9/11 and Resiliency

This morning, September 11th, I was taking an early walk before work. As I walked, I reflected on another September day years ago, remembering where I was the moment I heard; it was a conference room in Massachusetts where colleagues had gathered for an early AM meeting. I remember all too vividly that morning and the disbelief that followed me like a shadow for a long time afterwards; a morning which permanently altered my spirit and so many other spirits in our country and the world.

This morning as I walked and reflected, sending out heartfelt energy to my brothers, sister in law, cousins, extended family and friends who were touched both physically and emotionally as an all too direct result of that day, a Martin County firefighter walked towards me. He was in full gear with an American flag draped over his shoulders. He was determined and purposeful, making a proud and glorious statement on a very somber day; a statement about resilience and service. I was so touched to see him.

I stopped and we spoke for a moment. As we did, I noted how drenched he was with perspiration; here in Florida the heat was already well under way for the day. All I could think of was that the warmth he was experiencing was nothing…in comparison…we both acknowledged that.

As I made a loop and u-turned back on my route, I saw him again. This time there were two other county public servants who had joined him. I asked if I could take their photo and share it. They gave permission and then we four had a moment of reflection, of honor and of glory. I thank those men for the statement they are making today.

God Bless them and their fellow brothers and sisters in service. And God Bless America, the land of the free and resilient and the home of the brave.

CAP and GOWN

My cap and gown hang in the closet waiting for graduation. The Phi Alpha cord and stole are draped over the hanger; their blue and gold fringe hang down to the floor. And every time I open the closet door and see them, I am brought to tears. You would think they should be tears of joy, of elation, of purpose and of hope for what lies ahead. Tears expressing completion and finishing, accomplishment and learning. And yet, they are tears of sorrow and grief. Tears of wishing I did this younger and of hoping it’s not too late to make a difference…

When I started this Master’s program with its 2 year internship attached, my goal was to become a therapist and yes, I have arrived at a place to be able to do this now. A place where I will help others to not have to writhe and wrangle through life the way I have done for decades while trying to press back against past trauma. I just knew that God was asking me to strive to pass along some of the “work” I have done; to make an effort to help to offset some of the pain others may experience along their life journeys. And so, I set out on the path.

But just because it is time to give back on a deeper level, and just because you are ready to heed God’s call to your spirit, that does not mean that your life or those you love within it will be able to see or to understand just what you have embarked on. It does not mean that God will hold back on delivering challenges. It does not mean that you will easily have the vigor to hold on to what you know and already have in your energy fields and yet still make room for all you are asked to take in.

With so many lectures these past years, there were tugs and tears. The classes on grief brought up every loss of my past and the all too close present; the lectures on divorce and its effects on children felt like bullets to my soul because I knew none of this when I made my own choices around that subject. I just didn’t know. Studies on polyvagal theory and neuroplasticity blew my mind, very literally blew my mind, because I could actually feel electrical sparks of understanding coursing through my brain as I learned; I really could feel them.

The power point presentations on rape and its after effects could have been taken from my CV. Those on childhood trauma transported me more than once to the long ago; bruising my little girl spirit again, yet again. Still, I wanted to learn more. I wanted to understand more and understand I did.

And now, at this milestone moment, it has become clear that amid all the learning and the A-OK’s, amid the holding my breath while trying not to be triggered, there is additional learning. I never in my wildest imaginings believed that I would be called to process still more, this when I have spent the last year striving so hard to finish so that life could get more relaxed.

I am reminded of what a professor explained to me when I sought her counsel in the first semester after a death in the family. She told me that she grows more adept in her practice every day, as she learns more about herself through dealing with life’s challenges. She also said that because of past trauma, it was important to be vigilant in maintaining breathing space during my learning; this in order to detach each day because the stuff we were studying could kick things up. And in the middle of the kicking up, new challenges abounded all the while. I have been grateful for this professor’s messages at the moments I had mental space to remember her wisdom, because she helped me keep on. I remember a moment where she looked me in the eyes and I knew that she understood. It felt like a long time since I believed someone could. I remember her telling me about all the mistakes she has made which press her forward in her clinical practice. I recall her reminding me not to look for understanding from others in this work, because I would be left wanting, but merely to do it.

