Will Mindfulness Meditation Cure our Healthcare System?

On October 15th, The New York Times posted an article written by Dr. Pauline Chen that discussed the benefits of teaching mindfulness meditation to physicians. In a quest to help alleviate physician burn-out (along with depression and suicide!) and increase meaningfulness at work through improving the physician-patient relationship, mindfulness meditation was found to be beneficial. Why then did this article make me so angry? As I read it, my breathing became labored, my heart started to race, and my cheeks became red. By the time I had finished, I, myself, needed to practice my mindfulness!

I have long observed the amazing benefits of mindfulness meditation, both personally and professionally. Any practice that brings us into the present moment, that allows us to fully experience the present and removes our thoughts from past and future, has incredible healing effects. Many years after I first practiced mindfulness, I was working at a major HMO. Our typical work day had become increasingly hectic, just as was described in Dr. Chen’s article. Advances in information technology were, in many ways, a godsend, but, in other ways, a contributor to our living hell on earth. We physicians, by nature, are excellent multitaskers. It’s as if we represent a fast-forward version of survival of the fittest. If you can’t multitask, then you have no place in medicine. The increased use of electronic charting played into this skill. If we hadn’t been so good at multitasking, the technological advances would never have made a significant difference.

One of these so-called advantages allowed us to perform most functions from one computer screen. We could chart the patient’s visit, order lab tests, order radiological tests, make future appointments, conduct billing, answer emails, converse with colleagues and contact patients—all on one screen and, quite often, simultaneously. This all seems great, right? Think again. Most systems, whether one is in a HMO, group practice or private practice, do not allow for the extra time required to conduct all of these functions. Let’s face it—there’s only so much one can do in an allotted amount of linear time. So we had two choices. Work longer hours (show up earlier, work through the lunch hour, fall behind in seeing patients, leave later) or cut out face-to-face patient time.

For most of us women, this was a no-brainer. Almost all of us chose to work longer hours, because we weren’t willing to sacrifice time with our patients. I haven’t run across a single physician yet who chose the practice of medicine in order to enter data into a computer. But, regardless, our patients pay the price, and we pay the price. Our patients get less and less face-to-face time. Their visits are abbreviated. Almost worse, we as physicians suffer—not just from inevitable burn-out, but from loss of job satisfaction. Mindfulness meditation is not only a useful tool; it’s become a necessary way of life. But no amount of mindfulness meditation can make up for an ailing abbreviated healthcare system.

Some of you may be wondering why I am writing this on a blog about feminine health and balance. Others of you have already identified the common denominator. Most of the systems in which we currently find ourselves (healthcare, law, higher education, marketing, etc) are using information technology advances in this very same way—as a fast-forward, as a way to squeeze more and more out of each individual. Everyone is moving so fast that the merry-go-round is no longer merry and is, in many cases, spinning out of control. We need to recognize this first before we can decide what to do about it. For those of you who can’t heal your present situation with mindfulness, you may need to step off your merry-go-round.

Take a few moments to assess your own merry-go-round. Is it out of control? Do you really need to be on it? What are your choices? Are there internal steps you can take to make it manageable? In other words, by changing you—your beliefs, your responses/reactions/attitudes, by acquiring certain skills, such as cognitive behavior techniques or mindfulness meditation, will this be adequate? Or is it time to step off?

Is Perfection Your Middle Name? vs. If I Only Had a Brain!

Do you allow yourself to make mistakes? Or do you share my middle name, “Perfection?”

I lost my brain again today.* It’s been happening a lot lately. Perhaps it’s menopause. Or maybe I’m just letting go of perfection and allowing myself some mistakes.

I didn’t want to leave Delphi, but, alas, I did…only to get stuck at the rest stop in Livadia. I was texting a sick friend and sitting right in front of the bus. When I finished and looked up, the bus was gone! I hadn’t seen, nor heard, a thing. I looked up at a few Greeks standing lazily outside the café and asked “Eh-fee-gay? (Did it leave?)" Their answer, with characteristic Greek shrugs: “Yes. Of course.”

