“That was the best/worst (fill in the blank) I ever had.”

When we feel the need to rank each experience, we reduce or eliminate our ability to derive joy from that experience. Find joy in everything.

In this picture, I’m wearing my purple “LOVE” shirt, as I sometimes do when I work out. Recently, I worked out at the gym (some days I work out at home, some days at work, and I hit the gym about three times a week), and was dressed like this. Most guys go for a more macho image. My intention is to sow love.

What was interesting that day was the contrast in my interactions with two different guys at the gym, both of whom I would characterize as giving off that macho vibe.

When I was doing incline chest press, I was super-setting that with seated row. As I finished my first set of incline chest press (with which I was super-setting with seated row), I noticed a guy using one part of the nearby multi-station machine. I’ve seen this guy, obviously bigger and stronger than I, at the gym before, but haven’t interacted with him. Not wanting to interfere with what he was doing, I made eye contact with him and pointed at the seated row station. “Are you using that?” I asked. His response was a gruff wave of the hand, and something unintelligible. In his all black outfit, his demeanor, and his response, he was either saying “I’m not using it” or he was saying “go ahead, don’t bother me”, or something like that. I carried on with my workout.

That guy walked away, but pretty soon, another guy, similarly clad and similarly bigger and stronger than I, approached me, asking if I was done on the incline press machine. I explained that I had two sets left, but was super-setting with seated rows, and would be glad to work in with him until I was done. I added that thought he’d need more weight than I. He said “that’s fine” and went to the incline press machine, quickly completing a set using the same weight I had.

We traded back and forth like that for my two remaining sets, me fetching the weight I intended to use, he grabbing the plates for one side and assisting in loading the machine. When I finished my second set, I said “I’m done, how do you want the machine set up?” He said “that’s OK, I’ll get it. Thanks for letting me work in” and shook my hand.

What an interesting contrast. To look at these guys, it would be easy to lump them into similar categories, using my pre-conceptions. But the way they each reacted to the social dynamic was totally different.

I can’t say the second guy is a superior person to the first one, because I don’t really know either one. And it is impossible to tell what is on someone’s mind when you interact with them. But it is almost always possible to be kind, which made the interaction with the second guy not only more pleasant, but worthy of re-considering the whole deal.

Life is very short, and there’s no time

For fussing and fighting, my friend

It seems like every year at this time, I’m reminded what a toxic culture of death I’m a part of. For, while I recognize it, I can’t claim to not be OF it.

This evening, there were tail lights and brake lights as far as the eye could see during most of the interstate portion of my commute. “Packed like lemmings into shiny metal boxes”, as Sting might say. Even when traffic was moving along at 70 mph, traffic was pretty dense.

It was like that after I got across the river, headed north. That’s when I saw the first deer, about 20 feet off the right shoulder. I silently implored her not to cross, not now.

After I exited, and had gone maybe a mile, I saw the second doe. This one was out of traffic, on the edge of the hilly, heavily-traveled road, very near the entrance to an upscale subdivision. My wishes to her, though, were heartsick apologies (not that I had hit her, but still), because it was evident she was near death, struggling to understand what had happened to her.

Maybe 2 miles further through the darkness, I saw a third deer. This one crossed the road safely, well ahead of me, and a bit ahead of an almost-stopped vehicle coming the other way.

On top of the news that the Administration has decided that importation of elephant-hunt “trophies” is now OK, it was just another reminder of the mayhem living out of balance with the rest of the world brings.

Sometimes it seems like something that starts out being positive ends up not only mundane but an annoyance. When e-mail began, it seemed almost miraculous – you could compose a note to someone and send it electronically. They’d receive it almost simultaneously, and often answer you back. With the passage of time, e-mail became more and more a vehicle for online marketing and scams, and actual personal correspondence became less and less prevalent.

