Finally

I love to read about, think about, and practice new productivity methods. I am always on the lookout for that wonderful new notebook, calendar app, pen, pencil or gadget that will make me more efficient, help me get more work done, and help me to feel that I have reached a new goal or accomplished a big task. Do you ever feel like that? Do you search for that one thing that will help you get where you want to go? Better yet, in the time of COVID-19, do you ever wonder when you will get to the finish line, to the end of some project, or to the end of this new world that none of us likes that much anyway? Do you hope that, finally, this pandemic will be over, and we will be there, wherever there is?

 

Shawn Blanc writes about productivity and teaches some crazy good classes at his website thesweetsetup.com. Check it out if you have the time and the inclination. Now, he also sends out inspirational and instructive emails once or twice a week that drop a little knowledge, tell about a cool gadget, or offer some productivity hack that us mere mortals might find helpful. He sent an email out this week that hit me at exactly the right time in exactly the right way, and I thought I would share what I learned with you.

 

He started the email by telling the story of his journey to earn a black belt. The training was mentally, emotionally and physically exhausting. When he got to the testing day as one of twelve who were going through this rite of passage, he thought that finally earning the black belt would be the goal that all aspired to get to. After completing this and coming back to the studio just two days later to continue his training, he quickly realized that the black belt had been a goal but not the goal. He learned that when something in life is important, you don’t simply show up every day until something happens. You simply show up every day. As Shawn said in his email, life is lived in the day-to-day.

 

He made the point that there is a great deal of “satisfaction (to be gained) in the small daily wins and the joy of consistently choosing to do the the things that are meaningful, valuable and important.”  We all seem to think that if we strive for the huge goals and the big flashy wins that they will somehow come faster or easier. In fact, says Blanc, “if you’ve got a habit of showing up every day then I guarantee you that along the way you’ll pass milestones and accomplish big goals.”  Milestones are wonderful things, but once you reach them, “you get back to living your life”.

 

During this past eighteen months, we have all felt that if we could just get though to Easter, to the summer, past the holidays, to the next summer, or to the next fall, that somehow we would have arrived and everything would be okay and back to normal again. We are fooling ourselves. We may be looking at a normal that bears little resemblance to the one we had in 2019. Is that bad, tragic, depressing? No, it just is. If we are committed to showing up at work, for our kids, for our spouse, or for others just until the pandemic is over and we can go back to our own lives the way they were, we are going to miss a lot of nows, a lot of our life in the present that we are squandering while waiting for that elusive “normal” that may never return. If we are waiting for the until, the finally, we are destined to be disappointed.

 

“If you are doing something that matters”, says Shawn Blanc in his email, “ there will always be resistance. Distractions, excuses and challenges will always be right at your doorstep. Don’t wait for the fear to go away, because it won’t. Don’t wait for the risk to disappear, because there will always be risk.” He admonishes us to “show up every day when it’s frightful. When it’s risky. When it’s tense. When it hurts. Because it will always be that way. The finally moment never comes.”

What are you doing during this terribly stressful time? Caring for an elderly relative? Teaching your kids? Working two or even three jobs to make ends meet? Learning to spend more time with your spouse? Trying to figure out how to take better care of your own body, mind and soul? I hope that whatever it is that you are doing, that you are not just showing up until. When the pandemic is finally over, I hope you will see it not as the end but as the beginning of your new life, with all of the joys and challenges that time will bring.

The Right Thing to Do

I was walking back to my car from the pay station in the public parking lot when she pulled into the adjacent space. The front of her white Honda Civic, which she guided too widely into the space, scraped and clipped the front wheel of the car to her left. I saw it and cringed, and I am quite sure she saw me see it. I also saw that there were already scrapes on her bumper from previous encounters. I walked on to my car. I watched,

She did not get out for quite some time. When she did, she glanced my way. She got back into her car. The owners of the adjacent car arrived, got in, and prepared to leave. She did not get out. She did not tell them what had happened. She did not apologize for the assault on their vehicle in their absence. They backed out and left.

She got out of her car again, looked back my way, then walked over and paid her parking fee. She walked away.

If one is dishonest or irresponsible in small things, how does one expect to be honest and responsible in larger, important things? This is a lesson that bears learning and relearning daily.

No Pain, You Must Be Dead.

I have always liked to be physically active. Raised in the south, I was no stranger to exercise.

