The further I get into Marshall Rosenberg’s incredible book, Nonviolent Communication, the more I wonder how much differently my life and relationships could’ve been if I’d read it earlier. More than once, I’ve been gobsmacked his novel and groundbreaking observations (the book was published in 1999). I’ve often found myself exclaiming, “Exactly!” when he makes a brilliant point about something that should’ve been painfully obvious. For example, Dr. Rosenberg points out how vague entreaties don’t always get us the desired result. It’s like begging Lassie to, “Get Help!” and he ends up on a psychoanalyst’s couch.

Rather than shaping our behavior with the negative, as we so often do, Dr. Rosenberg suggests we utilize positive, specific action items. Let’s see what this might look like in action. Right now, you might feel as if you’re drinking too much alcohol. One of your goals for the new year might be to “drink less.” First off, you’d specifically define what that means for you. But that isn’t all.

If your goal is to drink less and you go out with friends, you might find yourself falling back into old patterns because you haven’t nailed down an alternative. “Drinking less” is a negative action, so it’s important to define the corresponding positive action. This might look like, “I would like to only have one drink per sitting.” What’s something positive you might like to do instead? Drink more water? Be more focused on connecting with your friends than on drinking? Eat more desserts? Now you have something tangible to work with and a plan of action.

Bringing this back to getting your needs met by others, it begins to make sense that being as specific and clear as possible will be the shortest route to success. So, while making a list for your partner may not seem like the wisest use of your time, it will likely save you much more time in the long run. I can almost guarantee that making one list of chores and asking your partner to check it is far more effective than sulking around muttering, “I guess I’m the only one around here who notices when the grout needs to be scrubbed with a toothbrush.”

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A gust of freezing wind, carrying the strong odor of cigarettes, followed the man through the door of the coffee shop. He perched on an armchair near the fire, his emaciated frame wracked by hacking coughs. Every time he took a sip of coffee, it dribbled through the gaps left by several missing teeth and pooled on his stained, thin jacket.

I’m trying to be open and vulnerable in my writing, but it isn’t easy to admit that my first reaction was one of repulsion. A voice in my mind urged me to move: You might get COVID from this guy. Is he allowed in here? Suddenly, a piece written by Patrick Fealey sprang to mind. Fealey, an award-winning journalist, wrote about his experience of homelessness.

In his piece, Fealey reflects on how, for people experiencing homelessness, it’s not just physical help they need (like food or shelter), but emotional support, too. Reading it, I reflected upon how many of us fail to reach out to the homeless because of fear: What if he attacks me? What if he’s mentally ill? What if he robs me for drug money?

Feeling relatively safe in the coffee shop, I brought the man some napkins and water, and offered him food. When he politely declined, I stayed, asked his name, and offered a listening ear. And make use of my ear, he did. Listening to pieces of Simon’s life felt like reading The Odyssey — a meandering, epic, and at times fantastical journey that took me from Israel to a rhesus monkey lab to a skyscraper he claimed to have bought for $11 million in cash. There was no way to know what was fact or fiction, but it didn’t matter; Simon was clearly pleased to be heard.

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Savior complex aside, I enjoyed my talk with Simon. I found myself contemplating: Aren’t we all, in the end, just a random sequence of broken and transmogrified memories? When my high school friends and I get together, it’s like we’re creating a patchwork quilt from the scraps each of us remembers about any given event. Together, we piece together a coherent narrative, and surprisingly, we often don’t even recognize the patch another has sewn in. The jury is still out on whether my grandfather’s Malibu Classic was really spray-painted at Lollapalooza in 1994.

Frederic Bartlett, a psychologist at the University of Cambridge, concluded that “memories are not a simple record of the past but, rather, an ‘imaginative reconstruction.’” In an article discussing Charan Ranganath’s Why We Remember, the author argues that we misunderstand memory. What we remember is shaped by our internal schemas about life. Events and information that fit into the jigsaw puzzle of our operating system stick, while anything that conflicts or contradicts gets discarded. Our early childhoods shape us (and often warp us), and our memory efficiently retains that which supports the fragile house of cards we’ve built.

I’ve seen prompts encouraging writers to reflect on what we’ve learned in 2024. While I’ve taken many lessons from the past year, the most salient one is this: I was loved. During an experience so life-changing that I have yet to fully put it to paper, I had an epiphany that continues to shape how I view my role in the world — and what memories I choose to hold onto. Not surprisingly, it was under the influence of the powerful psychedelic ibogaine that I had the schema-obliterating realization.

A survivor of childhood abuse, I feared reliving some of the more painful events of my past while under the influence of ibogaine. But I longed to be free from the burden that abuse had caused me to carry for a lifetime. Instead, I was hit with a powerful, tactile flashback: my abuser hugging me tightly, followed by a cascade of memories featuring all the ways I had been valued and adored.

It’s taken me months to process how to apply this information to my everyday life. Little did I know, it’s been subtly working through me ever since. Seeing life through this new lens has brought a softening I didn’t even know was possible — or had long ago buried. I saw how my longstanding belief that, at my core, I was a burden had shaped how I interacted with others and the world. More importantly, I saw how the memories my mind had accumulated supported this structure. With this new belief, I was a little bit more open to embrace the love that came my way and to more freely give back the love I received.

Talk about meandering.

All of this is to say that it’s never too late to change our schema. We’ll go to the grave with our tapestry of memories, cobbled together over the years, defining who we are and how we’ll be remembered. Like Simon, we all tend to embellish and bejewel. Although the term “abundance mindset” sounds like nails on a chalkboard to me, it is, in fact, a useful term in this context. It takes work to shift from believing we lack, to knowing we are whole. Had it not been for that jarring, dissociative experience, I wonder if I’d ever have truly believed it. Feeling worthy requires a deep body knowing. But we can begin to cultivate that sense by leaning into all that supports the cause. Create a beautiful quilt, because, in the end, that may be all we have.

These inner critics are often behind the phenomenon of imposter syndrome. They are the voices we hear in the dead of night when we would rather sleep than lament about how we said “You too” when the barista told us to enjoy our coffee. These parts seem fixated on ensuring we never achieve our potential, ever reminding us that we aren’t good enough. These are the inner selves to whom we’d love to serve a nice warm glass of “shut the hell up.”

My friend mentioned that she’s been improving at shutting that voice down. And how’s that going? "Well, it's better, but not great." My experience working as a trauma psychologist has taught me many lessons about trauma and the psyche. One analogy I often use with my clients is the closet metaphor. When we continually push trauma into a closet, it eventually becomes that familiar scenario where, upon opening it, an avalanche of skis, bowling balls, rotten sandwiches, capybaras, and everything else we've ignored comes tumbling out and hits us square in the face. And it hurts, a lot.

Here’s the thing: if someone finds tools that help them feel better, who am I to begrudge them that? But if you are having difficulty with an inner critic, what I've seen work for myself and many others is to not slap a gag on them, but to make friends with them. Yes, befriend those assholes. 

