Thank you, Teresa, for sharing your moving story of finding the good in all things, despite some very tough times.

Anne

Hi Anne,

I’m not a writer. But I do have experience in finding the good in all things…

We had lived in San Diego for about 7 years and my husband had a very good civil service job. Then he started acting very out of character and I thought he was turning into a big jerk — he quit his job, made a “partnership” with a complete stranger, and before we knew it, we had to file for bankruptcy.

Amazingly, he was able to get back into civil service in the same career field and find a new job at White Sands Missile Range, near Las Cruces, NM.

But still, his personality was different from what it used to be. He was more self-centered, had a much worse temper, and could make the simplest job into a monumental task.

We were in New Mexico for 2 years and in that short time made lifelong friendships.

Then a new supervisor came into his work. He’d gotten along well with the previous one, but the new one criticized everything he did. Eager to get away, my husband looked for a way to get out of there, applied for and got a promotion and we moved to the Atlanta area.

After three years in Atlanta, my husband came home and said he needed to go to the doctor - he was having problems at work; something with his brain wasn’t right. On the day of the appointment, I came home from my own job, and asked how it had gone – he told me that he couldn’t remember why he’d taken the day off - so he slept all day instead.

Fast forward a year. He drives like a maniac, frequently misses our children’s school activities, or doesn’t show up when he is supposed to take them to practice or doctor appointments. He does nothing at home except watch sports. He comes home four hours late, and doesn’t know why we are worried about him. 

One day he comes home from work and says that his supervisor told him they’ve been getting complaints from customers because he was giving them incorrect and/or senseless information. His supervisor tells him to go to the doctor and get things checked out.

The family doctor referred us to a neurologist who referred us to Emory University’s Alzheimers’ Disease and Research Center. 

Twelve months later, after much testing, we had the answer: at forty-seven, he had a very rare form of early-onset dementia, called Frontaltemporal dementia.

During the year of testing, he kept going to work, but I later learned they were giving him more and more assistance, and easier and easier tasks to do. In twelve months he went from being able to sign off on $10 million contracts, to putting mail on co-workers’ desks.

So you may wonder, where the good is in all of this…well, it’s everywhere.

Quitting his job and causing us to go bankrupt was horrible; but had this not happened, we would not have ended up in Las Cruces, where we made such wonderful friends who later became our lifeline.

Getting a supervisor who made his work days miserable was the reason he applied for a promotion and we moved to Atlanta. Atlanta is one of only a handful of facilities in the US that actually knows about Frontotemporal Dementia (FTD), much less test for and diagnose it. I also had the benefit of attending 16 weeks of educational support group meetings where I learned practical ways to deal with his illness as it progressed. Had we lived elsewhere, we could have been like many other families that go from doctor to doctor for 10 years before they get someone to listen to them and give an accurate diagnosis.

Despite his declining work quality, his supervisor, without being asked or told, automatically afforded him the protections and accommodations allowed by law, until the cause of decline was known. Most people would have been immediately fired for poor performance.

Just before his work troubles started, our son graduated from high school and joined the Army Reserve. My husband was prior Air Force, and wanted to be able to say he and his son served at the same time. So he applied for and somehow was accepted into the Air Force Reserve, just months before we realized he had something seriously wrong. Once he notified them of his diagnosis, he was told not to report, but he would stay on the books until the paperwork was done to separate him from the Air Force Reserve.

Unbeknownst to us, the very next month the Servicemen’s Group Life Insurance more than doubled, which provided for our future.
He had withdrawn and depleted almost all of his retirement when he quit his job in San Diego.

We stayed in Georgia until both our children were out of high school, then we made the decision to move back to Las Cruces, where I have lots of extended family, and where we had made such good friends. Then we found out that my parents were moving back there the very same month we were. They were close by to support us when the going got really tough.

