Why Can't I Watch What Everyone Else Likes?

I am struggling with something. I am unable to watch many movies and TV shows that it seems the majority of people enjoy, and I'm starting to feel really abnormal. When I ask friends for recommendations for a great Netflix series to binge or for a movie to escape life with, I get suggestions like: "Handmaiden's Tale," "Don't F*ck with Cats," "Game Of Thrones" and others. I watched the first episode of  "Outlander," thinking I found that escape and a friend who knows me warned me to stop. The next 2 episodes, I was told, were filled with some pretty gory violence, including a horrific homosexual rape scene that even they had to fast-forward through. And I thought I was watching a "Somewhere In Time" type of time-travel love story. Geesh!

Scenes stick with me. I know that most are fiction, but the fact that some creative mind somewhere came up with such explicitly gruesome ways to torture someone, to inflict physical and mental pain, and further--to set up these scenes, to act them out over and over and then edit those scenes for hours- wow! That's intense.  The news cycle gets tougher to take every day, and now, at least for me, it seems entertainment has become tougher, too.  And that it is even IS entertainment for so many but not for me makes me feel like I'm not normal.  My soul becomes drained ...I look for an escape. And I can't find it in ways so many others can.

I have the ability (or, I guess at this point, I realize it is a curse) to be able to place myself into another's shoes. I have learned that this makes me an "empath." To see things from another's point of view, even if I don't agree,  has been helpful to me in personal and professional relationships. But this ability doesn't serve me well when I think about what another is feeling when I am watching a violent movie scene. It haunts me.

When I grew up (here comes the proverbial OK, Boomer), the shows on the 3 significant networks were just not that violent. The world was, but the fake world wasn't. In fact, I try to take solace in the fact that statistically, the world is better in 2020 than it was a hundred years ago--but our 24-hour news cycle that focuses on only reporting how shitty people are has many believing otherwise.

A quick sampling of some of my "favorite movies of all time" pretty much gives you an idea of what I consider entertainment. Sound of Music. Funny Girl, Airplane! Titanic and I could list tons of romantic comedies starting with Pretty Woman and going from there. My today streaming list includes The Crown, The Kominsky Method, Grace & Frankie, Nurse Jackie, Dowton Abby. My TV shows from the past to now: MASH, Cheers, Frasier, Will & Grace, West Wing, ER, Hill Street Blues, Thirty Something, Parenthood, This Is Us. Madame Secretary.

What's wrong with me, that I literally feel anxiety watching a movie knowing what might be coming up; that I can't watch what everyone else likes?  Should I suck it up and try? Does not watching these critically acclaimed shows have me missing significant parts of pop-culture? Will I never be able to answer trivia questions on things that came after 2005? My poor husband has to watch everything he likes when I am out of town. He is lucky I travel a lot.

And I guess what really troubles me, is how can others watch a scene where someone is being tortured, pleading for their life, humiliated, raped, and just munch their popcorn? Are they desensitized? Am over over-sensitive? Is there any in-between?

If there's anyone else out there that is like me in this way--maybe we can form a support group. In the meantime, suggestions for positive movies, shows, and documentaries are welcome. 

Walking The Dog Through My Neighborhood's Grand History

To listen to a spoken word version of this blog click HERE

My husband and I downsized to a condo this past fall, and one of the biggest adjustments has been the routine of walking our dog. Our previous home had a fenced-in yard, so all we had to do was to open the door. Our new living arrangement has us walking Scooby at least 4 times daily, which is good for him--and for us. Beyond the exercise, though, is the sense of history and nostalgia that overcomes me on my neighborhood walks. My current residence, a quaint condominium complex, sits on the grounds where an exquisite mansion called Harbel manor once stood.  

Harbel Manor
where our condo complex sit now

Harbel Manor was the elaborate estate of rubber baron Harvey S. Firestone. While not as large or architecturally significant as Stan Hywet, the estate of his Goodyear counterpart, Frank Seiberling, it was still a marvel set on 60 plus acres in West Akron. It is unimaginable that this house, like so many of its era, was sold to developers and torn down, but I understand that it was a common occurrence at the time. These huge mansions were seen as money-pits, and easier to tear down before many had the vision to re-purpose them into offices or apartments. How cool would it be to be living in a condo that was a converted wing of one of these incredible homes? It is doubtful that Akron could have supported two historical mansions - Stan Hywet and Harbel Manor, -but I’m guessing the tearing down of homes like these nationwide led to the founding of many historical societies here and elsewhere.  

Stan Hywet
The Seiberling Mansion

I grew up in this neighborhood, so to be living in it again at this point in my life is cool. My house was just off Merriman Road, a street known for its stately mansions. Although our home was lovely, it was modest compared to the nearby estates that were the heart of this neighborhood. Most of the homes on Merriman and surrounding streets were built between 1911 and 1930 by the rubber barons of Akron; the founders and executives of Goodyear and Firestone and the many other companies that flourished and made Akron the "Rubber Capital of the World." Back then, the smaller homes were around 5,000 square feet, while the largest, Stan Hywet, built by Goodyear's founder Frank Seiberling, was 21,000. 

When I was young I'd ride my bike uke up and down Merriman Road and marvel at the incredible size of these magnificent estates. I was especially enamored by the home of Paul Litchfield, the first CEO of Goodyear who was famous for many things, but most notably his overseeing the building of the first Goodyear blimp. His mansion was named The Anchorage (seems like all the estates had names back then) and sat on the corner of Merriman and Mayfair behind a tall black iron gate to which an anchor was attached with a chain. (I need to google the significance of the anchor) Litchfield and Seiberling were good friends and the Anchorage was nicknamed Little Stan Hywet, and he entertained quite a bit there. He hosted millionaires, politicians, scholars and even Amelia Earhart. who was in Akron buying tires for her plane before her infamous flight around the world. 

