Over the past few months I’ve written about slowing down, being mindful and the value in taking a pause. I write about these things because my inclination is to rush about. I thought I was doing well, had balanced the rushing and the slowing down, but then I was upended, literally. I fell and badly sprained my ankle. It was an accident and the details aren’t important, but the aftermath is. One morning I was running outside with a puppy, seconds later I was unable to walk on my own. Humbling.
It’s been three weeks now and I’ve had a lot of time to think about things like: what’s important, how to stay focused, and how quickly the events of my life can change. The days that followed centered on reducing pain, reclining, ice (lots of ice), a doctor’s appointment, and physiotherapy appointments, x-ray, ultrasound, crutches, cancelled holiday plans, and worry. How long will this take to heal?
I’m lucky. I work at home. I have very good care. I can get to my physio appointments. I am (mostly) able to sleep through the night, which is the key to healing. And I want to accept this as a time to rest, to collect my thoughts, to make plans for the coming year. But I feel that pulsing, that sense of time passing, that call to action. It is so seductive, a siren call to be out in the world. I remind myself that my muse lives in the quieter moments, the moments I am living now. So I rest and dream and write trusting that a delicious inspiration will surface.