I participated in the usual pee wee football, JV football, basketball, softball thing as I grew up, then settled on tennis as my favorite competitive sport, which kept me occupied all through high school and college and beyond, at least on a fun, non-competitive basis.

Several, I mean several years ago, I blew out a gastrocnemius muscle while stretching for a screaming wide shot off to my left on an asphalt tennis court, and felt like someone had sneaked up behind me and hit me in my left leg with a baseball bat. Think Nancy Kerrigan, although when I turned around there was no Tonya Harding to be seen anywhere. I don’t think I’ve ever had a more painful sports related injury, as I felt a searing white hot heat go up my leg into the depths of my brain and immediately felt like I would never walk again. I did, of course, but to this day I have not stepped back on a tennis court for anything more than a very slow, easy volley.

Have I ever stopped exercising? Of course not. Humans like to move, stretch, and challenge themselves. I am no different from my brethren.

In the distant past, I got into the whole running thing, bought the Jim Fixx books, kept a running journal and spent Saturdays with buddies running up and down hills in Augusta, Georgia preparing for races. We ran 10Ks, ten milers, half marathons, and I even managed to complete one marathon in Augusta back when that was a thing. I have never been so happy to cross a finish line and complete a task in my life. I was happy to be there in the early years of the Peachtree Road Race, back when only ten thousand of your closest running buddies participated. I have fond memories of trudging up the 3/4 mile stretch of road called Cardiac Hill, culminating at the juncture of Peachtree Road and Collier Road, conveniently located just across from Piedmont Hospital, in case you needed to duck in for a quick cath or ablation before you finished this always searingly hot and humid race.

The jewel in the crown of my running days was the completion of the Steve Lynn triathlon on base in Savannah, Georgia. This half Ironman race consisted of a 1.2 mile swim, a 56 mile bike ride and a 13.1 mile half marathon, back to back. I trained for it by running around Augusta, riding my bike up to Clark Hill lake and back on many weekends and swimming laps in a backyard pool. I had a good support team to help me with the logistics of that race, I was in the best shape of my life and I proudly finished it in a respectable time. It was exhilarating and exhausting.

More recently, I have been into hiking. It is as strenuous as you want it to be, as easy and relaxing or as hard and taxing as you choose and gives you the opportunity to get outside, breathe the fresh air, see wildlife and test your skills in nature. I have hiked the Augusta Canal trail at home, the multiple trails at Sesquicentennial Park in Columbia, SC, and the trails at Mistletoe State Park just up the road. I have hiked solo at ten thousand feet in New Mexico on a ridge so high that it felt like I was on top of the world. My wife and I have walked past Mount Rainier in Washington State, enjoyed a walk through Okichisanso Gardens in Kyoto, Japan, and summited a pretty falls in Rocky Mountain National Park. Last January I hiked and up and down Camelback Mountain in Phoenix, Arizona, one of the most difficult hikes I have ever done. My heart rate approached 150 as I made the summit after scrambling up a boulder field. The hike was more a rock climb, and I was glad I brought leather climbing gloves instead of poles for that adventure. I had never been more physically exhausted than at the bottom of that mountain, but it was also one of the most technically challenging and satisfying treks I have ever made.

Last March, as my wife and I descended from the summit of a mountain in Table Rock State Park in Pickens, South Carolina, I had a wake up call. I had hiked this trail several times previously and knew it pretty well. I had not brought poles for this hike, which in retrospect was a huge mistake. Roughly halfway down, following my bride as she lead us back to the car, my hiking boot caught the edge of a rock at the top of a large section of rock steps leading to a lower section of trail, bordered on the right by a ravine. Although the fall is not as terrifying to recall now as it was for weeks following the accident, I can still vividly remember my thought pattern as I went airborn.

“Uh oh.”

“I think this is going to hurt me very badly.”

“I’m afraid this fall might kill me.”

“I don’t want to die like this.”

It was one of those accidents that happens very fast but is strung out in your mind in slow motion. As I tripped, I had the sensation that one always has in that situation, that I could put out my arms, regain my sense of balance, make sure my other foot came down squarely on the next step, speed up a little until my center of gravity was okay again, and proceed on down the trail. Unfortunately, this was a real fall, completely in the air, out of control, immediately disorienting to the point that I did not know up from down, right from left, path from stairs from ditch. I was cognizant of the fact that I was tumbling, that I had not yet hit the ground, and that when I did, it was not going to be good. Something would break. I would hear a snap. I might hit my head. I might be rendered unconscious, with a head injury that would be no joke.

