In the I.R.

The word "restroom" and "bathroom" feel like misnomers to me. I don't "rest" when I am in there, nor do I always have the luxury of taking a bath or the desire to powder my nose in the "ladie's room."

I was the 6 year old kid who loved my Gremlins Gizmo doll so incredibly much that I brought him into the bathroom with me in our Chester, New Hampshire home. Wherever I went, he went...literally. Well, almost. I didn't go as far as to believe he was real and needed to sit on a toilet like humans, but my borderline obsession with having him near me led to his ultimate demise. I flushed the toilet and after picking him up a few minutes later, he fell out of the grasp of my tiny hands. Freefall right into the (clean) toilet. Poor Gizmo was not the same after that. Our relationship was forever changed and no longer close. I learned relationships and bathrooms (as in having relationships in bathrooms) don't always mix. Note to self: be cautious and selective about who and what you bring in there.

When I was between 9-11 years old, the restroom became my escape route from dinners I detested eating. I loved the invention of toilet paper, small bathroom trash cans, and the magical white porcelain garbage disposal. I pretended that I had to get up from the table to use the restroom and....well, boy did I use it. I would put a big forkful of whatever nasty food it was that I was forced to eat into my mouth and leisurely mosey into the bathroom. It was easy to do because I was the only one sitting at the dinner table at this point. Once past the door into the room that was my newfound savior, I spit the food into the toilet paper and rolled it up. Into the toilet it went. Flushed down into the sewage abyss, where it belonged for its lack in exquisite taste. I wonder if my father or stepmother ever discovered my sneaky strategy. Of course, it didn't help as much as if I could have discarded the whole meal....but having one less measly bite to swallow made it less grueling.

In my teen years, the bathroom started to turn on me. Once a friend, it became more of a fair weather friend...made me feel good one minute, then turned on me the next. I had a love/hate relationship with mirrors. If I was skinny, I loved them. I spent more time often than not, however, overweight. I tried to avoid looking at my curves in the mirror, instead opting to focus on looking at my head. If I could have just removed my head from the rest of my body and put it on the counter like one of those heads they use to train cosmetologists on hair and makeup, it would have boosted my self-esteem. How beautiful a head can be without the rest of the body attached....nice hair, straight white teeth, glowing skin.

Into my early adult years, I remember being in a restaurant with my mom. We had just arrived and I felt like my bladder was about to explode. Before bothering to even sit down at the table, I turned to my mom and asked her "Where's the bathroom?" With a slightly annoyed look on her face, she made a remark about how I always ask her that when we are in a restaurant and that I do it with a feeling of anxiety and uncertainty, as if something horrible will happen or that I haven't the confidence to find it without anyone's help. I had never felt so self-conscious about my relationship to bathrooms before or since. I also don't ask my mom where it is anymore.

Perhaps we need different terms for this room, depending on the circumstances. After all, it is misleading to say we are resting if we are really plotting an escape, bathing if we are really showering, looking at ourselves in the mirror if we are in actuality finding ways to avoid the mirror. It's time to redefine the words we use to describe what we do in what typically tends to be an intimate room. We call the emergency room the ER. Can the "bathroom" instead be called the IR?

My fake obituary

Back in the fall of 1997, I was attending a community college in Kingwood, Texas. While there, I took one of the most fascinating and thought provoking psych classes of my undergraduate years...The Psychology of Death and Dying. One of the class requirements was to write one's own obituary. It is funny to read now, to see how I imagined myself at the time, as well as what I imagined myself, friends, and family would be like/doing in the future. It's also interesting to see how far I've come in my writing skills over the years, in retrospect (at least I hope!). I wonder what it would be like to re-write my obit now. Hmmm. Anyway, here's what I wrote back in '97:


In Memory of....

Katie L, age 45, died yesterday, January 1, 2022, due to hermorraging of the brain from a head-on collision with a drunk driver. She was on her way home from a New Year's Eve party hosted by longtime friend Stephanie C. and was reportedly in high spirits when she left the house at 2:30 am, only to die unexpectedly minutes later in a car wreck that was caused by a lack of clear judgment made by the other intoxicated driver.