As with many modern phenomena, e-mail management also becomes a chore. Culturally, we are mostly prone to accumulating things. But unmanaged accumulations are an energetic burden, weighing one down with the semi-conscious realization that there are unaccomplished tasks out there, awaiting action. “Something’s at the edge of your mind, you’re not sure what it is.”  This is particularly true for someone such as I, with strong OCD characteristics (though I would refer to it as an ORDER, not a disorder).
Over the last couple of weeks, I’ve addressed my looming e-mail management issue. The longer one lets something like that go, the larger the task becomes. I’d done no real culling in more than three years. But I threw little bits of time at it several times a day, over several different days, and was able to file or dispose of thousands of e-mail messages which had just been sitting there.
This left me with good feelings on at least a couple of levels. For one, it allowed me to check that long-languishing box on my internal to-do list. But on another, it afforded me an opportunity to not view ALL of those messages as a burden. Instead, it reminded me of the richness of life. During times of joy and challenge, friends and family have been a comforting presence. Some of the messages may have been routine, but others were expressions of support which buoyed my spirit both when I received them and now, reminiscing. They caused me to recall that it is good to be grateful for both the extraordinary and the routine.

The weekend is a time of both celebration and of reflection. We celebrate the completion of another workweek, of life events, and we reflect on our place in the cosmos, in what it all means. It is the weekend: everyone’s watching, to see what you will do.
It is also, especially in the warm months, the time when we catch up on yard work and deferred maintenance items. And that’s just what I found myself doing this weekend. On Saturday, I was running the string trimmer around the yard, and noticed the neighbor’s shrub in front.  
This neighbor, Debbie, is quiet in the extreme. Over the 7-1/2 years we’ve lived here, I’ve probably seen her a dozen or twenty times, and spoken to her once. Although she would appear to be about my age, she’s never seemed well, judging by her movements.
I decided to use the string trimmer on the shrub, a lilac. It is a lovely bush, producing copious fragrant flowers every spring. Unfortunately, it is also overgrown with vines, volunteer trees, and honeysuckle. I’ve cut on it a few times in the past, in large measure because it is directly under the power line and Internet line which stretch from the power pole to my house. When some of the non-lilac components of the growth get out of control, they seriously encroach on the lines.
So as I crudely cut away at some vines sprouting up from the crest of the lilac, I noticed Debbie standing not too far away, watching me. I felt sheepish, and immediately launched into how the vines were starting to get close to the power line, anticipating an admonishment for doing something to the lilac. Instead, she wanted to thank me.  
“I used to do more, but now I’m so full of cancer that I can’t”, she noted. “I pay that guy to take care of things, but he doesn’t get to the shrubs. Please, if you need to cut anything, feel free. Do I owe you anything?”  
“Heavens no!” was my surprised response. I smiled and started to walk away.  
“Bless you” she called after me.
The metaphorical lump in my throat accompanied me through the rest of my chores. Expecting a tongue lashing, I instead received a gift. In practicing what felt like enlightened self-interest, I’d actually accomplished more than I set out to. I’d made my shy neighbor happy enough that she’d come out to say something about it.  
So I resolved to do more. On Sunday, I grabbed the lopping shears and a small hand saw and went after a redbud tree, more of the vine, and a bunch of honeysuckle growing in and around the lilac.  
Earlier in the week, I received some good news. The thyroglobulin antibody results from my most recent blood draw came back the lowest they’ve been measured since my initial cancer diagnosis. For someone with papillary carcinoma, thyroglobulin and its antibody are a marker that something isn’t quite right, a proxy for cancer status. Although my thyroglobulin readings have been consistently very low to undetectable, the antibody levels have fluctuated. Six months ago, the reading was about 3, which was at that time the lowest ever (the detection limit used to be higher, so readings below 20 were impossible at that time). A couple of years ago, the analytical technology changed, and the detection limit went down to 1. The result this time was at the detection limit: 1.
None of us knows what will happen to us in the next years. Sometimes, it is good to be reminded to shorten one’s event horizon a bit, to live now, in the moment. I hope my neighbor Debbie and I are both around to see and smell those lilacs next spring, and that there are many celebratory and reflective weekends to be in the show.

