Category: Emotions

Just Keep Going

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment
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We’ve all known people who are sad sacks. They view life through a negative lens. When things don’t go their way, they blame themselves or perhaps their lot in life. On the the other hand we know people that we would describe as being optimists. They encounter just as many disappointments as the rest of us, but they remain positive by finding important lessons to be learned or they see a disheartening event as providing potential for growth. When we look at each type of person we find ourselves wondering how there might be such differences between people. We prefer the cheeriness of optimism, but worry that perhaps each of us is endowed with a set of immutable personality traits that determine our reactions to life’s ups and downs. It feels as though we are somehow the victims of fate rather than the captains of our own souls. 

The truth is that both optimism and pessimism are learned traits, barring chemical imbalances, brain disorders and injuries or mental illness. It is possible for any of us to become more positive if we focus on a few simple practices to assess both the successes and failures that we experience. I’ll use a couple of examples to illustrate how this works.

When I was in high school I ran for Student Body Secretary against two other classmates. We each campaigned for a week, restricted by certain guidelines as to what tactics we might use and how much we were allowed to spend. At the end of the period each of us spoke to the assembled students outlining reasons why they should vote for us, and describing our plans for improving the school. That afternoon everyone voted. I lost and will never know how badly because the actual tabulation of the votes was secret.

If I had reacted pessimistically I might have charged that the rules were unfair and that I had somehow been slighted. Even worse, I may have felt that the defeat was a sign that my peers disliked me. I would have questioned myself and my own self worth. I might even have sworn never again to submit myself to such humiliation, after all during the campaigning a boy had insisted that nobody liked me and that I didn’t have a chance of winning. I might have believed that he had been right.

Instead I chose to be a bit more optimistic about my loss. I was surely disappointed and even a bit saddened that I did not win, that was only natural. Nonetheless, I understood that the two individuals who had run against me were extremely accomplished and even a bit more well known in the school at large. They were good people who undoubtedly attracted the support of many members of the student body. It wasn’t that I was somehow worthless, only that I didn’t quite garner as much support that I needed. I had to pat myself on the back for even trying because it was scary to stand in front of everyone and open myself up to criticism. It was a learning experience for me on many, many levels. I have never regretted my decision to run, and I believe that I actually entered adult life with a bit of an advantage over my peers because I had learned how to compete and how to gracefully accept the disappointments that were sure to come now and again.

My grandson who is a runner has also exhibited the classic traits of an optimist during this year’s cross country season. He had become accustomed to landing in the top rung in competitions, but this year he has been challenged by a team from a school that is consistently taking the prizes. He has found himself just behind them again and again, but instead of hanging his head and speaking of unfairness or wondering if he had overestimated his own abilities he decided to compete with himself. His goal was to keep bettering his own time and thereby inch closer and closer to being in the winner’s circle once again. He has developed a friendship with a runner from another school and the two of them push each other in the races. It’s become their way of improving. What had begun as a frustrating season is now beginning to show progress, mostly because my grandson refused to wallow in pessimism  and instead focused on the things that he had been doing right. He worked on perfecting his strengths rather than worrying about his weaknesses and he is doing better with each passing week. Given that he is only a sophomore, it seems certain that he will be doing great things by the time he is a senior if he keeps up his positive attitude.

We know that being optimistic is a healthy way to be. It makes life easier all the way around, but what are the characteristics that we might learn to use as we go through the ups and downs of our lives?

First, and perhaps most importantly, in a bad situation optimists look for the things that went well, rather than dwelling on mistakes. They are able to pinpoint the good aspects of even a disaster. They also use failures as learning opportunities, ways to improve in the future. They do not take rejections personally either. In other words they don’t obsessively wonder what is wrong with themselves. They understand that sometimes we just can’t quite achieve as well as we might like to do, but if we make small changes here and there we will surely improve. For this reason they tend not to give up. They pick themselves up and try again and again. They also realize that each of us is a bit imperfect and that bad things sometimes happen to good people. They don’t dwell on the negativity or over analyze the bad aspects of an event. They have a healthy relationship with themselves and don’t allow others to intimidate them into feeling inadequate. They are able to take note of all of the blessings that they most surely have.

