A lot of us like to armchair diagnose ourselves - "I'm so OCD." "I think I have generalized anxiety disorder." "Depression runs in my family and I have the gene."
And if you look at, listen to, read our popular media, much of it plays into our inkling that we are deficient, flawed, or less than. I've had many clients want affirmation from me when they says things like, "Aren't I sick?" or "I'm really f'ed up, aren't I?"
I want to say, no, no, no. Don't say that to yourself. This lens of sickness and diagnosis, these words that put you in a definition, are most often self-created prisons that prevent us from experiencing the reality of our lives.
What would be like if we all would take time to imagine that we might already be whole and healthy. That there is a healthy "you" just waiting to be discovered and allowed to interact with the world. I really believe that mostly, the whole person, the whole spirit, the healthy version of us already exists within us. We do possess the inner wisdom of who that person is - that's why it feels so uncomfortable when that version of ourselves isn't able to engage in life. What we most need is courage to let that healthy version of ourselves emerge. Our healthy selves can make others around us feel judged or threatened, because they aren't ready to be healthy yet. We must overcome our need to sacrifice ourselves to make other people feel comfortable. We can be our healthy selves in loving ways in the world and it can give other people courage to do the same.
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Thursday, March 22, 2012
after red flags...heroic questions and why I care
I wrote the other week about the Invisible Children/Kony 2012 video and I wasn't the only one. I've been interested to see how it's played out in the media, what others have made of it - positive and negative. It continued to ripple with me in several ways:
I intended Red Flags as a a cautionary piece about who and what we trust as sources of information and inspiration. Who do we make our heroes? What is heroic about them?
Being a public person or putting yourself out there as a potentially public persona is a responsibility and one in our culture that pretty much all of us should think about in some way - with FB, Twitter, blogging, etc, almost everyone has some version of a public face. I think we must constantly ask ourselves why we do what we do, say what we say, choose to be public with certain aspects of ourselves.
Why do I write this blog? Is it for ego? Is it to feel important or worthy? I must always be honest with myself, even if the answers are unflattering.
I used to feel critical of blogging...I thought it was kind of narcissistic and representative of a culture of reflection, i.e., "I exist because you see me existing. I am important because you (the viewer/reader) tell me I'm important." Yuck. Here is how I changed: I worked in hospice and I began writing. I feel a sheer pleasure from writing and attempting to have my thoughts organize themselves in a cohesive form. I also realize (this is the tricky, ego part), that my work in hospice gave me a unique perspective on life, mental health, and spirituality - my experiences shaped my thoughts and my thoughts shaped how and what I wrote about. I found that I had things I wanted to say and I felt it was okay to publicly claim that my voice and perspective might be helpful, might be worthy of being heard. I must check this voice constantly to make sure I am responsible with it, that I am true to myself as best I know myself at the moment I am writing.
My sister sent me a link http://www.theatlantic.com/international/archive/2012/03/the-white-savior-industrial-complex/254843/?single_page=true to this piece from The Atlantic; also a ripple from the Kony business. I try to be careful with my words and tone, but that doesn't mean I don't experience rage at times. I've found that rage is a step and sometimes a necessary one on a path. Some things are worthy of rage. I felt the rage from Mr. Cole's piece, particularly his tweets, and I understood it. I don't think he ends in rage, and I know I can't stay there either. Rage is it's own kind of enthusiasm (something Mr. Cole is quite critical of) and it's an emotion that we should treat with respect and caution.
I admire Mr. Cole's truth, his nuanced exploration of his response to the "White Savior Industrial Complex." I like that he raises more questions than he has answers. This is the type of thinking that is heroic to me.
Also for me, I must ask myself- what does this have to do with mental health? Emotional well-being? Here is one part of an answer: our media is a great part of how we experience this world we live in. It shapes our thoughts, feelings, actions. It is powerful in our lives. The more I write, the more I feel that media and politics are vehicles to explore what kind of people we are, and what kind of world we want to help create. That sense of being active participants and creators - not just receivers of information- is integral to our healthy and whole experience of our lives. That's what I'm thinking today.
