HAPPINESS & WORK

 From time to time someone will ask me if I am happy.  The easy answer of course is yes. Saying no would require an explanation that no one would be interest in hearing.

When everything is going well in my world, I usually don’t think of myself as “happy”; it is too general a word to convey what is important to me.  In fact no single word or term serves that purpose.  Some that come close are: engagement, purpose, & meaning. And of these, engagement works the best.  However, when things go south, and I am angry, discouraged, or depressed, I readily describe myself as unhappy, rather than “un-engaged”.  Go Figure.

Try to create this image in your mind.  Imagine a sailboat on a very windy day - its sails billowed taunt with wind, and the keel buried deep in the water - as it moves swiftly across the surface, harnessing the forces of nature. All the elements are working, and the boat is engaged in doing what it is meant to do.

This is what I strive for, to be engaged in doing the work I am meant to do, work that gives me a sense of contentment, as well as purpose and meaning.  So isn’t that happiness?  Perhaps, but I avoid that description because engagement doesn’t necessarily mean serenity, joy, and peace of mind.   This work is often accompanied by anxiety, stress, and a roller coaster of emotional states, from elation to despair.

Let me define what I mean by “work”, a word I use frequently to describe, in a broad sense, what we do to give our lives meaning and purpose.  It is work that we feel called to do. It chooses us; we don’t choose it.  This is the work that replenishes the energy it consumes, work that may leave us exhausted, but with a sense of satisfaction and fulfillment.  In my years of medicine, creating art, and writing, I have been engaged in this good work.  In each of these endeavors I have experienced the fullest range of emotions, from extreme despair to joy and satisfaction, and I remain grateful for the experience.

OH SO BUSY

 

To a casual observer I may appear to have an ideal life.  Free of any nine to five commitments I can design my own day, and I have a wonderful studio where I can paint, write, and nap, all at my own pace.  Admittedly it does appear to be somewhat ideal, but appearances can be deceptive, and sadly my life is far from ideal.  In spite of my usual rosy, upbeat outlook on life, I suffer from several quietly debilitating maladies.

Perhaps the worst of them is a severe and unrelenting case of the Protestant Work Ethic, rather ironic given my secular upbringing.  Retirement is impossible when one feels the constant need to be productive, either actively doing or mentally planning something.  Doing neither, which would be a total waste of time, results in anxiety and/or guilt.

Unfortunately I also am afflicted with an equally severe case of “Procrastinationism”.  I am a wizard at creating excuses to avoid doing what I know I must do, and eventually will do.  This directly conflicts with the Protestant Work Ethic, and creates havoc with my state of mind.

 And there is more; at some point in my life I acquired the unavoidable habit of rumination, also referred to as contemplation, musing, and pondering.  I spend endless hours in quiet introspection, reading, journaling, and occasionally thinking about why I’m not doing the work I should be doing.

These three afflictions working against one another make for a very uncomfortable mix.  It is easy for me to imagine all of the work I would like to be doing, but it is not easy doing what I think I want to do. This dilemma is best reflected in a recent studio newsletter of mine.

“You would not believe how busy I am.  I am so busy not doing all the things I have to do that there is no time for me to do them.  There are currently four works in progress, two watercolors and two acrylics, and avoiding them leaves me no time for all the other stuff I think I should be doing instead.  It is not easy juggling this workload, and honestly, I think a lesser man could not do it.

Adding to my difficulties is the writing I’ve been trying to do between the times I am not spending on the paintings.  I am overwhelmed by all that I have not written these past few weeks, and I know that it will all have to be revised once it is written.  But being the tiger that I am, I soldier on, undeterred by all of this.  I could just sit in my room all day and work in my head but that is not who I am.  I insist on going into the studio every day where I have arranged space for me to write, and not do the work there.  The key to productivity is to remain busy and avoid the deadly trap of death by contemplation - over-thinking everything I’m thinking about while I’m thinking about it.

I am what I am, and it’s not always easy.”

Just a Bump on the Road

Actually the bump was in my abdominal wall, and no, it was not a well-developed “abs” muscle (although I can understand why one would think so).  It was a rather mundane, boring umbilical hernia, probably the result of my overly strenuous working out, or less likely from my expanding abdominal girth.  In either case it was a nuisance and not a problem, until it became red, warm, and painful.  Because of my medical background I immediately recognized that this was no ordinary umbilical hernia, and that major surgical intervention was indicated.  Sensing grave danger my tigerness immediately kicked in, and my first instinct was to protect my sweet wife from undue worry about my condition, so I refrained from running to her crying in pain.  Instead I took a wooden spoon from the kitchen and sat quietly with it clamped in my mouth to help manage my reaction to the pain.  Unfortunately she saw me since I was sitting directly across from, and bless her heart she laughed at me, knowing that levity would help.  She is very considerate that way.  And like any good nurse she told the doctor what to do.   And like any good doctor, I listened to the nurse and lay on my back on our bed.  The bed was more convenient than the back yard that she suggested.  The relief was considerable, but I knew it was temporary and definitive measures were needed.  But where - Mayo Clinic, Duke, Vanderbilt?  I was searching the Internet for the leading medical centers in the repair of umbilical hernias when it dawned on me that the best surgeon I knew, Dr. Kevin Stigall was right here in Paducah.

I consulted with the good surgeon, and he explained to me what the surgery would entail. Being insightful and wise he down played the gravity of the situation and said I might be able to go home the same day of the surgery and not have to spend 3 days in the surgical ICU.  But I could see the concern in his eyes.  Clearly this was no ordinary hernia.  He checked his calendar and suggested a date; I’m sure he wanted a time when back up teams of surgeons and cardiologists would be available in case they were needed.  He did not come out and say this directly, but I could sense that was what he was thinking.

Yesterday morning we arrived at the hospital at 6 a.m. to sign in and begin the prep.  I knew I had to be strong for Patience, but I wasn’t sure I could carry it off, especially when I had to take all my cloths off and put on the gown IN FRONT OF HER. Since the top of my head is not very far from my feet the gown reached down to the floor and I looked like Yoda from Star Wars..  I did not cry when the nurse started the IV in my arm, or when Patience had to leave the room.  The nurse said she was giving me something to relax so my sobbing wouldn’t make the surgery more difficult.  The next thing I knew I awoke with this huge bandage on my belly, at least 2, maybe even 2.5 inches wide.  I was breathing fine, and my vital signs were stable; clearly I had dodged a bullet thanks to the skill of the fine Dr. Stigall.  We were back home by 4 p.m. where I would begin the long arduous recovery under my wife’s stern but loving care.  When it comes to healing I’m a tiger, and I expect to return to my usual routine by the end of the year – but it could be sooner, perhaps a week, if Patience has any say in the matter.