TechnoMonk’s Musings

It hasn’t exactly been the blink-of-an-eye, but, as of today, August 13, it has been a quarter of a century of sobriety for me. Read the full story here.

I’ve had a couple of interesting interactions recently…

First: on my daily bike-path walk the other day, I ran into one of my new California friends. She wrote me soon afterward to report that I had looked “positively vibrant” during our little chat.

Second: a more casual acquaintance, and an infrequent reader of these pages, asked me in an email, with a somewhat judgmental tone (in my opinion), “aren’t you rather obsessed with your health?”

To the first person, I replied, “ahhhh…summer” … and though I believed her observation was a bit of an overstatement, I was secretly thankful that someone had really noticed me.

To the second, I reacted rather defensively…saying, no, I considered myself to be just about perfectly attentive to matters of my health. Given that I’ve spent years dealing with chronic pain, beginning in my twenties and continuing on to the present day, the old saying “if you have your health, you have everything” has profound meaning in my life.

For when a body is dealing with such issues, one can hardly say that “health” is present. Admittedly, I do spend a lot of time and energy focused on my health. It seems that it’s a condition of my existence.

Despite any projected “vibrancy” of late, however, I continue to struggle with body-wide muscular pain. And although I’ve made significant positive progress in recent months (mostly I credit the Feldenkrais Method and Anne, my local Feldenkrais practitioner), in the past couple of weeks I have been dealing with a minor setback, and the old questions such as “how did this happen?” and “why me?” come up in my mind again and again.

Regarding the matter of how did this happen?, I think I have more clarity than ever. So that’s today’s topic.

I consider my present health woes to have begun on November 13, 2003, when the Governor of the State of Oregon took the unprecedented action of firing the Board of Higher Education. I have reported on this situation before, and I knew immediately that my life was about to change, likely dramatically. The Board, after all, was my employer, and if the composition of that body was going turnover in such a wholesale manner… well, what (and who) was now in place to insulate me?

What resulted was that my entire world did shift. Within a very short time it was clear that I would be losing a job I’d held for nine years, and that I had nowhere, really, to go. I became extremely anxious. I asked myself: was I to be one of those older, displaced professionals no longer able to find gainful, skill-and-experience-appropriate employment?

Was I destined to soon become intimately familiar with that common question, “would you like fries with that?”

Of course, I’ve chronicled a lot of what subsequently happened to me here. I did lose my longtime position with the Oregon University System, but I was, fortunately, picked up for one, then another, “interim” arrangement at two Oregon community colleges. Though for three and a half years, my life was entirely focused on searching for “permanent” employment, while going to work everyday in highly-unstable, non-supportive, temporary environments.

During that time, I faced rejection over and over again in my job search. Although I seemed to have little trouble securing interviews…I had significant difficulty obtaining an offer for a permanent job. I came in second an amazing number of times. And then I ended up, in my interim appointments, working for not only unsupportive people, but for individuals who were overtly hostile and abusive. A short time into my first interim position, for example, I was lambasted and humiliated in a public meeting by the big boss. It set up a situation that entirely disallowed any possibility of comfort, security, support, or long-term prospects at the institution.

And then, if my professional life weren’t unstable enough, I continued to subject myself, in my personal life, to a relationship that involved several (and, sadly, predictable) episodes of painful rejection.

In sum, I spent a considerable portion of nearly four years dealing with repeated rejection and utter lack of support in both my personal and professional lives. (And, in fact, the personal-rejection scenario stretched back over more than twice as many years.)

During this entire time, my body was paying attention. I believe, now, that the resulting non-stop anxiety due to lack of support is the source of my current physical woes.

Moshe Feldenkrais, in a chapter entitled “The Body Pattern of Anxiety” (in The Elusive Obvious) discusses the human condition in terms of our instinctual reaction to threats. For example, he discusses what we know today as “fight or flight.” Feldendkrais (1981, p. 56) states that “an animal, when frightened, either freezes or runs away. In either case there is a momentary halt….with a violent contraction of all the flexor muscles…”. Further, he considers the case of a newborn infant, a being who is “practically insensitive to slow and small external stimuli” … but who “if suddenly lowered, or if support is sharply withdrawn, a violent contraction of all flexors with halt of breath is observed.” Feldenkrais notes further that “the similarity of the reactions of a newborn infant to withdrawal of support, and those of fright or fear in the adult is remarkable” (p. 57, emphasis added).

