Have you ever wondered why you act the way you act? Have you ever wondered why you think the way you think? Are your decisions based on past experiences, parental teaching, religious beliefs, or self-generated errors in thinking? Or a combination of some of these? Is your pattern of behavior a thoughtful process or a set of automatic responses?
Psychologists, philosophers, and even some poets (Blake), have viewed human consciousness as a reflection of deeply embedded personal and social beliefs, some productive, some destructive. Behavior patterns and thought processes may be instilled during childhood or may be developed through life experiences. Of course, a great deal of our mental and interpersonal activity depends on mysterious forces, as yet unknown properties of the human brain, of hormones, or of neurotransmitters.
Taking time to examine your own belief systems (your “personal myths”) can be an interesting, beneficial, and life-extending process. This takes the form of self-guided introspection, an activity that can be as healthful as eating correctly or exercising. In fact deconstructing your personal myths—namely, figuring out why you think the way you think and then correcting the errors—can in itself lead to better eating and exercising habits.
Albert Ellis, one of America’s most esteemed psychologists, often discussed “crooked thinking”. Unlike the psychoanalysts of Vienna and their disciples, he taught that personal beliefs and thoughts lead to resultant behaviors and emotions. He recommended that we learn to think in rational, healthy, and goal-enhancing ways. The ego, id, and superego were, to Ellis, nonexistent forces: we are who we are largely through learned behavior (albeit with some influence from our genes) and therefore bad or destructive behavior can be unlearned.
In recent times, Dr. Stanley Krippner has devoted enormous creative energies to helping people discover, rethink, and redefine personal myths. His workshops and writings help teach individuals this process of self-discovery. For him personal myths reflect deep feelings by which people make choices everyday in their acquaintances, jobs, and self-care. Our self-concept is the totality of everything we think about ourselves, and this is certainly dependent on experiences in childhood, our environment, and our most intimate relationships.
Moreover, our image, namely our appearance and behavior, is the projection of our self-concept into the social world. Simply put, this means that what we think about ourselves is viewed by others objectively as our weight, bodily physique, clothing choices, hairstyle, and other components of image. You needn’t be reminded that people suffering from depression, inertia or loneliness have “self-neglect” written all over them. Conversely many individuals with distorted personal myths lead apparently normal lives yet still show signs of carelessness—obesity, unstable medical conditions, unrealistic plans, or limited interpersonal relationships.
Self-actualization and personal improvement must be continuous goals throughout our lives. And examining our own personal myths at any stage of life can be a liberating and thrilling experience as we unburden ourselves of incorrect thinking and destructive habits. The Park Avenue Diet is the first application of this technique to weight loss. Who among us has not thought: "I had a hard day at work, so I deserve to eat and drink whatever I want." For some reclusive individuals, this might be an attempt at rationalizing unhealthy behavior: "No one cares what I look like, so why should I?" Even healthcare professionals are not immune to disordered thinking: "Because I take vitamins I can eat whatever I want to."
All of the above statements are dangerously wrong, although superficially they sound like reasoned thinking. Considering them objectively, however, these personal myths carry with them considerable risks for chronic diseases, shorter lifespan, and unhappiness. Why would anyone want to live that way? Unearthing personal myths, examining them in broad daylight, and realigning priorities can provide benefit on physical, mental, and social levels.
The inner journey to discovering one’s own correct and incorrect belief systems may stimulate spiritual renewal that lasts a lifetime. Simplistic “quick fixes” (such as willpower, a non-existent entity) make weight loss a temporary phenomenon, since irrational and unproductive thought patterns have not been identified and corrected.
Self-understanding must be a constant goal for all individuals, even during times of apparent success. “Know thyself” [γνῶθι σεαυτόν] is received wisdom from the Ancient Greeks, and examination of personal myths is the perfect way to begin this process.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Friday, July 17, 2009
The Physician sings "The Physician"
I've been a medical student, extern, intern, resident, emergency room attending, diet-doctor, private practice physician, media health-expert, scientific author--and now, just in time for a special birthday, a singer !
