My Life as Story

Chris Brogan has started a conversation on his blog prompted by a new book put out by Donald Miller entitled A Million Miles in a Thousand Years: What I Learned While Editing My Life (whew, that was a lot of links in one sentence!). I have yet to read this latest of Miller's books, but it has been on my list since shortly after it came out. I do, however, know the premise of the book based on an interview with Miller that I happened to read a few weeks ago. This book is essentially about what it was like for him to write one of his earlier books, Blue Like Jazz (which I have read and enjoyed). About the strange tensions that arise when one is trying to put one's life into story form. And what happened in his life after that book sold over a million copies.

I feel compelled to participate in Brogan's conversation about what story means to me because the concept of story is one that I've thought about a great deal, and one that has played a crucial role in my life in several ways. It's also a concept that I've realized plays a large role in the way I think about the difficulties I encounter in life, whatever they happen to be at any given time.

I could edit my thoughts on this subject into a nice, coherent post with an introduction and satisfying conclusion. I'm pretty good at that after six years of writing literary analysis essays that require such things. But I've decided instead to use the fact that my subject matter is story as an excuse not to write this in a nice, linear, story form. Because the truth is that when I'm asked what the importance of story is in my life, my mind goes in several directions. And I want to explore those without having to tie them up with a nice storybook bow.

Not because I don't believe such a thing as a perfect story exists. I do, in fact, believe that we're all living in a Story far grander and more perfect and linear than we can imagine: the grand and beautiful story of each of our lives and also of the whole history of the universe. But that's just it: we can't imagine what the story is like, how it's going to end, and even how it's developing right now. It's too big. We get glimpses of different pieces and elements of it--in our lives, in literature, in art. But not the whole. So, for now, I'm trying to be content in that cloud of unknowing while appreciating the glimpses of the Story that I see all around me.

So a few ways that story is important in my life, and then how it affects the way I go through the tough stuff of life.

Story as Fiction

I was raised on story. And I don't mean TV shows, but actual stories. Fiction, primarily. As a family, we didn't own a TV that actually received any channels until we moved from the Philippines to Philadelphia when I was 11. Instead, we read. I know that sounds terribly cliche and cutesy, but it's true. I almost always had some book I was reading through with my dad. For many years, I would lay in his bed and read to him as he fell asleep for his afternoon siesta. Something that took quite a bit of patience on his part, I'm sure, since I was still learning to read at that point. Once we moved back to the States, our tradition became that he would read to me each evening as I washed the dishes (we didn't own a dishwasher). I was so in love with reading that my parents actually had to limit how much time I spent laying on the couch with a book--to force me to do something--anything--else.

I don't want to go into the philosophical meaning of the story, and how reading a good story (or any story, really) affects our lives as humans. Fiction is profoundly meaningful, uplifting, and beautiful, and a good story helps us to discover what it means to be human. I'll leave the rest to CS Lewis, a fellow English major who has probably written more articulately than almost anyone about the implications of story. But I truly believe that being raised on a steady diet of beautiful stories is, in the deepest sense, a huge part of what made me who I am today. And nothing else can really compare to the feeling I get after finishing a really great work of fiction. Great literature feeds my soul more than any other form of art.

Story as Life

Though I have yet to read Miller's book, I think I can relate to at least some of the issues he explores in it--the tensions that arise in editing one's own life. In the Christian world, we have this tradition of getting people to give their "testimonies." Giving one's testimony involves standing up in front of a group of people and essentially telling your life story--particularly focusing on the Christian elements of it (ie, how you became a Christian, how God has worked in your life, etc).

The opportunity to "share my testimony" is a (ahem) privilege I've been given multiple times. And it seems like it gets more complicated each time I do it. Because I feel the need to somehow find a theme--some common thread that has run through my life thus far. Something I used to struggle with and how God has helped me to change. But any theme or thread I choose ends up feeling reductive. That's not all there is to the story.

I also always feel like I'm missing something--like there's something to my story that I can't yet see, even after a major episode or chapter comes to completion. For example, a few years ago I went through a few months of major insomnia that then led to major depression. I can definitely understand what happened and why it happened better now than I did while I was in the midst of it. I can even list a few good things that came out of it, like the fact that I don't stress about insomnia now nearly as much as I did before because I've seen that I can survive and come out the other side. But really, I don't understand why the insomnia led to depression. Why I suddenly felt like there was no hope in the world, like my apartment was a prison, and my bedroom a torture chamber. Why I suddenly had major doubts about God. And I can't really list that many good things that came out of such an awful experience. It was too miserable. I know good came of it, but I'm unable to fully articulate what that good was. But if I were sharing my testimony, I would need to at least find a lens through which to tell that story that left my audience with a sense of hope and meaning. And all the while, I would know that the lens was faulty and imcomplete.

