If Not For You: Reasons Why You Matter

 Backstage with   Dr. Laurie Johnson, LPC

    One of my heroes... Dale Beatty. Purple Heart Homes    

                       

    If  Not For You:    Reasons Why You Matter                                                         

                      

                           

                                                                          

I've heard people call this planet a big blue marble. 

I've heard it called "our island home."

I've heard it called lots of soft, romantic names.

I've heard people call the folks who populate it "our global family," the "family of man," "humankind" and "our brothers and sisters."

But some of you reading this know differently.

You know that humankind can be anything but kind.

You know that "our island home" is anything but peaceful or safe.

I'm talking to you.

The way you found out this circle of dirt, sand, rock and rubble we walk on is less than beautiful, is because you've been places where beauty died or was murdered ages ago.

What's left there, are shreds or shrapnel or shadows of goodness forgotten a long time ago.

Why were you there?

Maybe to bring liberation.

Maybe to teach.

Maybe to feed.

Maybe to bring medicine.

Maybe to keep the peace.

Maybe to clean up.

Maybe to salvage.

Maybe to crawl into the blackest stinking cave to rescue the innocents trapped there.

Maybe to bring order, or to rekindle the hope of order. The hope that chaos and evil hadn't already swallowed the world and grinned with a vicious belch.

Maybe you went to a jungle.

Maybe to a desert.

Maybe to a hotel room where you knew children were being sold and raped day after day behind that door.

Maybe you went to a classroom empty of books, but full of weapons, hate and despair.

Maybe you went to a clinic without water or instruments or any medicine other than the dignity you could show mothers whose babies were dying in their arms.

Maybe you went to a neighborhood infested with leeches who enslave others into addiction, crime, prostitution, and every manner of cruelty and exploitation…just because they can. Just because they are sick monsters.

 Maybe that neighborhood is online. Maybe you patrol the information highway, trolling to catch the subhumans who love to fondle babies and rape children and swap pictures and make movies and explore new depths of depravity with their gory, monster friends.

Maybe you go to a hospital where there is more blood donated on the floor every night than could ever be stocked by Red Cross. Where little kids come in with unspeakable injuries from sick ass parents who shouldn't have been allowed to have pets, much less kids. Where women come in beaten and cut by men who "love" with rage. Where young men come in, dead before 20 because of a gang's entertainment or rituals. Where cancer is ripping and gnawing babies too young to walk and teens who never got to see the world  and adults  too sad to do anything but stare at you in desperate pain.

I'm here to tell you something:

It mattered.

Please hear me.

It mattered.

I realize, fully, that I'd be an idiot to say that if I were in range of your being able to haul something at me, spit at me, strike me, or otherwise clean my clock for speaking such a repulsive, know-nothing, sappy, empty promise pile of crap.

But it is still true.

You made a difference.

Even if you didn't see it. Even if you can't see it now.

I'll take the risk of deserving your wrath, so long as I can try to help you get this truth.

You made a difference.

In the Big War-- be it combat, poverty, human trafficking, rescuing people from addiction or heinous exploitation, disease, crime or subhuman existence-- you may look back on the battles, the deaths, the casualties, and the sinkhole that replaced the ground where you stood for a brief time, battling the darkness, and feel your fight was in vain.

It wasn't.

Those battles still rage. Many at the same address. Folks are still waging wars against those monsters that devour information and technology and sick imagination, in order to cripple, maim, kill and destroy islands of hope.

But, guess who fed those islands of hope?

You did.

Give me a second, here.

When you went into the darkness and came back, there was something missing inside of you, wasn't there?

The first answer for those of you who were in military combat is probably, "Hell yeah!" You can immediately point to the stump that used to be a leg or an arm. Your hearing was shot, your nerves were shot, you came home to nightmares and daymares and all kinds of shit that the public calls PTSD and pretends to have some clue about. Right.

You sure as hell came back with missing parts. The kind you see, the kind you hide, and the kind you can't hide. You sure as hell have your wounds. The world doesn’t fit anymore. People around you are clueless and soft. They have no problem whining or running their mouths about stupid shit. More and more, they look at you with this dumb ass curiosity of "I saw the movie, American Sniper or Platoon and now I'm wondering just how messed up you are but I won't say anything" expressions. 

Some interrupt your thirty minute endurance trial at Wal-Mart with "I want to thank you for your service," and instead of helping, all it does is flashback buddies' faces who didn't come back, or came back with more trauma than body parts. Nothing makes sense anymore but you're supposed to smile and nod thanks and rise up to your 7 foot stature in the eyes of that person or kid. What he or she doesn't know, is that you're proud of the guys and gals you served with, but you're not proud of the unwinnable war some bureaucratic dipshit put you in.

 Nor are you proud to have come home, since some of your buddies chose to deploy again, and some newbies are headed over there to compromise the troop, and worst of all, there's no pride in knowing how many of your battle buddies died over there. If not physically died, died emotionally and mentally capped out. You know why 22 Vets a day off themselves. 

But here in the produce aisle you're supposed to say "Thank-you, Ma'am" and "Sure, kid." No problem. You've got the whole rest of the day to fight demons and sounds and flashbacks and mood swings from having it all brought back by some do-gooder who doesn't have a clue.

