“Seeing,” from my Artist’s Journal
I’ve written a guest post on my daughter’s blog, Sacred Circle. It’s about my way of making my intentions known, my Artist’s Journal, and the summer writing camp I’ve been attending.
I hope you enjoy!
What Do We Need In Order To Do Our Best Work?
July 14, 2012 By
For me, being out in nature is one of my special needs.
Friend, writer, and teacher extraordinaire, Patti Digh wrote a great blog post a few days ago. Writing about her daughter, Tess, who was recently diagnosed with Asperger’s Syndrome she asks the questions, “What does Tess need to succeed? What helps her sit fully in her sun?”
Certainly these are questions that most anyone could one day wrestle with, if their own child or another family member is in need of special help in order to be successful in life. Unfortunately, we don’t ask those questions of ourselves and it is rare to hear them asked in the workplace by those who run the show. Whether or not we have a particular disability, we should all be asking ourselves these questions, as should CEOs if they expect the best work from their employees.
In reality, all of us have special needs. Introverts need quiet and solitude to do their work. Extroverts, on the other hand, need continuous interaction with other people in order to be comfortable in their world. And some of us have sensitivities that can bring us too our knees. Music that fills a room may be therapeutic to some and nothing but bruising noise to others. If on in the background, I find the garbled messages of a television anxiety producing when I’m trying to read or am doing any activity that requires my focus and attention.
On some days I write with music playing in the background. On other days even the gentlest of instrumental sound can keep me from my quest. I just turned off Yo-Yo Ma’s album, Obrigado Brazil, that I love and often exercise to, as I did this morning. But today in order to concentrate on writing this post, it is getting in my way. On another day I might find it just the ticket I need in order to write or paint. I never know, and I’m learning to listen carefully to what I need in any given situation.
As an introvert, I often need time to myself after I’ve been with large groups of people. I dislike small talk and would prefer to converse about life and philosophical issues. I do much better in intimate settings with only a few people at a time. For me, the perfect dinner party size is six people. Good talk and good food … there’s nothing better.
Should you decide to turn on lights or make noise while I’m trying to sleep, you’re toast. That’s why the only roommate I can tolerate is my love, Bill. He understands and goes out of his way in order to keep me from being awakened in the middle of the night and chopping off his head :-)!
I’ve spent years trying to come to grips with my introversion and sensitivities. Until just a few years ago, I thought that I was broken, intolerable to be around, and that most people thought I was a snob, elitist and/or beyond loony. Certainly my parents didn’t help, with their incessant complaining about my being too sensitive as a child. Of course, they were too, but hid it behind their iron curtains of denial.
These days, I try to be with people who tend to understand my kookiness. They are extroverts as well as introverts. And after a recent bout of overwhelm, I’m learning again to pay attention and ask myself what I need in any given moment. Knowing that everyone has needs of his or her own helps to keep me from feeling freakish about mine.
What are your special needs? Do you consider yourself to be extremely sensitive? An extrovert or an introvert? We’re all different, of course. But no one should suffer from feeling different and alone in what sometimes feels like a world gone out of control.
Meltdown: What Happened After A Recent Trip And How Not To Let It Happen Again
June 29, 2012 By
Lily and Sam taking a nap.
It’s Tuesday. I just walked in the house after a six-hour plane trip from Vermont. It was a fast paced and emotion filled trip seeing friends, family members and revisiting old haunts. I’m tired, but before I can sit down and pull all my lose threads together and get back to my ordinary life I need to make a list of groceries so that Bill and I can have something to eat for dinner. Out the door I fly, back into the car that just delivered me from the airport and head out to Whole Foods. I’m back a little while later with fresh local produce and some Thai spiced chicken breasts from the deli counter.
The older I get the more exhausting travel seems to be. I’ve been up since five AM and it’s now three in the afternoon. I need to lie down for a quick nap, but my suitcase lies open and unpacked in the middle of the bed. Sam is sniffing around in the dirty clothes trying to figure out where I’ve been. The easiest thing to do is to do the unpacking now and take a nap later. I haul the laundry downstairs and since there is so much of it and tomorrow will be a hugely busy day, I set the washing machine on regular and walk away as the tub fills with water. Upstairs there is a pile of mail for me to sort through and I notice that the answering machine is blinking. There are eight messages to listen to. My feet hurt. I have a headache and that list of places I need to be tomorrow is attacking me. I need to take a nap, but there is so much to do. I only have two days to get my life back in order before a good friend comes to visit.
It’s now Sunday, almost a week since I’ve been back. Susan, a friend I haven’t seen in several years left an hour ago. This weekend was the only time we could fit in some time to see each other. We spent our days together talking about what we’ve each been up to, enjoyed delicious food together and stayed up way past my bedtime. In between conversations, thoughts and feelings about my trip to Vermont kept whispering in my ear, telling me they needed to breathe. They wanted out of my head and onto the pages of my journal. But it will most likely be another few years before I see Susan again and I didn’t pay any attention to what I needed to do.
