Debbie Russell's Blog, page 6

What’s it Worth?

As September comes to an end, so will my free blog posts. I’ll still offer my monthly newsletter to free subscribers, but all other content will be exclusive to my paid subscribers.

I’ve thought a lot about this, and the writers’ strike convinced me that what I do has value. I’ve so appreciated all the messages I’ve received about how a certain piece I’ve written has affected you in some way. Many of the reviews of my book involve readers talking about their own families. I like to think my writing is relatable.

Ever since I started my blog in 2014, I created a source of connection between me and the rest of the world, by sharing my perspective as well as more vulnerable moments.

Cameron Crowe once said “the personal is universal.”

I want to continue to encourage conversations and connection through my weekly posts. I’m open to ideas about what you want to read/talk about. As I start writing my next book, I will have lots of thoughts and opinions about the current state of our criminal justice system!

And so…without further ado…here are five of my favorite posts. Also, a reminder that as a paid subscriber, you’ll always have access to the archives.

As always, I’m grateful for all of you who have supported me on this writing journey and look forward to continued conversations in this next chapter!

To Have and To Hold...

When I was in law school in the early ‘90s, Peruvian sweaters were all the rage. I remember feeling powerless as I passed by the vendors on my way to class. I finally forked over whatever price it was to get one of my own.

Turns out, it was hot and itchy, not to mention quite ill-fitting.

That summer before I started law school, I traveled through Europe and, while in England, bought myself an Oxford University sweatshirt. Until now, I’ve been unable to get rid of those two articles of clothing, despite having ample opportunities to do so. And I really couldn’t tell you the last time I wore either of them.

There’s that rule of thumb: if you haven’t worn it in a year, get it out of your closet.

Easier said than done, amirite?

What is it with our sentimental attachment to clothing? Or things in general? Journalists are having a field day churning out articles about our obsession with “stuff.” Except, that obsession seems to be present only with members of GenX and older. The youngsters don’t want stuff—ours or anyone else’s.

As a single person who’s now closer to death than birth, I’m acutely aware of the need to get my affairs in order, which means not burdening loved ones with all of my stuff.

Recently, I had a conversation with an older relative about some articles of clothing she was still holding onto for purely sentimental reasons. Pieces of clothing spark memories. Marie Kondo, who invites us to ask whether the thing brings us joy, likely hasn’t considered the power of a memory sparked by that particular thing. In my case, the Oxford sweatshirt takes me back a special free and easy time in my life. I’d yet to experience the stress of law school and all the things that would come on its heels. The Peruvian sweater—well—it just reminds me of law school.

But I digress…

I think there’s also the notion that I just might need/wear/use this sometime, despite the fact that I haven’t needed/worn/used either in probably twenty years. The Peruvian sweater is still hot and itchy. The Oxford sweatshirt is worn out and makes me look like a slob. These should be easy choices.

With non-clothing items, however, it gets a bit murkier. Last week, the I might need/use this sometime theory actually bore out.

Let me explain.

A few years prior to the aforementioned clothing purchases, I’d bought a picnic set. At the time, the justification for the purchase was seeped in romance. I had a boyfriend, we’d go on picnics together and it would be delightful.

Except, I moved away for law school and the boyfriend and I ultimately broke up without ever enjoying a picnic. Several subsequent boyfriends would enter and exit my life, but the picnic set stayed tucked away. Every time I moved, it reminded me that I’d failed to picnic. I couldn’t get rid of it though, because of the possibility that someday I might picnic.

Fast forward three decades. I recently bought a travel trailer so the dogs and I can explore the country without having to stay in hotels. One of my camping mentors advised that I would need plates, cups, utensils, etc. I responded that I could just pack a few from the house. But then it occurred to me that I might already have something that would be perfect.

The picnic set would finally be put to good use! Then I perused the cupboard where I’d stored a bunch of mismatched towels that no longer served their original purposes and retrieved several that would be quite serviceable. I then located a breadboard that Dad had gotten as a holiday gift from his last place of employment. Finally, a trip to the garage rewarded me with a dish drying rack I’d been meaning to take to Goodwill.

All those things I hung on to because I might need or use them in the future are now playing reimagined roles in a life that’s quite different from the one in which they first appeared.

