Please note:

This long essay (it’s at least four times optimum blog-post length) makes my personal case against the “medical establishment.” I do not take on the insurance companies here, though, but rather the doctors who provide front-line health care for us all.

Although I deal at length with the PSA blood test in the discussion below, I totally omit mention of the controversy currently raging about this procedure.

 Caveat lector: this post would likely merit an “R” rating near the end...

I’m one of those old geezers for whom the TV commercials advertising such products as Flomax and Proscar are made: I have an enlarged prostate [benign prostatic hyperplasia (BPH)]. BPH is characterized by a number of urinary symptoms, one of the most obvious being the number of times I have to get up during the night to relieve myself. (For a list of other symptoms, click here.)

As I have monitored my condition over the last 12 years, with the assistance of various urologists in the cities I have lived, I have regularly (at least every six months) undergone the blood test for prostate specific antigen (PSA), the front-line screening protocol for prostate cancer. During this time, as my prostate has grown in size, my PSA has risen slowly, steadily, but not dangerously. I keep track of the results by means of an Excel spreadsheet and graph, and even furnish my doctors with a least-squares plot of these data at every appointment. At one point, back in late 2002, there was an unusual spike in the one of the readings, and I was advised to have a prostate biopsy. This procedure is a very invasive and uncomfortable one, but I went ahead, in early 2003, and did it anyway. After eight full days anxiously waiting, I finally was informed that the result was negative. Since that time I have simply continued to monitor the slow, steady, predictable rise of my PSA level.

Well: except that that all changed recently. In both January and March of this year, my PSA tests have yielded significantly higher readings – data that do not fit neatly within the paradigm of my least-squares analysis. After the January result, my urologist reacted as I did: one test alone means nothing. Let’s wait a bit (a few weeks) and do it over again.

And that’s what we did, though the second test in March indicated a slightly elevated level compared to the January number. It was at this point that he stated that it was time for concern and said, “you know where we go from here.” He meant a biopsy, of course, and I declined, indicating that I wanted to wait for one more blood (PSA) test before undergoing that procedure again.

However, he was very insistent that we do a biopsy, and I was just as opinionated that it was not yet time. I told him that I had one more hypothesis to test out before I would submit to the procedure. Simply put, my theory is: my PSA number is inflated due to a new dietary supplement I had started taking. Last October (over two months prior to the January blood test), I began a product called ArthroZyme, advertised as an anti-inflammatory agent, to see if it would help me out with the chronic muscle pain that has plagued me for the last few years. The active ingredient in this product is a proteolytic enzyme called serratiopeptidase. And, as it turns out, PSA itself is itself a proteolytic enzyme. I believe it is much more than coincidental that immediately after I began taking a proteolytic enzyme supplement I start testing differently for a specific proteolytic enzyme. I believe the two phenomena are connected and that this is the simplest possible, and most likely, explanation. I contend that this hypothesis is one that merits serious consideration, and that I should, therefore, simply stop taking the supplement and re-test.

As it turned out, I was only able to leave the urologist’s office in early April after hearing the strongest language he could muster that I was making a mistake and the he strongly recommended this test. NOW.

Of course, I don’t think I’m being at all unreasonable.

• I’m the guy, after all, who was told, by TWO doctors, in no uncertain terms, one night in an emergency room, that he had bladder cancer. But I didn’t, as the cystoscopy (now there’s an invasive procedure), performed a couple of days later in a doctor’s office, conclusively demonstrated.

• I’m the one who submitted to a biopsy back in 2003 on the basis of a PSA spike. And I didn’t have cancer, then, either.

• I’m the one who has been totally discounted by my primary care physician, to the point of being told that my body aches and pains were “psychiatric” in origin and that the supplements I take (and rely on) couldn’t possibly be doing me any good.

• And, I’m the person who was kept waiting for a half hour in a neurologist’s office after having experienced the intake nurse botch the explanation of my test results – only to finally talk to the doctor and learn that the (MRI) result in question was inconsequential.

In short, my trust of most medical professionals is exceptionally low, based on a history of negative experiences, how I’ve been treated by said “professionals,” and the inability of so-called “Western medicine” to get a cancer diagnosis right or to provide any kind of explanation for what’s going on with my chronic pain.

