Dr. Doner’s Blog

 I am a scientist.

 Even though the practice of medicine is partly an art, I liked to believe that I used drugs and procedures proved effective by scientific research. Indeed, this attitude is what helps prevent malpractice awards – if the physician is practicing according to accepted medical standards.

 So when I was trained in Emotional Freedom Technique over 12 years ago it seemed interesting. It made sense in terms of acupuncture theory. But I couldn’t find any clinical studies and Medicare certainly wouldn’t pay for me to take an hour to teach it to a patient! “Energy psychology” seemed rather “woo-woo.”

 Then I left Internal Medicine to do Hypnotherapy full-time and had the leisure with self-pay clients to teach anything I wanted. But I was still skeptical. That is until the hurricanes hit in 2004.

 The home roof blew off and the rain poured in. My office was destroyed. The contractor was crooked and my savings in jeopardy. Packing up my possessions and put into a rental house by State Farm, I felt anxious, traumatized and taken advantage of. Symptoms that I can only describe as post-traumatic-stress started to emerge. Nothing helped! Not self-hypnosis, not even my own Stress Reduction CD!

 It was then that I took the book off the shelf and started practicing EFT in earnest. Vacationers at the Vero Beach Disney Resort looked at me oddly as I tapped away while walking the beach. It worked – that’s all I can say. It gave me the power to change the fear into courage and overwhelm into focus. It brought me back into balance so I could make clear decisions (especially about the contractor who is now in prison!)

 Since then I’ve taught EFT to anyone who will sit still and in any group that wants to assemble. I’ve taught dieticians to use EFT for cravings and mental health professionals to use it for anxiety and depression. Psychiatrists send me clients for EFT when the drugs aren’t enough. Even school children are teaching it to their class-mates for test anxiety.

 “But how does it work?” even a fellow hypnotherapist asked. “I won’t use anything I don’t understand.”

 “Well,” I replied, “We used aspirin before we understood its mechanism. We cleaned wounds before we could prove germs. And with EFT we are manipulating subtle energy flow without being able to see it. But it works. And now the research is starting to be done.”

 The best way to reform a skeptic is to go through two hurricanes and be personally desperate.

This clinical scientific trial of one (me) was enough to shake off disbelief and be willing to try something new. Isn’t that what science is, anyway? Humility and an open investigating mind.

 Kathy Doner, MD  March 2011

Last year I started a small group focused on “living this year as if it were our last.” It was inspired by Stephen Levine’s book A Year to Live and the loss of two friends. Yes, it’s a morbid topic but there is nothing as certain as death or as uncertain as its timing. This exercise did shift our lives. One retired engineer reported that upon returning to work for a limited contract, she quit after just one day. “This isn’t fun and life is short!” It reminded me wake up grateful every morning that there wasn’t a tag around my big toe!

In September I took myself off for a three week solo camping trip in New Mexico, wanting to enjoy it as if it were my “last trip.” Right now my life seemed great! A loving fifteen year relationship that seemed permanent, enough money, good health, children settled and meaningful work. Just before I left my sweet dog Saki died, so I knew I’d be returning home to an empty house.  And I actually thought I’d already experienced enough lessons about “impermanence” in my life – hurricanes, torn knee, divorce and issues with children.

It was a marvelous trip. Actually it seemed more like a pilgrimage to sacred sites. I explored Puebloan ruins of Bandelier National Park, swam in ancient hot springs by the Rio Grande, ate with monks at the Christ in the Desert Monastery, meditated at the Zen Buddhist Center in Crestone, joined others for a “peace hike” up Mt. Chicoma above the nuclear site of Los Alamos and communed with the desert that Georgia O’Keefe painted at Ghost Ranch. I really had no set plan, just maps and a tent. It seemed that each place led me to the next and that in each place I was finding answers to a yet unasked question.

At Abiquiu Lake a woman guided me to the next site by casually remarking that the Wind River Recreation Area northwest of Taos would give the solitude I sought for a mini-retreat. Right! No one in my entire camp-ground but me! Scary? Well, I had my sweetheart’s bowie knife with me and I didn’t look especially alluring. I can’t tell you how magical it was to have no agenda whatsoever. I fasted a little, walked slowly, slept in the mid-day heat, and warmed my toes by the campfire in the chilly night. Before the sun came up I’d plant my chair in the high desert, drink coffee, wait for the spreading light and chant. I collected fragrant sage, cedar and juniper and dried them on the clothesline. 650 feet below was the Rio Grande. Above was clear sky. The mountain range cast its outline under the moon and the coyotes yipped.

