On gratitude.

We could all stand to say "Thank you" more often to each other.

I mean it.

If you live, as I do, in a first world country, even one where tens of thousands of human canaries are currently bemoaning the state of democracy every day, we've still got it good here.
I live in a house. With indoor plumbing and a warm, dry bed. There's a refrigerator with food inside it. There's more food in the cupboard.
I have a bicycle hanging in the entryway that takes me all over, and a bus pass when I'm not feeling so robust. And if worse comes to worst, Sweetie can take me somewhere in her car.
Did I mention I have a Sweetie? We've been together through thick and thin for over twenty years. She's my best friend and the queen of my world and I adore her beyond words.
We have two cats who are sweet and funny and bring us much joy.
And we are blessed with loving family near and far (that we don't get to see often enough, but we make the effort) who fill us up with so much love.

I say all this by way of setting up the need to say gratitudes out loud.

We are born, we live and then we die. And the time between birth and death is a speck, a microcosm of time so short in the scheme of things that almost no one will know we were here a hundred years from now.

So while we're here, we owe it to ourselves and each other to speak and sing and dance and love our gratitude out loud, as often as we can. We need to remember that our lives are miraculous and all too short, and acknowledge that miracle with thankfulness at least once every day.

I think gratitude makes me happier by keeping things in perspective.
Sure, situations and events can be annoying or even scary. But on balance, if we survive long enough, things have a chance to change. And that can be another reason to give thanks.

This morning at around 2am, our toilet clogged up. I spent close to an hour trying to unclog it myself, and when I couldn't I knew we'd have to call a plumber later in the morning. On the day before New Year's Eve. When everyone else in Portland was having a plumbing emergency. It took five tries, but we found a company with service slots available the same day. Sweetie urged me to go for the bike ride I had planned and not worry. When I came back later, the toilet had been repaired (it was not a big job). We had the means to pay for it, and that was that.

Tonight, I am reminded of a short little song I've used at worship services now and then.
We sing:

V'al zeh ani modeh
V'al zeh ani modah

(For all this, I am grateful)

After we sing the Hebrew words, I invite folks to call out something they are grateful for. The answers come forth like water: Family. Friends. My dog. My sister. Seeing my grandkids grow. Hiking in a beautiful place. Enjoying a home-coooked meal with friends.
And then we sing the Hebrew words again.

I learned this during my time in Kansas City and it immediately resonated with me. How simple it is to offer gratitude for our blessings. And how often we forget to do so.
So I've made it part of my nightly practice, before I turn in. I offer thanks for a few of my blessings each night. It's not fancy or especially articulate, but it's heartfelt and real. I'm convinced that I sleep better for it.

I hope the ending year will remind you of your blessings.
And I hope the year to come will give you more to be thankful for.

Thank you for reading.

Right now, it IS all about me. At least for awhile.

 

Some of you will skip this. That's fine.

Others will read it and that's fine too.

I'm going on a lot about ADHD lately because I was diagnosed a little less than three months ago, and a crap metric TON of stuff is happening as a result of understanding that diagnosis.

Years of masking efforts (where I had to pretend I was "normal" in order to fit in, get a job, find housing, find friends, etc.) are falling away like bad wallpaper.

I am becoming more annoying to folks who can't handle my sporadic energy or my inability to remember appointments.

And I am dealing with a surprising PHYSICAL response to this news, while all the pain and confusion and deep sorrow and even some anger are coursing through my veins and nerves and muscles right now. Which is why I haven't committed to a whole lot of stuff lately.

I'm dealing with a Whole Life Smackdown and it is hard.

If you want to inform yourself in tiny nuggets, check out https://www.instagram.com/adhd_chatter_podcast

on IG right now. It's very informative in tiny snippets, and sheds light on what it's like to realize this thing and begin to learn how to live with the knowledge, especially for those diagnosed later in life as adults.

And if you'd rather not be witness to this journey, that's cool. Just mute me or unfollow me, because after years of trying to live in ways that accommodate the world I'm now embarking on the project of learning how to hustle so the world accommodates me a little bit more for a change. Not sorry. Just honest.

And that is my gift to everyone.

Love, Beth Hamon

(artwork by Don Martin)

Chameleon

Growing up without a solid, stable community meant I was often left to my own devices -- emotionally, logistically, spiritually -- and in some key ways I raised myself. That's not an uncommon experience for Gen X'ers, most of whom were latchkey kids (because both parents worked or because they were living with a single parent) and whom lived in a time when kids had more freedom and angency when it came to free time.

In some ways, this served me well. I learned problem-solving and evasive maneuvers, and developed a keen sense of observation.
This, in turn, enabled me to become something of a chameleon in social situations.
I'd observe for awhile, learn the lingo and the look, and take on just enough of both to not seem like a complete outsider.
Years later, I understand that this was a defensive mechanism against loneliness, ostracization and even danger.
But as I grew older and began to seek ways to be more authentic in my daily life, I learned that taking on so many disguises had left me without a sure footing in myself. In my Self.

