Corn Chips Give Me Brain fog

And Why I Wear a Mask

Part One:

I have a chronic illness. Thankfully, it's under control, or mostly, at any rate. It went undiagnosed for decades, as I got sicker and sicker, until my immune system was so severely compromised all I could do was lie on the couch.

What does this have to do with corn chips or wearing masks? A lot.

You see, my autoimmune disorder is treatable by medication. In theory, it might even be treatable by the correct herbs, and acupuncture, and other things. I tried those for years before my diagnosis, and they—along with exercise and meditation—kept me functional until they finally stopped working.

After my diagnosis, I was prescribed medication. But after the first initial boost to my system, I found I wasn't really getting much better. The doctors checked my bloodwork and said “you're fine” and sent me home. The way they always seem to do. So I did my own research, went on an elimination diet, started taking daily CBD tincture, and lo and behold, my symptoms began to clear.

I was doing better.

Turns out, people with my autoimmune disorder have internal inflammation that causes fatigue and brain fog and many other ailments. So mostly I stick with my strict diet, which is a pain in the ass. But hey, I'm privileged, and fortunate enough to have access to good food despite my limitations. No nightshades—which is the biggest sorrow. No cow's dairy. No gluten. No a lot of things.

One thing I've been able to add back in—or so I thought—was corn. I add frozen corn to winter soups for example, and do just fine. But lately, I developed a strange penchant for corn chips. Not even high quality tortilla chips from the local Mexican market. No. Plain old corn chips—the three ingredient kind—and organic, of course. They are delicious. I was snacking on them quite moderately: a handful a day, a few days a week.

But I started feeling sick again. I got terrible brain fog and could barely work. Uh huh. Turns out I can't really processed corn after all.

Part Two:

Here in Portland, Oregon—and many places in the United States—people have stopped wearing masks because they're sick of it. They don't want to anymore. They want their “freedom.” They want life to feel ordinary again.

I get that. Pandemic is scary. Ordinary is good.

I rode the bus to the post office. The driver and I wore masks. No one else. At the post office, the clerk wore a mask, as did two people besides myself. No one else. Everyone else had decided to get back to normal.

But for people with chronic illness, life is never what anyone would call normal. Our ordinary is your sick day. And a lot of people who've had COVID now have a terrible syndrome called Long COVID. And many of the symptoms they're experiencing seem like some of mine. Crushing fatigue, brain fog, headaches, all the rest. I'm not saying the symptoms map exactly, because they don't. There are many Long COVID symptoms that don't map my autoimmune disorder at all.

But enough do to cause me concern for my friends, especially my friends who don't just have autoimmune disorders, but who are immunocompromised from cancer, Rheumatoid arthritis, and other illnesses.

On Twitter, people are asking, “What do you say to the person on the airplane next to you who asks why you're wearing a mask?”

People made several flippant replies including: I'm a vampire and I'm hiding my fangs… I'm an alien reptile and without my mask I'll be exposed… I’m a zombie, and I'm trying to keep myself from biting your head off… Without my mask, my face falls off…

Or the very simple classic: Piss off and mind your own business.

But all joking aside, it’s minding our own business that’s the problem. It's minding our own business that has gotten us into this mess. It's acting as if we don't share a world together, that we don't breathe the same air and rely upon the same soil and water that’s the problem.

We too often act as if it is every person out for themselves, and consequently, the planet is gasping, and millions are dead from a disease we have the ability to fight, but only together.

So, you see, I wear a mask for others. I got vaccinated for the greater good. I wear a mask today, not only because I have an autoimmune disorder, but because other people have it worse than me.

Corn chips may give me brain fog, but other people are gasping for breath right now, trying to simply live.

And too many others haven’t made it. They are dead now.

I wear a mask for them, too.

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Stories Matter

"Fantasy is hardly an escape from reality. It's a way of understanding it." — Lloyd Alexander

As a child, I was a voracious reader. Still am. The world around me made little sense far too much of the time. I was surrounded by anger, fear, and confusion and forced into social structures that made no rational sense.

Books not only gave me a respite, but they enabled my young brain to wrap around the questions of life. Books made sense when the world outside of me did not.

It’s still that way. I read and write to understand the world, as Lloyd Alexander says, but also to inhabit a world I’m dreaming into existence.

I escape into stories because my heart and soul need a mirror to comprehend the otherwise incomprehensible.

Stories teach us so many things:

Mysteries teach us that, no matter what, problems can be solved.

Thrillers teach us that justice will out.

Romances teach us that love matters and will triumph in the end.

Urban Fantasy teaches us that there is magic in the world.

Epic Fantasy teaches us that we are part of the ongoing battle of creation versus destruction.

