I was never
an academic all-star;
I most likely
was a classic undiagnosed ADHD
Kid who was often classified as a
“SMART KID WHO CAN’T SEEM TO STAY FOCUSED”
during parent/teacher conference
who excelled with
anything to do with
Reading
and nothing to do with
Math. . .
Who
was often writing poetry
and putting together lyrical phrases
that I wrote in the margins of books
or large lined notebooks
that made me look like
I was ferociously
taking notes. . .
I was often motivated to do well in school
so I could play sports
and not to embarrass my
school teaching, coaching dad
and school secretary mom
. . .but it always felt
foreign
distant
and far from a home
my heart beat to reside
UNLESS
I had
THOSE
teachers
who didn’t
look to grade
penmanship
sentence structure
or what I could recite back
after nights of intense memorization. . .
THOSE TEACHERS
that wanted a piece of my mind
and a part of my heart
by inspiring me
with theirs;
who challenged me to read
WHAT WASN’T
on the syllabus
but more in my dreams;
IT
was the one thing that shaped me then
and still drives me now
T H I S
EDUCATION OF THE HEART
which you never graduate
nor receive a degree
but something far
F A R
more important:
A DEEPLY MEANINGFUL LIFE
. . .PAY ATTENTION, CLASS
The Lectures have ended
but the Teaching
is in a never-ending
S E S S I O N
and it’ll not only assure
that your heart will beat differently
IT WILL GUARANTEE
you’ll cause other hearts
to be
forever significantly better
THIS
Education of the Heart
Forbidden to buy a Painting

Sometimes
Winning the Lottery
has so much more than
a dollar amount. . .
Sometimes
it’s something so much more
valuable
E X P E N S I V E
P R I C E L E S S. . .
that’s what I thought
THE FIRST TIME
I saw Titus Kaphar’s painting
and then read his poem
which painted many different
i m a g e s
in the pages of my mind
‘I Cannot Sell You This Painting.’ Artist Titus Kaphar on his George Floyd TIME Cover
Painting by Titus Kaphar for TIMEIDEASBY TITUS KAPHAR JUNE 4, 2020 6:19 AM EDTTitus Kaphar is an American artist whose work examines the history of representation
Artist Titus Kaphar painted the portrait that appears on the cover of this week’s TIME. He has written the following piece to accompany the work which hopefully now will be a part of our work:
I
can not
sell
you
this
painting.
In her expression, I see the Black mothers who are unseen, and rendered helpless in this fury against their babies.
As I listlessly wade through another cycle of violence against Black people,
I paint a Black mother…
eyes closed,
furrowed brow,
holding the contour of her loss.
Is this what it means for us?
Are black and loss
analogous colors in America?
If Malcolm could not fix it,
if Martin could not fix it,
if Michael,
Sandra,
Trayvon,
Tamir,
Breonna and
Now George Floyd…
can be murdered
and nothing changes…
wouldn’t it be foolish to remain hopeful?
Must I accept that this is what it means to be Black
in America?
Do
not
ask
me
to be
hopeful.
I have given up trying to describe the feeling of knowing that I can not be safe in the country of my birth…
How do I explain to my children that the very system set up to protect others could be a threat to our existence?
How do I shield them from the psychological impact of knowing that for the rest of our lives we will likely be seen as a threat,
and for that
We may die?
A MacArthur won’t protect you .
A Yale degree won’t protect you .
Your well-spoken plea will not change hundreds of years of institutionalized hate.
You will never be as eloquent as Baldwin,
you will never be as kind as King…
So,
isn’t it only reasonable to believe that there will be no
change
soon?
And so those without hope…
Burn.
This Black mother understands the fire.
Black mothers
understand despair.
I can change NOTHING in this world,
but in paint,
I can realize her….
This brings me solace…
not hope,
but solace.
She walks me through the flames of rage.
My Black mother rescues me yet again.
I want to be sure that she is seen.
I want to be certain that her story is told.
And so,
this time
America must hear her voice.
This time
America must believe her.
One
Black
mother’s
loss
WILL
be
memorialized.
This time
I will not let her go.
I
can not
sell
you
this
painting.

