What's New

Dr. Dan receives Books For a Better Life award--
more information here.

Dr. Dan has a new blog at:
www.philly.com/philly/blogs/drdangottlieb/.

Dr. Dan to receive award! See the letter below:

From: Mr. Chin-huar Chou, Founder of Chou Ta-kuan Cultural and Educational Foundation
Address: 3F,No.52 Min The Road,Hsintien City, Taipei, Taiwan, R.O.C.
Tel: 886-2-29178775, 886-2-29178770; Fax: 886-2-29178768
http://www.ta.org.tw
E-mail: ta88 (at) ms17.hinet.net

Dec. 22, 2008
Dear Dr. Daniel Gottlieb,
I am the founder of The Chou Ta-kuan Cultural and Educational Foundation in Taiwan.

Few days ago, we read a Chinese translation of the Letter to Sam. We are impressed by your life story and how much you love your grandson, Sam. In order to spread your bravery and love, we are sincere to invite you come to Taiwan. We want to award “The 12th Fervent Global Love of Lives, 2009” medal to you, and invite you to share your precious experiences to us.

The Fervent Global Love of Lives Medal has been recognized by local press and many international media as “The Nobel of Life”. In the past eleven years, we have awarded the Medal to 182 recipients from 37 countries. Every year the ceremony will take place in Taipei, Taiwan to be followed by a series of humanity charity events.

The award ceremony is a seven-day-long event that usually includes a reception with the President, Vice President, or Premier of Taiwan from May 24-30, 2009.

Chin-huar Chou, Founder
Chou Ta-kuan Cultural and Educational Foundation

Learning From The Heart: Lessons in Living, Loving and Listening

Read the review from Publishers Weekly:

Learning from the Heart: Lessons on Living, Loving, and Listening Daniel Gottlieb. Sterling, $17.95 (176p) ISBN 978-1-4027-4999-5 You have to love a self-help book that extols doing nothing: “The truth is,” says Gottlieb, “if we become comfortable with who we are rather than who we think we should be, then we will be less insecure.” As a therapist, Gottlieb frequently sees people who are convinced that changing themselves or their circumstances would lead to happiness. Gottlieb disagrees. A columnist for the Philadelphia Inquirer and author of Letters to Sam (addressed to his autistic grandson), Gottlieb also happens to be quadriplegic, which makes him somewhat of an expert in self-acceptance. And while he says his condition has taught him to listen, learn and care deeply, one senses Gottlieb is a born mensch and a man with a big heart. Warm, wise, compassionate, humble and often funny, he displays not a shred of self-pity or false modesty. Best of all, his message has the unmistakable ring of truth to it: love rather than change yourself or anyone else. “Trying to change others is about intolerance, which is at the core of so much enmity. We cannot find peace unless we are trying to help others find peace also.” (Mar. 2008)

Dr. Dan's book, Letters to Sam: A Grandfather's Lessons on Love, Loss, and the Gifts of Life, is available in bookstores now. You can buy Letters to Sam at Barnes and Noble and other bookstores. For a flyer about Letters to Sam lectures, click here.
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Poster

After reading your powerful words, I will look at my own beloved grandchildren, Connor, Erin, and Brianna, in a different light.
--Betty Williams, Nobel Peace Laureate (Read full comment below.)

I wish I had this book when my son was diagnosed with autism over 20 years ago. I am overjoyed that we have it now....
--Robert A. Naseef, Ph.D., author of Special Children, Challenged Parents (Read full review below.)

Dr. Dan Gottlieb weaves an extraordinary tapestry of his own struggles and triumphs, his eternal love for his grandson Sam, his profound compassion for humanity, and his urgent desire to share his wisdom.
--Rachel Simon, author of Riding the Bus With My Sister (Read full review below.)

Inner Wisdom (audio file)
For Real Audio format, click here.
For MP3 format, click here.

Golf (audio file)
For Real Audio format, click here.
For MP3 format, click here.

Lap Time

Dear Sam,
Looking back, I know I loved you from the moment of your birth. But for some reason it took about six months for my love to develop. Early on, I loved my grandson. After six months, I loved you. And I think something similar happened with you.

It's easy to understand how I took to you. You’re my grandson! You’re the child of my daughter! But why did you take to me?

I lived three hours away from you and your parents. I certainly wasn’t available for bonding. And you didn’t understand the concept of “grandfather” when you were just a toddler. So initially, you kept your distance from me. But now that I think about it, everything changed at my father's funeral.

