I stood and walked toward my office door. I lingered for a second before gently pressing it closed. I heard the gratifying click signifying it would not open under its own power. I returned to my desk, removed my glasses, placed my head into my hands and vigorously rubbed my forehead. The left side of my head humming with pain. Rubbing my forehead briefly allowed the pain to go away knowing it would not return until I left the office. That time would come but not soon enough.

I sit at my desk and my back remains fixed toward the large windows which adorn my office. I am happy to have windows but on this day, not being able to see the sunshine might have been a better option.

The phone rings and I am made aware my next patient awaits. I stand and walk toward the window and see my Vespa through the window. For a split second I am lost in thought; daydreaming about the ride home which will be the most relaxing part of my day. Before I leave to usher my patient to my office, I call one of our nurses and ask for another “cocktail”, the medication which I know will help this throbbing headache go away and will allow me to hobble through the rest of the day.
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After my patient leaves, I begin to think about this session. I realized I have not consistently done the things which I have asked him to do in his recovery. I open my journal to reveal I have not written in it since June 20th. I felt like I had nothing to say; obviously, that wasn’t the case. My meditation cushion has been obscured from view, lying under a pile of opened but unread magazine and newspaper articles. I reached for one of my fountain pens only to find out the ink has dried from lack of use. The pen needs to be cleaned before it can be re-inked. I sigh and walk to the bathroom to clean the pen. As I am flushing out the old, dried ink; I become mindful of my need to flush out these same thoughts which are keeping me tied down. I have allowed myself to dry up and become unusable.

I re-inked the pen, my favorite; a Visconti Homo Sapiens with a nib which writes unbelievably smoothly. I touched the nib to the absorbent paper of my journal and watch as the ink and the words the ink has become, fill the page. Thoughts and feelings are pouring out of me like a water faucet which has been turned on high. I stop momentarily, in disbelief as I previously thought there was nothing there to come out. The clog has been removed. Thoughts and feelings begin to flow again, unimpeded.

Namaste

Emotionally Drained

I returned home yesterday thankful my 6 PM appointment had canceled and sad that my 7:30 had not.

I hate feeling like this, not sad, not depressed as “everyone” says these days; just emotionally tired, exhausted.

I take care of myself and am happy with my self-care. I found my stride so to speak as I haven’t missed a day of journaling since the start of the year. There are days here and there where I write simply to write, simply to put words on a page. More often than not, the words begin to flow with more ferocity and a paragraph turns into a page or more.

My journal is more than a collection of thoughts. It is a list of books I want to read, passages from literature or quotes which I simply want to remember. It is also a collection of random jottings or musings. The nib of a fine fountain pen gliding across a page provides the tactile stimulation which a keyboard does not.

Wilhelm Von Lenz wrote in 1855, “When Beethoven was enjoying a beer, he might suddenly pull out his notebook and write something in it. ‘Something just occurred to me,’ he would say, sticking it back in his pocket. The ideas that he tossed off separately, with only a few lines and points and without bar lines, are hieroglyphics than no one can decipher. Thus in these tiny notebooks he concealed a treasure of ideas.”

Hemingway had the following to say about writing in his journal, “I would stand and look out over the roofs of Paris and think, ‘Do not worry. You have always written before and you will write now. All you have to do is write one true sentence that you know.’ So finally I would write one true sentence, and then go on from there. It was easy then because there was always one true sentence that I knew or had seen or had heard someone say.”

The weather has started to warm to a level which is becoming increasingly comfortable. I needed lightweight gloves this morning on my walk/run because the temperature hovered just a few degrees above freezing. This was my first walk/run since my surgery on April 6th. It’s been 291 days since my last full run what was a comfortable 7-miler. Over that time I have lost pretty much all of the fitness I had worked so hard to build. Getting older doesn’t make the return of that level of fitness easier to return. I successfully navigated through three running segments and the fourth caused some discomfort. Time will tell if I can return to the level of running with which I had been comfortable.

