleeping furniture in the living room? Maybe it’s that bike keeping me up at night, shaming me for my lack of exercise. A confirmed case of bad karma. When we were small and sick or injured, we did not stay in our bedrooms with our toys and sports equipment nagging us. The couch was sick bay in our house, a place of comfort and healing. Mom wanted to get work done and still keep a close eye on us. She would turn on cartoons and bring us baby aspirin and cinnamon toast. That was the life! Tucked in on the couch it was impossible to be frightened or worried. Maybe I will relax judgment of myself and ignore the harassment from that exercise bike. A big comfy couch is a good place to be in a crisis, and I claim it!
0 Comments
![]() As we make our way up the curve of the COVID-19 pandemic, more actions and restrictions become necessary. Many of us, while disappointed and inconvenienced, accept the limitations and are determined to do the right thing, to do our parts. As we stay home or shelter in place, it is shocking to see the television and social media images of crowded beaches, bars, and churches and to hear stories of hoarders and price-gougers. Some people never seem to get it. Do they not watch the news? Are they in denial? Terminally self-centered? Naive? There are those who want the government to crack down and send armed guards into the streets. Others experience moral outrage and vent to their neighbors or on social media. There is a group stocking up on guns and ammo. What’s a civil society to do? It would be satisfying to think that nature will catch up with these rule-breakers. But we know from experience that it is equally, if not more likely, that someone else will suffer for their actions, and the crowd-seekers and price-gougers will walk away unphased and untouched. They may even benefit. Many thoughts run through my mind as I try to cope with my own frustration at these circumstances and to try to find some meaning and some guidance for how I should respond. First, I think of the allegory of the spoons. In heaven and in hell the spoons are long. In hell the inhabitants struggle to feed their starving selves to no avail. But in heaven, they know how to use the spoons to feed each other. My second thought is that maybe we are here to repair the world. I once read a lovely book, Jewish Spirituality: A Brief Introduction for Christians by Rabbi Lawrence Kushner. He wrote: “When you see something that is broken, fix it. When you find something that is lost, return it. When you see something that needs to be done, do it. In that way you will take care of your world and repair creation. ..But for people to begin the great task of repairing creation, they must realize the awesome power god has put into their hands. ..your hands are the hands of god…” He goes on to say, “becoming an ethically mature adult includes understanding that bad people often go unpunished and good people are often not rewarded. Instead, the way we feel when we do bad things is its own punishment and the way we feel when we do good is its own reward.” Finally, I consider the many people I have met in my career as a social worker. One of the most frequent questions I have been asked by hospice patients, Holocaust survivors, former prisoners of war, and abuse victims is “Why me?” I don’t know the answer to “why” for any of them. But what I have come to appreciate is that God brought us together not because He was punishing them, but because He was working on me. In the end, I believe that is what gives meaning to suffering--that we are changed for the better. I have learned so much from those who have shared their suffering with me. I am most at home among people of such strength, and courage and hope, people who carry on in spite of all of it and help me to grow into a wiser, braver, better self. We know we have a long way to go in this pandemic. And many of us will continue to struggle with things we see and hear that offend our sense of moral responsibility and human empathy. What’s a civil society to do? Borrow some spoons from heaven and get busy repairing the world. ![]() When I was growing up, adults often instructed children, “Use your head!” They implored us to think about our plans and our actions, to explain ourselves. Sometimes they asked us, “Where was your head?” That version was more likely when things went wrong, and we were forced to explain our faulty logic or the lack of forethought that resulted in a bad decision. I always knew that my head was on my shoulders even when I failed to use it. Children today might have to search their pockets or backpacks for their smartphones or tablets. What do parents say today to encourage thinking, planning, and personal responsibility, “Did you Google that?” “Did you run that by Alexa?” Somehow, that just doesn’t seem as weighty. Before digital technology, we had to memorize information, calculate, and find our way without GPS. I can still remember my home phone number from when I was eight years old, but I no longer