A metaphor for the “well-lived life”
When Michelangelo started carving David from a block of marble, he had nothing but a vision. Over years of labor and artistry, he removed marble from that block, and turned his vision into reality.
This process of carving — saying yes to some parts of the marble, and no to other parts — strikes me as a great metaphor for a life lived consciously and artfully. When we enter this world as babies, we are multipotentiate, like blocks of virgin marble. Over time, we whittle down the marble block of our lives, we become something.
I used to have a lot of dread about this whittling process. In college, I wrote this poem:
Ode to the Unambitious
The arrow of your life is not locked, yet
Thoughts within your mind still freely swim
The key to make you speed has not been turned, yet
You look up at the tall plants as a seed
You have not been pressure-packed and shipped, yet
There is no single place you want to be
Wishes that stream out from you have not been capped, yet
There is no need for practicality
You stand above the helpless souls
Who kick their way to some small goal
My friend, you watch the arrow sway
And delight at the directions
Looking back on this poem, I see several dysfunctional views within it.
There’s contempt in this poem for people who commit. My college self looked at his ambitious classmates as purely selfish careerists, “kicking their way to some small goal.” Some of them probably were. But among them were also the Michaelangelos of the world: engaged and joyful people, working hard at the things they loved.
Also, there’s an attitude somewhere between hoarding and Peter Pan Syndrome.
Hoarders hold on to material things for the sake of safety, because letting go is scary. But, if your house is to become beautiful and alive, you have to say no to certain objects from your past that no longer serve you.
Living in a state of eternal childhood — where all the doors are perpetually open — is impossible. The arrow of time marches relentlessly forward, until death.
The singer Jeffrey Lewis puts this beautifully:
Your looks are gonna leave you
And your city’s gonna change too
And your shoes are gonna wear through
Yeah, time is gonna take so much away
But there’s a way that you can offer time a trade
You gotta do something that you can get smarter at
You gotta do something you might just be a starter at
You better do something that you can get better at
Cause that’s the thing that time will leave you with…
You have no choice you have to pay time’s price
But you can use the price to buy you something nice
Something you can only buy with lots of time
So when you’re old you’ll blow some whippersnappers mindJeffrey Lewis
At the end of life, I think it’s better to have created a life of beauty, a life that will “blow some whippersnappers mind,” than to have stayed in an undifferentiated state. It’s better to die having become a David than to die having stayed an uncarved block of marble.
Updating my view on commitment
I have a teapot that I find very beautiful:
To produces such a fine piece, it must have taken the potter years of training to develop her talents. One day last year, I nestled this teapot in my hands and felt into the love and hard work that the potter must have committed to along her path. I visualized the lineage of artisans who developed the necessary techniques: gathering clay, throwing it with a pottery wheel, bending bamboo. I was in awe.
Seen through this lens of art and beauty, commitment is not just something for the purpose of “productivity”; it’s something that can make our lives more beautiful, can make us feel more alive, can make our souls sing.
Last night, I went to a sound bath in an old bank building. It struck me how beautiful the building was. Everything, from the wallpaper in the bathrooms, to the mandala on the ceiling, showed artistry and love. We rarely see such care and commitment in our buildings these days. This makes them cheaper, but less beautiful.
People 1,000 years ago walked among squares with marble sculptures, domes, stone arcades, and past village churches with gardens kept by the clergy that lived there. As a matter of life, some walked through what constituted art on the scale that people today, even very rich people, may never experience. Penthouse decorations are a poverty compared to a peasant walking daily under the stone arcades to the marketplace, or children witnessing daily the blacksmith work magic with iron and flame. Modern art is a forgettable trinket compared to the ancient man’s solace of cathedrals and temples. Their creators, his own ancestors perhaps, were long gone, and yet the works remained and worked upon him, as they work upon some of us still.Simon Sarris
I recently read an essay by David Perrell which makes the point that that commitment can unlock value in our lives. For me, “beauty” is a more inspiring word than “value,” so here’s my tweak on Perell’s mental model:
This brings me to the question: if commitment is so great, then why am I so afraid of it?
The answer: I have unconsciously held onto a fairly regressed view of what commitment means, a view that says:
Commitment means becoming just like everyone else, giving up my dreams of making the world a better place. If I commit to things, I will become boring, a selfish conformist, another soul-dead company man living in a box made of ticky tacky.
What this view gets right is that making choices is indeed scary because we can’t know their outcome. The root of the word “decide” is caedere, which is Latin for “to cut” or “to kill.” The pain of “killing off of possibilities” brings up a part of me that wants to hold onto everything, because it is afraid that if it lets go of some things, it will be left with nothing.
But if I want to make my life into a beautiful sculpture, I will have to cut off swaths of marble and discard them. Hoarding objects and experiences, and the related state of being addicted to novelty, will not lead me to a life of beauty. It will lead to a hoarder’s house, shallow relationships, and notebooks full of ideas that have never been tested in the world.
Committing to sculpting the marble block of my life into a specific vision will take a leap of faith. It’s scary because I don’t know if the resulting piece will be beautiful.
But I know that refusing to commit to things out of fear will definitely not lead to beauty.
I’ll close with this quote from Perell:
Whatever your tolerance for commitment is, raise it.
If today you’re comfortable committing to something for two hours, try committing for a weekend. If you’re comfortable committing for two weeks, then raise it to two months; once you’re comfortable with two months, raise it to two years; and once you’re comfortable with two years, raise it to two decades. It’s okay to start small. All big things do.
Except that I want to change the last line slightly:
It’s okay to start small. All beautiful things do.
A while back a friend expressed her sadness to me, and I replied by telling her something I read in a book: “Look at people who have much less than you, and are happy.”
My friend was not thrilled. She said something to the effect of, “Stop with that toxic positivity.”
Yesterday, I met someone who had been a competitive runner, placing highly in state-wide races. Then he suffered a heart attack. Thanks to modern medical care, he not only survived, but was able to get back to running. There was just one problem: he was no longer competitive. His running decreased from 30+ miles a week to a third of that. Runs that would normally be no sweat were a struggle now.
“People — my wife, my cardiologist — tell me to quit complaining. That I’m lucky to have survived. But running was something I did for so long. It was part of who I was,” he said.
I am reading a book called Call Me American, a memoir of growing up in Somalia during a bloody civil war. This passage is striking:
…At that point, I was not unhappy with my life. Life in Somalia was harsh, but it was all I knew.Abdi Nor Iftin
Saying that life in Somalia was harsh is an understatement. Death was a daily threat from rebel soldiers. Beatings came regularly at Iftin’s school: one day, he was hung from his arms while his teacher beat him on the back, for eight hours. There was also severe malnutrition. At one point, Iftin’s feet swelled up from the lack of protein, and they needed to be pricked to drain the fluid.
How is it that Iftin was not unhappy in these circumstances, whereas the well-to-do man who lost some of his weekly running mileage was suffering. What gives?
Our brains have a circuit that detects a negative change, a downward delta. When this happens, we feel the pain of grief. It matters not that there are others who have it worse off, or that there are still so many things in our lives that are awesome.
We need to feel this pain of grief, and let this emotion complete its cycle. Ironically, by avoiding the pain of grief, we can’t move forward emotionally. As Eva Eger says, you need to FEEL to HEAL.
The coping strategy I offered my friend was not helpful because it was a form of avoidance. Essentially, I held a view that “bad feelings are a problem, and I must make them go away.” Now, my view is more nuanced. I sometimes wonder, if in certain cases, tools like stoicism can be used maladaptively. For example, it would not be appropriate for me to advise the man who lost his running abilities to meditate on losing his arm or his wife. Yes, that might make him temporarily feel better, but he needs to actually feel his grief so that it doesn’t get stuck in his system.
Here’s to welcoming grief, a painful but much-needed visitor, into the house of our feelings!
The F.U.C. practice
For a long swath of time, I venerated the prickly side of life, and wasn’t really aware of the importance of the gooey side. Richard Feynman was my hero. Oprah Wintfrey? Not so much.
That’s changing: these days I’m realizing that quite simply, the feels are all over the place. We can’t avoid them. And a lot of the time, they run the show.
Yesterday I was going for a run. One of my practices while running, is to spread good vibes by waving indiscriminately to people. This usually goes over well and I get smiles and waves back. Sometimes, ear-budded people ignore me. But yesterday, I waved to a guy in his car and was met with a blank stare and then an aggressive gesture of “What the f*ck are you doing.”
I felt a full-body unpleasantness.
Then my mind swooped in to try to save the day. It unleashed a torrent of thoughts: What’s wrong with him? Why’s he such a Grumpy McGrumperson? Let’s send him some loving-kindness…
Then I realized: I was feeling shame. Wait a second…Maybe I’m in the wrong here?
I turned around and saw that he had been stopped at a STOP sign. I had the right of way. He had gotten upset at me for delaying his trip by 10 seconds.
I once heard someone say that “guilt is a useless emotion.” That seemed wise back then, but my thinking has changed. I no longer believe that there are “useless” emotions, in an absolute sense. Every emotion is helpful in certain contexts, and unhelpful in others (credit to Albert Ellis for this insight). All emotions likely evolved for a reason.
Each emotion could have a book written on it. This emotional intelligence business will be a life-long path, so anything I say about it today is in no way definitive, but let me say something, regardless.
I’ll call it, the F.U.C. practice of emotional intelligence. I have a hard time remembering acronyms, which is why I kept this one short and profane, so it’s easy to remember 🙂
Here it is:
Feel (F) — Often, this is the hardest step. In my story above, I didn’t want to feel the shame, and my mind went immediately to blaming the driver and then, a split-second later to sending him loving kindness. The motivation was avoidance. As my mediation teacher told me, “You really have to slow things down.”
Emotions in themselves are not dangerous, and are impermanent. If we let the body experience their energy, they will pass. If we don’t, they will get stuck and we won’t be able to move past them.
So feeling feelings is important to allowing them to flow and to continue to feel alive in life. The alternative is to be stuck in paralyzing loops of emotions that keep coming up, and keep getting repressed. Repressing emotions is a huge energy suck. Been there and done that.
Also, naming the emotion is often helpful, because when you name it, you have a better handle on what you are dealing with. For instance, when I named my unpleasant full-body feeling as shame, and admitted to myself that that’s what I was feeling, it became less scary. I had read a book about shame, and understood that it is a common human experience. Thus, it went in my mind from being this big scary vague shadow that I had to avoid, to being a clearly-defined unpleasant thing that happens to everyone.
Understand the Context (U.C.) — This is what I did when I turned around and saw the STOP sign. This helped me see that my feeling of shame wasn’t appropriate in this context. Now let’s say that there had been no STOP sign, and I did run in front of that car like a suicidal deer. Then my shame would have been appropriate.
Here’s to continuing to give a F.U.C. about being on the path of growing our emotional intelligence, for the rest of our lives!
No birdsong on the moon There's no birdsong on the moon And no smell of urine Coming from the litterbox There's no leaves up there And no insomnia Just light And dark And rocks Happenings 1. Zoom out in time And you'll see That the Buddhists And the physicists Are right "I" Am not a thing But a happening: Cells and molecules Coming together For a moment Before dissolving again "The moon" Is the same: Rock and dust Coming together for a cosmic flash Before going To their next appointment 2. Beowulf and Australopithecus, Plato and Jesus, The blood that gave Nutrition to your retinas Was a very similar blood To mine The image Of the full moon Registered by your photoreceptors Back in the day Is quite similar To the white spotlight Beaming into my eyes, tonight Humans of yesteryear, I think it would be hard To find common ground For conversation with you After all, The TV shows Have changed so much Except the Moon Show I think we could talk about that For example: Both ten thousand years ago And today People might be dying Outside, Far from other humans But with the moon Keeping them company People, Then and now Looking at The same thing As they become Other happenings 3. It's nice To have something Solid To keep us moored Even if That solidity Is an illusion Moon, You've been a great companion All these years Earth's pet Yes, everything is a happening But some happenings Last longer Than others FOMOON The moon doesn't know That you slept through its eclipse Its grand performance Last night The moon Doesn't know That you are now Angry at yourself *** Yesterday, a friend was late I missed the yoga class But, while waiting Got to see The lichens on the tree Brilliant green and cool blue *** Can we really Miss out on anything? Only if we believe That this moment Doesn't have Everything that we need
This morning, as I lay in bed, I thought about the whole universe as one big work of art:
What if we saw each of our lives as little works of art, inside this big artwork?
Art can be so many things: painful, disturbing, transformative, funny, but it usually strives for beauty. Beauty is hard to define, but in the context of living life, I think that beauty comes from being more deeply yourself.
I recently heard this talk by the artist Jonathan Harris, in which he presents the perspective of seeing your whole life as a work of art. Here are three questions to ask yourself, inspired by this talk:
- What are your routines / practices? These give your life a structure. Some of mine are running, intuitive walking, drinking tea, reading novels, and writing.
