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D. None of the above

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By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

It’s so easy to take each other for granted. Of course mom is going to drop everything at work, where she has an incredibly important job, and race to watch you play clarinet with your dad during a day-time concert because that’s what she does and that’s who she is.

And, of course, grandma is going to bring the entire family together for various holidays, welcoming us with hugs and kisses and ensuring that the house has the specific foods each of us needs for the days we share.

But these moments are not a given, any more than sunshine during a picnic or a last minute, life-saving reaction that avoids a traffic accident is.

Recently, my wife and I attended a service for my late mother-in-law. In a small ceremony at the cemetery, almost the entire extended family came.

My wife and I, our children and father-in-law arrived together over 90 minutes early. We sat in the car, waiting for everyone else to arrive and for the ceremony to begin. Other cars slowly glided past us, as other families and friends came to pay respects and to honor those whom they were fortunate enough to know but had lost.

Our children and I climbed out of the car and walked up and down the road, looking at the significant life-defining dates — when someone was born and when they died. We calculated how old each person was. A child died at the age of two in 1931, while a grandmother lived well into her 90’s.

Small raindrops started to fall, sending us scampering back into the car just before a sudden and surprisingly strong downpour.

My wife checked the forecast, which suggested that the rain would stop before the ceremony. Sure enough, 20 minutes before we had to get out of the car, the rain eased up and the sun peaked through the clouds, as the mixed weather served as a backdrop for moments of appreciation and an awareness of the keen loss.

We greeted other family members, who hugged us, shook our hands, or, in some cases, ignored us, carrying grudges or standing on principle for slights real or imagined long ago.

We saw an extended relative and her fiancée whom we hadn’t seen in person since their engagement. We congratulated them on their upcoming wedding, asked about the planning for the big day, and enjoyed the reality of a multi-year relationship transitioning into an upcoming marriage.

The officiant called everyone over, causing almost every other conversation to stop. After some somber words, he urged us to reflect on the person we were so fortunate to know and on the valuable time we shared.

After he expressed awe at the incredible long-term marriage between my father-in-law and mother-in-law, he asked if anyone wanted to speak. In a soft voice, my father-in-law celebrated the relationship he had with his wife, recalling the first time he met her and the bond they formed over 66 years of marriage.

When the officiant asked if anyone else wanted to speak, he turned to the grandchildren. Our son, who is the youngest grandchild and who gravitated towards his mother to offer his support, nodded.

He remembered the way his grandmother called him over whenever we arrived, smiling broadly and signaling with her index finger for him to come kiss her, which he and all the next generation readily did.

He also remembered how grandma, who was among the smallest people in any room, was always the cake cutter for birthdays. He described how her tiny arms worked their way through each cake, even frozen ice cream cakes, as she made sure everyone got a piece.

With each word, he reflected the love she gave to all her grandchildren back out into the world. In that moment, when he so eloquently captured his grandmother’s dedication to family, he made it clear that he didn’t take her for granted, any more than my wife and I took him for granted.

Without any preparation, he rose to the occasion, helping us see her through his grateful eyes.

There was no “of course” that day for grandma or for her grandchildren, just gratitude.

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By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

Want a social ice breaker with even the most reluctant neighbor? Get a dog!

People share quite a bit about themselves when they’re reaching down to pet a pooch who stares them in the eyes, wags his tail and appreciates their attention.

Thoughts, ideas, and pieces of themselves come pouring out in a range of categories.

Shaggy dog tales: Friends, neighbors and strangers in a park often offer vignettes about their own dogs. They talk about how much they enjoy having them in the house, how their beloved pets are eating the furniture, and how delighted they are to return to the house to find creatures who, unlike their teenage children, are genuinely happy to see them.

Would that they could: Even as they pet my eager dog, they sometimes share wistful thoughts about how they’d like to have their own dog. They travel too much, can’t get up early enough or have friends and family members who are allergic. Some are still in mourning for their late canine friends and can’t imagine getting another one.

