Resistors In Series

Estes 2011

As nerd stuff goes, biology has always been more my speed than physics.  When my group in AP bio got to dissect a fresh frozen elk heart instead of a preserved sheep heart, I was positively overjoyed.  I remember so clearly the size (almost as big as my head) and weight of it, the texture of the muscle.  I can still see the valves, the heartstrings, and coagulated blood in the right and left atria.  So it kind of surprised me when I thought of a physics metaphor for our politics today.  I, the daughter of a PhD in applied mechanics, earned the lowest grade of my college career in first quarter physics.

Like many science nerd adolescents of the 80’s, I looked forward to new episodes of “MacGyver” every week.  The handsome, mullet-sporting Richard Dean Anderson always jerry-rigged his way out of life-threatening situations using everyday chemistry and such.  How fun that my kids can now enjoy the same drama with the CBS “MacGyver” reboot, starring Lucas Till.  We bond over TV, my kids and I.

macgyver white board

In the “Chisel” episode, Mac and his team find themselves barricaded inside a US Embassy, under attack by terrorists.  On a white board, he calculates how many inches of paper to place in front of the windows to stop incoming machine gun bullets—it’s 8 in this case.  [As an aside, the Mythbusters showed that paper is a plausible form of body armor.]  This got me thinking: one sheet of paper, so thin and flimsy, is easily shredded.  But layered in redundance, it can stop a barrage of deadly bullets.  It feels a lot like our national political activism since last November.

Women, scientists, environmentalists, educators, people of color, the LGBTQ community, Native Americans, writers, actors, physicians, patients, religious groups, law enforcement, legislators, and the press—We have all found our legs and our voices; we have stood and proclaimed not only our opposition to 45, but our commitment to our core values of inclusion, equality, respect for the planet, and respect for one another.  I submit that we are resistors in series.

resistors in seriesYou may recall from physics class that when resistors are placed end to end in an electrical circuit, their total resistance is the sum of their individual impedance units.  As the current passes through one resistor, it encounters the next one, and the next, one after another, slowing its progress.  I like to see today’s activist groups in this way, each contributing several layers to the dense, thick paper barricade at the windows of democracy as we know it, defending it against attack.  And the more we can stand united, supporting one another, the stronger we will be.  Could our resistance even be exponential, rather than simply additive?

Tyrants and authoritarians divide to conquer–they like resistors in parallel, where the total impedance is actually a fraction of each individual unit’s resistance.  By pitting each group against every other, a despot can trample them each/all with ease, and they might never see it coming—the same voltage directed across multiple, isolated resistors transforms them into conductors of the oppressor’s will.resistors in parallel

Perhaps this was our orientation prior to the last election.  We each had our pet causes, for which we felt varying degrees of personal activism.  We saw ourselves as detached, benignly unconnected.  But as we have witnessed a progressive threat marching against everything that we care about, a shared, collective threat, a new current has sparked.  Perhaps this mutual unease has reorganized us to connect in succession, to close ranks.

I was reminded of this idea when I read this piece by Charles M. Blow in the New York Times.  He posits that “America regularly experiences bouts of regression, but fortunately, it is in those regressive periods that some of our greatest movements and greatest voices… found their footing.”  Then I came across another article from The Atlantic, suggesting that even our legislators may be reorienting themselves into more serial, additive connectedness:

In hindsight, the Democrats’ decision to not allow partisanship to subsume collegiality or compassion, to cheer McCain along with their Republican colleagues, to embrace a friend even as he cast a decisive vote to move forward with a bill they despised, no longer seems naive. “I hope we can again rely on humility, on our need to cooperate, on our dependence on each other to learn how to trust each other again and by so doing better serve the people who elected us,” McCain had said in his speech.  

Had Democrats met that vote by attacking McCain, he might not have voted no [on the Senate’s ‘skinny repeal’ of the Affordable Care Act] last night. He might not have been so immune to the entreaties of his colleagues. He might not have resisted the arm-twisting of the president who never spent a day in public service before winning an election, who mocked him so cruelly two years ago. He might have decided against casting a vote to derail his own party’s seven-year crusade to dismantle the Affordable Care Act, a goal he still endorses.

