I’ve been thinking, in recent days, that it’s possible I might have to relinquish my well-earned, and entirely appropriate, moniker of “TechnoMonk.” As you may recall (or likely not), the name was given to me by “C” in recognition of my propensity for always acquiring the latest and greatest technology toys – and my concomitant inclination toward Spartan furnishings in the rest of my life. Probably the most notable of my minimalist tendencies has been the practice of sleeping on a futon. And not only have I slept on one for a very long time, it’s been placed on the floor in my various bedrooms – giving those spaces a perpetually-bare, “monkish” appearance.
Well, all that is about to change. I bought a new mattress/box-spring set that is scheduled to be delivered next weekend. In terms of the events of my life (and if you don’t count all the job changes and moves in recent times), this act is practically revolutionary.
I say this because this is something that I’ve put off doing for years and years. Well, truth be told: decades. I am admitting here to unhealthy, counter-productive behavior, and perhaps even a totally neurotic tendency, of delaying a purchase that I’ve long suspected would be good for me.
So, what’s the back story here?
Well, I was divorced in 1978. Yes, very long ago. A much different time. Jimmy Carter was president, for crying out loud. When we were married, “M” and I had a wonderful queen-sized bed, made of teak. We used a foam mattress, which gave us a very firm, supportive sleeping surface. And it was a beautiful piece of furniture.
I left that teak bed behind when I left the marriage. I subsequently moved into an apartment with practically no furnishings. I spent the first couple weeks sleeping in a sleeping bag on the floor – before finally purchasing a foam mattress (that I also kept on the floor). Even though I had no immediate plans to be in a relationship again, I thought, even back then, that purchasing a “real bed” could wait...that I could buy another one, eventually, with another partner.
In my (much to my surprise) perpetually-single state, though, the foam mattress lasted for years. Finally, a year after I moved to Indiana, in 1991, I replaced the foam with a new futon. Again, I placed this bed on the floor. Despite occasional recommendations, over the years, from chiropractors and other health-care practitioners, that I find a more suitable sleeping surface, I persisted. I was always thinking that “the one” was right around the corner...and no sooner would I buy a bed that it would be the wrong one for “us.”
Well, here I am over 31 years later. (Holy crap, how did this happen?) I’ve been sleeping on the floor for three-plus decades. Despite, at one point, being close to having all that change. In early 1998, I suggested to “C” that I was thinking about buying a new bed (to make her visits to my place more accommodating). The huge negative reaction to that idea on her part was totally shocking...and I should have known right there that this was not a relationship with long-term prospects. Ah, all the missed clues!
Yes, and even our last night together involved a spat that involved rejection of both me as well as the futon we were on. The truly bizarre admission that I have to make here in this essay, is that after that last night together, I kept the futon on the floor in the bedroom, but I spent approximately the next five years sleeping on the sofa: so much did I hate the site, the futon, of our final staking-out-of-positions...that led to the end of us as a couple. I have never admitted this to anyone. Well, until y’all, right now.
So, here I am, almost ten years past that point...finally making steps to take care of myself: to no longer punish myself by sleeping on an inappropriate surface, or banishing myself to the sofa to avoid negative memories of “the end.”
I have made great strides in improving my chronic pain issues in the last year. There is still progress to made, though. And I suspect that sleeping on a real bed will make a difference.
Though this may all put my “TechnoMonk” reputation at stake, I’m willing. And eager. To be healthier.
During the span of the three-plus years I’ve been blogging, I have offered an ongoing discussion about various aspects of my health. Most of those musings have had to do with my struggles with chronic pain, especially in the aftermath of my job loss in 2004. This entry is a very brief follow-up to my July 7 report entitled “On Vibrancy and Health.”
As you know, I’ve led a roller-coaster type of emotional existence with regard to my physical well-being – as I’ve explored a variety of alternative therapies and approaches to cope with my body-wide muscular pain. My condition is one that modern “Western medicine” has been totally unable to diagnose or assist with.
Last Saturday, my Feldenkrais practitioner declared that I looked “good” and “healthy” – repeating observations that she’d been making in recent weeks. We’ve been working together for a year now, during which time I have admittedly made remarkable progress. Additionally, she offered the opinion that not only do I look healthy, but that I am healthy.
I believe that she’s right. I no longer have pain as the primary identifier of who I am. I am a basically-healthy person who experiences some pain. I am not a person whose life is dominated by pain and pain-control.
Of course, I have to be careful. I attend to, and nurture, my physical health as much as anyone I know. I watch closely what I put into my body and stay away from “junk.” I have a regimen of dietary supplements that I won’t do without. I take hot baths, go to Jazzercise classes and Feldenkrais lessons, walk every day (about eight months a year, anyway), and do stretches & movements morning and evening to focus on relaxing my irritable muscles. I keep a regular schedule and make sure I get enough sleep.