This makes so much sense to me! I believe these observations provide a logical explanation for the chronic-muscle-pain issues I deal with on a daily basis.

I had lived a professional existence where my experience was one of rejection and almost complete lack of support. And in the case of my personal relationship, the support I enjoyed at any particular moment was at risk of being withdrawn at any time.

My body tensed, ever ready for the next piece of bad news. And it stayed that way. I apparently lost the ability to ever relax my muscles at all…from head to toe, I became totally knotted up. I was a wet dishrag: stretched, squeezed, twisted, and left-to-dry on the rack. Over and over and over again.

I suspect any body that is stretched, squeezed and twisted, in a time frame with no predicable end, is one that is going to end up in pain.

Amazingly, I have finally found an environment that is much more personally supportive. And thanks to the supplement Fibroplex, the personal health benefits of which I have previously documented (here and here), along with the “neuromuscular re-education” that I’m engaging in with the Feldenkrais Method, I believe I’m gradually unknotting these old, fatigued, anxiety-ridden, twisted-up muscles.

It is a slow, tedious, and necessary process…if I ever expect to live mostly-pain-free ever again, that is.

As I reported earlier, last Saturday was a hot day. And after spending the afternoon in the city, I was tired out from all my adventures. I went to bed even earlier than usual, keeping all the windows open on both sides of my apartment because of the heat.

At 3:30 a.m. I woke up, but not because of the temperature inside…I was startled by the smell of smoke. What the heck is going on? I was wide awake instantly. I am pretty sensitive to smoke, whether it’s a neighbor firing up a barbeque grill, or someone in the vicinity having a cigarette. As I evaluated the quality of this middle-of-the-night smoke, however, it was neither of those. Something else was burning, and I was hoping it wasn’t my building.

I looked out from my balcony…nothing visible down below in terms of fire. And I heard no fire engines. I put on pants and shoes, and carrying my keys, did a quick walk-around of the complex. Nothing. Still, the air was sickening with the heaviness of the smoke. I asked myself again: what is going on?

I went back inside, shut my windows, and fitfully, worriedly, tried to get back to sleep.

One of the first things I heard on KQED the next morning was about the huge number of fires burning in California. Somehow, up to that point, I’d missed all the news. However, having dealt with the smoke in the middle of the night (and still smelling it that morning), it all started to make sense. The smoke had finally made its way to the Bay Area.

Well, you’ve probably all heard about this by now…it’s been over a week of more and more fires (primarily started by lightning strikes) and hazy, smoky air for us to breathe.

There are literally hundreds of fires going on. Yesterday, at one point, I heard the number was 1,100. Yes, that’s one thousand one hundred. But I’ve also heard a variety of estimates from 800 on up. This morning’s San Francisco Chronicle reported that the wildfires have so far consumed more than 300 square miles of California. (If you want to see a map of the significant ones, click here.) The other night the weatherman on the local NBC station estimated that the smoke could last for weeks or even months…given that the fires are both north and south of here and that the winds during the summertime generally alternate between northerly and southerly.

How can we live like this?!

For some unknown reason, the lyrics of Sting’s stalker song (“Every Breath you Take”) keep running through my head…

Every breath you take
Every move you make…

Given these conditions, before long I’ll be carrying my own personal tank of oxygen along with me just to breathe…and the tank will probably be strapped to my walker!

Soundtrack Suggestion

I’ve got a red hot heart
And your heart’s as blue as the blood in your veins
I say there’s fire down below
You say it’s only smoke and ashes baby
Only smoke and ashes baby, baby…

(“Smoke and Ashes” – Tracy Chapman)

Ten days ago, I opened up my mailbox and found what looked like “real mail.” It was a rather-fat #10 envelope, neatly addressed with human handwriting (printing, actually) and a first-class stamp. My full name and address were there, but, curiously, there was no return address. It was postmarked May 19: Santa Ana, California.

I excitedly opened it up, thinking that, perhaps, some friend had taken the time to write me a letter – even though I didn’t think I knew anyone in Santa Ana. (But: who gets real mail these days!? What a treat!)

Well, such was not the case.

