Just a Fond Memory

It is evening.  This afternoon I finished my classes at one of my client companies, ending my normal nine to 10 hours of classes and traveling.  I was tired and, as it has been every day, my back and hip were hurting.

With my stupid, embarrassing cane in my right hand and my overloaded backpack over my left shoulder, I hobbled like a penguin for 10 minutes to the bus stop and waited for my usual marshrutka.  It arrived but was so full that people were practically busting out the doors.  There was no chance to get on that one, so I had to stand and wait.  After a few minutes, another bus came by, and it was almost as full as the first one.  This one did not stop as close to my home as the first, but it was better than nothing, so I got on board.

There was no place to sit, even for a guy with a cane.  And I probably would have refused a seat anyway as long as there were women standing, but it was still maddening to see young guys sitting and pretending not to notice anyone else.  It was cramped and hot, and my back hurt trying to keep myself steady throughout the jolting stops and starts of the bus.  After about five minutes I reached my stop and – thankfully – got off the bus.

I walked across a small square dominated by a massive statue of a Soviet soldier from the Great Patriotic War (World War II), then I made my way along the local main street to my home.  Across the street from the statue is a complex of shops and behind that an open market.  It’s a busy place.  

As I walked, I took note of all around me: lots of people going this way and that, noisy buses, car alarms going off at the slightest sound, jerk drivers honking at any other car or pedestrian who dared to make them drive close to the speed limit, someone throwing an empty bottle on the sidewalk, some children screaming, some parents screaming, several plops of dog crap left by irresponsible dog owners, masses of city pigeons (flying rats), and of course, the ever-present chain smokers.

Then another image flashed in my mind.  It was a memory of coming home to my forest house in Bailey, Colorado – a tiny settlement in the foothills southwest of Denver.  On a similar summer day I would escape the hustle and bustle of the city, the heavy traffic and the unruly drivers – not go home to them.  Driving home, I would sit in the comfortable privacy of my truck, enjoying nice music.  

As I got further from the city, the traffic would get better, and the scenery would be as strikingly beautiful as the scenery I now face is strikingly dull.  The last few miles before the turnoff to my county road always made me feel the palpable transition from a guy who works in the city to a simple country boy.  And the five miles of country road, through Deer Creek Valley, were always a special treat.

Then another mile of dirt road and I reached my house, which was at the end of the development, the most private place.  I would pull into my driveway, back my truck down to the house, turn off the engine, open the door and step out into – quiet. 

Peaceful, solemn quiet.  There might be a bit of breeze making the soft, green aspen leaves quiver and offer an enchanting “welcome home” to me.  A few birds might be singing, or off in the distance there could be the “caw” of a raven.  There might even be a few mule deer or elk around the house.  But otherwise, it was just quiet… beautiful, beautiful quiet.

I would open the door to be greeted by a sleepy little black cat, Tia, who was ready to go outside and check her queendom.  After putting my things down, I might grab a bottle of water, or maybe a beer, and join her.  I’d sit on the porch and just look out at the beauty of the trees all around me and listen to the, well… the quiet.  Sometimes Tia would encourage me to go for a walk with her into the woods.

It was always so peaceful to come home to that place.  It was my escape from the rest of the world, my way of restoring sanity.  It was the most wonderful place I have ever lived, and I often think of it when the stress of my life in this foreign city gets to be a little too much.

And as I remembered how much I loved coming home to my mountain paradise, I asked myself why I gave it up to come and live in Kharkov.  Why on Earth did I throw that away?  Why did I sacrifice that, as well as a pretty good job, good health benefits (which I could certainly use now), and everything else to live this existence that I have here. 

They say that everything in your life is the result of the choices you make.  And I believe this is true.  This is why I often look back and question decisions like leaving my home in Bailey.  What could have possessed me to make such a choice?

And honestly, I don’t have an answer.  It seems like madness.  Sometimes I think I must be paying some kind of monstrous karmic debt.

In the past two months, I have suffered a deep emotional disappointment, had almost all my savings and my sense of security stolen from me, and seen my ability to walk normally and without pain spirited away yet again.  I am deeply discouraged and sad, and more and more I find myself thinking back to my mountain home and wondering why I ever left it.

If I am, in fact, paying a karmic debt, I wonder what I did that was so bad that I should have to pay such a heavy penalty for such a long time.  I have not been perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but have my sins been so deep as to deserve this?

There are lots of other nice, positive sayings that I am quite good at telling others when they are down.  “Everything happens for a reason.”  “There are no mistakes.”  “It is darkest before the dawn.”  But at times like this, when I try to tell them to myself or when I hear them from others, they just sound like empty platitudes.  I can’t take them in and make them work for me. 

In a few hours, I’ll go to bed.  I’ll put in my earplugs, turn on a fan to create a few hours of white noise, and then I will sleep.  And in my dreams, I’ll look forward to returning to a place where I have peaceful solitude, where the beauty of nature is everywhere… a place I never should have left. 

It seems like this is all I have left.

Blissfully Ignorant?

"Is a man better off not knowing that his wife or girlfriend is seeing another man behind his back?  If the government is doing something to us secretly, like placing some sterilization agent in our drinking water, aren't we better off not knowing about it and just blissfully going about our daily business?"

