Lite-Brites and Ralph Waldo

When the Light comes, the shadow no longer exists. 

            ~Unattributed little proclamation for December 20^th , on a valued little daily calendar my sister gave me 26 years ago.

I’ve been thinking a bit about this - Light - since the recent Sandy Hook massacre.  Feeling, like you many of you, a weird combination of assault weapon rage, sickness, heavy heavy sadness, gratitude for general humanity, assurance in human resilience, profound empathy, a little fear that extreme responses will screw up more things, concern for the kids, families, community, and the long-term effects…..   And, hope. 

Outside of my head, hope might be skimpy on a lot of fronts.  And heartbreak is really now too familiar, and awful, and close.

We know that heartbreak sucks.  So does hopelessness, and the worry about the kids.  Not just theirs, but all of ours.  The depth and breadth of their heartbreak and shaky hope have many of us wondering what we can do to make it better for them?  How do I or “we”, respond?  Where do you even start?

So that’s why I’ve been thinking about Light, and hoping.  The quote from my little calendar is followed by this excerpt from John 1:4-5;

 

“In him was life, and that life was the light of man.  The light shines in darkness, but the darkness has not understood it.” 

 

So seems the quote references the birth of or acceptance of Christ, as the Light.  I happen to believe in God and have experienced His light on a daily basis my entire life, within or outside of crisis.  I know Light, and whether you believe in God or accept Christ or not, there is a world of truth in the Light statement. 

You know light too.  Think about it, the power of it.  Like, Lite-Brite, for example.  Before it became an app it was a table-top easel that held black paper, which you would stab with little colored pegs that glowed with light.  Brilliant!  And magical.  My sisters and I would take Lite-Brite breaks between our cool 1970s basement air guitar band gigs (playing to….the dog) to recharge between musical sets.  Worked every time.   For my Dad, floodlights would help us find deer (or just maybe, it was a Squatch!) in the woods around our house, which was important to him since he was on an eternally failing mission to save the shrubbery from their determined munching.  The deer/Squatch grew huge, floodlights or not.

 

Later, I understood that to “shine a light on” something meant to highlight it, and pay very close attention.  I learned what it meant to “lighten your load” and to “lighten their burden”, simple principles that improve a personal or collective circumstance, especially when undertaken sincerely, and well-informed.  And then I began to “see the light at the end of the tunnel”, to find the gold nuggets in the circumstance. 

 

There are tons of light-focused icons and symbols, which I won't keep mentioning because you already get it.  Light-filled talk was always in our house in some way. That didn't or hasn't kept me from moaning and whining from time to time, but I've always understood that Light is a good thing to have, especially when you let it shoot out of your fingers and toes and the ends of your hair (as George Bailey imagined it). 

So coming from this Lite-Brite place, I suggest we focus on the Light within this circumstance, especially if it’s bothering you as much as it does me.  I don’t necessarily mean that you and I address the aftermath of this specific event, though we could.  Educate yourself about mental health services in this country, find the evidence supporting or refuting the impact of weapon restrictions here and elsewhere in the world, sign a petition, donate to first responder or parent groups, like a Facebook page….whatever. 

But if we want to “fix” things right here, around us, then I suggest we be a light, and shine one on, and see the light in, our daily stuff.  The daily shadows and trials and "horrors” we encounter.  We don’t need to make grand gestures - we need to pay attention to the needs of our daily companions, and acknowledge them.  Find the nuggets, find the words, find the understanding, find the resources that fit, and connect to them.   And share with companions that need it.  No big deal, just what's realistic and positive.  But the other side of the deal is....no withholding light from people we'd rather leave in a shadow because they've been annoying, or undesirable, or are on the wrong political side, or have bad teeth, or whatever. 

 

It's kind of easy to serve up light for those like us or who we like.  Let's keep doing that, and then let's kick it up a few notches to do the same for the rest of the souls in our daily universe.  As my favorite 19th century hippie said;

 

“The purpose of life is not to be happy. It is to be useful, to be honorable, to be compassionate, to have it make some difference that you have lived and lived well.” 

And

"...I settle myself ever firmer in the creed that we should not postpone and refer and wish, but do broad justice where we are, by whomsoever we deal with"

~    Ralph Waldo Emerson

(I should write these on my Lite-Brite.  Whoa.)

