All Jack

Hey gang (new normal intro? Meh.),

Happy post-Christmas. Happy, sad, melancholic, there’s something about December 26th that always seems to hit me in the feels, and these can go all sorts of ways. Today, perhaps with a deeper understanding of God in all things and in Time than every before, I feel better equipped to carry on hope, joy, and gratitude than I ever have. No evangelism, just the sheer splendor of the world around us, seen from whatever path – religion, running, meditation, bubble baths – floats the boat.

This being said, I am increasingly realizing the deep importance of honest fellowship in my life. A men’s circle has been an important bedrock for me for some months now, but I now present the newest player in my rhythm: Overeaters Anonymous (OA)

As you could guess, highly intelligent reader, it’s a 12-step program…on something that can be coined a process addiction, just as sex, work, and spending money may be.

I’ve written about my tricky relationship with food in the past. #peanutbutter. But joining OA has been a game-changer in helping me recognize my compulsive tendencies around it, be it restricting, binging, or…yeah, that about covers it for me. <– in jest, because my addiction to eating certain ways, or to certain foods (I’m looking at you, sugar and simple carbs) can and has ruled my life, regardless of how I may look or how it manifests. Just the fact that certain acts and foods are on the table, so to speak, makes things all the harder. More to come on this.

OA has served as a looking-eye glass into a different sort of lifestyle, one I think all 12-step programs encourage. It involves building an army, a web of supportive people in one’s life, in and out of the program, to support one’s choice of abstaining from their drug of choice (mine being certain foods/food habits), one day at a time.

I haven’t been perfect since being in program. Far from it, actually. I’ve been willful, sullen, in denial, angry, manic, and peaceful about my old habits, sometimes all at once, as I’ve struggled to face the truth about what has not served me.

But, for now, I’ll keep coming back to the program: the in-person and virtual meetings, the surprisingly engaging literature, the relationships so open to being built with others, and other tools besides. The journey has begun, mark my words, and I want to share my honest experience for the sake of sifting the wisdom out of the shit, and sharing the discovered Gold.

Until next time.

Yes, yes, the rumours are true. I have long hair. And I’m growing it out, Jesus length or beyond. Mic drop.

So what, really? Well, what one does with one’s hair (or lack thereof) is such an interesting, personal, primal choice. I’m sure the first generations of humans were untangling theirs with dinosaur bone-combs, and potentially kicked out of their clan for their braids hanging the wrong way.

90% of the reason for my choice comes from Steven Pressfield’s Gates of Fire. He writes of the Spartan 300 at the Battle of Thermopylae, one of the greatest historical fictions I have read in my life, and some of the most attractive descriptions of the badassery of shoulder-length men’s hair, sometimes braided.

Am I frequently mistaken for a woman? Yes. Can longer hair be annoying, cumbersome, and a hindrance? Sometimes. But does it help me point me towards the warrior direction, at the very least the aesthetic by which I hope to be guided? Damn right.

As I’ve began my journey of run-commuting when I have to be at work in-person, I have now run South down Halsted (in Chicago) twice now.

West Loop –> Chatham (11 miles down!), and West Loop –> Bridgeport (less :’) ).

Twice now, this portion of my commute has brought up such a unique mix of emotions.

I run from well-developed ~nice~ city parts, through Hispanic Pilsen, over the bridge to Chinatown, followed by increasingly decrepit infrastructure and buildings at a steady rate – through Englewood, to Chatham. Interspliced with two police stations whose entrances are encapsulated by Venezuelan migrant tent camps. Not a lot of greenness on this run to boot.

The mix could be described as such: sadness, pity, anger, frustration, disgust, understanding, judgement, fear. With a dash of happiness (a stranger wishing me luck as I run by, a family unit bonded together amidst the tent camp).

Part of me wishes to avoid this experience altogether. Maybe just bike this part, or run the Lakeshore, even if it means extra miles.

But maybe Halsted Street – at least the way I see it – makes apparent the multiple, interlinked crises we’re currently facing…inequity, environmental degradation, a broad climate crisis, housing, etc.

