Sixty marathons
Sometimes, running is hard. You don’t feel like getting up, lacing up and putting one foot in front of the other. Sometimes life is hard, and you don’t feel like getting up and facing whatever challenges, large and small await you.
Give yourself a reason to make the tough times memorable. Make something of the time you are gifted, and it becomes easier to get up and get on with the things that are important. Use your running, your life, to make a difference; to leave a mark in the world and to make it a better place. Give yourself a motivation that becomes the engine for everything you do.
I attended a public primary school in Canberra and at every school assembly we all said the following prayer together. I have never forgotten it.
I shall pass through this world but once,
Any good deed, therefore, that I can do,
Or any kindness that I can show to any human being,
Let me do it now.
Let me not put it off or neglect it,
For I shall not pass this way again.
GP wisdom
At the end of October, I was invited to speak at the Brisbane Writers Convention on the theme, Connection. I put together a presentation entitled Writers Need Readers Need Writers, highlighting that a book is simply a dead tree until it is read and comes alive in another person’s imagination. This relationship between two people who will likely never meet in real life, highlights that most fundamental of human needs – being connected. We write so that our words can be read and discussed. We read to understand each other better. We tell stories to each other to make sense of the world and our place in it. In short, we need each other.
I began by referring to The Adult Study of Human Development, an extraordinary research project that began in the 1930’s and 1940’s. Two groups of men were recruited. The Harvard Group consisted of 268 Caucasian men aged 19 years of age from the Harvard classes of 1939-1944. The Boston group consisted of 456 Caucasian men aged 11-16 and living in poorer neighbourhoods.
These two groups of men were followed closely, and every two years completed questionnaires about their physical and mental wellbeing, marital status, career choices and general information about how they were navigating life. Every five years, their physical health was assessed and every five to ten years they were interviewed for more in-depth information about their lives.
The study is ongoing with only very few of the original men still alive. It is now following the lives of their children and includes women. I was fortunate to hear psychiatrist, Robert Waldinger, the current director of this fascinating project, speak at the Byron Bay Writers Festival. I really encourage you to listen to his TED talk, one of the most listened to TED talks ever recorded.
Waldinger invited us to speculate about what makes people happy and the results were surprising. Seventy-five years of documenting the lives of these men demonstrated conclusively that the key to a happy life is not being rich, or famous, or beautiful or any of the other myriad things we spend so much energy pursuing. The single most important factor contributing to happiness is connection. Social connections are determine our happiness and longevity.
Studies show that an increasing number of us are lonely and isolated from others. In America, up to one third of people reported serious loneliness in 2021. Working on the frontline of the pandemic here in Brisbane, I was shocked at how many people lived alone and were disconnected from family and community. The startling fact, now with solid evidence, is that being lonely is more detrimental to overall health than smoking ten cigarettes per day. Building strong relationships is the most important thing we can do for our physical and mental health.
One of the positive things that happened during COVID was that many of us met our neighbours for the first time. There were so many simple acts of kindness. Looking out for elderly neighbours who were living alone and too afraid to go shopping. Someone left us a dozen eggs when I mentioned in passing that I had been unable to get any as the local supermarket had run out.
Waldinger challenged us to reach out in small ways to others. To send a text to a friend we hadn’t spoken to in a long time. He invited us to say hello to a stranger next time we take public transport instead of scrolling through our phones, and to make a regular time to catch up with someone we have neglected because we are too busy. With Christmas less than a month away, it is the perfect time to reach out to an old friend or to gift some goodies to a neighbour living alone.
Connection is the thing that makes life joyful and provides opportunities for sharing and kindness. And it is the most valuable thing you can do for your own wellbeing and happiness.
And if you read a book and enjoy it, write a review. Connect with the author and let them know if their book has touched you in some way. It will not only make their day but improve your health and ensure that their book is not just a dead tree.
Writing
Procrastination is complex and there are many reasons we delay doing some tasks. It is a normal human response to jobs we don’t enjoy or find odious. Our tax return, studying for an exam, cleaning out the fridge which is full of leftovers we’ll never eat. However, procrastination often leaks into other areas of our life and can interfere with our enjoyment of things that make us happy and nurture our souls.
Why do we put off creative pursuits like writing the next chapter of our novel, or the challenge to submit to a short story competition? We are passionate about our craft and yet drag our feet when it comes to letting ourselves become immersed in the world of our imagination.
