10 weeks since my last post. I may do better as a writer to be more disciplined at this, but honestly, I just wait until the impetus to write starts bubbling up. And it's been bubbling for the past few weeks- and after so many things happening, I finally have a moment to sit and write it out. My friend today asked what it would be about. I answered: "I don't know yet" because I don't. This blog has been a discovery for me, nearly every time I sit down to type, I have almost no idea what I will write about, and I make discoveries about myself and my life as I write. So here goes.
[edit: Upon reflection/re-read, this is serving as a catch-up post for people interested in what I've been up to, and not necessarily all of what I've been thinking about, which is usually somewhere between crying over beauty or being crippled by existential terror. But that's always sort of thrown in I guess. There's more and more still waiting in me, but I think it shall wait for its own blog post.]
I'm sitting in an unfamiliar kitchen in Ipswich MA where I am dog/house sitting. The pooch is an adorable, loving 11 year-old chocolate lab mix, and we're best buddies now (it's my second day). I may not need a shower as I've been licked head to toe by this baby.
I'm thinking over what has been crawling through my mind these past few months- and much has happened: good and bad things; and as always, Life showing itself truthfully. I 95% moved out of my old apartment and into my new apartment this past weekend. I can't believe I've moved so many times, and each time it is so similar; too similar. First, moving is sooo fun. In addition to being anxiety-ridden and stressful, I am seemingly always the last person to leave an apartment (read: I am responsible for cleaning the entire thing). Thankfully I still have another weekend to move the rest of my stuff (HOW SO MUCH STUFF?! HOW) and to clean it all. I've been fortunate to have time to move; the usual move out/in and clean all in one day is a nightmare, and I'm pretty sure everyone has experienced this at some point.
Good news on the goal-front! I have traveled a bit. I am making it happen, sort of. I haven't mentioned it yet, but I went to Southern CA back in April, and though it was the COLDEST WEEK in recent memory (WHY, HOW), it was more cleansing than I could even understand until I got back to MA. I've not traveled too much in my life yet, but that trip- though I spent many (too) many hours in my rental car driving all across the (Southern CA) world- it was healing and just what I needed. It was a difficult winter (yes, didn't we all love it), and I was seriously getting ready to move out to CA sight-unseen, but decided to take this trip first. I now don't have the urge to move out there, at least not at the moment, but just going on a vacation (my first personal vacation! ever!) cleaned me out and refreshed me in a way I didn't know it could.
I also just got back from SCOTLAND. Yes. International traveler, me. I went to Edinburgh for the Fringe Festival and it was divine and difficult, both of which I was anticipating. Edinburgh is a very walkable city, but it is also mostly hills. This was tough for my body, and though it got easier every day, it was still pretty rough and I was almost always tired. It was also quite chilly (though apparently the week I was there we had some of the
warmest days in recent memory... I guess good karma from my iceberg CA trip?) and I am a perpetually cold being now, even when it's 70.
I first went to the Fringe Fest in Edinburgh back in 2011, and I saw some work there that completely changed my life. It inspired me to start my own theatre company here in MA, and I've been longing to return ever since (on a side note: a few months before I was diagnosed, I was planning to go back that summer with my sister). So in going back, of course I wondered if I would see anything that would break me like my first time in Edinburgh.
...It happened. It took until my second-to-last day there, but it happened. I almost missed the show because while standing in queue, I suddenly got a massive coughing attack (oh yeah, I got a great chest cold about mid-way through the week. Nights full of feverish delirium. Sweet) and had to step out of line while they let everyone else in. At the literal last second, I was finally able to compose myself and climbed to the very back of the stadium seating (which actually turned out quite nicely: I was able to see the entire stage, and being a shorter person, this is not usually the case.) The show was a physical theatre piece called
Institute by a UK company called Gecko. It was absolutely brilliant. I could attempt to talk about it for a while, but honestly, physical theatre and dance is always it's own, usually wordless language. I would find myself crying, not even entirely sure why.
After it was over, I stumbled out of the venue, put on my sunglasses and tried not to burst out sobbing on my way back to my flat (thankfully not a far walk home). I couldn't speak. And when I finally could, it was tearfully to two girls who were in my flat, as tried to explain what I had just witnessed. They had to leave for something else, and I went to my room and lay on my bed and cried for a while. Seriously, just laid there and cried. I wasn't trying to "process it" in any real way, but rather just let the experience wash over me. And it still does.
The next day, my last day there, I went back to the venue after the show got out because I heard that the company actually comes out afterwards to chat with people, which is incredibly generous especially after giving everything on the stage! It was amazing to talk with them about their process and their different paths to finding themselves in a physical theatre company. They asked where we "went"- what the show was to us. I spoke a little bit about spending a lot of time in hospitals (there was definitely imagery resonating there), and how we all try to care for each other even though we are failing at it all the time. I was trying to not cry. One of them asked me if I was a dancer, and I sort of stuttered and managed to burp out something about missing my chance. One of the company members points to one of the quieter members and says "Chris was a firefighter in California."
For some reason this stuck with me. I have spent so many hours and days being so sad and pissed off about how my "new" body fails and constantly disappoints me. From lack of mobility for so long, my muscles atrophied, and it's taking SO MUCH LONGER to get back than I could have ever imagined. And my flexibility is so poor that usually when I try to stretch it just becomes a crying session. But seeing this company's work, and in talking with them after their show-- I have a renewed sense of vigor to build my body again. For the first time in a long long time, I feel like I actually might be capable of getting to where I want to go. I know that it will take a lot of work. Probably more than I even realize at this moment. But I want it so badly.
Before I got sick, the only real option that I was considering for continuing my education into grad school was physical theatre and/or clown school. People would chuckle after I told them, then I'd usually have to say, "no, but seriously." I don't know necessarily that clown school is in the cards for the future, but I feel this urgency--a vitality to jump start and get this body to a different place. I'm promising myself that the next six months are going to be dedicated to self-care in the form of HEALTH: building muscle and flexibility. Let's do this. I've always felt that I could have been a dancer. And now: who knows? Maybe I will be one.
