Self-awareness: Norman Glassman

I’m an 84 year-old man who is…
• a very proud parent, god-parent, grandparent, great-grandparent, friend and husband of a wonderful woman
• a life-long devotee of regular exercise
• a decades-long intermittent meditator
• a seeker and finder of excellent health care providers to support me in maintaining my health to the best of my ability for the past 36 years, following an initial and subsequent cancer diagnoses and surgeries
• deeply grateful for the life I’ve been given and the courageous path I have chosen in seeking to become the best Norman I can be

I decided to respond through three stories. My hunch is that I’ve answered one question three times. I just can’t make up my mind which question that is.

What young experience has stayed with you throughout your life?

First story: I was on an island in Thailand at a 10-day silent mindfulness meditation retreat. I have no idea why what follows occurred, as we were simply meditating with no instructions. There I am in my chair as my present adult self, and much to my surprise, sitting on my lap, facing me, is the very young me. I could see “me” as clear as day.  My young me wrapped my arms around the adult me, and cheek to cheek, says, “I love you. I love you. I will always love you.” We merged into one image, and as I sat in this group of 50 people, I began crying with a profound experience of joy and well-being. 

This was 35 years ago, and periodically, when needed, I am right back there experiencing the unconditional love I’ve yearned for all my life. In that moment, I can settle myself down knowing I’m safe and no matter what I imagine I’ve done, I can love and accept myself just as I am. 

What can you share about how we impact others, perhaps without realizing it?

Second story: As I was nearing the end of my 50-year career as a therapist, I was sitting with a woman who had been a client for several years. She’d worked really hard, and we were a good team. At the beginning of one session, she asked if it would be all right to take notes. She’d never done this before. I didn’t mind, so as I talked, she periodically wrote in her notebook. I could not figure out what was so interesting or useful that I had just said. Near the end of our session, I told her I was curious about what she had found important and asked if it would be okay for me to read her notes. When I did, I still could not for the life of me comprehend what she’d found important enough to write down.

This nagged at me all day. In my mind, I was just talking. There was nothing brilliant. I was simply being me,  just talking as Norman. That was when I began to understand. From high school on, I have been impressed with people who can explain difficult-to-comprehend issues through simple-to-understand concepts. l was astounded to realize that was exactly what I had done as my client moved from struggling with a complicated issue to a new perception she could build on.

There were no big concepts, no big model, there was only me talking as the man I’d become, expressing my hard-earned wisdom in the simplest form imaginable. And my client got it before I did.

What insight from your life feels important to pass on to others?

Third story: All my life, I heard that I had to do things the hard way. My favorite childhood book was The Little Engine that Could — “I think I can, I think I can…” I’m tenacious and never give up, but it has sure been a lot of work.

I spent a lot of time trying to understand my mother and why she could never give me a direct answer, let alone understand what I needed. I stayed angry at her for far too long, blaming her for many of my difficulties.

So, there I was one day, mindlessly letting my thoughts wander, when suddenly I was sitting facing my mother in a conversation. (Since she had died years earlier, I had brought her back to life.) I was aware of my anger, but more in touch with my sadness. I was thinking about our relationship—in a different way. What if it wasn’t my mother’s fault? What if it’s about my shortcomings and not hers?

I want to pass this awareness on, something I think many of us intuitively know. We must be willing to step out of ourselves and see if someone else’s shoe fits. That kind of self-observation can be enormously painful yet enormously healing.