There is a famous saying that ignorance is bliss – if you are not aware of something bad, it can’t make you unhappy.  I guess this is basically true, unless you are the sort to obsess about the negative possibilities in the absence of evidence to the positive contrary.

But still, most of us find it more comfortable to not think about possible bad outcomes and prefer to either hear good news or nothing at all.

I got to thinking about this as I have been contemplating the MRI scan I have scheduled for this morning.  I am going to get a complete and detailed scan of my spine and hip joints.  It is long overdue, and I really do need to know what is wrong so that I can get the proper treatment. 

But I am worried.  What if the news is bad?

I’ve had occasional pain in my lower back for about 15 years, and it has gotten worse in the last three years or so.  But the pain in my hips has been happening since last October and became almost crippling on the left side back in January.  A general consultation with a chiropractor in Colorado, along with my own research, suggested that it was sciatica: a pinching or inflammation of the sciatic nerve.  Even after a chiropractor here in Kharkiv got the pain mostly under control, the underlying discomfort continued – on both sides.  I have not been really pain-free for close to a year.

Recently, the right hip decided to flare up.  It’s not been as painful as the January surprise that ruined my trip to the USSA, but it’s bad enough and my walking mechanics are messed up.  This has been the motivation to get the MRI.  Absent good imagery, it has not been possible to know for certain whether the problem is actually in the hip or somewhere in the lower spine.

But while I want to know the underlying problem, I am also afraid to find out.  I have a fear that there might be an untreatable degeneration of bone or other tissue in my hip joints, perhaps related to arthritis or something.  What I want from the MRI is good news, something treatable.  What I don’t want to know is any bad news.  So I have trepidation about the scan.

Similarly, I have been going along for quite a while preferring not to know too many details about what is going on around my heart.  I had a couple of stents inserted back in 2005, and I’ve occasionally worried about more problems cropping up… perhaps even more than just “problems.”

Last week I went in for a cardiac checkup, and I got good reports.  My EKG was perfect, and an ultrasound scan detected nothing to be concerned about.  But I am not fully convinced.  Maybe this is a case of obsessing on the unknown potential negative – something I think I have been doing ever since I got the stents.

It occurred to me that, if the MRI goes well on my back, I might want to go back and get a detailed heart scan.  But, then again, I might become aware of something that would shatter my blissful ignorance.

And, really, I could really use some good, old-fashioned “bliss” these days.

Isn’t it Better to Not Know?

There are so many situations in life in which people are unaware of something bad happening around them, and they go on with their lives unconcerned.  These can be individual, personal things that would wreck the happiness of a particular person if he or she found out, or they can be big secrets that could affect the lives of hundreds, thousands or even millions of people.

Very often we say that we are better off not knowing.  But I’m not sure.

Is a man better off not knowing that his wife or girlfriend is seeing another man behind his back?  If she is slick enough to cheat without getting caught, and he is none the wiser, maybe it’s better for him to not know.  Sure, others might know, and they might laugh at him secretly for his ignorance.  But his “bliss” has not been disturbed. 

The fact is, unfortunately, that very few cheaters are so clever, or their husbands or wives so blind, that they don’t at least get a sense of what is happening eventually.  And the anguish of suspecting is exceeded only by the bitterness of discovering the betrayal.  Bliss gone!

And if the government is doing something to us secretly, like placing some sterilization agent in our drinking water (as a member of the Obamshevik administration famously suggested), are we better off not knowing about it and just blissfully going about our business? 

Wouldn’t we have been happier if we had NOT known that the USSA government was secretly checking our phone records, reading our emails, and checking what Web sites we visited?  Edward Snowden may have felt that we should know about these things, but the guy really messed up a lot of people’s bliss.

So in many ways a good case can be made for just being blissfully unaware of the truth.

Protecting Others

This seems to be especially true when we try to protect those we care about from the emotional impact of knowing the “unhappy truth.”  We often go to great lengths to protect our children from knowing too much about the dark side of life so that they can enjoy the naivete of childhood and just “being kids.”

We know that eventually we have to warn our kids about the dangers that lurk for them in the world, but we try to put it off for as long as we can.  We hope they never have to learn about death, but we know that eventually a grandparent or someone else will pass to the other side, and the subject will have to be broached.  Still, we feel that the longer they can go on just playing happily and not knowing about bad things, the better off they will be.

Similarly, we often try to keep bad news from the adults we love.  A man who is worried about losing his job might try to keep the troubles and his fears to himself and not share them with his wife, less they make her worry too.  He hopes that the problem can be solved without her ever having to know.  These days, a working woman might do the same with her husband.

And so often we try to hide serious illnesses or other problems from those we love because we don’t want their bliss to be diminished through worry about us.  When an aged parent is very ill and a doctor tells us that the end is around the corner, we often try to shield the parent from that knowledge, encourage him or her to hold on and get better, and believe that he or she will close out life a little happier if there is still some hope.

Not for Me

With the exception of trying to preserve the aura of a beautiful world for our youngest children, I don’t believe that ignorance is bliss.  I certainly prefer to know the truth, even if it is an unhappy truth.  And I am especially sensitive to finding out after the fact that I have been lied to – even if the other person thought it was for my benefit.

