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I think I have a somewhat better appreciation for what it takes to overcome an addiction.  

Hunger is made up of two things: what happens to your body and what happens to your mind.  My body tells me that it needs sustenance, so I drink some water or a little bit of that wacky lemonade that has been keeping me alive.  My mind tells me that I am hungry and that I need to eat something.  Anything.  Something solid.  Something chewy.  Chewing.  I haven’t done that in days.  It’s interesting not having done that yet not truly experiencing starvation.  I am still alive, after all, and I am fully functional.  Well, mostly functional.  I haven’t had the courage to work out in nine days, and I didn’t want to push it this weekend and cut the grass.  Stuff like that I just avoid.  I’m done my normal dose of calories, you know.

The point is that my body gives the normal warning signs, and I take steps to fulfill the need.  What I am doing does the trick, so my body quiets down.  My mind, on the other hand, can keep its game up for quite some time after.  Eventually, it shuts up.  About twenty minutes later.  Hmm…Dr. Oz once talked about how part of the secret to controlling appetite is to stop eating before you are full, wait twenty minutes, then reassess how you feel.  Chances are, your hunger will have subsided.  You see, it apparently takes about twenty minutes for your brain to catch up with your stomach.  That’s precisely what I am experiencing.  It’s evidence that hunger is really the psychological response to a physical event.

It’s an interesting mechanism, and it has given me a little more empathy for those who are struggling to overcome addiction.  I understand a little better why a recovering alcoholic might want to avoid places where alcohol flows freely.  Try preparing a meal for someone while you are hungry and NOT taking a bite or two.  That’s not easy.  It may seem like a trivial thing to compare to the alcoholic’s demon, but, since I do not know that particular demon first hand, anything that can provide me with empathy brings me a little closer to understanding another form of human suffering.  And if I can understand the suffering of others, then I can love them with that much more of myself.

Any experience that can help grow a person’s power of empathy is a gift.  It’s a gift of love and compassion from something greater than any of us who suffer on this Earth.  While I am grateful that my suffering in this case is finite, a choice, and well-controlled, it still sucks.  It might be a small problem, but it’s my problem.  And our own problems are certainly the most salient problems in the world, thus get most of our attention, no?  

I think anyone can empathize with that.

I hate cayenne pepper because it ruins my lemonade.  I hate cayenne pepper because it is spicy.  I hate cayenne pepper because it inevitably settles to the bottom of my thermos, so I get a big mouthful of it at the end of the workday.  I hate cayenne pepper because I have tasted it at every “feeding” for the past six days.

I am grateful for cayenne pepper because, when you put it in lentil soup, it adds just enough kick to make me smile.  I am grateful for cayenne pepper in large quantities because it makes bad chili worth eating.  I am grateful for cayenne pepper because it tests my resolve.  I am grateful for cayenne pepper because it is doing something good for my body.  I am grateful for cayenne pepper because it keeps me honest.

I cannot think of anything in my life that is truly without some redeeming quality.  I do not use “redeeming” lightly, either.  There is redemption for everything and everyone.  It just might take a little longer to find it for something than for others.  

With redemption, there can be salvation.

Redemption.  Salvation.  These are the lessons of cayenne pepper.

The other day, someone asked me, “Did you talk to a doctor before changing your diet?”  They were referring to my vegetarian diet, not this cleanse.  I laughed heartily inside.  I wanted to ask, “Did YOU talk to a doctor before deciding that fast food should comprise a major part of your diet?”  Of course, I didn’t.  Instead, I just responded, “Yes.  I talked to my chiropractor.”

He stared at me.

My chiropractor knows more about my body and my health than any physician I have ever had.  I see him a few times a month.  He asks me how I am doing.  He asks if anything is bothering me.  He takes the time to explore any issues I might have.  He’s always willing to take a few extra minutes answering questions.  There isn’t a pain he hasn’t helped alleviate.  He knows when to recommend a traditional doctor.  He’s a kind and gentle soul, and he cares about my well-being.

Someone asked me if I had talked to a doctor about this cleanse.  What do you think my answer was?  Yes.  I talked to my chiropractor.

I’m not saying that previous doctors haven’t.  But you tend to go to them when something’s wrong.  They don’t seek to know you as well, to understand your life and your body.  It’s not bad.  It’s just different.  I prefer my chiropractor’s care as a first line of defense over just about anyone else.  So, please don’t judge me when I tell you that my chiropractor is my doctor.  Both he and I know where his expertise ends and the next person’s begins.