But to not seek understanding from those we love when we feel we need it is not easy for humans, especially because all the while, all along the course of this learning, in my life outside class there was loss, there was death, there was illness and challenge. Yes, there was still suiting up and showing, even when the armor grew heavier atop the burdens of this emotional learning. There seemed not space enough to either ask for understanding or to understand. Yet, all the while, there was needing and wanting and tired. There was ever so much tired. And being in my mid 50’s, there was also the lack of cooperation from my unrecognizable body and ever so much heat constantly coursing through me, though I kept attempting to deny what was going on.

When my clinical year started and I set out for an elder certification, all I could see in the eyes of my clients was my mother; my deceased mom who just like many of them both wanted help and refused it at the same time. Counter transference at its finest. I saw dad too in the spirits of cancer patients writhing in pain and in the eyes of Alzheimer sufferers, former corporate giants who could no longer pick up a fork or brush their teeth. Every paper I wrote for two years was with a personal experience in mind. And I kept wishing, and wishing, that I was younger and had less references to pull from. Oh, how I wished I had not already “been there done that” as I wrote and wrote and wrote.

The lectures on drug addiction were unbearable. They hit too close to home on so very many levels. The professor’s solution of offering sanctuary to addicts incited a wish to stand up and scream at the insanity of what she was teaching. I wondered if the instructor had walked the streets of LA trying to find a stepdaughter the way I had the year before. Had she seen the addict’s and dealer’s tents pitched everywhere, infringing on the city the way I had? Had she ridden in the back of a police car and heard the pain in the officer’s voice as he spoke of the hopelessness of any solution? Did she know that the subject she was touting was shaking my home? My family? My security? Did she know? And then came the exams where I was called to put aside personal knowledge and access the answers I was being taught; answers which I know are not really the answers, not really.

It seems that the years of being immersed in these lessons and these reminders have taken a deeper toll that I ever imagined. The Masters graduate wants to stand proud, but the little girl in me really, ever so badly, needs a hug. OK little girl here goes; here’s a big fat squeeze. Can you feel it? Now then, go ahead and put one foot in front of the other as the woman in you promised she would, because perhaps down the road, there may be someone, somewhere who will be served because of something passed along to them from all this learning. Maybe then it will seem that it has been worth it.

We Can All Give Back Right Now

Thus far, in my last year of graduate school for clinical social work, I have spent approximately 450 hours working as a clinical intern “out in the field.” My clients have ranged from elders with Alzheimer’s disease to teenage girls operating under thick defensive armor in order just to survive, let alone thrive, in today’s middle schools.

I feel blessed for these opportunities, but it is hard to see what I am looking at.

What I have witnessed are elders who are alone, even sometimes while living with others. I see visually and hearing impaired women and men trying to cope whilst their caregivers lack the ability to “get” what  lack of vision or hearing actually means. I am exposed to medical offices that, even though they have extensive records, don’t seem to know much about the patient who is calling. Some of these same offices have asked me, the advocate, what paperwork the client needs to get specific medical help; this when I have called them to find out; this after I have been kept on hold for over an hour. Yes, this has happened to me more than once, more than thrice.

I have had physician’s staff call patient’s with dementia (rather than the caregiver) to remind them of appointments and then been asked to help with the frightened fallout. I have come into someone’s home while a chicken pot pie was burning because she couldn’t smell the smoke or hear the timer. I have been told by an 89 year old woman that she slept with an aluminum baseball bat under her bed just in case of another break-in, because she couldn’t dial the phone; thankfully, she now has an assisted device to do so. Hopefully she will never have to make the call.

Trying to assist some of these elders with medical logistics is a full-time job. There is lost paperwork, hours on hold, lack of transportation, financial stress, but most of all there is a lack of empathy. And I am left to wonder, how we can as a society begin to repair the many breakdowns in communication between a loved one and their caregiver; between the family and an advocate; between everyone and the doctor’s offices.

