Years ago I studied with a psychiatrist who suggested that whenever we part from someone we love we should be complete. If we never see them again we will have said everything we needed to say, and heard everything we needed to hear.  Dad, I think you and I did that quite well with each other.

You died unexpectedly, a few days after each of us had been released from different hospitals. I had been in and out of the hospital for almost two months. The last time we saw each other we parted, as we always did, with a mutual “I love you.”

I know you were proud of me because you told me often. I know you said the same thing to many others.  Approval is important to every child, and I thank you for yours. I have done my best to carry your gift forward into the world – often telling my children, your grandchildren, that I love them and I’m proud of them. 

I don’t remember ever specifically telling you how grateful I am for all of the many life lessons you taught me, so I’d like to mention some of them now.

1. Treat everyone, no matter who they are, with respect.  I apply that lesson every day.
2. Plan for the future.  I know you grew up during the Great Depression, and when you were young you were concerned with saving enough money for the future.  I’m also a saver, and I think we both did a good job with that.
3. Work hard.  When you were a teenager you practiced the French Horn for three hours a day after school, and six hours a day when school was not in session.  That’s why you successfully auditioned for the position of First Horn with the Washington, D.C. Philharmonic Orchestra when you were eighteen, and the same position with the Minneapolis Philharmonic when you were nineteen.  I may have been a bit behind you, but I’ve certainly worked diligently ever since I started my own business at the age of twenty-seven.
4. Discuss problems openly and calmly with your family.  I’m grateful that when I was very young you started a “Family Conference.”  Whenever any of us had a problem with another family member you called a “Family Conference” in which we each could talk as long as we needed, without interruption.  We solved many problems that way. My eight-year-old self thanks you for the respect and my adult self thanks you for modeling that open communication.
5. Do what you love.  You encouraged me to become a CPA, and also to pursue my writing.

Dad, there is so much more, but I think I’ve hit some of the high points.

I hope you’re happy wherever you are now. I want you to know that every day I remember you and appreciate your wisdom and your confidence in me.

Thank you.

Love, Alan

I wish I had written that line myself, but it has already been attributed to Marcel Proust.  Regardless, it resonates with me.

Each of us is attracted to pleasure.  We enjoy connecting with friends, eating our favorite meals, or spending time with family. We return to those activities that bring us pleasure such as camping, watching a movie, playing chess, or arguing in court.

But if we suddenly experience excruciating pain while relishing our favorite dinner, we will either call 911, or immediately leave for the nearest hospital emergency room. We will suspend “listening” to pleasure in order to “obey” pain.  This makes sense to me.

The life lesson I draw from this idea is:  continue to find more pleasure in my own life.

One pleasure-step I have taken is to practice “talking” to myself in a constructive way.  When I have an experience I don’t enjoy, I tell myself I have learned a useful lesson – and that I can apply that lesson to bring more fun to my life in the future.  In other words, I think positively.  After all, who talks to you more than anyone else?  You do.

If I don’t enjoy dinner at a new restaurant, as we’re leaving I tell my wife, “I’ve enjoyed both meals here.  My first and my last.”  She always laughs.  Humor brings us a lot of shared pleasure.

When I was fourteen years old, I came home from school with a pain in my abdomen.  That evening my parents called the doctor.  As a result, my dad drove me straight to the hospital where, that night, my appendix was removed.  The following week was quite painful, but even at that early age I said to myself, “This is great.  I’m going to remember this horrible pain for the rest of my life so I will better appreciate the pleasure that comes from the absence of pain.”

I am always seeking to expand my pleasure repertoire.  I often remind myself to enjoy the simple acts of breathing, or writing, or taking a walk.  Pleasure is always created in your own mind.

I recently visited the Mt. Wilson Observatory (which was the home of the largest telescope in the world back when I was born).  An astronomer there told me that, for sure, our sun will go nova in 4.5 billion years, and will engulf the earth. 

I’m not going to worry about what might happen in 4.5 billion years, or even what might happen tomorrow.  I am going to listen, as closely as I can, to all of the pleasure I experience today – including the writing of this blog.

Cheers!

Alan

Recently, I arrived at the airport early for an eight-hour flight. Even though I wasn’t particularly hungry, I bought a large burrito and ate every bite.  As I sat waiting to board the airplane I wondered why I did that.

I soon realized that, because I didn’t trust the airline food, I was “pre-eating.” I also realized that this is part of a bigger pattern in my life. I often eat “a little more” for breakfast, just in case lunch is late, and “a little more” for lunch because dinner is such a long way off.  Then I eat “a little more” at dinner because I enjoy the food and also because, when I was young, my father allowed only positive talk at the dinner table.  That meant it was a safe place to indulge myself.

Before this insight I had never consciously realized that my family’s “depression mentality” around food (there may not be enough at the next meal), combined with my assumption that I should never, ever feel hungry, even for an hour or two, were shaping my current eating habits.

Darn!

I know we need to establish habits to live a productive life.  I fully stop at a “Stop” sign, I take the same pills at the same time each morning, and I have a smile on my face most of the time to encourage positive encounters.  But some habits are unconscious and not productive, or may have outlived their usefulness. (I no longer use a kitchen ladder to climb up onto the counter.)

With food I’m pretty good at avoiding “post-eating.”  When I put my knife and fork down on my plate, I’ve finished that meal.  When I decide, in advance, “no desert,” I usually stick to my decision.

Now I’m going to work on eliminating my previously unconscious “pre-eating” habit. I’ll also remind myself that it’s perfectly okay to be hungry for a few hours – although I’ll probably not start completely trusting airline food anytime soon.

That’s it for now.  I’m not going to start wondering why I wait until the last minute every week to write my blog.

Alan