It is better, in my opinion, to know as much as possible, even if it is not pleasant.  Certainly, I want to be happy, even “blissful.”  But I don’t want that at the expense of being uninformed or, even worse, ignorant.  Ultimately, my happiness is my own choice, and I prefer to make informed choices.

So, in a few hours I will be off to my MRI session.  It’s time to become informed.

Writer's Shock... er, I mean Block

Back in December, I wrote a post called “Odds and Ends.”  Basically, it was a collection of a few short pieces that had no relation to each other.  There wasn’t much sense in the post, and I did it only because I could not come up with anything good or insightful to write.  The “Odds and Ends” piece was an attempt to get something out – anything – and break my stagnation, my writer’s block.

And here I am again with the same malady: writer’s block – except that this time if feels more like a shock than a block.  I just can’t seem to get myself going, to get the wheels greased, to get the juices flowing, to… well, you get the idea.  I have been creatively stifled since early June.  It’s like I’ve been in a kind of deep shock.  Sure, I wrote a piece about the heart attacks of Andrew Breitbart and James Gandolfini, as well as a rambling piece of garbage about denying reality.  But they were, in my opinion, substandard – just an attempt to get something into the blog, even if it wasn’t what I really wanted to say.

But that's the problem; since at least early June, I haven't known what I want to say.  I have at least five or six posts that I started and have not been able to finish.  And don't EVEN ask me about my book!  I am not sure why, but it most likely has to do with my mental state for the past six weeks.  It's not been good, and it's hard to be at your creative best when your mind seems to be in survival mode.

Almost two weeks ago, I suffered the ignominy of a burglary in my apartment.  A few days later, I tried to write about it, to get my emotions into words.  But I couldn’t finish it.  And I’ve had a few other things that I’ve started since early June, but either I haven’t been able to finish them, or I’ve looked at what I wrote and recoiled with disgust I had written.  There is often value in writing what you feel, in order to purge your emotions, but just as often the result is not for sharing and perhaps better suited for burning.

The past six weeks have been one of the worst periods, personally, in memory.  The burglary, and the fallout from it, has been the most obvious “bad event,” but not the worst.  The hardest thing about the burglary, after the initial shock, has been the process of analyzing who could have been responsible, considering the logical suspicions of the police against my own emotional resistance to believing it, trying to find the right course to get the necessary information to either validate the police notion or support my own belief, and trying to find clues that reinforce the scenario I DO believe is true.  In some of this I have failed, miserably, but in the latter I think there is hope.

And on top of it all, the sciatic nerve problem has returned.  This just hasn’t been my summer, it seems.

I find myself alternating between self-pity and being on the verge of just throwing in the towel on the one hand, and seeing this as a test of will and a challenge to keep myself positive and moving forward in the face of calamity on the other.  Often I really ask myself why I am here in Ukraine and what I am doing with my life – always with no good answer.  But then I recover from that morass and see it all as a situation I must have created in order to grow and realize something important about myself and about life – perhaps something to be shared… when I figure it out.

Recently, I wrote the following short piece on VKontakte:

Life is not always "peachy." Bad things sometimes happen to good people. We don't always get what we want, we have disappointments, we get hurt. But life goes on, and you have a choice whether to go on with it, or let yourself wallow in misery and die slowly inside.

No matter how deep the hurt or disappointment, you HAVE to put it aside, regain your positive attitude, and move on to bigger and better things. Some time later, when we look back at the time of that particular bad thing, we often find that something better came of it - there was a GOOD REASON why that disappointment had to happen - but we can only realize this if we orient our thinking this way!

As Clint Eastwood said in his movie, "The Outlaw Josey Wales," "Dying is no way to make a living." Whatever the bad thing is, it's better to put it aside, find your smile, and get on with the business of living!

So, it’s a conscious effort to get on with the business of living.  I find myself being more careful about my self-talk.  That is a big deal.  And I am finally taking some steps to spend less time sitting at the computer, endlessly digesting news from the Internet.  That is also a big deal.  My bike is cleaned up and ready to be ridden – as soon as I get the hip fixed – and I have taken the first positive steps to start lifting again, slowly.

Recently I FINALLY started doing morning pages as suggested in Julia Cameron’s book, The Artist’s Way.  As I expected, getting started is terrible, but I think it’s an important thing for me to do if I ever want to realize my potential as a writer in the short time I have left.  So I am forcing myself to do it.

These are some good beginnings, but only time will tell if I am able to keep momentum and turn them into changed behaviors that stick.  And only time will tell if I can add some of the other changes I need to make.  But I choose to believe that I can and I will. 

Still, however, I am creatively and emotionally blocked right now.  I can see it and I can feel it.  I have become colder than I have ever been.  It seems necessary for now, and to be honest, I think this change is serving me well.  I just hope I don’t become too accustomed to it, because I don’t think it’s for the best in the long term.  But as with other things, I guess time will tell.

So... this is, really, another crap post.  When you are creatively blocked, I guess you write stuff like this.  It’s all that can squeeze past the stone that is wedged into the creativity conduit.  But maybe it’s enough to start the process of breaking the stone and washing away the pieces… in time.

A Final Thought

I mean, seriously… how in the world is Eric Holder still the Attorney General of the USSA?  Oh, yeah… it’s the USSA.

Developing a Tolerance to Reality

It’s an axiom of the human condition: the more you do or experience something, the more you become used to it.  We speak of being able to tolerate things better, even become resistant to them, as they become more and more a regular part of our lives.

