Category: courage

A new start!

The title above echoes the title of an earlier post—but I replaced the question mark by an exclamation mark. 🙂

I really want to make a new start by changing one or more keystone habits. I have tried to do that repeatedly over the past year, but I failed. I like to think I am a strong and independent individual—and that my mind should rule over my body. It doesn’t. I’ve had some health issues lately. Relatively minor ones, all of which can be solved by a bit of dieting and daily exercise. But the power of habit is strong. In fact, it has been stronger than myself over the past few months. Why?

In my previous post, I noted that I don’t accept the hasty conclusions of psychologists and researchers who tell us that consciousness is just an epiphenomenon—that is, somehow, not real. Free will is real. Full stop. It emerges, somehow, in that discursive and associative logic that characterizes our thought processes and, hence, it’s as real as emotions or perceptions as far as I am concerned. I should just keep quoting those wise words on the relations between thoughts, words, actions, habits and character.

Watch your thoughts, because thoughts become words.

Watch your words, because words become actions.

Watch your actions, because actions become habits.

Watch your habits, because habits become character.

Watch your character, because character becomes destiny.

What a beautiful way of expressing how the law of cause and effect (or the law of karma, if you prefer Buddhist terminology) actually operates in our personal life ! There is a logic, indeed, in what we do and who or what we become. While, at times, we may think there is no escape from that logic, our destiny is not inevitable. We can change the logic. We take decisions. Our mind is free and, therefore, we are free.

I just need to keep telling myself that over and over again, and all will be alright. 🙂

Lessons Learned

Dear Albert,

I’m am so glad your son is safe. Thankfully, most wounds, both mental and physical, heal with time. Since kids don’t always think of the consequences scars can be important reminders, often of one’s youthful imperviousness to peril. They also make us unique and serve as conversation pieces that offer subtle lessons for others to hopefully learn from. It seems like pandering but it has always held true for me that experience is the best teacher, and similar to a college education, these lessons definitely do not come cheap.  Don’t beat yourself up. As parents, I am a firm believer that no matter what approach you take in raising your kids, you fuck up and consequentially, fuck up your kids. Mine have now lived enough to call me on my shit. Yet another example of the circle of life.

After reading your posts I always reflect on the similarities of issues that drive our thoughts, reactions and even our wallets. It is easy to attribute this to age, education or other privileges we are certainly lucky to benefit from, but I hope that we are striking a deeper chord and raising topics or concerns that will resonate with others. I suppose time and where this “blogventure” takes us will tell.

I also have good news to share, I have a part-time job as assistant to a terrifically talented and kind author. I have spent the last few weeks learning some of the publishing world and working on organizing myself in order to help organize him. I am fortunate to witness the vivid emotion and deep introspection that is derived from the arts, something we are sorely in need of today. I am also painfully cognizant that writing is a skill that takes dedication and practice to excel at. Another thing I am thankful to you and this blog for.

I think about how central having a purpose is to our lives. Being responsible, to someone or something keeps our minds occupied, gives us meaning and hopefully gives us pleasure. These past discussions have focused a lot on our kids and defining ourselves as they transition to adults. While I have never been one of those mothers with a laser focus on their kids’ activities the blog posts have been a testament to the void they leave as they strike out on their own. It’s time once again to define myself as an individual, forced to measure success by my own merits and my own scale. That is a bit daunting.

Do opportunities present themselves at right time, or are we just more open to the possibilities? I’m not sure why or how things happen when you seem to need it most but I am grateful when the stars align. For me this job is more than a list of activities or set of tasks to accomplish, it is fundamental to my well being in the following ways:

It is an important distraction from the pain. All too often I can find a myriad of reasons (not excuses) to avoid doing something. The pain and the fatigue are very real and often take precedence but having something to focus your mind on is a blessing. I feel a huge sense of satisfaction and resolve when I look up at the clock and I have spent 4 hours working and not thinking about stiff legs or a sore back, plus I’m exercising my brain!

It provides an important sense of financial independence. I am not implying that I have suddenly changed our tax bracket by working but it allows me to have some WAM, Walking Around Money.

The interaction with people and knowledge acquired hopefully makes me a more interesting person. At the very least I find myself more interesting.

I  chose to feed my ego with my first paycheck!

Fondly,  Sophia

20180223_171512

Standing Out

Dear Albert,

Thank you for sharing such a personal account of your adventures with your son. These memories allow me to travel vicariously to unattainable locations, filling my mind with harrowing images of clinging to a mountainside buffeted by the winds and visions of azure skies, jagged peaks of violet and brilliant white. Your lessons of perseverance and strength are of value to us both.

