Generosity

I spent the night of the science fair sleeplessly. The energy expenditure of the day was considerable, though I guess my adrenaline concentration stemming from the experience was too high to be ignored. Fatigue has turned into utter fatigue as insomnia continues. I’m guessing that this condition only serves to enhance my typical, transitory, post-event post-partum depressive tendencies.

I know that I’m exhausted and overly-emotional. And, as happens to me in this kind of space, I tend to socially withdraw a bit and reflect on my existence. What am I doing here? Is this really my life? What can I change? How can I change?

I was touched by a couple of folks who gave me huge compliments today on my leadership ability. Their comments were exceptionally kind and generous, I thought.

Am I that generous with others? Oh, I would like to think so; but I’m not always so sure. Extending sincere appreciation to those around you, I believe, is a mark not only of exemplary leadership, but of generosity and simple humanity. In whatever form it takes, saying out loud words like “I appreciate you” is a powerful thing. The message can be as significant and affirming as “I love you.”

Can we live without being loved and appreciated? Yes, I guess so, but it makes the difficulty level of life much more significant.

I frequently think of the May 2002 episode of “ER” that marked the passing of character Dr. Mark Green. (Yes, Jim, again with a TV show!?) Why this comes to mind for me at this particular moment, I’m not sure, except that is has to do with the concept of “generosity.”

In this episode, Mark is near death and he makes the decision to spend his final days in Hawaii. With him are daughter Rachel, wife Elizabeth, and their baby daughter Ella.

The most moving moment, and the one that has kept flashing into my psyche over the years, is his final piece of advice: “Be generous Rachel,” he says, “with yourself, with your life, with your love. Just be generous.”

I would love to be known as a man of integrity – and generosity. For now: I’m working on it.

Soundtrack Suggestion

And the seasons they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We’re captive on the carousel of time
We can’t return we can only look behind
From where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game

(“The Circle Game” – Joni Mitchell)

Cellular Response

Last spring, after the breakup of a significant long-term relationship, and during the most anxiety-producing days surrounding the decision of my “interim-position” status, I developed extreme muscular tension in my legs which had some other, rather scary, side effects. Ever since then, I have taken a, more-or-less, physical-therapy approach to the problem and, after long months, was making progress: almost able to see light at the end of the tunnel by December. However, over the holidays, I had somewhat a reversal of fortune, and I seem to be more symptomatic these days, rather than less.

I’ve approached this as primarily a muscular issue, with anxiety as the root cause. I've done many, many sessions of deep-tissue massage and ultrasound in order to attempt to settle my leg muscles down. Some of the early work, with the deepest massage treatments, produced rather dramatic emotional responses on my part. The work on my body would result in waves of feelings of sadness and loss, for example, and I would end up crying in the office before I was able to gather myself together and get dressed to leave. As I started to get better, less symptomatic, I stopped having such responses. But, yesterday, again, as we worked and probed and pressure-pointed spots on my lower body, I was once more similarly affected. Like a tsunami, feelings of extreme sadness rapidly, and without warning, totally engulfed me.

Although there are a number of possible explanations for what's going on (including neurological), I suspect my body is sending me some kind of message that, to date, I've not totally deciphered. But, my working theory is that the overwhelming loss, and potential for loss, that created last spring’s anxiety led my body to react the way it did, and that the depth of the physical pain — memorized at the cell level — is reflective of the severity of the emotional wounding. Further, when my physical being is poked and prodded in just such a manner, there’s a direct link to the emotional scar tissue. The physical part of the experience yesterday was quite painful, of course. But, the emotional aspect, for me, was profound. And, today, twenty-four hours later, I'm still processing and asking “what is this all about?”

Which part of my being do I heal first: my body or my soul? How do I go about doing that?