These Things Bind Together

Something big is happening. You’re a major player, not somebody on the sidelines.

You’re feeling exclusively happy about it. You’re ready to shout from the rooftops. Or it’s quiet relief. A sense that things are working out exactly as they should. 

You don’t know this yet, but you need to acknowledge the sadness. Let it lap over you. Every blessed event, no matter how anticipated, has loss attached. If you don’t wade out to meet it, it will come for you later. Meet it halfway. 

Maybe instead, it’s a shit show. You’ve been singled out for a private hell that has your name written all over it. It hits you where you live. 

Eventually, that dark feeling is going to have to soften. If this rotten thing has something okay attached, however tenuous, give it a name and let it sit at the table. 

You’ve made a brand new friend in the waiting room or wherever you find yourself that you never wanted to be. Also, now you have the get out of jail free card for all the crappy stuff you never liked doing anyway. 

All of this insomnia means you saw this kick-ass sunrise. The fact that you’d hoped to never see the sunrise, because that’s a time when people living blessed lives are still sleeping, shouldn’t dampen that moment because that’s exactly what I’m talking about.

Damn anyone who finds that silver lining before you. That isn’t their job.

Let it in on your time. 

If there is no nuance or gradation then you’re missing something. This is not meant to be sequestered or cordoned off. You hold them both together. 

If something big is happening and you’re feeling bittersweet and complicated, seeing some cracks in the foundation, seeing the foundation present in the cracks, then thank you for reading this, but honestly, you’re doing it already and you don’t need any help from me. 

From the archives:
These Are My Subjects
Shana Tova
Yes, Please

I suffered for their art

I listen for the silence between the sounds
They make more music
They bring great shame upon these instruments

I close my eyes as if to drown it out

They stand and bow at the end
Pleased as punch with themselves
I blame them, though none are composers
They’ve been complicit
They brought it to life

At the end I open my eyes
Just long enough to tap two fingers together
And glare at each and every one of them



From the archives:
Take This Inspiration And Shove It
I answered my own question
I Stand In Judgement 

I answered my own question

I’m still in shock. I thought I was more of a badass than this. It feels visceral.

Comes a time when I ask a familiar question. I keep it to myself.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Nothing. Not a damn thing.

I’m agile with some things. Not so much with others.

It’s an open and shut case. I have nothing to explain. I have nothing to apologize for either.

From the archives:
Five Minutes

Careful Words

All of the roads, they did lead here

Overcast

I wake up miserable. It has no home. It just is. 
I don’t want to feel this way. I try negotiating. It stays put.

A while later I say okay, remember this. Part of life is being able to tolerate these emotions. I forgot this for a little while. I’ve been working on it but it isn’t second nature yet.

I feel better. But I also feel tired from all this work.

Then a third possibility emerges. I’m on the subway when that happens. If it weren’t for iPads I’d have a notebook and pen to write it all down.

Stay open. All emotions ebb and flow whether I work with them or just sit there doing nothing. Let the rest of whatever the day has in store lift me. 

Yes, there’s a chance it could put me lower. It’s possible that the misery is a premonition. Or that random bad things happen. But I can still have an eye toward the horizon. An unexpected kindness, an exchange.

Be a satellite. Let the day do its thing. It could end very differently than it began.


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No Trophies

Every Wet Thing

I arrive at the basement laundry room in my building. A young man is finishing up with the washers. Good timing. He'll unload his clothes and then I'll load in mine.

The young man has all of the washers stuffed to capacity. This is not surprising. Young men do tend to overfill machines.

The young man does not do what people usually do when the washers have stopped and someone else is waiting for them. He does not unload all of the machines into baskets, then fill the dryers quickly.

He approaches each washing machine one by one. He takes each item of clothing out of the washer. He painstakingly smooths every wet item. Then he carefully drapes each garment over the bar of the basket.

He does not unload the washers as quickly as possible in a giant heap the way I do.

He does not load the wet things into baskets and then smooth them one at a time. He does this standing at the washer.

When, and only when, one washer is empty, does he move on to the next washer. He repeats this pattern for all of the washers.

When he finally empties a washer, I wheel my cart over and load it up.

