Sick of It

(The title is deceptive; disregard the normal connotation and read on.)

Last night I was scheduled to work a tech rehearsal of IOT's production of Dora the Explorer Live!: Dora's Pirate Adventure at Arbor Court Community Theatre. I'll be running sound for the show one weekend, and it's time to get my bearings.

Within a few minutes of arrival, I was drowsing; my energy was low. I checked my blood glucose and when I found it normal, was at something of a loss. Why was I so tired? Well, I've been tired before; I knew I could power through it.

A few minutes after that I started to feel nauseous. What the hell? Where did that come from? I do not have time to be sick! Maybe it's transient; I decided to wait it out.

Half an hour later, no better; worse, if anything. I could think of nothing highly likely that might be causing these symptoms—I had "cheated" a little on my Primal lifestyle and eating habits the day before but nothing major, and I was sad that Laughter on the 23rd Floor was over but I've been sad over shows ending before, and neither of those seemed likely in and of themselves to be implicated in feeling craptacular—but the cause wasn't as important as the effect; I wasn't going to be able to stay through rehearsal.

It occurred to me, however, that those two potential causes might "pile on" with the overarching concern in my life to cause the symptoms I was experiencing. That concern was the subject of two blog entries yesterday—I'm Sorry and Antinomy—so clearly it's a pretty big deal.

By the time I asked Wayne (my best friend and the executive director of IOT), I was pretty sure that emotional considerations were at the root of my problem. When I asked to be excused and said that, Wayne looked me in the eye and said, "Believe me, I know."

We are not divided beings: mind, body, and spirit all discrete and apart. We are one being: mind, body, and spirit fused. Our mind and body and spirit are unitary. "Heartsick" may be an emotional malady, but it affects our body and mind. When we are physically ill, our minds and spirits are affected.

I am "sick of it," not in the sense we usually use that phrase (tired of something repetitive, tedious, and annoying), but rather in the sense that the legitimate, appropriate, and necessary cares of the moment made me sick. So okay...

It's okay, I think. The future can only be reached moment by moment. There aren't any shortcuts. We don't go from hurt to healed without going through healing. It's like grief (it's very like grief; anyone who doesn't think I'm grieving doesn't understand at all): you don't necessarily have to do the steps in order, or in the same way others do them, but you don't get to skip the work. No one can wave a wand and make you whole.

I wouldn't be surprised if people wonder how I can talk about incredibly painful things and keep smiling, even through tears. It's simply this: I know that the feelings are real, that the people I feel for are worthy of strong emotion, that the circumstances deserve a powerful response from me. I'm not ashamed of my strong feelings; on the contrary, I believe they mark the significance of others in my life.

If sometimes those strong, worthy, meaningful emotions make me sick? Well, I can't say I'm happy about that, but I'd rather that than not to feel at all.

Antinomy

an·tin·o·my noun an-ˈti-nə-mē 1: a contradiction between two apparently equally valid principles or between inferences correctly drawn from such principles

I was first introduced to the concept of antinomy in a beautiful science fiction short story with that title, written by Spider Robinson. The example given in that story was of a devout Catholic whose fiancée experiences a call to be a nun. He might be excused for being resentful—in a sense his fiancée is breaking trust with him—but his devotion to his faith means he is supposed to rejoice for her; he can't even be angry.

This is a term not well enough known.

We've all experienced this: two legitimate principles that contradict one another. How are we supposed to feel? Which side should we be on? Do we have to take a side?

This post is a follow-up to my earlier post, I'm Sorry. If you've read that, I'm sure you see the connection. I have two equally valid principles that contradict one another: on the one hand, I ought to be excited at the new adventure I've chosen, against all odds and despite my own trepidation; on the other hand, I ought to feel sorrow at the people (really, it's the people and not the things) I'm leaving behind. How does one feel excitement and sorrow at the same time?

I don't know that one does. I know that what I do is alternate. In public I (mostly) embrace excitement. I (mostly) save the sorrow for solitude. It isn't that I'm trying to pretend I don't feel sorrow: rather, that which is the cause of both my excitement and my sorrow is also causing others some sorrow, and I don't want to burden them with mine.

There will be a time when we will grieve together. For now, we all have a real need to be functional. Catharsis will have to wait. And when we are suspended between two equally valid principles—when antinomy is the right word for where we're at—catharsis is hard.