Th Anchorage
The Litchfield Mansion

That house provokes a strong childhood memory. One day I came home from a bike ride and my probably 7-year-old self told my dad I wanted to marry a prince and live in one of those castles, specifically The Anchorage, someday. My dad, who started Wilson Plumbing and Heating in Akron (now in its 3rd generation) was a practical man, but he humored me as I chattered on. I knew he knew a lot about these big mansions because they all had boilers, and he was a boiler expert and had been inside so many of these homes doing work- so I asked him a lot of questions. “Who lived in these mansions?  Were they big families like ours? I never seem to see any kids around.  But they give full-size candy bars out at Halloween, and the people answering the doors all look like grandmas.” He said many of those homes only had a few people living in them. "Why do they need all that room?" I asked. I suggested we switch houses with those people, they could live in our smaller house with 2 or 3 people, and our big family of 7 could live in one of the big homes. He smiled and gently explained that if you live in a big house like that, you have a lot of rooms to heat, and that would cost a lot of money. I didn't quite get it then that people with lots of kids had far less money than people with fewer or no kids and the irony that the people who needed the big houses couldn't afford them because they had all these kids! Ha!

Scooby walking along Firestone Mansion Gate

As I walk my dog every day, I happen across another mansion right across the street. It was once the home of Harvey S Firestone, Jr, and I imagine when it was built, it was just across the field from his parents' place. This home, thankfully, was not torn down, and it still sits in all its glory, a reminder of the grandeur and history of this era of Akron. It is currently listed for sale with Sotheby's, and from the photos, it looks as though the owners have retained its historic majesty. It’s a mere 5 million, and if someone decides to turn it into apartments, I’d love to be a tenant. In the meantime, I’ll keep walking the dog.

Harvey Firestone Jr Mansion Today

Grief's Life Lessons

Click here for spoken word version of  Grief's Life Lessons

Grief.

Your brain's natural emotional response to loss, although it doesn't feel natural at all. Grief is the true emotional suffering you feel when someone or something you care about is taken from you. After a loss, grief's pain can come on so suddenly that it cuts like a knife, stabbing you when you least expect. It then can also fade to a dull throb that is just "there" somewhere in the background.

Sadly, grief is a malady for which there is no cure, but there is some respite in its lessons.

1.  Things Do Get Better...with time
After I lost my husband, I remember someone said to me that "in time...things will get better." And I was so frustrated by that. I didn't want to hear it. The pain was so strong (especially at night, when totally alone with my thoughts) that I wanted someone to just make it STOP. Right. Now. Can I hit fast forward? Can I take a pill to numb myself? Can I go to sleep and wake up in a month, or two or more and feel better? With every loss I have experienced, I know, things DO get better. Memories that used to induce tears and be so unbearable I'd push them from my mind, begin to offer comfort and bring a smile, even a laugh as I cautiously allowed them back in and fully embrace the details of an experience. To listen to that song again. To open that closet. It takes time, and although I hated that revelation, it also kept me sane knowing it would get easier.

2. Each loss is unique
When I was in college my grandma died. She was well into her 80's and I was not particularly close to her, and although I felt sad, I was surprised and even felt a bit guilty that it didn't affect me more.
The next death I experienced was the death of my beloved first dog. I had her for 12 years and although I have had many more wonderful dogs since Jessie--I still feel her absence in my life.

She was my first experience of responsibility. She depended on me. She helped me through jobs, relationships,  breakups, marriage, and kids. When I made the decision to end her pain, the memory of her head in my lap as she transitioned still makes me tear up. I think of her often, still, almost 25 years later. I remember thinking that I grieved more for that dog than I did my grandma, and feeling that was wrong. But now I get that you can grieve the loss of all kinds  Loss through the death of a person or pet. The loss of a relationship. The loss of a job. The loss of freedom may come when you experience illness, a disability or a financial crisis. The phases of shock, anger, sadness and overall emotional confusion is grieving. Don't feel you have to lessen or trivialize your feelings of grief because it doesn't match an other's loss experience. Pain is pain.

3) There is guilt in relief
With any death, there seems to always be guilt and it is unproductive, but you feel it nonetheless. The loss of my husband came after his valiant battle with cancer. When he died, it was awful, and yet I was relieved. I was relieved he was out of pain. I was relieved the difficult process of caring for him,  my kids, and working--was over. I was relieved my daughters' fear and pain watching their dad fade away was over. And there was guilt in that relief. When I watched my mom slip away from Alzheimer's... her smile, her spark, her personality and her memory of all of her kids was replaced with anxiety and fear and anger--I felt relief when she was released. And I feel guilt in that relief. The death of my dad and my brother were sudden, and that grief was so much different. It's so hard to rationalize why one loss left me shattered, for months, even years... while I seemingly recovered from another differently. I felt worse about my dog than my grandma? What were my last words? How could I have behaved differently? What could I have done better? They are gone and you are here and all you do is think and over-think. Guilt is part of the process.

Grief changes you. It can make you angry and bitter. Or more empathetic and understanding, Or both. But as painful as it is to experience, to not experience it would be worse. Because if you feel intense grief it means you felt intense love.

Grief is the price you pay for love.