Making sense of challenging times

Borrowed from Instagram

Every afternoon, an alarm on my phone reminds me that 'everything is impermanent.' I set this alarm as a strategy to get through my workday at a job I haven't loved before we were asked by our governor to "stay home, stay safe". Now it seems almost prescient. 

Where we are at this moment in time is hard. And, as I heard my mom say more times than I wanted to, "this too shall pass." 

We cannot have pleasure without pain, nor joy without sadness. We can't know comfort without experiencing discomfort.  

And sometimes, we require a strong jolt to move out of complacency or apathy to embrace real, lasting, necessary change.

Transformation, ready or not

Over the last month, I have witnessed real transformation every day at work. I work for a very traditional, allopathic medical group—"western" medicine that isn't my go-to but I'm glad it's there when I need it.  

The change is nothing short of remarkable. In the two-plus years I've worked there, the organization has made numerous changes, but it needed to move faster to keep up with a rapidly evolving market. At the end of 2019, they set up an "acceleration office" to ideally usher in change more quickly. That work was just getting underway... 

And... virus. 

Practically overnight, my organization transitioned to nearly all virtual care, adopted new practices and systems, and relaxed outdated policies and adopted new ones. I, and all my coworkers, are busier than we've ever been—with most of us working remotely. And this isn't true just in my organization, but throughout the healthcare industry overall. 

Opportunity and silver linings

In any way imaginable, everything just got very real. Personally and professionally, no matter where you are in life, what's most important is up for redefining, and our priorities are shifting in countless ways, collectively and individually. 

This might just be a transcendent wake-up call, a reset, a recalibration. At least, that's one way to look at it, and how I prefer to look at it. Not one to waste a crisis, I know from experience there is always something to be learned and gained and that transformation is afoot when things fall apart. This is how we grow, deeply, personally, culturally. 

Yes, I am profoundly troubled by the strife in the world—the fear, the loss of life and livelihoods—and I'm keenly aware of the very real trauma created by this disease and the impact of the stringent measures required to quell it. 

Sadly, there will be casualties, much like war, and the most vulnerable among us will be most affected. This is heartbreaking on so many levels, because no one deserves to lose their life, or that of a loved one, when every waking moment may feel hard and life as we know it can't continue.  

But I have a deep sense that we need this. 

Our systems don't work

So much about our way of life has been unsustainable. Every one of our systems requires an overhaul to work better for people and the planet; right now, this is more evident than ever in our food, healthcare, and economic systems, as well as our environmental policies.

We now have an opportunity to do things differently and to notice how we rely on each other. We're a global economy, dependent on trade, shared knowledge, and combined resources. Darwin's reinterpreted survival theory requires that we adapt, cooperate, and collaborate, not compete. (Watch infectious disease expert Alanna Shaikh talk about global health here and what we must do now to avoid another major pandemic.)  

We are collectively learning we must also play the long game rather than opting for the short-term profits and wins we've become accustomed to. So much of our financial and political focus is based on short-term thinking, and only those who know the game and how to play it come out ahead, leaving so many behind. Here in the US, it's time to reinstate our social contract and leave the 'rugged individual' mythology behind. None of us can do it all alone.  

Resourcefulness = resilience

All that said, however... we must also plan to care for ourselves when disaster strikes, to ensure those who most need help are able to get it. 

Since the hoarding and stockpiling at the beginning of this pandemic indicate otherwise, we must individually prepare for disasters before they hit. Those of us who live in earthquake zones should have at minimum two-weeks of food, water, and god-forbid, toilet paper, among other necessities. And ideally, governments are learning that we must not rely on a just-in-time supply chain and instead keep back-up emergency supplies. Note to self for Clorox Wipes... 

If you haven't yet read The Unthinkable and The Gift of Fear, please make time for them. Both of these books give examples of why we must think about the impossible, while learning to trust our instincts. My partner, who works on container ships, watches disasters-at-sea videos; when I asked why, since I have no stomach for these, he said to imagine the impossible, because the impossible happens. 

Necessity = ingenuity and creativity 

Some of the bright spots—because there are always bright spots if we're paying attention—are the extraordinary creativity, innovation, and ingenuity, along with visible compassion, gratitude, and a real sense of connection, despite physical distance. 

