Overwhelmed by the Vastness - Antarctica

Buenos Aires is a long ways from Vancouver, even at the speed of a state-of-the-art Boeing 777. Including connections, the air portion of the journey took approximately 24 hours to cover the 12,300 km we traveled.

Add to that more than three full days of steaming southward 2700 km on board the Celebrity Eclipse from the capital of Argentina to our first port of call, the city of Ushuaia, labelled “the end of the world”; the distance seems immense.  Still, it is more than 1000 km to Antarctica.

Far from land, during the full days at sea, the South Atlantic Ocean offered no points of reference, except perhaps the stars that struggled to be noticed during the few, short hours of night. Increasingly, as we journeyed southward, we were replacing the familiar with the unknown, and in the process experiencing a deep and overwhelming sense of the vastness of distance, time and space.

While the passage has been smooth to date, and the weather almost warm despite patches of rain and a little snow, there seems to be a shared sense that the waves may not continue to be limited to 10-foot rollers. And the increasingly sharp bite of the wind on deck seems to foreshadow a colder climate would soon be upon us. Indeed, it is the uncertainty, the mystery and the adventure that seems to have drawn many of the other passengers to this most southern of all itineraries, a far different crowd from those occupying the sizzling beaches of the Caribbean.

Why travel all this way when the scenery, weather and water are all so severe, so unwelcoming, so far from the familiar?  Maybe because such a place; the coldest, driest, most isolated place on earth, where simply surviving for more than a short time defies our pride, scorns our self-sufficiency, and reduces our self-proclaimed conquests into short-lived tales of arrogance.

Rounding Cape Horn lighthouse, I can only imagine the incredible fear and feeling of disconnection from the rest of the world felt by the mariners of 200 years ago, or now the Chilean lighthouse-keeper and his family.  The waves in the Drake Passage jostle among themselves as if to rub shoulders in a vain attempt to get warmer.  Standing on deck 15, far above the grey-cold sea, I feel the icy wind cutting into my down-lined jacket.  As it reaches through the layers and touches my skin I have images in my head of sailors of old clambering over icy decks, while fighting bare-handed with frozen lines and heavy, clumsy sails in an attempt to keep the ship from being caught and crushed by the relentless ice.  Such a mental picture seems light-years away from the comfort of our luxury cruise-liner. 

 But the starkness of this snow and ice bound continent presents itself, as it always has to all who get caught in its unforgiving stare; powerful, uninviting, even threatening to those of us who become spellbound at the abruptness of its jagged peaks and towering icebergs that stab the grey-blue frigid water.

Life today is a long way from where it once was, just as Antarctica is a great distance from Canada’s West Coast.  But, at times, I feel lost, abandoned without bearings, snow-blind in a white-out, left to be swallowed by the vastness; my own Antarctica.  Thank you to those who courageously give hope when all seems hopeless, who choose to challenge the formidable, and lead those of us who are sometimes lost in the immensity of living to a place of purpose and peace.

A Blog About Why I Can’t Seem to Blog

Ironic as the title may be, I have been pondering, even wrestling with and obsessing over this very question for months now. If I had spent a fraction of the time writing as I spent in the emotional/mental ‘doldrums’ thinking about writing...well, you know what I mean.

Having completed my contract at the University, I have more discretionary time than ever before. In response to the question, “What’s next?” I had shared with many that I enjoyed writing blog posts and would be rejuvenating my “Positively Parkinsons” soon. But, despite my best intentions, this has not materialized. So, why the seeming immobilized state?

Time to be brutally honest. Here are the causes/sources that I have considered for my apparent writer’s block.

Maybe this battle of the blog is simply a manifestation of the ever-evolving grip of my Parkinson’s. Like the “frozen gait” that stops some of my PD pals in their tracks; the mind says move but the legs don’t get the message. Or it could be like the stiffness I experience when I forget to take my meds on time.

Moving on to some of the non-motor symptoms of PD, perhaps it is fatigue that plagues my sleep-deprived body of energy, leaving me spent at the end of most days with no energy to be creative.

Or, maybe it is the lurking devil of depression, which can lead to dreary and dark thoughts of hopelessness and a “why bother” response to the challenge of creating and refining a worthwhile blog post.

I have been experiencing a crisis of confidence (not sure if it is a cause or an affect). Is my writing worth publishing or posting? Am I any good at it? Is this writing thing a thinly veiled attempt to attract attention, compliments or, heaven forbid, pity? Is it worth the effort/time? Does it really encourage people (whether with PD or not)? Am I just procrastinating, being lazy or undisciplined?  Maybe it’s just time to move on.

