Category Archives: anxiety

Facing Terror

I did a quick mental calculation and confirmed that there was an extra day before I had to arrive in Tucson. My initial miscalculation was based on the incorrect assumption that I could spend a full two days exploring the Petrified Forest and Painted Desert National Parks.

I now had a decision to make, should I somehow extend that experience or find a new one elsewhere. I looked at my road atlas, and I did a Google search; several possibilities appeared of which one looked intriguing. Apache Lake was a large reservoir lake located in Arizona’s remote and mountainous Tonto National Forest. Created by damming the Salt River in 1925 it was long and narrow, as such artificial lakes often are. Posted photos made the body of water look surreal and misplaced because it was surrounded by buttes and had mountain tips poking out of it. Further exploration yielded that the lake had a campground, a motel, a lodge, and even a restaurant; all located in a single compound on its eastern shore. It seemed like an ideal place to spend my excess 24 hours.

Apache Lake is isolated, and the closest city on my northern route was Payson, which was 1 hour and 40 minutes away via the twisting and winding roads of the Superstition Mountains. I made a mental note to gas up in Payson as there didn’t seem to be many other options beyond there.

I put away my morning cooking gear and secured Violet’s living space making sure that I strapped down any loose items. I took out her rugs and gave them a good shake and then proceeded to sweep her floor with the little whisk broom that I purchased from Walmart. Carpets replaced I grabbed a couple of bottles of water from my Dometic chest style fridge, and then pulled shut her sliding door. I was now ready for the three and a half hour drive from Holbrook, Arizona to Apache Lake.

The Superstition Mountains are tall, but they don’t compare to the Rockies that I drove through a few days earlier. Also, I was feeling more confident driving Violet in the mountains as I had figured out how to downshift her transmission, which made it easier to navigate the 8 percent downhill road grades.

Up and down I went as I drove into more and more remote forest. AZ-377 S, AZ-260 W and AZ-188 S to AZ-88 W, I followed Google Maps commands to go further and further into the wilderness. As the road narrowed, I started to spot dirt forest roads splintering off from the highway into what appeared to be oblivion. I drove on.

After many twists and turns, I came upon the magnificent Lake Roosevelt. This large body of water was also created by damming off the Salt River. I drove on. Google Maps instructed me to turn on Arizona State Road 88, a much narrower and worn roadway. After many more twists and turns, I came to a sizeable flattened piece of earth on a precipice. I looked back to see the gigantic Roosevelt Dam directly behind me; it sent shivers up my spine. For a split second, I wondered what would happen if it’s immense structure burst. I refocused my thoughts and looked ahead. Google Maps was instructing me to drive forward towards a road that was heralded by a yellow caution sign that read, “Pavement Ends.” I drove on. I was now navigating the Apache Trail.

The sign says it all.

Soon caution alarms started to sound in my head. The road was very narrow, almost certainly too tight in my mind to accommodate two-way traffic. There was no shoulder, only a small strip of piled dirt that demarcated the edge of the road from the abyss on the other side. Hundreds of feet below I could see the Salt River winding from Roosevelt Dam. The way was pitched upward as it had to climb the mountain before it. I drove on.

I started to feel a panic that emanated from my abdomen, moved into my thorax, and terminated as a lump in my throat. I deliberately started to slow my breathing to calm myself. I drove on.

The road was not only unpaved and narrow, but it was also in terrible condition consisting of a continuous deep washboard pattern that was further sprinkled with potholes. Violet the van was shaking uncontrollably, and I had a real concern that she could be damaged to the point of becoming inoperable. There was no place to pull off, and my T-Mobile cell service was fading in and out. I flipped on the Verizon hotspot to boost reception, but neither carrier could compete with the granite mountain that was blocking reception. I drove on.

A very narrow road. The Salt River is hundreds of feet below.

I wanted to turn around, but there was no place to do this. The road was so narrow, and it appeared to flow in a single direction. I had a real concern that if I did manage to reverse my course, I could face a car coming directly at me. In my mind, if that happened, one of us would have to reverse either up or down the mountain. Of course, an impossible option. I continued to focus on breathing.

I attempted to drive in the middle of the road so I could stay as far away from the edge as possible. As I turned into a hairpin twist, I was immediately confronted by a huge, bus-sized RV approaching me from the opposite direction. This tiny dirt road was for two way traffic! I reacted by automatically swinging my steering wheel to the right as Violet’s front right wheel brushed into the dirt curb that separated me from the valley below. My heart raced as I tried to stop Violet from moving forward. I looked up towards the massive Class A RV and glimpsed the driver who appeared to be in his 30’s. His sweaty face and horrified continence suggested that like me he was unaware of the challenge of the Apache Trail. As he passed me, it was clear that we could easily touch each other. I drove on.

This dirt road was 14 miles long, but that distance translated to over an hour of driving as my speed varied from 10-20 MPH. Violet continued to shake uncontrollably as secured objects broke free and crashed about her cabin. A box crashed into the back of my head and sprayed me with its contents of bolts. I drove on.

