Rebecca Elia's Blog

Spirals

2011-11-14T13:18:00.000-08:00

Ever feel like you're going around in circles, or repeating the same pattern or drama? How about the irritating thought, "I already did this, learned this, been there, done that. Why is this happening again?"

Every single one of my clients has experienced this. Somehow, we think that once we've mastered something in our lives, it will magically disappear, never reappear again. We know that life is cyclical and yet we're surprised that patterns repeat, systems stay the same, and the vast majority resist change.

Many of us are buying into a black and white perspective that goes something like, "Once I learn this lesson, it will disappear." But this is simplistic; is it not?

When you find yourself in familiar territory, look beyond the conclusion that you are going backwards. Regression is not the only explanation.

Life isn't linear...and it's not just circular either. How about a multidimensional spiral? It may appear that we are going back over older territory, but this territory may have gained other dimensions since our last "return." I like to think of wisdom as just that--added dimensions. Many of us start with the linear, the straight line. Then we recognize the circle. Then we recognize the spiral. then we start to experience the double helix, the tertiary and quaternary structures. And, perhaps, eventually, the structure is so complex that even the most brilliant physicists cannot come up with the equation of life.

You are the only one who can define your experience. No one else. Are you regressing? Are you revisiting? Is this merely a passing thought? Is there a pearl of wisdom here--something, perhaps, you didn't see the last time? Are you creating drama? Are you feeling sorry for yourself? Are you avoiding the next step? Are you putting together your equation of life?

Only you know.

Life Cycle Wisdom: Spring

2011-03-26T23:20:00.000-07:00

East Coasters understand the impact of the seasons. Summer brings relaxation and sunshine, outdoor activities and vacations. Fall brings beautiful colors, busyness and the harvest. Winter brings deep stillness and gestation, and spring brings rebirth.

West Coasters almost forget the seasonal changes. How often are their winter days halted by a snow-storm? When does the weather force them to slow down? Their climate doesn’t save them from adrenal burnout; it doesn’t allow for the gestation that brings new beginnings. West-coast weather is the stuff of which type-A personality dreams are made.

Our bodies follow natural cycles; they also follow unnatural ones. Lately, it’s not only West Coast bodies that are confused. What is happening with our seasons? In February, we had summer weather in California while the East Coast experienced record-breaking snowstorms. A few weeks later, the climates reversed. What is happening with our life cycles? How long ago did we stop following the natural rhythm of birth, growth, transition, transformation, death, and rebirth?

Remember back to the lunar eclipse on the winter solstice? This was supposed to be the longest and darkest night of the year. Paradoxically, the darkest night of the year wore a full moon. Normally, winter would be equivalent to slowing down, hibernation, stillness. But this winter has been anything but. The winter solstice propelled us fast-forward. We found ourselves bursting at the seams, exhausted by the end of January, the New Year barely begun. It sure felt like spring. Didn’t it? So it’s strange to be writing about spring, now. It feels like it’s already happened, that we should be heralding summer.

I find it fascinating that our weather is finally reflecting the disarray in our bodies. Our poor bodies have been confused for a long time, and now, so is our weather.

Where do we begin to right this wrong? Let’s start with normal, because we seem to have forgotten it. Then, let’s look at how our bodies can help us find normal again.

Normal.

Remember that? If you are a woman, you have an advantage: your body. If you’re not menopausal, consider your monthly cycle. What are the stages? There is growth (building up) and death (letting go). There is activity and production, and there is stillness and being. There is extroversion; there is introversion. There is considering the needs of the outside world, and there is considering the needs of the inner world. If you are following me, congratulations! You haven’t forgotten. If my words are leaving you dazed and confused, you have some remembering to do.

Everything we need to know about birth, growth, transition, transformation, death, reintegration and rebirth can be found in the human body and, specifically, in the menstrual cycle. Any imbalance can be seen here as well. Look at your own life and your own body. What is in or out of balance? If you desire synchronicity with spring, with new creation, if you want to sprout your wings and fly, you must return to the cycle. Where are you stuck? What is your next step? Is it growth or is it rest? Is it transition or is it reintegration? Is it birth or is it death? Is there something you need to hold onto or something you need to let go of? It’s all part of the energy of life, energy that must flow to move forward. You cannot have birth without appropriate gestation and rest. We must allow our fetus to mature before she can be birthed. We must let go of what no longer serves us in order to free up energy for the next phase of our cycle, or the next phase of our life.

Take a few moments and assess where you are here, right now. Where are you in the life cycle? Are you in production overdrive, like a cancer? Are you lost in gestation? Are you stuck, not able to access your energy? Are you in labor, preparing to give birth? Are you letting go, mourning a loss?

For those of you who have reached menopause, what does your spring look like? What new creations are in your near future? What have you released in order to re-birth? What parts of yourself have you welcomed home?

If we superimpose the seasons onto our life cycle, spring becomes birth and rebirth.

So what are the consequences of a premature spring, a lack of winter? Let us consider physical birth. What can go wrong? What must go right? When an early miscarriage occurs, we commonly assume the cause is an abnormality with the sperm or egg. Successful creations require the presence of complete functioning whole parts. They also require a normal nurturing supportive environment, and, of course, time.

What happens when we don’t complete a full gestation (when we skip over rest, relaxation, winter)? Premature labor leading to premature birth. We all know how difficult it is to care for a preemie, especially one born before her lungs or brain has matured. It is the same for all of our creations. We must allow the appropriate time for our new creation to grow, to mature, to be fully formed.

Many of us find ourselves in the space of preterm birth. Spring is not supposed to come in the dead of winter. This year, all of us became winter crocuses.

What about rebirth? While the capacity for birth resides within our menstrual cycles, I consider rebirth to be the primary state of menopause. So, let us ask, what is necessary to be reborn? Here’s where it gets even more interesting.

Step 1: First, we must die. All that is old, unnecessary, unneeded, needs to fall away. We need to let go.

Step 2: We reintegrate, re-compose ourselves. We bring all the pieces back together, all that we’ve put on hold, all the new parts that we have not yet fully expressed.

Step 3: The Divine enters in. A portal opens, through our bodies.

Step 4: We are reborn.

Take away any of these steps and rebirth is not possible.

So stop. Take a look at yourself and at your life. Where are you in the process of birth and rebirth? Are you miscarrying? Are you in preterm labor? Has your gestation reached full-term? Are you post-due?

Are you in the process of letting go? Are you resisting death and disintegration? Are you struggling with reintegration? Are you allowing the divine to enter in? Is your portal open or closed? Are you reborn?

This post is a part of Awakening: The spring wisdom series. See more wonderful posts on Amy Oscar's blog.

The Transformational Power of Menopause

2011-03-26T12:04:00.000-07:00

Hear my radio interview with Irina Wardas about
The Transformational Power of Menopause here.

Lost and Found in Linear Time, Revisited

2011-02-16T02:26:00.000-08:00

I shared a conversation with two dear friends tonight about linear time, or, rather, the absence of. We hadn’t glanced at the time once, and in the blink of an eye, more than four hours had passed. I remembered a previous blog post I had written about stepping out of linear time; they requested that I repost it. I wrote the original within a few days of hearing Caroline Myss talk about stepping out of linear time and of watching the season finale of Lost. Here’s a slightly updated version:

I recently realized that midlife has much more in common with adolescence than just hormones. Sure, my face has been breaking out, and it’s the first time in thirty years that I’ve had to watch my weight. But, I also find my mind drifting back to my younger years. As a child I had (the illusion of) huge blocks of unscheduled time. I would read for days, often staying up all night to finish dime store romances. My family spent three months each summer at our mountain cabin. I played the piano for hours on end. I lost track of time; I seemed to have all the time in the world. My mother was careful not to fill our childhood days. My heart and breath constrict when my friends list the activity-packed lives of their children. “More is better--structure is better” has hit even our preschools. Little three and four-year old lives are filled with organized controlled stations forcing them to “play” in socially-specified ways.

Linear time monopolized my life from medical school onward. To be honest, for eight years, I didn’t have a life. After I completed my residency, I attempted to re-create what I had as a child--three months off annually. I worked part-time and traveled to Greece, but eventually ended up in a high-powered full-time position that almost ended me. As soon as I completed my board exams and paid back my student loans (which took only two highly-motivated years) I moved to Maine. There, I worked part-time and, with the help of the four seasons, slowed down. Once again I was reading, practically every night. I was meditating, shamanic journeying, learning from mystics, immersing myself in nature, and living the hermetic life. I loved it. I was reminded of something…me! Then I moved to Greece and became a hermit of a different sort, surrounded by community.

When I returned to California, four years later, linear time once again took over my life. It wasn’t until I hit forty-nine that I suddenly yearned to travel backwards. At midlife, my life once again stood still.

The Greeks have different words for different types of time. Leslie Keenan discusses these in her wonderful book, It’s About Time. Many Americans are aware of only one type of time, the linear kind. There are unaware of the space between time, that of deep stillness and silence.

I love stillness. I love quiet. It may make me a difficult neighbor, but it feeds my soul. If you are running non-stop, if you fall asleep before you can complete your prayers, if quiet and stillness make you uncomfortable, if you are one of the people who asked me what I did for eighteen months when I lived in Greece, or if I was bored or lonely when I lived in Maine, then you may be missing out on important gifts from non-linear time—regenerative capabilities, intuitive and archetypal wisdom, spiritual guidance, creative birthing, lightening-speed change--just to name a few.

Consider, for one non-linear moment, time as multidimensional, collapsing on itself. Think circles rather than straight lines; then think multi-dimensional. Think folds, like genetic structures. Think past lives, archetypal experiences, different times cycling back on each other. Think the TV show Lost during its last season—and if you did to see it, remember what happened to the characters that were passing through time too rapidly? That’s right--bloody noses and headaches followed by death! Packing more and more into linear time has the same devastating effects as jumping rapidly from point to point in time. Both result in our being lost in time. If all we get are bloody noses or headaches, then we’re getting off easy.

If you happen to be lost in linear time, the following are a few places where you may be found:

1. Become aware of your breath (never seems to work for me, but that doesn’t mean that it won’t work for you!).
2. Focus on your senses (Come to your senses!).
3. Focus on now—not past, not future.
4. Immerse yourself in something you love, something you’re passionate about, or in someone you love or are passionate about.
5. Connect with nature.
6. Receive body work—massage, acupuncture, or other forms of energy work.
7. Practice regression hypnotherapy.
8. Create a meditation or prayer practice.
9. Be still; be quiet.
10. Create rituals.

My favorite ways to step out of linear time (not in any particular order):

1.Taking a walk
2. Prayer, stillness, quiet
3. Regression meditation
4. Listening to music
5. Playing the piano
6. Reading a good book
7. Traveling to Greece
8. Writing
9. Creating jewelry
10. Spending time with special friends and family (especially children!)

What are your favorite ways? I invite you to step out of linear time and find yourself again!

Recommended Resources:

1. Caroline Myss’ book Defy Gravity and Hay House Radio talks
2. Leslie Keenan’s book It’s About Time
3. Eckhart Tolle’s book The Power of Now
4. The last season of Lost
5. Brian Weiss’ books, such as Many Lives Many Masters, and his regression CDs, such as Spiritual Progress Through Regression

Love is Love is Love

2011-02-14T00:56:00.000-08:00

I left my heart...

For me, it’s all the same. Mother. Sibling. Child. Lover. Friend. Partner. Love is love is love. The feeling is the same. The way I express my love may differ, but it feels the same. It’s centered in my heart. Second chakra is generative. It is the home of our creative desire.

But love connects through the fourth chakra. Spirit merges with the human body through love, through the heart.

My three-year-old nephew understood this better than any adult. He asked, “Auntie Becca, why do you have to go to Greece?” and I answered, “It doesn’t matter where I am, how far away, because I’ll always be right here.” I touched his heart.

I send to you the glorious smile that radiated out of his face, the love that came pouring out of his little body. He understood what we so easily forget.

Love is always here. A heartbeat away.

Happy Valentine's Day! Wishing you much love and joy in 2011.

**Read other Love Sparks Blogging Festival posts here!

The Case for Aquamarine Blue...or, Stifling Creativity

2011-02-03T11:00:00.000-08:00

Before I start, a disclaimer: I adore teachers, even the ones who are bad at their job. Both my parents were teachers. My mother went back to school in her fifties to obtain a PhD in Education and then used it to teach teachers how to teach! So, please don’t misunderstand my intention. As you know, certain experiences in our childhood have great influence over us, and a seemingly insignificant incident from the first grade haunts me still.

It involved a color and an art assignment. It also involved creativity, freedom of expression (or lack there-of), and the misuse of power.
The simple fact that I, at the ripe age of fifty-one, still remember it, vividly, tells me it was anything but insignificant. A second fact, that this event involved a (once) beloved teacher, is even more horrifying. Children are vulnerable. When the adults they adore mistreat or hurt them, well…you can see why so many of us end up with messed up relationships and low self-esteem.

It was a simple thing. We were given an art assignment.
Media: pastel chalks. Advised color: aquamarine blue.

I don’t know if I needed blue for the sea or for the sky, but my teacher told me to use aquamarine blue. (Why she found it necessary to dictate my blue color choice, I don’t know. But, suffice to say, there were probably underlying control issues going on. Certainly something she could get away with in a room full of six-year-olds.)

So, I carefully checked all of the different blues and used aquamarine blue. What happened next is embedded in my memory. When I proudly showed my teacher my art piece she raised her voice, “I told you to use aquamarine blue, Rebecca!” I, a perfectionist at the age of six, was horrified and ashamed.

Now, I’m sure many of you are wondering what on earth is wrong with me, talking about aquamarine blue and the hurt I experienced at six because I wasn’t allowed to create an art piece, while other children in our world are suffering horrendous abuse. This is exactly my point. If something so small and seemingly insignificant still holds a piece of my brain property, what other occupied real estate is close by?

Perhaps this wasn’t just one woman’s need to control her first-graders. Perhaps this was an early indoctrination of following the rules (in a society in which the rules are mixed up), and then getting into trouble for following them! Perhaps this was a reflection of the devaluation of the creative, of the arts. Perhaps this was a mandate against personal expression and dissenting opinions.

I wonder, do you have any early experiences, seemingly insignificant, that still haunt you?

Guest Appearance on Everyday Spirituality Radio Show

2011-01-03T00:07:00.000-08:00

If you would like to hear more about trans-solutions, resolutions and transformation in 2011, you can hear part of my talk with Melanie DewBerry Jones on her radio show, Everyday Spirituality, from Monday January 3, 2011 here.

New Year’s Trans-solutions

2010-12-30T14:19:00.000-08:00

This time, I’ve tossed New Year’s Resolutions out the window. Instead, I’m going to make New Year's Trans-solutions. Why? Because the usual resolutions, the usual solutions, just aren’t going to work in 2011. Our present time is defined by a multitude of changes and high stakes.

What’s called for? Transformation on all levels. These last two years have brought extensive and prolonged deconstruction. All around us, previously established structures are falling, and the ones that haven’t yet are ready to topple.

This isn’t just about letting go and moving on; this is about carefully rummaging through the rubble and recycling what we can in new and innovative ways. What is called for is restructuring. This requires creative solutions. Personally, resolutions don’t feel appropriate. They sound too permanent, unyielding, conservative, and conventional to be useful. They don’t feel appropriate on a global level, either.

Qualities that do feel appropriate, both personally and globally, are transmutation and transformation—so how about trans-solutions?

Definition? Solutions that are relevant, flexible, creative, transitional, and transformative. Solutions that can grow with us. Solutions that are, by their very nature, unconventional.

Wow! Do you feel the difference? When I hear the word resolution my gut and chest tighten. This word constricts. Perhaps this is because most New Year’s resolutions fail. In contrast, the (albeit, made-up) word trans-solution, carries expansive energy. Trans-solutions, by definition, cannot fail, because, in times of great change, they are essential to our survival. What trans-solutions lay in your 2011 path?

Let us know. I’m off to contemplate mine.

*Would you like to hear more about trans-solutions, resolutions and transformation in 2011?
I was Melanie DewBerry Jones' guest on her radio show, Everyday Spirituality, "Resolute THIS!" on Monday January 3, 2010 4pm PST. You may listen to part of it here.

Without Cycles

2010-12-27T03:07:00.000-08:00

I lucked out. I was headed to Chris Guillebeau’s Unconventional Book Tour for The Art of Non-Conformity, by myself, at night, in the traffic and the pouring rain. (Chris Guillebeau is an amazing soul. I’ve named him a Freedom Teacher of this generation. Check him out!) The usual twenty-minute trip took over an hour. And as I was madly wiping off the windshield steam (note to self: apply that anti-fog stuff that’s sitting in the back of the car) and had lost the ability to daydream (dangerous move, given the weather and traffic), I felt myself slipping into regret and, then, dragging myself out of it. Pep talk time. Chris will be amazing. He’s such an inspiration. It will be well-worth it. (…if you make it there alive…Go away, saboteur!).

I lucked out. Not because I made it there alive (although I am truly grateful), and not because Chris exceeded all expectations (he did), but because one of my dear friends, Marjory Mejia (@sacredflow), showed up. I saw a flash of her, in the darkly-lit room, and, then, as quickly as she appeared, she disappeared, and I thought I was hallucinating. You see, she had told me that she wouldn’t be able to make it, because she was attending a women’s conference. But there she was. When I expressed surprise, she answered, her hot Peruvian blood boiling, “I can’t believe what that doctor was telling us!” Say what? What doctor? She continued [paraphrased]: “At the conference. She was saying that it was okay for women to skip their periods, to not have any bleeding. Not just okay, but that it was preferable. She said there was a lower risk of ovarian cancer when women are on hormonal suppression. That’s ridiculous! Like we’re all supposed to not have periods!”

She was so upset I couldn’t get a word in. I nodded in agreement. Ah, yes, the predominant M.O. of our American society. Obtain study results that show a lower incidence of ovarian cancer (true, a deadly cancer, but, also true, an unlikely one), and healthcare professionals and individuals alike are more than willing to support the hormonal suppression of most women’s cycles. Evidently, this doctor’s talk about the benefits of contraception had morphed into a plug for hormonal-based contraceptives (such as birth control pills and the hormone-containing IUDs).

It was difficult for me to stay out of reactive mode. It wasn’t too long ago that I shared my friend’s heated reaction. In fact, in my talks, I often use our society’s willingness to override or suppress our menstrual cycles as an example of how out of balance the masculine and feminine have become. This strange position we hold seems even stranger after my frequent trips to Greece. Greek women are quite hesitant to place anything foreign in their bodies-- oral contraceptives, IUDs, tampons even! [To my healthcare colleagues: please do not conclude erroneously that I am against contraception. Quite the contrary. I wholly support contraceptive choice and feel they can be credited for empowering women and, equally important, conscious conception. I’ve seen far too many women with undesired pregnancies and motherhood.]

I find it fascinating how easily we, as a society, are willing to override the natural cycles of our bodies for the sake of convenience, that our everyday lives have become so out of balance (i.e., out of control) that this is our “best” alternative. I had this very same discussion with my acupuncturist many years ago, when he noticed, while taking my pulse, an imbalance in the energy related to my cycles. Then he remembered I was on the pill, and said “Oh, that’s right. You’re on the pill.” I was, understandably, alarmed that he could detect something out of balance because of the pill, and asked him if I should discontinue it. I will never forget his answer: “Because the situation you are in right now (residency) is so abnormal, your body on the pill is probably in a more natural state than off, so, no, I wouldn’t advise you discontinue them at this time.”

The cycles of our bodies and of our lives are so important that I am devoting an entire third of my book project to just this. Our current state is so out of whack that being on the pill can be more beneficial to our bodies than being off. This speaks to the conditions of our lives and the choices we make. True, being a health and wellness renegade isn’t easy. Everything conspires against us. Furthermore, using medications to treat an underlying imbalance is usually, at best, a secondary or tertiary cure. Often, it does not address the underlying cause. It’s like my childhood friend, an insulin-dependent diabetic, who used to increase her insulin dose to cover her triple dose of candy.

To make different choices from those dictated by the conventionally-structured world takes courage, or desperation, or both. This is where our conversation about overriding our cycles actually overlapped with the content of Chris Guillebeau’s talk.

Hmmm. Funny how that happens.

2010: Year of the Moon –Year of Women

2010-12-21T02:26:00.000-08:00

This is the time of year when we review 2010 and prepare for 2011.

Two thousand ten. There is so much that can be said.

It was a wild and crazy year. Massive change. Most of us were thrown out of our comfort zone, pushed to the edge.

Did you jump? Or did you get pushed off?

Those were the only two choices in 2010.

And we made it through to arrive at the total lunar eclipse on the winter solstice, an event last visible in North America in 1638! Monumental!

This eclipse sums up the year for me:

Magical. There is something awesome about a total lunar eclipse. It brings out the mystical in each of us. In times of great darkness magic appears.

Unexpected. Our weather forecast included clouds and rain. The irregular dance of the clouds revealed and concealed the progression of the shadowed moon. Minutes after the sky turned completely dark, the clouds suddenly parted, revealing a bright burnt-orange colored sphere. Our weather and our lives have become unpredictable. We are learning to expect the unexpected.

Earthly. Yes, earthly. The moon became the color of the red-orange earth, reminding us that this constantly changing orb is intricately connected to our earth and to us.

Feminine. We think of the moon as feminine, but, in fact, the ancients credited the moon with both feminine and masculine qualities. 2010 was a year in which women played more dominant roles, and the plight of women, world-wide, gained unprecedented attention. The seemingly opposite and cyclical properties of the moon remind us that bringing the feminine back into balance means bringing the masculine into balance as well.

Cyclical. This year, more than any year before it, we have become acutely aware of the cycles of life and death, how everything is connected. There is a time to expand and a time to contract. Unrestricted growth can no longer be supported at all cost. Dissolution and restructuring are a necessary part of growth.

Light. With great darkness comes great light. 2010 was a year of great darkness and of great light. Within the shadow, watch for the light.

