3 June 2016
We think of life passing in days, months or years, but we only really come alive in the amazing moments – when we are switched on, when we are paying attention, when everything else falls away and we have a pure experience. In between, there is what passes for life, but really between those cherished moments, it is just static. White noise.
I would like to think that I have always been grateful for the moments. I would like to think that I have tried to minimise the static and truly live. I would like to think that I have a neat little store of the moments in my head that I can re-live with gratitude and fondness.
It’s been just over a year. I’ve been thinking about what I miss most. Now, you might think that the things I miss most are those pure moments – moments of bliss or happiness or uplifting love.
Here is a list:
Visiting friends in their homes – without an entourage to help me up or down stairs, without worrying about whether or not I will be able to use their bathroom, without thinking about whether or not my presence will in some way make them feel bad that I can’t do something, anything, while I’m there with them.
Getting on the floor with the dog to play – without needing technical assistance to get up again, without thinking I’ll have to be down there for at least an hour to make the effort worthwhile.
Knowing I can get on a plane any time – without having to plan ahead for my arrival at the airport, without having to transfer to another chair so mine can be packed (and at risk of breakage by people who mean well but don’t know what they’re doing), without having to plan ahead for my destination.
Going to a shop counter or bar and being seen immediately – without having to ring a bell (if I can reach it), without having to wave my arms, without having to shout and without the person on the other side inevitably saying “sorry, I didn’t see you there”.
Rising early and taking the dog for a walk – without worrying about my toilet routine, without spending half an hour getting dressed, without needing Steve’s help to get out of the house and through the gate and back in again, without worrying that, if Friday gets excited or agitated, I might not be able to adequately control her from the chair.
Coming home from work and preparing a nice meal in less than an hour – without needing help to get a cast iron pot out of the cupboard, without needing help to get food from the top shelf of the fridge, without having exhausted shoulders just from chopping vegetables, without needing help to put something heavy into the oven or take it out again.
Finding Steve anywhere in the house or garden and embracing him in a full body hug – without ramps, without having to ask him to bend to my level and still only being able to hug in pieces, never the whole.
I still have amazing moments. I still have the sublime. Those moments are easy to appreciate. I sit still and quiet in gratitude for a friend’s kind words or my partner’s sweet compassion. I think it is fair to say that what I miss most is the static. I miss the white noise. I miss everyday comfort. I miss easy.
Don’t get me wrong, I was happy to go for walks with Friday, and many times, I described it as the best part of my day. I liked cooking. I enjoyed visiting my friends. But, pre-debacle, my gratitude did not extend to the everyday ease. I didn’t cherish the way I got on and off the floor or how easy it was to pull on pants – that would have been ridiculous, right? To take a moment of inwardly smiling gratitude every time I walked up or down the stairs to a mate’s house? Thich Nhat Hanh makes the observation that we all notice when we have a toothache, but how often do we notice that we have a “not toothache”? How often do we let the ‘usual’ make us happy or bring us comfort? He makes a good point.
I didn’t think to be happy about the ease with which I could do things. Now that’s what I miss most.