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Election Part 1: Shame (and a glimmer of hope)

11/10/2024

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It is now six days since the election. Like many of the more progressive variety of patriotic Americans, I am disheartened.

I learned long ago and have taught for many years that writing is a good response to emotional and personal challenges. People may never read what you write (and I don’t expect a larger readership for this) but writing is not always for an audience.

You write… I write… to clarify things for yourself. I remember speaking with a young poet, early in a medical career, who said that she writes “to learn something about myself.” You sit down, you mull ideas around, you see what words and directions emerge. And maybe there’s something to be said for just indiscriminately putting your voice out there into the universe.

Rather than droning on for too long at a single sitting, my plan today is to share reflections about the election in five parts, as they interest me and seem worth exploring.

• Week 1 (today): Shame and a glimmer of hope
• Week 2: Fred plays the amateur historian and reflects on how we’ve been here before (and survived)
• Week 3: Fred, the researcher and writer about the spiritual life reflects on this vantage point.
• Week 4: My thoughts on public and community responses
• Week 5: My thoughts on my personal response

If anyone else is reading this, thanks for your interest and may these ideas invite your own meaningful reflections.

Shame (and a glimmer of hope)

I recall reading, several months ago, an interview of a Christian nationalist/evangelical pastor who supported Donald Trump. He was asked how he reconciled his support with Trump’s behavior and character… cruelty, incessant lying, sexual predation… that would be considered antithetical to the spiritual life. He responded that “we are electing a politician, not a preacher.”

He is wrong.

American presidents have many roles. They are administrators. They embrace and advance policies. But at its core, I believe the presidency is about being the face of America. The president embodies our aspirations, our hopes, and our values, and shows our country and the rest of the world who we are as Americans. 

Kamala Harris would have done this admirably. Donald Trump does not.

Harris clearly values respect and decency. She is the kind of person who looks for and brings out the best in other people. Trump traffics in fear, hate, and divisiveness. He brings out the worst in us all.

The fact that over half of American voters looked at Trump’s life… Trump the racist, the misogynist, the insurrectionist, the self-aggrandizing liar… and said “This is who we want; this is who we are; this is what America is about” is appalling and shameful. 

Policies, you say? My goodness, this election was not about policies. Perhaps it was for some specific cohorts. Billionaires and corporate CEOs will delight in the prospect of further accumulating wealth and power. People who dearly want states to be able to deny reproductive and health care for women will see this happen. Select small groups stand to benefit in their particular areas, like the owners of for-profit prisons who are salivating at the possibility of being paid to create internment camps for millions of undocumented people who stand to be deported. 

Predominantly, though, policies had little to do with the election results. A Washington Post study published a couple of weeks before the election surveyed over 8000 voters from across the political spectrum. The study reported that Harris’ policies garnered significantly greater approval than Trumps’ policies… notably, on healthcare, crime, firearms, social and reproductive issues, education, and the environment… as long as respondents weren’t told which candidate had proposed them. 

The election, as I see it, was about perceptions and identity. Right wing media relentlessly portrayed Harris as an elite, detached, ruthless person who wanted to murder babies and empower schools to perform sex change operations on merciless students. Right wing media portrayed Trump as a man of the people, a strong and courageous leader, a man steeped in devotion to faith and wrapped in the flag. 

And this is where we end up.

Some good news, of course, is that 71 million people voted for Harris and presumably voiced support for the kind of values of truth and character that I think do reflect the best of who we are as Americans. May we cherish and hold onto our kinship with one another as we go forward from here.

Next week: Fred, the amateur historian, reflects on our having been here in America before (and survived).
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Permission to Rest: Reflections for International Self-Care Day

7/21/2024

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Self-care is vital for a sustainable and meaningful life.
 
Some approaches and perspectives on self-care may feel arduous and unattainable. I have always had plenty of aerobic exercise, but I struggle in my semi-retirement years to get the strength-building exercise that I know I need.
 
Self-care, though, also has to do with the personal values, priorities, and perspectives that we set for ourselves.
 
My friend and faculty colleague at the Andrew Weil Center for Integrative Medicine, Siri Chand Khalsa, MD, MS, speaks of her journey with Covid. Like many of us, including me, she tested positive for Covid, but as the days and weeks progressed, she realized her symptoms weren’t going away. In the early days of the pandemic, Dr. Khalsa was one of the first people to experience what we now call “long Covid.”
 
She suffered from migraines and severe systemic pain. She experienced neurological problems like neuropathy and dysautonomia (that are increasingly recognized as among potentially severe symptoms of long Covid). Most debilitating for her were cognitive symptoms. She found it unusually difficult to concentrate and to focus on the myriad scientific and relationship elements of being a busy physician.
 
Dr. Khalsa put her medical practice on hold and pursued her own healing. Time, she says, did not make a difference. An expert in integrative medicine, she explored nutritional changes and explored integrative modalities like Ayurveda with, at best, modest benefits.
 
When I spoke with her this spring, Dr. Khalsa reported that she had finally recovered very well. I asked what had ultimately made the difference. Without hesitation, she said, “I gave myself permission to rest.”
 
I can see it. In our culture, most of us labor under the assumption that our value and worth increase in tandem with what we accomplish. This is certainly a reality in medicine. There are external forces in medical systems that move health care practitioners to be “productive,” often beyond the bounds of human capacity. And there are internal pressures, as well. When you are passionate about your profession and about making a difference in other people’s lives, the temptation is to work with greater zeal and greater engagement, rather than less.
 
For Dr. Khalsa, rest mattered. Being able to rest was restorative, and it also gave her the space to listen more attentively to what she needed in her own self-care. She sought the support of wellness consultants. She became more discerning about relationships that were uplifting, and those that were not. She found herself being more creative. She slept better. She followed her own unique path as a physician and healer with renewed energy and passion.
 
Self-care is not selfish. On the contrary, seeking the kind of balance that Dr. Khalsa describes is life-affirming.
 
Self-care rests firmly on self-compassion. Self-compassion means being able to have goals and hold intentions, but being gentle with oneself when life doesn’t allow doing everything, and doing everything to unreachable standards.
 
