(I started this post on Wednesday morning, 10/11/17)

I stayed up later than I should have last night.  My reason only partially rational, more because of my obsessiveness than anything else. I have always been an obsessive comparer, examiner, and learner.  I usually try to combine this aspect of my personality with tasks as a way to add interest, motivation, and energy to the project at hand.  This quirky quality has been part of my secret sauce of success. By joining an obsessive interest with a task I not only move forward on that task, but I also learn more about my interest du jour. Some may think of obsessiveness as a liability.  However, I choose to turn negatives into positives. If all you have are potatoes to eat don’t fret, empower yourself and learn how to make potato soup!

One of my goals, when I retire, has been to write more. A while back I decided that I was going to start that process before retirement as the more I would practice writing the better writer I would become (in theory anyway).

I felt I could be more motivated and more productive if I did some of my writing outside of my house.  The Riverwalk, the library, Starbucks, wherever.  Naturally, this idea created more obsessional questions. What device should I write on? Which software? When should I write?  As you can see I like thinking about trivial things.  In reality, I can’t shut down my brain; my ever running brain can sometimes be annoying at times, even to me.

I have been trying out various gadgets to compose on.  My iPhone, my iPhone with a folding keyboard, an iPad Mini.  Last night I dug through my gadget collection and came up with what I am typing on now, an 11” MacBook Air.  This may sound impressive until you realize that this is one of the original Airs, built in 2010 (now almost an 8-year-old computer).  I bought it when I would spend every Thursday night at the Rockford Holiday Inn. Now, I wasn’t even sure that it would power up, but I was determined to locate it and try.  I was up late finding the computer, its power brick, a bag to carry it in… well you get the picture.  All of the above was a poor excuse to stay up late.

Finally asleep, the rain and thunder came.  Boom, splash, boom… sleep interrupted.  At 3:40 AM my alarm went off and I felt like… well, death.  I hit the snooze bar once but I knew that I had to either give in to sleep or force my body upright. Although it looked terrible outside my feet were on the floor, face washed, teeth brushed.  

I have planned for inclement weather and I have waterproof “duck” shoes, a rain jacket, and an umbrella.  Those articles of clothing purchased after a different obsessive thinking process a few years back.  The goal then was to make sure that I wouldn’t have a reason to not walk in the mornings.  That planning has paid off many times; I may get damp, but I always have dry feet!

I am not saying that my obsessive planning should be the model for others to follow, it can be pretty crazy.  With that said I work with people all of the time who do no planning.  They impulsively make decisions with magical thinking.  They spend money that they don’t have and think that somehow that money will appear when the charge card bill comes.  They get involved in bad relationships on an impulsive attraction forgetting past disasters that were similarly motivated. They make major decisions, like quitting a job without acquiring a new one. Usually, these folks are resourceful and they seem to get by.  However, it is a pattern of short-term gratification followed by long-term stress. Sadly, they often continue to think that the next cycle of impulsiveness will solve their problems. Once again getting quick short-term relief followed by long-term misery. Over the long run even resourcefulness fails, resulting in tremendous financial stress, relationship stress and emotional stress.

It would seem that the best life solution for most people would be somewhere between obsessiveness and impulsiveness.  A place of balance.  However, we no longer live in a moderate world, we live in a world of extremes.  Absolute artificial boundaries where once lived gradations of options.

We are creatures of habit but we have the capacity to change.  Why not explore your patterns of behavior.  If you are getting unsatisfactory outcomes in your life it may be time to change.

There are aspects of my work that I will miss, and aspects of my work that I am happy to leave. Talking to nice people fits into the former category, begging insurance companies to uphold their obligations falls in the latter category.

Yesterday, I was talking to a client. She is a nice lady who I have known for a number of years. She was recounting a recent trip back home, and she was surprised that the trip had gone well. You see, she comes from a large family of successful siblings. She noted to me that she typically feels like the failure of the family. She is a single mom, and all of her siblings are married. They seem to have charmed lives, financial wealth, fantastic kids… well, you get the picture.