I intended Red Flags as a a cautionary piece about who and what we trust as sources of information and inspiration. Who do we make our heroes? What is heroic about them?
Being a public person or putting yourself out there as a potentially public persona is a responsibility and one in our culture that pretty much all of us should think about in some way - with FB, Twitter, blogging, etc, almost everyone has some version of a public face. I think we must constantly ask ourselves why we do what we do, say what we say, choose to be public with certain aspects of ourselves.
Why do I write this blog? Is it for ego? Is it to feel important or worthy? I must always be honest with myself, even if the answers are unflattering.
I used to feel critical of blogging...I thought it was kind of narcissistic and representative of a culture of reflection, i.e., "I exist because you see me existing. I am important because you (the viewer/reader) tell me I'm important." Yuck. Here is how I changed: I worked in hospice and I began writing. I feel a sheer pleasure from writing and attempting to have my thoughts organize themselves in a cohesive form. I also realize (this is the tricky, ego part), that my work in hospice gave me a unique perspective on life, mental health, and spirituality - my experiences shaped my thoughts and my thoughts shaped how and what I wrote about. I found that I had things I wanted to say and I felt it was okay to publicly claim that my voice and perspective might be helpful, might be worthy of being heard. I must check this voice constantly to make sure I am responsible with it, that I am true to myself as best I know myself at the moment I am writing.
My sister sent me a link http://www.theatlantic.com/international/archive/2012/03/the-white-savior-industrial-complex/254843/?single_page=true to this piece from The Atlantic; also a ripple from the Kony business. I try to be careful with my words and tone, but that doesn't mean I don't experience rage at times. I've found that rage is a step and sometimes a necessary one on a path. Some things are worthy of rage. I felt the rage from Mr. Cole's piece, particularly his tweets, and I understood it. I don't think he ends in rage, and I know I can't stay there either. Rage is it's own kind of enthusiasm (something Mr. Cole is quite critical of) and it's an emotion that we should treat with respect and caution.
I admire Mr. Cole's truth, his nuanced exploration of his response to the "White Savior Industrial Complex." I like that he raises more questions than he has answers. This is the type of thinking that is heroic to me.
Also for me, I must ask myself- what does this have to do with mental health? Emotional well-being? Here is one part of an answer: our media is a great part of how we experience this world we live in. It shapes our thoughts, feelings, actions. It is powerful in our lives. The more I write, the more I feel that media and politics are vehicles to explore what kind of people we are, and what kind of world we want to help create. That sense of being active participants and creators - not just receivers of information- is integral to our healthy and whole experience of our lives. That's what I'm thinking today.
Thursday, March 8, 2012
red flags
As a therapist, some of what I do is help people learn to recognize red flags. What makes another person trustworthy or not trustworthy. If you grew up in an emotionally or physically violent family, it's possible that the cues aren't clear for you, because danger and love are mixed up together.
So, sometimes, I try to help people slow down before they put their trust in someone. To listen to, rather than ignore their intuition. To ask themselves, does something about this other person or situation make you uncomfortable? Before we proceed with that relationship, let's just sit with the uncomfortable feeling and try to figure out where it comes from.
So I found myself employing this technique with myself as I watched this viral video from Invisible Children last night. Many of you may have already seen it - I'm linking to the NPR story which will also take you to the viral video: http://www.npr.org/blogs/thetwo-way/2012/03/07/148146240/ugandan-warlord-joseph-kony-under-spotlight-thanks-to-viral-video
As I slowed myself down and sat with my feelings of discomfort (it's a great cause - why was I getting that skeptical, yeah right, feeling!?!?), here is what I came up with:
1) This is propaganda. Propaganda, even for a good cause, is emotionally manipulative. I want to ask the maker of the film, "why don't you trust me to act based on simply the presentation of facts, which are horrific enough?" Political propaganda has been used in many terrible ways in human history. Even if you're on "my side," I am uncomfortable with this technique.
