IN THIS TOGETHER

My iPhone cares about me. I had long suspected something of the sort, but the proof came yesterday when she congratulated me for increasing my exercise dramatically over the past week. It is small wonder that she was impressed. I hadn’t asked her to keep records, but she had noticed that I was now averaging 12,500 steps per day. In past weeks, the average was much, much lower. Of course, she hadn’t been giving me full credit for things I was doing. She didn’t count it when I pedalled the exercise bike, and she sat under the chair when I participated in exercise classes. But now she’s in my pocket every afternoon for the daily walk. The daily walk, consuming most of each afternoon, has been made possible by my neighbour Kathy. We had been in the habit of taking shorter walks when we had the time. We were both busy in those days. Now we are not busy. We’ve got the time. We decided to declare ourselves a couple from the perspective of social distancing. We behave as we would if we shared an apartment. We keep each other safe by maintaining social distance from everyone else when we are out, and staying home except when we are walking. In many ways, this is the best of all seasons for long walks. Here in Edmonton we live a short distance from river valley trails and quiet neighbourhoods graced by aging trees. It is part spring and part winter. The daily walk takes through snow, ice, mud, water and patches of hopeful dryness. Birds and squirrels are everywhere. The sun warms the back of our winter parkas and forces us to remove our hats and mittens. Most of the people we meet stay far away and smile conspiratorially. People, machines and nature are doing their best to keep each other going. We are all in this together.

IN SEARCH OF GRATITUDE

“The most transformative and resilient leaders that I’ve worked with over the course of my career have three things in common: First, they recognize the central role that relationships and story play in culture and strategy, and they stay curious about their own emotions, thoughts, and behaviors. Second, they understand and stay curious about how emotions, thoughts, and behaviors are connected in the people they lead, and how those factors affect relationships and perception. And, third, they have the ability and willingness to lean in to discomfort and vulnerability.” Brené Brown, Rising Strong After spending more than a year on the market, our house sold. Our realtor seemed happy, if a little apologetic. Beside him I sat, scribbling initials here and there, scratching my full name on the line as he pointed. Then I waited for the surge of gratitude that would, if my readings of www.gratefulness.org were accurate, enhance my physical/mental health, contribute to financial stability, improve my personal relationships and contribute to the well-being of work/community environments. I waited for the unbridled shout of joy, the quiet contentment of satisfaction, the slight tug of a smile against my cheeks. Then I waited some more. Gratitude, it seemed, had gone missing. To my surprise, I didn’t call anyone to announce the good news about the sale, didn’t tell my friends, thought it better not to disappoint them. They had been summoning my gratitude—my relief at a minimum--ever since the negotiations began. “You must be so relieved,” they said. “You must be really happy to have the possibility of getting it done with.” If I can’t be grateful, then I must be relieved, I thought. I must be it. I have to be relieved for my friends, for my kids, for all the people who want to hear that I am relieved. They are counting on me to be relieved. But I was not relieved. I was anything but relieved. Instead of being relieved, I was angry—angry that it had taken more than a year to sell, angry that it had sold for so much less than we had ever imagined, angry that the buyer was demanding that we do routine maintenance before handing it over, angry that I hadn’t insisted on lowering the price long ago, angry that there had been a break-in during the negotiations, angry at myself for feeling sad every time I visited the house I loved, so sad that I only went there when forced to do so. So it wasn’t enough just to be angry. I had to be sad as well. I was sad to be losing the house that had made us so happy, sad that David’s illness had made the sale of the house the only reasonable option. I was sad to lose the house with the incredible veranda and the yard full of birds, the house where you could lie awake at dawn and count the birds you could hear through the open windows—five birds, ten birds maybe. I was sad to lose the rhubarb I hadn’t wanted to plant, the onions I couldn’t get rid of, the raspberry bushes that tore the skin off my arms, the lupines, the peonies, the lilac bush, the Solomon’s Seal started from a cutting stolen by friends from the front of Athabasca Hall for my fortieth birthday, the goat’s beard Mark once gave me for Mother’s Day. Adding it all up, I had to admit that I was far too sad to be grateful. On top of all this, I was resentful, resentful that it wasn’t enough just to be angry and sad. I had to be worried on top of it all, worried that the accumulation of all that had happened to me had somehow transformed me irreversibly into a sad and angry person who couldn’t be grateful for blessings, who couldn’t tell stories that ended happily without including long middle descriptions of the suffering. I worried that I might have lost the capacity to be satisfied with my life. Now I know that the best way to enhance gratitude is to list things for which you are grateful. I also know, from trying this myself, and from hearing hundreds of stories from clients who tried it, that listing things for which you are grateful is a practice that works best when you are already feeling grateful. When you are mostly sad and angry, a list of gratitudes quickly transforms itself into a list of yes-buts. Yes, I am grateful that we live in such a beautiful apartment, but I am angry that we had to move out of the house. Yes I am grateful that I was able to go to the house and collect two fragrant bouquets of peonies for the apartment, but I am sad that I will probably never grow my own peonies again. Yes I am grateful to have the best husband anybody ever had, loving children, delightful grandchildren, devoted friends, financial security, sunny days, the on-line grocery shopping service, and the electric wheelchair that has made it possible for David and me to cruise the streets of our new neighbourhood, but I’m angry and sad about the house. Take it from me. Satisfaction with your life is a hard thing to come by once you get into the intoxicating rhythm of making a grateful yes-but list One of my great disappointments in the positive psychology trend with all its potential for self-help is that it makes you believe it is possible to make yourself feel what you want to feel instead of what you feel but don‘t want to feel. If you can make yourself feel things, I haven’t yet learned how to do it. The best I can offer is that you can lead your unwanted feelings to the door, but you can’t shoo them out. They’ll leave when they are good and ready to do so. If you are lucky, the process of herding them toward the door will leave some empty space to fill with other feelings. Maybe you can do a little bargaining, practice the art of compromise. It took a while to come to it, but I’ve offered Sadness a deal. I’ll stop pressuring her to leave if she’ll stop pushing back. I’ve hinted that she might even be allowed to stay permanently. As for Anger, well, she’s already on her way out. I suspect she got a little jealous when I buddied up with Sadness and decided to search for an easier target. And as for life satisfaction, a visit to www.viacharacter.org has reminded me that satisfaction is strongly associated with five character strengths—hope, zest, gratitude, love and curiosity. With Anger consuming a little less of my time, I found a moment to take an inventory. Firmly in place I have love and curiosity. Hope, as you might expect, refuses to be left out entirely. Zest is making occasional appearances, and gratitude has promised to keep working against the yes-buts. As the peonies prepare to drop their petals, maybe tomorrow, but certainly the day after, I notice that I’ve even made a few calls to announce that the house has sold, and though I had to pinch myself to believe it, I am quite sure I heard myself say, “It’s a bit of a relief to have it sold.” Could it be that, one day soon, “It’s a bit of a relief” might actually be replaced by “I’m grateful”?

