Category Archives: Health

Me wearing a mask.

I wore a mask all day while I worked. Here’s what I learned.

1 Reply

As mask-wearing begins to take center stage around the country, there’s a lot of questions about how masks might affect the wearer as they go about their daily lives.

Is wearing a mask all day safe? Will I get sick from wearing a mask too much? Will it restrict my breathing? Will I learn that I need to eat more Altoids?

There’s nothing wrong with asking these questions. We’re in a new world, and you only learn by asking questions. But I decided to take it a step further by doing a little experimenting.

Now, I’m a healthy individual, and most of my work involves sitting at a desk looking at a glowing rectangle all day. So, I figured I would wear a mask, and see how it affected me. But to make things more quantifiable, I decided to log my oxygen saturation levels of my blood with a pulse oximeter that I purchased in the beginning of May. You can find the exact one I purchased here.

To try and replicate a typical workday, here was my methodology:

  • At 8 a.m., I put my mask on and took a reading
  • Around every 15 minutes, I took another reading
  • I put the results in a Google Sheet, along with any notes about that moment
  • I took the mask off at lunch time
  • I took the mask off at two other times when I gave myself a break
  • Every time I took the mask off, I went outside

A little bit about my mask: It’s a standard cloth mask that can be found for sale almost everywhere by people who can sew better than me. It has elastic loops, and a slot where I can put a filter inside of it. My filter is a blue shop rag from Scott I purchased from Home Depot.

So what did I find about my experiment?

  • I didn’t experience any negative health complications from wearing a mask all day
  • Around noon, the loops around my ears started to get a little uncomfortable
  • On video conferences, people appeared to be able to hear me fine
  • I felt a little silly wearing a mask while on video
  • I didn’t drink enough liquids because taking my mask off would require me to go outside (I really tried to keep this as realistic as possible)
  • I drank 1/2 cup of coffee, which is way lower than usual
  • I was happy to take it off at the end of the day

But what about the data? Tell us about the data!

I put my data in this Google Sheet. Feel free to check it out for yourself. I’m happy to report that my pulse oxidation levels appeared to stay above the norm for the whole day, according to Mayo Clinic. I don’t think I would want to repeat this daily, as that would certainly require a new mask every day, and it isn’t the most pleasant experience to work with a mask on.

However, it is doable — at least for me — and it certainly beats shutting down a business.

TLDR; I wore a mask all day and didn’t experience anything negative, aside from not getting nearly enough coffee.

Negative value

Leave a reply

You got to know when to hold ’em,
Know when to fold ’em,
Know when to walk away,
And know when to run.

— Kenny Rogers, The Gambler

Recently my financial advisor called me and let me know about how my investments were doing.

A few of them aren’t doing well at all. In fact, they’re losing money regularly. There’s no sign that they’re going to get better anytime soon, and I was asked, “Would you like to keep holding onto them, or do you want to invest in something with a better return on your money?”

Man, that’s a tough call. I mean, I’ve poured a lot of money into all my investments, even those that are losing money. I don’t want to face the reality that I may have picked a few bad apples, but I’ve put so much into them. Should I go ahead and keep them, or take a chance on something that could produce a better return?

OK, I have to admit something: that story didn’t happen.

But I have been thinking a lot about negative value lately. However, I haven’t been thinking about it with money, but rather with regard to people.

If someone actually had come to me and said, “This thing you’re investing money in, it’s losing value all the time” then I’d have to consider what my next course of action would be. The way I see it, I would really only have two options:

  1. Stay the course. It’s possible that the investment will make an about face, and the returns will start moving in the right direction. All I need to do it wait it out. After all, you might have heard the phrase “Past performance is no guarantee of future results,” and just because something is in the toilet today doesn’t mean that it won’t rebound in the future. Apple was on the verge of bankruptcy in 1997 before Microsoft stepped in with a last-minute investment that saved the company. Today Apple is one of the most valuable companies in the world.
  2. Know when to fold ’em. Kenny Rogers said it best. You have to know when it’s time to throw in the towel and move on. Sometimes, you get to the point that you realize you’re not going to get your investment back. It’s gone, and the longer you hold onto it, the longer you push off admitting that you invested in a stinker, and there’s no coming back. This is also called the sunk-cost fallacy, and honestly, it’s a hard pill to swallow sometimes. But sometimes you realize that past performance is no guarantee of future results, and there’s no guarantee that you’re ever going to get your investment back.