Even the arena of self-care itself presents its own challenge of standards and expectations of accomplishment. At the Weil Center, we talk about seven core areas of health, each of which provides opportunities for self-care. They are movement/exercise, nutrition, sleep, resilience, relationships, spirituality, and environment (the latter having to do both with avoidance of toxic exposures and seeking out peaceful places and moments).
 
All these arenas of self-care can be vitally important, but you can’t do it all. No, you can’t meditate in the garden, have a nutritious breakfast, put in a day of work, come home and do something educational with the kids, run 5k, cook a vegan meal to share with Chris and Pat, read some uplifting spiritual literature, journal, and sleep eight hours. And repeat, with going to the school board meeting and volunteering at the soup kitchen added in your theoretical spare time.
 
You have to do the best you can. You have to be gentle with yourself. You have to give yourself permission. You have to rest.
 
So let me invite you to reflect. How might you give yourself permission to pursue self-care in some new or important way? How might you further develop your own spirit of self-compassion? And where do you find rest?
 
May your own approach to self-care open a door to equanimity in your own life and enlivened service to others.
 
-----------------
 
Readers will enjoy seeing more about Dr. Khalsa’s journey and current professional passions and contributions… particularly about the benefits of healthy and creative nutrition… at her website,
https://drsirichand.com/blog/. 
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The Citizen Soldier

5/26/2024

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When my wife and I came into each other’s lives over 50 years ago, she had four living and age-appropriately healthy grandparents. The lived locally when she was growing up and she was blessed to have known them well.  For several years until they began passing away, I was blessed to spend time with them and come to know them, as well.
 
Among them was her paternal grandfather, Charles. Charles had spent much of his adult life around motor vehicles, running a small bus line that failed after the stock market crash, selling trucks in upstate New York during the Depression (often, we understand, to bootleggers, the only people who had money to buy trucks) and selling cars after that. Befitting his professional life, he had an engaging interest in people and a ready smile, coming naturally with total sincerity and genuineness.
 
I remember him as a singularly soft-spoken, sweet, and gentle man. Into his early eighties, he had a part time job driving kindergarteners home after school, and I can picture him taking delight in his personal connection with each of them. He was devoted to his equally sweet and retiring wife, to his son, and to his four granddaughters. When my wife and I moved across the country for graduate school, he would send us over-stuffed envelopes filled with wads of newspaper clippings he thought we would enjoy. Charles and Lola were absolutely over-joyed to meet their great-granddaughter when we brought her to their home one Christmas vacation in their closing years.
 
We knew that Charles had served in the First World War, but were not much aware of the specifics of his service. His reflections came largely through his son (himself a veteran in the second world war), who passed along his father’s stories of happy times and friendships and cheerfully rendered camp meeting songs (Mademoiselle from Armentieres, Parlez-vous!). My father-in-law also said that Charles had been in “major battles” of the war and advised him, as the clouds of the new war approached, not to go into the infantry. Hence, my father-in-law’s service in the Army Air Corps.
 
Gaps filled in with my older son’s initiative to transcribe his great-grandfather’s World War 1 journal. The family had been aware of the journal, but it had lain, largely unexplored, for a hundred years.
 
The journal itself is a pocket-sized, leather-bound book that has small space for daily entries over a 5-year period. The army apparently made these available to soldiers with the rationale, reflected in a preface, that
 
You have neither the time nor the inclination, possibly, to keep a full diary.  Suppose, however, out of the multitude of matters that crowd each day, you jot down a line or two those most worthy of remembrance.  Such a book will be of the greatest value in after years. What a record of events, incidents, joys, sorrows, successes, failures, things accomplished, things attempted. This book is designed for just such a record. 
 
Charles did, indeed, record some things that were worthy of remembrance, in pen and pencil with such small font that we sometimes needed a magnifying glass to discern what he had said.
 
- - - - - - - - - - - -
 
The story emerged.
 
Charles enlisted in his hometown of Albany, New York, and was mustered into federal service as part of the New York National Guard in July, 1917. His initial training- drills and signaling, tent-pitching, rifle training, map reading- was in upstate New York and offered enough time on passes that he was able to visit with his fiancé and family, go to the local Y to swim, and see the latest movies at the hippodrome. He was apparently also a good horseman, and he records being invited on rides with officers from his company.
 
He and his unit shipped out in late September and made their way to Spartanburg, SC. For the remainder of 1917, Charles’ time was divided among continuing drill, menial tasks like grading a street, riding and caring for horses, and serving as an orderly for the commanding general.
 
Recognizing Charles’ leadership potential, he was accepted for Officers’ Training School, which he attended and from which he graduated as a Second Lieutenant at Camp Wadsworth, SC, from January 5 to April 5, 1918.  He shipped to Europe aboard the USS Antigone, a Navy transport that made eight transatlantic crossings carrying troops during the war. 
 
Much of his journal into the late summer of 1918 documents continuing training, camp life, and furloughs into Paris and into local communities in France. He also refers to regular correspondence, as he was able, with his beloved Lola, parents, and other friends and family. 
 
As the weeks passed, he came closer to the front lines.
 
July 27: Received orders to go up the line in reserve. Ah!  Well might just as well start now. Had a few shells drop around. Saw my first dead men. Camped in woods.  Gas alarm about 2 A.M. M.P.’s shooting.  Some scare.
 
August 17: Saturday.  At last the order came and we pulled out at noon by truck. Some dusty ride but then would rather ride than walk eh!  Passed thru a beautiful section of the country. Billeted in a wheat field rather hard sleeping but then “a la guerre.”  Slept fine under the eaves of a wheat stack.
 
Sept 5: Thursday. Laid around all day except when I packed up.  Have order to move. Hope not up front as yet because the men are not sufficiently trained but if so why so be it.  I’m ready when they are. Will have lots to tell the folks when I get back, eh! Started hike at 8:20 and hiked until 4:30 A.M. Was about all in but kept going. Had a good bed to sleep in when we stopped. 
 
