The only link you need is this video of 9 year old Asean Johnson telling Chicago mayor Rahm Emanuel not to close his school. If you need more of Asean, and really, who doesn’t, click through after his speech ends to the dozen or so interviews with him from the same rally and also with Wolf Blitzer on CNN.
I can’t remember the first time I heard a story about super-human strength, but it was definitely when I was a kid. I feel certain I saw it on TV, on “That’s Incredible” or “Real People.” (Note, we now have the Internet and a thing called You Tube, all but putting these types of shows out of production.) A person rescuing another from a harrowing situation and the lifting of a car or the ripping of a door off its hinges Hulk-style was the general gist of every story. Once, a row of lockers fell on a friend while we were horsing around after gym class, and I lifted the lockers off of her… so I know these feats are true. Soon after, I learned about the endocrine system, and that a rapid burst of adrenaline is the magic juice that enables our muscles to effortlessly lift steel lockers off a friend. Even knowing the science, I was still fascinated with these tales of survival. It did not just happen in movies or to Wonder Woman.
And then, I got older.
Age brought with it life experience, which seemed to have more stories about people getting hurt, maimed or dying than of adrenaline-fueled survival. And these were sometimes people I knew. Worse still, people were getting sad, or hopeless, or addicted to all manner of distractions. And because it can always get worse, I saw that people isolated themselves. I was one of those.
Last fall when I went to Camp Mighty, I started to connect that very idea. That in the face of a long series of fairly large failures, disappointments and setbacks over the past nine years, I was choosing isolation as a coping strategy for far longer than I intended, and that now, if I wanted to get done all the things on my Life List let alone just live my life the way I wanted to, with perhaps some joy and even some love, I would have to find some of that super-human strength to do it.
I got back from Camp raring to go: work was great, the Giants won the World Series, and then, over Christmas break, while in my hometown, I found myself in a room with a man I’d been enjoying getting to know, when his ex-girlfriend walked in unannounced. Everyone was fully clothed; I was still in my coat and hat in fact, but yeah. There I was.
Being lied to. Again.
During Christmas. Again.
I walked out. I calmly, maybe almost too calmly, just got my bag, put my sunglasses on and walked the fuck out.
When this happens to you, and I hope it does not, there is no huge scene, or, regrettably, all the phenomenal and witty comments and comebacks of so many great movie scenes. No writer is feeding you lines like, “Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn” and you’re definitely not shoving all his belongings into his BMW, dousing it with gasoline and lighting it on fire.
Nope. Not for me anyway. I just walked out.
(Later that day, I lost my mind with rage and hurt. Unfortch, I don’t like to eat or drink when I get upset, so I could barely even get the sorely needed booze down my throat at the parties I had to attend later that night. Again, no screenwriter in their right mind would have a just-dumped character not go on a bender. Not very cinematic.)
A pause now in this part of the action to jump ahead to this past Wednesday morning.
There I was, in my bathroom, freshly showered, naked, worried about missing the ferry while hastily putting body lotion on, when I came face… to another face in my bathroom window. After two full beats registering that there was a FACE LOOKING INTO MY BATHROOM WINDOW, I screamed an enraged terror scream that would have made the hair on the back of Jamie Lee Curtis’s neck stand up. The face disappeared, I grabbed my robe and ran out the front door to look for the bastard who I then computed to know, was the boyfriend of my upstairs neighbor. How did I know this? My other neighbor had reported to me that she caught him looking into her windows in much the same way a couple months ago and I remembered it in that split second and so went after him to try and catch him running away.
I. Was. PISSED. I screamed his name and yelled for him to get back here, which did not happen. I went back inside, put my Ugg boots on, grabbed my key and locked the door (in case he came back and hid in my apartment?) and marched upstairs to confront the girlfriend, my neighbor. I was yelling. I was shaking. I was breathing hard, near asthma attack levels, being out of shape from no running. It was 7:15 in the morning.
The confrontation with the neighbor/girlfriend did NOT go well, in that she was in full denial that this was really happening, and basically started to sass me, and gaslight me, telling me I was over-reacting, imagining it, and oh, by the way, he’s moving in here over the weekend.
Oh no you didn’t.
This whole situation WAS full movie scene, from that pervie punk skulking around to peek into my window, to my blood-curdling scream and running outside after him, to the bitchy, reality-show cast member finger-wagging of the 21 year-old girl accusing me of having an “erratic” personality. Are you FKM as they say?
