Author: Bev

Are you familiar with stubbornness?  Do you know anybody who is willful?

Someone you know may be habitually disposed to disobedience and opposition.  Headstrong is synonymous with froward, now that’s a fun word.  Recalcitrant is another good one.

Often, we hear of kids in the throes of the “terrible twos “or threes, described as headstrong.  This is sometimes, after they’ve been observed rolling around on the floor in a tantrum of sorts.

In this 21^st century of wokeness, obedience and submission, can be tricky concepts, to say the least.  It’s not “Leave it to Beaver,” or “Father Knows Best,” of the 1950s anymore, Dorothy!

Self-determination, or gaining mastery over challenges put in front of you is paramount in today’s popular psychology.  People want mostly to feel independent, competent, and in control of their daily lives.  If somebody comes between us and these things, we’re more than likely to defiantly assert our will, resist the harness, and stand firm and unmoved.

Apparently, some folks have been “determined to have one’s way,” since the late 14^th century, when the word headstrong was first used.  Strong-headed or “head-bold,” has been an adjective since c. 1600.

If you’re headstrong, you may just want to do what you want to do.  Usually, you’re described as such because somebody or something is keeping you from doing what you want to do.  Somebody noticed and they’re calling you “headstrong.”

Headstrong, seems to be a negative word, not in the sense of being bad, but in the sense of being against another person.  It’s a judgment of someone else, probably someone who is not willing to take your advice, follow your suggestion, or comply with your will on a matter.

Determined to have your own way, you surely must believe that your way is the best way, your view is perhaps the only view, and you’re willing to fight for your right to think the way you think.  Some headstrong folks have made history fighting traditions that needed to be changed, or bucking rules that were clearly outdated and required some tweaking.

In my wanderings around the word, headstrong, I came across the derogatory terms: pigheaded and bullheaded.  Insulting to both pigs and bulls, these terms, applied to people connote that headstrong people cannot be managed, controlled, or persuaded to change their point of view. 

Whether these two species, pigs and bulls, can accurately be characterized as stubborn cannot be substantiated.  People on the other hand, well….  We should probably call the occasionally stubborn bull or pig that resists our will, “people-headed,” as in, “You ridiculous pig, you’re acting people-headed, now get a move on.”

Both, being powerful animals, trying to make a pig or a bull comply to your human will, might present a problem for the human, not the animal.  But, me thinks both animals, smart as they are, can be trained to follow the leader, given a leader with patience.

Resistance fighters of sorts, headstrong folks are both strong and determined to press forward in their way.  Unwilling to be managed, I wonder if someone who is headstrong, might be better, led?

There is a subtle difference between management and leadership.  But this little quirk in language usage might make all the difference in training or persuading others to follow your lead.

Nobody wants to be yanked on the neck with a restraint in order to be led to something better, worse, or in between.  Although we may just be amenable to a suggestion to follow someone down another path if you show, not tell me where we’re going.  You’ve heard the concept, “lead by example.”

I’m not likely to be suddenly pliable, flexible, yielding or compliant if you insult me first.  All the reasoning, arguments, and manipulation in the world is unlikely to move me from my firm conviction on a matter if you come at me disparagingly.

Even though I may be headstrong, I might just be amenable to your way if you come toward me with genuine kindness, humility, and intelligence.  If you’re likeable, I could potentially be motivated to change my mind.  Convince me.

Blame it on the dog.  “The dog ate my homework.”  “The dog ate my broccoli.”

Blame it on the weather.  “I gain weight in the summer because I eat ice cream.”  “I gain weight in the winter because I eat a lot to keep warm.”

Blame it on your health.  “I’m healthy, I should be grateful.”  “My health isn’t good enough to do that.”

Blame it on time.  “I don’t have time to do that.”  “There isn’t enough time in the day.”

Blame it on the sun or blame it on the darkness.  “The glare from the sun caused sudden blindness.”  “The lights from that other car caused such a glare, I ran off of the road.”

Blame it on lack.  “I don’t have___, so I can’t___”. “If I only had___, then I could___”

Blame it on the job.  “I was so bored, I had to quit.”  “I couldn’t stay in such a high stress work environment.”

Blame it on the doctor.  “He asks too many questions and talks the whole time.”  “She barely examined me and was all business.”

Blame it on the preacher.  “She uses no scripture and just tells stories.”  “He uses scripture after scripture and doesn’t relate it to ordinary life.”

