Category: Journal

Bury Things Deep

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Sometimes the first time my wife learns about something in my life is reading about it on readerwriterrunner.com. 

When we first met, I told her that I liked to “bury things deep.”  Maybe I was exaggerating for effect.   There’s a difference between burying things, and not talking about them.  I’m very good at not talking.

But I don’t bury them.  To do so would mean hiding them away, somewhere within me – walled off from myself and unexamined.

I’ve seen a lot of death and misery in the last two decades.  Death and misery come with the uniform.  More and more over the last few years, I’ve seen colleagues suffering.  Sometimes one incident is the proverbial last straw and the weight of what my friends and colleagues have seen becomes too much to bear.  Sometimes the one incident is so awful it does it on its own.  For others, there is no one incident, just accumulated suffering.

I’ve learned that when this happens to my colleagues, they are injured – a physical injury as real as a broken leg. 

I’ve learned that this can happen to anyone, at anytime.  And not just first responders and veterans.  The pandemic has made things worse for everyone.

Last week I got a call from a close friend who was going through a tough time.  I don’t think I could have handled the things he has weathered.  He inspires me.  I think he would acknowledge that for many years he buried things deep.  And that part of coming to terms with those things is the opposite of burying them.

There are a lot of ways to shine a little light on dark places.  You’re probably already doing them. 

I read a lot.   I read with a pen in my hand and a journal by my side.  I underline passages that move me and copy some of them into my journal. 

I run.  Almost every day.  Sometimes listening to music that transports me a million miles away.  Sometimes in the stillness of a forest where all I hear is the stream that flows beside me.

I write.  Things I haven’t yet told my wife get posted online for anyone in the world to read. Anyone in the world, including my mom and my ex-wife and my ex-partner.  That’s a varied audience.

I talk.  Sometimes. One of the things I value more than anything in this world is going for coffee with my wife, at least once a week.  We have one or two favourite places.  We sip Americanos.  And I actually talk.  Things that have accumulated throughout the week come out.  And speaking those words, to her, over coffee, always feels good.

I’ve always known how important, reading, running, and writing are in my life.  I knew it instinctively.  I felt it in my marrow.  But I’ve increasingly also come to understand that it is when I read, run, write, and sometimes talk, that I shine light on darkness.  Far from burying things deep, I actually deal with them head on.

Postscript

I thought about some of these things last Sunday as I ran with good friends as part of the Wounded Warriors one day run from Sooke to Sidney on Vancouver Island.  This year’s team is gearing up for their 600-kilometer run from the north island to Victoria later this month.  (As a former member of the team, I was privileged to be able to join them for the one day run).  The funds they raise help first responders and veterans going through difficult times.  Those funds also help their spouses and children.  If you’re so inclined, you can visit Home – Wounded Warrior Run BC (akaraisin.com) to learn more, and perhaps even donate.

Thank you.

Daryl

The Vacuum Cleaner Survival Kit

When she was two my daughter feared the vacuum cleaner.  The sound, the suction, the fury.  She ran, hid, and cried.

My wife loves to vacuum.  Perhaps ‘love’ is the wrong word.  She needs to vacuum. 

Back then we had a Golden Retriever.  We ate and breathed floating fur.

The vacuum came out a lot.              

I created the Vacuum Cleaner Survival Kit.  Simple ingredients.  A cloth Crown Royal whiskey bag.  Fish crackers.  Miniature dolls.  A small book or two.  Little pleasures to distract a little girl.

Out came the vacuum – out came the survival kit.  My daughter and I perched ourselves on the kitchen island – ate, played and read – while my wife attacked the floors with her prized Dyson.

The survival kit worked.

Weeks before the pandemic hit, I started a new job at work.  It was stressful.  It cost me sleep, regularly, in a way that nothing at work had ever done before.

I talked with others who’d done the same job.  They’d had similar experiences.  There was comfort in knowing I wasn’t alone, and discomfort in knowing that this was my world now. 

I coped by doing what I always did.  I ran, I read, I wrote.  It all helped.  A bit.  But too often I lay awake in the middle of the night, thinking about work.

Desperate times called for…

 I pulled out a blank notebook.

And I began to write: “Last week was tough and my concern is, if it continues it will have many negative effects.  So, is born The Vacuum Cleaner Survival Kit.  Things to do, listen, think about, watch, etc… to help me … not just survive but be and do well.”

It worked.  Unbelievably well.  That notebook became my repository of everything.  I filled it with meaningful quotations from novels, Navy Seals and podcasts.  I chronicled my days and our lives.  I wrote about my aspirations and fears, about the people who pissed me off, and the things that brought me joy.  Writing it down lightened my load, changed my attitude and helped me gain perspective I lacked when I was stuck in a moment.

A few weeks ago, I marked the one-year anniversary of the Survival Kit.  Much has happened in my life since.  At work, and at home.  Good things.  Things that I’m thankful for.  Challenging things have happened too.  Health scares hitting close to home.  Many books read, many podcasts listened to.  Many people and writers who have inspired me.

And one year later, yet another new job at work.  Equally stressful.  Perhaps more so.  It challenges me daily.  So, I run, and I read.  I go to the climbing gym and I strum my guitar.  And I write it all down in The Vacuum Cleaner Survival Kit.