Sea of Blue

 

A lifetime ago, when I was brand new - entering a fledgling profession in an impossible environment, I walked into a sea of blue. Industry icons even then, if you wore the patch then it meant something. It meant you were expected to be resourceful, thick-skinned and better at your job than the average person. If you could manage those things, you found yourself standing on pillars of strength found nowhere else, and a wall of blue at your back when you needed it the most. If you could not manage those things ... well then you would either get better or get out.

It's all well and good to talk about "the good old days" but they weren't better or worse than now, just a different dynamic and a different generation. Because we were forced to work without a lot of resources, we made our own - we were our own. You did not have unit tracking, you had peers who could reserve a portion of their brain just for keeping track of where all the other units were - if you called for help someone had paid attention. If you were going to a disreputable location, there was no concern that you would be alone - another truck would slide silently up and wait quietly outside, just in case. If you screwed up (and we all did), you faced the gauntlet of blue that let you know in no uncertain terms that what you had done was not about you - but a reflection on everyone dressed just like you. And that ladies and gentlemen, was simply not acceptable.

We were the leaders in the field, the state. We didn't go to conferences, we hosted them. We wore our battle scars proudly, demonstrating clinical expertise that was hard won. It didn't matter what the outside world thought, because we knew what we had to do to get through each shift and we expected the person sitting next to us to do no less. It was a fraternity where the expectation was excellence and being a part of it meant you had earned some swagger.

If you wore the patch it meant something.

Time marches on and with it comes change. The generations and priorities change, procedures and practices change even though the job itself does not. Frustration from within and without takes its toll, and apathy and exhaustion erode even the strongest landscapes. Faces come and go in rapid succession and the old guard is too weary to lift its head to invest, the bar begins to lower under the weight of having to carry all these strong spirits faced with adversity from all sides.

Over time it has lost its meaning, becoming merely part of your uniform and no longer a facet of your professional identity. We have been looking for meaning that has been lost, buried under a pile of bureaucracy and trapped in the throes of a struggling institution. Despite all that, the job has not changed and neither has the patch - the morale and camaraderie is a completely different story. In losing that we lose our pride and some of our strength.

When Billy said he wanted a team in the METI games, it's nothing we hadn't considered before. Previous feelers met with apathy and this is something you cannot force people into doing (except maybe for Glenn Vogel). Then we got contacted by OEMS who said that they had almost no competitors registered and would any of the projects step up to help. Shortly after he put the email out asking for interest, I got contacted privately by someone who was interested. It was not someone I would have considered as being interested, but they said they felt that this is just the thing that would be a "shot in the arm" for the department and they wanted to throw their hat in and try.

Before we knew it, we had eight teams willing to give it a shot and the games were on. All of a sudden it was the topic heard everywhere; with us trash talking on the inside and the people on the outside looking on in absolute surprise. We were the buzz around the state ... and not for a bad reason.

These guys came on their own time to practice, studying protocols and doing sequences over and over again, trying to do it better each time. And with each passing week, there was more support from both inside and out. NorthSTAR opened the hanger and spent hours working with their simulator and then with the teams, working together and bridging the natural distance that often happens between us and the flight team - even though we all wear the same patch.

As this week grew closer the support became even more palpable, people long gone who had worn the patch offering words of encouragement and support and resurrecting the sense of pride that we all once shared.

Thursday morning, with the sun barely over the horizon, the gallery opened for orientation. When Billy and I walked in there what we saw was a sea of blue. Eagerly clustered around the simulator, they mauled it and hammered the technicians with questions. I'm certain it was overwhelming to the other teams, I know I would be.

Professional, squared away, obviously taking this seriously. As Bill and I stepped back and looked on, an unbelievable amount of pride swelled up in me. One of the people from the state came and stood by us to watch for a moment. We said to him, "those are our kids." He looked at all the blue, all those patches moving over the simulator and all he could say was "That's really f***ing cool." He's right, it really was - and we hadn't even competed yet.

The rest of the day was a blur, a flurry of non-stop activity. As we were learning the flow and preparing the first team to go on, as I was pinning the mic to Joe Sapienza's chest I kidded that it was like getting your kids ready to go to prom. It really was more like working backstage at a Broadway show, with so many teams we had to get them out, restocked and the next ones set up and in, ready to go.

