I missed my usual window of writing opportunity at my desk today, so instead I tried to surmise a few thoughts while seated in the uniquely designed physical therapy lobby, waiting for my ride to arrive as the dark descended and slowly turned the day into night. This proved more difficult than I expected, not only because the angled architecture of the building is fascinating to take in all by itself, but the seasonal decorations were truly inviting, given I haven’t been able to put up a single one in my apartment this year.

No decorations is a rarity for me, indeed.

My lack of sleep the last few nights from time mismanagement has me reflecting on how self-care is so important, and such a critical part of healing. Ironically, it also is one of the core components of my instruction set that was dropped haphazardly on the delivery room floor straight from the birth canal, then gathered completely unnoticed with all the unneeded sutures and whatnot and discarded ever so efficiently, never to be heard from again.

Until now.

Part of this ever so painful process of re-emergence for me are these annoyingly apparent themes I keep facing—you know the ones—that reveal themselves over and over until it’s so obvious even your next door neighbor can’t help but call them to question. “Can you please move that large box of late-night binge social media surfing? It’s getting in my way of walking down the stairs.” It’s then that I am given a choice: I can either continue to crush the courier into punishing little bits, or I can start, however slowly, to change the pattern.

I’ve already tried bargaining for a third option.

Somehow numerous people have surrounded me so I am faced with the second one. But this is not a swift and sudden change, and like all new adjustments it takes time, patience, and willingness—words spoken in plain English that most often appear to me relayed in ancient Sanskrit. Perhaps my decoder ring was tossed down the delivery room trash chute as well.

So now I’ve got a self-care task list, I’ve checked it twice, and I call my accountability person nightly. Thank goodness for progress, not perfection, so that tonight I can garnish some goodness with a less than average ratio.

“In the midst of these hard times it is our good health and good sleep that are enjoyable.”
 —Knute Nelson