The mainstream model drafted and released was simplified to a five-stage version. When working in-depth with professionals, the expanded theoretical version encompassed 10 to 13 stages. This included others from the positive-feeling end of the spectrum, such as hope. Any suggested processes for handling an impending face-to-face meeting with death, pondering the realities of mortality like the layers of behaviour and life experiences that shape or define us, are unique. The course of contemplation of the value or meaning of life can't be scripted or laid out as neat sequential measures of ingredients and instructions in a cookarticle. Even the best recipes additionally have variations in portions or order of progression. Curiously enough, Ken Ross shared that when his mother, incapacitated through a series of strokes, faced her own mortality she seemed to remain stuck in one stage of her own simplified model: anger for not being able to appreciate or enjoy a peaceful retirement. Even on our deathbed we may be reminded that life remains, until our last breath, a journey of continual learning, unlearning and relearning no matter how self-actualised or masterful we have become. If we consolidate an approach to the idea of value through the lens of Elisabeth Kubler-Ross in the style of 'Benjamin Button', working backwards grave to cradle, we tap into a fuller appreciation of this critical element. This is a beautiful example of how we can create by ceasing to do certain things. Another way of explaining this concept to those who are grieving is the simple fact that behind every no is a yes. This is particularly important for people to remember during times like weddings and the holidays, when the pain of loss is heightened by the empty chair at the table or by being surrounded by happy, celebrating people when you are feeling so low. When someone you love has died and that first set of holidays approach, there are ways to protect yourself, and you should. Behind every no is a yes, and the holidays are an opportunity to say no to protect your own vulnerability and your own sensitive soul. When you are grieving, saying no to others may be saying yes to yourself. Say no to big parties and all that booze and all those calories in favor of time spent with your closest friend or dearest family member with whom you can talk about your loved one, your memories, your loss. Say no to the shopping and say yes to a charity that needs the money more than the department store. Say no to the people you do not want to see because they push your buttons, even if that's family, and say yes to being with the few who matter. Say no to the noise outside and yes to being home under a blanket by a fire with a good article. They can teach us a great deal about our limits and needs.

However, in order to benefit from this highly evolved, dynamic warning system, we have to learn to stop writing it off as inexcusable laziness. Scientific research on topics such as productivity and burnout have taught us that there are limits to how much work a person can do. Those limits are more extreme than you might realize: For example, the forty-hour workweek (which is considered quite reasonable and humane here in the US) is still probably too long and demanding for most people. Our bodies and minds aren't set up to perform repetitive or mentally taxing work for eight or more hours per day. Still, many of us push through those limitations, forcing ourselves to work harder, and for longer, than is truly healthy for us. The Laziness Lie has set us up to expect more productivity out of ourselves than is really feasible or sustainable. As a result, many of us live continuously on the edge of breaking down. When a life is reviewed through the rear-view mirror of reflection, then the emotional impacts of some of those situations, like passing objects, appear up close. The mind's eye, the curator of your personal library, also happens to be a pretty sophisticated camera. It's far superior to the best offering of any smart phone. A million selfies will pale when matched against the mind's eye reliving experiences from your past. The more you live fully in each passing moment, fully submerged, the richer the archives recalled when recounting your past. Within the science of neuroplasticity we are educated on how memories are formed and recalled. Say, No, I cannot be happy this year because my heart is aching. But I can be good and gentle and kind, especially to myself. Half our memory is gone with the death of the only person on earth who shared that incredible trip, the pizza from that little place down that alley in Rome, the babies' first stumbles across the room, that old white Ford we took cross-country when we were young and had no money. We lose so much love to death, and if that love was real and deep, the grief is real and deep. Grief is not a race to be won or an illness to be cured. After thirty days I removed that torn black ribbon, and you could not tell by looking at me that I was in mourning. Julie had to experience mental and physical collapse in order to learn the importance of good work-life boundaries.