What I found was a folded-up four-page newsprint “article” (a newspaper insert, one corner identified it as the Weekly Journal, labeled “advertisement” at the top center of the page) describing a commercial herbal mixture called “Cho-Wa.” At the top of the first page, there was more handwriting, saying simply:

James,
Check it out!
J

Or at least I think it was signed “J.” I’m not totally sure. (Maybe it was a “T?”)

So, I’m thinking: what’s going on here? And, who calls me James?

I was curious enough to read the entire article, though, which purported to document the profound health benefits of an ancient Japanese herbal mixture designed to enhance “ki,” or “life force.” (Also known as “vital energy” or “spiritual energy.” The Chinese word is “qi” – pronounced “chee” – and I’ve written about this concept before, here and here.)

(I subsequently found the full text of this article online…click here if you’re interested.)

Since every visit I’ve ever had with a practitioner of Traditional Chinese Medicine has assessed me as “qi deficient,” I naturally paid close attention to this article. Of course, it was an advertisement for a product, and offered up practically miraculous stories of restoration.

And, I continued to wonder: who the heck sent this to me?

After thinking about it some, I went to the website listed and ordered a month’s supply, though. What could it hurt? I’m already taking a variety of supplements, and, over time, have experimented with a wide spectrum of natural products in order to find assistance for what ails me.

A few days later, the product arrived. It was slickly packaged and professionally invoiced. The box of 30 individual packets came with a little 10-page instruction book entitled “How to Experience Cho-Wa. Harmony is Strength.” It advises the user to set up a regular ritual to take the product, setting aside about 15 minutes a day to stir the packet contents into 6 ounces of cool water and then very slowly sip the mixture. As it takes some time to dissolve the powder into the water, the advice is to “simply continue stirring and go deeper into your awareness of the present moment.”

It’s all very Zen-like.

I’m on my third day of taking this formula now. And there’s not much new to report with respect to my physical well-being yet.

But I’ve continued to be curious about how I got this letter; so today I did some research on the web. Apparently, the letter did not come from anyone I know…this appears to be a “marketing technique.” Some even claim that it’s a total scam, aimed at “a demographic pre-disposed to … poor judgment with respect to mass marketing ploys: the elderly.”

Ah, so.

Well, it apparently works. I guess this old fart still believes in the Fountain of Youth, and am willing to follow anyone who claims that it really exists.

Silly, naïve, me.

Soundtrack Suggestion

Live a life less ordinary
Live a life extraordinary with me
Live a life less sedentary
Live a life evolutionary with me
Well I hate to be a bother,
But it’s you and there’s no other, I do believe
You can call me naïve but...
I know me very well (at least as far as I can tell)
And I know what I need ...

(“Life Less Ordinary” – Carbon Leaf)

I went walking along the Pacific Ocean beach of San Francisco’s Sunset District during the weekend. It was an incredible day: bright sunshine, cloudless, not-too-windy. I was dressed in layers, but many (individuals, couples, families) were attired simply in shorts and t-shirts.

As I walked up and down the beach, I couldn’t help but notice how, well, dirty, the landscape looked. This ocean-front bore very little resemblance at all to the array of pristine beaches I am accustomed to in Oregon.

I had to ask myself: what’s going on here?

Well, consider…

On November 7, 2007, not long after I moved to the Bay Area, a wayward container ship (the Cosco Busan) ran right into the Bay Bridge and spilled 54,000 gallons of bunker fuel oil into the water.

You must remember hearing about this. It was a mess. Beaches were blackened; more than 2,500 birds died. (And 20,000 more may have been put at risk.) And who knows what other health risks were created!

At the time, I was just starting a new job in the North Bay, and was pretty much totally focused on my own personal survival. The oil spill, to me, was sort of background noise.

Now, this spring, I get out on a nice day and look at the beaches…and think…ohmygod!

Here’s a little something from the website of the International Bird Rescue Research Center:

Bunker fuel spills are extremely toxic to marine life, especially birds that float and feed through a spill. The oil inhibits the birds ability to thermo-regulate and they become cold as their natural insulation in their feathers break down. The birds spend most of their time trying to preen the oil out of feathers and thus ingesting the oil. Weakened, they will often beach themselves and fall prey to predators or die from the toxic effects of oil…

Please remember : Do not attempt to wash, feed or house oiled birds and other animals! Spilled oil is extremely toxic. The use of proper gloves and protocols must be followed to insure the safety of the public AND the animals.

So, I am asking: am I really ok when I’m out walking around on these beaches these days!? How would I know?