One of the things about art is the almost-magic effect it can have on those who fall under its spell. I’m not a brain researcher, but I’m going to speculate that what happens in that circumstance is akin to when a drug addict gets a fix – everything becomes right.
But I also think it is something else as well. That feeling one gets in a moment of transcendence is a challenge to describe: one is in the moment, experiencing whatever it is – music, a sunset, ballet, the viewing of fine art – as a single focus, where everything seems to resonate at the same frequency of being. In that way, it becomes a non-physical phenomenon. For some, it is a spiritual experience.

With today’s news of Chris Cornell’s death, I put on a queue of Soundgarden to accompany my commutes to and from work. His lyrics, which can be experienced as rather obscure (“Black Hole Sun” can be interpreted about as many ways as there are listeners) took on new sharpness and poignancy.  
On the way home, “Fell On Black Day’s” came on, and, in that moment, I was transported back almost four years to the day, to when I saw them in concert. And I recalled clearly singing (my un-amplified voice not creating any problems for my concert-going neighbors) along with Chris Cornell “I’m only faking, when I get it right”. It is a rather gloomy song lyrically, but the experience was completely uplifting – one of those life-affirming events I attempted to describe above. In the remembering, I could feel the harmonious resonance all over again.
I wish I could tell Chris Cornell about that experience. No doubt, others did, of their own transcendences. The fact that he made art which brought people joy wasn’t enough for him. The fact that he was a husband and a father of two young girls wasn’t enough for him. The fact that he was a beloved rock star, admired by men and an object of desire to women wasn’t enough for him. The fact that he was part of a successful enterprise called Soundgarden, a source of livelihood to his partners in that enterprise wasn’t enough for him. That’s how depression is. It is insidious.  
But I wish there had been someone for him to talk to. Robin Williams too. My friend “r” too. They all gave us so much. I wish we could have been of comfort when they needed a moment of transcendence, a moment to escape their long, black day.

Seven years ago yesterday, I found a lump in my neck. Two surgeries and two rounds of radiation later, I seem to be OK (one never knows for sure though, do they?). I was fortunate in a number of ways, not least of which was that I had employment stability and decent health insurance. It still cost me plenty, even at that.

Also this week, Congress has voted to repeal the ACA, with it’s prohibition against loss of coverage due to pre-existing conditions.  We’re told to trust that they will create something “better” in place of the ACA.  There are certainly organizations I feel more trust in to ensure that, if there is another recurrence, it won’t mean not only another brush with mortality but potentially financial ruin for me. “Trust us.” Like Lucy with the football.  Got it.

“The times are tough now, just getting tougher,
This old world is rough, it’s just getting rougher…”

There hasn’t been much of general interest to write about in a while. Much in the way of the new routine for those of us who live a post cancer diagnosis life, but not much I can classify as “newsworthy”. I apologize that the trail has gone so cold.

Today, I went to Club (KU) Med for one of the semiannual neck ultrasounds that are part of my new routine. As befits routine, there were no gasps from the tech, so I’ll take that as a positive. 
She asked when my surgery was.
“The most recent was in 2014. The first was in 2010” I responded.
“I had mine out in October” was her reply. This stuff is too common.
While I was in the waiting room, prior to the scan, a little boy in glasses came in with a lady who might have been his grandmother. They went to the first check-in desk and began taking care of business. The precocious, bespectacled boy, becoming bored, came and sat across from me.
“What are you here for?” he inquired. Like a convict at the pen. 
“I’m here to have my neck scanned”, I replied. 
“I have to get a brain scan” he shot back.
“Well, that might be kind of fun” I responded. No sense in being morbid with kids or the ill. 
The thing is, for a kid his age (maybe 6), some of this stuff may still be fun, in the way children experience the world with wonder. I hope it was kind of fun, and not dreadful. 
My scan was far from dreadful. I wished the young tech the best in her treatment (she hasn’t yet had radiation, but will soon), and was quickly on my way.
I know that medical personnel get used to dealing with sad stories, and they have ways to compartmentalize their professional experiences so as to not end up with the equivalent of PTSD or psychological trauma over things that they see regularly. My story is hardly one of the sad ones. Just a guy, more than halfway through life, dealing with the new reality, day-by-day. But the young tech (maybe in her late 20s), and the boy – theirs are different tales. 