All these potential sources, unanswered questions, and more could be at play in my “writer’s block”. So what do I do?  This is the question I leave with you.  What is your advice?

Are you only as old as you think you are?

Often do you ask yourself the question, “How long would I like to live?” If you’re like me (heaven forbid), this is a question you rarely spend much time pondering. To a large extent, this may be an irrelevant question to ask.  We are not prone to ask the question with statistics in mind. One reason for that is the realization that life expectancies are increasing at a fairly significant rate. In Canada, when I was born in 1952, the life expectancy I was given was 66 years. Today, my life expectancy for someone my age is 81. For whatever reason, I have gained 15 years of living, statistically speaking.   

Many of us seem to prefer the cheerfully fatalistic answer taken from the Doris Day Oscar-winning theme song, “Que Sera Sera” (What will be, will be).  This classic goes on in lilting, mellifluous tones, “The future’s not ours to see”. Although I was only four years old at the time this song was topping the charts, I am reminded of it occasionally because of my wife’s affection for old movies.

Assuming that most of you are too young to know who Doris Day is*, you are highly unlikely to be asking the question at all!

Yesterday, I had a stimulating conversation with a 90-year-old friend. Among other topics, we discussed aging. Phrases like, “You’re only as old as you think you are”, ”It’s about quality not quantity” and “Why do most of us have such a strong drive to survive beyond the statistical norm.?” I commented that Parkinson’s disease has all the attributes of accelerated aging, which prompts me to think more like my 90-year-old friend, than my 67-year-old body would otherwise suggest.

While it might be nice to muse about the possibility of reducing one’s chronological age by simply “thinking younger”, that activity is insufficient in itself. After all, whatever the age, we inevitably must recognize that life is short no matter how young or old we are.

I also disagree with our society’s constant swooning over the young, pursuing a modern age version of a Fountain of Youth. Is there really no merit in getting older? Does human life actually have a “best before date”? I think not. I recognize the extraordinary value in the resilience, enthusiasm and creativity of young people, having spent six years engaging university students. I also acknowledge the unfortunate propensity for at least some of us in our senior years to be complainers, close-minded and self-centered. 

However, I see great value, and have respect for the elderly, as opposed to those of us who are simply older. Many of my senior friends are deep thinkers, love to laugh, challenge my presuppositions and prejudices, and are simply not willing to resign themselves to, “what will be, will be”. The future may not be ours to see, but the present is ours to live.

Accepting the sometimes mind-numbing, body-trembling and rigor mortis-like stiffness, I have an answer to the question, “How long would I like to live?” One engaged-to-the-extent-I-am-able day at a time, with a mind that recognizes not only the troubles of the present but is motivated by the possibilities of the future; thankful I can share the journey with others, both young and old.

*For those of you who might want to know (all three of you!), Doris Day lived to be 97 and died on May 13, 2019.

Apathy and Parkinson’s Disease

To the applause of Canadians everywhere, the Toronto Raptors won the 2018/19 NBA championship. Did you really care? Do you have some travel coming up? Are you excited about it? Maybe you have lots of free time in your schedule for the next couple of weeks. Are you looking forward to enjoying those hours and days? You may be anticipating meeting an old friend, high school buddy or long-lost cousin for coffee. Are you enthusiastic about that?

 I am certain that some of you at least ascribe to the dismissive line of Rhett Butler in Gone with the Wind:  ”Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn”.

I thought I had experienced most of the symptoms of Parkinson’s, or at least knew someone that had. However, I was ill-prepared for one such attribute.  It crept up on me the past few months. It has proven a stealthy and deceptive enemy, masquerading as a temporary circumstance brought on by any number of life events. It was something I expected to simply “go away” as my life patterns changed. I found myself making excuses when it did not, saying things like ”when (fill in the blank) happens this feeling will disappear”. But it hasn’t. So now is the time to name the unpredictable and elusive symptom apparently experienced by up to 70% of people with Parkinson’s. APATHY. Having capitalized each letter of the word I must admit that it was for emphasis rather than because I felt strongly about it. In fact, everything feels a little (or a lot) emotionally flat.

