April 8, 2015

Trivia question: what’s the best-known word in human speech?

Filed under: MiscellAnnia — Tags: , — Ann @ 7:06 am
So be it.

Aka, you said it, sister!

The other day I was scrolling through Facebook and saw that one of my friends had commented on a post, “Amen!” Later, driving to work, I started giving serious thought to the word. First of all, there’s the pronunciation. Growing up, I mainly attended Protestant churches where everyone chimed in with “ay-men” or “ah-men.” Later, attending services with a Jewish partner, I noted that the congregants all said “Ah-main,” the Hebrew pronunciation.

According to myjewishlearning.com, the word is a liturgical response common to all three of the Abrahamic faiths. Bouncing around on Google, I discovered that there’s no real agreement as to its origins and it pretty much depends on who you ask. I saw references to the word being of Greek, Christian, Hebrew, Hindu, and Pagan origin. If you want to read more about its roots, head over to Wikipedia and scroll down to “Etymology.” Most Jewish sources agree that “amen” has the same Hebrew root as emunah (faith) and is also connected with the word emet meaning “truth.” But there’s not even real agreement as to how it should be translated. Depending on where you go on the Internet, it means “so be it,” “truly,” “in truth, “affirmed,” or “trust in the Lord.” Some say it’s the best-known word in human speech; others say that “okay” gets that distinction. (If you really want to delve into murky etymological waters, check out the word “selah” on Wikipedia. In Judaism, it’s like “amen” but even more so — a sort of industrial-strength version. However, no one knows what it means or where it came from. And whereas “amen” appears in the Bible a mere 30 times, “selah” appears a whopping 74 times. Selah is the last word in Anita Diamant’s book “The Red Tent. It’s even heard in some reggae songs.)

So, some say ah-men, some say ay-men, some say ah-main, and some even say selah. However, many years ago when I was attending Jewish services regularly with my partner, I found that my years of exposure to Christian liturgy made me uncomfortable with “Ah-main,” so I created my own response. Which is why, if you ever go to services with me and listen very carefully at the end of prayers, you’ll hear me softly intoning this: “I’m in.”

Nobody’s the wiser, and it works for me.

April 5, 2015

Life: Mourning and Celebration

Filed under: Memory Eternal — Tags: , , , , — Ann @ 11:06 am
The light is always there.

The light is always there.

After my father died on January 13th of this year, my mind began to process thoughts and images at an accelerated rate. Some mourners describe feelings of “blankness” or “going numb” but for me it was the opposite: thoughts and visual streams were spinning their grief triggers at maximum speed. At times I felt as though I were experiencing the clichéd death’s-door experience of seeing my entire life flash before my eyes: childhood memories were a constant slideshow…things my Dad said, did, things we said and did together, images of he and my Mom, the family, vacations, conversations…thumbnail reminders of his presence in my life. And, of course, all of that re-experiencing was accompanied by a sadness so heavy that I felt pinned to the earth by Jovian gravity.

But among those thoughts and images, others emerged as well: happy memories in the making. Weddings, picnics, barbecues, engagement parties, baby showers, reunions — and these images had nothing to do with my father or my family. Instead, I was imagining strangers together, smiling, laughing, drinking Champagne, raising glasses, opening gifts, celebrating. It was as though, in the midst of unbearable grief, my mind wanted me to remember that somewhere out there, far away from me but out there nonetheless, there was joy. I needed to remember joy. And to believe that I’d be in the midst of it again someday.

Last night I attended a community celebration of Passover. The room was packed, the music was loud, the wine was freely flowing, and I was surrounded by the dearly loved faces of friends old and new. As I sat taking it all in, I remembered. My mind formed a thought: “This is joy.” I greedily drank in every sensory aspect of the experience; I needed to memorize it in case I forgot it again.

This morning, I penned a thank-you note to the person who sponsored my attendance at the celebration. I ended by writing, “After my father died, I craved the other side of grief. Last night was that experience, and I’m filled with gratitude.”