"The Art of Medicine", my exploration of poetry and prose on the topics of health, doctors, and related philosophical issues, now turns a new page by opening the Cole Porter songbook. In 1930 the distinguished and witty composer wrote a mock-romantic song for a forgotten musical called "The New Yorkers." He recycled it for "Star Dust" in 1931, but when it appeared in "Nymph Errant" (1933) the song made theater history. You can hear the legendary Gertrude Lawrence sing "The Physician" on a YouTube audio-only recording. Julie Andrews' version in the movie "Star" is beautifully sung, tastelessly staged.
Now it's my turn. After all, as a Yale graduate and a guy, I've got a few things in common with Cole Porter. And who better to grasp the ironies, double-entendres, and musings on the "doctor-patient" relationship represented in "The Physician" than....? I think you see my point.
I first heard the song in 1969 in a revue of forgotten Cole Porter songs, presented by Yale undergradutes and directed by Robert Kimball--the brilliant music-theater historian who is credited with rediscovering one of America's greatest artists. Like the rest of the audience, I was shocked at some of the racy imagery and naughty language--how could these have eluded censorship?
40 years later, I've prepared my own deconstructed version, which I mischievously feel honors Cole Porter's unexpressed intentions (the song is never performed by men, let alone Yale graduates or actual physicians). "The Physician" purportedly describes the plight of a shy patient infatuated by a healthcare practitioner--or does it?
It's showtime !
"The Art of Medicine", my exploration of poetry and prose on the topics of health, doctors, and related philosophical issues, now turns a new page by opening the Cole Porter songbook. In 1930 the distinguished and witty composer wrote a mock-romantic song for a forgotten musical called "The New Yorkers." He recycled it for "Star Dust" in 1931, but when it appeared in "Nymph Errant" (1933) the song made theater history. You can hear the legendary Gertrude Lawrence sing "The Physician" on a YouTube audio-only recording. Julie Andrews' version in the movie "Star" is beautifully sung, tastelessly staged.
Now it's my turn. After all, as a Yale graduate and a guy, I've got a few things in common with Cole Porter. And who better to grasp the ironies, double-entendres, and musings on the "doctor-patient" relationship represented in "The Physician" than....? I think you see my point.
I first heard the song in 1969 in a revue of forgotten Cole Porter songs, presented by Yale undergradutes and directed by Robert Kimball--the brilliant music-theater historian who is credited with rediscovering one of America's greatest artists. Like the rest of the audience, I was shocked at some of the racy imagery and naughty language--how could these have eluded censorship?
40 years later, I've prepared my own deconstructed version, which I mischievously feel honors Cole Porter's unexpressed intentions (the song is never performed by men, let alone Yale graduates or actual physicians). "The Physician" purportedly describes the plight of a shy patient infatuated by a healthcare practitioner--or does it?
It's showtime !
Friday, May 29, 2009
A Letter from Uncle Abe
Still reflecting on my recent 30th anniversary of entering the medical profession, I came across a rare piece of memorabilia: a letter written to me in 1979 as I started my clinical studies at Maimonides Hospital from my Uncle Abe--the only other physician in our family, then age 80.
I'm presenting it to you to show the depth of dedication that he and so many of his colleagues demonstrated almost every hour of their lives. His philosophical ruminations haunt me after three decades of direct patient care; I am still humbled by the responsibility and the healing powers that a physician develops. Here is my Uncle Abe teaching me once again, his letter to me in its entirety:
July 21, 1979
Dear Stuart,
Congratulations on your start into the medical profession! Good luck, good health and happiness, and constant efforts on your part will make you successful in your choice of the Healing Art.
I’d like to quote Nietzsche (in spite of his anti-Semitic feelings). “A good physician must possess the persuasiveness that adjusts you to every individual you see as a patient; the suave negotiation and adroitness of an efficient detective in understanding the secrets of a soul without betraying it” (He must have said this about psychotherapists). It applies to all M.D.s.
The world is populated by people who are scared, anxiety propelled, and ill both physically and emotionally. Each person is human and imperfect. No one escapes the trials and tribulations of the human experience. Living is a continuous strife.
Remember in your dealings with mankind that humans are at best frail, phobic, ill, tired, and imperfect--regardless of their social status, their financial accomplishments, religious trends, color of skin, or ethnic origins. Try to be helpful, understanding and apply all you’ve acquired, and will acquire, of knowledge to accomplish some therapeutic gain. The Talmud says, “If one saves one human life, it is equal to having saved all the world.”
