Pat Taub
I had a lousy week. I fractured my foot. I was freaked out by the more-depressing-than-usual headlines of amped-up hate speech, of an American journalist being brutally murdered by the Saudis, of rampant voter suppression and on and on. There seemed to be no end to bad news.
To lift my spirits I tried the familiar self-care suggestions. I stocked up on my favorite comfort foods of roast chicken and chocolate pudding. I bought fresh flowers for my dining room table. I indulged in a long bath. I consulted inspirational writers, like Anne Lamott and Joanna Macy, but to no avail. I still felt like I wanted to hide under the covers until the world became less mean.
A leisurely bath only goes so far–I needed a more meaningful approach to self-care
So I shifted gears, trying to recall those times when I felt something close to joy. After thinking long and hard while resting on the sofa with my injured foot propped up, I realized what makes me happy is when I can do my small part to add compassion and kindness to the world. When I can make someone else’s life a tiny bit brighter, my spirits are raised.
The New York Times just launched a new Sunday feature, “Tiny Love Stories,” featuring reader’s submissions of brief loving connections. I was prompted to consider some of my own tiny love stories. I pleasantly discovered that they also included a friend or loved one’s acts towards me. Maybe it’s true that what goes around comes around.
Tiny love stories might be the ultimate in self-care
My recent happy list is headed by witnessing the magic of women in community, specifically through my class on “Women and Aging” where the members are quick to support one another, like reaching out to a woman whose husband is ill, or to a classmate struggling with a serious illness or just giving their full attention to one another’s stories. At end of our last class a woman said she felt like our small group held a “basket of compassion.” I was high on this observation for days.
Helping women to connect lightens my mood
Another tiny love story occurs when I face time with my granddaughter who delights in holding up to the phone her latest drawings. I can fuss over her in the way only a grandmother can with all the time in the world for a grandchild.
I’m awed by the tiny love stories that come to me out of the blue. A dear friend, reading in between the lines of our recent emails, noticing my political despair, sent me the words to Leonard Cohen’s “Anthem,” which ends on the hopeful note that it only takes a crack for the light to get in.
Another friend sent me a humorous book to take my mind off my bum foot and the forced hibernation it demands for healing. When I can laugh the world seems to smile back at me.
My revised take on self-care is to skip over the leisurely baths, although they have their place, in favor of a dedicated kindness practice, subscribing to the belief, “Kindness is not an act but a lifestyle.”
It follows that the more I can get out of my own way and look for the sacred moments where I can make someone feel valued or graciously accept their kindness, my life will be less bleak.
To quote Ram Dass, “We’re all just walking one another home.”