Blame it on your intelligence.  “I’m too smart to do that.”  “I never thought I was smart enough to do that.”

Blame it on your parents.  “They never taught me any better.”  “They made me___”

Blame it on your partner.  “He or she made me feel___”. “I always had to…but he/she never___”

Blame it on Monday.  “Rainy days and Monday’s always get me down.”  “It’s a Monday and a half, I can’t get anything right…done…today.”

Blame it on Friday.  “I’m going home early.  It’s been a long week.”  “I can’t make a sale today for the life of me because everyone has already checked out for the weekend.”

Blame it on money.  “If I had the money, I would___”. “I don’t have enough money for___”

Blame it on the seasons.  “I can’t exercise because it’s winter.”  I can’t exercise because it’s summer.”

Blame it on your neighbor.  “They’re over here too much.”  “They never come around.”  “They’re too perfect.”  “They’re a mess.”

Blame it on the school.  “They should teach___in school.”  “They try to teach everything but the basics.”

Blame it on someone, anyone else.  “It’s your fault that I___”.  “Why do you always, never___?”

Blame it on yourself.  “It’s my own fault that I___”.  “It’s always me to blame for everything___”

Blame God or fate.  “This is the way it’s supposed to work out.”  “Only God knows.”  “It’s God’s will that___”

Why do we blame?  Maybe it’s to preserve our self-esteem and avoid awareness of our flaws and failings.

Maybe we believe rigidly on blatant cause and effect.  We either don’t consider or quickly dismiss an infinite number of possible variables in between.

Maybe because there is less effort in blaming someone else than in accepting responsibility and changing myself.  I’d rather take the easy path and blame them.

Or, maybe and similarly, it’s easier to lie (even to yourself), and blame someone else.  All the while we’re spending a lot of wasted time covering the lie and hoping we don’t get caught.

Remember, it has been said that “the path is wide to destruction, and many are on it.  But the gate, or opening to life is narrow and few have chosen it” (Matthew 7:13-14 paraphrased).

Choose life and stop playing the blame game.  And, don’t blame me!

Seniors are like teenagers in one thing, the matter of restraint.  “Don’t tell me what to do,” we say.  “We’ll do what we want, you do what you want.”

As we age, we tend to release some of the restraints of youth, like accumulation, appearances, slights, etc.  The first half of life is for building a life; including maintaining an image.  We’re restrained by what we should be, how we look, and how to please this one, that one, and the other one.

The second half of life, is for resting in what has been built; and we prefer peace over price.  Speaking of restraint, I like T.F. Hodge’s words, “The path of peace is not a passive journey.  It takes incredible strength not to open a can of ‘whoop-ass,’ justifiably, when one’s button is pushed.”  Pleasing others isn’t as high on our list of priorities as fulfilling the overwhelming desire inside, for peace.

“I don’t care,” is our genuine take on most circumstances we face.  Not in the sense of a lack of compassion toward others and their circumstances, but in the sense of the overall release of care toward stuff or the malarkey of others.

But one restraint we didn’t even consider in our youth was in the realm of calories.  As we age, we have to restrain ourselves with the intake of calories.  We can do what we want in many areas of life, but we can’t continue to eat what we want or as much as we want.  The efficacy of doing so may eventually show up in consequences such as hypertension or Type 2 diabetes.

This doesn’t even address the “O”-words, overweight and obesity.  What’s with that BMI chart?  Does anybody match those numbers?

I thought I was doing well when I lost the seven pounds that I gained taking a steroid during my bout with poison ivy.  Then, I read that dastardly BMI chart and holy moly, suddenly I was overweight!

In order to please the BMI chart, I would have to grow quite a few inches.  This is unlikely at my age.  My doctor and her professional staff are way too sharp to let me get away with wearing spike heels on that dastardly monument in their office intended to measure such things.

By the way I’ve begged to have that thing torn down like the statues of Robert E Lee in the south and Joe Paterno in State College, but no way.  Even though I’m deeply offended by it along with its master, the BMI chart, it seems that tearing it down requires a whole lot more clout than I possess at this moment in time.

Then I had a birthday.  I exercised restraint and had one piece of my own apple cake with 3 tablespoons of Ritchey’s Dairy pumpkin pie ice cream on the side.  I know all the tricks, eating on a small, pretty plate, so that your portions look humongous but really aren’t.