Sept 11: Wednesday.  Slept all day under escort wagon.  Some bunk.  Rained all day.  Left at 9 P.M. Still raining.  Halted on the top of hill for three hours and watched first American barrage. Some “hell,” I’ll say. It was a wonderful sight from this side, but the Germans must have suffered.  Arrived in shellfire at 3 A.M.
 
Sept 12: Thursday.  Barrage started at 1 A.M. Slept in woods near Pont-a-Mousson. Had about three hours sleep.  Started out again at 12 M. Jerry retreating so fast we don’t even have time to sleep.  Good news.  Advanced five miles this A.M. Past beaucoup prisoners along the road.  Reached first line trenches at 8 P.M. Slept in open. 
 
Sept 18: Wednesday.  Camped at 2 A.M. on hillside. Rain rain rain.  Awoke at 7 A.M. and moved to new camp in woods.  Boshe were here in 1914.  Beaucoup dead French near Julevecourt.
 
September 26, 1918, then, was the beginning of the Meuse-Argonne Offensive, the largest campaign of the war, and the second costliest military engagement (next to the Normandy campaign) in American history, with ultimately over 26,000 deaths.
 
Sept 26: Thursday.  Big barrage started at 3A.M.  Seemed like a continuous thunder. I am glad that I am in the rear of it.  Barrage still continues at 10:30. Had a good breakfast. Am ready for whatever comes now.  Moved at 12 noon.  Hiked about 10 kilos.  Saw beaucoup prisoners also 2 balloons brought down & 1 Boshe Plane.  Camped in 1914 battlefield.  Some holes.  Gas alarm.
 
Sept 29: Sunday.  Spent the day in the woods.  Rained all day. Orders to move in the evening.  Hiked thru no man’s land (4 years).  Some shell holes.  It poured all the way.  Slept in the woods for three hours.
 
Sept 30: Monday.  Started forward at 7:30 A.M.  Some cool.  Lay in trenches until 5 P.M.  Ordered to move forward.  Very foolish in broad daylight.  Dutch fired point blank at us crossing hill.  Bugler and my striker killed. Addie and Lidey wounded.  Some experience. Never expected to reach the other side but God was with me.  You bet I thanked him.  Dug in and slept in the woods.
 
October 1: Tuesday.  Awoke at 9 A.M. and located rest of company.  Under shell fire all day. Laid Buglar and Larsean away at Mont Faucon. News came that we were to be relieved.  Welcome. Well yes. Started back at 11:30. Heavy barrage during the night. No one hurt.
 
October 2: Wednesday.  Chow arrived. Coffee-beans-doughnuts-bacon-was cold but tasted better than anything I have ever eaten.  Had a good nights sleep.  Laid in reserve all day.  A “few” shell dropped around. Lost a couple of men. War surely is hell.  Hot chow arrived at 8:30. Some feeds. Beans , had  jam and coffee.  Received news about Austria.  Hope it comes true.
 
October 3: Thursday.  Still at reserve dugout.  Jerry sent over some barrage.  We were lucky.  Expect to go forward today. Can’t say that I’m enthusiastic over this war game. They hurt too many men. Hope we get relieved. Loud shells busting around now.
 
October 4: Friday.  Started attack on Cierges at 5:30. I acted as liaison officer.  Some hill.  Advanced about 2 kilos.  Got into some gas. Beaucoup machine guns.  Had some narrow escapes.  Slept with Howell Co “A” that night.
 
October 5: Saturday.  Spent day connecting with flank snipers.  Very busy.  Hope they don’t get me. Some one provided barrage. 
 
October 6: Sunday.  Took “A” Co up in attack on Mec. Luns. Shot us up pretty badly.  Don’t know how I escaped it. Plenty of shells today.  Relieved at 8P.M.
 
After this point, Charles was apparently moved to the rear and spent much of his time until the Armistice censoring letters and writing to families of fallen comrades. There is no entry for November 11 and the following week; I have read that many American soldiers greeted that day less with exhilaration and more with exhaustion and relief.
 
Charles moved into and across Germany with the Army of Occupation after the Armistice. He returned home in 1919 to marry his sweetheart, raise what became a loving extended four-generation family, and live his life.
 
- - - - - - - - - - - -
 
I have always been struck, particularly since reading the journal, with the gulf that stands between the warrior of 1918 and the sweet, gentle man who dearly loved his family and drove kindergarteners home after school into this eighties.
 
I think that Charles embodies well the idea of a “citizen soldier.” The historian Stephen Ambrose wrote, “The American citizen soldiers knew the difference between right and wrong, and they didn’t want to live in a world in which wrong prevailed. So they fought, and won, and all of us, living and yet to be born, must be profoundly grateful.”
 
I never spoke with Charles about his motivation around his military experience, but I believe these ideas would resonate with him.  I can’t imagine for a moment that Charles had any interest in being a professional soldier, but he was part of a flow in American life that saw a cause worth pursuing, and made sacrifices to pursue it.
 
My own professional life and journey has been so much about spirituality, dialogue, reconciliation, and love (often making for interesting conversations about warfare) but these things seem a little beside the point when I think of Charles. Here was a good man, an honorable man, who put a hold on his relationship with the woman he loved and the family that nurtured him, on behalf of values that mattered to him.
 
So, to Lieutenant Allen, aka “Granddaddy” in our family, you will always have my admiration and love.

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My friend George, 1950-2023

3/31/2024

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My friend George died last year, at age 73, from Parkinson’s Disease. He had had this diagnosis for 13 years and, at the end, spent his days in a wheelchair and composed emails with voice recognition software, being unable to manipulate a keyboard.
 
We grew up together in the same tidy suburban community, peopled by young World War II veteran dads, stay-at-home moms, and flocks of widely-roaming children. While I was always involved in sports, George was not especially athletic, or at least not athletically inclined, and we spent our time together talking, laughing, and joking.
 
Our social circles diverged as high school moved along, but we stayed in touch. George went to Carleton College, which seemed just right for him, married soon after graduation, and settled in Minnesota for the rest of his life.
 
My wife and I stopped to visit George and his wife on their farm in Fergus Falls, Minnesota, on our way back east after my first two years of graduate school in Salt Lake City. We were both engaged in our separate and different lives, and we fell out of contact after that, and I never saw him in person again.
 
