I was recently talking to a friend who has had a shitty couple of years, with illness and death in the family. He noted that he’s gotten a lot of support from friends, family and colleagues along the way and that he’s embarrassed about it.
I get where he’s coming from.
Mood music:
Whenever I’ve experienced the things he is going through, I’ve felt a little embarrassed when people come to me with sympathy and offers of support. Some of it is because of pride, and some of it is a fear that people don’t see you as being able to deal with the tough stuff.
As I’ve grown older, though, two things have gotten clearer:
If people are supporting you, it’s usually because you’ve supported them at difficult times in their lives, and they are repaying it. It means you’ve touched some lives and made a positive difference. So when you hit hard times, the people you’ve touched feel personally invested in your well being.
We all go through tough times and remember that support from others helped us along. And when we can return the favor, it feels good.
This dude has certainly touched a lot of lives. Everyone in our circle has deep affection for him, and he’s earned our support.
Whether I’ve earned the support people have given me along the way is for others to determine. But I’d like to think I have.
To my friend: Hang in there. When people reach out, know that it’s because you’re respected and loved.
When a sibling’s death turns the baby of the family into the oldest son, you get an identity crisis filled with anger and confusion.
Mood music:
I’ve written at length about my brother Michael, who died of an asthma attack when I was 13. That experience will test any kid, and I was no exception. The loss infused a deep reservoir of fear and anxiety in me that would bubble up many times over the years.
But something else happened that would make me feel strange and alone for a long time.
I started my life as the youngest of three kids, the proverbial baby of the family. Michael was the oldest, and in the Brenner family much has always been expected of the oldest son.
My father was the middle child of his generation, but he was the only son. My grandfather, who came off a boat from the former Soviet Union with all the typical old-school values, expected the world of my father. As my grandfather descended into old age and illness in the mid-1960s, my father became increasingly responsible for the family business.
Growing up, my older brother became the one my father leaned on the most. Michael was encouraged to chart his own course and was studying to be a plumber, but he was also expected to help out with the family business and do a lot of the grunt work at home.
I was the baby, and a sick and spoiled one at that. By age eight I was in and out of the hospital with dangerous flare-ups of Crohn’s Disease. Because of that, I was coddled a lot.
The result was a lower-than-average maturity level for my age. At age 10 I acted like I was 5 sometimes. I would crawl into bed with my father for snuggles, like a toddler might do.
My maturity level hadn’t changed much by the time I hit 13. I probably regressed even further right after my brother died. But as 1984 dragged on, I was slowly pulled into the role of oldest son.
Everything that was expected of my brother became expected of me, and I wasn’t mentally equipped to deal with it. My brother had a lot of street smarts that I lacked.
As I descended into my confusing and angry teen years, I would be sent on deliveries for the family business. I’d get flustered and lose my sense of direction. One time my father sent me to Chelsea for a package. It was 4:30 and the place I was going to was closing at 5. I got there at 5:10 and had to drive back to Saugus without a package. I felt humiliated and ashamed.
As I entered my 20s, all that immaturity and feeling of inadequacy hardened into an angry, rebellious streak. I gave in to a variety of addictive impulses.
As I got older and worked on myself, the confusion and anger gave way to gratitude. The hard lessons of going from youngest child to oldest son have served me well.
I now have a lot of responsibilities with work and family, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. For all the rebelling, my experiences gave me a strong work ethic. But like my maturity, it just took longer to emerge.
I’ve always looked up to my cousin Melanie Segal. She’s been through a medical grind that would make a lot of people understandably bitter. But that’s not how she operates.
Mood music:
http://youtu.be/MhtednkzJl4
Through kidney and liver problems, she has lived her life with smiles, grace and good humor. Not once have I heard her complain about her medical difficulties. You never see her on Facebook complaining about her lot in life, either. In fact, I’ve seen her on there telling others to work harder at seeing the rainbows through the clouds.
She’s a rock in a family that’s been through a lot. You want to see courage? Look her way. And when you’re having a shitty day and feel like telling the world how much life sucks, think of her and you’ll realize just how petty you can be.
Sunday, she got a new kidney. The transplant procedure was a success, but she has a long road of recovery ahead. I know she’ll meet the challenge with the same grit and grace we all love and admire about her.
After eight years of life without any significant back pain, I’d forgotten how threatening an injury can be to one’s mental health.
This past week and a half, I’ve gotten all too clear of a reminder.
Mood music:
A couple Fridays ago, I twisted my tailbone out of joint while plugging in a power cord. It has never the heavy lifting for me that’s caused injury; it’s always been the quick, careless movements.
