Healing Words

I don’t consider myself to be an outstanding apologizer. I suppose I am better at it than I was 20 years ago. I have had more opportunities to practice. 

In her book, Why won’t You Apologize?, author Harriet Lerner gives the low down on apologies, both the fake and the real.  The fake ones usually sound good at first (at least in our own heads.) When stripped down to their bones they are an act of simple redirection. A way to blame someone else for a shortfall and make it sound like you’re sorry about that “thing” that happened. Sometimes people fake it for the sake of looking good, or just to smooth things over so we can “move on.”

Then there are the real ones. According to Dr. Lerner, a real apology requires one to drop the guard, to choose vulnerability, to hold oneself accountable for that “thing.“  A real apology is a big risk since there is no guarantee that the apology, no matter how real, will be accepted.  Our human nature tells us that rejection sucks and to avoid it. So we withhold at all costs.

Seven years ago I had a disagreement with a close friend. My “apologies” were not well received.  While I was sorry about the disagreement, I was also determined that I was right.  We barely spoke for years. Five years passed before I finally understood what being “right” had cost me.  The real tragedy revealed its ugly head, and when I got that, I could truly apologize while knowing that I would probably be rejected. Fortunately, the apology was accepted, and I got my friend back.  The friendship is not the same as before.  A chunk of our lives is gone, and we can’t get it back.  We did our best to pick up where we left off, prepared to accept that on some things we won’t ever agree. 

It’s simple to say you’re sorry. Truly being sorry is the key to the authenticity that brings the healing. Easy? Not so much! Worth it? I guess it depends on what's important to you. If relationship and connection make your life worth living, well...... then you have your answer. 

Peace! lw

Peace in the Valley

"I look at all the people, and I love the ones I can, and I wonder if the dream will be or be turned into sand.

…. I think I saw a brand new light………and it says all men are brothers under the skin…………."

From the song  Peace in the Valley by Carole King

I met Oliver in my flyball world. My boys had run on his team a few times. He was a good, happy soul.  I never saw him get cross with anyone, human or canine. His countenance always chimed, “Life is grand. Give it all you got!”  

When he collapsed in the ring on Saturday morning many rushed to his aid.  His teammates, his family, even their competitors stopped what they were doing and worked together to save him. The event came to a standstill while everyone mobilized to see what should be done to save Oliver and support his family members and teammates.  In the end, Ollie could not be saved. We don’t know exactly why he died. We only know that his heart stopped, and, in spite of quick actions of the medical professionals who were there that day, it would not restart. The mourning was apparent to every human in the arena and even the dogs seemed to know that the air was a little different.

Like most communities, the flyball world is made of factions, each having its own philosophy, methodology, and personalities. What we have in common usually isn’t enough to ensure that we can all get along.  Teams divide all the time, driven by different definitions of success, changing needs, and/or somebody’s savage need to be “right” about  one thing or another.  

When Ollie went down, the factions dissolved. People stepped up with caring actions, and even emptied their pockets to help Oliver’s family pay the vet bill, knowing that what happened to them could happen to any of us. While each player grieved in his/her own way, thirty teams were united in tragedy. One of our own had fallen, and, for a moment, we were all the same.

Rest in peace, Ollie!  Go get your ball! 

Click on the video link to hear the song Peace in the Valley. I think this song describes our current world pretty well. 

Fictional Snare

The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver

I don’t usually read novels. I am stickler for the knowledge sown in the non-fiction section.   I don’t often read novels because a really, really, well written one will ensnare me between my insatiable desire for a known outcome and the disappointment experienced at the journey’s end. This trap is my residence today as I neglect the rest of my life to hurry toward the resolution of what is untrue and, oh, so entertaining. 

Peace! lw

Charting the Universal Food

LEW 2017

Confessions of a Gym Hater

My idea of exercise used to be jogging to the fridge during a commercial.  I considered mowing the lawn to be an excruciating workout.  The thought of going to a gym induced a heaving, snorting gaffaw.  I enjoyed my outdoor athletic activities, but why anyone would pay good money to induce self torture  at a gym was beyond my comprehension.  Long ago, I dismissed such nonsense.

Then, I got hurt! After 6 months of PT, I could finally walk without pain. My PT warned that if I didn’t continue to work the plan once discharged, my summer activities could cause re-injury. So I joined the nearest gym with the PT’s plan in hand determined to get my leg back to its former state.

  

Now, understand that I hate the gym.  I hate the mirrors, the noise, the constant news crawl of CNN, and the horrid smell of chlorinated water. I hate the wet floors in the locker room, and the pitter-patter of toddlers in swim diapers. (I refuse to allow myself to dwell on what takes place in those diapers, and I continue to avoid water exercise.) I intended to remain incognito by avoiding group classes and remaining reticent beneath my headphones.

The gym had a winter fitness challenge and the PT’s plan was boring me to tears.  There were prizes for meeting the challenges. Who doesn’t love prizes? So, I sucked it up, put down my incognito, and joined. Prize number one was an hour with a personal trainer.  The trainer had 60 minutes to impart as much knowledge as possible to a person who knows little about exercise and also hates it. Good luck! Fortunately, I was assigned to an awesome trainer my age with personal experience of dealing with injury. If a skinny, cheerleading, twenty-something in sparkly work out apparel had trotted out, I would have rolled my eyes and gone back to my boring plan. Not to be, as Jae’s logical, and mildly enthusiastic approach won me over. This person had knowledge I had never considered.  She got my attention. My eyes remained unrolled. 

I was so impressed that I signed up for more. Never in my wildest nightmares did I think I would pay someone to teach me how to do something I hate. I huff and puff and complain. I accuse her of trying to kill me. Unrattled by my allegations and whining, she keeps me moving while explaining it all in detail as we go.  With Jae, there is no “can’t do,” only  what I can do now, what I can do in the future if I don’t give up, and what I should never do because of my injury. My workouts are more interesting, challenging, and efficient. 

I always admired my ability to figure things out on my own. However, sometimes I get stuck.  My human nature compels me to dislike what I perceive I can't do or don't understand. Those distastes may protect me from failing and looking bad, and they don't necessarily contribute to personal growth. In walks the expert, and I had to make a conscious commitment to listen well and do all I could. In the end, her wealth of knowledge completely changed my point of view.  I just almost don’t hate it anymore.

5 miles of going nowhere on this bike

Moral of the story: 

Stuck? Call an expert and listen! 


Peace! lw

Puntoon #2

Relish the Laughter

Did you ever think of something really funny, that other people didn't think was that funny? You know you have. You are laughing at some dumb joke and your friends, or co-workers, or strangers in line next to you, think you have gone daft. I am pretty sure this is one of those times. A silly joke I made up in my own twisted brain, sent me into a fit of hilarity that I could not contain. When I tried to share it at work, some people laughed at the joke but most of them just laughed at me laughing. I thought the joke was so funny that I drew it into a cartoon. Maybe you will laugh at the joke and maybe you will laugh at the fact that I am still laughing. Either way, if you smile, giggle, or flat out crack up,  for a sec, you get happy, and we all win. Cuz in this insane world, I am thankful I can manage a good laugh now and then. Peace! LW 

lw