Aletheiaphysis

If you’ve been following this blog for a while, you will have noticed the recent change from Forty, Fit and Fed to Aletheiaphysis.

Why Aletheiaphysis?

“Aletheia” (pronounced Ah-leh-thee-ah) comes from the Greek word aletheia, meaning “truth” or “disclosure.”

“Physis” (pronounced fahy-sis) is a term that orignates from Ancient Greek philosophy. Derived from the verb phyesthai/phynai, it means “to grow”, “to develop”, or “to become”.

Aletheiaphysis refers to the truth about growth. The fundamental truth is that growth and change is hard. More often than not, this process is uncomfortable. If we want to improve our selves, to become better than we were before, we must embrace the discomfort. We need to become the butterfly and choose to endure the struggle to emerge from the cocoon. If we take the easy way out, we will end up like the butterfly in this story – with shrivelled wings, never able to fly:

A man found the cocoon of a butterfly. One day a small opening appeared. He sat and watched the butterfly for several hours as it struggled to force its body through that little hole. Then it seemed to stop making any progress. It appeared as if it had gotten as far as it could and could go no further.

So the man decided to help the butterfly. He took a pair of scissors and snipped off the remaining bit of the cocoon. The butterfly then emerged easily. But it had a swollen body and small shrivelled wings.

The man continued to watch the butterfly, waiting for the wings to enlarge and expand to support the body that would contract in time. Neither happened! The butterfly spent the rest of its life crawling around with a swollen body and shrivelled wings. It never was able to fly.

What the man in his kindness and haste did not understand was that the restricting cocoon and the struggle required for the butterfly to get through the tiny opening were nature’s way of forcing fluid from the body of the butterfly into its wings so that it would be ready for flight once it achieved its freedom from the cocoon.

As I move into the second half century of my life, I have noticed that each passing year is harder on my body and mind than the year before. The line on the graph is not linear, but exponential. Not only do physical ailments seem more challenging to overcome, but my mind feels weaker as well. In my youth, I would often look at the older generation with declining health, certain that I will never allow myself to become like that. Now, I find myself on the slippery slope that leads to the abyss of old age and I wonder what happened to that promise I made all those years ago.

I don’t think I realise how far I had slipped until I went to climb the Great Wall and discovered that hiking, even just the short segment of it, was enough to put my knees out. I wanted to weep tears of frustration when I had to take the easier path so I wouldn’t ruin the rest of my trip. Whatever happened to the me who would have insisted on hiking the entire stretch as far as I was allowed to go?

When I complain about my declining physical abilities, I am reminded that I did have a stroke. I have a reason for not being in good form so I should cut myself some slack. But inside my head, a small voice whispers, “Is that really it, though? Isn’t this an excuse for giving up?” The devil and the angel are standing on each of my shoulders with warring viewpoints, fighting for dominance over my mind. As I stand at the fork in the road, pondering who will win, I remember that I am not a silent bystander in this life. I am at the helm and I can choose my heading. I choose not go out lying down. I choose alethiaphysis to live my life by my rules.