Acceptance Is Not Always Joyous, Turns Out

Posted on September 19, 2023 by Catherine Cheng, MD

*Cosmic laughter* and some tears… HOW FASCINATING!

I wrote my last post on the liberation of acceptance in a state of sincere joy and revelation; I still stand by the whole piece. And, the last ten days have humbled me with my own premise. I have struggled for a good 20 years to negotiate, reconcile, and yes, accept, certain hard realities in my life. Looking back, I’ve come a long way, suffering much less now from self-induced frustration and rage than at the turn of the millenium. Ten days ago I honestly thought I had come to that joyous place of whole-hearted acceptance and creativity, looking ahead and feeling ready to charge forward and invent my new way of being and doing.

And I was ready–in my thinking mind. This happens sometimes, that I understand a concept in my newly evolved, analytical brain, express it eloquently in words, and think I’m done (see ‘self-delusion’ in the last post). I can observe patterns and understand logically that certain things will not change. I can create strategies to suffer less by changing my rational expectations. I can plan to take alternative action in the future when I encounter typical and recurrent friction. I can think my way to practical solutions and cognitive peace.

I don’t realize the gap. Then my feeling mind catches up and catches me off guard, knocking me on my ass for a while. Turns out acceptance occurs in layers.

“When I accept the thing, I can put it down, let it be.” Writing this, I had forgotten that while carrying the intellectual burden of the thing I don’t accept, I hold with it an unrealistic hope, an emotional investment, in the thing being other than it is. The latter is not rational; it’s qualitative, limbic, and drives my thoughts and behavior from a place that has no capacity for language. So when I truly, honestly put the thing down, I experience a deep and ineffable sense of grief at letting go–abandoning–my sentimental hope and investment, unrealistic as they were.

I even wrote about it! “Anger, jealousy, self-loathing, grief, sadness, conflict, …: Allow it.” This is where the cosmic laughter chortles now–allowing grief and sadness means feeling them, DUH! Seriously, is avoidance of that discomfort the basis for all of my non-acceptance this whole time? I’m not sure, but even if it is, I don’t judge myself for it. Discomfort aversion is a fundamental survival reflex, the impulse for which originates in deeper, even more primitive parts of the brain than the limbic system. And I imagine that the epiphany I describe in this post is still nowhere near the last stop on my train ride of self-discovery and -education. It’s an important waystation, though.

This past week I hunckered down, allowing the grief and sadness more openly, with more vulnerability. It felt like wallowing for a bit, if I’m honest. I journaled rivers of ink, forsaking my intended blogging schedule. I did a lot of escape and comfort reading (YAY, smutty romance!). I attended to the hard feelings gently, embracing them (at times as if I were hugging a cactus, but still). And it helped. The sadness and discomfort dissipated, and I soon felt lightness and relief, if not quite joy, on this side of it.

I sense now a slow shift, a reorientation. I am able today, at least partially, to show up differently to my reality, which feels new and different from even two weeks ago: less heavy, more fluid and flexible. I carry fewer rocks in my emotional rucksack now; made a cairn with them these last days. And yeah, I can feel some joy coming on.

Silly Dopey Giddy Mountain Driving

Posted on August 24, 2023 by Catherine Cheng, MD

I’m not drunk, I promise–not on alcohol, anyway–just sheer joy.

“Accelerate through the turn.”

Hugh the genius British boy and I stood chatting in the Brain Bowl teacher’s little office just off the high school library. Looking back, Hugh knew more about physics then, as a 15 year-old, than most of us will know in our lifetimes. But he did not yet know how to drive. He asserted that while driving, one should be able to accelerate through a turn and not have to slow down. I remember this conversation so clearly because it demonstrated to me how for some things (so many, I know now), we just cannot truly know until we do.

Fast forward to my college years. One spring weekend my friends and I had nothing better to do, so we stood in line outside the parking lot at Dyche Stadium, where Ford Motor Company had set up a driving course. We three piled into a bronze sedan with helmets and an instructor, and took turns maneuvering the car through various straights and curves marked with orange cones (think Mythbusters, but without the explosions). My trial was significantly slower, ‘conservative,’ according to the instuctor (stated with a hint of disappointment?), compared to my friends’. I wished for a second chance, for no other reason than to practice again ‘accelerating through the turn.’ Before we started, the one thing I remember hearing was that you can press the gas after you feel the weight transfer. EUREKA! Decelerate on the approach, and when you feel pressure shift to the outside butt cheek, you can gun it! Hugh was right. Centrifugal force and body awareness at work!