In the urologist’s office, I had to ultimately, assertively, take charge of the meeting and say, “look, this is how it’s going to be: I’m stopping the supplement and we’re going to re-test in a few weeks.” I took away with me a lab order for the blood test and an appointment card for early June.

THEN: last week I showed up for a previously-scheduled appointment with my primary care physician. After a very cursory greeting, he immediately launched into a lecture on how irresponsible he thought I was being by ignoring the urologist’s advice. In fact, he went directly to his computer screen and read to me, word-for-word, the report forwarded to him from my urologist. The write-up was clearly written to make certain that there was no doubt that I was ignoring sound medical advice, but the most irritating and distressing element of the exercise was that he read it to me with an intentional and highly-exaggerated condescending attitude. He was clearly trying to shame me into changing my mind by giving me the message of (a) how stupidly, (b) how crazy, or (c) how both, I was behaving.

“Interesting,” I said. And then I showed him the latest PSA graph, the supplement bottle containing the proteolytic enzyme I had stopped taking, and offered my explanation. I indicated to him that I was merely applying the well-known principle of Occam’s Razor: “The simplest explanation for a phenomenon is most likely the correct explanation.”

To which he, again, with an air of annoying superiority, replied, “that would be fine, except that what you offer is NOT an explanation at all, and you’re taking unnecessary chances with your life.”

I had experienced this kind of situation with him before, of course. The first true break in our relationship came about when he labeled my physical symptoms as likely “psychiatric” in nature. During the appointment at which that language was used, I let it go; I confronted him on his condescending behavior the next time I saw him, however. And he apologized at that time.

He apparently really doesn’t get it, though. Now the same kind of attitude was being exhibited over my PSA result. I sat silent for a half minute or so, took a deep breath, and then said,

“Look, I really don’t think this relationship is working out. I have much different expectations of physician behavior than you have been able to provide. Some of the qualities I expect from you are clear communication, respect, decency, dignity, honesty, and support. I resent your snobbish, superior, condescending attitude and your assumption that you know what’s “right” for me. Let me tell you, I’ve spent a lifetime becoming an expert not only on my body, but on knowing my inner self...and believe me, the numbers you have cataloged away in your little computer there are not me. I know me. You don’t. Not at all. And, you’re apparently exceptionally reluctant to allow me the freedom to make decisions about this body myself. I think it’s best to part ways, and I’m wondering if there’s any physician you know of that would be open-minded enough to take on a patient who knows what self-care is and is seeking a doctor who will serve as a consultant to that self-care.”

And I wasn’t done yet...

“Look” (I said yet again; I was repeating myself), “I’ve got the lab order for the PSA test right here in this folder. And I’ve got my next appointment with the urologist scheduled. I’ve got time scheduled away from work in June for a trip, but the plans are soft. I can easily change them and stay here and be available for a biopsy. I’m testing a hypothesis. A reasonable one, I think, but I know I could be wrong. I’ve got the plans all laid out. I’m taking care of myself. What the fuck is your problem?!”

This guy, taken in tandem with the urologist a couple of weeks earlier, had obviously struck a nerve with me: pushed my buttons big time. I immediately started reflecting on all the pre-med students I had competed with in math and science classes in college – along with my complete and utter disdain for them at the time. They were all about their course grades and med-school admission. They were exceptionally good memorizers of content, but, generally speaking, amazingly poor critical thinkers. They always got A’s, but I always got a higher A, especially in those courses that really meant something: organic chemistry, physical chemistry, etc. I pretty much kicked their collective butts. Pre-med? HA!

During my time in my primary care doc’s office, I became angry, resentful, (defensive, of course), and as assertive as I’d ever had to be in that kind of environment. I was appalled that I hadn’t changed doctors when he had labeled me a nut case the year before.

He ultimately apologized. Again. He said that he did listen to me and support me. And he said that he really didn’t know of anyone that practiced medicine any differently than he did...that everyone he knew was as skeptical of dietary supplements as he was, and suspicious of patients who experimented with unproven “natural” substances who sometimes ascribed to them “magical properties.”

