Day 2213: Incapable

Yesterday, I was capable of posing the bloggy question, “What’s the worst thing that anybody ever called you?”   Readers replied with painful memories of being labelled  unkindly  by people who were incapable of seeing that the hurtful labels were unfair and untrue.

Today, my answer to my own question — “what’s the worst thing that anybody ever called you” — is “Incapable.”

I am capable of admitting that I AM incapable in many areas, including

• getting enough sleep,
• knowing things before I have a chance to learn them,
• having a poker face,
• cooking as well as my boyfriend Michael,
• keeping my desk neat and organized,
• wrapping presents beautifully,
• understanding how dogs think,
• ignoring cats,
• giving up hope for humanity, and
• stopping my busy mind,

but I still think that “incapable” is the worst thing anybody has ever called me.

Three and a half years ago, when I wrote Day 867: Difficult — which had a list of every unkind label people had called me that I was capable of remembering up to that point  — I was incapable of including “incapable” on that list.  However, now that somebody HAS called me “incapable,” I am more capable of realizing that I have harshly and unfairly labeled myself “incapable” whenever  I’ve made mistakes.

Also, even though nobody called me “incapable” until recently,  I got the message I was incapable when I entered 7th grade of  a public Junior High School. The administrators there decided that, because of my heart condition, I was incapable of keeping up with the smartest kids in the class.  I eventually proved that I was not as incapable as they thought, when I became class Valedictorian senior year.

As I’m writing about “incapable,”  here and now, I am capable of letting go of that unhelpful label.  Instead, I am focusing on the ways I am capable, which include the capability to take pictures and share them here.

I am not incapable of telling stories in rhyme, including this one:

Don’t call me too weepy,

too creepy, too sleepy,

too selfish, too giving,

too sensitive from living.

Don’t call me too bitchy,

too itchy or twitchy,

too soft or too loud,

too modest, too proud.

If you’re gonna type me or hype me,

pigeonhole, assign a role,

Decide I’m a saint or some asshole,

Don’t call me.

Don’t call me too funny or too serious

I find it deleterious,

So don’t call me.

© Ann Koplow, 2018

Here‘s Keyshia Cole very capably singing “Incapable.”

I know you’re not incapable of leaving a comment.

I am not incapable of expressing my gratitude to all who helped me create this “Incapable” post and — of course! — YOU, for being capable of reading it.

Day 1654: What’s wrong with me?

What’s wrong with me, that I keep writing posts with similar titles?

What’s wrong with me, that I feel the need to link to those past posts here, here, and here?

What’s wrong with me, that when I read posts I wrote when I was dealing with so many health problems, I cry?

What’s wrong with me, that I’m having so much trouble sleeping as we prepare to move?

What’s wrong with me, that when I write these blog posts, I have to close one eye to see better, unless I’m wearing my glasses?

What’s wrong with me, that I don’t immediately put on my glasses when I start writing these posts?

What’s wrong with me, that I keep catastrophizing about what’s going to go wrong with the move and with our new place?

What’s wrong with me, that I second guess so many of my decisions, including those I’ve made so far in writing this post?

What’s wrong with me, that I’ve taken to heart some critical comments one person made about my writing when I was in college, which I rediscovered when I was going through old papers in the basement?

What’s wrong with me, that I always share photos I took the day before?

What’s wrong with me, that I’ve saved old get-well cards and my son’s old Halloween costumes, like when he dressed up as static cling?

What’s wrong with me, that I try to include relevant music in my posts? What’s wrong with me, that I thought the title of this song was “(What’s wrong with) Peace Love and Understanding?”

What’s wrong with peace, love, and understanding?  Nothing.

What’s wrong with ending every post with gratitude, when I’m so grateful to all who help me create these posts and to my readers, too?  And I hope you know there’s nothing wrong with you (or with me).  ❤

Day 1339: What’s missing?

Whenever I facilitate a therapy group, I write all the themes I notice up on the board. Because the discussion is always so rich, the themes I don’t miss will cover the entire board, from top to bottom and side to side.  Then, I ask the group, “What’s missing?”

Yesterday, when I asked that question, one of the group members did not hesitate to respond: “Love.” I didn’t miss the opportunity to add “love” to the themes I’d already written on the board.

What’s missing from that photo?  Dozens of other themes we discussed yesterday in that therapy group.

What’s missing from this post?  Perhaps my other photos from yesterday?