Dog whisperers: Then, there are those people who know what your dog is feeling and thinking far better than you, despite the fact that you have lived with your dog for years? They direct their not so-subtle observations to the dog. “Oh, you adorable puppy, you look so hot. Are you hot? Do you need water? Do you need a bath? Do you need a better owner than this eavesdropping oaf at the other end of your leash?” Or, perhaps, “Are you walking too far for your short legs? Do you wish your owner would get more of his exercise at the gym and less of it taking you for these marathon walks?” “Are you hungry? Do you need a snack? Is your mean old owner trying to lose weight himself so he’s not feeding you enough?” Sometimes, of course, those people are right and my dog is hot, tired, or hungry. Then again, he’s a dog attached to a stomach, so he’s always hungry.

Feel free to unload while my dog does the same: While my dog relieves himself, people share considerable information about their lives. One woman told me, in eerie overtones with the show “Dear Evan Hansen,” how she and her ex-husband felt the need to intervene with a daughter battling mental health issues. Fortunately, the daughter and her parents are doing well.

The keep away owners: Some dog owners use their dog or dogs as shields, walking them at rapid paces on tight leashes, making it clear that they, and their dogs, have no interest in catching up. They are out getting some air or exercise and they have no need to give their dogs a chance to sniff each other, or to compare thoughts on anything from the weather to the best way to get rid of that not-so-fresh dog smell.

The couple competition: Even as dogs have non verbal cues as they approach each other, so, too, do humans. Some couples, who are walking next to each other, break apart, as one person is eager to be the first to pet the dog. Like Groucho Marx, my dog is more interested in joining the clubs that might not want him as much, and maneuvers around the extended hand to try to win over the more reluctant walker. The eager petter will whine, “what about me?” My dog either ignores him or gives that person the dog equivalent of an exasperated eye roll.

The dog watchers: Yes, I know it sounds conspiratorial, but they do exist. People sometimes sit in their homes, watching carefully to see if a dog leaves an unattended, unwanted dropping on their lawn. Eager to catch their neighbors in the act, they have cameras at the ready to document the offending moment.

The fact collectors: Some people seem more interested in learning details about my dog than they do in hearing about me. They ask me to remind them how old he is — one day older than when you asked yesterday — how much he weighs, where I got him, how he sleeps, and what games he likes to play. With them, it might be better to skip the “How are you doing?” and go straight to “How’s your dog’s day going?”

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By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

In connection with the Times Beacon Record Newspapers’ coverage of Stony Brook University’s Center for Healthy Aging, I asked a host of people what gets better for them with age. I promised each of them anonymity, so I have altered their names.

Starting with people in their 40’s to 60’s, one of the most common responses involved the relationship they had with their children.

“The first thing that comes to my mind is that my kids get better with age,” explained John in an email. “It has been such a joy to watch [his 15-year old daughter and 13-year-old son] grow up and become smart, relatively well-adjusted, and really interesting young adults.”

Indeed, Mary, whose children are in their early 20’s, suggested that her relationship with both of them has gotten better with each passing year. She appreciates their support and caring and feels time with them, by definition, has become quality time.

Julie, who is an empty nester, believes her relationship with her husband has improved dramatically. In the first few years after her children graduated from college, she and her husband did not have the same ideas about how to help guide and direct their children, leading to tension in their household and their marriage.

After a few important and stressful conversations, as well as an ultimatum or two, Julie and her husband have never been closer and are enjoying the opportunity to live, work and play together.

The 40’s to 60’s group also shared their professional confidence and comfort, trusting their own judgment as they have poured considerable time and effort into building their careers.

“Perspective gets better since you’ve seen more situations and something that might have appeared catastrophic earlier comes into focus as something that will pass,” Robert said in an email.

Dana feels her sense of self has improved. “I know who I am, and my thoughts, feelings and actions are now more aligned, which leads to contentment,” she said.

Fred suggested that his friendships have gotten better over time, both in importance and depth. He also feels his dog has made a ‘tremendous difference in my life.”

