Facing the Unknown: Healing and Growth in the New Economy

This post could be titled "What I've been doing for the last three weeks", if I am being totally honest. And you know what? I could easily just say that I have been boiling maple sap, going to schools, ice fishing, tracking and painting the farmhouse. All of which are true.

But that wouldn't be exactly honest, now, would it?

I mean, it makes for a great newsletter, you know. Wilderness guy takes the brush and roller in hand, makes maple syrup, goes tracking and ice fishing and all that homey stuff you come to expect from Hawk Circle and me, maybe.

Nothing wrong with that. In fact, it is really good stuff. Usually.

But in this case, it isn't good enough. No. Not nearly good enough. Because if I tell you all that good stuff, you know, how we tracked some fisher, some foxes, or bobcats, or had fun trying to catch fish through the ice, whatever, it wouldn't be real. It would feel fake, or more correctly, like a half truth. And I can't do that this time.

The whole story is that I have been going through a lot in the last three weeks. A lot. Feelings of all kinds have been ripping through me like waves, and I have been working hard to understand and integrate what has been going on.

You see, I am a guy. A man. And we don't have the reputation for a huge emotional range, or familiarity with the five thousand different shades of emotion and depth. (Think: A hundred different words to describe snow, or something like that!) Which doesn't mean we don't feel them all. We do.

It's just that we are hard wired to be more fight or flight types. Rather than communicate all of those feelings.

So, why all the feelings? What is going on?

Well, it's the economy. The uncertainty. The fear. That is definitely creating a fight or flight response. Except there is no where to flee too, and usually no one to fight with.

I see it in the faces of the men I play basketball with. A lot of them are scared. Nothing is predictable anymore, and things that seemed rock solid and sure have evaporated like the morning mist. It doesn't feel good, for a man, who wants to be able to tell his family that things will be all right, and feel sure about it, and for them to know they can trust him, to feel that way in this new world we are living in.

Trust me, most men are wired to get food, provide, and lead their families, their band or tribe, through the cold and the dust to a good place. A place where we can all feel good and positive and build something beautiful for this life, for this world. But I know I can't do that right now. Many of the instincts and senses still work, but the messages are conflicting. And so much of our lives are based on connections and relationships that intersect and make each other stronger and better.

I know all the stuff about the wolverine and everything, and that is good stuff. It is good to focus on that when we are preparing for action. But when you are painting for hours on end, or sitting in the cold wind boiling sap, you start to think about things. And feel those feelings. At least, I know I have.

It is hard right now for us. Enrollment in our camps is very slow. Scary slow. We have afterschool groups going on, and a small semester program, too, but the flow of income and energy is trickling and we are an organization that doesn't have vast resources of cash reserves, or an endowment, or anything like that. So we take action, we work hard, we leverage our resources, all that good stuff, but in the end, we wait to see what happens. We can't really add to our debt right now, and most of the banks aren't lending either. We do what we can, like everyone else in the world right now. We pray. We are thankful for what we have. We offer our mission and our lives and our vision to the Universe to help guide us through these times.

I know that if nothing else happens in this crazy world but this, I will be thankful. Because this experience has opened me to healing and my own growth that is so powerful and profound that I can't express how grateful I feel about it. It has been an opportunity that is like the perfect storm, if you know what I mean. The right conditions, pressure, winds, whatever, to create the energy and will to heal, to grow, to change. For me! Of all people, me. Which I have needed for a long time.

I am not getting too personal here, because when healing happens for me, it happens across the full spectrum of my life, not just in one area or another. Everything. And I have been waiting for a long time for this. A long, long time.

Most of it surrounds the fact that I have worked and worked and worked, as hard as I know how, as I am able, to help Hawk Circle and the circle of staff, students, campers and community, to grow and prosper and find hope, renewal and light in this world. And I have struggled with myself as much as the challenges that lay before us, working against myself, ironically enough, to find a way to grow. The feelings of despair, of disappointment, and frustration usually are there, just under the surface of my consciousness, for not being able to bring Hawk Circle to a stronger place, a more secure future, or to be more successful than it is.

(Just a side note: I am proud of all that we have accomplished in the last 20 years, and I feel great about where we are going, too, and how so many people have believed in us and still support us in many different ways, it is overwhelming at times too!)

However, the threat of the slow economy and the realities of low cash flow has only served to accenuate my fear, my own inability to be better than we are, etc, and opened my whole self to letting go of my own expectations and stress, and look within. Which has been very scary. And good too, at the same time. I know it sounds crazy, but things are crazy right now, so it kind of fits.