And yet, that annoyance is nothing compared to the lady or grandmother or dad who strikes up a conversation with you, to tell you their son or daughter is over there serving. You don't have the heart to tell them what it is really like, when they mention the sanitized version their kid has told them. You don't want to tell them what shape their kid will come back in. If they make it back. You don't want to tell them shit. You never come to Wal-Mart or anywhere else to shop if you can help it. When you do, it is not to stand out as the poster guy or poster girl for civilians' guilt relief.

So…how can I say that what you did over there mattered? Or what your fallen buddies did, mattered?

Because, the Big War is only part of the picture. Idiots in high office and despots around the world will always cook up more combat.

Life is lived in the little moments, but that does not make them insignificant.

I daresay some of the little moments are the biggest.

Like when you got that buddy to laugh after he got the Dear John email.

 Like when you pulled a prank on that buddy, getting even for the prank he pulled on you. 

Like when you gave that gal a break, and everybody followed suit and it turned the tide. She became a helluva warrior, and what you did mattered. Whether she was active duty or a nurse or a technician--you treated her with dignity and made sure other guys did too. 

On the dark side, maybe you were the one she could confide in about being harassed or raped. You couldn't undo it, but if you were there for her, as one of the good guys, it mattered.  It may have mattered when she sized up men as brothers or monsters in arms. It probably still matters today.

What you did, mattered.

When you held that buddy as he bled out, he had your arms around him and your words and shouts drowning out his cries. It mattered.

When you gave that kid in the village a candy bar, it mattered. He may see Americans as the great haters and infidels, but there was one who looked him in the eye with genuine kindness. That's unforgettable. That was as damaging to his version of American, as an IED. Even if he doesn't want to, he's got that memory because you put it there. 

It mattered. What you did, mattered.

That woman, who expected to be raped by you, or at least brutalized in other ways, remembers the American soldier or sailor or airman or Marine who showed her dignity and kindness. 

These are the kinds of things that start ripples. 

Ripples start streams. 

Streams converge to rivers. 

Rivers feed oceans. 

Don't scorn ripples. 

What you did, mattered. What you did not do, matters.

Am I saying that your part in the Big War was significant? It was, in the sense that you fought an equally big war--the War of Who Will You Be?

Some of you were never drafted and you didn't enlist. You did not serve in the military. But you were (maybe are still)  in the Big War of Who Will You Be? 

I'm privileged to know someone who lost both legs in an accident as a teen, who now inspires the world about the things that truly undergird us as we walk through this life. 

Reggie Showers... one amazing guy

I know someone else whose catastrophic injury, compels him to reach out to others, like the Boston Marathon victims, in order to inspire them. In order to replenish their faith that victory can lie ahead if they bravely choose their role in the War of Who Will You Be?

Scott Rigsby, using loss for gain in a huge way!

Maybe you battle for justice in a law office in Little Town, USA. Maybe you shoulder a nonprofit. Maybe you use your art or engineering or common sense to make the world a better place. Maybe you grow food. Maybe you teach. Maybe you fix things. Maybe you clean things. Maybe you're a Firefighter or EMT. Maybe you are grooming kids into amazing adults. Maybe your time and energy are consumed with physical therapy and rehab. Maybe you are battling back from an addiction or destructive decision. Keep battling!

Whatever you do, it matters!

Maybe you have a short reach. 

Maybe you have a deep reach. 

Maybe you can't see the benefit of your reach at all. 

Please do not define your impact by what you can see or measure.

Maybe you are at a Children's Hospital.

Maybe in Kenya.

Maybe in an outreach to gangs in Philly.

Maybe in inner city schools.

Maybe on the police force.

Maybe working the Border.

Maybe as a journalist trying to get the true story told.

What you do, matters.

Please let me say this to a dear friend and anyone else who needs to hear it. Here goes:

Yes, you lost both legs in combat. The fact that you didn't lose heart, makes you walk taller than almost any other man or woman on this planet. 

The platform you have, to speak truth in a sea of falsehood and vanity, matters. 

You speak faith and boldness and it casts a thousand seeds in fertile soil.

It matters!

You matter.

No, it was horribly unfair that service to your country in a questionable war took your legs and shattered the calm of life we know before a catastrophic injury. You have suffered a terrible, horrible loss. A physical loss. And now, hanging in the balance, is the risk of losing faith that you were even where you needed to be, when that IED mauled your life and killed buddies.

Because you make life on this side of that tragedy seem okay, does not mean it is okay. None of us will give you the credit you deserve. None of us grasps what it takes to be you. None of us have any clue what all you lost and what if feels like you are now losing, as that bloodshed  and campaign seems purposeless.

 But what you allow us to have and learn and know, because you held on and refused to let darkness finish the job--that matters.

 It is a light in a sea of mist and darkness. 

A sea that is deadening and muting spirits everywhere.

This sea of self-absorbsion and entitlement and exploitation that drowns people in pretty but murky waters of meaningless living. 

You tell us that there is life out there, to be found. To be made. To be shared.

Life despite tragedy. 

Life despite despair.

 Life bigger than our own. 

Life bigger, because we need to live it for those who went under, for those who were killed in a noble mission, and for those who didn't have the chance to live long enough to follow their dreams.

 We live for them, when we fully live.

 That doesn't make life fair. 

But at least that puts points on the board for those who should've been on the court. It is what we owe them, right? If  not for you and the memories you keep, they die in vain. 

