My firstborn was a toddler romping happily with his cousins while the grown-ups enjoyed an after-dinner chat around the kitchen table.  Our conversation came to a halt, however, when my little offspring, squeezing into our space, misjudged his wiggle room and banged his head on a doorknob.  The damage was minimal but his misfortune elicited a collective “Awwww” from the solicitous adults.

Kevin, of course, burst into tears.  Comforting was required.  Recovered, he went on his way only to return a short time later to make the same mistake.  This time, however, we were ready for him.  We laughed spontaneously.  Shocked by our amusement, the hapless child froze for an instant, then joined us in our mirth.

Most parents know instinctively that infants and young children are profoundly affected by how we—parents and other adults—respond to life’s events.  Kids take their clues from us.

As adults, however, we like to think we form our own opinions, make our own decisions, and act accordingly.  But there are minefields.

A couple of years ago, I fell off a stepladder, broke my leg, and had surgery to repair the damage.  Arising in the hospital a couple of nights later, I fell and broke my wrist.  All right, that was all pretty extreme, but it didn’t render me incompetent or even, in the long run, noticeably damaged, though I was quite a sight for a couple of months.

Ever since then, however, I’ve noticed a shift in the way some people who know of this klutzy history treat me.  Take my hairdresser, for instance.  For something like 15 years, I’ve climbed in and out of her chair without incident.  Now, every time I approach her station, she admonishes, “Watch your step” as I climb into her chair.

Maybe she’s just concerned about her liability rates, but after awhile I realized what I was telling myself was “Wow, she must really think I’m getting old and decrepit—and inattentive, to boot.”   And then, of course, I wondered . . . “Am I getting old and decrepit—and inattentive to boot?”

I could have taken that in and begun to believe it, and I’m afraid that happens to many people as they age.  But I’m forming my own opinion.

The English word has taken on many other meanings, of course, the most prevalent being in the educational arena, where it can refer to a entire contingent of students in the same grade level or a group of students studying a particular subject together or, even more specifically, a period of time during which the latter group meets.

Dictionary.com, in fact, lists no fewer than 25 definitions of class as a noun, one as an adjective (as in “He’s a class act), and three as verbs.

The definition that seems most closely related to the origins of the word, however, is this (from the aforementioned Dictionarycom): “a social stratum sharing basic economic, political, or cultural characteristics, and having the same social position.”

Here’s what bothers me about the way the word used is so frequently today, especially by those in the news business:  When speaking of matters financial, they frequently use the term “upper income,” but in the same segment refer to those not in high income brackets as middle and working class.

It took me awhile to figure out why this offended me, and the bottom line is this: The word income is straightforward with little in the way of either positive or negative connotation; income simply is. Class, on the other hand, is fraught with secondary meanings and, used in contrast with “upper income” implies an inferior status, not only in income, but in social stature, accomplishment, personal and professional worth.

The speaker may not intend to convey that meaning, but that’s what comes through.  Anybody listening?

A few years ago I took a whirlwind trip to Italy with my son and three of our friends.  It was “whirlwind” of necessity.  We all had commitments that narrowed our options to one week in August when we were free to travel together.  At the end of that time, we scattered in three directions—my son to London, our friends to Sicily, and I (feeling somewhat martyred) back to work in the States.

After I returned to the office, a colleague asked, “Well, how was it?  What was the highlight of your trip?”  The question was unexpected, and I had to think.  The coliseum?  Michelangelo’s David?  Pisa’s Leaning Tower?

All fascinating.  All famous.  All historic.  All . . .everything a tourist might expect.  But no.  The highlight was none of those.

Finally, I confessed . . “You want to know the truth?  The most memorable experience was helping Kevin do his laundry in a Venetian laundromat.”

I went on to describe the experience: emptying my suitcase to fill it with my son’s dirty clothes,  trudging along the rough stone walks in hundred-degree heat, struggling together to decipher the laundromat’s posted instructions until we were joined by a helpful American experienced in such matters, chatting with a middle-aged Chinese student and sharing a laugh when he pointed at Kevin, now explaining the machines to another new arrival and said, “Aha! Look! Now he the teacher!”

As I described the day to my friend, I realized it wasn’t what we did—or even where we did it—that made that memory special.  It was simply doing it together.

Now, research is showing that experiences make people happier than things.  The reason for this?  Well, according to researchers, a major factor is that the happiness provided by experiences lasts longer simply because we can reminisce about them.

When we think about how to use our financial resources, it’s often tempting to think, “I’d love to take a weekend away, but instead I really should spend the money I’d use on a new computer (or TV or couch or . . .you name it).  That’ll last a lot longer than a weekend in the city.”  Au contraire! Your memories of a weekend in the city can last a lifetime.  What’s the lifespan of a computer these days?

During a meeting with a young colleague a couple of years ago, the two of us were interrupted by a mutual friend bearing information on the matter at hand.  The presidential primaries were raging at the time and, before the drop-in departed, as her business with us concluded, she remarked on a recent development on the political front.  A brief, but lively conversation ensued.

After she left, the younger woman, who didn’t participate in the exchange, said, “Gosh, Marj, I can’t imagine ever caring as much or even knowing as much as you two do about politics.”

Having been a political science major (lo, those many years ago), I’ve always been interested in all things political, but while raising a family, pursuing advanced degrees, and changing careers, I hadn’t followed events or informed myself on issues nearly as diligently as I should have.

“Actually, I haven’t always paid this much attention to what’s going on,” I told her, “but the older I’ve gotten, the more I’ve realized how much what politicians do affect our everyday lives.”

This was before the economic collapse that left no doubt about the truth of that observation—though in that case it was what the politicians failed to do (a little financial regulation, folks?) that brought on the disaster.

The point is that, while we’re busy building our own lives, chasing our own dreams, becoming the persons we want to be, we also need to be cognizant of what’s going on in the larger political and economic arenas.  Lives once filled with promise have been derailed by our own uninformed choices.

What troubles me especially are these: first, the relative ignorance (not only of the electorate, but of some of our elected officials) of the basic concepts on which our political and economic systems are based; second, the gullibility of so many voters who can be swayed by rhetoric and accusations that distort or ignore the facts, and third, the unwillingness across the political spectrum to question long-held beliefs and consider with open minds new ideas to deal with the challenges of a new age.

The U.S. is often called a “young country.”  It’s time for us to grow up.

Taking on a New Role

The title of the book is It’s Not a Life Sentence and, indeed, the missing antecedent to which the it refers truly is not a life sentence.  You see, the it is more than an it, referring as it does to the expectations, distractions, beliefs, and self-imposed demands that come between us and our own true selves.  We all have the power to make changes in our lives and in our relationship with ourselves by heightening self-awareness and taking control of the way we deal with the past. The premise of the book is that, given this power, we can, if we choose, evolve in ways that result in deep and lasting happiness and a profound sense of well being.

In writing the book, however, I overlooked a very real digital trap which may, in fact, become a life sentence for the unsuspecting and make the process of taking control alarmingly difficult.  I speak, of course, of the elusive Internet, that repository of so much easy information (or misinformation, as the case my be), stubborn innuendo, and personal history.

“The fact that the Internet never seems to forget is threatening, at an almost existential level, our ability to control our identities; to preserve the option of reinventing ourselves and starting anew; to overcome our checkered pasts,” reporter Jeffrey Rosen writes in the July 19^th edition of The New York Times.

In other words, while you may make profound and lasting changes in yourself, your life, and your behavior, that photo someone posted on the Internet—you half-nude and high as a 747—may repose eternally on the Internet, to be stumbled upon by potential employers, mates, or disappointed parents.

In my book, I write about the various personas we all assume as we fulfill a variety of roles—spouse, parent, caregiver, business person, community volunteer.  The list goes on and on.  Inevitably, as we function in these diverse settings, we exhibit behaviors we’ve learned are the most effective in those environments.

Rosen also writes about this, but points out that the phenomenon of one individual with “segmented identities,” functioning in ways that may be appropriate in one sphere of our lives but not in others, may be a thing of the past as lives and histories are laid bare and preserved in the digital arena.

Much to consider.  Many reasons to be careful out there.

Happy Father’s Day, Daddy-o . . .

How do you like the onesie Granny got me?  I think it’s perfect myself.

Sorry the photo shoot at the doctor’s office caught me at a bad time the other day.  I was resting and it was just so comfy in there with my legs crossed.  I hear you’re pretty sure I’m a girl, but there’s a chance I was hiding something.  I wouldn’t know.

Anyway . . .there are some things Granny thinks you already know, but she wanted me to remind you anyway.  Things like . . .

¤  Regardless of my gender, you’ll be the most important man in my life for quite a long time.  Whatever you are, that’s what I’ll expect a man will be.  Granny tells me you’ll be a wonderful example.

¤  If I am a girl, I’ll get my first indelible impressions of how I can expect to be treated as a woman from the way you treat my mom.  Those memories will influence me all my life.  Keep havin’ fun together.

¤  On the off-chance I’m a boy, I’ll get my first indelible impressions of how a man walks through the world from you and I’ll pattern myself after what I see you do.  Granny tells me she sees a lot of your father in you and it’s all (well, “mostly,” she says) good.  Pass it on!

¤  Regardless of who I am . . .

• I    I’ll sit on your lap and watch Charger games with you, but you’ll need to calm down.  All that shouting and stomping and gnashing of teeth will be way too scary for me this year.

• I    I’ll play with you any time you want.

• I    I really will think you have super powers like the onesie says.  I hear you used to say “Daddy will fix it” whenever you broke anything.  Well, guess what!

¤  The time will come when I don’t think you have super powers at all and are actually rather timeworn and out of touch.  Remember how ignorant Granny and Grandpa got when you were in high school?  I hope that doesn’t happen to you, but it might.  Don’t worry.  They got smarter later on, and I think you will, too.

See ya’ soon, Pops.

Hugs and kisses,

Your Baby

Recently, however— just since I started drafting this piece a couple of days ago, in fact—I’ve come to see those treasured times in a more profound light.  Life is serendipitous.  Sometimes what you need is brought to you unbidden.

Our minister’s Sunday topic was “Care of the Soul.”  She described a recent incident in which, driving down Interstate 5 south of Los Angeles, she crested a hill and saw the Pacific in colors so deep and vibrant that “it almost made me sick . . .but not in a bad way.”  She felt as though she had taken the scene into her body, she said, and acknowledged that the phenomenon, difficult to put into words, might be almost impossible to understand if you had never experienced it yourself.

As she spoke, I began to see that, in her view, “soul care” embodied those moments I had called “happiness injections.” I like her view better.  It is, as I said, more profound and points to a coming together of mind, body, and spirit in a crystallizing moment of connection with the universe.  At such times we feel, but the feeling defies analysis.

This kind of soul care requires intense engagement in the moment, openness to whatever is around us, a willingness to relate to the world on its own terms.  While I’ve never experienced the physical sensation she described, there have been many times in my life when I’ve felt the uplifting “moreness” she described.

I like her view because, unlike mine, it offers a kernel of explanation.  What I’ve called  “happiness jolts” have always eluded my understanding.  Now I’m beginning to understand why that’s the case: It involves the soul, a concept I struggle with.  Nevertheless, skeptic that I am, I have moments of quiet exhilaration when I feel transported by a sense of connection, community, contentment.  The whole is greater than the sum of its parts.

Many things can take me there.  The clear soprano of a boys’ choir singing a descant high above the voices of a congregation; the first glimpse of a black-and-white photo that captures, as Technicolor cannot, the ambiance and tone of a time now gone; the flow of an unplanned day that weaves unexpected new connections with loved ones.  The list goes on.

Each of us connects with the universe in our own unique way.  I wonder what works for you.

Some people hoard objects.  Writers hoard facts, opinions, the apt turn of phrase, the illuminating observation, the unsettling dream.  All grist for the mill, we say.

Several years ago, I started saving on my hard drive articles and e-mails that seemed to me  particularly cogent, containing kernels of thoughts or issues I might want to explore further.  A couple of days ago, I saved an Op-Ed column by David Brooks, writing for the New York Times.

The statement that struck me was this, in which Brooks paraphrases another writer, Arthur Brooks (the two are unrelated), on the subject of happiness.  Brooks writes, “. . . the key to happiness is not being rich; it’s doing something arduous and creating something of value and then being able to reflect on the fruits of your labor.”

Brooks’ article was focused, interestingly, not on happiness per se, but on the anger of voters, who see their values violated in this election season.  As I opened the Brooks article, however, I perused other files in the same folder and discovered that some time ago I had saved a number of writings on the subject of happiness.  Following . . . a little smorgasbord.

“. . .at some point I decided that . . .happiness arose out of all I didn’t want or need, not all I did. . . Not having a car gives me volumes not to think or worry about, and makes walks around the neighborhood a daily adventure. Lacking a cell phone and high-speed Internet, I have time to play ping-pong every evening, to write long letters to old friends and to go shopping for my sweetheart . . .”(Pico Iyer, American author living and writing in Japan,  “The Joy Of Less,” New York Times, June 7, 2009)

“Studies suggest that, even in normal conditions, to be happy, humans must feel in control. . . . Eliminate control, and people experience depression, stress and the onset of disease.” (Leonard Mlodinow, Cal Tech professor and writer, “The Limits of Control,” New York Times, June 15, 2009)

“. . .happiness is a function of our expectations — or, as it has been said: ‘Happiness equals reality minus expectations.’” (Erich Weiner, writer, “Lowered Expectations,” New York Times, July 19, 2009)

“Happiness is . . .this feeling of existence, this sentiment of momentary self-sufficiency that is bound up with the experience of time. . . .I think that one can . . . experience this feeling of existence in the experience of love, in being intimate with one’s lover, feeling the world close around one . . .And then it is over.  Time passes, the reverie ends and the feeling for existence fades.”  (Simon Critchley, author and chair of  philosophy at the New School for Social Research, “Happy Like God,” New York Times, May 25, 2009)

Grist for the mill.

We all know that’s not true, but still there’s that niggling connotation.  As a result, I avoid identifying myself as “retired” at all costs and tell people (if they ask what I do) how I spend my time—writing, volunteering, traveling, for instance.

For the past few (blogless) months, however, I’ve spent a lot of time pondering not what I do, but what I want to do—trying to listen to myself, so to speak.  This phase of life comes with huge responsibilities, I’ve discovered, and the chief responsibility shifts from what you owe others to what you owe yourself.  It’s a surprising dilemma—and one that, after years of raising families, holding down jobs, and juggling the knotty issues that accompany those endeavors, may take us by surprise.

It is, after all, easier to let yourself off the hook if you can tell yourself you can’t do x, y, or z, because you have to grade papers or chauffeur the kids to Little League or meet a client on Saturday morning.  When you no longer have to meet those demands, there go your excuses!

The space this creates in your life is both a blessing and a curse—a blessing because you have the time and freedom to take control of what you do, a curse because you have the time and freedom to take control of what you do.  Yes, both!

The curse part?  This is the deal:

• If you’re a type-A, goal-driven sort, the temptation is to give up your freedom in pursuit of yet another accomplishment, though you might find more satisfaction in spending your time in other ways.

• If you’re a type-B, laid-back number, you may be tempted to sit back with no particular plan and miss out on activities or adventures you’d enjoy if you took the initiative to get involved.

Old habits die hard.

So for the past few months, I’ve given myself the gift of time—time not to blog, time not to think about what I should be doing to market what I write, time not to push myself anywhere for any reason.  Here are a few things I’ve discovered in my hiatus:

• I like to pull weeds, water new plants, see the results.  (Oh, how shocked my mother would be!)  There’s something nurturing about working with the soil.

• It’s satisfying to discover I can operate a drill, install curtain rods, hang wall shelves, straighten the plates on electrical plugs.  (Who knew all you had to do is adjust two little set screws in order to square the plugs up with the rest of the world?)

• I can happily sit down in the middle of the day and read a book and shut off that little voice that tells me I should be doing something.  I am doing something.

The beat goes on.

We also have an internal calendar.  We’re less aware of it than of the clock, probably because the calendar is more sensitive to the past than to the present, and its effect on us is more insidious.

I was reminded of that as I drove home in the dark of a recent winter evening.  Driving north on Interstate 5 out of San Diego after doing some Christmas shopping, I realized I was descending into a funk—worse than the tristesse brought on by a melancholy melody, but not as bad as the gloom that accompanies a bout of existential angst.

This funk, in fact, was the kind of thing I would ordinarily try to ignore, to “busy” myself out of by diving into a project or distracting myself with a good book.  Stuck behind the wheel of a car, however, I lacked those options.  Instead, I wondered, “What’s this all about?”

The first thing I thought of was this: I don’t like the early darkness of winter.  I don’t like getting home at 5:30 in the evening and feeling like it’s time to turn in for the night.  Give me long days and short nights.  I need sunlight; the more, the better.

But that didn’t seem an adequate explanation.

Then I remembered: Many years ago, before I became a therapist myself, a wise counselor had pointed out to me that the holidays and the weeks surrounding them had often been a time of trauma in my life, beginning with a near-fatal case of pneumonia when I was a very young child. Among other things, years later, my husband had been hospitalized with a dangerous staph infection on Christmas Eve.  Another day’s delay, we were told, might have been fatal, and his recovery took many months.

Last year at this time, a broken leg and wrist had forced me to cancel a trip to a family gathering on the east coast.  Over the years, there had been other daunting events during the deep of winter.  But by far, the most devastating occurred two years ago when my husband was again hospitalized, this time with a terminal illness.  Driving along on that recent winter evening, I realized that not only was this my difficult time of year, this was my difficult drive—the highway I had driven night after night as I returned home from the hospital.

That history was the source of my blues.  My internal calendar said this was the season, not of comfort and joy, but of hazard and heartache.  That realization didn’t make the funk disappear, but it did make it manageable.  Knowing it was about the past, not about the present, gave me perspective and a sense of control.

The next time you experience the inexplicable, free-floating gloom that from time to time afflicts us all you might try poking around your history to see if you can connect that feeling to your past.  It may help you move beyond it to make the most of the present.