Not always, certainly. . .
Quick question:
Where is the place you go to comfort yourself when you need it? I’m not talking about turning to another person. I mean when you have only yourself to turn to for the support that you need at a difficult time, or through a difficult period. What would you turn to, and what would you do to make yourself feel better?
I know I’ve done a couple of things that feel kind of weird to admit, but they have both worked for me. During one particularly lengthy and difficult time in my life I used to sit in candelight and listen to soft music on a chair in my bathroom. The room was small and comfortable, and I thought a lot. I, believe it or not, had a bunch of imaginary conversations with another person (I picked one), describing for them in detail what was going on and how I was feeling about it. I described my day, I described my dilemma, and I shared my emotions. I shared my tears sometimes, too, which was a helpful release. I do the same “conversation with another person” type of thinking sometimes when life is feeling challenging and I’m jogging, which is a much less intense way of mulling things over. When I admitted this to my psychologist aunt she told me that I had become my own best friend. I liked the sound of that.
The other thing that helped me deal with hardship, (loss in particular), was playing some of the old television shows that brought me back to a really good place from my childhood. My mother and I, usually with my dad reading in his La-Z-Boy in the corner and my sister and brother upstairs studying, used to watch television shows that she particularly enjoyed. Ours was an ideal home, full of a calm and peaceful life with caring and rules and limits and love. Sometimes we’d sit and watch two or three shows back to back. My mom would laugh at each of the different light hearted comedies at least once during each show. It was really enjoyable. It was pleasant and secure, and fun.
When my best best best friend in the world died four and a half years ago, my first thought was that I would stick my head in a book and come out when I felt the grief lifting, when the world felt okay again. I went out and bought War and Peace, about the Napoleonic Wars and the French invasion of Russia, by Leo Tolstoy, because it is famous for its length, (1,273 pages in my edition), and I’m always up for a book that’s been around for a good long time (1869). I found that I couldn’t focus on even one paragraph; not a single one. I don’t know how many times I reread the first page of the book, and I couldn’t compute even a single word of it. I never made it to the second page. So I gave up after several evenings and instead turned to The Mary Tyler Moore Show (with Rhoda and Phyllis and all three of their fabulous and colorful wardrobes) and The Bob Newhart Show (the one with Emily and her darling floor length sun dresses and her corduroy midi skirts, where Bob is a psychologist before it was cool). I turned them on, and while I couldn’t exactly laugh, I felt surrounded by a warm sense of comfort.
I’m just wondering if you have a plan, and a place? Where’s your place?
Somebody Else's Wisdom 