WARNING: Photos unrelated to text. Just sayin.
The other day, while I was talking to Cupcake, (I lust for that name, btw) .....I realized something big.
A recent comment from a friend got me thinking about it......she said, "that headache has kind of DEFINED you for some time."
But seriously, that's the truth. As it persisted, month after month, and sometimes became so severe that I could not function in my normal way, then yes, it did begin to be the guide that I structured my collapsing life around. And it did take every single waking thought. Trying to diagnose it, trying to manage it, trying to find some relief, trying..............to understand what was happening to me.
For all of 10 months, I struggled to find some ground where I could relate, where I could find a transition to this new definition of myself, from the old definition of who I have been all my life............yup, a workaholic.
Are ya' with me?
Then the knife. Six hours, two surgeons, and who knows how many sharp instruments, and now I am finding that I am defined by neither of those things.
My headache is becoming (hallelujah) manageable. I have a bag of tricks, that actually work to diminish my headache to dullness.........rest, medicine, massage, refraining from doing things that cause spasm, meditation.
And whether the doctors rearranged my brain, or this is just a natural conclusion to my whole experience, I find that being a workaholic just doesn't inspire much interest in me anymore.
Stop the train. OMG. I can't even believe I said that, much less FEEL it.
But it's true.
I am finding joy in putting balance into my days, and sometimes I feel like I have returned from a foreign place, and I am learning to live all over again.
When I was growing up, Dear Dad taught me what was important.
And if anything that you did as work, did not result in money, then it was stupid.
End of lesson.
Now why I did not take to heart the lesson that my mother was living, instead, I have no idea.
She slept until 9am. After her household chores, which were not too heavy with just she and my father and I there, she was free to amuse herself. And she did. She was an accomplished gardener, and she loved to sew. She did both, and she did them well. Other than bowling on Tuesday mornings, which she did faithfully, she stayed in her own little corner of the world, and did just exactly what she wanted. She made dinner, nothing gourmet.........she was not into it, and then on to her other addiction........TV. She has watched a million movies and some of them multiple times.
She was never concerned about money. My father made it, and gave it to her.
She was never concerned about work. When she came to this country in 1946, and her new husband said he did not want her to work, she settled into that dogma like a trooper.
She had several new Toyotas back when NO ONE ELSE WE KNEW had new cars.
My father fetched her fresh popcorn from the movie theater every evening........no lie......so she could munch while glued to the television til midnight. Not so late, when you sleep until 9.
THEN, he bought her a full size theater style popcorn machine, so she could make her own.
But she didn't. He made it. Big surprise.
But I did get my inclination to create from her, and for that I'm grateful. Dad had nothing to do with my addiction and passion for fiber arts.
But what now, now that I have discovered Dad was wrong about the money thing? Oh, I've known it in theory for a long, long time. But I still worked like a crazy person every day of my life.
So NOW, I have to rethink, re-plan, redo. It's not enough to just know in my head that every day is a gift, and that all of it is precious, I have to ACT on it, accept it, and discard all that nonsense that I have dragged around, that money making, task oriented, compulsive, driven behavior, that I've been doing since I could walk.
I am practicing just that, every day.
This is a warp I wound today, for dish towels. Just because I wanted to.
But I'm pretty sure I can get it.