I left the appointment by reiterating that I had a plan, that I was sticking to it, and that, despite his insinuations, I was neither stupid nor crazy. I said, simply, I knew how to take care of myself, and I was doing just that.

Now: could I be wrong about all this? Could I be merely delaying the inevitable cancer diagnosis by insisting on testing my theory? Might I simply be afraid of undergoing a painful, invasive procedure? Might I be terrified that I really do have prostate cancer?

The answers to the above: YES, of course. To any or all of them. But, it seems to me that I have a legitimate theory, one that I’m entitled to test out. The blood will be drawn next week and we’ll soon see if the PSA level drops. Or not.

Could I die? Well, yes. We’re all going to die, right? Have I put my life at risk by testing out a reasonable hypothesis? I rather doubt it, but, as I remind the doctors, it is my life to risk. In the matter of my body, I get to choose. Pure and simple, I get the final word here. It’s my body. It’s my choice.

Dear Doctor: If you are unable to partner with your patients in their care, then you have little business doing your business. Go be an auto mechanic, where the computer diagnostics these days are amazing, and quite often accurate, I’m told. Or, at least, do something else. And, for sure, if you can’t treat me with any more dignity, respect, or support than you’ve been able to muster so far: please go fuck yourself.

Soundtrack Suggestion

I told the witch doctor I was in love with you
I told the witch doctor I was in love with you
And then the witch doctor, he told me what to do
He said that ....

Ooo eee, ooo ah ah ting tang
Walla walla, bing bang
Ooo eee, ooo ah ah ting tang
Walla walla, bing bang...
Ooo eee, ooo ah ah ting tang
Walla walla, bing bang
Ooo eee, ooo ah ah ting tang
Walla walla, bing bang

(“Witch Doctor” – David Seville)

I had lunch with a group of folks from work recently. The ceremonial get-together (to honor a few of our colleagues) occurred at a rather classy French restaurant (The Left Bank) in downtown Larkspur, California. Larkspur is the tiny San Francisco suburb where I currently reside, in Marin County, which, according to Wikipedia, was the county with the highest per capita income in the country per the 2000 census.

It was one conversation in particular during this event that got me to thinking...and still has me deep-in-thought. What’s on my mind is the whole matter of “social class.”

The two individuals on my left were engaged, for a time, in a dialog about places they’ve lived and visited; both of them are extremely well-traveled. So, when such places as Hong Kong, Paris (or even Philadelphia!), were brought up...well, there simply wasn’t anything for me to contribute to the conversation. I’ve been to a lot of the states in the United States, and lived in five of them, but I’m most definitely not a world traveler. I obtained a passport for the first time ever this year, though it remains unused and stored in my sock drawer. (And, I’ve never been to such obvious American places as Philadelphia or New York.)

Then, when lunch was served, they talked about the food. One of them had, like me, ordered the salmon. When asked how it was, she said, unenthusiastically, “oh, it’s ok.” (My reply would have been, “it’s wonderful!”) The other one commented similarly on his lunch and speculated about the spices used in its creation. (I wouldn’t ever have a clue about such a thing.)

In terms of “worldliness,” these two individuals, both about my age, clearly eclipse me. I felt out-classed because I was. Although a casual observer would likely place us all in the “upper-middle-class” of American society because of our education, occupations, and income levels, by sitting next to these two, and listening in on their conversation, I was aware of what I’d call a “class distinction.”

Both of my parents were high-school graduates, and I was the first in my family to attend college. Subsequently, after my bachelor’s degree, I proceeded over the course of my lifetime to earn three more graduate degrees. In terms of educational attainment in this country, I must place in the top couple of percentage points: I am not only highly educated, I am (admittedly) overeducated.

However, I continue to be aware, in situations like this lunch-time conversation, that my roots, and class origins, are decidedly not “upper” anything. I remain small-town working-class at my core: my educational achievements alone having contributed to an enhanced class status. I possess a set of life experiences and financial deficiencies that have apparently kept me stuck with the outlook and narrowness of the lower-middle-class.

Surely a person more worldly than me has: Traveled. Experienced. Tasted. More.

My lack of worldliness is a source of embarrassment for me, and it’s something I try desperately to conceal...you know, other than when I am confessing to it here.

