Category: Writing A Book-ish

Copping Out-ish

It was bound to happen.

I would eventually leave it too late to write a thoughtful post.

Or the greater truth is that I might be burned out, distracted, or overwhelmed.

No matter.

Whatever the reason, I went traipsing around the Internet for a solution to my “postlessness”
and found this. This is my solution for today.

55 Cool and Interesting Websites to Kill Time

It is so cool and so interesting that, if you’ll excuse me, I’m heading over there now.

My Internet neighborhood is much too small anyway.

Time to branch out.

Later.

BTW It is Juneteenth today. I hope to have enough material to write about it next year.

A Healing Path

A young lady named Nicole recently asked me a simple question in an online forum I belong to: “What is a healing path?

That question gave me pause. I hadn’t heard the question put so simply before. So this is what I told her.

“My healing path started in earnest when I hit the proverbial brick wall. Everything I believed about my mother’s “love” for me was shattered when she went to bat for my husband in the wake of our divorce.

I went through what is best described as a “dark night of the soul” as I tried to make sense of her betrayal. I was in a very dark place for many years. I was living in an emotional and spiritual shitestorm.

My personal life was a mess. Recently released from my job contract. A new baby was on the way. Marriage breaking down. Mother’s defection.

I sought out a therapist at that time because I simply had no one else to turn to. I could not make rational sense of the many mistakes I had made and was making. I tried to drink away the pain. That stopped working long before I finally quit drinking for good.

My mother’s explanation for my acting out was that I was – possibly – a ” bad seed.” She skilfully omitted the neglect and abuse I experienced in my childhood in her summation of me. The bad things in our childhood were never discussed. It enraged her on the occasions when I tried to bring it up.

My next steps toward healing were because I desperately needed to protect my son. I had previously sought out counselors from time to time before but with the presence of my son on the planet, I was incentivized. There was nothing easy about making the choice to heal and get healthy. Nothing.

When I first started to confront my past and upbringing, everything got progressively worse before it got better. I clung to the belief that life would eventually change and improve. It took a lot of sheer faith to just keep going.

I was driven by my love for my son and the need to create a better, saner life for him. That was the carrot that kept me going. I recognized in those awful early days of my infant son’s life that if I went under, he would go under, too. It was sometime around then that I took full responsibility for my life.

Today I am comfortably estranged from my family of origin. They were not helpful to me and completely devoted to my mother and her narrative.

I realized the decision to create my own life and work through my pain was up to me and me alone. That totally sucked. But it has finally paid off in a certain peace of mind and internal calm that greets me every morning. I stopped drinking almost 23 years ago after several failed earlier attempts.

I am in no way suggesting that my healing path is or should be everyone’s path. But here are some questions to ask yourself to light a fire under the choice to embark on a healing path.

Am I happy with myself and where I am in my life? If not, why not? What’s in the way or holding me back from being happy? Are there patterns I can identify in myself that keep me unhappy? Am I comfortable in my own skin? This is hardly a comprehensive answer.

This is only an anecdote about one person’s path. You know you are on a healing path when you start acting every day in your own interests. Your thoughts, feelings, and behaviors are progressively more in alignment with your core beliefs, wishes, desires, and goals. When this is happening, you know you are moving closer to yourself which is the ultimate goal of healing.

I don’t know if this answer is at all helpful. It is a profoundly personal journey. But good on you for asking the question. Ask others. Keep seeking. Failure is a given only when we stop moving forward.

Being confused about where you are heading on a healing path is not failure. Confusion is a legitimate place and an integral part of transitioning to a healthier way of living.

Good luck to you and I hope you do pick the healing path. Not everyone does. It requires a considerable amount of emotional heavy lifting and for quite a long time.

You may one day discover the healthier you are, the better role model and inspiration you can be for others in the world you live in. You can be a better friend, a better parent, and a better champion of your own good self. In short, a better human being. I hope this was of some use to you, Nicole, and wish you well if you elect to set out on your own healing path. It is so worth it.” 

Crabbing About Cursive

I subscribe to very few websites. Many are fitness or health-related. Others are full of inspiring quotes from towering historical figures. And this one.

WordGenius. https://www.wordgenius.com/

I am a subscriber because words are its subject matter and I love words. This website manages to push out a new word every day that I have never heard of before.

I apologize if that sounds arrogant. I know a lot of words. But it turns out I don’t know every word, as WordGenius makes abundantly clear with its daily delivery to my Inbox.

