Disclaimer: I am about to spruik some potentially corny-ass, though personally meaningful stuff.
So, I have been out of the boot for some time now and every step that I take I am extraordinarily thankful for. Though, I am equally as thankful for the lessons that I learned while dragging that atrocious thing along with me. The boot I refer to is that big black boot/cast that I wore off and on for almost six months after my scooter accident. While, even prior to my accident I kept six little bone carved skulls on my dresser to remind me of the value of every moment, and that my face could become one of those an instant- the notion really penetrated with my experience of less physical capability and all the hardship that goes along with that. The lesson that penetrated so deeply through trying moments, was not that motorcycles are dangerous, but rather that there is no “over yonder.’ There is no imaginary improved future.
I recall and will always recall a moment in between doctors appointments when a dear friend who helped my transportation-less ass through the whole mess pointed up to the sky and pointed out how clearly cut the clouds were against the blue sky that day. The appointments that we were between were those of an MRI to confirm the break was healed and the confirmation from the doctor. We crossed our fingers that all was healed as we drove the MRI disk to the foot doc. We were sure we, “had it in a bag.”
I nervously and confidently handed the disk to the doc and tapped my foot in anticipation while I waited in the waiting room. The wait was taking longer than I anticipated and the little confidence I possessed started to transform into nervousness. Then, I heard the doctor, call from the other room, “ Jillana, can you come here for a second. “ All I could think to myself was, oh boy… stay positive.” I walked back to the computer that the doctor stood at and this is when he showed me that my foot was still fractured. After a series of extensive questions, I left the office.
My face was like stone when I met my friend in the office and we got in the car. I was quiet as he tried to point out the positive. Then I cried like a baby all the way home. I knew and know that my dilemma was microscopic compared to that of so many other people trying to get through their days. Nonetheless, I was frustrated. I didn’t want to wait anymore. I cried because I was sick of the circumstances, sick of waiting, sick of being broke and ready to get on with my, “real life.” You know, my “real life,” in which I go to work and walk about with ease. That “real life,” where doctor’s appointments are not at the forefront of my schedule and a walk four blocks is not something that I have to weigh out the consequences of. That, fantasized, “real life ,”in which I am flourishing because these trying circumstances have subsided. Later that night after letting it all soak in, I had what some might call a cathartic moment in regards to this notion of, “real life.”
I woke up in the middle of the night and emailed my friend the following.
It really is amazing to be alive. Even the confusing moments like today. The instances like this evening when I was sobbing in fear and frustration juxtapose so beautifully with the moments where we look up into the sky and comment on the details of clouds.
In the past I would have stayed in this fear a little longer. I would have been anxious as reached for my imaginary, “normal, real life,” in the future without this injury. I would attempt to calm these thoughts with pep talks that patience is the lesson life is giving me right now. This very patience would pull from the present as I waited for the “normal” injury free future to come. Yes I would have waited for that imaginary future to come with patience as my Gemini antagonist. Patience has its role in this scenario but it should not overshadow presence. Presence is knowing that this is my “real life. Cast, waiting rooms, bizarre vague explanations from doctors, beautiful mornings that I wouldn’t see the same way without this injury – all of it. This is my “real life,” and there is no fucking “over yonder.”
Waiting seems to be a natural part of the living experience, though this extended wait that I went through made me open my eyes up to just how much, “waiting,’ is happening within myself and those around me. I see the, “wait,” for something “over yonder,” frequently rearing it’s head within my own narrative and all around me. I hear things like, “I’ll be a lot happier when I move out of here. “ Or, “ Things will be better when I graduate.” I hear, “I just want to get into shape, get healthier- then I’ll be happier. “ Those who need things in order, like myself, say things like, “ I’ll feel so much better when my house is clean.” I even hear people claiming that things will be better once they attain a certain level of spirituality. Maybe, these things are true. Better health, more education, spiritual growth all of these things can be pretty fulfilling. But what if we don’t reach those goals?
What if before that happens, we get hit by a bus, or loose someone we love or experience some other impediment. Then what? Then will we ever be happy, stable, balanced appreciative etc? I don’t intend to be cynical and assert that we should give up on these aspirations, I just ask the question, what if we never get “there,” to this place “over yonder” of better this and better that. Then what are we left with? The only thing that I can deduce it down to is the process. We have the process that is certain. The process of working toward these dreams isn’t going anywhere and it’s nothing that we have to reach for or wait for. In fact we can’t escape this process- it’s in our every breath and in our pulse. Until that pulse stops, we are stuck with it to manipulate it however we wish, while we wait.
Built to Spill touches on the topic quite eloquently in this song:
Ovenhappy 