2) Near the beginning of the video the voiceover says something like, technology has made it a new world. The older generation is afraid of it/us. That is a rough paraphrase and the voiceover is coupled with footage of some kind of congressional hearing. I don't like pitting one group of people against another. The implication is that the older generation is somehow dumb/useless/out of it/in need of a swift kick in the ass. This is a slippery slope and the type of meaning and language that I find dangerous.
3) The use of your young child for emotional impact in your propaganda video. This is a red flag to me about lack of sound judgment. I was uncomfortable with the film maker's child in the video.
4) Using the slogan, "Make Kony Famous." I know this is shorthand, but it's sloppy. Again, there's a slipperiness to fame and it raises questions in my mind about mature judgment and clarity of purpose.
So, support Invisible Children or this other guy, http://visiblechildren.tumblr.com/''; that's not for me to say. As best I can, I will lend my voice to causes that will work to make children safe.
I just wanted to point out that the red flags of this propaganda piece raised red flags for me. In personal relationships as well as community/sociopolitical relationships, I think it's wise to go slow and proceed with open, clear eyes and ears.
So, sometimes, I try to help people slow down before they put their trust in someone. To listen to, rather than ignore their intuition. To ask themselves, does something about this other person or situation make you uncomfortable? Before we proceed with that relationship, let's just sit with the uncomfortable feeling and try to figure out where it comes from.
So I found myself employing this technique with myself as I watched this viral video from Invisible Children last night. Many of you may have already seen it - I'm linking to the NPR story which will also take you to the viral video: http://www.npr.org/blogs/thetwo-way/2012/03/07/148146240/ugandan-warlord-joseph-kony-under-spotlight-thanks-to-viral-video
As I slowed myself down and sat with my feelings of discomfort (it's a great cause - why was I getting that skeptical, yeah right, feeling!?!?), here is what I came up with:
1) This is propaganda. Propaganda, even for a good cause, is emotionally manipulative. I want to ask the maker of the film, "why don't you trust me to act based on simply the presentation of facts, which are horrific enough?" Political propaganda has been used in many terrible ways in human history. Even if you're on "my side," I am uncomfortable with this technique.
2) Near the beginning of the video the voiceover says something like, technology has made it a new world. The older generation is afraid of it/us. That is a rough paraphrase and the voiceover is coupled with footage of some kind of congressional hearing. I don't like pitting one group of people against another. The implication is that the older generation is somehow dumb/useless/out of it/in need of a swift kick in the ass. This is a slippery slope and the type of meaning and language that I find dangerous.
3) The use of your young child for emotional impact in your propaganda video. This is a red flag to me about lack of sound judgment. I was uncomfortable with the film maker's child in the video.
4) Using the slogan, "Make Kony Famous." I know this is shorthand, but it's sloppy. Again, there's a slipperiness to fame and it raises questions in my mind about mature judgment and clarity of purpose.
So, support Invisible Children or this other guy, http://visiblechildren.tumblr.com/''; that's not for me to say. As best I can, I will lend my voice to causes that will work to make children safe.
I just wanted to point out that the red flags of this propaganda piece raised red flags for me. In personal relationships as well as community/sociopolitical relationships, I think it's wise to go slow and proceed with open, clear eyes and ears.
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
why our election process might be bad for our mental health
Here is what I LONG to hear a candidate for President of the United States say: "I've got some good ideas for what I think will make this country strong, prosperous, and healthy. My opponent has some ideas, too. They're fine ideas, but I happen to disagree with some of them. The American people are smart people - listen to my ideas and listen to my opponent's...whichever ideas you think are better - vote for that candidate."
The way candidates typically speak to us in the election process in particular is not healthy for us as a country. It assumes that we are either too dumb or too angry to make an informed choice based on facts. It's demoralizing to be spoken to this way and it corrupts the democratic process. It incites fear, when fear is rarely a helpful response.
I've come to think that one of the greatest assets to our emotional well-being is to know and feel that we have a choice. In theories of job satisfaction, autonomy/a sense of having freedom of choice in your workplace procedure,s is one of the top indicators of satisfaction. Or in love - don't we feel more satisfied in our relationships when we feel we choose to be with someone or do something for our loved one, rather than that we're forced or obligated to? What about when we get up in the morning...if we pay attention, we know that we can choose our approach to the day - positive or negative - and it makes a difference. Even the language that we use. I chose to start this blog writing about what I would like rather than simply complaining about what I don't.