It is nice to find myself regularly surprised by what I don’t know (only about words and writing, of course. There is tons I don’t know about nuclear physics or astral projection.)

An article on Cursive Writing showed up in my inbox along with the regular Word of the Day post (Deedy for those who might be interested. Fittingly it means someone who gets a lot of deeds done. Who knew?)

I am among those who grieve the denouement of handwriting. It has become a lost art. Like many lost arts (tatting, common decency, moonshining, manners), we are collectively poorer.

I had a real-life lesson in abandoning cursive. I attended a post-graduate program some years back at uni. I decided to take notes only on my computer. Big mistake. Handwriting experts agree that the mind better learns when what you hear is written down. Something about the positive connection between hearing and writing.

My daughter once came to me as a very little girl and asked me if I would teach her what I was doing: “Can you show me how to do that curly writing?” I know she learned cursive as she was at the tail-end of a generation that learned it but now seems to have abandoned it.

So I will let the WordGenius folks make the argument for cursive and the importance of keeping handwriting alive. It is both creative endeavor and an enhancement of learning. Remember the importance of handwriting analysis to identify and formulate conclusions about the character of the writer.

While cursive is now out of fashion, I put my faith in the pendulum swinging back to a place where it is valued and widely used again.

I will reverse the order of the article to share WordGenius‘ take on the importance of handwriting. The more interested and ambitious readers can read to the end to learn about the history of cursive writing. More there than I ever knew about.

Does Anyone Still Use Cursive?

  • Cursive writing has been used less and less since the 1980s. Quite simply, since computers became the new big thing, people don’t write as much by hand. Grade schools teach computer skills instead of penmanship. So is there still a use for cursive? Absolutely! Handwriting helps us remember. This goes for all handwriting, not just cursive. The Wall Street Journal says that actively forming letters with pen and paper reinforces language concepts and helps the brain remember. It’s a lot more effective than just reading and memorizing, especially for kids. That’s why so many teachers stress taking notes by hand — they know that many students who put pen to paper tend to remember concepts better. And no matter how many digital devices you have, you’ll need to use writing utensils at some point. Maybe you need to scribble a note or mark something in a book. Maybe your phone died, and you can’t type an appointment into your calendar. Technology is good, but it’s not omnipotent. Instead of sloppy chicken-scratch, take some pride in your penmanship. Start reviving the lost art of cursive today.

Gratuitous Information for word nerds “About the History of Cursive” from the good people at WordGenius.com

As with many thousands-of-years-old practices, cursive writing was more of a collective effort than something we can attribute to one person. It goes as far back as the Roman Empire, after written language first developed.

Square capitals were used on inscriptions on buildings and monuments (some of which are still standing), but cursive (or script) was used for daily writing. Scripts and styles have changed since the fifth century. In the eighth century, monks created the Carolingian script — the earliest form of standardized cursive that others built upon. This script evolved during medieval times, and its twists and curls became harder to read before the Renaissance revived the Carolingian way.

The earliest form of cursive you probably recognize is called Copperplate. Calligrapher Timothy Matlack penned Thomas Jefferson’s words on the original copy of the Declaration of Independence using the Copperplate script. While beautiful, this fancy calligraphy just wasn’t practical for everyday writing.

A teacher named Platt Rogers Spencer developed a new form of penmanship around the mid-1800s. He came up with the name “chirythmography,” from the Greek words for “timed handwriting.” He used a metronome for writers to keep pace with his elliptical letters, which he claimed were inspired by nature.

The “Spencerian” method was taught in schools for the latter half of the 19th century. Quick-working clerks and telegraph operators translating Morse code into script found the Spencer cursive still too time-consuming.

Next up: Austin Palmer and the Palmer Method. His idea was to make cursive writing more practical and lose the fancy flourishes from the Renaissance days. This form of script was very popular in the early 20th century and can probably be seen in old letters from your great and great-great-grandparents.

Penmanship started to become big business. It was taught in grade schools, and adults entering the business world got a leg up if they completed a course in a penmanship school. The Zanerian College of Penmanship became the Zaner-Bloser Company, selling handwriting instruction material to schools.

(Fun fact: Still around today, Zaner-Bloser, Inc., publishes Highlights for Children magazine.)The Zaner-Bloser cursive and the later D’Nealian cursive are the simple scripts that were taught in grade school for the second half of the 20th century.