Richard Schwartz's Internal Family Systems (IFS) theory posits that our psyche comprises multiple sub-personalities or "parts," each with distinct feelings, beliefs, and desires shaped by life experiences, often in response to trauma or challenges. Schwartz argues that these parts can fragment or polarize, leading to internal conflict and emotional distress. Central to IFS is the notion that beyond these parts exists a deeper, true self—a calm, compassionate, and curious center known as the Self. The aim of IFS therapy is to help individuals access and strengthen their Self, facilitating healing and internal harmony. 

Viewing through the lens of IFS, inner critics are protector parts developed to shield us from pain or harm. While initially serving a crucial role, these protectors can become rigid or overbearing, perpetuating internal conflict. The essence of IFS therapy involves assisting these parts in easing their protective stance, thereby enabling healing, integration, and ultimately restoring balance and well-being.

I’d like to preface this by saying that whenever touching on potentially destabilizing emotional content, it’s best to work with a trained and competent therapist. However, anyone can test the waters of IFS and see if it feels helpful. If any point during this work, you feel unsafe or overwhelmed, stop and reach out to a trusted person for support. 

The next time you hear that inner voice slinging nasty comments your way, try to pause and turn inward. Begin by grounding yourself in your Self. Take some slow, deep breaths and relax. You’ll recognize you're in your Self when your emotions take a back seat and you can engage playfully with your inner critic. Take slow, deep breaths and approach with curiosity.

Name the part, for instance, "The Critic," and engage it with questions:

• How does this part manifest in your body?

• What visual representation does it have? Creating a mental avatar can aid in understanding.

• What emotions and beliefs does this part hold?

• How does it influence your actions and behaviors?

• What are its intentions or desires?

• What might occur if this part ceased its current role?

The final question typically leads to two outcomes. The part may maintain its stance, indicating it's not yet willing to relinquish control. Alternatively, it might reveal underlying fears. For instance, a critic may be reluctant to stop motivating (berating) you because it has learned that unless you are always prepared, you will be disappointed. Exploring these deeper roots often benefits from support, whether from a trusted peer or a therapist.

The seat of healing and growth resides in self-compassion. It's challenging to grasp the concept of being compassionate towards parts of ourselves that seem hellbent on keeping us in turmoil. Yet, remembering that every inner voice originates from our experiences, and that each part is striving to shield us from pain—even if it inadvertently causes us distress—can aid in fostering curiosity and openness towards our internal dynamics. You might find it surprising how these voices begin to soften when approached with acceptance rather than resistance.

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The idea of envisioning such grim possibilities clashes with the entrenched notion of manifestation—a belief that our thoughts can shape our reality. Personally, I lean more towards science than supernatural forces, finding solace in the notion that focusing our attention can uncover opportunities that already exist, rather than conjuring them into being.

Whenever I hear someone talk about having manifested some event in their lives, I can’t help but think of this (it’s Louis CK, so if you are offended/triggered, don’t click. Yes, I’m aware he’s cancelled):

Louis CK manifests

If we are unhappy at our current job, we may start paying more attention to job listings. More insidiously, if we happen to click on a job offer, the internet will start lobbing more our way. Suddenly, when a recruiter reaches out with the perfect job, we believe we manifested the opportunity. These days, one need only mention an item out loud and the “counter stalker” (Alexa) will make sure it shows up in your news feed.

Even if one doesn't fully subscribe to this idea, there's often an underlying concern that dwelling on negative outcomes might inadvertently bring them to fruition.

For safety purposes, humans are evolutionarily programmed to seek out the negative. However, as with many traits and behaviors developed during evolution, this tendency has become somewhat more of a liability. When we scan our environments with a critical lens, we are less likely to find an actual threat, and more likely to find something stupid to complain about.

This tendency is particularly pronounced in individuals with trauma histories, who may struggle to remain present amidst constant anticipation of potential threats. Consequently, while negative visualization may hold value for some, for others, cultivating mental focus proves to be a more accessible starting point.

Another reason many of us may balk at imagining the worst-case scenario is that this could likely bring on a flood of negative emotions. What if I imagine my child dead, and rather than spend the rest of the day hugging him even when he glares at me and calls me, “Boomer,” I crumple into a heap on the floor, unable to rid those painful images from my mind. If you aren’t particularly skilled at focusing your attention, it may be overwhelming to engage in negative visualization.

By deliberately paying attention to our actions and thoughts, we can strengthen our prefrontal cortex—the part of the brain responsible for decision-making and self-control. Before allowing ourselves to ruminate on catastrophic scenarios, it's crucial to anchor ourselves in the present moment and reel back our thoughts when they veer into darker territory.

Engaging in internal narration—a practice of describing our actions as we perform them—can serve as a useful tool for staying grounded in the present. It sounds goofy, but it’s a great way to practice staying present in the moment and directing your attention. Notice how I specified INTERNAL narration. This will prevent manifesting ourselves into a padded room.

By focusing on being present with our loved ones and appreciating each moment, we can cultivate gratitude and derive fulfillment from life's experiences, regardless of their nature. Ultimately, presence and clarity of focus offer a pathway to deriving greater meaning and satisfaction from life, enabling us to extract the most out of every moment.

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Over the years, I've explored the teachings of Buddhism and Stoicism. Many of their principles resonate deeply with me. For example, Buddhism draws a clear distinction between pain and suffering. While pain is inevitable in life, suffering is seen as optional.

This concept has been a struggle for me. Even when I can detach from my thoughts and discern where facts end and my opinions begin, the tendency to hold onto grievances persists. For instance, whenever I'm driving on the highway and encounter others who don't adhere to the "keep right unless passing" rule, I find myself seething with frustration. Instead of simply accepting this as a minor inconvenience, I indulge in self-righteous anger. I've even entertained fantasies of creating a laminated sign to educate fellow drivers. This dwelling in irritation is what Buddhism calls suffering.

This principle of Buddhism complements one of the core practices of Stoicism—differentiating between what is within and outside our control.

“The chief task in life is simply this: to identify and separate matters so that I can say clearly to myself which are externals not under my control, and which have to do with the choices I actually control.

—Epictetus, Discourses, 2.5.4–5

Stoics assert that most situations and conditions lie beyond our control—the past, our genetics, the weather, others' driving habits, etc. What we can control are our feelings, thoughts, and opinions. Accepting that our opinions, though deeply ingrained, are ultimately arbitrary and adjustable can be challenging.

It's intriguing how humans often seek to control their environments to alleviate anxiety, yet letting go of control often brings immediate relief. When I feel frustration or sadness creeping in, I've started asking myself, "Is this something I can control?" Instead of immediately trying to shape the situation to fit my expectations, which often proves futile, I focus on what I can control—for instance, changing lanes and passing on the right (deployment of side eye optional).

While I'm not always successful, this simple question has spared me from countless episodes of suffering lately. Sometimes there's a moment of confusion, questioning whether I can indeed control the situation. Or perhaps I'm too worked up to remember the question. As I often say, anger management techniques are most effective when you're not angry. But with practice, progress is possible, and effective techniques become easier to employ. Give it a try—hopefully, you'll find it as valuable as I have.