I ran inside and saw the kind ticket-taker-man sitting in the café sipping his coffee. He looked at me in disbelief saying, “I announced it inside the café!” I answered, in equal disbelief, “I was sitting outside, next to the bus, texting a message on my cell phone. I didn’t see anything; I didn’t hear anything.” He dialed a number on his cell phone and pleaded in Greek, “Please wait. Only five minutes.” The bus couldn’t have been more than a half kilometer away; I was sure it had just left. He asked a dignified trustworthy-looking gentleman to take me to the bus--in his Mercedes. I apologized profusely the whole-like-five blocks, and thanked him, telling him, repeatedly, what a good man he was. I explained that I didn’t know where my brain was today, that I had been sitting right in front of the bus and didn’t notice a thing, that in twenty years, this was the first time that this had happened to me.

I got onto the bus, offered an apology to the bus driver and sat down, but not before noticing how completely uninterested the Greeks were…no big deal. There was a foreigner, however, whose judgmental glance was paired with thoughts so loud the whole bus could hear: “Oh, of course. It would be YOU, stupid American.”

I recognized his look and his thoughts, realizing that, for most of my life, I have shared the same opinion of myself. My mind then wandered to the times in my life that I had made similar mistakes, like showing up late. I could only come up with two others. One was during the shooting of My Life in Ruins (also at Delphi) when I was Nia Vardalos’ stand-in. I left the set to pee, and, of course, this was the one time that they needed me…so my absence suspended the shoot for a few minutes. I never heard the end of it from the Assistant Extras' Casting Director (who, to this day, probably has no idea that I’m a gynecologist with responsibilities far beyond what he can imagine). The Extras' Casting Director, thought nothing of it, and reassured me that it was no big deal.

The only other time I could recall was to an important job interview on the East Coast. Somehow, I managed to sleep through my alarm, or perhaps it never went off. I woke up to a ringing phone and my future boss (yes, she still hired me) asking if, perhaps, I had slept in.

I could come up with these two incidences, only, in my entire life and, yet, I still berated myself. Even I realized that something was terribly wrong. How have we come to this point, when no one is allowed a simple mistake? When did we start treating ourselves and others as glorified machines, instead of as human beings? If my medical career, we continually strive to minimize, if not eliminate, human error. This has been one of the arguments in favor of electronic charting, prescription and lab test orders. But even the most elegant system is subject to human error. And even if we do everything correctly, there’s always the possibility of technological problems, ranging from viruses to system shutdowns.

I remember one such situation when our medical practice was transitioning to electronic charting. Paper charts were soon to become a thing of the past. Everything moved along smoothly until one day, we had a heat wave. The electric grid couldn’t handle the extra stress and the system shut down, throwing off access to electronic charts for several hours. We had no access to patient history, medications, lab results, orders, and electronic communications. We were, essentially, operating deaf, dumb and blind, as far as technology was concerned. The administrative response was, “What can we do? Do the best you can. It will be back up as soon as possible.” To this day, I have never seen such a response for human error. Why is it that we treat ourselves more harshly, expect more from ourselves than from technological systems that are far superior to human capabilities?

Please don’t wait until you go through menopause, or, if you’re a man, until you reincarnate as a menopausal woman, before you allow yourself some leeway. This is one area in which the Greeks are ahead of us. They have had to learn patience (after a several hundred year Turkish occupation) and accept lower expectations. I wouldn’t be surprised if this practice adds years onto their lives, as well.

Remember, you’re so much more than your brain. You’re human.


*Originally written on October 2, 2009

What You’re Not Hearing About “Balloon Boy”

Did you, like me, get caught up in the “Balloon Boy” story? I long ago promised myself to stop watching the news since I was fully aware of its devastating effects on the immune system. Research supports that bad news wreaks havoc with our immune system, potentially making us more susceptible to such diseases as infections and cancer. I often wonder if the news came with an attached hazardous health warning label, similar to cigarettes, whether or not it would convince more of the general public to turn it off.

