Tag: Pain

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Aesthetics Community Finance

Day 863 Abstract The Pain Away

When I was a small child I attended meditation retreats with my parents. Hippies amirite? The particular branch practiced was some variant of Kashmir Shivaism, but I’ve got to imagine it was heavily edited for the consumption of white Boomers.

Who else would take a vacation to sit in silence, chant the Bhagavata Gita at 5am and practice sevā, all while having six year old children? Silicon Valley’s syncretic culture produces some weird hybrids. Seventies counter culture gave us some of the best religious revivals in American history.

If you didn’t catch the word sevā earlier it’s actually going to be the anchor of the post. Sevā as it was explained to me as a child at the ashram is selfless service. It’s work you do without expectation of reward. It is a dedication to others.

Practically it meant that anytime we lived at the ashram everyone contributed some set of work, mostly unskilled labor but not always, in the form of sevā. I did everything from food preparation and dish washing (working a commercial kitchen dishwasher is actually fun) to caring for some donated horses. I had fun summers as a child.

But the point was that everyone participated in some way to the functions of the ashram no matter who you were. And we did have some weird celebrities but that’s not the point. Sevā applied to us all. Though I’m sure glad I never looked too hard at the politics of finances of these ashtrays. Childhood innocence. As a child I just thought it was fun to contribute to the adult world.

But what I remember now is a sense of connection. That no aspect of these retreats was ever abstracted to far from me. The service was meant to bond you to an experience of a world bigger than yourself. And by recognizing that, you’d somehow connect more with others.

I try to remember that now when I am in lonely cities where every aspect of living with others is transaction. A food delivery service whisks you a meal in an hour in a country where you are an outsider without ties, bonds or service beyond the basic civilizational contract of capital markets.

The global cosmopolitan gloss of mobile applications have abstracted service away to the point where we can have an entire day of discourse about a man being sad a house cleaner washed a cast iron skillet but we can’t admit that we all pay for service as it cracks the facade.

We’ve got no sevā because that’s an expectation too great to hear. We can barely manage to pay a fee for service anymore. Imagine if we had to operate without intangibles. We can barely make Uber Eats function with taxes, tips, and services fees. Bless the markets for this freedom and curse it in the same breath.

Fuck the pain away? No, we abstract the pain away. No need to see who contributes anything. You can complain to a faceless chatbot cum customer service artificial intelligence about how some man on a bicycle didn’t deliver your order on time. The service lives below the machine now and has patience for frailty.

And yes I’m writing this because my Korean fried chicken and kimchi order got lost in a side street in Frankfurt for an hour or two.

Don’t worry the corporate entities that intermediated between me, the restaurant and the courier decided in my favor. The customer is always right as long as they have paid the fees to pretend that are lords.

All pain in the above transaction was abstracted away into some governance structure that decided it was worth 25 euro or so. One presumes some public market agreed on the price. I guess I did too. We all did.

Categories
Emotional Work

Day 862 and Separation

They say absence makes the heart grow fonder. But I don’t feel absence in my heart. And it certainly isn’t positive. If only absence were so tightly concentrated and concretely clear. I feel it in my entire body. And it’s painful.

Perhaps it’s the new emotional attunement gained from my five week nervous system bootcamp but I feel separation from my loved-ones keenly. It’s an amorphous horror that traps me in sympathetic paralysis.

My throat closes up, my chest tightens, my jaw clenches and I gasp for air as I try to stave off the grief. I cry but not freely. It’s a poorly controlled gulping sensation as close to drowning as I can imagine.

I don’t know if it is a sense memory from childhood. But I register the subtle smells of abandonment, loss, and separation with the sensitivity of a hound. I imagine the pain to be a sort of umami. Another taste beyond the two poles of sweet and salty. My pain is savory.

That kind of depth usually means something is coming up from the very beginnings of life before conscious rationality. And I long to struggle against it. I want to fight it off with intellect. I hate the sadness that washes over me, bringing me despair I didn’t know was inside me.

And yet it is there. And all I can do is remember to let it out. I remember to stop the gasping grasping attempts at control and feel my way into the emotions of separation. And maybe then it will find ways to dissipate. The only way out is through.

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Medical

Day 834 and Inside Out

I had a really rough night last night. It’s entirely possible my original theory of industrial lettuce wasn’t the whole picture.