And then there is the chewing thing.  One should chew your food.  Now I can’t really do that level of restraint where you have to count the number of chews for every bite.  That just seems a little bit OCD to me.  But the opposite of that are some cats I know, who inhale treats.  I put down two or three treats per cat, and turn around to close the bag.  I turn back around trying to avoid whiplash and there are four little begging eyes looking up at me gaslighting me.  Did I give them treats?  Surely not!

My senior mother-in-law has a problem with restraint in terms of her activity levels.  She claims quite accurately that one day she has lots of energy, feels good, and does way too much.  She then pays for overdoing it, the following day.  This triggers an, every other day syndrome of one day up, next day down.

Some people have problems with restraint and money.  Spending too easily, spending too much, or an inability to budget.  Others of us veer a little bit to the opposite, wanting to save more and spend less on fun.

In fact, I’m confused by the word spendthrift.  One would think combining those two words: spend and thrift, would mean that you’re a saver not a spender.  However, it is the opposite.  A spendthrift is someone who spends, spends, spends wastefully and to their detriment.

There are people who have a problem restraining their tongue.  They feel constantly compelled to speak, respond, orate, recite, etc.  These loquacious folks probably listen very little.  It is said that some people don’t listen while you’re talking, they’re planning what they want to say, and really don’t hear you at all.

So, take care to listen very carefully from now on.  Orson Scott Card said, “Among my most prized possessions are words that I have never spoken.”  Woo, that’s some restraint worth aiming for.

I think giving up the restraints that held us back in our middle age, as we move forward into our fifties, sixties, and beyond, are a little like the Kris Kristofferson song, Me and Bobby McGee: “freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose.”  When we’re older, we’re content to lose some of the requirements of life-building, and sit in the proverbial rocking chair on the porch, or take a walk on the beach or in the woods, and let the next generation build.

Are you living with abandon or living with care?  How much restraint is conducive to freedom?

This isn’t expressly about the Me-Too Movement from a while back.  That was specifically concerning women who had been sexually exploited, coming forward in a sad sisterhood of sorts.

Nor is this about something as particular as “I had Covid.  Yeah, me too.”  Although this “me-too” is likely accompanied by an eye roll or a wide-eyed exclamation of acknowledgement.

When I casually asked, “how are you?”  He answered, “I’m ready to go home, but I’ve been ready to go home since I got here.”  I was shocked to feel myself light up, when I said, “me too.”  He lit up too.

It’s funny, not ha-ha funny, but ironic when those two simple words, “me too,” can bring comfort no matter the circumstance promoting them.  In fact, one feels heartened when your negative experiences have been validated by another human being going through the same negative stuff.  One feels known like at no other moment.

Camaraderie helps.  “Been there, done that,” or “I hear you,” “I know what you mean,” or abbreviated, “I know,” all say, “me too,” with an exclamation point.

Even if your boat’s sinking, someone else in it with you makes it less tragic.  Feeling understood helps us navigate any emotion.  Why else do you think we have clubs, as in “welcome to the club;” or support groups for this, that, and the other thing.

A cashier in the grocery store can morph into a sibling if you share a “me too” moment.  It can be as simple as you both hate summer, love summer, detest coffee and love chai tea.  Or it can be as unusual as sharing a birthday or your moms are the same age.

“Me too,” draws us close.  We can be oh so distant until we’ve shared a “me too” moment.  Then, we’re blood relatives.

Companions in misery are just as close as comrades in battle or teammates in a game.  Those who share “me too” experiences are just as bound, even if only briefly, as a prison chain gang.  Even if you have a million differences, just one “me too” variable can trigger your “I like you” hormones.

For example, maybe you hold opposite political ideologies and you believe in different religions but you both love animals.  That one, “me too” factor will draw you together even if it’s only for a second.

People will come out of hiding when they realize they aren’t alone.  Even loners don’t feel so alone when they know there are other loners out there.  They’ll still prefer being alone but they’ll be comforted that they will never be lonesome because of their “me too” knowledge.

If you don’t relate your experience no one can relate to it and you won’t expand your universe of relatives.  Every skilled conversationalist knows that you maintain a conversation by a back and forth “me-too” banter which includes a fair amount of “right,” and “I know.”