It is meditative watching him. I liken it to observing a spider building a web.

It is also infuriating.

I express no impatience until the end. He wedges himself into a corner to slowly unload his last machine, while subsequently blocking the machine he already unloaded. Enough.

Excuse me, I say in a polite but clipped fashion that means business. He moves a tiny bit out of the way. I load my clothes in.

Then he approaches the dryers. I see him taking the previously smoothed and draped wet garments and shake then, smooth them some more before putting each thing, including the socks, into the dryer one at a time.

His methodology has greater implications for me and possibly other residents. People who are quicker about unloading, loading and unloading keep it moving. Now I'll have to wait longer for dryers.

It gets me thinking deeply about the opportunity cost to him. The sheer amount of time spent on each individual garment means less time spent doing other, presumably more important things.

I watch this for a few seconds and then leave.

As I project myself into the future I imagine the trip out of the dryer for each garment. He will need to smooth each one. He will not unload all of the dryers and then do the smoothing, creasing and folding. He will smooth and drape each dry garment in front of each dryer. He will seem not to care that someone else is waiting.

I try to predict if I'll say something to the young man. I'm on a schedule. I don't have all day. I understand the unspoken rules of the laundry room.

A thought pops into my mind.

He can't help what he is doing. If I say something to him it could create enormous anxiety for him. For me, handling my garments less carefully is a comfortable thing. For him, it might be unbearable.

Later on, I go outside to run some errands. I see something that calls to me. Bare branches twist lyrically against an opaque white late afternoon sky. It looks like poetry.

I slip the iPhone out of my pocket and photograph the scene, this way and that. Once I'm sure I have it, I'm on my way.

That evening I scroll through the pictures and though I try to deny it, there's a fatal flaw in every single one. The camera depicts, more clearly than my eye could, an inelegant group of leaves marring an otherwise perfect scene. There's nothing to be done. I delete them.

I get up from the couch and commence the sorting and folding of the clean wash, which has spent most of the day jumbled and wrinkled, but no worse for wear in the laundry bag.

From the archives:
Somebody

Testosterone 

Letting People Get Used To Me

Good plan, well executed

The dry air will greet me on the way inside of the apartment. I will turn on the lights because even though it's midday, it's dark.

The rain boots will come off first. I always go about stocking foot in the house but this time the socks will probably go in the hamper. It's fine. There are plenty more in the drawer.

The coat will hang in the shower. Liberated from this damp garment, I'll move on to my favorite part. I'll place my hat and gloves splayed out on the radiator. Later when it's time to go out again they'll be warm and ready.

I'll open my umbrella and place it, away from the leaky faucet in the tub. I liked leaning it in the hallway outside my apartment until management sent a curt note to everyone that we aren't allowed to do that. Whatever.

From the look of things I will also take stock of my backpack. Water resistant as it is, this has been a major insult. The bag itself will dry effectively near the radiator. Affected contents will be lined up carefully next to the hat and gloves.

They will look like neat casualties but not for long. The radiators here run very hot.

All will be well. The wet chill I feel on the train and walk home is mitigated by the plan. It keeps me contained.

Earlier today, before any of this with the lights, the radiator and the socks, I'll have an appointment. I will arrive a little early and take extra care with my wet things. I'll spy a closet in the waiting room. This one won't be locked and I'll open it to find a sea of hangers and hooks. I will hang my coat and the gloves will go on one hook and the hat on the other. I'll place my wet umbrella in the receptacle provided.

The waiting room will be full of resources to help me manage myself and a nervous system that seems to need some measure of calm protection.

I'll think about leaving the wet boots in the closet, but decide to wear them in. Going about without shoes here will seem both inappropriate and presumptuous.

As I leave the appointment and begin hatching my transition plan, I will see a four year old boy come out of a fancy coffee place with his mom. The mom will be understanding and careful. She'll patiently hold the umbrella perfectly over his head.

The boy will stop upon exiting the shop. He'll look at the rain coming down in torrents, vast bucketfuls sliding off of the high end awning above his head. He will erupt into what could only be called a classic case of screaming and crying. 

I will feel a pang for him. Poor little dude, I'll say to myself as I slosh toward the subway.