When the first team went on it was a new experience for every one of us and we had no idea what to expect. As they moved through the scenario, I don't think we could have grinned any wider. It was immensely satisfying to watch our guys go in there and settle in and roll with each quirk of the simulator and the situation presented. Supporters moved in and out of the viewing gallery all day. Dr. Scott made it a point to stay for every team; her grin was even bigger than ours. By the end of the day the viewing gallery was packed. As teams came out the sea of blue would roar to life in support, team photos and smiles all around. They mingled with the other teams, making new friends and proving that we're not unapproachable or anti-social.

Team Honey Badger set the mannequin on fire. Brick City Medics electrocuted it and made a pretty light show. The Little Bricks threw the wrench in the works by speaking to the hostile bystanders in Spanish. Team Angina held it together in the face of some unprofessional behavior and provided awesome BLS care. Every single team went out there and did their best; it was obvious and great to watch. The whole day will be one of my best career memories.

At the end of the day, two of our BLS teams occupied spots in the finals. While the ALS teams did not place, the judges said that the scores were extremely close and the results were determined by a matter of mere points. With only a few weeks to prepare, no simulator experience and wearing the patch, we were absolutely a force to be reckoned with and the mark of it was present throughout the competition and the conference.

The feeling has carried over - there was new life in everyone there. The M*A*S*H Bash was a blast, everyone enjoyed themselves and as we clustered in the back hallway for group photos it occurred to me that we have not had such department pride in years. The words of support and encouragement we have received from alumni, friends and professionals all over have been amazing. We have had compliments from vendors, officials, outside agencies and individuals. We are back on the professional map after a long silence, and it is all due to the work and absolute courage it took our eight teams to step into that arena or onto that stage and perform under the microscope of peers and beyond. I salute each and every one of you and you will never realize how much it meant to me personally and I'm sure Billy as well - to see us carry it through with such success.

You wear the patch. It means something again. Thank you.

To the rest of the state?

See you next year ... yeah baby, that's what I'm talking about.

The sounds of silence.

Doubtful Sound, New Zealand
Photo by Sue Lovell

The human sense often associated with the word "chaos" is hearing.  Say the word and sound associations occur - screaming children, wailing women, swords clanging, protestors in a raging debate, explosions, shattering glass, twisting metal shrieking as it dies, the auditory backdrop for the end of days. 

My life, my job, my forte' ... chaos.  With that chaos comes the soundtrack - dogs barking, kids fighting, phones ringing, keys clacking, computer chiming, music playing, sirens blaring, multiple radios squawking, it goes on and on.  If those sounds are not sorted properly through the filter of my psyche - my mood, my level of interest and enthusiasm and fatigue, then it becomes less of a backdrop and more of an assault.  If I cannot translate the daily cacophony into a functional tapestry then those threads fray and snap, shredding my nerve endings into a fragile, tangled mass of stress. 

I have found that the older I get, the more I crave quiet.

For so long I have been functioning at an exhaustive pace, I rarely have time to notice just how much noise there is around me.  The audio melange is just part of what amounts to daily life and is a necessary evil, or is it?  Look at what I found about noise on a Yoga instructors site:

Sound 101

"Since the mid 1940s, music has been used as a therapeutic tool to address a wide variety of physical and emotional conditions. Much data proves that the vibrational frequencies produced by sound waves have a subtle influence on everything from mood to health, giving new respect to the ancient healers who apparently knew this intuitively. Over the past decade, an entire industry has developed around recordings of whales singing, waves pounding ashore, and the calls of rain-forest birds, as well as countless recordings of contemplative music designed to move your meditation and yoga practice forward.
 
What we perceive as sounds are actually measurable vibrations moving through the air in waves that emanate from the source. Like ripples from a rock dropped into still water, sound waves produce patterns of regular peaks, whose rate of repetition defines the sound’s frequency. Frequencies detectable by humans range from 20 hertz to about 20 kilohertz and zero to 130 decibels. Research shows that both higher, uncomfortable sounds, and lower, inaudible frequencies, impact concentration, heart rate, stress levels, ability to focus, and sense of well-being. Sounds above 80 decibels, such as power tools and traffic jams, cause responses ranging from the stress hormone adrenaline being released by the brain to accelerated heart rate and psychological distress.
 
