Chapter 38

Out Damn Fear!

Having completed my exercise in self-diagnosis,

I decided, and rightly so, that this was not a cold
winter day to have lunch alone (with all due respect
to the fine companionship that big foot white dog has
to offer). I sent an email to she who is always in a
meeting hoping that it would get through the typical
noise and dissonance of her workplace. The email
was sweet and short. In it explained what had
happened last night, how I was sure I had suffered
through a real panic attack, how I thought I was
going to die and that I could use some company at
lunch and that company was hers.

10 minutes later I heard a familiar ping from the

upstairs computer announcing that she had emailed
back. Her reply was as to the point as she is. She
would move around some meetings and meet me
anywhere I wanted by 12:30. I asked her to join me
at Saul’s, a nouveau deli (not an oxymoron) on
Berkeley’s north side where they fuse modern
concepts of sustainability and quality with older
concepts like 8-inch high pastrami sandwiches with
heaps of Russian dressing.

What I craved that day was comfort. I sought

solace, peace and calm. I needed comfort in food and
the knowledge that I am in a secure long-term
relationship. Comfort in the statement that is made
by simply being there together. Comfort in the taste
of lean corned beef on fresh crusty corn rye, the bite
of a sour dill pickle, a bowl of chicken soup that was
mercifully not over-salted and a matzo ball that
floated like air.

There was nothing particularly dynamic about

the conversation that followed especially considering
the subject matter at hand. In fact, she took two
calls from work during lunch (and apologized for
each) and couldn’t stay past 1:30. Like so many
dramatic events in our lives the re-telling is never
quite the same.

All of that hardly mattered. I was so genuinely

shook from the events of the night before and so
happy to be able talk about it that I accepted her
limits and enjoyed what attention she could give to
me with humility. Rather than worry about what she
couldn’t do, I accepted the fact that she was there,
albeit in her own distracted way, and that she was
honestly concerned about what had happened and
what it meant to my future. Two questions I could
not answer, at least not yet.

After lunch I declined a ride and walked back

home, savoring the view of a brisk blue sky with
rapidly moving white to grey cumulus clouds and the
feeling of a cold wind that cut through the afternoon
light and my too thin coat. As I walked the still wet
streets from the rain the night before, my thoughts
about the panic attack were clean and focused. I felt
cleansed. Instead of fear the attack had sparked
energy and a renewed desire to succeed. Where I
could easily wonder and worry about whether there
would be another attack, I resolved to thoroughly
research what had happened and why and to learn
instead.

And research is what I did when I returned

home. My readings zeroed in on the central role that
the adrenalin response plays during a panic attack.
The symbiotic relationship it has with fear and the
resulting brutal effect on your nervous system. The
geometrically increasing reactions that follow as fear
keeps signaling for help and your adrenal glands
keep pumping out more and more powerful
stimulants as you in turn become more and more
afraid of your personal choice of demons. A vicious
circle that can only be stopped if you know what is
happening and that is never the case with the first
panic attack by its very definition.

What confused me was that I had such a strong

adrenal response in the first place? Ever since my
escalating blood pressure caught the attention of my
doctor several years ago, I had been taking beta-
blockers which are supposed to keep this whole
adrenal response thing in check. Why hadn’t they
worked that night? What went wrong? Try as I might
couldn’t figure that out.

Eventually I ran out of steam looking at the net

and reading about panic attacks, there is only so
much re-hashing that can be done. I went downstairs
to the mancave where I settled in on a long
meditation without a particular path or purpose. As
the thoughts ebbed and flowed an idea formed and
then crystallized. I wondered to myself, just what the
fuck was I doing with this whole journey and why I
could still freak out the way I had?
 For the first time in months, I consciously looked
back at these manful meditations and tried to
understand what I had learned. This journey began
last spring when I decided to meditate about
manfullness as a rouse. Then it became a means of
impressing the other half of my primary relationship
that worked, a very good start.

Eventually I began to enjoy myself where I could

not before. Not satisfied with the traditional forms of
yoga and meditation, I chose to work on what I
believed to be manful meditations instead, hoping
they would be more interesting to me and thus that I
would actually engage regularly in a practice as
opposed to another flirtation that would come and
then go as many had in the past, Then it took on a
life of its own as I began to look forward to these
sessions.

So had I figured anything out in these countless

hours of manful thought? Was there a perfect
manful state of being? Can men find a balance that
celebrates the male life in a healthy way? Can we
express our belief that the world that we inhabit as
men is a blessed and holy place? A place where
manhood is revered and celebrated without fear,
excess or judgment?

Up until then, I was positive that my meditations

had been dead on. Thought I was looking deeply at a
golden cup of mandom and drinking heartily from it.
Kicking butt along the way. But now I wondered, was
I?
 I tried to think about the work I had been doing.
What manful subjects had I meditated about? Let’s
see, I began with hamburgers. OK. Then red wine.
Oh and sports. Then there was more time spent
thinking about food. Lots of meditations about food.
Some thoughts about music. And even more sports.

Somehow that didn’t seem quite right. I mean,

was that it? Is that all there is to focus on in a man’s
life? Did the core of a manful experience consist of
carefully fermented red grape juice, a baseball team
that hadn’t won a championship since 1954 and a
round patty of ground cow meat with perfect grill
marks? Something big was missing.