You will be rewarded with unusual feelings of expressed gratitude and deep personal satisfaction and happiness.
But never forget that you are a human being too and that no one escapes the frailty, uncertainty, and anxiety that confront all mankind. Be humble in your tasks but avoid self hurt, humiliation and “keep your chin up” while respectfully applying the art of our profession.
Good Luck!
Your Uncle Abe
I'm presenting it to you to show the depth of dedication that he and so many of his colleagues demonstrated almost every hour of their lives. His philosophical ruminations haunt me after three decades of direct patient care; I am still humbled by the responsibility and the healing powers that a physician develops. Here is my Uncle Abe teaching me once again, his letter to me in its entirety:
July 21, 1979
Dear Stuart,
Congratulations on your start into the medical profession! Good luck, good health and happiness, and constant efforts on your part will make you successful in your choice of the Healing Art.
I’d like to quote Nietzsche (in spite of his anti-Semitic feelings). “A good physician must possess the persuasiveness that adjusts you to every individual you see as a patient; the suave negotiation and adroitness of an efficient detective in understanding the secrets of a soul without betraying it” (He must have said this about psychotherapists). It applies to all M.D.s.
The world is populated by people who are scared, anxiety propelled, and ill both physically and emotionally. Each person is human and imperfect. No one escapes the trials and tribulations of the human experience. Living is a continuous strife.
Remember in your dealings with mankind that humans are at best frail, phobic, ill, tired, and imperfect--regardless of their social status, their financial accomplishments, religious trends, color of skin, or ethnic origins. Try to be helpful, understanding and apply all you’ve acquired, and will acquire, of knowledge to accomplish some therapeutic gain. The Talmud says, “If one saves one human life, it is equal to having saved all the world.”
You will be rewarded with unusual feelings of expressed gratitude and deep personal satisfaction and happiness.
But never forget that you are a human being too and that no one escapes the frailty, uncertainty, and anxiety that confront all mankind. Be humble in your tasks but avoid self hurt, humiliation and “keep your chin up” while respectfully applying the art of our profession.
Good Luck!
Your Uncle Abe
Monday, May 25, 2009
A House Call by Doctor Astroff
This week, 30 years ago, I graduated from medical school. My mother, my aunt, and my nanny attended the ceremony; all are gone. You probably know that medical school merely provides the infrastructure and the lexicon of the profession and that the most important learning comes from direct patient care. Only a few weeks after my graduation, I started a four-year stint at Maimonides Medical Center, as extern, intern, and resident in internal medicine.
If asked why I became a physician, my answer has always been the same: to be a healer, to help my community, and to lessen people's suffering. And I'm lucky to have chosen my calling at age 9, thus narrowing my professional aspirations considerably. My idealistic side never evaporated, having been formed and solidified in the late 1960's. And it's a source of happiness and contentment that I've saved thousands of lives by heroic intervention, uplifting motivation, and maybe a book or two.
But the life of a physician is a difficult one, filled with unpleasant tasks, conversations, and decisions. We expect physicians to be humanitarians, not simply scientists, and that is quite a weighty responsibility. Everyone probably has a story of the aid and comfort given to him or her by a doctor, perhaps even an anonymous emergency room physician. The words might stick in our minds forever. I have somewhat more down-to-earth epigrams carved into my memory, such as this one from my internist Benjamin Rosenberg during my teenage years, when I asked him if he liked all his patients: "Stu, I have put my finger into the rectum of people I wouldn't shake hands with."
Perhaps Dr, Rosenberg was being flowery, as we Brooklynites have been known to be. Interestingly, I found out what he meant, metaphorically speaking of course, when I worked as an attending physician at Cabrini Medical Center's emergency room: many of the patients were criminals, Runyoneque-types, or worse, yet my duty was to diagnose broken bones, suture lacerations, and restore vital signs--this was not the location for social change, personal opinions, or dramatic confrontations. I was simply their physician at that moment in time.
