Disagreements in a Civil Society

I don’t want to write this, because to do so will force me to wrestle some with the tragic reality of our current political climate. I really don’t want to post this, because history has taught me to expect that many people will respond with aggressive disagreements.

I’m gonna post it anyway, though, because I believe that one of the most important things we’ve lost in our public political dialogue is the expectation that it’s appropriate and healthy to disagree in a civil manner.

With that, here are my thoughts in reaction to the murder of Mr. Charlie Kirk.

It seems that this deplorable act of violence was probably a political act (though at the time of this writing, that assumption has not been verified). Even though our nation has a history of dealing with it, politically motivated violence is unnecessary and detrimental to the health and longevity of our society.

But violence is easy, especially when we don’t see the ‘other’ as being fully human. Military leaders have known for generations that it’s easier to convince soldiers to kill each other when the other side has been demonized – when one side becomes convinced that the other side is less than human.

Any time we make assumptions about another person based on their political opinions, we ignore the other person’s humanity (and we scrape away at our own humanity as well).

Is this where we are as a nation? It seems to me that folks with liberal political opinions demonize conservatives, and see them as less than human. It seems to me that folks with conservative political opinions demonize liberals, and see them as less than human.

In our society, it should always be acceptable to disagree. The free exchange of ideas should always be encouraged and celebrated.

But this is not what’s happening these days. Instead of encouraging political disagreements, conversation, and discussion, we’re jumping to conclusions about anyone who doesn’t agree with us – about all of their political opinions, about their motivations, and about their humanity.

We have to change how we operate. If we don’t make societal changes, we either won’t have a nation, or it won’t be worth living in.

It is absolutely unacceptable that Mr. Kirk was killed. He was a beloved child of G-d, and his life was valuable. The theological and political opinions he promoted are hateful, and should be ignored and argued against. But he absolutely should not have been assassinated.

We have a choice as a society. Either we decide to stop the violence that has woven its way through our political and social life, and then begin to behave and believe and act like we belong together ... or we continue to vilify one another, we continue to believe the worst about a whole category of people with whom we have political disagreements, and we continue to kill each other.

Nothing good comes from the latter choice, so I choose the former. In order to do what I can to work to bring about choosing to stop the vitriol and violence, I commit to at least the following:

• I will remember that those who disagree with me on political issues are beloved children of G-d;
• I will debate ideas, and will not attack the person who promotes those ideas;
• I will not vilify, denigrate, or disparage individuals or groups, especially those with whom I disagree;
• I will not make sweeping generalizations about those with whom I have political disagreements;
• I will point out and work to correct any hateful speech to which I am exposed;
• I will work to correct any comment which lumps a whole group (liberals, conservatives, etc.) together, especially when those comments are not obviously applicable to the whole group.

There’s no way that I, as one singular person, can change a whole society. But if there are enough of us who commit to making positive changes, then perhaps there’s a chance that we can reclaim a healthy and vibrant civil society.

$0.02

I Walked A Lot Yesterday

Me, struggling through
a beautiful landscape

I walked a lot more yesterday than I do on a normal and regular day. Interestingly, most of the walking I did yesterday was while pushing a bicycle.

See, what happened was that The Rift (the gravel bike ride I signed up for months ago) was yesterday. On the one hand, I didn’t train nearly enough for a ride of this length. And also, this ride beat me up quite a bit more than I expected it would. Some of the reason was simply that I was moving through this course for 12 hours; some of the reason was that the terrain was considerably more difficult, and more consistently difficult, than I anticipated. 

Everyone had the option to choose between the 200k course or the 140k course. I registered for the longer course, and expected that if I could make it to the first rest station before the cut-off time, that would indicate that I could probably finish the whole course. However, thankfully, I didn’t make it in time.

When I rolled in to the check point late, the course bouncer walked up to my bike with a knife before I’d had a chance to stop, and literally cut my race number off my bike. I got cut off. And then he gave me the option to either turn around and backtrack the 50k to the start, or to keep going but ride the 140k instead. I was really tempted to turn around and take the shortest route back to where I could rest. And I’m really glad to have finished the shorter course. I’m also glad for my new friend Lavan, who suggested when I got cut off that we ride together for the last 90k (and who took the above photo of me walking my bike up a hill).

The Icelanders have a sense of humor,
which can be poignant and timely 

There was a moment, when I was riding alone and before the cut off checkpoint, where I really wasn’t having any fun at all, and was ready to just throw in the towel. I was struggling physically, and I knew that there was a lot more physical struggle to come … and those things added to the mental struggle.

I’m really glad to have finished the 140k course, but I have to admit that I wasn’t actually glad to still be out on the course 100% of the time I was out there riding – and especially not when I was walking. I’m really glad to have finished the 140k course, because I was able to prove to myself that I’m still at least somewhat capable.