Suffering as Story

As I'm going through the struggles and ups and downs of life, I often think about how I will tell this story as part of my testimony in the future, when I'm through whatever the current difficulty is. Every time I think maybe the problem is solved, or my emotions back to normal, I think about how perfect the story would be if this was finally when the suffering ended. How I had just finally reached a place of peace or surrender about the whole thing, and that's when God finally intervened. Or how the circumstances and timing are all lining up so beautifully.

I want to jump ahead to the next chapter in my story. To skip through this one, because it's hard, and I'm not enjoying it. And while I'm sure I have more I could learn from it, I think I've learned a lot. I'm ready to start the learning that will come through the next--easier--chapter.

Or I think about how my story would read as a novel. Some major editing would have to take place, I can tell you that. Because so far, I'm missing most of what makes a good novel. I've got the nuance and complexity and character development, but, let's be honest, a good novel does need a few themes, even if they're hard to perceive on the surface. And trying to make a biography read like a novel usually ends up sounding forced and reductive.

This is why I stick to reading fiction.

The Case for "Alternative" Therapy (or, how I went from skeptic to seeker to...practicer?)

There it is. I just admitted that I believe that there is a case for non-Western approaches to our health. Most of you reading this--even my scientist friends--will probably not be all that stunned by that news. Most of us are willing to admit on a hypothetical basis that Western medicine and science probably don't have everything figured out. And that there might be the occasional herb or natural remedy out there that actually works. But I'm guessing that most of you probably think about the whole issue the way I did. Sure, "alternative" therapies can work, but only when they can be fully explained scientifically. Otherwise, any benefits are probably just placebo. And a prescription drug or medical procedure would probably be more effective.

First of all, I should define what I am including in my broad-brushed term "alternative." Basically, I'm being extremely unscientific by including anything from yoga to homeopathy to acupuncture (chinese medicine, herbs, massage, etc). Anything that our traditional Western medical system has poo-pooed because they often can't understand how they work. Once our scientists can figure out a reasonable explanation for why something might work, they generally start to be more open to it.

Rather than trying to make this some kind of scientific argument, I'll explain my own odyssey in my understanding of "alternative" methods. I'll use the specific example of insomnia. Starting in college, I began to periodically have nights where I struggled to fall asleep. I never had a night where I didn't sleep at all, but I would sometimes just start to get a bit panicky as I lay in bed, fearing that I might not fall asleep. The psychological/spiritual/mental reasons behind why this happened to me are for another post; here I'll just focus on what I did therapeutically to help myself sleep better. (In other words, all of this was accompanied by tons of prayer, soul-searching, agonizing, and growth on my part.)

The first medicine I tried, which worked for several years, was simply Tylenol PM (dipenhydramine). Over-the-counter, few side-effects (except drowsiness), it seemed to be what I needed when I was experiencing only occasional insomnia. I grew up in a family where taking medicine was generally looked on as less desirable than toughing it out, though, so I always felt guilty about taking it. Like I was just giving in to fear.

Then, a few years ago, my general stress and fear about sleep grew to the point that I really started dealing with insomnia in full-force. As in, I stopped sleeping naturally, and dipenhydramine stopped cutting it. This lasted for several months and was accompanied by depression and anxiety. Early on, I emailed my doctor about it, hoping she would tell me there was some solveable disorder I had (like hypothyrodism or something). I at least hoped she would ask some more probing questions to figure out what the cause was. Instead, I received a reply consisting of a few short lines, telling me she had sent a prescription for Ambien to the pharmacy for me. What? That's how she was going to solve my problem? Throw a drug at me? Ambien ended up being far too expensive for me, so she switched me to Trazadone, which is an antidepressant with drowsiness as a side-effect. However, after taking that for two nights in a row, I fainted the next morning and nearly gave Pete a hard attack (he says it was the scariest moment of his life, actually, because he thought I was having some kind of seizure).

I toughed it out for weeks, researching all kinds of home remedies that never seemed to work. I knew there were all kinds of herbs out there that were purported to help with sleep, but I thought none of them could possibly be as strong as dipenhydramine, and that wasn't working for me, so...

But I got desperate. So I went to our local health food store and asked the guy who worked there what he recommended for help sleeping. I bought the bottle he suggested and started taking it. You know what? Within a few nights, I was gradually sleeping better. I did some fine-tuning on the dosage and kind of pill, and I'm still taking it on and off today. Herbal remedies? Check.

