Kirkepiscatoid

Ok, my wireless internet is acting up this morning so things have been a little slow on my web surfing... (What’s the deal? Is it too much to ask for “full rural living” but with “full internet privileges?” )

Today’s material talks about the three methods Confucius taught that we could learn wisdom: Through thought, through imitation, and through experience. She also discusses the concept that choice without thought is blind. Choice with thought chooses altruism over profit, depth of soul over hoarding, emptiness over a glut of superficial distractions. Imitation gives us a window into our own value system. Experience guides us through “life at the dregs.”

Reflection questions:

1. What might be the value of applying these three methods to your own life? Do you find “thought, imitation, experience” to be cornerstones of your own spiritual development? If so, in what ways? If not, why not?

I believe I have applied all three of these to my life and to my spirituality, but probably in unequal amounts and the amounts depended on what time of my life I was in. Obviously, when I was younger I had no “experience” and I more frequently relied on “imitation”. The problem with relying too heavily on “imitation without experience” is it often puts you in a situation where you are going to rely heavily on the integrity of the person you are imitating and that can have its moments of disillusionment. However, as I’ve gotten older, experience tempers that somewhat. I’ve learned its ok for the people I am imitating to have “feet of clay” and that is just part of their own humanity, same as mine.

I sort of see “thought” as the “wild card” in this scenario for me. Thought was never a constant in this process for me until recently. I was more sporadic about the “thought” part of it, given the fact I am a person who works off of “instinct” a lot. I wasn’t disciplined about my thought, but more or less had bursts of intense thought when my instincts told me “it’s time to think about this.” What I am discovering is that part of the disciplines of my faith is to think more constantly, slowly, in little bites rather than gorge myself.

2. Contemplate the spiritual importance of choosing “altruism over profit, depth of soul over hoarding of things, and emptiness rather than a glut of superficial distractions.”

All of the “good” choices in this question are, to some degree, counterintuitive to the world’s interests in me. It is to my benefit to be prosperous, to make a good living, to pay my bills, to pay my employees, etc. and in one sense, being prosperous is good for God, too, because it means more money for his church. However, I have made choices that seem “lazy” or “not industrious” in the eyes of the world. I willingly moved back to Kirksville for FAR less money. My goal was to have more time for myself, and frankly, not work as hard as I was at my previous position. But that was not free. It came at the price of “less money” and “more responsibility” since I am in a two person group, not a 16 person one.

I am starting to work on that “depth of soul” part. I admit it; I am a hoarder. My house, truck, and garage show it. I hoard material things of modest value because I don’t like being “caught without” and I don’t like being “dependent.” Now, I don’t think I’ll ever stop being a cluttered pack rat. But I think I am realizing that my spiritual self does not have to have clutter and that “hoarding” in a spiritual sense is counterproductive. I had to hoard my spiritual self when I was younger b/c it was at a much more real risk of destruction. I don’t have to do that now. This sounds incredibly Pollyanna-ish for me, but I think that little cache of spiritual stuff I had in me grew, slowly and quietly. Then somewhere in middle age, I looked up and said, “Shit! I have quite a bit of this stuff here! Ya know, I could afford to give some of this away!” But, in typical “hoarder” fashion, I had to be pretty slow and careful about how I was going to hand this stuff out, and to whom. I am maybe just now getting on the first phase of the “exponential vs. the linear” portion of the “giving away yourself in abundance” learning curve.

The other shift is I was perfectly happy for many years to be distracted by the superficial. It is a little like being addicted to “buying a lot of cheap shit at Wal-Mart, just because you can.” Choosing emptiness seemed kind of boring. Why choose nothing over something? I finally have realized that kind of thinking is fear-based. Buying your way to happiness, or relying on a spouse to provide your sense of worth, or constantly needing to alleviate boredom is basically a big spiritual fear of the dark. You use all these things to occupy your time so you never have to ask the hard questions of yourself. When I realized this, all of a sudden it turned my “brave vs. cowardly” switch on. I suddenly realized that what I THOUGHT was bravery, to go out into the world boldly and do, do, do—was actually spiritual cowardice. It was this big, “Aw, you afraid of the dark, you big wuss? Wah,” thing. Being a person who dislikes being a coward, of course, I went and jumped into this concept. It’s not that I haven’t had some pretty scary moments in it. It’s not that emptiness can be...well, empty...bare, naked...but wow, is it ever real. It’s way more real than all the cheap distractions of life. Being a person who reveres “real”, it has slowly become a more attractive choice.

