psychotherapy

October 26, 2025

Finding a Morality to Live With

When we talk about morality, we tend to call out who is moral or not, without defining what is moral or not. Consider two examples of how to be virtuous.

  1. Do not do to another what you do not wish to be done to you. (The Golden Rule).
  2. Injure no one; on the contrary, help everyone as much as you can.

Let’s compare these. Both advise against causing harm, but the first considers only what we don’t like, not what our counterpart doesn’t want done to himself.

When employing this behavioral direction, our opinion is the only one that matters. The standard we choose doesn’t account for differences in likes and dislikes between ourselves and another person.

Each of us decides how to behave by assuming the other person is like us. We determine which interactions with the stranger are permissible. Another individual might disagree.

The second example presents an alternative. We aren’t instructed to define what is satisfactory conduct toward our fellow man. The statement requires no judgment. It simply tells us to injure no one and assist everyone instead.

The Categorical Imperative is a third approach to ethical behavior. “Act only according to that maxim whereby you can at the same time will that it should become a universal law.” (Immanuel Kant).

The words tell us to live by rules we believe ought to apply to the entirety of humanity.

There is no wiggle room here. Immanuel Kant (1724 – 1804) believed such requirements don’t arise from lived experience but are inherent in all rational beings.

Kant, of course, never encountered the work of Jonathan Haidt, a still active social psychologist. His research demonstrates that we are all, to a significant extent, influenced by emotions when making moral judgments.

The preceding three examples are suggestions, not demands. Nothing about them compels us to follow their direction, unless we are required by law or have taken a religious oath.

Why do we need guidance at all?

Thomas Hobbes, a 17th-century English philosopher, didn’t think we would manage well on our own. He described human existence without laws and penalties as subject to continual fear and the danger of violent death. He conceived of the life of a man as “solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short.”

Yikes!

Arthur Schopenhauer, the 19th-century German philosopher, added to our understanding of morality. He reminded us that motives are essential to our grasp of what constitutes a genuine moral act.

For example, we sometimes display extraordinary kindness to others in the hope of gaining a particular privilege.

In cases of this sort, the behavior of the men or women would fail the test of virtuous intention. They seek something for themselves.

Schopenhauer also points to the power of the forces of ego, passion, and desire within each of us. If we are to lead a righteous life, resisting temptation, we will need considerable willpower and self-discipline to restrain our wants.

You shall decide whether any of the views of morality offered here are valuable. Add any other one you favor or dismiss them as you like.

Before you do, you might ponder the advice provided by religion. Some ancient holy documents encourage fidelity and morality, promising prosperity on earth and in the afterlife, while threatening consignment to hell if you fail.

Google reports this:

While there are around 10,000 distinct religions in the world, over three-quarters of the global population adheres to one of these four – Christianity (31%), Islam (24%), Hinduism (15%), and Buddhism (7%).

All of them offer their own view of what an upright life is and isn’t.

Clearly, the definition of morality depends on many factors.

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The first image is of a Woman Being Rescued from the Ruins of Her House After It Was Struck by a V-2 Rocket in 1944 London. The photo is the work of George Roger and sourced from History Daily.

The second photo shows a Rescue in Africa from Drowning, taken by GiftedLydia.

Finally, A Young Child and Mother Watch as their Aircraft Takes off from St. Maarten to San Juan, Puerto Rico, in the Aftermath of Hurricane Irma in 2017.

The last two were sourced from Wikimedia Commons.

October 19, 2025

Laughing to Normalize Our Lives

The sky is gray today. A dash of dirt fouls the perfect blue of days long past.

I remember when jets were rare, propeller planes dominated the atmosphere, and skywriters created their art overhead before dropping it into our astonished eyes.

Don’t worry, I’m about to scrub the air clean and make you laugh a bit.

Things have changed. While they always do, many of these alterations have caught us off guard.

What do we do about it? I don’t mean improve the climate or our politics, but manage our attention, emotion, and the focus of our thoughts.

Humor is essential.

With that in mind, here are some suggestions:

Distraction, for example, takes several forms.

Travel to new places where the skies are still blue, art museums flourish, the food is delicious, and buildings withstand the test of time.

All you need are some air traffic controllers who are getting paid.

Alcohol and drugs are staples of self-distraction and self-destruction diets. An intoxicating choice.

