Popcorn.

It’s tasty, isn’t it? In fact, I would probably have to say that no movie experience is complete without it. That strange salty-sweet smell sends messages jumping and hustling right along the first cranial nerve, to hit your olfactory bulb with a thump, and in less than a heartbeat you find yourself way back in that Art Deco cinema of slightly musty red velvet seats, crackling film reels, and the tap tap tapping of the floorboards from the usher with his torch, as he shows latecomers to their seats.

Popcorn.

At our house we don’t buy it from the cinema any more, for even though the smell of it is still able to transport us back to a time of stolen jaffa-flavoured kisses, and magical worlds far from our familiar suburban streets, popcorn just ain’t what it used to be. 

So these days, we pop at home.  And we find it embarrassingly thrilling. 

I’m not sure if it’s the slight danger of that hot, smoking oil, or the anticipation, as we watch and wait for that first spinning kernel to build up pressure (it’s the moisture content inside, that causes internal steam to build and build, forcing that little seed embryo to bust out of the pericarp) getting so hot and bothered, and uncomfortable, until it bursts forth in a rush of heat and transformation. Perhaps it’s a little of each. Then of course we have the satisfying ting-ting-ting on the lid of the saucepan, as the remaining kernels follow the leader and join the wave of change. 

For those hard, virtually impenetrable seeds, times really are a changin’.

A bit like life, and music, really.

(You knew I couldn’t let an opportunity go by without Bob having a say, didn’t you?)

“The line it is drawn

The curse it is cast

The slow one now

Will later be fast

As the present now

Will later be past

Your old road is

Rapidly fadin’.

And the first one now

Will later be last

For the times they are a-changin’.”

What response do those words elicit in you? 

Do you rub your hands together, thinking of the opportunities that change could bring, or do you shift to a more protective posture: cervical flexion, sacrum in counternutation, waiting for the onslaught? 

Do you relish or perish?

I would venture to say that at this very moment in time there is more change in the world, and in our profession than I have seen in my twenty years of practice. 

Changes to legislation and leadership, to terminology and techniques. 

We can see these changes from an outside-in perspective, as stressors if you will, and attempt to thicken our collective epidermes in an effort to stave off the storm unscathed and most likely unchanged, staying safe within our kernels. Or we can see the rising heat as an opportunity to jiggle around with energy and verve, and…transform.

Psychologist Bruce McEwen  tells us that stress is often labelled as either “good” or “bad” as a result of prior programming, and perhaps that might be true of us in chiropractic. Our chiropractic history books are lousy with examples of Chiropractors vilified and even gaoled for practicing their craft, so it may be that we as a profession have been inculcated to view stress negatively.

When actually, the opposite can be true. In her book The Upside Of Stress health psychologist Kelly McGonigal tells us that it is the very perception of stress that determines what the effect will be. She tells us that it is how we think about the stress, that is of paramount importance. It turns out, that if we decide that the increased heart and respiratory rate that we experience when we are anxious is deleterious, then it will be likely to cause us damage. However, if we choose to view this stress response as helpful, or even necessary, to face a new challenge, then although we still may notice precisely the same increases, they will occur without the same blood vessel constriction, producing a response that is not only not at all harmful, but one that physiologically, looks just like courage.

And then we find that our Innate Intelligence just keeps on giving. 

For not only does this type of positively-interpreted stress make us more courageous, it stimulates our pituitary gland to secrete oxytocin. You’ve gotta love that. Literally. As of course this huggy hormone is our cuddle chemical, the neuropeptide that creates trust, empathy, compassion and caring. It motivates us to seek support and surround ourselves with people who care about us.

In fact, I like to think of oxytocin as the little chemical that orchestrated the building of communities, as I imagine our Neolithic ancestors, returning from a long day of chasing down protein, settling down by the fire, positively surging with oxy, (and possibly other chemicals that might not bear mentioning in this forum) with a desire to make joyous and meaningful connections with other humans.

In the context of our profession, it would seem that this type of favourable stress may well be the very thing we require, to do as Joseph Strauss once proposed: to be refined by fire. To utilise the effects of stressors to enable us to take action, with the knowledge that we can trust ourselves to handle challenges, whilst realising that we don’t have to face them alone. To define and then refine the rules of who we are right now, and how we want to play this game in the future.