I finally spotted the turnoff to Apache Lake. Ahead the Apache Trail continued with a new caution sign stating that the next 5 miles were only a single lane. I turned right and started the descent down. I pulled into the resorts parking lot feeling like I could pass out from adrenaline. It was not a good feeling. In my usual fashion, I tried to center myself and gather more information with the idea that knowledge is power. Although I did have a cell signal, it wouldn’t support data, and I finally gave up.

When I exited Violet, I was literally vibrating. Some of my oscillations were due to the emotional aftermath of my harrowing journey, some were due to physically being shaken for oven an hour. I did a quick assessment of Violet’s condition, and she appeared to be intact. However, her internal contents were strewed throughout her cabin in a twisted and incoherent mass.

I walked into the lobby of the lodge and made my way to the desk. A young Hispanic man greeted me. “Wow, that road in is pretty rough, how do you guys commute here every day,” I said trying to appear calmer than I really was. “Yeah,” he noted. “It is pretty bumpy, we actually live on site here,” I asked him if the trail south towards Phoenix was any better, but he couldn’t give me a clear answer. He told me to find a spot to camp and to then return. I drove down towards the lake, but I couldn’t really determine where the campsites were. At that point, I was on complete overload, and my ability to problem solve had reached its absolute limit. I drove back to the lodge and asked him how much it would cost to stay at the motel. He replied, “Seventy bucks,” and I booked a room for the night.

The small motel was in clear sight of the lodge, but the road to it was not. I got temporarily lost driving there. When I finally reached the motel’s parking lot, it was completely empty. I was the only guest. I entered my room using a standard key with a diamond shaped key tag stamped with the number 5. Having a real motel key seemed to be a throwback from the 1970s, but I was too shaken to appreciate its novelty.

I entered the room and flipped on the air conditioning unit and was greeted by a familiar musty motel smell. The room was clean but spare. The walls were white, painted cinder blocks, and a single table lamp was the only source of illumination. Surprising there was a relatively new flat screen TV attached to the wall directly opposite the bed. I crumbled onto the bed, shoes and all, and flipped on the TV. A total of 5 channels greeted me, but one of them was frozen in some sort of digital TV mishap. I stumbled onto the beginning of a movie and decided to watch a bit. Within minutes I realized what I was viewing. The film was “Into The Wild,” which is a story of a foolish adventurer who decides to explore the wilderness and winds up dying after prolonged starvation. I elected to turn the TV off.

My spartan motel room.

I attempted to investigate alternative routes to Tucson, but the lack of internet data blocked my efforts. It was now around 5 PM, and I decided that I would go back to the lodge for dinner. When I approached the dining room, I was aware of two things: the waiter looked very surprised to see me, and the large room was completely empty. I sat at a table, and he handed me a menu.

I scanned the menu’s contents and discovered the usual resort fare… burgers, sandwiches, and a few expensive items like steak. I chose a Reuben Sandwich with a side salad, and the waiter disappeared with my order. I continued to be struck by the emptiness of this cavernous room, which reminded me of a scene from “The Shining.” Eventually, the sandwich came, and it was surprisingly good. My total bill was under $10.

On return to my room, I decided to have a drink. I had brought with me a small flask of bourbon to mix with a Coke that was chilling in Violet’s fridge. For some reason, I thought having a little whiskey on the trip would be a manly thing to do, strange as that sounds. This was definitely the time to use it.

The alcohol calmed me, and I reexamined my room’s appointments. I was surprised at the number of ashtrays available. One in the room, one on the little table outside of the room, and three on the picnic table directly across the room. Five ashtrays within 15 feet of my room, I thought, “Well, you don’t see that every day.” The alcohol had its desired effect, and I drifted off into sleep, it was 7:30 PM.

Ashtrays everywhere!

I started to rouse at 9 PM. In the recesses of my mind, I heard what sounded like demonic chanting. I woke a bit more and became aware of a heavy bass riff that was repetitive and persistent. My fogginess assessed the information as some sort of heavy metal rock concert, but that assessment seemed off. The bassline was so loud that my bed was shaking in a rhythmic pattern. All of a sudden, and in the middle of a note, the music cut off only to resume a few minutes later. This pattern repeated itself many times. The same song would be played at a quaking volume for anywhere between 1 to 3 minutes, it would then stop abruptly only to resume minutes later. It was creepy.

I looked out of my motel room’s door towards the parking lot to discover that I was still the only car parked. I looked in the opposite direction, and at the far end of the motel, I spied an old car with its interior lit up like a Christmas tree. It was parked on the motel’s walkway and looked completely out-of-place. The car was the source of the music.

Now fully awake, I retired my cellular internet connection, and surprisingly it worked. I was able to to use a couple of my GPS applications, which gave me different routes from Apache Lake to Tucson. One direction took me the 14 miles back towards Roosevelt Dam, the other was a 26 miles long trek south on the Apache Trail. Further research yielded confusing information, but it was clear that at least 14 miles of the 26-mile southern route were also unpaved, and at least 5 miles of that road was only a single lane. There was no easy highway route, and I found my anxiety building.