You don't let that happen. 

That matters. You matter. It matters.

On the other hand.....Maybe you're a civilian and these words don't fit you. 

Maybe you are in a battle for decency and human rights.

You fought a war against poverty, or starvation or child abuse or human trafficking. Maybe you still fight it.

There are plenty of days  that you feel like the War of Decency is being lost to an exploding population of subhuman monsters. 

Who can blame you? Who can dispute that? 

So, does what you do, matter?

Yes, it matters.

Even for the briefest moments, you were the reason someone thought there was goodness in the world.

 That there was a hero in the world. 

That there was a glimpse of light in the grotesque darkness keeping them captive. 

That was YOU.

Or, perhaps you are a soldier in medical battle. Maybe the captivity, is cancer.

 Maybe you were the nurse who could evoke a smile even when the light was ebbing away.

Or could hold a parent, when the light went out. 

Maybe you were the phlebotomist who could get a smile and a vein, when nobody else could. 

Can you fathom how much that mattered? To that child? To that parent? 

To the tide of despair and futility and desperation intent on filling those hospital corridors or hospice? 

You stood foursquare against that tide. 

Whether it is in a downtown clinic, a pediatric cancer ward, a M.A.S.H. unit, or the nurse's office at school--as the first nurse who refused to buy stories about bruises and UTI's and got a child rescued from a pretty little hell. 

Maybe you're the technician running Disney movies for your tiny patients to see when they have nuclear imaging. You stay soft, even though every ounce of survival instinct says "Quit caring. It hurts too much. Just work the equipment."

Day after day. 

Maybe, you still do this work.

I can't think of anything more brave.

Maybe, you're not military. Maybe you're not in social work or law enforcement or have a title. Maybe...you battle in silence.

Maybe you battle for your life, as your body seems to war against this planet. 

Maybe your sickness has a name, maybe not.

There are no medals given for folks in your kind of warfare.

There are no passes or R&R papers for it, either.

You may battle in a sad, crappy silence, because others do not get it. 

After all, there's no fever. How can you be sick? 

Maybe you battle sickness in someone else. 

A sickness for which there seems no medicine. 

Hell, it doesn't even seem like there are people who would care enough to offer medicine even if some were on the shelf.

Maybe that battle is domestic violence...at your own address.

Or the violence that overtakes a mind that is soulsick and off kilter and harms everyone in its path, unintentionally.  A mind at war with itself.

He's a nice guy, why would you be afraid of him?

She's lovely. How could you accuse her of anything bad?

Whether you've battled to keep yourself alive, or sane...

Whether you've battled to limit the extent of fury or collateral damage

You deserve to hold your head up.

Hold it up and holler, if need be. 

Make a scene. Rattle the neighbors. Get help.

Just never, ever, ever, ever, ever buy the lie that you don't deserve better.

Even when bad comes from a person you dearly love. 

Get help. 

Help is out there.

Some of the people I've addressed in this essay, are the heroes that will help you.

(See, I told you that your work matters. That you matter!)

To everyone reading this:

You matter. 

What you do, matters. 

Whether it has a rank or title or paycheck or gets respect or doesn't...

Your life matters and how you spend it matters. 

And where you battle for good to win over bad, and health over illness, and peace over conflict, and care over neglect, and decency over apathy:

IT MATTERS.

It is not for loss.

Here's the tough truth:

We don't get to win the War. 

Not in our lifetime. 

We rarely get to see battles won or skirmishes turn the tide. 

What we get to see, is about 10 feet in front of us and around us. 

What we get to see is immediate and hasty and chaotic and messy.

That is why we can get so devastated and discouraged. 

But, what is inside that micro moment and geography of life is this--human spirits colliding.

Either against hope, or hopelessness. 

Either against compassion, or apathy. 

Either against dignity, or disgust.

Either against good will, or against exploitation. 

Every time you chose hope, compassion, dignity and good will, you chose well. 

(Unless you are battling child rapists and violent criminals. In that case, have at it.)

So, here's my point.

You chose life. You fought to live. Not just to exist or survive.

You wouldn't be reading this or listening to this if you weren't a fighter.

For life.

You are a fighter for life and for lives and for living!

Even though it cost you an arm or a leg (perhaps literally) and destroyed the calm, safely cocooned mind you possessed before entering your War... 

You had a version of life or faith that you never wanted to lose or have vandalized

You had a buoyant spirit that's now pretty  battered. 

You're not sure that joy or peace or carefree wonder can be revived.

You've definitely not sure whether you can rekindle a sense of the goodness of humankind.

That seems highly, deeply, madly, completely unlikely.

But it may recover.

Whatever you lost, please know you lost it in a battle that mattered!

You and your offensive or defensive maneuvers in that battle MATTERED far beyond what you could see or can measure.

******************* You matter.**********************

You didn't just light a candle in the darkness. 

You lit some one's candle.

For whatever moments or months or years, you lit up their life.

With your friendship. 

With your brotherhood or sisterhood. 

With your parenting, biological or not. 

With your laughter. 

With your raunchy  or dark humor. 

With your delicate smile. 

With what you said in times of distress, and what you kept to yourself. 

With everything you said without words.

What you DID mattered.

What you DO matters.

Life is not a lost cause;

Not with people like you in it.

Please do not underestimate the good you have brought this world.