He then CAME BACK to admit he did it and apologize to me, to which I said directly to his face, “You violated my privacy and my personal space. There is nothing normal about what you did. You have a problem. You are not welcome here. I never want to see you again.” Holy shit did that feel good.
The only thing missing was me calling the cops right then and there, which, thankyouverymuch, I did later in the day. He packed his shit and is not moving in. She’s leaving within weeks. If he shows up here, I will call the police again.
Calling on my inner-Taratino, one more flashback, but this time, to a few weeks ago, at an intersection while stopping for a red light.
I was rear-ended by man driving a Range Rover. Totally low speed, a couple scratches to my bumper, but definitely, his fault. We pulled over to check on each other’s well-being and to exchange information. I was shaky from the adrenaline spike and trying to calm my breathing and gather my thoughts. He immediately started telling me the whole accident was my fault and that as such, I should “be reasonable” about the repair issue. “Which means what?” I asked. Did he think I would take less than the full amount for the repair for damage HE caused? Apparently he did. He started to tell me that my car was not in pristine condition anyway, so why should I even care? “Look at this, this dent on your front bumper,” he said, “are you telling me that you drive around with this, but that you expect me to pack for this tiny scratch that my car only caused because you did not go through the yellow light?” Oh my f-ing God. That is how this arrogant, Range Rover driving a-hole was speaking to me. Was I suddenly caught in a hidden-camera stereotype experiment?? I could feel myself crumbling a bit, feeling like maybe he was right, I did have to stop fast, but wait, the light was turning and I was not going to run it… UGH, I was drifting a bit down that hole of not thinking my feelings let alone the truth mattered.
After I reached out to a friend who calmly reminded me to call my insurance, especially since this guy was such a jerk, I did just that. I was thrilled to find out that he was as consistent an asshole with them as he was with me, and that I was not just some special weakling in a sensible compact car he chose to harangue. He was an equal opportunity ass. (Oh and his insurance accepted liability and car will be getting repaired shortly. Front bumper I have to save up for!)
Back to the scene in December.
I would not change it. Because if I had not calmly walked the hell out of that house with my dignity intact, then had the emotional breakdown even as messy and hurtful as it was and then recovered from that, I would not have gone after this creepy spying schmuck and his abusive girlfriend for violating my home and privacy and sense of security AND been right about it.
I’d likely not have stood up to the jerk who hit my car either.
Superhuman strength, or what we call the fight or flight response is autonomic. We cannot control it. Not even Oscar winning screenwriters can control it, so that is why everyone is always lifting cars and saying awesome shit. But, we have powers beyond a witty line. When we pay attention to how we react, and understand that the only thing we can control is how we react and deeper still how we THINK about how we react, that’s when we do become heroes.
PS,
Dear Universe,
I am pretty sure I get it now. So that thing how you split the ass out of my pants on Friday, I mean, really was that necessary? I totally laughed, because split pants, like unintended loud farts, are totally funny. But Universe… really? You’ve read my Life List right? Please get back to work on that. I promise, I am in good humor. I just would like a nice boyfriend (#59) and a bit more financial freedom too (#14) would be great! Thanks! ;-)
El oh el.
(Yes, resting tonight. Laughing counts as abs. And natural Xanax.)
Morgan Freeman has already recorded his narration of the Broncos win later today.
Would you rather have emotional pain or physical pain?
Think on this for a moment.
I have been thinking on a version of this question for the past couple of weeks, while I’ve been getting to the better side of a searing bout of emotional pain, only to then have been walloped with some of the worst, most debilitating physical pain I have endured in my adult life. (This statement is not an invitation to compare and contrast physical pain stories, it’s just a fact that from Saturday to Tuesday, I was in a place of 24/7 physical misery that I have not experienced pretty much ever. Ow does not begin to cover it.)
This unholy alliance of the emotional and physical really had me thinking, what is the one I would prefer to be forced to handle.
Even though it is relentless, give me emotional pain ANY DAY EVER.
Friends who know the roots of my brand of emotional pain may be shocked that I am picking this side, especially because it might worry them that I could sink under the weight of these types of hurts to the point of severe depression, where I bottomed out before and they do not want to see me back in that terrible place. I realized how scary it is for them a few weeks ago, when, looking for someone to just mind the fire of my flared up anger/sadness/shock/humiliation due to, shall we call it, an unfortunate situation with a man, I unintentionally hurt their feelings by rejecting the quick comfort and affirmations they were trying to offer. I had wanted and needed to freak the fuck out, to cry and yell out all that bile and self-doubt and have it be witnessed by trusted allies so that once I calmed down, I would have the space to accept the love and comfort and wisdom that they were ultimately trying to offer all along. The misunderstanding inherent in poor communication was quickly handled and forgiven – this is the blessing of old friendships that are treated with care and respect and grow mighty over the years – but I thought a lot about how the baring of raw emotional pain can be perceived as a confrontation, even for the closest in our tribes.
