New Notebooks.

First day of school pictures. The bright shiny faces. The anticipation. The excuse to buy new notebooks. I have been so jealous.

I have spent more than 30 years of my life as a student, teacher, professor or coach—which means that for most of my life, the real New Year began in September and I can feel the pull each year as the summer draws to a close.

When you aren’t on an academic schedule, there is no restart. There is no infusion of the ‘new.’ No way to come at the problem with a new view, a new team, or as an ‘older, wiser, version of yourself.’ In the academic world you get to start your year in September after a summer of gaining back some energy and connections with friends, family and nature—you actually have the resources to tackle the old thing in a new way. In the non-academic world they give you a New Year in the dead of winter following a long string of holidays. You aren’t so much interested in a fresh start as you are in a really long nap.

I was especially envious of the ‘first day of school’ pictures because this week I was feeling stuck about a project that has been long underway. I was wrestling with the problems that come midway through a big project and I wanted some of that ‘start up energy’ that kids get every single year.  A new school year acknowledges change and growth and a shift in understanding. You get the reassurance that something has shifted. You get to start again.

And in big projects, or big struggles, in grown-up lives, there aren’t always opportunities for a new start—and in fact, that’s not really what would be best. We need to, as one rowing coach shouted at us once, finish the race you started. But we all need fresh energy sometimes. And we all need to see how much change has happened. And we all need a way to bring a new view to places that feel stuck.

So I decided to listen to my desire for new school year energy. No I couldn’t start a new year. But I could do the next best thing: buy a new, bright notebook. My colleague and I decided to head into the store next to the hotel, buy a brand new notebook and take the project we have been working on for a long time, and start with a new blank page. We each took a series of questions that we usually ask the people we work with, and we became beginners again. We let the blank page allow us a fresh start—not from the beginning, but a fresh start from where we were.  An afternoon with a new notebook and the ability to have a new conversation were enough. A simple low-tech, high yield intervention. 

A new notebook is magic. For less than a dollar, you can still start again. You can ask new questions, or old questions. You can write or draw or scribble your way back to your center—and your excitement. Notebooks allow for messiness and scribbles and cross-outs. They allow you to play again with ideas. They require that you use your hands in old fashioned handwriting—they connect your body to your brain.

So let September bring a new start to whatever you are facing. Let it bring its energy for beginning and growth. Grab a bright, shiny, new notebook—and be a student of your own work and passions again.

© 2015 Gretchen Schmelzer, PhD

The Sacredness of Constancy

“Talons gripping the edge of the nest
wings spread, gauging the wind
the young osprey pushes off,
soaring.

With each practice flight,
the young bird returns to the nest
and places at his mother’s feet,
one twig.

Every evening
in the dark, bright, quiet
of the moonlight the young bird
sleeps.

While his mother,
taking his twig,
builds a nest in
his heart.

So when he flies away
wherever he lands
the young bird
is home.”

— Gretchen Schmelzer

Up here in Maine, the tides go out, and the rocky shoreline appears and then the water comes back in, right up to the shore. It may be a small thing in the grand events of the world, but there is such solace in that constancy—in knowing that as you watch the water go away from shore, you also know it will return. It is a twice-daily event, which adds to the experience and learning of the constancy that nature provides. The moon disappears from view and it comes back. The sun disappears from view and it comes back.

The very best of parenting is like the constancy of the tides. Children are their own force of nature. It is the sacredness of constancy that helps hold them and shape them. You are the tides for your children. You are the air.  You are the sun and moon that their world revolves around.

Constancy isn’t cool, or hip, or sexy, or most importantly, marketable. “Hey, let me sell you a ticket to watch the tide roll back in over the course of hours!” Constant moments aren’t Facebook postings: The First Day of School, Graduation, Soccer Championships, Recitals. These are all wonderful and I personally love to see the pictures whether I know you or your kids or not: there is such joy and humanity in those photos. But these aren’t pictures of tides, they are pictures of special events: like meteor showers and rainbows—the colorful moments of life that occur, but you catch them and enjoy them when you can.