What’s missing from those photos?  Captions?

What’s missing for me is an explanation of this photo:

That was an assignment I gave somebody (and myself) yesterday:  Whenever you imagine that people are angry at you, visualize that angry face changing into a neutral face.  What’s missing for many people is the ability to reality-test their fears that other people are having negative reactions to them.

What’s missing from this post?  Music?

What’s missing, now?

For me, it’s this: Since I’ll be missing six weeks of work when I go out on medical leave starting September 17, I have not missed opportunities to discuss with my patients how missing people can affect them.

What else is missing from this post?

Gratitude, of course, to all those who helped me create this what’s-missing post and to you, especially, for not being among the missing, today.

Day 1330: Defying convention

Greetings from the Edinburgh Festival Fringe, which  has been defying convention for sixty-nine years.

I often follow certain conventions in my blog posts, including choosing a title that relates to a photo I’ve taken the day before.  Obviously, I am NOT defying that convention today. However, I’d like to think I’ve been defying convention for almost as long as the Edinburgh Fringe (five and a half years shorter, if I do the maths).

Here are some conventions I defy:

• Fearing people who are “different” from me.
• Assumptions about how long people born with abnormal hearts (like me) are supposed to live.
• Slowing down as  I get older.
• Judging myself or others.

What conventions do you defy?

Do you see any conventions defied in my other photos from yesterday?

 

I am unfamiliar with the conventions of shows like The Lady Boys of Bangkok, so I don’t know if they were defying any conventions last night by having people dressed like cats on stage or by using this song as the finale:

 

If you don’t usually leave a comment, please defy that convention today.  If sharing your thoughts here is conventional for you, I suggest you do not defy that convention today.

Many thanks to all who helped me create this defying convention post and to you — of course! — for reading it.

Day 1010: I talk to myself

If you — like lots of other people — have automatic negative thoughts, some therapists recommend that you talk to yourself.

Here are some examples of how I talk to myself, challenging habitual and unhelpful thoughts:

That person seems to have a negative opinion about me BUT I ACTUALLY DON’T KNOW THAT.

If that person has a negative opinion about me IT WON’T HURT ME AS MUCH AS I FEAR.

My writing sucks right now BUT IT’S GOOD ENOUGH, AND I CAN MAKE IT BETTER.

I feel like I look really weird BUT NOBODY NOTICES THAT.

I’ve made a mistake BUT IT’S NOT THE END OF THE WORLD.

I may feel like I’m alone with this problem BUT I CAN ASK FOR HELP.

I just talked to myself and told myself those were enough examples.

If you have this thought:

People are going to think I’m nuts if I’m talking to myself!

… take a look around and talk to yourself like so:

Don’t most people look like they’re talking to themselves, these days?

And who cares what they think, anyway?!?!?!

Can you imagine how I was talking to myself, yesterday, as I was taking these pictures?

     

   

Now, I’m talking to myself about what music to include in this post.

There’s this, with Clint Eastwood singing to himself:

And there’s this, with the Smothers Brothers talking to (1) Judy Garland, (2) themselves, (3) each other, and (4) a TV audience:

Don’t talk to yourself about this post; instead, share that self-talk in a comment.

I talk to myself all the time about how grateful I am to have this blog. Today is no exception! Talk to yourselves, please, about how much I appreciate you for visiting here today.

Day 992: Wait People

Rather than use the words “waitress” and “waiter” these days, I often use the term “wait people.”

You don’t have to wait, people, for me to tell you why. I tend to avoid gender specific labels, like waitress.

If you want more examples of that, you don’t have long to wait, people.  Instead of saying “Chairmen,” I’ll say “Chair People.”

You don’t have to wait, people, for me to show you two pictures I took last night, which “Chair People” is now bringing to mind:

Chairs AND people, right?

My posts are like the New England weather. If you want them to change, just wait, people. And you don’t need to wait, people, for some more photos from yesterday.

That’s the first photo I took yesterday, after some people waited to see me for therapy. I saw that at the hospital gift shop, where there’s often a short wait, people. If you want me to explain exactly what a “Littlest Red Sox Fan Den” is, you’ve got a long time to wait, people.

People I work with in therapy sometimes wait, people, before letting go of unhelpful, critical, and judgmental things other people have said about them — like “She is taking up too much space.” Yesterday, people waited no more and let go of some of those internalized, toxic messages. Why wait, people?

