Turtling

“Nowhere to run to, baby. Nowhere to hide.”   - Martha and the Vandellas

Cradled up against the window of this hospital room looking out onto a soggy Vancouver morning, I have a moment where I feel like I could fly. Like if I just jumped out into the clouds that are passing quickly by, low in the sky, veiling the mountains that are an arm’s reach away, I would catch wind and float above it all, and touch the tips of those rocky peaks, and be free.

But the drops of rain on the glass give it away. That clear barrier stands between me and the outside world, like the invisible wall that keeps me from really being able to connect to it. Like I used to, anyway.

At the beginning of this journey I wrote about how I wanted my friends to know they could treat me “normally” – share their hardships and daily idiosyncrasies and I would be as open and appreciative of it as ever.

But that’s not entirely accurate. Not always. It can’t be.

Because at this point, it’s tough to relate. My “normal world” is so far away, now. The glass between me and what once was is thick, and even though I can see right through it, I know I can’t get beyond it. I can’t jump. I wouldn’t fly.

I’m still appreciative, of course. And I still very much care and want to know what’s going on outside that window. But sometimes it doesn’t feel good to stare out and see what I can’t feel and touch. Sometimes it hurts too much to know I don’t have the option of joining in.

And these days, everything is about paying attention to what things feel soothing and acting on that.

I’ve tried for weeks to “work”. Bills still need to be paid, and if there’s anything I’ve tried to promote from the beginning of this as much as possible it’s creating opportunities to continue to treat this like “life”. Not necessarily normal, per se (these days, what the hell does that even mean?), but real. Meaningful. Valuable. Enjoyable. And work, for me, has always been that. Helping other people, writing stories, empowering individuals to remember their potential and their achievements. That’s what my work was about, and so why wouldn’t that still be something I could do that would make my days feel impactful?

There’s the logistics, of course. For one, despite having “nothing to do” in a hospital room all day, there is surprisingly a lot of things to attend to. About every 20 minutes a nurse or doctor or specialist comes in to poke at Violet, ask me questions, remind me that a med is due that I will have to coax Violet to take (since everything seems to come right back up, it is a defeating game and highly anxiety-inducing for both of us). There’s Violet, too, who needs to know that my focus is on her well-being, and being on the computer sends the message that I “care more about work” or am “bored with her company”. So we play, and talk, and otherwise sit in silence, but together in silence. It’s the lack of attention to other things that is her ultimate support here.

But for me, I have realized more than ever before in my life the importance of tending to my own energy. It sounds fruity – most people that know me expect this kind of language from me, but I understand how many might feel about it. For the past few years I have sought to understand the true value of alignment: the positioning of thoughts for the maximum amount of good feeling energy. Confidence. Clarity. Joy. Appreciation. Invincibility.

Because when a person feels aligned, everything makes sense. Decisions are easy. Life flows with no resistance. The next step reveals itself and everything seems to come together for the well-being of everything else.

This is the case with everything. In my work and my writing, when I feel aligned, words flow and I’m able to find ways to express things deeply and meaningfully. In my personal life, when I feel aligned things don’t bother me and conversations go smoothly and relationships feel natural and beautiful and joyful. In my health, when I feel aligned I am energized and feel vital and alive.

Right now, amidst a turmoil of conditions I cannot control on both sides of this glass, finding alignment is an art.

But it is the only activity that trumps all others. My thoughts teeter on the edge of oblivion in a million directions. Many of those paths I cannot afford to go down. I can’t contemplate the activities of the afternoon (needles, feeding tubes), let alone global events or daily news. I have to be vigilant about what I pay attention to, and that means limiting my exposure to things that threaten to pull me down a vortex of negativity. More than that, I have to be selective about what I look at because the sheer amount of information accessible to any given person right now is enough to send them into a tailspin of frustration and fear. And those emotions are just not conducive to healing.

Despite a deep, echoing desire to take every minute of every day and reach out into the universe to give back, my most valuable effort right now is in nurturing positivity and hope – beliefs, after all, are thoughts that you continue to think, and in order for thoughts to gain enough momentum to turn into beliefs, they take some deliberate focus and upfront effort to get the ball rolling. And to keep it in motion, one has to avoid adding any resistance to the equation.

And so these days I am turtling. I have to. Despite the endless thank you emails I want to send, the work I could do, the news I could watch to stay “informed” and “socially responsible”, my accountabilities have to be to myself and my family, who have never needed me at my best more than now.

I’ve had to let go of so much, but mainly the guilt and sense of responsibility to massaging my “place” in the world. I’ve had to go to this world within – before the glass and inside the heart – to tend to a sense of composure, confidence and clarity that can’t be muddled by the confusion of the outside world. It is an isolating process, and one day I will have to reintegrate into the world beyond, but for now it is crucial. I can’t run, but I can “hide” – enough so that I can keep the momentum going and keep riding out this crazy thing we call life, not struggling against the current. 

And to all of you that I am “neglecting”, thank you for your understanding. I hope you are all tending to your own ease and flow, too.