Missed it? Watch it here:

Want more? You're not alone.
Here are some of my fav Lunar Eclipse/Winter Solstice posts:

Visionary artist, writer, and feng shui consultant Marjory Mejia on her Sacred Flow site: Winter Solstice and Rebirth

Karen Sharp’s Sister Moon

Life and relationship coach, leader, writer and musician Kathy Loh: Winter Solstice Surrender - Into the Light

Surviving the Financial Crisis: The New Pioneers

2010-12-04T16:34:00.000-08:00

The Greek equivalent of making lemons out of lemonade

It seems late to be addressing our financial crisis, but I'm noticing a second reaction wave...now is when our fears can transmute into apathy, numbness, submerged anxiety or underlying depression. Many do not feel they can express their concerns any longer, simply because this has become old news. We're being told that we can never hope to achieve the standard of living most of us have grown accustomed to, that it will take years for our economy to recover, if, indeed, this is even possible. Most of us have lost a substantial portion, if not all, of our retirement accounts and savings. Many of us have become even more isolated, accompanied only by our fears. All of us have had to make enormous changes.

Some of you know that I recently returned from Greece. Their economic situation is bleak. Most families have at least one family member out of work. Many families do not contain a single working adult. Their situation is as bad, if not worse than our dire one in California, and, yet, their reactions differ from ours. I’m not quite sure what I expected to find, but, from the outside, life appeared to continue as usual. One midweek evening in Volos, I went out with friends. It took us awhile to find a taverna with an empty table. Our friend turned to me, waving at our first choice-- packed from end-to-end--and proclaimed, “Our financial crisis!”

Don’t get me wrong; they are hurting. Most of my friends are experiencing extreme difficulties…so how is it that their mood was generally better, that they were the most generous, ever, to me? I remember seeing an article, earlier this year, in a major U.S. news publication commenting on how little the Athenian nightlife reflected their economic depression. One possible conclusion is that of escapism and denial, but it was clear to me that this is not the case.

When I returned to the U.S., friends and acquaintances greeted me with the usual comments: “How lucky you are!” “So great that you have the freedom to do this.” “Wow! I’ve never taken a six week vacation in my life, let alone each year!” When those same folks realized that I haven’t held a salaried position for over two years, they became silent and didn’t know how to respond.

This led me to reflect not only on the differences in our resources (Greece vs. U.S.) but also in our choices. I remembered this again, recently, when I met the mother of a local TV show host. Her mom--now in her 70’s—lost her husband many years ago and single-handedly raised five children, who now have ten children of their own. All her children are well-educated and successful . She was a hard-working mother, who, in her words “did what needed to be done without thinking about it.” She reminded me of my mother.

I realized, for some, the adjustment is so great they don’t even know where to start, but much of it boils down to choices. And most of us will not make the hard choices until we’re pushed into corners—deep, dark, lonely, crowded corners.

I may have not been surrounded by mentors to help me negotiate medical training or start a business, but I do have a mother who modeled choice. On my parents’ two-teacher income, my mother of three children found a way—a way to build a summer cabin in the mountains where we all spent three months each year, a way to feed us, clothe us, and pay for our university educations, a way for us all to learn how to snow ski (on brand new equipment purchased at a pre-season sale… When the check-out clerk rang up clothes and equipment for a family of five—a whopping $600 sale—he said to my mom “Your family must love to ski!” I’ll never forget his expression when she answered, “Yes, we will, after we’ve had our first lessons.”), a way to obtain her PhD--in her 50’s--while working a regular job, a way for us all to travel to Europe together for the summer (exchanging homes and cars with a family in France), and the piece de resistance, a way to buy a home in the most expensive area of our city when most women her age would be scaling down for retirement. One of my mom’s happiest moments is reflected in a newspaper article on her wall. It shows our entire family during graduation week. Why? Because four of us graduated earning five degrees within one week of each other.

How did she accomplish this? Hard work and choices. We shopped at discount stores; we bought used cars; Mom cooked, rather than dining out. Did we compromise on the things that were important? No. We lived in a nice home. My entire family loves to cook—mom prepared gourmet meals (Coquille St. Jacques served in half shells and Dobos Torte), and don’t forget the higher degrees from great schools, skiing at our mountain home, and European travel.

I made different choices than she did, but I learned from Mom that I had choices. I chose to structure my life the way I desired, knowing full well it would set me apart from most physicians (so much so, that I’d be harassed by the IRS for not making enough money!). Given limited financial resources, I chose how best to use them, given that “resources” spanned more than finances. Many other elements contribute to the richness of my life.

Enter: the Greeks. I realized, my family shares with the Greeks a strong sense of community and shared resources. Neither is common in the U.S., and so we struggle. Most Greeks live in houses tiny by our standards. Most live on a small percentage of our budgets. Most work many more hours than we do, but also spend many more hours in the company of family and friends. Most have few material possessions. Many have experienced hard economic times and have previously lived under a dictatorship. I believe all of these differences give them strength to persevere. Having the support of family, not just emotionally but physically, provides power where we are weak. Are there disadvantages of sharing a family home or living in small quarters? Of course; however, in times of hardship or need (pregnancy, newborn, young children, one-parent households, job loss, illness, family deaths), they have a built-in support system that most of us lack.

We can use this information to our advantage. Most of us are having to make tough choices…what stays, what goes…but it’s also a time of creative restructuring—and I’m not going Pollyanna on you. It’s time to ask the tough questions, like “What is most essential to me?” “What are the most important aspects of my life?” “How do I want to live my life?” “Where and with whom will I create family and community?” “What do I want for me and my loved ones?” “What am I willing to give up?” “What do I want to create?”

It may not feel like it right now, but the advantage we do have over the Greeks (and most other nations in our world) is our freedom of thought and opportunity to create anew. With established structures and modes of thinking crumbling all around us, it’s time to get real and find creative solutions--and, when we do, to share our solutions with each other.

We are the new generation of pioneers. It’s time.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! Blessings to you all.

2010-11-25T12:55:00.001-08:00

The Eyes of Abundance

2010-10-03T04:55:00.000-07:00

Metropolitan Museum of Art - Ancient Greece

What is your reaction to scarcity?

With the financial crisis, I have observed a lot of constriction. This may, in fact, be our first unconscious response to the illusion of scarcity. One need only look at the stock market to view the typical American reaction.

But not everyone responds this way. Thankfully. Several brave souls begin to see this shedding of the old, the unnecessary, the unsupportive of life, as not only liberating but as a treasure trove of possibilities. I, perhaps ignorantly, or, better, blissfully, am one of those souls – glad for the opportunities to move on, to reach for my dreams. When better, when there is nothing to lose and everything to gain? And now that I am in Greece, I’m reminded of what it is like to live from this place of abundance all the time.

I am reminded of how during my first trips to Greece everything was on strike (and I mean everything – banks, garbage collection, electricity, travel agencies…) for two months, and life continued as usual. The Greeks are used to operating in the midst of unknowns. What looks like scarcity to us Americans just looks like everyday life to Greeks. They have mastered living in the present.

Twenty years ago, on the island of Skopelos, I was in awe of their dedication to recycling—this they did out of necessity, reusing everything from paper to boxes to string to glass. Lovely gifts were decorated with small sea shells. No food was thrown away; there were plenty of hungry animals to feed.

I hesitated to come in the midst of their economic crisis. I was worried I would not be able to handle their depression, but I was wrong. Give the Greeks an economic crisis and most are generous to a fault. Has crime increased? Yes. My professor friend’s car was broken into. Banks on Alonissos were robbed. Athenian friends are scared to walk their city’s streets at night.

But none of this has stopped their generosity. Although every family has at least one unemployed member, they find the means to give give give.

Their gifts overwhelm me.

My landlords in Athens announced, several months ago, that I would stay in their lower level flat as their guest this year. And as if that weren’t enough, they had me over for dinner each night. My landlords on Skopelos invited me to a family celebration, an eight hour feast, in which we must have consumed one of each of their farm animals and drank more wine than I’ve seen in my life. Another friend embroidered a bookmark for me in the time it took me to name my favorite color, and then announced she would make another for my five-year-old nephew, who is proudly reading any book we place in front of him. My landlady just gave me a huge jar of preserves. The gifts go on and on.

Yes, I am overwhelmed.

How different our lives are when we view them through the eyes of abundance. It feels biblical—like the loaves of bread and fish multiplying in the loving arms of Christ—arms we all share.

What would change in your life today if you viewed it through the eyes of abundance?

Skyros, The Island of Transformation

2010-08-15T23:39:00.000-07:00

Skyrian Window

Caroline Myss, Minotaurs, Goat meat, and Transformation together in one post?

See: It's All Greece to Me

The Dark Side of Independence

2010-07-03T15:37:00.000-07:00

This comes with a warning. It’s not the post one would expect for a Fourth of July celebration. For me, “independence” has become a bad word. I mean, as women in our country, what has “independence” brought us…certainly not freedom, not the freedom we all need and desire? More women than ever before are working harder, longer hours, for less pay.

Don’t get me wrong. We are blessed. We are a great nation. Our independence is the basis of all creative expression which, initially, made us a planetary leader. But this same independence also created disasters, both personal and global.

Independence is a necessary and masculine quality. We all must leave the nest, so to speak, to discover our own potential, to develop our unique internal gifts, to become self-sufficient…but in the U.S. we’ve gone over the deep-end. Somewhere, along the way, we’ve left interdependence, responsibility and community on the wayside. Like all feminine qualities, they are so devalued that we’re suffering the consequences. We have, in fact, been suffering the consequences for generations, but it is only now that we’re at the point of no return.

Now that we no longer sit at the top of the economic world, we no longer have the highest number of well-educated individuals, we no longer have the greatest amount of resources at our disposal (because we’ve already used them up, turned them into non-biodegradable rubbish, and discarded them), what do we have? We have our creative expression, our freedom of expression. Because of this, I am hopeful. We still have a major role to play in creative solutions to the multiple problems that face our planet. Despite my faith being shaken by the inability of even our top scientists to come up with a viable solution to the gulf spill, I still believe that we hold this ability, this opportunity, and this responsibility. We must be the ones to come up with solutions, solutions for all the disasters we’ve participated in creating. We have no other choice.

So, what does all of this have to do with women, with the feminine? As women, we’ve learned how to act independently. We’ve learned this so well we’ve forgotten the importance of interdependence. We live in a society that has also forgotten. And here’s the key. If the problem is a predominance of independent action, then the solution is interdependent action. We forgot responsibility. We forgot the results of our excessive push forward. The answer is solutions that come through creating community efforts, taking into account the consequences of each action, acting in a responsible way. And this type of action is second-nature to most women, to most mothers and some fathers. How do good mothers make decisions? Without thinking, they first answer the question, how will this affect my child, our family? Mothers make extraordinary decisions and changes both during pregnancy and beyond that they would never make for themselves. They quit smoking, they eat healthy foods, they change jobs, they change their lifestyle, they let go of all that is non-essential, they look at the bigger picture, they see how every decision, every action, affects their child’s future.

This Independence Day I challenge us to celebrate our interdependence. I challenge us to accept the responsibility that came with the incredible freedom we’ve been given. I challenge us to make our decisions the way a mother would. I challenge us to value our women and children, our earth, our world.

Happy Interdependence Day, Everyone!

Deconstruction

2010-06-16T02:10:00.000-07:00

Collapsed column, upper site, Delphi

Have you been feeling unclear, uncertain, unsettled? If the “un”s describe you, don’t distress. You aren’t alone. I’ve lost count of how many friends, this last week, have said they feel on the precipice of an abyss. Some have described the ground crumbling away beneath their feet. Others have been anxious and fearful without understanding the source.

Natural disasters, such as earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, and flashfloods, coupled with human disasters, such as the BP oil spill and continuing financial crises, have left usually solid souls grasping the eroding cliff’s edge.

If this description is familiar, you are not going crazy, although it can certainly feel this way. Instead, you are probably more sensitive than you realize. You are picking up on tremendous change. Just as animals detect and flee forthcoming natural disasters (elephants, for example, are quite good at detecting earthquakes), so do you. Your body and psyche are linked to the greater whole and are registering enormous change--and it’s scaring the bejeezus out of you.

But, here’s the thing. We all know that these changes are inevitable. We need to shift big-time, both personally and as part of the human race. So, if change is coming no matter what we do, doesn’t it make sense to go with it, rather than halt and defend? Remind me-- what exactly are we defending? An old way of being that is completely unsustainable?

A wise friend shared this pearl with me long ago: deconstruction is inevitable, necessary even; creation follows.

In order for anything new to be created, the old must fall away. Eventually, everything deconstructs into its essential building blocks. If we allow this, we may find that what we built wasn’t as solid as we thought, because the building blocks, themselves, weren’t solid. Solidity is almost impossible to determine from the outside in. The truth becomes clear only when we allow inessential elements to fall away.

So, if you think everything is falling apart, you are correct. But rather than trying to protect the old flawed structure, let it collapse. Gather solid building blocks, and place your attention on the structure you will now build, the one that is sustainable, the one that will last for the rest of your life. You’re older and wiser now. Imagine what you will create!

Black Gold Metaphor

2010-06-02T01:07:00.000-07:00

As the oil spill in the gulf continues, I can’t help but see this as a metaphor.

Oil. It used to be our answer to everything… fuel, energy, plastics. Yes, we’ve become dependent on oil, addicted, even. You’ve heard it all. This once black gold has been blamed for war and countless deaths. We seem unable to function without it. And as with all addictions, all places of stuck-ness, we aren’t willing to let it go until we have no other choice--until our relationship to it becomes so abusive that the decision is made for us--and then we go through painful withdrawal.

No matter what BP does, the leak continues, the effects multiply, and the catastrophe spreads. Yes, natural wildlife is destroyed, mutated, affected in ways we cannot conceive. And now, the first signs of untoward effects on humans surface. I’m not speaking economics; I’m speaking illness. Weekend national news broadcasted a scene from the cleanup crew’s condensed four-hour training session. Employees were warned that one out of seven (did I hear correctly?) could develop exposure-related cancer. No one left the room. WHAT? Let me say that again. No one left the room.

What does it take for us to wake up, to accept responsibility? Just as BP execs are scrambling, so should we.

Here we go. What part of you is leaking energy at such a tremendous rate that it cannot be controlled? What will it take to contain it? How much of your life and the lives of others will be destroyed because you couldn’t walk away; you refused to move on to other more sustainable forms of energy? What once was your black gold that is no more? Pounds of caffeine, sugar, fat or animal protein? Drugs or drama? Escape? Physical or emotional addictions? Are you hanging onto an old job that is killing you? An old relationship? What’s keeping you trapped? Fear? The hole has burst open. Nothing will close it. Is it too late to repair the damage you’ve caused? When will you finally let go and move on? What will it take?

Supposedly, BP had a bunch of backups, and they all failed. When something is defective or just plain wrong, there’s no going back. We can come up with all kinds of excuses, the same ones we tell ourselves, but we know it’s time—it’s been time—to move on.

***
For more, see 10 Life Lessons Learned from the BP Oil Spill on SelfGrowth.com.

Note to Self

2010-05-28T14:03:00.000-07:00

Recently, Jessie May Kezele, a coach for "quarterlife" women, asked her tweeps if they would like to guest post on her blog Blossoming Brilliance. There was one catch. Her call went out to women young enough to be my daughters (can't believe that day has come), because Jessie is a life coach for women in their twenties and thirties. I love what she is creating and wanted to take part, so I contacted her and asked what if I write a letter to my younger self? Would she have a place on her blog for ancient me? She was very gracious, and Note to Self is the result.

I hope you enjoy it, no matter if you fall into the elderly category, like me (before I get a mailbox full of comments--you know I'm kidding, right?), or you're young enough to be my daughter.

What note would you write to your younger self?

Responsibility and the Greek Crisis

2010-05-16T23:56:00.000-07:00

Many friends have been asking for my POV about the current situation in Greece. I am speaking about the financial crisis and not about the recent deaths.

I’ve been hesitant to address the demonstrations, because I haven’t been clear about what to say or how to say it. The situation is complex, but everyone rushes to simplify it by assigning blame, typically to one party. If we can just blame someone, anyone, find our scapegoat, then we do not have to take any personal responsibility. A lot can be learned by observing how each political party/person/country is reacting to a situation such as this.

I watched the same thing happen after Michael Jackson’s death. A respected doctor (I won’t name this person), was oh-so-quick to blame MJ’s doctor. And, apparently that wasn’t enough, because this same physician went on to blame a whole slew of “doctors of celebrities.” This person was on national news, within minutes of MJ’s death, blaming an entire group of individuals. I was furious. Don’t misunderstand me. I’m not saying that MJ’s doctor or these doctors are not to blame or that they do not carry any responsibility. We have a legal system to sort that out. It angered me that this type of quick finger-pointing (that the media adores, by the way) relieved everyone else of any personal responsibility.

Yes, of course there are crooks in this world. There are billions of bad decisions made on a daily basis. Some individuals are malicious and corrupt. But, still using the example of MJ, by so quickly attaching blame to one party, we lose the opportunity to address the other important issues, such as, in this case, the nature of addiction, how the public fails their celebrities, or the long-term effects of emotional and physical abuse.

I so wished that this popular physician had addressed these areas, in front of millions of viewers, because we are in great need of healing.

We’re also in great need of taking responsibility—responsibility for our health, our actions, our beliefs, and our choices.

And so it is the same with the current crisis in Greece. I’ve lost track of who (sounds like a Dr. Seuss book) is on the who’s who list of responsible parties: Papandreou’s administration , Karamanlis, Goldman Sachs, the United States, the European Union, the Greek police, the Greek people, the demonstrators, the anarchists, the government workers who did not strike… Who is asking the bigger, harder questions? Most are content with scapegoating one group, one party, one county. But when we take each issue and ask the real questions of why and how, we begin the process of unpeeling the gigantic onion. As we go through the layers, the stench fills the room and our eyes burn. Impotent tears stream down our cheeks. They cannot clear us from our contribution to this mess.

Please don’t take me literally. Perhaps there is no way that you are personally responsible for what is happening right now in Greece. But, this doesn’t matter if you are American, because many of our decisions affect the rest of the world anyway. It has only been recently that we’ve had a taste of our own medicine. Prior to this financial recession, many of us had no clue as to the effects that our economic and environmental decisions have had on those outside of our own city, state or country. Ask a person from a small European country like Greece, and they won’t hesitate to share this information with you.

The time has come. We can no longer ignore own responsibility, whether it’s our health, our spending habits, our lifestyle choices, our parenting skills, or our environmental practices, we all carry multiple responsibilities that affect our fellow inhabitants of this earth. Time to pay up, literally.

I’d love to hear your thoughts. Is there any area of your life for which you have recently claimed responsibility? How have your actions affected our global companions?

Happy Mother's Day!

2010-05-09T13:42:00.000-07:00

Happy Mother's Day to all mothers, nurturers and creators.

I would like to share with you some of my favorite Mother's Day posts this year:

Julie Daley's lovely post on her blog unabashedly female: Mother, You Are Enough

Nia Vardalos' post, especially for friends and family of those who want to be moms: If you don't have anything nice to say on Mother's Day...

Sophia's post on Global Greek World: Happy Mother's Day!

Marcia G. Yerman's post on her blog: The Mother's Day Conundrum

Have a joyful day, everyone!

Career Confessions

2010-04-19T15:38:00.000-07:00

When lovely Monica asked to interview me about my career, I hesitated. At the top of her original Career Confessions webpage were the words: "All participants are successful in their line of work." Was I successful? I certainly don't define success in the same way as the majority of my medical colleagues...or Americans, for that matter. But I told my inner critic (for the umpteenth time) to shove it and have fun answering the questions! Then, when the post went up, to my delight, these words were no longer at the top of the page. So, I'll add question #13 to the list: How do you define success, and do you consider yourself successful?

Your answers to these questions are infinitely more important than mine. When you can carve away a bit of time, do yourself a favor and answer them!

You can find my answers and, more important, the twelve questions here.

Red Eggs and Rebirth

2010-04-03T13:20:00.000-07:00

The most important celebration of the year in Greece, Greek Easter, occurs on the same Sunday as in the U.S. this year. This doesn’t happen very often, so it’s always a treat when it does. Unlike in the U.S., Christmas is not Greece’s greatest holiday; Easter is.

Although many Greeks will argue this point, I am not Greek, at least not in this lifetime. I am Assyrian. My grandparents were Christian, members of the Church of the East, and, Easter was also their greatest holiday. I had often noticed similarities between my heritage and that of the Greeks, and this included religious celebrations. I was not raised in the Assyrian church, but, each year, my Assyrian cousin, who has been a prominent figure in the Northern California wine and food scene, hosts Easter. He invites all the relatives; there are often several who I have never seen before. Folks travel across the country to take part in the festivities. Although it’s certainly not the same as the scene from My Big Fat Greek Wedding (e.g., my cousins aren’t all named Nick) we do have the entire lamb on the spit, loads of relatives and a fantasy-land of food and drink. Instead of the ouzo or tsipouro we have a lovely assortment of wine and spirits. Sometimes there’s even Assyrian circle dancing, although this year we’re hoping for a soft-shoe number performed by my seventy-eight-year-old mother and one of my talented teenage cousins. (*See video of Mom's debut here!)

Along with the lamb, we have dolmas (Our version contains cubes of lamb and is dressed with thick yogurt). And then there’s my cousin’s special traditional plates, including desserts, such as his chocolate decadence and his infamous mudslide cookies (huge chunks of chocolate barely held together by cookie dough that do slide down one’s throat quite easily—one year the kids found the stash and ate the majority of them before dinner!). There are other similarities, too--like the deep earth red-dyed Easter eggs from onion skins, and the crack the egg battles. As a child, I was so impressed by their rich color that I did my science project on natural dyes. And, yes, the onions skins beat the beets.

When I finally was fortunate enough to spend Μεγάλη Εβδομάδα (The “Great Week” leading up to Easter) in Greece, many years ago, I was impressed by how similar their celebration, combining food, family and the Divine, was to the spirit and nature of my family’s own celebration. It leads me to reflect on the role of ritual amongst family and friends and the back seat it takes in our culture. It also saddens me to see such a de-emphasis on the message of this universal Holy week. Spring is here. Rebirth is here. Once again, all is possible. And it leads me to ask the questions: How do you choose to honor the cyclical nature of life? What rituals will you share with the dear loved ones in your life?

Happy Easter! * Happy Passover! * Καλό Πάσχα! * Shalom! * Shlama’lokhun! * Happy Spring!

Greek-American Actress Rita Wison talks about Greek Easter on The Washington Post.
Learn how to dye Easter eggs using onion skins here.