Wait, people!  I usually don’t swear in these posts, but that was a helpful phrase for a person I waited for in therapy, yesterday.

Good health care is not something people should wait for, people.

Those waiting for fall around here don’t have too much longer to wait, people.

It’s been a long wait, people, since I last posted about the faces there are in pansies, if people wait long enough to see them.

Bostonians need to wait, people, for reasonably priced parking for events. If you ask me what event people were waiting for at Fenway Park last night, you have a long time to wait, people. But wait, people!  Our friendly fellow-blogger Mark Bialczak might look that up and tell us, after a short wait.

Speaking of reasonably priced parking, last night I found a free parking space in Harvard Square without a wait, people!  I went to Harvard Square to see this new musical.

I won’t make you wait, people, for a great song from the wonderful Waitress.

While I was waiting for the play to start, I revisited a lot of places where I used to wait, people, when I was in college and (afterwards, too).

I used to wait, people, in those three locations to

1.  have meals with friends,
2. see Jackie Chan movies and
3. take several adult education classes, including percussion, jazz theory, cartooning, and “Stand Up Comedy” with Ron Lynch (and if you can’t wait, people, to read more posts about Ron Lynch, see here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, and here).

I rarely wait, people, to get chocolate or to connect with sweet people.

 

That’s Lina. She was kind enough, as she waiting on me, to tell me she took the job at L.A. Burdick in Harvard Square because “I like the way people talk about chocolate here.” As I was waiting for her to ring up my purchases, I took this photo:

and said to Lina, “I’m always taking photos for my blog.”  Lina didn’t wait to say this, “That’s the way art works.”

I didn’t wait, people, to eat the chocolate Lina sold me …

… while I was waiting for Waitress to begin.

After I saw Waitress, I couldn’t wait, people, to see my boyfriend Michael, who was waiting for me in Harvard Square after helping his brother wait on people for five long days. While I was waiting for Michael last night, I took pictures of places we waited and where wait people had waited on us on our first date, five years ago:

Wait, people!  There’s one more thing I want to say, before I publish this Wait People post.

Tonight, after five months of planning and 45 years of some people waiting to see each other, I’m going to my high school reunion.

No more wait, people!

I won’t wait, people, to thank all those people who made this post possible. And special thanks to you — of course! — for waiting, people, for the end of this post.

Day 965: Getting unstuck

Do you ever get stuck in a behavior, a feeling, or a thought? Do you ever repeat patterns of acting or thinking you KNOW are neither positive nor helpful?

If you answered “yes,” you are NOT alone in your stuck-ness.

If you answered “no,” could you let the rest of us know how you stick to being unstuck?

Here’s why I’m stuck thinking about getting unstuck today:

1. Tomorrow I go back to work helping others get unstuck in their lives, after two weeks of being wonderfully unstuck from my regular routines, on vacation.
2. One article I read while in Social Work graduate school — that has stuck with me for decades — suggested that all mental/behavioral health diagnoses could be replaced with a single, one-word diagnosis: “Stuck.”
3. While I’ve made a lot of progress in my own life, I still get stuck in certain ways of thinking, reacting, and behaving  I KNOW are unhelpful, outdated, and automatic.

Let’s stick to the title of this post — “Getting Unstuck.” How do those of us who know we get stuck start unsticking from  old, unhelpful habits of thinking and behaving?

Before I share some getting-unstuck advice,  I invite you to stick to your own wisdom and experience.

What’s one thing you’ve learned in your life about getting unstuck, even temporarily?

Stick with that question, for a moment. What memories, images, or other associations about getting unstuck are sticking with you, now? If you stick any of those in a comment here, you might help others get unstuck, too.

Because I’m stuck with that promise I made to share something I have learned, in my long life,  about getting unstuck, here it is:

When you feel stuck, get in touch with your experience and your intuition and do ONE THING differently. Then, notice the other changes that one simple change creates. 

With all of you as my witnesses, I now pledge to do one thing differently when I return to work tomorrow.  In order to get unstuck from old and unhelpful post-vacation habits, I  am going to consciously allow the many wonderful feelings, thoughts, and images from eight glorious days in Edinburgh, Scotland to stick around, for a long time.

We’ll see how long I can stick with that.

If I had brought my Scottish walking stick back with me to U.S., perhaps that stick would help me stick to sustaining and change-inspiring  memories of freedom, creativity, beauty, and growth. However, I left that stick behind on the streets of Edinburgh, stuck with the hope that walking stick might help somebody else — who might need support — move forward through that cobble-stoned city.

