empathy

My friend and I were talking yesterday, reminiscing about the state of the world, immediately following 9/11.
Everyone was shell shocked, which disarmed their defenses.
People were kind. They went out of their way to help, they got involved.

Even the French. If you can believe it.

I can say that. I’m married to a Frenchman.
Actually he’s half French, half American.
He has the arrogance and love of food of a Francophile, the other half, Yankee Ingenuity and some Huckleberry Finn “Aww shucks.”

We were given ninety days to use our honeymoon tickets, whose dates fell inside those post September 11th “no air travel” dates.
Wasn’t that nice of them?
It was Air France, so yes, it was EXTREMELY nice of them.

Just under a month later we jetted off to Paris to visit his family.
Italy would have to wait.

“Air travel is safer than it’s ever been” he kept reassuring me, “they’re not going to use planes again, not with everyone watching.”

I suppose he was right, but there weren’t enough drugs in the world to get me through the airport, with the new security and National Guard presence, and then allow me to spend eleven hours in high altitude anxiety, without a puke or five.

Once we landed, I noticed it right away. The energy was palpably different.

There wasn’t any fear in Europe. No recent trauma.
No low grade anxiety that we, in the US, had been marinating in for a month.

I felt lighter immediately.
I felt I could smile and laugh again – except it was Paris and that’s forbidden.

Then an anomaly occurred.
Once a person heard me speak English, they would ask: American? I’d nod, and they would touch my shoulder or take my hand, “So sorry” they would attempt in their best American accent.

Are you kidding me?

In bistros, they would meet my eyes when they heard me speak, and give me a very soulful, extremely sympathetic, little grin. A sort of Mona Lisa smile of compassion. With a tilt of the head.

That’s a HUGE outpouring of emotion for them. I was very, very touched.

The take away for me on that trip and in the weeks and months that followed the tragedy of 911 was this: the world can feel like such a small place. Like a little community, where we all feel each other’s pain.
It was the first time in my life I’d ever noticed that.

The country that holds most Americans in low regard, (I know, BROAD generalization, but…) touched my heart and shared my grief.

Instead of cringing when they heard me speak, which I’ve experienced more times than I can count, my American-ness drew them to me like a magnet, so they could extend their sympathies.

We were all just citizens of the world…for awhile.
I miss that.

Sending Saturday Love,
Xox

There’s a lot of media lately around the subject of loneliness, and it got me to thinking: When in my life have I felt real loneliness?
Not to be confused with spending Saturday night without a date.
That is an appointment with Ben and Jerry’s and “The Way We Were.”

Loneliness is so much bigger, darker and deeper than that.

By definition loneliness is a feeling of isolation, of feeling alone and separate.

I’ll talk about my friend’s loneliness first…because I felt such empathy for her, I can still feel it today. 
I’ve known TT since high school. We became fast friends the first day of ninth grade, when I told her I thought she was beautiful. I know, great opening line, Right?
But she is and I really meant it.

In the late 80’s, she married Andy ( I love him too, truly; I used him as my husband template for years, but that’s another story). 

They moved to Santa Barbara to do their post grad studies, and since I live in LA, I drove up every other weekend. We nicknamed it a JJ (Janet jaunt). 

They lived on campus, had a huge circle of friends, and since everyone was financing their tuition cooking in restaurants, we ate incredibly well, and since they were all so smart, the conversation wasn’t bad either.
A few years in, TT had a baby. I was in the room, again, another story for another day. 
Let me just say…A-M-A-Z-I-N-G!

Three months later they moved lock, stock and baby to Italy.
To Trento, for an actual paying research gig at the University there, were Andy could move further toward his doctorate.
Neither spoke Italian, so communication was…interesting, and after they got there, it was revealed that the money would be paid at the end of their 9 month stay. So, after thirty days…they were stone broke.

Since Andy was at the University all day, TT was left at their small apartment, or to her own devices. The first few weeks of enthusiastic exploring, turned into aimless walks around a foreign town, where, even when she eavesdropped on other people’s conversations, she could only make out a couple of words.

I’ve been there, it’s like you’re invisible, and she really was!
All the Italian women saw was “Bambina!”
Except, they couldn’t tell her what to get for the diaper rash, or the teething, or share her frustration about the fact that the hot water literally shut off at 9pm…in the whole town!

I could feel her deep isolation and sadness come right through the paper of her letters and faxes.
I swear, there were tear stains. My vibrant, beautiful, friend was dying of loneliness, and it made my heart actually HURT.

