Small Town Therapist on Things That I Learned the Hard Way

 

Learning to drive a car.

My father was supposed to teach me to drive.  For my teaching experience he started with “do as I say not as I do”. This was in fact the truth because he'd learned on a clutch and acquired the habit very ingrained in him that he drove an automatic car with both feet. Not exactly safe. Then he read the paper as I drove. Hmmm. I flunked my first attempt at a license but in my defense, I had just turned 16, it was November in Chicago and I attempted the test in horrible conditions. Despite those rather lame instructions I managed to pass the second time on our automatic car. Lesson learned, don't make things harder for yourself. unless absolutely necessary.

Driving a 'clutch' car from Fox Lake to Glencoe, Il. 

 at a dance

At 18, I was working two jobs, one at our restaurant as a waitress and the other at a ‘Sheltered Workshop-Little City” in Palatine, Il. as a camp counselor.  This establishment housed children put in this home by their parents. It was progressive for its time: a working farm which the ‘kids’ helped run. These were Downs Syndrome kids, kids with birth defects and some who were severely developmentally disabled. I loved them and I loved the job. I say “kids” because I was 18 and most of my patients were in their twenties and thirties. Since I needed a car, my father drove me out to the car dealership he owned with Frank Kelly in Fox Lake, Il. Then they gave me a very old, used Corvair---and it came with a stick shift. Oh, no. The car was a gift and I didn't think I could refuse. I had only one lesson. Frank drove me, then put me in the driver's seat as we 'drove' [I use that word loosely] around the area for about 10 minutes. I was awful at it but encouragingly Frank claimed, “you’ll get used to it, it’s just like dancing”. Fat chance unless you consider a rumble or slipping repeatedly on ice--- dancing. I left the dealership from Fox Lake to home in Glencoe. I rocked, hopped, stalled, rolled and was humiliated as I drove by various construction workers who roared with laughter as I passed by various construction sites. What I thought was 100 miles, it certainly felt like it, was in fact 33 miles to Glencoe. Humiliation added the extra 67 miles. Would it surprise you to learn I needed a new clutch in only one month? 

Here's the thoughts in retrospect: why didn't I stop and ask for help? Here's my excuse, I was terrified. Being a small blond teenager I'd really didn't relish asking a stranger for help. Why didn't I call my Mom or Dad? You probably know the answer that just wasn't an option. They weren't cruel but they were very busy with four kids under the age of 16 and the family restaurant and would never consider rescuing me. But did I even ask for help or encouragement? No, it never occurred to me. Why, you might ask didn't I think it was funny at the time? Humiliation does tend to get in the way of a good belly laugh. Besides it makes a great story in retrospect. Lesson learned--keep calm and salvage your sense of humor.

Drive I did and finally got to the point where it felt natural and even like dancing to use the clutch.  That month later, when I was coming home from Little City the clutch went out in front of a small real estate office. Then I couldn't drive. I did go ask for help. Interestingly the young man in the office who helped me [I think we pushed the car to the side of the road together] drove me home then asked me for a date. Out of obligation I did go out with him once but see, you never know.... 

What did I learn the hard way? To figure out what was safe, stop and ask for help. Now many decades later this is automatic, I never clutch.

susansmagicfeather 2023 Susan R. Grout

Small Town Therapist on Inadequacy

 

People will lie on their backs, talking about the fall of humans, and never make an effort to get up.                           my take on the oft quoted               Henry David Thoreau

Tell us your phobias and we'll tell you what you're afraid of.                        Robert Benchley

As ridiculous as it seems, especially to a smarty pants therapist like me, one of my favorite phobias is: I can never do enough. The feeling that I'm falling short, is my own personal brand of inadequacy. Who's to blame? It's always very popular to cite my Catholic school upbringing. The Catholic church taught me to proclaim, from the time I had my First Holy Communion, "through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault." At age six I never questioned, nor understood that statement and I figured it was probably correct---it was  my fault. I'm still asking 'for what?' is it my fault? Anything and everything it seems. Ouch times one hundred. 

Christmas time always brings that 'fault' to the forefront of my mind. How can I make absolute sure that I've given enough, delighted enough, served enough, been charitable enough? I can't seem to shake the feeling that I could be doing more, better, my best. Ugh. The solution is to take myself firmly by my mind and confront my seeming inadequacies with humor and compassion. Mother Theresa and St. Francis of Assisi I am not, and will probably never will be, but I secretly think I should be.  

Does having a belief that I can never do enough have any benefits? Why, yes it does. I love to make people happy and comfortable and laugh. That's the 'hostess with the mostest' mentality which works great by the way, in the service industry. Remember I'm from a restaurant family and my Dad was just that. Bob Ricketts was the host, the owner---who never forgot a name of a customer, served all elegant and delicious food and as a bonus made them laugh with his incredible ebullient personality and wit. That kind of talent and charm certainly put the thought in my mind that being the charming host was not just a nice aside but an actual necessity. Striving ever striving. I also think most of my siblings have this imprinted in their mentality as well.

So what's the big deal if I do fall short? What if someone is disappointed in Christmas, their birthday, their graduation, etc. etc. Ah here's the rub! I always used to tell my clients to "let go of other people's feelings." [thanks to Laurie for that one] Tragically I'm falling short of my own dictum. Horrors. Guess what I need is a softening on myself, requiring that I do the best I can and let go of how my recipients of my efforts feel about: receiving their presents, meals, good wishes, or loving care. I'll take that thought and add a deep cleansing breath to aid in letting go. Sounds reasonable and simple, huh? Doing with commitment next.

There's a upside to having the expectation of bringing delight to others: it brings delight to me to please others. So honestly this is a somewhat selfish flaw, I do love giving for the joy it gives to me. I'll just have to cool my jets on how others are receiving my joy machine.

susansmagicfeather 2023 Susan R. Grout