WHEN I TALK about my chronic back pain, I often focus on the lessons learned as opposed to the actual story. I’ve hesitated to lay it out plainly; I fear being judged, or I simply don’t think people want to hear a depressing story about a man in pain.

I want to encourage people with my writing, so I say things like, I’m on the path to healing. It’s been the greatest teacher of my life, and I wouldn’t be who I am without the pain. These are all genuine statements, but there’s more to it.

Encouragement comes not only from feel-good sentiments. Perhaps more so, it comes from knowing there’s somebody out there who feels the way you do.

I’ve felt on my own in this for so long. But now I know there are countless others like me who are experiencing something similar; I write this for them. I write this for myself. I write this for anyone who’s enduring what they can’t understand.

Best and worst days

I had a low back injury seven years ago when I was twenty-one doing lunges at the gym. The specifics of the first few months, even the first few years of what the pain was like, are lost to my memory. I imagine I tried to act as if the pain was just a normal injury and would disappear with time.

Since then, I’ve felt chronic pain every day to some degree, primarily in my lower back around the SI joint, which links the pelvis and the lower spine; both sides of my hips, and the front and back of my hips. There’s also pain in my mid-back, but less frequently.

The entire framework of my body has felt completely out of whack, as once something gets triggered in one spot, the pain spreads. That’s what happens with a back injury. The rest of the body compensates to pick up the slack of the lower back, and imbalances occur.

Physically, I’ve just been getting by after the initial injury, able to live, train, and do normal activities at about sixty percent, on my very best days.

On my worst days, when I suffer what’s known as a “flare up,” it feels like something in my back bursts like a dam that’s just holding on. Most commonly, the entirety of my hips burn like a forest fire spreading across a ridge. A flare up usually lasts for a few days.

We’re meant to move like kids

Whether feeling decent or at my lowest, not a day has gone by in seven years where I’m not focused on my back pain, be it a flare up that takes me out physically, or the low-grade, dull achiness I live with most of the time. I have to distract myself, which can be productive.

More than the physical pain, it’s the thoughts of how I may never return to the things I love again that take a devastating toll on my mental state. I dream nearly every night of playing sports like I used to. I try not to be envious of those with pain-free bodies, but it can be tough.

Without a clear route to heal, the ocean of information regarding back pain has felt paralyzing. The modern treatment of back pain is to preserve the back, to do less and less of what we want until we’re living like robots, unable to use our backs at all.

I won’t accept that. I’ve taken breaks from training for months at a time, doing nothing physically but walking. That hasn’t helped either; the pain is less aggravated, but it’s still there.

Doing nothing won’t solve this. We’re meant to move like kids, playing without thinking about our bodies. I won’t stop training, building, learning and improving until that’s my reality.

Pain doesn’t age-discriminate

After countless sessions with physical therapists and chiropractors, as well as both obscure and top-of-the-line modalities, nothing has ever felt like a genuine answer that gets to the root of the problem.

These practitioners want to help and they try, yet they don’t know what to do, sometimes literally putting their hands up. You’re too young for this, I’ve heard repeatedly. But pain doesn’t age-discriminate. Being young doesn’t mean you shouldn’t feel pain, and being old doesn’t mean you should.

Most of those treating the pain haven’t had it themselves on this level. They suggest Band-Aids, the well-known moves and routines to ease back pain for a little, but I just know these exercises won’t fix this.

I’ve ruled surgery out, as I’ve heard more unsuccessful surgery stories than successful ones. Surgery won’t magically fix the pain, and it very well may make it worse. There’s something deeper here that needs to be re-built, not cracked, fused, or numbed.

It’s felt like I’ve been wandering in the darkness for the entirety of my adult life. I’ve broken down crying time after time, only to get back up to try to live my normal life again.

I’ve cried to my friends, my family. But there’s nothing they can do, and I know that. I feel bad when talking to people about it, because I don’t expect anyone to know what to say. But it hurts to cry alone; I’ve just needed somebody to listen.

That’s all I need, often what anybody in pain needs — not an answer, but somebody to listen without judgement.

A battlefield in my mind

The fear, hypersensitivity, and uncertainty have at many points taken over my life. I’ve tried to remember the day the injury happened, the timeframe and specifics so I could learn from it.

At other times I’ve tried to suppress what had happened, literally trying to forget how many years it’s been, trying to forget myself, my past, my “mistake”; but the only thing I’ve forgotten is what it’s like to feel pain free.

I’ve felt lost for so long, not nearly as long as some dealing with this, I’ve realized. Nevertheless, it feels like an integral aspect of my twenties has been taken from me: my physical ability. It’s hard to explain, or even understand, the pain I’ve had to come to terms with.

Am I going to be the guy with back pain for the rest of my life, when sports used to be everything to me? It’s a battlefield in my mind fighting off these negative thoughts.

