Monthly Archives: May 2015

Memorial Day, 2015

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Traditionally today is the day you can safely wear white. The unofficial beginning of summer. Staying in Manhattan is a treat when so many go away. It’s such a simple pleasure. This afternoon I went for a jog on the East River and enjoyed the array of characters I encountered. The row of men fishing. Most had rods and used fish meat as bait. But some had traps and used chicken gizzards. I got thumbs up as I slowly ran by. Appreciating the encouragement I smiled back with my thumbs up for their potential catches. It was a New York moment. I passed a family ready to barbecue, a plastic checkered tablecloth on top of which were a rainbow assortment of 64 ounce sodas, yellow for pineapple, bright orange for Sunkist soda, purple for Fanta grape, and deep red for cherry. The children were playing on the grass while the moms chatted over a card game.

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There were families riding bikes together, and other joggers, all passing me by. I didn’t care, there was a light breeze, and I was enjoying the river on one side and the thin crowds from East Harlem, upper Manhattan and the upper eastside on the promenade. I didn’t see a lot of white, but I did see people of all ages wearing vibrant colors, as if they were manufactured from the same color lots as the sodas. One guy was schlepping a cart filled with picnic booty from Cosco. He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt . That’s something I don’t see often anymore. My pale blush t-shirt was wet from sweat, like a sugary pink lemonade powder as it moistens to become a beverage.

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My struggle to write a piece for this week belies the pleasure I enjoyed while out. So I’ll end this here, high on the memory, low on creativity. Sometimes the limits of expression confound me. But I’m laughing about it, thanks to the day.

Why Don’t I Like Her?

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Ms. Garcia was fussy. She was tense and persnickety. She was one day old when I met her and addicted to meth. Understandably, she was not easily soothed.

Some of my best teachers were infants. There was a time years ago when I held babies at St. Luke’s Hospital in the nursery. It was a wonderful program initially created for newborns who were at risk for AIDS. But as crack grew to epidemic proportions, the program expanded to include drug-addicted infants. Most of the nurses were wonderful, but their work load was full, so they enlisted volunteers to help with the holding and feeding, giving the babies human touch when their families were unable to be there.

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What I found fascinating about the infants was that instinctively they felt more comfortable in some arms rather than others. While Ms. Garcia would allow me to feed her, Mr. Brown did better in the arms of Cindy, one of the pediatric nurses. We all had our favorites. Because so many of the infants were taken from their mothers following the birth, they were referred to as Mr. and Ms. So & so since few had been named.

One important lesson the babies taught me is that we are drawn to some people and not others. Prior to that, I worked so hard to have others like me. I was not a popular kid. The more I tried to fit in, the further down the social ladder I fell. It never occurred to me to check in with myself to see if I liked them. So from the time I was in elementary school I measured my self-worth by the acceptance of others. Not a winning strategy.

The babies taught me to trust my instincts. To listen to the feelings I have when around others. We all come up with reasons why we don’t like one person, or why we like another. But what I saw in the hospital nursery was that the reasons came later to us. We like whom we like. We see it most in dating. I dated a lot in my twenties. I met a lot of people who were very nice, but I still wasn’t interested in them. When I asked, I would say, “he was boring,” or, “we didn’t have the same interests.” But the truth was, it just wasn’t right. Not because of our interests, that was incidental to my initial experience with the date.

As a psychotherapist this lesson has been invaluable. Since I see psychotherapy as a path back to trusting oneself, the relationship matters. When asked for recommendations, I suggest meeting with a few therapists so a potential client has a chance of getting a good feeling about their prospective therapist. This might be the first step in learning to trust themselves.

I learned to trust myself after working with the infants, observing how and with whom they bonded.   I am grateful to the Misters and Ms.’s for this important lesson. The babies I held are in their twenties now. And I’m hopeful that they are returning to their natural state of being, in touch with their instincts. After all they gave freely and unknowingly, they deserve that, and so much more.

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Mother’s Day, 2015

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“We are all married to the same man.”

Judy Mannarino, Talented Artist, www.judymannarino.net

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Mother’s Day is a day fraught with mixed emotions. We’re parents, but we’re not mothers. We wish to be mothers but we’re not. We’re mothers, but we wished we weren’t. We love our children, but we get frustrated sometimes. Our mothers are no longer here. Our mothers are here, but we’re not sure how we feel about that. We’re indebted, we’re sad, we’re expectant, we’re disappointed. We’re ambivalent.

