I sometimes forget how solitary I am by nature. I spend the majority of my time alone and always have, but it still surprises me when I enjoy something because of its natural solitariness. I did my 5 mile walk by myself today and enjoyed the time to think. I discovered that I still think I am a Wonder Woman clone who can do much more than I can actually do. I have conversations like this with myself:
The lake is only 9.2 miles long, which is only 4.2 miles more than I was planning on walking; I think I should go ahead and walk the whole thing.
No, little mess, you cannot. Not yet.
And on and on. I ended up being glad that I only did the 5 miles when the last 1/2 mile felt like an eternity. The fortunate thing about doing this walk alone today was the time it afforded me to think about what it means to actually be alone. Many of you have asked me why I am doing this hike by myself and I don't think I've given a good answer because the answer both makes me sad and proud. I'm doing it alone because that is what I am.
Please don't mistake my meaning here and think that I am pitying myself for my aloneness; far from it. I have made very deliberate decisions in my life that have led me to this place where I feel my aloneness most keenly; but notice that I do not say that I am lonely. Truthfully, I have never been lonely. Which is why I am also proud of the fact that I am doing this hike alone. It shows that I am still strong enough to walk through this world as an independent woman who loves herself enough to grab all of the happiness she can find.
For all the popularity of this hike, it is dangerous. People do die. I'm OK with that. I don't have a death wish, I don't want to die, but I made my peace with dying years ago when I was confronted with the probability of it, sooner rather than later. Here's the thing, though: I don't think I'm going to die on this hike because I am a strong, independent woman who can and will do this. I will. And I don't need anyone else to help me, to cheer me, or to walk beside me.
I have got this.
It is mine.
Thursday, February 27, 2014
Wednesday, February 26, 2014
Pining for the fjords
I don't know where to begin. Let's try this:
Chapter One: I am born.
No, that's not quite right (apologies to Mr. Dickens). So, beginning. Can we claim to be at the beginning when we are middle aged? A "new" beginning has always sounded so odd to me because it isn't a beginning at all, just a change. Let's call this, then, the monumental re-education of a holey headed, pimp limpin', bad ass motherfuc...uh, philosophy professor.
So, I'm going to hike the Icelandic highlands. By myself. That may not sound like a big deal to some, but it is an enormous leap for me. Let me explain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up (y'all better get that reference): 9 years ago I was diagnosed with antiphospholipid syndrome after having a heart attack and several strokes. I have collected a new autoimmune diagnosis every year since then and, really, have been quite ill for quite awhile. I'm arthritic in every joint, I have muscle pain in every muscle, and I walk funny due to the strokes. I still have stroke fatigue (imagine being drugged, that's close to what it feels like) and I live with the knowledge that shit can escalate out of the blue and very quickly. Two years ago I was still walking with a forearm crutch and I still stumble around like a drunk person half the time. But, well, so? Nothing I can do about all of that so I tend not to worry about it, much to the consternation of the people who love me.
The point is, tramping around the Icelandic highlands by myself after being as sick as I have been, as disabled as I have been, and as discouraged as I have been is a really big deal. I don't know if I will be able to do it, but I've already gotten half way to my first goal of walking 10 miles, so I think I will be able to do it. It's a risk, that is true. Being out there without someone who knows my specific history (it is really very complicated) is a huge risk. I'm on blood thinners, so I have to be careful about hitting my head, and I am on low dose chemo, so I have to be careful of infections. My diseases are so rare that I often have to educate new doctors about them. They are also such rare forms of rare diseases that I often have to insist that new doctors see me as the delicate person I am. So, yes, I am delicate. But you know what? I reject the notion that people who are delicate should not have adventures. I am having my damn adventure.
I mean, if not now, when?
Chapter One: I am born.
No, that's not quite right (apologies to Mr. Dickens). So, beginning. Can we claim to be at the beginning when we are middle aged? A "new" beginning has always sounded so odd to me because it isn't a beginning at all, just a change. Let's call this, then, the monumental re-education of a holey headed, pimp limpin', bad ass motherfuc...uh, philosophy professor.
So, I'm going to hike the Icelandic highlands. By myself. That may not sound like a big deal to some, but it is an enormous leap for me. Let me explain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up (y'all better get that reference): 9 years ago I was diagnosed with antiphospholipid syndrome after having a heart attack and several strokes. I have collected a new autoimmune diagnosis every year since then and, really, have been quite ill for quite awhile. I'm arthritic in every joint, I have muscle pain in every muscle, and I walk funny due to the strokes. I still have stroke fatigue (imagine being drugged, that's close to what it feels like) and I live with the knowledge that shit can escalate out of the blue and very quickly. Two years ago I was still walking with a forearm crutch and I still stumble around like a drunk person half the time. But, well, so? Nothing I can do about all of that so I tend not to worry about it, much to the consternation of the people who love me.
The point is, tramping around the Icelandic highlands by myself after being as sick as I have been, as disabled as I have been, and as discouraged as I have been is a really big deal. I don't know if I will be able to do it, but I've already gotten half way to my first goal of walking 10 miles, so I think I will be able to do it. It's a risk, that is true. Being out there without someone who knows my specific history (it is really very complicated) is a huge risk. I'm on blood thinners, so I have to be careful about hitting my head, and I am on low dose chemo, so I have to be careful of infections. My diseases are so rare that I often have to educate new doctors about them. They are also such rare forms of rare diseases that I often have to insist that new doctors see me as the delicate person I am. So, yes, I am delicate. But you know what? I reject the notion that people who are delicate should not have adventures. I am having my damn adventure.
I mean, if not now, when?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)