Surrender and Teamwork

Yesterday morning, just after finishing my morning routine, I went out cycling. There is a beautiful paved bike path that runs along the Arkansas River, just across from our apartment. So, that is where most of my cycling happens.

Being a creature of habit, I take the exact same route each day. Sixteen miles that take me around one hour to complete.

I have only one friend in the area who cycles, and I’ve yet to plan ahead well enough to ride with him (sorry Phillip), so I ride my bike alone.

Yesterday morning I had just passed the halfway point, and after turning around to head back south along the river, I fell in line behind a group of six cyclists who were riding together.

My plan at first was to pass them at my earliest opportunity. However, after a few minutes at the tail end of the pack, I decided to stay put. The wind was beginning to pick up out of the south, and by drafting behind them, I avoided the negative effects of the breeze.

To my amazement, not only was I not facing resistance from the wind, but it almost seemed I was being pulled along by their momentum. The continuous pedaling to which I am accustomed was replaced by a lot of coasting. A time or two I even had to tap on my breaks to avoid rear ending the rider in front of me.

These riders were obviously accustomed to each other, using different hand signals to indicate any changes in movement, or obstacles on the path. In time I began to imitate their signals, making me feel less like a freeloader, and more like a group member.

Then it happened. As we approached an area along which I generally hit my highest speeds, I felt the urge to break away from the group. I had grown weary of their cadence, so I announced myself and passed them by, pouring on strength as I powered past them. At one point I looked back to see that they were a good fifty yards behind me. I felt that familiar freedom of independence once again!

Then it happened. I came to a wide open spot where the southerly breeze sweeps across the river and hits southbound cyclists head on. Though I shifted gears to compensate for the change, my efforts were not sufficient for the challenge brought by that wind. My legs burned as my speed slowed rapidly.

By the time I had reached a windbreak created by the trees of a small bald eagle preserve that is right across from our apartments, my speed had slowed significantly. I watched, humbled, as the group of cyclists I had so easily passed just minutes earlier rode past me. There was no catching them this time. I was left on my own.

I finished the last mile of my ride alone. When I checked the app I use to monitor my cycling, I was amazed to see that my average speed was a crushing 16.7 miles per hour! It was a new record. A speed that was three tenths of a mile per hour faster than my previous best.

That record had been on a day when the wind began blowing from the north just after I had made my turn. So it had almost been like cheating. Usually, when facing a southerly breeze, I’m lucky to hit a 15.5 mph average speed.

When I shared my riding experience with Amanda, I told her that it had served as a great reminder about teamwork. I told her that I was sure it would be the topic of my morning writing very soon. So, when I drew “surrender” as my spiritual principle for the day, I knew right away what I would write.

There is an oft used expression used in Narcotics Anonymous. “Never alone, never again” is a motto used to describe the teamwork and fellowship experienced by addicts seeking recovery in the NA program.

Addiction is a disease that leads an addict into isolation. In my case, I isolated myself by pushing family and friends away so they would not witness my increasingly erratic behavior. I had secrets to keep. Lies to create and nurture. A life so separate from their’s that distance was a must. Isolation was inevitable.

So, it is no wonder that when I came into the rooms of NA, I needed to be reminded that I was in a safe place. I needed to learn how to interact openly and honestly with others in the program. I had to overcome my irrational fears that someone in the rooms had been sent specifically to spy on me and my activities. (Yes, I was actually convinced that was the case for a time.)

I still struggle with the tendency to isolate myself. As my sponsor can attest, simply picking up the telephone and calling him or other members can be a huge challenge for me. It is just one area in which I surrender my fears, and practice trusting my friends.

Then there are those times when I try to convince myself that I’ve got this whole thing beat. Like breaking away from the pack of riders yesterday, I convince myself that progress can be made more efficiently on my own. The voice of my diseased thinking wants me to isolate. It wants to convince me that I can go it alone. “Who needs NA?”

Yesterday’s ride is a reminder that I need NA. I need to stay with the winning team. I need to continue in my program of recovery without wavering. I need to work the steps, live by principles, call my sponsor, and enjoy being part of something bigger than myself.

The reality is that I only found the rooms of Narcotics Anonymous a little over two years ago. At my age, two years is a relatively short amount of time. Yet in these past two years I have grown more and accomplished more than I could ever have imagined.

Yes, I still struggle. Yes, my character defects are still alive and well. The difference is that today I am part of a winning team. A team that, as with yesterday’s ride, will help me crush the old limitations of my past. A team on which an addict, any addict, can stop using drugs, lose the desire to use, and find a new way to live.

Have a remarkable day!

Honesty, Motives, and People-Pleasing

Yesterday morning presented me with perfect conditions for a great bike ride. I headed out after finishing my morning routine of prayer, meditation, reading, and writing. My usual sixteen mile route along the Arkansas River was going to offer me the perfect conditions for a fast-paced ride.

It was warm but not hot outside. Even more importantly, there was virtually no wind. What little breeze there was seemed to be coming from the north. That northerly breeze would be at my back on my way home… perfect!

I use a GPS based app to track my cycling activity. It keeps track of the basics: total distance, average speed, high speed, elevation. Over the past couple years I’ve gotten to know this path very well. My average speed is usually 15.5 miles per hour, which is not too bad for an old man like me. However, it is a number I’m always trying to improve.

