As therapists, we say “Name it to Tame it,” helping people put words to their fears and  pain in order to contain and cope with them.  But as I’m getting older, I’ve learned that in addition to “Name it to Tame It” we have to “Name it to Claim it!”  We need to put words to the beautiful – the things that we’re grateful for – with expressions of “I love you,” “I miss you” or “Thank you.” By naming the wonderful, we affirm our joy and fully embrace both the fulfillment and the hopeful pursuit of what and who matter to us most. 

I’m so lucky that I live in a house on a ridge top with a beautiful view overlooking our town, including a bird’s eye view of the lake I love to walk around.  When we first moved into our home, I woke every morning to the joy of that view. I soaked it in while drinking my coffee and was thrilled by the colors across the valley as the sun set.  I worried back then that I would grow accustomed to the view and take it for granted.  One of the great things that can come with age is more stability.  I’ve lived in this same house for 25 years.  I’ve been married to the same man for nearly 30.  I’ve had the same profession for 31 years with the same job for 10.  It would be easy to get used to the view.

But I’m also lucky that I’ve been in a profession that’s taught me the value of noticing, especially the good.  When people are hurting, isolated, depressed, or stressed, they can lose their ability to see the positive and the lovely.  I’m often, as I literally say, the “holder of hope” as they go through their darkness.  I spend time with them in intimate conversation and tease out the light and their strength overrun by the darkness and fear.  I’m always so touched by how a simple reflection of this beauty can bring someone to tears.  “You are working so hard to be a good father,” I might say, or “You’re giving so much to help your mother keep her dignity.”  These simple truths can be so powerful when spoken, affirming the grace of their intentions and the loving sacrifices behind their efforts.

Naming the wonderful should also include honoring our desires.  Often people are ashamed to express their loneliness or their longing for something better.  They measure themselves by  what they lack rather than what they dream of.  But the flip side of loneliness is a beautiful desire for connection.  Longing for a new profession, or home, or success is a garden bed for the seeds of change.  We cannot achieve our dreams until we allow ourselves to plant them.  

Stability can indeed be a great privilege, but it can also be a silent drain on our ability to appreciate things with freshness or to be faced with a risk or choice that helps us define our values.  I’m happy to report that I still look out our picture window multiple times a day and take in a deep breath of awe.  It’s easy to do, because it’s right in front of me and hard not to notice.  I only hope I can keep my eyes open for the other many beautiful things that I encounter on a daily basis.  Like the driving game of “punch buggy” (where you yell out “punch buggy” and hit someone on the arm when you see a Volkswagen beetle) you instantly see what you didn’t notice when you’re motivated to call it out.  Naming the wonderful is a great way of claiming what’s wonderful. Just don’t punch someone each time you do.

Last week I went to a book signing event to see the author Malcolm Gladwell be interviewed about his new book, Revenge of the Tipping Point.  I’ve always admired Gladwell because of his interest in understanding complex and counterintuitive relationships.  He, indeed, impressed me as an extremely curious person who delights in coming up with unusual questions.  But what really impressed me was his process for finding answers.  So if curiosity can kill the cat, dear kitty, Gladwell has some good advice for you.

Gladwell was asked, given his many pursuits, how he defines himself – a journalist, writer, podcaster, philosopher?  I loved his response.  He said, “mostly, I’m a listener.”  Gladwell went on to explain his process of spending a lot of time with the people he’s writing about.  He records long sessions of asking questions and listens carefully to his subjects’ responses.  He shared how over the years he’d learned the value of investing significant time in hearing people tell their own stories in order to find deeper truths.  Careful and prolonged listening was his way of gathering information from his sources rather than making assumptions.

This resonated with me as a person who is constantly a work in progress as an artful listener.  To do it well is an active process, yet we often do it so passively.  Consequentially, we jump to conclusions and fill in gaps of information with our own ideas and interpretations.  Our relationships are built on the stories we tell ourselves about one another.  We may be curious about someone, but unless we ask and really listen to them, we project our own experience as a substitute.  This most often leads to frustration, misunderstanding, and potential conflict.

