The art of answering “How are you?”

I’m pretty sure my least favorite thing anyone asks me right now is “How are you?” I get it and I can’t blame anyone for asking it. It’s a pretty expected thing to ask most of the time. And it is a standard greeting in most occasions. It’s just that most times it is asked right now, I just don’t always have the answer on hand. Some days, the space between the question and the answer is too awkward.

About 6 years ago, I went through a breakup, a loss much less great than my current. But the struggle there taught me a few things about myself and my recovery needs. My friends were amazing. Everyone wanted to help. And they did. And so many called and offered advice. And it filled the space, so much so that I lost touch with my own ability to make any choice at all. None of it seemed to matter, initially, but as that space filled with others’ concerns and love, I lost touch with myself.

It wasn’t long in those initial low days before I learned to listen to myself, even more strongly than I ever had before. I developed a system. It was a simple flow chart. I literally wrote it down and put it on my mirror. The visual reminder seemed to add emphasis to how important this straightforward impossible-to-forget chart was. Did it bring me joy? Yes? Then do it. No? Then don’t. If I was confused about joy, give it space and revisit it later. This flow chart gave myself space to be exactly who I was. That loss I went through unhinged me from all the labels of who I thought I was and allowed me to hear my own inner voice.

I was never a solidly decisive person. So there was a lightness and joy that occurred very quickly after writing down this flow chart. It gave me the freedom to be myself more than I had ever been before. There were days I knew I was supposed to be sad, but I was so insanely happy that it became so easy to make choices. And I had this “excuse” to be myself. I was sad that this time of grief ever had to end. But it did, and I got sucked into my daily life filled with habitual clutter.

Now, here I am mourning the death of my father. It’s been just over a month and I’m starting to feel myself get pulled back into that clutter-filled mindset. It was only a few weeks ago that making a choice was so simple. I stayed in and didn’t feel one ounce of remorse; I binged watched TV; I walked around the house and tried out all my favorite chairs; I sat in an lounge chair in the backyard for hours, sometimes combining that with watching TV; I ate whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted, granted I gained 15 pounds and for once it was “normal.” Some days I ran. Some days I swam. I saw friends and I turned down offers to hang out. I answered the phone and I also didn’t. It didn’t matter, it was all part of a normal grieving process and no one judged me, especially myself. If it brought me joy in that exact moment, I did it. If not, forget it. There was that excuse to be myself again and I owned every second of it.

I noticed yesterday that I’m having trouble making choices again and this makes me worried that I’m leaving myself too quickly. I had started doing some of my more regular routine stuff: my one-line diary, my PT exercises, mediation. I like these things, they make me feel good. I had this fear though that if routine and mourning co-existed that I would be done with my griever’s pass and get sucked back into that distracted daily life. I don’t want to be done with mourning yet. I want to stay in this place where I have a freedom to be true to myself without the worry of judgment from others or even myself.

What’s the time span on mourning? No one seems to have an answer for me. “Everyone is different,” “Some people avoid it and it comes up later,” “It’s just going to take a while.” “It never goes away, it just becomes different.”

Despite finding space to enjoy my grief process, I feel some pressure to get back into that clutter mindset. “It’s good to stay busy,” “Staying busy takes your mind off things,” “Routines can be helpful for getting back on track.”

What if I’m not ready? I don’t feel ready. I’m certainly not ready to get back into the routine of mindlessly answering questions like “How are you?” Here’s another routine that I probably answer without a second thought: “What’s new?” Routine answer: “Not much, you?” Actual answer: “Well, what’s new is that I got married and about 2 months later, my dad passed away and the whole thing seems like a blur and in fact, it still does. And it’s all new. What’s new on your end?”

And what if I don’t know how I am? How am I supposed to answer, “How are you?” I’m not talking about with my close friends. I can say whatever I want in response to that question with my good friends and we can talk or not talk about it. It’s all fair game. But, it’s very clear that it is expected with strangers, let’s say at a store, to answer “How are you?” with the generic, “I’m fine, thanks. How are you?” To me, right now, this doesn’t feel good. I’m not really “fine.” This answer feels like I am ignoring my inner truth. And as I start this transition back into “routine,” I feel like if I cover up my real answer with this generic blanket statement now, I would be denying my process and ignoring my excuse to be myself.

Here’s what happens if I’m completely truthful: I say, “Eh, I’m not so good. You?” This often confuses people and the whole interaction breaks down completely. I have to wave away the furrowed eyebrows with a “never mind.” Now, I’ve made it clear to myself that my feelings aren’t even important. And this short and seemingly useless interaction serves as a highlight to how little the other person asking actually cares about the answer.

