health – Page 2 – Pamela Helberg

Feedback hits my veins
Smack for my ego, mainlined
I close my eyes, sigh

I wrote this haiku over the weekend, fueled as I was then by a steady stream of positive feedback for my writing and after a really great response to the Whatcom Writes reading on Sunday. But like any good addict knows, that euphoric feeling fades fast without a continual infusion.

I managed to ride the wave for most of the week, getting by on a steady stream of Facebook likes and occasional comments, but on Friday I hit bottom. Two months ago I sent out some queries to a handful of agents and within days one agent requested I send sample chapters of my memoir. This is it, I thought. I’m golden. I worked feverishly for a week to put some high polish on a few of the better chapters and sent them off into the ether. I tried hard to stay in the moment but really, who among us writers doesn’t live at least part of the time on that fantasy book tour? On the bestseller list in our own heads? I’m a legend, if only in my own little monkey mind.

Things came crashing back to earth for me on Friday when the agent got back to me with a kind and generous email indicating that perhaps my pages aren’t quite ready for primetime. Honestly, I can’t say that I wasn’t expecting this—I know the odds. We all do, when we sit down and dare to think we have a hope of seeing our words in print. The statistics are depressing, but still, we dream.

This crash, this bursting of my ego and the view from down here at the bottom set me to thinking about how fortunate we are now, though, as writers. We have an audience if we want one. We don’t have to toil in obscurity—relative obscurity, maybe, but not completely. We have communities that welcome our imperfect work, places where we can get our hits and fixes, venues even if they are of our own making.

I started wondering, though. What was it like as a writer to wait months and months for feedback on a piece of writing? Or to not get any at all? Imagine—writing something, spending a few hours, or weeks, months, years, on a piece and then just . . . doing what with it, exactly? Sending it to an agent or publisher and then waiting for a single letter to come by post. No instant gratification. No thumbs up or down within minutes. I suppose after a week or so trips to the mailbox might become something like obsessively checking Facebook within a few minutes of posting a particularly witty comment or status update. The worn path to the mailbox might have been a little like the iPhone-shaped silhouette on my back pocket—there because I want easy access to my inbox, the ability to quickly check my blog stats. My self-esteem rises and falls with the number of hits I get.

All of which leads me to ponder just how healthy it is, this continual trickle of sporadic feedback and my incessant need to check in on it. On the one hand, when the stream dries up a bit, we can just post something new. On the other hand, why? What’s my motivation? To continue the high or to hone my craft? I’ve been reading about B.F. Skinner and the behaviorists, operant conditioning—the key to operant conditioning is the immediate reinforcement of a response. Suffice it to say, I’ve been thoroughly conditioned by variable reinforcement. I feel a bit like a used lab rat, and the unpredictable rewards are messing with my monkey mind. One day there might be these beautiful little gifts waiting when I press that lever, other days there’s nothing. Does the nothing keep me from pressing the lever? No it does not. The nothing makes me press the lever even more—there must be some mistake! Where’s my feedback? My next hit? I need my fix!

So. I enroll in a mindfulness class. I employ hypnotherapy and guided imagery. I run. I run and run and run. They say the endorphins produce a natural high. It doesn’t really compare, but there are 30, 40, 50 minutes a day where I’m away from the lever at least. And I’m getting healthier as a side benefit. I’m not sure I want to give up the drug, the high, the next hit long term, but I’m trying to get better at living in the moment and focusing on writing just because.

Oh hell. No I’m not. If I were, I’d not be posting this damn blog. Hit me baby. Just one more time.

I’ve been doing this thing lately—trying to find a new way to work daily exercise into my routine. I’ve had to give up running, at least for the time being, due to some heel and nerve issues (not plantar fasciitis—why does everyone want to diagnose me with PF?). I’ve had to come up with an exercise routine that won’t aggravate my heels and also work in the exercises my physical therapist has been giving me. It’s a damn good thing I don’t work outside of the home these days because all of this physical activity takes some serious time. And now that there’s more darkness during the day than light, and more rain than dry, I’ve been doing all this exercise indoors.

So, I’ve been riding my bicycle. Last Christmas The Little Woman gave me a bicycle trainer—it was the only thing I had asked for. All last year I used it exactly once, though the bicycle sat on it for the better part of the year, all dusty and neglected in a corner of the West Wing (that’s what we call our family room here at Casa Durberg). I preferred to slip into my running shoes and strap on my headlamp and go outside, rain or shine, for a run around the ‘hood. I did not care for sitting stationary on that bicycle seat.

But, my runner’s wings have been clipped, and I’d rather pedal fast going nowhere than give up my unhealthy eating habits. Since I don’t have an income and am relying on the generosity of TLW for the time being, I can’t afford bigger pants. To keep striving toward that elusive girlish figure, I’ve been riding my bike every morning for the past couple of weeks (hey, I know, not exactly a trend but it’s a start).

Last winter when we set up the trainer, we also mounted a smallish television to the wall so I’d have something to look at while I pedaled. But the thought of watching the inane morning talk shows during my workout made my skin crawl. I am not a big tv fan (ok, Breaking Bad, Scandal, Orange is the New Black—I’ll cop to loving these shows, but I’m all caught up on them and the tv in the WW doesn’t have On Demand anyway—nor does it have a DVD player). And the thought of pedaling through countless advertisements seemed counter productive. Nothing makes time slow down more than a series of ads for drugs to take care of erectile dysfunction, GERD, or that new pharma darling, Low T.

I wanted my 45 minutes to fly by, ad-free. I wanted to be enraptured rather than disgusted by what I was watching. I wanted to be so carried away in my viewing that I would not even notice the clock or the miles, or how freaking boring it is to pedal in one place. (On the upside, I never have to turn around and ride back.)

I decided I’d watch TED Talks as I pedaled. I love TED Talks (yes, I know, I know, it’s recently become fashionable to dis them. Still.) I have been riveted by Brene Brown and Esther Perel in the past. It’s a win-win—I can exercise and learn something. I can sweat and be inspired.

My plan required a small reconfiguration of the WW—the purchase of a new media cabinet so I could bring together the TV, the PC, the speakers, and the receiver (and our Sirius Radio). And I’m very proud of myself for hooking it all up and making it all work together without having to spend more than $3.00 on any new technology.

So that’s what I’ve been doing–pulling on my padded bike shorts and riding gloves each morning, firing up a new TED Talk, and hopping on my bicycle trainer while being regaled with all sorts of fascinating information. I started with Elizabeth Gilbert and her talk on elusive genius. Then I watched Amy Tan on creativity. I’ve been riding my way through a TED playlist called Spoken Word Fireworks.

This morning I tuned in to catch up on the local Bellingham TEDx talks that I wasn’t able to see live streamed last Tuesday. I was floored by Naseem Rakha’s inspirational talk about living with our arms wide open and by Robbyn Peters Bennett’s impassioned discussion on ending childhood spanking (find the Bellingham TEDx talks here—Robynn begins around 3:20 and Naseem’s talk begins at about the 3:40 mark).

The single most amazing thing about TED talks is that no matter what I watch, I’m always inspired. I did not think I would love a talk about ending spanking, but I did. Who among us wasn’t spanked as a child? There is always something to learn—about our world, our lives, our dreams, our fears, our successes, and our failures.

Dear Reader, what TED talks should I watch next? Which ones will keep me riveted to my bicycle seat and make the minutes fly by? Which ones will make my jaw drop and teach me something new? What TED talks have changed your life or given you new perspective?