Day 1003: Not a choice

After all these months of my blogging once a day, it’s not a choice whether I’m going to create a post. It IS a choice what I’m going to write about.

It’s not a choice that I sometimes have trouble realizing what my choices are and then deciding what to choose. It is a choice that I tolerate that discomfort and eventually choose.

“Not a choice” was a lyric I heard yesterday, as I made the choice to listen to “Loving You” from Stephen Sondheim’s musical Passion. It’s not a choice for me — at this point in my life — to love Stephen Sondheim’s musical choices. It was a choice, though, which version of that beautiful song to share with you all, today.

I just made the choice of showing you that version by Donna Murphy, from the original cast of Passion.

I’m also making the choice of including this quote, from the first comment on that video of “Loving You” on YouTube:

Today we celebrate Broadway from the 80’s and a few shows from the 90’s. “Passion” ran for 280 performances, making it the shortest-running musical ever to win the Tony award for Best Musical! There is a fine line between obsession and passion. Obsession connotes the feeling that the person is emotionally and mentally ill. Passion, conversely, is supposedly the healthy emotion which two people reciprocally feel for one another.

What might you choose to say about what David’s Broadway Station chose to write there?

This is what I choose to write, here and now. It’s not a choice for me to be:

• a little obsessive about making my blog posts — and other things in my life — “good enough” to meet my own standards,
• passionate about this blog, my work, and the people I love,
• living in Boston, Massachusetts, despite my feelings about the weather here, because my son is a senior in high school and I get all my medical care in Boston for some complex health issues, and
• going to see my Primary Care Physician, Dr. Laura Snydman, today, after a morning at work facilitating a therapy group.

Actually, most of those things ARE a choice. And I’m making the choice, right now, of making that choice point in this post.

It’s not a choice (or is it?)  that I’m going to include some photos here. It is a choice how I present them.

Hmmm.  My Apple devices have been making some unexpected choices, lately, regarding how they choose to share photos between them.  These kinds of unexpected choices  resulted in my blogging from my iPhone for several months earlier this year. I REALLY don’t want to make that choice of typing on that friggin’ phone keyboard any time soon, so let’s see if there’s another choice for me, now, to access yesterday’s photos quickly and easily.

It’s not a choice that I tried to prepare adequately for this last night — those choices are in the past.   Is it a choice how much anxiety, concern, worry, disappointment, or frustration I might feel about this unexpected blogging wrinkle, in the moment?

I’m making the choice to breathe, right now, and let go of any investment in how this post is going to turn out, photographically and otherwise.

I am now choosing to replicate the steps I took, last night, to make photos from yesterday accessible to this blog when I’m on my laptop. Therefore, I am making the choice to save this draft and restart my computer.

Drat! My photos from yesterday are NOT there when I choose “Add Media” and “Upload Files.” I don’t know why WordPress, my iPhone, and/or my laptop are choosing to limit my choices this morning. And I don’t have the choice to figure out that unexpected problem, if I choose to be at work on time this morning.

Actually, one photo from yesterday is available, for unknown reasons, so I shall choose that one:

That’s a photo I took during a therapy group yesterday, when we were all making choices about what topics to discuss.

I am also making the choice to include the first few photos from my choice of available photos, this morning:

You have a choice, as always,  to make whatever comment you choose about my post.

Choice thanks to all who helped me create this post this morning and to you — of course! — for making the choice of visiting here, today.

Day 1002: What makes anxiety worse?

What makes anxiety worse?

Talking about anxiety — in therapy and elsewhere — can make it worse, before it gets better.

Might any of these  photos from yesterday make anybody’s anxiety worse?

Actually, believing that you are worthwhile right now — no matter what you are doing or have done in the past, no matter how far away you are from where you want to be — can make anxiety worse, for  people.

Why?

Changing any habitual, old belief, no matter how anxiety-provoking and toxic it is, can make anxiety much worse, temporarily.

What do you think makes anxiety worse?  Would it worsen anxiety to write about that in a comment here?

Personally, when I share my anxiety with other people, my anxiety does NOT get worse.

What makes my anxiety worse?

