I went back to work this past week after what was a very unusual summer — a summer that started with a week of dish washing in the desert of Arizona, transitioned to supporting some of our parents through their health crises, included my 40th high school class reunion, and ended with me transitioning into a new position at my school.
It was such an unusual summer that my suitcase stayed in some state of “packed” for the entirety of June and July, our garden was given over to monstrous intertwined vines of squash and cantaloupe bordered by overgrown rhubarb and zucchini, and I was rarely able to move my writing from my morning pages– scribbles of to-dos and emotion — to anything resembling a blog. My regular rhythms were disrupted.
It probably needed to happen — this season of go with the flow that included so many trips up and down the state of Michigan — which is breathtakingly beautiful in the summer — lazy hours on the beach, playtime with our granddaughters, laughter with former classmates, dozens of phone calls with parents and siblings, and a looser hold on all the anchors I’ve been gripping for years in my physical recovery — regimented bed times, a consistent morning routine, strict dietary guidelines, and a deep commitment to not only writing every day but also posting every week.
I think I needed this summer’s less-regimented experience to see that a looser grip is ok. I can relax a little bit. If I generally follow the routines that I have found work best to keep my inflammation and pain at bay, I can veer off that path from time to time and be fine. I’ve been a little afraid of that since I’ve been dealing with autoimmunity — afraid that if I don’t do everything correctly, I’ll end up in a flare. It’s a valid fear, because that sometimes happens (and it did happen a couple of times this summer), but holding too tightly to systems and regimens can also cause the anxiety that might lead to a flare. Maybe, I’m learning, taking a breath and veering off the path for a moment can be ok.
Because I veered off the path, I had countless hours with my mother as she cleaned, organized, and prepared her home for my stepfather’s return from an extended hospital stay. I had the opportunity — many times — to sit in my stepfather’s hospital room — witnessing his vulnerability, providing some consistent communication (even if I got on his nerves a bit), and watching him become someone I didn’t recognize, and then, someone that I did. I had time with my in-laws who are also navigating difficult waters — joking a little with my father-in-law and sharing some private moments with my mother-in-law. We enjoyed a few precious days with our granddaughters, feeding alpacas and goats, walking to playgrounds, watching movies, and reading stories until we heard, “I’m so tired, can we go to bed now.” Finally, my husband and I enjoyed four quiet days away — alone, just the two of us — to explore nature, breathe clean air, and celebrate the miracle of thirty-four years of marriage.
I didn’t get every weed out of the garden. I didn’t, as I’d hoped, dive back into The Artist’s Way, and I didn’t meet my writing goals, but I logged so many memories that I will be carrying with me as I head into the school year.
This summer was all about remaining flexible — going with the flow, changing plans at the last minute, missing a day or two of yoga, living without a decent cup of tea once in a while, staying up a little later, getting up a little earlier, and being mostly ok.
And, when I haven’t been ok, I’ve used the tools I’ve learned over the last ten years to recover — epsom salt baths, lots of water, ice packs, Motrin, and rest.
I know the value of staying on the path, I’m learning the richness of wandering away from time to time, and I know the potential outcomes of both ways.
I’m mostly back on the straight and narrow; I need to be as I learn my new role at school — more on that next time.
Next Chapter 