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A Mixed Up Criss-Cross Love
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I want my fingers to dance over the keys of my keyboard like tap dancers on a stage.
As I enter my third year of full-time writing, I'm taking less shortcuts, looking for fewer loopholes. I'm not tempted to keep my eye on the clock, writing takes the time it takes. I haven't even mapped out how many paragraphs I'm going to write, I just let the words flow. At this point the process itself is the joy, not so much seeking validation. I write what I want, I express what I want, I analyze and dig and paint my canvas with broad strokes or minute attention to detail. I don't even really care that I'm missing two hundred words when I feel like concluding today's epistle. Maybe I'll be pleasantly surprised and end up on target, maybe I'll have a few words to make up tomorrow. It's so early in the year, yet I know I can do this. I can write every day. I take a day off here and there, sure, but so does every worker.
I no longer feel satisfied with chronicling mundane activities, unless those mundane activities are uppermost in my mind. I want to capture moments, I want to record memories, I want self-analysis and self-expression. I want my fingers to dance over the keys of my keyboard like tap dancers on a stage. I could barely read anything from 2022 when I sifted through it all. 2023 was slightly better, but so far I'm proud of what I am achieving in 2024. Of course, it's only day four, but I can see the difference in myself. I'm not in a rush to get the writing done so I can do other things. All the other things fall into their places quite naturally. There is no need for me to rush while I write, though at times it's hard to keep up with my own mind. I'm spending time with a good friend, Writing, and sipping my tea as we languidly chat, pause to process and think, and then continue. It's a satisfying solitary activity, while also being a lively discussion.
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I was making my quick combo chili: frozen vegetables cooked in oil, crushed tomato and beans, combined in a pan and left to simmer over low heat. I had the corn, but I was out of diced vegetables, so I reluctantly picked up the mix of Thai veggie mix and added that instead. I wondered how I was going to spin it, then it occurred to me.
I jumped out with a big grin, and shouted to S-, "Stir fry: will it chili?!"
He stared at me for a moment and then said, with confidence: "Yes."
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I'd rather risk dropping my phone in bathwater than a book. Priorities.
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Mary and Edith: An Analysis
"A lack of compassion can be as vulgar as an excess of tears." - Dowager Lady Grantham
As I watched Downton Abbey for the first time, early on in the story I felt sympathy for Mary and annoyance towards Edith. I felt sorry for Edith, but I didn't like how sorry she always seemed to feel for herself, and I understood her elder sister's impatience and intolerance. As the show progressed I began to notice Edith's qualities and my admiration for Mary was tempered by more awareness of what qualities she lacked.
Mary and Edith are two puzzle pieces which may click with others in their circle, but no matter what angle you try, their differences are too fundamental to reconcile. Mary is quite capable of dishonesty, she has a knack for saving her own skin and she can be devious and slippery, but when it comes down to it, she believes in being forthright, she believes that a life partner deserves to know the truth, even if that truth might chase them away. Edith is not skilled at deceit, which makes Mary despise her.
One of Edith's most charming attributes is her transparency; she is charmingly frank and trusting. Her doe eyes stare admiringly at those she loves, she responds beautifully to compliments and praise. With her sister, her lack of reserve tends to take the form of annoyingly searching and surprisingly acute questions, another state of affairs that compounds Mary's dislike. And yet, when it comes down to it, Edith is gripped by such fears of losing what she holds dearest, she is unwilling to share truth where by contrast her sister would throw caution to the wind and risk it all. Thus, even where they both will lie and will both be honest, these do not ever seem to overlap.
Mary may lack compassion and Edith may give in to an excess of tears, but they both have hearts, they are both intelligent, they each have a distinct beauty and grace. We as the viewers may love them; one, perhaps more than another, depending on our personalities, but we must accept that they do not really love one another, there is too much competition, too much spite, and too little empathy. And yet I do not detect real hatred on either side. They can be cruel to one another, but they can also be kind. As far as I can tell, that's because each sister, in her own right, has an inner beauty which the men they attract always seem to detect in them, more than they do in themselves or in one another.
