Tag Archives: hospice care

Clarifying Our Intentions: Fear or Curiosity? Worrying or Caring?

I’m skeptical about self-help books. They always sound like they are going to lead us to endless happiness if we just set the right goals and remember a few principles, but over time life turns out to be more complicated. 

I remember reading a bestseller in 1989: Do What You Love, The Money Will Follow.  I tried following the advice. It didn’t work.   I think many poets, musicians, athletes, spiritual seekers, and artists eventually realize they need to find a real job to pay the bills while making time to do the creative and imaginative things that bring joy and satisfaction.  I’m a skeptic when it comes to simplistic formulas for negotiating life.

            However, I have found two suggestions that seem to be worth sharing.

            The first comes from my hospice experience: “The opposite of fear is curiosity.”   When faced with unwelcome news or unwanted challenges, we may naturally respond with fear.  We may choose to be defiant or in denial about whatever is happening.  When we are fearful, our ability to think creatively shrinks.  (I have a friend and professional leadership coach who tells his clients and his teenagers, “Remember, when you get angry or emotional, your IQ shrinks.”) It’s interesting to consider choosing curiosity instead. Becoming curious feels different. We become calm.  Our mind is open.  Our mental state and awareness expand rather than contract.

            I remember Hank, a parishioner and mentor. He had a Ph.D. in chemistry and spent his career in higher ed and international education. He was also a strong Mennonite, a tradition that seeks to live out the Sermon on the Mount including the principle of nonviolence.   He contracted a serious form of cancer that began in his lower spine.  He decided to learn all he could and employ multiple approaches toward healing.  He worked with his oncologist in planning his chemotherapy and radiation treatments.  He asked people he knew who were gifted in prayer to visualize his healing.  He began to practice a form of meditation in which he saw the chemotherapy chemicals as bottom-feeding catfish, slowly gobbling up the unwanted cancer cells in his bloodstream.

            Hank’s cancer went into remission, and he lived another 25 years.  His spine was damaged, and his walking was impaired, but his spirit was not.  Even if he had not had such a good outcome, I believe he would have died with a calm mind and strong heart.  He chose curiosity over fear. 

            The second insight comes from a book on golf:

“Dave, an instructor at a golf school, asked me for advice about his own game. He wanted to know how to ‘putt without caring.’ He said, ‘How do I not care? I do care! Otherwise I wouldn’t be out there playing golf.’ I told him his problem was with the word ‘care.’ Of course you care about making the putt. The point is not to worry about whether you will make it or not. I then asked him to pay close attention to how each of the next sentences made him feel:
‘Dave, I care about you.’…’Dave, I worry about you.’”

                   — Dr Joe Parent, Zen Golf: Mastering the Mental Game, 2002

            We don’t have to have any interest in golf to get the point.  So much of our time is spent wanting life to meet our expectations.  We press, fret, strategize, and — loaded with anxiety — act. If we don’t get what we want, we blame others or ourselves. 

            Joe’s point is instead of worrying about an upcoming action, we focus on caring about it.  That feels different.  He also believes shifting our approach to caring increases our chances of being effective.

Imagine standing in front of a mirror and making an expression that conveys worry.  Our brow wrinkles. Our eyes narrow.  Our breathing may become shorter. We tense up.  It’s a drag.

Then imagine shifting your expression to one expressing care.  Our face relaxes, our eyes open.  Our pulse probably slows down.  It’s a nice way to be in these bodies of ours. 

Would you rather have someone worry about you or care about you?

Would you rather be afraid or curious?

Spiritual traditions offer us alternatives to fear and worry.

Buddhism teaches we can live more compassionately and freely when we let go of rigid expectations.  We still formulate clear intentions with whatever we are facing – including being present and compassionate with ourselves and others – but that is different from giving into anxiety.

In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus says, “Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.”  As an adult who’s personally and economically responsible for myself and others, I need to be vigilant, informed, and careful as I manage our resources and plan for the future. But I try to do so from a place of caring, not worry.

In 1999 I visited the “Tomb of the Patriarchs” mosque in Hebron, Israel. I remember seeing two people. One man was sitting on the floor with his back to a wall, reading.  Another was lying on the floor taking a nap.  While there was tension at the security checkpoints we passed through on our way there, the mood inside the mosque was spacious and peaceful. 

When we are in challenging situations, we may want to observe how we are approaching them. Are we being driven by fear or curiosity?  And do we want to be filled with worry, or instead, focus on simply caring for ourselves and others?

