A recent article in Time magazine addresses The Mystery of Pain. (Of course, we’re talking physical pain here, although, I believe, emotional and psychic wounds can lead to just as much distress as physical ailments do.) This piece was of interest to me because physical pain has been an ongoing nemesis in my life…for almost all my life. For the timespan of most of my twenties (about seven and a half years), for example, I experienced daily, often-times debilitating, headaches. And, it was during these years that I began to cope with periodic lower-back pain as well. I ultimately interpreted both of these physical conditions as reactions to the overwhelming stress in my life at the time, namely finding myself in a marriage that was the completely wrong place for me to be. When I left that relationship at about age 30, I was able to turn around the crippling nature of these physical conditions, get myself off the medication (Valium) I was using to cope, and make some progress in the areas of physical health and emotional growth. (The obvious smack-in-the-face exception is the fact that I moved directly from being addicted to Valium to a lifestyle of alcohol use and abuse, and that subsequently took a few more years to overcome.)

There have been some small portions of my life where I have lived relatively head- and back-ache free, but those times seem rather a dim memory. I continue to cope, the best I can, with daily pains in these parts of my body, and succeed pretty well most of the time. They have become, simply, conditions I have learned to live with.

But, I have aged. And I’ve not acquired the ability to get rid of chronic conditions, but, rather, seem to be an unwilling “collector.” I am not one of the people identified in the Time article who has a deteriorating body and is asymptomatic. Nope. When something is “off” with my system, I feel it, often times, it seems, with a higher degree of intensity when compared to others. I have recently written, for example, about my diagnosis of Chronic Myofascial Pain. This is a condition that dominates my awareness in terms of the feelings (or lack thereof) in my lower extremities all-day, every-day. I’ve apparently not yet made significant-enough progress in my learning curve about this condition, given that my attempts at self-treatment have yielded virtually no change. The bottom line is: I live with these chronic pain conditions everyday AND try to be as functional a human being I possibly can at the same time. I find this pretty challenging.

The writer for Time asks “why does the same problem hurt one person and not the next?” Good question! I often wonder this myself. He suggests that we consider three factors: the “pain-inflammation connection;” “neural blockades;” & “depression and hormones.” Although I’m sure that the inflammation connection is a large part of my physical stuff, the relationship of depression to pain, of course, intrigues me. That has to be part of my dynamic as well, given my propensity to perpetually struggle with my emotional health. I’m convinced, in fact, that if I could find the right something (drug? herb? sleep potion?) to help me with chronic depression, then these other ailments would not loom as large for me as they currently do.

The article concludes with the statement that “today pain remains a tantalizing mystery.” (Duh. You think?) For now, we are advised to “cheer up, pop an Advil, keep working, go to the gym, eat something and buy your spouse a present.”

Ohmygod. I certainly feel reassured about handling my pain now. Thanks, Time.

During Thursday and Friday this week, I attended a retreat of UCC faculty as part of our beginning-of-the-school-year inservice activities. The event was held at the Big K Guest Ranch in Elkton, Oregon (about 30 miles from here). The place is truly in the middle of nowhere. After driving about 18 miles north of (I-5 Exit 136) Sutherlin on Highway 138W, you take a right-hand turn onto a gravel road and proceed onward for another four miles…an experience bound to rattle your bones and car frame, even at 15 mph. However, the setting is quite idyllic, and a great spot for a group our size to get away and do some retreat-type work. The organizers constructed a very worthwhile agenda, and I was amazed at the effort and energy expended to make this a wonderfully-successful experience for everybody.

A lot of the time together was spent in small groups, examining topics relevant to both new and returning instructors. Even though I am not an instructor anymore [I was one of two administrators present (the other being the college president)], I found I was able to participate fully. And, the greatest benefit to me was getting to know faculty from my new, large division (as well as the entire campus).

On the final day, yesterday, we held discussions (during both the morning and afternoon sessions) on a variety of hypothetical ethical-dilemma situations. The final scenario involved a student who wore a t-shirt to class that had a (unidentified) racially-offensive message on it. The questions: what to do? How to handle this?

A variety of perspectives were offered. One person offered thoughts about a dress-code. Others provided suggestions aimed at trying to control student behavior and, hence, suppression of the t-shirt’s message.

I could not hold my tongue. At the end of the discussion (and our time together), I raised my hand. I offered the thought that a t-shirt was not offensive in and of itself, and that this was neither a dress code nor a student-conduct issue, but rather a free-speech one. Freedom of expression is one of our most cherished and important constitutional rights, I said, and that, especially in a college environment (where we are presumably devoted to a free exchange of ideas), we cannot stomp on such a fundamental American freedom. I observed that quite a number of campuses over the last couple of decades have attempted to restrict student behavior with speech codes, virtually all of which had been struck down by the courts on constitutional grounds. I tried to convey the message, and personal (legal?) opinion, that we cannot attempt to silence a student merely because his or her message might be offensive to some.

Of course, I likely sounded like an over-the-top civil libertarian. And, I know, I delivered this message with some degree of passion, but hopefully not so extreme as to offend my new colleagues. The ACLU has an excellent summary of this issue on their website, as well as descriptions of many specific cases involving freedom of expression (including t-shirts).

I was educated as a chemist (a lot of my formal education is in that discipline, anyway), and I remember thinking a long time ago that chemistry is life. Well, that orientation has changed; biology is life is more where my head is at now.

I spend so much time these days paying attention to my body (primarily its limitations), that it’s practically laughable. And, here I am trying to learn all I can, as fast as I can, frustrated a lot by mostly having to teach myself.