As the years since formal schooling slip further back in his life, Fred appreciates the opportunity to read for his own enjoyment and for himself, instead of to fulfill the requirements for a class.

The younger generation, which includes a sampling of people in their low to mid 20’s, couldn’t resist showing a little attitude.

The first response to “what gets better with age” was “cheese and wine.”

Sharing the sentiment expressed by those who have older children, they added “their appreciation for their parents.”

Also making the cut were “little things you took for granted,” “going on a long run and not getting hurt,” and “an appreciation for hanging out with friends.”

In the years after playing on school teams became less frequent, they also appreciate the opportunity to return to the court or to the field to play sports that are no longer scheduled a few times a week over the course of a long season.

As for those over 65, the list includes “focusing on the things that matter,” said Sheila. “Don’t sweat the little things.”

Carrie has learned to care less about what others think and do what she wants to do.

Joe suggested that “wisdom and temperament” come with age, although he added that’s not always the case.

“I don’t have to worry everyday about whether I will succeed in my goals,” said Paula, who is still working and traveling as a part of her job as she approaches 80. “I don’t have to worry whether my child will survive or thrive, whether I can pay my bills. I can relax a bit, but not too much because there is so much yet to do.”

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Anthony S. Fauci, MD, addressing the RSOM graduating Class of 2024. Credit: Arthur Fredericks

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

Speaking in a front of a receptive, appreciative and celebratory audience of 125 graduates of the Renaissance School of Medicine at Stony Brook University who gave him a standing ovation before and after his commencement address, Dr Anthony Fauci, former Director of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases, shared some thoughts on the hard lessons learned from the last four years.

Dr. Fauci currently serves as Distinguished University Professor at the Georgetown University School of Medicine and the McCourt School of Public Policy and also serves as Distinguished Senior Scholar at the O’Neill Institute for National and Global Health Law.

“I speak not only of lessons we have learned that can help us prepare for the next public health challenge, but, more importantly, of lessons that will apply to your future professional and personal experiences that are far removed from pandemic outbreaks,” Fauci said, after complimenting the class on persevering in their training despite the challenges and losses.

To start with, he suggested these new doctors expect the unexpected. In the early phase of the pandemic, the virus revealed multiple secrets, “some of which caught us somewhat by surprise,” Fauci said. “As well prepared as we thought we were, we learned that SARS-Cov2 is often transmitted from people who are infected but have no symptoms.”

Additionally, the virus continually mutated, forming more transmissable variants that caused illness even in those who had already contracted the virus.

“Each revelation not only humbled us, but served as a stark reminder that, when facing novel and unanticipated challenges in life, as you all will I promise, any predictions we might make about what will happen next or how the situation will unfold must always be provisional,” Fauci said.

Dealing with these challenges requires being open-minded and flexible in assessing situations as new information emerges.

He cautioned the new doctors and scientists to beware of the insidious nature of anti science.

Even as doctors have used data and evidence learning to gain new insights and as the stepping stones of science, anti science became “louder and more entrenched over time. This phenomenon is deeply disturbing” as it undermines evidence-based medicine and sends the foundation of the social order down a slippery slope.

Even as science was under attack, so, too, were scientists. “During the past four years, we have witnessed an alarming increase in the mischaracterization, distortion and even vilification of solid evidence-based findings and even of scientists themselves,” Fauci continued.

Mixing with these anti science notions were conspiracy theories, which created public confusion and eroded trust in evidence-based public health principals.

“This became crystal clear as we fought to overcome false rumors about the mRNA Covid vaccines during the roll out” of vaccines which Dr. Peter Igarashi, Dean of the Renaissance School of Medicine estimated in his introduction for Dr. Fauci saved more than 20 million lives in their first year of availability.

“I can confirm today that Bill Gates [the former CEO of Microsoft] and I did not put chips in the Covid vaccines,” Fauci said. “And, no, Covid vaccines are not responsible for more deaths than Covid.”

