A History of Holding On

I spent Monday with my mother.  I hadn't seen her in a week and a half, so I was due to visit and accomplish her list of tasks.

That's the odd thing about visitng my mom:  we don't spend quality time together.  I arrive; I go grocery shopping with her; I try not to resent the fact that (in yesterday's case) it was a perfectly lovely day, but we weren't out enjoying it in any way; I cook a meal; I depart for home.  In so many ways, I'm a helpful companion, not a son.

On the drive there, I used to listen to the Diane Rehm Show on NPR, which has since been replaced by a show called "A1," hosted by Joshua Johnson.  Thus far, I've been very pleased with his shows.  The second hour of the program, while I was driving, focused on "This American Moment"- how people are trying to make sense of the new administration, events around the world, etc.

Mr. Johnson, at some point, spoke the line, "People don't care how much you know until they know how much you care," a reference point to opening dialogue between people on opposing sides of the political spectrum.  More specifically, he was speaking about people on either side of the debate about the Affordable Care Act, and how it's all too easy for disagreements to go nowhere if neither side is willing to listen to the other.

Think of it like this:  It's easier to say, "You're wrong" than "I hear what you're saying.  You don't like that aspect of the policy."  The former is a stone wall.  It shuts things down rather immediately.  The latter, on the contrary, allows the person you're speaking with to know they've been heard.  Their point has been taken and considered, which at least allows the opening for further discussion and the possibility of sharing your perspective.

This goes to the heart of what I wrote about last time:  Forgiveness.  Without openness and consideration, there cannot be forgiveness.

My mother holds onto so many wrongs in her heart, a pattern I've fallen into.  She resents her mother, my grandmother, taking charge of my parents' wedding in 1969.  That's almost 48 years ago.  Even longer ago than that, there are episodes about a brown winter coat she didn't want as a child, when her father burned her paper dolls (long after she was past the age of playing with them), and other slights that a woman who has reached 70 years old shouldn't dwell upon.

I'm only 34, but I could list a similar catalogue of issues I've had with my mom.

And what good would they do me?

In many ways, I'm lucky to have her.  It's been 21 years since my dad died, so I am grateful to have her.  I simply wish that she would find something to live for in the now and to look to in the future.  She dwells so much in the past - in what has happened to her - that I don't think she sees much room for a future.  And I believe that many of her health issues can be linked to this concentration on negativity.

Sadness multiplies sadness.  It hurts our mental health and can slam the door behind us, locking out the people who want us to be happy.

I'm trying, as I've said, to find happiness.  One of the pieces I was reading mentioned taking three breaths - deep ones - and removing your mind from the spiral it's in by imagining yourself in a place that makes you happy.

That method can't make the world go away.

You still have to face the demons.

You still have to own your failings.

But find that happy place and let your mind be there, in the calm, when you need it.