Yesterday, I knew early into my ride that it was going to be an exceptional workout. Occasional glances at my watch told me I was setting a strong pace. By the time I made the turn to head home, I knew a new best average speed was going to be within my grasp.

Even my music was helping. I listen to “Top Hip-Hop” on Amazon Music while riding. (Yes, I love Hip-Hop. Don’t judge me!). The playlist was exceptionally fast paced, encouraging my cadence to stay fast and steady.

At the end of my ride, after stopping in front of my garage door, I always reach quickly into the back right pocket of my cycling jersey to retrieve my iPhone. A quick scan of my thumbprint and it opens, allowing me to tell the app to stop recording my time.

That system never lets me down. Well, not until yesterday. I was so sweaty that the thumbprint scanner couldn’t recognize my thumb. After a few tries, the system locks, asking for my password. Between shaking hands and growing frustration, it took me several tries to open the app.

All I could think about was that average time. The goal I had worked so hard to achieve was slipping away. I knew I had ridden well, but without proof from the app, who would believe me?

That’s when reality set in. My thoughts stopped me cold in my tracks. I asked myself that all-important question. “What difference does it make?”

You see, I ride for myself. I push myself to improve, for myself. That time spent pedaling along The Arkansas River is for Kent. It’s for Kent’s sanity, serenity, and health.

The parallels between my attitude toward cycling and recovery are startling. The motives are, in both instances, self-centered. Yes, early on in recovery, my efforts were largely to please other people. I wanted to make Amanda proud of me and convince her that a relationship with me could work. I wanted to demonstrate to my parents, my brother John and his wife Brenda that I was not a lost cause. I wanted to earn back the love and affection of my children. I was even trying to please my employer who had shown me so much grace upon learning of my addiction.

While these are all noble goals, none of them was sufficient. People-pleasing was not going to give me the motivation required to find success in Narcotics Anonymous. Recovery challenged me to be selfish in one important area of life. Recovery had to be for me. Trying to make it for others or about others fell short.

It took a few months for me to get it. A few months of continued people-pleasing. A few months of chronic relapse. A few months of kicking myself for letting other people down.

Those difficult times were, for me, a necessity. The truth is that during those times I really didn’t think I was worthy of recovery. Not only did I not love myself, I didn’t even like myself. Thus, I was trying to recover because I believed the least I could do was to please others.

It was through those dark times that the people in my life showed me love and compassion. Amanda was my greatest cheerleader. She loved me until one day I felt worthy of this new way of life. I began to actually love myself.

It is important for me to remember why I am in recovery. I’m here to stay clean, find a new way to live, and become the person I was created to be. Pleasing others is not the goal of my recovery, but it can be a result of my recovery.

After I had rested a little, I finally got my phone to cooperate. It looked as though my ride had been lost. No sign of it at all on the app. So, I closed the app and hung my bike on the wall of the garage. I had a feeling of satisfaction despite having lost proof of my accomplishments. I knew I’d had a good ride, and that was all that mattered.

Later yesterday morning, I was closing out unused apps on my phone and realized I had failed to close out the cycling app. I looked and there it was. My morning ride with a new high average speed of 16.2 miles per hour!

Yesterday was a good reminder of why I ride. It was also a good reminder of why I am in recovery. Both are for me, and that’s ok. I have stopped using drugs, lost the desire to use, and am finding a new way to live for Kent; and that’s ok.

Have a remarkable day!

Compassion and Decompression

I’ve been doing a lot more riding lately. Ever since I bought my new road bike, my enthusiasm for cycling has skyrocketed. Being out on the bike path not only provides me with much needed physical activity, but it also gives me time to clear my head and gather my thoughts.

I have learned a little trick with this bike that I had been missing for years. The tires on my road bike require air before each ride. It’s a common issue with the type of valve on the inner tubes. They are designed to be light weight, and so, over the course of a day or two, will lose five pounds or so of pressure.

The valve is called a Presta Valve. There is a small threaded knob at the top of the valve that has to be loosened before filling with air. So, for almost two decades, I would loosen the top knob and attach the hose from my bicycle pump. The only problem was that most of the time I would have to detach the hose and try again. My first attempt seemed to never result in a solid connection.

It’s a very little thing, I know. Yet it is little annoyances like this one that can suck the fun out of something special. (Can you say “Obsession?”). Definitely something I’m working on!

Not too long ago I stumbled upon a solution to this sticky valve issue. Rather than immediately attaching the hose to the valve after opening the knob, I began using my thumb to press the valve stem down ever so gently, releasing a tiny bit of air from the tire first.

Like magic, the problem was gone. By releasing just a little pressure from the tire, that valve is able to function more effectively. So, when the air hose is attached, the valve is ready to let additional pressure into the tire.

There was another lesson I learned about tire pressure recently. I had been riding with my tires over-inflated for years. They were getting filled to the maximum recommended level for every ride. Jake, my trusty bike shop owner, turned me on to the fact that lowering the pressure in my tires would give me a much more comfortable ride with greater handling.

These two little tricks about proper pressure in my bicycle tires have made my riding experience better than ever. The first trick makes my preparations for cycling a little less frustrating, while the second adds to the overall pleasure and comfort of the ride.

Pressures in my life can be very similar to pressure in my bicycle tires. With the Presta Valves, it took me years to learn the value of a little decompression. I would try to add fresh air to that which was already in the tube, only to find myself frustrated by the effort.

