We lost our dog Q (short for "Questionable Lady") a few weeks ago. Our poor girl suffered a stroke—which I hear is rare for dogs. She seemed to recover for a few weeks afterward, but then she developed a complication that left her unable to eat. As all pet owners understand, even though we wanted very much to prevent her from suffering, it was very hard to say good-bye.
In the days that followed, there were moments of pain when we were reminded of Q: seeing her folded up cage, reaching for two leashes instead of one, and so on. Also, there were doubts. Occasionally, I wondered if I'd gotten her care soon enough after her stroke. Was there anything else I could have done? Did we make the right decision to let her go when we did?
One time while I was taking a nap, I remembered how Q liked to curl up in a ball behind my knees as I was sleeping on my side. In an attempt to comfort myself, I imagined her snuggled in there right at that moment. It was an attempt to feel as if she was still with us, in part. I did feel some relief, and I smiled.
The next time I took a nap, I tried to imagine Q's presence again, and...well...it didn't work. It didn't comfort me. My mind became unsettled, and it bounced from attempting to invoke pleasant memories of her to second guessing our recent decisions.
Two things occurred to me then. The first is that this was a reminder of how I over relied on fantasy to comfort myself when I was a child growing up with my alcoholic father in a very chaotic, unpredictable home. It was my main method for feeling in control and having some power.
When I played basketball in the back yard, I was playing against Larry Bird in the NCAA finals. When I hit the tennis ball against the brick wall of the elementary school for hours at a time, I was hitting a passing shot against Bjorn Borg or John McEnroe to win Wimbledon. I drew my own comics. I pretended I was a rock star as I sang along with my favorite songs.
It took me well into adulthood to use less fantasy and to use better, more mature ways to feel competent and secure.
The second thing that occurred to me was that I was mentally scrambling, trying to find a way not to feel hurt about Q's passing. So, instead of staying stuck up in my head, I took a few deep breaths, and I made a gentle request of myself: Quiet down and simply FEEL. Just "miss her," OK? Nothing more, nothing less.
Just miss her.
Once I calmed myself and just sat with my feeling, it was more manageable. She's gone. I can't undo or redo the past. I feel sad. But it's OK. I'll manage just fine.
Since then, a wave of sadness will wash over me from time to time, but it doesn't last long. We did our very best to be humane and to prevent Q's suffering; now I was doing my best to avoid any unnecessary suffering of my own.
I'm very thankful for the time she spent with us. RIP, Q!
When I'm working with my Life & Career Coaching clients, I emphasize balance and judgment calls, and I use the yin-yang symbol to illustrate the point.
To have as satisfying and smooth a time as possible, it's helpful to balance two very opposite approaches to life. The first is acceptance of the things that we can't change. The second is having the vision, drive, and work ethic to change things. (For more information, see the Serenity Prayer.)
Now, Life Coaching is all about having a vision of what you intend to accomplish, setting and prioritizing goals that get you to that vision, and staying on task as you complete goal after goal. It's great stuff. It's an example of the Change side of the equation. It's good to make plans, have goals, strive, affect change, and make things better in your life.
At the same time, everyone encounters aspects of themselves, their lives, and what they are experiencing around them that cannot be changed—or can't be changed any time soon. These are times when Acceptance is the better approach. It's time to play nicely with others, be flexible, delay gratification, and make the most of the situation that's been handed to you (when life hands you lemons, make lemonade).
That brings me to the recent news about Renee Zellweger's plastic surgery.
On the one hand, she seems pleased with her decision, reporting that she's now living a "happy, more fulfilling life." I'd say that that should be the primary focus and the number one priority for all of us. I am truly happy for her. In addition to that, the new look may improve her odds of winning different types of roles in movies for which she hadn't been considered in the past. Good for her!
On the other hand, making the best of your appearance without plastic surgery is an opportunity to practice acceptance and making the most out of what you're given. (I love actress Laura Dern's quote about plastic surgery: "All my peers are going to tighten up their faces, so I'll be more likely to get all the roles that require a few wrinkles!")
Is it wrong? No. Is it bad? No. But it is a missed opportunity to practice a skill that's very necessary for a deeply satisfying life: being able to be happy and fulfilled without having to control looks, other people's impressions, or what's happening around you.
In conclusion, the great thing about life is that it usually gives us lots and lots of opportunities to learn lessons and build skills. It's no big deal that Renee chose Control over Acceptance in this one particular case. There will be plenty of other opportunities to practice Acceptance elsewhere in her life, I'm sure.
I wish everyone well on our journeys, and may we make wise choices for ourselves about Acceptance and Change.
As a life & career coach I help people to get unstuck so they can reach personal goals quicker and easier. While doing this work I've noticed that mortality issues often cause us to freeze, avoid, or freak out more intensely than other challenges. So anything involving sickness, starting a family, the death of a loved one, the death of a pet, aging parents, saving for retirement, and more, can trigger really intense feelings and stall progress toward related goals.
Addressing our mortality doesn't always have to be a heavy conversation. Sometimes it can be approached from a humorous angle.
For example, a female friend of mine has a theory about all women's worst fear. She thinks that women—deep down—are afraid they're headed toward one of two dreaded situations in their elder years:
- The homeless bag lady pushing the shopping cart down the street.
- The cat lady who needs an intervention to remove the animals from her home.
During conversations involving fear of getting older, I'll mention this to my female clients, and they'll look at me wide eyed as if saying How did you know that?! Then we'll have a good laugh about it.
Check this out:
I'm not quite sure what the male version of that growing-old fear would be, but at the age of 53 I know what's been on my mind lately. Every once in a while I'll observe one of my reactions to change or to the younger generation, and I fear that I'm becoming a Grumpy Old Man. You know, the one who opens his door and screams into the neighborhood, Arrrrrrr! What's WRONG with you kids today! Get off my lawn! Arrrrrr!!!
But that's not happening, right? I'm still cool, right? ;-)
Back in the 80's, I misheard a lyric in the song New Sensations by INXS. This is what I heard:
There's something better we could do
Than live forever
The actual lyric says that there's NOTHING better we can do than live forever. Because my misheard words offered me such an intriguing invitation, I still "sing it wrong" to this day. It makes me curious about life, longevity, and just what actually might BE better than everlasting life.
Recently, Alternative Rock pioneer Lou Reed passed away. His wife Laurie Anderson wrote a stunning piece about Lou and his passing, and you can read a touching excerpt by clicking here.
At the heart of this moving passage is Lou's complete lack of fear about something that terrifies most of us. Facing our mortality gracefully, entering into our moment of death with no fear.
Another striking aspect is how closely Anderson's observations resemble that of George Harrison's death, as described in Martin Scorsese's brilliant HBO documentary about the former Beatle. It reminds me of this snippet of one of George's songs, which he wrote in his late 20's, more than 30 years before his death:
As nothing in this life that I've been trying
Could equal or surpass the art of dying
I won't claim to have all of the answers to questions about life and death. However, from my work as a Life & Career Coach, I do know about the emotionally and physically corrosive effect of living life in stress and fear. Also, it's routine in my work to encounter people who are rattled because they know deep down that they aren't doing what they need to be doing, and they want to get their lives on track. It's about the very human need to feel a sense of purpose.
Yes, I believe that there IS something better we can do than live forever. We can live well. We can learn how to do that, we can practice it daily to the best of our imperfect abilities, and we can die well. That could very well be the only legacy that really matters.