I know my analogy vastly oversimplifies our political landscape.  Still, it comforts me.  I feel particularly focused on healthcare today, and I like to think that even if healthcare is not someone else’s chief concern, she will stand up with me when our healthcare system is under attack, just like I will rise with her in defense of our natural treasures, etc.  We stand, shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand, to resist and defend.  This vision of unity and cohesion is my hope and aspiration, not just now, but for generations to come.

Support for the Inner Work

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Things were a little crazy this week.  I have an idea for a post and still have not sat down to write it out.  But I want to share something that came out on my Facebook page (of course) tonight.  One of the reasons I love writing is that insights pop out when you least expect them.  Writing exchanged with others is even better, because those insights are then shared, and their meaning amplifies.

I posted this article from the Washington Post yesterday: “Nearly half of liberals don’t even like to be around Trump supporters.”  It’s a summary of a recent Pew Research Center survey, which finds that 47% of liberal Democrats “say that if a friend supported Trump, it would actually put a strain on their friendship.”  It posits, among other things, that liberals are less tolerant of dissenting ideas because they are clustered in urban areas, lending to louder echo chambers.  By contrast, only 13% of Republicans answered that “a friend’s support of Hillary Clinton would strain their friendship.”

From the survey report:…Nearly nine months after the election, most people (59%) say it is ‘stressful and frustrating’ to talk about politics with people who have a different opinion of Trump than they do; just 35% find such conversations ‘interesting and informative.'”

I consider myself a socially heavily left-leaning, fiscally centrist Independent, but I identify more with liberals than conservatives, by a large margin.  This article made me sad, that my ‘tribe’ shows itself to be much more intolerant and judgmental than I would like.

I posted this comment along with the article:

Ooohh, so much data here, so much potential for blame, and also for self-exploration. Humbling, no question.
“Be extra kind with your comments on this one please, friends. No need to reopen barely scabbed wounds. I mean for my page to be a safe place for all of us to engage. We are all in it together, and the sooner we *all* figure out how to deal with 45 and one another, the better we will all be.
“Also, I’m bummed that Asians are always left out of the data set.”

I got some comments from my liberal friends about how hard it is to talk to Trump supporters, so much so that they avoid talking politics with those friends altogether.  But one friend exemplified my aspiration for all of us.  She wrote:

“… I recently had dinner with a very close friend who voted for Trump. Typically I think I’m a really good listener, listening with curiosity and a desire to raise the conversation and all involved to a higher level. However, when our conversation turned to politics I found myself cutting her off, getting defensive and bordering on being critical of her. I was horrified by my own behavior. I think this article hits on it – the support or opposition of Trump feels like less of a political stance and more of a statement of a person’s values and morals. I don’t think that’s necessarily true- I think a large population of Trump voters (my friend included) were actually voting against Washington more than for Trump. While I can’t get behind Trump I can get behind a vote to change the system. I wonder what might happen if more of us looked for what we can stand behind together?! Thank you for continuing to be a voice for this movement!”

Exactly!  Immediately I felt connected to my friend in a higher calling, and a shared struggle.  I replied:

“(My dear friend), I derive so much of my strength and curiosity from you. How many of us can own up publicly about our own flaws and failures, like you did here? And I know you know I use the word failure in the most empathetic and loving, mutually understanding way. I think that is the first step–complete humility and openness to our own imperfection. It’s so fucking hard. And I’m so lucky to have friends like you, (these four other dear friends), and others… I know now, better late than never, that we cannot do this work without unwaveringly reliable support, no matter how motivated we are.  And for those of us who are already well-supported, I think it’s our responsibility to look outward and support others. You never know when or where someone may be standing on the edge of openness, and when your small gesture of encouragement may nudge them on. Thank you for your loving support, my soul sister!”

It really is true, we cannot dig deep and bring out our best selves by ourselves.  We are meant to hold one another up and accountable, to bring out the best in each other.  It breaks my heart when I interview patients, and learn how sparse and frail their emotional support networks are.  There is no stereotype for this scenario, it can happen to the best of us.  Past experiences, circumstances, timing, life events—they can all combine to undermine our relationships, thereby weakening our capacity for self-awareness and exploration.  So we fall back on default modes of defensiveness, righteousness, denial, and blame.  Whether it’s quitting smoking, sticking to a healthy eating plan, or elevating our political discourse, we are truly stronger together.

