Tag Archive | Survival Inspiration

Storytelling and Reading with the MouseMuse troupe: Join us

I had a beautiful experience doing writing to heal last night with a group of courageous and wonderful people. Now it’s on to storytelling on December 6… Six of us on the same theme, “Planes, Trains, and Automobiles” for 10 minutes: Fran Dorf, Tom Finn, Josh Kaplan, Chad Kinsman, Hugh Samuels, Rebecca Toon plus 3 brave volunteers.  While my story is on its face about a car crash a few years, what it’s really about surviving all my “tsuris.”  All my stories are about that.  Join me.

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And for this one on December 11th, I’m getting back on stage to read a few bits from my memoir: “How I Lost My Bellybutton and Other Naked Survival Stories.”  Also, of course, about surviving “tsuris.”  Can’t help it.  I’m the “tsuris” queen.  Thinking about reading a relatively serious bit about breast cancer called “Plastic Man,” and a lighter bit about my Grandma Rose, she of the vast bosom and orthopedic shoes.  I don’t know….is a bar the best place to read this? Well, whatever.  It seems Ina has adopted me.   14381_494841040550674_311216169_n

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Offending the bereaved: Thoughts on the controversy around the upcoming DSM V proposed “grief guidelines”

Michael Max Dorf, a month or so before.

Who would have ever thought there could be a controversy around grief?

In the last few months, in my other (non-writing) life as a therapist, I have heard the devastating stories of several people seriously traumatized by their past contacts with the mental health system, people with a lasting legacy of pain from being (probably wrongly) prescribed powerful psychiatric drugs or placed against their will on a terrifying psych ward. I’m definitely not a conspiracy theorist, one who says things like “everything happens for a reason,” or assigns existential “meaning” to every happening, and so I’m sure it’s pure coincidence that I’ve heard so many stories like this lately. I obviously recognize that many dedicated people in the field are doing work that manages to be both life-saving and compassionate, yet these awful stories also underscore the need for folks setting the parameters in the field–the task force considering changes in the upcoming edition of the “bible” for clinicians, the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual (so-called “DSM V) to the various “diagnoses” around grief–to at least try to get it right.  It seems to me that those of us working in the field who are honored every day to do this work, to witness people’s deepest pain, have a duty to at least speak out when it appears that a grave and possibly for some folks dangerous injustice is being contemplated.

Partly because of the experience I mention above, and partly as a response to a wonderful “Open Letter to to the DSM Task Force” posted by Dr. Joanne Cacciatore on her own website (which I’m linking to here) , I’d like to add my own voice to all those professionals and offended bereaved people weighing in on this disturbing and upsetting controversy.

As readers of this blog surely know, I too lost lost a child, my son, Michael, who died in 1994, and I’ve been living with, and thinking, studying, and writing about grief ever since. (Let me assure the reader that I’ve also done lots of other things, including recover my sense of humor.)  My writing inspired by this includes a highly acclaimed novel, “Saving Elijah,”  published by Putnam in June, 2000.  After that I (eventually) went back to grad school to get a second masters degree in social work, mostly in order to work with the bereaved, even though I already knew from experience what one bereaved human being needs from another human being.  More recently I’ve been working on a kind of memoir, which I’m calling, “Excerpts: Complicated Grief.”  Included in the memoir is a recounting of the day I first heard in grad school that we were to label grief that lasts longer than two months (now according to all accounts of the upcoming DSM V apparently further reduced to two weeks) as pathology, call it “complicated,” call it a “disorder.”  Even twelve years after my son’s death, this felt like an accusation.  How could it not?  How could they not see that this is damaging to the very people it purports to “help?” It was as if feeling the terrible sorrow I had felt, sometimes even still felt (still sometimes feel now), wasn’t “normal.” Yet I knew full well that it was “normal,” both from my own experience and from talking to scores, even hundreds of other bereaved parents.

I’ve written the memoir in the second person, and it moves backward from the present to the day of the loss, in an attempt to show how grief can (while still being “normal”) reverberate throughout every corridor of a life, sometimes louder, sometimes softer, sometimes as a source of wisdom, sometimes as source of pain or anxiety, but always present.

It opens on what would have been my son’s 21st birthday.

October 22, 2011, seventeen years after. Stand at the dryer, slap in wet clothes, try to form an image of a strapping young man turning twenty-one today.  See only a sturdy toddler.   Like a failed magic trick.