People are helping others in ways we haven't seen in decades. A few examples: 

• We're making masks and donating supplies, creating affinity groups online, finding new ways to fundraise, and re-imagining helpful services. 
• Our front-line healthcare workers are heroes and she-roes, celebrated by balcony and front porch serenades. 
• Musicians are performing live online, and local yoga studios and trainers are offering online classes almost any time of day. 
• Restaurants and bars started new lines of business with take-out and delivery (and I don't mean to diminish how badly these and other services have been hit by this). 
• Church services are broadcasting via Facebook Live, AA meetings and weddings are taking place on Zoom (along with plenty of virtual happy hours), and 
• Businesses previously hesitant to offer their staff remote work made it possible overnight. 
• One of my favorite things so far is a Facebook group, View from my Window, where people from across the world post one (only one per person allowed) image from their window, as the (nearly) whole world shelters in place.  
• The memes are some of the best ever, and all the late-night shows are broadcasting from home. I highly recommend finding and following people and things you love on Instagram, like The Daily "Social Distancing" Show, Trevor Noah's re-imagined home-based show.   

And finally, great resources are springing up all over for those who are struggling. One of my favorites so far is a support guide, chock full of awesome resources, compiled by author and web TV host Marie Forleo. You can find it here. And if you just want to hear a comforting voice, author Glennon Doyle is broadcasting "family meetings" on Instagram, sharing the challenges of being home with a spouse and bored kids. 

For us, not to us

So, let's ask: Is this happening for me, or to me? When we ask ourselves this question (about this or any other thing), it shifts our experience. We get more control over our circumstances, with space to receive insights to weather our storms and see opportunity, even as we grieve our losses.   

This pandemic, and the subsequent stay home measures, is challenging us like nothing else has, and we will all be changed in ways big and small. I hope we all take time to assess what's worth keeping and what's better left behind. Right now is a great time to visualize the world you want to live in, to spend time in quiet reflection, and hold space for a better future. 

As Leonard Cohen sang, "there's a crack in everything; cracks are how the light gets in." Our cracks are showing us the changes we need to collectively thrive. 

I leave you with this quote from author and extraordinary human, Arundahti Roy: 

Historically, pandemics have forced humans to break with the past and imagine their world anew. This one is no different. It is a portal, a gateway between one world and the next. We can choose to walk through it, dragging the carcasses of our prejudice and hatred, our avarice, our data banks and dead ideas, our dead rivers and smoky skies behind us. Or we can walk through lightly, with little luggage, ready to imagine another world. And ready to fight for it. 

That I write all this from relative comfort and privilege is not lost on me. And yet I also state it with conviction. Because I have learned we can do hard things. 

While most of us may not be high-risk, we're all, perhaps unwittingly, part of a new, developing social contract, staying in and doing the right things for those we love. At the very least, I hope we hold onto this, and that on the other side, we're all a little kinder, more generous, more compassionate, and more mindful. We are all in this together.  



If you like this post or this blog resonates with you in any way, please feel free to subscribe (see right column), share it, comment below, or send me a message. I'm also available for one-on-one coaching—you can find me here. 

A truck-load of caged chickens... another reason to eat local and organic

I'd rather know the chicken and eggs I
eat aren't stuck in shoe-box sized
cages, their beaks cut off and then
pumped full of drugs. Give me
roaming chickens any day... 

Driving to work this morning, I passed a semi-truck with its entire cargo area loaded with cage after cage after cage of chickens. Small, barely-big-enough-for-the-bird cages. Open to the elements. My stomach did a little flip. A voice in my head said this isn't right...

I know some people see these chickens as just birds - they're food, and we're suppposed to have dominion over them - and that it doesn't matter. But not me. It feels cruel, unjust, inhumane. And it's unhealthy - for the bird and for us.

I know not everyone can afford to buy local and organic right now, and that's a big 'shoudn't be' in my mind. But I have to draw the line somewhere, and I just can't eat meat from animals raised this way. I don't need to visit the farm, like they did in an episode of Portlandia, but I want to trust my source. I'd rather eat vegetarian meals than contribute to a food system where animal conditions aren't considered. And I'm not a vegetarian. I enjoy eating meat and I believe my body functions better with at least some animal protein every week.