We all struggle with doing something that flies in the face of what we believe to be conventional wisdom.  That is one of the main reasons for complacency.  Who on Earth are we to question the establishment?  It is, after all, established.  It is uncomfortable for us to push that envelope, to ask that question, but it is downright unprofitable for the establishment when we take that moment to stop in our tracks and ask, “Why?”  A child can quickly test the patience of any adult with one too many questions.  It isn’t very different when adults question other adults.  We just tend not to question, so we lose sight of the fact that, given sufficient questioning, the apparently normal adult might resort to physical violence!  I exaggerated a bit, perhaps, but the truth is that nobody likes to be questioned.

And that is precisely why we must question.  It is how we grow, as individuals and as a species.  It has always been this way.

Fear is ultimately a poor motivator.  Fear causes resentment.  Fear causes hostility.  Fear erodes loyalty.  Fear erodes trust.  Fear promotes selfishness.  Fear promotes greed.  Fear destroys creativity.  Fear destroys hope.

And I have come to learn that hope is one of the most powerful motivators.

Hope leads to affection.  Hope leads to kindness.  Hope builds loyalty.  Hope builds trust.  Hope soothes selfishness.  Hope soothes greed.  Hope nourishes creativity.  Hope destroys fear.

Without hope, the human spirit withers.  Without hope, we cannot thrive.  Instead, we merely exist in the shadow of what could be.  Shadows are cold, dark places.

If the intent is to draw from others that which lies dormant, to tap the hidden potential, then hope cannot be extinguished.  And false hope cannot be sustained.  You can lead someone along for only so long.  Lies reveal themselves.  They demoralize others…and hope is lost.

We must live with the truth and with the very real possibility that every last person in an organization (in any population, really) can rise up to meet any bar that is raised.  What then?  How do you forcibly apply a statistical distribution without tearing at the fabric of everything that they have created on their own?  You don’t.  You can’t.  Without the right foundation, everything crumbles.

Naivete?  Stupidity?  Idealistic self-delusion?

No.  I call it hope.

I am over the goat urge.  I thought that today was supposed to be worse than yesterday.  It wasn’t.  It was actually easier.  Today was all about keeping intake up with burn.  I’m not sure I was entirely successful, but I definitely feel better today.  I’m tired, but that has more to do with going to bed at midnight, getting up at 4:45 AM, and following that up with going to bed at 11:30 then getting up at 4:45 AM once again.  That makes me tired not matter what I am eating.

The lesson today, though, is really about anticipating the worst.  I got myself all worked up last night anticipating that today would be pure HELL.  I anticipated all kinds of strange urges.  I anticipated a Cabinet of Carnage full of wonderful delicacies…pastries, donuts, and bagels…then more donuts, cake, and more cake.  It was empty again today.  I anticipated raging hunger pangs.  I anticipated smelling everyone around me eating lunch at their desks and me tackling someone to get at their styrofoam containers.  That didn’t happen.  I anticipated all kinds of horrible feelings, but none of them, NONE OF THEM, came.

And therein lies the message.

Tomorrow will only be as horrible as you make it.  You can’t possibly KNOW what tomorrow will bring today, so why bother sweating it?  I could have had a more pleasant night last night.  I probably could have gotten more sleep.  Yes, more sleep.  I think that is what I will do tonight.  I will get sleep.  I will not sweat tomorrow.  It will be what it will be, and, tonight, the only impact I can have on tomorrow is to iron my clothes so I don’t have to do it in the morning.  So there.

One of the highlights of the day?  I’m over the goat urge.

The problem that I have always had with goat is that it tastes like goat.  I imagine that if you licked a goat, it would taste like goat milk, goat yogurt, goat cheese, or a goat gyro.  That is the problem that I have always had with goat.  It tastes like goat.

Today, I had the urge to lick a goat.

I think this statement probably requires a little backstory.

Several months ago, my wife finally got the guts to do a detox.  We’d talked about it before.  I’d discussed it with my chiropractor.  She’s the one who finally got the nerve to do it.  Of course, in fashion that truly suits her style, she stumbles across this thing called “The Master Cleanse.”  And, of course, being who she is, she decides to take this path of most resistance and attempt the ten-day cleanse.

Calling it a cleanse is accurate.  It is accurate in ways that I will not explore with you, gentle reader.  Calling it The Master Cleanse may sound like hyperbole, but, truly, it is not.  It is the grandaddy of all cleanses.  Not that I’ve personally undertaken “others.”  However, I am beginning to feel the fury of THE MASTER CLEANSE.

It goes like this: for ten days, you eat nothing.  Instead, you drink lemonade all day long.  Sounds like a plan, no?  The lemons must be fresh.  The water must be purified.  To the lemonade, you add maple syrup.  Not the kind you get at Denny’s, mind you.  This stuff is REAL maple syrup.  It’s called “Grade B” or something like that.  It’s pure, and it doesn’t taste anything like Mrs. Butterworth.  To this concoction, you add cayenne pepper.  That’s right; cayenne pepper.  It’s not a secret recipe, folks.  Just Google it.

