Category Archives: Love

Watching Galactica

I enjoy spending time with my family, and they enjoy spending time with me. With that said, as of late beyond the dinner meal and vacations it is more common that my connections with them are one-to-one instead of en masse.

This modular way of relating has been increasing as my kids have aged from children to teens. They have their own lives to live, and at any given time one or more of them may be hanging out with their chums. I know that this evolution is reasonable, but I still long for the time when we spent most of our hours together.

On Thursday evenings I cook dinner with my two youngest. We laugh, joke, and review our day with each other. It is a great time that we look forward to. However, “Making Dinner With Dad Thursday,” only includes three of the four remaining in-house Kunas. Thankfully, there is one event where we all participate, that event is watching “Battlestar Galactica.”

Battlestar Galactica is a TV series that ran for four seasons, starting in 2004. The storyline is science fiction and involves a humanoid race fleeing from their robotic enemies as they try to find a mythical earth. This summary may not sound very compelling. However, the storyline is just a canvas to explore other questions. Questions of prejudice, questions of religious intolerance, questions of duty, to name a few.

After she read good reviews about the series, my wife suggested that we watch the show, which is streamable on Amazon Prime. None of us viewed the show when it initially aired, so we thought we would give it a try as a family activity.

Since this is a family watch, strict policies and procedures quickly evolved. It is unclear who developed said policies, but all participants vigorously enforce them.

Here are a few examples:

1. We can only watch an episode when the entire group is present.
2. We try not to read the Amazon Prime plot summaries beforehand.
3. It is encouraged to loudly express feelings about characters and situations while the show is playing. It is not uncommon for one or more of us to loudly gasp or shout a condemnation to an on-screen actor.
4. All lights have to be off when we are watching the show to allow full immersion.
5. If a viewer gets up for a snack, it is acceptable to beg, bully, or shame them into getting refreshments for the rest of the watchers.
5. Wild speculation about a character or the plotline is encouraged. 6. Debate over such speculation is expected and should be as raucous as needed to make a point.

We typically watch one or two episodes at a time, as that is the amount of TV that I can tolerate, and it may be a week or more until we gather again. Because of these restrictions, we have been watching episodes for months, and we still have a few left before the series end.

It is a fun time that draws us together. Many of the shows deal with philosophical questions which serve as fuel for our family discussions and debates.

Like “Cooking With Dad Thursday” it is something that allows us to gather as a family. When we finally finish the Battlestar series, we will find another activity that will “force” us to spend time together.

It is essential for us to remember that we are a family. It is vital for us to remember that we are there for each other. It is crucial for us to remember that we love each other. Activities like this serve these purposes.

Dear reader, I would like to ask you to find your own “Battlestar” activity for your family. Perhaps it will be a family dinner, maybe a board game night, possibly something else. It doesn’t matter, it just needs to be something that is shared with each other and (on some level) allows interaction and communication.

Children become teenagers, teens become young adults, young adults become adults. The time that we have with each other is precious and limited. You will never get to experience today, again. The same can be said of this month and this year. Don’t waste the gift of your family.

My Birthday Party And Other Stuff

Sunday was the day; I was not only excited, but I was also very anxious.

Julie, my wife, had been planning my birthday party for months. Although a competent person, she feels insecure when it comes to planning big events, and so she also had the jitters.

Luckily, the morning started with a fun distraction. My friend Tom came over and we “sailed” the “Mary Ann” 5 miles down the DuPage River. It was the maiden voyage for my $80 estate sale canoe. The adventure was great fun, but it also demanded a second shower for the day as I was soaked in river water.

By mid-morning my daughter Anne and her family arrived. My grandkids, Sebbie and Diana, were the perfect distraction.

Two hours before the event Julie and my two youngest kids left me to set up the party. Julie had secured a room for the event that was big enough to accommodate everyone. However, there was still much work to do.

My introvert anxiety now on the rise, I started to pace. As the party time approached, I asked Anne and her family to go to the event so I could have a little time alone.

Twenty minutes later my daughter Grace was at the door, acting as my chauffeur. I was instructed to lap-carry my sugar-free birthday cake, as Julie was afraid that it would have melted if she had brought it earlier. We entered the parking lot to find Julie standing there. “You can’t walk into the party carrying your birthday cake. There are already people here waiting for your arrival!” I handed her the cake, took a deep breath, and entered the building.

Now inside I could see others coming through the window. I marched up the stairs and into the room where my party was being held. Julie and the kids had signs, balloons, and other symbols of celebration. Trays of food were set on tables; smiles were set on faces.

Friends and family had put themselves out for me. They were there to wish me well. Several hours later my party was over. I felt great but exhausted. However, the best gift was yet to come.