I looked at her and said, “Let’s review your life.” She had a look on her face that suggested both surprise and concern. I reminded her the following:

You have successfully raised a wonderful daughter, on your own.
You have supported yourself for most of your adult life.
You own your own residence, in a nice community.
You are saving for your retirement.
You have friends that care about you and a daughter who loves you.
You drive a safe care.
… and so I went on.

I concluded by reminding her what a great success she was. She not only managed to take care of her needs but her daughter’s needs as well. Naturally, her life isn’t’ perfect. There are always areas of wants. Perhaps a little more money, a bigger place to live, a solid romantic relationship. However, her wants were insignificant compared to all of her successes.

As I was counseling her I was also thinking. Why is it that we are so programmed to look at other people’s lives through rose-colored glasses, and our own lives through dingy and dirty ones?

Of course, there are many reasons. One is the reasons is what I like to call Facebook reality.

I share stories with my patients if I think that they have therapeutic value. I’m not the stereotype blank screen of the 1960’s psychiatrist. I think it is important for them to know that I am like them, a real and relatable person.

This is the story that I told her…

A number of years ago I started to make dinner with my kids. My wife had returned to the paid workforce, and the kids were complaining about the switch from homemade food to frozen pizza and bagged burgers. I thought it would be both fun, and a learning experience to make real meals together. We would plan, cook, eat, and clean up together. This has been a wonderful family experience, and my kids have become competent cooks of real food.

Part of this new tradition is that I post a photo of our finished meal on Facebook. That food shot is taken before we sit down to eat. I prepare the plate carefully. I choose the nicest piece of chicken, the plumpest crescent roll, the most artful salad. I’ll usually take the photo at several angles, and I’ll pick the most flattering one. I then edit the photo. I crop out distracting elements, add a vignette, and do other things to draw attention to the food. It is only then that I post the photo under the title “Cooking With Dad Thursday.”

This ritual has become a somewhat of a family inside joke. It doesn’t show the burnt rolls or the piece of chicken where half of the breading has fallen off. It is reality, but a carefully crafted reality that shows only the best that we have to offer, and that best is shown in the best possible light.

I asked her if she was dealing with Facebook reality when she visits her family. Only the best pieces of her sibling’s lives are shown to her, and only in the best possible light. How easy it would be to feel like a failure if the only point of reference that you had was artificially perfect.

We see Facebook reality everywhere. The model with perfect makeup hawking a beauty product. The “real lives” of people on TV who live in multi-million dollar homes. The neighbor’s recounts of their fantastic exotic vacation. It is so easy to become dissatisfied with our truly real lives where we compare them with the Facebook reality of others.

I think it is important for all of us to remember how fortunate we are. How the positives in our lives usually greatly outweigh the negatives. Our lives were never meant to be perfect. We can choose to celebrate our blessings or choose to live in a cesspool of dissatisfaction and envy.

The first half of the performance had ended, and the lights in the theater came up. My wife Julie and I had just seen act I of “The Million Dollar Quartet” at the Paramount theater in Aurora.

It is the story of Elvis Presley, Johnny Cash, Carl Perkins, and Jerry Lee Lewis, and their interactions during a recording session at the famous Sun Records in 1956. The event was before my time, but I am still familiar with their stories and music.  That was not the case for Julie, as she was raised in a Time Life, “100 Most Loved Classical Music Compositions” kind of family. During the intermission I was explaining to her the various sub-plots of the play.

It was clear that the man in front of us was listening to our conversation.  After a minute or two he turned to us and flashed a big smile.  I’m guessing that he was around 80, but a healthy looking 80.  He had clear skin, sparkling blue eyes, and a very infectious smile.  

He started to talk to us. It was the effortless kind of talk that gently tests the waters of a new connection.

Not surprisingly, he started by asking a few questions.  Were we enjoying the show? Where we married? He then offered a little information about himself.  He was in the Army at the same time Elvis was in the service (1959) but he never met him.  He was Lithuanian, but spent his early life in Germany. He came to the states as a child. He lived in Genoa IL.  Then more question for us. Did we have kids? Did we live in Aurora? At some point he introduced us to his wife who was sitting next to him.  She was stylishly dressed, and also had an inviting smile.