• The approach of cold, dark, and snowy weather here in the northeastern USA.
• Not enough self-care, including sleep, nourishing food, water, relaxation, and connections with supportive people.
• Human and automatic “cognitive distortions” like shoulds, fortune-telling, catastrophizing, mind-reading, emotional reasoning, blaming, all-or-nothing thinking, etc.
• Suppressing, denying, or stuffing my feelings, especially “unpleasant” ones like sadness or anger.
• Doctors who tell me that my very unusual heart — with ventricles and valves doing jobs they were not designed to do — will not last as long as a normal heart.

Here’s something that helps me let go of anxiety: getting a good enough sense of closure.

Yesterday, I decided to get some closure with two doctors at a major teaching hospital in Boston who, last April 1, told me:

• my heart was deteriorating,
• the non-invasive procedure my doctors were planning would not work,
• my doctors had “done me wrong” by not replacing my leaky valve years ago, and
• my only hope to live longer and not “die a miserable death” was to quit my doctors, work with them instead, and get a valve replacement, STAT.

That meeting, as you can imagine, made my anxiety much worse.

After months of anxiety,  I decided to stay with my doctors and get the non-invasive procedure — the implant of a pacemaker/defibrillator combination ICD (Implantable Cardiac Device) — instead of the much more dangerous (for my unusual heart) valve replacement.

However, it has still worsened my anxiety whenever I’ve remembered the doctors who told me how that procedure would be useless, foolish, and ultimately dangerous for me.

Yesterday, I wrote this brief email to those two doctors:

On April 1, 2015, both of you met with me to discuss my cctga and possible future treatments. I wanted to let you know that I did have an ICD implanted at Tufts Medical Center in May and, as of the writing, I am feeling better.

Thank you for all your help and best wishes to both of you.

Putting closure on that experience definitely helped my anxiety.

Now, I just need to get a good enough sense of closure about the New England weather.

Here’s some music that lessened my anxiety as I was walking to work yesterday:

Many thanks to Stevie Wonder, to human beings everywhere who do their best to lessen anxiety, and to you — of course! — for reading this anxiety-focused post, today.

Day 1001: What’s that?

Yesterday morning, I published my 1000th blog post on my 1000th consecutive day of blogging.

What’s that?

“Blogging” means web logging and, yes,  I have blogged for every day since January 1, 2013, through health and illness, sun and snow, fears and relief, ups and downs.

What’s that?

That’s our cat Oscar, seeming to celebrate my 1000th day of blogging.

What’s that?

That’s Oscar again, pressing the power switch on my lap top, turning it off, on, off, and then on.

What’s that?  Somebody allows their cat to step on their laptop?

There’s really nothing I can do to stop Oscar from being right there, wherever I am. So, I just take photos of him using my computer and post them on his Facebook page.

What’s that? A cat has his own Facebook page?

Have you seen Facebook lately?

Yesterday, in the middle of a beautiful day,  my 17-year-old son Aaron and I went to Brookline, Massachusetts.

What’s that?

Brookline, Massachusetts is a town almost completely surrounded by Boston, Massachusetts, with great schools and restaurants. Aaron and I went there yesterday to have lunch and walk around while he worked on his comedy routine for an important appearance at a Cambridge comedy club last night.

What’s that?

Yes, my 17 year-old son does stand-up comedy. Isn’t that amazing?

Before I took my first photo in Brookline, Massachusetts yesterday, I said to Aaron, “What’s that?”

Aaron took a break from trying to memorize his comedy set to reply, “It’s money and outer space.”

As I’m writing this, I realize that whenever I take a picture, it’s because — in some way — I’m asking “What’s that?”

I shall now present all the other photos I took yesterday, in chronological order.

What’s that?

That means I’m including the pictures in the order I took them.  Feel free to ask “What’s that?” about any of them, in a comment below.    

  

 

 

     

The last few shots are of last night’s super moon lunar eclipse. If you don’t know what that is, you could look it up.

What’s that?  I hear my readers exclaim, as if in unison.  YOU DON’T HAVE ANY PHOTOS OF YOUR ONLY CHILD PERFORMING HIS COMEDY ROUTINE FROM LAST NIGHT?

Well, the Comedy Studio didn’t allow patrons to use their cell phones once the comedy show began. However, Aaron got a DVD of his entire routine, created by the staff there.

