Seven Weeks, March 15: Labels and Boxes

I came across a quote from Rachel Marie Martin that rang true for me. “Sometimes you have to let go of the picture of what you thought life would be like and learn to find joy in the story you’re actually living.”

This has never been easy for me. I make a life plan and then something craps all over it and I must adjust to an unexpected life. Too often, I used my energy fighting change or being angry about what happened which made a mountain into Mount Everest instead of turning it into a molehill. I also ended up not only being my own worst enemy, but a giant pain in the ass to others. It became a perfect recipe for situational depression to spiral into major depression with anxiety on top. I could easily blame my old man for being an expert at modeling this behavior, but at some point I failed to pull my head out of my backside and take ownership for my choices.

Buddhism teaches that no one can change a situation unless they change their perception of it. Our stress comes not from the way life is, but from the manner in which we respond.

Swami Rama Tirtha said, “Just as you think, you become. Call yourself a sinner and you must become a sinner; call yourself a fool and you must become a fool; call yourself weak and there is no power in this world that can make you strong. Feel that omnipotence and omnipotent you are.”

We often feel burdened by the labels others place on us. However, people only hand you labels. Only you can pin them to your chest. Ultimately, the labels we feel burdened by are our doing because we chose to be the person others say we are. We have allowed ourselves to be what others have decided only to feel frustrated about ourselves.

Not accepting a label offered up to us is also a choice. Refusing to not be neatly placed into the box others want to place us in comes with freedom, the freedom to just be. I spent my first ten years of teaching in the classroom so when I asked to be transferred to teach Physical Education, it caught people by surprise. They saw me as just a classroom teacher and nothing more. One principal went so far as to ask me which specific subject and grade level I wanted to teach so she could place me in that role for the duration of my career.

After 15 years teaching Physical Education, the teachers who only knew me as  “Coach” were surprised to learn I moved back into the classroom where I finished my career. Over 30 years, I taught Physical Education, History/Social Studies, Language Arts, Yearbook, Student Government, Public Speaking, Career Planning, along with working at every grade level from Kindergarten through Twelfth grade. I refused to be placed in a box and whenever I felt others wanting to place me in one, I moved on to teach elsewhere. Had I allowed myself to be placed in a professional box, I’d probably be stuck inside a different box six feet under the ground today.

As I examine eastern teachings more, I realize I have still been placed in my share of boxes throughout life. Parents and siblings have a way of doing that. Classmates do as well. Spouses and children rely on boxes. We think life is simpler by placing people in boxes, but as we allow ourselves to be placed inside them, our lives increase in frustration and unhappiness because we desire to be more than “just who we are.”

In baseball terms, I see myself as a utility ballplayer, someone who can fill several roles and who enjoys doing so. Historically speaking, I am more of a Renaissance person, someone who needs to dabble and explore a variety of interests. It is when I feel boxed in that my anxiety and depression grabs hold of me and I pay a severe price. Angry, frustrated, sad, I see only the worst of situations and people which just makes for a continuous downward spiral. The only real way out is to change my perception of my situation.

Experts say addicts never heal until they hit rock bottom. The problem is, we have placed addicts into their own box, a box that fails to cover most of our addictions because we prefer to see others in boxes we do not see ourselves in.

More research uncovers a much greater spectrum of addictions today than ever before and almost all are legal and do not involve the use of mind altering substances. What all addictions do is provide the individual with a degree of comfort and escape from themselves which just prevents self-discovery. We are more afraid of finding our true selves so we place labels on us like adrenaline junkies, thrill seekers, world traveler, stoner, drinker, gambler, shopper, foodie, bookworm, gamer, runner, gym rat, and the list just keeps on going.

Now, society wants to label me as retired, old, sick, chronically ill, depressed and my favorite, a dinosaur. The truth is, I am only able to see myself as these if I accept the labels handed to me. The only label we need to see ourselves and others as is human. We are each part of a much greater universe, and just like every star, wave, gust of wind, snowflake, or stream, no two people are the same. We are all part of something much greater than all of us combined and we might be better off if rather than relying on boxes, we focus more on finding our true identity and let others do the same.

“Now if I appear to be carefree, it’s only to camouflage my sadness. In order to shield my pride, I’ve tried to cover this hurt with a show of gladness.”