But again, I’m not really talking about money here. I’m talking about people.

Sometimes, you invest so much in a relationship with someone, it’s hard to admit that you’re not going to get out of it what you put in. This is difficult, and painful. How can you just walk away after all the time and effort you put into someone?

I’ve seen this play out with people I care about, and I always give the same advice: ditch the people that drain you, and find others to invest in instead. There are people who add tremendous value to our lives, and those people are worth holding onto. But when it comes to people with negative value, people who that add no benefit and are actually costing you in energy, stress, worry, and depression, you need to think about how long you’re willing to hold on.

Is it time to cut your losses on a chance for better return on investments elsewhere?

Image of a deck with light snowfall.

Brave

Leave a reply

Today we had our first snowfall of the fall.

It’s a little early for snow, but it’s not like I had any control over it. The day was a bit gray, the skies were overcast, and it was raining as I drove home from work. After dinner, the snow began to come down.

It wasn’t a whole lot. It was but a dusting. But the color of the day and the snow that came after got me to thinking about how I’ve felt this year in this time since mom died.

If you’ve read anything I’ve written this year, or know me in real life, you would know that I’ve taken the death of my mother very hard. She was loved, and was loving, and her death has left a hole in those that knew her. I was dreading the the one-year anniversary of her passing. I wasn’t sure how I would feel, or if I would be stable.

The year has been difficult, no doubt.

But oddly enough, the anniversary was just what I needed. In some very odd way, it brought a small bit of closure. At least, as much as there can be in these types of situations. This is how things are now. Things have changed. This is the new normal, and I have accepted it.

Since then, I’ve felt at peace. I really can’t explain it, and don’t really think I can analyze it. It just is, and I’m content with that for now.

I was talking with my wife this weekend about some things that transpired in the last year, and there are things I simply don’t remember. I think my depression was so bad, that I ended up blocking certain things from my memory. It’s so easy to look back now and see how broken I was. However, in the middle of my pain, I couldn’t see it. It took a few months before I realized, “Hey, if you don’t get a handle on this, everything is going to crumble down.”

So, I did.

If you’re going through hell, keep going. — Attributed to Winston Churchill (Although no one is certain if Churchill actually said that.)

So today, I was looking out our big windows at work, and looking at those gray skies. I was reminded of how bad last winter was. I remember how numb I felt.

This might sound silly, but today I felt … brave. I see life differently than I ever have before. I’ve known a few people that have died in the last three years or so, and it’s given me a chance to reflect on a lot of things within my own life.

I now feel like I’m standing in the doorway of a new chapter in my life. I’ve turned the handle, and have just started to crack open the door. I can see the light peering in from the other side. I don’t know what is there, but I’m eager to find out.

I’m feeling brave.

Grave of Linda Gruber.

A year of firsts

2 Replies

One year ago today my mother died.

When I wrote about Linda Gruber in the post For my mother, I had no idea how impactful this event would be on my life. In the months that followed in 2018 and into early 2019, I experienced confusion, depression, and darkness. Looking back, I’m not quite sure how I held it all together. I am thankful to friends, family, co-workers, and anyone else who were helpful during that period.

Navigating a Year of Firsts

The winter was more difficult than usual, and the lows that came caught me by surprise. Grief is a powerful entanglement, and when you’re caught in it, it can be difficult to see the way out. I suppose the reason why my grief was so overwhelming was because of one incredible thing: I loved my mother very much, and I know she loved me, my wife, and my children, very much as well.

By the time spring rolled around, I was taking steps to get better. I went to counseling, started exercising and eating less junk, and started to feel a lot better. It seemed like I had turned a corner. But by the beginning of May, things started to reverse. I wasn’t as much of an emotional wreck, but other healthy aspects that I had been pursuing began to slide.

In June, I decided to stop counseling. I think therapy has great benefits, and I liked a lot of what my counselor had provided me up to that point. But there were things that I didn’t find helpful. The counselor received text messages during our sessions, and I found that off-putting. But mostly, I got to a point where I felt I wanted to try something on my own. Summer is my favorite season, and I figured that a little bit of sun and some outdoor activity would be good medication.

