Symptom or cause?

One of my biggest pet peeves is the focus on symptoms and not a search for the cause.

I don’t know if we’ve just become a society of whiners or if there’s a deeper underlying reason for our emphasis on what should be done about our multitude of symptoms.

Sometimes it feels like politicians and the media prey on our propensity to act this way.

An easy “fix” of the symptom can be a Tylenol for a brain tumour or giving a homeless person a bed for one night.

And yes, we tend to go to our doctor with a symptom and expect to get a remedy.

Most doctors don’t have time for the lengthy investigation on how you got to the state you’re in so they give you something to solve the problem. If the solution isn’t straight forward there will be tests to pinpoint and clarify the symptom.

Here’s an example…

One of the multitudes of tests I had over the last year to diagnose why I was in so much pain led to the discovery that there was an unusually high amount of calcium in my urine. The doctor mentioned this to me but we were focused on other negative test results so we let that one slide. Thank goodness my doctor didn’t feel the need to explore the cause and luckily she didn’t just give me a pill to cure the problem.

I knew right away why the reading was high. My daily trips to Dairy Queen were clearly having an impact. I opted to not share this with my doctor and curbed my Blizzard intake to a couple times a week. Problem solved right?

Wrong.

And it goes back to symptom and cause.

It’s the analogy of peeling an onion. The next question should have been, “Why am I stuffing ice cream in my face every day when I know it hurts me?”

See how this works? And can you see that the problem just might be bigger than some extra calcium in my pee or my clear enjoyment of Blizzards.

This is when you can get closer to the truth and the root cause of why we do what we do.

The examination isn’t easy.

But wouldn’t we be better off if we started to search for the true cause of our troubles?

Symptoms are easy to spot.

Why do we still have so many homeless people? What is the cause?

I’m guessing we would then have to deal with our other favourite fallback…

Denial.

 

 

Do you talk to yourself?

I mean do you talk to yourself out loud? And I don’t mean that internal dialogue we all do, but a real, full voice conversation with yourself.

I’ve been watching what I do during a normal day at home or in the car between clients. Yes, I yell at other drivers…please don’t judge me, it’s therapeutic. When I’m by myself I tend it be pretty quiet except for a few whispers. I’m most vocal when I’m writing. I write and then read out loud. I talk my way through my work.

This past weekend I spent a great many hours with a dog named Sadie and a cat named Massie. Just the three of us in a huge house. Oddly enough we spent the entire time together. If I happened to move to a different room the gang would come with me.

I also spent the whole time talking with the two of them. The chatter did not stop. And weirdly enough I think both Sadie and Massie were active partners in the dialogue. Whether a wagging tail, a bark, a head bump or just choosing to sit on my computer keyboard, Sadie and Massie added to the conversation. They seemed very vocal in their own way and made their opinions known.

This made me wonder if all people living with animals spend their entire time talking to them. I know I talked to my two cats and budgie, but I now wonder if that’s the norm.

Do you talk to your pet? Is it a constant stream of thoughts, questions, and maybe even answers?

I don’t think I would have chatted as much this weekend if another person had been there. Or maybe we are just more vocal when the listener can’t use words to answer back.

We all want someone to hear us.

And even more important, we want someone to care about what we’re saying.

Who’s listening to you?

 

 

I have to give a speech tonight.

Well not really a speech, just some opening remarks at an event at the SFU Centre for Scottish Studies.

The nerves are setting in. Public speaking is tough.

The task seems even more daunting because this past Sunday I heard a truly masterful speech by Terry Fallis. When you’ve heard the best you can appreciate your shortcomings.

Terry gave the closing keynote speech at the Surrey International Writers’ Conference. It’s the 5^th year I’ve attended and this one set a new high.

During the conference I had the opportunity to chat with Terry a few times. The conference is famous for giving attendees complete access to all the presenters, writers, agents and publishers. Sharing a meal with Anne Perry or a whisky with Jack Whyte is commonplace.

Terry was kind and approachable. We found out he’s a huge Blue Jays fan who takes a loss very well indeed. Terry is funny but I guess you’d know that if you’ve read any of his books. He is very funny.

But I had no idea his power until he stepped up to the podium on Sunday.