In the practice setting, we may find that positively-interpreted stress gives us greater access to our hearts, hence allowing us to be more compassionate, and caring and able to find meaning in our connections with others. In the words of social researcher Brene Brown, the ability to establish human connections may very well be the reason we are here.

Irrespective of this, we do know that challenge aimed at a level significant enough to induce stress, results in increased strength and resilience. Creating more power around our ideas, our values and beliefs, our communities, our level of protection and our work, and ultimately; our politics.

So just as the parents who come to us report that their children reach new levels of development following the apparent stress of a fever, 

and just as the pupa requires the struggle of emergence from the chrysalis to give those delicate wings the strength to take flight, 

so too, must we absorb the heat and the energy and the apparent adversity, to allow us to reconstruct our experience, and jump up to the next level. 

Or not. 

For it is at this very moment that we have a choice. 

To sit in the heat, or turn it down.

To perceive the heat as irritating or even dangerous and something to resist, or to acknowledge the sensations, work with them, and choose to persist.

We can choose to turn down the temperature, step away from the discomfort and contract to our previous selves, essentially allowing us to remain the same, abeit slightly scalded. As sometimes, the very choice that would liberate and open us up to a whole new way of seeing and being, seems scary and lonely and hard. Sometimes it might be useful to harness all that oxytocin, to recruit others to help us on the shifting path: friends, family, mentors or coaches who will listen to the honest conversation of our hearts, to hold us accountable, and keep the fire burning.

However we do it, we always have the choice to utilise that fire, to bravely, even courageously take it within, and allow ourselves to be refined and changed. To transform. To shed the hardened carapace of our previous selves, and pop and pop and pop. 

Just like popcorn.

And so, only one question remains: what delicious flavour will you be?

My Oxford Dictionary App defines Persistence as “the fact of continuing in an opinion or course of action in spite of difficulty or opposition.”

This definition may feel particularly pertinent at this precise moment in our collective chiropractic experience. From the conversations I’ve had with colleagues over the last few weeks, I am hearing an array of responses: some of us are energised and excited by the current state of play and can’t wait to step up to the plate, all the way through to those of us who are angry, scared, or even worse, just don’t want to play this game at all anymore.

What can we do to cultivate the inner strength, the grit, to achieve what we want for our lives, our profession, and those of whom we serve? Research tells us that grit is defined as “perseverance and passion for long-term goals” and that grit is the most reliable predictor of success, and is actually more important than intelligence.1. (Whew, saved by science.)

So to be successful, it turns out we don’t need to be smart, we just need to keep on going. I’m sure that sounds okay to all of you out there doing Tough Mudder and Cross Fit until you regurgitate your kale smoothies into the dirt, but how do the rest of us get gritty? It turns out Professor Andrea Duckworth has researched it (Very sciencey of me to find this.)2. and grit comes down to just five things:

1. Pursue what interests you. Let’s be honest, if you don’t really like it, you aren’t very likely to stick with it, are you? So I like it so far: do more of the things you like (See point 3, below).

2. Do deliberate practice. Which means working on weaknesses and making improvements, not shonky, “she’ll be right” and “I’ll look at Facebook whilst I do it” practice. As we used to say in softball, “Practice doesn’t make perfect, PERFECT practice makes perfect.” (Imagine eleven hormone-fuelled girls screaming that in your face every training session. If that doesn’t make you gritty, I don’t know what will.)

3. Find purpose. And this means having a greater sense and meaning to your work. It might even be what separates a job from a vocation. What does your work bring to the world? If the vision is big enough and exciting enough, it’s easier to stay until the final siren (Ohhh how this one warms my heart. Statement of Purpose review anyone?).

4. Have hope. This means not just sitting around hoping things will be better some day/ some how, due to factors outside our control, or because you adopted some slogan from Pinterest, but more of a gritty type of hope, that believes that our very own actions can improve the future. That tomorrow will be better because we will make it so.

