I imagined that I'd be jumping for joy right now.
I got the "all clear" from my doctor today; I've recovered sufficiently from the concussion to resume life. So why am I not swinging from the rafters, shouting alleluia?
Perhaps because I feel cautious.
After two months of being on "brain rest," I no longer know what "normal" is. But my hunch is that not know is actually a good thing.
Before crash-landing on my "Sarah Bellum" that icy day in February, I charged at life full tilt. I had no patience for limitations, no perception even that I might have any. I frequently heard at
doctor visits the following question, "Why did you wait so long to come in?" And truth be told, I just didn't recognize pain or discomfort until it was unbearable. Or I ignored it.
I'm beginning to understand now that I have a neck bone connected to a back bone connected to a hip bone connected to a leg bone. But that simple jingle from childhood was lost on me--completely, for decades. I've been mainly headbone. Which is really more like bonehead.
If my head said, "Yeah, sounds like a great idea to go kayaking in the choppy waters of the Sea of Cortez or climb the nearest mountain...so what if I've never lifted a paddle or even a single weight to build some upper body strength or walked or jogged farther than a few blocks," I simply marched my body straight ahead, blinders on, no questions asked.
I have a certain admiration for the woman who did that. Always will. She was mighty lucky to have made it as long as she did. But I'm leaving her where she belongs.
It seems I've been given the the opportunity to recreate, to have a lick of sense, to move forward tempered and still joyful, still wild but in a different way.
And rested, much more rested.
I'll accept that as a gift from The Great Unknowable and cherish it like the babies I birthed. I'll do what is asked of me, rather than what I demand of myself. Seems fair enough.
(Though I still plan to go mushing come winter. Godwilling, that is.)
Image 1 by bartt
Image 2 by brit