My great-uncle Abe Fischer, the only other doctor in my family, had dazzlingly colorful stories that would make me even more excited to be going into his exalted profession. As a general practitioner in 1920's to 1930's Brooklyn, he had suffered through an ordeal in his Maimonides training (being on-call every night for three years), accepted a chicken as payment for a house call during the Great Depression, and treated the high (young Maria Callas) and the mighty (Al Capone and Dutch Schultz). Being a physician, he always sat at the head of the table wherever he went and was the sole speaker, with beautiful silvery hair, orotund tones, and a Freudian beard. He had gravitas, authority, and a wealth of experience, the sort that can only come after witnessing the ravages of disease and the pain of earthly sorrow.
In reflecting on my journey through the medical profession, I recently recalled another early influence, this time a fictional character: Doctor Astroff in Uncle Vanya. I had seen a stellar Mike Nichols production of the classic Russian play on Broadway, with George C. Scott as Astroff and Julie Christie as the woman he loved and lost. The more I watched Astroff's world-weariness, combined with his refusal to stop being a caretaker and healer, the more I knew I was on the right path, challenging though it might be.
Dr. Astroff might be a fictional character, but all students of theater know that he's a stand-in for the playwright himself, Anton Chekhov, also a physician. How much of Astroff is Chekhov? And how much of Chekhov is Sonya, the melancholy and lonely woman who experiences life as a vale of tears and longs for peace in the grave? How could someone have written her final speech without experiencing at least some of the emotions? I'm as ebullient and fun-loving as anyone else yet over the course of 30 years, I've seen, by my own estimate, 3000 people die in front of me.
These conflicting, seemingly irreconcilable aspects of a life in medicine haunted me when I began to record excerpts from Uncle Vanya for my project "The Art of Medicine." A house call by Doctor Astroff proved very dramatic, stirring up memories and feelings that are as much a part of my medical education as pathology and anatomy. How do we become who we are? Sometimes the insights come not from science and textbooks--but from art and life.
If asked why I became a physician, my answer has always been the same: to be a healer, to help my community, and to lessen people's suffering. And I'm lucky to have chosen my calling at age 9, thus narrowing my professional aspirations considerably. My idealistic side never evaporated, having been formed and solidified in the late 1960's. And it's a source of happiness and contentment that I've saved thousands of lives by heroic intervention, uplifting motivation, and maybe a book or two.
But the life of a physician is a difficult one, filled with unpleasant tasks, conversations, and decisions. We expect physicians to be humanitarians, not simply scientists, and that is quite a weighty responsibility. Everyone probably has a story of the aid and comfort given to him or her by a doctor, perhaps even an anonymous emergency room physician. The words might stick in our minds forever. I have somewhat more down-to-earth epigrams carved into my memory, such as this one from my internist Benjamin Rosenberg during my teenage years, when I asked him if he liked all his patients: "Stu, I have put my finger into the rectum of people I wouldn't shake hands with."
Perhaps Dr, Rosenberg was being flowery, as we Brooklynites have been known to be. Interestingly, I found out what he meant, metaphorically speaking of course, when I worked as an attending physician at Cabrini Medical Center's emergency room: many of the patients were criminals, Runyoneque-types, or worse, yet my duty was to diagnose broken bones, suture lacerations, and restore vital signs--this was not the location for social change, personal opinions, or dramatic confrontations. I was simply their physician at that moment in time.
My great-uncle Abe Fischer, the only other doctor in my family, had dazzlingly colorful stories that would make me even more excited to be going into his exalted profession. As a general practitioner in 1920's to 1930's Brooklyn, he had suffered through an ordeal in his Maimonides training (being on-call every night for three years), accepted a chicken as payment for a house call during the Great Depression, and treated the high (young Maria Callas) and the mighty (Al Capone and Dutch Schultz). Being a physician, he always sat at the head of the table wherever he went and was the sole speaker, with beautiful silvery hair, orotund tones, and a Freudian beard. He had gravitas, authority, and a wealth of experience, the sort that can only come after witnessing the ravages of disease and the pain of earthly sorrow.
In reflecting on my journey through the medical profession, I recently recalled another early influence, this time a fictional character: Doctor Astroff in Uncle Vanya. I had seen a stellar Mike Nichols production of the classic Russian play on Broadway, with George C. Scott as Astroff and Julie Christie as the woman he loved and lost. The more I watched Astroff's world-weariness, combined with his refusal to stop being a caretaker and healer, the more I knew I was on the right path, challenging though it might be.
