Thanksgiving Travel

If you're traveling over the Thanksgiving holiday period, I hope your experience is just like this:
(if you can't see the full screen, you can click on this link and view it on YouTube




Happy Thanksgiving and safe travels.

Celebrating the Ordinary

Richard and I took a mini-vacation last week in New York City. I grew up there but hadn't been back to visit for a long time. A few attempts had to be canceled because of a relapse in my pain condition.

Growing up in NYC meant that I calibrated my energy level to that of the City. Walking fast, talking fast, always scanning the environment for dangers and treasures, absorbing large chunks of stimuli without gagging -- all these became routine for me. And when I return to NYC, I effortlessly fall into these rhythms. Whereas New England feels a bit too tight and California feels a bit too loose; NYC is a perfect fit.

This means that it is easy for me to slip into automatic pilot mode and slither invisibly through the crowds and see only a blur of concrete and color around me.

But this trip was special -- because it didn't have to be canceled. I spent four inspiring days walking the streets, holding my sweetie's hand, and paying attention to the world all around me -- a world that in the past was muted by familiarity, and in recent times was a world eclipsed by pain.

This trip was a gift, and I noticed everything. Here's just one half hour:

10:15 am -- I get on the subway heading downtown.
10:20 -- A group of five men, dressed in mariachi outfits, board the subway car, play guitars, and sing Guantanamera.
10:30 -- I get off the subway and start walking towards Union Square where there is a marvelous farmers market.
10:35 -- I walk by a large, squat man shouting with a classic New York City-Tony Soprano accent into a cell phone: "If you don't get that f-ing sh-t to me by f-ing tomorrow I'll blow your f-ing head off."
10:40 -- I continue walking and look across the street where I see three people walking and laughing. One of them is wearing a costume rabbit head with large cartoonish ears.
10:45 -- I meet Richard in Union Square and we share a perfect apple.

What a glorious, ordinary, pain-free day in the City! Celebrating the ordinary not only gives me a lift in the moment, it replenishes the reservoir of great memories that help get me through the more painful days.

Freezing and Unfreezing

There are these two nude statues, man and woman, standing across from each other in a secluded park. A few hundred years after they've been put in place, an angel flutters down to them.

A wave of his hand, and suddenly the statues have been given flesh, and they step down from their pedestals.

The angel says, "I have been sent to grant the request you both have made after hundreds of years of standing across from each other, unable to move. But be quick--you only have fifteen minutes until you must become statues again."

The man looks at the woman, and they both flush, and giggle, and run off into some underbrush. An intense rustling comes from the bushes, and seven minutes later, they both come back to the angel, obviously satisfied.

The angel smiles at the couple. "That was only seven minutes--why not go back and do it again?"

The former statues look at each other for a minute, and then the woman says, "Why not? But let's reverse it. This time you hold down the pigeon, and I'll shit on its head...."

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Not to wax too philosophical about a silly story - but I think it's often in the nature of the couple relationship that we get frozen into positions. We can be drawn to each other because we see in the other qualities that complete something for us. Kindness where we might have experienced harshness in the past. Adoration reflected back at us from our partner's eyes instead of the contempt we came to expect from someone who was once important to us. Help instead of invisibility. Sorrow for our pain, instead of self righteousness.

Once we receive these surprising gifts, it is easy to lock the partner into this role, defined by these attributes, a role we so much want him or her to ceaselessly portray. And to become intolerant of any deviations from the script.

Richard needs me to listen to him, to give him the complete hearing his family was unable to provide. I need him to see me, to reflect back to me my beauty and not shame me for my warts. When I can't listen to him, or he can't recognize me, we can get frozen. We can get stuck in a struggle to coerce the response we so desire from the other, and ironically, this struggle drives away what we most want -- connection.

Illness, of course, makes this dance more intricate. Pain, exhaustion, fear on the part of the ill partner can make the needs feel more urgent while the ability to articulate them becomes more remote. Helplessness, empathy, anger, and exhaustion on the part of the well partner can have the same effect. What is the result? Freezing. Getting locked in place in repetitive, fruitless attempts to extract comfort from someone as wounded and stuck as you.

How do you unfreeze? Go shit on a pigeon.

Not literally. But introduce something unexpected into the mix. Something startling. Especially something funny. Something that disrupts the pattern and starts the unfreezing. Anything from Monty Python or the Daily Show, even the Weather Channel. Watch a small dog try to carry a very large stick. Reach across the aisle and grab hold of your partner's hand.

Go shit on a pigeon.

How to Make the Hard Conversations a Little Bit Easier

Part 3 in a series about The Hard Conversations

I have a strange form of flying phobia. I am completely comfortable once I get on the plane. At that point, I relinquish all control, because there is really nothing else I can do, and trust in the force. But getting to the airport is fraught with opportunities for chaos.

I build in an extra hour of commuting time. I book a taxi the day before and then confirm it a half hour before it's due to arrive. I unplug appliances, give the stove knobs an extra twist to make sure they're really in the off-most position, check three more times to make sure I have my "government issued photo id," and then I pace.

Once I get to the airport I go right to security, no stops at Dunkin Donuts. I have my 3 oz. liquids in a baggie at the top of my pocket book, my lap top under my arm, and my shoes loosely tied so I can slip them off instantly. After I pass security, I go to my gate, sit in the chair closest to the gate, and wait, impatiently, with mounting anxiety.

Richard has the opposite tendencies. He likes to leave for the airport at the last minute. I actually think he enjoys the adrenaline rush that comes from zooming down the corridors, wheelie suitcase screeching behind, and making it through the gateway door with seconds to spare.

This week, Richard and I flew together. We arrived at the airport one and a quarter hours early (a compromise). I sat in my chair in the gate area, and Richard decided he would wander about to find something for lunch. He returned thirty minutes later to report that he had found a place that sold three bean chili and was considering heading back there to buy a bowl.

By this time, we were fifteen minutes away from boarding, and my anxiety and I were adamant that he shouldn't leave the gate area. I said, "Please just stay here. They might board early, and besides, I want to get on the plane first."

He responded with what sounded like, "Don't be silly."

I shifted a few degrees towards righteous anger. It's enough to just have this weird anxiety. I did not need to be belittled for it. I said, "Don't say that to me. I don't like the message or the tone."

I was about to continue, but Richard's expression suddenly changed. It started to resemble the face I often saw in the past when I was doubled over with uncontrollable pain, sobbing, making animal-like groans, and scratching my arms to distract me from the greater pain in my abdomen. That face said, "I don't understand what's going on, and I don't know what to do, and I'm a little bit afraid that you've gone somewhere I can't reach."

That face stopped me. I said, "What? Why the face? I'm just reacting with anger to your saying to me, 'don't be silly.'"

He started smiling and said, "I didn't say 'Don't be silly." I said, 'Three bean chili.'"

After a nano-second of silence I started laughing, hard. Richard began laughing with me. "Don't be silly - three bean chili," we chanted together.

I was still laughing when we missed the first boarding call.


How to have the hard conversations -- look for something to laugh at. If you can introduce even a slight smile into the mix, you break the constriction fear and anger create. And through that slim opening, a bit of light and the remembrance of love may enter.