Likewise, I can be guilty of taking on more pressure in life without ever letting go of any that has already built up. In extreme cases, I become like that valve. So much pressure is built up inside of me that my capacity for more is frozen. At such times it is easy for me to hide. I begin to avoid the outside world. I isolate. I become anxious and even panicky.

Then there have been those times when I’ve gone through life maxed out on pressure. I allow so much to pile up that I have a constant feeling that I will burst. Just as over-inflated bicycle tires make me feel every bump along the bike path, living with too much pressure in my life can turn every little bump in life’s road into a major dilemma.

All that extra pressure in life also takes its toll on the other people in my life. I become a less patient, more demanding version of the person I want to be. Overly sensitive, I easily take offense at even the smallest of slights. Obsession begins to rule my thoughts, making me picky and generally unpleasant to be around.

One of the things I am learning on my journey through recovery is how to release these pressures from my life. As part of the tenth step, I take time each day to consider whether or not I have been good to myself. Have I shown myself compassion today? Have I actively pursued self-care?

In a sense, I reflect on my day and consider whether or not I released unwanted and unneeded pressures from life that day so that I can be ready for the pressures the next will bring. Also, I assess my over-all pressure. Am I carrying too much? Are my mental and emotional tires over-inflated? Am I on the verge of exploding with every little bump in life’s road.

Proper care and maintenance is something that will let my bicycle last for years to come. Learning about maintenance has become a part of wheat I do to make cycling even more fun than it’s been in the past.

It’s the same with maintenance of my recovery. It takes a mind that is open to learning. It takes a heart that is willing to apply what I’ve learned. It requires vigilance so that I can be certain I am not taking on more in life than I should. It takes practice to apply life’s lessons, and release a little pressure on a daily basis.

This past weekend, Amanda and I both did that. We released pressure from our lives. We got away from home. It was sort of a house-sitting adventure. Even though we were only about ten miles from our apartment, it could have been a thousand.

It was a lovely house in the country with a yard. We rested, enjoyed the open spaces, and decompressed from life’s routines. As a result, I feel great today. Compassion and decompression have brought me to the point that I know I can…

Have a remarkable day!

Courage and Tread Marks on Shoes

Yesterday afternoon I had scheduled time to finish up the fitting for my new bicycle. As with so many things in my life, I had a plan for how the trip to the bike shop would go. It was a good solid plan: ride to the shop, complete the fitting, ride a few miles on the path near my home, then go home and enjoy time with Amanda while Shaun was out on a date with his grandmother.

Sounded perfect, so I walked down to the garage, dressed in my cycling gear, and prepared my bike. On a road bike, it helps to check the air pressure before each ride. So, after adding air to the back tire, I moved to the front. POP! I popped the tube just by trying to attach the air hose.

No worries, I’ll just put the rack on my car and let Jake change out the tire. I’ve learned over time that a tire change that takes me 30 minutes only takes Jake about 2 minutes. It’s one of those things in life that is best left to the experts!

So, I got the bike rack on my car, loaded and secured the bike, and drove to Jake’s bike shop. Once I unloaded the bike, I started to push it and noticed the front wheel wouldn’t turn. I assumed it was because of the blown tire…

Nope! I forgot to take off the Velcro strap I use to secure the tire when on the rack. Jake smiled as he handed the piece of Velcro to me. He knows I’m a bit of a klutz!

Then, as he lifted my bike onto the rack to change the tire, one of my pedals fell off. I mean, it just plopped onto the floor. It is a special lightweight pedal that attaches to the bottom of my shoe as I ride. I bought them around 14 years ago, and even then they were expensive. I’m talking front row ticket to a concert of your favorite band expensive. I really didn’t want to replace it.

There are a lot of things I like about Jake, not least of which is his honesty. He could have sold me a new set of pedals out of that event. Instead, he rebuilt it, and put it back on the bike. As he did, he explained that this kind of thing never happens. It seems parts regularly fall off of bikes as they are lifted onto the rack, but the owner is never there. Thus, uncomfortable phone conversations usually follow, with customers responding “well it was fine when I left it there.”

With pedal repaired and tube replaced, Jake mounted my bike on the trainer to complete the fitting. He installed my new seat post and had me begin riding in place. As I rode, his assistant interrupted with a phone call.

I could tell as he spoke to the person on the other line that something incredible had happened. When he hung up the phone he explained the story to us. A customer had been on an expedition in Alaska with one of his bikes. He was on the water in a canoe, towing a raft with his gear behind him, gear which included his prized bicycle.

A wave hit, and, among other things, the man’s bicycle was washed overboard. He was forced to watch helplessly as his bicycle sank to the bottom. This all happened about three months ago.

Yesterday’s call was from a fellow in Alaska who found the bicycle washed up on the beach. He had found the City Cycles bike shop sticker on the seat post, and decided to call in hopes of tracking down the owner. Talk about honesty!

In short order, Jake was able to track down the number of his customer, and reached him in Alaska. “Chris” he said, “grab a pen and paper.” Giving him the contact information, he then told the story, letting Chris know his prized bicycle was safe.

As Jake finished the fitting for my bike, I quipped that I needed to hang out there more often. That little bike shop seems to be the center of a lot of interesting activity!

Ready for my ride, I headed out. It would be my first ride ever on a perfectly fitted bicycle! As I prepared to load my bike onto the rack, I put my cycling shoes on the trunk of the car.