I was right about the sun, but the activities were elusive. Mostly, I spent my time working. In addition, we decided it was time to start looking for a house to buy. We were out of space at our rental, and frankly, mom’s death made me realize I wanted to get moving toward some of my goals sooner rather than later. Most of our summer was spent looking at houses, going to open houses, and trying to find the right fit.

By the end of August, we had purchased a house. In September, I and my family went to Disney World, which was largely in part thanks to a gift — a final gift, in fact — that my mom and dad helped us with. Mom had told dad that she wanted us to be able to go to Disney World, which was something I had talked about while she was alive. So, thanks mom and dad, we had a lot of fun.

Today marks the end of “a year of firsts”, which is something everyone who experiences loss has to deal with. It’s a year when that person isn’t around to share in the things you normally experienced with them before. Birthdays, holidays, get togethers and regular everyday memories that can’t be shared with a loved one all get lumped in a year of firsts.

It made for a difficult year, and now we know what the future holds.

A pivotal moment

There are moments in each of our lives that we can point to as a pivotal moment, one which the before and after are clearly divided by one moment in time. That’s not to say that every pivotal moment has a good outcome. History is filled with plenty of examples where a person became changed in an instant, but not for the better.

This certainly could have been my outcome. I was not in a good place at the beginning of the year. There were plenty of days that I didn’t want to do anything. I didn’t feel anything, and I certainly didn’t have any passion for life. I felt very empty.

Depression is a wild beast.

My friend, Brandon, who lost his mother a few years ago, suggested that I do something to break my cycle. So, I decided on something pretty small by helping out with my son’s karate classes. Every week his karate class is happy to have parent helpers, and each time I take him I can make a choice: Do I sit on my phone and wait for him to be done, or do I volunteer to help a class full of newbies learn martial arts?

I decided to help, and it’s been a good decision. Last Monday I was at his class and was helping out, and I found myself … smiling. I was having fun with these little learners, and it all happened by accident.

I still have my rough moments. It sounds so tempting to just give up and let things fall to the wayside. But I’m not going to do that. My family depends on me and wants me to be healthy so we can make our own memories; so we can live our own life.

Mom would have wanted that. She was a wonderful woman, who loved this life and would have wanted her family to experience life in its fullness just as she did. So, I will press on. I’ll keep at it. One day I know the sting will be less than it is today, just as today it is less painful than it was one year ago today.

I miss my mother. I love her greatly. I will honor her memory by persisting, and doing what I knew she would want me to do: pick up the pieces and keep moving forward.

During the last year, I made a couple of playlists: one for when I was really down, and another for when I started to get better. Their meanings may be elusive, but they really were helpful for me, in ways you can never imagine.

But the song that really gets to me even still, I leave here: “Please Tell My Brother,” by Golden Smog.

“I feel your love and I feel your ghost/Listen dear mother I miss you the most.”

Picture of wooded landscape, trees without leaves, and a sunny but cloudy blue sky.

The hope of spring

Leave a reply

Today is the first day of spring.

Personally, my favorite season is summer, but I have an appreciation for spring. With it comes hints of sunshine and heat, alongside occasional reminders of the winter you’re trying to leave behind.

It seems almost poetic to me that the trajectory of grief following the death of my mother has followed the changing of seasons. They appear so closely related that I can’t tell which is more true: has my grief mirrored the changing of the seasons, or has the harshness of this year’s winter made my grief that much more severe?

It’s impossible for me to discern that right now. But in case there is someone out there going through something similar and happens to stumble upon my writing, I hope my transparency can help shed some light on what is to come.

I’ve never dealt with depression before, but after the start of the new year I figured out that things were not good. Sadness is normal and expected after the death of someone close, but this was a powerful force that I hadn’t experienced before. In an earlier post, I wrote:

The worst was around the three-month mark. January 12 was a very low day for me. It was emotionally debilitating, and when it hit me it really came out of nowhere. There was a point that day when I took a shower and laid down in the tub. I didn’t have the energy to stand. I felt so broken. I cried so much. And the strangest thing is I can’t fully explain why. I suppose that was simply the day my mind chose to grieve, and my body was forced to submit.