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Are you a lucky or unlucky person? Many can answer this question lickety-split. And many, like my friend, will say, “That’s dumb.”

Luck is the Intersection Between Effort and Chance.

There are a lot of reasons to eschew luck. Firstly, it seems superstitious. For many, the idea of wearing a lucky pair of underwear to ensure a team's victory sounds silly. Moreover, believing in luck can sometimes provide an excuse for avoiding substantial effort. For instance, an individual who perceives themselves as unlucky might refrain from trying out for a team, reasoning, “Why bother? I won’t make it anyway. I never do.”

For those who have endured trauma or experienced prolonged adversity, excessive belief in luck can lead to a decrease in self-efficacy. Such individuals might convince themselves that they lack the ability to effect change in their lives and, even worse, may feel deserving of painful circumstances.

Conversely, relying too little on chance can cause undue anxiety. Consider the college admissions process. High school students contort themselves into every conceivable shape to fit into the boxes that schools insist they check. However, despite deserving reward for their accomplishments, only a select few will be chosen. Failing to acknowledge the chance factor beyond one's control puts undue pressure on performance and leads to self-deprecation when expectations are not met.

Believing that you have either too little or too much control can lead to trouble. For many, reconsidering luck and embracing what we don’t control as a matter of chance is a step in the right direction.

Moreover, finding the balance between effort and chance can help minimize anxiety and enhance the likelihood of success. This necessitates ongoing assessment of your ventures. Playing the lottery involves minimal effort and a large element of chance. Conversely, trying out for a team will likely benefit from significant effort, coupled with an awareness of chance to temper expectations and potential disappointment. Even with unwavering dedication, you may not be selected. Thus, it's essential to map out the intersection of effort and chance for your endeavors, ensuring your road to success is navigated with realistic expectations.

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I've never thought of myself as a people-pleaser. When I imagine a people-pleaser, I picture someone who distorts their opinions to fit in, someone who agrees to bake for a fundraiser despite having four kids, two jobs, and is going to night school.

As an only child, being a roommate and sharing have never been on my lists of talents—any of my former roommates will attest (as will my husband). Generally, I tend to prioritize my needs first, and then perhaps consider if my children are being fed and clothed. I’m exaggerating. But it’s no stretch to say that putting others first in motherhood was an adjustment.

All this to say that my holiday epiphany caught me off guard. It seems that there are myriad ways that we can people-please. Growing up, I embraced the role of the jester, presumably to shift the focus off my loneliness and low self-esteem. Entertaining others became a lifelong pursuit, from being unanimously voted Class Clown in high school to "Most Likely to be the Next Dr. Phil" in graduate school. Unbeknownst to me, making others laugh was a form of people-pleasing.

When I say it like that, duh.

Everyone in my tight inner circle (and now all of you!) knows about my mercurial nature. For those who follow astrology, I'm a Gemini. One moment, I'll be blasting music and dancing all over the house; the next, I'll have acquired what we fondly call "Victorian Wasting Disease," lying in bed asking my loved ones to deliver me tea. However, I don't feel that these natural shifts in my rhythms and energy levels are normal or acceptable in the world at large. In fact, I was consistently reminded of that as a child.

When I’m about to engage in sustained human contact for days at a time, my mood takes a downward descent. It's not that I'm an introvert; it's that I can quickly shift from being an extrovert to an introvert for no identifiable reason. When you feel the world expects a clown, and all you have to offer is a wet mop, discordance ensues.

I'd never compare my minor level of amateur hilarity to greats like Robin Williams or Chris Farley. However, on a smaller scale, I can appreciate the pain of hosting warring internal factions.

Over Thanksgiving and Christmas this year, we had guests in town and also traveled to visit friends. Rather than being entirely excited, I found myself spiraling into incapacitating anxiety. Only through steady reflection did I realize that the cause of the unrest was my strong need to please people.

My friends and family are undoubtedly beautiful, accepting human beings. If I showed up without my usual vigor, I'm positive things would unfold as normal. It's the pressure I put on myself to perform that's at issue. As I mentioned, the revelation was surprising—in this way, I am a people-pleaser.

It takes realization and work to change limiting beliefs and behaviors. Constant self-reflection can feel arduous, as can conscious, deliberate efforts to grow. All of this is necessary, however, in order to become more authentic and true to yourself. I still engaged in a respectable level of buffoonery over the holidays. But I also allowed myself to embrace the downtime without battering myself into picking up the pace. In 2024, and always, balance is the name of the game.

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Everywhere we turn, we're bombarded with exhortations that "IT’S THE MOST WONDERFUL TIME OF THE YEAR, DAMMIT." It's as though we face a daily onslaught of relentless positive holiday messages. No wonder it can sometimes feel like we're the only inhabitants of Halfhearted Island.

The holidays can dampen spirits for various reasons. You might experience loneliness or miss loved ones who are no longer with us. The pressure to buy gifts or participate in costly traditions can create stress due to financial strain. For introverts, the social demands of the season can be overwhelming.

Personally, unmet expectations play a significant role in why the holidays often leave me feeling disheartened. I struggle to accept that my teenagers have grown disinterested in most holiday activities. Check them out below at the live performance of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer’s live action movie… performed by puppets. Yep, puppets.

If you look closely, you can see their souls oozing out of their ears.

My son is having LASIK surgery this week due to vigorous, unmitigated eye-rolling. The theater was a literal cacophony of toddlers screaming, weeping, and hacking. Most reasonable parents will sigh, “What were you thinking bringing teenaged boys to a puppet show?” I have no answer, other than, “My expectations often exceed reality.”

I’ve said it before, expectations are resentments waiting to happen. The best way to prevent injury by expectations is to take a hard look at reality. If you have $77 in your checking account and your child is asking for a newfangled gaming system that “All of his frieeennnddss have,” it might be time to prepare them for the important lesson called disappointment.

In much the same way, if you know hosting your entire family and extended family drives you absolutely bonkers, know thyself. It’s okay to cancel. When holiday traditions begin feeling like obligations, it’s fine to either revamp those traditions, or can them altogether.

Christmas is right around the corner and the post-holiday blues will no doubt set in. It’s the time when most Americans have a few bleak, cold months of winter to lick their holiday financial wounds. Be kind to yourselves. Not every version of reality dictated by capitalism has to be your own. Sometimes, you might feel sad when the media insists you should be joyful.

Many of us learn early on that it's not acceptable to feel uncomfortable. It's tough to sit with unpleasant emotions, especially when we're pressured to feel joy. Offering yourself a simple, comforting affirmation can make a world of difference: "It's okay to not feel joy. I'm okay." Remember, spring is just around the corner. And if you feel down in spring, that's okay too.