Our conversation continued throughout the intermission and ended only when the second act lights dimmed.

When the show ended, we were not forgotten.  Our new friend made sure to say goodbye, and to wish us a good evening.  Both of us commented on how pleasant he was, and how we enjoyed our little interlude with him… and there was the problem.

Dear reader, the problem wasn’t this delightful man, or even our interaction with him.  Rather, it was my awareness of a skill that he had that I lacked despite my many years of training.

As I enter retirement one of my main goals has been to acquire a comfort level connecting with strangers.  I certainly know the protocol, but I have been unable to implement it.  My dear friend Tom connects effortlessly with strangers.  I have watched his behaviors and I have mimicked them.  If I have the security blanket of Tom with me I have no problem engaging with a new face. In fact, in most cases I am successful.  However, I can’t seem to initiate this behavior when I’m by myself.

Why is that, dear reader?  I believe it dates back to my early childhood when the message I received was that I was a troublesome burden when I asked questions or wanted attention.  Dear reader, my goal is not to constantly bash my parents, or to blame my problems on them.  I am an adult, and I am responsible for my behavior.  With that said, it amazes me that I can be impacted so significantly by the past.

Yes, I am an introvert, but that is not the issue here.  If a stranger engages with me I have no problem connecting with them.  In my professional life I am a professional interviewer, I don’t bat an eye asking a total stranger the most intimate of questions. I can lecture to an audience of 500 people without difficulty. Once I have established a connection with someone I have no problem re-engaging with them. Via this blog I am acquiring the ability to write about very personal parts of my life to a wide-open internet public.

Over the last few years I have taught myself the skill of making initial small talk with strangers.  The one to six sentence interactions that others do so effortlessly.  It has work for me, and the more that I do it the easier it becomes.  However, the ability to connect on a more substantive level has remained illusive.

You may ask, “Why is this a big deal?  You have gotten this far without this skill, why bother now?”  Dear reader, one of my goals is to connect with strangers outside the confines of my professional office.  I want to photograph them.  I want to write about their lives.  I am fascinated by the wonder of the common person.  When you get to know someone the common becomes uncommon.  The routine becomes unique.  The ordinary becomes extraordinary.  …but I am stuck.  Stuck with the burden of thinking that I am bothering someone by starting a conversation with them.  That there is something wrong about wanting to connect with them. Stuck with the fear that I am wasting their time.  I do not feel worthy.  I am back in my childhood.

At this point I will continue to push forward.  I will continue to try new strategies.  I will continue to take risks.  I will continue to pray for courage.  But, I am saddened by my lack of progress.

What can I do? One foot in front of the next. I have climbed many mountains in my life, this is just another one.  I already know that to accomplish my goal I will need the help of others.  Perhaps one of them will have the key to solving this issue. I am not one to give up.  I am not one to give up on myself.

I walked in the rain this morning.

A light rain, more annoying than preventing.

It did not prevent me from walking.

It did not prevent me from thinking.

It will not prevent me from going to work today.

It did make my walk less enjoyable.

It did make me feel less comfortable.

The rain will not stop me from moving forward.

Initially, I thought it would hinder me.

Now, I’m aware that it will shape me.

Today I will accept the rain, and realize that the sun will follow.

The rush to retirement seems to be moving ever faster.  A goal that was a million miles away now is approaching at light speed.  In December of 2016, I purchased tickets for the play “Hamilton” for a show date in September 2017.  That date, which seemed ridiculously far away, has now passed.  In July letters were sent to my referral sources, and to my patients.  I gave them almost 6 months of warning of my leaving.  That half of a year has now evaporated into two and a half months.  

I have slowly prepared for my retirement for over a decade.  Impossibly distant at one point, it is now looming… and I am confused.  I clearly want to move forward, but I am ever aware of what I am leaving behind.  In the past, I knew exactly how my life would change when I retired… now, I’m not so sure.  To appreciate the sweet, I must taste bitter.

