ATTITUDE AND MINDSET
After sharing my health challenges in last month’s blog, I received an overwhelming outpouring of support. Thank you all so much! Being open about what I was going through wasn’t easy, and your kindness meant a lot.
Since then, I’ve been thinking about my attitude toward myself and my health. I’ve also been thinking about the people I’ve met over the years who have experienced aging, illness, and tremendous loss. Some are still out there, actively living their lives. Others seem to be withdrawing from the world. Why do we respond so differently? And what can I learn as I figure out how to live with the changes in my own body?
Still Kicking It
Back in 2015, a friend and I were on a strenuous hike when we encountered four hikers in their mid-seventies. That alone impressed us. Then we learned that, in addition to their supplies, they were carrying an extra ten pounds of dumbbells in their backpacks.
Of course, we had to ask why. They told us they were training to hike Mount Kilimanjaro in Tanzania in a few months. Here we were, amazed they were doing this hike at all, and using it to prepare for something much bigger.
I had a similar experience in 2018 while volunteering with CONAPAC in the Peruvian Amazon. I was placed with five folks who were older than me, including a woman in her eighties. For five straight days, we traveled by small boat along the Amazon and its tributaries, delivering school supplies to Indigenous villages. We unloaded the boats, sometimes small canoes, and carried the supplies into each village. Sometimes it was a five-minute walk. Other times, we had a long hike over a few hills.
This was a full-time job. We worked from eight in the morning until four in the afternoon and visited four or five villages a day. By the third day, I was feeling it. I was still in my thirties and probably in the best shape of my life, but after we docked, I sat in the boat and felt the ache in my body. We had been told there was a small hill between us and the village. I was taking my time getting ready.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the woman in her eighties spring up, grab the school supplies, hop off the boat, and start hiking up the hill. She’d been working the same schedule I had since day one. She hadn’t missed a day. Meanwhile, I was still sitting there.
Then there are the people whose attitudes have stayed with me. My good friend’s father and grandfather were both war veterans who had experienced war trauma and serious, chronic health problems. Yet they were cheerful, kind, and gracious toward the people around them. I’ve also witnessed Asian American elders who, despite their own health challenges, continue to show up in their communities, advocating for rights and fighting for resources.
I don’t know everything those people were carrying privately. But I remember how they showed up. As I navigate my own health challenges, I keep coming back to them.
Becoming the Grinch
Why do these stories stand out to me right now? Well, because I feel like I’m on track to become the Grinch.
I’ve been in a foul mood. I’ve been harsh with myself, caught up in shame and fear. In my last blog, I mentioned inhaling a whole family-size container of ice cream. Looking back, that particular moment wasn’t about self-love. It felt more like self-hate. I was angry with my body, and I was taking it out on myself. My attitude toward everything else was becoming “Fuck it. I don’t give a shit anymore.”
That’s an uncomfortable thing to admit, especially when I think about the people I’ve just described. Where do they get their energy? Were they born that way? Is it their personality? Do they have more support or resources? How do they keep participating in life while dealing with pain, grief, or limitations?
I don’t have their answers. And I am not about to use their lives as another reason to beat myself up. What I do know is that I don’t want to keep living inside this agony. I’ve been down a painful road with severe depression before. I know how miserable that was, and I want to pay attention to what’s happening with me now.
Rereading Mindset
Last month, I happened to pick up Carol Dweck’s book Mindset and decided to reread it. I first read it about ten years ago, and her work on growth mindset inspired me again.
Dweck describes a fixed mindset as the belief that our abilities and qualities are limited to natural-born talent. A growth mindset leaves room to develop through effort, learning, and different strategies. Challenges and setbacks can become opportunities to learn rather than final judgments about what we’re capable of.
Reading it this time, I kept thinking about the conclusions I’ve been making about my future. Something is more challenging now, so I assume it will always be out of reach. My body feels different, so I start deciding what the rest of my life will look like. Those thoughts arrive quickly, and I’ve been treating them as if the matter were already settled.
Of course, reading a book doesn’t make my health challenges disappear. I still have to understand and respect what my body can do. But I’m beginning to question how quickly I shut down the possibility of doing something differently. Can I give myself some room to learn before deciding that I’m done?
Around the same time, I was flipping through my good friend Dr. Ivana Polonijo’s Courage Cards. The card I pulled was “Move on and Move Up.” Here is the wisdom:
“Rise to the next level. Moving onward and upward means you are invited to release what no longer serves you and reach for new opportunities. The push ahead may feel uncertain, but growth happens when you step beyond the familiar. Trust your strength, embrace change, and welcome what is waiting for you. You are ready to ascend.”
Back to the Hill
For the past few weeks, I’ve been using tools I’ve learned through meditation and cognitive behavioral therapy to slowly work on my attitude. One thing I’m paying attention to is the disappointment and annoyance I feel when I think about things I may no longer be able to do.
For example, I really want to visit Central Asia and go on some of the amazing, famously arduous hikes there. My immediate reaction has been, “Just the physical toll of flying there would be too much. How could I possibly get through the flight, let alone those hikes?”
When I catch myself going down that road, I remember the four hikers carrying dumbbells. I remember the woman in Peru, already on her way to the village while I was still getting myself together. Those memories make me pause. I haven’t worked out what’s possible for me, yet I’m already tempted to cross the whole trip off the list.
Maybe I need to ask different questions. What would preparation look like for me now? Could I travel more slowly? Could I choose a different hike? I don’t have a plan yet, but I want to give those questions a chance before answering everything with “I can’t.”
And whenever I picture myself sitting in that little boat, taking my sweet time, I can still see that woman heading up the hill with the school supplies. I’m glad I looked up.
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