Doin' it wrong professionally: Now with more credentials!

I'm in a conference all week.

It's an annual event that happens in my state, and provides several choices for intensive trainings in addiction treatment that last anywhere from one to four full days.  The one I'm taking is for clinical supervision, and my attendance at this event has been graciously facilitated by a former employer, who happened to have an open seat already paid for, and I happened to be the first one to respond to the email.  It turns out that really fast typing is not just a cool parlor trick.

But that's not what I'm doing wrong.  I'm sitting in a room of seasoned professionals-- okay, some of them are seasoned, some of them are just motivated to be in charge of some stuff.  What I've noticed about this bunch of counselors is how much we love to hear ourselves talk.  And this is not a unique group, in my experience.  The funny thing is, as an introductory exercise, the class instructor asked us all to list what we believed were our strengths and our "challenges," and most of the people in this class identified being "a good listener" as one of their strengths.  Um.  Not even close.  Some of these folks are barely waiting for their turn to talk, let alone listening to what anyone else is saying.

I shouldn't imply that I'm not part of the yammering.  But I catch myself at it sometimes, and have to examine my motives for talking in the first place.  I've also been working lately on my own behavior of interrupting people, which seems like a pretty bad characteristic in a therapist.  I notice this behavior much less when talking with patients than with colleagues and with other people, but I can't tell you for sure that I NEVER interrupt patients...  What I do know is that in a room full of other counseling professionals, the only way to get a word in is to talk over someone else.  I have a hard-wired tendency to talk fast and loud, and 12 years of sitting in staff meetings with other therapists has only reinforced this.  I have to work against both my nature and my nurturing in order to not be a complete jerk.

Incidentally, when asked to identify my strengths, I never tell people I'm a good listener.  I'm not sure I am.  But I can be silent when I don't know what to say, and most people think this means I'm listening.  Maybe I am listening, and I just don't recognize it, given the behavior of people who say they're good at it, and then just jabber on and on.

Ethics and Elementary School Children

I was discussing ethics with my daughter the other day.  She was telling me about a girl she's known since she was 2, who routinely does things to hurt her feelings, as she did recently.  Hannah was then telling me that if someone else made that girl cry, well, she deserved it.

I tried to convey to Hannah that this is not a true statement.  No one "deserves" to be hurt.  And even if another person is mean to us, we can choose to be kind and loving, even if they don't deserve that.  It's the best definition of Christianity I know: treating others better than they have earned.

I wrote about this conversation on my Facebook status the day it happened, and got a variety of responses.  One, from a dear, dear friend suggested I introduce the concept of Karma.  There is one problem with that: I don't believe in Karma.  I don't believe that people get what they give.  I have seen many examples of people who are despicable, spiritually speaking, and have succeeded in life by all external measures: social, financial, professional.  People on whom I have wished a rash in hidden places have prospered in all visible manners.  I attribute this to the fact that the universe is NOT looking out for justice, because the universe is a collection of stars and planets that is not conscious of the behavior of its inhabitants. And I know that the conscious being I recognize is not in the business of making sure that my version of justice is done.  Therefore, I am left with trying to teach my child grace.  I don't believe I am equal to this task.  I mentioned the wish-rash, right?

I don't think life is fair.  I don't think everything happens for a reason.  I don't think everything is going to work out to my advantage, if I just wait and see it through.  What I do think is that I can make myself satisfied with what happens if I work hard enough, cognitively speaking.  But I'm not good at expressing these thoughts to a 7 year old.

I want it to be true that if you are good and kind, the world will be good and kind back to you.  I want it to be true that if you look out for the interests of others, other will look out for your interests as well.  I also want it to be true that if I think happy thoughts I can fly to the second star to the right, but I know that's not happening anytime soon. Still, I try to be the change I want to see in others as often as I can, and I try to teach my child to be the same.

However, I also teach my child to tell people to Buzz Off when they are overtly mean, because there are only so many cheeks that kid has, after all.

Camping Notes 2

I think my "Camping Notes 1" was a Facebook status at least a year ago.  It pretty much just said:

Did you pack the air mattress?


which, incidentally, we did not for our first real camping trip.

