Disconnecting experiment, part 1

To put the principle of disconnecting (that I talked about in a previous blog post) into action, at 11am this morning I turned off my cell phone, packed some reading materials (Wall Street Journal, a book on education reform, and the Atlantic Monthly), and rode my bike through Golden Gate park to Ocean Beach.  I could have taken the N Judah light rail (called the "Muni" in San Francisco) straight to the same spot, but decided that a bike would give me extra mobility once down there.  A recent edition of Sunset Magazine (a magazine about things to do west of the Rockies) had a 2-page article on the coffee houses and restaurants in Ocean Beach, so I put the article in my pocket and headed down to the ocean.

(It was in the high 60's today, sunny, and with a fairly warm breeze.  This made it a given that I would spend a good portion of the day outside).

So, I read the WSJ for the first hour while sitting on a bench near the beach, then rode a few blocks over to the heart of Ocean Beach.  The neighborhood feels like a surf community - much quieter than places like Huntington Beach or Santa Monica, and probably more like Santa Cruz (these are my only points of comparison re: beach towns).  There were a few choice coffee shops/brunch places.  I walked into a shop called the General Store (I think) - a low-key, design-esque shop with some coffee table books, a few t-shirts, etc.  Anyway, the most well known restaurant had an hour-long wait, so I biked a few more blocks to a bakery and had a curried chicken salad sandwich, with a biscuit as the bread.  I continued reading there while getting some sun, went back to the beach for a few minutes, then took the 71 bus straight back to Lower Haight (didn't feel like riding and wanted to keep reading my book on the bus).  

I lasted about five hours without my iPhone, and it felt... good.  During my experiment, the thought that my cell phone was turned off popped into my mind every once in a while, but I brushed the temptation aside.  I'm glad I did.

Ocean Beach, looking north

Back yard of the "General Store"

This is what many of the houses in Ocean Beach/Outer Sunset look like

Where I ate lunch: the Devil's Teeth Baking Company

Sitting on a sand dune before heading home

Good Feelin'

I'm diggin' this song (although the video is kind of lame).  Thanks to Spotify for getting me hooked on all of these types of songs...

Disconnecting

I've noticed an increase in the frequency of articles in the WSJ or NYT about the consequences of our constantly being on phones, the Internet, etc. Here is the latest one:

http://nyti.ms/u7fIA5

I've always aspired to disconnect - to have quiet moments of reflection and recovery. Moments of uninterrupted purity. For me, this desire involves an appreciation for the outdoors (where appreciating and contemplating simple things is most likely to happen), a belief (from personal experience and from science) that slowing down and disconnecting gives space for creativity and deeper thinking, and the self-knowledge that I simply need time and space (sometimes from people, sometimes from technology) to feel whole.

I was about to write something like "given the nature of my job, it is very difficult to disconnect.". But to be honest, it's probably more of a discipline problem than an inherent problem with my chosen profession. I COULD not check email for chunks of time during the day (the article mentions Intel had experimented with mandating employees do this), I COULD leave my cell phone at home for periods of time (the fallout of my friends and family not being able to text me and receive and immediate response wouldn't be as disastrous as I fear). And so on.

So, part of disconnecting comes down to discipline and knowing what your values are - do you WANT to disconnect?

I spent the past few days with my family in Mentone, Alabama, which is in the hilly Cumberland Plateau at the corner of Alabama, Georgia, and Tennessee. I turned off my cell phone for a couple days. To be honest, from the moment that I turned off my cellphone, I felt more at peace. Without the temptation of compulsively checking my email, I dove into reading the Steve Jobs biography (ironically, it was an iPhone that I shut down). Three days later I emerged having made a significant dent in the book, but more importantly having been able to focus intensely on one thing for a few days. The satisfaction that this focus and calm gave me was immense, and it felt... just right.

side note: Steve Jobs himself is a bit of a paradoxical figure because of his fanaticism for Zen, simplicity, and self-awareness contrasts with his role as a consumer products guru. Some people might be able to reconcile these two belief systems, but I think they clash. However, given the world we live in, Apple products are a hell of a lot more helpful than many other tech solutions when it comes to helping us simplify (but not disconnect). But I digress...

Anyway, post business school, I've had the chance to take more time for disconnecting, and am excited to continue down the path if finding the right balance.

My grandfather had a sign right above his desk at home that simply said "Slow Down." (not too hard to do in rural Tennessee where he lived). I like this reminder. Simplicity, disconnecting, quiet, slow, space. All of these ideas are a bit different, but are related in the sense that they offer a respite that I (and I suspect many others) need today in order to be at peace.

