shy extrovert

My personality test in college revealed that I am an INTJ (Introvert is the first letter in the acronym). I’ve always assumed that I was an introvert because I don’t like big social functions with a gaggle of people talking about a collection of various, unrelated topics. However, in my latest excursions in my life I have become an extroverted person. In fact, I believe my personality has always been extrovert. I think I am a shy extrovert, which seems to be a better definition than the alternative of a social introvert. To prove my point let’s use tonight as an example. I went to Starbucks to spend an hour studying for my big National Boards Exam on Monday. I took my papers, books, note cards and enough money to buy a soy steamer with toffee nut flavoring to nurse for the hour. I chose Starbucks because there are people moving around and their movements keep my attention on my studying. I know it seems counter productive, but being around people forces me to pay attention to the task at hand. For example, I was never one of those studious people hidden inside a study carousel in the library; I was the person sitting in the library lobby, watching CNN while I wrote notes. To add to my distractions, my friend Janet found me at Starbucks and talked to me about her new haircut while I talked about the Tour of California bike ride this weekend, all while flipping through a book on ADHD kids in the classroom. Eventually, I took two pages of notes that will be extremely useful for studying on the Blue Line (the trolley between Long Beach and LA that I will ride to see the Tour of California time trials). I think I need to retake the MBTI (Myers Briggs Technical Inventory) to find out what my adult personality is. Yet, I doubt the MBTI will change their recommendations for my career options based on my personality type. In college, the MBTI suggested that I become a teacher or a funeral director because I am able to work with people who are under stress (parents who are hypersensitive about their kids, or family members grieving the loss of a loved one). I love being a teacher.

12 years later, my Limits

I haven’t had a TV in my home, or a helicopter ride in over 12 years. Instead of watching TV I listen to weekly radio shows. Many of my favorite moments in radio show history have been centered on my favorite radio show host, Ira Glass. His themes of life in America usually strike a familiarity to my own life adventures. Ira recommended the podcast RadioLab as another download for all the This American Life lovers. I followed Ira’s advice and downloaded the Limits episode from RadioLab http://blogs.wnyc.org/radiolab/2010/04/05/limits/comment-page-2/#comment-5781

The episode was a funny, modern, dramatic, true life, and scientific entrance into the theme of “limits”. They interviewed Ironman women athletes who push their bodies to the limits after which their body collapses from the strain. They also interviewed a group of men who ride their bikes across America in a continuous peddle with only 10 total hours of sleep. I couldn’t push myself to those limits, but I enjoyed the episode as I rode my bike home from work on Friday last week (May 14, 2010). Of course, I had to find a connection between the episode on limits and the limits that I push myself to experience. I don’t take pride in the fact that 12 years ago (May 15, 1998) I was placed on a medivac helicopter as the paramedics gave me CPR to restart my breathing after I crushed the left side of my body into the pavement while trying to skateboard down Pupukea hill on the North Shore of Oahu. My memories of those next few weeks are still blurred in my mind and I didn’t do a respectful job of writing about it at the time so I don’t know what is truth, what is folklore, or what memories my traumatic injury created on it’s own. I remember skating with a young 16-year-old Kaity who had perfect gymnast balance, I remember meeting a man named John or Jake or Jared before I got on the board and I remember thinking that I was riding fast and I couldn’t stop at the time because I didn’t want to look inadequate. I also remember my roommate Alice being smarter and choosing not to skate down the hill at all. I don’t know where she went while I started my ride, but I remember her visiting me in the hospital a few times during the next few days. Now, a dozen years later, I know that I was never made to have the balance that it takes to skate down a hill, snowboard down a hill, or sometimes walk in a straight line from my sink to the stove because I continue to trip over my feet. My balance has always been atrocious and my ego did a great job of convincing me otherwise on that spring day. My other memories of those days in the ICU are a mess of confusion and pretending that I was lucid enough to go home after only a few days. My friends have repeated the story of my physical healing with a sense of miraculous reverence. I know that the hospital records showed that I had a traumatic head injury that would most likely result in reduced brain activity, but then the prognosis changed after my Mom fought with the hospital staff to allow Jay and Paul to give me a blessing (prayer) of healing. I don’t remember their prayer, but they tell me that I opened my eyes after the amen and squeezed both of their hands before I went back to sleep. The doctors couldn’t call it a miracle, so they said the medicine must have started working. I feel incredibly blessed to be alive and worthy of the blessings I have been given from heaven. Another blessing from their healing prayer was that I did not have acute pain as a result of my accident. I recognize that the lack of pain made me believe that I was healthy, when instead my brain needed about a month to truly heal itself.

After a few days in Queens Hospital in Honolulu, and a surgery to put pins in my left elbow, I started to feel a strong desire to make my life worth living. Not in a crazy, “no holds barred” way, but in a “let’s make a positive difference in the world” way. Since then I have endeavored to enhance my life through service and friendship. In retrospect, I assume I’ve done an adequate job. Mostly, I feel a strong inner voice that stops me at my limit when I try to push them too far. I used to test my physical limit by running towards a cliff to jump off into the water far below or by walking to the movie theater during a hurricane in only flip flops (I lost the flip flops in the rushing water and they drifted through the storm into the schuylkill river). I don't have the need to summit an event, like an Ironman race or Mount Everest, but I do my best to enjoy the experience and people near such places. I can't believe I even finished the Solvang Century bike ride (100 miles in one day-with a helmet of course) because I usually stop caring about finishing an event like that. But this time I pushed through my physical limit on the bike because I knew I needed to break my self imposed emotional limit. It worked because I liked biking so much that I'm finishing another triathlon this month.

I doubt I’ll ever be the subject of a radio show with this skateboarding story of Hawaii friends on a Saturday afternoon, skating in only a bathing suit and Vans tennis shoes, a forgotten helicopter ride and a medically induced comma. However, I can testify that my life has been blessed because of the second chance I have been gifted and that is my story to share.

Medical Postscript. My head injury is still prevalent in my life. The spot on the left side of my head has a small, annoying, dull ache at least once a day and it itches every few weeks as hair starts to grow through the scar. My chiropractor has found a way to realign my skull bones through pushing on opposite sides of my head. When he gets the fractured spot to slightly move, it becomes incredibly hot as blood rushes to the vicinity of the place where staples used to hold my head together. I always experience euphoria when my skull is lined up again. I protect my left shoulder from excessive use because the muscles never reattached, even after three surgeries. If you share any part of this story with other people make sure you add the part about wearing a helmet when you try to push a limit that science has put in place to protect you (thanks gravity).

I found this video of people who skate the hill successfully. They are wearing helmets.

harddrive

My macbook harddrive was erased after 4 years of chronicling my life in it's 80 gigs. Thanks to the sexy Apple store in Fashion Island, the harddrive was replaced with 160 gigs for free. Even though I have my imac for stationary reporting, I need the blogspot space to store my history for now. I don't feel as if my history is extremely poignant to others, but then again I'm someone worth not forgetting about.
Some of my posts will be inconsequential to the readers, but they will all be worth my time. After all, I love my computers and I don't mind sitting down to type on them, but I'd rather be on my bike at the beach. Let's be serious, who really loves blogging more than living a full life out of doors?
I named the blog Uncle Walt's Hill because I attribute the hill as the one geographical place that belongs to my imagination only. Shortly after my childhood the "man" tore down Walt's house and built a culdesac or two of modern homes for a huge profit. Therefore, the place of Uncle Walt's only belongs to the small gang of rascally kids from Los Olivos, California who hiked the hills, watched deer in the fields, sat in the oak trees and looked for slimy critters in the creek. But the idea of freedom and exploration can live here for me, for now.