summons

Renee Montagne did a piece on Morning Edition on NPR on Wed., Dec. 29 http://www.npr.org/templates/transcript/transcript.php?storyId=132416889 illuminating the excellence in achievement of Chinese students on a global standardized math test. To lift from the transcript, some educators are calling this a "sputnik" moment - that the U.S. needs a wake up call to lessen the gap in knowledge and achievement in math between American students and our Asian counterparts.
The piece then went on to create a more complex picture - in fact, one prominent Chinese educator criticized the very measuring instrument and the typical way knowledge/achievement is measured in the Chinese culture, particularly in the test that enables students to be admitted to college: he says all these measures are rote memorization and don't allow for problem-solving or creativity. The latter types of learning are seen as more Western.
As a Westerner, I was surprised by all of this for a couple of reasons - I think of Eastern culture as less "black and white", less dualistic. It hadn't occurred to me that the emphasis on education in Asian cultures might rely heavily on memorization. Also, I tend to have that knee-jerk, sky is falling reaction to what's happening in the American education system; "our students are behind! our culture doesn't value education! there are no jobs! we are economically doomed!"
I like thinking there could be a way (or many ways )that each culture can learn from the other.
It also got me to thinking about why and how I started to care about my own education and not just rote memorization. I was always in honors classes, got decent enough grades in high school and college, but I didn't really care that much about what I was "learning." The turning point for me was taking a Greek Civilization class my sophomore year of college. I had a huge crush on the senior behind me. He was so smart (later became a neurosurgeon)! We'd pass notes back and forth and flirt even though we were both dating other people. But, his grades were much better than mine. One day, while reading the Iliad, I asked him, "why do I need to know this stuff?" He answered, in all seriousness, "because in order to be an educated person in the world you should know this stuff." It was an "a-ha" moment. I realized that I never really cared before about truly learning and that wasn't who I wanted to be. I began making an effort about what went into my brain and questioning so much of what I had allowed to be in my brain before that time.
For me, that was the beginning of being awake to the world in a different way, of being engaged in both my experiences, but also my experiences in the larger context of culture and history. I am so grateful.
This reminds me of a poem someone introduced me to recently, by Robert Francis:
Summons
Keep me from going to sleep too soon
Or if I go to sleep too soon
Come wake me up. Come any hour
Of night. Come whistling up the road.
Stomp on the porch. Bang on the door.
Make me get out of bed and come
And let you in and light a light.
Tell me the northern lights are on
And make me look. Or tell me clouds
Are doing something to the moon
They never did before, and show me.
See that I see. Talk to me till
I'm half as wide awake as you
And start to dress wondering why
I ever went to bed at all.
Tell me the walking is superb.
Not only tell me but persuade me.
You know I'm not too hard persuaded.

Let us all be open to listening and learning in the New Year. Let us be awake. Happy 2011!

