Nothing's Gonna Hurt You Baby

It’s pretty easy to get discouraged about the state of the world and the apparent path we’re taking: political division…violence…extreme environmental effects…cynicism…depression…youth in revolt…and no apparent end in sight. We’re blessed to be in a time of unprecedented access to information, yet cursed with convenience without toil. Much of the world struggles to identify fundamental truth in morality or even understand the value of connection to one another. My analytical mind begins to spin with growing momentum with so many troubles without firm solutions and while I’m fully aware that the most productive activity is just to let go and enjoy peace and quiet, I feel like I need to find answers to these troubling questions. That’s my responsibility…isn’t it?

What if it isn’t?

What if my real responsibility is to exercise patience and chip off moments of understanding as I go?

What if that sense of security and protection I once enjoyed as a child without responsibility is still possible—as long as I can recognize where bedrock lies? There’s strength hidden within freedom…when you can choose how much a thing can hurt you…rather, you can choose to feel something stronger than hurt.

Tough Mother

Visited my friend “Trevor” in Kalispell today. Trevor suffered two strokes just before this past Christmas and he is working on his physical therapy and recovery. He’s 35 years old.

When I first met up with Trevor, he was standing on his porch and I couldn’t tell if anything was different. After he started walking down the stairs, the mobility struggles became apparent with his left foot dragging and the stilted cadence of his gait. We went for a hike and he answered a lot of the questions I had on the way. I learned that he had two rare forms of stroke simultaneously that should have left him unable to speak or walk—making the progress he’d already made that much more remarkable. He still struggles with recall (though I didn’t personally witness any gaps) and his kinesthetic awareness for his left limbs. His vision is also impaired, but he has already seen improvement there, prior to any lens correction.

He was angry and frustrated with what he viewed as slow progress, but he also demonstrated his personal fortitude by predicting a full recovery. I mentioned that patience has never been his strong suit (a sentiment to which he claimed resentment, but also grudgingly admitted as accurate).

I felt much better about his condition and prospects after that one visit—he’s strong and determined and he has great support from his family and their local community. I’m looking forward to my next visit and witnessing the new progress he’ll undoubtedly make.