Accepting Self; The Best of Spring 2021

If you’re looking for a light read, please skip down to the pretty pictures.

I’ve thought a lot over the past 18 months about how much time I spend alone. The Covid has caused a lot of this alone time. So many people have been going through this being alone experience. Being with people has meant accepting some risk of developing Covid. If you are seeking the best chances of not getting it, stay away from people. I learned early on that I was a horrible candidate for suffocating to death. My doctor ordered a stress test for me in the middle of the Covid. I was in a room with nurses and technicians. We all wore masks. It was before vaccinations started. I was on a treadmill until my heartrate was high enough and then I was instructed to jump off and lie down on the table while they imaged my heart. I thought I was going to suffocate. I think even without a mask, I would have had a difficult time getting enough oxygen. At one point, I was asked to hold my breath. I looked at the technician like she was speaking to me in Swahili. There was no holding breath. I was sucking it in as deep and as fast as I could. I felt as though I was drowning. It was frightening. I haven’t constructed my list of all the unacceptable ways for me to die, but suffocating is clearly on it. Getting shot by an arrow or spear is right up there, as well. I have been way more than diligent about not getting the Covid.

My one risk has been Nancy, and we both accepted from the beginning of this thing that our being together was a risk. I am more than grateful that she has taken this whole gig seriously; at times more so than me. She does work at a senior center.

Before I get into the accepting oneself part of this thing, it is important that I describe my situation over the past 18 months. I do not live alone in a cabin in the woods without electricity. I live in the suburbs. I can sometimes hear my neighbors sneeze. I’ve lived in the same home since the early 80s, as have my neighbors. We recognize each other’s sneezes. I have the most wonderful family and friends. They check in with me regularly by emails, texts and phone calls. I also receive letters in the mail. I receive letters in the mail from friends who live all around the world. For a large part of the Covid, I stopped going into stores. I was ordering everything online. I was doing my grocery shopping online and then picking things up with a contactless process. I stopped going to the gym. I worked out by walking in my neighborhood and doing a routine with small weights and therabands in my living room.

I went to temple services on Friday night through zoom just about every week. I was also participating in classes that my temple offers. Those have been great. Also on zoom. I’ve attended my organization’s staff meetings every week on zoom. We’ve had education programs on zoom. Zoom is a thing. Virtual social interaction is not the same as real social interaction. That was driven home to me when I attended the first Shabbas service in person. Nancy met me there. We wore masks and sat in the parking lot outside. I wanted to be there for Pauline’s Yahrzeit. It had been four years. Being with people created such positive and profound feelings in me. It was hard for me to appreciate the depth of my isolation until I wasn’t.

Pauline and I lived together for a long time. For a good part of that time, we raised two boys. The exact opposite of living alone is living with two teenage sons. Our kids were long gone when Pauline died – married with families of their own. I was very much alone in the house except for Kazu. And then Kazu died a year after I lost Pauline. I was very much alone in this house. And then the Covid happened. Alone took on a whole new feeling.

I was in contact with people during the Covid, just not physically. And I was home alone almost every day and night.

Having Nancy in my life has been a blessing. I would say that she checks in on me regularly, but that’s not really accurate. She calls me regularly to kvetch. We characterize our relationship as kvetch and counter-kvetch. In a sense, she is checking in on me during the day, every day, by having someone reliable to complain at, about everything. I am comforted by the notion that if she went a day or two without my picking up the phone or responding to a text, that she might come over to be sure that I haven’t suffocated or been shot by an arrow or spear.