Fast forward forty-five years. A cryptic comment appeared on a blog post on my website; “If you grew up in northern New Jersey, we have some catching up to do. George.” It could only have been him. We exchanged email addresses and indeed, began catching up.
 
George commented, right off, that he was moved to reconnect with me as he read on my website about my work with spirituality and health. Spirituality, he said, had been at the center of his life since college. My wife reminded me, recalling our 1973 visit to Fergus Falls, that he had then been a Jehovah’s Witness.
 
True. George, I learned, had been deeply involved in his local Witness community and had done consulting and speaking with the Witness community nationwide, spanning all the years when we had been out of touch. Even as the scope of his life was largely limited to his home, he remained actively involved with Jehovah’s Witnesses remotely.
 
My commitment, as I hope you know, is to honor and respect other people’s spiritual traditions and practices. I think it’s fair to say, though, that Jehovah’s Witnesses occupy a particular niche in American religious life, with their distinctive approach to door-to-door and street corner evangelism and their preference to be a separate religious community, rather than engaging in inter-faith dialogue or incorporating ideas from other spiritual traditions.
 
I wasn’t sure what to expect.
 
What I found was a rekindled, dear friendship.
 
We exchanged more emails. We Zoomed. We brought in a mutual friend who had grown up with us both.
 
We acknowledged, early on, that we had differences in our spiritual lives and practices, but that they really didn’t matter. We eagerly joined together in conversations about our shared values… kindness, compassion, respect, equality, justice.
 
George sent me links to Jehovah’s Witnesses conference keynotes and articles from JW.org. “Jehovah’s Powerful Acts Inspire Faith!” “Why Did God Create the Earth?” “Why Did the Holocaust Happen?” “Why didn’t God Stop the Holocaust?” I sent him reflections from British theologian John A. T. Robinson and American theologian (founder of the Koinonia Community in south Georgia) Clarence Jordan.  We spun off at one point to a dialogue about mentors and protégés, with stories from our own lives. We talked about the ways that expressions of goodness and care for other people can have reverberating effects across many generations.
 
We shared insights from our professional lives, respecting people’s values but inviting them to a broader and deeper spiritual journey.
 
And there was more, the kind of conversations about day-to-day matters that can help to cement friendships. Why baseball would be profoundly different if the baselines were 89 feet or 91 feet, instead of 90 feet. What it had been like for both of us to move to new homes. How much we both cherished the loving relationships with our wives.
 
I asked him (psychologists ask questions like this) how he kept going with 13 years of Parkinson’s Disease. He sent me a long list of tips. Low salt diet. Qi Gong. Electrical muscle stimulation. Regular massage. Daily reading of the bible, jw.org, and “compassionate, empathetic literature.” Thirty minutes daily with a light box. And, yes, Zooming with friends.
 
I congratulated George and sent him and his wife flowers on their 50th anniversary. George didn’t live to see ours. My last email looking for a time to Zoom brought a response from George’s wife that he had passed away peacefully.
 
George signed his emails, “love, George.” In my family and cultural experience men don’t say this to other men, but I was touched by his genuineness and forthrightness, and it has brought me to be freer in giving voice to my own values of love.
 
Maybe that’s the central theme as I think about my friend George. Love that transcends unimportant small differences like religious affiliation. Love that shares in matters large and small. Love that reaches out across decades of distance.
 
Thanks, George.
 
Love, Fred
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Maintaining your Resolve!

1/7/2023

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Every time I get the urge to exercise, I lie down until it passes.

Mark Twain


​New Years!  The Times Square ball, confetti, Guy Lombardo (for people of my vintage) and… New Year’s resolutions!

Most of us make some kind of resolution for the New Year. It’s a good opportunity for a fresh start. Change isn’t easy, though, and lapsed New Year’s resolutions are certainly part of the common lore of our culture.

There is no lack of advice out there about how best to manage the resolutions we set for the year to come. Set clear goals (I prefer the word, “intentions,” by the way). Write them down. Check in regularly about how you’re doing. Enlist the caring and support of somebody else.

These are perfectly fine ideas that I’m sure you have heard before. I want to share with you, though, three ideas that get less press, that arise from some combination of empirical literature and my own experience working with people for a long time. 

1. Remember why you want to be different.

I concluded long ago that for most people, “health” and even longevity don’t really have much inherent value. The status of our health and the length of our years are important, though, insofar as they allow us to live our lives in ways that matter to us. 

Psychologist David Waters at the University of Virginia differentiates “health goals” and “life goals.” “Health goals” are the choices and lifestyle behaviors that people can pursue to address their most important health issues.  Exercising, stopping smoking, developing a good nutritional plan.  “Life goals” touch on the things that are most important to people in their lives… the things that they care about the most.  Being a better teacher, coaching young people, being able to work in stained glass.

Waters argues that it is important for all of us (and our health care practitioners) to recognize the way that life goals energize health goals. The formula is “What is really important in my life is ________; therefore, my health goals are ________.”

Before I wrapped up my practice in 2015, I worked with a woman who had smoked for many years and had recently become involved in Buddhist tradition and practice. She said, 

“Health” is not enough to motivate me to stop smoking. My reasons for stopping need to be more important than my reasons to smoke.  I have taken a vow to work toward enlightenment, for me, and to help other people toward enlightenment.  Smoking obstructs the inner channels where the chakras are… if I am serious about enlightenment, I have to quit.

You may not think much about enlightenment or inner chakra channels, but you get the idea. Changes in health practices (or any personal changes, really) need to be grounded in life values. Loving your partner. Caring for a needy family member or friend. Being an agent of disseminating kindness or compassion into the world. Working on behalf of causes that matter to you… environmental awareness, musical appreciation and creativity, social justice, or limitless others. 

Remembering life values energizes personal changes.

2. Recognize the larger context.

How you’re doing overall either facilitates or inhibits personal changes.