I wonder what campaign speeches and debates were like in the 'old days' - did Abraham Lincoln call his opponent names or insult his religious background or personality? I somehow doubt it. As a nation, we will be better served to try to ignore candidates who appeal to our snarky and angry side. Just like in 'real life', paying a lot of attention to this type of person gives him or her more power than we really want to give them. We should also not forget our freedom to speak and ask for what we want - and I want a candidate who speaks the truth, which is: Almost always, ideas are just ideas - they are not inherently good or bad. I want to be spoken to as the emotionally mature person that I am. I want to make a choice to vote for or against ideas without being made to feel angry or afraid of the other guy or the other side.
The way candidates typically speak to us in the election process in particular is not healthy for us as a country. It assumes that we are either too dumb or too angry to make an informed choice based on facts. It's demoralizing to be spoken to this way and it corrupts the democratic process. It incites fear, when fear is rarely a helpful response.
I've come to think that one of the greatest assets to our emotional well-being is to know and feel that we have a choice. In theories of job satisfaction, autonomy/a sense of having freedom of choice in your workplace procedure,s is one of the top indicators of satisfaction. Or in love - don't we feel more satisfied in our relationships when we feel we choose to be with someone or do something for our loved one, rather than that we're forced or obligated to? What about when we get up in the morning...if we pay attention, we know that we can choose our approach to the day - positive or negative - and it makes a difference. Even the language that we use. I chose to start this blog writing about what I would like rather than simply complaining about what I don't.
I wonder what campaign speeches and debates were like in the 'old days' - did Abraham Lincoln call his opponent names or insult his religious background or personality? I somehow doubt it. As a nation, we will be better served to try to ignore candidates who appeal to our snarky and angry side. Just like in 'real life', paying a lot of attention to this type of person gives him or her more power than we really want to give them. We should also not forget our freedom to speak and ask for what we want - and I want a candidate who speaks the truth, which is: Almost always, ideas are just ideas - they are not inherently good or bad. I want to be spoken to as the emotionally mature person that I am. I want to make a choice to vote for or against ideas without being made to feel angry or afraid of the other guy or the other side.
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
when old definitions of 'you' don't fit
We all have songs, books, pop culture moments that resonate with us and help us have a sense of connection in the world.
Alan Ball, the creator of Six Feet Under and True Blood is a touchstone for me in this way. A few years ago I heard him interviewed, maybe on the Actor's Studio? Anyway. He talked about Six Feet Under as a response to death and dying in his own life and the heaviness of that project. He then compared that to his later work, True Blood - how these vampire/supernatural stories are a metaphor for becoming most fully who you are or want to be or are meant to be in the world.
This resonates with me in two ways - as a hospice social worker, death, dying and grief permeated my being. My answer to it - I didn't even know I had an answer - was my poetry. And the second part of it is this: when I transitioned from hospice social work to private practice, I had a strong celebratory sense - that I was becoming, changing, growing into some important part of me that I had previously been unsure of or reluctant to let myself explore.
It makes me think about how we all define ourselves and where those definitions come from. An example from my own life is a statement about me that I grew up being told from the outside and incorporating in to a sense of my early adult self: Katy is cute. Cute. c-u-t-e. I accepted that statement from the outside. Cute meant, sweet, funny, loveable, easy to be around, non-controversial, dimunitive, not very assertive and certainly not aggressive. There came a moment in my life where that was uncomfortable. I didn't like it. It didn't feel like me. It was like some clothing that I'd outgrown. It was hard to overcome this definition though. Here is a place where poetry gave me an outlet for practicing how to redefine myself. Through my poetry, I expressed myself in ways that were angry, aggressive, sexual, embittered, resentful, faithless. A lot of it came from facing so much death. That wasn't so cute. And to make matters more complicated, I made myself get up and read those poems in front of rooms full of strangers. It was totally freeing! I began to realize that cute was fine, but that it didn't define me. That I could define and broaden my realization of myself and it wasn't up to anybody else to do this for me. In fact, I didn't have to accept anything that anyone else told me about myself and not just in this one aspect - in any aspect.
