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.

This is the first anniversary of my last night in Oregon. Yes, it was exactly a year ago that I said my goodbyes and departed Eugene. I spent that first night (July 1) on the road in Redding, and arrived to take up residence in Larkspur the next day.

Those of you familiar with my biography probably won’t be too surprised with my Soundtrack Suggestion for the day.

This time in video form.

It’s a classic.

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)

I guess I’ve been watching girls since…well, how long now? I imagine since sixth grade. At least that’s when I had my first girlfriend…so I must have been noticing them some by then.

And, all these years later, wouldn’t you know, I’m still doing it. Watching them, that is.

I took the Larkspur Ferry into the city this past Saturday for an afternoon of wandering-around photography. I hadn’t really pre-planned this activity for the day. I did something entirely rare for me: I made the decision to do this spontaneously after my haircut appointment that morning. I quickly packed up a camera body and lens into one of my most compact bags, and drove over to Larkspur Landing to catch the 11:40.

The weather was absolutely perfect here in Marin, with a similarly favorable forecast for the city, so I took a chance and dressed only in shorts and a t-shirt. (For those of you who know San Fran, you realize visiting the waterfront attired thusly is a risk.) Specifically, I had on khaki-colored shorts from REI, a faded-red souvenir t-shirt from Taos, N.M., and a Nikon-logo baseball cap. (This information is relevant later.)

When I boarded the ferry, I didn’t have much of a clue where I wanted to sit. Perching myself inside on such a magnificent day seemed a little weird, so I scoped out the entire selection of seats and finally settled on a spot on the upper deck, outside, in the rear of the boat. (I guess that’s called the stern?)

Shortly after I settled in, I noticed three women (I guessed them to be about my age) sit down on the bench directly to my left. We were in the same row, all facing the water, so I didn’t have a great view of them; but I knew they were there all the same. One of them, especially, caught my eye…as she was dressed in (what I’d call) an elegant black dress. It was a very hot day already (in the 80s, headed for the 90s), so I was asking her, in my head: what possessed you to wear that today? Another of them was wearing a large dressy hat, which also drew my attention.

For about half the trip, we all sat that way, facing aft. But then I realized that, by sitting in direct sunlight on this very hot day, I was perspiring rather profusely and sitting in a small puddle of my own sweat. (More than you wanted to know, I’m sure.) So, I stood up to air myself out. In doing so, I turned myself around, facing the other direction (fore), and was able to both brace myself on the bench and observe where the boat was headed. Of course, this allowed me to watch these lovely ladies, out of the corner of my eye, as well.

Well, watch was all I did. I couldn’t help but notice the rings (or lack thereof): Hat Lady had ringless fingers; Black-Dress Lady had rings, but they presented an ambiguous situation; the third had, what appeared to be, a wedding band. Ms. Hat Lady had a small digital camera and she spent some time taking pictures through a side window that protected us from the wind and spray. The three of them talked and were generally enjoying themselves, it appeared. Although it would have been nice to engage them in conversation…well, that never happened. Frankly, I didn’t have an opening line: for what was I, dressed the way I was, going to say to Ms. Elegant-Black-Dress Lady? I couldn’t come up with a thing.

But, there they were: attractive women, my age. And surreptitiously watching them was a good way to pass the time for the final part of the voyage. (NO, I didn’t ogle them…I did not make myself obvious.)

We reached the city, everyone went ashore, and I figured that was the last I’d ever see of these three.

Once inside the Ferry Building, I took my camera out of the bag, strapped the bag around my middle (it’s a fanny-pack type), and walked north on The Embarcadero. I took the entire four hours (before the return ferry ride) to wander up to the Hyde Street Pier and back. Not that I didn’t rest at times along the way. I had a muffin at a Peet’s Coffee shop. I also stopped at The Cannery to have ice cream and listen to music.

The solo musician in the courtyard when I was at The Cannery played a wonderful acoustic version of Death Cab for Cutie’s “I’ll Follow You Into the Dark.” Although the lyrics speak of an entirely different kind of lady in black, I was reminded of my traveling companions on the ferry…

In Catholic school as vicious as Roman rule
I got my knuckles bruised by a lady in black
And I held my tongue as she told me
“Son fear is the heart of love”
So I never went back…

By the time it came to take the 4:40 ferry back home, I was tuckered out. I got to the Ferry Building early, of course, and watched my fellow travelers arrive at the loading area.

Ultimately, though (lo and behold!), I saw that the ladies were taking the same ferry back.

I boarded the boat and sat in almost the same place as I had earlier, only closer to the rear…where I could get some shots of the city as we departed (see photo above). As I was still in photographer mode, the view of the cityscape was what I was most interested in; I didn’t see my attractive “lady friends” (well, you know what I mean) anywhere around.

Oh, well…

As we slowly departed the dock, I took pictures for about the first five or ten minutes. I totally ended my photo activity, though, when the wind and water spray got to be just too much. I decided I needed to have another seat (even if inside) to escape the elements and keep my camera dry…so I headed away from the extreme rear of the boat and proceeded inward (foreward). I got a just a little ways, past about four rows of seats, when, all of a sudden, the boat experienced a minor lurch, tilted a bit, and I literally stumbled and tumbled into the nearest seat.

I checked quickly to see that my camera and bag had survived the fall, then looked up at my new surroundings. Seated directly across from me: guess who?

I’m not a stalker. Honest! It actually happened this way!

As I noticed these three women, I’m sure my eyes widened a tad. Partly because I was initially asking myself: did anyone notice my clumsy landing? Though I was also quickly thinking, upon recognition: oh, it’s you!