Those words sung by Smokey Robinson and the Miracles (“The Tears of a Clown”)pretty much summed up the way I felt in high school. I allowed myself to run with the label of class clown. While there was a much needed endorphin rush I received from the hijinks I took part in, it came with the pressure from peer expectations of always having to be on or up, the guy who went to any and all lengths to make others laugh. Inside, I remember high school as years of misery in many ways and I just wanted it to be over so I could go find myself.

The expectations we place on others at that age limits ourselves from truly growing. By my senior year, I was sick of the box I allowed myself in and my depression grew worse. By the end of the school day I just wanted to disappear and be left alone. I felt like I was no longer in just a box, I was in an ever deepening hole.

However, being at home was no picnic either. As more of the kids grew and left home, my dad had fewer options of who to be mad at or take his anger out on. As the oldest one of the three kids still at home, I was pretty tired of him.

Having made the decision my freshman year I was going to go to our local community college after high school meant an additional two years under my dad’s roof. I kept myself as busy as possible but nothing I did was going to make him happy to have me home. I worked seven days a week, went to school full time, coached basketball in the evening and had a girlfriend. In his eyes, I wasn’t doing enough.

One day he’d blow up because I was not home enough and the next he wanted to know why I wasn’t making any money. When I told him how much I was earning then he insisted all my work was going to make my grades drop which meant my car insurance would increase. He made it clear he was not going to pay for any increase. When I showed him my grades were all A’s and B’s, instead of congratulating me he simply reminded me in his ”fatherly” tone that I better not let them drop.

My dad had no idea I had a girlfriend until my mom said something to him. He told me he wanted me to bring her over because he wanted to meet her. When I did not bring her over, a week or two later he asked me why and I said she was too busy with her nursing studies. The truth was, I didn’t want her to see him put on his show of being a great and fun loving guy. It was an act he did for anyone who came over. Then he’d say something like, “You’re welcome here anytime. I can’t say the same about my son, but you’re welcome back anytime.

The box my dad placed me in was filled with anxiety, anger, and wondering what it was I ever did to make him not like me. By the time he decided to warm up to me, my oldest brother was a high strung workaholic who rarely visited, my next oldest brother was dead, and Chuck, who was two years older than me, had been disowned for not following the path in life dad expected. I was all he had left to show off to his friends at Rotary or to golf with when I visited. By then, I saw him as just a person who was in my life, someone I had to tolerate if I wanted to see my mom, but was always unable to be close with.

Yesterday, during my workout, I felt a sudden and large pop in the back of my tender upper hamstring. I waited for the pain to set in and prepared to crumple to the ground. Instead, I felt relief. I must have broken loose some scar tissue and the result was my leg was much less restrictive. When I was in the gym this morning, there was mostly tightness in the lower hamstring but strengthening exercises went better and there was more range of motion.

When my workout ended, Bug was looking to go for a walk so we headed out the door. He was happy to be back to his routine after recent storms and he took off at a lively pace. I was able to maintain a far more natural walking rhythm and noticed less discomfort. Toward the end, I decided to just take off and begin jogging which made Bug happy. I covered about 200 yards and made sure to not over extend my stride, but I was able to jog without any pain. My hamstring obliged and there was no sign of the original problem with my Achilles tendon and arch. Maybe I am climbing out of the injury box and heading toward greater activity.

To truly enjoy something or someone, you must know what it is like to go without it.

Too often, we fail to realize all we have until it is suddenly gone. Our bodies, our minds, our choices are all temporary. How we decide to utilize each reflects our self-awareness and values, and too often sends messages to others about who we are and what sort of label they hand us. Worse, the more we label, the more divided we become as a nation.

Outside today, the sky is dark gray, the ground is damp from recent storms, and the wind makes the current 54 degree temperature feel like it is 44 degrees. I think back to my childhood and remember countless afternoons like today’s playing tackle football at Happy Valley Elementary. If a game was not to be found, there were hours of running pass routes for my brother Chuck or exploring the hills and creeks with friends. Those days are long gone, but it did not keep me from getting out and getting in the dirt. The weather was perfect for planting and transplanting plants and trees. Like when I paint, my front and back yards are open canvases to create whatever I want and without worrying about what others may think. The only labels are on some of the new plants and the only boxes hold dirt and flowers while they decorate the backyard.