3. Write about an experience of pain and loss. What was learned as a result of the experience? Were you a better person because of it?

Well, again, I’m going to go back to that year of 1995 to 1996 when I had to deal with having failed my specialty boards. That seemed to cut to the center of me more than anything I had experienced prior to it, and is still a bit of a scar. That experience tore into every notion of my self worth.

Let’s back way up. I never had a bit of trouble with anything academic in my whole life. I could have been jumped not just one, but TWO grades in school had my parents allowed it but they didn’t for “social reasons.” I graduated 4th in a class of 113 from high school and probably the reason I was 4th was because I took as challenging classes as I could, so I did occasionally have to work. College was a breeze. I think I only had a half dozen classes I ever really had to crack a book and study hard for. I had a 3.79 GPA and could have been better there except I got a real case of “Senioritis” as I already had a job lined out and was in a significant “marriage-bound” relationship.

Well, when I went to medical school I had been out in the work world almost 6 years. My study skills had atrophied a little, and the first two years of medical school—the academic years—challenged me in a new way. I was only “average” the first two years. But I didn’t worry about it, because I knew the real test of being a “good doctor” was to succeed in the clinical years, the second two years, which I did with flying colors, because I had a good work ethic and I had good integrative skills.

Residency was the same way. I was a “hard worker” but not a “bookworm”. I also realized by then that despite all my “smarts” I actually have a bit of a learning disability—but it never showed its face until I was forced to have to read literally hundreds and thousands of pages of material. I have a tracking disorder. It makes it hard for me to keep my attention on sequential lines of words; my tendency is to skip all over the page. It is great for recreational reading—it’s like I’m a self taught speed reader—but it is not so great with retention of large amounts of material that has to be learned in a iinear, sequential fashion.

What happened is I should have realized that I would have to study for my specialty boards in a way different than my peers. I did not, instead I took their advice, and could never bring myself to study enough in the way I knew that “worked” for me b/c I was also showing off my work ethic—I was not considered the brightest resident in the program, and was not the one they wanted to keep on staff but I was the one they got, and it made a few people mad “at me” because they did not get what they wanted, so the tendency was to treat me as “subpar” in the hopes I’d just be uncomfortable and leave.

Well, basically, when I failed my boards I became a self-fulfilling prophecy for my detractors. They made it clear to me that I was in the wrong line of work, and why don’t I do another residency in something “more suited for me” or that maybe even I should not be in medicine...”Maybe medicine just isn’t your thing, you should go home and do something else.” A lot of people, even the ones who liked me, started believing that maybe they were right, maybe I was just the poor pathetic thing that will never pass the specialty boards. Even my best professional friend began to have doubts, although they never quite tipped him over. But they swayed him enough I become incredibly angry with him.

But I realized with time and doing it the way I knew I could learn, it could be done. It was just so incredibly lonely to think maybe you were the only person who thought you belonged. Some days it was just “me n’ God.” I had even contemplated ending my own life but thought better of it simply because I did not want the story to end in such a pathetic fashion. It was too victim-like for my taste.

It all worked out for the best. I passed on the second try. But I never forgot how easy it was for people to marginalize me and not think twice of it. But I learned a lot. I knew I would never let people make me feel that way for very long. I learned that God did not abandon me. It might even had put the seeds of thought that maybe I needed to consider working more closely with my relationship with God, but that was still ten years away. That’s how long it took for me to have that kind of courage. I learned a lot of the “givens” in my life could be turned upside down in a moment. I learned I had to develop a trust that was bigger than just me and my ability. I am a better person now, this experience has changed the way I see dealing with those in academic difficulty. It taught me to believe beyond my abilities to help them. But at the time, it felt like hell, for a long time.