So, my wife does The Master Cleanse.  I get it into my thick head that I, too, should like to do The Master Cleanse.  However, the timing isn’t right.  So I wait.  And wait.  And wait.  Until, suddenly, I get the wild hair and decide that I should like to do this Master Cleanse now.  That is where I currently find myself: at the beginning of this ten-day journey.

So, it has been two days.  Two very long days.  I am already beginning to understand the mechanism of hunger.  It is much more psychological than anything else.  You see, the lemonade provides vitamins, minerals, and enough calories to sustain moderate human activity.  I won’t be working out too strenuously these next eight days.  So, I am truly not starving myself.  It’s more like…a less-than-nutritional diet.  Of course, I am not doing this to lose weight.  With day three on the horizon, I am simply trying to stick with it.

Day three is supposed to be the hardest day.  Today was hard.  Luckily, there was no free food on the Cabinet of Carnage at work, the resting place of all leftover food.  Fewer people at the meeting than you thought would come?  Leave the food on the Cabinet of Carnage.  Leftover pizza from a team recognition luncheon?  Leave the food on the Cabinet of Carnage.  A few surplus donuts after that breakfast presentation?  Leave the food on the Cabinet of Carnage.  This is how my world works.  And today, for a change, my vote was cast for an empty cabinet.  One day down, eight more to go.

Do you know what is amazing?  I’ll tell you.  When, for two days, you haven’t eaten anything solid or that doesn’t taste like lemonade with maple syrup and cayenne pepper, you notice how intricately linked your sense of smell is with your sense of taste.  When you breathe deeply enough of any aroma, you can actually taste that which you are smelling.  I came home to the smell of pasta with tomato sauce, and I could literally taste it in my mouth.  You know, the tongue of a snake actually picks particles up from the air.  The tongue is placed in a special organ in the roof of the snake’s mouth commonly referred to as “Jacobson’s Organ.”  I don’t know why.  The organ is actually comprised of two pits in the roof of the mouth.  They are separated, much like our nostrils are.  This is why reptile have forked tongues.  There; don’t say I never learned ya nuthin’.  In essence, they are tasting what they smell.  Or smelling what they taste.  Something like that.  Point being that the two sense are linked.  Intricately linked.  Remember that the next time you stand next to something, or someone, with an unpleasant aroma.

Hence, my goat theory.

With smell quickly replacing taste, I find that all this stuff happens in your brain more so than in the actual parts of your body.  Or, rather, I should say that the processing of these senses happens in the brain.  I know, not a huge or universe-changing revelation, but you become more acutely aware of how your body works when you push it outside normal operating parameters.  And that is precisely what I am discovering: that my physical body is something entirely different from and, perhaps, detached from my conscious self.

Damn, Erin was right.

Unfortunately, my conscious self wants a sandwich.  The only other thing, apart from the lemonade, which I am required to drink and which has a pleasant taste is tea.  Not any tea, of course.  This is a…laxative tea.  Called “Smooth Move.”  Seriously.

My mouth yearns to chew.  My tongue yearns to taste something other than lemonade with maple syrup and cayenne pepper.  And it’s only day two.

I want to lick a goat.

I find myself in a bona fide ethical dilemma.  I’ve obsessed about it over the weekend.  I’ve come up with what appears to be a suitable plan to address it, yet…something still just doesn’t feel right.

I can’t tell if I am over-reacting.  Perhaps I am blowing things out of proportion and just need to relax a bit.  I can’t be the only one who feels the same way I do about this situation.  Everyone else appears to be falling in line, towing the company line.  I am just having a hard time swallowing this.  At times it feels like more than I can stomach.

“Doubt means don’t.”  I’ve heard that before.  That’s usually a pretty good rule of thumb.  I just gave that advice to someone the other day.  If your gut, your intuition, is telling you that something isn’t right, then chances are…it isn’t right.  And this just isn’t right.

I understand that the needs of the many often must out weight the needs of the few.  At times, things have to be done in order to preserve the greater good.  It’s just that it probably doesn’t feel good for the few who get shafted.  

I know what I do for a living.  I know why I am here.  I know why I stuck with this.  I know that I am here to make a difference and to help build careers.  I know that what I do is bigger than me and is a part of a greater fabric.  Someone called me on the phone just this past Thursday to thank me.  For what?  For encouraging them.  For recognizing their effort.  For letting them know that I appreciate the way they go about their work. 

That’s why I am here.  That is why I go to work.