What’s that strange word the host used to introduce Aaron last night?  Ignore that, and just enjoy my son in his first performance at the well-known Comedy Studio, located above the Hong Kong Restaurant in Harvard Square.

What’s that?  Those are the first exchanges, on OkCupid five years ago, between me and my boyfriend Michael.

What’s that?  I haven’t expressed gratitude to anybody yet, in this blog post?

Many thanks to Aaron, Michael, Oscar, the Comedy Studio, Rick Jenkins (the owner of the Comedy Studio), Brookline, Cambridge, the moon,  and every person, animal, place and thing that helped me create my 1001st blog post, today. And special thanks to you — of course! — for visiting, here and now.

Day 1000: A Thousand

A thousand days ago, I published my first blog post ever:  “Day 1 in the Year of Living Non-Judgmentally.”

A thousand days ago, I had no idea I would:

• blog a thousand days in a row,
• get thousands of followers,
• have a thousand ideas for blog posts,
• grow and learn in a thousand ways, and
• be a thousand times grateful, every day, for this blog.

There are a thousand different ways I could celebrate this thousandth blogging day. For example, I could write a post that contains exactly a thousand words. Or, I could share a thousand memories from over the last 1000 days of blogging. Or, I could include a thousand links to past posts. Or, I could quote a thousand favorite comments from you, my readers.

However, after a thousand thoughts and feelings about this, I’d like to use my tried-and-true formula,  here and now.

Therefore, today’s thousandth day post will include sharing less than a thousand pictures.  Yesterday, I took almost a 1000 (base 2) x 1000 (base 2) photos, when I went into Boston to see a matinee of  A Little Night Music with my son Aaron and spent the evening with Aaron and my boyfriend Michael.

I hope this thousandth post doesn’t take a thousand seconds to load, with these all these images:

   

Perhaps you have a thousand things you might say or ask about those photos.  No matter what number of words it takes, consider leaving a comment to celebrate this thousandth post.

I bet if you took a thousand guesses, you wouldn’t come up with the song I’ve chosen for this “A Thousand Days” post.

Should I wait a thousand seconds while you guess?

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Times up! I’m sure you didn’t get it, because it includes a much higher number than a thousand.

“A Hundred Million Miracles” is the song that was in my head, yesterday, as I was thinking about this thousand-day post.

As that song says,  a hundred million miracles happen EVERY DAY.  Infinite thanks, to each and every one of you, for sharing some of those miracles with me.

Day 999: Nein, nein, nein

Did you think I wouldn’t notice there were three nines in today’s post number?

Nein, nein, nein.  I noticed, noticed, noticed.

Is it possible that I didn’t think about this post last night, before I went to bed?

Nein, nein, nein. I thought, a little.

Was this the first title I thought of last night?

Nein, nein, nein.  The first title I thought of, last night, was “To the 9’s.”  Did I consider using that title today?

Nein, nein, nein.  I’ve already used that title before, in this blog post.

Did I use the title “To the 9’s”  for posts #99, #199, #299, #399, #499, #599, #699, #799, #899, or any another post I’ve written with a 9 in it?

Nein, nein, nein.  That nine-oriented title was for a post number that had NO 9’s in it, at all.

Do I know how I’m going to celebrate reaching my 1000th post tomorrow?

Nein, nein, nein. I’m not even sure what else I’m going to write today.

Am I going to include 999 photos in this post?

Nein, nein, nein. All 25 photos I took yesterday have no 9s* in them (as far as I know).

  

Did I have any idea how I was going to incorporate those 25 photos into today’s post, when I was taking them yesterday?

Nein, nein, nein.

Is there anything else Inquisitive Ann wants to say about those photos?

Da, da, da.**  Those two guys in photos number 23 and 24  are Cameron and Nick, friends of my son Aaron. Has Nick appeared in this blog before, as himself?  Nein, nein, nein. However, he HAS appeared in “Serious Economics,” an amazing play that Aaron and Cameron wrote (and which you can watch in its entirety, here).

When I asked Cameron and Nick last night if they followed our cat Oscar’s Facebook page, Cameron said, “Da”** and Nick said, “Nein,” but not in German.**

Am I going to include music today that has the word “nine” or “nein” in the title?