The worldwide disparagement of scientific evidence is threatening other aspects of public health, he said, as parents are opting out of immunizing their children, which is leading to the recent clusters of measles cases, he added.

Elements of society are “driven by a cacophony of falsehoods, lies and conspiracy theories that get repeated often enough that after a while, they become unchallenged,” he said. That leads to what he described as a “normalization of untruths.”

Fauci sees this happening on a daily basis, propagated by information platforms, social media and enterprises passing themselves off as news organizations. With doctors entering a field in which evidence and data-driven conclusions inform their decisions, they need to “push back on these distortions of truth and reality.”

He appealed to the graduates to accept a collective responsibility not to accept the normalization of untruths passively, which enables propaganda and the core principals of a just social order to begin to erode.

Fauci exhorted students to “seek and listen to opinions that differ from your own” and to analyze information which they have learned to do in medical school.

“Our collective future truly is in your hands,” Fauci said.

Fauci also urged these doctors and scientists to take care of their patients and to advance knowledge for the “good of humankind.”

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By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

I took my first trip to London with my wife and I never felt like we were far from home or from living history.

In Uber rides, the music of Justin Timberlake, the Pointer Sisters and numerous other American artists provided the soundtrack for our visit.

Walking around the city and descending into the tube, advertisements for American products such as Pepsi and movies such as “The Fall Guy” and “Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes” adorned the sides of hackney cars, the iconic red double-decker buses and the walls of the tube.

The cars on the tube were much narrower than I expected, as people sitting across from me tapped my feet without standing or stretching. 

For a country that drives on the left, I was mystified by the “keep right” signs. If they drive on the left, why do they walk on the right?

London has its fair share of “must visits,” such as the Tower of London, Big Ben and Parliament and the Churchill War Rooms. An imposing and impressive testament to the history of the city and the country, the Tower of London forms a small metropolis with its enormous towers and stories of prisoners. Graffiti on the walls bears the name and religious convictions of those confined to the tower and in some cases tortured or killed.

Big Ben was larger and more elaborate than I imagined. It reminded me of an earlier visit to Mount Rushmore, where I found the size and pageantry of the four former presidents magnificent and moving.

The Churchill War Rooms provided a close up view of the remarkable fortitude and foresight of the celebrated prime minister. At the age of 65, Churchill spent considerable time underground.

When he learned that the facility was vulnerable to a direct hit from a German bomb, he complained in a letter displayed on the wall of the memorial that Patrick Duff, who was permanent secretary of the Office of Works, had “sold him a pup.”

The government added concrete and, after a nearby bomb shook the bunker, Churchill lamented that the bomb didn’t strike close enough to test the reinforcements.

Veterans of the shelter, many of whom rarely saw sunlight underground, shared stories about going under sunlamps to increase their vitamin D, about Churchill’s need for quiet, and about their secret life.

The arms of one of Churchill’s chairs in the cabinet room bears the marks of his fingers digging into the wood, as he listened to testimony, prepared action plans and reacted to news.

Throughout his tenure during the war, Churchill traveled extensively, visiting everywhere from the United States, to Cairo to Moscow, rallying support for the war and visiting foreign leaders and dignitaries, sometimes for more than a month. The Prime Minister, who was almost 71 when the war ended, traveled over 100,000 miles during those tumultuous years. Observers shared parts of his routine, which included two baths a day and three meals per day.

Churchill, who was involved in everything from planning the war effort to offering advice about military technology, pointed out that the government named a tank after him “when they found out it was no damn good!”

Aside from our historical visits, we enjoyed listening to, and watching, people. Like so many other big cities, London attracts guests from around the world, as French, Spanish and German blended with Japanese, Chinese and Arabic languages.

We enjoyed the hospitality of numerous Brits. A beefeater at the Tower of London, which was hit by a few stray bombs, suggested the site wasn’t a target during World War II because it had no strategic value.

Or, perhaps, the Germans and their killer leader “liked the Tower” and didn’t want it or the crown jewels, destroyed.