I called upon my cognitive skills to calm me. I did see a couple of vehicles in the lodge’s parking lot. Several were of the 4-wheel drive variety, but one was an older Chevy sedan. “It made it up the trail OK,” I thought. Perhaps the road wasn’t as bad as I thought it was. Also, I now had some working knowledge of the trail, and I even knew that Violet could survive the rough road.

My cognitive restructuring helped only so much. Honestly, I would have paid someone to drive me out if that had been an option. I still had to decide which route to use the next day. Which way, the known northern route, which was more out of the way, or the more direct southern route, which was utterly unknown? I went to bed.

I woke the next morning around 5 AM and took a long, hot shower. I looked out my door and found that the heavy metal car was no longer there. It was almost as if its purpose was to wake me when the internet connection was better. I chucked at my willingness to attribute a meaning to every random event in my life.

I tried to do more research, but the internet was no longer working. I went back to Violet and pulled out a road atlas from her driver’s door storage pocket. There wasn’t enough detail on the map for this remote spot, and I slotted the atlas back into its door spot.

I decided to try connecting my phone while in the van as I had previously installed a cell phone signal booster. Although the booster didn’t help me when I arrived at the lodge, I was now a block away and at a slightly higher elevation. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

I tried the phone, and I was able to connect slowly to the web. Unfortunately, I didn’t come up with any new information, and so I went back to the motel room to pack up my things. It was now 7 AM, and I had some time to kill as the restaurant didn’t open until 8. I took a walk along the lake with my camera in hand. Now, slightly calmer, I was able to appreciate the incredible beauty of the location. Apache Lake was long and majestic, and there seemed to be a spiritual presence in the air. I took it all in as I needed as much calming I could get.

Another view of Apache Lake.
Beautiful Saguaro Cacti
Apache Lake has mountains, water, and desert all in one package.

I still was uncertain which route that I should take, but I wondered if the road towards Phoenix was in better condition, as it would have been the one more traveled. Should I risk the dirt road to Phoenix with the assumption that it was more roadworthy, or should I go back the longer but more familiar route? I needed more information, but there was none to be had.

I went to the lodge’s dining room and was pleasantly surprised to see that I was not alone. At another table were two “country” looking guys. Both appeared to be in their 40’s and were sporting similar goatees. They were wearing jeans and sturdy work-type boots. On their heads were camo colored ball caps, on their torsos they wore long-sleeved Tee styled shirts with a short-sleeved tee shirt pulled over the top.

In the past, I would have been too intimidated to approach them, especially since they had a rough look. However, their garb was similar to the dress of many guys that I see on construction sites, which gave them a familiarity. I boldly walked up to them, introduced myself, and started a conversation. They were very friendly and supportive. They told me that the road in either direction was equally terrible, but also noted that they had pulled a trailered boat on it the other day. This was another confirmation that Violet should be able to successfully get back to the highway if I drove her slowly enough. I decided to return the way that I came. Yes, it would make the overall drive longer, but the familiar factor would reduce my stress. I elected to wait until midday, as I thought the opposing traffic would be the lightest then.

Despite all of the cognitive efforts to neutralize my anxiety, I was still dreading the trip back to the highway. I wasn’t in the sheer panic that I had been in, but I was clearly outside of my comfort zone. I pulled myself into the driver’s seat, attached my iPhone to my dash phone holder, and turned the key. I was off.

I was glad that I chose the northern route when I started to recognize familiar landmarks, and I drove a full 5 miles in complete isolation. I took a sharp curve and faced another huge bus-sized RV approaching me. However, this time, I was more prepared as I knew that the road was two-way. The RV passed without incident. I qualified that encounter with the idea that this would be the only vehicle that I would see on the road so the rest of my trek would be clear sailing. At that moment another huge RV approached and drove past me, oh well. Eventually, I saw Roosevelt Dam in the distance. It’s massiveness frightened me the day before, but it now calmed me as I knew that I soon would be on paved ground. I stopped at the dam to take some photos and to catch my breath. My trauma was over.

The sight of the huge dam gave me comfort as I knew I would soon be back on paved ground.

Was my Apache Lake adventure worth it? I would say, “No.” The setting was beautiful, but the shear stress of getting there depleted any joy. Did my cognitive restructuring, internet research, and information gathering do the trick in calming me? Again, I would say, “No.” However, my efforts did reduce my anxiety and gave me more of an illusion of control over the situation. Therefore, those efforts served a useful purpose.

The reality, dear reader, is that sometimes you just have to do things that you don’t want to do. Sometimes you have to face your anxiety and move forward despite it. Life is not always easy, and to expect every day to be stress-free is not only unrealistic, but it is also unhealthy. Sometimes dealing with stress makes us grow and become stronger. Sometimes stress is just stress. That is the way life is.

As an aside, I found this quote from Theodore Roosevelt about the Apache Trail as I was getting some background for this post:

“THE APACHE TRAIL COMBINES THE GRANDEUR OF THE ALPS, THE GLORY OF THE ROCKIES, THE MAGNIFICENCE OF THE GRAND CANYON, AND THEN ADDS AN INDEFINABLE SOMETHING THAT NONE OTHERS HAVE, TO ME, IT IS THE MOST AWE-INSPIRING AND MOST SUBLIMELY BEAUTIFUL”
-THEODORE ROOSEVELT, 1911

Well…perhaps I could have enjoyed my adventure more if someone else was driving (Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs?).