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When you find your very essence and you express it, you find something incredible: others relate. Your use of your voice lends others the use of theirs.
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I tend to ramble on the best of days, but if I babble, I'm manic. I am cheerful and friendly as a rule, but if I'm unshakably positive, if I'm laughing when I should be morose, I'm manic. I tend to daydream and build scenarios in my head; as a writer this is an asset. If I start believing that my daydreams and scenarios are reality, I'm manic. I have a certain amount of natural confidence, but I do feel guilt and I assume blame. If my confidence becomes overconfidence and I start to feel infallible, I'm manic. The real kicker is: once the mania is introduced, I'm no longer aware that there's something wrong. Or if I perceive a danger or a threat, I'm terrified and I react instinctively, which could put me in danger as well as loved ones.
"Bi"polar disorder insinuates two polar opposites: the depression and the manic phase. In reality, there are levels: I know what stability looks like, it's where you're not too high nor two low, your energy levels shift around, but your mood is manifesting your personality more than your disorder. Then there's light depression where you are dragging your feet, you feel physically ill and limited. I tend to notice mania more than depression because I have to cope with chronic pain in my limbs, back and primarily my feet, and this pain is physically draining, so I don't really notice when my lack of energy is the result of my disorder until it's been a few days since the mood lifted and I realize I'd been a little more slow and listless. I've never had a scary down, to me the scary side of my disorder is the highs. I think I've stated that before. No, there's a sense of well-being, of purpose, which anyone would enjoy, except with the looming possibility that you're going to rise too high.
I'd say all these moods are like layers in the atmosphere. I've compared the depression to being underwater. When you come out onto dry land and your feet are firmly on the ground, that's stability. Now, if you climb up to a high hill and glide off of it, you go parasailing: that's hypomania. But if you go up to the highest peak in the world, where you're struggling to breathe, and you don't have proper equipment, so you think the best thing you can do to get down is jump: that's mania.
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I tend to say "I did my best" or "I'll do my best" a lot. Sometimes that best involves caring for someone else's needs and giving my time and energy to someone's happiness. Sometimes that best involves getting sufficient rest to brave another day full of responsibility and care. I say it so frequently because whether I'm struggling or everything seems to be coming scarily easily, my response to demands is to do my best; I am striving, I am reaching forward, and I cannot compare what my best is with another's, that would be unfair to either of us. "It's the best I can do" is not an excuse or an apology, it is an affirmation. On some scale only we can intimately know, we are always meeting the standard, because we gave 100%, no matter what the quality and quantity seem to onlookers, we know: it was all we could give.
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You know how restaurants serve crazy portions and if you only eat half of it you can bring it home as a treat for later, and that's basically your only option if you want to try to eat a reasonable portion of food when you eat out? What if you could tell the server up front to only give you half, and the other half would go to a food shelter? It would basically be a way for us to donate that doggy bag, but instead of being congealed leftovers with our saliva on it, it would be a fresh carton of food.
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It's Friday, so it's time to slack off in the writing and make a list of favorite things. I'm currently watching the science fiction series Firefly with my daughter, and experiencing her reactions and responses is proving to be quite an experience for me. I've loved Joss Whedon's universe and the Firefly ship Serenity's crew ever since I first met them when a friend brought over the movie, and while we were dating, my future husband bought the boxed set of DVDs so I could watch the precious thirteen episodes. I do not love each episode equally, that is why I'm going to make this list. I'm going to do my best to keep spoilers to the minimum, but if you are reading this and have not seen the show and movie, stop reading and go watch them. It doesn't take long, and it's quality sci fi.