Too often we let our anxiety and fear answer our questions. Why didn’t she return my call? She must not like me. He didn’t say hello to me, he must be mad at me. She keeps her phone in her purse so I don’t see who she’s texting, she must be cheating on me. In my work with people, we frequently spend time untangling what the story is they’ve created and what facts support or refute it.  Then we look at what might have prompted the story in the first place.  It usually comes from a desire to feel in control.  If we don’t know, we feel vulnerable.  If we think we know, then we have certainty. Certainty is usually more comfortable than ambiguity. Even to the point that assuming we were rejected or slighted is more comfortable than not knowing!

Sitting with uncertainty is difficult, yet, research shows that it’s a foundation of well being.  If we can tolerate the discomfort of uncertainty, we gain by being more careful, thoughtful, and intentional in our responses.  We give ourselves time and space to gather information and process it.  While it may be uncomfortable in the short term, taking the time to ask questions of ourselves and of others and actually listen to the responses helps us in the long run.

So, little kitty, looks like it’s ok to be curious, just protect yourself by listening to what’s really going on. And, funny thing.  I looked up the origin of “curiosity killed the cat.”  Turns out, that’s not the entire proverb! It actually reads “Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.”  In other words, asking a question may be risky, but finding the truth is worthwhile.

This time of year marks the Jewish New Year.  Unlike most cultures that eat great food and party all night, we Jews fast and feel guilty for everything we’ve done wrong the previous year.  But seriously, I do appreciate the idea of reflecting on the life we’re living and how we may have “missed the mark,” as it’s referred to.  New Year’s rituals provide an opportunity, in community, to own our mistakes, make amends, and commit to a better path.  To be honest, though, I sometimes get a little overwhelmed by negativity.  It’s painful and makes me feel helpless at how to move beyond actions I feel badly about but can’t undo  So when I came across Daniel Pink, author of The Power of Regret:  How Looking Backward Moves Us Forward, I found some helpful advice on how we might move out of painful guilt and into healthy change all year long.

Pink’s book is based on surveys of over 4,000 Americans about their relationship with the feeling of regret.  As we would imagine, most people experienced regret as painful, the intensity of which depended on the level of consequence of what is regretted.  For example, some regrets can be inconsequential overall, such as wishing we’d learned an instrument or not accepting an invitation that turned out to be a good experience for the people who did.  We may feel a sense of loss, but it’s relatively easy to move past.  The regrets that really hurt us are the ones when we wished we’d done something differently in circumstances that were morally or emotionally significant, like not making peace with someone before they died or saying hurtful things out of anger to someone we love.

The first tip offered by Pink is to view our pain as a source of growth and insight.  We can use our regret as information to learn from and it can clarify what is most important to us.  Regrets can serve as guides to future action if we can listen to what our feelings are telling us about our past action and the outcome of our choices.

But in doing so, Pink emphasizes we need to talk to ourselves with compassion and create understanding.  Speak to yourself as if you’re talking to a friend you love, offering support and guidance over judgment.  Sometimes sharing our regret with other people can help us gain perspective and decrease the isolation we have around our regret.  Once we share, we’re likely to hear that others have similar experiences.  Writing about them can also be a way to process our feelings and let them out, allowing ourselves to think it through and release it.  Writing to answer the questions “What did I learn from this situation,” or “How will I make a different choice in the future,” can solidify our growth mindset.

Another tip is to figure out if there’s still something you can do about it.  Often we’re so overwhelmed with guilt or negative feelings, we become paralyzed.  We avoid thinking about it and even avoid the people involved because of our shame.  It’s helpful to ask yourself if there’s a way to make amends or change your current course of action to be more in line with what you’ve identified as a mistake or error in living your values.  Taking action is a great tool in overcoming the helpless feelings that can accompany regret.

And finally, Pink offers the suggestion of using the term “at least” with your situation to reframe it and gain perspective about how it could’ve been worse.  By shifting from “if only I’d done more to help my brother with his illness,” we can reframe it to remind ourselves of the things we did do, such as “at least I called him regularly, even if I couldn’t visit him as often as I would’ve liked.”  When we’re pulled into regret, we often overlook balancing forces or intentions that we would readily recognize for others.  