That said, I’m still in a purging mood, and the cooler weather is a good time to continue to winnow the contents of my closets. After all, someone else might really get good use out of a toasty Peruvian sweater.

If Not Now, When?

Hello!

Welcome to the new version of my monthly newsletter! Let me know what you think of the new format. For those of you who have received monthly newsletters from me in the past, you will continue to receive these for free. Make sure you add debbierussell@substack.com to your contacts!

For the newcomers, I’m a writer who used to be a lawyer. I’m also a country mouse who used to be a city mouse. I’ve been on my ten-acre plot in central Minnesota for five years now and enjoy sharing my adventures (good and not-so-good) along with stories from my best boys Watson and Fuji! There’s so much to be learned from nature and dogs…

For those who have subscribed to my more frequent blog posts, I’ve decided to convert my blog to a paid subscription at the end of this month. I’ve got a lot of content that I’m excited to share and I want to encourage conversations around what I write, because we’re all in this business of being human together! Check out the archives and if you like what you see, I’d be honored if you signed up.

Upgrade to paid

Since getting back from San Diego, I’ve been crazy busy, as this is the time of year the tomato plants are finally ready for harvest and I’m figuring out new ways to preserve them for winter eating. My Minnesota Midget melons did not disappoint, and they were much sweeter than last year’s crop. I have no idea why…🤷🏻‍♀️

I also finished this year’s portion of the front yard re-do. I wanted to get my foundation plants in this fall so they had a jump start on getting situated and growing. I’m still in a bit of shock with how lovely it all is and how quickly it came together. Sometimes you just have to hang on for the ride!

Speaking of hanging on for the ride…the other big news is that I’ve acquired a small travel trailer and a new-to-me vehicle with which to pull it. After this year’s focus on the book and all the work around getting it out to the world, I found myself way out of balance. To remedy that, I’ve taken steps to spend next year engaged in my favorite kind of travel: road tripping with my boys. 2024 is going to be all about exploration!

As a single female of advanced years, I’m fighting stereotypes in my head about what I’m should or should not be capable of doing. Even though I was waaaay out of my comfort zone, I felt pushed to take a leap of faith in myself and my abilities. I’m also lucky to have some good friends who are generous with their knowledge. I can’t wait to write about some of these experiences on my blog…stay tuned!

Having recently crossed fifty-eight, I’m more determined than ever to do what’s in my control to create a life for myself that has purpose and joy. I’m exploring more opportunities to share the messages from Crossing Fifty-One, whether through in- person or virtual events. If you know a group who would be interested in themes of genealogy, midlife, addiction, grief, or family dysfunction, send me a note by replying to this email!

Finally, I just learned that Amazon weighs ratings and reviews equally! So if writing a review feels intimidating, just head over and leave a rating! I’m still working on getting those 50 reviews/ratings so that Amazon will bump me up in their algorithm.

Thanks for all your support!

Until next month,

Debbie

Upcoming Events:

Twin Cities friends: if you haven’t yet picked up your copy of Crossing Fifty-One, you can head over to the Barnes and Noble in Maple Grove on Saturday, September 23rd!

I’ll be there and will sign your copy!

In October, I’m thrilled to be in conversation at Next Chapter Books in St. Paul, with law school classmate, fellow author and friend Michael Kleber-Diggs, where we will chat about midlife, memoir, and what it’s like to transition from lawyer to writer!

September Book Recommendations:

Fiction:

I was reminded of this book after learning that Sam Claflin, recently of Daisy Jones and the Six (I’m obsessed) starred in the film version. It’s a controversial story, but for me, the power of getting to choose your own path is something to be celebrated.

Nonfiction:

I had to ask my Twitter (X) followers for a recommendation, as I just couldn’t come up with anything in time for my deadline! Thank you @A_D_McLelland for this one.

Childhood trauma is no joke and can present itself in any number of ways. This book is by Dr. Bruce Perry, who co-wrote What Happened to You. Because I loved that book, I’m going out on a limb and recommending this one. I plan to check it out!

Thank you for reading Debbie’s Stories. This post is public so feel free to share it with anyone who might enjoy monthly updates from Russell’s Rustic Retreat!

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The Drummer Got it Right

Starting at the end of September, these posts will only be available to paid subscribers.

