Journal Bits – March 5

Occasionally I'll share unedited recent bits from my daily journal. These make nice fillers on days I'm not ready to post something I'm working on. Hope you enjoy and get some inspiration, value, or perhaps a chuckle from them.

Good talk this morning about writer’s block [w.b.]. My takeaway was that my denial this affliction does not exist for me, based on my definition of it not knowing what to write or can’t produce words on the page, had a hidden loophole I wasn’t seeing. I have [or have had, not lately!] the w.b. form of unable to just start writing. This is, in essence, a habit issue as it is a “how much do you want this?” issue. In the past I’ve waited on the right structure, a good time to do it, the right organization of the writing area, etc., as my procrastinative muse. Is that the truth of this? Are these valid reasons or is something going on hidden in my subconscious? I’m past the “can I be published” and “I should have more work to my name by now” regrets, but there may be more darkness to this lurking somewhere.

Embracing an attitude of common sense plus wait and see seems to be the program these days for most of my body’s aches, pains, and weirdness. Some issues react faster than others to this “get out of the way” approach, but all tend to improve or least lessen with this approach.

Looks like travel this year is camping, and based on heavy TV population these days, likely not going to state parks or formal campgrounds. Would like to find a cabin to rent, maybe even update NY and invite boys up for the weekend. Sticking closer to home this year until vaccinated and others state behaving sanely makes sense.

Glimmers of how I yearn for days to be consistent in lighting up corners of my thinking and awareness. Fore-front is the realization that only my lack of a habitual effort to daily take up pen, pencil, or keyboard block the path ahead. It isn’t organization, or waiting until task a, b, or c is complete: it’s me stopping and writing, regardless of peripheral or collateral distractions, influences, or demands. As I’ve often heard inside my head, “If it’s important to you to write, you’ll make it your top priority.” Humbleness is finally understanding that the what (sit down & write) tops the how (nice studio, chair, desk, etc., etc.). While all this seems d’oh obvious, apparently it’s eluded my importance radar for a long time. Perhaps no longer.

Mornings

Drove the housemate to the airport at 3:00 a.m. Tuesday, grateful it was less than 30 minutes away, unlike the 90-minute one-way airport runs from where I lived in Ohio. Up this early often jumpstarts a productive day, unless the inevitable napisodes later on interrupt the flow.

Driving back home in the pitch-black darkness, on a mostly deserted Interstate highway, I was thinking how much I love early, pre-dawn mornings: the quiet, the solitude, the chance to be alone with thoughts, and the comforting sense in these hours before daybreak that this new day brings possibilities and fresh starts.

Certainly this bizarre behavior and infatuation with rising so early, some might think, is merely an artifact of getting older. My younger self remembers witnessing very few sunrises, unless I’d already been up all night (ahem… college days, people, college days).

During my 2019 solo RV travels, making coffee and fixing breakfast early as the dawn broke, was close to a religious experience for me. Such starts felt like homage to the universe for allowing me to travel and roam. In the mountains, by a beach, or in a flat, viewless forested campground, many of my days back then began with this ritual. I’d usually follow with some morning pages journaling, then take a brief, brisk walk as nature’s light slowly revealed the world from the confusion of darkness into sunshine and clarity.

Now such moments consist of coffee and thoughts, sunrises slowly illuminating the world I contemplate outside my breakfast room, while wondering what this fresh day will bring.


Subscribers and Supporters greatly help my commitment to full-time writing. They never miss a new post or newsletter since they receive fresh emails when published. These encouraging souls remind me there are readers out there I’m writing for, and that awareness helps me create new content every day.

For those who can help a bit more, the cost of a cup of coffee each month covers becoming a Supporter. This helps defray my site’s cost while further supporting my indie writing and publishing efforts. Supporters receive extra benefits, including exclusive chapters from my two upcoming books plus the final, completed PDF versions. They also can access a growing set of journey portfolios: stunning photos of places I’ve traveled (e.g., Hawaii, Ireland, etc.). I’ll be adding more Supporter benefits in the months ahead.

A Message to WordPress Followers

There are a lot of folks who opted to “follow” my site versus subscribing to new post emails. This post update is exclusively for you.

In my redesign/repurposing of the site for the increased content ahead, I’ve made some changes:

  • Switched to a non-Wordpress service for email notifications which enabled the next item.
  • A new, free newsletter launched today that’s only available to subscribers or supporters, and not viewable to you as a follower (unless you’re signed up for one of those groups).
  • There is a newsletter only option here if you’d like to receive that but continue as a WordPress follower.
  • More content coming that won’t be viewable to those who only WordPress follow.

I’m not going to disturb the list of followers, if that’s what works best for you. But wanted to let followers know of the changes, and hope many will consider signing up instead of using the WordPress follow system.

I thank you for your continued support in following my adventures and writings.

