Tag: november project

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The Odyssey

Do you ever think sometimes that the internal state of your mind reflects exactly the kinetics manifested in the immediate environment? I am sitting here trying to articulate the torrent of thoughts and emotions that have piqued over the last few days, but as the narrative becomes refined and my fingers strike the keyboard I’m at once pulled internally by another powerful distracting idea. Another wave of excitement, or sadness, or terror, or you name-it washes through my consciousness and I’m once again at a loss for words to describe it, or the preceding thought. This mania is a peculiar personification and imitation of my external environment over this last week. Preparing to move (and move everything in a 4-door sedan). Graduation. Wedding celebration. A dive-bar band performance. The (good!) surprise of the decade. Brunch and more brunch. Graduation celebration with family. Reconnecting to a friend group whose bonds were forged in the crucible that is first-year medical school anatomy. And this morning’s near sleep-less jaunt to borrow much-needed energy from, as I’ve said in the past, the greatest group of people there ever fucking was. Was graduation already (and only) 5 days ago?

Physically distancing just means an equal and opposite friendship tightening amongst us, the greatest weekly gathering of people on the face of the Earth. The only unifying commonality is the only one necessary for human existence: The radical inclusion of any and all who participate.

I feel like I’ve never been happier in my life and at the same time have had a lump in my throat for a week. My mind has gifted me intermittent and overwhelming sensations of gratitude, of which have externalized as these sort-of “mini-crys” over the last few days that come and go as quickly as the frenetic thoughts and emotions I’ve been victim to. No doubt a reflection of my innate egoism and strong desire for attention being fed an inordinate amount of love, but also perhaps stemming from a modicum of love I’ve (hopefully) transmitted, of which I’m grateful to have relayed back to me by the beautiful people who tolerate my precense in their lives. I’m reminded of the words a fellow classmate (now doctor and colleague!) expressed to me at graduation regarding this blog. “You’re an inspiration,” is a phrase that, for the paradoxically self-effacing narcissist like myself, finds simultaneously endearing and wildly undeserved. But overall, I find it is a patent reminder of the ethos I strive to live by: The desire to produce and reproduce, as much and as often as possible, unconditional generosity. To be radically and unapologetically vulnerable so as to be not just honest to myself, but further normalize emotions as healthy expressions of our human selves. And to know, viscerally, that the incalculable sum of my impact on others is not reciprocated proportionally – the molecularly small impact I effuse pales in comparison to the cumulative benefit of having the company of people who reek of inspiration.

My life this week has been flooded by proclamations of personal success amongst my unbelievably smart and talented colleagues. It demonstrates the utilitarian aspect of pomp and circumstance. As much as I admonish the self-aggrandizing, masturbatory exercise of glorifying “achievements,” the silver-linings exist. Even though the torrent of emotions elicited by smashing together 200 students who’ve not seen each other in person in over a year can be manic in nature, it provided me an opportunity (a self-avowed lover of theatrics) to grandiosely bathe in sentimentality. But more importantly, it provided another reminder of what “success” means to me.

I was (once again) floored/shook/surprised/honored by the kindness and spirit of my surrounding friends today. It’s funny – I was too shocked to see much of substance after receiving the positivity award this morning (it’s not a cult I promise). But when I have something prepared next week for my final NP MSP workout, I’ll be equally speechless as I helplessly blubber through a farewell on my penultimate day in Minnesota. As long as I don’t lose the damn thing this time!!

 

For me, I cannot help but I understand my own “success” as the simple and inevitable product of the folks I’m surrounded by. Mentors who’ve inspired me since I was in college. Classmates whom I’ve learned from (and commiserated with to no end – an equally important exercise) and most importantly engendered lifelong friendships with. Residents who’ve set a seemingly unachievable example of success in every aspect of hospital medicine, and future coworkers who so warmly entertained me in my new home (Tacoma here we come!!). Old friends who’ve endured my bitching about medical school content, and who’ve guided me to reality when the vacuum of academia became all-consuming. And my family. Regardless of the divides that may exist amongst us and between us, they are unequivocally a repository of love older than any other I know. So, I’m really only the company I keep. “Success” is a shared experience that, similarly to the externalities that define and refine each of our individual personas, represents only an infinitesimally small product of our own volition (at least in my case). Recognizing the contribution of others, authentically, not with performative virtue signaling, is a process I’m working in an attempt to engender humility otherwise innately absent from my character or that I’ve (unintentionally) dispossessed myself of. Suffice to say (as I’ve written ad nauseum here now, and already in the past) my comrades are the foundation of all things “me.” My “success” is simply the recreated amalgamation of theirs.