I share this tonight because I so admire my friend for owning her whole self.  I am so grateful to her for sharing her imperfections and vulnerability with humility and hopefulness.  She gives me strength to keep going, despite how fucking hard it is.  And I hope I can do the same for many, many others.

“Friendversary”

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It’s all worth it, hallelujah!

Those of you who read this blog regularly know that I spend inordinate amounts of time on Facebook.  I struggle with the balance–hours spent face to phone reading articles, engaging with friends over politics, healthcare, and nature photos, and also work, chores, and quality time with the family.  One of the people I interact with most meaningfully online is a high school classmate.  He and I were friendly acquaintances back then, and I assumed at graduation that I would never see him and most of my classmates again.  I will call him Al.

A while ago, through a mutual Facebook friend, I saw a post by Al saying that he wished to have civil conversations on politics with people who did not share his views.  I immediately sent a friend request, which he promptly accepted.  My rule is that I will be friends with people on FB who are already my friends, or with whom I want to actively cultivate friendships.  Al was definitely the latter, based solely on his proclaimed desire for civil discourse.  This week was our two year Facebook Friendversary.  I know because he shared the notification, which I had not received.

In the first year our exchanges could be awkward, and sometimes felt tense (on my end).  I noticed that while I often asked him to elaborate on his thoughts and positions, he rarely asked me.  I often felt unheard and lectured to.  I considered giving up on the relationship.  Why bother, I thought, we live in separate states, we disagree on everything, and it’s just too stressful—I’m not even sure he cares what I think.  A year ago I posted about a conversation we had about white male privilege.  I decided to maintain our online friendship because despite the tension and discomfort, the exchange had given me new insights into managing the tension and discomfort.

These two years we have discussed transgender bathroom legislation, affirmative action, unconscious gender bias, racism, and climate change, among other things.  We have always been civil, and conversations feel more relaxed and congenial these days.  Al types more words now than he used to, he asks me what I think about things, and has expressed more consideration for my point of view in this second year.  It moved me when he wrote that when his coworker came to work distraught and crying over the presidential election, he hugged her.  [For the record, my friend is a Republican and not necessarily a Trump supporter.]  Throughout our intereactions, I have always remembered my fundamental assumptions of this man, whom I don’t actually know that well: That he is a kind and honest person, that he wants all people to enjoy happy, healthy lives, that he has natural unconscious biases as I do (and these do not make us bad people), and that he is sincerely interested in my point of view.

Our most recent exchange almost brought me to tears because I finally felt fully seen, heard, and understood by this person who barely knew me 25 years ago, lives 800 miles away, and whose life experiences lie surely on the other end of any spectrum from mine.  I share the thread below.

So many people decry social media, and rightfully so.  It’s too easy to descend into mindless flaming and impulsive ad hominem attacks from the safety of a screen and keyboard.  And I still struggle with the time sink and distraction.  But today I feel good about my SoMe usage.  To me, this two year, ‘virtual’ friendship I have cultivated feels as real as any other.  I hope Al feels similarly.  I look forward to the next two years and beyond on Facebook, and perhaps an in-person encounter in the foreseeable future.

***

On Being Wrong

CC:  OH MY GOD YEESSS!!
If you are serious about or remotely interested in self-awareness and connecting better with your fellow humans, understanding this idea, even if only intuitively, is a fundamental requirement.

https://wwwted.com/talks/julia_galef_why_you_think_you_re_right_even_if_you_re_wrong

[Julia Galef’s TED talk on soldier vs. scout mindset, and how holding either influences how and whether we examine our beliefs]

 

AL:  Have you seen this?

https://www.ted.com/talks/kathryn_schulz_on_being_wrong

[Kathryn Schultz’s TED talk on embracing our fallibility]

 

CC:  I have not!  Will view soon!

AL:  I eagerly await your thoughts on it. It’s dang near life changing.

CC:  I watched it! And I will happily tell you my thoughts, but since you posted it and made the ‘damn near life changing’ claim, I request that you go first. And if you could also comment on the talk from the original post–feel free to go all expository–that would be great, also! I promise to reply in kind!

AL:  It was the line that feeling wrong is the same a feeling right. And the idea at how unreliable your feelings are. But I really like questioning one’s sense of rightness.