Today, I find that I am too Jewish for some, and not Jewish enough for others.
This seems unavoidable, hard to change at this time in my life. So I cling to authenticity when and where I can.

Now, I find myself in a bit of a pickle.
The synagogue where I've worked extremely part-time for the past two years, is evolving the way it does worship music, and is heading towards an approach that I don't really like and cannot keep up with.
I don't like it, and can't keep up with it for the same reason: I lack the patience and motivation to adapt right now. Still reeling from my ADHD diagnosis, and striving to figure out how I want to proceed, I don't feel especially motivated to undertake the project of evolving my musical self to stay employable. And in my heart of hearts, I sort of don't want to keep working in synagogues.

There. I said it.

I am burned out -- to exhaustion, really -- on being a synagogue musician.

I've always been asked to lead before I've fully acquired the tools to do so, and have had to jump in and rely upon my natural charisma and ability to improvise -- to be a sort of chameleon -- in synagogue settings. And now, I've reached my limit.
I cannot pour from a pitcher that feels so empty.
I want the luxury of being able to begin again, to sit in the back and just BE for awhile.
And because I'm a known quantity in the Jewish world, it's just not possible to do. Not without feeling the tension that arises from being a known quantity and having nothing to offer, and little or no desire to offer it.

So I feel like some more changes are coming.
I don't know what they are, but I suspect that they will have something to do with how I move through the world as a Jew, and as a musician.
That's all I know for now.

Guitar helps for arthritis!

 Guitar playing friends: as I continue to adjust to life with more arthritis, I’ve found something that actually helps.

These are silicon pick covers with the Fender brand, sold by Sweetwater online in 3-packs (first photo). I removed the medium picks from the cover, trimmed them to suit and put them lengthwise on my preferred picks (second photo). 

They work.

With the silicon cover, I have a really good grip on my pick without having to pinch my fingers nearly as hard. The result is that I can get through a full set of songs without much pain.

I’m going to purchase a couple more 3-packs and set up several of my picks this way.

Careening like a pinball.

Except it's not so funny.
I am deep in the throes of MEH, the kind of depression where I sort of don't care about much of anything.

I have to fly to Santa Rosa in two days and don't care.
Well, okay, I care a little. Because I like the rabbi and it's his last year before retirement and I would like to do well.

I did religious school tefilah on Sunday and it went okay, but my heart wasn't really in it.
I know how to move and act and be so it looks like my heart is fine, but when it was done all I wanted to do was get out of there and go home.

And today, this. I hope my counselor isn't too pissed. Because on the surface, it IS funny as hell.
But underneath, it is a fucking shitshow in my head these days. And maybe a little in my heart, too.

Who AM I anymore? What am I here for?
No idea.
When I'd realized my mistake -- the counselor emailed me and I didn't see it until ten minutes before the end of our time slot -- I felt deeply down for a few moments, then, well -- kind of empty and MEH. I sat and hugged one of the cats for a few minutes, which helped. Eventually I got back to getting something done. And now, all I want to do is lie down and zone out.

Is this normal? I realize that for me, it has been normal my whole life, but I've had to mask all that for so long and PRODUCE -- work, repairs, music, teaching, whatever -- that I haven't always had the option to lie down, so I just sat there and kept trying to look interested.

And right now, I realize why and how I am so fucking exhausted.

A big part of me wants to relearn how to love me as I am, which is hard because I'm realizing how broken and wiped out I feel.
At the same time, I just want to curl up in the fetal position and stop working so damned hard inside.

ADHD and depression go together very often. So it wouldn't shock me to know I have both in spades.

I'd like to wake up in a world where my needs are met, I'm thanked for all the years I contributed to the world, and now I just get to relax and not stress about everything that's wrong with me and with the world. Not realistic, but it's what I want.

I am typing this while I have to get ready for a gig. Ugh.

My brain is a pinball, careening off multiple emotions and feeling opposing things every half hour or less. I'd like to wake up in a world where that's okay and I won't be penalized or shamed for it.
 

Ever know something before you know that you know it?

I wrote this during my bout with Long Covid, when I was still wrestling with intense symptoms but desperately needed to express my feelings and worries at the time.
Returning to it now, as I practice for my Shabbaton next weekend, feels like both a relief and a realization of where I find myself.
I want to go and do well, of course -- I always want to do well! -- but I am also really, really exhausted by all that I've been carrying. AND it's okay to own that.
It HAS to be okay to say when you're tired, in public, without it becoming an indictment of yourself. That is where I am today.
I am tired, exhausted, by everything. By all the everythings that I have carried since at LEAST ten years ago, since twenty years ago, maybe since childhood. All the everythings that now point to where and who I am today, and how I arrived there not terribly supported.
The realization at just how much of this I've carried alone.
The aloneness has been exhausting, and so has its realization.

I am blessed to live in a time when I can say what I really feel, who I really am, without too many repercussions.
But it took an awfully long time to get here.