Is it even in the body anymore, or is this all in my head? I wonder. What do I need to learn from this to move on? I’m endeavoring to go deeper emotionally and spiritually, too, to help unlock this puzzle. But sometimes I just want to break. It feels unmanageable, like I just can’t handle it all. But I’m doing my best.

Those are the facts, and here’s what I’ve done with them, as the lessons I’ve learned are more than just feel-good sentiments. They are my truth, the framework of my destiny, all that keeps me from letting the heavy cloud of pain overshadow my existence.

Amor fati — a love of fate

I’ve still pursued the life I long to live, moving to Osaka, Japan, and now Tokyo, which was once an absolutely wild dream. I’ve done this while just trying, hoping, believing that this pain will one day leave me be. But it hasn’t. And it won’t without the necessary work.

I’ve turned to the blank page, writing incessantly to cope with something I can’t understand, for writing has become my guiding light and calling.

I’ve turned to classic wisdom and contemporary thinkers to understand the hero’s journey, how all heroes must head into the cave and endure a season of darkness, a trial by fire, from which they emerge changed, deeper, strengthened, with wisdom to share with those who need it.

With each labored step, each passing day, I’ve come to understand that we’re all dealing with something beneath the surface, no matter who we are. This is my challenge, and I will not only bear it, I will love it. In the words of the philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche:

The years of struggle have been full of not only pain, but the profound meaning which most humans spend a lifetime trying to find. My soul has thirsted for healing, but the pain hasn’t stopped me. It has made me.

In our challenge lies our destiny — I wouldn’t trade this life for any other.

No longer alone

Over the years I’ve often asked, why me?

Why me. Because I have what it takes to overcome this. Because it’s my purpose to share what I learn on the path, to bring not only myself out of the darkness, but others, too, who need these words.

I’m on my way out — I know I am — because by some miracle I found Brendan Backstrom, aka Low Back Ability, and his Back Breakthrough Blueprint. For the first time, I don’t feel alone. Now that I’m in the BBB, I’ve realized how many others are dealing with this challenge just like me.

Why do I believe in Brendan’s philosophy over everything I’ve tried in the past? Because the BBB isn’t a back Band-Aid that only helps you survive until your next flare up. It doesn’t promise to be an overnight fix, either.

It’s a gradual climb out of back pain once and for all, a multi-step journey that takes faith, patience and sacrifice. That’s how I know it’s real. For anything worth going for in life takes time and dedication.

This route was created by someone who has actually endured years of this pain; he was where I’ve been at my lowest, at rock bottom, hopeless. But Brendan never gave in. There had to be a way out of pain. But like me and countless others, he couldn’t find a path that felt solid beneath him.

Why are we told to build every muscle group of the body, but only preserve the low back? He wondered. Starting with a completely broken body, he’d have to forge the path himself.

A will to never quit

Brendan began an odyssey of learning and healing and has distilled what he gleaned on his path of overcoming his crippling back pain into a step-by-step, total-body transformation.

The 3-day-a-week BBB flow targets the lower back directly, yet every move starts out regressed, making it possible to begin the healing journey wherever you are, whether bedridden or near full-health, with only a nagging discomfort holding you back.

I’m still very much on the journey, yet every day, while doing the training outlined in the program, I have visions of who I will be when I overcome this pain.

On the weekly calls with Brendan, we share what we’re going through, our trials and victories; just knowing there are others all over the world who are fighting, healing, hurting, and growing just like me makes all the difference.

There are still many difficult days. I sometimes wish to just give in to the depression and let this heavy cloud envelop me. But I won’t give up. To do so would be to throw away the years I’ve battled without even a semblance of a path out and the shit I’ve done for myself despite the pain.

To do so would be to close my eyes to the countless blessings I do have in my life, my friends and my family who want nothing more than to see me heal. I won’t give in.

My heart surges with energy as I think about my future, for I want to treat my body as best as I can, with love and compassion and respect for what we’ve been through, with full faith that this is not the end, but the very beginning of our adventure together.

I’m twenty-eight. I’ve been in the program for nearly a year, but I won’t put a timeline on my healing; it’s taken seven years to get into this state, and I have no idea how much longer it’s going to take to get out of it. But I’m putting in the work and I’m committed for the long haul.

We have one body, one back, one life — there’s no choice but to heal and thrive, or spend the rest of my days trying. This journey has instilled in me a will to never quit, something I’ll carry for as long as I live, both in physical pursuits and otherwise.

This is my destiny

Years of back pain can make the thought of going back to regular life seem like a fantasy. Before joining the BBB, I couldn’t fathom how life could return to normal. I’ve realized it won’t if we don’t believe it can.

This road is not for the faint of heart; even at my lowest, I’ve cultivated a delusional belief that I’m not only going to return to regular life, but that I’m going to be better than I’ve ever been. That is what it takes.

