Better Motivation, Thanksgiving, Living an Ordinary Life in an Ordinary Way.

Motivation

For about the past three or four weeks, on weekends, I’ve been consistently getting up around 4:00 am and either riding my bike or driving to the gym Saturdays and Sundays.  Been a little hit or miss before that.  No idea why I’ve had better motivation recently than formerly.  My doctor told me about a year ago I should concentrate on strengthening my back and rotator-cuffs to alleviate bilateral shoulder pain he attributed, in part, to having overdeveloped my pectorals.  But to look at me, you wouldn’t think so.   Still, I’ve complied with his advice and my posture has improved as well as, a little bit, that shoulder pain.

My workouts have lasted about an hour and a half, and I incorporate legs and abs, some tricep and chest, with my primary lat, back, and bicep work.  Am I a glorious specimen of beautiful middle-aged masculinity?  Not so much, although I feel better – it’s good to feel strong.   I’m gaining weight, but my clothes still fit, so some of that must be muscle.

Thanksgiving

This was our year to spend Thanksgiving with my wife’s family but we stayed home for the holiday because of my work schedule.  We spent a really pleasant day with my family, instead.  Friday, my wife finished decorating the house for Christmas and my son and I went for a bike ride around the neighborhoods.  We stopped by and visited my godparents and then rode home when the boy looked like he was about to fall asleep.  He’s not ridden much over the past couple of months, so he had a hard time riding back up hill.

Ordinary

By some miracle or fluke of predestination and providence, I turned out not to be a complete monster.  I’ve written in this space, at some time or other, that for me or someone like me, the great adventure is to live the ordinary life in an ordinary way.  You can probably not grasp how unimaginable an outcome that seemed for me when I was young or how much joy it brings me now.  It’s what I’m daily most thankful for – my wife, son, our health, meaningful work for both my wife and myself, a modest house in a modest neighborhood, self-directed recreational activities like cycling, paddling, strength training, reading, a small and extremely Calvinistic congregation where we are accepted and maybe for the most part liked and to which we contribute by participation, prayers, offerings.  Also my extended family – much more important to me now in middle age than it seemed when I was a young man.

I have a lot to be grateful for and I hope you do, too.

Thoughts on Meaninglessness and Belonging

Last Wednesday evening, I skipped a congregational meeting during which we’d planned to continue reading and discussing the Old Testament book Ecclesiastes.  Prior to joining (several years ago) the congregation of which I am now a member, I routinely skipped congregational meetings and almost never attended those scheduled midweek because I had a strong sense my contributions in terms of presence and participation were meaningless.  In turn, I experienced no learning from them save a growing dissatisfaction and unease when present with that group of people in its various activities.

Experience (although I don’t consciously seek “religious experience”) in the congregation of which I am currently part is vastly different from what I knew previously as a member of that other local church.  The congregation’s meetings serve as frameworks within which learning occurs as scriptures of Old and New Testaments are discussed, as opposed to a framework for upholding social and denominational norms..  Even in this setting, though, sometimes I observe a tendency toward groupthink – probably an unavoidable sociological condition.  I bridle against it because I am incapable of conforming my mind, nay, my self, to group norms that do not seem reasonable to me.  I cannot or will not color within lines that I haven’t drawn, myself, that don’t make sense to me, or weren’t drawn by an authority I recognize as greater than myself – the hand of God. 

This all sounds grandiose, doesn’t it?  Nevertheless, it’s my honest evaluation. 

Think of a graph depicting multiple bell-shaped curves radially extending from a central point (think of an X or an asterisk drawn with squiggles) – on any of these bells (which may represent interests, enthusiasms, intelligence, aptitudes, personality styles, and so forth) most people fall between the lines which are defined by one standard deviation above and below the mean.  I would guess that most people can be “found” only on one or two of the radial arms.  I can be “found” well beyond the mean on most of the arms that serve to capture data pertaining to whatever it is that I am.  On some of those graph arms, I’m almost the only data point I can perceive.  All this to explain why I am incapable of conforming mind and self to group norms – while rules of ordinary decency and courtesy do apply to me, as do those laws that protect the rights of individuals from one another individually or in aggregate – most human-derived and agreed upon strictures and systems of meaning mean not much at all to me.  I don’t see the value in them nor can I affirm the ‘truth’ of the perceptions they for some serve to enshrine.

I think this is simply basic, rational understanding.  In other places, possibly even in a post here, I’ve remarked that the road to self-understanding is a dead end street because insight (about one’s self, others, circumstance, etc.)  does not always or even often provide of itself the power to alter or better what is understood of the self.

In practical terms, what this means for me is that I experience frustration when my insights and, to use a hackneyed term, the ‘box’s’ inability to contain my thought and those of my thoughts, themselves, are not understood (agreement is unimportant or without valued meaning – to me).  I feel this most intensely when that occurs while interacting with people who matter to me – like the people who are part of my congregation or the family of my birth.