My Favorite Commercials

These are two of them from DC institution Eastern Motors.

Colin, are these ads still on in the DC area?  LaVar, Clinton Portis, Sean Taylor (with cameos by Carmelo and Brendan Haywood) - certainly a special time in DC sports history.

Please help me get comments for my FSG blog post

To everyone who reads this blog (I honestly have no idea who read this thing, but Google analytics tells me that people do)...

I just wrote my first blog post for FSG (the firm I work for) in their Education & Youth content area.  The topic is "Why Education Reformers Need Empathy."  The concept is simple: as more outsiders (i.e. those who haven't spent their entire lives teaching) adopt the label of "education reformer," we should ask ourselves if these people (myself included) have enough empathy to truly understand what goes on in a classroom, and in the education system as a whole.  It's a question that matters, and I'd love to hear your opinion.

So, if you have a moment, please read the blog post by clicking here and make a comment after your done reading.  Comments can be small or big - doesn't matter.

Thanks in advance.

My Bike Ride Today

Today I went on a solo ride from my apartment, through the Presidio, across the Golden Gate Bridge, then westward up toward the Marin headlands.  The next ride I'll go further into the Headlands.  This is why I live in San Francisco.

View of Chrissy Field from the edge of the Presidio:

This is what I wrote up (and then down).  I've always wanted to do this ride just to get to coast all the way down.  The ride up actually wasn't that bad... just went into a really low gear and pedaled steadily up the hill.

Old School... Parties, Summertime, and Chillin

I haven't posted to my blog in a while.  So there's this...

"It's long overdue, but now Philly's slammin'.  Boyz II Men, ABC, BBD.  The East Coast family..."
(a remastered version is available on Spotify, by the way)



And this...

"It's Friday night and I feel alright.  The party's here on the West Side.  So I reach for my 40 and I turn it up, designated driver take the keys to my truck..."


And because I can't help myself...

"Guys out huntin and girls doin' likewise, honkin' at the honey in front of you with light eyes..."



And why not... perhaps my favorite song of all time

"Just wakin' up in the morning gotta thank God, I don't know but today seems kinda odd.  No barkin' from the dogs, no smog.  And momma cooked a breakfast with no hog."

When San Francisco is Wrong

I woke up this morning, read a book in bed, made breakfast, and ate while listening to some bluegrass (I usually listen to "back porch music" on Sunday evenings - tradition that I've created for myself in the past few years).  Sounds like a pretty good Sunday morning, right?  Well, it's been nice, but it's not the same.

Sunday mornings outside of the South just don't seem right.  I want to listen to bluegrass in the region where bluegrass is authentic.  I want to sit down with the Birmingham News and read about all our corrupt politicians.  I want to sit at the kitchen table and just... be there and stare out the window at the bird feeder and our cat lurking nearby.  I don't really want to go to church, but I want the option.  I want to go to a diner and be surrounded by old people.  On Sunday mornings I also want space - parks, roads, and back yards that the South provides in abundance.

Of course, I could recreate most of these things in California.  However, the memories of these things are too tightly linked to the feeling of being home - whether in Birmingham, Memphis, Newbern, or Durham.  The closest Cracker Barrel is in Arizona.  Ahem - this aint right.

Seattle music

Sent from my iPhoneGotta love this. Walking around Seattle and I see a poster for two classic Seattle bands.

50/50 Film

Last week I went to see the new movie "50/50," which is about a guy in his late-20s who is diagnosed with cancer and is given 50/50 odds of surviving.  I went to see the movie not as a normal moviegoer, but as a cancer survivor.  I didn't know much about the plot before walking into the theater (how old would the main character be?  what type of cancer would he have?  would his experience be similar to mine?).  But, I was excited to see it.  I somehow thought my experience would be reflected in the movie: young, healthy guy gets an unexpected cancer diagnosis and has to put his life on hold while he tends to his health.  It's always easier when I explain my cancer to people through pop culture references.  "You know the type of cancer that Lance Armstrong and Tom Green had?  Yeah, that's what I had, too."  Maybe this movie would strike a chord with me.  Maybe it would bring up some memories that are admittedly hazy.  With that context, I went to the movies.