April 3, 2015

Praise asterisk, from whom all blessings flow

Filed under: Feel-Good Story of the Day,MiscellAnnia — Tags: , , , , , — Ann @ 7:23 am
Praise Star

Is that you, God?

Yesterday I attended a Juvenile Probation training on adolescent trauma, facilitated by an excellent speaker who filled her presentation with amusing and/or intriguing anecdotes, no doubt in an attempt to keep us all riveted for 8 hours in a stuffy, fluorescent-lit room. She did a great job.

One story in particular will stay with me, probably forever. In the context of discussing gratitude-and-mindfulness research, she talked about being at an ascension meditation retreat some years ago and, one morning when the attendees were preparing to spend a good chunk of time in focused meditation and chanting, their teacher wrote on the board the phrase she wanted her students to recite out loud: PRAISE [*] FOR MY LIFE. The asterisk, of course, was meant to be a placeholder for whatever ‘higher power’ was relevant to each participant: God, Goddess, the Divine, the Source, Allah, the Universe, the One — whatever.

But as the group began to chant out loud, she became aware that quite a few of the participants were reciting, ‘Praise Star…,’ because they’d interpreted the asterisk as “Star” — a name for the One. She was so enchanted by the idea that she adopted it as her name for God and still uses the full mantra as part of her meditation-gratitude practice.

Praise Star For My Life. It has a lovely shine to it.

April 1, 2015

Blame and compassion

Filed under: Sacred Wilderness — Tags: , , , , , — Ann @ 4:08 pm
Period!

Period!

While browsing Facebook memes the other day I came across this quote (in blue), attributed to Dr. Wayne Dyer.

When I read it, I felt real anger rising in me for what I considered to be the compassionless message of the quote. As a Marriage and Family Therapist Intern, I’ve worked with clients who suffered unthinkable abuse as children, clients who weren’t provided with any of the loving attention, modeling, resources and guidance necessary to ease them from infancy to healthy maturation. I’ve heard stories of abusive childhoods that left me gasping and horrified — reactions I kept inside while I quietly held space for my clients to walk me through their experiences.

The reality is, children who are exposed to such environments — survivors of complex trauma including severe neglect and abuse (physical and sexual), learn avoidance strategies early in life. Survivors of crappy abusive childhoods can’t tolerate distress and so they develop ways to stop feeling. We all use avoidance strategies to some extent but these wounded individuals feel that they have no choice: it’s either numb out or die. What’s a highly effective (though maladaptive) avoidance strategy? Substance abuse. Dr. John Briere, in his training on Treating Complex Psychological Trauma, states that the majority of IV drug users, especially women, have a Childhood Sexual Abuse history. Dr. Briere confirms that trauma survivors frequently engage in behaviors that some might call “bad choices” as a way to down-regulate overwhelming internal states. These can include excessive sexual contact (“promiscuity”), thrill-seeking and binge shopping (“irresponsible spending”).

In other words, the humans among us that we may think of us making the most irresponsible “choices” may be those who are suffering the greatest — with pasts that we can’t even begin to imagine. If a boy who was starved and beaten by his parents as a child is drinking vodka at age 13, smoking meth by age 14, in Juvenile Hall by 16, and ends up with the inability to hold a job, or a relationship, is his childhood not “to blame”? If we don’t like the word “blame,” can we at least acknowledge that the boy’s choices were guided by the horrifically bad hand he got dealt when he started life? If a girl who was raped by a stepfather from age 3 through age 12, ran away from home to escape it, sold her body to get enough money to feed herself, and became addicted to meth as the only way to numb herself enough to tolerate herself (so strong was her self-loathing by then) ends up as the homeless person you drive by every morning, that’s her choice, right? Hers and only hers? Dr. Dyer’s quote assumes that we all had the same choices, which simply isn’t true. (I haven’t even touched upon how racism, ageism, sexism, homophobia, socio-economic status, and other discriminatory factors negatively affect choices. The stigma attached to non-trauma related mental disorders, and physical and/or developmental disorders can also limit life choices.)