Katie L. is survived by mother Alice and stepfather Oliver F. of Spokane, Washington, father Dana L, sister Dr. Kristen L., and brother Lieutenant Thomas L. of Tampa, Florida, brother Alex L. and wife Lisa of Flagstaff, Arizona, uncle Donald C. of Phoenix, Arizona, and her loving husband Tim and their two children, Star and Tyler, of Clearwater, Florida. She will also be missed by many friends and coworkers.

At the time of her death she was working on a Psychology dissertation, which would further her along in the field and challenge her to explore other areas of medicine. The world will suffer the loss of her contributions in the areas of health care facilities. She will also be missed for her natural flair for expression found in the beauty of her photographic works displayed in the local Clearwater exhibits. She was a member of the local photography club, theater, and choir group.

Katie L. is gone, but not forgotten. Her friends and family will always remember her for her thoughtfulness, warmth of her smile, ambition, loyalty, willingness to listen to people, sense of humor, friendly attitude towards people, and her overall devotion to those she loved. In addition, she loved to travel, sing, read mystery novels, laugh, and dedicated her life to understanding different types of people. She touched the lives of many, more in the little things she did than with her personal accomplishments (such as making people laugh or telling them how important they were).

Although Katie lived her life with few regrets and believed everything in life happened for a reason, she would have liked to have a better self-esteem and more confidence in herself. Moreover, she wished she got along better with her father.

After organs have been generously donated, the body will be cremated and the ashes will be spread over the mountains of Taos, New Mexico. In lieu of flowers, money should be donated to her most worthy cause: hospice organizations or other beneficial health care programs. A memorial service will be held tomorrow night at 7:30 on Clearwater Beach to honor Katie L. one final time. The family politely asks those attending to refrain from wearing black.

Thanksgiving, 2004

(Excerpt from one of my notebooks)

I walked out the door and was surprised to see remnants of the previous night's nasty fury. A few inches of snow on the ground and patches of ice here and there. Chilly, but not unbearable. Melissa and I chatted briefly on her couch as we sipped some delectable red wine to help me start off slowing down the day to a relaxed state of mind. She had made a 2:00pm reservation for us at the Chicago Diner on Halsted and told me not to argue---the meal was her treat. I thought that was kind and generous of her. Inside, I thought it had a quirky, individualistic sense to it and reminded me of the restaurant Toast (where Mike and I have had a few scrumptous breakfasts).

There were three colorful heart shaped paintings on the wall and people watching was one of the many fun things to experience while there. Off and on I pondered whether this 20-30something woman and 40-50something woman were colleagues, friends, lovers (though I didn't get that vibe), or mother and daughter. What was peculiar was that I can almost guarantee they did not exchange more than a few words the whole time. Not that one or both people in an interaction with each other must always be talking incessantly, but no conversation at all? And the body language was hard to follow too. Were they each lost in their own worlds, looking at the ceiling, other people, seeing past the other person, as if each were dining alone (mentally)? Was there a language barrier? Were harsh words and regrets looming in the air before they sat down at this place? Or maybe just at a loss of words, both introspective, shy individuals having an internal dialogue of things to be grateful for within their own head? I never figured it out...interesting to watch nonetheless.

Melissa was eager to see the cute waiter she had told me about, quick to show a surprised hint of giddiness later when he revealed that he remembered her with a comment about her usual likings for milkshakes. Melissa was a bit turned off by his name, however, when she glanced at the receipt...Rusty. Ah, the poor boy. I suppose there are worse names though, right? All in perspective....

Let me just mention all the food to partake....a sweet combination of winter squash and apple soup with a sprinking of pumpkin seeds, rolls that came with a soft, creamy garlic flavored butter, mulled wine that had the smell of potpourri to warm the insides, a side salad with a taste delicious, but I can't quite identify, and for the main entree: pumpkin filled spinach ravioli with a walnut sauce for the topping, along with a side of stuffing, risotto with mushroom, a huge ass chunk of sweet potato, and then a slice of mint chocolate mousse cake for dessert (with coffee). I was so full, I couldn't even finish my entree, nor the cake. I took the meal for leftovers and finished it later, but alas, the poor slice of cake was abandoned by my finite appetite.

Pre-film fest observations

It's fun every once in awhile to look through my old notebooks (back when I used to write regularly in journals/notebooks) and read some of the things I've written, what was on my mind, even relive my past on the page. I came across something I wrote while waiting in line before I went to see a short film at the Chicago Film Fest on October 13, 2004. Thought I'd share it here.....


