|
Getting your Trinity Audio player ready...
|
It is a question someone asked in response to my last post.
Am I frightened of stillness?
The answer, I think, is yes.
I have never been a particularly patient person. I have always needed to be occupied, engaged, moving towards something. Sitting still has never come naturally to me.
Even now, my carer will sometimes say, “Wait a moment,” while he locks the door, and almost immediately I feel the urge to move. We laugh about it because we both know I am not very good at waiting.
Looking back, perhaps I have spent most of my life in motion. Sometimes it was climbing a career ladder. Sometimes it was boarding another plane. Sometimes it was simply filling every day with purpose. I have always been impulsive, energetic and eager for whatever came next.
That is why the question struck such a chord.
What happens if the day comes when I can no longer choose to move? When I have to depend almost entirely on other people because my body simply cannot do what my mind wants it to do?
I do not know.
And yes, that frightens me.
Yet I also realise that I have been preparing for that possibility without fully appreciating it. Six years of yoga have taught me how to breathe. PSP has already forced me to slow down. My world has gradually narrowed from that of a frequent flyer to someone who now spends around 98% of his time at home.
Each stage has felt impossible before I reached it. Each stage has eventually become my new normal.
Perhaps stillness would be no different.
That does not mean I want it. Quite the opposite. Today I choose to be as active, engaged and resourceful as I possibly can. If my body limits what I can do physically, then I will use my mind. If my world becomes smaller, I will continue trying to fill it with purpose.
I believe I will adapt because, so far, I always have.
Will it be hard? Undoubtedly.
Will it require surrendering control to other people? Absolutely.
That may prove to be one of the hardest lessons of all.
But it is a bridge I will cross only if I have to.
Until then, I pray for more time. More opportunities to remain active, even if “active” continues to take on a different meaning with every passing year.
I am also grateful that my family and those who care for me understand this challenge. They know that losing independence is not simply about needing help. For someone like me, it is about learning an entirely different way of living.
The person who asked me whether I am frightened of stillness gave me a great deal to think about.
It was a fair question.
I hope I do not have to answer it in practice for a long time yet.