If you’re interested, please consider one of the options here instead of the WordPress follow.

T-Minus 1 Minute

Arriving early for my stress test in June 2019, scheduled due to a bad EKG the day before, I sat in the waiting area intent on relaxing. I did some light meditation around acceptance until the tech called me in. Based on the EKG results and various symtoms during the months before, I knew something was amiss with my heart. The tipping point was the easy hike in Hawaii that felt like a 50-lb. monkey was sitting on my chest.

This was not my first rodeo, as they say. With my first stress test 4-5 years before, I knew the drill and how “fun” these could be as they wind up your heart rate while on a treadmill cruelly involving varying speeds and slopes. Back then it felt like the objective was to make me pass out, but in reality only to work my heart rate up to a specific target for a period of time. The theory behind the test is with a dye injected into your veins, then the CAT scan images before/after the stressing, they can see your good (or bad) “pipes.“

Despite wishing I wasn’t there, I was grateful how things had aligned and uncovered the issue through my long-time OD physician during a visit to my former Ohio hometown.

This time the approach was to get this 60-something’s heart rate up around 140 for about a minute. Sounds easy, but since I wasn’t feeling well, I had concerns whether the stress test would uncover the issue or kill me quickly.

Surprisingly, no doubt because I’d been hiking a lot in the preceding six months, I made it to the target point and held for the required time. Despite my legs feeling like rubber, my head light from the exertion, and my lungs working overtime, I finished. One of the two test nurses then helped me onto the gurney bed beside the treadmill. There I’d relax and recover until my blood pressure (BP) returned to pre-test levels. After that, they’d wheel me over to take CAT scan for my “after” glam shots

T-Minus 10 Minutes

The expected BP recovery back to normal after a stress test is about 5-8 minutes. But, after 10 minutes, mine had not dropped: it remained high as when I finished the test. This abnormal reaction caused a third nurse to come in and consult on how best to get my numbers down so the scan could proceed.

I chatted freely with the nurses and felt reasonably okay, but my BP was still stuck like a high-revved engine.

“Let’s give him five more minutes and that should do it,” said the new nurse after checking me out.

T-Minus 5 Minutes

Still no BP change, and now a fourth, and seemingly more experienced nurse, entered the room to join the team.

“Let’s give him some water and have him sit up a bit and see if that helps.”

T-Minus 2 Minutes.

Still. No. Change.

Now the nurses paged a cardiologist to examine me. He arrives quickly, notching up the expertise in the room and making me feel they’re taking good care of me. After a bit, he orders a nitroglycerin tablet and I take it.

T-Minus 1 Minute, 30 seconds

Within a blink of swallowing the pill, a wave of unusual feelings rush through every part of my body as the nitro dilates seemingly every vein in my body. Suddenly, I have blood and oxygen circulating like I was twenty again, and it was marvelous. Nothing hurt and all senses were now on 11. I felt like I could have run a marathon at that point. Apparently, my body was digging this new feeling like it was cocaine (ahem…or so I’ve heard). Pleased with the quick results, the nurses noted my declining BP as it approached pre-test levels.

Right about then, I turned ashen, and began to sweat profusely out of seemingly ever pore in my body. I barely had time to utter “I feel really weird” when it seemed like someone turned out the lights.

T-Minus 1 Minute

Time now seemed sped up.

My BP dropped below normal and kept falling until the monitor ]no longer read it.

I’m unable to respond to the nurses.

I’m unable to move any part of my body.

I can’t open my eyes to see.

But I can breathe. And I can hear everyone in the room.

Now there are two cardiologists and four nurses in the room working feverishly to stop the BP drop. As my breathing begins to slow, I hear the experienced nurse who‘d been trying to find my BP with her learned fingers and ears using the old-school cuff-and-bulb, scream out, “I have BP! 38 over 52.”

I vaguely remember hands quickly fussing with my IV port, later learning they’d injected a drug followed by some solution on full flow.

Finally, my breathing normalized and I slowly become aware of my body and could move my hands a bit. My eyes finally open and see 6 pairs of eyes staring at me intently from serious-looking faces.

Quick Recovery and The Fix

In a matter of minutes I seem back to normal and chatting with the team. After giving me another five minutes to be sure no further crash occurs, they wheel me in for the post-test scan, revealing a serious blockage in my widow-maker artery, leading to a subsequent successful stent insertion.

I was fully awake during the surgeons stent work and found it fascinating and awed by the technology and skill of the procedure. Quite amazing how he managed to thread that tiny metal tube with inflation balloon up through the chaotic venal network to the right spot to inflate the stent and the blockage.

Epilogue

While recovering from the procedure in my overnight room, one of the stress lab nurses stopped by, and we chatted about the event. At this point, I hadn’t had any feedback on what happened, and even while it was happening I was thinking I must have fainted or became too light-headed from the stress test.