Getting vaccinated did change this dynamic. After receiving the second shot, Nancy and I ventured out more. I went back to the gym. I take lots of classes – yoga, Pilates, fitness. These are all oriented to people who aren’t allowed to fall down. We accept that breaking one’s hip accelerates dementia. So, I see the same people all week long. While we are friendly with each other, we’re usually too busy being humble warriors to engage in conversation. I am grateful for the hellos and the warm, smiling eyes. Conversations aren’t the general rule. I go into stores, but I try to get in and out. As the Delta variant has spread and caused mayhem, I put my mask back on while I am working out at the gym and while I am in stores. What used to be human beings has returned to being deadly germ containers. Getting in and out and minimizing my time around virus spreaders has been my mode of operation. Half of the people in Ohio are not vaccinated. It is not safe in Ohio for so many different reasons. We’ve gone from the heart of it all to beware: Jim Jordan lives here.

I can’t really say that I was a mess after Pauline died. Being a mess would involve my awareness of self. I was hardly aware of anything. My head, heart and soul had exploded on a prairie in northern Montana. A place that I love more than anywhere in the world became a nightmare. My family and some very good friends gave me enough support to get me to a place where I could recognize that I was so not okay and needed help. I didn’t need a clinical definition of PTSD to understand that I had it. Good thing Pauline left me her exceptional service dog, Kazu.

I’m not a trained professional, but my gut told me that if I wanted to have any chance of retuning my mind, heart and soul to any measure of functionality, I couldn’t go into denial about any of what happened. Good thing Pauline left me her wonderful clinical psychologist.

I got myself into intensive psychotherapy for almost two years. I followed the traditional Jewish mourning rituals. I accepted help and support from family and friends. I tried my best to keep a healthy routine with a good diet and exercise. I stayed entirely away from alcohol or any other mind-altering substance. And I diligently avoided denial. As they say, I leaned into it. The pain was acute and the work was hard. But if acceptance was the objective, I set my mind to achieving it.

Did I achieve mental health? I don’t think so. I think what I achieved was acceptance. I’ve accepted that a part of me is broken and irreparable. Acceptance means, I am okay with not being okay. I think anyone who lives past a certain age is going to achieve brokenness of some or many varieties. Life never goes as planned, nor does it go the way we want it to.

I am most definitely not okay in so many respects. I’m a neurotically organized person in most aspects of my life. There are too many loose ends in my heart and soul to be okay. Regardless of how old you are or how long a relationship you have with a loved one, or how healthy that relationship was, when that person dies, there is going to be unfinished business. That’s the nature of life and the nature of relationships. We are so imperfect in our humanness. How could it be otherwise. When you lose a person who is young and you lose them unexpectedly in a trauma and you don’t get the chance to say good-bye, the unfinished business takes on a totally different character. It is a trauma unto itself; it is a psychological, emotional nightmare.

When people ask me if I’m okay, I almost always tell them that I am. If I tell them I’m not okay, they are going to ask me what’s going on. I almost never want to describe my psychological or emotional place in the universe. I’m not sparing them in my response; I am sparing myself. I almost never find a review of my state of mind as a productive or positive experience. I’m not seeking rainbows, smiley faces or unicorns, although Nancy and Stella offer an abundance of all these things to me. A steady state is fine.

Nancy and I laugh a lot with each other. I laugh a lot with my family and my friends. I still think I’m hysterical. And most of my family and friends think I’m hysterical, although they all try not to encourage me. It irritates all of them that no one finds me funnier than me. I’ve learned how to laugh while feeling monumentally sad. How could I not be sad? I cry often and I cry hard. Nancy sometimes chuckles when I cry. There are times she can’t believe what triggers my tears, like a beer commercial can’t be intensely emotional?

Through therapy, through my own self-reflection and work, I feel as though I’ve pushed the boulder as far up the hill as I’m going to get it. I’m a long way from the top of the hill, but I’m accepting that I just don’t have the kohach (strength) to get it further. While I’m most definitely not okay, I’m okay with my effort, as well as my current place on the hill. To my therapist’s great credit, she graduated me from therapy. We both recognized that she had helped me through the most perilous portion of my journey. I was in a place to determine my own path, in my own way, in my own time. And she graciously kept the door open should I ever feel as though I would benefit from further help.