I think it's worth considering what you believe about yourself. Statements you unconsciously live by that define you. Where did those come from? Do they fit anymore? If they don't...how do you want to go about redefining yourself? What fits better now? Are there secret, wonderful parts of you itching at you to let them out?
I think it can be fun - we are not one way and always one way. We grow and change over time and sometimes parts of ourselves contradict ourselves. There's room for it all and it's a happy thing to become the person you want to be in the world.
Alan Ball, the creator of Six Feet Under and True Blood is a touchstone for me in this way. A few years ago I heard him interviewed, maybe on the Actor's Studio? Anyway. He talked about Six Feet Under as a response to death and dying in his own life and the heaviness of that project. He then compared that to his later work, True Blood - how these vampire/supernatural stories are a metaphor for becoming most fully who you are or want to be or are meant to be in the world.
This resonates with me in two ways - as a hospice social worker, death, dying and grief permeated my being. My answer to it - I didn't even know I had an answer - was my poetry. And the second part of it is this: when I transitioned from hospice social work to private practice, I had a strong celebratory sense - that I was becoming, changing, growing into some important part of me that I had previously been unsure of or reluctant to let myself explore.
It makes me think about how we all define ourselves and where those definitions come from. An example from my own life is a statement about me that I grew up being told from the outside and incorporating in to a sense of my early adult self: Katy is cute. Cute. c-u-t-e. I accepted that statement from the outside. Cute meant, sweet, funny, loveable, easy to be around, non-controversial, dimunitive, not very assertive and certainly not aggressive. There came a moment in my life where that was uncomfortable. I didn't like it. It didn't feel like me. It was like some clothing that I'd outgrown. It was hard to overcome this definition though. Here is a place where poetry gave me an outlet for practicing how to redefine myself. Through my poetry, I expressed myself in ways that were angry, aggressive, sexual, embittered, resentful, faithless. A lot of it came from facing so much death. That wasn't so cute. And to make matters more complicated, I made myself get up and read those poems in front of rooms full of strangers. It was totally freeing! I began to realize that cute was fine, but that it didn't define me. That I could define and broaden my realization of myself and it wasn't up to anybody else to do this for me. In fact, I didn't have to accept anything that anyone else told me about myself and not just in this one aspect - in any aspect.
I think it's worth considering what you believe about yourself. Statements you unconsciously live by that define you. Where did those come from? Do they fit anymore? If they don't...how do you want to go about redefining yourself? What fits better now? Are there secret, wonderful parts of you itching at you to let them out?
I think it can be fun - we are not one way and always one way. We grow and change over time and sometimes parts of ourselves contradict ourselves. There's room for it all and it's a happy thing to become the person you want to be in the world.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
loosening up and letting go
In my ongoing quest to practice what I preach and not be a hypocrite when it comes to mindfulness, self-care, non-dualism, etc, etc, I made the New Year's resolution to explore some aspects of spirituality and philosophy in more experiential ways. In that vein, I decided a couple weeks ago to take my first yoga class in 5 years.
It was on a Thursday morning, a time I don't usually work. I have, for the first time in 8 years, ostensibly, a large swath of time on that day that I can do whatever I want. Driving to the yoga class, I had some anxiety. I have to turn off my phone for an hour and a half in class and this isn't something I normally do. Even in my work day, I have my phone on silent, but check every hour to see if there have been any urgent calls or calls from family. I talked myself out of this anxiety, "Katy," I said to myself, "That is just your anxiety. It's time to let that go." (See...trying to practice what I preach, gentle self talk).
When I got to the class, the very earth-Mothery instructor said, "Hey, we've sort of spontaneously made this class 2 hours long - will that be okay?"
"Sure." I answered, but internally my anxiety ratcheted up again. Again, I spoke to myself, "Everything is perfectly fine, Katy. You may take this class for two hours. This is time that you do have."
