The Good Life

Living “The good life.” That’s what we call it when wine is just a little more delicious, beds are a little softer, rooms are a little better decorated. As I sit here at the glorious W Hotel in San Francisco (just long enough to write this blog), I had the thought, “Ok. This is the good life.” I just finished a lovely breakfast that was a pretty as it was delicious (fresh fruit with honey infused yogurt drizzle and applewood smoked bacon), and am now perusing a catalog left in my room by the bliss spa, contemplating which of the nearly 100 options of pampering I might like to try while I’m here.

I am absolutely enthralled with this kind of living. I relish the anticipation of whatever fabulous foods await me in San Francisco, and I am purely delighted that my hotel room offers complimentary bottled water and bliss brand body butter. I wonder, though if Barry Schwartz might just be right. In his book, “The Paradox of Choice,” Schwartz makes the point that we get numbed to the good and bad of things, based on what our regular habits become. If we regularly drink the best wines and stay in the best hotels, for example, then our lavishness becomes “normal,” and therefore, not quite as satisfying, while anything less becomes quite the dissatisfier. Based on this information, it would seem that experiencing the “best of things” on a too regular basis leads, paradoxically, to less joy.

Have you ever heard, “Don’t save that good crystal for special occasions, use it every day, because every day is a special occasion?” I think the main point of that statement is to say that there is something special and beautiful in every day regardless of the circumstances that day brings. I subscribe to that theory. Nonetheless, are we turning ourselves into veritable amenity addicts, wherein we are forced to look for the next big high, ever pushing the envelope of luxury to the point that, because everything is special, nothing is special, anymore? It could be. And if that’s the case, then our relative discontent could be stealing our joy right out from under us.

So, what is the solution? Schwartz suggests practicing some self-deprivation. Go back to the times when you did save the good china for special occasions, so that you have some ritual that elevates the events in your life above the everyday experiences. I think this deprivation strategy is extreme. I think, actually, it is the variety, not the actual deprivation, that keeps us joyful and allows us to appreciate life. For example, during the perfect day that was yesterday, I wore blue jeans and ate a corn dog from a street vendor, with three close friends. Then, I had the pleasure of donning a little black dress and enjoying a lovely meal of lobster risotto and scallops in a chandeliered dining room, with new acquaintances. It wasn’t just the crystal that made the day, it was the contrast.

The thing about “The Good Life,” is that it’s all good. It’s good to use the good crystal, and it’s good to get out the plastic cups and eat on the porch. It’s good to eat blackened filet mignon with bleu cheese crumbles, and it’s good to eat a hotdog piled high with Hormel chili from a can. Variety may be more than the spice of life, it may be the absolute joy of it. And variety can help us remain in touch with our joy, because it reminds us that it’s all “The Good Life.”

If you find yourself feeling less than joyful, ask yourself what routine has numbed you. What will you do this week to mix it up? What will you do to feel more relaxed than usual, or feel more luxurious? How will you be making your life, “The Good Life?”      

The Restorative Niche

I went to see my grandmother this weekend, and had the pleasure of listening to a fabulous book-on-tape during my 13 hours in the car. The book was, “Quiet,” by Susan Cain and is an exploration of introverts vs. extroverts. The insight offered here was so delightful, that it gave me yet another piece to the puzzle of how to find and remain in touch with joy, despite all circumstances.

Introversion is, according to Cain, a word that describes the kind of people who like deep, personal subjects of conversation more than they like “small talk.” They prefer gatherings of a few close friends to a large cocktail party of who’s-who. They can thoroughly enjoy people, even crowds of people, but will tire of the stimulation more quickly than the extrovert. Extroverts get “cabin fever,” more readily, and need people, so they will go out for the weekend, plan a party, and choose to go somewhere loud, exciting, and stimulating. They are most likely to be the last to leave a big party, and thrive on the energy of big crowds.

I appreciate those definitions, and think, at the heart of me is an introvert. Recognizing myself as having traits of the introvert makes it easier for me to understand why I, a self-proclaimed public speaker who has no trouble singing in public, often feel the need to seclude myself. It helps me understand why 6 hours in a car, without the radio, speaking to no one is time I treasure. That has always felt like a contradiction in me, and now, it makes perfect sense. Not that I need a label to define myself or anyone else, but somehow, I have now been given permission to be enthusiastic, positive and friendly, yet also crave time to stay at home with only a good book for company.

If you have read my blogs for long, you may know that I often recommend retreating (meditation, taking a walk by yourself, turning off the television) as strategies for remaining in touch with your joy. “Quiet,” however, in defining introversion and extroversion so simply, has made me realize that perhaps my advice is not appropriate. At least, not for all of you. There may be those of you who work tirelessly through the week on projects or other things that demand your rapt attention, and you don’t need to decrease your stimulation at all, but rather would be restored by going to someplace loud, elbow-to-elbow, and high energy in order to recharge. As someone who avoids those kinds of crowded, noisy places, I would never have considered that. Some of you, like me, want less stimulation to recharge, and others of you need more. Cain calls this, “Finding your restorative niche.”

If your restorative niche is found in quiet places and times, then you need to give yourself permission to decline the invitation to go out on Friday, after a long week. Take a moment for yourself. If you are more extroverted, however, then you should be finding your way to the nearest “support group,” full of fun, loud-talking, joke telling, happy people, and jolting yourself back to life. Naturally, I don’t think this is a one-size-fits-all prescription, and this little commentary isn’t really meant to summarize all that I got out of, “Quiet.” However, I’d be remiss if I didn’t share these new strategies I’ve found for remaining in touch with joy.

