Life has a ring about it

 A couple of years after Tony was diagnosed with a brain tumour I gave a speech at Toastmasters about the sad reaction some people had to being informed of his dire situation.

We found that certain people we had known for a number of years had made their presence obvious by not being present.  In other words – they scarpered … they kept away.  Well away.  Kept their distance as far as they could make the distance.  It was as if they had been zapped from the earth.

What bothered me so much was that some of them had been folk we had been very close to;  others were folk who had utilised our ears by sharing their problems, reaching out to us for help or advice or just to be a friend when they needed friends.  Most had been to our home for dinner, or BBQs, or other social occasions.

After Tony’s diagnosis their absence was so obvious that I felt compelled to write a speech about them in the hope that those in my audience would think twice about themselves whenever someone they know has any form of catastrophe or disaster occur.  I hoped that it would make folk think hard about their own reaction to their friends who may be facing a life changing event.

Overall the message was – when something goes wrong for a friend, it’s not about YOU.  It’s not about how YOU feel.  It’s about them.  They are the ones who matter.  Not YOU.  Or how awkward, or hard, or difficult YOU find it.  It's about them!

I was lucky; the speech won a competition so in the end I had a number of opportunities to spread the message and each time I did it was inevitable that someone would come up to me and tell me what an impact it had on them.  That made it worth it.

Then last week I was sent a link to an article in The Los Angeles Times which had a message to it that I consider is just as important and is very linked to my own speech message. 

At the risk of plagiarism, am going to paste most of the article here – in the hope that those who read it will think about themselves and their reactions and attitudes  – and contemplate where they sit in situations where they have a problem they consider more important than their friend’s problem.  When it very often is ridiculously petty in comparison.  

Written by Susan Silk & Barry Goldman

When Susan had breast cancer, we heard a lot of lame remarks, but our favourite came from one of Susan's colleagues who said she wanted, that she needed to visit Susan after the surgery. But Susan didn't feel like having visitors and she said so. Her colleague's response was ... "This isn't about you."

"It's not?" Susan wondered. "My breast cancer is not about me? It's about you?"

The same theme came up again when our friend Katie had a brain aneurysm. She was in intensive care for a long time and finally got out and into a step-down unit. She was no longer covered with tubes and lines and monitors but she was still in rough shape. A friend came and saw her and then stepped into the hall with Katie's husband, Pat. "I wasn't prepared for this," she told him. "I don't know if I can handle it."

This woman loved Katie and she said what she did because the sight of Katie in this condition moved her so deeply. But it was the wrong thing to say. And it was wrong in the same way Susan's colleague's remark was wrong.

Susan has since developed a simple technique to help people avoid this mistake. It works for all kinds of crises: medical, legal, financial, romantic, even existential. She calls it the Ring Theory.

Draw a circle. This is the centre ring. In the ring put the name of the person at the centre of the current trauma. For Katie's aneurysm, that's Katie. Now draw a larger circle around the first one. In that ring put the name of the person next closest to the trauma. In the case of Katie's aneurysm, that was Katie's husband, Pat. Repeat the process as many times as you need to. In each larger ring put the next closest people. Parents and children before more distant relatives. Intimate friends in smaller rings, less intimate friends in larger ones. When you are done you have a Kvetching Order. One of Susan's patients found it useful to tape it to her refrigerator.

Here are the rules. The person in the centre ring can say anything she wants to anyone, in any ring, anywhere. She can kvetch and complain and whine and moan and curse the heavens and say, "Life is unfair" and "Why me?" That's the one payoff for being in the centre ring.

Everyone else can say those things too, but only to people in larger rings.

When you are talking to a person in a ring smaller than yours, someone closer to the centre of a crisis, the goal is to help. Listening is often more helpful than talking. But if you're going to open your mouth, ask yourself if what you are about to say is likely to provide comfort and support. If it isn't, don't say it.  People who are suffering from trauma don't need advice they need comfort and support. So say, "I'm sorry."  Or, "This must really be hard for you," or, "Can I bring you a pot roast?"  Don't say, "I had that happen to me once,” or, “You should hear what happened to me," or, "Here's what I would do if I were you." You don't say, "I can’t handle this,” or, “This is really bringing me down."

If you want to scream or cry or complain, if you want to tell someone how shocked you are or how icky you feel, or whine about how it reminds you of all the terrible things that have happened to you lately, that's fine. It's a perfectly normal response. Just do it to someone in a bigger ring.

Comfort IN, dump OUT.

There was nothing wrong with Katie's friend saying she was not prepared for how horrible Katie looked, or even that she didn't think she could handle it. The mistake was that she said those things to Pat, someone in an inner circle. She dumped IN.

Complaining to someone in a smaller ring than yours doesn't do either of you any good. On the other hand, being supportive to a principal caregiver may be the best thing you can.

Remember, you can say whatever you want if you just wait until you're talking to someone in a larger ring than yours.

And don't worry. You'll get your turn in the centre ring. You can count on that.

  

                         

Some Aussie Ranting

Cannot pass up the opportunity to be in Australia and not write at least one blog - or have one rant.