I have been alone and in my head for the past four years. Covid intensified and magnified my condition. I try to avoid the news. It is pretty much unavoidable, but I limit my exposure. As you know from my blogs, if you’ve read them, the news sinks into my head in an unhealthy way. I inherited this trait from my father. If you had a problem of some sort, really any sort, he went directly into fix it mode. The notion of listening to a problem just for the purpose of listening just wasn’t in his DNA. This was unfortunately my inheritance – along with cardiovascular disease and diabetes. If you start telling me your problems, my mind goes directly to what can be done about it? I’m mentally repairing technological issues that I’m totally ignorant about. I’m repairing relationships that I have no rational reason to get involved in. I’m finding ways to fix our society and all its many problems. I’m starting an organization to help achieve a better quality of life for Pauline and volunteering my time and energy for 27 years. Hey, don’t make me run for president.

I am unable to control the thoughts that pop into my head. I am also unable to control what I dream and remember. I try not think about the details from that day. I think about that day every day. What I avoid are the details and any visualizing of the events. Details and visual memories create feelings in me that I would characterize as trauma. They happen. I accept that they happen. The mind is such an incredible thing. I do my best to move past these experiences when they occur. The sadness wells up in me. At times, I am filled with anxiety and stress. I work to recognize what it is, where it comes from, and I try to move past it. I always remind myself that the pain is commensurate with the intensity and depth of the love that was lost. And I try to connect with those thoughts and feelings. Gratefulness. Sadness. A very mixed bag.

I’m never angry. I’ve never been angry in any of this experience. Not in my therapy. Not during any of this process. And it’s not like I don’t get angry. I can get angry about anything. I get most angry at injustice and stupidity that emanates from laziness. There’s a difference to me between not knowing because you don’t know how or where to find the book and not having the slightest interest or energy in opening any book. Over the past five years, I’ve been about as pissed as I’ve ever been in my life. And this is why I limit my access to knowing what is going on in the world. My mental health has become dependent on embracing some amount of ignorance and denial.

It’s remarkable that amid the most significant emotional chaos I’ve experienced in my life that anger has not had a place in any of this. I’m not angry about my life or loss as I chalk it up to that’s just life. When we read the prayers on Yom Kippur about the book of life, a reflection on how we’ve been as human beings and that it is determined who shall live this year and who shall die – as it is written and sealed – that whole notion just pisses me off. I am a firm believer that shit just happens. I don’t seek any cosmic meaning in any of it. I’m actually offended by the notion that there’s some kind of cosmic meaning in this kind of loss. Any meaning that exists in any of it is conjured up in one’s mind. I might look for meaning or I might not. It depends on the event. For me, there’s nothing spiritual in my loss of Pauline. It is just part of life that I would characterize as the most horrible kind of meaningless tragedy.

Ironically, Pauline found meaning in all events and there was very much a spiritual quality to her thoughts, feelings and beliefs. And interestingly, Nancy is much closer to Pauline in her spirituality than she is to me – in fact, they pretty much come from the same place on these issues. I respect and appreciate where they come from and where they are … it just doesn’t resonate for me. I don’t really understand how people acquire this life philosophy, but I don’t believe you acquire it from reading books or listening to people describe or try to explain these things. I think you have this faith or you don’t. And I admire it. Peace comes from this kind of faith. I wish I had it. My Hebrew name is יִשְׂרָאֵל‎ - which means, Israel, and in English translates as 'Wrestles with God.' My rabbi suggested that given my philosophical struggles with faith that I was appropriately named.