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I’m fairly convinced that tracking my sleep is making me tired. As I’ve aged, sleep has progressively slipped through my fingers, elusive and mysterious. In a quest to understand why I can't seem to rest for more than a few hours, I turned to a sleep tracking device. This miraculous doohickey grants a daily "Sleep Score," assessing three sleep categories. Every morning since first clasping the device to my wrist, I immediately fumble for my phone to check my score.

For the uninitiated, there are three sleep stages. Light sleep makes up most of your sleep. This is evidently my comfort zone, my Cheers, if you will. Rapid eye movement (REM) sleep is important for memory and mood; it’s when your dreams are most vivid. REM sleep is when you’re most likely to be in a canoe with Abe Lincoln and your 5th grade math teacher. Last but not least, there’s deep sleep.

Deep sleep has become my Ark of the Covenant. Every night I lay down to sleep, like a child on the night before Christmas, desperately hoping that tomorrow, my sleep stages readout will grant me the gift of having reached my deep sleep benchmark (12% - 23% of time asleep). In the six weeks since I’ve started tracking, I’ve reached that goal twice. That’s correct, two times. As such, I’ve done what any logical person in 2023 would do: gone down an internet rabbit hole researching how I can achieve more deep sleep. I’ve listened to and read some very interesting and some sort of kooky suggestions. Everything from checking my stools for parasites to taping my lips shut.

As we all know, checking the web for answers is often like drinking from a fire hose. Exploring and researching hasn't brought me any conclusive answers or effective interventions. (Although, admittedly I have yet to sample stools or seal my mouth). However, what I have noticed is that my level of tiredness the next day seems directly correlated with my sleep score. For instance, some days I will sleep for nine hours (not in a row, heaven’s no). I’ll wake up feeling refreshed, ready to be greeted with a ticker tape parade for the Valedictorian of sleep. Alas, if my score is just Fair, that excitement will immediately dwindle, and the yawns will set in.

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A study published in 2011 in the Journal of Health Psychology revealed just how powerful our minds are. On two separate occasions, two sets of participants were asked to drink a milkshake. The first time, they were told that the shake was “indulgent” (e.g., a 620-calorie milkshake). The next time, the shake was presented as a 140-calorie “sensible” shake. Spoiler alert: it was the same shake. Blood tests revealed that when the participants thought they were drinking the indulgent shakes, they released significantly less ghrelin, the hunger hormone. Perception shaped reality.

Today, I woke up after a fitful night, convinced that my sleep score would be in the dumps. I was amazed to see that I’d actually gotten more deep sleep than I ever had. Indeed, I’d met all benchmarks. Well, guess who was singing with sprightly vitality in the shower? The same gal who had just dragged her near-dead-from-exhaustion carcass into the bathroom.

Here's the billion-dollar idea: a sleep gadget that declares you've slept like a newborn every morning. Production as a society guaranteed to skyrocket; just think of all the energy we’d have!

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Many years later, I told a friend about his costume and showed her some photos. She was clutch-her-pearls shocked. I had heard that blackface was offensive, but I didn’t understand. My friend was honoring Weezy. How else was he supposed to complete the costume adequately if he couldn’t paint his face? It took reading up about minstrel shows, and the long American history of using blackface to denigrate the black community for me to fully grasp why it is so hurtful. No, the person I’m referring to isn’t former VA Governor, Ralph Northam.

I’ve often thought, what if those photos came back to bite my friend in the ass? All of this hullabaloo involving Jann Wenner really has me chewing on the concept of cancellation again, specifically, the concept of the “apology.”

ICYMI, Jann Wenner, co-founder of Rolling Stone magazine, made some incendiary racist and misogynistic remarks in a recent NY Times article. His opinions resulted in his being swiftly dropped from the board of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, which he also co-founded.

Jann Wenner has been immersed in the music industry since dinosaurs roamed the Earth. His commentary was specifically about musicians. He’s also been in publishing for decades. The guy is 77 years old. All of this is to say, he knows his statements aren’t PC. His opinions are as solidly ingrained as Excalibur at this point. No amount of societal backlash is going to uproot those beliefs. So what exactly is the point of his public apology?

When Uncle Randy spews off about those “dang illegals” at the Thanksgiving table, it’s good practice to call him out, right? Even if he accepts that he’s made a mistake (fat chance), it’s likely that the error he’s identified is that he shouldn’t have voiced his opinions in the presence of people who find them offensive. The apology he makes is to the dinner table, not to the innumerable immigrants who have been chronically marginalized.

If cousin Timmy makes a misogynistic joke he heard on the playground, it’s a teachable moment. We don’t expect an apology because he doesn’t know better. We understand that it’s our responsibility to teach Timmy a lesson. When Adidas severs its ties with Kanye, is it teaching him a lesson? If so, are they encouraging him to educate himself about why his antisemitic opinions are misguided, or simply admonishing, “Don’t ever say that out loud.”

I struggled with wanting to play Michael Jackson’s music at my wedding; the HBO documentary was that brutal. But then I assuaged my guilt with the argument that a person isn’t his art. There’s a great line in the movie Tar, "Don't be so eager to be offended. The narcissism of small differences leads to the most boring conformity." Clearly pedophilia isn’t a small difference, but how much creative brilliance would we need to cleave from our remote collective history if we tossed out the art with the filthy bathwater of an artist’s personal life? That said, does anyone with a social conscience really feel comfortable further padding Kanye’s pockets when he’s traipsing around spewing hate?

There’s been annals written about cancel culture, and I don’t kid myself that I’m going to add any brilliant and ground-breaking ideas to the conversation. What I wonder is what are we truly accomplishing? It’s common to hear mockery of social justice warriors, those who are so language-militant that they tend to give liberals a bad name. It’s no longer breast-feeding, it’s chest-feeding. It’s not a walk-in closet anymore, because that’s offensive to those unable to walk.

Personally, I think it’s great. If anything I’m saying or doing is offending anyone at all, I’m happy to adopt new terminology. The problem is that it’s difficult to keep up at this point, and when vernacular has been flowing freely for generations, it’s no easy feat to remember all that we are learning day to day. It’s not difficult to see why some are resistant to all of the change. Humans strive for homeostasis, as unnatural as it is considering change is the only constant in life.

Does Jann Wenner get off the hook because he’s long in the tooth, and his views were likely planted and harvested in a time and place when those ideas were more publicly accepted? Or is he cancelled forever because you can’t teach an old dog new tricks? Conversely, would my friend be exonerated for his use of blackface, considering he was young and didn’t truly understand the harm he was causing?

If what we are truly trying to accomplish by drawing public attention to offensive behavior, is to make broad social changes toward inclusivity and acceptance, then what does cancellation do to that end? And how can that mission be accomplished when a person is obviously not going to change long-established beliefs and is relying on a publicist to let the sponsors know they’re sorry? Personally, I think Janis Joplin would tell Mr. Wenner to kindly blow his apology out his ass.

