Sometimes in the first moments I’m awake, if I straighten my wrists “just so” and slide them palms down under my pillow …and if I press my belly into the mattress and give the slightest curve to my back, I feel no pain. I savor those moments. No movement, just stillness and silence, until the gears of the day begin to wind themselves up. I chase that feeling through daylight hours and into the night again.
That’s the story of chronic, relentless pain. But I have another story too. One of lingering, persistent joy. To know that my body holds these two things simultanously is a beautiful reminder that I have choices. And that out of these choices, I can build perspective.
A friend recently wrote me about the surprise and disappointment that can happen when our “idea” of how we imagined our lives, turns to vapor. It feels like we are left with only “what is” … but in reality, that’s all we ever had. All we have now. And so be that simple truth.
To be “sheltered in place” is a gift. It isn’t a sentence, but rather an opportunity to step fully into a collective and loving act of solidarity. Let’s not focus on the door when we can focus on the window. I am hopeful that so many of these stories of ours will find their way to a page. Same picture, different frame. Onward we go through this moment.