As for the young folks, I now understand that they should:  1. Never send a text unless they are OK with it being screen-shotted to half the school. 2. Not expect to sit with selected friends in the cafeteria, because seats are assigned. 3. Not expect to vent or have too much fun in same cafeteria; and definitely not get up from the table without permission. 3. Prepare, and be ready to take a stand, even though they may not yet have all the information needed before taking that stand. 4. Not report someone for bullying, because if they do, they are subject, along with the person bullied, to be written up; this is firsthand information from two high school-ers this happened to.

Now, it is possible that I am getting misinformed, but from what I see, from what I hear, from what I encounter and from the kids (both young and old) who share their burdens, things are not working very well in our society. I asked one struggling young middle school girl why she thought she was so angry. She said, “because I always feel like I have to take a stand. I always feel like I am supposed to stick up for myself and because I can’t trust anyone.”

So, my dreams and goals to help others seem daunting. However, I am hopeful. Hopeful that there are lots of others out there who want to help too and who are willing to learn the best way how. Here’s my thought:  Take a moment today, as soon as you can, to decide to understand a teenager or an elder. Know that they are up against challenges that you will not easily understand, either because you are not yet “there,” or because things were a helluva lot different when you were in middle school. But try to understand. Ask them questions. Make them put their cell phone down or in the case of an elder, teach them how to use one. Look them in the eye. Ask them what is hard for them. Find out what they love.

You can help right here, right now. Will you please work to try to do so? There are so many who need it. Spread the willingness. Spread the hope. Spread the love. By doing so, you can help to change the world.

On Using Your Voice in America

Although finding our voice and learning to use it is a huge part of life’s journey, the way we are teaching our children to do so today, the way we are communicating as a nation is truly heartbreaking. People are screaming so loud that you can’t even hear them anymore. Did you hear me? I said, “PEOPLE ARE SCREAMING SO LOUD THAT YOU CAN’T EVEN HEAR THEM ANYMORE!!” So, is it any wonder there is so much violence and rage with our young people today? Is it any wonder?

Is it any wonder, when we are surrounded by negativity; by so many raging against our very brothers and sisters in public office? The insanity that children are being taught today is not the fault of “them,” it is the fault of each one of us who accepts it. I haven’t even looked at who won or lost the elections yet this morning, because it has begun to feel as if it doesn’t even matter; instead I am digesting how happy I am that at least for now, the ugliness is over. My recycle bin will get a break at the very least.

I am exhausted by what went on prior to election day yesterday here in my neighborhood. Local commercials based only on slander. Mailbox fillers every day filled with hate. Posts and Tweets and Articles and Videos…filled with nothing but hate, hate, hate.

I don’t know how we got here, but it did not start this year or even last. It did not start with one man or with two or with one woman or three. It did not start with the last election or this. It did not start with this Congress. It started as a ripple effect some time ago and it worsens rapidly and exponentially because so many seem to be forgetting that we are today, tomorrow and always, supposed to be human. We are supposed to try and hope and guide and reach high. We are supposed to be brothers and sisters and tap into compassion and grace. To aim high for the stars instead of low at the jugular.

I hope, pray, and yes, do believe…that we can find peace. But first, each one of us has to be accountable to stop the hate right in our own home, in our own mailbox, on our own television and in our own heart. Right here, right now.

I hope you will join me. I hope you will try.

Ethics Class

I just finished a summer ethics class within graduate social work studies. The class was an elective, which surprised me, because for social work clinicians, regularly faced with dilemmas involving client’s differing personal, spiritual, cultural and political belief systems, I’d have thought it would be compulsory.

The reason I chose this, one of four required electives, was for exposure to specific potential challenges and to be taught creative problem solving-strategies and academic approaches to potential bias situations I may encounter down the line.

