img_0636-2
Central Sensitization, Chronic Pain, Creative Writing, Pain Neurophysiology Education, Pain Science, physical therapy

There is reason to hope.

img_0636-2

I saw a comment on Twitter today which really broke my heart, so I wanted to write this and make it clear:

If you are experiencing pain hypersensitivity (through central sensitization), there is every reason to hope.

If your nervous system has changed one way, it is possible to change it back.

It won’t be easy, and the way forward won’t always be obvious.  But you can do it.

If you are experiencing central sensitization (as the result of an injury, a trauma, or other extreme physical or emotional experience) you have become more sensitive to pain than you used to be.  Your body is using pain as a way to protect you, but it is treating you like you are made of glass.  It is trying to protect you from everything.

Scientists are still researching the myriad of ways in which this happens.  So far, they have identified multiple different mechanisms within the nervous system which can cause this extreme response to pain.

However, the good news is that we don’t need to know everything, yet, about how this process occurs to start treating it.  (Although our treatments will only get better in the future, with more knowledge).

But you can start, right now, by learning what your body is capable of, and identifying the things your nervous system is warning you about that aren’t actually dangerous.

For me, it took a really smart and capable physical therapist who had studied with Neil Pearson.   I expect that you will need a guide as well– someone who you trust, who can walk you through and help identify the ways it is safe for you to try to push through the pain.

Your best bet will be a physical therapist who has advanced knowledge of recent pain science.  (A PT with this knowledge might not easy to find, at first, but luckily it’s becoming easier and easier.  If you email me at sunlightinwinter12@hotmail.com, I can help you get started).

What you need is someone you trust, who you will believe when they tell you your body is capable of more.

Someone who is able to think flexibly and come up with more than one way to do an exercise, if you tell them the first way they gave you doesn’t seem to work.

Someone who will understand that it’s not only about what they learned about the body in school…  it’s also about you, your nervous system, and your experience as a patient.  Your nervous system has to be convinced that your body is safe, before it’s going to stop making things hurt.

Changing your beliefs about pain can have a direct impact on the pain you ultimately experience.  When you truly learn and understand that your body is giving you pain in order to protect you, it stops being so threatening.  This is known as changing your pain from the top down— from the brain to the body.

But then, of course– it’s equally important to keep working on your pain from the bottom up– from your body to the brain.   

If you have chronic pain, or have suffered from some type of injury, your muscles are probably tightened into protective spasms.  This, in turn, will make them weak, if it goes on for long enough.

If you are weak, you are going to have pain and be at risk for additional injuries.  (This is why I went on to develop so many additional problems after I first suffered from compartment syndrome as a teenager, because I had ended up so out of shape).

So you have to work on the pain from both angles.  You need to calm your nervous system down, and help it understand that not everything is dangerous.  But you also need to give your body what it needs, and do everything that you can to help it function optimally.

***

Doing both of these things is a balancing act.  Getting back in to shape is not about pushing through the pain.  It is not a “no pain, no gain” mentality.

Instead, it is about being mindful.  Being careful.  (And again, ideally, having a trusted coach by your side).

To respect your nervous system, and to accept your body where it is currently at.  Not trying to do too much, too soon, but instead starting where you can.  If you can only walk for 5 minutes, walk for 5 minutes.  If you need to ice your injured knee before you work out, ice your injured knee.

It’s about bringing all of these different things together, and figuring out what works for you.

***

I touched upon this once in an earlier post, and I have to say, I think I phrased it really nicely:

“There is a middle way, where you learn to respect your body’s pain without automatically assuming you are injured.  This means you respect the pain and don’t try to push through it, but you also know not to freak out because you recognize that your nervous system sometimes gives you false alarms.  It’s about being okay with the possibility that maybe you strained something and need to take it easy, while knowing that you probably didn’t.”

This is the balance you eventually need to find, and having a trusted coach by your side who can help you understand what’s going on in your body can make all the difference.

This is the physical therapist I hope someday to be.  The person who understands and can walk you through, even when the path ahead seems scary.  I have been there myself and I know what it’s like.

I also know what it’s like to regain trust in your body.  To go from feeling as though you are made of glass, to knowing what you are capable of– while also knowing your body has limits, and learning to honor them.

This is the balance you need to find.  It won’t be easy, but it is possible.

img_3968
Creative Writing, Inspiration

Links to Inspire.