It would be worth practicing optimism as often as possible. There are certainly times when we deserve and honest critique and we would do well to grow from it. The trick is not to become so obsessed with an idea that we are fated for bad luck or that we are so damaged that we are somehow unworthy of happiness and success. Whenever we find ourselves falling into a kind of pity party, it’s time to consciously reflect instead on all that we know is good. When we do that we will generally find ourselves laughing again, and ready to just keep going.

Listening to the Stories

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment
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My grandson recently wrote a paper for his Pre-AP English class and asked me to critique it before he turned it in to his teacher. He discussed stereotyping and the human tendency to form biases based on the limitations of personal experiences and perceptions. In his piece he quoted author, Chimamanda Adichie, and her comments from a TED talk which she called The Danger of a Single Story. Ms. Adichie noted that as she was growing up she was an avid reader of British novels which she enjoyed even though she had always lived in Nigeria and was often unable to even imagine some of the cultural aspects about which she read. When she attempted to begin her own writing career she often mimicked the style from the novels she had so loved, but because she had never actually experienced such things her writing was artificial. It was only after she discovered African authors that she realized that there was indeed a place and a need for the thoughts of an African woman.

Ms. Adichie understood not only that in limiting her own story she had not been real, but also that others continue to see people of Africa from stereotypical perspectives just as her college roommate did. When Ms. Adichie arrived at an American university the young woman with whom she would share living quarters was shocked that Ms. Adichie spoke perfect English and was already so well educated. In fact, Ms. Adichie’s father was a college professor and her family lived an affluent middle class lifestyle in Nigeria complete with servants. In an interesting twist, Ms. Adichie admitted to her own prejudices by telling of a young man who worked for her family whom she thought of as being poor and somewhat ignorant. Over time she learned that while his family had very little in terms of wealth or possessions, they nonetheless had amazing artistic abilities.

It seems that each of us is sometimes guilty of seeing other people with whom we are unfamiliar through the lens of a single story. For example, we may watch a war torn nation in the Middle East and think of all such places as being chaotic and violent. We may make the mistake of presuming that the people who live there have the same characteristics, and we place them into a kind of caricature of who they really are. If we think that a particular place is dangerous, then we may be suspicious anyone who lives there. It is a kind of protective mechanism that we assume, but it also leads to thinking that puts whole groups of people into unfair categories that are mostly incorrect.

I found myself really thinking about this and wondering how many of the world’s problems are actually caused by this idea of clinging to a single story based on our own beliefs and feelings rather than attempting to truly understand how and why other people are reaching different conclusions form our own. I was reminded of my teaching days when I found success in reaching the hearts and minds of my students whenever I was willing to truly understand them. That meant suspending all of my preconceived notions and then helping them to surrender theirs as well. Once we met each other from the perspective of truly respecting our differences we made progress in building  meaningful and mutually satisfying relationships.

I think of so many problems in our current divisive political climate that will never be fully resolved until we are ready and willing to get the whole story from every side without insisting that we already know who is right and who is wrong. We have to be willing to read and listen and learn. When someone has a point of view that bothers us, our question should not be, “How can you be that way?” but rather “Tell me why you feel that way? I truly want to understand.” It is critical to the health of the world that we do our best to see the whys and wherefores of different cultures and then allow and celebrate the diversity of thoughts and customs. The only reason for demonstrating disdain for another person should be when it becomes clear that he/she is dangerous and evil. Otherwise it would behoove us to learn as much about the people and places that puzzle us as possible. Most of the time there are very good reasons why each individual is the way he/she is.

As humans we have certain ways of coping that are somewhat universal. We tend to ally ourselves with groups and people who appear to be much like ourselves, and often fear those whom we do not understand. We can break down barriers only if we are willing to suspend judgement and see through the other person’s eyes. Doing so make life better for everyone.

As my grandson noted in his essay each of us is different and special in many ways. Until we take full advantage of every opportunity to broaden our experiences by opening our minds and our hearts most especially to people that we can’t quite understand, the specter of the many “isms” that plague societies will continue to fester. So, the next time you find yourself feeling uncomfortable about anyone, take a moment to find out more about them. Try to truly understand how they came to adopt a certain point of view. Listen not to reply or argue, but only to learn. Really hear the stories. They are as exciting and enlightening as a great book.

