The Conscious Pilgrim

i brought cookies

Sometimes I write these entries a little ahead of time in the interest of staying consistent, but this actually happened yesterday.

Dialing it back about 2 weeks, I had a woman at the gym come up to me on the stationary bike as I was grinding myself into a fine paste, and ask me “why don’t you run anymore?” I said I do, just less, and that I’ve been focusing on a well-rounded weight routine blah blah blah it doesn’t matter. She was relieved that I didn’t say I was injured and said that she – an early morning walker, who maintains a fair clip if I’m being honest – couldn’t handle the cardio of running and wished she could run. (I think she totally could)

The next day, I ran. It was hard, because I’ve been running a lot less – but these things come back fast. I ran for an hour, which was great, and felt even better because she wasn’t there, so there was no ego involved on my part, I just ran and it was hard and I loved it. Needless to say, I’ve been getting back into running since then.

Her simple question and my willingness to sit there on that stationary bike for another 45 minutes thinking about it melded together into some gumption.

Yesterday, she brought cookies. She loudly announced it to me as I was – yes, running – by her on the track, loud enough to overcome the volume of my ear buds and hers. One of my earbuds doesn’t hold a charge, so my audiobook was only coming in one side of my head and I found her raised voice endearing and amusing. The cookies that I didn’t partake in due to the presence of butter and eggs were in celebration of her 1000th kilometer on that indoor track, but the cookies were not the point.

I’m glad to know of her accomplishment and I’m happy to congratulate her on it. I think we keep these milestones to ourselves far too often.

I know I do.

reasonable being

I’ve spent a lot of time in my life, as we all do, erring on the side of what is reasonable. Within reason. What can be reasoned with. And as much as I would consider myself to be a reasonable person, I’m not so sure that ‘being reasonable’ is something to strive for so much as it is a basic expectation. We’re all familiar with the turn of phrase “be reasonable” when attempting to quell an emotional situation because it is understood that a more moderate response to any situation implies a readiness to compromise, or in many cases, act professionally.

So allow me if I may, to substitute a less flattering synonym – the kind of thing that might be lost in a reasonable scenario, and gauge response: Lukewarm.

“I’m going to need you to be a little more lukewarm” and “You’re coming in hot, and I need you to tone it down to a lukewarm level” don’t inspire the same agreeable nature – as a matter of fact, in conversation, you might just as well try to halt an argument by piping up with “I’m going to need you to stop giving a shit” and see how the rest of the conversation goes.

Okay – now to leave figurative and broad-stroke notions behind… this is not a one-size-fits-all conversational response, of course. As I read the above statements I feel myself going from an advocate for ‘being reasonable’ to the other end of the spectrum, cheering on the (here, fictitious) impassioned underdog because in many, many cases, rational thought is the enemy.

Passion. That is what we want in our lives, and that is what makes life worth living. Pursuit of goals, both tangible and intangible, is the stuff of a life well-lived and if I’m being brutally honest with the man in the mirror (and in spite of my own chill demeanor with most things) being reasonable in times of high emotion is a disservice.

Should I have reasonable goals for my artistic expression, or should I push the limits of that expression to new heights and new realms? Should a theatre experience or a musical performance leave you feeling content and unmoved?
Is the sky the limit, or is the limit the sky?

This is not intended to be a criticism of the moderately successful or the passively motivated so much as it is a critique of self, and the lukewarm nature with which I’ve treated myself and my aspirations. The truth is that when I look deep inside, I have unreasonable and unsustainable desires and the sick & sad truth of it is that upon talking myself down – talking myself into being reasonable – I developed my very own coping mechanisms and distractions in order to keep myself in line, I developed unreasonable and unsustainable means of suppression of myself, by way of periodic and problematic alcohol and substance abuse, and and a highly transferable addiction to binge eating.