Complificated

I witnessed the dawning of the internet and the era of new technology. I distinctly remember technology’s promise of simplification. 

We would work in paperless offices, we were told. Boring and tedious office jobs would disappear. Life would be generally much better and more efficient.

Balderdash.

Technology mostly seems to have complicated things in my life. Two-step authentication. Type in this code. Password after password after password. Scrambling to figure out which phone is ringing when I am sitting in a restaurant with friends. Unwelcome texts or imploring messages that require my immediate attention at any time of the night or day.

Beware of those who tell you that what they are selling will “simplify your life.” Often so-called “simple solutions” turn out to be more trouble than they are worth. They’re “complificated.”

I am wary of inflated promises generally. For two main reasons. One is that there are lots of promises out there usually made by someone who is trying to sell you something. 

The salesperson’s job is to convince you their service/product/subscription/pet rock is as necessary and desirable as air and water. The really good salespeople and ad agencies somehow actually do. I have a number of “What was I thinking ?” items in my household.

The second reason is that promises must be backed up by performance. Whatever promises are attached to any item, you will really only experience and appreciate its’ true value after you have owned and used it for a while. In my world, the proof is in the pudding.

I have countless examples of items in my life that didn’t perform “exactly as advertised.” I bet you do, too.

I am a faithful subscriber to Consumer Reports and appreciate they have been largely untouched by scandal or assaults on their reputation. I visit them frequently when a large purchase is on the horizon. They have no skin in the game when it comes to commission or salary. That, in itself, makes them trustworthy advisors.

I get that rapidly changing technology is a fact of life and a “new normal” for young people. And I am beyond impressed by the advances made in technology that allows us to do what we do in our personal lives.

I have a friend who still uses a flip phone. Limited to be sure but it is cheap and does everything he wants it to do. I am not happy paying a bunch more money for a new phone that “increases my user experience” by a few extra pixels in my iPhone. I can’t wade through the pictures I already have. 

These days I employ a certain caution and skepticism in my own life about “newer technology.” I spend time trying to reason out how significantly better the newest version of a technology is going to make to my life. 

The paperless office turned out to be a myth. I use scads of paper still. And still intend to. As AI and other “new technologies” appear on the scene with all the doom saying and fears about the future impact, I am very much in “wait and see” mode. 

No doubt Google and Facebook and other technologies know more than I would like about my shopping habits and my financial preferences. I may eat my words if I suffer serious consequences up the road.

But in order to keep my life simple and my peace of mind intact, I am taking the Teddy Kennedy approach: “I will drive off that bridge when I get to it.”

The Unknown

Every day is basically an unknown. I remember periods in my life when it seemed things would always be the same. But it turned out they weren’t.

I think about the leap of faith it takes to jump out of bed each morning and face the day. We really don’t ever know what is coming.

I am presently grieving over the fate of a beautiful young black single mother not too far from where I presently live. She was killed in cold blood by an irate neighbor. A white lady if that matters. Guess it does around these parts of the American South.

The single mother’s kids had been playing outside and drifted onto the white lady’s lawn. The white lady threw a roller skate at one of the kids. She scooped up another kid’s iPad that was laying on the grass. Naturally, the kid ran to his mother for help.

When the beautiful black mother went to the white lady’s house to retrieve her son’s iPad, the white lady fired four shots through her unopened door. The white lady then claimed “self-defense.” Didn’t seem to matter that the white lady was the one that was aggressive to the black lady’s kids. The white lady told the 9-1-1 dispatcher that she “felt threatened” by her neighbor’s presence at the front door.

I listened to an interview yesterday with Christian Cooper, the black birdwatcher who in NYC in 2020 was falsely accused of harassment by Amy Cooper, (no relation) a white woman who refused to leash her dog in an on-leash section of Central Park. Cooper calmly recorded on his phone the white woman’s hysterical phone call to police complaining “a black man was threatening her and her dog.” The video recording told the tale. The white woman lost her job, was roundly condemned, and faded into infamy.

Christian Cooper wrote a book on birdwatching and just landed a gig as host of a National Geographic birdwatching show. Finally, at least one story of a white person and a black person’s confrontation ended well. For Christian Cooper at least.

I don’t get racism. Not saying I have plenty of best black friends. Not saying I can comfortably put myself in the shoes of a black person’s day-to-day reality in North America.

