The Mind Body Connection

Working out at the WG Rec Center this afternoon, we were joined by one of the firehouse crews who arrived in their ladder truck and ambulance, so obviously still on their shift. As I was circling the room waiting for Carolyn, who had been interrupted by a phone call, to finish, I thanked some of them. I jokingly noted to one that on TV, responder houses all have cool tricked out weight rooms. Apparently the WG house has a small one, but not enough for the whole crew to get in a workout. I realized that maintaining physical conditioning is really a job requirement for first responders. 

My mind drifted, as it is wont to do these days, back to a dispute that roiled the high school for a few weeks over the issue of teachers working out (by walking the track) during their conference period. The principal at the time, in what I think was more about power than principle, insisted that teachers needed to be in their rooms or the workroom during their conference hour. Granted, this was before cell phones, but it was also before classroom telephones. I can’t imagine it would have been any more difficult to get a teacher from the track than his/her classroom. That was one of the arguments we made, but this was a fight we were destined to lose; the price of winning would have been too high.

While I would never try to argue that the physical demands of teaching (only those who have never taught can believe that it’s a sedentary profession) are equivalent to those of first responders, I would maintain they are significant enough that physical activity, and its mental by-products, would have been more beneficial than sitting in a classroom, waiting for an unscheduled summons or phone call. I know that when I walk my mind is as busy as my body. And while I wasn’t much (okay, even that’s an exaggeration) into exercise then, I tried serve as an advocate for those who believed they would benefit. It is why forward-thinking companies today recognize the need for the mind-body connections that exercise brings.

Liars Not So Anonymous: Trump and My Mother

I know a thing or two about lying and liars. Not just because I taught for 35+ years and heard more than my fair share when it came to excuses for any number of behaviors. And not because I was a guidance counselor for 6+ years and occasionally had to confront a student about the disconnect between what they were saying and what they were doing.

No, my experience with lying came from my familial upbringing. My mother had, shall we say, a casual, occasionally nodding, acquaintance with the truth. You know, you pass someone on the street and they look sort of familiar, so you kind of nod? That was her approach to the truth. Never tell it if there’s a lie available.

Anecdote #1, typical. She wanted to know how much a house was selling for on her street. She called the relator listed on the sign, then launched into a long, totally fictitious, story about uncles and nieces looking for houses, all under an alias. My brother and I were frequently tasked with answering the phone and lying for her if it was someone she didn’t want to talk to. I think Caller ID might have freed us from this sinful habit.

And a habit it is, one that I unfortunately picked up and had a difficult time overcoming, although I pride myself on having done so. Anecdote #2, personal. My college roommate and I were hitchhiking to Buffalo to visit a high school friend and classmate of mine. It’s upstate New York in the winter, snowy, cold and unpleasant. My friend went to college in Buffalo, but a smaller school, not Buffalo University, which is what we put on our sign to indicate both that we were students and our destination. 

We got a ride pretty quickly, and the driver asked, reasonably, if we went to Buffalo University. I immediately channeled my mother and answered, “Yes.” The next hour and a half consisted of my making up stuff about a school I’d never been to and knew nothing about. When our ride dropped us off in Rochester, my roommate looked at me and said, “What the ¶¢∞ª was that about?” Shaking my head, I confessed, “I don’t know.” That was an early, painfully embarrassing, lesson, but for years it was one day at a time.

My mother was so compulsive in her lying that she started to believe her lies and thus became quite good at revisionist history, at least on a personal level. That, of course, begs the question, “Is it lying if the liar believes what (s)he is saying, even if the rest of the world knows the truth is something not only different but verifiably different?” I don’t have the answer to that, but it is why I have been loath to accuse the current president of lying, because I think he always believes what he’s saying, even if it’s completely different than what he said the day, or week, or month, or year before.

I don’t know if there’s a cure, exactly, but Step 1 on the program is admitting you have a problem. Other steps including admitting you were/are wrong and asking forgiveness. I’m less than optimistic that any of these steps are on the agenda of our current president.