Endings and Beginnings

I have a habit of checking the answering machine when I walk into my office. Is it flashing? If so, I might have a patient referral. What is strange, however, is that the light hasn’t flashed in months. I have told colleagues that I’m retired. I saw my last patient a year ago. I am sad when I think I will never see another patient. Giving up the psychotherapist part of me is like losing an important limb.

In January 2000, I resigned my staff psychology position at Harvard Vanguard Medical Associates, where I worked since 1980. Fortunately I saved for retirement and my wife was working. After leaving I continued my independent practice and for a couple of years taught health psychology at Suffolk University. Health psychology reflected my interest in applying mind-centered approaches like hypnosis and meditation to physical problems.

A few weeks after leaving Harvard Vanguard I lost hearing in my left ear. No cause for the loss or definitive treatment was offered. I was given steroids and an antibiotic that might help. Was this the beginning of agerelated decline, I wondered? My moods swung between fear and denial. I tried to maintain a normal schedule. One of my colleagues was leaving town and I took her to lunch. But conversation was frustrating because I couldn’t understand what she was saying. My daughter Lisa encouraged me to remain hopeful. After a few days of no improvement I e-mailed a friend, an ENT (ears, nose, and throat) specialist vacationing in Mexico, who wrote: “A large percentage of cases like yours had their hearing restored spontaneously within a week to ten days.” Some hope! And so it happened. My hearing returned after ten days. I was grateful.

Shortly thereafter I developed a urological problem that required a raft of diagnostic procedures. I spent so much time at the Beth Israel that I became eligible for frequent parking privileges. Luckily I received the necessary treatment to control the condition. What’s next, I wondered? Maybe I shouldn’t have retired.

In 2002 I started to practice sports psychology. I thought I could combine my psychological knowledge and love of sports—I play golf and am a fan of many sports—that I have maintained since childhood. I enrolled in several workshops with prominent local sports psychologists, conferred with others, attended conferences, and read the works of authorities in the field. I was interested in helping athletes use mindful approaches to maximize performance. I enjoyed consulting with individuals on sports-related problems. But the name of this game is marketing.

So I arranged to be the guest speaker at a dinner for an amateur golfing group; talked to a tennis team; offered a golf clinic and a seminar on stress reduction at health clubs. These occasions required significant time for networking and preparation that I hadn’t planned on. I decided that to become successful, I would have to make a greater commitment. But other things I was doing, such as HILR and my therapy practice, were more important. I ended my brief career as a sports psychologist. One of the enduring lessons I learned, however, is the importance of focus and confidence in enhancing performance.

I entered HILR in the fall of 2000. Since I like learning and playing with ideas, I thought I’d do well there. I enrolled in a variety of study groups: music, literature, poetry, history, and science. The experience was like being at an intellectual feast. Being in a study group on American imperialism and playing the role of a representative of Iran negotiating with the United States was illuminating. I was getting a liberal arts re-education.

“The Art of the Personal Essay,” a study group led by the late Bob Stein, had good readings and rich discussions. After the course three members and Bob formed a memoir-writing group that lasted until Bob’s death in the fall of 2005. Bob, a German Jew, wrote a lot about his family and WWII. We conversed about this and about the loss of members of my extended family in the Holocaust on walks along the Charles. I was saddened by his unexpected death that ended a budding friendship. Yet the group that we started launched my introspective journey.

Becoming a study group leader at HILR was a risk. When I proposed my first course I worried that it might not fill. Although I was a skilled teacher and had many university adjunct appointments, the intellectual level of the members intimidated me. I got up my courage after successfully coleading two courses at the Brandeis lifelong learning institute with a friend. One was “The Mind-Body Connection” and the other, “Science in the Public Media.” But the final push occurred one day in the Common Room in a conversation with a colleague. I said, “I’m scared to lead a course.” He responded, “You can handle it.” His encouragement made a difference.

So in 2004, I led a half-semester course, “Stress, the Mind-Body Connection, and Health.” The course went well. To prepare for the study group I learned about cell physiology, some biochemistry, immunology, and neuroanatomy. The learning rekindled my interest in medicine. I led a similar course in the spring of 2006 that also yielded positive feedback. In 2005, I co-led a course, “The Aging Challenge,” which was also successful.

Being a study group leader, while rewarding, required an enormous amount of time and preparation. “Are my standards too high?” I asked. I ventured into new territory and wanted to be well prepared for each class. When I am, I relax more and lead better. The most satisfying sessions are those in which I’m able to weave member comments together and keep them involved.