Number One: Serenity (Pilot)
As I said, I met the crew through the movie, so I had a vague idea who they were, but when I watched the pilot, I was blown away by how the characters were brought together, and how extremely well written the dialogue was. From Wash playing with his plastic dinosaurs (see, spoilers), to Jayne calculating the percentage of nothing, to Mal's discovery of River: this was not a cohesive group of individuals with a united goal, this was chaotic, conflict could be explosive, but there were moments of tenderness, there were glimpses of potential friendships and relationships. I love a good introduction, a great first chapter. I've seen many pilots, but none I could watch repeatedly as if it were a standalone movie. The pilot is a masterpiece.
Number Two: Out of Gas
Mal is an enigma, because in one way he cares for everyone on board his "boat", and he takes seriously his responsibility as their captain to keep them safe, but he tends to keep everyone at arm's length. This episode is divided into three specific stories, all mashed together: first, there's Mal, and he's all alone. He's injured, he's in danger. Next you see flashbacks of how he first met his ship and then the people who joined the crew along the way, and third, you see the story unfold of how he wound up alone on his ship, and the suspense builds as he struggles to make a desperately needed repair, all the while losing blood. It becomes clear, as you watch it, that it's Mal who brought this crew together. He made connections with everyone, and he didn't judge their background or actions. From this episode you learn how Mal thinks and operates, and if he wasn't before, he definitely becomes your Captain, too.
Number Three: Objects in Space
I love any story that focuses on River. I had difficulty choosing between Safe, Ariel and Objects in Space for the third rank, but I have to say that Objects in Space wins the place, just for that opening scene of River wandering the ship and our glimpse into her mind. The other factor that makes me feel like this episode is one of my top favorites is how unabashedly brutal, sadistic and clever Early is. Niska by comparison is a manipulative coxcomb, and up until the point where you meet Early, Niska seems like the worst villain they had the misfortune to encounter. While everyone is worrying about River, she takes matters into her own hands and plays mind games with Early. River is vulnerable, yet resilient. She is forthright, direct, yet there is much she keeps to herself. Following Early through the ship, watching him take control of matters, but then seeing him bested by River and her plan, now that is a satisfying storyline.
Number Four: Trash
Christina Hendricks is a treasure. Of course, we meet her in Our Mrs. Reynolds, but Trash is a heist episode. As will soon become abundantly clear: I love heist episodes. There are so many twists in Trash; first you think one person has outsmarted the rest, and then it turns out they themselves were outsmarted. There's a certain measure of suspense, as there should be with a heist, but Trash is mostly fun, thanks to quipping, bickering, playfulness and the like. We got to know the vixen in Our Mrs. Reynolds, but we learn so much about her indirectly in Trash. She's a thrill seeker, though somewhat pathetic. She always has to have the upper hand, and she's wily. And yet, you can't help but feel affection for her. And you have so many questions about her backstory. You may get a smidgen of answers, but you're left wanting more.
Number Five: Ariel
Firefly mixes space with small towns on backwater moons, livestock with fancy parties, guns and ammo with advanced technology, but then in Ariel you get to see the inside of a futuristic hospital in a bustling city. The color scheme is less warm, more cold colors creep in. This episode sets up a heist storyline, but then there are other elements that come to play. Two nemeses that were introduced back in The Train Job demonstrate how dangerous they truly are. An "interesting day" which was alluded to back in the pilot comes to pass. Simon finally truly shines as a doctor and a devoted brother, and a decent human being. But most of all, the story itself is compelling and suspenseful. A proper heist, with twists and turns, peril and betrayal.
Number Six: Jaynestown
One of the funniest episodes, in my opinion, this episodes also has depth, especially in its final scene, where the theme song of the entire episode quietly, subtly plays while Jayne utters "Don't make no sense." Jayne is one of the most straightforward characters. He likes money. He likes women. He looks out for number one. But even Jayne shows us that his conscience can smite him, in his own way. Jayne goes from confusion and wild-eyed stage fright to lapping up adoration to an earnest wish to make a difference to expressing heartfelt remorse and confusion at how strange people can be. And then there's Inara and how she influences a young man crushed by the personality of his father, helping him find his own. Part tender, part heartbreaking, and full of humor.