All of us expectant movie-watchers have been put in a "holding pen," like we are pigs waiting for our nightly feeding. As I await being released from the confines of captivity, a lady a few feet in front of me wearing a pink hoodie carries on with two tall, older conservative looking gentlemen. Her laughter grates on my nerves as it carries beyond the radius of her personal space, spilling into mine. "Ha ha ha. This is SO FUN-NY. You should work for them. You should really work for them" she announces as I try to patiently await being released from this herd of wild animals caged amongst me. A cloth bag hangs loosely from her left arm by her side. "Yoga" magazine peers slightly curved, rested inside the lining of the roomy bag. Now she is needlessly talking about picking up a mango drink for someone as a favor, adding that she doesn't know why "she" requested this mystery smoothie. All I can silently scream to myself: "Who cares lady?!"

Meanwhile, Thing I and Thing II behind me are tapping each other playfully (irritating and repetitive to me) with their movie tickets. Probably a yuppie newlywed couple. I turn diagonally to my right and glance over to see a Tobey McGuire lookalike. Well, a long haired version, with his straight brown hair pulled back loosely in a ponytail, cascading down his back. He looks like he is about to be cast in an Indiana Jones flick.

I plop down to unwind once we finally migrate to the theater room. Although there are a plentitude of seats to choose from, a twentysomething female with short, greasy hair sits right beside me to my left. I imagine she is a traveling transient in the city for the festival and has been exclusively staying at a hostel. From the looks of her backpack and the body odor that smells of onions and sweat, I predict she has not showered recently in attempts to be a low-maintenance spender. I refuse to let my movie experience be spoiled by this most atrocious of smells and move up to a row much higher in the back. Much better for my enjoyment!

3rd floor event space

It was late September of 2002 or 2003 when I started working at Borders bookstore on Michigan Avenue ("The Magnificent Mile") in Chicago, Illinois. Over the 3-4 years I worked there part-time to help support myself through graduate school, I accumulated more than my fair share of "interesting" observations, stories, and fond memories. Nothing quite stands out to me, however, like that of the more than 30 author/musician events I worked during the course of my employment with the company. Every time I worked an event, I wrote down the name of the person with the intent to write about my event experience with that person at some point in time. I have saved that list after all these years, but I realized that it's only natural for us to remember what was meaningful, random or idiosyncratic. Giving a play by play takes away the flavor, so instead here's a flavorful snapshot of my vivid remembrances......

Gene Hackman was down-to-earth and an engaging speaker. He looks exactly the same in person as he does onscreen, minus the evil onscreen persona. Larry Flynt rolled down the aisle onto the stage in a bright, shiny spanking new looking gold wheelchair. Jenny McCarthy outspokenly joked about having to shit on a plate during childbirth, something mainstream pregnancy and childbirth books didn't tell her in "What to Expect."

Kay Redfield Jamison put a very human and professional face to mental illness, boldly challenging its stigma. I told Mitch Albom my mom uses "Tuesdays With Morrie" as a steppingstone to talk about the difficult subject of death in the college level English classes she teaches. I remember Alex Kotlowitz was a Chicago based writer whom I had never heard of before. I asked Augusten Burroughs about his recovery and writing process after the event, when everyone else had left. He told me there's a part in "Dry" that he wrote while drunk. I went home that night, eager to find it and never did. Note to self: re-read "Dry" in its entirety.

I don't remember anything about Sara Paretsky except that she's a mystery/thriller writer. Mannheim Steamrollers felt socially awkward and uncomfortable. When I gave gorgeous Nigella Lawson the tea she kindly requested, she joked about needing it after traveling so much and looking like "an East German transvestite." I marveled at her candor and secretly wished we could be friends. Her book "Feast" purposely released around the Thanksgiving holiday, I told her about the comfort and memories attached to my grandmother's cooking growing up. She listened with a warmth and compassion unlike any other celeb I've interacted with thus far.