It’s just that I know and have met too many wonderful people of all races and nationalities. Standards of decency for humans are pretty much the same around the world no matter what color their skin is. Character, class, and manners count more in any individual than their race.

So my heart is heavy and grieving for that beautiful young black woman’s family. I don’t know how her kids will make sense of their mother’s loss as they grow up. No more than their bereaved grandmother can make sense of the loss of a beautiful daughter.

And then there is the unknown of how justice will play out in this case, as if that even matters to those most intimately affected. This is the land of Trayvon Martin, a skinny 15-year-old black kid who was shot dead for just walking around his neighborhood. His murderer got off scot-free based on the infamous “Stand Your Ground” laws that exist in Florida.

And so it may well be for this murderer – already charged with the lesser violation of manslaughter. It is an unknown almost too terrible to contemplate. That she might walk free.

Whichever way it goes for the hate-filled woman who coldly and viciously took this young woman’s life, it won’t matter to her kids. All they’ll know is facing the unknown every morning of waking up for the rest of their lives without their mother.

Rocking Nothing

Today I am thinking about nothing.

Nothing in particular. What doing nothing means. What having nothing means.

Generally, people seem to be very scared of nothing. The requirement to be doing something all the time is especially tyrannical in the middle of our lives. It can take a concentrated effort to slow down and do nothing. Some people simply can’t handle it. Not comfortably at any rate.

We are all aware of how limited our time is on Earth. That can make us anxious about “filling” every minute of every day. That is not to be confused with living “fully” each day. Our anxiety can grow as the years begin to speed up, quickly at first, and soon they start to fly by.

Joni Mitchell’s advice to a young man in her song The Circle Game captures this: “And they tell him, Take your time, It won’t be long now before you drag your feet to slow that circle down.”

Death is perceived as the greatest nothingness of all. Unless we believe in reincarnation, we may believe only darkness and oblivion await us after death. I am not so sure of that anymore. The Universe is far too complex and convoluted to let us off that easy. But, I don’t really know. No one does.

So in light of life’s inevitable endpoint, and if we’re lucky, we start to slow down. After years of frenetic dedication to raising kids and making a living and staying in the mainstream of life, I stopped. One day, I found myself looking out my window at a pleasant scene whilst doing absolutely nothing. I wasn’t thinking about anything in particular. I was just sitting.

You can’t imagine how foreign and far-fetched that scenario was for a Type A personality like me. I was steeped in the virtues of the Protestant work ethic. If you were too, you may get how odd and slightly terrifying doing nothing is.

This is the paradox of the human condition. We set goals early in our lives for the things we want to have and accomplish in our lives. Many of us metaphorically break our necks to get what we want.

But we rarely sit down and take a hard look at what we really want and need. Then we make our lives more difficult and less peaceful by comparing ourselves to our peers. If we don’t have what they have, we can get scared and sad. When we ignore the wisdom of stopping to smell the flowers, the memories of our life might be but a blur.

Stopping to smell the flowers can be the very place where we find joy and feed our sense of wonder. Only by stopping can we marinate our souls and senses in the wonder of what is all around us. We often fail to recognize that the little things are really the big things in life. I blinked and my children were adults. They will never be little again and it makes my heart hurt. I missed out on many small and tender and precious moments with them in my drive to survive and succeed.

These days I can be perfectly happy doing nothing. That is progress for me. I grab the chance to do absolutely nothing whenever I can get it. It is not that I dislike being busy or having something valuable to occupy my time. I actually quite like being busy. But these days, it is more of a choice. When life gets too crazy, it is up to me to slow it down.

It has become necessary to consider what avocations make me happy. Beyond the necessary mundanities of day-to-day life, I mean. There are only a few. They could be considered silly and frivolous pursuits but they are mine. I no longer need to justify them or justify my existence.

I have a friend who is a genius at this. He walks in the world at his own pace and is directed by his own interests. He goes on long daily walks just to exercise. He has been known to sit for a couple of hours on a park bench and just watch what is going on in the world and the people around him. I have always admired and envied him for that capability.

So I’m thinking I’ll sit awhile today and just watch the world go by. With no lives on the line, or mandatory issues that require my attention, I’m free to do that. It likely isn’t what the expression carpe diem was supposed to mean. But instead of “seizing the day,” I’m just gonna sidle up to it with a cup of hot tea and watch it amble by.

Self-Regulation

If anyone detects a throughline in my posts lately, you are right. I am a little obsessed about the ups and downs of my emotions. No, I am not manic-depressive. I am, however, something of a stress case.

