vulnerability

Now I understand...

The long, rectangular, ceiling mounted flourescent lights were coming in and out of focus. In one instant I could see the vivid detail of each raised dot on the surface of the light's flat glass covering, looking every bit as jagged and imposing as the Andes Mountains. In the next, it was blurred and too bright. The doctors and nurses scurried around me, first rather quickly, and then not so fast, and then not at all. One of them stood over me, blocking the light, and making a shadow where their face should be and said something that was vaguely meaningful. I must've understood because I think I nodded and said okay to whatever it was that they asked me or told me.

It was cold in the room and my left arm was especially cold from whatever they were pumping into me through the intravenous stream. I tried to say something witty to one of the nurses buzzing around the room, but it probably didn't leave my mouth as coherent as when it was conceived in my brain. Lying on my back this whole time, I looked back as far as I could without rolling my eyes back into my head, trying to see the back left corner of the room and then the back right. I scanned around to either side and then as close to my blue "footied" feet as I could see. The anesthesiologist came back around to check on me. Well, not really to check on me, but to keep smiling that giddy smile that she'd had this whole time. It's as if she knows something so funny that she just can't contain it and it's almost hurting her to keep it in. It's too early for all of that. Who is that tickled at 605am? Should I be alarmed that the anesthesiologist seems to have had a taste of the goods to make sure they were suitable for consumption? She's not a chef. It's not like she's about to send a dish out of the kitchen and wants to make sure that it is properly seasoned first.

"Let me know how far I make it in the countdown. I think I've only ever made it to 97. My goal today is to get to at least 96. Let me know how I do...," I said, or at least I think I said. I definitely said it, but I don't know if I articulated it at all. It may have sounded like an old 33 1/3 record that is playing too slowly. Yeah, that must've been it because on came another onslaught of the laughter from Chef Joker. I started to say something else and then I lo--.


Now I'm sitting upright in a chair, fully clothed and suddenly coherent right in the middle of a sentence. It's as if someone has been talking to me and engaging me in a full blown conversation but I had been asleep until right now when the lights came on and I took control of the joystick again, flipping off the auto-pilot switch. I'm laboring a bit to breathe, but I'm okay, other than the fact that I feel like I've been asleep for 15 hours and am somehow still tired. The attending nurse was asking me questions about who is going to pick me up and also instructing me to engage in the exercise of flexing my ankles, pointing my toe straight out and then extending them back toward me, over and over again. She explained to me how they had done a little more than they thought they would be doing to my knee and about the exposed bone and the big bone chips floating around but it's not really sinking in. I'm not terribly concerned.

It feels like they removed my left leg and attached the leg of an African elephant in its place. It is so heavy as well as heavily bandaged, as I can see by looking at it covered by my blue sweatpants. The nurse gave me a percocet tablet and handed me a prescription to fill so that I could take another one in 4 hours, and every four hours after that. I'm only half listening to her right now. It's as if I'm in a movie and she's talking to me, and the other sounds from the recovery room, including the other patients, are all very audible but I'm not really paying attention to them. It's that point where the camera would zoom in to see that my eyes and my mind had moved on to some very distant place and then pans around and behind me to see what I'm looking at from my vantage point until I start to look down at the floor and it backs up to get the wider angle shot that gives a better idea of the melancholy mood that has overcome me so suddenly and without explanation.

Thirty minutes later I'm sitting at Doug's Restaurant waiting on an omelette, pancakes and some home fries when I find myself staring out the window as if that sunlight out there is millions of miles from attainable for me. I imagine that this is what a prisoner must feel like whenever they get a glimpse of outside. I'm listening to my friend talk about whatever he's talking about but I'm overcome by such a sadness that I think I'm going to cry. It's so intense and quite overwhelming. What's wrong with me? I can't recall ever feeling this bad, not even when somebody had passed away. The weight of the whole world seems to be upon my shoulders and it is entirely too much to bear. I'm saddened and frustrated at how hard it seems to breathe, even though my body is taking care of this quite effortlessly. Paying attention is very difficult. I don't know what he is talking about, so I'm trying to regain focus but it all seems so hopeless. Why is this happening to me?