Many of these men and women that our culture judges so harshly are longing to learn how to make good choices for themselves because they never had the structure and the modeling to do so. They are fighting for their lives with a courage I can’t imagine. Focused on getting help, getting sober, getting jobs, getting better. And survivors don’t usually blame others for their circumstances, anyway. Quite the opposite, they usually blame themselves and I work with them to help them have compassion for their lives and circumstances.

Maybe at this point you’re thinking, yes, but adults who were abused as children are rare. Actually, a child abuse report is made in this country every 10 seconds. Referrals to state child protective services agencies involve 6.3 million children. While not all of those are substantiated, too many are. And 80% of 21-year-olds who reported being abused as a child meet the criteria for at least one psychological disorder. [Source: childhelp.org] Children who experience child abuse and neglect are 59% more likely to be arrested as a juvenile, 28% more likely to be arrested as an adult, and 30% more likely to commit violent crime. [safehorizon.org]

If I were to re-write Dr. Dyer’s quote with some heart and accuracy, it would go something like this: “Everything you do is based on how you learned to navigate the world as a child (combined with biological factors including genetics and temperament). If you had a secure attachment with your caretaker as an infant, you likely explored your environment confidently, developed a positive self-image, and had confidence that you could cope with whatever happened. Then, as a securely attached infant, you likely became an effective problem-solver as a toddler and a resilient, resourceful, curious preschooler. Your positive experience with your caregiver was a model that served as a guide for your interpersonal behavior and self-expectations. If you did not have that secure attachment, your parents are probably not to blame because they likely came into the world with their own challenges. If you had a severely rough start in life and/or are struggling with a mental disorder, addiction or any other dysfunctional reality, it’s not useful to blame your parents, your past relationships, your job, the economy, the weather, an argument or your age. You and only you can recognize when you need help (although a kind friend, mentor, teacher, or clergyman can certainly play a role in getting you the help you need), and you and only you can then take the steps necessary to get strong and well and empowered.”

Period!

February 8, 2015

Generosity of Spirit

Filed under: Random Thoughts — Ann @ 11:23 am
You gotta have heart

You gotta have heart

This morning I read a New York Times story about a sister who, with the best of intentions, sent anonymous Valentine’s Day flowers to her two sisters. The gesture backfired hideously, resulting in the sender being called “cruel,” and causing a rift in the relationship that lasted far too long.

I thought to myself, “Another case where a bit of applied Generosity of Spirit could have prevented a great deal of heartache.”

Cultivating and demonstrating generosity of spirit is to remember to “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle” (attributed variously to Plato, Philo of Alexandria, John Watson, and Ian McClaren).

It’s bestowing the gift of the benefit of the doubt.

It’s never assuming we know someone’s motivations, and especially never assuming that those motivations are ill-intended.

Generosity of spirit is remembering that others don’t think like we think and have different ways of expressing themselves, and that different doesn’t mean wrong.

It’s understanding that sometimes people’s attempts at humor misfire. It’s understanding that what we hear as a cutting remark may just be an accidentally thoughtless statement.

When we get really good at it, exhibiting a generosity of spirit becomes a kneejerk reaction: we assume that the guy who cuts us off in traffic is in a hurry because he just found out that his kid is sick and he’s rushing to pick her up. A store clerk is unsmiling and unfriendly, and we assume that she has something important on her mind, perhaps a worry about a loved one, or maybe she doesn’t feel well. Sound crazy? Is creating gracious defenses for the behaviors of strangers any crazier than automatically attributing negative motivations to them?

Of course, a small percentage of people do have ill intentions, or are too often careless with their words and behaviors. To encourage loving-kindness in our attribution style isn’t to suggest that we become a doormat for the muddy feet of those who don’t even try to consider our feelings.

But most of the time, people aren’t out to cause us intentional infliction of emotional distress. They’re just being people, and sometimes we humans are clumsy in our attempts to navigate life with others. We end up stepping on toes. But those with sore digits too often jump at the chance to be offended. Instead, try jumping at the chance to be gracious and forgiving.