Caught Between Winter and Spring

2010-03-20T13:53:00.000-07:00

Spring is here! Are you ready? I can’t say that the Equinox crept up on me this year. Let’s face it. The weather these last couple of weeks has been quite strange. Two weeks ago, while on my walk, I was tricked again. Lovely sunshine beckoned me out of my comfortable cave. I took fifteen steps, froze, turned around, ran back inside, and grabbed my winter coat. Sun, how dare you mislead me? After forty-five minutes at a vigorous pace, my body adjusted, and, as soon as it did so, I was pelted with spring showers from a seemingly blue sky. Those clouds were so far away...does rain time travel?

It took several minutes before I caught on. The weather was a projection of that particular moment in time. After a fifteen-month retreat into my cocoon, a long sleep, an extended winter, I was suddenly propelled forward. More had happened in the last twelve hours than in the last twelve weeks; heck, more had happened in the last week than in the last year. It was March, after all, and Mars would finally go direct in another week, but it still managed to catch me by surprise.

Fast-forward one week, and we were having summer weather. Yesterday, I was (pun not intended) hot in my tank top! Today, the sun is hiding again, reflecting my hesitation to dive in. But, spring is here! Are we not ready?

I’m not quite there. I don’t know about you, but if those around me (and the weather!) are any reflection of the whole, I’m going to assume that I’m not alone. If you’ve found yourself caught in between winter and spring, you are not alone. Since Mars went direct, a few days ago, friends were commenting on feeling “stuck.” Or worse, they were feeling caught in between retreating (winter) and forward movement (spring). And to be caught in between two equally strong and opposite forces is much more actively uncomfortable than the word “stuck” implies.

Astrologers have cautioned that although Mars is now direct, it may take up to two months for its momentum to assist us in moving forward. So, all of this is to say that if you feel stuck or caught between winter and spring or feel like you’re slipping backwards or don’t seem, yet, to have the energy to move forward, don’t despair. You are right on target with the earth, the seasons, and the stars.

Don’t make the mistake of thinking that you’re going back to old stuff for an indefinite stay. This is your last chance to let go of the old (yes, the same letting go we were discussing at the beginning of the year). The next two months are an ideal time to consider the changes you are about to make, the new growth that is to blossom in the next two months, so that when mid-May arrives (and it will come quickly) you will be ready to move forward.

Happy Vernal Equinox, Everyone!

Music, the Light of the Soul

2010-03-12T01:06:00.000-08:00

On January 21st, I wrote the following. Fortunately, life has improved since then!*

There has been a lot of darkness lately, and I’ve been hanging out in it, longer than I’d like. Are you trapped in here with me? If not, then no need to read on.

Plenty of drama. Lots of change. Much letting go. Even more to reveal. Worlds are colliding. Not just the outer worlds, but the inner ones too. One of my friends recently wrote an eloquent post about the negative effects of travel on the environment. She concluded that overpopulation is our most significant contribution to the destruction of our earth. The earth wasn’t meant to support such a large number of humans.

And as we collide, drama and disaster mount.

I use the small town in which I grew up as an example. Even though it’s located in a major west coast city, it carries the title of “village.” That’s what it used to be, a quiet little village. But in the time it took for me to grow up, everyone else did too…and created families, and acquired SUVs…and, suddenly, my once sleepy village turned into a mini-Manhattan.

The negative effects of this population explosion go beyond the destruction of all things green. In my opinion, overpopulation also accounts for the majority of stressors. For example, it creates unbearable traffic, filled with a populace at its screaming angry rageful worst. I lived in Yarmouth, Maine for two years. There, driving was a pleasure…except when Bostonian weekenders showed up. You could spot them a mile away, because they were driving so damn fast. If you happened to catch a glimpse of their faces you’d see the same expressions of those stuck in the worst traffic jams—the underlying anxiety, the permanent crease in their foreheads, the victimized look in their eyes. You would witness the daily price they paid for their urgency-fueled existence.

It terrified me, because I recognized that all-too-familiar look that had stared back at me in the mirror, the one I had been too busy to notice.

And now everyone wears this mask.

My patient Twitter followers have had to endure my poor reaction to the largest of these stressors--noise. One would think that I’d be able to handle this, having spent my college years in crowded Berkeley coffee shops. Or how about all the years I’ve lived in Greece, where structural insulation is poor, every building has marble floors, and all of its occupants wear hard-heeled shoes? And even if the shoes come off, there are always the raised passionate voices, the rumbling of motorbikes, and the cacophony of traffic horns. One such Athenian apartment building that I inhabited was located next to a construction site. For those of you who have seen the Acropolis, on what does it rest? That’s right. Solid rock. Well, that same solid rock competed for space with the new building’s foundation, so, for weeks, I was assaulted by jackhammers chipping away at my soul.

You’d think that I could deal with a couple of noisy neighbors in a poorly-insulated building. I mean, surely there is no competition between this situation and the Athenian one.

But apparently, I can’t. Step 1: I admit that I am powerless over my reaction to the constant banging of pots and pans, angry shouting, and the incessant slamming of doors and drawers. Step 2: Find life-saving iPod and permanently attach ear buds to ear.

Step 2 is life-saving…not to mention a preventative treatment for insanity. My first iPod’s battery ran out, and I almost lost it. Almost. Its replacement, the infamous hot pink one, arrived to save the day.

Honestly, I don’t know what I would do without music. I have an incredibly long way to go before I become Eckhart Tolle, Jr. In the meantime, music is a more realistic solution. Is listening to Sarah McLachlan or Ivy bringing me into the present moment, or is it just an escape? I don’t care. It keeps me sane. It feeds my soul.

They say that the olfactory sense takes us back to our oldest memories. That may be true, but I think my ears take me back to my strongest memories, the most significant ones. When I hear a Bach fughetta, I’m back to the age of ten, playing on my upright piano in the downstairs hallway, with my five-year-old brother running down the steps to bang on the bass keys. When I hear Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini I go back to my first ill-fated childhood love affair (the kind that’s all in your head). When I hear A Time for Us from Romeo and Juliet, I’m transported back to the fifth grade, sitting at my school desk, wearing my favorite dress with the mod five-petaled flowers.

Then there are the sixties tunes, and visions of Haight-Ashbury and Telegraph Avenue flash before my eyes. The original American Woman plays and I hear the content of all three boxes of my precious forty-fives. Then, I flash-forward to my first Greek boyfriend playing the same song in a Skopelos disco when I walk into the room.

Thus it goes, on and on. There are the teenage coming-of-age songs, the college songs, the med school years and residency songs (shudder). There are the Maine songs and the Greek songs (sigh).

What else holds this kind of power? Certainly not noisy neighbors.

So, next time you feel stress rising from noise pollution, grab your MP3 player, turn on the CD player, click on YouTube, or visit Blip FM. Don’t let the noise-polluters get you down!

Oh, and thank you, Tweeps, for putting up with my ranting. I hope to do better from now on.

(Yes, I’m writing this in an extremely noisy coffee shop, but couldn’t be happier because I’m listening to the songs that you will find at the bottom of this page or here.)

*Afterthought: I’m happy to report that in the time since I wrote this original post I have made more positive adjustments, including joining a church choir to perform Brahms’ Requiem and purchasing a piano keyboard. The last time I had participated in either was over thirty years ago. It is wonderful to have music back in my life! What do you need to invite back into your life? Spring is on its way. It’s time to make a change!

Revisiting the Void

2010-02-26T23:32:00.000-08:00

After a fourteen year hiatus, I revisited New York City. When I had a free moment, did I head out to the hottest Broadway show? Did I rush to the latest newsworthy restaurant? How about a trip to Times Square, Radio City Music Hall, the Statue of Liberty or, perhaps, the Met? No. None of the above. Out of hundreds of spectacular choices, I headed straight to the Guggenheim.

The first and only time I had experienced this curvaceous feminine oddity in a world of linearly-structured museums was as a young teen. It left a lasting impressing on my hormonally-affected adolescent mind. I loved her curves, the illusion of having no beginning or end, the seemingly empty yet pregnant space in her center, the ascending spiral to the Gods. So my return to Manhattan would not be complete without paying homage to the Goddess amongst museums.

In the midst of a noisy dinner, I received a phone call from Mom, alerting me to a special event at the Guggenheim. I couldn’t quite make out what she was saying—just words here and there…Guggenheim…anniversary…void…exhibit. But it didn’t matter, because I had already decided that it would be my first stop.

On Sunday, I made my way uptown, constantly rechecking the cross streets. It should be close. There’s Central Park. Where is it? The Guggenheim is neatly hidden away behind a row of angular apartment buildings. Her curves are nestled behind their sturdy frames which stand guard like overprotective husbands, fathers, and brothers sheltering their wives, daughters, and sisters. This reminded me of her Greek sister Goddess at the Acropolis, suddenly appearing above in the most unlikely Athenian places.

Although the Guggenheim’s outside appearance is impressive, enter within her for an unimaginable experience. During my first trip, I was too young to contemplate, analyze, or evaluate her with my mind. Instead, she found her way into my heart. This time, with years of experience and a bit of wisdom, I was overwhelmed. And just in case I didn’t get it, her Fiftieth Anniversary (which also coincided with my fiftieth year) included the striking exhibit Contemplating the Void. You see, Frank Lloyd Wright and many others got it too. They understood that the gestational center, the Void, isn’t empty at all, but contains all the necessary ingredients for new creation.

This time I did contemplate. Visiting the Void is quite common to midlife journeyers. For those of you who fear revisiting this vital center, remember that this is the place from which all is created. There is absolutely nothing to fear, unless you are set on holding onto your old way of being. Only then is there everything to fear. Those of you at midlife recognize this conflict. We must revisit her center. Our new creations will then radiate outwards, just as they do at the Guggenheim.

A Rude Awakening, Appreciated

2010-02-04T15:04:00.000-08:00

I woke up this morning to jarring, banging, pounding—as if someone was trying to demolish the building. It upset me, but only for a few seconds, because, courtesy of difficult neighbors, this is how I had been awakened for months on end. A few minutes later as my mind cleared, I realized the noise was different than usual. Rather than door slams, crashing pots and pans, and shouting, this time, someone was actually building something. Was that a drill? And, yes, there was a hammer. The whole building shook, but that was nothing new.

There was another big difference. The neighbors weren’t here! This was perhaps the third time in months that they were gone. Why? Because, this time, someone else was making noise loud enough to disturb them. I think it was coming from the stairwell, but, by now, this noise had become a part of me, stuck somewhere in the outer layer of my emotional body.

When this began several months ago, I thought perhaps I was being warned of an upcoming earthquake; after all, California is due. I also realized then that this was a metaphor for my life, a life that had become shaky at best, one whose foundation was threatened. Not a comfortable seat, even though I had been the first to rush forward and claim it. A bit later, I mused, perhaps this is what happens when you ask for inner peace? The divine chef of the universe serves you up the noisiest most obnoxious din she can muster. This seemed even more likely since the message was coupled with the external illusion that these were nice people who weren't capable of screaming obscenities or producing a jarring, shaking, pounding clamor every five to ten seconds for hours on end. Surely, they were only cooperating to further my own life-education.

By now, you may be wondering why I’m still living here. As I write this, I can’t help but wonder the same.

But something happened this morning when I realized that this noise was created by actual construction, rather than disturbance and chaos. I remembered that, just two days ago, a ten-year-old leak in the bathroom sink had been fixed. And the plumber had been good enough to repair the tub faucet as well, just in case. One of my Twitter friends reminded me that this represented energy that had been dripping out of me for, well, ten years. I knew exactly what kind of energy it was. Water, our feminine energy, is also our life force. Appearing through our emotions, it is the energy that is often suppressed, that goes unnoticed. This bathroom leak, in fact, had been slow, barely noticeable, until I placed a cup beneath the faucet. I had been surprised by how significant this drip-drip was. It added up at the end of the day...week...month...years. This vital force, the emotional expression of the passions that fuel my life, had been leaking out for as long as I could remember.

This is the same force that is apparent when our emotions come out in a flood. Once, one of my colleagues tried to warn a laboring patient of the dangers of postpartum hemorrhage. Searching to find an appropriate illustration and fueled by a sense of urgency, she walked over to the sink faucet, turned it on full blast (water droplets dancing and exploding into the room), and said, “See this? This is how quickly you can bleed out.”

I realized that I had lost the entire content of my suppressed life force over and over again, slowly but steadily…drip-drip-drip-drip…

Yes, this day was different. The drip had been fixed, and I was feeling stronger, already thankful for the extra energy. And this time the very structure that had been shaking beneath my feet was being repaired. And it was in the stairwell.

Now I have a functional sturdy exit.

****

What aspects of your life are leaking your life force? Do you recognize this only when it comes rushing out? Are you on steady ground? What foundation or structures in your life need repairing or reinforcement? Have you been heeding the signs?

Timeless Beauty

2010-02-01T17:49:00.000-08:00

Once again, I am thankful to Twitter for connecting me with like-minded people. More and more women are exploring our society’s refusal to accept death and aging, and, lately, they’ve been tweeting about it. Elissa Stein, author of FLOW is working on her next book project, Wrinkle, and her recent Huffington Post piece, The Age of Invisibility, was about our mistreatment of the elderly. Through twitter, I also learned of photojournalist Robbie Kaye’s documentation of her Beauty of Wisdom interviews with women in their seventies and older, conducted at their beauty shop appointments.

It’s time to address this peculiar societal dysfunction.

In the not so distant past, the anorexic teenager was our society’s single representation of beauty. The Twiggy template lived on, decades beyond her actual owner. Dove’s relatively recent campaign was one of the first to use normal-looking normal-sized women models. Their famous Evolution video revealed the false representation of the final icon of a female model that appeared on a billboard. By the time the initial picture was adjusted, it was so far removed from the original that it was difficult to connect the two. Our sense of beauty, both outer and inner, has become unbelievably warped.

It took my traveling to Greece to become aware of just how culture-specific beauty is. I was relieved when I discovered that the Greeks were blind to the dark hair on my body that was deemed socially-unacceptable in the U.S. I was thrilled that women who we would consider overweight showed no hesitation in wearing tight clothes in public or bikinis on the beach.

But there was another difference, and this one had more to do with inner beauty. In Greece, the elderly were cared for, honored, and respected by their families. Often, these elderly women provided the structure and foundation for the family. Many of my Greek friends were raised by their yiayias (grandmothers). Because the Greeks are a very social people, I had more conversations with elderly women there than I did with one of my own grandmothers. I could not return to my apartment without talking with a yiayia who lived in my neighborhood. She would pull out a seat cushion and rush to make Greek coffee when she saw me approaching her marble steps. In fact, I had to add an extra thirty to sixty minutes to my trip home if I didn’t return during her afternoon nap.

These grandmothers not only shared their life wisdom with me but provided me with such a strong sense of family and stability that it eased the 6,000+ mile distance from my real family. Looking at the world through their eyes provided me with an immediate sense of what is truly important. Linear time disappeared. Relationships and relating became crucial. It was clear that what we do is not as essential as how we do it, and that those we love are more important than anything else in this world. The emphasis on artificial physical beauty disappeared in a land where nothing could be more gorgeous than the dramatic scenery, weathered by the same natural elements that wrinkled the lovely faces of the elderly.

I became aware of another striking difference. These Greek women lived each day in the present moment, just as children do. In fact, they lived their entire lives in this way. This was a country in which the natural cycles of life were recognized and death was accepted along with life. The Greeks understood that in order for anything new to be created, the old must dissolve. They remembered what we have forgotten, that unrestricted growth is unsustainable and undesirable.

Both of my biological grandmothers died long ago. Now, more than ever, I absorb my mother’s memories of her mother and her mother’s generation. Not wanting to miss any of their wisdom, I grab hold before it disappears forever. By forgetting her, I lose. By forgetting them, we all lose.

Ours is a young nation. How can we expect to mature without the wisdom of our elders? Without this wisdom, we continue to destroy our earth and ourselves. The longer we hold onto this notion of unrestricted growth, the more this destruction continues. When will we, as a nation, begin to face our fears about aging and death and, instead, honor the hard-earned wisdom of our elders? When will we see their true beauty? Until we do, we will remain blind to our own.

***
You can read Robbie's letter to her Beauty of Wisdom women on the Feminine Revelations site.

The Nightmare Day Martin Luther King, Jr. was Murdered

2010-01-18T12:51:00.000-08:00

"I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character."

Yes, you all recognize this famous quote by the late, great, Martin Luther King, Jr.

I remember the day he was murdered. Assassination is too mild, too clinical, a word for what happened. He was murdered, plain and simple. I was in elementary school in a small privileged hillside section of Oakland, California. My city was (and still is) predominantly African-American, composing over 80% of the population in the 1960’s. My mother, a public school teacher, reading specialist, and, later, professor of Education, had spent her entire life teaching minority children to read in the Oakland Public School system. She, herself, returned to school in her 50’s, to obtain a PhD in Education, which she then used to educate public school teachers. She held firm to her belief that any child can be taught to read as long as they had the prerequisite training.

Although my mother was acutely aware of problems with public education, she was a strong proponent. Even though the system fell short multiple times, she kept her children in the public school system. In fact, we remained in this system through college, all of us obtaining our undergraduate degrees from her alma mater, the University of California at Berkeley.

But the public school system failed many times. I remember the day that Martin Luther King Jr. was murdered, because that day, this small elementary school failed its children, miserably.

I remember being released early into a vast sea of children. Outside, it felt like a war zone. I don’t know if I actually saw the riots or if I just felt them. To this day, my memories are surreal, as if it didn’t really happen, but was, instead, a terrifying childhood nightmare...so vivid that it remains impossible to distinguish from reality. All Oakland teenagers and young adults had emptied into the streets of Oakland. Rioting was everywhere. It was a war zone. So different than what this remarkable gentle loving giant had tried to model for us all.

Every elementary school child was released, including my younger brother, who was in kindergarten. Parents weren’t notified. Older siblings weren’t instructed to pick up their younger siblings before walking home.

I did what I always did after school; I walked home...as did all the older children. My younger brother went outside to stand on the sidewalk in the usual spot where he always waited. My mother, however, had no idea that we had been released early until she saw school children walking up the street. She rushed to the school to find my brother, who was waiting unattended and unprotected outside the school.

I have so many memories, all bad, of that day. Hate, fear, anger, violence, lack of responsibility, danger, disappointment... No not fear. Sheer terror.

Today, two of Martin Luther King, Jr.’s other quotes come to mind:

"I have decided to stick with love. Hate is too great a burden to bear."

and

“Life's most persistent and urgent question is, 'What are you doing for others?’”

So, when everyone recognizes Martin Luther King, Jr. today, it brings back all of these mixed fillings, all bad, all sad. I’m sure he wouldn’t have wanted it this way, but, honestly, have we learned anything since then? It has been over forty years. What would he think if he could see us now? Not to belittle the changes for which he so peacefully fought, and certainly not to ignore the advancements made in civil rights—no, that is not my point.

I’m asking, have we decided to stick with love? Have we recognized that hate is too great a burden to bear? What are we doing for others?

For more quotes from the great Martin Luther King, Jr., see this Huffington Post Article.

Solar Eclipse of the Century

2010-01-15T03:36:00.000-08:00

I have no idea from where this picture was taken. I can only hope that I have permission to post it.

If not, let me know, and I will remove it!

If you happened to be in Burma today, you had a pretty good view of the longest (annular) solar eclipse of the century, not to be repeated until 3014. Unless you believe in reincarnation, you probably won’t be around to see it the next time.

You may not have been able to view this eclipse at all, but even if you live on the other side of the world, as I do, you may very well have experienced its effects. To say that the last few weeks have been eventful is an understatement. Most of us are still struggling with the end of year clearing and our New Year’s resolutions. We haven’t quite dealt with the slow-downs common with mercury retrograde, and we’re smack dab in the middle of another “longest record,” that of the longest cleaning spree of the century.

Add a catastrophic earthquake in the middle of all of this, and one wonders if the earth is doing a bit of major house-cleaning too.

I find it a bit strange that the moon tries--albeit fleetingly--to protect us from the full light of the sun. It’s as if we can’t bear his full force and Mother Moon makes a last-ditch effort to shield us from the glaring truth that only he can reveal.

I’m struck by this metaphor in my own life. Is she, in fact, protecting me from me? What is it that I cannot bear to have revealed in the full light of day? What have I willingly covered up, tried to ignore or escape from? Unfortunately for me, the answer composes a long list. I can’t help but believe that I’m being placed on notice. All is now revealed. I no longer have Mother Moon’s help. The nurturing cyclical feminine can no longer protect me from the harsh piercing revealing light of the masculine. There will never again be such a lengthy solar eclipse, not for the rest of my life.

So folks, for me, the day of reckoning has come. A choice stands before me. I can ignore the message and face dire consequences or, once and for all, deal with the truth.

It might be a reasonable time to assess your own truth. What is being revealed to you in the full solar light? What has the feminine in life tried to protect you from? What truth(s) have you covered up, tried to ignore or attempted to escape from? Are you being placed on notice too?

The good news is that we have a choice, of sorts. There really is only one choice, and it may be the one that we haven’t yet chosen…but it’s there, and the time to choose it is now.

I don’t know about you, but it makes me feel better sharing this with you, knowing that I may not be completely alone. Why don’t we resolve to face our truths head-on?

Perhaps this can be our New Year’s Resolution.

Pray for Miracles

2010-01-14T17:08:00.000-08:00

I honestly didn’t expect that within hours of writing my last post (that’s right…the one that explained that my word for 2010 is “Miracles, simply because there is no way that I or anyone else is going to make it through 2010 without them”) a devastating earthquake would hit Haiti and the whole world would be praying for miracles.

One advantage of social networking technology such as Twitter is that we are all drawn together within seconds. We feel each other’s pain and distress. Devastation is no longer just on the evening TV news, but all over the Internet. We, literally, would have to unplug ourselves from everything electronic and all human contact to escape it.

When I was a teen, my mom would chide me for my disinterest in current affairs and politics. I was the one who ran to the bathroom when a family member grabbed the Trivial Pursuit box. I’m shaking my head as I write this, because now, no matter how hard I try, I can’t escape this information. Even consciously turning off the TV and disconnecting from the Internet does not spare me.

Those of you who are premenstrual or have gone through menopause may have a first-hand experience of how human suffering connects women. We are the iron shavings of the tremendously powerful unifying magnet of loss, anxiety, fear and despair. This is the negative side of emotional or somatic intuitive knowing. It’s the same knowing that alerts us to the next dangerous move of the car beside us and, at the same time, causes the constant driver-anxiety we feel, regardless of traffic.