Now home, Julie handed me a scrapbook with a cover made by my son William. I opened it to pages of memories. Weeks earlier she had asked the invitees to write her with memories of me. The first pages contained letters from her and the kids. I was overwhelmed. Then other messages and notes. There seemed to be a general theme, which I will likely write about in a future post. There was so much love in the letters that I was barely able to get through a single one without tearing up. It was the best gift that I could have ever received.

We all live busy lives. It would have been easy for my guests to have sent their regrets. It would have been simple for them to claim to be too rushed to sit down and write a paragraph or two about me. It is a “what about me” world where everyone is more concerned about themselves than others.

There are times when someone has to decide to either give of themself or to withhold of themself. In this situation, people gave their time to come to my party. They gave their creativity to write down their memories of me. Did they do these things because I’m so awesome? No, they did these things because THEY are so awesome.

I once read that integrity is doing the right thing when no one else is looking. They could have done nothing. They could have justified their actions because they were too busy with their own lives. They didn’t say, “What has Mike done for me lately?” They didn’t calculate the cost of their actions vs. the gain that they would receive. They didn’t ruminate over petty slights that I may have caused them in the past. They just did what they did because it was the right thing to do, and they did it with joy and kindness in their hearts. This is what I felt when I attended my 65th birthday party, and this is what I felt when I read my book of memories.

There is no greater gift than to allow the people in your life to love you and to love them in return. Thank you party guests, thank you memory book writers. Your actions say so much more about you than they do about me. With that said, your actions touched me deeply, made me feel closer to you, and allowed me to see how truly wonderful you are.

Wonderful folks
Sugar-free cake!
tearing up with emotion

Concerning My Birthday Party

The offer to me came earlier this year, and to Julie’s shock, I accepted it.  The offer? Julie asked me if I wanted a birthday party to celebrate my 65th birthday.  She has queried such options in the past, and I have always said no. But, dear reader, it is time for a change, and I am changing. With this said, my simple “Yes” was anything but easy for me to utter.

Why would it be so difficult for me to allow someone to celebrate such a special day? The answers go beyond the obvious, but many of these reasons will be familiar to those of you who have been reading my blog.

First, the obvious.  I am an introvert and being the center of attention can be an exhausting experience.  

Second, the more significant reason.  My life has been a life of service, both professionally and personally.  I have formed many of my relationships under the umbrella of things that I have done, or could do, for others.  I think that this reality is not accidental. In part, I feel if you can help someone, you should. In part, providing a service to someone justifies the relationship. “Be my friend, and I will help you.”  In part, it allows me to have a certain amount of control over the connection. Like most people, I am complex, as are my motivations to do things. Those motivations are neither good nor bad, they are.

Back to my birthday party…

My real fear of asking someone to do something for me is that they won’t do it.  This is based on my childhood where that was my experience. I learned very early on that I had to rely on myself.  I could not expect others to do things for me. Having to rely on myself made me angry, and I turned that anger into the fuel that drove me forward.  As I have said in previous posts, “Take a disadvantage and turn it into an advantage.”

I became robust, resilient, and self-reliant.  However, there is a flipside to this coin. There is a part of me that wants to be loved, cared for, nurtured, and celebrated for who I am, not what I do.  This aspect of me is buried deep in my psyche and highly protected. However, part of my current efforts to grow beyond past limitations is to confront these needs and acknowledge them.  Hence, “Sure throw me a party.”

My past strategy had been to never expect anything from anyone, but to fantasize that people in my life would be there, “If I needed them.”  As a psychiatrist, I know the folly of such a fantasy. I have worked with many caregiving patients (often women) who have devoted themselves to others in selfless ways.  They have selected individuals who were more than happy to be cared for. Sadly, when these caregiving individuals needed help in return, their relationship was nowhere to be found.  Their connections signed up to receive full service, not to deliver a service. Naturally, this makes sense. However, even psychiatrists use psychological ploys to get through the daily experience that we call life.

Although my actual birthday was earlier this year, my celebration is scheduled for this weekend.  I am stressed as this event draws a clear line defining my worth to those around me. My old tapes are playing.  Instead of thinking that the people who care about me will be happy to celebrate with me, I think that they will be resentful and act out their feelings in one way or another.  I have heard stories of people traveling to another state to celebrate a milestone with an old neighbor or a casual friend. This seems entirely normal for others, but not for me. Are my close connections willing to put themselves out a bit to celebrate with me?  My rational self says yes, my inner child says, no. I guess I will know the truth in a few days.

To add to this drama, Julie has asked people to write a little note or letter to me which she will bind into a scrapbook.  I want such records to pass onto my children and grandchildren. I don’t want to become an unknown image on an old photograph.  I want to be a real person to my future lineage. I don’t think that this is grandiosity, I believe that it is based on my sense of mortality.  Who are we if no one remembers that we ever existed? Here again, I fear that I’m burdening others. This reality will also be soon known.