Medical science has taught us that our bodies become tolerant to various germs and bugs after they’ve made us sick.  Often, once we’ve had a particular malady, we become fully resistant to it for the rest of our lives.  We may breath in or ingest the pathogen, but our bodies just sort of say, “Oh, you again?  You can’t hurt me anymore.  Go infect someone else.”  And the bug just slinks harmlessly away. 

Similarly, we speak of how people who drink a lot develops a high tolerance to alcohol.  At first, one beer or a little wine will give them a good buzz, and it doesn’t take much to get them wasted.  But over time, they have to drink more and more just to get the desired effect.  The same is true with most illegal drugs.

And tolerance to physical pain is legendary in history.  Many warrior cultures put their recruits through hellish ordeals in order to develop their tolerance to pain.  At first, they probably cry like babies, but the more pain they are forced to endure, the more resistant they become to its debilitating effects. 

In time, they become perfect warriors who can carry the fight despite broken bones, serious wounds or even the loss of a limb.  Their pain is still there – they’ve just become so used to it that they don’t react to it anymore.  These are the scariest – and the most effective – fighting machines.

We can still see this today in the “play with pain” cultures of many of our sports, like hockey and football.  Guys who sit out with anything less than a broken leg or gaping holes in their chests are derided as wusses.

But it’s not just physical pain that we can learn to tolerate.  We can become increasingly resistant to the effects of emotional pain as well.  When we experience heartache early in life, it feels like the whole world is coming to an end.  But it doesn’t end.  And we begin to realize this. 

As the years go by and we accumulate a succession of heartaches, we find that they affect us less and less until, finally, we hardly flinch.  We expect it, we’re ready for it, and after a brief bout of disappointment, we get over it and move on.

I can’t say that this is a good thing, really.  I mean, the fact that we can take heartache so much more easily just means that we lose our ability to really invest ourselves deeply in our relationships.  I guess it’s just the price we pay to have that kind of emotional self-protection, to grow that thick skin of pain resistance.

It occurred to me recently that perhaps we can also develop a tolerance for, or resistance to, reality.  That is, the more we look at a reality we don’t really like, the more we begin to ignore it in favor or an idea that is more pleasing.  Eventually, the “real” reality has less and less effect on us as our “preferred” reality takes center stage.  We can dispatch that unwanted reality with any of a hundred arrows from our quiver of rationalizations.

Perhaps this is the basis of self-deception.  When reality is unpleasant enough, or even hurts enough, we build up a callous to it.  Or, like the antibodies our systems produce to fight off viruses and other pathogens, our minds develop something like “antirealities” to protect us from the ravages of those attacking realities.

Our “antirealities” are the ideas and beliefs our minds create to give us a nicer alternative to what we don’t like.  In time, we buy in to the nicer alternatives and become almost fully resistant to those nasty reality bugs.  We feel safe and secure in the protection of our pleasant mental alternatives – our “antirealities.”

Maybe this is all the garbage of a rambling mind.  Or maybe there is something to it.

Breitbart and Gandolfini... and Me

Sometimes things that happen to other people can have a big effect on you.  These are things that make you look at yourself and realize that it could have been you – and still could be.  There have been two such events in the past year or so that have given me reason to pause and look at myself differently.

The first was the death of Andrew Breitbart in March of last year.  Breitbart was a sharp, determined and fearless conservative activist who went after liberal hypocrites and liars like few others.  He became a master of the “new media” that the political left had been using so well, and he taught a new wave of young conservatives to do the same. 

He was loved by those on the right and feared or hated by most on the left. He was merciless in his attacks on liberalism, but he almost always did it with a sense of humor and without getting personal about it.  In fact, a number of those on the opposite side – at the time of his death – said that they actually liked him as a person, even if they despised him politically.

I admired Andrew Breitbart, but what really got to me was the fact that he died of a massive heart attack at the young age of 43.  He had gone out for an evening walk, and when he got home, he collapsed and died. 

Breitbart was overweight, and prior to his death he had a history of high blood pressure and cardiovascular problems.

The second event was the death, last week, of the actor James Gandolfini.  Just in case you are one of the 15 people on the planet who do not know, Gandolfini rose to fame playing the character of Mafia boss Tony Soprano on the American television series, “The Sopranos.” 

I admired Gandolfini as an actor (and I rarely have much good to say about actors).  And from what I have read, he was a good man who was the polar opposite of his Mafia character.  But what got to me about Gandolfini last week was the fact that he died of a massive heart attack… at the young age of 51.

Gandolfini was overweight, and prior to his death he had a history of high blood pressure and cardiovascular problems.

We tend to think of heart attacks as happening mainly to old guys who have been letting themselves go for almost all their lives.  But these were NOT old men.  They were still young and active, and they should have had a few more decades ahead of them.  

These were two good men who still had a lot to offer to the world.  But their deaths prove that sudden heart attacks can happen to anyone, anytime, if they don’t take proper care of themselves.

Both of these events have affected me because I am overweight and have a history of high blood pressure and cardiovascular problems. 

I am definitely at risk.  For too many years I have just tried to ignore it, pretend it is not real, that it won’t “get” me.  But the rising tide of little chest pains, the reduced energy level and the recent slowness in my step tell me otherwise.