Number Seven: Safe
River looking into the soulful eyes of a cow. River dancing. River telling Simon what she knows to be true. Shepherd Book revealing that he isn't quite what he seems. "Big damn heroes" showing up "in the nick of time". And then Simon asking Mal why he came back for them and being told "You're on my crew." Simon and River are on the crew. Shepherd Book is on the crew. Mal has to prioritize one who is injured, but that does not make him abandon the others or choose and easier path. There are so many precious moments in Safe. It's like a scrapbook of Firefly's greatness. And while we heard Simon and River's story in the pilot, seeing it in Safe reveals so many details that were left unsaid.
Number Eight: War Stories
I figured out what I love best about this episode while discussing it with a friend. The best feature, for me, of this particular story, is how Wash simply shines. From that very first episode, where "He's the captain, Wash," is met with "Right, I'm just the husband," we see the underlying resentment Wash feels, under all the playful banter, behind the light-hearted quips, he feels threatened by just how close Mal and Zoe really are, how they have something he isn't part of. But in War Stories, we see Wash's epiphany, where he realizes what Mal did for Zoe: Wash has his wife thanks to who Mal is, how his survival instinct is contagious; Mal is a force of nature and Wash finally owes him in the same way Zoe does, bringing them closer together as they mount a reckless rescue operation as husband and wife. I could mention more scenes, more lines, from Kaylee getting pinned down and River coming to the rescue, to the way Book roasts Simon.
Number Nine: Heart of Gold
This one is a stand off between a band of misfits and a selfish sexist who apparently has the upper hand. It breaks my heart every time I watch it, so why isn't it lower on the list? Just like I love YoSaffBridge, I have tremendous affection for Nandi and the life she has carved out not only for herself but the family who inhabit the house with her. I love every scene with her in it, because she's a lot like Mal in feminine form. She handles crises well, she is a natural leader, she has authority as well as compassion, she knows how to protect those who rely upon her, she will take matters into her own hands and she has her own code which only she knows and follows. No wonder Mal and Nandi connect instantly.
Number Ten: The Train Job
We’re getting to the point where I'm asking myself "Why isn't this one higher up on my list?!" and then I look at all of the ones that precede them and I go "Oh, because they're all superb, so ranking them is really an impossible feat." Honestly, I would have ranked The Train Job higher if I had never learned that it was a substitute pilot. Of course, it does its job very well; it introduces the characters, it's snappy, it's fast-paced, its overall tone is good, and it introduces a minor character I adore, the sheriff of the town. All that being said, I'm so angry that the network decided to air this as the first episode instead of Serenity, which as I have stated is in itself a movie of such tremendous quality, I can't help but notice how the dialogue must carry so much exposition to make up for the fact that the audience was pitched into this story headlong. I have mixed feelings about The Train Job, but I still love it, because it introduces Niska, who is a comprehensive sadist who we love to hate, and as I said, the sheriff. As a pilot, however, it should never have been one.
Number Eleven: Our Mrs. Reynolds
Why is Trash higher up on the list than Our Mrs. Reynolds? Sometimes a story where we already know a character is more compelling than the story where that character is introduced. It's why I love GotG2 and GotG3 the most, even though when I first saw GotG, I thought it was the best movie Marvel had made so far (thank you, James Gunn, for this awesome trilogy). Honestly, my favorite character to be introduced was Vera. I still randomly say "I call her Vera" in conversation, and anyone unfamiliar with Firefly is completely lost as to my meaning. I also sometimes have Mal shouting "She was naked! And…articulate!" pop into my head making me laugh. Also Book leaning with his head at a comical angle reiterating "The special hell." It's a masterpiece. They all are.