Presently sitting in a really cool (ambience and temperature wise) café in The Rocks - one that even Katherine has yet to discover and one that my friend Joy brought me to a couple of days ago.

Katherine and I flew into Sydney last Friday - she had to come over for yet another business reason and had to be here for a few days, so at her suggestion I managed to have Lovely Big Son Danny organise a staff family member fare for me to fly over with Katherine.  The really interesting thing was that the fare was exceptionally reasonable in price - but the Sydney airport tax far exceeded the cost of the Air NZ fare.  It did almost have me cancel the trip for financial common sense, but when I thought it through for a whole ten seconds, realised this was one of those opportunities I should never turn down.

Katherine's business meant she had to stay in central Sydney, in a rather up market hotel. Due to the hotel being totally full with guests in every one of the rooms in the 32 levels (was City to Surf run this past weekend which brought thousands into Sydney), we had to have a room with only one bed.  Fortunately they made sure we had a room with a king size bed and we certainly clung to our respective sides of the bed each night as we slide into those hotel crispy sheets.  Just in case Katherine did inadvertently roll all the way over to my side of the bed during the night and in her comatose sleep state mistook the figure lying there as her Lovely David, I strategically placed one of those over large hotel pillows down the midline of the bed, thus meaning she would have to mountain climb in her sleep to get anywhere near my side.

In saying that - I consider Katherine a warm and dear friend.  But not that warm and dear!

The weather has been magnificent.  I do not feel at all pleased that the Auckland weather turned to custard the day Katherine and I left - as had hoped that everyone would be enjoying the sunshine as much as we were.  And that all those budding Ironman and Half Ironman triathletes would be enjoying delightful bike rides in the country and sunshine.  Seems not so.  Methinks no one went cycling. ??

Saturday & Sunday Katherine was not required at the office - so she determined that we would walk to all the places of interest she deemed necessary for me to go to.  That meant there were two and a half days of walking.  Lots of walking.  Walking for eternity, but we never found eternity.  By Monday morning my hip joints were requiring titanium replacements and as for my bung knee....?  800mg of Brufen three times a day did nothing to stop my inability to swing the attached bones below the knee into going forwards in a straight line.  I am still suffering from the initial two days of walking - however it has been compounded by my managing to entertain myself, without cost, via my legs, over the past couple of days - and more walking.  I am coming home a cripple.  The weather meant there would be no inside time wasters - far to lovely to be inside museums and art galleries- so it was outside, walking sojourns each day.

Which meant it gave me ample time to take in a broader perspective of Sydney, of Australia, of Australians, of tourists in Australia and of butt cracks.  All things I would have seen and absorbed on previous visits but those visits were always with my darling man and he's no longer with me which left the onus on myself to entertain myself with the observances from this one set of Kiwi eyes and ears.  I felt like I had internal split personalities, talking to myself each time I saw something that Tony and I would have enjoyed seeing, hearing and sharing. 

As for ears and hearing - judging by the conversation I heard on the bus yesterday afternoon us non-convict-descended Kiwis are certainly not seen in an enlightened light by some Australians.  The young man behind me on the bus yesterday was berating to his other male and female friends yesterday that his sister, for whom he had originally had high praise, was now categorised in his lower status of personage due to the fact that she is now, "Dating a f____king Kiwi!"

I daren't open my Kiwi accented mouth for fear of feather and taring. 

Funnily enough, it was on my bus journey back from Bondi yesterday afternoon when I was reflecting on my days excursion to the golden sands of Bondi, Bronte and the day before to Manly and was noting that the much maligned male Speedo bathing trunks are a necessary form of attire for any male from 5 years to 105 years in this country.  In two days I saw more men in Speedos than I would otherwise ever have seen in my lifetime had I not had this present trip here.  And all Speedos have to be black.  Blue, green, red or any other colour is a no-no.  

Thus my earlier reference to butt cracks.  I followed a number of butt cracks as I strolled the shores of Bondi and Taramara and Bronte.  

Never been one to have found  the sight Speedos as a no-no fashion cloth (no nicer sight that a nice body in a pair of Speedos) I do now have a firm opinion that Speedos are, or should be, standard beach attire for all males - at a beach.  As those in board shorts tended to be those who were pale, unmuscled, of insipid personality, only toe-dippers in water (as opposed to all Speedo wearers being strongly able to swim, surf or bogie board) and they stood out like ... well like ....  umm... well, they just stood out and looked gormless.

In saying all that - there is one strict rule for Speedo wearers - dare not to ever let them get loose.  Then they truly are obscene.  Guys, keep the Speedos relatively new with all the tightness of the lycrac and polyester they are made with.  Once the thread becomes thinner and looser - ditch them and go purchase your new pair.  I saw a number of 60, 70, 80 year old men in loose fitting Speedos - now they and their other free flowing appendages were not a sight to behold.  YUK.  Especially those with the well formed, pregnant looking abdominals - and butt cracks.

Oops, time to publish and close down - have a train to catch to the airport and a short walk to get there.

Maybe more ramblings later.  There's so much more I have.  Soooo much more.



Seeya mate.....