Dr. Astroff might be a fictional character, but all students of theater know that he's a stand-in for the playwright himself, Anton Chekhov, also a physician. How much of Astroff is Chekhov? And how much of Chekhov is Sonya, the melancholy and lonely woman who experiences life as a vale of tears and longs for peace in the grave? How could someone have written her final speech without experiencing at least some of the emotions? I'm as ebullient and fun-loving as anyone else yet over the course of 30 years, I've seen, by my own estimate, 3000 people die in front of me.
These conflicting, seemingly irreconcilable aspects of a life in medicine haunted me when I began to record excerpts from Uncle Vanya for my project "The Art of Medicine." A house call by Doctor Astroff proved very dramatic, stirring up memories and feelings that are as much a part of my medical education as pathology and anatomy. How do we become who we are? Sometimes the insights come not from science and textbooks--but from art and life.
Friday, April 10, 2009
The Art of Medicine
Who said "Ars longa, vita brevis" [Life is short but art is long] ? It was a Greek physician, namely Hippocrates, and although he was referring to the "art" of practicing medicine, we generally use this famous phrase as an appreciation of the durability and complexity of self-expression through drama, painting, movies, and music.
The Roman philosopher Seneca translated this famous statement into Latin, and its common usage is also a truism: our earthly activities have a finite duration but creative work can transcend the boundaries of time, geography, and ethnicity. An easy example: theater pieces dating back 2000 years often surprise modern audiences with their topicality and psychological insights (for example Lysistrata, The Trojan Women, and The Bacchae).
As a physician since 1980, I have always had special interest in artistic works that address medical and health topics. Often the author/composer/poet discusses the topic directly--a favorite might be the role of Dr. Astrov in Uncle Vanya, a stand-in of sorts for playwright Anton Chekov (himself a general practitioner). Other times the focus might be on illness as a metaphor for the tragic arc of a pitiable character; successful performances of Puccini's La Bohème should have the audience in tears when Mimi succumbs to tuberculosis.
I will be sharing some of my lifelong favorites with you on my website--and in upcoming personal appearances--and I'm thrilled to have accumulated a wealth of entertaining, insightful, and quite contrasting selections drawn from diverse sources. The title for this performance anthology seemed to suggest itself: The Art of Medicine.
Up first: ten contrasting literary works that address the topic of health in completely different ways. I’ll leave it up to you to discover how, letting the authors speak for themselves. The settings are quite different (a Civil War hospital, bucolic Tennessee, cholera-infested Venice) and so are the characters (drunken medical students, Medieval true believers on pilgrimage, an artist doomed by tertiary syphilis). To come: two songs from 1929 about health issues, one naughty, one frightening. But the focus is similar: our fragile bodies, the human spirit, and the gift of life.
The Art of Medicine: where science ends--and poetry begins.
Enjoy!
The Roman philosopher Seneca translated this famous statement into Latin, and its common usage is also a truism: our earthly activities have a finite duration but creative work can transcend the boundaries of time, geography, and ethnicity. An easy example: theater pieces dating back 2000 years often surprise modern audiences with their topicality and psychological insights (for example Lysistrata, The Trojan Women, and The Bacchae).
As a physician since 1980, I have always had special interest in artistic works that address medical and health topics. Often the author/composer/poet discusses the topic directly--a favorite might be the role of Dr. Astrov in Uncle Vanya, a stand-in of sorts for playwright Anton Chekov (himself a general practitioner). Other times the focus might be on illness as a metaphor for the tragic arc of a pitiable character; successful performances of Puccini's La Bohème should have the audience in tears when Mimi succumbs to tuberculosis.
I will be sharing some of my lifelong favorites with you on my website--and in upcoming personal appearances--and I'm thrilled to have accumulated a wealth of entertaining, insightful, and quite contrasting selections drawn from diverse sources. The title for this performance anthology seemed to suggest itself: The Art of Medicine.
Up first: ten contrasting literary works that address the topic of health in completely different ways. I’ll leave it up to you to discover how, letting the authors speak for themselves. The settings are quite different (a Civil War hospital, bucolic Tennessee, cholera-infested Venice) and so are the characters (drunken medical students, Medieval true believers on pilgrimage, an artist doomed by tertiary syphilis). To come: two songs from 1929 about health issues, one naughty, one frightening. But the focus is similar: our fragile bodies, the human spirit, and the gift of life.