By the way, I'm almost certain that everyone reading this blog knows my story but just to be sure: I was diagnosed with testicular cancer a couple days after graduating from college, had surgery, was given pretty good odds of survival, went through 9 weeks of chemo, and two years later had two surgeries to remove suspicious nodules in my right and left lungs.  I am now as cancer-free as could be.  I'm not shy about telling my story, but I don't broadcast it, either.  At the risk of disclosing too much in a public forum, here's what resonated most with me from the movie: 

• The way the main character (I think his name was Joe) approached his treatment.  He was stoic.  Businesslike.  Efficient.  Joe didn't smile a whole lot, and when he did, it was more of an "I'm smiling because I think this is the right thing to do and maybe it will boost my mood... it's a gift that I'm going to give myself today."  So, the smiles are there, but they're not smiles where you completely lose yourself.  You still know the situation you're in.  As you go from room to room in the hospital (for bloodwork, CT scans, x-rays, the infusion room where you get chemo, to the examining room, pain clinic, and many waiting rooms in between), I felt very professional.  I was a professional patient.  I'd ask questions, do what was asked of me, and just go through the whole thing as if it were my job.  Now, I do think I had a good attitude.  I always enjoyed talking to the technicians who drew your blood - they were characters.  As my dad often quotes, "A happy heart doeth good like medicine, but a broken spirit dryeth the bone."  I was just... professional.
• Focus on the number.  For a few days after my first surgery, I would coyly look up what my number - my forecasted survival odds - were.  I remember wanting to know, but also being pretty scared at what I'd find out.  A few Google searches revealed that my situation was atypical, and therefore not easily forecasted.  I can't remember exactly, but I think I had about a 90-95% chance of survival.  
• Hospital scenes.  This is the reason I could never be a doctor... I feel too much sympathy for people in the hospital.  Ever since 2002, I have had very strong emotional reactions to seeing anyone in physical pain, especially those in a hospital bed.  Honestly, I was extremely lucky and I did not have to endure as much pain as many others.  But I still feel for those who do.  The hospital scenes in this movie were very true to life.  I especially reacted to the scene when Joe is about to have surgery.  You're sitting in a big waiting room on a hospital bed waiting to be wheeled off to surgery.  The doctor comes by for a nanosecond to say hi.  The anesthesiologist comes by, makes a joke, and then before you know it you're out cold.  It all happens very, very quickly, and you barely have time to say any final words before going into surgery.  I was touched by how, in the movie, Joe's parents were with him before surgery.  Mine were too.
• Hair loss.  It's definitely notable when you can scrub your hair away.  In the movie, Joe preemptively shaved his head.  I waited until my hair started falling out, got my brother to buzz it, then went outside and scrubbed it all off with a towel and water from the hose (see the photo below).  I think all cancer patients share this moment with each other.
• Support.  In the movie, Joe's best friend tries to play it cool.  He's the comic relief.  But at the end of the movie we learn that the friend has secretly been reading a book on how to help a friend through cancer and was underlining passages, taking notes, etc.  Undoubtedly, the people around me also had to deal with my illness.  My parents told me they tried to "bear as much of my burden" as possible, and they did that.  I don't know how many of the people around me dealt with it, but I'm sure it wasn't easy.  As the patient, you can do things - go to chemo, get surgery, get shots, etc.  My job was clear.  As a bystander, you have less control.  I imagine this is tougher to deal with - emotionally - than being the patient.  I was shielded from how others dealt with my illness.
• Dog.  Joe gets a dog in the movie, and the dog is a comfort to him.  My dog Maggie did the same thing for me.

Here is what didn't resonate with me:

• Talking to others while in the infusion room.  (my chemo just involved my sitting in an "infusion room" for hours while getting chemo drugs dripped into me through an IV.  I had no idea what chemo actually was before my first treatment)  When I was getting treatment, I just sat there.  Sometimes I'd listen to music (those albums, in particular the Counting Crows' Hard Candy album, will forever be linked to chemo for me).  Sometimes I'd take a Benadryl and just pass out.  Sometimes I'd try to read but usually end up falling asleep.  One day I brought my sister's cell phone and saw some text messages from her boyfriend at the time, so of course I read those and showed them to the nurses.  Jenny - Fernando was a weird dude.
• Weed.  I definitely didn't have the urge to relieve my nausea by smoking up.  I didn't want to be any more drugged than I already was.

Well, those are my observations from the movie.  I hope this didn't reveal too much, but I felt compelled to write something.  Whenever I tell my story I usually end it by saying something very truthful: I was lucky.  Many others are not.  Keep that in mind, and be thankful for good health.

Here are some photos my mom scanned: