Chapter 4 Happiness and Fear

The Healing Project Book

By Dennis Lantz

Chapter 4 Happiness and Fear

Life is not fair. It never was… and it never will be. But if you dwell on that aspect, that one minor detail, you will miss so many amazing possibilities. You will only find misery. This happens because we attract whatever we focus our minds on.

If there is one, over-riding universal law it is this. Our thoughts create our reality. If you are constantly in a negative state of mind, happiness will elude you. If you watch the world through eyes of wonder, joy, and abundance, you will have countless blessings.

Obviously, it is not as simple as thinking ‘happy thoughts.’ Our bodies are complex systems of chemicals, microorganisms, nerve impulses and energy. We can feed it the optimum diet and it will still fail us. In this case, the journey is far more desirable than the destination. As far as anyone knows. Maybe an amazing heaven awaits. Of course, my concept of heaven is likely different than yours. But I do think it can be wonderful with the right attitude.

The mind is a powerful healing mechanism. The mind is trainable. We can learn. And I don’t know about you, but I prefer to have an active role in my own education. I will write more about happiness later but let me share a brief story here: 

Like many, I often struggle with seasonal depression. More than a decade ago, during a particularly intense bout, I decided that I needed to do something about it. My joy was gone. Negative energy had a grip on my psyche. Even though I realized I had so much to be thankful for, I could not make myself be happy. So, being the logical person that I am, I began contemplating the meaning of happiness. I figured that if I could define it… I could achieve it. I read dozens of articles pertaining to happiness but none of them gave me adequate answers. I did not watch much television then, but I chanced upon a PBS program where a speaker explained that happiness can be found and maintained with a little brain training. I have searched for that speaker and program many times over the past decade but have been unable to find him or it. The Public Broadcasting Service has had multiple scientists and psychiatrists talk about the brain, happiness, and success. This man changed my life, and I can’t even share his name.

I was skeptical about his proclamations but was willing to try. The process was not difficult. He instructed everyone to make a list of happy memories. It did not need to be long… ten or twenty would do. And you did not need to write all the details out… just enough to trigger the complete memory in your thoughts. I was amazed at the abundance of happy moments that popped into my head as I wrote them down.

My triggers were brief, usually just a single phrase or sentence. My list included eating hamburgers at Americana Winery and Lakeside Diner; walking the waterfalls at Rickett’s Glen; swimming in the creek in February while ice was still on the ground; my surprise 40^th birthday party; the smell of sawn lumber, my wedding… and dozens more. I usually listed the person or people with whom I had shared those memories.

The PBS personality explained that all I needed to do was to read these memories every day, add one or two new ones as they came to me, and - after just two or three weeks - the happy memories would produce a steady, easily obtained state of happiness.

Did I say that I was skeptical? It sounded too easy. Too simple. Well, I did it anyway. Every morning, I read the brief notes of my list. Those moments when I had been happy. Occasionally, I added memories. And the process worked for me. I felt the difference in mere days. And I did not need to read my complete list. Just a handful of entries brought a sense of satisfaction and peace. No drugs. No therapist. But the results were real. I still browse this list occasionally when I am feeling down.

Since then, I learned that other ways to happiness exist. Universal paths. We will explore them in more detail later in this book. They are techniques. Gateways. To places beyond mere happiness. To the world of spirit. To the essence of life. I call them healing techniques. These include music, nature, meditation, prayer, fasting, and creativity.

Fear is not the opposite of happiness. Both can be considered emotions, but I think of them differently. I think of happiness as a range of soul vibrations. From contentment through excess joy. Fear, on the other hand, is like sharp blades that stop the soul from vibrating in that range of happiness. Fear is not always bad. It can have some surprising survival benefits. But excess fear… or giving it more power than it should have… will always inhibit freedom and thwart personal growth.

The oddest part of my story is that The Healing Project came to be because of fear, stress, and pain.

I’ve already stated that this book is not an autobiography. But it was my fear, my stress, and my pain that facilitated the creation of The Healing Project. As such, I think it is reasonable to explain how that came to be.

The largest disruption in my life has been fear. For years I was terrified of death and dying. The latter brought more anxiety than the former. 

Fear is both a friend and an enemy. While it can help us survive, even teach us valuable lessons, too easily it becomes an inhibitor to growth, comfort, and satisfaction.

