more questions than answers

Brain Age

Our last night in Maryland we stayed with our friends Kim and Audie Lea.  Kim just turned 60 and so one of their kids (I think) bought him a Nintendo DS.  An odd gift you might think for a 60 year old, but wait, there's more.  Along with the DS, they bought him this game called 'Brain Age'.  (Ever heard of it?  If not, stay away.  It's a tool of the Devil.)

Evidently some doctor/researcher in Japan has developed a system of games that will assist in exercising one's brain.  There are different kinds of exercises: Sudoko, word scramble, acrostic challenge, speed tests for number differentiation, making change, etc.  According to this Doctor, these will help get the blood flowing in your brain and help get your brain 'in shape.'  One of the ways you can tell how the training is coming on a day-to-day or week-to-week basis is by the program assessing the age of your brain.

Well, my bride played with it while we were at their house and determined that maybe this would be just the thing to assist me with my 'diminishing capacities'.  (I personally think my dalliances with controlled substances as a younger man has more to do with it than anything else, but. . .)  So, we bought a DS for just me and Barbara.  And we bought, not just 'Brain Age', but 'Brain Age 2' as well. We want the full effect.  When we're done training, we'll be the Lance Armstrongs of the brain world.

You ever get the feeling that suggests to you that humiliation is imminent?  Like in school when they were trying to teach ballroom dancing and yours was the first name they called as a demonstrator?  Or when your out  watching your friends doing Karaoke and someone convinces you that doing your favorite Eagles' song solo would be a really good idea? Yeah, it was like that.

I pick up the thing.  I take the test.  And the little screen tells me that my brain age is (drumroll please) 73.  73?  SEVENTY-STINKIN-THREE!  How?  How could my brain be geriatric?  How could this happen?  Don't get me wrong, I'd understand if it said my lungs were 73 or my heart was 73 or my joints were 73, but my brain?  I'm reading and writing and thinking about stuff all the time.  Contrary to popular belief, I happen to know that I use my brain on a daily basis, more or less.  I spend hours thinking about stuff that no one else I know thinks about (Which in and of itself is disconcerting, by I digress).  I never claimed to be a rocket scientist or the sharpest tool in the shed, but 73?!?

Needless to say, I was not happy.  So, I did what any normal, red-blooded, middle-aged person would do in my situation.  I took the test again.  And again.  And again.  Four days later, I broke 70.  Yesterday, I managed 43.  But, I'm still not happy.  I should be happy.  I shaved 30 years off my brain.  But of all the words to use to describe me at this moment in time, happy is not one of them.  Yes, I know I'm 42 (43 in about 3 weeks).  Yes, that does mean that my brain is about my age.  But now that I've shaved 30 years off, why can't I shave another 15 or 20 off?  Maybe if I work hard enough, this little DS deal will be like the fountain of youth for my brain.  How cool would that be to have the brain of a 22 year old in perpetuity?

I don't know about you, but I seem to do that a lot.  Wherever I am, I want to be somewhere else.  Whatever age I am, I want to be a different age.  No matter what I achieve it never seems to be enough.  No matter how much weight I've lost there are more pounds to be shed.  Even when it comes to silly electronic games I'm not content.

Some discontent is good, like when we are discontent with the number of people who have access to clean water and nutritional food, or discontent with how available I've been to my bride or children during the academic year.

But this isn't that kind of discontent.  Believe it or not, I think this variety of discontent is directly connected to how much I trust God.  I think that's worth chewing on for a while.

Peace.

To be continued. . .

Heading Home

Tomorrow around 1:45 we'll be getting on a plane and headed home.  It's been a good trip.  Great to see old friends.  Had a great visit with my parents.  They came to North Myrtle beach while we were there.  Go figure.