Throughout class-time, we were asked to look at various scenarios involving what we individually feel is right, is less right and is more right, and to give input on ways to resourcefully work towards resolution. For many hours, we looked at a variety of ethical dilemmas and were guided to, supposedly without allowing judgment, work towards outcomes that could be accepted, if not by all, by most.

And then it came time to work collaboratively on our final “Ethical Dilemma” paper with chosen group members. My group was intentionally just myself and another student who thankfully, thankfully, thankfully, has a similar work ethic to mine. Some of my peers chose larger groups with as many as four students, but since I have “been there, done that” over the past year with group projects, I was not interested in ever again taking a chance by putting my grade in the hands of several other people.

A few days before the paper’s due date, a fellow student called me to ask for advice. Her reaching out to seek peer counsel, was very much part of the strategies we learned in class and is, in fact, something I have used regularly within both my earlier professional life and personal life. I was pleased that she felt comfortable enough to ask for my help. It turns out, the student was dealing with an ethical dilemma within her writing group. This was of course ironic given that the paper was to be an academic template of how to handle another ethical dilemma, one assigned by the professor. She was up against a partner who refused to accept constructive criticism for typos, misspellings, citation errors, or any additions or deletions to her work on their google doc. This, although everyone will receive the same grade on the paper, a grade which will be based beyond content, on each of these things. She asked me what to do.

…As an aside, you really gotta love google docs, really you do. Each time I open one and work with another person simultaneously, I realize that I truly have lived two lives; one as a dinosaur with a typewriter in my undergraduate studies and the other today…

My suggestion to my peer was to make any truly necessary grammatical corrections on their google doc and to ask her group members to help her in letting the other student know that any corrections were by no means personal (I really thought she should say, “get the bleep over it beeeatch,” but that did not seem very ethical). Over the next two days, she reached out several times, because not only did she begin receiving hateful text messages from the group member attacking her character, her ethnicity and her very being, but none of the other group members were availing themselves to help. While wanting to be of service to my friend and to offer helpful suggestions, ethically I knew that I could not be in the middle while only communicating with one side of the challenge, so all I could think to suggest was that she contact the professor, apprise him of the very ironic ethical dilemma on her hands, and ask for his advice (I also told her to be sure to put her shoulders back and her chin up and make sure she kept breathing and stuff like that too though).

She was hesitant to contact the professor, expressing that she did not want to cause any trouble for any of her group members, and finally, because the paper was due, she allowed it to be handed in. Later, she contacted me to let me know that after the deadline, she did in fact, reach out to the professor and received response that there would be communication between him and the entire group. She also said that she was now willing to share what she had experienced. It turns out, the other girl had reached out to the professor as well, so I can only hope that there will be a resolution that is the most right for all concerned.

As for our final paper, my partner and I worked well together for several weeks. We researched, read articles and books, and spoke to political organizations as we garnered data from dozens of citation sources. We edited, re-edited and re-re-edited, so much so that when we handed in our work on the due date, we knew without a doubt that it was an “A” paper; in fact, we were absolutely certain. However, when I woke up this morning, logged on, and saw our posted grade, it was an “A minus.“ My first thought was to be “Ticked off.” This thought was followed by a second thought which was to be VERY “TICKED OFF,” but thankfully, both of these thoughts were quickly followed by a third thought which was a very gentle, loving one. It was the thought of gratitude for the experience, because as much as I really, really hate the minus at the end of that “A,” I feel blessed. The gratitude stemmed from the realization that I could neither put a grade nor a price tag on what I learned outside the classroom, as I tried to help my fellow student with her emotional paper challenge. It stemmed as well from the understanding that, as far as I am concerned, our grade, my partner and mine, is an A+++ for the way we collaborated, learned from one another and kept an open mind as we sought solution. Perhaps, at the end of the day this is all that matters.

What I have realized this year, after waiting with bated breath through more than a dozen classes and two internships for please dear God, please an “A,” is that at the end of the day it is NOT about the “A,” but about what we learn and about what we are willing to take with us out into the world. In my case, within my practice, this will be a fabulously intense desire to be of service and to honor willingness, both my own and that of others.