and then. . .
I saw this little thumbnail picture
way down in the right hand corner of
Titus’s poem
and these words spilled out of me
from heart
through my eyes
down my cheeks
onto a crumbled piece of discarded paper
that missed the garbage can
from short range:
Why
NOW
am I always on the
Verge of Tears
With a movie clip
Or just the mention of it
A poem
Or just a well spoken phrase
A song
With or without lyrics
A scene
A smell
A glance
A touch
A sound
An indescribable feeling
And then
THERE
A flow of tears
No lash can hold back
Or no longer Dam
Flows a liquid saltiness
That can’t be
Diluted
But can only
Water
Nourish
What’s waited to grow
But never been fully planted
Or hardly nurtured
But now no longer
Ignored
I’m always on the verge of tears
Now
F I N A L L Y
(And hopefully for an ever)
Lump in the throat
Unswallowable
that never chokes
but makes the breath
in and out
different

Sometimes
Winning the Lottery
has so much more than
a dollar amount. . .
Sometimes
it’s something so much more
valuable
E X P E N S I V E
P R I C E L E S S. . .
Mr Kaphar
can’t sell me his painting
not because
he’s holding out
so much as us
HOLDING ON
(to all of the wrong things)
The UNholy Night

Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
are you
FEELIN’ IT?
. . .not a whole lot of joy right now in the world,
huh. . . ?
Who
W H O
would have ever thought we’d forget about
COVID-19
in less than a week
with all of the riots
lootings
shootings
protestests
U N R E S T

It feels like the World
is getting tossed about
like a big beach ball
that everyone wants to
bat around
or kick
BUT NOT GRAB A HOLD OF
or just
C A T C H
. . .has it ever felt like
THIS
b e f o r e
searching for a
pulse
a heartbeat
that just doesn’t seem to
exist

I was in seventh grade, just a 13-year-old boy the night at Martin Luther King, Jr was assassinated. I distinctly remember it as if time stood still as my parents watched a news cast, that interrupted our regular programming; it wasn’t so much what my parents said as what their faces were shouting: HORROR. SHOCK. SADNESS. . .
I had seen that look on their faces when I came home from school as a nine-year-old boy the day that John F. Kennedy was assassinated.
I remember telling them that night as Walter Cronkite tried telling us the facts, setting the scene, maybe this was a good thing so now people wouldn’t riot anymore or protest and remember even more distinctly how they explained to me how this was a terrible thing and that there may be even more unrest and violence and protesting.
It was only a few days later when my dad was at a meeting and my mother and my two brothers and sister were at home and we heard a commotion out on the street and we went out on the porch there were hundreds of African-American people walking down our street from The Projects’ a few blocks away. Just walking. Not shouting. Not rioting. Not looting or burning anything. . .
Just walking. . .
They were going downtown for a peaceful protest in memory of Dr King.
I was terrified,
I had never seen a sea of people moving methodically down
a city street and its sidewalks;
I never wanted the protection of my father more than at that moment.
I have had other moments of being terrified and there’s a certain way your heart beats like at no other time than during
THAT FEELING. . .
My heart has beaten that way over this past week making me feel like a scared-trying-to-figure-it-all-out-13 yr old boy. . .

This Christmas tree is in my office overlooking my desk;
It was a gift a couple of years ago from my office buddies,
two great Social Workers,
Jen and Rachel
who have done of some of their best work on me;
they appropriately celebrated my Birthday by proclaiming it,
MERRY CHUCKMAS
. . .the 25th of every month
I usually post some Christmas scene as a reminder that it’s
MERRY PRACTICE CHRISTMAS
and everyone on FaceBook gets really annoyed
and tells me
“DON’T RUSH IT”
or
“IT’S WAY TOO EARLY”
as if it was a curse for them to carry
or a chaotic Season to be avoided,
BUT HERE’S THE TRUE REASON:
Because I want the World to be now
what it is
T H E N
kind
caring
loving
accepting
forgiving
giving
peaceful
happy
content
and I just don’t want it to be contagious
I want it to be
e v e r l a s t i n g
I want the message of Christmas
to be a message of
N O W