Try, “I know you meant well, and it’s really fine.” Bonus points if you add, “I’ve done the same thing myself — accidentally hurt people’s feelings when I didn’t mean to.” Because you know you have. We all have. And we all need a little more understanding, compassion, and forgiveness.

February 3, 2015

“I’m using e-cigs to quit smoking” – true that?

Filed under: Rants! — Tags: , , , , — Ann @ 6:59 am
Temporary fix?

Temporary fix?

This morning I read three articles in local newspapers about e-cigarettes. Smokers quoted in all three articles stated that they were using the “candy-flavored lung polluters” — as the Sacramento Bee recently characterized them — to quit smoking.

As a person who smoked tobacco cigarettes for over 20 years before quitting cold turkey, I know a few things about stopping smoking. So, to those of you who claim to be using e-cigs to give up smoking forever, I encourage you to take an honest look at yourselves and answer these two questions:

1) Are you tracking your consumption and gradually smoking fewer and fewer e-cigs? If the answer is “no,” then you’re not in the process of quitting.

2) Do you have a quit date established that falls within a reasonable period of time? If you are truly using e-cigs to quit smoking, then not only are you smoking fewer on a weekly basis, but you should have a goal of being completely smoke-free that is no more than six months down the road.

The fact is, many addicts are merely substituting one nasty, expensive habit for another, with no intention of kicking it for good. (They’re fooling themselves. Addicts are very good at this.)

The fact is, as I wrote in my previous rant against electronic delivery systems (“E-cigs, smoking, addiction, and nicotine. The facts,” June 22, 2014), only one-fifth of people who use e-cigarettes as a stop-smoking aid succeed in quitting long-term (according to the journal Addiction).

The fact is, vaping has surpassed cigarette smoking for teens as their oral fixation of choice. (I threw that in because, frankly, it scares me how popular it is with the kids.)

The fact is, according to state Director of Public Health Ron Chapman, e-cigarette aerosol contains 10 chemicals that are found on California’s Proposition 65 list of those known to cause cancer, birth defects or other reproductive harm, including benzene and formaldehyde. (Yummy!)

But you’re a smoker — you close your ears to statistics and you close your eyes to the sight of a lung-damaged ex-smoker wearing an oxygen tank 24/7. And you’re an addict — you don’t want to give up your friend, your rituals, your comfort, your little zingy high.

Believe me, no one gets that better than I do. But be honest with yourself. Are you using e-cigarettes to quit smoking, or are you just using them?

Because if you’re quitting, I trust that your quit date is written in red on your pretty new 2015 calendar. And that it’s sometime before Labor Day weekend.

January 14, 2015

Loss

Filed under: Memory Eternal — Ann @ 8:55 am

Dad And Me-smaller

My father died yesterday morning. He left this world the way he lived his life, with dignity, and without fuss. No drama — that was Dad. At 91, his life force had been ramping down in recent years and he often spent his days sleeping in his favorite chair under the watchful gaze of my mother, his bride of 69 years. Yesterday, as the family gathered around her at the home Mom and Dad shared for some 50 years, we agreed that Dad’s timing was right. He was tired.

And yet, nothing about this is easy. So much ink has been spilled through the millennia on grief and loss and death and bereavement that there is scarcely much to be said that hasn’t already been set to poem, book, song, theatrical piece, film, opera and blog. Yet we know that every loss is unique. There was no one on this Earth, ever, exactly like my father and his loss leaves an enormous void. Also, he and my mother both have — had — an eternal quality about them that prompted my long-time friend Bonita to weep into the phone to me yesterday on hearing the news, “I just sort of thought your parents would live forever.” We all did. And even a 91-year life span goes by too swiftly.