On Aloneness

I looked at the map and tried to find the most remote place on earth that seemed habitable. In my mind, that place was Baffin Island in Canada’s Northwest Territory. Vast and distant, it seemed to be the perfect spot. There I could be separated from the stress of negative interactions. I would pack all of my possessions with me. Books, electronics, scientific equipment, radios.

On Baffin Island, I would build a warm and secure cabin to protect myself from the elements. On Baffin Island, I could be myself.

Baffin Island was the mental place where I would go to as a child when I was feeling stressed or judged by the world and its people. This is where I would mentally travel when I was sick of acting a role so I could be accepted.

The power of a child’s fantasy is derived from the reality that it is not bounded by the constraints of logic. It is free-flowing with its only requirement being that it satisfies the needs of its creator, and Baffin Island was my fantasy. I knew that I was a loner, an introvert, a person who was happiest in his own thoughts. A person who was delighted to be left alone.

________________________

The preparations started months earlier, although I wasn’t sure what I was preparing for. I wrote pages of lists, watched dozens of YouTube videos, and mentally solved thought problem. I dug through my old camping gear, I gleaned gadgets from my electronics collections, I constructed things with the expert assistance of my friend, Tom.

I have come to believe that these actions were part of a greater coping strategy to deal with my internal anxiety. This statement seems strange, as I don’t consider myself to be an anxious person. I always could restructure my cognition, and when I face a stressful situation, I call upon that fundamental skill to calm myself and move forward. Yet, all of my preparation seemed to have a psychological motivation.

I also admit that I felt guilty about my plan to leave, but logically, I knew that I was adding only a few days to an already established trip. My feelings spawned out of causal comments that Julie said to me since I retired. “Did you have fun today?” She would ask when she got home from work.

I felt guilty that I had indeed had fun. A happiness based on no longer being responsible for the lives of others. A delight based on having the ability to do as I wished for once. I felt guilty that I was enjoying my freedom when she had many years of work ahead of her. I fully acknowledge that my interpretation of her comments was filtered by my personal assumption that the sole purpose in life was to produce.

The reason for my trip to Arizona was so I could clean my daughter’s college apartment and haul back the material contents of the last 4 years of her life. This act was productive, contributing, and even laudable. However, taking a few extra days to visit National Parks along the way was not. Logic told me that my actions were completely acceptable. I claim to be driven by logic, but I am actually ruled by my feelings, and those feelings made me feel guilty.

A psychological solution to my guilt appeared in the form of focused thriftiness. I decided that I would do whatever I could to reduce the cost of the trip and that somehow this action would justify those extra self-indulgent days. I would stay at National Park campsites. I would sleep and cook in my camper van. I would resist the temptation to buy unnecessary things. The thrifty strategy subdued my guilt, but that emotion was soon substituted with another even more ridiculous concern.

By coincidence random videos appeared on my YouTube homepage, most centering around bear attacks. There were instructional videos on how to protect yourself from maniacal bears. There were videos describing tales of loss of limb and life by grizzlies. There was even a video showing a bear using its massive claws to rip through a car door as quickly as one would poke a hole into a taut sheet of aluminum foil.

After watching a number of these videos, I told myself that enough was enough. I reminded myself that millions of people visit National Parks in any given year, and actual bear aggressions impacts a tiny percentage of those patrons. However, just to be on the safe side, I bought a canister of bear repellent and vowed to not smell like bacon when I was in bear country.

My trip preparation continued in earnest. I scoured the pantry for suitable camper food, and I made purchases of Knorr Sides and Spam Singles at the local market. I gathered my photography equipment. I filled my packing cubes with clothing. I put new batteries in my flashlight. There was nothing else that I could do, yet I continued to feel unsettled, and I didn’t understand why.

On the day of my departure, I found myself stalling to leave. Eventually, I pulled myself into my campervan’s cabin, buckled my seatbelt, and turned on the ignition. My solo trip was about to begin.

One mile became ten, ten became one hundred. I dug into my car food bag and munch on chips, mixed nuts, and Smart Pop popcorn. I calmed, but I still couldn’t understand what was really troubling me.

I traveled in external silence, thinking. I thought about making a helpful YouTube video for van dwellers. I plotted out the destinations of my trip. I remembered the contents of my cargo bins. And so it went.

My friend, Tom, would call to check on me, and I was happy about that. I would call Julie, and I was grateful that she seemed glad to talk to me, as I know she dislikes taking on the phone.

A conversation with one of my sisters here, a text message from one of my kids there, an encouraging Facebook comment or two. I was clearly looking forward to these interactions, and I was surprised how critical these touchpoints were for a loner like me.