I hope you’ll consider a subscription for $5/month or $50/year.

Upgrade to Paid

Let me begin by acknowledging that once again, I’m late to the game.

This time, it’s about Daisy Jones and the Six. Because I’ve refused to pay for a Prime subscription, I missed out on all the hoopla surrounding its release this past spring. When Amazon made it really difficult to avoid getting a free month of Prime, I caved and didn’t uncheck the box that said I really wanted it. Then I lost track of when it would renew, so now am stuck paying for one more month. Did you know you actually have to check a box to get a reminder that your free trial is expiring? I think a lawsuit might be pending.

But I digress…

Anyway, I finished the rest of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel that I’d started while at a friend’s and just last week binged Daisy Jones and the Six. I’d never even heard of the book, and only knew about the comparisons to Fleetwood Mac. Honestly, I wasn’t sure I’d be that interested in it.

Oh my goodness.

SPOILER ALERTS COMING…

I watched the final episode twice. I needed to absorb how the pinnacle of success could—at the same time—be the destruction of the very thing that created that success.

I’ve read a couple of less than glowing reviews about the series and have to disagree with those critics who felt that the supporting band members were not given enough screen time or character development. If you were paying attention, you saw exactly how each of them viewed themselves, their positions in the band, as well as their individual ideas of success.

With much of the focus on the love triangle between Daisy, Billy and Camilla, it could be easy to not pay as much attention to keyboardist Karen, guitarist Graham, bassist Eddie and drummer Warren. But for some reason, I was drawn to Warren’s story. He was so happy-go-lucky right from the jump. He enjoyed being in the band, he enjoyed the drugs, and he also enjoyed working for a boat company when Billy’s addiction caused the inaugural tour to be cancelled. He was happy to spend his royalty money on a fur vest.

Warren could be happy doing whatever, wherever.

That’s a gift. And one just as valuable as the raw talent that Billy and Daisy possessed.

One of my favorite scenes came after the band played SNL and Warren made a play for the movie star who hosted that episode. When she responded in kind, his reaction (are you serious?) was simply adorable. He’d put himself out there, and it paid off—much to his surprise.

You guys, Warren married a movie star!

Perhaps Warren was just less complicated than his bandmates? I found myself wondering about his upbringing. What caused his world view to be so even-keeled? At the end, as it’s all falling apart, Eddie the bassist informs Warren that he’s quitting because he’s been slighted by Billy and he’s tired of playing second fiddle.

Warren replies: “so what if you’re not the guy! You’re in the biggest band in the world right now. You get to fly around on jet planes and sleep on $100 bills and we get to play songs that millions of people listen to and they love them! What, that’s not enough for you?”

Eddie responds: “maybe I’m looking for a little more out of life than you are.”

I’m not sure Eddie ever found what he was looking for.

But I know Warren did.

How about you? Have you found what you’re looking for?

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Honoring My Inner Goldilocks

Once upon a time, I competed in the dog sport of flyball. For the uninitiated, flyball is a race between two four-dog teams. Here’s a video. In this particular race, the first two dogs on the team were mine, and the second two dogs belonged to a friend of mine. At that time, the team we’d been members of had disintegrated to the point where it was just three of us. Within a couple of weeks, I’d be picked up by another team and my friend would take her remaining dogs to the team she’d already joined.

Those years were a lot of fun, but also quite stressful. I never found the “perfect” team among the five or so teams I ran with. There’d be perfect moments, but they were often offset by some that were quite upsetting. Personalities among the human members often clashed. I have a strong personality, so I take full responsibility for my contributions to those upsetting times. After about 10 years, I’d achieved the one big goal I’d been striving for and promptly quit.

I’ve never looked back. I think I’ve dropped in on one tournament and was stunned that I lasted as long as I did amidst the noise and chaos.

It’s amazing our capacity to adapt when we need to. In looking back at my old lawyer job, I can detect similarities in the experiences. One exception? I had no ability to change teams or adjust my working conditions beyond shutting my office door.

At least I had an office.

Nowadays, I revel in the freedom to mostly choose how I spend my time and with whom. A year ago I wrote a post entitled "In Defense of Giving Up." At that time, I’d come off a summer of experimentation, with some epic fails. But with the passage of time, I’ve come to understand that I’ve probably overused the concept of failure.