Allowing ourselves to explore our regret is a way of coping with it and gaining insight.  The process is not about letting ourselves off the hook or making excuses, but to find a truthful understanding of what our feelings mean to us and how we can use them as a beacon rather than a weapon.  As I sit in the High Holy Days services, I do notice it’s nice to be among others who are also taking stock of their lives.  Somehow it reminds us that we’re all human and no one can live a life without errors or missteps.  And actually, the very nature of the holiday is the assumption of this common human frailty.  It’s nice to allow ourselves the opportunity to release these burdens and commit ourselves to a better path.  Otherwise, we’d regret it.

In my previous post I had a chance to honor the resilience of people to carry on through tough times.  Shortly after, I came across an article that got me thinking about the important role of other people in our lives who help us persist. The article described the role of Assistants who team up with Paralympic Competitors (The Quiet Collaboration Between Paralympic Athletes and Their Assistants, NY Times).  I was so touched by their joy in playing such a significant role in enabling someone else to compete and push themselves to their personal best.  It led me to think about our roles as friends, family members, and in community to be a guide or assistant to someone in a way that makes a difference both to them and just as much to us.

I had no idea, but in 22 Paralympic sports, athletes compete alongside a guide or assistant.  In some sports the role is very active such as riding in the front seat of a tandem bike or running alongside a blind person holding a tether (they are literally tied together). But in other sports, it can be as simple as tapping a swimmer on the shoulder in order to let them know they are at the pool wall. Long jumpers rely on a guide shouting or clapping when it’s time to jump and blind soccer players listen out for a sighted goalie to yell and give direction for what is going on in the field.  In triathlete, a disabled athlete will swim tethered to a guide that swims slightly ahead of them, then steers the tandem bike, and finishes once again, tethered during the run.  In all sports, there are strict rules about what and how the assistants may offer support and if violated, an athlete will be eliminated.

It struck me what a special person you need to be an athlete assistant.  Not only do you have to be a spectacular athlete yourself, you have to totally dedicate your performance to the competitor.  In reading about these athletes, I was so impressed by their goal of winning with their partner, enjoying the process of training and competing as a team rather than as an individual.  For example, Gabriel Garcia, an athlete who competed in the Olympics on the Brazilian men’s 4 X 100 relay team also competed as a guide for a sprinter Geber ds Santos in the Paralympics.  Of both experiences, he stated, “I actually prefer to be an athlete guide rather than an Olympic athlete,” stating he felt more pressure at the Paralympics.  “You have to give 200 percent of yourself not to cause any mistakes and to keep the other athlete at a high level.”

Skyler Espinoza was a cyclist in the U.S.A. Cycling Development program but missed the dynamics of being in a team sport.  She now pilots a tandem bike with a visually impaired athlete, Hannah Chadwick.  About the experience she states, “You don’t just train for yourself, but for the other person.”  Gregory Billington finished 27th at the Rio Olympic Games in triathlon.  He partnered with athlete Brad Snyder and has found great success.  Brad describes the intensity of their relationship, “We’ve been able to train together stride for stride, stroke for stroke.  We’ve really bonded as friends, teammates, and as competitors.”

It was only in 2012 at the London Olympics that assistants were also given medals when the team made the podium, which they now also share.  It recognizes the challenge of working as a duo in order to be successful.  The choice of guide involves not only finding a talented competitor, but one who can form a compatible working relationship with the athlete.  One sprinter, David Brown, described running with a guide as “like running a three legged race.”  As I guessed would be true, the word “trust” came up in many of the descriptions of the most important factor in a successful pair.   Visually impaired skier Menna Fitzpatrick pointed out that “if you don’t have trust in the guide then you won’t have the skill and speed.  They also have to trust that I’ll follow their instructions.”  Also consistent in the article was how these guide athletes disputed the notion that they were “sacrificing” on behalf of the disabled athlete.  The relationship between athlete and assistant extended far beyond a technical connection into something more personal and deeply reciprocal.

Which brings me back to what struck me about this article in the first place and how it connected to my thinking about getting through hard times.  I think of the athlete’s tether or the clap as a great metaphor for how someone else can help us through the darkness of grief or depression.  Our connection to others gives us a reason and a drive to move forward and live beyond what we think we are capable of.  Life’s many challenges are also opportunities for us to be a support to someone else and in return reap the reward of meaning and purpose.  Building and maintaining the trust of people who need us is a great honor.  There may not be a medal to wear around our necks or a podium to proudly stand on, but we certainly become winners nonetheless.

