Warren Buffett, the "Go to Hell" Pause and the Burn

David Brooks recent graduation like-hacks column was full of interesting tidbits like 

Job interviews are not really about you. They are about the employer’s needs and how you can fill them.

and

Anything you say before the word “but” does not count.

This is the one I've most taken to heart:

              You can always tell someone to go to hell tomorrow.

This quotation from Warren Buffett has saved my bacon and reduced my blood pressure. I have recently been working on pausing as a way to reduce my reactivity to difficult situations.

This phrase immediately calms me down, because I know I am going to force myself to wait to tell someone off. This gives me time to think, ponder and pray on what I should do before acting. I still stand up for myself, and in a far more reasonable way. This pause helps me to be honest with myself about what is bothering me. I figure out what is my part before I haul off and tell someone where to put it. Is the other person a louse, or do I have a hard time trusting someone's good intentions? When I am calm and more rational, I see things more clearly, especially after the first wave of anger clears.

In recent weeks, I got an email that upset me. No, it completely pissed me off. I was livid, outraged. I read it and wrote a nasty reply. I deleted the nasty reply and I wrote another nasty reply. I fumed all the next morning about it, but I had other things going on so I was distracted. When I looked at the email again in the afternoon, I saw it in a different light. What I had first thought was horrendous wasn't so bad. The following day, I was rational. There were a few things that I needed to mention that were off, for sure, but I calmly explained my concerns instead of going off like an unhinged psycho. Without two days to pause, I might have destroyed a working relationship that was otherwise going well. I was able to save it by not being a lunatic. And I got my points across.

The other lovely thing about this idea is that I am not dismissing my initial anger, or stuffing it down. I am turning the anger burner down from boil to simmer. I know I am mad and upset, but I am not going to act out in anger. I will act once the initial anger is at a reasonable temperature, and no one gets burned.

Shelter

Last night, I found an amazing meditation on finding an emotional shelter in the storm, protecting ourselves when in crisis.

I imagined my shelter was a little open hut in the deep and wild woods of the Pacific Northwest, and it was protecting me from a downpour. The idea of the shelter is that it is bigger than you, reliable (always there) and safe (will keep you protected). My little shelter was propped up again a giant cedar.

I remember when I was a kid I loved thunderstorms when I lived in Chicago. I stand and look out my window and watch it pour. In St. Louis, I was stand on the porch. I loved the noise, the clean smell of the air. I loved the heat rising. I loved seeing the power of nature, lashing out, then calming.

It was also easier to love the storm while I was safely protected from it. The storm wasn't getting me wet--unless I intentionally went out in it. I was close enough, but not directly involved or impacted. 

I am learning to build my own emotional shelter, to protect me from the drama and trials of life. When I build my shelter and protect myself, I can see the beauty in things where I otherwise might be afraid.

I think about parenthood and wonder how I have served as a shelter to people in my life, especially my children. The goal wasn't to protect from all of the storms, but to teach them how to make their own shelter to protect themselves, teaching them by example. I am not sure I did a good job of that when they were younger. I didn't even know how to make a shelter for myself. 

I am learning.

Bread Hangover

Y'all are gonna hate hearing about my pre-diabetes pretty soon, but that is okay. I hate having it.

So yeah. Bread is now my bourbon. 

(Not really, but it is a nice sentence.)

I love bread, but it doesn't love me.

Jesus said, "I am the bread of life. He who comes to me shall not hunger. He who comes to me shall not thirst."

Jesus did not say "I am the cauliflower crust of life." No. It is bread, baby, bread.

I love muffins. 

I love scones. 

I love cake. 

I love soft and gooey chocolate chip cookies. 

I love to bake. Let clarify -- I love to bake but not cook. "Cook" is for dinner. "Bake" is for breakfast and dessert. "Cook" is an entire meal. "Bake" is just the yummy parts.

I love biscuits. 

I love brownies. 

I love croissants.

This is not to diminish those who suffer from the disease of alcoholism, but I get it. Not only do I have to avoid foods that can jack my blood sugar, I have to avoid one of my favorite hobbies. I feel like a bartender who not only needs to stop drinking, but also needs to find another job. What am I going to do? I just got a new convention oven and the only reason you need a convention oven is to bake. I need to find new recipes. Sure, I've been roasting a lot of vegetables lately but it is not the same.

