The green enough grass of home


	Alan Bodnar, Ph.D. is the Co-Director of Psychology Training at Westborough State Hospital, Mass. and a consultant in the field of leadership development.

By Alan Bodnar, Ph.D.

"A note for physicians: if you listen carefully to what patients say, they will often tell you not only what is wrong with them but also what is wrong with you." These words of the late novelist, Walker Percy, ring true for psychologists as well. At the hospital where I work, I am fortunate to have the counsel of a talented artist and an enthusiastic but haphazard gardener. The artist reminds me that there is an optimal distance from which to view a painting. Stand too far away and you miss important detail. Come too close and you see all the flaws. He might as well be talking about life, especially his own under the microscope of the close scrutiny that comes with the unique challenges he faces. The gardener would have me believe that he can affect his own body chemistry by adding the right combination of nutrients to the soil of a small patch of land he has been given to attend. I am impressed neither by the state of his body chemistry nor by the health of his lawn, but I do admire his optimistic attitude.

As I write these words in early June, I have some optimism of my own that my lawn will be more green than otherwise this year. Nevertheless, the true horticulturist will quickly perceive that I am setting the bar quite low. Grass is green but so are moss and weeds and a gardener worth his bone meal would never tolerate these invaders. Maybe it's the psychologist talking, but I am more inclusive than that. It's not that I haven't tried - fertilizer and crab-grass deterrent in the early spring, re-seeding the bare spot left by last year's grubs (My grown daughter is fascinated by its resemblance to the continent of Australia), plenty of water (but never enough), and a bit of selective weeding and moss removal that might have done more harm than good.

Of course I know what a good lawn looks like. All I have to do is look out the window in the early morning when I hear the whirr of a fleet of lawnmowers wielded by energetic zealots who have just piled off the landscaper's truck into my neighbor's yard. They flow over the land as a unit with fluid and practiced movements, synchronous as an Olympic gardening team making its debut at the Beijing Olympics. They go about their work noisily but quickly, returning at regular intervals to scatter nutrients, weed retardants and insecticides. For their efforts, they reap a weekly harvest of abundant, thick, rich grass. If this sort of thing really mattered to me, I would be green with envy.

Again, psychology saves me, this time from the cognitive distortion of all or nothing thinking. My lawn may not be as good as this ideal specimen, but it's not the worst on the block. That distinction belongs to a fellow down the street famous for doing nothing but mowing when the vegetation gets too tall. Even with this monumental level of neglect, his lawn looks good at certain times of the day, in a certain cast of light, from a particular angle. I begin to see what the artist means about the advantages of not looking too closely.

Liberated from the constraints of dichotomous thinking, I am free to realize that my lawn, like that of another neighbor next door, is somewhere in the middle of the quality scale. Last year this neighbor looked on sympathetically as I grumpily produced the shape of Australia by ripping out the dead patches of grass devoured by late summer grubs. A week later and he was doing the same. The thought occurred to us both simultaneously that we were each being invaded by the other's grubs. Once again, psychology provides a useful tool for problem solving, this time, the scientific method to determine the source of the infestation. Let's dig up a patch of grass on the boundary, I joked and see which way the grubs are facing. But friendship trumps science every time and some things are better left unexamined.

So here I sit in early June, enjoying a green enough lawn, even as I wonder what will be left after summer droughts, insects and my own flagging motivation have done their work. For now, at least, it looks good. Grub generated Australia has become more like Micronesia, multiple tiny green islands that look seamless if you squint just the right way when the late afternoon sun glances off the surface at a 23 degree angle. It is at times like this that I especially appreciate the wisdom of my consultants. Don't look too closely, counsels the artist. As for the gardener, his own patch of lawn is not doing much better than his body chemistry. But he gives me a metaphor in reverse - not lawn as life, but life as lawn. Reflecting on the passing of another year on a recent birthday, he concludes with a mixture of pride and resignation, "It's not a great life, but it's my life." It's not a great lawn either, but it's mine. n Alan Bodnar, Ph.D. is the Co-Director of Psychology Training at Westborough State Hospital, Mass. and a consultant in the field of leadership development.

The green enough grass of home (July 2008 Issue)

By Alan Bodnar, Ph.D.

The green enough grass
of home
(July 2008 Issue)