As it is in life, in the realm of cancel culture, youth and flexibility are often strong assets. I would never say that an older person can’t change their stance on any issue. I’m a constant work in progress. Almost daily I learn how archaic and lame many of my views are. Ah, the joy of having teenagers. What I am saying is that maybe our approach should be custom-fit to the transgression. A little grace here, some healthy shame there. Cancelling seems to be more about the canceller than the cancellee. When people aren’t afraid to speak their minds, the need, and possibility for growth come into the light. By cancelling and silencing, people just keep all of their nastiness locked in the closet. And like the late, great MLK said so well…

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Back to crowds, we spend so much time in our respective bubbles, interacting with those whom we know, going to the same grocery store with people in our neighborhoods. And although I live in a fairly diverse part of town, economically and racially, nothing quite prepares you for the melting pot of a music festival- especially when the two, opposing headliners are a young trap artist and a 1990’s-era hard rock band. If you sit back and observe the people, as old-timers like me tend to do, you'll witness a captivating parade representing every imaginable walk of life.

There were times when I looked around, getting completely lost in other people’s stories. Are they a couple? What are they on? Did they only come here for the photo op? Do they normally dress like elves? How did they pass that medieval glass globule of elixir through the security gate? Human nature is to judge and assess, right? When I was younger, I’m sure I would’ve been chock full of snarky, cynical internal commentary. But as I’ve aged, I’ve morphed from less of a social critic to more of a social anthropologist. I found myself embracing the opportunity to commune with people I don’t see every day, or in some cases, ever, reveling in the beautiful fact that music can bring us all together. Sure I caught myself “tsk”ing these new generations and their omnipresent posing and checking to make sure they hit the right angles, but there was a new softness that hasn’t existed before.

There’s no doubt that I am becoming more conservative as I age. I saw a comedian recently saying that people grow up and become Republicans. That is, many of us start out as progressive, forward-thinking idealists, but when we constantly smack into the wall of the system, we become more entrenched and adopt a more pragmatic outlook. In some respects, I've followed this pattern, but socially, I've unquestionably become more progressive than I was in my early adulthood. I genuinely believe that if everyone embraced the "live and let live" mantra (as long as no one is causing harm), the world would be a much happier place.

The real test of my tolerance came when it was time to trudge through the primordial soup that had become the city park. A tiny, smartly-dressed version of myself perched on my right shoulder, admonishing, "You're too old for this. What are you even doing, trudging through the mud?" Meanwhile, the youthful and carefree side of me on the left retorted, "Isn't it wonderful to be here, wading through this porta-jon runoff swamp, not taking life so seriously?"

Here are some photos illustrating the contrast between what the more cautious me on the right wanted to do and what the adventurous me on the left actually did:

R.I.P. Chucks, you were good to me.

We made the bold decision to push our way to the very front, standing mere yards from the stage. I asked myself, “Do you really want to see Axl Rose at age 61?” And when he charged onto the stage, initially unrecognizable, I immediately recoiled. His voice wavered at times, and although he could still hit his trademark, piercingly high snarls, he struggled to sing while in motion. I became convinced that I had committed a grave error. I wanted to remember my youth as it was, hot and lithe, shimmying across the stage like a snake, not a battered-bodied rocker, the effects of many decades of hard living laid bare.

However, when I heard the initial riffs of "Nighttrain," one of my favorites, something ignited within me. I found myself shouting out the lyrics, nearly knocked over by an overwhelming sense of nostalgia. With my entire being, I recalled being at the concert in 1992 at Madison Square Garden, feeling those lyrics deep in my soul.

“I'm on the Nightrain
Bottoms up
I'm on the Nightrain
Fill my cup
I'm on the Nightrain
Ready to crash and burn
I never learn”

The youth can be so nihilistic. “Live fast, die young.” Looking back I wonder, is the attitude born out of the pain of adolescence? There is so much confusion and self-doubt at times, that you can’t imagine carrying the immense burden of life when your arms are arthritic and frail? Moreover, you see life as an adult as monotonous and dull. Waiting to die while sitting in a desk chair, trying to churn out the TPS reports before deadline?

When I watch action movies, and the protagonist inevitably finds themselves in a real pickle, hanging from the axle of a plane, flying over an active volcano, while being attacked by pterodactyls, I would always think, “Man, I would just let go and be done with it.” Someone will always say, “Nah, in those situations, your survival instinct would kick in.” I’d quietly wonder if I have a survival instinct at all. I’m the one who was always ready to crash and burn.

Axl shimmied his way over to our vicinity, and suddenly I saw it, plain as day. The twinkle in his eye and the sideways smirk, the swagger if you will. And in that moment, he was young. I think when we are kids, we believe that we’ll lose ourselves as we age. By becoming more conservative, we will snuff out the flame of our true nature. But seeing Axl’s smirk reminded me that the spark is always there, it just moves around a little, reorganizes itself. Amidst the thick of adulthood, which we once regarded as tedious, we discover the meaning we perpetually sought during our youth. We realize that not all revolutions need to change the world; sometimes, they can merely brighten someone's day, often with nothing more than a smile.

The urge to crash and burn is still in me. I believe that I may always host the parasite of the will to self-destruct. I just feed it less and less, while paying greater heed to the other, equally vital need – the need for connection, growth, and well-being. Is that not what growing old gracefully entails? Yesterday, I learned that gracefulness can manifest as 60-year-old rockers absorbed in their passion on a stage. It can be found in standing ankle-deep in the muck of life. Truly owning one's mindset is arguably the most beautiful aspect of growing up.

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Children all over the world:

It takes a long time to accept that the more discipline we employ, the more actualized we can become. We are humans after all, pleasure-seeking beings. Having to restrict feeling good can feel pretty bad in the moment.

Should you indulge in an ice cream cone every day? Depends on your goals. If your goal is to eat something delicious every day, then sure. If your objective is to eliminate dairy from your life, then it’s a hard no. If you want to lose weight, it’s a maybe, right? That is, if you choose the daily ice cream, you’ll likely need to eliminate something else, or spend another hour in the gym each day.

The thing is, when we are restricting or cutting something from our feel-good arsenal, we tend to become uber-focused on what we’re giving up. If you decide to stop doing something that you’ve relied on to feel good, life can initially feel like one big, resounding “no.” I remember quitting smoking many moons ago. Whenever I watched a movie/show, engaged in anything social, or hell, left my house, the overwhelming message that I got was that I was missing out. Looking back now, I can see that for the poppycock it was. But at that time, the craving was so strong, I would’ve gladly eaten a cigarette butt.

Thankfully, the messaging that cigarettes are synonymous with cool/relaxation/sexiness/being social has run out of steam. That illustrious baton has been passed to alcohol :/

If I could go back in time, I would have implored myself to stop focusing on the “no,” and to lean into the “yes.” I wasn’t saying no to being cool and sexy, I was saying yes to health, whiter teeth, fresh breath, clothes that smelled good, and waking up with pride.

If your goal is to lose weight, it can feel incredibly difficult to say no to the ice cream. However, if you can catch yourself feeling deprived, you can change the story and focus on the greater yes. Admittedly, this doesn’t come naturally at first. It takes work to shift a mindset, it takes discipline- your friend.

