Tag Archives: #acceptance of others

Acceptance of others, psychiatry, psychology, psychology/psychiatry

On Psychiatry, Instant Pots, And Me

I have been retired for almost 8 years.  I have achieved most of my life goals, so it is time to finally come out of the closet. 

I have this thing that gives me great joy, and I have deliberately hidden it from others for most of my life.  It is a strange thing that I intuitively knew many would never understand, so let me start at the beginning.

As early as I can remember, I have compared things, usually things that serve a similar function but achieve that function in a slightly different way. I can become so focused on a topic that everything around me fades away, and with each new piece of knowledge, my enjoyment grows.

I remember one of my first obsessive studies was pencils, which started before I entered kindergarten.  Why pencils?  Because I had access to them. I compared them in every way possible.  The quality of the lead. The choice of yellow. The ease of sharpening. The color of the eraser.  How were they made? Why did the designer choose a particular combination of clay and graphite? And on and on. 

When I started primary school, I received a small allowance.  I didn’t buy candy; I saved the money and bought pens, and compared them, just as I did with pencils. It may sound ridiculous to you that such an obsessive focus would give anyone pleasure, but I could get lost in understanding all the ins and outs of a device that, on the surface, was similar but, in reality, was infinite in variation.  

One day during my primary school years, I found myself rooting around the basement of our old, beat-up bungalow, and there I found her.  Bigger than a bread box, dusty and worn, and made of wood.  She was a giant radio, likely designed in the 1930s, eventually moved to our basement workshop, and then forgotten.  Did she still work? I plugged in her frayed power cord and turned the volume control on. It scratched loudly as I turned it up, and a clear hum came out of the speaker, but there was no defined sound.  The dial was a sliderule type, but it had an interesting feature that I had never seen on a table radio: buttons, like on a car radio.  I tried the buttons…nothing. I turned the tuning dial…it didn’t move. What was wrong?  Could I fix it?  I certainly couldn’t break it further, since it was already broken. It became my secret project, and it changed my life.

Radios from those days had huge vacuum tubes and giant components, perfect for me to study, and large enough for me to gain an understanding of design.  The cord that moved the slide rule had long since rotted away, but it was clear that it once followed an intricate set of loops to accomplish its goal.  I started to trace the path, this way…no, that way?. Should it twist around this pole twice, or should it be three times?  Finally, I figured it out, but what could I use to replace the now-dissolved cord? I found my answer in dental floss and fixed the slide rule dial. The buttons also had their own unique way of connecting to the tuner, and those components had rotted away too.  I fabricated new ones from corks.  I borrowed an extension cord, cut off the end, and replaced the old rotting power cord using my father’s soldering iron.  I saw him solder something once, and the process didn’t look too difficult. I found solvents and sandpaper around the house and cleaned the contacts to reduce the auditory scratchiness. I fabricated a new grill cover from a cloth placemat, stripped off the old checkered varnish, and restored the cabinet to its former beauty using cans of stuff that I found in the basement.  All along the way, I started to understand what the various electrical components did, how they worked, and why certain design choices were made.

Finally, my secret project was ready.  I plugged it in, turned it on, and slowly moved my dental floss dial. It worked! Radios in those days were often multi-band.  Not AM and FM, but AM and Shortwave.  What was Shortwave?  I didn’t know. I fashioned a wire antenna from scraps, connected it to the radio’s antenna terminals, and slowly turned the dial.  Beeps, bops, buzzes, then voices.  Some in foreign languages, some in English. It became clear I was listening to other nations’ international stations, many of which broadcast in English. I was hearing signals from thousands of miles away on an ancient radio that I fixed with dental floss, corks, and sandpaper. I was blown away.

Remember, I was young when I did this, which makes the next revelation easier to understand.  As a young kid, I believed what people told me, especially if they were adults. They obviously knew more than I did.  That old radio changed all of that.  I listened to news programs from other countries, and their reporting often contradicted the US stations. I listened to their variety shows, their music, their educational programs.  There was a similarity, but also a difference, just like the pencils, just like the pens. Alike, yet not alike.

That old radio made me abandon the idea that there was only one way of thinking. I could not rely only on others’ thinking; I had to think critically. That old broken radio that I fixed in 3rd grade changed me for the rest of my life.

I started finding broken radios and fixed them. Then I built my own. Then I saved up and bought radios. My collection followed the same pattern as my pencils and pens.  How were they different?  How were they the same? What designs were core to the base product? Where could creativity be exercised in the design? Why did the engineer decide to go with this circuit? Why did the industrial designer choose that particular color for the case? It almost gave me a high feeling the deeper I got into the weeds.  To be honest, not almost; it did.