In early December of last year, our son found out he would be deployed to the Middle East on January 9th. My husband was doing very poorly, and I was concerned that as soon as our son left, his dad would pass and my son would have to come right back home. I prayed and prayed about that situation. My husband took a very bad turn on January 8th, and passed just hours before our son was to leave.

It was a tragedy to lose my husband at fifty-two to such a terrible disease, but I can truly say that a lot of good was shown to us during his illness, and there has been plenty of good in my life since, from many sources. I know that even during the low times, goodness will be with me every day of my life.

Today’s practice: Reflect on a time when a door was closed, then remember what windows opened instead.

But the one I treasure most is a newspaper clipping she kept taped to her computer monitor… 

Credo

I would rather be ashes than dust!
I would rather that my spark should burn out
in a brilliant blaze than it should be stifled by dry-rot.
I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom
of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet.
The function of man is to live, not to exist.
I shall not waste my days trying to prolong them.
I shall use my time.

–  Jack London

In 1998, my mother was running for a seat in the Alaska House of Representatives. A retired teacher, the church music director and organist, a CASA volunteer, a member of the Northeast Community Council, and a grandmother, she was, to put it gently, a singing Lutheran force of nature.

When her opponent won, frankly, I was relieved.

A few weeks before, I’d gotten the call – the cancer was back.

In 1989, when she was only a few years older than I am now, she was first diagnosed with breast cancer. In her usual efficient manner, she took care of business, took her treatment, refused my offers to come home and help, and in no time was back to saving the world. She barely skipped a beat.

This time it was different.

The cancer was discovered by accident, during an unrelated exam – ”and who is your oncologist?” her ophthalmologist asked.

The cancer had metastasized to her spine, and over the next five years would march on undeterred through her bones, lungs, liver and finally brain, yet she kept singing, and organizing, and talking and keeping people on their toes. 

One particularly empathetic doctor told me, “I don’t know how to explain it, Anne, if we were to chop her up into little, itty bits and biopsy every one of those little, itty bits, we’d find cancer in every one of them. I don’t know how she keeps on going.”

My mother was supremely annoyed.

“I don’t know why everyone is acting like I’m dying,” she complained, “I’m not going anywhere.”

True to her word, she lived every single moment, right up until the one she died.

Naturally, today, when I heard the news of Elizabeth Edwards’ death, it reminded me of my mother and I felt for her children – the youngest of whom are the same age as my youngest two.

Many have criticized Elizabeth Edwards for being so outspoken, traveling, writing, and working while she had cancer – but I think, like my mother, she lived every moment up until the moment she died.

That is the best legacy any mother could leave her children.

Today’s practice: Be an example to your children, or friends; truly embrace this day. 

I’m relieved when I find my wallet quickly, retrieve my groceries and get dinner on for the crowd of whining, gnashing teeth. (Yes, I do live on the Island of Where the Wild Things Are…)

Dinner at 9 PM on a school night = not a good day.

So when I read about Carolee Hazard’s random act of kindness, paying for a total stranger’s $207 grocery bill, rescuing Jennie Ware when Jenni was having a day like most of us have had at one time or another…I just had one question: Carolee—where do you shop?

I need a neighbor like you.

Upon arriving home, feeling simultaneously proud and worried she’d just been scammed, Carolee posted on Facebook what she’d just done.

I’m sure she was as relieved as I was when I found my wallet, when almost immediately, Jenni paid her back. Jenni rounded up the check amount from the $207 loan to an even $300 – a $93 tip for Carolee’s compassion together with a sweet note saying Carolee should “treat herself to something nice.”

Naturally, Carolee went back to Facebook to report to friends that in fact, she’d been repaid, she hadn’t been scammed, there are good people in the world, and she’d even gotten this bonus money. And she asked for suggestions as to what to do with the money. Her friends are clearly a whole lot like Carolee because while I would have lobbied for the Dead Sea Scrub Facial at the salon, her friends’ recommendations included the Second Harvest Food Bank in Santa Clara and San Mateo Counties.

Given she’d helped a woman take dinner home to her family – it was a better idea than mud on your face. A lot better.