I just want to sleep. I don't want to eat or talk anymore or sit here or anything. I just want to sleep...FOREVER. I don't like feeling this distraught. I wish I knew why. It's as if someone has just dropped the news on me that I have a terminal illness and only 3 days left to live.

The food came, and I ate it. It tasted okay, but I don't think I was really too concerned one way or the other. I usually really enjoy eating, but it was such a formality. I ate every last bit of it; the large omelette, the huge pancake and all of the home fried potatoes. It must've been this food that brought me around because it suddenly occurred to me what was going on. It was the drugs. I never really believed that...well, wait a minute. "Believed" might be a bit strong. I never really could relate through any first hand experience how commercials for drugs on television could make the claim that "this may cause depression or increase risk of suicide in some patients", so I didn't really think it was true. I had always reasoned that anybody who actually did that was prone to do it anyway and the drug just stripped away the inhibitions. Now I believe it. Now I understand.

Life is good for me. I've got no complaints. This big hearty plate of comfort food finding a suitable resting place in my belly allowed me to come back to Earth and realize just that. These drugs are amazing! How can they so cavalierly prescribe this stuff to people. Perhaps they should really have a serious conversation about the side effects and the need for supervision with patients. As soon as I got home to my computer, I did a search on percocet and found that it did indeed have depression as one of its side effects. I'm sure that this effect was enhanced by an order of magnitude by whatever else they had me for anesthesia. Wow! Now I really understand.

It was written

1 What is the source of quarrels and conflicts among you? Is not the source your pleasures that wage war in your members?

2 You lust and do not have; so you commit murder. You are envious and cannot obtain; so you fight and quarrel. You do not have because you do not ask.

3 You ask and do not receive, because you ask with wrong motives, so that you may spend it on your pleasures. --- From the Book of James, chapter 4, verses 1-3


It never ceases to amaze me how the greatest reference book ever written has stood the test of time and is always relevant. I'm aware that reducing the Holy text to the term reference book is probably not the most reverential thing to do, but indulge me for a moment while I allow it to underscore my point. Battles both large and small are waged daily all over the world that largely could be avoided if we were all on the same page. This page is in the New Testament and deals, in a nutshell, with how to get along with one another if I may put it into lay terms. To find that page one must have the right book. Imagine that. Could this be yet another instance where we as a people neglected to read the directions before getting started?

Why does one country wage declare war upon another? Is it because the desire for oil to supply power to all of the machines of one country is so great? Sounds like a good place to start, doesn't it. The United States of America is staring in the face of shortages in energy, money, goodwill, and compassion for its fellow citizens of the world and yet the best ideas that it can come up with to address these issues are war and asking God to bless America. It is indeed so audacious for a people to ask for a blessing with selfish motives as these. Bless America, but don't bless anybody else. Bless America so that it alone may enjoy the fruits of those blessings. Just as it was written, the blessings are not likely to come when they are sought with the wrong motives.

Bringing it closer to home, I'll ask why do we fight with our brothers, sisters, best friends, fathers, and mothers? Human nature dictates that we seek things that will make us as individuals happy. The thing that will make me alone feel the best is the thing that I want, is what we tell ourselves. Not surprisingly, the desires of one are often obtained at the expense of another, not unlike that oil sought from the country with the surplus. Just as that country is very unlikely to just sit idly by and allow its resource to be gobbled up and taken away, so to is that other individual surely going to put up some resistance to stand their ground. None too pleased that the pursuit of desires have been derailed, retaliation is in order and then its on. It's war and until cooler heads prevail, there is no peace for anyone in the line of fire. But why?

It's this why question that keeps me up late at night. Why can't we just pump our brakes and take a step back before encroaching on others? Would we really do what we do all of the time? Surely had not Jesus been tempted we couldn't expect that any mercy be granted us. I'm reminded of this as a parent and before that as a coach, trying to be the guide for those that endeavor to go places that I've already gone and do things that I've already done. In my parental role, the lessons that I teach and the actions that I make in the presence of my children are all in preparation for them to be cognizant,compassionate, and responsible individuals that are able to make good decisions when called upon to do so in my absence. They are prone to fall off track and that's when I must step in to remind them ever so gently that it's time to get back on the course.