A 2020 study from the University of British Columbia explored the relationship between purpose in life (yes, there are reliable and valid measures of this) and health behaviors in almost 14,000 people over a span of eight years. Researchers found that subjects with higher levels of purpose in life were significantly less likely to become physically inactive, to develop sleep problems, to develop unfavorable body-mass indexes, and modestly less likely to relapse in smoking cessation over the study period. 

Those are some data about purpose, but I’d expect to see similar effects from any number of other global qualities… finding more joy in your life, or laughter, or social connections, or creative expression… apart from whatever you do to cultivate specific personal changes.

3. Be gentle with yourself with the ups and downs along the road

The journey does have its ups and downs, doesn’t it? Some days, like Mark Twain, you won’t exercise. Some days you’ll go for the mega sirloin in the restaurant rather than the Cobb salad. Sometimes, you will let emotions get the better of you and be unkind, rather than being an agent of forbearance and understanding.

Setbacks (the psychological literature calls these “relapses”) are common expressions of our humanity. In whatever way you may slide in a backwards direction, people have been there before. Having setbacks really isn’t an issue; the issue is how you deal with setbacks.

One of the exciting developments in the behavioral health world in the last few years is the emergence of research and practice in the arena of self-compassion. Arising mainly from work by psychologists Kristen Neff (UT, Austin) and Christopher Germer (Harvard Medical School/Cambridge Health Alliance), self-compassion takes aim at our cultural tendency toward self-denigration when we don’t find ourselves behaving or managing our lives as we think we should.

Being gentle and compassionate with oneself has two benefits. First, it attenuates the health and emotional costs of unforgiveness, bitterness, and self-judgment. Second, self-compassion gives us the emotional space to be able to choose how we are going to react to setbacks.  In our relationships with ourselves, just like our relationships with others, you forgive so that you can live your life.

Setbacks are unpleasant, of course, but they are also marvelous opportunities to step back and explore the conditions that prompted them. When you experience a setback with any personal change, what were the social circumstances that may have been involved?  What internal experiences… thoughts, feelings, and images… may have been involved?  How might you address these challenges better going forward? 

So… as you find yourself teetering backwards with some personal change, think about what someone who knows you well and deeply loves you would say to you.  Can you find it in your heart to treat yourself the same way?

There are many other lines of research and empirically based practice that bear on such things, notably work on gratitude, mindfulness, and on the larger picture of forgiveness.  Stories for another day! For now, I’ll welcome your thoughts and comments on these ideas.  

The quotation at the top, by the way, is a witty comment that has been attributed to a variety of people… Jimmy Durante, Edna Mae Oliver, Robert M. Hutchins, and Chauncey Depew among them. I imagine that they all probably said it at some point, with the original source being long lost. It is most frequently attributed to Mark Twain (who is likely not to have said it himself; he died before the quote began making its rounds), so that’s the way I’ve left it.

Best wishes for a meaningful, peaceful, and joyful New Year!

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Prayer flags and distant intention

3/8/2021

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Picture
Earlier this week, I worked with a group of fellows from the integrative medicine program at the University of Arizona where I teach, making prayer flags.  (I’m the spirituality curriculum guy, and prayer flags fall in my domain!) The idea of prayer flags, as you know, is that they are endowed with energy, in the text or images, and that this energy is “carried on the wind” to bring goodness, well-being and wisdom to all people and all beings. 
 
The exercise for my integrative medicine friends was to bring words or images to blank prayer flags that would represent their “vision (and prayer) that is at the heart of what it means to be a doctor and support people in their journeys of healing.”  There were beautiful expressions of values such as kindness, presence, empowerment, vulnerability/authenticity, and love.
 
In creating prayer flags, or in any other way declaring an intention that is personally meaningful, we are making commitments to embody what we say.  If I create a flag that highlights kindness, I’m making a commitment that this is a value and quality that matters to me, and at the very least, I’m creating an imperative to be kind.
 
But it’s more than that.  The energy of prayer flags is “carried on the wind.”  Setting an intention brings the very real possibility of touching other people directly, at a distance, apart from whatever may be the influence of my own behavior. 
 
Everyday life has countless examples of this “distant intention” that most of us can relate to.  Dogs know when their owners are coming home, right? We’ve certainly seen tis with our dogs, when my wife or I will be driving home from somewhere and our dog will come awake and go to the front door while the car is still much too far away to see or hear.  Or with your phone.  How many times have you had the experience of dialing the number of somebody you love, at a random time (I date myself with that phrase, of course) and find that they are calling you at precisely the same time?  Or crossing the country as we often do in our snowbird lives, my wife and I will sit quietly in the front seat for the better part of an hour and then one of us initiates a conversation that is just what the other person had been thinking about.  We are connected in ways that go far beyond what we might expect from our historic, materialistic world view.
 
There is abundant cultural/ethnographic evidence about distant intention or “nonlocal” connections.  Aboriginal communities apparently drew upon nonlocal connections just as a matter of course.  In his fascinating 2013 book, One Mind: How Our Individual Mind is Part of a Greater Consciousness and Why it Matters, Larry Dossey points out that smoke signals in aboriginal communities didn’t send messages per se, but rather prompted distant community members to pause, sit down, and hold a posture of openness to messages that were being sent.  Dossey says that these nonlocal connections, by the way, are mediated by love.
 
There is also quite good modern empirical evidence for distant intention and nonlocal effects.  Laboratory studies consistency show, for instance, that Person A has the ability to influence various physiological functions in distant Person B to a statistically significant degree by holding an intention for that person.  Real-world, clinical studies are methodologically challenging and less conclusive, but what data there are about practices such as distant intercessory prayer suggest that there is enough possibility that something is really happening to warrant continuing exploration.
 
For those of you who are academically inclined, there is an excellent review of a number of meta-analyses by Dean Radin and colleagues in Global Advances in Health and Medicine (2015).  See 10.7453/gahmj.2015.012.suppl
 
So especially in the long isolation of the pandemic, you might consider the idea… the reality… that we are all connected in ways that transcend direct contact.  What would you put on a prayer flag about your “vision or prayer that is at the heart” of what it means to be who you are?  Who is there out there who you love, for whom you may hold an intention of love even at a great distance?  