A pause for a moment to remind, that yes, I still pick emotional pain over physical pain. Deep breath. I’m getting there. Hang in with me.
We are all masochists a little bit. We are all masochists a little bit because so often on the other side of a smidge of misery is a reward. Physically, this is much easier to compute. As a runner, I know that if I don’t experience some muscle soreness, I am not training hard enough to go faster, or be stronger for the next event. So, I invite some pain into my body, knowing that it is temporary and that the reward is strength and speed. Emotionally, this is a bit tougher to explain, but the risk and reward scenario is similar. In order to have fulfilling relationships with friends, family, lovers and partners, we have to know we will feel some discomfort from time to time and we have to be willing to accept that it triggers at totally different times for all of us all the time. And here’s what thrills me about that entire cycle of emotional pain: we can absolutely make it safe for our people to bare their pain, to just get it out, to just hold it for them, and then when they are ready, ask what kind of comfort they need, wait patiently for their answer, and then help them get that comfort. We are the Vicodin for each other. And we’re non-narcotic.
I know, you think I am on Vicodin while writing this, but nope, totally sober! Re-read that paragraph. It makes total sense. Do it.
Physical pain is the student teacher to emotional pain’s professor. Physical pain is also a nuisance, which by its very definition means it’s minor. Do not get me wrong. I have friends and family who have endured car accidents, bike crashes, skiing wrecks, street fights, knee surgery, root canals, amputations, migraines, child birth, chemotherapy, fibromyalgia, MS, you name it, I have watched and offered comfort during the physical suffering of so many and it’s hard. It’s so very hard. But for the most part, physical pain is finite and its lessons are not as transformative as emotional pain. Yes, much physical and emotional pain gets intertwined, but when looked at separately, it’s the emotional pain that really has something to teach us.
It wants us to learn to be courageous and kind.
It wants us to learn to hold each other’s pain, not try to take it away immediately.
It wants us to ask each other, what do you need right now, and then to listen to the answer and abide by it.
It wants us to be courageous and kind.
Winner by a… yes, a knockout: emotional pain.
These words of Thomas Jefferson’s are inscribed at the Jefferson Memorial in Panel 4 out of four that surround his statue:
I am not an advocate for frequent changes in laws and constitutions, but laws and institutions must go hand in hand with the progress of the human mind. As that becomes more developed, more enlightened, as new discoveries are made, new truths discovered and manners and opinions change, with the change of circumstances, institutions must advance also to keep pace with the times. We might as well require a man to wear still the coat which fitted him when a boy as civilized society to remain ever under the regimen of their barbarous ancestors.
Especially for my Libertarian type friends who really value TJ’s seemingly prescient wisdom, please back off the 2nd Amendment arguments when it comes to your semi-automatic guns. He’d have recognized the difference between the flintlock and the AR-15 and seen the need for us to “advance… to keep pace with the times.”
The quote, in the context of Sandy Hook is still slightly ironic however; although discovery and progress are enlightened, guns that kill 20 children in the span of mere minutes are anything but.
You know that thing when a song comes on, a song you’ve heard a million and one times and you sing it out loud and bob your head and quicken your pace and feel like a badass? But then on the millionth and second time, you hear that same song with totally new ears and the whole meaning of the entire thing just… changes. Yeah, that thing. Just happened to me. Give Arcade Fire’s “Month of May” a listen after yesterday and see if you hear it too. (Lyrics below the video.)
Gonna make a record in the month of May
In the month of May, in the month of May
Gonna make a record in the month of May
When the violent wind blows the wires away
Month of May, it’s a violent thing
In the city their hearts start to sing
Well, some people sing,
It sounds like they’re screaming
Used to doubt it
But now I believe it
Month of May, everybody’s in love
Then the city was hit from above
And just when I knew what I wanted to say
A violent wind blew the wires away
We were shocked in the suburbs
Now the kids are all standing with their arms folded tight
Kids are all standing with their arms folded tight
Well, some things are pure and some things are right
But the kids are still standing with their arms folded tight
I said some things are pure and some things are right
But the kids are still standing with their arms folded tight
So young, so young
So much pain for someone so young, well
I know it’s heavy, I know it ain’t light
But how you gonna lift it with your arms folded tight?
