Getting Into Health

It started with a project on the subject of obesity and one book the client lent me on healthy eating. It was pretty scientific and not something one would curl up with unless falling asleep was the goal. Still it was informative and thought provoking. I read more of Raising Healthy Eaters by Ellyn Satter than I would have predicted and found a description of my own attitudes toward food within its pages. Not good.

I expressed my gratitude, and my client immediately gave me another book—this one on omega 3 fatty acids. I never even heard of omega 3 fatty acids (good fats) or omega 6s (not so good fats), but I sure know a lot about them now. Along with the book came a bottle of omega 3 supplements, which I have been dutifully taking along with my increased ration of fish. Omega 3s are very good for reducing the inflammation of arthritis. How could I go wrong?

Then books started coming in the mail. The first was SPARK by John J. Ratey MD with Eric Hagerman on the positive effects of regular, aerobic exercise on every cell, system, organ, neurotransmitter, and square inch of the brain, from infants to those of us in our more mature years. I was impressed with the writing, the research, and the relevance, just as my neurosurgeon gave me some good news-bad news. The good news was I didn’t need back surgery; the bad news was I would have to exercise an hour a day for the rest of my life. When he told me, I was immersed in SPARK and pretty psyched, so I regarded the doctor’s prescription as more good news. My enthusiasm is flagging a bit by now, but I’m still pretty sold on the concept.

SPARK was followed by The Power Of Play by David Elkind, PhD, just plain Play by Stuart Brown, MD, and The Exuberant Animal by Frank Forencich. I got through the first two but balked at the last one. I have to say, I really enjoyed Play, which convinced me I should do more of that. When, exactly, I don’t know

In the meantime, I kept hearing from so many people that THE book to read right now is Michael Pollen’s The Omnivore’s Dilemma, so I downloaded it to my Kindle. This is one powerful book and not one that is likely to put me to sleep. There is so much to say about it I don’t know where to begin. I can’t imagine that I will ever think about food in quite the way. Now that I know about growing, killing, processing, and transporting animals; the roles of the the diet and fitness businesses and the military industrial complex; insidious marketing practices; and other eye-opening epiphanies, I can almost see the appeal of becoming a vegan (almost).

So, what kind of a new food fad have I hitched my wagon to this time? Is it any different from an Atkins high-protein, high-fat diet or the Sugar Busters diet or the Carbohydrate Addicts Diet or the Pritikin diet, or even Jenny Craig or Weight Watchers or ….You get the idea, there are too many to count or read or try. They all made sense at the time. Several of them started fads of their own. I lost weight; I gained weight; but I never really thought about eating healthy. It wasn’t on my radar. Now, it’s all I can see.

My daughter just called me from the grocery store as she was buying sugar-free coffee creamer. I told her to read the label and, sure enough, it listed high fructose corn syrup (HFCS). That’s worse than sugar, I said. She tried fat free, then fat-free half and half (which also has HFCS in it!); then two or three more things to make her coffee drinkable in the morning. She finally bought something called Silk-something or other and informed me I had ruined her life. Actually, I ruined mine, too. What am I gong to put in my coffee, now?

The Death of Civility?

Yesterday, after months of wrangling, behind-the-scenes deal making, and striking partisanship, the House of Representatives passed the long-awaited health care reform bill. It wasn’t easy and it wasn’t pleasant. From the moment the president explained what the bill would and would not do, the spin began. If I hadn’t heard the speech and actually understood it, I might have been confused by what opponents were claiming. I might have even believed some of the rhetoric. But it was so inaccurate and distorted, I dismissed it out of hand.

Almost everything the president said was somehow flipped on its head and came out upside down and backwards. It would have been amusing if so many people hadn’t bought the upside-down version. By the time the bill was passed, few Americans seemed to know what it was designed to reform.

To say this was a divisive piece of legislation would be an understatement. Once again, the country seemed to split in half over a single issue. Congress certainly did, since not a single Republican voted for the bill. There was no room for dialogue or rationality. One was either for it or against it … with dramatic and deafening oratory.

OK. I can live with that. This is a country where we get to have our points of view and defend them or oppose them. But something seems to be happening lately that goes far beyond disagreement. Civil discourse has been replaced by mean spirited harangues.

In the middle of the president’s State of the Union address, a congressman yelled, “You lie!” At recent town hall meetings, representatives were shouted down and insulted. As the members of the House were voting yesterday, on the lawn outside the building, people were demonstrating with signs and epitaphs that were beyond bad taste, sometimes egged on by members of Congress. And, inside the House chamber, there was shouting, name-calling, and a complete absence of decorum.

What have we become? Where are our manners? What happened to restraint? It’s fine to have strong views and to stand up for them. It’s acceptable, even necessary, to debate. But in my view, the behavior of opponents to just about any issue has become deplorable and frightening. We are not a third-world country. We are not children. We do not call names and shout insults. It is not worthy of civilized adults and citizens of a democracy.