- What are your ceremonies? These are communal rituals that bond you to others. I am working on having more of these, but right now they include co-watching TV, shabbat and other Jewish holidays, and birthday celebrations. I’m dabbling with doing rituals tied to full-moons / solstices as well. Last full moon I swam in the ocean, which was pretty awesome.
- What are your spells? Harris talks about spells as transformative rituals that can turn one thing, say a painful pattern or stuckness, into something else, something beautiful. I’ve never really thought about casting spells in my life, but I’ve heard people describe such things. A friend of mine told me how she once supported someone going through a divorce by making this person write a letter to her ex-spouse, and then send it off in the ocean in a bottle. Harris offers many beautiful descriptions of spells in his talk. On my blog, I transcribed a conversation with a friend where I talked about playing with Palo Santo and crystals, but Harris makes a good point: spells are more effective when tied to the actual stuff of your life. Harris ties many of his spells to the farm he grew up on, which is a beautiful place but has many shadows and painful ghosts.
As I’m getting older, it’s becoming increasingly important for me to have a philosophy to guide my life, a “job description” for my time here on earth, so to speak.
At various points in my past, I’ve subscribed to many different ideas about what makes a good life. Now, I realize that I no longer believe any of them.
Here are a few of these ideas:
- Reproduce! — From Dawkins and Judaism
- Never be wrong and always look good — From medicine, and school bullies
- Have a chill, predictable, financially secure life — From my Grandpa
- Marry Jewish! — From 1,000 relatives, Birthright, the State of Israel, Rabbis
- Achieve immortality — From my ego
- Be popular! — Social media, school conditioning and my ego
- Seek power! — Trump, Putin and my ego
At this point in my development, I clearly see that my job here on earth is not the achievement of any specific objective, immortality project, or predefined story. Rather my job is the continual alignment and re-alignment with that which is the most true for me, following my medicine way, growing the tendril of my life in the most Dan-like direction.
Realizing the finitude of my life’s tendril, and my lack of ability to control the future after I die, is humbling. My major immortality project might crumble (I’ve seen this happen to folks). Or, while driving home from the dealership in a brand new car, I could get a call that I have incurable cancer (I’ve seen this happen too). Life all around me is showing me its true colors. Insecurity is a feature, not a bug, of being in human form.
Vlad Putin might be playing the empire game, and winning, for a time. But his empire will fall one day, as all such things do. Ozymandias all around!
My fundamental beliefs:
- I will die.
- I don’t know when.
- I can’t ultimately control the ripples my life will leave for the future.
- The best way I can be of service is to make the tendril of my life in the shape of the truest me.
These beliefs echo stoicism: worry about what I can control (the shape of my life), not what I can’t (what happens after I die, my lifespan).
This post was a major philosophical breakthrough for me. The above words summarize my “job” here on earth as I see it, my minimal viable philosophy, the root vow of my life.
All I can control is the shape of my remaining life’s tendril. This gives me hope and a feeling of empowerment.
A little mantra for myself: I vow to make today Dan-like to the max (DLTTM)!
Why do monstera leaves have holes?
An answer comes:
The top leaves have holes
So the bottom leaves
Can have light
The answer goes
I check the plant
Count the leaves
From the top
One, two leaves - Both with holes
Three, four leaves - No holes
The case is closed
Or is it?
This answer makes sense
To my human mind
The mind feels euphoric, "blown"
Like it understands
The mind of the plant
But is Mystery here really
Gone for good?
Plant decision making
We come up with
Ways of understanding it
Our human brains
But we don't have a way
To know the real reasons
For the holes
The plant's thinking
We cannot know
The limits of our brains
And falling in love with that
In love with knowing that there are things
We can never know
No matter how many classes we take
Experts we talk to
Experiments we do
Or books we read
Of the vastness
Too often, we live in cardboard boxes
Of false certainty
We think, from within these boxes
That no Mysteries exist
That the walls of our boxes
Are the walls of the world
All questions can be cracked
By the scientific method!
We don't see the point
Of swimming in Mystery
It seems that much of what we do these days
Wants to banish Mystery
As if it were some sort of pestilence
Out, out, damned spot!
Why indulge the view
That some things are unknowable?
Isn't it good enough
To embrace the useful
And get on with life?
Lord knows there's already too much to do
And we are oh so far behind
Isn't all this gazing at the stars
Wondering if somebody is gazing back
Just navel gazing?
What's the point of Mystery?
The world expands
When we let Mystery in
Inspired by TF and NB
"Not the way that you’d imagined it
On a balcony with champagne lips
But in a pantry against the pancake mix
You had your New Year’s kiss"
--Casiotone for the painfully alone
The dark side of North Stars
Is the thought
That reaching them
Will save you from Death
North Star visions
Stick in our minds
From Disney movies and ads
Or from idealic experiences in our imaginations
We spend our lives
Trying to reach them
Memory, unreliable wench that you are
In the real world, my butt itches
But that usually doesn't get remembered
Yesterday I almost scarfed down a slice of pizza
When I wasn't hungry
The tiny North Star was
"Be full all the time"
Today I almost went to a jazz concert
In pursuit of excitement and transcendence and friendship
But I did not
And instead connected with presence
In that presence
I saw what was underneath
The frantic pursuit:
That if I get this
I'll be OK
That there is a utopia out there
Without suffering and death
Alan Watts spoke of
"The wisdom of insecurity"
The wisdom of not believing
That reaching a hot gaseous ball in space
Will keep you forever safe
We are terrified of being
Food for the worms
North Stars as orienters
But reaching them
Won't save you
A conversation with Ethan Maurice
This post is based on a conversation with my new friend, Ethan Maurice, who I met at a retreat he created called Wonder Wander. I recently read Ethan’s 2021 Annual Review blog post, and the following sentence stood out to me:
I shed a bunch of emotional baggage from the pandemic as well, feel more “spiritually expansive” than ever before, and again relish in the bulk of my days.Ethan Maurice, 2021 in Review
Specifically, the phrase “spiritually expansive” resonated deeply. In the fiber of my being, I know that I want to cultivate this expansiveness in my life.
I’m sharing our conversation here in hopes it can be helpful on your own journey towards spiritual expansiveness.
Ethan: How is life 3 months after Wonder Wander?
Dan: Not as good as Wonder Wander! I’m comfortable, but I spend a lot of my time in a low-level angst. It feels like I’m not aligned in my life. I know there is something more, but I don’t know what that is. It feels like there’s a “pebble in my shoe.”
E: Yeah, I’ve been getting more comfortable too. After five years living a really frugal travel lifestyle, I’ve been in Phoenix for a couple of years now and am weary of creature comforts creeping into my life. I have this intuition that says: “Ethan, be careful here, don’t get too used to this.”
I worked at a country club pool once. One day a week, the waiters had the day off. I was the bearer of bad news for these wealthy guests that they had to walk like fifty yards to place their food order. They would get so upset.
It was the story of the princess and the pea: the more comforts we have, the less tolerable discomfort becomes.
D: How do we not get too comfortable?
E: Deprivation is one way. Tim Ferriss talks about practicing poverty, eating rice and beans, to reduce his fear and “used-to-ness” of all these fancy things.
D: I read your 2021 review, and was intrigued by the phrase “spiritually expansive.” Can you tell me about what that means to you?
E: I almost died at 16 [from meningoencephalitis] so life for me doesn’t look like it’ll stretch on and on. This makes it easier to be grateful. This time I have with you or my parents or my brother is finite and precious.
When I feel bored, I know the boredom isn’t real. It’s just that I’m looking at the situation wrong. I’m getting better at remembering and returning to this fundamental realization.
I also try to cast awareness much further out than my physical self: imagining the scale of the earth compared to the universe and realizing all these experiences are happening on this tiny speck in space.
Both ways are a means of popping out above the ego’s storytelling and mind-chatter at least a few times a day:
D: I loved what you wrote about John Frusciante. If I had to sum up that post, it would be “channeling.”
E: Yeah. That interview connected a lot of things that I hadn’t connected before – its creativity, interest, flow, presence, and oneness, all included in a single perspective. I’ve been very interested in interest lately.
If you pursue your interests, you get effortless presence and flow. I previously thought of pursuing one’s interests as individualistic, but now I see interest as this natural, universal pull, like the twig of a tree, reaching out towards the light.
D: It reminds me of the quote:
“Don’t ask yourself what the world needs. Ask yourself what makes you come alive, and go do that, because what the world needs is people who have come alive.”Howard Thurman
Perhaps pursuing one’s interest is a moral duty. I’ve never thought of it that way before, but perhaps it’s our duty to both the world and to ourselves to come alive…
I took a train yesterday and I got this vision that there isn’t one “good life.” Instead, there are actually many, many possible lives that can be equally awesome, and very different from each other. The way to get to any of them is by channeling one’s interest:
You might have a very fulfilling life as a monk, or having 5 children, or as a real-estate photographer.
But you won’t have a very fulfilling life if you ignore your interests and instead become a slave to expectation, which is what many people do because they are scared (myself included):
E: Totally. The quote that hit me hardest from that John Frusciante interview is, “if you don’t follow the interests inside you that compel you to do things your life will just gradually lose meaning until you’re old.”
Fears and expectations seem to me the main drivers of away from interest. But if we navigate by interest, there seems a vast possibility of different, awesome lives for us to find and lead.
D: I really liked your post about the limits of rationality. Of late, I’ve become more open-minded to things I used to think were bullshit.
E: Me too. I honestly used to think meditation was woo-woo bullshit in college. A few years later, I was somehow convinced to do a vipassana meditation retreat, and was like “Oh wow! There is definitely something here.” Now, I’m not as quick to just dismiss something that millions of people are into. They must be getting something out of it.
D: Yeah, I feel the same way about astrology. Humans are tribal, and forming tribes around dates of birth is kind of genius. It unites people of different cultures and creeds in a peaceful way: you don’t see the geminis trying to kill the virgos.
And astrology gets people to think about the stars. I’ve recently started playing with meditation with crystals and chakras too, cleaning my crystals with Palo Santo. I think of the smoke as love or good intentions and the crystals as people in my life, and I bathe the crystals in smoke.
E: These things are more profound than I used to think. They are ways of pointing our awareness to something beautiful.
Spiritual Expansiveness will mean something different for every human being. Here’s what it means to me, right now, in 2022:
- Cultivating good intentions towards others beings.
- A permeating feeling of gratitude for the gift of my existence in a vast and largely lifeless universe.
- Awareness of my interdependence/connection with other beings, all that I have received, and continue to receive, on a daily basis. Naikan is a great tool in this department, that I’m trying out these days.
- Seeing everything as holy, including getting stuck in traffic, confusion, resentment and shame, but also, the beauty of sunsets and laughter with friends. As Modest Mouse put it, being “in love with all of it.”
Symbols and rituals are powerful tools we can use to sculpt our brains in the direction of spiritual expansiveness. Journaling, communing with nature, chanting, prostrations…there are 84,000 (or more) doorways to enlightenment, as the Buddhist saying goes.
P.P.S. Thank you Ethan for being an awesome fellow traveler on the path of expansion and aliveness.
Using symbols and rituals to consciously sculpt the grooves in our minds
I think that everyone, whether they call themselves “religious” or not, subscribes to certain religions. It’s just that some religions are more conscious than others.
For example, today I saw a rabbi sitting in his car at a rest stop. His long beard and kippah were symbols of Judaism, a spiritual religion.
He was also wearing a wristwatch, a symbol which reveals that he subscribes to “clock time,” a secular religion (see Sapiens for some great discussion on how we humans invent shared systems of belief, and how this has helped us become wildly successful).
I recently read this article, which inspired me to play with consciously choosing symbols to include in my life.
This picture has four symbols I had with me today:
The first, a wristwatch, primes me to be both mindful and anxious of the time. This symbol is included in my life largely due to necessity/social conditioning rather than conscious choice.
The other three symbols, however, I consciously chose to include in my life in order to prime certain thoughts:
- The circle necklace primes me to think about cycles, impermanence, inclusion, and listening.
- The marble reminds me that I’m a little speck of dust on a floating space orb. It reminds me to connect with gratitude for the miracle of existing as a conscious being in a largely lifeless universe.
- The conch shell primes me to remember the strangeness of my human form, no more or less strange than a mollusk in a shell. I also think of death when I look at this shell, because of an experience I had when travelling:
I was picking up a beautiful big cone shell and carrying it for a while. Then, a giant mollusk emerged, stinging proboscis swinging wildly. I avoided the dagger, and put the shell down. The mollusk was cute as hell, with two protruding black eyes on stalks.
With the help of google, I confirmed my suspicion: cone shells are extremely poisonous. They use their dagger to kill fish, and have killed many people. If the snail had jabbed me, I’d be very sick at the least. Cone shells are known as “cigarette snails” — gallows humor that if you get stabbed, you have enough time to smoke a cigarette before death (an exaggeration but fun nonetheless).
