Perspective
Sometimes it pays to step back and take a good, long look at things. It’s like the old saying, “You can’t see the forest for the trees”. Except that in this case it’s more like “You can’t see the forest for your deep, unshakable belief that it’s just not there”. That’s a frequent problem for me but it seems that, of late, it’s been getting worse. I’ve been spending so much time looking at where I’m not I forget to look back and check out how far I’ve come. So this evening’s post is all about that. You’ve been warned.
This year has been quite the journey. I can say without a single doubt in my mind that the place I’m in now is completely different to the place I was in at the beginning of the year. Back then I was held firmly in the grip of what had to be my worst Crohn’s disease flare bar none. It was a flare bad enough for two hospital stays, totaling a month between them. The only thing at the time keeping me anything close to sane was my mother who dropped everything to come here. For all of the cracks I make about my family I’ll give them this - they care. Even while they’re pretending not to.
Eventually I was released from the hospital with my health returned to as close to normal as it gets and the Matriarch felt that it was time to return to the Farm and her accursed cows. Having retired from the stupormarket due to my previous ill-health I was faced with the prospect of having daytime TV to keep me company. That was unappealing to say the least. I was saved from having to make any long term decisions when the house we were renting went on the market. That consumed a lot of my attention, between keeping the place up to scratch for the frequent open homes and looking for somewhere else to live.
We did move eventually and I began thinking about all of the things I should probably be doing. University. Working. That was when the suggestions I got from mum and Angela really began to niggle at me. The thing was, writing seemed perfect. It was something I could do from home, from my bed if I got sick. I didn’t have to worry about rostering issues if I needed an afternoon off for a trip to the doctor. I didn’t have to sorry about applying for compassionate consideration. Of course there was one slight issue. Yes, I was frequently writing little short stories for my own enjoyment. I often entertained them (or so they said) with my emails telling them about my day-to-day life over here. That, however, is a far cry from writing a publishable story or novel.
I decided instead to take baby steps. I joined a book club. That was actually a major step for me. I was putting myself into a situation where I am most decidedly not comfortable. I have to meet new people. I have to speak in a group. I have to express, out loud, an opinion which may not always be the popular one. But I’ve been doing it and I’ve been going every month since I made the decision. It’s getting easier. And gathering up the courage to do that also gave me to courage to have a go at writing. Properly. So I started writing.
Now here I am a few months later and I’ve learned a couple of things. The first is that it’s not that hard to write when you set your mind to it. Writing something good is a whole different issue but the act of getting stuff down isn’t too hard. The thing I struggle most with isn’t finding a story, it’s allowing myself to suck. It’s being patient with myself, and forgiving myself for mistakes. The bleakness which has coloured so many of my recent posts stems from that inability to forgive myself for being inexperienced. It’s something I have to work on.
But for now I’m looking at a different side of the coin. For now I’m reminding myself that twelve months ago I was too sick to work. Eleven months ago I was too sick to take care of myself. Ten months ago I was in hospital. Now I’m well. I don’t have a job but I am working. And no matter what I’ve said over the past week or so, I’m doing something I enjoy.
When you look at it like that, I’ve come an awfully long way in a single year.
Tagged: aging, Writing.