The Art of Medicine: where science ends--and poetry begins.
Enjoy!
Friday, April 3, 2009
Resilience
What is resilience? Faced with a serious crisis, some people have the ability to cope with stress in a positive and productive manner rather than crumbling under pressure and falling to pieces. Other people don't, and their world can be shattered as lifelong plans unravel and health deteriorates.
And who has this most evanescent of traits? Where does it come from, innate survival powers or learned behavior?
These questions had always puzzled me before reading a brilliant book by the esteemed psychiatrist Dr. Frederic Flach, Resilience, that focuses on this very lofty and necessary behavioral skill. Yet true to the complexity of life, resilience is also a phenomenon in ecology (whereby an ecosystem tolerates natural disturbances and thereafter returns to a stable state) and physics (the ability of a substance to absorb energy when deformed and then elastically restore itself--something cartilage does as a "shock absorber" in our hips and knees).
I have witnessed careers ruined due to relatively minor personal problems, individuals turned into recluses when intimate relationships ended, psyches scarred by failure preventing further attempts at success. Various philosophers have had their say, as in this passage from Twilight of the Idols by Friedrich Nietzsche:
or in this memorable truism from the Broadway musical Gypsy, via lyricist Stephen Sondheim:
Your ability to be resilient is directly linked to your self-concept (the sum total of all your ideas about yourself) and therefore your image (the projection of your self-concept into the social world, a visible representation of your belief systems). The stronger your self-confidence and the stronger and more realistic your bonds to the outside world, the more impervious you will be to negative thinking, feelings of hopelessness, and abandonment of plans. Resilience isn't courage, egocentricism, or focus, although these may be some of its components--nor is it a conscious effort to ignore pain, loss, or potential tragedy.
Resilience, on the other hand, implies a practical approach to problem solving, one where sadness and despair are redirected into new goals, new situations, and a new set of rules. I have often thought of life as a narrative that Charles Dickens might have written, full of twists and turns of the plot. His most memorable characters, Oliver Twist, Nicholas Nickelby, and David Copperfield, for example, endure poverty, loneliness, and estrangement, only to find themselves unlikely heroes by the end of their ordeals. The outcome of the story could never have been predicted at the onset.
It is this view of life, as a rather prolonged roller-coaster ride, that makes resilience an easier process to accept, a survival technique that must be learned by transcending life's challenges. Various social institutions have proved helpful for many troubled people seeking a pathway back to a happier life: religion, artistic self-expression, therapy. All are potentially helpful, yet the outcome must still be the same: moving on to a new chapter of one's life, turning the page as it were in one's own non-fictional narrative. Like self-confidence, resilience is a learned skill; hopefully, as we mature, it will help to keep us steadfast and comforted.
Resilience, like physical strength, requires effort, repetitive steps, and balance. Practical tips and remarkable insights are provided in Dr. Flach's masterful book, one that belongs in your library. Simply put, whether discussing resilience or Resilience, you can't live without it.
And who has this most evanescent of traits? Where does it come from, innate survival powers or learned behavior?
These questions had always puzzled me before reading a brilliant book by the esteemed psychiatrist Dr. Frederic Flach, Resilience, that focuses on this very lofty and necessary behavioral skill. Yet true to the complexity of life, resilience is also a phenomenon in ecology (whereby an ecosystem tolerates natural disturbances and thereafter returns to a stable state) and physics (the ability of a substance to absorb energy when deformed and then elastically restore itself--something cartilage does as a "shock absorber" in our hips and knees).
I have witnessed careers ruined due to relatively minor personal problems, individuals turned into recluses when intimate relationships ended, psyches scarred by failure preventing further attempts at success. Various philosophers have had their say, as in this passage from Twilight of the Idols by Friedrich Nietzsche:
Was mich nicht umbringt, macht mich stärker.
(What does not destroy me, makes me stronger.)
(What does not destroy me, makes me stronger.)
or in this memorable truism from the Broadway musical Gypsy, via lyricist Stephen Sondheim:
"Some people have it and make it pay. Some people can't even give it away!"