IMG_3968.JPG

When I was in San Francisco last fall, I did a ton of reading that I meant to share with you all.

Then, somehow, I got caught up in the ebb and flow of daily life back here in Boston and these links went on the back burner.

However, one of my goals for 2017 is to start taking more notice of pieces of writing that really catch my eye; that draw me back to revisit them them a day, or a week, or a month later.

I love when people are able to tell their stories– the things that are the most personal, or even the most painful.  There is just something amazing about telling your truth to the world– about getting the right words together, getting up the courage, and just putting it out there.

So here are a few of pieces of writing that really drew me in, and inspired me to get back to work on my own blog.  (Some of these are not super recent.  I mean what I say about amazing writing being able to draw me back months later!).

In no particular order:

Para Las Fridas: When healing our body is not an option, we can still heal from the inside

Anonymously Autistic: Washing away the alter ego and I’m not normal and that’s okay

Embracing Authenticity: Failure should not be feared because it is necessary to learn and grow and I will now strive for progress, not perfection

The Invisible Warrior: Dear Warrior: A letter to all my friends with CRPS

Life in Slow Motion Blog: 10 Ways to Flood the Pain Map to Reduce Chronic Pain and When pushing forward leads to falling backwards

Fire in Her Loins: One Girl’s Quest to Cure Her Chronic Pelvic Pain

I have more for you guys, but that’s all for now!  Enjoy!

img_0634
Creative Writing, Favorites, My Story, psychology

The way I wish I could write: Natalie Breuer, “On Depression”

img_0634

I haven’t written much yet on my struggles with depression in my teens/early 20’s. Those are perhaps my most real memories.  They made me who I am; they prepared me for what came next.  (After all, if I could make it through some of those dark times, I could definitely make it through physical pain).

Those memories are, of course, the hardest to write about publicly.

That is why I’ve been so struck by this amazing post from Natalie Breuer at Natalie’s Lovely Blog.  Ever since I first read it last month, I just can’t get it out of my mind.

I was just so struck by the way Natalie put her experiences into words.  Of course, my story is different than hers, but I noticed a lot of parallels and her writing really just took my breath away.

Because I love good writing, and am trying to become a better writer, I’m making it a goal for 2017 to really pay attention when people use language well.

So here are two excerpts from Natalie’s post which I really loved, and want to remember:

When things got really bad, I attempted to detach myself from reality. I hardly spoke to anybody, and when I did, my words were heavy and cruel. I drove spaces between myself and the people who cared about me and felt no remorse as I did. I grew my hair until it reached my hips, I stopped wearing shoes, and I scrubbed my hands nine, ten times a day. Somehow, they felt unclean no matter what I did. I only took cold showers, and I ran every morning until the only thing I felt was the ache of my body and a heartbeat in my left ear. I figured the more worn out I was, the easier it would be to sleep again.

And yet the most important thing I’ve learned over the past couple of years is that it is possible to love a place or a person, but also know that they aren’t the right fit in any sort of permanent way. I have also learned that it is possible to know a lot of different things about a person but nothing about what they are actually like. I do not know if I will ever get used to it — having to quietly get rid of someone, having to leave some place — but I do know that it is the only thing I can do to help myself sometimes. It is the most difficult and important thing to understand that just because you need something to end in order to move on, doesn’t mean it wasn’t once the most significant, beautiful part of your life.

I feel like I could say more here, but honestly, those quotes are really all you need.

I hope you will check out the rest of Natalie’s post, and her blog in general!

IMG_1984
Creative Writing, Favorites, Inspiration, Uncategorized

A Returning

IMG_1984

“I have been away.

I have often thought of how to begin this blog again after a long hiatus and then more time would pass and there it stood waiting for me to speak, write, and reach out.

The reason for my silence is the same reason for beginning this blog. Living with chronic illness permeates everything we do. It is the scaffolding of which we build each day. It determines our daily plans, what we take on, and what we leave unfinished. As I dedicated each day to doctor’s appointments, physical therapy, medication changes, and rebuilding my life after a health storm, this unfinished blog provided comfort knowing that it was a place for me to return.

As the months passed, I was forced into long stretches of bed rest, breaking from work, my passions, the world, and my voice. This is the cycle, after all, of the chronically ill. It is a sequence of retreat and victory, of silence and stories, and of mining the telos of one’s spirit.  What incites us to account our narrative to others relegates us to silence in other moments in a life lived with chronic illness.