A related problem I experience is when I join groups that form around shared interests in activities, such as kayaking or cycling.  What I find is that, while interested in, engaged in, and engaged in thought about the activity and things related to it, such as gear and conditions of use, other people are not interested in the same way that I am interested.  While in one sense, I have something in common with other club members, in practical terms, I really do not have much at all in common with them. 

In conjunction with (or it may arise from the foregoing) a social awkwardness you’d have to be me to understand, this makes any kind of participation in group activities potentially unpleasant for me.  Oddly enough, I haven’t experienced this unpleasantness in relation to my current congregation.  But I did experience it last Wednesday, the evening I skipped the usual congregational meeting for scriptural and theological reflection in favor of a cycling club activity.

That cycling club activity was a local Ride of Silence – a slow four mile or so ride through town on busy streets with police escort.  I wore normal street clothes because it was only a slow, four-mile ride, and showed up early.  That’s one way to manage social awkwardness – show up early and strike up conversation with one or two people I already know.  Also, being late means finding a place to park and possible difficulty hearing what’s going on.  I said hello to one guy I know slightly and he completely ignored my greeting – jackass? didn’t hear? preoccupied?  Who knows.  I didn’t really know anyone else and my attempts to converse all proved abortive.  I felt unpleasantly like the only one of my kind in the group, even though there were several club members present I genuinely like.

Most of the other riders wore what cyclists call their “kits” – matching lycra shorts and jerseys, etc.  Some, to be sure, rode from their homes, however distant, to the assembly point.  I wore the same pair of baggy shorts I wore the day I bought the Miyata 610 in Louisville two or three years ago, and a faded red Dickies t-shirt.  No sense in wearing Lycra and chamois for a four-mile ride – if my nads are so diseased as to go numb on a short, easy bike ride, there’s something bad wrong with them.   

The ride leader gave a short talk about Ride of Silence, the police sergeant’s SUV rolled out ahead of us and police on 29’ers brought up the rear.  I thought it was cool that the police chief, himself, rode along. 

I rode the Jamis Supernova, a cyclocross bike with heavy, slow commuter tires, because the tube I’d patched for the Miyata’s front tire didn’t hold air.  Mercifully, for me, the ride of silence is silent, so no conversation is expected or wanted.  Some of the guys on racing bikes in full kit ahead of me pointed (as is courteous to do on group rides) at gravel and road surface irregularities.  On a cyclocross bike equipped with Continental Tour Ride tires, I several times caught myself thinking, “That $#!+’z not a hazard for me.”  But I likewise pointed out the hazards for those behind.

When the ride was over, I pedaled right up to my car, loaded up the bike, and left immediately.  Back home, it felt good to sit on the livingroom couch with my wife and son.  In the warm embrace of my family, I felt wanted, accepted, understood – that I belonged.  Later, I sent an email to my friend, our congregation’s pastor: 

Hi Doros,
I guess I’m just not bikey enough; won’t skip another meeting for a cycling activity.  During the entire ride, I found myself thinking, "I could have been discussing Scripture with my favorite people."  The Ride of Silence had no emotional or spiritual impact on me and only served to remind me how little I have in common with most people, even cycling enthusiasts.
Cheers,
Chris

Returning to practical matters, how does one cope with one’s own awkwardness, being out of step with and occasionally feeling unpleasantly alone in when in the company of numerous others he might reasonably expect to have something in common?  A constellation of maladaptive strategies fueled by feelings of grief and anger are available to the sufferer, but I’d like to list here a few methods that have worked for me and enabled me to function in a world largely constructed by and for the masses:

  • I acknowledge my feelings identifying and categorizing them without feeling ashamed of having them, then make a conscious decision not to let them curdle my spirit and mind.  This is something that’s only occurred to me here in the past several months.  Difficult it is in the moment and when experiencing unpleasant emotion to become aware that the choice is one’s own whether to become overwhelmed by feelings of shame, anger, grief or to function in a way that does no harm to self or others and does not preclude positive interactions with others of the group at some future time.  There’s no sense in self-crippling by allowing oneself to become embittered and twisted.
  • Related to the foregoing is making a decision not to say anything unkind to others when experiencing unpleasant feelings.  In Alcoholic Anonymous the cliché This Too Shall Pass is used to remind the recovering alcohlic that the irritant of the moment or the difficult circumstance inhabited will change in time and with patience may be got through without resorting to use of drink. 
  • Complete the mission, accomplish the goal, carry out the task – if there’s no harm in it.  For instance, last Wednesday, although I felt like, “What the hell am I doing here?” the condition was one that could be got through by simply participating in the activity in which I’d come to participate and then leaving when it was over, as opposed to hitting the “Screw This” button and bugging out early.  I mean, really, unpleasant feelings are simply feelings and part of the human task is learning to master one’s feelings.
  • Think about the feelings – dissect them – their utility, what causes them, what they signify.  By intellectualizing one’s feelings, one can become attenuated from them and this can be a useful to prevent acting impulsively according to their dictates.  I don’t usually enjoy experiencing emotion, but it sometimes does serve to inform me that there is some problem in my circumstance that requires my attention.  Sometimes I experience pleasant emotions, such as those I experienced while I was sitting on the couch with my family after I got home last Wednesday, or those I experience when applying my mind to and discussing scripture and theology.
  • Don’t look down on those who are different – in their own ways, they may be well beyond the mean in ways you are not.  Take other people seriously and respect their mastery of or competence in what matters to them.  Ask intelligent questions and learn from people who are different.  Wish them well and try to take pleasure in their successes.
  • Recognize that most people experience in some instances something like the unpleasantness you’re experiencing.  Like you, they may be wondering, “What the hell am I doing here?
  • If circumstances warrant aborting the planned activity, feel free to leave.  Try to do it without making some kind of unkind, conclusive statement that may serve as a barrier to you in some unforeseen way, later on.  Leave quietly and draw as little attention to yourself as possible.  Unwanted attention is worse than that unpleasant aloneness you’re leaving behind when you leave the situation.
  • Remember what Christ said about casting pearls before swine – you don’t have to and should not share your insights, perceptions, values, thoughts, and self with those who are incapable of understanding or who are malicious twits who should simply be completely avoided.
  • Invest your time, effort, thought, love in people who matter to you.  Just one friend, even if he or she does not completely understand you, may provide an oasis of peace in what often seems a hostile universe.  Love your family, cultivate friends if there’re people with whom communication and understanding is possible.
  • The apostle, Paul, enjoined his readers somewhere the letter he wrote to the church at Rome, “So far as it depends on you, be at peace with all men.”  That’s good advice.
  • Prioritize, although sometimes this takes trial and error (as I learned last Wednesday night), and participate in or expend effort in or for what matters to you to the degree that it makes sense to you.
  • Never stop learning

Miscellaneous Thoughts for Wednesday

Bikes

Yesterday evening, after a family bike ride with the Trek Navigator, I took the Razesa for a short six-mile ride at dusk.  As I cornered while moving quickly and had to quit pedaling hard to make the turn, I imagined I could feel the chainstays and seatstays flexing slightly as I rode.

Last night I corresponded with a bicycle restorer about a 1978 Trek 700 series with Campagnolo Gran Sport group.  I have been really interested in Bruce Gordon’s Taiwanese manufactured BLT, and Carl Strong’s “Personal Blend” as touring/camping bikes, but at this point balk completely at the prices charged for these bicycles.  I’ve seen pictures of the Trek 700 series set up for touring, but they’ve got a completely different, Suntour, group (and I hope I’m using the term, group, correctly meaning drive-train, brake whatnot, seatpost, and headset).  The Trek’s probably a 10-speed, but I don’t think that’s necessarily a problem considering I don’t make full use of the 12-speeds my Razesa’s got.

I’m still fully enjoying the Razesa bicycle.  Frequent, even short, rides have helped me keep the weight off and clear my mind.  I do want to get out in a kayak more this year.  It’s been about a year since I last paddled.  The Pionier 450-S sits under a tarp in my garage, and I need to dust it off and look it over, maybe this weekend, to make sure it’s ready to paddle.  Then inspect the gear in the boat-shed and get it packed and ready.  Once that’s done, it’ll be easier to load up and head out on a whim.

Church

Last week, while at Gallatin, I worshiped with Reformed Baptist congregation in a part of town bypassed by commercial-strip or residential splendor, and it was good to spend an hour or so with other believers.  Here at Stepford, the Reformed Baptist congregation with which my wife and I have worshiped for probably five years or more, has been and continues to be an oasis of biblical sense and real theological inquiry for me, as well as source of good fellowship.  Although it has another official designation, I think of it as Ziklag Baptist Fellowship more than I do as Stripmall Church.  It is wonderful to have no target demographic beyond the elect God sends our way, even though sometimes I wish God would send more.  There is something glorious about maintaining, for as long as we can, a Reform witness in the metaphorical steeple-shadows of several “First Churches.” 

Family

Every minute with my family is of greater worth than all riches.  We are grateful for God’s happy providence and humbly rely upon God’s sovereign and sustaining will.

