My intuition tells me to start this blog post with a definition of “intuition.”
My intuition told me to ask this question on Twitter last night:
My intuition tells me that we could all use a laugh these days.
My intuition tells me to blog every day and share images like these with you:
It looks like the Daily Bitch’s intuition has not served her well.
24 years ago, my intuition told me to get tested for endocarditis (a very dangerous heart inflammation) when I was eight months pregnant and running a fever. I had never had endocarditis but, for some reason, I felt like I might have it. The doctor told me I had the flu and that was why I had the fever but “since you’re here and because of your heart, I’ll test you.” A few days later, I got a phone call, “come into the hospital immediately, you have endocarditis.” They put me on IV antibiotics for six weeks and told me, “This might make the baby deaf.” It didn’t.
After my son was born, I said to my cardiologist, “Why do you think I asked to be tested for endocarditis? There was really no logical reason for me to do that.” He said, “I think somebody up there is looking out for you.” My intuition told me that it was my late father, who had died the year before.
This is what I find on YouTube when I search for “intuition.”
My intuition tells me I will get some great comments on this post.
Thanks to all who have good intuition, including YOU.
Predicting the future is difficult for us humans to resist.
In my therapy groups, we talk about recognizing and letting go of the common cognitive distortion of fortune-telling. When we catch ourselves predicting the future (which happens every group), we remind ourselves that we are NOT psychic.
And yet, every person I know predicts the future in one way or another. It’s as if uncertainty is more uncomfortable than deciding what’s going to happen like we know for certain. Which we don’t.
Since the beginning of this New Year, my husband Michael and I have been trying not to predict the future. Ha! My prediction is that we will keep predicting, no matter how we consciously try not to.
Last night, we watched a movie that seemed very good, I thought, at predicting the future — Don’t Look Up.
After we watched it, I, of course, tried predicting the future, by saying this to Michael:
I think that movie might help people realize what’s going on and make things better for the future.
Would anybody like to predict what Michael said or did in response to that?
He rolled his eyes.
Because certain things always happen in this blog, it’s safe predicting the future if you predict the appearance of my latest images.
I’m predicting a future where somebody on Twitter will bitch about my posting the National Days there, which I do every day.
Sometimes our experience of the past leads to better predictions, but not always! For example, I’m holding out hope that the U.S. midterms elections won’t follow the patterns of the past. If they do, I’ll be trying hard not to predict a very bleak future ahead.
I’m predicting that some of you will leave comments below.
Did anybody predict what song I’m going to include today?
Whether or not you predicted it, there’s gratitude in your immediate future.
The story of today’s blog post starts with this photo that I snapped yesterday at the supermarket:
I took that when my husband Michael and I (who recently had our second wedding anniversary) were doing our weekly food shopping. The story of us at that supermarket was our wearing N95 masks because of the Omnicron variant while many people (including those who worked at the supermarket) were not wearing any masks at all .
The story of us human beings has to include our working together to survive pandemics and global warming without destroying the stories of too many other species.
The story of us is a very anxiety-provoking story these days.
Do you see the story of us in my other images for today?
The story of us often includes our trying to read each other’s minds (a common human cognitive distortion, described here), but I cannot even try to read the minds of people who don’t wear masks in supermarkets.
The story of me today includes my going in to the hospital to listen to other people’s stories in therapy sessions. I’ll be doing my best to stay safe so I can continue the story of us in this daily blog.
The story of us always includes my gratitude for all who follow my story here, including YOU.
Last night — to get some closure for 2021 while moving on to 2022 — I asked this question on Twitter:
This was a rather controversial question — some people objected to the concept of closure as a possibility or even as a helpful concept. As long as we have pain and memory, how can we truly get closure?
Recognizing that there is no perfect or complete closure, I had actually rewritten that question many times before posting it. Here are some other versions of the question that I considered:
What helps you get good-enough closure to move on to the next thing?
What helps you move on to the next thing?
What helps you move on?
That last one was simpler (and brevity can be the soul of wit), but those other versions didn’t really capture what I was trying to express for the end of one year and the beginning of another. I also considered using the term “radical acceptance” instead of “closure.”
I settled on the question I posted because I, personally, do feel some need for closure before moving on to the next thing. For example, I feel the need today to acknowledge the end of my 9th year of this daily blog, thus moving on to my 10th (way beyond my expectations when I started this on 1/1/13).
In my therapy groups, I give people the room to get a good enough sense of closure before we end the session. Since 2020, I’ve been pointing out in these groups that the lack of closure about the pandemic is incredibly stressful, so that getting some measure of closure about anything can be helpful and healing.
Closure, in my mind, is neither tidy nor final. For those of us dealing with trauma or grief, we will never lose the memories or be totally free of the pain of the losses.
I think of closure as putting the period on the end of a sentence before moving on to the next one. Doing that neither wipes out nor reduces the importance and power of the previous sentences. And I do believe that we can benefit from those “periods” — otherwise life can feel like a run-on sentence with little room to breath, pause, and get some measure of peace.
Do you see any closure and/or moving on in my other images for today?
I need to get some measure of closure about the death of Betty White yesterday, so here’s a tribute to her:
Expressing gratitude at the end of every blog post allows me to get the closure I need to move on, so thanks to Betty White and to all who are here, now, including YOU.