Please do not underestimate the good that you've given.

Please do not underestimate the good you are in this world, just by being here in good shape or bad, on good days and bad days.

  This world is richer for having you in it. And here's a truth:

  Life for many people would have been much harder,

  if not for YOU.

Please remember, you are a HERO for what you give of yourself, or for what you GAVE of yourself. You are a HERO. Give yourself credit.

Think about it.

Then give yourself a pat on the shoulder. A hug. A high five. Have a good cry. Have a good stomp if you need to. Find a place to holler. Then, look in a mirror. You will find an amazing, precious, gutsy person in it, awaiting your approval and affection. Please, please, please, open the floodgates of love. You deserve it.

Never underestimate the ripples of your life. Heaven notices.

Note: Tomorrow is Independence Day. I prefer to think of it as Dependence Day, because our deliverance from the greatest empire in the world happened only because we could depend on each other, depend on our Heavenly Father, and depend on goodness to win over complacency, comfort, and convenience. 

We are at a place in history where comfort, complacency, convenience and self-absorbsion puts at risk the survival of this great nation.

We are fractious, fighting, and distrusting. But we don't have to be!

Media, music, celebrity pundits and marketeers  are polarizing this country. I wrote this piece to help "little people" remember that there is nothing mightier than people with a united heart, mission, and vision for good.

Please pass this along. We are in great need of a revival of courage. May our compassion be contagious!

© dr. laurie davis johnson, lpc     3  july 2015

www.drlauriejohnson.com

What Inside Out Left Out

Shrink Rap with Dr. J    "What Inside Out Left Out"    Backstage with Dr. Laurie Johnson, LPC, AMS

           

               What do you look for in a great movie? Personally, I love to cheer for an underdog, I like to see love win out in the end, and in between, I like to have a good cry. By acknowledging this, I have probably just eliminated 60% of you from ever wanting to attend a movie with me!

               For me, that's okay, because the other thing that makes for a great cinema adventure, is being one of  5 or fewer viewers! Preferably, the other 4 viewers do not even dream of talking, commentating, using their phones, or incapably unwrapping candy for three minutes or more during sensitive scenes.  I have just nailed acceptable cinema etiquette for a delicious minority of movie goers. If you are a member of  my movie going tribe, I would tip my hat at you next time I'm at the theatre, except that #1, I don't wear a hat indoors and #2, no cinema seeker of our ilk wants to be acknowledged at the cinema. We are there to get lost  in the glow of the silver screen. We are not there for chatty chat or niceties, correct?

               Recently, I went to see the movie Inside Out. I'd been eager to see it, because as a Developmental Psychologist, I was dearly hoping that this film would help audience members get a keener grasp on how profoundly emotions impact us. I was especially enthusiastic about it being released,  because I'm known for telling everyone who will stand still about the "Committee" that each of us possesses, internally. I had a feeling this animated movie would come very close to illustrating the idea of having a "Committee" and I was not disappointed!

               Actually, I was. Disappointed.

               But, I wasn't disappointed at first. While I watched Inside Out, I delighted in how well it captured the humor, poignancy, pain, and triumph of human nature. I loved that it illustrated the tangle and interplay of our emotions and needs and fears and insecurities.

               I hope that everyone who sees Inside Out, will leave with a fresh awareness that ALL of us wrangle with our emotions. That is not a struggle left to teens or women or "emotional people." It is a struggle shared by everyone who has a pulse. The difference is--some people factor that in, and others (the majority) navigate blindly through this storm called Life.

               One of the regrettable things I see in our society, is the presumption that we are rational and informed people, and therefore, we view things sensibly and objectively. HA! The truth is, no matter how informed, educated, mature, seasoned, worldly, or clever we are--we still experience the world through a lens. A uniquely crafted and damaged (and possibly modified) lens. We  carry old pain, fears, and insecurities. Although it wasn't illustrated in the film, we also carry internalized rules, roles, expectations, and assumptions. Maybe that will be illustrated (no pun intended) in a sequel, as our heroine matures.

                These emotions and insecurities crawl, slither, bounce, pounce and fume out of our psychological backpack, whenever we encounter something that causes us to pause on our path. The interruption can be as mundane as a wait for public transit, or as dramatic as getting a bad diagnosis. A word, a gesture, an image or a memory triggers us. Sensations, flashbacks, longings, and moods expose that we do not function rationally like Mr. Spock.

               Unexpectedly, throughout a day,  we get swept up or sidetracked or jacked up by a menagerie of emotions, memories, wonderings and assumptions. We may not be attuned to hearing our self-talk, but it is rolling! Inside our "Committee" is a host of voices weighing in on how we are feeling,  what we are doing, and how we are (or are not) measuring up! The Committee is also consumed with gauging how we are being viewed, scrutinized, idolized, or ignored, depending on the mood we are in.  I really liked the way that Inside Out introduces audiences, both youthful and adult, to the rascally world of emotions and the thoughts that shape them. Good job, Inside Out movie team! That was a GREAT introduction to a needful topic. Bravo!

               So, what disappointed me about Inside Out? Not a thing, until the story marinated with me a day or two. I was honestly so thrilled to see a movie  offer relevant societal  benefit, that I didn't notice it lacked anything vital. However, as I've mused about it, I have a concern that it colors a world that lacks the epicenter that makes life worth living,  pain worth enduring, and love worth risking.