Your ability to be resilient is directly linked to your self-concept (the sum total of all your ideas about yourself) and therefore your image (the projection of your self-concept into the social world, a visible representation of your belief systems). The stronger your self-confidence and the stronger and more realistic your bonds to the outside world, the more impervious you will be to negative thinking, feelings of hopelessness, and abandonment of plans. Resilience isn't courage, egocentricism, or focus, although these may be some of its components--nor is it a conscious effort to ignore pain, loss, or potential tragedy.
Resilience, on the other hand, implies a practical approach to problem solving, one where sadness and despair are redirected into new goals, new situations, and a new set of rules. I have often thought of life as a narrative that Charles Dickens might have written, full of twists and turns of the plot. His most memorable characters, Oliver Twist, Nicholas Nickelby, and David Copperfield, for example, endure poverty, loneliness, and estrangement, only to find themselves unlikely heroes by the end of their ordeals. The outcome of the story could never have been predicted at the onset.
It is this view of life, as a rather prolonged roller-coaster ride, that makes resilience an easier process to accept, a survival technique that must be learned by transcending life's challenges. Various social institutions have proved helpful for many troubled people seeking a pathway back to a happier life: religion, artistic self-expression, therapy. All are potentially helpful, yet the outcome must still be the same: moving on to a new chapter of one's life, turning the page as it were in one's own non-fictional narrative. Like self-confidence, resilience is a learned skill; hopefully, as we mature, it will help to keep us steadfast and comforted.
Resilience, like physical strength, requires effort, repetitive steps, and balance. Practical tips and remarkable insights are provided in Dr. Flach's masterful book, one that belongs in your library. Simply put, whether discussing resilience or Resilience, you can't live without it.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
The Other Side of the River
An inevitable part of life is transition, whether from one height to another, as we grow, from one location to another, as we relocate, or from one image to another, as we change. And may I remind you that "the only thing constant is change" ?
Part of this change--specifically learning how to change--serves as a protective mechanism. This is not unlike an evolutionary modification described by Charles Darwin, when he studied how physical changes in a species (such as larger wingspan or the ability to camouflage) reset the species' genetic makeup and help insure survival.
Humans don't adapt by changing body parts. This takes millennia, not a few decades. Instead, we change by adapting our image to the surrounding world in a way that maximizes our comfort, safety, and success--maybe by developing better interpersonal skills, so we can make new friends in a new setting (a new job, a new school, a new city) or perhaps by changing our "look" (dressing differently when we move to a new area of town, for example from swank Sutton Place to the cooler-than-cool West Village in New York City).
Is transition an enjoyable and painless process? Not really, because truth be told, emotional and social inertia is somewhat reassuring. All of us can get used to unpleasantness, stagnancy, or "a routine" and we may not want to summon up the energy, self-awareness, and courage to change. How many times have you been in a situation that was quite negative but you didn't want to look for an alternative (job, friend, home) because you'd "gotten used to" a modicum of unhappiness and dissatisfaction--or loneliness? Did you convince yourself that being unfulfilled was easier than trying for something better? Such is the "personal myth" of people trapped in go-nowhere jobs, dead-end relationships, social isolation, or, as far as this diet-doctor is concerned, obesity.
People who have forged a successful path though life avoiding its many physical, psychological, and social obstacles have made the ability to change, to transition, a useful and oft-called-upon skill. They upgrade their appearance frequently, watching the latest fashions and choosing the best, most au courant look. Their hairstyle reflects the latest trends; their conversations include the most interesting current subjects; they make new friends gracefully, slowly, and sincerely.
No one is incapable of making such a transition. Conversely put, we all must learn this essential skill and learn not to fear change. Beyond your current surroundings, whether geographical or emotional, are new opportunities for personal enhancement, upward mobility, and fun. By working on improving your weak points (whether in appearance or behavior--or just weight) a better version of you will emerge, one which will be more capable of success and more attractive to the outside world. Surely you don't think you're a "finished product." On the other hand, it's best to believe that you are "a work in progress" and strive daily to add embellishments of every type.