Carolee liked this idea and matched the $93 with her own and sent it in. And of course, she reported her decision to her friends on Facebook.

Before long, her friends were matching the $93 and friends of friends were sending in $93 and then friends of friends of friends so Carolee set up a Facebook group called The 93 Dollar Club for families in need. Today, that group has 3300+ members and according to the Second Harvest Food Bank, one donor even gave $9300 in memory of her mother. As of November 30, 2010, the Facebook group had raised $113K+ from around the world – proving once again…there is good in all things and forgetting your checkbook isn’t the end of the world.

Practice for today: In honor of Pay It Forward Day – donate $93 to your local foodbank OR collect $93 worth of food from your overstuffed cupboards, unplug the kids from the video games (I’m speaking from personal experience – you might need to have a “unexpected” power outage) and take them with you to deliver a little comfort on a tough day. We’ve all been there.

And join the 93 Dollar Club on Facebook – just be sure to post it on your wall.

Patrick Joyce knows one thing. He will not live to see his children grow up.

“It’s like watching a great film and not being able to see the end,” he says. In 2008, Patrick was diagnosed with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS) or in the US, more commonly known as Lou Gehrig’s disease after the baseball player. In the UK, where Patrick, his wife Kathy, and their three small children, Reuben (7), Elliot, (2), and Nancy, (5 mths), live, it is known as motor neuron disease or MND. Patrick is losing his ability to walk, talk, eat and ultimately, to breathe. He is not expected to live to see his daughter enter kindergarten.

So, you are probably wondering…what is the good in this situation? Actually, it’s all Patrick’s idea, I’m just sharing his story. A friend sent me the link to Patrick’s website, www.patricktheoptimist.org and well, I didn’t know he had MND until I clicked on the link.

This man, who already needs help walking, and is struggling to talk, and yet he is determined to use what is left of his life to encourage others to do something optimistic every day. He says, “MND may be incurable but I am an incurable optimist. I know that through optimism we can find a cure for MND.”

And Patrick is leading by example…Patrick is an artist and as part of his campaign for incurable optimism, despite limited mobility, and decreasing muscle control, he is working on producing portraits of 100 incurable optimists. He’s well on his way (and may I say, as I fancy myself a fellow artist, he’s very good!) You can see his portraits and nominate an incurable optimist you know for the series at his website.

“I found out first-hand what MND does to individuals and families…I want to help stop this. I want to get better care for me and my fellow sufferers and I want a cure.

Daily Practice: For yourself and for Patrick, do something optimistic.

In 2007 Shawn Ahmed, a 29 year old Canadian from Toronto, heard the lecture that changed his life.

By many people’s standards, Shawn was on the cusp of “making it”… his parents, Bangladeshi immigrants, had worked hard, as had Shawn to get him to where he was at — a graduate student on scholarship at the prestigious University of Notre Dame. And then he went to hear Dr. Jeffrey Sachs, twice listed by TIME magazine as one of the 100 most influential people in the world, talk about his book, “The End of Poverty.”

“Sachs talked about how it’s our generation’s responsibility to end poverty,” said Shawn. More than inspired, Shawn felt called to do something. He quit graduate school, packed his bags, grabbed his laptop and camcorder, withdrew the meager savings he had, and flew to Bangladesh to see how he could make a difference. Shawn acknowledges that not everyone in his family understands and supports what he did next…in fact, some of them probably thought he’d lost his mind.

He didn’t have an MBA, he didn’t write a business plan, he didn’t start a nonprofit, he didn’t start working for a charity, he started doing something – one project at a time. Shawn started the Uncultured Project, using social media (YouTube, Twitter, Flickr, Facebook, & a WordPress blog) to connect people to his personal fight against global poverty. “It’s my journey to try and make the world a better place – one meaningful difference at a time. It’s about inspiring others to believe that we can be the generation that ends extreme poverty. Hopefully, this project can also show the big multinational organizations that there is a better way to engage people on the issue of global poverty.”