I’ve watered the garden, checked emails and Facebook and just finished lunch. My head hurts and my stomach is churning like a cement mixer and I feel my eyes begin to fill with tears. My weekly calendar, a page I print out every weekend so that I know what is ahead of me for the coming week, sits in front of me. Tuesday and Wednesday, days I always set aside as “My Days,” are filled with things that won’t necessarily be relaxing or creative There is no time for sitting in the garden, reading or writing the next piece of my memoir. I’m still playing catch-up and on Friday another very dear friend will be arriving to spend a good piece of time with me. I so look forward to her visit. We met two years ago at a writing retreat and we’ve become fast friends ever since, talking by phone every week and trying to come up with plans so that we can get together.
I’m feeling the first pangs of an incoming meltdown. I start breathing deeply and envision myself on an empty beach. As I inhale fresh air into my lungs I say, “ocean” to myself. On the exhale, I say, “wave,“ and find myself breathing to the rhythm of waves washing up on shore and then returning to the sea. This is what I do when I meditate and also when I’m feeling unsafe and highly stressed. But today it’s a struggle and my mind rushes back to all of the things I need to do before Sharon arrives. I’m shaky and I find myself entering that no-man’s land of panic, all alone and unable to pull myself back.
The tears start flowing. I am impatient with Bill and my world seems to be collapsing around me. I still haven’t written much about my trip except for a brief blog post, which is more of a travelogue than anything else. It doesn’t cover what being in Vermont meant to me. I feel as though time has boxed me into a cell without access to paper, pens, or my computer. I want to write it all out but as I sit down to do it, my Inner Critic arrives, seating herself on my shoulder. She starts hammering, “You’ll never write your memoir, so why bother feeling so glum. Just turn the computer off and go clean out the refrigerator.” My Angel of Sanity, who just flew in says, “Your tired. You need some alone time. Cancel all of your appointments for the next week. Be calm. Trust the process.” I take a nap, then a walk, wondering if I will ever write again.
A week has passed and all is well. I had a meltdown. Sharon knew as only good friends do, that I needed to be by myself. It wasn’t the perfect time for her either, so we bagged our get-together and decided to do it another time.
I’ve spent the week taking it easy. Being alone, naps and going to bed early help a lot. I cancelled some of my appointments and I started writing. Slowly at first. A day or two later it began to flow and I feel as though I’ve returned to the land of the living. Ms. Inner Critic has been banished and my angel is sitting over on the book shelf, looking smug, trying not to say, “I told you so.”
Three days ago Sharon called and asked if she could take me to lunch. She and her daughter, Amy, were on their way to New York for a workshop/retreat. She arrived too late for lunch but we had a wonderful dinner together. They stayed the night and went their way early the next morning. I loved seeing them and they didn’t intrude on my recovery. Actually, seeing Sharon, helped a lot.
What I’ve learned:
- I need time after a trip like this last one to rest and process what just happened.
2. I need to take plenty of time to be alone.
3. I mustn’t fill my calendar with appointments right after a trip. I need to give myself time to readjust.
4. I need to be aware of how I’m feeling and be honest with myself and those around me who need to know what they’re up against if they plan on hanging out with me.
I have another heavy-duty, emotionally challenging trip coming up in October, when I go up to Long Island where I was born and spent my childhood. I will scatter my mother’s ashes in the places she loved the most during her lifetime. And I will hopefully visit with cousins I haven’t seen in fifty years. Before I leave I will revisit this post and take heed.
If like me you suffer from overstimulation and have meltdowns when life gets too busy and emotional, how do to keep yourself from going ballistic?
The Gift
June 18, 2012 By
Encaustic painting, 6 1/4″ x 7 1/2″, September, 2012
I‘ve been given a much-needed gift. Sometimes when you give a gift to someone, it also becomes a gift to others. Today I’m feeling like one of the others. I’ve been away, am tired, have missed yoga and really wanted there to be a class today. I’m still in catch up mode after my return last Tuesday from Vermont and have been feeling pinched for time, rushed and growling a lot.
Yoga class was cancelled this morning because my teacher is away. She is up in New York City where she gifted her son who just graduated from high school to a weekend on the town. In late August he’ll be going off to college, and I’m sure his single mom will be missing the dickens out of him when he goes off into the big, wide world. She’ll become an empty-nester and oh, I remember those days.
There is also the fact that I’m hating that it’s an election year. The phone rings with political updates that are recorded and I’m unable to verbally attack those who are bothering me in the privacy of my own home even though I’ve told them in the past to put me on the do not call list. And as November nears, the phone will be ringing off the hook. Oh yes, I have Caller ID but someone has figured out ways to get me to pick up the phone without saying who they are. I don’t watch a lot of TV but whenever I turn it on to hear a little bit of news, the air waves are flooded with political attack ads and pols expressing their disdain for all of the political actions that the presidential candidates are taking. Pretty soon when President Obama brushes his pearly whites, that too will become a political act. As Rodney King, who sadly died this weekend, once asked, “ Can’t we just get along?”
