I’ve been to a lot of therapy sessions.Done a lot of what some might consider “navel gazing “.

Living in the past. Like the Jethro Tull song.

But what I enjoy best is a quiet morning contemplation with a cup of whatever suits me, a notebook, my favorite pen and time stretching  out in front of me like a cat enjoying a good stretch in the sunlight.

I like to approach a problem by not even calling it that. A quandry. A puzzle. A conundrum.

Much easier for me to sneak up on it and list possible solutions. Resolutions. Possibilities. Excitements, even.

If I call it a problem it becomes a towering behemoth. Too much. I quail. I become tiny and close my notebook and crawl back under the covers. But then I recall one afternoon from childhood.

When I was young, my mother sometimes took out her jewelry box. That was always a treat and very exciting. She would set it on the bed and sort through rings and brooches and pendants and tell me what thing  had belonged to which relative, which I would promptly forget. I just loved it. Like a treasure chest.

But this day was different. This day, when the box was lifted down from the dresser and opened there was an entanglement of chains. Gold ones, silver ones, some very fine and some more robust. It was a right mess.

Mum told me that it was a puzzle that could be solved. She showed me how to loosen one end and push it through another small loop of chain. Showed me how to tease the knots apart with my fingernails, which would then present new opportunities. Showed me how to follow one chain with my eyes to see where it was going and how to deal with that part.

At first I was very grumpy about the whole situation. It looked hopeless.

We took small breaks to admire some of the other pretty things, so as not to get too discouraged. We finally got one chain free. The others became looser and easier to deal with. We had a glass of lemonade. We came back. Again and again. I don’t know how long it took us. We were so engrossed in what we were doing, that may have ended up a Swanson TV dinner night.

What I learned that afternoon stayed with me. Long after the sun had set and the Swanson dessert had been consumed. It has come back again and again:

Look at things from all different angles.

Take small breaks.

Be curious.

Stay curious.

Look at pretty things along the way.

Persevere.

Have a lemonade.

Celebrate.

Thanks, Mum.