  

A Brilliant Choice

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment
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On this day in 1968, my husband Mike and I pledged to love, honor and cherish each other for the rest of our lives. For fifty years we have steadfastly done our best to live by the standards of our pledge, but in truth being married for five decades has required far more than adherence to a promise. The two of us are best friends in every sense of what that concept may mean. We enjoy being together and sharing our lives both as individuals and as a couple. We have certainly grown during our five decades together, and become even better as a team than we might have been alone.

I was nineteen years old when I walked down the aisle. My mother had to sign a document giving permission for me to marry. I was as naive as anyone might be when entering such a serious contract with another person, but I was dead certain that Mike and I had a very special relationship that was centered on love. I have often been reluctant to take a firm position of belief during my lifetime, but on the Friday evening when I walked down the aisle of Our Lady of Mt. Carmel Catholic Church I had no doubt that I was doing exactly what I was meant to do. Somehow it seemed as though the heavens themselves had aligned to bring me and Mike together, and I was unafraid to take the grand leap of faith that binds two people together for eternity.

We were joined by friends and family for our celebration. The church was gloriously bathed in light as Mike stood at the front of the church. The organ began to boom accompanied by the crystal clear sounds of a trumpet and my bridesmaids, Susan, Nancy and Ingrid made their way slowly toward the altar along with the groomsmen, James, Jack and Alan. When it was my turn I held on tightly to my brother Michael’s arm thinking of how proud I was that he was doing such a grand job of standing in for what might have been my father’s duty. I was lightheaded, giddy and nervous but mostly ecstatically happy. Admittedly once I reached the front of the church and stood next to Mike much of the rest of the ceremony became a blur. I recall the homily with clarity and I can still hear Mrs. McKenna’s beautiful soprano voice as she sang Ave Maria, but mostly I remember how secure I felt just being with Mike.

Our reception was a simple affair as most of them tended to be back then. We gathered in the Parish Hall and feasted on cake, punch and finger sandwiches. Mike and I greeted our guests and did all of the traditional tasks of cutting the cake, throwing out the garter and bouquet, and running under a hail of rice as we rushed to our car which was decorated with shaving cream and streamers of tin cans. Then we were off to our honeymoon in New Orleans and a life filled with challenges and good times.

We certainly did our best to be loving and honest and supportive of one another over the years. Our intentions were put to the test less than a year after we had married when my mother had the first of her mental breakdowns. It was such a strain that it might have broken our bonds, but Mike would prove to be my rock, my foundation, my support. It was a role that he would so lovingly assume over and over again whether during the times when I was caring for my mom or when I got ideas about degrees that I wanted to attain or work that I wanted to do. Mostly he was always and forever my sounding board. A voice of wisdom and concern on whom I knew that I might depend.

Our joy with one another only grew over the years as we were blessed with two daughters. We had a happy little family that was made better and stronger by the friends and family members who shared our child rearing years. I doubt that we would have been nearly as successful in our efforts had it not been for them. We had fun and exchanged concerns and sometimes even shed a tear or two together. Our circle became bound to an ever growing number of incredible people who were critical to our own matrimonial success.

Before we were even able to catch our breaths our daughters were leaving to begin families of their own. Our nest was empty and we began to enjoy the quiet contentment of just doing simple things with each other like sharing a passage from a book or laughing over a funny movie. We worked hard and together found solutions to the inevitable problems that enter every life. We centered our focus on God, family and friends. We lost loved ones and met new and wonderful individuals. The sun rose and it set through one day, one year, one decade after another.

We have weathered many a storm and celebrated even more joys. Our love has been the constant in our lives along with the people who shared our journey. We have seven grandchildren who are our pride and joy. Our daughters are as good as we had hoped we might teach them to be and they are married to very fine men. We are quite content with the story that we have created together. We know that not everyday will be sunny, but we have somehow always managed to weather the storms.

Joining our lives together fifty years ago was the very best thing that either of us have ever done. Together we are stronger than we might ever have been alone. We know that our family and our friends have also been part the success that we have enjoyed. I thank God every single day that we made that brilliant choice on October 4, 1968.

