SUMMER BREAK.

As of last night, I am on summer break.

If you’re picturing two school-free months, beach vacations, frolicking in fields of wild flowers…stop. This is not that kind of break. I’ll still work. I’ll still write. But I will enjoy as much as I can of the 12 days, 6 hours and 41 minutes left before summer classes start.

I have needed a break. But don’t get me wrong: I absolutely love grad school. I’m working on my MA in rehabilitation and mental health counseling. It’s CRAZY (no pun intended). I’ve learned a lot. Grad school has changed me, in some ways I hope are permanent, in some ways I hope are temporary and in one that just needs to be tweaked.

Things that I hope are permanent:

  • I am far more organized. I’d be lying if I said all my important papers are filed in date order, alphabetically by category, beginning with “airline ticket confirmations” and ending with”Verizon bills.” But I’d also be lying if I said “Get a filing cabinet.” isn’t written on my to-do list so I can do just that. The workload deems it both necessary and common-sensical to, at least, keep a to-do list. And that’s far more organized than my ways pre-grad school.
  • I am far less likely to procrastinate. Do I ever choose to eat one of everything in the fridge when what I really need to do is study? Of course. Who doesn’t? But thanks to grad school, I more often find it worthwhile to do what I have to do now and what I want to do later. I have the willpower to turn off the TV (with the exception of the time I stumbled upon an unexpected Sister Wives marathon.). I no longer can stand to deny my responsibilities the attention they require.
  • I am a little more self aware. When all your professors are mental health counselors or psychologists, it happens. They pick up what you don’t even know you put down. And when you’d like them to — or, say, when you’re the client in an in-class counseling role play and the professor observes the student counselor and then adds his or her two cents — they tell you about it.
  • I am more compassionate and empathetic. Compassion and empathy came pretty naturally long before grad school (You’re reading the blog of a woman who’s found reasons to weep during an episode of COPS.), but because of what I’ve learned in school, the scope of when I can feel compassion is broader. I’m less likely to lose my patience with crazy callers at work (with a small segment of them, anyway) because I find it easier now to remember that the person on the line is, in fact, a person and one for whom “the desire to ruin Arleen’s day” is not what underlies his or her reasons for calling, 99% of the time.
Things that I hope are temporary:

  • I cannot justify talking on the phone when I’m at home. Gone are the days in which I regularly receive or make calls when I’m at home. There are, of course, exceptions: If a friend has an acute need to vent, if the phone call is scheduled in advance (Is that sad, or is that sad?), if plans to meet up need to be made or if somebody happens to call when I happen to have nothing to do. Otherwise, I purposefully stay as far away from my phone as I can while I’m home (but I check it now and then, just in case). I don’t think phone calls with friends will ever be quite what they were when we were ages 7 through 18 (frequent, long and blissfully rambling) — and how can they be, what, with our jobs and our educations and our marriages and our kids? — but I do hope to someday again have the time to communicate in ways that aren’t scheduled or email.
  • My social circle is shrinking. In fact, it’s not even a circle anymore. There’s no name for the shape of it now that I’m in grad school. (Although my decisions to quit Facebook and Twitter shrunk it more than grad school has, for the record.) The friends I have are fabulous, of course, and I still aim for something social once a week. But there are so many people with whom I used to spend time and with whom, I’ve lost touch. Plus, I’ve never liked “going out” (Do I look like someone you’d see at da club? I don’t think so.), but I officially almost never go anywhere where I could meet new people.
  • There can be no spontaneity. No, I cannot meet you at [insert name of coffee shop, restaurant, theme park, farm, mall] at [insert any time that occurs less than several days after your invitation]. As much as I miss the ability to get up and go where I want to go whenever I want to go there, I can rarely make it happen. There is always something to read or write and (thanks to my new organizational skills and aversion to procrastination) if I haven’t had [insert event here] on my calendar for awhile, I probably didn’t work ahead in a way that allows me to take that break. Someday, spontaneity and I will get along again. In the meantime, I appreciate my patient friends!
  • I can’t read on a couch or in bed without falling asleep. It’s uncanny. And an unending cycle of doom. Can’t a girl read fourteen pages about self psychology without falling asleep? Well, yes. Just not on a couch or in a bed, or what happens is I read the line about how Heinz Kohut spend most of his career at a psychoanalysis institute in Chicago, sleep for fifteen minutes, read it again and repeat. It takes all day. And I hope it ends after grad school.
The thing that needs to be tweaked:

  • I’m generally disgruntled. But if we tweak that, what I am is a visionary — a dreamer, if you will. The reality is that every time I leave my house, I lose a little more faith in humanity. But if you spin it another way, I, see the world through a lens that pinpoints all the ways in which the general public has… potential. If everybody made an effort to be a little more aware (whether self aware or aware of what goes on around us), the world would be a little better for it. And I’m aware of that, thanks to grad school.