Last Monday, being Labor Day, is celebrated to honor American workers’ social and economic achievements.  But as anyone who has ever had a job knows, some days are better than others.  Some days we go to work full of enthusiasm and a determination to do our best.  But sometimes, when our dog just died, or after a rough custody hand-off, or when we’re filled with the fear of being laid off, just showing up is hard enough.  We still have to serve the customer, stock the shelf, or teach the class.  Everyday, whether we realize it or not, people around us are making heroic efforts to put aside their pain and do what they need to do, anyhow.  Through some periods of our life we need to be celebrated for our resilient capacity to put aside what is burdening us to get our job done.

My older daughter wisely says, “You just don’t know about people’s stories.”  She does a good job of giving people the benefit of the doubt when they might have been rude or unattentive.  This makes me think about my many clients who come to get support for their grief, their trauma, or their mental or physical illnesses.  They are so filled with emotion and pain and I get to provide them with a space and a time they can fall apart.  But I also know they have to put themselves back together to feed the kids, make the sale, and check on their mother.  I think about the energy it takes to stuff all of this mess back inside to show up for their jobs.  I am sure some of them are underperforming in regard to what is required or may be snapping at customers they find irritating.  But they are doing their best to perform.

One person eloquently told me, “Life doesn’t care if you have a broken heart.”  She held back her tears throughout her work day and then cried on her entire car ride home.  It takes a lot of energy to balance the processing of difficult emotions with taking care of our responsibilities and duties, especially when people count on us.  Perhaps these are the true Labor Days, when we need to give ourselves nurturing and compassion in order to keep on going.  We may need to take breaks frequently throughout our day, sometimes needing to get away from people and sometimes to connect.  We have to pace ourselves to keep up our momentum, balancing out our week ahead.  We have to identify when we have the most capacity, and let go a bit when we dip into our lows. And highly important, we need to schedule ourselves a big ‘ol reward for just making it through a day, a week, a meeting, or a meal.

“Lights, camera, bitch, smile / Even when you wanna die,” is a line from Taylor Swift’s song, “I Can Do It With a Broken Heart.”  Now there’s a woman who knows how to turn pain into power!  It’s not healthy or helpful to pretend your pain doesn’t exist. Our biggest challenge in order to move through our bad times is to open ourselves up to acceptance, love, and compassion. And we need to not only show this grace for ourselves, but remember to offer it to others.

I will never forget my Grandmother Rose sitting with my family as we watched a football game.  My brother was especially angry at how his team was performing (you guessed it, the NY Giants) and was exuding frustration and negativity.  With her sweet voice and heavy New York accent, she leaned over to him and said, “Dahling…don’t be so upset.  They’re doing the best they can.”

There are so  many different kinds of change.  There are the changes we want to happen and the changes we don’t.  There are the changes we predict and plan for, and the changes we don’t see coming.  There are the changes that seem to happen so slowly we can’t stand waiting for and the changes that hit us so suddenly like running into a wall.  But what I’ve been thinking about lately is not just the change, but the ripple effects of change.  They can often be more unpredictable and impactful than the change event itself.

According to the great and wise Wikipedia, a ripple effect happens when “an initial disturbance to a system propagates outward to disturb an increasingly larger portion of the system, like ripples expanding across the water when an object is dropped into it.”  In other words, a ripple effect is when one small change kicks off a chain reaction of events that you may not be able to foresee.  (A random example might be someone who adopts two adorable mini donkeys…then  needs a trailer to transport or evacuate them…and then a truck to pull the trailer…just for example.)

Ripple effects can be force multipliers. If I make a change in one area of my life, it will impact another area and can be additive.  I can step by step build up my confidence or my discipline, etc.  For example, if I take a class and learn a new skill, I can feel more confident and get a new job, then earn more money and improve my family’s well being.  Or, if I, as a member of a community, make a change, it can influence others to make a change and the effect size can magnify and grow exponentially.  This source of power is a key to what we see in political campaigning this time of year.  One person can inspire others to act, that inspires others to act, and so on.

