The Pain of Hearing Again

A few years ago I went to see my doctor about my right ear.  It appeared to be blocked and I could tell it had influenced my hearing.  She took a look and right away saw the problem. There was a big blob of earwax impacted.  “It’s an easy fix” she said. Then proceeded to irrigate the ear canal and remove the obstruction.

When she did, the pop of air and sound startled me. I could hear vividly out of that ear. As I left the office and drove away in my car, I noticed how much more clear everything was out of that side of my head.  Sound was no longer muted, but sharp and bright.  So much so that I had to turn the music down because that ear began to hurt.

She explained that the nerves had gotten accustomed to the obstruction and they compensated for it.  Now that there was a clear path for sound to reach  my inner ear, it would take a few days for them to readjust.

I thought about that story yesterday as I was outside painting my house.  Painting is a great project for my mind to explore because much of the work is repetitive and rhythmic.  The figure-8 movement of the brush strokes back and forth provide a calming sense of accomplishment.  However, there was a feeling attached to it that I couldn’t identify. As is my regular practice, I love to ask why.

I’m doing my entire house by myself, by hand, with a brush. No roller or sprayer.  The paint I am using has the viscosity of cake batter, so it actually goes on better with a brush and it’s easier to get up under the laps of the original wood siding this way.

Intermixed in my internal conversation was how different this project is now that I live alone.  I chose the colors. I set the schedule and go at my own pace. If she was still here, the whole house would have been done by now. I’m on day 7 and a third of the way complete.

This is a huge project now that I’m on my own.  I don’t have another to consider, or one whose opinion I need to accommodate.  Relational partnership is a continual process of learning and deferring, of give and take.  I can do this paint project how I would like to do it, at a slow and methodical speed.  I am careful to get it done without drip marks or thin places. I get to take my time and do it how I want it.

But I’m alone.

And therein lies a dilemma of my grief. It’s the pain of hearing again.  My soul is asking what is this new sound? And why does it hurt?

This new sound I detect  is music that was overpowered by other vibrations.  I can hear me again. I can hear my desires and preferences.  The craftsman in me that gave way to the goal-oriented partner can now return to work and paint the house accordingly.

This was an epiphany for me.  This is my new normal.  I am free to learn to hear my heart again in ways I never could before. But it is both agonizing and liberating.  The sting of loss mixed with the discovery of new possibilities is a bittersweet song.

Listen for the Prophets

It’s impossible to escape the myriad of opinions about this Coronavirus situation and what should or should not have been done.  Much of it is only rooted in anger, which is understandable. But these are not the voices to pay attention to.  

Listen for the prophets.  

A prophet is one who has a timely message for a specific moment in time.  They are recognized by the witness that is borne inside. You hear their words and something in you resonates with what is being said.  It’s a call to action, not an invitation to complain. They might be angry, but they also have something to say.

A very good recent example of a prophetic voice is from Julio Vincent Gambuto in an article titled, Prepare for the Ultimate Gaslighting. It’s a call to consider how this health crisis has damaged our social world and the choices that we each have in the process of rebuilding it.  

“From one citizen to another, I beg of you: take a deep breath, ignore the deafening noise, and think deeply about what you want to put back into your life.”

Julio Vincent Gambuto, Prepare for the Ultimate Gaslighting.

The problem with prophets today has been true throughout time.  Their message isn’t for everyone. It never has, and never will be. Because it’s usually disruptive.

But for those who have the ears to hear the meaning, those are the ones who stand to benefit from their words.

Our world as we once knew has severely changed.  The prophets are here to say it can keep changing.

For the better.

We’ll Get Through This?

We’ll get through this.

I’ve said that many times recently, cautiously I must add. I feel the need to explain what these words mean to me.

In the midst of lawsuits and bankruptcy, The Admiral gave me these words and I recall them very clearly.  He said, “We’re gonna get through this. Trust me. I’ve done over 1500 of these in my career. They all made it. And we’re gonna have a beer together sometime down the road and be able to laugh about it.”

He was right.  We had that beer. And we laughed.

But it wasn’t without grief, because I was entering into a territory for which I had no map, no coordinates, no GPS.  It was terra incognita. Uncharted territory. 

Such are the days we are living in.  Unprecedented in my lifetime. Life as I’ve known it is gone and the signs of it returning to any sense of normalcy are vague at best. Are The Admiral’s words still true?

Will we get through this?

Here’s my perspective from the place on the wall where I stand and watch.

What The Admiral didn’t mean was life will go back to looking like it did as before.  I lost my business. I lost everything I had worked for. I lost my dream. And since then, I lost my wife. I’ve lost friends. None of these are coming back in the same way I experienced them in the past. Life will not return to this kind of normal that I once knew.

My heart is tender toward my colleagues who are in the restaurant business. I would be in the same boat if I hadn’t lost mine.  I would be dealing with the same pain of letting employees go, and watching an entire industry collapse with no recourse. Some have been able to pivot and retool their operation.  But it’s not the same as before.

Here’s what The Admiral’s words meant to me:

Yes, we’ll get through this. Repeat. We.  You’re not alone. I’m with you.

