Category Archives: gratitude

Smile, Laugh, Hug, Repeat

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NaBloPoMo 2021:  Do Good, Kid

Times are so hard right now.  Tempers are short, nerves are frayed.  We feel edgy, agitated, hypersensitive.  It’s no wonder, with a global pandemic going on two years.  Our work, our kids’ schools, and everybody’s lives are disrupted in more complex ways than we can wrap our heads around. 

And yet, through it all, we persist. For many of us, it’s not been all bad. We slowed down, reassessed, reprioritized, and emerged with a deeper understanding and appreciation for more simple sources of fulfillment in life. If anything, it’s the connections gained from pandemic living that have saved us, and the disconnections that threaten us most.

Even after the acute scourge of COVID, we will still encounter hardships—strains on our patience with one another, acts of nature out of our control, more short tempers and frayed nerves, relationships at risk. How can we fortify ourselves and one another against despair and withdrawal? We can throw ourselves into work, which may hold us up if our jobs are full of meaning. We can numb with food, alcohol, drugs, sex, and other high risk behaviors.

We need something to fan the flames, however small, of hope and optimism—the faith that we will be okay, that we can handle whatever comes, as long as we do it together. I feel so blessed with such amazing people in my life, friends and family alike. Every day I marvel at how I got so lucky. I’m also reminded that I have a hand in these wonderful connections—I cultivate them on purpose. I learned how from my mom, and I see my kids growing in their skills.

To exercise good humor, find joy, and connect with people through that which uplifts—jokes, memes, comedy, and the like—I think we sometimes underestimate the vital importance of these practices in daily life. It’s too easy to get sucked into darkness, to lose the light. But it’s always there, however faint or dim, if we look. We can always find something to smile and laugh about. We can always offer each other a warm embrace (especially if we are vaccinated, masked, and asymptomatic, and even if we are not).

It’s how we share love, and that’s what keeps us going. When we meet people, even if our own mood is sour, we can choose to smile. That one offer of connection can set the path of any encounter on an upward trajectory, lifting all involved. We can share a funny—oh hey look, I wrote about this for NaBloPoMo last year! 😀 Besides The Big Bang Theory and Nathan Pyle, this year I also recommend Awkward Yeti, Upworthy, and any source that offers joy without judgment.

Let’s all hold each other in a little more light, love, fun, and grace, eh? 

In case you have not had your dose today, I just saw this on Facebook now; please enjoy and pass it on:

This starts my 22nd year of teaching middle school. Yesterday was quite possibly one of the most impactful days I have ever had.

I tried a new activity called “The Baggage Activity”. I asked the kids what it meant to have baggage and they mostly said it was hurtful stuff you carry around on your shoulders.

I asked them to write down on a piece of paper what was bothering them, what was heavy on their heart, what was hurting them, etc. No names were to be on a paper. They wadded the paper up, and threw it across the room.

They picked up a piece of paper and took turns reading out loud what their classmate wrote. After a student read a paper, I asked who wrote that, and if they cared to share.

I’m here to tell you, I have never been so moved to tears as what these kids opened up and about and shared with the class.

Things like suicide, parents in prison, drugs in their family, being left by their parents, death, cancer, losing pets (one said their gerbil died cause it was fat, we giggled😁) and on and on.

The kids who read the papers would cry because what they were reading was tough. The person who shared (if they chose to tell us it was them) would cry sometimes too. It was an emotionally draining day, but I firmly believe my kids will judge a little less, love a little more, and forgive a little faster.

This bag hangs by my door to remind them that we all have baggage. We will leave it at the door. As they left I told them, they are not alone, they are loved, and we have each other’s back.

I am honored to be their teacher.

via: Karen Wunderlich Loewe / Facebook

Originally posted in 2019

Meaning Indeed

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Do you not just love when insights occur in rapid and acute succession?

I had ‘Rubik’s cubed’ the last post for a few weeks before finally sitting down to write and publish it last Tuesday. The smoke signal idea came to me while typing—it felt almost tingly, like the most pleasant and rewarding epiphanal effervescence. And here just now I’m only describing that sensation for the first time. How fascinating. Little did I know last week that my own smoke signals have long smoldered in the distance. Since musing about the physical sensations of meaning, I’m suddenly noticing my own, left and right.

I’ve had two prolonged absences from in person clinical work these two years. The first was 2.5 months externally mandated by pandemic lockdown in 2020. The second, ending as of 10 days ago, was a 5 month personal leave. In each case I did my homework prior to returning, reviewing charts and schedules, contacting colleagues for sign out (the verbal transfer of care between clinicians who share patients). Both times I felt ambivalent, missing the nearly 24/7 control over my own schedule (or the illusion of it, anyway), and also anticipating the gratifying interactions of in person clinic.

