Child Neglect

I don’t need to be Doctor House to diagnose my situation. In leaving the corporate business world, I’ve merely transferred my work ethic to my retirement routine.

My day, for example, is scheduled in Excel in half-hour increments – right down to “shave, shower, dress, make bed” – that I adhere to and closely monitor. I track my weight and blood pressure every morning. I set a daily goal. 

I do work every day, including weekends, whether it’s putting together my weekly blogs, writing and submitting poems, or preparing lessons for the poetry classes I conduct. 

I can’t remember taking a real vacation since my wife died almost ten years ago.

Even when I lived in the vacation paradises of Cape Cod and Puerto Rico, I couldn’t just sit still and enjoy life. I had to turn both houses into bed-and-breakfasts and strive for perfect Trip Advisor ratings.

Does this sound anal retentive? You bet.

I remember many years ago coming across a book about caring for your “inner child.” The author advised us to ensure our inner child has plenty of play dates.

Have I been doing this? No. In fact, I’ve been guilty of child neglect.

A 2020 study in the Journal of Child Psychology and Psychiatry found that people who engage their inner child decrease anxiety symptoms by a third, with a twenty-five percent improvement in emotional well-being.

And according to John K. Pollard, author of Self-Parenting: The Complete Guide to Your Inner Conversations, the inner child represents the part of us that holds our needs, feelings, and vulnerabilities. 

“The inner child,” Pollard writes, “can be a source of joy and creativity.”

That’s for me.

According to the experts, recovery and growth come from acknowledging and nurturing your inner child. Inner child therapy focuses on reconnecting with this part of yourself. 

Dr. Louis Hay, author of You Can Heal Your Life: “When you heal your inner child, you create a future full of love and happiness.”

Okay, Doc, you don’t have to call me to lunch twice.

I’m going to start treating my inner child to play dates. I have a few things in mind already.

Like seeing a movie every Friday morning – as soon as new releases hit the theaters – no matter how lousy the movie. I’ll call it “Friday Flicks.”

Within a ten-minute walk of my New Haven neighborhood are entire city streets that qualify as “restaurant rows.” Wooster Street, for example, is nationally known for its pizza places. I never go out for lunch – from now on I will. If I find a favorite, I might become a regular, ala Norm in Cheers.

I will actually take the train into New York City – for fun stuff.  When I get to Grand Central (for the senior fare of $12.50), I might saunter into Pershing Square for their magnificent chicken pot pie or stroll down Madison Avenue to see whatever exhibit is on at the Morgan Library or just people-watch on a bench in Bryant Park. And grab a food-cart knish and a hamantasch cookie for the train ride back.

Brace yourself, world. Here comes mini-me!