Sometimes, the porridge is just too hot. Or the bed is too soft.

I recently gave an interview for a monthly magazine in San Diego and as we were wrapping up, the reporter asked me if I had any advice to give.

Yikes. Did not see that one coming. After all, who am I to give advice about anything to anyone? That said, I’d like to think I’m above average in thinking on my feet, and I managed to rattle off something the writer found worthy of incorporating in the article as a standalone quote:

When I think about my purpose as a writer, I think about inspiring others to act courageously; to examine their own lives and question whether improvements can be made; to be vulnerable; to balance self care with care for others. While each can be a lofty aspiration, I’m living proof that even the tiniest of adjustments can reap huge rewards.

A comfy bed helps promote a good night’s sleep. Goldilocks was on to something.

For more information on my book, click HERE.

Is This All There Is?

So I’ve been feeling a bit like Veruca Salt lately…remember her? That spoiled rich girl in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory whose memorable tirade “I WANT IT NOW, DADDY!” landed her down the chute with all the other bad eggs?

Ugh. How gauche. Note to self: don’t get greedy.

I recently chatted with fellow Substacker Jody J. Sperling for an episode of his podcast. Jody is one of those generous souls who’s looked out for me as I tentatively navigate the murky world of publishing. (Thanks to his encouragement, you’re reading this on Substack.) One of the many topics we covered was how we define success. It’s something I contemplate almost every day and…with close to the same frequency… wish I didn’t.

According to many, just writing a book is success in and of itself. And because it’s been almost three years from the time I started writing it, I’ve clearly forgotten just how much it took out of me. I’ve yet to get a bad review. Sales have been good and, while I don’t have July numbers, people in the know tell me I’ve done better than good.

I had an amazing launch party with almost 100 guests. I’ve had wonderful opportunities to talk about the book and each time, I get a little better at answering questions in a succinct fashion. You can listen to my interviews HERE if you’re interested.

Just last week I signed a couple copies for a local indie bookstore.

Tomorrow I leave for San Diego where I have TWO events scheduled. There’s to be a big spread in the Sunday paper and I’ve already been written up in one of the smaller ones.

I really need to bask in this, right? After all, it’s only been six weeks since the book came out.

Just writing this makes me ashamed that I mostly feel exhausted. Exhausted from chasing after attention. Exhausted from doing things I’d love to delegate to someone else. Exhausted from checking my Amazon reviews multiple times a day waiting for that number to creep up. Exhausted from refreshing my sales numbers on my publisher’s portal.

When you’re chasing, you’re engaging in a typical glass-half-empty, rather than glass-half-full approach. It’s one I typically don’t follow or recommend. I’m exhausted from chasing an idea of success that I’ve failed to clearly define. That’s what being an overachiever looks like…always chasing. I fixate on the notion that this just may well be all there is.

And what if it is? While focusing on things that have not gone my way, I’m failing to recognize just how wonderful everything actually is.

I’ve been a huge fan of Ryan Holiday since I bought his book The Daily Stoic and started incorporating it into my way of thinking about things. This morning, his newsletter popped in my inbox with this passage:

Having an end in mind is no guarantee that you’ll reach it—no Stoic would pretend otherwise—but not having an end in mind is a guarantee you won’t. Having conflicting goals, vague hopes, half-baked schemes? This is to set yourself up for failure, for overreach, for getting lost.

Maybe a reason why I feel lost right now is that I’ve attained every book-related goal I dared to set—minus the NYT Bestseller list and getting into Oprah’s Book Club. Those two things notwithstanding, almost every day, some good experience comes out of talking about the book or getting messages from readers about how it’s affected them. After all, one of the reasons we create art of any kind is to connect with our fellow humans. I wrote a book that did that, and for that I’m really proud. This is more than a glass-half-full, this is a glass overflowing.

These days, I’m working to reconcile all the chasing with living in the moment and enjoying the ride. So I’ve decided that when I catch myself questioning if this is all there is, I will answer myself this way:

This is all there is…for now.

If you’re one of those who looks forward to my posts, do you know someone else who would? Click to share!