Dear reader, thank you for following my story.  We are all imperfect. My goal in life has always been to make a difference in the world, however small.  I want to leave the earth a bit better, rather than a bit worse. Otherwise, why should I exist?

To move forward with my life, I have decided to be fearlessly honest with myself and those around me, including you.  I may be 65, but I still am growing and evolving. I am traveling forward to a destination not yet apparent in the fog that is my future.  However, I am starting to see vague shapes ahead, and my writing is one of the things that is allowing this clarity to happen.

Next Sunday is my birthday party; the day will come and go.  It will be replaced by Monday. Will it justify my childhood fears? Will it support my objective reality?  I guess I will have to wait and see. Either way, I will grow. Peace.

 

A Forest, A Lone Tree

A block and a half away is the DuPage river and its paths.  As I enter the commons that abuts the river I have two choices, I can turn right or I can turn left.

Turning right takes me down a cobblestone path that leads to downtown Naperville.  Along the way, there are luxury houses, colorful fountains, covered bridges, and public sculptures.  It is beautiful but in a scripted way. Every bend of the path carefully calculated to be the most aesthetically pleasing. However, turning left takes me to a different reality. The reality of a preserve called McDowell Grove.

I turn left. Within minutes of walking, I am on a gravel path that winds through forest and prairie. The path takes me under a railroad trestle, then under a highway, then past a dam.  Soon I am walking among trees, then through an open and wild prairie. A prairie not unlike prairies of the past. Low and rolling, buzzing with life as if to spite the long lingering winter.

I walk carrying an old camera.  My Canon 7D slung over my shoulder on a strap that transects my chest.  That strap designed to counter its gravid 820-gram weight.

I looked to the right and then to the left as I explore photographic possibilities. I have been on this path a hundred times, but I always find something to peak my creative interest. I enter the prairie and force my vision to the right. In front of me stands a lone tree surrounded by tall grasses.  Behind me is a forest of-of trees, each member huddled closely together.

My mind floods as it starts to compare and categorize the two visual experiences. What are the advantages of being a lone tree?  What are the advantages of being a tree among many in the wood?

My thoughts generalize and regroup.  What are the advantages of being in a group?  What are the advantages of being apart from a group? I pull my camera from my hip and press it against my cheek. I squint into the viewfinder and compose.  Click, click, click. I take three shots shifting my field of view slightly with each. I slide my camera back onto my hip and continue walking. Although I move forward my thoughts remain on the trees.

My thoughts generalize and regroup again.  Now I am focusing on my children and the lessons that I have taught them. Those lessons both directed and inferred.  Lessons of ethics. Lessons of integrity. Lessons of justice.

I realize that there are many paths in life, I reflect that I have tried to instill in them the values that will allow them to become strong and honorable adults.  Values that places ethics before gain. Values that place integrity before popularity. Values that place justice before complacency.

My thoughts shift back to the trees.  In some ways, those that stand together are protected.  Protected from the wind and the frost. The tree that stands alone does not have those protections, so it must become strong and resilient on its own.  For its efforts, it gets to grow freely, without pressure from its neighbors to conform. However, to grow freely doesn’t mean that it will grow well. Other factors determine this.

Most trees grow together in forests, but an entire forest can be destroyed by the single lighting flash of a thunderstorm. After such a disaster the lone tree is the one that survives, that continues to grow, that ultimately determines the new direction for its species.

My thoughts shift back to my children. I see them as trees standing in a prairie.  Not bending to those around them. Growing strong and able to battle the wind and the frost. I hope my lessons will help them grow well.  However, I can only plant a seed, they will grow as they wish. I cannot determine this.

Standing alone in the prairie.

 

Twenty Characteristics Of A Good Relationship: Acceptance

Twenty Characteristics Of A Good Relationship: Acceptance.

I want what I want when I want it, and I live in a world where that is possible. Eat a steak at 3 AM? Sure, there is a 24-hour restaurant nearby. Buy a pair of shoes on a Sunday evening? No problem, I can even order them from my iPhone. Watch a TV show that I missed? Easy, I’ll just stream it from my smart TV.

I live in an instant gratification world, and so it is easy to think that my wish is everyone’s command. Living in such a self-absorbed space can make me feel special, but it can also make me insensitive to the needs of others. In such an on-demand world it isn’t difficult to imagine that my relationships are also supposed to give me what I want when I want it.

Naturally, I should choose good relationships that I am compatible. However, a relationship involves two individuals, not one. The second party also has needs and wants, and some of those may be contrary to my wishes.When deciding on forming a relationship, it is crucial for me to be willing to accept the person, “as is.” It is not their responsibility to become a chameleon for me.

With that said, a good relationship can involve compromise and change. If I care about someone, I should be willing to alter my behavior as long as that change isn’t contrary to my beliefs or my sense of self. The same is correct about my relationship. I have the right to tell my relationship when something is bothering me about their actions or behaviors. However, they are the ones to decide if they are willing to change their actions, not me.

