Resilience Protocol #2: One Foot In Front of the Other, and Faith.
I recently had an afflatus.
An afflatus is not a fart. An afflatus is "a sudden divine-like inspiration."
Whether what you are about to read is an afflatus or not is up to you, but it felt like one this morning while it came to me as I walked (yes I am back on my left foot again!) girl Juno.
First a recap for those who may have missed my last post.
On June 25th, once again, the shit hit the fan (SHTF) in my life. A posterior meniscal root tear in my left knee while walking my dog Juno changed my entire summer, and the summer of my wife Lea and daughter Anne, in an instant. I wrote about it in this post: When the Shit Hits the Fan.... where I outlined the resilience protocol that has served me so well over the course of many big setbacks in my life.
From the post: "So, yet again, I had to pull out the resilience protocol that has been the scaffolding for dealing with all of the many, many crocodile fights that I have had in my life: Accept, adapt with muscular patience, and look for opportunities to learn and grow."
You see, I love having a system or protocol for nearly everything—from loading the dishwasher to bathroom body management, the bedroom, information management, and operating. As James Clear famously said, " We fall to the level of our systems."
Believe me, he is right. Don't put your things away consistently and in the same place, and you find yourself anxious and stressed all the damn time as you try to find what you are looking for. It is a choice that, for me, is driven by the idea that I overwhelmingly prefer to have a lower level of pain by following a system preemptively than to have increased levels of pain dealing with the fallout of not having a system.
So, I followed the resilience protocol, and as always, it worked, over time. The challenge with reading about systems and protocols is they can sound upbeat, doable, and hopeful, in the abstract. But when the SHTF, keeping that upbeat, doable, and optimistic resilience protocol in mind, can be a bitch, because when you are in the middle of a SHTH situation, the pain and misery can douse the flames of the resilience protocol, no matter how much sense it makes intellectually.
Okay, you have read this far, and here is my afflatus: when the SHTF, sometimes all we can do is put one foot in front of the other and have faith that the protocol will work, as long as we do so repeatedly until the clouds clear.
My son Sam (who had a below the knee amputation after a month of 10 operations and who is now riding his bicycle from Prudoe Bay Alaska to the Antacrtic ) said it best: "you have to learn how to tolerate misery."
There are several areas of misery not accounted for in the usual upbeat resilience and bounce-back world of newsletters declaring the 3 best things or YouTube videos painting a rosy picture after the fact.
I am still in the throws of this, having just gotten off crutches and no weight-bearing three weeks ago, and the clouds are finally clearing. I wanted to share some of the darker sides that I have experienced, and have always experienced, whenever the SHTF in my life. Some may think I am whining. Fine with me. It is my reality, and I am certain it is often the reality of most of us when the SHTF. The specifics of my case may not relate to the specifics of the SHTF situations of others, but the deeper principles are, in my opinion, universal.
Challenge 1: Total Loss of Control of Nearly Everything.
Before the surgery, I ran the house. I work from home, and spend most of my time alone while my wife Lea (now an artist) was at her studio.
It was my kingdom of organization and order.
When the SHTF with my knee, my little kingdom was invaded by my wife Lea and our daughter Anne, who, having now been drafted into service, were forced to show up on the shores of my miserable little island and take over.
All I could do was watch and fully accept as they just threw all the dishes and silverware helter-skelter into the dishwasher. I realized immediately that not only was I no longer in control of anything, but that I had to keep my mouth shut about how I thought shit should be done. I tapped out and quickly realized there were only four things I could do:
- Move my ass from one location to another with my crutches.
- Go to physical therapy.
- Not complain.
- Tolerate the misery.
Challenge 2: The Seemingly Devastating Loss of My Relationship with Juno.
I have had many dogs (mostly German Shepherds), but Juno has captured my heart and soul, and I love her dearly. I had been training her (following online video training courses from this incredible place called Leerburg,) and we were bonded at the hip.
So much of our relationship developed from our walks (three per day) and training. Now, I could only watch as Anne took over for me with Lea's help. Thankfully, Anne committed herself to learning about the training and keeping things going to the extent possible. However, Juno is a big and willful dog, and without a strong force, she tested the boundaries relentlessly. Again, all I could do was:
- Move my ass from one location to another with my crutches.
- Go to physical therapy.
- Not complain.
- Tolerate the misery.
But the bigger problem? It felt like a divorce I did not want, like I got dumped. I realize this may sound ridiculous, but sometimes there is stuff in life that is just the way it is, and it is part of the richness of our humanity. I love Juno, and her "loss" was one of the more emotionally difficult parts of the entire mess for me. More than once, I found myself crying (on my own, usually in the bathroom) because I could do nothing about it, and because I missed taking her on walks and training her so much.
Challenge # 3: It Seems Like It Will Never End.
When the days are good, life is in order, and things are humming, there is much to look forward to. When the SHTF, it is as if the dark clouds of the situation will never part to let a bit of optimistic sunshine in. I am, by nature, extremely (but realistically) optimistic. But when I was incarcerated in Hazelden, and in other dark periods of my life (getting divorced), it seemed like the grind and the heavy dark clouds would never go away.
Almost every night since the surgery, sleep has been a significant issue because of the aching, muscle twitching, and stiffness. At one point, I realized the profound impact it was having on my mood and the dark sense of what seemed to be a never-ending plight. I think this is true of any form of major distress - whether physical, or mental (of course, they are partners in crime).
Each morning when I woke up, instead of looking forward to getting my coffee and hoping into my chair to read, I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at my crutches, and wished that I did not have to face another Groundhogs movie like day of:
- Moving my ass from one location to another with my crutches.
- Going to physical therapy.
- Not complaining.
- Tolerating the misery.
Challenge #4: Infection of My Family With My Lack of Energy and Suffering.
My leg had taken over my life and my brain. It became the sole dominant focus of my mental world nearly 24/7. This made Jack a dull boy with nothing to talk about except his leg. I am sure I was not fun to be around most of the time.
This is tough. We all know how profound even simple emotional displays of others can affect us, and now my wife and daughter were stuck with having to do everything. It was a summer that they did not plan on, so in a very real sense the SHTF for them too. Being aware of this, I tried to be as "upbeat" and conversational as possible - for example, after crutching up the stairs in the morning, in pain, short of breath, and struggling with the skin rubbed off the sides of my chest by the crutches, I tried to smile at Lea and say hi, and engage in even simple conversations.
In my opinion, I just barely did ok at this, even though my wife Lea spontaneously said how much she appreciated my efforts to be positive in a hard situation. I could have done better.
One thing I did do well: never complain or bitch. I told them when I was struggling or in more pain, and I cried at a low moment in front of my wife Lea. But I never complained because they did not need an emotional contagion to infect their already weakened emotional immune system.
The Afflatus: One Foot In Front of the Other, and Faith.
The afflatus is that by committing to putting one foot in front of the other, minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day, you are following a subsystem of the resilience protocol, but at a deeper daily level.
And there is a second afflatus floating through the air of my current contemplation: that one needs to be aware of, to realize, to know clearly, and to fully accept that you are in the One Foot In Front of the Other protocol.
For it is in these dark times that one can lose faith and slide down the slippery slope of discouragement, depression, or worse.
My afflatus was triggered by an online presentation by Herminia Ibarra, a Professor of Organizational Behavior at London Business School, about difficult transitions in midlife. It was a conversation between her and two other high-profile thinkers on midlife transitions, and the usual protocols and thoughts were being discussed when she offered the following bit of profound wisdom: sometimes these transitions are so difficult that all you can really do is "put one foot in front of the other, and have faith."
That is it.
The next time the SHTF in your life, which I can assure you it will, engage the resilience protocol, keep it humming in the background, have muscular patience and self-compassion, and despite the darkness and misery, face each day by creating your own one foot in front of the other protocol specific to your situation, and have faith that you will, eventually, prevail.
