Tag Archives: resilience

Gratitude, Generosity and Peace

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How does gratitude serve you? When someone expresses thanks to you, how do you feel? When you feel genuinely grateful to someone, what do you do?

Recently Dan Rockwell posted on his blog, Leadership Freak, on gratitude. He writes:

“Ungratefulness spoils everything it touches.

“Ungratefulness slithers out of a black muck that’s called, ‘don’t like,’ ‘don’t want,’ ‘don’t have,’ and, ‘not enough.’  There is no positive side to the slimy beast of ungratefulness.”

This post reconnected some dots for me between gratitude and generosity.

When I feel grateful, there is enough. I am enough. Even just saying the word, seeing it on the screen, brings me to a more peaceful state of mind and body. It brings to mind the people in my life—my parents, husband, children, friends, colleagues. I recall instances when someone went above and beyond to help me, or when they thought of me and took to the time to call or write. I feel humble. I feel connected.  I want to share what I have with others.

Maybe it was seeing the words of ungratefulness, ‘not enough.’ It reminded me of my favorite book, The Art of Possibility, by Rosamund Stone Zander and Benjamin Zander. The authors make a distinction between scarcity and scarcity thinking. Scarcity is when there actually aren’t enough resources to meet everybody’s needs; scarcity thinking is operating as if this were the case, when it really isn’t. Scarcity thinking at its best may foster healthy competition and innovation, and at worst, aggression, indifference, or even violence. In contrast, the Zanders discuss the notion of abundance. If we lived and operated in a world we assumed to be abundant, or at least enough for our needs, what would that look like?

For example, the woman parked down the street does not have enough coins to feed the meter. She asks me if I have change for a dollar. If money between us were actually scarce, then it would make sense to have an equal transaction—she gives me her dollar bill, I give her four quarters. In a world where we each need to look out for our own, we cannot afford to give anything away for free. But that is scarcity thinking, because I have spare change. Sure, I could spend those quarters to buy a candy bar later; or instead, I could trade them for human connection. If I stop even briefly to think about it, I know which one is the higher value purchase. But it’s not about buying gratitude from someone else.   It’s about the origin of generosity.

That peace that comes with thankfulness is the antithesis of scarcity. When I needed coins for my meter, and a stranger gives me her spare change, it shows me that there is good in the world. I can seek the help of strangers and they will offer it. And if that’s the case, how much more wonderful when I think of my amazing tribe of friends and family who stand ready to hold me up, as I do them? I feel safe. There is enough. So I can give away what I have today, because I know I will get what I need tomorrow, or whenever I need it.

When we practice gratitude, we practice peace. We exude it. It manifests in our expressions and actions. Gratitude makes us creative, by lifting the need to hoard and compete. We come together, collaborate, look for our common passions and visions. We offer more of ourselves to others because we have faith that they will do the same. We know because they did it before—that is why we are grateful.

For a much more eloquent and important view on gratitude, please read David Brooks’s most recent op-ed: http://www.nytimes.com/2015/07/28/opinion/david-brooks-the-structure-of-gratitude.html

Bring What Ya Got

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“Mei-Mei, do you want more cereal?”  I asked, during one of our usual hurry-or-we’re-going-to-be-late-but-don’t-rush-eat-properly school day mornings.

“Mmmuhhmmhuh,” I heard, as she faced the back porch where a squirrel had skittered across.

“What?”

“Mmmuhhumhuh,” I heard again.  Was her mouth full of food, or did I need my hearing checked?

“Mei-Mei!  Do you want more cereal, YES or NO?”

“I said yes!”

“Mei, you need to actually say, yes or no, and face people when you speak, so they can actually understand you.  It’s how we show respect. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“What did I just say?”

“Answer yes or no and face you when I talk.”

…Minutes pass, coffee, cereal, packing lunch…  “Mei, do you want applesauce in your lunch?”

“Mmmuhhumhuh.”

I’ll admit I lost it a little just then.  We just had this conversation, no?  How many times do I have to say it (this was not the first)?  I managed to not make her feel too bad, but frustration loomed over us both as we lugged our backpacks out the door.  In the car she mused, “Sometimes I think people expect me to be perfect.”  Ouch.  How nice of her to couch it in general terms to spare my feelings.  After acknowledging that ‘people’ in fact included me, she gave another example.  “My teacher, Mrs. Blank, says nobody’s perfect, but then she gets mad when we do things wrong.”  What’s up with that?