I realize that unrealistic or one-sided expectations can foretell the demise of my relationships. I need to avoid the “This person is great, but they will need to change (fill in the blank) if they are to going to have a relationship with me,” scenario. Likewise, I will not form a relationship with someone with the idea that I will “fix” them. I know that when I accept my relationships for who they are, we both will be happier. However, I do have a right to be treated as an equal, and my feelings do matter.

I understand that many relationships end because one party demands that the other change in ways that they are not ready or able to change. I also understand that poor relationships can continue to worsen because the participants are unwilling to alter their behaviors when doing so would be beneficial to them and their relationship.

I have to accept that I can only control my actions in a relationship. At times individual needs will not allow us to move our relationship forward. Because of this some of my relationships will end. I accept that not all relationships will last forever. However, by being rationally accepting and not being overly critical of my relationship, I am likely to be rewarded by the benefits that such a connection yields.

A good relationship respects the needs of both parties.

Birthdays, Love, And Sugar-Free Cake

Birthdays, Love, And Sugar-Free Cake
Sugar-free birthday cake

Many years ago I was standing in a very long line. It was the condolence line of my cousin’s husband’s wake. He was only 50-something, tragically killed by a very malignant cancer. Dee’s husband, John, was a successful realtor and a larger than life figure. He was a very large man, with an equally large and jovial personality. He was an extrovert who seemed to know everyone in the western suburbs of Chicago. People liked him.

We waited well over an hour to offer our condolences to my cousin, as the number of mourners was so large that they were overflowing into the parking lot. I stood in line making small talk to the people around me; I was struck with many emotions. Naturally, I was devastated for my cousin and her family. I also felt bad for her deceased husband who was finally starting to reap the rewards of a life of hard work. Ashamedly, I also was feeling sorry for myself.

I have said in other posts that I am relatively shy and an introvert. I form very deep connections with people, but the actual number of connections is small. As I stood in line, I imagined what my wake would look like. Instead of a room overflowing with people I imagined a room of empty chairs. I viewed my worth in what services that I could do for others. I felt that when I was no longer able to provide a service, I would be forgotten, like dust in the wind.

I now discount that belief, but I do think that some residual effects partially fuel my desire to find a second career now that I am retiring. I am a Spiritual person, and I believe that God is active in my life when I allow Him to be. I just celebrated my 65th birthday, and He has been showing me the genuine connections that I do have with people.

He has been allowing me to see that my worth transcends my ability to do things for others. My worth is based on my intrinsic self. The essence of who I am as a person. My strengths, but also my flaws. I am an imperfect person who is always trying to be perfect. The last few days have reminded me that people care about me, warts and all.

Sunday morning my siblings gathered for breakfast at Butterfield’s restaurant. They shared memories of me as they wished me a happy birthday. Later that afternoon my wife and kids went on a photo taking excursion with me. They sat for hours in the car as we drove to Woodstock, IL. No one complained. Sunday night my daughter Kathryn called from Arizona and wished me a happy birthday. Monday I saw my oldest daughter Anne, her partner Chris, and my grandkids. They happily sang along when the waiters at Giordano’s pizza belted out “Happy Birthday To You.”

My friend Tom says he doesn’t believe in celebrating birthdays. Despite this Tom was at my house at 5 AM on my actual birthday day bringing me my morning coffee. He drove in the pouring rain to The Palace in Chicago and bought me breakfast. Afterwards, we took the long way home which allowed us to observe the various and ever-changing neighborhoods of Chicago. I love doing stuff like that. After the neighborhood drive, I was taken on a tour of Berland’s House of Tools. Berland’s is the ultimate toy store for power tools. I love power tools, and Tom has been promising to take me there for over a year. Up and down the aisles we went as he explained to me the various saws, drills, and presses. More coffee, more activities, more conversation; there was even an interesting photography project for me to shoot added into the mix. It is a good thing that Tom doesn’t believe in celebrating birthdays; I was completely overwhelmed by his non-celebrating!

My daughter Grace arrived home from school at 4 PM and immediately started to bake me a sugar-free birthday cake, despite the fact that she was overloaded with homework. My son volunteered to clean up the baking mess. My wife came home from work and made me a homemade dinner of cornflake chicken, mac and cheese, and grilled asparagus. As we sat at the dinner table my family, each told me something that they loved about me.

Add to all of this cards, ecards, emails, text messages, phone calls, and Facebook birthday greetings. I was overwhelmed, and I am still basking in the glow of feeling very much loved and cared for.

I keep striving to be significant. God keeps telling me that I am significant. I am significant because I am who I am. Unique not only because of my talents but also because of my many imperfections. Lovable because of both. It is easy for me to love, I am slowly (but surely) allowing myself to be love. It feels pretty darn good.