Things I've learned from a broke-ass ankle

In no particular order, lessons born of inertia.

It’s been a month since I broke my ankle and I thought it was worth putting out a couple of words to memorialize the sacrifice my fibula made toward my overall spiritual development. Especially since, with the help of my acupuncturist, I was able to take my first real steps.

We are not in control of anything.

Yeah, I mean anything. Like anything anything. Some argue we are in control of our attitudes and our actions, but like — not completely. Not on a neurological level. There are so many subconscious and unconscious mechanisms that dictate even those things from some deep mystery within some cocktail of our DNA and brain chemistry.

Most of us shake off the dust and get out of bed and face another day by making a mistress of our self-delusion. If we didn’t, society would crumble. But the truth is: we walk around most days on both our good ankles blissfully unaware of how enormously fragile and random it all is. And then one step on one day and voila. Truth reveals itself.

You can reverse engineer said events to cement your worldview ad nauseam, but that also might just be a vehicle of some deep unconscious drive to feel more secure in a violent and beautiful world — especially those lucky enough to make their homes in the comforts of a free society

I used to think I was good at uncertainty, but there were many grace notes of life I was yet to encounter. I used to think I was pretty good with acceptance and only learned later on I was just getting what I wanted and mistook that fortune for being spiritual.

But something happens when you come face to face with uncut truth in a moment that was not on your bingo card — you make friends with chaos. Which is about the healthiest thing we can do in these times we find ourselves in.

I am not Proust.

Proust wrote close to a thousand pages from bed. I did not. In fact, these are my first!

A month ago I thought I was going to voraciously read and write and dive deep on projects of great pith and moment. That did not happen. Instead, I watched trash TV, husky videos on Instagram, and wasted way too much time on dating apps unsuccessfully. But eventually I tired of those distractions and returned to the page.

I wasn’t very good at asking for help.

Again, I thought I was, but I was not. Am I sensing a trend here? Straight, white, american, midwest dudes of a certain age (like myself) may claim — because we want to feel exceptional — that we alone hold the patent for this cultural impediment, but that’s just bull shit. Humans in general are not in the practice of mutual aid / asking for help. Especially in the digital age.

Of course the cultural myth spoon fed to men like myself is to be self-reliant. To soldier on. But that doesn’t mean we are the gold standard of being defiant and stubborn.

The truth is many things that life requires we spend most our days pretending isn’t real.

One of these things is ….

We aren’t that important.

Yeah, tough pill, I know. But like… it’s true. When you get off the hamster wheel of late stage capitalism / slow motion end times and mostly lay in bed for four weeks you learn this basic fact.

We are not that special. We don’t really matter that much. The world just goes on. Again, this truth is usually an abstract notion we relegate to the dark corners of our mind, but when we get a knock and are interrupted form the norm of our everyday lives and are rendered supine - the concept of our innate un-importance becomes quite real. Which leads me to—

We are all in a rush to go nowhere.

I know this is not ground breaking information. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t important to remind ourselves how un-important we are.

I think it’s important because we are quick to forget. Because we are hard wired to live most of our life taking life for granted.

Till life reminds us what it is under the cloak of modernity.

I am usually a busy, hyper productive dude. But all of that goal-orientated, growth based dribble is nothing more than a quintessence of dust. When you are out of the game, you get let it on the secret.

That we spend our days half-awake. Playing a game that we forget is a game. That we start to take seriously till we mistake it for life.

But what is this life?

Do we not spend our days in “quiet desperation” as Thoreau argued. Trying to keep up. Stay afloat. And not get left behind.

But when the worst case actually happens; when you do get left behind, when you do realize that if you somehow manage to get out of bed, make coffee, have a shit that isn’t constipated, somehow boil water and do a couple of dishes and transport the coffee to where you lie only to want to nap- you experience a level of humility you didn’t quite know existed. But that degree of humility is eclipsed when you need someone to lift your bare ass into the tub to sit down and take a shower.