Then there is the firing of Teresa Sullivan last week, President of the University of Virginia, which as the crow flies is maybe a tenth of a mile from my home. The way in which Dr. Sullivan, a brilliant, enormously popular and upstanding woman has been treated by the Board of Governors of the University is horrific. As far as I’m concerned this is one of the most heinous acts an institution of higher learning has ever taken. I’ll not go into the details here but if you want to know about it, just check it out on face book, twitter, or google. It’s been on the front pages of the Washington Post and I pray it goes viral to every newspaper and television station in the country.
Last night after a weekend visit from a very dear friend, which I enjoyed immensely, I kind of lost it. This weeks calendar looks like the list from hell and I’m tired, disgusted and haven’t had time to write. My muse, sits in the corner, ignored and feeling abandoned. The idea of being able to add to my memoir has flown out the window and now I suddenly have the urge to throw paint at a blank canvas, really hard, something I haven’t done in way too long. Throwing paint along with writing rants like this always helps to calm my spirit and brings me back to myself.
So Barb, I just want to say a big thank you for the gift of no class today. It’s given me time I wouldn’t have otherwise had to wake up more slowly, to listen to the rain and the birds singing outside and to write a rant. Later today I hope to throw some paint, but then again it might have to wait until later in the week. In the mean time, I feel blessed, much better and I hope you had a fantastic visit to the Big Apple. See you on Friday.
Much love, Joan
Remember When?
April 9, 2012 By
Family Reunion, 2006: Me, Cousin John, Cousin Tom, Brother Zed, Brother Reid and Cousin Jane.
While doing some ironing the other day, I listened in on the program Here And Now on my local NPR station. While I steamed away wrinkles from my favorite linen shirt, I listened as Robin Young, the host of the show, interviewed Jonah Lehrer, author of Imagine How Creativity Works and How We Decide. In a recent article in Wired Magazine, he discusses memory, trauma and the making of a pill that will take away painful remembrances. Fussing away over the fact that my shirt seems to have a huge memory bank for wrinkles that are always in the same old places, I got caught up in the interview and the idea of a pill that is being developed so that those suffering from the likes of PTSD can be relieved of their suffering.
The reason for my interest is that I am at work on a memoir and have been diagnosed with PTSD. Though I am living a rich and wonderful life after years of therapy and plain old hard inner work, I am still in the process of healing my old wounds. Even now, decades after any trauma, a threatening authority figure or someone using a particular tone of voice or word can easily throw me back into my old ways of reacting. I still suffer from occasional panic attacks. And the anxiety I’ve lived with all of these years can still haunt me.
How does memory work? Does time play a role in how we remember things? What would happen if I chose to take a pill that would wipe away the pain of difficult times? Would I also forget all of the good times? Would I be the same person I am today if I hadn’t been given the opportunity to work through my difficulties and instead been given a pill to erase the misery?
In his article, Lehrer addresses those questions and more, discussing the pros and cons of such an approach to treating illnesses often brought on by trauma, such as chronic pain, drug addiction, obsessive-compulsive disorder and of course, PTSD. He explains how memories are stored in the brain and that the latest science shows that memories change every time we recall them. Lehrer goes on to suggest, “Every memoir should be classified as fiction.” Though that statement alone is something memoir writers like myself might seriously consider arguing about, my own interest was piqued by the possibility that in the future, one might take a pill to forget the pain we bring through life with us.
Though revisiting the traumatic events of my life has been extremely painful, I believe that I am a wiser person for it. After years of talk therapy, medication from time to time, and now writing my story, I’m healing and discovering the treasures of my life. Facing my own challenges head on has changed the way I see and think about the world. I know more about how my mind works and what I need to do when I feel like I’m about to have a meltdown or a panic attack. Remembering has opened me up to appreciate the beauty that surrounds me; that without the dark periods I would not know the happy, sunlit times.
Without my need to understand who I am and to live my life fully and openly, I would not know what love and compassion are. I now better understand who my parents were. Why my mother may have come to be an alcoholic and how my father struggled through his life after his wartime experiences. And though genetics may play a role in some or all emotional disorders, everyday experiences stand out as being number one when it comes to trauma.
In the end each of us has our own way of working through our lives. Perhaps for my father, who lived the untold horrors of war on a regular basis, would have benefited from such a pill. Perhaps my mother would not have been an alcoholic. And maybe those who have lived through one of nature’s tragic catastrophes like last year’s earthquake and tsunami in Japan would be helped to find a peaceful way to exist after such a horrific experience.
There is also the question of what would happen if the pill that helps us forget gets into the wrong hands. Is this one more step along the highway to Big Brotherhood?
None of us knows the answer to life’s toughest questions. And when we do have answers they only work for some of us. I am grateful that I have learned to deal with my own struggles and need not ask myself what it is I need or would like to forget.
How about you … would you take a pill to forget?