know the phone number of a single friend because those numbers are all on my phone’s contact list. Should I be concerned about that? I do appreciate the convenience of mobile phones and the sense of safety they provide, but I am surprised by how much people enjoy using their phones and how little pleasure they seem to derive from using their heads. I enjoy puzzles and trivia games, anticipating the end of book or a movie, planning a trip using a map, measuring and adapting proportions in a recipe, solving problems. The mental exercise feels good! To draw from the pleasure of physical exercise and the runner’s high, I experience a thinker’s high. And so, the entire situation puzzles me… A friend of mine who is a middle school librarian bemoaned the day students came to the library complaining they couldn’t find any information on the internet for an assignment that was due. The librarian checked the assignment on file. “You won’t find that information on the internet,” she told them. “The assignment is asking for your opinion.” You know the world has experienced a seismic shift when adolescents have no opinions of their own. More recently, I was in line at an office supply store. The cashier closed her drawer too quickly. When it was re-opened, she had to mentally calculate the change I was owed. The young woman became flustered. She pulled out her smartphone and tapped about on the screen. She quickly gave up on that and turned to the next cashier and asked for assistance. Together the two could not come to an answer. I offered to show them how to count back change like we did in the olden days before the register did all of the calculations for you. “You’re going to teach me how to do it?!” The cashier was incredulous. For a moment, I thought she was being grateful, but where was my head? The cashier refused my offer stating that she had no intention of learning “THAT.” A manager was called to complete the transaction. Now I was incredulous. Why wouldn’t you want to know something that would help you in life and work, something that would let you know when an error was made or when someone is trying to cheat you? Why wouldn’t a person want the joy of feeling capable, competent, and masterful? Of knowing she would never be in that embarrassing situation again? Another puzzle… Ironically, we tend to place value on remembering only when we begin to forget. As we age, we fear that dementia will silently creep up on us stealing our storehouse of knowledge and memories. I wanted to say to that young cashier, “You’ll regret that decision,” something else our parents used to say, but maybe she won’t. Maybe artificial intelligence will completely replace human intelligence with Alexa becoming the primary decision maker for all of us. I wish an expert would come up with a phone-to-mind ratio—a magic number that would reveal the exact amount of brain work that can be done safely by our devices and the amount of thinking we must do for ourselves in order to protect our mental powers. Hmm. Maybe the math has been done. I think I will Google that. ![]() “Faith is not the childish belief in magic. That is ignorance or willful blindness. It is instead the realization that the tragic irrationalities of life must be counterbalanced by an equally irrational commitment to the goodness of Being.” --Dr. Jordan B. Peterson in 12 Rules for Life: An Antidote to Chaos This morning, I came across this quote scribbled in a notebook I keep at my bedside for times of prayer and reflection. “Faith over fear” is my daily mantra during the current crisis, and it has been for much of my life. Our showdown with the coronavirus is especially frightening, but so much of life is scary. We all have past experiences with that fact. More typically, we face it down in smaller doses. Never before has the simple, routine act of leaving our homes been a matter of life and death. At this time, I relish Dr. Peterson’s definition of faith—an acceptance of the tragic irrationalities of life, and the power we all hold to counterbalance the tragic with an equally irrational commitment to goodness. His definition transforms faith from a belief or a feeling into an action word, a description of what it means to live by faith regardless of your religious affiliation. I see and hear about this irrational commitment to goodness by people all over the world—people singing from their balconies to engage with and entertain their equally isolated neighbors, donations of food, voluntary re-purposing of manufacturing plants, health care workers who keep coming to work even though they are terrified about what will happen to their own children and families. Irrational commitments to goodness surround us. As the world and our own country mobilize to wipe out the coronavirus, I ask myself, if we make an ongoing irrational commitment to goodness, what else can be wiped out? There are many items on my wish list. Dr. Peterson’s quote captures two of them--ignorance and willful blindness. The pandemic has awakened