But watching my cat and other pets (birds included), and having spent time on a friend's farm, I can't believe for a minute that animals don't feel. In addition to being confined to cages with barely enough room to turn around, it's common practice in the commodity chicken market to remove their beaks, fill them with antibiotics and supply feed grown with various pesticides - among other heinous practices. 

A couple of good resources to learn more are Organic Consumers Association and the Environmental Working Group. And while I don't love the title of this one, here's another site that spells it out pretty clearly.

Sustainable and / or organic food could feed the world if big agriculture wasn't calling the shots in our political system. But they are, so the best thing we can do is vote with our purchases. And speak up and speak out when we can. While Scientific American suggests a hybrid approach, this article still states, "When farmers apply best management practices, organic systems, for example, perform relatively better."

Here are a few resources that support organic food production and illustrate why it's important - how it might just eradicate hunger and have a positive impact on our environment.
The Atlantic
PCC Natural Markets
WorldWatch Institute

Manual transmission... (or, a girl and her car, and the power of choice)

I always fancied myself a good driver, and at one point even considered doing driver training at a local race track. While I didn't pursue the training, I've had a thing for driving since I was a kid - I loved my Matchbox cars and my Tonka truck at least as much as I loved Barbie dolls. I'd make roads for these wee little hot rods anywhere I could, and later, I'd ride my two-wheeler up and down the block, into neighboring driveways, imagining my bike was a car. I'd sit behind the wheel of my mom's old Ford and pretend to drive long before I got my learner's permit. I loved the feeling of navigating windy roads - even when the roads were only in my mind.

When it comes to the real thing, my most basic requirement, after a body and four wheels, is a manual transmission. I've been driving a stick shift since I bought my first five-speed about 25 years ago - a car I didn't know how to drive when I bought it and had to have someone drive home for me. But there was no way I was buying an automatic. Why? Good damn question. Something about the road beneath my wheels, the illusion of control.

Another essential was just two doors. No four-door sedan for me, no sir. Another good "why" question. I think having just two doors plays to a self image of myself as a hip, take charge driver of a sporty little convertible without the impracticality. (Even if whatever car I drive in no way resembles a sports car.)

I've pondered getting a new-to-me car for a few years now. But giving up my little 1989 Toyota Corolla is hard. Perhaps ridiculous, but it's been part of my identity my entire time back in Seattle.

However, when I bought it in 1998, I thought I'd keep it a year, no more. It wasn't ideal, but my previous car - a newer Corolla - was totaled by a hit-and-run driver, I didn't have a job, was moving back to the states, and the Canadian dollar was at an all time low. I got paid out by my B.C. insurance company in those dwindling Canadian dollars so I didn't have much to work with.

But now, 14 years later, it's been an awesome little car. My 'green' side regularly tells me that it's more eco-friendly to keep an old car than to get something new after all the monetary and environmental costs of manufacturing a new one. And if I were to buy one, what would I get? Should I buy electric, diesel, or a little econo model?

My physical response to those questions was immediate anxiety followed by paralysis. Sure, the Corolla burns a bit more oil now, but it consistently passes emissions tests, the gas mileage is decent, I can take it almost anywhere, and it's still fun to drive. Financially, I haven't missed having a car payment, insurance is cheap, and car tabs are next to nothing. So I take it in for regular quarterly maintenance, and give thanks every day that it's still going at 260,000+ miles. Until now.

Well, the car is still going, but I have retired my use of it. In the midst of my emotionally trying summer, I bought a brand new car. A 2013. Really? Yes, really. The afterglow is a bit more afterpale, as I'm continually second guessing myself. I hate to admit it, but I have on many occasions bought a piece at Nordstrom, brought it home, thought about it a while, then returned it (tags on, of course. I'm not one of those people!). Example: When searching for a pair of black boots one year, I must have brought home over the course of several months more than a dozen pairs from almost as many shoe stores - finally settling on a pair post-season with the reward for my efforts a 70% discounted price. Can't do that with a car...