CC:  Follow up question: how has this talk changed your own approach to ‘feeling right,” or how you engage with people with whom you disagree?

AL:  I can’t say I’ve completely abandoned my feeling of rightness. It’s just so nice to feel right. But I try to loosen my grip on the feeling of rightness and make fewer assumptions.

CC:  Thank you. I hear you, it is so delicious to feel right–to feel *righteous*… And I like this, “loosen my grip on the feeling of rightness” (and righteousness?). What assumptions are you making less, may I ask?

AL:  I can’t think of general areas right off the top of my head. But more often than before I try to remind myself I don’t have all the facts and there could be something I don’t know. This has to do more with interpersonal interactions. Like I try not to act on my initial assumption of someone else’s motivations.

[I ‘loved’ this reply]

 

CC:  I am not sure you could ever know how happy it makes me to read this. This is all I ever want from people–to just slow down, withhold judgment *a little*, especially about one other’s motivations. It has taken me too long to learn that everybody has a unique and VALID personal story, and that elements of that story always influence how we approach any problem or circumstance, for better or worse. The more open we can be to one another in this way, the fewer and less contentious our conflicts will be, I am CONVINCED. And, it’s sooooo much easier said than done. And, the first step is an awareness of its importance. The second step is an intention and commitment to practice, no matter how many times we fail, and/or others fail. I have to go see a patient now… Maybe I’ll write more. But really, I’m almost in tears right now. I feel vindicated, in a way. Thank you.

[Al ‘loved this reply.]

Innocence, Indignation, and Idealism:  An Optimist’s Reconciliation

I took my daughter to see “Wonder Woman” last weekend.  I highly recommend it—such a strong, complex, and inspiring portrayal of humanity at its best and worst, with a hopeful ending.

Today I’m (somewhat) inspired in parallel by (some) politicians, three Republican senators in particular, calling for transparency in drafting healthcare reform.  I hereby present my attempt to integrate that exquisite Wonder Woman Experience with my current political outlook.

***WARNING*** THIS POST MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR THOSE WHO HAVE NOT SEEN THE MOVIE.

Innocence

Diana of Themyscira grows up believing in the innate goodness of humans.  The Amazons are educated, independent, strong, and proud, and also collaborative, compassionate, kind, and sensitive.  When Diana learns of the horrific war waged by mankind outside of her paradise home, she relates it to the story of Ares, the God of War, who corrupts the hearts of men to commit acts of hatred upon one another.  So, naturally, she sets out to kill Ares and fix it.

We journey with Diana through challenge and triumph, as she learns that, of course, it’s not that simple.  She kills the man she thought was Ares, and nothing changes, the war rages on.  She must reconcile the possibility that the heart of mankind is not actually pure goodness.  Even without an insidiously corrupting God of War, humans are prone to their own malignant beliefs and actions.  Her innocence is pierced.

In the summer of 2009 or 2010, my best friend from college and his wife came to visit.  He, a molecular biology and political science double major and emergency medicine physician, and she, a worldly intellectual and future legal counsel for a major media outlet, were the first to burst my innocent political bubble.  For some reason, likely due to the tremendous inspiration of Barack Obama, I had gone from thinking all politicians were liars and performance artists, to seeing them as genuine public servants, working to advance their authentic ideas of how society functions better for all citizens.  I know, La-La Land!  My friends described an alternative, more realistic path to politics: Person succeeds at business, rubs elbows with regulators and influences them (with money or otherwise) to facilitate his/her business success.  Said person then realizes s/he could actually become one of those regulators and make a more permanent positive impact on these business interests, and so runs for office.  I still remember how deflated I felt, shoulders slumped, spine rounded, at this sudden and stark realization.

Indignation

As with everything, I’m sure political reality lies somewhere in the messy middle between pure altruism and blatant, self-serving avarice.  But these days, for someone who loved Obama and almost everything he stood for, it’s hard not to see the whole of our current political landscape as the latter.  I think, Really, WTF?  Can those in power really see nothing valid whatsoever in anything accomplished the past 8 years?  Do they really think that see-saw policy-making, each administration reversing everything from the previous one, replacing wise, experienced public servants with ignorant neophytes (my opinion), is the best way to govern?  OMFG, you have got to be kidding me.  I seethe.  But what can I do?