I probably practiced putting on that damn hood 3 times in the wings before I just said “fuck it.” I was as successful those three times as I was here. The damn cap almost came off throughout this entire ordeal and then like an idiot I walked behind the lectern on my way off the stage (though I’ll note I was not the only one to do so). At least I didn’t fall off the stage…though the terminal egomaniac in me would have been pleased to know that the attendees would have had a memory touchpoint from the ceremony involving me for the rest of their lives.

Our arduous journey of medical school is closed. This destructive, instructive, (re)constructive process of physicianship, an odyssey like no other, finds brief pause now. A foreshadowed exhale that once again will start the process of sculpting ineptitude into mastery, just as we’ve done in each stage of our journey thus far. And just as before, the stakes are increased. The prerequisite commitment demands, as always, a level of work that I’ve necessarily been unable to comprehend until such time as the responsibility to comprehend it is at once required of me. Another expansion of my medical expertise coupled with a paradoxically deepening and widening of the well that is the unknown. And, once again, ensuring I don’t flounder in the process. There exists (for me at least) a dialectic and evolving resolution/dissolution of increasing knowledge and practical expertise appositional to my internal feeling of incompetence. Each subsequent stage in training seems to embody both, with increasing magnitude, a sense of mastery and confidence while unveiling the broad and deep reservoir of yet-to-be-learned knowledge. College was my first foray into actually giving a shit about school, just in time to meet the demands of mastering (iffy on the mastery) gen-chem, o-chem, physics, etc. Acceptance to medical school provided me some confidence that I was capable of learning medicine, while ensuring my terror that I indeed was about to learn medicine. Two years of preclinical work assured me (or at least my school) that I had the medical knowledge to start scratching the surface of learning about medical practice during 3rd and 4th year – another terrifying proposition. And now, having just accrued enough confidence to say I know a thing or two about medical practice, here I am anxiously awaiting the ultimate phase of training where I learn to perform. Put into practice that which I’ve been merely a redundant, partially active observer to until now, and ultimately make decisions regarding peoples’ lives where the buck stops with me.

I have a bracelet I wear on my right wrist with the word “GRACE” on it. It’s an omnipresent reminder of the fundamental, quantum shift in my understanding of the necessity for unconditional love that occurred just half a year ago. There is a lot of lost time and memories between me and the folks pictured here, my parents, two of my siblings, their children. Time that can’t be recuperated but is never too late to stop losing. Perhaps with age, perhaps morbidity and facing mortality, but most likely expanding one’s consciousness through paradigm-shifting conversation, leads to abrupt changes in our awareness. But these changes can be transient without practice. Sometimes my practice involves just remembering what’s written on my wrist.

 

I know for certain only two things regarding this next chapter in the odyssey: I am, as in every preceding transition, feeling woefully underprepared and confident of success. But here I am, nonetheless. But most importantly: There is exactly nowhere else I’d rather be.

To all of you readers, friends, old and new, near and far, in Minnesota and everywhere – you are exactly perfect. I’ll see you all for the next chapter 😉

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Precariously Positive with Patient Practice

I think it’s high time for another un-earthing of old journal entries.

Last week at November Project was the week of wonder. 5 days, 5 workouts, 1 badass group of people doing work every morning. How fitting that the middle of the week gave us an opportunity to throw-down our toughest workout in the early morning summer sun. ‘The Messenger,’ as it’s called, is exactly one half-hour of running up, and down, the deceivingly treacherous hill at Gold Medal Park. Up and down thirty times – your rest period dependent only on how fast you can get up and down to the other side. It’s not terribly difficult to understand how one might be making this face during the fourth iteration, knowing you got a long 26 minutes to go:

When I run now, I embody just about everything I hated about runners when I was in high school. Could these guys look any more ridiculous with 1” inseam shorts? What the fuck is the point of a hat if you’re just going to wear it backwards? Could you possibly show anymore skin? And yeah, we get it, you run. Does every shirt you own have to have one iteration or another of the word ‘run’ on it? The answer to all of those questions, of course, is swag. Yes – Ryan Duff wears swag and he wants you to know about it. And if you’ve never run in high inseams, a running tank, and a backwards cap, then have you ever actually been running?