On the lighter side, we experienced a range of London weather while on a short boat trip on the Thames, as sunlight gave way to dark clouds and wind turned some umbrellas inside out.

The tour guide on the boat offered one of the more unexpected linguistic differences. He described how certain buildings were converted from commercial properties into apartments.

“Wait, what did he just say?” I asked my wife, chuckling.

“What do you mean?”

“I think he’s talking about warehouses and he said, ‘Where asses.’”

Later, when he described a queen’s residence, he also suggested this was one of the queen’s favorite ‘asses.’

Yes, we had a “eck” of a time in London and would be more than “appy” to visit again.

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By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I get it. It’s a shock that it’s May 1st because the new month is always a surprise.

It’s something to talk about, I suppose, and it suggests that time continues to move in the only direction we have ever experienced. 

In the realm of things I can’t believe, I’d like to share a few items that range from the trivial to the surreal, without touching most of the third rails in our lives.

For starters, I can’t believe it’s over 24 years since Y2K. Remember all the hullabaloo about how every electronic system we had might fail at the start of the year 2000? People were afraid to fly, imagined that their computers would malfunction and that all manner of automated systems would get something between a computer version of the hiccups and malfunction completely. It seems like only yesterday and yet a world away that we were concerned about the year 2000.

Speaking of 2000, I remember calculating how incredibly old I’d be in 2000. And yet, here we are, 24 years, and counting, later. Gulp!

I don’t remember the first or even the last manned moon landing. I was alive, but not old enough to process any of the remarkable moments in the space program. Now, NASA is planning a manned trip around the moon next year and, in 2026, intends to send astronauts to the moon’s south pole. I’m excited to see people hopping around in lighter gravity while wearing modern spacesuits. I wonder if those outfits will have corporate logos and if the astronauts will send us live feeds from their helmet cams.

On a more personal level, I can’t believe the milestones that the next generation has passed. Our daughter graduated from college, our nephew got married, and our son will vote in the next presidential election for the first time.

Speaking of the presidential election, I can’t believe two candidates who evoke such ire, scorn and disappointment nationally are running yet again. I know we’re slowly marching towards yet another tight race between two angry older men, but I can’t help wondering why neither party and the electorates couldn’t come up with another alternative.

That doesn’t include Robert Kennedy Jr. who isn’t exactly a unifier. Even his siblings have disowned him politically, vowing to vote for President Joe Biden rather than their anti-vax relative.

On a more mundane level, I can’t believe how infrequently I have gone to the movies. From the time we started dating, my wife and I loved the movies. We’d make sure we got to the theater early, waited for overpriced popcorn and, back in the day when I could eat M&M’s and other chocolate candies, would mix candy into the bucket to create a salty-sweet movie snack.

At the end of the movie, we’d get the free popcorn refill and bring it home, where our daughter would pick at it that night or the next morning, listening to a synopsis of the film.

We still watch movies and, as readers of this column may remember, attended “Oppenheimer” in person, but we haven’t planned an evening around a trip to the movies in years.

On the many plus sides of technology, I can’t believe how much easier the logistics of life are with a phone that redirects me when I go the wrong way, that allows me to connect with friends and family all over the world, and that calls anyone in my contact list without my needing to remember a phone number or even dialing or pushing buttons. I still remember the phone numbers of some high school and college friends, not that I’d ever need them, especially since their families have either moved away or given up their land lines.

Oh, and, thanks to my sister-in-law’s efforts to go through older files in my mom’s house, I now have a collection of photos from my high school graduation and prom. I can’t believe I thought that mustache looked good. Then again, that was the age of Tom Selleck and Magnum PI. Much as I might blame the actor for my facial hair, I was more likely following the stylings of my older brother, the family trendsetter.

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By Daniel Dunaief

Everywhere we go, we are surrounded by sights, sounds, and smells. More often than not, other people need something from us, want to talk with or at us, and expect us to provide feedback, learn from them, acknowledge them or validate their existence.