Bike loaded, I drove to a park along the bike path, ready to ride and began searching for my shoes. Ummm…

Panicked, I checked the trunk lid. No sign of them. Hopping back in my car, I retraced the route taken from City Cycles to the park. That’s when I found them. One bright red shoe in the right lane, one in the left.

Oh crap. That meant at least one of them had been run over by a car. As with my pedals, my cycling shoes are expensive. In fact, they are my most expensive pair of shoes, and I definitely have a thing for nice shoes.

As I picked up the first shoe to examine it, nothing was wrong. Looked like I’d just taken it down from the shelf. As I picked up the second, I immediately saw a tire tread pattern running the length of the shoe. Looked like a truck for sure.

I couldn’t see any real damage though, so I went back to my car and drove back to the park.

As I slid my feet into each shoe, I was relieved to find that there was no damage. Even a truck couldn’t damage those puppies! Hallelujah!!!

I only rode about four and a half miles. Tempting fate with a longer ride seemed like an unwise move. Once back home, I shared my adventure with Amanda. We both laughed and laughed at how my plans had changed. At the way a simple trip to the bike shop could end so differently than expected.

Courage is a peculiar thing. Recovery has taught me to look at courage in a whole new light. I used to think of it only in terms of rescuing someone from a burning building, or disarming a bank robber. Maybe rescuing a drowning child.

While each of those would certainly be an act of courage, I have learned that everyday courage is much more important in my life. The courage to change a plan without freaking out is huge for me.

That popped tube on my bike might have been enough to send me over the top in the past. Such a drastic change of plans (drastic in my mind that is) would have sent me into fit. The same goes with the pedal, and the shoes, oh let me tell you!

Through working the steps of Narcotics Anonymous, a change has taken place in my life. It’s been a gradual change for sure, but one that is evident in the way I handle changes in my plans today. I do not know exactly when it came, but the panic that used to accompany change has been replaced by a calm acceptance and peace.

Fear of change in little things has been replaced by courage. Most notable is the courage I have today to live life, experiencing both good and bad, without drugs. In my active addiction, drugs would have been the answer to the blown tube, broken pedal, and the lost shoes. Today, I have this courage that I do not understand, but I know is there.

Oh, and there is more. Because of the blown tube, as I was driving to the bike shop, a friend of mine called me for my insights into the step he’s working. What? Someone called me for my insights?

The pedal, well, it could have fallen off as I drove, never to be found again. Or, even worse, it could have failed while I was riding to the bike shop. Something Jake said “would have ended badly.”

After retrieving my shoes, I was able to park in one of the few coveted shaded spots at the park. Bonus!

Then there was that phone call from Alaska. The one that reminded me that there are still good people in the world. People who don’t instantly say “finders keepers”.

I’m grateful for the everyday courage I’ve acquired through recovery. It allows me to be present and experience life. It allows me to be flexible when my plans need to change. It allows me to chuckle at tire tread marks on my shoes.

Have a remarkable day!

Trust and Steel Grates

Have you ever seen sections of sidewalks that change from concrete to steel grates. You know, the kind where you look down into an abyss of pipes and steaming fittings? Well, I have a phobia about those. I dislike walking over them.

When I was a little boy I would walk around these death traps. I was sure that they were about to collapse, swallowing me in one mighty crash.

My brother John was never afraid of them. He would walk right over them without concern. When he did, rather than fearing for my own fate, I would fear for his.

As I grew older, I came to realize that this fear was unfounded. I came to appreciate the strength of steel, and recognized that I had nothing to fear from them. Just the same though, I still avoided them when I could. To this day, if I don’t have to walk over one I do not.

Around 15 years ago, my fear of these steel death traps was put to the ultimate test. I was in St. Louis on a business trip and was traveling with my road bike. I was a lot more dedicated to cycling back then and travelled with it strapped to the back of my car wherever I went.

Anyway, I was staying downtown and decided to check out a path along the Mississippi river flood wall. It was a beautiful evening, and I was enjoying my ride, travelling north of downtown along the river. As I rode, I saw other cyclists as well as pedestrians along the path. After I had ridden a few miles I came to an old bridge that crossed the river.

Though originally designed for automotive traffic, it had been converted into a pedestrian bridge after being replaced by a newer one. I was excited to have a chance to ride across the mighty Mississippi!

It wasn’t until around the half-way mark that it happened. The pavement that had been making the ride so smooth changed into, you guessed it… Steel grating.

Suddenly, looking down stuck terror into my heart. Rather than a dark, pipe-filled abyss, I was looking at the river far below.

Ok, terror is an over statement. Still though, I was not comfortable looking down. It’s not a fear of heights, those have never bothered me. It was those steel grates, and that old fear that after decades of use they would choose to give out precisely at the moment I was crossing over them.

I could have turned around, back to the safety of the paved section of the bridge, but that would have been a disappointment. I really wanted to cross over into Illinois just to say I had. So, I pressed on.

Once in Illinois, I had a sense of accomplishment, and turned back to head back to my hotel. Yes, I had to ride back across, but somehow my fear of the steel grated section of the bridge seemed less daunting. I had been there before, and familiarity brought confidence. I could trust it because I had tested it for myself.

Trust is like that. It can take time and experience to develop. The Narcotics Anonymous program isn’t any different in this respect. When I first entered the rooms of NA, I did so with a degree of skepticism. Was I really an addict? Would the program work for me? Could I really expect to find a new way to live?