               Granted, a movie can never capture all that a book embodies, and that may be the case with Inside Out. I am not a movie critic, nor do I aspire to be one, so I have not done the homework necessary to sort out the intent and challenges that faced these film makers.

               But, here is my concern. There is no Value Island.

               As you may know, Inside Out revolves around an 11 year old girl who loves her home, family, friends and hockey, but is faced with cross country relocation. Once there, she struggles to adjust, in ways all too familiar to anyone who has made that challenging adjustment, especially during Middle School years! (I could identify. I went to three different Middle Schools!)

               When disappointment and resentment about her circumstances reaches a peak, the young girl makes the risky decision to run away. All works out in the end, but not in smarmy way. In  a good, open ended way that reminds families that they are always a work in progress, and that compassion is a family's greatest asset. I am all for that!

               Although the movie offers a lot of great lessons and fun entertainment, underneath the story thread is fault line, in my estimation. Granted, I can't watch a movie without analyzing it. Probably, that is because I am in a profession that presents me daily, with the cares and confessions of great people wrestling with life and its challenges. They face "First world" issues that are heavily influenced by media and movies, rock stars and celebrities. 

               As someone heavily invested in where our society is moving, when I see a movie inclined to romanticize or demonize or normalize a certain world view, my ears perk up. Which of these "izes" did Inside Out do, in my estimation?

               You decide. Just consider this, AFTER you have seen the movie. What's to give an "island" meaning? What's to keep it from toppling? Anyone who has been in a family for over a decade, understands that they can teeter on a razor's edge of peace and panic, love and loathing, affection and animosity. 

               What's to keep Family Island afloat? Popularity of the parents? Then, they better not make tough, unpopular decisions. A system of chores that gets things done while annoying or offending no one?  No imposing on a son or daughter's freedoms or convenience? Hmm. What keeps a family or marriage held together, when fiery sparks ignite from competing needs, rollercoaster moods, and brazen self-interest?

                What's to keep Hobby Island afloat--in this case, Hockey Island? That it is fun? That it  is rewarding? That you're whipping the competition? That despite a loss, you pull together? Is that the pinnacle of a sport, hobby, or passion? Is there any higher purpose to hobbies?

               What's to keep Friendship Island afloat? The absence of tension, or the resolution of conflicts? The feel goods? What about when friendship demands us to grow and stretch and eat humble pie? Do we kick people off the Island, or conform to what others want?

               What's to keep Goofy Island afloat? Are its days numbered? Will it  collapse under the weight of needing to be cool? Is it only about silliness?

               What is to keep Honesty Island afloat? Is it enough that we can be honest about things that are morally compromised? If you watch any teen TV, you've seen how prevalent it is for teens to inform their parents that yes, they are sexually active. Yes, they'll make their own choices about drinking, smoking and drugging. The air of  "I'll decide for myself" is thicker than ever. Is being honest with Mom and Dad enough? Is being honest with oneself enough? Is there no moral compass to provide a True North?

               Think about your family. Have you been exposed to the idea of  a Value Island that could  provide your family a unifying philosophy about what things matter, why they matter and how to live an integrated, intentional life?  I know of a Value Island that is able to comfort inhabitants with the knowledge that they have infinite worth--while also reminding them that their actions and choices can sometimes be sketchy or cowardly.

               What that Value Island does, is impact and orient every other island. 


            Hobby Island becomes more than a team schedule, competitions, and scores. 

 It becomes a stage on which to find your best, share your best, and to better other people's lives. 

Family Island becomes something that warms and feeds insiders…so much that they want to warm and feed outsiders. 


Friendship Island becomes a place where friendship is more than a magnet for fun, it becomes a compass to help two people recognize whether they are going toward or away from their best selves. 


Goofy Island comes into better focus, as Delight Island--the sanctuary where we can maintain childlike  joy and revelry and wonder. Wonder that can enliven us for as long as we live. Wonder that's a lot more healthy than adolescent and adult escapes through alcohol and thrill seeking. 

                 Honesty Island can operate from a value system deeper than authenticity. It can root down into authentically upright.

               Without Value Island, we have a life of floating buoys that tell us the ocean's depth, but not the ocean's glory. We have islands upon which to play, recreate, wrestle and indulge ourselves, but we don't have life beyond ourselves.

               Whether your Value Island is one of altruism and humanitarianism, it should add a dynamic dimension and unity to all your islands, shouldn't it? If your island is one of surrender to a Higher Power, it should cast a unique light on all the islands in your life, right? Especially if one of your islands is Sobriety Island. And, if your Value Island is faith-based, I hope its fruit is shown in love, mercy and justice.  

After all, "justice" means giving people what is fair. Give them dignity, basic needs, and a path forward, and we'll build less jails and have less hungry and homeless faces assigned to "I don't see them" Island.

It certainly means giving back...to those who gave us so much, like Veterans.

               So, now you know my concern. A society that views life as a constellation of "what we do" islands, and "who we are" groupings, is missing something. It is missing a higher calling. It is missing the sun to its solar system. A sun to warm and to illuminate all the islands in one's life. The ones we choose to inhabit. The ones we find ourselves lost upon. The ones we swim toward, aching for rest and revival. The ones where we gather together, to grow, to heal, and to make miracles happen.