There were so many people we didn't get to see.  There were so many people with which our time was so very brief.  But I guess if we'd had another month we still wouldn't have gotten to see everyone.  All the same though, it's good to be going home.  The whole living out of a suitcase scene is getting to be a drag.  The whole weighing suitcases on the scale is getting to be a drag as well.  (See 'Twas the Night Before Moving Day')  Barbara is bringing about 50lbs (3 stone 8) of chocolate chips back with her, not to mention the almost 150 pounds of other consummables we're carting around that we can't find in England.  No really, 200lbs of stuff.  (It's not like we live in the bush in Bolivia or something.  But, alas, mine is not to reason why, but to. . .)

I'm looking forward to sleeping in my own bed.  I'm looking forward to getting back to work.  (Students will be back in about three weeks.)  I'm looking forward to walking up to Curbar Edge and having some long talks with God.  (I'm looking forward to losing some of the weight I gained back from all the parties, cookouts, etc.)  I'm looking forward to seeing my colleagues, hanging out at the Bridge, seeing Ian, Lorraine, Emma, Blacky, Big John, Mary, Barry, et al.

Yep, it's nice to be going home.  It's also nice to see how God has worked in our lives to make Curbar/Calver (Cliff College Campus) our home.

To my friends in the States:  Take care of the place for us while we're gone. ;)  See you next year.

Peace.

Friends, Neighbors and Countrymen

We've been in Maryland for about 4 days now and have been with wall-to-wall people since our arrival.  (One of the benefits of pastoring two churches in the same area over the span of 11 years is that when you come back for a visit at least someone wants to see you.)  And it's been great catching up, hanging out and reminiscing.

Why do you suppose it takes going away to realize the impact and import that some people have in our lives?  Maybe it's that only when we come back to visit do we, together, take the time to remember, reflect and dialogue.  Which is what I've been doing for a lot of the past 96 hours (that and answering the most pressing of questions, such as:  So, how's the food in England? or Can you get American football over there or are you stuck with just soccer?)

I've been reminded of so much since I've been back:  soul-draining successes, life-giving failures, et.  But most importantly, I've been reminded that there really are people who have allowed me to make something of a difference in their lives. And in entrusting at least some aspect of their life to me, they have in turn made something of a difference in my life.

In the 6 months we've been in England, I suspect I've spent more time remembering my flaws and failures more than anything else.  In the four days since I've been here I've been persuaded that the people I've spent the last 11 years of my life with have, in fact, made me better.

Oh yeah, and one other thing I have been reminded:  friends, true friends, really are a gift from God.

Peace.

Heat

I decided to go for a walk today. Pretty day.  Sun's out.  Put a couple books and laptop in my backpack and I was off.  Now, I've been walking a lot since we moved to England.  It's part of how I've dropped the weight I've lost.  So the walking itself is not a big deal.  I even bought some cool, new hiking boots.  I am entirely to cool to be seen in these things.  But I digress.

The one thing I failed to take into consideration is that the temp in Charlotte, North Carolina in August is a wee bit different than Calver, UK.  When we left the UK on Tuesday I reckon it was around 60 (anybody know where the degree symbol is on this keyboard?) degrees F/15.5 C.  Well here it's just a bit warmer.  It's 95F/30C at present.

95 degrees!  After having no sunshine or warm weather for 3 months, 95 degrees is hot.  Forgive me for being a wimp, but it's really hot.  It's Africa hot.  Tarzan couldn't handle this heat. And he doesn't even have to wear all these clothes. (Not to worry, my clothes are staying on.  I'm just saying. . .)

So I stagger into Caribou Coffee (for my UK mates: think Starbuck's in a hunting lodge) and order a coffee and a large water.  Take my backpack off.  Go into the Men's room.  Look in the mirror and my shirt is soaked.  Nice.  Now I get to be the guy who everyone else keeps a safe distance from.  The girl behind the counter is giving me this look like 'Is it raining outside?'  (I'd text my bride and ask her to drive up and bring me another shirt, but my phone doesn't work over here.)  So, I've contented myself with making everyone else feel good about themselves, or at least their appearance, just by my being present.