Eventually my skepticism was replaced with confidence. As I became familiar with the program, and experienced results for myself, I found that I could trust that it would work. I have even been able to apply the principles of the program to other areas of my life. My experience has brought trust.

I am still confronted with steel grates at times. Just last night I had to cross some on a sidewalk in downtown Tulsa. I don’t fear them like I used to. I have learned to just keep walking, focused on putting one foot in front of the other, and reaching my destination.

Have a remarkable day!

Courage to Care

When I was in third grade, the worst concern my teacher had about me was that I was part of a clique. Our clique consisted of five other boys and me. It was not that we were trying to exclude others, it just sort of happened.

The challenge was that our clique consisted of bright, well behaved boys, so it was hard to criticise the fact that we enjoyed one another’s company. Still, our teacher, Miss DeLong was concerned, and wanted to find a way for each of us to broaden our horizons as far as friendship was concerned.

She came up with a seemingly sound strategy, and I was to be the guinea pig. At the end of one school day she called me aside in class to ask a special favor. There was a boy in our class she was asking me to befriend, Johnny.

Johnny, really? He’s a bully. He’s an outcast. Johnny was that kid on the playground the rest of us avoided like the plague. Just one sideways glance in his direction would usually result in a bloody nose. I swear to you that Johnny had facial hair in third grade!

I was frightened at the prospect of befriending Johnny, and made Miss DeLong aware of my concerns. She assured me that Johnny was just like the rest of us children, and that all he really needed was that one friend who would be willing to play with him at recess, sit next to him at lunch and so forth. By the end of our conversation, I had agreed to be that friend Johnny needed.

The next morning, after a brief reminder and pep talk from Miss DeLong, it began. My effort was in full swing. On the playground I invited Johnny to join in as my friends and I headed out to play. When he got bored and started to leave, I went with him.

Johnny asked me what I thought I was doing, so I told him I just wanted to be his friend. So off we went, him walking, me trying to keep up. The story was pretty much the same throughout the rest of the day. Where Jonny went, I went too.

Apparently, by the end of the day, Johnny had had enough of me and of my efforts to befriend him. We were lined up out in the hall, waiting for our various busses to arrive when it happened. Johnny reached over and slammed me into the wall. Next came the beating to my stomach and face.

Johnny stopped his assault when his bus was called. When she found me, Miss DeLong helped me gather myself together and wipe the tears from my eyes and stop the bleeding from my nose.

The experiment was over. She would not ask me to put myself in harm’s way again by befriending Johnny. Boy was I relieved!

Miss DeLong’s experiment had a long-lasting effect on both me and Johnny. The next day, he was made to apologize to me. He also had to visit the office of the school’s principal, Mr. McClellan.

In time, Johnny and I stopped avoiding each other. The humiliation of my beating, and the pain of the paddling Johnny received faded from our memories. Though we never became friends as such, we were always cordial. All through the rest of our school days, until high school graduation, there was a mutual respect that started that day in third grade.

Years later, at our thirty year class reunion, Johnny and I had a brief conversation. He brought up that day so long ago, and thanked me for trying. He said he still struggled with being a friend to people, but that he still remembered my attempt way back when.

In Narcotics Anonymous there are always opportunities to step out of my comfort zone and befriend Johnny. He’s the newcomer entering the room for the very first time, fearful of what might come. He’s the person freshly off of a relapse who is feeling like an exile in the room where he once felt so at home. He’s the addict who I meet out in public, seemingly oblivious to the track marks that give away his struggle.

Befriending Johnny is always risky for me. While I don’t fear being physically harmed, I do fear the emotional struggle that comes with watching a fellow addict struggle. The pain of watching the struggle is so real, and for me, worse than any beating I might endure.

Though the risks are great, I know I am called to reach out to Johnny with a welcome and a hug. It is my responsibility to make Johnny feel welcome and loved. Johnny is important, and I want him to realize that, because not too long ago, I was Johnny.

Have a remarkable day!

Surrender and Sympathetic Vibration

I’ll offer a disclaimer up front.  I am neither an engineer not a physicist.  Thus, my description of sympathetic vibration is basic, and very simple.  If I get something wrong, just know my heart is in the right place even if my science is messed up!

So, in layman’s terms, sympathic vibration is a phenomenon that occurs when motion is too regular or rhythmic.  Rhythmic motion, can cause an otherwise rigid structure to sway, even to the point that it crumbles.

If you want to see a pretty scary examples of this phenomenon, check out the famous example of the Tacoma Bridge on  YouTube:  https://youtu.be/3mclp9QmCGs

Anyway, I have had some personal experience with sympathetic vibration.  Two of these experiences were scary and somewhat dangerous.

The first was at a concert while I was in college.  John Cougar Mellancamp was performing at the Indiana University Auditorium in his home town of Bloomington, Indiana.  I had secured some excellent seats in the center of the auditorium, just a few rows from the stage. 

It was the early 80’s, and Mellancamp’s career was booming. As he performed his hit, “Jack and Diane” the audiance stood singing along and swaying to the music. It was a beautiful moment.

Then, sympathetic vibration interrupted the show.  Out of nowhere, the balcony suspended directly overhead began to wobble.  Before long the singing of the audiance turned into screams.  

Thankfully, someone in the stage crew had the presence of mind to stop Mellancamp and his band mid-song.  Soon, the balcony stopped wobbling, and calm was restored to the theater. 

