04/12/2026
A bit of a repost from 4 years ago with additions and edits…a little insight from me.
Ghost Rider
“Pack up all those phantoms
Shoulder that invisible load
Keep on riding north and west
Haunting that wilderness road
Like a ghost rider
Carry all those phantoms
Through bitter wind and stormy skies
From the desert to the mountain
From the lowest low to the highest high
Like a ghost rider”
This past week as usual I’ve done my best to pour into several dear patients the love and support of a physician who has been where they are now. Hurting, sick, scared, and traumatized.
I’ve used the phrase “you have to put your own oxygen mask on first before you can help anyone else”, sometimes several times in a row with patients.
Neil Peart (1952-2020), percussionist and lyricist for the band Rush, and author, said it best, in his book Ghost Rider: Travels on the Healing Road (and distilled into the song from the 2002 album V***r Trails):
“My little baby soul was not a happy infant, of course, with much to complain about, but as every parent learns, a restless baby often calms down if you take it for a ride. I had learned my squalling spirit could be soothed the same way, by motion, and so I had decided to set off on this journey into the unknown. Take my little baby soul for a ride.”
When he was a baby, our son Jack would not go to sleep. For almost two years my husband had to drive him around. Every. Single. Night. Only then would he relax his body and drift off. My husband would return, dead tired himself, and carry Jack so tenderly up to his crib, our baby finally spent and wrung-out after fighting sleep so hard. I often have this image of my baby soul personified as my strong-willed little boy. So often my soul fights change, kicking and screaming but knowing the need to change, to move, to grow. But nevertheless, ever fighting. Right now I can feel my baby soul once again at this precipice, fighting. Do I jump? Do I change deeply? Do I stay on this path? How do I do this? Why do I have to do this?
In the late 1990s within a 10-month period Neil Peart lost his 19 year old daughter and his wife. He was lost. He had to move. His life depended on it, so he rode his motorcycle over 55,000 miles in 14 months, from Canada to South America. He nourished his baby soul, driving it toward new purpose an an eventual rebirth. When we are struggling, we have to move. Treat yourself like a little baby or your best friend. Use kind words. Be gentle to yourself. Eat good food. Be grateful. Laugh. Sing (it oxygenates the blood!) Get outside. Walk softly. Stretch. Rest. Naps encouraged. Self-compassion is the most difficult lesson. I’m still working on this.
At the end Neil breaks his sticks, not only a common thing for drummers to do but a powerful and intentional statement of emotion. Rest in Peace, NEP.
in Rio (2002)