Ares reveals himself, and taunts Diana in her most vulnerable moment with his arrogant disdain for man’s weakness and corruptibility.  He also reveals that she is, in fact, the only one who can vanquish him—only a god can kill another god.  Diana, daughter of Zeus himself, possesses the power to Kick. His. Ass.  Yet he dismisses her out of hand, oblivious to her inner strength of conviction and compassion (I know, so much to expound on here, maybe in another post!).  Nope.  Righteous indignation rises.  She digs deep, finds that core courage, and obliterates him.  Fist pump.  He never saw it coming.

Idealism

In the end, Diana realizes that humans are a paradox: a big jumble of contradictions, perpetrators of horrific rage and destruction, and also fully worthy of love, forgiveness, and compassion.  She somehow finds peace in this enigma, loving the best of humanity and vowing to protect us against our worst selves, helping us to become better.

This resonates with the idealist in me.  This is how she helps us, and how we can help ourselves.

How Can We Help?

We can choose to fight against one another, and thereby focus on what we hate (about ourselves).

Or, we can choose to seek the good in one another, and focus on what we love— even better, focus on love itself.  We all want access to healthcare, and to be free from bankrupting medical expenses.  Everybody wants to be safe from gun violence.  We all want an efficient government that sets reasonable regulations, protects citizens’ constitutional rights, and spends money wisely and with accountability.  We all want to feel protected and free, loved and free to love.

The messy middle is the how.  That is where we negotiate.  That is also where the magic happens, as Brené Brown says, and that is where we must go, where we must persist.  We can bring our best selves to meet others’ best, in mutual respect.  It can be high risk, so we can enter slowly, strategically, with realistic expectations and a few trusted friends.

To this end, I will continue to seek out and hold up elected officials who call for more thoughtful political processes.  My friend Triffany and I have made a habit of writing thank you notes to Members of Congress to validate their cooperative acts.  We harbor no illusions about purity of intent, but we also know that positive reinforcement works.  We can be Diana to anybody’s Ares.

Focus on and fight for what we love: common goals and interests, shared humanity, connection, and one another.  It’s a lifetime’s worth of work, and well worth the fruits, if we can stick with it.

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Love Letter to My Superstar Friends

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Dear Paul & Joanne*,

I cannot tell you how grateful I am to you both for taking the time to meet me last week.  You came out in the pouring rain, not for a lighthearted night of drinks and karaoke, but to talk charged politics with your tortured, melancholic, liberal friend.  I hope it did not feel too burdensome, and that you would do it again.

It was quite the emotional evening for me, unsettling, sometimes uncomfortable, and also dominated by love.  Joanne, we have known each other about 15 years, and I know you are not a fan of politics in general.  Paul, I know you mostly through your witty holiday cards, and your occasional Facebook posts that often touch on politics.  You lean right, it seems, about as much as I lean left.  You gently called me out when I shared a Trump supporter-shaming video, reminding me to hold myself to a higher standard of discourse on all platforms.  That is why I sought you out.  When you engage, you exemplify the attitude toward political discourse that I aspire to.

I described to Joanne over the phone how distraught I had been since November, something akin to “watching the fabric of my generation’s social progress torn to shreds by a maniacally fomenting, double-machete-wielding narcissist.”  You seemed genuinely surprised and curious—why did this election have such a profoundly tormenting effect on me?  What made millions of people pour into the streets around the world in protest?  I was incredulous at your incredulity, and yet I felt a mutual, loving acceptance between friends who only want each other to be happy and feel secure.

At dinner, I could tell that you both cared acutely about my distress, and wanted to help alleviate it.  You reassured me that the worst case scenarios are highly unlikely to actually happen.  You reminded me that hyperventilation and arm flapping are not productive energy expenditures.  You gently encouraged me about the long, jagged, often meandering, and also inevitable path of social progress, and the importance of taking the long view.

I admit that I felt a little defensive at times, as if anything I said about the origins of my distress would be met with, “You’re overreacting,” and “You’re worried about nothing, please…”  We later agreed that it is never helpful to invalidate someone’s emotional response to a stressor, regardless of whether or not we can relate.  Paul, you are so well-read and convicted about your opinions.  I did not see a point in arguing, as you did not seem interested in debate, and I left feeling disappointed that I had not presented a stronger defense of my liberal ideals.  The whole exchange felt lopsided in favor of your position.  But I did learn from your point of view, which was one of my primary objectives.

