Andrea posts today about two issues dear (or rather not so dear) to my heart. And in my mind they are related because they reflect the traditional competitive and controlling attitude that old-guard males tend to bring to both creation and recreation. In the workplace, it’s manifested as the ‘old-boy’ network and the old ‘X’ management style. In sports and physical fitness, it becomes ‘be better than everyone else at any cost so that you/we can win’ rather than ‘be the best you can be and have fun with the becoming.’
I like physical activity. I will stay on the dance floor until my hair’s a sweaty hank and my legs and arms feel like rubber. But I refused to take gym in high school and I flunked it one year in college. Having to compete ruins it all for me. It becomes just more work, more pressure, more stress. Physical activity is supposed to relieve stress. I’ve never been physically strong or prone to enjoy competing. That’s why I like dancing (mostly ballroom) so much. It relies on grace and cooperation and is a great stress reliever –as long as you don’t get caught up the competition circle that the dance studios promote.
That said, I’m not saying that people shouldn’t compete in sports if they want to. It is, after all a great way to release the effects of all that testosterone. I’m just saying that equal value should be given to engaging in sports or dance or any other physical activity for the sheer fun of it. I remember when b!X was somewhere around ten or eleven years old and I was working in the office responsible for the State Library and State Archives, the staff of those two organizations got together for a ‘pick-up’ softball game once a week all summer. Kids were welcome to play as well, and so I opted to play on the Library team. The only rule was that we played until it got dark and then we all went out for pizza. We sort of kept score, but there was a lot of leeway given to the younger kids and lightweights like me. Exercise, camaraderie, encouragement, fun. That’s my kind of sport.

This is my brain. Well, not really my brain. It’s sort of my skull. With my sinuses. The sinuses that have given me trouble all of my life, but no one — until now — ever figured out that I have a badly deviated septum (and resulting sinus blockage), a situation that I’m going to have surgically remedied on July 11. It’s out-patient surgery — in in the morning, out in the afternoon. There are some risks, the doctor tells me, since my deviations are pretty high up — near my eyes (those large round empty places in the X-ray). But the risk factor is very small, he says. Of course, the sinuses are also right next to the brain, so they have to be careful there, too. He has to tell me that. It’s the law.
And, since they have to give me a general anesthetic and they’re going to be poking around some dangerously delicate areas, I have to have a ‘Living Will,’ just in case I wind up a vegetable, I guess. Boy, that would sure pull the rug out from under some of my family members. Heh.
I haven’t had that many surgeries — the birth of my kids, a couple of fibrous cysts, the ankle I broke badly four years ago. I didn’t have to have a Living Will those times. Maybe it’s my age now. Maybe it’s the thing about the brain.
Oh well. I’ll either be breathing really well or not breathing at all. Even the breathing well option will take a couple of weeks, what with the splint and the packing and all. At least I’ll have a good excuse to hole up by myself for a while — which, after the kind of day I had today, I will really welcome.