The shameful reality is that I have fallen victim to this debilitating state of body/mind. Although I’m not continuously aware of its presence, it can climb into my skin at will, like some form of alien. It seeks to commandeer my days, pretending to be the result of fatigue, insomnia, sadness or even depression. Apathy can sit on my shoulder, whispering in response to any attempt at motivation, activity or effort, “Why bother? Just rest for now. Perhaps you’ll feel better in an hour or two. Or maybe tomorrow.  It’s not really that important anyway.” Embarrassed now, I admit to having listened to these prompts and complied, or rather succumbed, to their indifference.

To be completely honest and transparent, when I am caught in the grip of apathy almost everything seems veiled in passionless passivity. The things I used to enjoy don’t seem so important or even attractive. Procrastination and indecisiveness prove stronger than self-discipline and logic. Take this blog post for instance. I have been planning on getting this written for weeks now. But it never seemed to make it to the top of the priority list. In fact, there isn’t much of a list of priorities.

10 years ago, August 30, 2009, I began Positively Parkinson’s in order to encourage others facing the day-to-day battles of PD. No candy-coated aphorisms. No false promises. No venting, rage, or ‘woe is me’ narrative. Just living out the adventure and giving hope as best I can. The 10^th anniversary of this blog should have been enough to rediscover the spark and reignite some passion for the cause, given that I had been looking forward to more time to write posts to share. But  apathetic indifference struck a near knockout blow before I saw it coming.

What exactly is apathy? It is not depression (although it may lead to that I suppose). But the two have some similarities, as both are believed to have neurological, psychological and emotional elements. Of course, the Latin root words provide a fairly clear description of the word:  “A”, means without” and “Pathos”, means passion. That’s easy enough: without passion. And this may be a more pervasive state than many of us realize.

As Helen Keller said, “Science may have found a cure for most evils; but it has found no remedy for the worst of them all - the apathy of human beings”.

My guess is that we all know what it feels like to be apathetic, especially if we live with Parkinson’s disease. According to some studies, 70% of us are affected by this silent joy-killer. But what are the causes? And, perhaps more important, what is the antidote?

My own view is that apathy is not just a shortage of dopamine, but a quiet, self protective response to the lack of hope. Hope for a cure. Hope for a slower degeneration of normal functioning. Hope that there is significance and purpose in it all.

The remedy? Perhaps the best response is a combined strategy (to deal with the multi-pronged causation).  Make sure your meds are working properly to deal with the neurological effects of PD as best they can. Second, enlist a support team to provide structure and process, as well as encouragement and accountability. This could include a spouse/significant other, family, friends and professionals of all varieties. This can go some distance to rebut one’s own emotional and psychological slide into apathetic darkness. And lastly, depending on the supply of energy and commitment left in your tank, establish very modest goals, typically one at a time. For instance, my goal was to write this 10^th anniversary blog post before the end of August. There is nothing quite like succeeding at modest goals to give us the motivation to push ahead.  That sense of accomplishment will help build hope in future achievements.

Get Out Of the Shower!

The water pelts down from the showerhead and I stick my hand into the spray, testing the temperature. It must be hot. Not warm. But almost unbearably hot. Stepping into the tiled shower stall I face away from the showerhead. The steam begins to rise and float out of the shower and fills the bathroom, condensing on the mirrors and windows, starting from the ceiling and drifting down. I close my eyes. 

The morning shower ritual feels like part massage, part sauna and part cleansing. It it is a prayer that washes away the nightmares of my troubled sleep. It re-calibrates my mind. At first there are creative, untethered, and even unimaginable thoughts that drift undisciplined through my mind. I surrender to the muse as words begin to form around my thoughts. Sometimes music drifts among the words.

But, too soon, the invasion of the day’s schedule and persistent priorities bring focus to ideas. Pragmatism begins to sweep away the secret sense of well-being. I know I cannot win this tug-of-war. It ends with silent resentment as the water stops, and cold air creeps towards me, across the floor, over my feet and up my legs. Resigned, I reach for the towel to dry my rapidly cooling body.

And so the day begins with the sacrament of the shower.

This morning I fought harder in the shower before I submitted to the demands of the day. Somehow, it being my 67^th birthday, I felt a sense of entitlement, reward, and privilege. The luxury of those extra minutes lingering in the shower before stepping into the cold air was like a gift to myself. But I could not succumb to this temptation for long. I don’t sit down in a shower.  I may have to at some time in my life but for now, it just does not feel right.

Luxurious as it is, my shower is transition. Just as the dawn is the transition from night to day. It has a natural rhythm.