Always my “prayer” was to receive guidance, even though I didn’t know what for. One afternoon I hiked down to the Rio Grande and the Arsenic Springs that flowed into it. These words came to me as I touched the warm water, “Trust the Source.” Hiking back up and noticing the layers of time embedded in the cliff, I got the words, “Trust Time.” Little did I know…

That night, by cell-phone, he dropped the bomb.

I can’t remember the exact words, so shell-shocked was I, but the gist was that he wanted out of our relationship. The reasons were incomprehensible. I had assumed he was happy, that we were life-partners. I was totally blind-sighted! Never, never assume! Apparently my absence had allowed him to evaluate his needs and he needed something different than our relationship offered. Out of the blue, death of a relationship…

The only good news about this unilateral decision, with no input from me and no recourse, is that it was delivered in the beautiful night of the high desert. The coyotes didn’t care and kept yipping, the mountains were solid and unchanging. Time twinkled in the stars and the Source flowed below – a much bigger perspective!

And yet I was devastated. From intimate communication every night for 15 years to nothing… A real shock to the nervous system! I can now understand profound depression, trauma and even post-traumatic stress disorder in a way that I never wanted to.

It felt like I came home to nothing. No confidante, comforter, best friend. Not even a dog! I was no longer anyone’s beloved. I had no dance partner, dancing venues or dancing friends. I no longer had a “tribe.” I didn’t belong. Talk about life falling apart!

The healing journey has been “interesting.” First order of business was a dog. Jake now brings life to the house and faithful unconditional love. What has been totally astounding are the friends who have poured in support! I never knew so many cared because I was always the care-taker. I’ve learned to receive. Although my grief is less than the loss of a child, for example, everyone has known loss and can relate. My grief is our grief.

This loss has given me the opportunity to work through awful emotions: shock, confusion, denial, fear, bargaining and anger (!!!).You may know the routine of stumbling through the days – comfort food, forgetting to eat, unpaid bills, Kleenex everywhere shredded by Jake…This has finally passed. Now there are mostly just waves of sadness that come unbidden, prompted by memories and places. I’ve learned to accept them as the unbearable longing of one of a monogamous species who is howling for her lost mate! I’ve finally stopped asking “Why?” and am closer to acceptance. Surrender has never been easy for me.

I always thought as myself as strong. But it takes a different kind of strength to be willing to fall apart and trust that everything will come together again, eventually, in a wiser and kinder way. (And of course fall apart again.) Trust time and trust the source…

I’ve gotten great advice: “Better rather than bitter” (from a preacher at Dunkin Donuts), “No man can love you like you can love yourself (from girlfriends), “You deserve a man who can celebrate all of you!” (daughter), “Feel the feelings in order to heal” and “Let him go, Kathy, let him go!!!

In the meantime, with a heart broken more light can come through. Death is more certain and life more precious. Every relationship is to be treasured, knowing it will end. Delusions and the desire to control are shattered, followed by surrender to what is. Feelings are fragile and unguarded. Each moment is even fresher. It’s much easier to understand the suffering of others and to help. In a compassionate way I can also tenderly care for myself, always asking, “What truly makes you happy, Kathy?” And then do it!

So, what started out as an experiment in living life as if it were the last year to live has turned out to be the greatest adventure of all – the inner adventure that happens when things fall apart. It has taken courage, resources, faith and friends to get through the temporary rough waters. Life can be an excellent teacher. The darkest times can be the opportunity to wake up!

In fact, sadness is the painful desire for what has been lost. And that means that what was lost I once had. And I then have the choice to be grateful for what he and I did have. Gratitude can be a hard practice! But we did it the other day at the final good-bye ceremony. Appreciating each other, asking forgiveness and then blessing each other with “Holy Dirt” from the Sanctuario de Chimayo. Closure.

I guess the ultimate question that has been thrust upon me is about “trust.” If I don’t own anyone, if dogs die and lovers leave, if what seems stable and dependable is in fact always changing, what then can any of us trust?