us to a new understanding that what was once unimaginable is not only possible but real. How foolish can we be about the increasing destruction of the planet? Are we sure there is no such thing as global warming? Can we get back to burning coal? Is it wise to walk away from our global neighbors on these big issues that affect us all? Will we believe them if they tell us something we don’t want to hear? Also on my wipe-it-out wish list is greed. Greed underlies so much of what is problematic. Perhaps it is time to stop equating capitalism with greed. That offends my American-citizen-self. Our forefathers led a revolution energized by the saying, “Taxation without representation is tyranny.” Taxation without representation is greed, the worst form of tyranny. In more recent history, knowingly sending cars off the line with faulty brakes is not capitalism, it is a crime. Bailing out banks so they can take peoples’ homes and give CEOs big bonuses is not capitalism; it is a misuse of public funds. People intuitively understand the difference and want capitalism with a conscience. Ignorance, willful blindness, silent acceptance, and growing resentment are evidence that, too often, we accept the tragic irrationalities of life without question. We fail to speak up or take individual action. I realize that I have been guilty of leaving many of the big issues to others. The reality of the current pandemic is forcing us to hit the re-set button in every area of our individual and collective lives. It is a time for faith over fear, to counterbalance tragedy with irrational goodness, and to acknowledge our moments of ignorance and willful blindness so that we might stand up and speak out while there is time. ![]() There is a break in the downpour. A ray of sunshine peeks out between the clouds and beckons me, “come to the window.” As I scan the scene beyond the glass, I notice a carpet of new grass pushing up through the rain-soaked ground. The lawn is a vibrant shade of spring green, my favorite color in the Crayola palette. On a tree within reach of my window, the branches are loaded with new buds waiting to burst into a bright bouquet of cherry pink. A mother and a beautiful blonde pony-tailed toddler sit on a curb playing, a variety of pink and purple toys surround them. An older man in a tan jacket slumps on a bench. A curl of white cigarette smoke dances in the air above his head. A maintenance man carries a shiny aluminum ladder. I can see the ladder's bright yellow feet. A light flow of traffic passes on the street, a blur of metallic greens and blacks and whites. As the cars surf the giant puddles left by the rain, they send out a fountain-like spray of grey water. A deep blue delivery truck awaits the return of its driver. The white logo smiles at me. Car lights twinkle—tail lights, brake lights, and turn signals. The wet asphalt of the parking lot shines like a freshly waxed tile floor reflecting the glow. Across the street a line of red, white and blue flags flap in the breeze. A lawn care worker in a fluorescent green vest picks up debris left by last night’s storm. He piles the twigs and branches into a rusty brown wheelbarrow. A silvery steel lamp post shudders in a sudden surge of wind. It is warm outside. I open the window and welcome the cool, fresh air into my living room. I sit on the couch. The breeze tickles my face. It is lively and cool. I relax and enjoy the sounds of life that drift in through the open window. I recognize the sweet, joyful sound of the toddler’s voice. I hear the passing cars splash through the puddles. A car alarm sounds briefly. I hear the vroom of a large truck and recognize the sound of the dumpster being lifted, emptied and banging on the ground. The breeze quickens and rattles a door. The blinds tap the window frame and accompany the music made by the vibrating door. Today, I have time to eat it all up—these too-often-overlooked sights and sounds of my ordinary life. It is food for the soul, a bread made of wonder. ![]() Recently, I wrote about good neighbors-- the people next door, across the street, in our own backyards. With the volume of international trade and travel, and the reach of technology, the entire world is our neighborhood, and right now, all of our neighbors are hurting. No one likes to feel helpless. Helplessness can lead to depression. In the face of helplessness and depression, anger can energize. But angry energy is not the kind of energy we need right now. It does no good to demonize our neighbors when we must rely upon them for lifesaving goods and services, for economic stability, and for knowledge and experience to defeat the coronavirus. In the days to come, as we learn more, we may find that this virus was circulating before the first case was confirmed in China. We may find there is more to the story that was not immediately apparent. Our neighbors in China, Italy, France and Spain, and all throughout the world are frightened and exhausted too. Many of the countries affected by the coronavirus lack the mighty resources of the United States. We will need to walk together with these neighbors on the long road to recovery. As I watch the televised federal and state news conferences each day, I am awed by the intelligence and ingenuity of Americans. We have gifted men and women heading up the CDC, FDA, and CMS. We have remarkable, kind people in our state and local governments. These are people hidden from our view outside of emergencies and national events. Many of these American experts are relying upon the wisdom, experience and data received from our global neighbors. We have unparalleled resources in this country. 