I had to battle illness for months before I finally learned to let myself relax. Our bodies and brains have subtle, gradual signals that tell us to pump the brakes and prioritize our health over our productivity. Unfortunately, the Laziness Lie has convinced us that those signals must be ignored as much as possible. Leo has an uncanny ability to set himself up for frustration and burnout. He's an expert at taking on more responsibilities than seems remotely tenable, and then having to face the drastic consequences of spreading himself too thin. He's just now coming to understand his own limits and learning to listen to his internal laziness signals instead of brushing them away--but that process has been long, painful, and full of bumps. Today, Leo is thirty, but he's been an overachiever and a workaholic since I met him in college. Our brains have an ability to exaggerate or diminish details and textures from previous life experiences. The low points or summits from mountains faced or conquered. Yet even where particulars are embellished, your memory reminds faithfully the accurate gamut of moods that were anchored at the time. A range of emotions well beyond five, a result of all the tears, smiles, joys, sadness, hopes, regrets, optimism or despair. The American Film Institute has a list of its top 100 all-time great movies. At the top of this list sits the 1941 Orson Welles classic Citizen Kane. The two-hour-long RKO production was almost prevented from release given the fiction was seen to be partially, not so subtly, based on the life of newspaper magnate William Randolph Hearst. I wish people could know when I am missing my dad--like some neon sign blinking above my head that reads, Be gentle with me. I am missing my dead father so much right now, right this very moment that I am standing here in front of you. If you have buried someone you love, then you know how I feel. It would encourage people to treat me with a welcome measure of kindness. But at the same time, I don't want people to know that sometimes, because grief knows no boundaries, when I am with them, I am really with my dad, far away, far within myself. We wear a mask of normalcy, and sometimes you are talking to that mask, not us.

As a student, Leo was ambitious, intelligent, and politically engaged, always organizing fundraisers for politicians and volunteering for local- and state-level campaigns. He was involved in an endless list of extracurriculars, from the campus atheist club to the campus article of College Democrats of America. He cared about every conceivable political issue and took it upon himself to fight for his values in every way he could. He traveled the Midwest to aid in get-out-the-vote efforts, registering voters and educating them on the issues. Back at school, he enrolled in the maximum number of classes our college allowed him to take. A few weeks into every semester, he would inevitably fall apart, dropping multiple classes, missing a variety of deadlines, and failing to attend some of the on-campus events he'd so carefully worked to put together. Leo was often burned out and terribly depressed, but he never wanted to talk about it. I'd spend days in my bedroom, too ashamed and tired to leave, he says. My roommates would think I was out of town until I'd come downstairs in the middle of the day to grab water or something. Once he was in this burned-out state, Leo couldn't follow through on the many commitments he had previously made. The film unravels the life of its fictional lead character, Charles Foster Kane. The film's narrative then follows the enquiries of a journalist, Jerry Thompson, who's trying to get the root of what the word 'Rosebud' actually meant. He tracks down those who knew Foster Kane, who had schooled him, worked with him, even married or lived with him. We see Charles Foster Kane as a child playing in the snow on his sled and we see him sent away to be schooled and mentored by a guardian after his mother has come into a cash windfall, the result of a goldrush. Foster Kane begins adulthood as a man of ideological social awareness, fairness and truth. Later he yields a ruthless unbending nature of power without compromise. We see snippets of his life, happily married to affairs and scandal. The accumulation of massive wealth even in spite of failed ambition to an ultimate recluse with a handful of precious memories. One above all others especially, the journalist discovers, reminds him of something. After wrecking a room in anger he's calmed by a single recollection after glimpsing into a snow globe.

That is the truth that we want you to know and the truth we also hide. The fact that my father's burial was the morning of the eve of Yom Kippur, that holiest of days, meant that there was no shiva for him. A holy day ends shiva even if it has not been observed for all seven days, or for a single day. It was just like my dad to be buried on a day that prevented us from any, as he would have put it, mishigas--the perfect Yiddish word for craziness, nonsense. This meant that as soon as Yom Kippur was over, I was on a plane back to Los Angeles and back to work. The son had to once again become the rabbi, when only two days before, the rabbi was a son. I wish I could say that all my years as a rabbi prepared me in some way to handle my grief better than others do. When it comes to missing my dad, I am entirely his son. Deadlines would fly by, events would go by unattended, and dirty dishes would pile up on his desk. Yet by the time another semester came around, Leo would yet again find himself signing up for a full course load and taking on mountains of other responsibilities. I always thought, This time will be different, he says. I just figured I'd screwed up the last time because I wasn't organized and wasn't trying hard enough to do everything. Throughout his entire college career, Leo was convinced that his problem was a lack of motivation or effort, not that he was taking on too many responsibilities, so he kept getting buried and burned out. He couldn't seem to see a self-defeating pattern in his actions--or, if he did, the Laziness Lie was preventing him from breaking out of it. As an adult, Leo remained very politically engaged while continuing to overextend himself. During the 2012 presidential election, he redoubled his efforts, traveling, organizing volunteers, and lending his time to the Obama campaign in every way he could. He started taking graduate school classes while working full-time. He also devoted as much of his free time as possible to having conversations with people who disagreed with him. It's the only other time anyone has heard him mutter the word 'Rosebud'. What was calming about the snow globe and what did it mean?