I have to admit that at first my silence was “put upon” me. I was so engulfed in pain, fatigue, and just getting through one hour after another that I had no desire to communicate about the latest health trial. Yet, resignation turned towards choice, as I again reimagined and redesigned a future. It is a truth we face when dealing with an incurable disease that we must rewrite our future story after it is continually malformed by our bodies.

The poet Carmen Tafolla wrote: “I was the fourth ship. Behind Niña, Pinta, Santa María, Lost at sea while watching a seagull, Following the wind and sunset skies, While the others set their charts.” This post is dedicated to the future, to the reciting of a livable future, and to exploring the why in a life filled with medical chaos.

Illness is an invasion of identity. Since living through surgeries, a nine medication regimen, and too many medical procedures, I have searched for an explanation, a pathway, and a satisfactory answer to why. Why did this happen? Why me? I have done everything from pretending that the illness part of my life is nonexistent to studying the mechanisms and pathologies of the body; nonetheless, illness continues to lead its assault.

To live with a chronic degenerative disease one must constantly engage in meaning-making. Why? It is because illness is unremitting and untrustworthy. A medical crisis can topple all that you have worked towards in a mere blink.

Therefore, we are professionals at reconstruction and rebooting our future.  Often times, it is a future tinted by professional and personal sadness. Professional goals wane under the weight of the body often causing an individual to lose their job or relinquish ambitions. Illness demands a personal reimagining of what family looks like sometimes forcing an individual to move in with a family member who subsumes a caregiver role or surrendering the dream of having a family and experiencing parenthood.

Illness fractures identity and makes us feel less complete because completion is continuously interrupted.  I believe searching for the “why me” is not out of anger, jealousy, or pity but out of the attempt to take all these futures interrupted and find fulfillment in a life that no longer looks like the life originally intended.

Chronic illness mandates that the individual who lives with it coat themselves in an extra layer of depth because it is a permanent state and the human mind has forever raised questions about immutability.

I spent the last year in renovation.  It’s frightening; isn’t it?  There’s a trauma processing that must be completed in order to move forward in life.

When I was first diagnosed with endometriosis and a chronic pain condition due to a spinal injury, I had no idea nor was it explained to me that I was going to have to go through a continual cycle of insecurity. I was oblivious to the fact that I was going to have to live my life in a temperamental space.

It is of my opinion that chronic illness patients do not fit easily into the usual experience of loss because our loss is not consistent.  The future is unpredictable and so our stories are discontinued and resumed and this process repeats infinitely.

Thus we are forced to mourn each time and rebuild our futures anew holding our breath again that the house will not collapse with us inside. Our narratives remain disjointed and so without any desire for it we gain a level of complexity that is difficult to communicate and share with others even those we love the most.

I don’t know if there is a way to rid ourselves of this anarchy that illness brings. What I am still learning is that inside this chaos we must pledge to coming out of the other side of it. We must promise to find our voice again.

I have been away but now I am returning.  Each one of us can say that.

Although it may appear like a small triumph, I am proud of my return and I am proud of yours too.”

***

The above post was written by my friend C. over at her blog Para Las Fridas.  I have re-posted it here with her permission because it is quite honestly one of the most amazing accounts of life with chronic illness I have ever read.  From the moment I first read it, I was struck by the way C. managed to put into words aspects of my own experience that I had been afraid to face, much less articulate to myself.

Like the feeling of having lost time, of living according to a completely different calendar than everyone else.  Of knowing I’ve disappeared from the world, for months and years at a time, while life has marched on unrelentingly for everyone else.

The feeling of resurfacing, of returning, without knowing if it’s an illusion, or for how long I’ll be allowed to stay before disappearing again.

The feeling that I’ve become an expert at remaking my identity: after each disappearance and returning, constructing meaning again as best I can, assembling the pieces that make sense, filling in the gaps in a way I hope no one else notices.

C.’s words give me the courage to come on my blog and tell my own story, when I’m afraid it’s been too long, or no one will be able to relate.

I am not the only one who feels this way; I am not the only one who has disappeared and returned.

***

You can check out the rest of C.’s writing at Para Las Fridas!  It is simply incredible.

I also wrote this post outlining some of posts C.’s site that meant the most to me.

Lastly, you can also see what C.’s up to on Twitter.

img_0027
Creative Writing, eating disorders, My Story

A Clearing

img_0027

So I’ve been clearing out all the old stuff from my storage unit.  Finding so many reminders of all the plans I once had.