I have never wanted masses of friends. I have never wanted to be popular. Such scenarios seem more exhausting than exhilarating. However, I cherish a small group of people. Those individuals represent my “Priorities,” and I will do whatever I can to make sure that I am there for them. However, traveling alone illustrated a second purpose to these relationships. Traveling alone had shown how imperative it is for me to be cared about by those who I care for. Traveling alone focused me on the reality that I need people in my life, and that it was the thought of separation from them that was the cause of all of my pre-trip anxiety. I find it curious that it is so easy for me to love, yet so difficult to imagine that others love me.

I don’t want to be cared for because of what I can do for someone, I have spent my life doing that. I don’t want to be included in a social circle only because I am entertaining, funny, or a good listener. Instead, I want to be loved and accepted for who I am. I want to be missed when I’m not around, and I want to be the source of excitement when I return on the scene.

During much of my life, I gained the acceptance of others by being whoever that person wanted me to be. Now, I want someone to see my soul and feel that I am good enough.

It brings me joy to comprehend that those people who I love also love me. As I write this, I am astonished by this realization, and eminently thankful for it.

On one phone call during my trip, Julie asked me if I was having a good time, and I told her, “Yes.” There are many positives when traveling solo. I set my own schedule and spend as much or as little time as I wish to do an activity. I can stay up as late as I choose, or go to bed as soon as I desire. These are wonderful things.

However, I did miss the lack of a traveling companion to share the wonders that I saw. Someone to be mutually amazed at the magnitude of the Great Sand Dunes, or to collectively wonder about the lives of the ancient Pueblo. I wanted to share a new sight, or a sunset, or conversation around a morning cup of coffee with someone that I care about. All of those activities seem sweeter when done with someone who you love.

This great adventure was an exercise in aloneness and was a success, but not the success that I initially imagined. Yes, I am perfectly competent by myself, but this trip illustrated to me how much I need others in my life, not to do for me, but to care for me. I am an introvert, but I’m not a loner.

As a child, I wanted to live on an island in isolation. As an adult, I realize the I am not an island unto myself. I still have much to learn about myself. Life lessons are everywhere. All I need to do is to stop and listen.

Hiking up one of the Great Sand Dunes.
Exploring a Pueblo Cliff Dwelling.
Hiking up a mountain.
Lake Apache.
Violet, my campervan.

Change Your Life With A Gratitude List

Why is it that I can focus on a single negative in my life while ignoring so many positives? How can I change this waste of energy?

I think my thinking pattern is similar to many others. I can let a single worry dominate me. Typically, I find that this stance is a waste of my time and energy. Yet, I continue to do it.

I have made attempts to change my behavior, and some of my efforts have been more successful than others.

I have gotten better at letting go of trivial slights. The driver that cuts me off no longer spoils the rest of my morning.

I also employ cognitive techniques to correct my perceptual distortions. When I get upset about something, I will pull back and logically explore the problem and reframe the information at hand in a more realistic way and less catastrophic way.

Also, I work hard to let go of situations that I have no control over. I’ll, “Let go and let God.”

The above techniques all fall into what I would call a pathology model. In other words, they focus on lessening my current worries. The problem already exists, and so I actively treat it.

Good doctors not only treat problems they also practice preventive medicine. I would like to think of myself as a good doctor and what I advise my patients can also apply to me. So how do I prevent worry? There are many ways, but the one that I would like to share with you today is called a gratitude list. This technique is simple, but it does require some practice and thought.

The positives in my life far exceed the negatives. However, I can take my blessings as expectations and thereby ignore their significance. A gratitude list is one way to acknowledge these good things, and when I do this, I automatically have a more positive outlook of my life.

Here are the steps I use.

-Once a day I think of 3-5 things that I’m grateful for. They can be significant things or minor things. For instance, I might be thankful for my health (major thing), and I also may be grateful for having coffee with a friend (minor thing).
-I make an effort to vary the things that I’m grateful for. In other words, I don’t repeat the same list every day.
-Sometimes I’ll write down my gratitude list, sometimes I’ll only make a mental note.
-I don’t just write down a list, I also think about each example on that list. I may recall that I’m no longer on any medication and that I’m able to walk long distances once again. I might think about a walk that I took and how much I enjoyed it. For my second example, I may be grateful for having people in my life who want to spend time with me. I might remember the conversation that I had during my coffee klatsch, or how much I enjoyed the taste of the coffee.
-If possible, I recall my gratitude list during the day, repeating the above technique.

When I first started this daily exercise I had trouble coming up with unique things to be grateful for. However, over time, it became easy. The trick is to limit your list to a manageable number. I find that 5 examples works for me. I want to have time to think about my list, I don’t want to write down a lot of meaningless examples.

By doing this exercise regularly, it has become evident that I have much to be grateful for. When I think about my life in positives terms I feel more positive about myself, I attract more positive people, and many of my problems feel more trivial. All of these benefits for the cost of a little time!

I would encourage you to make a gratitude list every day for the next 30 days. Let me know if it makes a positive difference in your life. If the answer is yes, it is easy to incorporate a gratitude list into your daily routine.

Dr. Mike

An Odd Morning

I find fascination with simple lessons.

I alerted my Google Assistant that I was up, and she wished me a good morning.  She informed me that it was cooler and that there was rain in the forecast. I figured that the rain prediction was for later in the day.