Allan Lee attracted all the die hard "Lord of the Rings" fans, a trilogy I still don't understand what all the fascination is about. Mark Winegardner wrote a wine book....I think. Jack Welch sat by the magazine section on the first floor. It was an afternoon event during the middle of the week, to attract the business folks on their lunch break?, I wondered. I have no recollection of Jack Welch, but I remember spotting Dustin Hoffman buying a guide book on Chicago. He was shorter in "real life," dressed like your average American in jeans. This celeb sighting had gone virtually "undetected" until a customer standing beside him at the register where he was making his purchase loudly exclaimed his name with excitement.

Kirstie Alley had pretty, long flowing hair and carried herself confidently, which gave her far more beauty than any scale could in my eyes. The UK band Keane put on a musical performance as the sun came beaming through the windows. Kanye West had fans waiting in line to see him, a line that wrapped around from the 3rd floor to the 1st floor. He left before the time he promised to stay, and the line for him was replaced by a line of disgruntled customers at the registers returning his cd. It seemed like Alan Alda was 7 feet tall with a cheery smile.

Dan Savage read the witty passage from his book that I suggested he read when I briefly spoke to him before the event started. Margaret Cho doesn't come off as crazy and loud as she appears to be on her standup comedy shows. It made me think her standup literally is "just an act." Nate Berkus was a short, sweet, down-to-earth guy who really took the time to connect with every single customer that came up to the book signing table. I remember being eager and excited about the opportunity to have my picture taken with him, but I missed the chance because I had to use the restroom. For a brief instant I wished I was one of my gay male colleagues who got to snuggle up against him in that photo op.

Al Franken was cranky and moody. He got bent out of shape about not receiving the right coffee from the downstairs cafe. I can't say I remember a single memory of Brad Thor. Sorry, Brad. William Moyers, son of Bill Moyers, spoke about his addiction and recovery. I was touched when he humbly thanked me for the work I do with addicts and the difference I make in their lives. Mike Ditka had a bright red face and commanded the events space as if it were a football field all his own. I was excited about yet another photo opportunity, this time with Billie Crystal. The general manager Julie sent me on a short trip to Walgreens for either a disposable camera or more film. I can't remember if I even got to take a picture with him or if I did, just never received a copy of it.

I think Judith Wright was a life coach whose audience basically consisted of women. Every one of us working the Anderson Cooper event seemed to be a bit infatuated with his charming good looks and personality. I made sure to let him know my mother watches his show. Harry Shearer was witty; all I could think about was Homer Simpson as he spoke during the event. Marlo Thomas had a genuine humanitarian vibe about her. It appeared to me that Rachael Ray wanted her book signing to be as speedy as her 30 minute meals.

Chuck Klosterman is even funnier in person than in his books. It was the only event I worked where the audience primarily consisted of my generation (people who grew up in the 1980's and early 90's), apropos to his pop culture topics.

Gus Russo, Nathaniel Philbrick, and Terry Brooks provide me with no memory whatsoever besides my having written down their names. Robert Baer was the inspiration for the movie "Syriana." His stories were far more interesting and revealing than anything I gleaned from watching the yawn of a movie.

What's my purpose?

When I was a senior in high school, it was while I took a psychology course out of mere curiosity and interest that I found myself intrigued by the subject....so much so that I delved into it more and majored in psychology my freshman year of college. My sophomore year of college I took a sociology class about families and relationships. During one particular class, the teacher brought in a marriage and family counselor who spoke about what it was like to be this kind of therapist, what it entailed,etc. I remember getting this feeling that I really wanted to do that, in a strong sense that I was even "meant" to do that.

After receiving my BA in Psychology and feeling "lost" for a year without any full-time employment, I decided it was time for me to really reflect on what I wanted to do next. It was at that time I made the bold decision to move to Chicago and pursue a master's degree in Marriage and Family Counseling. This was truly a life changing experience for me, all 6 years of it (living there)!

Though this is not something a majority of people know about me (even those closest to me), I have always been powerfully guided by spiritual principles and intuition....I just rarely talk about it. It is the one part of my life that is totally sacred, something I would rather experience than talk about.

For me, no time is greater for growth than in the unknown-ness of what direction my life will take next. A part of me though wonders if that is because I thought I knew my spiritual purpose.
From that high school psych class to grad school to my almost 5 years as a therapist, I have spent the last 14 years believing that it was my purpose (and I truly speak with no ego, only good intentions) in life to help heal others. It has been a valuable journey and I am blessed to have been a part of various individuals' healing processes....yet I am in a transition right now that has me feeling like I do not want to do it anymore, that it is no longer what I am meant to do. I have spent so much of my life taking care of other people, focusing on them, helping them, being attentive to them...and while it wasn't in vain, it has been to my own detriment alot of times. It's scary, strange, liberating, and exciting to envision what my life would be like to spend most of my time taking care of myself and living my passions rather than taking care of other people and living vicariously through their passions.

