and so the year begins

It seems that the direction is once again "forward," wherever that is.

I had my last regular session with my very cool physical therapist on Monday. My back, and all the drama attached to it, chaos, randomized nerve endings, opioids, fear, doubt, pain, waiting, more waiting, appears to no longer be the driving force or the primary limit in my life. By Summer I expect do be doing most of the things I used to do, somewhat more carefully. My grandmother was right. It's all about posture. Keep the head back, the shoulders down and engage those core muscles. If I start to hurt, there are a number of exercises that bring relief fairly quickly, stretching, engaging. Strong drugs do not appear to be necessary, although sometimes they are nice. I'm back in the Tylenol/Ibuprofen zone. I don't seem to look any funnier than most middle aged men, in fact, looking around me, particularly in Cedar Rapids, I might look slightly better than the curve. Imagine!

I find myself stumbling over the loose ends of intentions discarded when I attempted flight. (Actually, I achieved flight. I botched the landing.) Whither now? In retrospect, I find that along with the change of clothes in my panniers I was carrying a load of hubris. The head was in a very different space before I tried to sever it. Without getting into a lot of morose detail, those of us at home were required to confront each other, be with each other, deal with each other, in ways we did not anticipate. It feels to me as though we are dealing with each other more honestly, more directly, and perhaps, overall, with more patience. It was a fumbling, erratic, awkward, difficult journey at times, punctuated by moments of almost incidental clarity.

Looking up, on January 20th, 7 months after my vain attempt at a soft landing, I hope I take a deep breath and revel for a moment in normalcy. Having achieved some semblance of it once again, finding time for work, play, friends and family, able to move about at will and under my own power, whither now? Dedication to a new goal? Celebration of the mundane? Being in the moment? Adventure?

I recall thinking a lot about the idea of balance last year. Ironic, I know. Perhaps that's the lesson to learn. If so, I'm not there yet. Balance requires different things of us on different days. Sometimes a nap, sometimes a rocket up the ass to get me moving, sometimes the snowy branches of a high oak woods and a fresh trail of groomed powder, sometimes a quiet evening stretched out in bed with Robyn, comparing notes (no this is not innuendo). (If we were comparing other things, that would be innuendo.)

My friend Cam, who left this earthly plane ushered out by pills, alcohol, and the darkest of moods, pointed out to me (also incidentally) that the search for balance can be the trickiest of things. I'm beginning to accept that this was his decision to make and that my anger is mostly my own selfishness. I had grown accustomed to him being around, coming up with wit, insight, and an occasional magnificent song guaranteed to make me cry. For that matter, I had grown accustomed to being around myself, and was perhaps less appreciative than I might have been. I forgive you, Cam. From my perspective, it was a lousy decision.

Coming from a middle aged man who allows himself to hurtle downhill at 38 miles per hour on an antique bicycle, ignoring the possible ramifications, I call that big talk.