So here's what I learned on our second go:
1. 53 degrees when sleeping indoors under a down comforter is NOT the same thing as 53 degrees when sleeping in a tropical weight sleeping bag, with 2 other people in a 6-man tent.
2. The 6-man tent that sounded like a good idea when you thought you might take the dog camping with you is probably not necessary, and will not even be advisable when it comes down to camping in cooler weather than 80 degrees.  You're not going to generate enough body heat to be comfortable.
3. There is no such thing as too much kindling.
4. You're probably not sorry you didn't take the dog with you.
5. Those cargo pants with the zip-off legs are the best $60 you've spent in this whole million-dollar preparation.  You'll wear them for the whole trip.
6. If you can find a campground where there is a curfew for generators: go there.  I loved that it got quiet after 9:00pm.
7. Did you pack the long underwear?

These are the pants in question. They walked home on their own steam.

Do I hear kindling falling?

And I quote: "I'm not sure I can survive 2 days with no screen time."

Dave tolerated my campfire cooking quite well. The addition of spicy chorizo sausage to everything probably helped.  You don't have to refrigerate that stuff.











She can't skip a stone, but she sure can chuck a rock while looking cute.












We will probably go camping again; we have a million dollars' worth of equipment now.  But maybe not at 3300 feet above sea level.  That was just plain cold.  We spent 2 nights in Linville Falls, and wimped out at the prospect of a third night, since it was booked for Pisgah Mountain, at even higher elevation.  I reasoned that we could find an outdoor outfitter store in Asheville and buy enough polar fleece to stave off hypothermia, OR we could spend an equal amount of money on a hotel room.  Dave and Hannah both voted for the Hotel, and who am I to impose my camping will on others?  We grabbed one of the millions of rooms available for hapless campers in Asheville on short notice.  Now we only had to break camp, not set up again, and that freed us up to spend the day at the North Carolina Arboretum, where I dragged Dave and Hannah past every brass plaque I could find.  Plus there was a really cool exhibit based on the book Wicked Plants by Amy Stewart.  Now I have to buy that book.

Hey. It's vacation.  I'm going to have a good time if it kills someone.  Preferably not someone I was hoping would drive me home.

Apparently I have more in common with a flying, screaming monkey than I may want to admit.

I gave one of these monkeys to my sister for a present, because I'm very thoughtful.  Hers did not, sadly, have a super hero cape and hood.  More's the pity.  Hers may, if placed in the right hands, do this kind of production number, however.

You have to watch it to the very end for it be really funny.  Or maybe I'm just really tired, and it's not funny at all to normal people.  That would come as no surprise to me.

Don't get me wrong: I like shoes.

I got forcibly Timelined on Facebook.  I can't figure out the new format on Blogspot.  Upgrades in general irritate me.

Must everything evolve?  Isn't anything ever good enough?  I suppose this mindset is why I live in a tiny house and drive an 11-year-old station wagon.  But I think it's also why I have a resting heart rate of 50, and admirable cholesterol levels and cardiac function, despite my reliance on butter, and bacon grease as my primary source of dietary fats.

I don't think I need to be constantly reaching for some new Thing.  I'm intentionally making that noun proper, because I mean I won't work for objects.  I want to continually learn new things.  I want to do meaningful things in my work, and teach my daughter things that are important to know.  I want to be a better person, a better mother, a better spouse, a better therapist.  But I'm not going to kill myself so I can have more expensive shoes.

I had a job once where everyone got laid off, because the company was being investigated for Medicaid fraud.  Good times were had by all.  One of my co-workers suggested I go to law school.  I had no children and my husband worked nights, leaving me lots of time on my own. I was still in my 20s, and had not yet incurred any student loan debt. (Thanks, Dad.)  I thought about it briefly, and realized that most attorneys work 60 to 80 hours a week.  Now I had NOTHING else to do, but I knew that I was not interested in working that many hours.  It didn't really matter to me what the salary potential was.  I wasn't willing to trade time for money.

Instead I took up cooking.  Enter the butter and bacon fat.  I spend the money that other people would spend on attending sporting events or taking dance lessons on cooking implements and mail-order specialty ingredients. Most of it is unnecessary; when you think about it, so is football.  What both of these things contribute to life is noticeable only qualitatively.  Hobbies give people a point outside of their Things on which to attach meaning.  They give us occasion to strive for excellence outside of our means of making a living.  So when I have a really bad week, where no one shows up to appointments and people just don't seem to be getting any better, I can still go home and make a mountainous lemon meringue pie that provides some sense of achievement.  No. Not just achievement: Mastery.