I am stressed by the complexities of the household move we are making. And, in good old hunker down and get ‘er done fashion, I’m trying to act as if it is not bothering me one bit. But it is bothering me. Quite a bit.

Yesterday a lady from whom I had purchased two armchairs on Facebook Marketplace leaned on me rather imperiously to come and collect them. I have 73 things on my plate at the minute. Picking up her chairs was somewhere around 65 on my priority list. Why couldn’t she ease off and understand the stress I am under?

Turns out she was under some stress, too. Imagine? They were packing up to leave the following day on an extended trip. She had just had two disks inserted into her spine. As I watched her walking upright around her living room, I was impressed and amazed but also embarrassed by my childish reaction to her insistence that I pick up what I bought.

I thumbed through my mental Rolodex (remember those?) and the common denominator in this type of uncomfortable situation was me. Something to do with growing up without boundaries sometimes makes it very difficult to impose them on myself.

I had grown up accustomed to having inappropriate responsibility heaped upon me without oversight or intervention by my parents. There were very few rules in our household when I was growing up. Beyond those where we worked to keep up appearances of normality and hide the addictions and violence between the parents going on behind closed doors.

In a worldly and sophisticated city like Paris or London, our family might have been perceived as Bohemian. Being a Bohemian had a certain artistic cachet in a big city. In a small conservative town, it was simply seen as neglect.

I ached when most of my friends were called home to supper or nervously checked their Timexes as it inched closer to the time they had been told to be home. Me and my two sisters rarely had to be home at a specific time for anything, let alone sit-down meals.

There was no set bedtime on any night – even school nights – throughout my childhood. We stayed up with and partied and socialized as long as the adults did. The line between freedom and neglect was very thin in the household I grew up in.

As I grew older, my lack of internalized boundaries often showed up in a wide and rapid range of my felt emotions. An old boyfriend often used to say: “Margot, you’re “too.” What I thought was charming and coquettish behavior, others likely perceived as bad-mannered and precocious. I longed to be calm and cool like many of my other girlfriends. I had no idea how to do that.

With time, it got better and easier to settle myself down in stressful situations and hold my tongue and not say something I would invariably come to regret. I eventually taught myself strong and consistent boundaries. Most of the time, the dyke holds.

But I was already tired and overwhelmed and rundown by the time this lady started demanding something of me that mostly just felt like “one more thing.” I was still smarting over the paint-ruined carpet of the day before and had just had an inane conversation with the security system installation representative. I was beat. I am beat.

What is different now from days gone by is recognizing me in all of my “bitchy, over-the-top, I’ve had enough and need to lie down” glory. What followed my little phone outburst of sarcasm and displeasure with the lady I had been rude to were copious declarations of mea culpa. That’s progress, I guess.

Tomorrow – aside from the things I must do – will be about attacking that absurd and overburdened “to-do” list and cutting it down to a manageable size. It is okay to take time and let weeks, even months pass before we settle into our new digs. As is often said in healing circles, I’m “setting boundaries.”

I’ll be setting boundaries both with myself and with the unrealistic expectations I created for myself. Easing up on myself and letting go of some of the irritants somebody else can take care of.

Now there you go. I feel better already.

Stuff

Days of reckoning. We are moving into a new house and the dreaded stuff sort has begun. What to take – and why. What to leave behind – and why. What to let go of – forever. What does that even mean?

The stuff will either be useful or not. Beautiful or not. Sentimental enough to be worth keeping – or not. I am both excited and daunted by the prospect.

Stuff has been something of a creative and escapist pastime of mine. I have lived a life filled at various times with either lack or abundance. I have learned important lessons from both states. Abundance has been nice and it is extremely comforting not to have to worry about where the next infusion of money is coming from or what bills have to be paid this month.

Lack taught me much, too. I learned how little I really needed to survive materially. Once the basics of food, shelter, and clothing are covered, almost anything else is gravy. There were days when I accepted charity from the church. I learned humility and grace from those experiences.

I also learned about money in a more fervent way than I might have had I not been driven by want.

I am fascinated by humans’ ingenuity in the realm of invention, innovation, creation of beauty, and practicality.

Perhaps oddly, soft furnishings come to mind, for example. There are so many different textures and colors and patterns to choose from. Knitted or woven shawls were a standard part of a woman’s daily costume for centuries. Women gained both social and practical satisfaction by joining together in quilting bees.

