MARINA OPPENHEIMER BOOKS AND BLOG

As a retired psychotherapist I am dedicated to writing books, which gives me a wonderful sense of purpose. However, the task of writing leaves me many free hours that need to be filled. So, a couple of months ago I called the Volunteer Department at Mount Sinai Hospital, which is close to my house, to offer my services. A very nice lady called me back and in less than a week I started working at the patient information desk in the main building entrance. The job is interesting because I have the opportunity to assist many people who get lost in the endless building hallways, desperately looking for their sick relatives. Moreover, not only do I feel useful by helping others reach their destination; this task also gives me the opportunity to ponder on the mysteries of human existence. As I walk the hospital hallways and run into patients being transported on their gurneys, some of them with terminal illnesses, I can’t avoid thinking about how lucky I am that, in the second half of life...

Unless you are very rich, being retired means living in a rut: not knowing when you are going to pass away, and as a result, not knowing how much to spend so that your savings will last. So, when a crisis starts expanding its ugly shadow, those of us who have savings in the stock market start looking right and left for advice. So, one recent evening I called a long-time friend who is very cautious with his spending habits and asked him what he would do at my place. His answer was short and sweet: “Sit tight.” My answer was also very concrete: “Unfortunately, I don’t have many years to wait for the market to go up.” After the conversation ended, I suddenly felt a deep sadness envelop my whole being; the shadow of death had suddenly become a reality. I was surprised because I always thought that I was not afraid of dying; and I wasn’t. However, the conversation with my friend made me realize that death does not only mean to lose one’s life; most importantly it means to let go of all ...

Es evidente que el Coronavirus dista de ser solamente una enfermedad física; sus ramificaciones son también mentales. Estar en casa durante tantas horas en soledad inevitablemente nos enfrenta con un sinnúmero de preguntas existenciales. Por ejemplo, ¿ cómo hemos vivido los a ñ os que ya han pasado y que no tienen retorno? Cuando el número de distracciones disponibles no alcanza para saciar nuestra sed de estar siempre en otro lado, asoma su rostro hura ñ o el inconsciente para reclamarnos aquello que negamos. Como a todos, lo mismo me ocurrió a mí una tarde gris, pero bella. Casi por arte de magia me volvieron a la memoria una serie de errores cometidos, de decisiones mal tomadas, y de relaciones mal habidas. Recuerdo un día hace varios a ñ os cuando hablando con mi entonces jefe, un psiquiatra con quien yo había establecido una relación de amistad, le dije, “Dr. D, si pudiera atrás lo haría con gusto”. La respuesta de él fue rápida y sin recovecos: “Marina, no se puede volver atr...

It is clear that Coronavirus is far from being only a physical illness; its ramifications are also mental. Being home for so many hours in solitude   inevitably   pits us against countless existential questions. For example, how have we lived the years that have already gone and which have no return? When the number of distractions available is not enough to quench our thirst to always be somewhere else, our unconscious starts showing its ugly face to claim what we deny. Like everyone else, the same thing happened to me on a beautiful but sad grey afternoon. Like in a dream a series of mistakes, of unsound choices, and poor relationships came back to mind. I remember one day several years ago when talking to my then boss, a psychiatrist with whom I had established a friendly relationship, and saying to him: "Dr. D, if I could go back in time I would do it gladly." His response was short and sweet: "Marina, you can't go back." Mine had just had been the need to...