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Further reflections on resilience in a time of COVID

7/1/2020

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A few weeks ago, I was invited by Diane Atwood to contribute a piece for her blog, Catching Health, as part of a collection of reflections about how people are making out in the time of COVID. Diane is probably best known for her years as the health reporter at WCSH 6, now NEWS CENTER Maine. She also managed marketing and public relations for Mercy Hospital before launching her blog, featuring health and wellness topics, in 2011. You’ll find her work at CatchingHealth.com and in newspapers and magazines throughout Maine.
 
Diane’s introduction:
 
A Challenging Time
 
For 37 years, until he retired in 2015, Dr. Fred Craigie was a full-time faculty member at the Maine-Dartmouth Family Medicine Residency in Augusta. He is a clinical psychologist and taught behavioral health for residents and students and provided behavioral health care to a largely underserved primary care population. Currently, he is a Visiting Associate Professor at the Andrew Weil Center for Integrative Medicine (AWCIM) at the University of Arizona College of Medicine.

Dr. Craigie is passionate about the role that spirituality can play in everyone’s life, but particularly in health care. He teaches and writes extensively about “the healing and life-giving roles of spirituality in health and patient care, in the experience of health care providers, and in the life and culture of healthcare organizations.” You can learn more about his work on his blog Goodness of Heart.

I met Dr. Craigie in 2018 at the 32nd Annual Thomas Nevola MD Symposium on Spirituality and Health at Colby College in Waterville, Maine. He was the symposium chair and invited me to be on a panel about the value of public discourse and the need for many voices. I also attended his presentation on The Inward Work of Civil Discourse, which was about “looking at our own thoughts, feelings and attitudes so we are emotionally and spiritually able to engage in respectful conversations with other people or, for that matter, to think and speak about people we are never likely to meet.”

Oh, my, couldn’t we all benefit from such a presentation at the current moment? I stayed connected with Dr. Craigie after the symposium because I signed up to receive his email reflections, which I look forward to every week. Here’s a recent one:

The things that matter most in our lives are not fantastic or grand. They are moments when we touch one another, when we are there in the most attentive or caring way. This simple and profound intimacy is the love that we all long for.
​

Jack Kornfield

I think the work Dr. Craigie does matters a great deal and am grateful that he agreed to take the time to write about how he has been affected by the pandemic and the challenges it presents. He wrote this from his winter home in Tucson, Arizona where he and his wife are hunkered down until they believe it is safe for them to return to Maine.

Fred’s reflections:

Thanks to Diane for the invitation to contribute to this dialogue about how we make our ways through the pandemic. I am touched and inspired by the other postings.

For me, as for so many people, it has been a challenging and disheartening time. As I write this, there have been close to 300,000 deaths world-wide, over 80,000 of them in the United States. I grieve for the people who have been lost, and for their loved ones, who remain. My heart goes out to the 20 million people who have lost jobs here, many with a very uncertain future. As a semi-retired professional person, I’m making out fairly comfortably, but I worry for all of the people who don’t have the luxury of staying or working at home, and I worry that the pandemic seems destined to further strain the economic inequality that has been growing for many years. I am appalled by what I see as an unconscionable lack of accountability, integrity, and human compassion at the highest level of our government. 

None of this, of course, is within my control. 

I remember, however, the comment of American essayist Rebecca Solnit, speaking about activism, to the effect that even if you don’t profoundly change the world if you “embody what you aspire to… if you live according to your beliefs… you have already succeeded.”

It makes for an interesting exercise. What do I aspire to? What are the beliefs that I would hope to embody? If criticize somebody else for a lack of accountability, integrity, and compassion, how do I express these qualities?

In my teaching and writing, I talk a lot about what is “sacred” for people, and what it means “to live a good life.” What are my answers to such questions, in these extraordinary times?


I don’t have a single, over-arching response, but here are some things I’m doing to try to be faithful to the questions.

I love my wife. I wake up every day with the thought of what might being her joy, and I am blessed that I think she wakes up this way with the same thought for me. 

I do my best to be a grandparent at a distance. With the younger grandchildren, this means being silly together. With older ones, it’s more organized, as with 9-year-old Henry, with whom I am corresponding back and forth, writing a story together, The Great Blorb Revolution! It’s his title, his characters, and our combined narrative, evolving email-by-email.

I write letters to legislators and contribute to electoral campaigns of candidates who look to bring people together, rather than driving them apart. 

I jog. I’m not going to set any land speed records, but at my age, it’s less about split times than nurturing body and soul in one package.

I practice fiddle. Soldier’s Joy. Rights of Man. Moonlight on the Water. Maybe, with a dedicated chunk of practice time, I can take it to the next level. Or maybe not.

I keep up my semi-retirement work, finishing editing on my second book, due in the fall, and teaching online at the Andrew Weil Center for Integrative Medicine. I am learning to ZOOM.
 

I laugh.

I reach out to people in my life with whom I don’t have much regular contact, in a spirit of “How are you doing?” I am gifted that people reach out to me in this way, as well. 

I support local business.

I eat a little too much ice cream and not enough fruits and vegetables. My wife, however, reminds me that guilt probably harms one’s health more than the moderate indulgence of many of the things we feel guilty about.

I spend a little time on hobbies. Taking apart, cleaning and trying to reassemble an 1870s clock movement has to help prevent Alzheimer’s, right?

I read. At the moment, it’s Erik Larson’s The Splendid and the Vile, the story of Winston Churchill’s forthright, uplifting moral leadership during the Battle of Britain.

I sometimes kick back and do nothing productive, and I remind myself that this is OK.

I practice gratefulness, looking for the small gifts and blessings, taking to heart the observation of my friend, Dr. Robert Emmons, that “In times of trial and tribulation, gratitude becomes our spiritual lifeline.”
​

There. That’s some of what I do. May you who are reading this be safe and well, and may we together come out of this with an even deeper appreciation for being, for each other, the people that we aspire to be.