 

 

Paterfamilias

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We went to a family wedding yesterday and during the reception it hit me that we, my brothers, sister, cousins and I, are now the matriarchs and patriarchs of our family. There is no longer a table where the older generation holds court; there were no place settings for our moms, dads, aunts and uncles, because they are all in heaven now. We, those that used to be the middle generation (wasn’t it just yesterday?), are now the family elders. As such, we have a responsibility to pass along to our sons, daughters, nieces, nephews, cousins and grandchildren, all the stories and love that we received from those who are gone.

Yesterday, watching one of the “kids” get married and move forward into his future caused a tug at my heart. There were other tugs as I listened during the reception about the castles young guests are building in the air, as businessmen and women; tugs because I remembered the ones of sand that cousins built on the beach together some years back. It is clear those expressing their young successes have no idea of the many personal lessons which likely lie ahead of them; nor should they. They are unaware of the experiences that will change them, the lessons they won’t want but will certainly need, as they maneuver their way through to the next level of placement within their own families. They do not yet know that they will do this maneuvering by sometimes coming together and sometimes pulling away, hopefully more often the former. And one day, likely well into the future, these children who are no longer children will look back and realize that at the times in their lives they thought they were sure, they in fact knew so little.

It can almost seem that once you realize what life is all about, it is too late; too late to tell everyone how much you always cared; so, you want to go back and grab hold of all the times you didn’t know … and make them right. You want to be sure the important people know that you would have been more open and less defensive, more secure and less frightened. You would have given more generously from your heart, no matter how much was or was not in your wallet, and you would have been around more often to love big, so very, very big.

When the pastor spoke of all who were missing at the wedding yesterday, his words touched a tender place; more tender still as the bride and groom opened a box to release several butterflies in their honor. It was a profound moment for us patriarchs and matriarchs, but one that very likely went over the heads of the millennial’s in attendance, because they still have two generational shifts to go before they are paterfamilias.

I thought of Aunt Pat, Uncle Tommy, Mom, Dad, KK and Pop, of Uncle Ed, Aunt Marion and so many others who were part of our Sunday reunion ukulele sing-alongs. As I did, I had to catch my heart before it wandered too far. I had to catch it and bring it back to the wedding service and the two souls before me, souls very much alive and committing to their sacred contract. I took a moment to pray a silent prayer for them and to ask God to make their lessons a bit less painful than the elders and mine have been. And then I clapped with joy as groom kissed bride.

And in a most fitting way, today, the day after this revelation, happens to be Mother’s Day. No matter whether you believe in celebrating this assigned meaning day or not, after a long hiatus of graduate school papers getting in the way, I am again compelled to write on this date. I take a formal moment to consider and honor family both here and gone, those who truly matter to my heart. It gives me great comfort to do so, because I know that this would please them, especially mom.

Typing these words helps me honor her and to honor my baby sister who did not make the wedding, and who today both celebrates her daughters and grieves the boy taken too young. It seems so often that life asks you to do both simultaneously; to grieve and be joyful. I also honor the great joy my family holds for me today and all the hopes and dreams I have for everyone who makes up that family. There are such possibilities ahead for all of us. Thank you to the generations who helped pave the way for all of us.

Relationships and Decisions and Choices

Over the last few days, it seems the theme around me has been relationships. Within conversation, one friend was processing some sadness about her former partner while another, her present one. Both turned to me for advice:  “How do you know when the person you are with is the right one for you?” “How do you know when he’s wrong and the time has come to move on?“How do you stand the feelings while you figure it all out?”

First, let me say that I am by no means an expert on relationships! However, because my peeps and I seek one another out for solution, I was compelled to give the best answer I could in both situations, “It’s not that simple. What I have learned from experience is that you know simply because you decide to and then you work within and towards that decision every day.”