Dance until you drop.

Memorize Edgar Allen Poe’s old poetry, like The Raven and The Conqueror Worm. These will make you think life today is far more delightful.

Persuade yourself that climate change is fake, God will save you because you are faithful, and those who suffer when The Iceman Cometh deserve what they get.

I’m not referring to the 1939 Eugene O’Neill play of the same name.

Meditate, of course, and watch sitcoms, too, perhaps simultaneously.

Refrain from reading newspapers, even online, and let the algorithms take you to calming, amusing, optimistic topics only.

Stay away from friends and relatives who want to talk about the dark side of life. If you can’t avoid them, carry a lantern to lighten and illuminate your mood.

Forget about Diogenes, an ancient Greek founder of cynicism. He carried a lamp during the daytime to help find an honest man.

Have sex at least three times a day. Partners not required.

Wear a blindfold so you exchange the metaphorical darkness for some real dark. Adopt a seeing-eye dog, who will give lots of love without the evening news report.

Prepare to move to the South Pole. Start by getting a top-flight air conditioner and wearing heavy clothes and jackets. Practice building snowmen to provide social contact.

Hallucinatory conversations will take care of themselves.

Recall the worst date you ever endured. Phone the person and invite them out for another try. This will distract you from the state of the world.

Bring aspirin anyway.

If you haven’t called your mother for a while, do so and receive the well-deserved guilt-trip. You will feel better once the berating ends.

Eat your favorite ice cream as rendered by its best manufacturer. As an alternative, buy superb chocolate and enjoy yourself.

When the administration defunds something you need, like health insurance or food assistance, remember there is fun in defunding, just not for you.

To close, the ultimate solution to living in our times.

Imagine you are Sisyphus, the ancient Greek punished by Zeus. The poor fellow had to push a giant boulder up a hill for eternity. He continued without end because the weighty rock always rolled down.

If you compare that to every job you have had, including your time of unemployment, it will be a step up.

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The top image is Diogenes by Bert-olgun, sourced from tonpool.com.

Beneath that is Sisyphus. It is the work of Hasanisawi and sourced from Wikimedia.org.

October 16, 2025

What We Sometimes Learn in School

Teachers sometimes have a gift. It involves more than just lecturing, questioning, or preaching. The instructor brings the lessons alive.

Here is one brief example, which is troublesome due to the way the lesson is delivered.

Nonetheless, it is powerful and relevant to the student in all of us.

About Justice.












			

	
	



			
				


		

		

			October 12, 2025

			
					


		
Hot Pursuit: When You Scare Potential Lovers

	


		

		
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/6/6f/Blindfold_%28PSF%29.png/256px-Blindfold_%28PSF%29.png


I can’t wait. Three words that get us into a lot of trouble. Especially in the hot pursuit of love.


Waiting is difficult. Think of the doctor’s waiting room, or an unchanging traffic light. Or perhaps marking time for a job interview or hoped-for movement in the grocery store.


Zen practitioners remind us that these situations offer opportunities to learn patience, not evoke annoyance. Indeed, there is something worthwhile in their point of view if you are trying to win a potential lover.


Timing counts (pun intended). Lots of questions to answer: how often to call or text, when to display affection, and how to express feelings for the other.




Where is your heart?




I’m not talking about how soon to make love. As difficult as such decisions can be, many people are not troubled by outward physical acts. Instead, the issues I’m raising have to do with showing you care, a thing beyond sexuality.


Extremes of behavior tend to be dangerous. The anxious young admirer either holds back or rushes to reveal that the beloved is his starlit night sky and morning’s birdsong. Sometimes it causes the desired one to run screaming into a less magical night, as far from you as possible.


She is right to be scared if you betray her importance to you after spending two evenings with her! Pedestals are expensive, and your love may have a fear of heights! The faster you dash after her, the speedier she will sprint, without discovering anything worthwhile about you.


When the flood and drama of urgency begin, the full-throttle pressure to chase your freshly anointed favorite is almost unbearable.


It is hard to withhold what is oozing from your veins or betraying your emotions in some other way: candy, flowers, poetry, and endless compliments—all with a perpetually melting gaze, the type puppy dogs offer their mistresses.


You become so enamored of the other that your soul aches upon hearing her voice, and her smile at you makes you want to cheer.