free will and families

In the aftermath of the holidays and the abundance of major family events that are part of my typical, adult holiday experience, this seems to be shaping up as a more personal post.
So. Did anyone else have the experience of snapping at a loved one in irritation and anger during the past few days? Here's my confession. As we sat together by the Christmas tree to open gifts on Christmas Eve, the light soft, the appetizers tasty, the children happy and excited, something happened. An energy began to build in the room. A momentum and an impatience, I would say. These were the first gifts of the season. The children had been waiting all through advent, the Elf on the Shelf, the television commercials and the catalogs that arrive in the mail. We began to pass gifts around - my oldest child old enough to read name cards and help. We try to keep it equal - everyone goes around and opens one gift, then a second round of gifts is distributed, and so on. After Round One, my daughter, who is nearly five begins asking, 'where is my next gift, I can't find another one with my name? Can you help me?' Simultaneously, my sister and mother begin directing me to find another specific package under the tree. I can't find the one for my daughter nor the one my sister and mother are requesting. My daughter, sister and mother begin offering more directions and making louder requests all simultaneously. This seems to go on for a minute, but feels like longer. It feels like everyone is talking at once and none of them seem to think I have the sense God gave me. I snap: "I'M DOING THE BEST I CAN! CAN YOU ALL JUST HOLD ON!"
Silence. My family is not a family of yellers. This is highly against protocol. I am a jerk. There are a few awkward moments. I apologize for snapping. The night goes on normally.
When it comes to the vast majority of life, particularly how we treat other people, I believe that we have many choices. Free will. With family in particular, I think we are not always aware of what choices are available to us because we are locked into ways of being that we grew up with, old scripts for behavior that we rarely question.
In my life, when I question my words or behavior, whether past, present or future, I find it helpful to try to ask myself and answer as objectively as possible: What are ALL my choices here?
With the above situation what were my other choices? I could have patiently continued to look for the gifts my family members were asking for and ignored their escalating voices (and stuffed my frustration). I could have told them all to go to hell and find their own gifts and stormed out of the room. I could have made the whole thing into a joke to lessen the tension for them and for me. I could have said a clear version of my truth, "I'm sorry, but I'm having a hard time finding these gifts. Maybe someone could come over here and help me or try to be patient while I do one thing at a time." I'm sure there are other possibilities that I'm not thinking of. For me, I think the last two choices ring more true to who I want and strive to be as a person.
So next Christmas, my family better watch out - I intend to be so patient, kind and in touch with my feelings, it will be nearly intolerable. I hope it will be the same for you.
Speaking of choices and family, and on a somewhat other note...this article appeared in the NYT on Dec. 26 http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/26/us/politics/26death.html?emc=tnt&tntemail1=y regarding the new Medicare guidelines for doctors to advise their patients regarding choices in end of life care including advance directives. In case you don't know, advance directives are documents that allow a person who is healthy and his or her right mind to consider in advance what life sustaining treatments should be administered or withheld should that person not be able to make those decisions on her own and also appointing a health care proxy like a spouse or adult child. We should all be having these conversations with our families and making sure we have these documents, whether this is initiated by our doctors or not. Obviously, my time working in hospice exposed me to these issues, but by the time a person is in need of hospice care, the trajectory of their illness or treatment is typically one without much choice. I most certainly saw families where the existence of an advance directive would have brought lots of peace of mind to the family trying to make decisions for a loved one in a coma or with dementia.
The point is there are lots more choices available to us in all aspects of our life than we typically stay aware of. Here's to being aware of our choices and making ones we feel good about in 2011.

decide what to be and go be it

I had intended to write something Christmas-y, something about advent, about family, about slowing down. But. When I sat down to think and write, what is inspiring to me today seems more New Years-y.
I read an article in this week's New Yorker, http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2010/12/20/101220fa_fact_hessler about a Peace Corps advocate, Rajeev Goyal, and his unorthodox tactics in advocating for increased funding for the Peace Corps. He is a former volunteer himself, who was able to get running water in a village in Nepal. Now, back in the United States, he works for Peace Corps funding in Washington, D.C., using a "village" approach. He doesn't utilize a normal chain of hierarchy to reach those in power, he attempts to speak directly with members of congresss, etc., by knowing who they are and approaching them at Starbucks, waiting for them after committee meetings, finding mutual acquaintances to make introductions, and so on. He has come under some criticism for being so forthright and eschewing hierarchy and 'the way we do things,', but he also has helped increase funding significantly.
I love this guy.
What inspires me (and I hope you) when I read about Rajeev is that he seems to have two attributes that I think are worth searching for in our own lives: 1) he has passion for something outside 'the self' and 2) he has a unique vision and drive to make it so. It reminds me of an Avett Brothers lyric (if you're not familiar with the Avett Brothers, I think they are a great band http://www.avettbrothers.com/ ). They're kind of altcountry/rock and their lyrics appeal to the poet in me. Anyway, the lyrics I'm thinking of are these: "I had a dream/one day I could see it/like a bird in a cage I broke in/ and demanded that somebody free it". Another good line is, "decide what to be and go be it."
Now that I'm thinking about it, this entry might actually be a little Christmas-y - I'm thinking about dreams - personal dreams, dreams for peace on Earth (what better practical application for peace on Earth than the Peace Corps?!), inspiration, putting hierarchy in its place (Jesus was also an advocate, gadfly and questioner of authority).
And this, I suppose, is the New Years-y piece: if you find yourself stymied or at a frustrating life standstill, the new year is a good time to examine your dreams. Make sure they're really yours and not someone else's for you. Gregory Bateson was an anthropologist among other degrees and areas of study, who talked about the "difference that makes the difference." He was a great mind and at the risk of bungling his meaning, I'll say what I take from that phrase (as I learned it in grad school): in any system, a life, a family, a community - one small change can create a big change. In 2011, if you feel you need a change, don't be overwhelmed. One little change, one question asked, one mile walked, can make all the difference.
Best wishes for happy holidays and peace in the new year.