A great follow on from my last blog

An email received this morning:


Hi Verna

Just finished reading your blog, went on the NY Times site and saw this:

http://www.nytimes.com/2013/08/06/science/seeing-narcissists-everywhere.html?pagewanted=1&ref=general&src=me

A slightly different topic, but nonetheless....'all about the I' - but for the younger generation. 

And how true it all is! 

Reminds me of the quip:'

"I want to get a tattoo of myself on my body, only 2 inches taller and with perkier boobs"

There are too many Know-it-alls out there. Someone remind them, silence is golden.

• Wikipedia’s definition of a Know-it-all:
• A know-it-all or know-all is a person who obnoxiously purports an expansive comprehension of a topic and/or situation when in reality, his/her comprehension is inaccurate or limited.

Obnoxious.  That's what it is.  Obnoxious.

This morning, when standing at the kitchen bench, I picked up the little cards of inspiration that I have sitting on the window sill, a gift someone had given me some while ago – and flicked through them to see which one I would have up for this week.  It came up with ‘Silence is one of the greatest arts of conversation’. 

Oh how true that is.

If only more people would have that little message sitting on their window sills to remind them of the skill of a great conversationalist.

This particularly relates to people leaning towards my age.  Know-it-all people.  Pain in the a…..es people.  And generally those people approaching the early sunset of life.  In other words, people in and around my age group.  Boring know-it-alls. 

Seems to be an infliction that comes on with the aging body, aging mind.  Bloody know-it-alls.

It’s driving me nuts.  They won’t shut up.  They don’t seem to know or understand that yes, one can and often does know it all, but who the ......  cares!??  Shud up about it and let someone else talk.

It has been bugging me forever.  The Know-it-alls.  

This breed of constant bores was highlighted to me yet again tonight.  Met with some friends this evening – lovely catching up – always is when you have not seen folk for a while, such a lot to talk about and such a lot to share.  

There were six of us, chin wagging over a wine or two.

As when groups of people get together there tend to be the dominant, the not-so-dominant and then those that actually add value to the conversation.

Re read that sentence, take off your Know-it-all hat and try your best to understand what I mean.

I speak from one who is probably seen as a ‘dominant’ in many situations.

Yet (and I am being a Know-it-all on this topic) I usually am not.  I like to hear other people talk, even if I do know more than them.

Tonight it happened on three or four occasions in one conversation.  Someone was relating a story, an experience, when one of the others in the group could not restrain him/herself and butted into the conversation with their own view of the topic line.  On two of those occasions they started the butt in with, “Well when I last did that I …..”   Grrr, methinks.  Let someone else tell the story, it’s far more interesting; you are far more boring.

With so many people who come from my era it seems to be a case of constant ‘I am-ness”. 

Only a few weeks ago was with another group of people where someone was relating their first experience at having run a marathon.  This person held the interest of the rest of the group when extolling the virtues of his marathon effort and what a supreme achievement he had deemed his crossing the finish line.  None of the others in the group were aware of my history of running or running marathons so was interested in how the new marathoner had his audience metaphorically in the palm of his hand as he gave advice on the whys, wherefores and howfores of running a marathon.  Indeed, the more he spoke the more he realised people were tuned in so the more he elevated his self position into one of being an expert on marathon running and its virtues.

I have only run over a hundred of them – so probably don't quite know it all -but felt this was his opportunity to feel good, his time to feel credit for his knowledge and his time to have the others admire and congratulate.  It was nice.  

I was glad I did not butt in with my own experiences.  I was glad I stayed smut.  Even though I disagreed with much of his so-called words of wisdom, I still enjoyed his time in the lime light.

This incident reminded me of another situation with a group of ladies and one of them had recently returned from an overseas trip where she had visited parts of North Wales.

She gave a lovely account of her journey there, her exploring various villages and towns of North Wales and relating to all in listening distance the advice on walking or travelling through the North Wales countryside.  For those that know me, North Wales holds a big sentimental part in my travel life and history.  My dearest friends have lived there all their lives and whenever I have travelled to the UK, which has been numerous times now, I never travel there without a sojourn to their little town in North Wales.  I have run every walkway, every old train line, through almost every village and crossed every field and style available.  Seen every view, topped every mountain.   I feel like I know the area better than I know my own backyard in Auckland – I know North Wales really well. 

But this lady was so engrossed with retelling her first time experiences and travels there and relating some of the history and scenery of the place, as though she was an old traveller to the area, that I did not have the heart to interrupt and let her and others know my history with the place.  Why would I?  That would have burst her bubble.  I had nothing to gain, except self-importance.  I don’t feel the need for that.  Pity a few more Know-it-alls don't feel the same way.

Seriously though, how often are we in situations – on a daily basis – where a conversation is being had and someone is holding forth with a topic, only to have someone else edge into the talk with giving their own experience. 

How often have we heard someone talking then someone else saying, “That reminds me of ….”   And off they go?  Or, “I remember when I was ….”    

Grrrr.  Grrrrrrrrrrr.  Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

For instance only last week someone was telling me they had a certain injury and began to give me a little more detail on the pain they were suffering, when another in the group piped up, “Oh, I’ve had that injury, its……”     Grrrrr

SHUD UP!!

Silence is one of the greatest arts of conversation.