Our minds get better at thinking about whatever they think about repetitively. Thoughts are like ski trails in our minds, becoming more ingrained with every repetition:
The power of symbols comes from priming this repetitive thinking. So let this be both a warning and an encouragement:
P.S. A related post about the Jewish ritual of tefillin. We non-believers need our symbols and rituals, too!
P.P.S. A poem on this topic:
Is a great forgetter
We need mantras
We need songs
We need holidays
Week and year
We need rituals
We need songs, again
We need to
Again and again
We need poems
And we need to
Learn them by heart
And say them
And to ourselves
When we wake up
And drive home
And go to bed
We need this
To remind us
To keep us out
Of the gutters
Of our minds
We need help
All this help
Did I create colors? Did I create water? Did I create healing for my cut? Did I create the glass cup On my coffee table? Did I create the couch I sit on? Did I create this room? Did I create the hum of cars Outside my window? Did I create the ability to hear them? The small self Grasps but can’t create Any of the basic things He takes for granted He’s a go-getter A problem solver Rolling always into the future But he doesn’t stop To appreciate what he has Right now With an open, grateful heart Once the small self is silent For a minute The gratitude operating system Can turn on
A week, a week, it’s been a week A week since I fell Into the pit Where I couldn’t Think Or dream Or laugh But it wasn’t bad I have to say The comforts were astounding Sheets and TV Tea and sweets As my poor throat took a pounding It got to the point of fading out And so I did the math A doctor was worth it The pills were great And soon I saw a ladder Wobbly step By wobbly step I slowly climbed Out of the pit And now, After a week The energy Is starting to flow back Maybe I can go here Or there Explore this Or explore that But what lesson should I take with me From that pit Where I had sat? It takes work, I see now To scream And cry To get upset Work I couldn’t do In the pit It was just Much too hot The thing that was good About the pit Was not having to worry much About who’s right About who’s wrong About who’s to blame About the world All that stuff takes energy Energy I did not have In the pit There was no gym or cooking left No self-sufficiency I needed help I needed care The mental chatter died right down The voices and the crowd The neutrophils needed time to work Infections can be loud
Manhattan is a place Where the main thing to do Is spend money But at some point you realize That you’ve got Enough pants You shop and you shop And you shop and you shop And you reach a point When you look in your closet And think to yourself: “I’ve got enough pants” And shirts and gadgets too And at that point The advertising Starts to slide off of you Like oil on teflon And you leave Manhattan For the forest You hang out with the trees The trees That don’t want your money
This poem was written after a spontaneous spiritual awakening that happened one morning in my college dorm room, when I was 18. At the time, my brother was getting quite into LaTeX, a math markup language. I thought of “TeX” as pure information, without the added layer of “font” aka conceptual thinking / stories. Later in my meditation journey, I’d come to name this quality as “Just This”-ness (or beginner’s mind, that zen is big into cultivating).
The Beauty of TeX I found the truth this morning The truth about the brain The neurons had aligned themselves And exploded all the same They showed me that there was no truth there Not in cells and lines Not in food and molecules Not in sands of time Three dimensions are so easy Backache, earthquake Teaspoons of this, you make a cake And I meet the man at a quarter to three under the olive tree But that’s the vital lie, that makes us jittery I don't know if it's kids or adults When it starts to kick, or if you come with it And life’s a struggle to unstick The lie that keeps you combing hair And brushing teeth and thinking “In a year, where will I be?” While pencils turn on the page From writers to mathematicians And people turn off the truth And turn on televisions Because the brain is a machine That lives in another place But we keep it here Mapped to scratches, aches Deadlines, pantomimes And worry and delusion I'm only just outside all this On the corner, but I see where it’s leading. And I bring it to you, beaming, loud and clear. Over the Beauty of TeX. Text without the visual attached, the tone of voice, just pure kernel of idea. And through TeX I bring you math which stirs an image in that place. And through TeX I bring you poetry, which does the same, but more ambiguously, but still just one thing at one time for one person, so perhaps it's as sure as math. But anyways, TeX is a candle, and around it's infinite darkness. So please, now that you've seen it, I'll put it out. And of course to keep this whole thing going we need our hair and teeth and paychecks and sense of security. But don't get too caught up in it, friend. The game of superglue mapping has claimed too many. I need to rush off now, and do some of it myself. But it's worth finding your way around the infinite no-place. Put the goldfish in the water and let it go. I don't know how many roads your brain has to take you from where you are now. But hopefully one will circle around the whole colossal thing. And it will see itself. And realize that it is free from this here world.
there are times when the world seems to pull you this way and that when you swallow the struggle and you pull on yourself in these times sit, sit, sit with your hands on the keys be be be don't rearrange your furniture don't clean your damn room don't use this half hour "productively" just sit here and enjoy the folds of the day the fog lifts from the morning the wind comes in the world is alive with sounds feel the folds in your face relax yes, this is a note to self
Driving along the road I smell A burning smell So foul Traffic backs up I curse the traffic gods I think about a new job A new life In a new place With no traffic Suffering blooms Then I see The cause of the traffic: A mangled sports car Completely discombobulated Is the driver alive? I wouldn't be surprised if not Suddenly, the bit of water On my windshield Seems beautiful Abraham Maslow said That having his heart attack Made him More alive Later on During my commute I smell a burning smell Again But this time, it's just Run of the mill air pollution Do I curse it Or do I say Thank you Lord?
As doctors we think There is a glass wall Between us And the tragedies we see This glass wall Keeps the blood from splattering On our faces Keeps us from realizing That it's the same blood Running in our veins The glass wall Keeps us humming along Going home and putting That big sterile house Out of our minds But if we think about The people we leave there The young woman, newly married With newly-discovered lymphoma Or the young man who went weak Stayed at home for 2 weeks And came in Finally to find A brain aneurysm If we pause and imagine If we stop and breath We can put our hands through The glass wall And see That our lives are always Houses of cards They always Come crumbling down Sooner or later There's always a gust of wind Living with this knowledge Is scary So we build walls Glass walls But sooner or later These walls melt away And when they do You cherish the now You cherish your patients They are brave souls
How do I get out of the mind That is looking over the wall, covetously You know, mind, intellectually That a million souls would love To have your Lot in life Yet you peer over the wall And think: If only my keyboard had a different type of switches Then the buttons would click so melodiously! As I was washing the pots today I thanked them Spontaneously For existing For cooking my food Maybe that's the road To take Glass half empty or half full You've heard it a million times But now it sinks in
Open heart Open heart this morn Such a lovely thing to have I wish to keep it Brooklyn Bridge Walking across the Brooklyn bridge I forget what I look like, my face
It isn't very often That I encounter Something totally new Like lava Making new land As I crunch The decade old lava field Under my feet Walking towards the rainbow It strikes me That this primordial ooze Is the beginning Of everything That's land It took some years for plants to settle it Animals to eat those plants And eventually In a very convoluted succession I resulted And now I'm back To the source of it all In a way I'm back to my mother The source of all Solidity Lava field, Under my feet Thank you for being The first solid thing My sneakers Are crunching you now Sneakers, you too Are a descendant of lava Pele, Mother of mothers The air glows red Above you The bleeding After the birth Newest land, I wish you the best As you grow up You'll have children Of your own Someday But I won't get to meet them (Written in Volcanoes National Park)
"Trust in the universe" or "Trust in your gut" or "Breathe" A spiritual teaching is like A finger pointing at the moon Not the moon itself Is it my job, then To gather all the fingers As many as possible Into my basket To come home, and make A smoothie? Gory, yes But just imagine It's strawberry! It strikes me that this is What I've been doing More or less The diligent student from high school Is still around Trying to get all the points On the test The moon Is closer than you think I say to myself today To not forget it For I went there yesterday I didn't need anything to be different I was my own Perfect company The most effective pointers Are the simplest You just need one Or zero It's the moon you're after Not a smoothie of fingers (I read this poem on this podcast)
A kayak is a translator Between a human and a river That lets the two Have a conversation Skis let us Converse with a mountain And surfboards With the waves I never thought I'd have A conversation With a parking lot Never thought I'd become A connoisseur Of different flavors of pavement Fresh asphalt is butter So smooth But a courser grain Is fun too The whirring, vibration Stays in my feet Even after I stop rolling Who knew that parking lots can speak? I know I'm not supposed to Think this way: "The universe will provide for you If you follow your heart" Or "Everything happens for a reason" I know "The Secret" is out of style In intellectual circles But I can't help think That my waking up at 5am this morning And not being able to get back to sleep Was the universe's way Of helping me Put some miles on this brand new skateboard First in a parking lot And then, gloriously Down an empty main street Morning, keep the streets empty, for me I sing in my head And board goes flying Towards a friendly car That stops Mid road "Automatic model" the driver exclaims As he looks at the rolling board I appreciate The good vibes he sends me The sun streams through the fog Near Syracuse University I roll back home And the universe sends me Some hate mail: A man with 2 huge dogs Says that the skateboard sound on the pavement Disturbs them "Go ahead," he says "After you," I say Out of politeness He growls at me and crosses the street Shaking his head For some reason, pissed Suddenly all the good vibes are sucked out of me And the neurons that evolved to keep me socially safe Kick in I shrink and tighten After I settle myself I can still think back to the sensation Of rolling, rolling The vibration in my feet The parallax of buildings Seeing the same street with new eyes Thank you skateboard I love you You showed me, this morning That life can bring excitement That joy can be found In the parts of life I previously prejudged Thank you, skateboard For showing me How to have a conversation With a parking lot
Near the path, one of the tall maples has fallen. It is early spring, so the crimped maroon flowers are just emerging. Here and there slabs of the bark have exploded away in the impact of its landing. But, mostly, it lies as it stood, though not such a net for the wind as it was. What is it now? What does it signify? Not Indolence, surely, but something, all the same, that balances with Ambition.
Call it Rest. I sit on the branches. My idleness suits me. I am content. I have built my house. The blue butterflies, called azures, twinkle up from the secret place where they have been waiting. In their small blue dresses they float among the branches, they come close to me, one rests for a moment on my wrist. They do not recognize me as anything very different from this enfoldment of leaves, this wind-roarer, this wooden palace lying down, now upon the earth, like anything heavy, and happy, and full of sunlight, and half asleep.Mary Oliver
I’ve been working with some meditation teachers on the topic of knowing or intuitive guidance. It has struck me that I have been living my life with one part of myself running the show. I’ll call this part the competitor.
The competitor believes in success and failure. He believes that you can win at life. That if you achieve X (e.g. grades, money, job, children, house), you are a winner and if not, you are a shameful loser. This part came online after getting bullied a bunch in my school years. If I was a loser according to my school’s social pecking order, then I could at least win at academic games, the competitor reasoned. I’ll show them!
And so, I would stay up until 4am on some high school nights, studying, pushing myself. I wanted acceptance, love, and this was the best way I knew how to get it. By memorizing AP biology facts.
In this process of memorizing stuff, I forgot something much more important: how to listen to my deepest self.
My therapist once asked, “Where do you live?” She meant this not in the physical sense of my home address, but in a psychological one. In what kind of mental/subjective spaces do I reside?
I think, for much of my life, I have been living in the bit.
By this, I mean: a hyper-rational, goal-oriented part of my brain. A part good for making lists and paying bills, but less good in making decisions that don’t have “right” answers: How should I live my life? How should I spend my time? Where and with whom?
The bit likes to convince me that I will only be OK if I succeed at the goal du jour. The bit is in a constant chasing project: learn this skill, run this distance, clean the house, have a family! When the bit is steering the ship, life is not alive.
When I was small, my grandpa Shulim and I would go on long walks around Buffalo. We would talk, explore. The world seemed safe and open. Full of wonder. All I had to do was be. This was a time pre-bit.
The bit has other names: conditioning, adaptive strategies, parts. Thought and emotional patterns that were helpful for survival at one point, that are driving the boat a bit too much these days.
In college, I read the book “The selfish gene,” and somehow, my competitor bit got the idea that success at life meant distribute my genes as widely as possible. A new objective came up.
It came from a place of fearing death. Another part of my brain, another bit, has been arguing, lately, with this as a worthy goal. If I think carefully, I can see that this objective is actually already accomplished: my genes are already diffusely distributed among all people. If I did have lots of ancestors, this would be the effective result, just generations later.
The above analysis was two cognitive bits working against another. Two bits competing. This isn’t a bad thing: it’s a useful skill to be able to challenge distorted thinking. One big cognitive distortion that’s been useful for me to get over has been the denial of death: that there is some accomplishment out there that can make me immortal, respected, powerful forever.
But getting cognitive ducks in a row only gets you so far. It doesn’t take you to joy, to living in radiance.
Radiance is always available, and it can be used to make decisions. I am practicing the simple skill of attuning with radiance now. The main distinction between the bit and the radiance is how they feel in the body. The bit feels tight, in my throat, head and shoulders. The radiance feels relaxed, diffuse, surrendered, in my heart, shoulders, throat. Radiance is having, and acting from, good intentions. Radiance is heaven on earth, available right here and now.