Of course, I speak of the incredible learning curve I’m experiencing right now regarding myofascial pain. I have an entire new discipline to master as I try to learn all about myofascial trigger points, referred pain, self-massage, and living with a chronic pain condition. The Trigger Point Therapy Workbook is rapidly becoming my bible, from which I do daily readings, guiding my daily practice for health-seeking.

Here is another definition of a trigger point (see also “Survival”): “a highly irritable localized spot of exquisite tenderness in a nodule in a palpable taut band of muscle tissue” (Davies & Davies, p. 19)…which they elaborate on by saying “a trigger point hurts like the devil when you push on it.” There are apparently several methods available for relieving trigger points (and the pain that can subsequently be referred to other parts of the body), some of which require the services of a professional (a savvy doctor or physical therapist, for example); there are other methods one can pursue independently. I have a doctor, of course, who diagnosed this condition for me, but in the time I have before my next appointment, I’ve been studying up and attempting to start a regimen of self-care that includes locating and massaging the trigger points responsible for my pain. This is requiring a lot of time with the trigger-point reference manual, trying to identify muscle groups with which I have limited familiarity, probing my body, and struggling to locate my trigger points so that I may massage them. (This is turning out to be a non-trivial task!)

At any rate, I have intensely steep learning curves both at my new job and in the health area of my life. This is incredibly tiring, but I guess it’s merely playing out the hand I’ve been dealt right now.

Inspired by NPR’s This I Believe series...

I believe in listening. And in leadership. And that the two go hand-in-hand.

In the past two years, I have been in leadership positions that more directly affect the lives of people I work with than I ever have been before. While I’ve long seen myself as a student of leadership and organizational culture, and have led countless groups while working on specific tasks and projects, lately I’ve been called upon to provide direction, vision, and a voice for a large collection of other people on a day-to-day basis. It’s been a period to put my values regarding listening and leadership to a real test.

For I believe that effective leaders should listen to those they are charged to lead. All too often, I see leaders who seem to be “know-it-alls” or “fixers”: individuals who only listen to their constituents long enough to have a reply or “the solution” at the ready before the other is even finished talking. This kind of behavior is extremely off-putting. Who wants to be around somebody like that?

And I believe that listening demonstrates our respect, valuing and trust of others. For leaders to earn respect, they must show respect. So I believe that true, just shut-up-and-sit-there, good old non-judgmental listening is the primary way to do that. Trust and respect just naturally flow from good listening.

I have a dramatic personal experience illustrating when, as one being led, I was not listened to. A couple of years ago, with the most honorable of intentions, I was attempting to speak to the CEO of an organization on behalf of a group of employees; at one point in my report, I was rudely interrupted and informed the information I was sharing was not welcome or appropriate…that everything in the organization was, now, as “good as it gets.” It’s difficult to convey the intensity of that episode in this brief description but, I was, in essence, verbally and emotionally assassinated in public for attempting to express the “sense of the group.” For me, it was the single most appalling example of “leadership” that I had ever witnessed. I left the experience embarrassed, hurt and angry. And, forever, unable to respect the “leader” any more.

I run my show a lot differently. A LOT DIFFERENTLY. I believe in the power of stories, and love listening to them. I encourage my folks to come in, sit down, and tell me what’s going on in their lives. I listen. Because I care. And, I because I respect the variety of the human experience. That is, I respect them. I appreciate everything everyone does on behalf of the organization, and, after I have listened to them and their issues, I frequently advise them to pace themselves and to stay healthy. We’re all in this together, and we must take care of ourselves and trust each other along the way, or bad stuff will happen. Of course, bad stuff will happen anyway, but we’re much better equipped to handle those times if we tackle problems as part of a trusting team, rather than a stray collection of individuals who happen to share the same organizational space for a part of our lives.

Leaders. Followers. Everyone. Believe in this.

And listen…

The people who come to see us bring us their stories. They hope they tell them well enough so that we understand the truth of their lives. They hope we know how to interpret their stories correctly. We have to remember that what we hear is their story. (Robert Coles in The Call of Stories, p. 7).

Dear Roseburg,

Yes, I know: I’m the new guy and maybe I should wait awhile before I offer you any specific suggestions about how to make this a better place. But I guess I just can’t help myself! Here’s my idea for the day.

Recycling. We can do better.

This is what I mean…

When I first moved into these apartments in mid-July, you’ll recall that I noted the dearth of recycling bins available. I was sure I was missing something. I mean, yes, I found the recycling bins; it’s just that there appeared to be only a very, very few, very, very small, garbage-can-size containers available to handle the recycling for about 150 apartments! How could that be?

Well, I found out. When I was at the Douglas County Fair last month, I had the opportunity to chat with the county employee who handles the local recycling. He let me know that the apartment complex is within the law (by basically doing the minimum allowable). Apparently they are obligated to provide a way to recycle, it’s just that there are no specifications regarding the scope or seriousness of the effort.

So, this is legal. Wow, too bad. I asked: so, how about if I want to recycle items on my own that aren’t accommodated by the inadequate apartment-complex bins? Where do I go, and how do I do that?

I knew there were a couple of recycling “centers” around town. I had found one of them when I wanted to recycle the newsprint packing-material from my move; this was a small, unattended facility in a parking lot, and I had stuffed the material into the bin marked “newspaper” there. I was somewhat mystified by the very modest nature of this place, but it handled what I needed it to at the time. I kept wondering where “recycling central” was, though. Surely, in this day and age, a city the size of Roseburg had more ambition than I was discovering!

However, I found out at the fair, not only was my path of discovery on track, but that it was really worse than I had imagined. For example, all recycling items need to be carefully sorted here (we’re still separating brown glass from green, for example), and then physically carted to one of the recycling places. Which, only a very small percentage of us here in Roseburg, or in Douglas County, actually do. There is no curbside recycling, with intermingling of items to be recycled. (Portland! I miss you!)