Six weeks, six lessons
Six weeks ago, I was hit on my scooter by someone who most likely couldn’t see me.
About that day—a lot is fuzzy.
And also, much is clear.
Emergency help was called for. I was transported. Competent care ensued.
In some ways, the past six weeks have felt like an eternity. But, of course, it hasn’t been.
I’m 60.5 years old. So, the past six weeks have been roughly 1/500 of my life so far.
And yet, I’ve learned so much.
So, here goes. A list of observations and work arounds that started with—or were clarified by—the crash. These ideas might continue to enrich my life. And maybe also yours.
1. Blind spots are a thing. Whether driving, deciding on a career path, or choosing a mate, there’s a lot we may not see. No matter how careful and self-aware we are. It’s unhelpful to blame anyone for our blindness—or for theirs. But from now on, maybe we all can pay closer attention.
2. Painkillers are “necessary,” until they’re not. In the first days after the accident, I needed oxycodone until I could transition to less-strong drugs. Now my benchmark for “necessary” has moved. After feeling such significant pain, I hope I’ll pause for a few moments before deciding to take anything stronger than a cup of tea.
3. We need less than we think. For about four weeks, I used only one dish, one set of utensils, and one coffee cup. I wore and slept in one set of clothes. I engaged only in what was essential to my healing. As I inch back toward redundancy and waste, I feel a bit ashamed. I hope I can keep things simple.
4. Some people are exceedingly kind. I believe that we all do our best with what we have, and what we know, at the time. But some people seem to have a genuine (over)abundance of generosity and joy. Those people deserve love—and thank-you notes—in return.
5. Old school beats new school. A bath (over a shower), saves on water and facilitates calm. In the same vein, I feel sublimely satisfied when I reach for a sketch pad or my paints, rather than the remote. I haven’t seen my latest electric bill, but I suspect it costs less to cozy up with a heating pad under the covers, than it does to heat the whole house.
6. Stillness is the key. As I walk— instead of run—with the dog, I’ve been listening to Ryan Holiday’s latest book about stillness. Also, after six weeks of speaking less, moving less, and doing less, I am truly convinced: Stillness is indeed the path to meaning, contentment, and excellence.
It’s been six weeks since my accident, and though I’m not yet fully recovered, I’m ready to stop counting.
I’m ready to move on.
But I’m not ready to forget what I’ve learned.