I can market Disney and make you feel great about being the kind of parent who takes their kid to the Magic Kingdom. But there is no equal marketing for you getting the 5th glass of water that night. Even if that 5th glass of water is actually the thing that will become part of the fabric of your daughter. Even if that act is the nutrient all children need. Much like there is marketing for Sugar Cereal and Junk Food and not carrots.

The sacredness of parenting rarely shows up in pictures, it’s hard to share on Facebook, it’s hard to see when you are in it. The sacredness of the everyday—the mundane, routine, constant all-of-it—that is what makes the warp and weft threads that create a person. The sacredness of the everyday of parenting is what makes up the fabric of who a child is, the self and worldview they rest in, the blueprint for relationship they will carry with them.

There are no pictures of you putting a Band-aid on arm that actually doesn’t have a cut on it. Of picking up cereal, or socks, or Legos off the floor. The endless laundry, dishes, trash. There are no pictures of the hundredth viewing of ‘Frozen’ or reading of ‘Goodnight Moon.’ The seventeenth math problem. The tears after a fight with a friend. There are no pictures of bedtime after bedtime, and breakfast after breakfast. Of the wrestling matches of putting on socks and finding shoes and NO I WON’T WEAR THAT COAT. Your ability to shepherd all of these things are the tides that come in and out.

I have such a perfect image of my niece as a toddler, all wrapped up in a towel after a bath at night, sitting on my sister-in-law’s lap. She was just hanging out, her wet hair slicked back, pink cheeks, sucking on her fingers, her blue eyes looking out, but not all that interested in the grown-up conversation around her. This was one of those sacred moments of childhood—where it was nothing special—to the outside world--but it was everything special to her inside world. This is the sacred everyday act of parenting. The absolute building blocks of safety and security and contentment and confidence. This was just the end of bathtime, the beginnings of bedtime, the transitions of the everyday. But they are the bricks of healthy capacity—put thousands of them together and you have a foundation that can hold anything.

The very definition of this constancy is that you can take it for granted. You believe in its existence utterly. I don’t worry whether the tide will come back in. I know it will. I don’t worry that the moon will reappear. I know it will. And the constancy you provide your children is something that they can and should take for granted. I am not talking about material things or that they will never learn to pick up their own Legos. I am talking about the constancy of asking for help and hearing a response (even if that response is age-appropriately telling them they can do it themselves). I am talking about the constancy of nighttime after nighttime of good-night, and morning after morning of good-morning, of bath, books, and bed; of lunch boxes and walks to the school or bus stop; of someone who listens again and again to the same story, the same movie, the same knock-knock joke. Of whatever it is we will figure it out.

Your super powers are your indestructability and your ability to show up over and over again. What makes your work important are the thousands and thousands and thousands of small threads that you weave around their heart, their soul, their growing being. This is what makes constancy sacred. You are building a space in their heart for this constancy—for this ability to hold the world and themselves. You are building this constancy in them so they can hold the rest of the world--which so often isn’t constant. Like the poem of the Osprey above with each mundane, routine, sacred constant act, you are building a nest in their hearts that they can return to for strength and comfort for the rest of their lives.

© 2016 Gretchen L Schmelzer, PhD

Kindness is the answer. We need Kindness. Huge Kindness.

“What I want is so simple I almost can’t say it: elementary kindness. ”

— Barbara Kingsolver, Animal Dreams

We need kindness. Oh, the world right now needs so much kindness. We need big kindness. We need huge kindness. We need badass kindness.

Physicians have to take an oath that states, “Do no harm.” I wish that all of humanity would have to take that oath. Imagine a world where everyone had to take an oath that said, “Do no harm.” Or imagine it one better: A world where everyone took an oath to Be Kind.

I have worked all over the world and all over my own country and I can tell you this: People want the same things. They want to see their children tucked in bed at night, peacefully asleep. They want a safe comfortable place to live. They want to do meaningful activity and be able to provide for their families. They want to eat and laugh and drink with their friends and loved ones. That’s all. Everything else is extra. And if any of those things are missing, then the extra doesn’t matter. Are there bad guys in the world? Yes. But they are the exception. Not the rule.

