Self Imposed Barriers
"I am nature, and like all aspects of nature I, too, must respect
the passing of seasons within my life."
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Self Imposed Barriers
I too, was capable of erecting quite formidable barriers to my health,
happiness and general desire for peace. The initial days of my last
semester at Black Hawk College had me floundering desperately for
sanity; I had talked myself into attempting 17 hours of credit so I
would receive a degree rather than merely transferring my hours to the
next college if, indeed, there would be a "next college." Had I not so
enjoyed sanity, I might have allowed myself to entertain this wretched
state of turmoil; as it was, reason soon came to my rescue and I was
able to fling one enormous subject back into the sea of college
courses. Having discarded the excess weight, I was perfectly capable
of continuing my other subjects with ease and enjoyment, and
accommodate my tendency toward perfectionistic behavior through my
attainment of an A average.
Perfectionism is a behavioral pattern which is not easily discarded,
yet when one fostering this destructive mode of thought is able to
control it, and reach the irrevocable conclusion that perfectionism is
a desperately counterproductive personality, he is able to
substantially reduce his mental anxiety. One ruled by perfectionism
finds no happiness, and must also face the future in a similarly
uncompromising light. Since no one is perfect an endless struggle
continues throughout one's existence.
One course which deserves mention if only for its intrinsic quality of
humor was called "biofeedback." Of many options, a student was
required to choose a course under a certain category despite its utter
worthlessness regarding his degree. These were often regarded with
contempt, as students felt them to be a sheer waste of time;
nevertheless the courses were an easy "A" for those who applied a
modest degree of interest and effort.
My elected class centered on controlling and tempering one's emotions
through the relaxation of individual body parts, and eventually slowing
one's involuntary functions such as heart rate and breathing. These
various forms of relaxation were monitored by electric devices attached
to pulse points on the head and arms.
More interesting than the machine, however, was the teacher who
lectured to us. Apparently her method of relaxation worked incredibly
well, for she would stand in front of the class and speak so calmly, so
slowly, that she nearly fell asleep mid-sentence. As the class wore
on, those seated about the room would either begin to fidget
uncontrollably or gradually transcend earthly consciousness into a vast
ocean of dreams. I often found my mind wandering aimlessly, far from
the room in which my body was confined, yet I fostered a benevolent
sympathy for the dreamy instructor and tried to concentrate upon the
content of her messages, though like a flower in tight bud, they took
forever to unfold. When it was finally time to depart, and we all
dashed toward our cars, I could not help but wonder whether it was safe
for her to drive thus relaxed.
In addition to discovering new methods of relaxation, I desired to hear
other opinions which dealt with emotions and the control thereof;
I fought a battle with depression a year earlier, and won; thus my
interest stemmed from former conflicts which, resolved, inhabited my
memory only, yet stood as steadfast reminders to listen to my mind's
plea for rest.
The assignments in the class were not in the least rigorous and usually
consisted of merely reading books of the "self-help" variety. With the
exception of one book, those which I read were generally "compatible"
with readers, meaning that they took all stands in general but none in
particular. The book with which I had extreme difficulty was based
upon the premise "If it feels good, do it," for which I have little
regard.
1982: "I have decided that, although Dr. D's speech within the book
denies it, he is also an insecure person; or perhaps he is simply vain.
My reason for so stating this was due to my observance that Dr. D's
cover photo is purposely cut in such a manner that his unquestionably
bald head is concealed from the general public. Baldness is certainly
not uncommon in our society, nor is it something which should be looked
upon in shame. After all, you are what you are... body and mind
are a unit!
Moreover, if his photo was so ingeniously cut for the purpose of
vanity, he needed not "grace" us with his countenance on both the front
and back covers of his book.
I further noted that his title and choice of attire coincide in such a
manner that one is led to believe the book is of a different content.
To more clearly explain myself, "erroneous" is much too easily confused
with "erogenous" especially when teamed with D's low-cut knit shirt
revealing a sparsity of chest hairs!
An individual seeking guidance toward finding his own beliefs and
personality is quite vulnerable; suggestions made by self-assured,
confident people will create a vivid color in his mind. Therefore, it
is important that one who is easily persuaded guards against such
flagrant and opinionated views of personal conduct, lest he be drawn
into a mode of behavior which is worth less than he merits.
I do not believe that a person housing a low self-image should be told
to feel free to exercise his wishes as long as they please only him;
while no one respects a person who compromises all of his beliefs to
please or "be liked" by others, one who succumbs to his every whim
despite the ill consequences toward others also gains nothing. It is
beneficial for the uncertain individual to ingest each successive
suggestion, and choose which is his desired path toward improvement.
Reading self-improvement books was often a disappointment as I found
the content to be disagreeable in ethical terms or some startling and
conclusive evidence which I had already concluded on my own. I also
pitied the individual who needed to read such books before realizing
that he fostered depression or another debilitating emotion; yet hoped
that once his repressed emotions were brought to the fore, he would
find the altruistic guidance needed to become an emotionally balanced
individual, rather than a monster begotten of the misguided advocates
of selfishness. If everyone abided by the "philosophies" stated in the
latter books, the world could not be a tolerable place to exist;
lacking concern for one's fellow man, society would fall into disarray
and collapse altogether.