We still need campers, and support. We aren't giving up on our mission, our vision. I know we stand ready to serve, to teach and to guide, in the best way possible, without fear and with love and respect and thankfulness. I know I am afraid, but also filled with gratitude and hope.

The rest of this story has yet to be written. What happens next?

Time will tell. I will let you know, too. Stay tuned!

By the way, I finished my bow that I was working on for the last six years or so, really slowly! Thanks to Barry Keegan for all of his time and support! And Barry is helping Connor with his bow tillering in the pics here. And I am adding some pics of our maple processing and Trista with our baby rabbits! So it wasn't all healing and growth for the last few months. There was some ordinary Hawk Circle type stuff too!

A Week with My Son, Javier

When Javi started falling asleep while we were trick or treating for Halloween, we knew something wasn't right. It was a cold night but not too cold, and he just couldn't get warm and he couldn't stay awake. He just wanted to push his head back as far as it could go and then keep his eyes closed, like the light hurt his eyes....

We went home immediately and let him rest, sleep a little, and he woke up an hour later, had some candy and seemed a little better. He said he had headaches and that he didn't feel good, but there was no cough, no fever, no other things that usually go with the flu, or a cold. Trista and I got that familiar feeling in the pit of our stomachs, like we were going to be going through something really hard again.

Javi was born with spina bifida, and he can't walk. He has poor balance at times, and it is difficult for him to do crafts or write or do artwork. He has a v.p. shunt, because he has hydrocephalus, which is too much cerebral spinal fluid in the brain. Usually it flows and bathes and is absorbed along our spinal column, but for him, it doesn't work that way. So the shunt helps that to be okay.

Except when it doesn't. Sometimes, they stop working. He had problems with it five years ago, and he had it revised. Which meant surgery, and it was hard for us, but it worked out and we made it through. He was a lot younger then, and it was touch and go. But the neurosurgeons were really good and everyone took great care of him and it was done quickly when they realized that it was needed, so he was able to recover with no problems.

In this current case, however, he didn't show all of the signs of shunt failure that indicate that that was what was happening. He would sleep through the night and have periods of feeling better. He had a huge appetite, which is almost the opposite indicator. When he wasn't feeling better by Monday, we took him in to see his pediatrician and he said it looked like he just had a virus that contributed to some migraines. "It could be ten days before he would feel a lot better, but that it didn't seem anything more serious than that." We tried to breathe a little easier, but it was shallow breathing. I'll admit it.

I tried to work through the days that followed, but it was really hard. I couldn't concentrate, and I hated leaving him with Trista, worrying that if something were to happen, I wouldn't be there to help her. He is getting big now, about 55 lbs, and she has trouble lifting him, so I tend to stay close throughout the day, so she doesn't hurt her back.

On Thursday, he was worse, and the Tylenol we were giving him wasn't touching the pain. We packed some things because we knew we were taking him in to the hospital and there was no telling what might happen or when we might get out. Javi was feeling so out of it he didn't really have time to get nervous or worried about it. That is the good thing about being that sick, I guess. You don't have time to get freaked out. Unfortunately, neither Trista or myself were sick, so we could go through the full range of emotions.

They took an MRI when we got to the local hospital here in Cooperstown, and then they sent us to Albany Med, where they have a Children's Hospital. I rode in the Ambulance, and Javi kept talking about his brother Matthew coming to see him, and wanting to know if he could have chocolate chip pancakes when he got home, and would he be out of the hospital in time to see his sister's play. It was hard to ride with him and comfort him, holding his hand, but I know it was harder for Trista, following us in the car. I could tell she was crying the whole way.

We got to the ER and eventually got admitted by the early evening. The neurosurgeons wanted to find out if he had pressure on his optic nerves, so they had a young doctor come to test him, carrying a huge black bag with her portable lab equipment. She should have had a cart, honestly. She checked his eyes, from top to bottom, and said he seemed okay.

I don't know how to describe being in the hospital for those first few hours. It is like holding your breath, constantly, and waiting endlessly for whoever was trying to figure out what was happening to come by and talk to you. The nurses checked him every fifteen minutes, so he wasn't really sleeping, and we were on the edge of our seats, watching for signs of improvement, then offering that info to the doctors and nurses. They wouldn't let him eat, because they were worried that he would need surgery, so Javi kept talking about food in a voice that was unusual for him. It was kind of flat, I guess, would be the best way to describe it, without the usual hills and valleys of expression. Very different for our little guy, who is so vocal and talkative most of the time. I could tell it was driving him crazy to be so hungry, but he hung in there.....