So, this nightmarish earthquake is the next event in what will most likely be a series. We are acutely aware of tremendous suffering and, yet, paralyzed. It is a horrible place to be—to feel such distressing effects and, at the same time, not take action. We all need to be able to transform these feelings into action. On Twitter alone, numerous helpful Tweeps (twitter people) have listed trustworthy relief groups to which one can contribute. You are probably aware that you can even text as small an amount as $5 from your cell phone (text YELE to 501501). Many others have also reminded us of one of our greatest calls to action: prayer. You certainly don’t have to practice a particular religion or even believe in God, for that matter, to pray. You must, however, believe that there is more to this world than a bunch of egos and that, alone, we rapidly run into the limitations of our own power and control.

Was it a coincidence that one of my new Twitter friends, Amy Oscar, posted “Whatever” to her blog today? In it, she discusses our self-created anxiety produced by the limitations of our personal power and control. It rapidly became one of my favorite posts, because I (and I’m sure I wasn’t alone) could see myself in her honest reflection.

Her post also reminded me that it is our own inability to relinquish control that interferes with our call to prayer. We do what we can, and we make sure that we is the biggest we imaginable.

We pray for miracles.

Eight Specific Ways to Pray for Haiti
Lists of relief organizations can be found at this site, this site, and at this one:

What’s Your Word for 2010?

2010-01-13T13:38:00.000-08:00

If you follow me on Facebook or Twitter, you may have noticed my question about your word of the year. Two-thousand and nine was, in many ways, a wonderful year for me. I took an extended break from direct patient care to pursue my writing and to contemplate the expansion of my career. I gave myself this very special 50th birthday gift. I highly recommended the same gift to each and every one of you, regardless of whether or not you had already celebrated your 50th, because it is never too late to gift yourself time and reflection.

But 2009 was also a year of tremendous change and letting go. So many disappointments and failures have caught up with us, both personally and collectively. If you’ve spent any time of this earth, chances are, you’re acutely aware of our failings. Largely because of this, when it came time for me to consider 2010, one word came to mind: Miracles.

The New Year is a time when everyone thinks goals and sets up the year with intentions and expectations. But goals can become yet another item on our already-packed “to-do” list, and, for most of us, this can be nothing short of overwhelming. We still have a few days left of mercury retrograde, and even after it goes direct, I will put myself out there as proclaiming that rather than goal-setting, 2010 continues to be a year to let go. There is just too much unfinished business, too much stubborn hoarding of the old ways of doing and being. Most of us are still struggling with this.

Before we can consider goals, we need to let go.

I know you’re getting sick of hearing this. I think this is my third post on letting go in less than one month, but I’ll keep it up as long as necessary…because we’re a stubborn group. And I’ll keep reminding you, because I need to be reminded as well, and because we can all use one another’s support. I glanced at Oprah yesterday. Her guest Rita Wilson captured my attention for multiple reasons. Tom Hanks went to my high school. Rita was responsible for the movie version of My Big Fat Greek Wedding, she and Tom co-produced both Greek films that launched my (not-so-budding) career as an extra/stand-in (Mamma Mia and My Life in Ruins). So I was another captive member of her audience—even though she didn’t mention Nia Vardalos or Greece once. Instead, she was doing makeovers. But what she did mention, repetitively, was advice to empty our closets, to give away clothes that we’re no longer wearing.

That stuck in my mind, because we’ve all heard this advice multiple times. We’ve heard it a million times, but it’s still coming up, because we’re still hanging on. We’re being reminded, yet again, to clear it out, all of it!

So, back to the 2010 word of the year. Mine is Miracles , simply because there is no way that I or anyone else is going to make it through 2010 without them. Yes, Miracles has become my word out of necessity. And, perhaps, if I keep repeating it often enough, I will reaffirm my belief in a divine force greater than myself and release, for a few more moments, my egocentric nature. I will remember to ask for help, to relinquish an overwhelming need to control, and, instead, anticipate and welcome the next miracle.

I asked you all to share your words, and you came up with some lovely ones. Here are a few:

Freedom

Messenger

God

Good Changes

Creativeness

Completion

Filotimi (honor-dignity-duty)

Believe

Surrender

I noticed a wonderful pattern to all of these words. They are all big words, ones that go beyond little me. They include something far greater. They recognize that we’re not alone, and that our meaningfulness comes from our connection with one another through a divine power.

So, I have a simple life-assignment to suggest:

1. What still needs to go? Write it down. Commit to releasing it. What are you going to let go of today? This week? This Month? This Year?

2. What is your word for 2010?

Let go of #1 and hold onto #2.

Let #2 replace #1.

And then, I invite you with me, to witness the blessed miracles occur.

Joy to you all in 2010.

To Everything--Clean, Clean, Clean

2010-01-04T14:09:00.000-08:00

For those of you falling behind in your end-of-year cleaning, you’re not too late; you have eleven more days! As many of you know, 2009 ended with a fire under our butts, urging us to clear, cleanse, and release all the junk of our minds, relationships, bodies, and lives. This last December 31st was the first time since 1990 that we experienced a Blue Moon (the second full moon in a given month) on New Year’s Eve. It will not occur again on December 31st until 2028. Not only that, this time, it was accompanied by a partial lunar eclipse and retrograde mercury. Amazingly, this Blue Moon occurred not only on the last day of the year, but also on the last day of the decade. The new moon will appear on January 15th, which also happens to be the last day of mercury retrograde.

Okay, I know you aren’t all into astrology, but it doesn’t matter. Before you zone-out, let me explain. All of these things are working together to support evaluating, clearing and cleansing—not just for 2009, but for the last decade. So, on December 31st, the intensity so many of us experienced was linked to all our stuff that needs to be reevaluated and cleared (possibly from the last ten years). It was especially intense on New Year’s Eve, because this “stuff” was revealed to us by a paradox of the full light of the moon dancing with an eclipse. There’s nowhere to run; nowhere to hide, even though the eclipse might make it seem otherwise.

I am impressed by the many of you who are being led to clean out the old without consciously recognizing the forces that are here to assist you. Many of you are intuiting that this is the right thing to do, just like we tend to clean in preparation for the birth of a newborn, or before our menstrual periods. Some of you have already cleared and cleansed your physical home or work space—reorganizing closets or offices, websites or blogs, cleaning the home, or giving away non-essential personal items.

But how many of you are doing the same with your emotional, mental, and spiritual baggage? Again, I am impressed by those of you who have the courage to do so—including those of you who are facing this head-on, because you have no other choice.

This next decade is not for the faint-of-heart. Enormous challenges and changes await us. Faith, courage, compassion and support will be essential building blocks of the human soul if we are ever to navigate this.

What needs to be cleared and cleansed in your life?

Take advantage of the next eleven days, and do it!

For more on a similar topic, see The Point of New Return.

Blessings in 2010!

2009-12-31T08:58:00.000-08:00

Moon at Tholos, Delphi

Full Moon, Blue Moon, Eclipse...What a perfect ending to 2009 and perfect beginning to 2010!

Time to let go, clear, cleanse, and greet the new.

Blessings to you all in the New Year!

The Point of New Return

2009-12-21T14:22:00.000-08:00

It’s supposed to be the most joyous time of the year, and yet we all know that depression rises at the year-end winter solstice holidays. It may the most joyous time of year, but it’s also the darkest. And, perhaps, this is the point. Joy and light need the darkness out of which they arise.

Our society doesn’t do well with all things dark. Nor do we appreciate dissolution or death. It’s no wonder we have such a difficult time right about now. Our fear and depression go far beyond seasonal affective disorder and lack of natural light. In the middle of a time when we should be able to slow down and rest, most of us are in overdrive. So much needs to be completed before the end of the year. So much needs to be done in preparation for the holidays. Winter holidays, in themselves, are bipolar.

Add to this a disastrous year of financial woes and unemployment, and it’s downright scary for so many of us. Many feel that they are on the brink of collapse, at the point of no return.

But this is exactly what happens before something new is born. The darkest hour truly is before dawn. I suggest that rather than the point of no return, this may, in fact, be a point of new return.

The end of the year is time to take stock of 2009 and set intentions for 2010. But many of us have fallen behind on the lessons of 2009. Now, perhaps more than any other time in our lives, we are being asked to let go. Let’s face it, if we don’t let go willingly, it will happen without our permission, because the change that is here is out of our control. It’s essential that we address what we’re still hanging onto, what we refuse to release—because this will be our weakest link for the New Year.

For those of you who are interested in astrology, mercury retrograde from December 26th through January 15th will work in conjunction with this release. It will support this intense clearing. So, take advantage, and 2010 will be that much easier.

If you notice a lot of old stuff coming up around the holidays—with work, home, family, self—you are not imagining or regressing. Rather, you are re-visiting all the leftovers stacked in your refrigerated-soul that need to be thrown out, once and for all. And you don’t need to thaw them out first! From one who fights tooth and nail against inevitable change, please don’t follow my example. It doesn’t work, and it only leads to more fear and pain. Instead, better to end the year as a true Thanksgiving, a time to recognize what we each hold dear, to shed what is not, and an opportunity to allow ourselves to walk on our true paths in 2010.

I wish you a Joyful Holidays and Blessings in the New Year.

Fall Colors and a Long Winter’s Nap

2009-12-16T22:40:00.000-08:00

I realize that it’s a bit late to be doing a post on fall colors, but, keep in mind, I live in California. I recently spent a wonderful week in the Washington DC area with a new friend. Although I wasn’t visiting to see the sights, it was impossible, with DC so close, not to take advantage. My friend was an amazing guide. The last time I had been in DC was as a young teen, and I hadn’t seen the places I was seeing now: Embassy row, Georgetown, a dozen different neighborhoods. Our tour culminated in viewing the major DC sights while whizzing around on a segway. It was a blast! I highly recommend it.

What I didn’t expect was that my trip would fall on the exact week of the spectacular change in colors. Everywhere we went, we were flooded with red, orange and yellow light. I had lived in Maine for two years, more than a decade ago, and I had almost forgotten nature’s spectacular fall show, followed by an equally spectacular winter show and, then, a magnificent spring show! My mother, having grown up in Michigan, had excitedly described to me the fall colors that I had only minimally witnessed on the scarce deciduous tree-lined blocks in the San Francisco Bay Area. But nothing prepared me for my first Maine autumn. I grabbed my camera and excitedly took pictures of every majestic deciduous display that I encountered. (Yes, I went through a lot of film in those pre-digital days.) But what I wasn’t prepared for was the light. I loved being bathed in the golden glow resulting from this marriage of trees and sun.

When winter arrived, I was equally unprepared for its magnificence. Unlike my thorough preparation for the mechanics of winter (some of which got laughs from the Mainers --collapsible shovels, all-wheel drive vehicle, silk underwear, fleece-lined boots) I was overwhelmed and awed by the serene deep quiet, the play of the moonlight against the white show, the ice-storm-adorned trees, and the bright blue sky.

And then, after mud-month, spring appeared with bursts of color and choruses of birds.

As I experienced the change of seasons, I started to notice something more profound, something that I had not experienced in California. My life slowly merged with that of the seasons. The weather became the most important local news, so welcome after the daily murders that had filled the other local news of my hometown. When there was a snowstorm, schools shut down, and life slowed down. The depth of peace and quiet there was almost palpable. My body and soul went into hibernation and experienced rest unlike any before.

We are entering into winter now, and most of us are running faster and faster. The holidays are always tough, but coupled with this financial disaster and the disintegration of our established structures, this holiday season is particularly difficult. If you live in a place that experiences this dramatic change, then use it to slow down. Our bodies and souls need this rest in order to make it through the rest of the year. If you, like me, don’t live in such a climate, then you must be particularly careful not to get caught up in the rat race.

Winter is for rest. Do not take on anything extra. Get more sleep. Take this opportunity to build peacefulness and retreat into your day. Everything is birthed from this state of gestation. It is necessary. Without it, new creation fails. Our bodies may make it to spring, but nothing is birthed. The seasons are here to mirror our journey and guide us along our way.

Pay attention. Quiet yourself and listen.

Hot Pink

2009-12-11T20:24:00.000-08:00

What kind of pink are you? Before you cry out, “I’m not pink at all. I’m sick of the pink thing!” wait, you might change your mind.

There’s been a whole lot of pink going on lately. Between the pink ribbons and pink glove dance for breast cancer and pink standing for just about everything feminine, I, too, as one reader put it, am all pinked out!

But if I were to be honest, I like pink. When I was young, I chose a hot pink and orange shag rug carpet for my bedroom. The same two shades of pink and orange, as well as my favorite color purple, showed up in the fabric for my bedspread and window shade. A paler pink burlap covered my walls and the piece de resistance, a hanging basket chair, occupied one corner! It was the bedroom of any tweens’ dreams.

I always loved pink, but the pink I loved was the hot pink variety, not the soft mild shade that, with my olive skin and dark hair, would have made me look a ghastly jaundiced yellow.

My silver (protected under a pink cover) iPod is reaching the end of its days. I’ve ordered a new battery, but from what I gather, off the You Tube self-help battery-replacement video, I’m in for hell. No guarantees. So, just to be safe, I ordered a brand new top-of-the-line silver 16GB iPod Nano—you know, the one that takes videos, gets FM radio, doubles as a pedometer and gets you hot dates for the weekend. It arrived yesterday. I excitedly pulled off the massive amount of adhesive tape on the outer box (What are they thinking? That the thing is alive inside and ready to jump out at any moment?) And there it was my beautiful new shiny sil..v… OH NO! What is this hot pink thing?? Where’s my beautiful classy silver iPod?

That perky thing had the audacity to give me a saucy look back, as if to say “What, you can’t handle me? Too much for you, am I?” Why that little…

Then I thought, hmmm…the universe is playing a joke on me. Isn’t my pink this exact shade of hot pink? When has my version of the feminine ever been soft or gentle (or prissy or baby)? Nope, my version has always been electric, dramatic, powerful, and perky. She says what she thinks, doesn’t bow down to anyone, protects the innocent, and never backs down. So, yes, I kept her.

How about you--what version of pink are you? What color is your feminine?

New Breast Cancer Screening Guidelines and the Pink Glove Dance

2009-12-05T13:17:00.000-08:00

Warning: I’m putting on my white coat for this one.

I recently posted the video “Pink Glove Dance,” created by Oregon-based Providence St. Vincent Medical Center to raise breast cancer awareness. I received the following comment: “Dumb downed—think pink is past its time. This is insulting to women – they need science, facts, not moronic dances.”

Because I was not provided with a means to reply to this individual directly, I decided to reply publicly instead.

First and foremost, if by posting this video I have offended anyone, I sincerely apologize. Just in case, I have removed the video from my post. It was never my intention to belittle or insult women. As a gynecologist, I have devoted over twenty years of my life to helping and empowering women in creating healthier lives-- including those who have been diagnosed with breast cancer. I have witnessed far too many women, including close friends, suffer or die from this disease. I, of course, fully support continued research to find better solutions and agree that we have waited far too long for breast cancer research and, frankly, for most women’s health research.

Regardless of what any of us may think of “pink,” or the use or misuse of this term, this video has become viral and is reaching hundreds of thousands of people. This was their intent, to raise awareness. By and large, most comments to articles about this video going viral on sites such as The Huffington Post have been overwhelmingly positive. With the exception of the hundreds of pink gloves used to produce this video (don’t get me started on the environmental and health effects) I, personally, cannot diss Providence St. Vincent Medical Center for their creative approach, especially if it brings more support for the continued research that we need to save our women.

Because many of you have asked for information regarding the new breast cancer screening guidelines, and because I do not use my blog to post medical information, I have decided to launch the Creating Feminine Health Newsletter to address current women’s health topics such as these new guidelines. This newsletter is free. It is my gift to you. If you are interested in receiving it, please sign send your full name and email address to: rebecca (at) rebeccaelia (dot)com or on the home page of my website: http://www.rebeccaelia.com/.
Excellent New York Times post explaining the research behind the new breast cancer screening guidelines.

And, by the way, commenter, if you happen to read this, I completely agree with the information in the link that you supplied regarding the limitations of mammography screening and had already addressed this in my newsletter, just as I hope it will be discussed between each woman and her healthcare provider.

Are You Artemis or Athena?

2009-11-22T23:48:00.000-08:00

Gods or Goddesses?

Wait. Before you answer this, be sure you know these Goddesses.

Our versions of each are quite superficial—and I do want you to make a wise decision. If you read our modern American literature about the Goddesses, you may not get the real scoop. So, when you think Artemis, who do you see? A tough, independent, somewhat masculine Goddess equipped with bow and arrows…Goddess of the Hunt, right? You see her surrounded by animals. You may even see her demanding a bow and arrows from her father Zeus, at the age of three. Anything else?

Did you know that Artemis is connected to the moon and its cycles? Are you aware that she is the protectress (yes, I know, that word doesn’t show up as a real word on spell-check) of pregnant women and of childbirth? The oldest depictions of Artemis portray her with long flowing hair in long flowing (feminine) gowns. She is communing with swans, not tigers.

How about Athena? Wise feminine Goddess? Well, wise, in some ways, yes. Feminine? No. Not very. Even her statues are without curves. And there’s that small matter of her birth…yes, the one that took place without her mother Metis, the Goddess of cunning wisdom. Didn’t know that one? Athena was born from her father Zeus’ brow. This is what happens when a God eats a pregnant Goddess. He ends up with a fetus in his brain. Nice thought, huh? And you thought Athena was feminine…

Here’s an example. Take a look at the pictures above. If you know these statues, then, sorry, your vote doesn’t count. Are these Gods or Goddesses?

How did you determine their gender? They both have similar hair, similar features, almost identical garb.

On the left is the Goddess Athena. On the right is Artemis’ brother, the God Apollo. They look sort-of similar, don’t they?

I had the opportunity to see the Worshiping Women exhibit at the National Archaeological Museum in Athens. Specifically, the exhibit was about Goddesses, Priestesses and women participating in ritual in Classical Greece. I was struck by how Aphrodite was the only Goddess who was consistently portrayed in a feminine way. Athena was never feminine, and both my Classicist Professor friend and I were dismayed that a more recent (masculine) statue of Artemis appeared on the exhibit’s banner, rather than a more ancient feminine one.

It made me stop and think about our current state and how similar our mindset is to the one present in Classical Greece. It’s as if the influence of Plato and Aristotle has surpassed Socrates, still. What is this strange state in which we find ourselves? When did valued wisdom have to be masculine (even when contained in a Goddess’ body)? When did we trade in the multifaceted nature of Artemis for the highly specific “Goddess of the Hunt?” This is not a modern Greek creation. Ask Greeks, and many will give you a fairly accurate description of Artemis. This is our western interpretation, and it happened a long long time ago. When will we be ready and willing to reclaim our feminine Goddesses, along with their corresponding powers—all of them—not just the erotic, sexual Aphrodite?

Blessings and Generosity

2009-11-11T01:39:00.000-08:00

Who gave me the dwarf pencil sharpener?

Find out on my Blessings and Generosity post on

It's All Greece to Me.

Bring on the FLOW!

2009-11-02T00:46:00.000-08:00

Elissa Stein (in collaboration with Susan Kim) has done the unimaginable. She has written a book about the cultural story of menstruation—the good, the bad, and the ugly—a book that will be released on November 10th.

It seems that the still somewhat predominant view, voiced most recently by REDBOOK, that menstruation and a book about it should best be ignored, has not dampened public interest. After centuries of suppression and abuse of the feminine, including the demonization of the menstrual cycle, I, for one, am excited about the debut of FLOW. As a gynecologist who firmly believes in the power and wisdom of the body’s natural cycles, I am even more thrilled that such a book is seeing the light of day (or should I say night?)

We are in for a rare treat today, as Ms. Stein has agreed to speak with us about her latest creation.

[Rebecca Elia] Tell us about how you came to write FLOW.

Elissa Stein: Years ago, my period stopped. I was both too terrified and embarrassed to say anything to anyone for over a year. When I finally went to a doctor and all checked out, he handed me a pack of birth control pills, patted me on the knee, and said “Honey, we just need to jump start your hormones.” But I didn’t want to be on the pill. Even worse, no one bothered to figure out why my period stopped in the first place. From that point I’ve wanted to put something out into the world that would help women feel more comfortable talking about menstruation without that deep-seated shame we’ve been raised with.

[Rebecca] If you were given the opportunity to deliver one message to all American girls and women regarding their menstrual cycle, what would it be?

Elissa Stein: THIS IS NORMAL! You’re not going through anything every other girl and woman on the planet hasn’t gone through.

[Rebecca] When researching for FLOW, what fact or bit of information surprised you the most?

Elissa Stein: I had no idea how negatively menstruation had been viewed throughout history. In the Bible, menstruating women are considered unclean. Ancient Greeks thought menstruation was an efficient way for a woman’s body to get rid of “poisoned” blood. The New York Times was against women being given the right to vote because menstruation adversely affected their ability to think. This normal, natural cycle was vilified for thousands of years and, so sadly, we’re still trapped in that mindset.

[Rebecca] Do you have a daughter? If so, what have/will you teach her about menstruation?

Elissa Stein: I have both a daughter (11) and a son (8), who’ve been living with menstruation as a constant topic of conversation for almost three years. They are remarkably open, accepting, curious, and honest about it all. They will go out into the world with such a different mindset than most. When enough people treat menstruation as nothing more, nothing less than what it is, we’ll have made great strides.

[Rebecca] In your opinion, what one step can we take to support women now?

Elissa Stein: Educate. While researching FLOW, it was astonishing at how many old wives’ tales and rumors persist. And when we live in a society that shuns open conversation, they’ll continue to fester.

[Rebecca] What is your greatest hope for FLOW?

Elissa Stein: I want FLOW to start conversation. To encourage women to re-evaluate how they think and feel about their bodies and their cycles—too often we accept negative messages hammered into us by the media and advertisers, instead of looking inside and figuring it out for ourselves. By chipping away at that age-old stigma and shame, we can work towards acceptance and understanding.

Thanks Elissa! I am really looking forward to the arrival of FLOW. We have been waiting for this book for a very long time!

You can pre-order FLOW through Amazon or at Elissa Stein’s websites: http://www.flowthebook.com/ and http://www.elissastein.com/

You can follow Elissa on twitter at: @elissastein or on Facebook.

Free Time!

2009-11-01T10:45:00.000-08:00

Here we are. One more daylight savings time has arrived. I don’t know about you, but I always get excited when we get that extra hour. It’s almost…well…like Christmas! And then there’s the opposite, when that hour is taken back again…we’re not going talk about how that affects me.

