THE NAVIGATOR from TRANSITIONS

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From TRANSITIONS, a compilation of notes and poems from my journal documenting the stormy journey from medicine to art.
 

Without our hearts to guide us, we lose our way

On paths so dimly lit

Our heart

Will see where our eyes cannot see

Will hear what our ears cannot hear

Will know what our mind cannot know

It is the link to our soul

The navigator of life’s journey

1980

PATRIOTISM

The dictionary defines patriotism as “love for or devotion to one’s country”.  In America we have endless opportunities to express our patriotism in national and local commemorations, as well as privately, in manners of our own choosing.  The pride and love we feel for our country comes from a deeply seated emotional bonding that develops unconsciously over our lifetime.  Who has not experienced goose bumps when hearing the National Anthem, or God Bless America?  How often have we shed tears at the site of flag draped caskets carrying fallen soldiers back home to heartbroken loved ones? These deeply rooted emotional bonds provide the energy that fuels our celebratory parades, fire works, and music, and helps us create  red, white, and blue landscapes on our streets and homes.  And they do much more; they drive young men and women into military service, willing to make the ultimate sacrifice when the country they love is threatened.  Patriotism’s power is immense, and can find expression in many ways.

Although they may overlap, expressing our patriotism and acting on it are two different things.  There are some simple expressions that require little effort: bumper stickers and decals that claim support for our troops, similar signage on buildings and windows, and American flags on our homes or in our yards.  Then there are acts of patriotism that require much more of us.  Although service in the military or other national service programs are not available to all of us, others are. Participating in civic affairs and making an effort to become an informed voter are acts of patriotism. 

There is some flag waving that I consider adolescent.  The adolescent patriot bears the signs that read – My country, love it or leave it, and My country, right or wrong, or, This is America, speak English.  He or she adamantly believes in the concept of American Exceptionalism, and demeans anyone who speaks critically of our country.   He will not abide anyone who “disrespects” the American flag, and bristles at the notion of having to apologize for any of America’s actions or policies.  As sincere and heartfelt as these beliefs are, they do a disservice to America.

In contrast, there are the mature patriots, who recognize their responsibility as citizens to address America’s shortcomings as well as her greatness.  They understand that before a problem can be corrected it must first be acknowledged. They work quietly, without a great deal of fanfare, and are not interested in drawing attention to themselves. Recognizing that America is part of a global community and that our country is not perfect, and not “the best” in everything, the mature patriot is willing to admit, and apologize for America’s errors.  

Our pride in all that is great about America is not diminished by a willingness to face her flaws and her mistakes.  Our quest for greatness can begin with the humble acknowledgement that as members of a global community we share equally in God’s grace.  To be exceptional in this community, we must act exceptionally, and we cannot do this if we remain blinded to our shortcomings. 

GARLIC, ANCHOVIES, ANXIETY, AND ART

I love garlic – or more accurately – I love cooking with garlic.  I don’t like eating it by itself, raw, or cooked.  In fact I distinctly dislike it.  But when it is added to other ingredients it enhances the flavor and adds a unique and delightful touch to the dish.  When used properly garlic makes everything better than it is; it can make a cook look good.  The same applies to anchovies.  The small fillets packed in oil have a pungent odor and a taste that must be “acquired”, something I have yet to fully accomplish.  But like garlic, when used in measured amounts with other ingredients they add another dimension to the flavor without imposing their own.  Three or four finely chopped fillets added early in the process of making tomato sauce for “Sunday pasta” enriches the sauce without revealing their presence.

Anxiety (and worry) is a lot like garlic and anchovies.  Its value depends on the circumstances and the amount.  Anxiety over something we have no control is wasted energy.  When it is excessive it can be debilitating, rendering us helpless and unable to function.  And yet there are times when we cannot help crying over the spilled milk.  Anxiety can be forceful and overwhelming when it is unchecked.  So much so that it is listed in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders.

Anxiety disorders are the most common mental illness in the U.S., affecting almost 20% of adults, according to leading specialists in anxiety treatment. (http://www.webmd.com/anxiety-panic/guide/anxiety-panic-guide-overview-facts)  But in small doses, anxiety can behave like garlic and anchovies, and become a useful and helpful tool.

I’m sure I’m not the only artist to hear the comment, “how relaxing it must be to paint”.  When asked about this I am quick to point out that painting is definitely not a relaxing exercise for me. In fact it is usually very stressful, especially as the painting progresses and I invest more and more of myself in the work. I have a tendency – okay, it is more of an unbreakable habit than a tendency – to put off the more difficult parts of the painting for as long as possible.  And when I am forced to confront them, I can count on the accompaniment of palpable anxiety.  I have learned that this is not only inevitable, but a welcomed part of the creative process. My best work is always accomplished under the duress of varying degrees of anxiety. Its presence tells me that I am moving forward into unfamiliar places where real creative growth is possible.

This is the positive side of anxiety.  When we are faced with a need to act, a task at hand, or a decision to be made, it can be helpful rather than incapacitating.  It sharpens our minds and increases our awareness of all of options and their potential hazards.  It helps us determine whether we should be cautious or aggressive.  The right amount of anxiety may urge us to go ahead and push at those boundaries, or it may cause us to pause, and discover previously unknown obstacles lying in wait for us.  In its own way, anxiety makes us a little bit wiser. It does not promise success, but encourages the effort. It has taught me to appreciate the difference between stress and distress.  In measured and controllable amounts, anxiety is my friend.  There is little question in my mind that my creative efforts need anxiety as much as my cooking needs garlic and an occasional anchovy.

