Health scares

Health scares are wake-up calls, one would think. They are for me.  Blood test results I received today tell me my cholesterol is too high, much higher than it was a few years back. It’s 238 and was 205. The LDL was 159, it’s now 173.

Now, I read where one doctor wrote, “The American Heart Association recommends that your total cholesterol should be less than 200 mg/dL, but what they do not tell you is that total cholesterol level is just about worthless in determining your risk for heart disease, unless it is above 300.”  Another doctor said not to worry until you’re between 250 and 300. That’s crapola as far as I’m concerned. There is a reason they say better safe than sorry.

Today’s news scared me. And while I’m not fond of being scared, I am, in this case, grateful.

Here’s the thing. I like life and I like my life and I’ll be damned if I’m going to continue on as-is. I swim four to five times a week and will lengthen my swims and increase other forms of exercise. I will also focus on diet change.  So many of us – including me – have relationships with certain types of food so intimate you’d think they were family members, best friends. Many times a particular food can very much feel like a best friend. I get this. But because it feels like a best friend doesn’t make it one. Better to go through losing the food than losing your life, don’t you think? I do.

And then, for me, when it comes to facing a threat to my life, there is this. I did not get up off the ground after getting shot in 1984 only to die because I wouldn’t change my diet or  increase my exercise regimen. I smoked my last cigarette on June 3, 1990 because it made no sense to die from smoking after living through the shooting. Hell, it doesn’t make sense to die from smoking period.

So, I will change my diet, I will exercise more, and I do very much look forward to my scheduled appointment with my doctor on March 13.

Promoting violence against children

You can’t support violence against children and be a Christian at the same time.  You can’t support violence against children and be emotionally well at the same time. State Representative Gail Finney, a Democrat from Kansas, disagrees. She recently proposed a bill allowing parents,teachers and  caregivers  to spank children so hard they can leave bruises. A visit to her website reveals someone who very clearly believes she is a Christian and no doubt believes she is the very picture of emotional health.

Sick and distorted is the mind that supports violence against children and believes themselves just in doing so.

There is something sickeningly insidious about Finney’s bill. Consider this; given that spankings in schools are currently legal in Kansas (and 18 other states! ) what on earth would compel anyone to propose a bill that legalizes bruising a child’s buttocks? Does Finney truly believe they are not being hit hard enough? It would seem so.

John Bradshaw, a widely-respect philosopher, theologian, counselor, and teacher has repeatedly warned about the pulverizing damage caused by violence against children.  His Healing the Shame presentation is particularly enlightening,  powerful, and poignant. More than once I’ve heard him remind adults that when a child is being hit, they are being hit by someone who is, at minimum, twice their size. Imagine someone twice your size hitting you for a moment. Now, imagine a child, who does not have an extensive enough life history to know they are being abused. As a result, the child believes this is the way it’s supposed to be. This is what he or she deserves. And therein lies the savage psychic damage many never recover from.

While I wish Finney no harm, I do wish her emotional health. In the meantime, she should resign from office. It would be the Christian thing to do.

The trust reward

There are many things to be grateful for when you live a sober life.  That I still have my life tops my list, thank you very much (smile). The fact those who know me trust me because they know they can is right up there. To be trusted is quite the gift, especially for someone like me who for years would lie and spin tall tales without batting an eye. It was a unhealthy way of life. It was so ingrained in my character there were times I either didn’t realize I was doing it or times when the lie was so silly it baffled even me. If I read 25 books one year I’d say I’d read 26. Crikey!

Many  believe (I did) the moment you stop using (alcohol and or drugs) you are sober. Not true. You have to stop using to then get sober. It took time for me to learn how to live a sober life, an honest life. Dishonesty itself is an insidiously addictive substance.

Being honest does not (by any stretch of the imagination) mean I am always be right. Far from it. In fact, one of aspects of honesty I appreciate the most is the relative ease with which I can admit when I’m wrong, and, when appropriate, apologize. There is something comforting about honesty.

Now, the fact I am honest does not mean people always believe me.  Though they are not always pain free, moments when people think I am being dishonest with them are absent the presence of guilt (now there’s an emotion that will erode one’s sense of worth) and therefore less stressful and complex moments to manage. Not always easy though. While honesty does not make life easy, it does make life easier.

“No legacy is so rich as honesty,” wrote William Shakespeare (“All’s Well that Ends Well”, Act 3 scene 5).  For me it is a legacy within reach, and one I’d never thought possible.

Getting physical: it’s all dance to me

Movement comes from the inside out, not from the outside in. At least that’s my truth. Someone asked me once how I decided to dance to a particular piece of music. “It’s not up to me,” I said. “It’s up to the music.”  Let the music in and out the movement comes. You’ve got to keep self out of the way. In other words, don’t interrupt.

Movement: a form of dance like jazz, ballet, modern, a form of what society calls exercise or sport: running, swimming, climbing mountains, hiking, biking, walking, kissing, love making… hell, it’s  all dance to me. I’ve seen definitions of dance I like such as, to perform or take part in as a dancer, and, to bring into a specified condition by dancing. These help me understand why, when live wounds or rewards deeply, getting physical is inherently part of my response. When my mother committed suicide in 1992 I ran two marathons in two weeks in 1993. When my daughter was born, I could’ve danced forever.

Of late, swimming is my “dance floor” and  get-physical refuge, though I’m eyeing some challenges on my bike (summiting Mt. Greylock, Massachusetts’ tallest peak at a modest 3,491 feet) and a few others  I’m keeping off the page (for now).  I’m quietly joyous about my relationship with swimming. I can swim a mile freestyle now. For me this is a big deal. It was fall 2012 when I (finally!) decided to face my fear of water, deep over-my-head water.  Now when life wounds or rewards I’m in the water early morning, churning through, moving, dancing all the way. That movement experience when body, spirit, mind, heart and soul are one.

No better place to be fully alive than in the moment, the only place you have to be, in the moment.

Getting physical: it’s all dance to me

Movement comes from the inside out, not from the outside in. At least that’s my truth. Someone asked me once how I decided to dance to a particular piece of music. “It’s not up to me,” I said. “It’s up to the music.”  Let the music in and out the movement comes. You’ve got to keep self out of the way. In other words, don’t interrupt.

Movement: a form of dance like jazz, ballet, modern, a form of what society calls exercise or sport: running, swimming, climbing mountains, hiking, biking, walking, kissing, love making… hell, it’s  all dance to me. I’ve seen definitions of dance I like such as, to perform or take part in as a dancer, and, to bring into a specified condition by dancing. These help me understand why, when live wounds or rewards deeply, getting physical is inherently part of my response. When my mother committed suicide in 1992 I ran two marathons in two weeks in 1993. When my daughter was born, I could’ve danced forever.

Of late, swimming is my “dance floor” and  get-physical refuge, though I’m eyeing some challenges on my bike (summiting Mt. Greylock, Massachusetts’ tallest peak at a modest 3,491 feet) and a few others  I’m keeping off the page (for now).  I’m quietly joyous about my relationship with swimming. I can swim a mile freestyle now. For me this is a big deal. It was fall 2012 when I (finally!) decided to face my fear of water, deep over-my-head water.  Now when life wounds or rewards I’m in the water early morning, churning through, moving, dancing all the way. That movement experience when body, spirit, mind, heart and soul are one.

No better place to be fully alive than in the moment, the only place you have to be, in the moment.