When I was 10 years old, my baby brother was born. This blessed event threw me into a state of emotional turmoil. Feelings of love and hate raced through my mind like a brazen cat chasing a nervy, intruding mouse.
I adored this
exquisite little brother and longed to hold and care for him. Simultaneously I resented his arrival;
now I had to share my mother’s overstretched attention with him and three other
siblings.
To confess to
feelings of “hatred” was out of the question. In a quandary about what to do, I
resolved to keep a diary on a small pad of paper hidden between blue plastic
covers. In silent, secret letters, I could express taboo feelings and thoughts,
raw emotions, feelings of love, pride and resentment, as well as record my
brother’s milestones: the first day he sampled a banana, the morning he sat up
by himself, the day he mastered his first steps.
The private
confessor was magical in its ability to relieve distress, any time of the day
or night. Giving form to these thoughts seemed to validate them and at the same
time allow them to be tossed aside.
When I was 12
years old, my parents separated. Once again, the writing tool seemed like a
life jacket to buoy me over a raging tsunami. I could acknowledge my thoughts
without having to share my feelings and possibly exacerbate my parents’ tense
situation.
I didn’t
understand how jotting down thoughts converted into relief and a sense of power
and control until years later I discovered the work of the great philosopher
and psychologist William James. James viewed the mind/self as divided into two
parts: 1. the aspect (of mind) that participates and registers the experience
in the moment and 2. The (aspect
of) mind that reflects on the experience after it has occurred. In essence the
writing tool was an expression, an expansion of the observer.
James’
clarification of the mind split into experiencer and observer imputed an
ability of power to control and the possibility of change. If a person revisited
an event he might be able to see the role he played in it. Going a step
further, she might perceive her potential to alter her behavior and affect a
different outcome.
In the early
days of civilization, we humans believed we were at the mercy of the Gods; they
determined our fate. We couldn’t conceptualize that we could control our
destiny, at least to a certain extent. But the course of human development has
shown us that we possess the power to change. The reflecting/observing part of
our brain imbues us with this potential.
Along the lines
of James, David Brooks, The New York Times journalist, wrote a column about
a “sense of agency” (November 14,
2014) that applies to people who recognize the control they exert in their
lives. These people hold the reins and steer their life course. (I realized
that the writing tool places a person in the driver’s seat of her life,
granting the ability to take charge.) By contrast a person who lacks “agency” feels jostled about,
acted upon by outside forces, similar to how we experienced life in the days of
early civilization.
Another turning
point came when I was 20 years old. I had just finished the first year of med
school in Puerto Rico and had been living with my father and his family when without
warning, he announced that I’d have to move out. What seemed disastrous at
first, proved a great blessing.
At first, I
thought about returning home to New York City, But I realized I’d be abandoning
my goal to become a physician, and that I needed to reframe my approach to
think more like a ballplayer, to keep an eye on the game in order to score. My
goal was to become a doctor; my intention wasn’t to live with my father.
I was most
fortunate to find human angels in my path. In searching for a place to live, I
knocked on the door of the YWCA on Ponce de Leon Avenue in Old San Juan. A kindly woman opened the warped,
wooden door of the Y, a rambling unpainted structure that looked as if it might
be blown away by the next big hurricane. I shall never forget Mrs. Rodriquez, a
short, middle-aged woman with wavy, salt-and-pepper hair, a pixie face and
twinkling brown eyes. When I explained my situation, she immediately recognized
that I needed a quiet place to study and assigned me the only single room
available. (Mercifully the Y remained standing for several years for which we
residents were infinitely grateful.)
Once out of my
father’s house, I was both frightened and thrilled to have freedom to come and
go, no longer having to rely on Dad for transportation. Because of my pierced
ears, brightly colored clothing and ability to enunciate Spanish phrases, I
passed as Puerto Rican. I basked
in my newly- acquired identity. Gaining facility with the Spanish language
helped me communicate with Spanish-speaking patients once I returned to the States.
Another miracle
occurred when I met an American physician who was vacationing with his family
in Old San Juan; he wrote me a letter recommending me to a medical school in
Philadelphia where I could move to be closer to my mother and siblings.
In summary I’m
grateful for what I’ve discovered in the face of some challenging circumstances.
1. The writing
tool and the ability to observe myself.
2. To think like
a ball player, to keep an eye on the goal to overcome obstacles.
3. The discovery
of human angels who appear at unpredictable moments and add blessings, pleasure
and excitement to the journey.