So, what do I do about it?  And perhaps even more to the point, what can I do about it in a country with substandard medical care?  More than anything, I need to change.  I have been thinking a lot lately about change, but this has taken my thinking in a new direction, perhaps given it some increased urgency.

But change is hard.  Only time will tell if I can really change enough to make a difference.  And I worry that perhaps I have already waited too long and done too much damage to rectify the problem.  But I have to try.

I am not ready to follow Breitbart and Gandolfini.

Just a Dream

“Paul.. Paul… wake up!”

I felt a hard pushing on my right shoulder and lurched my head up, my eyes suddenly wide open and searching for some sense of what was happening. 

“Wha… what?  What’s wrong?”

“You were shouting in your sleep,” she said.  Then her voice calmed as if to help ease whatever pain I was experiencing.  “I think you were having a nightmare.  Are you okay?”

“Yeah… yeah, I think so,” I said, still trying to get my bearings and understand not only what had happened, but where and even who I was.  “Oh, yeah… I guess I was dreaming.  Wow!  It seemed real.”

“What were you dreaming about,” she asked me with her usual motherly concern.  “You seemed agitated, and you were saying some words that I couldn't understand.”

“Really?  Well, let me think a minute.  Oh, it was weird.  I dreamed that I was living in another country… like maybe Russia or something.”

“Russia?”

“Yeah.  No, wait… no, it was Ukraine.  Yeah, that was it… Ukraine. Most of the people spoke Russian but didn't like Russians.  I had left my company a long time ago and gone there.  And I had lived there for a long time, like five years or seven or something like that.”

She looked at me with a puzzled expression.  “You left the company?  That's hard to believe.  But why Ukraine?”

“I don’t know why it was Ukraine,” I responded.  “I was just there, and I was an English teacher, I think.”

“Well, I guess that makes sense,” she said.  “You’re a good writer, and we first met in a class you were teaching, remember?”  And she smiled.

“Of course.  How could I forget that?”  And I smiled back.  “But this dream was SO real.  It’s like a whole big piece of my life went by in the space of a dream.  I was there, I had experiences, I had problems, I had ups and downs, there were people in my life, and they seemed real.”

“Do you remember their names?”

“No.  Not now.  But they seemed so real.  I had some very close friends, a lot of acquaintances, and so many students.”

Her expression changed a bit and her face took on a more serious look.  “I see.  And were any of these ‘friends’ women?”  The tone of her voice was laced with mock coldness.

“Actually, most of them were women,” I answered with a chuckle.  “In that way, it was pretty nice.”  Then I covered up as she pretended to punch me, only to land a playful blow on my shoulder.

“Oh, my poor Paul, whisked a way in his dream to a land of beautiful women.  How hard that must have been for you,” she said with her usual benign brand of sarcasm.  “And was there anyone special in your dream?  A replacement for me?”

“Come on,” I entreated, “no one could replace you.”  I winked at her and added, “but if you must know… yes, there was someone special.  But…”

“But, what?"

“Well, it seems that it was someone I couldn't be with.  It was like I had fallen in love, but I couldn't get as close as I wanted.  I don’t remember exactly why it was like that, but I do remember that I felt frustrated, and empty.  I lived alone the whole time, and it was very empty.  I lived in a city, and it was busy and noisy.  I had people all around me, I had all these friends.  But I remember that I felt really alone.”

"And did I exist in this dreamworld?"  She seemed rather serious now.

"No... I don't think you did," I answered.  "Or, who knows?  Maybe you were the one I couldn't be with.  I don't know.  I just know that it hurt to not be able to be close to that person."

She fixed her eyes on me silently for a moment, lowered her gaze, then peered up at me with that soft, knowing look that I had long come to know, appreciate and even need from her.  “Why do you think you dreamed about being alone, about feeling empty?  Do you feel that way in real life, in our life?”

“No, no… not at all,” I insisted.  “I don’t know why I had that feeling.  Maybe it was a reminder of how I felt before I met you.  Or maybe it was a fear of losing you.  Honestly, I just don’t know.  But that wasn't the worst of it.”

“Really?”  Her expression grew curious.  “What could have been worse than that?”

“Well, the worst thing was that in my dream, I was old and terribly out of shape,” I said.  “I mean, I was way overweight.  Really fat.  I must have had ten inches more around my waist than I do now.  I looked terrible, and I felt even worse.”

“You've GOT to be kidding,” she said with a laugh.  “You?  Mr. 10-mile hike and then let’s go dancing?  Mr. count every calorie?  I can’t believe you would dream about being fat.”

I sighed.  “Yeah, it was horrible.  And I had all these pains in my back and hips and knees.  At the end, I could hardly walk, and when I did, I was really slow. No energy.  I think I had other physical problems too.  My cardiovascular system was shot.  I ate the worst kinds of crap, and I couldn't seem to stop myself.”

“You told me you went through a time kind of like that before we met,” she said.  “Do you remember?”

“Yeah,” I answered, raising my eyebrows and shaking my head.  “But that was short and nothing compared to how I was in my dream.  And in my dream, I was getting old.  Sort of like my father, but with a bunch more weight.  Really… it was awful.”

