There’s a bruise on the part of my chest where, technically, my heart is located; I wasn’t paying attention, naturally, and walked into something. The mark will fade, strange as though it may look, and everything will carry on because everything has to carry on. That’s the only way.
I’m trying better habits, watching the wine, walking more, waking up each day to greet the grey (it’s Winter, after all) and being determined that the best year of my life will start when I turn 36 on January 7. I’m making human connections that matter, and I’m really taking care of myself, mentally and physically, because I always seem to bruise easily, most of the time, I know not how. (I’m sure I need to eat more steak, or something, but I don’t eat meat very often. Oh well.) There were a couple of worse injuries in the past two years, namely the concussion from my biking accident, but that seems to have mostly healed and everything has continued in the vein of the new normal.
But this year is going to be different, “This is the new year,” because I am hoping for something better. It may be childish, it may be immature but that’s how I like to live life – to believe and remember the magic – not to cling on, to it but to remember it. And to know that it is still possible, even when the sun doesn’t shine very often at all (one day in the past two weeks, actually) because one thing is not dependent on the other. The magic is already in my soul.
Naturally, today’s bruises will fade, the tissue will heal, and eventually there will be new ones to take their place. After all, I may be older, but I still manage to walk into things, particularly in a new space; it takes a while for me to adjust, physically, to different spatial parameters.
You’d think after 36 years on the planet, and about 32 of those being independently mobile I’d have figured out where my limbs and body go, and what happens when they happen when they meet an unyielding object, but no, I still walk into things and I suppose I always will. (I’m that person who gets on an airplane and seems to be incapable of walking straight down the pre-determined aisle.) The difference is now, I laugh it off, apply some arnica and get on with my day. And this year, my plan is to appreciate the joy of movement, the freedom of navigation, and value of living in the present and attending to what is really there, instead of imagining a space that is not.