 

My friends’ questions provoked powerful emotions within me, mostly ones of gratitude but also of sorrow and regret. They prompted a hope that once they make their choice they will know that whatever unfolds from that point on, will be right and true and good because that is who they are inside and because they will decide to work at making it so.

All my life, I stood in terror of making decisions. I was afraid to go right and find out later that left had been the way for me. Because of this, I lived always positioned for a move, ready to turn, as if waiting for a tennis shot; poised for either a forehand or back, but never too firmly planted on my feet; just ready, always ready. With this type of stance, it was difficult for any relationship to seed, take root, grow strong and flourish. The garden that was my life was one filled with annuals, never perennials, and I could not understand why flowers were not re-blooming year after year. Instead of planting new ones, knowing that the former’s gift had come and gone, I thought I must have picked the wrong patch of earth. Sure, I watered sometimes, but there was so much more critical work required. There were weeds to pull, soil to turn over and fertilizer to spread. Because I thought once I planted, pretty colors would be forevermore, when things went bare and brown I panicked. I did not understand.

Today, I can only wonder at how it was I believed I should always know, know Who and What and Where and When. How I thought I should be sure and certain in whatever I picked or chose. I wonder how it was that I so naively thought we all were supposed to find our custom designs out there, so easily, so surely. Did I think there were memos to help or sky-written messages from above to guide the way? Did I remain so afraid in my decisions, because I never got those memos, those messages? Was it because I felt abandoned somewhere, by what or whom I am not sure, but forgotten and left to pick my way through life on my own? It is laughable today, but laughable in the most gentle sort of way, to think about how terrified I was of getting it all wrong; the big IT of life; the guy I should be with, the career path to travel, the neighborhood to live in and the bestie to trust.

This morning, I have decided to smile with gentle kindness at all of it, appreciate the similarities between all of us fellow travelers and pass along what I have learned. I have opted to use the feelings stirred up from relationship conversations this week and remember to reach upward towards the blessed prayer of St. Francis of Assisi and its words that will guide me for the future. I choose today to head in the direction before me and to believe that help will come as I go, not in memo form, but in daily dialogue with God and His Angels.

Right here, right now, I choose to be one of the brave and decisive ones as I step out, one of the courageous ones, one unafraid to choose left with both feet on the ground or go right with everything I have inside of me. I commit to a willingness to make today’s choices gracefully and while doing so, believe that whatever they are will be good and true; because no matter what unfolds, the gifts will come in the lessons therein.

The most important choice I will make today will be once again to believe with all my heart, with absolute certainty that there is no right way and no wrong, but ever so perfectly, there is simply the way I will choose.

Don’t Explain, Don’t Complain

Almost two decades ago, my first spiritual mentor came into my life. A beautiful soul, she crossed my path suddenly and very coincidentally. In retrospect, I am sure our meeting was God’s handiwork, because it happened soon after I began seeking Grace.

At the onset of my quest, although I could almost taste what I sought, I did not yet fully understand what Grace even meant. As it turns out, it is so much more than I had thought. Yes, it is a relationship with God, as I believed it was; salvation even. Beyond that, it is all that you are; it is personal freedom, strength in vulnerability and the capacity to stand true and unwavering as your very best self at a given time. It is also “all that you simply cannot manage to be, even though you might like to, at a said given time.” Some might express the last sentence as “all that you are not,” but I prefer my own understanding.

One of the first things I remember discussing with this spiritual guide was that, “Ideally we want to get to a place in our lives where we don’t feel a need either to Explain or Complain.” The “Not having to explain” part, because if we stay true to trying to do the next right thing in our lives, we won’t have to prove anything to anyone. The “not complaining,” because doing so will just keep us stuck in our ego and that, as I have learned through very painful life lessons, will simply never do.

Whilst traveling a route towards God’s favor, I have done my best to honor many along the way with friendship. In learning to do so, as often as I have been able to remember, I’ve used this “Don’t Explain, Don’t Complain” mantra and it has been priceless. In the midst, I have received precious gifts of time and loving kindness and have offered the same in return. However, it is at times impossible to fulfill the needs of others or even to communicate fully why we are unable to. Work stuff takes a little longer than usual or the car has to go into the shop. The cat gets out or a neighbor distracts with a request to borrow sugar. Someone asks for help, or my husband wants to spend time; a writing deadline looms or a migraine hits.