Ah.  So good to be back in the land of the free and the home of the brave.  Excuse me, but I'm going to walk back home now.  Take a shower.  Maybe burn my clothes.

Peace.

RSV (Ron Stream-Lined Version)

OK, so I've been meaning to write since Cambridge, which was about 100 years ago.  Then I tossed up the Miscellany to ease my guilty conscience, but here I am, end of the month, and I still haven't written the 47 things (give or take) that have happened to me in the past few weeks.  So, fasten your seatbelt and read this as fast as possible.

Went to Cambridge.  Very cool.  Old stuff.  Really old buildings.  Met Dr. I. Howard Marshall, a New Testament guru, who I've been a fan of for about 15 years.  (He was very cool by the way.  I introduced myself and said 'Dr. Marshall, it's an honor to meet you.'  He reached up to shake my hand and said: 'Hi Ron, I'm Howard.'  Is that cool or what?  Just your average, everyday bloke with more degrees than a thermometer.)  I also had Tea (Supper) with Dr. John Drane.  Dude is scary smart.  Didn't go punting (google it), but all in all, a successful few days.

Came back.  Did work. Ate. Slept. (Fast-forward).

Went to France last week.  Normandy to be precise.  Met my nephew Jonathan there.  We saw the beaches.  Point du Hoc.  Pegasus bridge.  All very moving.  Went to the American Cemetery and Memorial.  (You can slow down for this part out of respect.)  It was simply overwhelming.  I never felt so proud, sad and indebted at the same time in all of my life.  And that's saying a lot when you take into consideration that I used to go to Gettysburg, the Korean War Memorial, the Viet Nam Wall, and the World War II memorial on a regular basis.  I can't do justice to the place, but I offer you a photo or two in hopes of a giving a bit better sense of the experience.
There are 9,000 markers in this one cemetery.  9,000 people who gave their lives in the first week of the assault.  Here's the kicker, are you ready?  That's not even a tenth of the total number of American men and women killed, missing, or wounded during the Normandy  invasion.  Like I said, all I can think to call it is overwhelming.

(Fast-forward to today.)
My family and I are packing to make the trip back across the pond tomorrow.  We'll be in the States for three weeks.  It's been 6 months.  We're looking forward to being back, eating Chic-fil-A, and driving on the right side (quite literally) of the road.  I'll see if I can't write a bit while I'm away.  It may be tough though, I have some shopping orders I have to fill for my mates here in England.

Thanks for reading.  Keep the faith.

ron

Miscellany

Well, I survived my first graduation on Saturday, June 30th.  It was nice.  Formal.  Impressive.  Long.  The students have gone home for the summer.  The campus is quiet, for the most part.  I'm gearing up for next year's lectures.

A colleague and I are on our way to Cambridge in the morning.  There's this deal at Tyndale House.  We're staying on the campus.  Should be cool.  Don't know about the conference, guess we'll wait and see.  If it gets too boring, I'll find a pub somewhere and write a new post.

Making plans to go to the States in August.  It will be good to get back and see friends and family.  It'll be nice to drive on the correct side of the road with the stick-shift in my right-hand (as God intended).  It'll be nice to eat at Chick Fil-A.  Nice to get a tan. (Still a bit of sweatshirt weather over here.)  Best of all will be hanging with my friends and doing nothing in particular.  But, all of that is a month away.  Still a lot to do between now and then.

Take care.  If you can't take care, then take the lead.

Chat with you this weekend.

Peace.

Moving toward rather than away.

Mitch Albom, in his lovely book 'Tuesdays with Morrie: an Old Man, a Young Man, and Life's Greatest Lesson', tells of this amazing relationship he had with one of his former professors, Morrie Schwarz.  Morrie was dying when their friendship was rekindled.  At the close of their time together Morrie makes this wonderfully profound observation.  (I paraphrase it here, but I recommend you read the book.)  Morrie said:  At the beginning of life, we need people.  At the end of life, we need people.  And in the time between. . . we need people.