 

I know it’s not always practical to do this.  I’m lucky.  I'm in a profession that’s Light-filled, but if I weren’t I know it would be challenging to consistently step outside of myself and pay attention, in the same way.  But it's worth a try, starting with our kids and families, then neighbors, and co-workers, and then with the moments in between these more obvious encounters.  It’s worth it to try, a bit each day.  And if you agree, then, it's a deal. 
 

Lights on, Ralph.

 

You probably noticed the Sumo wrestler, right over there.  He's obviously at a job interview, and looks to be taking the whole thing kind of semi-seriously, if you ask me.  I mean....his hair says "business formal" but his loin-dress screams casual.  I just learned that Sumo loin-wear is actually called "mawashi" (I'll washi if you washi), and that its creation and adornment are complicated, highly symbolic, and strategic, of all things.  It's fascinating.  Who knew some Sumos prefer their mawashis (mawashiii?) loose, all to make life difficult for the opponent who dares to attempt a take-down?  Or who dares to show up wearing the same mawashi (MYwashi, not yours. Ha!). 

Anyway, I usually don't ponder Sumo strategy and uniform.  But Sumos have been on my mind today because I didn't realize one had been squatting on my chest the last few years until he finally climbed off, and kotenaged his way back to his Sumo mat, butt and all.  I know you know the feeling, because it's utterly human and inescapable.  I've felt great stresses and pressures and uncertainties many times in the past - we all have! - so the feeling itself wasn't new.  Just the seeming permanence of it was. 

Until today, because I learned I somehow passed the Boards.  Experiencing that exam process is like what mediating an upcoming Obama-Romney debate might be like, for that soul....head-bangingly frustrating and "you-gotta-be-KIDDING-me!"-worthy.  Through God's grace and some additional benevolent universal wormhole, I don't need to re-take an exam that I was really certain I'd failed.  My doppleganger in some parallel universe is pissed off right now, because she's the one who's got to put her life on hold again, until she gets it right.  Me....all I have to do now, is go to work, and get paid.  Beautiful!!!  No more exams and projects and presentations and impossible-immovable deadlines and studying without a break, and worrying about whether I'd be able to make house payments and spend on Christmas gifts and food shopping and..... 

Being a student again at this stage of my life was more stressful than I'd planned (yes, I tend to plan my stress).  But it's done, and the never-ending worry and workload of the last few years is gone.  I'm amazed my family and loved ones and friends haven't kicked me to the curb.  Not once.  Probably hard to get the right angle for that, with a Sumo in the way.  So to you, I'm so sorry if the strain was that obvious, and I was an intensely large pain in the butt (loins and butts keep coming up.  hmmmm...).

I may actually owe that mawashi-strutting guy my gratitude for, strangely, being a buffer (!), and for knowing when to leave. 

And I know when to say "thank you", to everyone.  With all my heart.  But I'm keeping the mawashi.

....and I'm Not Done Yet

Over the last 18 months, my classmates and I have joked a lot about making t-shirts we should wear to broadcast the latest higher-educational atrocity being thrust upon us.  We, a bunch of innocent (riiiiiight) graduate students who just wanted to learn things so we could help change the world for the better (forget better....for the best), were endlessly exhausted, and almost endlessly frustrated by - dare I say these words because I thought I'd left them behind when I left corporate bumblingdom - by "process", and "busywork", and "whatthehelldoIneedtodothatfor?".

That last one takes up both the front and back of a shirt, by the way.  So actually, do a lot of the others we came up with. 

To vent about my graduate programs's seemingly disproportionate emphasis on evidence-based practice we created "Ipaid$60KforthiseducationandallIgotwasthislousyrandomcontrolledtrial", and, "Sample Size Matters", and, "EFFicacy my a*%", and, "AnalyzeTHIS". 

Aside from the first few months of cadaver lab, we were disappointed by what felt like few opportunities to lay our hands on patients (okay, cadavers are not patients) as early on as we wanted to, because we were drowning in theoretical framework exercises, which led to "whatthehelldoIneedtodothatfor?Ishouldjustbetreatingpatients!", and....uh, well that one was pretty much it.  I can't begin to count the number of times we uttered that.  So, touche.

But I'd be doing an injustice if that's all I wrote about right now. 

Because we all finished our coursework in mid-December.  Actually, I'd say we all ACED our graduate careers that week.  And importantly, we did it with our collective pure intents, intact. 