The new six-speed, two-door coupe is a Hyundai Elantra - the first Elantra with just two doors. Research tells me there's not much of a market for two-door cars these days - just 22,000 Scion tCs were sold in the US in 2011 (a car I'd considered). But still the Elantra holds its value (despite the initial loss driving off the lot), it gets exceptional gas mileage, and the warranty is second to none.

Despite a fair price, it is a big expense, and it's a new monthly payment at an inconvenient time. The body is bigger than I'm used to, I can't quite get my seat oriented right, and it's not at all sports car like. I'm told it looks a bit cat like. Because it's actually a fraction of an inch longer than a four-door, it's kind of a sedan in disguise.

So I'm conflicted - albeit a waste of energy given that car dealers don't subscribe to the Nordstrom return policy. Here's the mind bending at its best:

• My conservative side wishes I'd looked around more and taken more time with my decision, maybe found something less expensive, and I'm completely befuddled by brand new.
• Various family voices pay a visit and offer their unsolicited opinion about taking on a car loan. But at 1.99% interest, really? If I'd paid cash, there would be no point in getting something different. While spending a lot on a car goes against my grain, this is reasonable. And I currently have the resources and credit rating to do this.
• My professional side says, "Why not? Your colleagues have much newer cars, and most of them are pretty nice. You need to present yourself professionally."
• My social justice side kicks in with some guilt, and I picture the guys standing under the Ballard Bridge with requests for help. In my Toyota, I was inconspicuous and presumably not much better off than they were.
• The environmental side is disgusted by the off-gassing of all the interior fabric and plastics (but happy about the gas mileage).
• Then there's my rebellious, ego-centric side that says, "but wait, didn't you want a Genesis, an Audi, or a sweet little cabriolet?" Not a lot of cache with a Hyundai, but then, the Hyundai was a lot more affordable - both now, and later (when it's time for maintenance or repairs).
• The wanna-be adventurer reminds me the purchase price would cover a lot of plane tickets, or add up to a lot of boat dollars. (But hey - it does hold its value!)
• Then there's the proverbial self doubting side that whispers, "Do you really think you deserve a new car?" Actually, yes. Maybe for the first time, I don't question what I deserve. I recognize that I have many choices and I make pretty sound ones most of the time.

(An aside: a lesson in choice came from the Landmark Forum ages ago. Choose - chocolate or vanilla. Doesn't matter which, just choose. But of course we all felt compelled to rationalize our choice. When no rationale was requested or needed. The only thing that matters is making a choice. A similar lesson came while working at an ad agency - make a decision, any decision, as long as you make one. Not making a choice is also a choice.)

Hyundai was a good choice. I know this. They've done some great work with styling and quality improvements over the last several years. And did I mention the gas mileage and the warranty?

In the month I've had it, I've become surprisingly attached to a couple of features I never knew I needed: heated seats, hands-free calling and a USB port (I can plug in my Zune!). It has A/C (my Toyota's AC stopped working last year), which was handy since we finally hit 90+ degrees - the first time in more than two years (imagine, two summers never passing the 90 degree mark - but I digress...). Cruise control I can take or leave (detracts from the driving experience), and satellite radio is fun for now (free trial) but unnecessary as I'm quite happy with NPR, our local progressive talk radio, and a few local music stations. A few features I've never had that I could probably live without are electric windows and remote locking, although they're convenient.

What I'm really happy about: all the interior and exterior lights work when they're supposed to, there's a special place for my sunglasses and a lighted vanity mirror in the driver's side visor, my seatbelt retracts as it should, and my gas gauge not only works, but I get a reading of my average mileage per tank and how much farther I can go with what's left based on my average use.

So, while I'm still second guessing myself, it wasn't a bad idea and how lucky am I to be able to drive something brand new? It's safe, it's economical, it's pretty to look at, and I can fit real people in it. Despite my kvetching, I can even afford it.

Gratitude. That's where it's at, and that's what I have to focus on. This fall and winter, when the rain comes back en force, I will be very very happy with this decision. So why not have a new car? It's a pretty fortunate place to be.