You Make the Meaning

What is the purpose of pain? In a very broad, but direct sense, it serves as an opportunity to stop what we’re doing, re-evaluate the situation, and make changes to what or how we’ve been living. The rational mind craves an explanation for the how and the why this is happening. This can be a helpful exercise, as long as we don’t get caught up in identifying who we are with the process of pain or spiral into negative thought cycles about it. 

I was recently stung by a yellow jacket while hiking near the Oregon coast. It did not feel particularly pleasant, but I felt fine and continued my trek back to the car. Over the next two days, what began as some mild redness at my ankle turned into moderate swelling and the cardinal signs of infection started to present and travel up my leg. There is a time and a place to seek medical attention, and this was one of them. Owing to the swelling in my foot and ankle, it became difficult to stand and walk. This presented a major challenge for many reasons, not the least of which being the requirements of my work. I was forced to slow down, and as frustrating as it was to not be able to do, especially at the pace I was operating, it gave me a chance to evaluate how I was doing.

I was going too fast. The ratio of doing to being was heavily skewed. There is a time to push, but there is also a way to push that won’t lead to burnout. I can’t say whether there was a cosmic conspiracy that organized to have that one wasp sting me where it did, when it did. I do believe that the notions of entropy and randomness reflect a limitation in the perspective of the observer. The patterns of life are always weaving. Depending on the scope and scale of what you’re trying to look at, it will appear infinitely complex - but that doesn’t mean it’s chaotic. This could lead to an epistemological regress - ultimate uncertainty about what can be known. From a practical point of view, what I believe is that we have the ability to ascribe the myth and the meaning to the experiences we have. I am choosing to see the wasp as a reminder to be mindful, to move and think at a natural pace, and to trust and continue to be in awe of the brilliant intelligence of the human body’s ability to heal. 
 

Portland: Year One

One year ago I left my home, my family, my friends, and my job. I went West with little more than some books, some camping equipment, and the prospect of opportunity.

 I arrived in Portland in time to enjoy the second half of summer, a beautiful autumn, and a terrible winter. The first six months were challenging. I had moved to a place where I did not know anyone and couldn’t depend on the traditional networks of family, school, or work. Adding to the strain, the expectations and the reality of the job position that encouraged me to move never quite matched up.

 By the end of 2016, I knew a choice needed to be made. I could abandon the safety net and assume the risk I had always been reluctant to take, or I could concede defeat and return to the sandy beaches and the pine barrens of the Jersey shore. I stayed for two reasons.

 The first was a growing sense that the main thing preventing me from doing what I knew was necessary was Fear. As McCoy might say, I’m a doctor, not a businessman! I had up until this point worked under the umbrella of other people. I was beginning to not only understand, but to know, that the practice and the experience I wanted to offer was not something I could obtain from someone else. It was something I had to create.   

 The second reason I stayed was the same reason I was drawn to Portland. In early 2015, I was in Denver, CO. I had been revisiting a question I had asked myself since I was 14 years old: “where do I want to be?” I had grown to hate that question. The answer was never apparent and although I have been fortunate to explore some good places, at no point had I ever felt I was where I was supposed to be. While in Colorado I was turned on to the idea and the practice of asking better questions - better as in questions with more energy, more complexity, and more depth. “Where do I want to be?” is inherently a simple, selfish, vague, and rather uninteresting question. Why should I expect a profound answer? As I was watching the sunset over the Rockies, I revised my question:

 “Where am I called to  facilitate the advancement of the human condition in myself and others?”

 I had a dream that night in which I saw a tall, white, angled peak rising from a sea of green trees. I had a suspicion it was Mt. Hood, but wasn’t sure. The next day I began planning a trip to visit the Pacific Northwest.

 Mt. Hood has been and continues to serve as my anchor. There is a groundedness and a certainty that this place, at least for now, is where I am called to be.

 It has been five months since I cast aside the safety net, opened my own practice, and started to create the opportunity to do the work I am meant to do. Stay tuned.