Once I’ve had to ask this question, the answers keep coming. In the words of a spiritual teacher: “We don’t suffer because things change, but because we think they won’t.” I’m learning that people do what they need to do in order to be happy. That time heals. That there is an infinite source of love around us to receive and inside of us to give. That suffering can yield wisdom and compassion if we choose to be open to the lessons.

 I’ve learned  that “out of the blue” comes the truth.

There are at least two ways of “letting go.”

This month has provided me with two dramatic and opposite ways of “letting go.” I’ve had to carefully evaluate my style in comparison with these examples, because the outcomes are polar opposites.

First, the death of a local physician.

For some unknown reason he had a violent outburst in a marital conversation and almost beat his wife to death. No history of violence, although there had been infidelity. He had been a well respected physician among his peers and well loved by his patients.

I wonder if there had been mounting financial fears. The event happened the night before Congress was to vote, once again, on the 21% Medicare cut. I am hearing from a colleague who counsels physicians nation-wide that the stresses of medical practice, reimbursement and legalities are having their toll on physician wellness.

Whatever the cause, he reacted in murderous rage. She survived but he was then dragged through court appearances in shackles, unshaven and gaunt – pictures that replayed over and over on TV.

Finally bond was set and he was released … to a hotel. Job and income gone, state license probably to be revoked and most likely a prison sentence awaiting him. I have no idea whether his sons or fellow physicians reached out to him in the next few days. I sent a letter through his lawyer. But whatever anyone did to show their caring, it wasn’t enough.

He killed himself in that lonely hotel room. The TV showed the ambulance and body bag and the Internet replayed the 911 call from the hotel clerk.

Sad, so sad … to think that his “house of cards” built of income, reputation, house and marriage could tumble down into the grave. And was this final way of ‘letting go” necessary?

Secondly, the “letting go” by another physician who is now leaving home.

She too is well respected and loved. She had such great dreams of building a holistic center for her  patients and one venture after another fell through. Medicare dramatically cut her income and she had trouble covering her overhead.

And then she got caught in the housing down-slide. She couldn’t sell her home in order to cut costs. She couldn’t rent out the office buildings she’d invested her savings in. Faced with un-payable mortgages and bills, she consulted with practice managers and financial consultants, but the “house of cards” could not be maintained. So, she did the unthinkable.

She closed her practice. Years of reputation and referral sources. The blood, sweat and tears of trying to make it all work. She let go and is not going to look back. This wonderful doctor who only wanted to serve is temporarily staying with a daughter. She will work and lovingly serve patients again. But her savings and dreams are gone.

Two physicians, both ending up empty handed. One let go in despair, thinking that without job, reputation and money that there was nothing left to live for. And the other kept going forward, knowing that she was so much more than these “things.” She never betrayed any of her relationships and can now turn to them for help. She will always be loved and respected for who she is.

Sometimes a person’s true essence, faith and resiliency shines through when they’ve had to “let go” of everything else.

July 1, 2010

“Death is a vast mystery, but there are two things we can say about it: It is absolutely certain that we will die and it is uncertain when or how we will die. The only surety we have, then, is this uncertainty about the hour of our death, which we seize on as the excuse to postpone facing death directly. We are like children who cover their eyes in a game of hide and seek and think that no one can see them.”

Glimpse after Glimpse , Sogyal Rinpoche

Our little “Last Year” group has pledged to live this year as if it were our last. (See previous writing – A Year to Live and Stephen Levine’s book). When we met for the second time we were curious to see if this vow had had any real effect in each others’ lives. The vote was a unanimous “Yes!”

For most of us the quality of life had changed – more precious, more joyful and the little annoyances less important. Our Vision Boards were becoming true. One friend quite surprised herself as she resigned from her engineering job after just one day of employment! She had retired and was quite comfortable but wanted more money to travel and update her furniture. Back on the job she realized how much she hated the tediousness of it. “If this is my last year, this is not the way I want to spend my time!” she declared and thoroughly impressed us.

What was the focus to be for this next segment of time? “Renouncing and Releasing,” we decided.