In contrast, sounds in the low ranges can produce the release of neurochemicals that lead to an ‘alpha state’, characterized by a heightened sense of well-being, calmness, lowered heart rate, and deeper focus. It is this desirable state so often sought by practitioners of meditation."

Especially in recent months, I can fully appreciate this information.  My patience with circumstances is close to legendary, however I am finding that I can be triggered to anger almost instantly with sound.  The dogs who never shut up, the kids bursting into a screaming argument, phone jangling along the nerves at work, a dozen conversations hitting you at once.  It is almost as if at this period in my life I spend my waking time operating at the threshold of my breaking point, instead of well below it, and it simply takes the right sound to push me over that rational edge. 

I don't recall it always being that way, I've lived and thrived in noisy environments my whole life - is it a process of aging or just emotional fatigue?  It is not like I do not invoke noise when the mood suits me.  I love laughter, I sing loud and off-key to any number of artists in my car, there is everything from baroque chamber music to bagpipes to Katy Perry to black metal piping through my family's life at any given time.  However at this point in my life, I find that I have developed an absolute need for periods of quiet.

With an hour+ average commute, I spend a lot of time in my car. When discussing the pros and cons of driving I am often asked, "What do you listen to?"  The answer very often, frankly is "nothing."  I get in the car and shut everything off.  I am left solely with my thoughts and the hum of the engine.

But it isn't "nothing" - not be a long stretch.  I am listening to myself, playing through the events of the day or looking ahead to tasks for the day.  I am playing out conversations in my head with loved ones that I know I should have but likely never will.  I am writing eulogies for people who aren't dead and acceptances for awards not yet earned.  I am creating snappy comebacks for conversations long ended where I didn't know what to say, or answers to interview questions that I failed to prepare fully for.

Because I am listening to myself and not the external barrage of sounds and thoughts not my own, I can act and not REact.  I find that my nerves settle and I can relax.  I notice the things around me, the wildflowers on the shoulder of the highway, the young deer grazing in the predawn mist, hawks floating in lazy circles on thermals high above me - feathers splayed like fingertips, stroking the invisible currents like strings of an ethereal harp.  I think in narrative and write whole segments about vibrant characters and emotional topics ... that never make it to a page.

Once I am done listening to myself, then and only then can I sort out the sounds of life around me and  put them where they belong - sorting each thread in my head and seeing how they weave themselves into a fabric which I can either allow to stifle me, or carry me like a  magic carpet over the obstacles of my life like in the stories told so long ago ... when there was less noise to listen to, words carried further.

So when I ask you to be quiet, is it for me - or for you?  What do you listen to?

Too many words, not enough hours.

It's been over two years since I put anything here.  It does not mean that I do not have the words, or the means ... it's just that there is so much in my head most of the time that a lot of it never makes it to my hands.

My supporters feel this is a bad thing, so even though nobody looks here - perhaps this will be a good tool for me to start getting more of the narration in my head onto the virtual page.  Because I do have a narration in my head, I write third person descriptions for the myriad of vignettes I see every day.  All the little details that make up my life end up in paragraphs that I review and edit in my head, usually while I'm doing one of my commutes.

And there they stay.  Maybe that's good but when visited by the shadow of mortality, everyone wants an echo.

Even if it only lasts a little while.

Imagine a Woman

(This hangs above my desk, so I get to read it every day.  It holds the wishes for myself, as well as those dear to me.)

Imagine a woman who believes it is right and good she is woman.
A woman who honors her experience and tells her stories.
Who refuses to carry the sins of others within her body and life.

Imagine a woman who trusts and respects herself.
A woman who listens to her needs and desires.
Who meets them with tenderness and grace.

Imagine a woman who acknowledges the past's influence on the present.
A woman who has walked through her past.
Who has healed into the present.

Imagine a woman who authors her own life.
A woman who exerts, initiates, and moves on her own behalf.
Who refuses to surrender except to her truest self and wisest voice.

Imagine a woman who names her own gods.
A woman who imagines the divine in her image and likeness.
Who designs a personal spirituality to inform her daily life.

Imagine a woman in love with her own body.
A woman who believes her body is enough, just as it is.
Who celebrates her body's rhythms and cycles as an exquisite resource.

Imagine a woman who honors the body of the Goddess in her changing body.
A woman who celebrates the accumulations of her years and her wisdom.
Who refuses to use her life-energy disguising the changes in her body and life.