This morning I woke up, took my shower and came into the living room/dining area when I saw a card and gift. For the first few years of motherhood, Larry, my husband, wasn’t aware that Mother’s Day meant something to me. I could say I taught him, but it would be more accurate to say I shamed him into buying cards and gifts for this very Hallmark holiday.

Today he bought me a perfect gift, a pair of high-end earbuds from Future Sonics. As a walker, good earphones make all the difference. My only issue was that he had already given me the exact same gift this past Hanukkah. I loved them then. I was neither generous of heart nor gracious when I opened the gift. I wish I could say I had a sense of humor about it. I did not. I was petty.

It’s been difficult these past few months, and I wanted an easy day. I felt hurt, and I shared that fact. I know I’m so fortunate to have a husband who wrapped a gift and made an effort, yet I felt deprived, sad, in some unexplained way. I went for a long walk. I bought some earrings as compensation. And, yet, yet, when I came home I wanted attention. Larry was preoccupied, and I again felt as if he hadn’t apologized for the gift, nor gone out of his way to make this day special for me.

He says that whatever he does isn’t good enough. And, I say that he doesn’t really go out of his way to think about what would be meaningful to me. It’s a lose/lose for both of us. One would think we could disengage from this cycle, but we don’t. I measure his love by his gifts, and he measures my love by my approval or disapproval.

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By tonight can I see that I use him as a way not to face my own limitations. I had a beautiful day. I walked the city. And, I love New York.   I came home, and he had helped with an email issue. He did the laundry. I am working on my inclination to lean towards deprivation rather than abundance. While working on this, I will say, today I was abundantly small-minded. Maybe, just maybe, soon I will be able to say I am abundantly grateful. Until then, I will employ patience, first with myself, and then with Larry, and, Emma, our daughter.

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Anger Management

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Shortly after a lovely run in the park, and a chat in the colorful garden on this beautiful Sunday, I was crossing the street when a red mini SUV made a fast right, cutting me off. I slowed my walk so as not to be hit. I yelled into her open window, my right arm up,

“HEY!”

She gave me the finger and yelled, “Fuck You.”

I was pissed. Then I saw that she went onto my block. I silently wished her no parking space. A private revenge for scaring me, then blaming me for getting upset. As I arrived at my apartment building, I saw her car parked at a hydrant. Angry, I walked over to the vehicle. She was unloading stuff, presumably from Cosco. I walked up to her took off my sunglasses and said, “I want you to see who you almost ran over.”

“You’re nuts. I had plenty of room. Go away.”

“I don’t think so.”

It felt good to just stand there. Here was a woman who had scared me, and I felt calm, yet energized.

“You’re hassling me. Go away or I’ll call the police.”

“Please do, I’m happy to let them know that you almost ran me over.”

“Just leave. You’re hassling me.”

“No, I’m not. I’m on public property, not touching you, not threatening you, just standing.”

She took her phone out, and started taking pictures of me. Perhaps my picture might be somewhere on social media. Probably with a tag line of crazy woman hassling strangers. Let me know if you see it. I took out my phone and took a picture, too. I wasn’t sure what was motivating me, but I felt righteous. And, I was still angry. She had endangered both of our lives, and yet took no responsibility. I then crossed the street and went home. All the while she’s taking my picture.

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For me this was something of an accomplishment. I spoke up for myself, I did not act out, well, maybe a little, and then I moved on. Although I was angry, I was not compelled to match her anger and denial.

For a long period of time I denied my own anger. I remember in my twenties I was in the extraordinary Kate McGregor Stewart’s acting class. We were asked to offer something to a partner. I don’t remember his name but he wished for me a shelf of plates that I could crash letting go of my anger. I cried. I was enraged, but swallowed my feelings, hating that he thought I was angry. Being a new-ager, I thought anger was negative, and I only wanted to feel positivity. It’s taken me thirty years to accept anger as one of many emotions. Ire does not negate being optimistic, it’s just another aspect of our make-up.

So, today felt good. I could be angry, and I didn’t need to deny it. Nor did I need to dramatize it. It was a moment in time. I get to write about it, and next week I’ll write about something else, unless, of course, I’m angry again.

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