gratitude | Squirrels in the Doohickey gratitude | …and other profound observations of the absurd

Posts Tagged ‘gratitude’

Thinking Distortion # 2: Either/Or Thinking

December 16, 2013 by Diane

Here’s the hypothetical…

It’s Christmas. You’ve spent the last two weeks getting ready for the in-laws and your extended family to descend upon the house. Your husband wrestled the wooden sleigh-and-reindeer display from the garage and your son peeled himself from the couch long enough to nail a wreath to the front door, then you all drove to Santa’s Tree Lot and spent an hour bickering over which tree to buy. You made four trips to the mall to buy gifts and wrapping paper and tape and ribbon and bows, and you stocked up on eggnog and booze and sparkling cider. You bought a ham and sweet potatoes and green beans and Cream of Mushroom Soup for that goopy casserole that Uncle Joe loves, even though Uncle Joe is a pain in the…

Hold on.

That’s jumping ahead in the list of thinking distortions, to number seven: Name-calling.

Let’s stick to one distortion at a time.

You set the table with the best silver and linen napkins, and by God this day better be perfect, you tell yourself, because last year was awful; you all had colds and stayed home in bed, fuming. So nothing better go wrong!

But things do.

Uncle Joe is late. As usual. So you keep everything snug in the oven, thinking it’s on warm, but it’s on high because one of your cousin’s kids fiddled with the knobs, and soon the ham and that goopy casserole are smoking up the house. You grab the potholders and pull the burnt ham from the oven and it falls on the floor and shoots across the waxed linoleum and the day is ruined. RUINED! You should have never taken this on, you’re a failure and everyone knows it.

That’s Either/Or thinking. Believing that situations are either wonderful or a complete disaster. That you’re either perfect or a waste of human skin.

Look at it this way…

That black mound that your Uncle Joe is now kicking around the floor…it’s a crispy dead pig, not the ruination of your life.

Order a pizza.

It’ll probably be your best Christmas ever.

But let’s say you’re not hosting a shindig. You live alone. You don’t have the money to fly clear across the country to see your family, or send gifts. You’re spending Christmas night alone at Denny’s eating over-salted slices of turkey and watery mashed potatoes pooled in gravy because you have a free coupon. It’s grim. It’s awful. Christmas is just an overblown retail holiday, you mutter. Bah humbug. You feel like a failure because you can’t even afford a cheap tie for your father.

You’re not a failure. You’re short on funds. At the moment. Set it aside for now. Smile at the waitress, who’s spending her Christmas serving a grump.

And come July, when you have extra cash in your pocket and you spy that Zen-like miniature golf game in the bookstore where you’re browsing and you think of your dad, who loves miniature golf, and this game is really miniature—the clubs only two inches high—and you picture him sitting at his desk teeing off…buy it. Send it along with a note.

Merry Christmas!

Thinking of you.

With love,

Santa

It’ll be his best Christmas ever.

Category Fer Cryin' Out Loud | Tags: Christmas,failure,family,funny,gratitude,humor,mental health,mind,psychology | 1 Comment
Who’s Manning the Digestive Tract?

December 9, 2013 by Diane

We all know about the big brain in our head. But what about the little brain in our gut?

I googled it, and learned that this second brain is made up of approximately 100 million neurons embedded in a long tube that runs from our esophagus to the elimination station. It oversees our digestion. It sends us “gut feelings.” It influences our moods, housing 95% of the body’s serotonin. In other words, it has a mind of its own.

Which got me to thinking, who’s overseeing those 100 million neurons and that overpopulation of serotonin? Who’s running the show down there, manning the ship, tending the store?

Is it a frazzled guy, pale and jumpy, hollering through a bull horn? “We’ve got to move along quickly! It’s not safe here. Run, run, run!”

Is it a buttoned-up, tense fanatic with polished nails and a stiff spine reading from a rule book? “I’m in command here. Nobody goes until I say go. So stop where you are, bulk up and prepare for a long winter.”

Is it some poor sap in a straitjacket? “My hands are tied! Everything’s out of control! Help! Help!”

Or is it the mellow dude, the one with the long hair and calm eyes sitting lotus style on a cloud. The one whose vibe makes everything hum. “It’s all good. Relax. Tune in to your natural rhythm. Chill for a bit, then we’ll engage in some gentle dance moves, some liquid ballet. All is well.”

I want that guy at the helm.

But to get that guy, I have to slow down. My Wise Self advised me to practice deep breathing before eating. Practice gratitude, giving thanks for everyone who grew, harvested, transported, and prepared the food I’m about to relish. Practice being mindful of what I fork in, and then chew slowly, because digestion starts at the point of departure.

“You mean take longer than five minutes to eat a meal?”

“Yes.”

“If I do all that…the mindfulness, the gratitude, the breathing…will my inner tubes be vibrating ‘om’?”

“Yes.”

“Silently?”

“No one will know.”

Yesssss.

Category Fer Cryin' Out Loud | Tags: anxiety,funny,gratitude,health,humor,mind,mindful,psychology | 2 Comments
My Two Cents Ain’t Gonna Lighten Your Load

October 18, 2013 by Diane

I’m sitting at a picnic table in the park mindfully eating a turkey sandwich while soaking up the peace, when across the lawn a toddler decides to pitch a fit. This is the kind of fit that kids pitch when they’re being dragged from something fun to something not-so-fun…like nap time. But this kid isn’t being dragged. She’s doing the dragging, or attempting to; she’s pulling at what appears to be a mound of black clothing.

I begin to wonder if there’s trouble afoot, if maybe I should stop mindfully eating and offer some assistance. But the mound slowly rises and the child stops crying and happily launches herself onto the back of what I now see is a woman. She staggers upright. She maneuvers a baby carriage around and begins a slow trudge along the perimeter of the park, one child in the carriage, the other swinging from her neck. She looks like earth itself, as if the earth had gathered itself up and risen in the form of a woman.

This determined earth mother slogs onward until her legs buckle. She sinks to her knees. She tries to disengage the firm grasp from her throat, but the kid refuses to let go. Exhausted, the woman sits in a puddle of her own clothing and tries to reason with the child, but the child wants none of it. The toddler flings herself to the ground, sucks in a park-load of air and lets it out in one continuous howl.

I want to storm over and talk some sense into this howler. Give my two cents worth. Point out that there aren’t many people on this planet other than our parents—and a rare parent at that—willing to lug our sorry self around. You should be grateful, I want to say. Now quit your whining!

But that’s judgment.

That’s believing that I have control and responsibility over everything and everybody, and that I am the only human in the vicinity who can preserve the peace and save the day—which is number 9 on the list of thinking distortions.

Let them work it out, I tell myself.

The woman continues to sit and talk quietly. I’m amazed at her patience; although for all I know she might be saying, “If you don’t shut the f— up I’m going to tell Santa to take away all of your toys and give them to your cousin Jimmy. That’s right, Cousin Jimmy, who stuck your head in the toilet last Christmas.”

Maybe that’s exactly what she’s saying, because the child ramps up the volume, splitting the eardrums of everyone within hearing distance. People fold their newspapers, repack their lunches, grab their picnic blankets, awaken from a drunken snore, and lumber, stride, rush from the park to their offices, their cars, their street corners.

Except me.

I mindfully finish eating my sandwich, waiting to see how this age-old battle will play out.

Eventually the mother and child come to an agreement. The howling stops. The earth gathers itself up again and the child gleefully launches herself on.

This is the weight of parenting, I think.

Or, for ten bucks an hour…babysitting.

Category Ain't Life Grand | Tags: family,gratitude,mindful | 1 Comment