Change

This has to be one of the more serious challenges in life, right?

I believe we have to run slamming into the wall of ourselves before we shake our heads, metaphorically concussed,and have one blinding flash of a moment when we realize: I have to change.

And how painful is changing?

I can only speak for myself of course. Even though I hear about others' moments of enlightenment. I'm not a believer in self help tomes whatsoever. We are all on our own unique journeys but I do believe that listening to others can light a little spark in ourselves.

I am self-destructive by nature. I've had the therapy, I've crossed the Rubicon a few times, I've been part of support teams for yonks.I can't say it's a constant battle not to fall into the pit of multiple addictions again, but ageing (bless it!) is quite a benefit to people like me. I also hang (now virtually) with some long time recovered addicts.

But other habits creep back in. Poor daily living management. Especially during the pandemic where normal checks and measures are not in place. Add winter to this, a solitary life, and I had unconsciously sunk pretty low.

My "wall" was Daughter calling me yesterday with a list of phone numbers. She had been concerned about me on Saturday when we were together. I had no energy, was close to fainting a few times and was basically shrugging all this off as "normal" for me. My new normal. Slithering in under the door. I remembered a friend who was so sick and couldn't move anywhere, calmly sliding an office chair under her butt and navigating through her home on the chair, stopping every few spins for breath. For a couple of weeks. The new normal until a friend dropped in and called an ambulance and she nearly died in ICU. Mini-strokes and pneumonia.

The numbers Daughter gave me (after an intensive government search and communications) were for an occupational health assessment and a social worker.

It takes me a while to process change. I know I have to. But after her call, I had one of those blinding moments. This sedentary life, Covid or not, is killing me. And incidentally stressing Daughter out who sees me far more clearly than I see myself.

How will I turn it around, if ever? (Rhetorical question).

Concessions - Part Two

See Concessions - Part One here.

I love the little vanities observed in others. Particularly in women who are old enough to be my mother. I have one friend, not a shred of make-up visible on her face, hair au naturel, and her nails are always long and exquisitely polished in pearly pink.

I think I had my nails 'done' about five times in my life. A complete waste of time and money. They are chipped and sorry looking within about ten minutes of having them professionally manicured. I don't know how that happens and I'm at the stage where I don't care. Sweet concession. But I've always begged to ask: why does anyone bother?

I think one of the big concessions for me is driving. I can drive. I can drive at night. But oh boy, rain or fog or snow at night has me in panic attack mode. Reflections piercing the eyeballs. Those new blinding halogen headlights on cars. Speeding trucks pitching filthy water/ice on my windshield, legitimate fear of hydro-planing on the highway, accidents, the odd deranged moose venturing forth in the darkness, all of the above makes me white-knuckle the steering wheel.

Not good.

I think I'll be bunking with friends in town on such nights in future.

Concessions - Part One

Concessions to ageing that is. They slither in unannounced. Subtle changes, small accommodations. I resent some of them. I hate slowing down. But I find I have to. I've always walked fast, showered quickly, tossed the wet hair into a wash and wear shape and proceeded with my day.

I am more careful now. Ever since falling out of the tub and cracking my head off the sink I learn to be cautious. To hold on to something. To think about where my feet are going. It adds a couple of minutes right there. I eat breakfast. I had to train myself to do that as I never used to. I find I function much better with porridge or oatbran inside me. And I read the paper. Including the obits. Over the breakfast. And I meditate. And sometimes I will journal. And there's another couple of hours gone right there.

I find I get lost in my thoughts sometimes. Another concession. For I lose the odd word here and there and have to mentally flip through the internal file labels and extract the word. Sometimes it lurks hidden, misfiled. But it emerges later when I don't expect it. And I love getting lost in my thoughts.

What are you thinking about ?

Hawthorn and primroses and bluebells. In spring in Ireland. Was there ever such a scent in a boreen?

Innocuous thoughts as you can see. But lovely.

I never had the time to do that.

And then I plan lunch and dinner if I'm not going out. And there's always the phone. And this blog. And answering emails and often a bit of snail mail which I love (notice the increase in snail mail lately?) And a walk on the shore with Ansa. And some writing and some reading. And by the time I get really rolling into the day it is nearly over.

And I think, what did I do today? as I pick up my book or my knitting. And I look back and wonder how I ever managed with a full time high pressure job and the kids and the house and the animals.

And I ask myself what was that all about and why was it all so complicated and important?

And how easy it is today as some concessions are truly wonderful.