I remember reading that the first time years ago.  I remembered thinking 'Wow!  That's right.  We need people.'  That's part of what makes us human.  That's part of what makes us. . . well, us.  Needing people isn't a sign of weakness.  Nor is it an indicator of lack of maturity.  We need people.  We associate, we relate, we seek out friendship, because we are a part of the human race.  We need each other because God created us to live in community.

'OK Ron, so what?  What does this have to do with Sadness and Sedation?'

I'm glad you asked.  So very much of what we do is about moving.  Moving toward people or moving away from them.  Moving toward intimacy or moving away from it.  Moving toward authenticity or moving away from it.  Moving toward a healthy life or moving away from it.  Moving. . . you get the idea.

So, here's the £32 ($64) question:  What do you think?  Do you think sedating pain, whichever drug you choose, is moving toward people or away from them?

Yep.  It's a form of withdraw.  Even if you sedate your pain around other people, even if your sedation involves another person, it's still a movement away from people.  And some of us come to believe that we can't achieve open, honest relationships until we've stopped doing whatever it is we're doing to numb ourselves.  But the problem with that approach, other than it not working, is that it only serves to intensify our isolation.  Which in turn creates more pain.  Which in turn requires more sedative.  Which in turn. . . Get the picture?

Obviously, there are a host of questions still to be asked:  Who do you tell?  How do you start?  Why would someone listen? What do I do when my problems seem too big for just one friend to handle? etc.  But the thing that stands out to me for today is the wisdom of a dying man.

When we come into this life, we need people.  When we leave this life, we need people.  And in the time in between?  We need people.

Sadness and Sedation

Sadness is a peculiar thing. I’m convinced it pools up inside somewhere. Even when we don’t know we’ve been hurt. Even when we think we are the ones doing the hurting. There’s like this giant septic tank, and the sadness from every hurt, every rejection, every failure, every loss, every beating seems to collect. Even when we can’t articulate its cause or presence, sadness cumulates.

 There are days when the sadness has been so deep, so dense that it feels like drowning. Sometimes it’s accompanied by a dull ache in your chest. Sometimes not. Sometimes a fog that clouds your brain and causes all experiences to seem surreal accompanies it. Sometimes not. Sometimes it makes you feel like crying for no apparent reason. Sometimes it’s just dull, lifeless and suffocating.

 It never seems to have much rhyme or reason. What causes it to come? Why does it come in waves at times like a tsunami? Why is it sometimes like a quiet bubbling brook, harmless on its surface, disturbing where the water crosses the rocks? Why does it spew forth like so much venom from a poisonous volcano in our hearts? Then at other times, it simply seeps into every aspect of life? Like the words from a Dan Fogleberg song: “Unlucky at love? Maybe so. But there’s still a lot you’ll never know. Like why each time the sky begins to snow, you cry.” Why is that? Why is it that a song on the radio, or a smell in the air, or wholly disconnected events, can stir the tank to overflow?

I suppose I’ll never know.

Most of us have our fair share of sadness I suspect. None of us gets through this life without being hurt by someone. “Hurt because someone drank too much, or spoke too much, or neglected too much.” (See Max Lucado.) All of us have an intuitive understanding that sadness is something to be dealt with. Well, maybe not dealt with, maybe quieted, escaped, or dulled. I guess C. S. Lewis was right: Sadness and fear feel much alike. And both feel a lot like pain. Enter sedation.

I don’t think I know anyone who wants to be numb just for the experience. Most of us want it for what it does for us. It makes us forgetful, or worry-free, or simply relieved, just like when you are carrying too many groceries in from the car and the bags are cutting into your hands and then you finally put them on the counter. That’s how it is for most of us. We spend most our days carrying far too many groceries and numbness feels a lot like putting them down for a little while. Except we don’t really put them down, we just feel like we have.