Go to the cemetery, brush away leaves, place stones on the brass and marble marker. Stand in the thick, humid air.  Say Kaddish,  forget the last part.  Try to remember Michael but conjure up only bones in a tomb, shreds of boy and turtle, earthworms, fecund soil.  Say the word fecund aloud, the hard k sound rattling the teeth. Remember your husband falling into the grave. Wonder why you  come.  Get back into your car pursing your lips as if tasting something moldy. Think of old metaphors, new similes. Grief always comes alone to a child’s grave. Grief is no longer a thundering, hissing monster.  Grief is hollow now, like the blunt thud of rock on stone…….

The core problem comes in my view from the pathologizing of the normal human emotion of grief by calling it any kind of a disorder. And so whether you call it an “adjustment disorder related to bereavement,” and give it one year before you dial it up into an even more serious “disorder,” or whether it becomes “major depressive disorder” at two months, or at two weeks, seems to me secondary to the fact that it is called a disorder in the first place.

A child’s death?   At two weeks you’re still in shock. You’re just getting started at two months. Maybe. Actually, it seems to me that it would actually be “abnormal” for a parent who lost a child to not feel overwhelmed and debilitated by sorrow (and to experience many of the attendant symptoms that echo but are not the same as those for depression) at two months out, let alone two weeks out. I would venture to say this is probably true even at one year.  I remember visiting a friend of my mother’s who at age 100 was still talking about her fifteen-year-old son’s death in a car accident fifty years before as if it had happened that day. Personally, I would still call hers “normal” grief. And so the learned people figuring out the DSM seem to have had it backwards all along, and now seem to be doubling down on having it backwards.

I certainly agree that what people who have suffered loss need is (as Dr. Joanne says), human connection, caring, and compassion, or as the Lancet said: Time, Compassion, Remembrance, Empathy.  I believe it’s an insult to think that a pill could be any kind of substitute for that. I remember a good, well meaning friend wanted me to take medication, but even though I was suffering mightily, walking around in my bathrobe (not only figuratively) for three years, I somehow knew that it would do no good at all to try and mask the symptoms, because a certain amount of tears needed to be shed.  Luckily no clinician suggested medication.  I’m not sure what I would have done, given my state of mind, if one had.  The idea that we can “medicate” away the pain of grief isn’t about the bereaved, it’s about those who are uncomfortable with being witness to pain. As Rumi says,

We are pain and what cures pain, both. We are the sweet cold water and the jar that pours. I want to hold you close like a lute, so that we can cry out with loving. Would you rather throw stones at a mirror? I am your mirror and here are the stones.

In other words, the healing from the pain is in the pain.  So it is.

My favorite definition of compassion is the Buddhist one: “Willingness to be close to suffering.”  That’s what I do, what all of us who want to help do, we open our hearts to someone’s suffering.  We witness.  We don’t try to fix it.   I always say: Be present. Be humble. Be patient. Observe. Reflect. Allow silence. Don’t judge. Accept. Listen

It seems to me that this isn’t only about the pharmaceutical industry, it’s even more about the insurance industry, which seems to be in the business of not paying for whatever it can possibly get out of. (And not just in the area of grief.)  In this case the insurance industry seems to want to get out of any paying for anything other than that which has medication as the first line of treatment, and which labels grief a “mental illness,” or a “disorder” of some kind (an outcome that can stay in a person’s record forever, with terrible, terrible consequences).

It’s a sickening conundrum, it puts people who want to provide support for the bereaved who seek it in a terrible position, and of course it puts the bereaved in an even worse position.  Aren’t we trying to help them?  Surely we are. And one of the things we must do to help them is “normalize” what they’re feeling.  Yes, I wailed at the top of my lungs in a hospital room, but so would you.

As clinicians, we have the “V” bereavement code, but insurance generally doesn’t pay for treatment if you use this as a diagnosis. To receive payment from insurance, it has to be a “disorder.” And so to get insurance to cover our effort to help people make their way through grief, we are actually forced to call it some kind of disorder, even when we know it isn’t.  (This is, by the way, actually true for many situations, for example anger management.  Insurance won’t pay for people looking for help with “anger issues” unless you slap on a some kind of a “disorder” label.