Ever since then I have loved driving winding, curvy, hairpin turns. I’m convinced that I’m also a more fuel efficient driver, because I only brake as much as I need to not skid, then speed up more easily from a higher RPM, minimizing momentum loss. I had figured out on my own how to hug the tangent of the inside curve, which allows me to hold the steering wheel smooth and steady throughout a turn, rather than overturning and having to correct over and over. On every bend, I blissfully chase that perfect energy and arc conservation!

Up here in the Rocky Mountains, it’s Hairpin Heaven. And there are bonuses, too: sparse traffic, and friendly drivers who wave! Motoring all through Summit County today, listening to my favorite music, I wore the silliest, dopeyest, most giddy smile–my facial muscles almost cramped, it was so constant–I just could not help myself. I waved at construction workers, pedestrians, other drivers, and they all waved back (except for the young man who did not let me merge–he avoided eye contact–must not be from around here).

It’s my happiest place on earth. I relish every moment–it’s the only place where I’m excited to get up early in the morning, just to spend more waking hours here! So I just had to write about it, document the joy. I sincerely hope you all may enjoy this kind of deep delight wherever you are today!

Dillon Reservoir, from Old Dillon Reservoir Trail

Dillon Reservoir, from Meadow Loop and Ridge Trail

Revel Now to Fuel Your Future

Posted on August 22, 2023 by Catherine Cheng, MD

Photo by Brian Gelbach, Minnesota, August 2023

When you get a head cold, do you ever wish you had appreciated better when you could breathe through your nose?

What do you take for granted, that you’d miss and regret if it disappeared?

Our family had quite a rough patch from about 2018-2022, and this past year things really turned around. I still have a little post-stress reactivity (a second of dread whenever I get a text or call from the kids), but it’s much better.

Then last week I had another scare, an x-ray showing what looked like a hole in bone—a lucency, as it’s called. Despite opposite effort, I allowed myself to catastrophize. Osteosarcoma, I thought—an uncommon and aggressive bone cancer (it would not actually present this way, I realize now, but hey, I was hijacked). The thought cascade unfolded rapidly: urgent specialist referral and imaging, surgical biopsy, treatment—surgery, radiation, chemotherapy. Recurring appointments, treatment side effects, and physical, psychological, and relational pain. I’d have to cancel my vacation this week, find coverage at work (or take a leave again), maybe stop working on the book, and, gasp, stop going to the gym. Kids’ activities and future would be affected—would they have to move/stay close to home for college? And the absolute worst-case scenario—death—what would that be like? Interestingly, this semi-unintentional exercise actually helped me calm down. It reminded me of when Daughter had an anaphylactic food reaction with the babysitter. I had to meet them at the Emergency Department without killing myself in a car accident on the way, so to center myself I imagined the worst—her death. In a moment I realized that though it would be horrible, I would be okay—because I had to, for Son. I breathed deeply, drove mindfully, and arrived physically and psychologically intact. We simply do what we must do.

I have faced multiple life-threatening situations at home, in addition to witnessing all manner of death in my work. Maybe that’s how I can balance my emotional reactions with a more rational response? I have seen enough times how good can turn to bad on a dime, and it makes me cherish the good while it lasts—really revel in it.

Before I got confirmation that the x-ray last week was, in fact, normal, I had already come to a sense of peace about whatever may come. I thought to myself, ‘Well, good thing I really soaked up everything awesome about life until now, saturated myself with it and shared the joy as much as I could.’ I found myself with very few regrets, which empowered me to meet uncertainty with calm, confidence, and strength, and not denial or false optimism.

It’s not that I dread the future, expect serial crises, or harbor some kind of victim mentality. I just understand the unpredictable randomness of life and accept my total lack of control in most situations. Reveling in the good now protects me when any hard times do come later. I feel deep satisfaction and contentment to remember all that was good before, and that I knew it at the time, truly appreciated it. That warm, radiant energy feels stored like solid rocket fuel, stable and dense, ready to call forth for emotional and relational thrust when I need it.

What can you revel in now, that will replenish your existential fuel for the unknown future?

Below are some of my current revels. May you, readers and friends, feel your own daily delights emerge with light and coherence in these waning days of summer. May you immerse in the awesomeness and feel it buoy you through whatever life brings.

Shaneiaks meet in person!