To be a
LIGHT
no one was looking for
AND FINDS,
a n y w a y. . .
So on the 25th of every month
I play Christmas Carols
but I’ve been playing them a lot since
George Floyd
was brutally killed
in front of all
us. . .
My Favorite?
O HOLY NIGHT. . .
2nd verse:
Truly He taught us to love one another;
His law is Love and His gospel is Peace;
Chains shall he break, for the slave is our brother,
And in his name all oppression shall cease,
Sweet hymns of joy in grateful Chorus raise we;
Let all within us praise his Holy name!
and then the
CHORUS
which now forever haunt me:
FALL ON YOUR KNEES
(Fall on your knees,)
(Fall on your knees,)
(I can’t get the image out of my head of a police officer’s bent knee on the neck of Mr. Floyd)
Oh hear the angel voices!
O night divine! O night when Christ was born.
O night, O holy night, O night divine.
SO
so, so many
UN-HOLY NIGHTS
knowing that ultimately
LOVE CAN’T BE LEGISLATED
but it can be
abundantly given
making us all
hopeful
grateful
affected
victims
of its power. . .

We need a little Christmas
in all of its shapes and sizes
with an ample amount of flavor
to keep it fresh. . .
talk about a different heart beat

B E
I T
The Puppet(EER)
This recently popped up on my YouTube channel from the PIANO GUYS
and as often the case:
NO WORDS NECESSARY. . .
not that
THAT
has ever stopped me
. . .in fact,
it usually inspires more words
(from the producers):
Behind every song is a story. Some superficial or spontaneous. Some deep and more meaningful, even life-altering. Music plays so many roles in our lives. On the surface it is entertainment, but that grossly underestimates its depth. It can be a messenger — have you ever had just the right song played at just the right time, sending you just the right message? It can be a pathway to a change or step forward we need to make in life. Sometimes it can be an angelically-aided connector of people. Well, in this story, music was all this and more. A simple social media post that shared a tourist’s video of an extraordinarily talented puppeteer, Márton Harkel, who performs as a busker on the streets of Budapest. What caught the eye was his cellist puppet. It was a near-perfect copy of the puppeteer. And as he made the motions of playing cello, his puppet would mimic his movements with astounding musicality. It was captivating. It was like watching art come alive. And so there was this magnificent pairing of his puppet design and marionette skills with the arrangement of the Mussorgsky’s “Promenade” theme from “Pictures at an Exhibition” — the prominent piece among a suite of classical works written about art coming alive! And the timing of it couldn’t have been better — as it’s releasing during a time when we can’t film traditional music videos due to the current pandemic’s safety measures. So this is a pandemic approved, proxy puppet’s performance of Pictures at an Exhibition! Please take some time to listen to the original suite here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TAHX0… (The theme chosen is right at the beginning and throughout the piece — it is the melody Mussorgsky wrote to depict us walking from painting to painting) Márton worked for over 200 hours to handcraft these puppets so that their articulating fingers, and a multitude of hinges and joints could be “in concert” with the music. Notice the care he takes to see that they are doing their best to even play the right notes. The best part of this story? After Márton finished creating the puppets and prepared to film, he realized he couldn’t make them come alive alone. He needed another puppeteer. He hired Napsugár Trömböczky, a lovely and talented young lady. As they began working together, their interest in the project and the puppets took a back seat to their interest in each other! In ONE WEEK they were engaged. They say it’s crazy. We say it’s destiny. Márton and Napsugár’s love story that’s truly touching. We pray before we write our music with the desire that it will somehow spread hope. All of us all spend a great deal of our lives waiting for something or someone we’re hoping for. Stories such as this can perhaps provide some evidence that a life can change and hopes can be realized in the matter of one song. One week. One idea. That gives us hope that when things aren’t lining up or we’re far from where we had hoped to be, the alignment that we seek can come together in a mere moment — in a way we could have never anticipated. Now, we don’t believe that we, as humans, are puppets of Destiny. But perhaps there is a “Grand Puppeteer,” who loves us and who knows us better than we know ourselves — and He pulls destiny’s strings on our behalf. Márton, in his message to us after he finished the video, humbly and graciously expressed gratitude for the project, but more than the project, for the opportunity to meet his soulmate, and to do what he loves, with whom he loves. Who dare take any credit?Look to the Grand Puppeteer for that. But we thank you, Márton and Napsugár, all the same. If all the time, work, energy, and passion that went into this project was all for you two and your eternal family, then it was well worth it. This is just a small honor to have the opportunity to “play a small part” in something much more important than a music video. After all, we are just a mere puppet(eer)
Pay Attention, Class. . .
The Music
The Action
only continues on
(in each of us)
No Rhyme or Reason

S O M E T I M E S
A
B R E A K D O W N
is really just
A
B R E A K T H R O U G H
. . .until it’s not . .
I remember mentioning this a few times to patients who have asked me,
“WHY AM I STILL HERE?”