I haven’t decided that I want to do The Rift again. Also, I haven’t decided that I don’t want to.

It's Gonna Be Ugly, and it's Gonna Be Beautiful

 I signed up for it all on my own. I signed up, all on my own, to ride my bike farther in one day than I've ever ridden before. And the ride I signed up for is on gravel. 

First Post-Accident Gravel Ride

Before, long ago, I didn't think twice about signing up for a long bike ride. Before, long ago, I rode my bike a lot more than I do now, and I was in significantly better physical shape then compared to now. So I could sign up for a long ride, and then just go and do it. But I haven't gotten my cardio fitness back. And while I was never really all that strong - since the accident, I certainly haven't been able to regain especially my leg strength. 

I'm worried that I won't be successful in completing this ride in a couple days. If I am able to finish, it's gonna be a struggle. 

The ride is in Iceland. It goes up into the highlands lava fields, to the general area where earth is separating from earth and magma bubbles up becoming lava, then cooling to become rock. The scenery on this ride promises to be surreal and amazing. 

So it seems like I'll get to suffer in the midst of a wondrous landscape. I have a feeling it's gonna be ugly. And it's gonna be beautiful. 

Betrayed

When the snow is good, and the slope isn't too steep, I can kinda keep up. 

I went skiing last week. I was at a theological conference where we study early in the morning, we study later in the evening, we pray together morning and night, and we have free time during the day. This conference happens near a ski area, so many of us spend our free time on the slopes. 

I had gone to this conference, and skied with some of the regular attendees, before I broke my back and injured my spinal cord six years ago. The vertebrae have healed. The spinal cord injury, though, is something I’ll be affected by for the rest of my life. My muscles don’t work the way they’re supposed to. 

All things considered, my spinal cord injury is relatively mild. I can walk without crutches or a cane. I can ride the bikes I was riding before the injury. I can ski on the same gear I was using when I was injured. But I don’t ski as well now as I used to be able to do. 

Beautiful snow conditions

When I ski on powder or on snow that isn’t entirely packed down, I have more control over my skis. I can turn where I want, and I can ski a little faster because that right ski tracks where I want it to go and I feel like I’m in control. In those conditions, I am in control. I can kinda keep up.

By contrast, when I ski on snow that’s packed and rutted by other skiers or that’s icy, I have no problem turning right. I feel secure, confident, and in control. But when I turn left in those same conditions, my right ski and boot and foot and leg and butt chatter around, and I feel like I’m not in control. I’m not in control. So I ski really slowly on those slopes. 

Before the injury, I was a decent skier. I wasn’t super fast, and I wasn’t great on the most challenging slopes. But I could mostly keep up, and I almost always felt like I could control my body; I felt like I could make my muscles do what I asked them to do. 

Now, by contrast, I feel betrayed by my body. And it’s not just on the ski slope. Church pews, icy sidewalks, flights of stairs, automobiles, and curbs are a few of the obstacles I encountered over the past week when I wasn’t able to make my muscles do what they were supposed to do. 

The thing is, my injury isn’t a humungous problem. I feel a little embarrassed writing this post, because I worry that some of my seven readers will think I’m complaining about something that isn’t noticeable, and so isn’t actually an issue. 

But I notice. My movement is hindered. My confidence is limited. I feel betrayed by my own body.

Back Squats and Squat Cleans

I did back squats earlier this week. They were programmed at the gym where I work out, but I couldn’t get to the gym that day … so I did a few sets in the garage. I hadn’t done back squats for years, maybe not since I broke myself over five and a half years ago.

Back squats scare me now. I’ve been front squatting since the accident with no (psychological) problem. See, if the bar is too heavy during a front squat, you just drop it in front of you. But if the bar is too heavy during a back squat, you have to move quickly to get out of the way when you drop the bar it doesn’t land on your back. And I get worried about injuring my back, especially since I don’t move very quickly or with much agility any longer.

But this week I sucked it up, put some (light) weight on the bar, and did some back squats. Something wasn't quite right, though. So I shot some video of me squatting, and it was ugly. It was obvious that I don’t have the range of motion I once did, and I have almost no strength in the bottom of the squat.

These things were on my mind yesterday when the coach at the gym told us that the cleans in the strength portion of our workout were supposed to be squat cleans. I haven’t done squat cleans for years, probably not since I broke myself over five and a half years ago. I had lost much of the mobility and quickness and explosive strength that’s necessary to do that movement safely.

Back when 60 kilo cleans were easy

So yesterday at the gym I thought, “I’ll do power cleans instead” … until I remembered the ugly squats from earlier in the week and recognized that I won’t ever build up strength and mobility in the bottom of a squat without actually doing the work. So lightweight squat cleans it was. Twelve reps. And three of them, for the tiniest part of the lift, felt almost perfect.

