Lorie Sheffer – Page 40 – Disney Leadership Keynote Speaker

Why Should You Be Spared?

No Leaf Is Spared From Falling (from yesterday)

Guest Blogger, Lorie Sheffer:

Several years ago my friend told me about advice her mother had just given her. We had to laugh at the harshness of it. After pouring out her heart over coffee and strudel, her mother simply looked at her and asked, “Why should you be spared?” A pity party would have been nice. Soothing words would have been welcome. Instead she got five words- no nonsense, old-fashioned German wisdom- that must have felt like a bucket of cold water in the face.

The last five years of my life have been chock full of some real doozies. While I was in my doctor’s office for a regular check-up, she asked how things were going. I gave her a partial list, and her eyes got wide and her jaw dropped. She asked if I was OK. “Well, it’s been rough, but why should I be spared?” I answered.

We all know that bad things happen. People get sick. We lose loved ones. There are times when the economy is rough. (Remember waiting in lines at the gas station in the 70s?) Nobody wants it to be his or her turn at the tough stuff, but if not you, then who? It’s not like the other guy deserves it, either. There are times when, no matter how much we try to prevent it, we can be doing everything right and we just happen to draw the short straw.

Ever notice how, when times are good and life is calm and serene, you rarely hear “Why me?” If you do hear someone ask why he or she deserves such a good and happy life, those around them will jump right in to assure them that their good fortune should be enjoyed. “Why should they be spared” happiness?

There are things we can do to contribute toward our economic security or good health or happy marriage. Wise investments, a good education and careful saving can mean financial stability. Eating a healthy diet, exercising, not smoking and getting regular preventative care can stack the odds in our favor when it comes to our physical well being. But there are some things that just happen. Sometimes life can seem like a crapshoot of sorts. We read about people who dropped out of school and went on to become multimillionaires. I had a great uncle who drank heavily, smoked and was grossly overweight and lived to be well into his nineties. My husband, on the other hand, didn’t smoke, drank in moderation and exercised like it was his job, yet he had a massive stroke when he was forty-four years old. My best friend was a wonderful and loving wife and mother, yet after thirty years of marriage her husband left her for another woman. Perhaps the bad things in life happen as a way for us to have a greater appreciation of the good things. The sun is always brightest just after the storm has passed. That first warm day of spring is so joyous after a harsh winter, as is the first crisp fall day after a sweltering summer.

I have always been a person who has to know the answer. I feel more secure if there is a reason why. I suppose I rationalize that if I can find a reason why, then I can figure out how to stop the same thing from happening again. It gives me a sense of control. It’s hard to accept that sometimes, bad things happen to good people. And yet, I find strange comfort in Maria’s words. She was being kinder than it seemed. Sometimes the answer is simple. “Why should you be spared?”

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20 Million Just Like You?

Does This Little Spider Make You Anxious?

Be kind to people, for everyone you meet is going through some sort of hell. Lorie Sheffer reminds us of this today, and she (inspires) challenges us to face our own hell head on. Take it away Lorie:

Everyone has had the experience of one of those near miss situations that make your heart race and your stomach churn. Maybe it was the time you glanced down for just a second and then looked up to see the car in front of you had stopped unexpectedly. Now imagine if you were to randomly get that same feeling, seemingly out of nowhere for no particular reason. Imagine standing in line at a grocery store, when all of a sudden your hands shake, your heart feels like it is pounding out of your chest and you feel as though you can’t breath. If a wave of terror hit you with such intensity that you were certain you were dying? What if simple things like going to a mall or eating in a restaurant caused you such distress that you were simply unable to do so? If your greatest wish was to be able to make it through your son’s graduation or your daughter’s wedding without feeling overwhelming waves or panic? What if your dream was to enjoy happy occasions and everyday, mundane life without extreme anxiety?

Nine years ago, after hiding my symptoms since as long as I have memory, I finally went for the help that I needed. I was almost immediately diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety Disorder. Many people who have been close to me for years seemed surprised. I had become extremely good at hiding my panic attacks. I grew up in a family where two members, one from each side, had anxiety issues. I heard the words “high strung” when these women would cancel plans at the last minute or have to leave a family gathering suddenly. I would catch the rolling eyes and see the glances that were exchanged. Already a political junkie at 13 years old, I have vivid memories of Thomas Eagleton, George McGovern’s first choice as vice presidential running mate. When Eagleton’s medical records were uncovered and it was learned that he had suffered from anxiety, depression and “nervous exhaustion”, he was immediately dropped from the ticket and replaced by Sargent Shriver. He went on to serve 15 more years in the senate, after which he continued his career as an attorney and professor until just before his death, at age 77, from heart and respiratory disease. Clearly he did not spend the remainder of his days as non-functional. The treatments he endured are antiquated by today’s standards. The example of Senator Eagleton was one that taught me to hide my pain behind an always cheerful, outgoing façade.