And when the time of transition comes, and you might not recognize it, the hallmark will not be something you see but something that the outside world sees in you: a new friendship might suddenly blossom, for example, someone very special that might have forever remained a stranger or a missed opportunity for intimacy. But once that transition occurs and your life becomes happier and the sun shines brighter, you will never want to reverse the process, go back into your shell, and return to a life of comfortable stagnancy.
I've likened such a transition to crossing a river on a raft. Once you've summoned up the courage to make that journey and made the necessary changes in appearance and behavior to become a better version of yourself, you will arrive on the other side of the river and step into a new world. You might be tempted to look back and see where you came from, but if all the right variables align, you will never want to go back again. Now on the other side of the river, you can take your first steps inland and explore the new territory. Of course you will be a little afraid. All people take their first steps cautiously when their physical or emotional landscape is new.
Learning how to make transitions, how to cross the river, gets easier with each new challenge. Some day it might be much less problematic, but as you learn to improve your life--and you may have to, whether you want to or not--the process will become more comfortable. Get off the raft, put your feet on the dry land of a new chapter of your life, stand tall, walk forward, and never look back.
Part of this change--specifically learning how to change--serves as a protective mechanism. This is not unlike an evolutionary modification described by Charles Darwin, when he studied how physical changes in a species (such as larger wingspan or the ability to camouflage) reset the species' genetic makeup and help insure survival.
Humans don't adapt by changing body parts. This takes millennia, not a few decades. Instead, we change by adapting our image to the surrounding world in a way that maximizes our comfort, safety, and success--maybe by developing better interpersonal skills, so we can make new friends in a new setting (a new job, a new school, a new city) or perhaps by changing our "look" (dressing differently when we move to a new area of town, for example from swank Sutton Place to the cooler-than-cool West Village in New York City).
Is transition an enjoyable and painless process? Not really, because truth be told, emotional and social inertia is somewhat reassuring. All of us can get used to unpleasantness, stagnancy, or "a routine" and we may not want to summon up the energy, self-awareness, and courage to change. How many times have you been in a situation that was quite negative but you didn't want to look for an alternative (job, friend, home) because you'd "gotten used to" a modicum of unhappiness and dissatisfaction--or loneliness? Did you convince yourself that being unfulfilled was easier than trying for something better? Such is the "personal myth" of people trapped in go-nowhere jobs, dead-end relationships, social isolation, or, as far as this diet-doctor is concerned, obesity.
People who have forged a successful path though life avoiding its many physical, psychological, and social obstacles have made the ability to change, to transition, a useful and oft-called-upon skill. They upgrade their appearance frequently, watching the latest fashions and choosing the best, most au courant look. Their hairstyle reflects the latest trends; their conversations include the most interesting current subjects; they make new friends gracefully, slowly, and sincerely.
No one is incapable of making such a transition. Conversely put, we all must learn this essential skill and learn not to fear change. Beyond your current surroundings, whether geographical or emotional, are new opportunities for personal enhancement, upward mobility, and fun. By working on improving your weak points (whether in appearance or behavior--or just weight) a better version of you will emerge, one which will be more capable of success and more attractive to the outside world. Surely you don't think you're a "finished product." On the other hand, it's best to believe that you are "a work in progress" and strive daily to add embellishments of every type.
And when the time of transition comes, and you might not recognize it, the hallmark will not be something you see but something that the outside world sees in you: a new friendship might suddenly blossom, for example, someone very special that might have forever remained a stranger or a missed opportunity for intimacy. But once that transition occurs and your life becomes happier and the sun shines brighter, you will never want to reverse the process, go back into your shell, and return to a life of comfortable stagnancy.
I've likened such a transition to crossing a river on a raft. Once you've summoned up the courage to make that journey and made the necessary changes in appearance and behavior to become a better version of yourself, you will arrive on the other side of the river and step into a new world. You might be tempted to look back and see where you came from, but if all the right variables align, you will never want to go back again. Now on the other side of the river, you can take your first steps inland and explore the new territory. Of course you will be a little afraid. All people take their first steps cautiously when their physical or emotional landscape is new.
Learning how to make transitions, how to cross the river, gets easier with each new challenge. Some day it might be much less problematic, but as you learn to improve your life--and you may have to, whether you want to or not--the process will become more comfortable. Get off the raft, put your feet on the dry land of a new chapter of your life, stand tall, walk forward, and never look back.
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