“Uh oh.”

My wife told me that I flew past her (thank God I did not take her down with me, for that would have been truly unbearable) pitching and rolling. I remember her calling out, but not what she said. I had the sensation that I was going to hit a rock step, the ground, or tumble into the ravine sometime very soon. I did not have time to figure out how to brace myself, how to hold my arms to break my fall, how to orient myself for minimum damage when I hit. It was all just too fast. I was at the mercy of gravity and inertia.

“I think this is going to hurt me very badly.”

Seconds that seemed like minutes went by, and I knew this was it. I was going to come to ground soon. I did not know if I was going to be okay. This scared me very badly. What was going to happen to me. How could this happen? This is not supposed to happen to me. It was then that the fleeting thought that scared me most of all came into my spinning head.

“I’m afraid this fall might kill me.”

What would it feel like to die on this trail at this time after this fall? Would it be painful? Quick? Would I know, at the bottom of this tumble, that I was dying? Would I see nothing but black and not wake up again? How would this affect my wife? My God, how would she get me off this mountain? How would she do that?

“I don’t want to die like this.”

I know that I am going to die. I started this blog a while back to deal with my feelings about being sixty two, thinking about my father dying at more or less this same age, and how I was going to move on into the next thirteen years and beyond. I wanted to explore how it was going to feel to become an old man, crotchety and opinionated and feisty and relatively fit (I hoped). I knew all that, but at the moment of this horrendous fall my brain was facing, at what seemed like the speed of light, what it would feel like to experience my own death, an accidental death, a traumatic death for me and for my wife. It was at the same time surreal and vividly real.

I did finally stop tumbling, and came to rest (that is a very soft way to say crashed painfully to earth) on the right side of my head, my right wrist and forearm and right leg. I was stunned and disoriented but I knew I was alive. I tried to pull myself up as my wife scrambled down to assist me. I was off balance, felt nauseated and very sick, and could get no further than on my knees, wobbling, swaying, my brain saying get up, idiot, you’re fine, and my body saying, man, that was really, really, really bad, dude. I was bleeding but I did not know where from. Turns out, a couple of small chunks had been torn from the top of my right ear, and there was stray blood on my hands. My right leg was on fire and numb at the same time. I did not know if anything was broken. In true injured physician fashion, I began to assess myself through my wife’s eyes!

“Is my head bleeding anywhere? Any cuts? Anything else malformed, bleeding? Are my pupils reactive? Are they the same size? Am I making sense? Are my words slurred?”

I can easily say that in all these times that I have played sports, participated in races, hiked, and otherwise done something physically taxing, this spring’s tumble on a mountain trail was the most frightening injury I’ve ever had. I got away with mild abrasions and contusions to my head, ear, hands, and wrist, and had one hellacious deep bruise over most of my upper right leg that took months to heal and that is numb and intermittently  uncomfortable to this day. I did not break any bones. I had no open bleeding wounds. I did not lose consciousness. I did not have a concussion.

My wife swears that two of my guardian angels, always vigilant, swooped down at the first sign of danger and gently laid me to rest (thanks guys) at the bottom of that pile of rocks with only minimal injuries. (Oh, did I tell you that my glasses were still on my face, not a scratch on them, my backpack was still securely in place on my back and I was still wearing my cap when I was finally able to stand?) A fall like this could have easily fractured major bones, lead to compartment syndrome in my leg, caused a head injury, a broken arm, loss of consciousness or death. At minimum, it should have put me in the ER if not in the hospital. At worst, it could have killed me.

Ten months later, I am writing this.

So, no pain, no gain, right? Not exactly. As you get older, if you stay active, you WILL have pain, discomfort, sadness, illness and injury. As a nurse told me one time in the emergency room after I had broken my leg sliding into second base, “Hey, it’s the active people who get out there and do stuff every weekend that get these kinds of injuries!”

As for me, I have plans to fly to Arizona two weeks from today. My wife and I will be hiking on a big ridge just south of Phoenix, as I glare back at that mountain that resembles a camel, and start planning the next adventure.

Let’s face it. If you don’t wake up tomorrow with some pain somewhere, well, you must be dead.

 

 

 

 

Feliz NaviDad

I was sitting in Starbucks, downing an orange juice and water while checking my email and thinking about the day to come.