I don’t remember being overly brave or confident in my childhood years, but I wasn’t afraid. I was one of the lucky ones. My parents loved and cared for me. I was, to my recollection, a shy introvert. Yet my life between eighteen and twenty-eight years of age was racked by anxiety. And later, after I thought the fear had dissipated, new stresses caused it to grow again.

Some of the stories in this book will be unflattering. They are included to make points about healing. None of us is perfect… but we generally try to keep our worst details away from public scrutiny. While I still have moments of shame and embarrassment, I get over them quicker than I once did. The following story explains why I allowed fear and stress to dictate what were supposed to be my prime years, instead of living an optimum life and fulfilling dreams.

My fear of dying was caused by one incident when I was eighteen years old. It involved marijuana. In those days, marijuana use was common, but people were not as open about it as they are today. Mostly because it was illegal. I knew a few people who used this drug recreationally. And I knew others who vehemently opposed such use. Personally, I didn’t care one way or the other. Like too many teenagers, alcohol was my drug of choice. I didn’t smoke my first joint until I was eighteen years old. I’m not saying it was low grade, but I really didn’t feel affected. Maybe the world became a bit funnier. Maybe I talked a bit more. But, unlike alcohol, I didn’t feel inebriated.

I was extremely naïve. And that brought about the incident. Not long after high school graduation, a friend and I went to a party. Perhaps one or two who attended were acquaintances, but with the exception of the friend I rode with, I did not know anyone. After a couple of beers, someone pulled out a joint and declared that it was ‘good stuff.’ He offered it around the table. Previous times when partaking, I could take several hits without much effect. I don’t remember how much of this ‘good stuff’ I smoked but it was definitely different than anything I had experienced before. We were sitting outside at a small table. My mind was pleasantly hazy. Just inside the door to the house, a stereo played the Eagles. Not too loud. Suddenly, the CD player started skipping… and every time it did, bolts of energy shot along my spine like an electric current. Into my brain. I’d never experienced anything like this. My heart thudded faster. Numbness fogged my thoughts. I couldn’t focus on anything except how fast my pulse raced. This was my very first panic attack and I didn’t know what to do.

I slipped away from the party and climbed into the car. I lay on the seat for what seemed hours. Those who came to check on me chatted normally, as if nothing were out of the ordinary. They thought I was drunk. But I was quite certain that I was going to die.

Eventually I went home. In bed, there was little improvement. My heart pounded even as the first light of dawn poked through my window. I felt it with my entire body. When I woke late in the morning, after some fitful sleep, my head was still numb. By late afternoon, I felt fine.

And I was… until the next time I smoked marijuana. This wasn’t even the ‘good stuff.’ Instant fear washed over me. My heart raced again. I began checking my pulse, frequently holding two fingers against my neck.

Unfortunately, whether by some sort of classical conditioning or some actual physical reaction… the attacks became more frequent. Soon, they came without any chemical instigation. I could simply think about having a panic attack and one would ensue. Sometimes lying down helped. But not always. I couldn’t read or watch television because I could not focus. Sometimes a walk helped. Sometimes I would jot down notes to a story or poem. Time usually took care of the worst symptoms.

My limited social life grew even more restrained. Many times, I left events or gatherings to be alone. It wasn’t because I was anti-social. My imagination allowed the fear to take deep roots. Chest pains and muscle cramps became common. These muscle, tendon, and bone problems were common. I was genetically predisposed to them. If I strained a muscle while throwing hay bales, I was sure that I was having a heart attack. If dehydration caused my head to ache, I was certain I was going to die.

The worst of the fear lasted until I was nearly thirty. It never went away completely. Some even remains now. But I developed a fatalistic approach that seemed to help. During the anxiety attacks, I began to get angry. I told myself I didn’t care if I died. I mean, I didn’t want to… but if it happened, so be it. Often, the anger and fatalism caused the fear to subside.

Today, most people would go to see a doctor and would be prescribed medication and given information that would help them cope. Times were different then. I knew I didn’t want medication, so I avoided professional assistance. Except for one instance, when my chest ached, and I decided to see if a doctor could help. I’d been having pain and panic attacks almost daily. This was in 1990 or 1991.

I don’t remember talking to a doctor, but I am sure one must have examined me. The nurse gave me some particular advice that, at the time I thought rather insensitive, but later understood and realized was to my benefit.

“What is the problem?” she asked. We did not use the words ‘panic attack’ and it wasn’t likely that I told her the extent of my fear. But I did manage to say that I had pains in my chest and was worried I was going to have a heart attack. 