Nein, nein, nein. Instead, I’m going to include an incredibly intricate number from A Little Night Music, which Aaron and I will be seeing today in Boston.  Is that performance at 9?  Nein, nein, nein.  It’s at 2 PM.

Every number in A Little Night Music is some form of the waltz, with three beats per measure. Since there are three different waltzes intertwined in “Now/Later/Soon” and 3×3 = 9 ……  might I say that I’ve finally achieved a “9” in this post?*

Only you, the reader, can say.

Nine hundred ninety-nine thanks to all those who helped me create this post and to you — of course! — for being 99% awesome (because nobody’s perfect).

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* Actually, after I published this post, I realized that Ted Williams, the Red Sox player whose statue appears in the background of the very first photo in this #999 post, wore the number 9.

** Did I study German or Russian in school?  Nein, nein, nein.  Did I study Latin?  Ja, ja, ja.

Day 998: Last Time

Last night, I sat in some excellent seats at Boston’s Fenway Park for the last time.

Here are the seats.

The first time I sat in those excellent seats was in the 1970s, when I bought a share of season tickets along with several of my co-workers at Management Decision Systems. The last time Management Decision Systems operated as a company was in the 1980s, but that season-ticket-sharing among former employees has lasted through the years.

Every year, through the 1980s and until 1998, I would sit in those seats for six regular season games. I also lasted, in those seats, through many Red Sox playoff games.  When I was blessed with a son (for the first and last time) in 1998, I passed my share of those excellent seats to my Red Sox-fan sister, Ellen. Ellen, since the last time I was the owner of that share of those seats, has invited me to at least one game per season.

When I transferred my share of those excellent seats to Ellen, my last request was that we do our best to make it to a World Series Game. The last time Ellen and I succeeded in that was in 2013 (which I thought would be my first and last year of blogging). The first (and only other time) Ellen and I made it to a World Series Game  was in 2007.  This is not the last time I’ll think about those games. Believe me, memories I have from many games  —  when I and others were in those excellent seats — are going to last.

Here‘s a Wikipedia page about the ups and downs of the currently-last-place Red Sox. The last time I read that was a few minutes ago.

I think the last time I sat in those seats (before last night) was when Ellen and I were at our last Red Sox World Series Game (described in this blog post and this one, too).  Here, perhaps, is the last blog post (before today’s) where those seats have appeared (when our image lasted on national TV, no less).

Here’s the last time I’ll explain this at WordPress: Last night was the last time I’ll sit in those seats because Ellen has decided  it’s the last time she wants to buy them.  The last time we discussed that, Ellen asked if I wanted my share of those seats back, and my last thought  was “no.”  This might not be the last reason, but those seats cost a fortune.   Indeed, between the first time I sat in them and the last time we sat in them, last night,  the price of those seats has quadrupled.

It’s not the last time Ellen or I will go to a Red Sox Game, though.  Last night, we talked about lots of ways to attend games in the future.

Today is probably the last time I’ll post these photos from last night, when I was rushing from a therapy group to meet my sister, her spouse Linda, and our cousin Lani, for the 7:10 PM game.

  

   

The guy in that last photo was yelling, “Get your programs here!  It’s the battle for last place!”

   

Thank you, fans, for lasting through all those photos.

Last night, sitting in those seats for the last time, I heard these two songs (videotaped from different seats at Fenway Park).

Thanks to all who helped me create this not-last-time blog post and thanks to you — of course! — for reading it (probably for the last time) today.

Day 997: Houses and homes

When I left house and home yesterday, I didn’t feel ready.  As I listened to this song …

…  I passed by a sign for Boston’s Beth Israel. “Beth” means “House” in Hebrew.

I was born at that hospital over 60 years ago, when my family’s house and home was in Lynn, Massachusetts.

Then,  I reached my office, where I try to help people feel at home as they explore important life decisions.

I wonder if that kind of conflicting advice hits home for anybody, today, besides me.

I didn’t get back to house and home, yesterday, until 6 PM. To help myself feel at home, I took these photos along the way:

   

Which one of those images reminds you most of house and home?