Shawn’s story reminded me of a story my friend Bill shared about driving his red and white VW bug in 1963 from Munich to India to work with Vinoba Bhave. Bhave was walking across India talking people into giving him their land and redistributing it the landless and untouchables. Bill was 20 years old. I’m sure his friends and family were a little worried he’d lost his mind too, but in the end, by following his heart, he changed the world. Today he is the founder and CEO of Ashoka and considered the “father of social entrepreneurialism.”

And Shawn’s work, with the support of the YouTube community, has made a significant difference. In less than four years, Shawn and the Uncultured.com community has helped rebuild a school, provide scholarships, disaster relief, food, clean water, school supplies, and much more in both Bangladesh and around the world. Today, the Uncultured project has over 4,300 Facebook supporters and 37,000+ YouTube subscribers.

All because a man heard a message, took a chance and followed his heart.

Daily Practice: just for today, follow your heart

Thanks to Kevin Espirito of Sammamish, Washington for the story idea!

First, I’m not a politician and I don’t aspire to be. Second, I’d be the first person to tell you I’m a Democrat, a Lutheran, a woman (hopefully obviously), a middle-aged woman (hopefully not so obviously), a Caucasian, 9^th generation American and apparently a honorary hockey mom (since I grew up in Alaska); (the last one is technically not true because my kids sing and do Aikido, and my van died, but I digress…)

The point is I have my opinions about how things should be done and run but that’s not the purpose of this site. The purpose of this site is to focus on the good in all things. And sometimes that’s a challenge because sometimes those things are hard because the stuff that really matters is hard. Our opinions are sharply divided; our experiences real and raw, and sometimes its easier to fixate on our differences than discuss our common dreams and challenges.

Today is the 47^th anniversary of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr’s historic “I have a dream” speech. I’d urge you to take seventeen minutes to watch it and remember its relevance today. If you don’t have seventeen minutes then hopefully you can five minutes to read it: http://www.usconstitution.net/dream.html.  And if you don’t have five minutes (first I’d recommend you get off Facebook and check it out, but since you’re here…) consider this for our Good in All Things “practice” for today. I borrowed (liberally) from Dr. King but I think he’d be okay with it.

At the end of the day, regardless of our differences, our lives are inextricably bound. Cancer doesn’t care if you’re a Democrat. Floods don’t care if you’re rich. Pain has no faith.

We cannot and do not walk alone. Like it or not, we live together on this earth. We cannot control others, but we can control ourselves. For today—let us pledge to look forward, and argue our differences with dignity, peace and discipline. In the inimitable words of Dr. King:

“Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force.”

copyright - Mike Siegel - The Seattle Times

For the last month or so I’ve been taking the bus to work. This may not seem very monumental to most and frankly, I’m a little ashamed to say I’m feeling mighty proud of myself but you see, we live in Lake Stevens, a beautiful lake-side community thirty-five miles northeast of Seattle. We moved to Snohomish County from Seattle in 2005 for a variety of reasons — more house for less money, small-town vibe, and a lake ten times the size of the 100 Acre Wood. We could (and did) spend an hour commuting across the 520 or, we reasoned, spend an hour driving to our house a block from the lake with the massive old growth cedar trees, a stream where Kokanee salmon spawn, and the resident bald eagles, George and Martha, who have nested down the road since 1992.

But the bus ride from Lake Stevens to Seattle is a different story. It’s about two hours one-way. If I can talk my husband into driving me into Everett, that shaves off 1/2 hour or an hour of what could be a four hour round-trip. I might be crazy.

Why do I do it? It started because my mini-van died and so…we decided…rather I decided…to test out life with one car. I work as a consultant and don’t have to be in Seattle every day, so it made sense both economically and philosophically and besides I was making my 19 year old take the bus to college in Seattle and I figured I should be a good example. He still finds it amusing how impressed I am with myself. I was a little worried I’d feel out of place–given I’m your basic white, middle class, mini-van driving soccer mom.

