Fun with. .

Stephen makes all of the ridiculous shit that has been going on in the democratic circus feel a little less horrific.

Go here and watch Hillary's video first, then Barack's.

And then watch this to make you wish that there still were 3 people in the democratic race, even if it might have meant another white male in office. . . .

That Thing

Talk about Synchronicity. . .I wrote the following yesterday with the plan to post it today. . and now with osf and Toby's comments (especially Toby's) - well, yeah.

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I’ve been thinking about compassion. Perhaps inspired by the Dali Lama’s visit, perhaps from hearing about empathy in my ICM class, perhaps from the gentleness my mom is exhibiting in the face of her father’s decline, her sister’s insecurities, and her mother’s panic. Perhaps it’s because I’ve been struggling lately – my blues are encroaching in tighter and tighter circles. I’m fighting it, but I am so busy these days that I don’t even notice what’s going on until I’m cloaked in monotony. These oh so gray days are flat, disheartening, and discouraging. It’s not depression - that is too personal – it’s more of an anhedonia borne from the underbelly of the medical profession. It’s the despair that comes from crying uncle on trying to hold onto the life that once ways; it’s the defeat you feel when you accept that your life can no longer be relationship-centered, at least for a while.

Lately compassion has been in short supply in my life. I’m worn down by my friends, I’m annoyed by a patient’s complicated presentation, I mutter about my housemates for the chaos that is our fridge. I can’t remember the last time I felt positive about a class and just about every sentence I form starts with the words, “You know what would be great,” or “Why can’t they just. . .” My parents never say the right things on the phone and even Annie, the dog, rubs me the wrong way. Basically, I’m sitting deep and dark in the thick of it.

I’m convinced that compassion is the cure. But compassion is a funny thing and while I know that I need to breathe more, compassion more towards those around me, I think that the real deficit is inward compassion. Just like that age-old adage, you can’t truly love others until you love yourself (or something like that), I’m not sure it is possible to express compassion towards others until you feel compassion for yourself. Can you even know what forgiveness feels like if you don’t forgive yourself all the shit you do wrong? And if you have never felt forgiveness, can you genuinely give it to others?

This may be coming across as all wooo-wooo-y , so let me try and clear it up a little. See, I am beginning to see that compassion is an art that walks the fine line between being patronizing and being invested. I don’t really know what it truly looks like, or feels like, because I am either too engaged or too removed. When I am too involved, my feelings become my focus and I can’t get any perspective. When I am too distant, I view those suffering with curiosity or, even worse, pity. Thus far, when I say “I have compassion,” it is linked with a sense of having figured out the other person’s problem, being beyond his or her problem, being unaffected by his or her problem – and there is some superiority in there that doesn’t belong. And there is the strange paradox that I experience which is that the more compassion I feel towards someone, the less connected I feel to them. Even my closest loved ones – when the compassion washes over, the detachment creeps in, and shortly thereafter the dissatisfaction and the loneliness. Obviously, I have some serious work to do.

This brings us back to wise words about compassion. “Be compassion,” is likely less about giving compassion to others and more about breeding compassion from within. And to do that, I think forgiveness of self is required. This means I have to forgive myself when I have to cancel an obligation. I have to have more compassion when I fail at doing daily living things (like getting my oil changed, making my bed, cooking). I have to let myself fuck up on tests, cry because I fucked up, and rationalize both of those events. When I get annoyed at my peers – forgive. When I am not exercising as much as I would like – compassion. When I skip class – permission. Even though everyone else around me seems to be handling it all so much better – compassion, compassion, compassion. That’s not to say that I should throw my hands up in a relativist fit and say, well, none of it matters anymore. Of course not – I still strive to improve all of those things, I still evaluate my (endless) shortcomings, I still fight and cry and struggle. But I work on decreasing the guilt, quieting the critic, and just slowing down the panic. Perhaps once I have that down, then I can spend some time figuring out the whole golden rule thing.

In Sync

The Dali Lama just left town. He spoke at several large events and, no, I did not get to see him, sadly. But I still received a bit of his wisdom indirectly – I actually think this city is moving a little more lightly since he was here. I have never met the Dali Lama, I have never seen him speak, and I have no personal experience with his wisdom or the clarity that people find in Tibetan Buddhism. But I have witnessed the effect he has on others, and it is powerful. I remember when I was in high school going to a symposium held by some top-level physicists who had met with the Dali Lama in an exchange of ideas, unsolvable problems, and solutions. They were glowing with their transformation and, through them, I was too – US history and geometry have slipped away, but I still hold on tight to what I learned there. And yesterday I was on the bus when two older women got on. They were carrying programs from one of the Dali Lama events that had just happened and the young man sitting next to me asked them how it was. Another lady joined in and a conversation between strangers ensued. Not many were talking, but everyone in ear-shot was listening. Compassion, they said, that was his message.

I don’t much believe in fate these days, but I do believe in warped moments of synchronicity. And I think that being on the bus at the same time as those shinning women was one of those moments. When they came on, I was having a rather negative conversation with one of my classmates. I don’t have a lot in common with her, so complaining about school is the only way we have found to fill the awkward bus time we share. There was a sharp, almost visible contrast between our dark, angry tone and their brighter airs and it was humbling. Suddenly I heard the words coming out of my classmates mouth and I was reminded of how awful complaining really sounds. This was a reminder to shut up and appreciate.

Returns

Long, long time ago, I started this blog. And I think I said something like, "1 post every 2 weeks, or so." Well, it's been longer than that. I've been a bit busy these days, and my mind has been more than a little dry. Or at least dry of things that belong here. I'm going to try and pick it up again, but I'm not even sure what is happening in the rest of world. If I'm supposed to write about what I know, it might be time for me to focus on medical school, medicine, and such.

In the mean time. .

Here's what I did for Spring Break:


And here's something that happened today - it's important.
We should be protesting the Olympics in China, and I'll try and get into that later.