The high-heeled boots I bought senior year of high school, right before the Halloween dance.  My friends and I were all going to go as “sexy cops.”  (I know).

My running “spikes,” as our cross-country team called our specialized lightweight racing shoes.

It’s bittersweet, to look back and remember all of the optimism I had towards my goals– goals I would never reach.  Especially when I can recognize that some of those goals were pretty unhealthy.

Why did I need to wear high-heels?  They were only making things worse, as I was developing compartment syndrome.

Why did I need to run?  I truly loved it… but at the same time, I wasn’t truly listening to my body, and ran it into the ground.

So much pressure, to be thin, to be pretty.

So now I’m clearing out my storage unit, and there are just so many clothes.  So many clothes, in just about every size.

My size 2 clothes– the last clothes I bought before my health issues spun out of control and a medication forced me to gain weight.  At the time I thought it was horrible, but now I can see it was a blessing in a disguise.  It took something overpowering, and dramatic, to truly break me out of that way of thinking.

Chronic pain finally pushed the obsession with being thin out of my head.  There was no room for anything else; there was only survival, from one minute to the next.  I’m not sure if anything else could have done that– not without it taking years.

***

But I’ve held on to my old clothes all this time.  I loved them, because they were my way of telling the world, at 16, that I was an adult.  (An adult that wanted to dress just like Buffy!).

mpddt1b8ktm2cvghyrfd

My outfits, at the time, felt like works of art.  Handbags, sweaters, dresses– everything perfect.  My mom had picked out all of my clothes for me as a kid, and in the cutthroat world of high school girlhood, it took me a while to define my style.

Once I did, my clothes became my way of making a statement.  I discovered that the better I looked, the more power I had in the social world of high school.   If I looked perfect, it was harder for other girls to make fun of me.  My clothes became my armor.

When I gained weight at first (right after high school ended), I held on to all my old things because I thought I’d eventually be a size 2 again.  Then, once I realized I never actually wanted to be a size 2 again, I continued to keep them simply because it felt strange to part with them.

They’d helped me to define myself as an adult.  At one point in time, they’d protected me.

And they’d been waiting for me for so long, like a lost bookend, marking where I could find the life I’d been waiting to come back to when things finally got better.

I wasn’t ready, until now, to let them go.

But I don’t need or want that life anymore.  I no longer feel like I need to wear high heels in order to be a true girl.  I don’t want to put on eyeliner every morning like it’s war paint.

And I don’t need to weigh 115 pounds, or to be able to see the outline of my hip bones perfectly, in order to be attractive.

I just want to be me.

26958443056_45f992bd25_o
Creative Writing, eating disorders, Favorites, Inspiration, My Story, Sacroiliac Joint

Inner Limits

26958443056_45f992bd25_o

I’ve realized something about myself recently– something that has implications for my ability to heal. I’m sharing it with you all, in case it can help spark a similar realization for anyone else out there.

***

As many of you know, when I was in high school I had an eating disorder. I was very rigid; every day I ate a specific number of calories, and every day I burned a specific number of calories. If I wanted to eat more than my designated limit, I had to exercise even more.

Through obsessive calorie counting, and running an average of 5 miles a day throughout most of high school, I managed to keep my weight a good 10-20 pounds below my body’s natural set-point.

Sometimes, now, I forget what a big deal that really was. After all, it was something that was ultimately within my control, unlike the years of inexplicable chronic pain that came afterwards.

However, it recently dawned on me that my eating disorder past was affecting me more than I’d realized, in unconscious ways.

Right now I’m dealing with the very complicated and frustrating process of trying to stabilize my hypermobile SI joints.

I was finishing my exercises the other day, and after a good 2.5 hours of going to the gym, using the pool and then coming home and doing even more exercises– and then stretching– I was feeling exasperated. Why, after all of this time, am I not better?

Fuck it, I thought. Why don’t I just keep going? Sure, I just spent two and a half hours exercising, but there’s more I could do. I could do more exercises. I could do more stretches. I could get on my computer, and research more.

Then it hit me. A tiny voice, from 16-year-old Christy, telling me I was afraid to do more. I didn’t want to invest too much; didn’t want to give myself over completely to anything that involved fixing or changing my body. Because that’s what I did with my eating disorder. It was an around-the-clock process to keep my weight that low, and I ended up losing all other perspective.

