More and more often, I feel as though the world is moving too fast. Too much technology for me to keep up with, too many places people have to get to ASAP, too many moments that are passed by because they’re deemed unimportant at the time.
But there’s nothing quite like knee surgery to make you appreciate a forced slow-down.
This morning after my alarm had gone off and I’d sufficiently “snoozed” enough times to where I was beginning to have bizarre dreams in chunks of 5 minutes, I finally tossed my covers back and sat up. My legs dangled off the side of the bed. Legs. Plural. Not one, plus another stiff one that awkwardly jutted out from the comfort of my bed — legs.
While it couldn’t quite make a perfect right angle, my recently-operated-upon knee was able to bend more than it had the day before. It dangled, and I was proud of it. “Baby steps,” I thought to myself.
While getting ready, I finally remembered to do what I’d meant to do for the last 5 days: water the front yard. The Knee and I made our way out the front door and turned on the different sprinkler sections. It had been longer than I’d wanted, but I was on my way to reviving my winterized grass, hopefully to see it restored to its lushness that seemed to be gone as quickly as 2011 was. But I was moving in the right direction, and soon it would be green again.
“Baby steps” came to mind again.
On my drive to work, I wondered if “baby steps” would be the theme for tonight’s posting. I figured I’d let the day play out fully before I decided, so I went about my business which I assumed would be as routine as any other day.
I had a few back-to-back meetings that took up a good chunk of my day early on, and which also took me off-site. By afternoon, I was worn out — likely because I’ve been making my way through life on crutches for two weeks (doesn’t seem like a long time, but my sore arms would argue otherwise), not to mention the healthier (read: boring) eating regimen I started two days ago. Despite being worn out, I didn’t feel sluggish. Seems contradictory, but I felt on the verge of that semi-empty feeling that kickstarts your body and gets you thinking, “Hey, this actually makes me feel…efficient. And good. And I think I can keep it up.”
Late afternoon, I found myself speaking to someone about yoga. Never having been a big fan of it, the description and value conveyed today were so eloquently, passionately and articulately stated, I found myself motivated to try it again as a new means of strengthening my being (in time, since one cannot rush a healing knee). I figured since, as my orthopaedic surgeon said, I will “never be a runner,” this may be something worth investigating.
This evening, the night breeze was blowing in such a manner that the Disneyland fireworks sounded as though they were a war zone. The initial blast reached me head-on, while the echoes emanated all around the neighborhood, bouncing off of fences, trees and dense pockets of shrubbery. From inside, I heard faint, instrumental music, but couldn’t identify where it was coming from. I decided to go out onto the porch, and as I stood in the dark for a few moments while absorbing the explosions and mysterious melody whose origin was still unknown, I found inspiration for a new play. Not a fully-formed idea, but inspiration.
Everything leads to something else, and because of this, a journey is inevitable. I imagine my knee will continue to make me proud, and that my grass will be greener due to its long drink. But would the conversation of yoga and my inspiration for a play result in my taking the next step toward each? Here’s hoping.
I am grateful that I can ponder and enjoy the baby steps as they happen; I’ve come to believe that they are as valuable as the bigger ones.