I love brioche.

I love Top Pot doughnuts.

I've heard that many alcoholics remember their last drink (or maybe they don't if they were too blotto.) Do I remember my last treat made of flour, sugar and butter? Do I remember the last cake? I remember going off flour and sugar for a few weeks, and then I had avocado toast that pushed me over the edge. I was repulsed by avocado toast--the healthiest kind of carb treat, if there is such a thing. Damn it was good but afterwards I had a bread hangover. 

I love bread pudding.

I love Tom Douglas' doughnuts with sides of jam and vanilla mascarpone.

I love beignets.

I love wheat toast with scrambled eggs.

I get the peer pressure, the social aspect of eating bread. I went to dinner with a friend last night and she suggested we go to a Greek place with awesome french fries (I need another post dedicated to potatoes and popcorn) and pita sandwiches. I avoided the Lamb Souvlaki plate which came with cheesecake for dessert. After the pita sandwich and fries, I had a bread hangover. I felt bloated and gross and I fell asleep by 9:30 at night. I felt like shit this morning, emotionally and physically. Why did I do that to myself? Why didn't I just say no? My friend wouldn't have cared what I ate. She also wasn't going to have a bread hangover like I did. In twelve-step programs, they say "Focus on yourself." Now I get it. Nelly can eat all of the bread and she's fine. I can't. I need to take care of me. 

I also get the concept of eating bread alone. Last night, I plowed through some rhubarb crumble after my pita and french fry fiasco, as if more carbs would make me feel better. While rhubarb crumble isn't technically bread, it is in the flour family. I had rhubarb crumble after lunch today. I had a meeting at 2:00 that I could barely get through because was feel my post lunch slump. 

The funny thing is that now that I have been eating better for a month, when I fall off the wagon, I feel like crap. I wonder if this is what drinkers feel like when they have a relapse.

Perspectives & Rest

I just finished my first ever self-inflicted twenty-four hour fast. I am not counting the times I didn't eat for a few days because I had my wisdom teeth out. But man, I did look good when I recovered.

Why would I want to fast? The Diabetes Code recommends fasting as a way to lower blood sugar, and I am trying to drop my blood sugar to something lower than "pre-diabetic." I have a second A1C blood test at the end of the summer. I am an overachiever and good student. I want to crush any test I take, even if it is a blood test.

That, and my grandfather died from kidney failure, which was a complication due to his Type 2 diabetes. Diabetes is my genetic-history cross to bear. Some families get cancer. My family gets diabetes. I saw him frequently in the last ten years of his life, and I saw first hand how rough it was. I saw his hands look like swollen sausages, then shrink after he had dialysis. Type 2 

Ten years ago, I read Starving Your Way to Vigor: The Benefits of an Empty Stomach by Steve Hendricks in Harper's. Hendricks was researching the history of fasting, and decided it give it a try. For seventeen days. He lost thirty pounds and didn't gain them back. He discusses the potential healing power of fasting: "Was fasting perhaps a healing mechanism, like sleep?" Since I read the article a decade ago, I have been curious about fasting, but not curious enough to stop eating. Theoretically, fasting sounds interesting, but a day without food? Maybe I try it next week...

Now that I am pre-diabetic, my diet and exercise program isn't about my vanity--it is about my health and my longevity. My diet is very likely tied to my lifespan, and more importantly, my quality of life as I age. 

My new friend T sent me a video from Dr. Berg on fasting. When that video popped up, a second video about fasting from Sahdguru popped up. (My friend Anderson had told me about Sahdguru ages ago.) I watched them both, figuring I could benefit from the two perspectives: West and East.

Dr. Berg is a midwesterner from Iowa. His video is loaded with facts and science and data and details of all of the wonderful things fasting does to your body. Do I want all of those things? Sure.

Sahdguru is from southern India and takes a different perspective: when you eat continuously, your digestive system works continuously. Why not fast for a bit and give it a rest?

Which video did I find more persuasive? I can't say. Dr. Berg's data is compelling, but not inspiring. Sahdguru was inspiring, but not as compelling. Dr Berg's argument appealed to my brain. Sahdguru's argument appealed to my soul.

