Finding hope amid the pain of mental illness

There was an interesting New York Times story a few days ago about a Protestant minister who is running writing workshops for psychiatric patients at a mental hospital in Queens. It's incredible work -- using the Holy scriptures and images to help inspire some of the most suffering people among us to access their creative voices. And through that, to find some of the things they lack the most: a sense of agency -- of having some kind of control in their lives (the opposite of helplessness) -- and having hope.

Minna is also in the midst of her own version of this important creative work -- she is running a six-week voice and singing workshop at a local state mental hospital. The stories she has brought back of these patients creating their own songs -- and asking for help for each other by singing them together -- have been so inspiring for me, and I hope soon to share a detailed description of some of this work. Two of my students this summer also ran a workshop for mental health clients at a day center where the clients composed their own prayers.

We often think of mental illness as so 'other' -- as something strange and far off that only happens to people who are locked away in some giant, cold instutution. But, in fact, it is widespread and touches us all. It is hard to find hope amid its inexplicable afflictions. Kol HaKavod -- more power to you! -- to all who do this Holy work of helping find voice and hope amid it!

Scary, but not hard -- getting hit by a car

"I've been hit harder before," I told the driver of the PT Cruiser as I tried to convince her I wasn't hurt bad and that she really could get back in her car (which now sported a dented hood after decking me and my bicycle Friday afternoon) and drive away. "I hope not!" she exclaimed.

It was true that I have had harder falls before (both on a bicycle and once courtesy of an angry man I was arguing with about sidewalk etiquette back years ago when I was a journalist working in lower Manhattan). But I've never been hit by a car while on a bicycle before. And I'm grateful that -- even though she _didn't_ see me before she pulled out of the parking lot she was in onto busy Commack Road -- she _did_ see me (rolling up onto her hood before falling back onto the ground) in time to stop her car before the wheels crushed me.

But, despite coming out of it with only mostly minor scrapes and bruises (even my bike is _mostly_ ok) -- I've been thinking about the accident a lot since it happened. I know all too well that bicycle accidents can have emotional impacts well beyond any physical ones -- an accident I had when I was a freshman in college (I was 'doored' in Boston) scared me away from serious bicycle riding for over 20 years. Cycling, on some level, requires a certain kind of fearlessness even to get on the road at all. At the very least, you need to _trust_ that the drivers in the cars constantly passing you on your left will not hit you if they see you.

I'm not sure if I've lost my 'fearlessness', but I did get back on the road for a little bit today, riding around Sag Harbor with Minna and her Mom. Minna and I are here after almost a week of bike touring as vacation. We rode from our home in West Reading, PA, to the Jersey Shore (no, I did not see Snooki!) where we picked up a ferry to lower Manhattan and then the Long Island Railroad to my Mom's house. It was one of the best bike tours I have ever done. Not in terms of scenery (although we did have some very good riding, especially the last 10 or 15 miles in PA on the way to cross the Delaware in Washington's Crossing). But in terms of the _real_ goal of a bike tour -- 'getting away' -- it really worked. I forgot about all the stress of the hardworking (but great!) summer I had just had teaching pastoral care at JTS (Jewish Theological Seminary), and about the upcoming final year of coursework (and much uncertainty) for my doctorate at NYU. All that mattered was the road and pushing one-pedal-at-a-time to cross it. And all the places we passed by and through. The bucolic fields of PA. The slums of Trenton (where are you now, Stephanie Plum?). The historic tow path along the Delaware and Raritan rivers. A shady tree where we had collapsed for a rest and where a man sounding like Tony Soprano in a Cadillac SUV asked us if "you guys are alright" because "you're on my property." The great taste -- enhanced by our exercising so hard -- of fresh tomatoes and peaches from a farm stand where we took a break. . . . But mostly it was just great having an adventure together, just the two of us -- very cool.

Now a couple of more days here near the sea where I will be able to get daily to the salt water to help heal my scrapes (and the wounds on my psyche and soul) and then back to 'the world" . . . . and soon the chagim (High Holidays) and a chance to ask God for another year. . . . . I hope it is a rich one for everyone!


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