When I coached high school basketball or track and field, I ran those kids until they felt like they couldn't stand up anymore. I had them do the same drills over and over again until they were ingrained in them like involuntary movements. I had them perfect their techniques of jumping, hurdling, or shooting jump shots through mind numbing repitition in hopes that when they were out in the heat of competition that they would perform without hesitation and without mistakes. Of course, they did not and sometimes faltered, and of course, I was sometimes frustrated a great deal by their shortcomings. Perhaps I didn't want them to make the same mistakes that I had made. Perhaps I had hoped that my wisdom would help them to eclipse my achievements with even greater achievements of their own, and was disappointed for them. Perhaps I felt that their failure, however insignificant, was a reflection of my inability to properly prepare them for success and thus made me a failure as their preparer. Surely, some of the raw emotion escaped and I let them know in no uncertain terms that it was for just such an occasion that we ran that extra lap or shot those extra shots despite their protests and had they been more willing instead of doing so begrudgingly then we wouldn't be having this conversation. We would instead be celebrating and being thankful that we emerged victorious and performed to the best of our abilities. I was not above getting angry or being disappointed. It is always very tempting to lash out in frustration at others when you feel like you weren't able to control the outcome of a situation to your satisfaction.

Even though I'd been entrusted with leading them toward the pursuit of perfection, I was not perfect, so I could only do the best that I could in preparing them. I retrospect, I can take comfort in the knowledge that even Jesus was tempted and even got frustrated. I'm not nearly gifted enough as a writer to make an analogy that could adequately put into perspective the magnitude of his frustration at Gethsemane (Matthew 26:36-45), but I'll continue nonetheless. Supposing for a moment that my campaign as a coach for the Menlo-Atherton Bears Boys Varsity High School Basketball Team were instead the much more exalted post occupied by Coach Mike Krzyzewski and his Duke University or Olympic "Redeem" Teams. Had I (he) fallen short of the gold medal, there surely would've been a talking to in that locker room after the game.

And he cometh unto the disciples, and findeth them sleeping, and saith unto Peter, What, could ye not watch with me one hour?

from verse 40

Coach K might have started in, thoroughly frustrated that the gold was not delivered and that he would now have to face what he indeed did not want to face (in his case the wrath of the media and in Jesus' case a much more grave fate). But then he would have (just like I usually find myself doing) let cooler heads prevail and realizing that his players are only human and summoned the courage to go face the music.

45

Then cometh he to the disciples, and saith unto them, Sleep on now, and take your rest: behold, the hour is at hand

Oh how sweet it is to know that He can relate.

Irony

I'm stuck on irony today. For the last few days, gas prices have gone steadily down to the point that in many neighborhoods you can actually get a gallon for less than $4.00. That is, of course, if you steer well clear of San Francisco. This has never made any sense to me, especially when you consider that San Francisco, Oakland and surrounding areas are quite near to the refineries in Richmond. When then, would gas cost so much in these areas, and be as much as 0.25 to 0.30 cents cheaper some 90 miles away in places like Modesto, that are definitely far from the refineries. It would absolutely make sense for these places to have additional cost added to their gas price due to the labor and transport costs of trucking the stuff all the way out there. Inversely, it should cost more for us out here to get goods that they have out that way like produce. While that is usually the case, it doesn't work that way for gas apparently. Taking the irony a step further, gas prices last took off like a rocket when Hurricane Katrina hit the Gulf back in 2005, sending prices well past $5 in some areas. There are no less than 3 Hurricanes out in the Caribbean right now and yet gas prices are dropping. If we buy the story that they gave us in 2005 about being worried that production might be hampered by the severe storms, then we should expect an increase right now.

The Republican Convention started over the weekend. Could that be a reason why gas prices are coming down? Just coincidence? Could it be that in somebody's speech they want to be able to point to some unrelated action and claim that it was because of them that gas prices not only stabilized, but started to come down? After all, at these prices, plenty of profit has surely already been taken this quarter. I don't doubt that this crossed somebody's mind as all of the Republicans started to descend upon the Twin Cities last weekend. Perhaps The Man called an emergency conference call and the consensus was that gas ought to come down to try to appease the masses for a few days while their little soiree took place. And what a soiree it was/is!