As much as I’ve been dealing with my problems head-on for the past few years, it’s at this point that I have no issue stating publicly that I have only begun to scratch the surface, and that the answer I am slowly brushing the debris away from is completely impassioned and unreasonable. I understand now that I am a creator, made in the image of the creator, and that I am NOT the most powerful being in my first-person-narrative of life experience…

… because to say that I am the main character in my story, just as you are in yours… and to say that there is no greater force than me, but to also know that I cannot control myself around a bottle of bourbon, or a box of donuts – then I must also acknowledge that the greatest force in the world is that bottle of bourbon, or that box of donuts, and that I am at best, 2nd place.

It’s clear then; that I must be humbled.
Humbled in the presence of donuts and whiskey, and anything of greater power than these things.
But I can be humbled and impassioned. I can be humbled and have unreasonable goals of self love, unreasonable goals of recovery, and unreasonable goals of reaching as many people as I can with my music, my art, and my writing.

So as much as I will be “be reasonable” when the occasion suits it… I hope to transcend the idea of a “reasonable being.”

the price of admission

“The first step; a frequently cited trope, is admitting you have a problem…”

On September 9th, 2023, I accomplished a personal first. I attended a gathering of people who I am simultaneously happy to see, and wish I didn’t have to see; however, we’re united by a common struggle.

The first step; a frequently cited trope, is admitting you have a problem, and although walking through the door of my first 12-Step meeting is an experience that echoes off the walls of my subconscious like some clanging gong – abrupt, and disarming, I have to say that the impetus for actually going has been a slow-moving yet still unstoppable growth, like mound of shit built by lazy insects. In essence, It’s taken a long time to get here, but I’ve known I would eventually arrive for some time now.

Yes, I admit I have a problem…

It’s probably the far reaching arm of my ego preventing me from actually putting a name to this problem – I thought I checked my ego at the door, but it still seems to be peering in at me – it’s hard to articulate your propensity for shoveling cookie dough into your mouth with a spoon, or your insatiable love of pop-tarts while attempting to put words together that don’t make you appear completely foolish.

I’m a poetic and a romantic – why can’t I come up with a better word for this problem? Ohhhh… right – it’s because it’s actually not fucking cool… and in this room you’re not fucking cool… and in the presence of these people – these honest and vulnerable and hopeful people, your “out there in the world” coolness factor means precisely nothing. In this room, you are the complete and total embodiment of embarrassment and humility, and you are sitting in a circle with other people who are the same… so no, there’s no fun word for this, so the narrative goes as follows:

Member of the groups: “My name is ___ and I am a(n) ___.”
The rest of the group: “Welcome.”

The “Mad Lib” answer-key version of this is: “Dave” and “I don’t really know, but I know I have a fucked up relationship with food, and I use it to cope with my problems” before I give a coles notes sample of how I inadvertently caused myself an extra 20 minutes of work while doing a home-renovation project and rather than doing the 20 minutes of work, I consumed a couple thousand calories while trapped in some strange, feckless trance – likely for longer than the aforementioned 20 minutes, but in the end I still had to do the extra work I caused myself, so it was a fruitless endeavor.

I’ve transferred my compulsion numerous times in my 41 years of walking around on this planet… but my first fascination was with food, and after I systematically pushed all the bad habits out of my life, I was left with my first love – and the only one I couldn’t truly abstain from: Food. I have other distractions… fitness, my car, music… and they do help me cope with life, but they’re not unmanageable compulsions that have driven me to negotiate terms with a higher power.

I tell my story with a hint of mist in my eyes because I don’t even like remembering it. I’d love to forget it and fill it’s place with music, or art, or some brilliant reflection of what life is supposed to be but instead I have this story – an insignificant blip, and a weak example of why I am really here, but these are strangers and I’m not ready to let them in yet… and when I’m done speaking, I look up from spot on the floor I was staring at – just beyond my left shoe as it cradles my right shoe on the end of my outstretched legs – and rather than seeing judging, laughing faces, I am met with nodding heads and appreciative smiles.

My story ends; as I tell it, in a rather strange place where any other group of people would keep waiting for the resolve, or some calamitous punchline, is instantly relatable in this room. I don’t just feel seen, I feel understood.

As an aside, Today marks 1 calendar year since my last alcoholic drink. I can’t say I was ever counting the days, but I will say this: You can do whatever you want to do, and if it helps you to align yourself with your purpose then you should probably start now if you haven’t already.

