I tried to recenter myself this afternoon. I've been on a bit of a roller coaster, and I needed to find my routine again. I hadn't been to walk around the fairgrounds lake in weeks, and in the golden hour, I dragged myself over there to make a couple laps and take a few shots. In the short weeks since I was there last, the park has changed from vivid high autumn to the crisp, gentle browns of the late season. It was still just as beautiful, but in a quieter way. It smelled great too. There was a pervasive perfume of decaying leaves, and as I lapped the lake, I caught the scent of an open fire (probably on the farm across the street). After several days in a row of not feeling up to leaving the house, it was enough to remind me that it's worth getting outside whenever I can.
I found a new essay about spoon theory this evening. I shared it on my personal Facebook page. It made the point that there are actually activities that don't cost spoons, but build them. You just have to find things that give you pleasure and purpose. In the example, it was one spoonie offering to read and respond to email correspondence for another spoonie. When she was doing it as a favor to help someone she loved, it wasn't an energy-draining chore, it was a restorative joy. Reading that led to one of those epiphanies that just leave you feeling stupid afterwards. How did I not think about this? I have so many anxieties about so many simple life hurdles. When people I care about face similar obstacles, all of my fears vanish, and I jump in to help handle them. The same activities would cost me double spoons for my own sake, but they energize me when I'm helping others.
Tonight I didn't have someone depending on me, and my spoons ran out quickly. I told myself I'd go around the lake three times, and I'd be totally fine and back on track with my exercise. For the first one and a half circles, I was still convinced of that. Just past halfway on the second lap, my energy fell off of a cliff. I fought it at first, and thought I could still go around once more. By the time I was a hundred yards from my car, I'd admitted that the fight was lost. It was all I could do to fall forward one foot after another to get across the parking lot. I had to sit in my car for five minutes surfing Facebook just to recover enough to drive two miles to home, and once there, I sat in the garage doing the same thing before I could manage to open the car door and stagger inside. It's a harsh reminder that even with all the work I'm doing to manage my disease, it is still the one in the driver's seat. Armed with the knowledge I've gained in the last year, and the ability to look at my record over the last thirty years with a critical eye, I may be able to form a plan to pace myself and not get in over my head. It's going to take a lot of practice and patience, though.
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