Linear time has become such a tight sergeant. It rules most American lives. Most of us find ourselves trapped in it, unable to find the escape key. How did this happen? The Greeks have two words for time: Kronos and Kairos. Kronos is the type of time that all of us Americans know too well. Kairos is the one that we’ve forgotten. It’s the time that passes without measurement or awareness. It is also, the Modern Greek word for the weather. It is the time from the biblical passage and the Byrds’ song, “Turn, Turn, Turn…” It’s the time to which we refer when we say, “It’s time to make a change in our lives, to settle down, to find that perfect someone.”

I often wonder what it says about a culture that lives within only one type of time, the drill-sergeant type. No wonder Buddhism, presence meditation, Eckhart Tolle, teaching doctors mindfulness meditation and such, have become so mainstream and necessary to our emotional, spiritual and physical survival.

I am reminded of our rat-race every time I step off the plane in the good old U.S. of A. I try to look into the creased haggard faces rushing by. I try to meet someone else’s eyes…almost impossible. (Certainly the opposite experience that I just had in Greece!) For a few moments—because that’s all I have now that I’m back in America—I feel sorry for all of us. And then slowly, insidiously, over the next few hours or days, or—if I’m lucky—weeks, the sympathy disappears and is replaced with a dull nausea.

Okay! You’ve been given an extra precious hour today. How will you spend it? How about remembering Kairos and inviting him/her back into your life!

Check out this post about time: Lost and Found in Linear Time.

Books about Time and Presence: Leslee Keenan's It's About Time
Eckhart Tolle's The Power of Now and A New Earth

Will Mindfulness Meditation Cure our Healthcare System?

2009-10-29T12:42:00.000-07:00

On October 15th, The New York Times posted an article written by Dr. Pauline Chen that discussed the benefits of teaching mindfulness meditation to physicians. In a quest to help alleviate physician burn-out (along with depression and suicide!) and increase meaningfulness at work through improving the physician-patient relationship, mindfulness meditation was found to be beneficial. Why then did this article make me so angry? As I read it, my breathing became labored, my heart started to race, and my cheeks became red. By the time I had finished, I, myself, needed to practice my mindfulness!

I have long observed the amazing benefits of mindfulness meditation, both personally and professionally. Any practice that brings us into the present moment, that allows us to fully experience the present and removes our thoughts from past and future, has incredible healing effects. Many years after I first practiced mindfulness, I was working at a major HMO. Our typical work day had become increasingly hectic, just as was described in Dr. Chen’s article. Advances in information technology were, in many ways, a godsend, but, in other ways, a contributor to our living hell on earth. We physicians, by nature, are excellent multitaskers. It’s as if we represent a fast-forward version of survival of the fittest. If you can’t multitask, then you have no place in medicine. The increased use of electronic charting played into this skill. If we hadn’t been so good at multitasking, the technological advances would never have made a significant difference.

One of these so-called advantages allowed us to perform most functions from one computer screen. We could chart the patient’s visit, order lab tests, order radiological tests, make future appointments, conduct billing, answer emails, converse with colleagues and contact patients—all on one screen and, quite often, simultaneously. This all seems great, right? Think again. Most systems, whether one is in a HMO, group practice or private practice, do not allow for the extra time required to conduct all of these functions. Let’s face it—there’s only so much one can do in an allotted amount of linear time. So we had two choices. Work longer hours (show up earlier, work through the lunch hour, fall behind in seeing patients, leave later) or cut out face-to-face patient time.

For most of us women, this was a no-brainer. Almost all of us chose to work longer hours, because we weren’t willing to sacrifice time with our patients. I haven’t run across a single physician yet who chose the practice of medicine in order to enter data into a computer. But, regardless, our patients pay the price, and we pay the price. Our patients get less and less face-to-face time. Their visits are abbreviated. Almost worse, we as physicians suffer—not just from inevitable burn-out, but from loss of job satisfaction. Mindfulness meditation is not only a useful tool; it’s become a necessary way of life. But no amount of mindfulness meditation can make up for an ailing abbreviated healthcare system.

Some of you may be wondering why I am writing this on a blog about feminine health and balance. Others of you have already identified the common denominator. Most of the systems in which we currently find ourselves (healthcare, law, higher education, marketing, etc) are using information technology advances in this very same way—as a fast-forward, as a way to squeeze more and more out of each individual. Everyone is moving so fast that the merry-go-round is no longer merry and is, in many cases, spinning out of control. We need to recognize this first before we can decide what to do about it. For those of you who can’t heal your present situation with mindfulness, you may need to step off your merry-go-round.

Take a few moments to assess your own merry-go-round. Is it out of control? Do you really need to be on it? What are your choices? Are there internal steps you can take to make it manageable? In other words, by changing you—your beliefs, your responses/reactions/attitudes, by acquiring certain skills, such as cognitive behavior techniques or mindfulness meditation, will this be adequate? Or is it time to step off?

Is Perfection Your Middle Name? vs. If I Only Had a Brain!

2009-10-19T10:04:00.000-07:00

Do you allow yourself to make mistakes? Or do you share my middle name, “Perfection?”

I lost my brain again today.* It’s been happening a lot lately. Perhaps it’s menopause. Or maybe I’m just letting go of perfection and allowing myself some mistakes.

I didn’t want to leave Delphi, but, alas, I did…only to get stuck at the rest stop in Livadia. I was texting a sick friend and sitting right in front of the bus. When I finished and looked up, the bus was gone! I hadn’t seen, nor heard, a thing. I looked up at a few Greeks standing lazily outside the café and asked “Eh-fee-gay? (Did it leave?)" Their answer, with characteristic Greek shrugs: “Yes. Of course.”

I ran inside and saw the kind ticket-taker-man sitting in the café sipping his coffee. He looked at me in disbelief saying, “I announced it inside the café!” I answered, in equal disbelief, “I was sitting outside, next to the bus, texting a message on my cell phone. I didn’t see anything; I didn’t hear anything.” He dialed a number on his cell phone and pleaded in Greek, “Please wait. Only five minutes.” The bus couldn’t have been more than a half kilometer away; I was sure it had just left. He asked a dignified trustworthy-looking gentleman to take me to the bus--in his Mercedes. I apologized profusely the whole-like-five blocks, and thanked him, telling him, repeatedly, what a good man he was. I explained that I didn’t know where my brain was today, that I had been sitting right in front of the bus and didn’t notice a thing, that in twenty years, this was the first time that this had happened to me.

I got onto the bus, offered an apology to the bus driver and sat down, but not before noticing how completely uninterested the Greeks were…no big deal. There was a foreigner, however, whose judgmental glance was paired with thoughts so loud the whole bus could hear: “Oh, of course. It would be YOU, stupid American.”

I recognized his look and his thoughts, realizing that, for most of my life, I have shared the same opinion of myself. My mind then wandered to the times in my life that I had made similar mistakes, like showing up late. I could only come up with two others. One was during the shooting of My Life in Ruins (also at Delphi) when I was Nia Vardalos’ stand-in. I left the set to pee, and, of course, this was the one time that they needed me…so my absence suspended the shoot for a few minutes. I never heard the end of it from the Assistant Extras' Casting Director (who, to this day, probably has no idea that I’m a gynecologist with responsibilities far beyond what he can imagine). The Extras' Casting Director, thought nothing of it, and reassured me that it was no big deal.

The only other time I could recall was to an important job interview on the East Coast. Somehow, I managed to sleep through my alarm, or perhaps it never went off. I woke up to a ringing phone and my future boss (yes, she still hired me) asking if, perhaps, I had slept in.

I could come up with these two incidences, only, in my entire life and, yet, I still berated myself. Even I realized that something was terribly wrong. How have we come to this point, when no one is allowed a simple mistake? When did we start treating ourselves and others as glorified machines, instead of as human beings? If my medical career, we continually strive to minimize, if not eliminate, human error. This has been one of the arguments in favor of electronic charting, prescription and lab test orders. But even the most elegant system is subject to human error. And even if we do everything correctly, there’s always the possibility of technological problems, ranging from viruses to system shutdowns.

I remember one such situation when our medical practice was transitioning to electronic charting. Paper charts were soon to become a thing of the past. Everything moved along smoothly until one day, we had a heat wave. The electric grid couldn’t handle the extra stress and the system shut down, throwing off access to electronic charts for several hours. We had no access to patient history, medications, lab results, orders, and electronic communications. We were, essentially, operating deaf, dumb and blind, as far as technology was concerned. The administrative response was, “What can we do? Do the best you can. It will be back up as soon as possible.” To this day, I have never seen such a response for human error. Why is it that we treat ourselves more harshly, expect more from ourselves than from technological systems that are far superior to human capabilities?

Please don’t wait until you go through menopause, or, if you’re a man, until you reincarnate as a menopausal woman, before you allow yourself some leeway. This is one area in which the Greeks are ahead of us. They have had to learn patience (after a several hundred year Turkish occupation) and accept lower expectations. I wouldn’t be surprised if this practice adds years onto their lives, as well.

Remember, you’re so much more than your brain. You’re human.

*Originally written on October 2, 2009

What You’re Not Hearing About “Balloon Boy”

2009-10-15T16:05:00.001-07:00

Did you, like me, get caught up in the “Balloon Boy” story? I long ago promised myself to stop watching the news since I was fully aware of its devastating effects on the immune system. Research supports that bad news wreaks havoc with our immune system, potentially making us more susceptible to such diseases as infections and cancer. I often wonder if the news came with an attached hazardous health warning label, similar to cigarettes, whether or not it would convince more of the general public to turn it off.

As everyone was calling the Balloon Boy story a “good story,” I was left questioning what was good about it, beyond, of course, the obvious—that he was safe and alive. Was anyone else out there upset by all of the usual drama? It was quite familiar to me. It was the same drama that the news strives for, the same kind that had convinced my father, several years ago, that the new strain of Japanese flu was going to lead to the worst outbreak ever. Sound familiar? This year, same story, different flu… While the newscaster excitedly reported that this was going to be the most devastating flu ever, that it would lead, potentially, to thousands of deaths, I turned to my father and said, “Every year tens of thousands of people die from the flu. This doesn’t appear to be any different than usual.” Ignoring my expertise as a physician and accepting, instead, that of the newscaster, my father answered, unconvinced, “But he said it was going to be the worst, ever.” My father is not a stupid man so he’s reaction was shocking. I was witnessing the power of the media, of sensationalism, right before my very eyes, with someone who “should know better,” who was rarely swayed by others. I continued, “Watch, in a few days, they’ll have to retract everything they’ve just said, because they are wrong, and what they are doing, scaring hundreds of thousands of people, is wrong.” Sure enough, three days later, what I predicted took place, very quietly, so that one could have easily missed it. Again, I was sitting next to my father when he heard the good news. He barely reacted. I asked if he had heard it. He said “yes,” and shrugged it off, like an afterthought.

But well before that third day, the damage had already been done…to hundreds of thousands of immune systems.

So, when I watched the “Balloon Boy” saga, I couldn’t help but notice the drama, the excitement of the unknown, the fear, the terror. It was disgusting. And I couldn’t help but wonder what toll this drama was taking on our immune systems. How many parents were thinking about the possibility of their own children being in danger? How many were filled with anger that the child could have been in such an unprotected situation?

When they announced that he had been found, safe, at their home, hiding, some two-plus hours later, my relief was coupled with a bad taste in my mouth. Once again, we had all participated in this wasteful drama. And our payment goes beyond the enormous financial price tag of such a rescue mission. One of the crazy hopes I have is that, in my lifetime, I will see those who purposefully create negative drama pay the price for the harm that they cause to others. I wonder--am I the only one who sees it this way?

Would You Intervene to Stop a Bully?

2009-10-11T12:23:00.000-07:00

I was walking back from the farmer’s market today, trying not to think about a different farmer’s market, one that I had walked by a few days ago, 6700 miles away in Greece, when my daydream was interrupted by a disturbance from the middle of the street. Now this certainly got my attention, because, unlike Greece, it is rare to hear anyone shouting in my neighborhood.

There was a young man, probably in his upper 20’s, taunting and harassing an elderly man in the middle of the street. Traffic was stopped in both directions. Observing this outburst from the sidewalk was a group of half a dozen young men, roughly the same age as the bully. None of them came forward, but continued to watch. The bully became more inflated, was shouting something at the elderly man and dancing around him like a boxer trying to find his opponent’s weak spot. I started racing down the street with my cell phone in hand (Greek phone numbers dancing in my head), while trying to remember how to dial the police in the United States. I was a quarter of a block away when the situation escalated and the older man attempted to take a swing at the young bully. Only then did the half dozen male observers step in, en block. I could overhear them quietly telling the bully to, “Just get in the car and go.”

I, the only woman amongst the (sorry guys, weak) testosterone pack, called out, “Has anyone called the police yet?” One of the young men looked at me, apathetically, and said, “The police can’t stop a bully.” I replied, “He will continue to do this to others. If observers file reports against him, then the police can do something!”

I was appalled by his response. It was as if some unspoken code kept them from breaking up the confrontation. Didn’t any of them have elderly parents or grandparents? Didn’t any feel the least bit responsible for stopping such an incident? Certainly they seemed oblivious to the fact that people who harass, people who bully, are only one step away from violent behavior. Quite frequently, emotional abuse leads to physical abuse, and even if it does not, I know, too well, its equally damaging effects.

Another young man turned to me and quietly said, as if he didn’t want the other guys to hear, “Yes. The incident has been called in.” So, I proceeded up the street and was stopped by a female shopkeeper who asked me what had happened. I explained what I knew. I shared that I did not know what had precipitated the conflict, but that I was quite disturbed by the men’s lack of response. Her opinion was, “No one wants to get involved.” She also said that she had seen the woman in the car behind make a call on her cell phone.

What has happened to us that we are unwilling to step in? That we are so willing to claim no responsibility? What is this silent male code not to interfere, that trivializes and therefore accepts bullying, labeling the abuser as “just a bully?” What allowed these men to equate a call to the police as “weak” or labeling them as “tattletales?”

People, get the word out: bullying is abusive. Emotional abuse is as damaging as physical abuse, even when one does not lead to the other. We have become socially irresponsible to our elderly and to one another. The bully certainly did not exhibit any admirable masculine traits, but the group of male observers fell short, as well.

It’s a sad day when it takes a fifty-year old physically weak woman to step in.

This post may, at first, not seem relevant to the theme of feminine healing, so let me point out just two significant links. First, the acceptance of abuse and violence to others or to ourselves or, its opposite, too easily accepting the position of victim and the entitlement that goes with this, is a common state in our society and one that needs to change in order for all of us to heal.
Secondly, taking responsibility for ourselves and others, assigning worth to interdependence equal to the status of independence is another necessary change towards balance and healing, not only in our own society, but in our global world.

What do you think? In what ways have you been a bully to yourself or to others? When have you taken on the victim role? When have you left it behind? To what do you feel “entitled?” When have you valued interdependence as highly as independence? When have you stepped in, taken a stand, begun your path toward healing?

The Evil Eye

2009-09-30T02:16:00.000-07:00

Each time I return to Greece I am acutely aware of the latest fashions--and not just because Greek shoes are small packages of amazing art, but because on my very first trip I immediately recognized that my American clothes made me stand out like a sore thumb. If you want to blend into any foreign culture, one of the first steps is to dress like the natives. Fortunately, it wasn't too long before my first Greek boyfriend was dressing me in his t-shirts.

Additionally, like the clothes, accessories change each year. Sunglasses are the first that you notice. The Greek sun is so extremely strong that the first time you get tricked into thinking those clouds are most certainly going to produce rain and you leave this essential accessory behind, you not only pay dearly with blinding eye pain, but future cataracts and racial wrinkles as well.

This year, I noticed that every one of my Greek girlfriends was wearing a evil eye pendant. Any of you who have traveled to Greece, or eastward, have undoubtedly noticed blue eyes everywhere. The eye is all over Greece, and where it's not, there's blue. Did you ever wonder about those brightly blue painted windows and doors? The blue provides protection. I forgot this fact when I purchased my first--I thought, rather cool--handmade silver eye pendant...until my Greek friend asked me if perhaps my pendant was from the Middle East. I, affronted, replied, "What do you mean: It was handmade by a jeweler from Thessaloniki!" He asked,"Where's the blue?" and I realized that in my haste to make the necklace match the rest of my apparel I had changed the colored cord from blue to brown. So I went out the next night and bought a real blue evil eye pendant and hastily hung it on the cord, too. (I wonder--are two eyes better than one? I hope that isn't bad luck...)

When I ran into my girlfriend in Athens (while shopping in Zara, of course), noticed her eye pendant, and commented that everyone was wearing them this year, she said, "Well, we certainly need it!"

So, I thought again about the evil eye, about the protective quality assigned to certain shades of blue. I had always teased my Dutch friend that I didn't need to wear an eye when I was with her, because her eyes are one of those extraordinary blues. It was a great form of entertainment--observing the Greeks' reaction to her--something between shock and reverence. Anyway, she didn't make the trip this year--so I was on my own. But there is something soothing about an entire country that recognizes the power of thought and intention, that recognizes the harm that we do to one another by our mere thoughts, that acknowledges the role of evil and ill will in our world--or the consequences of bad intent coupled with ignorance.

This is a culture that recognizes our energetic connection and our power to shift our focus from jealousy, anger, and cruelty to forgiveness, thanks and blessings. It is refreshing to not have to explain this connection; the Greeks already acknowledge its existence and its impact on their everyday lives. I often wonder how different our world would be if we, as individuals, acknowledged this tremendous power and responsibility we carry. We have an incredible capability to affect others for ill or for good.

And, yes, I have placed a blue eye just about everywhere...just in case.

Internet, Unplugged

2009-09-10T06:46:00.000-07:00

Wouldn't you rather be looking at this than your computer display?

If you've joined me on the path to twitter addiction (see Are You a Tweetaholic?) then I'm happy to report that I've found a cure. Travel to a place sans internet access. Yes, that means no Wi-Fi. I traveled to Athens. You're thinking but surely there's free Wi-Fi access in Athens? Yes, there is--in Syndagma (Constitution Square), which is not as convenient as walking across the room and flipping on my modem, not as quiet as my apartment, and certainly not devoid of distractions. But what about Flo-Cafe or other spots that, for the price of an icy frappe, provide free internet access? Well, just arrange for your brand new mini laptop to display a "fatal error" message within the first thirty minutes of Athenian use. That's enough to scare an unsecure internet connection out of you.

So, now I'm left with a thirty minute walk in 98 degree weather Monday through Friday, only, to the Centre, where I took my Greek lessons, to use their computer or infrequent (paid) usage at the Internet Cafe. Since I'd rather spend my euros on food rather than tweets, I think I'll stick with no access for awhile.

Add no TV (which I thought I was also missing my first night here when I tried repetitively to get the little red power light to go on...and then remembered that I had to press the channel button after the power button,) and you're all set. Easy enough if you're renting a room and not staying in a hotel. Skip major hotels, by-the-way, because they have free Wi-Fi as well.

So, without Twitter, Facebook, 100-plus e-mails awaiting you in your five different accounts, and no access to your websites, blogs or Skype...just what will you do with all of your time? Let's see, I've been here two days and. besides sleep (at very strange hours and intervals), I've managed to go to the supermarket, exchaange money at the bank (a feat in itself), purchase a pair of sandals (okay, yes, my other addiction), visit three friends at the Centre, joined a couple of other friends for coffee, visited outside of town with a couple and their new baby, and meet up with a former boyfriend. That's more socializing than I normally accomplish in several months...but, then, Greece is an extremely social country.

So folks, sometimes it takes going to the extreme to tear yourself away from that addiction. Just say no! Or get rid of the TV or the internet connection...or travel to Greece!

Evolution--Courtesy of Dove

2009-08-16T13:35:00.000-07:00

For related posts, please see: Ankle Cellulite

Who is Fighting for Her Feminine? and Lisa's Story.

Who Do You Want to Be When You Grow Up?

2009-08-11T11:39:00.000-07:00

I remember a moment, suspended in time, when I was eighteen. I lay in bed daydreaming…or so I thought. I was imagining the perfect life of me, at about the age of thirty. I visualized my physical life, my mental life, and my emotional life. Physically, I would have a decent job by societal standards, something important, accomplished. I would make a decent amount of money, enough to work part-time, perhaps a three-day week, and still have all of my needs met. I would be living in my own place, an apartment. My location would be my hometown, close to my family. I was single, no children. I valued my independence too much to be married just yet, and would have worked hard for my career-related accomplishments.

Mentally, I would feel a calmness, a security, that comes with such hard-earned accomplishments. My focus would be on my work, on my place in the world. I had a pride in the work that I did, because I was helping others. I felt respected. I was confident. Others looked up to me without putting me on a pedestal. I didn’t stand out, because I accomplished my work quietly, not drawing the attention of others. My thoughts were mostly involved in intellectual linear matters. My mind, attitude and way of being was, in fact, quite masculine.

Emotionally, I was pleased with my life and accomplishments. Emotionally, I didn’t feel highs or lows, because I had everything that I wanted. No, security was the most important quality. That and respect. I was not invested in a relationship with a significant other. I didn’t need another person to be happy or fulfilled in my life. I eventually saw myself with a partner, with children, but not just yet.

I don’t recall contemplating the spiritual part of my life. It was a given…or an afterthought.

I also remember another moment, suspended in time; this time I was thirty. This was the moment that I realized the enormous power we hold to create our own destiny.

During this moment I was also lay in my bed, daydreaming. I had just finished my eight years of medical training. I lived alone in an apartment in my hometown. I was working three days a week, making enough money to cover my expenses and begin to pay back my medical student loans. My parents lived within walking distance. I was single. I had no children. I valued my independence. It was too early for me to marry. After all, I had worked so very hard to get to this point, and, frankly, there wasn’t room yet for someone else in my life.

I felt calm, a sense of security that comes with a hard-earned accomplishment. I had completed my training in a respected field. Even though I was doing things my own way and choosing a path slightly different from my colleagues I was confident. Even though I was in a respected field, I didn’t stand out. Even though my choices differed from others, I went about my life quietly, not wanting to draw attention to ways in which I was different. My mind was occupied by linear, rational things. The only place where my mind was free to wander to the feminine was during my annual trips to Greece.

Emotionally, I was please with my life and accomplishments. I seldom felt highs or lows, because I had everything that I wanted…or so I thought. Security and my standing in the world were the most important aspects of my life, and I had these. Although I had several relationships, none were long-term, because I was not ready or willing to share my life with another person, to leave my career to become a mother. I soon would turn down my first offer of marriage, and much later, my second.

