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The gift of grief
Lessons from Grief: What My Mother’s Death Helped Me Understand About Living Just over two years ago, my mom died. Hard to believe it’s been that long. If you’d like, you can read more about it here. And yet, on the anniversary of her passing, I found myself feeling…good. Though odd, this seemed positive. Acceptance, of course, is the final stage of grief (but grief is neither resolute nor conclusive). Yet for me, acceptance wasn’t just about my mom’s death; it was about my life. Since her passing, I find myself saying more and more: “I’m so happy to be here.” Why this matters: it’s easy to be negative. In fact, it’s…
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Why I replaced my morning meditation for anxiety with this one breathing technique…
The only morning meditation for anxiety you need In my mid twenties, I started meditating. I started a morning meditation for anxiety to calm down. I needed to quiet my mind, and I’d heard from several sources that meditation helps. “Sign me up!” I thought. “Where do I start?” But before I squeaked out my first om, anxiety wreaked havoc on my wellbeing. I lived with roommates, barely made enough to pay rent, and was socially isolated, bouncing from one unimpressive temp job to another. When I wasn’t working, I obsessed over unhealthy relationships and struggled to find self worth as an actor. Defining self worth through any job or…
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Dream interpretation – why I record, consider, and analyze my dreams
What I think I know about dreams (so far) For the past five years, I’ve been exploring dreams. In fact, I saw a Jungian Psychoanalyst before and after my mom’s death. Perhaps it was intuition. On some level, my body knew that a major life event was occurring. For those who don’t know, Jungian Therapy, like Freudian analysis, includes analyzing dreams. If dream interpretation sounds a little out there, that’s because it is; why we dream is ultimately unknown. Nonetheless, I remain faithful to dreams, recording them, considering them, and then, perhaps most of all, analyzing them to the best of my ability. I do this because dreams offer a window…
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Tree of Life: a few lessons on living with death
The tree of life and a dream about death Straddling the ridge of the roof, my dad stretched to cut the top of a dead tree with a saw. I was on the ground, holding the ends of a rope looped around the trunk. Once cut, I was to pull the tree away from the house. This was late February. My mom died the week prior. No longer a tree of life, my dad was afraid that this dead thing might bring the house down. The night before this, I dreamt about a gnarly and squat living tree. In the dream, I dangled from a branch that ran parallel to…
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Through my mother’s eyes: the October Personas Project revisited
Sons and Mothers And here now is a twist to the October Personas Project: it was, in more ways than one, about my mother. Save the few sports, school, or recent photos, my mom was often the one behind the lens, snapping thousands of candid pictures. But pictures weren’t her only medium. My mom was crafty and very good with many things. Professionally, she was a recreational therapist who worked with the developmentally disabled. Personally, she was an exceptional seamstress who made quilts, scarves, and costumes (see the scarecrow image below, a personal favorite). Plus, when she lived in Germany I’m told she began making leather purses and belts. My…
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The October past personas project
Awkward Sam-ily Photos: October past personas A lot has happened in 2023. My daughter was born. My mom and dog died. Outside of my personal sphere, I also witnessed many other entrances and exits with friends, family, and former college classmates. In total, a significant year of death and (re) birth. And what a time to acknowledge this: October, the month of Halloween – a time of disguises, the living dead, and changing personas. In October, we’re given license to be someone else. But if adding a dash of makeup and a dark outfit is all one needs to be someone else, it makes me wonder – how solid was…
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Peanut Butter Manifesto: binge eating my way to better consciousness
Between the ages of 17 (possibly earlier) through about the time I was about 29, I often used to feel overwhelmingly sad. These sad feelings started well before I began binge eating and stuck around for a while after. In retrospect, my sad feelings weren't dangerous (I was lucky). No, my sad feelings could have benefited from one simple factor: acknowledgment. And such acknowledgment could have come from me or could have come from other people.
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A few thoughts on the death of a parent
The meaning of life and death of a parent My mother died in February. The simple, clichéd truth is that the death of a parent changes your life. It’s not that everything changes exactly — many things stay the same — but rather that one’s experience of everything is altered. In losing a parent, the buffer between myself and my mortality is thinner. It’s always been thin, I suppose, but my understanding is more pronounced. In my mom’s death, my life is underscored. It will end. It’s hard to state the depth of this meaning. The feelings are much more complicated than a fear of dying (though the fear is…
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On having a voice: to be heard, start with yourself
Sam Buti · On having a voice: to be heard, start with yourself Voiceless while having a voice It wasn’t supposed to be like this. No one was supposed to hear me talk. Growing up, I didn’t have a voice. At least, I didn’t feel like I had a voice. Being the younger brother to a much older sister, it was hard to get a word in edgewise. Plus, my parents were often fighting, stressed over finances and survival. The environment was chaotic, and to be heard was a rare occurrence. Hearing myself talk On top of this, I was born with a foghorn of a mouth. Interestingly, most of my…
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How to sound good when you don’t like how you sound
Sam Buti · How to sound good when you don’t like how you sound How to sound good When I was young, I hated my voice. I hated my voice so much that I was convinced that my best option was to become a mime. But before you go running to the hills, terrified that this is about to devolve into a tug of war with an imaginary rope, hear me out (yes, I, too, see the irony). I thought that I was destined to become a mime NOT because I had some affinity for miming, striped shirts, face-paint, or exaggerated eyebrows, but rather I thought that I was destined…
