When life gets chaotic, I can get caught up in the drama.

But the drama only leads to a higher blood pressure readings in my doctor’s office, the addition of yet more chemicals to my daily regimen.

Instead of additional chemicals, what I’d rather have happen is be able to handle my stress in a more healthy manner.

Hans Selye, the brilliant Hungarian stress researcher, defines stress as “our body’s response to environmental pressure.”

Ergo, if I respond with anger, it really isn’t the Ex that’s responsible for my rise in BP, rather it’s how I respond to the impossible situation that is to blame.

If I could respond to the stress in my life in a different manner, my blood pressure might not be such a problem. You think?

Of course, I know all the biological and pharmacological mechanisms that may also play a role is hypertension, but for the most part they are not within my control.

But finding a way to become more adept at handling stress is within my control.  I could become quiet more, become aware of my breathing more, become still more.

Enter the insightful words of Leo Babauta of ZenHabits on how to practice becoming still.

How to Practice
Stillness, oddly, doesn’t come naturally to many people. So practice.

1. Start your day in stillness. Whether it’s sitting with a cup of coffee as the world awakes, or sitting on a pillow and focusing on your breath, stillness is a powerful way to start your day. It sets the tone for things to come. Even 5-10 minutes is great.

2. Take regular stillness breaks. Every hour, set an alarm on your computer or phone to go off. Think of it as a bell that rings, reminding you to be still for a minute. During this minute, focus first on your breathing, to bring yourself into the present. Let the worries of the world around you melt away — all that is left is your breath. And then let your focus expand beyond your breath to your other senses, one at a time.

3. When chaos roars, pause. In the middle of a crisis or a noisy day, stop. Be still. Take a deep breath, and focus on that breath coming in, and going out. Find your inner stillness and then let your next action come from that stillness. Focus on that next action only.

Life is stressful.

That’s a true statement because we’re human and we will respond to every bit of stimuli we encounter.  Choosing a wiser response is always what separates the content from the miserable.

I’m beginning to see the wisdom in Leo’s words and making better choices in how I respond the stressors in my life is the beginning of a healthier, happier Solo-Dad.

When I was in junior high, my academic performance sucked. 

It wasn’t that I was dumb or suffered from a learning disability, I was simply disinterested.

It was a constant source of frustration for my parents who now doubt saw the potential within me.

It was most likely many years later after graduating college and medical school that I finally realized my potential for learning.

It was something they knew existed all those years ago.

These days, I find myself in the role of a Solo-Dad frustrated because I see that same potential in my son while watching him ignore it.

I know he’s bright because he has an encyclopedic knowledge of a few select subjects: Elvis Presley, Classic Rock guitarists, and professional baseball. (Not exactly subjects that careers are made of, but they represent categories of knowledge that he’s passionate about.)

Want to know the name of the of female co-star in Jailhouse Rock who was killed one month after the movie debuted?  He can tell you.

Ever wonder how Stevie Ray Vaughn made his guitar solos sound unique?  Ask him.

Yes, he’s a bright kid.

Like most Solo-Dads, I struggle to balance positive reinforcement with accountability. I want to be supportive of good behavior and encourage positive development of those trends.  And occasionally, I fall back into the role of task-master and that doesn’t do either of us any good.

During a most recent episode of ‘Oh My God, I’m Such a Failure As a Father’ -a mental sitcom that reruns in my head every so often, I stumbled upon a blog on Spirituality by Tom Stine.

I read his post linked above and this one and subsequently experienced a satori moment regarding my behavior and self-imposed drama around Little Elvis’ study habits.

Could it be that LE is simply a slave to my diminished expectations?  Could his academic performance be adversely effected by my own story about it?

I’ve decided to sit with this a while. I really have no control over it anyway.  All I can do is encourage him, be there for him when he needs help and try to lead by example.

At the very least, by simply accepting his performance at whatever level it occupies, I end my own suffering over it. That has to be of help to him, don’t you think?

An apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

It could’ve been written about Little Elvis and me because he is like me in every way you can imagine. From the way he rolls his eyes to the way he stands to the inclination to be needlessly verbose when a simple ‘yes’ would suffice. (See?)

From his stellar guitar playing ability to his academic difficulties in Junior High, he simply couldn’t be more like me.

My mother often says that, based on appearance alone, I couldn’t deny he was my son even if I wanted to. (I can’t imagine ever wanting to do that?)

If personal history is indeed repeating itself, then my mother’s wish of forty years ago might just have some legs.  I recall her making the pronouncement, after I brought home a particularly disappointing report card…

“I hope you have a son who turns out to be just like you!”

Unfortunately for LE, he’s also like me when it comes to his adolescent academic performance.  I’ve often maintained that I was unconscious until college. In Junior High, I spent most days wondering who was going to beat up. I was on crutches for six months before having knee surgery and was an easy target.

I barely graduated from high school because I couldn’t see the point of memorizing the Who’s Who of Western Civilization, understanding the ins and outs of Boyle’s or Newton’s Laws and couldn’t have cared less whether I was able to run a mile under 6 minutes. (Still can’t.)

It’s the ultimate irony that I nearly didn’t graduate from La Cañada High School in 1975 because I hadn’t passed freshman science but graduated with honors from college (with a BS in Biology, no less) and medical school. (I’ll bet my parents wonder about that, too! )

But this time it isn’t me causing my parents to gray prematurely (or lose their hair completely – Sorry, Dad), it’s LE helping to prod me further along the same path.

I met with his academic counselor today and walked away feeling better about the prospects of LE remaining in the same school.  Until today, I’d been investigating alternative (charter) schools within the district.  I felt he might perform better in a school that didn’t have a kazillion kids in grades 7 and 8. I was hoping the deer-in-the-headlights look might not be prevalent at a smaller school where the pace wasn’t as fast.

For now, LE stays put

The good news is that the school calculates a cumulative GPA over the two years spent at the school.  That means he has a plenty of time to correct the errors of his ways and raise his GPA so that by the end of 8th grade, I might still have some hair!

I enrolled him in an after school homework club three days a week. Boy, is he gonna love me!

I spoke to my mother about the situation this evening.  And, like most grandmothers who think the sun rises and sets on her grandchild, she refuses to believe anything I say about him unless it’s flattering.  (Just kidding.)

After we talked a while, I thought about the machinations inside my then 12 year-old head.  I thought about my aversion to Ms. Rhonert’s Western Civ class as well as my inclination to cut PE class. I thought about how I felt so crappy about my academic performance, but not crappy enough to do anything about it.  I also thought about how tough it had to have been for my parents to watch me slide further down the grading scale knowing that I could do better if I applied myself to that end.

I asked her, “How in the world did you and dad get through those years?”  Her response was classic.

“We simply loved you though it.”

Guess I’ve got my marching orders.