From the archives:
The New Environs
Emotional Support From The Security Guard
Rain

No Trophies

Somebody will seem perfect. They achieve something you've tried in vain to pull off. You feel the smack of comparison. You're lacking. And worse, now you have an audience.

The competent individual is not a better person. They've done this dazzling thing because they can. They can, so they do. You would if you could.


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The Best Thing Someone Never Said To Me

What Now?

What I know, what I don't know

Modern Narcissus

Today it's you. There's always been you and others like you. Recently, and stretching way back.

I'm smart.  I've avoided some of you. They threw up red flags. Or I was paying better attention then. In other words, I don't fall for it every time.

When I'm savvy, I know which one of you is friend material and who is only good for some fun on social media or at a party. Because people like you are always fun.

I know who to make excuses with, whom not to be one-on-one with, who is charming with an edge. When I know I'm being manipulated, I'm immunized.

Then there are the other times. Maybe I get together with you when our mutual friends aren't around. We exchange email addresses. We take it up a notch.

We share some laughs and a confidence. There's two ways it goes bad.

There's the slow burn. Something doesn't feel right. It's a flower blooming, only ugly. It happens gradually and I never get to see the unfurl. I put the puzzle together as clues come in.

There's the quick scorch. I figure you out in a flash. Instead of the pieces connecting methodically over time, I'm hit over the head with you.

Once I have you figured out, whether it's the fast way or the slow way, the next few hours will feel like crap.

I'm pretty disappointed in myself for not heading it off before.  Here's what softens my critique.

One is that I picked it up when I did. I could just as easily be commenting on your post, meeting you at Shake Shack or giving out unilateral support. Now is infinitely better than never. Or later.

You have no shortage of friends, so it isn't just me.

Social media can make the sifting harder, but I'm getting wise to that. You and your brethren are putting up signposts.

You're good at what you do. It's easy for you. This is your stock and trade, your shining talent, your decathlon. Nature, nurture or a freak accident made you this way, and that's how you'll stay. I speculate then stop. It's useless.

I inventory what happened and say I'll know better next time. And often I do. It's important to mention that.

But there will be a next time. You're all cut from the same cloth but you come in a dizzying array. You're all viruses. You morph.

Still, I found out not long ago that there's a name for what you are. So I slap the label on you. It's not personal. It is what it is. And it helps.

That is when things turn cordial between you and me.

There is no fanfare. No recriminations. There's no conversation or long goodbye either.

I wait. I'm patient for the moment, an easy opportunity, predictable as rain. You become absorbed, rapt either in yourself, or someone else. I steal away, on tiptoe, the trained dancer that I am and the one I've become.

I've turned the tables.  You're the mark now. You'll never even know what happened.

If you could craft the words, you'd say you miss seeing your reflection in me. But if you were capable of that, I wouldn't have such  a problem with you.

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Talking With Me About Stimulant Medication

I Will Say The Wrong Thing
The Best Thing Someone Never Said To Me

Talking With Me About Stimulant Medication

I've had experience talking with people about stimulant medication. I've had experience reading what people have written about stimulant medication. I've had experience reading Facebook posts about stimulant medication.

I have five years of experience supporting, managing, teaching and observing someone who takes stimulant medication.

Previous to and overlapping with that, I had several more years of experience supporting, managing, teaching and observing someone engaged in occupational, speech and language therapy and social skills group.

There are people I would like to talk to about stimulant medication. There are people I would not like to talk to about stimulant medication.

Now I have some rules for myself around talking about and reading about stimulant medication. They are the same rules I have for talking about and reading about ADHD.

This is not a 10 Things Not To Say list. Those lists bother me. They assume everyone is the same. This post is about my vantage point. That said, you might relate it to your particular situation or learn a few things. Any comments you make might teach me something too.

If you are a psychiatrist, psychologist, pediatrician, neurologist, neuropsychologist, family practitioner, nurse practitioner, developmental pediatrician or internist with experience working with those who take stimulant medication, then I would like to talk with you about ADHD and stimulant medication.

If you currently take stimulant medication I would like to talk with you. If a close family member takes stimulant medication then I would like to talk with you. I would like to hear what you have to say whether the experience has been good, bad or indifferent.

