WORDS TO LIVE BY

Anyone who lives with chronic pain, or lives with someone who has chronic pain, knows the devastation that ensues. Often invisible, unpredictable, and misunderstood, pain has the ability to impact every aspect of a person’s life, and the lives of those who bear witness to the suffering. At its best, pain is a nagging annoyance; at its worst, pain is a vicious, unrelenting behemoth.

I have experienced migraines for many years. The headaches incapacitate me to the point that all I can do is sequester myself in a dark room, take frequent hot showers, replenish ice bags on an hourly basis, and bow to the porcelain gods. The day after a migraine, I can barely brush my hair due to the tenderness of my scalp. The good news is the headaches are sporadic and only last 24 hours. The bad news is the headaches are excruciating and last one thousand, four hundred, and forty-four minutes.

I’m so very grateful my experience with pain is limited to a few migraines a year. Those who live with chronic pain experience a very different reality. Along with the physical aspects of pain, there are emotional, psychological, and practical issues involved. On occasion, there may even be a spiritual component. It is not always obvious that someone is in pain. There can be prejudice, discrimination, and judgment toward someone living with chronic pain, and steady employment is often compromised due to pain episodes or exacerbations. Applying for Social Security Disability can be a unique pain in and of itself. There really is no end to the misery.

I’m grateful for physicians who specialize in pain management, palliative care specialists, and pharmaceuticals that address pain. I’m also thankful for holistic alternatives such as biofeedback, therapy, cannabis, and psilocybin. There are those that say the dosing of holistic medicines is uncertain and indiscriminate. To which I would suggest, “1-2 pills every 4-6 hours” doesn’t seem like an exact science either.

Years ago, I was visiting a patient who was in severe agony. When I asked him about his pain, this was his reply, “There’s worse things than dying and one of them is living like this.” Enough said.

I have been listening to a series of podcasts about grief hosted by Anderson Cooper and I’ve found them to be mesmerizing. He is so honest and raw when he talks about the loss of his father, mother, and brother. When his voice cracks (which it does often), my heart aches for him. If you get a chance, they are well worth the time.

On one of the podcasts, I heard this comment, “You’ll have a happier life if you are an optimist. Choose that.” The statement has stayed with me for weeks, causing me to consider whether I am an optimist. The answer is, “No.”

The Oxford dictionary defines optimism as “hopefulness and confidence about the future or the successful outcome of something.” That’s not me. I’m not sure, but I think life experiences, my age, politics, or a combination of all the above have resulted in a general cynicism that precludes my ability to be Mary Poppins. Hats off to those who see the cup half full, believe ‘something good always comes out of something bad,’ and profess a rainbow of other platitudes; I’m just not a charter member of the club.

However, neither am I a pessimist. Oxford defines pessimism as “a tendency to see the worst aspect of things or believe that the worst will happen.” I will readily admit, there was a time in my life when doom and gloom was what I expected, and usually experienced. Remember that song on Hee-Haw, “If it weren’t for bad luck, I’d have no luck at all?” That was me. It wasn’t even that the glass was half empty, there was no glass.

Truth be told, I am a skeptic. The definition in the dictionary includes my picture and an explanation that a skeptic is, “A person inclined to question or doubt accepted opinions” – that’s me. I can question a decision to death. I research everything. It’s not about the glass being half full or half empty. I want to see the glass, hold the glass, know what the glass is made of, how many ounces it holds, and if anyone has made sure the measurements are accurate. And even when I’ve exhausted all feasible explanations, options, opinions, and considerations, I will continue to ruminate on the choices until someone finally says, “For the love of all things holy…make a damn decision!” I hear that a lot.

How about you?

Now that I have some free time, I’ve begun volunteering. One of my favorite organizations is Joy’s Kitchen. Kathy, the woman who created Joy’s, is amazing. Over the past 10+ years she has made it her mission to eliminate food waste, improve the lives of those experiencing food insecurity, and to effect climate change. Each month, over 400 volunteers unite in a shared intention to gather, sort, and distribute food. “We know that every act to help eradicate climate change through saving viable food from waste can also love people. We are the solutions to a healthier planet and people.”

I’ve known Kathy for many years. We met rather serendipitously when her father was ill, and I was their palliative care coordinator. She and her dad told me about Joy’s Kitchen, named after their beloved wife and mother, Joyce. Fast forward years later, I arrive at a food bank to volunteer and the first person I see is Kathy.