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I do acknowledge the usefulness, and sometimes necessity, of this system, particularly for insurance purposes and guiding treatment approaches. However, when you become aware that the sharp rise in depression diagnoses coincided with big pharma’s aggressive promotion and sales of antidepressants, the correlation becomes undeniable.

Some may ask, "Which came first, the chicken or the egg?" Did demand necessitate supply? In his book, Making Minds and Madness: From Hysteria to Depression, Mikkel Borch-Jacobson asserts, “Far from arriving on the market to treat a previously existing psychiatric disorder, these new drugs actually promoted it. Modern, Western depression, we might say, is a side effect of antidepressants.”

In our late-capitalist culture, this isn't all that surprising. Susan Rosenthal writes, “The capitalist class seeks to avoid responsibility for the many problems it causes.” One way that clinicians diagnose clinical depression is the level to which the symptoms impair our ability to function in the world, and thus contribute to the capitalist system. Herein lies another chicken and the egg concept.

When I speak with individuals who display symptoms matching the criteria for clinical depression, I find myself wondering, "Don't many of us feel like that to some extent? Isn't depression, in lots of cases, a direct response to our experiences? Couldn't depression be more accurately viewed as a spectrum, and don’t all of us, at least at some point, exist on that line?”

Of course, there are genuinely organic conditions, such as psychotic and cognitive disorders, and for some, depression can be a debilitating and all-consuming struggle, leading to tragically high suicide rates. However, I can't help but contemplate how many people could be helped if we discarded the stigma and isolation that often accompany a depression diagnosis.

“Psychiatry supports capitalism by ‘diagnosing’ socially-created problems as individual cognitive or biological defects, providing pseudoscientific ‘evidence’ for blaming the victims of the system.” - Susan Rosenthal

Dr. Kari Jantz, a fellow Substack writer, distinguishes between two common types of depression:

“1. Your life is actual dogshit and everything’s gone wrong - you got evicted, the wife left, the kids hate you, you lost your job and now you’re at the bottom of a bottle. This is hell but there is a way out (or through, rather, as Winston Churchill so eloquently put it); 

2. Your environment is fine and you ‘should’ be fine but you’re not.”

According to Dr. Jantz, the second type often stems from an inner conflict between our values and actions, leading to shame because we're not living up to who we believe we should be.

Many people I encounter seem to fall into one of these categories. It's understandable that life's hardships can lead to depression. When faced with tragedy, crisis, feeling isolated, and/or chronic stress, feeling discouraged and downtrodden is a normal reaction. And yet we lament, “Why aren’t I feeling like everyone else in my socials feed, or those ecstatic revelers in the ads?”

Less clear is the cause of inexplicable depression. However, if you dig deep enough, often times people aren’t living in accordance with their dreams and/or values. Easier said than done, I know. One of my values is to uplift others, yet every time I classify someone with a "mental health disorder," I worry that I might be reinforcing a belief system that leaves many feeling ashamed, disconnected, and stuck. For some, the diagnosis becomes a crutch, an excuse for not taking action to improve their lives.

Likewise, my dream is to travel the world, but instead, I find myself tied to my desk, working away. Dreams are often unattainable, which is why they're dreams. Yet society relentlessly pressures us about why we aren't living our dreams like Oprah did. Should the disappointment of not achieving our dreams or living in accordance with our values be labeled depression? Certainly these dilemmas can cause “clinically significant distress.”

What if we called a spade a spade, and stopped labeling and medicating people for suffering in an unjust world? What if we acknowledged that depression is a natural response to life's challenges? Would knowing that depression is a common experience help people feel seen and understood? Could it encourage us to normalize the struggle and foster empathy?

Change starts from within, and we should be the change we wish to see in the world and all that. With this in mind, I find myself devoting more time to normalizing what society labels as depressive "symptoms" these days. If, as a culture, we could be more candid and open about our hardships and genuine emotions, we could create a space for others to do the same. When people feel truly understood and validated, genuine connection happens, and that connection can be a powerful antidote for depression.

Let's reach out to others, encouraging real conversations and vulnerable sharing, and in doing so, we can dismantle the myth that depression is always a disorder requiring treatment. By fostering empathy and understanding, we can create a more compassionate and supportive environment for everyone's mental well-being.

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I'm guessing that many of you have found yourselves pushing away from the dinner table, your pants nearly splitting, and declaring, "I'm never eating again!" No matter how painfully full we’ve been, we always return to food. Aversion doesn’t always breed avoidance. However, in many cases negative experiences, particularly repetitive ones, can shape our behavior.

In the earlier part of the 20th century, the understanding of behavior being influenced by conditioning was both new and captivating. Studies during that time not only supported the theory but also revealed our limited knowledge regarding the long-term effects of trauma. Consider the infamous case of B.F. Skinner conditioning a phobia of rats in Little Albert- yikes.

As reductionist as behaviorism may be, we cannot ignore its fundamental principles. In many situations, our actions are driven by pleasure and pain. More than pleasure, pain and fear hold great power over us. Biologically, we are predisposed to be more attuned to the negative.

However, as we all know, painful experiences alone are rarely enough to overcome addiction. Just ask the person hooked on heroin, sitting in the scorching sun at my highway exit, pleading for anything I can spare. Unfortunately, in the case of substance dependence, associated pain doesn’t result in recovery.

Furthermore, associating pain is not the sole determining factor. As I've mentioned before, mental imagery is more potent than mere verbal thoughts. We need to vividly imagine ourselves in a state of misery, stewing in the boiling regret of our poor choices. I may be exaggerating, but at the very least, we should envision a scenario where making that choice leads to significant discomfort.

Our social media feeds are filled with messages encouraging us to remember our "Why." This is indeed a valuable message, as envisioning the person we aspire to be, living a healthy and fulfilled life, serves as a vital motivator.

However, sometimes it can be equally, if not more effective, to contemplate our "Why not." Before placing ourselves in situations that will challenge our resolve, we should visualize how we will look and feel in that place where we constantly feel stuck. The pain of our present predicament can be a powerful deterrent, surpassing the desire for long-term outcomes.

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When looking with a Western gaze, some Japanese customs seem pretty bizarre. You can pay to (just) spoon in a cuddle cafe, and, for the love of god, they try to make babies cry! So, when I recently came across the news that people in Japan are taking smiling lessons, I can't say I was surprised, but I was certainly intrigued. Are they unhappy? I mean, if ate the sperm sac of cod fish, I’d be frowning too (for real, it’s called “shirako” which means “white children.”)

Apparently, once the Covid mask mandates were lifted, people seemed to have "forgotten to smile." How is that possible? In America, we’re always smiling. If we didn't find amusement in our three-ring political circus, we would be immobilized by fear or crumpled in sobbing heaps, no? Research supports that smiling is more prevalent in cultures that emphasize individualism (hello, us) and have lower population density (America has around 94 people per square mile, while Japan has 874 per square mile). Hence, it's understandable that people here smile more often than in Japan. But still, they must smile at adorable animals, right?

