Starting a Day

A combination of two circumstances led me to some learning points in recent days.

First, I had a cold. Most of us get them, and I’m lucky that for me it only comes once or twice per year. It is not so horrible, but while it lasts it is not much fun either. This one followed my normal pattern. Just a sore throat on Wednesday preceded system meltdown on Thursday and Friday. No more headache or nausea after that, but several more days of coughing and sneezing.

Then, I had a singing weekend, in Dordrecht. What a wonderful great Church, with a superb organ and outstanding acoustic. I do this sort of course quite often, where over two days or a week a group pay for a top conductor to guide us to prepare and perform some music. In this case thirty five of us performed choral evensong in Dordrecht on Sunday night, and a splendidly English affair it was too. Well, not thirty five of us, but thirty four and a half, with me as the half. For of course colds and singing do not mix.

So, this combination led to me working hard on Saturday while not fit to do so, and then having to get up early on Sunday morning. At that waking is what led to the insights.

The first sensations on Sunday morning were all positive. I awoke to a warm satisfaction of having slept deeply, a serene feeling after a few days of seriously disrupted sleep on account of my screwed up respiration. This warm feeling became sweeter still from the sensation of Faure on the alarm system and the realisation that I had once again woken up beside the woman I love.

But that is the end of the good news, as my body then followed the brain in regaining consciousness. My big toes reminded me that my shoes are a little too small. Both my calves informed me that the slightest movement of either leg would be punished by cramp. The feather cruelly tickling my nether regions was still there, yet it would take a whole army of feathers to arouse anything in the genitals. Last night’s rushed supper reminded me that it was still sitting in my intestine and would rather not be. Shoulders and neck screamed for unforthcoming massages. My head throbbed in retribution for the alcohol poured generously into last night’s hot lemon cocktail. And someone seemed to have been applying superglue to my eyes overnight.

Then the cylinders and pistons of the damaged breathing system had their say. They demanded I cough, and cough again, yet it would be another day before coughing produced any result other than a counter productive one. Little singing pains persisted in both ears and dryness in the mouth demanding immediate application of several packets of Strepsils. A nose fit for a war zone. And pure pain in the throat, making we wonder if I might ever sing again.

Somehow, with eternal thanks to chemists everywhere and the precious but threatened resource of honeybees, I made it to the Dordrecht train. Forty minutes sitting in a seat facing a bright sun worked further on everything, eventually even the superglue. By the time the singing started, I was fit for anything…except singing.

So what is the point of all this self pity? I’m not looking for sympathy – I am blessed indeed. I’m also not trying to gloat, for example by pointing out that I was able to sleep until eleven this morning to complete a recovery. Not gloating, I promise.

No, my insight is that this is how I used to wake up most of the days of my life. The disaster of the breathing system was admittedly not usually so bad. But the symptoms of excessive tiredness and wear were, day after day. It took a special set of circumstances to recreate once what used to be normal. And when it was normal, it was not remarkable, so I didn’t focus on it or consider it or do anything about it.

How many of us start most days with such an extended groan from under our bonnet? My hypothesis is that it is most of us, to some degree or other. Younger people less of course and congratulations to all you diet and fitness fanatics, take your bow now. But then I suspect many people work longer hours than I ever used to, and also have further disadvantages, for example young kids, chronic illnesses or some dependency on drugs, nicotine or alcohol.

What are we feeding by subjecting ourselves to this, what are we achieving in the plus column to counteract this glaring minus? I can only think of three answers. Our bank accounts, our egos and the denial of our fears.

Bank accounts need to be fed, I acknowledge. That is how the world works, at least for now. But do they need to be fed quite so greedily, or quite so relentlessly?

Egos only need to be fed if we make it that way. Feeding an ego is just like feeding an addiction. It starts with a somewhat pleasurable kick, but it has a cost, and over time the benefits only diminish while the costs escalate.

Feeding denial is ultimately destructive, yet we all do it, all the time. But staying on the same treadmills, we manage to avoid really considering what the alternatives might be, thereby avoiding facing up to what would need to be done in order to reach those alternatives. Thinking about our own needs and beliefs and choices can be the scariest thing we ever face, so most of us will do all we can to defer and avoid such thoughts. What strange creatures we are indeed.

So we feed one necessary but overrated thing and two positively destructive ones, at the cost of allowing ourselves physical discomfort and deterioration, day after day after day. I did this for years. It is only by escaping it and then having the good fortune to experience it again for a day that I can start to appreciate the folly involved. I have never been so grateful for a cold.

Do you want to escape? I suggest starting with challenging denial and ego.