NOW - A journey in words

Today’s post is taken from my book, TRANSITIONS, a compilation of notes and poems from my journal documenting the stormy journey from medicine to art.

INTRODUCTION

Words are the tools we use to give form and substance to our lives.  They help us understand our stories by allowing us to confront, question, and ponder.  With words we can invite others into our world.

Sometimes the words are given to us, erupting from our subconscious un-announced, as precious gifts from the soul.  Other times we must do the work, struggling to find the words we need.  The words in this book are a mixture of both; many were “given to me”, while others required work.

As I am writing this introduction it occurs to me that perhaps even those words we must work for, are, in the end, also gifts.

NOW

I have been standing – waiting – waiting

Waiting to move closer to the edge

Slowly – imperceptibly – moving toward the brink

Slowly – imperceptibly – removing myself from those around me

The path wanders, my journey falters, appearing to cease

But always – always moving closer to the edge

Where I must step up to the brink and declare my faith

And the willingness to stand alone – and face the darkness

1/19/78

BOSTON

1976   I was 37 years old as the country celebrated its Bicentennial anniversary. Amy was 11 years old, Beth 7, and Sara 5.  My medical practice of 5 years, once a source of unbridled pleasure and satisfaction, was beginning to lose its luster, and my emotional, and spiritual wellbeing was gradually declining.  Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, I did not know this was the beginning of a journey that would take me to places I never could have imagined.

I was attending an Oncology review course at the Massachusetts General Hospital in Boston.  Greeting me at the conference hall for the 9 a.m. session was an all too familiar scene: a spacious hall with rows of tables facing a lectern located in front of a large screen, and smaller tables along the sides of the hall with coffee, tea, and water.  Each registrant was given a syllabus with a daily schedule of lectures and an outline of each presentation, along with a pad of paper and one or more very sharp pencils.  The lights were dimmed, the first slide projected on the screen, and the speaker began to read directly from the slide, the same material – word for word - that was in the syllabus.  It took less than 10 minutes for the sleep inducing boredom to set in. I knew from previous Continuing Education courses my fate was sealed for the next 3 days.  Or was it? This was the last place on earth I wanted to be on that day, and after 30 excruciating minutes I got up and walked out, never looked back, and did not return for the remainder of the 3-day course.

I walked back to the hotel to get my canvas shoulder bag with my faithful Parker 45 fountain pen and sketchbooks, and set out to explore the city.  And explore it is exactly what I did, walking through every section and neighborhood of Boston over the next 3 days.  On the third day, I took the train across the Charles River and wandered about Cambridge and the Harvard campus.  I loved every minute of each day, quite remarkable for someone who was not fond of sight seeing, and dining alone.  It was more than just the visual delights of Boston’s urban landscape that captivated me; I was experiencing an incredible sense of being centered within myself.  Everything was as it should be in my small world.  I was doing what I was meant to do. 

Those three days in Boston 36 years ago were to mark the beginning of an incredible journey, taking me through the most intense years of my life.  Four years later I would make the decision to leave my practice and pursue a life as an artist.

BLACK OR WHITE V. BLACK & WHITE

It is this, or it’s that.  It is all the time, or it’s never.  It is us, or it’s them. It is good, or it’s bad, big or small, black or white, and it goes on, and on, and on.  I want to scream, “get your heads out of your ass and THINK”.  Everything is not an either/or dilemma.  What is so difficult about accepting the fact that two seemingly contradictory positions can share a truth?  Why do we resist listening to the “opposition”?  Are we so insecure in our own mind that we are afraid we will lose something?  One does not have to be wrong for the other to be right?  This is the stubbornness that keeps us so divided.

I’M SORRY

Why do some people have such a hard time saying, “I’m sorry”?  Last year I wrote a column that, in part, addressed the willingness of America to apologize for any of its misdeeds.  A number of readers took offense that I would suggest that America apologize for anything.  I don’t understand that attitude, and can only speculate on why it exists.  Thinking about it, it has occurred to me that perhaps the fault was mine, and I failed to properly and clearly articulate my position.  So I thought I would give myself a “do over”.

Let’s start by thinking about people, and not countries.  Imagine 2 individuals, good, ordinary people, each having been confronted with the results of an ill-advised decision.  In other words, they screwed up.  One of them stands up and admits his mistake, and takes responsibility for his part in the whatever.  He is contrite, and genuinely sorry, and his apology does nothing to diminish all of the good he has done.  In fact it only adds to his stature.

The other refuses to admit to anything, blames others, offers an array of excuses, and responds by talking about all the good he has done.  He is anything but contrite, and in fact is angry that he is being confronted with this.

Which of these two individuals would you respect, the one who is willing to accept responsibility for his actions, or the one who chooses to dodge and deny.  What does it take to be able to say I’m sorry: a sense of responsibility, a strong sense of self-assurance, integrity, honesty, and a willingness to become a better person? Now let’s replace people with countries, in our case, America.  Does America have what it takes to be willing to acknowledge its misdeeds, or are we insecure and lacking the necessary integrity to accept such responsibility? 

America has no need to apologize for its core values, and it efforts to make this world a better place for everyone.  Offering a heartfelt apology when one is due does not diminish all that is good about our country.  We have no need to be insecure in what we are, and what we strive to be.  We share the imperfections and contradictions that define humanity, and only by facing up to them can we become better than we are.

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