Imagine a woman who values the women in her life.
A woman who sits in circles of women.
Who is reminded of the truth about herself when she forgets.

Imagine yourself as this woman.

~ by Patricia Lynn Reilly

Here's to Stormy Weather!

"The spirit of resistance to government is so valuable on certain occasions, that I wish it to be always kept alive. It will often be exercised when wrong, but better so than not to be exercised at all. I like a little rebellion now and then. It is like a storm in the atmosphere."

~ Thomas Jefferson, in a letter to Abigail Adams ( February 22, 1787)

It is no great secret that I am a history buff, I actually heard a great explanation for why that may be so the other day.  "History is just the recording of a bunch of ordinary people, trying to make choices - just like we do.  Except now we know how they turn out."  That may be true, but only up to a point.  As time goes by we seem to be developing into a society that does not make choices, because choices come with consequences and those we absolutely do not want.

I just spent a long time working with someone who did not make decisions out of fear that he might be found wrong.  So every choice waited until every risk was weighed, measured, anticipated and defeated.  And if that did not happen, then neither did the decision.  It did not make him safe, it made him ineffective.  I do not want a professional or personal life like that.

Every year I advocate reading something by the Founding Fathers, even the obscure ones, and what you will find is that they were in fact a lot like us.  They had fear and debt, they missed their wives and families, everything they did - every decision they made, put them at a level of risk like nothing you or I ever face today.  Some were obnoxious, some eloquent and all worked toward a common purpose (even if they had a personal agenda as well).  However there is a common theme that you will see as you thumb through Jefferson, Franklin, Washington, Adams, etc ...

They all feared the power of their new government if the people did not stay educated to its purpose and involved in its execution.  Not the politicians ... the people, you and I.

Today is a holiday that is all ours - take some of that free time you have today, and educate yourself.  If the past bugs you, read the present.  Educate yourself on what's happening in your town, your state, your economy.  If you don't like it, don't bitch - resist.  Yes, one person's voice is small - but it only takes one person's signature to sign a bill into law, or to veto one as well.

In an atmosphere where kids can't win or lose - just participate, where they can't pass or fail, where you can't say something is wrong or bad, where we want to medicate everyone to a midline and forget that life is a rollercoaster with peaks and valleys for a reason ... be the lightning that says the weather can and will change, whether you want it to or not.

Happy Independence Day my friends - stay stormy!

What does it take?

"The world needs anger.  The world often continues to allow evil because it isn't angry enough."  ~  Bede Jarrett

With the sounds of yesterday's gun shots still echoing in my head, and pages full of dead cops and little girls starved to death, I'm afraid I'm a little foul-tempered and unfiltered today.  A generation of concessions and platitudes hasn't created a kinder, gentler world - it's hollowed out the foundation and created a rickety structure barely able to hold its roof up.  As any good pagan will tell you, dichotomy defines the world - without it you have imbalance and chaos.  There is no day without night, black without white, success without failure - one defines the other.

So to function in a world without failure, without adequate consequence, without the ability to accept and process loss, cripples our psyches and creates this sickly, weak atmosphere where it is considered better to patronize and console than it is say something is wrong.  The point of "constructive" criticism is to construct - to build.  We do not build anymore, we survive.

It's not ok.

Mirror mirror

"Remember upon the conduct of each depends the fate of all." ~ Alexander the Great


The next time a family member gets defensive the minute you walk in the door, or a nurse barely conceals the fact she doesn't trust your report, or the EMT or Medic you're meeting on scene disregards you, change your thinking.

Instead of "what a jerk," think "I wonder what jerk taught them that I don't know what I'm doing.  Oh yeah, probably the one that came before me - dressed just like me."

Then redefine their perception with your actions, for you are simply a reflection and what you do speaks of us all.

Johnny's Mug

This is a nice coffee mug.  In my house it is known as "Mommy's cup" and is usually the first item I reach for in the quest to become functional each day.  It is a decent size, solid, and feels good in my hand.  The marbled blue is unlike anything else in my kitchen so it's easy to spot.  What you can no longer see is the stylized silver dragon design that once resided atop the sea of navy blue.  A beautifully done logo that became the unfortunate casualty to years of me wrapping my hands around it each day.  As you may have figured out about me by now, most of the things I keep have a story and this nondescript coffee cup is no exception.  It is a reminder of good experiences and good people, met in unusual circumstances and maintained to the present day.