As everyone was calling the Balloon Boy story a “good story,” I was left questioning what was good about it, beyond, of course, the obvious—that he was safe and alive. Was anyone else out there upset by all of the usual drama? It was quite familiar to me. It was the same drama that the news strives for, the same kind that had convinced my father, several years ago, that the new strain of Japanese flu was going to lead to the worst outbreak ever. Sound familiar? This year, same story, different flu… While the newscaster excitedly reported that this was going to be the most devastating flu ever, that it would lead, potentially, to thousands of deaths, I turned to my father and said, “Every year tens of thousands of people die from the flu. This doesn’t appear to be any different than usual.” Ignoring my expertise as a physician and accepting, instead, that of the newscaster, my father answered, unconvinced, “But he said it was going to be the worst, ever.” My father is not a stupid man so he’s reaction was shocking. I was witnessing the power of the media, of sensationalism, right before my very eyes, with someone who “should know better,” who was rarely swayed by others. I continued, “Watch, in a few days, they’ll have to retract everything they’ve just said, because they are wrong, and what they are doing, scaring hundreds of thousands of people, is wrong.” Sure enough, three days later, what I predicted took place, very quietly, so that one could have easily missed it. Again, I was sitting next to my father when he heard the good news. He barely reacted. I asked if he had heard it. He said “yes,” and shrugged it off, like an afterthought.

But well before that third day, the damage had already been done…to hundreds of thousands of immune systems.

So, when I watched the “Balloon Boy” saga, I couldn’t help but notice the drama, the excitement of the unknown, the fear, the terror. It was disgusting. And I couldn’t help but wonder what toll this drama was taking on our immune systems. How many parents were thinking about the possibility of their own children being in danger? How many were filled with anger that the child could have been in such an unprotected situation?

When they announced that he had been found, safe, at their home, hiding, some two-plus hours later, my relief was coupled with a bad taste in my mouth. Once again, we had all participated in this wasteful drama. And our payment goes beyond the enormous financial price tag of such a rescue mission. One of the crazy hopes I have is that, in my lifetime, I will see those who purposefully create negative drama pay the price for the harm that they cause to others. I wonder--am I the only one who sees it this way?

Would You Intervene to Stop a Bully?

I was walking back from the farmer’s market today, trying not to think about a different farmer’s market, one that I had walked by a few days ago, 6700 miles away in Greece, when my daydream was interrupted by a disturbance from the middle of the street. Now this certainly got my attention, because, unlike Greece, it is rare to hear anyone shouting in my neighborhood.

There was a young man, probably in his upper 20’s, taunting and harassing an elderly man in the middle of the street. Traffic was stopped in both directions. Observing this outburst from the sidewalk was a group of half a dozen young men, roughly the same age as the bully. None of them came forward, but continued to watch. The bully became more inflated, was shouting something at the elderly man and dancing around him like a boxer trying to find his opponent’s weak spot. I started racing down the street with my cell phone in hand (Greek phone numbers dancing in my head), while trying to remember how to dial the police in the United States. I was a quarter of a block away when the situation escalated and the older man attempted to take a swing at the young bully. Only then did the half dozen male observers step in, en block. I could overhear them quietly telling the bully to, “Just get in the car and go.”

I, the only woman amongst the (sorry guys, weak) testosterone pack, called out, “Has anyone called the police yet?” One of the young men looked at me, apathetically, and said, “The police can’t stop a bully.” I replied, “He will continue to do this to others. If observers file reports against him, then the police can do something!”

I was appalled by his response. It was as if some unspoken code kept them from breaking up the confrontation. Didn’t any of them have elderly parents or grandparents? Didn’t any feel the least bit responsible for stopping such an incident? Certainly they seemed oblivious to the fact that people who harass, people who bully, are only one step away from violent behavior. Quite frequently, emotional abuse leads to physical abuse, and even if it does not, I know, too well, its equally damaging effects.

