Department of the Interior

Julie and Julia Pursue their Dreams

Victor Yalom, Ph.D. — Wed, 02 Sep 2009 17:01:36 +0000

We tend to equate creativity with some extraordinary talent that results in the ability to produce masterpieces. But the heart of creativity is the ability to create--to produce something out of nothing. It means taking seriously an idea, an intuition, or an amorphous urge--at least seriously enough not to reject it--and then putting it into action and seeing what comes forth. Occasionally stupendous results emerge, but these are rare and usually require great perseverance combined with at least some innate talent. And since most of us don't create museum-quality masterpieces, we erroneously conclude that we aren't creative, and give short shrift to both our existing talents and our potential.

I just saw Julie and Julia and found it moving and inspiring on many levels. Both of these women struggled for quite some time to find the outlets that they would put their energies into. Julia Child was a former government secretary who followed her husband to Paris, and was pondering what to do with herself. She dabbled in bridge and hat-making classes; these were popular with the other diplomat wives, but didn't light her fire. Fortunately her husband truly loved and supported her, and prodded her to think about what she was really passionate about. And as we all know, that turned out to be cooking.

But for those who have seen the movie, or have read her excellent memoir My Life in France, the journey from muscling her way in to a Cordon Bleu cooking class to publishing Mastering the Art of French Cooking was an arduous one that would have been easily derailed had she let go of her dream. And it's not obvious that she had some extraordinary talent; what is clear is that she worked very, very hard at it. She persisted, spending eight years writing her book, typing using carbon paper to make duplicate copies, and sending documents back and forth through snail mail. (As I write this, continuously distracted by the cacophonous chimes of emails magically appearing in my inbox, perhaps she had an advantage of writing before the age of technologically induced multitasking.) All of this before dealing with the trials and tribulations of ultimately finding a publisher.

Julie Powell, on the other hand, was a frustrated writer, slaving away in a cubicle, handling emotionally draining calls from those affected by 9/11. Without giving away the ending, suffice it to say that Hollywood wouldn't pour millions into the tale of a failure. I haven't read her book, which the movie was based on, but the snippets of her blog shown onscreen suggest that she is a talented wordsmith. What draws people in to her writing, though, is the bare display of her idiosyncrasies and self-doubts; she is not afraid of showing herself, warts and all. She took risks in her writing, her marriage, her waistline and her day job to relentlessly pursue something that took hold of her.

How many of us would work tenaciously on any project for eight years, not knowing what the outcome will be? I certainly don't know if I would have the stamina and guts to keep plowing ahead. And yes, we hear most about those who achieve stardom or some modicum of success, but there are countless "casualties" in the pursuit of creative passions: those who try for years or decades to make it as an actor or musician, sacrificing more conventional measures of achievement. Still, if you talk to these folks, most of them don't regret the pursuit; they know that it would be hard to live with themselves if they hadn't at least tried to achieve their dreams.

But creativity--with a lower case "c"--is not synonymous with stardom. It is about creating, and each creation takes a first step. It's writing a word that may turn into a paragraph that may turn into a book...or may not. It's cooking something new, and maybe substituting an ingredient because that's what you have in your pantry. It's taking a drawing class even though you "don't know" how to draw-which, of course, is patently absurd. We all know how to draw; we just may not be very good at it. And drawings may lead to paintings, or in my case psychotherapy cartoons (and I still can barely draw, as evidenced by the email I just received from my teacher berating my "wooden head" and my "stultifying visual incidents"). It is only by taking that first step that other ideas emerge and new doors open. And then you muster the courage to walk through those doors and see what happens next.

One clue to accessing and cultivating your own creative juices is to pay attention to what gives you energy. What is it that excites you, or that you daydream about? Often, it's not what you think you're supposed to be channeling your energy into. You won't find it in your job description or the course syllabus. But a strong clue is that you get a tingle in your spine or a warm feeling in your heart-whether it's from noticing the undulations in the clouds, or helping a colleague solve a problem. If you start tuning into these clues over time, you can tap into what excites you. See how you can use and develop this passion of yours, and be open to where that leads you. Create something. The experience in and of itself is tremendously gratifying, and it may lead you to unexpected and exciting opportunities.

Mindfulness & Psychotherapy...or Mindlessness?

Victor Yalom, Ph.D. — Mon, 06 Apr 2009 15:59:40 +0000

Okay, so mindfulness is now officially all the rage--the fact that New York Times blogger Judith Warner could have the audacity to poke fun of it is proof of that. Referring to one of her mindful friends, Warner writes "I was beginning to wonder what body snatcher had taken my cranky friend away and left this kindly, calm, pod person in her place." Her main point is not to discredit mindfulness, which she herself partakes in, but to inquire into the effects on friends and families--the innocent bystanders. "For the truth is" she concludes "however admirable mindfulness may be, however much peace, grounding, stability and self-acceptance it can bring, as an experience to be shared, it's stultifyingly boring."

