On Remaining Calm

Yesterday, I took a test called an “esophageal manometry”, a procedure that requires a long tube to be inserted up one nostril and over into your esophagus. From there, the kind lady who is giving you instructions asks you to lie down and then gives you mouthfuls of saline solution to swallow and hold still for 30 seconds for each of ten rounds while she examines a screen with many colors tracking the way your esophagus is handling this swallowing process. 

I won’t go into many more details except to say that my honey pie was right there with me, holding my hand and that I had to focus really hard at a point on the ceiling to resist gagging and to maintain my breathing while I let 30 seconds pass each time, resisting, as well, the impulse to swallow again during that prohibited period. 

This ordeal is going to tell me whether I will be getting surgery soon to repair a condition that has developed in my torso where part of my stomach has crept up into my chest cavity. You wouldn’t think that would cause that much of a problem, now would you? But sure enough it does, since if I eat the wrong thing, too quickly or in an upset state, a pain will develop around my solar lexus that may go to a level 10 and last 5 or 6 hours or more. This has been going on for about a year and for at least the last two months I've been eating mostly a soup made of green vegetables, chicken broth and dark turkey meat, and later in the day, oatmeal.

Since I want to enjoy the hopefully many years I have left on the planet, it occurs to me that this thing should be fixed and thankfully, it sounds like that will be possible, but I won’t know more until about a week from today. 

It is because of this and many other things which I expect to elaborate on as I move along these difficult waters that I begin each day in this way:

I get up around 6:30 am, and get ready to go to the coffee shop we love, Noble Coffee, which has, we think, the best coffee in town. L and I sit down at the far wall in the comfy chairs that face the entrance so we can see the whole parade of humanity that enters the shop, many regulars and some strangers every day. A couple of our best friends, Jason, Steven, Hubs, sometimes L’s son Gabe, will sit down with us and make all kinds of stories and jokes and try to get some kind of a grip on the fact that we are still moving through all the things we face. All the things the world faces, but especially this little life. 

This ritual goes on for 45 minutes or so and then we leave and when we return to the very solid and beautiful space we have created inside the home near the high school where we live, I move into my room on the second floor and get on the yoga mat and do about ten minutes of yoga. Then I do about 20 minutes of a breathing practice I learned many years ago and another twenty minutes of eyes closed meditation that I learned even longer ago. In that time, I usually have an experience of very pleasant sensations and a time of almost no time. 

Once I come out of that, I make my breakfast, which as noted has been some soup and small things I know I can digest, and move into my studio, where I sit at a desk and begin to write about the place in my process I am. Today, I am creating a piece of music for a man who has compared himself to Sisyphus. I want to finish it soon because behind it is a project I am doing for a woman who is one of my very best friends in the world. That music will be a gift for a whole family, native born Venezuelans, who are like family to her. And this I am trying to finish by Christmas. So I have very tight deadlines on both of these pieces. 

Inside this studio, the place where I write this, I have a standup desk with my computer and recording software, a keyboard over to my right, my writing desk on the wall to my left, and a big space where I can play my cello, along with a large yellow exercise ball I use to open up my back, by doing a backbend on it, in between all this mental work I am doing. 

You can see that there is a certain kind of fortune in my life. It is not that life is easy. It is not. It is so engaging and I am fortunate to be able to make beautiful things, including this message to you, which you may find both harsh and stressful but which may give you some sense that I am navigating. I know how to navigate. Even hard things.

One more thing about that. The hard things. Sometimes when the hard things arrive, I am shocked. I have to admit I am shocked. My mission is to soothe. I am good at soothing. I soothe myself. I am not aiming for trouble even if I get into trouble all the time. Shock is a way of recognizing that things have not gone according to plan. In those times, I just try to find dry land. Dry out. Find that world again where things are possible. 

Today I have returned to the world where things feel possible, after yesterday, when a tube down my trachea felt like a wound I did not need and a whole day had to be taken to find my ground. I am back now, and it is good to be here. It is time to record some string parts on this new piece!