Soundtrack Suggestion

Oh lets get rich and buy our parents homes in the south of France
Lets get rich and give everybody nice sweaters and teach them how to dance
Lets get rich and build a house on a mountain making everybody look like ants
From way up there, you and I, you and I

(“You and I” – Ingrid Michaelson)

The line, that pesky line, between “healthy” and “unhealthy” is amazingly thin. One minute, there you are...feeling fine and as if the world is mostly working. The next, a complete reversal of fortune strikes and you’re hanging on for dear life.

I was reminded of this again this week when, on Thursday night, in the middle of the night, about 2:00 a.m., I awoke with a blazing attack of sciatica. Of the constellation of body aches and pains I typically deal with, this is not one of them. So the whole episode was a very big surprise.

I eased out of bed in a pain-induced haze to try and figure what was going on, and practically fell flat on my face – as the left leg and hip would not tolerate any weight at all (without a pain level high enough to bring me close to unconsciousness). I may have screamed, I can’t actually remember. Surely inside my head I was screaming: what the fuck is going on here?!??

I had to go to the bathroom, so I gingerly, ever-so-slowly-and-agonizingly, made my way there to do my business. And, then back to bed. There wasn’t even a hint of this problem during the day or evening on Thursday. Yet, here I was...thinking about an emergency-room visit (not likely: I couldn’t possibly drive), or cortisone shots, or back surgery. Anything to rid me of this curse.

The next time I had to get up, I made my way to the computer and sent an email to my Feldenkrais practitioner to see if she had time to see me on Friday. I knew I wasn’t going to be making it into work in this kind of condition.

Before 7:00 a.m., she had replied, saying that I could come in at 4:00 p.m.. I took the day off, improving enough during the day so that I could actually make the drive to her office. And, as I sit here in Starbucks on Sunday afternoon writing this, I feel mostly “normal” again. Although during the night Friday night, and then again last night, the mere act of lying down in bed aggravated the condition. I’m fairly sleep-deprived at this point, but mostly pain-free.

But, I’m still thinking about that line and how quickly I’d slipped over it.

And, I’m pondering the chronic-pain-filled life of Amy Silverstein. I just this week finished reading her memoir entitled Sick Girl. In this excellent work of autobiography, Silverstein relates the story of her heart-disease diagnosis at age 24 that led, very swiftly, to a heart transplant. This is an eye-opening tale of what the life of a transplant patient is like after the operation. It’s truly not pretty, what with the twice-daily doses of obnoxious medicine that’s needed to fight organ rejection as well as the constant, unrelenting feeling of having something foreign in your body: and of never feeling good, right or normal again. Surprisingly, she’s survived this way for over twenty years now (despite being told that the heart would likely last ten).

At one point, Silverstein makes the observation that, sooner or later, we all face death and dying, and, for many, there’s the possibility of long-term illness along the way. She suggests that the longer we can live without having to face a life-threatening disease, the luckier we are.

And she’s probably right.

For my part, through all my issues with chronic pain, during the past few years especially, I have been pretty lucky. Nothing I’ve had has been essentially life threatening. And I’ve been incredibly successful in healing myself enough to function, these days, more-or-less, normally.

Nobody gets out alive, though. Nobody. And my anxiety level is raised lately with the prospect that I’ll be faced with a prostate biopsy in a couple of months. But, in the aftermath of a rather brief bout with sciatica, and knowing the first-hand experience of a heart-transplant patient, I feel fortunate. We’ll see how long my luck holds out, however. When is it going to be my time?

One of these days.

Soundtrack Suggestion

Well that’ll be the day when you say goodbye
Yeah, yes that’ll be the day when you make me cry 
You say you’re gonna leave me, you know it’s a lie 
’Cause that'll be the day when I die.

(“That’ll Be The Day” – Buddy Holly)

Introduction

I have a new friend who lives far, far away. She is so distant, in fact, that it’s entirely possible we may never meet in person. She knows me through Twitter, this blog, frequent emails, and the occasional IM session. She has a lot of information about me available to her, of course, as I’ve laid out the good, bad, and ugly details of my life on the internet for three and a half years now. Reportedly, she’s read a lot of this material; and I know she reads my long and intimate emails as carefully as I read hers.