So, dear reader, I ask you: are you more or less an introvert or an extrovert? Whichever you discover, use that information to find your niche, and have a great week of restoration!

Speaking the Language

Once in awhile, we get patients on the hospital unit where I work who do not speak English. This presents a particular challenge, of course, because simple questions like, “Are you in pain?” are not easily understood or answered. Because of the issues that arise with this, we have translators available to come to the room, 24/7, at the hospital where I work. Still, it’s not very practical to have a translator come to the floor every time the call light is ringing, or a meal tray is delivered. (Who wants to wait for 20 minutes for a translator to arrive, just to get an extra pillow or receive food while it’s hot?) Sometimes, I am left to my own devices, using pictures and some modified form of Charades to solve minor issues quickly. It is at these times that I wonder if my caring shows. I wonder if my expression conveys how much I want this patient to feel better, to feel safe in my care, or to be as comfortable as possible.

Yesterday, as a present to myself, I got a pedicure. The gentleman who gave me the pedicure was Asian, and it was apparent very quickly that he did not speak much English. He held up a bottle of polish with a question in his eyes, as if to say, “This color?” Yes. I smiled and nodded. He would smile, or raise his eyebrows in another question, and we somehow communicated… “No, that’s not too hard,” “No, that doesn’t hurt,” “Yes, that spot is sore.” He worked carefully, and I could tell that he was being particular on my behalf.

Researchers disagree on how much of communication is based on actual words, as opposed to body language, expression, and tone or inflection. Some say 40%, some say only 7%. Regardless, it is well accepted that certainly less than half of all communication between humans relies on language. When I consider that, then I am assured that, just as I understood that my pedicurist cared about my comfort, so are my patients able to tell that I care about theirs.

When I am working, I am very careful to monitor my own tone of voice or body language when I enter patients’ rooms. Whether the patient speaks English or not, I never want them to sense my frustration, and I never want them to sense if I do not think they are doing well. Nothing is as frightening to a patient, I think, as seeing their caregiver display a lack of confidence. They want to see concern without worry, confidence without arrogance, and compassion without pity. I wonder, though, if I am as careful with the other people in my life. Do I huff out an exasperated breath that says, “You are such a burden to me,” when I am behind a woman in the express grocery line, because she has more than 15 items? Do I roll my eyes and look away when a co-worker says something with which I disagree, as if to say, “How ridiculous”? Do I give quick, one word answers when I am impatient and ready to move onto something else, conveying, “Your thoughts do not matter to me”?

Yes. I’m afraid I do all of these things, and more. The things that I would never allow myself to express to a patient, or say out loud to anyone, I communicate pretty regularly to friends, colleagues, and people I love. That is not ok. This week, I’m going to monitor all of my own non-verbal cues, and see if what I am “saying” through those cues is what I want people to hear. Chances are, if I’m not able to say those things directly, then it is not. I may never be an expert in “speaking” the language, but I’m going to keep trying to be better at non-verbally communicating that I care, that people matter, and that I mean to treat them kindly.

Word Power

Nazi leaders used it to inspire and mobilize a downtrodden nation. J.F. Kennedy used it to restore our faith in America. Individuals, every day, use it to manipulate, encourage, slander, or praise the people closest to them. As the only animal endowed with the ability to master verbal language, man has been both blessed and cursed with the immense power of speech throughout all of the ages. I wonder sometimes if we have any idea how powerful we actually are, as a result of it.

Florence Scovel-Shinn published a book, “Your Word is Your Wand,” in 1928, which acknowledged and emphasized the immense power of the spoken word, stating, “So, man has the power to change an unhappy condition by waving over it the wand of his word. In the place of sorrow appears joy, in the place of sickness appears health, in the place of lack appears plenty…”

Naturally, the spoken word has the opposite power as well. Take, for example, the very sad story I heard this week about a woman who may have died of a sudden, (stress, not plaque induced) heart attack. At last report, she was in the intensive care unit, not responding. Immediately before the attack, her husband was yelling at her, cursing her, telling her she was stupid and worthless and that he wished she was not with him. Instantly, he received his spoken wish.

Whether the words, themselves, stopped her heart or if the words caused the stress, and the stress then stopped her heart, ultimately, the words came first. Do you see how powerful words can be? Let’s make certain, at least, that we are speaking in such a way that has some chance of producing the responses we want. 

It is one thing to recognize that a situation is not to our liking and, therefore, begin to identify ways to correct it. It is quite another to invent and imagine negative outcomes and speak of them as if they are real. It’s not only that words have the power to shape a child’s self-esteem, or to encourage in times of hopelessness. It is also that words define our reality for us. If you state, for example, that you are “not a morning person,” you give yourself permission to be inconsiderate of others until noon, thus fulfilling your own prophecy.  If you say, “this project will never work,” you will look for the failure points and emphasize them in order to prove that you are correct, whether you realize you are doing that or not.

As it turns out, the childhood retort, “Sticks and stones will break my bones, but words will never hurt me,” just isn’t true. Be careful of your words, this week. Be aware of your dialog and ask yourself, “If I were to receive this (whatever I’m speaking) wish, would it be what I really want?” If the answer is no, change your words. Stop complaining. Speak kindly to others. Speak encouraging words to yourself. And have a lovely and powerful week.