I spent that first weekend out of commission, but my spirits were good because I figured all would be better by Monday. Then I got to Monday and the pain seemed worse. A visit to the chiropractor had me feeling much better. Then, on Tuesday, I drove 90 minutes north for a camping trip. I’ve been walking crooked and slow ever since.
Saturday night, wave after wave of spasms kept me awake and in agony.
As I write this I’m back home and feeling a bit better about my ability to address the pain. I have another chiropractor appointment today, and I suspect I’ll be going for follow-up visits for the rest of the week before I’m back to normal.
I have to admit: My attitude has tanked because of all this.
Erin and the kids have had to pick up all the chores I usually do, which makes me feel badly. The biggest torment for me is a feeling of uselessness, and I’ve been pretty useless, though I’m very grateful to Erin and the children for picking up the slack without complaint.
I’ve been more short-tempered with people than usual, and that makes me feel badly, too.
The build-up of bad feelings inevitably leads to depression for me, and here it is. I’m not feeling doomed, and I’m sure as hell not feeling hopeless. I know this too shall pass, and the experience reminds me of how lucky I am to have full mobility most of the time.
When I can’t get off a couch, bed or chair, I can’t help but think of people who are permanently disabled. I can’t help but feel for my father, who has been left partially blind and in need of a walker after a series of strokes and heart attacks.
I’ll get to the chiropractor and get this fixed. I’ll also resume routine appointments to keep the back in check.
The black cloud currently over my head will lift.
But I’m reminded of how fragile the body and spirit can be. I’m sure I’ll appreciate the reminder in the long run.
Jeff Bauman has gotten so much attention since the Boston Marathon bombings a year ago that I had resolved not to write about him here. I’m as inspired by his story as everyone else; I simply thought there was nothing I could say about the guy that hadn’t been already said.
I’ve only read previews and excerpts thus far, but already I’m seeing something special.
About now you’re thinking I’m daft for only just now seeing something special. After all, the man’s durability of body and spirit has been evident since the day that bomb blew his knees off. We’ve seen picture after picture of him smiling in the hospital, throwing the first pitch at the start of a Red Sox game and appearing at the start of a Bruins playoff game.
But what I’ve read reveals raw feelings beneath the smile. In particular, he shows his discomfort as sports teams and politicians ask him to make appearances. He writes:
Did the Boston Bruins really want to do something nice for Jeff Bauman the human being? Or did they want him to be a prop? Something they could use to make a crowd of people cheer? Look at Jeff, isn’t he adorable? Look at Jeff, isn’t he brave? Look at Jeff, he’s a symbol. He’s a marketing tool.
Bauman also shares his relationship struggles before and after the bombings. He reveals the mood swings and commitment issues he thrust upon girlfriend Erin Hurley. Happily, the couple recently announced their engagement and that they are expecting a baby.
For me, there are three valuable lessons as I continue to read his story:
Don’t believe all the hype that surrounds you. Bauman knows he’s not the special snowflake the media and sports franchises portray him as. He’s essentially a regular guy who was in the wrong place at the wrong time and is doing the best he can with the fate he’s been handed. My experience as a writer is that people regularly put me on a pedestal for sharing my demons. I know I’m not special. Though, trust me, when people tell you you’re awesome often enough it’s easy to start believing it.
Smile, even when you don’t feel like it. We’ve seen all those pictures of Bauman smiling as he tries out his new prosthetic limbs. His writing reveals that on many days he didn’t feel like smiling. But he did anyway, and whether intended or not, that gives others the shot of inspiration needed to forge ahead in the face of adversity.
Make the best of bad situations. We all go through bad times. When we do, it’s hard to recognize the blessings hidden in them. Bauman knows his experience has made him stronger and that there are plenty of ways he can turn tragedy into something good. Reluctant as he may be some days, he has certainly made the best out of his situation.
Thanks for the inspiration, Jeff. And congratulations on the new book. I look forward to reading it in its entirety.
This weekend marks four years since I woke up in a funk and started this blog on a whim, figuring I’d at least feel better if I spilled my guts. It did the trick. But in the years since that day, it has become something far bigger than I could have imagined at the time.
Mood music:
http://youtu.be/zQzNBTukO0w
I didn’t expect so many people to connect with the writing. I figured it would be no big deal to people, because we all have our stories — filled with happiness, sadness, love, heartbreak and other forms of adversity. I would just be one in a chorus of online voices sharing my emotions and experiences.
But people did connect, especially work colleagues and others in my profession. I thought my soul venting might raise eyebrows at work, but I got nothing but support. The reaction from the information security crowd was particularly stunning to me. People who intimidated me with their outward toughness started sharing back. They became more than just people I did business with. The friendships I’ve gained through the sharing is a huge gift this blog has given me.