My passion has always been the lure of travel. I love everything about it, investigating countries and the treasures they hold within their borders, the often tedious and unforeseen transportation challenges en route and eventually the destination itself. The one advantage to knowing that you have MS for as long as I have is that the disease slowly creeps into your life, forcing you to accommodate to its demands over time. By knowing that it would eventually catch up to me I made a concerted effort to do as much as I could, not waiting for the right time or if and when there was enough money. A definite highlight was a 7-month trip around the world with my husband and two kids. We meandered with a general direction but no real agenda, lingering where we felt a compulsion to stay and discover our temporary home. While I love to travel without a fixed schedule, I must admit, most people would decline a repeat invitation to travel with me. My reputation was garnered as a result of the fluid and unstructured nature of my travel style which has led to less than comfortable nights in cars, bus stations and questionable hotel rooms. This unencumbered means of travel has also led to the discovery of amazing places and unexpected adventures.

For me, this trip marked the last time I would travel without serious limitations to my mobility. I miss the freedom of being able to pack up and go, not worrying about stairs or worse, inaccessible toilets. It is easy to opt out. It’s easy to make excuses that it will be too hard (mostly for those that travel with me). It’s easy to convince yourself to stay home. To become invisible.

I refuse to be invisible! I already tried this and was frightened by just how easy it was to allow yourself to feel obsolete. Quit your job, refuse invitations from your friends and make excuses for not participating and after a short time people will assume you aren’t coming. I was embarrassed for being in a wheelchair, as if somehow it made me weaker. Somehow, I had made a choice to give up and lost my ability to walk because I didn’t work hard enough. It took a long time to forgive myself for this self-imposed sentence. If I am truthful, there are still days when I give in to these fears and sulk around my house making myself and everyone else miserable.

This weekend was not one of those times. We had glorious t-shirt weather in January. Outside patio, beer drinking weather, and I for one was delighted to be out and about enjoying it. With a cold beer in my hand and the sun on my face I looked around, no one was gawking, no one really noticed me. If I was invisible it was not because I stood out, but because I blended in. If I am not wanting to be imperceptible I now realize it is up to me to do something to stand out. I am like any other mid-life adult who needs to work harder to continue to define their life and redefine their goals. The traumas I have saddled myself with are excuses and have allowed me to opt out. Not because anyone expected me to. Not because I couldn’t do the work but because I have allowed myself to buy into the excuses and the trite role that we associate with disability.

My next trip will be to Guatemala. I will research hotels with accessible toilets but not much else. I will probably not find a whole lot of people interested in going with me. I will be free, adventurous and utterly visible!

Sophia

Finding Our Resolve

Dear Sophia—

As I am going through a bit of a rough patch myself currently, your latest post was a good read for me. It lifted my spirits, and reminded me of what I’ve been telling my son: failing is OK, but you need to try. And trying—really trying—means giving it everything you have. Nothing more. Nothing less.

I sometimes need to remind myself of that, so it’s good I’ve got kids. 🙂 Just like you. 🙂 What we’re telling our kids, we’re telling ourselves, right? 🙂

Let me tell you two real out-of-my-life stories—if only because our blog was pretty theoretical so far, right? 🙂

When I took my son up the mountain—his first climb on Mont Blanc, almost two years ago now—he was 17 years old. His power-to-weight ratio is, of course, much better than mine. And so this old man had trouble following his pace. We had started our push to the summit a few hours past midnight, as one should. But then—at the crack of dawn, when we had crossed the DĂ´me du GoĂ»ter—we arrived at the final ridge to the summit. Not very difficult technically—but… Well… Psychologically daunting for anyone who hasn’t climbed before. You see the summit, and that very narrow ridge line that leads to it—two or three feet wide only. And then you see the drop on both sides. Is it over 3,000 feet? It doesn’t matter. It’s just a sheer drop. Two or three feet may seem like a lot—like a sidewalk. But there is no road next to the sidewalk here. If you fall, you’re gone. That’s when you realize that climbing is not like a high-altitude trek. It’s… Well… It’s bad. We shouldn’t do it—too much risk—but then that’s why we do it, right? :-/

He had difficulty keeping his balance because of the terrible wind gusts at that altitude. He had the power, but he didn’t have my belly. 🙂 So he hesitated as the snow ridge narrowed down. And he stopped when it got really narrow. He cried he couldn’t do this, and that we should turn back. So we turned back, to a spot where there was plenty of space, but where we could still feel those maddening wind gusts. I made him push his ice axe deep into the snow, and told him to kneel, stabilize and breathe. So we sat there in the snow—just close to each other, not saying anything. After a minute or so, I said something like: “We can go back. But you’re going to be back. There is the summit. A few hours more. You want to reach it. No pressure. If you wanna go back, we go back. You can come back.”