Osama bin Laden is dead.

But I won’t celebrate.

“Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.” — MLK, Jr.

– – –

This post has been updated since its original appearance.

Driving.

I live 20 miles from work, 40 miles from school and more than 40 miles from any good beach.

So I do a lot of driving. And for years, I’ve driven the same car: the Spence Mobile if you knew me high school, the Motha Ship, if you knew me in college.

I used to think there is something about the deep cranberry pearl color of my car that made it difficult for other drivers to see. Why else, I thought, would drivers try to change lanes while my car’s in the way, or not stop when my car is clearly not moving at all in front of them?

I’ve learned, however, that it isn’t the color of my car that causes the near misses and the fender benders. It’s the way we (Americans, maybe humans) drive (as well as live). And since honking the horn and flailing my arms around about it at other drivers doesn’t really work, I wrote this column:

Distracted driving puts all of us at risk on U.S. 19 and beyond

Online now, in print Sunday, May 1, 2011. I hope you enjoy it.

“Never abandon your brother.”

From behind the podium on a small stage in Fox Hall at Eckerd College, David Kaczynski spoke on Monday night. He is executive director of New Yorkers for Alternatives to the Death Penalty. He is also the Unabomber’s brother. If you ever have a chance to hear him speak, take it.

Part of his talk is about his opposition to the death penalty (and as somebody who is also opposed to it, that’s the reason I went to see him). But in the other part, he talks a lot about his brother.

Be warned: there’s no way what I write will do it justice.

But when Ted Kaczynski, a.k.a. the Unabomber, was arrested, I was 10. All I remember is the police artist’s sketch of the suspect and the footage of Ted’s arrest. Back then, I didn’t know how many bombings there were. I didn’t know he had been hunted since 1978. I didn’t know how many people his bombs had killed and injured. I only knew a “monster” had been caught.

David only knew a brother. So when his wife brought it up — “Please don’t be angry with me for saying this,” she said. “But do you think your brother might be the Unabomber?” — it seemed unfathomable. But the couple put two and two together. With their hunch, David and his wife approached the FBI.

The guy whose bombs killed three and injured more than 20 is the kid who grew up without friends. He’s the genius who finished high school at 15 and went right to Harvard. He is the big brother who created a low handle on the screen door so three-year-old David, otherwise too short to work the door, could get into the house from the backyard.

While they were kids, David asked his parents why his brother had no friends. Why his brother was different. Everyone’s different, they told him. And no matter what, his mom added, “Never abandon your brother.”

You can tell when you hear David speak that he hasn’t.

He gives reasons for his opposition to the death penalty: The fallibility of the people who pick who gets executed means innocent people get executed. The disparity in who gets the death penalty (It’s not the worst of the worst criminals; it’s the people with the worst legal representation, he said.). The extraordinary cost. The fact that a lot of people on death row have been diagnosed with severe mental illnesses (mental illnesses that were present at the time of the crime) — people who need help and don’t get it on death row.

He explains the reality of his brother’s mental illness (schizophrenia). The shock and trauma of suspecting and finding out the Unabomber is his brother.

He restores the humanity that has been robbed of a man, not a monster, named Ted.

I found it all deeply moving.

Decisions.

Today I came across an e-book, and a set of videos that accompany it, by a guy named Andy Stanley. It’s called Your Move: 4 Questions to Ask When You Don’t Know What To Do.
Who hasn’t been there?

I can’t say it better than Stanley, so I’ll let him tell you about the study:

And via an excerpt from the book, I’ll also let Stanley share one of the questions he asks — one I think all of us should ask ourselves more often:

“Here’s the first of the four questions:

Am I being completely honest with myself?

We’re all experts at selling ourselves on whatever we really want to do, whether we should do it or not. We’re all very good at deceiving ourselves, because we feel so compelled to justify our unwise decisions. It’s as if our hearts are wrapped around a certain choice, then they send our brains a message that says, “Quick, find me some reasons for it!” Our brains manufacture the reasons, and then we start believing them.

Why aren’t we more honest with ourselves? Because for the most part, we’re on a quest not for truth, but for happiness. Our hearts cling to whatever choices we think will make us happiest, no matter how unwise they might be.

So, we need to ask ourselves, Why am I doing this . . . really? What’s the real reason for the choice I’m making? We don’t often ask ourselves this because it’s convicting and uncomfortable. There are times we don’t really want to know why we’re making a certain choice.”

If you’re interested in the study, it and the videos are available for free download here through April 30, 2011.