Some researchers have identified Mastery as a basic need.  The model I'm referring to has about 11 basic needs, so, obviously, it comes after the real basics, like food, shelter, and an adequate supply of oxygen.  But it is a real and observable drive for most human beings.  When people don't find ways to achieve this through academics, athletics, or aesthetic pursuits, they tend to try to achieve it by controlling other people, or by demeaning others' areas of Mastery.  You know, you may have had a brother or cousin who told you your hobby was stupid and you were a loser because you practiced the viola 2 hours a day at age 13.  For some people these pursuits turned out to be career paths.  For the rest of us, it's just a way to really strive for accomplishment and occasionally triumph. 

This week I'm going to try to recognize others for their mastery of being people.  Not for their car or their shoes or the size of their diamond, but the things that are truly central to their humanity; the concepts that those Things represent.  Dedication. Focus. Perseverance. Strength. Love.

How to paint yourself into a corner.

Hannah was an ornery cuss all night, beginning with getting whiney about my insistence that she practice her piano lesson correctly, and ending with holding the bathtub plug out of my reach when I asked for it, under the guise of shaking the excess water off it.  Then she went into her room to get dressed and cry in her mirror.  I took the mirror out, so she had to cry alone.

After she came out, I asked her if she wanted to talk about what had upset her.

Hannah: Well, I just got a little tired.  You know how tired people get cranky?
Me: Oh.  Then I guess you should brush your teeth and get ready for bed now.
Hannah: I was just a little bit tired...
Me: Brush.

As I've mentioned before, this child is inventive, and has no compunction about making stuff up.  Fortunately for me, she has not yet mastered the concept of what comes next after she feeds me a line.  When she figures out how to predict my response and trouble-shoot that, I'm dead in the water.  She's a much better liar than I ever was.

I need a pinch-hitter.

Wednesday night I sat on a park bench and watched Hannah take a tearful swipe at a little boy who was not, at that moment, doing anything visibly wrong.  I called her over to me, and she trudged over, climbed into my lap and started crying.  She said the other kids were being mean to her all night, especially one new friend, who kept telling her that it wasn't her turn at whatever they were doing.  Hannah was upset, because she was keeping track of the order, and she KNEW she when it was supposed to be her turn.  That's just not fair.  Then she fell down, and actually got hurt, but the little boy didn't ask if she was okay. That's just not nice.  He may have also made a joke, which was why she took a very wide swipe at him, which had no chance of connecting, but graphically expressed her deep frustration.  That's just heartbreaking.

My daughter, as an only child, doesn't really have to compete for anything at home.  She can have undivided attention, uninterrupted time at playing with her toys, unlimited turns swinging on the rope in the backyard, all without having to negotiate with other kids.  When there are other kids around, she is usually gracious, and wants to share.  She doesn't understand why other kids don't use the same manners that she does, why they would be mean, hit, or laugh at her.

When things like this happen, I just want to take her home, bundle into our little mom-dad-Hannah cocoon and never let anyone else in.  I want to hold her and rock her and tell her how much I love her, and that she never has to see those rotten kids again if she doesn't want to.

But I don't want to make her emotionally crippled.  I don't really want her living with me when she's 40.  I know the rest of the world is a lot harsher, ruder, and louder than her dad and I are.  And I want her to be able to live on earth like a normal person.

So what I do is reason with her about how important it is to be first, as opposed to second in line, if everyone still gets a turn.  I tell her that boys fall down all the time, and they might not stop to ask one another if they're okay, and maybe that's why this boy didn't ask her.  I tell her that everyone has bad days, and maybe the other kids don't realize they're being mean.  I remind her to tell other people to "Buzz off!" in her "mean voice" when they bother her repeatedly.  I remind her that she doesn't have to give other people the toys she's using when they ask, but it's okay to do so if she wants.  And I let her know that everyone won't be her friend, but she can still be kind to everyone. 

I don't really know how to raise a child to be both assertive and kind.   I'm not always sure how to do those two things at the same time as an adult.  Sometimes I want to backhand other people's children for being a jerk to mine; but I don't want to intervene too quickly, for fear that I'll teach my child that I don't think she can handle her own problems.  It's painful to watch her struggle and sometimes fail, although I know that's the correct way to build self-esteem, because it's the quickest way to break my heart.  Some days I'd like to stay on the bench and let someone else handle the heavy hitting.