For a little timeline clarification. Yesterday, I woke up with stomach troubles after eating agribusiness salad chain for dinner on Wednesday. I had meetings on Thursday so I took some varied drug store tummy medicines and gutted it out. I even had a very fun time at my meetings. But then as the adrenaline of the day wained I was heading towards disaster. The nausea and had was getting worse.

I realized I couldn’t attended a dinner with some old friends but Alex was fine. I told him to pick up some Tums on the way home. As his dinner wore on my symptoms got worse and worse.

I felt like I was beach ball ready to pop. My stomach was distended so far I felt like I had back problems my stomach pushed out so far. I was tight Mike a drum. The pain and nausea consumed my focus. Around 7:30 or so I called Alex saying I needed a doctor or a visit to urgent care. I couldn’t tolerate it any longer.

Blessedly our doctor in Montana called back almost immediately. He had just personally had a case of stomach flu or norovirus himself and mentioned it was trending up nationwide. At that point I was mostly moaning and curled into a ball from the nausea and gas. He prescribed an antispasmodic called dicyclomine. It helps calm stomach cramping.

I had an hour of crying and praying waiting for it to kick in. I’m sure I scared the shit out of the other hotel guests with the moaning and crying. I was begging Alex to please fix it. To find something else I could take. To do literally anything to relieve me of this horror. Thankfully around 930pm or so it kicked in fully. How do I know?

I was able to vomit. A lot. Seven times over the course of half an hour. And then I was fine. My stomach deflated down to a normal size. The nausea abated. The pain and cramping subsided. Four hours of intense misery has passed with a drug that turned me inside out.

I spent all of Friday in bed sleeping it off. I missed all my meetings and couldn’t eat anything till dinner time came around. I’m having some soup and I suspect I’ll simply pass out. New York is an inside out kind of place sometimes and I’ll just have to live with it.

Categories
Biohacking Emotional Work

Day 830 and Nervous System

I’ve found myself angry for being so fucking stupid. I don’t remember what it was over. Maybe I got confused about some new piece of software on the course I’m taking. Maybe it was because I didn’t give myself more space today to take care of myself.

But I wanted to wag my finger at myself for all kinds of things. I was just afraid because I had to do a lot of things in a short space of time and I dislike logistical pressure. But aside from a few bumps and embarrassing moments I managed it all.

I took a little break and some extra medication to manage a pain flare. I just took everything one step at a time as it was in front of me. I wasn’t a victim to any of my challenges but fully capable and even happy to be doing so right by myself.

I am taking a course on nervous system mastery and today was the first session for orientation. I have a lot of experience in many modalities of coaching, physical biohacking, and family systems work. But the chance to specifically work on regulating my nervous system seemed like a challenge I wanted to rise to meet. Because we all have choices in how we face things. If it looks cool use code JULIE. I’ll be reporting on how it goes for me.

Categories
Emotional Work Startups

Day 825 and Papered

A bunch of stuff that has been in the works for me for a while all got papered in the last couple of days. If you read any of my zen poasting (misspelled for internet reasons) you’ve probably gleaned that I’ve had a lot going on. Stuff got resolved on time horizons as long as lifetimes and as short as a narrative cycle.

I’d like to celebrate some of the papering (two deals I worked particularly hard for over a long time horizon) and I’m sure I will do so at some point but everything is going by fast and I’m just so drained from the dance. I suppose it’s how you really know if you are living. It’s a lot to live through everyone’s ego death drives and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t take a huge toll on me. I don’t yet know how to pay these costs in anyway but energy yet but I’m learning. If I put hard costs on it motherfuckers wouldn’t like the bill.

I’m modestly less sympathetic to everyone else’s bullshit as someone in my extended family passed away (not getting into it as it’s not my loss) and that invariably makes every other problem look inconsequential. Who care about your feelings and your ego and your petty obsessions in the face of death. But also maybe you should care about them even more? Not my call to be honest.

I’m not really able to mourn with them directly but I feel the energy of the loss reverberating for my loved one. And I wish I didn’t want to discuss it at all but I do. Somehow death is the lowest drama aspect of my week. Actual death.

So if everyone else can tone the energy down a little I’d appreciate it. I will absolutely make sure shit is inked, wired, soothed, smoothed and otherwise handled. It will all get papered. Whether it gets celebrated or mourned is a matter of personal discretion and I’m all out of fucks as to what you chose. Just gimme a beat or two to breath. This isn’t what you’d call a nine to five job.

Categories
Emotional Work Finance

Day 824 and Ego Loss Aversion

One of my favorite cognitive biases is loss aversion.

The pain of losing is psychologically twice as powerful as the pleasure of gaining. The loss felt from money, or any other valuable object, can feel worse than gaining that same thing.

The Decision Lab

Isn’t it wild how much we hate loss? The pain of losing $100 is worse than the joy of finding $100. In behavioral economics “loss aversion refers to a phenomenon where a real or potential loss is perceived by individuals as psychologically or emotionally more severe than an equivalent gain.” I guess we don’t like to win as much as we hate to lose.

But we have to train ourselves to tolerate losses. Otherwise you’d never play a sport of any kind. And you’d be an absolutely terrible investor of money. So it’s clearly possible for some of us in some situations to get over loss aversion as we have professional athletes and money making fund managers.

But what if we have to address loss aversion in our own ego? How much do we hate to lose a part of ourselves? What if we stand to gain something significant by letting go a part of ourselves. I don’t think we can always predict where in our own sense of identity our ego will fight against loss.

They say the therapeutic process is just mirrors. You have no real sense of what anyone sees except as a reflection. Everything else is just our faulty sensory equipment. And imagine what a colossal fuck up you could make by ignoring what the mirror says and only relying on the faulty sensory data from your ego.

Stew on that a little bit and decide how much you really want to win and get back to me. Could be you need to see how much you hate to lose before you can see what you stand to gain.

Categories
Emotional Work

Day 823 and Non Attachment

Have you ever read a piece of literature and seen a character described as “a man of great passions?” I feel like it used to be much more acceptable to discuss appetites and the grasping griping hand of man. Perhaps this mentality passed just as Bejamin Disraeli did, unto another era of fallen archetypes. Now we are civilized men with passions well in hand.

Man is only truly great when he acts from his passions.

Bejamin Disraeli

I was raised in a family that meditated. We went to ashrams. We had family vacations in silent retreat. We settled in Boulder where Naropa is as much a part of the institutional fabric of the town as your typical church.

Non-attachment was a concept that was familiar to me long before I felt I had any secure attachment style of my own. I’ve written about my recurring nightmare of packing for a trip or a move. Non-attachment may even be my style of attachment. I am fearful avoidant for anyone keeping score.

Being in chronic pain has been a gift for deepening my understanding of non-attachment. In order to survive pain, you remind yourself it will pass. But accepting that knowledge is a double edge sword. You accept that your joy and happiness is also passing. And you are offered a choice to grasp at them with mean jealously or to hold them as lightly as you would hold your agonies.

Non attachment isn’t just practiced on the negatives in your life. It’s an equal opportunity philosophy. The money you have. The things you own. The beauty you possess. All are fleeting. They are rare intangible things we must value as both priceless and worthless in equal measure.

I believe we can act in greatness in our passion, even if, or maybe especially if, we practice non attachment. I am both saved and damned. I am powerful and meek. I am a woman of great passions and I am capable of separating myself from them as reality dictates.

Categories
Chronic Disease

Day 812 and Stress

My internet experience recently has shown me some touchy people. Maybe it’s the stress of the global banking crisis. Or the random panics about Bitcoin. Or the AI panic. Or presidential perk walks. Or extreme weather. Or rising tensions with China. Maybe someone got the wrong coffee order.

Or maybe, in my case, I’m snippy and touchy because I’m having a terrible flair up of my ankylosis. I forgot what a challenge pain can be to manage. Then it comes roaring back after a period of intense stress and I forgot myself.

I’m just noting it for today as I’ve been working nonstop. I’ve had houseguests without fail for three straight weeks (five in total) for reasons mostly personal but occasionally with professional overlap. It’s just been a bit.

So no elaborate intellectual ramblings today or extremely online rabbit holes. It’s just a check in to say I’m not quite dead yet.

Categories
Politics

Day 811 and Hierarchy

I came across an interesting bit of reading on the relative stability of hierarchies of violence today. It’s a tidbit on a Substack so epistemic status is that I learned something and I’m thinking a lot about trust as we live through various crisis points in real time on networked media.

The article that starts with prison gangs and the weight of violent action on bosses and gets deep on hierarchical stability and selection pressures. I really do recommend the reading as it gets into Scottish kings, American federal bureaucracy, and military service academies.

I’m working on improving my theory of organizational structure because somehow I am one of the louder “thinks in public” about corporate governance and decentralized autonomous organization. It’s a bit of an accident as I am just very interested in how collectives organize resources at different scales.

