A client asked me, “Why’d you name your practice Upstream Health and Healing? It makes your program sound hard, like we’re swimming upstream.”
That’s a valid question. Indeed, for many of us, our journey to greater health may, at times, feel like we’re swimming upstream, but that’s not what the name is referencing. Rather: our health is like that of a stream. If I walk out to my section of the stream and there’s slimy algae growing on the rocks, and the fish are dead or missing, and there’s bits of flotsam and jetsam lining the banks, and the whole thing just seems… nasty… well, there’s only so much I can do right here, where I am. I can pick up the trash, tidy things up, but how do I address the algae? If I re-stock the fish, will they survive? Probably not.
(You know where this is going.)
To really fix things, you have to go upstream. You need to hike in the woods a while, heading for the source of the problem. Is there a confinement hog operation upstream, diverting its waste into my waterway? If so, the fix is not just cleaning up my section of the stream. It may mean nicely asking my neighbors to build a lagoon. If they refuse, it may mean petitioning for stronger regulations on the hog farm. Worst case scenario: if my environment is toxic and I can’t find any way to fix it, I may need to move and find a cleaner stream.
This is all largely metaphoric, unless you have an actual hog farm upstream from you, in which case, you may actually want to move.
The point is: we can mask symptoms with pills and potions, but unless we go looking with curiosity and open mind to see what’s truly causing our symptoms, and unless we set about treating the actual causes, not just the symptoms, we’re always going to be sitting by our section of the stream, griping about the moss or the fish (or the lack of fish). And you can do this, if you wish. Lots of people do. Just hang out at an old-time cafe, and you’ll see and hear lots of this.
But you needn’t live like that.
As Robert Frost wrote in “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening,”
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
We all have miles to go on our journey toward greater health and well-being, and it’s often upstream and uphill, if we really want to fix things. But the hike is lovely, and you needn’t go alone. If you’d like a guide on your journey, a caring companion to help you along the way, please contact me and schedule a free consultation.
My hiking boots are already in the car.