What is wrong with people asking the question, “What is wrong with people?”
What is wrong with hundreds of people answering that question, including me?
Yet when people ask “What is wrong with me?” in therapy, I answer very differently, with “Is that a helpful question?”
What is wrong with people answering the question “What is wrong with me?” with “Nothing!”
What is wrong with people making a distinction between people as a species and individuals? What is wrong with people letting go of shame (the belief that something is wrong with them) in order to heal?
What is wrong with people sharing their images with other people?
No more! From now on, whenever I get red eye, I shall ask for no pardons. Why should I? After all,
I am appearing as best as I can,
I love the color red, and
nobody’s appearance needs pardoning.
I am also not going to ask you to please pardon the appearance of my latest photos.
I’m also not going to ask you to pardon the appearance of last night’s special at the Birch Street Bistro in Roslindale, Massachusetts, which was delicious.
Personally, I find it very freeing to stop asking for pardons about appearances. Does anybody want to join me in that?
I try to compost when I can and feel guilty when I don’t.
Unless somebody hands me a napkin, I often forget to get one.
Something I have in common with my teacher, friend, and comedian’s comedian Ron Lynch is that napkins don’t like to stay in our laps. During a restaurant meal, I often have to reach down with my hand and retrieve an escaped or escaping napkin.
You have to hand it to me: I’m a creative name-dropper (and napkin-dropper).
My hands have now rewritten the title to this post several times …
Day 2537: Everything we hand you
Day 2537: Everything I hand you
Day 2537: Everything I’m handed
Day 2537: Compostable
Day 2537: Hand outs
Day 2537: Everything
… before returning to my original title. As my fiancé Michael says, “First guess, best guess.”
Now you’re going to be handed more images my hand, heart, and mind have chosen.
Sometimes, everything you’re handed can feel like too much. Please keep these thoughts at hand when you’re overwhelmed:
One thousand, four hundred, and forty-four days ago (but who’s counting on all thumbs or all fingers?), I typed — with all thumbs and fingers — a post titled Day 922: Thumbs, which included a discussion of thumb-related phrases including “all thumbs,” “thumbs up,” and “thumbs down.”
Yesterday, I was all thumbs at Chicago’s O’Hare Airport, as
I was so focused on removing liquids or semi-liquids that might be more than three ounces from my bag that I forgot to remove my laptop,
security gave me a thumbs down and sent my bag through twice, the second time without zipping it up,
I didn’t noticed that the bag was unzipped,
people told me everything was falling out of my bag after I picked it up, and
I got so flustered I dropped my laptop on my toe.
I’m glad to report that all thumbs and all toes were all okay, even if my dignity got temporarily damaged. After all that happened, I hung around the scene of the crime and said all this to myself:
See! You were trying to avoid feeling shame about doing the wrong thing by taking out those items from your bag, but you missed the obvious one! And what you feared came true: you did the security thing wrong, people got annoyed, strangers noticed your mistakes, things fell out of your bag, you were exposed, you looked like you were all thumbs (and maybe like a crazy old lady), but you know what? It doesn’t matter! You survived and you’re flying home to those you love! Hooray!
It’s time to thumb through all my photos from yesterday, when I was feeling all thumbs (but lots of heart, too). By the way, I thought “thumbs up!” when I was taking one of these pictures. Can you guess which one?
Who gives a crap about where today’s blog title came from?
If you do give a crap, I saw that sign yesterday on the wall of a huge glass-blowing facility called Almost Perfect Glass in Cambridge, Massachusetts.
There’s my almost perfect friend, Deb, who was working the annual holiday glass sale at Almost Perfect Glass, which is the home of NOCA Glass School (where Deb has taken many courses, because she gives a crap about glass blowing). Deb and I give a crap about each other and have since we were in our teens. People say we look and act like sisters, and not just because we both wear the same t-shirt (which I gave her years ago because she gave a crap about what it says).
Who gives a crap about any of my other photos from yesterday?
I give a crap about talent, nature, mindfulness, and all that’s in your head.
While we all give a crap about what’s important to us, it also helps to let go of worry, shame, and other crap filling your brain by saying, “Who gives a crap!”
I don’t feel bad that I’m going to recount something that happened three days ago, for which I have no accompanying photos.