Self-disclosure and open communication are vital tools in gifting others with the spark of feeling that “me too,” esprit de corps.  So, when someone asks, “how are you,” maybe a response just a little more elaborate than “fine, thank you,” would be a beginning.

Scientists believe that contagious yawning is a social communication tool of higher thinking animals, indicating that we humans are more vigilant toward each other than we’re aware.  Like yawning, “me-too agreement” is an indicator that we just might be more like our fellow humans than we are different.  And that seems to be a good thing in such a divided world.

What a rotten time for the ice-maker to go kaput.  Supposedly there was a simpler time.  I wonder when that was.  I do recall using ice trays, once upon a time.

I vaguely recall watching a movie wherein the premise was about a family trapped in a fifties- bunker created by the science-geek dad, and they wanted out but couldn’t escape the timed-hatch. Their new “labor-saving devices,” systematically went haywire.

Technically, the vacuum cleaner was invented in the late 19^th century and many other labor-saving devices trickled in throughout the early twentieth century including the microwave oven after WWII, but the fifties are known for widespread, middle-class use of these devices, to free up families, supposedly for more leisure time to enjoy their upward mobility.

Computer science and technology has leapt light-years from our first Mac Plus in the mid to late eighties. The first brick-sized mobile phones have moved on up through the “palm pilot” to 5g devices that do things we never dreamed of “back in the day.”

And we have Siri and Alexa in our cars, homes, and pockets, to remind us what to buy, when to wake up, and where to turn, toward our destination.  Our new technology is not so different from the robot from that aforementioned movie where the people were trapped in their bunker-gone-wrong.

This was all a set-up for a complaint.  Our ice-maker hasn’t been making ice for a few weeks now.  I tried everything that the booklet says in the page called, “trouble shooting.”  This, in addition to some common sense, which apparently isn’t all that sensical, because it hasn’t worked thus far, and hasn’t’ redeemed any ice our direction.

I thought, oh well, summer is over and the demand for ice isn’t as plentiful now and I’ll keep trying DIY until and unless those efforts prove useless. For some of us, asking for directions is a last resort.  We’d rather be a lost explorer than a human needing help.  So, I’ll most likely resort to asking our favorite plumber if he knows ice makers.

In our delay in actually getting the ice-maker repaired, I forgot that ice has some uses other than for cooling down summer drinks.  Particularly I am referring to the “icing-down” of a bruise, sprain, surgical site or otherwise traumatized body part.

I tripped over a rock while jogging along one of my familiar wooded paths.  It was that slow-motion headlong sprawl that I’ve experienced before so I knew even while in motion that this might not end well.  I pretty much knew that I wasn’t going to be able to self-correct this time.  I was falling.

For this outdoor adventure I would forego the walking stick which had saved me a bunch of times in the past while maneuvering known rocky paths.  I had planned to pick up litter, found roadside adjoining the woods, with a dollar store grabber, not designed to save one from a fall.

When you fall at my age, it’s embarrassing on several levels.  You either feel like an impulsive four-year-old who will cry for a minute then get up and “shake-it-off.”   Or, you mimic an elderly actor in the “I’ve fallen and can’t get up”-commercial for personal alarms, found in the AARP magazine.

In either scenario, it’s beyond humbling, to fall.  Don’t tell me that when you’ve tripped on a public sidewalk, you don’t try to save face by looking down at the crack accusingly because it was the crack’s fault.

I was just barely into my jog, so from my position on the ground, I took a couple of pics of the injuries to my left-side and hand, texted them to my spouse and asked him to procure some ice from our kind neighbors, while I finished my workout.  “No,” I didn’t want him to pick me up, just find some ice so that I could ice my sprained finger/hand when I got home.

 

I held my left hand up in the usual jogging position and finished an abbreviated route, to satisfy my workout requirement for the day but get back home before any serious swelling ensued.  While trotting along, I pictured an old stainless steel ice tray with the handle on the top to loosen the frozen cubes, kept in my storage pantry for freezing lemon or lime juice for various recipes.  But I’ve heretofore not needed it for frozen water cubes because of the labor-saving device called an ice-maker!

All of this made me contemplate simpler times with lesser technology and fewer labor-saving devices.  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had the conversation with those more senior than me who lament about “these complicated times.”

With retail cashiers, online “chat” agents, and customer service representatives from our paper supplier to utility company clerks, I’ve discussed over and over again, that “computers” and “smart phones” make everyday life so much more convenient “when they work.”  But, oh how frustrating when they’re “down.”

