Floating Above It: A Visualization

Sometimes, you really need to get away.

I’ve written about pulling back to get perspective, but this isn’t about that. There are times that you can’t handle looking at a situation, and even less getting close and curious about it. Once in a while, you need to cut your losses and allow yourself to check out for a bit.

From time to time, I have dreams in which I’m fighting an adversary (like a monster), and I leap up into the air and float over the baddie’s head. Not all the way up into the sky, but just-just-just out of reach of their clawing hands, where I’m safe.

That’s what it feels like to release my hold on the earth and allow myself to imagine floating upwards. It is a freeing and positive feeling, often helped by music containing binaural beats and a gentle relaxing drone, as if I were being softly cradled and rocked by the sounds.

Be a bird, just for a little while.

And then I travel. In my mind, the most pleasant view is that over the water, as if a camera had been set free to follow a broad river, meandering along its twists and turns. Or head across the sea towards the shimmering horizon, as the sun descends to kiss the earth in the late afternoon.

Or letting go of gravity and rising upwards into bright, puffy clouds, so far up that the landscape below blurs into purples and blues as you float high above.

This is not about being present and grounded. There will be other opportunities to sit with difficult emotions and create space for them. This is about being able to give yourself what you need during the more difficult times and escape for a short while, breathing into the spaciousness of being somewhere else.

Take a deep breath and enjoy your flight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

While it is true that avoiding difficult emotions is not a recommended practice, consider this your glass of wine. Just for today, just to catch your breath.

Please, Wear the Mask

This post is not about politics. It’s about compassion.

Wear the mask.

I have an 18-year-old daughter who works at a local bakery-cafe. While most of her hours were cut, she’s started to get calls to come in again. She’s there to take your order for chicken soup and salad and fresh-baked baguette. She also wears a mask and gloves, for your safety. As her mom, I’d appreciate it if you wore a mask for hers.

She’s not to blame for what’s going on. She didn’t create the virus nor does she have any control over how long the country will be closed down. She’s also not getting hazard pay, nor does she get an allowance. She earns all the money she has. Her job was to pay for fencing lessons, which she has had to stop, but now she’s saving up for college expenses.

My daughter is there to serve you. If you come in without a mask because you feel it’s your right not to wear one, she’s not going to toss you out the door. She’ll give you your food. You risk giving her a virus.

And by extension, giving the virus to the rest of us in her family.

Just wear the mask.

We do this for your family, too.

For a few minutes, when you’re in the cafe, wear the mask. It’s not a political statement. It’s a statement of caring and compassion and understanding that we are all inextricably linked to each other. What is good for one of us is good for all.

And I mean, for all of us down here on the ground level. We’re not the movers and shakers, we’re simply the doers and the survivors. We’re not the millionaires who quarantine in luxurious surroundings and get to break the rules with indemnity. We’re your neighbors who share your concerns.

You’re angry? You have the right to be. But you have no right to take it out on my child.

So please, wear the mask. Compassion looks good on you.

Starting 2020 with Compassion: A Valentine for Maj. Bill White

Given that there’s a lot of divisiveness and polarization in the United States right now, I’m looking for the humanity in my country. Most of the time I feel rather ineffectual, and I have wanted to make small difference in the life of a stranger.

My opportunity came in the form of a news story (mine, Time online, but this has been posted by a wide variety of sources): Maj. Bill White is a 104-year-old veteran of the Battle of Iwo Jima who spends much of his time scrapbooking. He mentioned to the interviewer that he’d enjoy getting Valentine’s Day cards, which he promises to keep on his bookshelves, the same ones where his Purple Heart sits.

Now, while I’m decidedly not a fan of war and wish that we lived in a world where the military was not necessary, I have respect for people who are willing to give of themselves, no matter what the venue. But what moved me the most was the spark that this elderly man had. When he sang the Marines’ Hymn (see video), his voice was clear and unwavering. He still had so much life in him at age 104.

And his secret for living so long? “Just keep breathing.”

Indeed.

I will be sending him a Valentine’s Day card. If you would like to do the same, here’s the address:

Operation Valentine
ATTN: Hold for Maj Bill White, USMC (Ret)
The Oaks at Inglewood
6725 Inglewood Ave.
Stockton, CA 95207

And if not to Maj. White, perhaps there’s another deserving individual whom you could surprise this Valentine’s Day with a cheery greeting? I encourage you to do so. There’s still enough time.

And just keep breathing.

Starting 2020 with Compassion: Random Acts

On this Martin Luther King, Jr. Day in the United States, I thought it would be appropriate to highlight the idea of service to others. The possibilities are endless, as are the rewards.

The need is great all over the world so it’s not difficult to find a place to begin. Having said that, I’d like to bring “Random Acts” to your attention.

Random Acts is a non-profit started by actor Misha Collins (of “Supernatural” fame) and it operates as a clearing house of goodness. The organization raises funds and then distributes money to a broad range of causes. What sets this organization apart from others is that it enables individuals to apply for small (>US$500) grants that can be used to support a kind act, perhaps too small to attract the interest of major charities. (Larger Random Acts are also a possibility.)

