We All Fall Down

image from: hachettebookgroup.com

I have a dark fascination with addiction. I don't understand it, but I know that it is real and accept that it is a part of our society. It's everywhere. Of course, for every drug addict there is an ever widening circle of the people impacted by the drug addict and their actions. I think it would be very difficult to find a person who has not been touched in some way by addiction. Despite my years in the restaurant business, I have had minimal exposure to hard drugs or the people who use them. Most of my knowledge comes from reading memoirs and the experiences I learn about when there is a drug related death in a friend's life. Unfortunately on this particular day in January, I've spent time reeling from both of those occurrences in a single day.

A couple of years ago I read two nonfiction works written individually by a father and son, David and Nic Sheff. The father's book, Beautiful Boy, shares the heartbreaking story of losing a beloved child to a life of drugs, prostitution and criminal activity. And that Beautiful Boy, of course, is Nic. His tale, Tweak, told matter-of-factly, with false bravado and a persistent tone of disbelief, taught me about a world where drugs repeatedly ruined, and sometimes ended, lives. Nic has a new book out, We All Fall Down, which I just read in record (for me these days) time. The repeated trips to rehab, the 12 Steps that never were taken, and the disappointment that constantly waged war with the hope for a happy ending, made this book a real page turner. Knowing that Nic had relapsed after the original success he experienced with Tweak was disheartening, but this was one of those books that can cause a reader to hold their breath. Powerful.

Which brings me to the other part of my day. Perfectly lovely parents are not guaranteed that their children will escape the allure of hard drugs. I've been to some wakes and funerals over the years and too often they have been for people younger than myself. To witness a parent bury a child is to witness one of the deepest sorrows imaginable, and as a parent, I think it is impossible to attend these funeral services without projecting how one survives such a tragedy. I don't want to ever know.

Addiction is an illness frequently accompanied by undiagnosed mental illness. Depression is common, as is a history of abuse, and self esteem issues. Closing the book on Nic Sheff's struggles only to learn about a friend's loss of their beloved child to addiction and depression, is nothing short of shockingly sobering. On Friday morning when I share books with students as part of their class' requested "booktalks," the Sheffs' books will be included. While I've never subscribed to Nancy Reagan's Just Say No policy, I will do my best to make sure that children Know the reality and perils of drug experimentation and addiction. And then, Friday night I will attend the wake of a friend's child and do my part to offer consolation from the ultimate loss. We all fall down. I suppose that being surrounded by family and friends willing to support us, through our struggles and sorrows, is what allows us to keep picking ourselves up.

The half life of neglect

According to Wikipedia Half Life is defined as the period of time it takes for the amount of a substance undergoing decay to decrease by half. It's radioactive decay. I'm not really a science girl - I appreciate the nurturing it takes for something to grow and I know that my health has been directly improved because of medicine (including radiation) and science, but, for the most part, I don't really get it. And, honestly, I'm not even that curious.

When I run, I exercise my mind. During last night's trot around the neighborhood, my thoughts were bouncing around - pausing on relationships that have inspired me. Inspired me to see things in a different way, to learn about myself and what makes me happy, to make changes in myself and my life. From out of nowhere, the concept of half lives flew into my mind and landed with a thud and I realized that I could apply that concept to two of my longest duration relationships quite neatly.

If you know me or possess the ability to read between the lines with perception, you've probably gathered that my mother and I don't share an easy relationship. It took me 30 years, a good friend's sage observations and a boatload of therapy to realize that, on many levels, I lived a childhood of neglectful. Understand, she was never, ever abusive but she just didn't have the capacity to address my emotional needs. No blame here, no anger (used that up as a teen), no judgment, just reality.

I guess I should consider it progress that it only took me half as long, til the age of 45, to wake up to the fact that my fundamental complaint about my marriage was a lack of emotional care giving. This isn't a criticism of my former spouse. I don't think either of us realized how much I yearned for someone to take care of me from the inside and I'm at least equally guilty of neglecting that part of myself. My own inability to recognize and ask for what I needed was radioactive poison causing decay, no doubt.

I know I can't decontaminate either of those prior relationships and I'm more than okay with that. I'd like to think that the part of me that has been becoming progressively smaller is the part that tolerates being neglected, by me, and by those whom I allow into my life. In the big picture, even a half life is far too much time to waste.

Perspective

Thought while loading the dishwasher...

How I see it:

image from diagrami.com

How my dog sees it:

image from takeeouteeno1.com

“Ridiculous” Lamb

My most recent contribution to Vinoteca. Lamb food porn. Ridiculous.

“Ridiculous” Lamb

Giving up

Trying to maintain relationships with people who don't communicate with me. Done.