The reaction from family and friends was shock, because I had succeeded in carrying on with a stoic, easy-going exterior. I couldn’t believe people saw me as easygoing. Apparently I could have found success as an actor.
The sharing has allowed me to repair some relationships that were broken. In other cases, it made matters worse. But there was no turning back.
My wife was often bewildered by what I wrote, because I was sharing past experiences I hadn’t shared with her up to that point. That led to us doing a lot of work on our relationship, and that’s the absolute greatest gift this blog has given me. As part of that, the blog has become one of the things we do together as a couple: I do the writing, Erin does the editing and bullshit detecting. When something I write doesn’t ring true, she pushes me in the proper direction.
Admittedly, I’ve expanded the subject matter a lot in the last year and a half. I didn’t originally plan to opine about current events here, but I realized a couple things after a while:
If I were to write about nothing but my own flaws, I’d risk being defined by them and nothing else.
This blog should be about more than just my own personal growth. Part of one’s growth comes from their dealings with the people and events taking place around them. By that measurement, current events became fair game.
In finding the path through adversity, there are many lessons to be had by exploring how we all talk to each other.
I’ve also focused more on the lighter side of life, because few things get us through the fog like humor. That has made this experiment a lot more fun for me. I hope it has worked for all of you, too.
Here’s to many more years of staring adversity in the face and making it blink — becoming better on our own and together.
Updated June 1, 2015:The Vice President, who has suffered a lot of loss in his life, has more character and depth beneath his outward image of buffoonery than most people know. With news that his son Beau has died of brain cancer, I’m remembering the post below, originally written in 2013. I also recommend this column from Ezra Klein on Biden’s grief perspective.
I’ll surely get a boatload of criticism for what I’m about to do: defend Vice President Joseph Biden.
As you know, the man who’s a heartbeat away from the presidency tends to run his mouth a lot and get into trouble. During the signing ceremony for Obamacare in 2010, the mics were on as he told President Obama that “This is a big fucking deal.” During the 2012 presidential campaign, Biden told a Virginia audience that “we won North Carolina in 2008 and we can win it again.” That was the same event where he told everyone that the Republicans “want to put you back in chains.”
The vice president also has a habit of violating the personal space of those he’s talking to. Yesterday, as he swore in new senators, he embraced the wife of Maine Sen. Angus King a bit long for the comfort of some. He also told the husband of North Dakota Sen. Heidi Heitkamp to “spread your legs, you’re going to be frisked.” Biden said this after the photographer asked them to drop their hands for the photo. “You say that to somebody in North Dakota they think it’s a frisk,” Biden joked. “They think you’re in trouble, right?” (The Atlantic Wire has more on these incidents.)
People like to call him Uncle Joe, and not in a good way. One of my friends compared him to the crazy, creepy uncle everyone tries to stay away from during family gatherings. If you’re a Democrat, he’s just a lovable old-timer who has no verbal filter. If you’re a Republican, he’s an idiot and borderline sexual predator.
But I also think people make a bigger deal out of Biden’s antics than what’s deserved. A lot of politicians get in close during hugs and handshakes, especially the older folks. He’s also not the first politician to forget which town he’s in during a speech. When you travel all the time, that’s going to happen.
But here’s the main reason I’m going to defend the man: He’s been through a lot in his life and has worked his ass off despite it all. Whether you agree with his politics or not, take a look at his history, and you’ll have to admit he’s done some inspirational things in his life:
In 1972, a few weeks after he was first elected to the Senate, Biden’s wife and one-year-old daughter were killed in a car wreck while Christmas shopping. Biden’s two sons, Beau and Hunter, were critically injured in the accident but made full recoveries.
To keep close to his kids, he commuted from Delaware to DC every day by train — 90 minutes each way. He did that his entire 35 years as a senator.
In 1988, the same year he first ran for president, Biden suffered a series of aneurysms and at one point was given last rites. He recovered and continued to work tirelessly as a senator in the years that followed.
As senator he led the fight to pass the Violence Against Women Act of 1994. That law had several measures and provided billions of dollars to help women suffering from domestic violence and other gender-based crimes.
He was also among the first to call for action when a genocide was unfolding in the Balkans. Specifically, he fought to get Bosnian Muslims weapons and training to defend themselves against the mass slaughter taking place. Those policies eventually helped end the Bosnian war.
Having been through plenty of adversity myself, I have a soft spot for people who overcome devastating personal setbacks to make a positive mark on the world.
Call him Crazy Uncle Joe if it makes you feel better. In my opinion, his good points far outweigh his lack of filter.