But it’s not all bad. It’s not just suffering. It would be kind of pointless if there was no means justifying the end, right? And for myself, well I don’t even need to wait that long. In the heart of all these workouts, it’s everything I can do not to exude every ounce of leftover energy from the previous repeat by heaping on encouragement to everyone else coming down the hill.

I often fail.

So much so, that for the second time since my induction into November Project I was bestowed the Positivity Award. Sometimes in this life, it does pay to be an obnoxiously enthusiastic asshole. I’ll take what I can get. Represented by a miniature bat etched with the group name and the tribe’s city, being a recipient of the award allows me to reflect on what my relationship with positivity is, and how that’s changed over the years.

I am not a photogenic person. I’m not able to take myself serious, and as evidenced in the previous picture even when I’m not posing for a picture, my already limited aesthetic value plummets with physical exertion. I embrace it though. I’m what some people call ‘extra’. I call do it what makes me happy. ‘Extra’ happy, even.

One way that that is made easier is by having a journal to reflect back on – and compare the content of my writing then (a terrible place mentally/emotionally/spiritually) to now (a work in progress, but MUCH better). I am not naturally a ‘positive’ person. At least not internally. External manifestation of this is reclusion and isolation. A feeling of wanting to be alone. This is a pretty natural state for someone who would be considered an ‘introvert,’ but when that label becomes a crutch to cling to bad, ingrained habits, well, the results speak for themselves. I spiraled into my own proverbial well of self-loathing and pity, enamoring myself in my own sorrow until I convinced myself that solitude and melancholy were just fundamental attributes of my personality. Unchanging, and destined to the defining characteristics of my soul until the passing of my physical presence in this world.

Pretty fucking grim, yeah?

Well, believe it or not, that’s where my headspace was not long ago! And look, I can prove it! Read on for some insight into the most authentic, only slightly abridged (out of respect for peeps’ privacy) details of my thought process from that time. Below are small excerpts of a few journal entries I’ve selected that should give some insight into just how, well, not positive it all was for me. This one comes from a journal entry the day after a night I shared with one of my best friends. Names are changed, some omissions made for clarity (but the content is unchanged/unedited!), and I bolded some text for emphasis:

Tuesday August 17th, 2015

Anna came over and we watched movies and talked literally until I could not keep my eyes open anymore. I’m not sure I have met somebody else who shares almost exactly the same sentiments toward their father as I do my mother…I know I haven’t had that kind of meaningful interaction with another person in a long time. Probably (rather, definitely) any other guy in my situation would have come to the conclusion that they are attracted to and interested in dating (or with most men I know/hear about, fucking) her. Whether it is because I am stubborn in keeping my word or because I’m determined to fulfill this vision of myself as a ‘loner,’ or because I’m truly not interested, I won’t be in a romantic relationship with Anna…I don’t think of myself as attractive and would be horrified to think of people seeing me not fully clothed, due to sheer embarrassment…I can’t imagine having to divulge the inner workings of my mind to another person again. And above all of the reasons I have already given there is something inside that pushes me to isolation so strongly that I am most happiest in seclusion. Perhaps it was the two years that I lived in solitude at the U that has made me so terrified about what other people think?

And then just a few days later:

Thursday August 20th, 2015

…It’s interesting that many of the new people I have met from work think of me as someone who has got it all figured out. I truly don’t myself as any more than a below average person who can’t find the discipline to succeed. I am absolutely baffled at how much other people can stay organized and happy, how others can make things happen for themselves. How they can find what really motivates them. I miss the confidence I had in myself, and would frankly give just about anything to have it back.

OO! And this encapsulating snippet right here:

Tuesday November 11th, 2015

…as I have stated many times, it is not a life I’m destined for. Solitude is the end-game for me, no doubt.

Alright, last one. This comes from an entry in which I was pushing myself to write stuff I hadn’t yet had the courage to put to paper. It comes from a conversation I had with a friend in which I came home feeling guilty that I was still holding onto intimate parts of my life when my friend was willing to share so much with me. I even lied to their face when they asked me straight up ‘Did you have an eating disorder?’ I plainly said no. Unconcerned with how terribly I lied. I was so afraid of myself that it was just enough to turn the conversation in another direction. But I managed to work the courage to spit out on paper, and now, 2 years later, I’m here to share it with you. It gets a little dark – bear with me:

But here is a list of things I have divulged to almost no one (and some things that have never been divulged)…we’ll start with me. No, Anna, I have not been fortunate enough to escape the clutches of eating disorder. Not anorexia, but disordered and binge-eating, you betcha. Suicidal ideation: You know I hadn’t really even thought of it as an issue at all, or even as a terribly sad thing, until recently. I imagined it all of the time actually, but in my childhood it was more me not getting the love of my life, or playing a martyr, or something. Now it has grown up a little and I see it more as an actual means to an end, especially since the binge-eating.