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The Happiest Place on Earth

I recently finished a 600 page biography of Walt Disney. Admittedly, I skimmed parts that went deep into the weeds about the financing of all of his achievements, but I can sum them up for you: without Roy managing the money, I seriously doubt Walt could have achieved a quarter of what he accomplished.

But I digress…

Disney’s life seemed to have three distinct parts: before the war, after the war, and after that. Before the war, he was all about his art and that was his happy place. As he grew more successful, he became a micromanager and had to have things “just so” or else. The war created a challenging environment for him, but with Roy’s help, he continued to ek out a living with government contracts and other assorted projects. As his company grew, so did the dissatisfaction among those who worked for him, resulting in animators going on strike in 1941.

Disney needed control. He lost some of that control after the strike. That said, his studio was making tons of money and growing to the point where he was forced to delegate. In his fifties and after the war, Disney built his family a bigger house and added a real life train that circled his property. I’ve written a lot about midlife and what it does to people. I believe Walt Disney grew bored in midlife. He was no longer consumed by the joy of creating magical animation and there was just too much of it being created by others for him to keep up.

After building his personal life sized train set, Disney began imagining something else and started creating miniature worlds. His ideas for Disneyland developed from his overwhelming desire for a real life world completely within his control; a world that reflected his conservative, nostalgic, and middle class values. A world that was clean and perfect.

During the first few years after Disneyland opened, Disney spent much, if not most of his time there. He’d created his own happy place and was making money by sharing it with others. Jackpot!

We all have the capacity to create our own happy places, even if we don’t have the wealth of a Walt Disney. In fact, if one believes in such things, it is said that we create our own heaven and hell right here on earth.

Most of the time, creating a happy place only takes imagination. Gardens have provided me with a happy place for over twenty-five years. I think I inherited the gardening bug from my grandmother and great-grandmother. There is something truly magical about choosing, planting, and nurturing natural things of beauty, which, as a bonus, are themselves nurturers of the environment.

But let’s not be in denial: gardening can also be incredibly frustrating. There’ve been years where insects and weather pretty much wiped out any signs of progress. This summer has been challenging, but much of the prior hard work has paid off.

In a world that sometimes seems so uncertain, having a personal happy place is more important than ever.

What’s yours?

My Adventures with Frog and Toad

I have a pretty intense startle response. Those who worked with me during the mouse infestation of our office in 2007 can tell you all about it.

But I digress…

Earlier this week, as I began the task of disassembling my backyard fountain for its periodic cleaning, I did not expect Frog to be sitting right where the panel to the pump was located. Predictably, I shrieked. Well…not really shrieked…more liked squeaked.

Frog didn't move.

Once I recovered, I set about to gently relocate Frog to a place less in the way.

It went way easier, because Frog stayed completely still for the entire move. Dead? No. Sleeping? Unlikely.

More like freeze mode.

I’ve seen it in bunnies. Recalling with some shame the summer I bought a pink BB gun with the idea of scaring them away from my precious flowers, the result was quite the opposite. My intended target would simply hunker down as the BBs whizzed by—missing by a little or a lot—depending on the accuracy of my aim.

How humiliating. I gave up that mission and sold the gun to a friend for her granddaughter.

I did learn, however, that freeze mode can be highly effective. Wait it out, and the danger will pass.

And pass I did, as I removed the fountain to another spot to clean it out. While doing so, I was startled once again—this time by Toad hightailing it out of my way. I barely had time to snap a rear-end photo before Toad had disappeared entirely.

A perfect example of flight mode.

I spend a fair amount of time trying to capture my wildlife neighbors in photographs. Depending on the subject, it’s either a delightful or frustrating pursuit. More times than not, it requires patience—something I will spend the rest of my life trying to cultivate in sufficient quantity.

I’ve also learned that because I’m not one who lives in flight or freeze mode, I can be really challenged when encountering someone who is. Communication has the potential to be really difficult for me—especially if I’ve brought a BB gun along. If I’m too direct, Frog will freeze and Toad will flee.

So all I can do (aside from eschewing the use of a BB gun) is continue to harvest my reserves of patience, in hopes that ultimately the photo will turn out. And if it doesn’t, I must leave them to the safety of their own worlds, knowing that it’s ultimately for the best.

