mo problems

Until recently (way more recently than I'd like to admit), I clung desperately to the following philosophy: If I tried hard enough and lived as perfectly as possible, life would be easy. There would be no problems.

Of course, that kind of thinking, I realize now, is perfectly RIDICULOUS. As M. Scott Peck, M.D. writes in the very first sentence of The Road Less Traveled, "Life is difficult." And, then later just in case we weren't paying attention, "Life is a series of problems." 

Okay, okay, Dr. P., I get it! There will always always always be problems. Always.

Most people try to ignore the problems that surface in their life. Others, like me, try to prevent them altogether (and then bang their head against the wall in failure and miserable frustration). But the best way to live, at least according to Peck, is to face problems directly and experience the pain involved -- the very thought of which makes me want to recoil in horror and go watch the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills marathon with the dog until I can no longer remember my own zip code. 

But the thing is, I've learned that this truly is one of life's great truths: You have to face problems head-on. There's just no other way around it. 

Luckily, Peck outlines a four-pronged system of discipline techniques for dealing constructively with the pain of problems. I'll let you explore three of them on your own (don't want to give everything away!): delaying gratification, which is the process of being willing to confront a problem early on and temporarily set aside pleasure and gratification instead of just hoping it goes away; dedication to truth, even when it's uncomfortable; and balancing, which refers to the ability to negotiate the curves that life throws at us.

It's the fourth technique that I want to focus on here because it's the one that I personally struggle with the most: acceptance of responsibility. 

Isn't it so tempting to divide people into one of two categories: those who avoid responsibility altogether and those who assume all of it? But I think it's more accurate to say that most of us do a mixture of both, which makes a complete and unnecessary muddle of everything. That's why I love this statement from Peck: "...the problem of distinguishing what we are and what we are not responsible for in this life is one of the greatest problems of human existence." So, so true.

Before I became aware that I had an issue with accepting responsibility -- both too much and not enough -- I experienced a lot of painful confusion in many of my relationships. For example, after I had a huge falling out with a close friend of mine, I spent the next several months going back and forth as to what had really happened between us. When I was feeling particularly neurotic, it was "I was such an awful friend to her and that's why she dropped me." But when my mood shifted, it was "What a bitch. I'm glad I pulled the plug on that friendship." (Both of these thoughts make me really embarrassed to admit.)

But later, when I attempted to distinguish what I was and was not responsible for in the deterioration of our friendship, I remembered two key things: First, that I had told her I didn't like her boyfriend; this was me accepting responsibility for a hurtful action. Second, I was upset with her because she wasn't empathetic to me during a particularly tough time of my life (me moving by myself to a brand new city); and this was me not assuming all of the responsibility but realizing that her actions played a role too. Together, those two specific things contributed to our coming apart in a big way -- not that I was a "bad friend" or she was a "selfish bitch."

Of course, my new-found awareness of responsibility didn't mend our friendship or prevent any problems with future friends from happening. But it did provide a lot of clarity, which has proved very useful in my current relationships. It's a technique that I employ often when I'm facing conflict and while it doesn't make it any easier to deal with, it does help to diffuse the emotions surrounding the issue so I can get to work fixing what needs it.

And that's a good thing because, wow, is there a lot to be fixed!

How do you problem solve typically?

back at it

I probably *should* have written more posts about French Women Don't Get Fat, but I couldn't do it, friends.

I have two working theories about why that book sucked the will to write out of me.  The first is that it's totally the book's fault -- for being so cheeky and frivolous and even a little bit arrogant toward non-French, non-skinny women. A bad choice on my part.

The second is that diet books make me cranky simply because I love to eat so much. Eating brings me so much consistent pleasure throughout the day, that I'm pretty vigilant about counting calories and trying to exercise so I can make room for all the indulgences that make me happy. (Which, huh, is sort of the whole point of FWDGF -- ah, cyclicalness!)

Regardless, I'm not so interested in continuing to focus on a book that focuses on deprivation and makes women feel bad about their bodies and I'm ready for the next book. And here it is...ta da!

The Road Less Traveled, by M. Scott Peck, M.D. is often hailed as one of the best-selling Western spirituality books of all time. It was written in 1978, so I like to think it's sort of a vintage self-help book (just because I'm so charmed by everything vintage). There are a few anachronistic details that have made me chuckle -- for instance, the fact that a therapy session back in the '70s cost a whopping $40! But for the most part, the advice is fairly timeless.