In 2003, I volunteered for the Admissions Committee, where I felt my clinical experience would be an asset. Two years later, I was asked to co-chair the committee. Its work is critical to the shape of HILR. What impressed me about the committee were the strong efforts to make the intake process more objective and minimize subjective judgments in evaluating applicants. I was honored to serve for a year, before I was nominated to run for Council.

Not at ease in the limelight, I handled my nervousness when making campaign speeches by including humor. I was surprised by my election. So far Council has centered more on the inner workings of HILR and less on broader policy issues than I had imagined.

I know that I can’t predict my future. My hope is that I continue to be excited about learning. I wish I was more passionate about a particular area and would delve into it in greater depth. I’ve done this to some extent with the biology of aging and memory loss.

HILR is an important part of my life. When people ask how I spend my days, I talk about it with enthusiasm and pride. My commitment to HILR is reinforced by the occasions when I feel a surge of positive emotion walking into the Common Room, the pleasure of going to lunch with a friend, or stopping to talk to a former study group member in the hall. Regrettably, I’ve come to accept as part of my life at HILR the possibility of death or illness of a friend or classmate. Nevertheless the pleasures of learning, of friendship, and of contributing to a group that makes a difference are life enriching.

Living HILR

Walking out of my “Moby Dick” course the other day, a fellow student said to me, “I liked your comments today.” I smiled. “Thanks.” That felt good. At HILR people are kind, supportive, and trustworthy. “Moby Dick” was a surprise pleasure. Classes were full of interesting comments. The study group leader kept a good rhythm of discussion. However, I learned more about whales than I intended.

HILR is an opportunity to try things, to experience myself in different ways, and to reclaim parts of myself that are dormant. In the study groups that I’ve led or co-led I’ve experimented with technology—PowerPoint presentations, rapid change of formats such as video to Internet, and creating a course website—all involving new skills. I was excited to integrate these into my teaching.

I’m expressing more of my Jewish self than I used to. Judaism has always played a significant role in my life. But at times I’ve been reluctant to own it, worrying that I might not fit in with the larger group. That was an attitude I remember well in graduate school at Purdue University when I avoided telling one professor I couldn’t take his physiological psychology final because it was on Passover and I wouldn’t write on the holiday. I thought, “How could he, probably a Southern Baptist from Kentucky, understand what this New York religious Jew was talking about?” I never discovered whether I had underestimated him. Initially I extended that attitude, although not as strongly, to HILR. It was not based on experience but on assumptions. Isn’t that the way stereotypes are maintained? People have assumptions, act on them, and they become self-fulfilling.

But HILR is a community where differences are respected. In fact I was moved a few weeks ago when a fellow Council member and I noted that an upcoming community event conflicted with the end of Passover and might interfere with the participation of some members. The event was re-scheduled. Why was I moved? The religious practices of a few Jews were acknowledged.

In my memoir writing class and in my writing group I’ve detailed some of my dilemmas concerning religion. In a study group last semester, “The Social and Political Power of the Religious Right,” I described myself as a religious skeptic. I was more open about my ideas after listening to colleagues express compromises with their faiths. I also restarted the Yiddish table this semester. I like talking Yiddish. It’s like being in my family again. Reminiscing about the culture, the jokes, the food, the literature, are pleasurable.

One of the surprising benefits of HILR is making new friends and acquaintances. Although I’m uneasy about being shunned, starting or joining a conversation in the Common Room is rarely a problem. People are friendly and inviting. There are times when my mood picks up just being around folks at break or lunch. The elixir of connection!

I’ve made a few good friends and some ties with couples. Sharing this stage of life with others makes it easier to form a bond.

How long will HILR remain meaningful enough? Will I want to return to professional activity someday? I have been beset by dreams and thoughts of resuming it. In one recent dream I have a difficult testing case and on the phone carefully explain to the referring doctor the implications of the findings. I am impressed with how articulate and clear I am. I feel that I’m doing something worthwhile and that is rewarding.

In another dream I return to the office where I once practiced. But colleagues treat me like an intruder. I am disappointed. Maybe I can’t go home again. I’m still attracted by the prospect of making a difference in someone’s life.

I notice that my dreams usually occur during long breaks from HILR. It’s the structure and personally significant activity—like work—that I value. How long will I maintain my enthusiasm for learning and for HILR?

Later this week I’m going to plan a new study group with a colleague. I’ll learn new things and take satisfaction from the collaboration. That’s HILR—a place to learn, discover, and connect.

For now that’s a good life!

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