That reminds me of a prayer I sometimes pray, “Lord God please cause this medicine to work for me and not against me….”  Doesn’t our modern technology act the same?  Sometimes although it’s intended to be a convenience, it just complicates things.

Sometimes the band from the old smart watch won’t fit the new smart watch.  The batteries from the old device won’t fit the new device.  The software from the old computer won’t work with the new one.  The old television won’t work with the new cable box.  The adapter/charger from the old technology doesn’t have the right plug for the new technology.

The next generation will be complaining about how simple our lives were compared to their complicated ones.  That’s the way of the world, it seems.  We’re alive, to complain another day.  So there.

Do you remember the hotel/motel “wake-up call?”  It’s gone by the wayside since the advent of smart phones with their alarm and timer features.

We no longer need a front desk person to make a courtesy call to make sure we’re awake to begin our day’s business or adventures when away from the routine of home.  But the metaphorical wake-up call hasn’t timed-out of existence.  We still receive those from time to time.

I’m referring to those nudges from God, or the universe, as in “universally” dispensed.  We all get them.  Whether we notice or heed these wake-up calls, is a personal problem or salvation, depending on one’s attitude toward wake-up calls.

Wake-up calls are reminders, something else we have on our smart phones.  But then there’s me and there’s Siri from my smart phone.  I asked her to remind me about something and she assured me she would.  No reminder.  Or was it me?

In some reminders we are prompted to “get our act (or the four-letter s-word) together,” or there will be consequences.   We might not like some of the consequences related to unheeded reminders.

Some examples of a metaphorical wake-up call might be an argument with someone with whom we are in relationship.  That argument may be the wake-up call that saves a relationship or triggers its demise.

But it does one primary thing: it shocks us out of the status quo, out of slumber. It can be a eureka moment of clarity that helped us dreaming children awaken to reality.  Suddenly we’re back in Kansas and not in Oz anymore.

Then there’s the financial or economic wake-up call.  Something bursts the spending/saving/investing bubble and we realize our means don’t match our lifestyle.

Something has got to be done, differently.  Restructuring is a key characteristic of bankruptcy laws, for a reason.  It’s a merciful second chance that the laws of our land once offered those in need of one.  This is reminiscent of a pause or snooze button, if you will, on the wake-up call or alarm.

Another familiar wake-up call is the one beep beep beeping inside your body.  It’s the health wake-up call, usually called “symptoms.”  If you see a doctor regularly, for wellness checks or preventive care, your wake-up call may be in the form of lab test results.

If we’re alert to our body’s signals and we’re keen to play the game, “what doesn’t belong,” we might be fortunate enough to stave off the chronic, from the acute.  Let’s play clue and respond when our bodies say, “this isn’t right,” or “this isn’t how my body usually plays the game.”

This is when it’s time to pull what submariners call a “crazy Ivan,” or deploy the emergency brake.  Maybe you’ve let a lifestyle habit that can’t be classified as “healthy,” get the better of you.  You know, they say it takes only three days (most likely, hellish ones), to change a habit.

I’m guessing that 3-day estimate is optimistic especially for a well-ingrained habit.  But I’ve done it so I know it can be done; can you say “sweet tooth?”

Change it up and do what you’ve always known you should do to reverse those needling symptoms.  If it’s not within your power to change on your own, then resolve to get some help.  Yes, humble yourself and seek help.  “No man is an island.”

Coincidentally, that saying originated with the seventeenth century metaphysical poet, John Donne’s meditational essay and sermon entitled, in part, “Steps in my Sickness,” based upon his serious illness.  He, like the rest of us needed “a little help from his friends.”  (It’s always the Beatles with me – With a Little Help from my Friends – Lennon/McCartney released 1967).

One of just a couple of country songs I like, and I include on my jogging playlist is, Island in the Stream, written by the Bee Gees but I know it as performed by Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton.  The difference between their island and the one-person-marooning kind, is their partnership.  They dream to “sail away to another world,” together.

We all need to let at the very least some other human being into our lives to help us navigate the planet.  If you need medical help, seek it.  If you need financial assistance, ask for it.  If you need relationship help, there are people who care and will come alongside to help.