Time, effort, and practice are excellent modalities for change. And I mean BIG change. As I paged through entries of my old journal looking for the snippets that I could use to contrast my headspace now to then, I was honestly amazed at how much negativity I carried with me. I regret not writing and journaling more during those years in college where things were bad, just so I would have an even better understanding of how low things had gotten. To the point of giving credence to thoughts of self-harm? Maybe I would have put down on paper the times when I bounced a knife up and down on my forearm, just imagining how easy it would be to press down a little bit harder. And contemplating suicide? For me, well, that’s pretty fucking far down the hole. But just like physical training, and studying and learning, that journey from self-hate to self-love takes practice. It takes effort. It takes patience. It takes time. I talk about some of those things more in my best friend’s podcast – I encourage you to listen to it. Take a break from reading this (and thank you so fucking much for making it this far – I truly appreciate it) and put this podcast on 1.5x speed. I think you’ll learn a little!

Okay, where are we at? Positivity – yeah. Alright, let’s end this with two things. Firstly, I want to give you an example of what my journal entries look like now. I assure you that thoughts of self-harm and suicide are in the past. Let’s take a look! This comes from the end of the first week of 2018. The week following my epic 50 mile run, my return to NP, to Mill City, and the start of second semester of grad school. Names are different, content’s the same, bolded text for emphasis. Let’s take a look at what practicing mindfulness for a few years did for me:

Sunday January 7th, 2018

Let’s maybe put this week into perspective (not just write a bunch of fucking events). I have been more honest, open, and insightful than I have in my entire life combined. I have told people things I at one point thought I never would, or could. I talked with Beth about how terrified I was when I thought I was never going to give up binging. And maybe 2 months ago, that would have simply been impossible to mention…I surround myself with those I can confide in- those who take a true interest in my life. Those who love life, and the people in it, and love to laugh and share positive experiences. They love to learn, grow, and connect. Not complain, stagnate, and isolate…I love life again. I let myself give and receive intimacy…I’m allowing myself to be vulnerable, but feeling absolutely free, strong, and empowered every time I share my story. I’m admitting all of my faults, and maintaining humility on the (few, if any) proudful accomplishments in my life. I continue to grow stronger everyday – physically, emotionally, intellectually, spiritually. Freeing myself of that disgusting, consuming habit is the single greast, defining moment of my life so far. I’ll use it to spread as much love and knowledge as possible. ‘Til next time!

I think you’ll notice a difference in tone. And it’s not exclusive to this entry. I’m not going to tell you that everyday of my life is some cherry-blossom, bed-of-roses, self-loving, fairy-tale. I am a person like any other – I still struggle with my body-confidence. And my self-confidence. I receive compliments about as well as I can swim (I could drown in a kitty pool). I’m not an enlightened individual by any means. But I practice being positive. Not just to others, but to myself too (although the former is wickedly easier for me). But that’s why they call it practice. I had to do some dirty, internal work. And I continue to have to do to that. I have to meditate. I have to sit with those nasty, hateful thoughts, and learn to be comfortable being uncomfortable. And I have to embrace the positive aspects of who I am more tightly when I recognize them. But like I said, the results speak for themselves. What you’ve read in this post is the contrast between what it’s like to be a slave to self-deprecation, and what it’s like to be fighting for self-gratitude.

Those are my thoughts on positivity. Hopefully I’ve elucidated that it’s not some magical millennial buzzword that hipsters throw around when they’re getting stoned. It’s a real damn thing that really damn changes how you think, feel, and act. Get out there and get some for yourself.

November Project – MSP asked peeps to fill out a questionnaire if they wanted to be showcased on the IG and FB page. Of course I filled one out. One thing they also do is take a picture off your profile page they can use to headline their showcase of you. This is the one they found. This is just before my first marathon in 2012. I don’t know if there is another picture of me that embodies the confidence I strive for every day. Them are curly locks of empowerment, I assure you.

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Just. Show. Up.

