It’s an in-between time. The past week we had both rain and snow; what the meteorologist refers to as a wintry mix. Wintry mess is more like it. The snow lining the roads is now blackened with a dirt/sand/salt melange, the sun has made only the briefest of appearances, and what with the frequent wind, it feels a bit raw outside. Bleak, in a word.
Not quite winter and not yet spring. And my mood is much the same. As we prepare to move, I am not only packing and painting walls, I am beginning the process of emotional detachment from our current home. It is, in all respects, an unsettling process. And my thoughts have been at loose ends as well.
I believe I have a plan to get back on track. In a few weeks I will hit my six years since diagnosis anniversary. I’ve been thinking a lot about my continued survival as well as certain lifestyle changes that have been helpful to me in this journey. So in those moments when I am not wielding a paintbrush or taping up boxes, I am going to start spelling out those practices which help keep a bounce in my step.
I’ll conclude today’s blog with a children’s poem written by Carl Sandburg. It illustrates rather sweetly what I feel to be one of the most important attributes in survival; the capacity to keep going even after a fall. Brush yourself off, and try again.
Stumbling is where you walk and find you are not walking.
Stumbling is where you find yourself spread on the ground, instead of standing on your feet.
Stumbling is where your feet try to make a fool of you.
Stumbling is to go where you are not looking when you mean to go where you are looking.
Stumbling is to get your feet mixed so you go down.
Stumblers are two kinds, those who come up quick and those who say, “Where am I?”
If you never want to stumble, be a fish or a bird.