Dear Therapist: Is Your Oxygen Mask Secure?

I didn’t expect to see your face staring out at me alongside your brief obituary. Whoever chose that photo failed to select one that did justice to your extraordinary beauty—or at least the beauty I remember when I first stepped into your office over six years ago.

On second thought…perhaps the photo choice was intentional.

Your expression is haunting. You stare into the distance with an intensity that unsettles me.

The scarcity of information in the announcement forces me to my own conclusion. These days, obituaries for people under 50, with no cause of death listed are becoming more and more common. In your case, there was no “after a brave battle with cancer….” or “died tragically in a car accident…”

You were forty years old, and you died at home.

What am I to make of that?

I do not dwell easily in the unknown. Internet research is absurdly simple and, in your case, terribly revealing. Typing your name in the search engine provides me with more information than I want to think I’m entitled. After your obituary, the second listing provides a second shock. 

You and your husband filed for bankruptcy—coincidently at the same time I’d decided to reduce our sessions to once a month. I was feeling like they were a waste of time—mine and yours. I’d come in, ramble on for an hour, you’d smile empathetically and thank me for sharing. I’d then leave, feeling no better than when I came in.

Back then, I was in the throes of anticipatory grief and an increasingly volatile relationship with my mother. I felt the weight of family upon my shoulders. I felt abandoned and alone. I tried therapy because I’d run out of ideas on how to manage the incessant weeping that interfered with my personal and professional lives.

I’ve written about my therapeutic experience with you and described it as a hamster wheel of rehashing the same thing, time after time. I never needed someone to listen, I needed someone to help me. After nine months of what your profession calls “rapport building,” I came in one day with my own theory of what was wrong with me. My emotional pain was manifesting itself as debilitating back pain. I was looking at a prescription for narcotics, along with a consult for surgery.

“At last, you’re ready!” I remember you exclaiming.

Ready for what?

I thought I’d been more than ready the first day I stepped into your office, blubbering uncontrollably. What did “ready” look like, from your point of view?

I remember feeling anger and frustration at what I felt had been a complete lack of effort on your part. But—as my mother trained me—I suppressed those feelings and tried my best to execute the assignments you gave me: journal, meditate, and review the chart of things to do to have a happy day.

After only a few weeks of dutifully completing my homework, I arrived at a session to find you impaired.

I realize this is a loaded accusation. That said, I will never forget my insides twisting into a knot as I watched you fumble with worksheets and slur your words.

What should I do?

I’ve been gifted or cursed—depending on how you look at it—with extraordinary courage. I speak up when things feel wrong, even in the face of vitriolic behavior. It’s like I can’t help myself.

When I told you I thought you were impaired, you then violated a boundary by telling me about the horrible day you’d had with several married couples. I tolerated a few more minutes of this before announcing that I was leaving.

Tears formed in your eyes as you responded:

“I’m just so sad…”

When I asked you about what, you replied, “about you and your dad.”

“Well, today I guess you’re sadder about that than I am.”

Barely containing my anger, I gathered my things, left your office and expressed my dismay to someone who had no business telling me what he told me about your personal situation and the fact that you’d recently had the dosage of your medication increased, etc. etc. I drove home wondering about other clients, worse off than me, who relied on you far more than I did. And yet, your falling apart in front of me only strengthened my belief that I could rely on no one but myself.

I filed a complaint.

A year later, I was informed that my complaint had been dismissed, leading me to feel like I’d not been believed, which did nothing to help my own mental health.

But I digress…

The third internet entry is your LinkedIn profile. It’s still active, as though you are not dead. I study it closely. It reveals that the clinic terminated you in the same month that I filed my complaint. It shows a gap in your work history until the very month that I was informed that my complaint had been dismissed. It lists several other jobs after that, the most recent one at an addiction clinic.

You were practicing at an addiction clinic when you died, at age 40, at home.

The last internet entry is a YouTube link to your funeral service.

I have to watch. I have to know what happened.

I learn from the service that a mere two weeks prior, you and your husband attended a church event. I learned that the two of you joined this church during Covid. I fast forward the video to the point where your husband delivers his eulogy.

“[_______] and I met as troubled teens.”

I’m pretty sure I know how you died.