No, Life won’t look the same as before. But that’s OK. Life changes regardless.

Yes, you can survive, because Hope is here to ensure that.

No, you can’t get her back.

Yes, you can grieve, and you must.

No, you couldn’t have done anything to prevent it.

Yes, you will get through this.

No, you don’t want to live backward.

Yes, keep moving forward. That’s where Hope lives. 

No, She doesn’t call you to stay in your past.

Yes, I believe in you.

I hope you have an Admiral in your life. I am forever grateful and indebted to his friendship.

Make Hay While the Sun Shines

Broken Down Shack, written and read by Kevin Shinn

My life-long love of gardening has taught me much about perspective in life.  I learned early on that there is something personally instructive about planning, planting, tending and harvesting an annual garden.  The earliest lesson on the farm it taught me was the importance of having something that required care and attention from me only. It wasn’t going to happen unless I planted it.  It would not succeed unless I watered and weeded it. No one else was going to do it for me. It was a simple lesson that started a course that I would enjoy studying many years later.

Because of gardening, I know what it takes to put food on the table.  Because of my small backyard economy, I don’t take the national supply chain for granted.  If the grackles decimate the onion tops, I won’t have any come summertime. They’re done, over. I have to wait again til next year.

The work of gardening is seasonal, and there is specific work to do in all four seasons. I like the old proverb that reinforces this

He who gathers crops in summer is one that acts wisely, but he who sleeps during harvest is disgraceful.

There is work to do in every season.  Even today, stuck at home under Shelter in Place, Social Distancing, there are things I wish I could be doing. And the key word is Wish.  I have no control of so much that I wish for, and it will do me no good to spend energy complaining and fretting about those things beyond my reach.  I can wish for my sweet tomatoes in April, but if I don’t do the work in the meantime, I won’t have a harvest in July.

I approach my days in quarantine like I would a job. I build in a routine. I have a schedule. I shower and get dressed like I would in going work every day.  I don’t lounge around in shorts. I need some semblance of order that I am in charge of. 

And a big part of the day is to create. I write. I work out. I cook. I plan my garden. And most recently, I’ve started recording again. I took advantage of the time to upgrade my home audio studio and return to a long lost love that has been absent for 17 years; making music.

Here is a recording of a poem titled, Broken Down Shack, that I posted back in November.  I recorded it this morning as a part of my decision to make each day count.

Broken Down Shack, written and read by Kevin Shinn

Getting Your Attention

You found this blog for a reason.

My words are resonating with you. Something I’m saying is connecting but you’re not sure why.

I don’t put a lot of stock in coincidence.  Instead, I believe in Faith, Hope and Love

One other thing I believe.

Someone is trying to get your attention.

I believe this because a crisis is an ample opportunity to garner it.

Faith isn’t for everyone.  I mean, it’s freely and readily available, but it’s heard and discovered by those who have ears to hear it.

It’s for those who don’t know how to pay rent in a few days.

It’s for those who can’t sleep at night because the business is not going to survive.

It’s for those wrecked with anxiety by all the uncertainty of these times.

Some gave up on faith because it never seemed to do any good or make any difference. I’m not trying to persuade or sell something.  I’m just a voice, speaking of what I have discovered in my most recent dark days.

There is Hope.

Some of you need a miracle, literally.

You may have lost your job and there is no money left in the account.

Some are contemplating the ultimate decision to escape and leave it all behind.  It’s a choice that makes sense to the one making it. It’s hell for those left in its wake.

Desperation creates its own momentum.

I don’t know your story.  I only know mine, and here is what I have come to believe.

Of the One Who Is Getting My Attention, I must believe that He exists and that He is a rewarder of those who seek Him.

That’s my faith. Plain. Simple.

I recorded a reflection on the Lord’s Prayer. It’s about 5 min long.  If you don’t know how to pray, or if Hope exists, follow along and borrow some of mine.

I encourage you to listen, as Faith always starts by hearing.

The Lord’s Prayer – As interpreted and read by Kevin Shinn

Keeping Fit

“Ladies and gentlemen, We apologize for the delay. We are doing everything we can to resolve this issue as quickly as possible.  We thank you for your….

________.”

You filled in the blank because you instinctively know that It’s the first thing most needed in all moments of crisis.  

While it comes easier to some than others, I would bet there are only a few natural born experts in its field.  And they stay that way because they constantly exercise it.

It always responds to a good challenge.

With all this free time of self-quarantine, my body doesn’t get more fit unless I get up and get moving. I never improve my level of fitness while sitting on the couch.

In the same way, Patience always gets stronger with a little workout.

Undeniable

Undeniable. Read by Kevin Shinn
Beauty
As it was described to me
Is that thing
Which in its presence
Awakens something inside
And makes me
In that moment
A little more alive
And undeniably more human
With each glimpse
Each sip
Touch and smell

In apt response
There is beautiful laughter
Coupled with
Beautiful tears
Both are a sure and certain sign
That I am indeed alive
And bestow honor
To Beauty 
And just how magnificent
She truly is.