Sedation is different for everyone I suppose: the type, the quantity, the frequency, and the occasion.

Some of us are dabblers in sedation. As dabblers we venture out into the world of numbness on occasion. We drink, or eat, or snort, or orgasm our way to numbness periodically. For dabblers the scoreboard shows more green than red on a given day, so it’s only on a really bad day when there have been more bogeys than birdies that we need a little relief, a respite from the disappointments of the day.

Then there are those of us who go at sedation like we’re going to get frequent flyer miles for our forays into that blissful country. We plan our trips with an intentionality that Travelocity would be proud of. Something in us whispers that this might not be the best way to go through life, but the options seem so limited. You can fly with alcohol, or cocaine, or sex, or work, or adrenaline, or all of the above (which is akin to first class) but just like the airlines it all costs pretty much the same. (So much for competition in a free-market society, Adam Smith would be so disappointed that the invisible hand doesn’t apply to sedation.)

For us frequent flyers, we still manage to function for the most part. We still pay the bills and show up for work and change the oil in our car. We’re not very good with the whole relationship thing. We try. Some of us go to seminars and read books, maybe even go to counseling. The problem is that no one explained that to sedate sadness and shame you have to sedate all the other emotions as well. Our emotions come as a package deal. And emotions tend to be pretty important when it comes to relationships. They are essential if one wants to live and not merely exist.

Some of us approach sedation like my buddy Bruce approaches beverages. Bruce is my former business partner. He’s more than that. Next to my wife, he’s my closest friend in the world.

Bruce is part camel. I’m convinced of it. He can drink more by volume than any human being I know and he rarely goes to the bathroom. I look at a 32 ounce drink and I’m searching for a urinal. Bruce can drink two 32 ounce Diet Cokes before 9 in the morning. The man has a hollow leg. I’m so glad that he doesn’t do mixed drinks. He’d be a poster-child for AA. He’s all about volume.

Anyway, there are some of us that approach sedation the same way Bruce approaches hydration. It’s all about volume. The more the better. And it doesn’t matter the brand or variety. We plan our days based on sedation-stops. (Kind of like pit-stops only different.) Once you move from frequent-flyer to volume-consumer life becomes chaotic. Most of our days are filled with finding enough sedation to kill the pain and finding ways to hide the fact that sedation is our new best friend.

Very few people take the hint when the lies become less believable and the grass goes unmowed, and the bills unpaid, and the relationships hit rocky times. ‘If only the people who cared about us would care enough to not interfere. If only they would handle the mundane stuff and realize that we are doing the best we can.’ That’s how the thinking goes. And to some extent, they will, for a while. They’ll cover, apologize and over-function for us. But expecting others to carry their load and our load at the same time is a bit much to ask. Unfortunately, sedation doesn’t lend itself to clear thinking.

And when the sedation doesn’t work like it used to and begins to cause as much pain as the pain we’re trying to numb then it’s time to choose: mash the accelerator to the floor or find a way to deal.

Deciding to deal is a scary proposition. Chances are you have to wrestle with the monsters that caused the original pain as well as the monsters that have been created by your drug (or drugs) of choice. I’ve yet to meet anyone who has learned to deal on their own. It just doesn’t happen. Which means that you have to tell someone what’s going on with you, you have to start to come clean with someone. Normally when that reality faces you, it’s time to order another drink, or hit, or whatever, and decide things aren’t really that bad.

After all, who in the world could you tell?

To be continued . . .

Changing the Channel

The Apostle Paul, the fellow who wrote half of the New Testament (Back half of the Bible), wrote these words in one of his letters:  'Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things' (Phil. 4:8).   Good words.  Wise thoughts.  Great advice.