Most importantly, our conversation revived my mindfulness practice.  You’re right—energy spent catastrophizing about a hell-on-earth future is energy wasted.  As Michael J. Fox says (I paraphrase), “Don’t spend your time worrying, because if what you’re worried about actually happens, now you’ve lived it twice.”  My energy is better spent in the present, attending to what is, rather than what I fear might be.  And I feel justified in my shock and dismay at what is.  In my opinion, Donald Trump has defiled the presidency and brought our politics to a new moral low that I could never have predicted.  I don’t need to ‘go apeshit’ over the future, as there is plenty of wreckage to confront right now, not the least of which is our collective refusal to engage one another in civil discourse.  I can center, ground, and focus, breathe deeply and engage, one step, one person, or one loving couple, at a time.

Last week Dan Rather wrote my heart on his Facebook page:

The threats, the lies, the willful disregard for the rule of law should be limited to the world of Hollywood caricature. To see this played out each night on the news, to read about ramblings and inconsistencies in justifications for actions that should never have been taken, is to see a moment of great peril for our nation.

I remain, however, an optimist. I see the swellings of civic engagement and action. I hear the voices of those who demand that this subversion of our national ideals shall not stand. I have covered social movements of the past, and never have seen one where so much power and numbers lie on the side of the opposition. This is a clash for the values of our nation. Our destiny is in our hands.

Our nation’s patchy, irregular social fabric may be strained to its limits today, and even torn in some places.  But the threat of real disintegration has brought forth multitudes of weavers and quilters to repair and protect its integrity.  I can acknowledge this ‘collateral beauty’ and contribute my part, through conversations like ours, to help mend the tapestry, and bend that moral arc of the universe more toward justice.

Thank you, my dear friends, for helping me train for this marathon.  You hold me up and make me stronger.  I hope I do the same for you.

Sincerely and with love,

Cathy

 

*Not their real names

To Train Or Not To Train

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My sister and brother-in-law run marathons.  No, wait, they are elite marathon-running machines.  By next weekend, they will have run 150 marathons between them in just a few years, including Ironmans and ultramarathons, in 39 states and at least 7 countries.  They lead training groups for Team to End AIDS and enjoy a loyal following of running enthusiasts and friends.  So you can imagine my honor when they recently told me, “You could totally run a marathon, Cathy.  You’re already more fit than a lot people who start training.”

For a moment I actually considered it, because wouldn’t that be so cool, to enter that elite circle?  Then I quickly remembered: I. Hate. Running.  …For now.  But it got me thinking recently–talking politics may be like marathon training.  Some people really like it and do it well (by ‘well’ I mean they are informed, articulate, respectful, and engaging with people from all points of view—their discourse is elevated).  They resemble my sister and brother-in-law: athletes who consistently perform at the top of their training, with few or no injuries, leading others to follow in similar aspirations.

Other people, however, would sooner feed themselves through a wood chipper than strap on a pair of running shoes, or engage in political discussions.

Most of us are somewhere in the middle, I suspect.  I can run a few miles with my trainer if she makes me–the conversation and scenery distract me and the time goes by faster.  And I know I can slow down or take a rest if I have to–it’s safe.  But I have many other preferred exercise activities.  Could we consider talking politics as the elite marathoning of communication?  It is so hard to do well!

When I think of long distance running my mouth goes dry.  I get short of breath and my knees hurt already.  I feel the incredible slog, one heavy step after another–not at all like what I imagine my family feels, bounding weightlessly like antelopes toward their next PR.  I experience a version of the fight-or-flight response, a visceral sensation of threat: I’ll have blisters everywhere, I’ll never make it to the end, they’ll have to carry me, I’ll have a heart attack and die!

Maybe some people have a similar reaction to politics?  I don’t know enough, it’s too complicated.  It’s overwhelming, I’ll look ignorant, people will judge and shame me before I can even finish a thought.  It’s all so emotional, I can’t handle that, it will only escalate into conflict, my relationships will all be at risk, I’ll lose all my friends!