I didn't feel that great during the class. When it was done I checked my calls and had 14 missed calls. Yes - 14. One from the school nurse and several from my husband, sort of like this, "Hey honey...where are you? Our daughter is sick and I guess I'm going to go pick her up? Where are you?"
For the first time since 2009, I had a kid sick enough to get a call from the nurse's office and it happened while I was in my big moment of spiritual woo woo/New Year's resolution-ness.
What can I say? I cried. I cried because I felt like a cruddy mom and wife who was off shirking her responsibilities and I felt simultaneously resentful that I couldn't take one damn yoga class without the world seeming to fall apart.
I also realized as I was crying that all that stuff is kind of bull. None of it is true. I am a good wife and mom and I can take yoga classes and everything will be fine. It might be better to take yoga classes on Saturday or Sunday when my husband can be with the kids, though.
The truth is, the last few weeks have been really full. Full of unexpected changes, deviations from the plan and routine.
I've had to loosen up. For me, this means loosening up, even on ways that many people find admirable, in which I try to take care of myself. I am loosening up on running. I am loosening up on New Year's Resolutions (at least my original interpretation of New Year's Resolutions). I am loosening up on my rules about writing, about not procrastinating. I am just having to go with the flow.
I've written before about changing your strategy - I am finding that at least at this moment in my life, it's better not to have a strategy. Or maybe my strategy is a balance between my 'agenda' and spontaneity. Sometimes you can be going along feeling like life is adhering nicely to your agenda, but that's kind of an illusion.
In hospice, I thought a lot about the people who seemed, in the end, to be able to let go. They had a certain grace in facing death and often, to tell you the truth, seemed to die more quickly, which is often a blessing. I noticed other people who clung dearly to life, who tried not to let go.
Well, it's getting later in the evening, a time my brain tends to wander and I guess I'm thinking that one thing relates to another. Sometimes we have to loosen up and let go of little things, sometimes we are called to loosen up and let go of big things. I guess I've always wanted to be someone who can figure out which way the wind is blowing, someone who can change plans, be spontaneous, and let go when that's the way things are going anyway.
It was on a Thursday morning, a time I don't usually work. I have, for the first time in 8 years, ostensibly, a large swath of time on that day that I can do whatever I want. Driving to the yoga class, I had some anxiety. I have to turn off my phone for an hour and a half in class and this isn't something I normally do. Even in my work day, I have my phone on silent, but check every hour to see if there have been any urgent calls or calls from family. I talked myself out of this anxiety, "Katy," I said to myself, "That is just your anxiety. It's time to let that go." (See...trying to practice what I preach, gentle self talk).
When I got to the class, the very earth-Mothery instructor said, "Hey, we've sort of spontaneously made this class 2 hours long - will that be okay?"
"Sure." I answered, but internally my anxiety ratcheted up again. Again, I spoke to myself, "Everything is perfectly fine, Katy. You may take this class for two hours. This is time that you do have."
I didn't feel that great during the class. When it was done I checked my calls and had 14 missed calls. Yes - 14. One from the school nurse and several from my husband, sort of like this, "Hey honey...where are you? Our daughter is sick and I guess I'm going to go pick her up? Where are you?"
For the first time since 2009, I had a kid sick enough to get a call from the nurse's office and it happened while I was in my big moment of spiritual woo woo/New Year's resolution-ness.
What can I say? I cried. I cried because I felt like a cruddy mom and wife who was off shirking her responsibilities and I felt simultaneously resentful that I couldn't take one damn yoga class without the world seeming to fall apart.
I also realized as I was crying that all that stuff is kind of bull. None of it is true. I am a good wife and mom and I can take yoga classes and everything will be fine. It might be better to take yoga classes on Saturday or Sunday when my husband can be with the kids, though.
The truth is, the last few weeks have been really full. Full of unexpected changes, deviations from the plan and routine.
I've had to loosen up. For me, this means loosening up, even on ways that many people find admirable, in which I try to take care of myself. I am loosening up on running. I am loosening up on New Year's Resolutions (at least my original interpretation of New Year's Resolutions). I am loosening up on my rules about writing, about not procrastinating. I am just having to go with the flow.