Get a grip if you can—a big if, my friend. Some restraint might be necessary to give the relationship and mutual feelings time to develop.


How will you select the moment or manner of disclosing your desire? Sometimes, signs signal she shares your sentiments, at least a little, and wants you to proceed.


Unfortunately, green and red work perfectly only on traffic lights.


Confused?




If you are inclined to verbalize the premature “I adore you,” it is almost impossible to stop yourself.


Second, the intimations can be indecipherable without a lot of experience (and, on occasion, with it).


One needs practice in figuring out another person. Making a fool of yourself and having your heart broken are a part of growing up. When you are in love, your soul makes you do things your brain thinks unwise.


If you keep taking the first step and it always falls flat, it’s time to pursue therapy. The same would be true if you never take the risk. A bruised ego is part of your instruction.


Our hearts are not unbreakable. Romance can be a train wreck, but a dangerous ride is the only transport to a destination we long for. As Bart Giamatti wrote:




It breaks your heart. It is designed to break your heart. The game begins in the spring, when everything else begins again, and it blossoms in the summer, filling the afternoons and evenings, and then as soon as the chill rains come, it stops and leaves you to face the fall alone.




Giamatti wrote this about baseball, but he might as well have been writing about falling in love or anything about which we care deeply.


Anything in which the dream of winning is unfulfilled.




We are such stuff as dreams are made on.




So voiced the redoubtable William Shakespeare.


Dreams of love are like flowers—they need planting and watering; some good weather and time to cultivate. Do not pick the just-opened bud too soon.


Do your best, but don’t expect to remake yourself. We humans are less than ideal at seeing into the soul of another. As terrible as it is, we all need some heartbreak—it helps you grow in maturity, understanding, and compassion.


Remember, almost everyone recovers.


Try again. Somewhere, somehow—someone may be waiting.


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The top image is called Blindfolded Boy Chasing Another, courtesy of Pearson Scott Foresman. It is followed by Holi: A Sacred Ancient Tradition of Hindus, by Shohrab Hossain Titu. Both pictures are sourced from Wikimedia Commons.

			

	
	



			
				


		

		

			October 5, 2025

			
					


		
Our Questionable Progress

	


		

		


What is the world’s biggest problem? Perhaps it is our inability to keep up with it. The world, I mean.


Inventions are often touted as a means to save time. Conveyor belts in factories drive assembly lines, while escalators and elevators transport people up and down.


Inventors built cars, trains, and planes to make life easier. With what result?


Our bonus miles earn airport security evaluations, baggage checks, and a trudge to the gate. Fellow frustrated travelers become obstacles — things not human — as if intended to disrupt everyone’s pace.


Within our intimidating cities, rush hour now covers much of the day. The distance from your town to downtown has increased. Overflow traffic creates more opportunities for gawkers, rubbernecking, and those who simply gape.


Lanes get added, and more drivers fill them. Highway restoration due to overuse is ongoing. Choose your season: winter or road-repair?


Do we save time? We have more books, computerized PDFs, blogs, and essays; more announcers, critics, podcasts, and talking heads. Everyone has something to say.


How does one determine what is worth reading and which voices reward attention? How do we distinguish the essential from the inessential, truth from fiction?


The wealth of medical information is ever-expanding. Physicians are often hospital employees on their own treadmill of high-speed patient appointments.


To our benefit, they are experts in various categories of practice, including dermatology, radiology, cardiology, gastroenterology, and urology, among others.




For the sick person, however, an appointment becomes the first step in a slow-motion relay race to multiple practitioners, before reaching the right destination.


Way back, doctors used a chalkboard for patients to sign in and wait. They were admitted to the office in the order of their arrival.


Telephones, Zoom, email, and texting enable employees to be available and respond to communications at all times and from any location, whether at home or away.


The days of cow bells or buzzers to signal the start and end of the workday are long past. Sunrise and sunset suggest the time, but not your work schedule.


The machines drive us, the calls and messages haunt us, and spam inundates us. The speed of change, the slippery ground, and the madness of kings create our Age of Uncertainty.


Should seeking balance unbalance us? One begins with required tasks, but who can tell us what matters and predict the future we need to fashion a plan?