Don’t ignore a wake-up call.  It’s there to get your attention.  A smart phone, by the way is smart only if you take advantage of its smart features.  Will you answer the alarm, the call, or the text?

Will you heed the reminders you recorded on your phone or will you snooze right through them?  You’ve got this, just answer the call.

I hadn’t slept much the night before and my day had been one of the extra busy ones.  So, the sofa and I joined forces for a late afternoon nap, which we sometimes do.

I was awakened by the telephone answering machine from an epic dream of a storm and a fire, which hubby and I nonchalantly conversed through.  I was in that degree of awake that I’ve experienced before where I don’t really know where I am and only vaguely familiar with who I am or what I’m supposed to be doing at this moment.

Imagine feeling like that all the time.  Then you might have a glimpse of the life of someone with dementia or Alzheimer’s disease.

This reminded me of our days teaching at a college in New Mexico many years ago.  The college sponsored various programs of community support, one of which was awareness of disability.

How to develop compassion?  Let’s step outside ourselves for an experiment in empathy.  Play a game called “If.”  “How would I feel if…?”

I recall seeing an unusual number of wheelchairs on campus, one day.  Then I became aware of lots of blindfolded people walking about with support persons and white sticks at the ready.

Then there were the workshops showing us visuals of how it is to try to see through a cataract.  It was truly a fog.  We were taught empathy through those programs, given the gift of imagining what it might be like “to live like that.”

I don’t know why Beatles songs frequently come into my mind when I write, but here we are.  “Imagine all the people sharing all the world…. You may say I’m a dreamer but I’m not the only one.  I hope some day you’ll join us and the world will live as one….” (John Winston Lennon, released 1971, Imagine).

I think, more often than we would admit, we imagine ourselves as someone else.  We wonder what we would do with the wealth of Bill Gates or Oprah Winfrey, the power of the president, the popularity and influence of our favorite celebrity, the admiration from the masses, like Diana, Princess of Wales, etc.

These are the exciting things we might imagine, a dream job, a dream relationship or dream adventure.  Who hasn’t imagined their dream car, dream house or dream body?

But what about imagining toward empathy: the nightmares of losing your sustenance, your abilities to think and reason, sing and dance or even ambulate; losing your child, your spouse or best friend.  Have you ever imagined how you would live if cast into poverty through no fault of your own; how you would cope if you must one day awaken to a life of constant pain or an addiction you can’t shake?

Do we ever imagine how we would handle the amputation of a limb, blindness, deafness, mental decline, paralysis and phantom pain?  Do we ever practice in our minds, being a social pariah, despised by many, having no friends or family or paralyzed with fear or anxiety?

Do you ever imagine “walking a mile in my shoes?” (Billy Connolly, Joe South or Atticus in To Kill a Mockingbird) Literally?  Again, with those exercises in empathy, I’ve walked in well-worn shoes of someone else’s who had a distinctly different gait, (feet tilted inward – pronation, versus tilted outward – supination), and it’s super weird, hard to walk.  The experience is a bit like wearing Asian wooden shoes or glass slippers, Cinderella.  Comfortable, it is not.

Several things not included in my birth plan way back in the day, was more than twenty-four hours of labor, a 3 a.m. walk through our neighborhood wearing my velour purple robe, carrying a wine glass filled with grape juice and assisted by midwives; oh, and greeted by a cruising police officer who escaped as quickly as he arrived.  I often wondered why I didn’t have flip flops ready, to support my severely swollen feet, for transport to the hospital with preeclampsia.  Then there was the emergency cesarean section.

 I wore my husband’s well-worn tennis shoes.  It was a rushed decision, and not my best one.  But they were the only shoes I could get onto my thickening paws, in a hurry.

I can’t really know what it’s like to be in your shoes, unless I imagine it.  I can exercise empathy, by trying to imagine what you’re going through.  Even then it’s not the same, but it’s close.

“I get it now.  That’s why they do that, say that, behave like that, feel that way.”  It doesn’t excuse them and I may not agree with them, but I understand them when I exercise empathy.

Try empathy, unless you’re a Narcissist, who cannot for the life of you, conceive of being inside someone else’s skin.  Then there’s God, who in Mary Fishback Powers’ poem, Footsteps in the Sand, carries us through the difficult times.  We could try imagining our way toward empathy by putting on some uncomfortable shoes, not our own and carrying some folks through their rough times; pretending we’re Jesus, just for a moment.