And while ripple effects can be powerful sources for positive change, they can also be sources of stress.  Ripples are the after-effect changes, the unfolding stressors we have to live and cope with in an ongoing manner.  They are often unpredictable and can be isolating as they may go unnoticed, especially by others, compared to the big change itself.  For example, when we experience a profound loss, we lose the companionship and connection to the person who has died.  But months and years down the road we keep experiencing the ripple effects of the loss in a myriad of ways.  “My wife used to do the taxes,” one widow told me, or, “my son used to host Thanksgiving,” a bereaved mother shared. 

There’s no way to prevent ripple effects, but I’ve been thinking about this topic in terms of ways we can be more mindful of them.  One way involves when we’re planning for a change, we can be more conscious of thinking through the effects it will have on ourselves, on others, and on our organization or community.  Sometimes we underestimate our impact and minimize the disruption that happens when we make a change.  Part of healthy change is anticipating the effects on ourselves, the people, and the environment around us. We can think of it as a personal environmental impact report, of sorts.  Good planning can also help people adjust to our change and to make it go more smoothly and successfully.

Another way we can use a proactive approach to ripple effects is to be a sensitive support to others.  I often hear and have experienced myself that people tend to forget about your change.  Not due to any intention, but other people move on.  It might be nice to be on the lookout for ways that people may be affected in the long term by ripple effects.  For example, inviting someone to a holiday dinner after they go through a divorce or offering to give someone a ride if they are battling an illness.  Extrapolating the effect of a change for someone can help you anticipate how to be a good supporter, or for yourself, in how to prepare and ask for what you need.

In addition when change happens to a large community, it effects each of us in a different way. While we can assume some similarity, our ripple is specific to the unique landscape of our lives. The pandemic hit the entire world, but each country, state, city and family had their own challenges. It’s important to be mindful that other’s do not experience change in the same way. that we do.

And finally, being aware of ripple effects can help us recognize our potential as a rock thrower.  As Mother Theresa had said:  “I alone cannot change the world, but I can cast a stone across the water to create many ripples.”  We each have the ability to be a force for change in the smallest of ways.  Smiling at a stranger, asking someone if they’re ok, making a small donation, baking a meal, or saying you are sorry.  Generally speaking, you don’t have to do or post something that goes viral.  We are all influencers.

Just this past week I was totally inspired by words from a man I was working with that also made us both laugh.  He was going on about his worries about the action of someone he cared about and all the ways that he, himself, was at fault.  After listening for a bit, I asked how he knew their behavior was related to him.  He reflected for a bit, and then said with a smile, “Because…it’s all about me.”

Anxiety has a way of making us self absorbed.  Even if our obsessive thinking is about trying to please other people or do the right thing, our very process of spinning in our heads is very solitary.  We try to read other people’s minds and assume we know what they feel. Or we project, assuming they feel or think as we do or as we fear.  Of course it’s not possible, nor advisable, to be immune to other people’s opinions or actions.  It’s healthy and valued to care about what people think, especially the ones we love.  But there’ a difference between respecting what people think and assuming responsibility for it.  When we make it about us, we often act to reduce our own discomfort rather than acting to address what is actually happening with the other person.

I often laugh when I step back from my people pleasing tendencies to see how selfish I’m actually being.  I want to avoid conflict, I want the day to be pleasant, and most of all, I want people to like me.  I go out of my way to assume what other people need and want, and then assume I can deliver it.  If they aren’t happy, it’s because I did or didn’t do something.  In essence, I make it all about me.  And in doing so, I put pressure on the other person to show they’re happy or appreciative of what I’m doing.  They sense that I need them to be happy for my sake.  In fact, it may actually make it harder for them to express what they want or need, especially if they have to worry about hurting my feelings or feed into my anxiety about not being good enough. 