He told us the story of how his first book, “The Best Laid Plans” got published and won the Stephen Leacock Award For Humour.

Self-effacing, lyrical, poignant, exquisite pacing. A master at work.

Our laughter would die down and Terry would move to the next part of the story and have the crowd in gales again. It was exhausting. And hilarious.

Then he hit us.

Terry asked us to grab our lanyards and remove the name card. No, he didn’t ask… Terry told us what to do. He yelled. There was no option but to follow his instructions.

Then his tone softened and he said to add “writer” underneath our name. Because that’s what we were… writers.

I grabbed my pen and added the word. I couldn’t look up because I was crying. The room went silent as everyone claimed their identity.

Terry made us believe.

The standing ovation went long.

 

 

 

So about this day job of mine, the bit about me being a personal trainer and having a company called Go Big Or Go Home. It’s hard to believe I’ve been doing this for eighteen years. It takes up most of my time and I’m the better for it.

I rarely write about this part of my life.

I do love my job and know I’m lucky to have it. You see, I help make dreams come true.

Whether it’s about running 100 marathons or getting out of a bathtub unassisted. Whether it’s to lose a few pounds or win the long-drive in golf. Whether you want to be able to feed yourself without help or master paddle boarding.

Go Big Or Go Home has nothing to do with the size of your muscles but everything to do with the size of your dreams and sometimes the size of your heart.

My day job is better than almost anything….

And that is as far as I got writing before heading out for a walk to clear my head and get some inspiration.

An hour into my stroll I came across a couple of cyclist off their bikes and leaning against a wall in a really weird way. People were just walking past them. She was huddled over and looked like she was talking on a phone. Something wasn’t right. I walked over and asked if they needed help. She looked up and her face said it all.

He looked up and I knew.

Everything I learned at the CPR/First-aid training kicked in. We needed to get him on the ground before he fell. I got a passerby to move the bikes and we gently got him down. Then the quick check for apparent injuries. Telling her to relay what I was seeing to the 911 operator. Not much blood but obvious shock. Asking his name, day, our location… keep him talking as I did the protocol.

Funny how you just do it.

He had been hit by another cyclist and the crash was bad. His wife was behind him and saw it all.

Now he was just holding my hand, squeezing really hard.

He whispered, “You are so kind to help, so kind.”

“There is nothing more important right now than to make sure you’re OK, so I’m going to stay with you until help comes.”

And with that he started to cry. It was all I could do not to burst into tears myself. We all want someone to care.

But I had a job to do. I held his hand, calmed his wife and we waited for the professionals to arrive.

Thank God I’m a personal trainer that has been taught to step in when you see people in need.

My day job is better than almost anything…

 

 

 

A little rain and cooler days meant I wore my coat from the 2010 Olympics for the first time in months. I had forgotten how wearing the bright turquoise labels you as a volunteer. The girl behind me in the Starbucks line asked where I worked during the Games. With a little bit too much pride in my voice I told her I was with the Opening and Closing Ceremonies. She countered that her position as parking attendant meant she got to see many of the athletes pass though her checkpoint. I smiled and gave a nod. I’m sure even that seemed condescending.

Back then the camaraderie that permeated all the people involved with the Olympics was hard to define. That same spirit went even farther and permeated most Canadians. We were all on the same team and uncommonly proud.

It was like some drug was woven into those red mittens, cool hoodies and volunteer wardrobes. A chemical that made us all love each other and stand together.

There is nothing like defending your home turf against an outside force to build bonds and friendships that never seem possible in times of peace.

We were welcoming the world into our home and then collectively kicking their asses.

And we Canadian’s loved every minute!! I bet the rest of the world craved the drug we all seemed to be on.

This election has gone on too long and we are being torn apart. I hope whoever wins on October 19^th has the chance to lead Canada when we are again standing back to back and looking out. When we are all united in something bigger than our differences and squabbles. When we are reminded we are more alike than different.

And it’s going to take something much bigger than one hockey game or giant slalom to reverse the hate.

I bet Elizabeth, Justin, Stephen and Thomas all still have red mittens at home. Yes, even those four are all more alike than different.

And to that girl in the Starbucks line up… I’m sorry if it seemed that I was dissing your Olympic legacy. The simple fact is we were on the same team and that makes us not only equal but part of the same family.