the wounded healer

On Tuesday this week, Fresh Air (Terri Gross, NPR) broadcast an interview with Dr. Marisa Weiss, a breast oncologist, who also was diagnosed with breast cancer. (http://www.npr.org/templates/transcript/transcript.php?storyId=131760656) She is the founder of http://www.breastcancer.org/ The research and health information that Dr. Weiss provides, such as the connection between hormones in our food and the rise in incidence of breast cancer in women, is thought-provoking.

This interview was of special interest to me because I was recently asked to help facilitate a young women's breast cancer support group for the Cancer Support Community in St. Louis. I am honored to be a part of it. For additional information about breast cancer support or general cancer support that is innovative and holistic, please check out their website at http://wellnesscommunitystl.org/

The interview also struck me because of my relatively recent foray into private practice. I've been thinking more about Jung's concept of the wounded healer. Though I'm not a Jungian expert or scholar, I understand this archetype to explain the way many of us who are in helping professions are ourselves 'wounded' - like Dr. Weiss herself having breast cancer and trying to heal from that at the same time she is attempting to heal others. Or in the way that when I see clients, sometimes the life issues they face or personality qualities that challenge them may mirror my own. I am constantly humbled by trying to stay aware of my own emotional/spiritual baggage and not project my unresolved issues on others.

Dr. Weiss's breast cancer and her physical healing is unique to her, it's like, but not the same as, each of her patients. The same goes for a therapist and her clients. The same goes for all us in our day to day lives as we try to help one another along despite our imperfections and pain.

So on a tangential note, this reminds me of a staple of my growing up - the show M*A*S*H. I was always so drawn to the psychiatrist, Dr. Sidney Friedman, who made appearances once a season or so. Who knows what my kid's brain hooked into in him and what I really understood about the show and war and surviving and each of those doctors and nurses truly representing the wounded healer, but I do know this, when Dr. Sidney Friedman said, "Boys and girls, take my advice. Pull down your pants and slide on the ice," I knew it meant that sometimes the best way to heal is to have a little fun. I hope you have a fun day!

I ain't gonna work on Maggie's Farm no more

"Well, I try my best
To be just like I am.
But everybody wants you
To be just like them." - Bob Dylan, Maggie's Farm


Talking with my buddy about high school the other day, I asked him what he was like at that time of life, "I've always been a conformist," he replied. I thought that was a funny, honest reply.

This was an interesting comment to me, too - because I'd already been thinking about the pros and cons of conforming...maybe it is the time of year, with holiday parties and other social obligations. Several women I know have been expressing worry, if not panic, about what dress to wear to various functions. Will others judge them on their appearance? Their choice to pursue a career or be a stay-at-home mom? Their college degree or lack of it? For some women I know, this can be a nearly paralyzing feeling that they have before most social events.

I tend to be more like my buddy. Though we can never see ourselves fully from the outside, my sense is that I've been able to 'fit in' when I 'needed' to. Like high school. I also don't tend to panic about Christmas parties.

Yet, blending in to the social norm was a learned skill for me, not innate. It's my recollection that I spent a year or two of elementary school choosing to go to the library instead of recess because I didn't care for the games the other kids played (boys chase girls was distasteful to me). I preferred to be alone and read books about whales and dolphins in order to bone up for my future career as a marine biologist. Who knows what combination of factors kept me from not being beat up. In fact, I remember a feeling of acceptance in elementary school, a feeling that I could be just who I was. Was this a result of supportive teachers and staff? Classmates who were exceptionally kind? Was it a more innocent time? Did I give off a confidence in my own preferences and decisions?

