Be Yourself? Which one?

I posted this a while back, but the value of a blog is that you can reissue pieces that might be missed by new readers

Knowing Who You're Not

I often listen to writers and literary types interviewed on NPR. Once in a while, I think, "I should read that book, or I should write that way."  Then, those years of experience in my skin gently pull me back into that skin, and I think, "I have come to terms with the reality that I am not a reader and that I write from who I am".  In writing, people often talk about "finding your voice."  For some people that voice grows out of discovering who one is.  For me that voice has helped me find out who I am -- moreover, who I am not.

In the 60's and 70's the phrase  "Been there, done that" was common.  Part of those times for many of us was to go there and do that, as much as possible. It was the time of the Renaissance man and woman.   

I have baked bread, made candles, developed my own photographs, given my own perms and grown my own food. But now, I know that I will never make a giant quilt; I have given away the fabric I'd been saving for years.  I will not weave a blanket.  I donated the boxes of yarn.  I will not make a twig table from the birch tree trimmings.  I'm giving the wood to a man who makes birdhouses.  And I doubt if I will ever be a reader.  Friends know better than to give me books or even recommend them. 

When I was a youngster, people always used to tell kids, "Just be yourself."  Now, when I do workshops for adolescence I ask them, "Do people still tell kids that?"  They all nod their heads with expressions of annoyance and resignation.  I understand their annoyance.  It took me years to figure out why I hated to hear that advice.  It was because, as a young person, it is the hardest advice to follow.  "Be yourself? "  "What self?  This emerging blob of identity has a different self from hour to hour. 

So when I talk to the students I say.  "It's the hardest advice to follow while you're young.  Ignore it with the same grace that you handle the equally false statement, 'This is the best time of your life' ".  First step, figure out who you are, but don't be in a big rush.  It's a worthy adventure and it takes time.  Perhaps a lifetime."

            After many years I have figured out, to a level of some comfort, who I am.  An additional benefit is that I'm almost equally sure of who I'm not.  I have given up many  goals, with surprisingly little regret. When I do stress management workshops, I talk about the value of having a list of priorities, but the equal value of realizing that to accomplish numbers 1, 2 and 3, you may need to cross 8,9 and 10 off the list.

            Now, when I see a neat little piece of furniture that requires refurbishing, I remember that furniture refinishing is in the "8,9, 10" category.  I try to follow the advice of an antique dealer and friend.  "When I was young I took on all kinds of projects and my basement filled up with unfinished projects.  Now my motto is, "Don't buy work'".  The work I no longer buy, is the work of being someone I am not.  I'm pretty sure I've figured that  one out.   Haven't been there, haven't done that -- and that's just fine.

Facebook Friends

To my Facebook friends (not ones I connect with on Facebook, but ones I connect with in real life who have Facebook pages.) Greetings. I don’t have a Facebook account. I know I will someday, but I currently have so many ways to waste time that I hesitate to take on another. I felt the same way in college, when all the girls at my little women’s school were playing bridge or attached to certain soap operas. I’m naturally so good at wasting time that I didn’t feel the need for another method.

 I’m somewhat hesitant to have a Facebook page, because I don’t know how not to accept every request to be friended. I can barely get away from the mildly crazy people in the super market who want to share their life stories. I’m sure there are ways to handle that issue, but I’m still not ready. A cell phone might come first. Maybe my no Facebook and no phone zone policy are part of an elder rebellion phase.  I saw an old friend recently in the store and she shared that she has quit driving – as part of a spiritual practice. Maybe I should tell people that my lack of a phone and Facebook account are part of a spiritual practice. Maybe not.

My fellow writers say that Facebook is the place to promote your blog and other writing events. But until I give in, I am grateful to my readers who often post my articles on their Facebook pages. Please keep it up. I will join you someday and promise to “friend” you all.

Cheers, Susan


After I wrote this I found the following quote by Albert Camus, "Every act of rebellion expresses a nostalgia for innocence and an appeal to the essence of being."  HMMMM.

DEER RESISTANT -- I AM

I do not trust deer. They were busy last December in my yard when I wrote this article, but we haven't seen them for weeks. I guess they ate everything, moved on and are waiting for the tender shoots of my hydrangeas to sprout again. I'll know they are back when I find those tender shoots nibbled away.

The Revenge of Bambi: Yes, deer are vengeful creatures

Our quiet little street is not far from a wilderness area. The deer used to live there, but it seems that they have come to prefer the menu in our neighborhood. We on the street have a long list of strategies for peaceful coexistence with the deer. Top of the list are “deer resistant “ plants. We have come to understand this to mean something they just haven’t yet developed a taste for and next season they will. This year they are eating ivy and a hedge they’ve never touched before. One other strategy is deer repellant, store bought and home made. The key is to use ones so unpleasant that you don’t even want to go in the yard because the smell is so bad. These eventually wash off, and I think the deer have gotten used to the one I made with hot peppers and clove oil.

The other strategy is a barrier. Some people have fences, others have deer netting and I have a set of garden chairs and a solid hedge. This had been working well to keep the deer out of the backyard. That is until the deer got really ticked off at me.  I believed that’s what happened this week. Two days in a row I found them in the front yard eating the last few apples the squirrels had dropped for them. In each case I turned the sprinkler on them and they bounded off -- only to stand in the middle of the street and look back at me in what could only be interpreted as disdain.

So this morning when I went to put things in my compost bin I checked and my barrier of garden chairs and hedge was still in place.  That barrier protected the roses I had just propagated and the hydrangeas that were fading and falling asleep for the winter.