We need kindness in a world that seems to have forgotten it. The internet and social media have such potential as a way to spread information and joy, and yet there is too much sarcasm, and too much hate. From every possible side. And there is really only one cure for all of this darkness: and that is kindness.

And yes, you may think kindness is naïve. It’s not. Kindness is not naïve, despite its simplicity. It has been a tenet of religion and philosophy for ages: all religions.  And most philosophies. 

Kindness has stood the test of time. But Kindness isn’t easy. It is easier to stay small and closed off. It is easier to be mean or sarcastic because it doesn’t require anything of you. Kindness takes muscles. Kindness takes effort, restraint, stretching and most of all courage: kindness requires that you will open your heart, you will feel yourself in the relationship, you will grow. 

Want to add kindness but not sure how? Start with Do No Harm. Thinking about writing that snarky thing on FaceBook, or ranting back at someone: Don’t. Look for a place to write something kind instead. Add kindness to the world. Or if you can’t manage kind, add beauty, add creativity, add love. Or simply go outside and sit in the sun and look around at the world. Sometimes we aren’t kind because we are tired. It’s okay. Rest. Be grateful. Be humble. Be still. Let your kindness grow.

Random acts of kindness are good. Intentional Acts of Kindness are Great. Write a thank you note to someone who helped you in your life and doesn’t even know that they did. Bring flowers to someone who could use them. Mow someone’s lawn. Text a friend who you miss seeing. Donate your used clothes. Bring food to a food bank. Make your famous cookies. Listen to someone’s story.

Kindness is compassion in action. It requires you to be brave sometimes. When someone on your team at work starts saying something negative about someone else, you can say, “We don’t talk about people like that here.” And then change the subject, say something kind about someone.

So if you are wondering what to do about the problems in the world--do the kindest thing you can do right now. If you are wondering how to get more from your employees or co-workers at work. Try the kind thing. If you are wondering how to shift the mood in your house or your office: try kindness. 

And kindness is not just about other people. Kindness is first and foremost an inside job: start with yourself. Start where you are. Start by saying something kind to yourself instead of what you were going to say. Take care of yourself. Get rest. Get food. Stay nourished. If you are kind to yourself you will have more to give others. Like the Roman fountains, the kindness in your bowls will build up until they naturally spill out to others. If we all did it, it would be endless.

© Gretchen L. Schmelzer, PhD 2015

“If someone is too tired to give you a smile, leave one of your own, because no one needs a smile as much as those who have none to give.”

— Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch

“Do your little bit of good where you are; it’s those little bits of good put together that overwhelm the world. ”

— Desmond Tutu

“My religion is very simple. My religion is kindness.”

— Dalai Lama

“Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.”

— Ephesians: 4:32

“Tenderness and kindness are not signs of weakness and despair, but manifestations of strength and resolution. ”

— Kahlil Gibran

“There is a reward for kindness in every living-thing. ”

— Prophet Muhammad

“No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted”

— Aesop

“Goodness is the only investment that never fails. ”

— Henry David Thoreau

The Slow Healing Movement

“There comes . . . a longing never to travel again except on foot.”

— Wendell Berry, Remembering

There is a Slow Food Movement. Why isn’t there a Slow Healing Movement? The Slow Food Movement is an international movement, started in Italy, that seeks not only to preserve a life affirming tradition of long, satisfying meals, but also to strengthen the entire ecosystem that supports it:  food, eating, farming, family and a healthy way of life.

Have you noticed that everything is now about speed? We don’t have time to do anything anymore. Apparently, according to a recent NYT article, we don’t even have enough time to be nice—we are so overloaded with stress and work—that we feel that we don’t have time to be civil or nice. No time to even smile.

It’s true that I am so speedy that I can get from Boston to Anchorage or Azerbaijan in a single day. I can get a pile of books delivered to me overnight. I can find articles or recipes with one question typed into Google. We are all faster than a speeding bullet now. We all have super powers. It’s not surprising that we all hold ourselves to superhero standards.

But healing, mending, repair, and really, any real growth—are not a speed events. There should be a Slow Healing Movement. There should be a Slow Growth Movement. There should be a Slow Parenting Movement.

I have a friend who is in the midst of some big home repairs and it is such an instructive sight. She has a contractor who is working his way around the entire house removing and replacing rotten sills and soffits; finding boards that need replacing-putting in new window framing. When you look at the house you can see new wood and places where the house has been patched. This is slow and careful work because the old wood needs to be removed, the area prepped and the new wood needs to be fitted. The work is still a long way from the final priming and painting.

Any real repair takes time, and yet the whole world is oriented to fast healing. Part of the problem is that we have come to believe in the speed of the cure—thanks to antibiotics. One pill, a few days, and we can feel entirely better. I am grateful to modern medicine for this capacity, but this time frame does not work on most of our struggles, or really, any of our development. I am not anti-medication, but I am pro-healing.

Repair takes time. Mending takes time. Growth takes time. And, like the Slow Food Movement, it is as much about the ecosystem we create to heal or repair in.

I have found that during times of repair or growth that I crave slowness like a nutrient. And I have found that when I can be brave enough, in a culture of speed, to give in to this craving, the mending really does happen. The emotional bones knit back together, grief recedes, my capacity expands. I get more sturdy, I grow into new places in myself.

Slowness becomes the wonderful and supportive cast that wraps itself around my broken places and allows some things inside of me to knit back together. And most of the time the shifts that I need to make are not massive. I am not talking about taking whole days off (although I have done that when needed), I am just making some different choices about time and pace.

I have found that during times of repair, I crave walking, rather than running. I want to feel my feet on the earth, I want to see the trees, I want to hear the birds. I crave reading, rather than watching TV or movies. I want to take in the world one sentence at a time. During times of repair, I need to go to bed earlier and do fewer activities. I don’t always have choice about what needs to get done for work, as my work is project based and it happens when it happens. But when I do have choice, and am able to slow the work down, I do.

As a therapist, one of the most constant refrains I heard from people was that they didn’t have enough time to take care of themselves. And often we both felt stuck in a bind: they needed to take time, or shift time to heal, and yet they felt trapped by their responsibilities and obligations. Healing felt like yet another burden.

This is why we need a Slow Healing Movement. Because it is really, really hard to fight the culture of speed. It is hard to bravely say, “I need to slow down to heal,” especially when you feel at your most vulnerable. It’s hard to feel like only one who needs to move slowly in a world full of fast people. But the truth is we all need it. We need it, our family and friends need it, our kids need it. We all need times of slowness so we can mend, repair, grow. And if we had a movement behind us, we wouldn’t feel so alone. We could have cool t-shirts or bumper stickers. We could have slogans or shorthand where we could proudly state, “Having a Slow Day! How about you?”

There is no ‘right’ way to slow down. The Slow Food Movement has really good food and good wine, which wouldn’t be a bad start. But beyond that—everyone needs to shift their pace, their speed, their space in really different ways. Some people will go running to slow down, and others will nap. Some people will take a break for lunch and others will work through lunch so they can leave early. Some people will want music and others will want silence. You just need to listen to that inner voice. What will help you mend? What feels so supportive that you feel like things can knit back together, that you can imagine growth again? What will allow you to take the time you need? How can we support each other to do the same?

Needing slowness isn’t an aberration or a pathology—it’s a normal part of any healing or growth cycle. It’s just as a culture we have gotten away from natural cycles. And like the Slow Food Movement did with trying to bring back the basic human need for community, conversation and food—The Slow Healing Movement can do this for our ability to bring time, relationship and care to the things that need mending. So, let's support each other, and let's support ourselves. For all the mending and growing you need to do—go ahead, Have a Slow Day!

© 2015 Gretchen L Schmelzer, PhD