It feels terribly wrong to sum up Dad’s life in a series of words and phrases because he was so much more than devoted and deeply loved husband, father, grandfather and great-grandfather; Depression-era survivor; Pearl Harbor veteran; life member of the VFW; career Bank of America employee; and serial hobbyist whose passions hopscotched him from trout-fishing to raising pigeons to playing pinochle to building model airplanes to archery to bridge to Ham radio and probably many more I’m forgetting. Those are only roles and reflections of his joy of learning; they don’t reveal his steel-hard integrity, his commitment to a moral and ethical life, his unwavering determination to always, always do the right thing — by his country, his community, his wife, and his three children. There was much more of Atticus Finch in my Dad than he ever would have acknowledged, because such comparisons would have flown in the face of his insistence on simplicity. Dad didn’t like complication or complexity.

With that in mind, he probably wouldn’t like knowing about the turmoil of emotions his loss has caused. Though death is inevitable, it always comes too soon. Even at 91 years old — too soon. I got to have my Dad for fully two-thirds of his long life and yet it all feels like a slideshow set on high speed. He was my anchor; I am unmoored. We all are, and no one more than his grieving life partner who in a final sigh transitioned from wife to next-of-kin. Nevertheless, she and all of us proceed now to Take Care of Things, which include writing an obituary we never wanted to read and planning a memorial service we hoped never would be necessary.

I know from my sister’s memorial just over two years ago — when I couldn’t even look at her “life celebration” table without falling apart — that I’m not the family member most likely to deliver the eulogy after such unthinkable loss. Dad’s memorial is set for Saturday and if I could speak then, I’d want to talk about all the gifts my father gave me in the form of a good upbringing, education, countless joyful memories including camping trips to Hat Creek, life lessons, Dad wisdom, his caring concern to ensure I was okay (always, always asking if I had bridge fare to cross the Carquinez when I left their house after a visit, even well into my fifth decade of life), and too many more to list. But my father’s greatest gift to me was last year, when we were talking on the phone and he told me, quite out of the blue, “I know how much you love me.” Until my father handed me that peace of mind, I’d never realized how much worry and stress go into wondering how much more we need to do and be and say to prove the depth of our devotion to the ones we cherish most. My Dad, the practical one, who had all of his “pre-need” arrangements taken care of well in advance, was letting me know that I didn’t need to worry, that I didn’t need to be more than I was. He knew the day would come when I would need to cling to that knowledge as fiercely as I’d clung to his hand as a little girl.

That day was yesterday. Thank you, Dad. For all you were, for all you left us, and for every single moment, thank you.

June 22, 2014

E-cigs, smoking, addiction and nicotine. The facts.

Filed under: Rants! — Tags: , , , , — Ann @ 8:45 am
Um, yes it is.

Um, yes it is.

A certain San Francisco radio personality brags that she quit smoking months ago, when in fact she’s switched to e-cigarettes. Another friend tells me on the phone that she “hasn’t smoked a cigarette in ages!” — but all she did was switch over to the electronic variety. The insidious aspect of these new nicotine delivery systems is that they lull people into thinking they’ve given up the habit when in fact they’re still as addicted as they ever were.

Here’s why.

I smoked over a pack a day for 20+ years. When I finally quit in my mid-30s, I quit cold turkey. I’d been reading an article about a little girl with cystic fibrosis whose mother had to hold her upside down daily to clear the mucus from her lungs and I thought, “Here’s a child who would do anything to have healthy lungs, and I’m voluntarily destroying mine.” I quit the next morning. And oh, it was hard. I carried around Jacquelyn Rogers’ “You Can Quit Smoking” book with me everywhere I went, so I could frequently refer to it for motivation. At the time, people still smoked at their desks in offices, so I brought carrot sticks to work and chewed them all day long. After a week or so the physiological craving subsided, but that’s when the tough work began: dealing with the emotional/psychological addiction. In short, I was depressed. I felt I’d lost my best friend. I couldn’t imagine doing anything without my cigarettes: how could I get through work, how could I drive? How could I face the day? In those days I spent two weeks each summer at a cabin in Lake Tahoe with my family. That first year, I distinctly remember wondering how I was going to get through my vacation without smoking. And I remember one awful day, sitting outside on the deck of the Tahoe cabin, sobbing because I couldn’t smoke. That’s nicotine addiction.