At the same time, our texts, emails, social media apps, and others require checking, replying, reacting and thought.

Throughout the day, we aren’t just draining our cell phone’s battery, we are also draining our own battery. We need time for our nervous system to catch up, to take a break and to experience the world around us in a calmer way.

For me, that happened recently when I went to a religious service. I don’t go all that often even though I often walk away feeling refreshed.

These services offer an opportunity not only to disconnect from my phone for several hours, but also a chance to be present, centered, and focused.

The words and the songs are familiar, which other members of the congregation say or sing, helping me feel like I’m a part of a connected group.

During the service, I am focused on where I am, reading the same text as everyone else and reacting, as if by reflex, to some of the interactive speaking parts.

This occurs even when I travel, as I did recently to attend a service. I didn’t know most of the people in the room and yet we reacted and interacted for several hours as if we had grown up next to each other, played on the street with our neighbors, attended the same schools and shared the same hopes for ourselves and our children.

Some of the songs had slightly different melodies, but they were more of a variation on a theme than a journey into another religious, spiritual or musical genre.

During these times in a house of worship, I appreciate and enjoy the quieter voice of some of the speakers, who encourage me to think of myself and my world in different ways and who share a wonderful combination of thought, insight, perspective, and spiritual ideas.

While I listen to them, some thoughts I have that might otherwise not bubble up to the turbulent surface of my life, where a combination of bright sun, wind, and cross currents of thoughts, ideas, actions and deadlines create a potentially exciting but murkier picture, can receive attention.

Through these thoughts, I can make connections to earlier versions of myself, track where I am and where I’m heading, and think about people who helped shape who I am but are no longer in my life.

I can also delve more deeply into the kinds of questions and thoughts that don’t tend to help with an assignment or a deadline, pondering the nature of existence and the meaning of life

I can reflect on the amazing and inspirational people I am fortunate to know, and the exhausting but miraculous gift of our children, who inherit the world we helped shape or alter during the course of our lives.

One image often appears in my mind as I breathe, think and listen during the service: that is of a tree with the words “I was here.” When I was younger, I didn’t understand why anyone would cut into a tree to let the world know they were here.

Over time, I’ve thought about the cave drawings primitive man made, the graffiti that adds color and chaos to our world and those words in a tree in the same way. In those moments, people are declaring, the way Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin did when they planted an American flag on the moon, that their journey through life brought them to this place and time. They are announcing and reaffirming themselves.

I’m not advocating for carving anything into a tree or for painting graffiti. Instead, by sitting, standing and singing together, we are announcing to the other people in the room and to ourselves not just that “I am here,” but that “We are here.” While we might take that for granted much of the time, a religious service gives us the chance to marvel at the wonder of the connections we’ve made and at our existence and all it does and could mean.

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By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

If your daughter or son is about to graduate from high school in a few months, congratulations.

You will undoubtedly reflect on the many wonderful things, and maybe some that were not so magnificent, along the way, as he or she grew up, embraced you, emulated the way you talked, walked or ordered dinner at a restaurant, pushed you away, decided your existence was embarrassing, your breath was intolerable and your voice was like nails on a chalkboard, until he or she rediscovered some of your finer, or at least more tolerable, qualities.

Yes, the relationship between parents and children can and often does move closer and further away. If we’re lucky, the invisible rubber band only stretches so far before parent, child or both close the distance.

Some time this summer, those spectacular people who made you so proud will likely push you away again.

This, from what we experienced and what others have told us, is completely natural and is a way for them to assert their independence and prepare you for the moment you go up to their suddenly empty room and they are no longer in it screaming at you to “Get out, leave me alone, can’t you bother someone else?”

It’s a wonderful, terrible reality when their room is as clean or messy as it was when they left it, with their trophies, ribbons, pictures or abandoned former toys waiting, as if in an animated movie, until a young family who doesn’t mind hand-me-downs revives them.

These graduates will receive advice over the next several months. A graduation speaker will likely offer them important nuggets about being true to themselves, about challenging themselves to do something safe but outside their comfort zone, and about not being afraid to fail.