I've written before about changing your strategy - I am finding that at least at this moment in my life, it's better not to have a strategy. Or maybe my strategy is a balance between my 'agenda' and spontaneity. Sometimes you can be going along feeling like life is adhering nicely to your agenda, but that's kind of an illusion.
In hospice, I thought a lot about the people who seemed, in the end, to be able to let go. They had a certain grace in facing death and often, to tell you the truth, seemed to die more quickly, which is often a blessing. I noticed other people who clung dearly to life, who tried not to let go.
Well, it's getting later in the evening, a time my brain tends to wander and I guess I'm thinking that one thing relates to another. Sometimes we have to loosen up and let go of little things, sometimes we are called to loosen up and let go of big things. I guess I've always wanted to be someone who can figure out which way the wind is blowing, someone who can change plans, be spontaneous, and let go when that's the way things are going anyway.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
why should friendship be a problem?
I just read this article today in the NYTimes http://www.nytimes.com/2012/01/29/fashion/its-not-me-its-you-how-to-end-a-friendship.html?_r=1&hpw about how to 'break up' with friends, in the age of Facebook and "unfriending."
I found 90% of this article kind of silly. The part that I didn't find silly or useless is what I've observed of my clients who are in the age of about 20 to 30 years old. Some of them have had difficult life experiences, especially death or other great loss, and they feel out of sync with their peers- as if they've matured 20 years in the span of only a few. Even without grief and loss, I can understand that feeling of isolation when typical social 'bonding' begins to feel empty. I am not thinking so much about that type of change here in this blogpost.
Here's more from the Times article: Psychologists consider it an inevitable life stage, a point where people achieve enough maturity and self-awareness to know who they are and what they want out of their remaining years, and have a degree of clarity about which friends deserve full attention and which are a drain. It is time, in other words, to shed people they collected in their youth, when they were still trying on friends for size.
I found 90% of this article kind of silly. The part that I didn't find silly or useless is what I've observed of my clients who are in the age of about 20 to 30 years old. Some of them have had difficult life experiences, especially death or other great loss, and they feel out of sync with their peers- as if they've matured 20 years in the span of only a few. Even without grief and loss, I can understand that feeling of isolation when typical social 'bonding' begins to feel empty. I am not thinking so much about that type of change here in this blogpost.
Here's more from the Times article: Psychologists consider it an inevitable life stage, a point where people achieve enough maturity and self-awareness to know who they are and what they want out of their remaining years, and have a degree of clarity about which friends deserve full attention and which are a drain. It is time, in other words, to shed people they collected in their youth, when they were still trying on friends for size.
The winnowing process even has a clinical name: socioemotional selectivity theory, a term coined by Laura L. Carstensen, a psychology professor who is the director of the Stanford Center on Longevity in California.
"Shed people they collected in their youths." That is kind of yucky. This is maybe where the article begins to plunge into a worldview that doesn't exactly jibe with mine.
I've found that as I get older, many friendships have an ebb and flow. When I was younger, I of course had the experience of rejection when I felt more interested in spending time with someone who just did not seem to have as much time for me. This was usually due to the life circumstances of the one friend changing (I remember when my friend H got a serious boyfriend and moved in with him - I hate to say it but my next 'boyfriend' was probably someone I dated in part to fill up the empty time that I'd previously spent with her. Ugh. The embarassment of youth!). Over 25 years, H and I have had very close times and times where we haven't spoken as frequently, but because the friendship has lasted so long, we both know and trust that we will always be friends.
This is the great advantage of letting go of 'defriending' someone or having to place a label - time unfolds and a deeper form of friendship has room to take root. I also think it's a good idea in friendships, not to just have one best friend. Evidence that the one best friend thing is a bad idea usually starts accumulating in about 6th grade.
I'd like to propose that we all just relax a little. Give ourselves and other people room to change and grow. Have a sense of humor. Most of the time we don't have to make dramatic moves like 'ending' a friendship. It can be a hard world at times; I think it's good to value all kinds of friends and friendships.
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