Now I had regained perspective, but unconsciously, I was terrified of losing it again. In fact, I was keeping my fist tightly clenched around it, restricting the time I spent trying to fix my physical problems in a way that wasn’t all that different from the way I had once restricted my calories. In both cases, I was using an artificial number to place external limits on something that scared me.

Of course, as soon as I realized this, I was automatically able to write it off as a fear that wasn’t worth holding on to. 31-year-old Christy knows that just because she spends more time trying to fix her SI joints, it doesn’t mean she is going to go back to a rigid way of thinking and denying her body what it needs. If anything, it means the opposite.

So I’m going to listen to myself. I’m not going to force myself to do anything, one way or another. If I want to only do my exercises for one day, and then stop, that’s what I’ll do. Another day, if I feel like exercising, and then doing some research, and then going to the chiropractor, that’s what I’ll do.

It’s not about the numbers; it’s about the process. It’s not about imposing limits; it’s about flow.

Save

Save

5633695997_afd66a5680_b
Creative Writing, My Story

Graceful.

4822942717_880dfb71fe_o

I’m one of those people who is spiritual, not religious.  But I love holidays because of how everything slows down, and people come out of their shells.

In Boston, on a weekday… you better not dare to take an extra two seconds to make your turn, because you’ll definitely get honked at by at least one person.

But on a day like Easter, things are slower.  People come from out of town and are reunited with their families.  They go out for huge, multi-generational walks with grandparents and babies in strollers, friendly dogs pulling excitedly on their leashes, everyone actually saying hello to one another… It’s as if, for a day, the masks are taken off and you truly see the people you meet.

***

These days, I am not always the most physically gracefully person.  Although I have had some good days with my SI joint, I’m still far from out of the woods.  Sometimes it’s really hard to walk and, in the hustle and bustle of everyone trying to get everything done, I often feel as though I am in the way.

And sometimes, people are not subtle about needing to get by me.  I don’t always walk with a visible limp– I don’t think people can tell something is wrong.  After all, I’m not elderly.  I don’t think it occurs to a lot of people that anything could be wrong.  It just looks like I’m oblivious, taking my sweet time and daydreaming while taking up space on the sidewalk.

But the thing is…I get it.  I know what it’s like to be in that mode.  I can feel myself switch into it when I’m in a hurry, and feeling a lot of external pressure to do things I don’t even really want to do (especially, in the past, when I’ve been on the way to a job I hated).

5681333279_bbb9137f8c_o

I’m not one for trying to find the silver lining in every bad experience.  I don’t think everything happens for a reason.

I’m more about acceptance— about being okay with the fact that all this bad stuff happened to me, and there wasn’t necessarily a reason for it.  Maybe I didn’t need learn a lesson.  Maybe it just happened, and it was pointless.

However, something thing I’ve learned in the past few years of dealing with health issues is the value of going slowly.

***

I realized I don’t like being in angry, rushing person mode.  I don’t like the stress that rushes through me when I don’t make a green light; I don’t like how I annoyed I get when the person ahead of me in line takes too long at the cash register.

I’d rather be the kind of person who notices that the painstakingly slow driver in front of me has just pulled out from a hospital parking lot, and that her teenage passenger is wearing a face mask (in other words, something’s seriously wrong).

The kind of person who realizes that the elderly man taking way too long ahead of her in line has probably just had brain surgery, and is out for his first post-surgery outing with his aide.  The kind of person who manages to smile at him as though nothing’s wrong, despite the dramatic white bandage wrapped around his head and the purple blood pooled beneath his eyes.

The kind of person who doesn’t think about herself and her needs first– instead, she thinks about how she can help.

I’ve been both of these people, and I know which one I’d rather be.

5633695997_afd66a5680_b

Although I’m not as physically graceful as I’d like, it’s way more important to me to be a graceful person.

To be someone moves through life as smoothly as possible, without creating too much of a wake. To be someone who heals, and tries her best not to harm.  (And, when she realizes she’s made a mistake, apologizes).

After all, none of my lasting memories are about that great time I got exactly what I wanted.  My memories are about the things that move me: the times I went out of my way for someone else, and managed to sense intuitively what they needed.  The times when someone else did that for me.

People can be amazing, and incredibly smart and kind.  But you have to remain open to it; you have to let them.

I no longer measure myself in mile times.  I measure myself in how well I was able to make eye contact with that elderly man, without letting my face show how shocked I was by his appearance.