It’s a lopsided
Q U E S T I O N
that has no straight
or crooked answers
just
w O N d e r I n G s
that bring little understandings
and less comfort. . .
which is why
I usually flip the question back to a patient by asking,
“Wow, what a powerful question;
I don’t know. . .
(P A U S E)
WHAT DO YOU THINK?”
When I was asked this question
(again)
this week and I gave the reflective,
“Wow, what a powerful question; I don’t know, what do you think?”
response,
she answered me by saying,
without
RHYME OR REASON:
“WILL YOU JUST HOLD MY HAND”
I told her that she deserved a warm hand
(I really was trying to protect her)
as I went over to wash my hands and then came back and sat down,
and held her hand. . .
no questions
no answers
no rhyme or reason
just held her hand
she closed her eyes and
though I couldn’t make
RHYME OR REASON
I didn’t hear
but just watched her lips move
without a whisper. . .
a prayer
a request
a wish
a hope
a beggar asking for a slice of mercy
with an extra slab of peace. . . ?
and then I felt her grip soften
r e l a x
and she was sleeping
softly
making her breathing in and out
a sacred symphony
with an audience of one. . .

I gently laid her hand down beside her and went back to my workstation
and that’s when the poem found me for the second time this week as I read a beautiful Facebook post by Dr. Mel Davis as he wrote about one of his patients who had not only been infected by COVID-19 but also bacterial sepsis, paralysis, brochopleural fistula, renal failure, chest tubes and long term ventilation and now nearing his end. . .
The poem had already surprised me when I picked up a John Updike book of short stories that I haven’t read in years and it being used as a bookmark, fluttered free
with no
RHYME OR REASON:
Bedside Manner by Christopher Wiseman
How little the dying seem to need-
A drink perhaps, a little food,
A smile, a hand to hold, medication,
A change of clothes, an unspoken
Understanding about what’s happening.
You think it would be more, much more,
Something more difficult for us
To help with in this great disruption,
But perhaps it’s because as the huge shape
Rears up higher and darker each hour
They are anxious that we should see it too
And try to show us with a hand squeeze.
We panic to do more for them.
And especially when it’s your father,
And his eyes are far away, and your tears
Are all down your face and clothes,
And he doesn’t see them now, but smiles
Perhaps, just perhaps, because you are there.
How little he needs. Just love. More love.

And then
without any pen to paper
I recited into my iPhone
without any
RHYME OR REASON:
MY BIRTH
It’s not my first breath
that matters
It’s the one
Called the last
Which is the truest first
How
Has my life seemed so long
And so short at the same time
Bury me not
I came from it’s crusty dust
And have been able to
Sit up and take notice
Countless times
It will be my bones and flesh
That’ll be turned to ash
But not my imprint
I will settle to the earth
But only after the wind
Carries me for a while on
It’s never ending breath
Which neither knows
Inhale or exhale
Just breath
Which carries me from
Life
Death
LIFE

S O M E T I M E S
A
B R E A K D O W N
is really just
A
B R E A K T H R O U G H
with no
RHYME OR REASON
(n e c e s s a r y)
Behind the Mask

