Tag: survival

The Half Glass of Adversity

I couldn’t sleep.

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.

Excitement wasn’t blocking The Sandman’s advance. Neither was anxiety.

No, what was keeping me awake was a buildup of acid on my throat. It surged up my esophagus into the back of my mouth, leaving a burning sensation in its path. Every time I tried to doze off, nausea would jolt me awake.

Antacids didn’t help. Neither did raising my pillow. There was no relief to be found.

So, after a sleepless night, I threw in the towel.

I booked a doctor’s appointment, walking out of the office with a prescription that would help keep the acid at bay. But even with relief in my clutches, the adventure was far from over.

Over the next two months, I’d undergo a litany of tests — an ultrasound, an MRI, two endoscopies. I’d spend hours away from my job and incur tens of thousands of dollars in insurance claims. And at the end of this gauntlet, I’d find myself frustratingly devoid of answers.

There was no silver bullet for what ailed me. The risk of another flare-up would always be around the corner.

I had to get used to that.

I know, dear reader, that tales of runaway stomach acid are not the most pleasant. They might even seem taboo to share in a forum like this one.

But these ordeals are my reality. And the tactics I use to avert them are my reality too. 

Living with digestive issues saddles me with rules. Rules about when to eat. Rules about what to eat. And rules about how to react if I break protocol.

It all can be overwhelming at times. And it all can be socially isolating at others.

Insisting that companions commit to an earlier dinnertime is never pleasant. Triple-checking with restaurant staff about the ingredients in a dish makes me feel like a pariah.

I wish I didn’t have to go through this dance. I wish that I could live unencumbered and carefree.

But I don’t have that option. So, I do what I need to get by.

And yet, merely calling all this survival is missing the point.

Nearly two decades ago, my life was inexorably changed.

Terrorists toppled skyscrapers mere miles from my middle school classroom. A crystal-clear September morning devolved into a day I wasn’t sure I’d survive.

For years, I was filled with anger, grief, and confusion on account of this atrocity. To a large degree, I still feel this way today.

And yet, I made it past the 9/11 attacks. I didn’t let them break me.

Many years later, I moved across Texas without a job lined up. Over the course of three months, I burned through my savings as I sought steady employment.

All of this was also traumatic. I was filled with shame and doubt for not landing on my feet quickly.

And yet, I made it past that experience as well. In the subsequent years, I’ve built a career and generally thrived.

This resurgence took a hit when a global pandemic brought the world to a halt. So much of the life I’d built succumbed to the virus’ long shadow. So many initiatives that I’d set suddenly had to be scrapped.

The darkest months of the pandemic — filled with social isolation and the tension of uncertainty — felt like misery in slow-motion. They were nothing short of excruciating.

And yet, I’ve made it past those difficult days. In a relatively short timeframe, I’ve gotten myself back on track.

Yes, resilience has been a hallmark of my life. Time after time, I’ve faced significant roadblocks. And in each instance, I’ve risen to the challenge.

I’ve chronicled many of these crises here on Words of the West. But in general, I’m loath to dwell on them.

For the memories remain bitter. The scars persist.

I don’t want adversity to define me. And yet, its imprint is unmistakable.

The trouble started with a milkshake.

I drank the beverage at a diner back when I was a teenager. I immediately regretted it.

It turned out I was lactose intolerant. Many of the dishes I’d enjoyed to that point did not appreciate me in kind.

This revelation changed things.

Eating would no longer be a thoughtless activity. It would now be a minefield to traverse.

So, I did what had to be done. I established a diet. I cooked at home more often. And I stocked my medicine cabinet with digestive aids.

Such measures were largely successful. But not universally so.

Indeed, the night I lay awake with acid churning in my throat came years after that fateful milkshake. I had done so much right, and yet it had all turned out so wrong.

In the wake of such an ordeal, it would be so easy to fall back on old habits. It would be all too tempting to call that experience — and the litany of medical tests that followed — something to survive. It would be all too natural to bury the painful memories and move on.

But I refused to do any of that.

This time, I thought of all the changes I’d made to meet my digestive challenges. And I considered the benefits those adaptations brought.

Continual meal planning, for instance, honed my anticipation skills. Instead of just penciling in the next meal on the docket, I started thinking of what plans and obligations lay ahead in my day. I started considering how I could prepare for them.

Similarly, a necessary aversion to late-night snacking made me consider my sleep patterns. If digesting a burger at 1 AM was a bad idea, then maybe staying up until 1 AM was also a poor decision.

Considerations like these might seem trivial. But they provide a significant silver lining.

These details help us see adversity as a glass half-full. They give us something to build off.

These silver linings don’t validate the strife we went through. But they show how the byproduct of that struggle can be a lasting force for good.

That’s how it’s worked out in my life, at least. But I have a feeling I’m not alone when it comes to this sentiment.

So, let’s take a fresh look at adversity. Let’s reconsider how we define it and how we quantify it.

Something vibrant can emerge from our most challenging moments. We just need to know where to look.

Survival Mode

“No problem of human making is too great to be overcome by human ingenuity, human energy, and the untiring hope of the human spirit.” -George H.W. Bush

The 41st United States President dispensed this wisdom decades ago. And it has continued to prove prophetic.