Okay, perhaps she overstates the case a bit, but thank God someone has had the temerity to at least question whether mindfulness is the cure for all that is wrong in our hyperkinetic lifestyle. Given our proclivity towards multitasking, and glorification of productivity (which seems to be measured by how many emails one digests and shuffles from folder to folder), what could possibly be wrong with mindfulness? Well, nothing is wrong, but when I see the word "mindfulness" tacked onto every workshop flyer I get in the mail, or in half the new book titles about therapy, it makes me a bit skeptical on whether all these new "experts" have done more than take a few weekend workshops on this topic before attempting to capitalize on this craze. Seriously, every week I get advertisements for Mindfulness and Cognitive-Behavioral Therapy, Mindfulness and EMDR, Mindfulness and Neurobiology (another other hot topic), Mindfulness and Attachment Theory. Frankly it's all a bit mind-numbing!

I know just a bit about mindfulness really, I've been to a couple workshops, I've made a half-hearted attempt at meditating a few times, and it's just not something that interests me. Yes, I know it's hard, very hard, and my experience of finding it frustrating and unrewarding at first is almost universal, and that many hard-core devotees would cite this as proof that I really need to stick with it. Thanks, but no thanks. I'd prefer to play tennis, paint, take a bike ride, or take a nap--preferably the latter.

I'm really not trying to be flip, or to denigrate a few thousand year old practice that has been embraced by millions. As a psychotherapist I see great value to any methodology which helps people get more in touch with their inner world, and achieve some sense of peace or well-being. What makes my hair stand on end is being force-fed the way, whatever way that is. I truly think therapy can be helpful to many people--but I try to keep mindful myself that 99.9% of humanity throughout the ages has managed to traverse the trials of existence without partaking in the 50 minute hour. And although I have certainly suggested to friends and acquaintances that therapy might be helpful in certain situation they are facing, I really do not believe it is the only solution to their woes, and I try to be careful not to push this agenda.

So when I hear colleagues suggest that so-and-so should really start a "sitting practice" or take a breath and be mindful, I immediately feel resistant. Maybe my reaction is proof that I would benefit from mindfulness training. Yes, that and eating more spinach and omega-3 fatty acids, and doing crossword puzzles to stop my neurons from degenerating, and wearing long pants tucked into my socks when I go hiking to prevent ticks from finding their way to my tasty calves. Ahhhh...there I go again with my ranting and sarcasm....but wait, I must not judge myself...just notice my own reactions....take a breath...let those thoughts float away. Hmmm, I feel better already. Maybe there's something to this mindfulness after all.

The Age of Psychiatric Diagnosis

Victor Yalom, Ph.D. — Sun, 15 Mar 2009 14:50:28 +0000

Catching up with an old friend at dinner the other night, I asked him about his teenage sons. His younger one was doing fine, but as for the older one...well, my friend said, "I'd like to get inside his head and know what's going on." Then he added, "Maybe he has some undiagnosed condition." Naturally this piqued my interest, so I did what psychologists (and even normal people) do: I asked some questions to find out more. I knew his son had caused him and his wife some grief in the past few years, taking their car for a joy ride in the middle of the night--before he had a license--and ended up totaling the car. In contrast, his most recent misbehavior was less catastrophic, but still of concern. That very day he had gone off to school in their upper-middle-class neighborhood, and rather than face the consequence of not having done his homework, played hooky instead.

Both parents are hard-working PhDs in science and probably never missed a day of school in their lives. So I can fully understand their perplexity and concern about their teenage son. What struck me was this idea that he had an "undiagnosed condition." What the hell does that really mean? He has a "chemical imbalance?" He has ADHD? And what is a "condition" anyway? In the old days this might have been referred to as a behavior problem-his behavior is out of line, and must be corrected somehow. Maybe bring out the belt, ground him for a week, or some other form of punishment.

The newer, more enlightened approach is to try to understand what is causing the behavior. That's generally a good thing, especially if it's someone you care deeply about, such as your child. But understanding does not equate to diagnosis. The scientific/medical model has vast limitations in understanding the complexity of human behavior and emotions. There are many reasons why their son might want to skip school. Really, how many teenagers want to sit around all day in uncomfortable desks listening to teachers lecture to them? Of course, wanting to skip school and actually doing so are two different things.

Think about yourself, and about how your mood fluctuates throughout the day and week, and about how you make decisions. You've been down sometimes, perhaps in a state of profound despair or severe anxiety; at other times you've been joyful. Sometimes you've made stupid decisions, other times brilliant ones. Are your bad decisions or hellish moods due to a diagnosis or condition? If so, how about happy or even euphoric states--are those a sign of bipolar disorder? And what about the decisions of bankers, regulatory agencies, or millions of homeowners and home speculators who in retrospect behaved in irrational, almost delusional ways? Or baseball star Alex Rodriguez, who claimed that he took steroids because he was "young" and "immature and stupid." At least he didn't claim that as a condition, unless being in your 20's qualifies as such.