If your name is Dr. Ned Hallowell and have written a book called Driven to Distraction then I would like to talk with you. I also like to read what you write about ADHD and stimulant medication. You are welcome to contact me for conversation at any time.

If your children are exceptionally well behaved and you are wondering why all these kids are getting drugged up I have a feeling that a conversation about ADHD and stimulant medication would not go very well. It would be like me having an opinion about team sports. I don't play team sports. My kids don't play them. It didn't take. So I don't go around giving opinions on neighborhood baseball teams.

If you don't know anything about ADHD or stimulant medication and would like to ask me about it, I would welcome that.  If you are asking in the spirit of greater understanding then I would be more than willing to participate.

But if you have a lot of preconceived notions that you are very invested in, it might not be a satisfying conversation for either one of us.

If you like comparing carefully prescribed stimulant medication to crack, illegal amphetamines, speed, espresso, cold brewed coffee, tranquilizers or dark chocolate then it is unwise for me to engage with you on that subject.

If you have accidentally or purposely tried a tiny bit of someone else's stimulant medication and you yourself do not have ADD or ADHD, then I would love to have a conversation with you and compare notes.

If you are currently contemplating treatment for yourself because you've been struggling and these struggles are pointing you and your doctor to ADD, then you are welcome to talk with me. There are many people who learn more about themselves as adults. Adults who are self aware, change course and seek help are brave adults. I'll talk carefully with you and mostly listen.

If you are wrapping your mind around helping a child, then I know that in spite of what other people say and write that this is almost always a difficult decision and a multi-tiered one. I will walk on eggshells and you'll do most of the talking.

If you are a physical therapist, occupational therapist, speech and language pathologist or special education teacher with experience in this arena you are people I admire. I always want to hear what you have to say.

If you are a classroom teacher I like talking to you. You see a high volume of kids every day. That alone is worth the price of admission.

If you are Judith Warner and you have written a book called We've Got Issues: Children and Parents in the Age of Medication then I would like to personally thank you for writing it. You would be a person I would enjoy talking to about stimulant medication and ADHD.

If you are writing a book and want to say something about ADHD or stimulant medication, then do deep research and talk to real people walking the walk and the people who work with them. Otherwise, people like me see right through your book or article.

If the words Adderall Nation have crossed your lips or peppered your writing then you will find a lot of like-minded company, just not with me.

If you have no experience with this, whether you are a grandparent, a journalist, a friend, or a public figure, be humble. Own your inexperience. It's important to know when you are out of your depth. Know that you don't know.

If you are wondering if this person or that really needs stimulant medication consider that they may look like they don't need stimulant medication because they are in fact on stimulant medication. When they are not on stimulant medication is when they look like they need stimulant medication.

Think about it. There is beauty in this logic.

If you are thinking that your generation was better because nobody needed stimulant medication when you were coming up or when you were raising kids I find a conversation with you will be like talking to a brick wall.  There are gaping holes in what you are saying but its better to agree to disagree and change the subject.

If you feel the need to point out that there is no ADHD in France, and that French mothers are doing a categorically better job of parenting than American ones, then I don't want to talk with you about stimulant medication or ADHD. I will no longer read what you have to say.

If you are not a parent at all but have opinions about the use of stimulant medication in children then maybe you'd like my opinion on stuff I know nothing about—how about those Yankees?

In addition to all things already mentioned, I am skipping any conversation, article, podcast or reference to the Marshmallow Test. For personal reasons I have adopted a no Marshmallow Test policy.

The elevator speech version of the long-winded stuff I just wrote is this. If you are in the trenches, I'll talk to you. I'll read your book. If you are not in the trenches but know you are not in the trenches them I'll talk to you. All others, no. I'll talk to you about other stuff. Just not stimulant medication and ADHD.

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30 Minutes A Day

I've been feeling stressed. Quite a bit more than usual. Then things took on a slightly grayish cast. I took that seriously.

I upped my consumption of powerhouse foods, I continued to exercise. I prioritized sleep. These lifestyle changes have helped.

I visited my doctor for a physical. I am in superior health, but we are keeping an eye on the stuff I mentioned earlier. He is monitoring me. I am monitoring myself.