The appearance of dish towels, for example, would have emerged from the practical necessity of housewives and servants in days gone by to get the washing up done in a timely manner after meals. A fascination with the practical uses of fabric emerged in concert with the general use of “soft furnishings” as decorative additions to living spaces. Quilts, afghans, comforters, cozies, foot warmers, and for a time, the ubiquitous doily that adorned every piece of wooden furniture. The product of some woman’s effort and talent in crochet or tatting.

There has long been self-expression in stuff, whether it is homemade goods, fashion, home decoration or jewellery. It is interesting to contemplate how “taste” or “personal fashion preferences” emerge. As a child, I used to pore through the Sears’ catalog and dream about all the stuff I would acquire when I was a grownup.

I remember a particular fixation with a pretty red dress with white dots and a red underslip. It had a modified type of small Dutch red ruffle at the neckline and ties that pulled the dress in tight in the back. It had pretty little transparent red short sleeves. I thought it was the prettiest dress I had ever seen in my life.

I wonder what I would think if I saw that dress now. I might be embarrassed at how quaint and dated it looked.

So as I am facing the stuff I’ve collected over a lifetime that needs to be faced in order to transition from this life to a new life, I feel the familiar pull of sentimentality for some objects. Faux practicality for others (I may be able to use that someday). Or the penny-pinchers decluttering dilemma (I paid a lot of money for that!!)

As I am about to face the hoard, I am forced to admit that stuff was at one time more important to me than people. Easier to acquire and oddly harder to let go of than some acquaintances. Stuff doesn’t push back. Not deliberately at any rate.

So wish me luck, dear readers, and a following sea. I am aware now that the people going through this process are actually more important than any of the stuff we bring into our new situation.

Today already I smashed two out of a matching set of four coffee cups. Our painter – with copious, if ineffectual, apologies – spilled about a cup of dark blue paint on our light brown carpet, destroying it.

There was a time when I would have lost it over the carelessness of the painter and my own clumsiness for breaking the cups. I admit I am much better at taking them in stride. I think I am also growing much more practical. We had too many cups and I can now switch out the flooring to the waterproof laminate I wanted to install anyway.

Aim For Fulfillment

My life has been focused on healing and transformation. I have worked to turn a dealt hand of lemons into lemonade. When I stumble across advice that sums up what I believe, I want to share it. This was written and published by a psychiatrist in The Washington Post. I love the distinction he makes between happiness and fulfillment.

Happiness is fleeting. Aim for fulfillment. It can be achieved when you accept who you are, make the most of what you have, and are optimistic about the future – Advice by Gregory Scott Brown, a psychiatrist, mental health writer, and author of “The Self-Healing Mind: An Essential Five-Step Practice for Overcoming Anxiety and Depression, and Revitalizing Your Life.”

I recently met with a patient, a man in his late 40s with a soft smile. Minutes into our first session, I learned that his biggest fear was that decades later, he would look back and realize that he had spent his entire life — as he put it — “being sad.”

“What are you hoping to get from our time together?” I asked. “I just want to be happy,” he responded.

As a psychiatrist, I think about happiness and how to achieve it. And thousands of conversations with patients who are chasing happiness have taught me that it can be a distraction from what’s really necessary for a better life — fulfillment.

Happiness is fleeting

Patients often come to see me when they are unhappy with their work or personal life. Many see a period of time in their life, such as the day they got married or when they graduated from college, as their template for happiness.

“If I could just feel that way again, I would be happy,” they tell me.

The problem with this approach is that happiness is an emotion, not a state of being. Emotions such as happiness and sadness aren’t supposed to last. They come and go.

Seeking happiness as the ultimate goal is like running after a moving target. And we may feel even more depressed or anxious because we are setting unrealistic expectations about what is achievable.

Fulfillment is a state of being

Unlike happiness, fulfillment is a state of being. It is achieved when you accept who you are, make the most of what you have, and are optimistic about the future.

I learned this lesson as a psychiatry resident almost 10 years ago. As I witnessed patients die, I noticed that despite age or diagnosis, some seemed to be more at peace than others. I wanted to understand how some people in their final weeks could still be okay.

Fulfillment seemed to be the answer. Patients who were fulfilled could reflect fondly on their life and relationships, have gratitude (sometimes that just meant being grateful for having a few hours without physical pain) and remain optimistic (in some cases, in the promise of an afterlife).

