I’m tired. Not tired in the sense of exhausted, tired as in I’m losing my resolve.
My thesaurus suggests synonyms for resolve are “determination, steadfastness, tenacity, doggedness, firmness”. Well, I reckon I’ve had those attributes all my life, for better or for worse. And, for better, that’s what’s got me mobile, as well as keeping me sane for the last seventeen years. What’s the opposite of resolve? My thesaurus suggests “indecision”, but I’ve not become indecisive. It’s more like I’m in danger of losing my way, literally losing “my way”. My way of steadfastly sticking to my regimen of exercise and stretching.
Oh, I still do it all, but the effort! I’m tired of the effort needed to do stretches every night, every morning. Rationally I know that I have to stretch often – to avoid spasm, to be able to stand up straight, to walk, to manage pain …
And there’s the seed of an explanation for losing my resolve. Pain has been a major driver in doing regular exercise and stretches. Or rather, removing pain, at least temporarily. Much of my pain is managed now, after seventeen years of trying various meds. Instead of feeling triumphant over pain, I’ve been feeling a completely irrational level of despondency, accompanied by a reluctance to stretch, especially at night when I want to read, or do something other than stretching. Yet my continued mobility and pain management relies upon stretching. It’s not as if I don’t have other tools to motivate – humour can help you rise above any trial; exercise improves posture, alignment, provides objective measurements of progress, reduces spasm and pain, and yields endorphins; helping others; doing acts of kindness; smiling. All give wonderful positive feedback. So where was my Self?
Then a friend, completely out of the blue, sent me a link to a site that reflected exactly my state of mind. So two things happened at once. I identified why I was feeling as if I was losing my way, and in reading some very wise words I had permission to feel that way.
And so I found my resolve … As if it were lurking under the bed, or in a cupboard. And so it was, in a manner of speaking. The answer was lurking on the Internet, in the kindness of a friend, and in my own mind.
So today I went for a long walk, sat reading in the sun, and did some stretches. I feel great!
Here is an excerpt from Jen Lemen’s “Love Will Find You Out” for anyone else that this might help:
“It’s okay to hope against hope.
This is not a time to be reasonable or rational.
Run, run as fast as you can against the tide that is crashing down now.
When the last wave sweeps over you
and every hope has been dashed
You will still be here, right here
and you will not be sorry you tried to make all your sorrows disappear.
It’s okay to cry.
Even if you are a man. Even if you are a mother. Even if you feel each tear
as an accusation against your strength, your resolve, your natural equilibrium.
Cry in the car. Cry in the shower.
Cry in bed when no one is listening or looking.
Cry when you kiss the kids goodbye for school.
Cry when you do the dishes.
Berate yourself for not being able to get it together
and then cry anyway.
How else will you know you lived, if not for these tears
reminding you were not made of metal, wood or steel