As you may have read, I have been trying to get some conservative friends to engage face to face.  I am genuinely curious about their points of view; I want to understand.  I want to practice my skills—curiosity, openness, empathy, identifying shared interests, withholding judgment.  Two invitations were initially met with a non-response.  After a follow up call or two, I am scheduled to meet one set of friends for dinner this week, and the other said he was too busy.  I feel like I’m dragging them out running when they would much rather play golf or go bowling.

I have realized: we don’t all have to keep up with every day’s new political freak shows.  We don’t all need to be the debate champions of our particular ideology.  Not everybody has to be a marathoner.

HOWEVER:

We all need exercise.  The body is built to move.  Regular physical activity, as we all know, reduces our risks of obesity, diabetes, and heart disease.  Did you also know it can decrease depression, dementia, and even cancer?  So pick your sport—just do some kind of movement every day!

Similarly, even if we don’t all talk politics, we all need effective communication skills, especially in the arenas of conflict resolution, negotiation, parenting (which encompasses them all), and the like.  We are social beings—we only survive by cooperating and living well within our tribes, and by tribes living well among one another.  That can only happen if we practice getting along.

So if you’re not a runner/marathoner, what do you do?  What is your thing, how often do you engage, and what keeps you coming back?  If you hate talking politics, how else are you already a great communicator?

Maybe you’re a natural at getting your toddler/tween/teen to see the wisdom of the rules and getting their buy-in to follow them.

Maybe you can always help your boss and coworker iron out their differences because you can understand both sides (are you in HR?).

Maybe you like to debate the merits of the Marvel Comic Universe vs. DC—and you could argue both sides because it’s just more interesting that way.

We all have areas where we shine, where we contribute to the tribe through words and actions.

I have picked up some tips along the way:

  1. Validate people’s feelings, even if you don’t agree with their position or behavior.
  2. Stay open to the 2% truth of an opposing philosophy or idea.
  3. Withhold judgment on the whole person even though they espouse an ideology you despise, at least until you know from multiple encounters that they have no shred of kindness or humanity in them.
  4. Look for what you have in common with people, and choose to focus there more than on how you differ.

So even if you’re not an elite running machine like my sister and brother-in-law, or you’re not your community’s foremost political pundit, know that your other training matters.

I may complete a marathon someday…  Never say never.  For now I’m happy to stick with my TRX, kettle bells, 7 minute and Betty Rocker workouts (once again, I have no financial interests in any of these businesses).  I appreciate my family’s invitation to run, and I respectfully decline at this time.  Similarly, I will try to be more mindful about inadvertently pressuring people to talk politics.  It’s never meant to be adversarial, only a bid for connection—I’m looking for training buddies!

I don’t need everybody to talk politics.  But I do need everybody to practice excellent communication, especially in political discourse.

We all need that.

Two Buttock Riding

 

Continued from last week…

My objective for the coaching session was to figure out where I really want to put my energy for the foreseeable future.  I felt essentially torn between my paraprofessional activities (writing and speaking on physician health, patient-physician relationship, bridging silos in medicine) and my nascent political activism (community involvement, calling and writing to Congress, thinking of running for office someday??).  It felt like I should choose, and yet something told me they could be integrated.

Highlights from the call:

What is your goal for the end of this session?

Clarity and direction; movement.  Readiness to act.

How close are you already?

85-90%

How will you know when you have it?

Hard to describe…  It will be a dual certainty, like choosing furniture, knowing whether I like a person: cognitive and visceral.  It will feel decisive.

How are you feeling now?

Overwhelmed, distracted.  [Recall Doug the dog, in the movie, “Up”—Squirrel!]  OMG there is too much to keep up with: Healthcare, Russia, immigration, refugees, border security, Russia, EPA, what-the-hell-did-he-just-say-and-what-the-hell-does-that-mean?, racism, misogyny, intolerance, Russia, free speech, NIH funding, science, climate change, women’s rights, the Persisterhood, congressional seats up for grabs across the country, and oh yeah, the rest of my actual life.  Every day five new things to look up, articles on both left and right to compare notes, filtering facts from spin, trying to stake independent and educated positions backed by evidence!  GAAAAHH!

What would happen if you didn’t do that?