               If you should see Inside Out again, maybe you'll ask yourself this question. If our insides can show on the outside…do your insides have a center? Is that center solid? Or,  is it only as stable as the moods, the memories, the mushiness, and the madness of life? If so, consider  making a trek to discover your own Value Island. It matters.

This is me. Goofy, Caring, Loving...and committed to helping this world becoming a safe place to live.

www.drlauriejohnson.com

Photos courtesy of Disney/Pixar promotions

Pondering Graduation and Celebrating Teens by Dr. Laurie Johnson, LPC

Pondering Graduation and Celebrating Teens

Before you read this, let me make a confession. One of my pieces of advice to writers is crass but wise: "Poop it out then let it cool. Never judge it before it cools." I am neglecting this advice in favor of being timely. Also, because I readily admit that I am WUI... Writing under the Influence of emotions and longings. So here goes. My attempt to capture Graduation 2015 in a manner that does justice to my affection and present afflictions.

                               

 Pondering Graduation and Celebrating Teens  

                      by Dr. Laurie Johnson, LPC

              In my line of work, I am graced to meet lots of people of all ages from all walks of life.  Many of them are teenagers who inspire me deeply as they chop an authentic, but often lonely trail through the Adolescent Jungle. Once in a while, a young soul comes along who walks a rather quiet path, but leaves behind him or her a magnificent trail blazed with blood, sweat, tears and often, belly laughter. I celebrate those trails, but not just because they served to get my cherished teen friends from youth to adulthood. I celebrate them, because those trails often serve as routes of relief and escape for the other "quiet ones" who need them badly and deserve them mightily.

            For the last sixteen years, I've sent my kids to an institution that's been around for over a hundred years. When I first discovered it, I came to its gates wide-eyed and heart-full, and tenderly gave my most precious possession into its care. The most wonderful soul I've known, Janice Cox, welcomed my five year old son into her room and into her heart. To this day, she is much like the T.A.R.D.I.S.--bigger on the inside than the outside. Her heart is like Hermione's purse, always filled with whatever you need most.

Our beloved Janice Cox

                        

            When I took that first mother's step toward giving the world to my child, and my child to the world, I was a wreck. Without a mother or sister to hold my hand as I let go of my firstborn, I desperately needed someone to fortify me. I got that and more, in the teacher who would become my "face of Darlington." I prayed for a teacher who would love my eccentric son, as the unique spirit he was. He had thrived in Miss Laurie School. I wanted his hunger for knowledge to be welcomed and his keen intellect to be embraced. I wanted his childlike spirit to be shielded from the toughening that can happen around kids so intent on jockeying for power that they bruise classmates. I wanted his soul nurtured. I wanted his trust in a loving Heavenly Father fed. I wanted to know he was in the hands and heart of a true teacher. He was. To add to my joy, that teacher went on to fortify me through years of parenting. She welcomed my other three children whether or not they were assigned to her classroom. Her heart had room for them all. Two sons and two daughters of mine know her as a precious teacher and guide whose love comforts them and compels them toward excellence, to this day!

Mrs. Cox's Cubs on a field trip to Possom Trot!

              

            As I sit here and think about how grateful I am to that teacher, who served as an "other mother" to my kids as well as to me, my mind and heart are flooded with faces of people who have brought joy and wisdom to my family. Today, I attended Darlington's 110th Commencement. While there, I saw many faces of adults who have loved my kids forward to adulthood. I saw many teens who have tripled my faith in humankind. Among those youthful faces, are some who have risked to let me on the inside, and have honored me with their trust. I celebrate those teens. I am humbled by all they have confided in me, questioned with me, denounced to me, searched for with me, and erected in front of me. Especially, by what they have erected. I can't wait to see how their dreams unfurl.

            When kids are little, we give them building blocks, followed by Legos and other construction sets. Sometimes, we provide them with guidance and instructions. Sometimes we wisely back off and discover how clever and creative they can be once we curb our interference. Unfortunately, it is terribly tempting to sweep down with instructions in order to  direct and even over-direct what our kids construct. That applies, whether they are five years old, or fifteen, or nearing Graduation. With Graduation fresh on my heart and mind, this makes me pause.

                                      

Time passes swiftly...

                                             

            Think about it. When we send kids to school, we give them a variety of building blocks, a structured classroom and even a daunting playground. Our children discover that they must learn to read and write and count objects. Later, they must memorize things and calculate equations. In high school, they must recite things, analyze things, and construct things, usually in a singular and unforgiving format.

            We presume this is how one builds an adult mind and a good citizen. We prep and shape and grade and lecture them into students who reflect well on family and school. We cut and coach and train and holler on the field or court or diamond, to make them the athletes who will reflect well on family and school. We costume, choreograph, conduct, and contain our artists, to exhibit what will reflect well on family and school. We prod, pamper, bribe, or shame them toward a great GPA, high class rank, solid SAT, and college acceptance (preferably a choice Scholarship)  that will bring honor to family and school. And then, on Graduation Day, we tear up as they walk across the stage, either because we're proud of who they became or we're scared that there are some obvious missing pieces and priorities. We throw parties or attend parties, where our kids are presented as the key witness to our parenting and command of etiquette. I am happy for our teens to be celebrated. I am thrilled for their hard work to be recognized. But, part of me fears that many of our teens' maturity is overestimated because we so badly want to believe that they are poised for success. So many of them are dressed for the part, but do they really have the clarity and fortitude to exercise good choices under bad pressure? 