Engage in random acts of kindness, no matter how small. Even if no one is looking.

I really like this idea, because kindness doesn’t have to be large-scale to make a meaningful difference in someone else’s life. We often overlook the “little things” that we can do in favor of making a huge impact. And that usually means that many of us will do nothing because, we tell ourselves, one person will not make a significant change.

Kindness doesn’t have to attract news cameras or go viral on the Internet in order to be a beautiful act of charity.

Starting 2020 with Compassion: The Dogs of Chernobyl

(Featured Image Photo: Jorge Franganillo from Barcelona, Spain [CC BY (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)] – cropped image)

My kids and I got hit with the flu right New Year’s Day, which meant mandatory rest and time to browse the Internet. After randomly clicking through websites, I landed on a story about the stray dogs of Chernobyl.

This touched me deeply because I hadn’t realized that animals were abandoned during the nuclear disaster in Chernobyl, Ukraine in 1986. When people evacuated the area, they were told to leave their pets, that they’d be able to soon return. Obviously, that didn’t happen, so animals that had been used to being fed, watered and otherwise cared for were suddenly left alone. To make matters worse, the Soviet government sent soldiers into the disaster area to kill the homeless animals in an effort to contain the radioactive contamination.

Amazingly, some dogs and other pets survived in the exclusion area, even through harsh winters, lack of food, threat of predation and possibility of rabies. Given that it’s been over 30 years since the accident, the current “dogs of Chernobyl” are several generations away from the original dogs, but their circumstances are still dire.

As I’ve gotten older, gone through cancer treatment and now menopause, I find that stories like cause me to disintegrate into a mushy mess. It breaks my heart that these animals were serving as companions to humans, and then were left to suffer from a human-made disaster when it was deemed too dangerous for the humans to stay there. These cruel twists of fate seem too much.

However, this post is not about agony or anger against humans, it’s about hope and compassion. A charitable group called Clean Futures Fund was established, as their mission statements reads, “to raise awareness and provide international support for communities affected by industrial accidents and long-term remedial activities”. Among other projects, they sponsor the ogs of Chernobyl effort: veterinarians and other experienced personnel who care for the descendants of abandoned pets by spaying, neutering, vaccinating, providing first aid and whatever else needs to be done to keep the animals as healthy as possible.

The Clean Futures Fund provides people an opportunity to virtually adopt the dogs and cats of Chernobyl, thereby using those funds to support their rescue program. But there’s also a sense of satisfaction to be found in simply supporting them through their GoFundMe page.

And the best news is, after years of people being told that all the animals were radioactive and therefore unadoptable, that presumption has been shown to be a myth. How? Because the radiation found on the animals can be washed off – it comes from the environment, not from the animals themselves. Finally, puppies are being removed from the exclusion area and sent to loving homes.

There are many more animals still left, but there are also many dedicated and courageous volunteers who are determined to make sure that these furries are not forgotten. While this story isn’t over yet, it promises a happy ending.

Making Peace with Street Noise

Is it possible to re-imagine annoying city noises?

At the least, living in an urban area with a high level of noise pollution is annoying. At worst, being subjected to car alarms and emergency vehicle sirens at any time of the day and night is very jarring and stressful. And I’m speaking from personal experience here, as following our last move, we ended up with a bedroom overlooking a very busy Southern California street.

The stretch of road outside our apartment unit is one of those that give cars enough distance between traffic lights to really accelerate as they blast by. It also leads to one of the major hospitals in the area (hello, ambulance traffic), and this being a big city with big city issues, there’s no shortage of opportunities for the police to be called out, sirens blaring.

There are many days that I wish I weren’t where I am. But wishing doesn’t change anything.

Drawing on mindfulness helps, however, and this is how:

Re-interpreting noise as different sound elements turns an “idiot street racer” into a thunder-like rumble. Much less annoying.

Much of the stress I experience from these various car noises is due in part because I know what they mean. I know that the sounds are the constant stream of cars going down the street or a high-pitched siren wail. But what if I were to accept that I’m living in a noisy city and to define the street noises as simply various sounds?

What if I were to break down the sounds into their characteristics? Would it be easier to handle the noise if I stopped judging and explored each sound as if I were hearing it for the first time?

This is far more doable than one might imagine. Yes, alarms and loud tail pipes are decidedly unpleasant, but they don’t punctuate my soundscape nearly as frequently as do the regular cars driving by. The cars speed through with whooshes of different pitches depending on the vehicle and how quickly it passes.

Sounds of passing cars transform into soothing waves – with the occasional jarring reminder that things are not entirely pleasant.

These sounds rise up and pass away like waves on the ocean – in fact, that whoosh can be soothing, just like the sounds of the ocean can lull you to sleep. Even noisier cars and motorcycles take on a rumbling quality, like thunder. Allowing oneself to re-interpret these sounds, to let go of annoyance, makes even the more jarring noises easier to handle.