I find myself in a bona fide ethical dilemma.

Today, the question was posed: have you known that you are an artist since the beginning of time?

The immediate answer that sprung to mind: YES!

What is art?  Who determines what qualifies as art?

It wasn’t until the past few days that I realized that any act of creation is art, and that creation is in my blood.  My experience in working with other human beings over the years has taught me that everyone yearns to engage in that act, the act of creation.  To one extent or another, we are all artists.

When we are young, we believe we can create anything.  We believe that the world is ours for the molding.  Then, we get older and that goes away.  I’ve talked about that many times.  I maintain that it is true.  However, I reserve the right to change my ideas, and recent events have indeed changed my mind.  I believe that the yearning to create does not go away.  Like so many other aspects of our childhood, both good and bad, it buries itself deep behind the masks and facades of the adult ego.  From the recesses of our psyches, it contributes when it can.

In my life, it is time to change that situation.  Suddenly, there is a piece of my soul stirring after many, many years.  It is a piece to a puzzle that seems to make a little more sense every day.  Every day, I create.  I want to create more.  I want to create in different ways.  There are so many ways to create.  First, words.  Now what?  Smells are strong triggers of memory.  Few things smell as good to me as a freshly-opened box of pencils.  2H.  6B.  F.  

I found the pencil sharpener I used to sharpen my sketching pencils with when I was in high school.  High school, yo.

I lied to Mrs. Juliano the last time I saw her.  I told her that I was going to take a class at the Art Institute of Chicago.  I wanted to, really.  I think I even believed that I would…some day.  But the truth is that I told her I was going to when I knew that I wouldn’t.  I’ve never forgotten that lie.

Well, Mrs. Juliano, wherever you are, it may not be at the AIC but class begins on Monday.

It never ceases to amaze me how much some people love their own ideas.  Conversely, they seem to hate everyone else’s.

This is foreign to me.  I seldom find myself rejecting someone else’s ideas without at least listening to their rationale first.  If the idea is completely abhorrent to you, wouldn’t there be value in understanding the “why” behind the other side’s point of view?  Dunno; maybe not.  Maybe I am an idiot, a sucker, who allows himself to get pulled into the ideas of others.  I do so with the intent of mining whatever wisdom might be found there.  That’s just how I work.

I can live with people who don’t feel the same way I do.  Not a problem.  It would be a tad hypocritical not to!  My struggle lies in the need for some to ensure that others understand that they disagree.  I’ve heard of them referred to as “vampires” because they seek to suck the life out of others.  I find that such an accurate analogy.  I have to give Chris Guillebeau credit for it.  Check out his “279 Days to Overnight Success” manifesto on his website http://chrisguillebeau.com/3×5/overnight-success/.  Good stuff.  However, I digress.  The point is that I have a hard time trying to figure out what to do with people like this.  My Ego screams for verbal retribution.  I am clever.  I have good ideas.  I am smart.  Why not attack them back?  Then, a higher sense of self chimes in and reminds me that it doesn’t matter.  Let others speak their piece.  Again, more wisdom from Chris Guillebeau: don’t take it personally.  His advice is echoed elsewhere across the internets by those who make a living sharing their ideas.

So, I welcome the challenges.  They make me richer.  I have figured that much out.  Engaging in the debate might not always turn out well, but the process is what is most important.  It’s the journey, not the destination, as the cliche goes, right?  

Still, I can’t help but chuckle when the vampires who love their own ideas come out.  

Narcissus would be proud.

Sometimes, I have to sit through goofy stuff at work.  I’m talking about the kind of touchy-feely, woo-woo stuff that one would think I would like, but often turns out to totally miss the mark.  Those are hours of my life that I will never get back.  Of course, I really don’t feel that strongly about it because, after all, when is any experience not a learning experience?

Sometimes, though, I sit through a “feel good” sort of meeting and come away with a real insight that resonates with me and bounces around inside my head for hours afterward.  That happened today.

When today’s meeting was over and done with, I walked away feeling a little differently about the other leaders in my part of the company.  Most of the people I met today were people I hadn’t met before.  It drove home the fact that I work for a large company.  It also drove home the fact that this organization is filled with many undiscovered connections.  There are opportunities to reach out and do something different.  Like I said, this isn’t anything new.  There wasn’t a new batch of recruits indoctrinated into the corporation.  What was different was my perspective.  I chose to look at these people with different eyes, to listen with different ears.  And what I saw and heard…well, I guess I liked.

What does that mean for me?  I haven’t quite figured that out.  Maybe nothing.  Maybe something.  I just feel compelled to contemplate this, and, perhaps, do something with it.  

Today, I committed to begin a “work gratitude” journal.  Perhaps, I begin there.