Fast forward a couple of years. A friend of my parents had put me on to oscillococcinum, a homeopathic drug that they swore did wonders for warding off the flu. Homeopathy. I thought only quacks fell for the idea that "like cures like." I mean, really. Like cures like? Since when? But I started doing some research and tried the oscillo (along with coldcalm, targeted for cold symptoms) the next time I started feeling a sore throat. The sore throat stopped in its tracks. Of course, that's no proof--or even good evidence--that the homeopathic stuff worked. So I found a homeopathic drug for insomnia and decided to give that a try. I've tried enough different kinds of sleeping medications to be able to tell pretty well when one of them is helping. I'm pretty good at distinguishing between my body's natural fatigue and a sleepiness aided by outside intervention. The homeo stuff worked! I fell asleep gently but fairly quickly. Of course, it's not strong enough for the nights when I'm really wound up tight. But for the slightly-wound-up nights, it's great. And even safer and fewer side-effects than herbs. It would even be safe during pregnancy. Cool. Homeopathy? Check.

My history with yoga is a little more complicated. I was taught from a young age that yoga was not an activity in which Christians should engage. All the Buddhist meditation mumbo-jumbo was simply better avoided. But if you haven't noticed, yoga is all the rage these days. Everywhere. And I have a good number of Christian friends who got into it. So it wasn't too hard for me to let go of the sense of taboo I used to have about it.

That doesn't mean I started practicing yoga. I'm not naturally athletic and don't enjoy exercising, so my philosophy on exercise has always been to do what's the most efficient (ie fastest) and cheapest way to stay in decent shape. So I was a "runner." More of a recreational jogger, except I've never really enjoyed it so I wouldn't even call it recreation. I would also do some light weight-lifting at home and the occasional aerobics video, since I figured that worked out more of my core muscles and seemed to help alleviate tension in my back.

Then I got diagnosed with hypothalamic amenorrhea. I will spare you the details. But basically, I needed to shock my body out of the slight energy deficiency it's lived under for the past six years, since I got serious about exercising and eating healthily. For a while, I just increased my eating to gain a few pounds and kept with the running. I mean, could twenty-five minutes of jogging three times a week really be doing anything but good for me? But finally, when the increase in calorie intake didn't seem to be quite enough, I decided to give up the jogging. And switch to yoga, which I figured would keep me somewhat active, strong, and flexible (avoiding back pain) but is not intense enough to be doing whatever the running was doing to me.

So here I am, almost a month in to practicing yoga regularly. And I can honestly say that I've actually found an exercise that I enjoy. I always believed it had benefits--there's a lot of irrefutable research out there supporting that claim--but I figured anything that helps you relax and breathe is going to have benefits. Now, I'm starting to think that the actual yoga method does things to your body that no other form of exercise does as well. It stretches and strengthens at the same time. And the twists kind of feel like they're getting internal organs along with muscles and tendons (which is why you aren't supposed to do twists when on your period). Of course I don't meditate in the sense of trying to "empty" my mind in the Buddhist sense. In fact, I'm kind of bad in that I usually skip through the laying-on-the-floor-breathing portions of my yoga videos because I'm too impatient. But there's nothing wrong with deep breathing and relaxing.

My most recent discovery in the world of alternative/natural health is acupuncture. As I mentioned, I am recovering (I think) from hypothalamic amenorrhea, a hormonal condition. The traditional, Western approach to treatment would be very invasive, stressful, and, for us, not covered by insurance and thus astronomically expensive. As in, over $500 just for one doctor's (a reproductive endocrinologist) visit. My feelings about it not being covered by insurance are a whole different topic, but let's just say I was a bit frustrated when I found out about that little nugget. I have always wanted to try acupuncture, just to see what it was like, but never really went for it because of the cost and because I really didn't understand how sticking a bunch of tiny needles in my body could have any effect. But, a few weeks ago, I received a coupon for an initial consultation and treatment at an acupuncture/chinese medicine clinic for only $29. I decided I couldn't pass up such a great deal, so I went. And I fell in love with my acupuncturist. She completely understood my issues and, more importantly, told me she could fix them within 6 months of regular treatment! And though the treatment isn't cheap, it's waaaay cheaper than the doctor option. What's more, I really did feel some effects from the one treatment she gave me.

So, here I go. Down the alternative path. I have my next acupuncture treatment in about a week and a half. I expect she'll give me a nice herbal concoction to take along with the treatment. I've cut out all jogging and most other forms of exercise for the sake of yoga. Not that I would recommend that to others, but I needed to do that for the sake of my HA. We'll see how it goes.