5. Join a group of fellow grit-masters. Perhaps my Mum was right when she used to trot out all those old sayings like, “Birds of a feather, flock together.” In fact, Jim Rohn is often quoted as saying that we come to be the average of the five people we spend the most time with. So finding a team of people we would love to be like could be a resourceful strategy.

We can overlay Professor Duckworth’s work with what we know about The In8 Model 3. and the game of life.

Quadrant 1: Why? Having a meticulously refined and useful plan behind what we do. Which would hopefully, be a purpose we can’t wait to live.

Quadrant 2: What? Create blueprint, and then practice it, making corrections as  you go. In the words of our Quest Marketing Guru, Paula, “Just wing it. Something is better then nothing… and then make appropriate corrections as you go.” With appropriate checking an efficient strategy will result.

Quadrant 3: How, and who with? A great team of like-minded people can often do so much more than an individual, when they are on purpose and have well defined ethics that serve the world.

Quadrant 4: What else, and when? This echoes the desire to get things done, and the knowledge that we can do it. In the words of William H. Johnsen, “If it is to be, it is up to me.”

So how are you going on the persistence project? Are you ready to get down and gritty and get the job done?

After all, they do say it takes a bit of grit to make a pearl.

Let’s make a whole treasure chest.

-Alison Asher

1. Pink, Daniel. Drive: The Surprising Truth About What Motivates Us. 2011, Riverhead Books.

2. Duckworth, Anglea. Grit: The Power of Passion and Perseverance. 2016, Scribner.

3. Postles, Mark. The In8 Model. 2011. Self Published.

I started going to the chiro when I was about 19 years of age, following a year or so of complete bollocks, which consisted of scrappy diagnosis, pain medication and unnecessary interventions, and eventually lead to a stomach ulcer, worsening back pain and muscle weakness, and plans for some fun times ahead in the orthopaedic surgery ward.

So when the specialist said, “Whatever you do, don’t ever go to a chiropractor,” I immediately went to google and typed in: What is a chiropractor went to the Med Library at Melbourne Uni and flicked through the cards in the A-K section looking for “chiropractic” then searched the shelves for the one and only book: The Case Against Chiropractic. It was pure, hideous vitriol, and I loved every word. I’d never seen one profession unleash on another profession like that, and I was intrigued. My interest piqued to peaking point. Imagine asking a carpenter what they think of plumbers, and having the chippy then froth and spit and come over all rabid, as they extoll the evils of plumbing? It was like that car crash that you know you shouldn’t-mustn’t-won’t look at, and then do, first with a shifty side-eye, and then once you’ve looked, you really look, staring in horror, almost crashing into the car in front.

So it was with a mix of nervous excitement (what the evil geniuses around here call nervicitement) that I flicked through the Yellow Pages to find Dr. Gerard Christian, Chiropractor. I would like to say that I had a flash of prescience in choosing his name from the list, but to be honest, I chose the man who would change the path of my life forever because I liked the sound of his name.

The next few days are marked indelibly in my mind, perhaps because something wonderful was unfolding: not only healing of the body, but a salve to the mind, where I realised, possibly for the first time in my life, I was in the right place. Mostly though, it was because that slick, fast talking, energetic young fella challenged me in a way that I didn’t anticipate.

I went to him because I had intractable lower back pain that was slightly modulated by the wonder of the new drugs on the block: the non steroidal anti-inflammatories, but never fully went away. I went to him with hope of some short-term relief, to stave of the inevitable operation, and to find out why some GP in the 1970s hated chiropractors so much he’d penned and published an entire diatribe on someone else’s job.

When I asked Gerard about it, he exclaimed, “Philosophy,” as he ran out the door to his next person. (The dude was always running.)

I kind of knew what philosophy was, I was at uni after all: philosophy was something the stoner art students talked about at Naughton’s Hotel as they sipped Sherry, or whatever posturing, pretentious thing they were drinking, whilst getting in the way of my excellent dance moves (Who doesn’t love a half-cut 19 year old dancing in high waisted jeans, a bodysuit and with a spiral perm flicking and fluffing to Betty Boo just chewin’ the goo*?).

Philosophy. I asked around. Some of the Arts students were studying it, but they didn’t really know why. The Law students pretended they knew all about it, and proceeded to tell me why it wasn’t as important as Torts (Tauts? I still don’t know). The Engineering fellas (of whom I received the most animated attention when I sidled up next to them at the bar) had no idea. They said it sounded like a waste of time, and would I like a pot of Guiness, as philosophy might well be found buried in the creamy froth.

The next time Gerard burst into the room to check my spine, between the breathe in-breathe out- adjust- roll onto your left- roll onto your right, I asked him what he meant when he said the difference was about philosophy. He said something that sounded like the race-caller at Flemington over the final strait. I didn’t catch it all, but I heard: Ayn Rand, slogans, grab-bag of notions snatched at random, well-reasoned, well-thought out philosophy.

It was fast, but it was enough.

The hook.

And I was caught.

I found Ayn Rand. And then Leonard Peikoff. They were hard work those two, but worth it in the end. And then came all of the others: BJ Palmer, Stevenson, Joe Strauss, Reggie Gold (bless), Sigafoose and on and on and on. A lifetime of reasoning and thought, there alone. Those fellas led me to others: Dawkins, Descartes, Hume, Plato, Wertheim, Damasio, Einstein. Each one tramping a little of the underbrush, to help me open up a new path. A different way forward.

And now, as we step forward into 2016, the year that people of astrological persuasion say is a year of endings, I look forward to the new beginnings that will follow straight after. I imagine cycles being completed and new ideas frothing forward, as the philosophy that Gerard spoke of becomes part of our vernacular. I get all nervicited as I imagine the reverberations throughout the world, as what is now my profession steps forward, pisiforms blazing, creating optimum function for anyone who wants it.

Just imagine what will happen.

Imagine the glow, as every child in our world shines with the bright light that is their birthright.

Imagine the potential. Imagine what they will do.

It’s Crazy.

Crazy in a good way.

Philosophy? Yes please.

*If those are not the correct lyrics, then don’t.even.tell.me, I don’t want to know. My dancing matches those words, and those alone.

…From The Ashers

Popcorn.

It’s tasty, isn’t it? In fact, I would probably have to say that no movie experience is complete without it. That strange salty-sweet smell sends messages jumping and hustling right along the first cranial nerve to hit the olfactory bulb with a thump, and in less than a heartbeat you find yourself back in that Art Deco cinema of slightly-musty red velvet seats, crackling film reels and the tap tap tapping of the floorboards from the usher and his torch, as he shows latecomers to their seats.

Popcorn.

At our house we don’t buy it from the cinema any more, for even though the smell of it is still able to connect us with memories of stolen jaffa-flavoured kisses, and the magical worlds other than our familiar suburban streets, popcorn just ain’t what it used to be. So these days, we pop at home.  And we find it embarrassingly thrilling. I’m not sure if it’s the slight danger of that hot, smoking oil, or the anticipation as we watch and wait for that first spinning kernel to build up steam (it’s the moisture content inside that causes internal steam to build and build, causing that little seed embryo to bust out of the pericarp) getting so hot and bothered, and uncomfortable, until it bursts forth in a rush of heat and transformation. Or maybe it’s a bit of both. Then of course we have the satisfying ting ting ting on the lid of the saucepan, as the rest of the kernels follow the leader and join the wave of change. For those hard, virtually impenetrable seeds, times really are a changin’.

A bit like life, and music, really.

You knew I couldn’t let an opportunity go by without Bob having a say, didn’t you?

The line it is drawn
The curse it is cast
The slow one now
Will later be fast
As the present now
Will later be past
Your old road is
Rapidly fadin’.
And the first one now
Will later be last
For the times they are a-changin’.

What kind of response do those words elicit in you? Do you rub your hands together, thinking of the opportunities that change could bring, or do you shift to a more protective posture: cervical flexion, sacrum in counternutation, waiting for the onslaught? Do you relish or perish?

I would venture to say that at this very moment in time there is more change in the world and in our profession than I have seen in my twenty years of practice. Changes to legislation and leadership, to terminology and techniques. We can see these changes from an outside-in perspective, as stressors if you will, and attempt to thicken our collective epidermes in an effort to stave off the storm unscathed and most likely unchanged, safe within our kernels, or we can see the turning up of the heat as an opportunity to jiggle around with energy and verve, and…transform.

