At times I have a rigid view of who Bruce is. It’s healthy for me to have that jolted once in awhile.
I can’t go to the gym anymore so a few weeks ago my thought was to walk. I live on the edge of a village and there are plenty of roads for my inspection. I tell people I see that I’m going for a walk “around the block”, chuckling inside that the navigation I’m talking about is nine kilometres (six miles).
So … Bruce is now a walker, a long walker – two-and-a-half hours. And Bruce does this every day because he wants to retain some fitness and simply be out in the open air, greeting folks from six feet away. Bruce does not take a break from his routine.
Most recently, twelve days in a row I ventured forth and ventured back. Slow and steady. Halfway through the twelth time, however, my left knee started complaining: “What are you doing, old man? It’s not like you’re 25 anymore. I’m getting tired of all this, and it’s time to let you know!”
So I hobbled through the last hour. I was out in the country. A few cars came by. I realized that no one was going to drive me home. There wouldn’t be enough physical distancing. So I grunted and hobbled.
That was Sunday. Yesterday the knee was puffed up and it was hard to move around the house. It’s some better today. Both times I haven’t set a foot outside the door. I can feel the twinge of “should”, focused on outdoor travel. But if I let that word into my consciousness, it needs to be about “rest”. And so I do.
Will I “trip the light fantastic” tomorrow? Perhaps. Perhaps not. Right now, there’s a blessed looseness about me, certainly not in the physical realm, but in the spiritual. Who I am is a pathway, not a destination. And there are many twists and turns along the way – for my body and for my mind.