Houses of worship, parents, scientists, and teachers carry down-sized authority. The competitor chooses the tune and the boss leads the dance. The government sells a witch’s brew of domination, newly manufactured each day.


Many people are held hostage by their phones, drawn by the camera or a person on a call rather than the people nearby.




Does anyone treat selfie addicts? Life has become like a walk through Alice’s looking glass, then the next, then the next, as we search for ourselves and the days ahead.


Do we “lay waste to our powers,” as William Wordsworth wrote around 1802? Doubtless, we find new ways these days.


What do we miss?


Thinking, reading, and studying were typical on the ocean liners and railroad transportation of times past. Teachers required memorization of poetry by their public school students into the mid-20th century.


An ease of life not dominated by on-time performance was the human experience before clocks and trains made timeliness possible.


Personal expectation of clocked efficiency has become a stick for self-flagellation.


Reading old books allows one to learn something new with each reading, provided the material is well-chosen and relevant. Making music was once a common practice at home. Telling stories enriches both the speaker and the listener.


Not each acquaintance should be considered part of your network or the kind of person who will promote your future success.


Success, I repeat, or call it wage-slavery, as you wish. Evaluate its importance and the cost in human terms, and the gain or loss in joy.


Talking to and getting to know neighbors on hot nights outdoors would be novel. Everyone cheered the arrival of air-conditioned coolness, but such conversations disappeared.


The gated, guarded communities of today keep us further apart.


We must search beyond ourselves and see into the depths of another’s sadness, past what he cannot utter. Embrace this stranger, as Leviticus 19:34 of the Hebrew Bible reminds us.


Beware the much-needed, self-imposed distraction as a substitute for reinventing your life. Meditate, too—every day.


Take up sewing if it’s a new craft for you. Build something with your hands.


Eliminate tasks. Slow down. Say no. Learn more. Stand up. Beat back your fear. Do not try to please everyone.


Maintain old friendships and make new ones. Write cards or letters in cursive. Play chess.


Hug the people and animals you love. Speak of love with those you cannot live without. Speak of it with everyone.


Pray for them, too.


I don’t do all of these, and I’ve listed too many.


Escape the grasp of our mechanized, categorized, bullet-sprayed world.


The Chinese proverb tells us, “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.”


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The first image is that of A Nepalese Grandmother Preparing Food inside a Traditional Kitchen. This is an edited version of Mithun Kunwa’s work, as adapted by Radomianin and sourced from Wikimedia Commons.


The following item is Metropolis, 1917, a painting by the German artist George Grosz. Finally, Elephant at Sunset in Amboseli, Early November 2024, by the photographic artist Laura Hedien, with her kind permission, Laura Hedien Official Website.


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			September 28, 2025

			
					


		
Of Innocence and Hard Experience

	


		

		


I called a man I didn’t know. The reason doesn’t matter. When no one answered, I left a message, but not before hearing the cleverest recorded invitation I’ve ever encountered. It ended with the words:


You leave it, I’ll retrieve it.


I did connect with the fellow a day later,  but he said that a meeting between us would have to wait until he returned from Europe. He died soon after his trip home. The six-word sentence had transformed into a non-sequitur, an illogical request given his demise.


He could no longer “retrieve it.” He had “left” the message and all else. Whatever remained would have to be retrieved by someone other than this person, divided among his heirs, or thrown away. One hopes those words were not his last for those he cared about.


The stranger had a prolonged bout with cancer and defeated it, or at least knocked it to the ground for a long while. Some cancers enter remission, partial or complete. These multi-formed monsters can be tricky devils, pushed to the mat and unconscious after they have been drugged out or cut out. Time passes. If they spring up with renewed strength, the disease has been known to take no prisoners, sweeping a life away as if it were a breadcrumb on the dinner table.


I have lost friends and relatives in this way, but have dodged the menace myself. It remains unimaginable to me. Of course, I can try to imagine it, but there must be a difference between thinking of it from the outside and living the invasion from the inside.


We don’t own complete awareness, not even those who have overcome it. I have suffered close to unendurable physical pain for other reasons, but I lack the words, the memory, and the feelings to describe those episodes even to myself. The capacity to retrieve past agonies in visceral form would ruin most futures. Recreating them in full would poison time.


I do know the fear of its return remains for many who have survived cancer. A different thing from anguish, but by itself, terrifying.