Because I have no pictures of that stick, I’ll stick to other images, old and new:

                                                                    
       
What music might help us all stick to those things that help us get unstuck in our lives?

I’m sticking with a song that’s familiar to me:  the Scottish Gerry Rafferty and Stealers Wheel performing “Stuck in the Middle with You,” stuck back in the United Kingdom circa 1973.

Unsticking thanks to all who helped me stick to this topic, today, and to you — of course! — for sticking around for the end of this post.

Day 898: [Idiot]

I keep getting emails with

[Idiot]

as the first word in the subject heading.

That startles me, every time, because I sometimes call myself

Idiot!

when I make a mistake. 

I get so many emails every day (with or without the word

[Idiot]

in the subject),  I sometimes miss responding to one, here and there. 

If I call myself

Idiot!

when I miss an email (or for any other reason), that is the cognitive distortion of Labeling, defined as follows:

We generate negative global judgments based on little evidence. Instead of accepting errors as inevitable, we attach an unhealthy label to ourselves or others. For example, you make a mistake and call yourself a “loser,” a “failure,” or an “idiot.” Labels are not only self-defeating, they are irrational, simplistic, and untrue. Human beings are complex and fallible, and in truth cannot be reduced to a label. Consider this: we all breathe, but would it make sense to refer to ourselves as “Breathers”?

Yesterday, in a therapy group at work, we talked, at length, about the cognitive distortion of labeling.

I could label myself

Idiot

right now, because

1.  I can never remember if labeling has two or three l’s,
2. I didn’t take a picture of the topics we discussed in the therapy group (including labeling), and
3. I haven’t explained why I’m getting emails with the subject heading

[Idiot]

However, instead of calling myself

Idiot

… I would rather

• Forgive myself for inevitable mistakes.
• Share this antidote for the cognitive distortion of labeling:

If you label yourself negatively, such as “a fool” or “a loser,” remind yourself that such absolute terms are subjective and meaningless, and that human beings are too complex to be reduced that simplistically. Also, consider the possibility that somebody else may have given you that idea about yourself, and that they were wrong.

• Explain that those [Idiot] emails refer to my son’s participation in a local production of Green Day’s American Idiot.
• Show you these non-labeled photos I snapped yesterday (like the “blogger” that I am):

  

                      

How might you label those photos? I would much prefer that you label them, instead of negatively labeling yourself.

Here‘s a song from the group labeled Green Day:

I am labeling myself “grateful” to all who helped me create this post today and to you — of course! — for being my “reader.”

Day 827: Stumped

Is anybody stumped about how I manage to blog here day after day, season after season, through sickness and health?

I’m not stumped about that, but I am stumped about why there is so much snow still around, during the second week of April in my hometown city of Boston.  After months and months, this finally reappeared, yesterday morning:

That’s the stump of our tree, out back.

Have I been stumped by any thing else, recently? I am quite easily stumped, it seems.

Why has it taken me so many years to figure out how to make fried matzo that’s almost as good as my mother’s?

Why are there only three players on my 2015 Boston Red Sox, when I could have sworn they need nine players on the field, this Opening Day?

I’ve also been stumped about why I’ve been seeing Coca-Cola everywhere, lately:

If I hadn’t told you what kind of truck that was, would you have been stumped by that photo?

I am stumped by this new Kids Concourse at Fenway Park. If my sister Ellen reads this post, she’ll probably un-stump me, since she knows all the latest about baseball, the Red Sox, and Fenway.

I am stumped by what that bench is doing at that construction site.

People can really stump themselves with unhelpful negative thoughts. In case you are stumped by that last photo, yesterday at work I invited somebody to transform the thought

I’m not doing enough

to

I want to do more.

Are you stumped by why I thought that was so important?

I wonder if anybody at the hospital cafeteria yesterday was stumped by matzo balls. Are you? I was personally stumped because the soup, at first, was matzo-ball-less.

Don’t be stumped by the matzo-ball-less appearance of that soup. The matzo balls were there, but they were sinkers, not floaters. Are you stumped by the concept of floating vs. sinking matzo balls? If so, don’t stay stumped — ask for help, below.

Speaking of sinking, when I told my friend Jan yesterday that I’ll be  having surgery next month for synching my heart ventricles, she looked stumped for a second. She thought I’d said “sinking” instead of “synching.”  Because she’s a nurse, she realized her mistake immediately.