Reading blogs that subsist on recycled ideas and mean spirited observations. Living life on the edge ain't for me. Finished.

Paying more than my share in life. In a world of nickel and dimers, I've erred on the side of generousity. No more.

Not dealing directly with people and situations that are unacceptable. I'm no longer willing to have the discussion solely in my head. Over and done.

Avoiding wearing my reading glasses from the mistaken belief that I can't possibly be at an age when I really need reading glasses. Surrendered.

Saying thank you

image from thank-you-site.com

How and when do you express appreciation? In an age of electronic and digital communication (are these the same??) are you inclined to say thank you with a phone call or perhaps an email or text? Does a simple and sincere face-to-face "thanks" suffice?

I recently read something about this book and it got me thinking about how meaningful an unexpected written thank you note can be to a person. And I believe that unexpected is the key word in that sentence. We're not talking here about the forced thank you notes children must write prior to being allowed to enjoy a present, or that obligatory wedding or shower gift acknowledgment. What I'm referring to is inherently more meaningful - a thoughtfully written note which communicates appreciation for an act of kindness, a generosity or a professional service. You want examples? How about three...

In the fall of 2010 I had corrective surgery on my separated shoulder. This cycling injury had become progressively more uncomfortable and I had arrived at the last resort - surgery. My doctor, Max Alley, did a fantastic job with the procedure. From his willingness to operate with a local anesthesia to the ultimate positive outcome, the surgery was an absolute success and I regained my ability to enjoy physical activities, most especially cross-country skiing. So I sent him a little note of appreciation. And - guess what happened? He responded in kind sending me a thank you note for my note!  As I said to him in my note, I hope to never see him again, but if I do our connection will be more personal, which I think, is pretty cool.

A few weeks ago I had an errand at the newly renovated Albany County Courthouse.  I was cutting it close on time and became extremely frustrated due to the locked doors at the main entrance on Eagle Street coupled with the complete lack of signage indicating how to get the heck in the building.  I literally had to go to another building and inquire where the entrance was (on the east side of the courthouse.  You're welcome.)  and, when I finally made my way to the office I needed, I was told that I was too late in the afternoon (Friday, naturally) to get done what I had practically maimed myself (extreme exaggeration) to accomplish.  I was not pleasant to the woman at the desk and I think know I spoke to her in an unnecessarily brusque fashion.  She very calmly and competently defused me with her tone of voice and reasonable demeanor.  I ultimately left my documents with her because she offered to keep them on her desk and attend to my matter first thing Monday morning.  After I left, I felt awful about the manner in which I had behaved, so I wrote a letter to her boss, Albany County clerk, Thomas Clingan to commend her for her professionalism.  I was most pleasantly surprised to receive a response directly from him thanking me for my note and expressing the appreciation of his staff for my notice of their hard work.  Nice, right?

And my third example?  Let's just say it involved a winning 50/50 raffle ticket with a substantial prize - maybe $2000+.  And maybe the winner of that prize independently elected to donate $1000 of that prize to the family who the lottery originally benefited, while keeping $1000 as a contribution to a fund for a special upcoming family event and making three smaller donations to other worthwhile charities.  And, perhaps, the donor never received the slightest acknowledgment of her generosity.  (At least not from the largest beneficiary - the other 3 donations were accepted with appreciation.)  Nope - not a phone call nor a note were ever received.  Granted, one shouldn't be motivated to give by the expectation of appreciation, but I honestly can't imagine ever cashing that check before expressing my gratitude.  Can you?

Maybe I should send them one more gift?  Perhaps a copy of this post would be appropriate? Nah, I'll just continue on my own path of appreciation because what you put out there does eventually come back.  Thankfully.

Unbroken

image from nytimesbestseller.net

I just finished an amazing book about a remarkable man. Unbroken by Laura Hillenbrand relates the absolutely inspiring life story of Louie Zamperini, an Olympic athlete, a soldier in the Pacific during World War II and, ultimately, a man who did not allow the extreme challenges in his life to permanently break him. Or, perhaps Louie's story isn't so much about how to deny life the opportunity to break oneself, but is instead a story that proves that it is the way we put the pieces back together, after being broken, that truly define us.

This excerpt, from when Louie began to run seriously, moved me.  Perhaps it was my own physical proximity to where he had been decades earlier, but I felt as if I knew exactly what he had experienced.

"...he went to stay at a cabin on the Cahuilla Indian reservation, in southern California's high desert...He ran up and down hills, over the desert, through gullies...He didn't run from something or to something, not for anyone or in spite of anyone; he ran because it was what his body wished to do."

I imagine it looked like this...

Get this book for athletes, veterans, WW II history buffs, and anyone struggling with personal challenges. It is unforgettable.