An Open Letter to University Presidents
5 min read
My collision shattered my routine existence.
“Never grow back?” I asked my orthopedic surgeon.
“No, I’m afraid not,” he said. “Severed tendons don’t reconnect. They’ll simply scar in place.”
So began my adventures in recovery after a head-on collision with another bicyclist, in which I separated my right shoulder and cracked two ribs. Jewish tradition says that no events are purely accidental or incidental; there is purpose and meaning behind every encounter in our lives. My bicycle collision pierced the veneer of the routine existence I had taken for granted. Despite the excruciating pain and temporary disability, I regained almost full range of motion after only six weeks of hot-cold treatments, nerve-soothing narcotics, and tear-inducing physical therapy.
Here are six life lessons that rode into my life as a result of this concrete encounter:
I have no recollection of the seconds leading up to or even the actual moment of impact. It’s not just a blur; it’s as if it didn’t even happen. I consider this a blessing since this psychic white space taught me to stop looking backward with useless “whys” and “what if’s” and work on focusing exclusively on looking forward in the healing process.
While lying on the gurney in the emergency room, the only way the nurse could administer the morphine drip was to literally cut the layers of shirts off my torso. One of these layers was my favorite college sweatshirt. Despite longstanding pleas from my wife to toss this ragged, but still-prized possession from 40 years ago (I kid you not), I secretly hoped to wear it into retirement.
It was not meant to be. A few scissor snips and my beloved sweatshirt was in tatters and in the trashcan. Given the urgency of the moment I could think of no better place for it.
Typically, my days begin at 5:30 a.m. and go to about 10:30 p.m. As a healthy man who runs a business and lives an active life, facing sudden and severe limitations was a depressing shock. At the very beginning, I needed help with virtually everything, from getting dressed and bathing to cutting my own food. The physical therapy sessions were excruciatingly painful, but absolutely necessary.
It took at least a week for me to realize I had no choice other than to stop fighting it and accept my new reality, acknowledging that it could have been much worse and focusing on my gratitude that God willing, I would regain my mobility. Somehow, all that I was going through was for my long-term good.
I’ve attended morning minyan for more than 35 years, so wearing a tallis and tefillin is part of my spiritual gearing up for the day. With my arm immobilized in a sling nearly 24/7, I needed help wrapping the tallis around my shoulders and head and placing the head tefillin above my hairline. Use of the arm tefillin was impossible.
Jewish law considers the head tefillin primary. Even my physical therapist told me I had to decide who was going to be boss: my head or my heart? She said that unless I directed my mind to overrule my muscles, those muscles would remain contentedly locked in place forever. It’s well known in fitness circles that advanced targeted concentration inevitably leads to better physical performance at almost every level.
Before saying the Shema prayer twice a day, I have made it a habit to take two deep breaths. The first breath focuses on ahava—love. To me it’s a reminder to be grateful for the innumerable blessings in my life. The second breath focuses on yirah—the awesomeness of this journey we call life, with all of its blessings, its challenges, and yes, even its pain. That built-up experience using my breath to focus on the Shema allowed me to harness that same discipline to get through some of the most painful moments of recovery.
It’s a scientific fact that focused breathing can redirect neural pathways. Breathing mindfully gives space for thinking differently. In fact, the Hebrew word for breath—neshima—shares the same root letters as the word for soul—neshama. We nourish our souls through our breath, every moment of every day.
On my last visit to my physical therapist, we discovered that my damaged right shoulder had in some respects grown stronger than my left shoulder and arm. I had worked so hard on healing my right shoulder and arm that I had neglected my unhurt shoulder and arm. It’s so easy to fall out of balance in life. The Rambam teaches the goal of attaining the the golden mean, seeking to maintain a middle pathway in life to avoid extremes.
After many months, I’ve purchased a new bike, eager to strap on my helmet and not hit the trail exactly (been there, done that) but to feel the exhilaration of the turning wheels of life.