I know I’m not perfect, and I get mad at myself when I make mistakes—the self-talk can be downright abusive at times.  My patients know they are not perfect, and I witness how they shame themselves over their unhealthy habits.  How exhausting and unnecessary.  None of us should be this hard on ourselves.  And we still need to reconcile our behavior: If we’re not aiming for perfection, then what?  Why bother, what is the goal?  How do we move on from our mistakes?

After a particularly dismal volleyball practice my freshman year in high school, I thought for sure they would kick me off the team.  At 5’2” and more of a math nerd than an athlete, I considered it a miracle that I got to play at all, and I felt I had to prove my worthiness again every day.  The varsity coach, Bubba, gave me the best possible gift in these words: “Bring what ya got.”  Every day, just do your best.  Some days will be better than others, and as long as you bring what you have and offer it humbly, nobody can ask any more of you.  You are worthy already, and you can still work hard toward improvement—of skills, teamwork, self.  Wow, you mean you won’t throw me away if I have one hard day (week, month, year, life)?  How comforting, how liberating!

I said some fumbling version of this as we pulled up to the school that morning.  “Just do your best, try to remember why we do these things,” or something like that.  I didn’t want her to feel bad about herself all day because of one mistake, or worse, feel that it would somehow cost her my love.  I’m grateful for the reminder.  When I see shame in my patients’ faces, having lost no weight and with cholesterol numbers as high as ever, I can remember that we’re all just doing our best every day.  What got in the way?  What do they need to reset and restart?

How can I help?

More Than Enough Love

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If you’ve ever been pregnant, you may recall the mental and emotional acrobatics of swinging hormones.  If not, just imagine turning suddenly and severely manic-depressive, while watching your body metamorphose on a daily basis into something unrecognizable and terrifying, all of it utterly out of your control.

I sat in the dining room of our new home, staring blankly at the warren of boxes to be sorted and unpacked.  Well into my third trimester with #2, I felt whale-like and exhausted.  My son was almost four years old, the center of my universe.  Suddenly, panic: What am I doing?  This is crazy!  How could there possibly be enough love for more than one?  I could not fathom loving any other the way I loved him, the single focus of my entire sphere of existence.  Thankfully, the moment my daughter was born, I immediately understood the true miracle of parenthood—love is infinite.  My sphere simply grew to an ellipsoid.  There was more than enough love, and space in my heart, for both of them and more, easily.

As physicians, we possess a similarly infinite capacity to love our patients.  Sometimes we have to work much harder to feel it, though.  Like parenting, the path of medical practice is not paved with lollipops and ice cream.  It’s more like an uphill dirt road with pits and grooves, erratic weather, and hairpin turns that make you dizzy and nauseated.  It can also offer astoundingly beautiful scenery along the way—like parenting.  Most of us come to medicine thoughtfully, and few could withstand the crucible of training without some enduring core of dedication and calling.  Parent-love feels innate, encoded.  You stick with it through the hard parts, driven by something primal.  Doctor-love, while also born of the internal and deep, requires more conscious intention to maintain.  This commitment feels far more vulnerable to external forces.  Physicians’ social and emotional exhaustion can lead to disengagement, hardening, and reticence to a system we feel impotent to change.  We get burned out, and everybody suffers.

When we dig deeper, though, and uncover the original reserves of humanity and compassion that first called us to this work, when we nurture and cultivate them, we find the love.  We not only survive, we thrive.  Everyone benefits—ourselves, our patients, colleagues, family, communities—we can literally save the world.  We can achieve this by reaching out, sharing stories, judging ourselves more gently, and withholding our negative judgments of others.

A doctor’s medical practice, like life itself, will go through phases.  The focus may change over time, and the fundamental mission remains the same.  Why do we do this work?  The answer holds the key to our fulfillment, if we can remember it through the hard parts.

Like parents, we physicians share the hard dirt road, and traffic can get heavy.  We can choose to ride alone, or with a cooperative group that takes care of its members, and doesn’t leave anyone behind.  We can share the vistas, take pee breaks, and pack healthy snacks.  If we build our riding tribes right, we can ensure that each of us has more than enough love for the journey.