The Gift of Radical Breath

Two years ago I learned that my lungs are aging prematurely.  

By a strange and somewhat hilarious turn of events (a story I will tell another time), I learned that I have a rare genetic condition which causes my liver to mis-produce an important enzyme that preserves the elasticity and resilience of my alveoli, the “tiny grape” sacs in the lungs where oxygen is absorbed.  

In particular, I learned that as a result of this condition, I have developed emphysema, which is usually a disease one finds in elderly folks who have smoked tons of cigarettes for many years, or who worked in a factory with excessive particulate matter in the air.

At my last visit my pulmonologist told me that the way my test results are trending suggests that within four or five years I am going to start having a hard time breathing;  after that it will become more and more difficult to breathe, until I become disabled and eventually die (assuming nothing else gets me first!)

Telling me this, my doctor looked very very sad. He kept saying “I’m sorry” over and over, until I felt like I needed to comfort him: "really doc, I’ll be okay."

Of course, in truth even as I said that I was feeling some pretty serious sadness myself, as well as a tremendous amount of fear.

I really thought I would have longer than that. (I am forty-seven.) 

I suppose, in this expectation, I am like everyone else.

Now before this blog gets to be too much of a bummer, let me reassure you, this diagnosis is not a death sentence.  

People with emphysema can last a long time, especially with the assistance of supplemental oxygen.  Of course, that means that when it's time, I will need to cart around a little tank and have a plastic tube that runs under my nose, for the rest of my life.

People with emphysema also have a tendency to turn rather grey, and they cough a lot, and of course, the big symptom is persistent shortness of breath.  Having spent a decent amount of time in the pulmonology clinic lately, I have been hanging out with some of these folks, and I have to admit, it looks pretty hard.

I would also be bullshitting if I said that this whole thing has been easy for me. I have at times felt extremely sad, and even depressed about this. I have had big bouts of anxiety as I worried about the future, and what this means for my wife and my kids, my career, even my life insurance.  

I have experienced piercing grief at the prospect that I may not be able to go out to the (very dusty) Black Rock Desert anymore to attend my beloved Burning Man, as I have the last seventeen years.  

I have also felt anger: why me?  What did I do to deserve this?  I never even smoked aside from some "social smoking" when I drank.

I get little hits of the fear pretty often in fact, like when I race up a couple flights of stairs and find myself winded.  Every time this happens the thought flashes through me like an electric shock:  is this it?  Is that a symptom?  Are my lungs crapping out for real?  Is this the beginning of the end?

But the hardest part by far is that as I write this, I feel perfectly fine.  

Indeed, I am not experiencing any symptoms at all.  I can ride my bike up a steep incline, I walk eight to ten miles almost every day, and I can dance all night to house music at a club.  

Frankly sometimes it's pretty hard to believe any of this is even true.

But in fact, it is true, and as it turns out, learning about my condition has turned out to be one of the greatest gifts of my life.

I have been given the gift of radical breath.  

For forty five years of my life, I was pretty much unaware of my breathing.  It just happened; I didn’t have to think about it, or practice it; hell, I didn’t have to worry about it at all.  

In this way, I was just like almost every other human being.  

Breathing is like blinking your eyes, or the beating of your heart.  It is an automatic built-in feature of our bodies:  it just comes with the package!  

And how fricking cool is that?  Wow!  This body is incredible!

This is the gift.  

I will never ever again take my breath for granted.  Not a single one.  Not ever.

Today I was walking to court, and the air was moist with the last three days of rain, and it smelled so sweet, and there was a cold almost minty freshness as it entered my nostrils, and caressed my throat, and rushed into my lungs.

It was the most delicious breath I have ever taken.

That is, except for the one I am taking right now.  

I can smell the Bengal Spice tea sitting to my left, and I can hear the soft whisper of the the air as it rushes in, and feel my chest expand, and my shoulders lift, and my mind thrum with zinging clarity, and then the soft exhalation as my diaphragm softens into release.

It is absolutely intoxicating.  

Now, I have done more than my share of partying in my life, and I can tell you without a doubt that the breathing I am doing right in this very moment is the best drug EVER!  I can’t get enough of it!  I love this shit!!!

As Rabbi Abraham Heschel, one of the leading Jewish theologians and Jewish philosophers of the 20th century said:

Our goal should be to live life in radical amazement. ....get up in the morning and look at the world in a way that takes nothing for granted. Everything is phenomenal; everything is incredible; never treat life casually. To be spiritual is to be amazed.

For me, every moment of my life has become a glorious opportunity to experience radical amazement, through the miraculous revelation of breath.

Disclaimer:  I want to be clear, I am not claiming some transcendent wisdom, or some ultimate truth.   I am no hero, and please, please, don't feel sorry for me.  My life is rich and wondrous.  I have an extraordinary family, and I live in vibrant and loving community. I do work that is important and that brings me satisfaction and a decent income.  I am physically fit, and I love using my body to do yoga, and wrestle with my son, and ski, and all sorts of other things.  Truly, I am blessed in a million ways.

And to be sure, I am no guru, no zen master, no possessor of ultimate gnosis.  I don’t know anything special, and I have certainly not earned it or worked for it.  I am no hero, and please, don't feel sorry for me.It was given to me.

I am dAVE, and I have an incurable disease that someday in the future will make it really hard for me to breathe.

This awareness has led me to embrace my mortality, to delight in the preciously ephemeral character of my existence, and to feel an incredible sense of gratitude for this present moment in which I can still breathe as free and easy as when I was a kid.

From this place of blessing, from this place of delight, and from this place of profound gratitude, my invitation to you is this: 

Don’t wait until you have a hard time breathing. 

Don’t wait until you get some hard news from your doctor who comes into the room with sad sad eyes.

Don’t wait until it’s too late.

Don’t waste a precious moment of the endless radical amazement that is your birthright.  

Don’t waste a precious moment of the endless radical amazement that is your debt both to your ancestors and to your descendants.

Please Don’t Wait!

Live your life in the now, and savor every single breath.  

In fact, let’s have one together.  Right now.

Ahhhhhhhhh.