Another young man turned to me and quietly said, as if he didn’t want the other guys to hear, “Yes. The incident has been called in.” So, I proceeded up the street and was stopped by a female shopkeeper who asked me what had happened. I explained what I knew. I shared that I did not know what had precipitated the conflict, but that I was quite disturbed by the men’s lack of response. Her opinion was, “No one wants to get involved.” She also said that she had seen the woman in the car behind make a call on her cell phone.

What has happened to us that we are unwilling to step in? That we are so willing to claim no responsibility? What is this silent male code not to interfere, that trivializes and therefore accepts bullying, labeling the abuser as “just a bully?” What allowed these men to equate a call to the police as “weak” or labeling them as “tattletales?”

People, get the word out: bullying is abusive. Emotional abuse is as damaging as physical abuse, even when one does not lead to the other. We have become socially irresponsible to our elderly and to one another. The bully certainly did not exhibit any admirable masculine traits, but the group of male observers fell short, as well.

It’s a sad day when it takes a fifty-year old physically weak woman to step in.

This post may, at first, not seem relevant to the theme of feminine healing, so let me point out just two significant links. First, the acceptance of abuse and violence to others or to ourselves or, its opposite, too easily accepting the position of victim and the entitlement that goes with this, is a common state in our society and one that needs to change in order for all of us to heal.
Secondly, taking responsibility for ourselves and others, assigning worth to interdependence equal to the status of independence is another necessary change towards balance and healing, not only in our own society, but in our global world.

What do you think? In what ways have you been a bully to yourself or to others? When have you taken on the victim role? When have you left it behind? To what do you feel “entitled?” When have you valued interdependence as highly as independence? When have you stepped in, taken a stand, begun your path toward healing?

The Evil Eye

Each time I return to Greece I am acutely aware of the latest fashions--and not just because Greek shoes are small packages of amazing art, but because on my very first trip I immediately recognized that my American clothes made me stand out like a sore thumb. If you want to blend into any foreign culture, one of the first steps is to dress like the natives. Fortunately, it wasn't too long before my first Greek boyfriend was dressing me in his t-shirts.

Additionally, like the clothes, accessories change each year. Sunglasses are the first that you notice. The Greek sun is so extremely strong that the first time you get tricked into thinking those clouds are most certainly going to produce rain and you leave this essential accessory behind, you not only pay dearly with blinding eye pain, but future cataracts and racial wrinkles as well.

This year, I noticed that every one of my Greek girlfriends was wearing a evil eye pendant. Any of you who have traveled to Greece, or eastward, have undoubtedly noticed blue eyes everywhere. The eye is all over Greece, and where it's not, there's blue. Did you ever wonder about those brightly blue painted windows and doors? The blue provides protection. I forgot this fact when I purchased my first--I thought, rather cool--handmade silver eye pendant...until my Greek friend asked me if perhaps my pendant was from the Middle East. I, affronted, replied, "What do you mean: It was handmade by a jeweler from Thessaloniki!" He asked,"Where's the blue?" and I realized that in my haste to make the necklace match the rest of my apparel I had changed the colored cord from blue to brown. So I went out the next night and bought a real blue evil eye pendant and hastily hung it on the cord, too. (I wonder--are two eyes better than one? I hope that isn't bad luck...)

When I ran into my girlfriend in Athens (while shopping in Zara, of course), noticed her eye pendant, and commented that everyone was wearing them this year, she said, "Well, we certainly need it!"

So, I thought again about the evil eye, about the protective quality assigned to certain shades of blue. I had always teased my Dutch friend that I didn't need to wear an eye when I was with her, because her eyes are one of those extraordinary blues. It was a great form of entertainment--observing the Greeks' reaction to her--something between shock and reverence. Anyway, she didn't make the trip this year--so I was on my own. But there is something soothing about an entire country that recognizes the power of thought and intention, that recognizes the harm that we do to one another by our mere thoughts, that acknowledges the role of evil and ill will in our world--or the consequences of bad intent coupled with ignorance.

