Healing Happens
The first time I saw the “s**t happens” bumper sticker was twenty-some-odd years ago, on the back of a nearly-new, shiny, wrecked Camaro. The law of attraction in action.
I broke my wrist, two weeks after moving home, office and studio. At first it seemed like bad luck. It had been a hard move. I was dog-tired, running on empty. I had no choice but to rest. With long hours of sleep and naps in between, I began to feel a bit blessed, and for the first time in months, mentally refreshed.
The list of things I could not do sometimes felt endless. Tying the sash on my bathrobe took six, seven, eight or more tries. Cutting meat was not possible. Nor fastening my seatbelt (much less a bra.) But the things that were possible—if I could only figure out how—became adventurous and amusing. The left brain would say, “this can’t be done.” The right brain would counter, “How can I pull this off?” The night I opened a bottle of wine I was triumphant. It had taken 20 minutes.
Friends and family rallied. They brought food that could be opened, prepared and eaten with one hand. They helped me dress, wrote checks, and drove when I would feel too untethered without a seatbelt. They schlepped boxes, unpacked, and made my bed (putting on a fitted sheet with one hand could be an Olympic event,) put barrettes in my hair, and hung artwork. It’s hard to be grumpy or bitter when your heart is full of gratitude.
Healing happens. One day, the pinkie finger could push the “P” and “enter” keys. Soon after I could zip and snap the waistband of my trousers. Bending my palm back enough to hold a dollop of shampoo, then massaging it into my scalp, was glorious beyond words. Pulling the gearshift in my car from park to drive made me squirm with delight. Ten days later, I could push from drive to park. To pick up and put a carrot in my mouth? Oh, my. Finally I could not only hold, but use, a fork. And being able to write! To doodle! To journal. To sign my name IN CURSIVE. I was giddy with pride and relief.
Joy can come in a package so small that we overlook it, but rarely have I known joy any greater than being able to wash my hair and sign my name. Rebecca L. Ewing
Carpe diem
Rebecca Ewing gives all her clients red briefs. Or blue. Or green or yellow. Combine over 30 years in interior design, her specialty in the psychology of color, 26 years of teaching, and over 10 years forecasting trends, and you get a color diva who knows how to work it to make you feel good, look good, be good and do good. With randy wit and acute awareness of human foibles, she’ll take you way beyond the rainbow. Rebecca Ewing Color&Design
Thank you a delightful read and for the reminder to be grateful each day for what we CAN do. Before surgery last year, I used to run for nearly one hour several times a week in the park near my house. Months after the surgery, it would take me nearly an hour to walk what would have normally taken less than a few minutes to cover. I have only recently been able to run like I used to or go for a bike ride and each time I remind myself of how great it really is that I CAN do this. Sometimes, I go for a slow-paced walk in the same park as a reminder. I have learnt to enjoy that as well. I think Rebecca is on to something when she writes that “Joy can come in a package so small that we overlook it” and if I might, the real thing, will seldom come in a little blue box.