I have been thinking a lot about limits.
Yes, we all have them.
I’ve got a lot of them.
What I can’t buy, what I can’t eat, what I can’t write and do and say.
They have a central theme in common. Each one directly relates to my health in one way or another. They’re most certainly not a figment of my imagination. They’re not about making excuses. They’re real. Sometimes they bother me, and sometimes they don’t. But lately it seems my emotions have come out on the losing end of the battle.
My limits have been winning, getting the best of me.
All I can think about is how I don’t have the energy to take a day hike with a friend, when I have the glory of the Sierra Mountains practically in my own backyard in one direction, and the grandeur of the Pacific Ocean in the other. Or I think about how I can only sit down and write for an hour at a time. I am tired of feeling frustrated and slow; tired of taking twice as long to finish anything.
In the past ten years I have grown accustomed to not firing on all cylinders. No easy feat for a dedicated A-type personality like me. But as my dear grandmother loves to say, it is what it is.
We all have these things.
And I have to learn to take a hard look at mine as say “so what?”
There are things in life not worth holding onto. Stress over what I can’t do is one of them.
There is a power in letting go and choosing to just be.
And with it peace and gratitude will settle in, and a realization of all the amazing things I can do. All those healthy and positive emotions will have the chance to come through and shine all on their own.
Today I begin the journey to letting go.
To just being.
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I am seeing things.
Things that just aren’t there.
Before departing for the gym yesterday I checked my bag two dozen times to make sure I had everything. I’m low maintenance. The checklist really isn’t complicated. Everything fits nicely into a little compact bag, and most would be impressed with this minimalist feat.
But even with so little to keep track of, I still can’t keep it straight.
Fast forward one hour and there I was. After my workout and fresh from the shower, in all my naked glory, rummaging through my bag, and my damn bra was nowhere to be found. As if this little mishap wasn’t bad enough, the top I packed was a tight, flimsy little see-through burn out tee. With a really deep v-neck.
Ladies, do you feel my pain?
I could have sworn I saw it in my bag. But sadly, this is my brain on what I call my lupus-fibro fog. And this cognitive disaster is a force so powerful it could reduce a Mensa member into a hopelessly forgetful, bumbling idiot.
Welcome to my world.
My girls aren’t super huge, but being fully rounded B-cups they are just enough to cause a problem at times like this. It was what it was. Bralessness would be the name of the game.
The trek from the women’s locker room to the parking lot is a long one. The path goes right through a big weight room, always full of the same guys trying to out do each other, no matter what time of day it is. 10 in the morning on a Tuesday, and the place was completely packed. And all I can think of is does anyone work a normal job anymore?
Never mind that I don’t. Completely beside the point.
I made my way through the weight room, looking like Farrah Fawcett from the neck down in her iconic 70’s poster (bless her soul). I got a few appreciative looks from the male regulars. The women hanging out in there gave me a few glances that could best be translated to who the hell does she think she is?
Hey people, give me a seriously needed break. It could be worse.
I can beat myself up over being stupid and letting my foggy brain get the best of me. Or I can have a good laugh over it.
I choose laughter.
The world can use some more anyway.
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