I feel as if I’ve recently been significantly challenged by her, though. It’s as if she’s digested everything about me, including the two “This I Believe” essays (“On Being Present” and “Listening and Leadership”) and is saying to me, “yeah, yeah, yeah, Jim ... I know that’s what you believe.” And that she’s read the other stories, rants & raves – ridden the emotional waves – and is still waiting on me for more: “yeah, yeah, yeah, Jim ... I know that’s what’s happened to you.”

And, now, she’s asking me, “tell me more, Jim ... what do you really believe? Who are you, really?”

And, so, this essay is the result of the attempt to organize a few thoughts along those lines. I’m not sure that what you’ll find here are actually answers, though ... you’ll have to decide that for yourself. For even after you read this, in all probability you’ll still be left wondering ...

By providing this analysis of “who I am,” of course, I’m anticipating that the portrait I paint is consistent with the information you’ve already seen ... and, in fact, that an inductive analysis of the mass of qualitative data provided in these pages would lead to the broad themes I outline below. Please! ... do not think, however, that this is a “scientific approach” to talking about my life’s mission; it decidedly is not. In fact, what I’m doing here is reaching down into the bowels of my being and attempting to convey some ideas about what I believe about life, and how I go about living this life.

I’ve had a little bit of practice writing in this area. When I began studies for my counseling master’s degree, one of the essays I was required to produce was entitled “The Nature of People.” This was an assignment that required all of the newbie aspiring counselors to outline, as explicitly as we could, how we believed people “worked” (i.e., if you’re going to help people with their problems, you must have some underlying philosophy about their basic “nature”). I toiled and toiled away on my assignment for a few weeks, then had one of the doctoral students critique my draft.

“Well, Jim, this looks like a good start,” he said. (As, head down, I returned to the typewriter.)

So, perhaps, what I’ve outlined for you here is merely another good start. Let’s see, shall we? Of course, I’m aware of the risks of self-disclosure on this level: you may end up thinking that my entire belief system is wholly superficial, no more profound than “All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten.” (I confess: I offer no new ideas here.) Even more on point, though, might be the observation that everything I have ever needed to know about living, life, and the spiritual path, just might have been gleaned from an old bootlegged Ram Dass audiotape (“The Seasons of Our Lives,” from the late 1970s) – a recording that I’ve listened to over and over again throughout the years. [Much of that material is also to be found in Dass’ book Grist for the Mill (Unity Press, 1977).] Then, you’ll discover below that I’ve pulled some quotes from Angles Arrien’s Four-Fold Way: a worldview that has been influential in my thinking about what a life’s work entails.

Therefore: here I go with some ideas about “who I am” by examining “why am I here?” For the purposes of this essay, I’m going to treat the questions as equivalent; that is, by examining why I am here, I’m suggesting that this is who I am. I’ll let the philosopher in you, the reader, argue (or not) with that premise. It will be obvious that I’m not speaking from any “religious” orientation ... in fact, this a highly eclectic spiritual (and/or philosophical) model I espouse. And, of course, since this is an essay for a blog, the points I outline here are mostly short and to the point. (Who likes book-length blog entries, anyway?!)

Why Am I Here?

I believe that we humans are spiritual beings who take form on this earth for a purpose: that we are incarnated and take on bodies to “do our work.” And that everyone’s work is different. I am certain of my purpose, and simply put:

I am here to learn and grow.

Of course, you may ask, isn’t everyone on earth here to learn and grow? In my opinion, it’s just a matter of where those items fall among life’s priorities from person to person. For me, the emphasis on “learning and growing” should be readily apparent, for if you know anything about me, you realize that I’ve been in school a lot of my life and collected four college degrees along the way. You might say I have an obsession, or lust, for learning, in all its forms: from classrooms, books, life experiences, career changes, relationships, emotional risk-taking, physical pain, and heartbreak & depression (to name a few) ... I take my learning wherever I can find it. My learning is not only for the purpose of intellectual development, but for the other dimensions of my life as well: growth in the domains of the physical, emotional and spiritual.