At that moment, I remember the first moment, and, like a lightning bolt realized that the life I had was exactly the one that I had envisioned at eighteen. Exactly. As a matter of fact, not only was my physical life exactly as I had envisioned, but my intellectual and emotional lives as well. I was blown away. I got it.

We have tremendous power in creating our reality.

I would like to say that the story ended here, but life does not end at the age of thirty, and because I’m a late-bloomer, I had quite a ways to go. The next ten years were spent defining myself, discovering my tribe, identifying the way in which I wanted to practice my work, having amazing synchronistic experiences that lead me to the right people and gave me a vision of where my life was heading.

But at the age of forty, something happened. It was as if I felt that I had already been there, done that, and, as many of us do, I went into remote control. Instead of my forties being a time of growth and expansion, they actually ended up stagnating and eventually imploding. By the time I hit forty-nine, my ignored soul declared itself. It gave me an ultimatum. It would not allow me to continue down that same path, the life that I had envisioned at eighteen and achieved by the age of thirty. I had pressed the pause button and placed myself in cruise-control for nineteen years. I realized that I hadn’t envisioned my life at forty or fifty or sixty or at one hundred.

What followed was a year of catch-up.

Today I am fifty. Once every fifteen years Saturn appears to lose its rings, the rings that are made of debris the size of SUVs. Today, Saturn loses its weighted middle, and SO DO I!

Ankle Cellulite

2009-08-04T23:45:00.000-07:00

Believe me, this is so much prettier than the picture you were expecting…

First, I would like to take this opportunity to apologize to every single woman who has ever come to see me complaining of weight issues at midlife. Everything each one of you claimed is indeed true. One day, suddenly, your body goes out of control—like a teen over whom you have absolutely no influence—and also like a teen, wants desperately for you to love her just the same, even though she’s completely out of control and refuses to listen to you.

Every month, heck, every week, she’s changing right before your very eyes. Nothing you do makes a difference. As a matter of fact, the more you try to control her, the worse she gets. You increase your exercise one extra day a week, then two, then double—then you add other routines. Now you’re exercising eight hours a day, and you still don’t look like Madonna (but, boy, are you happy about that!). So you go on strike and starve yourself. Your “menopot/menopudge” reacts by drooping further over your pubis; your belly button has turned into one big smile, laughing its pants off at you.

Nothing works, no matter what you do.

The last straw for me came today, when I was at the beach in my bikini. Yes! Bikini! It’s nothing but strings that stretch, the least amount of material that miraculously still fits—and hasn’t yet snapped in two, although I’m waiting…

No. That wasn’t the last straw. I was casually wiping off the sand from my feet when…What the…?! Cellulite on my ankles? Come on! Is that even possible? No one told me this could happen, and I’m a doctor. Certainly, I should have been informed.

So for all of the women out there with my twin ankles—I have supreme empathy for you.

As I was trying to explain to my fifteen-year-old nephew today, sometimes it sucks to get old—I mean, this is almost as bad as (one of my Tweeps came up with this diagnosis) “Broken Brain Syndrome.”

But, if you haven’t yet realized it, menopause gives us multiple creative opportunities to learn its main lesson:

Let go of what no longer serves you and appreciate what you already have.

I will gladly accept my body of cellulite; I am so thankful that despite all of the abuse suffered by my poor body it still manages to give its all every day of my life. As a matter of fact, I am so thankful for all of the tremendous gifts and blessings in my life that these cellulite ankles are doing a happy dance right now!

For a related post see Lisa's Story.

“Just Go With the Flow”

2009-07-29T11:41:00.000-07:00

The Elia family on the infamous red retro shag carpet

Are you, like me, tired of hearing "just go with the flow?"How many times have I heard that? And what does it really mean? I’ve seen so many people insist on doing so, and then use it as an excuse to so completely let go, that they lose all sense of direction. Suddenly, all responsibility is relinquished into the cosmos, playing into the belief that we are truly empty vessels, without will, at the whim of the first force that comes our way.

Don't get me wrong. I'm all for "letting go," and, being an incredibly stubborn human myself, know how difficult that can be. But “letting go” and “just go with the flow” are not always prescriptives to relinquish all will. Unless it is your intention to stop completely, then “just go with the flow” does not imply lack of direction. Actually, it usually implies exactly the opposite.

I was reminded of this today when I made my second attempt to use a very old (and heavy) upright vacuum cleaner to clean our carpeted cabin floor. I had tried once before, several weeks ago, but abandoned my efforts when—for the life of me—I couldn’t find the “on” switch. Where the heck was it? There were all kinds of potential switches on the thing, but none of them panned out. Even a call to the parents didn’t solve the mystery. So instead, I pulled out an even older vacuum cleaner from under the benches and practically broke my back, hunched over the darn thing. The latch was broken and was (not) held closed by duct tape. It was a nightmare.

Today, I dragged the original enigma out of the closet and, determined this time, found the magic button. But when I attempted to use it on our red retro shag rug, my back immediately screamed protest. It was like dragging a boulder over tree branches. Surely there was another latch on it somewhere for carpeted surfaces. It glided over the puny one foot uncarpeted slate square. But you know how successful I am with finding buttons…so instead, I, by sheer willpower and unknown force, accomplished the task to the detriment of my back. When I was finally finished, I wrapped up the cord, popped it back on its hind legs and directed it to its parking place in the bedroom closet. Again, it glided (with glee, mind you!).

That’s when I was reminded of the phrase “just go with the flow.” If only I had found that magic button, would it not have glided over the shag carpet too? I mean, the task of cleansing had to be done; it wasn’t a directionless task. Without the magic button I was faced with “going with the flow” and leaving the darn thing in the closet, or expending a tremendous amount of energy in order to enjoy a newly vacuumed cabin floor. But, oh, if I had only found that button, then that vacuum cleaner would have glided itself—with very little steering effort on my part.

Bingo! I got it! That’s what it really means to go with the flow. We’re still doing the steering, but we’re not the power behind it. The task is practically accomplishing itself, because we’re moving with the bigger flow, the bigger power. Yes, that cabin floor needed to be cleaned, and yes, it was my job to do so, but I had help available. Instead of old, heavy, backbreaking help, there was a magic button somewhere. All I had to do was find it, and we’d both be gliding across that carpet!

Confessions of Yet Another Writer

2009-07-26T01:34:00.000-07:00

Ancient Dedication to Hygieia, Delphi

***

Do you know a writer? Perhaps, you're a writer? If so, then I'm sure nothing I say here will be a surprise. For you self-proclaimed non-writers out there, hopefully, at the very least, this will help you understand writers better.

Writers have the best profession on the face of this earth.

1. We have no problem choosing our career since it chooses us. We aren’t plagued by doubts about our chosen profession. Thoughts of other career choices don’t wreak havoc with our thoughts. Why? Because writing chooses us. How many hundreds of writers have said this? They are telling the truth. We aren’t burdened with low job satisfaction. We love to write, and we are compelled to write. No other outlet will suffice.

2. We are allowed to create daily. Furthermore, creativity is encouraged and valued. The more unusual our perspective, the more our efforts are valued. One would think that this would be true of most professions, but it is not. The status quo is not of particular value to readers or writers.

3. Writing is cathartic. This is one of the best kept secrets of our profession. If the word got out, it would probably drive psychotherapists out of business. On an antidepressant or anxiolytic? Try journaling! Notice I didn’t mention anti-psychotics. This is because if you’re on an anti-psychotic, there’s a good chance that you’re already a prolific writer. Which leads to the next and, perhaps, most useful point:

4. Being a writer allows us all kinds of excuses. We have much more squiggle room than most. Because unique perspectives are encouraged, we are able to voice all kinds of opinions in all kinds of ways, ways that would be thoroughly unacceptable through other channels. We can use bad language and slang. We can rip apart people, systems, ideas, and beliefs. We discuss deep dark secrets and express the unthinkable. Freedom of expression is grand!

5. We also have numerous excuses for our behaviors and lifestyle choices. Everyone knows that writers are introverts so I can, for example, disappear for months at a time without anyone taking offense. It’s also common knowledge that we write best at odd times of the day or night. So it’s perfectly acceptable for me to stay up all night, go to sleep at 5am and wake at 12 noon. It also means that I will not be disturbed by my friends or family, who would never think to interrupt me. After all, I might finally be constructing that most perfect sentence. (Doubtful, since it hasn’t happened yet.)

6. I also have a wonderful excuse for my sluggish nature, lack of exercise, and poor food and snack choices. One of the absolute greatest excuses is that of just sitting there and doing nothing at all. Everyone knows that writers need the open space of nothing in order to create. Who else gets to justify doing nothing in our present society? Add to this that I can eat anything I want. If that means cereal and peanut butter for fifteen days straight, so be it! Tack onto this the added benefit of escaping an expensive dinner that would otherwise use up my entire monthly food budget. Oh, and that fifteen pound weight gain? No big deal. Everyone knows that all writers become alcoholics or fat or both. Heck, some of my friends are even trying to comfort me, convinced that I was too thin before. They couldn’t respond more perfectly if I had trained them.

7. One of the best excuses of all—it allows me justification for traveling anywhere, anytime. Need two weeks of uninterrupted time at the family mountain cabin to write? No problem. Writing about Greece? Must go again! Obviously, the previous nineteen trips weren’t enough. And of course, I must be at Delphi to produce superior prose.

Writers have the worst profession on the face of the earth. (Yes, I know. I just said the opposite in the paragraph above. I haven’t lost my faculties yet.)

1. “Writer,” by definition, implies, in many cases, jobless state. Oh, I have a job. I’m a writer. But I, like many other writers, am unpublished and, currently, unpaid. Being jobless, penniless and living off the goodwill of others becomes old really fast!

2. Writers hate to write. Yes, once again, I know this is the opposite of what I wrote above, but it is true. We do hate to write. We love it and we hate it—sort of like many important things and people in our lives. We write because we are compelled to. Have you ever thought about exactly what we are compelled to write and how painful writing about this “what” is? It’s worse than visiting the dentist and the gynecologist in the same day. Really. And we’re not talking a simple dental cleaning and pap smear. No, we’re talking teeth extractions, root canals and endometrial biopsies.

3. We must pay the price of our free use of the English language. This can get us into a heap of trouble (and I’m not talking grammar police), not just with the general public, but with our friends and loved ones. What writer hasn’t had a falling out with a friend or family member after they wrote something “incriminating?” And our warning of “know a writer, become the content” doesn’t go very far when they actually see it in print.

4. We’re reminded on a daily basis of our inadequacies and the miserable nature of our existence. This is one consequence of deep observation, contemplation, and feeling. Fortunately, the flip side is also true; otherwise, we’d all commit suicide, which leads to #5:

5. High rates of addiction, depression and suicide. Fortunately, this is of no consequence to me since my original profession of physician also holds these same high risks.

6. Warped sense of reality. Most writers live in a different reality than those who surround them. Early on, we question which is the true reality. This can get us into an even bigger heap of trouble. If we’re really unfortunate, we may win a room in Boston’s McLean Hospital next to Sylvia Plath. (Yes, I know she is no longer alive. What’s that about 5150? Please put that phone down!)

7. We lose track of styles, fashion, news, the date…

8. Even Grecian travel has its problems. See http://www.itsallgreecetome.com/ for detailed explanation.

So-yes-I did notice that there are more items in the second list than in the first, but it doesn’t matter, because, if you were paying attention, I have no choice. I must write. Furthermore, there are oodles of repressed writers reading this. You know who you are. It’s time to admit it and join the infamous lot. Suffer the consequences, and enjoy the wonderful benefits.

Happy writing, everyone!

When Not to Follow the Signs

2009-07-16T18:01:00.000-07:00

My Fave Sign

Are you someone who pays attention, who follows the signs? Do you see the signs but ignore them? Do you miss the signs completely? Or do you see them and follow them, but they turn out to be wrong?

Yesterday, I paid close attention to the signs--traffic signs, that is. I was making the 180 mile drive up to our mountain cabin, the temperature in the valley was 101°, I was driving the last air-condition-less car in California, and roads were being repaved. As my pre-iced water bottle turned tepid and the back of my seat grew stickier I thanked God that the usual bottlenecks were flowing freely. Extra bonus: the highway patrol car that had joined us five miles back moved onto the off-ramp. Only thirty-five more intolerable miles to go. I might actually escape the usual nausea and migraine this time. What a treat!

When I made it up to a high enough elevation for the inside temperature to drop to a tolerable 90°, I thought I was cabin-home free. That is, until I started seeing “Left Lane Closed Ahead” signs. The first such sign forced me to pull over behind a 100,000 pound truck going 35mph up a steep grade. Take one of those slow deep-I-hate-yoga-and-there’s-nothing-calming-about-this-breaths. Problem was that the left lane was still open…still open…still open. A couple miles later, finally convinced, I pulled back out into the faster lane.

The next “Left Lane Closed Ahead” sign appeared five miles later. Huh! I thought, I’m a quick learner. No sir-ee, you’re not going to fool me this time. I’m not going to let the next fifty cars pass me by while I’m stuck behind 100,000 pound truck’s twin brother. So I continued on my merry 75mph trek up the mountain. Cars started moving over, and I kept thinking Suckers! As far as I could see, my left lane was still open—no signs—no orange cones—no construction trucks—no nothing…oops! Until NOW! Suddenly the left lane was-yes-closed. Fortunately, I was able to move over without endangering myself or others.

There were several more “Left Lane Closed Ahead” signs—far more than one would expect in the twenty or so miles left of my trip. Some were on the road, some on the backs of slow-moving vehicles. Some were real. Some were fiction. My psychology background kicked in, “Intermittent reinforcement is the strongest reinforcement.” Ain’t that the truth. I felt like Pavlov’s dog or Skinner’s duck (He was the one with a duck following, wasn’t he?).

How often are we reminded to pay attention to the signs, both outer and inner? And how proud are we when we actually do pay attention and avoid yet another catastrophe? But it looks like my lesson for the day went beyond following the internal and external signs. That, in itself, is difficult--how often have you disregarded your signs? Nope, it appears that we also must be able to distinguish truth from fiction, and this is not always easy or obvious.

If you would like to take a quick trip into the world of signs, travel to the list below:

1. What signs have you ignored recently? Has your intuition been knocking at your door? How loud does the knock need to be for you to pay attention?

Make a list of your signs. Listen to what your intuition is telling you, to the voice in your head, and write it down.

Look at your list. Are these signs real or fiction? Is it a “crazy” voice talking? Is it your voice?

Is the voice coming from someone or somewhere else?

What would happen if you were to follow them? Have you ever followed them before? What happened?

2. What Signs have steered you wrong? Which have steered you correctly? Were they internal ones or external ones?

Were these signs dependable?

Who made the signs? Were they your own homemade signs or were they composed by someone else?

Which signs can you trust?

3. Have any of the familiar signs changed? Did you notice?

What signs have changed? Did you have a hard time believing and trusting the change?

What is preventing you from taking action?

What would happen if you followed this new sign?

Happy Travels! Here’s to following the real signs!

Are You a Tweetaholic?

2009-07-10T20:24:00.000-07:00

Okay, I get it. My post on addiction is overdue. First, there was the not too subtle hint with the controversy over Michael Jackson’s death. I could almost ignore that one, but this one I cannot. I admit it, I am a Tweetaholic. Step 1: I admit that I am powerless over leaving Twitterland. I am powerless over turning on my laptop without logging onto Twitter. I am powerless over controlling the number of Tweets that leave my fingers and arrive on your Tweetdecks.

Twitterholism is such a wonderful addiction, though. It connects me with all of these wonderful Tweeple, all over the world, at all hours of the day and night (essential for an introverted writer). It balances out the enormous depersonalization that is intrinsic to the internet universe. It provides a wonderful excuse for procrastination (I know that I’m not cranking out those book chapters, but I’m building my platform, instead!). It connects me with like-minded crusaders of women’s rights, supporters of women and children, fellow healers, writers, artists, feminists, femininists, fem docs and lovers of Greece.

What a perfect addiction! So much better than my old ones—movies and shopping. Funny. I haven’t spent much time or money on either since I started writing. Oh, and this addiction doesn’t add pounds to my waist (although lack of exercise certainly does!).

I know that I’m not alone. Twitterholism and Tweetholism are sweeping the planet. But even if you have no idea what a twitter, tweet, tweeple or tweetdeck is, don’t despair. Almost everyone has had an addiction at one time or another. Addictions are universal, because we are all human.

For those of you who are ready to face your addiction head on, you may find this simple exercise helpful. Although simple, it is not easy, because it takes an enormous desire or incredible pain to decide to face the underlying problem head-on. But I know that you can do it! So here goes:

1. The most difficult step is the first one. Are you ready and willing to let your addiction go? If not, then stop here and enjoy it as best you can for as long as you can. We’ll keep our fingers crossed that you get away with it for as long as possible with the least amount of damage. ;)

2. Decide what behavior you would like to change

3. Each time you find yourself repeating that behavior, ask these questions:

A) How am I feeling? Identify the “negative” emotion—tired, frightened, bored, sad, depressed, angry, frustrated, agitated, anxious, etc.

B) What do I need in this moment that I am not getting? Or--If I engage in the addictive behavior, how will it make me feel, initially? If you’ve identified the emotion in step A, then answering step B will be easy.

C) Write down every single need that you have identified. Make a list. Everything that you need in each of these moments goes on the list. You do not need to record each need more than once. Continue for at least one to two weeks until there are no new needs on your list. The list will, most likely, be a long one!

D) Do not proceed to this step until your list is complete. You’ve written nothing new on your list for at least a week. Now, step D takes time. You may want to ask supportive people in your life to help with this step. Your addiction is giving you every single “need” that you’ve placed on your list. Your addictive behavior is a quick and easy way to get all of these needs met. We tend to value others’ needs over our own, placing ourselves last, so don’t distress if your list is long. Take each “need” one by one and ask: “How can I get this in other ways?” Have others help you. Brainstorm all the ways in which you can get each need on your list met, even if some of the ways are crazy, impossible, unrealistic or dangerous.

E) You now have a list of the reasons why you are engaging in your addictive behavior (C: your list of needs) and have brainstormed for possible solutions to having these needs met (D). The last step is to decide what actions you can take from your brainstormed list in D that are helpful healthy solutions to getting your needs met.

You may notice a few discouraging things. First, your list of needs will probably be long. This is okay! We all have personal needs that we place on hold for everyone else—our children, our families, our partners, our work. Second, to get these needs met in a healthy way usually takes more time and effort than resorting to the addictive behavior. That’s okay too; just start with one behavior and slowly add to this. Over time, one change will make the next one easier. Remember, until you have all of your needs met in healthy ways, you will be prone to repeating the addictive behavior.

This is one reason why addictions are so hard to break, because we need to have our needs met! This is why when we stop one addictive behavior we are likely to replace it with another one, like overeating after we’ve stopped smoking. This will happen whenever we are not addressing our underlying needs. I have, too often, watched countless women being told that they must stop smoking or lose weight or exercise more, without their underlying needs being addressed. This is the same as saying, “Quit this behavior; your needs are not important.”

Most of us are not ready to take this step, because it means that we must make ourselves a priority, but it is essential that we do so, especially with an addiction that is interfering with our lives.

Good luck to you all...I must get back to twitterland!

Are You Free Yet?

2009-07-04T12:42:00.000-07:00

Did the 4th of July set you free? If not, don’t despair; it’s not too late.

The 4th of July brings a smile to my face, because so many of my Greek acquaintances are quick to point out the many ways in which we, Americans, are not free. They are baffled by our definition of freedom, by the number of restrictions and the amount of control present in our society. Their definition goes something like this: you are free to do anything you want at any time with, perhaps, the exception of killing another human being. The most recent example is the reaction of some Greek smokers (40% of the population) who are enraged by the recent ban on smoking in public places. They insist that they are free to do whatever they want with their bodies, no matter the consequences. When I bring up the effects of second-hand smoke and list my friends who have contracted cancers or died from these effects, they merely become angrier. I remember their reaction to foreign veterinarians who volunteered to neuter the cats in the Sporades for population control. The Islanders were furious that such a practice would violate the cats’ freedom. I’ve noticed a pattern: theirs is a freedom that frees them of social responsibility.

But my Greek friends do have a point. It is easier for them to see what we do not see in ourselves. They are quick to remind us of the many ways in which we are not free. The 4th of July is a great time to contemplate our freedom, not just nationally but personally. It gives me a chance to ask am I free yet? Or, perhaps, more useful, where in my life am I not free?

What is the construction of your own personal prison? There are many forms it can take. Here are a few:

1. Physical: Are you limited by your body, by your physicality? Do you have a handicap? How have you dealt with this? Have you become more limited physically because of an illness, an injury, or conditions associated with aging, such as arthritis, pain, lack of energy, weakness?

2. Emotional: Are you an emotional sponge? Do you sense and feel everything and everyone? Do you find yourself reacting to uncomfortable situations through expressing your emotions? Do you have difficulty controlling your reactions? Do you find yourself crying or shouting? Do you feel controlled by your emotions?

3. Mental: Are you trapped by your mind? Do you have a hard time turning your mind off when you get home from work or when you try to fall alseep? Is meditation impossible for you, because you are unable to “still” your mind? Do your thoughts control you, rather than the other way around? What beliefs do you hold? Are your beliefs causing you pain and suffering? Are your beliefs actually true? Are they controlling your choices and actions? What expectations do you hold of yourself and of others? Are these expectations dictating your choices, dictating your life?

4. Past: Are you stuck in the past, frustrated by past choices, angry at past events, or missing an earlier happier time?

5. Future: Are you trapped in the future? Are your choices and actions motivated by a possible future point in time? Are you making choices now that are unbearable or harmful to your health in order to “have” or ‘be” something in the future?

This is a sobering exercise. Most of us are much less free than we realize. We are controlled by all kinds of things: limitations of our bodies, our minds, incorrect thoughts, beliefs, expectations. We are often stuck in the past or in the future, rarely present in the present. Look at your list and make yourself a promise that you will free yourself from at least one of your many cells.

Take out that key now and turn the lock. You don’t have any more time to waste. Step out and be free.

Make every day the 4th of July.

Happy Freedom, Everyone!

Who is Responsible for Michael Jackson's Death?

2009-06-27T01:16:00.000-07:00

Because Michael Jackson’s death has affected us all, I’m going to deviate from my usual posts to share my thoughts. Many individuals have asked me, in my role as a physician, to comment. His tragic death (and life) has brought up many important controversial issues.