Shortly after that, I start seeing a counselor. When I called to set up the appointment, the counselor asked me why I felt like I needed help. I explained that my mother had died, and that had reached a point where I simply did not care about anything. However, I had done some research online and I didn’t think I had enough of the symptoms of having depression.

At my first appointment, I answered some questions. The counselor said without hesitation, “You’re depressed. We have a lot of work to do.”

I have been working on me, and I have some good help. My wife, Amy, has been fantastic. There have been many times in the past few months where she’s said to me, “How can I support you?” This has been an immense help. If you’re going through anything like this, find some support and let others help you. I’m not real good at asking for help when I need it, but I’m learning.

This experience has really highlighted to me the state of mental health in the United States. Of course, the counselor I picked doesn’t take insurance, so I’m paying for all of this out of pocket. That’s fine, because I get along well with the counselor I chose, and the whole experience has set me on a better path. But really, what year is this? It should be easier and more affordable to get help with mental health issues than it is.

It’s also shown me that those closest to you — friends, co-workers, people who rely on you for stability — might not fully understand how to interact with you during a time of grieving. I’ll probably write more on this in the future as a guidebook of sorts of how to help someone who has been burdened by the pain of loss. I will say that death in the modern age is a strange thing. Social media can be haunting, and the digital artifacts of someone you’ve lost can be especially triggering. These are tricky waters to navigate. (More details about my story: naturoids.health)

Lately, I’ve been thinking about how many people who have been a part of my life in some way who have died, many within recent memory. In the last year I can think of a girl I grew up with in my hometown, the dad of my childhood friend, the guy that owned the hardware store back home, the woman I worked with when I worked at Toys R Us in my college days, a mentor, and of course, mom.

Sometimes it feels like death is all around me. I suppose it is for all of us, but now I’m more susceptible to its presence.

That’s not to say I’m in despair. In fact, I have hope, and it’s nice to have it back.

This is a fairly recent change. It took about four-and-a-half months before things started to turn better, around the beginning of March. I wasn’t as sad anymore. There has been a level of acceptance that has come over me about mom’s death that has enabled a bit of peace that’s been missing since October. I started noticing it when I had some really good laughs at work. My co-worker made me laugh to the point where I was in tears, and then things started moving up from there.

That’s not to say that I’m all sunshine and roses. In the last few weeks I had a couple of really strong moments where I really wanted to talk to mom. One night, I sat at the dinner table and the tears just started coming. I don’t know what triggered it; the tears just came out. I had my moment, it passed, and then I got back to eating my food.

And that’s how all this has worked to this point.

I am so heartbroken now when I hear about someone who is experiencing loss. A friend of mine posted about the unexpected death of his young friend, and my heart sank. A co-worker was telling me about the death of his beloved dog, and I instantly felt so much compassion for him. Another co-worker also lost her mom unexpectedly; my empathy for her runs deep.

I miss my mom.

And yet, there are new lessons being learned here which I admit, I wouldn’t have learned otherwise. The food that I enjoy tastes better than it did before. The sun on my face feels even more spectacular than it did before October. The laughter and silliness of my children are a greater blessing than I have experienced to date.

Here is the lesson I’m starting to absorb: death can be a powerful teacher, if you allow it. I’m so glad that spring is here. The earth is muddy, the rains are cool, and the winds are ever shifting. I am eager to see what grows from this season I am in.

A pile of dirty snow and sand.

Throes of winter

1 Reply

The midwest winter this year has been very harsh.

We don’t normally have sub-zero temperatures, but a week ago we were hit with the polar vortex and made staying inside a necessity for safety. Being forced inside for any length of time is enough to drive one crazy, especially for how things have been around the corners of my mind lately.

I hate winter. I truly, deeply, hate it. The bitter cold wind, the dirty grime of the salt-covered roads, the gray sky; everything with this season reminds me of death.

Because of this, I find it fitting to have a season like this as I go through a season like this. It’s been 16 weeks since mom died, and there have been a few very rough spots.