The symptoms of Parkinson’s disease constitute a harsh reality. Sometimes we who battle this disease seek to escape the pain, the frustration and the fatigue. A few glasses of wine, indulging ourselves, or simply giving in rather than fighting back. Understandable. But we cannot stay in the shower.

As I begin my 67^th year, I know that the temptation to stay longer in the shower will increase. The inner struggle to stay where it is safe and warm will grow. Still, reality and purpose only exist outside the shower.

"We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act, but a habit." Aristotle.

Just Leave Me Alone!

When life’s circumstances seem to trap you, squeezing you in their grip, applying increasing pressure and demanding a response to questions that are bombarding your universe like incoming meteors, everything gets messy.

We feel out of control (as if we ever were). Death, disease, disability, discouragement, depression, disorientation or disaster - and these are just the things that start with the D - threaten our daily existence. We find ourselves scrambling for cover, digging a foxhole, curling up in a ball, or hiding our eyes to shut out the fear, the pain, the inevitability.

“Just leave me alone!”, we shout to no one and nothing in particular. Can’t we just make it all go away? Can’t we just fix it?

The answer is “No”. We might be able to deny the situations we face for a while. Difficulties might be delayed somewhat. But ultimately, we must deal with the tough stuff, face our fears, fight back, accept suffering and sacrifice as necessary, or at least inescapable, parts of living.

Lately, too many friends are being confronted by the harshest of realities; difficulties from divorce to dying, and a veritable invasion of other sad events. Sometimes, like missiles, these struggles come in clusters, as if the destruction caused by one is not enough.

When it all seems too much, too hard, where do we turn? The Greek philosopher Epictetus said, "We cannot choose our external circumstances, but we can always choose how we respond to them".  But let me add, doing life alone, especially in the crucible when heat and pressure so easily overwhelm, is not the answer.

We are designed for interdependence, relationship, community. We cannot hope to prevail on our own. We need to share the burdens, the pain and the tragedy, especially when they don’t make sense. We need the freedom to ask” Why”, while knowing that there is no obvious answer. We need caring listeners to be our mirror. We need allies to help us fight back, maintain the hope regardless of the odds. But in the process we must risk being misunderstood, rejected, and disappointed by others. After all, we are far from perfect ourselves.

P.S.  While drafting this post I felt alone. I had planned to be attending the World Parkinson's Congress in Japan next week.  I was looking forward to being there mostly to spend time together with friends from around the world who are part of Parkinson's disease community. Unfortunately, I will not be there.  Maybe 2022?  In the meantime, let's stand together. As Michael J Fox said,“We may each have our own individual Parkinson’s, but we all share one thing in common. Hope”

From Graduates to Grandparents

It has been a very long time; 40 years. And yet four decades seems to have sped by in an instant. Memories had somehow been compressed and stored in the archive function of my brain. Recall was the problem.  Without the name-tags, facial recognition left me stammering, trying to identify the elderly person holding out his or her hand in greeting. Once identified, by furtive glances at name-tags, my classmates and I launched into storytelling and exchanges of status reports.  As I moved about the room from small group to small group, each person took awkward small sips from their wine glasses.  The 40^th reunion scene reminded me of hummingbirds hovering momentarily, probing newly-opened blossoms and then moving on

Careers had come and gone in the past four decades. “Retired” had been added to the biography of many. A whole generation has grown up, and in the process made many of us grandparents. The graduates of 1979 UBC Law School were as diverse bunch, at least in terms of personality and background. The career paths of those in attendance stretched across the gamut from well-heeled executives, who had never practiced law, to retired judges. There were politicians of every stripe and practitioners of every calling. A curious and incongruent crowd of older folk, so disparate in their views and appearance that an observant stranger would not have easily identified what they all had in common.

Admittedly, I attended this event with some trepidation. The legal profession rewards confident men and women who show no sign of weakness or vulnerability. It was no secret that I had Parkinson’s disease.  There was no effective disguising its symptoms. But, scanning the list of those of our class who had passed on, I realized it was a privilege just to be in attendance.

Why do we hold reunions? Sure, there are those who are simply curious and attend in order to extract the latest news, the juicy bits, just to be “in the know”.

Perhaps to others, the reunion was a sort of  a tontine, or death pool, where the last person alive “wins” and we attended to record the fact that we were still contending for the prize.