And a particularly helpful graduation speaker might also urge them to clap for you and for everyone else who made this achievement possible.

The speaker will suggest that they stay in touch with you when they go away. That, as it turns out, is not as easy as it sounds, nor is it a guarantee.

Not hearing from your kids for any length of time can and often is somehow even more challenging than the time they and their friends removed their footwear after a sporting event and made the air so toxic in a confined car that we opened the window in 20 degree weather so we could breathe.

A graduation speaker, friends, and family might suggest that you establish a minimum of a once-a-week call. That is good advice and can and does establish guidelines and expectations for a child you’re sending out into a world with new challenges and, at times, unfortunate temptations.

“Sure, let’s go to a party on Tuesday night. I have a few hours to study after the party before my midterm on Wednesday at 8 am.”

Whoops, bad idea, but they’ll learn that lesson the hard way.

Amid all the other advice or rules parents might give their children before they wish them the best and try to stop picturing them as five-year-olds toddling off with their colorful backpacks into kindergarten is to make sure they stay in regular contact.

The rules we established when our children were four and we didn’t allow them to cross streets without holding our hands might change when they go to college, but we still have an opportunity to create new ones for our children.

No one suggested we encourage our children or our nephews to call us when they were walking to class. And yet, in those moments when they called to catch up, hearing their voices on the way to school, with the sound of birds chirping in the background, gave us an opportunity to connect.

Not only that, those calls helped narrow the geographic distance between our nieces, nephews and children and us while also allowing the rubber band to slacken, bringing us closer to these people we love unconditionally who will, hopefully, one day bring whatever family can attend together to celebrate another graduation.

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By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

Health clubs, the gym, whatever you call them, have so much subtext to any visit.

First, I wave at the friendly, supportive people who check me in. I wonder, as they look at me and the photo taken when I got my membership, whether I look better than I did on that day. By definition, I’m older, but am I in one of those better periods or one of those I-just-got-back-from-a-wedding-after-eating-out-too-many-times periods?

As I walk towards my preferred piece of equipment, which is usually an elliptical machine, I hope it’s available.

Sure, there is a line of 17 other elliptical machines that provide the same exercise, but I hope the one that has the best view of the 12 TVs I can barely see when I take off my glasses and that has the smoothest stride as I kick into a higher gear, is available.

If it is, I drape the towel I bring with me — I’m not a huge fan of the non absorbent paper towels available throughout my gym — take a few moments to find the least offensive TV show or music on my iPhone and start pedaling.

As I start working out, the calculator in my head immediately starts to monitor how far I’ve gone and how many calories I’ve burned off for each five minute segment on the machine. I have a specific target I try to meet or exceed, which helps me push harder during the last two minutes of each five minute block. Within about 10 minutes, I’ve built up a good sweat and am starting to drift off into endorphin-boosted bliss, sometimes accompanied by one of Billy Joel’s songs or by a ridiculous Adam Sandler movie I wouldn’t dare put on the TV when my wife and I are getting ready for bed.

My journey into sweaty bliss, however, sometimes takes a detour when someone climbs aboard the machine closest to me, despite the availability of all the other pieces of equipment in the row.

“Can’t you use one of the machines further away?” I shout in my head.

At first, I try to ignore the start of their exercise, diving deeper into my leg pumping, while juggling thoughts about the work I have to do when I’m done.

But then the competitive part of me awakens. A monster version can’t help monitoring the speed at which the person next to me is pumping his arms and legs. Am I going faster? Is he on a higher level than me?

No, it doesn’t matter whether he’s 30 years younger, a college athlete or is clearly preparing for a triathlon with a body that repels any fat and that likely won’t age for decades. I have to win.

Of course, the person next to me isn’t always young and fit and doesn’t have the same age and genetic limitations. Sometimes, that person is not only older, but is also sharing a regular need to clear his throat or to cough without covering his mouth.