We all watch children whose joy is without such concerns. Those with loving parents, good health, and food on the table live in innocence, free of life’s terrible possibilities. The kids are like Adam and Eve before they ate from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. Their bodies flip, leap, bounce, spin, laugh, and smile.


God bless them.


If I could, I would wave a magic wand and make this simple purity permanent.


I helped adults and teens achieve better lives, but magic was not my specialty then and is not now. If it were, two boys — my grandchildren — would be first in line to benefit from my prestidigitation.


Love is a wonderful experience, but innocence — the opposite of nightmarish disease — cannot be rendered in words or memory. We watch the wonder of our children’s joy and are filled with gladness.


Perhaps that is what remains of innocence past childhood.


A gift for us, too.


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A Small Car For Kids by ekstrazabawki.pl, sourced from Wikimedia Commons.

			

	
	



			
				


		

		

			September 21, 2025

			
					


		
Where Did All the Bullies Go?

	


		

		



When I was a kid, like all the boys who came before and after me, I learned to deal with bullies. Some fellows fled, others took them on.


One young man-mountain, who was tall and overweight, sat on me once. Another, whose fiery red hair matched the impression that I should stay away, had a beautiful girlfriend whose mother abused her.


She was drawn to such people.


No matter, I stood my ground in defense of one of my brothers and discovered it was worse to be a coward than to take a licking. A few lickings.


At my pugilistic best, I knocked the air out of a classmate named Ernie. It was terrifying to watch him on the ground, writhing and gasping for breath. There is no satisfaction in doing harm, no matter the justification.


As I got older, I discovered that I did better with words than fists. I didn’t always prevail, but I became the person I wanted to be over the course of years.


Matching wits in cross-examination as an expert witness is exhilarating and exhausting, but informs you who you are if you don’t already know. I excelled at it, though it wasn’t a large part of my practice.


Bullies are still present in the world, even though I am well past the point of a street brawl. And while I am not a joiner, you will find me at some rallies and marches. The cause is just, and the exhilaration of a courtroom joust is not so different than joining others for a worthy cause.


The photo above is somewhat like a man in an empty suit. He tries to scare you, but there is really not much to him.


Life is full of tough guys, and we all encounter frauds like the Wizard of Oz, but when you check behind the screen, the loud boasting reminds you of the kids who used to push you around if you let them.


I am old, and I got tired of being afraid some time ago.


As the Stoics of antiquity remind us, tests offer opportunities. Seneca wrote: 




Every difficulty in life presents us with an opportunity to turn inward and to invoke our own inner resources. The trials we endure can and should introduce us to our strengths.




Only then do we discover who we are. 


I am not very pleased to take on such contests. I wasn’t, either, as a kid, but it was necessary then, and it is needed now.


I have grandchildren, you know.


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The “Ghost Sculpture” was sourced from James Lucas on Substack. 


 


 

			

	
	



			
				


		

		

			September 19, 2025

			
					


		
About Methuselah’s Autograph

	


		

		
 




On Wednesday, I promised those who read today’s post the possibility of winning an autograph of Methuselah, the 969-year-old man of the ancient world.


Unfortunately, there is a problem on the autograph front.


First, Methuselah didn’t know many words. Some have suggested that this limitation on his ability to think not only compromised his ability to write, but also the concerns and ideas that bother most of us. Issues such as status, wealth, and men colored orange.


He did say one sentence whenever he approached a desirable woman, however:




Sex, huh?




This might explain how he happened to father a son named Lamech at the age of 187.


In the ancient world, numerous con artists existed. Once Methuselah reached the age of 187, he became a celebrity. Moreover, proud of his new boy, he widened his vocabulary:




Lemach, huh?




As you can imagine, everyone wanted to discover his secret to a long and active life.


Mr. M. didn’t have anything more to say, but others, also claiming to be Methuselah, tried to cash in on his longevity.


It was pretty easy to steal someone’s identity in those days. No photography, widespread illiteracy, and no driver’s licenses or birth certificates. 


Bartering for an autographed papyrus became a common practice.


Unfortunately, the one in my possession is a fake. As Samuel Goldwyn, the movie mogul, used to say, “A verbal contract isn’t worth the papyrus it’s written on.”


