It’s one of my unfavourite words … and sometimes I see it in the mirror.
Here’s another one: “careful”. Also yucky but increasingly necessary.
But on we go. Yesterday I did laundry in a building only fifty metres from my home. I took my shirts out of the drier while they were some wet so the wrinkles would fall out. As my underwear and jeans continued their drying journey, I grabbed my ten shirts and ten hangers and headed home.
There are fifty-two steps from the street to my apartment. No elevator. Clutching my moist shirts to my breast, I started climbing. Partway up something jolted in my left hip. It’s called bursitis, and it thought that yesterday was a fine time to say hello.
A second climb to the heights involved an IKEA bag in my right hand while the left clung to the railing and hauled the body upwards. In the uncareful department, I was still putting only one foot on each riser.
Hours later I hobbled down the stairs and towards a dinner restaurant. I chose a route sweetly but unconsciously, one that involved climbing twenty steps towards the end. Imagine more hauling up with left hand, still stepping “normally”, but this time publicly.
As I ate, I thought of my decision to rent an apartment way up high. I knew that someday I wouldn’t be able to do those stairs … but I thought that moment would be years away – not TODAY!
There were two exit doors from the restaurant. One involved climbing two steps. It was very clear that I’d have to put two feet on each riser to deal with the pain. I felt the angst of not wanting people to see my plight. I chose the other exit.
The whole other discussion is that I haven’t stretched for months. At the end of June, I sold my home in Belmont, Canada and shipped my belongings across the ocean. It felt “convenient” to place my yoga mat in one of those boxes. Convenient and dumb. No yoga mat, no stretching. “Oh well,” said my deluded mind.
Today I start again to extend my body parts in various directions … now smiling at my foibles.
And all will be well.