“Do you have a job?” she asked. Not the sort of question I expected. I explained that I helped around the farm. I took care of the cows… and did some basic construction for friends and family.

“So, you don’t have a steady job that you go to every day?”

I shook my head.

“My advice is that you get one,” she said. “You’re thinking too much. You’re too young to worry about such things. If you had a job, you wouldn’t have time to worry.”

I didn’t get a job right away. And I continued to have panic attacks. And I continued to deal with them by walking or doing breathing exercises. When I did eventually get jobs, the attacks lessened… but did not completely go away. The fear remained, but my reactions became better. I learned how to calm myself. Most anxiety sufferers develop coping mechanisms. Breathing deeply helped. Not quickly. But it helped. Clearing my mind was not easy but if I unfocused enough I could do it. Years passed and slowly I gained better control. I was nearly thirty before they subsided enough that I was able to function socially.

Some fear remains. I have a strong fear of medicine. Too many prescriptions have caused allergic reactions. And after reading possible side effects, or seeing them listed on television advertisements, I usually decide not to even try them. Of course, you don’t gain any healing benefits from medicine that you do not take.

My anxiety problems occurred predominantly before the internet. I didn’t do a lot of research into my condition, but what I was able to glean from a few sources was that panic attacks, or anxiety disorders, often have physiological triggers. The adrenal glands release chemicals that cause such reactions. They are a misfire of the evolutionary flight or fight response.

While full-blown panic attacks no longer came, my struggles with fear were not over. My fear of death evolved into a fear of dying. I watched my father have episodes as his heart weakened. I was there when he passed away. My best efforts at resuscitation failed. For the last twenty or thirty years of her life, my mother battled constant aches and pain. I became involved in her personal episodes with anxiety. Stress and fear are cumulative. They grow and come out in places and ways that you don’t always expect.

My aches and pains grew. My body is not healthy. Spinal scoliosis. I tell people that my spine is like a pretzel. My neck is crooked one direction. My upper back is crooked the opposite. And my lower back has both a crook and degenerative disc disease. All of this affects my muscles and my digestive system. Pain and I are old enemies. For years, I just ignored it. That is how life is… sometimes it hurts.

And then the mysterious symptoms arrived. Flushing, neuropathy, swelling, brain fog, PVCs (premature ventricular contractions of the heart muscles), and a persistent cough due to bronchiectasis. I still could not take medicines. I had allergic reactions to amoxicillin, beta blockers, gabapentin and prednisone. I had moments of fear again. But my years of dealing with panic attacks helped me get through. Something wasn’t right. The doctors couldn’t figure it out. Many things were ruled out. With a few exceptions, the numerous test results said I was quite healthy.

Physical therapy and chiropractic helped a little. That is how I discovered that a few symptoms were caused by my spine and joint problems. But such therapy is expensive. I learned to do exercises and stretches at home. That helped but was not as good as the therapy or adjustments by professionals.

While my symptoms still flare up from time to time, my ability to deal with them has been sufficient. Only my closest friends know any details.

My poor health affected my work. I was not as reliable as I used to be. There were times when I simply couldn’t function. This wasn’t exactly fear or stress… but those two factors contributed to my condition. I lessened my work hours. That helped.

Many people experience pain. Some to a far greater extent than I do. I use a lot of muscle gel to relieve the pain. An occasional Tylenol or Advil are sometimes necessary.

Many people suffer with anxiety. Some are prescribed medication. I hope it helps. They are not part of my personal healing project, but I will not discourage you from giving them a try if you and your doctor trust them to be beneficial. 

As most of us are, I’m still a work in progress. My fear motivated me to take action. You can do the same.

…

Until next time,

Read. Learn, Live!

Dennis

Dennis Lantz is the author of Zander's Tale. The Spiders of Eden, and the Pine Street Trilogy (Pine Street and the Mighty Mutation CircusPine Street and the Mighty Mutation Circus, Pine Street and the Dino-Beast Clones, and Pine Street and the Mirrors of Freedom) His nonfiction Summer in Gentlewoods uses journal entries to tell the real-life adventure of living in a primitive shelter in the woods of his family farm.

Dennis and his wife, Christy, live in Warren Center, Pennsylvania. They share their home with Austin, a Texas rescue who is a cross between a Jack Russell and an angel.

For more information visit www.dennislantz.com or follow Dennis Lantz Books on Facebook.