None of my friends talked about things like that, and intuitively I knew I would be looked at unfavorably if I shared these obsessions with them, so I didn’t. It was easy to model conversations and actions by simple observation, so that is exactly what I did, and I fitted in. I looked and acted like my peers, and they accepted me, but I always felt different and always feared I would be found out. They would discover my weird quirks and reject me, so I worked hard to keep my secrets.

Being good at science was acceptable, so I became the science kid in grade school. The nuns thought I was special, and even praised me. They told my parents that God had special plans for me. The other kids were OK with my knowledge of science.  I learned that you sometimes could be different, but those differences had to follow certain rules. I was succeeding at fitting in, then puberty hit in 6th grade, and everything changed.

To this day, I don’t know why it happened, but in a very short amount of time, I went from being a little husky to being over 100 pounds overweight. I was horrified.  It was easy to hide my many differences, but this was one no amount of subterfuge could mask. 

I was now a clear target to be picked on, but my peers never did. I don’t mean to constantly say negative things about my dad, but he was definitely a source of shame and humiliation around my obesity. The words that he used to describe me still make me tear up when I think of them.  The only other critical person was, surprisingly, an aunt. Her son was also overweight, and for some reason she needed to know which one of us was fatter.  I remember that one time she made me try on his belts, but the worst incident was during a sleepover where, despite my protests, she weighed me in front of her entire family.  I will never forget that humiliation.  

I found a little booklet at the grocery checkout called The Drinking Man’s Diet,  and bought it for 35 cents.  It was a precursor to all the low-carbohydrate diets being hawked today.  I started to diet in earnest, and between the end of 7th grade and the middle of 8th grade, I lost 100 pounds and became a family celebrity and diet guru. Slowly, I regained the weight, and over my life I have lost around 100 pounds 5 different times, plus countless smaller weight losses.  Twenty years ago, I spent $20,000.00 of my own money to get a gastric band placed.  I lost a little weight and then gained it back, and the side effects of that useless surgery still haunt me to this very day. Like everything else in my life, I became an expert in all manner of dieting.  Low carb, high fiber, the exchange diet,  Weight Watchers, Nutrisystem, Jenny Craig, you name it.  Right now, my weight is fairly normal, but I work hard at it. I don’t want to be judged because of my weight; I just want to be accepted for who I am.  Honestly, this is an internal struggle. People do seem to accept me; I’ve kept friends for decades, some going on 60 years. My wife has told me she prefers me a little chunky, so I know this is a personal fear that goes beyond reality. 

My compulsive comparing of things has continued.  In the last few years, I have been buying bread makers for $5-$20 at thrift stores, and I have quite a few. I have studied them, their similarities and differences.  I have written about them.  I use them. I make my own bread, and after every few loaves I’ll switch to a different machine.  It sounds absolutely crazy, but it makes me happy.

I love simple machines because they’re easy to understand, and they all follow a similar yet different design concept. Most recently, I have been picking up electric pressure cookers at thrift stores.  The most famous of these devices is the Instant Pot, but many others are similar inside yet differ in their programming and design choices. The Instant Pot fad has faded, and all sorts of machines are available for a few dollars at thrift stores and online sources like Marketplace.  I have been going through my usual comparisons. It sounds weird even as I write this, but this is who I am. I’m similar to most people, but I’m also different. 

I know this is what drove me into science: to see how things are similar, yet different, and this is what also pushed me into psychiatry. 

We are all similar, yet we are not the same.  My life experience as a white, privileged doctor is very different from that of a black man raised on the West Side of Chicago. We likely share many things.  We want to advance our lives, raise our children to become successful adults, and live in a safe neighborhood.  Yet, our experiences make us different too, and that is OK. We still share many common links.

A large portion of my doctor work deliberately focused on the underserved. These were often the most mentally ill clients who, due to their mental illness, had the fewest resources.  I split this work with my private practice in an affluent suburb of Chicago. Two very different populations. Different, yet the same.

I think being different has helped me understand others. I can find commonality while accepting their differences.

What a privilege my work life was.  I got to intimately know people from all races, religions, sexual orientations, political beliefs, and genders. All different, but the same.

The same joins us, and the different enriches and broadens us. Why can’t people see that? Why is it so easy to hate, and so hard to love?

I was different, but I could hide it until I gained 100 pounds. Yet, even then, I was the same.  That difference made me more empathetic, a critical thinker, and a problem solver.  It turned out to be a positive in my life, even though I always thought it was a negative.

Together we are stronger.  Don’t let others manipulate you to think otherwise.