You were just six months old when he died, but we took you to the funeral. As I sat there crying quietly, all you wanted to do was sit on my lap. It was as though you sensed my pain and wanted to be with me. And since that time, whenever we are together, all you want to do is climb up on my lap.

Long after my father's funeral you still wanted to be close to me. At first, I thought you were intrigued by the wheelchair. And although that might be true, I don't think that's the whole story. I believe at a certain level you know we are kindred spirits. You are beginning to understand that I can't do what others do. In time you will understand how different I am from everyone else. Part of my job with you, Sam, is to teach you how to tolerate your different-ness from other people and – despite the differences – how to navigate your own waters.

As you get older, Sam, I will have more to say about how I’ve learned to cope with people staring at me or treating me differently. We can talk about fear, injustice, God, and the tiny little gifts that sometimes live inside of adversity.

But I believe there’s another part of my job with you. I also have to help you never, ever forget what you knew at the age of six months. You knew what the angels looked like, and on the day of my father's funeral, you acted like one.

Love,
Pop

Give Kindness a Chance

Dear Sam,
Your vulnerability, Sam, along with your radiant smile, will likely bring out people who want to be good, who want to help, who feel generous.

In the animal kingdom, vulnerability can bring out aggression in other animals. This sometimes happens with humans also. But I have found that, instead, my vulnerability brings out the best in people. And I have discovered that when people are kind and helpful, it makes them happy. Sometimes, I almost feel guilty about this, because people who appear to be "normal" and independent don't get to see this soft side of others.

What about you, Sam? I wonder whether you will be able to expose the soft side of yourself. Often, we try every way possible to avoid showing our vulnerability. Which can involve a lot of pretending. But only when you stop pretending you’re brave or strong, you allow people to show the kindness that’s in them.

Let me tell you a story.

Last month, on a very windy day, I was returning from a lecture I had given to a group in Fort Washington. I was beginning to feel unwell. I was feeling increasing spasms in my legs and back and became anxious as I anticipated a difficult ride back to my office. Making matters worse, I knew I had to travel two of the most treacherous high-speed roads near Philadelphia – the four-lane Schuylkill Expressway and the six-lane Blue Route.

You’ve been in my van, so you know how it’s been outfitted with everything I need to drive. But you probably don’t realize that I often drive more slowly than other people. That’s because I have difficulty with body control. I’m especially careful on windy days when the van can be buffeted by sudden gusts. And if I’m having problems with spasms or high blood pressure, I stay way over in the right hand lane and drive well below the speed limit.

When I’m driving slowly, people behind me tend to get impatient. They speed up to my car, blow their horns, drive by, stare at me angrily, and show me how long their fingers can get. (I don't understand why some people are so proud of the length of their fingers, but there are many things I don't understand.) Those angry drivers add stress to what already is a stressful experience of driving.

On this particular day, I was driving by myself. At first, I drove slowly along back roads. Whenever someone approached, I pulled over and let them pass. But as I neared the Blue Route, I became more frightened. I knew I would be hearing a lot of horns and seeing a lot of those long fingers.

And then I did something I had never done in the twenty-four years that I have been driving my van. I decided to put on my flashers. I drove the Blue Route and the Schuylkyll Expressway at 35 miles per hour.

Now…Guess what happened?

Nothing! No horns and no fingers.

But why?

When I put on my flashers, I was saying to the other drivers, “I have a problem here – I am vulnerable and doing the best I can.” And everyone understood. Several times, in my rearview mirror I saw drivers who wanted to pass. They couldn’t get around me because of the stream of passing traffic. But instead of honking or tailgating, they waited for the other cars to pass, knowing the driver in front of them was in some way weak.

Sam, there is something about vulnerability that elicits compassion. It is in our hard wiring. I see it every day when people help me by holding doors, pouring cream in my coffee, or assist me when I put on my coat. Sometimes I feel sad because from my wheelchair perspective, I see the best in people. But those who appear strong and invulnerably typically are not exposed to the kindness I see daily.

Sometimes situations call for us to act strong and brave even when we don't feel that way. But those are a few and far between. More often, there is a better pay-off if you don't pretend you feel strong when you feel weak, or pretend that you are brave when you’re scared. I really believe the world might be a safer place if everyone who felt vulnerable wore flashers that said, “I have a problem and I’m doing the best I can. Please be patient!”

Love,
Pop

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Sam and His Pop (above); Just Hanging Out With the Guys (below).

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