My home is a good example of how I need to live my life. I could focus on the negative things like my pot smoking neighbors next door, the two dilapidated homes up the street that need a wrecking ball, or the overgrown yards where renters and landlords do not seem concerned about appearances. I have no control over them so I just set about creating my own world that I have control over.

When I walk Bug, I prefer noticing the homes where residents take pride in their yards. I make a mental note of those who place large piles of leaves on the street for the city to collect and remind myself to beat them to the punch this fall to add them to my mulch pile. I check the stop sign around the corner from me where I make a point of trimming back the foliage that grows over it since seeing a driver run through it and nearly hit a kid on a skateboard. I say hi to my neighbors, chat whenever possible, and live my life just as I would if I lived in the gorgeous neighborhood I drove to this morning to purchase trees and roses. Live and let live; be and just be. I’ll save the labels for my files and fill my boxes with junk to discard.

March 16th: Blinders

According to Mario de Andrade, “We have two lives and the second begins when you realize you only have one.”

The problem for so many people is in our culture, we place blinders on children and do all we can to keep them on throughout life. As teens, we feel pressured to “grow up” and get serious about our future. Parents, schools, and employers try to funnel us into preset life paths that all too often are determined by our color, gender, affluence, and corporate need. Over two-thirds of those who graduate from college end up working in a field that has nothing to do with the degree they earned. Like a principal of mine attempted with me, we get placed in a specific job to spend an entire career working.

For too many, when retirement comes around, we struggle to know what to do in the next chapter of life, only to be smacked with a major health issue before the lightbulb to our second life turns on. Without those blinders placed on us so early in life, we fail to truly explore ourselves. We grew up in boxes and the walls of those boxes became more difficult to escape from. How much blood, and time, can our culture extract from us before we wake up and realize maybe we have been living life wrong while pursuing how we define success?

As a parent of three kids, if I am proudest of one thing their mom and I did: we allowed our kids to find themselves early and encouraged them to leave the nest and set out on their own paths in life. Each is living a uniquely different life than their siblings and I could not be happier for the routes they are taking. If they are happy, then I am happy. I do not care what the Jones’ think of what my kids are doing and each has made life choices that suit who they are rather than suit who I am.

We claim to live in a nation where citizens enjoy freedom, but how are we free if we judge one another by their salary, position, education level, color, religion, or political affiliation? We are not free until we are not judged. The problem is, we spend too much time judging ourselves and questioning our own happiness and then comparing how we stack up to those we compared ourselves to. We are not free as long as we are force fed advertising for products we are led to believe we need that in reality just serve to strip us of our true identity. Those who do not fall in with society’s norm become outliers left to fight for the same opportunities those inside the norm are provided.

Rumi wrote:

“Doing as others told me,
I was blind.
Coming when others called me,
I was lost.
Then I left everyone,
myself as well.
Then I found everyone,
myself as well.”

You never find your true self as long as you are not allowed to. It’s why we all end up living closeted lives and when we come out, people are surprised by who they see. Actors in a play who go off script face the wrath of their directors. Well, we are all actors and when we go off script, we have plenty of directors who let us know their displeasure. They are called parents, friends, colleagues, bosses, clergy, politicians, and spouses to name a few.

A school semester, half a school year, is 90 days. During my sophomore year at Acalanes High School, I had Mr. Baughman for math. Like all my math teachers prior to him, he loved math because in his mind it was black and white. One problem, one solution. He would present class with math problems, show us how to go about solving the problem and then set us loose to answer similar equations for homework. He always told us, “You will not receive any credit if you fail to show your work.”

He began to get on my case because I was only turning in homework with answers and leaving out the process. I’d argue with him I did not need the process because I was able to solve it in my head. “Would you prefer I show the process with a wrong answer or have the correct answer without any process,” I’d ask?

At the end of each chapter, Mr. Baughman gave us a test with the same sort of equations to figure out. The problem I had was he was only interested in our final answers. He allowed us to use scratch paper to use the solutions to the problems and then we were to just include our final answer on the exam.

“Mr. Baughman, please explain to me why I have to show solutions to problems for homework but only answers on tests?”

After some laughter from students, Mr. Baughman would reply, “Mr. Moore, you know where to go,” and he’d point to the door.