In case you’re stumped by what might be sustaining me, right now, while I’m creating this stumped post, here it is:

I’m stumped by why I and others don’t eat more apples, rather than junk food. Apples are so yummy. Are you stumped by that photo, in any way?

Speaking of food … 

That was dinner last night, served by my boyfriend, Michael. Is anybody stumped by why I let him do all of our cooking (except for an occasional fried matzo, by me)?

In case you’re stumped by how to move forward, here’s one answer I saw on a wall last night:

As I was taking one step at a time yesterday  on my walk to work, I was stumped by how the universe put the PERFECT music into my earphones.

Are  you stumped by what that music might be? I would expect you would be stumped, at this point, so allow me to answer that particular stumper.

It was the full version of “Gotta Dance/Broadway Melody” — from my favorite movie musical Singin’ in the Rain — which lasted every step of my way, until I reached the hospital.

I am stumped in my attempts to share that full version with you now, but here’s part of it from YouTube, with the stumpingly amazing Gene Kelly and Cyd Charisse:

I wonder if anybody, yesterday, was stumped by how  happy I looked, walking towards work on a Monday morning!

Stumping and stomping good thanks to Gene Kelly, to Cyd Charisse, to my family, to Jan, to people who do their best to let go of thoughts that might stump them in their attempts to heal and grow, to matzo in all its various manifestations, to synching and sinking hearts, to Fenway Park and Red Sox fans everywhere,  and to you — of course! — for stumping your way over here, today.

Day 791: Less

Yesterday, when I created a blog post with my iPhone, it took less time. I also put  less effort into adding links to other posts and references like Wikipedia (because I have less  knowledge of how to do that from my phone). 

While I want each post to be no less than helpful for me and my readers, I would be less than honest if I did not confess that I enjoyed doing less here yesterday. 

I’ve been thinking more about doing less, in general, since returning less than three days ago from my one-day-less-than-two-week vacation in a part of the USA that had way less snow and cold than my hometown of Boston. 

Using less words about that: Less is more for me, right now.   

Yes, I believe I will get more out of life with less

• worry,
• perfectionism,
• stress,
• stuff and clutter,
• self-doubt,
• over-achieving,
• focus on everybody else’s needs,
• anxiety about taxes,
• anxiety about everything else,
• assumptions,
• rushing,
• regrets,
• comparisons,
• feeling “less than,”
• catastrophizing,
• all-or-nothing thinking,
• mind reading,
• fortune telling
• Jumping to conclusions,
• fear,
• projections onto others,
• shoulds,
• denial,
• self-criticism,
• avoidance, 
• rigidity,
• close-mindedness, 
• judgmental thinking, and
• automatic, unhelpful habits. 

As I mentioned in my introduction to this less-than-perfect post, I am having less success using links when creating blog posts with my phone. Otherwise, I would have taken up less space in that list,  by linking to my handout on cognitive distortions. 

However, i am less than upset about how this post is turning out, despite my having less experience and proficiency in phone blogging. Sometimes, less experience has its own benefits and advantages.

Before I write more, what would you like less of, in your life?

It’s time for less words and more pictures! Here are less than a dozen photos I took yesterday, as I was focusing more on less:



Harley is interested in less than five new cat toys. 



Oscar is less interested than Harley. 



There is less access to that newspaper kiosk than there was two months ago. 



I find all this snow less than Irresistible. That’s why I also took this next photo, less than a minute after the one above:





While I’d like to see a lot less snow around here, my boyfriend Michael says there is considerably less now than there was two weeks ago (after my son Aaron and I escaped out of Boston, avoiding yet another big blizzard by less than two hours).



One of those signs says less than the other. 



Valentine’s Day stuff couldn’t cost much less, could it?



Truth is beauty and beauty is truth (said the poet Keats, with less words). Truthfully though,  WHEN will there be the friggin’ beauty of less snow and cold? 



This hydrant could do with less cone protection. Do you agree, more or less?

Here’s a “less” song for you all:

Would I be less than polite if I suggest you leave less than three  and more than zero comments, below?

Thanks to Elvis (for “A Little Less Conversation,” which I found on YouTube in less time than expected), to Harley, to  Oscar, to Aaron, to Michael, and to all those doing more or less what works for them. And, more thanks to you, for being neither more nor less than yourself, here and now.