Kathy is a people magnet and an entrepreneur extraordinaire. Three times a week, Joy’s trucks and trailers make their rounds throughout the city collecting food from area grocery stores. When you see the condition of the trucks and trailers, it is a wonder they keep plugging along, but where there’s a will, there’s a way. Approximately 6,000 pounds of food is rescued each trip and distributed to individuals, shelters, and other food banks. Joy’s motto is: Save Food – Love People.

On Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday, Joy’s opens their doors to the community to distribute free food. There are no restrictions or criteria for participating; everyone is welcome. In fact, one of the things I appreciate most about Joy’s is their mission to create a “We’re all in this together,” vibe rather than an “us vs. them” environment. Kathy explains, “We are not here for them, we are here with them.” As such, volunteers are encouraged to “shop” along with the other “guests.”

A professor once said, “The difference between the ‘haves’ and the ‘have-nots’ is simply a matter of timing.” I’ve never forgotten those words. Truth be told, most of us are one, maybe two paychecks away from financial ruin. Divorce, illness, unemployment, a pandemic…none of us are immune to life’s hardships.

On the home page for Joy’s Kitchen, there is a quote, “Together we can be the change we wish to see in the world.” IYKYK

❤️

P.S. Joy’s Kitchen is in dire need of financial assistance to continue their noble mission. If you have a few extra dollars, or a whole bunch of dollars, please consider donating at joyskitchen.org/donate.

Have you read the book, Simple Abundance – A Daybook of Comfort and Joy by Sarah Ban Breathnach? It is a daily journal filled with beautiful words of inspiration and encouragement. My book has highlighting throughout; so many of the entries feel like they were written just for me and always arrive just when I need them most. Although the book was written in 1995, it’s still just as relevant today (and you can find copies at thrift stores for next to nothing).

The contents of the book focus on the “six threads of abundant living: gratitude, simplicity, order, harmony, beauty, and joy.” The daily readings offer insight and wisdom to guide the reader toward an abundant life based on those premises. This may sound grandiose but I’m telling you, the book changed my life.

There was a time, many years ago, when I struggled financially. To say those years were lean would be an understatement. I didn’t have a home, a job, a car, and my children and I travelled by bicycle. I was on food stamps and living in a friend’s basement, awaiting a divorce settlement and adequate employment. There were times I mailed a check on Thursday, knowing I would get paid on Friday, and the check wouldn’t get to the bank until Monday. Suffice it to say, I’m glad those days are far behind us.

During that time, I was given a copy of Simple Abundance. The book became my North star during a period in my life that was extremely difficult. The author encouraged keeping a “gratitude journal,” a tradition that continues to this day. I discovered the mantra, “This too, shall pass.” I learned the difference between a job, a career, and a calling. There are lessons on every page.

My most treasured pearl of wisdom from the book was the idea of striving for “financial serenity, not financial security.” During those lean years, I had neither. Over time, I was able to re-establish my life and provide for my children. Even then, the concept of financial serenity seemed like a pipedream. Now that I’m older and wiser, I realize it’s the other way around. Can anyone ever really achieve financial security?

Focusing on financial serenity brings peace and tranquility to my life. Rather than how much or how little one possesses; the premise is to be grateful and appreciative for what is. I wish I could say I practice this concept all day, every day, but I can’t. It is definitely a work in progress some 40 years in the making. What I can tell you is that it works. Case in point…I’ve been wanting to create a Zen Garden since I moved into my home 7 years ago. However, it seemed like such an extravagant expense. Yesterday, at the encouragement of a friend, I bought 6 tons of gravel and hired 3 gentlemen to help create my sacred space. Please know I am not one to impulsively do anything, much less spend $841.26 on rocks. That said, I’ve wanted this for years (and I think my friend got tired of hearing me procrastinate 😊). I spent the money on Saturday, and on Sunday, I walked to my mailbox to collect the week’s treasure trove of advertisements and junk mail. And there, in the mailbox, was my first check for teaching this quarter…$894.11. Coincidence? I think not!

It took a Google search for me to discover the difference between joy and happiness. I guess I always thought they were one-in-the-same. Come to find out, for the 9,378th+ time, I was wrong!

After diligent research, I’ve learned joy and happiness are very different. Joy is an internal delight within us. Happiness usually depends on external forces or material things. ‘Joy comes when we make peace with who we are, why we are and how we are, whereas happiness tends to depend on other people, things, places, thoughts, and events.’

Delight was the word I had been searching for to describe my renewed joy of riding a bike; I had forgotten how delightful that could be. I can ride much farther than I can run, and the myriad trails throughout Colorado offer unbelievable scenery. Not only is biking excellent physical exercise (although I did fall and skin my knee), it also gets me out in nature to enjoy fresh air and a serotonin boost. When I ride my bike, I feel like a kid again!