So…I gathered the troops, and one by one, we staggered our JJ’s throughout that summer and fall, so she wasn’t alone as she learned how to be a mom in a small medieval town in northern Italy.

I have felt the MOST profound loneliness on two separate occasions in my life, and they both caused me great sadness, even despair.

I’m sure there were more, I’m in my fifties for God’s sake, but these two have burned their memory into my brain, so as not to be forgotten.

One was in my first marriage.
I was about 23, waaaaaay too young to be married, and I remember lying next to my husband and trying to identify the deep pit in my stomach. It was like a dull ache. I can remember the night it finally hit me: Shit! I married the wrong person, because he’s right here and I’m lonely as hell.

Great. Now what?
I smoked a joint, ate a box of cookies and had months of anxiety attacks.
Then I filed for divorce.

The second one that just about killed me, was when my store was dying.
Many days toward the end it was “crickets”. By that I mean, days of no phone calls, no deliveries, no people coming in at all.
I am WAY too social for that kind of day to day isolation.
I NEED to talk to people to live, it’s like breathing to me.

Often when I got home at night, I realized I hadn’t spoken a single word THE ENTIRE DAY!

I had never felt such deep loneliness
I would watch people walking to their cars and I wanted to yell out, “Hello, I’m in here, come talk to me!”

I just knew somehow, in my gut, that if something didn’t happen fast, the loneliness would start to affect my health.
There have been recent studies that back that up.

Luckily, the flood came, and saved my life.

Oprah has a campaign to help alleviate social isolation, and potentially some loneliness. “Just say Hello”
It’s a simple greeting, but it’s power is profound.
What it is, is a connection, and that connection can help someone feel less isolated, not as solitary in the world.

Let’s smile and say Hello to everyone, to strangers, we could make someone’s day. It would have made mine.
Xox

Go first

Imagine what the other person needs, an exercise in empathy that might become a habit.
~Seth Godin

Practice this exercise liberally and often. It’s not that difficult really.
It sets you apart from the pack, it will get you noticed, it will make all the difference and the habit will just make you feel damn good.

Imagine the needs of others. 

Much love,
Xox

When I walked up to my husband I had tears in my eyes. That is NOT a common occurrence, so he looked at the picture I had in my hand, that I had walked over to show him. It was the photo above. He’s a “major weeper” around me, so he became a puddle in seconds.

You know why?

We are both “strong people”and no one EVER asks us how we’re doing or if we’re okay.

Does that happen to you?

It’s really not that people don’t care to ask you, they just don’t think of it.

We know that about the world, so we ask each other, with the promise that we aren’t allowed to answer with the obligatory I’m fine, if that’s not the the case.
Complete honesty is required. We have earned each other’s trust, so it releases us of any reservations about letting our guard down.

Being strong is a blessing and a curse.

I’ve had some really nasty shit happen to me in my life, and basically everyone around me just assumes I’m going to be “fine.” I always am, so they’re right. 
But……

I have screamed, in anger at whomever was in the room, “what do I have to do? Bleed? Does blood have to pour out my eyes in order for you to see how much emotional pain I’m in?”

The response was always the same. “I just figured you were okay.”

I love that I instill that level of confidence in people, but for Gods sakes, ASK me if I’m okay.

Ask me how I’m feeling. Ask me how it’s going, or if I need help, because I’m a big girl and I’ll let you know if you have overstepped my emotional boundary, although that’s pretty hard to do.
I’ve talked recently to many other strong people I know, to ask them what they need when something goes down.

I’m going to give you a few simple steps in my GUIDE TO HELPING THE STRONG:

Sometimes us strong ones, we need a hug. If you’re too uncomfortable to talk to me, hug me. I promise, I won’t ever push you away.

Just a simple “I’m here for you” when you don’t know what to say to us, is beyond appreciated.

We’ve heard “You’ve got this” all our lives, and we do, because we’re the strong ones, so please don’t say that.

If we ever get from you the opportunity, willingness to listen and the space to vent, please let us. We won’t self indulge and stay there long, we’re the strong ones, it just helps us process.

We will NEVER call YOU in the middle of the night, that has not been OUR role. WE get the calls. So, if you know something has just gone down, like a death or a huge loss, firing, humiliation, fight, whatever….call us.

If I cry, let me. I promise, it’s not the end of the world.
Don’t try to get me to stop, or tell me I’m overreacting.
I can assure you, I’m not.