Number Twelve: Shindig
When we meet Badger, he's a slimy, no-good half-pint crook. But in Shindig we see him interact with River, and that adds so many more layers to him, "a sad little king on a sad little hill." Like Jaynestown, Shindig is one of the episodes with a lighter tone, a lot of humor. It's also visually lush, stunning at times, and the commentary on high society and so-called refinement is deliciously scathing. Kaylee is just so sweet in this episode, Inara is graceful, Mal is "all right". Atherton Wing is a snake. And the end of Shindig sets up Safe. Shindig may be before-last in this "ranking", but as I said: they're all masterpieces.
Number Thirteen: The Message
The one thing I truly appreciate from The Message is a certain piece of music that Greg Edmonson composed. He was working on this episode when he learned that the show had been cancelled, and he put all his grief at this news into a sort of musical dirge, which moves me every time I hear it. Honestly, however, I have no tolerance for this episode's antagonist. His fate when he meets it seems so pointless to me. He was so hell bent on manipulating people who cared for him, he didn't stop to think that if he straightforwardly asked for help instead of wearing mask after mask to trick them, he would have obtained help and would have made it out of the situation. The way he can't ever bring himself to finish that sentence, and Zoe has to finish it for him: "You find someone to carry you." He had someone, two someones in fact, who would carry him, but he couldn't bring himself to ask. The tragedy physically hurts me.
And that's it! In order of my favorite to my least favorite, these are the thirteen episodes of Firefly. I'm sure every Browncoat on Earth could make this list and have a completely different order, while many might refuse to even attempt it, saying that they are all equally good. The thing about Firefly is that it was so brief it is basically a miniseries, self-contained, a story full of genius, a work of art. It is one of my all-time favorite shows. This list was fun to put together, but I might have to revisit it in ten years and see if the order changed. My appreciation of certain plots and characters develops as I do, my outlook shifts. Nothing should ever be set in stone, not while we are flesh and blood.
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Part of self care is caring for others.
Part of self care is caring for others. If we make that little effort to show kindness, courtesy, generosity, hospitality, warmth: the resulting inner glow will reassure us that we have a reason to feel dignity and self-love. We don't care for others with reciprocity as our aim, although a kind word often begets one in turn; if we compliment someone, chances are they will feel moved to tell us something they appreciate about us as well. When we naturally, effortlessly show consideration to anyone we happen to meet, that is a key to caring for ourselves, because we are not basing our manners on how others treat us, rather we are taking the initiative, the first step, and when we do so we start to notice how we are brightening up the days and moments we share with others.
Forcing a smile isn't as effective as giving thought to an idea that might make us genuinely smile. Just that smile that lights up our eyes gets an immediate response. It might be a courier dropping off a delivery, it might be a cashier at a store, it might be a family member who needs a listening ear, it might be a friend who is having a rough time. Letting our eyes speak as we speak, showing anyone that we care about their well-being, that will boost, not our ego, but our morale. As I mentioned, there is an inner glow that comes from showing empathy, and it can be exhilarating. We have to tread with caution, however, because it can sap strength to always be the one who is there for others. Just like a caregiver needs someone to take care of them as well or they wear out, we need to be aware of our capacities and our boundaries.
The great thing about that capacity is that it just keeps growing. Just like exponential growth and staggering multiplication, the more we show our love for other people, the more their response strengthens us and we feel moved to keep on. Even the simplest gesture can make someone else's day, but also ours. Egotism saps our strength a lot more than being aware of the needs of others. On the other hand, we do need those boundaries that we naturally build up but so many of us feel shy about defending. So many children are taught that their will is negated by their youth, not even taught that they have freedom of choice, just like everyone else, that they grow up to feel powerless or they react by taking on the entire world in their frustration.