Finally, they let him eat, and said they would just observe him for a while to see if they could determine the reason for his headaches. Javi felt a little better, too, and after eating, he was able to hang out a little and even watch TV. But he was really tired. We were officially admitted, and headed up the the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit.

The doctors didn't want to do the surgery unless they could tell for sure that it actually was a shunt problem. After all, who wants to have any surgery on the chance that it might not help you? We sure didn't, but on the other hand, it was hard to have him feeling so bad for so long.... and not know how to get him help to make him feel better.

I walked through the hallways, so emotionally raw, trying to think of something we could do to help him. Trista called a medical intuitive, which was marginally helpful. We were just there with him, all of the time, so he never felt alone. We took turns sleeping after a while, because by Sunday, we were wiped out. Still nothing conclusive.

I'd head downstairs to get food from the cafe, and I could see other parents or sons or daughters, moving in a daze, just trying to breathe and get through each moment. I tried to find a way to smile at them, even as I knew my face was probably just as transparent. I saw doctors and nurses and adminstrators moving about, quickly getting food before heading back to work.

I admired their ability to do this kind of work, and to be around people in their greatest moments of need. Life and death, pain and suffering, healing and wellness, all rolled into one big series of buildings, with teams of people trained for years to be the best, the smartest, the most attentive to the smallest details, because everything hinges on really helping those in need.

I saw the many floors, with hundreds of people, with hard jobs and simple jobs, to keep this whole place clean, in top working order, organized and in sync. I was amazed and grateful that this team was working to help my son, as he lay in pain, and I was helpless to do anything for him except hold his hand, or get him juice or whatever he needed. I didn't know what to say to these doctors and nurses, all of whom seemed to be ten years younger than me, but fully competent and able and attentive to my son's needs. They were so caring!

When we realized that there was a wireless connection in the hospital, I sent out a newsletter about our programs but with an update to let our greater Hawk Circle community know that we were there, with Javi, in the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit. We didn't have much to share about it, but it just felt important to let everyone know that he was there and that we were there with him and that we were doing everything we could.

Your responses just blew me away. They came back, one after the other, and I would tell Trista and she would ask me about who each person was if she didn't know already. Javi would ask too, and mostly he just tried to sleep. I felt like it was something we could do, I could do, which was to ask for help, and to let everyone who knew Javi be somehow, in some small way, be connected to him.

Javi doesn't go to school, and he doesn't have a lot of friends his own age. Most of his community of friends are the people of Hawk Circle, our community, who get to see him in a workshop, for a little while, or at the camp, or during our Earth Skills Semesters. He has people who take care of him, who provide speech and physical therapy, occupational therapy, and he has his family, which is scattered over the country usually. Cell phones aren't allowed in the PICU, so it was hard to stay in touch with everyone about how he was doing and not leave his side.

He got worse by Tuesday, and they decided to do surgery. That was a long two hours, let me tell you. On one hand, it is the worst feeling in the world to know your son needs surgery. On the other hand, it is better than sitting there, watching him get worse and fading from the world. So it was good, and scary and bad and everything, all rolled into one.

There were people waiting for sons, daughters, uncles and moms, all in surgery already or just going in. Some were just getting knee surgery, something that was needed but not life-threatening, and I was jealous of how easily they seemed to talk, how relaxed they were. I thought of all of the hospital shows, like Grey's Anatomy, or ER, or even Scrubs, where the doctor comes out and says 'I'm sorry... we did everything we could, blah blah blah' and I just couldn't bear to think of living my life without my son.

On the other hand, I did know that he was strong, that he was full of light, and that he would be okay, no matter what happened, because we are all beings of light, and this world is but one of many... But I still worried about him, being so young, and having to deal with all of this trauma and drama, with all of the other challenges he has to face, each day.

But each thing I thought just made my head spin, so Trista and I just tried to wait, and be present for each other and breathe. Jesse, his sister, came to the hospital and waited with us, and we all tried to just stay calm and comfort each other in this impersonal surgical waiting room.

The short version of this story is that the doctor came out and told us that he did great, the surgery went very well, and Javi was out of any danger and seeming to recover very well. We rushed upstairs to see him and he was sleeping. He was wiped out. Days of no sleep, just painful, crushing headaches, were finally relieved, and this blissfull sleep lay on him like a soft cloud. His head was shaved on one side, where they put the new shunt in, and covered with bandages. His small body smelled of the odor of the anesthetic, but he was resting, with real rest that was healing and good. We talked when he woke up, and his voice ws back, tired but back, and I just lost it. I was so grateful to him, for being so strong, and to the doctors, and the nurses, and the hospital employees, and to Trista, who was always here for him, and me too. I felt sick to my stomach, I was so happy.

