When I was a little girl, my uncle Poul used to call me Krudtirøv. It means – very literally translated – gunpowder-in-arse. I moved fast. Still do. For me, Instant gratification isn’t fast enough. I’ve often said that if there’s such a thing as karma and reincarnation, my task in this life is to learn patience. I’m not doing very well with the lesson.

Recovery’s an odd thing. No, not that kind of recovery, by which I mean the addictive one, although I suspect that’s plenty odd, too. I’m talking about something as basic as a physical comeback. My life was eroded slowly, by bits and pieces and now I’m working at getting it back. It’s been slow going, often too slow for my taste. It goes in fits and starts and plateaus. I have to remember to slow down, be mindful of my damaged body, listen to it and work well within my limits. Because if I don’t, I injure myself.

Seems like the injuries come in fits and starts, too. I’m starting to realize that there’s a pattern for when I wreck myself. It comes after a while on a plateau – I’ll have looked around, taken in the view, thoroughly enjoyed where I’m at, gotten a little stronger and then… then the longing for more hits. Always more, always grander schemes, always itching to keep going. And that’s when I forget about having to haul around this fragile shell in which I currently reside, do a little (or a lot) too much and then get stalled out while I heal.

The past week has been bad for it. First, I wrecked my right shoulder (which then migrated along my entire right side), then a couple of days ago, the left got a hit and now I need to sit very still for a while. And all that’s in my head is a voice yelling about how I don’t have time. I’ve got years to make up for.

Eight months ago, when where I am now seemed an unattainable goal, I dreamt of this. Now, I dream of more. More strength, more energy, more space in my mind, less aches, pains and creaking, less need to rest, just get out of my way, I’ve got things to do!

These days, I long so much for the next step that I sometimes forget to enjoy the present. I try very hard to remember that every day is a gift. I try to grok that I am exactly where I am supposed to be and that the rest will come in time. That life is a journey, not a destination, and if you’re too busy looking ahead, you’ll miss the stunning beauty of the now.

But today, as I force myself to sit still and heal, I’m straining at the leash.


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