©Kevin Shinn, March 2020, 55DegreesUS

Another Loss

I lost another friend last week. I received the sad news as I sat at a lonely table in the Newark airport, waiting for my flight back home from Ireland. As the word of loss took hold, some of the most recent memories showed up to be accounted for.

Right before I left on the trip, he and a couple of guys from church helped me spread about 8 yards of mulch around the perennial garden beds that surround my yard. As if that wasn’t enough, as the four of us stood around talking after the work was done, he asked if I wanted some help raking the remaining leaves in my yard.  I told him I wouldn’t dare ask, but neither would I refuse the assistance. Thirty minutes and a half a dozen paper bags later, the yard was clean and clear. That’s the kind of friend he was. Always looking for a way to make sure I was taken care of.

I recall the long conversations over all things food, especially our fascination with fermentation. One night in particular, sitting out back for hours, until we both realized it was 11:30pm on a Tuesday and we should probably call it a night.

Loss is a thief, and I despise thieves.  It’s the same feeling that came over me when I discovered my truck had been broken into. Passenger side window smashed, power tools taken, leaving me with nothing but damage to clean up and repair. I had just been robbed and I had very little recourse.

The work of loss is permanent.  It ensures there will be no more “next time.” I don’t ever plan to get accustomed to it.

As I am learning to hold Grief separately from loss, I view Grief as my process of dealing with the pitiless work of loss. It helps me think of them as two very different entities.

Loss is brutal. Grief doesn’t have to be.

Grief is my assistant.  It’s there to help me sort through the havoc that loss just discharged.

But Grief can be swayed, akin to a politician being lobbied by a special interest. And bitterness seems to want to be first in line for that campaign.

Bitterness tried several times to pressure me during my trip.  The married couple my age holding hands two rows over on the airplane.  The couple much older than me enjoying a nice dinner together, and obviously enjoying the company of one another. Or the folks celebrating their 65th anniversary by visiting Ireland for the first time. 

“That could have been you…”

“You’ll never know that same feeling again…”

“Don’t you feel robbed…”

Bitterness likes to set the tone and take over that conversation. And I find the best way to end the conversation with bitterness is not to ignore it, but tell it to go back to hell and leave me alone. I find that pretty effective.

I’m wise enough to know that bitterness won’t ever lead to Healing from loss. Only Hope can get me there.

The Sweetest of Fruit

The Sweetest of Fruit. Read by Kevin Shinn
Any Fruit worth picking
Any that draws the eye and the hand
To pluck from its branch
The beautiful Fruit
Ideal and perfect for the hunger
The need of the moment
And the urge to savor
This sweet Produce

If you look down to see the trunk
And the ground into which its roots sink
You will always find unfavorable dirt
This Fruit that you seek
Luscious on the branch
Is always grown in bad soil

The Fruit of Peace
Is not nurtured on peaceful ground
The roots of Kindness defy the
Surrounding earth of unkindness
And its grapes are among the 
Sweetest in the garden
Bury a sapling of Patience
In a compost of hurry, rush and anxiety
And you
Along with others close to you
Will Rest in its shade
And feast from its branch.

Bloom where you are planted
And bear this Fruit in season
The more rocky the soil
The more bountiful the harvest.

©Kevin Shinn, March 2020, 55 Degrees US

A Word to the Hopeful

The Kansas Lawsuit. Read by Kevin Shinn
The Kansas Lawsuit.

Just like the annual
Prairie fires of Kansas
Wafting north
Each Spring
The acrid smoke signals
An arrival of disruption
A minor irritation
For those like me
But a grave threat
To the vulnerable
Who can’t take respiration for granted.

©Kevin Shinn, March 2020

I could sense it as soon as I opened my phone this morning.  It’s a very distinct aroma, unmistakable actually, especially if you’ve ever found yourself surrounded by it. It was immediately suffocating. Some of you know firsthand what I’m talking about.

The smell of fear.

It’s starting to set in.  Losing a job. A severe drop in income. The tension is rising in your home. Fear turns minor annoyances into massive detonations. All the while, the looming question won’t leave the forefront of your mind.

What am I going to do now?

My advice is this. Find someone who is Hopeful. They will know what to do.

To you who are full of Hope right now.  Your job might not be threatened and your economic viability might be secure regardless.  This is good news. Whatever reason for your Hope, make sure you don’t treat it like toilet paper.  

Don’t hoard it.  Don’t stockpile it.  Give it away in mass quantities.

Wealth and prosperity are not limited to money.  In fact, an abundance of money can create its own fearfulness.  Having the means to ride out this crisis could eventually backfire. Money is good, but it doesn’t create Hope.

The war against fear isn’t funded by monetary means.  Money follows Hope into battle. It never leads the charge against fear. Money is always important. It just can’t be in command of the army.

Become generous in Hope and you’ll find you also possess the know-how to be generous with money. I speak this from recent experience when I was wrecked with inner poverty.  The words and presence of the Hopeful led me through the flames of fear and out into fresh air where I could breathe again.

If you are Hopeful today, give Hope away in record donations to those who need it. Don’t be stingy. It will do much for your heart as well as toward those you are blessing.

And share some of that toilet paper too.