Fuck! It’s true. Suffering is made apparent on Halsted St. May I use this suffering as fuel for my own generative drive to a progressive, positive, transformational, humble force in this world.

I won’t lie to you. As I write this, I am eating my lunch of carrots, eggs, salmon, and chicken. It is making for a smelly, somewhat distracted meal.

That being said, it is an active choice I’m making, and one that I’m comfortable with. Why exactly? Because I weigh and measure my food.

In the past, I have undeniably struggled with portion control. Food can be just so fun, great, insert-verb-here, and a pretty damn good way in a lot of respects to comfort (and numb?) oneself from the inevitable struggles of life.

In this vein, it’s been true trial and error to figure out how I can liberate myself from this. Because, while eating for something other than hunger has its positives, it’s a false, hollow, shallow solution (yes, all of these contradictory adjectives. YOU write a daily-ish blog!). My variable weight and appearance can attest to my journey of zero awareness, to extreme intermittent fasting, to where I have returned to: tracking what I eat with as limited estimation as possible.

I think to a lot of people, and to me at first, this can come off as a overly strict means of living. I don’t disagree with some of the points here – it can be tedious and annoying to weigh out every portion (shouts out meal prep). But the legitimate liberation I experience from having to wonder how much I should eat at each meal, from restriction and binging cycles, from being unsure of my macro intake/what foods are providing the majority of my calories, is a surprisingly sweet prize.

I’ve seen this written about it well in two different articles: This one by NYT Magazine, and the principles of Food Addicts Anonymous. From the latter:

“Weighing and Measuring. When we weigh and measure our food, we place boundaries around it. Written food plans, digital scales, and measuring spoons take the guesswork out of choosing our quantities of food. We soon find it a relief to eat only and exactly what we have committed to eat—no licking, no tasting, nothing more and nothing less. Paradoxically, we feel satisfied.”

While I still engage in distracted eating (I’m looking at you, Jack from 20 minutes ago), I can do with the peace of mind that it won’t be (totally) mindless. I simply savor food more when I create this awareness around it.

This clicks for me. I wonder how others, perhaps readers of this blog, feel about their relationship with food.

I started training to be a ~Clinical Informatics Specialist~, AKA medical scribe, a few weeks ago.

The work has been largely remote so far. Which has meant two things: 1) the attempt to separate my workspace from sleeping space in my bedroom, and 2) Visiting coffee shops with a lot more responsibility and intentionality than before.

I’m torn here. On one, I admire the distraction-free setting of sitting on your ass and giving yourself no choice but to either sit and stare at the blank wall in front of you, or generate work on your computer.

On the other, are we not social monkeys in need of some degree of social connection, daily and often?

So, I write this from an uncomfortable barstool at Fairgrounds Coffee at the dead, pre-developing end of Fulton Market. Could this be the perfect dance between some general chatter and banter and focus? The country music playing may beg to differ, but this is something.

Given the personal MO of isolating into my cocoon when stressed or uncomfortable, this may be the compromise for now. Until I’m a medically-trained retreat leader and pre-eminent psychiatrist, that is ;). More on this to come.

Be well!

Welcome to WordPress! This is your first post. Edit or delete it to take the first step in your blogging journey.

Hello, world!

Look at me. Writing on a blog, instead of a hacked-together MailChimp newsletter. As important a step as this, writing on a hacked-together MailChimp newsletter sounds pretty cool.

So, yeah. Here’s the space for me to be accountable. In the words of Seth Godin, the daily blogger, this here is an exercise to “every day, say one thing that’s new that [I] can stand behind?”

Those close to me know that I journal extensively. I love it; it undeniably helps me think, process, and admit. But it’s private, I can use it as a crutch instead of simply being with my self, and it’s private. ;).

Here ye, here ye, at alljack1.wordpress.com! Clunky URL be damned, this here will be the public pedestal on which I’ll stand from here on out. I pride myself on being an astute “noticer”. Whether or not you frequent my writing, I hope you would, and will, agree.

Until next time, tomorrow, with a thought I stand behind.