lab rats & change

Being in a clinical drug study (like I am right now) shows you a lot about people. And yourself. Which makes sense 'cause you're a person, too.

One of the most notable items of note so far is people's handling of change. There are two distinct groups in here: we volunteers ("lab rats") and the clinical staff team ("evil scientists"--just kidding, they're pretty nice scientists. Plus, no one calls us "lab rats," I just thought it sounded dramatic). For the staff, the environment here is the opposite of change--routine. In fact, it's the most time-exact, repetitive, controlled kind of routine I've ever seen, and it has need to be since they're trying to measure the minute difference between the only element of change introduced into the whole shebang: a generic drug's journey through the blood stream vs. a name brand's.

For we volunteers, the environment here is an abrupt upheaval from "normalcy." We can't go outside for about 40 hours (I'm looking longingly out the window at Rt. 705 and Van Voorhis). We have to wear hospital scrubs the whole time. We have to wake up at the butt crack of dawn--literally; when I woke up this morning I was surprised to look toward the east and see an enormous butt in the sky. I always wondered why they called it the butt crack of dawn! For the entire first morning we have to sit up, not cross our feet, drink no water and visit no bathroom (unless it's an emergency). Blood gets taken from our bodies at a dizzying rate. We have so much time there's not enough books or Internet-ready devices to fill it all (hence my recent increased blogging rate).

These two groups represent to me the two ends of the spectrum for the way we deal with change in life. I've met people who are so afraid of change and so addicted to custom that they absolutely lose it if traffic makes them 5 minutes behind schedule. They want a quiet, regular life. Who can blame them? And I've met people who are so terrified of sitting still and so thrilled with sailing on that they go nuts if there's not some new travel plan each weekend. They want a spontaneous, adventurous life. Who can blame them?

Which are you?

Just kidding: that question is invalid. Life is not a dichotomy. There's a whole range in between. I rather fancy myself in the middle, perhaps a bit more on the side requiring some shifting scenery.

But I still crave my still moments, days, and weeks, and I actually need them to keep myself healthy...and ready for unexpected change.

verbosity

Humans are verbose.

Much of life is little conversations. Conversations over coffee, over lunch, over dinner. Philosophical musing on a porch, rocking or swinging lazily. Mandatory work meeting conversation. Conversations about co-workers... with other co-workers. Chit-chat while waiting for a bus with someone. Admonishment from one's own life experience when observing another one's imminent poor decision. Sports talk. Money talk. Church talk. Family talk. Nerd speak (one of which I'm particularly fond).

Life has moments without spoken words, moments of silence. Even then, there's often a conversation going on in one's own mind: 'What am I going to wear today?' 'What do I want to eat?' 'He always looks at me the weirdest way.' 'I miss my grandpa.' Reflection is wonderful, but it's still a conversation of sorts. Blogging itself fills the world with more words.

Very little of life (it seems to me) consists in pure action. Digging a hole for a fence post, perhaps. Fixing the plumbing (though that often is accompanied by curses under one's breath). A firefighter running out of a burning house with a little girl in his arms.

I wonder what it would be like if we could infuse a little more pure silence into our routines? I'm not necessarily referring to traditional views of meditation. I guess I simply mean... listening. Stopping. Ceasing. Being still. Looking for a circumstance that requires no words. That goes deeper than words, mere constructs, 'place holders,' can properly express. Discovering something new, something indefinable, unutterable. 'The thing itself' as Bonhoeffer (or Kant) would say.

I wonder...