Peace

Mike

psychology/psychiatry, Uncategorized

The Wedding

I went to a wedding last weekend.  I had not been to a wedding in several years, so I really enjoyed the event.  It was a typical wedding in every way, but it had some nice additions that made it extra special.  I have been friends with the parents of the bride for many decades.  The venue was trendy and cool.  The bride was stunning, and the groom was handsome. There were flowers everywhere.  The officiant knew the couple and had warm and touching things to say about both of them.  The reception dinner was elegant, with tables loaded with candles and flowers. I would say that the food was definitely a notch above typical banquet fare, and the dessert table was yummy.  Everyone was wearing their wedding finest, and it was clear that every single person that I observed was having a fabulous time.  For me, it was nice to talk to new people, all of whom were friendly and engaging. In summary, the wedding was a blast.

So why am I writing this? I didn’t quite describe the entire event in the first paragraph.  I’m a psychiatrist, a trained and expert observer. Let me tell you a bit more about the wedding.  The bride’s parents are Lithuanian and Polish, respectively. They adopted their son and then their daughter (the bride) from Korea as infants. The groom was Mexican.  The maid of honor was White; the best man was Mexican.  The adorable ring bearer was Mexican; the three cute flower girls were Black, Mexican, and Korean/Caucasian. I’m guessing the officiant’s heritage was Asian Pacific.  One “reader” was Black, and another was White.  

There were over 100 guests, who were also quite diverse. I was part of the old codger group.  The six of us have known each other for decades.  The group consisted of a retired policeman, a retired hospital clerk, a retired elementary school teacher, a retired school psychologist, a retired psychiatrist (that would be me), and a clinical psychologist (my wife).  

The bride holds a PhD and is a university professor, the groom works in advertising.  Several of the attendees looked as if they might have been her teachers and advisors from her PhD program.  Racially, the group was as diverse as the wedding party.  There were families, couples, singles, and single parents with their young children. Many of the younger guests were sporting tattoos.  There were gay couples and straight couples, and one person who was possibly trans. One woman was wearing a hijab.

We attended the wedding ceremony at the reception venue, which was a great room divided by a gigantic curtain.  As the newly married couple marched down the aisle the curtain was opened revealing an 8-piece Mariachi band playing hard and loud.  The unexpected music actually gave me chills up my spine. The attendees followed into the front half of the room for post wedding cocktails, and socializing. Everyone was chatty and excited.

The curtain was reestablished blocking off the wedding portion of the room to allow the staff to break down the folding chairs used in the ceremony, and to set up elegant dining tables for the wedding dinner. When they completed their task we were shuffled to our tables for a gourmet meal.  Then it was time for  DJ music and dancing. The attendees exhibited great enthusiasm with their dancing.  However, none will be receiving contracts from a Broadway producer based on their overall performance. It was an absolutely delightful evening, fully enjoyable.

I am writing this post to illustrate the group’s diversity.  Multiple races, multiple religions, multiple ages, multiple types of families, multiple personal styles (conservative to tattooed), multiple sexual orientations, and possibly even a trans person, and it didn’t make a single difference.  We were all much more similar than dissimilar. We were all doing our best to look good and to celebrate with the newly married couple.  Everyone that I talked to was chatty, sociable, and interesting.  We all (as far as I could tell) were having a great time.  There was no drama, and why would there be? People connected with others based on their personal interactions rather than the color of their skin or their sexual orientation. No one tried to convert another person to their political beliefs, sexual orientation, or personal ideology. Do I even need to say that?  I guess I do when our politicians claim that your kindergarten-aged kid will go to school as a boy and come back as a girl.  Nothing like those who are supposed to protect us, who are instead trying to fill us with fear and hate of others.

 Currently, our country is going through an identity crisis.  We were once a nation that was proud to be a melting pot.  Yes, there were always times of prejudice.  The Irish, the Italians, the Jews, the Japanese,  the Blacks, etc.  But we got through those times, and it felt like we were finally moving towards a society that judged people on their merits, not on arbitrary identifiers.  How shameful it is that we have regressed back to a time when it seems that the only acceptable person is white, protestant, and male.  What a disservice to our country, and to our future generations.  Diversity leads to greater strength. This wedding was a melting pot of individuals; a meeting place that required no other effort than acceptance and the realization that we are all much more alike than we are different.  Our country needs to learn this lesson and move forward.  Otherwise, we will become an also-ran nation, like other countries and empires that have come and gone before us.

Peace,

Mike

I’m including a few wedding shots, but for privacy reasons I’m not including any photos of the wedding party or guests. 

This Rolls was waiting outside of the venue.

When the newly married couple walked down the aisle the great curtain was opened to reveal a Mariachi band playing hard and loud. It gave me chills up my spine.

The chairs from the wedding ceremony were removed and in their place were elegant dining tables.

Good relationships

My Friend, Tom

I’m a planner who projects multiple scenarios into the future and then plots the best course of action.  That sometimes works out well for me.  However, some of the best decisions that I have made were based on a feeling, and those feelings were often contrary to my best laid plans.  Strange, don’t you think?