I have said for a long time now
the only day we celebrate 365 days a year
or for that matter;
E N D L E S S L Y
is Halloween
and now for the past few months
(literally and figuratively)
it feels worse than
Halloween gone
Bill Murray’s GROUNDHOG’S DAY
which makes us all begin to
wonder:
What We Lose When We Hide Our Smiles Behind a Mask
Illustration by Nathalie Lees for TIMEIDEASBY; It seems that we may not be the only ones
W O N D E R I N G
BELINDA LUSCOMBE is an editor-at-large at TIME and the author of Marriageology: The Art and Science of Staying Together has pondered a few of these thoughts as well. . .
Miss Belinda shares, “I miss smiling. I don’t miss it in the inspirational poster “the whole world smiles with me” way. I don’t miss it, as another poster says, because I can no longer “intimidate those who wish to destroy me.” I don’t miss it because “happiness looks gorgeous on me,” although I did put in three very formative years of hard time in the orthodontia trenches–20 months of braces and six retainers–so it looks at least marginally better than it used to. . . .”
I miss smiling because it’s one of the handiest utensils in the communication drawer and my mask has locked it away. Yes, it’s just a facial expression: a deployment of the zygomaticus muscles, sometimes authentic, sometimes a placeholder because the real emotion we’re feeling is best not expressed. But as humans, we learn at the age of approximately 42 days that smiling is a useful way of getting people to feel good about themselves and therefore us. (The “world smiles with you” thing actually works–for babies.)
We continue to refine the way we use that smile to communicate information–from “you’re here!” to “you’re cute” to “you’re not meant to take that seriously, although you also kind of are”–until we no longer have teeth. And now, suddenly, those skills, all that practice, are useless. We have lost our favorite communication gizmo just when we need more ways to connect than ever.
Trying to interact with other humans without being able to smile is the facial equivalent of communicating via text message; it’s easy to be misunderstood. Your expression and words lack context. People wonder: Are you wincing at me? Are you grinding your jaw? Do you just have a lot of crow’s-feet? Was what you said an insult or a joke?
According to Paula Niedenthal, a psychologist who heads up the Niedenthal Emotions Lab at the University of Wisconsin–Madison and has studied facial expression extensively, there are three types of smiles: those that express pleasure at a reward or surprise, like when you get to see your friends in person after a prolonged separation (soon, please); those that convey a desire to be friendly, or at least non-threatening, which she calls smiles of affiliation; and those that show dominance, like the one Dirty Harry gives when he asks a certain punk if he feels lucky.
Her studies have shown that it’s harder to tell the difference between affiliative smiles and dominant ones if you can’t see the lower half of the face. In those situations, people have to rely on other clues. She gives the example of walking a dog that suddenly barks at a passerby. A quick look at an unmasked person’s face will confirm whether the passerby is smiling because he thinks he’s much better with his dog than you are or smiling because his dog is also occasionally silly. Behind a mask, this distinction is not so clear.
Niedenthal predicts that as mask use stretches on, people may rely more on the context of the situation to tell them how to interpret an interaction. “They will imagine that the context confers a reaction that is obvious, which of course will get everybody into a lot of trouble, because people in our culture respond with high variability to the same context,” she says.
BUT I have tried to compensate
for the communication gap by enhancing my other gestures. Upon approaching strangers in the street, I want to let them know that I am harmless and wish them well. In hard times, this message feels particularly urgent. Not being able to smile at them has forced me to wave or do a weird fighter-pilot-style salute. If I’m pulling aside to let them pass and can no longer offer an encouraging “you first” smile, I am reduced to airport-marshal gesticulations, which are about as effective as talking more loudly to someone whose language you don’t speak.
But it’s not just the recipient who gains from a grin. Smiling affects the smiler too. Studies have shown that it enhances the mood that produced the expression and helps us recall happier times. “Facial expression is not just out-put from the brain but also feeds back to the brain and has some consequences for subjective experience,” says Niedenthal. “There is good evidence that smiling naturally has some effect on your ambient emotional state.” In other words, masks may be making us more morose.
It almost never helps a situation to tell people to smile, so I won’t, but I’m going to keep beaming, even if it can’t be seen and sometimes is not entirely authentic. A fake smile, after all, is often given with good intentions, just as a mask is sometimes worn not to hide but to protect.

And then there’s
Steve Wilson and The World Laughter Tour. . .
when I went to his two day workshop a few years ago
and became a Certified Laughter Leader
I still remember
one powerful lesson
that even a fake laugh
is a beneficial laugh;
a FAKE SMILE
still,
physiologically
is immensely beneficial
by relieving stress and enhancing
a calm, creative, good mood. . .
So here’s the deal:
(ESPECIALLY)
BEHIND THE MASK
the best way to assure a smile
IS TO
(CREATE)
GIVE ONE

OAT’ed UP
I shared this over three years ago under much different circumstances;
C I R C U M S T A N C E S
that could have never have been imagined
and far from understood
C I R C U M A T A N C E S
that still
even at our most current moment
are difficult to imagine
and feel far from being understood. . .

