james nunn | blog

Part 9 – Something I am afraid of…

Fear can often take a person to a very dark space. Knowing this keeps things real for me, but sometimes it can be a little too real. So …

My first answer that came to mind was death, but then I started to think about that and I really think that the one thing that I am afraid of more is being alone. Not the kind of alone that one cherishes after a house full of people have left following a party, but the kind of alone where there is nothing or no-one. Isolation. That kind of alone.

Of course another question could be asked why being alone would be a bad thing or something to fear. I mean, people do it for years and cope quite admirably (think monks in the Himalayan mountains). So if not being alone, then what.

Perhaps it is being along with my thoughts. But then again, I actually like to think. Some of my friends have suggested that I actually overthink way too much. So if I’m not afraid of my thoughts, what could I be fearful of? Perhaps, it is the lack of thinking that I fear, which kind of brings me back to death. In a sense this is what death brings. After all death is pretty final, and from what I understand about it, there is not a lot of thinking going on after it happens.

But if I’m not afraid of death (not sure if I have established that completely), then the other impact of being alone may be what  I am fearful of. The lack of interaction with others, the relationships that I have (or would not have), the companionship with my partner, my friends, my dogs. Could not having those be what I fear? After all isn’t that interaction responsible (in part) for the people that we become, that is the definition of who we are? We are told that people are social in nature and they need  human interaction to exist, or develop. It has been suggested that not having that leads to troubled minds, and when added with over thinking, that can never be good.

So perhaps, I am fearful of the person I would become if I were alone.

Thinking, or my thoughts are what get me into trouble. Again, not the kind of trouble that involves calling a truck to carry me away (I’m pretty good at self analyzing and the reality that I live in), but there is a long journey that a thought can have before reaching the end of the pathway it has taken.

So what I am afraid of?

I think beige is a good answer.

Day 8: A photo that makes me happy

Here is a picture of me with my family – both blood and chosen – during a trip to Australia in 2009. We are all on one of the trails in the Glasshouse Mountains in Queensland.

The trip to Australia was the first time that I’d seen my mother in nearly 9 years, and I was there with Chris and our best friends Bobby and Ian (my family in the US). This picture of my “family” together all at the same time brings me happiness, especially knowing that my mother (and brother for that matter) had finally met our friends.

I know there are dozens of other photos out there that could equally bring me happiness (especially any with my dogs in them), but this was the one that I kept going back to when I was reviewing pictures for this post.

And I would be lying if I didn’t say that the first flight of QANTAS landing at Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport did not bring me a little smile, and tears of joy.

Day 7

This one has been a little tough for me. For those that know me well, they understand that I’m not a music person. I like music, but I’m not absorbed by it. Given I paid a visit to the doctor this morning, and I finished watching the Doctor Who episode earlier today, I’m going to go with “Doctor Doctor” by the Thompson Twins. Here is the You Tube link to a slightly modified mix of the song.

Thompson Twins – Doctor Doctor

My mother has long been one of the most solid foundations in my life. While I am miles away from her, we remain in touch and connected as mothers normally are with their children. It was my mother that told me that I should make the decision to move to the US if I thought that not going would be a regret that I would live with for a long time. I worry constantly about my mother, and the fact that she is so far away, that if something were ever to happen that I wouldn’t be there for her. I jokingly think that I have become my mother, where my mother is concerned.

My mother is one of the strongest people I know. She has cared for my sister since she was diagnosed with cancer when she was 3, and to this day still cares for her (my sister is now 37). It has been a constant struggle for my mum, but my mother never seemed to complain — even with all the issues that were going on with my dad during this time. My mother has been the cheerleader for all her children, and has been the oracle when advice was needed. Sometimes we took that advice, others we didn’t, but my mother always supported us in the decisions that we made – even when they were not always the best ones.

My mother and father separated when I was 11, and for me it was one of the best decisions my mother ever made. My father and I were not close. I am not sure why, I just never felt a strong bond with him, or certainly don’t remember there being one — not like I always had with my mother. My father had decided that alcohol was more important to get through the day than his family. In my eyes he was a sad man, and I rarely took the time to seek him out for anything. I did spend some time with him in late 1987-1988 when we took a trip to Western Australia to visit his brother. I thought of it as an opportunity to reacquaint myself with my dad, but alas that didn’t work out. He hadn’t changed, and spent much of his day drinking. Some suggested it was my sister’s illness that caused my father to drink. There may be some truth to that, but that is for another discussion in a less public forum.

The last time I really saw my dad was at my brother’s wedding. He was so frail (there is a picture here of him on that day). My father died in January 1998. The official cause was pneumonia, but we all knew that his years of alcoholism had slowly destroyed his body. The day of his funeral was one of those hot summer days — definitely not one designed for wearing a suit. I gave his eulogy. It was one of the most difficult things I had to write as there was nothing that really came to me to say about my father. Sad, but true.

