I love being snowed in. Friday roads and schools closed here. The radio thrilled with alarms and cautions while the soft cotton of the flakes filled imperfections of the land, including the scar of my driveway. There was nothing I could do. I was trapped by a deep, perfect inconvenience.
I suppose part of my pleasure was from the beauty of a storm, but part came from having no choices too. I must stay home. Whatever else I had planned had to be relinquished. Inconvenience is freeing. With less opportunity, I fret less over what I can’t do and enjoy what I can do. Both dogs got a thorough brushing Friday. All three of us enjoyed that.
Illness limits me now in ways similar to that snowstorm. There is nothing I can do; I am trapped by the inconvenience. But as the weeks go by, I’m caring less and less about what I can’t do. I’m deeply immersing myself in what I can do. I’m enjoying life in ways I couldn’t before. Before I had too many choices. Every choice I made left me aware of all the things I wasn’t doing. Now about all I can do is paint, read, and play with the dogs. Why would anyone be sad about that?
People seem unable to hear me when I try to explain this. Questions, especially from people who haven’t seen me in a while, are always about what “they” are going to do for me. There’s nothing they can do, I explain. What will the treatment be? There is no treatment, I explain. Well then if they’re doing nothing I must be getting better and they’re so happy I’m getting well and hope I continue to heal. That I won’t get better is too hard to hear. I’m getting to the point of fearing social events because I hate to see people’s discomfort with the deep, perfect inconvenience I live with.
I can understand their discomfort. How the phrase “there’s nothing they can do” chilled me at first. We always want to fight. We don’t bow easily to inconvenience. The blizzard comes and we jump into our cars, forge out onto the icy roads and slip into ditches and other cars. When the driveway is buried, choosing to leave the car in the garage smacks of quitting. But trapped as I am, I’ve never felt more alive. The beauty of my days, like this snow in drifts across the neighboring hills, is a freedom I’ve never known. Why would anyone be sad about that?
Above: Winter scene, acrylic on canvas, 20 x 16 inches. Copyright 2010 ptw.
Thanks, Patricia. We haven't met, but it's a pleasure to know you virtually. Alvi pointed to your blog.
ReplyDeleteThis post calmed me after I wasted some time fretting about a decision that could make my work easier or more difficult. Choosing the easier route makes sense, now that you've reminded me of the unforeseen obstacles and inconveniences. I was half tempted to fight when I didn't need to.
Your perspective is heartening.
Pat, We can credit (or blame) Lance Armstrong for creating (or popularizing) the heroic model of coping with serious illness: If you fight hard enough, and think positively enough, you can triumph over a deadly disease. While that's a good and useful model in many situations, the downside can be very damaging. People confronting a fatal illness for which there is no cure are put in an awful position, as if their unwillingness to go to extremes in pursuit of dubious "cures" is a failure of will.
ReplyDeleteThere is an impulse in many of us to "do something" when faced with a situation like yours. Good for you for reveling in the things you can do and making the most of each moment.
Frank