B U T
Maybe there’s another
a different way
of seeing
I T :
There is sowing your oats
and then there is serving them,
eating them
and digesting
all the goodness
that can’t begin to fit on a spoon,
in a bowl
or even on a cafeteria tray
or a table. . .
EAT UP!
and make a NOTE
of BEING
THE GOOD YOU MAKE
EVERYTHING

WHEN I READ THAT
I WROTE THIS:
Not everything that grows comes from the field or the ground
Not everything that soars flies in the sky
Not everything that nourishes comes from a plate or the end of a fork
Not everything that saturates is wet
Not everything that is read comes from a book
Not everything that is believed is known
Not everything that has felt can be touched
Not everything that was, is
Not everything is any one thing
Not everything is every thing
WHICH MADE ME THINK:

AND MADE ME FEEL

Like I’ve always been paddling towards the
END OF THE WORLD
only to find a
U N I V E R S E
of new
E V E R Y T H I N G S
CAUTION FATIGUE
People with and without masks in New York City’s Central Park on April 25, 2020. Getty Images—2020 Alexi RosenfeldBY JAMIE DUCHARME a journalist from TIME Magazine brought us an interesting question that we might all have to do a double-take on before answering it. . .
DO YOU HAVE CAUTION FATIGUE?
Even as the
“OPENING UP”
is now beginning to take place;
it’s still painstakingly
S L O W
As these ever-so-slow
lockdowns drag on and on in many U.S. states,
there are worrying signs
that people’s resolve to continue social distancing
is flagging. . .
An illicit house party in Chicago made headlines this week, as did photos of crowded beaches in Southern California and packed parks in New York City. Anonymized cell-phone data tracked by the University of Maryland also shows more and more people are making non-work-related trips outside as quarantines drag on, and a TIME data analysis found that some states are experiencing new surges in coronavirus cases after initial declines.
Jacqueline Gollan, an associate professor of psychiatry and behavioral sciences at the Northwestern University Feinberg School of Medicine, has coined a name for this phenomenon based on her 15 years of research into depression, anxiety and decision-making: “caution fatigue.”
Gollan likens social-distancing motivation to a battery. When lockdowns were first announced, many people were charged with energy and desire to flatten the curve. Now, many weeks in, the prolonged cocktail of stress, anxiety, isolation and disrupted routines has left many people feeling drained. As motivation dips, people are growing more lax about social-distancing guidelines—and potentially putting themselves and others in harm’s way, Gollan says.
Even as some states begin the process of reopening, it’s crucial that people continue to follow local social-distancing guidelines to avoid back-sliding. To help, use Gollan’s tips for fighting caution fatigue.
Take care of your physical and mental health
You’ve heard all these tips before, but they bear repeating: get enough sleep, follow a balanced diet, exercise regularly, don’t drink too much, stay socially connected and find ways to relieve stress. “If people can address the reasons for the caution fatigue, the caution fatigue itself will improve,” Gollan says.
Gollan also says it’s important to improve your “emotional fitness.” She recommends expressing gratitude, either to others or yourself; setting goals for how you want to feel or act; and taking time just to decompress and laugh.
Reframe risks and benefits
As important as they are, goals like flattening the curve and improving public health can be hard to stay fired up about since they’re somewhat abstract, Gollan acknowledges. So it can be useful to think about how your behavior directly affects your chances of getting sick, and thus your chances of spreading the virus to people around you.
People tend to overvalue what’s already happened, assuming if they haven’t gotten sick yet they won’t in the future. “But if your behavior changes and you have a gradual decline in your safety behaviors, then the risk may increase over time,” Gollan says. Remembering that reality can prevent you from falling into “thinking traps” like convincing yourself another trip to the grocery store is absolutely necessary, when it’s really just out of boredom, Gollan says.
Rebuild your routine
Coronavirus has probably shattered your regular daily routine—but you can still make time for things you valued before the pandemic, like exercise and socializing. Creating a new normal, to the extent possible, can be stabilizing, Gollan says.
Focusing on small pieces of your new routine can also be a helpful way to grapple with uncertainty. If it’s hard for you to think about how long quarantine may stretch on, instead focus on the immediate future. “What are you going to do this morning?” Gollan says. “Are there things you’re not doing that you should?”
Make altruism a habit
It may help to remember that social-distancing is really about the common good. In keeping yourself safe, you’re also improving public health, ensuring that hospitals can meet demand and quite possibly saving lives. “There’s something powerful about hope, compassion, caring for others, altruism,” Gollan says. “Those values can help people battle caution fatigue.”
Just like anything, selfless behavior gets easier the more you do it, Gollan says. “Try small chunks of it,” she suggests. “What can you do in the next hour, or today, that’s going to be a selfless act to others?” Donating to charity or checking in on a loved one are easy places to start.
Switch up your media diet
Just as you may learn to tune out the sounds outside your window, “we get desensitized to the warnings [about coronavirus],” Gollan says. “That’s the brain adjusting normally to stimulation.” Even something as simple as checking a credible news source you don’t usually follow, or catching up on headlines from another part of the country, could help your brain reset, she says. . .