Sleep has been difficult. At my worst, I was trying to sleep with the lights and television on. Dark and quiet were my enemy. Kazu was in his crate, in a dark and quiet room away from the nut. Over the past four years, I’ve tried everything under the sun to sleep better. AARP magazine contains numerous articles about the importance of sleep with many recommendations of what you should do and not do to get a good night’s sleep. I’ve been through all of them. Nothing has worked effectively or consistently for me, except marijuana. We have medical marijuana in Ohio. It is highly regulated in the state. The legislature identified conditions that would qualify a person for medical marijuana. Both chronic pain and PTSD are on the list. I went with chronic pain for the same reasons I tell people I’m okay when they ask. I chose to spare myself the experience of explaining my life to a marijuana doctor. My arthritic pain is well documented in my medical records. That was an easy and direct path to take. I went to the specialized doctor, got my prescription, and headed to the dispensary. Having gone through my formative years in the 60s and 70s, it has been the total cosmic experience for me to go to the dope store. I am greeted at the door by a well-dressed, friendly man carrying a gun and led to a knowledgeable dope specialist who helps me through wildly varied options. After much experimentation, I’ve found the indica gummies with just the right amounts of THC to fog my mind into sleep and to keep me there for most nights. I even have nights on occasion where I don’t get up to pee. Small victories. I’ve gone from just a few hours of sleep every night to five or six hours on most nights. I know that is still short of what I should be getting, but it is better than where I was. I’ve yet to leave the dispensary without feeling enormously grateful for knowing what I just purchased is precisely what it says on the label, that half of the bottle doesn’t contain seeds, and that the benefactors of my purchase are legitimate entrepreneurs and the government. Aint life grand?

I cried through both of my last two physical exams. My doctor actually raised the issue of suicide while she was examining me. I think I might have told her that I had neither the energy nor focus for such activity. She put me on notice that if my mood didn’t improve by the next time she saw me, she was going to discuss an anti-depressant with me. My assignment: get more exercise, eat less of what I like, figure out how to behave ‘happy.’ She’s been my doctor for a very long time. She was Pauline’s doctor. She’s my ex-wife’s doctor. She’s now Nancy’s doctor. Is that weird? She knows me well. I’m very sad. I don’t have the diagnostic manual on me, but I would imagine that I could qualify for a diagnosis of depression. Why not? I’m not on an anti-depressant and don’t plan to be anytime soon. At least while I know who I am. If I lose that, they’re going to do with me whatever they want (which includes whatever makes life easier for them). I believe my sadness is situational. So many events have occurred in my life that have crushed me with sadness. I think I’m feeling and behaving appropriately. I also share a society with people who believe that I belong to a group that eats babies and has caused the wildfires in California with our space lasers. Would taking an anti-depressant make these people move to Bulgaria … not that there’s anything wrong with Bulgaria. I don’t have anything against anti-depressants; almost everyone around me is taking them. I just don’t think I get a happy life through medication. Prescribed medication or self-medication, life remains the same. Sad.

Keep moving. Find ways to see the blessings. Find gratefulness where it exists. Accept the sadness for what it is and recognize where it comes from. On it.

It has been a journey and remains so. One of the ways I gauge my status is by thinking about my six beautiful grandchildren. There was nothing about Pauline’s and my life that involved more pure pleasure than the time we spent with our grandchildren. It was Pauline who created that experience. Pauline went to school to become an elementary school teacher. The reality, however, was that she was born to be a teacher and the schooling gave her the credentials for doing so. She was such an exceptional Sitte (grandmother). She read to the kids, she played games with them, she did arts and crafts with them, she sang with them and she laughed with them. I enjoyed and took photographs of all of it. After Pauline died, I took one tragedy and made another tragedy out of it. The pain of being with them was more acute than any other situation I found myself in. When I was with them, I felt as though I was suffocating. It took time before the pain diminished some. Unfortunately, it is still there. It sucks. I have the greatest grandchildren, and yet, being with them is so connected to my loss and sadness. And Bonzi was born after Pauline died. That just makes me sad beyond words.

It has become easier to be with the kids. Nancy has helped. They love Nancy and they love being with her.