The Methuselah fiasco must be disappointing to you, but do not give up all hope.


I am in negotiations for copies of Socrates’ famous Book of Beverages. 


His brew of hemlock will knock you out.



			

	
	



			
				


		

		

			September 17, 2025

			
					


		
Get Ready!

	


		

		

Since I am well into the Social Security years, it seems entirely fitting that I should tell you what I have learned about aging. Some it it will be funny, some serious, and some both.


Put simply, I intend to offer guidance about how to survive aging (sort of).

If you read to the end of the upcoming post, you will be entered into a drawing to receive the only know autograph of Methuselah, who is said to have lived 969 years!


See, you are already on your way! 


Get ready and good luck!

			

	
	



			
				


		

		

			September 14, 2025

			
					


		
A Gift to Last a Ten-year-old’s Lifetime

	


		

		



On a recent visit to the Chicago Writers Museum, I conceived the idea of giving my eldest grandson the gift of a lifetime—something small, forever to keep. 


An exhibit featured brief short stories by named authors including Sibylla Nash. I pressed a button on an upright mechanism, similar to an electronic ticket machine. It spooled out a slender, two-foot-long paper containing all of her tale, The Big BOO!


No charge.


Ten-year-old X is a voracious reader, and the story suited him, but it wasn’t the yarn that made it a distinctive present. My handwritten note beside the title on the narrow page offered this:




For X from Grandpa. To be read to your brother Z, your children, and your grandchildren!




Yes, I was thinking ahead, but looking back, as well.


My own grandfather was on my mind when I inscribed this request to a boy I love. Leo Fabian was an imperfect yet loving man whom I last saw when I was a teenager. Mom and I went to the hospital, knowing the dreadful speed of his life’s clock and the shortness of his time.


Grandpa sat upright in his bed, watching TV, but his still blankness suggested a man defeated, the loser in the battle with Death, a larger than Life opponent with an undefeated record.


An artist would have needed only one color to paint Leo Fabian’s likeness that day—a gray man of gray hair and skin, with a face robbed of expression.


My mother entered first, but when I appeared a few steps behind her, his face came to life. He held out his arms and we hugged each other. One of those indelible memories you relive but for the touch. The touch you want more than anything.


I own faded photos of him, but I don’t have any videos or recordings of his voice. In their absence, it will be harder to tell my grandchildren what made him important to me.


No one else is left to do it, as my brothers were too young to know him well.




My grandad and I worked in proximity to each other at my uncle’s business during the days I had an after-school job. This son of Romania crossed the Atlantic to come to our promising land. He spoke several languages, and I listened to him use them. I recognized the charm, wit, and joy he carried and carried him through much of his life.


And I knew he loved me.


On occasion, he used the phrase “kick the bucket” well before he was inches away from the metaphor turning real. An event now long past.


Leo Fabian would be proud and happy that I think of him and pleased with this quiet honor. Writing his name, bringing it to life, and saying it out loud for nothing more than his remembered love. Such is part of a Jewish custom.


I wish the world permitted me to reach back in time and show you how he walked, spoke, and joked. His animated smile would have taken you in, with its sense of mischief, and the scent of the aftershave he applied to his cheeks. The twinkle in his eye, his imposing height, the width of his wrists, and the strength in his hands all said this was a man. 


Not the bad stuff in his life, just the best in him.


The record of my life is more comprehensive than my grandfather’s, yet whatever is told or shown of it, whenever I am gone, at the end, love is what matters.


James Lucas wrote this in a Substack essay on September 11, 2025:




So many of us drift through life as if wrapped in a fog, caught in the monotony of routine, numbed by a rhythm that feels imposed rather than chosen. We move like sleepwalkers, bound by the weight of what we think we should be doing.


And yet, it’s only when we truly grasp that our time is slipping away that the most beautiful part of us rises to the surface. Perhaps it’s because, when everything is stripped down to its essence, the noise disappears… and the thing that remains is love.


Love as the purest truth of who we are. Love is the only weapon we’ve been given against the cruelty of life. 




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The painting is titled “Old Man and Grandson” by Ghirlandaio. The cropped section shown here was done by Frank Vincentz and sourced from Wikimedia Commons.


It is followed by a photo titled “Hand of Grandpa and Grandson” by Nikhil More. The source is the same.