The worst was around the three-month mark. January 12 was a very low day for me. It was emotionally debilitating, and when it hit me it really came out of nowhere. There was a point that day when I took a shower and laid down in the tub. I didn’t have the energy to stand. I felt so broken. I cried so much. And the strangest thing is I can’t fully explain why. I suppose that was simply the day my mind chose to grieve, and my body was forced to submit.

I wonder how I have looked to people around me. I’m sure in my day-to-day life I’ve looked like I was “doing fine.” I was not.

I decided to get some help. On the recommendation of a friend, I sought out a counselor. I’ve had a few sessions in the last month now, and I think it’s helping. Ironically, we don’t talk much about mom’s death. Instead, we’re talking through other things that have been on my mind for awhile now. It’s been good. I’m going to keep going for awhile and see what happens.

It seems that this event — death,  grieving, the whole process — has cracked something open, and now I’m dealing with some personal things that I’ve not fully processed before.

But this is not a bad thing.

I have started working out again. I’m not going full bore, but I am committed to getting some exercise at least three times a week. I have found that exercise makes me feel good. Since feeling good has been in short supply lately, it’s high on the list of Very Good Things To Do.

I have become a lot more empathetic to others going through the same circumstances. Two of my co-workers have had parents die in the last month, and as soon as I heard I immediately felt deep concern. I sprung into action. I’ve spoken to both of my co-workers. I’ve given them the nudge: “No, really, you’re going to need someone to talk to, and I am here when you do.” If you have co-workers, friends, or family who are dealing with grief, even if they seem “fine,” give them some grace and space. Check on them. They need you.

One day I was watching some water forming a whirlpool, which took me back to memories of how us kids would make giant whirlpools in my parents’ above ground pool. And then, instant tears.

But this is not a bad thing, either.

In the aftermath of mom’s death, in the throes of this winter, I have found myself to be seeking healing. I am starting to see what a future of healing looks like. I’m not there yet, and it’s certainly going to take more time, but I see a path.

I’m going to walk it and see where it goes.

Picture of Eric J Gruber

An intentional New Year

3 Replies

“Heal your wounds so you do not bleed on those you love.” – unknown

It’s the last day of 2018, and all day I’ve been thinking, “I think I have one more post in me.”

In looking back at my feelings from previous New Year’s Eve posts (thanks for the memories, Facebook). Not unlike others, I usually had positive thoughts about where the new year would take me.

Today I took down the Christmas tree. I packed away the decor. I moved some things around, and grumbled when things didn’t fit right. I watched the biggest snowflakes I have ever seen fall from the sky, then disintegrate as soon as they hit the ground. I took a nap. I listened to some music. I was pretty lazy.

I have thought a lot about mom today.

When I ball it all up, and really think about it, for the first time in a long time I have no feelings about the new year at all. I am not excited. I am not despondent. I am merely numb.

Since my mother’s death, I have started seeing life a lot differently. I’ve come to believe that a lot of what makes a modern existence is pure bullshit.

I was in a room with acquaintances the other day and I was the only one not staring at my phone. We have lost the ability to communicate like humans. I am guilty of this, but it makes it no less horrible.

Political candidates are starting to make their announcements for the next big election, and let me guarantee you: all that is bullshit as well. You should take an hour, sit down, be quiet, and listen to this episode of Freakonomics where they show how the two major political parties play the populous to get what they want (and how almost all third party candidates are losers). There are no politicians coming to help you. I don’t even think most of them care about the things you think they do. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.

Social media is bullshit. Because we can’t communicate anymore, this is all we have left. Can’t make friends as an adult? Welcome to the club. You’ll have to settle for bits and bytes in someone else’s walled garden. Pay no attention to the fact that they’re taking your data and selling all your information to whomever pays. What a terrible existence we’ve traded. I remember when people used to go get coffee and have great conversations in person. Now we waste hours every day on social media. Part of this is because we have a mobile computer in our hands at all times. According to my phone, I spent six hours and 37 minutes per day on it last week. Isn’t that pathetic? I bet one hour of actual face time  with another human would have been far more fulfilling.

But what do I know? Maybe I’m just a grumpy person at the end of the year.

In thinking about my 2019, I’ve decided to not be optimistic. I’ve also decided to not be bummed about it. But I have decided to be intentional.