I do what do, spend hours a day reading and trying to engage in discussion (in person and on social media), in order to be credible in my conversations, to engage from a place deeper than superficial rhetoric or simple emotional reactivity.  My big fear: If I don’t do it, I will become one of those loud-mouthed, uninformed ranters who has no evidence for my broad-brush, oversimplified generalizations and ad hominem attacks.

What is the 98% truth about that?

Not likely to happen.  That’s just not me, I don’t do that.  I always look for evidence to back up what I say, and when I don’t have it, I own up.  If I don’t know what I’m talking about, I listen more and ask more questions, or I don’t engage until I have something useful to contribute.

And the 2% truth?

There is still a risk.  I may spew sometimes—when I get triggered and e(motionally)-hijacked.  I feel particularly susceptible right now, with all of my core values and our generation’s social progress seemingly under attack.

AND, I never live here.  I may wallow a few days (1-2 weeks, max), stewing in cynicism and resentment.  But I always rise up, usually with the help of others, with writing, and with time.  I always come out having learned something, and resolving to apply the learning (usually about myself and my relationships) to whatever comes next.

***

Insights gained:

I’m okay.

In reviewing my time spent on my screens each day, I realize most of it edifies me and connects my mental dots of current events, social science, and personal meaning.  I know not to spend time on baseless rants and otherwise rhetorical opinion pieces.  I choose articles with links to data, history, and primary sources, and ones that challenge my thinking or oppose my positions (sometimes).  I look for nuance, complexity, examples of collaboration and compassionate leadership.  This is what I spend my time and energy on; it broadens my perspectives and integrates the knowledge and ideas I already have.  It fosters my own creativity and philosophy.  This is who I am.

It’s the blog.

This is what I want to spend my energy on.  It’s my platform, my thing.  All the paraprofessional stuff I do was born of this: What gives doctors meaning is the relationships we get in our work—mostly with patients, but also with one another and society at large—status, respect, contribution.  Physician, wellness/resilience, the intersection of health and leadership, bridging silos (physicians, nurses, pharmacists, insurers, hospital administrators)—it’s all about relationships.  And, so is politics.

Therefore, I will use this blog for all of it. I can share my letters to Congress.  I can continue to write about physician-patient relationship.  I know I have written about this before, but somehow it required some reinforcement:  It’s all connected, and it’s all me.

FEAR.

Of course, that’s what really holds me back (yup, written about that before, too).  Fear of attack, rejection, overwhelming engagement obligation and getting sucked into negative, counterproductive exchanges with strangers.  Fear that I have nothing useful to say.  Someone else has already said it better and reached more people.  Who am I to think that my words matter?  It’s all so paralyzing.

I got this.  

I’m ready.  It’s time.  Because: Nothing I say or write, at work or on Facebook or anywhere, is anything I would not say or write in public.  Integrity is important to me—to be the same person in private that I am in public.  I’ve been practicing, and getting better, as evidenced by the civil exchanges I facilitate on my Facebook page (which I will also share more of), bringing together friends from different walks of life in meaningful conversation.  We exchange important ideas, always concluding cordially, all relationships intact and even, I daresay, strengthened.

And, my blog is my space.  I get to manage who comes on (into my house), and I make the rules for how we engage (no poop flinging).  I don’t comment on public sites like Washington Post or New York Times, or large Facebook groups (usually) because that is like leaping into a flash mob of the worst kind.  There is no meaningful exchange or benefit for anyone.  Here, threads can be more personal, meaningful, and transformative.

***

New Goals:

Shift the Boundaries.

I can push my fearful limits and present myself more confidently to the world.  I can choose to plant more color and texture in my front yard.  I can also dig it up and throw it out if I realize it clashes with the house.  It’s all good.  And I must also mind the costs, especially to my family.  So, I can bring them closer by putting the screens out of arms’ reach when I’m with them.  Easier said than done, and definitely worth the effort.

Focus on the WHY.

It’s all about cultivating productive, contributory relationships–first with myself, then with others, and then between all of us, for more peace, love, and joy for us all.

Publish Weekly.

If this is where I want to put my energy, then I want to have something to show for it.  Plus, it’s therapeutic.  Writing calms me, which I need now more than ever, as you can see.  For now I can stop chasing conference presentations, formal leadership roles, Daily Actions to prove I am an engaged citizen.  I can simply write when I am moved—and I am always moved—and share it here.

See you next week!