She jumped up, shook her shoulder-length dark brown hair and smiled.  “Well, it was just a dream, and you should forget about it.  It’s Saturday morning, it’s a beautiful day, and you are in luck: I feel like making blueberry pancakes.  I’ll make you some coffee first.  Why don’t you get up and sit out on the deck for a bit while I make breakfast?  You’ll feel better.”

“You’re too good to me,” I answered with a smile.  “But you've got a deal.  And later, let’s take a walk up into the hills and see if we can spot some elk.”

“I’d rather take our bikes out on the trail,” she shot back.  “And yes, I AM too good to you.”

I smiled.  “Bikes – you got it!”

And with that, she turned and glided lightly out of the bedroom.  I watched her admiringly as she walked away, not only for her lithe, beautiful body, but for the special heart that resided there.  What a lucky guy I am, I thought.  

The sun was already easing the night's chill as I sat on the deck and looked out at the pine forest that surrounded our house.  I sat so that the sun's rays could warm my bare legs and arms, then tilted the table umbrella just enough to keep the direct rays out of my eyes.  It was nice to feel the contrast of the warm rays against the still-cool air.  

I held my coffee cup just below my nose and let the earthy aroma flow into my nose.  Then, one sense satisfied, I took my first sip and savored the delicious flavor, punctuated with Irish cream, on my tongue.  As the warm liquid made its way down, I thought of how grand a simple morning like this could be and how I wished every moment of life could be like this.

And all around me were reminders of what a miracle life is.  Humming birds buzzed around the deck, taking advantage of the feeders we always kept stocked for them.  I loved the sound of their humming wings first thing in the morning.  And it always fascinated me to watch them maneuver around the feeders, effortlessly hovering and jetting from left to right, up and down, and then speeding off.

In the nearest trees, a few other birds sang their morning serenades, sometimes solo and sometimes in “conversations” with each other.  And the mountain breeze wafted gently across the pine needles and aspen leaves to create that ever so soft whooshing sound that added an extra aura of magic to our home.  

A squirrel scrambled up the side of the tree where I kept the bird feeder hanging from a branch.  As usual, it was trying to figure out a way to safely steal seed from the feeder.  But also as usual, I had the feeder hung just out of its reach.  Still, it was fun to watch the squirrel try.

I heard the sound of light footsteps from the right and saw some mule deer walking up toward the house.  There were five of them.  I recognized three of them as regulars to our place, especially one doe with her fawn.  I sometimes put corn out for them, and they seemed to feel safe around our place.

Yes… this was paradise.  I could not imagine how a person could be happier living anywhere else.  I was a very fortunate person to live in a place like this. 

But even more, I thought about how lucky I was to have her sharing this place with me.  I remembered how much she had brought into my life and how happy it made me to give her what I could.  She was happy here with me, and I with her.  And isn't that what life is all about?

I looked back from the forest and fixed my gaze on the window into the kitchen.  She was at the sink and looked back at me.  She smiled and sent me one of her patented air kisses.  I returned her smile then turned my eyes back to the forest and took a sip of my coffee.  It was perfect.

Then a strange feeling came over me.  The trees started to blur a bit before my eyes.  An odd thought came to me: what if THIS was the dream?

And then the scene began to fade. All the beauty I had been enjoying turned slowly to formless, graying shapes, becoming darker and darker. The fresh mountain air I had happily filled my lungs with had changed to something stale and almost sickening. I was gasping. My back began to ache, and I found it almost impossible to move. Finally, the darkness consumed me completely.

And from that blackness, I heard my own voice trying in vain to shout. 

"Make it stop!"

... in Russian.

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Deforestation - Kharkov Style

I love trees.  I love their agelessness, the energy they emanate, and the calm they provide when you are in their midst.  Trees are majestic.  Trees give us shade.  Trees give us oxygen.  In short, trees are pretty cool.

When I decided to rent my current apartment back in May of 2009, one of the key attractions of the building was that it was surrounded by trees.  The main street, and especially the area around my building, had an abundance of trees.  It was like a park.  It was a stark contrast to the almost treeless area around my old apartment, which fronted to a busy, noisy and dirty main street.

But my new place had nice, big, mature trees with broad, leafy limbs that reached out and formed a beautiful canopy.  They provided shade and kept the area cooler in the hot summer sun.  I could always be sure that my apartment would not suffer being overheated by the direct rays of the sun. 

Having so many trees around made me feel less like I was living in a big city.  From the street, it was almost impossible to actually see my building.  It reminded me – if only a bit – of my forest home in the Colorado mountains.  Of course the types of trees were different, and there were a lot more people and cars around (and no bears), but I did say that the resemblance was “only a bit.”

So I was shocked a couple of years ago when some men appeared outside my building to cut down some trees along our street.  Some residents complained, and the incident received some news coverage.  But the cutting was not stopped.  Last year, some more trees were cut down and hauled away. 

Recently, more trees were cut near my building, and when I returned home yesterday, I found that still more had been removed.  This is very sad and disappointing.  The charm of this place is being lost as these trees come down.  I am afraid that once the remaining trees fully unfold their leafy greenery, it just won’t be the same as it was.

But the big questions that remain are “who” and “why.”  Just who are these people that are taking the trees?  Are they from the city or regional government?  I don’t think so.  Are they just tree “poachers” who are cutting trees around the city to sell the wood?  Possibly.  I really don’t know the answer to this question, and no one I have asked seems to know either.