Or in knowing the right thing to say, when a friend comes to me for help in a crisis.

That, to me, is what’s graceful.

***

Pink flower photo: alcidesota

25105891749_e8163653a0_o
Creative Writing, Inspiration

One foot in the real world…

25105891749_e8163653a0_o

And one foot pointing toward my dreams…

I haven’t been able to write as much as I’d like recently, because I’ve been busy focusing on my real-world exploits: specifically, earning money for grad school.

It’s hard to find the right balance. Follow your dreams and the money will come, they say. But when your dreams involve $70,000 in student loans, and three years with no income… blazing ahead with no thought of the financial risk is a little easier said than done.

For now, I just have to remind myself to slow down, and check in with the part of myself that knows exactly what my dreams are. The part that, despite whatever else is going on in my life, never truly loses sight of what I want to do.

After all, a lesson I’m learning is that it’s not just what you do as you go about your daily life– it’s also how you go about it.

***

A mistake I’ve made in the past is to cut myself off completely from my dreams, focusing only on the pragmatics of what I need to get done. At times, it’s seemed easier. Safer.

But I’m realizing that was not a sustainable way to live. When you try to numb yourself to pain and doubt, and rush through life distracted trying not to feel anything… you also miss out on the good.

There is a certain pain that comes from trying to suppress your dreams. If you block it out for long enough, it will grow until you can’t ignore it anymore.

My goal right now is to remain focused on what I need to do in order to achieve my goal, without letting myself get so mired in the details that I lose sight of my original purpose.

***

I’ve written a lot about helping people through chronic pain, and that’s a huge part of what I want to do as a PT. But ultimately, it’s about something bigger.

Really, it’s about providing a space for people to begin, wherever they are. To create a space where there is no judgment; where I believe my patients when they tell me how bad it really is, without giving them any reason to feel ashamed, or to censor themselves.

And then, using that as our starting place, we’ll work together to find answers. I know how hopeless things can seem at times, because I’ve been there myself.

Sometimes it can take years to find the right answer– or answers. Sometimes you don’t discover everything you need at once– you discover what you need in stages.

***

I want to create a space for people to be in touch with their bodies, in whatever way works for them. To show my patients that you don’t have to wait until you are completely “better,” by some objective measure, to begin to create a sense of peace in your body.

You can actually begin the process right away– before you do anything else, before you’ve spent weeks in PT exercising.  It can actually be the very first thing you begin to work on. Sometimes, you just need to have the right person to show you the way.

I know, because I’ve been lucky enough to find those right people in my own life. And I hope, someday, to give back what I’ve learned, and be that person for others.

25988819565_01f11c982f_o

I’ve come so far since the days when I was a terrified teenager with compartment syndrome and an eating disorder.  I may not have gone back to running 40 miles a week, but on the inside, I am millions of miles away from where I was.

There is so much that has gone into changing my perspective, and I hope to share it all with you.  I hope you’ll come along for the ride.

IMG_3372
Creative Writing, Inspiration, mindfulness, My Story

Little things

IMG_3371

These days,  I’m all about the little things.

Last Sunday, I went with my friend Romina to her father’s house in Rhode Island.  I would say that we were going to visit, but we were actually short on time, and Romina just needed to drop some things off.

But we ended up having a great time.  I had never gotten to know Rhode Island that well, and didn’t realize how beautiful it was, with all of its waterways and estuaries.  We drove through Providence and the surrounding towns, and I soaked in the beauty of all we passed.

IMG_3372

As I mentioned in my last post, travel wasn’t really a huge part of my life for the past 10+ years.  Since I developed compartment syndrome at 17, there always seemed to be one reason or another why I couldn’t be on my feet for long periods of time.  And what’s the point of travel, if you can’t walk around?  Better to wait and save my money until I could really enjoy it (or so I thought).

However, as I entered my late 20’s, my thinking started to change.  I realized that the perfect day when I’d be able to walk as much as I wanted might never come.  Why was I missing out on things, waiting for everything to be perfect, instead of enjoying what was possible right now?

I know this is going to sound like such a cliche, but it’s cliche for a good reason: I started to focus less on what I couldn’t do, and more on what I could do.

I can’t go on a six-hour walking tour through the rolling hills of San Francisco right now.  But I can tag along with Romina, on what would otherwise be a routine errand for her, and turn it into a really fun afternoon.