I have been thinking constantly about wanting to do something serious with my writing, something big. A part of me wonders if this is what I am meant to do next, yet I am not sure how to get there, when, or how. All I know is that whatever I write, I want it to mean something. I want to write about things that will touch people in some way and contribute to society. I am definitely in a transition and trying to allow myself to "let go" of the old in order to make room for the new me.

I've been experiencing alot of things lately that are drawing me to a different way of life. I've had very telling dreams. I also find myself giving clients feedback of a spiritual nature that I feel I need to honor within myself in order to be true to myself. I am more selective about who I choose to talk to and interact with, trying to avoid people who seem negative, judgmental, or not on a similar "path" as myself. I am becoming more aware of what I consume, both with food and drink. I am eating more fresh produce and less junk. I have reduced my "emotional" eating patterns. I am more "green" with the environment and have been recycling since I moved to Seattle. I spend more time in nature. I have less tolerance and interest in alcohol, as well as that being a medium to "connect" with others. I would rather connect in deeper ways. Surprisingly even to myself, I have even been considering giving up alcohol totally. I feel like it has no use for me in the overall scheme of things.

In addition, after reading a book about self-care written by a former social worker here in Seattle, I realized just how much I've been lacking in that department. I've been neglecting what brings me joy, happiness, and peace. So I decided to sign up for a creative writing class, which I will start in a few weeks. I'm incredibly excited. My mom recently gave me a book on creative nonfiction to read, something she just read and thought I would like too. As I started reading it on Saturday, I found myself getting excited about it. I even looked up the creative nonfiction website associated with the book's editor Lee Gutkind. I also went to Gutkind's webpage.

Between looking at both webpages, I was pulled by this strong feeling of "THAT" is what I want to do in some shape or form. The definition of what creative nonfiction embodies, Gutkind's literary philosophy ("mission statement" if you will), and the literary career he has had over the years (teaching and writing books with different themes) finally put a name to the kind of writing I am passionate about and strive to emulate.

A part of me really wants to pursue a degree in creative nonfiction with an institute in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania (where Gutkind teaches), but how is that possible? Is that something I truly want? Am I crazy? How do I make a career out of my passion for writing given that I have no degree or work experience in writing? What do I do if I don't know what I want other than simply wanting to write? Passion and purpose are two sides of the same coin, at least for me.

I hope this is where my intuition and receptivity to spiritual guidance comes in to get my answer. I need some signs.

My journey of forgiveness

Although I consider myself an open book, there are certain things about myself I don't share as openly (and certainly not publicly,so this will be a first) and easily. For this very reason, it is all the more important for me to write about here....especially given the news I received on September 9, 2009.

Incest is one of those topics in society that is rarely talked about (even amongst family members) unless it is forced upon by legal involvement, such as CPS or other social services related systems. Unfortunately, society's tendency to push such "secret" things under the rug only proves more damaging to the incest victim's sense of shame and pain all the more. Society tends to focus on the "victim" archetype without accurate and helpful attention on how one can transform to that of a "survivor," a process that calls for courage, strength, resiliency, opportunities for spiritual growth, and most importantly forgiveness....with oneself and the perpetrator. Many victims of sexual abuse struggle for years with these very real issues, if they even work through them at all. I am relieved I am in the minority.....a survivor, not a victim.

Even so, it was not certainly not easy. Forgiveness for me didn't happen in one single moment, but rather through a series of critical situations throughout my life.

It happened on a summer evening when I was 7 years old. My cousin couldn't have been more than 13 or 14 years old at the time. I blocked it from my memory until I got to be about the same age. Two events occurred which brought it flooding to my awareness. It was my cousin's visit to our house around the holidays (I felt uncomfortable being around him and I didn't know why) and the topic of incest and sexual assault in my middle school sex ed class that triggered the painful, shameful, and repressed memory I had buried for several years.