Some, no doubt, will think I’m a hopeless idealist, or a radical left winger for believing that Americans, the “richest” country on earth, ought to provide universal health care that enables people to get the health care they need, no matter what their financial or job situation.  I don’t care.  I still must speak the truth as I see it.  And there simply ought to not only be health care for all, there should be some other terminology that acknowledges the debilitating nature of what I’ve called “big time grief,” and also provides coverage for people to get the proper, compassionate psychological support they need in difficult times.

All of us can be hopeful that the outcry from the grief community around this issue will, like the outcry to de-pathologize homosexuality in the 1970s, result in a de-pathologization of grief.  From a practical standpoint, under our current disaster of a health insurance system, we are required to diagnose some kind of “disorder” or there is no insurance coverage for clinical services.  In the absence of a complete rethinking of the whole system (oh, for such an outcome!; let’s just hope the misguided politicians won’t succeed in their threat to repeal the so-called “Obamacare” coverage for everyone), we can only hope that whatever happens, good clinicians (and particularly psychiatrists with their ready-meds) recognize that the DSM is at best an imperfect guide, and can tell the difference between grief and either adjustment “disorder,” or major depressive “disorder,” whatever must be recorded as a diagnosis to get coverage.

I invite you to share your grief story as a comment.

Inspiration: What I loved and learned in Austin, Texas, at SXSW

Actor, inspirationalist Jeffrey Tambor adding a little human-to-human interactive to the mostly computer-interactive festivities at SXSW in Austin. For examples of his inspiration, see below.

Over the weekend, after a bumpy, scary plane ride in stormy weather, I found myself in Austin, amidst a gathering of about 80,000 geeks, hipsters, techno-geeks, networkers, web designers, bloggers, entrepreneurs, advertising types, actors, writers, directors, film and music enthusiasts and others who came for an incredible event called South By Southwest, techno-affectionately dubbed SXSW Interactive.  It originally started as a film and music festival, but the computer/interactive/startup folk (mostly young people who live, breathe, sleep, and worship at the ALTAR OF TECHNOLOGY), may have in the last few years actually overtaken the film and music folk. I went to support my entreprenadorable husband, Bob Dorf, who with his co-author and partner, Steve Blank, have just released their amazing, erudite new book, a step by step guide to starting new businesses called, THE STARTUP OWNERS MANUAL, which was making its debut there.  They hardly needed my support.  Literally thousands came to hear Steve speak, and to buy the book and get both of their autographs.

Yes, I was a hanger on, an extra, an overwhelmed but fascinated older-person, a wife.  And yes, given my own sensibilities as a writer, therapist, middle aged woman, seeker-of-calm-and-clarity, and only (so far) half-assed dabbler in the techno-arts, my take on the thing and my focus–not to mention my ability to cope with or even understand some of it–is no doubt quirky.  And yes, I do wish all that young brain power could be harnessed toward enterprises that will feed the hungry instead of enterprises like making websites for brides-to-be. Nevertheless, I had a blast soaking it all in, and I mean the soaking part literally since it was freezing and raining all weekend until the sun finally came out on Sunday and the festival started to take on the feel of a real party, a college campus on steroids.

I had a blast because of Austin itself, in which I didn’t see even one ten-gallon-hat, which seemed to me to have literally nothing to do with my vision of the state of which it is the capital, and which aggressively lives up to its motto, Keep Austin Weird, even I suspect when the hoards of youthful techies aren’t in town.

I had a blast because the whole event was part circus and part business meeting, and any time you can use circus and business meeting in the same sentence that’s okay with me.

Fran and Alison at the Museum of the Weird in Austin

I had a blast because I got to hang out all weekend with my friend Alison, Steve’s wife; and of course with my brilliant husband and his brilliant co-author, Steve Blank; and in the beautiful but reputedly haunted Driskill Hotel with a guy named Oren Jacob, filmmaker and “technologist,” who did a lot of the work on the wonderful Pixar film, “Toy Story,” (among others) and is working on a start-up (www.toytalk.com)that I suspect will revolutionize interactive toys for kids; and in a seriously weird Austin restaurant at a table with a guy who funds documentary films about important, profound subjects at the National Endowment for the Humanities; and with a crazy Jordanian cabdriver who kept swerving the cab as he pointed out the window at various freak shots, and shouting, “LOOK AT THAT! CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT?”