The two videos together were the right combination for me. I needed both my brain and my soul engaged in this exercise. I had both a reason and a why to fast. Dr Berg got me started and Sahdguru kept me going. I knew there were tons of health benefits to fasting, but when I wanted to a snack at 2 in the afternoon, I didn't think about my mitochondria. I thought, I need to give my digestive system some rest.

Submarine

I was thinking about how I ran into Maggie the other day at lunch. I think of the pandemic life as more of as a submarine instead of bubbles or pods. Bubbles sound light and airy and free. Pods sound cozy. Submarines are dark and enclosed and isolated. Since the pandemic started, I've been living in a submarine with a handful of other people, separated from the rest of humanity. Once every few weeks, my submarine would come up for air, but rarely would other submarines, as they were underwater when I was up. 

Seeing Maggie made me feel like my submarine has emerged from the water, and her emerged, too. 

I am so grateful that the pandemic is moving into the endemic phase, and I can get out of my submarine and get back on land.

Today, Yesterday and Tomorrow

I went to lunch today in Pioneer Square. I was the only one in from my team, so I went to lunch by myself. I ate at the counter of a nearby restaurant, and read a book while I waited for my food.

The restaurant was busy and lively, which was good. People were eating inside and outside on the patio. As I was finishing, I looked outside and saw someone I knew from my education advocacy days. I wasn't super close friends with this woman, but I knew her well enough to say hello as I walked out. Maggie was one of the smartest people in the group--she had tons of insight and always did her proverbial homework. She always had her facts straight and never shot from the hip. Like many of the moms in education advocacy, Maggie had previously had a rich and rewarding professional life before she became a PTA mom.

She was eating lunch with a friend who looked older than her, old enough that she probably would not have been involved in education advocacy at the same time Maggie and I were.

Maggie looked absolutely delighted to see me. Delighted. She basically ignored her friend for five minutes while we did a quick catch up.

I did something different than I would have done in my old education advocacy days. Instead of talking about my family, I talked about myself. I talked about my job and how I re-entered the workforce. Maggie told me her story, too. She had a small part-time job before she got a job a major regional employer who has a program for women returning to the workforce. She is crushing it.

So, it was nice to see her. It was great.

And it made me kind of depressed.

I wasn't depressed because I saw her, but rather because I have seen just a very small circle of friends during the pandemic. I never ran into people at lunch or dinner or out and about. Part of it because I live downtown, but part of it is because I stayed inside and only hung out with four people. And my friends also stayed inside, didn't go out, so when I did go out, I didn't see people I knew anyway.

Now, I am sad about all of the missed time, all of the people I missed.

Cupcakes & Now I Know How Alcoholics Feel (kinda)

A week or so ago, I learned I was pre-diabetic. I'm on the bottom cusp between pre-diabetic and diabetic, which isn't bad. Nevertheless, I am alarmed. Type 2 Diabetes runs in my family. If I don't make changes now, my life could get uncomfortable.

My doctor recommended reading The Diabetes Code by Dr. Jason Fung. His concept is that Type 2 Diabetes is a dietary disease; therefore, the only way to cure it is to change your diet. How do you change the diet? I'm only 20% through the book, but the main idea it to eat less sugar, including the sugars in bread, white rice, potatoes and dried corn. He also believes in intermittent fasting, which I have yet to try.

Yesterday, I went to Mod Pizza and got the cauliflower crust, which tastes better then it sounds. I was so proud of myself, until the staff asked if I was a Mod member.

"If you download the app, you get a free cupcake," she said. 

Right. Cupcakes. Sugar and flour and free? I broke down and got the cupcake. 

It was delicious because it was a cupcake, but I was slightly disappointed in myself that I didn't say no. I want to have strong will power and discipline. My friend T went on a green juice cleanse for ten days and she never felt better in her entire life. She was alert and energetic.

"So why didn't I stick with it?" she asked.

"I have no idea," I replied. "But that is a great question."

This morning, I read more of The Diabetes Code, the chapter on all of the bad things that will happen to your entire body if you don't take care of it. Everything will fall apart and you will go blind, have a heart attack, get Alzheimer's, lose feeling in your limbs, get infections, and possibly have amputations. You will never have sex again because those parts won't work, but also because who wants to have sex with a blind, demented, numb, infected amputee?