When I took the train to New York on Saturday morning, I felt bad that I couldn’t lift my bag into the overhead compartment. I immediately told myself “Don’t feel bad” and I asked the gentleman sitting next to me if he could help. He was happy to help and I didn’t feel bad about that, although I felt the need to explain that I couldn’t lift my own bag because I had torn my rotator cuff. I feel bad that I still feel the need to offer excuses for myself.
At the next stop, a woman boarded and sat in the seat across the aisle from me. I noticed she didn’t put her bag up in the overhead compartment. She looked like she felt bad about holding on to that bag, but I feel bad whenever I assume or mind read what’s going on with somebody else, so I waited to see what would happen. When the conductor came by, she asked him to put her bag away for her.
I didn’t feel bad initiating this conversation with her:
Me: I can relate. I needed help with that too.
She: I feel bad that I had to ask him.
Me: No! That’s nothing to feel bad about.
She: It’s embarrassing.
Me: Please try to let go of that. I know what I’m talking about. I’m a psychotherapist.
She: I’ll try.
Me: Look, while you’re feeling bad about that, people are doing terrible things that they’re not feeling bad about.
She: That’s true.
Me: Please don’t feel bad.
And because I didn’t want her to feel bad that a stranger was talking to her, I smiled and went back to reading my book.
I don’t feel bad
about that encounter,
that I can’t find my iPhone right now,
that I can’t share any new photos with you because of #2, above, and
about sharing old photos in this post.
Don’t feel bad if you ever have the erroneous thought that nobody loves you. You’re not alone in that thought and thinking it does not make it true.
I don’t feel bad that I feel fine about being on vacation all this week.
Don’t feel bad if you can’t think of anything to say about today’s post. I don’t feel bad asking you to leave a comment anyway.
I don’t feel bad that I can’t share all the gratitude photos I took yesterday, because tomorrow is another day.
When you reach out to somebody clearly expressing a wish to connect and you consistently get nothing in return, it’s a shame. I mean, that’s not only an unfortunate and perplexing experience, it also triggers the shame response, which (according to Google) looks like this:
try to figure out why there’s been no reaction to my attempts to connect,
remember that experiencing shame in response to perceived devaluation or rejection is a universal human reaction and that there’s no shame in shame, and
resolve to reconnect more effectively — if not to the same person then to others.
What do you do when you experience the shame response to perceived devaluation or rejection?
I think it’s a shame if I don’t share my photos from yesterday.
It’s a shame that the last image shows a color copy of a 20 dollar bill and not the real thing.
I don’t want to make any messes here in the blogging world, but yesterday the topic of my therapy group was “Messes.”
That’s the mess I made last night, as we all got messes down on paper. My mess was actually messier than it looks in that photo, because I actually spilled cracker crumbs all over it. Because I made a mess of taking that picture, you can’t read all that I wrote. However, I will tell you that I messily shared at the end of the group session my inspiration to make a new t-shirt that says, “Say YES to the mess.”
Why is it important to say YES to the mess? Because we are all messes, in ways, even though we may think we need to appear neat and organized to others.
Before the group last night, I was dealing with lots of messes related to
miscommunication,
mistakes,
broken promises,
fear,
worry,
shame,
guilt,
misunderstandings,
distrust,
anger,
loss,
regret,
pain,
insecurity,
health,
health care,
health care bills,
politics,
lawyers,
guns, and
money.
Here‘s another fine mess: “Lawyers, Guns, and Money” by the late Warren Zevon.
Here are all the other messes I photographed yesterday:
Please don’t be afraid to make messes in the comments section, below.
Messy thanks to all who helped me create this mess of a post and to you — of course! — for all the beautiful messes you bring.
As I circle back here to create another daily blog post, I notice that I’ve circled through the concept of circles before (here and here). If you’d like your thoughts to circle more positively, it’s worthwhile to circle through those previous circular posts.
As any new year approaches, my mind circles through memories of the past and wonders about the future. Those circles make it difficult to circle in on the present moment. Nevertheless, I try to circle back to the present moment, over and over again.
What’s circling in your mind, here and now?
Yesterday, somebody in a therapy group circled around to asking if he could co-lead the group with me. I circled my seat around to let him sit at the head of the table. He helped the group circle through many important topics, including this one:
You can circle to more information about the wheel of intimacy here.
Do you see circles in the other recent photos circling on my iPhone?
Before I circle back to cardiac rehab and all the circling machines there this morning, I have time to circle around to music by The Cyrkle …