I put on my running shoes, donned a jacket, and stepped out onto my front porch.  It was raining! Back in the house for waterproof duck shoes, a raincoat, and an umbrella.  Off I went.

Cold, and raining, I expected to have the streets to myself, but this was not the case.  Animals were darting here and there in the pre-dawn, including a skunk with a tail raised just for me.  I crossed the street and counted my observational blessings.

As I approached downtown I walked past our public library.  A lone car sat in the empty parking lot, its hatchback up, and the radio blaring out a political radio station.  Odd.

I continued my walk and saw two middle-aged ladies sitting on a wet park bench having a loud and animated conversation. It was 5:30 AM.  Odd.

I moved on to the next block, and it sounded like someone was calling to me.  I turned my head to discover a mom talking to her baby, who was in a stroller. She was walking her baby at 5:35 AM! Odd.

I started to cross the street, but  I had to jump back as an elderly man wearing full high vis rain gear barrelled past me on his bicycle. He seemed oblivious to my presence. Odd.

I arrived at my Starbucks and was greeted by a barista, who looked up, smiled,  and poured my coffee without ever asking for my order.  Finally something familiar.

As humans, we try to predict the future.  What team will win?  What will the stock market do? What will that lab test show?

This morning I predicted that I would have a very quiet walk, but that was not the case.  In fact, it was not only much busier but the type of “traffic” was completely different from what I normally observe at this very early hour.

Many logical prognostications turn out to be erroneous guesses. I am great at projecting in the future, and sometimes that leads to unnecessary worry.  Dear reader, I assume that you have done the same.

It is good to plan for problems, but that planning should be a sidebar, not the primary focus in our lives.  When we live in the worry zone we waste valuable energy that often serves no purpose.

How should we face potential problems?  That rule has been long established.

  • Accept the things you cannot change.
  • Change the things you can.
  • Pray to know the difference.

Have a good day, dear reader.

Mike

A colder and damp morning in Naperville.

Perseverance, Guilt, Childhood, And My Campervan.

Ninety-degree temperatures, 100% humidity, unforgiving sun; I baked. I had spent the morning with a friend under similar conditions as we destroyed the interior of my campervan with the hope of transforming her into something better.

Before the installing of the campervan insert, I had carefully run wires between post and pillar so there would be two electrical circuits available. One to power the yet to be installed exhaust fan, and another to electrify the proposed LED ceiling lights. These wires now covered by the plastic ceiling panels installed in Colorado just weeks before. It was now time to reveal them from their hiding place, and so the panels came down.

A 14 inch by 14-inch hole was cut out of her roof, an exhaust fan screwed into that gap. Huge solar panels were carefully bolted on. Another hole drilled into her roof’s center to carry the cables from those panels into her cabin. Yet another hole, almost 3 inches, was gutted out of her side to provide a place for an AC power connector. Interior side panels were removed to allow wiring access. Her beautiful kitchen was unbolted and temporarily abandoned in my friend’s garage.

Steps that should have been straightforward were difficult. My friend has all of the right skills, all of the right tools, and enough motivation to get the job done. To the best of my ability, I also did my job. Researching and buying products, watching YouTube videos, pre-testing, and pre-planning whenever I could. Yet, every step was hard.

As you know dear readers, it is difficult for me to ask for help. Asking for help in this situation was even more difficult, as such a request placed me in an especially vulnerable position. I do not have the skills, tools, or understanding to complete the project on my own, and once it was started it had to go to completion, there was no half-way. If my friend decided to walk away at any moment, I would be helpless. I do not like being helpless.

Naturally, I knew my friend would not walk away, but I had not placed myself in such a vulnerable place since childhood, and if you have read my previous post you know why.

The work continued with 10 individual LED lights bolted into the ceiling. To attach them properly each screw had to be individually cut with a grinder. I had previously tested all of the lights, but when I re-tested them in situ, they refused to illuminate. The screws that were so carefully cut were shorting out the LED’s circuits and had to be insulated. And so it went.

Despite my best efforts, I found myself transformed to a past time and prior role. I was no longer Mike, the doctor, I was was Michael the 9 year old. Old unwanted roles, high temperatures, lack of skills, and real problems conspired against me. I took my usual stance and soldiered on. This is a strategy that I have long practiced in challenging situations. I don’t give up. I don’t give in. I command my intellect to overpower my emotion, and I move forward.

The ceiling panels were re-bolted to the roof of the van, but even this task was difficult as some of the screws spun aimlessly, refusing to tighten. Why did everything have to be so difficult when I just wanted to get the project completed and to move on?

Add to this the guilt that I was feeling for imposing so considerably on my friend. He did not complain, but I had already consumed days of his personal time, and the end was not in sight. I thought I would let him know how appreciative I was by publicly announcing my gratitude on Facebook. But in honest retrospect, I think my actions were done in part to relieve my guilty feelings. I find it strange that I can willingly and joyfully help others, yet I cannot ascribe these attributes to those who offer a hand of help to me.