People HATE to see strong people vulnerable. It scares the fuck out of them.

I KNOW several of my love affairs have ended because I showed vulnerability and upset the dynamics of the relationship. I was supposed to be the “strong one.
”
If you’re one of the the strong ones, you’re welcome; and…..email this to all your friends and family, because they are at a loss as to how to handle you.

If you know a strong one, please take this to heart.

You strong ones, do you have anything to add?
What helps you?
Do you have a strong one around you? Did this help you to understand how to navigate them better?

I’d love to hear about what YOU think.
Much love, 
Xox

I watched several people walk right by it. I did too. Twice.
Obviously some trash had found its way onto the path and into the planters in front of the door to the Y.

It looked like as if it had made a break for it on the way to the dumpster that lived around the side of the building. It was a few pieces of shredded paper, a power bar wrapper and parts of a banana peel. As I walked around it on my way in, I thought: Gee, someone needs to pick that up.
I’m sure the guy in the way too tight and shiny bike shorts, holding the door for me, thought the same thing.
After my 45 mins of extremely rigorous and effective circuit training (15 mins on the elliptical, 15 mins on the arm machines and 15 mins talking to Tina at the front desk)
I sprinted (walked slowly), with Bruno Mars still blaring in my ears, to my car.
When I saw that the trash was still by the doorway, I was annoyed, Jeez, that’s still there? I’d better go tell Tina to send someone to pick it up. And I walked right by.

What.  an.  assbite.

The sheer audacity of my own entitled ass-bite-ish-ness stopped me in my tracks.I looked around. Someone WAS sent to pick up the trash. Me.

I bent down, made sure I got all the pieces, walked back inside and threw it in the can that was next to the door. With my own, two, manicured hands. It took me less than a minute. Probably less than 30 seconds.
Sometimes I just shake my head in amazement…at my own behavior.

Who are we, when no one is watching? Are we assbites that walk by trash, or people in need? Do we turn our heads or pretend we’re on the phone?
Or are we people with some character? I think we can be both.

Back in the day, right after I bought my house, I LIVED at the 24 hour Hollywood Home Depot. I would walk down EVERY aisle like it was a gourmet market. Even the lumber department. It was dependable, free entertainment, in the fact that it was consistently crowded with a cross-section  of the most unique examples of humanity on the planet. It was the bar scene from Star Wars. AND, they played KROQ, an alternative rock radio station on the store PA after 6pm.
One night (It seemed I always needed a plunger or a dimmer switch at 11pm) in the aisle between electrical supplies and sprockets, was a sharp something or other that hadn’t been put back properly. As I absent mindedly strolled by, rocking out to The Clash, it jumped out and sliced my leg. Bad. Blood was suddenly EVERWHERE. It started to resemble a crime scene and as I looked around for help…crickets. There had easily been ten people on that aisle seconds before, and now it was deserted. Not a single soul.
People freak when they see blood. And a girl in denim overall shorts and Doc Martins hopping on one leg, yelling “OWWWWWWEEEEE” loudly.
They don’t want to get involved.
I’ll never understand that. When you see someone fall, find a crying, lost child, or stumble upon a bleeding new homeowner –– see if you can help.
Be a person of some character. Even if no one else is watching.

Someone must have hunted down an employee, because a guy that looked like my brother, if my brother was COVERED in tattoos and wearing a Home Depot shirt, came to my rescue.
He quickly wrangled the guilty object that cut me, back into its cubby, tied a bandana around my ankle and told me to go get stitches. In that order. He also alerted me to the fact that I roamed those aisles “at my own risk.”

Regardless, he was kind as he smiled and helped me back up on my feet.
Just then, my hero appeared. I heard angels singing.
He showed up with one of those flatbed wheelie things, and asked if I needed transport to my car. How chivalrous.
See…now this guy had some character.
Problem was, he resembled a biker/vampire, and I was sure the smell of my blood had beckoned him to my side. I declined his kind offer, and hobbled alone in the dark to my car, looking over my shoulder for a bat or my very pale, thirsty, knight in shining armor.

With all the cameras everywhere and YouTube video postings, we will all eventually  get caught in the act. But we have a choice. Will it capture us in a random act of helping or hiding? 

Tell me, are you the person that springs to action when someone falls or drops trash? Or have you caught yourself not wanting to get involved? Also, has something happened to you, and no one helped out? I’d love to hear about it?