And why are these trees being cut?  The trees make the street more beautiful, and in this city, we need what few areas of natural beauty we can find.  The trees appear healthy, and I haven’t seen any signs of interference with power lines or other aerial utilities.  So, again, I wonder if they are being harvested to put money in someone’s pockets.  In this country, it would seem likely.

When the first trees came down a few years ago, someone said that they were “illegal” tree cutters.  But probably they were at least semi-legal, meaning they might have been doing something that was not actually legal, but they were paying a bribe to the authorities to let them do it.

As a foreign expatriate, I am in no position to do anything about this, of course.  I can only watch as the parklike environment I have enjoyed is removed piece by piece.  I hope there is a limit to their destruction and that the trees closest to the building will not be lost.

Perhaps this is another sign for me to consider in the future.

Losing Our Humanity

I am becoming more and more convinced that technology is sucking the humanity out of us. Specifically, I've been thinking about how communication technology is causing us to communicate less and less in real, human ways, as we opt for cold, technological communication methods that fit our increasingly short attention spans and the overload of information that we face.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I am not a technological isolationist advocating that  we stomp on our smart phones and tablets, and run off to live free of technology in some remote mountain valley, although that doesn't sound half bad. And the irony does not escape me that I am writing this on a computer and will post it on a blog on the Internet where it will be read by many people on their smart phones and tablets.

Probably I should be writing it on lambskin parchment with a quill pen. But then, no one would ever read it. Besides, I might spill the ink and make a really yucky mess on my carpet. So please excuse my seeming hypocrisy here and humor me a bit.

Today’s communication technology IS a wonderful thing. The ability to communicate instantly with someone in almost any part of the world is fantastic. I’m sure my parents would have loved to have had the Internet and smart-phone technology when I was a young lad away from home for the first time, serving in the navy thousands of miles away on a remote little island called Guam.

I, however, am glad that they were not able to know too much about what I was doing over there. There are some things a mother should never know about what her son is up to (and in my case there were a LOT of things).

And VoIP communication technology like Skype and Vonage make it possible for me to keep in touch with my daughters, who live in different countries, as well as with friends back in the USSA. When you have such a physical distance, this ability to actually talk to someone lessens the effect of that distance and helps maintain the relationship.  It's a good, and human, thing.

But like most wonderful things, our advanced communication technology has its dark side. The technology, especially our handheld devices, is addictive, and too many of us spend too much time with our fascinating toys to the exclusion of too much of real life. In this addiction, we fail to see how our face-to-face, human communications suffer. And many of us become alarmingly rude in our personal and public interactions, and either don’t realize it or just don’t care. Like all addictions, we live in denial of the fact that we just can’t put the damn things down. And also like all addictions, it starts to rob us of our humanity.

I got to thinking about this recently after a strange incident last week. After a long time of waiting for an appropriate opportunity, I had a chance to talk with a woman who I like and have wanted to get together with to talk and catch up, perhaps over dinner or something. We hadn't done that since before New Year. But when I asked when she might have time to get together, she suggested chatting on Skype. 

Skype?

I was a bit stunned by that. I mean, there we were, standing face-to-face, and she suggested communicating online! I had intentionally avoided using an electronic medium to initiate anything, because I still believe that between two people there is no substitute for real, personal communication that employs nothing more than mouths and ears.

Either it was a techno-age brush-off (which is certainly possible), or she is too wrapped up in virtual communication for my taste. Either way, it was disappointing.

Where is the humanity?

Another incident that points out how self-centered and rude people can be with their personal electronic devices happened about two weeks ago. I went to a concert by a fantastic pianist, Keiko Matsui. People were asked to turn off their mobile phones, which I had done before the announcement. But most people just turned their ringers to mute, and an amazing number of them continued to use these devices during the concert.

There was a constant distraction of bright little screens in front of me during the show as people were sending and receiving SMS messages, surfing the Internet, and otherwise playing with their precious little toys.  And a couple of times, I heard ringers going off on phones that hadn't even been switched to mute. It was an unwelcome and, in my view, rude lack of respect for the performer and for those who were there to enjoy the performance. 

And, really, it doesn't even make sense. Why would anyone pay good money for a fine musical performance and then waste that money by paying more attention to their mobile phones? Musical concerts, theatrical performances and the like should be respites from all the busy stuff that intrudes into our lives.  We should be able to relax, let the music carry us away, and not think about the rest of the world for a couple of hours.

To be constantly fixed to a mobile device during such a performance is something I just can’t understand. And to distract others and lessen their enjoyment of the performance is something I can’t easily tolerate.

Where is the humanity?

But, we see this kind of addictive rudeness all the time. The problem of overly loud phone talkers in public has been going on for so long that complaining about it has become passé… and fruitless.  We all complain about the ignorant lout who has to raise his speaking level a few hundred decibels on the bus or in a restaurant, or the mindless bimbo who apparently thinks that everyone in the café should hear about her private affairs. But we don’t seem to have the same level of concern when we are the ones doing it.  Where is the humanity?

Also passé these days is the argument against using mobile phones while driving. Sure, many jurisdictions have enacted laws against it, but these are only softly enforced, if at all. The worst are the people who send SMS messages while driving. I cringe when I get in a taxi here and see the driver trying to send an SMS while navigating the crazy Kharkiv traffic.