I stared inwards at a difficult but necessary and

somewhat obvious realization. There was a lot more
to manhood then sports, food and liquor. Bigger than
scratching your pubic hair or anything that itches as
needed. More than tuned exhausts, Sinatra, DeNiro
and Springsteen or a cold beer. Or was there? Of
course there was. But just what was it?

I thought. And like Pooh, I thought and thought

and thought until I understood.

It was time for change. Time to advance my

meditations to another deeper level. A study that
focused on my behavior, my interactions with those
around me as opposed to my relationship with the
powerful inputs of the external world.

Not that I felt bad about what I had

accomplished to date. The first set of manful
meditations introduced me to the practice of sitting,
breathing and being aware. Now that I had climbed
that mountain, I hoped that I could move into more
advanced subjects and keep my focus. It was time to
build. I would become more comfortable with my
past, my present and my future. While maybe not as
much ‘fun’ as those first mediations, this work would
allow me to harness the power of manful meditation
to effect positive change in my life.

So, I wondered, just what were these new

earthshaking subjects going to be? What really
defines a man and how he interacts with the
personal and emotional worlds?

The first subject that immediately came to my

mind was women. Of course there are so many
other subjects to look at from career to money to
being a father. No

Not today. Women sit at the core of what

defines our sense of day-to-day balance and how we
live our lives. Not just women as sexual partners or
emotional antagonists. I wanted to explore women
and their role in the search for a balanced manful
life. I wanted to understand how they influence the
balance I crave.

I let my mind open to the world around me and

the interactions I see between men and women
every day. The first thoughts that hit me were quite
unexpected.
 As women have established their roles as our
equals, many core beliefs of what once was
considered to be manful have taken a beating (and
rightfully so) as we all adjust to new demands and
realities. Think about it. Do we miss chivalry? What
is now considered to be polite? And how many
expressions or actions once considered to be
acceptable have disappeared entirely. Open a door
for a woman lately? What reaction did you get?

But what is done is done. It is too easy to fall

into the trap of blaming women for the confusion
that men routinely face as we balance historical male
values in an ever-changing landscape of new
demands. If our goal is to honor being a man then
that honor extends to forgiving those around you
including women whose may be interested in, shall
we say, slicing certain parts of your anatomy into
sashimi. And to those self righteous women who
continue to condemn all men for the sins of those
who came before us, consider this: do not throw
stones in the bedroom when you live, you are likely
to injure that guy sleeping next to you.

What concerns me most in this meditation was a

very sensitive reality that men and women face as
we live together. Too many women carry past
negative relations with men into their current ones. I
do not suggest that what happened to many women
is in anyway justified or that the subject should be
buried. Quite the contrary. Instead, I ask that women
stop blaming the men that love them for the faults of
men that didn’t.
 What does this have to do with balance in men’s
lives? By transferring the legitimate pain of the past
into current lives and relationships we destabilize
them. Many men who love their wives and partners
are painted if not tarred with the broad brush of the
actions of men before them, be they abusive fathers
or former lovers. This taints our conversations,
makes suggestions seem like threats and impedes
our progress. Men become afraid to express their
opinions and wind up saying fuck it and just moving
on. That is neither progress or balance.

There must be closure in our lives and that

means forgiveness. Forgiving those that harmed,
forgiving those harmed for being there and forgiving
those around you for what has been done to current
relations. Easier said than done, but a goal to strive
for. Without we are forever walking the plank.

At that point my eyes opened. These thoughts

were more than enough to chew on for one day and
a lot less enjoyable then thinking about a California
Cabernet a medium rare New York steak and a baked
potato with sour cream and chives.

As much of the afternoon had passed in thought,

I turned my focus to dinner and a red to enjoy. We
had agreed that she who never comes before 8
would make an effort to be there at 6 so we could
take a walk and she did.

We relaxed over a the aforementioned cabernet,

a crispy skinned roast chicken, baked sweet potatoes
and roasted Brussels Sprouts in a garlic vinaigrette.
 I got big support from her that evening. Told her
how much I appreciated her. Half way through the
red I was babbling how much I loved her and then
she told me that she loved me too, something we
hadn’t said in much too long but less long then it had
been in years past. There were happy phone calls
with both kidults and an after dinner walk with the
dog with both of us bundled up against the cold
against each other.

When she asked me if I meditated that day I said

that I had. When she asked about the subject I told
her it was about accepting the panic attack and
moving on. Sure, it was a lie, but did I really want to
taint the evening with the pain of her past? There
would be plenty of time to do that before spring buds
opened.

We fell asleep in each other’s arms somewhere

between the weather and sports.

Dinner recipe:

Pan roasted Brussels Sports.

Steam 1 pound of Brussels sprouts for 5

minutes.
Transfer to roasting pan. Add 2 tbps. of
balsamic vinegar and 4 cloves of garlic that you have
sliced thin. Toss. Place in oven at 400 for 10
minutes or until brown.

Music for a calm dinner.

 Bill Evans, Waltz For Debby. Nothing more to
say.
Stan Getz and Joao Gilberto. Anything they do.
Al Dimeola,John McLaughlin, Paco De Lucia. A
Saturday Night in San Francisco. All of it.
Billy Holiday. Your call.
Nat King Cole. Unforgettable. Now the mood is
on.