Dark, Hot, and Delicious, thank the universe for the little things. This morning the coffee is doing more than making me wake up, its giving me something to hold on to.
I woke up this morning sobbing into my pillow and I just can’t seem to stop.
To be honest I cry pretty easy, I may not show it, but I’m a sucker for the heart string pulling stuff, dog rescue videos, beautiful babies, weddings, sappy moments in movies, etc. I don’t cry much over my own shit, that I tend to turn into anger and bitterness. So why am I crying? I keep asking myself the same. I don’t think its because I feel sorry for myself, although maybe I do. I just can’t stop thinking about how much of my life is based on the physical. Work, Play, Creation, it is all done with my hands.
For the record I can still do everything with my hand that I ever could, it just comes with a price. I can ride, even still pull off some good hard techy stuff, or ride 145 miles in a day. I can still wrench, cranking out bike after bike, turning turds into functioning machines. But, I hurt. I awake in the middle of the night with my wrist throbbing. I can barely operate a computer mouse with out cringing. I find myself riding with one hand, way too often. I can not do trail work anymore. I can barely write with a pen.
I can’t stop thinking about all the folks with greater disfunction than me and how they can deal and move on. Makes me feel like a wuss for not being tougher, more resilient, more adaptable. Guess I am still getting there. But this transition, or whatever it is, makes me cry. I am scared, I am afraid to let go of what I know. It flashes me back to when I was younger and stronger, but still could sense that it wouldn’t last forever, I thought, “well when I can’t do it anymore, I’ll just move on”. Now that I am there I find that I am terrified, more than riding into the darkest unknown, surrounded by reflecting eyes hiding in the bush. Guess that this is just mental, spiritual version of that.
I want to believe that there is more, more to me than the physical and I am trying to open up to it. Yet it is also hard to imagine doing any of it with out my hand and therefor without pain. Guess that is one of the hands dealt by the harsh side of life and we never, ever seem to be done paying our dues.
Again, I am looking through the drying tears and seeing the coming sunrise through the open curtains, feeling the hot coffee flow through my bones, the fuzzy nuzzle of dog noses on the backs of my knees. Little things, can be the steps to more powerful things, I keep telling myself, even if I don’t feel it yet. I’m not giving up, that is for sure. I really do want, no need to give more to this world, but god damn it sucks to wake up crying. I’ll just make another press of coffee and keep on trucking.