Much love.

step back

“I know for a fact that the blessing outweigh the curses, but I certainly have a propensity for focusing on what I don’t have, and even worse – what I don’t have anymore.”

I’ve spent a bit of time taking inventory of what I’ve got – not so much with material things, though that’s been happening a bit, too – but with the more intangible blessings and curses. I know for a fact that the blessing outweigh the curses, but I certainly have a propensity for focusing on what I don’t have, and even worse – what I don’t have anymore.

I imagine I’m not alone. I’ve heard it described as an evolutionary trait from previous iterations of survival, where we focus on the more dangerous and threatening things more than we do the gracious and joyous where, for example, we might overlook something as nice and inviting as a fruit tree while focusing on venomous snakes, because as wonderful as a fruit tree is, missing it won’t kill you the way a venomous snake might. Chemically, we would be on high alert, triggering what we now commonly call our ‘fight or flight response’ upon observing such a threat.

This is problematic now, as we’re constantly in a state of fight or flight due to the stresses of everyday life – work, money, rush hour traffic, etc. – causing us to contend with; among other things, stress and anxiety – which is literally the body’s response to being in a heightened state for far too long. This means that even those of us who wouldn’t necessarily refer to ourselves as anxious or stressed out are still in a heightened state most of the time, that stress just manifests differently.

The commonality for all of us; though, is a focus on the negative.

But to step back and take an objective look at what we have going on is not only difficult, and not only important, but also relieving. The truth is that everything is amazing. Alone, the fact that most of us walk around with the combined information of the known universe in our pockets is an incredible feat. Myself; I have a lovely home, and beautiful girlfriend and an amazingly smart kid, and a wonderful dog. I play in a great rock & roll band and I drive a cool car, I have a cool job. I get tattoos from incredible artists and have been to exotic locations… yet for some reason all that takes a back seat when I get a toothache, or when one of our bicycles gets stolen… or when I don’t like the number on the bathroom scale.

What are you grateful for? That’s a question we’re met with every morning, before we even have opportunity to scrape the crud from our eyes, and it truly sets the tone for the day. Sure, we get pulled off course from time to time, but in the grand scheme it’s of little consequence when we stop to really evaluate what we have.

It’s always easier said than done, but it’s an important, objective look at where you’re at – and as soon as you can do that with regularity, all the while understanding that you can’t control anything except your reaction… then you’ve really got something.

the most happy

“The revelation hasn’t been “you were happier when you were leaner” because I know that’s superficial bullshit. The truth of the matter is that challenging myself physically brings joy into my life.”

When were you the most happy with your appearance? Chances are decent that you didn’t know it at the time.

I suffer from a bit of body dysmorphia. That’s obviously a self diagnosis, and I’m inclined to downplay it a bit because I’m fairly certain that most of us have a touch of it. I recently stumbled across some old shirtless pictures of myself – no, not the old fat guy pictures, the ones from last year and the year before when I was training for triathlon and rolled that training into a half-marathon run.

What I saw at that time was problematic flab, negligible as it was.
What I see now is that my transformation was truly incredible. Needless to say I’m no longer in that kind of shape, but I can honestly say I’m not far off. I’m less than 15 lbs heavier now, and I am that way because of how hard I was training at the time and I’m certain that a bunch of that weight is muscle. Ultimately the difference between 192 lbs and 180 lbs is not much.

So I opted to dig into what kind of gym efforts I was doing at those times, and how much I was eating, what my protein sources were – everything. I changed my diet a while back to see what would happen, and shortly thereafter some heavy emotional stuff came my way that knocked me off course a bit. I began training less, and with less intensity because my attention was needed elsewhere, and I began eating less because I wasn’t training as hard… so I’m elated to say that my weight hasn’t fluctuated due to poor diet – it’s holding steady, really… but not at a place I would like it to hold steady, necessarily.

All in all, I’m feeling the pull back toward my disciplined morning practice, my purpose-driven workout regime and my optimized diet, and have been making great strides in pursuit of that.