I'm not certain, but I think these words of Paul's are the starting point to my previous blog.  Think about things that are true, noble, admirable, excellent, etc., etc.  Of course the obvious question is 'How?'  How do we think on these sorts of things when our minds tend to lock on the unlovely, the untrue, the less-than-beautiful?  How do we think on such things when it comes to the thoughts we think about ourselves?  The assumptions we make about what others think of us or believe about us?  Let's face it, none of us are free from those sorts of thoughts.  In the same way that none of us gets through this life without being harmed by someone else, none of us gets through this life without voices, of our making or someone else's, whispering taunts and accusations.

About a hundred years ago, when I was a pastor, people would come to talk with me about the lies that they had come to believe.  The first challenge was identifying the lies.  Which, I might add is a challenge that is rarely accomplished on your own, no matter how tight you are with God.  The second challenge was knowing what to do with those lies once you identify them.  This, I suspect, is where the wisdom of Paul's words come into play.

Imagine I offered you a one million dollars (pounds) if you could go 24 hours without thinking about pink elephants.  How would you do it?  Would you walk around saying to yourself: 'I'm not going to think about pink elephants.  I'm not going to think about pink elephants.'?  Of course not.  Why?  Because you're thinking about pink elephants.  To win the million, you'd have to change the channel.  You'd have to focus your attention on blue rhinos (or the multicolored animal of your choice).  You'd think about rhinos being dark blue with Carolina blue tusks and midnight blue hoofs and so on. That's how you'd become a millionaire.  (Provided of course that I had a million, but that's another issue entirely.)

Most of us spend our time trying not to think about the very thing we are obsessing over.  We try to reason with the lies/voices we hear and rarely seem to succeed in shouting them down.  You know why, right?  Because those paths through the jungle (see previous post) are so much better traveled and worn.  Instead, we have to choose to make new paths, by focusing on new thoughts.

For instance, when a friend passes by me without speaking and I immediately think 'What have I done? Why are they upset with me?  Do they not like me anymore?'  I tag those thoughts and change the channel.  I remember that God said this life isn't about me.  The universe doesn't revolve around me.  And I begin to make a narrative in my head that makes better sense than me being the source of all that is wrong in my friend's world.  Once I've done that a few hundred times, I suddenly discover that I'm free to ask my friend what's going on and truly listen as opposed to listening with a view to explaining myself, my actions, my whatever.

The other thing I've learned to do is memorize passages from the Bible.  (No, this isn't a simple solution.  The older I get the harder it is to memorize.)  What I've discovered though is that I can't be busy reciting a passage about God's love for me and how I can't be separated from it and at the same time listening to the voices that tell me that I am once again a grave disappointment to God, or that I've been rejected by God, or that mine is the one sin God can't forgive.

Don't get me wrong.  This isn't foolproof.  Nor is it easy.  But I can tell you that I have found myself freed from some thoughts that I thought would be with me until my dying day.  But, as you can imagine, it takes work.

If you're inclined to give it a try, I recommend Psalm 103 as a place to begin.  It's one of my favorites.  Read it through a couple of times and you'll see why.

Do me a favor, would you?  Tell a friend what you are trying.  You'll need some cheerleading along the way.  Or let me know, I'm pretty good at cheering for fellow ragamuffins.

Enjoy the rhinos.  (They're really quite ugly.)

Peace.

Obsession, Neural Paths and Changing the Channel

Ever notice how the harder you try not to think about something the more often it comes to mind?

Example: You have a relationship/friendship that means a great deal to you.  Then, for whatever reason, there's a serious hiccup in the relationship.  You want to make things right, but you don't know how.  You are uncertain as to how the other person feels, what they think, or even if the two of you are friends anymore.  It occurs to you to simply call, or stop by, and clear the air.  But then you think, I don't want to come off as insecure or needy.  (Even though, and I hate to be the one to break it to you, most all of us are insecure and needy at some level.  What can I tell you?  Welcome to the human race.)  So what do you do?  Well. . . obsess of course!