Turns out — hey! I like my bus ride. (We’ve already established that I’m crazy, so let’s move on…) I people watch, look at the window, doze, read, listen to music and am practically guaranteed at least an hour a day each way of precious “down” time. A working mother of four can’t buy that kind of time.

What I also didn’t expect was the daily examples of community spirit and kindness, particularly on the Metro Transit bus route #7 to Rainier Beach which has something of a “colorful” reputation.

Today, while waiting for the #7, a man asked me for $2 to buy some food. I didn’t have $2 cash so I said “sorry, no, quite honestly I don’t.” He leaned in and asked, “Well, do you have a boyfriend?” I leaned away and flashed my wedding ring, “I’m married,” I said. ”Oh,” he said, “Do you have any kids?” “Four.” “Four, wow, how old are you?… I’m SINGLE,” he announced. “I’m 35. Are you under 35?” He leans in again. “A lady doesn’t tell,” I say, which sounded stupid but its what came out of my mouth. “Oh, of course,” he smiles and winks at me knowingly. I smile back and say, “Well…good luck,” and move towards a couple of really big tough looking guys sitting on the bench. They chuckle and give me a big thumbs up. 

I pick up the #7 at the Jackson Street station and it travels east on Jackson through the Chinese International District, and then south through Rainier Valley and further south to Genesee where I get off.   A few blocks before of my stop is the S. Alaska Street stop where clients of Washington State’s Department of Services for the Blind (DSB) get on and off the bus. Typically 1 -6 blind, or visually impaired adults get on or off the bus at this stop. 

Everyone in the front seats immediately gets up without being asked and guide the new riders to their seats safely. The bus driver always waits until everyone is seated before he or she heads on.

Today at the S. Alaska Street stop the bus driver was pulling out when she saw a young blind man standing near but not at the stop. She stopped the bus, opened her door and yelled out, “Are you looking for the #7?” The boy worked his way to the door of the bus and she repeated herself. Yes, he nodded. “This is your bus,” she said brightly. A man behind me said “That’s what I LIKE to see.” The young man worked his way onto an already standing-room-only bus and an elderly Chinese man at the front stood up from his seat and guided the man to take his place. “That’s what I LIKE to see,” repeated the man behind me.

I couldn’t agree more.

Partners In Health (PIH) was founded in Boston by Paul Farmer, Thomas J. White, and Todd McCormack to support activities in Cange, Haiti. They are joined in this effort by Ophelia Dahl and Jim Yong Kim, also a medical student at Harvard. These activities now include schools, clinics, a training program for health outreach workers, a mobile unit that screens residents of area villages for preventable diseases, and an ongoing study of sickness and health among the peasants of rural Haiti that will form the basis of Farmer’s 1992 book, AIDS and Accusation. Paul Farmer, and PIH, was the subject of Tracy Kidder’s book, Mountains Beyond Mountains. (To learn more about Partners in Health, click here)

Lauren Larsen’s life made a dramatic shift in the spring of 2000 when complications during her one and only pregnancy landed her in intensive care for five weeks. During her hospitalization she required roughly 200 pints of blood, platelets, and plasma, without which she would have internally bled to death.

One year into her lengthy recovery, Lauren launched a grassroots “give back” campaign, 2001: A Blood Odyssey, to honor the volunteer blood donors who had helped save her life. As part of this effort, she and her husband, Jeff, ran the 26.2-mile New York City Marathon in November 2001, raising $40,000 and 535 units of blood for nonprofit blood centers.

She has furthered her unexpected role as a blood donation advocate in numerous ways, such as appearing in television public service announcements; speaking at national and regional transfusion medicine conferences, service organization meetings, and blood center events; acting as a spokesperson for the American Red Cross’s 2003 “Save a Life Tour,” as well as for “Red Gold,” a PBS special about blood; and testifying before the Food and Drug Administration regarding the U.S. blood supply. Currently Lauren serves as the President and Chief Ambassador for the Foundation for America’s Blood Centers.