Cold Morning Sans Camera

15 degrees Fahrenheit when I checked the weather online yesterday morning. Frost on the red boat’s deck. I debated whether to skip church, and paddle today, instead, but ultimately solved the problem by getting a later start. By the time I got to the put in at Hurricane Creek Branch on Tims Ford Lake, the temperature’d risen to about 31.5 degrees by the 850’s in-dash digital thermometer. Only one other vehicle at the boat ramp. Maybe on the water by 10:00 am. NOAA predicted a gentle breeze from the south at 5 mph, but I felt no wind as I pulled on my Bombergear Radiator drysuit for the first time since March or April. A couple of months ago, I finally sent it off to the good folks at Amigo’s for professional repair, although that Kirch’s Kwik Patch was still holding up pretty well.

Water didn’t seem too cold as I waded to get into my boat. No camera because the beloved Caution-Lady required it last week to photograph a classroom project, and she’d left the Pentax at school. Paddled in a southerly direction with significant left-shoulder pain, and adjusted the stroke as I went to minimize same. I’d forgotten the inflatable blue Klepper seatback I normally use as lumbar support, so had to take responsibility for keeping my own spine straight for proper torso-rotation. I did okay with that, too. Not much back pain by the end of the day. Had some left leg numbness and pain that resolved with position changes and exaggerated leg use while underway.

I turned left into Turkey Creek Branch, realizing as I did so that the features I was expecting to find there are located in the vicinity of Lost Creek Branch. I paddled as far back into Turkey Creek Branch as the winter pool water level permitted. I came to a place where the water was so clear and lightly blue-tinted it appeared much shallower than it really was. The kayak’s keel passed over four or five tires, miscellaneous junk, fishing lures, hundreds of little two-inch fish swimming together in swirling patterns like those made by water-weeds in current, until I came to place where the sandy soft bottom barred further progress. Ahead and to my right I could hear the stream’s gurgling as it flowed around and over dry sticks of the water plants that flourish in the summer months when the water’s level is higher, and the water itself warmer.

On my way back out toward Hurrican Creek Branch, I came to a backwater on my left in which I saw more of the straw-colored plant stalks like a field of dry grass. On these Tennessee lakes I have frequently seen in the warmer months something like soap-foam that gets pushed by the wind up against anything relatively stationary in the water, or along the shoreline. Looked like a lot of foam up against those water twigs. I paddled in for a closer look at the gray hulk of a wrecked speedboat. I’d seen it before the last time I was up this branch, only at that time, the water was much lower, and I couldn’t get near it. As I approached I became aware as my bow broke through it a layer of clear, thin ice in place of the water’s usual liquid surface. It cracked, and I was able to paddle through, close to and past the wreck. Somebody’d removed the steering wheel, the outboard motor, the seats, but had left the boat’s in-dash AM radio. All covered in gray mud, I didn’t imagine the radio could be made to work again, but wondered why the fiberglass hull had been left. Maybe holed-through? Dunno. Didn’t get out to check. Water over the wide transom in the hull was completely iced over, too. Up close, what had looked like foam was ice all around where the dry sticks poked up from the water. Before paddling backwards out again, I gave the ice ahead of me sound whack with the paddle, and it reluctantly broke, but no point in going any farther that direction.

I paddled on out to the main branch. A little farther down on my left is a boat ramp I’ve never been able to find from the road, and a little beyond that I stopped and ate all of my lunch. I don’t think I’ve ever eaten everything in my lunch bag at one sitting while paddling. I have always left something over for the paddle back. I guess I was thinking I could get something at Holiday Landing restaurant if I needed it.

Around Awalt Bridge I paddled, then back into the branch where Holiday Landing is located. Some very large, rectangular houseboats in there. Bigger than buses they appeared from the cockpit of my kayak. The restaurant was closed, all its outside seating stacked up on tables. I paddled around the floating docks, looking at the boats in their slips, then back out again to the main channel.

By this time I was tired, and stopped to empty a bottle of something called Vitamin Water (I got a case of the stuff pretty cheaply back in the Spring, and it tastes like melted popsicles), took a swig of Gatorade, and paddled ploddingly back to the boat ramp. Maybe the slope of the ramp, but I had a hard time lifting the boat up to get it on the racks. I’ve worked out a sort of time-and-motion routine to efficiently lash secure the boat on the racks, then to release the straps and tie-downs to get it off the racks again.

Using the distance tool at Dunigan’s Tennessee Landforms site later on, I found that I’d only made about 12.5 miles, roundtrip.

On the way home, I stopped at my mom’s house and observed the work the city is doing to prevent further erosion along the creek bed that bounds the backyard at her house. Very workmanlike.

Mom last week knit Seventy-Six a winter cap with ear-flaps and toggle-fastener, and yesterday she had finished his matching mittens. Funny mittens for infants have no thumbs, like socks for tiny hands.

Then home, a much-needed hot shower, and the joys of family life that far surpass (edited) those of the life aquatic.