Thinking about my life for an art journal prompt, I realize – my life used to be full, challenging, in every way. Intellectually, emotionally, physically, aesthetically, spiritually – I pushed myself, I challenged myself, I moved, loved, lost, changed jobs, went into therapy, worked hard, read books, took classes, thought, looked at art, wrote poems …
Getting sick really was like hitting a wall. Hitting it, then being surrounded by it. No way over, around, out. Locked inside. I tried.
The first years, what energy I had went to the house, mostly. An aesthetic, design challenge. Some writing, some reading. Oh, and, therapy at the beginning, thinking the problem was psychological. But no.
Where I used to be busy on all fronts, the illness narrows it down. One thing, one dimension, at a time. For a long time. Small challenges, small tasks, small thoughts.
But along the way, I forgot – or perhaps never noticed – what a truly amazing life I did lead. My life was not boring. I look at it now with some astonishment. If it were someone else, I would be impressed.
I am lucky to be a person who always had a wide internal life, since that is mostly what’s left to me now. I remind myself: treasure that, be grateful for that. Resenting what has been lost is useless. Worse than useless; it is debilitating.
[Click the image to see credits & larger sizes at flickr.]