My tech today should theoretically have a good prognosis and a long life ahead of her, but she’s still quite young. And the boy… I don’t know how treating the young, particularly children, for serious illness doesn’t stick with you in some less-than-healthy ways.

“I know what it means to hide your heart,

From a long time ago.”

I silently wished the boy the best too, and headed out into the warm-ish January afternoon. Last weekend’s snow was melting, and the slop splattered my windshield as I drove home. Sometimes – in life and in driving – it is best to see only as far ahead as is necessary. It keeps you runnin’, in this moment.

Let me preface this by saying that two cats and one dog is quite enough – more than enough, actually – for this household.  But, seeing a stray yellow cat (not the one in the picture) in the neighborhood today brought home how intense is my wish that all domestic animals – or the non-feral ones, at least – had a loving home in which to receive affection and care.  It was evident that this kitty wanted the attention of the boy who was petting him (I use the masculine pronoun because most yellow cats are male).  Atticus, Isak, Alex – and I – would find four to be a crowd.  But it breaks my heart to think of the little guy out on his own.  I hope he finds a caring home, and doesn’t long need to get his dinner from a garbage can.

  
Like members of the Heaven’s Gate cult, or Paul Newman in Cool Hand Luke, or true believers who accept as gospel that the invisible hand of the free market can cure any kind of ill, there are some folks you just can’t reach. It doesn’t matter whether you present these folks with facts, explain why it is likely the sources they cite for their arguments are fallacious, cajole or plead – they are not going to be persuaded. Not only is it a waste of time and energy, studies indicate that trying to convince many that their position is “wrong” is actually counter-productive. Upon hearing contrary evidence, they become even more certain that their position is correct. 

Why is that?   

I think it is related to how the ego works. When a person builds their identity around strong ideas of what their “self” is, and what that means, they literally risk obliteration of that self if they truly capitulate when confronted on core ideas. A person with very distinct notions of their personal values faces what must be a difficult situation. 

And intelligence seems to have limited effect on this phenomenon. Intelligent people are about as likely to fall prey to confirmation bias as less intelligent people. The difference is, intelligent people are more likely to be able to parrot back information which supports their positions more effectively than less intelligent people. We’re left with the irony that the world is significantly populated with folks who effectively communicate evidence supporting erroneous conclusions. 

To some degree, that is to be expected. That’s because which “factoids” occupy categories of right and wrong to one person may fall into the other category with another person. The “truth” of seemingly black-and-white issues is often malleable, depending on perspective. And it is this phenomenon which is so confounding to us. From our own perspective, we can judge one to be right and one wrong. But like the blind men describing an elephant after feeling only part of the creature’s anatomy, we’re often limited in our ability to make those judgments. Which is not to say that one should not engage in a quest to find which side of an argument is supported by more objective evidence – just that we should do so with eyes open to the nature of the party we’re about to enter. 

I think the real “fact” is that each of us is only capable of a limited viewpoint, so long as we are dominated by ego’s insistence on being right. If we can take a step back, we can at least understand why someone is so insistent on espousing a “truth” which is far from universal. By doing that, we don’t necessarily force ourselves to accept something specious, but we can disengage that part of ourselves which wants to judge the other as inferior for holding such positions. 

Author Isaac Asimov famously wrote: “There is a cult of ignorance in the United States, and there always has been. The strain of anti-intellectualism has been a constant thread winding its way through our political and cultural life, nurtured by the false notion that democracy means that “my ignorance is just as good as your knowledge.”” I agree with Asimov’s assessment, while I simultaneously hope to refrain from the rash judgment in which my ego places me at the top of an invisible hierarchy of wisdom on the basis of the contrast I perceive between truth and someone else’s. If I’m able to do that, I may appear to be wishy-washy. That’s a risk I’ll accept. 

“I’ve willed, I’ve walked, I’ve read 

I’ve talked, I know, I know

I’ve been here before”