Good Fortune

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment
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From September until the end of December I have always been deliriously happy. It somehow seems to be the best time of year for me. Six of my seven grandchildren were born in those months. My own birthday is in November and I was married in October. Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas are all celebratory times for me when I have the pleasure of being with family and friends. It’s difficult to dull my joy at this time of year, and yet I have also lost some of the most significant people in my life in the midst of all of my merrymaking. Those moments have been brutally difficult, causing me to just go through the motions of events that normally would have made me ecstatic.

Back in 2001, not long after the collapse of the Twin Towers I was already feeling quite distraught when my husband’s best friend, Egon, died suddenly from a heart attack. He had come into our lives when we were all quite young, and over time he was more like a brother than a friend. He had come from Germany to study at the University of Houston  where he eventually met the woman who would become his wife. His journeys back to his homeland would be only to visit his parents. Houston would become his new home, and he enjoyed bragging that he was not born in Texas, but had come as soon as it was possible.

Egon was a brilliant man with an astounding memory and an uncanny  ability to spin a story with vivid detail. His conversations were filled with information and insights. We often listened to him for hours on end, marveling at his ability to recall facts and describe ideas with such clarity. He would have been a remarkable college professor, but went into a career in sales instead where his skills in noting small details made him a super star. His death hit us quite hard and created a kind of emptiness in our lives that still lingers even seventeen years later.

Around the same time only a few years later my mother-in-law had a stroke that left her in a coma from which she never emerged. It was a major blow to all of us, and for me it represented losing perhaps the major source of wisdom upon which I had relied as an adult. I still long for the chats that she and I had on Sunday afternoons over a warm pot of tea. Perhaps that is why to this day drinking a cup of the brew brings me such comfort.

My mother-in-law was the kind of intellectual and confident woman who might have held court with the cafe society of Paris that included some of the world’s greatest thinkers, writers and artists. She was not just well read, but someone who was analytical and able to advance her opinions and thoughts with a persuasiveness and encyclopedic knowledge that few possess. She was the person who was able to provide me with solutions and serenity whenever I faced problems. She left a huge hole in our family that has never been properly filled.

A few years back my cousin, Jack, died from heart failure. He was a year younger than I am and it seemed rather unfair to lose him so soon. He and I were quite close when we were growing up. So many of my fondest memories of childhood were spent at his side. When I think of fun, his image almost always comes to my mind. He loved a good joke and always had the most delightfully impish smile, even in his final days when his health was failing him.

Jack was such a good man that my cousins and I joke that he is surely a saint, someone to whom we might send our prayers and petitions. He was kind and generous and loved. He was most certainly the best of us with his faithfulness and quiet ways of making us all laugh even when we were feeling down.

Last year, again at around this time, our dear friend, Bill, died. I had always said that Bill should have had his own talk show. He was incredibly entertaining as he spoke of books that he had read, trips that he had taken, or just expounded his political views. He had led a quite interesting life that took him from Detroit, Michigan all the way to NASA in Houston, Texas. He was a pioneer in the computer industry, and one of the bright young men chosen to help send humans into space.

After his wife died Bill liked to come by our house unannounced. He’d ring the doorbell in the middle of the day and then regale us for hours  with tales of his current adventures. I liked nothing better than to set aside my routines and just enjoy his visits. He is yet another person who was not just quite interesting, but also terrifically wise. There was something about him that made the world seem a bit more steady than it otherwise might have been.

I think of these remarkable people with a bit of sorrow, but I also celebrate the memories that I made with them. Those will never go away. They are tucked away so close to my heart that I am able to retrieve them anytime that I need a smile. I choose to celebrate my good fortune in having known them rather than focusing on the sadness of no longer expecting to spend a glorious afternoon or evening with them. I am one of the lucky ones who was close to them. I rejoice in my good fortune, even as I celebrate the season.

A Good Night’s Sleep

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment
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I used to have rather vivid dreams with tons of details that I was able to remember. Of late I know that I dream because I have memories of some kind of story playing out in my brain just before I awake, but I literally can’t recall a thing about what was happening. I began to worry that perhaps there was something wrong with my inability to relive my nocturnal adventures in the light of day, so I did a bit of research. I surprisingly found that we humans are more likely to have recollections of our dreams when we are feeling generally anxious or stressed. The fact that I am less able to outline the details of what has occupied my mind during my slumbers is actually an indication that I’m feeling rather relaxed about my life these days.