He walked in, an acquaintance from the past, from that part of my life that was full of kids and Nutcracker rehearsal and makeup and costumes and Happy Meals and hours spent out in the house watching dress rehearsals. It was a good time, a time that revolved around the kids and their activities. Any parent will know exactly what I mean. A frantic, chaotic, bustling, crazy time that bleeds into holiday time until the boundary between one and the other is no longer distinguishable.

He has worked tech at the theater for many years, in the back of the  house, on the big board, or backstage, or elsewhere in the cavernous building doing things that the folks who make a theater hum in the background, out of the spotlight, do.

We exchanged pleasantries. How’s the family? Kids?

All successful, yes, in Spartanburg and Chattanooga and Denver, thanks for asking.

Upcoming holiday? What show are you doing now? Oh, yes, A Christmas Carol, then another Nutcracker, and of course The Roar of Love in the Bell and the…

So many shows, so much work, so much fun for those who perform and for those of us who have watched the final product over the years.

We talked. I sipped. He waited for his order at the bar.

And then he asked me a question that I was not prepared for.

“And have you found happiness for yourself yet?”

It took me aback. It really did.

Have I?

My OJ-fueled mind, clicking along quite well now that glucose levels were high and attention was sharp, had to do a double take. Had to really think about this question that had no ready, reflexive answer.

Have I?

“Yes, yes I have,” I answered after a split-second hesitation that was more a product of surprise than lack of an answer.

“Yes, thanks. I am happy.”

“Good,” he answered. “I’m glad.” Smiling. Turning to get his coffee from the barista.

“Good to see you.”

“Nice to see you again, too.”

“Have a good Christmas.”

“You, too.”

What a good feeling at this time of the year, so filled with laughter and light and joy.

Yes, I am happy.

I hope, dear readers, that you are too.

Merry Christmas.

 

Sign Felled. A Post About Nothing.

This has been a killer week.

I have lost count of how many patients I’ve seen in two clinics and in EDs around the state of South Carolina for Telepsychiatry. There have been children out of control, threats to shoot, stab, hit, bite, run, rape, murder and commit suicide.

There have been too many notes to type, too many prescriptions to call in, too many records to review.

There have been justifications for drug abuse and justifications for abusing your wife. There have been people so psychotic that they didn’t even believe that they had a mental illness, in spite of overwhelming evidence to the contrary.

There have been scammers and sweet talkers and threateners. There have been people I met for the first time and people I saw again for the first time in a decade. There have been people who professed love for me and people who couldn’t wait to get away from me.

There have been gratitude, happiness, sadness, regret, fear, irritability, guilt, anger, jealousy, worry, concern, disbelief, joy, anticipation, longing, love, hate, impatience, inquisitiveness, impulsivity, plodding, planning, perusing, predicting, fantasizing, and calculating.

I have used my brain, my iPhone, my fingers, my iPad, my hands, my MacBook Air, my feet, my scanner, my eyes, my camera, my ears, my earphones, a notebook, a pencil, a pen, paper, tape, boxes, folders, file cabinets, hard drives and flash drives.

I have driven a car. I have walked. I have flopped down flat, so tired that I thought I should set two separate alarms just to be sure. I have sat under a blanket. I have become intimate with the markings…markings…markings…markings on the belt of a treadmill. I have smelled the leather of the recliner and wondered why I don’t spend more time in that wonderful chair. I have ventured out on the porch, saying hello to the tiny feathered couple who occupy the nest above my rocker.

I have listened to music and podcasts, read a book, perused a paper publication, downloaded and read a PDF, held a real newspaper in my hands and smiled at the little known fact that ink smudges are still seen in the wild.

I have created.

I have destroyed.

I’m happy about the one, but not about the other. I’ll let you guess which is which.

I have felt-viscerally.

I have spoken-harshly.

I have cried-softly.

I have laughed-often.

I have remembered the past through songs and stories and pictures.

I have envisioned the future through day dreams and night dreams and plotting and planning and scheming and hoping and yes, even praying.

God.

Things are never tidy. Things are never neat. Things are never orderly.

Actually, things are just things.

Feelings are just feelings.

There will be more of all of it.

There will be less of some of it.

I’ll be here.

Maybe the next post will be about something.

When it writes itself, I’ll share it with you.

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Photo taken February 15, 2014, on the South Rim Trail of Tallulah Gorge State Park, Tallulah Falls, GA, USA, with an iPhone 5s.