First, let me be clear: I am not condoning any irresponsible or criminal behavior on the part of a physician. If these medications were not prescribed responsibly then, of course, this needs to be addressed, as it should be in any situation in which doctors are prescribing irresponsibly. When a person is addicted, they will use extreme means to obtain the addictive substance, and anyone with power or money will be more successful in obtaining these substances.

1. Michael Jackson was misunderstood by many. He viewed the world differently from others. We need to be very careful when judging another human being whom we do not understand. I would go so far as to say that we probably shouldn’t be judging him at all. But it is clear to me that he suffered from being misunderstood. It is also clear that he was dealing with both emotional and physical problems that were not treated by addressing the underlying causes. Conventional medicine is limited in diagnosing and treating underlying causes. This needs to be acknowledged. Addictions are also extraordinarily difficult to treat, and, when treated, relapses are the rule rather than the exception. Also, perhaps most important, the individual needs to want to heal (or be forced by those around him to seek treatment).

2. This leads me to the next point. Did Michael choose treatment for his addiction? Did those closest to him fail in getting him help? These are loaded questions. It is near impossible for someone who is addicted to “choose” treatment. It is equally difficult for others to enforce treatment, especially with someone so independently powerful and isolated.

3. So who, ultimately, is responsible? The doctors who filled his prescriptions? Michael, himself? Michael’s friends and relatives who were unable to recognize that he needed help, or recognized this need but were unable to intervene? What about those making career-related demands? How about society as a whole? What about all of the people who misunderstood him? And those who may have abused him emotionally or physically?

I feel that the issue of responsibility is too complex to blame any one person. If we look deeper, we will probably find many responsible. I was surprised by the extent of Deepak Chopra's anger. I have no reason to doubt his allegation that this is a common occurrence between celebrities and their doctors, and, as a physician who can’t remember the last time she wrote a prescription for a narcotic, I certainly understand his anger. I can’t help but notice, though, that his anger seems personally charged, and this makes me ask the question of whether or not he personally feels responsible for not being able to help Michael. I heard the same anger in the Jackson family attorney’s voice when he said that he had “warned” the family. I understand this all too well. Patients frequently expect me to take responsibility for their health. We each need to start taking responsibility for our own health and choices, rather than passing off this responsibility to others.

The chronic pain management situation has become almost schizophrenic. As physicians, we, in the past, have been so hesitant to prescribe narcotics that many patients who truly need them have been undertreated, and their chronic conditions have worsened. This has become so common that the State of California now requires all physicians to take a twelve-hour course about chronic pain management and end-of-life care. I hope that the outcome of this “investigation” of Michael Jackson’s death does not have the undesired effect of decreasing access of these medications to those who are in true need. I also hope that his death will bring more attention to finding viable solutions to addiction and chronic pain.

Lastly, I hope that Michael Jackson has finally found peace. We honor him, and we will miss him.

I would love to hear your thoughts about this.

Human Beings are Members of a Whole...

2009-06-26T01:51:00.000-07:00

"Human beings are members of a whole,

In creation of one essence and soul.

If one member is afflicted with pain,

Other members uneasy will remain.

If you have no sympathy for human pain,

The name of human you cannot retain."

-Saadi

It Takes a Family

2009-06-17T02:05:00.000-07:00

One Family...Five degrees in one week.

Supportive nurturing environments are feminine creations, and since our structured world does not value feminine creations as much as masculine ones it is no wonder that our country is suffering the consequences. We are reminded of the sad state of American families on a daily basis. More often than not, financially providing for the family as well as caregiving and nurturing falls upon women, and, frequently, this burden is unshared. It is no wonder that our families are crumbling.

This last weekend, I was reminded of this in an expected way.

Those who know me are aware that I would not have made it through my grueling residency training if it weren’t for two facts: 1. The location of my training hospital was the closest hospital to my family home. 2. The two other women who went through my program with me became my sisters. In other words, without the support of family-both genetic and environmental-I would not have survived.

Well, one of these two women flew across country for the Stanford graduation of one of her closest friend’s sons. Now, I’m a Berkeley gal. In fact, my family is a Berkeley family. Four of us have obtained six of our eleven degrees from UCB. The only time this Golden Bear has set foot on Stanford soil was for the Cal-Stanford Big Game—so this was no small compromise. But I would do just about anything for my dear friend, given that she saved my life over and over again.

I thought I was the one making sacrifices. I couldn’t have been more wrong. First of all, although I came uninvited, I have never felt more welcome. I was accepted, without hesitation, into her extended family of friends. Okay, in all fairness, their acceptance was as much a reflection of my friend’s extraordinary nature as her friends’ extraordinary generosity. But that was just the beginning.

For the first time, in a very long time, I participated in preparing the meal with a group of women. When was the last time that you, as I woman, had the help of three other women in preparing a meal? We forget that this used to be the norm until fairly recently. The biggest surprise, though, was the graduation ceremony that followed afterward. This wasn’t her “nephew’s” actual graduation ceremony but a separate ceremony for the students who were of Native American descent. Although her nephew is only one-quarter Native American, the percentage was irrelevant. My girlfriend explained to me that when her friend had gone through the same ceremony several years earlier after earning her Ph.D., there had been very few Native American graduates. This time there was standing room only, and the ceremony took several hours.

Each graduate approached the stage with his or her support system, which included family members, extended family and significant friends. Most groups filled the stage. A Native blanket was placed over each graduate's shoulders. Then, graduates, along with their family members and friends, were invited to speak. It was the most wonderful graduation ceremony I had ever experienced. This is a significant statement, coming from a woman with an extremely tight-knit family that valued education highly, a woman who has experienced more graduation ceremonies than she can count.

One after the other, the graduates explained how difficult their University experiences had been and how they could not have made it through without the support of their families and the Stanford Native American community. Many of the graduates were the first in their families to obtain university degrees. Some were the first in their towns. Almost all were the first to obtain degrees from Stanford. Then their families and friends spoke; many of them cried. I have never seen so many men cry in such a short period of time—not even at a funeral. Many expressed their admiration and pride. All expressed their love. Some reminded the graduates to give back. All impressed the importance of community and working for the greater whole.

It was extremely inspirational and sobering at the same time. I kept thinking: this is the way graduation ceremonies should be. It takes an entire family, extended family, friends and community for each of us to accomplish not just our educational goals, but to accomplish anything of significance in our lives.

It did my feminine heart good to be surrounded by family the entire weekend. I had to remind myself that I wasn’t related to a single person that I encountered, yet I was accepted as a family member. This is the heart of the feminine. This is what we are missing. This is what we need to reclaim.

Are you still trying to do it all alone? Who is your family? What family will you create?

As for me, I so missed my own family after being surrounded by so much caring and love from people unrelated to me that, when I left my friend, I drove straight to my brother’s home to spend the day with my nieces and nephew.

It’s not popular to create community, to work together, to practice interdependence--but create family we must! Our future and our world depend on this.

Congratulations Graduates!

Fear Factor

2009-06-10T16:28:00.001-07:00

We are fearful, even terrified, of anything new or different, of change.

I was reminded, tonight, that this fear begins at an incredibly early age. Sometime between our toddler years and kindergarten it hits us--the notion that the world is not a safe place.

Our French friends were visiting for the first time in over twenty years. My four-year old nephew, usually the (only) life of the party suddenly became shy and refused to go anywhere near one of our friends. She had made an attempt to play a game with him, a French version of peek-a-boo, and it scared the beejeezus out of him. I suggested that perhaps he was frightened by her accent, explaining that she sounded different, because she lived in France. He latched onto that explanation, but stuck to his position, which was several rooms away from hers. I traumatized him further by incorrectly assuming that the kitchen coast was clear. Big mistake! She was there. (Bad Auntie! Will he ever forgive me? Even worse, have I scarred him for life?)

Later, I explained that our French friends had grandchildren his age that played in big sand dunes at their beach home in Arcachon, just like he had played in sand dunes with his cousin in Death Valley. I then, out of guilt mostly, stayed glued to his side in the kitchen while he ate his rice and beans. I promised him that I would never ever leave his side again. It took half the night and a serious one-on-one talk with Mommy before he relinquished his fear and not only spoke to our friends but embraced them into our family.

Looking back I am amazed that he was able to do this, and in less than a couple of hours—a rather remarkable feat, considering that, as adults, it may take us years, if not lifetimes, to relinquish similar fears. Neither my mother’s words nor my inner strength was powerful enough to extinguish similar fears that I have held. Not only that, my nephew had no reason to trust me after I steered him wrong (Yes, I still feel horrible about it.). And yet, trust us he did.

So what happens to us? Do we lose our trust? Do we lose our resilience? When does the world become so large, so unsafe, that we lose our sense of control and personal power?

I don’t have answers for you today, just questions:

1. What is your greatest fear?

2. What area(s) of your life feel(s) the most out of your control?

3. Are there people in your life that scare you? Why?

4. When was the last time that you experienced something different or new? Perhaps a different food or activity, met new people, traveled to a new place, learned something new…
What was that experience like for you?

5. What was the last thing you did that pushed you beyond your usual comfort zone? How did you feel afterwards?

6. What do you wish you could do or experience that you haven’t yet, because it scares you?

7. If you could change anything about you or your life, what would it be?

8. When did you feel the safest and most powerful in your life? Where were you? Who were you with? What were you doing?

9. Including yourself, who is/are the most powerful person(s) in your life?

10. From where does your strength come?

The first step is to ask the questions. The second is to avoid censoring your responses. Sometimes merely bringing these questions into your conscious awareness is enough to begin the process of change.

As for me--I’m going to hang out with these questions for a bit and with my nephew a whole lot more…I have a lot to learn from him!

Got Kefi?

2009-06-03T18:43:00.000-07:00

Nia Vardalos’ new film My Life in Ruins is all about getting her kefi back (See article #1 and article #2).

Kefi is the Greek word meaning the passion for and joy of life! And the Greeks seem to have this in spades. No matter how bleak, how bad their lives get, they have the ability (like energizer bunnies) to bounce back up, snap their fingers and jump into that next circle dance. They are paradoxical. I had never before seen a group of people who could hold grief and tragedy in one hand and kefi in the other. Unfortunately, this isn’t the case for most Americans. Not only have many of lost our kefi long ago, it’s been so long that we don’t realize that it’s missing.

There is a lot we can learn from the Greeks. No matter how bad things get, they are able to bounce back. They are downright resilient. Most of my Greek friends will credit this lesson to nearly 400 years of Turkish occupation. I understand this well, because my great-grandmother was forced to rebuild and re-create everything over and over again after constant theft and destruction in her small Middle-Eastern village. When we must constantly re-build and recreate we not only learn to detach from things, but we also experience our incredible capacity to create anew. We are forced to live in the moment. We are forced to let go of everything that is non-essential. Instead, we focus on what is important.

This is exactly what so many people around the world have been called to do this past year. With financial and environmental crises and job losses, we are all being forced to let go of all that is non-essential. In the process, many people are discovering a sparkling jewel—their kefi!

Fortunately, it isn’t essential to experience tremendous loss to recognize what is important. Have you lost your kefi? Do you want it back? There are as many ways as there are people to find it again.

I will use the Greeks to illustrate. Here are some examples:

1. Greeks live in the present moment! I know, easier said than done…and I know that I’ve said it before, but it’s the most important step.

2. You can’t have kefi if you’re lost in victimization and entitlement. That’s not to say that neither exists in modern day Greece; it certainly does. The point is, though, that we will never be able to experience the power and the joy of creating if we remain victims and expect the world to treat us fairly. I am still surprised by how easily the Greeks accept the natural cycle of life and death. Malpractice is just recently on the rise in Greece.

3. They let go. What will be will be. When I was an extra on the set of Mamma Mia, we had to be down at the port at some ungodly hour—I think it was 3:30am one day. That morning the weather was so stormy that my umbrella turned inside out within five minutes. I was complaining the whole duration of the hour-long bus ride to the camp. Most of my Greek compatriots were catching up on sleep. I just knew, I was saying to anyone who would listen, that we’d go through the entire day, waiting in the rain, without shooting. Why didn’t they just let us go home? And, sure enough, we did wait the entire day without a single shoot—while wearing damp costumes to boot (Yes, they stored the costumes in an open-walled building!). What did the Greeks do? I didn’t hear them complain once, other than a wishful sigh that they had some tsipouro (similar to ouzo, the preferred drink of Northern Greece on a rainy day!). But we didn’t have tsipouro, so what did the Greeks do? Dance and sing, of course!! (The tsipouro we had later that night. Don’t ever drink tsipouro after 6pm—another story…)

4. They get up and move their bodies; they usually dance (and, yes, sometimes other things).

5. They sing.

6. They gather in groups with friends and family, constantly. A typical social network and support system includes almost the entire population of Greece.

7. They work hard, play hard, and nap hard.

8. No matter what, they always have time for a (Greek) coffee or an ouzo.

9. They cherish their friends and family. Nia Vardalos’ kefi returned when she adopted her precious little girl—or, perhaps, it was the other way around!

10. They enjoy life!

I don’t know about you, but I’m off to Greece!

But if you can’t go to Greece, then how will you get your kefi back? …you can always see My Life in Ruins on Friday, June 5th! Opa!

See my post on My Life in Ruins.

See my interview with Andi about the shoot on her Blog: Misadventures with Andi.

My Life in Ruins is Coming on June 5th

2009-06-02T01:13:00.000-07:00

See my post about the shoot at the Delphi location of the new

Nia Vardalos film, My Life in Ruins, coming on June 5th.

My post.

My interview about the Delphi shoot with Andi here.

See the trailer here.

See my favorite interview with Alexis Georgoulis here.

The Sound of Silence

2009-05-30T17:22:00.001-07:00

My little slice of Sierra heaven

I am looking out on a Sierra thunderstorm…grey skies, deep green pines, and cherry-sized wet splotches on the grey distressed wooden deck. A short while ago the sky was torn in two by blazing flashes of lightening, and moments later, the ground shook and my ears buzzed from the explosive thunder. The sound was especially harsh since my ears had adapted to the quiet surroundings. I can’t remember the last time that I was surrounded by deafening silence. One can actually hear the air. The sudden cacophony isn’t from honking horns or blaring car radios or incessant cell-phone babble, but from the chatter of chipmunks.

I had forgotten what this precious commodity, silence, sounded like.

Apartment living, though (in my case) cheap and convenient, comes with the hidden price-tag of constant din. Poor insulation holds this clamor inward. I, unwillingly, know more about my neighbors than my family members. There is no such thing as private conversations, or private anything else for that matter.

I looked forward to returning to the mountains to escape all obligations and to just write. I had forgotten about the silence. After a few short days I have become addicted to it. I remember this great gift of Maine life several years ago. Blankets of snow for five months a year kept away not only Boston weekenders, but noise as well. Silence fed my soul in ways that other sustenance could not.

Our world is so fast-paced, so busy, so over-crowded, so noisy, that we completely lose sight of not only what is normal but, also, what is essential.

We are finally being reminded of the necessity of enough sleep—to our physical, mental and emotional health—but this warning, in itself, is hypocritical. When we live in a society that expects us to do more and more, that, in fact, rewards us for doing more and more, it becomes near-impossible to get enough sleep. And then everyone suffers the consequences. In medical school I rotated through the team of renowned heart surgeon Michael DeBakey. They were quick to inform us of how little sleep he needed throughout his entire life. During my hospital residency program even though we all tried to cover for one another because we knew how vitally important sleep was, the person who could get by with the least amount of sleep was still the most respected. Additionally, we, as women, felt too guilty having our colleagues cover for us—so most of us wouldn’t allow ourselves to sleep longer even though our colleagues were ready and willing.

Before you conclude that this is just a medical training phenomenon, look at your own life. Most women are running faster and faster, doing more and more. Sleep is a luxury most cannot afford. If we are unable to get enough sleep, then how can we even entertain thoughts of experiencing silence? And yet, we must. There is nothing that pulls us farther out of ourselves than noise and the business of life.

So how are we to experience silence? Many of you are already doing this, perhaps through your meditative practice.

For those of you who need a bit of support, or who do not live in a naturally quiet place (I empathize!), here are a few simple tips that may help you out in your busy noisy lives:

1. The most essential step is the first one, which is to recognize the importance of silence and value it enough to consciously seek it out. This is also the most difficult step, the one on which most of us stumble. You will only recognize its importance when you experience its benefits—so it’s a chicken-and-egg dilemma.

2. If you do not live in a quiet space then, if possible, make time to transport yourself to one. I have found that nothing works better than the real thing. It might be a walk along the beach or in a quiet neighborhood or park. You may have to go a distance and then leave your transportation behind. You may make the journey there part of your exercise—such as walking or riding a bike.

3. If you can designate a quiet space inside your home, then do so. If you have small children then this may need to be something you do early in the morning or late at night. Or, if your children are small and take naps, during their naps.

4. If there is no quiet place in your home (join the crowd!) then take advantage of quiet times. For me that might mean 3:00am. Of course, this may interfere with your sleep, but for those of you who wake up in the middle of the night—this may be the perfect time (and solution) for you. Use this time! (This happens to be my most productive time to write.)

5. If none of the above is an option then reserve protected time and a protected space. You may use noise-cancelling headphones, or play a meditative tape or music quietly through headphones. This is not the same as experiencing complete silence, but it will get you to the same place.

6. Clear out the other “noises” in your life. If your space is dirty, clean it up! If it is cluttered, clear it out! If your physical body is sluggish, eat nutritiously and exercise! If you’re in a bad relationship, leave it. Get rid of all of the other things that are creating noise in your life. It is near-impossible to find silence within if we are surrounded by everything but! It’s never late for spring-cleaning.

Remember, every place or space has its own energy. If you have chosen to live in a place that is inherently noisy, cluttered or hectic, you will have to devote more time and energy to creating that quiet protected space for yourself.

Happy Sound of Silence!

Now, listen to Simon and Garfunkel: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9hUy9ePyo6Q

Blessings

2009-05-20T19:58:00.001-07:00

Okay. I’m going to ask a very trite question…drum roll…when was the last time that you counted your blessings?

I’m not a mom, but I had a small taste of the chauffeur service that those of you who are parents provide constantly for your kids. Only I was the kid driving my parents around. This rarely happens. They both must be incapacitated for me to be the designated driver. But with my dad one week post-op and my mom scheduled for a minor procedure, I drove them down to the medical center twice for three different appointments in six hours. A taste of what is to come? I doubt it. My parents, at 78 and 80, are both in remarkably good health.

Within a ten day period, between the two of them, they went through one surgical procedure, one medical procedure, one post-op complication, one trip to the emergency room and four medical appointments. That sounds like a lot, but in fact, all is well. I realized today that by getting caught up in the busy-ness of it all I had forgotten the most important point—they are both fine! In fact, they are two of the healthiest folks at their ages that I know.

Add to this countless smaller blessings, such as my unemployed status allowing me to be available for them. From there the list goes on and on.

As a matter of fact, my list is filled with nothing but blessings. In the midst of the worst financial crisis in my lifetime, a potential career change, complete uncertainty regarding my future, I’m as happy as a clam. I hear my inner critic retorting-- yeah, happy and stupid!

So, at the beginning and/or end of the day, why not take a few moments to count your blessings? Gratitude opens the heart and gets us all moving together in the right direction. If this seems like just one more task, then start small. Day 1: acknowledge just one blessing, Day 2: acknowledge two…and so on until however many you want. Or, alternatively, you could just acknowledge one each day, or each time you think of it—like when you’re stopped at a red light or stuck in traffic. Eventually this will become second nature and you will be focused on your blessings so frequently that you will begin to live in a state of gratitude.

It’s pretty amazing how just one thought of gratitude is enough to shift the whole day in the direction of support and healing. Before you know it, you will literally get high from expressing your appreciation to others, which will in turn ripple out to affect a wider and wider group of people. Remember, this isn’t about putting on a fake happy face. This is about the truth of how we choose to live our lives.

Happy Blessings!

Lost and Found in Linear Time

2009-05-14T11:51:00.000-07:00

I listened to Caroline Myss today; she was discussing stepping out of linear time. I’m also reading Leslie Keenan’s book, It’s About Time. And I just saw the season finale of Lost…so ,I thought, this must be the right time to discuss time.

I recently realized that midlife has much more in common with adolescence than just hormones. Sure, my face has been breaking out, and it’s the first time in thirty years that I’ve had to watch my weight. But, I also find my mind drifting back to my younger years. As a child I had (the illusion of) huge blocks of unscheduled time. I would read for days, often staying up all night to finish dime store romances. My family spent three months each summer at our mountain cabin. I played the piano for hours on end. I lost track of time and seemed to have all the time in the world. My mother was careful not to fill our childhood days. My heart constricts and I become short of breath when my friends list the activity-packed lives of their children. More is better, structure is better has even hit our preschools. Little three and four-year old lives are filled with organized controlled stations forcing them to “play” in socially-specified ways.

Linear time monopolized my life from medical school onward. To be honest, for eight years, I didn’t have a life. After I completed my residency, I attempted to recreate what I had as a child…three months off annually. I worked part-time and traveled to Greece, but eventually ended up in a high-powered full-time position that just about ended me. As soon as I completed my board exams and paid back my student loans (which took only two highly-motivated years) I moved to Maine. There, I worked part-time and, with the help of the four seasons, slowed down. Once again I was reading, practically every night. I was meditating, shamanic journeying, learning from mystics, immersing myself in nature, and living the hermetic life. I loved it. I was reminded of something…me! Then I moved to Greece and became a hermit of a different sort, surrounded by community.

When I returned to California, four years later, linear time once again took over my life. It wasn’t until I hit forty-nine that I suddenly yearned to travel backwards. At midlife, my life once again stood still.

The Greeks have different words for different types of time. Leslie Keenan discusses these different types of time in her wonderful book, It’s About Time. Many Americans are aware of only one type of time, linear time. Many not only live without silence, but may actually prefer constant noise. Just as stillness is more uncomfortable than movement, silence is more uncomfortable than noise.

I love stillness. I love quiet. It may make me a difficult neighbor, but it feeds my soul. If you are running non-stop, if you fall asleep before you can complete your prayers, if quiet and stillness make you uncomfortable, if you are one of those people who asked me what I did for eighteen months when I lived in Greece, or if I was bored or lonely when I lived in Maine, then you may be missing out on important gifts from non-linear time—regenerative capabilities, intuitive and archetypal wisdom, spiritual guidance, creative birthing, lightening-speed change--just to name a few.