“Hey, have you heard of Covid, a tissue, staying home when you’re sick, or, I don’t know, another gym?” I again shout in my head.

I look away and breathe to the side, hoping whatever germs he’s expelling into the air are traveling in a different direction.

Even when people don’t exercise near me, I notice the groaning from the men who lift more weight in a day than I might in a year. They roar, Incredible Hulk style, as they drop weights heavy enough to cause the floor 30 feet away to vibrate sufficiently to register on a seismograph.

When I leave the elliptical machine, I circle other pieces of equipment slowly, as if I were selecting a menu item carefully, pondering whether to get the Brussels sprouts, the steamed broccoli or the french fries.

Who am I kidding, I shrug to myself. I’m unlikely to climb on any of these machines, particularly when I’m so sweaty from beating that young kid to the top of the imaginary mountain.

Covered in sweat, I triumphantly walk slowly out of the gym, knowing I’ve conquered another day of exercise and feeling revived, refreshed, stronger, faster and more alert. Now, if I could just remember where I parked my car.

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METRO photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

We have learned to be impatient. Combining our instant gratification experiences with the information, access and communication at our fingertips, we have less tolerance to wait for anything.

When we find out we’ll have to stand in line for a meal for more than half an hour, we dive into our phones, searching for other nearby restaurants where we can eat within 10 minutes or less.

When we wait on the phone for customer service, we shake our heads, bite our lips, roll our eyes and sigh repeatedly while waiting for someone who encourages us to try the app or to use the automated system next time.

We want life to be at least as good if not better today than yesterday and we want that now. It’s a tough time to have to demonstrate patience and to show that we understand that life involves processes.

When we recover from an injury, we want to look at the damaged part of our bodies and, like Superman, somehow fix it by glaring at it or willing the cells involved in the process to work faster and to allow us to run on a stress fracture in our foot or to self-heal a torn rotator cuff so we can go back out and play tennis or softball again.

It’s tough to celebrate or appreciate small victories because we know where the finish line of our recovery is, where the endpoint of our request is and whatever we want immediately.

Perhaps we need to recalibrate our expectations to understand and appreciate what small wins look like. While we know what we’d like with the end result, we can see small improvements as a way to enjoy the moment and to understand and appreciate how we’re on the right track.

In recovering from my stress fracture, I have been impossibly impatient, staring at the treadmill the way I used to long for an ice cream sundae with hot caramel and chocolate sprinkles.

The treadmill, where I overdid my exercise routine and created the stress fracture, had been a source of relief.

Several times over the last few weeks, I was tempted to see if I could restart my running, only to decide, reluctantly, that I would be jeopardizing my longer term recovery.

Instead, I limited my walking and have appreciated how much better my foot feels when I maneuver around the house. The recovery isn’t complete, but the improvement, which seemed imperceptible at first, is now noticeable.

Recently, on a short walk with my dog, I spoke with a friend whose mother was celebrating a milestone birthday. Paul was frustrated with the lower quality of life that his mother is enduring, as she struggles with her memory and doesn’t enjoy many of the same things, like food and family, that used to bring her pleasure.

Paul wondered at the regular frustration he felt at the incremental losses he, his mother and their family felt each day.

While both my brothers are doctors, as was my father, I have no medical training, which makes it impossible for me to offer an informed opinion on the cognitive and physical processes that occur at the end of people’s lives.

That didn’t stop me from suggesting ways to find small wins each day, which may depend on the mental state of his mother.

At some point, those wins, whether they involve a memory of something meaningful to his mother, a card game that reaches completion, or a song she enjoys hearing can become the focus of a visit, rather than the parts she and they lose, can become the new yardstick for a win.

Impatience for something better immediately is a luxury, as are so many other aspects of life, we take for granted.

When the light turns green, we want to make the light so we can reach our destination. At the same time, a red light can give us a few extra seconds to look at the spring flowers blooming around someone’s house, to hear children shouting with delight as they pile into a car on the way to their youth soccer game, or to extend a conversation that might otherwise end when we step out of the car.

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