In keeping with my child-like enjoyment of biking, I’ve expanded my pursuit of pure delight to other areas. Yesterday while I was running, I saw a hopscotch someone had drawn on the sidewalk. Why not? While I was poppin’ tags, I found an antique tea kettle that has a little bird that whistles when the water boils. The happiness that tea kettle brings me is ridiculous. And just the other day, a friend acquainted me with “Semester at Sea,” an opportunity to spend 3 months teaching on a cruise ship and sailing to the Netherlands, Portugal, Morocco, Spain, Croatia, Greece, Cyprus, Jordan, Kenya, India, and Dubai. I emailed my CV the very next day. Just the thought of it makes me giggle!

When was the last time you felt pure unadulterated delight?
When was the last time you felt like a kid?
When was the last time you giggled with joy?

Try it, you might like it.

I’ve been leading guided meditation walks at the Denver Botanic Garden for many years. The good news is the meditations are popular monthly events at the Garden. The not-so-good news is the meditations are only for adults. This year, I’ve decided to branch out and begin developing a meditation program for littles. Research shows children as young as 3 years old can grasp the basics when presented with age-appropriate meditations.

When my gbabes were 3 and 5, I practiced meditating with them over the summer. We started with 30 seconds of silence and breathing, adding 30 seconds each week until we were at 3 minutes. That may not sound like much but getting 2 little boys to sit still and silent for 3 minutes felt quite Zen.

There is a plethora of online meditations for children of all ages. Here are some of the basics:

How do we meditate? We close our eyes and open our hearts.

Examples of breathing techniques include:
smell the flower, blow out the candle
hands on belly, deep, deep, deep breath in, forceful exhale like blowing up a balloon
feel breath going in nose, pause, feel breath going out mouth.
(The premise is always gentle inhalations and forceful exhalations.)

The Disney movie, Inside Out, does a wonderful job of illustrating various emotions: joy, anger, sadness, disgust, and fear. My plan is to choose one emotion each week and let the kiddos act out the emotion. Once they’ve exhausted their wiggles and giggles, I hope to return their attention to mindful breathing.

This project feels a bit daunting but I’m up for the challenge. The Dalai Lama is quoted as saying, “If every 8-year-old in the world is taught meditation, we will eliminate violence from the world within one generation.”

Hope springs eternal.

A few weeks ago, I had the pleasure of chauffeuring 2 young men to the Denver Aquarium for one last excursion before middle school resumed. Since they were a captive audience, I took the opportunity to conduct an informal survey:

What makes a good teacher?

Someone who doesn’t yell.
Someone who understands how much work we have to do and is willing to make exceptions.
Someone who listens.
Someone who doesn’t hate kids.
Someone who doesn’t lose the work I turn in.
Someone who gets to know me as a person, not just a student.

Since turnabout is fair play, I asked:

What makes a good student?

Being responsible.
Being respectful.
Trying your best no matter what.

I was very impressed with these gents. They were polite, sincere, and thoughtful. Judging by their insight and willingness to be fair and honest, I think the future is in good hands.

A friend made an interesting observation the other day. He said, “Isn’t it ironic that we call it a cell phone and yet talking on it is what we do the least?” Ain’t it the truth! That innocuous comment stayed with me for days and caused me to ponder my cell phone usage:

Texting (According to Google, 23 billion texts are sent worldwide each day – 270,000 each second)
Calendar aka FranklinCovey day planner (IYKYK)
Email/Zoom
Camera/Photo Album
Contacts aka old school address book
Dictionary/ThesRus
Music/Podcasts/Movies
Passwords (yep, written down despite WARNINGS)
News/Weather (Enter at your own risk)
All the ‘To Do’ lists
Calculator/Scanner/Copier
Car warranty/student loan forgiveness updates
Social media
Watching my goddaughter anchor the news on KIMT3
Concert ticket depository
Navigation (‘How I miss those paper maps’ said no one ever)
Banking/Bill paying
Stopwatch/Alarm clock
Magnifier (for those of a certain age)
All things travel related
Broncos/Chiefs schedule
Medical history
Keeping up with ‘Karen’ on Next Door

Last but not least, to actually speak to another human being (if I’m lucky)!

Every year I vow to read a book a month. How hard can it be? I don’t have an 8-5 job and I love to read; the goal is certainly attainable. And every July, I evaluate my progress. For once, I’m actually ahead of the game!

