Well yeah but I used to work a wildly busy full time gig (sandwiched between hour long commute times), paint, go out to live music clubs, read deep, serious tomes, have big chats with my buds, go home, sleep, get up and do it all again the next day. I can’t now – that’s just too damn much. The very idea wears me out. Yeah I know, I did all that way the fuck back in my 20s, 30s and early 40s. And OK OK OK OK, that’s a while ago.
Travel – I’d ping off to Germany, to islands way off the coast of Scotland, Amsterdam, tiny hill towns in Italy and more, for a week of exploring, clubbing, chumming it up and general overdoing. I’d fly home and punch into work the very next morning. Now, even those wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am, one day trips to see my Da knock me out. I spend the next day, (sometimes two!), in bed reading and communicating only in sign. Amongst other things, my lipreading’s totes shot after one of these visits.
And then there’s my emotional resilience. NOT what it used to be. OR maybe I am every bit as emotionally resilient. Just tired.
Winters are hard. Even this past one – light on the snow action and pretty damn warm. TAB and I even managed to stay out of MGH’s OR – we haven't pulled off this spectacularly neat, cold weather feat in years and years. Still, there was the just below surface tension as we waited for blizzards or our bodies to betray us. Not this year though!
I figured, given how calm things have been, that I'd be the very picture of energized chill. Fortified by these mostly tranquil past few months, I should be energized, ready and able to slay rude motherfuckers with just a few choice words, convince beef consumers to stop with their infernal contribution to Global Warming, turn rabid hordes of Trump fans into peace loving, groovied out, live and let live, don’t-bogart-that-joint types and make my loved ones' lives all bright and shiny. I can accomplish all this without breaking a sweat, losing precious cot time or missing the sunrise – right?
Eh, not so much.
I’m big into reality. Believing some beautiful, sleek fantasy about my abilities – physical and emotional – is just gonna trip me up bigly. I need to be practical about what I can accomplish each day and over time – grok the shit outta my limits and quit berating myself when I don't hit all my sky high goals. Mind you, optimism and reach-for-the-stars shit is great BUT I gotta keep in mind what TAB says when I go off for epic trike rides – Remember, you have to come back too. That is, don’t ride so far out that I’ve no juice left to ride home. Don't pack my schedule so tight that I'm in bed for two days after.
I need to allow for some down time. That can be 30 minutes of sitting on the seawall each morning, watching the wavelets hit the beach. It can be doodling. It can be reading a book that has absolutely no redeeming qualities apart from giving me a thrill ride.
It's not just OK to do nothing, it's doctor recommended!