Archives for March 2018

Repetitive Stress

Repetition is part of the work. We repeat when practicing. We repeat when learning. We repeat when working.

But repeat things enough and the cycle of adaptation breaks. Muscles strain, burn out happens, and we lose.

Rest, cross training, and working at our full range are all helpful against the onset of repetive stress injuries.

Back in 2004 I had my first real injury from tap dancing. A strained muscle. Nothing serious, but it was taking longer than felt comfortable to heal. Inspired to find a solution, I found Jim and Phil Wharton on account of a random book purchase (of which I have a habit of making). The book had their physical fitness system and their phone number.

Jim would become a good friend and my physical confidant. I trusted him to work on my body, my instrument, my livelihood. I learned a lot. Like how the body functions in a macro sense, how to build a habit of physical care, and how to juggle all the demands of healthy living without getting overwhelmed.

Jim taught frameworks. Like this one: muscles will maintain a range of motion directly related to their strength. A weak muscle will need increased strength to increase range of motion. Put simply flexibility and strength are related.

Today’s world demands flexibility. More of us are working in multiple fields and have multiple skill sets. We have family, work, and other responsibilities. We feel stretched. We need strength.

Strength can come from accumulated wisdom, loving relationships, an assurance of purpose, and a comfort with learning that builds resiliency. Without these we will burn out. I sure have. But with them we might find peace in the midst of the juggling, stability while the wind still blows, and power to continue the journey wherever it might lead.

Slowness

When I was a kid I tried out for the local football (American Soccer) team. It was a simple try out. I would join the practice game that was already being played, and the coach would see how I did.

I was slow.

My running was slow, but so was my vision. During one particular play a teammate of mine passed me the ball. It was my first possession. I stopped the ball and looked downfield to see who I could pass it to. In the time it took for me to catch the pass, look downfield, and look down at the ball again in preparation to kick it, a kid form the opposing team stole the ball.

Failure.

To add insult to injury, I heard the kid who was stealing the ball say, “You’re too slow…” as he ran by me.

The whole thing probably took 10 seconds. It felt like 5 minutes. And as I replayed my insufficiency in my head, the kid’s assertion continued to ring out, as if in slow motion as he ran by, “yooouuu’rrrrre tooooooo slooooooowwww.”

Since then I’ve often wanted to be fast. Sometimes I could meet the mark, but sometimes I simply couldn’t. I would overcompensate with pressure. That wouldn’t help.

We live in a culture that is affirming of speed, from the Olympics to the world of startups. One way I balance the culture pressure with how I’m made is to think about the benefits of being slow.

Here’s a fun video as a reminder.

There’s a lot that can be said for the failures of systems and institutions over the course of history. That moment when governments, corporations, churches, schools, and committees turn on the people they were designed to serve and begin serving themselves.

But there is another way to see this. Every system and institution is made up of people. People are the ones who codify the rules, set the cultural norms, and program the machines.

So when the system turns, it is actually a group of people turning on another group of people. Most often it is a small group of people who hold positions of perceived power that turn on a much larger group of people.

Today we often believe that if we fix “the system” everything will be better. At times rules need changing, cultural norms need shifting, and machines need reprogramming. But let us not forget that the people need attention too. We need people who take their responsibility seriously, who make choices with integrity, and who have a vision for both a better world AND and better way to get there.

If the people don’t change, all that will happen is a rebuilding of the same kind of system.

Honesty is speaking directly to the challenges we’ve faced, the grace we’ve received, who we’ve received it from, and the gifts we have to share.

Authenticity is embodying those very same things.

I started wearing funny socks a few years ago. It was a huge change for me. I had been strictly black dress socks or white athletic socks. With one beige pair to go with the brown dress shoes I had. Now it was purple checkers, multi-colored stripes, polka dots, and even socks that looked like sneakers.

Something happens when you wear funny socks. Other people get in on the action. First they start commenting on the socks in general. Then asking to see the current pair. Then they start buying funny socks for you. On any occasion. As if to say, “I want to support your endeavor to bring some joy to the world.” In rare cases they start wearing funny socks themselves. Converts.

What if all conversion was that easy, and filled with joy?

Some people believe that life is simply a series of lessons. I wonder if that’s it, or if we are also tasked with teaching, sharing, and guiding?

If the lessons are for us, the teaching, sharing, and guiding are for others.

It’s good to recognize both sides of the coin, after all life isn’t only about what we get out of it.

When I hear the word virtuosity, I think of the most talented person I know of in a given skill. See, even our language equates being highly skilled with exhibiting virtue. When did that happen?

I wish I could introduce you to the kids I’ve met who are burdened by the achievement of perfection that they begin to lose their sense of love and of being loved.

I wish I could show you what the pursuit of virtuosity, as it is defined today, has done to the individual voices in the artistic communities I find myself in. They flatten on account of the skill set’s demands, often being completely lost for the sake of the exhibition of the skill.

I’m not saying don’t pursue perfection. But the pursuit doesn’t have to be competitive. It doesn’t have to be pressured. It doesn’t have to be divisive or elitist. Why not use Love as the fuel, grace as the way, and experience joy as the product? Then virtuosity can actually be full of virtue.