Nancy accepts my brokenness. She understands it and she is able, more than most, to empathize with it. I don’t have to describe or explain anything to her. She will look at me when I am at my worst, and just give me a hug. Period. No words … because there are no words. She is a blessing in my life. I am grateful that we are old enough and wise enough to accept that we are unable to fix each other. Our relationship grows from an acceptance of who each of us are … change has to come from within … do you like and love the person in front of you … as they are.

I spent fourteen years of my life becoming a cultural anthropologist at a time when traditional anthropology was going the way of the dodo bird, and for all the best reasons. Another subject for another time. While I wasn’t able to be the full-time professorial anthropologist that I had imagined, my experience has offered me so much insight and wonderful life lessons. A great one comes from the meaning and purpose of revitalization movements. Please look them up some time because they are fascinating. So many of the principles underlying these phenomena can be applied to individuals. I’m sure psychology and social work are chock full of this kind of philosophy. We are often faced in our lives with events that cause us massive amounts of stress. It’s always a great idea when these things happen to assess what possible control we might have over changing the source of stress. Are we able to physically change the situation? If one concludes that there’s no way to make these changes, the only alternative to escaping the stress is to change the way one thinks about the cause. It is really that complicated and that simple. The alternative is to just accept stress as the way things are going to be, and that isn’t okay. Constant, endemic stress makes us ill. It involves work to change the mental reality … but it is the only option when faced with stuff you just have no control over. If you know this is how things operate, it is worth putting in the work to make those psychological changes – however you find ways to accomplish those. I’ve had a few personal revitalization movements during my lifetime. I’m in another one now.

It's not a good thing to be in one’s own head 24/7 and even less so after experiencing a trauma. Being home alone while avoiding contracting a virus that is suffocating people to death does, in fact, encourage one to be in their own head all day and night. Being able to find comforting thoughts and feelings becomes so important. I have a routine that I practice diligently. It involves lots of physical activity, including Pilates, yoga, and tai chi. I use weight machines three days a week and I’m on a recumbent bike (because I have no cartilage left in either knee) for 30 to 45 minutes at least five days a week. I don’t enjoy any of it. I have the same awareness of endorphins that I do of angels. I’ve heard of both and have experienced neither. I engage in this activity for the same reasons I take prescribed medication every day, like clockwork. Don’t be asking questions, just keep moving. I figured out a long time ago that people with doctorate degrees are usually not the smartest people on the block; but they are the most neurotically disciplined. They’re the people who when told you’re ABD really heard, you have leprosy and your favorite organ is going to fall off.

I limit exposure, as much as possible, to the realities that make me crazy and cause me anxiety and stress and appreciate peace where it can be found. I am beyond grateful for Nancy, my children, grandchildren, family, and friends. Unfortunately, everyone has a stressful life, they share their lives with me … and their stress and my genetic disorder have me mentally repairing their problems regardless of whether they are at all interested in receiving my solutions. And most aren’t. This is not peace. I don’t feel comfortable asking everyone to lie to me about their lives, so I just have to accept that this is what comes with having family and friends, not to mention that a significant number of my closest friends have really horrible neuroimmunologic disorders.

Photography. Doing my photography in nature is peace. Working on my photographs is peace. It is one of the few activities I have that allows me to lose my mind. Not thinking about life is a blessing for me. I don’t get enough of it. Reading a book. Watching a movie. Laughing – with Nancy or my kids or grandkids. I just don’t have enough life experiences in which I can get totally lost. I used to get this feeling of escape when I played congas. It is an altered state of consciousness. It is an escape from mind that is the closest thing I know to pure peace. There is something entirely cosmic about being lost in a rhythm. There is some vestige of the feeling when listening, but it doesn’t come close to the experience of making it. I can’t play the congas anymore because the arthritis in my hands is so painful, it has become impossible for me. I gave my congas to my grandson who is becoming a very good drummer. I hope he finds the altered state of consciousness that his Zadie achieved for so many appreciated decades. Rock on, Maceo.