That first semester, I spent 18 days sitting on the bench outside of Vice Principal Dobbins’ office because I asked my favorite question to math teachers, “Why?” By semester’s end, I spent 20% of math class in the VP’s office which no one minded. The secretary always smiled when I came in and said, “Oh good, you’re here. Now I can go take a lunch break,” and I would sit at her desk and answer the phone and collect things like other students’ detention slips and referrals.

In a black and white world, leaders do not like being asked why. You see, who, what, where, when, and how simply require specific facts. Asking why demands an explanation and interpretation. Leaders get nervous when you ask why. Try asking a conservative, “Why are abortions murder but executions are legal,” and they become agitated to say the least. Ask your minister, “Why do you want me to tithe to your church when Jesus was not a supporter of organized religion?” Ever ask your doctor, “Why are you changing my medication when the previous one was doing the job?” When they tell you it is because it works better, that just means it is a new drug and is more profitable for big pharma.

Try to ask one of our leaders, “Why are we sending young men and women off to die in a war when you make sure your children do not have to fight?” They will point to the door labeled “You unamerican SOB” while cheered by throngs of supporters wearing blinders.

I’d like to say I never wore blinders a day in my life but that would be a lie. I have been guilty multiple times of becoming so narrowly focused that I ended up losing my way. There have been countless forks in my road of life I never saw because I refused to lose my singular focus.

When I graduated from Acalanes High School with an impressive 2.7 GPA, thanks in part to my skill at being an amazing office TA, I may have been headed toward Diablo Valley Community College, but I was also determined I would earn my BA in four years. My primary reasons were to prove to both myself and doubters I could accomplish what they thought was never going to happen. I went from the Vice Principal’s Discipline List to the Dean’s Honor Roll and the primary reason was I found college professors loved answering the question “Why?”

However, my singular focus on graduating in four years and then earning my teaching credential left me wondering if I made the right choice. I left college with a love of writing and creativity, as well as concerns about whether I would fit into the changing philosophy of public education. My focus left me restless inside which added to me always wondering if I would have been wiser to take my time finding myself before jumping into my teaching career.

I tell kids today to not be in such a rush to get to their career. Chances are, that career a high school student desires may not even exist by the time they finish college. They may also have to work much later in life to enjoy a retirement. I was fortunate, and smart, to retire from teaching after 30 years at the ripe old age of 56. It has allowed me to work several part time jobs in many different fields while pursuing the passions I placed on hold when I left Chico State. I had the opportunity to remove my blinders at an age where I could still find myself. Still, I can look backward on my life and wonder what might have played out had I taken my time. Would I have been happier? Would I have still dealt with all this depression? Would I have found myself sooner or become frustrated with having taken my time?

Through Buddhism, I am not looking for answers as much as letting go of those questions and am finding my journey is exactly as it is supposed to be as long as it leads me to my true self. Life requires all of us to struggle if we are to ever appreciate its gifts. Gifts are free and not the things we purchase or accomplish. They arrive when we  understand who we truly are rather than who we have been programmed to become. It means we are free from our boxes, labels and blinders more than an example of freedom defined by others. We are able to be accepting of others because we have found a way to accept ourselves first.

Today is looking darker, wetter, and windier outside than yesterday. Bug is sleeping on the couch while I tap away on my keyboard. He is in no more of a hurry to get to any place or do anything in particular than I am. I will test out my leg and foot with some light jogging soon before using today’s weather as a great excuse to stay inside and dig a little deeper into who I might really be. My blinders are off. Whatever comes my way will be a gift because I know all my needs are met and I am exactly where I am supposed to be.

March 17th: Cravings

The finish line for transcranial magnetic stimulation (TMS) is in sight and the benefits I have received from it have been wonderful. I have two weeks left but also know it won’t mark the end of the work in store for me. I will need to continue remaining vigilant with how I deal with the things that trigger my challenges with mental health, pain, and personal growth. If I simply cut the cord and tell myself I am fixed, the only questions will be when and how hard do I crash next time? There can be no next time.