For all of her grassroots efforts to promote blood donation, Lauren was awarded the 2001 Larry Frederick Award from America’s Blood Centers. She is also the recipient of 2006 Outstanding Achievement Award presented by the American Association of Blood Banks.

With educational funding from Johnson & Johnson, Lauren speaks across the country to raise awareness about the importance of volunteer blood donation.

Prior to becoming a national blood donation advocate in 2001, Lauren Larsen spent eighteen years in the corporate world. Past management roles include vice president of marketing for The 3DO Company, an entertainment software company; vice president of marketing for Thomson Learning, one of the world’s largest educational publishers; director of marketing for Simon & Schuster; and brand manager for The Pepsi-Cola Company. Lauren also worked as an independent marketing consultant for various smaller clients. She holds a B.A. from the University of Arizona, and an M.B.A. from U.C.L.A.

In her spare time she assists political refugees from Sudan and volunteers with the Preeclampsia Foundation. Lauren, Jeff, daughter Clare, and “fur children” Gigs and Duke, live in Boulder, Colorado.

Lauren Ward Larsen
President and Chief Ambassador
The Foundation for America’s Blood Centers
725 15th Street NW, Ste. 700
Washington, D.C. 20005

In 1996, I nearly died of preeclampsia during the birth of my third child. That day my life did a complete 180;(which, coincidentally, was also what my blood pressure was when I was admitted to the ER — 180/120 at 38 weeks pregnant) — it seems I didn’t take to dying too well.

And as a result, I decided to really live — to speak the truth, even when it was hard; to admit my mistakes; to be kind to myself and others; to be open to change; to listen to the lessons life was trying to teach me, and to make a difference.

So, in 1999 I founded the Preeclampsia Foundation. I went from being a 5th grade teacher with crippling stage fright, to an outspoken, pushy woman who would not take no for an answer, talking to World Health Organization, the March of Dimes, the Gates Foundation, to anyone who would take my calls. I even talked my way up to Laura Bush’s press secretary because I knew she, like me, had had preeclampsia. Suddenly, I had no fear.  And no experience! 

I wasn’t a doctor, or nurse, or nonprofit manager, or fundraiser, or database developer, or public speaker — but I had nothing to lose. I jumped in the deep end. I immersed myself in it all and didn’t care if I fell flat on my face. Nothing…nothing could be worse than what happened to me.

I was wrong.

Over the years I have met many people who have suffered far more harrowing experiences than my own. In fact, over the years I’ve learned there is nothing very special about me at all. All of us experience loss. All of us experience pain.

In early 2009, everything seemed to fall apart — my father spent time in ICU and I couldn’t go see him because I had pneumonia, and then, two days before an annual board retreat that I was in charge of, one of my sons became extremely ill and we didn’t know if he was going to pull through. I didn’t eat or sleep for days. My older brother called me the day of the board retreat, which coincidentally was my birthday…”Happy Birthday!”

“Oh yeah,” I said, “HAPPY birthday to me…my son might die, my dad might die, I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, I have to keep working…” Eeyore would have been proud.

He cut me off, “Yes, Anne — HAPPY birthday to you, your son is not dead, you are getting him the care he needs, and he has you – it seems to me that that is about the best birthday present anyone could ever ask for.”

I was stunned. He was absolutely right.  What an idiot I’d been.

For the next several months, whenever fear started to get the best of me, I repeated this mantra, “my son is not dead, he is getting the care he needs, we have health insurance, we have a home, we have friends, we have family…” Repeating and repeating this mantra of what was working carried me through some very dark days but it wasn’t easy, it didn’t come naturally to me, and it took practice.

This website is about that practice–of recognizing the good in the every day, be it big or small, and focusing on that. Time is short. Nothing is guaranteed. Time to find the good in all things.

This website is dedicated to my family – who are my biggest reminder of the good in all things.