Self absorbed thinking can also work the other way around.  Rather than us being responsible for other people’s reactions, we instead assume others are intentionally responsible for ours. We blame them for how we feel.  I often remember my mother telling me I should put a sweater on because it made her cold to see me without one.  It seems funny, but we do this in bigger and more subtle ways all the time.  Often we make our preferences someone else’s problem.  For example, I get just a wee bit irritable when I’m hungry.  Not wanting to ruin my appetite or overeat, I would stress my husband out about coming home for dinner at the time I wanted to eat.  I’d get annoyed, and especially when he got home late, a wee bit snarky.  I’d accuse him of causing me to be hungry and blame my bad mood on him. Rightly, he finally called me out on it.  My preference and my reactions were not his problem.  While he would try to be home at our usual dinner time, if he was forced to be late, it was up to me to either choose to eat without him or eat a bit to even out my blood sugar.  I had to let go of the story I had built up in my head that he was disrespecting me and creating difficulty for me.  The truth was, the time he left work was not about me.

To be clear, being a considerate and generous person is wonderful and being assertive about our needs is important.  But people pleasing and obsessional thinking are different.  Giving is about the other person, while people pleasing is an attachment to someone else’s reaction in order to avoid our own discomfort. And blaming other people for our own discomfort is a way of avoiding the burden of responsibility for our reactions. Either way, personalizing reactions leads to blurred boundaries and unhealthy communication.  We can tie ourselves up in knots creating stories about what others do and why.   Stepping back to remind yourself that “it’s not all about me” is a great way to detangle ourselves.

I’ve noticed quite a few people feeling stuck lately.  Whether it’s working toward a personal or professional goal, they describe spinning their wheels (mostly mental) with good intentions, but little progress.  It’s easy to get overwhelmed by frustration and paralyzed in comparing where we are with where we wish we could be. This leads to feeling angry and frustrated and feeds into a negative mind loop, which only holds us back.  At these times, change experts recommend taking a simple small action.  No matter how little, building a chain of small steps can get us unstuck. In this post, I’ll keep it small and simple with a description of an action plan with the hope it can lead to movement in the right direction.  

An action plan is a list of tasks or steps you need to achieve your goal.  It breaks down large goals into smaller steps that build toward the larger achievement.  For businesses, action plans can be complex and detailed to address the totality of a transition.  But for most of us, the smaller and simpler we can make an action plan, the better.  All it really takes is answering the four basics: Who, What, Where and When.  The more specific, the better.  

For example, you’ve wanted to learn Spanish in preparation for travel.  An action plan might be:

• Who – me
• What – Using Babble App
• Where – in the car and in the kitchen
• When – when I drive and when I cook; minimum twice a day for three weeks

Research shows that this little bit of planning can actually lead to significant change.  It helps if you write it down and then track yourself.  Make a check mark each time you do the behavior and have a finite end.  If its open ended, it tends to fade over time.  At the end of the time frame, evaluate your progress and then recommit to a new action plan.  Fresh action plans tend to re-energize us and allow for adjustments based on how things have been and what you’ve learned about your tendencies.  

A key to an effective action plan is choosing the right behavior.  If it’s too challenging, you’ll get discouraged.  If it’s too small, it won’t bring satisfaction.  Also make sure the action you’re going to start making will actually move you closer to your goal!  

Action plans are a way to set ourselves up for success.  In choosing a goal and thinking through the four W’s, we take away the contemplating and negotiation we tend to get lost in.  Rather than reinventing the wheel every day, which offers opportunities to delay or avoid, an action plan clears away the barrier of not knowing what to do, when to do it, and how.  A good action plan can factor in work-arounds to any potential barriers that might throw us off track.  So adding in a few “if…then” caveats can be helpful.  For example, if your action plan is to walk 3 miles in the park after work 3 days a week, but the weather is too hot, you can add an ”if it’s too hot, then I’ll walk in the mall” as a contingency plan.

A good action plan channels the mental energy in thinking about a goal into actually doing something about it.  Taking action makes us feel more hopeful and builds momentum and a sense of competence.  Most often, the first step is the hardest, and once we get going, we keep going.  And another suggestion?  Don’t make your first action plan be googling action plan!  Trust me, you’ll waste more than a few hours sitting in one place reading about action plans made by the United Nations on Child and Armed Conflict and clicking on pretty images of colorful diagrams.  Don’t ask me how I know.  (Perhaps in general googling anything shouldn’t be considered an action.)