Fenway Park, which is home to the Boston Red Sox, has been my home-away-from-home for many baseball games since I was born at Beth Israel. Tonight, I’m joining my sister Ellen, her spouse Linda, and our cousin Lani for one of the last home games of the 2015 baseball season. I’m sure we’ll all feel at home at Fenway Park (as opposed to how I’ve sometimes felt at the House that Ruth built).

I hope you feel at home with these pictures I took last night, after I left house and home with my boyfriend, Michael:

             

Make yourself at home, please, and leave a comment about this house-and-home post, below.

Homey thanks to Kurt Elling (for his rendition of “A House is Not a Home”), to Beth Israel, to Michael (who helps me feel at home, wherever we go), to Ellen, Linda, and Lani, to Fenway Park, to all the houses and homes I’ve lived in over the years, and to you — of course! — no matter where your home is, today.

Day 996: What’s the story?

What’s the story?

What’s WHAT story?

One story at a time. On my way to work, yesterday, I saw this …

… and I wondered,  “What’s the story?”

Whenever a story has parts unknown to us, we make up stories to understand, make meaning, and move on. When I saw those abandoned baby shoes lined up neatly outside of Boston’s Fenway Park, I thought

What’s the story I would make up about that? And what stories would other people make up about it?

For the rest of the day, I thought about stories.

What’s the story with that?

Well, since I’m

• a psychotherapist,
• an English major, and
• somebody who loves to read and write

… stories are very important to me. No mystery, there.

What’s the story, with these other photos I took yesterday?

What’s the story you might create, about any of those images?

What’s the story with today’s music?

What’s the story with “Aja” by Steely Dan?

I chose “Aja” today because

1. I heard it on my walk home, when I was looking at some of the above images,
2. I’ve never included it in a blog post before, and
3. people tell lots of different stories about that song, including these (from this web page):

The song is pronounced “Asia,” and was inspired by the continent. Steely Dan have several songs with a Far East influence, since Donald Fagen believes it is a symbol of sensuality. He told Rolling Stone magazine that the title came from a high school friend whose brother was in the army and came back with a Korean wife named Aja, although he wasn’t sure how she spelled it.

I thought it very obvious that the song is about a fictional Bordello on the California coast, perhaps San Francisco area. That’s why you hear the police whistle. The part with Wayne Shorter’s is where the police raid the place.

Yet another subtle drug reference in their music: “Break out the hardware, let’s do it right.” Hardware is another name for the needle, spoon, flame used for shooting up, mainly heroin.

When they refer to the folks up on the hill how they don’t give a damn. It’s CAPITOL HILL….. duh?

Louis Armstrong called jazz “Chinese music”, you can guess along with me why (my guess – that jazz is not rational and western, it’s intuitive yet has its own definite yet different kind of logic). So this song is about playing jazz for people who often don’t get it or don’t care.

Since I live near San Francisco, I interpret “up on the hill” to be wealthy bored people on Nob Hill. Coincidentally, someone wrote that Kid Charlemagne” also had a reference to “up on the hill”, and that song was about Owsley Stanley, the guy who (among other things) synthesized acid for the acid tests in SF.

The story goes that Steve Gadd walked into the studio in NYC – put on the cans – and 8 minutes later – he was finished – one take ! Had the privilege of seeing him in Johannesburg with Joe Sample and Randy Crawford. AJA is the perfect number !

The lyrics of Aja paint a picture of a man, perhaps a heroin addict or drug dealer whose only salavation day after a day is running home to the arms of Aja…which lends credence to the lyric of “when all my dime dancing is through, I run to you”

While Donald Fagan wrote the song about a friend’s South Korean wife, named Aja, you cannot help but think that the courtship began as a man knowing where to get his ultimate fix.

The model on the cover of the album “Aja” is not Korean but Japanese. Her name is Sayoko Yamaguchi, whom Newsweek chose her one of the top six models in the world in 1977. She passed away on August 14, 2007.

i was named after this song, and i have great appreciation for its perfection and character, but my middle name is Victoria, and 8 out of ten people ask if that is a porno name…

What’s the story with that?  SO many stories, about just one song, from just one website. And, I’ve told stories to myself about that song, for years, that are different from each one of those stories above.

What’s the story you might create about “Aja”?   Please listen to it, if only to experience the story of its brilliance.