As kids get older, though, it seems several categories of people develop. I know it became important for me to feel a part of the crowd at about sixth grade. As time goes on, some people seem to want to conform, but can't seem to sufficiently camouflage their individuality. Some people seemed to never need to fit in because they were always just there, fitting in. Some people don't fit the mold and seem to not care about fitting it anyway. Some people, and these are the ones I'm talking about (like my buddy) find a way or a code to 'fit in' and probably starting in middle school, it feels pretty good to fly under the radar in this way. To be part of the group. To feel normal.

Yet, fitting in can backfire as time passes. If a large component of our confidence or inner peace is derived from not appearing other, I think we tend to lose our very selves. When we're getting dressed to go out, whose voice is it we hear in our heads? When we are conversing, are we thinking about how our image will be conveyed to others? Do we send ourselves out into the world through the filter of some imagined norm? I think the ability and for some people even the knack for conforming over the years erodes their sense of who they are and then they wake up one day and don't know.

I included the lyrics from Bob Dylan above because in my cynical moments, there have been times in my life when I feel that "everybody want me to be just like them" and I resent it. The truth (like Thirteen Way of Looking at a Blackbird), is a lot more nuanced. I can only say what I have learned and hope it is interesting or useful to someone because it's been interesting and useful for me: try to surround yourself with people who don't want you to be just like them. People who celebrate you trying new things, your idiosyncracies (like your attempt to write a blog, take an acting class, or write poetry or whatever. And p.s. thank you to my husband, who supports my idiosyncracies.) Also, examine whether these other people really want you to be just like them. Maybe they wanted that in high school, but maybe they're just like you now: trying their best to figure it all out and create a contented life. Finally, find some thing or things you love to do - something that inspires you and energizes you, and do more of it.

some thoughts on peace

When I was a hospice social worker, I probably worked with a half dozen to a dozen Muslim patients and families - mostly Bosnian or Iranian families. They all spoke English, or at least some members of the family spoke English, but of course, verbal communication was more challenging than with English-speaking families. What comes first to my mind as a means of communication and of bridging the cultural gap was that the families offered me food - tea, cookies, raisins, dates, fruit, bread. I also remember one young mother (my patient) and I sharing pictures of our kids. She looked at my red-haired son, who was just a toddler at the time, and kissed the picture. She showed me a photo album of her life as a teacher before the war in Bosnia. It was an tender moment to me. I think we felt the comfort and tension of all that we had in common as mothers and then also how our experiences diverged. She had been a war refugee and been subject to the worst of humanity. I am still amazed by her bravery and ability to survive and manage the survival of her family.
I just read a review of James Zogby's new book, Arab Voices: What They are Saying and Why it Matters, in the NYT Review of Books from Nov. 28 (review by Neil MacFarquhar.), www.nytimes.com/2010/11/28/books/review/MacFarquhar-t.html?_r=1&ref=bookreviews . Though the reviewer says it can make for dry reading, the overall article was positive and I'd like to get this book.
Though I haven't travelled extensively I have an increasing awareness that one of the next big challenges facing America and the world (if not the biggest) will be to build a better cultural understanding and empathy with the Muslim/Arabic world. The book seems to point this out on a number of fronts: did you know that there are as many college students studying Arabic as there are studying ancient Greek?
What does this have to do with mental health, contentment or well-being? For me - at the basic level, fear and anxiety, both real and imagined, both close at home or far away undermine mental health and well-being. There are truly fearful things in the world, but relationships, friendships and love between people make them less fearful. This can most easily be fostered through language, communication, listening and talking. But it is not the only way. When I visited patients from different cultural backgrounds for the first time, I was nervous. I didn't want to offend anyone, I wondered how I could help. I conveyed (I hope) curiosity, accepted hospitality, and made connections by sharing what we have in common.
I think both a personal and global sense of peace is possible, one relationship at a time. As 2010 draws to a close, peace is something we need as much now as ever. In the self-help Western world that we live in, I know we (and I) tend to focus on the inside, out - but I think there is also validity to working for peace and compassion from the outside, in.