I saw a news report recently where they asked adults in New York if they text while driving, and an unsettling number of them said that they did. “It just takes me a moment,” one woman said. “I figure that when I stop at a red light, I have time to tap out a message,” said a man, “but sometimes I have to start moving before I can finish it.”  Morons all – lacking basic humanity.

It seems cliché, but it’s really true that you can see people meet in cafes and such to “get together,” and while they’re there, they spend more of their time on their tablets or phones than actually talking with each other. Probably they are texting each other from across the table. Hey, it beats actually talking.

And how many dates have gone sour because one – or both – of the people spent too much time with his or her mobile device.  Why would you want to stare at a stupid little screen when you could be getting lost in someone’s beautiful eyes?

I've noticed too that young guys on local buses and metro trains use their devices as a way to avoid eye contact with people to whom they should offer their seats, like old people or women with children. They sit transfixed on whatever stupid video game has their fancy or pounding out SMS messages, while ignoring everyone else around them.

Where is the humanity in any of this?

Isaac Asimov once said, “The saddest aspect of life right now is that science gathers knowledge faster than society gathers wisdom.”  As a corollary, one might say that the saddest aspect of life now is that our communication technology has advanced faster than our ability to use it wisely. Through our lack of wisdom, we seem to be allowing this technology to break down, rather than enhance, our socialization.

Humans are supposed to be social creatures. But real socializing is a personal thing. It includes hearing the unfiltered sound of another voice, the look in another’s eyes, the subtle signals of body language, the touch of a hand or of lips, or even the light smell of a nice fragrance.

Technology seems to be changing us in ways that are not really social. Why do so many of us today seem to prefer the cold text or lame “emoticons” of Skype or a text message?  Why do we use technology to avoid interacting with others in real ways?

Where is the humanity in that?

Ten Tips for Being Happy

For a number of years, I have had a conversation theme in my English classes about “Anxiety and Depression.”  It discusses some unhappy situations, but it ends with these 10 tips on how to be happy.  I thought it would be good to take it out of the conversation theme sheet and make it available to everyone.  Of course, there are lots of other “tips” for being happy, but these 10 are pretty good.

The basic premise is that most people are unhappy because they choose to be.  All they have to do is change their minds and learn some new habits, and their lives will change forever. 

Do you agree?  How many of these “10 Habits of Happy People” are part of your regular routine?

1.        Act happy – even if you don’t feel it.  Smiling, even during problems, can work wonders.  A smiling face will get more smiles from others, which in turn can help brighten your mood.  It doesn't mean to go around with a fake, plastic smile all the time, but learn to keep a genuine smile, even in the face of adversity.

2.        Enjoy the moment.  Happiness is not produced by great things happening but by recognizing all the little positive things that happen every day.  Too many people ignore the small good things that happen each day because they are too busy waiting for some big thing that will make them happy: a party on the weekend, a future vacation, a new car, etc.  But what about something as simple as waking up to sunshine, or being lucky enough to get a seat on the bus?  Don’t take these “minor” things for granted.

3.        Get a pet.  Stroking a cat or patting a dog has therapeutic, calming effects on a person.  A pet’s unconditional love can make a world of difference in your own spirit.  This really is one of the best.  We can get a little frustrated or angry at our pets sometimes, but they always come back to us for love.

4.        Take control of your time.  Happy people feel in control of their lives.  Set realistic goals for each day, and then be disciplined about how you allocate your time.  Some of us are terrible at time management, but the fact is that when you manage your time well and don’t procrastinate, you really do feel better.

5.        Get regular exercise.  When you exercise, your body produces chemicals that help to defeat depression and keep you feeling happier.  Exercise is fantastic!  Take it from someone who knows both sides.  It doesn't have to be super-strenuous either.  A good walk, a light bike ride, or even dancing can make you feel great.

6.        Get enough rest.  We all need quiet time for ourselves, and we all need sleep.  Make time to recharge your batteries so that you don’t feel exhausted so often.  Don’t sit at your desk glued to the Internet until 2 a.m., then get up at 7 and wonder why you don’t feel rested.  Get into a good sleep routine, and if you need a little nap on the weekend, go for it!

7.        Sing.  People who sing are happier.  The people who have to listen to them may not be so happy, but it’s your own happiness you are concerned with… so be a singer.  This really works!  It’s about the real changes in mood that sound vibrations can make.

8.        Feed your soul.  Studies have shown that religious or spiritual people are happier.  They cope better with crises and usually have a supportive, accepting community around them.  I basically concur with this, although I do think that one can fine a supportive community in other spheres as well.  But communing with your God – however you define it – is important.

9.        Make your close relationships a top priority.  Spending time in open communication with loved ones – or even just very close friends – can stop the feeling of isolation and loneliness.  This may also explain why happily married people live longer than single people.  We are meant to have close, regenerative relationships with other people.  It can be very difficult to keep the destructive winds of depression at bay when you are alone.

10.   Get away!  Spend time in nature, away from the rush and noise of the city or town.  Spend at least a few hours a week in the countryside, in a forest, or by the sea.  To me, there is no better place than a forest (especially a Colorado mountain forest) to give you a sense of peace and to buoy you with positive energy.