Just consider for one non-linear moment, time as multidimensional, collapsing on itself. Think circle rather than straight line; then think 3-4-5-dimensional. Think folds—like genetic structures. Think past lives, archetypal experiences, different times cycling back on each other. Think the TV show Lost this last season. And if you did happen to see Lost, remember what happened to the characters that were passing through time too rapidly…that’s right…bloody noses and headaches, followed by death! Packing more and more into linear time has the same devastating effects as jumping rapidly from point to point in time. Both result in our being lost in time. If all we get are bloody noses or migraine headaches, then we’re getting off easy.

If you happen to be lost in linear time, the following are a few places where you may be found:

1. Become aware of your breath (never seems to work for me, but that doesn’t mean that it won’t work for you!)
2. Focus on your senses (Come to your senses!)
3. Focus on now—not past, not future
4. Immerse yourself in something you love, something you’re passionate about, or with someone you love or are passionate about.
5. Connect with nature
6. Receive body work—massage, acupuncture, or other forms of energy work
7. Practice regression hypnotherapy
8. Create a meditation or prayer practice
9. Be still; be quiet
10. Create rituals

Recommended resources:

1. Caroline Myss’ upcoming book Defy Gravity, Hay House Radio Sacred Contract talks, and websites: http://www.myss.com/ and http://www.hayhouseradio.com/
2. Leslie Keenan’s book It’s About Time
3. Eckhart Tolle’s book The Power of Now
4. Current season of Lost
5. Brian Weiss’ books such as Many Lives Many Masters and his regression CDs, such as Spiritual Progress Through Regression

My favorite ways to step out of linear time (not in any particular order):

1. Taking a walk
2. Prayer, stillness, quiet
3. Regression meditation
4. Listening to music
5. Playing the piano
6. Reading a good book
7. Traveling to Greece
8. Writing
9. Yoga
10. Spending time with special friends and family (especially children!)

Step out of linear time and find yourself!

What Are You Creating?

2009-05-10T12:56:00.000-07:00

This post begins with a warning. My family already knows the drill…if you hang out with a writer, prepare to be a part of the content. Before you go running off or before you pick up your cell phone to dial your attorney, let me reassure you, none of you will be identified by name…but from where else do we writers get our material? And I would also like to take this opportunity to thank you for such great content!

Honestly though, if it is posted here then it’s a universal observation, and I’m hoping that by addressing it, others will find it useful. So, here I go…

Yesterday I was at a work reunion of sorts. In my opinion, it was the best possible form that a work reunion could take. It was a loving, joyful event that brought a busload of Ob/Gyns together…a baby shower!! And not just any baby shower. This blessed baby has two of the most wonderful parents in the world—and both are Ob/Gyns! Anyway, I was in heaven. It’s, sadly, quite rare to see such amazing families being created. So many people end up as parents before they’re ready or without consciously choosing to be parents. In our profession, this is a daily event. So it’s heaven when it all works out. (I don’t think they know yet, but I’m planning on hanging out at their house—that’s where all the action is gonna be…it looked like they still have a spare bedroom…but probably not for long—I better grab it quick…everyone is gonna want to be there!)

So, I’m at this heavenly event and the first question everyone asks me is, “Where are you now?” I’m the gypsy Doc; I never stay in one place very long—so I’m asked this question even when I’m not answering a cell phone, even when the person asking the question is standing right in front of me. I’ve always been tempted to respond, “I’m standing right in front of you. Do you need a new lens prescription?” But that would be rude, so I restrain myself and answer, I’m currently unemployed (don’t tell them too much…create some drama...) Their next question is, “What are you doing?” I love answering, “I’m writing three books,” and watching their reactions. It was so much fun! I could almost see their unlived dreams reflected in their eyes. Awesome!

I’ve never liked that question, “What are you doing?” It always implies that I should be doing something, or be doing something else. When I got back from living abroad in Greece without practicing medicine, I was asked, “What did you do for eighteen months?” Even when I reassured them that there was plenty to do, my life was full, the doubt didn’t leave their eyes. Although I know that this question is usually asked without judgment and with curiosity, I can’t help but feel the need in our society for everyone to be doing something, and that something had better be something acceptable. Welcome to the western world.

The question I prefer, instead, is, “What are you creating?” This is a great question, the pay dirt question. It’s the question I love to answer. It’s usually the same question that many have pat answers for, or, if they really understand the question, will uncomfortably wiggle out of answering.

But it seems like the appropriate question for a baby shower. After all, these two wonderful colleagues of ours are creating a child, a wonderful--most likely, given his parents--brilliant child, who will make all of our lives better. What a tremendous gift, their creation. I mean, who can compete with that? Do we all shy away from that question, because we understand what it entails? Or is it just too painful for so many of us to face? Fortunately, everyone who knows me has gotten used to this discomfort—some even look forward to asking me what I’m doing. It’s their five-minute opportunity to think about the parts of themselves that they’ve put on hold, where they are in their lives. Heck, maybe they might even have a dream that night about their next creation that is waiting in the wings.

This question also brings up all of the conflicts. Too many of us are unaware of what we are unconsciously creating, and this gets us into loads of trouble. If we live in our minds, which seems to be our only socially-acceptable home, then it isn’t too long before physical symptoms surface. Not making our creations conscious, leaving things up to chance, letting nature take its course…these are all recipes for disaster.

Creating is an essential part of our nature. It occurs regardless of whether or not it is conscious.

What are you creating? What do you want to create; what do you choose to create? This could be the most powerful, fulfilling journey of your life. And next time you’re invited to answer the question, “What are you doing?” consider instead answering the unspoken question, “What are you creating?”

Happy Creating on the day dedicated to our Earthly Creators!

Happy Mother's Day!

Follow this link for creating inspiration: Jennifer Lin on Oprah

Creating Meditation

2009-05-09T02:03:00.000-07:00

Whether we wish to create space in our lives for prayer, meditation or quiet time, all of us need a protected time and place to unwind, regroup, and reconnect with the Divine. With everything and everyone pulling us in every possible direction, we all long to return to our center. Here are a few simple suggestions to help you create meditation-balance in your lives.

1. Pick a protected place where you will be undisturbed.

2. Create a consistent dependable time, when you are neither too tired nor too wound up to relax without falling asleep.

3. Commit to a regular practice, slowly building up length of practice over time.

4. It may be best to avoid lying down, as you may drift off to sleep.

5. If you are on the go, or simply too hyped-up to relax, then consider a walking meditation outside, surrounded by nature. Ideally, find a place where your feet touch the natural (unpaved) ground.

6. Stick with it, even if it’s just for a few minutes.

7. If you are outside, engage all of your senses. Smell the air, feel the earth beneath your feet, listen to the wind and to the birds, notice the different colors and textures.

8. If the calmly sit by the edge of the river and serenely watch your thoughts flow by technique is not working, try a waterfall, instead. This works for some of you more dramatic types, or those of you who, literally, have a lot to let go of—people, attitudes, emotions, relationships, beliefs. Visualize whatever you’re letting go of at the top of Niagara Falls and then watch with excitement as it/they plunge dramatically into the raging waters below. If you do this long enough, eventually the sense of excitement and drama dissipates. (I have fun with this one!)

9. Remember to begin/end with a blessing and gratitude.

10. Enjoy this time! You’ll be amazed at how many problems get solved, how many solutions appear, and how many creations manifest when you step out of linear time into this space between space.

You Can Do It Too!

2009-05-04T23:03:00.000-07:00

I was just treated to a Saturday at the Louise Hay “I Can Do It” conference in San Diego this last weekend. It was packed full of goodies…lots of information, fun and healing. I wanted to share with you just a couple of the many gems.

For those of you who would like to access your intuition to obtain useful information regarding your health and life decisions, and for those of you who are already able to gain access but don’t know how to use this information, I strongly recommend Dr. Mona Lisa Schulz’s latest book, The Intuitive Advisor. If you don’t know anything about Mona Lisa, you are in for a treat. She wears several different very colorful hats simultaneously. Not only is she one of the most brilliant people that I have ever met, both hemispheres of her brain are doing double duty. First, she is a double doctor. She has a medical degree and has trained as a Psychiatrist. She also has a Ph.D. in Psychoneuroimmunology. Oh, and did I mention that she is also a medical intuitive? This means that with your name and age only, she is able to “read” your emotional and physical health and link the two. Being a research scientist, she has been on a mission to understand intuition both scientifically and experientially. In The Intuitive Advisor, she takes an extremely complex subject and makes it straight-forward, easily understandable and extremely useful. Whether you want to learn the basics about intuition or wish to access this wonderful feminine gift, this book is a great place to start. Her website is: http://www.drmonalisa.com/ . Happy healing!

Whatever you may believe about past lives, Dr. Brian Weiss’ regression meditations are fantastic tools to access information about past experiences, beliefs and the archetypal world. Dr. Weiss also trained as a Psychiatrist and worked extensively as a research scientist. While using hypnotherapy techniques that he had learned during his training, one of his patients regressed all the way back into a previous life, thus changing the direction of his life. He has written several books and has several Regression Meditation CDs available. I would recommend starting with Spiritual Progress Through Regression. His website is: http://www.brianweiss.com/ . Happy travels!

Red Poppies, Greek Easter

2009-04-17T18:09:00.000-07:00

It’s Greek Easter again. One would think that after traveling to Greece annually for nineteen years I would have experienced Greek Easter on many occasions, but, in fact, I only did so once. I usually travel to Greece in the Fall, so to witness April was rather unusual. It happened the year that I lived in Greece. I was hanging out in Athens for the long cold wet winter. I wasn’t prepared, even though I had been forewarned. When my friend, a former American turned Greek native, discovered that I had left my long silk underwear behind, she advised me to contact my parents and have them send it immediately. I didn’t believe her. Surely after living two years in Maine, I would know when that extra layer was necessary. After all, Athens shared a similar climate with California. This was going to be a piece of cake, or so I thought...

When the hurricane hit, it took out two of three Athenian power towers, and with them went the electrical grid of the entire city. Soon after, shortages followed--shortages of batteries and candles, bunsen burners and fresh foods. Worse yet, I was ill--so I was confined to my apartment. My only unexpected benefit from this challenging situation was weight loss from the under-advertised but highly effective hurricane diet. That, and the free water show outside my window--Niagara Falls rushing off the top of the gymnasium roof and pounding onto the pavement below.

It was dark. It was cold. I was sick. It felt like the Apocalypse. This was not how I had envisioned the world’s last days; where was the fire?

When the electricity finally returned, we had rolling blackouts. This takes on a different significance in Greece. Water heaters are not on automatic cycling. You must turn on the electrical circuit fifteen minutes prior to your bath in order to avoid glacial waters. So when the light in the hallway went on, no matter what the time, that was my cue to flip on the hot water circuit, and, shortly after, to take my bath.

I remembered all of this a few months later during Easter week (called “The Great Week” by Greeks). The coming of Easter that year was more dramatic than any other year. After all, it was the first time that I had survived an apocalypse. Rebirth was no longer an abstract concept; it embodied its physicality. I had decided to travel north to Volos to spend Easter with my friend’s family. This meant a five-hour bus drive from Athens through the twin sister of California’s central valley. This was pre-iPods and text messages. I had run out of English books long ago, and my Greek wasn’t quite good enough to follow the circulating gossip. Were the two yia yias (grandmothers) discussing the beets they had cooked that morning or the window shutters that needed to be repainted? Were they talking about their eyeglasses or their homemade lentil soup? (My apologies to non-Greek speakers)

So while turning to look out a grungy window, I prepared myself for the familiar, boring, dried-out, wheat-colored landscape. My astonished in-drawn breath grabbed the attention of the middle-aged woman sitting in front of me. She quickly glanced out her window too, paused, and then shook her head, as if to say what did this woman find so captivating? Is she a foreigner who is mesmerized by even the dullest Greek scene? The same type who squeals at her first site of the Acropolis, or finds evil eye pendants so beguiling? Strange, I didn’t think she was a foreigner…she looks Greek, she speaks Greek…maybe she’s just crazy…

I was too excited by my own, apparently private, viewpoint to care about her thoughts. Stretched out in a rotating fan to eternity was a sea of blood-red poppies, strikingly sprinkled against the stark neutral background. Infinite thoughts flooded my mind…rebirth…the blood of Christ…the never-ending dazzling display of the sharp contrast of Grecian elements…the cyclical triumph of the earth’s life-giving force. Too many thoughts to digest. In that infinite moment, the universal symbolism of Easter came, as so many messages do, through the physicality of this land that I had come to love.

I wish all of you a Happy Rebirth!

Καλό Πάσχα!

"Walk Like a Man. Talk Like a Man."

2009-03-31T22:34:00.000-07:00

I’m feeling discouraged today, discouraged by the old stuff that women hang onto. My generation has had to try so hard to make it in the male world that we’ve taken on the same imbalances. We’ve learned to value independence to the extreme. We had to, because it was what was respected and expected. It has surprised me, especially when I encountered this in the medical field. One would think that we would naturally ask one another for help, that we would work together. Wasn’t that the advantage of working within a group of physicians? But my residency experience was just the opposite. Although we as residents would help one another, we were expected to do it all on our own, often times juggling several different roles. For example, when we covered labor and delivery at night in our hospital, we were responsible for all of the admitted laboring patients, the evaluation of urgent pregnant patients, and all of the gynecological, prenatal and postpartum in-house patients. This amounted to a lot of patients. There was one other resident in house, covering gynecological emergencies and surgeries, and an attending physician; however, the more we could do without their help, the better.

In retrospect, it was a bit ridiculous. This plan was justified by the fact that it was essential that we learn how to prioritize, that it would prepare us for similar circumstances in the future. Some defended this system by citing the additional experience the sheer volume would provide us over a specified number of years--four, in this case.

I remember, though, what bothered me the most --when women did not help other women. Thankfully, this was rare. I worked with a group of excellent female physicians and ancillary staff, who were very supportive. Occasionally, however, there would be a woman who worked in the hospital that treated the female residents worse than the male residents. Today, I spoke with a Greek friend who is doing his surgical residency in Scotland. He reminded me of this when he said that his fiancée is experiencing the same discriminatory behavior from some of the female nurses at their hospital. This is still happening, twenty years later.

We, as women, have taken the masculine trait of independence to the extreme. We are threatened by and in competition with other women, still. Some part of us continues to believe that it is better if we do it all on our own, without anyone’s help. Then, when we have accomplished an extraordinary amount, we hesitate to extend a hand to another woman, because we are still competing and because we sacrificed so much to achieve our goals. This is such a strange unnatural behavior for women. I understand why it has happened, but it saddens me immensely.

I could not have survived my medical training if it weren’t for my two female friends, who were also residents. They saved my life.

Nothing great has ever been accomplished alone. What will it take before we trust one another again?

I thank all of you, women and men, who have trusted me and supported me. None of my accomplishments in life would have occurred without you. More important, you have kept me sane and made my goals meaningful.

Craving Greece

2009-03-22T13:39:00.000-07:00

So for all you Hellenophiles—you must be wondering where the posts are about Greece.

I’ve been caught up in the craziness of everyday American life. Without constant communication with my Greek friends, Greece would seem far, far away. What can I say? I miss Greece. I miss walking down the street and being seen as a woman first and as a doctor…well…never!

I miss the lack of anonymity that wears off after the first twenty-four hours, the Greek interest in all my personal details. The list goes on: the easy acceptance of death and decay, the cacophony (Greek for “bad voice”) of the farmers market, the crazy taxi drivers who are relentless multitaskers—trying, still, to rip me off while asking me out, the constant “good” greetings--“good day,” “good afternoon,” “good evening,” “good night," “good trip," “good appetite,” and the constant blessings—“to your health,” “to our health,” “with health”—for everything from street salutations to the purchase of new shoes to a toast over ouzo. I even miss the unwelcome advances from anyone male, aged eight to eighty. Once in Athens, in just under an hour, I was approached by a ten-year old boy, two police officers, a shop owner and a business man. I quickly glanced down to make sure that I hadn’t left any pieces of clothing at home—but, no, they were all there.

I miss the constant comments about my un-dyed hair, followed rapidly by criticisms of George Bush and our country’s propensity to bomb their neighbors. Some days, when I’m really bad off, I long for a position in the middle of the yelling matches on the buses or in the street, the ones that make you think that someone is going to end up in the ground before the driver gets to your stop. Then you listen carefully and discover that they’re relating something insignificant about their motorbike, or brand of cigarettes, or cell phone. Not anger, just passion.

I miss most the blue, blue sea, the fierce sun, and the white rocky cliffs studded with short stubby pine trees. I yearn to lay on marble stones at Delphi. I ache to see the moonlight. I long for time that slows down…then stops… and an earth into which my feet sink, where I become heavy, grounded. Yes, this is what I desire.

I crave the collapse of linear time, past, present and future converging into my center.

Who is Fighting for Her Feminine?

2009-03-16T00:27:00.000-07:00

I was disheartened today. I witnessed another pre-teen girl stressing out about her body image. This girl is beautiful, normal height, not overweight. I cried. Has so little changed in our culture?

I relived my distress at the age of eleven. Because I am of Middle-Eastern descent I have more dark body hair than almost every woman I’ve examined. We’re talking thousands of women. I remember, at the age of eleven, asking my mother if I could shave my legs. She, thankfully, not only put the electric razor in my hand but made my father, who is fairly non-communicative, tell me how beautiful my newly shaven legs looked. His positive comment carried so much weight that I remember it still.

Over the years, I grew tired of all of the unwelcome responses. One teenage boy was fascinated by the blonde hair on my arms that didn’t match the dark hair on my head. I was too embarrassed to tell him that I had bleached it. When I became an adult, the reactions from ignorant men were no better. The male family practice resident at my medical school clinic, who fit me for a diaphragm, gave me an unsolicited warning. He thought he was doing me a favor when he told me that I would probably have difficulty conceiving, this because he wasn’t used to seeing women whose hair growth was due to ethnicity. He didn’t bother to ask the other appropriate questions, such as the regularity of my periods, but, instead, assumed that I had an endocrine disorder. I did not escape our cultural ignorance until I landed in Greece. Thank goodness for Greece! There I wasn’t alone, and no one thought me less beautiful or less desirable because I happened to have hairy arms.

I remembered all of this today when I felt this lovely girl’s pre-pubescent pain.

We are still failing miserably if our girls continue to be so hypercritical of their body image. We’ve been aware of this problem for decades. We have even structured groups around this, but we are still failing. What do we need to do to ensure that our daughters know that they are beautiful? What do we, their role models, need to change about our own self-image? How can we guarantee that our message is stronger than the cultural one? Why are we willing to lose our girls to the societal message that they are not good enough just the way they are?

I would love to hear some of the ways that you celebrate your girls, just as they are. How are you honoring their entrance into womanhood? Are there significant women and men in your daughter’s, grand-daughter’s, or niece’s life that you have recruited to reinforce her internal and external beauty?

Who is fighting for her feminine?

Grey's Anatomy Goes "Soft"

2009-03-13T22:05:00.001-07:00

News Flash: It's finally happened--Grey's Anatomy has joined the ranks of those who promote the Feminine. For those of you who do not follow the show -- yesterday, Miranda, the chief surgical resident, confronted the Chief of the Hospital about his fear of going "soft".

She advised him, "Maybe it's time that you got in touch with your feminine side. Maybe you need a little 'soft'."

Miranda, from your lips to every Doc's ears... You go, girl!

Calling All Fem Gyns!

2009-03-09T17:44:00.000-07:00

I’m pleased to announce that the Feminine Gynecologists,
Fem Gyns--for short, are finally coming out!

Back in 1990, when I completed my Obstetrics and Gynecology training, I was all alone. If other Feminine Gynecologists existed, they weren't shouting about it. Ironically, embracing all that is feminine did not get us very far in the world of caring for females. We took birth control pills to stop our periods (Who could leave a ten-hour surgery to change their tampon?) We deprived ourselves of food, sleep, sex, making it to the bathroom. We never let go. Never gave up. Our relationships went into the trash, along with our souls. My fellow female residents who were most likely to succeed—and survive—were those with very caring, nurturing partners. This did not stop three of the nine women from becoming pregnant at the same time and, miraculously, carrying their babies to term. I heard that one resident had to finish rounding on the post-partum patients before the attending physician allowed her to proceed to labor and delivery to deliver her own baby…but that’s another story.

I was terrified to discover that at the end of a four-year program centered on caring for women, I had learned, instead, to hate all in myself and others that is feminine. It took traveling over six thousand miles to Greece to find my Feminine again.

That is why it makes “my heart sing” when I discover women like Dr. Lissa Rankin, an artist, writer, mother, Gynecologist, and “wild thing,” who is embracing her Feminine and helping other women do the same. See: http://owningpink.com and http://www.owningpink.blogspot.com

I would like to provide a forum for all of us recovering Fem Gyns to share our healing stories. So, I’m putting a call out to my Co-Fem Gyns and Fem Docs. It’s finally safe to come out! Please share your healing stories with us.

I am so glad that you are here. Welcome home!

E-mail your stories to: rebecca@rebeccaelia.com
Stories can be viewed at: www.rebeccaelia.com

Welcome

2009-03-09T16:24:00.000-07:00

Hello everyone. Welcome to my Blog.

I am very excited to have this up and running. It's wonderful to combine my love of Greece with the healing power of the feminine. I am taking a break from direct patient care, as a Holistic Gynecologist, to devote my time to writing and speaking.

Check out my website: www.rebeccaelia.com. You will find resources for woman who are interested in obtaining more health and balance in their lives by reclaiming the feminine qualities within themselves.

I am inviting women who have experienced the healing power of the Feminine to share their stories. If you have experienced more health or balance through reclaiming any of your feminine qualities, such as creativity, nurturing, intuition, feeling and interdependence, I invite you to share with us.

If you have gained feminine wisdom through life's transitions, such as pregnancy, birth, menopause or the death of a loved one, then please consider sharing your wisdom with us. If you have healing stories about expressing your feminine creativity and wisdom in the later years of your life, we would love to hear from you. We need and value your wise-woman wisdom!
Please submit stories to: rebecca@rebeccaelia.com. Stories will be posted on my website under the heading of Feminine Revelations.

Because Greece has been my feminine healer I will be devoting part of the site to this Goddess Land. Photography is one of my creative outlets--so I hope that my pictures will help you reconnect with the Feminine, as well.

Thank you!
Rebecca