IMG_3355

I read an article a few years ago which really had an effect on me.  It was actually an article on how to be good to the environment and minimize your carbon footprint.  It pointed out something that of course is going to sound so obvious now:

If you have one errand to run, try to think of other things you can do on that same route.  Don’t make separate trips and go back and forth, when, with a little bit of planning, you can just make the first trip slightly longer and get more done. 

I know, this sounds so obvious– you probably didn’t need me to tell you.

But for me, as someone who really cares about the environment, it really got me thinking about what else is around me as I go about my daily life.  I started to study Google maps before every trip, wondering what cool scenic thing I might be driving by.   If I have the time– even a few extra minutes– why not try to see something cool?

I started out doing this for environmental reasons (not to mention to save money on gas) but over time, I came to realize that my whole perspective had changed.  Somehow, by getting in the habit of trying to make the most out of every trip, I had started to become more conscious of the unexpected little things around me.

Downtown Providence from Point Street bridge

I mean, this is how we are when we’re on on vacation, right?  We try to see everything; to soak it in.  Everything is new.

But what I have learned, in my study of maps, is that we can have more of a vacation-mindset in our every day life.  It’s a matter of perspective.

You have to take the time to look, consciously.  No one is going to take you by the hand and force you to see the beauty in the world.  You have to remind yourself to keep your eyes open.

3583634526_1024b48e24_o

I don’t mean to sound as though I am against travel– not at all.

I just know that before my health problems, I used to think about travel the way I think most people probably do: what is my preferred destination?  What do I want to see more than anything else, and how can I maximize my enjoyment of that destination?

But that way of thinking– let’s call it the “enjoyment-maximization mindset”– is what made it so devastating to me when I couldn’t walk, and made me not want to travel until things could be perfect.

Now, I am in more of what I would call an “appreciation mindset,” where I consciously remind myself to look up and see what is around me.  This is another cliche, but it’s honestly not about the end destination: it’s about the journey.

Just because I’m driving to a doctor’s office down an unsightly highway full of strip malls does not mean that, two miles off the main road, there won’t be a gorgeous scenic overlook or historical park.

***

Even if you can’t travel far, or see things on foot, you can still discover new things all the time.  But it does take a conscious effort to break out of old ways of thinking, and decide what matters to you, even if your adventures are not in the same form other people’s would take.

Now, I say yes to so many invitations I would have turned down in the past.  These days, when my friends go camping, I actually go too.  (Car-camping, of course–backpacking would still be too much of a stretch).

In the past, I never would have said yes to camping.  What would be the point?  I would have thought.  I can’t actually go hiking with them during the daytime, so why would I want to go and be by myself all day?

But that was my old way of viewing things: of waiting until I could experience things the same way everyone else does.

Now I go, and I do as much with the group as I can.  We generally go to the White Mountains in New Hampshire, and what I never realized until I got there is that even the car ride can be fun, because it’s so beautiful.  There are things to stop and see all up and down the major roads.

Now, when my friends leave in the morning to go hiking at whatever mountain they’ve chosen that day,  I drop them off, and then go sightseeing for a few hours until it’s time to pick them up again.

***

Of course, this plan wouldn’t work without the right people.  I’m really loading this post up with cliches, but hey– it’s not just what you do; it’s who you’re with.  Anything can be fun with the right person.

I am grateful to the people I’ve found in my own life, who are able to appreciate the little things with me.  To friends who give me their car for the day so I’m not stuck at the campground.  To a friend like Romina, who can make a tour of her hometown so much fun.  (And of course, to her father and his wife, who sent us home with about 30 pounds of food Sunday night).

IMG_3366
Peruvian-American fusion.

It’s all about figuring out what matters to you, and makes you happy.   And remembering to seek it out, even if it’s in a different form than what you once would have expected.

***

Photos of Providence:

4634683686_d575b661b5_o
Creative Writing, Inspiration, mindfulness, My Story, Sacroiliac Joint

Lessons from an amazing weekend

I had a crazy, fun-filled weekend. The kind of weekend I haven’t had in at least five years. 4634683686_d575b661b5_o

Five years ago, my friends and I went to a “tango night” at a local restaurant.  It was an amazing evening.  The teachers were professional dancers, and a lot of the other students were from other countries.  There was such a fun, friendly, open vibe to the night.

The evening started out with a free tango lesson, and then afterwards, the dance floor opened up to anyone who wanted to come and dance.  Some truly amazing dancers showed up.  I was in my element, starting to picture myself traveling through Argentina.