After a brief intermission, the director of the concert hall announced that the show would go on, but only under the condition that those in the balcony remain seated. Scared by the experience of being shaken up and down by the effects of sympathetic vibration, the otherwise very rowdy concertgoers became very compliant.

The next day, engineers examined the structure and found no damage.  The balcony had actually performed as it has been designed to, allowing it to bend but not break.  Estimates indicated the balcony had moved as much as 18″ vertically during the incident.  

Another run in with sympathetic vibration was much more personal.  Shortly after I began to really enjoy cycling I purchased my first road bike.  It was an old Bianchi that was probably built around 1990.  It wasn’t fancy, but it was a significant step up from what I had been riding. 

One day, while on a ride through the Mark Twain National Forest, I discovered that sympathetic vibration could play a scary role in cycling.  I was coasting down a big hill, and had gained a lot of speed. I passed the 35 mph mark, which on a bike feels like a thousand miles per hour, when it started. My front wheel began to wobble uncontrollably.  Nothing I did would stop the wobble.  It just got worse the more I tried.  

Thankfully I was able to slow my bike to the point that the wobble went away.  For the rest of the day, I kept my speed down in order to repeat this nervewracking experience.

After the ride was complete, I asked other cyclists if they had ever experienced this problem.  It was then that I learned it was due to sympathet vibration.  The spokes on the wheels of the bike were semetical.  Once they began to turn fast enough, they became like the audience in the balcony of that concert I had attended years earlier. The uniformity of their motion caused wobbling.  The steel spokes and wheels were actually bending slightly with each revolution, causing the uncontrollable wobbling.

The bike I ride today has wheels that are asemetrical.  The random placement of spokes around the wheel helps remove the wobbling associated with sympathetic vibration.

Now, let’ see Kent tie these stories into the theme of surrender!
In both of the examples above, surrender played a key role in preventing a tragedy.  At the concert, if that member of the stage crew had not stopped the show, the balcony might very well have collapsed. There would certainly have been multiple injuries, even loss of life.

On my bike ride, I had to surrender to the fact that too much of a good thing, speed, would cause more wobbling and possibly a crash. 

Uniformity was at the root of my run-ins with sympathetic vibration.  Despite the fact that I like some things in life to be uniform, I have learned that some things are made stronger by a lack of uniformity.

For instance, if those concertgoers had all been wearing their Sony Walkmans and dancing to different songs, the balcony would not have moved.  The diversity of movement would have protected the structure.

The Narcotics Anonymous program is a great example of diversity making something stronger.  Though we all share the same disease, it has manifested itself in each of us in unique ways.  Likewise, in our recovery, even though we all must surrender to the fact that we cannot control our use of drugs, recovery will look a little different for each of us.

The diversity within our fellowship should be celebrated and encouraged.  Without it, the newcomer is less able to feel welcome when entering the rooms for the first time.  Eventually, strict uniformity would cause the collapse of the fellowship that has helped so many addicts to stop using drugs, lose the desire to use, and find a new way to live.

Today I will surrender to the diversity in our program.  Rather than wishing my fellow addicts in recovery were more like me, I will choose to rejoice in our differences.

Have a remarkable day!

Honesty About My Limitations

Yesterday morning I needed a spiritual and physical pick-me-up.  A lot of thoughts and emotions were swirling through my head, so I did something I knew would help my to get my system back in check.  I went cycling!

Looking outside, I could tell it was a beautiful day.  The sun was shining, no real wind to fight.  Yes, it was a crisp 43 degrees outside, but I told myself I could handle a little cold.

Dressed in my cold weather gear, I headed out.  My first steps out the door have me cause for concern.  The cool air seemed to cut right through the gear I was wearing.  I pressed on anyway.  

When I got down to our garage, there was some relief from the cool air outside. As I aired up my tires, my confidence returned. I convinced myself that it must be warming up our there.  

With my bike ready and all my gear in place, I was in my way. My favorite music playing through my earbuds, I was feeling confident.  Surely I would get in 15 miles at least, perhaps even 20!

As I rode out of our apartment complex, my confidence began to change to skepticism. Cold air stung every exposed bit of flesh.  It was even finding its way through to my most well protected skin.  “What was I thinking?  It’s only 43 degrees!”

I pushed on despite the discomfort.  Stubbornly, I resolved to press on. 

Around two miles into my ride, reality finally set it.  It came from something as simple as my water bottle. I had reached down to grab it from the cage that holds it to the bike frame.  It felt different somehow.  

When I lifers it to my mouth I realized what the difference was.  The bottle that is normally so easy to squeeze, felt like a brick. No, the water wasn’t frozen, but the plastic had lost all its pliability in the cold. Only small dribbles of water came out with even my most determined squeezing.

It was then that I realized just how cold I was.  I became honest with myself.  Honest about my limitations.  Honest about the fact that my legs, after not riding for several weeks, were not warming up.

So, I thought ahead to places in the path that would be suitable for turning around and resolved myself to the fact that my ride was about to be cut short.

When I stopped back in front of my garage door, I pulled out my phone and checked the cycling app I use.  I smiled when I read the total distance was 6.0 miles.  A feeling of satisfaction ran through me.  Despite the fact that my ride had fallen short of my original goals, being honest with myself about the conditions outside, as well as my own physical limitations, allowed me to feel a sense of pride and accomplishment. 