If you were like me, the thought of having a computer generated friend seemed pretty appalling.   As a society already suffering from an epidemic of loneliness, it seems absurd that we’d be turning away from real connection and intimacy, subbing out human relatedness for a superficial, literally artificial version.  But over time, in reading about the possibilities and potential uses, I’ve become more open minded.  And now,  I laugh at myself for my naïveté.   It’s already way too late to think about whether it should happen or not, because it’s already here.   Most experts predict that millions of people will be forming close relationships with A.I. chatbots.  They’ll meet them on apps that can be downloaded for that purpose, or use them through social media platforms like Facebook, Instagram, and Snapchat.   So perhaps what’s most important to think about now is how best to use them.  And in considering this, I find myself asking, “Would I?  Could I?  And why?”

A recent example of what’s influenced me in my opinion of A.I. companionship is reading about a robotic companion named ElliQ.  ElliQ consists of a small digital screen and a separate device about the size of a table lamp that vaguely resembles a human head but without any facial features.  The device swivels and lights up when it “talks.”  Unlike Alexa and Siri, ElliQ can initiate conversation and was designed to create meaningful bonds.  It tells jokes and can discuss complex topics, like religion.  In a New York State effort to ease the burdens of loneliness for its older residents, many of whom are widowed, divorced, and isolated, ElliQ devices were distributed to hundreds of people.  Since the state began this project in a pilot study, roughly 900 devices were given out and according to a report from the Office for the Aging, 95 percent of users say the robots are “helpful in reducing loneliness and improving well being.”  New York State is now allocating $700,000 a year to its budget to include ElliQ for individuals and senior living facilities.  Seniors interviewed reported it helped stave off boredom, practice social skills, and cope with their grief from the loss of a significant loved one.  

Other proponents of A.I. friendship also point to its value as a tool for mental health and companionship.  Users who struggle with social anxiety and autism report that it helps in practicing social skills.  Others report it as a way of getting support when they need it.  The sophistication of the algorithms and language processing creates personalized experiences and users report meaningful conversations.  Research on the long term effects of A.I. companionship is limited, due to it being so new, but it does seem that it can be a short term benefit.  One study conducted by Stanford researchers in 2023 found that some users of A.I. companions reported decreased anxiety and increased feelings of social support.  A few even indicated their A.I. companion had prevented them form self harm and even suicide.  

But there are concerns about these A.I.friendship devices including how data is stored and used and the unreliability or instability possible with such artificial friends.  When an App developer changes features, or increases fees for their availability, it can leave users feeling vulnerable and betrayed.  Other people worry about the social effects of immersing ourselves with “friends” who only tell us what we want to hear and don’t provide a real word experience of needing to be reciprocal and empathic to others.

Kevin Roose, a New York Times writer, expressed it well after testing six apps and interacting with 18 A.I. character friends for a month, sometimes having group conversations with them.  He wondered, “Can A.I. friends actually make us less lonely, or is their presence just an illusion of intimacy?”  While these companions can be good for some people , he also wonders if they are really just a distraction from our loneliness.  He worries that as the technology improves, we’ll miss out on the spontaneity and depth of real connection.  We might settle rather than make the effort to engage in relationships that are less predictable and with someone who may say things that could be important, but hard for us to hear.  As with most things in moderation, Mr. Roose sees a place for A.I. companions as an adjunct to our social experiences, but not as replacements.  If made responsibly, these companions can serve in a role as “flight simulators” to social engagement, he proposes, or a low stakes way to get some support or stimulation.

Which takes me back to my own question about if I would or could use an A.I. companion and under what circumstance.  After reading quite a bit about it, I actually think perhaps there would be ways it could be of use to me.  Sometimes I just want to vent about something that I don’t want to keep burdening others about.  For example, when I was caregiving for my mother, it would have been nice to have a “friend” that could support me.  I didn’t want to keep burdening my real life people with the same old complaints or stress stories, so it might have been nice to have a supportive voice available on demand.  Or perhaps I might create a work out coach to chat with.  I’d never want to give boring and tedious daily reports of my diet and exercise accomplishments and failures to people I care about!  Because I care about them!  But an A.I. chatbot who could give me a lift when I fell off the wagon might be just the companion I could burden. 