I'm still processing this last year and a half - yeh kids I'm old, it takes me longer! - but I've begun to realize that the educational requirements that felt empty and life-sucking and "distracting from what really matters" and, time-consuming to the point I felt like "I've taken eternal vows of silence and chastity" (THAT t-shirt, I'll never wear), are going to help make me, and all of us, kick-ass therapists.

Yup!  Don't argue with me young Jedis.  With the kind of perspective that can only come from time spent reconnecting with my family over Combat Monopoly (8-to-15-year-old boys are vicious), I can see that everything I cursed before, was part of a large and elegant plan to spit out....kick-ass therapists.  Because NOW, my classmates and I...

• Know medicine.  Medical procedures.  Medical documentation.  Medical terminology.  Medical diagnoses and treatments.  ALL of them.  Presentations of symptoms that reveal medical conditions....ALL, of them.  Clinical medicine.  Clinical psychiatry.  Killed us in different ways.  We aced them.  How great is that?
• Know bones and muscles and tendons and ligaments and bones and tendons and bones and muscles and muscles and ligaments and muscles and.....
• Know neurology.  We've held brains in our hands!  And spinal cords!  We know what each centimeter is, and does!  We know what happens if those amazing structures are assaulted (I'm not talking about brain cells killed due to Hofbrauhaus, my children).  How great is that?!
• Know kinesiology and movement and biomechanics (x 3).  And GUS.  Don't Go Too Far Down Freakout Road.  Don't Disrespect the Deltoid.  Radio Silence.  Tweaky Thing.  And....(painfully long silence)..........Whatever.  'Nuff said.  How great is Gus?!
• Know kids.  We have a toolbox to help them.  Ken was high-maintenance but I'm glad he taught us.  And we won't have to see him again.  How great is that?! 
• Know how to manage a freakishly slippery 6-foot Ken doll.  As if that'll ever happen in real life.  Sweet Jesus.  See previous post!!
• Know how to @#*^&ing write a damn $*%$ing reimbursable treatment plan and goals. How great is........uh, okay.
• Know how to treat patients.  Thank about it a minute.  We really actually do.  Do we know everything?  HELL no, but we know enough and, because we care and we want to, we'll never stop learning.  How fabulously great is that!!!

This was simultaneously, hell and heaven.

A lot of this hit home for me over the last few days, when word came that a friend's wife - who is my age - was in the ICU, with a brain aneurysm.  The hearts and stomachs of those of us who know them sunk, and then turned inside out.  These are vibrant, beautiful people.  They've been wonderful to me and to many others over the years.  So prayers, and calls of support began.  And then the spanking new therapist in me realized that this is the patient, and the family, that I'll be working with during my hospital rotation this spring.  Any of my classmates or I could be working with them.  People unexpectedly in a critical situation through no fault (and certainly no desire) of their own, clearly scared but gracious and holding a strong front, probably wondering...what now, what next, what about two months from now. 

This is one of the reasons my grad-mates and I will have spent two years grinding through 80-hour weeks, and groan-y t-shirt slogans.

None of the people we'll be treating will want to be there.  In treatment.  Because they were busy doing what they were doing before something unexpected happened.  Either suddenly, or in a slow-mo covertly sequential kind of way, or in utero.  Or however bodies and minds become injured. 

Luckily we'll want to be there, my classmates and I.  Because we might be able to help them get back to what they were doing before something unexpected happened.  Or to steer them onto a new track.  Which one depends on a lot of things. 

But we know that we want to help.  That's why we willingly paid a boatload, for those insane t-shirts.  And my latest?  It says "Imaybeold(er)butI'mnotdoneyet". 

Hope I never am.

Thanksgiving, Leftovers

I'm not close to perfect and hope I never am, but recently I've been wondering how to show gratitude, perfectly.  Or how to show perfect gratitude.  Or how to perfectly show gratitude.  So I'm stuck without a way to express gratitude, perfectly.  Sweet Jesus.  See what I mean?

Thankfulness, gratitude, acknowledgement, grace, thanksgiving.  I'm full of it (don't you dare!) because the last two-plus years have brought much professional and personal change, and I'm not sure I could've plowed through it without you.

Yeah, you.