This year, I met a patient who was the embodiment of dying well. She hadn’t become famous, powerful, or immortal, but she felt ripe, content with how she had spent her life. She’d lived, a good amount of her time it seems, in her radiance.
We are both cosmically insignificant and cosmically significant. My patient was significant to the people she met, including me. She motivates me to continue the work of living in radiance, not letting the bits unconsciously run the show. Yes, I still might be jealously looking over my neighbor’s fence quite often, but I don’t have to stay there, I can catch myself.
I pray that you live in your radiance as much as possible, in this life.
Awake early this morning, I thought about life, about pretty much all human behavior, and I saw two major paths to happiness / contentment. I called them the default path and the alternative path.
The default path is what pretty much everyone is doing all the time.
I thought of different aspects of my life:
- The size of my kitchen
- The size of my muscles
- The size of my bank account
- The love in my life
Whether or not I am content in that area depends on if reality meets my “enough” point, wherever that is.
The problem is that we don’t think consciously about our enough point. I certainly don’t. Advertising + society + hedonic adaption tend to move the enough point toward the right, toward more. If we are not conscious, we can end up as a “hungry ghost,” always searching for more, never satisfied.
The alternative path to contentment involves moving the enough point lower. Some ways to do this:
- Deprivation. For example, long-distance hiking, fasting, taking cold showers, sleeping on a mat. Once you do this for a time, you become more grateful for what you do have. A small kitchen is amazing in comparison to the kitchen that’s available while thru-hiking, for example.
- Diversification (of your models). We naturally compare ourselves to our social circle. If our social circle consists of one type of person, with a clear metric of “success” and we don’t fit in to that metric, we might think of ourselves negatively. An antidote is making friends with humans of diverse cultures, ages, perspectives, life stories. There is not one way to live life, there are as many ways as fingerprints.
- Gratitude. Start a jar of awesome to celebrate small moments of amazingness in life.
If you’re not good at celebrating small things, you won’t be good at celebrating big things either.Tim Ferriss
Both paths can be useful, and they both have a downside. Relying exclusively on the default path makes you a hungry ghost. Relying exclusively on the alternative path may make you not take steps to improve life. A good life, I think, utilizes a combination of the default path and the alternative path.
I woke up last night because the cat was going crazy. I started reading Be As You Are, a spiritual book by an Indian guru named Sri Ramana Maharshi.
I’d heard Sam Harris talk before about nondual awareness, and I’ve been in Zen communities where there is a lot of talk about the relative and the absolute, but it was all sort of murky and abstract.
Somehow this passage from the book made these ideas click for me:
…The belief that there is a person who experiences a state…is not true. It is merely a mental construct. The truth of the Self is that there is only jnana (reality)…
What is dualism? It’s the distinction between ego and experience. This is baked into our language:
- Instead of saying, “There is fear,” we say, “I am afraid.”
- Instead of saying, “There is craving for chocolate,” we say, “I’m craving chocolate.”
What is non-dual awareness? It’s taking experience as the only thing that is, not telling ourselves stories about how this experience affects a character called “I.”
For example, if the cat wakes me up, I might tell myself any number of stories:
- “I’m going to be so tired today” or
- “I should have closed the door” or
- “The cat as an inconsiderate asshole.”
From a nondual perspective, I would just accept the bare experience of being awake at 1:00 AM, which could be anger, tiredness, excitement about having the chance to read, what have you.
Old habits die hard. And the habit of seeing the world dualistically is probably the oldest of all. So the path of awakening involves repeatedly glimpsing nonduality, true nature, the absolute, no-self, whatever one may call it. The claim of my meditation teachers is that by doing this during everyday life, moments of presence will become longer and continuous. And after a moment of presence, my job is to see it as the grace that it was, and let it fully absorb into my being.
What’s the benefit of this? Well, relief of suffering for one. Grasping the pleasant (cake and approval) and running from the unpleasant (broken arms and disapproval), can make life a drag if that’s all you do. Buddhists call it suffering. Bob Marley calls it a rat race.
A common criticism is: how can you take action without an ego? I think it’s possible that action can come from a stiller, wiser place. But I’m not sure. The only way is to try it out and see.
Anger is like coffee, but more effective. I was sleep-deprived today, but after a shot of anger, I’m wide awake. I feel it in the back of my throat. So much energy.
The bright side of anger is that it can give me energy to stand up for myself when a boundary gets crossed. I feel the need to roll up my sleeves and defend myself. Draw blood, even.
But there’s another kind of anger, a dishonest kind, that functions to feed my ego and keep me from feeling things I need to feel. Like feeling guilt and taking responsibility, for instance.
This kind of anger came to me the other day when I forgot a meeting with a friend. What was my response?
I got angry at her for not calling me!
What was this anger covering up? A bunch of things I didn’t want to feel:
- Guilt about forgetting the meeting
- Fear that my friend will be mad and break up with me
- Shame about being a bad friend
The guilt was an appropriate feeling: I forgot the meeting. I should feel guilty. But in the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t a huge deal. Everyone forgets things. It happened to be a not cool thing to forget, but it was still part of the reasonable fallibility of humans, not evidence of my evil nature, worthy of perpetual shame. It would have been good to feel my guilt, learn my lesson, and move on.
But instead, this is what happened:
My anger got bigger and louder, to the point where it was the only feeling I was aware of.
Mark Manson talks about becoming an emotional ninja. This means being someone who is capable of identifying, feeling and learning from all the emotions, pleasant and unpleasant.
This experience taught me that I’m not good at feeling guilt. My ego doesn’t like it.
Also, I’m not good at talking myself down from fear or shame. That’s why I got so angry (more specifically righteously indignant) at my friend. So I didn’t have to feel those feelings.
Here’s to getting better! Self-awareness is the first step, which is why I wrote this post. Here’s a checklist for myself:
The next time I get angry, I should ask myself:
- Is this anger covering up something I don’t want to feel, like fear, guilt, or shame?
- Do I share some responsibility here?
- If neither are true, then the anger is honest. I should go for a long walk, vent to someone separate from the situation, sit with the feeling, or set a boundary, but certainly not suppress the anger. It will change into something else eventually, as all emotions do.
It seems to me that every emotion can have these two varieties: one that’s legitimate, and another that’s covering up something we don’t want to feel.
I’ve been through my share of career angst, but today I had an interaction with a patient that made me realize how far I’ve come in answering the question: in the domain of work, what is enough?
For a long time, I had this unconscious belief that my job had to be special. I would say things like, “Yes, I helped this person, but anyone could have made that diagnosis.”
My therapist called me out on this: “Yes, but you made the diagnosis.”
Humans are deeply interdependent. If I have a car problem, a mechanic would be useful to me. In the same way, I am useful for people with neurological problems. It’s meaningful for me to help people, to do my part, even if my contribution is something small.
I derive joy from meeting diverse humans and learning about their lives. My patients give me the gift of their perspective on life, in the interstitial spaces of our visits. These stories enrich my soul.
It’s helpful to have reasonable expectations about what good work is. For me, good work threads the needle of joy, meaning, and utility. For a long time I had a fourth circle in my Venn diagram: doing something unique, something that would blow the status quo out of the water. Now I see that this fourth circle is not necessary; it’s an egoic desire to look good, to be a rockstar on the TED Talk stage.
As I reflect on my day today, my highlight was super normal: diagnosing carpal tunnel syndrome in someone who needed surgery, connecting with a him and hearing his story. There are other meaningful things I want to do in the future, like environmental work. But that’s for the future. Today, as I reflect on a simple hour with my patient, I know that my work was enough.
Life is too hard without a refuge
Reflecting on 10 years with, and 25 years without, my grandpa, Deda Shulim
This year marks a quarter century since I’ve been without Deda (Russian for grandpa) Shulim. Quarter century! When I think of my current life dilemmas in comparison to that block of time, they seem positively insignificant, like flits in the ocean water. So much has happened in 25 years.
It feels strange to be writing a piece about Deda in English, a language he did not know. And it feels good to be writing this. How did those ten years affect me? How did they shape the next 25?
Deda was 88 when he died, at our home in Buffalo. He only lived in that house for a few years, and they weren’t the best years. He would mostly stay in bed all day, with a giant radio that could pick up Russian stations. He was becoming less mobile those years. Spending more and more time in bed. Going up and down the stairs was getting harder with each passing season.
He said our house was a “Zal,” which roughly translates in Russian to “gymnasium.” By US suburban standards, the house was normal-sized, not extravagant, but it was unheard of to have such a large house in the USSR.
I’ll always remember that he made me feel safe. I was bullied in elementary school, and I would come home from many tough days, crawl into the crevice between him and the bed, and just read. In 3rd grade I read 40 books. I’ve never read that many in any year since. Pretty much all of them, I read in that crevice.
After Deda died, I divided time into two parts: Before and After. I would especially cherish the physical items from Before, as if they were imbued with Deda’s spirit. After the funeral, I returned to his bed and lay there in the crevice, but it was different without him there. Still, I smelled him on the sheets and that made me feel calm.
I thought with sadness that as I got older, more and more things would be from After. This was true of physical things, but it was true of memories too. As I got older, those memories of him would become less used, and smaller in proportion on the hard drive of my brain.
I strived to keep the memories of him alive after he died. For many years, I had a ritual of going into his room and saying “spokoynoy nochi” (good night in Russian) to his empty bed, as I had done the night before he died. I would visualize his face to remember him before I fell asleep.
As the years progressed and I got busier with high school affairs, I would still go into his room and wish him good night, but I would do this in a perfunctory manner, saying “spokoynoy nochi” from the door quickly, and then get back to my homework. I was getting farther from my youth.
As the years progressed, we re-modeled his room, gave away his bed, and I stopped the doing “spokoynoy nochi” ritual.
Deda had spent his entire life being frugal and saving, only to lose his life savings in the runaway inflation that happened when the USSR collapsed. In the US, he was still frugal, saving pennies in a yogurt cup in his drawer. He would eat all the leftovers, making a soup that to me seemed unpalatable, a mix of things like carrots, fried potatoes, and hot-dogs.
For exercise, he would do morning calisthenics and squeeze a rubber O to work on his grip. But mostly, he’d walk. At one point, I remember him losing balance and scraping his face on a solo walk. He started to walk less after that.
He’d go to the Shul on Shabbat and pray. I loved going with him, to both the Shul and long walks around Buffalo. Our walks would last hours. We’d see and experience so many things: hills, sumac trees, his friend who was missing a leg. And we’d talk. I felt the same sort of feeling talking to my grandpa as in that crevice between him and the wall: fully accepted and supported.
One of my first memories is walking in the woods with my grandpa, back in Moldova before we left. There was a burned car in those woods, and a dirty stream that someone was swimming in. I remember a green pocket knife that I lost.
Lately, I’ve been getting into meditation, and one of the things that I’ve been playing with is finding a mental refuge, a place that makes me feel safe. I think that Deda was my first refuge. I feel grateful that I had him in my life for 10 years. He gave me a space where I felt safe and supported.
My childhood was filled with difficulties, but it was made bearable by having Deda around. When he died, this was a huge loss, more than I realized at the time.
Now that I am an adult, I feel the need to return to this crevice between Deda and the wall. I feel the need to start saying “spokoynoy nochi” again. I’m realizing that even though Deda is gone, I need not go through life with an attitude of steely toughness. I can have a refuge once again. In my mind, I can always return to the crevice in Deda’s bed, between his body and the wall, whenever I feel lost and exposed in the world.
Deda passed away on 9/29/1996
The term “non-attachment” has always confused me, because it seemed synonymous with:
- Not caring
- Being callous or cold
- A state of idiotic, lobotomized bliss
- Not being engaged in life
On a walk this morning, I had some flashes of insight, which made the term make a lot more sense. I want to share them here.
Attachment to Identity
A few weeks ago, I was taking an outdoor shower in a beautiful retreat center on the big island of Hawaii, and I was pissed. Why? Because my girlfriend put my clean clothes in the wash. Why did this bother me so?
- This was a waste of resources
- This was bad for the environment
The fact that I was so angered by such a small thing revealed that I was grasping very tightly my identity as an environmentalist (and my related identity as a frugal person who doesn’t waste). As I think back on this moment, it dawned on me that I have parts of myself that are deeply attached to certain identities, and can get quite upset when these identities are threatened.
Attachment to Outcome
Attachment to outcome is super common for me. When I was making the artwork above, I scoured the apartment for an eraser to get rid of the pencil lines. But I didn’t find one. I got angry. I was attached to the outcome of finding an eraser.
The host of this podcast talks about having a traumatic brain injury and how his attachment to the outcome of feeling good made him suffer much more. When he let go of this, he was able to accept that he was feeling crappy, and then the healing process started.