I realized that I hadn't slept really either, and that probably made me more emotional than usual, but I didn't care. I met my mom, who flew in from California, and she took watch with Javi while Trista and I fell asleep in the Parent's Room. (Note: No one actually sleeps there, so they decided to get the most uncomfortable beds!)

Javi got better each day and we were soon home, but with a new appreciation for every day, for every moment with him and with our family. I was never so happy to sleep in my own bed, and make a fire in the woodstove and cook our own food and be together.

We still ask about the boy who was in the room across from ours, who had been in a car accident and didn't know who he was. He kept asking the nurses if he was in jail, and what happened, and he needed a lot of help from his own injuries. We all knew that while we went through our own trials, we were still going home. We were lucky. And grateful. And we prayed and sent good thoughts to that young man and his family.

The prayers and e-mails and good messages really meant everything to my family, when we were about as low as we could be. We could feel that support. I don't know how, but we could. It comforted us in our time of need. And I am thankful to everyone for it.

I could go on and on about things I saw, felt and heard but I think this is already the longest blog entry I have ever written. So I will stop. But there is a lot more I could write, believe me!

If you ever need help like we did, just let us know, and we will do the same. I hope you never need it, but if you do, we will be there. All of us. And Javi knows what it means now, too.

Somehow, I think he always did.

Moving Past Fear: The Wilderness Survival Metaphor and Current Events

It doesn't take more than reading the front pages or watching the news to figure out that America is in trouble. The financial changes that are coming are going to be tough for a lot of people. A lot of our 'pillars of society' are crumbling and it can seem like our entire way of life will never be the same. But what is interesting is how our country, and even the world, is reacting as if we are all destroyed, and no one has died. Nothing has happened except that the concept of money, which is a societal creation, has changed. It has been exposed as 'the answer to our prayers' and we can't rely on it as our sole source of security and comfort.

As scary as all of this seems, life will move forward, and we will find ways to adjust, and move past the fear. In it's place will be people, working together, finding ways to connect, share and grow.

Some people won't be that lucky, though. The change is going to hit hard and it will take a long time to recover.

Being in these difficult situations isn't really the problem, however.

But the real issue here is the lack of leadership. Leaders can get everyone pointed in the right direction, working together and moving towards a common goal. Even if the direction isn't always the perfect answer, it helps us all to do something, rather than sit and wait. And we can adjust as we go, making small course changes rather than picking a far away goal and then working blindly towards it. Leaders are the people who are still confident that we will thrive and survive, and find a way to get to our goal along the way...

It helps in a crisis, to use the wilderness survival metaphor. In other words, what are our priorities? What are our 'needs'? What are our resources? Who are our allies?

In the wilderness, when you are lost or stuck, you have to do all of the above. You have to let go of your 'wants' and focus on your needs. You have to find shelter, clean water, have heat and food. You prioritize based on the weather, your resources and your family or group.

When you first realize that you are in a survival situation, you should be thankful for what you have, rather than complain about what you don't have. You have to stay positive, mentally, and believe that you will not only survive but thrive, from your experience.

In this financial storm, you should remember that our grandparents and elders survived the Great Depression, and they made sacrifices to get through. They have stories of people who helped and worked together to make their futures and grow through it all. It didn't last forever, and it spawned the greatest period of middle class success and productivity that America has known. (Yes, I know this can be argued everywhichway, but the bottom line is that most of America is not currently living at the same level of free-time, debt-free, leisure and family time of the 40's, 50's and 60's. The disparity of wealth is what it is.)

Survival thinking is not negative. It is about strategy, and trust, and learning skills to make life easier. One of my teachers, Tom Brown, Jr., often said, "If you are struggling in the wilderness, for any reason, it is because, quite simply, that your skills suck." Of course, this quote is both humorous and telling. It applies both to the wilderness and to life in society. Whenever I have been struggling in my work at Hawk Circle, I often think, "What skills do I need to learn or do better, to allow me to get past this struggle?" It works, far better than simply complaining, or looking for someone or something to blame.

I will talk more about these ideas in a few days, but let me know what you think about them, and if they are helpful to you in this time of change. Don't panic, and keep breathing. We are going to get through this, together!