This is a culture that recognizes our energetic connection and our power to shift our focus from jealousy, anger, and cruelty to forgiveness, thanks and blessings. It is refreshing to not have to explain this connection; the Greeks already acknowledge its existence and its impact on their everyday lives. I often wonder how different our world would be if we, as individuals, acknowledged this tremendous power and responsibility we carry. We have an incredible capability to affect others for ill or for good.

And, yes, I have placed a blue eye just about everywhere...just in case.

Internet, Unplugged

Wouldn't you rather be looking at this than your computer display?

If you've joined me on the path to twitter addiction (see Are You a Tweetaholic?) then I'm happy to report that I've found a cure. Travel to a place sans internet access. Yes, that means no Wi-Fi. I traveled to Athens. You're thinking but surely there's free Wi-Fi access in Athens? Yes, there is--in Syndagma (Constitution Square), which is not as convenient as walking across the room and flipping on my modem, not as quiet as my apartment, and certainly not devoid of distractions. But what about Flo-Cafe or other spots that, for the price of an icy frappe, provide free internet access? Well, just arrange for your brand new mini laptop to display a "fatal error" message within the first thirty minutes of Athenian use. That's enough to scare an unsecure internet connection out of you.

So, now I'm left with a thirty minute walk in 98 degree weather Monday through Friday, only, to the Centre, where I took my Greek lessons, to use their computer or infrequent (paid) usage at the Internet Cafe. Since I'd rather spend my euros on food rather than tweets, I think I'll stick with no access for awhile.

Add no TV (which I thought I was also missing my first night here when I tried repetitively to get the little red power light to go on...and then remembered that I had to press the channel button after the power button,) and you're all set. Easy enough if you're renting a room and not staying in a hotel. Skip major hotels, by-the-way, because they have free Wi-Fi as well.

So, without Twitter, Facebook, 100-plus e-mails awaiting you in your five different accounts, and no access to your websites, blogs or Skype...just what will you do with all of your time? Let's see, I've been here two days and. besides sleep (at very strange hours and intervals), I've managed to go to the supermarket, exchaange money at the bank (a feat in itself), purchase a pair of sandals (okay, yes, my other addiction), visit three friends at the Centre, joined a couple of other friends for coffee, visited outside of town with a couple and their new baby, and meet up with a former boyfriend. That's more socializing than I normally accomplish in several months...but, then, Greece is an extremely social country.

So folks, sometimes it takes going to the extreme to tear yourself away from that addiction. Just say no! Or get rid of the TV or the internet connection...or travel to Greece!

Evolution--Courtesy of Dove

For related posts, please see: Ankle Cellulite

Who is Fighting for Her Feminine? and Lisa's Story.

Who Do You Want to Be When You Grow Up?

I remember a moment, suspended in time, when I was eighteen. I lay in bed daydreaming…or so I thought. I was imagining the perfect life of me, at about the age of thirty. I visualized my physical life, my mental life, and my emotional life. Physically, I would have a decent job by societal standards, something important, accomplished. I would make a decent amount of money, enough to work part-time, perhaps a three-day week, and still have all of my needs met. I would be living in my own place, an apartment. My location would be my hometown, close to my family. I was single, no children. I valued my independence too much to be married just yet, and would have worked hard for my career-related accomplishments.

Mentally, I would feel a calmness, a security, that comes with such hard-earned accomplishments. My focus would be on my work, on my place in the world. I had a pride in the work that I did, because I was helping others. I felt respected. I was confident. Others looked up to me without putting me on a pedestal. I didn’t stand out, because I accomplished my work quietly, not drawing the attention of others. My thoughts were mostly involved in intellectual linear matters. My mind, attitude and way of being was, in fact, quite masculine.