For anyone who is too fearful of seeking treatment, I am here to tell you, it will be one of the greatest gifts you can ever give yourself. You are NOT alone! We all grew up with fellow mid-lifer Donny Osmond. Donny is very open about his struggle with social anxiety and panic. He once said about his Broadway run in Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, “There are times I remember before I walked on stage, where if I had a choice between walking on stage or dying, I would have chosen death.” This coming from someone who had been on stage since he was a toddler. That is how incapacitating anxiety can be. There was a time when Food Network star Paula Deen was unable to leave her own home due to her anxiety and agoraphobia. The list of famous people who have had panic and anxiety issues includes Nicolas Cage, Cher, Carrie Underwood, John Madden, David Bowie, Johnny Depp, Steve Martin, Barbra Streisand, Aretha Franklin, Oprah, Carly Simon and Sally Field.

I think the only way to remove a stigma born of ignorance is to stand up, speak out, and put a face to whatever it is that is being misunderstood. I’m not criminally insane, I just happen to have a panic disorder. I am no more responsible for my problem than someone is for his or her juvenile diabetes. It is something in our genetic makeup, and we need to learn to manage it, not apologize for it. Funny thing is, if I happen to be in a situation where I bring up my disorder, there is always at least one person who later comes up to me to say, “me too!” I don’t define myself as “Lorie Sheffer the person with GAD”, but I no longer try to hide it. After all, there are over 20 million Americans out there who are just like me.

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Their Similarities Are Different

Some people need no introduction. Lorie Sheffer is becoming that kind of person here:

I’ve been watching two brothers reconnect through shared grief and loss. They never had a fight or exchanged nasty words; they just seemed to drift in totally opposite directions, an undercurrent of family tension pulling them away from one another. Never having many common interests to tie them, they were content to lead their lives without one another. Now they are automatically reassuming the roles of big brother/little brother. It is fascinating to see. I’m rooting for a lasting reunion.

My own brother and I are total opposites. We don’t even look like we came from the same gene pool. Old family photos of us as very young children show him as being protective of me, holding my hand or always being within reach. He was a good big brother. He was allowed to yell at me or punch me in the arm, but others were not. Not too long ago, the prospect of losing him literally brought me to my knees.

My own two children are as opposite as my brother and me. Thanks to old VHS tapes, there is hilarious evidence of them chasing one another with the cardboard tubes from Christmas wrap, thunking sounds and screams captured on film. Teenaged Jennifer is on tape rolling her eyes in disgust at ten-year-old Ian’s every move. Now, whenever she is in crisis he is the first person she calls. They are one another’s cheerleaders.

As close as we may be to friends or spouses, there is something amazing about having another person who grew up in the same house and who was actually there to witness our childhood. Memories can fade, and sometimes we remember things the way we wanted them to be more than how they actually were. What I find especially interesting is how two people can share the same experience and walk away with a totally different take on what transpired. Two people can see the same movie, and afterward one says they loved it, the other says they hated it; both are telling the truth, and yet they have different opinions based upon their own perspective. The same can be said for recollection of family memories. I hated that trip to the Pro Football Hall of Fame in Canton, Ohio. It was the trip from Hell. My brother, on the other hand, found it to be one of the highlights of his youth.

I very strongly believe that if we listen with an open mind, we can learn a great deal about ourselves through our siblings. They were there through our formative years, sharing our environment. They may remember us with fondness or not. They may have a totally different view of our parents, or they may feel exactly the same as we do. Whatever the case, we can learn about our own feelings and thoughts and fears and dreams by listening to theirs.

It is so easy to slip back into those old roles when we get together with our brothers and sisters. Nothing will turn us into kids again like a family gathering. Sometimes that is good, sometimes not so pleasant. But whatever your relationship may be, understand that there is nobody else who actually shared your childhood the way they did. Having brothers and/or sisters allows us a peek into our childhoods that only children don’t have. What a shame if we don’t appreciate that chance to learn about ourselves.

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Cheeseburger In Paradise?

Lorie Sheffer is back with her enlightening look at fast food and happiness:

Happiness is as a butterfly which, when pursued, is always beyond our grasp, but which if you will sit down quietly, may alight upon you. – Nathaniel Hawthorne

I dreaded going to the nursing home. The 80 days of visiting my dad in the hospital and the two weeks in the rehabilitation hospital were draining at times, but not as depressing as the nursing facility. Insurance for hospitalization has ended now, but thankfully he can finish recovering in a nursing home where he can get the minimal care he still requires and the physical therapy he desperately needs. We can’t worry about the atmosphere at this stage. It is difficult for him, psychologically, to be there, but it is temporary and we have no choice. I try to think of things to lighten the mood and to make his stay as normal as possible. He refuses to eat in the dining room. Maybe just having lost my aunt to Alzheimer’s a few years ago, he is not ready to be in that setting, especially considering all he has been through. Interacting with the residents is too emotionally draining for him at this point.