If I am not happy, I will concern myself with doing something that encourages joy.Brian Cornell
People often think they need to do something about their feelings…Instead, what if you just let the emotion sit there? Accept that it’ll be there for awhile, and trust that it’ll dissipate when ready.Lesley Sim
Caring about process
“But if I’m not attached to outcomes, won’t I stop caring about excellence? Won’t I condemn myself to a life of mediocrity? Won’t I stop accomplishing things?”
These are common anxieties of the ego, but they are not true, because we can take the energy we were wasting on grasping identity and outcome, and invest it into the process. Process happens in the here and now, and it’s all we have control over.
Caring about process is empowering. If we feel down, we should go for a walk, exercise, or give a friend a call. It’s just that we shouldn’t expect that after doing these things, we will feel 100% better. In the words of Modest Mouse, “work a little harder, work another way.”
All too often, my suffering comes from wanting people to be a certain way. I just walked past the house of my friends who moved away in 2017. Part of me still wants things to be the same as they were back then, with them living in the neighborhood. But this is not possible. Change and impermanence are facts of life. Sometimes change brings beauty, and sometimes it brings pain and grief, and that’s OK.
If I try to force the future into the shape of the past, it won’t work. I’ll start trying to control things and people, I won’t stay current with reality, and I will be constantly disappointed.
When I went to Wonder Wander 2021, I implicitly acknowledged that these people were their own people, had their own lives. I appreciated them for who they were, and did not have specific rigid expectations for how they ought to be. I can take this open energy and apply it to all my relationships. People will disappoint if I expect from them an overly specific outcome.
All this is a path. I believe it’s the best path forward in life for me.
In honor of my mom’s 62nd birthday, we took a wander around Buffalo, NY.
Buffalo is where I grew up, and is where my mom, dad and grandma live. After many years away, Buffalo is still the place in the world that feels the most like home for me.
During our wanderings about town, the universe brought my mom and me in contact with three inspiring humans, who each taught us lessons about life.
So, without further adieu, I introduce you to David, Tobias, and Dale…
Part 1: David’s kind words
“You are an environment that functions inside a larger environment.
So everything that goes on in you is important.”David
What creates a sense of place?
For me, one answer is constancy over time.
Like the regulars who, when you come back years later, are still there and recognize you. When I landed in Buffalo, I took a stroll down Allen street, peeped into bars, and chatted with humans. Despite COVID, The Pink is going strong in its delicious filth.
“This place is still the same!” I remarked to the group of day drinkers at the bar.
“It never changes,” the bartender said.
Next, I came to Intersection Cafe, which used to be called Cafe Taza back when I lived here. Despite the name change, the vibe and people were still the same.
David was still there.
David has a traumatic brain injury from being shaken as a baby. He goes to Intersection daily, filling up massive paper cups with coffee and drinking it out of a straw. Coffee cup after coffee cup, cigarette after cigarette, the day passes.
In my exuberance, I snapped a photo of him. Then, feeling bad, I asked him if that was okay.
“You should have asked me first, because I would have said NO!” he said.
I felt a rush of shame.
“In fact, I’m surprised that you were able to get a photo,” he continued, “Because that usually cracks people’s camera lenses.”
“Yes! My phone is heating up and about to explode,” I returned, finally picking up on the dry humor.
David plays word games with himself, seeing how many small words he can make out of big words (see the photo above). He has a heart of gold. In Yiddish, you’d call him a mensch. From a Buddhist perspective, he’s a bodhisattva.
Some people spread good in the world through tangible acts. David does it through words. I wrote down a few phrases that came up as David had coffee with my mom and me, in hopes that they will give you some new eyes on the world.
Here is David’s dictionary:
- “Keep it going!”
This is what David said to my mom when I told him it was her 62nd birthday. I love the playfulness of Keep it Going! as a birthday greeting. I don’t know why, but it feels so jumpy and alive.
- “What’s the worst that could happen? I don’t know… the world blows up?”
I love this phrase because it underscores how small our ups and downs are in comparison to the whole wide world. Something about this soothes my anxiety, reminds me that my fears can be put down. It’s a funny way of talking about the cosmic perspective.
- “Precious cargo.”
“This coffee shop used to attract a lot of bikers, and they didn’t like to wear helmets. I used to tell them: You are carrying precious cargo.” David said, and pointed to his forehead. The brain really is freaking precious cargo. All our memories, loves, hates, proclivities, stories are housed up here. It’s the most precious cargo we’ve got.
- “Work for demons”
“When I see young people working at this coffee shop, trying to figure out what they will do, I hope people can find work that they enjoy, and they don’t have to work for demons.” Then David changes his voice: “Here, embezzle this money…heee heee heee,” he says in an evil voice. Then he takes on the body of the worker, makes his hand into a gun and faux-shoots himself. Compromising one’s ideals is a sort of death.
- “Intellectual indigestion”
“The news gives me intellectual indigestion,” he says. This sums up perfectly how I feel with information overload in the modern world.
“I think that burnout is terrible. Every doctor, policeman, nurse should have a therapist. The work is not normal! And sometimes you need re-motivation, to remember why you went into it.” When David asked me about my motivation for doing medicine, it took me a while to “locate” my altruism, to remember that I was in medicine to help people. The phrase “re-motivation” normalizes the experience of losing touch with the reasons for why you are doing something. Similar to losing focus on your breath in meditation, the only thing to do is to gently re-focus and begin again.
Part 2: Tobias has Enough
Since time immemorial, people have been asking the question, “What is enough?” Meeting Tobias provided as close as I’ve ever come to an answer.
Tobias was middle-aged and bald, a fairly nondescript white guy in a t-shirt. He was sitting in front of Hoyt Lake at sunset, playing beautiful music on a mandolin. This perked my ear, so I walked up to him and complimented his sound. The conversation flowed easily, and soon hellos morphed into his life story.
Here are some excerpts:
“I’ve always done something artistic,” he told us. “I started off playing music, travelling up and down the East Coast. But after a while, you get tired. The crowds get younger, and stupider, like I was when I started playing. So I took a job at a lumber yard. For the last 20 years I’ve been making furniture and flooring. Now I’m retired and I just play for fun.”
“My family is Hungarian, but I’ve never visited there. I think Europe would feel like home. I don’t think I’ll get to Europe in my life, but that’s OK. I’m 63. That means I’ve only got 40 years left to live. I don’t have enough money to go to Europe. I spent all my money on stupid stuff, like guitars and drugs. I did a lot of drugs before I was 25, but then I quit. I don’t even drink now. I do drink coffee.”
“I pick up old furniture from the garbage and restore it. The other day, I picked up an old wash basin from the trash. I sold it to an antique dealer for $100. It was beautiful, with a gold inlay. Artists must all have OCD. Otherwise they wouldn’t spend so much time working on stuff. We can watch paint dry. I paint something and 8 hours later, I’ll still be looking at the paint.”
“When I was 17, I had my first kid. And my daughter had her first kid at 15, so I’m a great-grandfather.”
“I live on the West Side [of Buffalo]. People judge the West Side by the worst things they hear. Like there was some gang-related shooting and people think everyone who lives there is bad…”
“There are no races. We are all Homo Sapiens. There should be one global government so we don’t have wars.”
Sitting there, on that lake at sunset, with his mandolin, chatting with strangers about everything from his own story to his vision for society, I could feel that Tobias had nowhere else he wanted to be. Such a relaxed vibe. Not trying to go to Europe, or make a buck, or get a high. He’d been there, and done, or not done, all that. Most importantly, he was satisfied with how it had all played out. He had many more years of simplicity ahead of him: playing music, restoring furniture, watching paint dry and taking satisfaction in the moments. Tobias was a living embodiment of enough.
Part 3: Dale’s Instant Karma
I’ve always resisted cosmic accounting systems, be they in the form of Santa, heaven and hell, or the law of Karma and reincarnation. They all seem so carrot-and-stick: don’t do good for its own sake, do good to get points, redeemable for a present from Santa come Christmas or a roomier seat on the Afterlife Express (a.k.a. heaven, if you’re on the Abrahamic train, or reincarnation as a higher life-form if you’re travelling on the Eastern line).
But when my mom and I met Dale, and I heard him talk about karma, something in me softened.
Dale is a professional jazz musician, but we didn’t know that. When he called out to us, he was just a regular-looking guy standing by his car. My mom and I were rolling my grandma in her wheelchair down a hill at Delaware Park.
“Roll the chair backwards down the hill,” called Dale.
“You know the trick!” I exclaimed.
“I took care of my great-grandparents, since I was the only one in my family who could,” he told us.
“I worked one day per month playing music for NBC, and the rest of the month I was free. I would drive up to Buffalo after my gig and for the rest of the month I’d take care of them.”
Dale told us about his life as a jazz musician:
“My parents told me, if you want to be a musician, you have to play every instrument. They thought they’d scare me off, but they didn’t. I learned it all. I’ve been all around the world. Hawaii. You name it.”
“The best place I’ve ever played was Biloxi, Mississippi. The clubs there close for just one hour a day. I would play all night, sleep for a few hours, then go out and listen to music all day and then play all night again. I don’t have any savings. I plan to work until I die…”
“When I was working at NBC, I wanted to take care of my great-grandparents. I decided I didn’t want to be selfish. If you are putting good energy out into the universe, good energy will come back. It might not seem that way, but it will.”
One way to see this quote is that the motivation for doing good is receiving good back at some point in the future. I call this the “carrot-and-stick reading of Karma.” But another view is that simply in the act of giving, you are getting the good energy back, right then and there. This collapses the distinction between selfish and selfless, and is similar to the Dalai Lama’s quote, “Be selfish, help others.”
And so it was with us: my mom and I were simultaneously putting out and receiving good energy by taking my grandma out on a walk.
As an added bonus, this action connected us with Dale, a jazz musician quite unlike us in demographic details or lifestyle, but who shared a common humanity. For he too, at a different point in time, had pushed an elderly family member down a hill. And he showed us the right way to do it: backwards!
Part 4: Who inspires you, and why?
It’s common advice that to discover our values, we should look at who we most admire. In this piece, I went a step further, and wrote an essay. The writing process forced me to think deeply about why I admired David, Tobias and Dale. I also posted this piece in a writing group called Foster, and two generous souls gave me feedback that helped me to go even deeper.
The amount of time I met each of these people in real life was as little as 20 minutes; most of the insights came out in the writing and reflection.
When someone’s behavior or way of being inspires us, we get a hit of awe similar to the feeling of seeing a magnificent mountain or sunset. We are witnessing something bigger than ourselves. There is a gap; we are not the way this person is, we are not yet who we most wish to be. And this person is a living, breathing proof showing us that yes, it is possible to be this way.
It’s one thing to abstractly stare at a list of values on a page: words like “kindness,” “generosity” and “gratitude.” It’s another thing to actually meet people who embody these values. That is what changes you. You meet somebody for twenty minutes and go, holy shit, I want to be like this.
Not long ago, my girlfriend and I were staying at an AirBnB. In the midst of dishwashing, she broke a glass pitcher. Ryan, the owner of the AirBnB didn’t get angry or want any compensation. He let it go, saying, “It’s already broken.”
I felt myself seething inside, but when I saw his reaction, I softened and didn’t lash out. Holy shit, I thought. I want to be like that. I don’t want to be so attached to things that I forget that broken dishes are small potatoes in the grand scheme of life. I don’t want to seethe for hours about them. It doesn’t do anyone any good.
So yes, before this moment I might have said that I valued “putting people over things,” but at that moment, it wasn’t true. I was feeling the opposite. It was only by seeing how Ryan responded that I saw a new possibility, a new way of being.
Here’s a homework assignment for you, should you choose to accept it. The next time you find yourself feeling all warm and fuzzy after interacting with someone, stop and journal. Write down what happened, and ask yourself what in that interaction was inspiring. Think long and hard. This is how we mine our lives for our values.
Humans are mimetic, meaning that we mimic others. This truth comes out in many oft-repeated quotes. For example: “You are the average of the five people you spend the most time with” or “Be careful with the company you keep.”
By reflecting deeply on our social interactions, even and especially on our mundane ones, we can keep the people that we most admire close, even if we only meet them briefly. As I’ve tried to show in this piece, these small moments can be golden, for within them are the seeds of who we want to be and become.
But as with any seed, care is needed. For me, writing is helpful, and I’m planning to keep a log of inspiring interactions that can serve as seeds for essays like this one. You might find a different way that works for you. The crucial ingredient is to stop and ponder your inspiring moments long enough to let the everyday saints into your heart, so they can do their work in there.
This is my first time writing such a review, and my first time sharing it publicly. Also, this is my first blog post in about 5 years. I’m excited to be rekindling this blog.
When I first started reflecting on 2021, I thought about how I’ve fallen way short of my wishes for the year. My conflicts did not magically dissolve. But as my friend John beautifully put it: “Might it be that not being able to be true to our values all the time creates the necessary and healthy conflict we need to progress in deeper understanding of who we are?”
One of the lessons I learned in 2020 was that making meaning takes time and work, but is worth it. Writing a long review like this is a form of meaning-making, writing therapy, even. I feel better about the last six months after having written this.