Now, to be slightly more specific, I briefly outline below some of the areas of learning that I think about all the time, and tend to be near the top of my consciousness-level as I go about my daily routines.

I am here to learn how to be present, open my heart, and offer my love.

I have written here previously about my belief in the importance of “being present.” It is a primary mission for me to live in the present: to be aware of myself and my surroundings, and, at all times, strive to know what I am thinking and feeling. Concurrently, it is my goal to tune in and be there for others on the most basic of levels: one soul to another. I open my heart, accept others as they are, and aim to love them unconditionally.

Ram Dass implores us thusly: “I say to you very simply, and very directly, what happens to another human being in your presence is a function of who you are, not what you know. And who you are is everything that you’ve every done and all the evolution that has occurred thus far. Your being is right on the line every time you meet another human being. And what they get from you through all the words of love or kindness or giving is very simply a function of your own level of evolution ... What we do for each other is we create a space ... that allows each other to do what we need to do ... we each have our own work to do in this incarnation.”

My beliefs and Dass’ words appear to be consistent with Angeles Arrien’s Way of the Warrior or Leader. This is described as “showing up, or choosing to be present. Being present allows ... access to the human resources of power, presence, and communication ... the way of the Leader [is expressed] through appropriate action, good timing, and clear communication.”

I am here to learn to live honestly, openly, authentically, and with integrity. I am here to learn how to lead, and more importantly, to provide a model for moral leadership.

I am not here to keep secrets about who I am. I am here to be open and let the world in: to tell you what’s going on with me, honestly, and in the moment. It is critical for me to live consistently within the framework of my dearly-held and inner-most beliefs and values (which is what I am trying to express here). I do not compromise my principles for the sake of expediency or personal gain. When I’m in a leadership role, which is my typical situation, it’s with a high sense of moral responsibility and obligation: to provide the most evolved model of leadership of which I am capable.

Arrien’s Way of the Visionary or Creative Problem Solver suggests that we aim “to tell the truth without blame or judgment. Truthfulness, authenticity, and integrity are keys to developing ... vision and intuition ... expressing the way of the Visionary through personal creativity, goals, plans, and the ability to bring life dreams and visions into the world.”

I am here to learn how to heal myself and others. I am here to learn how to be the best possible version of myself.

I have lived a huge portion of this lifetime learning and living with an inadequate model for giving and receiving love. And I’ve learned other dysfunctional ways of being that have led to profound experiences of physical and psychic pain. It’s my mission in this lifetime to learn about these unhealthy paths, to overcome them, and learn about living “right” and “healthy.” I believe it to be my obligation to teach others about my struggles and the “solutions” I’ve discovered. I know that when I am living in pain, I am not displaying the best possible version of myself. I am here to learn how to live with a minimum of pain and to share that person, my best possible self, with the universe.

Ram Dass reminds us: “And the injunction given to the physician ‘heal thyself,’ is right at the mark because we are here to talk about our own work on ourselves, because that is our gift to each other and it’s also what we’re doing here on earth in the first place.”

Arrien’s Way of the Healer or Caretaker is to “pay attention to what has heart and meaning. Paying attention opens ... to the human resources of love, gratitude, acknowledgment, and validation ... [and] the way of the Healer is expressed through ... attitudes and actions that maintain personal health and support the welfare of our environment.”

I am here to learn how to let go.

I have had a tendency toward over-control in my life: believing and acting as if I could actually change another person, determine the outcome of a situation, and/or just generally “be in charge.” I am still learning, often painfully, to accept that there is really nothing I am able to control: not another person, not their perception of or feelings about me, not any situation, nor life crisis. Nothing. Learning to invest myself completely in another person or in a situation, and then letting go of outcome, is one of the most significant of my life’s lessons; it’s perhaps the one I’ve struggled with the most. My tendency toward perfectionism, and my desire for “justice” and “rightness,” have led me down a path where it’s been difficult for me to let go of outcome. I am here to learn to be not perfect, and to let go.

