This weekend was the first with new 12-hour shifts for my attendants, meaning I had one attendant from 7 a.m to 7 p.m and another from 7 p.m to 7 p.m. I was free to go on an afternoon outing, and so, on Saturday, I went to Lytle Creek, a tiny community in a narrow canyon with a creek running through it. It was about 40 minutes but a world away and exactly what I needed – both a balm and a gentle kick in the pants.
We got out at a picnic area and found a spot by the babbling creek (er, brook), under trees with Spring-green leaves rustling in a gentle breeze. It was idyllic, bucolic, all that, and I sat there and was transported, as they say. I was reminded that I need to get out more after holing up these last couple years, and I will try to do so. I just wish gas wasn’t so expensive. Bad timing!
As I sat there, I recognized that, yes, I’m sad that I’m not really able to go camping anymore. In the years before my spinal surgery, in pursuit of a cheaper way to get away, I got to really enjoy camping, mostly at the beach, as labor-intensive as it was. Now, primarily because of my bedding needs, it would be all but impossible for me to go camping, at least on my budget.
But I was also aware of being glad that I could get out and sit by a creek like this, if only for an hour or two, and hopeful that I will be doing more things like this.
Since then, I’ve been reflecting on this tension between wanting to live life as I used to and wanting to make the best of my life as it is now. I keep saying I have a new life and that I’m excited to find out how to live it to its fullest, but I find I keep trying to live the life I used to or something like it and wondering if that’s okay or crazy.
Does it make sense for me to do things like find a creek to sit by for a hour or two – something a bit like going camping, which makes me happy but also sad? Or should I just do things that are completely different – a complete break – like just going to the movies and performances at the colleges and streaming movies and shows at home? (Then again, a scene in a film or show may well remind me of going camping or when I was in a certain spot up north or in Europe or wherever – which, in a way, is more painful than when I’m doing something that is close to camping.)
This applies to different areas of my life. I just discovered that I prefer to have my teeth brushed in the bathroom after I’m in my wheelchair in the morning rather than in my bed as has been done since the surgery five years ago. In this case, wanting to do something like I used to makes sense, because it’s easy and is normal and less like convalescing.
But what about wearing overalls? For many years, I wore overalls everyday. I enjoyed wearing overalls, and I enjoyed that I got to be known for it (my “handle” online is Overalls Guy – not what I intended, but it grew on me or, perhaps more correctly, I grew into it). Since my surgery, though, putting on and taking off overalls is notably harder (and painful), and, with sadness, I’ve been getting rid of many of the literally dozens of overalls that I had. But I’ve kept the larger, looser ones (as well as the shortalls and cut-offs which are easier to put on and take off, especially when I don’t wear a shirt). I’ve been enjoying wearing these lately, but it does take more effort and involves some pain. Does this make sense? I wonder. But it’s also fine to wear some cool sweatpants, scrubs and shorts that I have on some days – right? After all, isn’t variety the spice of life?
I’m getting ready to switch my bedroom and office, so there’ll be more room to transfer me into and out of bed, and I’ve pretty much decided I need to get rid of my futon, which is now in my office and won’t fit in my new office. It is a large wooden futon, possibly handmade, and I bought it like 25 years ago when such things were in. My father said I was a fool, but I was proud to have it for visitors who sometimes sat in my office and for guests who stayed overnight. Later, it was put to good use when guys came over to be intimate and/or sleep with me (which is no longer possible with my increased disability and the pain I now have). Having the futon has meant a lot to me over these years, but as with all the overalls I’ve been getting rid of (I hope some cool guy or guys buy them and enjoy wearing them), it is hard and sad to let it go, but it doesn’t make sense to keep it.
Yes, life does go on and things do change and we do move on, but does bringing in the new really or always have to mean out with the old?
No comments:
Post a Comment