There is much to worry about these days, but this breakdown of civility in our society has reached the top of my list.

A Book I Wish I Had Written

I just read an astonishing book! I downloaded it to my Kindle without knowing exactly what to expect. Gail Collins, the author of When Everything Changed, is my new hero. The book is a history of the women’s movement in the U.S. from the first suffragette to Michelle Obama and Sarah Palin. But it’s so much more than that.

All the way through the book are stories of ordinary women, feminist luminaries, and political leaders. The interviews bring them to life as only a seasoned journalist can do. Then, at the end of the book, Collins brings us up to date on where each of the women she interviewed was at the time of publication. Her acknowledgments include the names of the hundreds of women she interviewed for this book. At the end, are marvelous photographs of women whose contributions made such a difference to the women's movement.

This is the kind of book I would love to have written. I couldn’t put it down. As one piece of history followed another I found I was learning things I never knew, meeting women I wish I’d known, and reliving my own life through other people’s stories. There were so many events and was so heroism that were revelations, including the role women played in the Civil Rights Movement.

But what made this an extraordinary reading experience was Gail Collins’s writing. I have a short list of nonfiction writers I admire—Gail Sheehy, Gloria Steinem, Jane Howard, Joan Borysenko—and would be thrilled to write as well as they do. Gail Collins has just made the list.

I'll take the elevator

I was at Borders yesterday, looking for a particular book. Instead of rambling all over the place, like most Borders stores, my Borders is a narrow, two-story affair. The book I wanted, of course, turned out to be on the second floor. “Follow me. I’ll show you where it is.” the salesperson offered and began bounding up the stairs. “Um, I’ll have to take the elevator,” I said. She joined me, graciously insisting I was saving her a trip.

The reason I balked at the sight of the steps is not important. What is important was my embarrassment at having to admit to someone that those stairs were going to be a problem. I’m sure that dozens of people take the elevator every day. That’s why they have one. Since the passage of The Americans With Disabilities Act (ADA), every place of business must be “handicapped accessible.” That law has made it possible for people with disabilities to go places and do things they had never been able to in the past.

I know a lot about disabilities and ADA. I learned from disability agencies, advocates, and activists. I wrote training programs and books on the subject. I was educated and enlightened … in a distant sort of way. The law was passed in 1990—twenty years ago. I was in pretty good shape in 1990, running and swimming and engaged in lots of physical activities. I guess I thought I would always be able to do those things.

I remember when I was learning about disabilities, I became friends with people I would never even have met under other circumstances. These experiences opened up my eyes to a world I hadn’t known existed. I was fortunate to be introduced to the disability community in the way I was, but I knew that for many people the sudden appearance of people with disabilities was disconcerting. They didn’t know how to act. They were uncomfortable. It took me a while to understand why.

While some people are born with disabilities, many are not. Accidents, illnesses, war, and age create them—sometimes suddenly, sometimes gradually. But we all know we are vulnerable. Anyone, no matter how healthy and strong, can become disabled. It’s a scary thought and one most of us try to avoid.

Here I am twenty years older than when I began writing about a subject that touched me intellectually and emotionally, but not empathetically. I didn’t really understand then, but I do now. I haven’t had an accident or a degenerative illness; I have just aged. And with age have come some limitations. One of them is the inability to negotiate stairs without becoming short of breath and feeling my knees pop with every step.

So, I take the elevator. But as I’m writing this, I’m finding myself asking, so what? What’s the big deal? Why was I embarrassed.? Why is that tiny event still on my mind?

I’m not sure I know the answers, but I do know this: If that’s the worst thing that ever happens to me, I’ll be grateful for the rest of my life that I can get where I need to go by simply stepping on an elevator.

Getting Nowhere Fast

Let me begin with an apology to anyone who reads PRISM and wonders why I have abandoned this little blog. I confess I have been busy with The Writing Life (my other blog) on which I have been writing a book. The writing was supposed to take six months, but being an obsessive soul, I poured it out in about 10 weeks. I’m sure it will take every bit of six months to accomplish the next 15 steps on my list and get it from first draft to published book. Never again will I be cavalier with my students or clients, hinting that they should “just do it.” I am certainly reminded of how difficult the doing of each step turns out to be.

Please forgive me. I am truly sorry for deserting you.

PRISM is supposed to reflect on the many colors of life. I can’t decide what color to assign to my subject—blue, perhaps. It is Monday morning, and instead of feeling terribly refreshed after my restful weekend, I can’t even remember the weekend. It was merely a doubly intense extension of the workweek, leading to another workweek. Suffice to say, I am feeling a bit frazzled around the edges, due to failure to take even a short break. There is something wrong with this picture.