By practicing honesty, I was able to revise my goal without any guilt or shame.  Sometimes, outside circumstances that are beyond my control will affect my destiny. In the past, while living under the deception that I was in control, falling short of any goal felt humiliating. I would beat myself up over things that were so far out of my control, and yet I lacked the honesty necessary to admit any lack of control.

There was a time not too long ago that a failed cycling trip could have stirred emotions that spiralled quickly out of control.  It was at such times early in my recovery that a relapse would have seemed like a great idea.  

I am thankful for the spiritual principles of Narcotics Anonymous.  Practicing these principles doesn’t only allow me to enjoy life despite little problems.  It also allows my to enjoy life and live confidently when life’s big problems arise.  

Honesty is not the only principle I need to practice in tough times, but it is vital.  When faced with the death of a loved one, honesty allowed me to mourn appropriately.  When setbacks come at work, honesty allows me to learn from such situations and grow. When I fail to act spiritually in a situation, honesty allows me to own my behavior, seek forgiveness, and become a better person.

In short, practicing honesty lightens my burden.  It allows me to find satisfaction even in difficult times.  Honesty allows me to change plans, do my best, and feel good about myself.  

Also, by being honest with myself, I am able to be honest with others.  After yesterday’s ride, when I told Amanda I had gone 6 miles, there was no condemnation.  No criticism.  No look of disappointment. (Again, if I had treated myself harshly for falling short of my original goal, I would have felt that I deserved a negative  reaction from others and would have read it into whatever reaction I had received.)

When I told her of my accomplishment, she smiled and congratulated me on my accomplishment. In my heart, by practicing honesty, I was able to accept her praise and feel even better.  

Yes, I have limitations in life.  We all do.  By practicing honesty, I am learning to thrive despite my limitations, and find a new way to live.

Have a remarkable day!

Willingness vs. Comfort

Over the holidays, while I was battling food poisoning, Amanda kept asking me if she could do anything to make me more comfortable.  She would fill my drink, get me a cool washcloth and wipe my forehead. Many such things to help improve my comfort level.

Before long, I was back to my old self.  The tender loving care she so willingly gave me helped nurse me back to health.  It’s the kind of TLC she has shown me on many occasions.  She is always good to comfort me in times of need.

Sometimes though, comfort is not what the “doctor ordered”. Sometimes, what I need is willingness.  Willingness to endure pain in order to grow stronger.

Take cycling for example.  I love riding my bicycles.  Currently, I have two different bikes.  A Burley tandem for Shaun and me to enjoy together, and a Litespeed Atlas road bike that is just for me.

It has been about six weeks since I have had an opportunity to ride either bike.  So I know that the next time I ride, it will be a challenging and somewhat painful experience.

First, there is the matter of atrophy. My muscles have weakened since my last ride.  Although I can expect an early rush of exhilaration at the beginning of the next ride, I know to expect my body to begin protesting after a few miles.

Then there is my saddle (technical term for a bike seat). My saddle is ultra light. It is constructed from a combination of titanium, composite materials and leather.  At its widest point it is about three inches wide.  Despite my special cycling shorts, I will end a good cycling season with calloused inner thies.  Real attractive, don’t you think?

So then, the logical question to ask is why I would ever willingly subject myself to such pain?  Why not simply opt for comfort?  Just take it easy Kent.,.

I must admit, comfort is tempting. Our couch is comfortable after all.  In fact, our bed is even more comfortable.  So why not just lounge around instead of riding that bike?  Sounds appealing, right?

For me, the answer is simple. I am willing to sacrifice comfort in the short run for the satisfaction I get from riding my bike.

What’s so satisfying about riding my bike? Here’s a little example of the satisfaction I find on the saddle of my bicycle.

Several years ago, one of my neighbors was a firefighter.  Kelly was a member of the Springfield, MO fire department.  He was stationed on the south side of Springfield, about 15 miles from home. He and I would often visit about cycling, and he would tell me about how he would start riding to work around 5:00 in the morning, well ahead of sunrise. 

As he described his route, I could picture the hills that were along the way. There are some steep ones in that area.  The entire ride sounded like a real challenge, despite the fact that I was in really good shape (at least for me) at the time.

Kelly kept encouraging me to ride with him sometime.  I kept putting it off.  Kelly was a good 15 years younger than me, and as a firefighter, dedicated a lot of time to physical fitness. In short, Kent didn’t want to have his ass handed to him that early in the day!

Finally, the day came when I ran out of excuses. So at the appointed hour I was waiting for Kelly at the end of my driveway. After a brief “hello” we were on our way. 

The first few miles were relatively flat.  Just a handful of gentle rolling hills. So we established a good pace and warmed up quickly.

Then came the big hills.  I was certain these hills would be my downfall. I warned Kelly that I might fall behing, but promised to do my best to catch up.

I fooled myself that day, and surprised Kelly.  About half way up the first big hill, distance grew between us. However, it was I who pulled out in front. On that first hill, and all that followed, I left Kelly in my dust.  It felt like my finest hour!

I stopped at the top of the last hill so Kelky could catch up.  He smiled and complimented me on my achievement, we were both surprised that day.  My willingness to sacrifice comfort had paid off big time.  For weeks after, any time Kelly and I were together he would tell the story of how I smoked him on those hills.

In recovery, I have had to willingly sacrifice comfort in the name of progress.  Attending meetings, admitting my problem, sharing honestly, working steps and even phoning my sponsor are all things that take me out of my comfort zone. 