Because, before quitting, I had used cigarettes for everything: when angry, to celebrate, when anxious, while reading, with my coffee, with my wine, to wake up, after meals, to help with boring commutes, to deal with grief, everything. I never felt my feelings — I had cigarettes to do that for me. Nicotine is no different from any other drug in that aspect — it’s used by smokers to self-medicate.

On the other hand, if you’re using e-cigarettes to help you quit, more power to you. Unfortunately, only one-fifth of people who tried e-cigarettes as a stop-smoking aid succeeded in quitting long-term, according to a recent study published in the journal Addiction. However, quit-smoking rates in general are dismal (according to drugfree.org, 35% of American smokers tried to quit last year and only 6% succeeded) — but millions have beat the odds. According to the New York Times, only 19% of American adults smoke, down from 42% fifty years ago. That’s a lot of successful quitters.

The bottom line: if you’ve decided to give up cigarettes forever, good for you. Quit cold turkey if you can, or use every aid at your disposal if you can’t — e-cigs, hypnosis, patches, lozenges, gum, prescribed antidepressants, acupuncture, individual or group therapy, whatever works. Just please don’t fool yourself into thinking you’ve given up the habit until you’ve actually given up the habit. If you’re still reaching for something to suck down into your lungs, you’re still a smoker. If you’re still nicotine-dependent, you’re still an addict. When you are no longer a smoker, you’ll know it. And you’ll feel a rush of freedom like never before.

June 1, 2014

Changed

Filed under: Ann the Columnist:Essays,Rants!,The Healing Project — Tags: , , , , — Ann @ 11:44 am

Being Alive
I recently met a young woman who is one of those people born to be in the healing arts. Her very presence is a blessing. As is often the case with bright-light individuals, she is deeply into yoga, spirituality, and living cleanly and lightly on the Earth. We got to chatting during a recent gathering and decided to keep in touch via Facebook. When I logged on yesterday, there was a Friend request from her.

From cryptic comments she’d made, I knew that her long-time partner has cancer. She’d made recent references to treatments that went well, and then not so well. I know that he is a young man, and because my partner was also a young man when he developed testicular cancer a decade or more ago, I assumed that that was the brand of C they were dealing with. And because all turned out well for my partner – and for Lance Armstrong, who famously battled that very same cancer — I assumed all would be well.

After she and I Friended each other I browsed her Wall. I saw her partner for the first time. The two of them together look like a glossy magazine ad for the best kind of life two beautiful people could ever live, probably at a base camp in Nepal. Radiating promise and hope and bliss and love, these two gorgeous souls smiled back at me from Zuckerberg’s social network program, and made me smile right back. Because her photos are interesting I started flipping through them – she and her guy have traveled all over the world, I notice — and then I see that a friend of theirs has posted a photo of her boyfriend with the Comment, “This is [name]. He is battling brain cancer.”

BRAIN CANCER. Stomach-punch heartsick held-breath ohmygod ARE YOU EFFING KIDDING ME, UNIVERSE?!! Is how my thoughts ran. This beautiful boy, this child of the planet, this lover of life, this shining light, has BRAIN cancer?!!!

All morning long my mind reeled. Here I am, so truly far away from the situation – I barely know her, and have never met him – and yet so gobsmacked by the horror of it. When my partner came home from morning services, I explained to him in choked sobs what I’d found out, then cried for an hour. Later, on my walk, I kept looking up at the sky, “Really, God? Really, Universe?”

I don’t know how common this type of cancer is in 20-somethings. I lost another friend to brain cancer a few years ago; she was in her 60s. I do know that people young and old, rich and poor, etc etc get cancer, fight cancer, live with cancer, die from cancer. I don’t usually go around thinking about it because, well, that way lies madness. But I can’t shake this. All day long, whenever I heard someone say something vaguely whiny, I thought, “Or you could have BRAIN cancer!” Watching a television show in which 40-year-old actresses were complaining about their wrinkles, I thought, “Or you could have BRAIN cancer.”