Driving across town gave me time to think of something to do for him. Harley Davidson had just ended its shift and traffic was almost at a standstill. He hinted to me more than once that he enjoys Wendy’s baked potatoes and chicken sandwiches more than restaurant food. I think this comment was in response to my raving about Thai food I had one afternoon. Continuing west on route 30, I saw the giant inflatable Frosty perched atop Wendy’s, and my decision was made. When I got to the drive thru, confusion set in. There are several types of chicken sandwiches from which to choose. Knowing my father as I do, I immediately ruled out the spicy one, and then just randomly guessed at which to choose. Homestyle; that sounded like Dad. But I also decided to get a deluxe cheeseburger just in case. I agonized for the 5 minutes it took me to get to the nursing home. What if I got the wrong thing? He was sitting in his room, alone, waiting for the staff to bring his tray of soup and sandwich. The residents eat their main meal at noon and just have a light dinner. When he saw the Wendy’s bags his eyes lit up. My guess about the chicken was correct, so now I had a cheeseburger left in the bag. The nurse came in and smiled that Dad was getting some “real” food. I asked her if she knew anyone who was interested in a cheeseburger. She said she didn’t think so, but then she got an idea. Apparently the lady across the hall refuses to eat. Sometimes her family brings things in for her. They have to coax her. The nurse took the bag across the hall. She came back with a huge smile on her face. “You just made her day!” I never saw this lady, but I got the report that she ate the entire burger and she enjoyed every bite of it.

When I got into my car later that evening, I didn’t feel the anxiety and exhaustion I normally feel. I had a smile on my face. I was happy that I was able to take something in for Dad, but I was thinking more about how I was able to randomly do something nice for someone who I have still never even laid eyes on. Something as small as a cheeseburger, which was an afterthought that I would have thrown away had nobody wanted it, had meant that this elderly lady could enjoy a taste of the outside world. Maybe sometimes we just over think things, assuming it requires some grand gesture to make people happy, when in fact we can make someone else’s day for the price of a fast food burger.

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Love Letters

Happy Friday everyone. Peace, LOVE & Mickey Mouse. Lorie Sheffer returns today to share a story – a trip back in time. Take it away Lorie:

Well, I heard over the radio that it’s all over now. I’ve been on pins and needles all week. Wish I were there with you. This is one of the happiest moments of my life. Now I know, Darling, what’s in store for me, that’s why I’m so happy.

We now soon can start our peaceful struggle. It will be a peaceful and pleasant one, I know. Still know nothing of my furlough, now back to the suspense of waiting to see you, Darling.

As ever, all my love and kisses,

Frank

The postmark says August 15, 1945 and the return address is from Camp Ritchie, Md.

This was one of a stack of love letters that my husband’s Aunt Grace received from her husband, Frank. He passed away in 1974, she in 1998. I love to brew a pot of tea and drink it from a really nice old china cup while reading these letters. I knew Aunt Grace. She was a lovely woman. Now I feel as though I also knew Uncle Frank. They were playful, romantic and very much in love. Sometimes I get out an old slate record, crank up my antique Victrola and listen to some background music while reading through their huge stack of beautifully handwritten love letters. I have learned that they loved music and they loved to dance. They were also the parents of my dear friend Mary. We found the letters with her belongings after she died this past winter.

While I appreciate the convenience of email and the clear sounds of music downloaded onto my computer, somehow they pale in comparison to the scratch of an old record and the sight of a handwritten letter. The romance is undeniable, and it makes me sadly aware of how long it’s been since I’ve taken a real letter from my mailbox.

It was also through old letters that I learned of my late friend’s Aunt Irene. She had a PhD in biology and she worked on some projects for the space program when it was in its infancy. She also was accepted into a research program in Sweden. Never married, she lived in a house that sat on a cliff overlooking the Pacific. The photographs are amazing. What makes this so remarkable is that Irene, her Polish name was Eryna, was born in 1914! This lady was WAY ahead of her time. She died 4 years ago, and I regret never having met her in person.

Soon I will tie Frank and Grace’s letters with the satin hair ribbon I found them in and place Irene’s letters back in their little box. I cannot stand the thought of throwing them away so I will make room for them on a closet shelf.

Maybe, just maybe, I will shop for some pretty stationery and a nice pen, and spend an afternoon catching up on correspondence. How nice for someone to go to their mailbox and find a real letter; how nice if they respond in kind.

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