To a non-addict, such sacrifices of comfort may seem like a small price to pay. However, I have found that each of these things came with a price that was difficult to pay.

As with cycling, at first the price seems too great. The pain of admitting my disease seemed unbearable. Like the appeal of my couch or bed, the appeal of just giving up and giving in to the drugs seemed so appealing. It seemed like such a familiar and comfortable existance when compared to the pain of quitting.

However, after time, I found that the satisfaction of findung a new way to live was well worth the sacrifices made early on in my recovery.  Over time, some of the things that were so hard early on in recovery have become easy. For example, today, I have no problem admitting I am an addict. Guilt and shame have been replaced by a sense of accomplishment over the person I am becoming.  

As  with cycling, there are still hills that offer challenges. I still hate talking on the phone for instance.  However, I have learned that sacrificing comfort, and practicing willingness in this area if my recovery brings possitive change to my life.

The message of Narcotics Anonymous is simple.  An addict, any addict, can stop using drugs, lose the desire to use, and find a new way to live. Like cycling, the process will take time, and there will be pain along the way.  In the end though, it is so worth doing.  

I kicked Kelly’s ass on the hills of Missouri that day.  At the end of my life, I want to be able to say that I kicked addiction’s ass on the hills of recovery!

Have a remarkable day!

Acceptance and The Serenity Prayer

“God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change…”

Thus begins The Serenity Prayer. It is the prayer most heard at meetings of Narcotics Anonymous. Every meeting I have ever attended opens with this prayer. This little Prayer is so powerful, and one of the things it offers is a key to practicing acceptance – serenity.

To me, this seems backwards in many ways. Shouldn’t serenity come after acceptance?

No, that would be shortcut. It would be a sign of a defeated spirit. A sign of a person not in recovery, but of one who had given up on life.

To see what I mean by this, let’s dissect the sentence. (Oh, Mrs. Foss, my high school English teacher, would be so proud of me for dissecting a sentence!).

First, what am I accepting? It is one of “the things I cannot change”. The key word in that phrase is “cannot”. How do I know I cannot change a situation? The answer is found in the word “things”.

“Things” covers a wide spectrum of possible objects of potential change: places, people, timing, weather, health…the list can go on and on. What’s important is to see that I have already done what I can in a given situation, before determining that I cannot change it.

Having done all I could to effect a change, influenced everything within my power, I find serenity. Knowing I have done my best, I can accept defeat, setbacks, pain and great loss. The effort I have invested brings serenity.

I can accept a setback because I know I’ve given my all.

Years ago, I was visited by two representatives of the National Multiple Sclerosis Society in my office in Springfield, MO. At the time I was the General Manager of a billboard company in town and they were seeking some free billboards to promote the upcoming MS150 bike ride.

I was still married to my ex at the time, and she had been diagnosed with MS a few years earlier. As a result, the meeting went well, with me agreeing to donate several billboards around town.

When the discussion of billboards concluded, one of the ladies from the MS Society suggested I ride in the event to help raise money. “Oh no” I replied, “I haven’t ridden a bicycle any real distance in over twenty years. I cannot do it.”

They persisted, explaining that I had several months before the event to train. If I tried, I could do it.

“Well, that may be true, but I cannot fund raise. I have no experience.”

It turns out I could raise support, simply by following simple guidelines they suggest riders follow.

With each “cannot” response given, they were able to encourage me with a reason that convinced me that “yes I can!”

I went on that first year to train, fund raise (over $10,000 that first year), and complete the entire 150 miles along with five friends I recruited to train, fund raise and ride along with me.

Each year I continued to support this cause by riding. Once, I even completed the double-century course, riding a total of 200 miles in two days. Cycling had become my passion, and I prided myself on always riding each and every mile.

Then one year a series of events brought a set of challenges to my ride that I could not overcome. I had completed a hundred miles on the first day of the event. It was an unusually cold Saturday in September. The final miles had been completed in cold rain.

I was cold, wet and sore from head to toe.

The next morning, upon setting out on day two of the ride, the weather was even worse. I tried to warm up, but my body was still aching from the previous day’s ride.

My right knee, which had given me trouble on previous rides, was aching, and despite all the ibuprofen in the world, was not loosening up. About 15 miles into the ride, I had to give up. Rain had turned to sleet, and swelling caused my knee to almost doubled in size.

I felt defeated at first. My emotions were running high, and I began quietly crying. Partly from the pain of my swollen knee, partly from the knowledge that I would not complete the ride.

On the ride home I began to calm myself, and found serenity. I had trained hard. I had still raised a good deal of money. Everyone around me was offering encouragement and even compliments about how hard I had fought to continue in spite of my knee, which was now iced and wrapped.

Serenity then brought acceptance. No, that ride hadn’t gone exactly as I had hoped. Despite all my training, there were still things I could not have prepared for. Chief among those things was the weather.

After that year, I added weight training to my routine, strengthening the muscles around my knee, and eliminating the aches and pains I had experienced during that ride. Experience showed me something I could change, so I did. I eliminated a “cannot”!

Today, The Serenity Prayer is an important part of my recovery. There are things in life that I cannot change. However, before I assume I cannot do something, I take time to reflect on it. If I have tried, given my best and failed, and still cannot change a situation, I find serenity which leads to acceptance that is free of guilt, shame or regret.

Have a remarkable day!