Lost and Found

I am currently writing this while recovering from a concussion, the words on the page are a hazy blur, I will no doubt pay for it with a headache later. All is well. The new year was a strange one, as all things have been for the past while, but a new perspective is needed to make it through these crazy times. If not new, at least, altered. I spent the past year working too hard on things I didn’t care about, spent being the key word. I was neglecting self-care for to chase a paycheck, burning the candle at both ends to live at the whim of the dollar. There are many lessons to be learned in life and we often ignore them, turn the other way and pretend the obvious isn’t calling out to us; what we don’t know can’t hurt, right?

Most of us know how that story ends, its often unpleasant, and rather than try to avoid it we somehow find ourselves back there. In the abyss.

There is a fracture in my right cheek.

It hurts to smile, it’s even more painful to laugh. Each moment of normalcy and enjoyment is a not-so-subtle reminder to take care.

. . .

I am an avid reader, at least, there was a time when I considered myself one. There was a drastic reduction of reading last year for no reason, aside from being “too busy”

Where is the sense in that? Being too busy for something you love? Each day I would walk past a treasure trove of adventure, joy, wonder and amazement, every day ignoring them, avoiding them, like the plague.

That’s going to change.

By prioritizing myself and a fresh start I will pick up a book again.

I will pick up many.

Angelou, Gaiman, Chandler, Zola, Schwob, and all you other authors of the world look out!

Given that we have been under lockdown here in Toronto for some time you would think there wasn’t much to get worked up about. Think again. I found a way to worry and overthink everything this past year.

My diet, my exercise routine, my reading (or lack thereof), my writing, etc.

It was a self-obsessed spiral of the worst kind, and, until my injury it felt endless. Each passing day felt like a cage of misery and each morning, like a cursed King, I set before myself the duty of wallowing in my own misery.

A Sisyphean task.

The time has come to put those sorts of thing to an end.

There are better, more fruitful things to be doing with my time other than worry, other than punish myself with the ache of isolation, the devious torture of self-deprecation.

. . .

First and foremost is to manage my health.

These sharp knives slicing through the clouds of my mind won’t let me forget what I’ve put myself through, not for a while. The haziness of these words won’t be lost on me as I recover and seek to find myself again.

I didn’t even realize I was lost.

But I guess that is life sometimes, losing yourself in the worst way only to come around and find yourself in the best way again and again.

The journey never ends.

Sleep is a favorite pastime of mine, not because I’m lazy (I swear!) but because there is something magical about waking up refreshed and taking that first stretch of the morning. Its early in the AM as I write this and I hope to wake up in a similar fashion, I hope we all do.

As I stand atop the peak of Mount Migraine, let me plant my flag and leave a little reminder here for us:

Every day is a fresh start to love yourself a little more.

Every day is a fresh start to respect yourself a little more.

Head injuries aren’t your friend.