Psychologists McEwan et al tell us that stress is often labelled as either “good” or “bad” as a result of prior programming, and perhaps that might be true of us in chiropractic. Our chiropractic history books are lousy with examples of Chiropractors vilified and even gaoled for their practicing of their craft, so it may be that we as a profession have been inculcated to view stress negatively.

When in fact the opposite can be true. In her book The Upside Of Stress health psychologist Kathy McGonnigal tells us that is the very perception of stress that determines what the effect will be. She tells us that it is how we think about the stress, that is of paramount importance. It turns out, that if we decide that the increased heart and respiratory rate that we may experience when we are anxious as deleterious, then it will be likely to cause us damage. However, if we choose to view the stress response as helpful or even necessary in order to face a new challenge, then although we still may notice precisely the same increases, they will occur without the same blood vessel constriction, producing a response that is not only not at all harmful, but one that physiologically, looks just like courage.

And then we find that our Innate Intelligence just keeps on giving. For not only does this type of positively interpreted stress make us more courageous, it stimulates our pituitary gland to secrete oxytocin. You’ve gotta love that. Literally. As of course this huggy hormone is our cuddle chemical, the neuropeptide that creates trust, empathy, compassion and caring. It motivates us to seek support and surround ourselves with people who care about us.

In fact, I like to think of oxytocin as the little chemical that orchestrated the building of communities, as I imagine that our Neolithic ancestors, returning from a long day of chasing down protein would settle down by the fire, positively surging with oxy, (and possibly other chemicals that might not bear mentioning in this forum) with a desire to make joyous and meaningful connections with other humans.

In the context of our profession, it would seem that this type of favourable stress may well be the very thing we require to do as Joseph Strauss once proposed: to be refined by fire. To utilise the effects of stressors to enable us to act with the knowledge that we can trust ourselves to handle challenges, whilst realising that we don’t have to face them alone. To define and refine the rules of who we are right now, and how we want to play this game in the future.

In the practice setting, we may find that positively interpreted stress gives us greater access to our hearts, and hence allows us to be more compassionate, and caring, and able to find meaning in our connections with others. In the words of social researcher Brene Brown, the ability to establish human connections may very well be “the reason we are here”.

Irrespective of this, we do know that challenge aimed at a level significant enough to induce stress results in increased strength and resilience. Of our ideas, our values and beliefs, our communities, our level of protection, and ultimately, our politics.

So just as the parents who come to us report that their children reach new levels of development following the apparent stress of a fever, and just as the pupa requires the struggle of emergence from the chrysalis to give those delicate wings the strength to take flight, so too must we absorb the heat and the energy and the seeming adversity to allow us to transform our experience and pop to the next level. Delicious. Just like popcorn.

And so, only one question remains: what flavour of popcorn will you be?

…From The Ashers

Lately I’ve been a bit of a seminar junkie.

See how I managed to make that sound like a good and bad thing all rolled into one? That’s because it kind of is. If you go to too many seminars you can start to think that real actual life is like a seminar, and you can do / be / have anything that you want in this world.

Which is true. You can.

But it comes at a cost.

And that tricky, sticky second part is the bit that sometimes makes it a lie. Where the person you are lying to is your very own self.

What happens to me when I go to seminars, is that I get all crazy-excited about the possibilities that exist in the world, all of the things that I am going to get done the minute I walk in the door, all of the lives that I am going to change with my MASSIVE VISION of working with every chiropractor I know, (and some that I don’t…yet), to ensure that every Woman, Man and Child on this PLANET is able to have lifetime chiropractic care.

Yessiree Bob, that is what I am going to do. And I shall be doing it Right Now. I’ve waited long enough. In fact, far too long.

On the long, dark drive home I trace the white lines and make voice memos about all of the ways I will expand the coaching business I am part of to get more chiros doing their thing efficiently and effectively. I make plans of working with the other coaching businesses so they will do the same. I plan to extend my own practice working hours, so I can see all of the people I turn away every week. I make plans to extend my own workspace so that it can also house some young chiros who want to enrol in my big vision. It might sound tiring, but I get so completely buzzed on the very idea of it all that I don’t give a shit about tired. “Sleep when you’re dead,” I say to my self out loud. “Sleep is for losers,” I whisper into my brain, just in case it is thinking of betraying the fire in my heart.