We just looked at each other, and I could see him calming down as he was breathing somewhat more normally—as we had stopped the physical exertion. And then he got up—and we got started on the ridge again. We went up slowly. Step by step. I made sure that, whenever he moved his ice axe, mine was anchored deep into the snow—and I only moved mine when his was anchored. I stayed behind him, so I could see him, and I only gave him a few feet of rope, so I could stabilize him immediately if he’d loose balance. We had to get across a deep crevasse while going up. At that point, I told him to get behind me, and he climbed across it right behind me. With my ice axe as the anchor for both of us. I thought he’d freak out again, but he didn’t. We reached the summit many hours later—but well before noon, so the snow was good throughout the climb. I hadn’t told him, but I had set my cutoff time at noon. I’ve been in bad snow. I didn’t want to be in bad snow with my son. So we got back down safely. [It is very telling that most people who die in the mountains make the summit but can’t make it down. Think about it, Sophia. What does it mean?]

Was this meaningful? I think it is. Just two weeks ago—as he was struggling with the stress of his first university exams—he wrote me to thank me for making him do something that he could be really proud of. So that mountain—his first and only one, so far—has given him the confidence he needs to climb a much more difficult one: getting through university. I also repeated what I had told him a couple of times already: failure is an option. You don’t need parents when winning: you need your parents to support you when you fail.

The other story is about my one of my brothers. He struggled with alcohol addiction. I thought he’d never be able to abstain, but he did. I asked him how he finally got himself to quitting. He said: “I failed many times, but every day is a day. And you keep trying, and then one day becomes a week, and a week becomes a month, and then longer. I failed many times. I was angry at myself, for not keeping a promise—worse, not keeping a promise to myself. But I was also able to forgive myself, and start a new day, with new resolve.”

Coping with addiction is like climbing a mountain: if you can’t make the summit the first time, you just have to keep going back at it. I admire my brother for his strength and will power. Healthy people who think they are strong and have conquered it all, should probably think again: did you ever cope with disease, or with addiction? If you’re think you’re strong, think again.

So… Well… Sophia—Please be kind to yourself. Think about the promises you want to make to yourself before you make them because… Not keeping a promise to yourself may feel worse than not keeping a promise to a friend—especially when you’re coping with addiction, like my brother, or, in your case, when your health condition is such that you should or should not be doing certain things. Hence, think about your promises before you make them—so you have a better chance of keeping them. But, please, also forgive yourself when you’d happen to make a mistake.

Let me conclude with a song and a poem. The song is one you surely know: Shakira’s song for the 2010 World Cup. It’s really one of my favorites for almost any situation. Just sing along with it. You know the first verses, right?

You’re a good soldier
Choosing your battles
Pick yourself up
And dust yourself off
Get back in the saddle

Music is powerful. Let it engulf you.

The poem is even more powerful, I think. It was written by another blogger, who calls herself Oriah Mountain Dreamer. It usually makes me cry—a healthy release of tears (and pain).

The Invitation

It doesn’t interest me
what you do for a living.
I want to know
what you ache for
and if you dare to dream
of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me
how old you are.
I want to know
if you will risk
looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me
what planets are
squaring your moon…
I want to know
if you have touched
the centre of your own sorrow
if you have been opened
by life’s betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.

I want to know
if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.

I want to know
if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you
to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us
to be careful
to be realistic
to remember the limitations
of being human.

It doesn’t interest me
if the story you are telling me
is true.
I want to know if you can
disappoint another
to be true to yourself.
If you can bear
the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life
from its presence.

I want to know
if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
“Yes.”

It doesn’t interest me
to know where you live
or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after the night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.

It doesn’t interest me
who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the centre of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me
where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know
what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.

I want to know
if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like
the company you keep
in the empty moments.

[…]

I have shared this before— with close friends, and with my life partner… But… Well… I still keep reading it as an invitation to myself. I like the last line in particular: I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.

When you’re alone, your only company is yourself, right? Despite all of my adventures and forays in exciting places, I sometimes think I still have trouble liking myself. Mountains have a well-defined summit, but the road of life does not have a clear end. That’s why it takes courage to keep following it.

Yours—Albert