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Spirituality, resilience and COVID

4/5/2020

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As usual, David Brooks’ column in the Times last week is well worth reading.  It is “Mental Health in the Age of the Coronavirus: The Struggle between Fear and Comfort.”  See https://www.nytimes.com/2020/04/02/opinion/mental-health-coronavirus.html.  He comments on both the heartening trend for a deeply partisan America to come together in acts of compassion and generosity, and the disturbing likelihood that social isolation breeds greater anger, substance abuse, and domestic violence.  He shares some thoughts about what I call “resilience,” and invites readers to send in descriptions of their own psychological health and what they do to support it.
 
In the last couple of weeks, I’ve had the privilege of doing some online teaching with upper-level undergraduates and graduate students about just this subject; mental health in the COVID era.  I’ve had some really rich dialogues with students about the challenges that they’re facing… health, isolation, educational and career disruptions… and how they have been addressing them. 
 
In the spirit of Brooks’ solicitation of ideas about psychological health (I’m too wordy to send in his form), I thought I’d describe some of my thoughts, informed in many cases by students’ wisdom, and grounded in my long-time particular interest in the confluence of spirituality, mental health and well-being.
​
 
  1. Remember who you are. 
 
It is absolutely normal to have a range of feelings in these hard times… anger, fear, sadness, boredom, agitation.  It’s important to recognize and face such feelings, as long as you don’t let them run the show.  Remember what really matters in your life:
 
  • Who are you?
  • What is sacred for you?  What do you cherish?
  • What kind of person do you aim to be?  What are the values and qualities that you’d want to be expressed in your life?
 
Practice living according to your values even if you have uncomfortable thoughts, feelings or emotions.  If you value kindness, be kind.  If you value compassion, be compassionate.  If you value creativity, be creative.  Even if you are emotionally uncomfortable, there is power and resilience in embodying what you believe.

    2. 
Find sacred space. 

Many people find peace and comfort in the natural world.  Here in Tucson in the first half of April, there is a stunning profusion of blooming flowers and sequentially-blossoming cactus, against the backdrop of majestic canyons and peaks.  Your landscape might be very different, but is there not something in your world that’s beautiful in its unique way… a city park, a neighbor’s garden, a tree leafing out in the spring?
 
Even indoors, you can create your own sacred space.  Set up a particular place with some personally-meaningful objects… a spiritual symbol, a picture of people you love, a card with brief words to remember… and pause there to affirm and experience the spirit that it fosters.

    3. 
Cultivate relationships. 

A number of the students commented that they had rekindled relationships with friends and family.  It is a Godsend of our point in history that we have so many platforms on which to interact with people, visually, in real time.  My experience, like that of the students, is that I have reached out to quite a few people in my life who are dear to me but with whom I don’t normally have much contact, and been gifted with many people reaching out to me in the same way.  One of my hopes for this crisis is that the steady state to which we will eventually come will witness greater depth and valuing of all of the relationships we have with people we love.

     4.  
Be grateful. 

Gratitude helps us to attune to the blessings and possibilities of life.  In easy times, gratefulness practices (like the now-iconic daily gratitude log) give us heightened vision to see the gifts that are all around.  In hard times, gratefulness helps to transform fear and despair with the energy of hope.  Even in hard times, what are the blessings and possibilities that are close at hand?  You are alive.  You are loved.  You have the ability to love, and the ability to make all manner of choices in how you are going to react to the circumstances that come to you.
 
As a so-far safe and comfortable person, I do need to say that I recognize the profound suffering of so many people in this crisis.  People who can’t avoid crowded living conditions.  Public servants, who are out there day after day.  Minority communities, such as some remote Navajo/Dine' people here in Arizona who lack the infrastructure to follow recommended health practices.  But the stories that I’ve heard from so many people who have suffered more than I affirm the idea that being able to see some light in the midst of darkness can be sustaining and liberating.

     5.  
And, follow spiritual practices that are meaningful for you. 
​
If you are part of a religious or spiritual community, stay involved.  Most spiritual communities that have regular gatherings for study or worship together seem to stream these activities online.  Maybe, in fact, there is a community out there that you have wanted to check out, and now have the opportunity to do so.
 
Engage calming practices.  Meditation, prayer, stillness… help to engender a peaceful spirit, help to focus on the present moment, and often bring us into relationship with God, or an over-arching Presence or Spirit.
 
Read and study.  Sacred literature in your tradition, or spiritually-uplifting material from authors you admire.  Our students consistently said that they had substantially reduced screen time and the compulsive checking on the ever-updated news cycle, in favor of spending time in more intentional ways.  What you focus on grows, right?
 
Walk a labyrinth.  As you may know, I have a particular interest in the labyrinth, which has been a resource and discipline for spiritual wisdom and growth for over 4000 years.  You can find labyrinths near you at www.labyrinthlocator.com.   They are widely available, but typically not so busy that you won’t be able to maintain appropriate social distance, assuming that your community allows you to go out.
 
Those are some thoughts for today.  I’d encourage you to comment and share your own ideas below or, perhaps, you can respond to David Brooks!  I wish you the best to be safe, be well, and perhaps find these extraordinary circumstances as an opportunity for a fresh perspective on what it is in your life that you hold most dear.
 
Blessings,
 
Fred

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Miracles, Part IV

4/22/2019

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​Although the world is full of suffering, it is also full of the overcoming of it.
 
Helen Keller
 
The story of the man being kind to his challenged wife introduces a vital element in the idea of miracles.  Thinking of miracles as “objects of wonder,” calling forth “awe and admiration,” making you smile… does not presume a rosy and gleeful understanding of life.
 
To the contrary.  Life entails suffering, and it is perhaps in the setting of suffering that the ability to pause and behold at least the shadow of the miracle can be most life-giving.
 
As we move toward the end of the second decade of this century, the cohort of women and men who survived the Holocaust is dwindling, but their powerful stories remain.  Edith Herz was born in 1926 to a comfortable Jewish family in Germany.  They lived in Worms, which had been a center of Jewish culture for hundreds of years.  Her parents operated a small and successful business, and their extended family enjoyed the same opportunities of community life, travel and spiritual practice as other Europeans of the time. 
 