Mon. Mar. 15 1982... On this 15th night of March, the heavens once
again proclaim that spring indeed will come. Beneath the shroud of
haze one is able to catch fleeting glimpses of lightning, followed by
the inevitable and distant roar of thunder. Each day possesses a unique
beauty; I am happy that I did not miss this event. Perhaps the steady
beat of rain upon the roof-top will lull me to sleep a sound, contented
sleep. . . the thunder again claps the listening ear while lightning
sears the gray sky to the realization that a new season is close at
hand. I sleep... with peace of mind and body... and rejoice in nature's
splendor and complexity which man cannot begin to understand. Is not
mystery the food which keeps one alive?
It is spring once again. Here I sit feeling at once happy and sad
toward the coming of another season. A balmy and gentle breeze now
whispers through the budding trees, taking the place of winter's harsh,
relentless chill. With each rain, with every ray of sunlight, the
grass hurries to be lush and green. Nothing can hold back the passage
of time. . . of the seasons.
I am flooded with an almost uncontrollable urge to cry. . . to loosen
all my burdens upon this strong and vital earth. Yet one cannot
unleash from himself that which is his part in nature's unceasing life
cycle. I am as essential, or nonessential, as every living organism;
it must follow then, that I make no demands which cannot possibly be
fulfilled. I am nature, and like all aspects of nature I, too, must
respect the passing of seasons within my life.
Things change rapidly; still others remain relatively the same; across
the ravine, the graveyard stands as a solid marker of the past, and a
constant reminder that no one leaves the earth alive.
Forget it. I cannot write. It seems that one's inner thoughts happen
to be the most difficult to express. Writing used to be easier. But
then, perhaps, the more one (experiences) the harder it is to write it
down. The nearer one is to death, the less words can express one's
true feelings. Words would not do justice to my feelings. Perhaps I
am only passing off my inability to write... but I think not. However,
I shall try again... Am I at the end of the road? Have I nothing left
to say?
Spring soon descended on the earth, and though I tried to envelope
myself in its many splendors, I felt them spinning dizzily away, with
summer following close behind like a shadow which remains hidden due to
the dimness of the sun. The forthcoming season was recognized as one
of rest and relaxation, but viewing the month which lay before me
brought no inner comfort, for my time had already been reserved by the
desires of others, gazing apprehensively at the calendar, months were
swallowed by demands which I felt I could not impede, so concerned were
those who wished to "see me," the rarity which would soon disappear
from the face of the earth. "How shall I withstand the whirlwind?"
I asked myself. "When am I to live?"
For one who is essentially a loner, not only wanting, but needing, time
alone, enjoyment of life decreases as social activities increase.
Initially, I plunged bravely into summer, hoping that if I met its
demands head-on, I could more easily manipulate my necessity for quiet
interludes; I further supposed that significant hints would prove
sufficient impetus under which to situate free time. Alas, I was
wrong, and to my dismay, found myself on the edge of thorough emotional
duress. Rather than risking a relationship due to a brash, beseeching
plea for peace on my behalf, I allowed myself to rend internally,
leaving a tattered remnant of myself at the summer's end. There is
only one respite to that assertion, that was time spent with Norm on
the week-ends or on the trip to Colorado...
It is a rather strange sensation one encounters when he fosters dreams
and desires and yet, simultaneously, knows that those dreams are that
which, in all probability, will never materialize; and while one deeply
feels the disappointment of this unattainable goal, he also accepts the
situation blandly as a matter of course.
Toward the mountains I felt just this emotion. . . desire and inability
mottled with the acceptance that had already developed within my mind.
Coupled with the internal disappointment of the "now" was the
realization of that which I was capable of mastering the former year.
Despite these physical limitations, however, I am still able to
thoroughly enjoy the mere sensations of the mountains by way of my
eyes, ears, and touch. Here I can still derive a satisfaction... a
feeling of solitude... which no other type of atmosphere can fulfill.
It is my opinion that only a brash fool could not love this atmosphere.
...this is no place for hate... it is for life, emotion, and death
and for the celebration thereof.
Sept. 2, 1982:
Here I sit, casually observing the transformation of summer into the
cloak of early fall. It is slightly unbelievable that summer is now
slipping away as smoothly as the wind shuffles my hair. I enjoyed the
summer, but the time has elapsed from one day to the next until the
days themselves are lost in a hazy dream. Had I only the chance, I
would rearrange time to include the serenity which I now possess. I
feel that my early summer was washed away in a blur of nervous, albeit
necessary, activities; I remained uncharacteristically surrounded by
petty occupations to retain a shred of sanity. . . so reved up was my
emotional stability that I neglected, unconsciously, to step out of the
race. I felt cheated. . . having so little time and yet so much I
desired to accomplish.
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