I would describe photography as my Zen place, but people with OCD generally don’t know from the Zen place. I think we have to be okay with just being lost. The hiking, the looking, visualizing the image, framing it from different perspectives, assessing the light, finding the best backgrounds, thinking through the techniques and the approaches for capturing it, finding my best attempts at creativity … I am grateful being able to get lost in it. The escape from my mind is a blessing and I recognize it as such.

About once a month, I go out with a good friend on a photography adventure. Other than Nancy, he’s the only person I go out to shoot with. It is usually a solitary exercise for me. Not because I don’t like people, but because I can become so fixated on a specific subject that I can make a person insane while doing my photography. I’ve spent hours working my way around a very small space. Nancy accommodates my behavior by wearing earphones and listening to one of her favorite playlists. She will keep walking and just make large circles around me until I’m ready to move on. When I’m out with my friend, he’s fine with my neurotic camera behavior because he’s right there with me. It’s also nice that he is a retired clinical psychologist.

When I was out shooting, Pauline would often apologize to people who had to walk around me to get from here to there. On one occasion when Pauline was offering condolences to a man who was waiting for me to move, he responded to her that he could be patient; that clearly, I was passionate about my photography. Clearly, I am. Neurotically, passionately lost in it. Gratefully, blissfully outside of mind.

These are my best images from this past spring.

My first foray out in early spring was to Walnut Woods Metro Park. This was a trip I made with Bruce. He has introduced me to some really great parks and nature preserves. The difference between late winter and early spring in central Ohio can be negligible. There is so little color. These were my best shots from that day in mid-March. I'm getting much better at not taking hundreds of photographs of scenes that don't inspire me. It helps to have a good friend to talk with on the hike.

With Bruce's encouragement, I joined a camera club during the covid. I'm not a good joiner and I'm not sure how long I'm going to last in this club. They have photo competitions every month, they have lots of educational programs and they have some photo walks. I should write a blog sometime on photography competitions. I'm a horrible competitor. I appreciate having my work critiqued. That's one of the best parts of being a photography student. Receiving a critique is a great way to learn. Participating in a competition is something different. I've dropped out of the competitions.

One of our club members has a relationship with a gentleman who has a spectacular garden about an hour from Columbus. Mr. Schnormeier opens up his 80 acre gardens to the public once a year and thousands of people come to appreciate the beauty. Through this relationship, our camera club had a unique opportunity to go to the garden on a Saturday in May when it wasn't open to the public. Nancy and I met Bruce and his wife at the Schnormeier Gardens and spent an afternoon sharing the experience.

There is a small lake or large pond with lily pads just in front of his home. The lily pads are of different varieties and colors. I'm sure they would create some awesome abstracts if I could get closer. If only I could bend my knees.

There are lots of fish in the pond/lake. I noticed the cloud reflections in the water and saw the way the fish were swimming in and out of these reflections.

This is the humble Schnormeier abode.

In early April, Nancy and I made a trip to Inniswoods Metro Park. If there is going to be any color in early spring, it usually can be found at this park because they have so many different varieties of flowering plants - both wild flowers and planted gardens. In early April in central Ohio, colors begin to appear.

Hogback Ridge Park was another photography hike I took with Bruce. We went in mid April. The park is primarily wooded and there is little color on the ground. Most of the flowers we found were in a garden in front of their nature center.

Hogback has a small pond with a blind for people who come to do bird watching. Bruce likes to shoot birds. While Bruce was doing his bird thing, I was drawn into this abstract from the reflections in the pond.

On the same trip with Bruce, we made a brief stop to a ridge at Alum Creek State Park. Both of these images are good examples of early spring in central Ohio. The leaves are beginning to appear.

These photographs came as a surprise. I meet a good friend of mine from Cleveland once a month for a social visit. Gary and I have been friends since elementary school. We pick a place to meet somewhere between Cleveland and Columbus. We tried to take a hike at a nature preserve but because of heavy rains earlier that week, the trails were totally flooded. We decided to try the Ashland University campus. The following images were from our walk.