We all, obviously, manage change.  Some resist it but I've always run toward it, for some insane reason.  Except when it's thrust on me like, when I became an unwilling (but pissed) crime victim or, when my Dad's body finally couldn't keep up with his soul, and gave out.  Or when the love of my life decided otherwise.

But back to the running towards change.  Which can be certifiably insane but absolutely spine-tingling and fun (yes Pitt friends, I'm a sensory seeker).    

I'm not sure why or how but I've always known I could handle change, adversity, heartbreak, and all their cousins.  I don' t always like it - who does? heartbreak is heartbreaking! - but instead of bringing out the worst in me these things tend to push away the worst worldly, ego-centric pieces I've got and leave behind.....I'm not sure what.  But the leftovers are more pure and soul-serving than the other stuff and, I'd rather function on the leftovers.  Which have become a bigger and bigger piece of my life since, as a girl of a certain age (A-hem), I've accumulated years of change-management experiences.  Though I'm still able to just pluck my gray hairs vs. coloring them (thanks Dad). 

But whatever personal resilience I've got is nothing compared to what friends and family and classmates and neighbors are willing to do and supply, when I'm about to be squashed by something whether it's planned, or not.  Somehow, because I certainly don't deserve it, I'm surrounded by the most warm, generous, laughter-and-wisdom-filled people on the planet.  Whether you're nearby or far you've provided laughs, love, an ear, a wink, broad shoulders, a hug, a call, a note, a visit.  In abundance.  Unannounced and unbidden.  It's that part that really gets me, and nudges personal resilience into plasticity (such, a geek).  I don't think I could've outwitted these recent years without your personal gifts, and I know I don't have the words to thank you with.

That's not an adequate enough description of what you all offer and how I appreciate it more than this little love note could ever say.  But I wanted to try anyway.  You are each a unique and special blessing to this world, and in my life.

So thank you. 

And let me share the leftovers.

Ode to Those with Senioritis

It's not a life-threatening, life-alerting, or inoperable state of being, which probably makes the following thoughts silly.  But Senioritis is for real, friends.  And I have a nasty case of it, brought on by today, knowing that 47 of us are in the 4th turn and sprinting (at ludicrous speed) down the final stretch to REAL LIFE again.  "Us" would be my fabulous 46 grad-mates, and I, today starting our final semester on campus before the ceremonial Unleashing of Us Unto Clinicals this coming January.  It's also our last few months together before scattering back to the places we came from, or want to go.  And because I'm a mushball when it comes to certain things, that realization makes me teary.

So, today was Day 1 of this final term, and....now that we can all read each other's body language and exchange thoughts via Willy Wonka-like teleportation.....

An Ode to Those with Senioritis.  It's actually more like a prayer, because I really want "us" to understand the power of senioritis for both good and evil these last few months.  Mainly for good.  Even though I don't get the word "senioritis" since we were taught that "itis" medically indicates inflammation so, having senioritis means we're, what?.....SuperPuft graduate students ready to tear up Forbes Tower and spit it out?  Um....maybe. 

But onto the Ode (humbly)....and thanks to (or forgiveness from) Janis Joplin.....

"Oh Lord, won't you help me, and my forty-six friends?
We're so done with this process, and can't wait for it's end.
We've worked hard for this learning, and so much does depend,
So Lord, won't you help me, and my forty-six friends?

Oh Lord, won't you help us, keep a grip on our minds?
Forbes Tower has done sucked them, during these 80-hour week grinds.
We might need an ass-kick, to so help us remind,
Why we're doing this, not for money, but some joys we will find.

Oh Lord, thanks, you brought us, to something real great
We count on that, really, so we can't negate,
That senioritis, is temporary, and so worth the wait,
For the feeling, we'll be having, sliding into home plate.

Everybody!
Oh Lord, thanks for helping, me and forty-six friends.
We're so done with this process, but we're glad to depend,
On each other, for some laughter, which will help us defend,
Senioritis, and frustration....which will leave come year end!~"
So, bear with me......

Let's prepare this ship for light speed.

Dark Helmet: No, no, no, light speed is too slow.
Colonel Sandurz: Light speed, too slow?
Dark Helmet: Yes, we're gonna have to go right to ludicrous speed.
And, we're gonna be thankful for it all.