I had a blast because so many of the young women there were dressed in clothes you’d have to call Hipster-Mismatch-Strange. (As opposed to Tory Burch and Kate Spade, where I live.)  What do I mean by that?   Okay, so picture a skinny twenty-five year old, maybe with dreadlocks, wearing boots, striped leggings, a polka dotted skirt, a paisley shirt, maybe a fur vest.  Now picture another skinny twenty year old with pink hair, a pierced nose and tattoos, wearing red sneakers, green pants, and a sleeveless orange and blue striped dress over the pants. Now multiply that by hoards of girls, each one making her own little Hipster Mismatch Strange Statement and you’ve got it. (Okay, so let’s not even talk about the attire at Woodstock.)

I had a blast because I loved the session by Danah Boyd about the culture of fear in this interactive age, about bullying and fear-mongering by governments, and about the positive vs. negative consequences of our increased ability to connect.  Even though she offered no real conclusions I was happy to see that serious people in the generation that grew up in this teched-up culture are looking at this very scary, upsetting phenom.

I couldn’t make heads or tails out of the techno-geek session I attended called “The Secret Lives of Links,” although the guy who presented was quite lively and had great slides. I guess I went because it sounded sexy.

I loved the talk by Rainn Wilson, he of “The Office” fame, who also did a very weird turn as the funereal love interest of the mother, Ruth, in my favorite television show of all time, “Six Feet Under.”  Rainn was talking primarily about his hot and wonderful website, www.soulpancake.com, in which random people post soul-stirring, important questions, such as: “You have five minutes to address the delegates at the General Assembly in the UN.  What do you say?” and “Will technology be used to save or destroy us?” and “Does religion need to be destroyed for spirituality to flourish?” …. And then random others offer answers.  As an example of the power of the internet to stir creativity and self-expression, Rainn’s website is a wow.  I’m thinking on my question right now.

Most of all, I was deeply moved by the combination seminar-theater-stand-up-disguised-as-an-acting-workshop given by the well known character actor, Jeffrey Tambor, (www.http://www.jeffreytambor.net/) who dispensed laughter and wisdom by the bucketful, mostly while “directing” a scene between two young people (possibly actors) who seemed to have been chosen just because they showed up, whose lines were basically:

He: “No, no, no, no, no, no, no.”

She: “Yes, yes yes, don’t tell me no, you motherfucker.”

The wonderful Jeffrey brilliantly coaxed the two to do it as themselves, as bad asses, by yelling, in French accents, as femme fatales, by putting in three “naughties,” as comedy, as tragedy, and with a gun.   He even got them to sing it.

Among the many memorable bits of advice Mr. Tambor dispensed and I wrote down (since my memory isn’t too great) were:

“We’re here to be the enemy of the status quo.”  (This brings me back to my hippie roots, of course. I miss that.)

“The problem is that most of us want to be good.” (This reminds me of my favorite quote in life, from Huxley’s classic dystopian techno-vision, Brave New World, so much of which seems now so prescient: “I don’t want comfort. I want God, I want poetry, I want real danger, I want freedom, I want goodness. I want sin.”

Enjoy everything, adore everything.” (Well, we can try, on the theory that everything, even that which is awful, can be looked at a learning experience.)

“If someone goes after your confidence, call them out.” (Not sure this applies to the average person, who could easily be fired for it, but I like it anyway.)

“Confidence is the game in life and art” (I wanted to ask him if that applies to writing too, but I didn’t have the guts.)

“Do what you want. Don’t be scared that people are going to be mad at you.” 

“I get up in the morning with the vultures at my head, and I always make my bed before I do anything else.” (By which he meant he chases away the vultures who attack his confidence.  Hmm. I’m glad to hear that even a highly successful actor with a long and distinguished career has those circling vultures too.  It’s a little more difficult for me to rid myself of them, but at least I strive to be a bed-making vulture-chaser.)

Being a person whose confidence wavers moment by moment, and one who has sometimes worried that people are going to be mad at her, I was not only moved, I fell in love with the fabulous Jeffrey.

Survival Tip of the Day: Take off those glasses, duckies.

Ducky

Are you walking around with your head in your armpit…ahem…your wing?  Do you wear chronic rose colored glasses? Automatically give people the benefit of the doubt?  Dismiss your gut reaction in favor of your head’s reaction?  Make excuses?  Assume that everyone else thinks like you do?