When you can’t run away from the noise, make space for it, invite it in and accept that this is what’s happening now. Inevitably, it will pass, to be replaced by another noise and another opportunity to re-imagine it.

Two Assumptions I Wish Doctors Didn’t Make About Cancer

Cancer can turn you into a stress-ball on its own, thankyouverymuch, but there are things that healthcare workers do that may worsen matters.

While there is always room for improvement in the many subtleties of physician-patient interactions (with subtleties being the operative term here, as anxious patients may be zeroing in on the “feel” of interactions and not just the spoken words), there are two big assumptions that I wish doctors would realize that they’re making:

Eat your vegetables and you won’t get cancer? I wish it were that simple.

The first assumption I’ve experienced has been made by non-oncologist physicians. They seem to be just as likely as the rest of the population to confuse correlations with causations. One doctor had been surprised that I had gotten cancer (hey, join the club) because my lifestyle “should” have been protective.

This physician, you could argue, was justified in saying what he did, as the messages we are bombarded with suggest that we have some control over our risk for cancer. However, read the fine print and you’ll see that in a great number of cases the risk factors that a cancer patient has don’t differ from those of someone who doesn’t develop cancer. But even doctors miss the fine print…

I brought this up to my oncology team which was quick to point out that as long as we don’t definitively know what causes cancer, we can’t make assumptions about whether or not someone will get the disease. So, yeah.

The other major assumption is one that I’ve gotten from the oncological community, and that is that on some level, most patients with a given cancer have the same health profile. Ironically, this concept is often mixed in with the conflicting assertion that everyone’s cancer experience is different. Granted, when you’ve seen a gazillion cancer patients, similarities emerge, and consciously or not there’s probably a tendency to pigeonhole people. Still it’s frustrating to be treated like I fit into a slot when I really don’t.

Effective communication is a critical part of quality physician-patient interactions.

My own oncologist has realized that, thankfully, but he has done a good job of listening and I do a (*cough cough*) good job of talking. Perhaps a bit too good, since he’s mentioned that it would be best if I scheduled my appointment to be his last of the day, so that we don’t face as many time restrictions. But therein lies my point: oncologists need to ask and patients need to share, otherwise, the patient remains a two-dimensional entity and it’s more likely that assumptions will be made about them.

So if there’s a take-home message from any of this, it’s that good communication is an essential part of effective treatment. This is not an easy feat, as physicians have a limited amount of time with each patient, and patients might not think that a given aspect of their experience is relevant. Believe me, it is, and the more that we talk about this and get into the nitty gritty of it, the easier it will be for everyone involved.

You know, I used to be funnier…

This is not the post I was originally going to write.

I was going to relate the feelings of loss that I’ve experienced. And if I feel them, cancer sufferers who are in worse situations are hit with a tenfold intensity.

However, I decided against that. As I noted earlier, attitude influences our perceptions of a situation. That’s certainly not earthshaking news, but the extent to which that happens constantly smacks me upside the head.

There are bright spots in cancer. My Nurse Navigator, herself a triple-negative breast cancer survivor, would say, “You’re gonna either laugh or cry,” and as patients we do find things to laugh about. It’s just that we want to be the ones to point those things out. Calling yourself Yoda because you have a few long hairs on your head can be done in a light-hearted way. Having your neighbor laugh at your bald pate after a strong gust of wind rips your head scarf off, not so cool.

Sitting down and plunking out a humorous piece used to be really easy. There were so many things in life to laugh about, and it was no sweat to find the funny in everything. But it’s a harder squeeze now with cancer in my rear view mirror.

Alright, who’s up for a Nerf gun battle?

Not that I want to hide behind doors in Groucho glasses ready to nail people with seltzer water. But being able to generate a little bit of lightness would be appreciated. And when you throw financial stressors, cancer, work pressures and gradually dissipating self-esteem into that environment, pulling out a sincerely funny post seems almost impossible.

This is not how I want to go out, as the grumpy old lady who sits by the window all day, watching the kids in the neighborhood and ratting them out for the smallest infraction. No, I’d rather be the fun old lady who brings out popsicles and water balloons and gets in trouble along with those kids.

Same old lady. Different attitude. Yeah, I can swing that.

Do Small Things with Great Love

Not all of us can do great things. But we can do small things with great love.

Attributed to Mother Theresa

I have disappointed myself.

Thirty years ago, I would have assumed that by now I would be doing great things, making a big difference in the lives of many beings.

I would have been well advanced in my field and a person of consequence.

But life is full of twists and turns and things don’t always go according to plan.

There are obstacles along the way, and maneuvering around them can force you onto a side path. Sometimes that path strays too far from your original purpose and you end up so far away that you cannot make it back.

You may find yourself in a place that’s unfamiliar and unexpected. For me, it was a realization that I will not get to where I thought I was going.

So I cannot make grand decisions to benefit all. But perhaps I can do little things with a kind heart that will benefit someone. I may not change the world, but in a small way with great love I can do my part.

And perhaps that is enough.