First the built the road, then they built the town
That’s why we’re still driving around
And around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around
Two-thousand nine, two-thousand ten
Wanna make a record how I felt then
When we stood outside in the month of May
And watched the violent wind blow the wires away
If I die in the month of May
Let the wind take my body away, yeah
I wish I may, I wish I might
Don’t lay me down there with my arms folded tight
Start again in the month of May
Start again in the month of May
Come on and blow the wires away
Come on and blow the wires away
Start again in the month of May
Start again in the month of May
Come on and blow the wires away
Come on and blow the wires away
Start again in the month of May
Start again in the month of May
Come on and blow the wires away
Come on and blow the wires, the wires away
Mt. Tam and wires. 3/28/12, a dog walk no-run night in suburbia.
Since I currently live in close proximity to the desirable and lovely city of San Francisco, it seems to perplex many why I choose to not live in the city proper. It’s one of those topics that comes up in mundane, obligatory, work function, internet date type chit-chat. It’s the kind I especially loathe, where no one is actually listening to anyone but themselves and so things that are meaningful to you don’t get adequately represented or appreciated. Like why I live close to a mountain instead of on a cramped city block.
I live close to a mountain because I need that mountain. I need to come home from my city job - a job that I do love, appreciate and am inspired by – to this mountain and her trails and her trees and her quiet. I need it because when I start to feel that kind of city exhaustion that makes the tears rise to just below the surface, the only cure is a mountain. Unfortunately though, it’s also Christmas and everyone has lost their minds and that is impeding my mountain time. That and it’s dark at like 4PM.
As a general rule, I come down on the side of Christmas hate. I have spent many years researching this position, and feel confident that I am fine with it, even though there have been years that I actually succumb to the elusive, but oh so potent Christmas magic. I love the sparkle and romance and nostalgia and homecoming of Christmas, but I reject how our culture conflates happiness with forced gift giving while then producing endless songs, stories, TV specials and movies that say just the opposite, that it’s really all about the people you love, but we are all just nodding and winking that we know we are still expected to participate in this confusing madness that now starts the day after Halloween.
The past two days I have been feeling that Christmas funk; end-of-the-year projects at work are demanding and I can’t get it together to run on my mountain. I have insomnia, and I am cranky. I am really homesick. So, tonight, I walked. Not like this is a novel concept – I usually walk the dog whether I run or not – but I walked with the intention to be aware, grateful that I live near the mountain, and to honor that I chose to not live in the city so I could have a night walk like this.
I was promptly rewarded:
I saw a shooting star right over Tam, (it’s the Germinids!) and yes I totally made a wish. (Maybe I get extra Christmas wish points even though I am grinchy…)
And just for a bonus, a huge, beautiful Spotted Owl swooped right over me and Duke and into a nest in a 70 foot sycamore tree.
Thank you mountain, you took care of me tonight.
Dear Family and Friends,
Thank you for making my birthday day such a delight yesterday (and on Friday at work!) You sent thoughtful and funny birthday cards, txt messages, emails, Facebook posts and you called on the phone. (Loving the phone these days!) You sang to me and made me margaritas and gave me sweet little gifts and took pictures. You made me feel special and happy and valued and loved. I always love my birthday for these little joys it brings, even when it was the kind of birthday day I spent mostly basking in my pajamas as opposed to doing something out of the ordinary. What is extraordinary are all those sentiments you shared with me. That’s all I need to start my own new year with wonder and good spirits and strength. You shared yourselves with me. You are good people. I will aim to do the same for you. Thank you. xoxo
Always be greeted by the handy work of a birthday elf at your office.
Cuteness is important.
Always reflect on your birthday.
PS, you get 15% off at Anthropologie on your actual birthday. You heard it here.
PPS, the North Face Endurance Challenge Half Marathon scheduled for today was cancelled due to weather. So even though I was going to have to pull out due to some under-training on the ol’ asthmatic lungs, I now don’t have to feel badly AND I get to use the entry for a race next year, and I am on my way to staying in shape for the month of eating and drinking chaos, HOORAY!
Here’s the official video from Tough Mudder NorCal Tahoe. Yes, I got electrocuted. Willingly. Twice. (The Electric Eel is missing from the video though… ) More updates later. Long weekend with a sick dog and a sick me. In the meantime, are you tough enough?
HELL YEAH!