My headlights reflect on the white of our garage, and for a moment I sit in the quiet and the still. I roll the last moments of clear thoughts around in my mouth and brain, before my Mumbrain takes over, where everything is filtered through the veil of Everyone Else.

And then I open the front door.

I’m greeted by the sounds and smells of our home. Kids giggling over some silly little trifle that has taken their fancy. The comforting scent of garlic, tomato and herbs from the Spag Bol that Nath has cooked up for our dinner. Perhaps even a chocolatey whiff of a nice bottle of red he has breathing on the bench. The grumble of the waves carried to our balcony with the onshore wind that grabs the door from my hand, slamming it open, and announcing my arrival to my people. Silence for a single beat, and then I’m engulfed with cries of “Mummy” as hot little bodies press against me, furry paws trample on my feet and threaten to knock me off my teetering seminar-heels, a rough scratch on my cheek and a trace of manly aroma, heralds that I am home.

And I am truly home. This is the place where I belong, and am loved and supported for my quirks and my squarks.

And yet a tiny part of my heart stays in my seminar world.

And just like the drug to the junkie who devotes his life to getting his next fix, it is a desire that scratches and worries around the edges of my brain, trying to make purchase and get some serious traction. No matter where am I or what I am doing, it’s there. Teasing and cajoling and trying to have it’s greed met.

To satisfy it, I put inspirational signs up around the house, placating it momentarily, even as I feel it building in intensity, whispering: “If not you, then who? If not now, then when?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know!” I scream back at the inside of my head, the words bouncing from cerebellum to frontal lobe and back again, over and over like a superball. “Leave me alone. I need time, time and well, time.”

But I don’t need time, not really. I just need to say what I really, really actually want. And figure out what I am willing to do to make it happen.

As we all do.

What do you really want?

And what are you willing to sacrifice to have it?

…From The Ashers

Bubbles…

My Twitter has been all a flutter with both outrage and confessions, regarding Neil Mitchell’s tweet about women in the workplace bursting into tears: “is it weakness or tactic?”  Now, there are others I’m sure who have written about this more eloquently than I ever will, but I would like to weigh in on this one: how about neither one Neil, you arsehat?  (Yes that’s right, I just said arsehat. No, I don’t know what it means either, but if the cap fits, etcetera.)

I can think of quite a few times that I have been moved to (almost) tears at work, and I don’t think any of the instances are me being weak OR manipulative…

I sometimes get teary when I hold a newborn baby in my arms and think of all potential within them, and how I get to be part of the full expression of their health.

I sometimes get teary when I have a child on my table, who I’ve known for years (probably since they were a baby) and I realise they are growing up. When I get a glimpse of the adult they will become, and I get all emo thinking about how lucky I am to be part of that trip, and how too-fast the time seems to go.

I sometimes get teary when things go really well.

When a new Mum tells me how her life has changed since her bubba has calmed down and relaxed, and now she gets to love them for their true little selves, and not try to love the bright red bundle of writhing, that just can’t be calmed.

Or when an old man tells me how he feels the spring has come back in his step, the spring that was lost when his wife died three years ago, and he descended into a world of darkness and physical pain.

Or when a teenager tells me she reckons she just aced her exams, and she was able to do so because we spent some time visualising and relaxing and breathing together, and she felt that she could think more clearly once her body was clearer.

Or like today.  When a man I regard in high esteem has finally come home.  When he was accused of things untrue, and he handled them with a calm grace.  When he moved away with his family to rewrite and rebuild his life, his work, his finances.  When he and his wife sketched out goals, and moved toward them, step by tiny step, until they could jump right into that painting.  And when today he said to me “I just can’t believe it, I just keep on waiting for the bubble to burst.”

Well, I just about thought my heart might burst.

So yeah, Neil Mitchell, sometimes I do cry at work.  But it’s bloody good.

How about you, do you cry? 

Do you cry because you are piss-weak, or are you just trying to manipulate everyone?