Despite this realization, I woke this morning with that urge inside which is the craving to escape myself. It’s as if I just wanted the day off from the work I have put in and want to cut loose. In college, I referred to this as Friday night, a night set aside for complete debauchery where I remained open to anything and everything. The thing is, I eventually grew tired of celebrating the end of a week or simply forgetting my responsibilities before I left Chico in 1983. Today, I am no longer able to take any days off to escape myself knowing that doing so is just setting myself up for disaster.

Since my second marriage ended, my desire to escape has been centered around my depression and the sudden realization the life I had planned was gone for good. I was reeling and just trying to make sense of what happened and what to do next. Now, two years later, I continue to feel the need to escape myself despite making peace with the end of marriage number two. It’s not about indulging in sex, drugs, or alcohol nearly as much as realizing I have not fully come to terms with who I am. I’m still trying to figure out if I am good enough as I am or have I forgotten something. The restlessness it leaves inside of me creates anxiety which leads to my desire to just escape from myself.

This morning I woke up at 4:15 and told myself I have nowhere to be until TMS this afternoon. It will be another day of winter cold so why not just escape? The only question I feel that needs answering is what method do I select to forget the real world?

This is when I realize how nice it would be to have a partner to go through life with who understands my struggles and empathizes with me. Having someone to open up and share what I am feeling inside rather than hiding my feelings out of a sense of shame can make all the difference in the world. But even if such a person came into my life, I still have to be the one willing to open up and trust my partner to listen and not judge.

One of the worst, if not the worst, things we can do is judge the people we claim to love. To make someone who is hurting, struggling, or needing help feel small, weak, or a disappointment sets into motion a cycle of inner doubt that is passed down from one generation to the next. The people who are guilty of this often think they are just practicing tough love when in fact, they are just projecting their own anxieties and past hurt onto someone else. Sharing with someone “I am disappointed,” is stating how you feel. However, calling someone a disappointment is abusive.

In the past, on mornings like today, I would lace up my running shoes and head out the door, pushing my pace as hard as I could handle. I would lose myself with the sound of my feet striking the pavement below me while I would repeat a catchy line from the first song that came to mind. That song would serve as a mantra while my breathing in and out would center me. By the time I finished, I would have succeeded, or so I thought, in running away from myself and escaping whatever angst I woke with.

Now I understand the relief that running might have provided me was like all fixes, temporary, and until I was able to make peace with the root cause of it, it was just a matter of time before I felt the need to run from myself again. Growing older, I’ve learned I was running from myself by burying myself in my work. I knew enough about my childhood that I feared turning into a father like mine, one who made life uncomfortable for the family simply by being around it. That doubt would linger as long as I was either unable to open up to my spouse or realize she was not able to empathize with how I felt.

Logically, today I understand the more I let go of that past the healthier I will be. But I also know, ridding myself of what was modeled to me is easier than ridding myself of what might be hard wired into my brain. The two might feed off of one another, but if one is stamped into my DNA, it will linger inside long after I make any behavior changes to myself. This is why it is imperative to not simply rely on what modern medicine offers in terms of treating my depression. TMS, in my opinion, works wonders on my hard wiring and will need to remain as much a part of my medical care as the antidepressant I use.

However, without adding a centering component, one that helps me to let go of my past damage and remain focused on today’s blessings, my situational depression will remain because I will continue clinging to my old self. True growth can only come from letting go of all that has played out in my life, good or harmful, in order to allow room inside to embrace further good while providing me with the energy and resource to process what previously might trigger me. Simply put, I need to uncomplicate the complicated and simplify my life by remaining more present. Or as Thich Nhat Hanh said, “Our practice is to always go back to the present moment, to the here and now. Only in the here and now can we touch life deeply.

Beau Taplin wrote:

One day, whether you are 14,
28
Or 65
You will stumble upon
Someone who will start
A fire in you that cannot die.
However, the saddest
Most awful truth
You will ever come to find –
Is that they are not always
With whom we spend our lives.

Do soul mates exist? I guess it all depends on how you define one. I think it is more of a term created to make us feel the need to check off one more thing on our life list. I have known couples who I could easily define as being soul mates. Their love, support, and treatment of each other shows others how deeply they love and respect each other. However, I have known others, mostly women, who find one soul mate after another only to break up with him a few months later. It’s a term created by the romance industry that comes with the expectation life is not complete without one. Life is only complete if you have not found your soul, not your soul mate.