My yesterday was a typical Monday.  At least typical for the last 30 years.  It was a long work day that started at 8 AM and ended at 8 PM.  The flow was the same, patient followed by patient, any free time filled with phone calls and paperwork.

But when is there ever a typical day?  Each one becomes unique when I am willing to pause and ponder.    Monday, October 2, 2017, a day of patient care, but also a day of goodbyes.  

It is now 5:59 AM Tuesday,   I’m sitting at a little round table at the Starbucks on Chicago Avenue and I am listening to straight-ahead jazz as I type this post on my phone. The distance from yesterday allows me the safety to bring my emotions forward.  I find myself tearing up.

I saw a fairly new patient yesterday.  He was the last new patient that I accepted, and I have only seen him a few times.  He underwent the loss of a beloved pet a few weeks earlier.  The safety of my office allowed him the protection needed to put aside his tradesman’s toughness and cry.  He was angry that those close to him were moving on and appeared less devastated in grief. I drew together the pieces of this tragedy, and showed him that those close to him weren’t trying to be disrespectful they were just grieving in their own way. Relief crossed his face.

A woman came in.  She desperately wants to have a significant relationship, but can never find Mr. Right.  Counselling her, I drew her back to her middle school years, a time when she was bullied mercilessly.  I connected that time to her current fear of being vulnerable, a light bulb flashes off in her mind. A routine connection for me, a completely new concept for her.

And then there were the goodbyes.

The women who clearly didn’t like me on our first visits now offers me comfort as she recounts her own retirement story.  Over the time that we have worked together we have gained an appreciation and respect for each other.

A lady that I worked with since 1993 sits down on my leather couch..  When I first started working with her she was crippled from relentless panic attacks.  Now, 25 years later, she coordinates care for 7 busy physicians.  She is the go-to person when disasters happen. We reminisce over the years.  “I never thought my life would turn out like this.  I am happy,” she tells me.  At the end of the session she hands me a card where she wrote that she was blessed to have me as her doctor and life counselor.  I am grateful that I didn’t read the note in front of her, as I would have been embarrassed to have her see tears running down my face.

A few months ago a long-term patient had sent in a “release of information” to have his records transferred to a new psychiatrist.  He was moving on to a new provider, my function no longer needed.  At the time I felt surprised by his actions.  I remember thinking, “Wow, after 30 years I can still misjudge someone.”   I had thought that I had made a significant and meaningful impact in his life, but it seemed like my assessment and his reality were misaligned.

I was surprised to see his name on my schedule yesterday.  Indeed, he had secured a new psychiatrist, and in fact he had a bridge script form his primary care doctor to last until that meeting.  There was no practical or functional reason for him to have an appointment with me. He had made the appointment to thank me and say goodbye. “When I first came to see you it was a very dark time for me.  I couldn’t see a way out.  Now I feel normal.  I no longer see you as my psychiatrist, I think of you as my friend.”  I held back more tears.

Another long-term patient entered.  I had worked with him since his late teens.  At that time he was plagued with depression and psychosis.  He now works in a highly technical field installing and programming complex industrial machines. He is a very smart guy. He showed me a photo of a beautiful wood carving that he created using a C and C machine.  He tells me, “Doc, I always wanted to be respectful of your boundaries.  Now that you are retiring I hope we can share more.”  I once again hold back tears and I reflect on how this former frightened teen has become a respected and incredibly nice man.

I ready myself for today’s workday. I have no idea what I will face.  Angry people?  Sad people?  Indifferent people? Thankful people? The clock keeps ticking, and I am awash with feelings of every type imaginable.

I know I must move forward, but I am acutely aware of what I am leaving behind.  Dear reader, I will continue to keep you posted on my journey.  Thank you for caring enough to continue to read these long, self-indulgent posts. I may be a psychiatrist, but I am also a person. Writing helps me share.  It gives me comfort to think that someone is listening to me.