no. to none of the above.
my tonsils came out on tuesday. doctors cut out my useless and enlarged pieces of tissue, cauterized my throat, and sent me home. i am swollen. every swallow feels calculated and like i am preparing for battle. very little food has reached my stomach. when i speak, i laugh because surely something is stuck down there.
pain pills helped where they could but left me nauseated like i might imagine a pregnant woman with morning sickness to be. after yesterdays pain pill debacle, i refuse to touch them. luckily ibuprofen seems to help.
i’ve spent the past three days confined to the couch, watching far too much television and day dreaming with an easy heart about pizza, coffee, sriracha, clementines, apples, chicken tacos, my boyfriend, my hoop, singing, dancing and all the books i checked out from the library whose words only mixed more nausea into the nausea.
it may be easy to lament where i am.
but why would i?
deep down, a huge part of me was incredibly excited for this tonsil adventure. despite the anticipated pain, i felt ready to surrender to a world of gentle nothingness. i welcomed and continue to welcome the two week break in physical activity.
why would a highly active, constantly busy, social butterfly of a person seek solace in that, you ask?
i’ve been chronically exhausted since middle school. there are a million friends in a million different places to see, always. there is work, never ending. there are music shows, festivals, hoop jams. there is yoga to go to, mountains to climb, breweries to visit, and towns to drive to. all of this business, all of this life, i’ve created, and i love it dearly.
yet i don’t remember the last time i stopped moving. i can’t remember the last time i did nothing, absolutely.
relaxing into what is my right now — pain, non-activity, little to no food, no speaking or singing — has proven to be more doable than i ever imagined. there is great beauty in motionlessness, in sitting and observing, in sitting and being, without agenda.
am i looking forward to movement? sure!
but i am not disregarding what is moving in front of me, within me, at this very moment. this is rest that was needed and necessary. a break from the regular pace of life to see where regular life tune ups are needed.
none of this is permanent, none of this is unbearable.
when i came out of anesthesia the nurse asked me if i exercised regularly. i told her i did yoga a lot during the week and hula hooped regularly.
“it shows,” she told me, “because you’re heart rate is so steady.”
all of that physiology though comes from a state of mind, a willingness to accept and not change exactly where you are. i found calmness because i accepted the utter calmness i was about to step into. instead of the anger and resentment i felt when my wisdom teeth came out, there lies within me a peace i did not know i possessed.
the universe works its magic in seemingly counterproductive ways. if i wants you to slow down, maybe you get sick. maybe your car dies. maybe you break a bone. maybe there is some sort of annoying inconvenience. but that is the lesson — that is the universal language spelling out your remedy without words.
in pain there can be a struggle. or in pain and difference, there can be complete and utter acceptance. to meet pain with pain will only inflate the pain. but to meet pain or stillness or inactivity with unobjective judgement? this is where our freedom lies. make peace with where you are, even if it feels different from where you think you should be.
for this moment is all we truly have. not the future, not the past. just this breath, and nothing more.