It came as a relief to learn that I have not lost my creativity or otherwise become forgetful simply because I wake up unable to devoid of knowledge about my dreams. Based on my research it seems as though I must have been under a great deal of pressure at various times in the past because I am still able to tell about nighttime visions from other times that were quite remarkable in their clarity. There are even a couple of them that recurred so often that I have sometimes wondered if they contain some element of reality that I have as yet been able to piece together. At the very least there may be some symbolism related to the worries that I must have had whenever they haunted me while I slept.

Two of my most frequent dreams were so real that to this day I find myself wondering if the events in them may have actually occurred in some form. I have spent a great deal of time trying to relate them to something that I once did. So far I have been unable to view them as anything other than a kind of nightmarish tendency of the brain to work out my daytime concerns with a nighttime rerun.

In one dream I drive up to an unnamed school that looks familiar and yet I don’t actually know where it is. I immediately go to a large theater where an expert is conducting a seminar. I listen intently to the lecture which is rather dry, but for some strange reason I feel uneasy about it. Each time I arise in the morning after having this dream I feel drained and uncomfortable as though there is some hidden message inside its content that I need to uncover, but that revelation never comes to me. I haven’t even been able to tie its symbolism to anything concrete other than a kind of vague feeling that I have somehow left something undone in my life. Perhaps I will never figure it out, and maybe I don’t even need to do so.

In the other dream I am walking through a beautifully landscaped area when I see a lovely little bungalow that seems to invite me inside even though I don’t know whose home it is. There are roses growing near the entryway and lights glow in the windows. The first room that I see is warm and cozy with big overstuffed chairs, a Persian rug and a fireplace with a warm and aromatic fire. I feel happy there and want to sit down and stay for a time, but I see a staircase and my curiosity gets the best of me. I climb eagerly at first but the area is narrow and grows darker and more foreboding as I near the top. My heart begins to beat inside my throat and while I want to run away I keep inching slowly forward. When I finally arrive at the upstairs landing I see a large single room that runs the entire length of the house. The crazy thing is that the area even exists, because when I first approached the place it appeared to be a single story home, so I am confused about how this room came to be. Inside are many twin beds that seem to indicate that it is a kind of dormitory, or the sleeping quarters of a very large family. Each bed is neatly made and there is no sign of any kind of decoration. The inviting aspect of the downstairs is missing from the sterile environment of the upper room. It feels as though something terrible is going to happen there.

While I am gazing at the scene in confusion and disbelief I see the shadowy figure of a person in the far corner. I become intensely fearful and yet I am unable to flee. I stand frozen in place watching like a caged little bird. It is so dark that I cannot make out the features of the individual to determine if it is a man or a woman, someone young or old. Just as I think my vision has adjusted enough for me to finally draw some conclusions I always wake up feeling exhausted and shaken for reason unknown to me.

This dream has come to me decade after decade and has so many details that I always believe that if I were just once able to finally view the face of the figure in corner everything might become clear to me. For some reason it feels all too terribly real and yet I know for certain that I have never seen such a house before. My mind is playing a trick on me just as dreams often do.

There are psychologists who believe that dreams hold keys to our personalities and individuals who specialize in interpreting them. I sometimes think it would be fun to find out what these sorts think might be the reasons for the repetitions that have come to me again and again. Most of my dreams are easy to understand. I run from some danger in many of them. I am in a cave surrounded by snakes in another. I am perched on a trapeze high above the world wondering how I am going to get down. In some I am back in school as a student and I learn that I have forgotten to turn in a critical assignment and my degrees are stripped from me. These are garden variety nightmares that speak to my past stresses. I have never thought of them as being real as I do with the ones that I described above.

I suppose that I’ll just accept that at least for now I am so relaxed that my nights are uneventful. It’s nice to arise feeling refreshed rather than as though I have been on a battlefield all night long. Nonetheless, I wonder if those dreams actually hold the keys to better  understanding ourselves. Perhaps in unlocking their secrets I might actually become a better version of myself. It’s a fun idea but for now I’m content with a good night’s sleep.