I still wish my current physical limitations would just evaporate, that the injury to my spinal cord would magically heal itself, and that I would be able to move like I used to. I still look with nostalgic envy at other people in the gym when they're lifting as much as I used to lift. But my muscles still don't work the way the should. I still have a hard time placing my feet exactly where I want them to be when I approach the bar. The lifts are still not as smooth as they should be. I still limp when I walk away from the barbell … and everywhere else.

But for those three reps, a tiny part of the movement felt like it did six years ago. I had set up correctly before the lift. The barbell went up smoothly. I found just enough explosiveness from my quads and glutes that I felt it - there was that split second during the third pull when I extended fully, the barbell floated weightless, and I moved almost perfectly under the bar so I could catch it on my shoulders. 

Those three tiny moments, while the bar was weightless as I moved the way I used to, felt really good.

Frustration and Losing Hope ... ???

I was wondering if, or when, it would happen – and it has. I’ve gotten to the point of regularly being frustrated.

I’m not talking about work, or about family, or about politics, or about global warming. While each of those things sometimes is (or can be) frustrating, what I’m thinking about in this moment is physicality and movement.

See, here’s the thing. After I broke myself, when I was laying in an ICU bed, I remember being able to move my left arm, but not my other three limbs. I started at Craig Hospital in a motorized wheelchair. The switched me to a standard wheelchair after a couple days, which I used until I was released. I walked out of the hospital using crutches, and went home with a wheelchair in the car, which gathered dust until I returned it to Craig.

I spent months using one or two crutches to take some weight off of my legs while I was walking – and then moved to hiking poles, because my balance was still pretty bad. I don’t remember specifically when, but there came a time that I could walk without any additional support. I walked awkwardly, and felt like I looked like I was perpetually drunk.

For most of that time I was subconsciously hopeful, and expected that the way I was able to move would continue to improve. And for a long time, that’s what happened – I would regularly notice that some set of muscles was stronger or some movement more fluid than it had been. I subconsciously hoped, and almost expected, that those improvements would continue.

I used to be way more
graceful, less awkward

Recently, though, that subconscious hope seems to have vanished, because it’s been months since I experienced even a hint of physical improvement. And that feeling of frustration was exacerbated when I watched a video from this past weekend of (among other things) me walking – in which I looked almost as awkward as I felt.

Please don’t misunderstand. I am and will remain tremendously grateful that I’ve been gifted with this much improvement in mobility so far. And I intend to continue to try to regain the remainder of what I’ve lost. And simultaneously, it’s tremendously frustrating, when I’m walking up stairs, to have to choose between 1) intentionally being conscious to actively think about which muscles are working and 2) tripping.

We Went Bowling

We went bowling the other day. The weather wasn't ideal for being outside, so we went to the bowling alley (there was also an arcade, laser tag, a restaurant, and a bar). 

I enjoyed bowling back in the day. I remember going bowling a couple times with my family, and I went with my friends at least a few times when I was in high school. It was fun. I was never actually very good, and never cared that I wasn't. No, that's not true. I wished that I was good, but not enough to even want to think about spending a bunch of time getting good. I was good enough to almost always throw at least one strike every ten frames, and good enough to bowl 185 this one time. 

I always felt like my technique was decent, that I was in control of how I moved, where I stepped, and how aggressively I sent the ball down the lane. We went bowling once fairly soon after I got out of the hospital. I was ridiculously weak, had really bad balance, and was nowhere close to being comfortable with the new way my legs moved. So I used that ramp-thing that little kids use. But the other day I didn't use that ramp-thing. 

I bowled all on my own, assuming (without thinking about it) that I would be able to bowl just like I had done when I was young. Except when I took the first approach I was at least a foot and a half too far back. So I started my approach a little forward of where I always used to. And then I fell down. Twice. 

And I realized that I'm not able to bowl like I used to, My approach was much shorter than it used to be, my footwork was awkward and halting, and my arm swing was uncertain. So I had to figure out how to be better. So I slowed down, picked up a lighter ball, focused on the placement of my feet and my arm swing, and tried to replicate what I had been able to do before the accident. 

After a few frames that were mentally exhausting because I was focusing so much energy on which muscles move in which ways, I bowled a strike! I was briefly excited. But obviously I can't be satisfied with one singular strike for more than a couple seconds. So immediately after I bowled a strike I thought, "Well, if I can bowl one strike, then I can bowl two." So I did. 

After the second strike I thought, "Cool. Also, I've never bowled a Turkey (three strikes in a row). I wonder if there's any way under heaven that I would be able to bowl another strike right now." And I did. 

First ever Turkey. On the same day that I was struggling because I can't bowl like I used to be able to. 

So once again I was face to face with the reality that I'm physically different after the accident than I was before. And also I was confronted with the truth that I actually am able to work with or through my altered physicality to do new things, or to do old things in new ways. 

Which means, I suppose, that I'll continue trying to get better and stronger and more physically adept at whatever I try to do.