I'm about three-quarters of the way through the book, and although I'm completely hooked, it's difficult to explain exactly what it's about given its level of complexity. After much thought, I've essentially boiled it down to this: Peck advises that you evaluate the relationships closest to you (your significant other, your child, your close friends) and reflect on the way you love in these relationships. Through self-awareness and self-discipline, you have the potential to lead a more peaceful and fulfilling life simply by valuing and growing in these relationships. (Ha, except it's really not so simple.) I'll obviously delve into this more fully later on, but for now, tell me:

Have you read The Road Less Traveled? What did you think?

thoughts after a hurricane

I had a post all ready to go about French Women Don’t Get Fat. But much has happened this week. Suddenly, musings about correct portions of soft cheeses and restraining oneself from nibbling at the piece of dark chocolate that’s served alongside the cappuccino seemed so… insignificant.

Not that I have anything to complain about. Compared to our fellow residents in the Tri-State area, we weathered the storm very well considering. We may have done a happy dance (and immediately felt guilty afterward) when Time Warner defied expectations and restored our Internet and cable last night. But we’ve remained aware and grateful of the fact that we’ve emerged post-Sandy dry, with the lights on, and most important, safe.

So many others haven’t been as lucky.

The media reports out of NYC, the boroughs, and New Jersey may start dwindling soon, but the situation is still devastatingly sad.

Much of lower Manhattan is still—four days out—pitch black and completely without power. Restaurants and other small businesses could go out of business if it’s not turned on in time. Art galleries and other buildings of import have been ruined. There’s a lot of standing water in the tunnels and the subways. Hourly workers like freelancers, servers, baristas, you name it, can’t work and, therefore, can’t get paid. People who must get to work in the city face a nightmarish commute. Residents are bickering about whether this weekend’s marathon should continue as planned or be postponed.

There’s a lot of suffering, a lot of pain, a lot of anger, a lot of feelings of helplessness, and a lot more to go before things are back to normal.

But one good thing to come out of the hurricane—if it’s even appropriate at this point to look at the upside of the situation—is the outpouring of care not just from New Yorkers, but from everyone and anyone who knows a New Yorker.

Inside the region, there’s a stranger on every corner offering a free phone charge, a ride in a carpool, a show of support. People are scrambling to volunteer time and energy and donate much-needed supplies.

And people outside of New York are being generous with their concern. Practically every friend and family member—some of whom I haven’t talked to in months!—have checked in to make sure I’m okay.

And guess what? Lest you are besieged by helplessness these last few days like I’ve been just know:

It’s the little things, little demonstrations of care and concern, that make it better.

proof of relevancy!

I was just in line at the library behind a woman who was checking out the self-help classic, The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People! (I was going to snap a quick photo on my phone but decided that would be too creepy.) As to whether she is a reader of The Blossom Risk, we can only assume...

sugar and spice and advice

The advice column is the beloved cousin of the self-help book, which is why I’d like to direct your attention to this chatty but charming little piece in the The New Yorker: “The Advice Columnist We Deserve.”

It’s a (rather brief) retrospective of the history of the advice column, which reportedly had its start in 1691 and continues today with one of my favorite contemporary writers of all time at the helm: Cheryl Strayed. The name sounds familiar, right? Until her awesome memoir, Wild, landed on the best-seller list, where it’s stayed put for 20 weeks, she was better known as “Dear Sugar” who writes the advice columns for The Rumpus website.

Why is Strayed so damn good at her job? Because, as the article mentions, she listens and empathizes—instead of actually offering advice. Which I would argue is just as—if not more—effective than the more traditional columnists.

Modern advice columnists (Dear Abby, E. Jean) evolved by being willing to tackle more controversial topics that were previously taboo to discuss.  But Strayed goes even farther than that: Instead of counseling readers as to how to fix their problems, she provides comfort merely by admitting to her own taboos and imperfections. She’s sort of post-advice, if you will.

Which really makes you wonder if the self-help genre will soon follow a similar progression. So many of the books are so-called “experts” presuming that only they have the right answers and, therefore, readers should automatically follow their advice and prescriptions. Maybe the future of self-help will involve the author’s willingness to lay all their own shit on the table a prerequisite for becoming a respected authority on the topic. (Or is this just another way to describe the “memoir”?)

Are you aware of any self-help books that provide comfort more than they do concrete advice?