Putting the complexity of human behavior into a box called a condition or diagnosis obviously provides some comfort to people. A word or label makes something seem identifiable, understandable, perhaps even treatable. I'm not against comfort or peace of mind. If I could put it in a bottle and sell it, I could make enough money to help solve our financial crisis (in fact, the psychopharm industry is based on that premise, and some of their products do help, although the billions they spend on advertising and in "consulting fees" to psychiatrists paints an exaggerated picture of their efficacy).

But thinking again about your own experience as a human being (yes, a live sentient being, not a programmable machine or a black box), you know that a label cannot begin to describe the complexity of your thoughts, emotions, unique history, and decisions. So if it doesn't explain you, why would this work for others? Of course, I'm not the first to challenge the utility of diagnostic labels for psychological "disorders"--and I put that in quotes, because even that term is fraught with difficulty. Thomas Szasz laid out his argument against this almost half a century ago in his classic but controversial text The Myth of Mental Illness. But this has not slowed our increasing infatuation with the scientific, cause-effect view of human behavior. We do know more about the brain than ever before, yet still know so little. And just as astrophysics cannot ever fully explain why we are here, brain research cannot explain who we are and why we do what we do. And I don't know about you, but for me, that's a comforting thought.

Do Institutions Need Empathy?

Victor Yalom, Ph.D. — Wed, 11 Mar 2009 16:42:40 +0000

Generally I love UPS. Well "love" might be an overstatement; their tagline synchronizing the world of commerce is sleek and conveys an Obamalike sense of efficiency, but hardly the intoxicating poetry to stimulate romance. Nor do we want our delivery service to be sexy (although I've heard many oohs and ahs about UPS men in their brown shorts). We just want to know that our packages are going to be picked up and delivered when they say they will-or even better yet, when we say they will. And overall, UPS does a superb job of this, for a fair price.

But I just experienced with UPS a case of institutional empathic failure. This occurred during a 35-minute phone call that has left me wanting to SCREAM. Instead, I'll do the mature thing: take a breath...and blog. Here's what happened: 6 months ago I tried to switch the credit card used for my UPS account from my reliable, yet quite pedestrian Chase Mastercard, to my new shiny American Express Gold Card, that had lured me with amenities such as miles, miles, and more miles, concierge service, and other things I'd probably never use. Sounds simple enough: navigate to My Account, find Billing Preferences, delete the old credit card, add the new one, voila! The joys of online efficiency.

And it worked....95% of the time. But about once a month I'd get a piddly little straggler charge still appearing on my Chase Mastercard. So I double-checked my settings on the website to verify that I had deleted the Mastercard. Then called UPS, confirming this card was deleted from system. Yep they said, all gone. Next month, another piddly charge. So I had my office manager call UPS. She can usually take care of anything and everything. But she had no better luck than I did, and this continues for 6 annoying months!

Before calling Mastercard to dispute the charges, I thought I'd give UPS one more try. After the billing department representative, much to my disbelief, insisted she didn't have access to my credit card info, and after her supervisor parroted the same thing, and after being put on hold listening to saccharine sweet elevator music, I was finally transferred to the credit department.

Credit Dept. Lady: The problem is that you have your credit card listed as your default payment method.

Me: But that's what I want!

Credit Dept. Lady: Yes, but you need to have your account number listed as your default payment method.

Me: I don't understand. I want it to be billed to my credit card, just the correct one.

Credit Dept. Lady: Yes, that's why you need to have your account number listed as default payment method. Then your account will be invoiced, which will then be charged to your credit card...

Me: Are you familiar with the writings of Franz Kafka? [Okay, I didn't really say that. Instead I did exactly what she told me to do, somewhat skeptical that this would do the trick.]

Credit Dept. Lady: Thank you. Is there anything else I can help you with today?

Me: No, I think that does it.

Credit Dept. Lady: We will be emailing you a brief survey regarding this phone call. I hope that I've provided you with excellent customer service.

Empathy is defined as an ability to put yourself in someone else's shoes, and see things from their point of view. Obviously this capacity is important in personal relationships, but do institutions really need empathy? Yes, they do--maybe for different reasons--but they need to try to understand the mindset and emotions of their customers.

By forcing me to navigate their byzantine, counterintuitive system, rather than present a system that makes sense from where I'm sitting, UPS totally missed the institutional empathy boat. Who knows why this happened-there may be some historical accounting reasons why things are set up as they are. Maybe they had to merge two incompatible databases. But in presenting an interface for their customers, their web developers or bean counters didn't give sufficient thought to what the user experience would be. Their needs evidently drove the interface setup, not the customers' needs. That's a big no-no.

This may sound like an overly simple explanation. Well that's because it really is that simple. If you want to be successful in any human interaction-whether it's in business, personal relations, or foreign diplomacy, you'd better make a real effort to see things from the other's point of view. You won't always be able to give them exactly what they'd most like, but at least you can make informed decisions, and be able to anticipate when they're likely to be displeased. In most ways UPS succeeds; but in this instance, they get a D (I think they solved my problem, so I won't fail them).