When these things happen, these tugs, these ways that take me away from what I might really want to be doing in order to do what needs to be done, life can start to feel awfully lifey. Through it all though, I still need never explain nor complain. What I must do, is simply that which is immediately pressing in front of me in the very best way I can.

When living in this simple “Don’t complain, don’t explain” mantra, life has the potential to be grand. No, it’s not as simple as it sounds, not exactly, but it really does work as long as it’s basis is on trusting those you have relationships with to know who you are at your core; to know that you would never intentionally hurt them with what they perceive as your wrong.

When I find myself tempted to give a lengthy dissertation of why I didn’t or couldn’t or can’t, I have to stop and remind myself that getting fearfully embroiled in having to explain what is sometimes unexplainable is unnecessary, especially if my connection to God is intact. Those sometimes pulls, the yanks towards the need to be absolutely certain that others understand the why’s and what’s of my decisions can be let go if I remember that those why’s and what’s don’t really matter as long as God and I know the reasons.

In the big picture of life, what others think about my actions or inactions need have no bearing on my reality. Just as others have no idea what fully goes on in my total day to day, I have no idea what goes on in theirs. There are so many tugs, twists and turns in one twenty-four hour period that to try to be all that we desire to or to explain every situation encountered is a daunting and sometimes seemingly impossible task.

And so, as that long ago mentor also told me, I must trust that when I ask God each morning to guide me to His will, that what he puts in front of me is right and true, even when it changes or deviates from what I had planned. I can be firm in my choices, including re-choosing, even when those choices feel slightly uncomfortable, and do my very best to remember that He alone can judge; though he never even will, because He loves me so. How cool is that!

Connect While There is Time…

Time is so confusing. It seems to go so slowly when we are waiting for something to happen and trying to honor that “time takes time.” Yet, in actuality, it goes by so fast. The hours become days then weeks and then years. Where does it go, where does it disappear to, this time? There seems never enough of it to be able to catch up with those I care about and honor, those living their day to day in the same way as me. I often wonder when there will be time to connect. Will it be today? No, not today, today is just so busy, so very busy. Tomorrow maybe, but then again tomorrow is very busy too.

I imagine that many others feel the same way and sometimes wonder too, “What is happening with “So and So?” or “How is this person or that?” “I must call her when I get a chance,” or “I will check in with him just as soon as possible.”

So often, I find myself thinking about someone and realizing that it has been ages since we have spoken, eons at least since our last luncheon or coffee or since we have spent any time together. I seem regularly to realize this while sitting in traffic. I don’t know what it is about time behind the wheel, but at red lights or in congestion, that is when my best thinking happens, my best remembering.

For some reason when I have a few second STOP, an unplanned moment in the midst of busy days while waiting for red to turn green or cars to start moving again, I receive snippets of inner wisdom. Out in the world heading to a destination is where I often remember all the other destinations I want to get to later. It is when I ponder all the places I must go and the people I must see because I miss them so; it is where I am reminded of all I want to do, after of course I get to wherever I am getting to on this trip and after doing whatever it is that needs doing there.

The other day, in one of these out and about moments, a friend crossed my mind, someone I have not seen or talked to in quite some time, someone I miss chatting with. Our span of time unconnected has been, on my end anyway, because of busy hours turning to days, then weeks and then months before I even realized how long it had been. I take solace in the realization that I am truly trying to pay attention to all those who matter, but with only two arms to reach out there seems not a wide enough span to grab hold of every moment with every person I care about. There simply are not enough hours.

