Lisa Hoffman and Charles Atkins, MD

Published June June 29, 2006

Charlie writes:

It’s Friday afternoon, the sun is out. It’s not too hot, not too cold, the perfect Goldilocks-kind-of day—it’s just right.

With computer bag in hand I trudge up the hill to Lisa’s, open the door and shout out "Ola".

"I’m so depressed," she replies.

I give her a peck on the cheek, boot up the computer, and without thinking start in with the doctor’s opening line of, "So, tell me what’s wrong?" while mumbling under my breath as the computer screen flashes on and off in an ominous way.

"How typical", she replies, "just like a psychiatrist to ask without really listening."

I dodge the snipe, take a deep breath, and prepare to hear the week’s tale of woe.

"As if it were not bad enough," she begins, "that I struggle every day to get my mail brought in, have someone get my groceries, bring me to the doctor and on and on. It’s not just that I constantly have to ask for favors, it seems like everyone I talk to lately is so negative. I need some positive people to help cheer me up. For instance, you took such a lovely picture on my birthday surrounded by all the flowers and cards. Would you believe that somebody called me and said, ‘I read it was your birthday; it looked like you were in a funeral home surrounded by all those flowers.’ It’s not a nice thing to say to an 87 year-old lady. I couldn’t get her comment out of my mind. It even kept me up a bit. Fortunately, I had the relaxation tape you made for me and so was finally able to fall asleep.

"The following day I called an old neighbor of mine in New York to wish her a happy birthday. I innocently asked, ‘are you celebrating?’ At which point she replied, ‘at our age you don’t celebrate when you live alone and all of your friends have either moved away or died.’ I wanted her to leave me out of that category; I have friends and I most certainly want to celebrate everything I can. The conversation continued in that vein and by the time I hung up I felt like screaming. Instead, I took several cleansing breaths through my diaphragm as my Yoga teacher Laura has taught me….And then I got this!"

And she hands me a birthday card from a dear friend of hers. It looks harmless enough, a bouquet of flowers with a kitten peeking out. Then I open it up and read a depressing tale of how her friend is not doing well, and is herself quite down. Not your typical, ‘Happy Birthday and Many More!’ More along the lines of--in every day and in every way we’re that much closer to death.

"Sometimes," Lisa says, "I feel like a garbage can where people dump in all their troubles and I’m left holding them."

"Tell me about it," I say, "I do that for a living."

"But you get paid."

"True, but it’s interesting how sharing our problems does make the load a bit lighter--like you’re doing with me today."

"I try not to do that too much. I don’t want to be the person who complains all the time. I want humor and lightness."

"You’ve just hit on one of the fundamental truths about our emotions," I say. "Unless we’re able to transform sadness and unhappiness, they feed on themselves. Just as the opposite is true; laughter and humor are truly infectious and can spread from person to person. I’ll sometimes use the Norman Cousins exercise of forcing myself to belly laugh, even when I don’t feel like it. It’s amazing how quickly—in a matter of seconds--you can change your frame of mind and emotional state, whether it’s through laughter, prayer, exercise, hobbies or some of the relaxation and yoga techniques you’ve been learning. It’s as though we all need to consciously assemble emotional survival kits to weather all of the negativity and unhappiness that’s part of the world we live in."

"Yes," she says, "maybe it’s considered denial but I try to surround myself with things and people that will make me feel good. I lose myself in my soap opera, I’m addicted to romance novels—which I wish you’d write instead of those scary books—and I’m forever reading jokes and puns--anything to make me laugh. I know that even in the face of adversity—and being mostly homebound in Connecticut is no cakewalk—we have choices. We can either live with a cheerful person or a miserable one. I’d rather take the former. Or as an old boyfriend used to say when somebody was mean or unpleasant, ‘it doesn’t matter they’re punished enough; they have to live with themselves.’"

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