How to be a Neurotic Jewish Mother, Part 2: Neurosis

In Part 1, we examined the art of cultivating guilt, a necessary ingredient for the NJM. However, before we proceed with Part 2, I would like add a disclaimer. You do not need to actually be anyone’s mother to become a fully licensed NJM. You only need to apply the principles, the second of which is the more difficult aspect: Neurosis. To tell you the truth, I’ve come to believe that if you’re not already neurotic, there’s no way I can teach you how to make the transformation. The best I can do is try to explain what it feels like. Then maybe you can fake it, should you ever find yourself in a situation where you need someone to believe you’re an NJM. Auditioning for a part in a Woody Allen movie comes to mind. The word neurotic is misleading. What we should say instead is anxiety-ridden. We shall leave all other types of neurosis to the doctors and therapists who treat them, and narrow our tunnel vision to the neurotic anxiety of Introverts. Introverts are the ones who plan ahead for the next six emergencies, thereby saving the world from annihilation. The ability to foresee what pitfalls lie ahead requires a highly developed sense of fear, which erupts as anxiety, which then leads to fear-based decisions. Somebody who was not an Introvert defined this logical sequence as neurotic behavior, thus winning a Noble prize for his or her insight. Being neurotic is built into my every cell, buried deeply into my mitochondrial DNA. After 5,000 years of people trying to kill you, one can’t help but develop a few tics. Even if I lived in a sheltered paradise, I’d still wake up wondering what fear to avoid before breakfast. During lunch recently, my beloved kinda-sorta daughter, also introverted and anxiety-ridden, explained how her husband, trying to be sympathetic, said, “When I find myself getting anxious, I stop and calm down. Have you tried calming down?” We both spit water in an outburst of laughter. I’m telling you, it’s hard picture what goes on inside our brains if you’re not a dyed-in-the-wool worry wart. Mel Brooks said it best in the title song of an early film, “The 12 Chairs.” Have you seen it? You should see it. Imagine the melodic line of Brahms 4th Hungarian Dance sung with the following lyrics: “Hope for the best, expect the worst. Some drink champagne, some die of thirst. No way of knowing which way it's going, hope for the best, expect the worst!” And so on…. Really, Google it. Sums up the entire outlook in one song. My daughter calls it going from A to Z. You start with a sore finger, probably strained from trying to carry all the grocery bags, your purse, and your house keys in one trip to avoid, G-d forbid, having to make two trips. You notice a little swelling. Then, instead of rubbing arnica ointment on it like a sensible person, your mind goes directly to cancer of the finger joints and amputation. That’s A to Z. That’s neurotic thinking. Have you ever noticed that the words Annoying and Neurotic trip off the tongue interchangeably? This is no accident. A true NJM is expert at expressing pessimism in a positive way. This (let’s be kind and call it unconscious) message is subtly conveyed. I have it on good authority that even though you may say, “Well done, Johnny! I’m so proud of you!” what Johnny actually hears is, “Did you see how well Sammy did that? How does this work? Let’s look at some examples. Daughter: “How’s the soup, Ma? I tried to make it just like yours.” Mother: “It’s delicious! Absolutely perfect. Is there any salt on the table?” Son: “Look, Ma. We finally mounted the family photos on this wall!” Mother: “It looks wonderful. Fabulous! Where’s the picture of Uncle Morris?” Daughter: “Sorry we’re a little late. There was a lot of traffic on the 210.” Mother, “It’s no problem. Thank you so much for stopping to pick me up! I was beginning to think you forgot about me.” Son: “I replaced the burned out light bulbs in the den ceiling fixture. The old ones were 100 watt. I put in 60 watt to avoid a fire hazard.” Mother: “Thank you so much for taking such good care of it for me. You’re such a help! You used 60 watt? It’s a little dark in here now but I can always go into the other room if I want to read.” You get the picture. If you already have the N in NJM, you are maybe squirming just a bit. Don’t bother. Even if you try your best to overcome it, you can’t succeed. It’s always there, waiting in the dark for that one weak moment when you blurt out, “Jenny was telling me just the other day how her children never miss a week without calling her.” Followed by “Why are you calling? What’s wrong? Who died?” If you’re one of the non-NJM impaired, I hope this guide has been helpful. Yet there’s one more step to full enrollment. It’s much easier than cultivating guilt or developing annoying anxiety neurosis. It goes like this: First, meet some young person you like and start praising them. Follow this up with gifts of food and nutritional supplements. Make a lunch date where you listen to their problems, and then begin telling them what to do, where to go, and how to act. If they agree to see you for a second lunch date, you’re off to a great start. Next, invite them to come over for dinner where you can do a little unannounced match-making. If they still reply to your text messages, not to mention come back for a second meal, you’ve succeeded in your quest. Despite the risk of being teased for the rest of your life, you have attained NJM nirvana. You now have another kinda-sorta child on whom you can lavish all your love, your attention, and Neurotic Jewish Mother skills…uh, traits…um, habits…er, faults…oh, yes…blessings…to your heart’s content. Go forth and be useful.