By Steve Seinberg
It’s been a long, quiet period for me here at the blog.
“Why so silent?” you may be wondering…
Well, first of all, I’d been doing this personal transformation program that lasted for 4+ months, and the deeper we got into it, the more intense and demanding it became. On the one hand, this was draining and maddening. On the other hand, though, this is actually where the value in it was to be found, because it’s the stuff you have to fight for that’s usually the stuff that’s most worth having, right?
So yeah, I got some fantastic growth out of the process, some tremendous clarity, some tools, skills, self-realization, and a ton of super-gratifying connections with some of the greater humans I’ve met in a really long while. It was a truly spectacular experience, all in all.
It just didn’t leave me much time for blogging.
And then immediately after graduating from the program last weekend…bronchitis.
I have an odd relationship with this particular ailment. It’s like it’s “my” illness.
Have you ever had bronchitis? It’s exhausting. There can be fever associated with it, and fever brings along its own little street-gang of symptoms: body aches, the sweats, the chills, the bizarre dreams of a certain sepia-toned, internally-narrated quality that I only get when I’m running a high body temperature…
But there’s also the cough. If bronchitis were a baseball team, then the cough would be its home-run hitter. The cough is just ridiculous. It can take on this terrible wheezing flavor that leaves the cougher feeling like a windsock in a hurricane, about to be turned completely inside out. I’ve actually pulled muscles from bronchitis-spawned coughing fits, leaving my ribcage feeling like I was rammed by a runaway water buffalo.
I even have a theory about why bronchitis haunts me in particular… When my dad was 7, his own father died of pneumonia. This happened just as humanity was producing its earliest batches of the wonder drug we know today as penicillin. Unfortunately for my grandfather, when his case of pneumonia landed, penicillin hadn’t yet been approved for use beyond the ranks of the armed forces. A civilian like him wasn’t yet in the running for this new miracle treatment, and so he expired young, unable to turn back the ravages of his lung-based malady.
And I came along a few decades later, named for him in Hebrew by my Jewish parents, and then I grew up to be repeatedly afflicted with another respiratory ailment. In short…I suspect this is some kind of karmic thing I’m going through. Like, maybe the Universe is trying to walk me through some of my paternal grandfather’s big steps in life, only medicine has advanced enough that I’m not giving in to the lung stuff when the pattern feels I should. So it keeps trying, and I keep defying it, and I get to blow a couple of weeks almost every year doubled over in coughing position during each new go-round. Like now, for instance…
Anyway, the point is, I got really busy, my blogging dried up, and then just as I was finally getting a little bit less busy, I got sick.
But in the spirit of true intention and manifestation, I’ve decided to trade the sick part in, too. Now, I’m not going to be sick. I’m going to be writerly. Part of what I learned in that 4+ months of transformation work is that I get to be a writer…and as Billy Crystal taught us in “Throw Momma from the Train,” a writer writes…always.
So stay tuned. Arrow In Flight is heating back up, and you’re invited to the bonfire!