This article was written by my close friend, DR Clawson. He is a physician specializing in physical medicine and rehabilitation, with whom I have collaborated for over 30 years. He is an exceptionally thorough and thoughtful colleague and has been a fantastic resource for my patients.
We began working together on improving non-operative care methods, and I found that he possesses a profound understanding of the science behind chronic mental and physical illnesses. Since 2020, his insights have influenced nearly every aspect of my work.
It was first published in Psychology Today and embodies our thoughts on “deep healing,” which happens when you feel “safe.” In this state, your body can rest and regenerate. Sadly, we are conditioned to keep “fixing” our pain, which only reinforces it. Achieving the state he describes in this article necessitates using tools to “let go.” However, this is where true healing occurs. Your body understands how to heal.
Dr. Clawson’s article
KEY POINTS
- What we gain from adventure
- What we gain from observation
- What we lose within narrative
- A trail is defined. A path is the next step.
“Do you want to go for a WALK?” I asked my 10-year-old black lab, Bella. Her ears went up, her head tilted right, then left, and then she excitedly ran to the door and waited for me with her nose an inch from the seam where the door would soon open. I opened the door, she sprinted out leaping over the three descending stairs. She did a 360-spin along the walkway and waited for me in the driveway, anticipating an adventure.
“TRUCK,” I instructed. She ran to the garage door and anxiously awaited while I put in the code to open the door. As the garage door began to slowly open, she impatiently squeezed and scrambled underneath the door, did another 360, and again waited on me to open the truck door. Once open, she leaped to her perch in the backseat and barked at me as if to say, “Hurry up and get in!”
We headed down the driveway, took a left to descend our road, and as we took another left to merge onto the highway, she let out a half whine, half bark of approval for the direction we were headed. She watched intently out the windows as we traveled down the highway and approached our destination; she had difficulty containing herself and started to whimper and shake a little.
We pulled into the parking lot, and I asked her to “WAIT.” She sat down in the backseat. I opened her door as she stared at me. “GOOD WAIT – OK. ” She sprang out of the back seat, hit the ground running, and exuberantly circled the parking lot, taking in all the sights and smells.
Of course, this was followed by her doing her business. I pulled out a poo-poo bag and did my duty, picking up her duty. My mind wandered to the question of, “Why does our “apex” species go around picking up the poop of other species?” As I put the poop-filled poo-poo bag into the trash, I thought, “How evolved are we really?” Followed by, “As far as I know, we are the only species that also have to wipe our own butts…evolved? I don’t think so!” I laughed and we were on our way.
We started down a well-groomed and soft trail winding through majestic old-growth firs mixed with hemlocks, cedars, and alders that created a canopy over us and a floor of large ferns, huckleberry bushes, a plentiful crop of mushrooms, and an occasional scrambling squirrel that got Bella’s attention. The sun’s beams sprayed outward as they filtered through the trees above. Within the silence of the forest, I took a deep breath, hoping to get a hint of fir or, better yet, cedar—a magical calm washed through me.
While I stayed on the trail, Bella, sometimes ahead of me, sometimes behind me, ventured right and left to explore all the nooks and crannies along the trail to eventually with ears flapping, tail wagging, and tongue out zoom back to me—pure joy in motion. Her path was less linear and more free than mine. My path was defined by the trail. For her destination, time, pace, and structure were irrelevant. For Bella, meaning and purpose were absent, aspirations and goals were unavailable, yet excitement and adventure were ever-present.
We wound through the forest for several miles, eventually emerging onto a sun-soaked high bluff trail some 300-plus feet above a beach. My eyes went to the snowcapped mountains in the distance while Bella’s attention went to the sight and smell of the ocean. She started a sprint down the trail towards the beach. “WITH ME. ” She halted and sprinted back to me, then disappointedly and patiently walked with me down the switchbacks towards the beach. She knew the drill.
As we got to the layer of driftwood buffeting the beach, I said, “OK.” She jumped over the logs, pinned her ears back, ran to the water, hopped over the waves, and fully plunged herself into the water, then swam back to lay down in the shallows while looking back at me in her moment of pleasure. But then there was work to be done.
She started combing the beach and its massive berm of fallen trees, logs, and sticks to find the most perfect stick for today. After a long and circuitous search, she picked more of a small water-soaked log than a stick and brought it over to me to let me know that this was the one. She put her log stick at my feet, hoping I would throw it in the water for her. I picked it up; it must have been 10-12 pounds, I thought, and obliged her. We played that game for a while, each time throwing it out a little further so she could swim a little more and then bring her weighty haul back to the beach to do it over and over again, never tiring, and always delighted to plunge back in—a joyful Sisyphus it seemed.
Once on our way again, she proudly carried her perfect stick for the remaining two-and-a-half-mile trek back to the truck. “LEAVE IT.” She reluctantly dropped her perfect stick to the ground in the parking lot. She tolerated me, wiping her down with a towel, then once again leaped to her perch in the backseat of the truck and barked at me, “Hurry up and get in!” I got in and looked into the rearview mirror to see her staring back at me – pure joy to be in the forest, on the beach, carrying a dirty, slimy log stick, and now to be back in her truck.
Bella, as her name suggests, is beautiful with a shiny black coat, a little grey to her chin, a sweet disposition, and an engaging personality. She has familiar emotions, thoughts of her own, and the ability to communicate. She recognizes sounds and, associates the sounds with things and even predicted activities to follow. What she doesn’t have is truly symbolic language, complex constructs, elaborate narratives, and any deeply held beliefs. The shape of her skull and snout define a brain that is different than ours, void of the functions of the Homo sapien cortex…and she exudes joy like no human being I have ever met.
Our human reality
This should give us pause. We live in a world of narrative, frequently false narratives that are spun into harmful beliefs. We are constantly running narratives whenever we are reading, watching TV, going to movies, and socializing. We feel we are communicating well when we are talking and texting, but there is much noise beyond effective communication in our ego and victim-martyr-hero stories that occupy our time. And then there are our secret internal narratives filled with I need to, I have to, I must, I should, I should have, I wish I…that haunt the deeper catacombs of our self-reflective (obsessive?) minds. We are blessed with language but consumed and sometimes tortured by narrative. Bella knows nothing of this world of ours.
Could our predilection for and addiction to narrative not only be a distraction from the reality of life but also a barrier to fully experiencing the joy of life? What if this uniquely human trait is a major part of our suffering and perhaps our undoing?
So, I’ve made a commitment to myself. When I find myself caught on these well-worn external or internal narrative trails I will discount and discard the narrative, and I will devolve to follow the path of Bella—the path to find the beauty and joy in life.
And yes, this is more narrative!
Stay Safe and Stay Tuned,
DRC
David Roger Clawson, M.D., is a Physical Medicine and Rehabilitation physician interested in natural prevention and healing strategies for health and wellness. Understanding threat and defensive physiology versus safety and restorative physiology is foundational to this practice.