            While I will never be considered seriously as an etiquette guru, fashion setter, or debutante type, I'm okay with that. What I am known for, is being a truth teller. I am about to offer some truth, but it is not pretty, dainty, fashion forward, or popular. But, I never worry about my popularity, so here goes.

Silver Lake reflections

            Graduation is hours past for us, but still lingers on the horizon for others. After Graduation concludes, there is a very popular way to celebrate exiting high school: The famous Senior Trip. I'm just going to be blunt. What I have to say about most mildly chaperoned Senior Trips is this: Don't.

              Don't...what? Don't let your 17 or 18 year old go. Why? Because when most kids pack for it, they leave out much of the "critical thinking" that was hammered into and expected out of them, by high school teachers. Regardless of whether our teens graduate from private school or public, whether they live in the South or the Midwest, when many  graduates leave on a graduation trip, they leave most of their safety and sensibility behind. But, the other parents are okay with that, so you should be okay with it, too, right? After all, in a few months, sons and daughters will be away at college with fake ID's, enjoying the "best years of their lives." Might as well mishandle freedom now. Besides, it is a rite of passage to throw caution and character to the wind, while one revels in adult vices as the reward of making it to Graduation. Right? Wrong!

            Unless we say otherwise, our  high school graduates are likely to get this message from parents: "Celebrate! Party! Bring on the  red solo cups, selfies and uninhibited hedonism and relish the next phase of life. Be an adult!"

                     

             After all, being an AP Scholar, acing the ACT, topping 200 service hours, and being Class officer or team captain, means our graduates are made of magic stuff that can repel risks of being arrested as well as alcoholism, STDs, anxiety issues, date rape, depression, loneliness, suicidal moments, untimely pregnancy, a gaming addiction and chemical dependency. Right? Wrong.

              We put our kids in elementary school, push them through middle school, and pull them through high school. Naturally, our kids are prepared for life after graduation. They endured sex education during Health Class and sat through Character Education. They cultivated altruism through obligatory community service. They wowed somebody in the college admissions department. Our job is done! Throw wide the doors and pass them the credit card and keys. Life is waiting with open arms! Right?

Horrors! Teens do dangerous things? Heck yeah, they do. Don't assist them.

            I mention these sobering realities at the risk of being considered a party pooper. (It won't be the first time!) My sobriety about these subjects, comes from hearing and seeing the scars that come from kids launched carelessly. There  are things a thousand times more important than my mediocre social standing. Right this minute, those "things" are our kids. My graduate. Your graduate. Last year's graduate. Next year's graduates. Those guys and girls who looked so grown up at Prom, weeks ago, and who look so sharp at Graduation. As a psychologist and a mom, may I say that days from now, these teens still NEED you to keep steering them toward adulthood. They need a mom, dad, or step-parents, who will still say "No," when their physical or emotional safety is at risk. No matter how popular the attraction is, or how comfortable other adults are with being more permissive or laissez faire or looking the other direction.

Graduation concludes. Life lessons don't.

            Sure, teens they think that turning 18 liberated them from the laws of nature and family policies. They think that Graduation adorned them with savvy and indestructibility. They presume now that special privileges are permanent. That special favors and provisions are entitlements you owe them. It is the air they breathe--this sense of entitlement. You are the community's last hope for curbing that way of thinking. Your child's future in-laws will appreciate it, if you do that. Potential divorce attorneys will not--they'd rather your son or daughter stay on the path of indulgence and bottomless credit because that will keep them in business. Correcting that course is up to you.

            Why? Because school didn't teach your newly adult children everything they need to know.  And some of what the culture of your school taught your children, is worth unlearning.

            So, please… Everyone around you may be heaving a great sigh of relief that the Class of  2015 is  prepped and polished to face the world. Don't count on it. Other parents may be puffing with pride about the college life that shines on their child's horizon. They may be oblivious that  going "downtown" or "uptown" or across town, is more risk than revelry. There is a strong risk that gettting wasted and "living it up" at college can plant fertile seeds of drug and alcohol dependency, promiscuity, self-loathing, and disillusionment. Especially for kids who have yet to discover their voice or use it, assertively. Especially for kids who have yet to  exercise their mind for independent thinking or harness the courage to walk the path less travelled. Did that get taught along with Calculus, World History or time splits?

                                                           

            When along the way, did your child discover his or her voice? When did he or she summon the courage to use it? Did he or she ever use it, to step up as a bystander and shut down a bully? If that was not  in the school curriculum, did you make sure to teach that at home, for everyone's benefit? Is your teen an advocate for others? Or, god forbid,  is your son or daughter a bully? Do you honestly know for sure? Don't presume that anti-bullying programs at school were successful. We adults have read too many tragic stories of bullycides happening to high school and college students.

                                                 

    

Follow the leader...where?