ROBINS

We thought they'd gone elsewhere, or met a dreadful fate. But here they are, doing nest renovations, repairing the damage from the recent House Finch invasion. There they hop, purching on benchbacks, startling off at an unexpected bang. The renos are done now. The sitting has started. All things being lucky, there'll be babies poking their heads over the nest edge right about the time when the veranda is buzzing with the guests Mark and Tracey have invited to their wedding. How could their timing have been better? A little bird magic!

IF I WERE A SIGHTED PERSON...

There are quite a few things I would do,
like getting my driver’s license,
and catching people’s eye.
Among other things,
I’d identify birds by using bird books.

What could be more fun
Than flipping through the pages,
Spying a bird with a cry of
“That’s the one!”

Me: I heard the most beautiful bird song this morning. I was talking to Donna on the phone at the time and I just had to open the door so she could hear it too.
Him: There’s a new bird in the robin’s nest on the veranda this year.
Me: What kind of bird?
Him: I don’t know what it is.
Me: Maybe it’s the bird with the beautiful song.
Him: Maybe. It has a very red breast.
Me: But not a robin?
Him: Smaller than a robin.
Me: And it’s head?
Him: Red head.

If I were a blind person,
I would try to remember
That I live in 2012
When anybody can go to the computer
And search for “smaller than a robin, red head, red breast, Alberta.”

Me: I think it’s a house finch.
Him: (looking at screen) I don’t know. I’ll wait until I see it again.
Me: I am sure it’s the song of the house finch.

If I have to be a blind person,
And it does seem that I do,
Then I’m glad to be one in 2012,
Even if I can’t say for absolute certain it’s a house finch,
Because here I sit, blogging,
While listening on the computer to a most beautiful bird song.