In June last year, the joy of return enveloped me like the warm, welcoming hand of a soft spring breeze. I had completed the interview part of my first face to face visit since March. We got to the exam room and I did my usual head and neck assessment. I put my stethoscope earpieces in and placed the diaphragm against the patient’s chest. That first heartbeat may have been the most soothing sound I had heard in years. The soft, rhythmic, unobtrusive yet vital thudding of the heart of a live person—a person in my care—wow. I can’t remember if I actually got goosebumps then. But I get them now just thinking of that moment. I had not realized how much I missed hearing it, or how much it meant to me. I lingered an extra second or two just listening, feeling a deep joy and relaxation, a settling of my soul even, maybe. It was profound and totally unexpected.

This time it was a conversation. It’s such a privilege to know people in the intimate space of their health, to appreciate them as whole people, body, mind, and often spirit. In executive health we get the bonus of relating our patients’ whole person health to their roles and responsibilities as designated leaders at work. This intersects also with relationships in their families and personal tribes, just as it does for all of us. Toward the end of an interview last week, once again I felt overwhelmed by a deeply grounding, relaxed and yet energizing sensation. My patient and I were talking, engaging, exchanging ideas and observations, relating, as fellow humans. It felt paradoxically expansive and distilled at the same time, like I had dropped right into, and was operating directly from, my core, best self. I was right where I was supposed to be, doing and saying exactly what I was meant to do and say, right in that moment. I could only marvel inwardly and briefly in real time, as the encounter moved on. It was not until later in the day that I was able to name the emotion as sheer joy. I was lighter on my feet, uplifted in my chest, feeling positively buzzed.

Wow, it’s already the end of October. NaBloPoMo is almost upon us (well, upon me, I guess, as there is no longer an official November event–but this will be my 7th consecutive attempt), and I feel ready! The theme this year is personally meaningful to me (stay tuned for the reveal), and I look forward to the challenge. So good to be back, friends. Onward.

Comfort Food

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“Rice Grandma”, fermented glutinous rice just like my own PoPo used to make, and in the background glutinous rice balls filled with black sesame paste. Both foods that bring me home.

What foods make you happy?  Why?

In Disney’s 2007 film “Ratatouille”, the hostile food critic experiences an existential transformation after his first bite of the unsophisticated but sentimental title dish.  His olfactory sense, the most primitive and tightly bound to long term memory of them all, triggers intense feelings of comfort, love, and security from childhood, when his mother served him ratatouille after he was hurt.

Sister and I bonded recently over the Asian food display at my local Costco.  We found the pork sausage that Ma used to use in her fried rice, and egg yolk pies that we can almost never find in stores, even in Chinatown.  When I gushed about it to a fellow East Asian friend, she pointed me to a new Chinese supermarket near me.  Daughter and I went exploring today.  …While I would not quite call my experience existential, it was intensely joyful, and our haul provided a unique satisfaction that moved me unexpectedly.  I found myself texting photos to my parents, wishing they could be with us, recalling the flavors, sounds, and memories of growing up Chinese in white, suburban America.

I learned early in childhood not to bring food from home for lunch at school.  Stares and disgusted facial expressions from classmates at the appearance or smell of my family’s cooking vaporized my appetite and made me unpleasantly self-conscious.  It’s okay though, because I loved hot lunches at school—it was stuff I never got at home—overcooked green beans, spaghetti and meatballs served with an oversized ice cream scooper, and chicken fried steak—I had no idea what it was, but it tasted great—so different!

Authentic Chinese food was enjoyed at home only, especially the really weird stuff like preserved or salted duck eggs, fermented bean curd, and dried pork sung.  Like most teens, I did not fully appreciate these foods at the time.  In college I got to explore Japanese, Indian, Middle Eastern, and Thai food, all new to my naïve palate.  But when I went home—when I go home still—Sunday mornings eating rice porridge with the small plates of colorful, multi-odorous, myriad-textured food really was (is!) comforting.  Daughter saw today how giddy it all made me, and it excites her to try these foods for herself.  Another generation bonded to cultural roots awaits its next awakening.  

One of my goals this year is to live much more mindfully.  This includes cooking more at home, and really appreciating and enjoying—savoring!—my food, rather than inhaling it while attending to a dozen other tasks or problems.  My Chinese grocery acquisitions these last few weeks excite me more than I anticipated.  Maybe I’ll start bringing leftovers for lunch again.