Good Advices

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I had a neighbor whom I asked for advice once. He was a lawyer and said, "free advice is worth what you pay for it." He was also cheating on his wife and left her suddenly and hurtfully, so screw him.

Advice given well is a good thing. How can one give advice well? Give it as though it were a gift. The person receiving it can take it or not, keep it or return it as they see fit. That's the way I'm giving the following.

Most important: Listen to Cuomo not Trump. I know this sounds like politics, but if you have been watching both of them you know which one is being reasonable, thoughtful of others, and depending on experts. Cuomo is telling the truth. Don't be fooled by charlatans.

Astronaut Mark Kelly writing in The New York Times says "I spent a year in space, and I have tips on isolation to share. Take it from someone who couldn't: Go outside." For those not wanting to read the whole thing, here are the bullet points:

  • Follow a schedule (Get up, go to bed, and have dinner together at the usual times.)
  • But pace yourself (Take time to have fun. Take time to do nothing. Breathe.)
  • Go outside (But don't do crowds. Don't visit friends in person. Walk the dog.)
  • You need a hobby (Be creative.)
  • Keep a journal (Writing is just the greatest.)
  • Take time to connect (Call your parents. Call your kids. Call everyone you love.)
  • Listen to experts (Not those who pose as experts.)
  • We are all connected (For better and worse. Help each other. Don't infect one another.)
  • And wash your hands — often (More often than you think you should.)

And then there's Leo Babauta who talks about how to cope:

  1. Breathe deeply into the belly (Learn this and you'll feel a real difference.)
  2. Check on your feelings, give yourself compassion (Say okay to your feelings.)
  3. Find calm in the middle of a storm (Find it within you and maybe in a quiet space or practice.)
  4. Send compassion out to others (Once you're in a better place, share that with others.)

There's more of course. Share back with me the best things you advise.

Take care of you and yours.

(You might want to listen to R.E.M.'s Good Advices. That always makes me feel good.)

Talking To Anxiety

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I had something of a quandary last night and this morning. A friend generously invited me on a hike. We'll stay a safe distance from one another, he assured me. The idea was tempting but also, I'll admit, frightening. Not unnerving but really frightening. I couldn't see any way to stay properly distanced through the whole thing. What if I brought this invisible thing home to my family? Those thoughts kept me turning and turning through the night and into this morning. Ah, anxiety.

This morning I told him I just couldn't do it. Relieved of the anxiety about the hike, I felt a new worry that he would think I'm a fool, but I put that aside pretty quickly. Chris is my friend. These are crazed times. Maybe he's disappointed — I sure am — but he's not angry. He's a better friend than that.

This reminded me of what my friend Jon, a retired psychotherapist, wrote to family and friends:

I am used to thinking about how to manage anxiety on an individual and family level. I remind myself what the evolutionary biologists tell us – that anxiety (or stress) serves the vital purpose of calling our attention to a threat so that we can prepare to act to protect ourselves. After we get the message and act on it, the feeling of anxiety has served its purpose and no longer provides any benefits. In fact we all recognize that persistent anxiety interferes with our optimum functioning, including the function of our immune system. So how do we let go of the anxiety, or at least put it to the side, when the threats are persistent no matter what actions we take?

I am trying to tell the anxious part of me that I understand that it will keep reminding me of threats that haven’t gone away. That is its job. But I also keep telling it that the larger part of me is already doing its job responsibly, that is I am taking the protective actions that are within my control. When I keep receiving the same messages from the anxious part of me, the larger part of me needs to speak up to tell it to keep its distance. It should agree to let the message through, but seek to have the emotions that usually accompany it left at the door.

My anxiety about hiking called my attention to a possible threat and forced me to prepare by thinking things through as logically as I could. Anxiety kept that decision making at the front of my brain as I sat with the family watching Worst Cooks In America. Anxiety said, this is important enough to keep thinking about. I kept thinking until I made my decision.

The worry about Chris thinking poorly of me is anxiety from things in my history that have proven misguided. It's all about thinking I'm unworthy. I told that anxiety, thanks for the message, but this one's under control. My logical self knows that people love me and can speak gently to the anxious child inside me.

Which is not to say that all anxiety is childish. My anxiety last night was all grown up and reasonable. The one worried about my friend's reaction, that's a little kid. Both anxieties have their places and both can be addressed and managed.

This morning headlines aren't uplifting. I'm anxious. But I'm home, taking precautions. My hands are washed. There's nothing I can do right now to prepare and make the situation better. Still large parts of me are anxious, so I have this talk with my anxious self:

Dear Anxiety, I've received your messages, loud and clear. Thank you. Now, have a nap. Rest. You must be tired after being on duty all these days and nights. Don't worry, I'll wake you when you're needed again.

Art & Intent

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I'm having trouble my students always complained about in which I feel that there's nothing to write. I've committed to writing a daily blog post during these tough times but this morning I've had nothing to say. That's how it feels.

But I know better.

There's plenty to say, it's just that none of it seems worthy of putting out into the world. There's a guy I read online who posts almost everything he does and thinks. I skip eighty percent of his posts because they offer me nothing. However, the other twenty percent of posts are good. Were we friends and not living so far apart, I would ask him to explain how the eighty percent is any better than pictures of dinner and dessert that people post online. Does anyone enjoy looking at those?

Writing for others, I have to consider, well, others. I don't have to cater to them, but I have to be presenting something to them. What I'm writing now may not be useful to some, but I'm writing it with intent, to stress (again) that writing and creating are things we have to keep doing for ourselves and others, and that we need to create with intent.

My friend relayed advice he had read that every single photograph has to tell a story, has to have some message. We rolled our eyes, not because it's a bad idea but because it's too simplistic. Creative endeavors must have intent (not necessarily a message) to take an audience somewhere. Art is a vehicle. Where it takes us is up to artist and audience, and is dependent on the moment.

My writing may or may not be art. It is intended as such by me, but that's only part of the equation. It is however, the only part of the equation I control, so the thing to do is to keep making art and hold onto my intent.

At the top, I talked about students I taught over twenty-four years when I was a public school teacher. I've left that career but artists remain teachers. My friend's art teachers challenging lessons by refusing easy prettiness. My writing teaches by mining my experience while trying not to be too pedantic, narcissistic, or boring.

When I approach making art with intent, it's easy to feel there's nothing within me worthy of such a thing. Nonsense. Not all of what I think, feel, and experience should be shared, but much more of it is worthy than I tend to want to believe.

Two last things:

As always, the keys are to start and keep going. I sat and typed the first thing that came to my mind then kept going until I said the last word.

Art doesn't come out the first time, so I went back to the top and shaped what I had put down. Revision took the half-baked, self-centered, indulgent thoughts and created something for an audience that just might be, if I did it right, artful. At least it was done with that intent and showed me again that there is always something to write. I'll keep writing.