Up to that day, ‘normal’ for me, was life on auto pilot as I
suspect it is for you. The alarm goes off to remind us that it’s another day to
make the doughnuts and we roll groggily out of bed and start the day. Routines
like showering, shaving, and driving through rush hour to our workplace just
happen. We spend most of our waking
hours making a living so the time not spent at the workplace are done in a
style where we can find some happiness and comfort and then we face rush hour
again and then we do it over again and again and again. (This video - pay attention to the lyrics -- to Synchronicity II by The Police) hit that
repetitive hell a little too closely for me for a number of years). Ideally,
that work is something you enjoy and not just putting in time. That’s pretty
much ‘normal’ for most. We embrace it as
part of our culture and honestly don’t give it much thought. Normal, for some
borders on nihilism, but I think for most of us, pretty good.
Most of the daily activities I took for granted every day of
my adult life are now on hold. Simple things like using my own toothbrush,
shaving (although admittedly, I’ve never ‘enjoyed’ that activity), using toilet
paper, moving anywhere without my IV pole (going to the restroom and showering
included), walking outside my room without a surgical mask, and on and on.
These fun activities are now my new normal for the foreseeable future. They’re
not onerous requirements and I’m not complaining, but I daresay they’re not ‘normal’
for you or the vast majority of people you know. Normal is becoming something
different by the day, but I gotta tell you, what was normal where I rolled out
of bed and started my day like you, can’t come back soon enough and it won’t be
‘normal’ ever again.
Here’s my point. We’re all pretty much creatures of habit to
some extent and because that’s the case, we tend to take an awful lot for
granted. My good friend, Brian, who knows me perhaps better than anyone, drove
up from California last week to be with me for the day. He passed this poem on to me, yesterday knowing
that my troglodyte Naval Academy education was heavily engineering-centered and
lacking in poetry (No surprise there…not a lot of naval poet laureates on the
payroll last time I checked). It hit home of course.
Normal
day, let me be aware of the treasure you are. Let me learn from you, love you,
bless you before you depart. Let me not pass you by in quest of some rare and
perfect tomorrow. Let me hold you while I may, for it may not always be so. One
day I shall dig my nails into the earth, or bury my face in the pillow, or
stretch myself taut, or raise my hands to the sky and want, more than all the
world, your return.
- Mary Jean Iron
- Mary Jean Iron
Normal shouldn’t ever be the goal, yet it’s far too easy to
be complacent into drawing a paycheck, paying the bills, and falling into a
routine that rather than being fulfilling, crushes our soul and devolves our
daily life into a simple exchange of time for money equation so we can get away
from the thing that pays the bills. Work doesn’t need to be a ‘necessary evil’
any more than normal needs to be a way of life, let alone the goal.
So, live with intention, not simply with an eye toward the
next paycheck. Don’t wait until you have dire choices in life to appreciate the
simple things, but rather take calculated risks for happiness. Do I sound like
a Hallmark card? If I do and your eyes
are half-masting, may I suggest you take a quick trip to your local hospital
and wander down the hallway of any given ward. Every one of those people just
wants your normal day. Hopefully, that little trip will reinforce that ‘normal’
for you is BORING and that normal for us inpatients is replete with luxury. May
I suggest you stop by the nurse’s station and ask if anyone there could use a
visitor. It won’t take you but a few minutes, but you will have made someone’s
day by simply being there. Brian (same
one as above) did that while I was getting a CT scan done and he made an impact
on someone who had been rather lonely and scared. I hear about far too many
people who languish away during extended hospital stays. Thankfully, I don’t
have that problem. The steady stream of visitors has kept me in good spirits
and good snacks, but more importantly, it has kept me healing. I’m convinced
that half of my treatment is chemical and the other is emotional /
psychological / spiritual.
So, again, at the risk of sounding didactic or preachy, don’t
let ‘normal’ be your goal. You have so much more than that.
Be well, stay strong, much love to you all!
Intentional living = freedom.
ReplyDelete"Yes! Live! Life's a banquet and most poor suckers are starving to death!" -Auntie Mame
ReplyDelete"Normal" is relevant to only one person at a time. What's "normal" for you may be "abnormal" for the next person, so "normal" has never been a word that meant much to me. I don't think I've ever been what society would call "normal", partly because I tend to say what's in my head rather than filter it before it leaves my mouth, which the rest of the world seems to do. Yes, it gets me in trouble at times, but at least people always know they can count on me for being genuine. And hey, if I was "normal", I wouldn't have the wonderful friends I have. I would sure hate to actually FIT the stereotype that goes with a 59-year-old white haired saggy-assed fat old broad whose boobs are always looking for change on the floor! As I get older, my opinions and outrage at the injustices of the world and the pain and suffering and plain stupidity and selfishness that keeps some people down while others rise from their ashes only gets louder and bolder. My sarcasm increases, my cynicism can scald, and my wit can cut when apt, while my heart grows bigger and daily more full and my shoulder stronger and my hugs warmer and longer. I'm like an overstuffed lounger tucked in the corner, offering succor and comfort, nurturing, and compassion and a welcome, cozy place to sit a spell. But I will NOT go quietly into that great good night, you can count on it. I may LOOK like Miss Marple, but I roar like Maude--and when I go, it will be to the tune of SHARP DRESSED MAN pumping loud and proud all the way to my urn! (Because I "urned it"! LOL!)
ReplyDelete