Why? Perhaps we were just tired of the same old patterns of behavior, harmful habits, unhelpful beliefs and unhappy feelings. We could understand why they were there and that of course we weren’t any worse than most people. But we knew for sure that they were a colossal waste of our limited time! In view of death, life now contained a new urgency.

So, in a guided imagery session we placed all we wanted to be rid of into a virtual fire and watched it burn into nothingness. We then saved all the wisdom, compassion and self-forgiveness we had learned from the old patterns as a nugget of gold. What we released had served its purpose and taught us valuable lessons. But it was time to be lighter and freer.

What was mine? So many things, of course. And it seems that I’ve released these same tendencies over and over for years, like New Year’s Resolutions. Maybe “releasing” is a continuous, even a daily practice, like mental hygiene. Or maybe once I’ve truly seen the suffering caused by these patterns I can truly “renounce” them and let go in a deeper way. After all, the smokers I work with do it and become free of their addictions!

After many weeks of contemplation I finally understand the most fundamental pattern I want to renounce. It is anger.

It doesn’t matter why anger is my default mechanism whenever people, places or things aren’t how I want them to be. Others may habitually react with hopelessness or depression or apathy. I am moved by instant anger to take action! In the past it served a purpose. It taught me that something wasn’t quite right, that someone was in danger or that I was being disrespected. After all, anger is a primal feeling that can insure survival! And anger can actually feel good and become addictive.

Below my anger, with its self-righteous energetic quality, is fear. But I’m not actually in danger. I also now have a more mature understanding of the ridiculous behavior of others (and myself) and of foolish or greedy social and political systems. So, once I’ve gained the wisdom from the initial reaction there really is no sense in continued anger! Obviously, renouncing anger is not repression or self-judgment. But it comes from a deep knowing that I don’t need it any more, that it hurts relationships and that it hurts me.

This decision took on a new urgency when the newspaper headlines blared that a physician in town had been arrested for the attempted murder of his wife As I write this he is still sitting in jail, with a million dollar bond and is claiming his innocence. Her head was beaten bloody against the tile floor. Thousands have enjoyed this doctor’s care and I was always happy to refer to him. But the mug-shot looks like a man whose life has been destroyed. I don’t know who did it or why. But someone acted violently out of rage or aggression and in one moment caused destruction. The consequences of anger are dire.

So, aware of the suffering caused by anger, aware that others too are victims of their own anger and aware that life is short, I’ve chosen to renounce anger. It still arises, of course. I don’t pretend it isn’t there. But from the clear seeing of anger’s consequences and the daily aspiration to be more understanding, I’m more able to catch it earlier. I am less likely act on it. I can get the learning from it and work through it. I’m responsible and every morning I can choose to release anger and to practice patience.

How does this feel? Clearer, stronger and freer. A good way to live.

“Renunciation has both sadness and joy in it: sadness because you realize the futility of your old ways, and joy because of the greater vision that begins to unfold when you are able to let go of them. This is no ordinary joy. It is a joy that gives birth to a new and profound strength, a confidence, an abiding inspiration that you are not condemned to your habits, that you can indeed emerge from them, that you can change, and grow more and more free”

Glimpse after Glimpse, Sogyal Rinpoche

A Year to Live

“On the day that you were born, you began to die.

Do not waste a single moment more!”

– Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche

In the past I’ve hosted Vision-Board parties in the New Year for friends. As we intuitively cut out pictures from magazines and glued them to poster board, our sub-conscious minds made visible our longings. It has helped us to dream creatively with others and set goals for the future. Many of our poster board desires actually did come true!

It seems as if my whole life was goal oriented. It’s not a bad thing. How else does one get through medical training, set up a successful solo practice and raise children? How else does one take the courageous leap to eventually sell the practice and develop a Hypnotherapy career? (The hospital administrator who helped me find a doctor to buy the practice told me that I had the “tenacity of a pit bull!”) I’ve even accused myself of “achievement addiction” since accomplishments always got me the self-esteem I needed.   

But a switch got flipped in me this year. Maybe it’s a shift in energy as I’m just a little over the mid-life hump and sliding down. Maybe it’s a decline in hormones or is from being humbled with the economy and somewhat under-employed. Or maybe it’s just wise woman wisdom. But the planning for the future is no longer as interesting. “Success” is no longer what’s it’s cracked up to be.