Here’s something I first realized a long time ago:

If it walks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, it probably IS a duck.

In other words, trust your instincts, your eyes, your gut. I first learned this little truth upon being disappointed yet again by a boyfriend I thought I could change into someone else. I relearned it many times after that, mostly recently with a plastic surgeon I think of now only as “Plastic Man.”

I walked into Plastic Man’s office in a state of hysteria after having been given the breast cancer diagnosis.  Out of all the doctors I could have chosen to perform the surgery, I chose THAT GUY, when the truth is, he showed me his true colors the first moment I met him.  For one thing, he didn’t show me a scintilla of compassion.  In fact, he gave me the creeps, and struck me as one of those really arrogant assholes I’d unfortunately run into before (having had more than my share of experience with doctors.)  But my head took me away from my gut: I figured I could take whatever he dished out, as I’d already been through everything there was, the worst of the worst.   I’d figured I’d already interviewed two other plastic surgeons, and it seemed like it would be hell to interview even one more.  I decided you don’t pick a surgeon on whether you like him or not, or whether he likes you, offers you a scintilla or a barge load of respect, feels sorry for you or doesn’t.  I decided all that mattered was SURGICAL SKILL, and this guy had a long, impressive resume.  Worst of all, I decided that he’d eventually realize what a fabulous gal I was, and eventually his inate niceness would come through…. Well, let me tell you, that last one did not happen.  Not by a long shot.   I got one hell of an infection, and as things went downhill Plastic Man showed me not more compassion but less.  He acted like I was a pesky fly who kept landing on his cheek and he kept trying to swat away.

Pay attention to what you see and feel, rather than what you you hope or wish to see and feel.

The Answer to the Question: Introducing my advice column: JUST ASK ME

Here’s the answer to the question posed by the Bruised Muse’s last post: Am I an advice columnist?  Apparently I am.  I’m the new advice columnist at http://www.dailymu.se (also, http://www.daily-muse.com), and I’m thrilled to be a part of such an exciting new venture.

The Daily Mu.se

Need Advice? Just Ask Us!

by  — August 31, 2011 — 1 Comment

110831 Just Ask Us 2C

Welcome to the Daily Muse’s advice column. I’m open for business, ready to provide thoughtful answers to your most pressing questions.

But first, let me introduce myself, so you know the editors didn’t just drag someone off the street to give advice on complicated life problems.

Although I’ve been a writer all my life, I never aspired to write an advice column—but I probably have the perfect background for the gig. I’m not just a writer, after all, I’m a psychotherapist and clinical social worker, too.

And I have quite a bit of life experience. Back before many of you Gen Yers were born, I got an undergrad degree in communications, then held a bunch of jobs—from car salesperson to corporate promotion manager—before finally accepting that I was more interested in understanding people than selling widgets. I went back to school for a PhD in Psychology, but never finished (although along the way I gathered some other letters, MA and MSW) because I began my writing career, which has included three nicely received novels, as well as published essays, poetry, and articles.

I’ve experienced all the usual things in life—career, marriage, and family, including now a grandchild—and I’ve also faced an extraordinary number of life challenges, probably more than my share. I’ve learned that, while styles and customs evolve and technology is changing our world at lightning speed, human nature and relationships—what we want and need in life, how best to get it, and how to cope when we don’t—remain constant.

The truth is, experience is only useful when we learn from it. And that’s what I’m here to share. I’ve learned so much that I write a blog, The Bruised Muse, celebrating surviving and developing resilience in the face of adversity. I’ve been working on a new genre of memoir, too. It includes self-help in the form of “survival tips” for reader takeaway (you’ll probably see a few sprinkled in my column)!

But enough about me. Let’s move on to you, and your relationships with parents, friends, spouses, co-workers, mentors, bosses. In this column, I’ll tackle questions about your career, love, sex, male/female roles, taking criticism, expectations, ambition, addiction, jealousy, loss. I’ll take on your pet peeves, life’s little annoyances, your worries about navigating this culture and the changing role of women, your existential despair, fear, boredom, bias, envy, anxiety, anger, sadness.

And I’ll do so for the same reason I sit with people in therapy: I want to help. To offer you perspective. To encourage your self-analysis, creativity, confidence, and compassion. To help you think clearly, consider all the options, set boundaries, and be realistic. To help you make good choices.

