Pick my brain. Ask me about my views on something. Dig deeper than the obvious. Let’s make each other think. Show me a different perspective. – Unknown
On a daily basis, I am tapped by family, friends, clients, co-workers and sometimes even strangers I pass on the street to make suggestions and offer advice. Call it an occupational hazard, since my professional hats include that of therapist/minister/coach/teacher/facilitator/writer/editor. I call it picking my brain and sometimes bemoan that there isn’t always a whole lot of gray matter from which to harvest ideas. Still, I take a deep breath and do my best to cull from my experience, both personal and professional.
I was in a session with a client yesterday and she asked me about something I had said the previous week that she found helpful and had begun to put into practice. She couldn’t recall the exact phrasing and neither could I, since, as much of what I say, it was a ‘download,’ or channeled (although that is a woo-woo buzzword for some) through me and didn’t directly come from me. I have noticed that as I age, and sometimes ‘sage’, my ability to retain material evades me. Although at 60, I still feel youthful most days, that is what vexes me the most. I have always prided myself on my steel trap mind, with a phonographic ability to recall the lyrics to every song I have ever had, as well as a photographic memory that has me connecting faces with names.
I have noticed the phenomenon that many in my generation are facing — call it brain blip, middle-aged moments, menopause brain, or, as I prefer to think of it, wise-woman moments, since ideally, the older we get, the wiser we become. Lots of things have been slipping through the cracks of my cerebral container. I remember my mother bemoaning that her brain was like a sieve in her later years. I used to laugh as I imagined the blue and white colander that was a staple in our kitchen for all of my childhood with my mom’s mind oozing out through the holes. I also reminded her that the more she said it, the more she reinforced it. Since I have fingers in so many pies and know people from all different settings when I see them out of context, it gets even more frustrating. Add to it, that as a therapist I am not supposed to acknowledge publically that someone is my client or even former client. There have been a few times over the years when I run into family members of clients, who when I look at them quizzically, they remind me that I saw their spouse or child in my office.
That whole memory thing keeps me on my toes, as I write down insights that come to me, and suggestions I give to people so that I can recycle them. My ‘social worker’s Rolodex brain, ‘ as I call it, has served me well. When someone asks if I have resources for them to assist with finding solutions to problems major and minor, I imagine riffling through the card in my cranium and pulling out the right one. After 40 years, there are a bunch of them.
I love collecting ideas from other people too. Regularly, I am sent books, links to podcasts and videos to enhance the library. Practical, hands-on suggestions to be shared with others, help me as well since I believe in being my own research subject. They restore the memory banks and permit me to nourish the neurons that allow me to be a resource.
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Photo: Shutterstock
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