Now alone, I re-enter my van. Once beautiful, presently a mess of disarray. With me is my tester device. Made from a battery pack and fuse box, it stands at the ready. In my pocket is a multimeter.

I connect the wires that should power the LED lights and turn on the power. Only two out of the 10 lights illuminate. I connect the exhaust fan’s power supply and click on the remote control. It sits silent. I pull out my multimeter and set its controls to 50 volts DC. If all goes well, I should get between 10 volts to 20 volts registered on it when I touch the solar panel’s input cables. I press the sharp probe tips into the wires, and the meter records 1 volt.

A wave of desperation covers me. How is this possible? I have experimented with electricity since childhood. I have an advanced class amateur radio license. These circuits are simple, my planning was good, my friend’s work was flawless. Suddenly I’m enveloped by guilt. A pang of guilt from the distant past. A pang of guilt that tells me that all of these problems have to be my fault. That I am to blame. It was now time to approach my friend and admit this to him and accept my consequences. He, of course, tells me that my guilty assumptions are ridiculous.

I am persistent, and I don’t allow illogical thinking to rule me. Despite my guilt, I press forward, and we approached each issue methodically. The LED malfunction is traced to a faulty connector. I remove it, manually spliced the wires together, and 10 lights shine brightly. We test the fan’s electrical supply circuit, and despite being new, it is shorted. I piggyback the power wires from the fan onto the LED feed line, and the fan jumps to life. Each of the solar panel’s MC4 connectors are explored, and it is discovered that the final one in the chain is defective. Being a planner, I have a backup connector at the ready. It is replaced and the multimeter reads a stable 18 volts. From desperation to success, all due to perseverance. All due to not allowing my old and inaccurate emotions consume me.

Dear reader, most of my posts have a theme which is that we are continuously given life lessons, but most of us choose to ignore them. These lessons come in the form of projects, problems, our experiences, and our connections with others.

It would be great to say that the above experience transformed me. It did not. I will need to ask for this type of help many more times before I feel comfortable with that action, and I will likely succumb many more times to falling back into my childhood persona when I do take that risk. However, I now know that I can ask, I can receive, and I can survive. That is important knowledge.

The process also opened up new issues that I need to face, but isn’t that what life is all about? As they say, life is a journey, not a destination. I will never reach perfection, but hopefully, I will improve each time I challenge my false beliefs and inaccurate perceptions. Walk with me, please.

When Children Go Off To College

The hotel was geographically close, but it still took almost 40 minutes to get to our destination as we had to transit on rural roads. We were then met by road construction when we arrived. I always feel uncomfortable when I’m not familiar with my environment, and road construction makes that unfamiliarity more intense.

A turn here, a detour there; finally the parking garage. Once out of the car we followed the herds of people as they meandered towards the middle of campus. We arrived at the student center where most of our meetings were scheduled. A large red brick building in a classic Georgian style. It was time for college orientation to begin.

Grace will be my third to go off to college, and it has become more difficult for me with each child. When my oldest daughter went to school, I had three little ones still at home. My next daughter had already been away at a magnet STEM boarding high school before she left for college. It was still tough to see her go from a campus that was 20 miles away to one that was over 1000 miles away.

My Grace has been at home for the duration, along with my son Will. My last two kids have liked doing things with me, and we continuously have turned small events into adventures. A trip to Walmart can become an exploration, making dinner together can serve as a time to bond and laugh. Since my wife returned to the workforce (she would correct me at this point telling me that I should say “paid workforce”), We have often been like three musketeers. Naturally, as they have gotten older, their friends have taken up more of their time, but we still do things together. Being with them is a total pleasure for me.

Now, my Grace will be 5 hours away by car. Indeed a doable trip on a weekend, but not around the block.

I remember going to my college orientation many years ago. It was an information only experience. I went with my friend John, who was also attending the same university. No parents, no sleepover in a dorm room, no team building exercises.

When I turned 18, I was considered an adult. Currently, we define people in their 20s as “emerging adults,” who still need parental support. College orientation is now designed to ease fears. Providing information is secondary, as all of that information is on the university’s website.

We attended sessions with my daughter, and apart. The two-day affair included her spending a night in a dorm room, while we returned to our hotel. A harbinger of things to come.

I am fortunate to have kids who are motivated and dedicated. I know my daughter has all of the skills needed to have a successful college career. I am overjoyed that she is moving forward. I am intensely sad that she is leaving. At times my mind goes in crazy directions. “What if she marries someone locally and doesn’t return to Illinois?” “What if she decides that her dad isn’t the fun adventurer of her youth and just a boring old man to be avoided?” “What if…”. I understand that these thoughts have no place in my mind, but they are present anyway.

This is a problem that modern parents face. A hundred years ago our children would return home with their spouses to work on the family farm. When I was growing up in Chicago, it was common for family members to buy houses on the same block. Now, our children may live in another city, state, or even country. This fact of life made only slightly more tolerable by the innovations of FaceTime, texting, and Facebook.

Our goal as parents is to help our children become successful and independent adults. This is my goal, but like most things in life, an independent child is a coin that has two sides.