For Thanksgiving, I was in Joplin, Mo., and decided to take my family to visit the Grand Falls, which is a small waterfall in the city limits there. That place has a special place in my heart. When my mom was sick in the hospital in September, I would take a break now and then to get out of the hospital and clear my head while my dad took over being with her. One of those days, I went to the Grand Falls. It was a beautiful day and I was full of reflection.

Over the next few days, I had feelings premonitions of what things would be like if mom wasn’t with us anymore. One night dad and I were alone in the house, and it just had that feeling. I went to Walmart during one of my breaks, and they had already started putting up Christmas decor. Mom loved Christmas, and even though she was lying in a hospital a few miles away very much alive, I just had this feeling. I texted my wife on Sept. 28 and said, “I can’t shake this sinking feeling that something bad is up with mom. Maybe it’s my brain thinking the worst. I can do that at times.”

I wish I had been wrong.

But I digress. There is so much bullshit around us, around me, and I’ve not done well this year in keeping that check. I need to heal my wounds, because if not, I’m going to make a mess of things. I really don’t want that to happen. And so in 2019, I’m going to be intentional.

I had a few times this year where I was very intentional, and it was wonderful. I took my daughter to her first concert (Taylor Swift). We paid off our student loan debt. I went to some concerts for myself. I met up with friends and talked. I went for walks. All of these things were highly intentional. I don’t regret those things. But when I think about six hours and 37 minutes of time on a screen last week — which I was off work the whole week — I don’t have a lot of pride in that.

I’m going to take some time to heal my wounds. I’m going to be intentional. If you want to get ahold of me, I’m sure you can find a way. But I am broken, and really need to heal.

I hope you and I make 2019 an intentional one.

New Year’s Day, Taylor Swift

There’s glitter on the floor after the party
Girls carrying their shoes down in the lobby
Candle wax and Polaroids on the hardwood floor
You and me from the night before but

Don’t read the last page
But I stay when you’re lost and I’m scared and you’re turning away
I want your midnights
But I’ll be cleaning up bottles with you on New Year’s Day

You squeeze my hand three times in the back of the taxi
I can tell that it’s going to be a long road
I’ll be there if you’re the toast of the town babe
Or if you strike out and you’re crawling home

Don’t read the last page
But I stay when it’s hard or it’s wrong or you’re making mistakes
I want your midnights
But I’ll be cleaning up bottles with you on New Year’s Day

Hold on to the memories, they will hold on to you
Hold on to the memories, they will hold on to you
Hold on to the memories, they will hold on to you
And I will hold on to you

Please don’t ever become a stranger whose laugh I could recognize anywhere
Please don’t ever become a stranger whose laugh I could recognize anywhere

There’s glitter on the floor after the party
Girls carrying their shoes down in the lobby
Candle wax and Polaroids on the hardwood floor
You and me forevermore

Don’t read the last page
But I stay when it’s hard or it’s wrong or we’re making mistakes
I want your midnights
But I’ll be cleaning up bottles with you on New Year’s Day

Hold on to the memories, they will hold on to you
Hold on to the memories, they will hold on to you
Hold on to the memories, they will hold on to you
And I will hold on to you

Please don’t ever become a stranger whose laugh I could recognize anywhere
Please don’t ever become a stranger whose laugh I could recognize anywhere

Pondering next moves

1 Reply

I went for a long hike in Weston Bend State Park to clear my head. It was a good decision, and helped quite a bit.

To say that I haven’t been feeling myself lately would be a bit of an understatement.

I have these moments where everything is fine, and then something will come across me and I get a little teary eyed thinking about my mother’s death. I hear that isn’t uncommon, and it’s certainly not unexpected.

There are times where I want to call mom, but then realize that’s something I can’t do anymore. Mom would use Facebook as a way to keep track of me (and definitely watch for pictures of the kids), and I would often post things thinking of her in mind. I find those thoughts still go through my head when I post to social media, which I find disconcerting. I’m still thinking about “Will she see this?” when clearly, she won’t.

I keep thinking of questions I want to ask her. It’s funny how these questions show up now, instead of when she was alive and I had the opportunities to get the answers. There’s probably a term for that.

