Actually, many days are like this, and I’m sure each of you have your own version: nothing really bad is happening, and, relative to many in the world, I’m very aware that my life is actually very good. Hey, who can argue with running water, central heating, hot water on tap, and a clean (enough) indoor toilet? But I just don’t feel well enough to do anything on either my to-do list or my wanna-do list. Holding my head up feels like too much effort; anywhere you point to on my body, it hurts.
What I find the most frustrating is that I feel that so much time is taken by dealing with all my health issues, and time is what I feel most starved of. Again, I know that relative to many in the world. . . . etc. I know. I know. My problems may be the ones I feel the closest, but I know I’m not the only one who ever suffers. It’s the frustration of hours going by, though, where I’m waiting to feel just a little bit better before trying to do anything else besides “cope,” where it seems I just can’t get on with my life, that is one of my biggest challenges. I know I need to accept that this IS my life: that it’s just going to take time to deal with my dear body. Maybe it’s the exuberance (and often good health) of youth that is the source of my feeling entitled to not having to think too terribly much about physical needs. Maybe it’s the female socialization that I’m supposed to take care of others instead of myself. Give me a day or two and I could write you a long essay on all of the understandable reasons I feel frustrated. (On second thought, make that a week or so. . . ) None of this is new, and there aren’t any new insights. Yet I still feel like I’m a strong horse straining: LET ME RUN!!!
I’m a little embarrassed that I can’t seem to accept this gracefully. It’s not like I haven’t had time to — it’s been many years, now, that my body hasn’t been able to cooperate with what I want to do, or feel I ought to do. Always more layers of shoulds and oughts to unravel, and more inquiries of “How do I deal with this creatively?” I mean, really, if there is a mystery we call God who is calling me to do something, it’s not like this mystery doesn’t know I have these difficulties —- so I can’t be called to do something I can’t do. And if there is no mystery we call God, then there is no call. So why, after all this time, after all this work, can’t I accept all this with some grace?
Well, it’s not the only question I have no answer for. So, we carry on.
Thanks for reading my little rant,