Then as I went back into the house I saw that the little rose bloom I had been waiting for was gone. And as I looked around I saw many other plants had been given crew cuts. I’m convinced that the deer were determined to get past my barrier to get back at me for turning the sprinkler on them and denying them the apples.

I have other reasons to believe that deer are vengeful. I have been their target before. Last year they took their revenge by coming up on my porch, eating my tomato plants and leaving a pile of droppings. I’m certain they wanted me to know it was them and not the squirrels. I don’t recall the transgression that warranted that retaliation.

Today in my own act of vengeance I sprayed everything with the smelliest concoction I could find and I added reinforcements to my barrier. Tomorrow I will be on the lookout and hope they don’t recognize my car, because the deer in our neighborhood contain a criminal element.  Last week my neighbor was stopped at the corner and the buck came up and rammed his car. There are now punctures in the door of his Toyota. What’s worse, my neighbor couldn’t drive off. He had to stop and help a lady who had been so startled by the attack she fell into the hedge!

I guess I should be happy that I only lost the tender tops of a few plants, but the battle is not over -- for them or for me. 

Parental concerns, then and now

I wrote this several years ago when my children were teenagers. Talking to the parents of teenagers these days things have not changed a lot.  One hundred years ago, ten years ago and now -- there are shared comforts. 

After fighting in the Civil War, my grandfather married the daughter of Swiss immigrants and took off to homestead.  One hundred years ago, my grandmother was raising eight children as a homesteader in Dakota Territory.  The family would eventually move from their sod hut on the prairie into a nice house in town.  But for many years, their life as homesteaders was often dangerous and difficult.

         During my twenties when I was filled with angst, I would try to snap myself out of it and regain perspective by reflecting upon my grandmother and what I thought might have been her concerns.  I imagined that she only worried about real things, life sustaining, survival issues.  She was not worried about which college to apply to, which man to marry, which issue to struggle for.  She was probably just happy when her children were snug and safe in their beds at night.

         Now, these many years  later, I am the mother of two teenagers.  They are good children, but they are in this world.  They are exposed to risks and values that scare me.  When they are out in the evening, my ears hear every siren (I don't notice them on nights when they are in).  When they meet a new friend, I pray that this person is someone with good sense and good values.  When they listen to music that makes me shudder, I hope that their core of goodness will not be affected.  When they're off on their bikes, I hope they are not in the path of a crazy driver.  When they are out in the cars of other teens, I pray that the driver doesn't need to impress or show off for anyone.

         One hundred years have passed, but some things have not changed.  I am now, just as I have imagined my grandmother to be. I am happy when my children are snug and safe in their beds at night.

life is short -- childhood is shorter

Childhood: the abridged version

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By Susan DeMersseman / January 21, 2004

BERKELEY, CALIF.

I love magazines, but before I read them I usually pull out dozens of postcards. Recently I was surprised to see how many offer tapes and information on medications that address Attention Deficit Disorder (ADD) in children.

As a school psychologist often involved in the determination of who might have ADD, I have mixed feelings about this direct marketing to parents. I like to see parents well informed about all aspects of dealing with their children, but I worry that the ads might present a cure where in many cases no illness exists.

I have seen medication, properly used, improve the lives of some children. On the other hand, I have seen a drastic change in what people consider "normal." This trend to medicate children may be more a symptom of a societal ill than an indication of a childhood condition.

In my 25 years as a psychologist, I've seen the expectations for children rise unreasonably. I've seen the normal variations in temperament viewed as pathology. I have seen busy, energetic kids become a major nuisance to teachers who themselves are expected to do too much. And I've seen parents consider themselves failures because they haven't enrolled their children in SAT preparation classes by ninth grade.

My profession is to protect children; my passion is to protect childhood. I think so many young people in their early 20s have trouble transitioning to adulthood because they never fully experienced childhood. There has been no carefree place to run and play and get messy and make mistakes without dire consequences. So as they approach adulthood, they look back longingly at something they wish they'd had.

Ironically children are often given the "perks" of adulthood so the value of "when you're a grown-up" has diminished. I believe our society would be a healthier place if childhood were a marketing-free zone, where 7-year-olds weren't even aware of the brands of their clothing. I wish no child were used as the perfectly trained, dressed, and coifed accessory of his or her parent. But our children are consumers in training. To protect them we must be examples of knowing what is truly important, of making thoughtful use of our resources, whether large or small. We must help them become aware of and care about the needs of others.

Another major source of anxiety about our children's behavior is other parents. In this hypercompetitive society, parents can be so critical of each other's children - and so delighted when they see them err. In workshops, I remind parents that we all get our turn. We should be careful not to be too smug, for our little darling may someday surprise us with bad behavior, and then we will be grateful for the kind understanding of other parents.

There must be room in childhood - and adulthood - for variations in temperament and nature. For some kids in the classroom, it takes all the strength and courage they have to stand up and speak. For others, it takes all the strength they have to sit down and shut up. Yet we judge both with the same yardstick.

Children can be impulsive, naughty, and clueless. It takes endless perseverance and patience to keep them on track. We do them great harm, however, when we ascribe evil intent - and sometimes pathology - to this behavior. We're the mirrors they use to judge themselves by. If we reflect back an image of someone who is a work in progress and trying to do better, they will follow our lead.

It is heartbreaking to see the harsh judgments made of little children. I would like to see "zero tolerance" for adult stupidity in dealing with youngsters. It is quite possible to motivate and discipline in a kind way. These are the people who may someday be pushing our wheelchairs around. I'm more concerned with them being kindhearted than being No. 1 in their class.

This drug business is just a symptom, but the illness is in our hands to treat - in the way we treat children.

• Susan DeMersseman is a psychologist and parent educator.