Ron's definition of 'obsess' - when you grab onto an event, situation or thought that you have little or no control over and then play over in your head all the possible scenarios and outcomes, except for the positive ones, until you find yourself quite convinced that the worse possible scenario is the obvious one.  Then, you work yourself up in a frenzy with regard to this worse possible scenario whose occurrence is now all but a given.  Once that has happened, you give yourself permission to beat yourself to a pulp about what you would've, could've, should've done.  Then you can run with that until you reach the 'obvious' conclusion that you have no friends, no one likes you and/or you screw up every relationship you touch.  (I know, I know, somebody is thinking 'Man!  I don't do that.  Anybody who does that is totally whacked.'  To which my response would be 'OK Dr. Phil, glad you have it all in one sock and keeping it there.  Go scope out Google games and let the adults talk.')

Now let's add one more minor ingredient.  Let's assume that you are mildly religious, maybe even a follower of Christ.  Now you have even bigger problems.  Why?  Because on top of everything else, someone has told you that Jesus said that worry is a waste of your time and, well. . . wrong.  (He did say that by the way.  Scope out Matthew 6 starting about verse 25.)  Great!  Now you can add to your obsession the reality that you are a spiritual midget and quite possibly a grave disappointment to God.  Nothing like a nice little helping of guilt to muddy the waters even further.

Any of this sound familiar or did all of you leave me for Google games?

Now get this, all of what I've just described can happen for some of us in less than 90 seconds.  It has to do with something called 'neural paths'.  I don't want to bore you with stuff that only us geeks find interesting, so let me give you the RSV (Ron Streamlined Version). 

Imagine that when you are born your brain is one big jungle.  (Yes, I know, for some of us the growth is a bit more dense than for others.)  As you learn and discover things little paths are created through the jungle.  The more you think about or learn about this one thing the deeper the path.  The first time you tie your shoe it's a huge deal.  The 50th time you're getting a bit better and quicker and you hardly need any help.  The 1,000th time you tie your shoe, you  do it without even thinking.  Why?  This path has been created.  Your  eye notices your shoes untied.  It sends a message to your body: 'Dude, tie our shoe before we trip, fall and embarrass ourselves.'  The message travels this well worn path and while carrying on a conversation, you simply bend over and tie your shoe.  Make sense?

Now this is where the obsessing part of this comes in.  Let me give you a different scenario.   

You're 5 years old and you get it in your head to make breakfast for your mom and dad.  By the time they come into the kitchen 45 minutes later the place looks like a bomb has exploded.  The kitchen is officially a disaster area and your gourmet breakfast passes for toxic waste.  But you don't know that because you are 5 and from your perspective it looks like you've just done something really cool for your parents.  Unfortunately, for what could be a host of reasons, your parents don't respond in a Cliff and Claire Huxtable (Cosby show) kind of way.  They lose it.  They yell.  Their faces get a look of disbelief, frustration and disappointment all at the same time.  (Not the reaction you were looking for.) And you get spanked for getting into stuff you shouldn't have. (Not the outcome you had envisioned.)  All the while in that jungle in your head  a little path has been made.  It goes something like 'If I try to do something for someone and it doesn't meet their expectations I am a disappointment/failure/loser and I will be rejected and punished.'  As you grow, you have 100's of experiences of 'good intentions overshadowed by poor execution.'  So that, by the time you get off on your own, there's a well worn path in your brain.  Which is why for some of us, when a friend tells us they need to talk with us about something serious, we assume that it's about us, that we've done something wrong and we are about to be rejected.  All in the span of 30 seconds or less.

So, how do fight against what seems to now be hardwired in our heads?  How do we keep from going from a harmless comment to rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic?  How do we experience small moments of friction in a relationship or friendship without jumping to the immediate conclusion that if I don't fix this and fix this fast my friend will bail on me?  How do we keep from assuming that when a friend, family member, or even our boss needs to talk to us we've done something wrong?

Great questions.  I don't have the answers.  Wish I did.  Not quite smart enough to have figured this one out.  But, I do have some thoughts and practices that seem to be helping me, for what they're worth.

To be continued. . .