Fortunately, along with all of this, I live in a geography and inhabit a living-space that I feel comfortable with. And, I have a mostly-stable and supportive work environment that has made a huge difference in my life.
Things, right now, seem to be working on a personal level. Now, if the economy would just start to turn around and offer the world a little more hope, that would be great...
News reports circulated yesterday regarding the latest research on the topic of “happiness.” As it turns out, empirical data now exist to support the notion that your emotional state is influenced, to a measureable degree, by those around you. Given that I’ve long hypothesized that anxiety is a contagious condition,it’s no stretch at all for me to imagine that happiness is as well. It seems that the closer you are geographically to a happy person the more likely you are to be happy. However, for the happiness to be “spread,” the connection you have with the other person needs to be mediated by face-to-face contact. Not technology.
Interesting.
I recently wrote on the topic of “Digital Intimacy” where I suggested that a social networking site (andthe “ambient awareness” of others) is a way for a person to feel less alone. The implication of feeling “less alone” is, naturally, to be “more happy.” (At least I think that’s the way it should work.)
Although I was long-involved in “social networking” before I even knew what the term meant, I had resisted signing up for Facebook (or anything similar) for quite a long time. However, my experience is that being first on Facebook, and now on Twitter, has led to me feeling more connected. And happier.
I have to admit, though, it’s face-to-face encounters that really do the most for me. And while “digital intimacy” is something we can all now settle for, it really is a shallow imitation of “real” intimacy.
And what is “real”? For me, intimacy it is a sense of closeness and connectedness involving trust and vulnerability – in essence, the ability of two people to share themselves completely (or nearly so) with each other. While many individuals tend to think of intimacy in terms of the physical dimension, I tend to view intimacy more in emotional terms. And for two people to be truly emotionally connected, I suggest is has to be in person.
Emailing and/or tweeting is all well and good. But in those mediums, I can’t listen to your tone of voice, look you in the eye, gently touch your knee while making a point, or hug you when we part. These are the elements of human interaction that lead me to feeling truly, intimately connected. And happy.
I’m not really sure if you know what “Jazzercise” is. So, for the uninitiated: it’s a physical-fitness program started, back in 1969, by a woman named Judi Sheppard Missett. Who woulda thunk? … back in the Sixties while many of us were trying to find a way to extract this country from an illegal, immoral war, Judi was jazz-dancin’ away and founding a fitness movement. At the time, of course, I had no idea that that was going on. I was trying to stay in college, avoid the draft, protest the war, and basically stay alive.
My personal introduction to Jazzercise was in 1983 when my roommate at the time, Tom, was lured into class by his girlfriend. Then, one day in August, during a period when my life was not working on several levels, I decided to accept his invitation to join him in a class. (I had resisted the invitation for months.) And, once there, I was hooked.
These classes are what most folks know generically as “aerobics,” but Jazzercise is a unique, franchised and controlled entity. You can go almost anywhere, find a Jazzericse class, and know what you’re going to get. In a “regular” Jazzercise class, the entire hour set to music (from today’s pop to classic rock), you’ll experience a warmup portion, a heavier cardio segment, and then a cool-down period (which ends with the use of hand and/or leg weights and at least one or two routines done on a floor mat). The Jazzercise website describes itself as a “workout program, which offers a fusion of jazz dance, resistance training, Pilates, yoga, and kickboxing movements…[with such benefits as] increased cardiovascular endurance, strength, and flexibility, as well as an overall “feel good” factor. The international franchise business hosts a network of 7,300 instructors teaching more than 32,000 classes weekly in 32 countries.”
I was living in Corvallis, Oregon, at the time of my first class. Tom quickly drifted away about the time his relationship ended, but I continued on. Subsequently, I regularly attended classes in Bloomington, Indiana; Eugene, Oregon; and Portland, Oregon. (For most of the classes, most of the time, during all those years, I was typically the only male in the room.) Then finally, after almost 22 years of Jazzercising, in 2005, while living in Portland, I stopped attending class, mostly because of my increasing levels of chronic pain.
Honestly, I didn’t know if I’d ever be healthy enough again to pursue Jazzercise, or any fitness routine other than my daily walk.
Well, things have changed. During the last few months, I have gradually gotten healthier and stronger. I attribute much of this improvement to the work I’ve done with my Feldenkrais practitioner. In fact, at my last visit, given the progress I’ve made, she asked if I’d thought about joining a gym. I said, “no, but I have been seriously thinking about returning to Jazzercise classes again.”
I’m in a period right now of being pretty amazed with myself: I’ve attended Jazzercise class two Saturday mornings in a row. While I’ve been taking it very easy, wisely pacing myself, and enduring a recovery period each time: I seem to be making it OK. I can hardly believe the progress I’ve made.
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.