So, this year I’m challenging myself to consider death. Of course, we all know about going against our American workaholic tendencies by “living in the moment” and we’ve heard of teachings about “The Power of Now” – good advice from all of the spiritual/wisdom traditions. But this is different. This is about taking the possibility of death seriously! (How about the certainty of death?)

Inspired by Stephen Levine’s book, A Year to Live, I’m asking friends everywhere to ask themselves: “How would I live differently if I knew I just had one year to live?”

Probably we’d all resolve to fully live each twenty four hours. Resolve grudges with forgiveness. Take our highest values seriously. Pray and play more … worry and work less…

Theoretical is fine but how would this play out in day-to-day decisions? Would we buy gorgeous clothes or empty our closets? Go on a diet or eat dessert first? Meditate more, dance more? Live recklessly, as in the movie Bucket List, or just focus on simple acts of kindness? Sincerely talk with the proselytizers at the front door or say you are too busy writing poetry? Floss more consistently or donate your dental money to feed orphans in Haiti? You don’t really know until you take the challenge seriously and notice your choices.

I believe that letting go of the illusion of “no death” will change how I live. Distilled to the essence, it’s about how to live as if death were sitting over my left shoulder. (Which it is.)

I’ve already thrown out my mismatched Tupperware and cleaned the refrigerator – why live with ugliness? I even chose not to go through the boxes labeled “to be filed” (they’ll just get thrown out anyway by my survivors). Instead I grabbed my three young grandchildren and we built a Valentine’s Day bon-fire, drummed and danced. (“This is how I want you to remember me to your children,” I instructed.)

So, I send out this challenge to all those who are exploring “flipping your switches” from old ways of living to how you truly want to live. (Even considering the possibility may change your life.) One friend has booked four trips this year, just after hearing the question. Another has called to say she’s climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro.

This year the party will have fewer participants, since some consider the life and death focus a bit morbid. But I will still throw out this challenge to the group: “How would I live differently if I knew I just had one year to live?”

As I wish for all of us:

“May I have the courage today

To live the life that I would love,

To postpone my dream no longer

But do at last what I came here for.”

From “A Morning Offering, “

To Bless the Space Between Us, John O’Donohue

I Took to the Mountains

I thought I “took to the mountains” for rest and relaxation in July. I did enjoy the 9 day meditation retreat outside Boulder, Colorado. Then, I camped throughout Colorado for two weeks by myself. Going wherever I wanted to go and doing whatever I wanted to do, with no restrictions, sounded like absolute freedom. Or so I thought before the “triple whammy.”

The first glitch involved my right knee. I’m used to fearlessly following my goals. Seven years post-graduate training to become a doctor?  Sure. Divorce, full-time medical practice and two children, OK – I can do that. Sell the practice after 21 years and pursue a holistic healing vision? I’ll make it work out. Like the “Little Engine that Could” I chugged my way past every challenge. “Climb every mountain” was my motto. Will, force and determination had insured success to date.

But on the camping trip I found I couldn’t hike! The meniscus surgery seven months ago did not give me the  strong painless knee I expected! Sure, in Florida I could walk on level ground but not up and down a Colorado hill, let alone a mountain. This was a profoundly rude shock to my belief system. Will and exercise alone could not reverse the aging process. It was also a rude shock to my identity. Vacations revolved around hiking. Who was I if not a hiker? And how would I take vacations with my hiking boyfriend?

The second surprise happened one morning, after soaking in a natural hot-spring the night before. I woke up with one-quarter of my left breast, just above the bathing suit line, beet red! As a physician this was terrifying. There were only two explanations. Either it was a cellulitis that I could possibly treat with antibiotics in the first-aid kit – or – it was inflammatory breast cancer and I could die! I could live with the first possibility but wasn’t ready for the second. And even if I didn’t die how could I continue to work and pay the bills while undergoing surgery, radiation and chemotherapy? Many people do it but I never thought it could happen to me! My body would change drastically and perhaps my romantic relationship!

The redness resolved after the antibiotics but my relationship with my body didn’t. It was no longer trustworthy. Neither was my identity. This was extremely disorienting and frightening.

The third unexpected occurrence was when I returned home and took a quick look at the accumulated e-mail. “A memorial service for Deborah…” What? Deborah died! She’s younger than me! She just dropped over dead with no known medical problems. I’ll never see her sunny smile again. I can never call her up to see a movie. She just got engaged to the man of her dreams and now she’s gone.