Emotionally, I was pleased with my life and accomplishments. Emotionally, I didn’t feel highs or lows, because I had everything that I wanted. No, security was the most important quality. That and respect. I was not invested in a relationship with a significant other. I didn’t need another person to be happy or fulfilled in my life. I eventually saw myself with a partner, with children, but not just yet.

I don’t recall contemplating the spiritual part of my life. It was a given…or an afterthought.

I also remember another moment, suspended in time; this time I was thirty. This was the moment that I realized the enormous power we hold to create our own destiny.

During this moment I was also lay in my bed, daydreaming. I had just finished my eight years of medical training. I lived alone in an apartment in my hometown. I was working three days a week, making enough money to cover my expenses and begin to pay back my medical student loans. My parents lived within walking distance. I was single. I had no children. I valued my independence. It was too early for me to marry. After all, I had worked so very hard to get to this point, and, frankly, there wasn’t room yet for someone else in my life.

I felt calm, a sense of security that comes with a hard-earned accomplishment. I had completed my training in a respected field. Even though I was doing things my own way and choosing a path slightly different from my colleagues I was confident. Even though I was in a respected field, I didn’t stand out. Even though my choices differed from others, I went about my life quietly, not wanting to draw attention to ways in which I was different. My mind was occupied by linear, rational things. The only place where my mind was free to wander to the feminine was during my annual trips to Greece.

Emotionally, I was please with my life and accomplishments. I seldom felt highs or lows, because I had everything that I wanted…or so I thought. Security and my standing in the world were the most important aspects of my life, and I had these. Although I had several relationships, none were long-term, because I was not ready or willing to share my life with another person, to leave my career to become a mother. I soon would turn down my first offer of marriage, and much later, my second.

At that moment, I remember the first moment, and, like a lightning bolt realized that the life I had was exactly the one that I had envisioned at eighteen. Exactly. As a matter of fact, not only was my physical life exactly as I had envisioned, but my intellectual and emotional lives as well. I was blown away. I got it.

We have tremendous power in creating our reality.

I would like to say that the story ended here, but life does not end at the age of thirty, and because I’m a late-bloomer, I had quite a ways to go. The next ten years were spent defining myself, discovering my tribe, identifying the way in which I wanted to practice my work, having amazing synchronistic experiences that lead me to the right people and gave me a vision of where my life was heading.

But at the age of forty, something happened. It was as if I felt that I had already been there, done that, and, as many of us do, I went into remote control. Instead of my forties being a time of growth and expansion, they actually ended up stagnating and eventually imploding. By the time I hit forty-nine, my ignored soul declared itself. It gave me an ultimatum. It would not allow me to continue down that same path, the life that I had envisioned at eighteen and achieved by the age of thirty. I had pressed the pause button and placed myself in cruise-control for nineteen years. I realized that I hadn’t envisioned my life at forty or fifty or sixty or at one hundred.

What followed was a year of catch-up.

Today I am fifty. Once every fifteen years Saturn appears to lose its rings, the rings that are made of debris the size of SUVs. Today, Saturn loses its weighted middle, and SO DO I!

Ankle Cellulite

Believe me, this is so much prettier than the picture you were expecting…

First, I would like to take this opportunity to apologize to every single woman who has ever come to see me complaining of weight issues at midlife. Everything each one of you claimed is indeed true. One day, suddenly, your body goes out of control—like a teen over whom you have absolutely no influence—and also like a teen, wants desperately for you to love her just the same, even though she’s completely out of control and refuses to listen to you.

Every month, heck, every week, she’s changing right before your very eyes. Nothing you do makes a difference. As a matter of fact, the more you try to control her, the worse she gets. You increase your exercise one extra day a week, then two, then double—then you add other routines. Now you’re exercising eight hours a day, and you still don’t look like Madonna (but, boy, are you happy about that!). So you go on strike and starve yourself. Your “menopot/menopudge” reacts by drooping further over your pubis; your belly button has turned into one big smile, laughing its pants off at you.

Nothing works, no matter what you do.