Understanding how we are wired can help. Most of us prefer to stay in our comfort zone, to stick with things we know and understand. We like to be safe so if we are offered an alternative with uncertainty and an unpredictable outcome, we look away. When the option is losing ourselves down rabbit holes in the name of research or actually writing the damn piece, the temptation to endlessly open new tabs that have dubious relevance to our story tends to win over.
Our brains are wired for survival, meaning that at our core, we are risk averse. If we write and submit, there is the very real possibility of rejection with the associated pain accompanying that. The I am not good, I can’t write, I’ll never make it as a writer, self-talk that feels so unpleasant, it is best avoided. It is little surprise then that there are endless arcane ways we avoid putting our bum in the chair and shaping our ideas into stories.
I had one of those rare but illuminating experiences when I saw the September Furious Fiction. I had a vague idea for a story before going on to enjoy a night of pizza, wine, and games with my family. Overnight, my subconscious germinated this seed of a story while I slept, and I woke up with a fully formed story in my imagination. I leapt out of bed and scribbled it down in fifteen minutes and only changed a word before sending it off on Sunday. You can read it in the October newsletter in my archive. This happens very rarely, but I suspect that is because, like the child of a helicopter parent, my mind is kept on a short leash and full of to do lists, rarely given the freedom to explore, take risks and make mistakes.
The experience made me ponder how often our imagination works away at ideas and nudges us to do something about them only to be shut down. It is so much easier to address the dull issues of the day to day than to risk the magic and potential of a new story. The job of writing can feel so immense and so fraught with risk, that it is easier to retreat into the comfort of our routines, to reassure ourselves that one day, when I have a week off, when the kids are older, when I have less commitments, when I have time, I will get back to writing. The risk of failure with something as immense as a novel feels too fraught with risk to begin.
Every project we undertake begins with an idea. We build a home brick by brick, prepare a meal by laying out the ingredients, chopping them, adding them one by one until we serve it to our friends or family. Every story, whether it is a 500-word piece of flash, or a hefty 100K word novel is made up of words, sentences, and paragraphs. To quote Margaret Atwood, ‘A word after a word after a word is power.’
Sometimes looking too far ahead is just too overwhelming. When I have patients hoping to stop drinking, or wanting to start an exercise programme, I always suggest taking small manageable steps. Don’t worry about not drinking next month at your sister’s wedding. Focus on not drinking today. Don’t worry about the hiking trip you booked next year, just go for a walk today.
Listen to your imagination. Absorb the incredible details found in daily life. The shape of a drop of water on a leaf, the taste of your morning cuppa. Let your mind wander and see where it lands. We are born to be creative, and our job is to listen and to respond to those nudges and prompts and see where they take us. Every time we ignore the magic of our imagination, we mute it and become less responsive to its crazy ideas. Learn to play and explore and lose yourself in the thick forest of story prompts germinating in your mind.
Book Review
Kirsty Iltners – Depth of Field
I was very fortunate to be on a panel at the Sunshine Coast Hinterland Writers Festival with talented author, Kirsty Iltners. It was a fascinating discussion about truth, and we could easily have spoken for much longer.
Kirsty’s award-winning novel reason captures a snapshot of two people, Tom and Lottie, who find themselves living on the margins, lonely and longing. Iltners uses photographic imagery in an evocative way to illustrate our fallibility and desire to curate our lives, both present and past. It really made me reflect on how easy it is to judge others based on the smallest slivers of information and how anxious we all are to present ourselves in a favourable light.
As a reader I found myself immersed in the lives of the two protagonists, seeing the world from their POV. This forced me to reflect on my own hard-wired views and how inaccurate they often are. I held my breath in the final chapters as Iltners pulls the threads of two broken lives together masterfully towards a surprising ending that leaves the reader many questions to ponder.
It is fascinating how we hold others to such impossible standards while knowing that deep down our hearts are fallible and fragile. I suspect we all know deep down that logic plays so little role in the most important decisions we make about our lives. So many of our best decisions around loving and living are spontaneous and impulsive and yet we are so unforgiving and ruthless about others’ failings.
This is such a thought-provoking book. I found myself flicking back to some of the powerful prose and re reading it as new truths were gradually revealed.
A book for anyone fascinated by people and what makes them tick. Be prepared to reflect on your own views and to feel uncomfortable. The perfect read for a book club prepared to have difficult discussions.
My writing
I wrote this piece during the COVID pandemic when I was working on the frontline as a GP. That challenging time highlighted how many people in our community feel lonely and alone. It was published in The Big Issue – Edition 646 01 October 2021.