what we do to survive

Kelefa Smith's article in this week's New Yorker, "Word", www.newyorker.com/arts/critics/atlarge/2010/12/06/101206crat_atlarge_sanneh about the poetics of hip-hop, has me focusing on poetry as a mechanism of survival. Among other rappers, this piece uses Jay-Z, who just published a book of his lyrics, Decoded, as representative of hip hop culture and lyrics. Of particular interest, according to Smith, are his anecdotes and footnotes - a collection of the ideas, thoughts, situations that inspired him. He began his 'career' selling crack, before he seriously started writing rhymes. I imagine there was an instinct to survival both in what brought Jay-Z to selling drugs and what led him to start and pursue writing and rapping.

So, my life and Jay-Z's are not and have not been real similar if you look from the outside, but that doesn't stop me from feeling kinship with him when it comes to writing, and possibly, when it comes to an instinct toward survival that has a creative impulse.

Of many "life-changing" experiences for me, working as a home hospice social worker for six and a half years is one of the primary ones. I began this work when my oldest child was six months old. I remember that my first day out, shadowing a nurse, we visited an impoverished young mother dying of cancer and being cared for a by her young adult son, a elderly man who lived alone, but had visits and some help from family, and a mentally ill woman , cared for by her parents, who was dying of a disfiguring and cancer of her face and throat. Every day at work was an intense experience. I had to improvise my way through helping people in ways that I never imagined - answering questions like "what is going to happen to me when I die," holding trash cans for near strangers while they threw up in them, rocking a teenage girl in my arms while the funeral home workers took her father's body away. All this while I was raising babies (our second child came along after a couple years). My husband travelled a good deal. I was exhausted physically and mentally so much of the time. I felt a simultaneous sense of deep appreciation for my life and a sense that I was close to laying down to die myself. This is when I started really writing poetry. When I say really writing it, I mean I was compelled. I got up at 5 or 5:30 in the morning for years, because that was the only quiet time of my day and I wrote. I took workshops. I read other people's poetry. I had to do it, in a way. Looking back, I think I had to do it to survive.

Where does mental health figure in to this? As humans, we have a lot of choices of what we can try to do to survive. I am not saying I have never had a self-destructive impulse. I've bought and "snuck" cigarettes lots of times over the years because I somehow felt I 'deserved' a cigarette. And that's one example, only. There's a line from the Bruce Springsteen song, Devils and Dust, something like, "when what we do to survive kills the things we love/ fear's a dangerous thing/ it'll turn your heart black you can trust." I agree that fear is a dangerous thing. So, I wonder about the impulse and choice toward positive, life-affirming, creative survival instincts. How can we all develop these, search for these, love something in ourselves (our spirit, if you will) and then create rather the quash or destruct? If you are reading this and find yourself in a place that feels desperate and you find yourself coping by means that you know are self-destructive, I challenge you to look for something creative, something that brings you some pleasure and even if it is in the secret of the dawn, because you are worried you're not "good" at it - just do it.

In that spirit, I am attaching my very first hip-hop lyric I ever wrote. Yesterday! It was for one of the teens in my teen poetry group. I don't think it's 'good' in a critical sense, but this is about taking chances and creative means of survival. You can laugh if you want, I can't hear you. Take care, everybody.

For G

I am the cool cat,
the top cat,
the cat in the cradle,
the everlasting cat,
the cat in the hat.
I am the cat of all trades,
the cat's pajamas,
the mad cat,
the sad cat,
the feral cat,
the domesti-cated cat.
I step with careful paws.
Beware - claws.
This is my caterwaul.
My rage, love, fear, longing - raw.
Humpty Dumpty - he broke in his fall.
Not like me;
this is how I arrive.
Feet first, head up.
Nine lives.