Things feel a little better than they did a week ago, and far better than two weeks ago. My first week back to work was pretty rough. The first few days was a blur and chock full of emotions. The people I work with have been fantastic, and are giving me grace while I work through emotions while at work. I am blessed and honored to have their support.

I’ve been spending time trying to process what to do next. If I were talking to others in the same situation, I would tell them to take time, mourn, don’t make any big moves. I half follow that advice, and am thinking of my options. I have been thinking more of permanence. What are my financial plans for the future? When do we buy a house and start setting down deeper roots? How involved should I be with my extracurricular activities versus spending the maximum time I can with my family? Should I get busy executing my plans for my side work or should I just veg out?

At one point I said to my wife, “When do I get my fire back?” I spent most of this year charging hard, and now I feel only a flicker. I’m sure it’ll come back, but clearly it’s going to take some time to get there. I surmise that first I’ll have to get through the holidays, and all the sorrow that will come with it. My mom loved the Christmas season, and at this moment I can’t even imagine what this year will be like without her.

Right now, I’m mostly focused on short-term thinking. I’ve been spending more quality time with the kids. Last weekend I had moments of good times with each of my children, and although tiring it was the right move.

One of the positive things that have come out of this event is it has driven me to get a few things done off my lingering todo list. I have this long list on my phone of things I have noted to get done, and I’m starting to work on them. I seem to have more of a sense of urgency now to get things done. The trick is making sure they are things that are actually worth doing rather than simply doing busywork.

I think the next thing I need to do is to find time (and a sitter) for a date night with Amy. It’s been awhile since we had some time to ourselves, and it seems more necessary than ever that we go out on the down and think about something other than death and sadness. We need a little happiness soon, if only for an evening.

Time is the fire in which we burn, and I want to be more intentional of the flames I stoke from now on.

In training

2 Replies

Almost every day at lunch I walk with a co-worker (or two). These walks always lead to interesting conversations. Sometimes we talk about what we’re working on, and sometimes it’s about life in general. Recently the discussion has been about health and motivation.

We were discussing goals, and about how I wanted to get into better shape this year, but I don’t quite have the spark to get things going. Today my friend suggested I need something specific to work toward, like a race.

I realized he was right, and we decided on a run. On April 1, I will participate in a 5k. Training officially starts now.

My friend and I are taking two different approaches to training, which I’ll write more about later (once I solidify exactly how I’ll be training). But the main thing is this: I have a very specific end date when my training needs to be completed, and I need to get started yesterday.

I’m very excited by this. Given the name of the race, you could say I’m very eggcited. I couldn’t resist the pun.

Let the training begin!

Social media is a cancer

10 Replies

Almost every day I go for a walk with a co-worker or two, and the last week we were talking about the things in our life that vie for our attention.

We got on the topic of social media, and after the recent election, I decided I can’t take any more of it. I have to take a break.

There are many tools available to help curate the stream of consciousness coming from friends, strangers, and family, but none of them seem to be strong enough for me. The world is messed up; I realize this. But I don’t want to spend hours fighting the demons of information trying to get into my head. I have reached a point in my life where I am making great strides in personal development. I’m being challenged, in a really good way, in my career. I’m making an honest effort to be a better family man. I’m working on my debt. I’m working on my life.

But social media seems to take away from all of that. I have found myself guilty of phubbing (a new term I recently learned), and I feel awful. Someone will be trying to engage me in conversation, and yet I pick up my phone out of habit and start swiping away. I do it to my wife, my friends, my kids, you name it. I am disgusted with myself by this.

It’s time for a fast. I have no idea how long this will last, but I’m giving it an honest try. I went 40 days last year without facebook, but I went so far as to delete facebook, twitter, and instagram apps on my phone this time. I’ve changed my /etc/hosts file to point those domains to nowhere (in geek speak, I’ve made it so my computer doesn’t know what to do with those web addresses should I accidentally type them in the browser bar).

I already feel lighter. Even tonight, I’ve worked on a side project and written this post, which is more than I can say for many other nights.

I hope to produce more writings on the blog, more projects getting completed, and more personal projects making their way to the light of day. Meaningless consumption doesn’t stop at physical items, and frankly, I have had enough of it.

I hope RSS is still a thing …