My word for 2021 was nourishing. So, how’s it going?
Some things that have been nourishing to my soul so far this year: travels, reading, writing, getting into a “groove” in my job, slowing down, embodiment and starting a shabbat practice.
One realization I’ve come to is that life is a lot more fun when I see it as an adventure rather than a checkbox. It’s easy to get into the checkbox mentality when living in an intellectual monoculture of people who think the same way as me, strive for the same things. My competitive / comparative / “I am deficient” neurons seem to light up quite easily in these circumstances.
Travelling gets me out of the checkbox mindset by illuminating alternative lives and the vastness of the world. Even meeting new people at a party can have a similar effect. This past 6 months I’ve met expats and natives in St. Thomas, board game enthusiasts in Philly, musicians living the van life in Acadia National Park, and a 14 year-old-anime enthusiast at a Christmas-in-July party.
On the work front, I have found a groove in the outpatient world. I love connecting with people and hearing their stories. I’m filled with wonder at the diversity of people I get to meet, the diversity of worlds I get to enter. I’m realizing that you really cannot judge a book by its cover. People are so unique: if you keep asking questions, they will tend to surprise you.
Outpatient work feels like travelling at times. I’m like a cab driver or barber in that I get to hear many different people’s stories. With less time-scarcity and interruptions than inpatient work, my compassion for people’s suffering can blossom. I’m somewhat of a neurologist, somewhat of a counsellor, and this mix changes depending on the patient’s needs. At times, I find myself daydreaming about pursuing therapy or environmental work or teaching, but for now I’m very grateful to find work that pays the bills, is energetically sustainable, gives me a sense of wonder, puts me in flow, and helps others.
I started reading physical books this year, a different experience than listening because multitasking is impossible when reading (though I do on occasion see read-walkers!). Some standout books so far: Existential Psychotherapy, The Choice, The Dispossessed, The Alchemist, On Friendship, Love and Will, Designing your Life. I also started watching more shows. I’ve enjoyed Crazy Ex Girlfriend, Tuca and Bertie, Shtisel, Soul, Shrill. It’s been great to co-watch and discuss.
It has been challenging but rewarding to practice slowing down this year. Some things that have helped me slow down: making my calendar more airy (leaving space between things, doing less), outsourcing laundry, cleaning, and taxes (I’m lucky and grateful to be able to do this). I spent quite a bit of time this past 6 months toying with “productivity systems” and they all seem to be glorified versions of the dictum: write it down. Over time — and it does seem to be taking a lot of time — I am developing a trust that the pieces of my life are accounted for in the system, and most notably, I will be OK.
I started writing with more regularity this year. In my blogging days I got sucked into the dark side of online writing: seeking likes. I realize now that what I enjoy most about writing is its ability to help me connect the dots of my life. I also enjoy interacting with people about my writing. Thank you to anyone who replied to my emails.
I want to let go of the idea of developing an online following/monetization. I have a main career that I’m reasonably happy with, so there’s no reason for me to stress out seeking a side hustle, as fashionable as that may be these days. Here’s to embracing my identity as an amateur writer who makes no money but enjoys writing.
Getting in touch with my body was a major theme of the first half of my year. I started many movement practices: running, free movement, HIT workouts and Yin Yoga.
Running is a liminal space where “the body moves and the mind grooves,” in the words of Henry. It is so easy to get caught up in the screen-world, the world of other people’s ideas. On a run, I love to experience my ideas and emotions bouncing up against each other freely. It’s a great space for daydreaming. It’s also nice to practice loving-kindness on runs, silently wishing strangers well as I encounter them, and sometimes cheering them on with a smile or word of encouragement.
I’ve also enjoyed alternating running with high intensity interval training workouts. Sweating is surprisingly fun and enlivening. Especially followed by a cold shower in the summertime.
Cory Muscara terms the “pain box” the place where we stay because we are afraid of discomfort. By moving towards the experiences of discomfort, a greater array of life is possible to explore. Cold showers / running in the rain are simplistic ways to demonstrate this to myself. I skinny dipped in cold ocean water in Maine – initially uncomfortable both physically and socially. I “faced my fears” and felt great. I don’t think I would have done that without the prep with cold showers.
Free movement is something I’ve done in various forms before (AcroYoga, Contact Improv, Ecstatic dance) but I realized that the simple practice of listening to my body and moving where it wants to go is great for feeling embodied. It’s amazing how much joy I can feel in a few moments of this free movement. It’s a similar feeling to doing improv exercises. Both help dissolve rigidity and help me enter an open, curious, joyful head/heartspace.
Related to embodiment is not self-medicating. For instance, if I get bad sleep and avoid self-medicating with coffee, I might be more motivated to optimize my sleep. I started the year with a bit of exuberance toward drugs when I read Carl Hart’s Drug Use for Grown-Ups and gleefully watched Hamilton’s Pharmacopeia. As the year progressed, I saw several young people hurt by opiate overdose, including one young man who died in a heartbreaking way. To be sure, drug testing, decriminalization and stigma reduction can save lives, as seen in Portugal. However, it seems to me that any mind-altering substance can become a distraction from the project of living a good life (as the Greeks knew). I’m grateful to have discovered Focusmate as a tool to help me focus on boring work, which helped me avoid using stimulants as a crutch. Wim Hof put it best: “Get high off your own supply.”
I did a workshop called VIEW. The workshop was marketed as revolutionary, but really, it wasn’t. That said, I learned some useful things: don’t have emotions at people, ask how/what questions from a place of curiosity. Notably, at one point I rigidly applied this mindset in a context where it did not fit, which taught me that context really matters. It seems that I default to being a “diligent student” around personal development. But life is not AP biology class. Real personal development involves cherry picking what works for me, and judiciously applying the good stuff in the appropriate context. As my mom wrote to me in a poem when I graduated high school: spit out the junk and gulp down what’s right.
I also got back into meditation, after several years away from it. I re-entered the practice more flexibly than before. I listen to a smattering of guided meditations, and occasionally do silent meditations. I dived into self-compassion meditation, and it has been a jarring experience to see that my self-talk is often quite cruel.
I’ve tried many new things the last 6 months that I’ve let go of: expressive writing, Obsidian, yoga practice, “learning in public.” For a time I was filled with a verve and vigor about these things, but they have not stuck. Maybe I’ll return to some of these in the future, and maybe not.
The phrase for the next 6 months is active choosing.
I realized this year that I have been outsourcing my decisions to an “expert” (e.g. coach or therapist). By and large, I have chosen the life that I have. It is ultimately me, not some credentialed consultant, that must actively choose what’s in my life.
I want to be engaged with my life, not somewhere in my head thinking of some better fantasy reality. Another way to phrase engagement is going from between to in, from FOMO to JOMO, from decision paralysis to choosing and letting go.
I painted the above watercolor of myself running to represent what engaged, active choosing feels like. When I start a run, I am excited. I choose to do the run. I commit and go for it. I want to bring this active choosing to more areas of my life.
One tool I think can help is a prototyping mindset, which means wholeheartedly trying something out (grokking a choice as the book Designing Your Life puts it) and seeing how the choice lands experientially.
Things I’m excited to explore / keep exploring in the second half of 2020:
- Self-compassion meditation and a regular meditation practice
- Embodiment (free movement, listening to my body)
- Running, HIT and cold showers
- Connecting with my patients (specifically in the outpatient setting)
- Reading (fiction goals for 2021: The Dispossessed, Two Brothers)
- Prototyping my decisions wholeheartedly
- Moving towards discomfort (physical and emotional).
- Slowing down
- Creativity (poetry, art, writing)
- Group therapy
- Improv games
- Time in nature (bird watching/mushroom hunting too)
Open Questions for the next 6 months, and beyond:
- What makes life worth living?
- How can I increase the love, joy, and gratitude in my life in a way that feels natural and true to myself?
- How can I improve the health of the planet? How can we raise children that do this too?
- How can I keep my strengths (e.g. curiosity, honesty, appreciation of beauty) top of mind, and use them on a daily basis?
- How can I weave my interest in therapy / authentic connection into my work as a neurologist?
- How can I get in closer touch with my feelings and act skillfully in alignment with them?
- From the vantage point of old age, what would a life that is “ripe” look like (aka a life with minimal regrets)? What would a life with maximum regret look like?
- What do I want to feel in my life?
- What is enough (money, freedom, job satisfaction, friendship, love etc.)?
- What attributes of myself are core to my identity and things that I should not compromise on? Related: How do I want to be remembered? How can I live my life in a way that I know I’ll be proud of?
- How can I better align my chosen path with the things that truly matter to me?
- What are the birds saying to each other?
That’s a wrap for this review. Thanks for reading!
“That was when I realized I was losing consciousness. All right then. At least I had held on long enough to do some good.”- Lauren Olamina, from Octavia Butler’s novel, Parable of the Sower
Today at work, my patient’s husband was a prison guard on Riker’s Island. He told me about his job. The prisoners on Riker’s are often kids that get into toxic habits and instant gratification. Gangs, crime. The more perverse your offense, the greater your respect on the island, he told me.
“I’m having fun with it,” he said. “I was an electrician first. When you’re blue collar, you try to get a good pension for your family. I’m pretty grounded in my morals and beliefs, so I do well with the kids. Some of the guards use an excessive amount of force, but it’s not as bad as it was. That said, some of the officers really should watch their backs on the outside.”
“When I break up a fight, the kids pretend to hate me, but later they thank me, especially the weaker ones. They don’t actually want to fight and I give them an out.”
“This is my second career. I’m not taking this job that seriously. But I like it. I think I’ll leave the place a little better than when I found it.”
As he spoke, I wasn’t really listening. I was focused on getting out of the room. Getting my work done. Only now, pouring over these memories of the day, six cups of tea deep on my porch, the meaning and beauty of the story gets to sink in.
So often, our consciousness is closed. It has to be, I guess, so that we get work done. But sometimes, we have to chip through the eggshell of goal-orientedness that surrounds our brains and let the beams of light stream in.
In zen, a koan is a question where the answer is not words, but a state of awareness. The awareness, now, is the lighthearted, practical attitude of the guard, and of Lauren Olamina as she is bleeding out. The guard is doing what he can in a deeply troubled world. That’s the journey we all take. Hopefully at the end, when we lose our consciousness, we can all have the feeling that we’ve held on long enough to do some good.
The photo is from a small wedding I had the joy to attend a few months ago
Talked to a juggler last night, who said: If you practice 15 minutes every day that’s better than practicing for 2 hours for just one day a week. Your brain needs time to process what it’s learned.
A powerful thing. You carry a few ideas through life and keep coming back to them. They get polished and change in your head as they change you.
Buster Benson’s Codex Vitae is his brain upload. In it, he comes up with a system for revisiting: a list of things he revisits every day, a list he revisits every month, a list he revisits every year.
Above is a picture of the 6 ideas I’m experimenting with revisiting each morning, on index cards by my bed (a few of these were stolen from Benson):
- Priming – just the title card, to remind myself of what I’m doing: revisiting, priming my brain with ideas I like
- Quality time – the point of life
- Mindfulness, mind wandering, focused thinking – each is a good brain mode, but not all are equal for all jobs
- Addictions – a reminder to avoid them
- Aliveness – “Don’t ask yourself what the world needs. Ask yourself what makes you come alive. The world needs more people who have come alive.” Good example of this.
- Soloverse – what I think isn’t the truth
These ideas are in some ways obvious, and easy to forget. Here’s to (hopefully) many years of remembering them!
We go through life and all it’s strife, and we learn about things and we learn about ourselves. A big part of learning about ourselves is learning what we like. We are wired differently and sometimes we like different things.
So here is stuff I’ve noticed that I like:
1. Direct experience. I spent 3 hours today on the internet with a simple question: Is the flu shot a good thing? Came across a paper saying no, then a few blog posts (1, 2, 3, 4) saying the guy who wrote the paper was wrong and bad and not an expert. At the end of the experience, I still don’t have an answer about the flu shot, but I have an insight:
You can only know something by counting your own beans. By this I mean, you count flu-related harms and you count the effect on the harms of the flu-shot, and you make a conclusion. And this takes a whole lot of work to do yourself.
“See I have the advantage of having found out how hard it is to get to really know something. How careful you have to be about checking your experiments, how easy it is to make mistakes and fool yourself. I know what it means to know something…I see how they get their info. I have a great suspicion that they don’t know. They haven’t done the checks, the care. And they intimidate people by it. I think so. I don’t know the world very well. But that’s what I think.” – Richard Feynman
People on both sides of any issue are arguing and arguing, calling names, but really it comes down to disciplined, often tedious, work.
But because time is finite, you have to trust your friendly neighborhood scientist to count your beans for you. To count the flu shot beans and write them up in a pdf file that gets distributed to doctors who then gently nudge their patients to do what the file says. That’s how medicine works: “A hierarchy of trust.”
I don’t like it. I like to be close to the earth, mining my own truth.