Because I’m still not completely fixed, I default to feeling guilty about your death. Had I not filed the complaint, you would not have lost that job and the chain of events leading to your death would simply not have occurred. However, I’ve done enough work on my own to understand I’m not the source, nor am I the solution to others’ problems. Someday, I hope it’s my default response to something like this.

I follow a lot of therapists online – some with millions of followers, to whom they dispense words of wisdom for free. While I appreciate that, I’ve also come to realize that many therapists themselves come from backgrounds of pain, disfunction and addiction. I’m lucky, addiction has never been among my issues, although my paternal grandfather battled with drug addiction.

I tend to put professionals on a pedestal. I know I did that with you. I believed you would help me to solve all my problems and put me on the path to a healthy, happy life. You shattered that belief when you showed up impaired to my session. It’s been over five years, and my initial rage has evolved into a sense of compassion.

We’re all imperfect.

It’s just that mental health is so fragile. I saw red flags along the way, but I didn’t want to believe them. I wanted you to be better than what you were actually capable of being during that time. Was that fair to you? Should I even care?

I’ve written this open letter in hopes that those in the profession of helping the rest of us manage our mental health struggles can make it part of their practice to engage in an honest inventory of their own mental health and step back when they need to regroup.

It’s the right thing to do—for the profession and for those of us who rely on it.

Small But Mighty

Today, I’d like to introduce you to Herb Hummingbird. Herb is, specifically, a ruby-throated hummingbird, and, IMHO, one of the most magical of the migratory birds.

He’s teeny, tiny, y’all.

I’m in my fifth year hosting hummingbirds and, like clockwork, they arrive at the RRR during the first week of May. I’d had the foresight and optimism to put out a feeder in that first spring, but quickly learned how fiercely these little guys (and sometimes gals) would fight over it. So I put up a second one. Not sure it mattered, as the divebombing continued through the summer.

This most recent spring, I was gone for a week, but filled the feeders right before I left and cajoled my neighbor into stopping by and checking them. After all, these little ones have traveled a very long way and I try to run a hospitable summer establishment.

But I digress…

Upon my return, I noticed something different from previous years. Herb had ensconced himself at the tippy top of the brush pile. Not momentarily, as in years past, but pretty much from sunup to sundown. How might I know this? Well…since I now work from home, I spend lots of quality time on the screened porch gazing at that brush pile as the birds fly in and out on their way to and from the feeders.

I could spend hours this way—and maybe I do—but I’m not quite ready to admit it.

I can’t help but marvel at Herb’s bravado. Perhaps he’s ignorant of the fact that Henry Hawk is an occasional visitor although, to be fair, I’ve only ever seen Henry in winter.

But still….

I often long to think like a bird, which means focusing only on those things necessary to survival. I mean, it’d be so much simpler, no? Instead, I engage in what seems like an endless treading of the water of overthinking—as if the consequences of the wrong decision or unpleasant occurrence are as dire as being eaten by a hawk.

They’re really not.

And those things I ruminate about that are well outside of my control? Herb has no time for any of it.

This past week, my book launched. And simultaneously, some not great things happened that were outside of my control. Amongst all the congratulatory messages and the sentiments of “you must be so excited!” I felt small and insignificant. Why, you ask? After all, I wrote a book! That’s a big deal all by itself.

Just like Herb’s trip from Central America is a really big deal.

Instead of celebrating the lovely product that I’d created and brought into the world, I shifted the goal posts. I wanted to make a giant splash in a pond where big fish flourish and little fish just hope to live to see another day.

Are you sick of the nature metaphors yet?

I love them because nature teaches me better lessons than most anything else. There’s a simplicity to it all: if today is rough, even if it’s all in my own head, I just have to survive to the next day.

So that’s what I did.

Then the first ripple in the pond came into view.

I cannot adequately express the joy I felt seeing that post.

And—just like that—I became Herb on top of the brush pile.

* * * * * *

I’m being told I’m now in full-court press for promotion, so if you’re a newer subscriber and haven’t seen the bazillion other things I’ve posted about my book, head on over to my website and check it out. It’s a pretty good book, or so I’m told.

If you like my musings on here and know someone else who’d enjoy reading them, please share this blog. It’s time to create some more ripples!

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