            When along the way, did your teen learn to think for himself or herself? To choose something close to his or her heart, rather than to follow the crowd? School life often teaches kids to lay low. Social politics whisper "Don't make waves." Kids know the term "social suicide" because it is real. Hang out with the wrong person, say the wrong thing--or the right thing at the wrong time or to the wrong crowd--and you'll be ostracized. Shunned. My family knows that firsthand, from times when my kids failed the Fit In test at school. One son was shunned for three weeks, by almost the entire 8th grade class, for calling attention to a boy who'd been abusive to a girl. The other son was forbidden to give his President's speech at 8th grade graduation, because he wanted to boldly  acknowledge that middle school years can be tough but life will get better. That speech wasn't considered appropriate. Rather than water down his message, he declined the chance to address his peers. That made me proud. And sad. Because if there is any group of people who need to hear that life gets better, it is awkward, gawky, self-rejecting, anxious 8th graders staring into the headlights of high school. 

Celebrate what your Teen loves...

            Failing theFit In test can sting. Kids can add to the misery of it. Teachers can add to the misery of it. Yet, kids and teachers can come to the rescue, also. My son, who was shunned in 8th grade by his class, went on to give a Senior Speech that sensitized students and teachers alike, to the underground realities of bullying at school. He also illustrated, with humor and poignancy, the challenges of having ADHD.  That made me proud. And sad. Sad, because the kids who came to apologize to him, didn't have to wait four years to do that.

            My other son, who was censored from having the chance to exhort his peers about the hope of better days ahead, also made a comeback. He went on to write authentic blogs and plays and award winning essays--each  with an element of speaking to the unspoken, naming the unnamed, and challenging others to look past rules and roles in order to discover the skin that really, truly fits. Did it cost him  along the way? Yes. Would selling out, in order to pass the Fit In test, have also cost him something? No doubt. I am proud and sad that he chose to be authentic and that he bucked  the rules in order to be real. Proud, because that is gutsy. Sad, because there are still so many kids yet to love the person  they see in the mirror. I'm comforted though, by the certainty that he'll continue to cut a path through convention and convenience. He just will. He is a truth seeker. He is a trailblazer.

                                    

The best gifts are...friends.

            At the opening of this essay, I was going to mention a certain young man who inspired me by the way he chopped through the Adolescent Jungle and left a trail for others to find.  Yet, I need to make a distinction. He is not the type to want to be followed. He's not the type to call attention to his contributions. He's not the type to haggle for what's legitimately his. He prizes learning, above education. To my chagrin during high school, it was usually learning about stuff other than what was in his text books that kept his passion ablaze. His broad shoulders often bore the weight of quiet people, girls and guys, and even some adults who need to talk, or stomp, or cry to someone who "gets it." He's a listener, more than a speaker, but when he speaks, he commands the room. He's misknown by many people as an easygoing guy,  when in actuality, he rarely goes easy on himself. 

            In high school, he was not always considered among the top tier "smartest" students, yet his wisdom was often sought out by those who appreciate an old soul or bold new ideas. Thankfully, he's not chomping at the bit to party and let loose, because he's seen friends struggle with those temptations. He's held the hearts of friends who travelled dark paths made worse by drinking and being heedless to harm. Seeing the heartaches, scars and shadows of those painful lessons learned has made him leery of false promises and reckless adventure.

                     He's not likely to show his affection and vulnerability, but it is there. Since elementary school he's offered safe haven to outsiders and wanderers. He's been a mystery, an advocate, a counselor, a sage, a smartass, a rebel, and a shepherd. I think that how you see this young man, speaks volumes about who you really are, and what is really within you. He comforts the hurting. He makes the comfortable a bit nervous. He has a lot to bring this world, ready or not.

            I am glad he crossed my path. I am better for that. He is not a pleaser. He didn't strive toward the brass rings that are popular in my community. He doesn't share my political views or spiritual identity. He is his own person. That makes me proud and sad. Proud that he is independent and authentic.  Sad, because naturally I feel like I've found the answers I want him to find. There will be time for that. In the end, I know he'll have made this world a much better place. In the meantime, it has kept me humble to have a trailblazer in the family.

            At times, his trailblazing has not reflected well on family or school. But, do you know what? Sometimes, that was an indication that our family had the need to grow, and that school needed to stretch. I am proud to know this teen. I am excited for the trail he'll blaze in college. I'm moved, when I think that he'll leave a path behind him, where other searchers can find a trail wide enough for who they are.

            Some people in high school got glimpses of his soul. Some cherished it. Some shaped it. Some bruised it. Some learned a thing or two from him. I learned a lot from him. I expect that I will learn a lot more from him. Some kids make okay students, but great teachers. This student, was one of those…for those brave enough to learn.

                                                      

             I appreciate a soul who makes me grow. I appreciate a soul who makes me question my answers and answer with what is in my heart, not just in my head. It is not always easy to dance with someone who freestyles. I like my ballroom formulas. I like the beat that's easy to dance to. But, this young man has cause me to hear new music. To appreciate new steps. To grasp that there is so much more for me to learn. I am so glad that he is one of those special teens who will continue to widen my eyes and open my heart.

             I'd love to hug every teen who I've gotten to know well in my son's Class of 2015. I'd like to tell them, "Don't graduate! Stick around!" but I know they have new widows on the world to pry open.  When they do,  I hope to peek in with affection and admiration because I have so much to learn and I want to celebrate their discoveries. Life with teens is an incredible adventure. I am sad to see this part of the journey come to a close. But, I am proud, proud, proud to know these spectacular humans. And to that graduate that I love most of all, I say Thanks, Abraham. It has been a joy to watch you shine. The only sadness you bring me…is that we can't do it all over again!