It was a highlight of my writing journey to find myself in a magazine with the famous Wiggles featured on the front. I hope this piece inspires you to reach out to a lonely neighbour or friend this Christmas so that no one feels left out, on the margins or alone during the festive season.
A Touch of Humanity
On Monday, I go on one of my regular home visits to a woman in her fifties. She is palliative now and too anxious to attend appointments at the surgery. Her anxiety in this pandemic era is well placed. She is all jutting bones, hollow cavities, and tissue paper skin. She needs more pain medications. It is something I could arrange over the phone, but she wants to see me.
We sit side by side on her front veranda. The light and shade dapple through the leaves, the hum of traffic is soft in the distance, a magpie warbles noisy on the fence. I measure her blood pressure, even though the numbers are unimportant now. It gives me a reason to touch her. She has in the past been aloof, reserved. I keep my hand on hers and her pulse rate slows. She was never one for conversation but now that her time is measured and finite she wants to share, so I stay longer and listen.
An hour passes. I glimpse the cigarettes hidden under the cushion and want to reassure her that it is okay but instead just pretend I don’t see them. I realise I have not let go of her hand and give it a squeeze. She never married, has no children. She asks when I will come again.
One impact of the pandemic has been the drop in human connectedness. Not the screen interactions that have flourished with social distancing, but real skin to skin contact. Hugs, a held hand, the sharing of physical touch to communicate love and reassurance. While I support the measures used to limit the spread of the virus, this separation from others has lasting impacts on mental health, physical wellbeing, and even immune function.
Our tactile sensory systems develop very early in utero. We spend the first months of our lives in constant reassuring contact with our mothers. This hunger for connection continues throughout our lives.
Skin contact stimulates an incredible array of receptors capable of interpreting gradations of touch ranging from pain, itch, temperature, to the brush of a gentle caress, the pressure of a threatening grip. Depending on the information fed to our brain we then experience the thrill of love, fear of hurt, singe of heat, gooseflesh of cold or soothing warmth of reassurance.
Positive touch stimulates our vagal nervous system which leads to a drop in blood pressure, a reduction in heart rate. Regular healthy skin stimulation results in reduced production of cortisol and a rise in serotonin, improves mood, reduces pain, and has a positive impact on wellbeing.
Later, I do another regular visit to a ninety-five-year-old woman. A former model, she always demanded a hug before her consultations. She is now confined in a nursing home, her cognitive function in steep decline. She still sports a pink streak in her hair, applies a slash of lipstick, and wears a string of pearls. During the lockdown, her daughters were not allowed to visit. A wise nurse gave her a doll. She strokes dolly’s hair and holds her close. It has settled her loud agitation and improved her sleep without medications. Dolly has answered that primal need to express love through physical contact, even when it is not reciprocated.
I sit down and hold her knotted fingers. She babbles and smiles, reaches out for a one-armed hug, her tactile memory left unscathed by Alzheimer’s. Dolly stays firmly tucked under her other arm. Dementia Support Australia explains that therapy dolls can provide sensory experiences that bring a sense of comfort and security.
Since lockdown, the shape of my daily work in general practice has changed. We no longer see anyone with respiratory symptoms or fevers inside the surgery, but down in the carpark wearing full PPE. This means that patients presenting to the rooms are unlikely to be positive for SARS CoV2, providing a safe bubble where we can touch patients without the barrier of protective gear.
On one memorable day, I saw one of my regulars, a woman who lives alone and struggles with a long history of severe anxiety and depression. After a long absence, she presented, head bowed. She whispered, ‘I know it’s not allowed, but can I give you a hug?’
She held on to me so long, I thought she might never let go. I was the first person she had touched in seven months. With her permission, I contacted some of her friends and family to ensure she had regular contact with another human being.
A distressing aspect of the pandemic has been watching people dying alone, seeing elderly isolated in an aged care facility unable to see family or friends. We must be careful that with our strenuous efforts to stop transmission, we create safe ways to be present for our loved ones when they need it most. Touch is fundamental to our humanity. There is a reason that the photograph of eighty-five-year-old Rosa being hugged for the first time in five months won photograph of the year. That evocative embrace responds to our inbuilt desire for inclusion, love, empathy, and reassurance, particularly while in the grip of a pandemic.
The following Monday, I ring my palliative lady, give her an opportunity to hide her cigarettes. I settle beside her, check her pulse, keep my hand on hers, determined her final weeks will not be spent untouched and alone.