Ram Dass advises: “The implication of “perfect,” if you want to deal with the concept of God ... if I say ... ‘God, what are you doing, why are you screwing up?’ ... I, who have this little teeny limited vision, mainly controlled by my rational mind, which is a little subsystem of a little subsystem, it isn’t even a very interesting way of knowing the universe, I sit there like this little ant on an elephant and say to him ‘you really blew it that time.’ I say ‘you really blew it that time’ – you know where I say that from? – I’m saying it from my own fear of death ... If I’m attached to you being other than the way you are now, I’m saying to God, ‘if I had made him, I would have made him different than he is now,’ and I [then I hear] my guru saying ‘don’t you see that it’s all perfect?’”

And Angeles describes that the Way of the Teacher or Counselor is to “be open to outcome, not attached to outcome. Openness and non-attachment help ... recover the human resources of wisdom and objectivity. The way of the Teacher is expressed through ... constructive communication ....”

Summary & Conclusion

So, to summarize, I know that I am here to learn to: be present, open my heart, live authentically, model integrity and moral leadership, heal myself, let go, and to love. It’s my way of approaching the universe, a lifetime’s worth of busy-ness. These are the lessons I have to learn, the tasks I need to perform. It’s the “who I am.”

But is this all that I am? All that I do, all that I have to learn? Well, no, but it’s what comes to mind right now. (And it’s a start.) I’m tempted to add some additional thoughts about how the Four Noble Truths of Buddhism play into my philosophy of life, and their relationship to the learning areas described above ... but this monologue has gone on long enough. And I have touched on the Four Noble Truths in at least one previous discussion (see “Freedom and Release,” for example, from January, 2006).

In conclusion, I am compelled to observe that I feel extremely unfinished as a human. There’s so much to learn, so little time. For, as Jimmy Buffett suggests “... still twenty four hours maybe sixty good years, it’s not that long a stay.”

Soundtrack Suggestion

Well, who are you? (Who are you? Who, who, who, who?) 
I really wanna know (Who are you? Who, who, who, who?) 
Tell me, who are you? (Who are you? Who, who, who, who?) 
’Cause I really wanna know (Who are you? Who, who, who, who?)

(“Who Are You” – The Who)

You never can tell. About anything, really. Don’t you think life is mostly a matter of random encounters and chances?

Which is a rather odd introduction to a little story of laughter and embarrassment during a time of high stress...

Last Tuesday evening I was attending the monthly meeting of the Board of Trustees of my college. I was there because one of the programs within my area of responsibility was going to be eliminated by action of the Board.

It was all high drama. People wanted to have a say in the decision...and many signed up to offer their personal testimony. Although the action item had originally been placed toward the end of the agenda, it was moved up to the beginning so the Board could take its vote while interested members of the public were still in attendance. The testimony and ensuing discussion took almost three full hours.

I was sitting in the back of the room. The furniture in the peanut-gallery section is notoriously uncomfortable, so I had arrived early to get a chair (and a location) that would suit me best. As the meeting got going, more and more people filled the room until it was a standing-room-only situation.

Ultimately, two young women were standing very close to me. I was very conscious of how tightly we were all packed in, and the high likelihood of encroaching on someone else’s personal space. The room started to get warmer and warmer, but the temperature was just right for me as I was sitting next to a very large (but closed) window – which kept cool the air in my region of the room.

At one point, as one of the speakers was just finishing up, another of the audience members came over to me and wanted to see if the window by me would open. I resisted, saying (quietly), “yes, but even if it does open, I’ll freeze.”

The very attractive (approximately 20-year-old) coed standing right next to me, who had not acknowledged me during the entire proceeding thus far, jumped right in. She put her hand on my shoulder and said (or, more accurately, announced) , “oh, don’t worry, I’ll keep you warm.”

I snorted. Giggled way too loudly. And blushed wildly.

Another speaker had already taken the microphone. Several people, in a semicircle around us, all turned our way, put their fingers to their lips, and went “shhhhhh!”

My face turned even more red, I’m sure.

When things settled down, I turned to my new, attractive, young friend and said, sincerely, “that was very funny.”

So much, though, for The Dean bringing any sense of Decorum to the room!

Soundtrack Suggestion

I don’t like you

But I love you
Seems that I’m always
Thinkin’ of you
Oh, ho, ho, you treat me badly
I love you madly
You’ve really got a hold on me

(“You Really Got A Hold On Me” – The Beatles)