Historical fiction teaches us about the past, and how we may have gotten where we are.

Science Fiction teaches us that there not only is a future, but there are also worlds worth imagining…

Stories give us comfort, courage, hope, and joy. Stories teach us the ways of grief and anger, and making it through. Stories kindle inside of us the will to continue, and to face another day.

Stories help us make sense of a too often confusing world.

This is why I write.

This is why I read.

How about you?

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The Things That Help

On Showing Up in the Midst of Heartbreak

“We best rescue each other in daily heartbeats.” — Scherezade Siobhan

War. Tornadoes. Rising temperatures. Displaced people. Mass incarceration. Increased poverty. People sleeping on the streets. Another shooting. Ongoing pandemic… And then there is us: Trying to live our lives. Pay our bills. Take care of our families and friends, and hopefully, ourselves.

A client recently asked me how to keep going with life when things felt bleak or uncertain. I have my moments, too. As a matter of fact, I recently said out loud during a webinar that what my heart wants is “To forgive myself for not saving the world.”* Now, my mind knows that is ego talking. It is arrogant to think I can do any such thing as save the world. And yet… when the pain of the world grows so large, and the suffering around us so immense, the pain cracks us. It is natural to want to save something.

So what do we do? What do I do? I take a breath. I find my center. I remember that I am but one cell in the body of the cosmos and that every cell has a function and a place. What helps me reconnect to my function and my place? What helps me keep engaging with a world in pain? A world that feels simultaneously on fire and drowning?

There are five things I revisit on a daily basis: Meditation. Mutual Aid. Creativity. Learning. Nature.

Meditation is a continual return to breath, to centering, to stillness. Meditation helps me to return to a sense of being, rather than my frantic wish to do. Meditation offers the reminder that there can be stillness and breath, even if only one minute at a time. Meditation is a reconnection to a world that is not “productive” and hurried. Even if thoughts or emotions race the whole time, meditation helps us to slow down.

Have trouble meditating? That is fine. There are guided meditation apps that help. I’ve got some videos up on YouTube. And if all else fails? Simply sit and breathe for five minutes. Don’t worry if your body aches, your mind races, or your emotions heave. The point is to be with what is. Make some space. And then breathe some more.

Mutual Aid is the exchange of resources for mutual benefit. It is the sharing of skills, goods, and help and the reminder that together, we have enough. Do you have extra food? Carpentry or computer skills? Money? An extra bed? Can you connect folks to each other? Drive someone to an appointment? Can you help build a community garden, or tutor kids, stock a pantry, give away books, lend some tools? Can you organize your neighborhood to check on elders? Design a spreadsheet to help other disabled folks during black outs or fires? Provide basic medical training or get some? And conversely, what do you need?

Mutual Aid reminds me that we are interconnected and cannot survive without each other. That, like it or not, we live in interlocking communities. When things feel too big, this reminds me that there are a myriad of small ways to help or be helped. We don’t need to wait to be saved.

Creativity is the act of tapping into the flow of life. This includes baking, cooking, building, gardening, singing, dancing, painting, writing… Creativity reminds us that the whole world is constantly in the cycle of creation. Plants are resting in the soil, or sprouting, or blooming outright. Birds and insects are building nests or pollinating.

Creativity is everywhere. On days when it feels as if the world is filled with nothing but destruction? Put on a favorite piece of music, and dance.

Learning is the process of taking in and assimilating information. I study every day. I watch interviews with professional film makers and read articles by prison abolitionists. I study the craft and business of writing. I follow naturalists on Instagram and woodworkers on YouTube. I listen to friends, colleagues, and family. And I practice, every day: spiritual practice, listening practice, writing practice… Learning keeps me open, curious, and humble.

Learning is another way we share in this world.

Nature is all around us, even in dense cities. Nature reconnects me to all that is and reminds me that everything is interconnected and interdependent. Soil. Rain. Air. Birds. Sky. Flowers. Insects. Trees. I don’t wait to get out into the woods, or desert, or ocean. Connecting with the natural world on my daily walks through the city is a key part of what supports me in being healthy, happy, and whole.

So, how often do you connect with plants, animals, water, or trees? How often do you pause to enjoy the sky or the sound of birds?

All five of these practices are touchstones and reminders that there is beauty in the world. There are humans, animals, and insects creating amazingly glorious things. There is music in the air and earth beneath my feet. And in the sky are planets, stars, and a large, bright moon. And in my chest is a heartbeat, same as yours. Our heartbeats tell us we are alive, together, on this glorious spinning world. We breathe together with all that lives.

We conspire—even in the midst of suffering—to reconnect with each other, and this varied and marvelous world.

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*If you are interested, the webinar was Mark Silver’s Spiritual Truths about Resistance.