Diana's Blog: Quirky Words and Book Reviews

December 15th, 2008
There is a great burst of light in my heart when I feel Thank You! inside.
More like fireworks than sunshine.
More like a blazing sunset than a cool full moon.
More like an explosion of laughter than a sneeze.
And now I know why. There is scientific evidence backing the value of gratitude. Robert A. Emmons' book is simply called THANKS! He adds a subtitle How Practicing Gratitude Can Make You Happier. Happy individuals live on average nine years longer. Happy college students graduate and make on average $25-thousand dollars more annually than unhappy grads. And it turns out that the winning lottery ticket, the lucky business deal, the perfect date or wedding day has only a minor chance at changing our happiness set point. About half is genetic. Only ten-percent is that lucky break. And forty-percent is of our own making.
The author is an empirically-minded scientist. So he ran a test. Three groups. One group wrote a list of five things for which they are grateful every night. The second group wrote a list of five things that vexed them. And a third group wrote a neutral list. Ten weeks later, the gratitude group was measured to be 25-percent happier than the vexed group, and the neutrals fell in between. The gratitude group reported less physical illness and they slept easier. Lastly, they exercised more frequently -- one-and-a-half hours more each week than the others.
I selected the book for today, and then was struck by a coincidence. This would be an anniversary for me of a very happy day. My younger son, Justin, was born December 15th, ten days late, after 28-hours of labor. My older son had been born after 42-hours of labor, then, with a mirror rigged over the hospital bed so I could watch, he was sliced out of my belly. That was cool! I wanted a natural birth the second time around -- VBAC, they call it. Vaginal Birth After C-Section. For the second time, I was doing everything my birth nurse -- from Portland's Birth Home -- could conceive of -- hot baths, walking up steep hills in the brisk winter nights, having sex -- and, in answer to the activity, I dilated a centimeter or two. Not nearly enough. Finally, more than a day later, my patient doctor walked into the room, dressed in his scrubs, with a gurney being wheeled in behind him.
I knew.
Time was up.
And the doctor said to me, "I need to take the baby." I hadn't asked the sex of the baby, but I sensed it was not a girl, although the baby's energy was finer and more sensitive than his brother's.
It was time.
I asked if I could try one more time. The doctor nodded.
I sent my mind inside to that mysterious place where I was connected with the baby -- it was wordless. I sent symbols, pictures of flow. The birth nurse propped my feet on her chest, and she leaned hard into me, and I pushed.
Squish.
The doctor caught my slippery son: Ah! His head was hung up on your pelvic bone! He shifted! He's here. It's a boy!
We named him Justin. He was born Just in time.
This birth day memory goes on my list of five moments of gratitude.
Yes, this is a gift, and I am forever grateful.

Labels: birth, birthday, gratitude, happiness. book review, Robert A.Emmons, sons., THANKS HOW PRACTICING GRATITUDE CAN MAKE YOU HAPPIER, VBAC

October 12, 2008
I was eleven. Built more like a slim young boy with short, wavy brown hair, than a sixth-grade girl with the shoulder-length flowing hair I would have preferred. The next year, I would be cast as Tiny Tim in our school play. So you have the picture.
We were in groups of five, the goal, to be an anchor team. Women didn't have roles like that in those days, so I don't recall aspiring to what I would become. But, I do recall that I was charged with reading a poem -- the close of the "news" program. It was a show-stopper.
This comes to mind, because I opened the OXFORD DICTIONARY OF MODERN QUOTATIONS at random to this very poem.
It was written by Dorothy Parker. I didn't know how to pronounce the title Resume back then, but I fully felt the words I was reading:

Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.

I finished the poem, and looked up. There was dead silence in the classroom. Mr. D cleared his throat, and asked me the title of the poem. I fumbled.
I looked at him expectantly.
I was eleven years old, for heaven's sake, and trapped in a violent home life. At the time, my mother was just attempting the slow suicide -- with the bottle -- only beginning to dabble in razors and pills. I completely identified with Dorothy Parker's poem. You might as well live.
What baffles me then as now, why didn't Mr. D persist until he understood why I chose that poem? Why didn't he rescue that little girl?
Because, for reasons I was too young to know, my life was designed this way. It has been a dramatically amazing path -- surviving, seeing angels, healing, interviewing compassionate teachers along the way, growing my hair to my shoulders and tinting it auburn, thriving, falling in love with a world without limits, gratitude.
You might as well live.

Labels: Dorothy Parker poem Resume, gratitude, healing, poetry, seeing angels., teacher, transcending the trauma