The clips that I saw on the news made it look like the place to be. Perhaps it was TOO good of a party and some realized it as they tried to cover their faces when the news cameras showed up. You would've thought they were caught coming and going from a house of ill repute how they all scattered and ran for cover when the cameras started rolling. Despite McCain's rather tepid appeal to the party that they should chill and be mindful of the pain and suffering going on in the Gulf, the parties raged on. Oddly enough, I don't recall hearing him call for folks to actually go down and lend a hand. I guess, giving a moment of silence is just as good, eh John?

But let me get back to irony now. I know I'm not nit-picking too much by suggesting that had Obama chosen Sarah Palin as his running mate, the media would've had a field day with it. Hannity and Combs, Larry King, Wolf Blitzer, Anderson Cooper, and even little John King with his graphical map would've gone on and on about how she has no experience with foreign policy and that being the mayor of a town of 6,000 and governor of the state of Alaska for a couple years does not a VP make. They would've jumped all over her statement that

“As for that VP talk all the time, I’ll tell you, I still can’t answer that question until somebody answers for me what is it exactly that the VP does every day? I’m used to being very productive and working real hard in an administration. We want to make sure that that VP slot would be a fruitful type of position, especially for Alaskans and for the things that we’re trying to accomplish up here for the rest of the U.S., before I can even start addressing that question.”

The fact that her own 17 year old daughter is 5 months pregnant would've been huge news were she the democratic VP nominee. The Christian Conservatives would've had a field day with this too, saying that this lack of good family values is not at all what this country needs. Instead, it's spun as "hey, these things happens...kids make mistakes." Irony? I think not. Like I always say: Control the media and you control the messaging.

Muscle Memory

When an active person repeatedly trains movement, often of the same activity, in an effort to stimulate the mind’s adaptation process, the outcome is to induce physiological changes which attain increased levels of accuracy through repetition. Even though the process is really brain-muscle memory or motor memory, the colloquial expression "muscle memory" is commonly used.

Individuals rely upon the mind’s ability to assimilate a given activity and adapt to the training. As the brain and muscle adapts to training, the subsequent changes are a form or representation of its muscle memory. -- from Wikipedia

That's where I'm trying to be right now: at the point where my brain is completely adapted to the daily training that I call myself doing. I say "call myself doing" perhaps because I am my own biggest critic. Even when others may laud something that I produce as "brilliant" or "thought-provoking" I still can be unimpressed and unwilling to accept their compliments. I'm not certain if this is a problem, so much as a mechanism to keep me from growing content with mediocrity be it in my own perception or the consensus. Once in awhile, I will take a step back and actually accept the praise or constructive feedback of a reader, but believe that I am very stubborn on this. Practice makes perfect, however, so I try to approach this as such.

It's amazing how the same principles apply to those striving for greatness in various pursuits. The concert pianist practices a piece over and over again in hopes that during their performance, their manual dexterity and light touch will bring out their own personal expression or interpretation of a time-honored classic. A jump shooter spends hours and hours in a gym taking the same shots hundreds of times from dozens of different angles so that when dogged by fatigue and draped by a very physical defender late in a game, they will be able to relax and execute without being at all disturbed by the deafening screams of the crowd. I strive to apply this same dedication and reap the same personal fulfillment with my writing. I believe that I show flashes of potential at times, but I'm inconsistent at best. Often times, merely practicing is not nearly enough. Greatness is achieved when the quality of the practice sessions is maintained at a high level. When I get to the point where each daily entry is an exercise in precision, then I might be able to measure some progress.

Well, that can't be entirely true. Insofar as writing is an art form and one in which freedom of expression shall reign supreme, precision cannot exactly be the measurable standard. Communication should be an important tenet though, as should provoking thought. In everything I write, my desire is to make the reader understand what was going through my mind as I experienced something and quite possibly how I felt as I attempted to recount said experience. If successful in this way, my reader could conceivably gain understanding as they consider my viewpoint from that common ground. If my view then provokes introspection and maybe even the adoption of another perspective, then it's possible that I have succeeded.

I should have apologized in advance for an entry like this. We'll liken this to that Monday practice in which all of the mundane things must be attended to first and foremost. It's like an exercise in conditioning, as opposed to skills training. It has been my experience that both are necessary. Excessive practice at a mediocre level serves only to produce mediocre results. If I want to get to the next level in my writing pursuits, I'll have to increase the number of quality practice sessions while simultaneously decreasing the days in which I just "phone it in" and sleep walk through the exercises.