With a loving thought, I made a call to her feeling a bit shy as I did, insecure even, though I can not exactly say why. I sometimes worry, when I reach out like this after a long while, “They probably don’t want to hear from me, after all, the phone works both ways and they would have called or whatever, whatever.” “Maybe I shouldn’t bother; what if they forgot about me?” Random thoughts based in fear might have stopped me in the past, stopped me from dialing a number to send greetings and salutations, to let someone know that, if nothing else, they matter to me in some way, but not anymore.

Although some measure of insecurity still sometimes tries to creep in before I squelch it, it excites me to know today that I can refuse to buy into uncertainty in relationships in ways I never knew were possible before. Always now, when my head asks, “Should I call?” my heart answers, “Yes, Yes, Yes!” Yes, because the thoughts that would have stopped me have no basis in whom I want to be today. Anyway, even if these thoughts had some truth, in the scheme of the spiritual life I try to live, “Could it ever be wrong to reach out anyway?”

In the midst of making the phone call , when voicemail prompted, I left what I hope were thoughts filled with love, though I could not be exactly sure they had come out right. Let’s face it, whenever you hang up from leaving a message, you are never one hundred percent sure about what you said. I remember a long ago television episode of Seinfeld where Elaine, leaves a message on a guy’s answering machine and then is so paranoid about what she said that she gets Jerry, George and Kramer to help her get the answering machine tape before the guy hears it.

Yeah, sort of like that, whenever I leave a loving message, especially after a long time between chats with someone, I think, “Did that come out right?” “Will they know I really care?” I always hope so. Anyway, I left that message and felt happy I did; I sent love and friendship and that was the point no matter what the outcome. Then I went about my day.

When I returned home that night, I opened up email and there, in my inbox was a message from the recipient of my afternoon voicemail. The message tugged my heart to the point of tears. First, she thanked me for the call and then open-heartedly, from the tone of her beautifully written words, she filled me in on the past eleven months of her life, on things that had transpired since last I had seen her. The months she wrote about were rife with loss and family tragedy, loss of the worst kind. As I read, any measure of self-doubt or insecurity I had felt earlier when leaving the message suddenly seemed laughable, shameful almost. Yet, “No,” there is never any shame in what you feel in matters of friendship, or reaching out or willingness towards another person, no matter how much time has passed since the last attempt on either part.

Then it came over me almost as a sob, that I never, ever, ever know what is going on in others’ lives, just as they have no idea about mine during any of the time we may be disconnected. It also hit me, quite hard actually, that when I think of someone, it is critical to let him or her know, because life and whatever time we get go by so very fast and before we know it one of us may be gone.

I stared at the computer screen long after reading her message and my thoughts wandered to so many people that I miss, friends and family that I have not seen or heard from; people I have meant to call and send letters to. I wondered what was going on for each of them and suddenly I needed a hundred addresses to send letters to; I wanted to send flowers and cookies or gifts, some token of appreciation and acknowledgment for each person crossing my mind in an effort to express what they have meant over all the decades of my life.

In the world of texts and social media the connection is not enough, so I promise myself I will call Julia and Ernie, Debbie and Norma, Maggie and Ali. I will write Natasha and Dan, Ro, Colleen and Mary. I will for sure connect deeper very soon, just as soon as I get out of this traffic, as soon as I get the groceries home. I will the minute I finish the laundry or type up my work recap. The very second I walk in the door I will get on it and reach out to the people I love that I have not seen or talked to in so long.

Inevitably, however, when I arrive home I forget; being hungry or tired takes over. I need a shower or a cup of tea; the mail is waiting, the trash needs taking out or the cat needs feeding. There are always so many here and now things requiring immediate action. They take precedence because they are in front of me and so I do them, until suddenly, another week has gone by, another month, another year. So many of the calls went un-dialed, the cards were only written in my head and never made it to paper and ink; the flowers remained at the florist. I don’t suppose it counts that I sent them in my heart. No, I don’t suppose it does.

Today I must make the phone calls and send the greeting cards. I must tell all of you how much you mean to me. I must do this now before it is too late. I am logging off, yes right now to do so, but wait there is a notification on my screen. There is another email. one from work. I have to read it first and then respond and then…