The revelation hasn’t been “you were happier when you were leaner” because I know that’s superficial bullshit. The truth of the matter is that challenging myself physically brings joy into my life. I would like to reclaim that. The thing I see in the mirror now that I don’t like isn’t just pudge… it’s the reflection someone who knows he can do more.

What I’ve learned about happiness is this: Accomplishing tasks will not make you happy. Whatever your level of happiness was when you took on the challenge will be the same after you accomplish the task. You have to be happy where you are if you want to be happy where you’re going.

So I know fine-tuning my body won’t make me happy.
Trying my best, and living with purpose, though… that’s another thing.

The joy you have at the top of the mountain is the joy you bring with you.

reclaimed

“Losing the practice in the first place came as the result of a heavily rocked boat, and although things were tumultuous and hard to process for a few months, we had the good fortune of being able to set a time to discuss our feelings and speak our grievances with the promise that after that mediated discussion, we would not bring up the topic again because it would not need to be addressed.”

We’ve put some momentum into our reclaimed morning practice at this point. It’s been really great to start the day with some positive affirmation, some light yoga, some guided meditation, and some journaling. If you don’t have a routine that sets your day up for success then I can’t recommend it enough.

I sleep better, I work better, I run better, I lift weights better, I play guitar better… I’m more patient and thoughtful…

Losing the practice in the first place came as the result of a heavily rocked boat, and although things were tumultuous and hard to process for a few months, we had the good fortune of being able to set a time to discuss our feelings and speak our grievances with the promise that after that mediated discussion, we would not bring up the topic again because it would not need to be addressed. The agreement was that it would be left in the past where it belongs.

That day everything changed, and shortly thereafter we really started to miss the morning practice we once had, and were happy to reclaim it.

The best way for me to describe that time is to say I was out of alignment. Personally, all my efforts with fitness and making good food choices were a little out of round… I wasn’t playing guitar as much… I was more tired and had to make a more concerted effort to be patient with the people around me – which I did, happily… but with a lot more of that “what about ME?” feeling hanging over me.

The time away was necessary, too. We have so much more respect and put so much more value on that practice now that we’ve got it back.

It’s truly amazing how quickly things can spiral out – but you can snap them back into place just as quickly. It seems like it’s eternally long, but it happens way quicker than you think it does… you might need to be gentle with yourself though, because when you’re in the middle of it, the feeling is slow..

momentary

“A difficult day is only difficult because it’s hard to make decisions” is a nugget recently bestowed upon me. On the surface it might seem a bit reductionist, but we’re not necessarily talking about a catastrophic day here. Just the kind of day when you’re trying to fix your shitty bike, or when you hit every red light on your way to work thereby rendering you just tardy enough to get noticed.

I heard that in a podcast while at the gym, and right after I heard it, my headphones died, as though the fates had determined that this is the phrase I must lob back & forth across the hemisphere’s of my brain as I punish various unsuspecting muscle groups. What I determined is that the statement has absolutely nothing to do with poor decision making and everything to do with being in the moment, and reacting only to what you can control.

Rush Hour Traffic is the perfect example. I can rage out behind the wheel with the best of ’em, but my need to get where I am going doesn’t supersede the needs of the people involved in the collision 3 blocks up… at 4:30pm… on the Friday of a long weekend. My reaction holds no sway over the situation, and whether I lose hair over it or not, I’m still there… so what are my options? Do I vacate and take another route home? Not likely… the time for that was probably over before I noticed. I must face the fact that I am stuck, and although it’s doubtful I’ll find much joy in this moment, I can surely choose not to raise my blood pressure over it.

Then; after resolving that, as I zoom out on the circumstances, I know that I ought not worry too much about where I’m going, because (a) I should save thinking about that when I get there, and (b) even if I did, it’ll only add heat to the current circumstance.

I must live here, in this moment… in the blistering sun, with the windows down, overhearing bad music vibrating off the frame of a worn out Honda Civic ahead of me on my left. What choice do I have? I can choose to listen to Motorhead.

There – now I’m doing something to improve my situation.

Now, bring on the weekend.