She shared how concerned and worried they were when I wasn’t recovering or responding, and when I went into cardiac shock from the too-rapid opening of the veins and subsequent BP plummet, they went into emergency response mode. And while she obviously couldn’t come out and say it, after some clues and query, it seemed they had less than a minute to bring me back before a flatline.

My telling of the event comes from remembrance and this post-procedure conversation with the nurse. Until then, I had no idea it was a rare event. They always tell you before these kinds of things about the small chances of this or that going wrong, but who ever believes it could happen to them?

I pondered on all that had happened while in that hospital room overnight (not a lot else to do but think). I remember being calm during the event, and not panicked thinking “this is it.” I seemed fascinated with observing the experience and listening to the team work. Clearly I was at ease and trusting they would take care of me.

Weeks later I got confirmation from a neurologist friend on how close I was. I shared the events and remarked how odd I thought it was that only my breathing and hearing seemed to define me as I lay there on that gurney. She responded that those are the last two functions we have before we’re gone.

They say that some people know when it’s their time to go before they pass. I guess on that day it wasn’t my time because I didn’t see any bright lights nor that odd dude dressed in black carrying a scythe. I seemed to float through the experience and come out of it and back to the real world.

A Year Living the Pandemic

Today is one year since I first reacted to the oncoming pandemic threat and made necessary lifestyle changes. A year ago, I flew back from the Baltimore Pen Show, somewhat nervous, yet conscious of a risk I might catch COVID-19 (albeit a low one at the time). I also had the odd feeling it would be my last flight, or traveling anywhere, for a while.

I knew when I flew to Baltimore things were getting real on the West Coast, but not yet in Michigan. That changed by the time I flew back. Indications were increasing that Michigan would mandate, if not the whole country, a lockdown.

I’ve always been wary of flying, since airplanes are essentially high-flying germ laboratories. That wariness combined with anxiety over whether anyone on board came from the West Coast, or worse, from the Far East, made for an uneasy flight. During those innocent early days we were not yet savvy on the science of this contagion, so masks on that flight weren’t the fashion statement they are now.

Nobody back then would believe we’d be here a year later knowing the virus rampaged our country killing over 500,000 Americans (20% of worldwide deaths) and infecting over 26 million of us (23% of worldwide cases). And who can estimate the extent of damage economically, socially, or worse, mentally, from the onslaught of COVID-19? We’ve crossed over into new, uncharted territory for certain.

It’ll Be Over Soon

We all likely thought this would be a short-term effort to avoid contagion, and like most flu-like bugs, would soon play out. Still is a matter of time, but the scale shifted from hoping for soon to realizing it’s now an open-ended, who-knows-when window for the foreseeable future. I think many Americans adopted the classic American attitude of NIMBY (not in my backyard) and went on with their merry, socializing lives.

When I got home after Baltimore, my housemate and I altered things to improve our odds of staying healthy and not impacting others. Common-sense steps soon emerged to limit outside trips and exposure to only essentials, mask up when outside, sanitize everything incoming, and of course, begin the pandemic two-step dance we’d all come to love: don’t touch your face, and wash your hands like a surgeon. We used up hand lotion quickly until our hands eventually acclimated to the abuse.

We continued grocery runs and library visits (they would soon shutter), but did more targeting of visits during hours with the fewest shoppers. Alas, my beloved and frequent coffee shop and library hauntings came to an abrupt stop. Another related banning ceased my all-day outings via bus to putz around downtown Ann Arbor. Oh, how I miss those coffee shops and downtown days! I took both for granted and didn’t fully appreciated them as I should have… obvious now in hindsight.

Soon we were in the trenches with the masses trying to find and buy masks, gloves, disinfectant, and toilet paper. Through all of it, we never lost our humor, nor did the Internet, forever a source of laughs and giggles from the deluge of memes around hoarding toilet paper at least. From that first taste of wartime-like rationing, it just got more fun. Months crawled by. We couldn’t name the day but could the date, sort of. And some months seemed to have not 30, but 60 days. Endlessness.

Rear-View Mirror

Looking back over the year, I coped well and progressed in many areas, aided by being a natural introvert. But I am cognizant many, many others suffered and were not in the stable mindset and financial place I was. To them, the pandemic was far beyond inconvenience into the realm of a deadly and life-altering plague. So many have suffered, many more than should have. Poor timing on the virus’ part to show up when our country was enduring the worst leadership in its history combined with a lack of empathy at the helm. Political ego, narcissism, greed, and lies remain high on the list of reasons we’ve suffered the staggering deaths and contagions.