3M can pump out 35 million N95 masks. The Navy can bring hospital ships to local ports. Hotels can be transformed into hospitals. How lucky are we in this state of emergency to have assets of such magnitude? Many of our global neighbors do not. Perhaps this crisis will cause us all to be more grateful for how much we do have, and to ask ourselves some serious questions about the hands into which we place this abundance and our lives and our livelihoods. Seeing, hearing and appreciating the experts that have surfaced during this pandemic, I ask myself if we want celebrities and “influencers” as leaders and decision makers in our social circles, workplaces, and government. Or do we want intelligent, articulate thinkers, planners and problem-solvers, people who understand science and data as well as human emotion and behavior? Do we want honest folks with a strong work ethic, or folks who drain us of time and energy because of the attention and adulation they require? You know what I am talking about here. We have all seen this growing dynamic in our social circles, work places, and government. Social media has given rise to the age of celebrity, a desire to be seen and to be “liked.” People who have the largest following sell lots of books and end up in positions of authority regardless of credentials. I have often heard people being interviewed as “experts” and wondered about their education or experience outside of Hollywood or a wildly popular YouTube video or blog. Because someone is popular, does that make them an expert on parenting, health, race relations, or national emergencies? These people “influence” others about important life matters. Should we be more discerning about the people to whom we pay attention and to the advice we follow? When this crisis is past, we want to be able to say we did our part, that we were our best selves. To do that, we need to be both good neighbors and discerning citizens—like it or not. ![]() I am engaged in a high stakes battle right now. No, it is not between my immune system and the coronavirus. It is between my face and my hands. I’ve come to a new realization about myself. I touch my face. A lot. The current good advice “Don’t touch your face” causes me to think of nothing but my face. It is like saying, “Don’t Blink,” or “Don’t smile.” I immediately turn into a blinking, smiling fool. Someone says, “Don’t touch your face,” and I have a sudden itch or my nose starts to run. Is there something stuck between my teeth? Is that a pimple? I think I have a loose eyelash… There is something in the human psyche that hears the word “don’t” and becomes driven to defy. I only wish I had the same determination when I am told what to do. Maybe I was not properly socialized. I am more like a feral cat that can’t stop licking its paws. Off work now and hanging onto every word issued by government and health officials, I have begun to take notice of just how often I touch my hands to my face. The data is startling. I am developing my own statistical model. Apparently, my day job was just a side-show. My real life’s work is my face. There is cleansing and grooming: make-up remover, washing, drying, brushing, and flossing. There is sunscreen and moisturizer. Make-up and lip gloss. Eyebrows need plucked and so do those pesky chin hairs. And at what point do you give up on all those dark spots and just call your face tan? A pimple gets more attention than do most heart transplant patients in ICU. Feel the tingle of an erupting cold sore? That leads to more surveillance than the Department of Defense gives to the entire border of Russia. Might as well be the Cold War. In the book of Matthew we are asked “why do you look at the speck in your brother’s eye, but do not consider the plank in your own eye?” Are you kidding me?! A plank in my eye, and I’m obsessed. I forget I ever had a brother. No matter how hard I try to keep my hands away from my face, there they go! Before I’m fully awake in the morning, I realize I am rubbing my eyes. During intense focus at the computer, I pause typing to read a line and find my chin in my hand. Reading a book? Next thing I know my hand is twirling a strand of hair that has fallen into my face. “Don’t touch your face.” Easier said than done. And I thought staying home was going to be the hard part. |
AuthorLilli-ann Buffin Archives
January 2025
Categories
All
|