I love books and my reading list is eclectic. I enjoy historical fiction, biographies, and memoirs. I especially like books that challenge me to think outside the box, expand my professional knowledge, and inspire. If I visit your home, please know I will be perusing your bookshelves for hints as to your favorites. I think books speak volumes about a person.

There are books I read once a year as primers:
Man’s Search for Meaning by Viktor Frankl
Traveling Mercies by Anne Lamott
The Book of Joy by the Dalai Lama and the late Desmond Tutu.

I have meditations I circulate depending upon each day’s intention:
The Pocket Thich Nhat Hanh
Everyday Gratitude – Inspiration For Living Life As A Gift
Good Enough – 40ish Devotionals For A Life of Imperfection by Kate Bowler & Jessica Richie
The Language of Letting Go by Melody Beattie.

Best-loved books are reserved in a place of honor on my bookshelf. When asked, I will always recommend any or all of them to someone looking for a good read:
The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls
The Secret Life of Bees and The Invention of Wings both by Sue Monk Kidd
Wench by Dolen Perkins-Valdez
The Gifts of Imperfection by Brene Brown
The Four Agreements by Don Miguel Ruiz
The Anatomy of Hope by Jerome Groopman
Parenting Teens With Love and Logic by Foster Cline & Jim Fay.

Thus far this year, I’ve read:
What Happened to You by Bruce D. Perry and Oprah Winfrey
The Body Keeps the Score by Bessel van der Kolk
Between Two Kingdoms by Suleika Jaouad
The Unwinding of the Miracle by Julie Yip-Williams
A Collection of Life Stories by my mother
Where The Crawdads Sing by Delia Owens
Everything Happens For a Reason and Other Lies I’ve Loved by Kate Bowler
The Bhagavad Gita by Jack Hawley
Wintering – The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times by Katherine May.

What are you reading?

For many years, my mother-in-law served musgo once a week for dinner. In case you’re wondering, musgo is the lone piece of pizza left over from Saturday night, the chicken leg that remains from Sunday’s family dinner, the left-over mashed potatoes (also from Sunday), the vestiges of Wednesday’s homemade lasagna, the one-day-away-from-expiration slaw, etc. Musgo consisted of the contents of the fridge she could not bear to throw away but were quickly approaching botulism.

Today, I began a musgo expedition of my own. For months, I’ve looked at the CD racks in my study and agonized over their future. You see, music is sacred to me. I have music of every genre and generation: Broadway musicals, classical, rock, and country, Christmas CDs, and even spooky Halloween tunes. I find it ironic that I have 700+ CDs but no CD player in my home or vehicle.

And so, this was the day I spent hours (read all day long) looking at each CD and remembering the songs that were the soundtrack of my life. It felt sacrilegious to get rid of my extensive Greg Allman collection. It was sad to part with my Phantom of the Opera and Wicked CDs. Even though I know the songs by heart, those musicals are two I shared with my daughter at The Fabulous Fox. There were pirated CDs my kids made me for Mother’s Day, birthdays, and “just because.” Seeing their handwriting on the discs was a walk down memory lane.

I saved a few. For instance, the “All You Need is Love” CD I bought when my first grandchild was born; it’s a compilation of Beatles songs performed by children. He loved that CD …not so much now that he’s 15! I saved songs that were played at cherished friends’ funerals. The Susan Tedeschi CD that featured “Angel from Montgomery” and “Midnight in Harlem,” songs that stop me in my tracks every dang time, was spared. The Michael Jackson collection my son downloaded for me was another keeper, not because it was MJ, but because my son took the time to make them. Years ago, a patient gave me a CD of the book, “The Power of the Crone.” I remember being overwhelmed by the pearls of wisdom shared. I donated the CDs, but I have the book to remind me of Nan, and my power as a crone. There were even a few CDs of presentations I made at conferences; there may come a time when someone wants to hear my voice.

Without a doubt, my most prized CD is a compilation of Christmas songs chosen especially for me by an unforgettable patient. The CD is entitled, “Denise Christmas CD,” and is accompanied by a hand-written list of the songs. When she gave me the CD, she explained why she chose each song and why the song reminded her of me. The CD is an eclectic collection of memorable and unique melodies – just like Darla, the self-proclaimed “Colorectal Queen!” Every Christmas, I send her son a text to let him know I am thinking of him, and his sweet momma. A Spotify playlist shall be created in her honor.

Although the CDs succumbed to musgo (and a trip to Goodwill), the memories live on.