It was also a year I was greatly helped by a kiss of serendipitous timing. At the close of 2019, several key events and decisions would set me up to better survive the year ahead in relative happiness and possibilities:

  • My housemate and I swapped rooms, and I took the larger one which helped me set up a writer’s studio for my expected work ahead. This room proved to be an ideal retreat to spend most of my days. Conducive to reading, studying, and writing, it would provide some solace over my loss of coffee-shop hopping. With most of the room devoted to these activities, lockdown was, and continues to be, bearable.
  • In the fall of 2019, I revived my online stationery shop, thinking it would embrace my stationery passions while providing a consistent, part-time activity offsetting the mental energies needed for writing. An added plus would be the online socializing and community building with like-mind stationery geeks through Notegeist, the shop I launched on January 2, 2020.

The two other planned efforts for 2020 would sadly not happen, namely writing leading to publishing (the shop quickly took all my focus and became full-time), and my beginning a multi-year, major travel effort enabled by stopping my full-time RVing and the selling the van in October 2019.

Forward With Renewed Hope

At the end of 2020 I was ready to shut down the shop and head into 2021, positioned (finally) to write full time. And travel? Still have to wait (maybe in 2022?), but do expect I’ll get some Michigan camping bursts in this coming summer.

Life under a pandemic eventually settled into a different “normal” than we’ve known, once again proving humans can be resilient creatures. While some of us suspected our “normal” would not return soon, few realized how long it may take to even partly reverse pandemic’s undeniable altering of what “normal” could look like.

Unfortunately, pandemic life also revealed shocking responses from too many Americans. From the stark, selfish actions of many who cared zero about others but only raged about their “rights” infringed by masking, to the weirder-still denial from educated (we assume) citizens about science and the virus, believing a “making shit up” President over science and virology experts. Many claimed (and some still do) that it’s a hoax, or a liberal conspiracy to swing the election. If it is a hoax, it’s a damn “good” one since the facts now are it’s killed more Americans than died during BOTH World Wars I and II. That’s one clever hoax! America is closing in on passing the totals for ALL wars except the Civil War (620,000 then). Let’s hope we don’t eventually eclipse that one too before this is over.

As a practicing Stoic, perhaps the credit for mentally surviving my first pandemic year should go to my learned resolve to focus on and react only to those things I can control. For those I do not, I remain aware but not react or freak out (mostly). That steering of my ship through troubled waters has been key to my keeping it together and healthy.

The reality of now is to stay healthy, avoid infection, and avoid affecting others if it happens. These should be everyone’s goal in the weeks, months, and yes, years ahead. There will still be deniers, and a growing concern that after vaccination many will unwisely toss their masks and distancing protocols thinking they’re immune now (and as has been shown, ignoring the risk to others around them).

I’m in the vaccination queue here now, waiting for the “lottery” to draw my name. The shots will not radically change my behavior until vaccinating the herd majority happens and data rapidly declines. Even then, I’ll continue wearing a mask when out and distancing from others. But it will certainly make me feel my risk factor dropped considerably. For the future me, inside dining is off the list indefinitely, as is being in large groups.

Experts now say we may be at the beginning of a continuous wave of similar, deadly viruses. Our annual Fall flu shot will likely now have an annual companion: a coronavirus booster or new annual unknown vaccine, ever morphing to handle the latest onslaught.

Despite the grim year, there is hope we’ll come out of this to be smarter and more caring about others than we have been. I’m betting we’ll continue to find ways to prosper, be happy, and enjoy life. It seems the final pandemic casualty is our labeling everyday life as “normal.” Our future reality may become one of ever-shifting “normal” du jours.

A Journey of Now

Time flies, as the saying goes. I can’t believe it’s almost March 2021 At a time in life when I want to slow time, getting past the pandemic can’t happen too soon. If you asked me what was the one, single big thing the mentality of retirement changes, I’d tell you it’s how different I feel, sense, and enjoy time than before.

My awareness of what I do and how I spend time is helping to open up thoughts for deeper reflection and to finding new paths of opportunity. While I have much to do and write about in my days ahead, I’ve learned not to think of life as what we do to get somewhere, but a slower absorption and savor of the moments as they happen.

In my youth, I thought, as many of my peers did, the wisdom of “it’s not about the destination but all about the journey” was, well, lame. In those days focusing on the goal, the target, the outcome seemed singularly important, and you did what you did to achieve it.

When you’re young and energetic—unlike the older “car” our lives eventually become, the one that still runs, is fairly dependable, looks decent, but requires frequent maintenance—, the “car” of our youth seemed to never need repairs, always looked great, ran fast, and the chicks loved it when you put the top down and the wind danced through their hair.

Still, I’m happy where I am now and in a better place than in my youth. As I take each step on this path of now, I notice how the ground beneath my feet connects to the Earth in my purposeful walk upon it. How much more I notice of the forest surrounding me and the natural delights from her, ones continuing to amaze and delight from slowing down and taking time to notice.

Life is good, and soaking up each moment is the only way to travel this journey of now.