Three aspects of my previously well-running life had stopped functioning as ordered. My body and its abilities, my identity, and my friendships. Poof! In just a few weeks changed forever.

And then I got it that the meditation retreat was not about being blissful and stress-free. It was about understanding the truth of reality. That my body, my identity and my relationships are impermanent. I can only depend on the fact that they are always changing. That Death is always around the corner. That, in fact, Death is impermanence and is always operating in the process called “life.”

This is the way it is. And to truly live with this knowing is actually liberating! I can be grateful every morning I wake up with two breasts. I can appreciate however strong my body is right now. I am determined to love my friends more passionately and forgive them more quickly because we will be attending each others’ memorial services.

Something has profoundly shifted in me. The flowers smell sweeter and anger is more regrettable. The old belief in willful bravery has been replaced with true courage to accept life. I now realize that this is the lesson I had unconsciously requested from this vacation. It turns out that along with the Colorado mountain maps for the trip, I had also packed a quote from the sage Milarepa:

“In horror of death, I took to the mountains –

Again and again I meditated on the uncertainty of the hour of death,

Capturing the fortress of the deathless unending nature of mind.

Now all fear of death is over and done.”

Dying without Forgiveness

I like to think of myself as a “nice” person. You know – the kind who sends thank-you notes, gives unknown children a boost up the playground set and compliments the check-out girl in Wal-Mart. In my more self-glorifying moments I like to imagine that I am a little sunbeam of cheer, radiating my way through each day, touching whomever I meet…

And yet when all delusion is put aside, I’m aware of the insanity of my own mind. I make up stories that aren’t true. I look at a person and instantly judge him, based on appearances and mannerisms. (Actually these perceptions are based on whatever is already in my memory banks that is being triggered by that person. Probably none of it is true!)

And so I come to the story of George.

George was younger than me but looked older and definitely unfit. He was at least 40 pounds overweight and a smoker – instant judgment on my part. The worst feature of George was that he was a terrible leader on the dance floor! You may think that is a minor and forgivable detail, but if you were being man-handled by George the way I was, you would agree with me!

One evening during a West-Coast Swing dance class George kept trying to teach me a step that I already knew, the wrong way, while the teacher was teaching it the right way. “Let’s listen to the teacher,” I politely suggested. He kept on pulling me this way and that way. I finally resisted and he rudely jerked on my arm remarking, “I’m the leader. You have to follow me!”

Admittedly the dance floor is the last bastion of male supremacy. Since I insist on equality in my daily life, conflicts can happen and I have learned to usually shut-up and tolerate any incompetence on the man’s part. After all, we are still learning. But George was over the top with his arrogance and ignorance!

So I learned to avoid him. I came to realize that his insecurity made him bossy and he enjoyed himself the most with completely submissive women. A little compassion could have crept in but every time I saw George on the dance floor I thought, “Jerk!” What’s more I enjoyed thinking, “Jerk.” “Jerk, jerk, jerk,” must have been going on all evening as internal dialogue. Amazing, isn’t it, how this story telling can feel good in a perverse sort of way? It made me right and him wrong. I’ve heard this labeled “negative pleasure.” I had absolutely no motivation to forgive the man.

Last week I avoided him again. And then he went home and died. That’s right! A case of indigestion that was really a massive heart attack and he is no more. No more dancing for him and no more opportunity for me to forgive.

It was sad. Those who mourned related how kind he had been to them. How much fun he was. How dancing was the central pleasure of his life.  (And how he’d never been a Marine drill sergeant, as I had projected.) Wrong, wrong, wrong! All my stories had been wrong and self-serving! Guess I’m not such a “nice” person after all.

The dramatic wake-up call for me was that I could have died just as quickly on I-95 driving home. If I had died then all of my unforgiveness would have gone to the grave with me! And if there is heaven or hell or karma or whatever, the “Jerk” thinking would have been like a permanent stain. Also, since I’m not dead yet, then I have to consider how these thoughts affect my neck tension and disposition.