My kids are transitioning from precocious but dependent children to mature and independent adults. In our conversations, they now explain things to me. In our adventures, they fully contribute. In our chores, they are equally responsible. This is the way it should be. Is it wrong for me to want this for them and also to want them to think of me as their father who is there for them? Who can pick them up when they fall? Who has wisdom that they not only need but want? I hope that they will continue to comprehend how significant they are to me, and how very much I love them.

Each day brings me new experiences and new things to learn. At whatever level that I am allowed, I will maintain my connection with my children. They may be striving towards their future, but that doesn’t mean that they have to give up their past.

LilliRose’s Story: Living with Hidradenitis Supporativa

I arrived early at the Schaumburg Starbucks. I didn’t want to be late.  I had corresponded with LilliRose for several weeks and had sent her my photo a few days earlier.  I told her that I would be wearing a red ball cap for identification. I didn’t know what to expect, as she was my first interview

After a short time, I heard my name being called from behind me.  “Mike Kuna?” I turned to see a beautiful 24-year-old with a bright smile.  It was LilliRose, here is her story.

LilliRose grew up in Schaumburg, the oldest of two children.  Early in her life she started to take dance and had a natural talent for it.  She is creative and excelled not only at dance but also at acting. Although dedicated and intelligent, LilliRose had difficulties in school with reading and math.  It was later determined that she had both dyslexia and dysgraphia. Her mother stepped in, helped her, and eventually, her reading ability improved. However, math continues to be a struggle for her.

LilliRose was active in school theatrics and was also involved with a musical theater production company during elementary and high school.  Her acting skills caught the attention of a manager who told her, “You can act,” and for several years she tried out for a variety of parts that ranged from local TV commercials to LA productions.  In school, she was active in Poms and maintained a “B” average despite her learning issues. On the surface, it would appear that she was leading a charmed life.

When LilliRose was ten, she discovered a lump on her inner thigh close to her groin.  She is a private person and kept the bump to herself. Months later that her mother discovered it when she saw LilliRose in a bathing suit.  Concerned, her mom took her to a dermatologist who told her that he didn’t know what the bump was. Other doctors and other treatments followed.  The bump sometimes got bigger, sometimes smaller. None of the treatments helped.

It took about a year before a new doctor finally came up with the correct diagnosis, Hidradenitis Suppurativa (HS) a rare skin condition where the patient develops painful cysts, papules, and nodules in the groin, breasts, and armpits.  Cysts can ooze malodorous pus. The disease is chronic, its cause unknown, treatment is limited, and there is no cure.

LilliRose tried to ignore her illness and to live her life as a typical teen.  She went to school, dated, and was active in extracurricular activity. “I didn’t think about HS very much.”  She held onto the false idea that one doctor told her, “You will outgrow this illness.”

She entered Columbia College as a dance major.  However, after a year of schooling, she realized that she did not have the all-consuming passion necessary for a dance career.  She is now on a hiatus from school and supports herself as a server.

Two years ago the bottom dropped out for LilliRose.  Her lesions spread to her underarms, and this was devastating. “Before they were hidden, now everyone could see them.”  She also became aware that her HS would not fade away with age. It was sobering for her to realize that she could be dealing with HS for the rest of her life.  LillieRose fell into a deep depression.

“I ignored my HS before, but two years ago I faced it. I didn’t understand how I could deal with the sores and pain when I was younger and then couldn’t as an adult.”  Things that she did in the past became difficult. She started to give up activities. “The pain can range from intense burning to bruise-like. Sometimes the searing pain will shoot down my leg.  It can make it impossible to dance. Sometimes, I can’t even go to work.” Eventually, LilliRose sought help by attending an outpatient treatment program for anxiety and depression. “It was helpful, but I knew that it was not enough.”

One day she decided to move forward by taking a more active role in her life.  She studied nutrition and discovered that certain foods made her condition worse.  “I love french fries, but if I eat them I know, I’ll have a flare-up the next day.”  She regularly went to the gym. She attended a meditation class. She started to learn things for the sake of learning.  “I have a friend who is a forest ranger. We go walking, and he tells me the most amazing things about the forest.” She changed jobs, she made new friends, she read more.  “I didn’t want to take medication for my depression. I prefer a more natural approach.”

LilliRose feels fortunate that she has very supportive parents and a wonderful and understanding boyfriend. Although she would like to feel even better, she has made progress dealing with her anxiety and depression.

Her HS has impacted her in a variety of ways, but not all of those ways are negative. It has made her acutely aware of other individuals who suffer from physical and emotional illness.  She plans on going back to school next term, this time to study business. Her goal is to eventually open a center where people of all types of disability can gather. A place that will provide dance and art therapy.  A place that will be a home for rescue animals who have nowhere else to go.”I have two dogs, and they are always there for me when I’m having a flare-up. Animals can be healing” The center will provide a welcoming place anyone who suffers from a disability.  A place where they are accepted, understood, and helped.

Thank you LilliRose for talking to me.  

If you have a story that you would like to tell, please contact me at SPAMmike_kuna@hotmail.com (remove the word SPAM in the email address).

To learn more about this project click here.

LilliRose