What I have found utterly amazing about
THIS TIME
is no matter how many times it feels that everything is
so devastatingly
D O N E
there’s still this awesome growth
that’s sprouting up all around us
A NEWNESS
that couldn’t come from any other
WAY
or PLACE
except this soil of
scary
sacred
sorrow

It’s more than a rally cry
It’s more than a hope
It’s more than a wish
It’s more than a prayer
It’s more than a promise
It’s been a fateful fact. . .
The WE of it
The ARE of it
The ALL of it
The IN of it
The THIS of it
The TOGETHER OF IT
has never interwoven
THE US OF IT
into a never known
T A P E S T R Y
of it
like this before. . .

So here’s the biggest question
that hopefully has an even bigger answer:
WILL THIS CAUTION FATIGUE CAUSE US TO BE MORE COMPASSIONATE OR MORE COLD-HEARTED. . . ?
Careful. . .

How you live
(from here on)
will scream for generations
who will never forget
what you will never have to say
but will always be heard. . .
R E M E M B E R
(now more than ever)

UPROOTED

It’s real easy to feel
UPROOTED
over these past few weeks;
there aren’t many that feel the
SAME WAY
they did three months ago
six months ago
twelve months ago. . .
IS THAT A GOOD THING?

I have long had to give up one of my favorite things in life:
R U N N I N G
even walking is no small task
a given
but I’m able to get out
in spite of the sore knees
aching feet
if’y back
at the pace of a ruptured turtle
and it’s come with a blessing:
S I G H T
it’s almost as if I was blind all of those years
when I would run
always trying to beat the day before’s
T I M E
and only caring about
running faster
longer
in personal record times
but now I see
what I never looked for
what I never cared about observing
S E E
not just with my Lasik improved eyes
but my ever sensing soul
BEHOLD:
(not just)
A FALLEN ROTTING TREE:

UPROOTED
Once a Provider of Shadows
not I lay in them
Splashed
Soaked
in a veil
that doesn’t quite hide me
but conceals who I was once
Tall
Strong
Mighty
Ever Bending
Even not never Breaking
Just Uprooted
Slammed down
by elements over time
that wears no watch
keeps no seconds
and can’t be stopped
UPROOTED
never again to suck from the earth
only to be sucked into
with the harsh gravity of decay

UPROOTED
I use to reach tall
for the sun
now I soil myself

A caster of shadows
A Shade provider
A silhouette maker
now a mere holder of nuances
Splintered

A Barkless whimper
an unoffered whispered prayer
A silent shout

ROOTS
knowing they can never grow
deep enough
or worse
last long enough

A feeder
of saplings
and wild flowers
UPROOTED
I once grew
now I make grow
Ever to remain
in one Season
A New One

It’s amazing what you see when
Stop looking
and start
W A T C H I N G

UPROOTED
sometimes means to
N O U R I S H
instead of being
n o u r i s h e d

f e e l i n g
UPROOTED
lately. . .
maybe it’s not so much a question
that needs to be asked
just answered
in another way. . .
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