This is only possible for a few truths, because life is so short, and mining is such hard work there’s no way around trusting others. In the olden days we just trusted others to do some work for us, like farming and making clothes. Now we trust people at desks to farm knowledge. Maybe I belong as a scientist so that I can at least mine a few truths in my life…Or maybe I belong as a farmer.
I was walking down the street and saw some grapes. I picked them. It was a lot more fulfilling to me to eat these fresh grapes than drive to a store and pay for food with the papers I got deposited in my bank for doing certain tasks in the hospital.
I guess, be it in data or in food, I like being close to the source. Being part of making the thing and not just trusting that the truth or the food gets delivered to my door by some expert.
2. Spontaneity. Skipped yoga today. Poo you, plans. “It’s good to exercise, it’s good to do this, it’s good to do that.” It’s good to take the plans and ignore them. To do what flows. It feels good to be a time anarchist.
3. Aesthetics. I poured my tea into a jar. The tea was pretty cloudy yellow-green. I looked outside. The leaves made a gradient along the branch:
I pointed this out to my roommate, who said he hadn’t noticed it.
I like pretty things. Going down the stairs in my house, the sun peering through the blue stained-glass window gets me high in the mornings.
4. Dalai Lama Goop. Basically he advocates a compassion for all people. A concern for all people, no matter their walk of life. After reading the argumentative name-calling-type posts of anti-vaccine people vs. pro-vaccine people, it just becomes very clear that the world needs more Dalai Lama substance in it.
Dalai Lama goop agrees with me. It’ll take a lifetime of work to be able to secrete more of this stuff inside my brain.
And that’s a wrap, folks!
Work to do.
Gotta do it.
Gotta get it done.
One of my favorite things is hangin’ home.
Not planning doing anything.
And seeing what gets done.
Gibbs free energy.
Change in free energy = Change in heat – Temperature * Change in Entropy.
A process is spontaneous (negative delta G) if heat is released (negative delta H), if the temperature is high, if the universe becomes more disordered (positive delta S).
That’s basically how I feel about work.
Don’t push it.
Hang out, play, and see what gets done spontaneously.
Picture is a selfie that happened spontaneously during a sunny work / play session.
“If I didn’t have you someone else would do…If I might conjecture a further objection love has nothing to do with destined perfection, the connection simply grows over time like a flower or mushroom or guinea pig or a vine or bigotry or a banana. And love is made more powerful by the ongoing drama of shared experience.” – Tim Minchin
My family went to Costa Rica. We had disasters. We had good times. We watched people tell stories. We veered off the road and got lost in the fog on a steep cliff. We got scared together and we turned back and we survived.
We were on an adventure. We saw the same crazy stuff. We watched the same movies. And we grew closer to each other
So if you want to improve your marriage or friendship, go on a really uncomfortable road trip or skydiving or go to a bad restaurant together, just as long as you have a shared experience and are forced to turn to each other and say: “This is a crazy movie, right? It’s not me who’s crazy, right?”
And they’d say, “No, you’re not crazy. I’m seeing the same thing. This is a crazy movie.”
And you’d bond and love each other.
The comparing yourself-to-others bug is a dangerous bug. A nefarious bug. Here are two little cases in point:
1. I worked in a clinic on the west side of Buffalo. This clinic helped a lot of refugees. I thought: how great it would be to help so many people. And I started seeing my path as one that would need to have this big splash in the world, help a lot of people. I would de-value paths that didn’t directly help a lot of people.
2. When I first read Richard Feynman, I thought: whoa, this guy is really creative, he really gets into the deep truths of the universe. And I thought: how great it would be to be to learn mathematics and find out new parts of nature. And I started to de-value parts of life that were not science.
I have a patient being treated for cancer. She has a chihuahua that she misses. She thinks of her chihuahua when she goes to sleep.
She wants to get out of the hospital so she can be with her chihuahua. But in the meantime, she smiles and is really nice to everyone taking care of her.
It’s OK if the things you do are simple, if they don’t make this big glamorous splash.
A big (paraphrased) quote from Alan Lightman:
“I used to think that if you write a book that people read in 50 years that’s better than if you write one that lasts only a little while. But now I’ve realized that nothing lasts. I believe we are material beings. When we die, we are gone. We only exist for a short time in other people’s memories. Pretty soon those people will die and no one remembers you. So any meaning in life can’t be from any idea of permanence. It has to come from something that’s moment-to-moment. I know that I feel pleasure and pain. Not just physical pleasure and pain, but intellectual, philosophical pleasure and pain. And when I help someone, I feel pleasure. When I insult someone, I feel pain. So I try to do things that, in the moment, bring me deep pleasure. That’s where I am with meaning.”
And one from a song by Jeffrey Lewis:
I hope that the art school enjoys your big drawing of ruins
We’ve all got good things to do and it’s good when we do them
– Jeffrey Lewis, Alphabet
But maybe this song should go:
I hope that you enjoy your big drawing of ruins
It doesn’t matter what you do, as long as you feel deeply that this is the right thing to do right now.
The photo is of a sculpture I made in 5th grade. I think it still encapsulates me pretty well.
Maslow had this thing called the hierarchy of needs. The basic idea is that people need certain basic things (e.g. food) before certain other things (e.g. romantic love).
Problem is, the hierarchy isn’t the same for everyone.
Some may be able to run on 3 hours of sleep. I need 8.
Some may be fine not talking to others. I like connecting.
Some might not care about creating. I need it.
Sure, Maslow is generally right. The musical Cabaret is generally right:
Words sound false
When your coat’s too thin
Feet don’t waltz
When the roof caves in
– Cabaret, I don’t care much
We all need the same basic things. But when you get a level up, there’s diversity of hierarchies of needs. If we take someone else’s hierarchy as our own, we won’t feed our soul.
I’ve done this for too long. Waking up early anxious about being hungry later and shoveling food into my mouth before work.
Yesterday I woke up with my head full of ideas. I started doodling. I drew this pyramid and hung it on my wall. Then I realized: I won’t have time to eat.
For me, spontaneity, creativity, are more important than food.
At work I got hungry and downed some unhealthy food as my blood sugar crashed. But I had fed my soul.
Figure out what feeds your soul, and do those things first.
Not what Maslow told you you should do, but what makes you feel good, on a deep, spiritual level.
Don’t trust Maslow. Figure out your own damn hierarchy.
A geophysicist told me about fracking today:
To frack, you take a metal tube and drill it under the ground 10,000 feet. You then blow up a plate of shale and you liberate the gas underneath the shale. The gas comes from plants millions of years old. Same idea with oil. That’s what runs our computers and farms and cars and widgets galore (that’s what’s running this blog post).
That’s what our whole civilized experience is based on: creatures that have died long, long ago.
I didn’t argue with the pro-fracking geophysicist man. You learn a lot more if you are curious, and you don’t try to force your opinion on people. He knew a lot more than me about fracking anyways.
I learned the problems that can arise with fracking (the cement around the well leaks, the detergents need to be disposed of, the drivers disposing the stuff sometimes flush it out on the side of the road to save themselves a trip to the treatment plant).
I listened and learned a lot more than I would have learned had I beat him over the head with my pre-formed opinion.
But my opinion is still the same: I don’t care about fracking. I don’t care about global warming. I don’t care about any one specific issue. I just think our whole capitalist game is flawed.
Here’s my opinion, that I didn’t tell the geophysicist guy. This is a blog, a soapbox, so I think I’m fine preaching here:
We modern humans are short-termites, chewing on our wood way too fast. Optimizing for colorful sparkles in our limited lives, not realizing that it’s possible to keep living on this rock in a sustainable way if we just cool it a little.
The earth is getting eaten up by us as we race with each other.
As we sprint around the track, focusing on winning, the track gets torn up.
But in the cosmic motion picture show, earth is just one planet out of many, many. It’s OK if we mess it up. Still, we can’t really leave our planet, so why not try to keep it a little tidier?
A few years back, my brother and I were taking a long walk at night in a snowstorm. The roads were illuminated by orange streetlights.
Where did the energy for these lights come from? I asked myself. Then the answer came: this suburb was burning the plants and animals that had lived on the very same land millions of years ago.
And the burning process was happening very fast.
In a way, these dead things were being resurrected to light the snowy streets.
And in another way, maybe there is a better way.
A way out.
Let’s find it.
What’s the difference between people in the first world and those in the third world? I would argue that one big difference is first world people (myself included) are obsessed with control.
Control is the default setting that has been wired into us from day one, living in this push-button “first-world” civilization.
I was driving the other day, trying to meet a friend, and rain started. It was a hell of a rain. Streets getting beat down by sheets of water from overhead.
But for me, instead of standing in awe of the rainstorm, I just got frustrated. This will slow me down, make me late. This rain that 100 years ago would have meant crops would have had water now meant nothing to me. Just something I could zip through in my hermetically-sealed car.
Our cult of control is pervasive, present in nearly every part of our lives.
Some more examples:
- Death isn’t a natural part of life, it isn’t celebrated. It’s something to be battled against with medical interventions, which sometimes bring their own brand of suffering.
- Hunger is remedied by prepackaged protein bars.
- Tiredness is medicated by coffee.
- Lawns are kept green by calling the guy who sprays and fertilizes.
- Even in the day-time, we put blinds on the windows and use electric lights.
And this is how we live. But it wasn’t always like that.
^ ^ ^
In Japan, there is the concept of wabi sabi. Roughly, this is an appreciation of imperfection. For the transience of life. A wabi sabi bowl is one that has cracks. And the cracks are beautiful.
In the first world, we don’t appreciate the beauty of the cracks.
^ ^ ^
Here’s one for you: Organic apples are not apples that have “organic” stickers. Organic apples are apples that have worms. Unless humans intervene, apples will have worms. I’ve seen it with my own two eyes, I swear, it’s true. Wormy is the natural state of apples.
But somehow, somewhere, we decided that apples should be worm-free. And by golly, we’ll blast ’em up with chemicals until they look just right.
The crappy thing is that by trying to control it all, we suffer. In the wabi sabi perspective, we shrug our shoulders and say “Shit happens, that’s life.” But in the control perspective, we are so, so serious. The apples are shiny and the streets are clean and we get so much done it’s true, but the catecholemines rush through our vessels and harden our arteries and mess up our brains.
^ ^ ^
My friend Greta and I were talking about natural building the other day.
I’ve been thinking about why it’s important for me to have natural building materials (e.g. unfinished wood, straw) visible inside my house. You could say: what’s the big deal. Who cares?
I think it’s a constant reminder that I’m just a part of nature.
Some people say “I keep G-d in my heart.” But I flip it and say to myself “G-d keeps me in his heart.” It makes me think that I’m not so big and important. That I’m just a little part of this world.
Intentions vs. Goals
What’s the difference between intentions and goals? Here’s a story that hopefully illustrates the point:
Let’s say that today, I have the goal to go to the gardening store and get onion bulbs to plant in my garden. Underneath this goal is an intention: to be closer to nature, to be more self-sufficient.
Now maybe, on the way to the gardening store, a three headed monster pops up out of the earth. The monster provides me with secret seeds that when planted will lead to an ecological utopia. If I am focused on my little goals, I will say to the monster: sorry, no thank you, no time. I have to buy these onions.
But if focus on my intentions, maybe I can let go of my goal and take the seeds.
The fantasies our brains dream up are just so flat and boring compared to the unexpected realities that come. When we fetishize and grasp goal number 1, we shut off possibilities 2, 3, and 4.
Wash the dirt off your intentions
It takes a long time to make a fake
We night swam down in the lake
Washed the dirt off our intentions
Prattle on ’bout bad inventions
-Modest Mouse, I Came as Rat
Mainstream society often worships fame and money and looking good. It’s hard to be free from wanting these things. One way to wash the dirt off your intentions is to state your intentions publicly. If you write your intentions on the walls for everyone to see, then you are more likely to adhere to them.
For example, with this blog I had the desire for fame and money for a time. But then I wrote my intentions for the blog on my about page. When I get side-tracked, I can read this page and say to myself, “Oh yeah, that’s why I am doing this.”
Pure intentions are useful
Let’s face it, we can’t control outcomes. But we can control our intentions to an extent. And having good intentions is quite useful. Here’s why:
1. Intentions give you a general direction to walk. It’s helpful to have a direction when you set out walking, or you can end up in some pretty dark swamps.
2. Intentions motivate. As a doctor, I work in a stressful environment. Sometimes in the rush of things, I forget why I’m doing the job. So I write my intentions down on a card. I tape this card up above where my white coat hangs. It puts me out there. And it motivates me to study and to listen.
3. Intentions help you understand why you want what you want. Sometimes, the goals we have come up unconsciously and cause stress. Focusing on intentions helps deconstruct them.
Recently, I had this goal come up in my head: “I want to have 2 kids.”