People come into our lives and forever change them but because of timing end up not being who we spend life with. Timing is everything, including with a forever person. I have met people who have forever impacted my life, but due to things like timing, an inability to be honest with feelings, fear, doubt, culture, and differences in conflict resolution, we were never destined to grow old together. Dwelling on what might have been just holds a person back from moving on. So does any anger or resentment over how things ended. I’ve been dumped plenty of times and have had my heart broken more than I care to remember, but I try to hold on to the best of all my relationships because bitterness is not attractive to anyone.

This morning unfolded about as well as I could have hoped for. I am having to rely on a three day workout cycle with each session limited to 75 minutes in length. The first forty-five minutes of each is committed to the same set of exercises I rely on to loosen up my old bones and stiff muscles while making sure to do specific rehab exercises. Then I either focus on leg work, core exercises, or upper body work.

At this a point, when I finish, I head out for a short five to ten minute walk and then jog and see how my leg and foot perform. Today, I quickly fell into my habit of repeating a song lyric in my head as my mantra that as soon as I finished, I could not recall. I held myself back and did not consider pushing the pace. I remained guarded of my hamstring and foot, but with a successful test run completed, I reminded myself of how fortunate I am to have jogged, even for just a few minutes.

In the past, I never handled the anxiety caused by my running injuries. I would wear my blinders and become so singularly focused that I would push through the pain of stress fractures in my lower leg all in the name of achieving a running goal. Eventually, I would no longer be able to handle the discomfort and replace my running with grueling sessions on a stationary bike. After giving the fracture time to heal, I would transition back to running.

Today I realized that my fitness history has been the same as my struggle with depression. When things are going well, I am capable of accomplishing great things and life seems to be a breeze. However, like the downward swing from depression, injuries tested my resolve while my frame of mind made recovering from them hell.

When it comes to fitness, the rule of thumb is for every day you miss training due to injury or illness, it takes two days to get back to where you were. I am nearly 67 years old and just realizing the same is true with mental health. For every bad day you experience, it can take two to get back to where you were. I may have to live to be 200 to find out what seems to come easier for others than has come to me.

Today is also Saint Patrick’s Day, or as I prefer to think of it as — just another day. Thinking back to my days in elementary school and how I dreaded this day along with Valentines. They came with an expectation that everyone celebrates the day. “Why?” I would ask. After being reminded of who Saint Patrick was and the story behind him and the day, I’d speak up and ask, “What if you are not Catholic or Irish? Why is it a big deal?” I always made sure not to wear any green and dared anyone to pinch me and risk a fist in response.

I felt the same toward Valentine’s Day being forced down my throat in school. It’s bad enough I am expected to read a chapter book and write book reports, but I was not about to be made to have fake love drilled into my cranium.

“Why am I writing Valentine’s cards to classmates I am not in love with?”

“Now Jim, it’s not fair if others give you a Valentine and you do not give out any, is it?” Nothing like trying to use guilt.

“How about we all agree not to give me any and I will agree not to hand out any?”

Etched in my memory of distaste is the Valentine’s Day poem we were assigned to create and share to our class in sixth grade. Room Mothers decorated our class room during afternoon recess and brought in cupcakes that were red, pink, and white with heart shaped candies. I was determined to make my feelings felt with a poem I wrote about a classmate named Peggy. She was a thorn in my side and I relished being a thorn in hers. My barbs always seemed to bounce off her and return to me in the form of a sharper one from her. Not today. I was going to deliver a knockout blow.

With the teacher and room mothers looking on, I stood before the class and announced my poem was dedicated to Peggy. Kids snickered at the thought that perhaps I held a secret crush. My teacher looked pleased that I decided to buy into the fun. Mothers stood anxious to hear what was in my heart. Peggy sat on the edge of her seat, shocked by my dedication to her.

Peggy, Peggy
Picks her nose,
Picks it every day.
Peggy, Peggy
Picks her nose,
And eats it every May.

The room filled with laughter. Peggy screamed there would be a revengeful response coming my way. I can still see my teacher choking on the cupcake in her mouth.

And then came the rush inside my brain, a high I never felt before. On Valentine’s Day in sixth grade, a class clown was officially born and for the next six and a half years of school, I would both seek that same rush while dreading what it was doing to me internally. My cravings began.