Sitting in the bathroom crying and frozen with an inability to get the words out for what felt like an eternity, I finally broke down and told my mother. I begged her not to tell anyone, fearful of possible recrimination. A part of me thought it (the pain and shame) would just go away simply because I was able to tell someone about it, but this was not to be the case. It was only the beginning of my healing process. Other than talking to my mom about it now and then, it was going unaddressed....until high school.

Shortly after we moved to Texas, my mom took me to a hypnotherapist for treatment. At the time, I remember going into it feeling like this kind of treatment was going to be hokey and unhelpful. Surprisingly, it wasn't. While it did help me release and come to peace with some emotions, however, I wasn't 100% "cured" by the experience. I still struggled with issues of self-worth, particularly in regard to relationships and sex. I was unable to fully experience either one until my twenties, a late bloomer to most societal standards. Other than the visit to the hypnotherapist, I never received counseling to help me with this issue. All the demons I faced were on my own courageous volition, through self-help tools and literally face to face.

After I graduated college, another cousin (the brother of "the" cousin) generously offered to help me move from my college apartment to my mom's in Reno, Nevada. This entailed a road trip from a little hill country near Austin, Texas to Phoenix, Arizona (where my uncle and two cousins were all living together at the time). The plan was for us to get from TX to Arizona, and from there my uncle and I would make the drive from AZ to NV because my uncle was moving to Reno too. It was truly a catch-22. I wondered why God was doing this to me. Why would God put me in a situation, knowing I would be face to face with someone who damaged my spirit at 7 years old? At the same time, I didn't have a choice. I had to move and I refused to be gripped by fear. I also had this feeling that if I didn't confront the situation, it would be as if my cousin had "won" somehow.

I wondered how it would all go down. I knew my cousin knew I had told someone because my mom had talked to my uncle about it at some point. My uncle had then asked/talked to my cousin about it. Yet, no one had ever talked to me or asked me how I felt...ever. Any and all talk around this issue between family members took place behind my back. Or by secondhand information my mom told me later on down the road. I was never included in any of those conversations, something to this day I honestly still don't understand. I think it all goes back to family secrecy and uncomfortability bringing up such a difficult topic, especially with the survivor.

We arrived in Arizona in the wee hours of the morning. I was relieved my cousin was asleep so I could avoid seeing him, but I could only postpone the inevitable for so long. When I awoke and made my way down the stairs later that morning, my heart was racing with fear. What do I say to him? Do I wait and see what he says to me? How will I act around him? How do I pretend to be comfortable and "normal" around him? These were the thoughts that raced through my mind. I remember he was in the kitchen. After a few minutes of hanging out in the kitchen and neither one of us saying anything to one another (he was talking to someone else in the room), I realized it was going to have to be me to break the silence. I didn't want to be the bigger person, but I did anyway. It was just small talk of course. I think he was just as uncomfortable as I felt, yet it angered me that I was the one having to interact with someone who hurt me and never apologized, let alone hadn't acknowledged what he did. Still, my spiritual belief that "everything happens for a reason" provided me the strength and sustenance to get through the distressing experience. I thought that was enough to help me heal and grow. It had definitely given me alot to reflect on. I didn't want it to negatively impact my sense of self anymore.

While it took awhile to forgive my cousin, I was finally able to do this when the opportunity presented itself a few years ago....again, in Arizona. My uncle had died and the family had come together for a memorial. I knew my cousin would be there because my uncle was his father. I felt like I had grown alot and healed from my past trauma, but it's hard to know for sure until you are immersed back into a situation with the person. I knew this would be the "test" that would show me whether or not this person was still affecting me or not. During the time I was in Arizona for the memorial, I was around him at a family barbecue and I was ok. The morning of the day I left Arizona, the family went out for breakfast. I felt compelled to give him a hug before we parted ways from the restaurant. I did it for myself and it felt good to know there was no more anger and pain in my heart. I had completely forgiven.