And so, I’m learning to be more suspicious of judgment. “Is it true? How can I be sure? Do I really want to indulge in this negative pleasure?” These questions break up the concrete of rigid habitual thinking. They give room to all possibilities. They are freeing! I can then ask to understand that person and all the causes of their behavior, with the ultimate goal of compassion and forgiveness.

My daily practice is to notice each judgment and the accompanying physical tightness or internal frown – whether it is about a poor landscaping job or a pre-teen girl almost running me over in the woods with her four wheeler. And then to remind myself: “Aware of the negative consequences of this thinking on me, I choose to let it go.”

And just as I reserve the right to not let a man physically hurt me on the dance floor, I give myself mental safety by protecting my mind from the lies I used to make up. In the end, whenever it may be, I’m determined not to die without forgiveness. That’s far more enlightened than just being a “nice” person.

Kathy Doner, MD

I know what’s best!

That was my old belief bred from years of medical practice. Of course! People paid for me to tell them what to do! And I was usually right.

Trouble is, unless someone is asking (especially paying) for my opinion, they really don’t want it. I keep trying, though. I try it on my adult children, their spouses and my grandchildren. And after 14 years I still inflict it on my poor boyfriend. (Am I a slow learner, or what?) And consistently they either turn a deaf ear or feel annoyed. It is insulting, I suppose, to have one’s “faults” pointed out by someone hell-bent on improving them.

Part of my current life-phase, e.g. birthday and new decade, is to be of “service.” The timing is convenient with the down economy. Less income and more free time.

So, wanting to be of service to children, I gathered my slightly arrogant bravado, masked as do-good-ism, and called a local community group. They provide after-school care for children from an economically depressed area beset with drugs and violence. I thought I could teach them meditation, anger management, self-esteem and visioning for their life. And I could – I’ve done it for those who paid to see me. After three phone calls I finally reached the volunteer psychologist in charge and was politely told that they didn’t need me.

Slap in the face! I offered it for free! It could really help! But they turned me down. They rejected my commitment to service and especially my belief that “I know what’s best.” I had assumed that I would be the wise teacher and they the adoring and grateful students. Not! (The fact that it stung meant that perhaps just a little bit of my ego was involved.)

It was while feeling the sting that I realized that “offering yourself” can be tantamount to telling someone that you know what they need.

True and humble offering starts with the asking, “What do you really need?”

How to know what someone needs? I learned about “getting on the same wavelength” with someone by watching my 4 year old grandson the other day at the beach. At that age he does not approach a child and introduce himself. He sidles up to a friendly 5 year old girl and wordlessly begins imitating her. She slaps the waves, he slaps the waves. Pretty soon she is holding his hand and they have a grand ole time. Later, when he is very interested in a 3 year old boy’s monster trucks, he shares his truck and they play side by side. He then rolls down a sand dune, covering himself in sand, over and over, delighting in gravity. Soon the 3 year old joins in. No conversation – just noticing, learning from each other, mimicking… We adults call it “rapport.”

Before we left the beach that afternoon I felt in rapport enough to ask the father why the little boy didn’t play in the water. “He’s scared,” I was told. So, sensing an opportunity, I cautiously gave him my hand and with generous praise showed him how to jump into a 3 inch wave. He applauded and beamed!

Knowing that I couldn’t possibly know what was best for him, I was willing to wonder what he needed. I adopted an attitude of respectful experimentation. He then learned to take a baby-step towards bravery by holding a stranger’s hand. That’s apparently what he needed and that’s what I gave him.

That was service.

April 3, 2009

The Gift of Failure

This last year I’ve been given the “gift of failure.”

 

The economy has tanked. I can’t retire at 62 as planned. And what was I going to do with all my energy and knowledge and skills anyway? Just keep busy? I’d been a bit concerned about a sense of purpose during retirement. Now I’ll have to work until 70, doing work I love. What a gift!

 

My hopes of speaking tours (and who knows—a book, TV spot?) have been dashed. No one wanted to attend my very well publicized workshops in Sedona. All that effort wasted! So now I get to enjoy my home and can stop hard-selling my persona to the over-sold public. It was all ego anyway, not my true self. I now have the time to dig my pond deeper for swimming, plant trees and take children camping. What a gift!