In so many aspects of life, finding balance seems to be a recurring theme. When I volunteered in an elementary school library, I observed the kids of all different ages who would come in to browse the shelves and take out a book or two. I thought it was fun to see the independent, the self assured, the awkward, the chatty, the shy, the charismatic, the thoughtful, the cheerful. I think my time in observation mode, waiting for those kids to check out their books, taught me to watch for the endless variety of personalities all around me, and I think I'm still the librarian, bestowing on strangers an encouraging smile, wanting to make a connection with this human being and let them take something out from the exchange, which will cost them nothing nor I, and in this case we're not talking about a book, we're just talking about a brief glimpse of kindness.
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I have a theory about how Thor learned to speak Groot as an elective. When we watch GotG3 we see that those who have been with Groot long enough understand what he says and they respond to him in their own language. There's a character who throughout the movie expresses frustration and annoyance at the way they can freely communicate with Groot, but even this character is capable of communicating with Groot at one point. There, that's as spoiler-free as I can make my statement. What I take away from this is that a measure of empathy with a Groot will teach you to comprehend what a Groot is saying. You need to be on the same wavelength, so to speak. So for me, that means that Thor learned to speak Groot by coexisting with one, or more than one, possibly even living on their planet for a while. I like to imagine Thor surrounded by Groots, deep in the forest, and then suddenly, like flicking a switch, he could understand what they were saying to him, and just like riding a bike, it was a language he never lost, and now, his brain has a wavelength on the same frequency as that of a gigantic tree-being.
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Detail-oriented gratitude
I have a sweater whose praises I simply have to sing. I found it in a thrift store years ago; it is black, silky soft cotton and gigantically oversize. It drapes around my body like a dress, the sleeves extend past my fingers but they can easily be rolled up to my elbows when I work. I only wear it at home, but it serves a specific purpose which I shall now share. At times one of the symptoms my body puts me through is to have a sensation of arid heat all over me. When that happens, most fabrics feel like sand paper, including the softest of flannel sheets. If I'm enduring this soreness and feeling of being on fire at bedtime, and for some reason it always seems to start in the evening, I have to extend one arm out from under the covers to regulate temperature, but that arm, if bare, starts to feel cold in a matter of seconds.
That's where my sweater comes in. I have it hanging on a hook next to my bed, and I slip into it on these nights; as soon as that fabric touches skin, it's like I stepped into a glassy lake, cool and refreshing. As I feel the dull ache subside and the heat retreat, I slip in between the sheets and blankets, curl up and leave my arm over the top layer to regulate temperature, and this phenomenal cloak that is cooling me down warms my arm just enough to keep the discomfort at bay and let me fall asleep. It may seem crazy to feel this much appreciation for an old garment that I can't even wear in public, but I think the point I'm trying to make is that sometimes it is a minute detail that improves the quality of our lives, and I feel at times it is necessary to take a moment to feel grateful, not just for the generalizations, like food and shelter and material possessions of all kinds, but something tiny, almost insignificant, but that we truly appreciate. It can be the feeling of curry in our throat when it is sore, it can be the soothing sound of rainfall when we feel pain in our temples. There are so many little things that add to our comfort and well being.
If I hadn't been in that thrift store on that day at that time, if the person who discarded it had just thrown it in the trash, I would never have met my sweater. If I hadn't hung it on the hook, I wouldn't have reached for it at random one day when I was in pain at bedtime and discovered its distinct properties for countering that pain. I also have a tea cup a friend gave me that holds exactly two and a half servings of tea from a teapot another friend gave me. They both know how I feel about hot beverages. I have kitchenware, I have art supplies, I have so many humble things that transform my little apartment into my home. They don't have to be pristine or perfect for me to love them. Usually they were given to me or I stumbled upon them completely by chance. Usually they are useful. I don't have much more of a point to make, this was just a rambling thought. Perhaps we can call it detail-oriented gratitude.