Image:

“Feeling Light Within, I Walk,” Navajo Night Chant/Native American sculpture, Vancouver, The Quiet Eye: A Way of Looking at Pictures

Note: in a prior post, I shared a similar reflection drawn from training sessions I used to lead, and included some points from a grief counselor about how “companioning” can be a distinct form of caring:  “Is Your Intention to Cure or to Care?”

Is Your Intention to Cure or to Care?

In my years in ministry and hospice, one of the common tasks was caring for people.  It sounds easy, but it can be challenging.  A key theme is remembering the difference between curing and caring.

            Imagine you are going to visit someone who’s dealing with a difficult event. Maybe they’ve lost a loved one or are facing a serious challenge with their health or family.

            As you walk up to the door, what is your intention?

            A common response would be, “I want to help this person feel better.  I’ll do whatever I can to cheer them up.  Maybe I can tell them something I went through that will help.”

            If this is your intention, how is your body feeling?  For most of us, it could be tense.  It’s like we are stepping on stage for a performance, and the adrenalin is starting to flow.

            One way to describe this intention is simple: we want to cure this person. Obviously, we can’t bring their loved one back or change what is happening. But maybe if we work hard enough, we can “cure” them of feeling anxious, lost, or depressed with some good advice and encouragement.

            We go in and visit.  We talk about different things, and whenever we can, insert an upbeat comment or personal story. If there is a pause in the conversation, we think of something to talk about so it’s not awkward.

            The visit concludes. We exchange good wishes, step out and close the door.

            What might we be thinking and feeling?

            We may be glad to know we made the visit to show our concern, but we’re probably relieved the visit is over.  It’s stressful to have to fix other people.  We may also sense that, despite whatever well-intended words we said, our friend is not really “better.”

            How might the person we visited be feeling? 

            They may have picked up on the dynamic created by our intention to “cure them.” They didn’t want us to feel bad, so they played along, forcing a smile when they could and in the end thanking us for coming.  But they may also be relieved when the visit is over.  They may feel guilty that their situation is creating stress and concern for others.

            All this can flow when we try to cure people.

            Let’s start with a different intention. Instead of trying to cure the person, we are simply going to care for them.

            As we come up to their door, we pause to clarify that intention.  We say to ourselves, “I’m not here to change how they are feeling.  I am going to listen carefully to what their situation is really like for them. If they describe their pain or confusion, I’m not going to redirect them.  I’m going to simply be with them, listening to them with a sense of genuine, restrained reverence.”

            So, in we go.  We do our best to truly listen to what they are saying.  Our own mind may want to interject an opinion aimed at changing how they feel, but we let those thoughts dissipate.   Whatever unfolds, we simply try to come alongside and truly appreciate what they are experiencing in all its complexity.

            In a simple form, that’s caring instead of curing.

            A leading grief counselor, Alan Wolfelt, has another word for caring: companioning. He believes grief is ultimately a journey of the soul that needs to be honored, not a psychological problem that needs to be fixed. Here’s a few of what he calls the essential tenets of companioning:

            Tenet One: Companioning is about being present to another person’s pain; it is not about taking away the pain.

            Tenet Two: Companioning is about going to the wilderness of the soul with another human being; it is not about thinking you are responsible for finding the way out.

            Tenet Seven: Companioning is about discovering the gifts of sacred silence; it does not mean filling up every moment with words.

            Tenet Nine: Companioning is about respecting disorder and confusion; it is not about imposing order and logic.  (For a full list, go to https://www.centerforloss.com/2019/12/eleven-tenets-of-companioning)

            As you can see, it’s very different from curing.  The focus is fully on the other person, not my need to prove myself.  To be truly “companioning” is not a performance that summons adrenalin, but a spiritual practice in which we seek to be calm, alert, and unafraid. 

            When I’m practicing being a “companion,” I’m not being passive. My mind, heart and body are active as they attune to the person’s experience.  But I’m not going to grab the steering wheel and direct the conversation the first chance I get.

            Some years ago, the agency I worked for received a request from a local retirement home to have one of our people visit a new resident.  The woman’s children had initiated the move so they could be closer to her. But in the process, she had to give up a lifetime of relationships in the community back east where she’d lived all her life.  Since moving in, she rarely came out of her apartment and the staff was concerned. 

            On the first visit, they simply became acquainted.  But by the second visit, she sensed she could be open about the pain she was experiencing.  She began sobbing intensely, which went on for 40 minutes. The counselor simply sat there with her. When he arrived for the next visit, she said, “It’s a beautiful day.  Let’s take a walk outside,” and she showed him some of the beautiful flowers near her apartment. He visited her once more and they parted ways.

            He didn’t cure her. But he honored and cared for her like a trusted companion, and a new chapter in her journey could begin.