Some of investing thesis surrounds a nexus of how we organize decentralized power when centralized powers wish us your in-group to be illegal or killed. It’s a salient question for all of us in an age of institutional failure and I’m keen to learn more about what works in the most adverse situations.

Skarbek might call this market competition for governance, an Italian futurist might say “War is the hygiene of the world”, a musician might say a rolling stone gathers no moss, a survivalist that the quickest stream is the freshest…But the phenomenon remains. the devil reigns in hell… because where else are you going to go

I’m a doomer but only because I’m keen to head off going to hell. I’d like to avoid us having to return to a Hobbesian war of all against all just because we’ve gotten a little tired of liberalism because it allows for out-groups to live and let live. So putting it out there that functional systems can be stable and maybe stability isn’t our only goal.

Categories
Chronic Disease Travel

Day 791 and Bathing Suits I’ve Never Worn

I’m on maybe my third or fourth trip to a warmer climate where I’ve brought a Norma Kamali bathing suit. I bought it on sale from Net-Porter as I’d always wanted one of her classic one pieces. I’ve never worn it.

For the casual reader, I have a chronic autoimmune disease called ankylosing spondylitis. It’s an inflammation condition that affects my spine and is aggravated by heat & humidity. Any temperature above above room temperature, give or take 72 depending on the humidity, starts to swell my tissues.

It’s well controlled with drugs but environmental factors can quickly spin up a bevy of symptoms including pain so debilitating I can’t walk. It’s one of the reasons we moved to Montana. I can live a semi-normal life so long as it’s cold. I spend most of my days laying flat in bed or in a zero gravity chair. My disability has become one of the super powers I use to propel my investing alpha. Because what else do you do with your time if you can’t leave bed except monitor financial indicators and chat with founders?

But back to the bathing suit. The black halter swimsuit has turned out to be entirely an aspirational garment. It’s still got the sanitary sticker for the crotch on it that says remove before wearing. I left it in and it’s become the not so subtle reminder that I may never enjoy a beach vacation again. It’s simply beyond my grasp unless I want to pay an obscenely high cost in pain and immobility.

I dutifully pack the Norma Kamali suit on each trip with a warmer climate. I’ve taken it to Miami, Texas, the Mediterranean and Mexico now. For this trip to Puerto Vallarta I packed a second bathing suit. It’s a striped bikini.

I had a fantasy that maybe I’d need a second swim suit as the other would need to dry if I swam every day. Oh what self deception we humans are capable of when it involves something we cannot have but want. I’ve never put the second suit on either. It also has the sanitary sticker still on it. It’s beginning to feel like they taunt me. Isn’t it funny that Julie still yearns to participate in the simple pleasures of life. “That dumb cunt” I imagine them murmuring as I pack.

My father loves tropical vacations. An adults only resort on a beach is his idea of a good time. And for his birthday, my brother and I very much wanted to give him what he wanted. Part of this is self protection as he often forgets to ask after other people’s preferences even if they are for something serious like a disease or disability. Better to avoid disappointment than know for sure. But also if we can give him what he wants why not make the sacrifice? It’s expensive for me energetically but I wanted to spend.

But it’s become clear I can’t make the sacrifices desired for the perfect fantasy family vacation. The bathing suit gets tossed in the suitcase with the knowledge that I can only manage one event outside each day. It’s usually a dinner or a chat.

Then I must sleep it off and work to recover. There is no space for pleasant relaxation on the beach in my body. The compressed Lycra slowly battling the expansion of my tissues as they swell overlapping with stuck lymphatic liquids would be torture. There is no joy to be found and no extra capacity to be eked out that might make the experience mimic the pleasure in a healthy body.

The fantasy is just that. A delusion I have about a life a lost and unlikely to be regained. The after effects of fertility treatments, IVF and living hard to outrun the vicissitudes of capitalism. I’ve accepted it as my lot in life. But it’s much harder to get it across to the rest of the world. And my fear that I’ll be left out and forgotten, that if I don’t fit myself into someone else’s life I’ll be abandoned. And so I rationalize that I’d be abandoned if I don’t at least try to bring the bathing suit. Even though going to the beach is a fantasy.

I hope my friends and family are able to meet me half way but I remain afraid that they don’t know how, or are unable to imagine what it’s like to live in my body. And it would be nice to be met halfway.