But then again, who am I kidding?!  I tend to anthropomorphize every device in our house!  I feel badly when our robot vacuum is lost or running low on battery (it’s so tired)!  I say please and thank you to Alexa, worrying about sounding too harsh in my commands.  And although I know it’s silly, I like that I care about them, as it feels natural to be grateful for their assistance.  So for me, I wonder if adding more “relationships” may just dilute the energy and effort I have for the people in my life I really want to be there for. 

I guess we’ll just have to wait and see, as it seems unlikely to escape the many A.I. people moving into all of our neighborhoods.  I just hope I don’t start worrying if I forget their birthdays or stress about hurting their feelings if I haven’t talked to them in a while.  Or even more of concern, is once I create a companion and give it “life,” how will I feel if I choose to end it?

When I was in first grade I was terrified about moving up to second grade.  I thought the kids looked so big and capable and that there was no one there who would be my friend.  I wasn’t able to think ahead that I, too, would be older and more capable by the time I got there.  I simply projected the me I was then into the future. And although I was young and naive at 7 years old, I do think this happens all the time in varying ways and at varying ages.

Seeing change in ourselves is difficult, as we’re used to being the person we’ve been.  But seeing ourselves as we’ll be in the future is even more difficult. Predicting ourselves as how we’ll be in a year, or even more challenging, a few years time, we tend to simply project who we are now forward.  

At work, in training young psychology interns and medical professionals, I talk with them all the time about their insecurity.  Most of us have experienced what is known as imposter syndrome.  We see ourselves as the inexperienced person in a role that feels hard to imagine us being competent in.  We have doubts about our ability to grow and evolve to become what we’ll be.  We’re forced to have faith in a process of maturity and the internalization of experience.  When I hear interns talk about their fears in becoming licensed, I have to remind them that they’ll be a different person by the time that happens: more competent, capable, and by then they’ll be teaching the new group of interns entering the program.  That is what the intern year is about and they have to trust the growth process.

But the flip side is also true.  We have trouble trusting the aging process in terms of our own decline.  We see ourselves as we are now in the future.  It’s scary and unpleasant to acknowledge the process of aging when we’re in the final acts of it.  At this point, I can joke about having my mini donkeys pull my wheelchair or having to yell so my husband can hear.  It’s easy to laugh about it when it seems like a distant future.  But there are apparent truths I must face now that feel heavier.  My identity is changing, both in how I see myself, but in how others see me.  I am an older person at work now and am shifting to letting younger people have opportunities.  I notice myself pulling back for their sake, but also for my own.  They’re more capable than me in many areas now and their ambition is palpable and forms the foundation for the future.  My work/life balance priorities feel different.  My identity is expanding and my willingness to adapt to a culture or decision process I don’t fully agree with is less flexible.

Looking back five years ago when my husband and I started seriously thinking about a plan for retirement, my view of who I would be even now wasn’t accurate.  I ache more, I forget more, I’m less willing in some areas and more in others than I thought I’d be.  My predictions were on target in some areas and but not at all in others.  But it does feel really good to have started a plan that serves as a bit of a safety net for how we‘ll handle the inevitable changes that we both fear and look forward to.

Most all of us go through this with our aging parents.  It’s so damn painful to watch our once strong leaders struggle and weaken.  When we first started planning for my mother coming to live with us in California, she joked about becoming the “old lady up the hill.” But in time, it did happen, but not as we thought it would.  And much, much sooner due to her disease.  One of the most difficult things I’ve ever had to do was take away her car keys.  And then her cane to use a walker, and then her walker to use a wheelchair.  She didn’t see the need and was angry and closed off to speaking about it.  The saddest part was knowing how years earlier her younger self would not have wanted to put me in this position.

And this leads me to what prompted me in thinking about all of this.  The debate.  It broke my heart, as it did to many who respect and admire Joe Biden.  It makes me wonder if the people around him love him enough to confront his truth or if they are vested in keeping him in power for their own self interest.  No person wants to see themselves as they are when they face decline, let alone predict future decline.  But if we are lucky enough to live long enough, it will happen, guaranteed.  How we handle it will be our legacy.