November Project – Every Wednesday

This morning marked my return to working out with a group. But not just any group. You are truly not a badass until you have sweated with this collection of studs right here. I can’t believe the shame of my own weight-gain and binge-eating disorder kept me from showing my face for almost 3 damn years (you can check out the fuller story here).  Had I had the courage to open up about what I was putting myself through, no doubt my recovery would have taken on a far more expedient (and less potentially disastrous) course. It’s almost impossible for me to fathom now, but I would literally change my running routes, avoiding that dark but inviting spot between the Guthrie Theater and Mill City Museum, just so no one would see me. Just so no one would know how much I had changed. All the while I knew damn well in my head that not a single one of these tremendous humans would hold an ounce of judgement toward me. Not one of them would have been anything but supportive, kind, and uplifting. All while kicking each others’ ass (in a good way!) through a dope workout. Man, oh man, I just couldn’t brave through my negative emotions. I even had the example of a strong and courageous friend (read his post, his story IS inspiring) to use as a template. Jack shares his own experience battling, and recovering from, an eating disorder. I could have used his bravery right there and then to buttress my self-confidence and open the fuck up to someone, but, I did not, and suffered as a result. Perhaps it just wasn’t my time. I’ll be damned if it ain’t my time now.

So who are these people? What do they do? This is called November Project. It’s the greatest group of people in the world that get together on Wednesday mornings well before the sun comes up to hug, sweat, and workout. There is no cover. There is no necessary equipment (you might wanna bring a jacket if you live where I do). No membership fee. No personal trainers. It’s you and your favorite people on Earth. For a half hour you motivate each other to grab the morning by the horns and ride it into oblivion. You look forward to freezing cold mornings with an icy smile on your face cause you know you just changed the goddamn world. Think I’m exaggerating? Since it’s inception with a couple of rower bros from the NE United States in 2011, the movement has attracted people from all over the world, with tribes spanning 3 continents and 8 countries. And it’s growing. And it’s FREE. There is no sign-in, no dues, no tax, and no bullshit. And it’s for everyone. Sub 3 hour marathoners to couch potatoes to heavy lifting gals and guys to total couch potatoes. It doesn’t matter – and it never will. I couldn’t have envisioned a better environment to really recover in.

BTW this is Jack and I – basically this is my face all the time during workouts.

I literally, literally, LITERALLY, cannot wait to spend every available Wednesday morning here. I was first introduced to it by my good friend pictured above. It sounded as strange to me as I’m sure it does to you right now. He said something about hugs, and sweating, and a…project? What the hell was this cult? I was mildly curious, and majorly skeptical. But, as my actions are (almost) exclusively dictated by my do-whatever attitude, I thought I’d give it a shot. I’m up anyway, right? It’s really not that early for me! Let’s check it out……and then subsequently come as often as possible. I was one workout in, and I was hooked. The boombox, the hugs, the fuck-yeahs, the deck of cards, it was a thug-style workout that I couldn’t have envisioned until I showed up myself. It had been years since I had had the ability to really train with people. To throw high-fives and motivational ‘You got this!’ out to people, most of whom I’d never met in my life. I went from stranger to comrade within the time it takes to give a hug. And there were many, many more hugs than one. From every fitness level, everyone was just having just fun. There was encouragement. Excitement. Competitiveness. I was sold. And clearly these peeps were too.

Nothing defined my isolation more than missing these incredible workouts with these even more incredible champions. This morning was epic. I hugged. And yes, Ryan Duff cried. A lot. Med school will surely de-rail my attendance here and there (I even anticipate a few #wemissedyou in the future). But not a hump-day went by during my ‘hiatus’ that I didn’t think about coming back. To getting back to propelling myself and others to absolutely beat the crap out of the morning and do work. There is always an aura of mind-numbingly intense positivity in this space that it’s actually euphoric. I missed that terribly – but now I don’t feel like I have to. I can #justshowup, be myself, and let it all out. I don’t carry the shame or despair with my every step anymore, and it frees up all of that mental energy to actually exude some high vibrations to the tribe. Especially for those that may struggle to hit the 6:27am start-time.  I can’t make up for that lost time, but I can try. How? By spreading the word. Come. Find a tribe near you, or if you live in the MSP area, get your behind to the river between Mill City museum and Guthrie Theater on Wednesday morning, 6:27am. I’ll be there. The tribe will be there. You’ll get addicted and won’t even want to quit. And why would you want to? No doubt my recovery will be spent sharing the love with these people who have the capacity to receive it, and who give way more back. If subzero, pre-dawn workouts are crazy, a disorder if you will, well, it’s one I can’t get behind. But don’t take it from me. #justshowup and find out.