The Ballad of Yucca Plucca

The last time I competed in an Olympic-length Milk Dud relay I was nine, named Ima DeFastust, and finished a dissatisfying 5th place.  Even Yucca Plucca finished ahead of me (THAT day).  For the uninitiated, Yucca Plucca was the Romanian athlete persona my middle sister created for herself that day, and the Milk Dud relay was just one of various Summer Olympic events that my sisters, cousins and I created one summer at my grandparents' house.  This side of the family is Irish and Ukrainian and, God love the whole bunch of them for letting us ravage the house and neighborhood to accomodate our nuttiness.

This weekend I realized not much as changed.

We reunited to celebrate my Aunt's 80th birthday and, even without two key factions of the family, proved that nutty family chemistry is just about as timeless as things get.

My 80 year-old aunt?  She can see about as well as a 10-year-old boy swimming underwater with his eyes open, but yesterday, she pulled a Betty White during a very confusing football game and bounced right back.  And that was after her one wine cooler of the year.  The football game itself was epic and full of NCAA violations but, a vision of flying sweat played with a sad little purple football.  And only one injury required homemade sutures and a bandaid.  Success!  Aside from the game, we continued many family customs such as buffet line wrestling and, created many new ones involving Battleship Bingo, bongo drums, and ceiling fans.  All I'll say about that is.........engineers?  They don't sometimes think so fast on their feet.

It wasn't quite Festivus. It was much, much better.

Just replaying the day with my Mom now, I realize it's not what we do when all of us are together that makes such a difference.  It's that we always somehow end up turning a standard-issued activity like a reunion picnic, into many funny little pockets of opportunity for intimacy, or challenge or exploration.  Everyone can expose themselves (not THAT way!) and be appreciated for their singular gifts and inclinations.  Judgement never enters.....that was bounced at the front door.  And the elders can sit back and say, "....would ya look at that?  We DIDN'T screw up!!!" 


No, you didn't screw up.  You allowed a climate where Yucca and Ima and the others could be made and do their thing, who would go on to create Dr. Awesomes and Ian The Destroyers and the others, who will do their thing and....

It could not have been a truer commemoration of we ,and our quirky family chemistry.  Not to be trite (but I will be), it binds us no matter how much time passes between sightings, and welcomes newcomers with abundant laughs, warmth, and love.  And plates and plates of protein.

Uconventional holiness, embodied in four generations.  And I couldn't be more thankful for it.

So Yucca Plucca and comrades?  The next Milk Dud Relay starts in 94 days.

And it is ON.

Girl vs. Men vs. Food

So, you love your family, don't you?  On this thought I'm not really referring to your spouse and children but, to your original family unit....parents, siblings, your extended family....even toothless Great-Aunt Ginny.  I love mine, though everyone has scattered so far that there are cousins I potty-trained with (and, they were BOYS) that I haven't seen in over ten years.  That just doesn't seem right after years of bonding over basement horror movies, fried chicken picnics each summer at Kennywood, sitting at the kiddie tables every blasted get together, and general shared hooligan activities.

But that seems about to change.

Because my Mom's half of the family unit is in town to mark my Aunt's 80th birthday, and to eat bodacious quantities of family reunion-type food.  How do I know this about the food?  Because most of these family member people are men who were once boys who had Paul Bunyan-sized appetites, and could down a plate loaded with 6.7 pounds of Thanksgiving yumminess in under five minutes.  How do I know this?  Because I timed them.  And I never made it to the table to start eating my first plate before they finished their second.  Either I was pathetically slow at the buffet table or they were freakishly fast eaters of mass food quantities.  I, was not slow.  I, never got enough dark meat. 

They totally missed their calling as competitive eaters.

So I've been training for this reunion.  Oh yeh....the girl whose own mother introduces her to eligible men as "my daughter? she eats like a lumberjack"....plans to get my fair share of reunion food bounty and ensure that all children under 18 get theirs, too.  It's a risky strategy I can't share here, just in case competitive eating strategy hackers are creeping on this blog and, you know, then somehow plugging into my cousins' fancy Matrix phones to hijack the plan.

Because this little post, is the center of the universe.  Teasing! 

Truly, all kidding aside, I'm so excited to be with everyone again that I almost can't stand waiting a day to reunite and, hopefully, spark the desire to make certain we actually live as a unit.....even across thousands of miles.  Because there's nothing quite like the connections with people who really know what makes you tick.  And love you anyway.

And who don't mess, with the girl who eats like a lumberjack.