I last saw my mother in 2009 when Chris and I went back to Australia. It had been nearly nine years since I had seen her (a fact that bothers me to this day) before that. This year, she is coming to the United States to visit me and I am almost giddy with excitement.

My mother is now 72 years old, and I will get to celebrate her 73rd birthday here this year. I can’t wait!

Love you mum!

day 5

Before last’s night little ordeal, I would have said that people’s ignorance annoys me. (I still think this.)

However, since last night, I’d say that my inability to control my anxiety at times really pisses me off. I’ve shared with some of my friends, that when I think something happens (to a person, for example), there are times when I go to the most extreme thoughts as to what may have happened.

Let me give you an example. Chris and I have this arrangement that when he is travelling somewhere – anywhere really – that when he gets to that place, he will tell me that he arrived. If I don’t hear from him (I normally use the 30 -minute rule), then instead of rationally thinking that he may have stopped for something to eat, or drove a little slower than normal, or whatever, I go to the place that has him lying on the side of the road dying. There is no in-between, that is where I go.

When he traveled to India and his plane just stopped tracking over Greenland, my first thought was that the plane had crashed. Of course, there was no news of this, so after thinking through this I discovered that the tracking of flights is something that only really happens in the Americas. So I learnt something from the experience.

None of this is rational thought, and I know that. But does it stop my brain going down that pathway? No. No it does not.

So my mind and my anxiety really annoy me (in this case more than ignorant people).

The good thing is that I can fix me.

Who knew when I started my 30-day challenge, that I’d be writing more on my blog (we’ll see how long it lasts).

So last night, I decided to go the gym. I get there, did 40 minutes on the elliptical at a pretty steady pace and felt good, did a short row on the machine (found out, I am not a rower), and then did a 10 minute cool down walk on the treadmill. I was feeling good, and decided that I should do my stretching and avoid the mess of waking up in the morning with the inability to move.

On my way home, I stop at the store and encounter a checkout guy who skipped the “polite conversation” class and unloaded on me about the troubles he is having with his car. I feign total disinterest, but this is lost as he holds my groceries hostage.

So I get home, grab a snack, and wash off the gym. Then I settle down to catch up on Doctor Who. Good episode (end of a two-parter) and then I notice my heart is racing a little. Then a lot.

So I go to our trusted home blood pressure monitor and strap in, and get my first reading (169/79 with a 94 “resting” pulse). I think to myself – through a veiled panic – that is a little high, but I had just climbed the stairs, so decided to relax some, do my breathing, and take it again (155/86/98). One down, and two up.

So I’m willing myself to relax, breathing more, and listening to the pounding in my chest. A short time later, I notice a pain in the left side of my chest and thought this is not right, so took the BP again. 168/96/96 – so two up, and one down and at least I have a matching pair. So then I start to freak out – as one does, and lay on the ground and really try to relax.

As I listened to the house reverberatng with the beating of my drum, breathing in, breathing out, I pressed the BP button again: 171/93/126. So at this point, I’m really freaking out. I head downstairs, get changed, called a friend to see if they were awake to drive me to hospital (they were snoozing as they should), I jumped in the car and drove to the hospital. Much of the trip is a blur – for reasons that I shan’t go into for concern of law enforcement reading this, but as I’m driving my left arm goes numb and I try to get to the hospital quicker (again, no details).

So there I was at Centennial Hospital in a wheelchair being driven to a room to get checked out, and then the pounding starts to slow down, the pain starts to dissipate, and I realize that this was more mental than physical. (Side note, Doctor Who is pretty good, but even that episode that I was watching was not THAT good that it could have triggered this reaction.)

So about two hours later, after a few tests, a pep talk by the ER doctor, and a realization that I can get a little overwhelmed at times, I got back in my car and drove home.  The ER doctor reminds me that the body can deal with a lot, but sometimes the mind can overwhelm the body into thinking something is happening when it is not (you know the speech about “fight or flight”). Minds a fantastic creations, but mine sometimes terrorizes me.

I didn’t watch the remaining part of the Doctor Who episode, but I did calm down (thank you little white pill) and headed of to sleep. And sleep I did.

I’m going to take a brief side thought with my challenge. Earlier this week, my oldest niece Leah lost her husband, Craig to Motor Neurone Disease.

He was 38.

This was a picture that Leah posted on her Facebook page shortly after Archer was born. Craig got to meet his new son, and Archer was able to meet his daddy — if not just for a short time.

RIP Craig.

Here is a picture that means a lot to me. I have a lot of pictures that mean a lot to me, but this is one of the first group pictures taken of our Little Brother with us at a BBBS event. My boss took it, and it has always been a favorite of mine. Our Little Brother really has become a part of our life, and every day I am thankful that he is sharing our lives as he grows up.

If I had to pick another photo that means a lot, and is one I have in my office, it would be this one.

This one features our two dogs, Bosley and Colby with Chris at his parent’s home in East Texas.