“Why do I have this goal?” I asked myself. Here were some things I thought of:
- I want people to care about me in my old age
- It would be cool to pass along my values
- I want to pass on my chromosomes
- I like playing with kids
- I don’t want so many kids that I destroy the environment
Some of these are my real, deep intentions. Others, I think, are intentions that passively diffused into my head and they don’t feel good for me. So I can now start the process of purifying these intentions, washing off the dirt.
Also, I need to trash the specific goal. Maybe 8 kids or 0 kids will be in my future, but as long as I’m walking roads guided by my intentions, then I’m walking good roads.
Trash your goals
In college, I saw people growing up too fast, going towards careers like little packages travelling down pneumatic tubes. I wrote this poem about it:
Ode to the Unambitious
The arrow of your life is not locked, yet
Thoughts within your mind still freely swim
The key to make you speed has not been turned, yet
You look up at the tall plants as a seed
You have not been pressure-packed and shipped, yet
There is no single place you want to be
Wishes that stream out from you have not been capped, yet
There is no need for practicality
You stand above the helpless souls
Who kick their way to some small goal
My friend, you watch the arrow sway
And delight at the directions
If we don’t grasp goals, and instead have clear, but general, intentions, then we we can walk the journey with delight. We know generally where we are going, but where we end up will be a surprise.
The key to all story endings is to give the audience what they want, but not the way they expect. — William Goldman
I recently was cleaning the kitchen and moved the paper towels. My roommate said: “Great idea putting them here [on a ledge behind the sink]. There’s more counter space.”
I wasn’t even thinking to do anything in particular, but cool, I helped solve a problem, I thought.
A few minutes later I was in a bit of a rut, wandering around the house.
“You should go on a bike ride,” my roommate said.
I did, and it was a great bike ride. I wouldn’t have thought of it without my roommate.
People have different perspectives and what’s obvious to one is not obvious to another and we all collide and bump into each other and through sheer entropy we create better ideas.
The picture is one I drew in first or second grade.
To shake things up a little on this blog of visual meditations, here are some audio and gustatory-meditations:
I went to a mindful eating dinner last night.
The leader of the dinner said: “For the next 5 minutes, eat your food slowly. Think about where it comes from. Think about the land, the farmers, the truck drivers, the stores, the cashiers, everyone. Savor the textures, spices, sounds, smells.”
And that meal lasted forever. At some point, my brain said: “Gorge! This food is healthy and tasty and you should get more!” I noticed this but didn’t move on it.
In and out of mindfulness I went. I noticed a lot about the meal. The rice was the best rice I ever had – vinegar notes and crackly sounds between chewy grains.
This morning, I tried to replicate the exercise. I ate an apricot. Then a carrot with almond butter. I really savored them.
I wasn’t hungry at the end of the small meal. But somehow my brain said: “Gorge! Or you will be hungry later.” And I gorged, out of fear.
It strikes me that I often can’t remember things. Like what I ate, or whether I closed my car doors or locked up my bike.
This is a symptom. It’s a symptom of lack of mindfulness. Of not paying attention.
Getting lost in thoughts is great, but constant fear-based thought loops that prevent perception of the world are bad news bears. Why? Because life is memory:
If you don’t remember your life, it’s like it never happened. – Derek Sivers
So mindfulness is not some new agey thing for hippies with too much time on their hands. First of all, it takes 5 minutes. Eating takes 15 minutes, let’s say. Five of those minutes can be spent eating mindfully. Same goes for any other activity.
I love the angry tone of this Modest Mouse song, which is really about mindfulness I think.
My interpretations are in parentheses:
The ocean breathes salty, won’t you carry it in?
In your head, in your mouth, in your soul.
[Pay attention to the ocean. Let it in to your sensory organs – to your head, mouth, and soul.]
Will you tell me what you saw and I’ll tell you what you missed
[Hey Dude, Tell me what you saw. Nope. You missed a lot, because you weren’t paying attention.]
For your sake I hope heaven and hell
are really there, but I wouldn’t hold my breath.
You wasted life, why wouldn’t you waste death?
You wasted life, why wouldn’t you waste death?
[If you aren’t present during life, then I hope you get another life. But I wouldn’t hold my breath that this will happen.]
You wasted life, why wouldn’t you waste the afterlife?
[And even if you did get another life, you’d probably waste it, because you are in the habit of wasting your life.]
So now it’s time to practice mindfulness. It’s time to get in the habit of NOT WASTING LIFE.
If you miss the here, you are also likely to miss the there. If your mind is not centered here, it is likely not to be centered just because you arrive somewhere else. – Jon Kabat-Zinn
When I come before the judges of the heavenly tribunal, they are not going to ask if I lived my life like Moses or if I lived my life like Abraham. They are going to ask if I lived my life to be the best Zusha’s could be. – Rabbi Zusha
I feel like I met Buddha the other day. He was overweight, wore bright Hawaiian shirts, and owned a hostel in a touristy part of Costa Rica. His name was Conrad. Here’s a picture.
I don’t know why I thought he was Buddha, but I did. He wasn’t particularly ascetic. I’m sure he loved life’s worldly things. But I just got the feeling he was living really true to himself.
“I left California. Everyone there is so busy and obsessed with stuff. Nobody enjoys life,” he said.
Yesterday I walked the path my dad and I often walk. I was barefoot. I thought: life is good. I have enough food to eat. And I have time to do something pointless: go for a walk. Pointless as in: not directly involved in the process of getting food. For a minute, I felt like Buddha.
Then we visited my family friends. This couple is loud and boisterous. They have 2 dogs, 2 cats. They yell at each other in comic ways.
Husband: This dog is so old and sick…but he doesn’t die.
Wife: Just like you!
Husband: Me and the dog will both die at the same time, so then you can have just one funeral!
Wife: Do you think I’m planning a funeral for the dog?
I think this couple are enlightened too. They are perfect for each other and they come alive when they fight. They watch crappy TV shows, don’t live very healthily, but something about them, I don’t know, they are just real.
I feel like life’s enlightened ones aren’t the gurus spouting wisdom. They are the real people that I happen on unexpectedly. I can lift a log and find some grubs and monsters that are maybe ugly, maybe hairy and slimy, but they are perfect. No airs. Just fitting their shirt perfectly. Fitting their life. Living their truth.
Found a few buddhas, hanging out under logs.
“Since I first wrote it [The Complete Book of Self-Sufficiency], the book has certainly gotten about. I have traveled in at least dozens of countries since I wrote it (to say nothing of four continents), and in every one of them people have come up to me with their copy to sign. I have been delighted to find wine stains on the wine-making pages, and good, honest dirt on the gardening pages.” – John Seymour
Theory is fine and dandy, but practice is where it’s at.
You have to do things, not just philosophize and “understand” things.
My goal this vacation is to get my copy of the Complete Book of Self Sufficiency covered with wine and dirt. I’ll be taking pictures, and will post them below when they are taken.
Kimchi I made (with guest appearances from my mom’s zucchinis and my dad’s home brew kombucha):
A towel holder, made by my dad (mostly) and me:
My dad turning wood on his lathe:
Gardens I worked on weeding at the mind-body retreat in Ithaca (Travis Knapp was the main garden master – check out his soulful music.):
This blog is basically a sharing circle for me.
But there’s the trap with sharing if you focus too much on how you will be perceived. Maybe, you feel a pressure to say something interesting or significant so that other people go OOOOHHH and AAAAHHH.
I thrive on feedback. Screaming into the world and getting some kind of response. I have kept notebooks for many years, and it’s nice to cull entries and put them into this blog which is like a soapbox on which I stand and share my thoughts.
But there should always be a place that’s private. A diary that no google algorithm can access, that no other people know about.
I need both public and private. Without a venue for sharing, I feel lonely, like I’m all by myself screaming into the desert and maybe I’m a crazy person here, alone with all these thoughts. But sharing everything makes me feel like I am not my own person, like everything is on display, like I can’t have a thought that’s unfinished or unflattering or ugly or pointless. Without the freedom to doodle and make bad work, there’s just too much pressure.
So sharing circles are nice, but staying quiet is nice too.
After quitting his job, my brother sent me (and his co-workers) a link to this punk rock song, which has the lyric: Quit what you don’t love.
Recently, I have been getting into the concept of minimalism — reading blogs on it, going to talks on it, giving away stuff I don’t use — but today the concept really clicked for me.
Minimalism is not owning 3 pairs of pants. Minimalism is quitting what you don’t love. Whether that be people, places, things, or mental states.
As soon as I had this epiphany, I wrote “Quit what you don’t love” on a white t-shirt, put it on, and drove myself to yoga class.
I was late, but I didn’t rush. With my new minimalist t-shirt on, I thought: do I love rushing, or do I love going slow?
I love going slow.
Then I got to the class and the door was locked. I peered in: the class was well underway.
I asked myself: Would I love breaking the flow of the class, or would I love going with the flow and maybe doing yoga outside in the nice weather?
Of course, outside!
Then I got outside and was too lazy to do yoga, so I sat on the bench and watched the people walk by. Outside on that bench, after having quit a bunch of frames of mind I didn’t love, and I had the space to just be.
I might not know what I really love. But if I quit the things I don’t love, then maybe there will be space for the things I love to move on in.
I did some excellent people-watching sitting on the bench there.
A delightful old man walked very slowly out of the building. He said to me: “Have you exercised already?”
“No, I was late to yoga and got locked out,” I said.
“Oh yoga, there’s a lot of pretty girls doing that,” he said.
“That’s not why I come, but it is an added perk.”
He laughed and walked slowly towards his car. I really enjoyed meeting him, and seeing lots of other people, as I sat outside and watched the sun set.
Minimalism is about not being afraid of what happens when you quit.
The world won’t end. The world won’t end. The world will open up.
The internet people I have seen go the minimalist route have all survived at the very least, and many have thrived.
So I’ll be wearing my home-brew t-shirt, quitting things, seeing what remains, and what else comes in.
quit what you don’t love cause we’re enough
live as you make it up cause we’re enough
you’ll never go without cause we’re enough
we’ll buy a house cause we’re enough
we’ll grow some food cause we’re enough
we’ll slam some dunks cause we’re enough
don’t be afraid cause we’re enough
you’ll always be ok because we’ll always be enough.
— Wingnut Dishwasher’s Union
A cute little video that’s relevant, if punk rock isn’t your thing.
A story about deja vu in the Intensive Care Unit:
A guy was on the ventilator (a machine that inflates and deflates the lungs for a person through a tube that goes down the throat). Suddenly, the oxygenation of his blood dropped. I listened to his lungs. Breath sounds on the right, none on the left.
An x-ray showed a complete white-out on the right hand side.
I called a bunch of people: senior doctors, the radiologist.
The radiologist said: he has fluid around the lung.
One of the senior doctors ultrasounded the lung and said: “There isn’t actually that much fluid around the lung. Probably there is a mucous plug upstream that is causing the lung to be filled with fluid.”
So the patient didn’t have fluid around the lung, he had fluid in the lung.
We increased the pressure that breathing machine puts into the lungs, and the oxygenation of this blood went back to normal.
Then the deja vu moment: we got called to see patient number 2.
He had almost the same picture: a complete white-out of a lung on chest x ray.
But the ultrasound for him showed that there is fluid around the lung (not inside the lung like the first patient).
Patient number 1 could benefit from removing the mucous plug, patient number 2 could benefit from draining the fluid around the lung.
These 2 episodes happened within a single hour. After that, I rushed off to do more mundane things: writing orders, checking labs.
I went home after this night shift, ate a bunch of ice cream, and passed out. When I woke up, I thought: that was really cool.
In medicine, the thing I lack is time. I’m always running around.
Life is really freaking cool. Space is great. It helps you say wow.
An interaction happened today.
A patient died. This was a sick person who had been in the hospital for over a month.
The family wanted an autopsy not for themselves, but to “improve medical knowledge.” Our team thought that this didn’t make sense because the disease the patient had was not a mystery.
A desire sprang up in my brain to call the family and convince them to see things our way. Luckily, my colleague called the family.
This is what she said:
“I just wanted to call to let you know what an autopsy involves. An autopsy will involve removing the organs and examining them. We do autopsies when there is a medical mystery, but in this case we had a pretty good idea of what was going on. But if you want an autopsy that is completely your right.”
She gave her thought process but was open to accepting whatever they wanted to do. She didn’t have this rigid: I-WILL-CONVINCE-YOU! – Homer-Simpson-strangling-Bart-Simpson – type vibe that I had.
A long quote from Leo Babuata:
“A lot of the time, we come to a decision to make a change, and we want to get our spouse on board after we’ve already made the decision. But the decision didn’t just happen in that moment…You’re going through all this thinking process and reading and finding inspiration…So you’ve gone through this process but your spouse hasn’t…You have to help them go through the process on their own. They might not make the same decision as you, but you have to give them the opportunity to go through a process.”
This is what my colleague did with the family. She gave them her thought process but she let go. She allowed them to go through their own process.
One aspect of being a good listener could mean being present to the cues people give you, “smelling the air.”
Another aspect could be being receptive to other people’s process, journey, truth.