But, right now, I really care how I am, because it is a gift when I actually know. It’s a reminder that I’m still honest and truly paying attention to myself and that I’m being present with my healing process.

I have to be present, especially with my sad days. Being present really truly is healing. Even those days when I’m miserable, when I think the heartbreak will never ever end, and I wake up the next day to still feeling alone and devastated, being present with it and owning the grief in itself is healing. The more I feel into the sadness, and acknowledge it, and truly accept it (not feel guilty for having it or feel like I should feel better by now, not feel like I’m weak or useless for experiencing it), the more it fills the space around me. And the more space I give it, the less intense it becomes. It’s simple science, actually. Being present wins, every time.

So, how can I stay present with my feelings and answer that most mundane and the most introspective question in the world, “How are you?” Here are some ways that I work through it:

• “I’ve been better. But, thanks. How are you?” Total truth that doesn’t lend itself to opening up a huge dialogue. This usually get’s an “Aw, I’m sorry.” so I use it only when I feel prepared to answer with a “Thanks” before we can continue on with an “Anyway…”
• “Oh you know…” No, they don’t know. But I do… or maybe I don’t. Either way, most days, this reply will get me a quick little nod in agreement and suddenly I’ve joined someone in a shared space filled with emotion in which neither of us know what the other is really thinking. But, it’s shared.
• “Hanging in there.” I love this one. It makes me giggle. I picture the hang in there kitty and I can’t help but smile just a little. How did that little kitten get stuck up in that tree? It looks so helpless with its huge eyes. Yet, it’s a motivational poster and here’s why 1) the kitty is so cute, someone clearly is coming to help 2) most cats are smart and agile enough to get back up without help 3) even if he doesn’t get up, he has a 90% chance of surviving a fall, even more so if he is 7 or more flights up. Yep, if that kitty can hang in there, I want to be hanging in right next to him.
• “Never better.” My Dad used to use this one. It was especially touching to hear it in his dry voice. Not that dad was emotionless, it was just that when you made him smile or laugh there was this unspoken satisfaction that lingered all day. So, to hear a positive response delivered in his stoic way always made me stop and think that something must seriously be alright in the world. By far, this is my favorite response. Let me explain further.

“Never better.” Dad used this one all the time. Seriously, 95% of the time Dad was never better. How could this be? How could every time someone ask him, he be better than the last time? Well, Dad believed in the power of positive thinking. PMA: Positive Mental Attitude. The way he talked about his Positive Mental Attitude, it was like it could cure anything. Don’t get me wrong. He was a doctor who believed in vaccinations and pasteurization. He helped kids get transplants, he was NOT a holistic doctor. But, he also thought that PMA was not only necessary in life, it could give you access to anything you ever wanted. How was he not right? There have been multiple publications out there that agree with him. Not that negative thoughts aren’t part of every day life. But, there’s a balance. And, positive thoughts heal. Positive thoughts have been known to boost immune systems just as stress has been identified to strike one with disease. Placebo drugs can show how the power of the mind alone can cure one’s ailments.

I have a quick fix for getting that PMA, but it took a little practice after reading My Stroke of Insight by Jill Bolte. Access to that positive thinking center in my brain is shutting down that thinking, analytical left brain side and heightening my right brain feeling side. That right brain space is my meditation space, my present space, my hear all noises at once space, feel all things all over, and see all things as beauty, not labeled as parts space, the excited to experience it space, and the grateful space. It is the present space.

Looking back, losing Dad has granted me greater access to my right brain space. It took a huge loss in my life in order to dissociate from my left brain that holds all that attachment to judgments, categorizations and labels to what I thought defined me (like “daughter”) and sail into my authentic feeling essence. Once I got to that exceptionally present space, I easily got wrapped up in compassion (especially for myself), joy (in the least excepting of places) and positivity (even if just for a moment).

So back to “never better.” If you think like Dad and take on this Positive Mental Attitude, this healing, present, and grateful attitude, then there’s always space to enjoy something on any given day, even on a sad or negative day. And there’s space again the next day. And the day after that too. So every day could be a little better than the last. There’s even space to enjoy the sometimes torturous question of how I am doing. Right now, it gives me that little bit of time to peel away all those extra layers of who I’ve attached myself to being that day and be mindful of my true self even if just for a moment.

Eventually, I will go back to my routines. Tacos for dinner on Tuesdays, dance class on Thursdays, the Mindy Project on Mondays: it takes out the entire need for any decision making, planning or worry. But, how do I work on staying mindful and being present with myself in my routines? Maybe it starts with being honest and mindful at even the most habitual moments. If someone asks me “How are you?”, I could always think of Dad, and respond mindfully:

Never better.

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