Carry on, 

Xox

There are other professions in the world, besides therapist and psychologist, that lend themselves to hearing other people’s problems, and maybe or maybe not, dispensing council or giving advise.

Priests comes to mind. They’re lucky. In their confessional, they are provided anonymity, although I could always recognize their voices, and I’m sure they knew mine. They could pretend to sit, void of judgement, as I confessed to hitting my brother, their smirks hidden behind a dark screen. When they asked me why, I always answered: because he’s incorrigible, which is a word I heard used at home to describe him.
I do think the darkness, their half hidden faces, and lack of eye contact, did help the ladies who went into the box before me. They stayed for what felt like hours! They must have had much juicer sins than mine, and truly sought his council and forgiveness.
I was ten, I was just going throughout the motions.

My friends who have tended bar, got their ears bent nightly, big time! They may not have had a diploma on the wall, but by golly, they have HEARD IT ALL!
Since they were not sworn to any oath of confidence, and often copious amounts of alcohol were involved, they had the BEST stories!
Tales of love, betrayal, treachery, cheating, twins with amnesia, men as women, women as men. If it’s been a plot on a soap opera, they’ve heard it, ’cause that shit is REAL!

I on the other hand, have been in some form of retail most of my life. This has made it very easy for “those that seek advice” to find me. I was captive behind a supermarket check out counter in my teens and early twenties, where the inventive, provocative and hilarious confessions I heard when guys purchased condoms or tampons, or both, could fill a book. Believe me, I never asked, they just volunteered the information.

Later, I was behind a jewelry showcase, and most recently the desk at my own store. Over the years I’ve had many regular patients…I mean customers, who would come by to seek an opinion or get some advise. Some just wanted to vent….I guess I just have that kind of face.

Here is what I know for sure: Everyone’s got a story. Most are interesting, many are funny, some are heartbreaking.

When I was working in Estate Jewelry, the store was in West Hollywood, Beverly Hills adjacent. When those stories walked in, they were no different than everyone else’s, just dressed up with better shoes and handbags.

I sold antique engagement rings, or rather, because of their beauty, they sold themselves, but I stood and told their story. Fifty percent of the time, it was just the man looking. He wanted it to be a surprise. Because of his nerves and the unusual circumstance of buying an engagement ring, I heard their love stories, their hopes, their fears, and often way too much information! Over twenty years, I have literally held their hands to calm them down, explained women and what we want, and I have even told half a dozen men: Honey, you’re not ready to do this.
One sweet guy brought his beloved with him on the third visit, she was acting so ungrateful, spoiled and awful that as he left, I passed him a piece of paper that advised him to “run for the hills”!

Another situation I’ll never forget.
A woman came in to pick up her husband’s watch repair.
Now, it had been repaired twice before, and this third time was NOT the charm. 
We sold vintage watches, so they had to be wound and I couldn’t get the thing to tick!
Unfortunately, the woman was wound so tight she flew into a rage. She threw the watch against the wall, where it exploded into hundreds of tiny pieces, some even hitting her in the face. She called me and the store every curse word known to man…and then some.
Since our store was in an open mall sort of setting, the whole place could hear her, and everyone froze. So did I.
She stood there in her rage, her face red, her body trembling.
On life’s 1-10 scale of “How upset do I get about this”, the actual situation was a 3, maybe a 4. She was having a 25 reaction. THAT is always a clue for me. From working with the public for so many years, I can recognize that when the response doesn’t match the situation, there’s a backstory, something else is going on.
I slowly and silently walked around from behind the counter, and touched her arm.
I was shaking now too.
I gently pulled her out of view of the peanut gallery, and softly whispered, “what’s really going on here?”
She started to wail. That deep, low, wailing-crying that people usually do in private. “My husband is dying across the street at Cedars” she sobbed. I couldn’t think of anything to say, so I just hugged her…for a long time. Then we got on our hands and knees and started to pick up the pieces of the watch, just like she was grasping at the pieces of her disintegrating life.

I may not have been a professional, but this retail therapist knew better than to yell back or poke someone who was clearly on the edge. Thank God!

I know I’m not alone in this. If we deal daily with a large cross section of the public, 
we really do get the opportunity, no, the the privilege to get a glimpse inside people’s lives. Hopefully we have the sensitivity to respond not react.

Everyone’s got a story. What’s yours?
XoxJanet 
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This video is so clever! Using the voice of the brilliant Brene Brown. It’s short, sweet and insightful.
Enjoy!