But I think there is something more benevolent in play.  Those years in law school were formative.  Not just because of the legal principles we learned together, but there was a recognition, if somewhat ill-defined, that our relationships with one another were important. Despite how different from each other, we survived the crucible of those 3 years together. Despite the competition, there was a genuine interest in each other, and even a recognition of the need for mutual encouragement.

Life, like law school, and Parkinson’s, is best lived by taking the risk of sharing the experience with others.  Otherwise, the challenges can easily drive us to retreat, giving into the fear of rejection and misunderstanding.

Driving home from last night’s reunion I thought of those of my classmates who did not join us, and I wondered why they had stayed away. Could it be they did not want to be judged or compared to others?  It may take some courage, but whether it is attending a reunion of old classmates or getting together with others who struggle with PD, the benefits of taking the risk far outweigh the certainty of loneliness.   

It Is Good to Be Back

A little more than six years ago, I accepted the position of serving as President of Trinity Western University. I am confident that most people probably thought I was out of my mind. After all, why would a 60-year-old with Parkinson’s disease accept such a challenging role? I am still not sure I have an answer for that question, but the past six years have been both the hardest and most rewarding of my life. I have learned more than I ever thought possible (and enjoyed hanging out with the students).

But I have missed writing this blog. And I promised myself that when my term as president of the University ended, I would pick up my pen (actually, my voice recognition software) and continue writing these posts. My desire for this blog remains the same; to be encouraging to others through transparently sharing my life as a person with Parkinson’s.

Some who may be reading this may be asking themselves the question, “How did my Parkinson’s progress during these past six years?” Well, the PD did not get better, but it did not get that much worse either. I was pleasantly surprised that my symptoms did not worsen significantly. This minor miracle certainly did not result from my complying with the doctor’s orders. My neurologist strongly advised me to avoid stress, get lots of exercise, and ensure I get enough sleep. I did none of these. The job was so demanding that I just did not seem to have time. It could be that my work simply constituted a sophisticated form of denial. In any event, I feel about the same as I did six years ago. I chalk it up to being one of those people with Parkinson’s who respond well to the standard medication (carbidopa levodopa). I do not take the slow progression of the disease for granted. In fact, I count each day as a gift.

So, at the age of 66, I am returning to the practice of law in the hopes that I can still “serve as a trusted problem solver”[1] . In future posts I will let you in on some of my plans for the future. For now, know this: life is still in an adventure and having Parkinson’s disease just adds to the challenge. I plan to remain ‘Positively Parkinson’s’.

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[1] this is taken from my law firm's Mission Statement, which can be found by clicking here.

Parkinson's Disease: An Unexpected Journey

It was pure fantasy.  Old, almost classical, make-believe worlds populated by strange characters with even stranger names.  And yet it was stuffed full to overflowing with significance, like a stocking hung by the fireplace on Christmas morning.

The story is about an unassuming fellow, who enjoys his books, a warm fire, good food and casual times with friends.  He had lived what we would call a simple, comfortable life in which, apart from a celebration now and then, each day was predictable.  But the unpredictable happened.  Shock, frustration, denial and confusion flooded into this unsuspecting character’s life, and in the process swept away his innocence and uncomplicated existence. 

“The Hobbit” was written by J.R.R. Tolkien 75 years ago.  It has taken Hollywood that long to do justice to its imaginary tale.  Its story is both simple and complex, suitable for children (except the very young or overprotected) and challenging for adults.  It portrays both evil and good, but recognizes the shadow of one in the other.  It shows the wizardly wisdom of Gandalf happily coexisting with simplistic naïveté of Bilbo Baggins, the hobbit.  Courage and camaraderie combine to thwart the seemingly insurmountable destructive powers of darkness and despair.  But it was its subtitle, “An Unexpected Journey”, which led me to conclude this story could be an allegory for life with Parkinson’s disease.

Seven years ago my life was pretty simple.  Staring into the future as far as I could see it all looked predictable, even comfortable.  Little did I know then that my life was about to be figuratively and literally shaken to its very core.  I was totally unprepared and left reeling from the January 19, 2006 diagnosis of Parkinson’s disease.  Life would never be the same.  The path ahead became unpredictable, leading through fields of false hope, black nights of fear and into narrow tracks in the unknown.  At times I found myself lost and alone in what seemed like a maze of caverns. 