When I am working hard on various things, I work breaks into my schedule. I drink iced coffee, have a snack, and check out my newsfeed. Then I get back to work.

On a whim one day, I took a half hour walk outside. That was my break. This turned out to be an excellent idea. I decided to implement these walks on a regular basis to see what happens.

These are walks that are not primarily for exercise. That is a separate activity. These walks are completely different in tenor from walking to the subway, or running errands. I make sure to take the walks alone.  There is no purpose to the walks other than taking a walk.

I keep track of my time and keep it to the 30 minutes. I was worried that this would be too big a break if I have so much work to do. This did not turn out to be the case.

Once I return from my walks I feel refreshed. The fresh air, the light and change of scenery are a re-boot. I'm then smarter and better at whatever I'm working on. There’s a big influx of focus.

Another benefit is that I look forward to the walks and use them as a reward for good, sustained and effective work habits.

One of the things I noticed about this particular spring here in NYC is that it seems more explosive, riotously colorful and glorious than ever before. I wondered if the long winter made me just notice or appreciate the trees and flowers more. I don't think it's that. Jeremy and I think that the delay in warm temperatures made everything more intense when things finally bloomed. It isn't just me. He noticed it too.

Here's what it's like for me.

I go outside and the thirty minutes stretches out expansively. It makes me feel rich with time.

I walk slowly and meander. This is not the usual way I am. There's a certain liberation to doing that. It seems to slow time down. It feels like I am out for longer than a half hour.

Since I'm not going anywhere in particular, I stop whenever I want.  I have my iPhone camera with me and often something will strike my fancy. I've taken a lot of photographs during these walks.

I am very literal about the time and manage it well. I stay out for 30 minutes, no more, no less. Once the 30 minutes are up, I feel ready to go inside again.

Here's what I'm doing. I'm going to keep this up. I'll to post about my experience once a season. I consider this my spring post.

Since this spring is audaciously, in your face beautiful, I'm sharing some photographs to accompany this post. I took all of these pictures during my 30-minute walk today.

Taking a walk is not a miracle mental health intervention. Optimizing my outlook and resilience is a multi-tiered process. But these 30-minute walks are a part of my toolbox. A bit of fresh air without an agenda never hurt anyone.

I was attracted to the filmy delicacy of these two plants. The cloudy day cast a lovely, even light that brought out their saturated pastel coloration.

These two photographs make nice new additions to some series I am working on.

 

I am exploring the beauty intrinsic in old, dying and decomposing plants and blooms.

 

I first photographed these flowers at the beginning of my walk but was unable to capture anything I liked due to a large bee buzzing uncomfortably  close. At the end of my walk I was able to spend more uninterrupted time and realized my artistic vision.

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Advice for Myself : Don't Negotiate with Crazy

It's good to find common ground. But not every single time. There are going to be circumstances when commonality can't happen. One of them is when I am face to face with crazy.

There is no middle place between myself and crazy. I have nothing in common with crazy. I have nothing  to gain from crazy. Crazy and I will never be friends. I need to listen to me now. Crazy and I can't be acquainted. Even cordial is up for question. Be careful with cordial. Even that.

Quirky and I can be friends. Eccentric and I can be friends. Even boring and I can be friends.

But crazy is a different story. With crazy, nobody wins. In any negotiation with crazy, I will always lose. Crazy's idea of friend, fair, nice, funny, loud, soft, neat and good will always be filtered through crazy.

Say hi to crazy but then keep on walking.

Don't be fooled by crazy. Crazy can seem okay at first. It can walk among the rest of us. Then it reveals itself.

 Nothing can change crazy.

When the crazy detector goes off listen to that. Even when it is so quiet no one else can hear it. Negotiate with that voice that is everyone's friend. That voice is negotiable. But crazy? There is no conversation, no language no device for that.

I've been to the university of the old college try. I'm an alumnus of that. Crazy need not apply. I'm not talking to crazy anymore.

Advice for Myself is a new series I am working on to remind myself of things I learn and then forget. I am hoping that collage and writing will help me remember some important lessons I've gained through life experience. Maybe it will help you too.