We can all benefit from a reframe

This is not about glasses or gaslighting.

I’m from Buffalo. And what that means is that when people complain about snow in terms of number of inches and not number of feet, I turn into a bit of a dismissive jerkface. “Three inches, Carl? Back when I was in Buffalo, they would only cancel school if the snow reached our windows— on the second story of our house!”

Jerkface sitting in front of tiny pile of snow.

So here I find myself today, writing this first message to you from inside an apartment in rural Pennsylvania. Currently missing my flight as an elite member of one of America’s discount airlines, Frontier… because there is a whopping two inches of snow on the ground and nobody will drive us in this inclement weather.

Granted, I do know that it was pouring rain before the snow fell and so a healthy layer of ice may be just under that precious, fluffy white blanket. Granted, I know that in order to get off of the hill we are staying on, it requires a precarious-even-in-summer drive down a steep road with a rushing creek located right at the bottom of it.

Look at me! Not bothered. (It’s a wink, not an eye twitch)

I know we don’t want our Subaru to be swimming with the trout, but my brain is ignoring that very real possibility to whine about what changing my flight will mean. Frontier doesn’t actual care that I’m elite for buying a ridiculous number of $50 flights from them over the past four years while living the lesbian dream of maintaining a long-distance relationship 936.3 miles apart. I will absolutely get charged a change fee that is 3x the cost of my flight if I try to reschedule my ticket. And so, I’ve book a ticket on tomorrow’s flight too… for $50.

My meeting calendar today looks like the heartland of America before all of the settlers moved in to grow corn and cheer for Taylor Swift at the Super Bowl— wide open. My wife’s work calendar is equally open as we were supposed to be sitting mildly comfortably in our plane seats, saying “No, thank you” to $14 mimosas from the flight attendant.

We don’t have the kids with us. I negotiated with a pack of raccoons back in Tampa to watch them an additional day.

(Stop calling CPS. The kids are with their dad. I’m not actually Florida woman.)

While I open the fridge to realize that, fortunately, we still have a half a pack of bacon that went uneaten, I realize how awesome today really is. I am 42 years old and I get the day my childhood self yearned for— a snow day.

Snow day for the elder millennial and Gen X-er.

My page is called Reframe with Jillian Abby because I wasn’t allowed to name it Reframe with Deepak Chopra, on account of not being allowed to profit off his identity. And also, I believe that cultivating the skill of reframing is one of the greatest tools I’ve learned to pull me out of rock bottom and fight those moments in life where fear rears its ugly head.

I know what you, fellow elder millennial, are thinking. “Isn’t reframing like gaslighting yourself into believe a shit sandwich is delicious gluten-free panini?” There is one huge, important difference— gaslighting is rooted in lies and half-truths to try and convince you that what happened or is happening to you isn’t real. Reframing says, “This thing is the truth. But this other thing is also the truth and that’s where I’m choosing to put my energy.”

When difficult things happen, my default is to consult the worst-case scenario handbook and figure out everything that has been screwed up in my day or life because of it. I play out every single bad scenario that could happen, the money I’m losing, the people I won’t see, and the fact that I had a plan and now I have a big, chunky unknown.

Another big chunky unknown was what size snowball Jen was going to try and hit me with.

When I came out as a lesbian at 38, I liked to complain about how I was “blowing up my life” until a friend (who had gone through the same coming out/divorce/starting over/finding love again) told me to stop saying that. It was keeping my eyes on the past and missing the fact that I was moving toward the life I had only dreamed of and never thought I could actually live.

Reframing comes down to this simple question: What will I gain out of this experience?

Go ahead, feel free to tattoo that line on your inner lip as a reminder.

Being able to identify those potential gains from an experience, however small the gain may be, is a way to fuel hope. Your gain may be about more available time (like I have today) or the opportunity to inspire someone else. You only gain from an experience may be, “I am still alive.”

But if you can see a gain, then you have hope. Hope is one of the most powerful tools we have and one of the greatest weapons against fear. Hope means that things can be really bad now, but I truly believe that eventually, someday, somehow they will get better.

I hoped for a happy life with her for such a long time.

With hope, we can change our world. But change starts as an inside job. You have to be your own inner-space explorer to find those flaming balls of gas that light you up. (As an aside: if your insides truly do contain flaming balls of gas, please consult your physician immediately).

Find your hope. Keep your gaze forward. And welcome to seeing our world, Reframed.

Now, if you’ll excuse me I have a fort to build.