I’m a person who loves being in my head.  It gives me pleasure to dive deeply into obscure topics. I can sit and think or write for hours and completely lose myself.  I’m not anti-social. I have to have my alone time, but I also need to have people in my life. I am beyond fortunate to have an immediate family who loves me, extended family who are awesome, and true friends who I know will stand by my side no matter what.  However, I’m not a person who values volume over quality.  I have never needed to be the most popular kid on the block.  In fact, that would be too much for me as it would take away my thinking time, which I value greatly. 

I met Tom 13 years ago when he replaced a roof that another contractor botched.  It was a short time together, perhaps a week, but I instantly liked him.  Two years later we needed our bathrooms remodeled and I called Tom and two other contractors.  Tom was the first one to estimate the job and against the logic of getting at least three quotes, I hired him on the spot.  

During those days I was able to do tele-medicine two to three days a week from my home, so I was constantly running into Tom and we would talk.  Tom is exceedingly bright and very creative, so it was always a pleasure. I think the whole project lasted around 6 weeks and I found myself in a quandary.  I was really going to miss our chats, but what to do?  Dear readers, I never pursue friendships, not because I think I’m so great, rather because I’m a bit of an odd duck.  I am intense, committed, and very loyal. I think that I can be (unintentionally) a bit intimidating. That can be a bit much for someone who just wants a friend to drink beer with. My friends accept me and embrace those quirks, but not everyone can do that.  That is why I always let a person make the first (or third) move before I’m certain that they want to connect.  That was not the case with Tom.

As the job completed I sat Tom down and formally asked him if he would consider being my friend.  It was super awkward, and I was super awkward. Tom looked at me and said, “Yes.” I had a sense of relief followed by a lot of self-doubt.  The next day when I was working I would have flashes of Tom laughing with his construction buddies about that crazy guy who asked him to be his friend.  Of course, that did not happen, but I had just done something that put me into a very vulnerable position, and if you know me you know that I never do that intentionally. 

Tom and I are completely alike and completely different at the same time.  We both like to get into the weeds when thinking about ideas.  We both like to figure out creative solutions to problems.  We both tend to marvel at things that most others would ignore.  Yet, we are different.  Tom is very spontaneous, where I’m plodding.  Tom tends to be pretty free with money, where I’m the guy who saves for the future.  When Tom bought a pickup truck it was well over 6 figures.  When I needed to replace a car I bought a sedan that was a demo with 4K miles already on it so I could save around 20% off the sticker price.  

Often, our differences have benefited each other.  Tom is an expert in all things mechanical.  I’m an expert (sort of) in many technical things. As a doctor, I have extensive medical knowledge, and as a psychiatrist, I understand psychological topics, such as marketing and how to deal with difficult individuals. We are constantly helping each other, and that is a very new feeling for me. I have always been the person people came to for help.  You have no idea how great it is for me to ask someone else for help, especially someone who has expertise in areas where I don’t. 

Recently, our sunroom was leaking when it rained heavily. I knew that I needed to get up on a ladder to assess the problem.  However, I am very uncomfortable being on a ladder, and that feeling has only worsened as I have gotten older and less steady.  I asked Tom if he would give it a look and an opinion so I would have at least some knowledge before dealing with a roofer. Tom did this and said that the problem wasn’t the roof, it was the junction between the house and the sunroom.  That was great news, and I thanked him.

This morning, Tom showed up with tools and caulk.  Thirty minutes later, the job was done.  Who knows what a roofer would have recommended or charged?  How great it is to know someone who “knows.” I tried to thank him and offered to take him out to lunch.  Tom just shrugged and said he had other things he needed to do. 

As I sit and write this, I am so grateful for those around me who accept and love me for who I am.  We live in a society where success is measured by the square footage of your house, the branding on your car, the numbers on your paycheck, and the title of your job.  How silly that is.  For me, success is mattering to others and having them matter to me.  Why is it that we have become a country where hate of others is celebrated, and acceptance of others is considered a weakness? It makes no sense to me.  I’m glad I took a risk and embarrassed myself by asking Tom to be my friend.  It was one of the best decisions that I have made. I think both of our lives are better because of our connection. Life is short; sprinkle others with kindness, not hate. Differences can be a strength, not a weakness.  On the surface, Tom and I are very different.  Underneath, we are very much the same; all we had to do was take the time to look.

Peace

Mike

Tom, patching the junction between my sunroom and house.

Tom and his son on a camping trip that we took together.

Julie enjoying one of Tom’s famous tacos.

On the job.

I’ll often grab a professional camera (I’m a photographer too) and shoot some of Tom’s finished jobs so he can use them in marketing. I took this artsy shot during one of those shoots.