Studies involving congenitally blind individuals confirm that smiling is innately associated with expressing joy or amusement across cultures. That confirms it, all cultures smile to express enjoyment. However, some individuals struggle with a different kind of smile, the smile you fake, like when you run into that person from high school at the grocery store.

Can you tell the “real” smile from the “fake” smile?

There is a difference between what we perceive as a genuine smile and a false smile. Psychologists have coined the term, Duchenne smile, after French anatomist, Guillaume Duchenne, who studied emotional expression. A Duchenne smile extends all the way up to your eyes, causing those fun little crow’s feet people love to try and slather (Hi, me) and inject away. This more authentic- appearing smile is distinct from a fake one and goes a long way in strengthening personal and professional relationships.

Not only does smiling elicit more trust and cooperation from others, but it helps us think on a broader level. Moreover, in regards to those who may not be feeling so great, research indicates that smiling positively influences our emotions and reduces stress. Naturally, this leads to increased productivity and greater satisfaction. So, before we toss the crying baby out with the square watermelons (actually a genius idea), perhaps as coaches, we should evaluate how our clients smile and ensure they “do the Duchenne” (I just coined that).

As a coach, a critical step in evaluating and setting goals with clients is identifying their strengths and areas for improvement. This can be challenging for clients who aren’t accustomed to talking about assets, and perhaps don’t think they have any. Some clients feel as if they’re frauds, masquerading in their own lives.

Imposter syndrome is when an individual doubts their talent, skills, and accomplishments. Someone with imposter syndrome believes that they’ve achieved their status due to luck, not because of their own hard work and ability.

If someone is feeling like an imposter, then by definition, they’re trying to imitate someone or something. They’re attempting to emulate an ideal they’ve subconsciously internalized. For instance, an executive who believes all executives should fit a mental mold they have created may feel like a failure when they don't fit that mold.

Coaches can use questions about a client's personality to stimulate insights. If someone lacks self-esteem, they may present their personality traits negatively. However, any trait that is a thorn in their side can be a feather in their cap, depending on how it is viewed. For example, instead of being seen as wantonly impulsive, a person can be seen as an adventurous risk-taker. Even though some traits may not be traditionally associated with a profession, they can still add value.

For instance, a client who has been labeled as lazy may have come to believe they are. However, being lazy does not translate well into being an executive. Nevertheless, the person could be in a corner office, albeit feeling like an imposter. This client may not fit their internalized concept of the typical executive who wakes up at 4 am, rows 10,000 meters, drinks Athletic Greens with nails, and reads the WSJ cover to cover. However, even though they roll out of bed 20 minutes before they need to be at work, they could be the funny, personable executive who executes directives with flair.

If you feel like you don't belong, take a moment to examine your beliefs and who or what you're trying to aspire to. Then, rework your aspiration to encapsulate who you are and what you bring to the table. That is how you can conquer imposter syndrome. You cannot imitate yourself, but you can be proud of yourself and continue to improve.

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Many of us believe, with a smirk, that we’ve already lived through the "future" as portrayed in movies. Y2K passed without incident, there’s no flying cars, and other than Roombas and Alexa, robots haven’t become a common sight in our homes (certainly not fetching us beers). We seem to have grown accustomed to the pace of technological progress until recently. Personally, I didn't have nightmares of a scorched dystopian hellscape ruled by cyborgs until now.

AI has been having a moment recently. Not like a kind-of-scary return of low-rise jeans moment either. It’s a potentially terrifying surge that has even its formerly staunchest supporters and innovators feeling concerned. The most horrifying implication is that AI will eventually outpace human intelligence and harvest us in pods. But for now, the unease seems generally focused on misinformation and the public's inability to discern what is real and what is not.

In a similar vein to how AI has made it difficult to discern whether a track is genuinely from Drake or not, we face a comparable challenge when it comes to our emotions. Despite the mental health community's constant encouragement to trust our emotions, I argue that we shouldn't. Unless it's a life or death situation, and you may be in actual danger, chances are, your feelings can’t be trusted.

The scientific community generally agrees that genetics account for anywhere between 20% to 60% of an individual's temperament. Let's assume, for this example, a conservative estimate of 30%. If you were born with a predisposition for nervousness, where did that come from? Yep. So, on top of what you were born with, you were likely raised by helicopter parents who instilled in you a sense of constant vigilance. That probably built upon your genetic predisposition towards nervousness. This phenomenon is known as nature via nurture, where an individual's genetic tendencies are compounded by their environment.

Confirmation bias plays a powerful role in shaping our beliefs and perceptions. When we have an inclination towards something (in this case, anxiety), we may selectively attend to information that confirms our beliefs while dismissing or minimizing evidence to the contrary. For example, we may focus on news stories or personal anecdotes that reinforce our beliefs about the dangers of the world, while overlooking statistics or research that suggests we are relatively safe. This can create a self-reinforcing cycle where our anxiety leads us to seek out information that confirms our fears, further exacerbating our anxiety.

(I’m not even addressing how the content we’re fed, which also gives birth to, develops, and expands our emotional identity, is cherry-picked by powers greater than ourselves, which even further distances ourselves from reality. That is another essay for another day. For more on this: Jean Baudrillard.)

For most people, day-to-day emotions are subtle, and we are rarely aware of what’s insidiously solidifying our worldview. For instance, if we feel annoyed by something, we may quickly conjure up a story to explain our feelings. This internal discourse can strengthen our thought process. The actual cause of the feeling may have been as innocuous as a sound or smell stimulating a subconscious memory.

If you've been the victim of trauma, you are likely hypervigilant and aware of any and every cue that might remind you of the event(s) and represent danger. Although most of these cues don’t signify imminent peril, it is expected that you will acknowledge and analyze the feedback you’re getting from your environment. In any situation where emotions are strong and persistent, it behooves you to take notice and investigate; exploration with a licensed professional is recommended.

Let's circle back to AI. If an AI system is learning and generating based on flawed programming, the output will inevitably be questionable. Also, there are hooligans and ne'er-do-wells who are constantly creating false representations of celebrities and politicians engaged in all sorts of tomfoolery. To combat this, smart and capable individuals are developing tools to determine content provenance and authenticity. Hopefully, we will soon be able to reliably determine whether a Drake track was released by OVO or if it's a fake created in some dude’s mom's basement.

So, how do we determine the authenticity and provenance of our emotions? When we feel sad for no apparent reason, is it real time or historical? We may be quick to attribute our emotions to a particular cause, but our biases and upbringing shape our interpretation of events.

To avoid being misled by our emotions, I suggest waiting a few moments and letting them pass before responding. Most of our emotions are passing ghosts and aren't useful to us. By acknowledging that our programming and upbringing may have biased our interpretation of events, we can learn to question our emotions and develop our own content provenance. While AI tools may help us determine the authenticity of content online, we must learn to determine the authenticity of our emotions in real life.

