For the past couple of years I've been noticing - as in catching myself in the act - how much of my thinking, behavior and actions are programmed, so much so that I haven't observed very much at all that is original.
To that end I've made a conscious effort to notice, to ponder upon what could qualify as new thinking, or behaviors. I'd thought I'd found and example in my gym routines, where I've been modifying and upping the focus of, and difficulty of, my workout routines to improve my strength in certain body areas that have been experiencing aches and pains
I recently watched the Public TV program, The Brain with David Eagleman, which served to elucidate my ponderings by illustrating the brain's mechanics and their consequences. Since watching I've been able to more clearly and more completely watch my programming at work.
This morning I was watching an interview on the Today Show with three women talking about their various religions and their desire to coexist with other's religions. It occurred to me that the entire conversation was a clear example of programmed thinking.
So I started to wonder, as we age, let's just say past the age of 65, what percentage of our thinking could be said to be original? Any? How much have we been programmed by the people, media, and environment around us? I mean 65 years is a lot of programming time!
Consider: we truck off to church once a week, sometimes less, sometimes more, to be told stories about how people behaved in the past; and how we are expected to copy those behaviors, and retell those same stories. Most religions have a) some element of defining good and bad behavior, b) some mystical leader who tells his/her followers how these behaviors should be maintained and spread to others, and c) an indisputable clarity about the rightness of their own version of the right behavioral doctrine.
All followers go through a kind of indoctrination. I recall as a child, being carted off to church, sitting through a "service", listening to what supposed wisdom was being espoused, at least the little that I could understand; and repeatedly practicing those programming ceremonies that claimed those who participated were "good" people. So naturally in a good/bad paradigm, that meant anyone not "good" was automatically "bad".
I sometimes wondered, "is there any other way to be?" Could I be neither good, nor bad? Could I be both? Do I really have to be one or the other? Is there some other paradigm for human beings? When I brought that up in Cataclysm, it didn't go over well. What if I was neither?, I asked. Would people still like me? Would I be acceptable? Could I survive? Should I survive? How did I arrive to this question?, my minister asked. Should I even be asking such things?
Throughout my religious training (Sunday School, Church, Cataclysm, Youth Group, Boy Scouts, Holidays, and holiday ceremonies, etc) did I ever hear anyone suggest that there might be other ways to think about these stories, this history, this behavioral indoctrination, this programming? Nope.
I do remember hearing a few people say, "think for yourself". I recall wondering on a few of those occasions, "what does that mean?'. Before I got the distinction voice-in-my-head, "I" was my thinking. There was no me separate from those never ending thoughts. And now the voice in my head is wondering, "how much of what is occurring as my thinking, have I ever invented?"
Friday, April 13, 2018
Saturday, April 7, 2018
The mind and aging
I've been noticing lately the correlation between my mind (the voice-in-my-head that seems to be separate from me - that does what we call thinking) and what's going on in my aging body. Sometimes the aches and pains get intense; enough to make it very clear that I probably don't have decades left.
I've noticed that in my mind, I'm OK with dying. That doesn't seem so foreboding any longer. What's way more annoying are the same-old-and-new-daily-discovered-pains-in-my-body. My joints hurt. Not all of them, mind you. Just the ones that I use.
I play golf and my lower right side back muscles are sore for a couple days. I walk 9 holes (according to fitbit that is 10000 steps - 5 miles) and my right knee and shin hurt. And when I finish my right-side and back hurt, right under my right shoulder blade and in my lower right lats. My right wrist needs a steroid shot now once a year as the sheath around the tendon where it crosses the bone in my wrist is worn and frazzled - the doctor philosophically tells me "it's just age". I swim laps 3 or 4 times a week to stretch my pecs, lats, and my abdominal external obliques (are you impressed?) and they are all sore for two days. I wonder. Do lefty's experience this same pains on the left side of their back? But I digress.
A few days ago I decided I'd build a raised garden for our back deck. I thought I'd be smart and build it to about waist height, use plastic deck lumber so it doesn't rot, mount it on wheels, and make it v-shaped so deep rooting plants could grow in a middle row while shallower rooting plants could grow along the edges - final size = 96" L x 30" W x 32" H. Weight turned out to be about 1000 lbs.
There was a time when I would have planned this out more sensibly, but my brain no longer thinks that clearly. Anyway, that voice-in-my-head had lots of good reasons why it made sense at the time.
It took three days to build it. The last day was the hardest. I had constructed the plastic-plank sides, each of which weighed in at about 90 lbs. I had to lift each of them in and out of the frame four times to mark and measure the cuts in them so they'd fit as needed. Once I got the whole thing built, I then had to lift 6 forty lb bags of drainage stone (into the bottom of the v) and 12 forty lb bags of planting soil to fill the garden. By that time, given the unbelievable pain in my back, it was clear this was a stupid project.
After each day of work there were nights of pain and body soreness. The last night I was bone tired and slept 11 hours. The next day I did nothing - well I mean nothing really physical. I was too tired to even go to the gym. I did manage to plant some veggies and seeds - my reward for all that stupidity and pain.
So why do I go on so? Well on that fourth day I reflected back on my stupidity. Before I started, in my mind, I knew I could figure out how to do this project. And before I began, the voice-in-my-head figured I was still physically able. And finally my annual-spring-exuberant-energy relished this opportunity to appropriately celebrate the season's arrival. So I dove in. Ouch.
However, upon reflection I remembered back to high school days, coming home from track practice, or an all-day tennis match, with similar pains. And after a typical summer day building houses as a carpenter, I came home feeling tired and sore. If I complained my mother would just call it "growing pains", or say something like, "no gain without ___". You know how it goes. So I didn't give it any credence. I knew I'd outlive it. Context is everything.