Well (I say, defensively), I have a lot to do. I am SO busy. In fact, I am on overwhelm (my favorite phrase). What am I so busy doing? Well, writing for, talking to, and serving my clients, of course (the technical side of the business).

Assembling my 2009 financial records for my accountant and packing away last year's bills and receipts. Trying to work my way through the stack of papers that demand attention NOW. Paying bills, sending invoices, and all the things the “business manager” (that would be me) has to do.

Working on my marketing plan, newsletter, website, and articles. Creating a new website for the book I am writing. Managing a LinkedIn writers’ group. Trying, not too successfully, to stay current with FaceBook and twitter and other relevant online groups. Responding to e-mail queries from potential clients (wearing my marketing hat).

Did I mention keeping my condo livable and clean, doing laundry, running errands, grocery shopping, trying to squeeze in a social activity or two, and volunteering for my one and only worthy cause (the other side of my life)?

There are two ways to look at this list: (1) it is indeed overwhelming and no one could do it, or (2) it is the standard job description of any one-woman business owner. Other people do it; I know they do. And they even manage to go to a movie or out to dinner once in a while. Obviously, I need some serious time management counseling here. The problem is, I’ve had counseling in the past and seem to have forgotten every thing I ever knew. And (this is embarrassing), I’ve ever co-written (with Rene Richards) a book on the subject called Get Organized.

I think I’ll reread it.

The Principle of Impermanance

I have never been a lover of clichés and expressions, which every writer knows to use sparingly or not at all. Yet, there’s one born every minute (as they say), and I cringe anew every time I hear the newest saying. Don’t sweat the small stuff, and it’s all small stuff was a particularly wordy one from a while back. Then, there are the old, dependables (some of which are passé): Don’t go there … at the end of the day … back in the day … it’s all good … my bad … talk to the hand … and my personal favorite, whatever.

The one I hear most often lately, whenever some nasty event is gong on in my life, is it is what it is. This is meant to convey wisdom, I suppose. It’s a fact. It’s happening. There’s nothing you can do about it. I love the definition I found online in The Urban Dictionary: “This incredibly versatile phrase can be literally translated as "f___ it." Ah, yes.

When I complain or lament about some aspect of my life to someone, and he (it’s usually a he) responds with it is what it is, there is simply no comeback. It’s a showstopper. I can’t argue, no it isn’t! Or it’s not fair. I would sound like a three-year-old.

I’ve given far too much thought to this stupid phrase, which will go its way like all such pieces of pseudo wisdom eventually do. But like so many real clichés, as opposed to stupid expressions, it is what it is actually does mean something: here's this thing that’s happening. It’s a single event in a single moment.

So, what are my options? Well, I can rail and scream about it, I can ignore it, or I can step back and observe it dispassionately. That’s hard to do when I'm in the middle of a mess, but it’s possible with practice. It even has a name: mindfulness.

I’ve probably read a dozen books on mindfulness, but basically it means paying attention, on purpose—not doing anything—just observing. Then, the most amazing thing happens: whatever I am observing changes in some way. It is one thing for a moment; then, it’s something else. If it is what it is means this is what’s happening right now, if I wait a while, something else will be happening. Nothing stays exactly the way for very long. Everything is constantly changing. Wait a minute, and what is will become what was.

When life is a mess, this is a very comforting thought.

The Return of Perspective

Viktor Frankl wrote that problems are like molecules of gas confined in a container. If the container is small, the molecules huddle together; if the container is large, they put enough space between them to fill the whole thing. Frankl said it much more eloquently, of course, but the lesson is clear. Problems, like molecules of gas, expand to fill one’s life, taking up whatever room is available. What’s not so clear, though, is which of those problems deserve attention and which aren’t worth our energy. In other words, of all the annoyances, disappointments, and stressors that assail us each day, which ones really matter?

Sometimes, it’s hard to tell. Everything takes on the same appearance of importance. Someone steals the parking space you were about to pull into; your boss makes a ridiculous request; you lose an account; you misplace your debit card; you feel like you’re coming down with a cold; traffic is at a standstill, and you have an appointment. In all, your molecules are spread out all all over the place, and they are fighting for your attention.

Then, you get a call from the school. Your daughter has fallen off the top of a pyramid at cheerleading practice and broken her arm. The school nurse is taking her to the emergency room.

In the space of a single sentence, you know what matters. It isn’t your stuffy head or lost account or unreasonable boss. It’s your daughter and her broken arm. The other problems shrink in size or simply disappear. You wonder why you let them get to you, as you focus on driving to the emergency room to comfort your daughter and assess the seriousness of her fracture.

We all encounter problems every day, ranging from minor annoyances to major catastrophes. I hear them from friends and strangers. They assail me on the news and the Internet. I obsess over my own. And then something big happens (big being a relative term) that pulls me up short and screams in my ear: Get a grip. The rest of this stuff is nothing more than mere molecules.

And for a while, anyway, my perspective returns.