Tonight I went to dinner with a friend. We went to a neighborhood French restaurant which brings the best, most delicious baguette and butter to the table before dinner. I watch my friend butter her bread and eat it all.

And I had none.

Not a bite, not a crumb.

None. 

Now I know how alcoholics feel watching other people drink, enjoying a glass of wine or cocktail in moderation. I know that bread is good and awesome, but I want to feel better long-term. So no bread for me. I left the red potatoes on the side of my dinner plate. I only ate a few bites, and snuck three small bites of cake for dessert.

A few weeks ago, I read The Abascal Way about how to decrease inflammation. Many of the suggestions are the same as in The Diabetes Code: avoid flour, sugar,  rice, and red meat, and see how you feel. While the author is pretty strict about diet, she concedes on alcohol. To paraphrase, "You've gotta live."

You've gotta live.

I need to decide what that is going to look like. Do I want to be infected and blind and whatever from diabetes in ten years? Not at all. Before, I'd eat all the bread and all the dessert and all of the potatoes and rice. Now I see these foods differently.

Ada

The massacre that happened last week was surreal. I didn't hear about it until the morning after, but the night before I put on my Ada ring. I haven't worn it in a while, but I felt compelled to wear it last week, after the shooting occurred but before I heard about it.

As many of you know, I had a stillbirth, and I have a ring to wear in her memory. 

Losing a child was one of the most profound losses of my life. Her death was at the hand of nature, not the hand of man. 

This story of the slaughter in Texas will fall away from the news, but the loss of the kids will never fall away from those families, from that community. Decades later, they will still wonder what their kids would be doing now if they had lived.

It is so strange that we spend billions and billions and billions of dollars on healthcare this country. A single child with a complex medical condition might rack up millions of dollars in fees over several years.

And yet, we can't protect children in schools from mass shootings by eliminating the single common factor in mass shootings: guns.

I am not against medical care for fragile children -- I support it. I find it ironic that we can make such heroic efforts for those kids and we don't take simple measures to protect other innocent and healthy children before they are hunted by madmen.

I'm Thinking of Joining the NRA

Hear me out.

My son went to school in Montana where hunting wild animals for food is a statewide pastime. I met a bartender who killed a black bear. That bear fed him for a season or two. I've had quail at a dinner party once and I had to pick out the buckshot before I could eat it. I am fine with people hunting deer and ducks with hunting rifles.

I am not fine with people hunting elementary school children. That, my dear friends, is bullshit. 

You need a license to catch a fish in the State of Washington, and that is even for catch-and-release. Should we have a license to hunt people? With limits and shit? Pedro and I had to report to the Department of Wildlife how many fish we captured last year. We could have a Department for Hunting People. We could differentiate by age, gender, race, ethnicity, housing status, addictions, mental health status, etc.. We could have a point system, where different groups are worth some many points, and each hunter is allow a max. Shooting a white middle-aged man would automatically blow your quota unless the guy was a homeless drug addict who shat in your rose garden. And I wouldn't be exclusive to guns! 

You could hunt people with a bow and arrow for all I care. It would a heck of a lot harder, and meeting quota would be challenging. I mean, schools could train the average kindergarten teacher how to defend a classroom against a nut job with a bow and arrow. Likewise, imagine a bow and arrow on a crowded subway. They wouldn't have room to pull back the string. Plus, there is a lot of skill involved. You'd have to take lessons, be coached, and practice before you could be effective.

(I can't take all of the credit for this idea. Jonathan Swift's A Modest Proposal was my inspiration.)

I digress.

I've given money to various organizations supporting for sensible guns laws. You can see how well that worked. Instead, I think I need to join the NRA. According to Wikipedia, the NRA has an estimated five million members. What if I joined, along with let's say ten or twenty million of my friends who support commonsense gun laws. I could run for President of the NRA on a platform of reform. Or, I get someone else to run, someone more popular than me. As a former PTA leader, I know how to run a membership organization and get stuff done through proper process and protocols. I could fill an entire slate or officers. I could get propositions before the general membership. We could change the NRA report card for political candidates for those who support commonsense gun laws. The NRA had a $432M annual budget as of 2018. With an additional ten million members, that number could go up to $1.3B. Wow! We could get some serious legislation passed with that kind of dough.