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Have you ever been in this situation? To save time, advance to minutes 1:00 - 1:37. To save even more time, I’ll explain.

Have you ever been playing Pictionary, and your teammate draws the same picture over and over? No one is guessing correctly, but the artist persists in frantically circling and pointing at their drawing?

Or maybe you check your bag for your phone 32 times because even though your bag isn’t ludicrously capacious (shout out Tom Wambsgans), you may have missed it somehow.

Being able to change gears and redirect your attention is called cognitive shift. Sometimes it takes more effort than others.

Recently, I've been dealing with cognitive shift a lot because of the switch from being a therapist to being a coach. Instead of asking clients, "How does that make you feel," I now ask them, "How can that help guide your decision?" It's not easy to transition from a healing role to a partnering one.

One technique that coaches borrow from therapists is cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT), although it’s more aptly referred to as cognitive behavioral coaching (CBC). The theory behind the approach is that if we change the way we think about something, we can change our behavior. For instance, if we think our phone is in our car, we’ll stop looking in our bag.

When we are struggling to change our thinking, and thus, course of action, this is referred to as a blind spot. Coaches can be helpful at pointing out a client’s blind spots so they can brainstorm other possibilities and identify other pathways to success. Hence, coaches are generally Pictionary virtuosos.

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Last month, a student assembly at Cornell unanimously approved a resolution urging instructors to provide “trigger warnings” before discussing potentially traumatic content such as sexual assault and interpersonal violence. However, the university's president vetoed the resolution, arguing that it infringed on “academic freedom and freedom of inquiry.”

The student who proposed the resolution was motivated by her friend's experience of being sexually assaulted and having a strong reaction to a graphic rape scene in a novel. This response is not uncommon among trauma survivors, who may experience strong emotional reactions when reminded of their traumatic experiences.

I’ve heard two prevailing arguments against trigger warnings. One argument is that we are becoming too sheltered emotionally, like Bill Maher asserts, “I’m triggered every time I see a trigger warning because I’m reminded of how weak my country has become. It’s like wearing a mask on your mind.”

The other argument, as put forward by the Cornell president, is that trigger warnings are part of a broader movement to limit free speech, and that academia has a responsibility to resist censorship.

I find the concept of banning books abhorrent. Similarly, in regards to the kerfuffle at Stanford last month, I believe that Judge Kyle Duncan’s voice deserves to be heard, even though I disagree with his views. We need to listen to one another, before we can work toward understanding, compromise, and resolution. However, giving individuals the choice to participate or not in discussions about potentially traumatic content does not limit free speech.

As I’ve mentioned, helplessness is the hallmark of trauma. The ability to decline participation can be empowering for trauma survivors, as it helps them regain a sense of control over their lives.

However, avoidance is also a common symptom of trauma exposure. While it may seem sensible to avoid things that upset us, research has shown that avoidance-oriented coping pursuant to a traumatic event can lead to PTSD symptoms in the long run.

If you’re afraid of flying, and you never get on a plane, you’ll continue to see air travel as terrifying. If you keep flying, while effectively managing your anxiety, you’ll eventually come to see that air travel can be safe. Overcoming fear requires developing coping skills, accessing resources, facing the fear, and internalizing one's strength and success.

Although I don’t agree with much of what Maher has to say on the topic of trigger warnings, one thing he said resonated with me: “What they do is reinforce the idea that trauma is central to your identity, and that you should let it define you instead of dealing with, it dispatching it and moving beyond it.”

Avoiding your traumatic memories can keep them large and looming in your life. Whereas working with a trained professional, and putting the experiences into perspective, can help to minimize their impact. With the right support, being exposed to minimally invasive reminders of trauma, in a relatively safe space like a classroom, can be therapeutic.

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In the days and weeks following a shooting, anger seethes and boils to the surface. The public wants someone to blame. Most of the blame ultimately lands on politicians who aren't regulating firearms. Once again, a hostile feud ensues between gun rights advocates and those who oppose regulation.

The divides in our country are deep, livid canyons. People are prone to dive headlong into a contempt chasm after simply reading a Facebook post. The dehumanizing shield of the internet makes it easier to pepper your perceived enemy with insults, and ad hoc arguments abound.

There is something undeniably elliptical about this cycle: An individual carries out a mass shooting. Outrage, blame, and hatred ensue. Tension intensifies before eventually diminishing to its standard, established, bubbling kettle of vitriol. This norm that we exist in consists of daily, slanderous news reports and social media exasperation. Eventually, over time, the tea kettle begins issuing its distinct whine, and somewhere, someone carries out the absolutely unfathomable act of releasing the steam. And it’s back to the drawing board, blaming the politicians for not creating stiffer gun laws.

I recently watched Waco, the 2018 miniseries about the 1993 standoff between the ATF, FBI, and the Branch Davidians. It was honestly the first time in my life that I ever considered that the average Joe could benefit from owning an automatic weapon. But then, I reminded myself that unless you plan to go off the grid en masse and live a life in opposition to established laws, coming under siege by your own government isn’t very likely.

I do not plan to do that. I like the grid.

One of the main characters in the show, acted flawlessly by Michael Shannon, speaks some truth:

“If you put more guns in people's hands, they're gonna use 'em… There's a paradox to power. The more force you bring to a situation, the more likely you are to meet resistance.”

Mic drop.

However, for every person who doesn't, there’s another person who believes that fighting firearm with firearm is the way to solve the problem.

What if the fight itself is creating the cycle? What if we change the dialogue?

Politicians are, in large part, managers. They’re leaders, coordinators, administrators, and motivators. Their role is to work for the common good of the organization, which in this case, is the public. In business, there are common mistakes that managers make. Let’s consider a few:

• Setting one worker against another

• Letting your workgroup blame problems on other groups

• Badmouthing

• Not understanding that workers are different than one another

• Not building a trusting atmosphere

It’s fairly easy to see how the climate of an organization will suffer if the managers fail at mastering these simple skills. And yet, in how many instances, in the past week alone, can we find our leaders engaging in these managerial errors? Executive coaches work with managers to develop skills that improve the health and productivity of their teams. It’s clear that our leaders need some solid coaching.

I am in no way suggesting that those fighting the good fight let up on demanding gun reform. What I am saying, is that perhaps the greater emphasis at this time should be in insisting that our elected officials behave as mature, and skilled leaders. What the country needs are politicians who are committed to closing the divide and lowering the temperature of the kettle.

Instead of allowing tragedies to further divide the nation, we should urge our leaders to use those moments to highlight our collective and universal grief. It's no secret that we all want to solve the problem of gun violence. However, the reality is that we do not agree on the best solution. If we cannot find empathy for those on the other side of the argument, the cycle of hatred and blame will persist. Politicians have the power to set an example of compassion and compromise. Rather than making promises they cannot keep, they should make efforts to understand each other and form partnerships. This would help to create a calmer tone for the nation. As individuals, we must be ready to accept that we cannot always get everything we want, but in exchange, we may gain more peace.

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