With the rise of the Nazi movement, this began to change.  The coordinated attacks on the Jewish community of Kristallnacht… the Night of Shattered Glass in November, 1938… witnessed the desecration of over a thousand synagogues, the destruction of several thousand Jewish businesses, and the internment of 30,000 Jews.  Edith’s father, a decorated German veteran of the Great War, her mother and Edith were transported to Thereseinstadt, which was a labor camp and holding area for Jews who were later moved to death camps to the east.  Edith’s father died there, and in the following months, Edith and her mother were sent to Birkenau/Auschwitz, where it is estimated that over a million people perished, and subsequently to Stutthof concentration camp, from which they were liberated by the Russian army in January, 1945.  In addition to Edith’s father, sixteen uncles, aunts and cousins had been killed.
 
Edith uses the word, “miracle,” to describe a number of remarkable events that allowed her and her mother to survive.  With dozens of other women, they are herded into the gas chamber and it malfunctions.  She is called before Josef Mengele and he waves her to the right, to labor, rather than to the left, to death.  A German officer on Christmas break offers her a morsel of food.
 
More broadly, she credits her survival to her partnership with a remarkable mother and to their shared spirit of “hope” and “optimism.”  “What good would it do,” she asks, “to whine and cry?  None.  Those who did, perished.”  She and her mother maintained a sacred commitment to be together, supporting one another in the inevitable times when one of them felt like giving up.
 
The world is full of suffering and of the overcoming of it.  Is this not a miracle?
 
Reflection

  • Think of a time when you have made your way past suffering.  How did this happen?  Do you see some miracle, some object of wonder?
  • Notice how you address times of challenge or disappointment in the coming week.  What, indeed, would the miracle look like… how would you want to be addressing times of challenge or disappointment?
 
Author
 
Helen Keller (1880-1968) is surely legendary in her overcoming the suffering of deafness and blindness with the support of her teacher, Anne Sullivan.  Appropriate to our subject, the theatrical and film rendition of the relationship of Sullivan with Keller was called “The Miracle Worker.”
 
Keller graduated from Radcliffe College in 1904, the first deaf/blind person to earn a bachelor’s degree.  Her adult life consisted of advocacy for causes related to disabilities and widespread political activity, helping to found the American Civil Liberties Union and speaking on behalf of women’s suffrage, socialist causes and international peacemaking.
 
The quotation comes from Keller’s 1903 book, Optimism.  Readers might appreciate the larger context:
 
"I know what evil is. Once or twice I have wrestled with it, and for a time felt its chilling touch on my life; so I speak with knowledge when I say that evil is of no consequence, except as a sort of mental gymnastic. For the very reason that I have come in contact with it, I am more truly an optimist. I can say with conviction that the struggle which evil necessitates is one of the greatest blessings. It makes us strong, patient, helpful men and women. It lets us into the soul of things and teaches us that although the world is full of suffering, it is full also of the overcoming of it. My optimism, then, does not rest on the absence of evil, but on a glad belief in the preponderance of good and a willing effort always to cooperate with the good, that it may prevail. I try to increase the power God has given me to see the best in everything and everyone, and make that Best a part of my life. The world is sown with good; but unless I turn my glad thoughts into practical living and till my own field, I cannot reap a kernel of the good."
 
Edith Pagelson (b. 1926) eventually came to America and has been blessed in relationships with two husbands who have passed on.  She aims to strike a balance between remembering and speaking about the Holocaust, and living a full current life.  Her story, written in collaboration with my colleague and friend Ronnie Weston, is available in Against All Odds: A Miracle of Holocaust Survival (Rockland, Maine: Maine Authors Publishing, 2012).
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Miracles, Part III

3/3/2019

1 Comment

 
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The further I wake into this life, the more I realize that Love is everywhere and the extraordinary is waiting quietly beneath the skin of all that is ordinary. Light is in both the broken bottle and the diamond, and music is in both the flowing violin and the water dripping from the drainage pipe. Yes, Love is under the porch as well as on the top of the mountain, and joy is both in the front row and in the bleachers, if we are willing to be where we are.
 
Mark Nepo, The Book of Awakening
 
It’s always a delight to see family greetings in airports.  When I travel, or when I’m waiting for arriving visitors, I pause to watch the little celebrations.  Couples come back together.  Little children run to grandparents, who toss them in the air.  Families hold banners; “Welcome home, Trevor and Kate!” 
 
We can certainly appreciate miracles… objects of wonder… in the physical world.  People flying to the moon, doors that open and close, crocuses popping through the snow in the spring.  But isn’t it the greatest miracle that you are loved?  And isn’t it the greatest miracle that you can love?
 
Love is everywhere.
 
Love is in the sentinel events of your life.  The birth of a child.  Marriage.  The mixture of grief and celebration at the passing of someone who has been dear to you.    
 
Love is also in the countless joys of daily life.  An elderly couple walks hand in hand.  A kindergarten teacher gets down on the level of a little girl and really listens.   A golden retriever wags his whole body when his owner comes down the stairs in the morning, and his owner is just as enthralled to see him. 
 
In working with many people around family relationships over the years, I’ve commented that it is easy to love somebody when they are cheerful and engaging.  The real challenge is how not to lose sight of love when someone is not.
 
I saw a man who had been married for many years to a woman who had significant, episodic emotional difficulties.  She could be sweet one day and caustic and isolated the next.  “It’s not easy,” he said, “but I try to be kind when she’s like that.  I know her behavior isn’t who she really is, and I know that when she gets upset, kindness will usually help her to feel a little more peaceful.  Even in the ugliness of life,” he continued, “you can’t let that keep you from the joy and the beauty.”
 
Love, the object of wonder.  The miracle.
 
Reflection
 
  • Think about a time when you have been loved… a time, perhaps, when you were not especially easy to love.  Do you see the miracle?
  • Open your heart to continuing ways, and to new ways, that you can express the miracle of love in the coming week.
 
Author
 
Mark Nepo (b. 1951) is a poet and philosopher, the author of over a dozen books and audiotapes, including the acclaimed collection of daily reflections, The Book of Awakening (Conari, 2011), from which the quotation comes.  A survivor of cancer in his thirties, Nepo highlights the transformational journey toward full, present and joyful living, even in the presence of suffering. 


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