As I answer your questions, I have three promises to make:

  1. If I have a useful example from my own life, I’ll offer it, and I’ll always tell the truth as I see it, not necessarily as I (or you) wish it would be.
  2. If I’m unsure about something, I’ll consult an expert.
  3. I’ll probably make a joke or three in my answer, usually at my own expense, but I don’t do snark. I’ve been through so much in my life, believe me, I have empathy for whatever you’re facing.

You, Daily Muse reader, and I are beginning this adventure together. You’ll be anonymous, so don’t hold back, but do try to provide some context or background when you ask your question. And remember: The more interesting and honest the question, the more interesting and useful the answer.

So go ahead and Just Ask Me.

Need life advice? Write to:  advice@dailymu.se.

Or frandorf@aol.com

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Fran Dorf writes the “Just Ask Me” column at the Daily Muse. Fran is a psychotherapist-clinical social worker and author of three acclaimed novels. Fran’s essays, poetry, and articles have appeared in anthologies, national periodicals, and literary journals, and she’s working on a memoir about the ridiculous amount of tsuris—or heartaches— she’s survived in her life. Fran also writes a blog, The Bruised Muse, which celebrates surviving life and achieving resilience in adversity. In her spare time, she reads everything, rants about politics, Zumba dances, skis, plays tennis, travels, and plays with her grandchild, Maya.

Surviving Fire (or perhaps Survival by Fire)

Okay, so that last blog with the frying pan WAS a little bit snarky, despite my promises that there would be no snark on this blog.  Well, maybe just a little.  (At the moment, I’m refraining from any snark related to the pathetic, destructive path on which our country has embarked.)

In this post I want to call to Bruised Muse readers’ attention the work of Megan Smith-Harris, who once (many moons ago) took one of my creative writing workshops. She wrote to tell me what she’s up to and boy was I impressed and moved.  She’s directing and producing documentary films, some of which have been on the WE network.  Here’s the link from her documentary called: TRIAL BY FIRE: LIVES RE-FORGED.  Wow!  These are stories of amazing resilience and courage by people who’ve suffered unimaginably, burn patients who are permanently disfigured and yet find the way to cope and move on.

Here’s the promo copy from the website: “TRIAL BY FIRE: “Lives Re-Forged is a feature length documentary about burn survivors–ordinary people who were in the wrong place at the wrong time. The film follows their journeys as they navigate the challenging physical and emotional obstacles toward recovery, reclaiming first their lives and then their dreams.”

I’m constantly impressed at the similarity of reactions in people who survive horrible tragedies and traumas. No matter what the particulars, you hear people talk about a certain deepening of compassion, understanding, gratitude, and appreciation for life.

Here’s a quote from one of the subjects of TRIAL BY FIRE, JR Martinez, a former soldier in Iraq:

“April 5 2003 was my rebirth. Because I literally was reborn…I had to do everything over again but I learned it in such a deeper way, in a way I was more connected to life and people and adversity and it was a blessing. I feel like the fire completely re-forged my life.”

Wow. Wow. Wow.  To watch the trailer go the Trial by Fire website.

Bruised Muse Publication News – Open to Hope: Inspirational Stories of Healing After Loss

Open To Hope: Inspirational Stories of Healing After Loss Fran’s piece, “Growing through Grief,” is one of the articles in the just published book, “Open to Hope: Inspirational Stories of Healing After Loss,” edited by mother and daughter psychologists and grief gurus, Gloria Horsley and Heidi Horsley. Yes, folks, this is an actual book with covers and pages and printed words that you can order through Amazon or on the Open to Hope (www.opentohope.com) site.  My piece is about the need to tell our story to an empathic listener, the self absorbing nature of grief, and how we can take the first steps toward moving forward when we begin to recognize how self absorbed we’ve become.

If you’ve suffered loss, or know someone who’s suffering, this book is the perfect gift. And while the cynic in me still feels slightly embarrassed at all things purporting to be “inspirational,” I have to say that this is NOT chicken soup. By the way, the cynic in me doesn’t even shut up about my OWN memoir, “Grief in the Raw, How I Lost My Bellybutton, And Other Naked Survival Stories,” which I hope is inspirational, moving, AND funny. It’s the funny part in the book helps the cynic part in me mostly shut up.