Silence is Golden

Much has been written on listening.  Studies have been done; papers have been published.  There are listening skills.  Active listening.  Empathic listening.

The thing about listening is it requires someone to be talking.  Don't get me wrong, I'm all for good conversation.  But too often what you're listening to is idle chitchat.  Jibber-jabber.  I think most people are so uncomfortable in the quiet company of others, they feel compelled to fill the empty space with meaningless ramblings.

Now, I rarely experience a moment of silence.  I love blasting music that vibrates the floor under my feet.  Or the TV is on.  If it's quiet, I probably have a headache.  I wish I could say I'm meditating, but that's still on my to do list.

Given my propensity to fill the empty spaces with great noise, the most important times I've spent have been in total silence.  Sitting quietly with people as they spent their last moments on earth.  The ultimate altruistic act.

Maybe the best way to improve conversational skills has nothing to do with the art of listening.  It's realizing when you have exhausted meaningful conversation and you quit talking.  I'm just saying, you don't have to wait until I'm dying to sometimes just sit quietly in my company.

Fact or Pleasantry

I recently read "It's cold!" on my son's blog, Fetal Minds.  It surprised me how such an innocuous topic provoked so many thoughts for me.  He appreciates the quiet solitude of winter.  That provides grist for my next entry, but first a more basal issue.

In the Midwest, my generation was raised to make eye contact and say "hi" or nod when another person entered your personal space.  Hell, we didn't even have 'personal space' back then.  When another person crossed your path, you would exchange "pleasantries".  Often, pleasantries were just statements of fact.  It's sure cold out.  This heat it awful.  Fine.  For a stranger or an acquaintance.

But,  with a relative, it's not fine.  We're a lazy country; no one would argue that.  I think we've also become conversationally lazy.  I'm as guilty as anyone.  We have large multi-generational family gatherings several times a year.  There are nieces, nephews, cousins, et al, of all ages that you only see 3 or 4 times a year.  Making conversation isn't always easy.

But if the best you can do is "exchange pleasantries" like you would with a stranger...don't bother.  It's just lazy.  Those of us with personalities that draw us to more solitary occupations may find these infrequent gatherings awkward.  But in the future I'm going to make more of an effort.  Or, there's nothing wrong with just being a listener.

World AIDS Day 2009

The first observance of World AIDS Day was December 1st, 1988.  Just one year later, I was one of the millions of people who observed World AIDS Day as a person living with HIV.
It's hard to believe it's been 20 years; neither me nor my doctor expected I'd still be alive. When I was diagnosed HIV+ in 1989, AZT was the only antiretroviral treatment available.  There have been many effective medications developed over the years, but they didn't come soon enough for the others in my Support Group.
Our group met every Saturday, and as the weeks, months, and years went by, I watched the life drain out of my new-found friends.  Their viral loads increased while their CD4 counts decreased and their bodies wasted away.  By the time new medications were released, their immune systems were already too compromised to fight back.
Today was a great day in Kansas City; sunny; near 60 degrees.  I played golf.  While I enjoyed my good health and the beauty of the outdoors on this World AIDS Day, I thought about all my friends that I've lost to this terrible disease, especially dean, Jim, Tim, and Richard.

To Err is Human, To Sleep Divine

I was recently in a Chicago hotel room, unable to sleep, staring into the darkness that is 4am. Random thoughts ran through my mind like so many apps on an iPhone. You'd think many glasses of wine, a Bailey's, and 2 Rx sleeping pills would be antithetical to a long night of introspection. Au contraire mon fraire. That's when I do some of my best thinking. I just wish I could remember more of it the next day.
This night in question was particularly fruitful, however, because I was catching a plane that morning. I didn't wake up to the routine at home which doesn't often allow much room for thoughts from the night to carry over into the light of day. But on this Chicago morn', I grabbed the little notepad from the hotel room and while waiting in the airport, made notes on several topics that had filled my sleep void. I look forward to blogging about them in the days ahead.
The brain surgery caused my chronic insomnia. The good news is: my ability to sleep is much better than it used to be. The bad news: I have fewer episodes of insomniatic clarity.

The Naked Journal

Soon it will be 2 yrs since I began this process. Why haven't I posted more? As a sporadic journalist, I expected to be more consistent given the benefits of an electronic journal. I constantly edit and rewrite my thoughts; a messy process with pen and paper. The fingers on my right hand don't cramp up on a keyboard. I have an opinion on practically everything and have experienced countless events that I want to document. So is it just a matter of making the time? For me, it's more like justifying the time. But, there is a much larger stumbling block I've had to confront. The reality is, a journal can be tucked away until you are tucked away. You don't have to be present for the unveiling of all your thoughts and fears, opinions and slanders. I realized I quit blogging when the words I wanted to put in writing were not ones I wanted to share in the present. So I begin, again. But with spirits dampened by the realization that I'm not ready to strip naked for all to read.

525,600 minutes

I watched the movie Rent today. It made me miss the guys from my old support group that have died. In fact, they all died, at least the ones I was close to -- dean (never capped), Tim, Jim, Richard...

I suspect my feelings are akin to being the last living member of a family. Memories can be shared with others; but experiences can only really be shared with those that are in it with you. The time we spent in group sharing our hopes and fears about living with HIV where at times outweighed by the time spent in hospitals and at funerals.

I found out July 5, 1989 that I was HIV+; I joined the support group that fall. On May 18, 1990, we experienced the first death in our group. I noted 7 deaths in 1991 and 7 again in 1992; there were probably more. Those were the bad years. On August 29, 1993, dean died; that was the hardest. On June 26, 1996, it was Tim, my last connection to our group.

I am blessed with tremendous support from family and friends. But, when there's positive medical news or negative rantings like those of Reverend Wright's -- there's no one to call that experiences the highs and lows of living with HIV. I take comfort in knowing they are together in a better place, pain-free, and I will see them again. My love to all. La vie boheme.

My Guilty Pleasure Chest OR Confessions of a Multitasker

Let's get right to it. I haven't posted for over a month. Why you ask? Have I lost interest? Been travelling? Sick? No, no. Worse. Much worse. I have considered my blog a guilty pleasure. Recently, I told my sister that working crossword puzzles is one of my guilty pleasures. It was one of those statements that sounded inane as soon as I said it out loud. After a brief struggle to explain, I changed the topic. The voice in my head said: How sad is that?

Usually the voice in my head makes more sense than the voice that comes out of my mouth. That prompted me to explore my philosophy on this subject. I started with what I consider my guilty pleasures. Crossword puzzles (duh), blogging, sudoku, jigsaw puzzles. I'm sure there's more, but this was enough to begin my analysis. Good thing I have this blog, or last year this introspective might have led me to believe that puzzles create some Pavlovian response, or Freudian since I used to work puzzles with my now deceased mother.

I admittedly waste way too much time watching TV, so why didn't that make the list? Because I am a great multitasker. I justify most of my TV time by incorporating other tasks -- folding laundry, paying bills, going through junk mail, etc., etc. I can accomplish something while watching TV. So there is the commonality of my guilty pleasures. They are solitary luxuries which require my full attention. My theory is supported by the fact that I can do a guilt-free sudoku in the confinement of an airplane or a jigsaw if I work it with my daughter.

It is also easy to see a history of justifications. There are many activities I do for fun. Golf, bowl, ride motorcycles, eat out, etc. I can justify this time by acknowledging that at the same time I am getting exercise, building relationships, or some other worthwhile endeavor. So where does this guilt come from that I connect to simply enjoying the pleasures of life? I blame it on the Catholic nuns...