Brendan and others from the BBB who have walked this path serve as proof that it is possible. If you’re reading this and you’re in pain, you must believe from the depths of your heart and soul that this pain can, and will, be nothing but a memory. I won’t stop at anything short of that.

We weren’t meant to live a life restricted. We’re meant to soar, but we have to believe we’re worthy. We have to believe it’s possible. If you’re in a low point, just keep going, because this will all turn around eventually.

Keep the faith. I got it tattooed on my arm, so when the pain is one day nothing but a memory, I’ll remember and reflect with nothing but gratitude on what I made it through.

You’re here, and nothing that’s come against you has altered your destiny. That was hard for me to understand, and it’s something I still grapple with.

I love to travel more than anything else in the world. I want to be the travel guy, exploring the far reaches of the earth, getting lost to find myself, living an active life without restrictions.

There’s an internal conflict inside of me — I can’t do the thing I want to do more than anything else, which is travel freely and tell the story. I’m beyond blessed to travel more often than most; I mean fuck, I’m living in Japan. But I’m in pain, and it feels like by traveling, I’m not giving myself fully to healing.

I don’t know if that internal conflict is just fuel for the fire. It’s often hard to see how this challenge hasn’t diverted my path and aspirations. But perhaps I’m just not meant to live that life right now. The universe has something different in store. I have to believe something better.

This challenge hasn’t altered my destiny — it is my destiny.

Castles In The Sky

Growing up in Los Angeles, I was around a lot of surfers. My brother Duke was a competitive junior surfer; all my friends surfed. I was really the only one not as taken by it. Basketball and golf were my thing. I still surfed a bit, but I didn’t really get into it until I got older.

As a kid my brother and my friends would always watch surf movies and videos, and I always felt like the only one who didn’t care.

Recently, however, I laid in bed in my room in Osaka watching Castles In The Sky, a surf movie by one of the best surf filmmakers of all time, Taylor Steele. I had seen that one of my favorite songs was used in the movie, so I found it online. It’s as if I was supposed to go watch it.

The story follows various surfers as they travel around the world to Asia and South America, India and Africa. It conveys life in these places without dialogue, just a line from a beautiful poem at the beginning of every segment.

The footage portrays people. Cultures. Communities. This struck such a chord in me, as it feels like that’s all I want in life right now. The movie brought tears to my eyes.

All I want in life

My spirit craves travel to cultures that transport me to a primordial age; my heart yearns to gaze into the eyes of human beings so unlike me on the outside, so similar within.

My eyes wish to look upon shining stars from mountain tops, and my chest wants to climb to get there. My legs long to walk for miles without an end in sight, through nature that makes me feel unimaginably small, through skyscrapers and lights that make me feel unequivocally alive.

My soul hopes to see the way people lived before the way they lived is lost.

The entirety of my being only wishes to fly.

I want to travel without the trivialities of our modern day, where I’m not worried about how I look with my shirt off or anxious about keeping up with social media.

I want to eat the local food of different regions and drink whiskey by the raging fire in the cold, tea from green and foggy mountains. I want to run along rivers in ancient cities and surf at pristine beaches in remote countries. And right now, I can’t. That’s why when I do, it will be all the more sublime.

In retrospect, the stars align

As a kid, I could have never imagined that I’d be watching surf movies by myself in my room in Japan, fifteen years later. It wasn’t just the travel footage that hit home. Despite not being an avid surfer like my brother and friends, I still developed an understanding of the sport and the culture.

It was an integral part of my life, and as I laid there watching the surf scenes, I couldn’t help but yearn for that part of me, such a potent aspect of my childhood and identity.

There’s nothing like surfing, as time in the ocean beneath the sun, doing something healthy for the body with friends or alone in the arms of Mother Nature nourishes the soul like nothing else. I miss it, so fucking much.

Some of my best memories are those summer days when the waves were small and glassy and we’d cruise through the clean green water, looking into the misty horizon until the sun burned through.

In retrospect, the story weaves. Maybe growing up watching surf videos instilled me with this longing — I didn’t care for it then, yet it’s all coming full circle. Surfing and traveling the world is a driving force to inspire my healing. In retrospect, the stars align; we gotta believe there are countless more, waiting to shine.

Life is now

I’m writing these words now to make beauty for the ashes, for if I didn’t have this challenge, the fire within wouldn’t burn so brightly. Through this pain, I’m gaining perspective; maybe that’s an even trade. Perhaps I’m getting the better end of the deal.

I’ll climb Machu Picchu and walk the Camino de Santiago. I’ll have adventures in Scotland and Iceland, New Zealand and Peru. I’ll do it. But life is here, and life is now.

That may be the greatest lesson in all of this: to wish eternally for a brighter future diminishes the only thing we’ll ever know, which is the present. Don’t let it pass you by, no matter how cloudy it seems.