Doing hard things

Crossing Heliotrope Creek

It may not look as scary in this picture as it felt, but without that rope in my left hand, I would not have attempted to cross this roaring stream. The water was glacier melt and not only very cold, but also rushing by at a terrifying clip. My friend Chris took this picture and sent it to me, with a note reminding me that I can do hard things. This year, Frank brought that rope along with him that made it possible for people like me to attempt the crossing. The feeling of accomplishment was tremendous.

And I was also thrilled to be able to join my companions for a hike, after having missed so many because of injury. Without the help of acupuncture, and the exercises assigned to me by Warren (the acupuncturist), I don't think I would be as good as I am today. Yesterday I went walking with the ladies and was grateful to learn that my knee is coming along quite well. I'm beginning to think that the discomfort I'm still having is related to arthritis and might not ever go away completely. That's okay, if I can still do hard things.

It might seem to be a curious saying for someone to appreciate who has already jumped out of airplanes more than 4,000 times, but that was then. This is now, and I am a little incredulous that I did that. The memories of my skydiving years have now faded completely into the past, feeling like another lifetime ago. Although I was active for a quarter century, my last skydive was more than four years ago. Now, crossing a raging stream like this one is plenty of thrills and chills for me.

It had long since come to my attention that people of accomplishment rarely sat back and let things happen to them. They went out and happened to things. —Elinor Smith

 Probably one of the hardest things I have ever done has been to find a way through soul-crushing grief, the loss of my children. The first loss was much harder than the second, because I was so young, just in my early twenties, and during those days there were not the wonderful support groups that exist today. It took a long time, but even such tragedy can be overcome and placed in the vaults of one's memory. In earlier times, it was rather common to lose a young child to illness. Not everyone gets over it, and it took a long time, but I was able to feel love and joy again. Just going through life has given me the perspective that nothing lasts forever: the good, the bad, the difficult, or even the joyous emotions of the heart.

Yesterday on our walk, someone slipped on the gravel and took a spill, scraping up her knees. I was reminded that it is usually me who takes a fall. Betty was helped up by her friends and finished the walk. It reminded me that when you are out and about, it's easy to go from a brisk walk to a plummet, and there's nothing you can do about it but get up and keep going. The fall I took on my tailbone six weeks ago is recent enough that I can remember how hard it was to get up, assess the damage, and keep going. That was doing a "hard thing" but I really didn't have any choice. Nobody was going to carry me down the trail.

I wonder if I really do fall more often than other people, and if so, why that might be so. It always seems to happen on the return trip, so maybe it's that I stop paying close attention or maybe I'm just anxious to finish and don't watch my steps as closely as I should. On that last spill, it was the slippery boardwalk that exacerbated it, because I was striding along ahead when I should have been more careful. And just like that, I was down, without any warning.

When I visit my doctor, I fill out a questionnaire about my yearly activities and am always asked if I have taken a fall recently. Well, yes, I have, now that you mention it. And then I am reminded that I never have the opportunity to say no, not recently. And I have the scars to prove it.

However, yesterday it was not me who fell. I think it's partly that I am being more careful not to slip on loose gravel, and also that I'm still paying the price from my last spill. I hope I have learned my lesson, but you know I will probably fall again while striding on ahead, thinking of other things than where I'm placing my feet. I wish I could say I won't do that again, but it would not be realistic. I'm not willing to stop, not yet anyway. I want to continue to do hard things for as long as possible.

Sitting here in my bed, with my dear partner still sleeping next to me, the sun not yet risen, I am content. The day beckons, with my coffee shop friends, a movie with my friend Judy, and my most recent novel is calling me to finish it soon. One day, just getting out of bed and making my way through the day will be a hard thing, but that's not now, not today, not yet.

I always need to stop and say thank you to the Powers That Be for all that I am blessed with at this moment. I love my friends and family, and the ability to write and create this post, for the mental acuity to enjoy your responses, and taking the time to stop and smell the roses. Until we meet again next week, I wish you all good things, dear friends.