But the truth is that, like Bilbo Baggins, I would never exchange the unexpected journey, with its challenges, friendships and adventure, for a predictable, comfortable, stay-at-home life.  No, despite the many setbacks, I would not give up the invaluable lessons I have learned along the way.  Like Gandalf said when questioned about allowing Bilbo Baggins to come along on such a dangerous journey to challenge such a formidable foe.  Some believe, he said, that “it is only great power that can hold evil in check, but that is not what I have found. I found it is the small everyday deeds of ordinary folk that keep the darkness at bay. Small acts of kindness and love. Why Bilbo Baggins? Perhaps because I am afraid, and he gives me courage.” 

Indeed, “it is the small everyday deeds of ordinary folk that keep the darkness at bay.  Small acts of kindness and love.”  The power of Parkinson’s disease in my life has been held in check by the small, everyday deeds of my friends and family.  Their reassuring words and simple acts of kindness and love give me courage to continue fighting. 

Whatever your views about Christmas (whether you are the “Happy Holiday” type or something else), there is something compelling about the story.  A baby, gifted to humanity by God yet born to ordinary peasant parents, he was destined to hold evil in check and keep the darkness at bay through sacrificial acts of kindness and love.  Why?  Perhaps because when we are afraid he gives us courage. 

Perhaps you’re a little like me as I anticipate with some trepidation the New Year, 2013.  If you are, maybe reciting words of Bilbo Baggins will give each of us courage as we embark upon the path ahead.  “I am going on an adventure” makes more sense to me than “Auld Lang Syne”.

                      

Does Pain Have Meaning?

The passenger jet slammed into the ground killing six people in the process.  But 96 survived due to miraculous flying, creative ingenuity, intense calm and, perhaps, an act of God.  Most credited the pilot of that flight for his pinpoint precision crash landing in an open field after an heroic display of aeronautical genius that was unlikely to be ever repeated.  But the real story recounted in “Flight”, a recent movie starring Denzel Washington, was about the pilot’s alcoholism, stubborn denial and reckless living.  Covering up the pain in his own life he caused inestimable suffering in the lives of those he cared about.  It was only because of the plane crash, and his own personal crash that followed, that he was able to come face-to-face with reality, with the meaning and importance of pain and the need to deal with it. 

The pain caused by Parkinson's is rarely discussed. It seems to be overshadowed by the tremor, stiffness and the other non-motor symptoms.  But the pain can be very real.  Painful cramping of leg or arm muscles, pain from distortion caused by dystonia, “frozen shoulder” pain and other results of muscular rigidity are but a few of the physical consequences of PD.  And then of course there is the psychological pain of misunderstanding, loneliness, rejection and the significant sense of loss of quality of life.  Pain comes in all shapes and sizes from acute to aching, chronic to intermittent, unbearable to inconvenient. 

Our society places a great deal of emphasis on alleviating pain.  In fact, a significant part of the pharmaceutical industry feeds our culture’s addiction to pain avoidance.  But does pain have importance and meaning? 

Victor Frankl was more than a psychologist, he was a prophet.  His basic theory, contrary to that of Freud, was that humanity has a primary need for purpose not pleasure.  He came to this conclusion in a Nazi concentration camp where prisoners suffered excruciating physical and psychological pain.  Many of his fellow prisoners gave up hope in the face of almost certain extermination at the hands of their captors.  But Frankl found that the simple antidote was to believe that life had meaning.  There is purpose in the pain, even if it leads to death.  He determined that if he were to die it would be as a martyr, not a victim.  He said, “In some ways suffering ceases to be suffering at the moment it finds a meaning, such as the meaning of a sacrifice”. 

Pain, loss, suffering, they all bring us face-to-face with some of the deepest questions we can ask.  Our persistent pursuit of pleasure can easily blind us to reality.  If pain is the greatest teacher, and there can be no building of character without pain, then when we experience pain we must learn how to suffer without self-pity or “sedation”.  Here are some principles I am grappling with in my own confrontation with pain.

1.     Pain is not the enemy.  It simply forces us to come to grips with its cause.

2.     Listen to your pain.  It is trying to tell you something important.

3.     Search for meaning in the pain.  Don’t give up until you find it.

4.     Pain leaves a legacy.  Choose for it to be characterized with courage.

At the end of the movie, the pilot, played by Denzel Washington, finally recognized that he could not run away, continuing to deceive himself and others.  To ignore the painful lessons of life is to live a lie, which is not to live at all.

“Endure and persist; this pain will turn to good by and by.” 

 Ovid