Now, I often ask my patients to “imagine life better” and describe what their fulfilled life might look like. Usually, they realize that it’s a life that is attainable.

One of my patients, a woman in her late 50s, came to see me after going through a difficult divorce. Eventually, she found fulfillment — even amid a difficult transition — by focusing on what she was grateful for, such as her three adult children. She took up new hobbies and rekindled old friendships, which gave her hope for the future.

You, too, can begin to cultivate your life in a way that draws you closer to fulfillment, with a few changes.

Don’t overreact to highs or lows

People who are fulfilled don’t overreact to emotional highs or lows. They are able to appreciate that just as the seasons come and go, so do our emotions.

I recommend the HALT model to my patients as a way to avoid allowing their feelings to get the best of them.

Ask yourself: Am I hungry, angry, lonely or tired?

If you are any or many of those things, here are steps you can take.

  • Eat a nourishing meal.
  • Step away from the situation that’s causing stress, if you can.
  • Practice 4-7-8 breathing: Inhale for four seconds, hold for seven seconds, and exhale for eight seconds.
  • Go for a 10-minute walk.
  • Write down three things that you’re grateful for.
  • Talk to a friend.
  • Do things that make you feel relaxed.
Learn to adapt

Life rarely turns out exactly as we plan, and learning to adapt is a superpower for your mental health.

Adapting doesn’t mean giving up your hopes, dreams or intentions. Instead, it involves making the most of what you have right now, so you can stay focused on creating the life you want.

Some researchers have developed a test for AQ (adaptability quotient) similar to IQ that gauges how adaptable you are.

If you aren’t as adaptable as you’d like, you can start by asking yourself: How willing am I to change, to learn or to make mistakes?

Adapting may require unlearning old habits so you can develop new, more helpful habits. I challenge you to approach your life with curiosity before judgment. You may learn valuable lessons about yourself and the people around you.

How to build relationships

Friends are essential to a healthy life — and they are just as important for our well-being as healthy eating habits or a good night’s sleep. Friends, though, don’t just appear out of thin air, an expert said. Here’s her advice for making new connections and maintaining the old ones.

You may have lost touch with friends during the pandemic and may be eager to reconnect. If you want to maintain the level of effortlessness you had before, here is advice from friendship experts on how to optimize these relationships.

Children who develop supportive, trusting friendships with others their age are more likely to become healthy, happy, and professionally successful adults, studies show. Adults can help foster teen friendships.

Develop meaningful relationships

The Harvard Study of Adult Development showed that quality relationships are important for well-being. This comes at a time when loneliness feels like it’s more common than ever.

Consider your relationships not only an investment in your mental health but also an opportunity to bring you closer to fulfillment. Common interest meetups, group therapy, and religious organizations are great ways to form meaningful connections.

When you meet someone new, ask them how they’re doing and actively listen by affirming your understanding of what they told you. It’s an easy first step in planting the seeds for a long-lasting friendship.

Try not to regret

We all have aspects of our past we would change if we could, but living with regret isn’t helpful for mental health. One study shows that people who are fulfilled choose not to live with deep regret.

This means accepting that although you can’t change your past, you can change the way you think about it.

Ask yourself what lessons you have learned from past experiences. These lessons can teach you how to avoid the same mistakes. In some cases, living without regret can allow you to find gratitude for those lessons.

Many of us could use more happiness in our lives, but as psychiatrist and author Victor Frankl wrote, “Happiness cannot be pursued; it must ensue.”

Instead of searching for happiness, shift your attention toward finding fulfillment. It may bring you closer to living a better life and experiencing more happiness along the way.

Another Street

It has taken me my whole life to learn the simple lessons in this powerful poem. I refer back to it frequently. It is something of a guidepost that I use to check in on when there is chaos and drama in my life. It helps me sort out my part from the part being played by others or external forces. Hope you find it as helpful as I have.

An Autobiography in Five Chapters
by Portia Nelson

Chapter 1
I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I fall in. I am lost….I am helpless.
It isn’t my fault.
It takes forever to find a way out.

Chapter 2
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don’t see it. I fall in again.
I can’t believe I am in the same place.
But it isn’t my fault.
It still takes a long time to get out.

Chapter 3
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it is there.
I fall in….it’s a habit…but my eyes are open.
I know where I am. It is my fault.
I get out immediately.

Chapter 4
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.

Chapter 5
I walk down a different street.