The last straw for me came today, when I was at the beach in my bikini. Yes! Bikini! It’s nothing but strings that stretch, the least amount of material that miraculously still fits—and hasn’t yet snapped in two, although I’m waiting…

No. That wasn’t the last straw. I was casually wiping off the sand from my feet when…What the…?! Cellulite on my ankles? Come on! Is that even possible? No one told me this could happen, and I’m a doctor. Certainly, I should have been informed.

So for all of the women out there with my twin ankles—I have supreme empathy for you.

As I was trying to explain to my fifteen-year-old nephew today, sometimes it sucks to get old—I mean, this is almost as bad as (one of my Tweeps came up with this diagnosis) “Broken Brain Syndrome.”

But, if you haven’t yet realized it, menopause gives us multiple creative opportunities to learn its main lesson:

Let go of what no longer serves you and appreciate what you already have.

I will gladly accept my body of cellulite; I am so thankful that despite all of the abuse suffered by my poor body it still manages to give its all every day of my life. As a matter of fact, I am so thankful for all of the tremendous gifts and blessings in my life that these cellulite ankles are doing a happy dance right now!

For a related post see Lisa's Story.

“Just Go With the Flow”

The Elia family on the infamous red retro shag carpet

Are you, like me, tired of hearing "just go with the flow?"How many times have I heard that? And what does it really mean? I’ve seen so many people insist on doing so, and then use it as an excuse to so completely let go, that they lose all sense of direction. Suddenly, all responsibility is relinquished into the cosmos, playing into the belief that we are truly empty vessels, without will, at the whim of the first force that comes our way.

Don't get me wrong. I'm all for "letting go," and, being an incredibly stubborn human myself, know how difficult that can be. But “letting go” and “just go with the flow” are not always prescriptives to relinquish all will. Unless it is your intention to stop completely, then “just go with the flow” does not imply lack of direction. Actually, it usually implies exactly the opposite.

I was reminded of this today when I made my second attempt to use a very old (and heavy) upright vacuum cleaner to clean our carpeted cabin floor. I had tried once before, several weeks ago, but abandoned my efforts when—for the life of me—I couldn’t find the “on” switch. Where the heck was it? There were all kinds of potential switches on the thing, but none of them panned out. Even a call to the parents didn’t solve the mystery. So instead, I pulled out an even older vacuum cleaner from under the benches and practically broke my back, hunched over the darn thing. The latch was broken and was (not) held closed by duct tape. It was a nightmare.

Today, I dragged the original enigma out of the closet and, determined this time, found the magic button. But when I attempted to use it on our red retro shag rug, my back immediately screamed protest. It was like dragging a boulder over tree branches. Surely there was another latch on it somewhere for carpeted surfaces. It glided over the puny one foot uncarpeted slate square. But you know how successful I am with finding buttons…so instead, I, by sheer willpower and unknown force, accomplished the task to the detriment of my back. When I was finally finished, I wrapped up the cord, popped it back on its hind legs and directed it to its parking place in the bedroom closet. Again, it glided (with glee, mind you!).

That’s when I was reminded of the phrase “just go with the flow.” If only I had found that magic button, would it not have glided over the shag carpet too? I mean, the task of cleansing had to be done; it wasn’t a directionless task. Without the magic button I was faced with “going with the flow” and leaving the darn thing in the closet, or expending a tremendous amount of energy in order to enjoy a newly vacuumed cabin floor. But, oh, if I had only found that button, then that vacuum cleaner would have glided itself—with very little steering effort on my part.

Bingo! I got it! That’s what it really means to go with the flow. We’re still doing the steering, but we’re not the power behind it. The task is practically accomplishing itself, because we’re moving with the bigger flow, the bigger power. Yes, that cabin floor needed to be cleaned, and yes, it was my job to do so, but I had help available. Instead of old, heavy, backbreaking help, there was a magic button somewhere. All I had to do was find it, and we’d both be gliding across that carpet!