Finally, what’s the story with all the various stories in this post?

Here’s my story. I believe that

1. being as much as possible in the present moment,
2. being present with all your senses,
3. letting go of fears about the future and regrets about the past, and
4. telling the story of your life, in new and illuminating ways

… can help us all heal, learn, and grow.

Gotta go hear some more stories at work, dear readers.

Thanks to all the people, places, and stories that helped me create this storytelling post and thanks to you — of course! — for reading all the stories here, today.

Day 995: You remind me of _________

Do people ever tell you that you remind them of somebody else?

Does my question remind you of how it feels when you’re told who you remind people of?

I’m reminding myself, now, that people have told me I remind them of:

• Marlo Thomas
• Eleanor Bron
• Debra Winger
• Martha Quinn
• Lily Tomlin
• Tina Fey, and
• many people who are not famous.

Apparently, I remind people of many other people. Most recently, somebody in one of my therapy groups said I reminded her of Loretta LaRoche.

Loretta LaRoche DOES remind me of me, in this way:  Neither of us have our own Wikipedia page.

Here’s a YouTube video of Loretta LaRoche reminding us of stress and humor:

I don’t really remind me of Loretta LaRoche or any of the other people I remind others of, except for the important reality that we’re all human beings and therefore connected and similar in many ways.

I do often remind me (and other people) of the importance of watching out for the negative effects of comparisons. (I’ll remind you, now, there’s a list describing comparisons and other cognitive distortions.)

At the same time, it’s human and expected that we’ll remind each other of other people. I think that’s a good thing and when that inevitably happens, I remind myself to take those reminders as compliments.

Do people tell you that you remind them of other people?  Who are those people?

What do these images — all of which I was reminded to take yesterday — remind you of?

    

This all reminds me that I’m quickly approaching my 1000th consecutive daily post. That reminds me of how illuminating, helpful, and healing my blogging reminders have been for me, every day since January 1, 2013.

You, my readers, constantly remind me of how grateful I am for everything that’s happened here over the last 995 days.

Now I’m reminded to thank Loretta LaRoche and everybody else — especially you! — who remind me to keep going — with humor, authenticity, and persistence — as best I can.

(Do I need to remind you that all your thoughts and feelings about today’s reminding post are welcome?)

Day 994: Five adjectives

Yesterday, my wonderful, young, talented, kind, and intelligent son, Aaron, and I went for a long, interesting, meandering, delightful, and warm walk and had a delicious, nutritious,  mid-day, reasonable, and shared meal together.  I don’t have any colorful, observational, spontaneous, amateur, and stored photos of that long, interesting, meandering, delightful, and warm time we spent together, because I had left my large, modern, precious, annoying,  and cellular phone behind.

During this delicious, nutritious, mid-day, reasonable, and shared meal, my wonderful, young, talented, kind, and intelligent son and I had a memorable, discursive, funny, important, and educational conversation, which included this:

Me: Somebody at my high school reunion last night used the adjective “intense” about me.  I didn’t think I come across as intense. I think I’d prefer “deep.”  What do you think about those adjectives for me?

Aaron:  I wouldn’t use either of those to describe you.

Me:  Really?  What adjective would you use?

Aaron (thinking):

Me:  Resilient?

Aaron (smiling and still thinking):

Me: Will you ever answer this?

Aaron:  Probably not.

Me:  Maybe I’ll ask you that question on my deathbed. Maybe I’ll say, “Aaron, NOW will you give me an adjective?”  You know what you’d probably say,” Yes, now I will.  It’s ‘dying.'”

Aaron (smiling and thinking):

Me: You know what?  Maybe I should write a sketch about that for your new cable-access show.

Aaron: I was thinking the same thing.

Much later,  Aaron handed me this:

Here are more colorful, observational, spontaneous, amateur, and stored photos I took yesterday:

Here‘s a recurring, favorite, beautiful, charming, and adorable song:

What adjectives might you use in an adorable, beautiful, delightful, exciting, and appreciated comment?

Authentic, hasty, meaningful, intense, and good thanks to Aaron, to my high school reunion classmates, to adjectives, to Mad Magazine, to the Waltham Massachusetts Market Basket, to  “A You’re Adorable”  and — of course! — to you.