 

Finances are totally uncertain. Security has vanished with the plunging stock market. Business has slowed like small business everywhere. But there is a steady trickle still coming in. I know it’s unpredictable, so I welcome every referral and I kiss every check. “Thank you, thank you,” for every opportunity to help a client. “Thank you, thank you,” with every bank deposit. No five year plans for me. Just a spontaneous practice of daily gratitude. What a gift!

 

No more mindless spending either. Gone are the frequent restaurants, art purchases and gifts. The occasional European vacation is a thing of the past. Every meal out is celebrated, every purchase is treasured and every trip is thoroughly relished as special. What a gift!

 

My right knee failed me when I tore the meniscus in Sedona. It was just repaired and has a doubtful future. No more back-packing or jogging, I was advised. No more heedless jaunts around the neighborhood, unconscious of my body’s movement. I focus on the steps, an enforced mindful walking. I wish for my health and others’ health with every twinge. What a gift!

 

I’ve been receiving failure after failure. I’ve been humbled. I had become a victim of my own success, which only bred more self-preoccupation. Now humility is breeding awareness and gratitude. I’m connected with everyone else who’s having a hard time and concerned for their small businesses and for their knees.

 

And so I wish for all of us continued “success” at finding the gifts in failure. May all of our sufferings soften us. May all of our hearts open and connect us. May all of our failures turn to blessings.

 

Kathy Doner, MD     3-2-09-09

 

 

Have you ever wondered if your life really mattered?

 

I’m preparing to turn 60. The career climb is over and the kids are raised. The new generation doesn’t want to listens to my advice. A life of experience has distilled into priceless wisdom and yet it sometimes feels as if no one wants it.

 

I remember my Dad turning 60. He usually wasn’t a complainer but something about this milestone was bothering him. Mom bought him a red leather Lazy-Boy recliner for a birthday present. That did not help his nagging feeling of waning vitality!

 

Recent funerals have also fueled this angst in me. We honor the dead, we miss them… and then life goes on. What did it all matter? Occupying this life is like occupying a house. Lots of decorations and getting the appearances just right, then POOF, time to move on. Time for the next person to occupy the space.

 

The distress came to a head last week. “What is this discomfort really about?” I cried . “It’s really about not wanting my life to be a waste! I have so many gifts and abilities. I don’t want them to just lie there, not used. It’s OK for a field to lie fallow for awhile but it’s not OK for my life not to be fully harvested!!”

 

With this freshly felt unease I planted my Mother. She’d been lying in the casket above ground for a month until the rains stopped and Florida soil drained. Now we finally laid her to rest. The celebration and hugs of the actual funeral were past. There was no more solace of food and friends or the illusion that she is just lying there asleep in a lovely purple outfit. Now she was simply lowered into a hole and covered with dirt, to get wet with next summer’s rains. She’d used her body well and now it was over.

 

“It’s now or never,” I thought. “Either I use these 60’s well or I don’t. Because someday I’ll return to the mud. How can I make my life matter?”

 

After the burial my sister and I visited our childhood home. We thought, “Why not knock on the door and see who is occupying it?” The owner was very happy to hear our old stories. We asked about remembered trees and plantings.

 

“Yes,” he assured us. “Our sons also had a tree house in that old oak.  But your mango trees froze and the orange trees died. There is something curious, however, that I never understood. Every spring a patch out front erupts into Easter lilies. My sons want to mow the area but I won’t let them. Each year we marvel at this magic and wonder where they came from!”

 

Those were my Easter lilies! I’d rescued them from the church after Easter. I remember carefully separating the bulbs and planting them at age 13. Idealistic even then, I had hoped that I was doing something permanent. That I was planting beauty that would never end. That what I was doing really mattered.

 

Yes, I’ve moved on, someone else was occupying my former space, but the lilies keep coming up.

 

Those Easter lilies had been symbolic of life after death. Now they were the answer to my current anguish. That there is resurrection of life within life. That all we ever do matters. We are all always planting bulbs, always affecting the people around us, always making a difference. We can’t control the outcome, just as Mom couldn’t control her kids. But there is always a consequence and there are great grandkids that keep bursting forth.

 

To want the 60’s to produce great accomplishments is just pure ego. To appreciate the time and space that it provides is my more enlightened vow. That I use it well to grow and to give– that’s all that really matters.

Kathy Doner, MD

copyright 2009