To be or not to be - a zombie

This morning I read an NYT article by Chuck Klosterman, titled My Zombie, myself: How Modern Life Feels Rather Undead, www.nytimes.com/2010/12/05/arts/television/05zombies.html . Klosterman's points are these (in a nutshell) - millions more people watched the premiere of this new zombie show, The Walking Dead, on AMC than watched the premiere of Mad Men. He posits that this is more complex than zombies replacing vampires as the monster of the moment...zombies have no complexity, no character, they are meant to be shot in the head again and again until there are no zombies left. He says we identify with this because of the onslaught of email, media, work meetings, consumerism. Delete. Delete. Delete. It was funny that when I clicked to go to Page 2 an automatic pop up for The Economist took up the whole screen and I had to close it to read the rest of the article.

Anyway, I get what Klosterman is saying, but a couple other questions came to my mind and like a lot of what I read, even in the NYT, I tend to feel that the issues are more complex and I get frustrated with an often quip-py or flip quality that enters the writing in order to sum up the article to fit the constraints of how many words or how much space the article is supposed to take up.

Is modern life like killing zombies or is like BEING a zombie? What kinds of brains does it take to keep deleting emails or showing up at meetings that we don't want to be in? I remember when I used to work in PR, sitting in my windowless office and working at the computer. My radio was on and the Pink Floyd song came on, "all in all, you're just another brick in the wall," and I thought, "yeah. I've got to change something here." That was 1997. Technology is so much more powerful and all encompassing now. I guess, if we go with the idea that it's not good to be a zombie, I'd just like to advocate, as a general practice to preserve our own sense of integrity, a vigilance in asking, "what are my choices? what are my real choices? who has set this limit on me? Is it email limiting me? Is it my boss limiting me? Is it my mother? Is it myself?" Be honest. Doing something about the answer will have to be saved for another day.

On a lighter note, this article also had me thinking about the consumption of entertainment and what kind of zombies we are in our choices for entertainment. Let me say, I have not seen this new show, The Walking Dead. It might be some high quality stuff. I also haven't seen Mad Men, though it's recommended to me by everyone and I am guessing I would really like it. Sometimes, I am a zombie in my entertainment choices. I love that terrible show, The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. Most of the Real Housewives shows, I admit, with a little shame only, that I get a big kick out of. I identify with the desire, that 'down time', can sometimes mean the wish to be simply and passively entertained. I've read enough theologians to know there is a theory of 'garbage in, garbage out.' Thic Nhat Hahn talks about this in Peace is Every Step. He says that what we put into our minds should not be mindless, but mindful, intentional and full of peace. Maybe I am not there yet. For now, I sometimes make the mindful choice to be entertained by a little junk. And, I really, really hope that it is my knowledge and understanding that I am making a choice that keeps me from being a zombie.

The beginning...

This blog is something I've been interested in doing for a while and I am ridiculously nervous to sit down and write my first entry. What's my intention? Why Thirteen Ways? What is going to happen here?

I'll start with Thirteen Ways; it's from the title of Wallace Stevens' poem, Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird , which is one of the first poems I ever loved. One aspect of the poem that is important to me and that I hope to generally convey here is that a blackbird can look like and mean and be many things. So can a poem. So can a life event. So can a person. So can mental health.

I hope this blog will be a vehicle to share, briefly, my own thoughts about - for lack of better words - "mental health," to sift through a little bit of media that I've found meaningful and that makes comment on the human condition. I'd like to encourage dialogue about the aspects of life that hold particular interest for me - creativity, compassion, working for peace, and spirituality.

In Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind, by Shunryu Suzuki the prologue states, "In the beginner's mind there are many possibilities, but in the expert's there are few." So, let that be about all I'll say. This writing project is full of possibilities and I hope you enjoy the journey with me.

To finish up this entry, I'd like to make a book recommendation: The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman . It's a young adult book that won the Newberry Award in the past couple of years. It was given to my son as a Halloween gift and luckily I took a close look at it and realized it was too scary for a first grader, but just right for me. I love the hero's journey and this book adds to that tradition, creating a world that is full of magic, fear, kindness, courage. Hope you like it.