Wisdom: A new, old style

Like the wrought iron railings in New Orleans, wisdom is still around.

It's sturdy, and it's beautiful. It's known the world over.

I love old stuff. The railings in New Orleans, the cobbled streets in Hoboken (or what's left of them), the endless dive bars in Detroit, and The Flats in Cleveland all have my heart. Wisdom, though, is my new thing.

When a patient is barely getting by, under the gun with work, grief, relational turmoil, or illness, I've taken to asking them about wisdom. 'How does wisdom factor into this time in your life?' This question is often met with a small shock and an accompanying sense of relief. The relief comes from the idea that 'this doesn't have to work out perfectly for me to 'get something' out of it.'

Wisdom can be taken from the wins, but it's a guaranteed gift from the losses. It's nice to know that something good can come from losing, from getting your butt kicked in life. The idea of wisdom also orients us toward the future: I'll be wiser when (not if) this ends.

To tell a loved one, much less a child, about how you learned tough lessons by slogging through the trials and humbling, unwieldy scenarios of life, is a delight. It's always on the table, and can be compiled daily. It just isn't in vogue; it speaks to being older, not younger. It refers to a sense of knowing how things are, and how to teach others, not what's hip and looks the best. I've had enough of winning, I'm more interested in what we get when we lose.

In therapy, wisdom is a funny thing. The very thought of it, picturing it, brings a refreshing, cool feel to the scene. Sure, you're up against it now, but just wait till after, when you'll be the one standing, the one with the story, the one who 'knows' how life is and how to muddle through. And like those beautiful, old, imperfect cities, you'll know how to impact others by sharing what you've earned.