In the years since, we’ve developed systems to improve retail logistics and reduce man-made health risks. We’ve closed the information gap through the growth of the Internet. We’ve enhanced diplomacy tactics to tamp down brewing global crises.

But what happens when the problem is not of human making? What happens when it’s a force of nature?

There too, human ingenuity can shine through. There too, human energy and the human spirit can lead us to rise to the occasion.

But the process is far messier.

For we must figure out what hit us before we can respond. And the possibilities are nearly infinite.

Life must go on, of course, while we pursue this damage assessment. So, how do we steer through a period of such uncertainty?

We go into survival mode.

If you listen to just about any motivational speech, you’ll hear about the power of resilience.

This is no accident. Emotions drive our choices. And few things pull at our heartstrings more than a good comeback story.

Yet, we are terrible at assessing our own resilience. We overestimate instances where we encountered a bump in the road and adjusted to it. We treat these small victories as something far larger. Namely, as proof of our invincibility.

Such misjudgments have come into clear focus in recent months, as we’ve been forced to reckon with true crises.

The rapid spread of a lethal virus has put the entire world on pause. Wildfires have destroyed homes in Australia and the western United States. Major hurricanes have pounded the upper Gulf Coast with relentless fury. And a potent winter storm has left millions in Texas in the dark in bone-chilling temperatures.

Some of the regions victimized by these forces of nature were prepared — or at least as prepared as they could be. California has faced wildfire dangers for years. And Louisiana is no stranger to hurricanes.

But in many other instances, we were off-guard.

Despite Bill Gates’ warnings, the world was not prepared for a pandemic. And the breakdowns of Texas’ power grid and water supply systems showed how unprepared the Lone Star State was for an Arctic blast.

In the wake of such disasters, governments have ping-ponged between passing blame and scrambling for contingency plans. Meanwhile, the masses have been left to deal with the fallout.

In a heap of desperation, we’ve been forced to dig deeper in the well of ingenuity than ever before. We’ve become immersed in the survival mode doctrine.

Survival of the fittest.

Anyone familiar with Charles Darwin’s theory of evolution knows those four words.

Darwin believed that certain species adapt to the conditions of their environment better than others. The most well-adjusted species are the ones who persevere.

Humans clearly belong in the well-adapted column. We’ve gone from being stalked by prehistoric predators to controlling much of the world.

Survival mode is encoded in our DNA. And yet, such a feature seems foreign to us.

Why is that?

The answer largely comes from our reliance on two constructs: Infrastructure and social patterns.

These elements have turbocharged our evolution. For instance, lighting, climate control, and indoor plumbing systems have allowed many to shelter in safety and comfort. And sociocultural norms have helped us find belonging and fulfillment.

Put together, these elements provide for much of Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs. They are so essential that they’ve become ubiquitous throughout the developed world. Even in the developing world, some aspects of these constructs exist.

Humanity doesn’t agree on much. But these do seem to be causes we can rally around.

Mother Nature is the only fly in the ointment. It’s the only force powerful enough to unleash a microscopic virus on us, fill our skies with smoke, inundate our lowlands with seawater, or send polar air to the subtropics.

Such wild forces can overwhelm our infrastructure systems. They can disrupt our social norms. And they can leave us without a roadmap to safety.

It is within this torrent of disruption that we must unearth those Darwinian survival skills. While everything is crumbling around us, we are asked to rise above.

No wonder we struggle to persevere. And no wonder we feel traumatized long after we do.

At the edge of my neighborhood, there is a pasture. A sea of intermittent brush cascading down a hillside.

On some days, I can spot cattle at the edge of the pasture, grazing near the barbed wire fence. The bovines chew at the grass and thrash their tails. And they do all this in herd formation.

Animals have herded together for millennia. Banding together has helped them fend off myriad dangers. It’s helped them evolve and thrive.

Humans are the same way. We have long found strength in numbers, building societies, and enhancing our possibilities together. It would only be natural for us to come together in times of strife as well.

But survival mode runs counter to all that. It asks us to act instinctively against grave danger. And it forces us to do so in isolation.

The systems and traditions we rely on are all built upon a backbone of community. And when they fail, we are thrust into the darkness — forced to combine an untested toolset with an unfamiliar mindset.

This is why the greatest challenge of survival mode sits between the ears. Indeed, managing the mental and emotional exhaustion can be a Herculean task.

It’s just not in our nature to be this way. And yet, for a time, it has to be.

There’s no way to fully obliterate disaster.

Diseases will continue to threaten our bodies. Fires will continue to scorch our landscape. Hurricanes and tornadoes will continue to turn some of our homes into rubble.

We can’t avoid these unsavory possibilities. The best we can do is to prepare for them.

We can tend to our hygiene. We can maintain emergency supplies. We can have an evacuation plan.

And we can prepare for survival mode.

We can recognize what it asks of us. And we can come to terms with what it takes out of us.

Such preparation won’t transform our experience into a pleasant one. But hopefully, it can make our endeavors less jarring.

And when the times are toughest, that can make all the difference.