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Some days the words flow so easily. Those are the days I know I'm doing okay. When they're a torrent and I can't keep up, I might be manic. When they come one drop at a time and it's usually just a discussion of how I have nothing to say, that's depressive. But every once in a while there's a series of days, or one rare, isolated day, where the flow of words is just right. And that is why, no matter what my mood, and even if what I write is pure garbage, I simply have to do it every day. I have to keep my finger on the pulse, whether it's racing or sluggish or just fine, I'll only know when I sit down to write. Today is a good day. I can breathe easily knowing that for today at least, I'm okay.
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I'm pretty happy with what I have written today. I love it when I ignore boundaries. There's an expression "she runs in where angels fear to tread." That has always been me. I'm no angel, that is clear. For a person so crippled by fear, I can be pretty fearless. I don't hold back. I don’t give in. As time goes on, I explore, and what I explore like it's some deep dark chasm, is my own psyche. I want to get to the bottom, to the root, so I dig and I dig and eventually I reach an epiphany that makes it all worthwhile, and that holds me for a while, but then my curiosity overcomes me and I feel the need to descend into the pit again, to run the risk of getting lost in the narrow paths I have carved into my own mind, so as to gain a better understanding, so as to achieve an even better clarity.
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Michael J. Fox says that if you can find something to be grateful for, then optimism is sustainable. That's such a simple, straightforward approach to optimism. When I hear the oh so common exhortation to "Stay positive", I can't help thinking "How positive?"; are we talking about a positivity that is still aware of struggles and limitations, or a positivity that is blind to reality and thinks that dogged pursuit of the bright side will magically solve everything? For me, positivity can be compared with the RPM of an engine. If you press too hard on the gas pedal, willing the engine to perform at a higher rate than it was designed for, you can cover some distance but it is not good for the motor.
On the other hand, if you don't give the engine any oomph at all, you stall. The key is to give your engine just enough fuel to keep on going at an acceptable speed. Toxic positivity to me is a person clutching the wheel, with smoke pouring from the hood and the check engine light on, in complete denial that they need to pull over because not only do they need to address the problems, worse, if they don't they might break down in a catastrophic way. That's why I love the concept of gratitude being necessary for real optimism. Your heart needs to embrace even the smallest light, it could be the blinking light of a firefly in the darkness, but if you see what there is to be genuinely grateful for, not just giving it lip service out of concern for your image or to mask what you feel will be perceived as too negative, the engine will purr right along.
I saw a post on social media last night that touched my heart. It was about a mother who felt her young daughter saw things in too negative a light, so this mom decided to teach her girl a better outlook, by framing situations with the optic of "unfortunately/fortunately". She would start by acknowledging the disappointment felt by her daughter, acknowledging that it was indeed unfortunate, but then she would share an aspect of the situation that was "fortunate", so for example, it was unfortunate that a playdate was ending, but wasn't it fortunate that the little girl was going to see her friends the next day? Then this mother explained that something came up and she had to share a big blow. An event that her daughter was happily anticipating would have to be canceled. She broke the news, expecting a crisis, a meltdown, but her daughter asked "What's the "fortunately", Mom?"
If we want to someone to "stay positive", the first step is to acknowledge the unfortunate aspects, and there always are unfortunate aspects that we are all dealing with. We don't minimize, we don't dismiss, we allow one another to vent, to express, even criticize. If you reject what a person is feeling, the only person who may feel better in that scenario is you. Your reaction doesn't cancel what the other person says and feels. They still feel it, but now they know that they can't safely share with you. Some of us are in a tearing hurry to always find the "fortunately", so we skip step one. Over time, if we address and acknowledge each other's trials, that will simply smooth the way to naturally finding the "fortunately", finding what we have to be grateful for.
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I had a very random dream. I've been having a few "sequels" recently. Does anyone else have dreams with stories that are compelling and interesting and maybe even suspenseful, but in the daytime or after a few weeks or months, you forget about them, except when your brain randomly decides one night to continue from where you woke up and everything comes flooding back and you get to experience a whole new chapter of the story? Then you wake up and it all fades out again, but while you were asleep, it was as good as being in a movie theatre, except you were on set and believing everything that happened was real.
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