Leader

Tonight I saw the future. Surrounded by some 20 friends and colleagues and crowded around a plasma television, I witnessed the coming out party of the man likely to lead the free world into a paradigm shift. Extolling the opportunity for change and new ideas, Mr. Barack Obama stood at the podium before 85,000 people at Invesco Field in Denver, Colorado and graciously accepted the Democratic nomination for the Presidency of the United States of America. Some 38 million others all across America watched on television, and who know how many others tuned in around the world. It was truly history in the making.

Pledging reforms and ushering in an attitude of hope and empowerment he was both eloquent and forthright in his 46 minute speech. In my lifetime of 36 years, I cannot recall being so moved and filled with pride over anything not remotely personal. But maybe it was personal after all as Mr. Obama has become the personification of a dream previously thought to be so far beyond the wildest of all dreams of all that look like me.

At times during his oration, the room was stone silent, while in other instances, some were moved to tears, loud applause, or even jumping out of their chairs to stomp their feet and shout "YEAH!" It was eerily similar to a stirring sermon in which it feels like the preacher is speaking directly to you and your troubles. So proud was I that we were gathered for such a momentous occasion when we often congregate for reasons that hold far less importance like the Superbowl or the finale of a television series. It's as if politics has suddenly become exciting, if not important. Perhaps there is hope for us to be led out of the darkness of apathy and into the enlightenment and responsibility that motivation and action bring forth. At long last, there is a candidate to believe in. I feel as though integrity matters again. I feel as though things that concern me as an African-American man with two young African-American children also concern this African-American man with his own two young African-American children. I feel like he can relate to the world the way that I relate to the world, not as a victim, but as an intellectual citizen of the World, demanding to be reckoned with and respected instead of dismissed and discounted.

My prayers will continue to go out to him and his family, as am sure the prayers of millions of others will as well. I cannot deny being secretly a little nervous for him as he approached the podium and as he channeled great leaders from generations past, all the while speaking with a message for the future. I was encourage, however, and drew strength from his obvious strength as he and his family are surely aware of the evil surrounding them, hoping to be right there to aid in or facilitate his demise. I breathed a sigh of relief when Barack was able to complete his speech and retire safely offstage with his family. I know that he is cloaked in the protective arms of the Lord himself.

Still...

I'm still holdin' it down for the melanin militia out here in the "I". I'm pretty confident that I'm not going to see any other members of the crew. I'm in for the night so there's only one more chance for me to see someone, and that's at 7am for my flight back to what is going to feel like the Chocolate City. I agreed to go to the barbeque spot recommended by my boss in hopes that not only would the ribs be good, but that I also might run into somebody that looks like me. Well, at least the ribs were pretty good. When we were walking out, I heard a car with lotsa bass playing some rap song loudly so I looked around thinking that this might finally be the moment. When I located the car, it was full of hoodied up, teenaged...white kids.

I saw two incredible things on TV today from my Fairfield Inn here by the airport in Boise. First it was yet another sad case of overbearing sports parents trying their best to ruin a child's game. I learned from ESPN that 9-year-old Jericho Scott of New Haven, CT is essentially being banned from pitching on his little league team of 8-10 year olds because he is too good. Yes, I know...RIDICULOUS! An opposing team apparently pulled its players off the field and forfeited when he took the mound. The poor kid feels bad because he feels like he's messing it up for everybody. The adults involved ought to be absolutely ashamed of themselves for tampering with these kids ability to have fun playing a game, and also for not being able to solve their grown up quarrels without involving some little league kids.

The next thing that TV brought me this evening was some sista that CNN dug up following the Hillary speech. Crying hysterically and wearing her Hillary shirt, she pledged her allegiance to Senator Clinton and said that Hillary just gave a presidential speech and should be the next president. All I could do was shake my head. Once again, they've located one of us looking as ridiculous as possible and will probably loop this clip over and over again and turn it into some egregious blanket statement like "Hillary has the black vote". I've been channel surfing since they left this but have been unable to see it again or anyone's commentary on it. Somehow, I know that this won't be the last time I see it. Hannity and Combs will surely have two cents to put in about it. I'm mad that I even mentioned those clowns here, but it's just the kind of nonsense that they usually cling to on their silly little show.