What does all of this have to do with the news I received on September 9, 2009? Well, my cousin was not one to take care of his health. He was overweight and he did not properly take care of his diabetes with healthy diet, exercise, or insulin. He had gone at least partially blind and one of his toes had to be removed in years past, thus he has been in poor health for some time. It caught up with him on Wednesday morning. He had a heart attack and all his organs shut down. He died at the age of 37 years old. When my mom told me the news over the phone that day, I was in shock. Part of me was shocked that he died so young. The other part of me was glad that I wasn't happy or relieved. Horrible to say, but many years ago I thought the only way I could let go of what happened to me was by thinking it would all be "buried" and forgotten if he died. All I felt after I heard the news though was sadness and compassion all at the same surreal time. Sad that he didn't take care of himself. Sad for my other cousin who lost both his father and brother in a few years time of each other. Sadness for my cousin who likely never forgave himself....and yet compassion for my cousin. And myself.

My cousin, unbeknownst to him, taught me the power of forgiveness and spiritual strength like no one else in my life.

Rest in peace, Jody. I am.

Technology and detriment to relationships

I've been thinking about this alot lately, and more so...I feel increasingly frustrated about this....

It relates to a blog I wrote about quite awhile ago ("Connecting in a Postmodern World", or something along those lines of a title), only this time around I feel like it extends beyond the realms of trying to navigate through a confusing realm of dating. No, this is so much broader and potentially detrimental to human relationships as a whole.

Can anyone remember a time pre-Internet and social networking sites? Remember when having a relationship (of ANY kind, whether with a friend, family member, significant other, neighbor or coworker) with someone was done the "old fashioned" way of talking to the person on the phone, spending one-on-one/face to face time, and/or doing community based activities? How often does this happen now? Unless you're living in a poor, rural area (aka third world country), I would venture to say that a majority of relationships in the 21st century do not look like this anymore. Instead, direct interpersonal contact has been replaced by indirect impersonal, disconnected contact more often than not. By this, I mean relationships have become negatively dependent upon technological mediums (whether texting, emails, and especially social networking sites) to develop and maintain relationships. I can much more easily tell you who was the last person to text me, email me and communicate with me via a social networking site and how frequently this occurs in a given day than I can recall the last time I received a phone call or meaningful "in person" contact with someone in my personal life.

While I cannot speak for everyone, my keen psychological observations lead me to the prediction that this is more the norm for a majority of people than the exception.

In some ways, technology has made communication incredibly expansive and it definitely has its positive aspects...don't get me wrong. Taken to the extreme, as with anything else in life, it has become toxic to human relationships in many ways. When an individual seems to be having more of a relationship with a computer than a real, live person...there's a problem. It can have profound effects on one's capacity to engage in meaningful dialogue, demonstrate critical thinking skills, social skills, and developing genuine intimacy in relationships. It can also affect one's mental, emotional, and physical health.

It also extends to impacting one's ability to be "real," vulnerable, authentic and raw in expressing oneself with another in "real life." I saw a clip for a PBS special recently. It was a program about differences between the generations and they had people of various ages talking about what is different about Gen Xers, baby boomers, and the current generation (Gen Y'ers?). One mid 30 to fortysomething woman said something about how young people are so consumed with communicating via technology (texts and social networking) that they have a hard time even making eye contact when face to face with someone. I could not agree with her more, although I don't see it quite so specific to just that generation.

What bothers me (and what I haven't quite figured out yet) is, how does one come to terms with this in their relationships when this is the cultural norm? I don't know how many times in the past couple of months I have genuinely yearned to talk on the phone and/or spend time with someone I care about (too many instances to count), only to find the individual doesn't want to talk/chooses to be "distant" in their contact with me (but is definitely more accessible to communicate with online or through texts) or is too busy to hang out. Granted, things happen in life and I don't expect someone to be available at the drop of a hat. If you know me, you know I am not demanding in my relationships with people. At the same time, human beings are social animals who need to be stimulated by all of their senses (seeing, hearing, tasting, touching, and that 6th sense we call our intuition) and this includes our relationships.

I want more personal mediums in which to interact and communicate in my relationships. I want less of the current norm. Am I the only one who wants a return to this "old fashioned" way of having relationships? Do I put up with it, taking a 'this is better than nothing at all' attitude? Do I mourn the loss of the kind of relationship I would like to have with a particular person that just won't happen if he/she isn't willing to take it to the level I would like? And where do I find those that want more than a technologically based relationship?

It's pretty sad when the most meaningful conversation and face to face contact I have on a daily basis (on average) is with my clients...a surreal juxtaposition against my personal relationships that rely heavily on technology for a certain degree of staying "connected" in some way.