Covid, the Garden & the Little Cloud

More than a week ago, I tested positive for covid. I've finished both my five days of isolation and five days wearing a mask out and about. This week, I get to go back to the office to work. Today is the first day I've had a normal amount of energy.

I don't know if I had classic symptoms of covid or not, but I woke up coughing one night. I was feeling a little tired the days before, but I figured I was short on sleep and had a few glasses of wine with dinner. I even googled "covid versus hangover." The third day was unambiguous: I felt like shit. I could still smell and taste food, but I had a runny nose and I was really tired. I went to an urgent care clinic and I got the anti-viral medication, which was wonderful. After I started taking the Paxlovid, I felt so much better. I was sleeping a lot, but other than that, I felt okay. The weird thing about being isolated while having covid was I wasn't doing anything, so I couldn't gauge my energy level.

Day 8, I started to lose my mind. I hadn't seen anyone other than strangers I'd run into on the street. Pedro came over for dinner on Thursday. He was the first human I had regular contact with in person in more than a week. It was so nice. He did all of the talking because I didn't have much to contribute because I haven't done anything other than watch "My Crazy Ex-Girlfriend," "The Adam Project" starring Ryan Reynolds and "Operation Mincemeat" starring Colin Firth on Netflix and read "Trust" by Hernan Diaz. 

This weekend, I was still technically on the bench according to the CDC, even though according to Jack, my likelihood of being contagious was extremely low. Nevertheless, I live in Seattle and people fret a lot about covid here. I know people who have long-covid as well, one in their twenties. 

I was listening to a friend's covid experience. She got tired of reading books and watching movies. I started to think, "What can I do? What are all of my options? Surely there is more to do than stream television shows and read."

This spring has been miserable, rainy and cold. I've delayed working on planters on my balcony and patio. I decided to the garden store, get some new geraniums and fertilizer, and work on the garden. The garden store is outside, and I could easily socially distance. I wore a mask the whole time I was shopping, which was weird because I was one of the few. People must have thought I was a germaphobe, or at least I hope they did. I am not sure how many thought I was bouncing back from having the virus myself. 

I got my plants yesterday, and today I weeded and added compost to my containers. I am probably the only person in downtown Seattle who composts leaves and other plant debris. It was a perfect and lovely solo activity while I was on the upswing. I feel like I have my energy back.

The best thing about having covid is I am done with it. I feel free, like I can fully carry on with my life without worry and stress. I was getting back to lots of normal things, like traveling, going back to work and eating in restaurants, but there was always a little cloud of fear hanging over me. 

That little cloud is gone, and it feels so nice.

Teen Depression and Suicidality & Mother's Day

American emergency rooms are overrun with teenagers suffering from depression and anxiety. There aren't enough psych beds for all of these kids. And these are the ones who make it to the hospital. Thousands more are struggling at home and at school.

Having had a kid in treatment for two years, I have a few thoughts on how we can deal with this epidemic, based on my own experience.

Caveat: This advice has no blame or shame. Instead, we need to honestly look at what is happening in our families before we can address root issues.

First: Mother's Day. My son took my to lunch and said, "Mom, I was neglected in middle school." I was running for School Board at the time and Jack was working days and nights and weekends. "You gave Claire-Adele and I money for dinner, and that was bullshit. I was in sixth and seventh grade and had to eat dinner on my own three nights a week." I told Claire-Adele this story and she agreed. "And when you were around, all you asked Pedro was if he did his french homework."

I'll admit it -- this was not good parenting. My kids were not seen or heard for a few years. I did the best that I could at the time, but my best was mediocre.

Fast forward a few years to Pedro's full-blown anxiety and depression in high school. When Pedro went to Wilderness therapy, the counselors told the parents to get into their own therapy. Why? Your kid didn't end up here on their own. You child is part of a family system, and something broke in that system. The child is the identified patient. The family has an illness, but the kid is the one with the symptoms. In order for the kid to get better, the family has to get better.

Many kids survive and even thrive in a sick family. They are the lucky ones, but the illness may catch up with them at some point.

Experience #1: Parents -- deal with your own shit, whatever it is.

Are you in a shitty marriage? Either fix it or get out. Drink or have another type addiction? Seek recovery. Haunted by the ghosts of your family? Who isn't. Get to therapy and learn to love yourself.