Can your whole life and perspective be changed by someone else’s battle with cancer? I’m not sure I even feel right about it, as though I’m “getting something” from someone else’s – what? What are they even calling it? His illness? His struggle? His challenge? His journey? I want to take care how I characterize what they are experiencing: this is not mine to name or make assumptions about.

Worse, I suspect that my heightened sense of the preciousness and fragility of all things will fade. I mean, not that I particularly take life for granted on a daily basis – I am filled with gratitude – but right now, I’m way above baseline. I’m up there in self-actualization mode, where brushing my teeth this morning was a blessing and touching the cat’s fur brought tears to my eyes, so awed was I by its softness. And I remember being elevated to this state of heightened appreciation and awareness a few years back when another friend’s wife, in her early 30s, with two small children, was expected to die of Stage IV cervical cancer. As I held his hand through that, all the life-appreciation clichés came to pass: air smelled sharper, colors seemed richer, grass felt velvety. She survived that, they eventually divorced, and I went back to baseline appreciation mode.

Someone I don’t even know has brain cancer, and I’m feeling more connected to life. But every day someone I don’t even know has cancer. Every day I could be outraged to the point of transcendence. As I said, it doesn’t seem right, “using” other people’s struggles in this way. On the other hand, is this not what every person wants, for meaning to be made from their life and existence? Whenever something Bad happens, the survivors say, “I want something Good to come of this.”

And so, a friend’s life companion gets sick, and those ripples come lapping into my awareness and something feels changed. For one thing, I know I don’t want to hear any complaining. From anyone, and least of all from myself. I may even say it out loud if I hear any whines today. I may look at the whiner and say, “Or you could have BRAIN cancer!” Someone does. You don’t? Then shut up and live.

March 23, 2014

About life, leaving, and Candy Crush Saga.

Filed under: MiscellAnnia — Tags: , , , , , — Ann @ 8:15 am
He knew a bad hand when he saw it.

He knew a bad hand when he saw it.

A wonderful thing happened to me yesterday: I encountered a Candy Crush Saga level that I simply couldn’t beat (Level 92, for any Crushers who may be reading this). And the realization gave me the freedom to walk away because I’d arrived at the point of diminishing returns – when the precious time, energy and focus I was devoting to the endeavor was failing to provide me with the fun, fulfillment and appropriate neurotransmitter releases to make it worthwhile.

And of course, that got me thinking about the times in my life when I failed to recognize that magic moment – that sweet packet of ultra-important information — when it dropped into my awareness. As the man sang, you’ve got to know when to hold ‘em, know when to fold ‘em. And sometimes I held ‘em until the unthinkable happened: time and life were frittered away.

For example: I stayed in the law game far too long. I was afraid to leave it for two of the usual can’t-quit reasons: money and security. And I stayed in some relationships way beyond their expiration date, long past the day when all of my instincts screamed “Now!” but my fear-tenacity centers answered, “Maybe something will change….”

Here’s a secret: At that point in the game, things seldom change. I’ve heard people say, “I’ve devoted too much time to this relationship/job/endeavor to end it.” In most cases, the minute you think or say that, it’s a year or more past time to get out.

I am not saying that there is no room for steadfastness, for better or worse, employee loyalty, and all those fine moral guideposts. What I’m saying is that you will probably know when it’s over. And what I’m asking you to do is listen to your instincts. Staying for the sake of staying? That way lies madness. Or, to come full blog-circle: at that point, you’re not mastering the art of the game. You’re not crushing candies. You’re crushing your own spirit.

UPDATED APRIL 12, 2014: After a fashion, I went back to Level 92. I played once or twice a day, and always for the fun of it. I played to relax, and I played to match candies and enjoy the pretty colors. I didn’t get upset if I lost, because I expected to lose. And one night, to my amazement, I beat the Level. I’m now on Level 102. So I’m back on Candy Crush, but with a difference: I’m playing it, it’s not playing me. I no longer get frustrated, no longer beg Friends for extra lives. I only play when I need to relax. And the metaphor still works: sometimes you don’t need to give something up; sometimes you only need to do it better. And again, you will probably know what’s best for you. Happy crushing!

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