Last week I had a chance to see a new doctor. He’s an ENT or Ear, Nose & Throat specialist. Within the last month I have noticed ringing in my ears. Tinnitus is a logical explanation but since I don’t have my medical degree, I’ll leave diagnosing up to the doctor.  I can now see why people with such a condition  can become more easily frustrated. One day the symptoms are there the next they’re not. The next day they’re there but at such a profound level it makes focusing on anything a chore.

I met with the doctor and was gratefully informed that my hearing is excellent. Unfortunately my wife was made aware of the quality of my hearing. This has brought to a relatively abrupt end my successful ability to tune out the chaos.

Anyway, the doctor is trying a couple of things to make the somewhat intrusive ringing easier to manage. This involves the prescription of a medication and testing which is scheduled mid-June.

The other night, after a particularly difficult day at the office, I returned home unlocked the bike and went for a ride. I had no particular destination in mind other than out of my head. I have always found running and cycling to have a restorative quality. As the years have progressed, cycling has taken a backseat to running because quite frankly I don’t feel safe going out for a ride. As running has been sidelined for an undetermined period of time, cycling it is. This is another time for me to reflect, plan and become more focused. It would be great if employers would provide an opportunity to shower because I would find myself commuting to work.

Next week I leave for vacation. I look forward to a week spent on the beach, cigar and bourbon in hand. My kindle and journal will also make frequent appearances.

A Beautiful Day

I greet you with hands clasped together in gratitude. Gratitude for this beautiful day and this beautiful life.

This past Sunday, I was awarded with two exceptional items in my day. The first, my grandson’s presence at our home for the entire day. As sick as he was feeling and as unenergetic as he was, it remains a pleasure to have him grace our home with his presence. The other was the beautiful weather which accompanied Chase.

My Sunday morning went as smooth as it normally does. I take a few minutes to ask the question,”What good can I do this day?” This question is a daily question. It is a challenge to myself to be a better person every minute of every day. I am not perfect and I catch myself falling back into old ways; old behaviors. Difficulties only arise when I do not catch myself lingering in the past and do not acknowledge the work which remains. As I grow older, I am acutely aware my time on this plant is set. Like everyone else, I am unaware of my expiration date. There is no fear for me in death, there is however fear that I will not accomplish everything which I have set out to accomplish.

I digress as I desire to keep this post brief and to remain on point.

I rocked Chase to sleep, that beautiful feeling of contentment in my arms. I am having difficulty deciding if I want to continue to sit, holding him or put him down. I decide on the latter and decide to retreat outdoors. Before I do so, I gathered my journal, my newest addition to the fountain pen family which has been freshly inked, my journal, a favorite cigar, my lighter and a two fingers of one of my favorite whiskeys.

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I am immediately caught by the stunning scene as I exit my home. The sun, still high in the sky, its rays piercing through the still covered canopy of the maple tree in my backyard.

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The sweet smell of fall immediately strikes my nose; leaves which have recently fallen from their perch, the decay of the pumpkins being chewed upon by the neighborhood squirrels and the dew remaining on the grass. Yesterday, Stephen and I had raked all of the leaves and the grass was cut. Today, it was as if the grass was never touched; carpeted by a new covering of colorful leaves. A smile crosses my face and I retreat from the porch to my favorite Adirondack chair. I softly brush the leaves from the seat and place myself in the comfort of this chair. I clipped my cigar and touched the flame to the end and begin to puff. The smell of this exquisite smoke curls upward and eventually dissolves into nothingness. It is at this moment which I am reminded again of the briefness of life.

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I reach for my pen, a Visconti Homosapien freshly inked with a beautiful blue ink. The ink, I notice is the same blue as that of the sky.

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I open to the last page written and this beautiful nib glides effortlessly across the page, my thoughts flowing with the same ease. The pen, recapped, returns to it’s leather home and now I sit. I sit and simply take in the beauty that is this day.

Namaste