Maybe that is what is meant in the Gnostic text “ unless you become like children you shall not enter the kingdom of heaven.” That when we are reduced to depending on others - we start to experience a sense of ease and comfort that defies all understanding. If even for a moment or two. We get let in on the joke buried in the chaos we dress up as order.

But to get in on that secret / joke - we need to pay the cost of pain.

That is the cost of the lesson. Once you experience what it feels like to b forgotten, be left behind. Left out entirely even! (And all the other childhood traumas we carry in our spinal fluid). You suddenly realize that we are human beings after all, not human doings.

Not to get too-too Marx/ Engel - but we spend so much of our time in our prime earning years obtaining, achieving, arriving, collecting, building, and far too little time letting go, giving up, surrendering, that when we do collide with the grande illusion and see it for what it is - we see how woefully unprepared we all are for advancing age, and our inevitable death.

I know what a bummer, right?

But what is modern capitalism but an escape from facing the finality of death. And somehow we mistake that race we volunteer for - for living. But living is something else entirely. And it alludes most of us for most of our lives sadly. I experienced some of this reality when I got sprung by a friend and got to go to the dog park at sundown after being in my bed for three weeks. I thought of the phrase Thomas the Doubter said (which also got kicked out of the traditional bible). “the kingdom of heaven spreads upon earth and man does not see it.”

self pity feels good… for five minutes.

It is like pissing yourself. It is soooo warm and soooooo cozy and then… five minutes later is cold and sticky.

I heard that saying years back and it still holds true.

I also was reacquainted with my right to be a martyr. I am very good at complaining about how tough I am. Plus — I’m Irish! So I’ve elevated the Art of the Complaint to a level of poetry. I mean what is this whole Substack but an artful rationalization of my cultural imperative to complain?

There are great people. And who those people are will surprise you.

I’ve been the beneficiary of pecan pie, traditional Italian ragu, roast duck, chicken broth, designer bagels, waffle fries from Chick-Filet, dark chocolate tres leches, and so much more. I’ve met my neighbors and know them better. I’ve learned that dog park friends are the best. And reinforce that dog people in general could save the planet. I’ve laughed louder and had deeper chats with friends I have not spent enough quality time with. We did so because our defenses were down. We were in no hurry. Yeah these are dark days, but community is alive and well; despite the fact that society isn’t.

Being broke enough to not be broke enough sucks.

It is no secret that the system is broken. More than my ankle. There’s a lot to share on the subject but I don’t quite have the bandwidth to recount the saga yet, however I will share that we get the care we can afford.

I currently pay a 350 dollar a month premium for a Silver level Blue Shield. But it is not really Blue Shield. It is Medical. I pay for free Medical. But since I’m not broke enough to get it on the cheap, I pay for it. But it is the same coverage and for that coverage we all end up at the clinic. And you have to fight extra hard to advocate through a system that starts in a clinic.

But here’s the thing about the clinic… There are great people who sit behind the sneeze glass and spend most of their time on the phones trying to advocate for us to navigate a web of medical groups, insurance, and your PCP in a game of whack-a-mole to get pre-authorizations. They are always busy, always ignored - except when getting yelled at - and never praised.

On this day before Christmas Eve, I’d like to say a prayer to a god unknown for all the people that wrestle with the conduits of a broken system, day in day out, to try and make the impossible possible. Which last I checked was the definition of a miracle. I’m not talking about doctors. Doctors do very little. Especially foot doctors. Mine barely looked at my foot.

I’m talking about real miracle workers.

This too shall pass.

It felt fitting to end on this. It turns out the Christians were right. Well about a few things.

This too shall pass.

Really.

Good, bad, painful, orgasmic. All will pass just like the George Harrison song.

That holds true, no matter who is president, what winds are a blowin’ — whether you are getting laid by a gaggle of Nordic high priestesses, or waiting on hold for an emergency vet at three in the AM.

It will pass.

Even if sometimes it takes a day longer than you can stomach it. It all passes. Everything passes. Because “Everything is meaningless.”

Beyond that, we are on own. Which is why we need each other.

Oh and all I can say is love is real. So love on. Even if you got no one to love. That is exactly when you should.

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