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| Nature and my feet, AKA Beauty and the Beasts |
After
well over two years of mounting physical problems, I finally bottomed out but
emerged with a diagnosis: fibromyalgia. It’s referred to as chronic pain, but
it’s much more: essentially, your body is stuck in a “fight-or-flight”
response. Yes, this means nerves are hyper-reactive. But it also means there
are changes to your chemical and hormonal levels, how certain parts of your
brain functions, and this can have impacts to pain, energy, digestion, immune
system, and sleep, which in turn can create all kinds of impacts. So… crap.
I’ve
spent the last two to three years as a bit of a physical train wreck, and spent
the last few weeks as an emotional one. I have lived physically and loved it.
But, in some way, my life will need to change. Maybe much of what I did can be
done again, maybe there’s some new passion to replace it with, but after some
time to rage and grieve, a few nuggets of clarity emerge.
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| The outdoors have given me some great family moments. |
Hiking,
mountain biking, skiing, and all my time outdoors is a way of being connected
with Sara, my girls, the world around me, and with myself. At its core, those
are my goals and these activities were how I reached those goals. I’ll never
stop being someone who loves the outdoors, who craves adventure (hey, I guess I’ve
got an excuse for being an adrenaline junkie), who strives to connect deeply
with loved ones. But now my challenge becomes figuring out how that will look.
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| Whatever the specifics may be, the goal remains to live vibrantly. |
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| Sometimes the "cure" seems worse than the problem. |
As I
begin getting educated on this stuff, there’s a bit of a contradiction that I
feel: I’m supposed to stop living how I’ve lived but I’m supposed to work to
get back as much of what I lost as I can. I know an expert would say it’s more
nuanced than that, but it’s how I understand the therapeutic goals as I flail
early on in this process.
When
I started blogging about my hikes, my goal was not to delve into the topography
or detailed explanation of the trail. For me, it was to chronicle how my life
and the lives of those around me were unfolding. My stated goal was to hike the
67 New England high summits. But my real goal was to use that writing as a way
to focus myself on what was unfolding for and around me over a longer period of
time. I was interested to look back 67 months later to see what storyline would
emerge. I got halfway through, on track, before coming to a crashing halt. This
diagnosis may suck, but if it’s my reality, then the only remaining question is
where I go from here.
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| What the... ?!?! I thought I knew how to navigate life. But now I'm in uncharted territory... |
So,
now I see me repurposing this writing: to explore where this new life take me;
to find what new adventures await; to see how I continue to bond. I feared that
I’d need to reinvent myself. But with more reflection, I think I just need to figure
out how I can continue to work at being my best self. I’ll undoubtedly have
some trial and error, maybe with some epic fails. I’ll presumably continue to
find nature to be soul-nurturing. For all the times I push my daughters out of
their comfort zones, it’ll be time for me to model the way, which may be good
for some memories to wince or laugh at. And, I’ll likely look back somewhere
down the road and find I’ve taken on some surprising new ways of living that I’d
never have expected.
If
you indulge me the hiking analogy, I’m standing at the trailhead. I can’t see
far down the trail and know this will be a challenge. But, as with past hikes, I
start by putting one foot in front of another (albeit painfully). Eventually, it’s
euphoric to stand on the summit and feel triumphant, proud of the effort, proud
of the accomplishment, proud of who I am, and of who I’m with.
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| ... So it's time to start a new journey and see where it leads. |
One
step at a time,
Jay Bell, AKA Rock Hopper