I spent the better part of a decade ensconced in the computer gaming world.  First as a player and then as more.  As a result I met some wonderful people, from around the country and across the pond.  As is the way of such things, some became and remained friends and some faded when the last screen name was changed and the virtual cord was cut.

These are people I spent countless hours with, even if it was via the screen.  Who knew me as well as anyone else - knew what I liked, ate, what made me sad.  The faceless medium allows for such extremes in character that you can either build a person you're not, or be excruciatingly honest because there is nobody to see you cry. 

If you've never been involved in such things all I can say in this brief note is that yes, many of the stereotypes are true - watch enough "Big Bang Theory" and you'll be able to keep up,  These are people who are brilliant, with razor wits and depths of wicked creativity that are fathomless. To build entire worlds out of words, worlds that you can lose yourself in, imaginary realms that evoke visceral responses with a matter of sentences - no small feat.

Once a year this motley group of intellectuals would flock to St Louis for a conference - and for that brief period of time you would see the face behind the keys.  Granted, a lot of them got together and ... gamed in person.  (No innuendo there folks, it's a well known fact that if you put gamers together and add a board/video/card/dice game - they'll do it.  Quite pathological really.)  The costume ball is usually fabulous to watch and during the events you get to meet people who are just truly passionate about their chosen vice or career.  Not to mention the fact that it totally debunks the myth that gamers can't/don't socialize, they do too know how to - they just do it differently.  You haven't lived until you've drank from a day-glo test tube that came off the bandolier of a costumed Thief.  But I digress ...

Very late one night at one of these conferences a group of us were sitting in some random hotel hallway outside of the meeting rooms.  I no longer remember why we were hanging out on the floor, just one of those things.  But I can remember the carpet and the lighting and just leaning against the wall.  I was sitting next to my friend Johnny and laughing, but then again - you can't be around Johnny very long and *not* laugh.

Johnny is one of those wickedly smart people who also has a fabulous sense of humor and timing.  His virtual presence is as entertaining as his physical one and I always enjoyed time spent with him or interacting with him.  He feels things so strongly and dramatically, he doesn't wear his heart on his sleeve, it his whole tailored-to-fit designer jacket and it's the first thing he will hand you.  Especially if you need it.  That night was just one of those perfect storms, the mood was right and everyone was just sober enough to engage in hysterical conversation and I sat next to him and laughed until I was incapacitated.  It was an excellent way to end a great day.

The whole time, he was nursing the last of his coffee out of this navy blue mug with a beautiful silver Gemstone design on it.  I made mention that I thought it was gorgeous and without a second thought he handed it to me.  I protested of course, but he insisted and it came home with me and has been at my right hand ever since.

It is well over ten years since that night on the floor.  I left the gaming arena, though not everyone in it.  It wasn't until FB really that we intersected again and I get a regular window into his life.  He is still as funny and passionate as I remember and when he is having a rough time of things, like we all do, I wish there was something more I could do to bolster him up and remind him of that which is good - in him and because of him.  Sometimes we need a reminder of all the lives that we touch, even in small ways, as we go through our day doing what we think of as insignificant or unimportant things.

Our lives are different, we live in different worlds on different coasts and other than a few wisps of text each day there is not much tether between us.  Yet every day that I wrap my hands around my mug, appreciating the warmth that's transferred to my creaky joints, he crosses my mind - a friendly, familiar touch from my past that makes me smile and ultimately reminds me of all the other good things from that time too.

So Johnny ... this one's for you!

Barometer

“I've come to the frightening conclusion that I am the decisive element in the classroom. It's my daily mood that makes the weather. As a teacher, I possess a tremendous power to make a child's life miserable or joyous. I can be a tool of torture or an instrument of inspiration. I can humiliate or humor, hurt or heal. In all situations, it is my response that decides whether a crisis will be escalated or de-escalated and a child humanized or de-humanized." ~ Dr. Haim Ginott

I am not in the best of moods today and just came across this.  It speaks volumes to personal responsibility and knowing the effect you have on those around you.  If you are familiar with the FISH principles then one of the tenets is that you make your mood, not your job.

I think Dr. Ginott's lesson here certainly applies to the classroom, but I think that it also applies to the workplace.  To lead is not necessarily to be a leader.