I’m sure I also offered up an embarrassed smile. I had performed a totally inelegant landing, directly across from Ms. Elegant-Black-Dress Lady.

They couldn’t help but notice my arrival, of course. It was as subtle as a fart in an elevator. However, they all returned my smile. And, I don’t remember exactly how it started, but, after a little bit, we began a conversation. I believe one of them asked me if I did photography for a living…and that got us rolling.

They learned that I was a college dean and did this for fun. Elegant-Black-Dress Lady told me that she and Hat Lady had been friends since they were eighteen. I told her that I’d had lunch with a friend last weekend with someone I’d known since I was twelve…and that, since I was 60, that was a while ago now. Whereupon she immediately disclosed that she was 63. I said, “I thought we were just about the same age.” She asked, “what gave it away?”, and I replied, simply, “the familiarity.”

She smiled and said, “how diplomatic.”

I learned that Ms. Elegant had just moved to Sacramento last year from Philadelphia, for a new job. And that shortly after the move she had lost her longtime canine companion: a Labrador retriever. She learned that I had just moved from Oregon and lost a relationship shortly thereafter. She made sure I understood the profound nature of her loss, and that she was still grieving. I listened empathetically.

I admitted to Ms. Elegant that I’d noticed her on the trip into the city…that her black dress had caught my eye right away. I told her I wasn’t sure about wearing black on this hot day, but that, certainly, I thought it was a very classy look. (It seems I’ve reached a point in my life when I can look at a woman over 60 and think: hot!)

We all talked about being college students in the Sixties. They know that I was in the Air Force for three weeks in 1969 and took nine semesters to complete my undergraduate degree. We all agreed that, despite the tumultuousness of the times, there was no better time in history to be a college student in the U.S.

I didn’t ask their names, and they didn’t offer. I don’t know where they work, although Ms. Elegant, I learned, has an employer-supplied vehicle. Black, of course. When one inquired what I do with my photos, I gave Ms. Elegant a business card that has my Flickr web address on it. So, she has (they have) my name and contact information; I don’t have any clue about them.

Because I was having such a great time, I missed the photo opportunity of San Quentin from the water…and the arrival at the pier in Larkspur. And, even though I had camera in hand, I didn’t even think to ask if I could take their picture. A considerable oversight on my part. Sigh…

Still…it was a thoroughly delightful afternoon: primarily because of my unexpected tumble that led to the conversation with three new lady friends, anonymous though they may be.

Girl watching certainly has it payoffs. Even though the entire experience is, often, all too fleeting.

Soundtrack Suggestion

My life is brilliant
My love is pure.
I saw an angel.
Of that I’m sure.
She smiled at me on the subway…

You’re beautiful. You’re beautiful.
You’re beautiful, it’s true.
I saw your face in a crowded place,
And I don’t know what to do…

(“You’re Beautiful” – James Blunt)

Although I may aspire to the courageousness of an Alice Sebold in terms of my autobiographical writing, I have to admit, when it comes to blogging one’s life: it’s not without some dangers. Here’s a cautionary tale.

A little while back, out of the blue, I received an email from someone who had, more-or-less accidently, stumbled across this blog and become interested in me and my story. She had read a few of my entries, was favorably impressed, and wrote to tell me so. (I make reaching me ridiculously easy, of course, with the Contact TechnoMonk section I display in the right-hand column.)

Now, with the volume of email I encounter daily in both my professional and personal lives, I always have to think twice about responding to a stranger. Do I have the time? Who is this person?

Well, on this occasion, for whatever reason, I replied. I composed a very short note thanking her for her positive observations.

And then: she wrote back.

This went on, an email a day, for two or three days. During this time (I could tell from my blog statistics) she continued to devour much of what I had written about myself here.

The emails took on a tone of increasing familiarity. She started to believe she knew me. She mentioned my attractiveness.

Naturally, I became very curious, and I asked her about her personal situation, as the only thing I really knew was that she lived in another region of the U.S. She answered: married, with kids.

Still, we continued our correspondence…why, I don’t know. Except that, despite her personal life, it felt a lot like the “internet dating” contact I’ve had through match.com and chemistry.com. She supplied pictures.

I now realize I should not have engaged in this activity past the very early discovery-point of her marital status. But continue on I did, as she proceeded to reveal more and more of herself, including clear expressions of dissatisfaction with her life situation…mostly her marriage.

I’ll spare you most of the really intimate details here…except to say that at one point she suggested we have an affair.

Given my level of self-awareness and propensity to fall for unavailable women, respectfully, I declined.

She then indicated that she “was thinking about” leaving her husband: “what about that?”

She said she loved me. (Say what?)

I replied that I barely knew her, and that, even if I did, I was not interested in pursuing a relationship with someone so obviously on the rebound.

Given her intensity, and some of her bizarrely far-out ideas and statements, there came a point when I considered that I might be corresponding with a mentally-unstable individual. At the very least, her take on “reality” was certainly much different than mine.

And I became afraid…wondering how I’d gotten myself in so deeply, so unexpectedly, so rapidly.

It finally came down to a firmly-worded email from me that whatever she decided to do about her marriage and life situation, it could not be because of me, for me, or with me anywhere in the picture.

The conclusion of this whole episode came when she wrote back and said: “of course, you’re right.”

Correspondence then ceased and life returned to normal.

I need to say: you gotta be careful out there…

Soundtrack Suggestion

Went out last night, I didn’t stay late
’fore I got home I had nineteen dates

Well they took some honey from a tree
Dressed it up and they called it me

Everybody’s trying to be my baby…

(“Everybody’s Trying To Be My Baby” – Beatles)