In all of the family therapy and recovery groups I have been in for the past few years, this was by far the  best advice I ever got:

Experience #2: Don't split the ambivalence.

I was talking to Claire-Adele and she asked what this meant. It means let you kids struggle with their own decisions: good, bad and ugly. Let say an eighteen year old wants to do drugs. They are technically an adult and can make that decision. Most parents don't want to see their kids excessively drink or do drugs, especially if they previously had addiction issues.

Don't take the struggle of those decisions away. It is their life, they need to own their own decisions. At heart, this is really about letting go of control as a parent. "Don't split the ambivalence" means don't pick a side in your child's struggle. If they are struggling if they want to do drugs or not, and you come down and scream and cry "Don't do drugs! You'll break my heart!" you have removed the ambivalence.  

Of course, you can set consequences if they do drugs, like "If you come home high, no car for a month." Mean it, and take the car away if they get high, but let the decision be theirs.

Experience #3: Screen time breeds isolation, and isolation breeds depression.

Get off your phone and look at the people around you. Parents, this means you, too. Set an example. Go to the gym or for a walk in the park instead of playing games on your phone.

Experience #4: Fuck the french homework.

I am not saying academic success isn't important. It is, but it is falls after being loved and seen and heard. Why do homework if you aren't loved? Homework won't make you loved. Money won't make you loved. Love and faith and courage will invite love into your life. 

Johnny & Amber & Choices

I feel terribly sorry for both Johnny Depp and Amber Heard. They both were in a horrible, toxic and traumatic relationship which is now on public display. I wish them both some sort of spiritual recovery where they can find peace with their past and move forward with new lives minus the drama.

But first, let's discuss drama. Clearly, they both are actors, but you would hope that the drama would have been left on the stage and that their personal lives would be normal. But no. It was a shit show. A literal shit show.

So she did something bad to him. He did something bad back to her. She did something bad back, and then he did something worse. Repeat for years.

Where did things break down?

They each forgot that they had choices.

When someone does something back to you, it is easy to get resentful, angry and want to retaliate. I don't know why humans do this, but we do. We want to strike back with some evil bullshit instead of examining all of the choices before us. This is not to say that what the first person did was good or kind, but the second person had more choices than they probably realized at the time.

Let's say Amber shat on Johnny's side of the bed. Of course, that is horrible and senseless. Let's say he assaulted her with a bottle as a result, which is also horrible and senseless. Did Johnny have more choices than to smack her around? Yes. Did he had to put up with her shit? Not at all. Let's play a brainstorm game of reasonable alternatives someone could do if they were in Johnny's shoes.

• They could go to another room.
• They could ask the other person if they are okay because most adults don't poop in bed unless they have dementia or a medical problem.
• They could pack a bag and stay with a friend or go to a hotel.
• They could walk around the block or go for a drive until things calmed down.
• They could call emergency services or a mental health hotline.
• They could seek therapy.
• They could seek a divorce.
• They could leave the scene and pray and meditate and ask for guidance.
• They could realize that their loved one has a serious problem, and yelling and screaming isn't going to fix it.

Lots of choices. Lots and lots of choices that aren't assault or involve poop. I have had numerous friends who have been in domestic violence situations, and it isn't easy to see choices when traumatized. It is easy to just want to fight back, but this never brings peace or serenity. It just brings more chaos.

It is easy to look at Johnny and Amber and think they are crazy, yet I look back at my life and see places where I felt trapped and as if I had no choices. Some of the choices might have been hard, but they were still choices.

I had a public meltdown in France a few years ago. I was on vacation with my family and they were going to climb the steps up the Eiffel Tower. Jack didn't want to wait in line for an hour for the elevator. I was recovering from knee surgery and I didn't want to climb the steps, so I waited outside at the bottom. As I was waiting, I got really pissed. I got super angry for getting left behind. I was too busy being angry that I didn't see I had other choices.

• I could have waited in line for the elevator while they climbed the Eiffel Tower.
• I could have gone to a cafe.
• I could have climbed up half of the steps, and turned around when I got tired.
• I could have taken a cab back to the hotel.

At the time, I didn't see my other choices or options. I was too busy being angry or scared or hurt to see clearly. Now, though, I have perspective. I have learned to look for options, and pick the best one.