4910407572_88de71efdf_o

But as the night went, on my knees started to hurt. At first, I tried to ignore the pain, but it got worse and worse until eventually, I had to sit down and watch everyone else for the last two hours.

“We’ll go back,” my friends and I all said at the end of the night. I thought I’d fix my knee problems, and organize another group outing in a few months.

***

Of course, it never ended up happening.  People got busy; the friend who organized it the first time moved away.

And I ended up spending the next five years having trouble walking.  My knee problems got a lot worse before they got better, and the months I spent limping and carrying my weight unevenly led me to develop the SI joint issues I still have today.  Basically, it’s been five years since I could stand, or walk, or dance without so much as a thought.

***

Yet somehow, this weekend, everything clicked. I didn’t plan it– I just got caught up in the flow of things, and went where my friends went.

I guess all my strengthening exercises are starting to really pay off, because somehow, I went out dancing Friday and Saturday night. Friday night, I was in one of those loud, crowded bars I normally hate, but the band was actually amazing, and I found myself out on the dance floor with the group.

And then Saturday? Well, it wasn’t tango, but some friends went to a salsa night. I didn’t make it in time for the lesson, but I did make it out onto the dance floor afterwards. I wouldn’t say I wowed anyone with my salsa skills, but I also didn’t need to sit down once the entire night.

But here’s what really shocked me: I was back to where, physically, I had left off five years ago. But nothing about it felt monumental or life-changing.

What was life-changing? Everything it took for me to be okay, in the past five years, when I couldn’t have a weekend like this. All of the restraint it took; all of the patience I was forced to cultivate.

Don’t get me wrong– I haven’t stayed at home for five years, I’ve gone out– but it was never without compromise, never without having to constantly be aware of the nearest chair.

I’ve had to make peace with the fact that I’d be sitting by myself when an amazing song came on and everyone else wanted to be on the dance floor. I’ve had to perfect the art of looking calm, confident, and busy doing things on my cell phone.

***

I’ve been through so much pain, frustration, and effort with my SI joint, I can’t even tell you. As much time as I’ve spent actually exercising, I’ve spent about three times as much time trying to learn about the problem. Researching the joint, consulting different doctors, chiropractors, and PT’s. Learning what movements not to do, which has been just as important as finding the right exercises.

That’s the thing– and I think anyone with chronic pain and health issues knows this– mind over matter doesn’t work. And actually, it’s counterproductive to push yourself into doing something that isn’t good for you.

You have to listen to your body: fine-tune your balancing act of when to push and when to rest. You have to become still.

***

Something that’s helped me immeasurably is learning how to meditate. I actually don’t meditate every day, but learning how to be in the moment in that way has really spilled over into my daily life.

For me, meditation is like an experiment. You take everything that’s bothering you– whether it’s physical pain, or emotional, or stress and anxiety– and you just tell yourself, “Yes, this is all happening… but what if I was okay, anyway?” The problems are all still there, but just for a few minutes, you stop trying to fight them. They exist, but you see that underneath it all, you actually are okay.

Even after I’d only had this experience a few times, I felt as though it began to change the way I saw the world. I just felt calmer; more at peace. Somehow, it started to feel easier for me to notice the good in the world.

5792909072_cb4ac28a6a_o

There are different ways to grow as a person. You can go on a journey through the world– you can travel, meet people, and see fascinating things.

But you can also journey inside of yourself, and that can transform your perspective just as much.

I have had to learn how to find peace in the moment. I haven’t had the option of going out and losing myself in the way people describe when they talk about travel. I’ve never backpacked through Europe… I’ve never even backpacked through the White Mountains, like just about everyone else I know.

6311674319_b5359eeec6_o

But I have been transformed, no doubt.

It’s tempting for me to try to compare myself to other people, to suggest that maybe I have actually learned more by being forced to stay still, compared to people who have been able to leave their problems behind by going out and doing things. But that would be wrong– I don’t know what journeys people are on, or what they are learning.

But I can compare myself to my past self, and say that the things it takes to make me happy now are very different than the things I used to think I needed to be happy.

That night that I was forced to sit down at Tango Night, I thought I was losing a piece of myself that I wouldn’t get back until I could come back and dance again.

Now I see that I didn’t lose anything at all.  In fact, I gained something.

And that is a lesson I’m grateful to have learned.

***

Credits for the photos in this post:

 

Save