Now however, it seems that my mind and body live on different planets. That seems like my daily reality. However as I reflected, there were notable exceptions to that thought:
So the voice-in-my-head began to wonder. Is there a phenomenon where the brain accepts aging (and dying) as we go through the process?
I mean I know my brain is less capable in some very noticeable ways. My mind-body connection is not as automatic as it used to be. I noticeably can do only one thing at a time now. And I typically have to stop and concentrate on that thing - even something as simple as carrying an arm full of things up stairs to put away. I have to stop, empty my arm load onto something; then take each item one-at-a-time and put them away. That of course assumes I was able to navigate the stairs without holding on; which isn't always possible; and, that I'll remember when I get to the top of the stairs, why I came up in the first place - yes, even with an arm load of things.
I used to be able to do that sort of thing all automatically without thinking; and do it as easily and naturally as southerners say "You'all" (sounds more like yawl}. But now I can do neither - walk up the stairs without any thought, or say "yawl" like a southerner.
So the next time my exuberance grabs me to do a stupid project, I need an interruption. I thought I could post my plans on Facebook and ask my friends to intervene by comment. However as I complete this, the voice-in-my-head is saying, "you'll just forget".
I've noticed that in my mind, I'm OK with dying. That doesn't seem so foreboding any longer. What's way more annoying are the same-old-and-new-daily-discovered-pains-in-my-body. My joints hurt. Not all of them, mind you. Just the ones that I use.
I play golf and my lower right side back muscles are sore for a couple days. I walk 9 holes (according to fitbit that is 10000 steps - 5 miles) and my right knee and shin hurt. And when I finish my right-side and back hurt, right under my right shoulder blade and in my lower right lats. My right wrist needs a steroid shot now once a year as the sheath around the tendon where it crosses the bone in my wrist is worn and frazzled - the doctor philosophically tells me "it's just age". I swim laps 3 or 4 times a week to stretch my pecs, lats, and my abdominal external obliques (are you impressed?) and they are all sore for two days. I wonder. Do lefty's experience this same pains on the left side of their back? But I digress.
A few days ago I decided I'd build a raised garden for our back deck. I thought I'd be smart and build it to about waist height, use plastic deck lumber so it doesn't rot, mount it on wheels, and make it v-shaped so deep rooting plants could grow in a middle row while shallower rooting plants could grow along the edges - final size = 96" L x 30" W x 32" H. Weight turned out to be about 1000 lbs.
There was a time when I would have planned this out more sensibly, but my brain no longer thinks that clearly. Anyway, that voice-in-my-head had lots of good reasons why it made sense at the time.
It took three days to build it. The last day was the hardest. I had constructed the plastic-plank sides, each of which weighed in at about 90 lbs. I had to lift each of them in and out of the frame four times to mark and measure the cuts in them so they'd fit as needed. Once I got the whole thing built, I then had to lift 6 forty lb bags of drainage stone (into the bottom of the v) and 12 forty lb bags of planting soil to fill the garden. By that time, given the unbelievable pain in my back, it was clear this was a stupid project.
After each day of work there were nights of pain and body soreness. The last night I was bone tired and slept 11 hours. The next day I did nothing - well I mean nothing really physical. I was too tired to even go to the gym. I did manage to plant some veggies and seeds - my reward for all that stupidity and pain.
So why do I go on so? Well on that fourth day I reflected back on my stupidity. Before I started, in my mind, I knew I could figure out how to do this project. And before I began, the voice-in-my-head figured I was still physically able. And finally my annual-spring-exuberant-energy relished this opportunity to appropriately celebrate the season's arrival. So I dove in. Ouch.
However, upon reflection I remembered back to high school days, coming home from track practice, or an all-day tennis match, with similar pains. And after a typical summer day building houses as a carpenter, I came home feeling tired and sore. If I complained my mother would just call it "growing pains", or say something like, "no gain without ___". You know how it goes. So I didn't give it any credence. I knew I'd outlive it. Context is everything.
Now however, it seems that my mind and body live on different planets. That seems like my daily reality. However as I reflected, there were notable exceptions to that thought:
- I noticed that in my spring exuberance, my daily dose of vertigo-every-time-I-bend-over was gone! No vertigo!
- The more my back hurt the less my wrist hurt! I don't really know if my wrist actually hurt less, or if my mind could tolerate only so much discomfort at one time. The voice-in-my-head just realized (noticed-and-informed-me) at the end of day one, that my wrist didn't seem to hurt any more.
So the voice-in-my-head began to wonder. Is there a phenomenon where the brain accepts aging (and dying) as we go through the process?
I mean I know my brain is less capable in some very noticeable ways. My mind-body connection is not as automatic as it used to be. I noticeably can do only one thing at a time now. And I typically have to stop and concentrate on that thing - even something as simple as carrying an arm full of things up stairs to put away. I have to stop, empty my arm load onto something; then take each item one-at-a-time and put them away. That of course assumes I was able to navigate the stairs without holding on; which isn't always possible; and, that I'll remember when I get to the top of the stairs, why I came up in the first place - yes, even with an arm load of things.
I used to be able to do that sort of thing all automatically without thinking; and do it as easily and naturally as southerners say "You'all" (sounds more like yawl}. But now I can do neither - walk up the stairs without any thought, or say "yawl" like a southerner.
So the next time my exuberance grabs me to do a stupid project, I need an interruption. I thought I could post my plans on Facebook and ask my friends to intervene by comment. However as I complete this, the voice-in-my-head is saying, "you'll just forget".
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